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DRAMATIC    WORKS: 


A  LIFE  OF  THE  AUTHOR, 

AM)  A   SEI.ECTJON  OF 

NOTES,  CRITICAL,  HISTORICAL,  AND  EXPLANATORY, 

BV  THE 

REV.  W.  HARNESS,  A.M. 

op  CHRIST'S  COLLEGE,  CAMBRIDGE. 


TO  WHICH  ARE  ADDED,  THE  AUTHOR'S  POEMS. 


IN  EIGHT  VOLUMES. 
VOL.  II. 


LONDON 


fe/ 


PRINTED  AND  SOLD  BY  J.  F.  DOVE,         „^\^ 
1830.  ^|0  [ 


ST.  JOHN'S  SQUARE. 


PR 

V'.  a 


SHAKSPEARE'S 
DRAMATIC   WORKS, 

VOL.  II. 


/ 


/ 


CONTENTS. 

Page 

TWELFTH-NIGHT 1 

jMKASL'UE  for  measure 79 

MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING 169 

MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM 251 

LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST 321 


i^ 


cxraid  my  hand  lo  liiin   thus. 


TWELFTH-NIGHT 

OR, 

WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


Thehe  is  no  edition  of  this  play  earlier  than  the  first  folio  in  16'i3. — Mr. 
Malone  supposes,  that  it  was  produced  in  the  year  1607  ;  but  there  is  no  evi- 
dence either  to  support,  or  refute  such  a  supposition.  Mr.  Chalmers  conceives 
that  it  was  written  in  1613. — If  any  probable  conjecture  respecting  its  date  may 
be  derived  from  the  merits  of  the  work,  1  should  have  little  hesitation  in  ranking 
this  among  our  author's  latest  productions.  It  is  marked  by  the  ease  and  cer- 
tainty of  an  experienced  hand.  There  is  nothing  superfluous.  Every  passage 
tends  to  the  eft'ect  designed.  No  part  could  be  abstracted  without  material  in- 
jury to  the  beauty  of  the  whole.  The  serious  portion  of  the  comedy  may  have 
been  taken  from  the  seventh  history  of  the  fourth  volume  of  Belleforest's  His- 
toires  Tragiques.  The  comic  scenes  and  characters  appear  to  have  been  entirely 
Shakspeare's  own. The  commentators  have  discovered  that  Ben  Jonson  de- 
signed to  ridicule  Twelfth  Night,  in  Every  Man  out  of  his  Humour. — Mitis  says 
in  Act  3.  of  that  play,  "  The  argument  of  this  comedy  might  have  been  of  some 
other  nature,  as  of  a  Duke  to  be  in  love  with  a  Countess,  and  this  Coimtess  to  be 
in  love  with  the  Duke's  son,  and  the  son  in  love  with  the  lady's  waiting-maid  : 
some  such  cross  wooing  with  a  clo\vn  to  their  serving-man,  &c." — Where 
]\Ir.  Steevens  found  the  point  of  this  passage,  I  am  unable  to  say— in  Tweljlh 
Night  there  is  no  Countess  in  love  with  a  Duke's  son,  nor  any  Duke's  son  in 
love  with  a  waiting-maid. — "  What  is  more  to  the  purpose,"  says  Mr.  Gifford, 
"  Ben  Jonson  s  play  was  written  at  least  a  dozen  years  before  Twelfth  Night 
appeared." 


VOL.   II. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


Orsino,  Duke  of  Illyria. 

Sebastian,  a  young  Gentleman,  brother  to  Viola, 
Antonio,  a  Sea  Captain,  friend  to  Sebastian. 
A  Sea  Captain, friend  fo  Viola. 

Valentine,  }  Qgntlemen  attending  on  the  Duke. 
Curio,  3  *= 

Sir  Toby  Belch,  uncle  o/' Olivia. 
iSeV  Andrew  Ague-cheek. 
Malvolio,  Steward  to  Olivia. 

„,  '? Servants  to  Oi.\y Ik. 

Ltown,      3 

Olivia,  a  rich  Countess. 
Viola,  e»  love  with  the  Duke. 
Maria,  Olivia's  woman. 

Lords,  Priests,  Sailors,  Officers,  Musicians,  and  other 
Attendants. 

Scene,  a  City  in  Illyria  ;  a7id  the  Sea  Coast  near  it. 


TWELFTH-NIGHT: 


WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


ACT  L 


Scene  I. — An  Apartment  in  the  Duke's  Palace. 
Enter  Duke,  Curio,  Lords;  Musicians  attending. 

Duke.  If  music  be  the  food  of  love,  play  on; 
Give  me  excess  of  it ;  that,  surfeiting, 

The  appetite  may  sicken,  and  so  die. 

That  strain  again  ; — it  had  a  dying  fall : 

O,  it  came  o'er  my  ear  like  the  sweet  south. 

That  breathes  upon  a  bank  of  violets. 

Stealing  and  giving  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 !  so  full  of  shapes  is  fancy. 

That  it  alone  is  high-fantastical.* 

Cur.  Will  you  go  hunt,  my  lord  ? 

Duke.  What,  Curio  ? 

Cur.  The  hart. 

Duke.  Why,  so  1  do,  the  noblest  that  I  have : 
O,  when  mine  eyes  did  see  Olivia  first, 
Methought,  she  purg'd  the  air  of  pestilence ; 
That  instant  was  I  turn'd  into  a  hart ; 

»  high-fanltiiticuL]   i.  e.  fantastical  to  the  height. 


4  TWELFTH  NIGHT. 

And  my  desires,  like  fell  and  cruel  hounds, 

E'er  since  pursue  me.'' — How  now  ?  what  news  from  her  ? 

E7iter  Valentine. 

Val.  So  please  my  lord,  I  might  not  be  admitted. 
But  from  her  handmaid  do  return  this  answer: 
The  element  itself,  till  seven  years'  heat/ 
Shall  not  behold  her  face  at  ample  view : 
But,  like  a  cloistress,  she  will  veiled  walk. 
And  water  once  a  day  her  chamber  round 
With  eye-offending  brine :  all  this,  to  season 
A  brother's  dead  love,  which  she  would  keep  fresh. 
And  lasting,  in  her  sad  remembrance. 

Duke.  O,  she,  that  hath  a  heart  of  that  fine  frame. 
To  pay  this  debt  of  love  but  to  a  brother. 
How  will  she  love,  when  the  rich  golden  shaft. 
Hath  kill'd  the  flock  of  all  affections  else 
That  live  in  her !  when  liver,  brain,  and  heart. 
These  sovereign  thrones,  are  all  supplied,  and  fiU'd, 
(Her  sweet  perfections,)''  with  one  self  king  ! — 
Away  before  me  to  sweet  beds  of  flowers  ; 
Love-thoughts  lie  rich,  when  canopied  with  bowers. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  n.—The  Sea-coast. 

Enter  Viola,  Captain,  and  Sailors. 

Fio.  What  country,  friends,  is  this? 

Cap.  niyria,  lady. 

Vio.  And  what  should  I  do  in  Illyria  ? 
My  brother  he  is  in  Elysium. 
Perchance,  he  is  not  drown'd  : — What  think  you,  sailors  ? 

Cap.  It  is  perchance,  that  you  yourself  were  saved. 

*>  like  fell  utid  cruel  liotnuh. 

E'er  since  pursue  me. — ]  An  evident  allasion  to  the  story  .of  Acta?on,  by 
which  Shakfipoarc  appears  to  think  men  were  cautioned  against  too  great  a  fa- 
miliarity with  forhiddeu  beauty. — Johnson. 

c  Ueat,'\ — For  heated,  say  Malone  and  Stcevens  ;  and  it  is  very  true, 

that  such  was  tlie  old  participle  ;  but  surely  here  Shakspeare  uses  the  word  as 
a  substantive,  in  the  sense  of  coi/isc,  or  race. 

^  (  ller  sweet  perfertinns,)]  Liver,  hrain,  and  heait,  are  admitted  in  poetry  as 
the  residence  of  p(is!iions,jndgmenl,  and  ientimcnls.  These  are  what  Shakspeare 
calls,  her  sweel  perfections,  thoup;h  he  has  not  very  clearly  expressed  what  he 
might  design  to  have  said. — Steevlns.  Perfecltons  is  here,  and  in  a  subse- 
quent scene,  used  as  a  quadrisyllable. — Malone. 


ACT  I.— SCENE  II.  6 

Vio.  O  my  poor  brother !  and  so,  perchance,  may  he  be. 

Cap.  True,  madam  :  and,  to  comfort  you  with  chance. 
Assure  yourself,  after  our  ship  did  split. 
When  you,  and  that  poor  number  saved  with  you. 
Hung  on  our  driving  boat,  I  saw  your  brother. 
Most  provident  in  peril,  bind  himself 
(Courage  and  hope  both  teaching  him  the  practice) 
To  a  strong  mast,  that  lived  upon  the  sea; 
Where,  like  Arion  on  the  dolphin's  back, 
I  saw  him  hold  acquaintance  with  the  waves. 
So  long  as  I  could  see. 

Vio.  For  saying  so,  there's  gold  : 

Mine  own  escape  unfoldeth  to  my  hope. 
Whereto  thy  speech  serves  for  authority, 
The  like  of  him.     Know'st  thou  this  country  ? 

Cap.  Ay,  madam,  well ;  for  I  was  bred  and  born. 
Not  three  hours  travel  from  this  very  place. 

Vio.  Who  governs  here  ? 

Cap.  A  noble  duke,  in  nature. 

As  in  his  name. 

Vio.  What  is  his  name  ? 

Cap.  Orsino.* 

Vio.  Orsino !  I  have  heard  my  father  name  him  : 
He  was  a  bachelor  then. 

Cap.  And  so  is  now. 

Or  was  so  very  late  :  for  but  a  month 
Ago  I  went  from  hence  ;  and  then  'twas  fresh 
In  murmur,  (as,  you  know,  what  great  ones  do. 
The  less  will  prattle  of,)  that  he  did  seek 
The  love  of  fair  Olivia. 

Vio.  What's  she  ? 

Cap.  A  virtuous  maid,  the  daughter  of  a  count 
That  died  some  twelvemonth  since  ;  then  leaving  her 
In  the  protection  of  his  son,  her  brother. 
Who  shortly  also  died  ;  for  whose  dear  love. 
They  say,  she  hath  abjur'd  the  company 
And  sight  of  men. 

Vio.  O,  that  I  serv'd  that  lady  : 

And  might  not  be  deliver 'd  to  the  world, 

e  Orsino.']  This  is  the  name  of  a  great  and  noble  Italian  family.— Johnson. 
VOL.  II.  C 


6  TWELFTH-NIGHT 

Till  I  had  made  mine  own  occasion  mellow. 
What  my  estate  is. 

Cap.  That  were  hard  to  compass ; 

Because  she  will  admit  no  kind  of  suit. 
No,  not  the  duke's. 

Vio.  There  is  a  fair  behaviour  in  thee,  captain ; 
And  though  that  nature  with  a  beauteous  wall 
Doth  oft  close  in  pollution,  yet  of  thee 
I  will  believe,  thou  hast  a  mind  that  suits 
With  this  thy  fair  and  outward  character. 
I  pray  thee,  and  I'll  pay  thee  bounteously. 
Conceal  me  what  I  am ;  and  be  my  aid 
For  such  disguise  as,  haply,  shall  become 
The  form  of  my  intent.     I'll  serve  this  duke  : 
Thou  shalt  present  me  as  an  eunuch  to  him. 
It  may  be  worth  thy  pains  ;  for  I  can  sing. 
And  speak  to  him  in  many  sorts  of  music, 
That  will  allow^  me  very  worth  his  service. 
What  else  may  hap,  to  time  I  will  commit ; 
Only  shape  thou  thy  silence  to  my  wit. 

Cap.  Be  you  his  eunuch,  and  your  mute  I'll  be  ; 
When  my  tongue  blabs,  then  let  mine  eyes  not  see  ! 

Vio.  I  thank  thee  :  Lead  me  on.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III. 

A  Room  in  Olivia's  House. 
Enter  Sir  Toby  Belch,  and  Makia. 

Sir  To.  What  a  plague  means  my  niece,  to  take  the 
death  of  her  brother  thus  ?  I  am  sure,  care's  an  enemy 
to  life. 

Mar.  By  my  troth,  sir  Toby,  you  must  come  in  earlier 
o'nights  ;  your  cousin,  my  lady,  takes  great  exceptions  to 
your  ill  hours. 

Sir  To.  Why,  let  her  except  before  excepted. ^ 

Mar.  Ay,  but  you  must  confine  yourself  within  the 
modest  limits  of  order. 

f  allow — ]     Approve. 

15 except  before  excepted.^  A  ludicrous  use  of  the  formal  law  phrase. — 

Faumhi. 


ACT  I.— SCENE  III.  7 

Sir  To.  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. 

Mai\  That  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  To.  Who?  Sir  Andrew  Ague-cheek? 

Mar.  Ay,  he. 

Sir  To.  He's  as  tall  a  man*^  as  any's  in  Illyria. 

Mar.  What's  that  to  the  purpose  ? 

Sir  To.  Why,  he  has  three  thousand  ducats  a  year. 

Mar.  Ay,  but  he'll  have  but  a  year  in  all  these  ducats; 
he's  a  very  fool,  and  a  prodigal. 

Sir  To.  Fye,  that  you'll  say  so  !  he  plays  o'the  viol-de- 
gambo,'  and  speaks  three  or  four  languages  word  for  word 
without  book,  and  hath  all  the  good  gifts  of  nature. 

Mar.  He  hath  indeed, — almost  natural :  for,  besides 
that  he's  a  fool,  he's  a  great  quarreller ;  and,  but  that  he 
hath  the  gift  of  a  coward  to  allay  the  gust  he  hath  in  quar- 
relling, 'tis  thought  among  the  prudent,  he  would  quickly 
have  the  gift  of  a  grave. 

Sir  To.  By  this  hand,  they  are  scoundrels,  and  sub- 
stractors,  that  say  so  of  him.     Who  are  they  ? 

Mar.  They  that  add  moreover,  he's  drunk  nightly  in 
your  company. 

Sir  To.  With  drinking  healths  to  my  niece  ;  I'll  drink 
to  her,  as  long  as  there  is  a  passage  in  my  throat,  and 
drink  in  Illyria :  He's  a  coward,  and  a  coystril,"*  that  will 
not  drink  to  my  niece,  till  his  brains  turns  o'the  toe  like 

'' as  tall  a  man — ]  Tall  means  slout,  courageous. 

» viol-de-giimbcl  It  appears,  from  numerous  passages  in  our  old  plays, 

that  a  viol-de-gambo  (a  bass-viol)  was  an  indispensable  piece  of  furniture  in 
every  fashionable  house,  where  it  hung  up  in  the  best  chamber,  much  as  the 
guitar  does  in  Spain,  and  the  violin  in  Italy,  to  be  played  on  at  will,  and  to 
fill  up  the  void  of  conversation.  Whoever  pretended  to  fashion,  affected  an 
acquaintance  with  this  instrument ;  Sir  Andrew  Ague-cheek  could  play  upon 
it,  as  bespoke  the  languages,  "  word  for  word,  without  book." — Gifford's 
Ben  JitHson,  vol.  ii.  126. 

'' coystril,]  "  An  inferior  groom,  or  lad  employed  by  the    esquire  to 

carry  the  knight's  arms  and  other  necessaries ;  probably  taken  from  coustilUer, 
old  French  of  the  same  signification." — This  explanation  is  from  that  inva- 
luable book,  Archdeacon  Naues's  Glossary. 

c2 


8  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

a  parish-top.'     What,  wench?    Castiliatio  volto :'^  (or  here 
comes  sir  Andrew  Ague-face. 

Enter  Sir  Andrew  Ague-cheek. 

Sir  And.  Sir  Toby  Belch  !  how  now,  sir  Toby  Belch  ? 

Sir  To.  Sweet  sir  Andrew?  ■ 

Sir  And.  Bless  you,  fair  shrew. 

Mar.  And  you  too,  sir. 

Sir  To.  Accost,  sir  Andrew,  accost. 

Sir  And.  What's  that  ? 

Sir  To.  My  niece's  chamber-maid. 

Sir  And.  Good  mistress  Accost,  I  desire  better  ac- 
quaintance. 

Mar.  My  name  is  Mary,  sir. 

Sir  And.  Good  mistress  Mary  Accost, 

Sir  To.  You  mistake,  knight :  accost,  is,  front  her, 
board"  her,  woo  her,  assail  her. 

Sir  And.  By  my  troth,  I  would  not  undertake  her  in 
this  company.     Is  that  the  meaning  of  accost? 

Mar.  Fare  you  well,  gentlemen. 

Sir  To.  An  thou  let  part  so,  sir  Andrew,  'would  thou 
might'st  never  draw  sword  again. 

Sir  And.  An  you  part  so,  mistress,  I  would  I  might 
never  draw  sword  again.  Fair  lady,  do  you  think  you 
have  fools  in  hand  ? 

Mar.  Sir,  I  have  not  you  by  the  hand. 

Sir  And.  Marry,  but  you  shall  have;  and  here's  my  hand. 
Mar.  Now,  sir,  thought  is  free  :  I  pray  you,  bring  your 
hand  to  the  buttery-bar,  and  let  it  drink. 

I like  a  parish-top.]  A  large  top  was  formerly  kept  in  every  village,  to 

be  whipped  in  frosty  weather,  that  the  peasants  might  be  kept  warm  by  exer- 
cise, and  out  of  mischief,  while  they  could  not  work. — Steevens. 

m Castlliano  voUo  ;]  The  old  reading  is  CastiUano  vulgo,  which  is  non- 
sense.— The  emendation  is  that  of  Warburton,  and  is  approved  by  Nares. — 
Maria  is  desired  to  assume  the  Castilian  or  grave  and  sukmii  cou)itena)ice,  be- 
cause Sir  Andrew,  whom  she  has  been  ridiculing,  is  approaching. 

n boaid — ]  Approach. — Mr.  Steevens  objects  to  this  reading,  and  pro- 
poses to  read  bniird  ivith  her.  The  following  words,  from  Mr.  Giftbrd's  Ben 
Jonsnn,  vol.  iv.  222,  are  u  propos  to  the  question  of  his  proposed  alteration  : 
"  There  are  three  different  expressions  which  occur  in  our  old  writers,  and 
whicli  the  commentators  perpetually  perplex  and  confound,  with  their  ridicu- 
lous annotations  :  tliose  are,  to  hoard,  to  board,  and  to  liuud  or  Lnude,  from  the 
French. — The  first  is  to  approach  or  accost;  the  second,  to  jest,  or  toy  with ; 
and  the  third  f.i  poiil,  or  appear  sullen," 


ACT  I.— SCENE  III.  9 

Sir  And.  Wherefore,  sweet  heart?  what's  your  meta- 
phor ? 

Mar.  It's  dry,  sir." 

Sir  And.  Why,  I  think  so  ;  I  am  not  such  an  ass,  but  I 
can  keep  my  hand  dry.     But  what's  your  jest? 

Mar.  A  dry  jest,  sir. 

Sir  And.  Are  you  full  of  them? 

Mar.  Ay,  sir;  I  have  them  at  my  fingers'  ends;  marry, 
now  I  let  go  your  hand,  I  am  barren.  [Exit  Maria. 

Sir  To.  O  knight,  thou  lack'st  a  cup  of  canary :  When 
did  I  see  thee  so  put  down  ? 

Sir  And.  Never  in  your  life,  I  think ;  unless  you  see 
canary  put  me  down:  Methinks,  sometimes  I  have  no 
more  wit  than  a  Christian,  or  an  ordinary  man  has ;  but 
I  am  a  great  eater  of  beef,  and,  I  believe,  that  does  harm 
to  my  wit. 

Sir  To.  No  question. 

Sir  And.  An  I  thought  that,  I'd  forswear  it.  I'll  ride 
home  to-morrow,  sir  Tobv- 

Sir  To.  Pourquoy,  my  dear  knight  ? 

Sir  And.  What  is  pourquoy  7  do  or  not  do  ?  I  would  I 
had  bestowed  that  time  in  the  tongues,  that  I  have  in 
fencing,  dancing,  and  bearbaiting  :  O,  had  I  but  followed 
the  arts  ! 

Sir  To.  Then  hadst  thou  had  an  excellent  head  of  hair. 

Sir  And.  Why,  would  that  have  mended  my  hair? 

Sir  To.  Past  question ;  for  thou  seest,  it  will  not  curl 
by  nature. 

Sir  Atid.  But  it  becomes  me  well  enough,  does't  not? 

Sir  To.  Excellent;  it  hangs  like  flax  on  a  distaff;  and 
I  hope  to  see  a  housewife  take  thee  between  her  legs,  and 
spin  it  off. 

Sir  And.  'Faith,  I'll  home  to-morrow,  sir  Toby  :  your 
niece  will  not  be  seen;  or,  if  she  be,  it's  four  to  one  she'll 
none  of  me :   the  count  himself,  here  hard  by,  wooes  her. 

.S'?>  To.  She'll  noneo'the  count;  she'll  not  match  above 
her  deo-ree,  neither  in  estate,  years,  nor  wit;  I  have  heard 
her  swear  it.     Tut,  there's  life  in't,  man. 

»  It's  drxi,  sir.}  A  dry  hand  was  vulgarly  considered  as  areproach,  and  mark 
of  a  cold  temperament. 


10  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

Sir  Ami.  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  To.  Art  thou  good  at  these  kick-shaws,  knight? 

Sir  And.  As  any  man  in  Hlyria,  whatsoever  he  be,  under 
the  degree  of  my  betters ;  and  yet  I  will  not  compare 
with  an  old  man. 

Sir  To.  What  is  thy  excellence  in  a  galliard,  knight? 

Sir  And.  'Faith,  I  can  cut  a  caper. 

Sir  To.  And  1  can  cut  the  mutton  to't. 

Sir  And.  And,  I  think,  I  have  the  back-trick,  simply  as 
strong  as  any  man  in  Illyria. 

Sir  To.  Wherefore  are  these  things  hid?  wherefore  have 
these  gifts  a  curtain  before  them?  are  they  like  to  take 
dust,  like  mistress  Mall's  picture  ?p  why  dost  thou  not  go 
to  church  in  a  galliard,  and  come  home  in  a  coranto?  My 
very  walk  should  be  a  jig;  I  would  not  so  much  as  make 
water,  but  in  a  sink-a-pace.i  What  dost  thou  mean?  is 
it  a  world  to  hide  virtues  in?  I  did  think,  by  the  excellent 
constitution  of  thy  leg,  it  was  formed  under  the  star  of  a 
galliard. "^ 

Sir  And.  Ay,  'tis  strong,  and  it  does  indifferent  well 
in  a  flame-coloured  stock.  Shall  we  set  about  some 
revels  ? 

Sir  To.  What  shall  we  do  else  ?  were  we  not  born  under 
Taurus  ? 

Sir  And.  Taurus  ?  that's  sides  and  heart. ^ 

Sir  To.  No,  sir ;  it  is  legs  and  thighs.  Let  me  see  thee 
caper:  ha!  higher:  ha,  ha  ! — excellent!  \^Exeioit. 

I' mistress  Mall's  picture  ?]  The  real  name  of  the  woman  whom  1  sup- 
pose to  have  been  meant  by  Sir  Toby,  was  Maiy  Frilh.  The  appellation  by 
which  she  was  generally  known,  was  Mall  Cut-purse.  She  had  a  practice  of 
going  about  in  men's  clothes,  and  was  infamous  in  every  respect.  She  is  re- 
puted to  have  partaken  of  both  sexes,  and  hence  the  curtiiin  which  it  might 
have  been  necessary  to  place  before  the  picture. — Steevens. 

1 a  siuk-a-j)ace.]  i.  e.  A  cinque-pace ;  the  name  of  a  dance,  the  mea.sures 

whereof  are  regulated  by  the  number  five. — Sir  J.  Hawkins. 

' p,ullianl,]  A  brisk,  lively  fellow,  from  the  Italian  gaUiardi). 

'Taurus?  that's  sides  and  heart.]  AiludiTig  to  the  medical  astrology  still 
preserved  in  almanacks,  which  refers  the  aflictions  of  particular  parts  of  the 
body  to  the  predominance  of  particular  constellations. — Johneon. 


ACT  I.— SCENE  IV.  11 

SCENE  IV. 

A  Room  in  the  Duke's  Palace. 

Enter  Valentine,  and  Viola  in  man's  attire. 

Val.  If  the  duke  continue  these  favours  towards  you, 
Cesario,  you  are  like  to  be  much  advanced  ;  he  hath 
known  you  but  three  days,  and  already  you  are  no 
stranger. 

Vio.  You  either  fear  his  humour,  or  my  negligence,  that 
you  call  in  question  the  continuance  of  his  love :  Is  he 
inconstant,  sir,  in  his  favours  ? 

Fal.  No,  believe  me. 

Enter  Duke,  Curio,  and  Attendants. 

Vio.  I  thank  you.     Here  comes  the  count. 

Duke.  Who  saw  Cesario,  ho  ? 

Vio.  On  your  attendance,  my  lord  ;  here. 

Duke.  Stand  you  awhile  aloof, — Cesario, 
Thou  know'st  no  less  but  all ;  I  have  unclasp'd 
To  thee  the  book  even  of  my  secret  soul : 
Therefore,  good  youth,  address  thy  gait  unto  her ; 
Be  not  deny'd  access,  stand  at  her  doors. 
And  tell  them,  there  thy  fixed  foot  shall  grow. 
Till  thou  have  audience. 

Vio.  Sure,  my  noble  lord. 

If  she  be  so  abandon'd  to  her  sorrow 
As  it  is  spoke,  she  never  will  admit  me. 

Duke.  Be  clamorous,  and  leap  all  civil  bounds. 
Rather  tjian  make  unprofited  return. 

Vio.  Say,  I  do  speak  with  her,  my  lord  :  What  then  ? 

Duke.  O,  then  unfold  the  passion  of  my  love. 
Surprise  her  with  discourse  of  my  dear  faith  : 
It  shall  become  thee  well  to  act  my  woes ; 
She  will  attend  it  better  in  thy  youth. 
Than  in  a  nuncio  of  more  grave  aspect. 

Vio.  I  think  not  so,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Dear  lad,  believe  it ; 

For  they  shall  yet  belie  thy  happy  years. 


12  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

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  affair  : — Some  four,  or  five,  attend  him  ; 

All,  if  you  will ;  for  I  myself  am  best. 

When  least  in  company  : — Prosper  well  in  this. 

And  thou  shalt  live  as  freely  as  thy  lord, 

To  call  his  fortunes  thine. 

Via.  I'll  do  my  best. 

To  woo  your  lady  :  yet,  [Aside.]  a  barful  strife  !• 
Whoe'er  I  woo,  myself  would  be  his  wife.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  V. 

A  Room  in  Olivia's  House. 

Enter  Maria,  and  Clown." 

Mar.  Nay,  either  tell  me  where  thou  hast  been,  or  I 
will  not  open  my  lips,  so  wide  as  a  bristle  may  enter, 
in  way  of  thy  excuse  :  my  lady  will  hang  thee  for  thy 
absence. 

Clo.  Let  her  hang  me  :  he,  that  is  well  hanged  in  this 
world,  needs  to  fear  no  colours. 

Mar.  Make  that  good. 

Clo.  He  shall  see  none  to  fear. 

Mar.  A  good  lenten  answer:"  I  can  tell  thee  where 
that  saying  was  born,  of,  I  fear  no  colours.'' 

Clo.  Where,  good  mistress  Mary  ? 

Mar.  In  the  wars ;  and  that  may  you  be  bold  to  say  in 
your  foolery. 

t a  barful  s/ii/t-.']  i.  e.  A  contest  i'ull  of  imi)ediinc'nts. 

"  C/<)i(')(.]  As  tliis  is  the  first  clown  who  has  come  under  consideration,  it 
may  not  be  amiss,  from  a  passage  in  Tarlfton's  A'cirs  out  of  Purp;atory,  to  point 
out  one  of  the  ancient  dresses  upi)Topriated  to  that  character.— "  I  saw  one  at- 
tired in  russet,  with  a  buttoned  cap  on  his  head,  a  bag  by  liis  side,  and  a  strong 
bat  in  his  hand  ;  so  artificially  attired  for  a  dowtie,  as  I  began  to  call  Tarleton's 
wonted  shape  to  remembrance." — Sih.vkns.  The  Tarleton  here  mentioned 
was  a  very  jiopular  comedian  ;  and,  says  Mr.  Gifford,  "  his  memory  was  che- 
rished with  fond  delight  by  the  vulgar  to  the  jjeriod  of  the  revolution."  — 
Sotcf  to  i<(niholiWiew  Fair,  Ben  Jotmoii,  vol.  iv.36'1. 

x  . lenten  (iimver  :\  A  shoil  and  s/mi«  one. 

y Jfear  ne  cvloum.']  i.  e.  Fear  no  enemy. 


ACT  I.— SCENE  V.  13 

Cio.  Well,  God  give  them  wisdom,  that  have  it ;  and 
those  that  are  fools,  let  them  use  their  talents. 

Mar.  Yet  you  will  be  hanged,  for  being  so  long  ab- 
sent :  or,  to  be  turned  away  ;  is  not  that  as  good  as  a 
hanging  to  you  ?  ^ 

Clo.  Many  a  good  hanging  prevents  a  bad  marriage  ; 
and,  for  turning  away,  let  summer  bear  it  out.^ 

Mar.  You  are  resolute  then? 

Clo.  Not  so  neither ;  but  I  am  resolved  on  two  points. 

Mar.  That,  if  one  break,*  the  other  will  hold;  or,  if 
both  break,  your  gaskins**  fall. 

Clo.  Apt,  in  good  faith ;  very  apt !  Well,  go  thy  way  ; 
if  sir  Toby  would  leave  drinking,  thou  wert  as  witty  a 
piece  of  Eve's  flesh  as  any  in  Illyria. 

Mar.  Peace,  you  rogue,  no  more  o'that ;  here  comes 
my  lady  :  make  your  excuse  wisely,  you  were  best.  [Exit. 

Enter  Olivia,  and  Malvolio. 

Clo.  Wit,  and  't  be  thy  will,  put  me  into  good  fooling  ! 
Those  wits,  that  think  they  have  thee,  do  very  oft  prove 
fools ;  and  I,  that  am  sure  I  lack  thee,  may  pass  for  a  wise 
man :  For  what  says  Quinapalus  ?'  Better  a  witty  fool, 
than  a  foolish  wit. God  bless  thee,  lady  ! 

Oli.  Take  the  fool  away. 

Clo.  Do  you  not  hear,  fellows?  Take  away  the  lady. 

Oli.  Go  to,  you're  a  dry  fool ;  I'll  no  more  of  you  :  be- 
sides, you  grow  dishonest. 

Clo.  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  dishonest ;  if  he  cannot,  let  the  botcher 
mend  him :   Any  thing  that's  mended,  is  but  patched : 

I let  summer  bear  it  out.']  When  he  will  find  employment  in  every  field, 

and  lodging  under  every  hedge. — Steevens. 

a if  one  (point)  break,']  Points  were  metal  hooks,  fastened  to  the  hose 

or  breeches  (which  had  then  no  opening  or  buttons),  and  going  into  straps  or 
eyes  fixed  to  the  doublet,  and  thereby  keeping  the  hose  from  falling  down. — 
Blackstone. 

I) gaikins — ]  The  same  as  Gally-gaiking — or  Gallo-gascoLns.     A  kind  of 

trowsers  first  worn  by  the  Gallic-Gascons,  i.  e.  the  inhabitants  of  Gascony  : 
probably  the  sea-faring  people  in  the  ports  of  that  country. — Nares. 

c Quinapalus  ?]    An  imaginary  name  invented  to  sound  like  something 

learned. 


14  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

virtue,  that  transgresses,  is  but  patched  with  sin  ;  and  sni, 
that  amends,  is  but  patched  with  virtue  :  If  that  this  sim- 
ple 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. 

OH,  Sir,  I  bade  them  take  away  you. 

Clo.  Misprision  in  the  highest  degree  ! — Lady,  Cucullus 
?2on  facit  monachuni ;  that's  as  much  as  to  say,  I  wear  not 
motley  in  my  brain.  Good  madonna,  give  me  leave  to 
prove  you  a  fool. 

Oli.  Can  you  do  it? 

Clo.  Dexteriously,  good  madonna. 

Oli.  Make  your  proof. 

Clo.  I  must  catechise  you  for  it,  madonna;  Good  my 
mouse  of  virtue,  answer  me. 

Oli.  Well,  sir,  for  want  of  other  idleness,  I'll  bide  your 
proof. 

Clo.  Good  madonna,  why  mourn'st  thou  ? 

Oli.  Good  fool,  for  my  brother's  death. 

Clo.  I  think,  his  soul  is  in  hell,  madonna. 

Oli.  I  know  his  soul  is  in  heaven,  fool. 

Clo.  The  more  fool  you,  madonna,  to  mourn  for  your 
brother's  soul  being  in  heaven. — Take  away  the  fool,  gen- 
tlemen. 

Oli.  What  think  you  of  this  fool,  Malvolio  ?  doth  he 
not  mend  ? 

Mai.  Yes ;  and  shall  do,  till  the  pangs  of  death  shake 
him :  Infirmity,  that  decays  the  wise,  doth  ever  make  the 
better  fool. 

Clo.  God  send  you,  sir,  a  speedy  infirmity,  for  the  bet- 
ter 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. 

Oli.  How  say  you  to  that,  Malvolio  ? 

Mai.  1  marvel  your  ladyship  takes  delight  in  such  a 
barren  rascal  ;  I  saw  him  put  down  the  other  day  with  an 
ordinary  fool,  that  has  no  more  brain  than  a  stone.  Look 
you  now,  he's  out  of  his  guard  already  ;  unless  you  laugh 
and  minister  occasion  to  him,  he  is  gagged.     I  protest,  I 


ACT  I.— SCENE  V.  15 

take  these  Avise  men,  that  crow  so  at  these  set  kind  of 
fools,  no  better  than  the  fools'  zanies.*^ 

OH.  O,  you  are  sick  of  self-love,  Malvoho,  and  taste 
with  a  distempered  appetite.  To  be  generous,  guiltless, 
and  of  free  disposition,  is  to  take  those  things  for  bird- 
bolts,  that  you  deem  cannon-bullets  :  There  is  no  slander 
in  an  allowed  fool,  though  he  do  nothing  but  rail ;  nor  no 
railing  in  a  known  discreet  man,  though  he  do  nothing 
but  reprove. 

do.  Now  Mercury  endow  thee  with  leasing,*  for  thou 
speakest  well  of  fools  ! 

Re-enter  Maria. 

Mar.  Madam,  there  is  at  the  gate  a  young  gentleman, 
much  desires  to  speak  with  you. 

OH.  From  the  count  Orsino,  is  it  ? 

Mar.  I  know  not,  madam ;  'tis  a  fair  young  man,  and 
well  attended. 

OH.  Who  of  my  people  hold  him  in  delay? 

Mar.  Sir  Toby,  madam,  your  kinsman. 

OH.  Fetch  him  off,  I  pray  you ;  he  speaks  nothing  but 
madman:  Fye  on  him!  [Exit  MaRia.]  Go  you,  Malvolio: 
if  it  be  a  suit  from  the  count,  I  am  sick,  or  not  at  home ; 
what  you  will,  to  dismiss  it.  [Exit  Malvolio.]  Now 
you  see,  sir,  how  your  fooling  grows  old,  and  people  dis- 
like it. 

Ch.  Thou  hast  spoke  for  us,  madonna,  as  if  thy  eldest 
son  should  be  a  fool :  whose  skull  Jove  cram  with  brains, 
for  here  he  comes,  one  of  thy  kin,  has  a  most  weak  pia 
materJ 

Enter  Sir  Toby  Belch. 

OH.  By  mine  honour,  half  drunk. — What  is  he  at  the 
gate,  cousin? 

Sir  To.  A  gentleman. 

OH.  A  gentleman  ?  What  gentleman  ? 

d  no  better  than  the  fools'  zanies.]  i.  e.  Fools'  baubles,  which  had  upon 

the  top  of  them  the  head  of  a  fool. — Dquce. 

t  leasin<i,~\  Lying. 

f .  a  most  weak  pia  matcr.~\  The  pia  mater  is  the  membrane  that  immedi- 
ately covers  the  substance  of  the  brain. — Steevens. 


1^  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

Sir  To.  'Tis  a  gentleman  here — A  plague  o'these  pickle- 
herrings  ! — How  now,  sot  ? 

Clo.  Good  sir  Toby, 

0/i.  Cousin,  cousin,  how  have  you  come  so  eai'ly  by 
this  lethargy  ? 

Sir  To.  Lechery  !  I  defy  lechery  :  There's  one  at  the 
gate. 

Oli.  Ay,  marry ;  what  is  he  ? 

Si?'  To.  Let  him  be  the  devil,  an  he  will,  I  care  not : 
give  me  faith,  say  I.     Well,  it's  all  one.  [Exit. 

Oli.  What's  a  drunken  man  like,  fool  ? 

Clo.  Like  a  drown'd  man,  a  fool,  and  a  madman :  one 
draught  above  heat^  makes  him  a  fool ;  the  second  mads 
him;  and  the  third  drowns  him. 

OH.  Go  thou  and  seek  the  coroner,  and  let  him  sit  o' 
my  coz;  for  he's  in  the  third  degree  of  drink,  he's 
drown'd  :  go,  look  after  him. 

Clo.  He  is  but  mad  yet,  madonna ;  and  the  fool  shall 
look  to  the  madman.  [Exit  Clown. 

Re-enter  Ma lv olio. 

Mai.  Madam,  yond  young  fellow  swears  he  will  speak 
with  you.  I  told  him  you  were  sick  ;  he  takes  on  him  to 
understand  so  much,  and  therefore  comes  to  speak  with 
you :  I  told  him  you  were  asleep ;  he  seems  to  have  a 
foreknowledge  of  that  too,  and  therefore  comes  to  speak 
with  you.  What  is  to  be  said  to  him,  lady  ?  he's  fortified 
against  any  denial. 

Oli.  Tell  him,  he  shall  not  speak  with  me. 

Mai.  He  has  been  told  so;  and  he  says,  he'll  stand  at 
your  door  like  a  slieriff's  post,*"  and  be  the  supporter  of  a 
bench,  but  he'll  speak  with  you. 

Oli.  What  kind  of  man  is  he  ? 

Mai.  Why,  of  man  kind. 

Oli.  What  maimer  of  man  ? 

e above  heat — ]  i.  e.  Above  a  certain  lieat. 

'i stand  at  your  door  like  a  sheriff's  post,]    It  was  the  custom   for  that 

officer  to  have  large  posts  set  up  at  liis  door,  as  an  indication  of  his  office  ;  tlie 
original  of  ■which  was,  that  the  king's  proclamation,  and  other  public  acts 
might  be  affixed  thereon,  by  way  of  publication. — Steevkns. 


ACT  I— SCENE  V.  17 

Mai.  Of  very  ill  manner ;  he'll  speak  with  you,  will 
you,  or  no. 

Oli.  Of  what  personage,  and  years,  is  he? 

Mai.  Not  yet  old  enough  for  a  man,  nor  young  enough 
for  a  boy  ;  as  a  squash  is  before  'tis  a  peascod,  or  a  cod- 
ling when  'tis  almost  an  apple  :'  'tis  with  him  even  stand- 
ing water,  between  boy  and  man.  He  is  very  well-favoured, 
and  he  speaks  very  shrewishly  ;  one  would  think,  his  mo- 
ther's milk  were  scarce  out  of  him. 

OIL  Let  him  approach  :  call  in  my  gentlewoman. 

Mai.  Gentlewoman,  my  lady  calls.  [Exit. 

Re-enter  Maria. 

Oli.  Give  me  my  veil  :  come  throw  it  o'er  my  face ; 
We'll  once  u.ore  hear  Orsino's  embassy. 

Enter  Viola. 

Vio.  The  honourable  lady  of  the  house,  which  is  she  ? 

Oli.  Speak  to  me,  I  shall  answer  for  her  :  Your  will  ? 

Vio.  Most  radiant,  exquisite,  and  unmatchable  beauty, 
— I  pray  you,  tell  me,  if  this  be  the  lady  of  the  house,  for 
I  never  saw  her  :  I  would  be  loath  to  cast  away  my 
speech ;  for,  besides  that  it  is  excellently  well  penn'd,  I 
have  taken  great  pains  to  con  it.  Good  beauties,  let  me 
sustain  no  scorn  ;  I  am  very  comptible,''  even  to  the  least 
sinister  usage. 

Oli,  Whence  came  you,  sir  ? 

Vio.  I  can  say  little  more  than  I  have  studied,  and  that 
question's  out  of  my  part.  Good  gentle  one,  give  me 
modest  assurance,  if  you  be  the  lady  of  the  house,  that  I 
may  proceed  in  my  speech. 

Oli.  Are  you  a  comedian  ? 

Vio.  No,  my  profound  heart :  and  yet,  by  the  very  fangs 
of  malice,  I  swear  I  am  not  that  I  play.  Are  you  the  lady 
of  the  house  ? 

' a  squash — ]  An  unripe  pod  of  pease.    A  codling  "  is  the  diminutive  of 

cod,  and  means  aninvolucrum  or  shell,  and  was  used  by  oui  old  writers  for  that 
early  state  of  vegetation,  when  a  fruit  after  shaking  off  the  blossom,  begins  to 
assume  a  globular  and  determinate  form." — Gifford's  Ben  Jonson,  vol.  iv.  24. 

k I  am  very  comptible,]  Comptible  for  submissive. — Such  is  the  sense 

given  by  Todd  and  Steevens ;  but  the  meaning  here  intended  appears  to  be 
suscq)tible. 


18  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

Oli.  If  I  do  not  usurp  myself,  I  am. 

Vio.  Most  certain,  if  you  are  she,  you  do  usurp  your- 
self; for  what  is  yours  to  bestow,  is  not  yours  to  reserve. 
But  this  is  from  my  commission  :  I  will  on  with  my  speech 
in  your  praise,  and  then  shew  you  the  heart  of  my  mes- 
sage. 

OU.  Come  to  what  is  important  in't :  I  forgive  you  the 
praise. 

Vio.  Alas,  I  took  great  pains  to  study  it,  and  'tis 
poetical. 

on.  It  is  the  more  like  to  be  feigned ;  I  pray  you,  keep 
it  in.  I  heard,  you  were  saucy  at  my  gates  ;  and  allowed 
your  approach,  rather  to  wonder  at  you  than  to  hear  you. 
If  you  be  not  mad,  be  gone;  if  you  have  reason,  be  brief; 
'tis  not  that  time  of  moon  with  me,  to  make  one  in  so 
skipping  a  dialogue. 

Mar.  Will  you  hoist  sail,  sir  ?  here  lies  your  way. 

Vio.  No,  good  swabber  ;'  I  am  to  hull  here"'  a  little 
longer. — Some  mollification  for  your  giant,"^  sweet  lady. 

Oli.  Tell  me  your  mind. 

Vio.  I  am  a  messenger. 

Oli.  Sure,  you  have  some  hideous  matter  to  deliver, 
when  the  courtesy  of  it  is  so  fearful.     Speak  your  office. 

Vio.  It  alone  concerns  your  ear.  I  bring  no  overture 
of  war,  no  taxation  of  homage  ;  I  hold  the  olive  in  my  hand  : 
my  words  are  as  full  of  peace  as  matter. 

Oli.  Yet  you  began  rudely.  What  are  you?  what 
would  you? 

Vio.  The  rudeness  that  hath  appear'd  in  me,  have  I 
learn'd  from  my  entertainment.  What  I  am,  and  what  I 
would,  are  as  secret  as  maidenhead  :  to  your  ears,  divinity ; 
to  any  other's,  profanation. 

Oli.  Give  us  the  place  alone  :  we  will  hear  this  divinity. 
[Exit  Maria.]  Novv,  sir,  what  is  your  text? 

swahber ;]  Deck-sweeper. 

■n /  am  to  hull  here — ]  To  hull  means  to  drive  to  and  fro  upon  the  water, 

without  sails  or  rudder. — Stici;vins. 

»  Some  molliJiciUion  fur  your  giant,^  Ladies,  in  romance,  are  guarded  by 
giants,  who  repel  all  improper  or  troublesome  advances.  Viola  entreats  Olivia 
to  pacify  her  giant.— She  may  likewise  allude  to  the  diminutive  size  of  Maria, 
who  is  called  on  subsequent  occasions.  Utile  villain,  yaungeU  wren  of  nine,  6cc. — 
Johnson  and  Steevens. 


ACT  I —SCENE  V.  19 

Vio.  Most  sweet  lady, 

OH.  A  comfortable  doctrine,  and  much  may  be  said  of 
it.     Where  lies  your  text  ? 

Vio.  In  Orsino's  bosom. 

OH.  In  his  bosom  ?  In  what  chapter  of  his  bosom  ? 

Vio.  To  answer  by  the  method,  in  the  first  of  his  heart. 

OH.  O,  I  have  read  it ;  it  is  heresy.  Have  you  no  more 
to  say  ? 

Vio.  Good  madam,  let  me  see  your  face. 

OH.  Have  you  any  commission  from  your  lord  to  nego- 
ciate  with  my  face?  you  are  now  out  of  your  text :  but  we 
will  draw  the  curtain,  and  shew  you  the  picture.  Look 
you,  sir,  such  a  one  as  I  was  this  presents ;"  Is't  not  well 
done?  [UnveiHiig. 

Via.  Excellently  done,  if  God  did  all. 

OH.  'Tis  in  grain,  sir  ;  'twill  endure  wind  and  weather. 

Vio.  'Tis  beauty  truly  blent,''  whose  red  and  white 
Nature's  own  sweet  and  cunning  hand  laid  on  : 
Lady,  you  are  the  cruel'st  she  alive. 
If  you  will  lead  these  graces  to  the  grave. 
And  leave  the  world  no  copy. 

OH.  O,  sir,  I  will  not  be  so  hard-hearted ;  I  will  give 
out  divers  schedules  of  ray  beauty ;  It  shall  be  invento- 
ried ;  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  ? 

Vio.  I  see  what  you  are  :  you  are  too  proud  ; 
But,  if  you  were  the  devil,  you  are  fair. 
My  lord  and  master  loves  you ;  O,  such  love 
Could  be  but  recompens'd,  though  you  were  crown'd 
The  nonpareil  of  beauty  I 

OH.  How  does  he  love  me  ? 

Vio.  With  adorations,  with  fertile  tears. 
With  groans  that  thunder  love,  with  sighs  of  fire. 

OH.  Your  lord  does  know  my  mind,  I  cannot  love  him  : 
Yet  I  suppose  him  virtuous,  know  him  noble, 

» presents ;]  I  have  adopted  Mr.  M.  Mason's  emendation.      The  old 

reading;  Such  a  one  as  I  u-as  this  present,  is  nonsense. 
p  •- —  Went,]  i.  e.  Blended. 


20  TWELFTH-NIGHT 

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. 

Vio.  If  I  did  love  you  in  my  master's  flame. 
With  such  a  suffering,  such  a  deadly  life. 
In  your  denial  I  would  find  no  sense, 
I  would  not  understand  it. 

OH.  Why,  what  would  you  ? 

Vio.  Make  me  a  willow  cabin  at  your  gate. 
And  call  upon  my  soul  within  the  house  ; 
Write  loyal  cantons  of  contemned  love. 
And  sing  them  loud  even  in  the  dead  of  night; 
Holla  your  name  to  the  reverberate  hills. 
And  make  the  babbling  gossip  of  the  air 
Cry  out,  Olivia !  O  you  should  not  rest 
Between  the  elements  of  air  and  earth. 
But  you  should  pity  me. 

OH.  You  might  do  much  :  What  is  your  parentage  ? 

Vio.  Above  my  fortunes,  yet  my  state  is  well : 
I  am  a  gentleman. 

OH.  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 : 
I  thank  you  for  your  pains  :  spend  this  for  me. 

Vio.  I  am  no  fee'd  post,  lady  ;  keep  your  purse  ; 
My  master,  not  myself,  lacks  recompense. 
Love  make  his  heart  of  flint,  that  you  shall  love  ; 
And  let  your  fervour,  like  my  master's,  be 
Plac'd  in  contempt !  Farewell,  fair  cruelty.  [Exit. 

OH.  What  is  your  parentage  ? 
Above  rnij  fortunes,  yet  my  state  is  weU: 

1  am  a  gent/eman. I'll  be  sworn  thou  art; 

Thy  tongue,  thy  face,  thy  limbs,  actions,  and  spirit. 
Do  give  thee  five-fold  blazon  : — Not  too  fast : — soft !  soft ! 
Unless  the  master  were  the  man. — How  now? 
Even  so  quickly  may  one  catch  the  plague  ? 

'1  In  voices  well  diviilg'd,']  Well  spoken  of  by  the  world. — Maionf. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  I.  21 

Methinks,  I  feel  this  youth's  perfections. 
With  an  invisible  and  subtle  stealth. 
To  creep  in  at  mine  eyes.     Well,  let  it  be. — 
What,  ho,  Malvolio  !— 

Re-enter  Malvolio. 

Mai.  Here,  madam,  at  your  service. 

OIL  Run  after  that  same  peevish  messenger. 
The  county's  man  :'  he  left  this  ring  behind  him. 
Would  I,  or  not ;  tell  him,  I'll  none  of  it. 
Desire  him  not  to  flatter  with  his  lord. 
Nor  hold  him  up  with  hopes  ;  I  am  not  for  him  : 
If  that  the  youth  will  come  this  way  to-morrow, 
I'll  give  him  reasons  for't.     Hie  thee,  Malvolio. 

Mai.  Madam,  I  will.  [Exit. 

OH.  I  do  I  know  not  what :  and  fear  to  find 
Mine  eye*  too  great  a  flatterer  for  my  mind. 
Fate,  shew  thy  force  :   Ourselves  we  do  not  owe  ;' 
What  is  decreed,  must  be  ;  and  be  this  so  !  [Exit. 

ACT  II. 

Scene  I. — The  Sea-coast. 
Enter  Antonio  and  Sebastian. 

Ant.  Will  you  stay  no  longer  ?  nor  will  you  not,  that  I 
go  with  you  ? 

Seb:  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. 

Ant.  Let  me  yet  know  of  you,  whither  you  are  bound. 

Seb.  No,  'sooth,  sir ;  my  determinate  voyage  is  mere 
extravagancy.  But  I  perceive  in  you  so  excellent  a  touch 
of  modesty,  that  you  will  not  extort  from  me  what  I  am 

r  The  county's  7nan :]  County  for  count. 

«  Mine  eve  too  great  a  flatterer  for  my  tnint/.]  Her  mind,  here  used  for  heart, 
had  fixed  itself  on  Viola,  and  her  eye  flattered  her  mind  by  discovering  in  the 
object  of  afiFection  more  than  her  true  merits. 

t Ourselves  we  do  not  owe  ;]  We  are  not  our  own  masters.— Ou;e  for  oivn. 

•    VOL.   II.  D 


22  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

willing  to  keep  in  ;  therefore  it  charges  me  in  manners  the 
rather  to  express  myself.  You  must  know  of  me  then,  An- 
tonio, my  name  is  Sebastian,  which  I  called  Rodorigo ;  my 
father  was  that  Sebastian  of  Messaline,  whom  I  know,  you 
have  heard  of:  he  left  behind  him,  myself,  and  a  sister, 
both  born  in  an  hour.  If  the  heavens  had  been  pleased, 
'would  we  had  so  ended  !  but,  you,  sir,  altered  that ;  for, 
some  hour  before  you  took  me  from  the  breach  of  the  sea," 
was  my  sister  drowned. 

Ant.  Alas,  the  day ! 

•S'e^.  A  lady,  sir,  though  it  was  said  she  much  resembled 
me,  was  yet  of  many  accounted  beautiful :  but,  though  I 
could  not,  with  such  estimable  wonder,  over-far  believe 
that,  yet  thus  far  I  will  boldly  publish  her,  she  bore  a  mind 
that  envy  could  but  call  fair  :  she  is  drowned  already,  sir, 
with  salt  water,  though  I  seem  to  drown  her  remembrance 
again  with  more. 

Ant.  Pardon  me,  sir,  your  bad  entertainment. 

Seh.  O,  good  Antonio,  forgive  me  your  trouble. 

Ant.  If  you  will  not  murder  me  for  my  love,  let  me  be 
your  servant. 

Seb.  If  you  will  not  undo  what  you  have  done,  that  is, 
kill  him  whom  you  have  recovered,  desire  it  not.  Fare 
ye  well  at  once  :  my  bosom  is  full  of  kindness  ;  and  I  am 
yet  so  near  the  manners  of  my  mother,  that  upon  the  least 
occasion  more,  mine  eyes  will  tell  tales  of  me.  I  am  bound 
to  the  count  Orsino's  court :  farewell.  [Exit. 

Ant.  The  gentleness  of  all  the  gods  go  with  thee  ! 
I  have  many  enemies  in  Orsino's  court. 
Else  would  I  very  shortly  see  thee  there : 
But,  come  what  may,  I  do  adore  thee  so, 
That  danger  shall  seem  sport,  and  I  will  go.  [Exit. 

SCENE  11. 
A  Street. 
Enter  Viola  ;  Malvolio  following. 
Mai.  Were  not  you  even  now  with  the  countess  Olivia? 

"  the  breach  of  the  sea,']  i.  e.  What  we  now  call  the  breaking  of  the  sea. 

Stbevens. 

* eitimable  wonder ,]  i.  e.  Esteeming  wonder. — Johnson. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  IT.  23 

Vio.  Even  now,  sir  ;  on  a  moderate  pace  I  have  since 
arrived  but  hither. 

MaL  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  des- 
perate 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. 

Vio.  She  took  the  ring  of  me  t — I'll  none  of  it. 

Mai.  Come,  sir,  you  peevishly  threw  it  to  her  ;  and  her 
will  is,  it  should  be-  so  returned :  if  it  be  worth  stoop- 
ing for,  there  it  lies  in  your  eye  ;  if  not,  be  it  his  that 
finds  it.  [Exit. 

Vio.  I  left  no  ring  with  her :  What  means  this  lady  ? 
Fortune  forbid,  my  outside  have  not  charai'd  her  ! 
She  made  good  view  of  me  ;  indeed,  so  much. 
That,  sure,  methought,  her  eyes  had  lost  her  tongue, 
For  she  did  speak  in  starts  distractedly. 
She  loves  me,  sure ;  the  cunning  of  her  passion 
Invites  me  in  this  churlish  messenger. 
None  of  my  lord's  ring  !  why,  he  sent  her  none. — 
I  am  the  man  ; — If  it  be  so,  (as  'tis,) 
Poor  lady,  she  were  better  love  a  dream. 
Disguise,  I  see,  thou  art  a  wickedness. 
Wherein  the  pregnant ^  enemy  does  much. 
How  easy  is  it,  for  the  proper-false"" 
In  women's  waxen  hearts  to  set  their  forms  ! 
Alas,  our  frailty  is  the  cause,  not  we  ; 
For,  such  as  we  are  made  of,  such  we  be. 
How  will  this  fadge  V  My  master  loves  her  deariy ; 
And  I,  poor  monster,  fond  as  much  on  him  ; 
And  she,  mistaken,  seems  to  dote  on  me  : 
What  will  become  of  this  !    As  I  am  man. 
My  state  is  desperate  for  my  master's  love ; 
As  I  am  woman,  now  alas  the  day  ! 
What  thriftless  sighs  shall  poor  Olivia  breathe? 

y  yregnaut — ]  i.  e.  Crafty,  full  of  arts. 

I proper-false—]  i.  e.  Comely,  xvell-looking  false  persons.— Nare«. 

■» -fadge  ?]  Suit.— fit. 


24  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

O  time,  thou  must  entangle  this,  not  I ; 

It  is  too  hard  a  knot  for  me  to  untie.  [Exit. 


SCENE  III. 

A  Room  in  Olivia's  House. 
Enter  Sir  Toby  Belch  and  Sir  Andrew  Ague-cheek. 

Sir  To.  Approach,  sir  Andrew  :  not  to  be  a-bed  after 
midnight,  is  to  be  up  betimes  ;  and  dilucuio  surgere,^  thou 
know'st,— 

Sir  And.  Nay,  by  my  troth,  I  know  not :  but  I  know, 
to  be  up  late,  is  to  be  up  late. 

Sir  To.  A  false  conclusion  ;  I  hate  it  as  an  unfilled  can : 
To  be  up  after  midnight,  and  to  go  to  bed  then  is  early :  so 
that,  to  go  to  bed  after  midnight,  is  to  go  to  bed  betimes. 
Do  not  our  lives  consist  of  the  four  elements  ? 

Sir  And.  'Faith,  so  they  say  ;  but,  I  think,  it  rather  con- 
sists of  eating  and  drinking. 

Sir  To.  Thou  art  a  scholar;  let  us  therefore  eat  and 
drink. — Marian,  I  say  ! a  stoop''  of  wine. 

Enter  Clown. 

Sir  And.  Here  comes  the  fool,  i'faith. 

Clo.  How  now,  my  hearts  ?  Did  you  never  see  the  pic- 
ture of  we  three  ?"• 

Sir  To.  Welcome  ass.     Now  let's  have  a  catch. 

Sir  And.  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  fooling  last  night,  when  thou  spok- 
est  of  Pigrogromitus,  of  the  Vapians  passing  the  equinoc- 
tial of  Queubus ;  'twas  very  good,  i'faith.  I  sent  thee  six- 
pence for  thy  leman  S  Hadst  it  ? 

*• dilucuio  surgere,']  Saluberrimum  est :  an  adage  in  Lilly's  Grammar. — 

Ma  LONE. 

" » stoop  —  ]  A  stoop  seems  to  have  been  something  more  than  half  a 

gallon. 

"* the  picture  of  we  three?]  —  Alluding  to  the  common  print  of— we  three 

oggerheads  be. 

" breast.]  Was  formerly  used  for  voice. 

'  I  sent  thee  sixpence  for  thi/  leman;]  i.  v.  Mistress. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  III.  25 

do.  I  did  impeticos  thy  gratillity ;  for  Malvolio's  nose 
is  no  whipstock  :s  My  lady  has  a  white  hand,  and  the 
Myrmidons  are  no  bottle-ale  houses. 

Sir  And.  Excellent !  Why,  this  is  the  best  foohng,  when 
all  is  done.     Now%  a  song. 

Sir  To.  Come  on  ;  there  is  sixpence  for  you  :  let's  have 
a  song. 

Sir  And.  There's  a  testril  of  me,  too  :  if  one  knight 
give  a 

Clo.  Would  you  have  a  love-song,  or  a  song  of  good 
life? 

Sir  To.  A  love-song,  a  love-song. 

Sir  And.  Ay,  ay  ;  I  care  not  for  good  life. 

SONG. 

Clo.  O  mistress  mine,  where  are  you  roaming? 
O,  stay  and  hear ;  your  true  love's  coming, 

That  can  sing  both  high  and  low : 
Trip  no  further,  pretty  sweeting. 
Journeys  end  in  lovers'  meeting. 

Every  wise  man's  son  doth  know. 

Sir  And.  Excellent  good,  i'faith. 
Sir  To.  Good,  good. 

Clo.  What  is  love?  'tis  not  hereafter ; 
Present  mirth  hath  present  laughter ; 

What's  to  come,  is  still  unsure: 
In  delay  there  lies  no  plenty ; 
Then  come  kiss  me,  sxveet-and-twenty , 

Youth's  a  stuff  will  not  endure. 

Sir  And.  A  mellifluous  voice,  as  I  am  true  knight. 
Sir  To.  A  contagious  breath. 
Sir  And.  Very  sweet  and  contagious,  i'faith. 
Sir  To.  To  hear  by  the  nose,  it  is  dulcet  in  contagion. 
But  shall  we  make  the  welkin  dance**  indeed  ?    Shall  we 

?  I  did  impeticos  thy  gratillitv  ;for  Malvol'w's  nose  is  no  whipstock  ;]  This  non- 
sensical sentence  is  designedly  unintelligible  and  intended  to  ridicule  the  pre- 
vailing euphonism  of  the  day — impeticos  may  mean  to  impetticoat — gratillity 
may  mean  gratuity,  as  the  editors  suppose. 

ii make  the  ivelkin  dance — ]    That  is,  drink  till  the  sky  seems  to  turn 

round. — Johnson. 


26  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

rouse  tlie  night-owl  in  a  catch,  that  will  draw  three  souls 
out  of  one  weaver  V  shall  we  do  that  ? 

Sir  And.  An  you  love  me,  let's  do't :  1  am  dog  at  a 
catch. 

Clo.  By'r  lady,  sir,  and  some  dogs  will  catch  well. 

Sir  And.  Most  certain  :  let  our  catch  be.  Thou  knave. 

Clo.  Hold  th^ peace,  thou  knave,  knight  ?  1  shall  be  con- 
straint in't  to  call  thee  knave,  knight. 

Sir  And.  'Tis  not  the  first  time  I  have  constrained  one 
to  call  me  knave.     Begin  fool ;  it  begins.  Hold  thy  'peace. 

Clo.  I  shall  never  begin,  if  I  hold  my  peace. 

Sir  And.  Good,  i'faith  !  Come,  begin. 

[They  sing  a  catch. 
Enter  Maria. 

Mar.  What  a  catterwauling  do  you  keep  here  !  If  my 
lady  have  not  called  up  her  steward,  Malvolio,  and  bid 
him  turn  you  out  of  doors,  never  trust  me. 

Sir  To.  My  lady's  a  Catalan,  we  are  politicians ;  Mal- 
volio's  a  Peg-a-Ramsay,''  and  Three  merry  men  be  we.  Am 
not  I  consanguineous?  am  not  I  of  her  blood  ?  Tilly-val- 
ley, lady  '.'^  There  dwelt  a  man  in  Babylon,  lady,  lady ! 

\_Singitig. 

Clo.  Beshrew  me,  the  knight's  in  admirable  fooling. 

Sir  And.  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. 

Sir  To.  O,  the  twelfth  day  of  December, —         [Singing. 

Mar.  For  the  love  o'God,  peace. 

Enter  Malvolio. 
Mai.  My  masters  are  you  mad?  or  what  are  you?  Have 
you  no  wit,  manners,  nor  honesty,  but  to  gabble  like  tin- 
kers at  this  time  of  night  ?    Do  ye  make  an  alehouse  of 
my  lady's  house,  that  ye  squeak  out  your  coziers'"*  catches 

three  souls  mil  of  one  weaver?] — By  the  three  soulsis  meant  all  his  souls, 

luimely,  vegetative,  sensitive,  and  reasonable,  according  to  the  scholastic  phi- 
losophy.— A  lueaver  is  mentioned  as  one  particularly  fond  of  music,  their  trade 
being  sedentary  gave  them  an  opportunity  of  practising,  and  sometimes  in  parts, 
while  tliey  were  at  work. — Faumlh  and  Nares. 

■* Pef^-a- Ramsay,]  An  old  and  indecent  song.  —  Pkhcy. 

'  'I'illy- valley,  ladii !]  Ttlhi-ialU'ii  was  an  interjection  of  contemjit ;— from  lltivi 
iitinm.  I^at.  -  Sri  I  VI  N,'-. 

'" Cicicr — ]  A  tailor,  or  bolclier. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  III.  27 

without  any  mitigation  or  remorse  of  voice  ?    Is  there  no 
respect  of  place,  persons,  nor  time,  in  you  ? 

Sir  To.  We  did  keep  time,  sir,  in  our  catches.  Sneck 
up!" 

Mai.  Sir  Toby,  I  must  be  round  with  you.  My  lady 
bade  me  tell  you,  that,  though  she  harbours  you  as  her 
kinsman,  she's  nothing  allied  to  your  disorders.  If  you 
can  separate  yourself  and  your  misdemeanors,  you  are 
welcome  to  the  house ;  if  not,  an  it  would  please  you  to 
take  leave  of  her,  she  is  very  willing  to  bid  you  farewell. 

Sir  To.  Farewell,  dear  heart,  since  I  must  needs  be  gone. 

Mar.  Nay,  good  sir  Toby. 

Clo.  His  eyes  do  sheiv  his  days  are  almost  done. 

Mai.  Is't  even  so  ? 

Sir  To.  But  I  will  never  die. 

Clo.  Sir  Toby,  there  you  lie. 

Mai.  This  is  much  credit  to  you. 

Sir  To.  Shall  I  bid  him  ^o  ?  [•Sif^g^^^g- 

Clo.    What  an  ij  you  do  f 

Sir  To.  Shall  I  bid  him  go,  and  spare  not  ? 

Clo.  O  no,  no,  no,  no,  you  dare  not. 

Sir  To.  Out  o'time  ?  sir,  ye  lie. — Art  any  more  than  a 
steward?  Dost  thou  think,  because  thou  art  virtuous, 
there  shall  be  no  more  cakes  and  ale  ?" 

Clo.  Yes,  by  Saint  Anne  ;  and  ginger  shall  be  hot  i'the 
mouth  too. 

Sir  To.  Thou'rt  i'the  right. — Go,  sir,  rub  your  chain 
with  crums  :'' — A  stoop  of  wine,  Maria  ! 

Mai.  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. 

[Exit. 

"  Sneck  up.']  Mr.  IMalone  and  others  observe,  that  from  the  mauner  in  which 
this  cant  phrase  is  employed  in  our  ancient  comedies,  it  seems  to  have  been 
synonymous  to  the  modern  expression — Go  hang  yourself. — Steevens. 

o because  thou,  urt  virtuous,  there  shall  be  iio  more  cakes  and  ale?]   It  was 

the  custom  on  saints'  days  to  make  cakes  in  honour  of  the  day ;  the  Puritans 
called  this  superstition — a  little  farther  on  Maria  calls  Malvolio  a  Puritan. — 
Letherland. 

p rub  your  chain  with  crums:]    Stewards  anciently  wore  a  chain,  as  a 

mark  of  superiority  over  other  servants.  The  best  method  of  cleaning  any 
gilt  plate,  is  by  rubbing  it  u'ith  crums. — Steevens. 

n rule ;]  i.e.  Conduct. 


28  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

Mar.  Go  shake  your  ears. 

Sir  And.  'Twere  as  good  a  deed  as  to  drink  when  a 
man's  a  hungry,  to  challenge  him  to  the  field ;  and  then  to 
break  promise  with  him,  and  make  a  fool  of  him. 

Sir  To.  Do't  knight ;  I'll  write  thee  a  challenge  ;  or  I'll 
deliver  thy  indignation  to  him  by  word  of  mouth. 

Mar.  Sweet  sir  Toby,  be  patient  for  to-night ;  since 
the  youth  of  the  count's  was  to-day  with  my  lady,  she  is 
much  out  of  quiet.  For  monsieur  Malvolio,  let  me  alone 
with  him  :  if  I  do  not  gull  him  into  a  nayword/  and  make 
him  a  common  recreation,  do  not  think  I  have  wit  enough 
to  lie  straight  in  my  bed  :  I  know  I  can  do  it. 

Sir  To.  Possess  us,^  possess  us ;  tell  us  something  of 
him. 

Mar.  Marry,  sir,  sometimes  he  is  a  kind  of  Puritan. 

Sir  And.  O,  if  I  thought  that,  I'd  beat  him  like  a  dog. 

Sir  To.  What,  for  being  a  Puritan  ?  thy  exquisite  rea- 
son, dear  knight  ? 

Sir  And.  I  have  no  exquisite  reason  for't,  but  I  have 
reason  good  enough. 

Mar.  The  devil  a  Puritan  that  he  is,  or  any  thing  con- 
stantly but  a  time  pleaser ;  an  affection'd*  ass,  that  cons 
state  without  book,  and  utters  it  by  great  swarths  :"  the 
best  persuaded  of  himself,  so  crammed,  as  he  thinks,  with 
excellencies,  that  it  is  his  ground  of  faith,  that  all,  that 
look  on  him,  love  him ;  and  on  that  vice  in  him  will  my 
revenge  find  notable  cause  to  w^ork. 

Sir  To.  What  wilt  thou  do  ? 

Mar.  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  feel- 
ingly personated  :  I  can  write  very  like  my  lady,  your 
niece  ;  on  a  forgotten  matter  we  can  hardly  make  distinc- 
tion of  our  hands. 

Sir  To.  Excellent !  I  smell  a  device. 

■■ a  nayword,]  A  hyeword. 

'  Possess  »(s,]  Make  us  masters  of  the  matter. 

' affection'd — ]  Affected. 

" sirarths:']  A  suuirlh  is  as  much  grass  or  corn  as  a  mower  cuts  down 

at  one  stroke  of  his  scythe. — Stlevdns. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  IV.  29 

Sir  And.  I  have't  in  my  nose  too. 

Sir  To.  He  shall  think,  by  the  letters  that  thou  wilt 
drop,  that  they  come  from  my  niece,  and  that  she  is  in 
love  with  him. 

Mar.  My  purpose  is,  indeed,  a  horse  of  that  colour. 

Sir  To.  And  your  horse  now  would  make  him  an  ass." 

Mar.  Ass,  I  doubt  not. 

Sir  And.  O,  'twill  be  admirable. 

Mar.  Sport  royal,  I  warrant  you  :  I  know,  my  physic 
will  work  with  him.  I  will  plant  you  two,  and  let  the 
fool  make  a  third,  where  he  shall  find  the  letter  ;  observe 
his  construction  of  it.  For  this  night,  to  bed,  and  dream 
on  the  event.     Farewell.  [Exit. 

Sir  To.  Good  night,  Penthesilea.^ 

Sir  And.  Before  me,  she's  a  good  wench. 

Sir  To.  She's  a  beagle,  true  bred,  and  one  that  adores 
me  ;  What  o'that  ? 

Sir  And.  I  was  adored  once  too. 

Sir  To.  Let's  to  bed,  knight. — Thou  hadst  need  send 
for  more  money. 

Sir  And.  If  I  cannot  recover  your  niece,  I  am  a  foul 
way  out. 

Sir  To.  Send  for  money,  knight ;  if  thou  hast  her  not 
i'the  end,  call  me  Cut.^ 

Sir  And.  If  I  do  not,  never  trust  me,  take  it  how  you 
will. 

Sir  To.  Come,  come  ;  I'll  go  burn  some  sack,  'tis  too 
late  to  go  to  bed  now  :  come,  knight ;  come,  knight. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV. 

A  Room  in  the  Duke's  Palace. 

Enter  Duke,  Viola,  Curio,  and  others. 

Duke.  Give  me  some  music  : — Now,  good  morrow. 
Now,  good  Cesario,  but  that  piece  of  song,        [friends : — 

''  Tyr%vhitt  is  certainly  right  in  attributing  this  sentence  to  Sir  Toby — it 
shews  too  quick  an  apprehension  to  proceed  from  Sir  Andrew. 

y  — Penihesilea.^  i.  e.  Amazon. 

2 call  me  Cut.]  i.  e.  Call  me  a  gelding — this  was  a  common  expression 

of  reproach 


30  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

That  old  and  antique  song  we  heard  last  night ; 
Methought,  it  did  relieve  my  passion  much  ; 
More  than  light  airs  and  recollected''  terms. 
Of  these  most  brisk  and  giddy-paced  times  : — 
Come,  but  one  verse. 

Cur.  He  is  not  here,  so  please  your  lordship,  that 
should  sing  it. 

Duke.  Who  was  it'.' 

Cur.  Feste,  the  jester,  my  lord  ;  a  fool,  that  the  lady 
Olivia's  father  took  much  delight  in  :  he  is  about  the 
house. 

Duke.  Seek  him  out,  and  play  the  tune  the  while. 

[Exit  Curio. — Music. 
Come  hither,  boy  ;  If  ever  thou  shalt  love. 
In  the  sweetpangs  of  it,  remember  me : 
For,  such  as  I  am,  all  true  lovers  are  ; 
Unstaid  and  skittish  in  all  motions  else, 
Save,  in  the  constant  image  of  the  creature 
That  is  belov'd. — How  dost  thou  hke  this  tune  ? 

Vio.  It  gives  a  very  echo  to  the  seat 
Where  love  is  thron'd. 

Duke,  Thou  dost  speak  masterly  : 

My  life  upon't,  young  though  thou  art,  thine  eye 
Hath  stay'd  upon  some  favour''  that  it  loves  ; 
Hath  it  not,  boy  ? 

Vio.  A  little,  by  your  favour. 

Duke.  What  kind  of  woman  is't  ? 

Vio.  Of  your  complexion. 

Duke.  She  is  not  worth  thee  then.  What  years,  i'faith? 

Vio.  About  your  years,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Too  old,  by  heaven ;  let  still  the  woman  take 
An  elder  than  herself;  so  wears  she  to  him. 
So  sways  she  level  in  her  husband's  heart. 
For,  boy,  however  we  do  praise  ourselves. 
Our  fancies  are  more  giddy  and  unfirm. 
More  longing,  wavering,  sooner  lost  and  worn. 
Than  women's  are. 

ii recollected — ]  Oft  repeated,  alluding  to  (he  practice  of  composers, 

who  oft  prolong  their  songs  by  repetition.— Johnson. 
b favtiur — ]  i.  e.  Countenance. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  IV.  31 

Vio.  I  think  it  well,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Then  let  thy  love  be  younger  than  thyself. 
Or  thy  affection  cannot  hold  the  bent ; 
For  women  are  as  roses  ;  whose  fair  flower. 
Being  once  display 'd,  doth  fall  that  very  hour. 

Vio.  And  so  they  are  :  alas,  that  they  are  so  ; 
To  die,  even  when  they  to  perfection  grow  ! 

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.** 

Clo.  Are  you  ready,  sir? 

Duke.  Ay  ;  pr'ythee,  sing.  [A/msjc. 

SONG. 

Clo.  Come  away,  come  away,  death, 
And  in  sad  cypress^  let  me  he  laid  ; 

Fly  away, fly  away,  breath ; 
I  am  slain  hy  a  fair  cruel  maid. 
My  shroud  oj'ivhite,  stuck  all  loilkyew, 

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  he  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,  O,  where 
Sad  true  lover  never  find  my  grave. 
To  iceep  there. 
Duke.  There's  for  thy  pains. 

<■  free — ]  Merry,  gay. 

d Mu  s.io(/i,]  Plain  truth— dai/irs  taiih,  trifles  with— oW  age.  past  time. 

. fyprcss— ]  or  Cyprus,  a  kind  of  rrape  of  which  shrouds  were  made. 


32  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

Clo.  No  pains,  sir ;  I  take  pleasure  in  singing,  sir. 

Duke.  I'll  pay  thy  pleasure  then. 

Clo.  Truly,  sir,  and  pleasure  will  be  paid,  one  time  or 
another. 

Duke.  I  give  thee  now  leave  to  leave  me.^ 

Clo.  Now,  the  melancholy  god  protect  thee  ;  and  the 
tailor  make  thy  doublet  of  changeable  tafFata,  for  thy 
mind  is  a  very  opal ! — I  would  have  men  of  such  constancy 
put  to  sea,  that  th' ir  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  Cv RIO  aud  Attendants. 
Once  more,  Cesario, 
Get  thee  to  yon'  same  sovereign  cruelty  : 
Tell  her,  my  love,  more  noble  than  the  world. 
Prizes  not  quantity  of  dirty  lands  ; 
The  parts  that  fortune  hath  bestow'd  upon  her. 
Tell  her,  I  hold  as  giddily  as  fortune  ; 
But  'tis  that  miracle,  and  queen  of  gems. 
That  nature  pranks^  her  in,  attracts  my  soul. 

Vio.  But,  if  she  cannot  love  you,  sir? 

Duke.  I  cannot  be  so  answer'd. 

Vio.  Sooth,  but  you  must. 

Say,  that  some  lady,  as,  perhaps,  there  is. 
Hath  for  your  love  as  great  a  pang  of  heart 
As  you  have  for  Olivia  :  you  cannot  love  her  ; 
You  tell  her  so  ;  Must  she  not  then  be  answer'd  ? 

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, — 

f  I  give  thee  now  leave  to  leave  j?je.]  The  original  reading  is.  Give  me  nom  leave 
to  leave  thee ; — in  which  there  are  two  errors  of  the  press — the  omission  of 
the  preposition  I,  and  a  t'-ansposition  of  me  and  thee.  According  to  the  old 
reading,  the  Duke  asks  p(  -nission  of  tlie  Clown  to  depart,  instead  of  giving 
him  permission  to  go  ;  which  is  not  only  contrary  to  the  rank  and  situation  of 
the  characters,  but  to  the  circumstances  which  immediately  follow. 

S pranks  her  in,]  i.  e.  Dresses  her  in. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  V.  33 

That  suffer  surfeit,  cloyment,  and  revolt ; 
But  mine  is  all  as  hungiy  as  the  sea. 
And  can  digest  as  much  ;  make  no  compare 
Between  that  love  a  woman  can  bear  me. 
And  that  I  owe  Olivia. 

Vio.  Ay,  but  I  know, — 

Duke.  What  dost  thou  know  ? 
Vio.  Too  well  what  love  women  to  men  may  owe  : 
In  faith,  they  are  as  true  of  heart  as  we. 
My  father  had  a  daughter  lov'd  a  man, 
As  it  might  be,  perhaps,  were  I  a  woman, 
I  should  your  lordship. 

Duke.  And  what's  her  history  ? 

Vio.  A  blank,  my  lord  :  She  never  told  her  love. 
But  let  concealment,  like  a  worm  i'the  bud. 
Feed  on  her  damask  cheek  :  she  pin'd  in  thought; 
And,  with  a  green  and  yellow  melancholy. 
She  sat  like  patience  on  a  monument, 
Smiling  at  grief.     Was  not  this  love,  indeed  ? 
We  men  may  say  more,  swear  more  :  but,  indeed. 
Our  shows  are  more  than  will ;  for  still  we  prove 
Much  in  our  vows,  but  little  in  our  love. 

Duke.  But  died  thy  sister  of  her  love,  my  boy? 

Vio.  I  am  all  the  daughters  of  my  father's  house. 
And  all  the  brothers  too  ; — and  yet  I  know  not : — 
Sir,  shall  I  to  this  lady  ? 

Duke.  Ay,  that's  the  theme. 

To  her  in  haste  ;  give  her  this  jewel ;  say. 
My  love  can  give  no  place,  bide  no  denay.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  V. 

^  Olivia's  Garden. 

Enter  Sir  Toby  Belch,  Sir  Andrew  Ague-cheek, 
and  Fabian. 

Sir  To.  Come  thy  ways,  signior  Fabian. 
Fab.  Nay,  I'll  come ;  if  I  lose  a  scruple  of  this  sport, 
let  me  be  boiled  to  death  with  melancholy. 


34  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

Sir  To.  Would'st  thou  not  be  glad  to  have  the  niggardly- 
rascally  sheep-biter  come  by  some  notable  shame  ? 

Fab.  I  would  exult,  man  :  you  know,  he  brought  me  out 
of  favour  with  my  lady,  about  a  bear-baiting  here. 

Sir  To.  To  anger  him,  we'll  have  the  bear  again  ;  and 
we  will  fool  him  black  and  blue  : — Shall  we  not,  sir  An- 
drew? 

Sir  And.  An  we  do  not,  it  is  pity  of  our  lives. 

Enter  Maria. 

Sir  To.  Here  comes  the  little  villain : — How  now,  my 
metal  of  India  ?'" 

Mar.  Get  ye  all  three  into  the  box-tree  :  Malvolio'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,  I  know,  this 
letter  will  make  a  contemplative  idiot  of  him.  Close,  in 
the  name  of  jesting  !  [The  men  hide  themselves.']  Lie  thou 
there  ;  [throws  down  a  letter.]  for  here  comes  the  trout  that 
must  be  caught  with  tickling.  [Exit  Maria. 

Enter  Malvolio. 

Mai.  'Tis  but  fortune  ;  all  is  fortune.  Maria  once  told 
me,  she  did  affect  me  :  and  I  have  heard  herself  come 
thus  near,  that,  should  she  fancy,  it  should  be  one  of  my 
complexion.  Besides,  she  uses  me  with  a  more  exalted 
respect,  than  any  one  else  that  follows  her.  What  should 
I  think  on't  ? 

Sir  To.  Here's  an  over-weening  rogue  ! 

Fab.  O,  peace!  Contemplation  makes  a  rare  turkey-cock 
of  him ;  how  he  jets'  under  his  advanced  plumes  ! 

Sir  And.  'Slight,  I  could  so  beat  the  rogue : — 

Sir  To.  Peace,  I  say. 

Mai.  To  be  count  MalvoHo. 

Sir  To.  Ah,  rogue  ! 

Sir  And.  Pistol  him,  pistol  him. 

Sir  To.  Peace,  peace  ! 

'' metal  of  India?]   My  precious  girl — my  tjirl  of  gold.     Sti'svens, 

• Jets — ]  Struts. 


ACT  I r.— SCENE  V.  35 

Mai.  There  is  example  for't ;  the  lady  of  the  Strachy'' 
married  the  yeoman  of  the  wardrobe. 

Sir  And.  Fie  on  him,  Jezebel ! 

Fab.  O,  peace  !  now  he's  deeply  in  ;  look,  how  imagi- 
nation blows  him. 

Mai.  Having  been  three  months  married  to  her,  sitting 
in  my  state,* — 

Sir  To.  O,  for  a  stone-bow,  to  hit  him  in  the  eye  ! 

Mai.  Calling  my  officers  about  me,  in  my  branched 
velvet  gown  ;  having  come  from  a  day-bed,  where  I  left 
Olivia  sleeping. 

Sir  To.  Fire  and  brimstone  ! 

Fab.  O,  peace,  peace. 

Mai.  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  ! 

Sir  To.  Bolts  and  shackles  ! 

Fab.  O,  peace,  peace,  peace  !  now,  now. 

Mai.  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  some  rich  jewel.  Toby  approaches  ; 
court'sies  there  to  me  : 

Sir  To.  Shall  this  fellow  live  ? 

Fab.  Though  our  silence  be  drawn  from  us  with  cars, 
yet  peace. 

Mai.  I  extend  my  hand  to  him  thus,  quenching  my  fa- 
miliar smile  with  an  austere  regard  of  control : 

Sir  To.  And  does  not  Toby  take  you  a  blow  o'the  lips 
then? 

Mai.  Saying,  Cousin  Toby,  my  fortunes  having  cast  me 
on  your  niece,  give  me  this  prerogative  of  speech : — 

Sir  To.  What,  what? 

Mai.  You  must  amend  your  drunkenness. 

Sir  To.  Out,  scab  ! 

•^ Strachy — ]  Of  this  word  no  probable  guess  has  been  made,  except 

that  of  Mr.  R.  P.  Knight,  who  has  conjectured  it  to  be  a  corruption  of  Stratico, 
which  is  given  by  Menage  as  the  regular  title  of  the  Governor  of  Messina. — If 
Mr.  Knight  is  right,  which  is  most  probable, — the  lady  of  the  Strachy  means 
the  governor's  lady. — Nares's  Glossary. 

' my  state, — ]  i.  e.  My  throne. 


36  "TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

Fah.  Nay,  patience,  or  we  break  the  sinews  of  our  plot. 

Mai.  Besides,  you  waste  the  treasure  of  your  time  with  a 
foolish  knight ; 

Sir  And.  That's  me,  I  warrant  you. 

Mai.  One  Sir  Andreiv: 

Sir  And.  I  knew,  'twas  I ;  for  many  do  call  me  fool. 

Mai.  What  employment  have  we  here  ? 

[Taking  up  the  letter. 

Fab.  Now  is  the  woodcock  near  the  gin. 

Sir  To.  O,  peace !  and  the  spirit  of  humours  intimate 
reading  aloud  to  him  ! 

Mai.  ■  By  my  life,  this  is  my  lady's  hand  :  these  be  her 
very  C's,  her  t/'s,  and  her  T's  ;  and  thus  makes  she  her 
great  P's.     It  is,  in  contempt  of  question,  her  hand. 

Sir  And.  Her  C's,  her  t/'s,  and  her  T's  :  Why  that? 

Mai.  [refl^s]  To  the  unknown  beloved,  this,  and  my  good 
wishes:  her  very  phrases  ! — By  your  leave,  wax. — Soft! — 
and  the  impressure  her  Lucrece,  with  which  she  uses  to 
seal :  'tis  my  lady  :  To  whom  should  this  be  ? 

Fab.  This  wins  him,  liver  and  all. 

Mai.  [I'tads^  Jove  knows,  I  love: 
But  who  ? 
Lips  do  not  move, 
No  man  must  know. 
No  man  must  know. — What  follows  ?  the  numbers  altered  ! 
— No  man  must  knoio : — If  this  should  be  thee,  Malvolio  ? 

*S7;-  To.  Marry,  hang  thee,  brock  1™ 

Mai.  /  may  command,  where  I  adore : 

But  silence,  like  a  T,ucrece  knife, 
With  bloodless  stroke  my  heart  doth  gore ; 
M,  O,  A,  I,  doth  sway  my  life. 

Fab.  A  fustian  riddle  I 

Sir  To.  Excellent  wench,  say  I. 

Mai.  M,  O;  A,  I,  doth  sway  my  life. — Nay,  but  first,  let 
me  see, — let  me  see, — let  me  see. 

Fab.  What  a  dish  of  poison  has  she  dressed  him  ! 

Sir  To.  And  with  what  wing  the  stannyel  checks"  at  it ! 

n> hrock!'\  i.  e.  Badger ;  a  term  of  contempt. 

" stannyel  — ]  The  stannyel  is  the  common  stone-hawk,  which  inhabits 

old  buildings  and  rocks. — Steevens. — Checks — tocheck,  in  falconry,  is  to  forsake 
the  natural  flight,  and  follow  rooks,  &c.  when  they  come  in  view. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  V.  37 

Mai.  /  may  command  tvhere  I  adore.  Why,  she  may 
command  me ;  I  serve  her,  she  is  my  lady.  Why,  this  is 
evident  to  any  formal  capacity.**  There  is  no  obstruction 
in  this ; — And  the  end, — What  should  that  alphabetical 
position  portend  ?  if  I  could  make  that  resemble  some- 
thing in  me,— Softly  !— M,  O,  A,  I.— 

Sir  To.  O,  ay  !  make  up  that: — he  is  now  at  a  cold 
scent. 

Fab.  SowterVwill  cry  upon't,  for  all  this,  though  it  be 
as  rank  as  a  fox. 

Mai.  M, — Malvolio; — M, — why,  that  begins  my  name. 

Fab.  Did  not  I  say,  he  would  work  it  out  ?  the  cur  is 
excellent  at  faults. 

Mai.  M,  —  But  then  there  is  no  consonancy  in  the  se- 
quel ;  that  suffers  under  probation  :  A  should  follow,  but 
O  does. 

Fab.  And  O  shall  end,  I  hope. 

Sir  To.  Ay,  or  I'll  cudgel  him,  and  make  him  cry,  O. 

Mai.  And  then  /  comes  behind. 

Fab.  Ay,  an  you  had  any  eye  behind  you,  you  might 
see  more  detraction  at  your  heels,  than  fortunes  before 
you. 

Mai.  M,  O,  A,  I:  —  This  simulation  is  not  as  the  for- 
mer :  —  and  yet,  to  crush  this  a  little,  it  would  bow  to  me, 
for  every  one  of  these  letters  are  in  my  name.  Soft ;  here 
follows  prose.  —  If  this  fall  into  thy  hand,  revolve.  In 
my  stars  I  am  above  thee ;  but  be  not  afraid  of  greatness : 
Some  are  born  great,  some  achieve  greatness,  and  some  have 
greatness  thrust  upon  them.  Thy  fates  open  their  hands;  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.  Re- 
member who  commended  thy  yellow  stockings;  and  wished  to 
see  thee  ever  cross-gartered :  I  say ,  remember .     Goto;  thou 

h formal  capacity. 1  i.  e.  Any  one  in  his  senses,  whose  capacity  is  not 

disarranged  or  out  of  form. — Steevens. 

'Sowter — ]  Sowter  is  here  the  name  of  abound. — Sir  Thomas  Hanmer  reads 
very  judiciously — though  it  he  not  as  rank  as  a  for. 

VOL.  II.  E 


38  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

art  made,  if  thou  clesirest  to  be  so ;  if  not,  let  me  see  thee  a 
steward  still,  the  felloiv  of  servants,  and  not  worthy  to  touch 
fortune's  Jingers.  Farewell.  She  that  would  alter  services 
with  thee, 

Thefortunate-unhappy. 
Daylight  and  champian'  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- 
de-vice,''  the  very  man.  I  do  not  now  fool  myself,  to  let 
imagination  jade  me  ;  for  every  reason  excites  to  this,  that 
my  lady  loves  me.  She  did  commend  my  yellow  stockings 
of  late,  she  did  praise  my  leg  being  cross-gartered  ;  and 
in  this  she  manifests  herself  to  my  love,  and  with  a  kind 
of  injunction,  drives  me  to  these  habits  of  her  liking.  I 
thank  my  stars,  I  am  happy.  I  will  be  strange,  stout,  in 
yellow  stockings,  and  cross-gartered,  even  with  the  swift- 
ness of  putting  on.  Jove  and  my  stars  be  praised  ! —  Here 
is  yet  a  postscript.  Thou  canst  not  choose  but  know  luho  1 
am.  If  thou  enfertainest  my  love,  let  it  appear  in  thy  smil- 
ing;  thy  smiles  become  thee  well;  therefore  in  my  presence 
still  smile,  dear  mi/  sweet,  I prythee.  Jove,  I  thank  thee.  — 
I  will  smile ;  I  will  do  every  thing  that  thou  wilt  have 
me.  [Exit. 

Fab.  I  will  not  give  my  part  of  this  sport  for  a  pension 
of  thousands  to  be  paid  from  the  Sophy.' 

Sir  To.  I  could  marry  this  wench  for  this  device : 

Sir  And.  So  could  I  too. 

Sir  To.  And  ask  no  other  dowry  with  her,  but  such  an- 
other jest. 

Enter  Maria. 

Sir  And.  Nor  I  neither. 
Fab.  Here  comes  my  noble  gull-catcher. 
Sir  To.  Wilt  thou  set  thy  foot  o'  my  neck? 
Sir  And.  Or  o'  mine  either  ? 

'  Daylight  and  champian — ]  i.  e.  Broad  day  and  an  open  country. 

k poijit-de-vice,]  i.  e.  Exactly,  in  every  particular,  from  the  P'rench  apoitits 

devisez. 

1 a  pension  of  thousands  to  be  paid  from  the  Sophy. "]  Alluding,  as  Dr.  Far- 
mer observes,  to  Sir  Roherl  Shirley,  who  was  just  returned  in  the  character  of 
embassador  from  the  Sophy.  He  boasted  of  the  great  rewards  he  had  received, 
and  lived  in  London  with  the  utmost  splendour. — Steevens. 


ACT  III.— SCENE  I.  39 

Sir  To.  Shall  I  play  my  freedom  at  tray-trip?""  and  be- 
come thy  bond-slave  ? 

Sir  And.  I'faith,  or  I  either. 

Sir  To.  Why,  thou  hast  put  him  in  such  a  dream,  that, 
when  the  imao;e  of  it  leaves  him,  he  must  run  mad. 

Mar.  Nay,  but  say  true;  does  it  work  upon  him? 

Sir  To.  Like  aqua-vitse  with  a  midwife. 

Mar.  If  you  will  then  see  the  fruits  of  the  sport,  mark 
his  first  approach  before  my  lady :  he  will  come  to  her  in 
yellow  stockings,  and  'tis  a  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 
but  turn  him  into  a  notable  contempt :  if  you  will  see  it, 
follow  me. 

Sir  To.  To  the  gates  of  Tartar,  thou  most  excellent  devil 
of  wit ! 

Sir  And.  I'll  make  one  too.  [Exeunt. 

ACT  III. 

Scene  I. — Olivia's  Garden. 
Enter  Viola,  and  Clown  with  a  Tabor. 

Vio.  Save  thee,  friend,  and  thy  music  :  Dost  thou  live 
by  thy  tabor? 

Clo.  No,  sir,  I  live  by  the  church. 

rio.  Art  thou  a  churchman  ? 

Clo.  No  such  matter,  sir ;  I  do  live  by  the  church  :  for 
I  do  live  at  my  house,  and  my  house  doth  stand  by  the 
church. 

Vio.  So  thou  may'st  say  the  king  lies  by  a  beggar,  if  a 
beggar  dwell  near  him  :  or,  the  church  stands  by  thy  ta- 
bor, if  thy  tabor  stand  by  the  church. 

Clo.  You  have  said,  sir.  —  To  see  this  age! — A  sen- 
tence is  but  a  cheveril  glove"  to  a  good  wit ;  How  quickly 
the  wrong  side  may  be  turned  outward  ! 

m tray-trip  ?]  An  old  game,  played  with  dice — of  which  nothing  more  it 

known  with  certainty. 

II a  cheveril  ginve — ]  A  glove  of  kid  leather. 

E    2 


40  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

Vio.  Nay,  that's  certain;  they,  that  dally  nicely  with 
words,  may  quickly  make  them  wanton. 

Clo.  I  would  therefore,  my  sister  had  had  no  name,  sir. 

Fio.  Why,  man  ? 

Clo.  Why,  sir,  her  name's  a  word  ;  and  to  dally  with 
that  word,  might  make  my  sister  wanton  :  But,  indeed, 
words  are  very  rascals,  since  bonds  disgraced  them. 

Vio.  Thy  reason,  man? 

Clo.  Troth,  sir,  I  can  yield  you  none  without  words ; 
and  words  are  grown  so  false,  I  am  loath  to  prove  reason 
with  them. 

Vio.  I  warrant,  thou  art  a  merry  fellow,  and  carest  for 
nothing. 

Clo.  Not  so,  sir,  I  do  care  for  something :  but  in  my 
conscience,  sir,  I  do  not  care  for  you;  if  that  be  to  care 
for  nothing,  sir,  I  would  it  would  make  you  invisible. 

Vio.  Art  not  thou  the  lady  Olivia's  fool  ? 

Clo.  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. 

Vio.  I  saw  thee  late  at  the  count  Orsino's. 

Clo.  Foolery,  sir,  does  walk  about  the  orb,  like  the  sun ; 
it  shines  every  where.  I  would  be  sorry,  sir,  but  the  fool 
should  be  as  oft  with  your  master,  as  with  my  mistress  : 
I  think,  I  saw  your  wisdom  there. 

Vio.  Nay,  an  thou  pass  upon  me,  I'll  no  more  with  thee. 
Hold,  there's  expences  for  thee. 

Clo.  Now  Jove, in  his  next  commodity  of  hair,  send  thee 
a  beard  I 

Vio.  By  my  troth,  I'll  tell  thee ;  I  am  almost  sick  for 
one ;  though  I  would  not  have  it  grow  on  my  chin.  Is  thy 
lady  within  ? 

Clo.  Would  not  a  pair  of  these  have  bred,  sir? 

Vio.  Yes,  being  kept  together,  and  put  to  use. 

Clo.  I  would  play  lord  Pandarus  of  Phrygia,  sir,  to 
bring  a  Cressida  to  this  Troilus. 

Vio.  I  understand  you,  sir ;  'tis  well  begged. 

Clo.  The  matter,  I  hope,  is  not  great,  sir,  begging  but  a 


ACT  III.— SCENE  I.  41 

beggar;  Cressida  was  a  beggar."     My  lady  is  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-worn.  [^Exit. 

.     Vio.  Thris  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  ; 

Nor  like  the  haggard  .i"  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,  folly-fallen,  quite  taint  their  wit. 

Enter  SuToby  Belch,  arid  5er  Andrew  Ague-cheek. 

Sir  To.  Save  you,  gentleman. 

Vio.  And  you,  sir. 

Sir  And.  Dieu  vous  mrde,  monsieur. 

Vio.  Et  vous  aussi ;  votre  serviteur. 

Sir  And.  I  hope,  sir,  you  are  ;  and  I  am  yours. 

Sir  To.  Will  you  encounter  the  house  ?  my  niece  is 
desirous  you  should  enter,  if  your  trade  be  to  her. 

Vio.  I  am  bound  to  your  niece,  sir  :  1  mean,  she  is  the 
lisf  of  my  voyage. 

Sir  To.  Taste  your  legs,  sir,  put  them  to  motion. 

Vio.  My  legs  do  better  understand  me,  sir,  than  I  un- 
derstand what  you  mean  by  bidding  me  taste  my  legs. 

Sir  To.  I  mean  to  go,  sir,  to  enter. 

Vio.  1  will  answer  you  with  gait  and  entrance :  But  we 
are  prevented. 

Enter  Olivia  and  Maria. 

Most    excellent    accomplished  lady,  the    heavens    rain 
odours  on  you  ! 

" Cressida  was  a  beggar.'^  — "  Great  penurye, 

"  Thou  suffer  shalt,  and  as  a  beggar  dye." — 

Chaucer's  Testament  of  Creseyde. 

P the  haggard,']  The  hawk  called  the  haggard,  if  not  well  trained  and 

watched,  will  fly  after  every  bird  without    distinction. — Steevens.  I  have 
adopted  Dr.  Johnson's  emendation  in  reading — Nor  like  the  haggard,  which  is 
sense,  instead  of — And  like  the  haggard,  which  is  not. 
'I list — ]  i,  e.  Limit. 


42  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

Sir  And.  That  youth's  a  rare  courtier  !  Rain  odours!  well. 

Vio.  My  matter  hath  no  voice,  lady,  but  to  your  own 
most  pregnant  and  vouchsafed  ear.r 

Sir  And.  Odours,  pregnant,  and  vouchsafed: — I'll  get 
'em  ;  all  three  alljeady. 

OH,  Let  the  garden  door  be  shut,  and  leave  me  to  my 
hearing.  [Exeunt  Sir  Toby,  Sir  Andrew,  a7id  Maria. 
Give  me  your  hand,  sir. 

Vio.  My  duty,  madam,  and  most  humble  service. 

OH,  What  is  your  name  ? 

Vio,  Cesario  is  your  servant's  name,  fair  princess. 

OH.  My  servant,  sir  !   'Twas  never  merry  world. 
Since  lowly  feigning  was  call'd  compliment : 
You  are  servant  to  the  count  Orsino,  youth. 

Vio.  And  he  is  yours,  and  his  must  needs  be  yours ; 
Your  servant's  servant  is  your  servant,  madam. 

OH,  For  him,  I  think  not  on  him  :  for  his  thoughts, 
'Would  they  were  blanks,  rather  than  fiU'd  with  me ! 

Vio.  Madam,  I  come  to  whet  your  gentle  thoughts 
On  his  behalf : — 

OH.  O,  by  your  leave,  I  pray  you. 

I  bade  you  never  speak  again  of  him  : 
But,  would  you  undertake  another  suit, 
I  had  rather  hear  you  to  solicit  that. 
Than  music  from  the  spheres. 

Vio.  Dear  lady, 

OH.  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  the.  unmuzzled  thoughts  [big* 

That  tyrannous  heart  can  think  ?  To  one  of  your  receiv- 

■■ most  pregnant  and  vouchsafed  ear.'\  Pregnant  for  ready ;  vouchsafed 

for  vouchsafing. 

' To  one  of  your  receiving — ]  i.  e.  To  one  of  your  ready  uppreltension. — 

Wahbuhton. 


ACT  III.— SCENE  I.  43 

Enough  is  shown  ;  a  Cyprus,'  not  a  bosom. 
Hides  my  poor  heart :  so  let  me  hear  you  speak. 

Vio.  I  pity  you. 

Oli.  That's  a  degree  to  love. 

Vio.  No,  not  a  grise  ;"  for  'tis  a  vulgar^  proof, 
That  very  oft  we  pity  enemies. 

Oli.  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 

To  fall  before  the  lion,  than  the  wolf?  [Clock  strikes. 

The  clock  upbraids  me  with  the  waste  of  time. — 
Be  not  afraid,  good  youth,  I  will  not  have  you  : 
And  yet,  when  wit  and  youth  is  come  to  harvest. 
Your  wife  is  like  to  reap  a  proper  man : 
There  lies  your  way,  due  west. 

Vio.  Then  westward-hoe  : 

Grace,  and  good  disposition  'tend  your  ladyship  ! — 
You'll  nothing,  madam,  to  my  lord  by  me  ? 

Oli.  Stay : 

1  pr'ythee,  tell  me,  what  thou  think'st  of  me, 

Vio.  That  you  do  think,  you  are  not  what  you  are. 

Oli.  If  I  think  so,  I  think  the  same  of  you. 

Vio.  Then  think  you  right ;  I  am  not  what  I  am. 

Oli.  I  would  you  were  as  I  would  have  you  be  ! 

Vio.  Would  it  be  better,  madam,  than  I  am, 
I  wish  it  might;  for  now  I  am  your  fool. 

Oli.  O,  what  a  deal  of  scorn  looks  beautiful 
In  the  contempt  and  anger  of  his  lip  ! 
A  murd'rous  guilt  shows  not  itself  more  soon 
Than  love  that  would  seem  hid  :  love's  night  is  noon. 
Cesario,  by  the  roses  of  the  spring, 
By  maidhood,  honour,  truth,  and  every  thing, 
I  love  thee  so,  that  maugre"^  all  thy  pride, 
Nor  wit,  nor  reason,  can  my  passion  hide. 
Do  not  extort  thy  reasons  from  this  clause. 
For,  that  I  woo,  thou  therefore  hast  no  cause  : 

t a  Cyprus,']  A  thin  transparent  crape  ;  so  called  from  being  originally 

manufactured  in  the  island  of  Cyprus. — Wh  alley. 

" a  grise  f]  Is  a  step,  sometimes  written  greese,  from  degres,  French.— 

Johnson. 

V vulgar — ]  Familiar.  "' maugre — ]  In  spite  of. 


44  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

But  rather,  reason  thus  with  reason  fetter : 

Love  sought  is  good,  but  given  unsought,  is  better. 

Vio.  By  innocence  I  swear,  and  by  my  youth, 
I  have  one  heart,  one  bosom,  and  one  truth. 
And  that  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. 

Oli.  Yet  come  again  :  for  thou,  perhaps,  may'st  move 
That  heart,  which  now  abhors,  to  like  his  love.     [Exeunt. 

SCENE  n. 

A  Room  in  Olivia's  House. 

Enter  Sir  Toby  Belch,  Sir  Andrew  Ague-cheek, 
awe?  Fabian. 

Sir  And.  No,  faith,  I'll  not  stay  a  jot  longer. 

Sir  To.  Thy  reason,  dear  venom,  give  thy  reason. 

Fab.  You  must  needs  yield  your  reason,  sir  Andrew. 

Sir  And.  Marry,  I  saw  your  niece  do  more  favours  to 
the  count's  serving  man,  than  ever  she  bestow'd  upon  me ; 
I  saw't  i'the  orchard. 

Sir  To.  Did  she  see  thee  the  while,  old  boy  ?  tell  me 
that  ? 

Sir  And.  As  plain  as  I  see  you  now. 

Fab.  This  was  a  great  argument  of  love  in  her  toward 
you. 

Sir  And.  'Slight!  will  you  make  an  ass  o'  me? 

Fab.  I  will  prove  it  legitimate,  sir,  upon  the  oaths  of 
judgment  and  reason. 

Sir  To.  And  they  have  been  grand  jury-men,  since  be- 
fore Noah  was  a  sailor. 

Fab.  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  ex- 
cellent 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  ;   tiie  double  gilt  of 


ACT  III.— SCENE  II.  45 

this  opportunity  you  let  time  wash  off,  and  you  are  now 
sailed  into  the  north  of  my  lady's  opinion  ;  where  you»will 
hang  like  an  icicle  on  a' Dutchman's  beard,  unless  you  do 
redeem  it  by  some  laudable  attempt,  either  of  valour,  or 
policy. 

Sir  And.  And't  be  any  way,  it  must  be  with  valour  ;  for 
policy  I  hate ;  I  had  as  lief  be  a  Brownist,"  as  a  politician. 

Sir  To.  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  thyself,  there  is  no  love-broker  in  the 
world  can  more  prevail  in  man's  commendation  with  wo- 
man, than  report  of  valour. 

Fah.  There  is  no  way  but  this,  sir  Andrew. 

Sir  And.   Will  either  of  you  bear  me  a  challenge  to  him? 

Sir  To.  Go,  write  it  in  a  martial  hand;  be  curst"  and 
brief ;  it  is  no  matter  how  witty,  so  it  be  eloquent  and  full 
of  invention ;  taunt  him  with  the  licence  of  ink :  if  thou 
thoiCst  him  some  thrice,  it  shall  not  be  amiss  ;  and  as  many 
lies  as  will  lie  in  thy  sheet  of  paper,  although  the  sheet 
were  biff  enouoh  for  the  bed  of  Ware^  in  England,  set  'em 
down ;  go  about  it.  Let  there  be  gall  enough  in  thy  ink ; 
though  thou  write  with  a  goose-pen,  no  matter  :  About  it : 

Sir  And.  Where  shall  I  find  you  ? 

Sir  To.  We'll  call  thee  at  the  cubicuh :  Go. 

[Exit  Sir  Andrew. 

Fab.  This  is  a  dear  manakin  to  you,  sir  Toby. 

Sir  To.  I  have  been  dear  to  him,  lad  ;  some  two  thou- 
sand strong,  or  so. 

Fab.  We  shall  have  a  rare  letter  from  him :  but  you'll 
not  deliver  it. 

x as  lief  be  a  Brownist,]  The  Brounists  were  so  called  from  Mr.  Robert 

Browne,  a  noted  separatist  in  Queen  Elizabeth's  reign.  Strype  informs  us, 
that  "  in  the  year  1589,  Browne  went  off  from  the  separatists,  and  came  into  the 
communion  of  the  church." — The  Brownists  were,  in  our  author's  time,  the  com- 
mon objects  of  popular  satire. — Grey. 

y  curst — ]  i.  e.  Crabbed. 

I  bed  of  Ware — ]This  enormous  piece  of  furniture  is  still  existing,  and 

as  much  an  object  of  curiosity  as  it  was  two  centuries  ago. — Reed.  It  is  either 
at  the  Crown,  or  the  Bull  Inn  at  Ware. — It  is  reputed  to  be  twelve  feet  square, 
and  capable  of  holding  twenty  or  twenty-four  persons  :  to  accommodate  that, 
number  they  must  lie  at  top  and  bottom,  and  the  feet  meet  in  the  middle. — 
Nares's  Glossaru. 


46  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

Sir  To.  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  Andrew,  if  he  were  opened,  and 
you  find  so  much  blood  in  his  liver  as  will  clog  the  foot  of 
a  flea,  I'll  eat  the  rest  of  the  anatomy. 

Fab.  And  his  opposite,  the  youth,  bears  in  his  visage 
no  great  presage  of  cruelty. 

Enter  Maria. 

Sir  To.  Look  where  the  youngest  wren  of  nine  comes. 

Mar.  If  you  desire  the  spleen,  and  will  laugh  yourselves 
into  stitches,  follow  me :  yon'  gull  Malvolio  is  turned 
heathen,  a  very  renegado  ;  for  there  is  no  Christian,  that 
means  to  be  saved  by  believing  rightly,  can  ever  believe 
such  impossible  passages  of  grossness.  He's  in  yellow 
stockings. 

Sir  To.  And  cross-gartered  ? 

Mar.  Most  villanously ;  like  a  pedant  that  keeps  a 
school  i'the  church.  —  I  have  dogged  him,  like  his  mur- 
derer :  He  does  obey  every  point  of  the  letter  that  I  drop- 
ped to  betray  him.  He  does  smile  his  face  into  more  lines, 
than  are  in  the  new  map,  with  the  augmentation  of  the 
Indies:*  you  have  not  seen  such  a  thing  as  'tis;  lean 
hardly  forbear  hurling  things  at  him.  I  know,  my  lady 
will  strike  him ;  if  she  do,  he'll  smile,  and  take't  for  a 
great  favour. 

Sir  To.  Come,  bring  us,  bring  us  where  he  is. 

l^Exetint. 

SCENE  III. 

A  Street. 

Enter  Antonio  and  Sebastian. 

Seb.  I  would  not,  by  my  will,  have  troubled  you  ; 
But,  since  you  make  your  pleasure  of  your  pains, 
I  will  no  farther  chide  you. 

a  He  does  smile  his  face  into  more  lines,  than  are  in  the  new  map,  with  the 

imgraentation  of  the  Indicd  :]  A  clear  allusion  to  a  map  engraved  for  Linscho- 
ten's  Voyages,  an  English  translation  of  which  was  published  in  1598.  This 
map  is  midlilineal  in  the  extreme,  and  is  the  first  iu  which  the  Eastern  Islands  are 
included. — Steevens. 


ACT  III.— SCENE  III.  47 

Ant.  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  stranger, 
Unguided,  and  unfriended,  ofteii  prove 
Rough  and  unhospitable  :  My  willing  love, 
The  rather  by  these  arguments  of  fear. 
Set  forth  in  your  pursuit. 

Seb.  My  kind  Antonio, 

I  can  no  other  answer  make,  but,  thanks. 
And  thanks,  and  ever  thanks  :  Often  good  turns 
Are  shuffled  off  with  such  uncurrent  pay : 
But,  were  my  worth,''  as  is  my  conscience,  firm. 
You  should  find  better  dealing.     What's  to  do? 
Shall  we  go  see  the  reliques  of  this  town  ? 

Ant.  To-morrow,  sir ;  best,  first,  go  see  your  lodging. 
Seb.  I  am  not  weary,  and  'tis  long  to  night; 
I  pray  you,  let  us  satisfy  our  eyes 
With  the  memorials,  and  the  things  of  fame. 
That  do  renown  this  city. 

Ant.  'Would,  you'd  pardon  me  : 

I  do  not  without  danger  walk  these  streets  : 
Once,  in  a  sea-fight,  'gainst  the  Count  his  gallies, 
I  did  some  service ;  of  such  note,  indeed. 
That,  were  I  ta'en  here,  it  would  scarce  be  answer'd. 
Seb.  Belike,  you  slew  great  number  of  his  people. 
Ant.  The  offence  is  not  of  such  a  bloody  nature ; 
Albeit  the  quality  of  the  time,  and  quarrel. 
Might  well  have  given  us  bloody  argument. 
It  might  have  since  been  answered  in  repaying 
What  we  took  from  them  ;  which,  for  traffick's  sake. 
Most  of  our  city  did  :  only  myself  stood  out : 
For  which,  if  I  be  lapsed"^  in  this  place, 
I  shall  pay  dear. 

Seb.  Do  not  then  walk  too  open. 

Ant.  It  doth  not  fit  me.     Hold,  sir,  here's  my  purse; 

•>  worth,]    In  this  place  means  tveullh. 

I" lapsed — ]  Caught  and  convicted. — Johnson. 


48  TWELFTH-NIGHT, 

In  the  south  suburbs,  at  the  Elephant, 

Is  best  to  lodge  :  I  will  bespeak  our  diet, 

Whiles  you  beguile  the  time,  and  feed  your  knowledge. 

With  viewing  of  the  town  ;  there  shall  you  have  me. 

Seb.  Why  I  your  purse  ?  ' 

Ant.  Haply,  your  eye  shall  light  upon  some  toy 
You  have  desire  to  purchase  ;  and  your  store, 
I  think,  is  not  for  idle  markets,  sir. 

Seh.  I'll  be  your  purse-bearer,  and  leave  you  for 
An  hour. 

Ant.         To  the  Elephant.— 

^^^'  I  do  remember. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV. 

Olivia's  Garden. 
Enter  Olivia  and  Maria. 

on.  I  have  sent  after  him  :  he  says,  he'll  come ; 
How  shall  I  feast  him  ?  what  bestow  on  him  ? 
For  youth  is  bought  more  oft,  than  begg'd,  or  borrow'd. 

I  speak  too  loud. 

Where  is  Malvolio  ? — he  is  sad,^  and  civil. 

And  suits  well  for  a  servant  with  my  fortunes ; — 

Where  is  Malvolio  ? 

Mar.  He's  coming,  madam ; 

But  in  very  strange  manner.     He  is  sure  possess'd,  madam. 

OH.  Why,  what's  the  matter'?  does  he  rave? 

Mar.  No,  madam,  he  does  nothing  but  smile  :  your  la- 
dyship were  best  have  some  guard  about  you,  if  he  come- 
for,  sure,  the  man  is  tainted  in  his  wits. 

Oli.  Go  call  him  hither. — I'm  as  mad  as  he. 
If  sad  and  merry  madness  equal  be. 

Enter  Malvolio. 
How  now,  Malvolio  ? 

Mai.  Sweet  lady,  ho,  ho..  [Smiles  fantastically. 

* »</(/,]  .Serious. 


ACT  III.— SCENE  IV.  49 

Oil.  Smil'stthou? 
I  sent  for  thee  upon  a  sad  occasion. 

Mai.  Sad,  lady  ?  I  could  be  sad  :  This  does  make  some 
obstruction  in  the  blood,  this  cross-gartering  ;  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. 

OH.  Why,  how  dost  thou,  man '?  what  is  the  matter 
with  thee  ? 

Mai.  Not  black  in  my  mind,  though  yellow  in  my  legs  : 
It  did  come  to  his  hands,  and  commands  shall  be  exe- 
cuted.    I  think,  we  do  know  the  sweet  Roman  hand. 
OU.  Wilt  thou  go  to  bed,  Malvolio  ? 
Mai.  To  bed?  ay,  sweet-heart;  and  I'll  come  to  thee. 

OH.  God  comfort  thee !  Why  dost  thou  smile  so,  and 
kiss  thy  hand  so  oft  ? 

Mar.  How  do  you,  Malvolio  ? 

Mai.  At  your  request?  Yes;  Nightingales  answer  daws. 

Mar.  Why  appear  you  with  this  ridiculous  boldness 
before  my  lady  ? 

Mai.  Be  not  afraid  of  greatness : — 'Twas  well  writ. 

OH.  What  meanest  thou  by  that,  Malvolio  ? 

Mai.  Some  are  born  great, — 

OH.  Ha? 

Mai.  Some  achieve  greatness, — 

OH.  What  say'st  thou  ? 

Mai.  Aiid  some  have  greatness  thrust  upon  them. 

OH.  Heaven  restore  thee ! 

Mai.  Remember,  who  commended  thy  yellow  stockings ; — 

OH.  Thy  yellow  stockings  ? 

Mai.  Jnd  wished  to  see  thee  cross-gartered. 

OH.  Cross-gartered  ? 

Mai.  Go  to:  thou  art  made,  if  thou  desirest  to  be  so; — 

OH.  Am  I  made  ? 

Mai.  If  not,  let  me  see  thee  a  servant  still. 

OH.  Why,  this  is  very  midsummer  madness.* 

Enter  Servant. 
Ser.  Madam,  the  young  gentleman  of  the  count  Or- 

e  midsummer  madness.']   'Tis  midsummer  moon  with  you,  is  a  proverb  in 

Ray's  Collection;  signifying,  you  are  mad. — Steevens.     Hot  weatlier  often 
hurts  the  brain,  which  is,  I  suppose,  alluded  to  here. — Johnson. 


50  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

sino's  is  returned  ;  I  could  hardly  entreat  him  back  ;  he 
attends  your  ladyship's  pleasure. 

Oil.  I'll  come  to  him.  [Exit  Servant.]  Good  Maria,  let 
this  fellow  be  looked. to.  Where's  my  cousin  Toby'?  Let 
some  of  my  people  have  a  special  care  of  him ;  I  would 
not  have  him  miscarry  for  the  half  of  my  dowry. 

lExeunt  Olivia  and  Maria. 

Mai.  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  ivith 
a  kinsman,  surly  with  sei^ants, — let  thy  tongue  tang  tvith  ar- 
guments of  state,— put  thyself  into  the  trick  of  singularity ; 

and,  consequently,  sets  down  the  manner  how ;  as,  a 

sad  face,  a  reverend  carriage,  a  slow  tongue,  in  the  habit 
of  some  sir  of  note,  and  so  forth.  I  have  limed  her ;  but 
it  is  Jove's  doing,  and  Jove  make  me  thankful !  And, 
when  she  went  away  now.  Let  this  felloto  be  looked  to: 
Fellow  !  not  Malvolio,  nor  after  my  degree,  but  fellow. 
Why,  every  thing  adheres  together ;  that  no  dram  of  a 
scruple,  no  scruple  of  a  scruple,  no  obstacle,  no  incredu- 
lous 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. 

Re-enter  Maria,  ivith  Sir  Toby  Belch  and  Fabian. 

Sir  To.  Which  way  is  he,  in  the  name  of  sanctity  ?  If 
all  the  devils  in  hell  be  drawn  in  little,  and  Legion  him- 
self possessed  him,  yet  I'll  speak  to  him. 

Fab.  Here  he  is,  here  he  is  :— How  is't  with  you,  sir? 
how  is't  with  you,  man? 

Mai.  Go  off";  I  discard  you  ;  let  me  enjoy  my  private ; 
go  off". 

Mar.  Lo,  how  hollow  the  fiend  speaks  within  him  !  did 
not  I  tell  you  ? — Sir  Toby,  my  lady  prays  you  to  have  a 
care  of  him. 

Mai.  Ah,  ah  !  does  she  so  ? 

Sir  To.  Go  to,  go  to ;  peace,  peace,  we  must  deal  gently 


ACT  III.— SCENE  IV.  51 

with  him ;  let  me  alone.  How  do  you,  Malvolio  ?  how 
is't  with  you  ?  What,  man !  defy  the  devil :  consider,  he's 
an  enemy  to  mankind. 

Mai.  Do  you  know  what  you  say  ? 

Mar.  La  you,  an  you  speak  ill  of  the  devil,  how  he 
takes  it  at  heart !  Pray  God,  he  be  not  bewitched  ! 

Fab.  Carry  his  water  to  the  wise  woman. 

Mar.  Marry,  and  it  shall  be  done  to-morrow  morning, 
if  I  live.  My  lady  would  not  lose  him  for  more  than  I'll 
say. 

Mai.  How  now,  mistress  ? 

Mar.  O  lord  ! 

Sir  To.  Pr'ythee,  hold  thy  peace  ;  this  is  not  the  way  : 
Do  you  not  see,  you  move  him?  let  me  alone  with  him. 

Fab.  No  way  but  gentleness  ;  gently,  gently  :  the  fiend 
is  rough,  and  will  not  be  roughly  used. 

Sir  To.  Why,  how  now,  my  bawcock  ?  how  dost  thou, 
chuck  ? 

Mai  Sir? 

Sir  To.  Ay,  Biddy,  come  with  me.  What  man  !  'tis 
not  for  gravity  to  play  at  cherry-pit^  with  Satan :  Hang 
him,  foul  collier  !§ 

Mar.  Get  him  to  say  his  prayers  ;  good  sir  Toby,  get 
him  to  pray. 

Mai.  My  prayers,  minx? 
,    Mar.  No,  I  warrant  you,  he  will  not  hear  of  godliness. 

Mai.  Go  hang  yourselves  all !  you  are  idle  shallow 
things  :  I  am  not  of  your  element ;  you  shall  know  more 
hereafter.  [Exit. 

Sir  To.  Pst  possible  ? 

Fab.  If  this  were  played  upon  a  stage  now,  I  could  con- 
demn it  as  an  improbable  fiction. 

Sir  To.  His  very  genius  hath  taken  the  infection  of  the 
device,  man. 

Mar.  Nay,  pursue  him  now ;  lest  the  device  take  air, 
and  taint. 

f cherry-pit — ]   Cherry-pit  is  pitching  cherry-stones  into  a  little  hole. 

— Steevens. 

e Hang  him,  foul  collier  !]  Collier  was,  in  our  author's  time,  a  term  of 

the  highest  reproach.  The  devil  was  called  Collier  for  his  blackness  :  Like 
will  to  like,  quoth  the  Devil  to  the  Collier, — Steevens  and  Johnson. 


52  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

Fah.  Why,  we  shall  make  him  mad,  indeed. 

Mar.  The  liouse  will  be  the  quieter. 

Sir  To.  Come,  we'll  have  him  in  a  dark  room,  and  bound. 
My  niece  is  already  in  the  belief  that  he  is  mad  ;  we  may 
carry  it  thus,  for  our  pleasure,  and  his  penance,  till  our 
very  pastime,  tired  out  of  breath,  prompt  us  to  have  mercy 
on  him  :  at  which  time  we  will  bring  the  device  to  the 
bar,  and  crown  thee  for  a  finder  of  madmen.''  But  see, 
but  see. 

Enter  Sir  Andrew  Ague-cheek. 

Fab.  More  matter  for  a  May  morning.'' 

Sir  And.  Here's  the  challenge,  read  it;  I  warrant,  there's 
vinegar  and  pepper  in't. 

Fab.  Is't  so  sawcy  ? 

Sir  And.  Ay,  is  it,  I  warrant  him:  do  but  read. 

Sir  To.  Give  me.  [reads.l  Youth,  whatsoever  thou  art,  thou 
art  but  a  scurvy  fellow . 

Fab.  Good,  and  valiant. 

Sir  To.  Wonder  not,  nor  admire  not  in  thy  mind,  why  I  do 
call  thee  so,  for  I  will  show  thee  no  reason  forH. 

Fab.  A  good  note  :  that  keeps  you  from  the  blow  of  the 
law. 

Sir  To.  Thou  comest  to  the  lady  Olivia,  and  in  my  sight 
she  uses  thee  kindly :  but  thou  liest  in  thy  throat,  that  is  not 
the  matter  I  challenge  thee  for. 

Fab.  Very  brief,  and  exceeding  good  sense-less. 

Sir  To.  1  will  way-lay  thee  going  home;  tvhere  if  it  be  thy 
chance  to  kill  me, 

Fab.  Good. 

Sir  To.   Thou  killest  me  like  a  rogue  and  a  villain. 

Fab.  Still  you  keep  o'the  windy  side  of  the  law :  Good. 

Sir  To.  Fare  thee  well ;  And  God  have  mercy  upon  one  of 
our  souls  I  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. 

i  a  finder  of  madinen.l   Finders  of  madmen  must  have  been  those  who 

acted  under  the  writ  De  lunatico  VKjidrendo,  in  virtue  whereof  they  found  a  man 
mud  or  ideotic,  against  whom  any  crime  was  alleged. — Ritson. 

k  matter  for  a  May  morning.]  It  was  usual  on  the  first  of  May  to  exhi- 
bit metrical  interludes  of  the  comic  kind,  as  well  as  th«  morris  dance- — 
Steevens. 


ACT  III.— SCENE  IV.  53 

Sir  To.  If  this  letter  move  him  not,  his  legs  cannot  : 
I'll  give't  him. 

Mar.  You  may  have  very  fit  occasion  for't ;  he  is  now 
in  some  commerce  with  my  lady,  and  will  by  and  by  de- 
part. 

Sir  To.  Go,  sir  Andrew  ;  scout  me  for  him  at  the  corner 
of  the  orchard,  like  a  bum-bailitf :  so  soon  as  ever  thou 
seest  him,  draw  ;  and,  as  thou  drawest,  swear  horrible  ; 
for  it  comes  to  pass  oft,  tliat  a  terrible  oath,  with  a  swag- 
gering accent  sharply  twanged  off,  gives  manhood  more 
approbation  than  ever  proof  itself  would  have  earned  him. 
Away. 

Sir  And.  Nay,  let  me  alone  for  swearing.  \_Exit. 

Sir  To.  Now  will  not  I  deliver  his  letter:  for  the  be- 
haviour of  the  young  gentleman  gives  him  out  to  be  of 
good  capacity  and  breeding;  his  employment  between  his 
lord  and  my  niece  confirms  no  less ;  therefore  this  letter, 
being  so  excellently  ignorant,  will  breed  no  terror  in  the 
youth,  he  will  find  it  comes  from  a  clodpole.  But,  sir, 
I  will  deliver  his  challenge  by  word  of  mouth ;  set  upon 
Ague-cheek  a  notable  report  of  valour ;  and  drive  the  gen- 
tleman, (as,  I  know,  his  youth  will  aptly  receive  it,)  into 
a  most  hideous  opinion  of  his  rage,  skill,  fury,  and  impe- 
tuosity. This  will  so  fright  them  both,  that  they  will  kill 
one  another  by  the  look,  like  cockatrices. 

Enter  Olivia  and  Viola. 

Fab.  Here  he  comes  with  your  niece  :  give  them  way, 
till  he  take  leave,  and  presently  after  him. 

Sir  To.  I  will  meditate  the  while  upon  some  horrid  mes- 
;sage  for  a  challenge. 

[Exeunt  Sir  Toby,  Fabian,  and  Maria. 

Oli.  I  have  said  too  much  unto  a  heart  of  stone. 
And  laid  mine  honour  too  unchary  out : 
There's  something  in  me,  that  reproves  my  fault ; 
But  such  a  headstrong  potent  fault  it  is. 
That  it  but  mocks  reproof. 

Vio.  With  the- same  'haviour  that  your  passion  bears. 
Go  on  my  master's  griefs. 

Oli.  Here,  wear  this  jewel  for  me,  'tis  my  picture  ; 

VOL.    II.  F 


54  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

Refuse  it  not,  it  hath  no  tongue  to  vex  you  : 
And,  I  beseech  you,  come  again  to-morrow. 
What  shall  you  ask  of  me,  that  I'll  deny  ; 
That  honour,  saved,  may  upon  asking  give  ? 

Vio.  Nothing  but  this,  your  true  love  for  my  master. 

Oli.  How  with  mine  honour  may  I  give  him  that 
Which  I  have  given  to  you? 

Vio.  I  will  acquit  you. 

Oli.  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  To.  Gentleman,  God  save  thee. 

Vio.  And  you,  sir. 

Sir  To.  That  defence  thou  hast,  betake  thee  to't :  of 
what  nature  the  wrongs  are  thou  hast  done  him,  I  know 
not ;  but  thy  intercepter,  full  of  despight,  bloody  as  the 
hunter,  attends  thee  at  the  orchard  end  :  dismount  thy 
tuck,''  be  yare' in  thy  preparation,  for  thy  assailant  is 
quick,  skilful,  and  deadly. 

Vio.  You  mistake,  sir ;  I  am  sure,  no  man  hath  any 
quarrel  to  me ;  my  remembrance  is  very  free  and  clear 
from  any  image  of  offence  done  to  any  man. 

Sir  To.  You'll  find  it  otherwise,  I  assure  you  :  therefore, 
if  you  hold  your  life  at  any  price,  betake  you  to  your  guard ; 
for  your  opposite  hath  in  him  what  youth,  strength,  skill, 
and  wrath,  can  furnish  man  withal. 

Vio.  I  pray  you,  sir,  what  is  he  ? 

Sir  To.  He  is  knight,  dubbed  with  unbacked  rapier, 
and  on  carpet  consideration ;™  but  he  is  a  devil  in  private 
brawl ;  souls  and  bodies  hath  he  divorced  three  ;  and  his 
incensement  at  this  moment  is  so  implacable,  that  satisfac- 
tion can  be  none  but  by  pangs  of  death  and  sepulchre  : 
hob,  nob,"  is  his  word ;  give't,  or  take't. 

k inch,'] — rapier. 

' yare,^ — nimble. 

">  He  is  kitight,  dublied  with  unhacked  rapier ,  and  mi  carpet  condderalion  ;]  That 
is,  he  is  no  soldier  by  profession,  not  a  knight  banneret,  dubbed  in  the  field  of 
battle,  but,  on  carpel  consideration, a-lafestivity,  or  on  some  ])eaceable  occasion, 
whenknightsreceive  their  ilignity  kneeling,  not  on  the  ground,  as  in  war,  but  on 
a  carpet.  This  is  I  believe  the  original  of  that  contemj)fuous  term  a  carpet- 
hnijrht,  who  was  naturally  held  in  scorn  by  men  of  war. — Johnson. 

•'  hob,  nob,']  This  adverb  is  corrupted  from  hap  ne  hap ;  that  is,  let  it 


ACT  III.— SCENE  IV.  55 

rio.  I  will  return  again  into  the  house,  and  desire  some 
conduct  of  the  lady.  I  am  no  fighter.  I  have  heard  of" 
some  kind  of  men,  that  put  quarrels  purposely  on  others, 
to  taste  their  value :  belike,  this  is  a  man  of  that  quirk." 

Sir  To.  Sir,  no ;  his  indignation  derives  itself  out  of  a 
very  competent  injury  ;  therefore,  get  you  on,  and  give 
him  his  desire.  Back  you  shall  not  to  the  house,  unless 
you  undertake  that  with  me,  which  with  as  much  safety 
you  might  answer  him  :  therefore,  on,  or  strip  your  sword 
stark  naked ;  for  meddle  you  must,  that's  certain,  or  for- 
swear to  wear  iron  about  you. 

Fio.  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  something  of  my  negligence, 
nothing  of  my  purpose. 

Sir  To.  I  will  do  so.  Signior  Fabian,  stay  you  by  this 
gentleman  till  my  return.  [Exit  Sir  Toby. 

Vio.  Pray  you,  sir,  do  you  know  of  this  matter  ? 

Fab.  I  know,  the  knight  is  incensed  against  you,  even 
to  a  mortal  arbitrement;  but  nothing  of  the  circumstance 
more. 

Vio.  I  beseech  you,  what  manner  of  man  is  he  ? 

Fah.  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. 

Vio.  I  shall  be  much  bound  to  you  for't :  I  am  one, 
that  would  rather  go  with  sir  priest,  than  sir  knight ;  I 
care  not  who  knows  so  much  of  my  mettle.  [Exeunt. 

Re-enter  Sir  Toby  ivith  Sir  Andrew. 

Sir  To.  Why  man,  he's  a  very  devil;  I  have  not  seen 
such  a  virago.P  I  had  a  pass  with  him,  rapier,  scabbard, 
and  all,  and  he  gives  me  the  stuck-in,  with  such  a  mortal 

happen  <yr  not ;  and  signifies,  at  random,  at  the  mercy  of  chance. — Steevens. 
— Is  not  this  the  origin  of  our  hoh  nob,  or  challenge  to  drink  a  glass  of  wine  at 
dinner?— M.  Mason- 

•> quirk,^  Stamp  or  fancy. 

P virago,^  I  have  never  seen  the  most  furious  woman  so  obstreporous 

and  violent  as  he  is. — Malone. 

f2 


56  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

motion,  that  it  is  inevitable ;  and  on  the  answer,  he  pays 
you  as  surely  as  your  feet  hit  the  ground  they  step  on  : 
They  say,  he  has  been  a  fencer  to  the  Sophy ."• 

Sir  And.  Pox  on't,  I'll  not  meddle  with  him. 

Sir  To.  Ay,  but  he  will  not  now  be  pacified:  Fabian 
can  scarce  hold  him  yonder. 

Sir  And.  Plague  on't;  an  I  thought  he  had  been  va- 
liant, 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. 

Sir  To.  I'll  make  the  motion  :  Stand  here,  make  a  good 
show  on't ;  this  shall  end  without  the  perdition  of  souls  : 
Marry,  I'll  ride  your  horse  as  well  as  I  ride  you.     [^Aside. 

Re-enter  Fabian  and  Viola. 

I  have  his  horse  \to  Fab.]  to  take  up  the  quarrel ;  I  have 
persuaded  him,  the  youth's  a  devil. 

Fab.  He  is  as  horribly  conceited"^  of  him ;  and  pants, 
and  looks  pale,  as  if  a  bear  were  at  his  heels. 

Sir  To.  There's  no  remedy,  sir ;  he  will  fight  with  you 
for  his  oath  sake  :  marry,  he  hath  better  bethought  him 
of  his  quarrel,  and  he  finds  that  now  scarce  to  be  worth 
talking  of:  therefore  draw,  for  the  supportance  of  his 
vow  ;  he  protests,  he  will  not  hurt  you. 

Vio.  Pray  God  defend  me  !  A  little  thing  would  make 
me  tell  them  how  much  I  lack  of  a  man.  {^Aside. 

Fab.  Give  ground,  if  you  see  him  furious. 

Sir  To.  Come,  sir  Andrew,  there's  no  remedy ;  the  gen- 
tleman will,  for  his  honour's  sake,  have  one  bout  with 
you :  he  cannot  by  the  duello'  avoid  it ;  but  he  has  pro- 
mised me,  as  he  is  a  gentleman  and  a  soldier,  he  will  not 
hurt  you.     Come  on ;  to't. 

Sir  And.  Pray  God,  he  keep  his  oath.  [^Draivs. 

Enter  Antonio. 
Vio.  I  do  assure  you,  'tis  against  my  will.  \^Draws. 

1 So/3/11/.]  The  emperor  of  Persiii. 

f  ■ horrihlt)  conceited — ]    He   has    as  horrid    a  conception  of   him. — 

Ma  LONE. 

' hy  the  duello — ]  i.  e.  By  the  laws  of  the  duello,  which  were  in  Shak- 

speare's  time  settled  with  the  utmost  nicety. — Steevens. 


ACT  III.— SCENE  IV.  57 

Ant.  Put  up  your  sword  ; — If  this  young  gentleman 
Have  done  offence,  I  take  the  fault  on  me ; 
If  you  offend  him,  I  for  him  defy  you.  [Drawing. 

Sir  To.  You,  sir  ?  why,  what  are  you  ? 

AtU.  One,  sir,  that  for  his  love  dares  yet  do  more 
Than  you  have  heard  him  brag  to  you  he  will. 

Sir  To.  Nay,  if  you  be  an  undertaker,'  I  am  for  you. 

[Draws. 

Enter  two  Officers. 

Ffib.  O  good  sir  Toby,  hold  ;  here  come  the  officers. 

Sir  To.  I'll  be  with  you  anon.  [To  Antonio. 

Vio.  Pray,  sir,  put  up  your  sword,  if  you  please. 

[To  Sir  Andrew. 

Sir  And.  Marry,  will  I,  sir; — and,  for  that  I  promised 
you,  I'll  be  as  good  as  my  word  :  He  will  bear  you  easily, 
and  reins  well. 

1  Ojf.  This  is  the  man  ;  do  thy  office. 

2  Ojf.  Antonio,  I  arrest  thee  at  the  suit 
Of  count  Orsino. 

■^nf.  You  do  mistake  me,  sir ; 

I  O^.  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. 

j4nt.  I  must  obey. — This  comes  with  seeking  you  ; 
But  there's  no  remedy  ;  I  shall  answer  it. 
What  will  you  do  ?  Now  my  necessity 
Makes  me  ask  you  for  my  purse :  It  grieves  me 
Much  more,  for  what  I  cannot  do  for  you. 
Than  what  befalls  myself.     You  stand  amaz'd  ; 
But  be  of  comfort. 

2  Off".  Come,  sir,  away. 

udnt.  I  must  entreat  of  you  some  of  that  money. 

Vio.  What  money,  sir  ? 
For  the  fair  kindness  you  have  show'd  me  here. 
And,  part,  being  prompted  by  your  present  trouble. 
Out  of  my  lean  and  low  ability 
I'll  lend  you  something  :  my  having  is  not  much  ; 

'  lYdV,  if  you  be  an  undertaker,]    If  you  lake  upon  yourself  the  quarrel  of 
another. — Ixitson. 


68  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

I'll  make  division  of  my  present  with  you  : 
Hold,  there  is  half  my  coffer. 

j4nt.  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. 

Vio.  1  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. 

Jnt.  O  heavens  themselves  ! 

2  Off.  Come,  sir,  I  pray  you,  go. 

Ant.  Let  me  speak  a  little.     This  youth  that  you  see 
I  snatch'd  one  half  out  of  the  jaws  of  death  ^  [here, 

Reliev'd  him  with  such  sanctity  of  love, 

And  to  his  image,  which  methought  did  promise 
Most  venerable  worth,  did  I  devotion. 

1  Off.  What's  that  to  us  ?  The  time  goes  by  ;  away. 

Ant.  But,  O,  how  vile  an  idol  proves  this  god  ! — • 
Thou  hast,  Sebastian,  done  good  nature  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. 

1  Off.  The  man  grows  mad  ;  away  witii  him. 
Come,  come,  sir. 

Ant,  Lead  me  on.        [-Ereww?  Officers,  we'M  Antonio. 

Vio.  Methinks,  his  words  do  from  such  passion  fly. 
That  he  believes  himself;  so  do  not  I. 
Prove  true,  imagination,  O,  prove  true. 
That  I,  dear  brother,  be  now  ta'en  for  you  ! 

Sir  To.    Come   hither,  knight;  come  hither,  Fabian; 
we'll  whisper  o'er  a  couple  or  two  of  most  sage  saws. 

Vio.  He  nam'd  Sebastian ;  I  my  brother  know 
Yet  living  in  my  glass  ;  even  such,  and  so, 

" oerjiourhhed — ]  i.  e.  E.xtcriKilly  adorned. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  I.  69 

In  favour  was  my  brother  ;  and  he  went 

Still  in  this  fashion,  colour,  ornament. 

For  him  I  imitate  ;  O,  if  it  prove, 

Tempests  are  kind,  and  salt  waves  fresh  in  love  !      [Exit. 

Sir  To.  A  very  dishonest,  paltry  boy,  and  more  a  cow- 
ard than  a  hare :  his  dishonesty  appears  in  leaving  his 
friend  here  in  necessity,  and  denying  him ;  and,  for  hi^ 
cowardship,  ask  Fabian, 

Fab.  A  coward,  a  most  devout  coward,  religious  in  it. 

Sir  And.  'Slid,  I'll  after  him  again,  and  beat  him. 

Sir  To.  Do,  cuff  him  soundly,  but  never  draw  thy  sword. 

Sir  And.  An  I  do  not, —  \^Exit. 

Fab.  Come,  let's  see  the  event. 

Sir  To.  I  dare  lay  any  money,  'twill  be  nothing  yet. 

{^Exeunt. 

ACT    IV. 

Scene  I. — The  Street  before  Olivia's  House. 
Enter  Sebastian  and  Clown. 

Clo.  Will  you  make  me  believe,  that  I  am  not  sent  for 
you? 

Seb.  Go  to,  go  to,  thou  art  a  foolish  fellow ; 
Let  me  be  clear  of  thee. 

Clo.  Well  held  out,  i'faith !  No,  I  do  not  know  you ; 
nor  I  am  not  sent  to  you  by  my  lady,  to  bid  you  come 
speak  with  her ;  nor  your  name  is  not  master  Cesario  ;  nor 
this  is  not  my  nose  neither. — Nothing,  that  is  so,  is  so. 

Seb.  I  pr'ythee,  vent  thy  folly  somewhere  else ;  Thou 
know'st  not  me. 

Clo.  Vent  my  folly  !  he  has  heard  that  word  of  some 
great  man,  and  now  applies  it  to  a  fool.  Vent  my  folly  ! 
I  am  afraid  this  great  lubber,  the  world,  will  prove  a  cock- 
ney.— I  pr'ythee  now,  ungird  thy  strangeness,  and  tell  me 
what  I  shall  vent  to  my  lady ;  Shall  I  vent  to  her,  that 
thou  art  coming  ? 

Seb.  I  pr'ythee,  foolish  Greek,"  depart  from  me  ; 

5:  I  ]rr'ylhee,f'iwlish  Greek,]  Greeh,  was  as  much  as  to  say  bawd  or  pander. 
He  understood  the  Clown  to  be  acting  in  that  office. — Warburton. 


60  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

There's  money  for  thee  ;  if  you  tarry  longer, 
I  shall  give  worse  payment. 

Clo.  By  my  troth,  thou  hast  an  open  hand  : — These 
wise  men,  that  give  fools  money,  get  themselves  a  good 
report  after  fourteen  years'  purchase.'' 

Tenter  Sir  Andrew,  Sir  Toby,  and  Fabian. 

Sir  And.  Now,  sir,  have  1  met  you  again  ?  there's  for 
you.  [Striking  Sebastian. 

Seb.  Why,  there's  for  thee,  and  there,  and  there :  Are 
all  the  people  mad?  [^Beating  Sir  Andrew. 

Sir  To.  Hold,  sir,  or  I'll  throw  your  dagger  o'er  the 
house. 

C/o.  This  will  I  tell  my  lady  straight :  I  would  not  be 
in  some  of  your  coats  for  two-pence.  \_Exit  Clown. 

Sir  To.  Come  on,  sir;  hold.  [Holding  Sebastian. 

Sir  And.  Nay,  let  him  alone,  I'll  go  another  way  to 
work  with  him  :  I'll  have  an  action  of  battery  against 
him,  if  there  be  any  law  in  Illyria  :  though  I  stiiick  him 
first,  yet  it's  no  matter  for  that. 

Seb.  Let  go  thy  hand. 

Sir  To.  Come,  sir,  I  will  not  let  you  go.  Come,  my 
young  soldier,  put  up  your  iron  :  you  are  well  fleshed  ; 
come  on. 

Seb.  I  will  be  free  from  thee.  What  wouldst  thou  now  ? 
If  thou  dar'st  tempt  me  further,  draw  thy  sword.  [Draivs. 

Sir  To.  What,  what  ?  Nay,  then  I  must  have  an  ounce 
or  two  of  this  malapert  blood  from  you.  [Dratvs. 

Enter  Olivia. 

Oli.  Hold,  Toby  ;  on  thy  life,  I  charge  thee,  hold. 

Sir  To.  Madam? 

Oli.  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  pr'ythee,  gentle  friend, 

[Exeunt  Sir  Toby,  Sir  Andrew,  and  Fabian. 

1  .. foiiiiei'u  iiravs  ])iircluise.]     Uuy  at  a  clear  rate -the   current,  price  of 

land  ill  our  Author's  liiuc  was  not  more  than  twelve  years'  purchase.— UiiAxii 
and  Kiiii). 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  II.  61 

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  ruffian  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.'' 

Seb.  What  relish  is  in  this  ?  how  runs  the  stream  ? 
Or  T  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  ! 

Oli.  Nay,  come,  I  pr'ythee  :  'Would  thou'dst  be  rul'd 

Seb.  Madam,  I  will.  [by  me? 

0/i.  O,  say  so,  and  so  be  ! 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IL 
A  Room  in  Olivia's  House. 
Enter  Maria  and  Clown. 

Mar.  Nay,  I  pr'ythee,  put  on  this  gown,  and  this  beard  ; 
make  him  believe  thou  art  sir*^  Topas  the  curate ;  do  it 
quickly:  I'll  call  sir  Toby  the  whilst.  [£x?V  Maria. 

Clo.  Well,  I'll  put  it  on,  and  I  will  dissemble  myself 
in't ;  and  I  would  I  were  the  first  that  ever  dissembled  in 
such  a  gown.  I  am  not  fat  enough  to  become  the  func- 
tion 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.'' 

^  In  this  uncivil  and  unjust  extent — ]  Extent  iu  law,  is  taken  here  for  violence 
in  general. — Johnson. 

»  He  started  one  poor  heart  of  mine  in  thec.'\  There  is  here  an  ambiguity  in- 
tended between  heart  and  hart — words  that  of  old  were  frequently  written 
alike  ;  and  on  which  Shakspeare  delights  to  play.  The  sense  of  the  passage 
is,  He  that  offends  thee  attacks  one  of  ».i/  hearts — or,  as  the  ancients  expressed 
it,  half  my  heart. — Malone  and  Johnson. 

*> sir — ]  For  this  appellation,  as  given  to  the  inferior  clergy,  see  notes 

to  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  Actl.  Scene  1. 

■'  careful — ]  i.  e.  Painstaking — studious. 

"i  The  competitors — J  That  is,  the  confederates  or  assocudes. 


62  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

Enter  Sir  Toby  Belch  and  Maria. 

Sir  To.  Jove  bless  thee,  master  parson. 

Clo.  Boiios  dies,  sir  Toby :  for  as  the  old  hermit  of 
Prague,  that  never  saw  pen  and  ink,  very  wittily  said  to 
a  niece  of  king  Gorboduc,  That,  that  is,  is:  so  I,  being 
master  parson,  am  master  parson  :  For  what  is  that,  but 
that  ?  and  is,  but  is  ? 

Sir  To.  To  him,  sir  Topas. 

Clo.  What,  hoa,  I  say, — Peace  in  this  prison  ! 

Sir  To.  The  knave  counterfeits  well ;  a  good  knave. 

Mai.  [ill  an  inner  chamber.']  Who  calls  there  ? 

Clo.  Sir  Topas,  the  curate,  who  comes  to  visit  Malvolio 
the  lunatic. 

Mai.  Sir  Topas,  sir  Topas,  good  sir  Topas,  go  to  my 
lady. 

Clo.  Out,  hyperbolical  fiend !  how  vexest  thou  this 
man  ?  talkest  thou  nothing  but  of  ladies  ? 

Sir  To.  Well  said,  master  parson. 

Mai.  Sir  Topas,  never  was  man  thus  wronged  :  good 
sir  Topas,  do  not  think  I  am  mad  ;  they  have  laid  me  here 
in  hideous  darkness. 

Clo.  Fye,  thou  dishonest  Sathan  !  I  call  thee  by  the 
most  modest  terms  :  for  I  am  one  of  those  gentle  ones, 
that  will  use  the  devil  himself  with  courtesy  :  Say'st  thou, 
that  house  is  dark  ? 

Mai.  As  hell,  sir  Topas. 

Clo.  Why,  it  hath  bay-windows,*  transparent  as  barri- 
cadoes,  and  the  clear  stories^  towards  the  south-north  are 
as  lustrous  as  ebony ;  and  yet  complainest  thou  of  ob- 
struction ? 

Mai.  I  am  not  mad,  sir  Topas ;  I  say  to  you,  this  house 
is  dark. 

Clo.  Madman,  thou  errest :  I  say,  there  is  no  darkness, 

e  iihath  bav-winilows — ]  A  lum-tvMow  is  the  same  an  bow-window ;  a 

window  in  a  recess,  or  huij. — Steevkns. 

f  c/ear  stories— ]  This  is  the  correct  reading  of  the  first  folio.  It  was  cor- 
rupted by  the  edition  of  the  second  folio  into  clear  stones,  and  this  corruption 
has  been  universally  followed ,  till  the  lust  edition  of  Malone's  Shakspeare  by  Bos- 
well  set  the  passage  right  by  the  restoration  of  the  old  reading. — Clear  slories — 
is  a  term  in  gothic  architecture,  denoting  u  row  of  windows  running  along  the 
(ipper  part  of  a  lofty  hall  or  church. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  II.  63 

but  ignorance  ;  in  which  thou  art  more  puzzled,  than  the 
Egyptians  in  their  fog. 

3Ial.  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  constants  question. 

Clo.  What  is  the  opinion  of  Pythagoras,  concerning 
wild-fowl  ? 

Ma/.  That  the  soul  of  our  grandam  might  haply  inhabit 
a  bird. 

Clo.  What  thinkest  thou  of  his  opinion  ? 

Mid.  I  think  nobly  of  the  soul,  and  noway  approve  his 
opinion. 

Clo.  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  dispos- 
sess the  soul  of  thy  grandam.     Fare  thee  well. 

Mai.  Sir  Topas,  sir  Topas, — 

Sir  To.  My  most  exquisite  sir  Topas  ! 

Clo.  Nay,  I  am  for  all  waters .'' 

Mar.  Thou  might'st  have  done  this  without  thy  beard, 
and  gown  ;  he  sees  thee  not. 

Sir  To.  To  him  in  thine  own  voice,  and  bring  me  word 
how  thou  findest  him  :  I  would,  we  were  well  rid  of  this 
knavery.  If  he  may  be  conveniently  delivered,  I  would 
he  were ;  for  I  am  now  so  far  in  offence  with  my  niece, 
that  I  cannot  pursue  with  any  safety  this  sport  to  the  up- 
shot.    Come  by  and  by  to  my  chamber. 

[Exeimt  Sir  Toby  and  Maria. 

Clo.  Hei/  Robin,  jollij  Robin, 

Tell  me  Imv  th  y  lady  does .  [  Singing . 

Mai.  Fool.— 

Clo.  Ml/  ladij  is  unkind,  perdy. 

Mai.  Fool,— 

Clo.  Alas,  why  is  she  so  ? 

Mai.  Fool,  I  say  ; — 


6  constant — ]  i.  e.  Settled,  ihteminate. 

^  Nay,  1  am  for  all  waters.]  Montai^e,  speaking  of  Aristotle,  says  that  "  He 
hath  an  oar  in  every  water,  and  meddlelh  with  all  things."  Florio's  Translation, 
1603. — I  am  for  all  wains: — means  /  «m  capable  of  all  emi>loyments. 


G4  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

Clo.  She  loves  another — Who  calls,  ha  ? 

Mai.  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. 

Clo.  Master  Malvolio! 

Mai.  Ay,  good  fool. 

Clo.  Alas,  sir,  hdw  fell  you  besides  your  five  wits  ?' 

Mai.  Fool,  there  was  never  man  so  notoriously  abused  : 
I  am  as  well  in  my  wits,  fool,  as  thou  art. 

Clo.  But  as  well  ?■  then  you  are  mad,  indeed,  if  you  be 
no  better  in  your  wit&than  a  fool. 

Mai.  They  have  here  propertied  me  ;J  keep  me  in  dark- 
ness, send  ministers  to  me,  asses,  and  do  all  they  can  to 
face  me  out  of  my  wits. 

Clo.  Advise  you  what  you  say ;  the  minister  is  here. 
— Malvolio,  Malvolio,  thy  wits  the  heavens  restore !  en- 
deavour thyself  to  sleep,  and  leave  thy  vain  bibble  bab- 

Mal.  Sir  Topas, 

Clo.  Maintain  no  words  with  him,  good  fellow. — Who, 
I,  sir  ?  not  I,  sir.  God  b'wi'you,  good  sir  Topas. — Marry, 
amen. — I  will,  sir,  I  will. 

Mai.  Fool,  fool,  fool,  I  say, — 

Clo.  Alas,  sir,  be  patient.  What  say  you,  sir?  I  am 
shent''  for  speaking  to  you. 

Mai.  Good  fool,  help  me  to  some  light,  and  some  paper; 
I  tell  thee,  I  am  as  well  in  my  wits  as  any  man  in  Illyria. 

Clo.  Well-a-day, — that  you  were,  sir  ! 

Mai.  By  this  hand,  I  am  :  Good  fool,  some  ink,  paper, 
and  light,  and  convey  what  I  will  set  down  to  my  lady  ; 
it  shall  advantage  thee  more  than  ever  the  bearing  of  let- 
ter did. 

Clo.  I  will  help  you  to't.  But  tell  me  true,  are  you  not 
mad  indeed?  or  do  you  but  counterfeit  ? 

Mai.  Believe  me,  I  am  not ;  I  tell  thee  true. 

Clo.  Nay,  Fll  ne'er  believe  a  madman,  till  I  see  his 
brains.     I  will  fetch  you  light,  and  paper,  and  ink. 


'  jive  wits — ]  i.  e.  Five  senses. 

i  properlied  >«c,-]  'I'hcy  li;ive  taken  jiotsbcssion  of  nic,  as  of  a  man  un- 
able to  look  to  himself. — JoiiNboN. 
''  sheutj  i.e.  ijcvUUd. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  III.  G5 

Mai.  Fool,  I'll  requite  it  in  the  highest  degree  :  I  pr'y- 
thee,  be  gone. 

Clo.  /  am  gone,  sir,  '      " 

And  anon,  sir, 
I'll  be  with  you  again. 

In  a  trice. 

Like  to  the  old  vire,^ 
Your  need  to  sustain  ; 

-   Who  with  dagger  of  lath, 
In  his  rage  and  his  lorath. 

Cries,  ah,  ha !  to  the  dexil : 
Like  a  mad  lad, 
Pare  thi)  nails,  dad. 

Adieu,  goodman  drivel.  [Eiit. 


SCENE  III. 

Olivia's  Garden. 
Enter  Sebastian. 

Seh.  This  is  the  air;  that  is  the  glorious  sun  ; 
This  pearl  she  gave  me,  I  do  feel't,  and  see't  : 
And  though  'tis  wonder  that  enwraps  me  thus. 
Yet  'tis  not  madness.     Where's  Antonio  then  ? 
I  could  not  find  him  at  the  Elephant : 
Yet  there  he  was  ;  and  there  I  found  his  credit,'" 
That  he  did  range  the  town  to  seek  me  out. 
His  counsel  now  might  do  me  golden  service : 
For  though  my  soul  disputes  well  with  my  sense, 
That  this  may  be  some  error,  but  no  madness. 
Yet  doth  this  accident  and  flood  of  fortune 
So  far  exceed  all  instance,  all  discourse," 
That  I  am  ready  to  distrust  mine  eyes. 
And  wrangle  with  my  reason,  that  persuades  me 
To  any  other  trust,  but  that  I  am  mad, 

' *''e  old  vice,]  The  vice  was  the  fool  of  the  old  moralities. 

" credit — ]  Inthe  sense  of  intelligence  and  is  so  used  in  aletterof  the  Earl 

of  Shrewsbury  to  Queen  Elizabeth.— See  Xncige's  Illnstralions,&;c.  Vol.  2.  p.  129. 
"  a// instance,  ai/ discourse.]  Discoaise,  for  reason.     Instance  is  example. 


66  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

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  comes  the  lady. 

Enter  Olivia  and  a  Priest. 

Oli.  Blame  not  this  haste  of  mine  :  If  you  mean  well, 
Now  go  with  me,  and  with  this  holy  man. 
Into  the  chantryP  by  :  there,  before  hinir 
And  underneath  that  consecrated  roof. 
Plight  me  the  full  assurance  of  your  faith  ; 
That  my  most  jealous  and  too  doubtful  soul 
May  live  at  peace  :  He  shall  conceal  it. 
Whiles'!  you  are  willing  it  shall  come  to  note  ; 
What  time  we  will  our  celebration  keep 
According  to  my  birth. — What  do  you  say? 

Seb.  I'll  follow  this  good  man,  and  go  with  you  ; 
And,  having  sworn  truth,  ever  will  be  true.  [shine. 

Oil.  Then  lead  the  way,  good  father  ; — And  heavens  so 
That  they  may  fairly  note  this  act  of  mine  !  ^Exeunt. 


ACT    V. 

Scene  I. — The  street  before  Olivia's  House. 

Enter  Clown  «;?(^  Fabian. 

Fab,  Now,  as  thou  lovest  me,  let  me  see  his  letter. 
Clo.  Good  master  Fabian,  grant  me  another  request. 
Fab.  Any  thing. 

Clo.  Do  not  desire  to  see  this  letter. 
Fab.  That  is,  to  give  a  dog,  and,  in  recompense,  desire 
my  dog  again. 

o  dece'ivahle.'l  For  deceptions. 

P chantry — ] — A  little  chapel,  or  particular  altar  in  some  cathedral  or 

parochial  church  ;  and  endowed  with  revenues  for  the  maintenance  of  one  or 
more  priests,  to  sing  masses  for  the  souls  of  their  founders. — Stf.kvens. 

'1   Wliiles—]  Until. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  I.  67 

Enter  Duke,  Viola,  mid  Attendants. 

Duke.  Belong  you  to  the  lady  Olivia,  friends  ? 

Clo.  Ay,  sir;  we  are  some  of  her  trappings. 

Duke.  I  know  thee  well ;  How  dost  thou,  my  good 
fellow  ? 

Clo.  Truly  sir,  the  better  for  my  foes,  and  the  worse 
for  my  friends. 

Duke.  Just  the  contrary  ;  the  better  for  thy  friends. 

Clo.  No,  sir,  the  worse. 

Duke.  How  can  that  be  ? 

Clo.  Marry,  sir,  they  praise  me,  and  make  an  ass  of 
me  ;  now  my  foes  tell  me  plainly  I  am  an  ass :  so  that  by 
my  foes,  sir,  I  profit  in  the  knowledge  of  myself;  and  by 
my  friends  I  am  abused  :  so  that,  conclusions  to  be  as 
kisses,  if  your  four  negatives  make  your  two  aftirmatives,"^ 
why,  then  the  worse  for  my  friends,  and  the  better  for  my 
foes. 

Duke.  Why,  this  is  excellent. 

Clo.  By  my  troth,  sir,  no ;  though  it  please  you  to  be 
one  of  my  friends. 

Duke.  Thou  shalt  not  be  worse  for  me  ;  there's  gold. 

Clo.  But  that  it  would  be  double-dealing,  sir,  I  would 
you  could  make  it  another. 

Duke.  O,  you  give  me  ill  counsel. 

Clo.  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. 

Clo.  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  St.  Bennet,  sir,  may  put 
you  in  mind  ;  One,  two,  three. 

Duke.  You  can  fool  no  more  money  out  of  me  at  this 
throw  :  if  you  will  let  your  lady  know,  I  am  here  to  speak 

' conclusions  to  be  as  kisses,  &:c.]  Dr.  Farmer  wonders  that  this  passage 

should  have  perplexed  the  commentators,  and  brings  the  following  words  from 
Marlowe's  Lascivious  Queen  to  illustrate  it :  "  Queen.  Come  let's  kiss. — 
Moor.  Away,  away.- — Queen.  No,  no,  says  aye;  and  twice  away,  says  stay." 
The  passage  is  still  dark  in  spite  of  Dr.  Farmer's  quotation ;  which  only  ap- 
plies to  the  part  in  which  there  is  no  difficulty. 


GS  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

with  her,  and  bring  her  along  with  you,  it  may  awake  my 
bounty  further, 

Ch.  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  Ant o'S  10  and  Ofncers. 

Vio.  Here  comes  the  man,  sir,  that  did  rescue  me. 

Duke.  That  face  of  his  I  do  remember  well ; 
Yet,  when  I  saw  it  last,  it  was  besmear'd 
As  black  as  Vulcan,  in  the  smoke  of  war  : 
A  bawbling^  vessel  was  he  captain  of. 
For  shallow  draught,  and  bulk,  unprizable  : 
With  which  such  scathful'  grapple  did  he  make 
With  the  most  noble  bottom  of  our  fleet. 
That  very  envy,  and  the  tongue  of  loss, 
Cry'd  fame  and  honour  on  him. — What's  the  matter  ! 

1  Of.  Orsino,  this  is  that  Antonio, 
That  took  the  Phoenix,  and  her  fraught,  from  Candy  j 
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  hiriT. 

Vio.  He  did  me  kindness,  sir ;  drew  on  my  side ; 
But,  in  conclusion,  put  strange  speech  upon  me, 
I  know  not  what  'twas,  but  distraction. 

Duke.  Notable  pirate  !  thou  salt-water  thief! 
What  foolish  boldness  brought  thee  to  their  mercies. 
Whom  thou,  in  terms  so  bloody,  and  so  dear. 
Hast  made  thine  enemies  ? 

Ant.  Orsino,  noble  sir. 

Be  pleas'd  that  I  shake  olf  these  names  you  give  me  ; 
Antonio  never  yet  was  thief,  or  pirate. 
Though,  I  confess,  on  base  and  ground  enough, 
Orsino's  enemy.     A  witchcraft  drew  me  hither  : 
That  most  ungrateful  boy  there,  l>y  your  side. 
From  the  rude  sea's  enrag'd  and  foamy  mouth 

' hawhlivg — ]  TriHin^.  '  iciitlifiil — ]  i.  i^  Destructive. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  I.  69 

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  cunnino-, 

(Not  meaning  to  partake  with  me  in  danger,) 

Taught  him  to  face  me  out  of  his  acquaintance. 

And  grew  a  twenty-years-removed  thing. 

While  one  would  wink  ;  denied  me  mine  own  purse. 

Which  I  had  recommended  to  his  use 

Not  half  an  hour  before. 

Vio.  How  can  this  be  ? 

Duke.  When  came  he  to  this  town? 

Ant.  To-day,  my  lord  ;  and  for  three  months  before, 
(No  interim,  not  a  minute's  vacancy,) 
Both  day  and  night  did  we  keep  company. 

Enter  Olivia  and  Attendants. 

Duke.  Here  comes  the  countess ;  now  heaven  walks  on 

earth. 

But  for  thee,  fellow  : — fellow,  thy  words  are  madness  : 
Three  months  this  youth  hath  tended  upon  me ; 
But  more  of  that  anon. Take  him  aside. 

OH.  What  would  my  lord,  but  that  he  may  not  have, 
Wherein  Olivia  may  seem  serviceable  ? — 
Cesario,  you  do  not  keep  promise  with  me. 

Vio.  Madam? 

Duke.  Gracious  Olivia, 

OIL  What  do  you  say,  Cesario  ? Good  my  lord, 

Vio.  My  lord  would  speak,  my  duty  hushes  me. 

Oli.  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  ? 

Oli.  Still  so  constant,  lord. 

Duke.  What !  to  perverseness  ?  you  uncivil  lady, 

" fot—']  Dull. 

VOL.   II.  G 


70  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

To  whose  ingrate  and  unauspicious  altars 

My  soul  the  faithfull'st  offerings  hath  breath'd  out, 

That  e'er  devotion  tender'd  !  What  shall  I  do  ? 

Oli.  Even  what  it  please  my  lord,  that  shall  become  him. 

Duke.  Why  should  I  not,  had  I  the  heart  to  do  it. 
Like  to  the  Egyptian  thief,"  at  point  of  death, 
Kill  what  I  love  ;  a  savage  jealousy. 
That  sometime  savours  nobly  ? — But  hear  me  this  : 
Since  you  to  non-regardance  cast  my  faith. 
And  that  I  partly  know  the  instrument 
That  screws  me  from  my  true  place  in  your  favour. 
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. 
Him  will  I  tear  out  of  that  cruel  eye. 
Where  he  sits  crowned  in  his  master's  spite. — 
Come,  boy,  with  me ;  my  thoughts  are  ripe  in  mischief : 
I'll  sacrifice  the  lamb  that  I  do  love. 
To  spite  a  raven's  heart  within  a  dove.  [^Going. 

Vio.  And  I,  most  jocund,  apt,  and  willingly. 
To  do  you  rest,  a  thousand  deaths  would  die.    [Followifig. 

Oli.  Where  goes  Cesario  ? 

Vio.  After  him  I  love. 

More  than  I  love  these  eyes,  more  than  my  life. 
More,  by  all  mores,  than  e'er  I  shall  love  wife : 
If  I  do  feign,  you  witnesses  above. 
Punish  my  life,  for  tainting  of  my  love  ! 

Oli.  Ah  me,  detested  !  how  am  I  beguil'd  ! 

Vio.  Who  does  beguile  you  ?  who  does  do  you  wrong  ? 

Oli.  Hast  thou  forgot  thyself?  Is  it  so  long  ? —    ' 
Call  forth  the  holy  father.  [Exit  an  Attendant. 

Duke.  Come  away.         [To  Viola. 

X Egyptian  thief,']   Thyamis,  who  was  a  native  of  Mempliis,  and  at  the 

head  of  a  band  of  robbers.  Theagenes  and  Chariclea  falling  into  their  hands, 
Thyamis  fell  desperately  in  love  with  tlie  lady  and  would  have  married  her. 
Soon  after,  a  stronger  body  of  robbers  coming  dowii  upon  Thyamis's  party,  he 
was  in  such  fear  for  his  mistress,  that  he  had  her  shut  into  a  cave  with  his 
treasure.  Thyamis  therefore  bcnetted  round  with  his  enemies,  raging  with 
love,  jealousy,  and  anger,  went  to  his  cave  ;  and  calling  aloud  in  the  Egyptian 
tongue,  as  soon  as  he  heard  himself  answered  towards  the  cave's  moutli  by  a 
Grecian,  making  to  the  person  by  the  direction  of  her  voice,  he  caught  her  by 
the  hair  with  his  left  hand,  and  (supposing  her  to  be  Chariclea),  with  his  right 
hand  ])lunged  liis  sword  into  her  breast. — TiiEonAi.D. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  I.  71 

.  OH.  Whither,  my  lord?  Cesario,  husband,  stay. 

Duke.  Husband  ? 

OH.  Ay,  husband  ;  Can  he  that  deny  ? 

Duke.  Her  husband,  sirrah  ? 

f^io.  No,  my  lord,  not  I. 

Oli.  Alas,  it  is  the  baseness  of  thy  fear^ 
That  makes  thee  strangle  thy  propriety  :" 
Fear  not,  Cesario,  take  thy  fortunes  up  ; 
Be  that  thou  know'st  thou  art,  and  then  thou  art 
As  great  as  that  thou  fear'st. — O,  welcome,  father  ! 

Reenter  Attendant  and  Priest. 
Father,  I  charge  thee,  by  thy  reverence. 
Here  to  unfold  (though  lately  we  intended 
To  keep  in  darkness,  what  occasion  now 
Reveals  before  'tis  ripe,)  what  thou  dost  know. 
Hath  newly  past  between  this  youth  and  me. 

Priest.  A  contract  of  eternal  bond  of  love, 
Confirm'd  by  mutual  joinder  of  your  hands. 
Attested  by  the  holy  close  of  lips, 
Strengthen'd  by  interchangement  of  your  rings  ;' 
And  all  the  ceremony  of  this  compact 
Seal'd  in  my  function,  by  my  testimony  :  , 
Since  when,  my  watch  hath  told  me,  toward  my  grave, 
I  have  travelled  but  two  hours. 

Duke.  O,  thou  dissembling  cub  !  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. 

Vio.  My  lord,  I  do  protest, — 

OH.  O,  do  not  swear ; 

Hold  little  faith,  though  thou  hast  too  much  fear. 

Enter  Sir  Andrew  Ague-cheek,  ivith  his  head  broke. 

Sir  And.  For  the  love  of  God,  a  surgeon  ;  send  on 
presently  to  sir  Toby. 

y strangle  thy  prnp-iety  ;]  Suppress  thy  right  tome.  Propriety  for  property. 

'■ interchangement  of'  your  rings ;]  In  our  ancient  marriage  ceremony, 

the  man  received  as  well  as  gave  a  ring. — Steevens. 

^ case?]  Case  is  a  word  used  contemptuously  for  skin. 

G    2 


72  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

OK.  What's  the  matter  ? 

Sir  And.  He  has  broke  my  head  across,  and  has  given 
sir  Toby  a  bloody  coxcomb  too :  for  the  love  of  God, 
your  help  :  I  had  rather  than  forty  pound,  I  were  at 
home. 

Oli.  Who  has  done  this,  sir  Andrew  ? 

Sir  And.  The  count's  gentleman,  one  Cesario  :  we  took 
him  for  a  coward,  but  he's  the  very  devil  incardinate. 

Duke.  My  gentleman,  Cesario  ? 

Sir  And.  Od*s  Ufelings,  here  he  is: — You  broke  my 
head  for  nothing  ;  and  that  that  I  did,  I  was  set  on  to  do't 
by  sir  Toby. 

Vio.  Why  do  you  speak  to  me  ?  I  never  hurt  you  : 
You  drew  your  sword  upon  me,  without  cause  ; 
But  I  bespake  you  fair,  and  hurt  you  not. 

Sir  And.  If  a  bloody  coxcomb  be  a  hurt,  you  have  hurt 
me  ;  I  think,  you  set  nothing  by  a  bloody  coxcomb. 

Enter  Sir  Toby  Belch,  drunk,  led  by  the  Clown. 

Here  comes  sir  Toby  halting,  you  shall  hear  more  :  but  if 
he  had  not  been  in  drink,  he  would  have  tickled  you  other- 
gates  than  he  did. 

Duke.  How  now,  gentleman  ?  how  is't  with  you  ? 

Sir  To.  That's  all  one ;  he  has  hurt  me,  and  there's  the 
end  on't. — Sot.  did'st  see  Dick  surgeon,  sot? 

Clo.  O  he's  drunk,  sir  Toby,  an  hour  agone ;  his  eyes 
were  set  at  eight  i'the  morning. 

Sir  To.  Then  he's  a  rogue.  After  a  passy-measures 
pavin  j""  I  hate  a  drunken  rogue. 

Oli.  Away  with  him  :  Who  hath  made  this  havoc  with 
them? 

Sir  And.  I'll  help  you,  sir  Toby,  because  we'll  be  dressed 
together. 

'•  After  a  passy-measures  pavin ;]  Next  to  a  passy-measures  pavin  Sir  Toby 
hates  a  drunken  rogue. — Passy-measure  is  corrupted  from  passa-mezzo,  a  slow 
dance  differing  little  from  tlie  action  of  walking. — Pavin  is  a  grave  Spanish 
dance.  Sir  Toby  ignorantly  mixes  the  two  together  ;  and  considers  them  as 
one  dull  and  joyless  exhibition.  Sir  J.  Hawkins  derives  pavin  from  pavo  a 
))eacock,  and  says  that  "every  Pavin  had  its  GaUiard,  or  lighter  kind  of  air 
made  out  of  the  former."  Hist,  of  Mus.  ii,  134.  This,  says  Nares,  leads  to  a 
suspicion  that  passy-measure  pavin  and  passy-measure  i^atliard,  were  correlative 
terms,  and  meant  the  two  different  measures  of  one  dance. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  I.  73 

Sir  To.  Will  you  help  ? — an  ass-head,  and  a  coxcomb, 
and  a  knave  ?  a  thin-faced  knave,,  a  gull  ? 

on.  Get  him  to  bed,  and  let  his  hurt  be  look'd  to. 

^Exeunt  Clown,  Sir  Toby,  and  Sir  Andrew. 

Enter  Sebastian. 

Seb.  I  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,  and 
By  that  I  do  perceive  it  hath  offended  you ; 
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  persons  ; 
A  natural  perspective,"  that  is,  and  is  not. 

Seb.  Antonio,  O  my  dear  Antonio ! 
How  have  the  hours  rack'd  and  tortur'd  me. 
Since  I  have  lost  thee. 

Ant.  Sebastian  are  you  ? 

Seb.  Fear'st  thou  that,  Antonio  ? 

Ant.  How  have  you  made  division  of  yourself  ? — 
An  apple,  cleft  in  two,  is  not  more  twin 
Than  these  two  creatures.     Which  is  Sebastian? 

OH.  Most  wonderful ! 

Seb.  Do  I  stand  there  ?   I  never  had  a  brother  : 
Nor  can  there  be  that  deity  in  my  nature. 
Of  here  and  every  where.     I  had  a  sister. 
Whom  the  blind  waves  and  surges  have  devour'd  : — 
Of  charity,  what  kin  are  you  to  me?  [To  Viola. 

What  countryman  ?  what  name  ?  what  parentage  ? 

Vio.  Of  Messaline  :  Sebastian  was  my  father ; 
Such  a  Sebastian  was  my  brother  too. 
So  went  he  suited  to  his  watery  tomb  ; 
If  spirits  can  assume  both  form  and  suit 
You  come  to  fright  us. 

Seb.  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, 

<=  A  /jcrs;)ec(ii'c,]  A  glass  used  for  optical  deception,  or  a  glass  geuerally. — Douce. 


U  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

I  should  my  tears  let  fall  upon  your  cheek. 
And  say — Thrice  welcome,  drowned  Viola  ! 
Vio.  My  father  had  a  mole  upon  his  brow. 
Seb.  And  so  had  mine. 

Vio.  And  died  that  day  when  Viola  from  her  birth 
Had  numbered  thirteen  years. 

Seb.  O,  that  record  is  lively  in  my  soul ! 
He  finished,  indeed,  his  mortal  act, 
That  day  that  made  my  sister  thirteen  years. 

Vio.  If  nothing  lets  to  make  us  happy  both. 
But  this  my  masculine  usurp'd  attire, 
Do  not  embrace  me,  till  each  circumstance 
Of  place,  time,  fortune,  do  cohere,  and  jump. 
That  I  am  Viola  :  which  to  confirm, 
I'll  bring  you  a  captain  in  this  town. 
Where  lie  my  maiden  weeds  ;  by  whose  gentle  help 
1  was  preserv'd,  to  serve  this  noble  count ; 
All  the  occurrence  of  my  fortune  since 
Hath  been  between  this  lady  and  this  lord. 

Seb.  So  comes  it,  lady,  you  have  been  mistook  : 

[To  Viola. 
But  nature  to  her  bias  drew  in  that. 
You  would  have  been  contradicted  to  a  maid  ; 
Nor  are  you  therein,  by  my  life,  deceiv'd. 
You  are  betroth 'd  both  to  a  maid  and  man. 

Duke.  Be  not  amaz'd;  right  noble  is  his  blood. — 
If  this  be  so,  as  yet  the  glass  seems  true, 
I  shall  have  share  in  this  most  happy  wreck  : 
Boy,  thou  hast  said  to  me  a  thousand  times,    [Jb  Viola, 
Thou  never  should'st  love  woman  like  to  me. 

Vio.  And  all  those  sayings  will  I  over-swear ; 
And  all  those  swearings  keep  as  true  in  soul. 
As  doth  that  orbed  continent  the  fire 
That  severs  day  from  night. 

Duke.  Give  me  thy  hand  ; 

And  let  me  see  thee  in  thy  woman's  weeds. 

Vio-.  The  captain,  that  did  bring  me  first  on  shore. 
Hath  my  maid's  garments  :  he,  upon  some  action, 
Is  now  in  durance ;  at  Malvolio's  suit, 
A  gentleman,  and  follower  of  my  lady's. 


ACT  v.— vSCENE  I.  75 

OH.  He  shall  enlarge  him  :  Fetch  Malvolio  hither  : — 
And  yet,  alas,  now  I  remember  me. 
They  say,  poor  gentleman,  he's  much  distract. 

Re-enter  Clown,  with  a  letter. 

A  most  extracting"^  frenzy  of  mine  own 

From  my  remembrance  clearly  banished  his. — 

How  does  he,  sirrah  ? 

Ch.  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,  when  they  are  delivered. 

OH.  Open  it,  and  read  it. 

Clo.  Look  then  to  be  well  edified,  when  the  fool  deli- 
vers the  madman  : — Bi/  the  Lord,  madam, — 

OU.  How  now  !  art  thou  mad  ? 

Clo.  No,  madam,  1  do  but  read  madness  :  an  your  lady- 
ship will  have  it  as  it  ought  to  be,  you  must  allow  vox.' 

on.  Pry 'thee,  read  i'thy  right  wits. 

Clo.  So  I  do,  madonna  ;  but  to  read  his  right  wits,  is  to 
read  thus  :  therefore  perpend,  my  princess,  and  give  ear. 

on.  Read  it  you,  sirrah.  [7b  Fabian. 

Fah.  [Reads.]  By  the  Lord,  madam,  you  wrong  me,  and 
the  world  ihall  knoic  it :  though  you  have  put  me  into  dark- 
ness, and  given  your  drunken  cousin  rule  over  me,  yet  have  I 
the  benefit  of  my  senses  as  well  as  your  ladyship.  I  havt 
your  own  letter  that  induced  me  to  the  semblance  I  put  on; 
w-ith  the  which  I  doubt  iiot  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  m?/  injury. 

The  madly-used  Malvolio. 

OH.  Did  he  write  this  ? 

Clo.  Ay,  madam. 

Duke.  This  savours  not  much  of  distraction. 

i  eitracting—]  Absorbing  all  the  thoughts  and  withdrawing  them  from 

every  object  but  its  own. 

f  ynu  himt  allow  vox,]  i.  e.  You  must  allow  me   to  use  the  voice  of  a 

madman. 


76  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

Oli.  See  him  deliver'd,  Fabian  ;  bring  him  hither. 

[Exit  Fabian. 
My  lord,  so  please  you,  these  things  further  thought  on. 
To  think  me  as  well  a  sister  as  a  wife, 
One  day  shall  crown  the  alliance  on't,  so  please  you, 
Here  at  my  house,  and  at  my  proper  cost. 

Duke.  Madam,  I  am  most  apt  to  embrace  your  offer. — 
Your  master  quits  you;  [To  Viola.]  and  for  your  service 

done  him. 
So  much  against  the  mettle  of  your  sex, 
So  far  beneath  your  soft  and  tender  breeding, 
And  since  you  call'd  me  master  for  so  long, 
Here  is  my  hand  ;  you  shall  from  this  time  be 
Your  master's  mistress. 

Oli.  A  sister? — you  are  she. 

Re-enter  Fabian,  with  Malvolio. 

Duke.  Is  this  the  madman? 

Oli.  Ay,  my  lord,  this  same  : 

How  now,  Malvolio  ? 

Mai.  Madam,  you  have  done  me  wrong. 

Notorious  wrong. 

Oli.  Have  I,  Malvolio  ?  no. 

Mai.  Lady,  you  have.     Pray  you,  peruse  that  letter : 
You  must  not  now  deny  it  is  your  hand, 
Write  from  it,  if  you  can,  in  hand,  or  phrase  ; 
Or  say,  'tis  not  your  seal,  nor  your  invention  : 
You  can  say  none  of  this  :  Well,  grant  it  then, 
And  tell  me,  in  the  modesty  of  honour. 
Why  you  have  given  me  such  clear  lights  of  favour ; 
Bade  me  come  smiling,  and  cross-gartered  to  you. 
To  put  on  yellow  stockings,  and  to  frown 
Upon  sir  Toby,  and  the  lighter  people  : 
And,  acting  this  in  an  obedient  hope. 
Why  have  you  suffer'd  me  to  be  imprison'd. 
Kept  in  a  dark  house,  visited  by  the  priest. 
And  made  the  most  notorious  geck,^  and  gull. 
That  e'er  invention  play'd  on?  tell  me  why. 

OH.  Alas,  Malvolio,  this  is  not  my  writing, 

f ^eck,]  A  fool. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  I.  77 

Though,  I  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 ;  thou  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: 

But,  when  we  know  the  grounds  and  authors  of  it. 

Thou  shalt  be  both  the  plaintiff  and  the  judge 

Of  thine  own  cause. 

Fab.  Good  madam,  hear  me  speak ; 

And  let  no  quarrel,  nor  no  brawl  to  come. 
Taint  the  condition  of  this  present  hour. 
Which  I  have  wonder'd  at.     In  hope  it  shall  not, 
Most  freely  I  confess,  myself,  and  Toby, 
Set  this  device  against  Malvolio  here. 
Upon  some  stubborn  and  uncourteous  parts 
We  have  conceiv'd  against''  him :  Maria  writ 
The  letter,  at  sir  Toby's  great  importance  ;' 
In  recompense  whereof,  he  hath  married  her. 
How  Vv'ith  a  sportful  malice  it  was  follow'd. 
May  rather  pluck  on  laughter  than  revenge  ; 
If  that  the  injuries  be  justly  weigh 'd. 
That  have  on  both  sides  past. 

Oil.  Alas,  poor  fool !  how  have  they  baffled  thee  ! 
Clo,  Why,  some  are  horn  great,  some  achieve  greatness, 
and  some  have  greatness  thrown  upon  them.  I  was  one,  sir, 
in  this  interlude  ;  one  sir  Topas,  sir  ;  but  that's  all  one  : 
— Bi/  the  Lord,  fool,  I  am  not  mad  ; — But  do  you  remem- 
ber? Madam  why  laugh  you  at  such  a  barren  rascal?  an 
smile  not,  he's  gagged:  And  thus  the  whirligig  of  time 
brings  in  his  revenges. 

Mai.  I'll  be  reveng'd  on  the  whole  pack  of  you.  [Exit. 
Oil.  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,'' 

S  presupposed — ]  Previously  pointed  out  for  your  imitation. 

•'  against — ]  Tyrwhitt  reads  in. 

'  importance  ;]  Importunacy. 

k convents,]  i.  e.  Shall  be  convenient. 


78  TWELFTH-NIGHT. 

A  solemn  combination  shall  be  made 

Of  our  dear  souls — Mean  time,  sweet  sister. 

We  will  not  part  from  hence. — Cesario,  come ; 

For  so  you  shall  be,  while  you  are  a  man ; 

But,  when  in  other  habits  you  are  seen, 

Orsino's  mistress,  and  his  fancy's  queen.  [Exeunt. 

SONG. 

Clo.   When  that  I  zvas  and  a  little  tiny  boy, 
With  hey,  ho,  the  wind  and  the  rain, 
A  foolish  thing  was  hut  a  toy, 
For  the  rain  it  raineth  every  day. 

For  when  I  came  to  man's  estate. 

With  hey,  ho,  the  ivind  and  the  rain, 

^Gainst  knave  and  thief  rnen  shut  their  gate, 
For  the  rain  it  raineth  every  day. 

Bnt  tvhen  I  came  alas!  to  wive. 

With  hey,  ho,  the  wind  and  the  rain, 

By  S2vaggering  could  I  never  thrive, 
For  I  he  rain  it  raineth  every  day. 

But  tvhen  I  came  unto  my  bed. 

With  hey,  ho,  the  tvind  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  ivind  and  the  rain. 

But  that's  all  sne,  our  play  is  done. 

And  we'll  strive  to  please  you  every  day.        [Exit. 

This  play  is  in  the  graver  pait  elegant  and  easy,  and  in  some  of  the  lighter 
scenes  exquisitely  humorous.  Ague-cheek  is  drawn  with  great  propriety,  but 
his  character  is,  in  a  great  measure,  that  of  natural  fatuity,  and  is  therefore 
not  the  proper  prey  of  a  satirist.  The  soliloquy  of  Malvolio  is  truly  comic  ; 
he  is  betrayed  to'  ridicule  merely  by  his  pride.  The  marriage  of  Olivia,  and 
the  succeeding  perplexity,  though  well  enough  contrived  to  divert  on  the  stage, 
wants  credibility,  and  fails  to  produce  the  proper  instruction  required  in  the 
drama,  ns  it  exhibits  no  just  picture  of  life. — Jon^'so^. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


This  play  was  not  printed  till  1623. — Mr.  Malone  supposes  it  to  have  been 
written  in  1603. — 

The  plot  is  found  in  Cinthio's  Novels,  Decad  8.  Novel  5. — But  Shakspeare 
took  the  subject  of  his  drama  from  an  old  play  called  Promos  and  Cassandra  -wiiti- 
ten  by  George  Whetstone,  and  published  in  1378. — 

A  hint,  like  a  seed,  is  more  or  less  prolific,  according  to  the  qualities  of  the 
soil  on  which  it  is  thrown.  The  story,  which  in  the  hands  of  Whetstone,  pro- 
duced little  more  than  barren  insipidity,  under  the  culture  of  Shakspeare  be- 
came fertile  of  entertainment.  The  curious  reader  will  find  that  the  old  play 
of  Promos  and  Cassandra,  exhibits  an  almost  complete  embryo  of  Measure  for  Mea- 
sure ;  yet  the  hints  on  which  it  is  formed  are  so  slight,  that  it  is  nearly  as  im- 
possible to  detect  them,  as  it  is  to  point  out  in  the  acorn  the  future  ramificationa 
of  tlie  oak. — Malon e. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


VicENTio,  Duke  o/"  Vienna. 
Angelo,  lord  depute/  in  the  Duke's  absence. 
EscALUs,  an  ancient  lord,  joined  with  Angelo  in  the  depu- 
tation. 
Claudio,  a  young  gentleman. 
Lucio,  a  fantastic. 
Ttvo  othei'  like  gentlemen. 
Varrius/  a  gentleman  servant  to  the  Duke. 
Provost. 

Thomaso  j.  . 

rt  i^two  I'riars. 

Peter,    > 

A  Justice. 

Elbow,  a  simple  constable. 

Froth,  a  foolish  gentleman. 

Clown,  servant  to  Mrs.  Over-done. 

AbhorsoNjOw  executiotier. 

Barnardine,  a  dissolute  prisoner. 

Isabella,  sister  to  Claudio. 
Mariana,  betrothed  by  Angelo. 
Juliet,  beloved  by  Claudio. 
Fran(;isca,  a  nun. 
Mistress  Over-done,  a  bawd. 

Lords,  Gentlemen,  Guards,  Ojficers,  and  other  Attendants. 
Scene,  Vienna. 

*  Varrius  might  be  omitted,  for  he  is  only  once  spoken  to,  and  says  nothing. 
— Johnson. 


%o 


M)EA\.S5TIJffi)S   WmR.  MJfcAXSiJEEo 

M.DIVil         V.,i     ,,.:,,.       Ili-i-i       1„  ..,1    .InriU.n,:    nil   jil.O.! 


t  yuipU/t;  t'2fih^af^^'.*U 


^} 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I. — An  Jpartmertt  in  the  Duke's  Palace. 
Enter  Duke,  Escalus,  Lords,  and  Attendants. 

Duke.  ILscalus, — 

Escal  My  lord. 

Duke.  Of  government  the  properties  to  unfold. 
Would  seem  in  me  to  affect  speech  and  discourse  ; 
Since  I  am  put  to  know,"  that  your  own  science 
Exceeds,  in  that,  the  Hsts''  of  all  advice 
My  strength  can  give  you  :  Then  no  more  remains 
But  that  to  your  sufficiency,  as  your  worth  is  able. 
And  let  them  work.*=     The  nature  of  our  people. 
Our  city's  institutions,  and  the  terms 
For  common  justice,  you  are  as  pregnant  in. 
As  art  and  practice  hath  enriched  any 
That  we  remember  :  There  is  our  commission. 
From  which  we  would  not  have  you  warp. — Call  hither, 
I  say,  bid  come  before  us  Angelo. —    \Ji.xit  an  Attendant. 
What  figure  of  us  think  you  he  will  bear  ? 
For  you  must  know,  we  have  with  special  soul 
Elected  him  our  absence  to  supply  ; 
Lent  him  our  terror,  drest  him  with  our  love ; 
And  given  his  deputation  all  the  organs 
Of  our  own  power  :  What  think  you  of  it  ? 

Escal.  If  any  in  Vienna  be  of  worth 

a  Since  I  am  put  to  know,'] — may  mean,  /  am  compelled  to  acknowledge. 

b  . lists — ]  i.  e.  Limits. 

c Then  no  more  remains 

But  that  to  your  sufficiency,  &c.]  '  This  passage  is  considered  as  corrupt, 
as  defective,  as  inexplicable.  May  it  not  mean — That  the  Duke  has  no  fur- 
ther counsel  to  give,  but  that  Escalus  should  apply  himself  to  his  sufficiency? 
i.  e.  his  skill  and  knowledge  of  law  and  government,  as  his  worth  is  able,  to  the 
best  of  his  ability,  and  let  them,  i.  e.  his  sufficiency  and  his  worth  R'orA:— pro- 
duce their  natural  consequences. 


82  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

To  undergo  such  ample  grace  and  honour. 
It  is  lord  Angelo. 

Enfe?' Angelo. 

Duke.  Look,  where  he  comes. 

Atig.  Always  obedient  to  your  grace's  will, 
I  come  to  know  your  pleasure. 

Duke.  Angelo, 

There  is  a  kind  of  character  in  thy  life. 
That,  to  the  observer,  doth  thy  history^ 
Fully  unfold  :  Thyself  and  thy  belongings 
Are  not  thine  own  so  proper,  as  to  waste 
Thyself  upon  thy  virtues,  them  on  thee. 
Heaven  doth  with  us,  as  we  with  torches  do ; 
Not  light  them  for  themselves:    for  if  our  virtues 
Did  not  go  forth  of  us,  'twere  all  alike 
As  if  we  had  them  not.     Spirits  are  not  finely  touch'd, 
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  ;8 
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. 

Aug.  Now,  good  my  lord. 

Let  there  be  some  more  test  made  of  my  metal. 
Before  so  noble  and  so  great  a  figure 
Be  stamp 'd  upon  it. 

•1 history — ]  I  think  Mr.  M.  Mason  right  in  his  supposition  that  cha- 
racter and  historif  in  these  two  lines  have  been  misplaced — and  that  we  should 
read —  "  There  is  a  kind  of  history  in  thy  life, 

"  That,  to  the  observer,  doth  thy  character,"  &c. — 

t to  fine  issues  :^  To  great  consecjuences. 

f thanks  and  use.]  Gratitude  and  interest. 

E my  part  in  him  advMise  ;']    Who  is  capable  of  instructing  my  pari, 

or  authority,  now  placed  in  liim. 

'' first  in  tjuestion,^    That  is,  first  appointee!. 


ACT  I.— SCENE  I.  83 

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  I  leave  you 
Of  your  commissions. 

Ang.  Yet,  give  leave,  my  lord, 

That  we  may^  bring  you  something  on  the  way. 

Duke.  My  haste  may  not  admit  it ; 
Nor  need  you,  on  mine  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  hke  to  stage  me  to  their  eyes  : 
Though  it  do  well,  I  do  not  relish  well 
Their  loud  applause,  and  aves  vehement ; 
Nor  do  I  think  the  man  of  safe  discretion, 
That  does  affect  it.     Once  more,  fare  you  well. 

A/ig.  The  heavens  give  safety  to  your  purposes  ! 

Escal.  Lead  forth,  and  bring  you  back  in  happiness. 

Duke.  I  thank  you  :   Fare  you  well.  [Exit. 

Escal.  I  shall  desire  you,  sir,  to  give  me  leave 
To  have  free  speech  with  you ;  and  it  concerns  me 
To  look  into  the  bottom  of  my  place  : 
A  power  I  have  ;  but  of  wdiat  strength  and  nature 
I  am  not  yet  instructed. 

Ang.  Tis  so  with  me  : — Let  us  withdraw  together. 
And  we  may  soon  our  satisfaction  have 
Touching  that  point. 

Escal.  I'll  wait  upon  your  honour. 

[Exeunt. 

' leaven' d — ]   Concocted,  matur'd. 


84  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

SCENE  II. 

A  Street. 

Enter  Lucio  and  two  Gentlemen. 

Lucio.  If  the  duke,  with  the  other  dukes,  come  not  to 
composition  with  the  king  of  Hungary,  why,  then  all  the 
dukes  fall  upon  the  king. 

1  Gent.  Heaven  grant  us  its  peace,  but  not  the  king  of 
Hungary's ! 

2  Gent.  Amen. 

Lucio.  Thou  concludest  like  the  sanctimonious  pirate, 
that  went  to  sea  with  the  ten  commandments,  but  scraped 
one  out  of  the  table. 

2  Gent.  Thou  shalt  not  steal? 

Lucio.  Ay,  that  he  razed. 

1  Gent.  Why,  'twas  a  commandment  to  command  the 
captain  and  all  the  rest  from  their  functions  ;  they  put 
forth  to  steal :  There's  not  a  soldier  of  us  all,  that,  in  the 
thanksgiving  before  meat,  doth  relish  the  petition  well 
that  prays  for  peace. 

2  Gent.  I  never  heard  any  soldier  dislike  it. 

Lucio.  I  beheve  thee;  for,  I  think,  thou  never  wast 
where  grace  was  said. 

2  Ge7tt.  No  ?  a  dozen  times  at  least. 

1  Gent.  What  ?  in  metre  ?" 

Lucio.  In  any  proportion,  or  in  any  language. 

1  Gent.  I  think,  or  in  any  religion. 

Lucio.  Ay,  why  not?  Grace  is  grace,  despite  of  all 
controversy  :  As  for  example ;  Thou  thyself  art  a  wicked 
villain,  despite  of  all  grace. 

1  Gent.  Well,  there  went  but  a  pair  of  sheers  be- 
tween us.' 

Lucio.  I  grant ;  as  there  may  between  the  lists  and  the 
velvet :  Thou  art  the  list. 

1  Gent.  And  thou  the  velvet:    thou  art  good  velvet; 

k in  inetrc?]  In  the  primers  there  are  metrial  graces  such  as,  I  suppose, 

were  used  in  Shakspeare's  time. — Johnson. 

I There  went  hut  a  pair  of  slw.ers  between  us.]     We  are  both  of  the  same 

piece. 


ACT  I.— SCENE  II.  85 

thou  art  a  three-pil'd  piece  :'"  I  warrant  thee  :  I  had  as  lief 
be  a  Ustof  an  English  kersey,  as  be  pil'd,  as  thou  artpil'd, 
for  a  French  velvet.     Do  I  speak  feelingly  now  ? 

Lucio.  I  think  thou  dost ;  and,  indeed,  with  most  pain- 
ful feeling  of  thy  speech  :  I  will,  out  of  thine  own  confes- 
sion, learn  to  begin  thy  health  ;  but,  whilst  I  live,  forget 
to  drink  after  thee." 

1  Gent.  I  think,  I  have  done  myself  wrong ;  have  I  not? 

2  Gent.  Yes,  that  thou  hast;  whether  thou  art  tainted, 
or  free. 

Lucio.  Behold,  behold,  where  madam  Mitigation  comes  ! 
I  have  purchased  as  many  diseases  under  her  roof,  as 
come  to — 

2  Gent.  To  what,  I  pray  ? 

1  Ge?it.  Judge . 

2  Gent.  To  three  thousand  dollars"  a-year, 
1  Gent.  Ay,  and  more. 

Lucio.  A  French  crown  more.p 

1  Gent.  Thou  art  always  figuring  diseases  in  me  :  but 
thou  art  full  of  error;  I  am  sound. 

Lucio.  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  Gent.  How  now  (  Which  of  your  hips  has  the  most 
profound  sciatica? 

Bawd.  Well,  well;  there's  one  yonder  arrested,  and 
carried  to  prison,  was  worth  five  thousand  of  you  all. 

1  Gent.  Who's  that,  I  pray  thee  ? 

Bawd.  Marry,  sir,  that's  Claudio,  signior  Claudio. 

1  Gent.  Claudio  to  prison  !  'tis  not  so. 

Bawd.  Nay,  but  I  know,  'tis  so  :  I  saw  him  arrested ; 

"' three  pii'd  piece:]   Three  pile  is  the  best  sort  of  velvet — the  jest  about 

the  pile  of  the  velvet,  alludes  to  the  loss  of  hair  in  the  French  disease,  a  very 
frequent  topic  of  our  author's  jocularity. — Johnson.  The  jest,  according  to 
Steevens,  lies  in  the  similar  sound  of  the  words  pill'd  and  pil'd. 

n  forget  to  drink  after  thee.]   He  will  remember  to  drink  his  healthfirst, 

not  run  the  risk  of  infection  by  drinking  after  him.  It  was  the  old  opinion 
that  the  cup  was  contagious. — Johnson. 

o dollars — ]  A  quibble  intended  between  doUars  and  dolours. 

I'  A  French  crown  more.]  Another  quibble  between  the  coin  and  the  corona 
veneris. 

VOL.   II.  H 


86  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

saw  him  carried  away  j  and,  which  is  more,  within  these 
three  days  his  head's  to  be  chopped  off. 

Lucio.  But,  after  all  this  fooling,  I  would  not  have  it 
so  :  Art  thou  sure  of  this  ? 

Bawd.  I  am  too  sure  of  it :  and  it  is  for  getting  madam 
Julietta  with  child. 

Lucio.  Believe  me,  this  may  be :  he  promised  to  meet 
me  two  hours  since  :  and  he  was  ever  precise  in  promise- 
keeping. 

2  Gent.  Besides,  you  know,  it  draws  something  near  to 
the  speech  we  had  to  such  a  purpose. 

1  Gent.  But  most  of  all,  agreeing  with  the  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,  I  am  cus- 
tom-shrunk.    How  now?  what's  the  news  with  you? 

Enter  Clown. 

Clo.  Yonder  man  is  carried  to  prison. 

Bawd.  Well ;  what  has  he  done  ? 

Clo.  A  woman. 

Bawd.  But  what's  his  offence? 

Clo.  Groping  for  trouts  in  a  peculiar  river. 

Bawd.  What,  is  there  a  maid  with  child  by  him  ? 

Clo.  No  ;  but  there's  a  woman  with  maid  by  him  :  You 
have  not  heard  of  the  proclamation,  have  you  ? 

Bawd.  What  proclamation,  man  ? 

Clo.  All  houses  in  the  suburbs  of  Vienna  must  be 
pluck'd  down. 

Bawd.  And  what  shall  become  of  those  in  the  city  ? 

Clo.  They  shall  stand  for  seed  :  they  had  gone  down 
too,  but  that  a  wise  burgher  put  in  for  them. 

Baivd.  But  shall  all  our  houses  of  resort  in  the  suburbs 
be  puU'd  down  ? 

Clo.  To  the  ground,  mistress. 

Bawd.  Why,  here's  a  change,  indeed,  in  the  common- 
wealth !  What  shall  become  of  me  ? 

■' '''«  sicenf.J  This  must  probably  allude  to  tlie  swpatint:  sickness. 


ACT  I.— SCENE  III.  87 

Clo.  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  with- 
draw. 

Clo.  Here  comes  signior  Claudio,  led  by  the  provost  to 
prison :  and  there's  madam  Juliet.  ^  ^Exetrnt, 

SCENE  III. 

The  same. 

En^er  Provost,  Claudio,  Juliet,  arid  Officers  j  Lucio, 
a7id  two  Gentlemen. 

Claud.  Fellow,  why  dost  thou  show  me  thus  to  the  world  ? 
Bear  me  to  prison,  where  I  am  committed. 

Prov.  I  do  it  not  in  evil  disposition, 
But  from  lord  Angelo  by  special  charge. 

Claud.  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  ? 

Claud.  From  too  much  liberty,  my  Lucio,  liberty  : 
As  surfeit  is  the  father  of  much  fast. 
So  every  scope  by  the  immoderate  use, 
Turns  to  restraint ;  Our  natures  do  pursue, 
(Like  rats  that  ravin^  down  their  proper  bane,) 
A  thirsty  evil :  and  when  we  drink,  we  die. 

Lucio.  If  I  could  speak  so  wisely  under  an  arrest,  I 
would  send  for  certain  of  my  creditors  :  And  yet,  to  say 
the  truth,  I  had  as  lief  have  the  foppery  of  freedom, 
as  the  morality  of  imprisonment. — What's  thy  offence, 
Claudio  ? 

r  The  words  of  heaven,  &c.]  Alluding  to  Rom.  ix.  15. — "  I  will  hav^  mercy  on 
whom  I  will  have  mercy." — Hen  lev. 
s  rarin — ]    Devow-  vnraciouslif . 

n  2 


88  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

Claud.  What,  but  to  speak  of  would  offend  again. 
Ludo.  What  is  it  ?  murder  ? 
Claud.  No. 
Lucio.  Lechery  ? 
Claud.  Call  it  so. 
Prov.  Away,  sir ;  you  must  go. 

Claud.  One  word,  good  friend : — Lucio,  a  word  with  you. 

{^Fakes  him  aside. 
Lucio.  A  hundred,  if  they'll  do  you  any  good. — 
Is  lechery  so  looked  after? 

Claud.  Thus  stands  it  with  me : — Upon  a  true  contract, 
I  got  possession  of  Julietta's  bed  ; 
You  know  the  lady ;  she  is  fast  my  wife. 
Save  that  we  do  the  denunciation  lack 
Of  outward  order :  this  we  came  not  to. 
Only  for  propagation'  of  a  dower 
Remaining  in  the  coffer  of  her  friends  ; 
From  whom  we  thought  it  meet  to  hide  our  love. 
Till  time  had  made  them  for  us.     But  it  chances, 
The  stealth  of  our  most  mutual  entertainment. 
With  character  too  gross,  is  writ  on  Juliet. 
Lucio.  With  child,  perhaps  ? 
Claud.   Unhappily  even  so. 
And  the  new  deputy  now  for  the  duke, — 
Whether  it  be  the  fault  and  glimpse'  of  newness; 
Or  whether  that  the  body  public  be 
A  horse  whereon  the  governor  doth  ride. 
Who,  newly  in  the  seat,  that  it  may  know 
He  can  command,  lets  it  straight  feel  the  spur  : 
Whether  the  tyranny  be  in  his  place. 
Or  in  his  eminence  that  fills  it  up, 
I  stagger  in  : — But  this  new  governor 
Awakes  me  all  the  enroll'd  penalties. 
Which  have,  like  unscour'd  armour,  hung  by  the  wall 
So  long,  that  nineteen  zodiacs  have  gone  round. 
And  none  of  them  been  worn  ;  and,  for  a  name, 

* propagation — ]  i.  e. Payment — from  the  ItuVuvapagare. — Their  marriage 

was  secret,  that  they  might  have  time  to  conciliate  the  favour  of  Julietta's  friends 
and  not  risk  the  payment  of  her  dower.- — 

' glimpse  of  newness — ]  i.e.  Sudden  Jiash  of  new  coinmond. 


ACT  L— SCENE  IV.  89 

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. 

Claud.  I  have  done  so,  but  he's  not  to  be  found. 
I  pr'ythee,  Lucio,  do  me  this  kind  service  : 
This  day  my  sister  should  the  cloister  enter. 
And  there  receive  her  approbation  :" 
Acquaint  her  with  the  danger  of  my  state ; 
Implore  her,  in  my  voice,  that  she  make  friends 
To  the  strict  deputy  ;  bid  herself  assay  him  ; 
I  have  great  hope  in  that :  for  in  her  youth 
There  is  a  prone''  and  speechless  dialect. 
Such  as  moves  men  ;  beside,  she  hath  prosperous  art 
When  she  will  play  with  reason  and  discourse. 
And  well  she  can  persuade. 

Lucio.  I -pray,  she  may  :  as  well  for  the  encouragement 
of  the  like,  which  else  would  stand  under  grievous  impo- 
sition ;  as  for  the  enjoying  of  thy  life,  who  I  would  be 
sorry  should  be  thus  foolishly  lost  at  a  game  of  tick-tack.' 
ril  to  her. 

Claud.  I  thank  you,  good  friend  Lucio. 

Lucio.  Within  two  hours, 

Claud.  Come,  officer,  away.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV. 

A  monastery. 

Enter  Duke  and  Friar  Thomas. 

Duke.  No  ;  holy  father ;  throw  away  that  thought ; 
Believe  not  that  the  dribbling^  dart  of  love 
Can  pierce  a  complete  bosom :  why  I  desire  thee 
To  give  me  secret  harbour,  hath  a  purpose 

"  tickle] — for  ticklish. 

^  her  approbation  :]  i.  e.  Enter  on  her  probation  or  noviciate. 

*  prone]  i.  e.  Ready. — 

y tick-tack] — is  a  game  at  tables. — "  Jouer  au  tric-trac"  is  used  in  France 

in  the  sense  in  which  Lucio  here  employs  the  phrase  tick-tack. — Ma  lone. 

dribbling]  Falling  weekly  like  a  drop  of  water. — To  dribble  is  to  drop. 


90  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

More  grave  and  wrinkled  than  the  aims  and  ends 
Of  burning  youth. 

Fri.  May  your  grace  speak  of  it? 

Duke.  My  holy  sir,  none  better  knows  than  you 
How  I  have  ever  lov'd  the  life  remov'd ; 
And  held  an  idle  price  to  haunt  assemblies. 
Where  youth,  and  cost,  and  witless  bravery''  keeps. 
I  have  deliver'd  to  lord  Angelo 
(A  man  of  stricture,  and  firm  abstinence,) 
My  absolute  power  and  place  here  in  Vienna, 
And  he  supposes  me  travell'd  to  Poland  ; 
For  so  I  have  strew'd  it  in  the  common  ear. 
And  so  it  is  receiv'd  :  Now,  pious  sir 
You  will  demand  of  me,  why  I  do  this  ? 

Fri.  Gladly,  my  lord. 

Duke.  We  have  strict  statutes,  and  most  biting  law^, 
(The  needful  bites  and  curbs  for  headstrong  steeds,) 
Which  for  these  fourteen  years  we  have  let  sleep  ; 
Even  like  an  o'er-grown  lion  in  a  cave. 
That  goes  not  out  to  prey  :  Now,  as  fond  fathers 
Having  bound  up  the  threat'ning  twigs  of  birch. 
Only  to  stick  it  in  their  children's  sight. 
For  terror,  not  to  use ;  in  time  the  rod 
Becomes  more  mock'd,  than  fear'd  ;  so  our  decrees. 
Dead  to  infliction,  to  themselves  are  dead ; 
And  liberty'^  plucks  juctice  by  the  nose  ; 
The  baby  beats  the  nurse,*^  and  quite  athwart 
Goes  all  decorum. 

Fri.  It  rested  in  your  grace 

To  unloose  this  tied-up  justice,  when  you  pleas 'd : 
And  it  in  you  more  dreadful  would  have  seem'. 
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 

*  bravery  keeps.']  i.  e.  Foppery  resides. 

^  liberty — ]  Licentiousness. 

<"  The  baby  beats  her  nurse,]  This  allusion  is  borrowed  from  an  old  print,  en- 
titled the  world  turned  upside  down,  in  which  the  baby  is  represented  as  so 
employed. — Steevens. 

•1  Sith — ]  i.  e.  Since. 


ACT  I.— SCENE  V.  91 

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  the  ambush  of  my  name,  strike  home. 

And  yet  my  nature  never  in  the  fight,* 

To  do  it  slander  :  And  to  behold  his  sway, 

I  will,  as  'twere  a  brother  of  your  order. 

Visit  both  prince  and  people  :  therefore,  I  pr'ythee. 

Supply  me  with  a  habit,  and  instruct  me 

How  I  may  formally  in  person  bear  me 

Like  a  true  friar.     More  reasons  for  this  action, 

At  our  more  leisure  shall  I  render  you  ; 

Only,  this  one : — Lord  Angelo  is  precise ; 

Stands  at  a  guard*^  with  envy  ;  scarce  confesses 

That  his  blood  flows,  or  that  his  appetite 

Is  more  to  bread  than  stone  :  Hence  shall  we  see. 

If  power  change  purpose,  what  our  seemers  be.    [Exeunt. 

SCENE  V. 

A  Numiery. 
Enter  Isabella  and  Francisca. 

Isab.  And  have  you  nuns  no  farther  privileges  ? 

Fran.  Are  not  these  large  enough  ? 

hah.  Yes,  truly  ;  I  speak  not  as  desiring  more  ; 
But  rather  wishing  a  more  strict  restraint 
Upon  the  sister-hood,  the  vptarists  of  saint  Clare. 

Lucio.  Ho  !  peace  be  in  this  place !  [  Within. 

Isab.  Who's  that  which  calls  ? 

Fran.  It  is  a  man's  voice :  Gentle  Isabella, 
Turn  you  the  key,  and  know  his  business  of  him; 
You  may,  I  may  not ;  you  are  yet  unsworn  : 
When  you  have  vow'd,  you  must  not  speak  with  men. 
But  in  the  presence  of  the  prioress  : 

«=  fght,] — is  the  old  reading — sight  was  introduced  by  Mr.  Pope. — the  duke 
is  speaking  metaphorically  in  military  terms  ;  and  the  old  reading  which  I 
have  restored  is  evidently  the  true  one. 

f  Stands  at  a  guard — ]  Stands  on  his  defeace. — M.  Mason. 


92  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

Then,  if  you  speak,  you  must  not  show  your  face  ; 
Or,  if  you  show  your  face,  you  must  not  speak. 
He  calls  again  ;  I  pray  you  answer  him. 

[Exit.  Francisca. 
Isab.  Peace  and  prosperity !  Who  is't  that  calls  ? 

Enter  Lucio. 

Lucio.  Hail,  virgin,  if  you  be  ;  as  those  cheek-roses 
Proclaim  you  are  no  less  !  Can  you  so  stead  me. 
As  bring  me  to  the  sight  of  Isabella, 
A  novice  of  this  place,  and  the  fair  sister 
To  her  unhappy  brother  Claudio  ? 

Isab.  Why  her  unhappy  brother  ?  let  me  ask ; 
The  rather,  for  I  now  must  make  you  know 
I  am  that  Isabella,  and  his  sister. 

Lucio.  Gentle  and  fair,  your  brother  kindly  greets  you : 
Not  to  be  weary  with  you,  he's  in  prison. 

Isab.  Woe  me  !   For  what  ? 

Lucio.  For  that,  which  if  myself  might  be  his  judge. 
He  should  receive  his  punishment  in  thanks  : 
He  hath  got  his  friend  with  child. 

Isab.  Sir,  make  me  not  your  story .^ 

Lucio.  It  is  true. 

I  would  not — though  'tis  my  familiar  sin 
With  maids  to  seem  the  lapwing,  and  to  jest. 
Tongue  far  from  heart,^ — play  with  all  virgins  so  : 
I  hold  you  as  a  thing  ensky'd,  and  sainted : 
By  your  renouncement,  an  immortal  spirit ; 
And  to  be  talk'd  with  in  sincerity. 
As  with  a  saint 

Isab.  You  do  blaspheme  the  good,  in  mocking  me. 

Lucio.  Do  not  believe  it.  Fewness  and  truth,  'tis  thus  : 
Your  brother  and  his  lover  have  embrac'd  : 
As  those  that  feed  grow  full ;  as  blossoming  time,*" 

f make  me  not  your  stary.']    Do  not  make  a  jest  of  me. — Ritson. 

S  Tongue  far  from  heart, — ]  Tlie  old  proverl>  is,  The  lajncini^  cries  tongue  Jar 
from  heart, — i.  e.  the  fartlier  she  is  from  her  nest.— The  following  passage  in 
Lilly's  Campaspe  may  illustrate  the  words — Alex,  "  You  resemble  tlie  lap- 
wing, who  crieth  most  where  her  nest  is  not ;  and  so,  to  lead  me  from  espying 
your  love  to  Campaspe,  you  cry  Timoclea." — Grey. 

'' hlossoming  (jme,]  'l"he  time  when  the  ears  of  corn  are  formed — secd- 

ness,  seedtime— ^(»isi'H,  plenty,  here  used  in  the  sense  of  harvest. 


ACT  I.— SCENE  V.  93 

That  from  the  seedness  the  bare  fallow  brings 
To  teeming  foison  ;  even  so  her  plenteous  womb 
Expresseth  his  full  tilth'  and  husbandry. 

Isab.  Someone  with  child  by  him? — My  cousin  Juliet? 

Lucio.  Is  she  your  cousin  ? 

Isab.  Adoptedly  ;  as  school-maids  change  their  names. 
By  vain  though  apt  affection. 

Lucio.  She  it  is. 

Isab.  O,  let  him  marry  her  ! 

Lucio.  This  is  the  point. 

The  duke  is  very  strangely  gone  from  hence  ; 
Bore  many  gentlemen,  myself  being  one. 
In  hand,  and  hope  of  action  :''  but  we  do  learn 
By  those  that  know  the  very  nerves  of  state. 
His  givings  out  were  of  an  infinite  distance 
From  his  true-meant  design.     Upon  his  place. 
And  with  fidl  line  of  his  authority. 
Governs  lord  Angelo  :  a  man,  whose  blood 
Is  very  snow-broth  ;  one  who  never  feels 
The  wanton  stings  and  motions  of  the  sense  ; 
But  doth  rebate  and  blunt  his  natural  edge 
With  profits  of  the  mind,  study  and  fast. 
He  (to  give  fear  to  use  and  liberty,' 
Which  have,  for  long,  run  by  the  hideous  law. 
As  mice  by  lions,)  hath  pick'd  out  an  act. 
Under  whose  heavy  sense  your  brother's  life 
Falls  into  forfeit:  he  arrests  him  on  it; 
And  follows  close  the  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. 

Isab.  Doth  he  so  seek  his  life  ? 

Lucio.  Has  censured"  him 


* -tilth—]  Tillage. 

''  Bore  many  gentlemen, 

In  hand,  and  hope  of  action  ;]    To  hear  in  hand  is  a  common  phrase  for  lo 
keep  in  expectation  and  dependance. — Johnsox. 

' to  give  fear  to  use  and  liberty,']  To  intimidate   the  common  practice 

and  licentiousness. 

™ censur'd,]  i.  e.  Sentenced. 


94  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

Already ;  and,  as  I  hear,  the  provost  hath 
A  warrant  for  his  execution. 

Isah.  Alas  !  what  poor  ability's  in  me 
To  do  him  good  ? 

Lucio.  Assay  the  power  you  have. 

Isah.  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  and  kneel. 
All  their  petitions  are  as  freely  theirs 
As  they  themselves  would  owe"  them. 

Isah.  I'll  see  what  I  can  do. 

Lucio.  But,  speedily. 

Isah.  I  will  about  it  straight ; 
No  longer  staying  but  to  give  the  mother 
Notice  of  my  affair.     I  humbly  thank  you  : 
Commend  me  to  my  brother :  soon  at  night 
I'll  send  him  certain  word  of  my  success. 

Lucio.  I  take  my  leave  of  you. 

hah.  Good  sir,  adieu. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT  II. 

Scene    I. — A  Hall  in  Angela's  House. 

Enter  Angelo,  Escalus,  a  Justice,  Provost,"  Officers, 
and  other  Attendants. 

Aug.  We  must  not  make  a  scare-crow  of  the  law. 
Setting  it  up  to  fear  the  birds  of  prey. 
And  let  it  keep  one  shape,  till  custom  make  it 
Their  perch,  and  not  their  terror. 

Escal.  Ay,  but  yet 

Let  us  be  keen,  and  rather  cut  a  little, 
Than  fall,  ami  bruise  to  death  :  Alas  !  this  gentleman 

" oire] — in  ibis  place  is  have. 

"  /Voi'osf,]  The,  VroLOit  here,  is  not  a  mililtni^  ojjiccr,  but  a  kind  of  sherift  or 
goaler,  so  called  in  foreign  countries. — Douce. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  I.  95 

Whom  I  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  your  blood 

Could  have  attain'd  the  effect  of  your  own  purpose. 

Whether  you  had  not  sometime  in  your  life 

Err'd  in  tliis  point  which  now  you  censure  him,'' 

And  puU'd  the  law  upon  you. 

Ang.  'Tis  one  thing  to  be  tempted,  Escalus, 
Another  thing  to  fall.     I  not  deny. 
The  jury,  passing  on  the  prisoner's  life. 
May,  in  the  sworn  twelve,  have  a  thief  or  two 
Guiltier  than  him  they  try  :  What's  open  made  tojustice. 
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  com.e  in  partial.     Sir,  he  must  die. 

Escal.  Be  it  as  your  wisdom  will. 

Ang.  Where  is  the  provost? 

Prov.  Here,  if  it  like  your  honour. 

Ar/sr.  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. 

Escal.  Well,  heaven  forgive  him  !  and  forgive  us  all ! 
Some  rise  by  sin,  and  some  by  virtue  fall : 
Some  run  from  brakes  of  vice,^  and  answer  none  ; 
And  some  condemned  for  a  fault  alone. 


P censure  him,']   Mr.  Steevens  proposes  to  read  censure  him  for. 

1 pass — ]  Pass  sentence  on. 

'■ pregnant,]    Evident. 

' run  from  brakes  of  vice,  and  answer  none,]  i.  e.  Escape  from  the  thorny 


96  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

Enter  Elbow,  Froth,  Clown,  Officers,  &c. 

Elb.  Come,  bring  them  away  :  if  these  be  good  people 
in  a  common-weal,  that  do  nothing  but  use  their  abuses 
in  common  houses,  I  know  no  law  ;  bring  them  away. 

AufT.  How  now,  sir !  What's  your  name  ?  and  what's 
the  matter? 

Elb.  If  it  please  your  honour,  I  am  the  poor  duke's 
constable,  and  my  name  is  Elbow;  I  do  lean  upon  jus- 
tice, sir,  and  do  bring  in  here  before  your  good  honour 
two  notorious  benefactors. 

Ans.  Benefactors  ?  Well ;  what  benefactors  are  they  i 
are  they  not  malefactors  ? 

Elb.  If  it  please  your  honour,  I  know  not  well  what 
they  are  :  but  precise  villians  they  are,  that  I  am  sure  of: 
and  void  of  all  profanation  in  the  world,  that  good  chris- 
tians ought  to  have. 

Escal.  This  comes  off  well;  here's  a  wise  officer. 
Ang.  Go  to  :  What  quality  are  they  of?  Elbow  is  your 
name  ?  Why  dost  thou  not  speak.  Elbow  ? 
Clo.  He  cannot,  sir;  he's  out  at  elbow. 
Jng.  What  are  you,  sir  ? 

Elb.  He,  sir?  a  tapster,  sir;    parcel-bawd;    one  that 
serves  a  bad  woman ;  whose  house,  sir,  was,  as  they  say, 
pluck'd  down  in  the  suburbs  ;  and  now  she  professes  a 
hot-house,'  which,  I  think,  is  a  very  ill  house  too. 
Escal.  How  know  you  that  ? 

Elb.  My  wife  sir,  whom  I  detest  before  heaven  and 
your  honour, — 

Escal.  How  !  thy  wife  ? 

Elb.  Ay,  sir :  whom,  I  thank  heaven,  is  an  honest 
woman, — 

Escal.  Dost  thou  detest  her  therefore  ? 

Elb.  I  say,  sir,  I  will  detest  myself  also,  as  well  as  she, 

ways  of  vice  and  are  never  called  to  any  account — bnihe  is  used  in  this  sense 
in  Henry  the  Eighth. 

"I'is  but  the  fate  of  place  and  the  rough  brake 

That  virtue  must  go  through." — 
hrake  meaning  in  both  places  a  difficult  pass  through  briars. 

t_ a  liol  hnusii,]  A  house  for  hot-batlis. — They  were  always  in  bad  re- 
pute.— Miushew  renders  hothouse  by  vaporarium. — Nares's  Glossary. 


ACT  IL— SCENE  I.  97 

that  this  house,  if  it  be  not  a  bawd's  house,  it  is  pity  of 
her  life,  for  it  is  a  naughty  house. 

Escal.  How  dost  thou  know  that,  constable  ? 

Elb.  Marry,  sir,  by  my  wife  ;  who,  if  she  had  been  a 
woman  cardinally  given,  might  have  been  accused  in  for- 
nication, adultery,  and  all  uncleanliness  there. 

Escal.  By  the  woman's  means  ? 

Elb.  Ay,  sir,  by  mistress  Over-done's  means  ;  but  as 
she  spit  in  his  face,  so  she  defied  him. 

Clo.  Sir,  if  it  please  your  honour,  this  is  not  so. 

Elb.  Prove  it  before  these  varlets  here,  thou  honour- 
able man,  prove  it. 

Escal.  Do  you  hear  how  he  misplaces ?    [To  Angelo. 

Clo.  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. 

Escal.  Go  to,  go  to ;  not  matter  for  the  dish,  sir. 

Clo.  No,  indeed,  sir,  not  of  a  pin ;  you  are  therein  in 
the  right :  but,  to  the  point :  As  I  say,  this  mistress  El- 
bow, 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.  No,  indeed. 

Clo.  Very  well :  you  being  then,  if  you  be  remember'd, 
cracking  the  stones  of  the  aforesaid  prunes. 

Froth.  Ay,  so  I  did,  indeed. 

Clo.  Why,  very  well :  I  telling  you  then,  if  you  be  re- 
member'd,  that  such  a  one,  and  such  a  one,  were  past 
cure  of  the  thing  you  wot  of,  unless  they  kept  very  good 
diet,  as  I  told  you. 

Froth.  All  this  is  true. 

Clo.  Why,  very  well  then. 

Escal.  Come,  you  are  a  tedious  fool  :  to  the  purpose. 


98  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

— What  was  done  to  Elbow's  wife,  that  he  hath  cause  to 
complain  of?  Come  me  to  what  was  done  to  her. 

Clo.  Sir,  your  honour  cannot  come  to  that  yet. 

Escal.  No,  sir,  nor  I  mean  it  not. 

Clo.  Sir,  but  you  shall  come  to  it,  by  your  honour's 
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.  AU-hallownd  eve. 

Clo.  Why,  very  well ;  I  hope  here  be  truths :  He,  sir, 
sitting,  as  I  say,  in  a  lower  chair,"  sir ; — 'twas  in  the 
Hunch  of  Grapes,  where,  indeed,  you  have  a  delight  to 
sit :  Have  you  not  ? 

Froth.  I  have  so ;  because  it  is  an  open  room,  and  good 
for  winter. 

Clo.  Why,  very  well  then ; — I  hope  here  be  truths. 

Ang.  This  will  last  out  a  night  in  Russia, 
When  nights  are  longest  there  :  I'll  take  my  leave. 
And  leave  you  the  hearing  of  the  cause  ; 
Hoping,  you'll  find  good  cause  to  whip  them  all. 

Escal.  I  think  no  less  :  Good  morrow  to  your  lordship. 

\^Exit.  Angelo. 
Now,  sir,  come  on  :  What  was  done  to  Elbow's  wife,  once 
more  ? 

Clo.  Once,  sir  ?  there  was  nothing  done  to  her  once. 

Elb.  I  beseech  you,  sir,  ask  him  what  this  man  did  to 
my  wife  ? 

Clo.  I  beseech  your  honour,  ask  me. 

Escal.  Well,  sir  :  what  did  this  gentleman  to  her  ? 

Clo.  I  beseech  you,  sir,  look  in  this  gentleman's  face  : 
— Good  master  Froth,  look  upon  his  honour  :  'tis  for  a 
good  purpose  :   Doth  your  honour  mark  his  face  ? 

Escal.  Ay,  sir,  very  well. 

Clo.  Nay,  I  beseech  you  mark  it  well. 

Escal.  Well,  I  do  so. 

Clo.  Doth  your  honour  see  any  harm  in  his  face  ? 

"  lower  chair,]   Every  house  had  formerly  among  its  other  furniture, 

what  was  called  a  low  chair,  designed  for  the  use  of  sick  and  lazy  people. — 
Stf.evens. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  I.  99 

Escal.  Why,  no. 

CVo.  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  consta- 
ble's wife  any  harm  ?  I  would  know  that  of  your  honour. 

Escal.  He's  in  the  right :  Constable,  what  say  you  to  it  ? 

Elb.  First,  an  it  like  you,  the  house  is  a  respected 
house  ;  next,  this  is  a  respected  fellow  ;  and  his  mistress 
is  a  respected  woman. 

Clo.  By  this  hand,  sir,  his  wife  is  a  more  respected 
person  than  any  of  us  all. 

Elb.  Varlet,  thou  liest ;  thou  best,  wicked  varlet  :  the 
time  is  yet  to  come,  that  she  was  ever  respected,  with  man, 
woman,  or  child. 

Clo.  Sir,  she  was  respected  with  him  before  he  married 
with  her. 

Escal.  Which  is  the  wiser  here  ?  Justice,  or  Iniquity  ?" 
— Is  this  true  ? 

Elb.  O  thou  caitiff!  O  thou  varlet!  O  thou  wicked 
Hannibal  I  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. 

Escal.  If  he  took  you  a  box  o'th'  ear,  you  might  have 
your  action  of  slander  too. 

Elb.  Marry,  I  thank  your  good,'worship  for  it :  Whatis't 
your  worship's  pleasure  I  should  do  with  this  wicked  caitiff? 

Escal.  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. 

Elb.  Marry,  I  thank  your  worship  for  it : — Thou  seest, 
thou  wicked  varlet  now,  what's  come  upon  thee  ;  thou  art 
to  continue  now,  thou  varlet;  thou  art  to  continue. 

Escal.  Where  were  you  born,  friend  ?  [To  Froth. 

Froth.  Here  in  Vienna,  sir. 

Escal.  Are  you  of  fourscore  pounds  a-year  ? 

"  Justice,  or  Iniquity  ?]  i.  e.  The  Constable  or  the  Fool.  Escalus  calls  the 
latter.  Iniquity,  in  allusion  to  the  old  Vice,  a  familiar  character  in  the  ancient 
moralities  and  dumb-sliows.      Juatice  may  have  had   a   similar  allusion. — 

RiTSON. 


100  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

Froth.  Yes,  an't  please  you,  sir. 

Escal.  So. — What  trade  are  you  of,  sir?  [To  the  Clown. 

C/o.  A  tapster ;  a  poor  widow's  tapster. 

Escal.  Your  mistress's  name  ? 

Clo.  Mistress  Over-done. 

Escal.  Hath  she  had  any  more  than  one  husband  ? 

Clo.  Nine,  sir  ;  Over-done  by  the  last. 

Escal.  Nine  ! — Come  hither  to  me,  master  Froth. 
Master  Froth,  I  would  not  have  you  acquainted  with 
tapsters ;  they  will  draw  you,  master  Froth,  and  you 
will  hang  them  :  Get  you  gone,  and  let  me  hear  no  more 
of  you. 

Froth.  I  thank  your  worship  :  For  mine  own  part, 
I  never  come  into  any  room  in  a  taphouse,  but  I  am 
drawn  in. 

Escal.  Well ;  no  more  of  it,  master  Froth  :  farewell. 
[Exit  Froth.] — Come  you  hither  to  me,  master  tapster; 
what's  your  name,  master  tapster  ? 

Clo.  Pompey. 

Escal.  What  else  ? 

Clo.  Bum,  sir. 

Escal.  'Troth,  and  your  bum  is  the  greatest  thing  about 
you  ;  so  that,  in  the  beastliest  sense,  you  are  Pompey  the 
great.  Pompey,  you  are  partly  a  bawd,  Pompey,  howso- 
ever you  colour  it  in  being  a  tapster.  Are  you  not  ?  come, 
tell  me  true ;  it  shall  be  the  better  for  you. 

Clo.  Truly,  sir,  I  am  a  poor  fellow,  that  would  live. 

Escal.  How  would  you  live,  Pompey  ?  by  being  a  bawd  ? 
What  do  you  think  of  the  trade,  Pompey  ?  is  it  a  lawful 
trade  ? 

Clo.  If  the  law  would  allow  it,  sir  ? 

Escal.  But  the  law  will  not  allow  it,  Pompey ;  nor  it 
shall  not  be  allowed  in  Vienna. 

Clo.  Does  your  worship  mean  to  geld  and  spay  all  the 
youth  in  the  city  ? 

Escal.  No,  Pompey. 

Clo.  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. 

f take  order — ]  i.  e.  Take  measures. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  I.  101 

Escal.  There  are  pretty  orders  beginning,  I  can  tell  you  : 
It  is  but  heading  and  hanging. 

C/o.  If  you  head  and  hang  all  that  offend  that  way  but 
for  ten  year  together,  you'll  be  glad  to  give  out  a  com- 
mission 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  to  see  this  come  to  pass,  say,  Pompey 
told  you  so. 

Escal.  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  whatsoever,  no, 
not  for  dwelling  where  you  do  ;  if  I  do,  Pompey,  I  shall 
beat  you  to  your  tent,  and  prove  a  shrewd  Caesar  to  you  ; 
in  plain  dealing,  Pompey,  I  shall  have  you  whipt :  so  for 
this  time,  Pompey,  fare  you  well. 

Clo.  I  thank  your  worship  for  your  good  counsel ;  but 
I  shall  follow  it,  as  the  flesh  and  fortune  shall  better  de- 
termine. 

Whip  me  ?  No,  no,  let  carman  whip  his  jade  ; 
The  valiant  heart's  not  whipt  out  of  his  trade.  [Exit. 

Escal.  Come  hither  to  me,  master  Elbow  ;  come  hither, 
master  Constable.  How  long  have  you  been  in  this  place 
of  constable  ? 

Elb.  Seven  year  and  a  half,  sir. 

Escal.  I  thought,  by  your  readiness  in  the  office,  you 
had  continued  in  it  some  time  :  You  say,  seven  years  to- 
gether ? 

Elb.  And  a  half,  sir. 

Escal.  Alas  !  it  hath  been  great  pains  to  you  !  They  do 
you  wrong  to  put  you  so  oft  upon't :  Are  there  not  men  in 
your  ward  sufficient  to  serve  it  ? 

Elb.  Faith,  sir,  few  of  any  wit  in  such  matters  :  as  they 
are  chosen,  they  are  glad  to  choose  me  for  them ;  I  do  it 
for  some  piece  of  money,  and  go  through  with  all. 

Escal.  Look  you,  bring  me  in  the  names  of  some  six  or 
seven,  the  most  sufficient  of  your  parish. 

Elb.  To  your  worship's  house,  sir  ? 

I ril  reut  the  fairest  house  in  it,  after  three-pence  a  bay :]  As  a  term 

among  builders,  buy  signified  every  space  left  in  the  wall,  whether  for  door, 
window,  or  chimney. — Also,  according  to  Coles,  Lat.  Die.  the  term  bay  of 
building  meajxs  a  measure  of  twenty -four  feet. — Nares's  Glossary. 

VOL.    II.  I 


102  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

Escal.  To  my  house  :  Fare  you  well.       [Exit  Elbow. 
What's  o'clock,  think  you  ? 

Just.  Eleven,  sir. 

Escal.  I  pray  you  home  to  dinner  with  me. 

Just.  I  humbly  thank  you, 

Escal.  It  grieves  me  for  the  death  of  Claudio  ; 
But  there's  no  remedy. 

Just.  Lord  Angelo  is  severe. 

Escal.  It  is  but  needful : 

Mercy  is  not  itself,  that  oft  looks  so  ; 
Pardon  is  still  the  nurse  of  second  woe  : 
But  yet, — Poor  Claudio  ! — There's  no  remedy. 
Come,  sir.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  11. 

Another  Room  in  the  same. 
Enter  Provost  and  a  Servant. 

Serv.  He's  hearing  of  a  cause ;  he  will  come  straight. 
I'll  tell  him  of  you. 

Prov.  Pray  you  do.  [Exit  Servant.]  I'll  know 
His  pleasure  ;  may  be,  he  will  relent :  Alas, 
He  hath  but  as  offended  in  a  dream! 
All  sects,  all  ages  smack  of  this  vice  ;  and  he 
To  die  for  it  !— 

Enter  Angelo. 

Ang.  Now,  what's  the  matter,  provost  ? 

Prov.  Is  it  your  will  Claudio  shall  die  to-morrow  ? 

Ang.  Did  I  not  tell  thee,  yea?  hadst  thou  not  order? 
Why  dost  thou  ask  again  ? 

Prtm.  Lest  I  might  be  too  rash : 

Under  your  good  correction,  I  have  seen. 
When,  after  execution,  judgment  hath 
Repented  o'er  his  doom. 

Ang.  Go  to  ;  let  that  be  mine  : 

Do  you  your  office,  or  give  up  your  place. 
And  yoii  shall  well  be  spar'd. 

Ptov.  I  crave  your  honour's  pardon. — 


ACT  IL— SCENE  IL  10^ 

What  shall  be  done,  sir,  with  the  groaning  Juliet  ? 
She's  very  near  her  hour. 

Ang.  Dispose  of  her 

To  some  more  fitter  place  ;  and  that  with  speed. 

Re-enter  Servant. 

Serv.  Here  is  the  sister  of  a  man  cendemn'd. 
Desires  access  to  you. 

Ang.  Hath  he  a  sister  ? 

Prov.  Ay,  my  good  lord  ;  a  very  virtuous  maid. 
And  to  be  shortly  of  a  sisterhood. 
If  not  already. 

Anz.  Well,  let  her  be  admitted. 

[£xt*.  Servant 
See  you,  the  fornicatress  be  remov'd  ; 
Let  her  have  needful,  but  not  lavish,  means  ; 
There  shall  be  order  for  it. 

Entei'  Lucio  antf  Isabella. 

Prov.  Save  your  honour !  {Offering  to  retire. 

Ang.  Stay  a  little  while. — \To  Isab.]  You  are  welcome : 

What's  your  will  ? 

Isab.  I  am  a  woeful  suitor  to  your  honour. 
Please  but  your  honour  hear  me. 

Ang.  Well ;  what's  your  suit  ' 

Isab.  There  is  a  vice,  that  most  I  do  abhor. 
And  most  desire  should  meet  the  blow  of  justice  ; 
For  which  I  would  not  plead,  but  that  I  must ; 
For  which  I  must  not  plead,  but  that  I  am 
At  war,  'twixt  will,  and  will  not. 

Ang.  Well ;  the  matter  ? 

Isab.  I  have  a  brother  is  condemn 'd  to  die  : 
I  do  beseech  you,  let  it  be  his  fault. 
And  not  my  brother. 

Prov.  Heaven  give  thee  moving  graces.' 

Aug.  Condemn  the  fault,  and  not  the  actor  of  it  i 
Why,  every  fault's  condemn'd,  ere  it  be  done  : 
Mine  were  the  very  cipher  of  a  function. 
To  find  the  faults,  whose  fine  stands  in  record. 
And  let  go  by  the  actor. 

I  2 


104       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

hah.  O  just,  but  severe  law  ! 

I  had  a  brother  then. — Heaven  keep  your  honour  ! 

{Retiring. 
Lucio.  [To  IsAB.]  Give't  not  o'er  so  :  to  him  again,  in- 
treat  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  tongue  desire  it : 
To  him^  I  say. 

Isab.  Must  he  needs  die  ? 

Aug.  Maiden,  no  remedy. 

Isab.  Yes ;  I  do  think  that  you  might  pardon  him, 
And  neither  heaven,  nor  man,  grieve  at  the  mercy. 
Ang.  I  will  not  do't. 

Isab.  But  can  you  if  you  would  ? 

Ang.  Look,  what  I  will  not,  that  I  cannot  do. 
Isab.  But  might  you  do't,  and  do  the  world  no  wrong. 
If  so  your  heart  were  touch 'd  with  that  remorse* 
As  mine  is  to  him? 

Ang.  He's  sentenc'd  ;  'tis  too  late. 

Lucio.  You  are  too  cold.  [To  Isabella. 

Isab.  Too  late?  why,  no;  I,  that  do  speak  a  word. 
May  call  it  back  again  :  Well,  believe  this. 
No  ceremony  that  to  great  ones  'longs. 
Not  the  king's  crown,  nor  the  deputed  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. 
Ang.  Pray  you,  begone. 
Isab.  I  would  to  heaven  I  had  your  potency. 
And  you  were  Isabel  ?  should  it  then  be  thus  ? 
No  ;  I  would  tell  what  'twere  to  be  a  judge. 
And  what  a  prisoner. 

Lucio.  Ay,  touch  him  :  there's  the  vein.  [Aside. 

Ang.  Your  brother  is  a  forfeit  of  the  law. 
And  you  but  waste  your  words. 

*  remorse — Jfi'y. 


ACT.  II.— SCENE  II.  105 

tsab.  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.'' 

^f>g-  Be  you  content,  fair  maid. 

It  is  the  law,  not  I,  condemns  your  brother  : 
Were  he  my  kinsman,  brother,  or  my  son. 
It  should  be  thus  with  him ; — he  must  die  to-morrow. 

Isab.  To-morrow  ?  O,  that's  sudden  !  Spare  him,  spare 
him  : 
He's  not  prepar'd  for  death  !  Even  for  our  kitchens 
We  kill  the  fowl  of  season  ;  shall  we  serve  heaven 
With  less  respect  than  we  do  minister 
To  our  gross  selves  ?  Good,  good  my  lord,  bethink  you : 
Who  is  it  that  hath  died  for  his  ofi'ence  ? 
There's  many  have  committed  it. 

Lucio.  Ay,  well  said. 

Ang.  The  law  hath  not  been  dead,  though  it  hath  slept : 
Those  many  had  not  dar'd  to  do  that  evil. 
If  the  first  man  that  did  the  edict  infringe. 
Had  answer'd  for  his  deed  :  now,  'tis  awake  ; 
Takes  note  of  what  is  done ;  and,  like  a  prophet. 
Looks  in  a  glass,'^  that  shows  what  future  evils, 
(Either  now,  or  by  remissness  new-conceiv'd. 
And  so  in  progress  to  be  hatch'd  and  born,) 
Are  now  to  have  no  successive  degrees. 
But,  where  they  Uve,  to  end.'* 

•>  Like  man  new  made.]  You  will  then  appear  tender-hearted  and  merciful  as 
the  first  man  was  in  the  days  of  innocence,  immediately  after  his  creation. — 
Malone. 

" like  a  prophet, 

Looks  in  a  glass,']  This  alludes  to  the  fopperies  of  the  beiil,  much  used  at  that 
time  to  predict, by  cheats,  and  fortune-tellers. — Warbl'rton. — the  beril  was 
a  kind  of  crystal,  which  hath  a  weak  tincture  of  red  in  it.  Among  other  tricks 
of  astrologers,  the  discovery  of  past  or  future  events  was  supposed  to  be  the 
consequence  of  looking  into  it. — Reed. 

d  where  they  live  to  end.]  i.  e.  With  the  criminal  ;  who  being  punished 

for  his  first  ofience,  could  not  proceed  by  successive  degrees  in  wickedness,  nor 
excite  others,  by  his  impunity,  to  vice. — Malone. 


106      MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

Isab,  Yet  show  some  pity. 

Ang.  I  show  it  most  of  all,  when  I  show  justice  j 
For  then  I  pity  those  I  do  not  know. 
Which  a  dismiss'd  offence  would  after  gall ; 
And  do  him  right,  that  answering  one  foul  wrong. 
Lives  not  to  act  another.     Be  satisfied  ; 
Your  brother  dies  to-morrow ;  be  content. 

Isab.  So  you  must  be  the  first,  that  gives  this  sentence ; 
And  he,  that  suffers :  O,  it  is  excellent 
To  have  a  giant's  strength  j  but  it  is  tyrannous 
To  use  it  like  a  giant. 

Lucio.  That's  well  said. 

Isab.  Could  great  men  thunder  , 

As  Jove  himself  does,  Jove  would  ne'er  be  quiet. 
For  every  pelting,*  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. 
As  make  the  angels  weep  ;  who  with  our  spleens. 
Would  all  themselves  laugh  mortal.'' 

Lucio.  O,  to  him,  to  him,  wench  :  he  will  relent ; 
He's  coming,  I  perceive't. 

Prov.  Pray  heaven,  she  win  him  ? 

Isab.  We  cannot  weigh  our  brother  with  ourself : 
Great  men  may  jest  with  saints  :  'tis  wit  in  them  ; 
But,  in  the  less,  foul  profanation. 

^  pelting,]  i.  e.  Paltry. 

' gnaiieil,~\    Gnarre  is   the  old  English  word  for  a  knot   in  wood. 

Steevens. 

s his  glassy  essence, — ]  His  own  brittle  existence. 

•"  ■  who,  with  our  spleens, 

Would  all  themselves  laugh  mortal.']  By  spleens,  Shakspeare  means  the  pecu- 
liar turn  of  the  human  miud,  tliat  always  inclines  it  to  a  spiteful,  unseasonable 
mirth.  Had  tho  aiigeJa  that,  says  Shakspcare,  they  would  laugh  themselves 
out  of  their  immortality,  by  indulging  a  passion  which  does  not  deserve  that 
prerogative. — Warburton. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  II.  107 

Lticio.  Thou'rt  in  the  right,  girl ;  more  o'that. 

Isab.  That  in  the  captain's  but  a  choleric  word, 
Which  in  the  soldier  is  flat  blasphemy. 

JLucio.  Art  advis'd  o'that  ?  more  on't. 

Ang.  Why  do  you  put  these  sayings  upon  me  ? 

Isab.  Because  authority,  though  it  err  like  others. 
Hath  yet  a  kind  of  medicine  in  itself. 
That  skins  the  vice  o'the  top :  Go  to  your  bosom ; 
Knock  there  ;  and  ask  your  heart,  what  it  doth  know 
That's  like  my  brother's  fault:  if  it  confess 
A  natural  guiltiness,  such  as  is  his. 
Let  it  not  sound  a  thought  upon  your  tongue 
Against  my  brother's  life. 

Ang.                                       She  speaks,  and  'tis 
Such  sense,  that  my  sense  breads  with  it. Fare  you 

Isab.  Gentle  my  lord,  turn  back.  [well. 

Ang.  I  will  bethink  me  : — Come  again  to-morrow. 

Isab.  Hark,  how   I'll  bribe  you  :   Good  my  lord,  turn 

Ang.  How  !  bribe  me  ?  [back. 

Isab.  Ay,  with  such  gifts,  that  heaven  shall  share  with 

Lucio.  You  had  marr'd  all  else.  [you. 

Isab.  Not  with  fond  shekels' of  the  tested  gold,'' 
Or  stones,  whose  rates  are  either  rich,  or  poor. 
As  fancy  values  them  :  but  with  true  prayers. 
That  shall  be  up  at  heaven,  and  enter  there, 
Ere  sun-rise :  prayers  from  preserved  souls. 
From  fasting  maids,  whose  minds  are  dedicate 
To  nothing  temporal. 

Ang.  Well :  come  to  me 

To-morrow. 

Lucio.  Go  to;  it  is  well;  away.  [Aside  to  Isabel. 

Isab.  Heaven  keep  your  honour  safe  ! 

Ang.  Amen  :  for  I 

Am  that  way  going  tg  temptation,  \^Aside. 

Where  prayers  cross.' 

'^ ion^  shekels — ]  Fond  means  very  frequently  in  our  author,  yooiisfc.     It 

signifies  in  this  plaee  valued  or  prized  by  folly, — Steevkns. 

^  tested goW,]  i.  e.  Brought  to  the  test,  cupelled,  refined. — Johnson. 

'  ■ ■  lam  that  way  going  to  temptation, 

Where  prayers  cross.]  This  appointment  of  his  for  the  morrow's  meeting, 
being  a  premeditated  exposure  of  himself  to  temptation,  and  thus  crossing  the 
petition  of  the  Lord's  prayer,  lead  us  not  into  temptation. — Henlet. 


108  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

ls<^b.  At  what  hour  to-morrow 

Shall  I  attend  your  lordship  ? 

■^"S-  At  any  time  'fore  noon. 

Isab.  Save  your  honour ! 

[Exeunt  Lucio,  Isabella,  a«rf  Provost. 
Aug.  From  thee  ;  even  from  thy  virtue ! — 

What's  this  ?  what's  this  ?  Is  this  her  fault  or  mine  ? 
The  tempter  or  the  tempted,  who  sins  most?     Ha  ! 
Not  she ;  nor  doth  she  tempt :  but  it  is  I, 
That  lying  by  the  violet,  in  the  sun, 
Do,  as  the  carrion  does,  not  as  the  flower, 
Corrupt  with  virtuous  season.'"     Can  it  be. 
That  modesty  may  more  betray  our  sense 
Than  woman's  lightness  ?  Having  waste  ground  enough. 
Shall  we  desire  to  raze  the  sanctuary. 
And  pitch  our  lives  there  ?  O,  fy,  fy,  fy  ! 
What  dost  thou  ?  or  what  art  thou,  Angelo  ? 
Dost  thou  desire  her  foully,  for  those  things 
That  make  her  good  ?  O,  let  her  brother  live  : 
Thieves  for  their  robbery  have  authority, 
When  judges  steal  themselves.     What?  do  I  love  her. 
That  I  desire  to  hear  her  speak  again. 
And  feast  upon  her  eyes  ?  What  is't  I  dream  on  ? 
O  cunning  enemy,  that,  to  catch  a  saint. 
With  saints  dost  bait  thy  hook  !  Most  dangerous 
Is  that  temptation,  that  doth  goad  us  on 
To  sin  in  loving  virtue :  never  could  the  strumpet. 
With  all  her  double  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.'' 

»  Cc»-ruvt  with  virtuous  season.]  I  am  not  corrupted  by  her  but  my  own  heart 
which  excites  foul  desires  under  the  same  benign  influences  that  exalt  her  pu- 
nty.  as  the  carrion  grows  putrid  by  those  beams  wffich  increase  the  fragrance  of 
the  violet. — Johnson.  ° 

"  As  a  day  must  intervene  between  this  conference  of  Isabella  with  Angelo, 
and  the  next,  the  act  might  now  properly  end  here  ;  and  here,  in  n.y  opinion,  it 
was  ended  by  the  poet.— Johnson.  ^ 


ACT.  II.— SCENE  II.  109 

SCENE  III. 

A  Room  in  a  Prison. 
Enter  Duke,  habited  like  a  Friar,  and  Provost. 

Duke.  Hail  to  you,  provost !  so,  I  think  you  are. 

Prov.  I  am  the  provost:  What's  your  will,  good  friar? 

Duke.  Bound  by  my  charity,  and  my  bless'd  order, 
I  come  to  visit  the  afflicted  spirits 
Here  in  the  prison  :  do  me  the  common  right 
To  let  me  see  them  ;  and  to  make  me  know 
The  nature  of  their  crimes,  that  I  may  minister 
To  them  accordingly. 

Prov.  I  would  do  more  than  that,  if  more  were  needful. 

Enter  Juliet. 

Look,  here  comes  one  ;  a  gentlewoman  of  mine. 
Who  falling  in  the  flames  of  her  own  youth. 
Hath  blister'd  her  report :  She  is  with  child ; 
And  he  that  got  it,  sentenc'd  :  a  young  man 
More  fit  to  do  another  such  offfence, 
Than  die  for  this. 

Duke.  When  must  he  die  ? 

Prov.  As  I  do  think  to-morrow. — 
I  have  provided  for  you ;  stay  a  while,  [To  Juliet. 

And  you  shall  be  conducted. 

Duke.  Repent  you,  fair  one,  of  the  sin  you  carry  ? 
Juliet.  I  do  ;  and  bear  the  shame  most  patiently. 
Duke.  I'll  teach  you  how  you  shall  arraign  your  con- 
And  try  your  penitence,  if  it  be  sound,  [science. 

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  ? 


ilO  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

Juliet.  Mutually. 

Duke.  Then  was  your  sin  of  heavier  kind  than  his. 

Juliet.  I  do  confess  it,  and  repent  it,  father. 

Duke.  Tis  meet  so,  daughter  :  But  lest  you  do  repent. 
As  that  the  sin  hath  brought  you  to  this  shame, — 
Which  sorrow  is  always  toward  ourselves,  not  heaven ; 
Showing,  we  would  not  spare  heaven,  as  we  love  it. 
But  as  we  stand  in  fear, — 

Juliet.  I  do  repent  me,  as  it  is  an  evil ; 
And  take  the  shame  with  joy. 

Duke.  There  rest. 

Your  partner,  as  I  hear,  must  die  to-morrow. 
And  I  am  going  with  instruction  to  him. — 
Grace  go  with  you  !  Benedicite !  [Mxit. 

Juliet.  Must  die  to-morrow  !  O,  injurious  Love,"! 
That  respites  me  a  life,  whose  very  comfort 
Is  still  a  dying  horror  ! 

Prov.  'Tis  pity  of  him.  \^Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV. 
'  A  Room  in  Angelo's  House. 

Enter  Angelo. 

Ang.  When  I  would  pray  and  think,  I  think  and  pray 
To  several  subjects  :  heaven  hath  my  empty  words  ; 
Whilst  my  invention,""  hearing  not  my  tongue. 
Anchors  on  Isabel :  Heaven  in  my  mouth. 
As  if  1  did  but  only  chew  his  name ; 
And  in  my  heart,  the  strong  and  swelling  evil 
Of  my  conception :  The  state,  whereon  1  studied. 
Is  like  a  good  thing,  being  often  read. 
Grown  fear'd'  and  tedious ;  yea,  my  gravity, 

1 0,  injurious  Loie,]  This  place  has  been  considered  as  corrupt. — Sir 

Thomas  Hanmer  proposes  to  read  law. — The  old  folio  has  Love,  printed  with  a 
capital,  which  I  have  restored. — Love  is  here  spoken  of  by  Juliet  as  the  deity 
who  had  injuriously  appointed  her  destiny. 

■' inventioni]  i.  e.  Imagination. 

' fear'd — ]  What  we  go  to  with  reluctance  may  be  said  to  hefear'd. — 

Johnson. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  IV.  Ill 

Wherein  (let  no  man  hear  me)  I  take  pride, 
Could  I,  with  boot,  change  for  an  idle  plume. 
Which  the  air  beats  for  vane.*     O  place  !  O  form  ! 
How  often  dost  thou  with  thy  case,  thy  habit. 
Wrench  awe  from  fools,  and  tie  the  wiser  souls 
To  thy  false  seeming  ?  Blood,  thou  still  art  blood  : 
Let's  write  good  angel  on  the  devil's  horn, 
'Tis  not  the  devil's  crest." 

Enter  Servant. 

How  now,  who's  there  ? 

Serv.  One  Isabel,  a  sister. 

Desires  access  to  you. 

-4«g.  Teach  her  the  way.       [Exit  Serv. 

O  heavens ! 

Why  does  my  blood  thus  muster  to  my  heart ; 
Making  both  it  unable  for  itself. 
And  dispossessing  all  the  other  parts 
Of  necessary  fitness  ? 

So  play  the  foolish  throngs  with  one  that  swoons  ; 
Come  all  to  help  him,  and  so  stop  the  air 
By  which  he  should  revive  :  and  even  so 
The  general,"  subject  to  a  well-wish'd  king, 
Quit  their  own  part,  and  in  obsequious  fondness 
Crowd  to  his  presence,  where  their  untaught  love 
Must  needs  appear  offence.'' 

*  TlTiic/i  the  air  beats  for  vane-l  In  this  passage  gravity  appears  to  be  used  for 
rank  and  place,  these  Angelo  would  change,  with  boot, — with  advantage, — -for 
idle  plume,  for  a  useless  feather,  which  the  air  beats  for  vane — which  serves  as  a 
vane  to  tell  the  direction  of  the  wind. 

"  Let's  write  good  angel  on  the  devil's  horn, 
'Tis  not  the  devil's  crest. '^  Though  we  should  write  good  angel  on  the  devil's 
horn,  it  will  not  change  his  nature,  so  as  to  give  him  a  right  to  wear  that  crest. 
— M.  Mason. 

*  The  general, — ]  i.  e.  Generality,  who  are  subject,  &c. 

y  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  in  this  passage,  Shakspeare  intended  to  flat- 
ter the  unkingly  weakness  of  James  the  First,  which  made  him  so  impatient 
of  the  crowds  that  flocked  to  see  him,  especially  upon  his  first  coming,  that, 
as  some  of  our  historians  say,  he  restrained  them  by  a  proclamation.  Sir 
Simonds  d'Ewes,  in  his  Memoirs  of  his  own  life  (MS.  in  the  British  Museum), 
has  a  remarkable  passage  with  respect  to  this  humour  of  James.  After  taking 
notice,  that  the  King  going  to  Parliament,  on  the  30th  of  January,  1620-1. — 
"  spake  lovingly  to  the  people,  and  said,  God  bless  ye,  God  bless  ye  ;"  he  adds 
these  words,  "  contrary  to  his  former  haste  and  passionate  custom,  which  often, 
in  his  sudden  distemper,  would  bid  a  pox  or  a  plague  on  such  as  flocked  to  see 
him." — Tyrwhitt. 


112      MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

Enter  Isabella. 

How  now,  fair  maid  ? 

Isab.  I  am  come  to  know  your  pleasure. 

Ang.    That   you  might   know  it,  would   much  better 
please  me. 
Than  to  demand  what  'tis.     Your  brother  cannot  live. 

Isab.  Even  so  ? — Heaven  keep  your  honour  !  [Retiring. 

Ang.  Yet  may  he  live  a  while  ;  and  it  may  be. 
As  long  as  you,  or  I :  yet  he  must  die. 

Isab.  Under  your  sentence  ? 

^ng.  Yea. 

Isab.  When,  I  beseech  you  ?  that  in  his  reprieve. 
Longer,  or  shorter,  he  may  be  so  fitted. 
That  his  soul  sicken  not. 

Ang.  Ha  !  Fye,  these  filthy  vices  !  It  were  as  good 
To  pardon  him,  that  hath  from  nature  stolen 
A  man  already  made,  as  to  remit 
Their  sawcy  sweetness,  that  do  coin  heaven's  image. 
In  stamps  that  are  forbid  :  'tis  all  as  easy 
Falsely  to  take  away  a  life  true  made. 
As  to  put  mettle  in  restrained  means, 
To  make  a  false  one. 

Isab.  'Tis  set  down  so  in  heaven,  but  not  in  earth. 

Ang.  Say  you  so?  then  I  shall  poze  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  ? 

Isab.  Sir,  believe  this, 

I  had  rather  give  my  body  than  my  soul. 

Ang.  1  talk  not  of  your  soul ;  Our  compell'd  sins 
Stand  more  for  number  than  accompt. 

Isab.  How  say  you? 

Ang.  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  hfe  : 
Might  there  not  be  a  charity  in  sin, 
To  save  this  brother's  life  ? 


ACT  II.— SCENE  IV.  113 

Isab.  Please  you  to  do't, 

I'll  take  it  as  a  peril  to  my  soul. 
It  is  no  sin  at  all,  but  charity. 

Ang.  Pleas'd  you  to  do't,  at  peril  of  your  soul. 
Were  equal  poize  of  sin  and  charity.^ 

Isab.  That  I  do  beg  his  life,  if  it  be  sin. 
Heaven,  let  me  bear  it !  you  granting  of  my  suit, 
If  that  be  sin,  I'll  make  it  my  morn  prayer 
To  have  it  added  to  the  faults  of  mine. 
And  nothing  of  your,  answer. 

Ang.  Nay,  but  hear  me  : 

Your  sense  pursues  not  mine  :  either  you  are  ignorant. 
Or  seem  so,  craftily  ;  and  that's  not  good. 

Isab.  Let  me  be  ignorant,  and  in  nothing  good. 
But  graciously  to  know  I  am  no  better. 

Atig.  Thus  wisdom  wishes  to  appear  most  bright. 
When  it  doth  tax  itself:  as  these  black  masks" 
Proclaim  an  enshieldp  beauty  ten  times  louder 
Than  beauty  could  displayed. — But  mark  me  ; 
To  be  received  plain,  I'll  speak  more  gross  : 
Your  brother  is  to  die. 

Isab.  So. 

Arig.  And  his  offence  is  so,  as  it  appears 
Accountant  to  the  law  upon  that  pain.'' 

Isab.  True. 

A»g.  Admit  no  other  way  to  save  his  life, 
(As  I  subscribe''  not  that,  nor  any  other. 
But  in  the  loss  of  question,*)  that  you,  his  sister. 
Finding  yourself  desir'd  of  such  a  person. 
Whose  credit  with  the  judge,  or  own  great  place. 
Could  fetch  your  brother  from  the  manacles 
Of  the  all-binding  law  ;  and  that  there  were 
No  earthly  mean  to  save  him,  but  that  either 
You  must  lay  down  the  treasures  of  your  body 

o these  black  masks,'] — signify  no  more  than  hlack  masks  ;  according  to  an 

old  idiom  of  our  language,  bywhich  the  demonstrative  pronoun  is  put  for  the 
prepositive  article. — Tyrwhi tt. 

P eushield — ]  i.  e.  Covered  as  with  a  shield. 

4 paiu.]   Penalty. 

" subscribe — ]   Agree  to. 

^ loss  of  questioi},']   For  the  sake  of  argument. 


114      MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

To  this  supposed,  or  else  to  let  him  suffer ; 
What  would  you  do  ? 

Isab.  As  much  for  my  poor  brother,  as  myself: 
That  is.  Were  I  under  the  terms  of  death. 
The  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. 

Ang.  Then  must  your  brother  die. 

Isab.  And  'twere  the  cheaper  way  : 
Better  it  were,  a  brother  died  at  once. 
Than  that  a  sister,  by  redeeming  him. 
Should  die  for  ever 

Ang.  Were  not  you  then  as  cruel  as  the  sentence 
That  you  have  slander'd  so  ? 

Isab.  Ignomy  in  ranson,*  and  free  pardon. 
Are  of  two  houses  :  lawful  mercy  is 
Nothing  akin  to  foul  redemption. 

Ang.  You  seem'd  of  late  to  make  the  law  a  tyrant; 
And  rather  prov'd  the  sliding  of  your  brother 
A  merriment  than  a  vice. 

Isab.  O,  pardon  me,  my  lord  ;  it  oft  falls  out. 
To  have  what  we  would  have,  we  speak  not  what  we 
I  something  do  excuse  the  thing  I  hate,  [mean: 

For  his  advantage  that  I  dearly  love. 

Ang.  We  are  all  frail. 

Isab.  Else  let  my  brother  die. 

If  not  a  feodary,  but  only  he. 
Owe,  and  succeed  this  weakness."   • 

Ang.  Nay,  women  are  frail  too. 

Isab.  Ay,  as  the  glasses  where  they  view  themselves ; 
Which  are  as  easy  broke  as  they  make  forms. 
Women  ! — Help  heaven  !  men  their  creation  mar 
In  profiting  by  them.''     Nay,  call  us  ten  times  frail ; 

'  Ignomy  tu  ransom,]    So  jg-nomi/ii/ was  formerly  wriUen. 

" If  nnt  a  feodary,  but  only  he,  &c.]     Feodary  is  asiociate. — owe,  possess 

— for  this,  the  old  copy  has  t/ii/;— Rowe  altered  it  toby — which  has  been 
copied  by  all  the  subsequent  editors ;  it  does  not  make  sense  of  the  passage. 
— thisis  the  very  sensible  emendation  of  Malone. 

*  men  their  creation  mar 

In  prnjiting  by  them.]  The  commentators  have  certainly  missed  the  mean- 
ing of  this  passage  ;  its  sense-is,  that  the  nature  of  men  suffers  deterioration 
from  its  being  generated  by  the  means  of  woman. 


ACT  IT.— SCENE  IV.  115 

For  we  are  soft  as  our  complexions  are. 
And  credulous  to  false  prints.* 

Ang.  I  think  it  well ; 

And  from  this  testimony  of  your  own  sex, 
(Since,  I  suppose,  we  are  made  to  be  no  stronger 
Than  faults  may  shake  our  frames,)  let  me  be  bold  ; — 
I  do  arrest  your  words  :  Be  that  you  are. 
That  is,  a  woman;  if  you  be  more,  you're  none  ; 
If  you  be  one,  (as  you  are  well  express'd 
By  all  external  warrants,)  show  it  now. 
By  putting  on  the  destin'd  livery. 

Isab.  I  have  no  tongue  but  one  :   gentle  my  lord. 
Let  me  intreat  you  speak  the  former  language. 

Ang.  Plainly  conceive,  I  love  you. 

Isah.  My  brother  did  love  Juliet ;  and  you  tell  me. 
That  he  shall  die  for  it. 

Ang.  He  shall  not,  Isabel,  if  you  give  me  love. 

Isab.  I  know,  your  virtue  hath  a  licence  in't,>' 
Which  seems  a  little  fouler  than  it  is. 
To  pluck  on  others. 

Ang.  Believe  me,  on  mine  honour. 

My  words  express  my  purpose. 

Isab.  Ha  !  little  honour  to  be  much  believ'd. 
And  most  pernicious  purpose  ! — seeming,  seeming ! — 
I  will  proclaim  thee,  Angelo  ;  look  for't : 
Sign  me  a  present  pardon  for  my  brother. 
Or,  with  an  outstretch'd  throat,  I'll  tell  the  world 
Aloud  what  man  thou  art. 

J^n<T.  Who  will  believe  thee,  Isabel  ? 

JMy  unsoil'd  name,  the  austereness  of  my  life. 
My  vouch  against  you,  and  my  place  i'the  state. 
Will  so  your  accusation  overweigh. 
That  you  shall  stifle  in  your  own  report. 
And  smell  of  calumny.     I  have  begun  ; 
And  now  I  give  my  sensual  race  the  rein  : 
Fit  thy  consent  to  my  sharp  appetite  ; 
Lay  by  all  nicety,  and  prolixious  blushes. 
That  banish  what  they  sue  for;  redeem  thy  brother 

» j'alie  prints.']  i.  e.  Take  any  impression. 

1  — ^  hath  a  licence  iit't,]   An  appearance  of  licentiousness. 


116  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE 

By  yielding  up  thy  body  to  my  will  j 

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.    [jExiV. 

Isab.  To  whom  shall  I  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  the  appetite. 
To  follow  as  it  draws  !  I'll  to  my  brother : 
Though  he  hath  fallen  by  prompture*  of  the  blood. 
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  such  abhorr'd  pollution. 
Then,  Isabel,  live  chaste,  and,  brother,  die; 
More  than  our  brother  is  our  chastity. 
I'll  tell  him  yet  of  Angelo's  request. 
And  fit  his  mind  to  death,  for  his  soul's  rest.  [^Exit. 


ACT  III. 

Scene  I. — A  Room  in  the  Prison. 

Enter  Duke,  Claudio,  and  Provost. 

Duke.  So,  then  you  hope  of  pardon  from  lord  Angelo  ? 

Claud.  The  miserable  have  no  other  medecine, 
But  only  hope : 
I  have  hope  to  live,  and  am  prepar'd  to  die. 

Duke.  Be  absolute  for  death  ;  either  death,  or  life. 
Shall  thereby  be  the  sweeter.     Reason  thus  with  life, — 
If  I  do  lose  thee,  I  do  lose  a  thing 

' prompture — ]  Instigation. 


ACT  [II.— SCEXK  J.  117 

That  none  but  fools  would  keep:^  a  breath  thou  art, 

(Servile  to  all  the  skiey  influences,) 

That  dost  this  habitation,  where  thou  keep'st," 

Hourly  afflict :  merely,  thou  art  death's  fool ; 

For  him  thou  labour'st  by  thy  flight  to  shun. 

And  yet  run'st  toward  him  still :  Thou  art  not  noble ; 

For  all  the  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 

Of  a  poor  worm  :  Thy  best  of  rest  is  sleep. 

And  that  thou  oft  provok'st;  yet  grossly  fear'st 

Thy  death,  which  is  no  more.**     Thou  art  not  thyself; 

For  thou  exist'st  on  many  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  art  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  efi'usion  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 

»  keep :] — in  this  place  means  care  for. 

t*  fcfep'it,]  Residest. 

''  Are  nurs'd  by  baseness:]  A  minute  analysis  of  life  at  once  destroys  tliat 
splendour  which  dazzles  the  imagination.  Whatever  grandeur  can  display, 
or  luxury  enjoy,  is  procured  by  baseness,  by  offices  of  which  the  mind  shrinks 
from  the  contemplation.  All  the  delicacies  of  the  table  may  be  traced  back 
to  the  shambles  and  tlie  dunghill ;  all  magnificence  of  buildmg  was  hewn  from 
the  quarry ;  and  all  the  pomp  of  ornament  dug  from  among  the  damps  and 
darkness  of  the  mine. — Johnson. 

•^  Thy  death,  which  is  no  more.]  Dr.  Johnson  is  very  indignant  at  this  sen- 
timent ;  but,  as  Malone  justly  observes,  Shakspeare  meant  to  say  no  more, 
"  than  that  the  passage  from  "this  life  to  another  is  as  easy  as  sleep." 

e  effects,]   Rea-d  affects,  ot  affections.   Thy  complexion,  i.e.  thy  disposi- 

tion  changes  witli  the  moon. 

f  serpigo,]  The  serjiigo  is  a  kind  of  tetter,  or  dry  eruption. 

S  Becomes  us  aged,]  Youth  hecumes  as  aged,  by  being  obliged  to  conform  to  the 
inclinations,  and  beg  the  alms,  of  the  old. 

VOL.    II.  K 


118  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

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. 

Claud.  I  humbly  thank  you. 

To  sue  to  live,  I  find,  I  seek  to  die ; 
And,  seeking  death,  find  life :  Let  it  come  on. 

Enter  Isabella. 

Isab.  What,  ho !  Peace  here ;  grace  and  good  company ! 
Prov.  Who's  there  ?  come  in :  the  wish  deserves  a  wel- 
Duke.  Dear  sir,  ere  long  I'll  visit  you  again.  [come. 
Claud.  Most  holy  sir,  I  thank  you. 
Isab.  My  business  is  a  word  or  two  with  Claudio. 
Prov.  And  very  welcome.  Look,  signior,  here's  your 
Duke.  Provost,  a  word  with  you.  [sister. 

Prov.  As  many  as  you  please. 

Duke.  Bring  me  to  hear  them  speak,  where  I  may  be 
conceal'd.  [Exeiint  Duke  and  Provost. 

Claud.  Now,  sister,  what's  the  comfort? 

Isab.  Why,  as  all  comforts  are;  most  good  in  deed: 
Lord  Angelo,  having  affairs  to  heaven. 
Intends  you  for  his  swift  embassador. 
Where  you  shall  be  an  everlasting  lieger :'' 
Therefore  your  best  appointment  make  with  speed ; 
To-morrow  you  set  on. 

Claud.  Is  there  no  remedy  ? 

Isab.  None,  but  such  remedy,  as,  to  save  a  head. 
To  cleave  a  heart  in  twain. 

Claud.  But  is  there  any  ? 

Isab.  Yes,  brother,  you  may  live ; 
There  is  a  devilish  mercy  in  the  judge, 
If  you'll  implore  it,  that  will  free  your  life, 
But  fetter  you  till  death. 

Claud.  Perpetual  durance? 

Isab.  Ay,  just,  perpetual  durance;  a  restraint, 

''  linger:]   Residenl. 


ACT  III.— SCENE  I.  no 

Though  all  the  world's  vastidity  you  had. 
To  a  determin'd  scope.' 

Claud.  But  in  what  nature  ? 

Isab.  In  such  a  one  as  (you  consenting  to't) 
Would  bark  your  honour  from  that  trunk  you  bear. 
And  leave  you  naked. 

Claud.  Let  rae  know  the  point. 

Isab.  O,  I  do  fear  thee,  Claudio;  and  T  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. 

Claud.  Why  give  you  me  this  shame? 

Think  you  I  can  a  resolution  fetch 
From  flowery  tenderness  ?  If  I  must  die, 
I  will  encounter  darkness  as  a  bride. 
And  hug  it  in  mine  arms. 

Isab.  There  spake  my  brother ;  there  my  father's  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 
Nips  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. 

Claud.  The  priestly  Angelo  i 

Isab.  O,  'tis  the  cunning  livery  of  hell. 
The  damned'st  body  to  invest  and  cover 
In  priestly  garbs  !"  Dost  thou  think,  Claudio, 

•  To  a  determind  scope.]  A  confinement  of  your  mind  to  one  painful  idea; 
to  ignomim-,  of  which  the  remembrance  can  neither  be  suppressed  nor  es- 
caped.— Johnson. 

I*  fnllies  doth  enmew,]     Forces  follies  to  lie  in  cover,  without  daring 

to  show  themselves. — Johnson. 

'  cast,']     To  cast  a  pond,  is  to  empty  it  of  mud. — Johnson. 

™  to.  priestiii  garbs!]  I  have  here  made  an  alteration  in  the  text,  which 
appears  to  be  fully  warranted  by  the  first  folio. — For  vriestly  garbs,  the  old 
copy  reads  prc/izie  s'lrdes.  This  nonsense  is  much  more  likely  to  be  a  misprint 
for  priestly  garbs,  which  is  intelligible,  than  for  prhicelu  guards,  which  does  not 

K  2 


120  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE 

If  I  would  yield  him  my  virginity. 
Thou  might'st  be  freed  ? 

Claud.  O,  heavens  !  it  cannot  be. 

Isab.  Yes,  he  would  give  it  thee,  from  this  rank  offence. 
So  to  offend  him  still :  This  night's  the  time 
That  I  should  do  what  I  abhor  to  name. 
Or  else  thou  diest  to-morrow. 

Claud.  Thou  shalt  not  do't. 

Isab.  O,  were  it  but  my  life, 
I'd  throw  it  down  for  your  deliverance 
As  frankly  as  a  pin. 

Claud.  Thanks,  dear  Isabel. 

Isab.  Be  ready,  Claudio,  for  your  death  to-morrow. 

Claud.  Yes. — Has  he  affections  in  him, 
That  thus  can  make  him  bite  the  law  by  the  nose  ; 
When  he  would  force  it  ?  Sure  it  is  no  sin ; 
Or  of  the  deadly  seven  it  is  the  least. 

Isab.  Which  is  the  least  ? 

Claud.  If  it  were  damnable,  he,  being  so  wise. 
Why,  would  he  for  the  momentary  trick 
Be  perdurably  fin'd  ? — O  Isabel ! 

Isab.  What  says  my  brother  ? 

Claud.  Death  is  a  fearful  thing. 

Isab.  And  shamed  life  a  hateful. 

Claud.  Ay,  but  to  die,  and  go  we  know  not  where ; 
To  lie  in  cold  obstruction,  and  to  rot ; 
This  sensible  warm  motion  to  become 
A  kneaded  clod  ;  and  the  delighted"  spirit 
To  bathe  in  fiery  floods,  or  to  reside 
In  thrilling  regions  of  thick-ribbed  ice  ; 
To  be  imprison'd  in  the  viewless"  winds. 
And  blown  with  restless  violence  round  about 
The  pendent  world  ;  or  to  be  worse  than  worst 
Of  those,  that  lawless  and  incertain  thoughts 
Imagine  howling  ! — 'tis  too  horrible  ! 
The  weariest  and  most  loathed  worldly  life, 
That  age,  ach,  penury,  and  imprisonment 

unite  with  the  context.  The  word  jircuzie  appears  also  in  the  exclamation  of 
Claudio  above,  which  I  have  corrected  to  the  priestli)  Angela  f 

" delighted — ]  Is  often  \ised  in   Shakspeare  for  that  which  we  delight 

in. — Nares's  Glossary. 

" viewless — ]  Invisible. 


ACT  III.— SCENE  I.  121 

Can  lay  on  nature,  is  a  paradise 
To  what  we  fear  of  death. 

Isab.  Alas  !  alas  ! 

Claud.  Sweet  sister,  let  me  live  : 

What  sin  you  do  to  save  a  brother's  life. 
Nature  dispenses  with  the  deed  so  far, 
That  it  becomes  a  virtue. 

Isab.  O,  you  beast ! 

O,  faithless  coward  !  O,  dishonest  wretch  ! 
Wilt  thou  be  made  a  man  out  of  my  vice  ? 
Is't  not  a  kind  of  incest,  to  take  life 
From  thine  own  sister's  shame  ?  What  should  1  think  ! 
Heaven  shield,  my  mother  play'd  my  father  fair  ! 
For  such  a  warped  slip  of  wilderness'' 
Ne'er  issu'd  from  his  blood.     Take  my  defiance  •.'^ 
Die  ;  perish  !  might  but  my  bending  down 
Reprieve  thee  from  thy  fate,  it  should  proceed  : 
ril  pray  a  thousand  prayers  for  thy  death. 
No  word  to  save  thee. 

Claud.  Nay,  hear  me,  Isabel. 

hab.  O,  fye,  fye,  fye  ! 

Thy  sin's  not  accidental,  but  a  trade  :' 
Mercy  to  thee  would  prove  itself  a  bawd : 
'Tis  best  that  thou  diest  quickly.  [Going. 

Claud.  O  hear  me,  Isabella 

Re-enter  Duke. 

Duke.  Vouchsafe  a  word,  young  sister,  but  one  word. 

Isab.  What  is  your  will  ? 

Duke.  Might  you  dispense  with  your  leisure,  I  would 
by  and  by  have  some  speech  with  you  :  the  satisfaction  I 
would  require,  is  likewise  your  own  benefit. 

Isab.  I  have  no  superfluous  leisure  ;  my  stay  must  be 
stolen  out  of  other  affairs  ;  but  I  will  attend  you  a  while. 

Duke  [to  Claudio,  aside.'\  Son,  I  have  overheard  what 
hath  past  between  you  and  your  sister.  Angelo  had 
never  the  purpose  to  corrupt  her ;  only  he  hath  made  an 

p wilderness — ]  i.  e.  Wildness.    The  word  was  used  in  tliis  sense  by 

Milton. 

'I  • — —  defiance ;]  i.  e.  Refusal. 

r Irnde:]  i.  e.  Established  habit.' 


122  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE 

essay  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  denial  which  he  is 
most  glad  to  receive  :  I  am  confessor  to  Angelo,  and  I 
know  this  to  be  true  :  therefore  prepare  yourself  to  death  : 
Do  not  satisfy  your  resolution  with  hopes  that  are  falli- 
ble :^  to-morrow  you  must  die  ;  go  to  your  knees,  and 
make  ready. 

Claud.  Let  me  ask  my  sister  pardon.  I  am  so  out  of 
love  with  life,  that  I  will  sue  to  be  rid  of  it. 

Duke.  Hold  you  there  :'  Farewell.         [£17^  Claudio. 

Re-enter  Provost. 

Provost,  a  word  with  you. 

Prov.  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. 

Prov.  In  good  time."  \^Exit  Provost. 

Duke.  The  hand  that  hath  made  you  fair,  hath  made 
you  good  :  the  goodness,  that  is  cheap  in  beauty,  makes 
beauty  brief  in  goodness  ;  but  grace,  being  the  soul  of 
your  complexion,  should  keep  the  body  of  it  ever  fair. 
The  assault,  that  Angelo  hath  made  to  you,  fortune  hath 
conveyed  to  my  understanding  ;  and,  but  that  frailty  hath 
examples  for  his  falling,  I  should  wonder  at  Angelo.  How 
would  you  do  to  content  this  substitute,  and  to  save  your 
brother. 

Isab.  I  am  now  going  to  resolve  him  :  I  had  rather  my 
brother  die  by  the  law,  than  my  son  should  be  unlawfully 
born.  But  O,  how  much  is  the  good  duke  deceived  in 
Angelo  !  If  ever  he  return,  and  I  can  speak  to  him,  I  will 
open  my  lips  in  vain,  or  discover  his  government. 

Duke.  That  shall  not  be  much  amiss  :  Yet,  as  the  mat- 
ter now  stands,  he  will  avoid  your  accusation ;  he  made 
trial  of  you  only. — Therefore,  fasten  your  ear  on  my  ad- 
visings ;  to  the  love   I  have  in  doing  good,  a  remedy  pre- 

»  Do  not  satisfy  your  resolution  wilhhnpes  that  ure  fallible  :'jThe  sense  is  this, — 
Do  not  rest  with  satisfaction  on  hoijes  that  are  fallible. — Si  eevens. 
'  Hold  you  there:']   Continue  iii  tbatmind. 
"  In  good  time.']  i.  o.  a  la  lumne  lienre,  so  bt-  it,  very  well. — Stllveno. 


ACT  111.— SCENE  I.  123 

sents  itself.  1  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 
yom"  own  gracious  person ;  and  nmch  please  the  absent 
duke,  if,  peradventure,  he  shall  ever  return  to  have  hearing 
of  this  business. 

Isab.  Let  me  hear  you  speak  further ;  1  have  spirit  to 
do  any  thing  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  ? 

hub.  I  have  heard  of  the  lady,  and  good  words  went 
with  her  name. 

Duke.  Her  should  this  Angelo  have  married  ;  was  affi- 
anced to  her  by  oath,  and  the  nuptial  appointed  :  between 
wliich  time  of  the  contract,  and  limit  of  the  solemnity,*' 
lier  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  combi- 
nate^  husband,  this  w^ell-seeming  Angelo. 

Isab.  Can  this  be  so  ?  Did  Angelo  so  leave  her  ? 

Duke.  Left  her  in  her  tears,  and  dry'd  not  one  of  them 
with  his  comfort ;  swallowed  his  vows  whole,  pretending, 
in  her,  discoveries  of  dishonour ;  in  few,  bestowed  her  on 
her  own  lamentation,  which  she  yet  wears  for  his  sake ; 
and  he,  a  marble  to  her  tears,  is  washed  w  ith  them,  but 
relents  not. 

Isab.  What  a  merit  were  it  in  death,  to  take  this  poor 
maid  from  the  world  !  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  j  and 
the  cure  of  it  not  only  saves  your  brother,  but  keeps  you 
from  dishonour  in  doing  it. 

■V  — —  limit  oflhe  solemnity,]  i.  e.  Aj)pointcd  lime. 
y coinbiiuitc — j  Betrotheil. 


124  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURI^. 

Isab.  Show  me  how,  good  father. 

Duke.  This  fore-nained  maid  hath  yet  in  her  the  con- 
tinuance of  her  first  affection:  his  unjust  unkindness, 
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,  now  follows 
all.  We  shall  advise  this  wronged  maid  to  stead  up  your 
appointment,  go  in  your  place ;  if  the  encounter  acknow- 
ledge itself  hereafter,  it  may  compel  him  to  her  recom- 
pense :  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  ? 

Isah.  The  image  of  it  gives  me  content  already ;  and, 
I  trust,  it  will  grow  to  a  most  prosperous  perfection. 

Duke.  It  lies  much  in  your  holding  up  :  Haste  you 
speedily  to  Angelo  :  if  for  this  night  he  entreat  you  to  his 
bed,  give  him  promise  of  satisfaction.  I  will  presently  to 
St.  Luke's ;  there,  at  the  moated  grange,*  resides  this  de- 
jected Mariana  :  At  that  place  call  upon  me  ;  and  de- 
spatch with  Angelo,  that  it  may  be  quickly. 

Isah.  I  thank  you  for  this  comfort :  Fare  you  well,  good 
father.  {^Exeunt  severally. 

^ scaled.]  i.e.  Over-reached. 

a the  moated  grange,]  A  grange,  in  its  original  signification,  meant  a 

farm-house  of  a  monastery  from  grana  gereiido,  from  which  it  was  always  at 
some  little  distance. ---Mai  oNf. 


ACT  III.— 8CENE  IT.  125 

SCENE  11. 

The  Street  before  the  Prison. 

Enter  Duke,  as  a  Friar ;  to  him  Elbow,  Clown, 
and  Officers. 

Elb.  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  ? 

Clo.  'Twas  never  merry  world,  since,  of  two  usuries,*" 
the  merriest  was  put  down,  and  the  worser  allow'd  by 
order  of  law  a  furr'd  gown  to  keep  him  warm ;  and  furr'd 
with  fox  and  lamb-skins  too,  to  signify,  that  craft,  being 
richer  than  innocency,  stands  for  the  facing. 

Elb.  Come  your  way,  sir : — Bless  you,  good  father 
brother.** 

Duke.  And  you,  good  brother  father :  What  offence 
hath  this  man  made  you,  sir  .' 

Elb,  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.  Fye,  sirrah  ;  a  bawd,  a  wicked  bawd  ! 
The  evil  that  thou  causest  to  be  done. 
That  is  thy  means  to  live  :  Do  thou  but  think 
What  'tis  to  cram  a  maw,  or  clothe  a  back. 
From  such  filthy  vice  :  say  to  thyself, — 
From  their  abominable  and  beastly  touches 
I  drink,  I  eat,  array  myself,  and  live. 
Canst  thou  believe  thy  living  is  a  life. 
So  stinkingly  depending  ?  Go,  mend,  go,  mend. 

Clo.  Indeed,  it  does  stink,  in  some  sort,  sir ;  but  yet, 
sir,  I  would  prove 

'' bastard.^  JMalone  is  wrong  in  considering  this  as  raisin  icine ;  "  bas- 

taid  was  a  sweet,  Spanish  wine,  of  which  there  were  two  sorts,  white  and 
brown.'' — Nares, 

'• xisurles,']    Usury  is  here  used  for  the  professor  of  usury. — Johnson. 

•i  brother.l   The  old  reading  is  friar — tlie  emendation  is  necessary  to 

render  the  answer  of  the  duke  intelligible. —  Fullier  hrolher,  was  a  common 
appellation  for  a  friar — In  the  Strangest  Adventure  that  ever  happened,  Sec. 
quarto,  IriOl.  we  read,  "  And  1  call  to  mind,  that  as  the  reverend  father  bro- 
ther Thomas  Sequera,"  &c. 


126  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

Duke.  Nay,  if  the  devil  have  given  thee  proofs  for  sin;, 
Thou  wilt  prove  his.     Take  him  to  prison,  officer ; 
Correction  and  instruction  must  both  work. 
Ere  this  rude  beast  will  profit. 

Eib.  He  must  before  the  deputy,  sir  ;  he  has  given  him 
warning :  the  deputy  cannot  abide  a  whoremaster  :  if  he 
be  a  whoremonger,  and  comes  before  him,  he  were  as  good 
go  a  mile  on  his  errand. 

Duke.  That  we  were  all,  as  some  would  seem  to  be. 
From  our  faults,  as  faults  from  seeming,  free  !® 

Enter  Lucio. 

Elb.  His  neck  will  come  to  your  waist",  a  cord,*^  sir. 

Clo.  I  spy  comfort ;  I  cry,  bail  :  Here's  a  gentleman, 
and  a  friend  of  mine. 

Lucio.  How  now,  noble  Pompey  .'  What,  at  the  heels 
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  the  pocket  and  extracting  it 
clutch'd?  What  reply?  Ha?  What  say'st  thou  to  this 
tune,  matter,  and  method?  Is't  not  drown'd  i'the  last 
rain  ?  Ha  ?  What  say'st  thou  trot  7°  Is  the  world  as  it  was, 
man  ?  Which  is  the  way  ?  Is  it  sad,  and  few  words  ?  Or 
how  ?  The  trick  of  it  ? 

Duke.  Still  thus,  and  thus  !  still  worse  ! 

Lucio.  How  doth  my  dear  morsel,  thy  mistress? 
Procures  she  still  ?  Ha  ? 

Clo.  Troth,  sir,  she  hath  eaten  up  all  her  beef,  and  she 
is  herself  in  the  tub.'' 

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? 

'• free!]  Ill  these  lines  our  is  used  a.s  a  (JissyllaMe.— The  wish  ex- 
pressed is,  that  all  men  were  as  free  from  faultLS  as  faults  are  from  appearing. 

f  His  neck  will  come  to  your  uaiu,  u  cord,  sic]  IJis  neck  will  be  tied  like  your 
waist,  with  a  rope.  The  friars  of  the  Franciscan  order,  perhaps  of  all  others, 
wear  a  hempen  cord  for  a  girdle. —  Johnson. 

S Irot,]  Bawd. 

'' ill  the  tub.]   From  the  mode  of  cure  for  the  venereal  disease  it  was 

rallcil  til';  powdcriiip.  (d/).— Juiins(j>.  Vf  Acfrj  I'x  'i'imuii,  act  4.  "  the  tub  fast 
ami  the  diet." 


ACT  III.— SCENE  II.  127 

Ch.  Yes,  faith,  sir. 

Lncio.  Why  'tis  not  amiss,  Pompey  :  Farewell;  Go; 
say,  I  sent  thee  thither.     For  debt,  Pompey  ?  Or  how  ? 

Elb.  For  being  a  bawd,  for  being  a  bawd. 

Lncio.  Well,  then  imprison  him  :  If  imprisonment  be 
the  due  of  a  bawd,  why,  'tis  his  right :  Bawd  is  he,  doubt- 
less, and  of  antiquity  too  :  bawd-born.  Farewell,  good 
Pompey  ;  Commend  me  to  the  prison,  Pompey  :  You 
will  turn  good  husband'  now,  Pompey :  you  will  keep 
the  house. 

Clo.  I  hope,  sir,  your  good  worship  will  be  my  bail. 

Lucio.  No,  indeed,  will  I  not,  Pompey ;  it  is  not  the 
wear.''  I  will  pray,  Pompey,  to  increase  your  bondage  :  if 
you  take  it  not  patiently,  why,  your  mettle  is  the  more: 
Adieu,  trusty  Pom])ey. — Bless  you  friar. 

Duke.  And  you. 

Lucio.  Does  Bridget  paint  still,  Pompey  ?  Ha  ? 

Elb.  Come  your  ways,  sir  ;  come. 

Clo.  You  will  not  bail  me  then,  sir? 

Lucio.  Then,  Pompey?  nor  now. — What  news  abroad, 
friar?  What  news  ? 

Elh.  Come  your  ways,  sir ;  come. 

Lncio.  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. 

Lncio.  It  was  a  mad  fantastical  trick  of  him,  to  steal 
from  the  state,  and  usurp  the  beggary  he  was  never  born 
to.  Lord  Angelo  dukes  it  well  in  his  absence  ;  he  puts 
transgression  to't. 

Duke.  He  does  w^ellin't. 
/     Lucio.  A  little  more  lenity  to  lechery  would  do  no  harm 
in  him  ;  something  too  crabbed  that  way,  friar. 

i  _ —  husband — arid  keep  house.']  Alluding  to  the  etymology  of  hitsbuiid,  from 
hou>c  and  bonda,  Runick  for  master. 

k  ;(  ij  not  ihc  wear.]  i.  e.  It  is  not  the  fashion.— .Si  LtviiNs. 


128  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

Duke.  It  is  too  general  a  vice,  and  severity  must 
cure  it. 

Lucio.  Yes,  in  good  sooth,  the  vice  is  of  a  great  kin- 
dred;'  it  is  well  ally'd:  but  it  is  impossible  to  extirp  it 
quite,  friar,  till  eating  and  drinking  be  put  down.  They 
say,  this  Angelo  was  not  made  by  man  and  woman,  after 
the  downright  way  of  creation  :  It  is  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*"  unge- 
nerative,  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  \  believe,  I  know  the  cause  of  his  with- 
drawinir. 


'  of  great  kindred  ;]  As  much  as  to  say,  yes  it's  voiy  general,  the  great- 
est men  have  it  as  well  as  we  little  folks. — Edwauds. 

"' inolion]  i.  e.  Puppet. 

" detected]  i.  e.  Notoriously  charged. 

" rlncl:-dhli :']  The  heggais,  two  or  three  centuries  ago,  used  to  pro- 
claim their  want  by  a  wooden  dish,  with  a  moveable  cover,  which  they  clack- 
ed, to  show  that  their  vessel  v.as  empty. —  Dr.  Giitv. 

P an  inward  of  hii:~]    Inwurd  is  intimale. 


ACT  III.— SCENE  II.  129 

Duke.  What,  I  pr'ythee,  might  be  the  cause  ? 

Liicio.  No, — pardon  ; — 'tis  a  secret  must  be  lock'd 
within  the  teeth  and  the  Hps  :  but  this  I  can  let  you  un- 
derstand,— 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  fellow. 

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  proclama- 
tion. Let  him  be  but  testimonied  in  his  own  brin";inos 
forth,  and  he  shall  appear  to  the  envious,  a  scholar,  a  states- 
man, and  a  soldier:  Therefore,  you  speak  unskilfully;  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  an- 
swer 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. 

Ludo.  I  fear  you  not. 

Duke.  O,  you  hope  the  duke  will  return  no  more ;  or 
you  imagine  me  too  unhurtful  an  opposite.*  But,  indeed, 
1  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.  Why,  for  filling  a  bottle  with  a  tun-dish.     I 

•^ The  greater  file—]   The  greater  number. 

'■  ■  helmed,]    i.  e.  Steer'd  through. 

' i'/)po.s(7r,]  i.  e.  Adversary. 


130      MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

would,  the  duke,  we  talk  of,  were  return'd  again  :  this 
ungenitur'd  agent  will  unpeople  the  province  with  conti- 
nency  ;  sparrows  must  not  build  in  his  house-eaves,  be- 
cause they  are  lecherous.  The  duke  yet  would  have  dark 
deeds  darkly  ansvver'd  ;  he  would  never  bring  them  to 
light :  would  he  were  return'd  !  Marry,  this  Claudio  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  I  say  to  thee,  he  would  mouth  with  a  beggar,  though 
she  smelt  brown  bread  and  garlick  :   say,  that  I  said  so. 

[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. 

Escal.  Go,  away  with  her  to  prison. 

Bawd.  Good  my  lord,  be  good  to  me ;  your  honour  is 
accounted  a  merciful  man:  good  my  lord. 

Escal.  Double  and  treble  admonition,  and  still  forfeit 
in  the  same  kind?  This  would  make  mercy  swear,  and 
play  the  tyrant. 

Prov.  A  bawd  of  eleven  years'  continuance,  may  it 
please  your  honour. 

Bawd.  My  lord,  this  is  one  Lucio's  information  against 
me  :  mistress  Kate  Keep-down  was  with  child  by  him  in 
the  duke's  time,  he  promised  her  marriage  ;  his  child  is 
a  year  and  a  quarter  old,  come  Philip  and  Jacob  :  I  have 
kept  it  myself;  and  see  how  he  goes  about  to  abuse  me. 

Escal.  That  fellow  is  a  fellow  of  much  licence : — let 
Ivim  be  called  before  us. — Away  with  her  to  prison  :  Go 
to;   no  more  words.  \^Exeunt  Bawd  and  Officers.] 

Provost,  my  brother  Angelo  will  not  be  alter'd,  Claudio 
must  die  to-morrow  :  let  him  be  furnish'd  with  divines,  and 
have  all  charitable  preparation :  if  my  brother  wrought 
bv  mv  pity,  it  should  not  be  so  with  him. 


ACT  III.— SCENE  II.  131 

Prov.  So  please  you,  this  friar  hath  been  with  him, 
and  advised  him  for  the  entertainment  of  death. 

Escal.  Good  even,  good  father. 

Duke.  Bhss  and  goodness  on  you  ! 

Escal.  Of  whence  are  you  ? 

Duke.  Not  of  this  country,  though  my  cliance  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. 

Escal.  What  news  abroad  i'the  world  ? 

Duke.  None,  but  that  there  is  so  great  a  fever  on  good- 
ness, that  the  dissolution  of  it  must  cure  it :  novelty  is 
only  in  request :  and  it  is  as  dangerous  to  be  aged  in  any 
kind  of  course,  as  it  is  virtuous  to  be  constant  in  any  un- 
dertaking. There  is  scarce  truth  enough  alive,  to  make 
fellowships  accurs'd :'  much  upon  this  riddle  runs  the  wis- 
dom of  the  world.  This  news  is  old  enough,  yet  it  is 
every  day's  news.  I  pray  you,  sir,  of  what  disposition 
was  the  duke  ? 

Escal.  One,  that  above  all  other  strifes,  contended  es- 
pecially to  know  himself. 

Duke.  What  pleasure  was  he  given  to  ? 

Escal.  Rather  rejoicing  to  see  another  merry,  than 
merry  at  any  thing  which  profess'd  to  make  him  rejoice  : 
a  gentleman  of  all  temperance.  But  leave  we  him  to  his 
events,  with  a  prayer  they  may  prove  prosperous  ;  and  let 
me  desire  to  know  how  you  find  Claudio  prepared.  I  am 
made  to  understand,  that  you  have  lent  him  visitation. 

Duke.  He  professes  to  have  received  no  sinister  mea- 
sure 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  dis- 
credited to  him,  and  now  is  he  resolved  to  die. 

Escal.  You  have  paid  the  heavens  your  function,  and 
the  prisoner  the  very  debt  of  your  calling.  I  have  labour'd 

t . There  k  scarce  truth  enough  alive,  to  make  societies  secure ;  but  security 

enous:h,  to  mal.e  fellowships  accurs'd  ;]  The  sense  is,  "  There  scarcely  exists  suffi- 
cient honesty  in  the  world  to  make  social  life  secure ;  but  there  are  occasions 
enough  where  a  man  may  be  drawn  in  to  become  surety,  which  will  make  him 
pay  dearly  for  his  friendships."  —  Hoi.t  Whitk. 


132  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

for  the  poor  gentleman,  to  the  extremest  shore  of  my  mo- 
desty; but  my  brother  justice  have  I  found  so  severe, 
that  he  hath  forc'd  me  to  tell  him,  he  is  indeed — justice." 

Duke.  If  his  own  life  answ^er  the  straitness  of  his  pro- 
ceeding, it  shall  become  him  well ;  wherein,  if  he  chance 
to  fail,  he  hath  sentenced  himself. 

Escal.  I  am  going  to  visit  the  prisoner :  Fare  you  well. 

Duke.  Peace  be  with  you  ! 

[Exeunt  Escalus  and  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  Angelo, 
To  weed  my  vice,  and  let  his  grow ! 
O,  what  may  man  within  him  hide. 
Though  angel  on  the  outward  side  ! 
How  many  likeness,''  made  in  crimes, 
Making  practice"  on  the  times. 
Draw  with  idle  spiders'  strings 
Most  pond'rous  and  substantial  things  ! 
Craft  against  vice  I  must  apply : 
With  Anoelo  to-nioht  shall  lie 
His  old  betrothed,  but  despis'd  ; 
So  disguise  shall,  by  the  disguis'd, 
Play  with  f\ilsehood  false  exacting. 
And  perform  an  old  contracting.  [Exit. 

" jnslice.']   Summum  jus,  summa  injuria. 

■*"  Grace  to  stand,  and  virtue  go  ;]  These  two  lines  are  unintelligible — perhaps 
we  should  read — '•  Patterning  himself  to  know, 

"  Grace  to  stand,  virtue  to  go. 
This  emendation  is  at  least  as  good  as  any  other  that  has  been  proposed :  and 
has  the  additional  merit  of  not  requiring  a  note  to  explain  it. 

* likeiiess,'\  The  appearance  of  virtue. 

y making;  practice—]   Practice  is  imposition,  making  jtractice  on,  is  im- 
posing on . 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  I.  133 

ACT   IV. 

Scene  I. — A  Room  in  Mariana's  House. 
Mariana  discovered  sitting ;  a  boy  singing. 

SONG. 

Take,  oh  take  those  lips  atvay, 

That  so  sweetly  tvere  forsworn ; 
And  those  eyes,  the  break  of  day. 

Lights  that  do  mislead  the  morn  : 
But  my  kisses  come  again, 

Seals  of  love,  but  seal'd  in  vain, 


bring  again, 
seal'd  in  vain. 


Mari.  Break  off  thy  song,  and  haste  thee  quick  away ; 
Here  comes  a  man  of  comfort,  whose  advice 
Hath  often  still'd  my  brawling  discontent. — [Exit.  Boy. 

Enter  Duke. 

I  cry  you  mercy,  sir;  and  well  could  wish 

You  had  not  found  me  here  so  musical  : 

Let  me  excuse  me,  and  believe  me  so, — 

My  mirth  is  much  displeas'd,  but  pleas'd  my  woe. 

Duke.  'Tis  good  :  though  music  oft  hath  such  a  charm. 
To  make  bad,  good,  and  good  provoke  to  harm. 
I  pray  you,  tell  me,  hath  any  body  inquired  for  me  here  to- 
day? much  upon  this  time  have  I  promis'd  here  to  meet. 

Mali.  You  have  not  been  inquired  after :  I  have  sat 
here  all  day. 

Enter  Isabella. 

Duke.  I  do  constantly^  believe  you : — The  time  is  come, 
even  now.  I  shall  crave  your  forbearance  a  little  ;  may 
be,  I  will  call  upon  you  anon,  for  some  advantage  to  your- 
self. 

^  constantly — ]  Certainly. 

VOL.  II.  L 


134       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

Mali.  I  am  always  bound  to  you.  [Exit. 

Duke.  Very  well  met,  and  w^elcome. 
What  is  the  news  from  this  good  deputy  ? 

Isab.  He  hath  a  garden  circummur'd  Vv^ith  brick. 
Whose  western  side  is  with  a  vineyard  back'd  ; 
And  to  that  vineyard  is  a  planched''  gate, 
That  makes  his  opening  with  this  bigger  key  : 
This  other  doth  command  a  little  door, 
Which  from  the  vineyard  to  the  garden  leads  ; 
There  have  I  made  my  promise  upon  the 
Heavy  middle  of  the  night  to  call  on  him. 

Duke.  But  shall  you  on  your  knowledge  find  this  way  ? 

Isab.  I  have  ta'en  a  due  and  wary  note  upon't ; 
With  whispering  and  most  guilty  diligence. 
In  action  all  of  precept,''  he  did  show  me 
The  way  twice  o'er. 

Duke.  Are  there  no  other  tokens 

Between  you  'greed,  concerning  her  observance  ? 

Isab.  No,  none,  but  only  a  repair  i'the  dark ; 
And  that  I  have  possess'd  him,*^  my  most  stay 
Can  be  but  brief:  for  I  have  made  him  know, 
I  have  a  servant  comes  with  me  along. 
That  stays  upon  me  ;  whose  persuasion  is, 
I  come  about  my  brother. 

Duke.  'Tis  well  borne  up. 

I  have  not  yet  made  known  to  Mariana 
A  word  of  this  : — What,  ho  !  within  !  come  forth  ! 

Re-enter  Mariana. 

I  pray  you  be  acquainted  with  this  maid  ; 
She  comes  to  do  you  good. 

Isab.  I  do  desire  the  like. 

Duke.  Do  you  persuade  yourself,  that  I  respect  you  ? 

Mari.  Good  friar,  I  know  you  do;  and  have  found  it. 

Duke.  Take  then  this  your  companion  by  the  hand. 
Who  hath  a  story  ready  for  your  ear  : 

a  a  planched  gate,]  i.  e.  A  gate  made  on  boards. — Planche  French. 

^   In  action  all  of  precept,]  i.  c.  In  direction  given  not  by  words,  hut  by  mitle  signs. 
— Johnson. 

c  I  have  possess'd  him,]  I  have  iiiform'd  l)im. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  II.  135 

I  shall  attend  your  leisure  ;  but  make  haste  ; 
The  vaporous  night  approaches. 

Man.  Will't  please  you  walk  aside  ? 

[Exetoit  Mariana  and  Isabeli,a. 

Duke.  O  place  and  greatness,  millions  of  false  eyes 
Are  stuck  upon  thee  !  volumes  of  report 
Run  with  these  false  and  most  contrarious  quests'^ 
Upon  thy  doings  !  thousand  'scapes*  of  wit 
Make  thee  the  father  of  their  idle  dream. 
And  rack  thee  in  their  fancies  ! — Welcome!  How  agreed? 

Re-enter  Mariana  and  Isabella. 

Isab.  She'll  take  the  enterprise  upon  her  father, 
If  you  advise  it. 

Duke.  It  is  not  my  consent. 

But  my  intreaty  too. 

Isab.  Little  have  you  to  say. 

When  you  depart  from  him,  but,  soft  and  slow, 
llemember  now  my  brother. 

Mari.  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.^      [Eieu)it. 

SCENE  II. 

A  Room  in  the  Prison. 

Enter  Provost  and  Clown. 

Prov.  Come   hither,  sirrah:  Can  you  cut  off  a  man's 
head  1 

Clo.  If  the  man  be  a  bachelor,  sir,  I  can  :  but  if  he  be 

<^  contrarious  quests — ]  Contradictory  messengers. — Riston. 

«  'scapes — ]  i.  e.  Sallies. 

f  fiourish — ]  i.  e.  Adorn. 

K  Our  corn's  to  reap,for  yet  our  tithe's  to  sow.'j  Tot  tithe  Dr.  Warburton  recom- 
mends tilth, -which  is  most  probably  the  right  reading :  tilth  is  provincially  used 
for  land  prepared  for  sowing. — Farmer. 

l2 


136  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

a  married  man,  he  is  his  wife's  head,  and  I  can  never  cut 
off  a  woman's  head. 

Prov.  Come,  sir,  leave  me  your  snatches,  and  yield  me 
a  direct  answer.  To-morrow  morning  are  to  die  Claudio 
and  Barnardine  :  Here  is  in  our  prison  a  common  execu- 
tioner, 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  of  imprisonment,  and 
your  deliverance  with  an  unpitied""  whipping  ;  for  you  have 
been  a  notorious  bawd. 

Clo.  Sir,  I  have  been  an  milawful  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. 

Prov.  What  ho,  Abhorson !  Where's  Abliorson,  there  ? 

Enter  Abhorson. 

Jlhhor.  Do  you  call,  sir  ? 

Prov.  Sirrah,  here's  a  fellow  will  help  you  to-morrow  in 
your  execution  :  If  you  think  it  meet,  compound  with  him 
by  the  year,  and  let  him  abide  here  with  you ;  if  not,  use 
him  for  the  present,  and  dismiss  him  :  He  cannot  plead 
his  estimation  with  you  ;  he  hath  been  a  bawd. 

Abhor.  A  bawd,  sir  ?  Fye  upon  him,  he  will  discredit 
our  mystery.' 

Prov.  Go  to,  sir ;  you  weigh  equally  ;  a  feather  will 
turn  the  scale.  [Exit. 

Clo,  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  a  mystery  ? 

Abhor.  Ay,  sir ;  a  mystery. 

Clo.  Painting,  sir,  I  have  heard  say,  is  a  mystery ;  and 
your  whores,  sir,  being  members  of  my  occupation,  using 
painting,  do  prove  my  occupation  a  mystery  :  but  what 
mystery  there  should  be  in  hanging,  if  I  should  be  hang'd, 
I  cannot  imagine. 

Abhor.  Sir,  it  is  a  mystery. 

^ unipitied — ]  i.  e.  Unmerciful. 

i mystery,']  A  trade — not  from  the  Greek  fj-vcrtn^ia,  but  from  the  French 

mtitxer. 

^ u  j^ood  favour — ]  Favour  is  countenance. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  II.  137 

Clo.  Proof. 

Abhor.  Every  true  man's  apparel  fits  your  thief:  If  it 
be  too  little  for  your  thief,  your  true  man  thinks  it  big 
enough ;  if  it  be  too  big  for  your  thief,  your  thief  thinks 
it  little  enough  :  so  every  true  man's  apparel  fits  your 
thief.' 

Re-enter  Provost. 

Prov.  Are  you  agreed  ? 

Clo.  Sir,  I  will  serve  him  ;  for  I  do  find,  your  hang-man 
is  a  more  penitent  trade  than  your  bawd  ;  he  doth  oftner 
ask  forgiveness. 

Prov.  You,  sirrah,  provide  your  block  and  your  axe, 
to-morrow  four  o'clock. 

Abhor.  Come  on,  bawd  ;  I  will  instruct  thee  in  my 
trade ;  follow. 

Clo.  I  do  desire  to  learn,  sir ;  and,  I  hope,  if  you  have 
occasion  to  use  me  for  your  own  turn,  you  shall  find  me 
yare  :'"  for,  truly  sir,  for  your  kindness,  I  owe  you  a  good 
turn. 

Prov.  Call  hither  Barnardine  and  Claudio  : 

[Exeunt  Clown  and  Abiiorson. 
One  has  my  pity  ;  not  a  jot  the  other. 
Being  a  murderer,  though  he  were  my  brother. 

Enter  Claudio. 

Look,  here's  the  warrant,  Claudio,  for  thy  death  : 
'Tis  now  dead  jnidnight,  and  by  eight  to-morrow 
Thou  must  be  made  immortal.     Where's  Barnardine  ? 

Claud.  As  fast  lock'd  up  in  sleep,  as  guiltless  labour 
When  it  lies  starkly"  in  the  traveller's  bones  : 
He  will  not  wake. 

Prov.  Who  can  do  good  on  him  ? 

Well,  go,  prepare  yourself.     But  hark,  what  noise  ? 

[Knocking  tvithin. 

' so  every  true  man's  apparel  Jits  your  thief.']  The  argument  of  the  hang- 
man is  similar  to  that  of  the  bawd  :  as  the  latter  claims  the  whores  as  mem- 
bers of  his  occupation,  and  enrols  his  own  fratenjity  in  the  mystery  of  painters  ; 
the  former  lays  claim  to  thieves,  and  ranks  the  hangmen  under  the  mystery  of 
tailors  or  fitters  of  apparel. — Heath. 

™ yare:]  i.  e.  Handy. 

" starkly—']  StifHy.     These  two  lines  afford  a  very  pleasing  image. — 

Johnson. 


138  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

Heaven  give  your  spirits  comfort !  [Exit  Claudio. 

By  and  by  : — 
I  hope  it  is  some  pardon,  or  reprieve. 
For  the  most  gentle  Claudio. — Welcome,  father. 

Enter  Duke. 

Duke.  The  best  and  wliolesomest  spirits  of  the  night 
Envelop  you,  good  provost !  Who  called  here  of  late  ? 

Frov.  None,  since  the  curfew  rung. 

Duke.  Not  Isabel ! 

Prov.   No. 

Duke.  They  will  then,  ere't  be  long. 

Prov.  What  comfort  is  for  Claudio  ? 

Duke.  There's  some  in  hope. 

Prov.  It  is  a  bitter  deputy. 

Duke.  Not  so,  not  so  ;  his  life  is  parallel'd 
Even  with  the  stroke  and  line  of  his  great  justice; 
He  doth  with  holy  abstinence  subdue 
That  in  himself,  which  he  spurs  on  his  power 
To  qualify  in  others  :  were  he  meal'd" 
With  that  which  he  corrects,  then  were  he  tyrannous  ; 
But  this  being  so,  he's  just. — Now  are  they  come. — 

[Knocking  within. — Provost  goes  out. 
This  is  a  gentle  provost :  Seldom,  when 
The  steeled  gaoler  is  the  friend  of  men. — 
How  now  ?  What  noise  ?  That  spirit's  possessed  with  haste. 
That  wounds  the  unsistingi'  postern  with  these  strokes. 

Provost  returns,  speaking  to  one  at  the  door. 

Prov.  There  he  must  stay,  until  the  officer 
Arise  to  let  him  in;  he  is  call'd  up. 

Duke.  Have  you  no  countermand  for  Claudio  yet. 
But  he  must  die  to-morrow  ? 

Prov.  None,  sir,  none. 

Duke.  As  near  the  dawning,  provost,  as  it  is. 
You  shall  hear  more  ere  morning, 

Prov.  Happily, 

You  something  know ;  .yet,  I  believe,  there  comes 

" meal'd']  i.  e.  Mingled —from  meder  French. 

P umiilhig — ]  i.  e.  Never  at  rest,  always  opening. — BLACKsroNt. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  II.  139 

No  countermand  ;  no  such  example  have  we  : 
Besides,  upon  the  very  siege''  of  justice. 
Lord  Angelo  hath  to  the  public  ear 
Profess'd  the  contrary. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Duke.  This  is  his  lordship's  man. 

Prov.  And  here  comes  Claiidio's  pardon. 

Mess.  My  lord  hath  sent  you  this  note  :  and  by  me 
this  further  charge,  that  you  swerve  not  from  the  small- 
est article  of  it,  neither  in  time,  matter,  or  other  cir- 
cumstance. Good  morrow  ;  for,  as  I  take  it,  it  is  al- 
most day. 

Prov.  I  shall  obey  him.  [Exit  Messenger. 

Duke.  This  is  his  pardon ;  purchas'd  by  such  sin, 

[Aside. 
For  which  the  pardoner  himself  is  in  : 
Hence  hath  offence  his  quick  celerity. 
When  it  is  borne  in  high  authority  : 
When  vice  makes  mercy,  mercy's  so  extended. 
That  for  the  fault's  love,  is  the  offender  friended. — 
Now,  sir,  what  news  ? 

Prov.  I  told  you  :  Lord  Angelo,  belike,  thinking  me 
remiss  in  mine  office,  awakens  me  with  this  unwonted 
putting  on  :■"  methinks,  strangely  ;  for  he  hath  not  used  it 
before. 

Duke.  Pray  you,  let's  hear. 

Prov.  [Reads.]  Whatsoever  you  may  hear  to  the  contrary, 
let  Claudio  he  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  per- 
fornid;  toith  a  thought,  that  more  depends  on  it  than  rve 
must  yet  deliver.  Thus  fail  not  to  do  your  office,  as  you  will 
answer  it  at  your  peril. 
What  say  you  to  this,  sir  ? 

Duke.  What  is  that  Barnardine,  v/ho  is  to  be  executed 
in  the  afternoon? 

<i siege — ]  i.  e.  Seat.     Siege,  French. 

•■ putling  on  :]  i.  e.  Incitement. 


140  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

Prov.  A  Bohemian  born;  but  here  nursed  up  and  bread : 
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. 

Prov.  His  friends  still  wrought  reprieves  for  him:  And, 
indeed,  his  fact,  till  now  in  the  government  of  lord  Angelo, 
came  not  to  an  undoubtful  proof. 
Duke.  Is  it  now  apparent  ? 

Prov.  Most  manifest,  and  not  denied  by  himself. 
Duke.  Hath  he  borne  himself  penitently  in  prison?  How 
seems  he  to  be  touch'd  ? 

Prov.  A  man  that  apprehends  death  no  more  dread- 
fully, but  as  a  drunken  sleep  ;  careless,  reckless,  and  fear- 
less of  what's  past,  present,  or  to  come  ;  insensible  of  mor- 
tality, and  desperately  mortal.' 
Duke.  He  wants  advice. 

Prov.  He  will  hear  none  :  he  hath  evermore  had  the  li- 
berty of  the  prison ;  give  him  leave  to  escape  hence,  he 
would  not :  drunk  many  times  a  day,  if  not  many  days 
entirely  drunk.  We  have  very  often  awaked  him,  as  if  to 
carry  him  to  execution,  and  show'd  him,  a  seeming  war- 
rant for  it :  it  hath  not  moved  him  at  all. 

Duke.  More  of  him  anon.  There  is  written  in  your 
brow,  provost,  honesty  and  constancy :  if  I  read  it  not 
truly,  my  ancient  skill  beguiles  me ;  but  in  the  boldness 
of  my  cunning,"  I  will  lay  myself  in  hazard.  Claudio, 
whom  here  you  have  a  warrant  to  execute,  is  no  greater 
forfeit  to  the  law  than  Angelo  who  hath  sentenced  him  : 
To  make  you  understand  this  in  a  manifested  effect,  I  crave 
but  four  days'  respite  ;  for  the  which  you  are  to  do  me  both 
a  present  and  a  dangerous  courtesy. 
Prov.  Pray,  sir,  in  what? 
Duke.  In  the  delaying  death. 

s  one  that  is  a  prisoner  nine  yeurs^  oJd.]  i.  e.  That  has  been  confined  these 

nine  years. — Malone. 

t desperately  mortal.']  Subject   to  divine    condemnation   without  hope 

of  forgiveness — mortal  is  liere  applied  to  Bamardine  in  the  same  sense,  as  when 
we  speak  of  a  mortal  sin. 

"  in  the  boldness  of  rnij  cunning,]  i.  e.   In  conjidoice  of  my  M^acity — 

Steevens. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  II.  141 

Prov.  Alack  !  how  may  I  do  it  ?  having  the  hour  h- 
mited  ;  and  an  express  command,  under  penalty,  to  deliver 
his  head  in  the  view  of  Angelo  ?  I  may  make  my  case  as 
Claudio's,  to  cross  this  in  the  smallest. 

Duke.  By  the  vow  of  mine  order,  I  warrant  you,  if  my 
instructions  may  be  your  guide.  Let  this  Barnardine  be 
this  morning  executed,  and  his  head  borne  to  Angelo. 

Prov.  Angelo  hath  seen  them  both,  and  will  discover 
the  favour." 

Duke.  O,  death's  a  great  disguiser :  and  you  may  add 
to  it.  Shave  the  head,  and  tie  the  beard  ;='  and  say,  it 
was  the  desire  of  the  penitent  to  be  so  bared  before  his 
death  :  You  know,  the  course  is  common.  If  any  thing 
fall  to  you  upon  this,  more  than  thanks  and  good  fortune, 
by  the  saint  whom  I  profess,  I  will  plead  against  it  with 
my  life. 

Prov.  Pardon  me,  good  father :  it  is  against  my  oath. 
Duke.  Were  you  sworn  to  the  duke,  or  to  the  deputy  ? 
Prov.  To  him,  and  to  his  substitutes. 
Duke.  You  will  think  you  have  made  no  offence,  if  the 
duke  avouch  the  justice  of  your  dealing  ? 
Prov.  But  what  likelihood  is  in  that? 
Duke.  Not  a  resemblance,  but  a  certainty.     Yet  since 
I  see  you  fearful,  that  neither  my  coat,  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 ;  but  the  signet  is  not  strange 
to  you. 

Prov.  I  know  them  both. 

Duke.  The  contents  of  this  is  the  return  of  the  duke ; 
you  shall  anon  over-read  it  at  your  pleasure  :  where  you 
shall  find,  within  these  two  days  he  will  be  here.  This 
is  a  thing,  that  Angelo  knows  not :  for  he  this  very  day 
receives  letters  of  strange  tenor:  perchance,  of  the  duke's 
death ;  perchance,  entering  into  some  monastery ;  but,  by 

''  the  favour  ,1  i.  e.  Tlie  countenance. 

y  tie  the  beard  ;]  Most  probably  die  the  beard  was  ibe  original  read- 
ing. To  shave  the  head  was  a  common  practice  among  the  Roman  Catholics, 
who  were  often  desirous  of  receiving  the  foHSiire  of  the  monk  previous  to  death. 
— M.  Mason. 


142       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

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  Bar- 
nardine's  head  :  I  will  give  him  a  present  shrift,  and  advise 
him  for  abetter  place.  Yet  you  are  amazed  :  but  this  shall 
absolutely  resolve  you.  Come  away  ;  it  is  almost  clear 
dawn.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III. 

Another  Room  in  the  same. 

Finter  Clown. 

Clo.  I  am  as  well  acquainted  here,  as  I  was  in  our  house 
of  profession :  one  would  think,  it  were  mistress  Overdone's 
own  house,  for  here  be  many  of  her  old  customers.  First, 
here's  young  master  Rash  f  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  much  in  request,  for  the  old  wo- 
men were  all  dead.  Then  is  there  here  one  master  Caper, 
at  the  suit  of  master  Three-pile  the  mercer,  for  some  four 
suits  of  peach-colour'd  satin,  which  now  peaches  him  a 
beggar.  Then  have  we  here  young  Dizy,  and  young  master 
Deep-vow,  and  master  Copper-spur,  and  master  Stave- 
lackey,  the  rapier  and  dagger  man,  and  young  Drop-heir 
that  killed  Lusty-pudding,  and  master  Fortright  the  tilter, 
and  brave  master  Shoe-tie  the  great  traveller,  and  wild 
Half-can  that  stabbed  Pots,  and  1  think,  forty  more  ;  all 
great  doers  of  our  trade,  and  are  now  for  the  Lord's  sake.'' 

Enter  Abhorson. 
Abhor.  Sirrah,  bring  Barnardine  hither. 

^  Rrts/( ;]  The  names  here  are  appropriate, — nts/t  was  a  fine  silken  stuff 

formerly  worn  iu  coats. 

*  brown  paper — ]  In  Green's  Defence  of  Coney-catcliing  1592, — "  if 

he  borrow  a  hundred  pounds,  he  shall  have  forty  in  silver  and  threescore  in 
wares,  lute-strings,  hobby-horses  brown  paper,  or  cloth." — Steevins. 

''  for  the  Lord'ssake.]  i.  c.  To  begfor  the  rest  of  their  lives. — ^It  appears 

from  a  poem  entitled  Paper's  Complaint,  that  tliis  was  the  language  in  which 
prisoners  confined  for  debt  addressed  passengers. — Mai.one. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  III.  143 

Clo.  Master  Barnardine  !  you  must  rise  and  be  hang'd 
master  Barnardine ! 

Abhor.  What,  ho,  Barnardine  ! 

Barnar.  [tvithin.]  A  pox  o'  your  throats  !  Who  makes 
that  noise  there?  What  are  you? 

Clo.  Your  friend,  sir;  the  hangman;  You  must  be  so 
good,  sir,  to  rise  and  be  put  to  death. 

Barnar.  [t^z7/j/«.]  Away,  you  rogue,  away ;  I  am  sleepy. 

Abhor.  Tell  him,  he  must  awake,  and  that  quickly  too. 

Clo.  Pray,  master  Barnardine,  awake  till  you  are  ex- 
ecuted, and  sleep  afterwards. 

Abhor.  Go  in  to  him,  and  fetch  him  out. 

Clo.  He  is  coming,  sir,  he  is  coming  ;  I  hear  his  straw 
rustle. 

Enter  Barnardine. 

Abhor.  Is  the  axe  upon  the  block,  sirrah  ? 

Clo.  Very  ready,  sir. 

Barnar.  How,  now,  Abhorson  ?  what's  the  news  with 
you  ? 

Abhor.  Truly,  sir,  I  would  desire  you  to  clap  into  your 
prayers  ;  for,  look  you,  tlie  warrant's  come. 

Barnar.  You  rogue,  I  have  been  drinking  all  night,  I 
am  not  fitted  for't. 

Clo.  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. 

Abhor.  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,  com- 
fort you,  and  pray  Avith  you. 

Barnar.  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. 

Duke.  O,  sir,  you  must;  and  therefore,  I  beseech  you. 
Look  forward  on  the  journey  you  shall  go. 


144  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

Barnar.  I  swear,  I  will  not  die  to-day  for  any  man's 
persuasion. 

Duke.  But  hear  you,- 


Barnar.  Not  a  word ;  if  you  have  any  thing  to  say  to 
me,  come  to  my  ward  ;  for  thence  will  not  I  to-day. 

{Exit. 

Enter  Provost. 

Duke.  Unfit  to  live,  or  die  :  O,  gravel  heart ! — 
After  him  fellows;  bring  him  to  the  block. 

[Exeunt  Abhorson  and  Clown. 

Prov.  Now,  sir,  how  do  you  find  the  prisoner? 

Duke.  A  creature  unprepar'd,  unmeet  for  death  ; 
And,  to  transport  him  in  the  mind  he  is. 
Were  damnable. 

Prov.  Here  in  the  prison,  father. 

There  died  this  morning  of  a  cruel  fever 
One  Ragozine,  a  most  notorious  pirate, 
A  man  of  Claudio's  years  ;  his  beard,  and  head. 
Just  of  his  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 
Prefixed  by  Angelo  :  See,  this  be  done. 
And  sent  according  to  command  ;  whiles  I 
Persuade  this  rude  wretch  willingly  to  die. 

Prov.  This  shall  be  done,  good  father,  presently. 
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.  Let  this  be  done  ; — Put  them  in  secret  holds. 
Both  Barnardine  and  Claudio :  Ere  twice 
The  sun  hath  made  his  journal  greeting  to 
Tile  under  generation,^  you  shall  find 
Your  safety  manifested. 

c journal — ]  i.e.  Daihj. 

''  The  under  generation ,'\  i.  e.  The  ant'umlca. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  III.  145 

Prov.  I  am  your  free  dependant. 

Duke.  Quick,  despatch. 

And  send  the  head  to  Angelo.  [Exit  Provost. 

Now  will  I  write  letters  to  Angelo, — 

The  Provost,  he  shall  bear  them, whose  contents 

Shall  witness  to  him,  I  am  near  at  home ; 

And  that,  by  great  injunctions,  I  am  bound 

To  enter  publicly  :  him  I'll  desire 

To  meet  me  at  the  consecrated  fount, 

A  league  below  the  city  ;  and  from  thence. 

By  cold  gradation  and  weal-balanced  form, 

We  shall  proceed  with  Angelo. 

Re-enter  Provost. 

Prov.  Here  is  the  head;  I'll  carry  it  myself. 

Duke.  Convenient  is  it :  Make  a  swift  return  ; 
For  I  would  commune  with  you  of  such  things. 
That  want  no  ear  but  yours. 

Prov.  I'll  make  all  speed.  [Exit. 

Isab.  [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. 

Isab.  Ho,  by  your  leave. 

Duke.  Good  morning  to  you,  fait  and  gracious  daugh- 

Isab.  The  better,  given  me  by  so  holy  a  man.  [ter. 

Hath  yet  the  deputy  sent  my  brother's  pardon  ? 

Duke.  He  hath  released  him,  Isabel,  from  the  world  ; 
His  head  is  off,  and  sent  to  Angelo. 

Isab.  Nay,  but  it  is  not  so. 

Duke.  It  is  no  other  : 

Show  your  wisdom  daughter,  in  your  close  patience. 

Isab.  O,  I  will  to  him,  and  pluck  out  his  eyes. 

Duke.  You  shall  not  be  admitted  to  his  sight. 

Isab.  Unhappy  Claudio  !  Wretched  Isabel ! 
Injurious  world  !  Most  damned  Angelo  ! 


146  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

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-mon'ow ; — nay,  dry  your  eyes; 
One  of  our  convent,  and  his  confessor. 
Gives  me  this  instance  :  Already  he  hath  carried 
Notice  to  Escalus  and  Angelo  ; 
Who  do  prepare  to  meet  him  at  the  gates. 
There  to  give  up  their  power.     If  you  can,  pace  your 
In  that  good  path  that  I  would  wish  it  go ;  [wisdom 

And  you  shall  have  your  bosom''  on  this  wretch, 
Grace  of  the  duke,  revenges  to  your  heart, 
And  general  honour. 

Isab.  I  am  directed  by  you. 

Duke.  This  letter  then  to  friar  Peter  give  : 
'Tis  that  he  sent  me  of  the  duke's  return; 
Say,  by  this  token,  I  desire  his  company 
At  Mariana's  house  to-night.     Her  cause,  and  yours, 
I'll  perfect  him  withal;  and  he  shall  bring  you 
Before  the  duke ;  and  to  the  head  of  Angelo 
Accuse  him  home  and  home.     For  my  poor  self, 
I  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  trotli, 

* your  hpsom — ]  Your  wisli ;  your  heart's  desire. — .Tomnsov. 

f combined — ]  i.  e.  ConMraiited. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  IV.  147 

Isabel,  I  lov'd  thy  brother  :  if  the  old  fantastical  duke  of 
dark  corners  had  been  at  home,  he  had  lived. 

[Exit  Isabella.. 

Duke.  Sir,  the  duke  is  marvellous  little  beholden  to 
your  reports  ;  but  the  best  is,  he  lives  not  in  them.s 

Lucip.  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  j  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  was  fain  to  forswear  it ; 
they  would  else  have  married  me  to  the  rotten  medlar. 

Duke.  Sir,  your  company  is  fairer  than  honest :  Rest 
you  well. 

Lucio.  By  my  troth,  I'll  go  with  thee  to  the  lane's  end: 
If  bawdy  talk  offend  you,  we'll  have  very  little  of  it ;  Nay, 
friar,  I  am  a  kind  of  burr,  I  shall  stick.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV. 

A  Room  in  Angelo's  House. 
Lnter  Angelo  and  Escalus. 

Escal.  Every  letter  he  hath  writ  hath  disvouch'd  other. 

Ans-  In  most  uneven  and  distracted  manner.  His  ac- 
tions  show  much  like  to  madness  :  pray  heaven,  his  wis- 
dom be  not  tainted  !  And  why  meet  him  at  the  gates,  and 
re-deliver  our  authorities  there  ? 

Escal.  I  guess  not. 

A?ig.  And  why  should  we  proclaim  it  in  an  hour  before 
his  entering,  that,  if  any  crave  redress  of  injustice,  they 
should  exhibit  their  petitions  in  the  streets  ? 

S he  lives  not  in  them.']  i,  e.  His  character  depends  not  on  them. 

h woodman — ]    A  woodman  was  an  attendant  or  servant  to  the  officer 

called  Forester,  but  is  here  used  in  a  wanton  sense,  and  was  probably,  in  our 
Author's  time  generally  so  received. — Reed. 


148      MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

Escal.  He  shows  his  reason  for  that:  to  have  a  de-' 
spatch  of  comjalaints  ;  and  to  deliver  us  from  devices 
hereafter  which  shall  then  have  no  power  to  stand 
against  us. 

A7ig.  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. 

Escal.  I  shall,  sir  :  fare  you  well.       [Exit. 

A  fig.  Good  night. — 
This  deed  unshapes  me  quite,  makes  me  unpregnant,'' 
And  dull  to  all  proceedings.     A  deflower'd  maid! 
And  by  an  eminent  body,  that  enforc'd 
The  law  against  it ! — But  that  her  tender  shame 
Will  not  proclaim  against  her  maiden  loss. 
How  might  she  tongue  me  ?  Yet  reason  dares  her  no,' 
For  my  authority  bears  a  credent™  bulk. 
That  no  particular  scandal  once  can  touch, 
But  it  confounds  the  breather.     He  should  have  liv'd. 
Save  that  his  riotous  youth,  with  dangerous  sense, 
Might,  in  the  times  to  come,  have  ta'en  revenge, 
By  so  receiving  a  dishonour'd  life. 

With  ransome  of  such  shame.     'Would  yet  he  had  liv'd  ! 
Alack,  when  once  our  grace  we  have  forgot. 
Nothing  goes  right;  we  would,  and  we  would  not.    [Exit. 

SCENE  V. 

Fields  without  the  Town. 

Enter  Duke  in  his  own  habit,  and  Friar  Peter. 

Duke.  These  letters  at  fit  time  deliver  me. 

[Giving  fetters. 

i sort  and  suit,]  In  the  feudal  times  all  vassals  were  bound  to  liold  suit 

and  service  to  their  over-lord  ;  that  is,  to  be  ready  at  all  times  to  attend  and 
serve  him,  either  when  summoned  to  his  courts,  or  to  his  standard  in  war. — 
"Such  men  of  sort  and  suit  as  are  to  meet  him,"  I  presume  means  the  duke's 
vassals  or  tenants  in  Capite. —  Edinburgh  Magazine,  Nov.  1786. — Stlevens. 

k nnpregnant,]  i.  e.  Unready. 

1 dares  her  ■no,']  This  is  the  reading  of  the  folio.     I  have  printed  it  in 

its  original  form,  for  the  alteration  in  the  pointing  adopted  by  Stcevens,  does 
not  assist  the  sense.  The  passage  is  corrupt — perhaps  we  should  read,  yet 
reason  warns  her  not. 

"' rredent — ]  i.  e.  Credible. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  VI.  149 

The  provost  knows  our  purpose,  and  our  plot. 
The  matter  being  afoot,  keep  your  instruction. 
And  hold  you  ever  to  our  special  drift ; 
Though  sometimes  you  do  blench"  from  this  to  that. 
As  cause  doth  minister.     Go,  call  at  Flavius'  house. 
And  tell  him  where  I  stay  :  give  the  like  notice 
To  Valentinus,  Rowland,  and  to  Crassus, 
And  bid  them  bring  the  trumpets  to  the  gate  ; 
But  send  me  Flavius  first. 

F.  Peter.  It  shall  be  speeded  well. 

[Exit  Friar. 

Elite)-  Varrius. 

Duke.  I  thank  thee,  Varrius ;  thou  hast  made  good 
Come,  we  will  walk  :  There's  other  of  our  friends  [haste  : 
Will  greet  us  here  anon,  my  gentle  Varrius.         lExeimt. 

SCENE  VI. 

Street  near  the  City  Gate. 
Enter  Isabella  and  Mariana. 

hah.  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." 

Mari.  Be  rul'd  by  him. 

hab.  Besides,  he  tells  me,  that,  if  peradventure 
He  speak  against  me  on  the  adverse  side, 
I  should  not  think  it  strange  ;  for  'tis  a  physic, 
That's  bitter  to  sweet  end. 

Mari.  I  would,  friar  Peter — 

Isab.  O,  peace ;  the  friar  is  come. 

Enter  Friar  Peter. 
jF.  Peter.  Come,  I  have  found  you  out  a  stand  most  fit, 

n hlench — ]  Start  oif. 

o to  mil  full  purpose.']   If  we  retain  these  words — they  must  mean  to 

hide  the  whole  extent  of  our  design. — Johnson. — Which  supposes  Isabella  to  be 
acquainted  with  the  whole  of  the  duke's  scheme,  of  which  she  was  designedly 
kept  in  ignorance.  The  old  copy  is  to  vaile  full  purpose — and  I  believe  Mr. 
Theobald's  emendation  in  reading  t'availftU  purpose  to  be  correct. 

VOL.  II.  M 


150       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

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  (veiVd),  Isabella,  and  Peter,  at  a  distance. 
Enter  at  opposite  doors,  Duke,  Varrius,  Lords  ; 
Angelo,  Escalus,  Lucid,  Provost,  Officers,  and 
Citizens. 

Duke.  My  veiy  worthy  cousin,  fairly  met : — 
Our  old  and  faithful  friend,  we  are  glad  to  see  you. 

Ang.  and  Escal.  Happy  return  be  to  your  royal  grace  ! 

Duke.  Many  and  hearty  thankings  to  you  both. 
We  have  made  inquiry  of  you  ;  and  we  hear 
Such  goodness  of  your  justice,  that  our  soul 
Cannot  but  yield  you  forth  to  public  thanks. 
Forerunning  more  requital. 

Ang.  You  make  my  bonds  still  greater. 

Duke.  O,  your  desert  speaks  loud  ;  and  I  should  wrong- 
To  lock  it  in  the  wards  of  covert  bosom,  ^it, 
When  it  deserves  with  characters  of  brass 
A  forted  residence,  'gainst  the  tooth  of  time. 
And  razure  oblivion  ;  Give  me  your  hand. 
And  let  the  subject  see,  to  make  them  know 
That  outward  courtesies  would  fain  proclaim 
Favours  that  keep  within. — Come,  Escalus  ; 
You  must  walk  by  us  on  the  other  hand  ; 
And  good  supporters  are  you. 

Peter  and  Isabella  comeforward. 

F.  Peter.  Now  is  your  time ;  speak  loud,  and  kneel  be- 
fore him. 

f  The  generous,  ^'c]  i.  e.  The  most  noble,  &c. 

'1  Have  hent  the  gaUs,']  Have  seized  or  taken  possession  of. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  I.  151 

Isab.  Justice,  O  royal  duke  !  Vail  your  regard' 
Upon  a  wrong'd,  I'd  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  Angelo  shall  give  you  justice  ! 
Reveal  yourself  to  him. 

Isab.  O,  worthy  duke, 

You  bid  me  seek  redemption  of  the  devil  : 
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. 

Ang.  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 ! 

Isab.  By  course  of  justice! 

Ang.  And  she  will  speak  most  bitterly,  and  strange. 

Isab.  Most  strange,  but  yet  most  truly,  will  I  speak : 
That  Angelo's  forsworn ;  is  it  not  strange  ? 
That  Angelo's  a  murderer  :  is't  not  strange  ? 
That  Angelo  is  an  adulterous  thief. 
An  hypocrite,  a  virgin-violator ; 
Is  it  not  strange,  and  strange  ? 

Duke.  Nay,  ten  times  strange. 

Isab.  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  the  end  of  reckoning. 

Duke.  Away  with  her ; — Poor  soul. 

She  speaks  this  in  the  infirmity  of  sense. 

Isah.  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 

r Vail  your  regard — ]  i.  e.  Wittdraw  your  thoughts  from  higher  things, 

letyour  notice  descend  upon  a  wronged  woman. — to  vail  is  to  loioer. — Johnson. 

M  2 


152       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

That  which  but  seems  unlike  :  'tis  not  impossible, 
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  I  more  name  for  badness. 

Duke.  By  mine  honesty. 

If  she  be  mad,  (as  I  believe  no  other,) 
Her  madness  hath  the  oddest  frame  of  sense. 
Such  a  dependency  of  thing  on  thing, 
As  e'er  I  heard  in  madness. 

Isab.  O,  gracious  duke, 

Harp  not  on  that :  nor  do  not  banish  reason 
For  inequality ;"  but  let  your  reason  serve 
To  make  the  truth  appear,  where  it  seems  hid; 
And  hide  the  false,  seems  true." 

Duke.  Many  that  are  not  mad. 

Have,  sure,  more  lack  of  reason. — What  would  you  say  ? 

Isab.  I  am  the  sister  of  one  Claudio, 
Condemn'd  upon  the  act  of  fornication 
To  lose  his  head ;  condem'd  by  Angelo  : 
I,  in  probation  of  a  sisterhood. 
Was  sent  to  by  my  brother :  One  Lucio 
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. 

Isab.  That's  he,  indeed. 

Duke.  You  were  not  bid  to  speak. 

Lucio.  No,  my  good  lord  ; 

Nor  wish'd  to  hold  my  peace. 

Duke.  I  wish  you  now  then ; 

• as  shy,  as  grave,  asjust,  as  absolute,']  As  shy ;  as  reserved,  as  abstracted : 

as  just ;  as  nice,  as  exact :  as  absolute;  as  complete  in  all  the  round  of  duty. — 
Johnson. 

'  characts,']  i.  e.  Characters. 

"  For  inequality :']  Ou  account  of  the  apparent  inconsistency. — M,  M;ison. 

"  the  false  seems  true.]  i.  e.  That  false  uhich  seems  true. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  I.  153 

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. 

Isab.  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. 

Isab.  I  went 

To  this  pernicious  caitiff  deputy. 

Duke.  That's  somewhat  madly  spoken. 

Isab.  Pardon  it. 

The  phrase  is  to  the  matter. 

Duke.  Mended  again  :  the  matter ; — Proceed. 

Isab.  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  reply'd ; 
(For  this  was  of  much  length,)  the  vile  conclusion 
I  now  begin  with  grief  and  shame  to  utter : 
He  would  not,  but  by  gift  of  my  chaste  body 
To  his  concupiscible  intemperate  lust. 
Release  my  brother ;  and,  after  much  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  ! 

Isab.  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  ; 

y refell'd—]  i.  e.  Refuted.  ^ remorse—]  i.  e.  Pity. 

a fond — ]  Foolish. 


154  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

Confess  the  truth,  and  say  by  whose  advice 
Thou  cam'st  here  to  complain. 

Isab.  And  is  this  all  ? 

Then,  oh,  you  blessed  ministers  above. 
Keep  me  in  patience ;  and,  with  ripen'd  time. 
Unfold  the  evil  which  is  here  wrapt  up 
In  countenance  \^ — Heaven  shield  your  grace  from  woe. 
As  I,  thus  wrong'd,  hence  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  ? 

Isab.  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  medling  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  is  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. 

F.  Peter.  Blessed  be  your  royal  grace ! 

I  have  stood  by,  my  lord,  and  I  have  heard 
Your  royal  ear  abused :  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? 

F.  Peter.  I  know  him  for  a  man  divine  and  holy  j 
Not  scurvy,  nor  a  temporary  medler,*" 

*'  In  countenance  .']  i.  e.  False  appearance. 

'^ practice.]  This  word  in  Shakspearc's  time,  was  often  used  for  wicked 

artifice. 

•• nor  a  temporary  mcdler,']    One   who  would  not  temporize,  or  take  the 

oj)j)orlunity  of  your  absence  to  defame  you. — Johnson. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  1.  155 

As  he's  reported  by  this  gentleman ; 
And,  on  my  trust,  a  man  that  never  yet 
Did,  as  he  vouches,  misreport  your  grace. 
Lucio.  My  lord,  most  villainously  ;  believe  it. 
F.  Peter.  Well,  he  in  time  may  come  to  clear  himself  j 
But  at  this  instant  he  is  sick,  my  lord. 
Of  a  strange  fever  :  Upon  his  mere  request,* 
(Being  come  to  knowledge  that  there  was  complaint 
Intended  'gainst  lord  Angelo,)  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  woman  ; 
(To  justify  this  worthy  nobleman. 

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 
Makiana  comes  forward. 
Do  you  not  smile  at  this,  lord  Angelo  ? — 
O  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. 

Mari.  Pardon,  my  lord ;  I  will  not  show  my  face. 
Until  my  husband  bid  me. 

Duke.  What,  are  you  married  ? 

Man.  No,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Are  you  a  maid  ? 

Mari.  No,  my  lord. 

Duke.  A  widow  then  ? 

Mari.  Neither,  my  lord. 

* his  mere  reguest,]  i.  e.  His  absolute  request, 

f convented.']  i.  e.  Summoneil. 

s  So  vulgarly — ]  i.  e.  Publicly. 

''  In  this  I'll  be  impartial ;]  Impartial  was  very  frequently  used  in  the  sense 
of  partial. — Im  appears  to  have  been  prefixed  as  an  augmentative  or  intensive 
particle. — Ma  lone.  Notwithstanding  this  note  of  Mr.  Malone's,  and  all  the 
passages  adduced  by  Dr.  Farmer  in  support  of  it,  I  believe  impartial  here 
means  indifferent. 


156  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

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  cause 
To  prattle  for  himself. 

Lucio.  Well,  my  lord. 

Mari.  My  lord,  I  do  confess  I  ne'er  was  married ; 
And,  I  confess,  besides,  I  am  no  maid  : 
I  have  known  my  husband  ;  yet  my  husband  knows  not. 
That  ever  he  knew  me. 

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. 

Mari.  Now  I  come  to't,  my  lord  : 
She,  that  accuses  him  of  fornication. 
In  self-same  manner  doth  accuse  my  husband  ; 
And  charges  him,  my  lord,  with  such  a  time. 
When  I'll  depose  I  had  him  in  mine  arms. 
With  all  the  effect  of  love. 

-4wg.  Charges  she  more  than  me  ? 

Mari.  Not  that  I  know. 

Duke.  No  ?  you  say,  your  husband. 

Mari.  Why,  just,  my  lord,  and  that  is  Angelo, 
Who  thinks,  he  knows,  that  he  ne'er  knew  my  body. 
But  knows,  he  thinks,  that  he  knows  Isabel's. 

Ang.  This  is  a  strange  abuse : — Let's  see  thy  face. 

Mari.  My  husband  bids  me ;  now  I  will  unmask. 

[  TJnveiling. 
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  fast  belock'd  in  thine  :  this  is  the  body 
That  took  away  the  match  from  Isabel, 
Arfd  did  supply  thee  at  thy  garden-house. 
In  her  imagin'd  person. 

Duke.  Know  you  this  woman  ? 


ACT  v.— SCENE  I.  157 

Lucio.  Carnally,  she  says. 

Duke.  Sirrah,  no  more. 

Lucio.  Enough,  my  lord. 

Ang.  My  lord,  I  must  confess,  Iknow  this  woman : 
And,  five  years  since,  there  was  some  speech  of  marriage 
Betwixt  myself  and  her  ;  which  was  broke  off. 
Partly,  for  that  her  promised  proportions 
Came  short  of  composition  ;'  but,  in  chief. 
For  that  her  reputation  was  disvalued 
In  levity  :  since  which  time,  of  five  years, 
I  never  spake  with  her,  saw  her,  nor  heard  from  her. 
Upon  my  faith  and  honour. 

Mari.  Noble  prince. 

As  there  comes  light  from  heaven,  and  words  from  breath. 
As  there  is  sense  in  truth,  and  truth  in  virtue, 
I  am  affianc'd  this  man's  wife,  as  strongly 
As  words  could  make  up  vows  :  and,  my  good  lord. 
But  Tuesday  night  last  gone,  in  his  garden-house. 
He  knew  me  as  a  wife  :  As  this  is  true 
Let  me  in  safety  raise  me  from  my  knees  ; 
Or  else  for  ever  be  confixed  here, 
A  marble  monument ! 

Ang.  I  did  but  smile  till  now  ; 

Now,  good  my  lord,  give  me  the  scope  of  justice ; 
My  patience  here  is  touch'd  :  I  do  perceive. 
These  poor  informal''  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  all  my  heart ; 

And  punish  them  unto  your  height  of  pleasure. — 
Thou  foolish  friar ;  and  thou  pernicious  woman, 
Comp-^ct  with  her  that's  gone  !  think'st  thou,  thy  oaths. 
Though  they  would  swear  down  each  particular  saint. 
Were  testimonies  against  his  worth  and  credit. 
That's  seal'd  in  approbation  ?' — You,  lord  Escalus, 

' her  promised  proportions 

Came  short  of  composition  ;]  Her  fortune,  which  was  promised  proportionate 
to  mine,  fell  short  of  the  composition,  that  is,  contract  or  bargain. — Johnson. 

^ informal — ]  Deranged. 

' seal'd  in  approbation? — ]  Angelo's  integrity  had  been  tried,  approved,  and 


158  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

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  5 
Let  him  be  sent  for. 

F.  Peter.  Would  he  were  here,  my  lord  ;  for  he,  indeed. 
Hath  set  the  woman  on  to  this  complaint : 
Your  provost  knows  the  place  where  he  abides, 
And  he  may  fetch  him. 

Duke.  Go,  do  it  instantly. —  [^Exit  Provost. 

And  you,  my  noble  and  well-warranted  cousin. 
Whom  it  concerns  to  hear  this  matter  forth. 
Do  with  your  injuries  as  seems  you  best. 
In  any  chastisement :  I  for  a  while 
Will  leave  you ;  but  stir  not  you,  till  you  have  well 
Determined  upon  these  slanderers. 

Escal.  My  lord,  we'll  do  it  thoroughly. — [Exit  Duke.] 
Signior  Lucio,  did  not  you  say,  you  knew  that  friar  Lodo- 
wick  to  be  a  dishonest  person  ? 

Lucio.  Cucullus  nonjacit  monachum:  honest  in  nothing, 
but  in  his  clothes  ;  and  one  that  hath  spoke  most  villain- 
ous speeches  of  the  duke. 

Escal.  We  shall  entreat  you  to  abide  here  till  he  come, 
and  enforce  them  against  him  :  we  shall  find  this  friar  a 
notable  fellow. 

Lucio.  As  any  in  Vienna,  on  my  word. 

Escal.  Call  that  same  Isabel  here  once  again ;  \to  an 
Attendant.']  I  would  speak  with  her :  Pray  you,  my  lord  : 
give  me  leave  to  question ;  you  shall  see  how  I'll  handle 
her. 

Lucio.  Not  better  than  he,  by  her  own  report. 

Escal.  Say  you  ? 

Lucio.  Marry,  sir,  I  think,  if  you  handle  her  privately, 
she  would  sooner  confess ;  perchance,  publicly  she'll  be 
ashamed. 

Re-enter  Officers,  with  Isabella  ;  the  Duke,  in  the 
Friar's  habit,  and  Provost. 

Escal.  I  will  go  darkly  to  work  with  her. 

scaled  in  U'Btiinony  of  apprnhiilwii,  uiiil  wab  no  more  to  be  (juestionud  or  sus- 
l>cctcd  of  being  counterfeit. — JoiiNbON. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  1.  159 

Lucio.  That's  the  way;  for  women  are  light  at  mid- 
night. 

Escal.  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. 

Escal.  In  very  good  time : — speak  not  you  to  him  till 
we  call  upon  you. 

Lucio.  Mum. 

Escal.  Come  sir  :  Did  you  set  these  women  on  to  slan- 
der lord  Angelo  ?  they  have  confess'd  you  did. 

Duke.  'Tis  false. 

Escal.  How  !  know  you  where  you  are  ? 

Duke.  Respect  to  your  great  place  !  and  let  the  devil 
Be  sometime  honour'd  for  his  burning  throne  : — 
Where  is  the  duke?  'tis  he  should  hear  me  speak. 

Escal.  The  duke's  in  us  ;  and  we  will  hear  you  speak  : 
Look,  you  speak  justly. 

Duke.  Boldly,  at  least : — But,  O,  poor  souls. 

Come  you  to  seek  the  lamb  here  of  the  fox  ? 
Good  night  to  your  redress.     Is  the  duke  gone  ? 
Then  is  your  cause  gone  too.     The  duke's  unjust. 
Thus  to  retort  your  manifest  appeal,™ 
And  put  your  trial  in  the  villain's  mouth. 
Which  here  you  come  to  accuse. 

Lucio,  This  is  the  rascal;  this  is  he  I  spoke  of. 

Escal.  Why,  thou  unreverend  and  unhallow'd  friar ! 
Is't  not  enough,  thou  hast  suborn'd  these  womeh 
To  accuse  this  worthy  man ;  but,  in  foul  mouth. 
And  in  the  witness  of  his  proper  ear, 
To  call  him  villain  ?  And  then  to  glance  from  him. 
To  the  duke  himself,  to  tax  him  with  injustice  ? 
Take  him  hence  : — To  the  rack  with  him  : — 
We'll  touze  him  joint  by  joint,  but  we  will  know 
His  purpose  : — What!   unjust? 

Duke.  Be  not  so  hot : 
The  duke  dare  no  more  stretch  this  finger  of  mine,  than  he 
Dare  rack  his  own;  his  subject  am  I  not, 

™ to  rctm-t  your  manifest  appeal,]  To  refer  back  to  Angelo  the  cause  in 

which  you  appealed  from  Augelo  to  the  duke. — Johnson. 


160  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

Nor  here  provincial :"  My  business  in  this  state 

Made  me  a  looker-on  here  in  Vienna, 

Where  I  have  seen  corruption  boil  and  bubble. 

Till  it  o'er-run  the  stew^ :  law^s  for  all  faults  ; 

But  faults  so  countenanc'd,  that  the  strong  statutes 

Stand  like  the  forfeits  in  a  barber's  shop," 

As  much  in  mock  as  mark. 

Escal.  Slander  to  the  state  !  Away  with  him  to  prison. 
Jng.  What  can  you  vouch  against  him,  signior  Lucio  ? 
Is  this  the  man  that  you  did  tell  us  of? 

Lucio.  'Tis  he,  my  lord.  Come  hither,  good-man  bald- 
pate  :  Do  you  know  me  ? 

Duke.  I  remember  you,  sir,  by  the  sound  of  your  voice : 
I  met  you  at  the  prison  in  the  absence  of  the  duke. 

Lucio.  O,  did  you  so  ?  And  do  you  remember  what  you 
said  of  the  duke  ? 

Duke.  Most  notedly,  sir. 

Lucio.  Do  you  so,  sir?  And  was  the  duke  a  fleshmon- 

ger,  a  fool,  and  a  coward,  as  you  then  reported  him  to  be  ? 

Duke.  You  must,  sir,  change  persons  with  me,  ere  you 

make  that  my  report :  you,  indeed,  spoke  of  him ;  and 

much  more,  much  worse. 

Lucio.  O  thou  damnable  fellow  !  Did  not  I  pluck  thee 
by  the  nose,  for  thy  speeches  ? 

Duke.  I  protest,  I  love  the  duke,  as  I  love  myself. 
Ang.  Hark  !  how  the  villain  would  close  now,  after  his 
treasonable  abuses. 

Escal.  Such  a  fellow  is  not  to  be  talk'd  withal :— Away 
with  him  to  prison  : — Where  is  the  provost  ?— Away  with 
him  to  prison  :  lay  bolts  enough  upon  him  :  let  him  speak 
no  more :— Away  with  those  giglots  too,p  and  with  the 
other  confederate  companion. 

[The  Provost  lays  hands  on  the  Duke. 

■>  Nor  here  provincial :]  Nor  here  accountable — The  meaning  seems  to  be, 
I  am  not  one  of  his  natural  subjects. — Jounson. 

"  forfeits  in  a  htirher's  shop,]  These  shops  were  places  of  great  resort  for 

passing  away  tune  m  an  idle  manner.  By  way  of  enforcing  some  kind  of  re- 
gularity, and  perhaps,  at  least  as  much,  to  promote  drinking,  certain  laws  were 
usually  hungup,  the  transgression  of  which  was  to  be  punished  by  specific  for- 
feitures. It  IS  not  to  be  wondered  at  if  these  laws  were  as  often  lamhed  at  as 
obfy«d.—Aiu;H DEACON  Nauhs's  Glossarij. 

^  '''"se  giBl<^t«  1-00,]  A  giglot  is  a  wanton  wench. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  I.  161 

Duke.  Stay,  sir  ;  stay  a  while. 

Ang.  What !  resists  he !  Help  him,  Lucio. 

Liicio.  Come, sir;  come,  sir;  come,  sir;  foh, sir:  Why, 
you  bald-pated,  lying  rascal !  you  must  be  hooded,  must 
you  ?  Show  your  knave's  visage,  with  a  pox  to  you !  show 
your  sheep-biting  face,  and  be  hang'd  an  hour  I''  Will't  not 
off? 

[Pulls  off  the  Friar's  hood,  and  discovers  the  Duke. 

Duke.  Thou   art   the    first  knave,-  that   e'er  made  a 

duke. 

First,  Provost,  let  me  bail  these  gentle  three 


Sneak  not  away,  sir;  [to  Lucic]  for  the  friar  and  you 
Must  have  a  word  anon  : — lay  hold  on  him. 

Lucio.  This  may  prove  worse  than  hanging. 

Duke.    What  you    have    spoke,    I   pardon ;     sit   you 

down. To  EscALus. 

We'll  borrow  place  of  him  : — Sir,  by  your  leave  : 

\To  Angelo.- 
Hast  thou  or  word,  or  wit,  or  impudence. 
That  yet  can  do  thee  office  V  If  thou  hast. 
Rely  upon  it  till  my  tale  be  heard, 
And  hold  no  longer  out. 

Ang.  O  my  dread  lord, 

I  should  be  guiltier  than  my  guiltiness. 
To  think  I  can  be  undiscernible. 
When  I  perceive,  your  grace,  like  power  divine, 
Hath  look'd  upon  my  passes  ;■"  Then,  good  prince. 
No  longer  session  hold  upon  my  shame. 
But  let  my  trial  be  mine  own  confession ; 
Immediate  sentence  then,  and  sequent  death. 
Is  all  the  grace  I  beg. 

Duke.  Come  hither,  Mariana  : — 

Say,  wast  thou  ere  contracted  to  this  woman  ? 

q hang'd  an  /ioiir/]  There  has  been  much  discussion  among  the  com- 
mentators to  explain  the  words  an  hour  in  this  phrase  ; — be  hanged  an  hour — 
be  caught  awhile — be  bought  awhile,  &c.  &c.  were  colloquial  vulgarisms  in  fre- 
quent use,  as  is  exhibited  by  a  note  of  Mr.GifFords  in  his  edition  of  Ben  Jon- 
son,  vol.  4.  page  421 — The  words  "an  hour,"  "awhile,"  &c.  are  pure  ex- 
pletives and  have  no  perceptible  influence  on  the  exclamations  to  which  they 
are  subjoined. 

r  can  do  thee  office  ?]  i.  e.  Do  thee  service.—  Steevens. 

» „  my  passes ;]  i.  e.  My  artful  devices. 


162      MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

Ang.  I  was,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Go  take  her  hence,  and  marry  her  instantly. — 
Do  you  the  office,  friar;  which  consummate. 
Return  him  here  again : — Go  with  him,  provost. 

[Exetint  Angelo,  Mariana,  Peter, 
and  Provost. 

Escal.  My  lord,  I  am  more  amaz'd  at  his  dishonour. 
Than  at  the  strangeness  of  it. 

Duke.  Come  hither,  Isabel : 

Your  friar  is  now  your  prince :  As  I  was  then 
Adv6rtising,  and  holy^  to  your  business. 
Not  changing  heart  with  habit,  I  am  still 
Attorney 'd  at  your  service. 

Isab.  O,  give  me  pardon. 

That  I,  your  vassal,  have  employ'd  and  pain'd 
Your  unknown  sovereignty. 

Duke.  You  are  pardon'd,  Isabel : 

And  now,  dear  maid,  be  you  as  free  to  us. 
Your  brother's  death,  I  know,  sits  at  your  heart ; 
And  you  may  marvel,  why  I  obscur'd  myself. 
Labouring  to  save  his  life  ;  and  would  not  rather 
Make  rash  remonstrance"  of  my  hidden  power. 
Than  let  him  so  be  lost ;  O,  most  kind  maid. 
It  was  the  swift  celerity  of  his  death. 
Which  I  did  think  with  slower  foot  came  on, 
That  brain'd  my  purpose :''  But,  peace  be  with  him ! 
That  life  is  better  life,  past  fearing  death. 
Than  that  which  lives  to  fear :  make  it  your  comfort. 
So  happy  is  your  brother. 

Re-enter  Angelo,  Mariana,  Peter,  and  Provost. 

Isab.  I  do,  my  lord. 

Duke.  For  this  new-married  man,  approaching  here, 
Whose  salt  imagination  yet  hath  wrong'd 
Your  well  defended  honour,  you  must  pardon 
For  Mariana's  sake:  but  as  he  adjudg'd  your  brother, 

'  Advtriising  and  holy — ]    Attentive  and  faithful. 

"  Make  rash  remoiistraiice — ]  i.  e.  A  premature  discovery. 

" brained  my  jmrpose :]   We  still  use  a  similar  phrase  in  conversation. 

— "This  it  was  that  knocked  my  design  in  the  head." — Johnson. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  I.  163 

(Being  criminal,  in  double  violation 

Of  sacred  chastity,  and  of  promise-breach. 

Thereon  dependent,  for  your  brother's  life,) 

The  very  mercy  of  the  law  cries  out 

Most  audible,  even  from  his  proper  tongue. 

An  Angela  for  Claudio,  death  for  death. 

Haste  still  pays  haste,  and  leisure  answers  leisure  ; 

Like  doth'quit  like,  and  Measure  still  /or  Measure. 

Then,  Angelo,  thy  fault's  thus  manifested ; 

Which  though  thou  would'st  deny,  denies  thee  vantage  :» 

We  do  condemn  thee  to  the  very  block 

Where  Claudio  stoop'd  to  death,  and  with  like  haste : — 

Away  with  him. 

Mari.  O,  my  most  gracious  lord, 

I  hope  you  will  not  mock  me  with  a  husband ! 

Duke.  It  is  your  husband  mock'd  you  with  a  husband  : 
Consenting  to  the  safeguard  of  your  honour, 
I  thought  your  marriage  fit ;  else  imputation. 
For  that  he  knew  you,  might  reproach  your  life. 
And  choke  your  good  to  come :  for  his  possessions. 
Although  by  confiscation  they  are  ours. 
We  do  instate  and  widow  you  withal. 
To  buy  you  a  better  husband. 

Mari.  O,  my  dear  lord, 

I  crave  no  other,  nor  no  better  man. 

Duke.  Never  crave  him  ;  we  are  definitive. 
Blari.  Gentle,  my  liege, —  [Kneeling. 

Duke.  You  do  but  lose  your  labour ; 

Away  with  him  to  death. — Now,  sir,  [^o  Lucic]  to  you. 

Mari.  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. 

Duke.  Against  all  sense  do  you  importune  her : 
Should  she  kneel  down,  in  mercy  of  this  fact. 
Her  brother's  ghost  his  paved  bed  would  break. 
And  take  her  hence  in  horror. 

Mari.  Isabel, 

Sweet  Isabel,  do  yet  but  kneel  by  me ; 
Hold  up  your  hands,  say  nothing,  I'll  speak  all. 

y  denies  thee  vantage :]  The  denial  of  which  will  avail  thee  nothing. 

\ 


164  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

They  say,  best  men  are  moulded  out  of  faults ; 
And,  for  the  most,  become  much  more  the  better 
For  being  a  little  bad  :  so  may  my  husband. 
O,  Isabel !  will  you  not  lend  a  knee  ? 

Duke.  He  dies  for  Claudio's  death. 

Isah.  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.'' 

Mari.  Merely,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Your  suit's  unprofitable  ;  stand  up,  I  say. — 
I  have  bethought  me  of  another  fault : — 
Provost,  how  came  it,  Claudio  was  beheaded 
At  an  unusual  hour  ? 

Prov.  It  was  commanded  so. 

Duke.  Had  you  a  special  warrant  for  the  deed? 

Prov.  No,  my  good  lord  ;  it  was  by  private  message. 

Duke.  For  which  I  do  discharge  you  of  your  office  : 
Give  up  your  keys. 

Prov.  Pardon  me,  noble  lord  : 

I  thought  it  was  a  fault,  but  knew  it  not ; 
Yet  did  repent  me,  after  more  advice  :* 
For  testimony  whereof,  one  in  the  prison. 
That  should  by  private  order  else  have  died, 
I  have  reserv'd  alive. 

Duke.  What's  he? 


y  That  Angelo  committed  all  tlie  crimes  charged  against  him,  as  far  as  he 
could  commit  them  is  evident.  The  only  iiiJtvit  which  his  act  did  not  overtake 
was  the  defilement  of  Isabella. — I  believe  every  reader  feels  some  indignation 
when  he  finds  him  spared. — Johnson. 

■'- advice :]   Consideration. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  I.  165 

Prov.  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. 

Escal.  I  am  sorry,  one  so  learned  and  so  wise 
As  you,  lord  Angelo,  have  still  appear'd. 
Should  slip  so  grossly,  both  in  the  heat  of  blood. 
And  lack  of  temper'd  judgment  afterward. 

^/ig.  I  anji  sorry,  that  such  sorrow  I  procure : 
And  so  deep  sticks  it  in  my  penitent  heart, 
That  I  crave  death  more  willingly  than  mercy ; 
'Tis  my  deserving,  and  I  do  entreat  it. 

Re-enter  Provost,  Barnardine,  Claudio,  and  Juliet. 

Duke.  "Which  is  that  Barnardine  ? 

Prov.  This,  my  lord. 

Duke.  There  was  a  friar  told  me  of  this  man  : — 
Sirrah,  thou  art  said  to  have  a  stubborn  soul. 
That  apprehends  no  further  than  this  world. 
And  squar'st  thy  life  according.     Thou'rt  condemn'd  ; 
But,  for  those  earthly  faults,  I  quit  them  all ; 
And  pray  thee,  take  this  mercy  to  provide 

For  better  times  to  come  : Friar,  advise  him ; 

I  leave  him  to  your  hand. — What  muffled  fellow's  that? 

Prov.  This  is  another  prisoner,  that  I  sav'd. 
That  should  have  died  when  Claudio  lost  his  head ; 
As  like  almost  to  Claudio,  as  himself. 

[Unmuffles  Claudio. 

Duke.  If  he  be  like  your  brother,  [to  Isabella.]  for  his 
Is  he  pardon'd ;  And,  for  your  lovely  sake,  [sake 

Give  me  your  hand,  and  say  you  will  be  mine, 
He  is  my  brother  too  :   But  fitter  time  for  that. 
By  this,  lord  Angelo  perceives  he's  safe ; 
Methinks,  I  see  a  quick'ning  in  his  eye : — 
Well,  Angelo,  your  evil  quits*  you  well : 
Look  that  you  love  your  wife ;  her  worth,  worth  yours.'' — 

a quits — ]  Recompenses. — Johnson. 

b her  worth,  worth  yoiirs ]    I  have  no  doubt  but  Sir  Thomas  Hanmer 

was  correct  in  reading  her  worth  works  yours,  i.  e.  her  virtues  atone  for  your 
offences. — It  were  indeed  a  bad  compliment  to  Mariana  to  compare  her  worth 
with  that  of  Angelo. 

VOL.    II.  N 


166  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

I  find  an  apt  remission  in  myself: 

And  yet  here's  one  in  place  I  cannot  pardon : — 

You,  sirrah,  [to  Lucic]  that  knew  me  for  a  fool,  a  coward, 

One  all  of  luxury,  an  ass,  a  madman ; 

Wherein  have  I  so  deserved  of  you, 

That  you  extol  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  ra- 
ther 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. — 
She,  Claudio,  that  you  wrong'd,  look  you  restore. — 
Joy  to  you,  Mariana  ! — love  her,  Angeio  ; 
I  have  confess'd  her,  and  I  know  h'er  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  w^orthier  place  : — 
Forgive  him,  Angeio,  that  brought  you  home 
The  head  of  Ragozine  for  Claudio's ; 

<^ according  to  the  trick  :]  To  the  common  practice  of  pretending  fami- 
liarity with  the  great,  and  representing  them  as  resembling  ourselves. 

d that  is  more  gratulate.]  Some  other  reward  in  store  for  him  more  ac- 
ceptable than  thanks. — M.  Mason. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  I.  167 

The  offence  pardons  itself. — Dear  Isabel, 

I  have  a  motion  much  imports  your  good ; 

Whereto  if  you'll  a  willing  ear  incline. 

What's  mine  is  your's,  and  what  is  your's  is  mine  : — 

•So,  bring  us  to  our  palace ;  where  we'll  show 

What's  yet  behind,  that's  meet  you  all  should  know. 

[Exeunt .' 

e  Of  this  play,  the  light  or  comic  part  is  verj-  natural  and  pleasing,  but  the 
grave  scenes,  if  a  few  passages  be  excepted,  have  more  labour  than  elegance. 
Tlie  plot  is  rather  intricate  than  artful.  The  time  of  the  action  is  indefinite  ; 
some  time,  we  know  not  how  much,  must  have  elapsed  between  the  recess  of 
the  duke  and  the  imprisonment  of  Claudio ;  for  he  must  have  learned  the 
story  of  Mariana  in  his  disguise,  or  he  delegated  his  power  to  a  man  already 
known  to  be  corrupted.  The  unities  of  action  and  place  are  sufficiently  pre- 
served.— Johnson. 

There  are  very  few  readers  whose  admiration  for  Shakspeare  will  not  be 
outraged  by  reading  the  above  harsh  and  tasteless  observations  of  Dr. 
Johnson.  It  may  perhaps  allay  their  irritation  to  find  tliat  all  critics  are  not 
equally  cold  to  the  various  merits  of  this  beautiful  play. — "  Of  Measure  for 
Measure,"  says  Dr.  Drake,  "  independent  of  the  comic  characters,  which  afford 
a  rich  fund  of  entertainment,  the  great  charm  springs  from  the  lovely  example 
of  female  excellence  exhibited  in  the  person  of  Isabella.  Piety,  spotless  purity, 
tenderness  combined  with  firmness,  and  an  eloquence  the  most  persuasive, 
unite  to  render  her  singularly  interesting  and  attractive.  C'esl  nn  ange  dc.  lu- 
miere  sous  L'humble  habit  d'nne  vovice.*  To  save  the  life  of  her  brother  she  hastens 
to  quit  the  peaceful  seclusion  of  her  convent,  and  moves  amid  the  votaries 
of  corruption  and  hypocrisy,  amid  the  sensual,  the  vulgar,  and  the  profligate, 
as  a  being  of  a  higher  order,  as  a  ministering  spirit  from  the  throne  of  grace. 
Her  first  interview  with  Angelo,  and  the  immediately  subsequent  one  with 
Claudio,  exhibit,  along  with  the  most  engaging  feminine  diffidence  and  mo- 
desty, an  extraordinary  display  of  intellectual  energy,  of  dexterous  argument, 
and  of  indignant  contempt.  Her  pleadings  before  the  lord  deputy,  are  directed 
with  a  strong  appeal  both  to  his  un<lerstandiag  and  his  heart,  while  her  saga- 
city and  address  in  the  communication  of  the  result  of  her  appointment  with 
him  to  her  brother,  of  whose  weakness  and  irresolution  she  is  justly  apprehen- 
sive, are,  if  possible,  still  more  skilfully  marked,  and  add  another  to  the  mul- 
titude of  instances  which  have  established  for  Shakspeare  an  unrivalled  inti- 
macy with  the  finest  feelings  of  our  nature. "t  There  is  one  beauty  in  this  play 
which  I  do  not  remember  to  have  seen  observed  :  though  the  vice  of  Claudio 
is  one  which  the  world  is  inclined  to  think  too  lightly  of,  and  though  there  was 
offered  so  easy  and  popular  a  way  of  exciting  an  interest  for  him  in  the  minds 
of  the  audience,  by  diminishing  the  heinousness  of  his  offence,  and  representing 
the  transgressor  rather  as  a  martyr  than  a  culprit ;  Shakspeare  has  in  no  in- 
stance breathed  a  syllable  that  might  seem  to  extenuate  his  guilt.  Throughout 
the  play,  the  crime  which  is  so  much  debated,  is  represented  as  an  object  of 
disgust,  both  in  its  ovm  impurity  and  in  the  mean,  the  selfish,  and  the  loath- 
some baseness  of  its  ministers.  The  very  passages  of  a  gross  and  indecent  na- 
ture that  occur,  only  serve  to  heighten  the  general,  moral  effect  of  the  whole, 
and  raise  the  reader's  admiration  of  the  holy  chastity  of  Isabel,  by  placing  it  in 
contrast  with  the  repulsive  levity  of  the  votaries  of  licentiousness. 


*  Schlegel  Cours  de  hi  literature  Dramatique,  vol.  iii.  22. 
t  Drake's  Shakspeare  and  hv>  Times,  vol.  ii.  4.54. 


< 


/i« 


JJEAIHICE.  Against  ray  ■will ,  1  am  sent  to  Ijid 

ySx  came  in  to  diuner  ^^  u 


Icn^n^Jtahert  Jeruiings  it  Wlum,Ou>plijt,.Ouaps'iJe: 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUr  NOTHING. 


This  play  was  printed  in  quarto  in  the  year  1600  ;  and  entered  at  Stationers' 
Hall,  August  23,  of  that  year  :  and  as  it  is  not  mentioned  by  Meres,  in  his 
list  of  our  Author's  works  published  in  1598,  the  date  of  its  production  is 
ascertained  with  more  than  usual  accuracy. 

Mr.  Pope  says  that  the  plot  was  taken  from  the  fifth  book  of  the  Orlando 
Furioso. — Mr.  Steevens  conceives  that  not  Ariosto  but  Spenser  afforded  the 
subject  of  the  play,  and  that  it  was  taken  from  tlie  Fairy  Queen,  b.  'i.  c.  4.  But 
as  both  these  origin.ols  are  most  justly  acknowledged  to  be  remote,  it  has  been 
suggested  that  the  story  might  have  been  copied  from  the  18th  history  of  the 
third  volume  of  Belleforest.  It  never  apj>ears  to  have  entered  into  the  minds 
of  the  critics  tliat  Shakspeare  might  occasionally  have  dramatized  a  story  of 
his  own  invention. — Much  ado  about  Kcthhig,  is  reported  in  Mr-  Vertue's  MSS. 
to  have  passed  formerly  under  the  name  of  Benedick  and  Beatrice, 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


Don  Pedro,  prince  q/'Arragon. 

Don  John,  his  bastard  Brother. 

Claudio,  a  young  lord  of  Florence,  favourite  to    Don 

Pedro. 
Benedick,  a  young  lord  of  V2iA\x2L,  favourite  likewise  of 

Don  Pedro. 
Leonato,  governor  o/' Messina. 
Antonio,  his  brother. 
Balthazar,  servant  to  Don  Pedro. 

BoRACHio,  y^ii^^,,,  ^jDo,,  John. 
Conrade,  r 

Dogberry,  >         r    t  i    j^ 
■^j  t  tivojoolisn  ojjicers. 

V  ERGESj  3 

A  Sexton. 
A  Friar. 
A  Boy. 

Hero,  daughter  to  Leonato. 
Beatrice,  niece  to  Leonato. 

Margaret,  1  (rentlewomen  attending  on  Hero. 
Ursula,       3 

Messengers,  Watch,  and  Attendants. 

Scene,  Messina. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I. — 5^bre  Leonato's  House. 

Enter  Leonato,  Hero,  Beatrice,  arid  others,  with  a 
Messenger. 

Leon.  1  learn  in  this  letter,  that  Don  Pedro  of  Arragon 
comes  this  night  to  Messina. 

Mess.  He  is  very  near  by  this  ;  iie  was  not  three  leagues 
off  when  I  left  him. 

Leon.  How  many  gentlemen  have  you  lost  in  this  ac- 
tion? 

3Iess.  But  few  of  any  sort,»  and  none  of  name. 

Leon.  A  victory  is  twice  itself,  when  the  achiever  brings 
home  full  numbers.  I  find  here,  that  Don  Pedro  hath 
bestowed  much  honour  on  a  young  Florentine,  called 
Claudio. 

Mess.  Much  deserved  on  his  part,  and  equally  remem- 
bered by  Don  Pedro  :  He  hath  borne  himself  beyond  the 
promise  of  his  age ;  doing,  in  the  figure  of  a  lamb,  the 
feats  of  a  lion  :  he  hath,  indeed,  better  bettered  expecta- 
tion, than  you  must  expect  of  me  to  tell  you  how. 

Leon.  He  hath  an  uncle  here  in  Messina  will  be  very 
much  glad  of  it. 

Mess.  I  have  already  delivered  him  letters,  and  there 
appears  much  joy  in  him:  even  so  much,  that  joy  could 
not  show  itself  modest  enough,  without  a  badge  of  bitter- 
ness. 

Leon.  Did  he  break  out  into  tears  ? 

Mess.-  In  great  measure. 

Leon.  A  kind  overflow  of  kindness  :  There  are  no  faces 

•T so/f,]  — i. e.  Distinction. 


172  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

truer  than  those  that  are  so  washed.  How  much  better 
is  it  to  weep  at  joy,  than  to  joy  at  weeping? 

Beat.  I  pray  you,  is  signior  Montato  returned  from  the 
wars  or  no  ?'' 

Mess.  I  know  none  of  that  name,  lady  ;  there  was  none 
such  in  the  army  of  any  sort. 

Leon.  What  is  he  that  you  ask  for,  niece? 

Hero.  My  cousin  means  signror  Benedick  of  Padua. 

Mess.  O,  he  is  returned,  and  as  pleasant  as  ever  he  was. 

Beat.  He  set  up  his  bills'^  here  in  Messina,  and  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. 

Leon.  Faith,  niece,  you  tax  signior  Benedick  too  much; 
but  he'll  be  meet  with  you,''  I  doubt  it  not. 

Mess.  He  hath  done  good  service,  lady,  in  these  wars. 

Beat.  You  had  musty  victual,  and  he  hath  holp  to  eat 
it :  he  is  a  very  valiant  trencher-man,  he  hath  an  excellent 
stomach. 

Mess,  And  a  good  soldier  too,  lady. 

Beat.  And  a  good  soldier  to  a  lady  ; — But  what  is  he 
to  a  lord  ? 

Mess.  A  lord  to  a  lord,  a  man  to  a  man  ;  stuffed  with 
all  honourable  virtues. 

Beat.  It  is  so,  indeed  :  he  is  no  less  than  a  stuffed  man : 
but  for  the  stuffing,*^— Well,  we  are  all  mortal. 

Leon.  You  must  not,  sir,  mistake  my  niece:  there  is  a 
kind  of  merry  war  betwixt  signior  Benedick  and  her :  they 
never  meet,  but  there  is  a  skirmish  of  wit  between  them. 

" is  si^niw  Montanto  returned—^  Muitlanto  was  one  of  the  ancient  terms 

of  the  fencing-school. — Stee  vens. 

c set  up  his  bills—]  Beatrice  means  that  Benedick  published  a  general 

challenge  like  aprize-figbter. — Steevens. 

''  fl'fi^"'  •■]  A  long  and  light-feathered  arrow,  which  went  level  to  the 

mark  ;  a  bult  is  an  arrow,  with  a  round  or  half-round  bob  at  the  end  of  it,  and 
a  sharp-pointed  arrow-head  proceeding  therefrom— a  bird-bolt  had  the  bob,  but 
not  the  point. — Giffokd  and  Naiies. 

*  — meet  u-ilh  yon,']  i.  e.  A  match  for  you. 

/."; ^"'ioj-  the  slujiiig,—]  Beatrice  starts  an  idea  at  the  wonl  stuffed  man, 

which  was  one  of  the  many  cant  phrases  for  cuckold,  and  prudently  checks 
herself  in  the  pursuit  of  it. — Dr.  Faumeh. 


ACT  I.— SCENE  I.  173 

Beat.  Alas,  he  gets  nothing  by  that.  In  our  last  con- 
flict, four  of  his  five  wits^  went  halting  off,  and  now  is  the 
whole  man  governed  with  one :  so  that  if  he  have  wit 
enough  to  keep  himself  warm,  let  him  bear  it  for  a  dif- 
ference between  himself  and  his  horse ;  for  it  is  all  the 
wealth  that  he  hath  left,  to  be  known  a  reasonable  crea- 
ture.— Who  is  his  companion  now?  He  hath  every  month 
a  new-sworn  brother. 

Mess.  Is  it  possible  ? 

Beat.  Very  easily  possible :  he  wears  his  faith  but  as 
the  fashion  of  his  hat,  it  ever  changes  with  the  next  block. 

Mess.  I  see,  lady,  thegentleman  is  not  in  your  books. 

Beat.  No,  an  he  were,  I  would  burn  my  study.  But, 
I  pray  you,  who  is  his  companion  ?  Is  there  no  young 
squarer  "^  now,  that  will  make  a  voyage  with  him  to  the 
devil  ? 

Mess.  He  is  most  in  the  company  of  the  right  noble 
Claudio. 

Beat.  O  Lord  1  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  !  if  he 
have  caught  the  Benedick,  it  will  cost  him  a  thousand 
pound  ere  he  be  cured. 

Mess.  I  will  hold  friends  with  you,  lady. 

Beat.  Do,  good  friend. 

JLeoii.  You  will  never  run  mad,  niece. 

Beat.  No,  not  till  a  hot  January. 

Mess.  Don  Pedro  is  approached. 

Unter  Don  Pedro,  attended  by  Balthazar  and  others, 
Don  John,  Claudio,  oyjf?  Benedick. 
D.  Pedro.  Good  sig-nior  Leonato,  vou  are  come  to  meet 

5  five  wits — ]  These  are  not  to  be  confounded  wich  the  Jive  senses,  from  which 
Shakspeare  himself  distinguishes  them  : 

"  But  my  five  wits  nor  my  five  senses  can 
Dissuade  one  foolish  heart  from  serving  thee." — Sonnet.  141. 
The  Jive  wits  were  common  wit,  imagination,  fantasy,  estimation  (i.e.  judg- 
ment), and  memory. — S.  Hawes,  Bell.  Purel.  ch.  24. — Malone. 

h  young  squarer — ]  A  squarer  I  take  to  be  a  choleric,   quarrelsome 

fellow,  for  in  this  sense  Shakspeare  uses  the  word  to  square.  So,  in  A  Mid- 
summer-Night's Dream,  it  is  said  of  Oberon  and  Titania.that  theii  never  meet  hut 
they  square.  So  the  sense  may  be.  Is  there  no  hot-blooded  youth  that  will  keep 
him  company  through  all  hismad  pranks? — Johnson. 


174  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

your  trouble  :  the  fashion  of  the  world  is  to  avoid  cost, 
and  you  encounter  it. 

Leon.  Never  came  trouble  to  my  house  in  the  likeness 
of  your  grace ;  for  trouble  being  gone,  comfort  should  re- 
main ;  but,  when  you  depart  from  me,  sorrow  abides,  and 
happiness  takes  his  leave. 

D.  Pedro.  You  embrace  your  charge  too  willingly. — I 
think,  this  is  your  daughter. 

Leon.  Her  mother  hath  many  times  told  me  so. 

Bene.  Were  you  in  doubt,  sir,  that  you  asked  her  ? 

Leon.  Signior  Benedick,  no  ;  for  then  were  you  a  child. 

D.  Pedro.  You  have  it  full.  Benedick :  we  may  guess 
by  this  what  you  are,  being  a  man.  Truly,  the  lady  fa- 
thers herself : — Be  happy,  lady !  for  you  are  like  an  ho- 
nourable father. 

Bene.  If  signior  Leonato  be  her  father,  she  would  not 
have  his  head  on  her  shoulders,  for  all  Messina,  as  like  him 
as  she  is. 

Beat.  I  wonder,  that  you  will  still  be  talking,  signior 
Benedick ;  no  body  marks  you. 

Bene.  What,  my  dear  lady  Disdain  !  are  you  yet  living  ? 

Beat.  Is  it  possible,  disdain  should  die,  while  she  hath 
such  meet  food  to  feed  it,  as  signior  Benedick  ?  Courtesy 
itself  must  convert  to  disdain,  if  you  come  in  her  pre- 
sence. 

Bene.  Then  is  courtesy  a  turn  coat : — But  it  is  certain, 
I  am  loved  of  all  ladies,  only  you  excepted  :  and  I  would 
I  could  find  in  my  heart  that  I  had  not  a  hard  heart:  for, 
truly,  I  love  none. 

Beat.  A  dear  happiness  to  women ;  they  would  else 
have  been  troubled  with  a  pernicious  suitor.  I  thank 
God,  and  my  cold  blood,  I  am  of  your  humour  for  that; 
I  had  rather  hear  my  dog  bark  at  a  crow,  than  a  man  swear 
he  loves  me. 

Bene.  God  keep  your  ladyship  still  in  that  mind  !  so 
some  gentleman  or  other  shall  'scape  a  predestinate 
scratched  face. 

Beat.  Scratching  could  not  make  it  worse,  an  'twere 
such  a  face  as  yours  were. 

Bene.  Well,  you  are  a  rare  parrot-teacher. 


ACT  I. —SCENE  I.  175 

Beat.  A  bird  of  my  tongue,  is  better  than  a  beast  of 
yours. 

Bene.  I  would,  my  horse  had  the  speed  of  your  tongue ; 
and  so  good  a  continuer :  But  keep  your  way  o'  God's 
name ;  I  have  done. 

Beat.  You  always  end  with  a  jade's  trick  ;  I  know  you 
of  old. 

D.  Pedro.  This  is  the  sum  of  all :  Leonato, — signior 
Claudio,  and  signior  Benedick, — my  dear  friend  Leonato 
hath  invited  you  all.  I  tell  him,  we  shall  stay  here  at 
the  least  a  month ;  and  he  heartily  prays,  some  occasion 
may  detain  us  longer :  I  dare  swear  he  is  no  hypocrite, 
but  prays  from  his  heart. 

Leon.  If  you  swear,  my  lord,  you  shall  not  be  forsworn. 
— Let  me  bid  you  welcome,  my  lord  :  being  reconciled  to 
the  prince  your  brother,  I  owe  you  all  duty. 

D.  John.  I  thank  you :  I  am  not  of  many  words,  but  I 
thank  you. 

Leon.  Please  it  your  grace  lead  on? 

D.  Pedro.  Your  hand,  Leonato ;  we  will  go  together. 

[Lxeunt  all  hut  Benedick  and  Claudio. 

Claud.  Benedick,  didst  thou  note  the  daughter  of  sig- 
nior Leonato  ? 

Bene,  I  noted  her  not;  but  L looked  on  her. 

Claud.  Is  she  not  a  modest  young  lady  ? 

Bene.  Do  you  question  me,  as  an  honest  man  should 
do,  for  my  simple  true  judgment;  or  would  you  have  me 
speak  after  my  custom,  as  being  a  professed  tyrant  to 
their  sex  ? 

Claud.  No,  I  pray  thee,  speak  in  sober  judgment. 

Bene.  Why,  i'faith,  methinks  she  is  too  low  for  a  high 
praise,  too  brown  for  a  fair  praise,  and  too  little  for  a  great 
praise  :  only  this  commendation  I  can  afford  her ;  that 
were  she  other  than  she  is,  she  were  unhandsome ;  and 
being  no  other  but  as  she  is,  I  do  not  like  her. 

Claud.  Thou  thinkest,  I  am  in  sport ;  I  pray  thee,  tell 
me  truly  how  thou  likest  her. 

Bene.  Would  you  buy  her,  that  you  inquire  after  her  ? 

Claud.  Can  the  world  buy  such  a  jewel? 

Bene.  Yea,  and  a  case  to  put  it  into.     But  speak  you 


176  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

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  V  Come,  in  what  key  shall  a  man  take  you,  to 
go  in  the  song  ? 

Claud.  In  mine  eye,  she  is  the  sweetest  lady  that  ever 
I  looked  on. 

Bene.  I  can  see  yet  without  spectacles,  and  I  see  no 
such  matter  :  there's  her  cousin,  an  she  were  not  possessed 
with  a  fury,  exceeds  her  as  much  in  beauty,  as  the  first  of 
May  doth  the  last  of  December.  But  I  hope,  you  have  no 
intent  to  turn  husband  ;  have  you  ? 

Claud.  I  would  scarce  trust  myself,  though  I  had  sworn 
the  contrary,  if  Hero  would  be  my  wife. 

Bene.  Is  it  come  to  this,  i'faith  ?  Hath  not  the  world 
one  man,  but  he  will  wear  his  cap  with  suspicion  ?""  Shall 
I  never  see  a  bachelor  of  three-score  again  ?  Go  to,  i'faith ; 
an  thou  wilt  needs  thrust  thy  neck  into  a  yoke,  wear  the 
print  of  it,  and  sigh  away  Sundays.  Look,  Don  Pedro  is 
returned  to  seek  you. 

Re-enter  Don  Pedro. 

D.  Pedro.  What  secret  hath  held  you  here,  that  you 
followed  not  to  Leonato's  ? 

Bene.  I  would,  your  grace  would  constrain  me  to  tell. 

D.  Pedro.  I  charge  thee  on  thy  allegiance. 

Bene.  You  hear.  Count  Claudio :  I  can  be  secret  as  a 
dumb  man,  I  would  have  you  think  so  ;  but  on  my  alle- 
giance,— mark  you  this,  on  my  allegiance : — He  is  in 
love.  With  who  ? — now  that  is  your  grace's  part. — Mark, 
how  short  his  answer  is : — With  Hero,  Leonato's  short 
daughter. 

Claud.  If  this  were  so,  so  were  it  uttered." 

• sad — ]  Serious,  earnest. 

k the  flouting  Jack  ;]  Jack,  in  our  author's  time,  was,  I  know  not  why, 

a  term  of  contempt. — Malone.  Jack  and  Gill  were  the  familiar  representa- 
tives of  the  two  sexes  in  common  conversation — as  in  the  proverb,  "  a  good 
Jack  makes  a  good  Gill." — Nares. 

'  Cupid  is  a  good  hare-flnder,  and  Vulcan  a  rare  carpenter  ?]   Do  you  flout 

us  by  saying  that  Cupid,  who  is  blind,  can  discover  a  hare ;  or  that  V  ulcan  the 
blacksmith  is  a  rare  carpenter! — Toi.i.ut. 

"'  wear  his  cap  with  suipicion  ?]  That  is,  subject  his  head  to  the  disquiet 

of  jealousy. — J  o  ii  N  so  n  . 

"  Claud.  If  this  were  so,  so  were  it  uttered.']  i.  e.  If  1  had  really  confided  such 
a, secret  to  hmi,  he  would  have  blabbed  it  in  this  manner. — Steevens.     'i'hcre 


ACT  I.— SCENE  I.  177 

Bene.  Like  the  old  tale,  my  lord  :  "  it  is  not  so,  nor 
'twas  not  so  ;  but,  indeed,  God  forbid  it  should  be  so."" 

Claud.  If  ray  passion  change  not  shortly,  God  forbid 
it  should  be  otherwise. 

D.  Pedro.  Amen,  if  you  love  her  ;  for  the  lady  is  very 
well  worthy. 

Claud.  You  speak  this  to  fetch  me  in,  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.  By  my  troth,  I  speak  my  thought. 

Claud.  And,  in  faith,  my  lord,  I  spoke  mine. 

Bene.  And,  by  my  two  faiths  and  troths,  my  lord,  I 
spoke  mine. 

Claud.  That  I  love  her,  I  feel. 

D.  Pedro.  That  she  is  worthy,  I  know. 

Bene.  That  I  neither  feel  how  she  should  be  loved,  nor 
know  how  she  should  be  worthy,  is  the  opinion  that  fire 
cannot  melt  out  of  me ;  I  will  die  in  it  at  the  stake. 

D.  Pedro.  Thou  wast  ever  an  obstinate  heretic  in  the 
despite  of  beauty. 

Claud.  And  never  could  maintain  his  part,  but  in  the 
force  of  his  will.'' 

Bene.  That  a  woman  conceived  me,  I  thank  her  ;  that 
she  brought  me  up,  I  likewise  give  her  most  humble 
thanks  :  but  that  I  will  have  a  recheat  winded  in  my  fore- 
head,'' or  hang  my  bugle  in  an  invisible  baldrick,  all  women 
shall  pardon  me  :  Because  I  will  not  do  them  the  wrong  to 
mistrust  any,  I  will  do  myself  the  right  to  trust  none  ;  and 
the  fine""  is,  (for  the  which  I  may  go  the  finer,)  I  will  live 
a  bachelor. 

D.  Pedro.  I  shall  see  thee,  ere  I  die,  look  pale  with  love. 

appears  to  be  something  omitted  here,  either  relating  to  Hero's  consent,  or  to 
Claudio's  marriage. — Johnson. 

°  These  words  relate  to  an  old  nursery  story  which  has  been  recovered,  by 
Mr.  Blakeway's  having  heard  it  told  him  as  a  child. — A  young  lady  going  acci- 
dentally to  the  house  of  a  gentleman,  saw  him,  while  she  herself  remained 
concealed,  murder  a  young  lady.  On  the  gentleman's  next  visit  at  her  fa- 
ther's, she  related  the  occurrence  which  she  had  seen,  as  if  she  had  dreamt 
it,  repeating  at  the  end  of  every  particular,  "  it  is  not  so,  nor  it  was  not 
so,  and  God  forbid  it  should  be  so." — The  story  at  full  length  is  told  in  the  last 
edition  of  Malone's  Shakspeare,  vol.  vii.  164,  and  a  very  fearful  story  it  is. 

P in  the  force  of  his  will.^    By  obstinacy  against  conviction,  alluding  to 

the  definition  of  a  heretic  in  the  schools. — Warburton. 

<i recheat  winded  in  my  forehead,']  A  recheat,  a  hunting  term  for  a  certain 

set  of  notes  sounded  on  the  horn,  to  call  the  dogs  off. — Nares. 

' the  fine — ]  i.e.  The  conclusion. 


178  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

Bene.  With  anger,  with  sickness,  or  with  hunger,  my 
lord ;  not  with  love  :  prove,  that  ever  I  lose  more  blood 
with  love,  than  I  will  get  again  with  drinking,  pick  out 
mine  eyes  with  a  ballad-maker's  pen,  and  hang  me  up 
at  the  door  of  a  brothel-house,  for  the  sign  of  blind 
Cupid. 

D.  Pedro.  Well,  if  ever  thou  dost  fall  from  this  faith, 
thou  wilt  prove  a  notable  argument. 

Bene.  If  I  do,  hang  me  in  a  bottle  like  a  cat,'  and  shoot 
at  me  :  and  he  that  hits  me,  let  him  be  clapped  on  the 
shoulder,  and  called  Adam.* 

-D.  Pedro.  Well,  as  time  shall  try : 
In  time  the  savage  bull  doth  bear  the  yoke.'' 

Bene.  The  savage  bull  may  ;  but  if  ever  the  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  you  may  see  Benedick 
the  married  man. 

Claud.  If  this  should  ever  happen,  thou  would'st  be 
horn-mad. 

D.  Pedro.  Nay,  if  Cupid  have  not  spent  all  his  quiver 
in  Venice,"  thou  wilt  quake  for  this  shortly. 

Bene.  I  look  for  an  earthquake  too  then. 

JD.  Pedro.  Well,  you  will  temporize  with  the  hours.  In 
the  mean  time,  good  signior  Benedick,  repair  to  Leonato's ; 
commend  me  to  him,  and  tell  him,  I  will  not  fail  him  at 
supper ;  for,  indeed,  he  hath  made  great  preparation. 

Bene.  I  have  almost  matter  enough  in  me  for  such  an 
embassage  ;  and  so  I  commit  you 

s in  a  bottle  like  a  cat,']  That  it  was  the  habit  to  shoot  at  a  cat  hung  up 

in  wicker  basket  or  bottle,  is  evident  from  the  following  quotation  : 
"  Fairer  than  any  stake  in  Gray's  Inn  Fields, 
Guarded  with  gunners,  bill-men,  and  a  rout 
Of  bow-men  bold,  which  at  a  cat  do  shoot." — 

Cornucnpie,  or  Pasguil's  'Night-Cap,  p.  48,  1623. 
t Adam.']  This  may  allude  perhaps  to  Adam  Bel],  "  a  substantial  out- 
law, and  a  passing  good  archer  ;" — but  Adam  is  also  used  as  a  term  of  praise 
in  cant  language,  signifying  "  the_^rst — i.  e.  the  most  excellent, — of  men." 

u  In  time  the  savage  bull  doth  bear  theyoke.']  A  line  from  The  Spanish  Tragedy, 
or  Hieronymo,  iScc. 

» Venice,']    All  modern  writers  represent  Venice  in  the  same  light  as 

the  ancients  did  Cyprus,  and  it  is  this  character  of  the  i)f^ople  that  is  here  al- 
luded to. WAnBUIiTON. 


ACT  I.— SCENE  I.  179 

Claud.  To  the  tuition  of  God  :  From  my  house,  (if  I 
had  it)— 

D.  Pedro.  The  sixth  of  July :  Your  loving  friend. 
Benedick. 

Bene.  Nay,  mock  not,  moek  not :  The  body  of  your  dis- 
course is  sometime  guarded^  with  fragments,  and  the 
guards  are  but  slightly  basted  on  neither :  ere  you  flout 
old  ends  any  further,^  examine  your  conscience;  and  so  I 
leave  you.  \_Exit  Benedick. 

Claud.  My  liege,  your  highness  now  may  do  me  good. 

D.  Pedro.  My  love  is  thine  to  teach  ;  teach  it  but  how. 
And  thou  shalt  see  how  apt  it  is  to  learn 
Any  hard  lesson  that  may  do  thee  good. 

Claud.  Hath  Leonato  any  son,  my  lord  1 

D.  Pedro.  No  child  but  Hero,  she's  his  only  heir . 
Dost  thou  affect  her,  Claudio  ? 

Claud.  O  my  lord. 

When  you  went  onward  on  tliis  ended  action, 
I  look'd  upon  her  with  a  soldier's  eye. 
That  lik'd,  but  had  a  rougher  task  in  hand 
Than  to  drive  hking  to  the  name  of  love: 
But  now  I  am  return'd,  and  that  war-thoughts 
Have  left  their  places  vacant,  in  their  rooms 
Come  thronging  soft  and  delicate  desii'es. 
All  prompting  me  how  fair  young  Hero  is. 
Saying,  I  lik'd  her  ere  I  went  to  wars. 

D.  Pedro.  Thou  wilt  be  like  a  lover  presently. 
And  tire  the  hearer  with  a  book  of  words  : 
If  thou  dost  love  fair  Hero,  cherish  it ; 
And  I  will  break  with  her,  and  with  her  father. 
And  thou  shalt  have  her :  Was't  not  to  this  end. 
That  thou  began'st  to  twist  so  fine  a  story  ? 

Claud.  How  sweetly  do  you  minister  to  love. 
That  know  love's  grief  by  his  complexion  ! 

y guarded — ]  Guards  were  ornamental  lace  or  borders. — Steevens. 

2 Jiout  old  ends  awj  further,']  The  duke  and  Claudio  have  been  quizzing 

Benedick  on  the  formal  beginning  of  his  leave-taking — and  so  I  commit  i/ou — 
which  they  immediately  interrupt  in  the  midst  and  finish  according  to  the 
usual  epistolary  style  of  the  time. — Benedick  desires  them  not  to  flout  old  ends, 
to  scorn  old  conclusions,  but  to  examine  their  conscience,  and  remember  whether 
they  have  never  been  guilty  of  using  such  formalities. 


180  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

But  lest  my  liking  might  to  sudden  seem, 
I  would  have  salv'd  it  with  a  longer  treatise. 

D.  Pedro.  What  need  the  bridge  much  broader  than 
The  fairest  grant  is  the  necessity:"  [the  flood? 

Look,  what  will  serve,  is  fit  :  'tis  once,  thou  lov'st  ;** 
And  I  will  fit  thee  with  the  remedy. 
I  know,  we  shall  have  revelling  to-night ; 
I  will  assume  thy  part  in  some  disguise. 
And  tell  fair  Hero  I  am  Claudio ; 
And  in  her  bosom  I'll  unclasp  my  heart. 
And  take  her  hearing  prisoner  with  the  force 
And  strong  encounter  of  my  amorous  tale : 
Then,  after,  to  her  father  will  I  break  ; 
And,  the  conclusion  is,  she  shall  be  thine  : 
In  practice  let  us  put  it  presently.  [JExeunt. 

SCENE  II. 

A  Room  itt  Leonato's  House. 
Enter   Leonato  and  Antonio. 

Leon.  How  now,  brother  ?  Where  is  my  cousin,  your 
son?  Hath  he  provided  this  music? 

ylnt.  He  is  very  busy  about  it.  But,  brother,  I  can 
tell  you  strange  news  that  you  yet  dreamed  not  of. 

Leon.  Are  they  good  ? 

A?it.  As  the  event  stamps  them  ;  but  they  have  a  good 
cover,  they  show  well  outward.  The  prince  and  count 
Claudio,  walking  in  a  thick-pleached  alley "=  in  my  orchard, 
were  thus  much  overheard  by  a  man  of  mine  :  The  prince 
discovered  to  Claudio,  that  he  lov'd  my  niece  your  daugh- 
ter, and  meant  to  acknowledge  it  this  night  in  a  dance  ; 
and,  if  he  found  her  accordant,  he  meant  to  take  the  pre- 
sent time  by  the  top,  and  instantly  break  with  you  of  it. 

Leon.  Hath  the  fellow  any  wit,  that  told  you  this  ? 


^  The  fairest  grant  is  the  necessiiit .]  No  one  can  have  a  better  reason  for  a 
grant  than  the  plea  of  its  necessity. — Wauburton.  Mr.  Hayley  proposes  to 
read  tn  necessity. 

b 'tis  once,  thou  lov'st ;]    Once  may  mean  "  once  for  all" — "  'tis  enough 

to  say  at  once." — Steevens. 

c a  thick-pleached — ]  i.  e.  Thickly  interwoven. 


ACT  I.— SCENE  III.  181 

Ant.  A  good  sharp  fellow ;  I  will  send  for  him,  and 
question  him  yourself. 

Leon.  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  pcradventure 
this  be  true.  Go  you,  and  tell  her  of  it.  [^Several  persons 
cross  the  stage.']  Cousins,''  you  know  what  you  have  to  do. 
— O,  I  cry  you  mercy,  friend  :  you  go  with  me,  and  I  will 
use  your  skill : — Good  cousins,  have  a  care  this  busy 
time.  {Exeunt. 

SCENE  III. 

Another  Room  in  Leonato's  House. 
Enter  John  and  Conrade. 

Con.  What  the  good  year,'=  my  lord  !  why  are  you  thus 
out  of  measure  sad  ? 

D.  John.  There  is  no  measure  in  the  occasion  that 
breeds  it,  therefore  the  sadness  is  without  limit. 

Con.  You  should  hear  reason. 

D.  John.  And  when  I  have  heard  it,  what  blessing 
bringeth  it  ? 

Con.  If  not  a  present  remedy,  yet  a  patient  sufferance. 

D.  John.  I  wonder,  that  thou  being  (as  thou  say'st 
thou  art)  born  under  Saturn,  goest  about  to  apply  a  moral 
medicine  to  a  mortifying  mischief.  I  cannot  hide  what  I 
am  :  I  must  be  sad  when  I  have  cause,  and  smile  at  no 
man's  jests;  eat  when  I  have  stomach,  and  wait  for  no 
man's  leisure ;  sle^p  when  I  am  drowsy,  and  tend  to  no 
man's  business ;  laugh  when  I  am  merry,  and  claw*"  no 
man  in  his  humour. 

Con.  Yea,  but  you  must  not  make  the  full  show  of  this, 

^ Cousins,']  Cousins  were  anciently  enrolled  among  the  dependants,  if 

not  the  domestics  of  great  families  such  as  those  of  Leonato. — Petruchio,  while 
intent  on  the  subjection  of  Catherine,  calls  out  in  terms  imperative  for  his  cou- 
sin Ferdinand. — Steevens. 

>•' the  good  year,]  Wherever  this  ex*>ression  occurs  it  has  been  invaria- 

fcly  changed  into  gonjere, — but  that  it  was  a  common  exclamation,  is  plain 
from  its  having  been  used  by  the  wife  of  Sir  Thomas  Moore,  when  she  visited 
him  in  prison. — Roper  says  that  she  began  reproving,  "  What  the  good  yeare, 
Mr.  Moore,  I  niaivcll  that  you  will  now  so  play  the  foole." — Blakewav. 

f claiu — ]  i.  e.    Flatter. 

VOL.  II.  O 


182  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

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. 

D.  John.  I  had  rather  be  a  canker  in  a  hedge,  than  a 
rose  in  his  grace  :^  and  it  better  fits  my  blood  to  be  dis- 
dain'd  of  all,  than  to  fashion  a  carriage  to  rob  love  from 
any :  in  this,  though  I  cannot  be  said  to  be  a  flattering- 
honest  man,  it  must  not  be  denied  that  I  am  a  plain-deal- 
ing 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  li- 
berty, I  would  do  my  liking  :  in  the  mean  time,  let  me  be 
that  I  am,  and  seek  not  to  alter  me. 

Con.  Can  you  make  no  use  of  your  discontent? 

D.  John.  I  make  all  use  of  it,  for  I  use  it  only.  Who 
comes  here  ?  What  news,  Borachio  ? 

Enter  Borachio. 

Bora.  I  came  yonder  from  a  great  supper  ;  the  prince, 
your  brother,  is  royally  entertained  by  Leonato ;  and  I  can 
give  you  intelligence  of  an  intended  marriage. 

D.  John.  Will  it  serve  for  any  model  to  build  mischief 
on  1  What  is  he  for  a  fool,  that  betroths  himself  to  un- 
quietness  ? 

Bora.  Marry,  it  is  your  brother's  right  hand. 

D.  John.  Who  ?  the  most  exquisite  Claudio  ? 

Bora.  Even  he. 

D.  John.  A  proper  squire !  And  who,  and  who  ?  which 
way  looks  he  ? 

Bora.  Marry,  on  Hero,  the  daughter  and  heir  of  Le- 
onato. 

D.  John.  A  very  forward  March-chick !  How  came  you 
to  this  ? 

Bora.  Being  entertained  for  a  perfumer,  as  I  was  smok- 

6  I  had  rather  be  a  canker — ]  A  wild  dog-rose,  in  a  hedge,  than  exalted  into 
a  garden  ro^c  by  the  cultivation  of  his  favour. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  I.  183 

ing  a  musty  room,''  comes  me  the  prince  and  Claudio, 
hand  in  hand,  in  sad'  conference  :  I  whipt  me  behind  the 
arras  ;  and  there  heard  it  agreed  upon,  that  the  prince 
should  woo  Hero  for  himself,  and  having  obtained  her, 
give  her  to  count  Claudio. 

D.John.  Come,  come,  let  us  thither;  this  may  prove 
food  to  my  displeasure  :  that  young  start-up  hath  all  the 
glory  of  my  overthrow;  if  I  can  cross  him  any  way,  I 
bless  myself  every  way  :  You  are  both  sure,  and  will  as- 
sist me? 

Con.  To  the  death,  my  lord. 

D.  John.  Let  us  to  the  great  supper  :  their  cheer  is  the 
greater,  that  I  am  subdued  :  Would  the  cook  were  of  my 
mind  ! — Shall  we  go  prove  what's  to  be  done  ? 

Bora.  We'll  wait  upon  your  lordship.  \^Exeunt. 


ACT  II. 

Scene  I. — A  Hallin  Leonato's //o«se. 

Enter  Leonato,  Antonio,  Hero,  Beatrice,  and 

others. 

Leon.  Was  not  count  John  here  at  supper  ? 

Ant.  I  saw  him  not. 

Beat.  How  tartly  that  gentleman  looks  !  I  never  can 
see  him  but  I  am  heart-burned  an  hour  after. 

Hero.  He  is  of  a  very  melancholy  disposition. 

Beat.  He  were  an  excellent  man,  that  were  made  just  in 
the  mid-way  between  him  and  Benedick ;  the  one  is  too 
like  an  image,  and  says  nothing ;  and  the  other,  too  like 
my  lady's  eldest  son,  evermore  tattling. 

Ijeon.  Then  half  signior  Benedick's  tongue  in  count 
John's  mouth,  and  half  count  John's  melancholy  in  sig- 
jiior  Benedick's  face, — 

Beat.  With  a  good  leg,  and  a  good  foot,  uncle,  and 

h smoking  a  musty  room,']  The  neglect  of  cleanliness  among  our  an- 

•eestors,  rendered  such  precautions  too  often  necessary. — "  The  smoke  of  juni- 
peris  in  great  request  with  us  at  Oxford  to  sweeten  our  chambers." — Burton'e 
-Anatomy  of  Melancholy,  edit.  1632.  p.  162. — Steevens. 

' sad — ]   Serious. 

o  2 


184  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

money  enough  in  his  purse,  such  a  man  would  win  any 
woman  in  the  world, — if  he  could  get  her  good  will. 

Leon.  By  my  troth,  niece,  thou  Avilt  never  get  thee  a 
husband,  if  thou  be  so  shrewd  of  thy  tongue. 

Ant.  In  faith  she  is  too  curst. 

Beat.  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. 

Leon.  So,  by  being  too  curst,  God  will  send  you  no 
horns. 

Beat.  Just,  if  he  sends  me  no  husband ;  for  the  which 
blessing,  I  am  at  him  upon  my  knees  every  morning  and 
evening  :  Lord !  I  could  not  endure  a  husband  with  a 
beard  on  his  face  :  I  had  rather  lie  in  the  woollen.'' 

Leon.  You  may  light  upon  a  hvisband,  that  hath  no 
beard. 

Beat.  What  should  I  do  with  him  ?  dress  him  in  my 
apparel,  and  make  him  my  waiting  gentlewoman  ?  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-herd,  and  lead  his  apes  into  hell. 

Leon.  Well  then,  go  you  into  hell  ? 

Beat.  No ;  but  to  the  gate ;  and  there  will  the  devil 
meet  me,  like  an  old  cuckold,  with  horns  on  his  head,  and 
say.  Get  you  to  heaven,  Beatrice,  get  you  to  heaven ;  here^s 
no  place  for  you  maids :  so  deliver  I  up  my  apes,  and  away 
to  St.  Peter  for  the  heavens ;  he  shows  me  where  the 
bachelors  sit,  and  there  live  we  as  merry  as  the  day  is 
long. 

Ant.  Well,  niece,  \to  Hero]  I  trust  you  will  be  ruled 
by  your  father. 

Beat.  Yes,  faith ;  it  is  my  cousin's  duty  to  make  cour- 
tesy, and  say.  Father,  as  it  please  you : — but  yet  for  all 
that,  cousin,  let  him  be  a  handsome  fellow,  or  else  make 
another  courtesy,  and  say.  Father,  as  it  jylease  me. 

^  in  the  woollen.]    I  suppose  she  means— between  blankets,  without 

sheets. — Stf.evens. 


ACT  II.--SCENE  I.  185 

Leon.  Well,  niece,  I  hope  to  see  you  one  day  fitted  with 
a  husband. 

Beat.  Not  till  God  make  men  of  some  other  metal  than 
earth.  Would  it  not  grieve  a  woman  to  be  over-mastered 
with  a  piece  of  valiant  dust  ?  to  make  an  account  of  her  life 
to  a  clod  of  wayward  marl  ?  No,  uncle,  I'll  none  :  Adam's 
sons  are  my  brethren  :  and  truly,  I  hold  it  a  sin  to  match 
in  my  kindred. 

Leon.  Daughter,  remember  what  I  told  you:  if  the 
prince  do  solicit  you  in  that  kind,  you  know  your  an- 
swer. 

Beat.  The  fault  will  be  in  the  music,  cousin,  if  you  be 
not  woo'd  in  good  time  :  if  the  prince  be  too  important,' 
tell  him,  there  is  measure""  in  every  thing,  and  so  dance 
out  the  answer.  For  hear  me,  Hero;  Wooing,  wedding, 
and  repenting,  is  as  a  Scotch  jig,  a  measure,  and  a  cinque- 
pace  :  the  first  suit  is  hot  and  hasty,  like  a  Scotch  jig, 
and  full  as  fantastical ;  the  wedding,  mannerly-modest, 
as  a  measure  full  of  state  and  ancientry  ;  and  then  comes 
repentance,  and,  with  his  bad  legs,  falls  into  the  cinque- 
pace  faster  and  faster,  till  he  sink  into  his  grave. 

Leon.  Cousin,  you  apprehend  passing  shrewdly. 

Beat.  I  have  a  good  eye,  uncle ;  I  can  see  a  church  by 
day-light. 

Leon.  The  revelers  are  entering ;  brother,  make  good 
room. 

Enter  Don  Pedro,  Claudio,  Benedick,  Balthazar  ; 

Don   John,    Borachio,   Margaret,   Ursula,   and 

others,  masked. 

D.  Pedro.  Lady,  will  you  walk  about  with  your  friend?" 

Hero.  So  you  walk  softly,  and  look  sweetly,  and  say 
nothing,  I  am  yours  for  the  walk ;  and,  especially,  when 
I  walk  away. 

D.  Pedro.  With  me  in  your  company  ? 

Hero.  I  may  say  so,  when  I  please. 

D.  Pedro.  And  when  please  you  to  say  so  ? 

1  imj)iirtant,'\  i.  e.  Tmporlutwle. 

•n  measure — ]  Measure  in  old  language  signified  a  dance. 

»  . your  friend  ?]  Friend,  in  our  author's  time,  was  the  common  term  for 

a  lover,  and  applicable  to  both  sexes. — Steevens. 


186  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

Hero.  When  I  like  your  favour ;  for  God  defend,  the 
lute  should  be  like  the  case ! 

D.  Pedro.  My  visor  is  Philemon's  roof;  within  the 
house  is  Jove. 

Hero.  Why,  then  your  visor  should  be  thatch'd. 

-D.  Pedro.  Speak  low,  if  you  speak  love. 

[Takes  her  aside. 

Bene.  Well,  I  would  you  did  like  me. 

Marg.  So  would  not  I,  for  your  own  sake,  for  I  have 
many  ill  qualities. 

Bene.  Which  is  one  ? 

Marg.  I  say  my  prayers  aloud. 

Bene.  I  love  you  the  better ;  the  hearers  may  cry. 
Amen. 

Marg.  God  match  me  with  a  good  dancer ! 

Balth.  Amen. 

Marg.  And  God  keep  him  out  of  my  sight,  when  the 
dance  is  done  ! — Answer,  clerk. 

Balth.  No  more  words ;  the  clerk  is  answered. 

Urs.    1  know  you  well  enough  ;  you  are  signior  Antonio. 

jint.  At  a  word,  I  am  not. 

Urs.  I  know  you  by  the  waggling  of  your  head. 

Ant.  To  tell  you  true,  I  counterfeit  him. 

Urs.  You  could  never  do  him  so  ill- well,  unless  you 
were  the  very  man  :  Here's  his  dry  hand"  up  and  down  ; 
you  are  he,  you  are  he. 

Ant.  At  a  word,  I  am  not. 

Urs.  Come,  come ;  do  you  think  I  do  not  know  you 
by  your  excellent  wif?  Can  virtue  hide  itself?  Go  to, 
mum,  you  are  he  :  graces  will  appear,  and  there's  an  end. 

Beat.  Will  you  not  tell  me  who  told  you  so? 

Bene.  No,' you  shall  pardon  me. 

Beat.  Nor  will  you  not  tell  me  who  you  are  ? 

Bene.  Not  now. 

Beat.  That  I  was  disdainful, — and  that  I  had  my  good 
wit  out  of  the  Hundred  merry  Tales  ;^ — Well,  this  was 
signior  Benedick  that  said  so. 

"' his  dry  hand — ]  A  dry  hand  was  anciently  regarded  as  the  sign  of  a 

cokl  constitution. — SilE'.  ens. 

1' Hundred  merry  Tales ; — ]  This  name  was  common  to  several  collections 

of  jests. 


ACT  II.--SCENE  I.  187 

.    Bene.  What's  he  ? 

Beat.  I  am  sure,  you  know  him  well  enough. 

Bene.  Not  I,  believe  me. 

Beat.  Did  he  never  make  you  laugh  ? 

Bene.  I  pray  you,  what  is  he  ? 

Beat.  Why,  he  is  the  prince's  jester  :  a  very  dull  fool ; 
only  his  gift  is  in  devising  impossible  slanders  :  none  but 
libertines  delight  in  him ;  and  the  commendation  is  not 
in  his  wit,  but  in  his  villainy  ;''  for  he  both  pleaseth  men, 
and  angers  them,  and  then  they  laugh  at  him,  and  beat 
him :  I  am  sure  he  is  in  the  fleet ;  I  would  he  had 
boarded  me.  i 

Bene.  When  I  know  the  gentleman,  I'll  tell  him  what 
you  say. 

Beat.  Do,  do  ;  he'll  but  break  a  comparison  or  two  on 
me ;  which,  peradventure,  not  marked,  or  not  laughed  at, 
strikes  him  into  melancholy  ;  and  then  there's  a  partridge' 
wing  saved,  for  the  fool  will  eat  no  supper  that  night. 
[Music  ivithln.l  We  must  follow  the  leaders. 

Bene.  In  every  good  thing. 

Beat.  Nay,  if  they  lead  to  any  ill,  I  will  leave  them 
at  the  next  turning. 

[Dance.     Then  exeunt  all  but  Don  John, 
BoRACHio,  and  Claudio. 

D.  John.  Sure,  my  brother  is  amorous  on  Hero,  and 
hath  withdrawn  her  father  to  break  with  him  about  it : 
The  ladies  follow  her,  and  but  one  visor  remains. 

Bora.  And  that  is  Claudio  :  I  know  him  by  his  bear- 
uig.-^ 

D.  John.  Are  not  you  signior  Benedick  ? 

Claud.  You  know  me  well ;  I  am  he. 

D.  John.  Signior,  you  are  very  near  my  brother  in  his 
love  :  he  is  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. 

Claud.  How  know  you  he  loves  her  ? 

D.  John.  I  heard  him  swear  his  affection. 

f| viUainy{]  Impiety. — He  pleases  libertines  by  his  impious  jests,  and 

augers  them  by  his  slanders, — Warbubton. 
' his  bearing.]  i.  e.  His  carriage. 


188  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

Bora.  So  did  1  too;  and  he  swore  he  would  marry  her 
to-night. 

1).  John.  Come,  let  us  to  the  banquet. 

\^JE,xeunt  Don  John  and  Borachio- 

Claud.  Thus  answer  I  in  name  of  Benedick, 
But  hear  these  ill  news  with  the  ears  of  Claudio. — 
Tis  certain  so ; — the  prince  wooes  for  himself. 
Friendship  is  constant  in  all  other  things. 
Save  in  the  office  and  affairs  of  love  : 
Therefore,  all  hearts  in  love  use  their  own  tongues  j 
Let  every  eye  negociate  for  itself, 
And  trust  no  agent :  for  beauty  is  a  witch. 
Against  whose  charms  faith  melteth  into  blood. ^ 
This  is  an  accident  of  hourly  proof. 
Which  I  mistrusted  not :  Farewell  therefore,  Hero  ! 

Re-enter  Benedick. 

Bene.  Count  Claudio? 

Claud.  Yea,  the  same. 

Bene.  Come,  will  you  go  with  me  ? 

Claud.  Whither? 

Bene.  Even  to  the  next  willow,  about  your  own  busi-' 
ness,  count.  What  fashion  will  you  wear  the  garland  of? 
About  your  neck,  like  an  usurer's  chain  ?*  or  under  your 
arm,  like  a  lieutenant's  scarf?  You  must  wear  it  one  way, 
for  the  prince  hath  got  your  Hero. 

Claud.  I  wish  him  joy  of  her. 

Bene.  Wliy,  that's  spoken  like  an  honest  drover ;  so 
they  sell  bullocks.  But  did  you  think,  the  prince  would 
have  served  you  thus  ? 

Claud.  I  pray  you,  leave  me. 

Bene.  Ho !  now  you  strike  like  the  blind  man  j  'twas 
the  boy  that  stole  your  meat,  and  you'll  beat  the  post. 

Claud.  If  it  will  not  be,  I'll  leave  you.  \^Exit. 

Bene.  Alas  !  poor  hurt  fowl !  Now  will  he  creep  into 
sedges. But,  that  my  lady  Beatrice  should  know  me, 

" hlood.']  i.  c.  Amoronsheat, — Mai.onii. 

' «SHrer'A' chain  ?]    Chains  of  gold,  of  considcrrililt;  value,  were  in  our 

author's  time,  usually  worn  by  wealthy  citizens,  and  others;  in  the  same  man- 
ner as  they  now  are,  on  public  occasions,  by  the  aldermen  of  London. — TJir 
intrchants  appear  to  have  been  the  chief  usurers  of  the  age. — Steeviins. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  I.  189 

and  not  know  me  !  The  prince's  fool ! — Ha  !  it  may  be,  I 
go  under  that  title,  because  I  am  merry. — Yea ;  but  so  ; 
I  am  apt  to  do  myself  wrong  :  I  am  not  so  reputed  :  it  is 
the  base,  the  bitter  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,  Hero,  and  Leonato. 

D.  Pedro.  Now,  signior,  where's  the  count  ?  Did  you 
see  him  ? 

Bene.  Troth,  my  lord,  I  have  played  the  part  of  lady 
Fame.  I  found  him  here  as  melancholy  as  a  lodge  in  a 
warren  ;  I  told  him,  and,  I  think,  1  told  him  true,  that 
your  grace  had  got  the  good  will  of  this  young  lady ;  and 
I  offered  him  my  company  to  a  willow  tree,  either  to  make 
him  a  garland,  as  being  forsaken,  or  to  bind  him  up  a  rod, 
as  being  worthy  to  be  whipped. 

D.  Pedro.  To  be  whipped  !  What's  his  fault  ? 

Bene.  The  flat  transgression  of  a  school-boy ;  who, 
being  overjoy'd  with  finding  a  bird's  nest,  shows  it  his 
companion,  and  he  steals  it. 

D.  Pedro.  Wilt  thou  make  a  trust  a  transgression  ?  The 
transgression  is  in  the  stealer. 

Bene.  Yet  it  had  not  been  amiss,  the  rod  had  been  made, 
and  the  garland  too ;  for  the  garland  he  might  have  worn 
himself;  and  the  rod  he  might  have  bestow'd  on  you,  who, 
as  I  take  it,  have  stol'n  his  bird's  nest. 

D.  Pedro.  I  will  but  teach  them  to  sing,  and  restore 
them  to  the  owner. 

Bene.  If  their  singing  answer  your  saying,  by  my  faith, 
you  say  honestly. 

D.  Pedro.  The  lady  Beatrice  hath  a  quarrel  to  you ;  the 
gentleman,  that  danced  with  her,  told  her,  she  is  much 
wrong'd  by  you. 

Bene.  O,  she  misused  me  past  the  endurance  of  a 
block ;  an  oak,  but  with  one  green  leaf  on  it,  would  have 
answer'd  her ;  my  very  visor  began  to  assume  life,  and 
scold  with  her  :  She  told  me,  not  thinking  1  had  been 
myself,  that  I  was  the  prince's  jester  ;  that  I  was  duller 
than  a  great  thaw ;  huddUng  jest  upon  jest,  with  such 


190  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

impossible  conveyance,"  upon  me,  that  I  stood  like  a  man 
at  a  mark,  with  a  whole  army  shooting  at  me  :  She  speaks 
poniards,  and  every  word  stabs :  if  her  breath  were  as 
terrible  as  her  terminations,  there  were  no  living  near  her, 
she  would  infect  to  the  north  star.  I  would  not  marry 
her,  though  she  were  endowed  with  all  that  Adam  had 
left  him  before  he  transgressed  :"  she  would  have  made 
Hercules  have  turned  spit ;  yea,  and  have  cleft  his  club 
to  make  the  fire  too.  Come,  talk  not  of  her ;  you  shall 
find  her  the  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  sanc- 
tuary ;  and  people  sin  upon  purpose,  because  they  would 
go  thither;  so,  indeed,  all  disquiet,  horror,  and  perturba- 
tion follow  her. 

Re-enter  Claudio  and  Beatrice,  Hero  and  Leoisato. 

D.  Pedro.  Look,  here  she  comes. 

Bene.  Will  your  grace  command  me  any  service  to  the 
world's  end  ?  I  will  go  on  the  slightest  errand  now  to  the 
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  off  the  great  Cham's  beard  ;  do  you  any  em- 
bassage to  the  Pigmies,  rather  than  hold  three  words' 
conference  with  this  harpy :  You  have  no  employment 
for  me  ? 

D.  Pedro.  None,  but  to  desire  your  good  company. 

Bene.  O  God,  sir,  here's  a  dish  I  love  not;  I  cannot 
endure  my  lady  Tongue.  [Exit. 

" such  impossible  conveyance,']  Impossible  is  used  in  the  sense  of  ma-edi- 
ble, or  inconcievable,  both  here  and  in  the  beginning  of  the  scene. — M.  Mason. 

» before  he  travsgressed .]    This  passage  appears  faulty,  either  in  the 

words  left  or  before.  If  we  omit  lift,  the  passage  is  intelligible  ;  if  we  retain 
left,  we  should  read  after  for  before. 

y  At^ — ]   The  goddess  of  Discord. 

^ Prestei- John,] — That  is  Presbyter  John,  from  prestre  7 lench.     The 

supposed  name  of  a  Christian  king  of  India,  wliose  dominions  wore  variously 
placed.  Some  have  referred  them  to  Abyssinia.  Sir  John  Mandeville  places 
them  in  an  island  called  Pentexoire,  and  treats  of  him  at  large  in  his  '27lix 
chap.  edit.  1727. — Gibbon  treats  the  whole  as  a  fiction,  and  says  "  the  fame  of 
I'rester  John  has  long  amused  the  credulity  of  Europe,  and  in  its  progress  to 
Mosul,  Jerusalem,  Kome,  &c.  the  story  evaporated  in  a  snonstrous  fable." 
Cliap.  't7. — Nares's  Glossary. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  I.  191 

D.  Pedro.  Come,  lady,  come ;  you  have  lost  the  heart 
of  signior  Benedick. 

Beat.  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,  there- 
fore your  grace  may  well  say,  I  have  lost  it. 

D.  Pedro.  You  have  put  him  down,  lady,  you  have  put 
him  down. 

Beat.  So  I  would  not  he  should  do  me,  my  lord,  lest  I 
should  prove  the  mother  of  fools.  I  have  brought  count 
Claudio,  whom  you  sent  me  to  seek. 

D.  Pedro.  Why,  how  now,  count?  wherefore  are  you 
sad  ? 

Claud.  Not  sad,  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.  How  then  ?  Sick  'i 

Claud.  Neither,  my  lord. 

Beat.  The  count  is  neither  sad,  nor  sick,  nor  merry,  nor 
well :  but  civil,  count ;  civil  as  an  orange,  and  something 
of  that  jealous  complexion. 

D.  Pedro.  I'faith,  lady,  I  think  your  blazon  to  be 
true;  though,  I'll  be  sworn,  if  he  be  so,  his  conceit  is 
false.  Here,  Claudio,  I  have  wooed  in  thy  name,  and  fair 
Hero  is  won  ;  I  have  broke  with  her  father,  and  his  good 
will  obtained  :  name  the  day  of  marriage,  and  God  give 
thee  joy  ! 

Leoji.  Count,  take  of  me  my  daughter,  and  with  her  my 
fortunes :  his  grace  hath  made  the  match,  and  all  grace 
say  Amen  to  it ! 

Beat.  Speak,  count,  'tis  your  cue. 

Claud.  Silence  is  the  perfectest  herald  of  joy  :  I  were 
but  little  happy,  if  I  could  say  how  much. — Lady,  as  you 
are  mine,  1.  atn  yours  :  I  give  away  myself  for  you,  and 
dote  upon  the  exchange. 

Beat.  Speak,  cousin  ;  or,  if  you  cannot,  stop  his  mouth 
with  a  kiss,  and  let  him  not  speak,  neither. 

D.  Pedro.  In  faith,  lady,  you  have  a  merry  heart. 

Beat.  Yea,  my  lord  ;  I  thank  it,  poor  fool,  it  keeps  on 
the  windy  side  of  care  : — My  cousin  tells  him  in  his  ear, 
that  he  is  in  her  heart. 

* J  gave  him  use  /'or  if,]   Use,  or  interat. 


192  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

Claud.  And  so  she  doth,  cousin. 

Beat.  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. 

D.  Pedro.  Lady  Beatrice,  I  will  get  you  one. 

Beat.  I  would  rather  have  one  of  your  father's  getting  : 
Hath  your  grace  ne'er  a  brother  like  you  ?  Your  father  got 
excellent  husbands,  if  a  maid  could  come  by  them. 

D.  Pedro.  Will  you  have  me,  lady  ? 

Beat.  No,  my  lord,  unless  I  might  have  another  for 
working-days  ;  your  grace  is  too  costly  to  wear  every  day  : 
— But,  I  beseech  your  grace,  pardon  me;  I  was  born  to 
speak  all  mirth,  and  no  matter. 

D.  Pedro.  Your  silence  most  offends  me,  and  to  be 
merry  best  becomes  you  ;  for,  out  of  question,  you  were 
born  in  a  merry  hour. 

Beat.  No,  sure,  my  lord,  my  mother  cry'd ;  but  then 
there  was  a  star  danced,  and  under  that  was  I  born. — 
Cousins,  God  give  you  joy  ! 

Leon.  Niece,  will  you  look  to  those  things  I  told 
you  of? 

Beat.  I  cry  you  mercy,  uncle. — By  your  grace's  par- 
(Jon.  \^Exit  Beatrice. 

D.  Pedro.  By  my  troth,  a  pleasant-spirited  lady. 

Leon.  There's  little  of  the  melancholy  element**  in  her, 
my  lord  :  she  is  never  sad,  but  when  she  sleeps  :  and  not 
ever  sad  then  ;  for  I  have  heard  my  daughter  say,  she  hath 
often  dreamed  of  unhappiness,  and  waked  herself  with 
laughing. 

I).  Pedro.  She  cannot  endure  to  hear  tell  of  a  hus- 
band. 

Leon.  O,  by  no  means ;  she  mocks  all  her  wooers  out 
of  suit. 

D.  Pedro.  She  were  an  excellent  wife  for  Benedick. 

b  Gond  lord,  for  aUiance!]  Claudio  has  just  called  13catricc  couiin — Beatrice 
expresses  her  gratitude  for  the  alliance. 

c goes  eceri)  one  to  the  woild — ]  To  go  to  the  world  is  used  by  Shakspeare 

in  All's  Well  that  ends  Weil,  for  to  marry  ;  it  here  has  the  same  sense. — 
Johnson. 

•J element — J  Our  life  was  supposed  to  consist  of  the  four  elements — the 

dull  or  mclanc  holy  elements  were  earth  and  water. — Beatrice  was  ail  air  and 
fire. — Ma  LONE. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  I.  193 

Leon.  O  lord,  my  lord,  if  they  were  but  a  week  married, 
they  would  talk  themselves  mad. 

D.  Pedro.  Count  Claudio,  when  mean  you  to  go  to 
church? 

Claud.  To-morrow,  my  lord :  Time  goes  on  crutches, 
till  love  have  all  his  rites. 

Leon.  Not  till  Monday,  my  dear  son,  which  is  hence  a 
just  seven  night ;  and  a  time  too  brief  too,  to  have  all 
things  answer  my  mind. 

D.  Pedro.  Come,  you  shake  the  head  at  so  long  a  breath- 
ing ;  but  I  warrant  thee,  Claudio,  the  time  shall  not  go 
dully  by  us  ;  I  will  in  the  interim,  undertake  one  of  Her- 
cules' 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  direction. 

Leon.  My  lord,  I  am  for  you,  though  it  cost  me  ten 
night's  watchings. 

Claud.  And  I,  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.  And  you  too,  gentle  Hero  ? 

Hero.  I  will  do  any  modest  office,  my  lord,  to  help  my 
cousin  to  a  good  husband. 

D.  Pedi'o.  And  Benedick  is  not' the  unhopefullest  hus- 
band that  I  know  :  thus  far  can  I  praise  him  ;  he  is  of  a 
noble  strain,*'  of  approved  valour,  and  confirmed  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  practice  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  our's,  for  we  are  the  only  love-gods.  Go 
in  with  me,  and  I  will  tell  you  my  drift.  [Exeunt. 

^  a  noble  strain,]  i.e.  Descent,  lineage. 

'  queasy  stomach,]  i.  e.  Squeamish. 


194  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

SCENE  II. 

Another  Room  in  Leonato's  House. 

Enter  Don  John  and  Borachio. 

D.  John.  It  is  so ;  the  count  Claudio  shall  marry  the 
dauo;hter  of  Leonato. 

Bora.  Yea,  my  lord,  but  I  can  cross  it. 

D.  John.  Any  bar,  any  cross,  any  impediment  will  be 
medicinable  to  me  :  I  am  sick  in  displeasure  to  him ;  and 
whatsoever  comes  athwart  his  affection,  ranges  evenly  with 
mine.     How  canst  thou  cross  this  marriage  ? 

Bora.  Not  honestly,  my  lord ;  but  so  covertly  that  no 
dishonesty  shall  appear  in  me. 

D.  John.   Show  me  briefly  how. 

Bora.  I  think,  I  told  your  lordship,  a  year  since,  how 
much  I  am  in  the  favour  of  Margaret,  the  waiting-gentle- 
woman to  Hero. 

D.  John.  I  remember. 

Bora.  I  can,  at  any  unseasonable  instant  of  the'  night, 
appoint  her  to  look  out  at  her  lady's  chamber-window. 

D.  John.  What  life  is  in  that,  to  be  the  death  of  this 
marriage  ? 

Bora.  The  poison  of  that  lies  in  you  to  temper.  Go 
you  to  the  prince  your  brother ;  spare  not  to  tell  him,  that 
he  hath  wronged  his  honour  in  marrying  the  renowned 
Claudio  (whose  estimation  do  you  mightily  hold  up)  to  a 
contaminated  stale,  such  a  one  as  Hero. 

D.  John.  What  proof  shall  I  make  of  that? 

Bora.  Proof  enough  to  misuse  the  prince,  to  vex  Clau- 
dio, to  undo  Hero,  and  kill  Leonato  :  Look  you  for  any 
other  issue  ? 

T>.  John.  Only  to  dispite  them,  I  will  endeavour  any 
thing. 

Bora.  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 

s intend — ]  i.  e.  Pretend, 


ACT  II.— SCENE  III.  195 

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  wdll  scarcely 
believe  this  without  trial :  oifer  them  instances  ;  which 
shall  bear  no  less  likelihood,  than  to  see  me  at  her  cham- 
ber-window; hear  me  call  Margaret,  Hero ;  hear  Margaret 
term  me  Claudio,  and  bring  them  to  see  this,  the  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  called  assurance,  and  all  the  preparation 
overthrown. 

D.  Johi.  Grow  this  to  what  adverse  issue  it  can,  I  will 
put  it  in  practice  :  Be  cunning  in  the  working  this,  and 
thy  fee  is  a  thousand  ducats. 

Bora.  Be  you  constant  in  the  accusation,  and  my  cun- 
ning shall  not  shame  me. 

Z).  John.  I  will  presently  go  learn  their  day  of  mar- 
riage. {^Exeunt. 

SCENE  III. 

Leonato's  Garden. 
Enter  Benedick  and  a  Boy. 

Bene.  Boy, — 

Boy.  Signior. 

Bene.  In  my  chamber-window  lies  a  book ;  bring  it 
hither  to  me  in  the  orchard. 

Boy.  I  am  here  already,  sir. 

Bene.  I  know  that ; — but  I  would  have  thee  hence,  and 
here  again.  \^Exit.  Boy.] — I  do  much  wonder,  that  one 
man,  seeing  how  much  another  man  is  a  fool  when  he  de- 
dicates his  behaviours  to  love,  will,  after  he  hath  laughed 
at  such  shallow  follies  in  others,  become  the  argument  of 
his  own  scorn,  by  falling  in  love  :  And  such  a  man  is 
Claudio.  I  have  known,  when  there  was  no  music  with 
him  but  the  drum  and  fife ;  and  now  had  he  rather  hear 
the  tabor  and  the  pipe :  I  have  known,  when  he  would  have 


196  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

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  turned 
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 ;  I  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  I  am  well  :  another  is  wise  ;  yet  I  am  well :  an- 
other 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,  Leonato,  and  Claudio. 

D.  Pedro.  Come,  shall  we  hear  this  music? 

Claud.  Yea,  my  good  lord  ; — How  still  the  evening  is. 
As  hush'd  on  purpose  to  grace  harmony  ! 

D.  Pedro.  See  you  where  Benedick  hath  hid  himself  ? 

Claud.  O,  very  well,  my  lord :  the  music  ended. 
We'll  fit  the  kid  fox  with  a  pennyworth.' 

Enter  Balthazar,  with  music. 

D.  Pedro.  Gome,  Balthazar,  we'll  hear  that  song  again. 
Balth.  O  good  my  lord,  tax  not  so  bad  a  voice 
To  slander  music  any  more  than  once. 

D.  Pedro.  It  is  the  witness  still  of  excellency, 


h  of  what  coluur  it  please  God.]  Alluding  to  the  common  practice  of  dy- 
ing tlie  hair. — This  practice  was  so  common  as  to  challenge  the  censures  of  the 
pulpit,  and  is  mentioned  in  terms  of  reproof  in  the  homily  against  excess  of 
aj)parel.  b.  i.  1547. — Reed. 

'  We'll  fit  the  kid-fox  vnth  a  penny -xvorlh.]  i.  p.  We  will  be  even  with  the  fox 
now  discovered. — The  word  kid  has  this  sense  in  Chaucer — Guey. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  III.  197 

To  put  a  strange  face  on  his  own  perfection  : — 
I  pray  thee,  sing,  and  let  me  woo  no  more. 

Bath.  Because  you  talk  of  wooing,  I  will  sing  : 
Since  many  a  wooer  doth  commence  his  suit 
To  her  he  thinks  not  worthy  ;  yet  he  wooes  ; 
Yet  will  he  swear,  he  loves. 

D.  Pedro.  Nay,  pray  thee,  come  : 

Or,  if  thou  wilt  hold  longer  argument, 
Do  it  in  notes. 

Balth.  Note  this  before  my  notes. 

There's  not  a  note  of  mine  that's  worth  the  noting. 

D.  Pedro.  Why  these  are  very  crotches  that  he  speaks; 
Note,  notes,  forsooth,  and  noting  !  \^Musk. 

Bene.  Now,  Divine  air!  now  is  his  soul  ravished  ! — Is 
it  not  strange,  that  sheep's  guts  should  liale  souls  out  of 
men's  bodies? — Well,  a  horn  for  my  money,  when  all's 
done. 

Balthazar  sinira. 

I. 

Balth,   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,  7ionny. 

II. 

Sinz  no  more  ditties,  simi  no  mo 

Of  dumps  so  dull  and  heavy  ; 
The  fraud  of  men  was  ever  so. 

Since  summer  frst  was  leavy. 
Then  sigh  not  so,  &.c. 

D.  Pedro.  By  my  troth,  a  good  song. 
Balth.  And  an  ill  singer,  my  lord. 

Claud.  Ha  ?  no  ;  no,  faith  ;  thou  singest  well  enough 
for  a  shift. 

VOL.  II.  p 


198  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

Bene,  [aside.l  An  he  had  been  a  dog,  that  should  have 
howled  thus,  they  would  have  hanged  him  :  and,  I  pray 
God,  his  bad  voice  bode  no  mischief!  I  had  as  lief  have 
heard  the  night-raven,  come  what  plague  could  have  come 
after  it. 

D.Pedro.  Yea,  marry;  [To  Claudio.] — Dost  thou 
hear,  Balthazar  ?  I  pray  thee,  get  us  some  excellent  music; 
for  to-morrow  night  we  would  have  it  at  the  lady  Hero's 
chamber-window. 

Balth.  The  best  I  can,  my  lord. 

D.Pedro.  Do  so  :  farewell.  [jEae?<M^  Balthazar  «/?f/ 
music.']  Come  hither,  Leonato  :  What  was  it  you  told  me 
of  to-day  ?  that  your  niece  Beatrice  was  in  love  with 
signior  Benedick  ? 

Claud.  O,  ay  : — Stalk  on,  stalk  on :  the  fowl  sits."" 
[Aside  to  Pedro.]  I  did  never  think  that  lady  would  have 
loved  any  man. 

Leon.  No,  nor  I  neither;  but  most  wonderful,  that  she 
should  so  dote  on  signior  Benedick,  whom  she  hath  in  all 
outward  behaviours  seemed  ever  to  abhor. 

Bene.  Is't  possible  ?  Sits  the  wind  in  that  corner? 

[Aside. 

Leon.  By  my  troth,  my  lord,  I  cannot  tell  what  to  think 
of  it ;  but  that  she  loves  him  with  an  enraged  affection, 
— it  is  past  the  infinite  of  thought.' 

D.  Pedro.  May  be,  she  doth  but  counterfeit. 

Claud.  'Faith  like  enough. 

Leon.  O  God  !  counterfeit !  There  never  was  counter- 
feit of  passion  came  so  near  the  life  of  passion,  as  she 
discovers  it. 

D.  Pedro.  Why,  what  effects  of  passion  shows  she? 

Claud.  Bait  the  hook  well ;  this  fish  will  bite.    [Aside. 

Leon.  What  effects,  my  lord  !  She  will  sit  you, — 
You  heard  my  daughter  tell  you  how. 

Claud.  She  did,  indeed. 

^ Stalk  on,  slalk  on  ;  the  fold  sits.']   An  allusion  to  the  stalking-hoo-se  ;  a 

horse  either  real  or  factitious,  by  which  the  fowler  anciently  sheltered  himself 
from  the  sight  of  the  game. — Si  r,i;vi;NS. 

' but  that  she  lutes  him  with  an  enraged  affection, — it  is  past  the  infinite  of 

thought.'\  The  meaning,  I  think  is, —  but  with  what  an  enraged  affection  she  lores 
him,  it  is  beyond  the  poner  of  thought  to  conceive. — Malone. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  III.  199 

D.  Pedro.  How,  how,  I  pray  you  ?  You  amaze  me :  I 
would  have  thought  her  spirit  had  been  invincible  against 
all  assaults  of  affection. 

Leon.  I  would  have  sworn  it  had,  my  lord  ;  especially 
against  Benedick. 

Bene,  [aside.l  I  should  think  this  a  gull,  but  that  the 
white-bearded  fellow  speaks  it :  knavery  cannot,  sure, 
hide  itself  in  such  reverence. 

Claud.  He  hath  ta'en  the  infection  :  hold  it  up.  [Aside. 

D.  Pedro.  Hath  she  made  her  affection  known  to  Be- 
nedick ? 

Leon.  No,  and  swears  she  never  will:  that's  her  tor- 
ment. 

Claud.  'Tis  true,  indeed  ;  so  your  daughter  says :  Shall 
I,  says  she,  that  have  so  oft  encountered  him  with  scorn, 
write  to  him  that  I  love  him  ? 

Leon.  This  says  she  now  when  she  is  beginning  to  write 
to  him:  for  she'll  be  up  tAventy  times  a  night:  and  there 
will  she  sit  in  her  smock,  till  she  have  writ  a  sheet  of 
paper: — my  daughter  tells  us  all. 

Claud.  Now  you  talk  of  a  sheet  of  paper,  I  lemember 
a  pretty  jest  your  daughter  told  us  of. 

Leon.  O  ! — When  she  had  writ  it,  and  was  reading  it 
over,  she  found  Benedick  and  Beatrice  between  the 
sheet  ? — 

Claud.  That. 

Leon.  O  !  she  tore  the  letter  into  a  thousand  halfpence;"' 
railed  at  herself,  that  she  should  be  so  immodest  to  write 
to  one  that  she  knew  would  flout  her  :  I  measure  him,  says 
she,  bj/  my  own  spit-it ;  for  I  should  fout  him,  if  he  writ  to 
me ;  yea,  though  I  love  him,  I  should. 

Claud.  Then  down  upon  her  knees  she  falls,  weeps, 
sobs,  beats  her  heart,  tears  her  hair,  prays,  curses  ; —  O 
sweet  Benedick!  God  give  me  patience ! 

Leon.  She  doth  indeed  ;  my  daughter  says  so  :  and  the 
ecstacy  hath  so  much  overborne  her,  that  my  daughter  is 
sometime  afraid  she  wnll  do  a  desperate  outrage  to  her- 
self;  It  is  very  true. 

TO halfpence  i"]  A  farthing  and  perhaps,  a  halfpenny  was  used  to  signify 

any  small  particle  or  division. — Steevens, 

p  2 


200  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

D.Pedro.  It  were  good,  that  Benedick  knew  of  it  by 
some  other,  if  she  will  not  discover  it. 

Claud.  To  what  end  ?  He  would  but  make  a  sport  of  it, 
and  torment  the  poor  lady  worse. 

D,  Pedro.  An  he  should,  it  were  an  alms  to  hang  him  : 
She's  an  excellent  sweet  lady  ;  and,  out  of  all  suspicion, 
she  is  virtuous. 

Claud.  And  she  is  exceeding  wise. 

D.  Pedro.  In  every  thing,  but  in  loving  Benedick. 

Leon.  O  my  lord,  wisdom  and  blood  combating  in  so 
tender  a  body,  we  have  ten  proofs  to  one,  that  blood  hath 
the  victory.  I  am  sorry  for  her,  as  I  have  just  cause,  be- 
ing her  uncle  and  her  guardian. 

D.  Pedro.  I  would  she  had  bestowed  this  dotage  on 
me  ;  I  would  have  daff'd"  all  other  respects,  and  made  her 
half  myself:  I  pray  you  tell  Benedick  of  it,  and  hear  what 
he  will  say. 

Leon.  Were  it  good,  think  you? 

Claud.  Hero  thinks  surely,  she  will  die  :  for  she  says, 
she  will  die  if  he  love  her  not ;  and  she  will  die  ere  she 
makes  her  love  known  :  and  she  will  die  if  he  woo  her, 
rather  than  she  will  'bate  one  breath  of  her  accustomed 
crossness. 

jD.  Pedro.  She  doth  well :  if  she  should  make  tender 
of  her  love,  'tis  very  possible  he'll  scorn  it ;  for  the  man, 
as  you  know  all,  hath  a  contemptible"  spirit. 

Claud.  He  is  a  very  proper  man.p 

D.  Pedro.  He  hath  indeed,  a  good  outward  happiness. 

Claud.  'Fore  God,  and  in  my  mind,  very  wise. 

D.  Pedro.  He  doth,  indeed,  shew  some  sparks  that  are 
like  wit. 

Leon.  And  I  take  him  to  be  valiant. 

D.  Pedro.  As  Hector,  I  assure  you:  and  in  the  manag- 
ing of  quarrels  you  may  say  he  is  wise  ;  for  either  he 
avoids  them  with  great  discretion,  or  undertakes  them 
with  a  most  christian-like  fear. 

Leon.  If  he   do  fear  God,  he   must  necessarily  keep 

" Jiave  dafF'd— ]  To  daff  is  the  same  as  to  doff,  to  do  off',  to  put  aside. 

" cnnlemptible — ]  i.  e.  Contemptuous. 

P a  verii  i)roper  man.]  i.  e.  A  very  handsome  man. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  III.  201 

peace  ;  if  he  break  the  peace,  he  ought  to  enter  into  a 
quarrel  with  fear  and  trembling. 

D.  Pedro.  And  so  will  he  do  ;  for  the  man  doth  fear 
God,  howsoever  it  seems  not  in  him,  by  some  large  jests 
he  will  make.  Well,  I  am  sorry  for  your  niece  :  Shall  we 
go  see  Benedick,  and  tell  him  of  her  love  ? 

Claud.  Never  tell  him,  my  lord ;  let  her  wear  it  out  with 
good  counsel, 

Leon.  Nay,  that's  impossible;  she  may  wear  her  heart 
out  first. 

D,  Pedro.  Well,  we'll  hear  further  of  it  by  your  daugh- 
ter :  let  it  cool  the  while.  I  love  Benedick  well :  and  1 
could  wish  he  could  modestly  examine  himself,  to  see  how 
much  he  is  unworthy  so  good  a  lady. 

Leon.  My  lord,  will  you  walk  ?  dinner  is  ready. 

Claud.  If  he  do  not  dote  on  her  upon  this,  I  will  never 
trust  my  expectation.  \^Aside. 

D.  Pedro.  Let  there  be  the  same  net  spread  for  her ;  and 
that  must  your  daughter  and  her  gentlewoman  carry.  The 
sport  will  be,  when  they  hold  one  an  opinion  of  another's 
dotage,  and  no  such  matter  ;  that's  the  scene  that  I  would 
see,  which  will  be  merely  a  dumb  show.  Let  us  send  her 
to  call  him  to  dinner.  [Aside. 

[Exeunt  Don  Pedro,  Claudio,  and  Leonato. 

Benedick  advances  from  the  Arbour. 

Bene.  This  can  be  no  trick  :  The  conference  was  sadly 
borne. — They  have  the  truth  of  this  from  Hero.  They 
seem  to  pity  the  lady  ;  it  seems  her  affections  have  their 
full  bent.  Love  me  !  why,  it  must  be  requited.  I  hear 
how  I  am  censured  :  they  say,  I  will  bear  myself  proudly, 
if  I  perceive  the  love  come  from  her ;  they  say  too,  that 
she  will  rather  die  than  give  any  sign  of  affection. — I  did 
never  think  to  marry — I  must  not  seem  proud : — Happy 
are  they  that  hear  their  detractions,  and  can  put  them  to 
mending.  They  say  the  lady  is  fair ;  'tis  a  truth,  I  can 
bear  them  witness  :  and  virtuous  ; — 'tis  so,  I  cannot  re- 
prove it ;  and  wise,  but  for  loving  me  : — By  my  troth,  it 

f  — —  sadly — ]  i.  e.  Seriously. 


202  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

is  no  addition  to  her  wit ; — nor  no  great  argument  of  her 
folly,  for  I  will  be  horribly  in  love  with  her. —  I  may  chance 
have  some  odd  quirks  and  remnants  of  wit  broken  on  me, 
because  I  have  railed  so  long  against  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  sen- 
tences, 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  Bea- 
trice :  By  this  day,  she's  a  fair  lady :  I  do  spy  some  marks 
of  love  in  her. 

Ente)-  Beathice. 

Beat.  Against  my  will,  I  am  sent  to  bid  you  come  in 
to  dinner. 

Bene.  Fair  Beatrice,  I  thank  you  for  your  pains. 

Beat.  I  took  no  more  pains  for  those  thanks,  than  you 
take  pains  to  thank  me  ;  if  it  had  been  painful,  I  would 
not  have  come. 

Bene.  You  take  pleasure  then  in  the  message  ? 

Beat.  Yea,  just  so  much  as  you  may  take  upon  a  knife's 
point,  and  choke  a  daw  withal : — You  have  no  stomach, 
signior  ;  fare  you  well. 

Bene.  Ha  !  Against  my  will  I  am  sent  to  bid  you  come  to 
dinner — there's  a  double  meaning  in  that.  /  took  no  more 
pains  for  those  thanks,  than  you  took  pains  to  thank  me — 
that's  as  much  as  to  say.  Any  pains  that  I  take  for  you 
is  as  easy  as  thanks  : — H"  I  do  not  take  pity  of  her,  1  am 
a  villain  ;  if  I  do  not  love  her,  I  am  a  Jew :  1  will  go  get 
her  picture.  \^Exit. 

ACT    III. 

Scene.  I. — Leonato's  Garden. 

Enter  Hero,  Margaret,  and  Ursula. 

Hero.  Good  Margaret,  run  tiiee  into  the  parlour;, 
There  thou  shalt  find  my  cousin  Beatrice 


ACT  III.— SCENE  I.  203 

Proposing'  with  the  prince  and  Claudio  : 

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. 

Marg.  I'll  make  her  come,  I  warrant  you,  presently. 

[Exit. 

Hero.  Now,  Ursula,  when  Beatrice  doth  come. 
As  we  do  trace  this  alley  up  and  down. 
Our  talk  must  only  be  of  Benedick  : 
When  I  do  name  him,  let  it  be  thy  part 
To  praise  him  more  than  ever  man  did  merit : 
My  talk  to  thee  must  be,  how  Benedick 
Is  sick  in  love  with  Beatrice  :  Of  this  matter 
Is  little  Cupid's  crafty  arrow  made. 
That  only  wounds  by  hearsay.     Now  begin  ; 

Enter  Beatrice,  behind. 

For  look  where  Beatrice,  like  a  lapwing,  runs 
Close  by  the  ground,  to  hear  our  confidence. 

Vrs.  The  pleasant'st  angling  is  to  see  the  fish 
Cut  with  her  golden  oars  the  silver  stream, 
And  greedily  devour  the  treacherous  bait: 
So  angle  we  for  Beatrice  ;  who  even  now 
Is  couched  in  the  woodbine  coverture  : 
Fear  you  not  my  part  of  the  dialogue. 

Hero.  Then  go  we  near  her,  that  her  ear  lose  nothing 
Of  the  false  sweet  bait  that  we  lay  for  it. — 

[They  advance  to  the  boiver. 
No,  truly,  Ursula,  she  is  too  disdainful ; 
I  know,  her  spirits  are  as  coy  and  wild 

f  rroposing  with  the  prince  and  Claudio:]   Proposing  is  conversing,  from  the 
French  word — propos,  discourse,  talk. — Sjelvens. 
s pleacJied — ]  InterWoven. 


204  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

As  haggards*  of  the  rock. 

Urs.  But  are  you  sure. 

That  Benedick  loves  Beatrice  so  entirely  ? 

Hero.  So  says  the  prince,  and  my  new-trothed  lord. 

Urs.  And  did  they  bid  you  tell  her  of  it,  madam  ? 

Hero.  They  did  intreat  rne  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. 

Urs.  Why  did  you  so  ?  Doth  not  the  gentleman 
Deserve  as  full,  as  fortunate  a  bed. 
As  ever  Beatrice  shall  couch  upon  ? 

Hero.  O  God  of  love  !  I  know,  he  doth  deserve 
As  much  as  may  be  yielded  to  a  man  : 
But  nature  never  fram'd  a  woman's  heart 
Of  prouder  stuff  than  that  of  Beatrice  : 
Disdain  and  scorn  ride  sparkling  in  her  eyes. 
Misprising"  what  they  look  on  ;  and  her  wit 
Values  itself  so  highly,  that  to  her 
All  matter  else  seems  weak  :  she  cannot  love. 
Nor  take  no  shape  nor  project  of  affection. 
She  is  so  self-endeared. 

Urs.  Sure,  I  think  so; 

And  therefore,  certainly,  it  were  not  good 
She  knew  his  love,  lest  she  make  sport  at  it. 

Hero.  Why,  you  speak  truth  :  I  never  yet  saw  man. 
How  wise,  how  noble,  young,  how  rarely  featur'd. 
But  she  would  spell  him  backward  :  if  fair-faced. 
She'd  swear,  the  gentleman  should  be  her  sister ; 
If  black,  why,  nature,  drawing  of  an  antick. 
Made  a  foul  blot :  if  tall,  a  lance  ill-headed  ; 
If  low,  an  agate  very  vilely  cut :" 

' haggariU — ]    The  haggard,  a  wild  hawk — "she  keeps  in  subjection 

the  most  part  of  all  the  fowl  that  fly  ;  insomuch,  that  the  tassel  gentle,  her 
natural  and  chiefest  companion,  dares  not  come  near  that  coast  where  she 
Useth,  nor  sit  by  the  place  where  she  standeth.  Such  is  the  greatness  of  her 
spirit,  she  will  not  admit  of  any  society,  until  such  a  tinio  as  nature  worketh." 
—Lai  HAM  on  Falconry,  quoted  by  Steev£Ns. 

"'  Misprising — ]  Undervaluing. 

" an  agate  very  vilely  cut :]    Alluding  to  the  small  figures  cut  in  agate 

for  rinos.  In  the  interpretation  of  formaglin,  Florio  speaks  of  "  agate-stones, 
cut  and  graven  witlisoine  forms  and  images  on  them,  namely,  of  famous  men's 
heads." — Naees's  Glossary. 


ACT  III.— SCENE  I.  205 

If  speaking,  why,  a  vane  blown  with  all  winds  ; 
If  silent,  why,  a  block  moved  with  none. 
So  turns  she  every  man  the  wrong  side  out ; 
And  never  gives  to  truth  and  virtue,  that 
Which  simpleness  and  merit  purchaseth. 

Urs.  Sure,  sure,  such  carping  is  not  commendable. 

Hero.  No  :  not  to  be  so  odd,  and  from  all  fashions. 
As  Beatrice  is,  cannot  be  commendable  : 
But  who  dare  tell  her  so?  If  I  should  speak. 
She'd  mock  me  into  air;  O  she  would  lautrh  me 
Out  of  myself,  press  me  to  death  with  wit. 
Tiierefore  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.'' 

Urs.  Yet  tell  her  of  it;  hear  what  she  will  say. 

Hero.  No  ;  rather  I  will  go  to  Benedick, 
And  counsel  him  to  fight  against  his  passion  : 
And,  truly,  I'll  devise  some  honest  slanders 
To  stain  my  cousin  with  :  One  doth  not  know. 
How  much  an  ill  word  may  empoison  liking. 

Urs.  O,  do  not  do  your  cousin  such  a  wrong. 
She  cannot  be  so  much  without  true  judgment, 
(Having  so  swift  and  excellent  a  wit. 
As  she  is  priz'd  to  have,)  as  to  refuse 
So  rare  a  gentleman  as  signior  Benedick. 

Hero.  He  is  the  only  man  of  Italy, 
Always  excepted  my  dear  Claudio. 

Urs.  I  pray  you,  be  not  angry  with  me,  madam. 
Speaking  my  fancy  ;  signior  Benedick, 
For  shape,  for  bearing,  argument,^  and  valour. 
Goes  foremost  in  report  through  Italy. 

Hero.  Indeed,  he  hath  an  excellent  good  name. 

Urs.  His  excellence  did  earn  it,  ere  he  had  it. — 
When  are  you  married,  madam  ? 

Hero.  Why,  every  day — to-morrow  :  Come,  go  in  ; 
I'll  show  thee  some  attires;  and  have  thy  counsel. 
Which  is  the  best  to  furnish  me  to-morrow. 

>  tickling.']   Pronounced  tichcling  triiyllabk. 

* argnmentij — or  conversation. 


206  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

Urs.  She's  lim'd*   I  warrant  you ;  we  have  caught  her, 

madam. 
He>o.  If  it  prove  so,  then  loving  goes  by  haps  : 
Some  Cupid  kills  with  arrows,  some  with  traps. 

[Exeunt  Heb^o  and  VnsvLA. 

Beatrice  advances. 

Beat.  What  fire  is  in  mine  ears  ?''  Can  this  be  true  ? 

Stand  I  condemn'd  for  pride  and  scorn  so  much  ? 
Contempt,  farewell !  and  maiden  pride,  adieu  ! 

No  glory  lives  behind  the  back  of  such. 
And,  Benedick,  love  on,  I  will  requite  thee  ; 

Taming  my  wild  heart  to  thy  loving  hand  ^"^ 
If  thou  dost  love,  my  kindness  shall  incite  thee 

To  bind  our  loves  up  in  a  holy  band  : 
For  others  say,  thou  dost  deserve ;  and  I 
Believe  it  better  than  reportingly.  [Exil. 

SCENE  II. 
A  Room  in  Leonato's  House. 

Enter  Don  Pedro,  Claudio,  Benedick, 
and  Leonato. 

D.  Pedro.  I  do  but  stay  till  your  marriage  be  consum- 
mate, and  then  I  go  toward  Arragon. 

Claud.  I'll  bring  you  thither,  my  lord,  if  you'll  vouch- 
safe me. 

D.  Pedro.  Nay,  that  would  be  as  great  a  soil  in  the  new 
gloss  of  your  marriage,  as  to  show  a  child  his  new  coat, 
and  forbid  him  to  wear  it.  I  will  only  be  bold  with  Be- 
nedick for  his  company ;  for,  from  the  crown  of  his  head 

*  She's  lim'd — ]  Entangled  with  birdlime. 

*>  What  fire  is  in  mine  ears  ?]  Alluding  to  the  vulgar  superstition,  that  when  a 
man's  ears  burn  some  one  is  talking  of  him — This  opinion  is  of  great  anti- 
quity ;  it  is  mentioned  by  Pliny,  "  Moreover  is  not  this  opinion  very  generally 
received,  that  when  our  ears  do  glow  and  tingle,  some  there  be  that  in  our  ab- 
sence do  talk  of  us  i" — Philemon  Holland's  Translation,  b.  xxviii.  p.  297. — 
Reed. 

''  Taming  my  wild  hmrl  to  ihi/  loving  hand  ,]  This  image  is  taken  from  fal- 
conry. She  had  been  charged  with  being  as  wild  as  haggards  if  the  rock;  she 
therefore  says,  that  u'i/fi  as  her  heart  is,  she  will  tame  it  to  the  hand. — Johnson. 


ACT  III.— SCENE  II.  207 

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. 

Bene.  Gallants,  I  am  not  as  1  have  been. 

Leon.  So 'Bay  I ;  methinks,  you  are  sadder. 

Claud.  I  hope,  he  be  in  love. 

-D.  Pedro.  Hang  him,  truant ;  there's  no  true  drop  of 
blood  in  him,  to  be  truly  touch'd  with  love  ;  if  he  be  sad, 
he  wants  money. 

Bene.  I  have  the  tooth-ach. 

JD.  Pedro.  Draw  it. 

Bene.  Hang  it  ! 

Claud.  You  must  hang  it  first,  and  draw  it  afterwards. 

D.  Pedro.  What  ?  sigh  for  the  tooth-ach  ? 

Leon.  Where'*  is  but  a  humour,  or  a  worm  ? 

Bene.  Well,  every  one  can  master  grief,  but  he  that 
has  it. 

Claud.  Yet  say  I,  he  is  in  love. 

D.  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  Dutch-man  to-day ;  a  French-man  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,  as  it  appears  he  hath,  he  is  no  fool  for  fancy,  as 
you  would  have  it  appear  he  is. 

Claud.  If  he  be  not  in  love  with  some  woman,  there  is 
no  believing  old  signs  .*  he  brushes  his  hat  o'mornings  j 
What  should  that  bode  ? 

D.  Pedro.  Hath  any  man  seen  him  at  the  bai'ber's  ? 

Claud.  No,  but  the  barber's  man  hath  been  seen  with 
him ;  and  the  old  ornament  of  his  cheek  hath  already 
stuffed  tennis-balls. 

•1  where — ]  So  all  the  copies,  but  ivhicit  would  seem  to  be  the  true  reading. 

® no  appeura7}ce  of  fancy — ]  Here  is  a  play  on  the  word  fancy  which 

Shakspeare  uses  for  love  as  well  as  for  hianour,  caprice,  or  affectation. — 
Johnson. 

f ail  slops ;]  Slops  are  large  loose  breeches,  or  trowsen,  worn  only  by 

sailors  at  present. — Nichols. 


208  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

Leon.  Indeed,  he  looks  younger  than  he  did,  by  the  loss 
of  a  beard. 

D.  Pedro.  Nay,  he  rubs  himself  with  civet :  Can  you 
smell  him  out  by  that '.' 

Claud.  That's  as  much  as  to  say.  The  sweet  youth's  in 
love. 

D.  Pedro.  The  greatest  note  of  it  is  his  melancholy. 

Claud.  And  when  was  he  wont  to  wash  his  face? 

D.  Pedro.  Yea,  or  to  paint  himself  ?  for  the  which,  I 
hear  what  they  say  of  him. 

Claud.  Nay,  but  his  jesting  spirit;  which  is  now  crept 
into  a  lutestring,  and  now  governed  by  stops. 

D.  Pedro.  Indeed,  that  tells  a  heavy  tale  for  him  :  Con- 
clude, conclude,  he  is  in  love. 

Claud.  Nay,  but  I  know  who  loves  him. 

D.  Pedro.  That  would  I  know  too;  I  warrant,  one  that 
knows  him  not. 

Claud.  Yes,  and  his  ill  conditions ;  and,  in  despite  of 
all,  dies  for  him. 

D.  Pedro.  She  shall  be  buried  with  her  face  upwards. 

Bene.  Yet  is  this  no  charm  for  the  tooth-ach. — Old  sig- 
nior,  walk  aside  with  me ;  I  have  studied  eight  or  nine 
wise  words  to  speak  to  you,  which  these  hobby-horses 
must  not  hear. 

[Exeunt  Benedick  rt;«(7  Leonato. 

D.  Pedro.  For  my  life,  to  break  with  him  about  Bea- 
trice. 

Claud.  'Tis  even  so :  Hero  and  Margaret  have  by  this 
played  their  parts  with  Beatrice  ;  and  then  the  two  bears 
will  not  bite  one  another,  when  thejf^  meet. 

Enter  Don  John. 

1).  John.  My  lord  and  brother,  God  save  you. 

D.  Pedro.  Good  den,  brother. 

D.  John.  If  your  leisure  served,  I  would  speak  with 
you. 

D.  Pedro.  In  private  t 

D.  .John.  If  it  please  you ; — yet  count  Claudio  may  hear 
for  what  I  would  speak  of,  concerns  him. 

D.Pedro.  What's  the  matter? 


ACT  III.— SCENE  II.  209 

D.  John.  Means  your  lordship  to  be  married  to-mor- 
row? [ToClaudio. 

-D.  Pedro.  You  know  he  does. 

D.  John.  I  know  not  that,  when  he  knows  what  I  know. 

Claud.  If  there  be  any  impediment,  I  pray  you  dis- 
cover it. 

-D.  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,  I  think,  he  holds  you  well ; 
and  in  dearness  of  heart  hath  holp  to  effect  your  ensuing 
marriage  :  surely,  suit  ill  spent,  and  labour  ill  bestowed  ! 

jD.  Pedro.  Why,  what's  the  matter? 

D.  John.  I  come  hither  to  tell  you  ;  and,  circumstances 
shortened,  (for  she  hath  been  too  long  a  talking  of,)  the 
lady  is  disloyal. 

Claud.  Who?  Hero? 

D.  John.  Even  she;  Leonato's  Hero,  your  Hero,  every 
man's  Hero. 

Claud.  Disloyal  ? 

D.  John,  The  word  is  too  good  to  point  out  her  wick- 
edness ;  I  could  say  she  were  worse  ;  think  you  of  a  worse 
title  ;  and  I  will  fit  her  to  it.  Wonder  not  till  further  war- 
rant :  go  but  with  me  to-night,  you  shall  see  her  chamber- 
window  entered  ;  even  the  night  before  her  wedding-day  : 
if  you  love  her  then,  to-morrow  wed  her;  but  it  would 
better  fit  your  honour  to  change  your  mind. 

Claud.  May  this  be  so? 

D.  Pedro.  I  will  not  think  it. 

-D.  John.  If  you  dare  not  trust  that  you  see,  confess  not 
that  you  know :  if  you  will  follow  me,  I  will  shew  you 
enough ;  and  when  you  have  seen  more,  and  heard  more, 
proceed  accordingly. 

Claud.  If  I  see  any  thing  to-night  why  I  should  not 
marry  her  to-morrow ;  in  the  congregation  where  I  should 
wed,  there  will  I  shame  her. 

D.  Pedro.  And,  as  I  wooed  for  thee  to  obtain  her,  I  will 
join  with  thee  to  disgrace  her. 

D.  John.  I  will  disparage  her  no  farther,  till  you  are  my 
witnesses  :  bear  it  coldly  but  till  midnight,  and  let  the 
issue  show  itself. 


210  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

D.  Pedro.  O  day  untowardly  turned  ! 
Claud.  O  mischief  strangely  thwarting  ! 
D.  John.  O  plague  right  well  prevented  ! 
So  will  you  say,  when  you  have  seen  the  sequel.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III. 

A  Street. 

Enter  Dogberry  and  Verges,§  with  the  Watch. 

Dogb.  Are  you  good  men  and  true  ? 

Verg.  Yea,  or  else  it  were  pity  but  they  should  suffer 
salvation,  body  and  soul. 

Dogb.  Nay,  that  were  a  punishment  too  good  for  them, 
if  they  should  have  any  allegiance  in  them,  being  chosen 
for  the  prince's  \vatch. 

Verg.  Well,  give  them  their  charge,''  neighbour  Dog- 
berry. 

Dogb.  First,  who  think  you  the  most  desartless  man  to 
be  constable  ?  , 

1  Watch.  Hugh  Oatcake,  sir,  or  George  Seacoal;  for 
they  can  write  and  read. 

Dogb.  Come  hither,  neighbour  Seacoal :  God  hath 
blessed  you  with  a  good  name :  to  be  a  well-favoured  man 
is  the  gift  of  fortune ;  but  to  write  and  read  comes  by  na- 
ture. 

2  Watch.  Both  which,  master  constable, 

Dogb.  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 

e Dogberry  and  Verges,]  The  first  of  these  worthies  had  his  name  from 

the  Dog-berri;,  i.  e.  the  female  cornel,  a  shrub  tliat  grows  in  the  hedges  in  every 
county  of  England.  Verges  is  only  the  provincial  i)ronunciation  of  Verjuice. — 
Stf.evens.  It  is  mentioned  by  Aubrey  that  "the  humour  of  the  constable 
Shakspeare  happened  to  take  at  Gundon,  in  Bucks,  which  is  the  road  from 
London  to  Stratford,  and  there  was  living  that  constable  about  1642."  Bodleian 
Letters,  vol.  3.  p.  307. 

''  their  chnrge,]   To  charge  his  fellows  seems~to  have  been  a  regular 

part  of  the  duty  of  the  constable  of  the  watcli. — Malone. 

'  In  the  age  of  queen  Elizabeth,  to  read  and  write  was  not  nearly  so  common 
as  at  present. — Fitzherbert,  in  his  "IjooR  of  Husbandry,"  1534,  advises  those 
gentlemen  in  tlie  country  who  could  not  write,  to  aid  their  memory  by  making 
notches  on  a  stick.     Out  of  nineteen  persons  of  the  corporation  of  Stratford, 


ACT  III.— SCENE  III.  211 

thought  here  to  be  the  most  senseless  and  fit  man  for  the 
constable  of  the  watch  ;  therefore  bear  you  the  lantern  : 
This  is  your  charge  ;  You  shall  comprehand  all  vagrom 
men  :  you  are  to  bid  any  man  stand,  in  the  prince's  name. 

2  Watch.  How  if  he  will  not  stand  ? 

Dogb.  Why  then,  take  no  note  of  him,  but  let  him  go  ; 
and  presently  call  the  rest  of  the  watch  together,  and 
thank  God  you  are  rid  of  a  knave. 

Verg.  If  he  will  not  stand  when  he  is  bidden,  he  is  none 
of  the  prince's  subjects. 

Dogb.  True,  and  they  are  to  meddle  with  none  but  the 
prince's  subjects: — You  shall  also  make  no  noise  in  the 
streets  ;  for,  for  the  watch  to  babble  and  talk,  is  most  to- 
lerable and  not  to  be  endured. 

2  Watch.  We  will  rather  sleep  than  talk ;  we  know  what 
belongs  to  a  watch. 

Dogb.  Why,  you  speak  like  an  ancient  and  most  quiet 
watchman ;  for  I  cannot  see  how  sleeping  should  offend  : 
only,  have  a  care  that  your  bills  be  not  stolen  :*" — Well, 
you  are  to  call  at  all  the  alehouses,  and  bid  those  that  are 
drunk  get  them  to  bed. 

2  Watch.  How  if  they  will  not  ? 

Dogb.  Why,  then,  let  them  alone  till  they  are  sober;  if 
they  make  you  not  then  the  better  answer,  you  may  say, 
they  are  not  the  men  you  took  them  for. 

2  Watch.  Well,  sir! 

Dogb.  If  you  meet  a  thief,  you  may  suspect  him,  by 
virtue  of  your  office,  to  be  no  true  man  :  and,  for  such  kind 
of  men,  the  less  you  meddle  or  make  with  them,  why,  the 
more  is  for  your  honesty. 

2  Watch.  If  we  know  him  to  be  a  thief,  shall  we  not  lay 
hands  on  him  ? 

Dogb,  Truly  by  your  office,  you  may ;  but,  I  think, 
they  that  touch  pitch  will  be  defiled  :  the  most  peaceable 
way  for  you,  if  you  do  take  a  thief,  is,  to  let  him  show  him- 
self what  he  is,  and  steal  out  of  your  company. 

seven  only  could  write,  their  names;  and  our  author's  father  was  among  the 
twelve  who  signed  with  a  mark. 

^ bills  be  nol  stolen : — ]  A  bill  is  still  carried  by  the  watchmen  at  Litch- 
field. It  was  the  old  weapon  of  English  infantry,  which,  says  Temple,  gave 
the  most  ghastly  and  deplorable  tvoitnds.  It  may  be  called  securis  falcata. — 
Johnson. 


212  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

Verg.  You  have  been  always  called  a  merciful  maiij 
partner. 

Dogb.  Truly,  I  would  not  hang  a  dog  by  my  will ;  much 
more  a  man  who  hath  any  honesty  in  him. 

Verg.  If  you  hear  a  child  cry  in  the  night,  you  must 
call  to  the  nurse,  and  bid  her  still  it. 

2  Watch.  How  if  the  nurse  be  asleep,  and  will  not 
hear  us  ? 

Dogb.  Why  then,  depart  in  peace,  and  let  the  child 
wake  her  with  crying :  for  the  ewe  that  will  not  hear 
her  lamb  when  it  baes,  will  never  answer  a  calf  when  he 
bleats. 

Verg.  'Tis  very  true. 

Dogb.  This  is  the  end  of  the  charge.  You,  constable, 
are  to  present  the  prince's  own  person ;  if  you  meet  the 
prince  in  the  night,  you  may  stay  him. 

Verg.  Nay  by'r  lady,  that,  I  think,  he  cannot. 

Dogb.  Five  shillings  to  one  on't,  with  any  man  that 
knows  the  statues,  he  may  stay  him  :  marry  not  without 
the  prince  be  willing  :  for,  indeed,  the  watch  ought  to 
offend  no  man  ;  and  it  is  an  offence  to  stay  a  man  against 
his  will. 

f'^erg.  By'r  lady,  I  think,  it  be  so. 

Dogb,  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  Well,  masters,  good  night :  an  there 
be  any  matter  of  weight  chances,  call  up  me  :  keep  your 
fellows'  counsels  and  your  own,  and  good  night. — Come, 
neighbour. 

2  Watch.  Well,  masters,  we  hear  our  charge  :  let  us 
go  sit  here  upon  the  church-bench  till  two,  and  then  all 
to-bed. 

Dogb.  One  word  more,  honest  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  you. 

\_Eieunt  Dogberry  and  Verges. 

Enter  Bokaciiio  and  Conrade. 

Bora.  What !  Conrade, — 

Watch.  Peace,  stir  not.  [Aside. 

Bora.  Conrade,  I  say  ! 


ACT  III.— SCENE  III.  213 

Con.  Here,  man,  I  am  at  thy  elbow. 

Bora.  Mass,  and  mv  elbow  itched  ;  I  thoug-ht,  there 
would  a  scab  follow. 

Con.  I  will  owe  thee  an  answer  for  that ;  and  now  for- 
ward with  thy  tale. 

Bora.  Stand  thee  close  then  under  this  pent-house,  for 
it  drizzles  rain  ;  and  I  will,  like  a  true  drunkard,'  utter  all 
to  thee. 

Watch,  [aside.]  Some  treason,  masters  ;  yet  stand 
close. 

Bora.  Therefore  know,  I  have  earned  of  Don  John  a 
thousand  ducats. 

Con.  Is  it  possible  that  any  villainy  should  be  so  dear? 

Bora.  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  make  what  price 
they  will. 

Con.  I  wonder  at  it. 

Bora.  That  shews,  thou  art  unconfirmed  :'"  Thou  know- 
est,  that  the  fashion  of  a  doublet,  or  a  hat,  or  a  cloak,  is 
nothing  to  a  man. 

Con.  Yes,  it  is  apparel. 

Bora.  I  mean,  the  fashion. 

Con.  Yes,  the  fashion  is  the  fashion. 

Bora.  Tush !  I  may  as  well  say,  the  fool's  the  fool.  But 
see'st  thou  not  what  a  deformed  thief  this  fashion  is? 

Watch.  I  know  that  Deformed  ;  he  has  been  a  vile  thief 
this  sev^en  year ;  he  goes  up  and  down  like  a  gentleman  : 
I  remember  his  name. 

Bora.  Didst  thou  not  hear  somebody? 

Con.  No  ;  'twas  the  vane  on  the  house. 

Bora.  Seest  thou  not,  I  say,  what  a  deformed  thief  this 
fashion  is  ?  how  giddily  he  turns  about  all  the  hot  bloods, 
between  fourteen  and  five-and-thirty  ?  sometime,  fashion- 
ing them  like  Pharaoh's  soldiers  in  the  reechy  painting ;" 
sometime,  like  god  Bel's  priests  in  the  old  church-window ; 

I  true  drunkard,']    This  trait  of  his  character  accounts  for  the  name 

which  Shakspeare  has  given  him  —  Borachio  —  from  Boraccho  Spanish,  a 
dninkard. — Steevens. 

ID unconjirmed :']  i.  e.  Unpractised  in  the  ways  of  the  world. 

n reechy  painting  ;]  Is  painting  discoloured  by  smoke. — Steevens. 

VOL.   II.  Q 


214  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

sometime,  like  the  shaven  Hercules"  in  the  smirchedi^  worm- 
eaten  tapestry,  where  his  cod-piece  seems  as  massy  as 
his  club  ? 

Con.  All  this  I  see ;  and  see,  that  the  fashion  wears  out 
more  apparel  than  the  man  :  But  art  not  thou  thyself 
giddy  with  the  fashion  too,  that  thou  hast  shifted  out  of 
thy  tale  into  telling  me  of  the  fashion  ? 

Bora.  Not  so  neither :  but  know,  that  I  have  to-night 
wooed  Margaret,  the  lady  Hero's  gentlewoman,  by  the 
name  of  Hero  ;  she  leans  me  out  at  her  mistress'  chamber- 
window  ;  bids  me  a  thousand  times  good  night, — I  tell 
this  tale  vilely  : — I  should  first  tell  thee,  how  the  Prince, 
Claudio,  ar^d  my  master,  planted,  and  placed,  and  pos- 
sessed by  my  master  Don  John,  saw  afar  off  in  the  orchard 
this  amiable  encounter. 

Con.  And  thought  they,  Margaret  was  Hero? 
Bora.  Two  of  them  did,  the  Prince  and  Claudio  ;  but 
the  devil  my  master  knew  she  was  Margaret :  and  partly 
by  his  oaths,  which  first  possessed  them,  partly  by  the 
dark  night,  which  did  deceive  them,  but  chiefly  by  my 
villainy,  which  did  confirm  any  slander  that  Don  John 
had  made,  away  went  Claudio  enraged  ;  swore  he  would 
meet  her  as  he  was  appointed,  next  morning  at  the  temple, 
and  there,  before  the  whole  congregation,  shame  her  with 
what  he  saw  over-night,  and  send  her  home  again  without 
a  husband. 

1  Watch.  We  charge  you  in  the  prince's  name,  stand. 

2  Watch.  Call  up  the  right  master  constable  :  We  have 
here  recovered  the  most  dangerous  piece  of  lechery  that 
ever  was  known  in  the  commonwealth. 

1  Watch.  And  one  Deformed  is  one  of  them :  I  know 
him,  he  wears  a  lock.'' 


o shaven  Hercules — ]  Shaven  to  look  like  a  woman  wliile  in  the  service 

of  the  Lydian  Omphale. — Steevens. 

p smirched — ]  Soiled. 

q a  lock.'\  A  love-lock,  a  pendant  lock  of  hair,  often  plaited  and  tied 

with  riband,  and  hanging  at  the  ear,  wliich  was  a  very  prevalent  fashion  in 
the  days  of  Shakspeare  and  afterwards.  This  lock  was  worn  on  the  left  side, 
and  hung  down  by  the  shoulder,  considerably  longer  than  the  rest  of  the  hair, 
sometimes  even  to  the  girdle.  Against  this  fashion  Prynne  wrote  a  treatise 
called  the  Unloveliness  of  Love-lochs,  in  which  he  considered  them  as  very  un- 
godly. —They  were  sometimes  called  heart-breakers, — Naues. 


ACT  III.— SCENE  IV.  215 

Con.  Masters,  masters. 

2  Watch.  You'll  be  made  bring  Deformed  forth,  I  war- 
rant you. 

Con.  Masters, — 

1  Waich.  Never  speak  ;  we  charge  you,  let  us  obey  you 
to  go  with  us. 

Bora.  We  are  like  to  prove  a  goodly  commodity,  being 
taken  up  of  these  men's  bills. 

Con.  A  commodity  in  question,"^  I  warrant  you.  Come, 
we'll  obey  you.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV. 

A  Room  in  Leonato's  House. 

Enter  Hero,  Margaret,  and  Ursula. 

Hero.  Good  Ursula,  wake  my  cousin  Beatrice,  and  de- 
sire her  to  rise. 

Urs.  I  will,  lady. 

Hero.  And  bid  her  come  hither. 

Urs.  Well.  [Exit  Ursula. 

Marg.  Troth,  I  think,  your  other  rabato^  were  better. 

Hero.  No,  pray  thee,  good  Meg,  I'll  wear  this. 

Marg.  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. 

Marg.  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. 

Marg.  By  my  troth  it's  but  a  night-gown  in  respect  of 
your's  :  Cloth  of  gold,  and  cuts,  and  laced  with  silver ; 
set  with  pearls,  down-sleeves,  side-sleeves,"  and  skirts 

■■  A  commodity  in  question,]  Subject  to  judicial  trial  or  examination. — 
Steevens. 

* rabato — ]    An  ornament  for  the  neck,  a  collar-band  or  kind  of  niff. 

Fr.  Babat. — T.  Hawkins. 

' the  hair — ]  The  false  hair  attached  to  her  head-dress. 

"  •  side-s/eewes,]  Side-sleeves  mean  long  ones. 

Q    2 


216  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

round,  underborne  with  a  blueish  tinsel :  but  for  a  fine, 
quaint,  graceful,  and  excellent  fashion,  your's  is  worth 
ten  on't. 

Hero.  Give  me  joy  to  wear  it,  for  my  heart  is  exceeding- 
heavy. 

Marg.  'Twill  be  heavier  soon,  by  the  weight  of  a  man. 

Hero.  Fye  upon  thee  !  art  not  ashamed  ? 

Marg.  Of  what,  lady  ?  of  speaking  honourably  ?  Is  not 
marriage  honourable  in  a  beggar?  Is  not  your  lord  honour- 
able without  marriage  ?  I  think,  you  would  have  me  say, 
saving  your  reverence, — a  husband :  an  bad  thinking  do 
not  wrest  true  speaking,  I'll  offend  nobody  :  Is  there  any 
harm  in — the  heavier  for  a  husband  ?  None,  I  think,  an  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. 

Beat.  Good  morrow,  sweet  Hero. 

Hero.  Why,  how  now  !  do  you  speak  in  the  sick  tune  ? 

Beat.  I  am  out  of  all  other  tune,  methinks. 

Marg.  Clap  us  into — Light  o'  love  ;^  that  goes  without 
a  burden ;  do  you  sing  it,  and  I'll  dance  it. 

Beat.  Yea,  Light  o'  love,  with  your  heels  ! — then  if  your 
husband  have  stables  enough,  you'll  see  he  shall  lack  no 
barns. y 

Marg.  O  illegitimate  construction !  I  scorn  that  with  my 
heels. 

Beat.  'Tis  almost  five  o'clock,  cousin ;  'tis  time  you 
were  ready.     By  my  troth  I  am  exceeding  ill . — hey  ho  ! 

Marg.  For  a  hawk,  a  horse,  or  a  husband? 

Beat.  For  the  letter  that  begins  them  all,  H.'' 


"  Light  'o  love ;]  This  is  the  name  of  an  old  dance  tune,  which  occurs  also  in 
The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona. 

y no  barns.]  A  quibble  between  barns,  repositories  of  corn,  and  bairns, 

the  old  word  for  children.— Johnson. 

z H. — ]  aclie  —  these  words  retained  their  similarity  of  sound  to  the 

time  of  Swift :  this  example  is  sufficient  to  prove  that  Mr.  Kemble  was  certainly 
right  in  his  dispute  with  the  mob  of  the  pit  and  upper  boxes  on  the  manner  of 
pronouncing  the  word  aches  in  the  Tempest. 


ACT  III.— SCENE  IV.  217 

Marg.  Well,  an  you  be  not  turned  Turk/  there's  no 
more  sailing  by  the  star. 

Beat.  What  means  the  fool,  trow  ?'' 

Marg.  Nothing  I ;  but  God  send  every  one  their  heart's 
desire  ! 

He7o.  These  gloves  the  count  sent  me,  they  are  an  ex- 
cellent perfume. 

Beat.  I  am  stuffed,  cousin,  I  cannot  smell. 

Marg.  A  maid,  and  stuffed  !  there's  goodly  catching  of 
cold. 

Btat.  O,  God  help  me  !  God  help  me  !  how  long  have 
you  profess'd  apprehension  ? 

Marg.  Ever  since  you  left  it :  doth  not  my  wit  become 
me  rarely  ? 

Beat.  It  is  not  seen  enough,  you  should  wear  it  in  your 
cap. — By  my  troth,  I  am  sick. 

Marg.  Get  you  some  of  this  distilled  Carduus  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. 

Beat.  Benedictus  !  why  Benedictus?  you  have  some 
moral''  in  this  Benedictus. 

Marg.  Moral?  no,  by  my  troth,  I  have  no  moral  mean- 
ing; I  meant,  plain  holy-thistle.  You  may  think,  per- 
chance, that  I  think  you  are  in  love  :  nay,  by'r  lady,  I  am 
not  such  a  fool  to  think  what  I  list;  nor  I  list  not  to  think 
what  I  can;  nor,  indeed,  I  cannot  think,  if  I  would  think 
my  heart  out  of  thinking,  that  you  are  in  love,  or  that  j'ou 
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 


* turned  Turk,'\  i.  e.  Taken  captive  by  love,  and  turned  a  renegado  to 

his  religion. — Warburton.  To  turn  Turk  was  a  common  expression  for 
change  of  condition  or  opinion. 

^ trow  ?]  A  common  exclamation  for  I  f  row  or  trow  you  : — to  trow  is  to 

imagine  or  conceive. 

■"  Carduus  Benedictus,]  Oi  "  blessed  thistle,  so  worthily  named  for  the  singular 
virtues  that  it  hath." — Cogan.  Haven  of  Health.  159o. 

<* some  moral — ]  That  is,  some  secret  meaning,  like  the  moral  of  a  fable. 

— Johnson. 


218  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

may  be  converted,  I  know  not ;  but  methinks,  you  look 
with  your  eyes  as  other  women  do.*^ 

Beat.  What  pace  is  this  that  thy  tongue  keeps? 

Marg.  Not  a  false  gallop. 

Re-enter  Ursula. 

Urs.  Madam,  withdraw ;  the  prince,  the  count,  signior 
Benedick,  Don  John,  and  all  the  gallants  of  the  town,  are 
come  to  fetch  you  to  church. 

Hero.  Help  to  dress  me,  good  coz,  good  Meg,  good 
Ursula.  {Ilxeunt. 

SCENE  V. 

Another  Room  in  Leonato's  House. 

Enter  Leonato,  ?wVA  Dogberry  owe?  Verges. 

Leon.  What  would  you  with  me,  honest  neighbour? 

Dogb.  Marry,  sir,  I  would  have  some  confidence  with 
you,  that  decerns  you  nearly. 

Leon.  Brief,  I  pray  you ;  for  you  see,  'tis  a  busy  time 
with  me. 

Dogb.  Marry,  this  it  is,  sir. 

Verg.  Yes,  in  truth  it  is,  sir. 

Leon.  What  is  it,  my  good  friends  ? 

Dogb.  Goodman  Verges,  sir,  speaks  a  little  off  the  mat- 
ter :  an  old  man,  sir,  and  his  wits  are  not  so  blunt,  as 
Gt)d  help,  I  would  desire  they  were  ;  but,  in  faith,  honest, 
as  the  skin  between  his  brows.*^ 

Verg.  Yes,  I  thank  God,  I  am  as  honest  as  any  man 
living,  that  is  an  old  man,  and  no  honester  than  I. 

Dogb.  Comparisons  are  odorous  :  palabras,^  neighbour 
Verges. 

« as  other  women  do.']  You  look  towards  the  same  object — a  husband. — 

Steevens. 

f skin  between  his  brows.']  This  was  a  proverbial  expression,  and  meta- 
phorically applied  where  the  brow  was  fair  and  smooth : — it  conveys  no  great 
compliment  when  used  as  descriptive  of  the  honesty  of  the  old  and  wrinkled 
Verges. 

K  palahras,]  So,  in  The  taming  of  the  Shrew,  the  tinker  says,  ])ocas  pnlabras, 

i.  e.  few  words.  A  scrap  of  Spanish,  which  might  once  have  been  current 
.-imong  the  vulgar. — S'l  eevens. 


ACT  III.— SCENE  V.  219 

Leon.  Neighbours,  you  are  tedious. 

Dogb.  It  pleases  your  worship  to  say  so,  but  we  are 
the  poor  duke's  officers  ;  but,  truly,  for  mine  own  part, 
if  I  were  as  tedious  as  a  king,  I  could  find  in  my  heart  to 
bestow  it  all  of  your  worship. 

Leon.  All  the  tediousness  on  me  !  ha  ! 

Dogb.  Yea,  and  'twere  a  thousand  times  more  than  'tis  : 
for  I  hear  as  good  exclamation  on  your  worship,  as  of  any 
man  in  the  city  ;  and  though  I  be  but  a  poor  man,  I  am 
glad  to  hear  it. 

Verg.  And  so  am  I. 

Leon.  I  would  fain  know  what  you  have  to  say. 

Verg.  Marry,  sir,  our  watch  to-night,  excepting  your 
worship's  presence,  have  ta'en  a  couple  of  as  arrant  knaves 
as  any  in  Messina. 

Dogb.  A  good  old  man,  sir ;  he  will  be  talking  ;  as  they 
say.  When  the  age  is  in,  the  wit  is  out ;  God  help  us  !  it 
is  a  world  to  see  ! — 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  wor- 
shipped :  All  men  are  not  alike ;  alas,  good  neighbour  ! 

Leon.  Indeed,  neighbour,  he  comes  too  short  of  you. 

Dogb.  Gifts,  that  God  gives. 

Leon.  I  must  leave  you. 

Dogb.  One  word,  sir :  our  watch,  sir,  have,  indeed, 
comprehended  two  aspicious  persons,  and  we  would  have 
them  this  morning  examined  before  your  worship. 

Leon.  Take  their  examination  yourself,  and  bring  it  me ; 
I  am  now  in  great  haste,  as  it  may  appear  unto  you. 

Dogb.  It  shall  be  suffigance. 

Leon.  Drink  some  wine  ere  you  go:  fare  you  well. 

Enter  a  Messenger, 

Mess.  My  lord,  they  stay  for  you  to  give  your  daughter 
to  her  husband. 

Leon.  I  will  wait  upon  them  ;  I  am  ready. 

[Exeunt  Leonato  and  Messenger. 
Dogb.  Go,  good  partner,  go,  get  you  to  Francis  Sea- 


220  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

coal,  bid  him  bring  his  pen  and  inkhorn  to  the  gaol ;  we 
are  now  to  examination  these  men. 

Verg.  And  we  must  do  it  wisely. 

Dogb.  We  will  spare  for  no  wit,  I  warrant  you  ;  here's 
that  [touching  his  forehead]  shall  drive  some  of  them  to  a 
wow  com  ;8  only  get  the  learned  writer  to  set  down  our  ex- 
communication, and  meet  me  at  the  gaol.  [Exeutit. 


ACT   IV. 

Scene  I. — The  Inside  of  a  Church. 

EnterDon  Pedro,  Don  John,  Leonato, Friar, Clau dig. 
Benedick,  Hero,  a?id  Beatrice,  Ssc. 

Leon.  Come,  friar  Francis,  be  brief;  only  to  the  plain 
form  of  marriage,  and  you  shall  recount  their  particular 
duties  afterward. 

Friar.  You  come  hither,  my  lord,  to  marry  this  lady  ? 

Claud.  No. 

Leon.  To  be  married  to  her,  friar ;  you  come  to  marry 
her. 

Friar.  Lady,  you  come  hither  to  be  married  to  this 
count  ? 

Hero.  I  do. 

Friar.  If  either  of  you  know  any  inward  impediment 
why  you  should  not  be  conjoined,  I  charge  you,  on  your 
souls,  to  utter  it. 

Claud.  Know  you  any.  Hero  ? 

Hero.  None,  my  lord. 

Friar.  Know  you  any,  count  ? 

Leon.  I  dare  make  his  answer,  none. 

Claud.  O,  what  men  dare  do  !  what  men  may  do  !  what 
men  daily  do  !  not  knowing  what  they  do  ! 

Bene.  How  now  !  Interjections  ?  Why,  then  some  be 
of  laughino-,''  as,  ha !  ha !  he  ! 

E to  a  non  com  :]  i.  c.  'J'o  a  nan  compos  mentis ;  or,  perhaps,  he  con- 
founds the  term  with  nonpbis. — Mai.one. 

''  some  be  of  laughing,]    This  is  a  quotation  from  the  Accidsnce. — 

Johnson. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  I.  221 

Claud.  Stand  thee  by,  friar  :— Father,  by  your  leave ; 
Will  you  with  free  and  unconstrained  soul 
Give  me  this  maid,  your  daughter  ? 

Leon.  As  freely,  son,  as  God  did  give  her  me. 
Claud.  And  what  have  I  to  give  you  back,  whose  worth 
May  counterpoise  this  rich  and  precious  gift  ? 

D.  Pedro.  Nothing,  unless  you  render  her  again. 
Claud.  Sweet  prince,  you  learn  me  noble  thankfulness. — 
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 ! 
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  guiltiness,  not  modesty. 
Leon.  What  do  you  mean,  my  lord  ? 
Claud.  Not  to  be  married, 

Not  to  knit  my  soul  to  an  approved  wanton. 

Leon.  Dear  my  lord,  if  you,  in  your  own  proof 
Have  vanquish'd  the  resistance  of  her  youth. 
And  made  defeat  of  her  virginity, — 

Claud    I  know  what  you  would  say  ;  If  I  have  known 
You'll  say,  she  did  embrace  me  as  a  husband,  [her. 

And  so  extenuate  the  'forehand  sin  : 
No,  Leonato, 

I  never  tempted  her  with  word  too-large  -^ 
But,  as  a  brother  to  his  sister,  shew'd 
Bashful  sincerity,  and  comely  love. 

Hero.  And  seem'd  I  ever  otherwise  to  you  ? 
Claud.  Out  on  thy  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 

' iuxurioxis — ]  i.  e.  Lascivious. 

'' word  too  large ;]  i.  e.  Lvcentious. 


222  MUCH  ADO  A^OUT  NOTHING. 

Than  Venus,  or  those  pamper'd  animals 
That  rage  in  savage  sensuality. 

Hero.  Is  my  lord  well,  that  he  doth  speak  so  wide  ?' 

Leon.  Sweet  prince,  why  speak  not  you? 

D.  Pedro.  What  should  I  speak  ? 

I  stand  dishonour'd,  that  have  gone  about 
To  link  my  dear  friend  to  a  common  stale. 

Leon.  Are  these  things  spoken?  or  do  I  but  dream? 

D.  John.  Sir,  they  are  spoken,  and  these  things  are  true. 

Bene.  This  looks  not  like  a  nuptial. 

Hero.  True,  O  God  ! 

Claud.  Leonato,  stand  I  here  ? 
Is  this  the  prince?  Is  this  the  prince's  own  brother? 
Is  this  face  Hero's  ?  Are  our  eyes  our  own  ? 

Leon.  All  this  is  so  ;  But  what  of  this,  my  lord  ? 

Claud.  Let  me  but  move  one  question  to  your  daughter ; 
And,  by  that  fatherly  and  kindly  power"" 
That  you  have  in  her,  bid  her  answer  truly. 

Leon.  I  charge  thee  do  so,  as  thou  art  my  child. 

Hero.  O  God  defend  me  !  how  am  I  beset ! — 
What  kind  of  catechising  call  you  this  ? 

Claud.  To  make  you  answer  truly  to  your  name. 

Hero.  Is  it  not  Hero  ?  Who  can  blot  that  name 
With  any  just  reproach  ? 

Claud.  Marry,  that  can  Hero  ; 

Hero  itself  can  blot  out  Hero's  virtue. 
What  man  was  he  talk'd  with  you  yesternight 
Out  at  your  window,  betwixt  twelve  and  one  ? 
Now,  if  you  are  a  maid,  answer  to  this. 

Hero.  I  talk'd  with  no  man  at  that  hour,  my  lord. 

D,  Pedro.  Why,  then  you  are  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," 

'  '''"'  ''«  dolh  speak  so  wide  1]     i.  o.    So   remotely  from  the   present 

business. — Steevens. 

"" kindly  power — ]  That  is,  natural  power,  kind  is  vatnre. — Johnson. 

" liberal  viliam,'}  Liberal  here,  as  in  many  j)laces  of  these  plays,  mcaus 

Jrank,  bei/ond  honestii,  or  decency.     Free  of  tan^ue. — Johnson. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  I.  223 

Confess'd  the  vile  encounters  they  have  had 
A  thousand  times  in  secret. 

D.  John.  Fye,  fye  !  they  are 

Not  to  be  nam'd,  my  lord,  not  to  be  spoke  of: 
There  is  not  chastity  enough  in  language. 
Without  offence,  to  utter  them  :  Thus,  pretty  lady, 
I  am  sorry  for  thy  much  misgovernment. 

Claud.  O  Hero  !   what  a  Hero  hadst  thou  been. 
If  half  thy  outward  graces  had  been  placed 
About  thy  thoughts,  and  counsels  of  thy  heart ! 
But,  fare  thee  well,  most  foul,  most  fair  !  farewell. 
Thou  pure  impiety,  and  impious  purity  ! 
For  thee  I'll  lock  up  all  the  gates  of  love. 
And  on  my  eye-lids  shall  conjecture"  hang. 
To  turn  all  beauty  into  thoughts  of  harm, 
And  never  shall  it  more  be  gracious. p 

Leon.  Hath  no  man's  dagger  here  a  point  for  me  ? 

[Hero  stvoons. 

Beat.  Why,  how  now,  cousin?  wherefore  sink  you  down? 

D.  John.  Come,  let  us  go  :  these  things,  come  thus  to 

Smother  her  spirits  up.  [hght, 

\_Exeunt  Don  Pedro,  Don  John,  and  Claudio. 

Bene.  How  doth  the  lady  ? 

Beat.  Dead,  I  think  ; — help,  uncle  ; — 

Hero  !  why.  Hero  ! — Uncle  ! — Signior  Benedick  !• — friar  ! 

Leon.  O  fate,  take  not  away  thy  heavy  hand  ! 
Death  is  the  fairest  cover  for  her  shame. 
That  may  be  wish'd  for. 

Beat.  How,  now,  cousin  Hero? 

Friar.  Have  comfort,  lady. 

Leon.  Dost  thou  look  up  ? 

Friar.  Yea ;  Wherefore  should  she  not  ? 

Leon.  Wherefore  ?    Why,  doth  not  every  earthly  thing. 
Cry  shame  upon  her?  Could  she  here  deny 
The  story  that  is  printed  in  her  blood  ?i 
Do  not  live.  Hero  ;  do  not  ope  thine  eyes  : 
For  did  I  think  thou  would'st  not  quickly  die, 

o conjecture — ]  Conjecture  is  here  used  for  suspicion. 

1' gracious.'\  i.  e.  Lovely,  attractive. 

•i  The  story  that  is  printed  in  lier  blood'!'\    That  is,  t/ie  sloitj  lohich  her  bluiha 
discover  to  be  true. — Johnson. 


224  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

Thought  I  thy  spirits  were  stronger  than  thy  shames. 

Myself  would,  on  the  rearward  of  reproaches. 

Strike  at  thy  life.     Griev'd  I,  I  had  but  one  ? 

Chid  I  for  that  at  frugal  nature's  frame  T"^ 

O,  one  too  much  by  thee !  Why  had  I  one  ? 

Why  ever  wast  thou  lovely  in  my  eyes? 

Why  had  I  not,  with  charitable  hand. 

Took  up  a  beggar's  issue  at  my  gates  ; 

Who  smirched'  thus,  and  mired  with  infamy, 

I  might  have  said.  No  part  of  it  is  mine. 

This  shame  derives  itself  from  unknown  loins  ? 

But  mine,  and  mine  I  lov'd,  and  mine  I  prais'd. 

And  mine  that  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 ! 

Bene.  Sir,  sir,  be  patient : 

For  my  part,  I  am  so  attir'd  in  wonder, 
I  know  not  what  to  say. 

Beat.  O,  on  my  soul,  my  cousin  is  belied  ! 

Bene.  Lady,  were  you  her  bedfellow  last  night  ? 

Beat.  No,  truly,  not ;  although,  until  last  night 
I  have  this  twelvemonth  been  her  bedfellow. 

Leon.  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  I  have  only  been  silent  so  long. 

And  given  way  unto  this  course  of  fortune,  , 

By  nothing  of  the  lady ;  I  have  mark'd 
A  thousand  blushing  apparitions  start 
Into  her  face  ;  a  thousand  innocent  shames 
In  angel  whiteness  bear  away  those  blushes  ; 

"■ frame?]  i.  e.  Contrivance,  order,  disposition  of  tilings. 

* smirched — ]  Sullied. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  I.  225 

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  zeal  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  biting  error. 

Leoti.  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  ? 

Friar.  Lady,  what  man  is  he  you  are  accus'd  of? 

Hero.  They  know,  that  do  accuse  me  ;  I  know  none  : 
If  I  know  more  of  any  man  alive. 
Than  that  which  maiden  modesty  doth  warrant. 
Let  all  my  sins  lack  mercy ! — O  my  father. 
Prove  you  that  any  man  with  me  convers'd 
At  hours  unmeet,  or  that  I  yesternight 
Maintain'd  the  change  of  words  with  any  creature. 
Refuse  me,  hate  me,  torture  me  to  death. 

Friar.  There  is  some  strange  misprision  in  the  princes. 

Bene.  Two  of  them  have  the  very  bent  of  honour;" 
And  if  their  wisdoms  be  misled  in  this. 
The  practice  of  it  lives  in  John  the  bastard. 
Whose  spirits  toil  in  frame  of  villainies. 

Leon.  I  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  of  friends, 

' of  my  book  :]  i.  e.  Of  what  I  have  read. — Malone. 

" bent  of  honour  ;]    Bent  is  used  by  our  author  for  the  utmost  degree  of 

any  passion,  or  mental  quality.  In  this  play  before,  Benedick  says  of  Beatrice, 
her  affection  has  its  full  bent. — The  erpression  is  derived  from  archery;  the  bow 
has  its  hent,  when  drawn  as  far  as  it  can  be. — Johnson. 


226  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

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. 

Friar.  Pause  a  while, 

And  let  my  counsel  sway  you  in  this  case. 
Your  daughter  here  the  princes  left  for  dead ; 
Let  her  awhile  be  secretly  kept  in. 
And  publish  it,  that  she  is  dead  indeed  : 
Maintain  a  mourning  ostentation  ; 
And  on  your  family's  old  monument 
Hang  mournful  epitaphs,  and  do  all  rites  ' 
That  appertain  unto  a  burial. 

Leon.  What  shall  become  of  this  ?  What  will  this  do  ? 

Friar.  Marry,  this,  well  carried,  shall  on  her  behalf 
Change  slander  to  remorse  ;  that  is  some  good : 
But  not  for  that,  dream  I  on  this  strange  course, 
But  on  this  travail  look  for  greater  birth. 
She  dying,  as  it  must  be  so  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  shew  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. 
Than  when  she  liv'd  indeed  : — then  shall  he  mourn, 
(If  ever  love  had  interest  in  his  liver,'') 

" we  rack  the  value ;]  i.  e.  We  exaggerate  the  value.     The  allusion  is 

to  rack-rents. — Steevens. 

y interest  in  his  liver,']  In  conformity  with  ancient  supposition,  the  liver 

is  frequently  mentioned  by  Shakspeare  as  the  scat  of  love.  Pistol  speaks  of 
Falstaff's  loving  Mrs.  Ford  "with  liver  burning  hot." — Stfkvens. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  I.  227 

And  wish  he  had  not  so  accused  her  ; 

No,  though  he  thought  his  accusation  true. 

Let  this  h,  i  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. 

Bate.  Signior  Leonato,  let  the  friar  advise  you  : 
And  though,  you  know,  my  inwardness'  and  love 
Is  very  much  unto  the  prince  and  Claudio, 
Yet,  by  mine  honour,  I  will  deal  in  this 
As  secretly,  and  justly,  as  your  soul 
Should  with  your  body. 

Leo7i.  ■      Being  that  I  flow  in  grief. 

The  smallest  twine  may  lead  me.^ 

Friar.  'Tis  well  consented  ;  presently  away ; 

For  to  strange  sores  strangely  they  strain  the  cure. — 
Come,  lady,  die  to  live  :  this  wedding  day. 

Perhaps,  is  but  prolong'd ;  have  patience,  and  endure. 
[Exeunt  Friar,  Hero,  and  Leonato. 

Bene.  Lady  Beatrice,  have  you  wept  all  this  while  1 

Beat.  Yea,  and  I  will  weep  a  while  longer. 

Bene.  I  will  not  desire  that. 

Beat.  You  have  no  reason,  I  do  it  freely. 

Bene.  Surely,  I  do  believe  your  fair  cousin  is  wrong'd. 

Beat.  Ah,  how  much  might  the  man  deserve  of  me,  that 
would  right  her  ! 

Bene.  Is  there  any  way  to  shew  such  friendship? 

Beat.  A  very  even  way,  but  no  such  friend. 


z my  inwardness — ]  i.  e.  Intimacy. 

a  The  smallest  twiiie  may  lead  me.]  On  these  words  Dr  Johnson  beautifully  re- 
marks : — "This  is  one  of  our  author's  observations  upon  life. — Those  over- 
powered with  distress,  eagerly  listen  to  the  first  offers  of  relief,  close  witli  every 
scheme,  and  believe  every  promise.  He  that  has  no  longer  any  confidence  in 
himself,  is  glad  to  repose  his  trust  in  any  other  that  ^vill  undertake  to  guide 
him." 


228  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

Bene.  May  a  man  do  it? 

Beat.  It  is  a  man's  office,  but  not  yours. 
Bene.  I  do  love  nothing  in  the  world  so  well  as  you;  Is 
not  that  strange  ? 

Beat.  As  strange  as  the  thing  I  know  not :  It  were  as 
possible  for  me  to  say,  I  loved  nothing  so  well  as  you :  but 
believe  me  not ;  and  yet  I  lie  not ;  I  confess  nothing,  nor 
I  deny  nothing  : — I  am  sorry  for  my  cousin. 

Bene.  By  my  sword,  Beatrice,  thou  lovest  me. 

Beat.  Do  not  swear  by  it,  and  eat  it. 

Bene.  I  will  swear  by  it,  that  you  love  me ;  and  I  will 
make  him  eat  it,  that  says,  I  love  not  you. 

Beat.  Will  you  not  eat  your  word  ? 

Bene.  With  no  sauce  that  can  be  devised  to  it :  I  pro- 
test, I  love  thee. 

Beat.  Why  then,  God  forgive  me  ! 

Bene.  What  offence,  sweet  Beatrice? 

Beat.  You  have  staid  me  in  a  happy  hour;  I  was  about 
to  protest,  I  loved  you. 

Bene.  And  do  it  with  all  thy  heart. 

Beat,  I  love  you  with  so  much  of  my  heart,  that  none 
is  left  to  protest. 

Bene.  Come,  bid  me  do  any  thing  for  thee. 

Beat.  Kill  Claudio. 

Bene.  Ha!  not  for  the  wide  world. 

Beat.  You  kill  me  to  deny  it :   Farewell. 

Bene.  [Detaining  her]  Tarry,  sweet  Beatrice. 

Beat.  I  am  gone  though  I  am  here  ; — There  is  no  love 
in  you : — Nay,  I  pray  you,  let  me  go. 

Bene.  Beatrice, — 

Beat.  In  faith,  I  will  go. 

Bejie.  We'll  be  friends  first. 

Beat.  You  dare  easier  be  friends  with  me,  than  fight 
with  mine  enemy. 

Bene.  Is  Claudio  thine  enemy  ? 

Beat.  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 

^ hear  her  In  hand — ]  i.  e.  Delude  her  by  fair  promises. — Stef.vens. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  I.  229 

come  to  take  hands ;  and  then  with  pubhc  accusation, 
uncovered  slander,  unmitigated  rancour, — O  God,  that  I 
were  a  man  !  I  would  eat  his  heart  in  the  market-place. 

Bene.  Hear  me,  Beatrice  ; — 

Beat.  Talk  with  a  man  out  at  a  window  ?  —  a  proper  saying ! 

Bene.  Nay  but,  Beatrice  ; — 

Beat.  Sweet  Hero  ! — she  is  wronged,  she  is  slandered, 
she  is  undone. 

Bene.  Beat — 

Beat.  Princes,  and  counties  I''  Surely,  a  princely  testi- 
mony, a  goodly  count-confect  ;"*  a  sweet  gallant,  surely, 

0  that  I  were  a  man  for  his  sake  !  or  that  I  had  any  friend 
would  be  a  man  for  my  sake  !  But  manhood  is  melted  into 
courtesies,  valour  into  compliment,  and  men  are  only 
turned  into  tono;ue,  and  trim  ones  too  :*  he  is  now  as  va- 
liant  as   Hercules,  that  only  tells  a  lie,  and  swears  it : — 

1  cannot  be  a  man  with  wishing,  therefore  I  will  die  a 
woman  with  grieving. 

Bene.  Tarry,  good  Beatrice  :  By  this  hand,  I  love  thee. 

Beat.  Use  it  for  my  love  some  other  way  than  swear- 
ing by  it. 

Bene.  Think  you  in  your  soul  the  count  Claudio  hath 
wronged  Hero  ? 

Beat.  Yea,  as  sure  as  I  have  a  thought,  or  a  soul. 

Bene.  Enough,  I  am  engaged,  I  will  challenge  him;  I 
will  kiss  your  hand,  and  so  leave  you  :  By  this  hand, 
Claudio  shall  render  a  dear  account :  As  you  hear  of  me, 
so  think  of  me.  Go,  comfort  your  cousin ;  I  must  say, 
she  is  dead  ;  and  so,  farewell.  lExeunt. 

c and  counties  !]  County  was  the  ancient  general  term  for  a  nobUman. 

d a  good/y  count-confect ;]  i.  e.  A  specious  nobleman  made  out  of  sugar 

— Steevens. 

e turned  irito  tongue  and  trim  ones  too  : — ]  Not  only  men  but  trim  ones 

too — are  turned  into  tongue — trim  means  spruce,  fair  spoken, — Steevens  and 
Malone. 


VOL.  II. 


230  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


SCENE  IV-A  Prison. 

Enter  Dogberry,  Verges,  awe?  Sexton,  in  gowns:  and  the 
Watch,  with  Conrade  mid  Borachio. 

Dogb.  Is  our  whole  dissembly  appeared? 

Verg.  O,  a  stool  and  a  cushion  for  the  sexton ! 

Sexton.  Which  be  the  malefactors  ? 

Dogb.  Marry,  that  am  I  and  my  partner. 

Ferg.  Nay,  that's  certain ;  we  have  the  exhibition  to 
examine. 

Sexton.  But  which  are  the  offenders  that  are  to  be  ex- 
amined ?  let  them  come  before  master  constable. 

Dogb.  Yea,  marry,  let  them  come  before  me. — What  is 
your  name,  friend  ? 

Bora.  Borachio. 

Dogb.  Pray  write  down — Borachio. Yours,  sirrah  ? 

Con.  I  am  a  gentleman,  sir,  and  my  name  is  COnrade. 

Dogb.  Write  down  —  master  gentleman  Conrade. — 
Masters,  do  you  serve  God  ? 

Con.  Bora.  Yea,  sir,  we  hope. 

Dogb.  Write  down — that  they  hope  they  serve  God  : — 
and  write  God  first ;  for  God  defend  but  God  should  go 
before  such  villains  ! — Masters,  it  is  proved  already  that 
you  are  little  better  than  false  knaves;  and  it  will  go 
near  to  be  thought  so  shortly.  How  answer  you  for  your- 
selves ? 

Con.  Marry,  sir,  we  say  we  are  none. 

Dogb.  A  marvellous  witty  fellow,  I  assure  you  ;  but  I 
will  go  about  with  him. — Come  you  hither,  sirrah ;  a  word 
in  your  ear,  sir  ;  I  say  to  you,  it  is  thought  you  are  false 
knaves. 

Bora.  Sir,  I  say  to  you,  we  are  none. 
Dogb.  Well,  stand  aside. — 'Fore  God,  they  are  both  in 
a  tale  :  Have  you  writ  down — they  are  none  ? 

Sexton.  Master  constable,  you  go  not  the  way  to  ex- 

f  Throughout  the  whole  of  this  scene  the  name  of  Kempe,  an  actor  of  our 
author's  theatre,  is  in  the  old  copies  printed  for  Dogberry,  and  that  of  Cowley 
frequently  substituted  for  Verges.  By  a  similar  error  ia  act  3.  scene  3.  we  find 
the  part  of  Balthazar  was  played  by  Jacke  IViLsim. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  III.  231 

amine  ;  you  must  call  forth  the  watch  that  are  their  ac- 
cusers. 

Dogb.  Yea,  marry,  that's  the  eftest  way;8 — Let  the 
watch  come  forth  : — Masters,  I  charge  you,  in  the  prince's 
name,  accuse  these  men. 

1  Watch.  This  man  said,  sir,  that  Don  John,  the  prince's 
brother,  was  a  villain. 

Dogb.  Write  down — prince  John  a  villain  : — Why  this 
is  flat  perjury,  to  call  a  prince's  brother — villain. 

Bora.  Master  constable, — 

Dogb.  Pray  thee,  fellow  peace;  I  do  not  like  thy  look, 
I  promise  thee. 

Sexton.  What  heard  you  him  say  else  ? 

2  Watch.  Marry,  that  he  had  received  a  thousand 
ducats  of  Don  John,  for  accusing  tlie  lady  Hero  wrong- 
fully. 

Dogb.  Flat  burglary,  as  ever  was  committed. 
Verg.  Yea,  by  the  mass,  that  it  is. 
Sexton.  What  else,  fellow  ? 

1  Watch.  And  that  count  Claudio  did  mean,  upon  his 
words,  to  disgrace  Hero  before  the  whole  assembly,  and 
not  marry  her. 

Degb.  O  villain  !  thou  wilt  be  condemned   into  ever- 
lasting redemption  for  this. 
Sext07i.  What  else? 

2  Watch.  This  is  all. 

Sexton.  And  this  is  more,  masters,  than  you  can  deny. 
Prince  John  is  this  morning  secretly  stolen  away ;  Hero 
was  in  this  manner  accused,  in  this  very  manner  refused, 
and  upon  the  grief  of  this,  suddenly  died. — Master  con- 
stable, let  these  men  be  bound,  and  brought  to  Leonato's  ; 
I  will  go  before,  and  show  him  their  examination.     [Exit. 

Dogb.  Come,  let  them  be  opinioned. 

Verg.  Let  them  be  in  the  hands. 

Con.  Off,  coxcomb  ! 

Dogb.  God's  my  life!  where's  the  sexton?  let  him 
write  down — the  prince's  officer,  coxcomb. — Come,  bind 
them  : — ^Thou  naughty  varlet ! 

CoTi.  Away!  you  are  an  ass,  you  are  an  ass. 

B eftest — ]  Quickest. 

R    2 


232  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

Dogb.  Dost  thou  not  suspect  my  place?  Dost  thou 
not  suspect  my  years  ? — O  that  he  were  here  to  write  me 
down — an  ass  !  but,  masters,  remember,  that  I  am  an  ass ; 
though  it  be  not  written  down,  yet  forget  not  that  I  am 
an  ass  : — No,  thou  villain,  thou  art  full  of  piety,  as  shall 
be  proved  upon  thee  by  good  witness.  I  am  a  wise  fel- 
low ;  and  which  is  more,  an  officer ;  and  which  is  more,  a 
householder;  and,  which  is  more,  as  pretty  a  piece  of 
flesh  as  any  is  in  Messina ;  and  one  that  knows  the  law, 
go  to  ;  and  a  rich  fellow  enough,  go  to ;  and  a  fellow  that 
hath  had  losses  ;  and  one  that  hath  two  gowns,  and  every 
thing  handsome  about  him  : — Bring  him  away.  O,  that  I 
had  been  writ  down — an  ass !  [Exeunt. 


ACT  V. 

Scene  I. — Before  Leonato's  House. 

Enter  Leonato  and  Antonio. 

Ant.  If  you  go  on  thus,  you  will  kill  yourself; 
And  'tis  not  wisdom,  thus  to  second  grief 
Against  yourself. 

Leon.  I  pray  thee,  cease  thy  counsel. 

Which  falls  into  mine  ears  as  profitless 
As  water  in  a  sieve :  give  not  me  counsel ; 
Not  let  no  comforter  delight  mine  ear. 
But  such  a  one  whose  wrongs  do  suit  with  mine. 
Bring  me  a  father,  that  so  lov'd  his  child. 
Whose  joy  of  her  is  overwelm'dlike  mine. 
And  bid  him  speak  of  patience  ; 
Measure  his  woe  the  length  and  breadth  of  mine. 
And  let  it  answer  every  strain  for  strain ; 
As  thus  for  thus,  and  such  a  grief  for  s.uch. 
In  every  lineament,  branch,  shape,  and  form  : 
If  such  a  one  will  smile,  and  stroke  his  beard  ; 
Cry — sorrow,  wag  !  and  hem  when  he  should  groan  ; 
Patch  grief  with  proverbs  ;  make  misfortune  drunk 


ACT  v.— SCENE  I.  233 

With  candle-waster's  ;••  bring  him  yet  to  me. 
And  I  of  him  will  gather  patience. 
But  there  is  no  such  man  :  For,  brother,  men 
Can  counsel,  and  speak  comfort  to  that  grief 
Which  they  themselves  not  feel;  but,  tasting  it, 
Their  counsel  turns  to  passion,  which  before 
Would  give  preceptial  medicine  to  rage. 
Fetter  strong  madness  in  a  silken  thread. 
Charm  ach  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  counsel : 
My  griefs  cry  louder  than  advertisement.' 

Ant.  Therein  do  men  from  children  nothing  differ. 

Leon.  I  pray  thee  peace  ;  I  will  be  flesh  and  blood; 
For  there  was  never  yet  philosopher. 
That  could  endure  the  tooth-ach  patiently ; 
However  they  have  writ  the  style  of  gods. 
And  made  a  push''  at  chance  and  sufferance. 

Ant.  Yet  bend  not  all  the  harm  upon  yourself; 
Make  those,  that  do  offend  you,  suffer  too. 

Leon.  There  thou  speak'st  reason :  nay,  I  will  do  so 
My  soul  doth  tell  me.  Hero  is  belied  ; 
And  that  shall  Claudio  know,  so  shall  the  prince. 
And  all  of  them,  that  thus  dishonour  her. 

Enter  Don  Pedro  and  Claudio. 

Ant.  Here  comes  the  prince,  and  Claudio,  hastily. 
D.  Pedro.  Good  den,  good  den. 

h  With  candle-wasters ;]  This  is  a  difficult  passage  : — candle-wastei-s  is  a  con- 
temptuous term  for  scholars,  and  is  soused  by  Ben  Jonson,  Cynthia's  Revels, 
act.  3.  sc.  3. — The  sense  then  of  the  passage  appears  to  be  this  ; — ifsnch  a  one 
will  patch  grief  with  proverbs — case  the  wounds  of  grief  with  proverbial  say- 
ings— muke  misfortune  drunk  with  can  die -wasters, — stupify  misfortune,  or  ren- 
der himself  insensible  to  the  strokes  of  it,  by  the  conversation  or  lucubrations 
of  scholars ;  the  production  of  the  tamp  but  not  fitted  to  human  nature." — 
Wii ALLEY.  Of  the  above  interpretation  Mr.  Gifi"ard  says,  that  "Whalley 
had  set  the  commentators  right." — Beti  Jonson,  vol.  ii.  277. 

'-: than  advertisement,]    That  is,  than  admonition. 

^ 7nade  a  push — ]   Contended  against. — This  is  the  original  reading 

which  Pope  altered  to  pish. 


234  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHIISTG. 

Claud.  Good  day  to  both  of  you. 

Leon.  Hear  you,  my  lords, — 

I).  Pedro.  We  have  some  haste,  Leonato. 

Leon.  Some  haste,  my  lord ! — well,  fare  you  well,  my 
Are  you  so  ha'sty  now  ? — well,  all  is  one.  [lord : — 

D.  Pedro.  Nay,  do  not  quarrel  with  us,  good  old  man. 

Ant.  If  he  could  right  himself  with  quarrelling. 
Some  of  us  would  lie  low. 

Claud.  Who  wrongs  him  ? 

Leon.  Marry,   thou  dost  wrong  me;  thou  dissembler. 
Nay,  never  lay  thy  hand  upon  thy  sword,  [thou : — 

I  fear  thee  not. 

Claud.  Marry,  beshrew  my  hand. 

If  it  should  give  your  age  such  cause  of  fear: 
In  faith  my  hand  meant  nothing  to  my  sword. 

Leon.  Tush,  tush,  man,  never  fleer  and  jest  at  me  : 
I  speak  not  like  a  dotard,  nor  a  fool ; 
As,  under  privilege  of  age,  to  brag 
What  I  have  done  being  young,  or  what  would  do. 
Were  I  not  old :  Know,  Claudio,  to  thy  head. 
Thou  hast  so  wrong'd  mine  innocent  child  and  me. 
That  I  am  forc'd  to  lay  my  reverence  by ; 
And,  with  grey  hairs,  and  bruise  of  many  days. 
Do  challenge  thee  to  trial  of  a  man. 
I  say,  thou  hast  belied  mine  innocent  child  ; 
Thy  slander  hath  gone  through  and  through  her  heart. 
And  she  lyes  buried  with  her  ancestors  : 
O !  in  a  tomb  where  never  scandal  slept. 
Save  this  of  her's,  fram'd  by  thy  villainy. 

Claud.  My  villainy  ? 

Leon.  Thine  Claudio  ;  thine  I  say. 

D.  Pedro.  You  say  not  right  old  man. 

Leon.  My  lord,  my  lord, 

V\\  prove  it  on  his  body,  if  he  dare  ; 
Despite  his  nice  fence,'  and  his  active  practice. 
His  May  of  youth,  and  bloom  of  lustyhood. 

Claud.  Away,  I  will  not  have  to  do  with  you. 

Leon.  Canst  thou   so  daff  me?'"  Thou  hast  kill'd  my 
If  thou  kill'st  me,  boy,  thou  shalt  kill  a  man.  [child ; 

'  nice  fence,]    Skill  in  leucing.        '" (/a^'J — or  doff,  i.  e.  ])ut  me  off. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  I.  235 

Ant.  He  shall  kill  two  of  us,  and  men  indeed  ; 
But  that^s  no  matter  ;  let  him  kill  one  first ; — 
Win  me  and  wear  me,^ — let  him  answer  me, — 
Come,  follow  me,  boy  ;  come,  sir  boy,  come,  follow  me  : 
Sir  boy.  111  whip  your  foining  fence  ;" 
Nay,  as  I  am  a  gentleman,  I  will. 

Leo7i.  Brother, — 

Ant.  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  ! — 

Leon.  Brother  Antony, — 

AjU.  Hold  you  content:    What,  man!    I  know  them. 
And  what  they  weigh,  even  to  the  utmost  scruple :    [yea, 
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  they  durst, 
And  this  is  all. 

Leon.  But,  brother  Antony, — 

Ant.  Come,  'tis  no  matter ; 

Do  not  you  meddle,  let  me  deal  in  this. 

D.   Pedro.    Gentlemen  both,  we  will    not  wake  your 
My  heart  is  sorry  for  your  daughter's  death  ;      [patience. 
But,  on  my  honour,  she  was  charg'd  with  nothing 
But  what  was  true,  and  very  full  of  proof. 

Leon.  My  lord,  my  lord, — 

D.  Pedro.  I  will  not  hear  you. 

Leon.  No  ? 

Come,  brother,  away  : — I  will  be  heard ; — 

Ant.  And  shall. 

Or  some  of  us  will  smart  for  it. 

[Exeunt  Leonato  and  Antonio. 

» foining/e»ifc;]    Foining  is  a  term  in  fencing,  and  means  thrusting, — 

Douce.  "  ^cambling.']  i.  e.  Scrambling. 


236  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

Ente?-  Benedick. 

D.  Pedro.  See,  see ;  here  comes  the  man  we  went  to 
seek. 

Claud.  Now,  signior  !  what  news  ? 

Bene.  Good  day,  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.  Welcome,  signior :  You  are  almost  come  to 
part  almost  a  fray. 

Claud.  We  had  like  to  have  had  our  two  noses  snapped 
off  with  two  old  men  without  teeth. 

D.  Pedro.  Leonato  and  his  brother:  What  think'st 
thou  ?  Had  we  fought,  I  doubt,  we  should  have  been  too 
young  for  them. 

Bene.  In  a  false  quarrel  there  is  no  true  valour.  I 
came  to  seek  you  both. 

Claud.  We  have  been  up  and  down  to  seek  thee ;  for 
we  are  high-proof  melancholy,  and  would  fain  have  it 
beaten  away  :  Wilt  thou  use  thy  wit  ? 

Bene.  It  is  in  my  scabbard  ;  shall  I  draw  it  ? 

Z).  Pedro.  Dost  thou  wear  thy  wit  by  thy  side? 

Claud.  Never  any  did  so,  though  very  many  have  been 
beside  their  wit. — I  will  bid  thee  draw,  as  we  do  the  min- 
strels;" draw,  to  pleasure  us. 

D.  Pedro.  As  I  am  an  honest  man,  he  looks  pale : — 
Art  thou  sick,  or  angry  ? 

Claud.  What !  courage,  man  !  What  though  care  killed 
a  cat,  thou  hast  mettle  enough  in  thee  to  kill  care. 

Bene.  Sir,  I  shall  meet  your  wit  in  the  career,  an  you 
charge  it  against  me  : — I  pray  you,  choose  another 
subject. 

Claud.  Nay,  then  give  him  another  staff;  this  last  was 
broke  cross.' 

D.  Pedi'O.  By  this  light  he  changes  more  and  more ;  I 
think,  he  be  angry  indeed. 

P minstrels ;]  These  minstrels  appear  to  have  been  itinerant  fiddlers, 

■who  were  bid  draw  their  bows. 

<i  Nay,  then  give  liim  another  staff;  Sec]  An  allusion  to  ti/tijig'. — It  was  a  dis- 
grace to  have  the  lance  broken  across,  as  it  was  a  mark  either  of  want  of  cou- 
rage or  address.  This  happened  when  the  horse  flew  on  one  side  in  the  career. 
As  breaking  the  lance  against  the  adversary's  breast  in  a  direct  line  was  ho- 
nourable, so  the  breaking  it  across  against  his  breast,  was  for  the  reason  above 
reputed  dishonourable. — VVarburton. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  I.  237 

Claud.  If  he  be,  he  knows  how  to  turn  his  girdle/ 

Bene.  Shall  I  speak 'a  word  in  your  ear  ? 

Claud.  God  bless  me  from  a  challenge  ! 

Bene.  You  are  a  villain  : — I  jest  not: — I  will  make  it 
good  how  you  dare,  with  what  you  dare,  and  when  you 
dare  : — Do  me  right,  or  I  will  protest  your  cowardice. 
You  have  killed  a  sweet  lady,  and  her  death  shall  fall 
heavy  on  you  :  Let  me  hear  from  you. 

Claud.  Well,  I  will  meet  you,  so  I  may  have  good 
cheer. 

D.  Pedro.  What,  a  feast  ?  a  feast  ? 

Claud.  I'faith,  I  thank  him ;  he  hath  bid  me  to  a  calf's 
head  and  a  capon  ;  the  which  if  I  do  not  carve  most  cu- 
riously, say,  my  knife's  naught. — Shall  I  not  find  a  wood- 
cock too?' 

Bene.  Sir,  your  wit  ambles  well ;  it  goes  easily. 

D.  Pedro.  I'll  tell  thee  how  Beatrice  praised  thy  wit 
the  other  day  :  I  said,  thou  hadst  a  fine  wit;  True,  says 
she,  a  fine  little  one :  No,  said  I,  a  great  wit ;  Right,  says 
she,  a  great  gross  one:  Nai/,  said  I,  a  good  wit ;  Just,  said 
she,  it  hurts  nobody:  Nay,  said  \,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,  transshape  thy  particular  vir- 
tues ;  yet,  at  last,  she  concluded  with  a  sigh,  thou  wast 
the  properest  man  in  Italy. 

Claud.  For  the  which  she  wept  heartily,  and  said,  she 
cared  not. 

D.  Pedro.  Yea,  that  she  did ;  but  yet,  for  all  that,  an 
if  she  did  not  hate  him  deadly,  she  would  love  him 
dearly  :  the  old  man's  daughter  told  us  all. 

r turn  his  girdleJ]  Large  belts  were  worn  with  the  buckle  before  ;  for 

wrestling,  this  buckle  was  turned  behind,  to  give  the  adversary  a  fairer  grasp 
at  the  girdle  : — to  turn  the  girdle,  therefore,  was  an  offer  of  battle. — H.  White. 

s  Shall  I  not  find  a  woodcock  too  ?]  A  woodcock,  means  one  caught  in  a 

springe  ;  alluding  to  the  plot  against  Benedick. — Douce. 

t a  wise  gentleman  :]  The  generality  of  gentlemen  in  our  author's  time, 

as  has  been  shewn  in  act  3.  sc.  3.  were  sufficiently  ignorant,  to  justify  the 
sarcasm  implied  by  Beatrice,  when  she  admitted  Benedick  to  be  wise  for  a 
gentleman. 


238  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

Claud.  All,  all ;  and  moreover,  God  saw  him  when  he 
was  hid  in  the  garden. 

D.  Pedro.  But  when  shall  we  set  the  savage  bull's 
horns  on  the  sensible  Benedick's  head  ? 

Claud.  Yea,  and  text  underneath.  Here  dtvells  Benedick 
the  married  man  ? 

Bene.  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  I  thank 
you :  I  must  discontinue  your  company  :  your  brother, 
the  bastard,  is  fled  from  Messina :  you  have  among  you, 
killed  a  sweet  and  innocent  lady :  For  my  lord  Lack- 
beard,  there,  he  and  I  shall  meet ;  and  till  then,  peace  be 
with  him.  [Exit  Benedick. 

D.  Pedro.  He  is  in  earnest. 

Claud.  In  most  profound  earnest ;  and  I'll  warrant  you, 
for  the  love  of  Beatrice. 

D.  Pedro.  And  hath  challenged  thee? 

Claud.  Most  sincerely. 

D.  Pedro.  What  a  pretty  thing  man  is,  when  he  goes 
in  his  doublet  and  hose,  and  leaves  off  his  wit!" 

Enter  Dogberry,  Verges,  and  the  Watch,  ivilh 
CoNRAUE  and  Borachio. 

Claud.  He  is  then  a  giant  to  an  ape :  but  then  is  an 
ape  a  doctor  to  such  a  man. 

D.  Pedro.  But,  soft  you,  let  be ;"  pluck  up,  my  heart, 
and  be  sad  !''  Did  he  not  say,  my  brother  was  fled  ? 

Do<fb.  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. 

D.  Pedro.  How  now,  two  of  my- brother's  men  bound! 
Borachio,  one  ! 

11 goes  in  his  doublet  and  hose  and  leaves  off  his  wit!']  This  is  difficult, — it 

probably  refers  to  the  challenge  just  given  by  Benedick.  To  be  in  anger,  is 
la  leave  off  the  wit : — to  go  in  doublet  and  hose,  is  to  put  off  the  cloak  or  upper 
garment,  as  fencers  do  for  the  purpose  of  more  convenient  action. 

s let  be ;]   i.  e.  Desist. 

y phickiip,  my  heart,  and  he  and  !]  i,  c.  Rouse  thyself,  my  heart,  and 

be  prepared  for  serious  consciiucnces  ! — STEr.\  kns. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  I.  239 

Claud.  Hearken  after  their  offence  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.  Officers,  what  offence  have  these  men 
done  ? 

Dogb.  Marry,  sir,  they  have  committed  false  report; 
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  con- 
clude, they  are  lying  knaves. 

D.  Pedro.  First,  I  ask  thee  what  they  have  done ; 
thirdly,  I  ask  thee  what's  their  offence :  sixth  and  lastly, 
why  they  are  committed  ;  and,  to  conclude,  what  you  lay 
to  their  charge  ? 

Claud.  Rightly  reasoned,  and  in  his  own  division ; 
and,  by  my  troth,  there's  one  meaning  well  suited.^ 

JD.  Pedro.  Whom  have  you  offended,  masters,  that  you 
are  thus  bovuid  to  your  answer  ?  this  learned  constable  is 
too  cunning  to  be  understood  :  What's  your  offence  ? 

Bora.  Sweet  prince,  let  me  go  no  further  to  mine  an- 
swer j  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  dis- 
graced 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  accusation  ;  and  briefly, 
I  desire  nothing  but  the  reward  of  a  villain. 

D.  Pedro.  Runs  not  this  speech  like  iron  through  your 
blood  ? 

Claud.  I  have  drunk  poison,  whiles  he  uttered  it. 

D.  Pedro.  But  did  my  brother  set  thee  on  to  this  ? 

Bora.  Yea,  and  paid  me  richly  for  the  practice  of  it. 

D.  Pedro.  He  is  compos'd  and  fram'd  of  treachery  : — 
And  fled  he  is  upon  this  villainy. 

*  — ^  fl'te  meaning    well  suited.']    i.  e.    Put    into  many  different    dresses. — 
Johnson. 

* incensed — ]  i.  e.  Incited. 


240  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

Claud.  Sweet  Hero  !  now  thy  image  doth  appear 
In  the  rare  semblance  that  I  loved  it  first. 

Dogh.  Come,  bring  away  the  plaintiffs  ;  by  this  time 
our  sexton  hath  reformed  signior  Leonato  of  the  matter  : 
And  masters,  do  not  forget  to  specify,  when  time  and 
place  shall  serve,  that  I  am  an  ass. 

Verg.  Here,  here  comes  master  signior  Leonato,  and 
the  sexton  too. 

Re-enter  Leonato  owe?  Antonio,  with  the  Sexton. 

L,eon.  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  1 

Bora.  If  you  would  know^  your  wronger,  look  on  me. 

Leon.  Art  thou  the  slave,  that  with  thy  breath  hast 
Mine  innocent  child  ?  [kill'd 

Bora.  Yea,  even  I  alone. 

Leon.  No,  not  so,  villain  ;  thou  bely'st  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. 

Claud.  I  know  not  how  to  pray  your  patience. 
Yet  I  must  speak  :  Choose  your  revenge  yourself; 
Impose  me  to  what  penance  your  invention 
Can  lay  upon  my  sin :  yet  sinn'd  I  not, 
But  in  mistaking. 

D.  Pedro.  By  my  soul,  nor  I ; 

And  yet,  to  satisfy  this  good  old  man, 
I  would  bend  under  any  heavy  weight 
That  he'll  enjoin  me  to. 

Leon.  I  cannot  bid  you  bid  my  daughter  live. 
That  were  impossible ;  but,  I  pray  you  both. 
Possess  the  people  in  Messina  here 
How  innocent  she  died  :  and,  if  your  love 
Can  labour  aught  in  sad  invention. 
Hang  her  an  epitaph  upon  her  tomb,*" 

•>  Hang  her  an  epitaph  tipon  her  Umih,']  It  was  customary  in  Roman  Catho- 
lic countries  to  attach  funeral  inscriptions,  written  on  pajier,  to  the  tombs,  or 
to  the  columns  near  the  tombs,  of  the  dead. — Bayle. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  I.  241 

And  sino;  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  my  nephew  :  my  brother  hath  a  daughter. 

Almost  the  copy  of  my  child  that's  dead. 

And  she  alone  is  heir  to  both  of  us ; 

Give  her  the  right  you  should  have  given  her  cousin. 

And  so  dies  my  revenge. 

Claud.  O  noble  sir. 

Your  over  kindness  doth  wring  tears  from  me  ! 
I  do  embrace  yo.ur  offer ;  and  dispose 
For  henceforth  of  poor  Claudio. 

Leon.  To-morrow  then  I  will  expect  your  coming  ; 
To-night  I  take  my  leave. — This  naughty  man 
Shall  face  to  face  be  brought  to  Margaret, 
Who,  I  believe,  was  pack'd'^  in  all  this  wrong, 
Hir'd  to  it  by  your  brother. 

Bora.  No,  by  my  soul,  she  was  not; 

Nor  knew  not  what  she  did,  when  she  spoke  to  me; 
But  always  hath  been  just  and  virtuous. 
In  any  thing  that  I  do  know  by  her. 

Dogb.  Moreover,  sir,  (which,  indeed,  is  not  under  white 
and  black,)  this  plaintiff  here,  the  offender,  did  call  me 
ass :  I  beseech  you,  let  it  be  remembered  in  his  punish- 
ment :  And  also,  the  watch  heard  them  talk  of  one  De- 
formed :  they  say,  he  wears  a  key  in  his  ear/  and  a  lock 
hanging  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. 

Leon.  I  thank  thee  for  thy  care  and  honest  pains. 

Dogb.  Your  worship  speaks  like  a  most  thankful  and 
reverend  youth  ;  and  I  praise  God  for  you. 

<^  was  pack'd — ]  i.  e.  Combined  ;  an  accomplice. 

^ key  in  his  ear,"]  When  the  constable  made  the  mistake  on  the  word 

deformed,  he  described  him  as  one  wearing  a.  lock  or  love-lock;  this  custom  has 
been  suiBciently  noticed  in  act  3.  sc.  3. — I  cannot  agree  with  Malone  in 
imagining  that  even  Dogberry  could  be  so  dense  of  intellect  as  to  blunder  this 
report  into  a  lock  and  key ;  but  suppose  that  key  must  have  been  the  familiar 
term  given  to  the  earring  which  was  then  commonly  worn  by  men,  and  to 
which  the  lock  might  frequently  have  been  attached  by  the  coxcombs  of  the  day. 

^ borrows  money  in  God's  name,']  i.  e.  Is  a  common  beggar. 


342  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

Leon.  There's  for  thy  pains. 

Dogb.  God  save  the  foundation! 

Leon.  Go,  I  discharge  thee  of  thy  prisoner,  and  I 
thank  thee. 

Dogb.  I  leave  an  arrant  knave  with  your  worship ; 
which,  I  beseech  your  worship,  to  correct  yourself,  for  the 
example  of  others.  God  keep  your  worship :  I  wish  your 
worship  well ;  God  restore  you  to  health  :  I  humbly  give 
you  leave  to  depart;  and  if  a  merry  meeting  may  be 
wished,  God  prohibit  it. — Come  neighbour. 

\^Exeunt  Dogberry,  Verges,  and  Watch. 

Leon.  Until  to-morrow  morning,  lords,  farewell. 

Ant.  Farewell,  my  lords  :  we  look  for  you  to-morrow. 

-D.  Pedro.  We  will  not  fail. 

Claud.  To-night  I'll  mourn  with  Hero. 

l^Exeunt  Don  Pedro  and  Clauhio. 

Leo)i.  Bring  you  these  fellows  on;  we'll  talk  with  Mar- 
garet, 
How  her  acquaintance  grew  with  this  lewd^  fellow. 

{^Exeunt. 

SCENE  II. 

Leonato's  Garden. 

Enter  Benedick  and  Margaret,  meeting. 

Bene.  Pray  thee,  sweet  mistress  Margaret,  deserve  well 
at  my  hands,  by  helping  rae  to  the  speech  of  Beatrice. 

Marg.  Will  you  then  write  me  a  sonnet  in  praise  of  my 
beauty  ?  '■ 

Bene.  In  so  high  a  style,  Margaret,  that  no  man  living 
shall  come  over  it ;  for,  in  most  comely  truth,  thou  de- 
servest  it. 

Marg.  To  have  no  man  come  over  me  ?  why,  shall  I 
always  keep  below  stairs  ? 

Bene.  Thy  wit  is  as  quick  as  the  greyhound's  mouth, 
it  catches. 

Marg.  And  your's  as  blunt  as  the  fencer's  foils,  which 
hit,  but  hurt  not. 

' lewd — ]   Leivd,  in  this  instance,  means  if!;noraiit. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  11.  243 

Bene.  A  most  manly  wit,  Margaret,  it  will  not  hurt  a 
woman ;  and  so,  I  pray  thee,  call  Beatrice :  I  give  thee 
the  bucklers  .s 

Marg.  Give  us  the  swords,  we  have  bucklers  of  our 
own. 

Bene.  If  you  use  them  Margaret,  you  must  put  in  the 
pikes  with  a  vice  ;  and  they  are  dangerous  weapons  for 
maids. 

Marg.  Well,  I  will  call  Beatrice  to  you,  who,  I  think, 
hath  legs.  [Exit  Margaret. 

Bene.  And  therefore  will  come. 

The  god  of  love,  [Singing. 

That  sits  above, 
And  knoivs  me,  and  knoivs  me. 
How  iiitiful  I  deserve, — — 

I  mean,  in  singing  ;  but  in  loving. — Leander  the  good 
swimmer,  Troilus,  the  first  employer  of  panders,  and  a 
whole  book  full  of  these  quandam  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,  I  cannot  show  it  in  rhyme;  1 
have  tried ;  I  can  find  out  no  rhyme  to  lady  but  baby,  an 
innocent  rhyme ;  for  scorn,  horn,  a  hard  rhyme ;  for  school, 
fool,  a  babbling  rhyme ;  very  ominous  endings :  No,  T  was 
not  born  under  a  rhyming  planet,  nor  I  cannot  woo  in  fes- 
tival terms. 

Enter  Beatrice. 

Sweet  Beatrice,  would'st  thou  come  when  I  called  thee  ? 

Beat.  Yea,  signior,  and  depart  when  you  bid  me. 

Bene.  O,  stay  but  till  then; 

Beat.  Then,  is  spoken ;  fare  you  well  now  : — and  yet, 
ere  I  go,  let  me  go  with  that  I  come  for,  which  is,  with 
knowing  what  hath  passed  between  you  and  Claudio. 

Bene.  Only  foul  words  ;  and  thereupon  I  will  kiss  thee. 

Beat.  Foul  words  is  but  foul  wind,  and  foul  wind  is 

S  I  give  thee  the  bucklers.]  To  give  the  buckler  is,  perhaps,  to  yield,  or  to  lay  by 
all  thoughts  of  defence ;  so  clypeum  alijicere.  The  rest  deserves  no  comment. — 
Johnson. 


244  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

but  foul  breath,  and  foul  breath  is  noisome  ;  therefore  I 
will  depart  unkissed. 

Bene.  Thou  hast  frighted  the  word  out  of  his  right  sense, 
so  forcible  is  thy  wit:  But,  I  must  tell  thee  plainly,  Clau- 
dio  undergoes  my  challenge ;  and  either  I  must  shortly 
hear  from  him,  or  I  will  subscribe  him  a  coward.  And,  I 
pray  thee  now,  tell  me,  for  which  of  my  bad  parts  didst 
thou  first  fall  in  love  with  me  ? 

Beat.  For  them  all  together ;  which  maintained  so  poli- 
tic a  state  of  evil,  that  they  will  not  admit  any  good  part 
to  intermingle  with  them.  But  for  which  of  my  good 
parts  did  you  first  suffer  love  for  me  ? 

Bene.  Siijfer  love;  a  good  epithet !  I  do  suffer  love,  in- 
deed, for  I  love  thee  against  my  will. 

Beat.  In  spite  of  your  heart,  I  think  ;  alas  !  poor  heart! 
If  you  spite  it  for  my  sake,  I  will  spite  it  for  yours  ;  for  I 
will  never  love  that  which  my  friend  hates. 

Bene.  Thou  and  I  are  too  wise  to  woo  peaceably. 
Beat.  It  appears  not  in  this  confession :  there's  not  one 
wise  man  among  twenty,  that  will  praise  himself. 

Bene.  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. 
Beat.  And  how  long  is  that,  think  you  ? 
Bene.  Question  ;' — why,  an  hour  in  clamour,  and  a  quar- 
ter in  rheum  :  Therefore  it  is  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  I  am  to 
myself:  So  much  for  praising  myself,  (who,  I  myself  will 
bear  witness,  is  praise-worthy,)  and  now  tell  me.  How  doth 
your  cousin  ? 
Beat.  Very  ill. 
Bene.  And  how  do  you  ? 
Beat.  Very  ill  too. 

Bene.  Serve  God, love  me,  and  mend:  there  will  I  leave 
you  too,  for  here  comes  one  in  haste. 

^ time  of  gond  yteighbours :]     When  men  were  not  envious  but  every 

man  gave  another  his  due. — Warbuhton. 

'  Question  ; — ]  This  phrase  frequently  occurs  and  means  no  more  than  Ihat'a 
the  (juestion, — Ritson. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  III.  245 

jEn^er  Ursula. 

Urs.  Madam,  you  must  come  to  your  uncle  ;  yonder's 
old  coil"'  at  home :  it  is  proved,  my  lady  Hero  hath  been 
falsely  accused,  the  prince  and  Claudio  mightily  abus'd; 
and  Don  John  is  the  author  of  all,  who  is  fled  and  gone ; 
will  you  come  presently  ? 

Beat.  Will  you  go  hear  this  news,  signior  ? 

Bene.  I  will  live  in  thy  heart,  die  in  thy  lap,  and  be 
buried  in  thy  eyes ;  and,  moreover,  I  will  go  with  thee  to 
thy  uncle's.  \_Exeunt. 

SCENE  III. 

The  inside  of' a  Church. 

Enter  Don  Pedro,  Claudio,  and  attendants,  with  mnsic 
and  tapers. 

Claud.  Is  this  the  monument  of  Leonato  ? 
Atteji.  It  is,  my  lord. 
Claud.  [Reads  from  a  scroll.] 

Done  to  death  hy  slanderous  tongues 

Was  the  Hero  that  here  lies: 
Death,  in  guerdon^  of  her  ivrongs, 

Gives  her  fame  which  never  dies : 
So  the  life,  that  died  with  shame. 
Lives  in  death  with  glorious  fame. 

Hang  thou  there  upon  the  tomb,  [affixing  it. 
Praising  her  tchen  I  am  dumb. — 

Now,  music,  sound,  and  sing  your  solemn  hymn. 

SONG. 

Pardon,  Goddess  of  the  night, 
Those  that  slew  thy  virgin  knight  ;■" 
For  the  which,  with  songs  of  woe, 
Round  about  her  tomb  they  go. 

•« old  coil — ]  Bustle,  stir  : — old  was  anciently  a  common  augmentati-'a  in 

familiar  language. 

' guerdon — ]  Reu-ard, 

">  Those  that  sletvthy  virgin  knight ;]  i.  e.  Virgin  Hero. 

VOL.  II.  S 


246  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

Midnight,  assist  our  moan  ; 
Help  us  to  sigh  and  groan, 

Heavily,  heavily: 
Graves,  yawn,  and  yield  your  dead, 
Till  death  be  uttered. 

Heavenly,  heavenly.^ 

Claud.  Now  unto  thy  bones  good  night ! 

Yearly  will  I  do  this  rite  ! 
jD.  Pedro.  Good  morrow,  masters ;  put  your  torches  out : 
The  wolves  have  prey'd :  and  look,  the  gentle  day. 
Before  the  wheels  of  Phcebus,  round  about 

Dapples  the  drowsy  east  with  spots  of  gray  : 
Thanks  to  you  all,  and  leave  us  ;  fare  you  well. 

Claud.  Good  morrow,  masters  ;  each  his  several  way. 
D.  Pedro.  Come,  let  us  hence,  and  put  on  other  weeds ; 
And  then  to  Leonato's  we  will  go. 

Claud.  And,  Hymen,  now  with  luckier  issue  speeds, 
Than  this,  for  whom  he  render'd  up  this  woe!       [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV. 

A  Room  in  Leonato's  House. 

jEwfer  Leonato,  Antonio,  Benedick,  Beatrice, 
Ursula,  Friar,  and  Hero. 

Friar.  Did  I  not  tell  you  she  was  innocent? 

Leon.  So  are  the  prince  and  Claudio,  who  accused  her, 
Upon  the  error  that  you  heard  debated  : 
But  Margaret  was  in  some  fault  for  this  ; 
Although  against  her  will,  as  it  appears 
In  the  true  course  of  all  question. 
.   jint.  Well,  I  am  glad  that  all  things  sort  so  well. 

Bene.  And  so  am  I,  being  else  by  faith  enforc'd 
To  call  young  Claudio  to  a  reckoning  for  it. 

"  Ueavehly,  heavenly.]  This  is  the  oh'  reading  of  tlie  first  folio,  for  which  all  the 
recent  editors  have  erroneously  printed  heavilii,  heavilii ;  and,  having  made 
nonsense  of  the  passage,  find  with  Mr.  Malone  that  they  could  not  understand 
it. — The  song  entreats  that  the  graves  may  restore  thinr  dead,  till  death,  the 
monarch  of  the  grave,  is  proved  to  he  of  a  heaieuhj  vattire,  by  his  lenity  in 
yielding  to  the  supplications  of  r^jankind. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  IV.  247 

Leon.  Well,  daughter,  and  you  gentlewomen  all, 
Withdraw  into  a  chamber  by  yourselves ; 
And,  when  I  send  for  you,  come  hither  mask'd : 
The  prince  and  Claudio  promis'd  by  this  hour 
To  visit  me  : — You  know  your  office,  brother  ; 
You  must  be  father  to  your  brother's  daughter, 
And  give  her  to  young  Claudio.  [Exeunt  Ladies. 

Ant.  Which  I  will  do  with  confirm'd  countenance. 
Bene.  Friar,  I  must  entreat  your  pains,  T  think. 
Friar.  To  do  what,  signior  ? 
Bene.  To  bind  me,  or  undo  me,  one  of  them. — 
Signior  Leonato,  truth  it  is,  good  signior. 
Your  niece  regards  me  with  an  eve  of  favour. 

Leon.  That  eye  my  daughter  lent  her  ;  Tis  most  true. 
Bene.  And  I  do  with  an  eye  of  love  requite  her. 
Leon.  The  sight  whereof,  I  think,  you  had  from  me. 
From  Claudio,  and  the  prince  ;  But  what's  your  will  ? 

Bene.  Your  answer,  sir,  is  enigmatical: 
But,  for  my  will,  my  will  is,  your  good  will 
May  stand  with  ours,  this  day  to  be  conjoin'd 
In  the  estate  of  honourable  marriage  ; 
In  which,  good  friar,  I  shall  desire  your  help. 
Leon.  My  heart  is  with  your  liking. 
Friar.  And  my  help. 

Here  comes  the  prince,  and  Claudio. 

Enter  Don  Pedro  and  Claudio,  loith  Attendants. 

D.  Pedro.  Good  morrow  to  this  fair  assembly. 
Leoji.  Good  morrow,  prince  ;  good  morrow,  Claudio  ; 
We  here  attend  you  ;  Are  you  yet  determin'd 
To-day  to  marry  with  my  brother's  daughter  ? 
Claud.  I'll  hold  my  mind,  where  she  an  Ethiope. 
Leon.  Call  her  forth,  brother,  here's  the  friar  ready. 

[Exit  Antonio. 
D.  Pedro.  Good  morrow.  Benedick  :  Why,  what's  the 
matter. 
That  you  have  such  a  February  face. 
So  full  of  frost,  of  storm,  and  cloudiness  ? 

s  2 


248  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

Claud.  I  think,  he  thinks  upon  the  savage  bull : — ° 
Tush,  fear  not,  man,  we'll  tip  thy  horns  with  gold, 
And  all  Europa  shall  rejoice  at  thee; 
As  once  Europa  did  at  lusty  Jove, 
When  he  would  play  the  noble  beast  in  love. 

Bene.  Bull  Jove,  sir,  had  an  amiable  low  ; 
And  some  such  strange  bull  leap'd  your  father's  cow. 
And  got  a  calf  in  that  same  noble  feat, 
Much  like  to  you,  for  you  have  just  his  bleat. 

Re-enter  Antonio,  with  the  Ladies  masked. 

Claud.  Forthis  I  owe  you :  here  comes  other  reckonings. 
Which  is  the  lady  I  must  seize  upon  ? 

Ant.  This  same  is  she,  and  I  do  give  you  her. 

Claud.  Why,  then  she's  mine  :  Sweet,  let  me  see  your 

Leon.  No,  that  you  shall  not,  till  you  take  her  hand  [face. 
Before  this  friar,  and  swear  to  marry  her. 

Claud.  Give  me  your  hand  before  this  holy  friar  ; 
I  am  your  husband,  if  you  like  of  me. 

Hero.  And  when  I  liv'd,  I  was  your  other  wife: 

[  Unmasking. 
And  when  you  loved,  you  were  my  other  husband. 

Claud.  Another  Hero  ? 

Hero.  Nothing  certainer  : 

One  Hero  died  defil'd  ;  but  I  do  live. 
And  surely  as  I  live,  I  am  a  maid. 

D.  Pedro.  The  former  Hero  !  Hero  that  is  dead  ! 

Leon.  She  died,  my  lord,  but  whiles  her  slander  lived. 

Friar.  All  this  amazement  can  I  qualify; 
When  after  that  the  holy  rites  are  ended, 
ril  tell  you  largely  of  fair  Hero's  death  : 
Mean  time,  let  wonder  seem  familiar. 
And  to  the  chapel  let  us  presently. 

Bene.  Soft  and  fair,  friar.     Which  is  Beatrice  ? 

Beat.  I  answer  to  that  name  ;  [iinmasking]  What  is  your 

Bene.  Do  not  you  love  me  ?  [will  ? 


°  the  savage  bull: — ]  Alluding  to  tlie  passage  quoted  in  act.  1.  scene  1. 

fiom  Kyd's  Hierouymo. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  IV.  249 

Beat.  Why  no,  no  more  than  reason. 

Bene.  Why,  then  your  uncle,  and  the  prince,  and  Clau- 
Have  been  deceived  ;  for  they  swore  you  did.  [dio. 

Beat.  Do  not  you  love  me  ? 

Bene.  Troth  no,  no  more  than  reason. 

Beat.  Why  then  my  cousin,  Margaret,  and  Ursula, 
Are  much  deceiv'd  ;  for  they  did  swear,  you  did. 

Bene.  They  swore  that  you  were  almost  sick  for  me. 

Beat.  They  swore  that  you  were  well-nigh  dead  for  me. 

Bene.  'Tis  no  such  matter : — Then,  you  do  not  love  me  ? 

Beat.  No,  truly,  but  in  friendly  recompense. 

Leon.  Come,  cousin,  1  am  sure  you  love  the  gentleman. 

Claud.  And  I'll  be  sworn  upon't,  that  he  loves  her  ; 
For  here's  a  paper,  written  in  his  hand, 
A  halting  sonnet  of  his  own  pure  brain, 
Fashion'd  to  Beatrice. 

Jiero.  And  here's  another. 

Writ  in  my  cousin's  hand,  stolen  from  her  pocket, 
Containing  her  affection  unto  Benedick. 

Bene.  A  miracle  !  here's  our  own  hands  against  our 
hearts  ! — Come,  I  will  have  thee  ;  but,  by  this  light,  I 
take  thee  for  pity. 

Beat.  I  would  not  deny  you  : — but  by  this  good  day,  I 
yield  upon  great  persuasion ;  and,  partly,  to  save  your 
life,  for  I  was  told  you  were  in  a  consumption. 

Bene.  Peace,  I  will  stop  your  mouth.  \_Kissing  her. 

D.  Pedro.  How  dost  thou.  Benedick  the  married  man  ? 

Bene.  I'll  tell  thee  what,  prince  ;  a  college  of  wit- 
crackers  cannot  Hout  me  out  of  my  humour  :  Dost  thou 
think,  I  care  for  a  satire,  or  an  epigram  ?  No :  if  a  man 
will  be  beaten  with  brains,  he  shall  wear  nothing  hand- 
some about  him  :  In  brief,  since  I  do  propose  to  marry, 
I  will  think  nothing  to  any  purpose  that  the  world  can 
say  against  it ;  and  therefore  never  flout  at  me  for  what 
I  have  said  against  it ;  for  man  is  a  giddy  thing,  and  this 
is  my  conclusion. — For  thy  part,  Claudio,  I  did  think  to 
have  beaten  thee  ;  but  in  that  thou  art  like  to  be  my  kins- 
man, live  unbruised,  and  love  my  cousin. 

Claud.  I  had  well  hoped,  thou  wouldst  have  denied 
Beatrice,  that  I  might  have  cudgelled  thee  out  of  thy 


260  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

single  life,  to  make  thee  a  double  dealer  :  which,  out  of 
question,  thou  wilt  be,  if  my  cousin  do  not  look  exceeding 
narrowly  to  thee. 

Bene.  Come,  come,  we  are  friends  : — let's  have  a  dance 
ere  we  are  married,  that  we  may  lighten  our  own  hearts, 
and  our  wives'  heels. 

I^eon.  We'll  have  dancing  afterwards. 

Bene.  First,  o'  my  word ;  therefore  play,  music. — Prince, 
thou  art  sad  ;  get  thee  a  wife,  get  thee  a  wife  :  there  is  no 
staff  more  reverend  than  one  tipped  with  horn.P 

Ente?'  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  My  lord,  your  brother  John  is  ta'en  in  flight. 
And  brought  with  armed  men  back  to  Messina. 

Bene.  Think  not  on  him  till  to-morrow ;  I'll  devise  thee 
brave  punishments  for  him. — Strike  up,  pipers. 

[Dance.     Exeunt.'^ 

p  no  staff  more  reverend  than  one  tipped  with  horn.'\    Mr.  Steevens,  to 

assist  future  editors  to  an  explanation  of  these  words  which  he  declares  him- 
self unable  to  furnish,  has  given  several  quotations  to  prove  that  a  staff  tipped 
with  horn  was  the  weapon  used  by  the  parties  in  the  ancient  trial  by  luager  of 
battle. — It  may  be  so  ;  but  may  not  the  allusion  here  be  to  the  common  horn 
headed  walking  sticks  carried  by  old  and  reverend  men  ? 

"1  This  play  may  be  justly  said  to  contain  two  of  the  most  sprightly  charac- 
ters that  Shakspeare  ever  drew.  The  wit,  the  humourist,  the  gentleman,  and 
the  soldier,  are  combined  in  Benedick.  It  is  to  be  lamented,  indeed,  that  the 
first  and  most  splendid  of  these  distinctions,  is  disgraced  by  unnecessary  pro- 
faneness ;  for  the  goodness  of  his  heart  is  hardly  sufficient  to  atone  for  the 
licence  of  his  tongue.  The  too  sarcastic  levity,  which  flashes  out  in  the  con- 
versation of  Beatrice,  may  be  excused  on  account  of  the  steadiness  and  friend- 
ship so  apparent  in  her  behaviour,  when  she  urges  her  lover  to  risk  his  life 
by  a  challenge  to  Claudio.  In  the  conduct  of  the  fable,  however,  there  is  an 
imperfection  similar  to  that  which  Dr.  Johnson  has  pointed  out  in  The  Merry 
Wives  of  Windsor : — the  second  contrivance  is  less  ingenious  than  the  first : — 
or,  to  speak  more  plainly,  the  same  incident  is  become  stale  by  repetition. 
I  wish  some  other  method  had  been  found  to  entrap  Beatrice,  than  that  very 
one  which  before  had  been  successfully  practised  on  Benedick. — Steevens. 

To  this  last  observation  of  Steeveus's,  M.Schlegel  replies,  "  Je  ne  saip  qui  a 
blame  cette  repetition  du  meme  moyen  j)Our  les  enlacer,  niais  ii  me  semble  que 
le  plaisant  de  la  chose  consiste  precisemcnt  dans  la  symetrie  des  ilkision." — 
The  following  remark  is  original  and  just.  "  Leurs  ames  s'attribuent  toute  la 
gloire  de  leurs  defaite,  mais  la  direction  exclusive  des  ])laisanteries  de  tons 
'deux  vers  un  seul  objet,  etait  d6ja  le  germe  d'une  inclination  cachte. —  Cows 
des  Literature  Dramalique,  vol.  iii.  '20. 


;isi 


A  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S    DREAM. 


This  play  was  entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  Oct.  8,  1600. — And  there  were 
two  editions  of  it  published  in  quarto  in  that  year.  Mr.  Malone  supposes  it 
to  have  been  written  in  1 594.  It  is  distinguished  by  one  of  the  strongest  cha- 
racteristics of  our  author's  early  plays — the  recurrence  of  passages  and  scenes 
in  rhyme. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


Theseus,  duke  o/' Athens. 
'EaG^vs,,  father  to  Hermia. 

Lysander,    7  .     ,  •  ,  TT 

D>  m  love  ivith  Hermia. 
EMETRIUS,  3 

Philostrate,  master  of  the  revels  to  Theseus. 

Quince,  the  carpenter. 

Snug,  the  joiner. 

Bottom,  the  weaver. 

Flute,  the  helloivs-mender. 

Snout,  the  tinker. 

Starveling,  the  tailor. 

HipPOLYTA,  queen  of  the  Amazons,  betrothed  to  Theseus. 

Hermia,  daughter  to  Egeus,  in  love  with  Lysander. 

Helena,  in  love  with  Demetrius. 

O  BE  RON,  king  of  the  Fairies. 

Tit  AN  I  A,  queen  of  the  Fairies. 

Puck,  or  Robin-goodfellow,  a  Fairy. 

Peas-blossom, 

Cobweb,  \   Ty  •  • 

M>  dairies 
oth. 

Mustard-seed, 

Pyramus, 

Thishe, 

Wall  \characters  in  the  Interlude,  performed  by  the 

MoomhineX  clowns. 

Lion, 

Other  Fairies  attending  their  King  and  Queen. 

Attendants  on  Theseus  and  Hippolyta. 

Scene,  Athens,  and  a   Wood  not  far  from  it. 

*  The  enumeration  of  persons  was  first  made  by  Mr.  Rowe. — Steevens. 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S   DREAM. 


ACT  L 

Scene  I. — Athens.     A  Room  in  the  Palace  of  Theseus. 

Enter  Theseus,  Hippolyta,  Philostuate,  and 
Attendants. 

The.  J\ow,  fair  Hippolyta,  our  nuptial  hour 
Daws  on  apace  ;  four  happy  days  bring  in 
Another  moon  :  but,  oh,  methinks,  how  slow 
This  old  moon  wanes  !  she  lingers  my  desires. 
Like  to  a  step-dame,  or  a  dowager. 
Long  withering  out  a  young  man's  revenue. 

Hip.  Four  days  will  quickly  steep  themselves  in  nights  ; 
Four  nights  will  quickly  dream  away  the  time ; 
And  then  the  moon,  like  to  a  silver  bow 
Now  bent  in  heaven,  shall  behold  the  night 
Of  our  solemnities. 

The.  Go,  Philostrate, 

Stir  up  the  Athenian  youth  to  merriments ; 
Awake  the  pert  and  nimble  spirit  of  mirth  : 
Turn  melancholy  forth  to  funerals. 
The  pale  companion  is  not  for  our  pomp. — 

[Exit  Philostrate. 
Hippolyta,  I  woo'd  thee  with  my  sword. 
And  won  thy  love,  doing  thee  injuries ; 
But  I  will  wed  thee  in  another  key. 
With  pomp,  with  triumph,^  and  with  revelling. 

*  triumph,^   i.  e.    shows,  spectacles.    "  These   triumphs   (those  of  the 

Romans),  have  so  borne  the  bell  above  all  tbe  rest,  that  the  word  iriumph^ 
ing,  which  cometh  thereof,  halh  been  applied  to  all  high,  great,  and  statelie 
dooings." — This  passage  is  from  The  Duke  of  Anjou's  entertainment  ul  Antwerp, 
1581,  quoted  by  Steevens. 


254  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

Enter  Egeus,  Hermia,  Lysander,  and  Demetrius. 

Ege.  Happy  be  Theseus,  our  renowned  duke  \^ 

The.  Thanks,  good  Egeus  :  What's  the  news  with  thee  ? 

Ege.  Full  of  vexation  come  I,  with  complaint 
Against  my  child,  my  daughter  Hermia. — 
Stand  forth,  Demetrius  ; — My  noble  lord. 
This  man  hath  my  consent  to  marry  her  : — 
Stand  forth,  Lysander ; — and,  my  gracious  duke, 
This  hath  bewitch'd  the  bosom  of  my  child  : 
Thou,  thou,  Lysander,  thou  hast  given  her  rhymes. 
And  interchang'd  love-tokens  with  my  child : 
Thou  hast  by  moon-light  at  her  window  sung. 
With  feigning  voice,  verses  of  feigning  love  5 
And  stol'n  the  impression  of  her  fantasy 
With  bracelets  of  thy  hair,  rings,  gawds,''  conceits. 
Knacks,  trifles,  nosegays,  sweet-meats  ;  messengers 
Of  strong  prevailment  in  unharden'd  youth  : 
With  cunning  hast  thou  filch'd  my  daughter's  heart ; 
Turn'd  her  obedience,  which  is  due  to  me. 
To  stubborn  harshness  : — And,  my  gracious  duke, 
Be  it  so  she  will  not  here  before  your  grace 
Consent  to  marry  with  Demetrius, 
I  beg  the  ancient  privilege  of  Athens  ; 
As  she  is  mine,  I  may  dispose  of  her  : 
Which  shall  be  either  to  this  gentleman, 
Or  to  her  death  ;  according  to  our  law. 
Immediately  provided  in  that  case. 

The.  What  say  you,  Hermia  ?  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. 

•» renowned  rfu/ce/]  Theseus  is  called  duke  in  Chaucer's  Knight's  Tale  : 

and  iu  the  same  manner  Stanyhurst,  in  his  translation  of  Virgil,  talks  of  dukt 
jEneas. — Steevens.  In  our  old  language  dttke  had  the  sense  of  i/ia  — com- 
mander. 

''- gawds,]  i.  e.  Baubles,  toys,  trlHes. 

^  To  leave  the  figure,  or  disfigure  it. J  i.  e.  Yon  owe  to  \jonr  Jaiher  a  being  which 
he  may  at  pleasure  continue  or  deHroy. — Johnson. 


ACT.  I.— SCENE  I.  255 

Her.  So  is  Lysander. 

The.  In  himself  he  is : 

But,  in  this  kind,  wanting  your  father's  voice. 
The  other  must  be  held  the  worthier. 

Her.  I  would,  my  father  look'd  but  with  my  eyes. 

The.  Rather  your  eyes  must  with  his  judgment  look. 

Her.  I  do  entreat  your  grace  to  pardon  me. 
I  know  not  by  what  power  I  am  made  bold ; 
Nor  how  it  may  concern  my  modesty. 
In  such  a  presence  here,  to  plead  my  thoughts : 
But  I  beseech  your  grace  that  I  may  know 
The  worst  that  may  befal  me  in  this  case. 
If  I  refuse  to  wed  Demetrius. 

The.  Either  to  die  the  death,  or  to  abjure 
For  ever  the  society  of  men. 
Therefore,  fair  Hermia,  question  your  desires. 
Know  of  your  youth,*"  examine  well  your  blood. 
Whether,  if  you  yield  not  to  your  father's  choice. 
You  can  endure  the  livery  of  a  nun ; 
For  aye  to  be  in  shady  cloister  mew'd, 
To  live  a  barren  sister  all  your  life. 
Chanting  faint  hymns  to  the  cold  fruitless  moon. 
Thrice  blessed  they,  that  master  so  their  blood. 
To  undergo  such  maiden  pilgrimage : 
But  earthlier  happy  is  the  rose  distill'd. 
Than  that,  which,  withering  on  the  virgin  thorn. 
Grows,  lives,  and  dies,  in  single  blessedness. 

Her.   So  will  I  grow,  so  live,  so  die,  my  lord. 
Ere  I  will  yield  my  virgin  patent  up 
Unto  his  lordship,  whose  unwished  yoke 
My  soul  consents  not  to  give  sovereignty.' 

The.  Take  time  to  pause ;  and,  by  the  next  new  moon 
(The  sealing-day  betwixt  my  love  and  me, 
For  everlasting  bond  of  fellowship,) 
Upon  that  day  either  prepare  to  die. 
For  disobedience  to  your  father's  will ; 
Or  else,  to  wed  Demetrius,  as  he  would : 

»■  Know  if  your  ynutli,]   Bring  your  youth  to  the  questiou. 

'  to  give  sovereignty.]  i.  e.  Give  sovereignty  to.     This  elliptical  mode 

of  expression  was  common  in  our  author's  time. — Ma  lone. 


256  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

Or  on  Diana's  altar  to  protest. 
For  aye,  austerity  and  single  life. 

Dem.  Relent,  sweet  Hermia; — And,  Lysander,  yield 
Thy  crazed  title  to  my  certain  right. 

Lys.  You  have  her  father's  love,  Demetrius  ; 
Let  me  have  Hermia's  :  do  you  marry  him. 

Ege.  Scornful  Lysander !  true,  he  hath  my  love. 
And  vi^hat  is  mine  my  love  shall  render  him ; 
And  she  is  mine  ;  and  all  my  right  of  her 
I  do  estate  unto  Demetrius. 

Lys.  I  am,  my  lord,  as  well  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. 

The.  I  must  confess,  that  I  have  heard  so  much. 
And  with  Demetrius  thought  to  have  spoke  thereof; 
But,  being  over-full  of  self-affairs. 
My  mind  did  lose  it. — But,  Demetrius,  come; 
And  come,  Egeus ;  you  shall  go  with  me, 
1  have  some  private  schooling  for  you  both. — 
For  you,  fair  Hermia,  look  you  ann  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  Hippoly ta ;  What  cheer,  my  love  ? 
Demetrius,  and  Egeus,  go  along  : 
I  must  employ  you  in  some  business 
Against  our  nuptial ;  and  confer  with  you 
Of  something  nearly  that  concerns  yourselves. 

E  spotted — ]  As  spoilesi  is  innocent,  so  spotted  is  wicked. 


ACT  I.— SCENE  I.  257 

Ege.  With  duty,  and  desire,  we  follow  you. 

[Exemit  Thes.  Hip.  Ege.  Dem.  and  train. 

Lt/s.  How  now,  my  love?    Why  is  your  cheek  so  pale? 
How  chance  the  roses  there  do  fade  so  fast? 

Her.  Belike  for  want  of  rain :  which  I  could  well 
Beteem'^  them  from  the  tempest  of  mine  eyes. 

Lj/s.  Ah  me !  for  aught  that  ever  I  could  read. 
Could  ever  hear  by  tale  or  history. 
The  course  of  true  love  never  did  run  smooth  : 
But,  either  it  was  different  in  blood ;- • 

Her.  O  cross  !  too  high  to  be  enthrall'd  to  low ! 

Lt/s.  Or  else  misgraffed,  in  respect  of  years: 

Her.  O  spite !  too  old  to  be  engag'd  to  young ! 

Lys.  Or  else  it  stood  upon  the  choice  of  friends : 

Her.  O  hell !  to  choose  love  by  another's  eye  ! 

Li/s.  Or,  if  there  were  a  sympathy  in  choice, 
War,  death,  or  sickness  did  lay  siege  to  it ; 
Making  it  momentany'  as  a  sound. 
Swift  as  a  shadow,  short  as  any  dream ; 
Brief  as  the  lightnino;  in  the  collied''  night. 
That,  in  a  spleen,'  unfolds  both  heaven  and  earth. 
And  ere  a  man  hath  power  to  say, — Behold ! 
The  jaws  of  darkness  do  devour  it  up  : 
So  quick  bright  things  come  to  confusion. 

Her.  If  then  true  lovers  have  been  ever  cross'd, 
It  stands  as  an  edict  in  destiny : 
Then  let  us  teach  our  trial  patience. 
Because  it  is  a  customary  cross ; 
As  due  to  love,  as  thoughts,  and  dreams,  and  sighs, 
Wishes,  and  tears,  poor  fancy's™  followers. 

Li/s.  A  good  persuasion;  therefore,  hear  me,  Hermia. 
I  have  a  widow  aunt,  a  dowager 
Of  great  revenue,  and  she  hath  no  child ; 
From  Athens  is  her  house  remote  seven  leagues  ; 
And  she  respects  me  as  her  only  son. 
There,  gentle  Hermia,  may  I  marry  thee; 
And  to  that  place  the  sharp  Athenian  law 
Cannot  pursue  us  :  If  thou  lov'st  me  then, 

*>  Beteem — ]  Pour  out  upon  them.         »  — —  Momentany — ]  i.  e.  Momentary. 

^ collied — ]  i.  e.  Black,  smutted  with  coal. 

' spleen,']  i.  e.  Sudden  hasty  Jit.  >"  _ — fancy — ]  i.  e.  Love. 


258  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

Steal  forth  thy  father's  house  to-morrow  night: 
And  in  the  wood,  a  league  without  the  town. 
Where  I  did  meet  thee  once  with  Helena, 
To  do  observance  to  a  morn  of  May, 
There  will  I  stay  for  thee. 

Her.  My  good  Lysander  ! 

I  swear  to  thee,  by  Cupid's  strongest  bow  ; 
By  his  best  arrow"  with  the  golden  head ; 
By  the  simplicity  of  Venus'  doves  ; 
By  that  which  knitteth  souls,  and  prospers  loves ; 
And  by  that  fire  which  burn'd  the  Carthage  queen," 
When  the  false  Trojan  under  sail  was  seen; 
By  all  the  vows  that  ever  men  have  broke, 
In  number  more  than  ever  women  spoke  ; — 
In  that  same  place  thou  hast  appointed  me. 
To-morrow  truly  will  I  meet  with  thee. 

Lys.  Keep  promise,  love :  Look,  here  comes  Helena, 

Enter  Helena. 

Her.  God  speed  you  fair  Helena  !  Whither  away  ? 

Hel.  Call  you  me  fair?  that  fair  again  unsay. 
Demetrius  loves  your  fair  :?  O  happy  fair  ! 
Your  eyes  are  load-stars  ;i  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  !"" 
Your's  would  I  catch,  fair  Hermia,  ere  I  go  ; 
My  ear  should  catch  your  voice,  my  eye  your  eye, 
My  tongue  should  catch  your  tongue's  sweet  melody. 
Were  the  world  mine,  Demetrius  being  bated. 
The  rest  I'll  give  to  be  to  you  translated.' 

D  best  arrow — ]  So  in  Sidney's  Arcadia,  book  ii. — "  Arrows  two,  and 

tipt  with  gold  or  lead." — Stebvens. 

"  •  by  that  fire  which  hnrnd  the  Carthage  queen,'\     Shakspeare  had  forgot 

that  Theseus  performed  his  exploits  before  the  Trojan  war,  and  consequently 
long  before  the  death  of  Dido. — Stkevi.ns.  ^ 

I'  Your  fair;]  Fair  is  used  as  a  substajitive  here  and  in  the  Comedy  of  Errors ; 
and  in  various  other  places  of  different  authors. — Steevens. 

4  Your  eyes  are  loadstars ;]  This  was  a  compliment  not  unfrequent  among 
the  old  poets.  The  load-star  is  tlie  leading  or  guiding  star,  that  is,  the  pole- 
star. — Johnson. 

^favour — ]  i.  e.  Appearance. 

• to  be  to  you  translated.]  To  translate,  in  our  author,  sometimes  sig- 
nifies to  transform. — Steevens. 


ACT  I.— SCENE  1.  259 

O,  teach  me  how  you  look  ;  and  with  what  art 
You  sway  the  motion  of  Demetrius'  heart. 

Her.  I  frown  upon  him,  yet  he  loves  me  still. 

Hel.  O,  that  your  frowns  would  teach  my  smiles  such 

Her.  I  give  him  curses,  yet  he  gives  me  love.       [skill ! 

Hel.  O,  that  my  prayers  could  such  affection  move  ! 
'^  Her.  The  more  I  hate,  the  more  he  follows  me. 

Hel.  The  more  I  love,  the  more  he  hateth  me. 

Her.  His  folly,  Helena,  is  no  fault  of  mine. 

Hel.  None,  but  your'  beauty  ;  'Would  that  fault  were 

Her.  Take  comfort ;  he  no  more  shall  see  my  face ;  [mine ! 
Lysander  and  myself  will  fly  this  place. — 
Before  the  time  I  did  Lysander  see, 
Seem'd  Athens  like  a  paradise  to  me  : 
O  then,  what  graces  in  my  love  do  dwell. 
That  he  hath  turn'd  a  heaven  unto  hell ! 

Lt/s.  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. 

Htr.  And  in  the  wood,  were  often  you  and  I 
Upon  the  faint  primrose  beds  were  wont  to  lie. 
Emptying  our  bosoms  of  their  counsel  sweet ; 
There  my  Lysander  and  myself  shall  meet : 
And  thence,  from  Athens,  turn  away  our  eyes. 
To  seek  new  friends  and  stranger  companies. 
Farewell,  sweet  playfellow  ;  pray  thou  for  us. 
And  good  luck  grant  thee  thy  Demetrius  ! — 
Keep  word,  Lysander  :  we  must  starve  our  sight 
From  lovers'  food,  till  morrow  deep  midnight. 

[Exit  Kev-m. 

hys.  I  will,  my  Hermia. — Helena  adieu  : 
As  you  on  him,  Demetrius  dote  on  you  !  [Exit  Lys. 

Hel.  How  happy  some,  o'erother  some  can  be  ! 
Through  Athens  I  am  thought  as  fair  as  she.  *' 

But  what  of  that?  Demetrius  thinks  not  so  ; 
He  will  not  know  what  all  but  he  do  know. 
And  as  he  errs,  doting  on  Hermia's  eyes. 


260  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

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  winged  Cupid  painted  blind. 

Nor  hath  love's  mind  of  any  judgement  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  expence  :* 

But  herein  mean  I  to  enrich  my  .pain. 

To  have  his  sight  thither,  and  back  again.  {Exit 

SCENE  II. 

The  same.    A  Room  in  a  Cottage. 

Euter  Snug,  Bottom,  Flute,  Snout,  Quince,  and 
Starveling.'' 

Quin.  Is  all  our  company  here? 

t in  game — ]  Game  here  signifies  not  contentious  play,  but  sj)or(,^'es(. — 

Johnson. 

"  Hermia's  eyne,]  This  plural  is  common  both  in  Chaucer  and  Spenser. 

X it  is  a  dear  expence:]  i.  e.  It  will  cost  him  n}iicli,  (be  a  severe  con- 
straint on  his  feelings,)  to  make  even  so  slight  a  return  for  my  communication. 
— Steevens. 

y  In  this  scene  Shakspeare  takes  advantage  of  his  knowledge  of  the  theatre, 
to  ridicule  the  prejudices  and  competitions  of  the  players.  Bottom,  who  is 
generally  acknowledged  the  principal  actor,  declares  his  inclination  to  be  for  a 
tyrant,  for  a  part  of  fuiy,  tumult,  and  noise,  such  as  every  young  man  pants  to 
perform  when  he  first  steps  upon  the  stage.  The  same  Bottom,  who  seems 
bred  in  a  tiring-room,  has  another  histrionical  passion.  He  is  for  engrossing 
every  part,  and  would  exclude  his  inferiors  from  all  possibility  of  distinction. 
He  is  therefore  desirous  to  play  Pyramus,  Thisbe,  and  the  Lion,  at  the  same 
time. — Johnson. 


ACT  I.— SCENE  II.  261 

Bot.  You  were  best  to  call  them  generally,  man  by  man, 
according  to  the  scrip.' 

Quill.  Here  is  the  scroll  of  every  man's  name,  which  is 
thought  fit,  through  all  Athens,  to  play  in  our  interlude 
before  the  duke  and  duchess,  on  his  wedding-day  at  night. 

Bot.  First,  good  Peter  Quince,  say  what  the  play  treats 
on  ;  then  read  the  names  of  the  actors  ;  and  so  grow  on  to 
a  point.* 

Quin.  Marry,  our  play  is — The  most  lamentable  comedy,'' 
and  most  cruel  death  of  Pyramus  and  Thisby. 

Bot.  A  very  good  piece  of  work,  I  assure  you,  and  a 
merry. — Now  good  Peter  Quince,  call  forth  your  actors  by 
the  scroll :  Masters,  spread  yourselves. 

Quin.  Answer  as  I  call  you. — Nick  Bottom  the  weaver. 

Bot.  Ready.     Name  what  part  I  am  for,  and  proceed. 

Quin.  You,  Nick  Bottom,  are  set  down  for  Pyramus. 

Bot.  What  is  Pyramus?  a  lover,  or  a  tyrant? 

Quin.  A  lover,  that  kills  himself  most  gallantly  for  love. 

Bot.  That  will  ask  some  tears  in  the  true  performing 
of  it:  If  I  doit,  let  the  audience  look  to  their  eyes  ;  I 
will  move  storms,  I  will  condole  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  raoino;  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." 

2 the  scrip.]  A  sci-ip,  Fr.  escrip,  now  written  ecrit. 

a grow  on  to  a  point.^  This  is  the  reading  of  the  first  folio,  and  I  have 

not  a  doubt  but  Mr.  Warner  is  correct  in  supposing  it  to  be  a  misprint  for  go 
on  to  appoint — i.  e.  appoint  the  actors  to  their  several  parts. 

b The  most  lamentable  comedij,  &c.J  This  is  very  probably  a  burlesque 

on  the  title  page  of  Cambyses.  "  A  lamentable  tragedy  mixed  full  of  pleasant 
mirth,  containing  the  life  of  Cambises,  king  of  Persia," — Steevens. 

c to  tear  a  cat — ]  This  was  in  our  author's  day  the  cant  e.-spression  for 

theatrical  ranting. — "  I  had  rather  heare  two  good  jests,  than  a  whole  play  of 
such  tear-cat  thunder  claps."  Day's  Isle  of  Gulls. — Archdeacon  Nares  supposes 
the  phrase  to  have  been  derived  from,  "  a  cruel  act  of  the  kind  having  been 
performed  by  some  daring  ruffian  to  excite  surprise  and  alarm," 

VOL.   11.  T 


262  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

This  was  lofty  ! — Now  name  the  rest  of  the  players. — 
This  is  Ercles'  vein,  a  tyrant's  vein ;  a  lover  is  more  con- 
doling. 

Quin.  Francis  Flute,  the  bellows-mender.** 

Flu.  Here,  Peter  Quince. 

Quin.  You  must  take  Thisby  on  you. 

Flu.  What  is  Thisby  ?  a  wandering  knight? 

Quill.  It  is  the  lady  that  Py ramus  must  love. 

Flu.  Nay,  faith,  let  me  not  play  a  woman ;  I  have  a 
beard  coming. 

Quin.  That's  all  one ;  you  shall  play  it  in  a  mask,  and 
you  may  speak  as  small  as  you  will. 

Bot.  An  I  may  hide  my  face,  let  me  play  Thisby  too  : 
I'll  speak  in  a  monstrous  little  voice  ; — Thisne,  Thisne, — 
Ah,  Pyramus,  my  lover  dear-,  thy  Thisby  dear!  and  lady  dear. 

Quin.  No,  no  ;  you  must  play  Pyramus,  and.  Flute, 
you  Thisby. 

Bot.  Well,  proceed. 

Quin.  Robin  Starveling,  the  tailor. 

Star.  Here,  Peter  Quince. 

Quin.  Robin  Starveling,  you  must  play  Thisby's  mo- 
ther.— Tom  Snout,  the  tinker. 

Snout.  Here,  Peter  Quince 

Quin.  You,  Pyramus's  father ;  myself,  Thisby's  fa- 
ther;— Snug,  the  joiner,  you  the  hon's  part: — and,  I 
hope,  here  is  the  play  fitted. 

Snug.  Have  you  the  lion's  part  written?  pray  you,  if 
it  be,  give  it  me,  for  I  am  slow  of  study. 

Quin.  You  may  do  it  extempore,  for  it  is  nothing  but 
roaring. 

Bot.  Let  me  play  the  lion  too  :  I  will  roar,  that  I  will 
do  any  man's  heart  good  to  hear  me ;  I  will  roar,  that  1 
will  make  the  duke  say,  Let  him  roar  again,  Let  him  roar 
again. 

Quin.  An  you  should  do  it  too  terribly,  you  would 
fright  the  duchess  and  the  ladies,  that  they  would  shriek ; 
and  that  were  enough  to  hang  us  all. 

•* bellows-mender.']    One  who  had  the  care  of  organs  and  of  regals, 

which  were  instruments  like  organs,  but  small  and  portable.     The  name  Flute 
is  appropriate  to  his  trade. — Steevens. 


ACT  J.— SCENE  11.  263 

Ail.  That  would  hang  us  every  mother's  son. 

Bot.  I  grant  you,  friends,  that  if  you  should  fright  the 
ladies  out  of  their  wits,  they  would  have  no  more  discre- 
tion but  to  hang  us  :  but  I  will  aggravate  my  voice  so, 
that  I  will  roar  you  as  gently  as  any  sucking  dove  ;  I  will 
roar  you  an  'twere  any  nightingale. 

Qitin.  You  can  play  no  part  but  Pyramus :  for  Pyra- 
mus  is  a  sweet-faced  man  ;  a  proper  man,  as  one  shall  see 
in  a  summer's  day  ;  a  most  lovely,  gentleman-like  man ; 
therefore  you  must  needs  play  Pyramus. 

Bot.  Well,  I  will  undertake  it.  What  beard  were  I 
best  to  play  it  in  ?* 

Qiiin.  Why,  what  you  will. 

Bot.  I  will  discharge  it  in  either  your  straw-coloured 
beard,  your  orange-tawny  beard,  your  purple-in-grain 
beard,  or  your  French-crown-colour  beard,  your  perfect 
yellow. 

Qimi.  Some  of  your  French  crowns  have  no  hair  at  all, 
and  then  you  will  play  bare-faced. — But,  masters ;  here 
are  your  parts :  and  I  am  to  entreat  you,  request  you,  and 
desire  you,  to  con  them  by  to-morrow  night ;  and  meet 
me  in  the  palace  wood,  a  mile  without  the  town,  by  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. 

Bot.  We  will  meet ;  and  there  we  may  rehearse  more 
obscenely,  and  courageously.  Take  pains;  be  perfect.; 
adieu. 

Quin.  At  the  duke's  oak  we  meet. 

Bot.  Enough  ;  Hold,  or  cut  bow-strings .^         [^Exeunt. 

e -What  heard  were  1  best  ■play  it  in?]  Alluding  to  the  practice  of  dying 

tbe  beard. 

( ■priyperties,']  Properties  are  whatever  little  articles  are  wanted  in  a 

play  for  the  actors,  according  to  their  respective  parts,  dresses  and  scenes  ex- 
cepted. The  person  who  delivers  them  out  is  to  this  day  called  the  property- 
man. — Steevens. 

S  At  the  duke's  oak  we  meet. 

Hold,  or  cut  bow-strings.]    To  meet,  whether  how-strings  hold  or  are 

cut,  is  to  meet  in  all  events.  To  cut  the  bow-string,  when  bows  were  in  use, 
was  probably  a  common  practice  of  those  who  bore  enmity  to  the  archer. — 
Malone. 


264  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM 

ACT   II. 

Scene  I. — A  Wood  near  Athens. 

Enter  a  Fairy  at  one  door,  and  Puck  at  another. 

Puck.  How  now,  spirit !  whither  wander  you  ? 
Fai.  Over  hill,  over  dale. 

Thorough  bush,  thorough  briar. 

Over  park,  over  pale. 

Thorough  flood,  thorough  fire, 

I  do  wander  every  where. 

Swifter  than  the  moones  sphere, 

And  I  serve  the  fairy  queen. 

To  dew  her  orbs  upon  the  green  :i> 

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  our  elves  come  here  anon. 

Puck.  The  king  doth  keep  his  revels  here  to-night; 
Take  heed,  the  queen  come  not  within  his  sight. 
For  Oberon  is  passing  fell  and  wrath. 
Because  that  she,  as  her  attendant,  hath 
A  lovely  boy,  stol'n  from  an  Indian  king; 
She  never  had  so  sweet  a  changeling  :' 
And  jealous  Oberon  would  have  the  child 
Knight  of  his  train,  to  trace  the  forests  wild : 

h  To  dew  her  orbs  upon  the  green ;]  The  orhs  here  mentioned  are  circles  sup- 
posed to  be  made  by  the  fairies  on  the  ground,  whose  verdure  proceeds  from 
the  fairies'  care  to  water  them. — Johnson. 

»  The  cowslips  tall  /ter  pensioners  be  /]  This  was  said  in  consequence  of 
Queen  Elizabeth's  fashionable  establishment  of  a  band  of  military  courtiers, 
by  the  name  of  pemioners.  They  were  some  of  the  handsomest  and  tallest 
young  men,  of  the  best  families  and  fortune,  that  could  be  found.  They  gave 
the  mode  in  dress  and  diversions. — T.  Warton. 

k lob  nf  spirits,']  Lob,  lubber,  h<uhy,  lobcfck,  all  denote  both  inactivity  of 

body  and  dulness  of  mind. — Johnson. 

1  changeling  :]■ — is  generally  used  for  the  child   left  by  the  fairies,  but 

here  for  the  child  taken  away. — Johnson. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  I.  265 

But  she,  perforce,  withholds  the  loved  boy. 
Crowns  him  with  flowers,  and  makes  him  all  her  joy : 
And  now  they  never  meet  in  grove,  or  green. 
By  fountain  clear,  or  spangled  star-light  sheen,"" 
But  they  do  square  ;"  that  all  their  elves,  for  fear. 
Creep  into  acorn  cups,  and  hide  them  there. 

Fai.  Either  I  mistake  your  shape  and  making  quite. 
Or  else  you  are  that  shrewd  and  knavish  sprite, 
Call'd  Robin  Goodfellow  :°  are  you  not  he. 
That  fright  the  maidens  of  the  villagery  ; 
Skim  milk  ;  and  sometimes  labour  in  the  quern,p 
And  bootless  make  the  breathless  housewife  churn  ; 
And  sometime  make  the  drink  to  bear  no  barm  ;•> 
Mislead  night-wanderers,laughing  at  their  harm? 
Those  that  Hobgoblin  call  you,  and  sweet  Puck,"" 
You  do  their  work,  and  they  shall  have  good  luck  : 
Are  not  you  he  ? 

Puck.  Thou  speak'st  aright; 

I  am  that  merry  wanderer  of  the  night. 
I  jest  to  Oberon,  and  make  him  smile, 
When  I  a  fat  and  bean-fed  horse  beguile. 
Neighing  in  likeness  of  a  filly  foal : 
And  sometime  lurk  I  in  a  gossip's  bowl. 
In  very  likeness  of  a  roasted  crab  ; 
And,  when  she  drinks,  against  her  lips  I  bob. 
And  on  her  wither'd  dew-lap  pour  the  ale. 
The  wisest  aunt,  telling  the  saddest  tale. 
Sometime  for  three-foot  stool  mis^aketh  me  : 


'" sheen,']  Bright. — Johnson. 

n sijuare  ;]   Quarrel, 

o Ri)bin  Goodfeltuw :]  "Your  grandame's  maids  were  wont  to  set  a 

bowl  of  milk  for  him,  for  Lis  pains  in  grinding  malt  and  mustard,  and  sweep- 
ing the  house  at  midnight — this  white  bread  and  bread  and  milk  was  his 
standing  fee." — Reginald  Scott's  Discovery  of  Witchcraft,  ISSi,  p.  66. — He  is 
mentioned  by  Cartwrighl  (Ordinary,  act  3.  sc.  1.)  as  a  spirit  particularly  fond 
of  disconcerting  and  disturbing  domestic  peace  and  economy. — T.  Warton. 

p in  the  quern,]  Quern  is  a  hand-mill :  kuerna,  mohi. 

1 no  barm  ;]   Barrne  is  a  name  for  yeast,  in  some  parts  of  England,  and 

universally  in  Ireland. — Ste evens. 

r sweet  Puck,]  The  epiUiet  is  by  no  means  superfluous;  as  Fuck  alone 

was  far  from  being  an  endearing  appellation.  It  signified  nothing  better  than 
fiend  o\  devil. — Tvrwitt.  In  the  fairy  mythology,  Puck,  or  Hobgoblin,  was 
the  trusty  servant  of  Oberon,  and  always  employed  to  watch  or  detect  the  in- 
trigues, of  Queen  Mab,  called  by  Shakspeare,  Titania. — Joi  i    .*<. 


266  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM, 

Then  slip  I  from  her  bum,  down  topples  she. 

And  tailor  cries,^  and  falls  into  a  cough  ; 

And  then  the  whole  quire  hold  their  hips,  and  lofFe ;' 

And  waxen"  in  their  mirth,  and  neeze  and  swear 

A  merrier  hour  was  never  wasted  there. — 

But  room.  Faery,  here  comes  Oberon. 

Fai.  And  here  my  mistress  : — 'Would  that  he  were 


gone  I 


SCENE  II. 


Enter  Oberon,''  a^  07ie  door,  with  his  train,  and  Titan i a,, 
at  another,  with  hers. 

Obe.  Ill  met  by  moonlight,  proud  Titania. 

Tita.  What  jealous  Oberon?  Fairy,  skip  hence  j 
I  have  forsworn  his  bed  and  company. 

Obe.  Tarry,  rash  wanton  ;  Am  not  I  thy  lord  ? 

Tita.  Then  I  must  be  thy  lady  :  But  I  know 
When  thou  hast  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. 

Obe.  How  canst  thou  thus,  for  shame,  Titania, 

5-  And  tailor  cries,"]  The  custom  of  crying  tailor  at  a  sudden  fall  backwards^, 
1  think  I  remember  to  have  observed.  He  tliat  slips  beside  his  chair,  falls  as 
a  tailor  squats  upon  his  board. — Johnson. 

' loffe  ,-]   i.  e.  Laugh. 

" waxen  in  their  mirth,]  Increase  in  their  mirth,  as  the  moon  waxes. — 

Johnson. 

"  Oberon  and  Titaniu,  are  supposed  by  Tyrwhitt  to  be  derived  from  the- 
Pluto  and  Proserpina  in  the  RIerchaut's  Tale  of  Chaucer. 
"  Full  often  time  he  Pluto  and  his  quene 
Proserpina  and  all  her  fairie 
Disporten  hem  and  maken  mclodie." — 
"  Pluto,  that  is  the  king  of  Fairie, 
And  many  a  ladie  in  his  companie 
Folwing  his  wif,  the  quene  Proserpine." 
Oberon,  or  Aiiheron  is  derived  from  "  L'tiuhe  du  Jour."  and  Mab  his  queen  from 
Aiiinhilis,  so  that  litcidity  and  mnudiUiiy,  their  characteristics  as  delineated  by 
ijhakspeare,  may  be  traced  in  their  names. — Dkake. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  II.  267 

Glance  at  my  credit  with  Hippolyta, 

Knowing  I  know  thy  love  to  Theseus  ? 

Didst  thou  not  lead  him  through  the  glimmering  night 

From  Perigenia/  whom  he  ravished  ? 

And  make  him  with  fair  iEgle  break  his  faith. 

With  Ariadne,  and  Antiopa? 

Tita.  These  are  the  forgeries  of  jealousy  : 

And  never,  since  the  middle  summer's  spring,^ 

Met  we  on  hill,  in  dale,  forest,  or  mead. 

By  paved  fountain,  or  by  rushy  brook. 

Or  on  the  beached  margent  of  the  sea, 
To  dance  our  ringlets  to  the  whistling  wind. 
But  with  thy  brawls  thou  hast  disturb'd  our  sport. 
Therefore  the  winds,  piping  to  us  in  vain. 
As  in  revenge,  have  suck'd  up  from  the  sea 
Contagious  fogs  ;  which  falling  in  the  land. 
Have  every  pelting*  river  made  so  proud. 
That  they  have  overborne  their  continents  c"* 
The  ox  hath  therefore  stretch 'd  his  yoke  in  vain. 
The  ploughman  lost  his  sweat ;  and  the  green  corii 
Hath  rotted,  ere  his  youth  attain'd  a  beard  : 
The  fold  stands  empty  in  the  drowned  field. 
The  crows  are  fatted  with  the  murrainc  flock  ; 
The  nine  men's  morris  is  fill'd  up  with  mud  ;' 
And  the  quaint  mazes  in  the  wanton  green,® 

y  Ferigenia,']  Our  ancient  authors  were  not  scrupulous  about  proper  names, 
— the  real  name  was  Perigune,  yEgle,  Ariadne,  and  Antiopa,  were  all  at 
different  times  mistresses  of  Theseus. — Steevens. 

^  And  never,  since  the  middle  summer's  spring,  &c.]  The  middle  summer's 
spring,  is,  I  apprehend,  the  season  when  trees  put  forth  their  second,  or,  as 
they  are  frequently  called,  their  midsummer  shoots. — Henley'. 

a pelting — ]  Despicable,  mean,  sorry,  wretched. 

l> overbm-ne  their  continents:]    Borne  down  the   banks  that  contain 

them.     The  word  continents  is  used  in  Lear  in  the  same  sense. — Johnson. 

c murrain — ]  The  plague  in  cattle  here  used  as  an  adjective,  signify- 
ing dend  0/ t/ie  ^/imrahj. 

•1  The  nine  men's  morris  is  fill'd  up  with  mud;'\  Nine  men's  morris  is  a  game 
still  played  by  the  shepherds,  cowkeepers,  &c.  in  the  midland  counties,  as 
fohows  ; 

A  figure  is  made  on  the  ground  by  cutting  out  the  turf ;  and  two  persons 
take  each  nine  stones,  which  they  place  by  turns  in  the  angles,  and  afterwards 
move  alternately,  as  at  chess  or  draughts.  He  who  can  place  three  in  a 
straight  line,  may  then  take  off"  any  one  of  his  adversary's,  where  he  pleases, 
till  one,  having  lost  all  his  men,  loses  the  game. — Alchorne. 

e  the  quaint  mazes  in  the  wanton  green,}  This  alludes  to  a  sport  still 

followed  by  boys ;  i.  e.  what  is  now  called  running  the  figiire  of  eight. — 

StEIvVENS. 


268  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

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  rheumatick  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'  chin,  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  dissention  ; 

We  are  their  parents  and  original. 

Obe.  Do  you  amend  it  then  :  it  lies  in  you  : 
Why  should  Titania  cross  her  Oberon  ? 
I  do  but  beg  a  little  changeling  boy, 
To  be  my  henchman.'' 

Tita.  Set  your  heart  at  rest. 

The  fairy  land  buys  not  the  child  of  me. 
His  mother  was  a  vot'ress  of  my  order  : 
And,  in  the  spiced  Indian  air,  by  night. 
Full  often  hath  she  gossip'd  by  my  side  ; 
And  sat  with  me  on  Neptune's  yellow  sands. 
Marking  the  embarked  traders  on  the  flood  ; 
When  we  have  laughed  to  see  the  sails  conceive. 


^  The  human  nwrtals — ]  Men,  as  ilisiinguished  horn  fairies  ;  who,  though  not 
liumaii  were  subject  to  mortality. — The  death  of  fairies  was  questioned  by  Mr. 
llitson  ;  but  Spenser  has  established  the  fact  beyond  a  doubt,  by  giving  the 
pedigree  of  Oberon  himself,  who  succeeded  Elferon,  and,  after  his  death, 
was  succeeded  by  Tanaquil,  or  Gloriana. — See  Spenmrr's  Fairy  Queen,  h.  2  c.  x. 
from  the  seventieth  stanza  to  the  end. 

K diUenij)erature—'\  i.  e.  The  discord  of  the  king  and  queen. — Malone. 

Or,  the  perturbation  of  the  elements. — Stlevens. 

''  The  chihling  autumn,'\ — is  the  pregnant  autumn,  frugijer  uutuvmus. — 
Stf.evens. 

'    By  their  increase,'^  i.  e.  By  their  {•roduce. 

"^ henchman.]  Page  of  honour.     'J'his  office  was  abolished  at  court  by 

yuren  Klizabeth. — Grey. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  II.  269 

And  grow  big-bellied,  with  the  wanton  wind  : 

Which  she,  with  pretty  and  with  swimming  gait. 

Following,  (her  womb,  then  rich  with  ray  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. 

Obe.  How  long  within  this  wood  intend  you  stay  ? 

Tita.  Perchance,  till  after  Theseus,  wedding-day. 
If  you  will  patiently  dance  in  our  round. 
And  see  our  moonlight  revels,  go  with  us ; 
If  not,  shun  me,  and  I  will  spare  your  haunts. 

Obe.  Give  me  that  boy,  and  I  will  go  with  thee. 

Tita.  Not  for  thy  fairy  kingdom. — Fairies,  away  : 
We  shall  chide  down-right,  if  I  longer  stay. 

[^Exeunt  Titania,  and  her  train. 

Obe.  Well,  go  thy  way :  thou  shalt  not  from  this  grove. 
Till  I  torment  thee  for  this  injury. — 
My  gentle  Puck,  come  hither  :  Thou  remember'st 
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. 

Puck.  I  remember. 

Obe.  That  very  time  I  saw,  (but  thou  could'st  not,) 
Flying  between  the  cold  moon  and  the  earth, 
Cupid  all  arm'd  :  a  certain  aim  he  took 
At  a  fair  vestal,  throned  by  the  west ; 
And  loos'd  his  love-shaft  smartly  from  his  bow. 
As  it  should  pierce  a  hundred  thousand  hearts  : 
But  I  might  see  young  Cupid's  fiery  shaft 
Quench'd  in  the  chaste  beams  of  the  wat'ry  moon ; 
And  the  imperial  votress  passed  on. 
In  maiden  meditation,  fancy-free  :' 

' fancy-free .]  i.  e.  Exempt  from  the  power  of  love. — The  whole  of  this 

beautiful  passage  is  designed  as  a  compliment  to  Queen  Elizabeth. — Dr.  War- 


270  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

Yet  mark'd  I  where  the  bolt  of  Cupid  fell : 

It  fell  upon  a  little  western  flower, — 

Before,  milk-white  ;  now  purple  with  love's  wound, — 

And  maidens  call  it,  love-in-idleness.™ 

Fetch  me  that  flower  ;  the  herb  I  show'd  thee  once  ; 

The  juice  of  it  on  sleeping  eye-lids  laid. 

Will  make  or  man  or  woman  madly  dote 

Upon  the  next  live  creature  that  it  sees. 

Fetch  me  this  herb :  and  be  thou  here  asain, 

Ere  the  leviathan  can  swim  a  league. 

Puck.  I'll  put  a  girdle  round  about  the  earth 
In  forty  minutes.  [Exit  Puck. 

Obe.  Having  once  this  juice, 

I'll  watch  Titania  when  she  is  asleep. 
And  drop  the  liquor  of  it  in  her  eyes  ; 
The  next  thing  then  she  waking  looks  upon, 
(Be  it  on  lion,  bear,  or  wolf,  or  bull. 
On  meddling  monkey,  or  on  busy  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,  Kei^-en a  following  him. 

Dem.  I  love  thee  not,  therefore  pursue  me  not. 
Where  is  Lysander,  and  fair  Hermia  ? 
The  one  I'll  slay,  the  other  slayeth  me. 
Thou  told'st  me,  they  were  stol'n  into  this  wood, 
And  here  am  I,  and  wood"  within  this  wood. 
Because  I  cannot  meet  with  Hermia. 
Hence,  get  thee  gone,  and  follow  me  no  more. 

Hel.  You  draw  me,  you  hard-hearted  adamant ; 
But  yet  you  draw  not  iron,  for  my  heart 

burton  has  attempted  to  shew  that  the  mermaid  meant  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  : 
but  this  was  a  task  which  it  exceeded  even  liis  ingenuity  to  accomj)Jish. 

"' love-in-idleness.]  The  flower  commonly  called  pan.sies,  or  heart's-case, 

is  named  love-in-idleness  in  AVarwickshire,  and  in  Lyte's  Herbal.  There  is  a 
reason  wliy  Shakspeare  says  it  is  "  now  pujple  with  love's  wound,"  because 
one  or  two  of  its  petals  are  of  a  purple  colour. — Tollet. 

" xuood — ]  i.  c.  Mad. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  II.  271 

Is  true  as5  steel :  Leave  you  your  power  to  draw. 
And  I  shall  have  no  power  to  follow  you. 

Dern.  Do  I  entice  you?  Do  I  speak  you  fair? 
Or,  rather,  do  I  not  in  plainest  truth 
Teli  you — I  do  not,  nor  I  cannot  love  you  ? 

Hel.  And  even  for  that  do  I  love  you  the  more. 
I  am  your  spaniel ;  and,  Demetrius, 
The  more  you  beat  me,  I  will  fawn  on  you  : 
Use  me  but  as  your  spaniel,  spurn  me,  strike  me. 
Neglect  me,  lose  me  ;  only  give  me  leave. 
Unworthy  as  I  am,  to  follow  you. 
What  worser  place  can  I  beg  in  your  love, 
(And  yet  a  place  of  high  respect  with  me,) 
Than  to  be  used  as  you  do  use  your  dog? 

Dem.  Tempt  not  too  much  the  hatred  of  my  spnit  j 
For  I  am  sick,  when  I  do  look  on  thee. 

Hel.  And  I  am  sick,  when  I  look  not  on  you. 

Dem.  You  do  impeach"  your  modesty  too  much. 
To  leave  the  city,  and  commit  yourself 
Into  the  hands  of  one  that  loves  you  not ; 
To  trust  the  opportunity  of  night. 
And  the  ill  counsel  of  a  desert  place. 
With  the  rich  worth  of  your  virginity. 

Hel.  Your  virtue  is  my  privilege  for  that. 
It  is  not  night,  when  I  do  see  your  face. 
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  ? 

Dem.  I'll  run  from  thee,  and  hide  me  in  the  brakes. 
And  leave  thee  to  the  mercy  of  wild  beasts. 

Hel.  The  wildest  hath  not  such  a  heart  as  you. 
Run  when  you  will,  the  story  shall  be  chang'd  ; 
Apollo  flies,  and  Daphne  holds  the  chace  ; 
The  dove  pursues  the  griffin  ;  the  mild  hind 
Makes  speed  to  catch  the  tiger :  Bootless  speed  ! 
When  cowardice  pursues,  and  valour  flies. 

Dem.  I  will  not  stay  thy  questions  ;  let  me  go  : 

<* impcacli — ]  i.  e.  Bring  Into  question. 


272  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

Or,  if"  thou  follow  me,  do  not  believe 
But  I  shall  do  thee  mischief  in  the  wood. 

Hel.  Ay,  in  the  temple,  in  the  town,  the  field. 
You  do  me  mischief.     Fye,  Demetrius  ! 
Your  wrongs  do  set  a  scandal  on  my  sex  : 
We  cannot  fight  for  love,  as  men  may  do ; 
We  should  be  woo'd,  and  were  not  made  to  woo. 
I'll  follow  thee,  and  make  a  heaven  of  hell. 
To  die  upon  the  hand?  I  love  so  well. 

[^Exeunt  Dem.  and  Hel. 

Obe.  Fare  thee  well,  nymph  :  ere  he  do  leave  this  grove. 
Thou  shalt  fly  him,  and  he  shall  seek  thy  love. — 

Re-enter  Puck. 

Hast  thou  the  flower  there  ?     Welcome,  wanderer. 

Puck.  Ay,  there  it  is. 

Obe.  I  pray  thee,  give  it  me. 

I  know  a  bank  whereon  the  wild  thyme  blows, 
Where  ox-lips''  and  the  nodding  violet  grows  ; 
Quite  over-canopied  with  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  enamell'd  skin. 
Weed  wide  enough  to  wrap  a  fairy  in : 
And  with  the  juice  of  this  I'll  streak  her  eyes. 
And  make  her  full  of  hateful  fantasies. 
Take  thou  some  of  it,  and  seek  through  this  grove : 
A  sweet  Athenian  lady  is  in  love 
With  a  disdainful  youth :  anoint  his  eyes ; 
But  do  it,  when  the  next  thing  he  espies 
May  be  the  lady:  Thou  shalt  know  the  man 
By  the  Athenian  garments  he  hath  on. 
Effect  it  with  some  care ;  that  he  may  prove 
More  fond  on  her,  than  she  upon  her  love  : 
And  look  thou  meet  me  ere  the  first  cock  crow. 

Puck.  Fear  not,  my  lord,  your  servant  shall  so  do. 

[Exeunt. 

P  To  die  upon  the  hand,  &c.]  To  die  upon,  &c.  in  our  author's  language,  I 
believe,  means —  "  to  die  by." — Steevens. 
T  ox-lips — ]  i.  e.  The  grealcr  ccivslip. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  III.  273 

SCENE  III. 

Another  part  of  the  Wood. 

Enter  Titania,  ^cith  her  train. 

Tita.  Come,  now  a  roundel/  and  a  fairy  song ; 
Then,  for  the  third  part  of  a  minute,  hence  : 
Some,  to  kill  cankers  in  the  musk-rose  buds ; 
Some,  war  with  rear-mice*  for  their  leathern  wings. 
To  make  my  small  elves  coats;  and  some,  keep  back 
The  clamorous  owl,  that  nightly  hoots,  and  wonders 
At  our  quaint  spirits  :  Sing  me  now  asleep  ; 
Then  to  your  offices,  and  let  me  rest. 

SONG. 

1  Fai.     You  spotted  snakes,  with  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  Fai.      Weaving  spiders,  come  not  here: 

Hence,  you  lo7ig-legg'd  spinners,  hence: 
Beetles  black,  approach  not  near; 
Worm,  nor  snail,  do  no  offence. 

r  rmmdel,']  i.  e.  A  circular  dance.     Beu  Jonson  seems  to  call  the  rings 

which  such  dances  are  supposed  to  make,  rmmdels. — Tale  of  a  Tub,  act  ii. 
scene  1. 

s  -xith  rear-mice — ]   A  rere-mouse  is  a  bat,  a  m.nise   that  rears  itself 

from  the  ground  by  the  aid  of  wings. — Steevens. 

t  — '—  double — ]  i.  e    Forked. 

u  Newts,  ujid  blind- worms,]  The  newt  is  the  eft,  the  blind  worm  is  the 

C<ecilia  or  slow-worm. — Steevens. 


274  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

CHORUS. 

Philomel,  with  melody,  &,c. 

1  Fai,  Hence,  away ;  now  all  is  well : 
One,  aloof,  stand  sentinel, 

[^Exeunt  Fairies.     Titania  sleeps. 

Enter  Oberon. 

Obe.  What  thou  seest,  when  thou  dost  wake, 

[^Squeezes  the  flower  on  Titan  ia's  eye-lids. 
Do  it  for  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.  5  [Exit. 

Enter  Lysander  and  Hermia, 


ear.  y 


Lt/s.  Fair  love,  you  faint  with  wandering  in  the  wood  ; 

And  to  speak  troth,  I  have  forgot  our  way ; 
We'll  rest  us,  Hermia,  if  you  think  it  good, 

And  tarry  for  the  comfort  of  the  day. 

Her.  Be  it  so,  Lysander,  find  you  out  a  bed. 
For  I  upon  this  bank  will  rest  my  head. 

Lys.  One  turf  shall  serve  as  pillow  for  us  both ; 
One  heart,  one  bed,  two  bosoms,  and  one  troth. 

Her.  Nay,  good  Lysander ;  for  my  sake,  ray  dear. 
Lie  further  off  yet,  do  not  lie  so  near. 

Lys.  O,  take  the  sense,  sweet,  of  my  innocenceV 
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. 

"  ounce,']  i.  c.  Tiger-cat. 

y  0,  take  the  .fense,  sweel,  ofwu  innocence  ;]  Understand  the  meaning  nf  my 
innocence,  or  my  innocent  meaning. —  I^t  no  suspicion  of  ill  enter  your  mind. — 
Johnson. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  III.  275 

Her.  Lysander  riddles  very  prettily : — 
Now  much  beshrew^  ray  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  ! 

Lys.  Amen,  Amen,  to  that  fair  prayer,  say  I ; 
And  then  end  life,  when  I  end  loyalty  ! 
Here  is  my  bed :  Sleep  give  thee  all  his  rest ! 

Her.  With  half  that  wish  the  wisher's  eyes  be  press'd ! 

[T/iei/  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. 
Nischt  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  eye-lid. 
So  awake,  when  I  am  gone  ; 
For  I  must  now  to  Oberon.  [Exit. 


z .  beshreiv — ]  i.  e.  Evil  hefal.  Till  we  know  what  properties  were  attri- 
buted to  the  harmless  shrew-mouse,  we  cannot  comprehend  why  its  name 
should  imply  a  curse.  In  Florio's  Dictionary,  in  the  word  museragno,  he  says, 
"  A  kind  of  mouse  called  a  shrew,  which  is  deadly  to  other  beasts,  if  it  but 
bite  them,  and  laming  all,  if  he  but  touch  them  ;  of  whom  came  that  ordinary 
curse,  I  lieshrew  you, — as  much  as  to  say,  I  -^v-ish  you  death." — Nares. 

*  owe  .•]  i.  e.  Possess. 


276  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

Enter  Demetrius  and  Helena,  running. 

Hel.  Stay,  though  thou  kill  me,  sweet  Demetrius. 

Dem.  I  charge  thee,  hence,  and  do  not  haunt  me  thus. 

Hel.  O,  wilt  thou  darkling''  leave  me  ?  do  not  so. 

Dem.  Stay,  on  thy  peril ;  I  alone  will  go. 

[Exit  Demetrius. 

Hel.  O,  I  am  out  of  breath  in  this  fond  chase  ! 
The  more  my  prayer,  the  lesser  is  my  grace.^ 
Happy  is  Hermia,  wheresoe'er  she  lies  ; 
For  she  hath  blessed  and  attractive  eyes. 
How  came  her  eyes  so  bright  ?   Not  with  salt  tears  : 
If  so,  my  eyes  are  oftener  wash'd  than  hers. 
No,  no,  I  am  as  ugly  as  a  bear ; 
For  beasts  that  meet  me,  run  away  for  fear  : 
Therefore,  no  marvel,  though  Demetrius 
Do,  as  a  monster,  fly  my  presence  thus. 
What  wicked  and  dissembling  glass  of  mine 
Made  me  compare  with  Hermia's  sphery  eyne  ? — 
But  who  is  here  ? — Lysander  !  on  the  ground  ! 
Dead  ?  or  asleep  ?   I  see  no  blood,  no  wound  : — 
Lysander,  if  you  live,  good  sir,  awake. 

Xj/s.  And  run  through  fire  I  will,  for  thy  sweet  sake. 

[Waking. 
Transparent  Helena  !  Nature  here  shews  art. 
That  through  thy  bosom  makes  me  see  thy  heart. 
Where  is  Demetrius  ?  O,  how  fit  a  word 
Is  that  vile  name,  to  perish  on  my  sword  ? 

Hel.  Do  not  say  so,  Lysander  ;  say  not  so  : 
What  though  he  love  your  Hermia?    Lord,  what  though  ? 
Yet  Hermia  still  loves  you  :  then  be  content. 

Li/s.  Content  with  Hermia  ?  No  :   I  do  repent 
The  tedious  minutes  I  with  her  have  spent. 
Not  Hermia,  but  Helena  now  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  : 

*• darkling — ]  i.  e.  In  the  dark. 

• mx)  grace.']  My  acceptableness. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  III.  277 

So  I,  being  young,  till  now  ripe'^  not  to  reason  ; 
And  touching  now  the  point  of  human  skill,* 
Reason  becomes  the  marshal  to  my  will. 
And  leads  me  to  your  eyes ;  where  I  o'erlook 
Love's  stories,  written  in  love's  richest  book. 

Hel.  Wherefore  was  I  to  this  keen  mockery  born  ? 
When,  at  your  hands,  did  I  deserve  this  scorn  ? 
Is't  not  enough,  is't  not  enough,  young  man, 
That  I  did  never,  no,  nor  never  can. 
Deserve  a  sweet  look  from  Demetrius'  eye. 
But  you  must  flout  my  insufficiency  ? 
Good  troth,  you  do  me  wrong,  good  sooth,  you  do. 
In  such  disdainful  manner  me  to  woo. 
But  fare  you  well :  perforce  I  must  confess, 
I  thought  you  lord  of  more  true  gentleness. 
O,  that  a  lady,  of  one  man  refus'd. 
Should,  of  another,  therefore  be  abus'd  !  [EnV. 

Lys.  She  sees  not  Hermia  : — Hermia,  sleep  thou  there  ; 
And  never  may'st  thou  come  Lysander  near  ! 
For,  as  a  surfeit  of  the  sweetest  things 
The  deepest  loathing  to  the  stomach  brings  ; 
Or,  as  the  heresies,  that  men  do  leave. 
Are  hated  most  of  those  they  did  deceive  ; 
So  thou,  my  surfeit,  and  my  heresy. 
Of  all  be  hated  ;  but  the  most  of  me  ! 
And  all  my  powers,  address  your  love  and  might, 
To  honour  Helen,  and  to  be  her  knight !  \_Exit. 

Her.  [starting.']  Help  me,  Lysander,  help  me  !  do  thy 
To  pluck  this  crawling  serpent  from  my  breast !        [best. 
Ah  me,  for  pity  ! — what  a  dream  was  here  ? 
Lysander,  look,  how  I  do  quake  wnth  fear  ! 
Methought  a  serpent  eat  my  heart  away. 
And  you  sat  smiling  at  his  cruel  prey : — 
Lysander  !  what,  remov'd  ?  Lysander  !  lord  ! 
What,  out  of  hearing  ?  gone  ?  no  sound,  no  word  ? 
Alack,  where  are  you  ?  speak,  an  if  you  hear  ? 
Speak,  of  all  loves  ;^  I  swoon  almost  with  fear. 

<• ripe — ]  i.  e.  Ripen. 

* the  point  of  human  skill,'^  i.  e.  The  perfection  of  judgment. 

f  Speak,  of  all  loves ;]  Of  all  loves  is  an  adjuration  more  than  once  uaed  by 
OUT  author. — Stsevens. 

VOL.    II.  V 


278  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

No  ? — then  I  well  perceive  you  are  not  nigh  : 

Either  death,  or  you,  I'll  find  immediately.  [Exit. 


ACT  III. 

Scene  I.^ — The  same.     The  Queen  of  Fairies  lying  asleep. 

Enter  Quince,  Snug,  Bottom,  Flute,  Snout,  and 
Starveling. 

Bot.  Are  we  all  met  ? 

Quin.  Pat,  pat;  and  here's  a  marvellous  convenient 
place  for  our  rehearsal ;  This  green  plot  shall  be  our  stage, 
this  hawthorn  brake  our  tyring-house ;  and  we  will  do  it 
in  action,  as  we  will  do  it  before  the  duke. 

Bot.  Peter  Quince, — 

Quin.  What  say'st  thou,  bully  Bottom  ? 

Bot.  There  are  things  in  this  comedy  of  Pyramus  and 
Thisby,  that  will  never  please.  First,  Pyramus  must  draw 
a  sword  to  kill  himself;  which  the  ladies  cannot  abide. 
How  answer  you  that  ? 

Snout.  By'rlakin,  a  parlous  fear.*" 

Star.  I  believe,  we  must  leave  the  killing  out,  when  all 
is  done. 

Bot.  Not  a  whit;  I  have  a  device  to  make  all  well. 
Write  me  a  prologue  :  and  let  the  prologue  seem  to  say, 
we  will  do  no  harm  with  our  swords  :  and  that  Pyramus 
is  not  killed  indeed  :  and,  for  the  more  better  assurance, 
tell  them,  that  I  Pyramus  am  not  Pyramus,  but  Bottom 
the  weaver  :  This  will  put  them  out  of  fear. 

Quin.  Well,  we  will  have  such  a  prologue  ;  and  it  shall 
be  written  in  eight  and  six.' 

f  In  the  time  of  Shakspeare  there  were  many  companies  of  players,  some- 
times five  at  tlie  same  time,  contending  for  the  favour  of  the  public.  Of  these 
some  were  undoubtedly  very  unskilful  and  very  poor,  and  it  is  probable  that 
the  design  of  this  scene  was  to  ridicule  their  ignorance,  and  the  odd  expedients 
to  which  they  might  be  driven  by  the  want  of  proper  decorations.  Bottom 
was  perhaps  the  head  of  a  rival  house,  and  is  therefore  honoured  with  an  ass's 
head. — Johnson. 

••  By'rlakin,  o  parlous_/eor.]  By  our  ladykm,  or  little  lady.  Parlous  is  a  word 
corrupted  from  perilous. — Steevens. 

' in  eight  and  six.J  i.  e.  In  alternate  verses  of  eight  and  six  syllables. — 

Malonf.. 


ACT  III.— SCENE  I.  279 

Bot.  No,  make  it  two  more  ;  let  it  be  written  in  eight 
and  eight. 

Snout.  Will  not  the  ladies  be  afeard  of  the  lion  ? 

Star.  I  fear  it,  I  promise  you. 

JBot.  Masters,  you  ought  to  consider  with  yourselves  : 
to  bring  in,  God  shield  us  !  a  lion  among  ladies,  is  a  most 
dreadful  thing  :  for  there  is  not  a  more  fearful  wild-fowl 
than  your  lion,  living  ;  and  we  ought  to  look  to  it. 

Snout.  Therefore,  another  prologue  must  tell,  he  is  not 
a  lion. 

Bot.  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  came  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.'' 

Quin.  Well,  it  shall  be  so.  But  there  is  two  hard 
things  ;  that  is,  to  bring  the  moon-light  into  a  chamber  : 
for  you  know,  Pyramus  and  Thisby  meet  by  moon-light. 

Snug.  Doth  the  moon  shine,  that  night  we  play  our 
play? 

Bot.  A  calendar,  a  calendar !  look  in  the  almanack ; 
find  out  moon-shine,  find  out  moon-shine. 

Quin.  Yes,  it  doth  shine  that  night. 

Bot.  Why,  then  you  may  leave  a  casement  of  the  great 
chamber-window,  where  we  play,  open;  and  the  moon 
may  shine  in  at  the  casement. 

^  No,  I  am  no  such  thing,  Sec]  Shakspeare  probably  meant  to  allude  to  a  fact 
which  happened  in  his  time,  at  an  entertainment  exhibited  before  Queen  Eliza- 
beth. It  is  recorded  in  a  manuscript  collection  of  anecdotes,  stories,  &c.  en- 
titled. Merry  passages  arid  Jeasts,  IMS.  Harl.  6395  : 

"There  was  a  spectacle  presented  to  Queen  Elizabeth  upon  the  water,  and 
among  others  Harry  Goldingham  was  to  represent  Arion  upon  the  dolphin's 
backe  ;  but  finding  his  voice  to  be  verye  hoarse  and  unpleasant,  when  he  came 
to  perform  it,  he  tears  off  his  disguise,  and  swears  he  was  none  of  Arion,  7iot  he, 
hut  even  honest  Harry  Goldingham ;  which  blunt  discoverie  pleased  the  queene 
better  than  if  it  had  gone  through  in  the  right  way  :^yet  he  could  order  his 
voice  to  an  instrument  exceeding  well." — Malone. 

u  2 


280  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM 

Quin.  Ay  ;  or  else  one  must  come  in  with  a  bush  of 
thorns  and  a  lanthorn,  and  say,  he  comes  to  disfigure,  or 
to  present,  the  person  of  moon-shine.  Then,  there  is  an- 
other thing  :  we  must  have  a  wall  in  the  great  chamber  ; 
for  Pyramus  and  Thisby,  says  the  story,  did  talk  through 
the  chink  of  a  wall. 

Snug.  You  never  can  bring  in  a  wall. — What  say  you. 
Bottom? 

Bot.  Some  man  or  other  must  present  wall :  and  let 
him  have  some  plaster,  or  some  lome,  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. 

Quifi.  If  that  may  be,  then  all  is  well.  Come,  sit 
down,  every  mother's  son,  and  rehearse  your  parts.  Py- 
ramus, 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  swaggering 
So  near  the  cradle  of  the  fairy  queen  ?  [here. 

What,  a  play  toward  ?  I'll  be  an  auditor ; 
An  actor  too,  perhaps,  if  I  see  cause. 

Quin.  Speak,  Pyramus  : — Thisby,  stand  forth. 

Pyr.   Thisby,  thejiowers  of  odious  savours  sweet. — 

Quin.  Odours,  odours. 

Pyr.  odours  savours  sweet : 

So  doth  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  ! 

[Aside. — Exit. 

This.  Must  I  speak  now? 

Quin.  Ay,  marry,  must  you  :  for  you  must  understand, 
he  goes  but  to  see  a  noise  that  he  heard,  and  is  to  come 
again. 

' brake  ;J  A  thicket. 


ACT  III.— SCENE  I.  281 

This.  Most  radiant  Py ramus,  most  liUy-white  of  hue, 

Of  colour  like  the  red  rose  on  triumphant  brier. 
Most  brisky  Juvenal,^  and  eke  most  lovely  Jew, 

As  true  as  truest  horse,  that  yet  would  never  tire, 
I'll  meet  thee,  Pyramus,  at  Ninny's  tomb. 

Quiji.  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. 

This.  O,  —  As  true  as  truest  horse,  that  yet  would  never  tire. 

Pyr.    If'  I  were,  fair  Thisby,  I  were  only  thine :  — 

Quin.  O  monstrous  !  O  strange  !  we  are  haunted. 
Pray,  masters  !  fly,  masters  !  help  !  [Exeunt  Clowns. 

Puck.  I'll  follow  you,  I'll  lead  you  about  a  round. 

Through  bog,  through  bush,  through  brake,  through 
Sometime  a  horse  I'll  be,  sometime  a  hound,  [brier ; 

A  hog,  a  headless  bear,  sometime  a  fire  ; 
And  neigh,  and  bark,  and  grunt,  and  roar,  and  burn. 
Like  horse,  hound,  hog,  bear,  fire,  at  every  turn.       [Exit. 

Bot.  Why  do  they  run  away  ?  this  is  a  knavery  of  them, 
to  make  me  afeard. 

Re-enter  Snout. 

Snout.  O  Bottom,  thou  art  changed  !  what  do  I  see 
on  thee  ? 

Bot.  What  do  you  see  ?  you  see  an  ass's  head  of  your 
own  ;  Do  you  ? 

Re-enter  Quince. 

Quin.  Bless  thee.  Bottom  I  bless  thee  I  thou  art  trans- 
lated. [Exit. 

Bot.  I  see  their  knavery  :  this  is  to  make  an  ass  of  me ; 
to  fright  me,  if  they  could.  But  I  will  not  stir  from 
this  place,  do  what  they  can :  I  will  walk  up  and  down 
here,  and  I  will  sing,  that  they  shall  hear  I  am  not  afraid. 

[Sings. 

m Juvenal,']  i.  e.  Young  man. 

»  cues  and  all.]  A  cue,  in  stage  cant,  is  tie  last  words  of  th§  preceding 

speech,  and  serves  as  a  hint  to  him  who  is  to  speak  next. — Steevins. 


28i2  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

The  ousel-cock,"  so  black  of  hue, 

With  orange-tawney  hill, 
The  throstle^  ivith  his  note  so  true, 

The  ivren  with  little  quill. 

Tita.  What  angel  wakes  me  from  my  flowery  bed  ? 

[  Waking, 

Bot.    Thejinch,  the  sparrow,  and  the  lark. 
The  plain-song  cuckoo  gray, 
Whose  note  full  many  a  man  doth  mark. 
And  dares  not  answer,  nay ; 

for,  indeed,  who  would  set  his  wit  to  so  foolish  a  bird  ? 
who  would  give  a  bird  the  lie,  though  he  cry,  cuckoo, 
never  so  ? 

Tita.  I  pray  thee,  gentle  mortal,  sing  again  : 
Mine  ear  is  much  enamour'd  of  thy  note. 
So  is  mine  eye  enthralled  to  thy  shape ; 
And  thy  fair  virtue's  force  perforce  doth  move  me. 
On  the  first  view,  to  say,  to  swear,  I  love  thee. 

Bot.  Methinks,  mistress,  you  should  have  little  reason 
for  that  :  And  yet,  to  say  the  truth,  reason  and  love  keep 
little  company  together  now-a-days  :  The  more  the  pity, 
that  some  honest  neighbours  will  not  make  them  friends. 
Nay,  I  can  gleeki  upon  occasion. 

Tita.  Thou  art  wise  as  thou  art  beautiful. 
Bot.  No  so ;  neither :  but  if  I  had  wit  enough  to  get 
out  of  this  wood,  I  have  enough  to  serve  mine  own  turn. 

Tita.  Out  of  this  wood  do  not  desire  to  go  ; 
Thou  shalt  remain  here,  whether  thou  wilt  or  no. 
I  am  a  spirit,  of  no  common  rate  : 
The  summer  still  doth  tend  upon  my  state. 
And  I  dp  love  thee  :  therefore,  go  with  me  ;' 
I'll  give  thee  fairies  to  attend  on  thee ; 
And  they  shall  fetch  thee  jewels  from  the  deep, 

"  The  ousel-cock,]  The  ousel  differs  from  the  black-bird  by  having  a  white 
crescent  upon  the  breast,  and  is  besides  rather  larger. — Douce. 
P  The  throstle — ]  i.  e.  The  thrush. 
1  gkek — ]  Joke  or  scoff. 


ACT  111.— SCENE  I.  283 

And  sing,  while  thou  on  pressed  flowers  dost  sleep : 
And  I  will  purge  thy  mortal  grossness  so, 
That  thou  shalt  like  an  airy  spirit  go. — 
Peas-blossom  !  Cobweb  !  Moth  !  and  Mustard-seed  ! 

Enter  four  Fairies. 

1  Fai,  Ready. 

2  Fai.  And  I. 

3  Fai.  And  I. 

4  Fai.  Where  shall  we  go  ? 
Tita.  Be  kind  and  courteous  to  this  gentleman ; 

Hop  in  his  walks,  and  gambol  in  his  eyes  ; 
Feed  him  with  apricocks,  and  dewberries,' 
With  purple  grapes,  green  figs,  and  mulberries  ; 
The  honey  bags  steal  from  the  humble-bees. 
And,  for  night  tapers,  crop  their  waxen  thighs. 
And  light  them  at  the  fiery  glow-worm's  eyes, 
To  have  my  love  to  bed,  and  to  arise  ; 
And  pluck  the  wings  from  painted  butterflies. 
To  fan  the  moon-beams  from  his  sleeping  eyes : 
Nod  to  him,  elves,  and  do  him  courtesies. 

1  Fai.  Hail,  mortal. 

2  Fai.  Hail ! 

3  Fai.  Hail ! 

4  Fai.  Hail  ! 

3ot.  I  cry  your  worship's  mercy,  heartily. — I  beseech, 
your  worship's  name. 

Coh.  Cobweb. 

Bot.  I  shall  desire  you  of  more  acquaintance,  good 
master  Cobweb  :  If  I  cut  my  finger,  I  shall  make  bold 
with  you. — Your  name,  honest  gentleman  ? 

Peas.  Peas-blossom. 

Bot.  I  pray  you,  commend  me  to  mistress  Squash/ 
your  mother,  and  to  master  Peascod,  your  father.  Good 
master  Peas-blossom,  I  shall  desire  you  of  more  acquaint- 
ance too. — Your  name,  I  beseech  you,  sir? 

Mus.  Mustard-seed. 

Bot.  Good  master  Mustard-seed,  I  know  your  patience 

"■ dewherriesi} — are  gooseberries,  and  are  still  so  called. — Henley. 

' mistress  Squash,]  A  squash  is  an  immature  peascod. 


284  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

well :  that  same  cowardly,  giant-like  ox-beef  hath  de- 
voured many  a  gentleman  of  your  house  :  I  promise  you, 
your  kindred  hath  made  my  eyes  water  ere  now.  I  desire 
you  more  acquaintance,  good  master  Mustard-seed. 

Tita.  Come,  wait  upon  him ;  lead  him  to  my  bower. 
The  moon,  methinks,  looks  with  a  watery  eye ; 
And  when  she  weeps,  weeps  every  little  flower. 
Lamenting  some  enforced  chastity. 
Tie  up  my  love's  tongue,  bring  him  silently.         [Exeunt^ 

SCENE  II. 

Another  part  of' the  Wood. 
Enter  Obekon. 

Obe.  I  wonder,  if  Titania  be  awak'd  ; 
Then,  what  it  was  that  next  came  in  her  eye. 
Which  she  must  dote  on  in  extremity. 

Enter  Puck. 

Here  comes  my  messenger. — How  now,  mad  spirit  ? 
What  night-rule'  now  about  this  haunted  grove  ? 
Puck.   My  mistress  with  a  monster  is  in  love. 
Near  to  her  close  and  consecrated  bower. 
While  she  was  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  Pyramus  presented,  in  their  sport 
Forsook  his  scene,  and  enter'd  in  a  brake : 
When  1  did  him  at  this  advantage  take. 
An  ass's  nowl''  I  fixed  on  his  head  ; 
Anon,  his  Thisbe  must  be  answered, 

« What  night-rule — ]  fiight-mle  in  tliis  place  should  seem  to  mean, 

what  frolic  of  the  night,  what  revelry  is  going  forward? — Steevf.ns. 

" patches,~\   Patch  was  in   the  old  language  used  as  a  term  of  opjrro- 

bry  ;  perhaps  with  much  the  same  import  as  we  use  ruggamuffin,  or  tatlerdc- 
malion. — Johnson. 

" miol — ]  Head. 


ACT  III.— SCENE  1.  285 

And  forth  my  mimick  comes  :  When  they  him  spy. 

As  wild  geese  that  the  creeping  fowler  eye. 

Or  russet-pated  choughs,^  many  in  sort,* 

Rising  and  cawing  at  the  gun's  report 

Sever  themselves,  and  madly  sweep  the  sky  ; 

So,  at  his  sight,  away  his  fellows  fly  : 

And,  at  our  stamp,  here  o'er  and  o'er  one  falls  ; 

He  murder  cries,  and  help  from  Athens  calls. 

Their  sense  thus  weak,  lost  with  their  fears,  thus  strong, 

Made  senseless  things  begin  to  do  them  wrong : 

For  briers  and  thorns  at  their  apparel  snatch  : 

Some,  sleeves  ;  some,  hats:  from  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. 

Obe.  This  falls  out  better  than  I  could  devise. 
But  hast  thou  yet  latch'd''  the  Athenian's  eyes 
With  the  love  juice,  as  I  did  bid  thee  do  ? 

Puck.  I  took  him  sleeping, — that  is  finish'd  too, — 
And  the  Athenian  woman  by  his  side  ; 
That  when  he  wak'd,  of  force  she  must  be  ey'd. 

Enter  Demetrius  and  Hermia. 

Obe.  Stand  close  ;  this  is  the  same  Athenian. 

Puck.  This  is  the  woman,  but  not  this  the  man. 

Dem.  O,  why  rebuke  you  him  that  loves  you  so  ? 
Lay  breath  so  bitter  on  your  bitter  foe. 

Her.  Now  I  but  chide,  but  I  should  use  thee  worse ; 
For  thou,  I  fear,  hast  given  me  cause  to  curse. 
If  thou  hast  slain  Lysander  hi  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 

y  choughs,']  Birds  of  the  daw  kind.  ^ sort,']   Company. 

^ lalch'd — ]   Entrapped. — Nares's  Otossary, 


286  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

Her  brother's  noon-tide  with  the  Antipodes. 
It  cannot  be,  but  thou  hast  murder'd  him  ; 
So  should  a  murderer  look ;  so  dead,  so  grim. 

Dem.  So  should  the  murder'd  look  ;  and  so  should  I, 
Pierc'd  through  the  heart  with  your  stern  cruelty  : 
Yet  you,  the  murderer,  look  as  bright,  as  clear. 
As  yonder  Venus  in  her  glimmering  spfere. 

Her.  What's  this  to  my  Lysander  ?  where  is  he  ? 
Ah,  good  Demetrius,  wilt  thou  give  him  me  ? 

Dem.  I  had  rather  give  his  carcase  to  my  hounds. 

Her.  Out,  dog !    out,  cur !    thou  driv'st  me  past  the 
bounds 
Of  maiden's  patience.     Hast  thou  slain  him  then  ? 
Henceforth  be  never  number'd  among  men  ! 
Oh  !  once  tell  true,  tell  true,  even  for  my  sake  ; 
Durst  thou  have  look'd  upon  him,  being  awake. 
And  hast  thou  kill'd  him  sleeping  ?  O  brave  touch  l*" 
Could  not  a  v/orm,  an  adder,  do  so  much  1 
An  adder  did  it ;  for  with  doubler  tongue 
Than  thine,  thou  serpent,  never  adder  stung. 

Dem.  You  spend  your  passion  on  a  mispris'd  mood  f 
I  am  not  guilty  of  Lysander's  blood ; 
Nor  is  he  dead,  for  aught  that  I  can  tell. 

Her.  I  pray  thee,  tell  me  then  that  he  is  well. 

Dem.  An  if  I  could,  what  should  I  get  therefore  ? 

Her.  A  privilege,  never  to  see  me  more. — 
And  from  thy  hated  presence  part  I  so  : 
See  me  no  more,  whether  he  be  dead  ot  no.  [Exii. 

Dem.  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. 

Obe.  What  hast  thou  done  ?  thou  hast  mistaken  quite, 
And  laid  the  love-juice  on  some  true-love's  sight : 
Of  thy  misprision  must  perforce  ensue 
Some  true-love  turn'd,  and  not  a  false  turn'd  true. 

^ touch'.']    Touch  anciently  signified  a  trick. — Stuevens 

^ on  a  mispris'd  mood .} — is  put  for  "  in  a  mispris'd  mood  ;"'i.  e.  "  in  a 

mistaken  maimet:" — .Steevi;ns. 


ACT  III.— SCENE  II.  287 

Puck.  Then  fate  o'er-rules;  that,  one  man  holding  troth, 
A  million  fail,  confounding  oath  on  oath. 

Obe.  About  the  wood  go  swifter  than  the  wind. 
And  Helena  of  Athens  look  thou  find  : 
All  fancy-sick  she  is,  and  pale  of  cheer^ 
With  sighs  of  love,  that  cost  the  fresh  blood  dear : 
By  some  illusion  see  thou  bring  her  here  ; 
ril  charm  his  eyes,  against  she  doth  appear. 

Piick.  I  go,  I  go  ;  look,  how  I  go ; 
Swifter  than  arrow  from  the  Tartar's  bow.  [Exit. 

Obe.  Flower  of  this  purple  die. 
Hit  with  Cupid's  archery. 
Sink  in  apple  of  his  eye  ! 
Whenhis  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  ! 

Obe.  Stand  aside  :  the  noise  they  make. 
Will  cause  Demetrius  to  awake. 

Puck.  Then  will  two  at  once,  woo  one  ; 
That  must  needs  be  sport  alone ; 
And  those  things  do  best  please  me, 
That  befal  preposterously. 

Enter  Lysander  and  Helena. 

Xys.  Why  should   you  think,   that  I  should  woo   in 
Scorn  and  derision  never  come  in  tears  :  [scorn  ? 

Look,  when  I  vow,  I  weep ;  and  vows  so  born. 
In  their  nativity  all  truth  appears. 

^ pale  of  cheer — ]  Cheer,  from  the  Italian  cava,  is  frequently  used  by 

the  old  English  writers  for  countenance.— Steivens. 


288  MIDSUMMER-NIGHTS  DREAM. 

How  can  these  things  in  me  seem  scorn  to  you. 
Bearing  the  badge  of  faith,  to  prove  them  true  ? 

Hel.  You  do  advance  your  cunning  more  and  more. 

When  truth  kills  truth,  O  devilish-holy  fray  ! 
These  vows  are  Hermia's;  Will  you  give  her  o'er? 
Weigh  oath  with  oath,  and  you  will  nothing  weigh  : 
Your  vows,  to  her  and  me,  put  in  two  scales. 
Will  even  weigh  ;  and  both  as  light  as  tales. 

Lys.  I  had  no  judgment,  when  to  her  I  swore. 

Hel.  Nor  none,  in  my  mind,  now  you  give  her  o'er. 

Lys.  Demetrius  loves  her,  and  he  loves  not  you. 

Dem.  [awahing.']   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  ! 

Hel.  O  spite  !  O  hell !  I  see  you  all  are  bent 
To  set  against  me,  for  your  merriment. 
If  you  were  civil,  and  knew  courtesy. 
You  would  not  do  me  thus  much  injury. 
Can  you  not  hate  me,  as  I  know  you  do, 
But  you  must  join  in  souls,*^  to  mock  me  too  ? 
If  you  were  men,  as  men  you  are  in  shew, 
You  would  not  use  a  gentle  lady  so  ; 
To  vow,  and  swear,  and  superpraise  my  parts. 
When,  I  am  sure,  you  hate  me  with  your  hearts. 
You  both  are  rivals,  and  love  Hermia ; 
And  now  both  rivals,  to  mock  Helena  : 
A  trim  exploit,  a  manly  enterprize, 
To  conjure  tears  up  in  a  poor  maid's  eyes. 
With  your  derision  !  none,  of  noble  sort. 
Would  so  offend  a  virgin ;  and  extort 
A  poor  soul's  patience,  all  to  make  you  sport. 

« Tannis'  siww,^  Taurus  is  the  uame  of  a  range  of  mountains  in  Asia. 

— Johnson. 

' join  in  souls,]  i.  e.  Unite  in  mind. — Johnson. 


ACT  111.— SCENE  II.  289 

hys.  You  are  unkind,  Demetrius  ;  be  not  so  ; 
For  you  love  Hermia  ;  this,  you  know,  I  know  : 
And  here,  with  all  good  will,  with  all  my  heart. 
In  Hermia's  love  I  yield  you  up  my  part; 
And  yours  of  Helena  to  me  bequeath. 
Whom  I  do  love,  and  will  do  till  my  death. 

Hel.  Never  did  mockers  waste  more  idle  breath. 

Dem.  Lysander,  keep  thy  Hermia  ;  I  \\\\\  none  : 
If  e'er  I  lov'd  her,  all  that  love  is  gone. 
My  heart  with  her  but,  as  guest- wise,  sojourn'd  ; 
And  now  to  Helen  is  it  home  return'd. 
There  to  remain. 

Lys.  Helen,  it  is  not  so. 

Dem.  Disparage  not  the  faith  thou  dost  not  know, 
Lest,  to  thy  peril,  thou  aby  it  dear.s — 
Look,  where  thy  love  comes  ;  yonder  is  thy  dear. 

Enter  Hermia. 

Her,  Dark  night,  that  from  the  eye  his  function  takes  ; 
The  ear  more  quick  of  apprehension  makes  ; 
Wherein  it  doth  impair  the  seeing  sense. 
It  pays  the  hearing  double  recompense  : — 
Thou  art  not  by  mine  eye,  Lysander,  found  ; 
Mine  ear,  I  thank  it,  brought  me  to  thy  sound. 
But  why  unkindly  didst  thou  leave  me  so  ? 

Lys.  Why  should  he  stay,  whom  love  doth  press  to  go? 

Her.  What  love  could  press  Lysander  from  my  side  ? 

Lys.  Lysander's  love,  that  would  not  let  him  bide. 
Fair  Helena  ;  who  more  engilds  the  night 
Than  all  yon  fiery  oes^  and  eyes  of  light. 
Why  seek'st  thou  me  ?  could  not  this  make  thee  know. 
The  hate  I  bare  thee  made  me  leave  thee  so  1 

Her.  You  speak  not  as  you  think  ;  it  cannot  be. 

Hel.  Lo,  she  is  one  of  this  confederacy  I 
Now  I  perceive  they  have  conjoin'd,  all  three. 
To  fashion  this  false  sport  in  spite  of  me. 

6 ahif  it  dear. — ]  To  aby  is  to  stand  to  the  consequences  of  an  action, 

— it  is  usually  united  with  dear. — Nares'p  Glossary. 

S  all  yonjitry  oes — ]  Shakspeare  uses  0  for  a  circle. — Steevens. 


290  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

Injurious  Hermia  !  most  ungrateful  maid  ! 

Have  you  conspir'd,  have  you  with  these  contrived 

To  bait  me  with  this  foul  derision  ? 

Is  all  the  counsel  that  we  two  have  shar'd. 

The  sisters'  vows,  the  hours  that  we  have  spent. 

When  we  have  chid  the  hasty-footed  time 

For  parting  us, — O,  and  is  all  forgot  ? 

All  school-days'  friendship,  childhood  innocence  ? 

We,  Hermia,  like  two  artificial''  gods. 

Have  with  our  neelds'  created  both  one  flower. 

Both  on  one  sampler,  sitting  on  one  cushion. 

Both  warbling  of  one  song,  both  in  one  key  ; 

As  if  our  hands,  our  sides,  voices,  and  minds, 

Had  been  incorporate.     So  we  grew  together. 

Like  to  a  double  cherry,  seeming  parted  ; 

But  yet  a  union  in  partition. 

Two  lovely  berries  moulded  on  one  stem  : 

So,  with  two  seeming  bodies,  but  one  heart ; 

Two  of  the  first,  like  coats  in  heraldry. 

Due  but  to  one,  and  crowned  with  one  crest." 

And  will  you  rent  our  ancient  love  asunder. 

To  join  with  men  in  scorning  your  poor  friend? 

It  is  not  friendly,  'tis  not  maidenly  : 

Our  sex,  as  well  as  I,  may  chide  you  for  it; 

Though  I  alone  do  feel  the  injury. 

Her.  I  am  amazed  at  your  passionate  words : 
I  scorn  you  not;  it  seems  that  you  scorn  me. 

Hel.  Have  you  not  set  Lysander,  as  in  scorn. 
To  follow  me,  and  praise  my  eyes  and  face  ? 
And  made  your  other  love,  Demetrius, 
(Who  even  but  now  did  spurn  me  with  his  foot,) 
To  call  me  goddess,  nymph,  divine,  and  rare. 
Precious,  celestial  ?  Wherefore  speaks  he  this 
To  her  he  hates  ?  and  wherefore  doth  Lysander 

h artificial—]   Ingenious,  artful.  ' neelds—]   Needles. 

*!■  Two  of  the  first,  hke  coats  in  heraldry. 
Due  but  to  one,  and  crmvned  with  one  crest.]  Helena  means  to  say,  that  she 
and  her  friend  were  as  closely  united,  as  much  one  person,  as  if  they  were 
both  of  the  first  house  ;  as  if  they  both  had  the  privilege  due  but  to  one  person, 
(viz.  to  him  of  the  first  house,)  the  right  of  bearing  the  family  coat  without  any 
distinguis)iing  mark- — Mai  on  c. 


ACT  III.— SCENE  n.  291 

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. 

Her.  1  understand  not  what  you  mean  by  this. 

Hel.  Ay,  do,  persever,  counterfeit  sad  looks, 
Make  mows  upon  me  when  I  turn  my  back  ; 
Wink  at  each  other ;  hold  the  sweet  jest  up : 
This  sport,  well  carried,  shall  be  chronicled. 
If  you  have  any  pity,  grace,  or  manners. 
You  would  not  make  me  such  an  argument.' 
But,  fare  ye  well :   'tis  partly  mine  own  fault ; 
Which  death,  or  absence,  soon  shall  remedy. 

Lys.   Stay,  gentle  Helena  ;  hear  my  excuse ; 
My  love,  my  life,  my  soul,  fair  Helena  ! 

Hel.  O  excellent ! 

Her.  Sweet,  do  not  scorn  her  so. 

Dem.  If  she  cannot  entreat,  I  can  compel. 

Lys.  Thou  canst  compel  no  more  than  she  entreat ; 
Thy  threats  have  no  more  strength,  than  her  weak  prayers. — 
Helen,  I  love  thee  ;  by  my  life  I  do ; 
I  sware  by  that  which  I  will  lose  for  thee. 
To  prove  him  false,  that  says  \  love  thee  not. 

Dem.  I  say,  I  love  thee  more  than  he  can  do. 

Lys.  If  thou  say  so,  withdraw,  and  prove  it  too. 

Dem.  Quick,  come, — 

Her.  Lysander,  whereto  tends  all  this  ? 

Xj/5.  Away,  you  Ethiop  ! 

Dem.  No,  no,  sir : — 

Seem  to  break  loose  ;  take  on,  as  you  would  follow ; 
But  yet  come  not :  You  are  a  tame  man,  go  ! 

l.ys.  Hang  off,  thou  cat,  thou  burr  :  vile  thing  let  loose  ; 
Or  I  will  shake  thee  from  me,  like  a  serpent. 

Her.  Why  are  you  grown  so  rude  ?  what  change  is  this. 
Sweet  love  ? 

'  iuch  an  argument.]  Such  a  iubject,  of  light  merriment. — Johksov. 


292  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

Lys.  Thy  love  1  out,  tawny  Tartar,  out ! 

Out,  loathed  medicine  !  hated  potion,  hence  ! 

Her.  Do  you  not  jest? 

Hel.  Yes,  'sooth ;  and  so  do  you. 

Lys.  Demetrius,  I  will  keep  my  word  with  thee. 

Dem.  I  would,  I  had  your  bond  ;  for  I  perceive, 
A  weak  bond  holds  you  ;  I'll  not  trust  your  word. 

Lys.  What,  should  I  hurt  her,  strike  her,  kill  her  dead  ? 
Although  I  hate  her,  I'll  not  harm  her  so. 

Her.  What,  can  you  do  me  greater  harm  than  hate  ? 
Hate  me,  w  herefore  ?  O  me  !  what  news,  my  love  ? 
Am  not  I  Hermia  ?  Are  not  you  Lysander  ? 
I  am  as  fair  now,  as  I  was  erewhile. 

Since  night,  you  lov'd  me  ;  yet,  since  night  you  left  me  : 
Why,  then  you  left  me, — O,  the  gods  forbid  !  — 
In  earnest,  shall  I  say? 

Lys.  Ay,  by  my  life ; 

And  never  did  desire  to  see  thee  more. 
Therefore,  be  out  of  hope,  of  question,  doubt, 
Be  certain,  nothing  truer  ;  'tis  no  jest. 
That  I  do  hate  thee,  and  love  Helena. 

Her.  O  me  !  you  juggler!  you  canker-blossom  ! 
You  thief  of  love  !  what,  have  you  come  by  night. 
And  stol'n  my  love's  heart  from  him  ? 

Hel.  Fine,  i'faith  ! 

Have  you  no  modesty,  no  maiden  shame. 
No  touch  of  bashfulness?  What,  will  you  tear 
Impatient  answers  from  my  gentle  tongue  ? 
Fie,  fie  !  you  counterfeit,  you  puppet  you  ! 

Her.  Puppet!  why  so?  Ay,  that  way  goes  the  game. 
Now  I  perceive  that  she  hath  made  compare 
Between  our  statures,  she  hath  urg-'d  her  height ; 
And  with  her  personage,  her  tall  personage. 
Her  height,  forsooth,  she  hath  prevail'd  with  him. — 
And  are  you  grown  so  high  in  his  esteem, 
Because  I  am  so  dwarfish,  and  so  low  ? 
How  low  am  I,  thou  painted  maypole  ?  speak  ; 
How  low  am  I  ?   I  am  not  yet  so  low. 
But  that  my  nails  can  reach  unto  thine  eyes. 

Hel.  I  pray  you,  though  you  mock  me,  gentlemen. 


ACT  III.— SCENE  II.  293 

Let  her  not  hurt  me  :   I  was  never  curst ;"" 

I  have  no  gift  at  all  in  shrewishness  ; 

I  am  a  right  maid  for  my  cowardice ; 

Let  her  not  strike  me  :  You,  perhaps,  may  think, 

Because  she's  something  lower  than  myself. 

That  I  can  match  her. 

Her.  Lower  !  hark,  again. 

Hel.  Good  Hermia,  do  not  be  so  bitter  with  me. 
I  evermore  did  love  you,  Hermia, 
Did  ever  keep  your  counsels,  never  wrong'd  you  ; 
Save  that,  in  love  unto  Demetrius, 
I  told  him  of  your  stealth  unto  this  wood  : 
He  follow'd  you  ;  for  love,  1  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. 

Her.  Why,  get  you  gone  :  Who  is't  that  hinders  you? 

Hel.  A  foolish  heart  that  I  leave  here  behind. 

Her.  What,  with  Lysander  ? 

Hel.  With  Demetrius. 

Xys.  Be  not  afraid  :  she  shall  not  harm  thee,  Helena. 

Dem.  No,  sir ;  she  shall  not,  though  you  take  her  part. 

Hel.  O,  when  she's  angry,  she  is  keen  and  shrewd  ; 
She  was  a  vixen,  when  she  went  to  school ; 
And,  though  she  be  but  little,  she  is  fierce. 

Her.  Little  again?  nothing  but  low  and  little? 
Why  will  you  suffer  her  to  flout  me  thus  ? 
Let  me  come  to  her. 

hys.  Get  you  gone,  you  dwarf; 

You  minimus,  of  hind 'ring  knot-grass  made ;° 
You  bead,  you  acorn. 

Dem.  You  are  too  officious. 

In  her  behalf  that  scorns  your  services. 
Let  her  alone  ;  speak  not  of  Helena ; 

m curst ;]  i.  e.  Mischievous.  ° fond — ]  i.  e.  Foolish. 

o of  hind'ring  knot-grass  made ;']  It  appears  that  knot-grass  was  an- 
ciently supposed  to  prevent  the  growth  of  any  animal  or  child. — Steevevs. 

VOL.    II.  X 


294  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

Take  not  her  part :  for  if  thou  dost  intendf 
IVever  so  little  show  of  love  to  her, 
Thou  shalt  aby  it. 

Lys.  Now  she  holds  me  not ; 

Now  follow,  if  thou  dar'st,  to  try  whose  right. 
Or  thine  or  mine,  is  most  in  Helena. 

Dem.  Follow?  nay,  I'll  go  with  thee,  cheek  by  jole. 

{^Exeunt  Lys.  and  Dem. 

Her.  You,  mistress,  all  this  coil  is  'long  of  you  : 
Nay,  go  not  back. 

Hel.  I  will  not  trust  you,  I ; 

Nor  longer  stay  in  your  curst  company. 
Your  hands,  than  mine,  are  quicker  for  a  fray ; 
My  legs  are  longer  though,  to  run  away.  [Exit. 

Her.  I  am  amaz'd,  and  know  not  what  to  say. 

[Exit,  pursumg  Helena. 

Obe.  This  is  thy  negligence  :  still  thou  mistak'st, 
Or  else  commit'st  thy  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  ? 
And  so  far  blameless  proves  my  enterprise. 
That  I  have  'nointed  an  Athenian's  eyes  : 
And  so  far  am  I  glad  it  so  did  sort,"! 
As  this  their  jangling  I  esteem  a  sport. 

Obe.  Thou  seest,  these  lovers  seek  a  place  to  fight : 
Hie  therefore,  Robin,  overcast  the  night ; 
The  starry  welkin  cover  thou  anon 
With  drooping  fog,  as  black  as  Acheron  ; 
And  lead  these  testy  rivals  so  astray. 
As  one  come  not  within  another's  way. 
Like  to  Lysander  sometime  frame  thy  tongue. 
Then  stir  Demetrius  up  with  bitter  wrong ; 
And  sometime  rail  thou  like  Demetrius  ; 
And  from  each  other  look'  thou  lead  them  thus. 
Till  o'er  their  brows  death-counterfeiting  sleep 
With  leaden  legs  and  batty  wings  doth  creep  ; 
Then  crush  this  herb  into  Lysander's  eye ; 

P  intend — ]  i.  e.  Pretend. 

1 so  did  sort,]  So  happen  in  the  issue. 


ACT  III.— SCENE  II.  295 

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  sliall  never  end. 

Whiles  I  in  this  affair  do  thee  employ, 

I'll  to  my  queen,  and  beg  her  Indian  boy ; 

And  then  I  will  her  charmed  eye  release 

From  monster's  view,  and  all  things  shall  be  peace. 

Puck.  My  fairy  lord,  this  must  be  done  with  haste ; 
For  night's  swift  dragons  cut  the  clouds  full  fast. 
And  yonder  shines  Aurora's  harbinger ; 
At  whose  approach,  ghosts,  wandering  here  and  there, 
Troop  home  to  church-yards  :  damned  spirits  all. 
That  in  cross-ways  and  floods  have  burial,* 
Already  to  their  wormy  beds  are  gone ; 
For  fear  lest  day  should  look  their  shames  upon, 
They  wilfully  themselves  exile  from  light. 
And  must  for  aye  consort  with  black-brow'd  night. 

Obe.  But  we  are  spirits  of  another  sort : 
I  with  the  morning's  love  have  oft  made  sport  ;* 
And,  hke  a  forester,  the  groves  may  tread. 
Even  till  the  eastern  gate,  all  fiery  red. 
Opening  on  Neptune  with  fair  blessed  beams. 
Turns  into  yellow  gold  his  salt-green  streams. 
But,  notwithstanding,  haste ;  make  no  delay  : 
We  may  effect  this  business  yet  ere  day.  [Exit  Oberon. 

r wcjjd,']  i.  e.  Go. 

s  That  in  cross-ways  and  floods  have  burial.]  The  ghosts  of  self-murderers, 
who  are  buried  in  cross-roads  ;  and  of  those  who  being  drowned,  were  con- 
demned (according  to  the  opinion  of  the  ancients)  to  wander  for  a  himdred 
years,  as  the  rites  of  sMulture  had  never  been  regularly  bestowed  on  their 
bodies.  That  the  waters  were  sometimes  the  place  of  residence  for  damned 
spirits,  we  learn  from  the  ancient  bl.  1.  romance  of  Syr  Eglamoure  of  Artoys, 
no  date. 

"  Let  some  preest  a  gospel  saye. 
For  doute  oifendes  in  thefiode." — Steevens. 

'  I  with  the  morning's  love  have  oft  made  sport;']  By  the  morning's  love  I  ap- 
prehend Cephalus,  the  mighty  hunter  and  paramour  of  Aurora,  is  intended. 
The  context,  "  And,  like  a  forester,"  &:c.  seems  to  show  thatthe  chace  was  the 
sp^rt  which  Oberon  boasts  he  partook  wit'\  the  morning's  love. — Holt  Whitf 
Johnson  proposes  to  read  light  for  love. 


296  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

Puck.  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. 

Li/s.  Where  art  thou,  proud  Demetrius  ?  speak  thou 

now. 
Puck.  Here,  villain  ;    drawn  and   ready.      Where  art 
Xj/s.  I  will  be  with  thee  straight.  [thou  ? 

Puck.  Follow  me  then 

To  plainer  ground.  [Exit  Lys.  as  following  the  voice. 

Ew^er  Demetrius. 

Dem.  Lysander!  speak  again. 

Thou  runaway,  thou  coward,  art  thovi  fled  ? 
Speak.     In  some  bush  ?  Where  dost  thou  hide  thy  head  l 

Puck.  Thou  coward,  art  thou  bragging  to  the  stars. 
Telling  the  bushes  that  thou  look'st  for  wars. 
And  wilt  not  come  ?  Come,  recreant ;  come,  thou  child  ; 
I'll  whip  thee  with  a  rod :  He  is  defil'd. 
That  draws  a  sword  on  thee. 

Dem.  Yea;  art  thou  there  ? 

Puck.  Follow  my  voice ;  we'll  try  no  manhood  here. 

[^Exeunt. 

Re-enter  Lysander. 

Lys.  He  goes  before  me,  and  still  dares  me  on  ; 
When  I  come  where  he  calls,  then  he  is  gone. 
The  villain  is  much  lighter  heel'd  than  I : 
I  followed  fast,  but  faster  he  did  fly  ; 
That  fallen  am  I  in  dark  uneven  way. 
And  here  will  rest  me.     Come,  thou  gentle  day  ! 

[L^es  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,  ho  !  Coward,  why  com'st  thou  not? 


ACT  III.— SCENE  II.  297 

Dem.  Abide  me,  if  thou  dar'st ;  for  well  I  wot. 
Thou  runn'st  before  me,  shifting  every  place  ; 
And  dar'st  not  stand,  nor  look  me  in  the  face. 
Where  art  thou  ? 

Puck.  Come  hither  ;  I  am  here. 

Dem.  Nay,  then  thou  mock'st  me.     Thou  shalt  buy 
this  dear. 
If  ever  I  thy  face  by  day-light  see  : 
Now,  go  thy  way.     Faintness  constraineth  me 
To  measure  out  my  length  on  this  cold  bed. — 
By  day's  approach  look  to  be  visited. 

\_Lies  down  and  sleeps. 

Enter  Helena. 

Hel.  O  weary  night,  O  long  and  tedious  night. 

Abate  thy  hours:  shine,  comforts,  from  the  east; 
That  I  may  back  to  Athens,  by  day-light. 

From  these  that  my  poor  company  detest : — 
And,  sleep,  that  sometimes  shuts  up  sorrow's  eye. 
Steal  me  a  while  from  mine  own  company.  {^Sleeps. 

Puck.  Yet  but  three  ?  Come  one  more  ; 

Two  of  both  kinds  makes  up  four. 

Here  she  comes,  curst  and  sad  : — 

Cupid  is  a  knavish  lad. 

Thus  to  make  poor  females  mad. 

Enter  Hermia. 

Her.  Never  so  weary,  never  so  in  woe. 

Bedabbled  with  the  dew,  and  torn  with  briers  ; 
I  can  no  further  crawl,  no  further  go ; 

My  legs  can  keep  no  pace  with  my  desires. 
Here  will  I  rest  me,  till  the  break  of  day. 
Heavens  shield  Lysander,  if  they  mean  a  fray ! 

[Lies  down. 
Puck.  On  the  ground 
Sleep  sound ; 
I'll  apply 
To  your  eye. 
Gentle  lover,  remedy.  [Squeezing  the  juice 

on  Lysander's  ej/e. 


298  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

When  thou  wak'st, 

Thou  tak'st 

True  delight 

In  the  sight 
Of  thy  former  lady's  eye  : 
And  the  country  proverb  known. 
That  every  man  should  take  his  own,. 
In  your  waking  shall  be  shown  : 

Jack  shall  have  Jill ; 

Nought  shall  go  ill ; 
The  man  shall  have  his  mare  again,  and  all  shall  be  well 
[Exit  Puck.— Dem.  Hel.  &c.  sleep. 


ACT  IV. 

Scene  I. — The  same. 

Enter  Titania  and  Bottom,  Vq\y\q^  attending ;  Oberon 
behind  unseen. 

Tita.  Come,  sit  thee  down  upon  this  flowery  bed. 
While  I  thy  amiable  cheeks  do  coy," 
And  stick  musk-roses  in  thy  sleek  smooth  head. 
And  kiss  thy  fair  large  ears,  my  gentle  joy. 

Bot.  Where's  Peas-blossom  ? 

Peas.  Ready. 

Bot.  Scratch  my  head,  Peas-blossom. — Where's  mon- 
sieur Cobweb  ? 

Cob.  Ready. 

Bot.  Monsieur  Cobweb  ;  good  monsieur,  get  your  wea- 
pons 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  loth  to  have  you  overflown  with  a 
honey-bag,  signior. — Where's  monsieur  Mustard-seed  ? 

Must.  Ready. 

Bot.  Give  me  your  neif,"  monsieur  Mustard-seed:  Pray 
you,  leave  your  courtesy,  good  monsieur. 

" coy,}  Stroke,  sootb.  " ncij',\  i.  e.  Fibt. 


a^e 


TiTANiA.    Whjle  I  tbv  amiable   cheeks  do  coy. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  I.  299 

Must.  What's  your  will  ? 

Bot.  Nothing,  good  monsieur,  but  to  help  cavalero 
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. 

Tita.  What,  wilt  thou  hear  some  music,  my  sweet  love  ? 

Bot.  I  have  a  reasonable  good  ear  in  music :  let  us 
have  the  tongs  and  the  bones. y 

[Music  tongs,  rural  music. 

Tita.  Or,  say,  sweet  love,  what  thou  desir'st  to  eat. 

Bot.  Truly,  a  peck  of  provender;  I  could  munch  your 
good  dry  oats.  Methinks,  I  have  a  great  desire  to  a  bot- 
tle of  hay  :'  good  hay,  sweet  hay,  hath  no  fellow. 

Tita.  I  have  a  venturous  fairy  that  shall  seek 
The  squirrel's  hoard,  and  fetch  thee  new  nuts. 

Bot.  I  had  rather  have  a  handful,  or  two,  of  dried  peas. 
But,  I  pray  you,  let  none  of  your  people  stir  me  ;  I  have 
an  exposition  of  sleep  come  upon  me. 

Tita.  Sleep  thou,  and  1  will  wind  thee  in  my  arms. 
Fairies,  be  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  !  how  I  dote  on  thee  !         [Thei/  sleep. 

^ Cobweb — ]  It  is  evident  that  we  ought  to  read  cavalero  Peas-blos- 
som; for  Cobweb  has  just  been  dismissed  on  a  perilous  adventure. — Grey. 

y the  totigs  and  the  bones.']   What  is  commonly  called  rough  music — 

played  upon  the  fire-tongs  by  striking  them  with  a  bone  or  sometimes  with  a 
key. 

^ a  bottle  of  hay :]  The  old  phrase  for  a  truss  of  hay  :  hence  the  pro- 
verbial expression  of  seeking  a  needle  in  a  bottle  of  hay. 

^  So  doth  the  woodbijie  the  sweet  honeysuckle,  gently  entwist, — ]  The  woodbine  is 
the  blue  bind-weed:  in  many  of  our  counties  the  woodbine  is  still  the  name 
for  the  great  convolvolus. — If  the  reader  will  turn  to  the  variorum  Shakspeare, 
he  will  find  there  pages  of  nonsense,  quotation  heaped  upon  quotation  to  no 
purpose  :  and  these  two  lines  of  Jonson, 

"  How  the  blue  bind-weed  doth  itself  infold 
"  With  honeysuckle." — 
which  give  an  easy  and  intelligible  explanation  of  the  passage,  not  once  no- 
ticed ! — It  should  be  added,  that  Steevens  and  Malone,  to  make  out  even  their 
no-meaning,  have  been  compelled  to  corrupt  the  text. — Gifford's  Ben  Jonson, 
vol.  7.  308. 

b female  ivy — ]  So  called  from  its  always  requiring  some  support.    In 

the  same  manner  Catullus  says  of  the  vine,  "  Ulmo  conjuncta  marito." — As 
Henly  observes,  in  the  words  enrings  a.ndfngei's,  there  is  an  evident  reference 
to  the  ring  of  the  marriage  rite. 


300  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

Oberon  advances.     Enter  Puck. 

Obe.  Welcome,  good  Robin.     See'st  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, 
I  did  upbraid  her,  and  fall  out  with  her : 
For  she  his  hairy  temples  then  had  rounded 
With  coronet  of  fresh  and  fragrant  flowers  ; 
And  that  same  dew,  which  sometime  on  the  buds 
Was  wont  to  swell,  like  round  and  orient  pearls. 
Stood  now  within  the  pretty  flourets'  eyes,^ 
Like  tears,  that  did  their  own  disgrace  bewail. 
When  I  had,  at  my  pleasure,  taunted  her. 
And  she,  in  mild  terms,  begg'd  my  patience, 
I  then  did  ask  of  her  her  changeling  child  ; 
Which  straight  she  gave  me,  and  her  fairy  sent 
To  bear  him  to  my  bower  in  fairy  land. 
And  now  I  have  the  boy,  I  will  undo 
This  hateful  imperfection  of  her  eyes. 
And,  gentle  Puck,  take  this  transformed  scalp 
From  off  the  head  of  this  Athenian  swain ; 
That  he  awaking  when  the  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 ; 

[Touching  her  eyes  with  an  herb. 
See,  as  thou  wast  wont  to  see : 
Dian's  bud"*  o'er  Cupid's  flower 
Hath  such  force  and  blessed  power. 
Now,  my  Titania;  wake  you,  my  sweet  queen. 

Tita.  My  Oberon!  what  visions  have  I  seen! 
Methought,  I  was  enamour'd  of  an  ass. 

Obe.  There  lies  your  love. 

Tita.  How  came  these  things  to  pass? 

O,  how  mine  eyes  do  loath  his  visage  now ! 

^  — — -  «i/«.]  %e  is  the  technical  term  for  the  centre  of  the  flower.— Steevens. 

Dmni-bud—]    i.  e.  The  agnus  casius,  "  the  virtue  of  which  is  that  it 

^ill  keep  either  man  or  woman  chaste."— M«cer's  Herbal.   Cupid's  flower  is  the 

mola  tricolor,  or  the  love  in  idleness,  by  the  juice  of  which  Titania's  vision  had 

been  perverted. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  I.  301 

Obe.  Silence,  a  while. — Robin,  take  off  this  head. — 
Titania,  musick  call ;  and  strike  more  dead 
Than  common  sleep,  of  all  these  five  the  sense. 

Tita.  Musick,  ho  !  musick ;  such  as  charmeth  sleep. 
Puck.  Now,  when  thou  wak'st,  with  thine  own  fool's 

eyes  peep. 
Obe.  Sound,  music.  [Music  still.]  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. 

Obe.  Then,  my  queen,  in  silence  sad. 
Trip  we  after  the  night's  shade  : 
We  the  globe  can  compass  soon. 
Swifter  than  the  wand'ring  moon. 

Tita.  Come,  my  lord ;  and  in  our  flight. 
Tell  me  how  it  came  this  night. 
That  I  sleeping  here  was  found 

With  these  mortals,  on  the  ground.  [Exewit. 

[Horns  sound  xvithin. 
jEw^er  Theseus,  Hippolyta,  Egeus,  and  train. 
The.  Go,  one  of  you,  find  out  the  forester ; — 
For  now  our  observation  is  perform 'd  / 

6 fair  posterity  :'\    The  first  quarto  reads  prosperity.   The  second  quarto 

and  the  folio  read  posterity,  as  in  the  text,  which  is  most  probably  correct ;  as 
the  concluding  song  of  Oberon  promises  that  tlie  descendants  of  Theseus  and 
Hippolyta  shall  he  free  from  all  the  blots  of  nature. 

f our  observation  is  perform' d ;]     The  honours  due  to  the   morning  of 

May.  I  know  not  why  Shakspeare  calls  this  play  A  Midsummer  Night's 
Dream,  when  he  so  carefully  informs  us  that  it  happened  on  the  night  preced- 
ing May  day."  Such  is  the  remark  of  Dr.  Johnson ;  to  which  Dr.  Farmer  has 
added — "  The  title  of  this  play  seems  no  more  intended  to  denote  the  precise 
time  of  action,  than  that  of  the  Winter's  Tale,  which  we  find  was  at  the  season 
of  sheep-shearing."  I  presume  that  to  this  play  the  name  was  given,  from 
its  light  and  fantastic  events,  being  such  as  might  be  supposed  to  float  on  the 
imagination  during  the  visions  of  a  summer  night.  With  regard  to  the  Winter's 
Tale,  the  propriety  of  its  title  is  shewn  in  the  passage  from  Mr.  SchlegeJ, 
which  I  have  given  in  the  introductory  remarks  to  that  beautiful  and  romantic 
comedy. 


302         MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

And  since  we  have  the  vaward^  of  the  day. 
My  love  shall  hear  the  music  of  my  hounds. — 
Uncouple  in  the  western  valley;  go  : — 
Despatch,  I  say,  and  find  the  forester. — 
We  will,  fair  queen,  up  to  the  mountain's  top. 
And  mark  the  musical  confusion 
Of  hounds  and  echo  in  conjunction. 

Hip.  I  was  with  Hercules,  and  Cadmus,  once. 
When  in  a  wood  of  Crete  they  bay'd  the  bear 
With  hounds  of  Sparta :  never  did  I  hear 
Such  gallant  chiding  ;s  for,  besides  the  groves. 
The  skies,  the  fountains,  every  region  near 
Seem'd  all  one  mutual  cry :  I  never  heard 
So  musical  a  discord,  such  sweet  thunder. 

The.  My  hounds  are  bred  out  of  the  Spartan  kind. 
So  flew'd,  so  sanded  •,^  and  their  heads  are  hung 
With  ears  that  sweep  away  the  morning  dew ; 
Crook-knee'd,  and  dew-lap 'd  like  Thessalian  bulls ; 
Slow  in  pursuit,  but  match'd  in  mouth  like  bells, 
Each  under  each.     A  cry  more  tuneable 
Was  never  holla'd  too,  nor  cheer'd  with  horn. 
In  Crete,  in  Sparta,  nor  in  Thessaly  : 
Judge,  when  you  hear. — But  soft ;  what  nymphs  are  these? 

Ege.  My  lord,  this  is  my  daughter  here  asleep ; 
And  this,  Lysander ;  this  Demetrius  is ; 
This  Helena,  old  Nedar's  Helena : 
I  wonder  of  their  being  here  together. 

T'he.  No  doubt,  they  rose  up  early,  to  observe 
The  rite  of  May ;'  and,  hearing  our  intent. 
Came  here  in  grace  of  our  solemnity. — 

f  vaward] — for  vavward,  the  Jirst  line  of  an  army,  and  used  metapho- 
rically for  the  first  part  of  any  thing  else. 

e  chiding  ;] — in  this  instance  means  only  sound. 

^  Jiews  are  the  large  chaps  of  a  deep-moutlied  hound. — Sanded  is  being 

of  the  sandy  colour,  which  marks  a  true  blood-hound. — Hanmer  and 
Steevens. 

'  rite  q/'Mai/;]  The  custom  of  going  out  into  the  fields  early  on  May- 
day, to  celebrate  the  return  of  Spring,  was  observed  by  all  ranks  of  people. 
Stowe  says,  "  Edward  Hall  hath  noted  that  K,  Henry  the  Eighth,  in  the  7th 
of  his  raigne,  on  May-day,  in  tlie  morning,  with  Qucenc  Katherin,  his  wife, 
rode  a  Maying  from  Greenwitch  to  the  liigli  ground  of  Shooter's  Hill.'' — Survep 
of  London,  p.  72.  The  custom  was  of  most  classical  origin,  being  derived 
from  the  Florclia,  a  festival  in  honour  of  Flora,  held  by  our  Roman  confiuerors. 
At  Ililstonj  in  Cornwall,  the  annual  holiday  is  ^till  called  Furry,  evidently  a 
corruption  from  Floralia. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  1.  303 

But,  speak,  Egeus ;  is  not  this  the  day 

That  Hermia  should  give  answer  of  her  choice  ? 

Ege.  It  is,  my  lord. 

The.  Go,  bid  the  huntsmen  wake  them  with  their  horns. 

Horns,  and  shout  within.    Demetrius,  Lysander,  Her- 
mia, and  Helena,  wake  and  start  up. 

The.  Good-mo'rrow,  friends.     Saint  Valentine  is  past;"* 
Begin  these  wood-birds  but  to  couple  now  ? 

Lys.  Pardon,  my  lord. 

[He  and  the  rest  kneel  to  Theseus. 

The.  I  pray  you  all,  stand  up. 

I  know,  you  are  two  rival  enemies ; 
How  comes  this  gentle  concord  in  the  world, 
That  hatred  is  so  far  from  jealousy. 
To  sleep  by  hate,  and  fear  no  enmity  ? 

Lys.  My  lord,  I  shall  reply  amazedly. 
Half 'sleep,  half  waking  :  But  as  yet,  I  swear, 
I  cannot  truly  say  how  I  came  here  : 
But,  as  I  think,  (for  truly  would  I  speak, — 
And  now  I  do  bethink  me,  so  it  is ;) 
I  came  with  Hermia  hither:  our  intent 
Was  to  be  gone  from  Athens,  where  we  might  be 
Without  the  peril  of  the  Athenian  law. 

Ege.  Enough,  enough,  my  lord ;  you  have  enough : 
I  beg  the  law,  the  law  upon  his  head. — 
They  would  have  stol'n  away,  they  would,  Demetrius, 
Thereby  to  have  defeated  you  and  me : 
You,  of  your  wife ;  and  me,  of  my  consent ; 
Of  my  consent  that  she  should  be  your  wife. 

Dem.  My  lord,  fair  Helen  told  me  of  their  stealth. 
Of  this  their  purpose  hither,  to  this  wood  ; 
And  I  in  fury  hither  follovv'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  Hemiia, 
Melted  as  doth  the  snow,  seems  to  me  now 

'' Saint  Valentine  is.  past ;]      Alluding  to  the  old  saying,  that  birds 

begin  to  couple  on  St.  Valentine's  day. — Steevj:ns. 
• fancy — ]   Love. 


304  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

As  the  remembrance  of  an  idle  gawd," 
Which  in  my  childhood  I  did  dote  upon  : 
And  all  the  faith,  the  virtue  of  my  heart. 
The  object,  and  the  pleasure  of  mine  eye. 
Is  only  Helena.     To  her,  my  lord. 
Was  I  betroth'd  ere  I  saw  Hermia : 
But,  like  in  sickness,  did  I  loath  this  food  : 
But,  as  in  health,  come  to  my  natural  taste. 
Now  do  I  wish  it,  love  it,  long  for  it. 
And  will  for  evermore  be  true  to  it. 

The.  Fair  lovers,  you  are  fortunately  met: 
Of  this  discourse  we  more  will  hear  anon. — 
Egeus,  I  will  overbear  your  will ; 
For  in  the  temple,  by  and  by  with  us. 
These  couples  shall  eternally  be  knit. 
And,  for  the  morning  now  is  something  worn. 
Our  purpos'd  hunting  shall  be  set  aside. — 
Away,  with  us,  to  Athens  :  Three  and  three. 
We'll  hold  a  feast  in  great  solemnity. — 
Come,  Hippolyta. 

[Exeunt  Theseus,  Hippolyta,  Egeus, 
and  train. 

Dem.  These  things  seem  small,  and  undistinguishable. 
Like  far-off  mountains  turned  into  clouds. 

Her.  Methinks,  I  see  these  things  with  parted  eye, 
When  every  thing  else  seems  double. 

Hel.  So  methinks  : 

And  I  have  found  Demetrius  like  a  jewel. 
Mine  own,  and  not  mine  own." 

Dem.  It  seems  to  me. 

That  yet  we  sleep,  we  dream. — Do  not  you  think, 
The  duke  was  here  and  bid  us  follow  him  ? 

Her,  Yea,  and  my  father. 

Hel.  And  Hippolyta. 

Lys.  And  he  did  bid  us  follow  to  the  temple. 

">  gawd,']  i.e.  Toy. 

"  Mine  own  and  not  mine  oivn.']  Helena  considers  her  property  in  Demetrius 
as  insecure  as  that  which  a  person  has  in  a  jewel  that  he  has  found  by  acci- 
dent;  and  which  may  properly  enough  be  called  his  oun  and  not  his  oum. — 

Ma  LONE. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  II.  305 

Dem.  Why  then,  we  are  awake  :  let's  follow  him  : 
And,  by  the  way,  let  us  recount  our  dreams.         [Exeunt. 

(As  they  go  out.  Bottom  awakes.) 

Bof.  When  my  cue  comes,  call  me,  and  I  will  answer  : 

— my  next  is.   Most  fair  Pyramus Hey,  ho  ! — Peter 

Quince  !  Flute,  the  bellows-mender !  Snout,  the  tinker ! 
Starveling !  God's  my  life  !  stolen  hence,  and  left  me 
asleep  !  I  have  had  a  most  rare  vision.  I  have  had  a  dream, 
— past  the  wit  of  man  to  say  what  dream  it  was  :  Man  is 
but  an  ass,  if  he  go  about  to  expound  this  dream.  Me- 
thought  I  was — there  is  no  man  can  tell  what.  Methought 
I  was,  and  methought  I  had, — But  man  is  but  a  patched 
fool,"  if  he  will  offer  to  say  what  methought  I  had.  The 
eye  of  man  hath  not  heard,  the  ear  of  man  hath  not  seen ; 
man's  hand  is  not  able  to  taste,  his  tongue  to  conceive, 
nor  his  heart  to  report,  what  my  dream  was.  I  will  get 
Peter  Quince  to  write  a  ballad  of  this  dream  :  it  shall  be 
called  Bottom's  Dream,  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  in  Quince's  House. 
Enter  Quince,  Flute,  Snout,  and  Starveling. 

Quin.  Have  you  sent  to  Bottom's  house  ?  is  he  come 
home  yet  ? 

Star.  He  cannot  be  heard  of.  Out  of  doubt,  he  is  tran- 
sported. 

Flu.  If  he  come  not,  then  the  play  is  marred ;  It  goes 
not  forward,  doth  it  ? 

Quin.  It  is  not  possible  :  you  have  not  a  man  in  all 
Athens,  able  to  discharge  Pyramus,  but  he. 

Flu.  No  ;  he  hath  simply  the  best  wit  of  any  handy- 
craft  man  in  Athens. 

" Tpatchedfool,'\  That  is,  a  fool  in  a  particolour'd  coat. 

P at  her  death.]  At  the  death  of  Thisbe. 


306  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

Quin.  Yea,  and  the  best  person  too :  and  he  is  a  very 
paramour,  for  a  sweet  voice. 

Flu.  You  must  say,  paragon:  a  paramour  is,  God  bless 
us,  a  thing  of  nought.'' 

Enter  Snug. 

Snug.  Masters,  the  duke  is  coming  from  the  temple, 
and  there  is  two  or  three  lords  and  ladies  more  married : 
if  our  sport  had  gone  forward,  we  had  all  been  made  men. 

Flu.  O  sweet  bully  Bottom !  Thus  hath  he  lost  six- 
pence a-day  during  his  life  ;  he  could  not  have  'scaped 
sixpence  a  day  :  an  the  duke  had  not  given  sixpence  a- 
day  for  playing  Pyramus,  I'll  be  hanged ;  he  would  have 
deserved  it :  sixpence  a-day,  in  Pyramus,  or  nothing."^ 

Enter  Bottom. 

Bot.  Where  are  these  lads  ?  where  are  these  hearts  ? 

Quin.  Bottom! — O  most  courageous  day!  O  most 
happy  hour ! 

Bot.  Masters,  I  am  to  discourse  wonders  :  but  ask  me 
not  what ;  for,  if  I  tell  you,  I  am  no  true  Athenian.  I  will 
tell  you  every  thing,  right  as  it  fell  out. 

Quin.  Let  us  hear,  sweet  Bottom. 

Bot.  Not  a  word  of  me.  All  that  I  will  tell  you,  is, 
that  the  duke  hath  dined :  Get  your  apparel  together ; 
good  strings  to  your  beards,'  new  ribbons  to  your  pumps ; 
meet  presently  at  the  palace  ;  every  man  look  o'er  his 
part,  for,  the  short  and  the  long  is,  our  play  is  preferred. 
In  any  case,  let  Thisby  have  clean  linen  ;  and  let  not  him, 
that  plays  the  lion,  pare  his  nails,  for  they  shall  hang  out 
for  the  lion's  claws.  And,  most  dear  actors,  eat  no  onions, 
nor  garlic,  for  we  are  to  utter  sweet  breath;  and  I  do 
not  doubt,  but  to  hear  them  say,  it  is  a  sweet  comedy. 
No  more  words  ;  away ;  go  away.  [Exewit. 

q a  thing  of  nought. 1  Naughty  thing, — good  for  nothing. 

"■ sixpence  a  dtixf  in  Piiramus  or  nothing.'^  Shakspeare  here  probably  al- 
ludes to  Preston  the  author  of  Cambyses,  of  which  the  title  page  was  ridiculed 
in  an  early  scene  of  this  play.— Preston  acted  a  part  in  John  Ritwise's  play 
of  Dido  before  Queen  Elizabeth  at  Cambridge,  in  1564,  and  the  queen  was 
so  well  pleased,  that  she  bestowed  on  him  a  pension  of  twenty  pounds  a  year, 
which  is  little  more  than  a  shilling  a-day. — Steeven.s. 

* good  strings  to  your  beards,]  i.  e.  To  prevent  the  false  beards,  which 

they  were  to  wear,  from  falling  off. — Mai.one. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  I.  307 


ACT  V. 


Scene  I. —  The  same.     An  Apartment  in  the  Palace  of 
Theseus. 

Enter  Theseus,  Hippolyta,  Philostrate,  Lords  and 
Attendants. 

Hip.     'Tis    strange,    my   Theseus,    that    these   lovers 
speak  of. 

The.   More  strange  than  true.      I  never  may  believe 
These  antique  fables,  nor  these  fairy  toys.. 
Lovers,  and  madmen,  have  such  seething  brains. 
Such  shaping  fantasies,  that  apprehend 
More  than  cool  reason  ever  comprehends. 
The  lunatic,  the  lover,  and  the  poet, 
Are  of  imagination  all  compact : 
One  sees  more  devils  than  vast  hell  can  hold ; 
That  is,  the  madman :  the  lover,  all  as  frantic. 
Sees  Helen's  beauty  in  a  brow  of  Egypt  :* 
The  poet's  eye,  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling, 
Doth  glance  from  heaven  to  earth,  from  earth  to  heaven, 
And,  as  imagination  bodies  forth 
The  forms  of  things  unknown,  the  poet's  pen 
Turns  them  to  shapes,  and  gives  to  airy  nothing 
A  local  habitation,  and  a  name. 
Such  tricks  hath  strong  imagination ; 
That,  if  it  would  but  apprehend  some  joy. 
It  comprehends  some  bringer  of  that  joy  ; 
Or,  in  the  night,  imagining  some  fear. 
How  easy  is  a  bush  suppos'd  a  bear  ? 

Hip.  But  all  the  stoiy  of  the  night  told  over, 
And  all  their  minds  transfigur'd  so  together. 
More  witnesseth  than  fancy's  images. 
And  grows  to  something  of  great  constancy  ;" 
But,  howsoever,  strange,  and  admirable. 

' in  a  brow  of  Egypt :]  the  hrow  of  a  gipsy. — Stefvens. 

" constancy  ;]  Consistency. 


308  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

Enter  Lysandek,  Demetrius,  Hekmia,  and  Helena. 

The.  Here  come  the  lovers,  full  of  joy  and  mirth. — 
Joy,  gentle  friends  !  joy,  and  fresh  days  of  love. 
Accompany  your  hearts  ! 

Lys.  More  than  to  us 

Wait  on  your  royal  walks,  your  board,  your  bed  ! 

The.  Come  now;  what  masks,  what  dances  shall  we 
To  wear  away  this  long  age  of  three  hours,  [have, 

Between  our  after-supper,  and  bed-time  ? 
Where  is  our  usual  manager  of  mirth  ? 
What  revels  are  in  hand?  Is  there  no  play. 
To  ease  the  anguish  of  a  torturing  hour  ? 
Call  Philostrate. 

Philost.  Here,  mighty  Theseus. 

The.  Say,  what  abridgment"  have  you  for  this  evening? 
What  mask,  what  musick  ?  How  shall  we  beguile 
The  lazy  time,  if  not  with  some  dehght? 

Philost.  There  is  a  brief,^  how  many  sports  are  ripe ; 
Make  choice  of  which  your  highness  will  see  first. 

[Giving  a  paper. 

Lys."'  [reads.]  The  battle  with  the  Centaurs,  to  be  sung, 

By  an  Athenian  eunuch  to  the  harp. 

The.  We'll  none  of  that :  that  have  I  told  my  love. 
In  glory  of  my  kinsman  Hercules. 

Lys.  The  riot  of  the  tipsy  Bacchanals, 

Tearing  the  Thracian  singer  in  their  rage. 

The.  That  is  an  old  device,  and  it  was  play'd 
When  I  from  Thebes  came  last  a  conqueror. 

Lys.  The  thrice  three  Muses  mourning  for  the  death 

Of  learning,  late  deceased  in  beggary. 

The.  That  is  some  satire,  keen,  and  critical. 
Not  sorting  with  a  nuptial  ceremony. 

Lys.  A  tedious  brief  scene  of  young  Pyramus, 

And  his  love  Thisbe ;  very  tragical  mirth. 

" abridgment — ]  A  dramatic  performance.     The  name  is  supposed  to 

be  derived  from  the  frequency  of  historical  plays,  in  which  long  series  of  events 
was  abridged  into  the  space  of  a  single  drama. 

y a  brief,]  i.  e.  A  short  enumeration. 

^  This  catalogue  of  sports  is  read  by  Theseus  in  the  quarto  ;  I  have  followed 
the  division  of  the  folio,  in  which  Lysander  reads  and  Theseus  makes  the  re- 
marks  It  is  more  princely  and  more  dramatic. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  I.  309 

The.  Merry  and  tragical  ?  Tedious  and  brief  ? 
That  is,  hot  ice,  and  wonderous  strange  snow. 
How  shall  we  find  the  concord  of  this  discord  ? 

Philost.  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  I  saw  rehears 'd,  I  must  confess, 
Made  mine  eyes  water ;  but  more  merry  tears 
The  passion  of  loud  laughter  never  shed. 

The.  What  are  they  that  do  play  it  ? 

Philost.  Hard-handed  men,  that  work  in  Athens  here. 
Which  never  labour'd  in  their  minds  till  now  ; 
And  now  have  toil'd  their  unbreathM"*  memories 
With  this  same  play,  against  your  nuptial. 

The.  And  we  will  hear  it. 

Philost.  No,  my  noble  lord. 

It  is  not  for  you  :   I  have  heard  it  over. 
And  it  is  nothing,  nothing  in  the  world ; 
Unless  you  can  find  sport  in  their  intents. 
Extremely  stretch 'd,  and  conn'd  with  cruel  pain. 
To  do  you  service. 

The.  I  will  hear  that  play ; 

For  never  any  thing  can  be  amiss. 
When  simpleness  and  duty  tender  it. 
Go,  bring  them  in  ;  and  take  your  places,  ladies. 

[Exit  Philostrate. 

Hip.  I  love  not  to  see  wretchedness  o'ercharg'd. 
And  duty  in  his  service  perishing. 

The.  Why,  gentle  sweet,  you  shall  see  no  such  thing. 

Hip.  He  says,  they  can  do  nothing  in  this  kind. 

The.  The  kinder  we,  to  give  them  thanks  for  nothing. 
Our  sport  shall  be,  to  take  what  they  mistake  :'' 
And  what  poor  duty  cannot  do, 

> unbreath'd — ]  Unexercised. 

•>  Our  sport  shall  be,  to  take  %vhat  they  iniatake :]  We  will  accept  with  pleasur^ 
even  their  blundering  attempts. —  Edinburgh  Magazitie,  Nov.  1786. 

VOL.  II.  Y 


310  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

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  sawcy  and  audacious  eloquence. 
Love,  therefore,  and  tongue-tied  simplicity. 
In  least,  speak  most,  to  my  capacity."* 

Enter  Philostrate. 

Philost.  So  please  your  grace,  the  prologue  is  addrest.* 
The.  Let  him  approach.  [Flourish  of  Trumpeh.' 

Enter  Quince  as  Prologue.^ 

Prol.  If  we  offend,  it  is  with  our  good  tvill. 

That  you  should  think,  we  come  not  to  offend, 
But  xcith  good  will.     To  show  our  simple  skill. 

That  is  the  true  beginning  of  our  end. 
Consider  then,  we  come  hut  in  despite. 

We  do  not  come  as  minding  to  co?itent  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  shoiv. 
You  shall  knoiv  all,  that  you  are  like  to  know. 

The.  This  fellow  doth  not  stand  upon  points. 

Lys.  He  hath  rid  his  prologue,  like  a  rough  colt ;  he 
knows  not  the  stop.  A  good  moral,  my  lord  :  It  is  not 
enough  to  speak,  but  to  speak  true. 

= might,  not  mmt.]  i.  e.  As  it  miglu  have  been,  not  as  it  is. — M.  Mason, 

^  In  least,  speak  most,  to  my  capacity.]  There  is  a  story  extant  of  the  recorder 
of  War^vick,  liaving  to  address  Queen  Elizabeth  in  a  progress  ;  and  being  so 
struck  by  the  majesty  of  her  presence  as  to  be  unable  to  proceed  in  his  speech. 

«=  ■ addrest.]  i.  e.  Heady. 

'  Flourish  of  trumpets.']  It  appears  that  the  prologue  was  anciently  ushered 
iu  by  trumpets. — ^Steevens. 


•    ACT  v.— SCENE  I.  ^    311 

Hip.  Indeed,  he  hath  played  on  this  prologue  like  a 
child  on  a  recorder ;''  a  sound,  but  not  in  government.' 

The.  His  speech  was  like  a  tangled  chain  ;  nothing  im- 
paired, but  all  disordered.     Who  is  next? 

Enter    Pyramus   and    Thisbe,  Wall,   Moonshine,    and 
Lion,  as  m  dumb  show. 

Prol.  "  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  present 

"Wall,  that  vile  wall  which  did  these  lovers  sunder: 
"  And  through  wall's  chink,  poor  souls,  they  are  content 

"  To  whisper,  at  the  which  let  no  man  wonder. 
"  This  man,  with  lantern,  dog,  and  bush  of  thorn, 

"  Presenteth  moon-shine  :  for,  if  you  will  know, 
"  By  moonshine  did  these  lovers  think  no  scorn 

"  To  meet  at  Ninus'  tomb,  there,  there  to  woo. 
"  This  grisly  beast,  which  by  name  lion  hight,'' 
"  The  trusty  Thisby,  coming  first  by  night, 
"  Did  scare  away,  or  rather  did  affright : 
"  And,  as  she  fled,  her  mantle  she  did  fall ; 

"Which  lion  vile  with  bloody  mouth  did  stain  : 
*'  Anon  comes  Pyramus,  sweet  youth,  and  tall, 

"  And  finds  his  trusty  Thisby's  mantle  slain  : 
"  Whereat  with  blade,  with  bloody  blameful  blade, 

"  He  bravely  broach'd  his  boiling  bloody  breast  ; 

h on  a  recorder ;]  It  should  seem  that  the  flute  and  the  recorder  were 

different  instruments,  and  that  the  latter  in  propriety  of  speech  was  no  other 
than  the  flagelet. — Reed. 

• but  Jiot  ill  government,']  That  is,  not  according  to  tune. 

k flight,]  i.  e.  Is  called. 

•  He  bravely  broach'd  his  boiling  bloody  breast ;]  The  affected  alliteration  here 
ridiculed  attained  its  height  in  the  reign  of  Henry  the  Eighth.  The  following 
stanza  is  quoted  from  a  poem,  on  the  fall  and  evil  success  of  Rebellion,  writ- 
ten in  1537,  by  Wilfride  Holme  : 

"  Loe,  leprous  lurdeins,  lubricke  in  loquacitie, 

"  Vah,  vaporous  villeines,  with  venim  vulnerate, 

"  Proh,  prating  parenticides,  plexious  to  pinnosities, 

"  Fie,  frantike  fabulators,  furibund  &  fatuate, 

"  Out  oblatrand,  oblict,  obstacle  &  obsecrate, 

"  Ah  addict  algoes,  in  acerbitie  acclamant, 

"  Magnall  in  mischief,  malicious  to  mugilate, 

"  Repriving  your  Roy  so  renowned  &  radiant." — Ritson. 

y2 


312  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

**  And,  Thisby  tarrying  in  mulberry  shade, 

"  His  dagixer  drew,  and  died.     For  all  the  rest, 

or?  ' 

"  Let  lion,  moon-shine,  wall,  and  lovers  twain, 
"At  large  discourse,  while  here  they  do  remain." 

[Exeimt  Prologue,  Thisbe,  Lion, 
arid  Moonshine. 

The.  I  wonder,  if  the  lion  be  to  speak. 

Dem.  No  wonder,  my  lord  :  one  lion  may,  when  many 
asses  do. 

Wall.  "  In  this  same  interlude,  it  doth  befall, 
"  That  I,  one  Snout  by  name,  present  a  wall : 
"  And  such  a  wall  as  I  would  have  you  think, 
"  That  had  in  it  a  cranny'd  hole,  or  chink, 
"  Through  which  the  lovers,  Pyramus  and  Thisby, 
"  Did  whisper  often  very  secretly. 

"  This  loam,  this  rough-cast,  and  this  stone,  doth  show 
"  That  I  am  that  same  wall ;  the  truth  is  so  : 
"  And  this  the  cranny  is,  right  and  sinister, 
"Through  which  the  fearful  lovers  are  to  whisper." 

The.  Would  you  desire  lime  and  hair  to  speak  better? 

Dem.  It  is  the  wittiest  partition  that  ever  I  heard  dis- 
course, my  lord. 

The.  Pyramus  draws  near  the  wall  :   silence ! 

Enter  Pyramus. 

Vyr.    "  O  grim-look'd  night!     O   night  with   hue  so 

"  O  night,  which  ever  art,  when  day  is  not !        [black  ! 
"  O  night,  O  night,  alack,  alack,  alack, 

"  I  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, 

"  Shevv  me  thy  chink,  to  blink  through  with  mine  eyne. 

[W^l  holds  up  his  fingers. 
"  Thanks,  courteous  wall :  Jove  shield  thee  well  for  this  ! 
"  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!" 

The.  The  wall,  methinks,  being  sensible,  should  curse 
again. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  I.  313 

Pyr.  No,  in  truth,  sir,  he  should  not.  Deceiving  me, 
is  Thisby's  cue  :  she  is  to  enter  now,  and  I  am  to  spy  her 
through  the  wall.  You  shall  see,  it  will  fall  pat  as  I  told 
you  : — Yonder  she  comes. 

Enter  Thisbe. 

This.  "  O  wall,  full  often  hast  thou  heard  my  moans, 
"  For  parting  my  fair  Pyramus  and  me  : 

"  My  cherry  lips  have  often  kiss'd  thy  stones  ; 
"  Thy  stones  with  lime  and  hair  knit  up  in  thee." 
Pyr.  "  I  see  a  voice  :  now  will  I  to  the  chink, 
"  To  spy  an  I  can  hear  my  Thisbe's  face. 

"  Thisby  !" 

This.  "  My  love  !  thou  art  my  love,  I  think." 

Pi/r.  "  Think  what  thou  wilt,  I  am  thy  lover's  grace  ; 

"  And  like  Limander  aia  I  trusty  still."" 

This.  "  And  I  like  Helen,  till  the  fates  me  kill." 
Pyi'.  "  Not  Shal'alus  to  Procrus  was  so  true." 
This.  "As  Shafalus  to  Proclus,  I  to  you." 
Pi/r.  "  O,  kiss  me  through  the  hole  of  this  vile  wall." 
This.  "  I  kiss  the  wall's  hole,  not  your  lips  at  all." 
Pyr.  "  Wilt  thou  at  Ninny's  tomb  meet  me  straight- 
way?" 
This.  "  Tide  life,  tide  death,  I  come  without  delay." 
Wall.  "  Thus  have  I,  wall,  my  part  discharged  so ; 

"  And,  being  done,  thus  wall  away  doth  go." 

\^Exeiint  Wall,  Pyramus,  awrf  Thisbe. 
The.  Now  is  the  mural  down  between  the  two  neigh- 
bours. 

Dem.  No  remedy,  my  lord,  when  walls  are  so  wilful  to 

hear  without  warning." 

Hip.  This  is  the  silliest  stuff  that  ever  I  heard. 

The.  The  best  in  this  kind  are  but  shadows ;  and  the 

worst  are  no  worse,  if  imagination  amend  them. 

Hip.  It  must  be  your  imagination  then,  and  not  theirs. 

^  And  like  TJmander,  &c.]  For  Leander  and  Hero.  Shafalus  and  Procrus, 
for  Cephalus  and  Procris. 

n no  remedy,  mu  lord,  &c.]  Alluding  to  the  old  proverb  of  "  walls  have 

ears."— There  was  no  other  remedy  for  the  two  neighbours,  but  the  pulling 
down  a  wall  which,  without  previous  warning  exercised  the  faculty  of  hearing. 

FARMF.n. 


314  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

The.  If  we  imagine  no  worse  of  them,  than  they  of 
themselves,  they  may  pass  for  excellent  men.  Here  come 
two  noble  beasts  in  a  man''  and  a  lion. 

Tenter  Lion  and  Moonshine. 

Ijion.  '*  You,  ladies,  you,  whose  gentle  hearts  do  fear 

"  The  smallest  monstrous  mouse  that  creeps  on  floor, 
"  May  now,  perchance,  both  quake  and  tremble  here, 

"When  lion  rough  in  wildest  rage  doth  roar. 
"  Then  know,  that  I,  one  Snug  the  joiner,  am 
"  A  lion  fell,  nor  else  no  lion's  dam  : 
"  For  if  I  should  as  lion  come  in  strife 
"  Into  this  place,  'twere  pity  on  my  life." 

The.  A  very  gentle  beast,  and  of  a  good  conscience. 

Dem.  The  very  best  at  a  beast,  my  lord,  that  e'er  I  saw. 

Li/s.  This  lion  is  a  very  fox  for  his  valour. 

The.  True  ;  and  a  goose  for  his  discretion. 

Dem.  Not  so,  my  lord  :  for  his  valour  cannot  carry  his 
discretion;  and  the  fox  carries  the  goose. 

2'he.  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. 

Moon.  "  This  lantern  doth  the  horned  moon  present :" 

Dem.  He  should  have  worn  the  horns  on  his  head. 

The.  He  is  no  crescent,  and  his  horns  are  invisible 
within  the  circumference. 

Moon.  "This  lantern  doth  the  horned  moon  present; 
"  Myself  the  man  i'th'moon  do  seem  to  be." 

The.  This  is  the  greatest  error  of  all  the  rest :  the  man 
should  be  put  into  the  lantern :  How  is  it  else  the  man 
i'the  moon? 

Dem.  He  dares  not  come  there  for  the  candle :  for,  you 
see,  it  is  already  in  snuff. f 

Hip.  I  am  aweary  of  this  moon :  Would,  he  would 
change  I 

" a  man — ]   This  is  the  reading  of  the  folio — the  modern  editors  have 

altered  it  to  momi  which  cannot  be  right.  Theseus  merely  saw  a  man  with  a 
lantern  and  could  not  possibly  conceive  that  he  was  intended  to  "disfigure 
moonshine." 

•• j'u  snuff.]  An  e(|uivocation.  ^S'lJi^  signifies  both  the  cinder  of  a  cau- 
dle, and  hasty  anger. — Johnson. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  I.  315 

The.  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. 

Lys.  Proceed,  moon. 

Moon.  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, 

Dem.  Why,  all  these  should  be  in  the  lantern  ;  for  they 
are  in  the  moon.     But,  silence ;  here  comes  Thisbe. 

Enter  Thisbe. 

This.  "  This  is  old  Ninny's  tomb  :  Where  is  my  love  ?" 
Lion.  "Oh — ."         \^The  Lion  roan. — Thisbe  runs  off. 
Dem.  Well  roared,  lion. 
The.  Well  run,  Thisbe. 

Hip.  Well  shone,  moon. — Truly,  the  moon  shines  with 
a  good  grace. 

The.  Well  mouz'd^  lion. 

[The  Lion  tears  Thisbe's  mantle. 
Dem.  And  then  came  Py ramus.  [Exit  Lion. 

Lys.  And  so  the  lion  vanish.' 

Enter  Pyramus. 

Pyr.  "  Sweet  moon,  I  thank  thee  for  thy  sunny  beams ; 
"  I  thank  thee,  moon,  for  shining  now  so  bright : 
*'  For,  by  thy  gracious,  golden,  glittering  streams, 
"  I  trust  to  taste  of  truest  Thisby's  sight. 
"  But  stay  ; — O  spite  ! 
"  But  mark ; — Poor  knight, 
"  What  dreadful  dole  is  here  ? 
"  Eyes,  do  you  see  ? 
"  How  can  it  be  ? 
"  O  dainty  duck  !  O  dear  ! 
"  Thy  mantle  good, 
"  What,  stain'd  with  blood  ? 

q mouz'd — ]  To  mouze  is  to  mammock,  or  tear  in  pieces. — Ma  lone. 

"■  And  then  came  Pyramus 
Lys.  And  so  the  lion  vanish.]  I  have  here  restored  the  text  of  the  folio ; 
Dr.  Farmer's  alteration  on  the  last  line  and  so  the  moon  vanishes  cannot  be  right, 
for  the  very  first  lines  of  Pyramus  on  entering,  eulogise  its  beams,  and  his  last 
words  are  addressed  to  it  as  present. 


316  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

"  Approach,  ye  furies  fell ! 
"  O  fates  !  come,  come ; 
'•  Cut  thread  and  thrum  ;' 
"  Quail,  crush,  conclude,  and  quell!'" 
The.  This  passion,  and  the  death  of  a  dear  friend,  would 
go  near  to  make  a  man  look  sad. 

Hip.  Beshrew  my  heart,  but  I  pity  the  man. 
Pyr.  "  O,  wherefore,  nature,  didst  thou  lions  frame  ? 
"  Since  lion  vile  hath  here  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  Py ramus  : 
"  Ay,  that  left  pap, 
"  Where  heart  doth  hop  : — 
"  Thus  die  I,  thus,  thus,  thus. 
"  Now  am  I  dead, 
*•  Now  am  I  fled  : 
"  My  soul  is  in  the  sky  : 

"  Tongue,  lose  thy  light ! 
"  Moon,  take  thy  flight ! 
"  Now  die,  die,  die,  die,  die. 

[Dies. — Exit  Moonshine. 
Dem.  No  die,  but  an  ace,  for  him  ;  for  he  is  but  one. 
hys.  Less  than  an  ace,  man ;  for  he  is  dead  ;  he  is 
nothing.  ^ 

The.  With  the  help  of  a  surgeon,  he  might  yet  recover, 
and  prove  an  ass. 

Hip.  How  chance  moonshine  is  gone,  before  Thisbe 
comes  back  and  finds  her  lover  ? 

The.  She  will  find  him  by  star-light. — Here  she  comes  ; 
and  her  passion  ends  the  play. 

Enter  Thisbe. 

Hip.  Methinks,  she  should  not  use  a  long  one,  for  such 
a  Pyramus  :  I  hope,  she  will  be  brief. 

'  Cut  thread  and  thrum ;]  Thrum  is  the  end  or  extremity  of  a  weaver's  warp  ; 
it  iB  popularly  used  for  very  coarse  yarn.  The  maids  now  call  a  mop  of  yarn 
a  lhrujnmo\). — Warner. 

' queli .']  i.  e.  Murlher,  " cheer.'\  i.  e.  Countenance. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  I.  317 

Dem.  A  mote  will  turn  the  balance,  which   Pyramus, 
which  Thisbe,  is  the  better. 

Li/s.  She  hath  spied  him  already  with  those  sweet  eyes. 

Dem.  And  thus  she  moans,  videlicet. 

T/iis.  "  Asleep,  my  love  ? 
"  What,  dead,  ray  dove  ? 
"  O  Pyramus,  arise, 

"  Speak,  speak.     Quite  dumb  ? 
"  Dead,  dead  ?  A  tomb 
"  Must  cover  thy  sweet  eyes. 
"  These  lily  lips, 
"  This  cherry  nose, 
"  These  yellow  cowslip  cheeks, 
"  Are  gone,  are  gone  : 
"  Lovers,  make  moan  ! 
'*  His  eyes  were  green  as  leeks. 
"  O  sisters  three, 
"  Come,  come,  to  me, 
"  With  hands  as  pale  as  milk  ; 
"  Lay  them  in  gore, 
"  Since  you  have  shore 
"With  shears  his  thread  of  silk. 
"  Tongue  not  a  word  :  — 
"  Come,  trusty  sword  ; 
"  Come,  blade,  my  breast  imbrue  : 
"  And  farewell,  friends  ; — 
"  Thus  Thisbe  ends  : 
"  Adieu,  adieu,  adieu."  ^Dies. 

The.  Moonshine  and  lion  are  left  to  bury  the  dead. 
Dem.  Ay,  and  wall  too. 

Bot.  No,  I  assure  you;  the  wall  is  down  that  parted 
their  fathers.  Will  it  please  you  to  see  the  epilogue,  or  to 
hear  a  Bergomask  dance,"  between  two  of  our  company? 

The.  No  epilogue,  I  pray  you  ;  for  your  play  needs  no 
excuse.  Never  excuse ;  for  when  the  players  are  all  dead, 
there  need  none  to  be  blamed.  Marry,  if  he  that  writ  it, 
had  play'd  Pyramus,  and  hanged  himself  in  Thisbe's  gar- 
ter, it  would  have  been  a  fine  tragedy:  and  so  it  is,  truly; 

» a  Burgomask  dance,^  A  dance  after  the  manner  of  the  peasants  of 

Bergomaico,  a  country  in  Italy,  belonging  to  the  Venetians. 


318  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

and  very  notably  discharged.   But  come,  your  Bergomask  : 

let  your  epilogue  alone.  \_Here  a  dance  of  Clowns. 

The  iron  tongue  of  midnight  hath  told  twelve  : — 

Lovers,  to  bed ;  'tis  almost  fairy  time. 

I  fear  we  shall  out-sleep  the  coming  morn. 

As  much  as  we  this  night  have  overwatch'd. 

This  palpable-gross  play  hath  well  beguil'd 

This  heavy  gait^'  of  bed. — Sweet  friends,  to  bed. — 

A  fortnight  hold  we  this  solemnity. 

In  nightly  revels,  and  new  jollity.  \_Exeunt. 

SCENE  II. 

Enter  Puck. 

Puck.  Now  the  hungry  lion  roars. 

And  the  wolf  behowls  the  moon: 
Whilst  the  heavy  ploughman  snores. 

All  with  weary  task  fordone.* 
Now  the  wasted  brands  do  glow. 

Whilst  the  scritch-owl,  scritching  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  Hecat's  team. 
From  the  presence  of  the  sun. 

Following  darkness  like  a  dream. 
Now  are  frolick ;  not  a  mouse 
Shall  disturb  this  hallow'd  house  : 
I  am  sent,  with  broom,  before. 
To  sweep  the  dust  behind  the  door." 

Enter  Oberon  and  Titan i a  tvith  their  train. 

Obe,  Through  this  house  give  glimmering  light. 
By  the  dead  and  drowsy  fire : 

y  heavy  gait — ]  i.  e.  Slow  progress.         '  fordone.]  i.  e.  Overcome. 

*  1  am  sent,  with  broom,  bejore, 
To  sweep  the  dust  behind  the  door.]     Cleanliness  is  always  necessary  to  in- 
vite the  residence  and  the  favour  of  the  fairies. — Johnson. 


ACT  V.~SCENE  II.  319 

Every  elf/  and  fairy  sprite. 

Hop  as  light  as  bird  from  brier ; 
And  this  ditty,  after  me. 
Sing,  and  dance  it  trippingly. 

Tita.  First,  rehearse  this  song  by  rote : 
To  each  word  a  warbling  note. 
Hand  in  hand,  with  fairy  grace. 
Will  we  sing,  and  bless  this  place. 

SONG  AND  DANCE. 

Obe.  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  in  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 : 

''  'Now  until,  &c. — ]  This  speech,  which  both  the  old  quartos  give  to  Oberon, 
is  in  the  edition  of  1623,  and  in  all  the  following  printed  as  the  song.  I  have 
restored  it  to  Oberon,  as  it  apparently  contains  not  the  blessing  which  he  in- 
tends to  bestow  on  the  bed,  but  his  declaration  that  he  will  bless  it,  and  his 
'orders  to  the  fairies  how  to  perform  the  necessary  rites.  But  where,  then,  is 
the  song  1  I  am  afraid  it  is  gone  after  many  other  things  of  greater  value. 
The  truth  is,  that  two  songs  are  lost.  The  series  of  the  scene  is  this  : — After 
the  speech  of  Puck,  Oberon  enters,  and  calls  his  fairies  to  a  song,  which  song 
is  apparently  wanting  in  all  the  copies.  Next,  Titania  leads  another  song, 
which  is  indeed  lost  like  the  former,  though  the  editors  have  endeavoured  to 
find  it.     Then  Oberon  dismisses  his  fairies  to  the  despatch  of  the  ceremonies. 

The  songs,  I  suppose,  were  lost,  because  they  were  not  inserted  in  the 
players'  parts,  from  which  the  drama  was  printed. — Johnson. 

'^  Nor  mark  prodigious,]   Prodigious  for  portentous. 

**  take  his  gait ;]  i.  e.  Take  his  way. 


320  MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

Ever  shall  in  safety  rest. 
And  the  owner  of  it  blest. 
Trip  away  ; 
Make  no  stay  ; 
Meet  me  all  by  break  of  day. 

[Exeiait  Oberon,  Titan ia,  and  train. 
Puck.  Ifrve  shadows  have  offended, 

Think  hut  this,  (and  all  is  mended^) 

That  you  have  but  slumbered  here, 

While  these  visions  did  appear. 

And  this  weak  and  idle  theme, 

No  more  yielding  but  a  dream, 

Gentles,  do  not  reprehend; 

If  you  pardon,  we  will  mend. 

And,  as  I'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  7iight  unto  you  all. 

Give  me  ijour  hands,^  if  we  befriends, 

And  Robin  shall  restore  amends.  [Exit.'' 

e  unearned  luck — ]  i.  e.  If  we  have  better  fortune  than  we  have  de- 
served.— Steevens. 

f  Now  to  'scape  the  serpent's  to7ig«e,]  That  is,  if  we  be  dismissed  without 
hisses. — Johnson. 

e  Give  me  your  hands,']  That  is,  clap  your  hands.  Give  U8  your  applause. — 
Johnson. 

•>  Wild  and  fantastical  as  this  play  is,  all  the  parts  in  their  various  modes 
are  well  written,  and  give  the  kind  of  pleasure  which  the  author  designed. 
Fairies  in  his  time  were  much  in  fashion  ;  common  tradition  had  made  them 
familiar,  and  Spenser's  poem  had  made  them  great.- — Johnson. 

Th6s6e  et  Hippolyte  ne  sont  qu'un  cadre  magnifique  pour  le  tableau. — 

ScHLEOliL. 


•-'ei?i 


]L©V1E'S    ILA)BOIL^m.'S    ILOST- 


Bs>i 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


Published  in  1598.  Mr.  Malone  supposes  this  play  to  have  been  written  in 
1594.  The  title  page  in  the  quarto  states  it  to  have  been  newly  corrected  and 
augmented  by  W.  Shakspeare,  and  perhaps  these  corrections  and  augmentations 
constituted  his  only  share  of  the  production. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED." 


Ferdinand,  /c/wg  o/' Navarre. 

BiRON,  •\ 

LoNGAViLLE,    i  lords,  attending  on  the  king. 

DUMAIN,  * 

-^^^  ^ '  >  lords,  attending  on  the  princess  of  France. 

Don  Adriano  de  Armado,  a  fantastical  Spaniard. 

Sir  Nathaniel,  a  curate. 

Holofernes,  a  schoolmaster. 

Dull,  a  constable. 

Costard,  a  clown. 

Moth,  page  to  Armado. 

A  Forester. 


Princess  of  France. 
Rosaline,     ^ 

Maria,  >- ladies,  attending  on  the  princess. 

Katharine,  3 
Jaquenetta,  a  country  wench. 


Officers  and  others.  Attendants  on  the  King  and  Princess. 
Scene,  Navarre. 

*  This  enumeration  of  persons  was  made  by  Mr.  Rowe. — Johnson. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I. — Navarre.     A  Park,  with  a  Palace  in  it. 
Enter   the  King,   Biron,  Longaville,  and  Dumain. 

King.  Let  fame,  that  all  hunt  after  in  their  lives. 
Live  register'd  upon  our  brazen  tombs. 
And  then  grace  us  in  the  disgrace  of  death ; 
When,  spite  of  cormorant  devouring  time. 
The  endeavour  of  this  present  breath  may  buy 
That  honour,  which  shall  bate  his  scythe's  keen  edge. 
And  make  us  heirs  of  all  eternity. 
Therefore,  brave  conquerors  ! — for  so  you  are. 
That  war  against  your  own  affections. 
And  the  huge  army  of  the  world's  desires, — 
Our  late  edict  shall  strongly  stand  in  force  : 
Navarre  shall  be  the  wonder  of  the  world  ; 
Our  court  shall  be  a  little  Academe, 
Still  and  contemplative  in  living  art. 
You  three,  Biron,  Dumain,  and  Longaville, 
Have  sworn  for  three  years'  term  to  live  wath  me. 
My  fellow-scholars,  and  to  keep  those  statutes. 
That  ar^  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  ann'd  to  do,  as  sworn  to  do, 
Subscribe  to  your  deep  oath,  and  keep  it  too. 

Long.  I  am  resolv'd:  'tis  but  a  three  years'  fast; 
The  mind  shall  banquet,  though  the  body  pine  : 
Fat  paunches  have  lean  pates  ;  and  dainty  bits 
Make  rich  the  ribs,  butbank'rout  quite  the  wits. 


324  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

Dum.  My  loving  lord,  Dumain  is  mortified; 
The  grosser  manner  of  these  world's  delights 
He  throws  upon  the  gross  world's  baser  slaves  : 
To  love,  to  wealth,  to  pomp,  I  pine  and  die  ; 
With  all  these^  living  in  philosophy. 

Biron.  I  can  but  say  their  protestation  over. 
So  much,  dear  liege,  I  have  already  sworn. 
That  is.  To  live  and  study  here  three  years. 
But  there  are  other  strict  observances  : 
As,  not  to  see  a  woman  in  that  term  ; 
Which,  I  hope  well,  is  not  enrolled  there  : 
And,  one  day  in  a  week  to  touch  no  food ; 
And  but  one  meal  on  every  day  beside  ; 
The  which  I  hope,  is  not  enrolled  there  : 
And  then,  to  sleep  but  three  hours  in  the  night. 
And  not  be  seen  to  wdnk  of  all  the  day ; 
(When  I  was  wont  to  think  no  harm  all  night. 
And  make  a  dark  night  too  of  half  the  day  ;) 
Which,  I  hope  well,  is  not  enrolled  there  ; 
O,  these  are  barren  tasks,  too  hard  to  keep  ; 
Not  to  see  ladies,  study,  fast,  not  sleep. 

King.  Your  oath  is  pass'd  to  pass  away  from  these. 
Biron.  Let  me  say  no,  my  liege,  an  if  you  please  ; 
I  only  swore,  to  study  with  your  grace. 
And  stay  here  in  your  court  for  three  years'  space. 
Long.  You  swore  to  that,  Biron,  and  to  the  rest. 
Biron.  By  yea  and  nay,  sir,  then  I  swore  in  jest. — 
What  is  the  end  of  study  ?  let  me  know. 

King.  Why,  that  to  know,  which  else  we  should  not 

know. 
Biron.  Things  hid  and  barr'd,  you  mean,  from  common 

sense? 
King.  Ay,  that  is  study's  god-like  recompense. 
Biron.  Come  on  then,  I  will  swear  to  study  so. 
To  know  the  thing  1  am  forbid  to  know  : 
As  thus, — To  study  where  1  well  may  dine. 

When  I  to  feast  expressly  am  forbid  ; 
Or,  study  where  to  meet  some  mistress  fine. 
When  mistresses  from  common  sense  are  hid  : 

»   With  all  these — ]  i.  e.  The  King,  Biron,  &c. 


ACT  I.— SCENE  I.  325 

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,**  "i 

Study  knows  that,  which  yet  it  doth  not  know  :  > 
Swear  me  to  this,  and  I  will  ne'er  say,  no.  * 

King.  These  be  the  stops  that  hinder  study  quite. 
And  train  our  intellects  to  vain  delight. 

Biron.  Why,  all  delights  are  vain  ;  but  that  most  vain. 
Which,  with  pain  purchas'd,  doth  inherit  pain  : 
As  painfully  to  pore  upon  a  book. 

To  seek  the  light  of  truth  :  while  truth  the  while 
Doth  falsely  blind  the  eyesight  of  his  look  : 

Light,  seeking  light,  doth  light  of  light  beguile  : 
So,  ere  you  find  were  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  was  it  blinded  by. 
Study  is  like  the  heaven's  glorious  sun. 

That  will  not  be  deep-search 'd  with  saucy  looks  ; 
Small  have  continual  plodders  ever  won. 

Save  base  authority  from  others'  books. 
These  earthly  godfathers  of  heaven's  lights. 

That  give  a  name  to  every  fixed  star. 
Have  no  more  profit  of  their  shining  nights. 

Than  those  that  walk,  and  wot  not  what  they  are. 
Too  much  to  know,  is,  to  know  nought  but  fame  ; 
And  every  godfather  can  give  a  name. 

King.  How  well  he's  read,  to  reason  against  reading  ! 

Dum.  Proceeded  well,  to  stop  all  good  proceeding  \^ 

Long.    He   weeds   the    corn,  and   still    lets  grow   the 
weeding. 

Biron.    The  spring  is  near,  when  green  geese  are   a 
breeding. 

b  If  Study's  gain  he  thus,  and  this  be  so,']  Read :  If  study's  gain  be  this. — 

RiTSON. 

c  .  that  eye  thall  be  his  heed,]  i.  e.  His  direction  or  lodestar. — Johnson. 

«•  Proceeded  well,  to  stop  all  good  proceeding !]   He  has  proceeded  well,  means 
only,  he  has  gone  un  well.  — Masos. 

VOL.    II.  Z 


326  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

Dum.  How  follows  that  ?  ' 

Biron.  Fit  in  his  place  and  time. 

Dum.  In  reason  nothing. 

Biron.  Something  then  in  rhyme. 

Long.  Biron  is  like  an  envious  sneaping  frost,^ 

That  bites  the  first-born  infants  of  the  spring. 
Biroji.  Well,  say  I  am :  why  should  proud  summer  boast. 

Before  the  birds  have  any  cause  to  sing  ? 
Why  should  I  joy  in  an  abortive  birth  ? 


} 


At  Christmas  I  no  more  desire  a  rose. 

Than  wish  a  snow  in  May's  new-fangled  shov 

But  like  of  each  thing,  that  in  season  grows. 

So  you,  to  study  now  it  is  too  late, 

Climb  o'er  the  house  to  unlock  the  little  gate. 

King.  Well,  sit  you  out  :s  go  home,  Biron  ;  adieu  ! 

Biron.  No,  my  good  lord ;  I  have  sworn  to  stay  with  you : 
And,  though  I  have  for  barbarism  spoke  more. 

Than  for  that  angel  knowledge  you  can  say. 
Yet  confident  I'll  keep  what  I  have  swore. 

And  bide  the  penance  of  each  three  years'  day. 
Give  me  the  paper,  let  me  read  the  same  ;  ■\ 

And  to  the  strict'st  decrees  I'll  write  my  name.  \ 

King.  How  well  this  yielding  rescues  thee  from  shame !  3 

Biron.  [reads.l  Item,  That  no  woman  shall  come  loithin  a 
mile  of  my  court. — 
And  hath  this  been  proclaim'd  ? 

Long.  Four  days  ago. 

Biron.  Let's  see  the  penalty. 
\_Iieads.] — On  pain  of  losing  her  tongue. — 

Who  devis'd  this  ? 

Long.  Marry,  that  did  I. 

Biron.  Sweet  lord,  and  why  ? 

Long.  To  fright  them  hence  with  that  dread  penalty. 

^  sneaping  frost,']    So  sneajnng  winds  in  the  Winter's  Tale.    To  sneap  is  to 

check,  to  rebuke. 

I  will  not  undergo  this  sneaj). — Henry  IV.  p.  2. — Steevens* 

f Mays  new-fangled  shows ;]   This  is  only  a  periphrasis   for  May. — 

T.  Warton. 

e  Well,  sit  you  out:]  To  sit  out,  is  a  term  from  the  card-table.  The  person 
who  cuts  out  at  a  rubber  of  whist,  is  still  said  to  sit  out ;  i.  e.  to  be  no  longer 
engaged  in  the  party. — Steevens. 


ACT  I.— SCENE  I  327 

Biron.  A  dangerous  law  against  gentility.'' 

[Reads.}  Item,  If  any  man  be  seen  to  talkxoith  a  woman 
within  the  term  of  three  years,  he  shall  endure  such  public 
shame  as  the  rest  of  the  court  can  possibly  devise. — 
This  article,  my  liege,  yourself  must  break  ; 

For,  well  you  know,  here  comes  in  embassy 
The  French  king's  daughter,  with  yourself  to  speak, — ■ 

A  maid  of  grace,  and  complete  majesty, — 
About  surrender-up  of  Aquitain 

To  her  decrepit,  sick,  and  bed-rid  father  : 
Therefore  this  article  is  made  in  vain. 

Or  vainly  comes  the  admired  princess  hither. 

King.  What  say  you,  lords  ?  why,  this  was  quite  forgot, 

Biron.  So  study  evermore  is  over-shot ; 
While  it  doth  study  to  have  what  it  would. 
It  doth  forget  to  do  the  thing  it  should  : 
And  when  it  hath  the  thing  it  hunteth  most, 
'Tis  won,  as  towns  with  fire ;  so  won,  so  lost. 

King.  We  must,  of  force,  dispense  with  this  decree ; 
She  must  lie  here  on  mere  necessity. 

Biron.  Necessity  will  make  us  all  forsworn 

Three  thousand  times  within  this  three  years'  space  : 
For  every  man  with  his  affects'  is  born  ; 

Not  by  might  master'd,  but  by  special  grace  :'' 
If  I  break  faith,  this  word  shall  speak  for  me, 
I  am  forsworn  on  mere  necessity, — 
So  to  the  laws  at  large  I  write  my  name  :  [Subscribes. 

And  he,  that  breaks  them  in  the  least  degree. 
Stands  in  attainder  of  eternal  shame  : 

Suggestions'  are  to  others,  as  to  me ; 
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  ? 

*> gentility.'\ — means  here  politeness,  urbanity,  and  the  more  refined  plea- 
sures of  life.  For  men  without  women  would  turn  brutal  and  savage  in  their 
natures  and  behaviour. — Theobald. 

' affects — ]  Passions. 

^  Not  by  might  master'd,  but  by  special  gi-ace :']  Biron,  amidst  his  e.xtravagan- 
cies,  speaks  with  great  justness  against  the  folly  of  vows.  They  are  made 
without  suflScient  regard  to  the  variations  of  life,  and  are  therefore  broken  by 
some  unforeseen  necessity.  They  proceed  commonly  from  a  presumptuous  con  ■ 
fidence,  and  a  false  estimate  of  human  power. — Johnson. 

'  Suggestions — ]  Temptations.         ■" quick  recreation — ]  Lively  sport. 

z  2 


328  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

King.  Ay,  that  there  is  :  our  court,  you  know,  is  haunted 

With  a  refined  traveller  of  Spain  ; 
A  man  in  all  the  world's  new  fashion  planted. 

That  hath  a  mint  of  phrases  in  his  brain  : 
One,  whom  the  music  of  his  own  vain  tongue 

Doth  ravish,  like  enchanting  harmony  ; 
A  man  of  complements,"  whom  right  and  wrong 

Have  chose  as  umpire  of  their  mutiny  : 
This  child  of  fancy,"  that  Armado  hight. 

For  interim  to  our  studies,  shall  relate. 
In  high-born  words,  the  worth  of  many  a  knight 

From  tawny  Spain,  lost  in  the  world's  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 .p 

Biron.  Armado  is  a  most  illustrious  wight, 
A  man  of  fire-new''  words,  fashion's  own  knight. 

Long.  Costard  the  swain,  and  he,  shall  be  our  sport ; 
And,  so  to  study,  three  years  is  but  short. 

Enter  Dull,  with  a  letter,  and  Costard. 

Dull.  Which  is  the  duke's  own  person  ? 

Bii'on.  This,  fellow  ;  What  would'st  ? 

Dull.  I  myself  reprehend  his  own  person,  for  I  am  his 
grace's  tharborough  ;^  but  I  would  see  his  own  person  in 
flesh  and  blood. 

Biron.  This  is  he. 

Dull.  Signior  Arme — Arme  —  commends  you.  There's 
villainy  abroad  ;  this  letter  will  tell  you  more. 

Cost.  Sir,  the  contempts  thereof  are  as  touching  me. 

King.  A  letter  from  the  magnificent  Armado. 

Biron.  How  low  soever  the  matter,  I  hope  in  God  for 
high  words. 

"  A  man  of  complements,^  A  man  of  excessive  complaisance,  who  was  willing 
to  make  even  right  and  wrong  friends. — Wauburion. 

"  This  ddld  of  fancy, '\  This  fantastic. 

P  And  I  will  use  him  for  miy  minstrelsy.]  i.  e.  I  will  make  a  minstrel  of  him, 
whose  occupation  was  to  relate  fabulous  stories. — Douce. 

'1 fire-new — ]  Newly  come  from  the  fire  :  said  originally  of  things  ma- 
nufactured in  metal ;  afterwards  apjjlied  to  all  things  new. — Naiu:s's  Glossary. 

' tharborongh  :^  i.  e.  Thirdborougit ,  a  peace  officer,  alike  in  authority 

with  a  headborough  or  a  constable. — Sir  J.  Hawkins. 


ACT  I.— SCENE  I.  329 

Long.  A  high  hope  for  a  low  having :'  God  grant  us 
patience  ! 

Biron.  To  hear  ?  or  forbear  hearing  ? 

Long.  To  hear  meekly,  sir,  and  to  laugh  moderately ; 
or  to  forbear  both. 

Biron.  Well,  sir,  be  it  as  the  style  shall  give  us  cause 
to  climb  in  the  merriness. 

Cost.  The  matter  is  to  me,  sir,  as  concerning  Jaque- 
netta.  The  manner  of  it  is,  I  was  taken  with  the 
manner.' 

Biron.  In  what  manner? 

CW.  In  manner  and  form  following,  sir ;  all  those 
three  :  I  was  seen  with  her  in  the  manor  house,  sitting 
with  her  upon  the  form,  and  taken  following  her  into 
the  park  ;  which,  put  together,  is  in  manner  and  form 
following.  Now,  sir,  for  the  manner, — it  is  the  manner 
of  a  man  to  speak  to  a  woman  :  for  the  form, — in  some 
form. 

Biron.  For  the  following,  sir  ? 

Cost.  As  it  shall  follow  in  ray  correction  ;  And  God 
defend  the  right ! 

King.  Will  you  hear  this  letter  with  attention  ? 

Biron.  As  we  would  hear  an  oracle. 

Cost.  Such  is  the  simplicity  of  man  to  hearken  after 
the  flesh. 

King,  [reads.]  Great  deputy,  the  ivelkin's  vicegerent,  and 
sole  dominator  of  Navarre,  my  soul's  earth's  God,  and  body's 
fostering  patron, — 

Cost.  Not  a  word  of  Costard  yet. 

King.  So  it  is, — 

Cost.  It  may  be  so  :  but  if  he  say  it  is  so,  he  is,  in 
telling  true,  but  so,  so. 

King.  Peace. 

Cost.  — ^be  to  me,  and  every  man  that  dares  not  fight ! 

King.  No  words. 

Cost.  — of  other  men's  secrets,  I  beseech  you. 

»  A  high  hope  for  a  low  having  :]  Though  you  hope  for  high  words,  and  should 
have  them,  it  will  be  but  a  low^  acquisition  at  best. — Theobald. 

t taken  with  the  manner.]  i.  e.  In  the  fact.     So  in  Heywood's  Rape  of 

Lucrece,  1630 : — "  and,  being  taken  with  the  manner  had  nothing  to  say  fat 
himself." — Steevens. 


330  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

King.  So  it  is,  besieged  with  sable-coloured  melancholy, 
I  did  commend  the  black-oppressing  humour  to  the  most  whole- 
some physick  of  thy  health-giving  air ;  and,  as  I  am  a  gen- 
tleman, betook  myself  to  walk.  The  time  when?  About  the 
sixth  hour ;  when  beasts  most  graze,  birds  best  peck,  and  men 
sit  down  to  that  nourishment  which  is  called  supper.  So  muck 
for  the  time  when :  Now  for  the  ground  which ;  which,  I 
■mean,  I  walked  upon :  it  is  ycleped  thy  park.  Then  for  the 
place  where:  where,  I  mean,  I  did  encounter  that  obscene  and 
most  preposterous  event,  that  drawethfrom  my  snow-white  pen 
the  ebon-coloured  ink,  which  here  thou  viewest,  beholdest,  sur- 
veyest,  or  seest :  But  to  the  place,  tvhere, — It  standeth  north- 
north-east  and  by  east  from  the  west  corner  of  thy  curious- 
knotted  garden.'^  There  did  I  see  that  loiv-spirited  swain, 
that  base  minnotv  of  thy  mirth. 

Cost.  Me. 

King.  — that  unletter'd  small-knoiving  soul. 

Cost.  Me. 

King.  — that  shallow  vassal. 

Cost.  Still  me. 

King.  — ichich,  as  I  remember,  hight  Costard, 

Cost.  O  me ! 

King.  — sorted  and  consorted,  contrary  to  thy  established 
proclaimed  edict  and  continent  canon,  with  —  with,  —  O  with 
—  but  with  this  I  passion  to  say  wherewith. 

Cost.  With  a  wench. 

King.  — with  a  child  of  our  grandmother  Eve,  a  female ; 
or,  for  thy  more  sweet  understanding,  a  woman.  Ilim  I  (as 
my  ever-esteemed  duty  pricks  me  on)  have  sent  to  thee,  to  re- 
ceive the  meed  of  punishment,  by  thy  sweet  grace's  officer, 
Antony  Didl;  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  ves- 
sel of  thy  laiv'sfwy;  and  shall,  at  the  least  of  thy  sweet  no- 
tice, bring  her  to  trial.  Thine,  in  all  compliments  of  devoted 
and  heart-burning  heat  of  duty, 

Don  Adriano  de  Armado. 

"  • curjous-knotted  garden.']     Ancient  gardens  abounded  with  figures 

of  which  the  lines  intersected  each  other  in  many  directions. — Steevens. 


ACT  I.— SCENE  I.  331 

Biron.  This  is  not  so  well  as  I  look'd  for,  but  the  best 
that  ever  I  heard. 

King.  Ay,  the  best  for  the  worst.    But,  sirrah,  what  say 
you  to  this? 

Cost.  Sir,  I  confess  the  wench. 
Kitig.  Did  you  hear  the  proclamation  ? 
Cost.  I  do  confess  much  of  the  hearing  it,  but  little  of 
the  marking  of  it. 

King.  It  was  proclaim'd  a  year's  imprisonment,  to  be 
taken  with  a  wench. 

Cost.  I  was  taken  with  none,  sir ;  I  was  taken  with  a 
damosel. 

Ki7ig.  Well,  it  was  proclaimed  damosel. 
Cost.  This  was  no  damosel  neither,  sir;  she  was  a  virgin. 
King.  It  is  so  varied  too  ;  for  it  was  proclaimed  virgin. 
Cost.  If  it  were,  I  deny  her  virginity  ;  I  was  taken  with 
a  maid. 

King.T  his  maid  will  not  serve  your  turn,  sir. 
Cost.  This  maid  will  serve  my  turn,  sir. 
King.  Sir,  I  will  pronounce  your  sentence ;  You  shall 
fast  a  week  with  bran  and  water. 

Cost.  I  had  rather  pray  a  month  with  mutton  and  por- 
ridge. 

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  Dumain. 
Biron.  I'll  lay  my  head  to  any  good  man's  hat. 
These  oaths  and  laws  vnll  prove  an  idle  scorn. — 
Sirrah,  come  on. 

Cost.  I  suffer  for  the  truth,  sir:  for  true  it  is,  I  was 
taken  with  Jaquenetta,  and  Jaquenetta  is  a  true  girl ;  and 
therefore.  Welcome  the  sour  cup  of  prosperity !  Affliction 
may  one  day  smile  again,  and  till  then.  Sit  thee  down, 
sorrow !  [Exeunt. 


332  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOSf. 

SCENE  II. 

Another  part  of  the  same.     Armado's  House. 
Enter  Arm  ado  and  Moth. 

Arm.  Boy,  what  sign  is  it,  when  a  man  of  great  spirit 
grows  melancholy? 

Moth.  A  great  sign,  sir,  that  he  will  look  sad. 

Arm.  Why,  sadness  is  one  and  the  self-same  thing,  dear 
imp. 

Moth.  No,  no;  O  lord,  sir,  no. 

Arm.  How  canst  thou  part  sadness  and  melancholy,  my 
tender  Juvenal  ? 

Moth.  By  a  familiar  demonstration  of  the  working,  my 
tough  senior. 

Arm.  Why  tough  senior?  why  tough  senior? 

Moth.  Why  tender  Juvenal?  why  tender  juvenal? 

Arm.  I  spoke  it,  tender  juvenal,  as  a  congruent  epithe- 
ton,  appertaining  to  thy  young  days,  which  we  may  nomi- 
nate tender. 

Moth.  And  I,  tough  senior,  as  an  appertinent  title  to 
your  old  time,  which  we  may  name  tough. 

Arm.  Pretty,  and  apt. 

Moth.  How  mean  you,  sir;  I  pretty,  and  my  saying  apt? 
or  I  apt,  and  my  saying  pretty  ? 

Arm.  Thou  pretty,  because  little. 

Moth.  Little  pretty,  because  little:  Wherefore  apt? 

Arm.  And  therefore  apt,  because  quick. 

Moth.  Speak  you  this  in  my  praise,  master  ? 

Arm.  In  thy  condign  praise. 

Moth.  I  will  praise  an  eel  with  the  same  praise. 

Arm.  What?  that  an  eel  is  ingenious ? 

Moth.  That  an  eel  is  quick. 

Arm.  I  do  say  thou  art  quick  in  answers  :  Thou  heatest 
my  blood. 

Moth.  I  am  answered,  sir. 

Arm.  I  love  not  to  be  crossed. 

Moth.  He  speaks  the  mere  contrary,  crosses  love  not 
him."  [Aside. 

"  crosses  love  not  him.]     By  cro$!>es  he  means  money. — Johnson. 


ACT  I— SCENE  11.  333 

Arm.  I  have  promised  to  study  three  years  with  the  duke. 

Moth.  You  may  do  it  in  an  hour,  sir. 

Arm.  Impossible. 

Moth.  How  many  is  one  thrice  told  ? 

Ai-m.  I  am  ill  at  reckoning,  it  fitteth  the  spirit  of  a 
tapster. 

Moth.  You  are  a  gentleman,  and  a  gamester,  sir. 

Arm.  I  confess  both;  they  are  both  the  varnish  of  a 
complete  man. 

Moth.  Then  I  am  sure,  you  know  how  much  the  gross 
8um  of  deuce-ace  amounts  to. 

Arm.  It  doth  amount  to  one  more  than  two. 

Moth.  Which  the  base  vulgar  do  call  three. 

jirm.  True. 

Moth.  Why,  sir,  is  this  such  a  piece  of  study  ?  Now 
here  is  three  studied,  ere  you'll  thrice  wink  :  and  how  easy 
it  is  to  put  years  to  the  word  three,  and  study  three  years 
in  two  words,  the  dancing  horse  will  tell  you.^ 

Arm.  A  most  fine  figure  ! 

Moth.  To  prove  you  a  cypher.  [Aside. 

Arm.  I  will  hereupon  confess,  I  am  in  love  :  and,  as  it 
is  base  for  a  soldier  to  love,  so  am  I  in  love  with  a  base 
wench.  If  drawing  my  sw  ord  against  the  humour  of  af- 
fection would  deliver  me  from  the  reprobate  thought  of  it, 
I  would  take  desire  prisoner,  and  ransom  him  to  any  French 
courtier  for  a  new  devised  courtesy.  I  think  scorn  to  sigh: 
methinks,  I  should  out-swear  Cupid.  Comfort  me,  boy  : 
What  great  men  have  been  in  love  ? 

Moth.  Hercules,  master. 

Arm.  Most  sweet  Hercules ! — More  authority,  dear  boy, 
name  more;  and,  sweet  my  child,  let  them  be  men  of  good 
repute  and  carriage. 

y  the  dancing  horse  will  tell  you.']     Bankes's  horse,  which  play'd  many 

remarkable  pranks,  and  is  alluded  to  by  many  writers  contemporary  with 
Shakspeare. — Dr.  Grey.  In  1595,  was  published  a  pamphlet  entitled, 
Maroccus  Extaticus;  or,  Banks's  Bay  Horse  in  a  Trance:  A  Discourse  set  downe 
in  a  merry  Dialogue  between  Bankes  and  his  Beast ;  anatomizing  some  Abases  and 
had  Tricl^  of  this  Age,  4to.  ;  prefixed  to  which  was  a  print  of  the  horse  stand- 
ing on  his  hind  legs  with  a  stick  in  his  mouth,  his  master  with  a  stick  in  his 
hand,  and  a  pair  of  dice  on  the  ground.  Ben  Jonson  hints  at  the  unfortunate 
catastrophe  of  both  man  and  horse,  which  I  find  happened  at  Rome,  where, 
to  the  disgrace  of  the  age,  of  the  country,  and  of  humanity,  they  were  burnt, 
by  order  of  the  Pope,  for  magicians.  See  Don  Zara  del  fogo,  l2mo.  1660, 
p.  111.— Reed. 


334  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

Moth.  Sampson,  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. 

Arm.  O  well-knit  Sampson !  strong-jointed  Sampson ! 
I  do  excel  thee  in  my  rapier,  as  much  as  thou  didst  me 
in  carrying  gates.  I  am  in  love  too, — Who  was  Sampson's 
love,  my  dear  Moth  ? 

Moth.  A  woman,  master. 

Arm.  Of  what  complexion  ? 

Moth.  Of  all  the  four,  or  the  three,  or  the  two  ;  or  one 
of  the  four. 

Arm.  Tell  me  precisely  of  what  complexion? 

Moth.  Of  the  sea-water  green,  sir. 

Arm.  Is  that  one  of  the  four  complexions  ? 

Moth.  As  I  have  read,  sir;  and  the  best  of  them  too. 

Arm.  Green,  indeed,  is  the  colour  of  lovers  :^  but  to 
have  a  love  of  that  colour,  methinks,  Sampson  had  small 
reason  for  it.     He,  surely,  affected  her  for  her  wit. 

Moth.  It  was  so,  sir ;  for  she  had  a  green  wit. 

Arm.  My  love  is  most  immaculate  white  and  red. 

Moth.  Most  maculate  thoughts,  master,  are  masked 
under  such  colours. 

Arm.  Define,  define,  well-educated  infant. 

Moth.  My  father's  wit,  and  my  mother's  tongue,  assist 
me. 

Arm.  Sweet  invocation  of  a  child ;  most  pretty,  and 
pathetical ! 

Moth.  If  she  be  made  of  white  and  red. 
Her  faults  will  ne'er  be  known ; 
For  blushing  cheeks  by  faults  are  bred. 

And  fears  by  pale-white  shown : 
Then,  if  she  fear,  or  be  to  blame. 

By  this  you  shall  not  know ; 
For  still  her  cheeks  possess  the  same. 
Which  native  she  doth  owe." 
A  dangerous  rhyme,  master,  against  the  reason  of  white 
and  red. 


'  Green  was  ;i  colour  long  assumed  by  loose  women. — Nares's  Glossarij. 
*  Which  native  she  dnlh  owe.]  i.  e.  Oif  which  she  is  valtirally  possessed. 


ACT  I.— SCENE  11.  335 

Arm.  Is  there  not  a  ballad,  boy,  of  the  King  and  the 
Beggar  ? 

Moth.  The  world  was  very  guilty  of  such  a  ballad  some 
three  ages  since :  but,  I  think,  now  'tis  not  to  be  foiind  ; 
or,  if  it  were,  it  would  neither  serve  for  the  writing,  nor 
the  tune. 

Arm.  I  will  have  the  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  well. 

Moth.  To  be  whipped  ;  and  yet  a  better  love  than  my 
master.  \^Aside. 

Arm.  Sing,  boy ;  my  spirit  grows  heavy  in  love. 

Moth.  And  that's  great  marvel,  loving  a  light  wench. 

Ai-m.  I  say,  sing. 

Moth.  Forbear  till  this  company  be  past. 

Enter  Dull,  Costard,  and  Jaquenetta. 

Dull.  Sir,  the  duke's  pleasure  is,  that  you  keep  Costard 
safe  :  and  you  must  let  him  take  no  delight,  nor  no  pe- 
nance :  but  a'  must  fast  three  days  a-week :  For  this  dam- 
sel, I  must  keep  her  at  the  park  ;  she  is  allowed  for  the 
day-woman.**     Fare  you  well. 

Arm.  I  do  betray  myself  with  blushing. — Maid. 

Jaq.  Man. 

Arm.  I  will  visit  thee  at  the  lodge. 

Jaq.  That's  hereby ."= 

Arm.  I  know  where  it  is  situate. 

Jaq.  Lord,  how  wise  you  are  ! 

Arm,  I  will  tell  thee  wonders. 

Jaq.  With  that  face'?'' 

Arm.  I  love  thee. 

Jaq.  So  I  heard  you  say. 

Arm.  And  so  farewell. 

b  j'or  the  day-woman.]  i.  e.  For  the  dairy-maid. — SxiitviiNS. 

c  That's  hereby.]   i.  e.  As  it  may  happen. 

d  With  that  face?]  This  cant  phrase  has  oddly  lasted  till  the  present  time; 
and  is  used  by  people  who  have  no  more  meaning  annexed  to  it,  than  Fielding 
had ;  who,  putting  it  into  the  mouth  of  Beau  Didapper,  thinks  it  necessary  to 
apologise  (in  a  note)  for  its  want  of  sense,  by  adding,  "  that  it  was  taken 
verbatim  from  polite  conversation." — Steevens. 


336  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

Jac.  Fair  weather  after  you  ! 

Dull.  Come,  Jaquenetta,  away. 

[Exetoit  Dull  and  Jaquenetta. 

Arm.  Villain,  thou  shalt  fast  for  thy  offences,  ere  thou 
be  pardoned. 

Cost.  Well,  sir,  I  hope,  when  I  do  it,  I  shall  do  it  on 
a  full  stomach. 

Arm.  Thou  shalt  be  heavily  punished. 

Cost.  I  am  more  bound  to  you  than  your  fellows,  for 
they  are  but  lightly  rewarded. 

Arm.  Take  away  this  villain ;  shut  him  up. 

Moth.  Come,  you  transgressing  slave ;  away. 

Cost.  Let  me  not  be  pent  up,  sir ;  I  will  fast,  being  loose. 

Moth.  No,  sir;  that  were  fast  and  loose  :  thou  shalt  to 
prison. 

Cost.  Well,  if  ever  I  do  see  the  merry  days  of  desolation 
that  I  have  seen,  some  shall  see. 

Moth.  What  shall  some  see? 

Cost.  Nay  nothing,  master  Moth,  but  what  they  look 
upon.  It  is  not  for  prisoners  to  be  too  silent  in  their 
words  j  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. 

Arm.  I  do  affect"  the  very  ground,  which  is  base,  where 
her  shoe,  which  is  baser,  guided  by  her  foot,  which  is 
basest,  doth  tread.  I  shall  be  forsworn,  (which  is  a  great 
argument  of  falsehood,)  if  I  love :  And  how  can  that  be 
true  love,  which  is  falsely  attempted?  Love  is  a  familiar; 
love  is  a  devil:  there  is  no  evil  angel  but  love.  Yet  Samp- 
son was  so  tempted ;  and  he  had  an  excellent  strength  ; 
yet  was  Solomon  so  seduced  ;  and  he  had  a  very  good  wit. 
Cupid's  butt-shafV  is  too  hard  for  Hercules'  club,  and 
therefore  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  regards  not:  his  disgrace  is  to 
be  called  boy ;  but  his  glory  is  to  subdue  men.  Adieu, 
valour !  rust,  rapier !  be  still,  drum  !  for  your  manager  is 

fi  affect — ]  i.e.  Love. — Steevens. 

f h\ilt-shajl — ]  i.  c.  An  arrow  to  shoot  at  halts  with. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  I.  337 

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. 

Scene  I. — Another  part  of  the  same.     A  Pavilion  and 
Tents  at  a  distance. 

Enter  the  Princess  o/' France,  Rosaline,  Maria, 
Katharine,  Bovet,  Lords,  a;/(/ o^/zer  Attendants. 

Boyet.  Now,  madam,  summon  up  your  dearest  spirits  -.^ 
Consider  who  the  king  your  father  sends  ; 
To  whom  he  sends  ;  and  what's  his  embassy  ; 
Yourself  held  precious  in  the  world's  esteem; 
To  parley  with  the  sole  inheritor 
Of  all  perfections  that  a  man  may  owe. 
Matchless  Navarre ;  the  plea  of  no  less  weight 
Than  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. 

Prin.  Good  lord  Boyet,  my  beauty,  though  but  mean, 
Needs  not  the  painted  flourish  of  your  praise ; 
Beauty  is  bought  by  judgment  of  the  eye. 
Not  utter'd  by  base  sale  of  chapmen's  tongues:'' 
I  am  less  proud  to  hear  you  tell  my  worth. 
Than  you  much  willing  to  be  counted  wise 
In  spending  your  wit  in  the  praise  of  mine. 
But  now  to  task  the  tasker, — Good  Boyet, 
You  are  not  ignorant,  all-telling  fame 

g ymir  dearest  spiriti ;]    Dear,  in  our  author's   language,  has  many 

shades  of  meaning.     In  the  present  instance  and  the  next,  it  appears  to  sig- 
nify— best,  most  powerful. — Steevens. 

•>  Beauty  is  bought  by  judgment  of  the  eye, 
Not  uttered  by  base  sale  of  chapman's  tongues:']  Chapman  here  seems  to  sig- 
nify the  seller,  not  as  now  commonly  the  buyer.  Cheap  or  cheaping  was  an- 
ciently the  market ;  chapman  therefore  is,  marketman.  The  meaning  is,  that 
the  estimation  of  beauty  depends  not  nn  the  uttering  or  proclamation  oj  the  seller, 
but  on  the  eye  of  the  buyer, — Johnson. 


338  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

Doth  noise  abroad,  Navarre  hath  made  a  vow, 
Till  painful  study  shall  out-wear  three  years, 
No  woman  may  approach  his  silent  court  : 
Therefore  to  us  seemeth  it  a  needful  course. 
Before  we  enter  his  forbidden  gate. 
To  know  his  pleasure  ;  and  in  that  behalf, 
Bold  of  your  w  orthiness,  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  humbly-visag'd  suitors,  his  high  will. 

Boyet.  Proud  of  employment,  willingly  I  go.        \^Exit. 

Prill.  All  pride  is  willing  pride,  and  your's  is  so. — 
Who  are  the  votaries,  my  loving  lords. 
That  are  vow-fellows  with  this  virtuous  duke? 

1  Lord.  Longaville  is  one. 

Prill.  Know  you  the  man  ? 

Mar.  I  know  him,  madam  ;  at  a  marriage  feast. 
Between  lord  Perigort  and  the  beauteous  heir 
Of  Jaques  Falconbridge  solemnized. 
In  Normandy  saw  I  this  Longaville  : 
A  man  of  sovereign  parts  he  is  esteem'd ; 
Well  fitted  in  the  arts,  glorious  in  anns  : 
Nothing  becomes  him  ill,  that  he  would  well. 
The  only  soil  of  his  fair  virtue's  gloss, 
(If  virtue's  gloss  will  stain  with  any  soil,) 
Is  a  sharp  wit  match'd  with  too  blunt  a  will ; 
Whose  edge  hath  power  to  cut,  whose  will  still  wills 
It  should  none  spare  that  come  within  his  power. 

Prill.  Some  merry  mocking  lord,  belike  ;  is't  so  ? 

Mar.  They  say  so  most,  that  most  his  humours  know. 

Prill.  Such  short-liv'd  wits  do  wither  as  they  grow. 
Who  are  the  rest  ? 

Kath.  The  young  Dumain,  a  well-accomplish'd  youth. 
Of  all  that  virtue  love  for  virtue  lov'd  : 
Most  power  to  do  most  hantn,  least  knowing  ill ; 
For  he  hath  wit  to  make  an  ill  shape  good. 
And  shape  to  win  grace  though  he  had  no  wit. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  I.  339 

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. 

Ros.  Another  of  these  students  at  that  time 
Was  there  with  him  :  if  I  have  heard  a  truth, 
Biron  they  call  him  ;  but  a  merrier  man, 
Within  the  limit  of  becomino;  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  jf  st ; 
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  ravish'd  ; 
So  sweet  and  voluble  is  his  discourse. 

Prin.  God  bless  my  ladies !  are  they  all  in  love  ; 
That  every  one  her  own  hath  garnished 
With  such  bedecking  ornaments  of  praise  ? 

Blar.  Here  comes  Boyet. 

Re-enter  Boyet. 

Prin.  Now,  what  admittance,  lord  ? 

Boyet.  Navarre  had  notice  of  your  fair  approach  ; 
And  he,  and  his  competitors  in  oath,' 
Were  all  address'd  to  meet  you,  gentle  lady. 
Before  I  came.     Marry,  thus  much  I  have  learnt. 
He  rather  means  to  lodge  you  in  the  field, 
(Like  one  that  comes  here  to  besiege  his  court,) 
Than  seek  a  dispensation  for  his  oath. 
To  let  you  enter  his  unpeopled  house. 
Here  comes  Navarre.  [The  ladies  mask. 

Enter  King,  Longaville,  Dumain,  Biron,  and 
Attendants. 

King.  Fair  Princess,  welcome  to  the  court  of  Navarre. 
Prin.  Fair,  I  give  you  back  again  ;    and,  welcome  I 
have  not  yet :  the  roof  of  this  court  is  too  high  to  be 

'  competitors  in  oath,']  i.  e.  Confederates. — Steevf.ns. 


340  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

yours :    and  welcome  to  the  wild  fields   too  base  to  be 
mine. 

King.  You  shall  be  welcome,  madam,  to  my  court. 
Pri7i.  I  will  be  welcome  then  ;  conduct  me  thither. 
King.  Hear  me,  dear  lady,  I  have  sworn  an  oath. 
Prin.  Our  lady  help  my  lord  !  he'll  be  forsworn. 
King.  Not  for  the  world,  fair  madam,  by  my  will. 
Prin.  Why,  will  shall  break  it ;  will,  and  nothing  else. 
King.  Your  ladyship  is  ignorant  what  it  is. 
Priti.  Were  my  lord  so,  his  ignorance  were  wise. 
Where''  now  his  knowledge  must  prove  ignorance. 
I  hear,  your  grace  hath  sworn-out  house-keeping  : 
'Tis  deadly  sin  to  keep  that  oath,  my  lord. 
And  sin  to  break  it : 
But  pardon  me,  I  am  too  sudden-bold ; 
To  teach  a  teacher  ill  beseemeth  me. 
Vouchsafe  to  read  the  purpose  of  my  coming. 
And  suddenly  resolve  me  in  my  suit.  \^Gives  a  paper. 

King.  Madam,  I  will,  if  suddenly  I  may. 
Prin.  You  will  the  sooner,  that  I  were  away ; 
For  you'll  prove  perjur'd,  if  you  make  me  stay. 
Biron.  Did  not  I  dance  with  you  in  Brabant  once  ? 
Ros.  Did  not  I  dance  with  you  in  Brabant  once  ? 
Biron.  I  know,  you  did. 

Ros.  How  needless  was  it  then 

To  ask  the  question  ! 

Biron.  You  must  not  be  so  quick. 

Ros.  'Tis  'long  of  you  that  spur  me  with  such  questions. 
Biron.  Your  wit's  too  hot,  it  speeds  too  fast,  'twill  tire. 
Ros.  Not  till  it  leave  the  rider  in  the  mire. 
Biron.  What  time  o'  day  ? 
Ros.  The  hour  that  fools  should  ask. 
Biron.  Now  fair  befal  your  mask  ! 
Ros.  Fair  fall  the  face  it  covers  ! 
Biron.  And  send  you  many  lovers  ! 
Ros.  Amen,  so  you  be  none. 
Biron.  Nay,  then  will  I  be  gone. 
King.  Madam,  your  father  here  doth  intimate 
The  payment  of  a  hundred  thousand  crowns  ; 

''  Where — ]  Where  ib  here  used  for  whereas. — Steevens. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  I.  341 

Being  but  the  one  half  of  an  entire  sum. 

Disbursed  by  my  father  in  his  wars. 

But  say,  that  he,  or  we,  (as  neither  have,) 

Receiv'd  that  sum  ;  yet  there  remains  unpaid 

A  hundred  thousand  more ;.  in  surety  of  the  which, 

One  part  of  Aquitain  is  bound  to  us. 

Although  not  valued  to  the  money's  worth. 

If  then  the  king  your  father  will  restore 

But  that  one  half  which  is  unsatisfied. 

We  will  give  up  our  right  in  Aquitain, 

And  hold  fair  friendship  with  his  majesty. 

But  that,  it  seems,  he  little  purposeth. 

For  here  he  doth  demand  to  have  repaid 

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  requests  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. 

Prin.  You  do  the  king  my  father  too  much  wrong, 
And  wrong  the  reputation  of  your  name. 
In  so  unseeming  to  confess  receipt 
Of  that  which  hath  so  faithfully  been  paid. 

King.  I  do  protest,  I  never  heard  of  it ; 
And,  if  you  prove  it,  I'll  repay  it  back, 
Or  yield  up  Aquitain. 

Prin.  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. 

V depart  withal,],  To  de^part  and  to  jwrt  were  anciently  synonymous.— 

Steevens. 

VOL.  II.  2    A 


342  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

Kmg.  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  lodged  in  my  heart, 
Though  so  denied  fair  harbour  in  my  house. 
Your  o'vn  good  thoughts  excuse  me,  and  farewell : 
To-morrow  shall  we  visit  you  again. 

Prin.  Sweet  health  and  fair  desires  consort  your  grace  ! 

King.  Thy  own  wish  wish  I  thee  in  every  place  ! 

lExeu7it  King  and  his  Train. 

Biron.  Lady,  I  will  commend  you  to  my  own  heart. 

Ros.  'Pray  you,  do  my  commendations ;  I  would  be 
glad  to  see  it. 

Biron.  I  would,  you  heard  it  groan. 

Ros.  Is  the  fool  sick  ? 

Biron.  Sick  at  the  heart. 

Ros.  Alack,  let  it  blood. 

Biron.  Would  that  do  it  good  ? 

Ros.  My  physick  says,  I."" 

Biron.  Will  you  prick't  with  your  eye  ? 

Ros.  'Nopoi/nt"  with  my  knife. 

Biron.  Now,  God  save  thy  life ! 

Ros.  And  yours  from  long  living  ! 

Biron.  I  cannot  stay  thanksgiving.  [Retiring. 

Duni.  Sir,  I  pray  you,  a  word  :  What  lady  is  that  same  !'' 

Boyet.  The  heir  of  Alengon,  Rosaline  her  name. 

Dum.  A  gallant  lady  !  Monsieur,  fare  you  well.  [Exit. 

Long.  I  beseech  you  a  word  ;  What  is  she  in  the  white  ? 

Boyet.  A  woman  sometimes,  an  you  saw  her  in  the  light. 

L,ong.  Perchance,  light  in  the  light :  I  desire  her  name. 

"  My  physick  says,  I.]  She  means  to  say  ay.  The  old  spelling  of  the  affirma- 
tive particle  has  been  retained  here  for  the  sake  of  the  rhyme. — Ma  lone. 

»  No  pnynt,']  A  negation  borrowed  from  the  French. — Malone. 

o  What  lady  is  that  samel]  It  is  odd  that  Shakspeare  should  make  Dumain 
inquire  after  Rosaline  who  was  the  mistress  of  Biron,  and  neglect  Katherine 
who  was  his  own.  Biron  behaves  in  the  same  manner.  Perhaps  all  the  la- 
dies wore  masks  but  the  princess. — Steevens. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  I.  343 

Boyet,  She  hath  but  one  for  herself;  to  desire  that, 
^  Long.  Pray  you,  sir,  whose  daughter  1    [were  a  shame. 

Boyet.  Her  mother's,  I  have  heard. 

Long,  God's  blessing  on  your  beard  ! 

Boyet.  Good  sir,  be  not  offended  : 
She  is  an  heir  of  Falconbridge. 

Long.  Nay,  my  choler  is  ended. 
She  is  a  most  sweet  lady. 

Boyet.  Not  unlike,  sir;  that  may  be.  [Exit  Long. 

Biron.  What's  her  name,  in  the  cap  ? 

Boyet.  Katharine,  by  good  hap. 

Biron.  Is  she  wedded,  or  no  ? 

Boyet.  To  her  will,  sir,  or  so. 

Biron.  You  are  welcome,  sir ;  adieu  ! 

Boyet.  Farewell  to  me,  sir,  and  welcome  to  you. 

[Exit  Biron. — Ladies  unmask. 

Mar.  That  last  is  Biron,  the  merry  mad-cap  lord ; 
Not  a  word  with  him  but  a  jest. 

Boyet.  And  every  jest  but  a  word. 

Prin.  It  was  well  done  of  you,  to  take  him  at  his  word. 

Boyet.  I  was  as  willing  to  grapple,  as  he  was  to  board. 

Mar.  Two  hot  sheeps,  marry  ! 

Boyet.  And  wherefore  not  ships  ? 

No  sheep,  sweet  lamb,  unless  we  feed  on  your  lips. 

Mar.  You  sheep,  and  I  pasture ;  Shall  that  finish  the 

Boyet.  So  you  grant  pasture  for  me.  [jest? 

[Offering  to  kiss  her. 

Mar.  Not  so,  gentle  beast ; 

My  lips  are  no  common,  though  several  they  be.'' 

Boyet.  Belonging  to  whom  ? 

Mar.      '  To  my  fortunes  and  me. 

Prin.  Good  wits  will  be  jangling  :  but,  gentles,  agree. 
The  civil  war  of  wits  were  much  better  used 
On  Navarre  and  his  book -men  ;  for  here  'tis  abused. 

Boyet.  If  my  observation,  (which  very  seldom  lies,) 
By  the  heart's  still  rhetorick,  disclosed  with  eyes. 
Deceive  me  not  now,  Navarre  is  infected. 

I'  My  lips  are  no  common,  though  several  they  be."]  A  play  on  the  word  several, 
which,  besides  its  ordinary  signification  of  separate,  distinct,  likewise  signifies 
in  uninclosed  lands,  a  certain  portion  of  ground  appropriated  to  either  corn  or 
meadow,  adjoining  the  common  field. — Malone. 

2  A  2 


344  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

Prin.  With  what  ? 

Boj/et.  With  that  which  we  lovers  entitle,  affected o 

Prin.  Your  reason? 

Boyet.  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  impressed, 
Proud  with  his  form,  in  his  eye  pride  expressed : 
His  tongue,  all  impatient  to  speak  and  not  see,"" 
Did  stumble  with  haste  in  his  eye-sight  to  be ; 
All  senses  to  that  sense  did  make  their  repair. 
To  feel  only  looking""  on  fairest  of  fair  : 
Methought  all  his  senses  were  lock'd  in  his  eye. 
As  jewels  in  crystal  for  some  prince  to  buy;  [glass'd. 

Who,  tend'ring  their  own  worth,  from  where  they  were 
Did  point  you  to  buy  them,  along  as  you  pass'd. 
His  face's  own  margent  did  quote  such  amazes. 
That  all  eyes  saw  his  eyes  enchanted  with  gazes  : 
I'll  give  you  Aquitain,  and  all  that  is  his, 
An  you  give  him  for  my  sake  but  one  loving  kiss. 

Prin.  Come,  to  our  pavilion  :  Boyet  is  dispos'd — 

Boyet.  But  to  speak  that  in  words,  which  his  eye  hath 
I  only  have  made  a  mouth  of  his  eye,  [disclos'd : 

By  adding  a  tongue  which  I  know  will  not  lie, 

Ros.  Thou  art  an  old  love-monger,  and  speak'st  skilfully. 

Mar.  He  is  Cupid's  grandfather,  and  learns  news  of  him. 

Pos.  Then  was  Venus  like  her  mother;  for  her  father  is 

Boyet.  Do  you  hear,  my  mad  wenches  ?  [but  grim. 

Mar.  No. 

Boyet.  What  then,  do  you  see? 

Pos.  Ay,  our  way  to  be  gone, 

Boyet.  You  are  too  hard  for  me. 

\^Exeunt. 

<i  Bis  tongue,  all  impatient  to  speak  and  7iot  see,]  Although  the  expression  in 
the  text  is  extremely  odd,  I  take  the  sense  of  it  to  be  that  his  tongue  envied  the 
quickness  of  his  eyes,  and  strove  to  be  as  rapid  in  its  utterance,  as  they  in  their  per- 
ception.  StE  EVENS, 

'  To  feel  only  looking—]  Perhaps  we  may  better  read,  "  To  feel  only  l>y 
looking — ." — Johnson. 


ACT  III.— SCENE  I.  345 

ACT    III. 

SCENE  I. — Another  part  of  the  same. 

Enter  Arm  a  do  and  Moth. 

Jrm.  Warble,  child  ;    make  passionate   my    sense   of 
hearing. 

Moth.  Concolincl '  [Singing. 

Arm.  Sweet  air  ! — Go,  tenderness  of  years ;  take  this 
key,  give  enlargement  to  the  swain,  bring  him  festinately 
hither ;  I  must  employ  him  in  a  letter  to  my  love. 

Moth.  Master,  will  you  win  your  love  with  a  French 
brawl  ?' 

Arm.  How  mean'st  thou?  brawling  in  French? 

Moth.  No,  my  complete  master:  but  to  jig  off  a  time  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  snuffed  up  love  by  smelling  love ;  with  your  hat  pent- 
houselike, o'er  the  shop  of  your  eyes ;  with  your  arms 
crossed  on  your  thin  belly-doublet,  like  a  rabbit  on  a  spit; 
or  your  hands  in  your  pocket,  like  a  man  after  the  old 
painting;  and  keep  not  too  long  in  one  tune,  but  a  snip  and 
away  :  These  are  complements,  these  are  humours ;  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. 

A7'm.  How  hast  thou  purchased  this  experience  ? 

s  Concolinel — ]  Here  is  apparently  a  song  lost. — Johnson.  I  have  ob- 
served in  the  old  comedies,  that  the  songs  are  frequently  omitted.  Probably 
the  performer  was  left  to  choose  his  own  ditty,  and  therefore  it  could  not  with 
propriety  be  exhibited  as  a  part  of  a  new  performance.  Not  one  of  the  many 
songs  supposed  to  be  sung  in  Marston's  Antonio's  Revenge,  160?,  are  inserted ; 
but  instead  of  them,  Cantant, — Steevens. 

t  a  French  brawl?]     A  brawl  is  a  kind  of  dance,  perhaps  what  we 

now  call  a  cotillon.  In  The  Malcontent  of  Mareton  I  meet  with  the  following 
account  of  it: — "  The  brawl,  wiiy  'tis  but  two  singles  to  the  left,  two  on  the 
right,  three  doubles  forwards,  a  traverse  of  six  rounds  :  do  this  twice,  three 
singles  side  galliard  trick  of  twenty  coranto  pace  ;  a  figure  of  eight,  three  sin- 
gles broken  down,  come  up,  meet  two  doubles,  fall  back,  and  then  honour." — 
Steevens. 

u  canary — ]     Canary  was  the  name  of  a  spritely  nimble  dance. — 

TllEOBALT. 


346  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

Moth.  By  my  penny  of  observation." 

Arm.  But  O,  —  but  O, — 

Moth.  —  the  hobby-horse  is  forgot.^ 

Arm.  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? 

Jlrm.  Almost  I  had. 

Moth.  Negligent  student !  learn  her  by  heart. 

Arm.  By  heart,  and  in  heart,  boy. 

Moth.  And  out  of  heart,  master :  all  those  three  I  will 
prove. 

Arm.  What  wilt  thou  prove? 

Moth.  A  man,  if  I  live;  and  this,  by,  in,  and  without, 
upon  the  instant :  By  heart  you  love  her,  because  your 
heart  cannot  come  by  her:  in  heart  you  love  her,  because 
your  heart  is  in  love  with  her  ;  and  out  of  heart  you  love 
her,  being  out  of  heart  that  you  cannot  enjoy  her. 

Arm.  I  am  all  these  three. 

Moth.  And  three  times  as  much  more,  and  yet  nothing 
at  all. 

Arm.  Fetch  hither  the  swain ;  he  must  carry  me  a  letter. 

Moth.  A  message  well  sympathised  ;  a  horse  to  be  em- 
bassador for  an  ass ! 

Arm.  Ha,  ha!  what  sayest  thou? 

Moth.  Marry,  sir,  you  must  send  the  ass  upon  the  horse, 
for  he  is  very  slow-gaited :  But  I  go. 

Arm.  The  way  is  but  short;  away. 

Moth.  As  swift  as  lead,  sir. 

"  By  my  penny  of  ohservation.'\     The  allusion  is  to  the  famous  old  piece, 
called  a  Penniworth  of  Wit.     The  old  copy  reads  pen. — Farmer. 

y  Arm.  But  0, —  But  0,— 
Moth.  —  the  hobby-horse  is  forgot.']  In  the  cek'bration.  of  May-day,  be- 
sides the  sports  now  used,  of  hanging  a  pole  with  garlands,  and  dancing  round 
it,  formerly  a  boy  was  dressed  up,  representing  Maid  Marian  ;  another  like  a 
friar,  and  another  rode  on  a  hobby-horse,  with  bells  jingling,  and  painted 
streamers.  After  the  Reformation  took  place,  and  precisians  multiplied,  these 
latter  rites  were  looked  upon  to  savour  of  paganism  ;  and  then  Maid  Marian, 
the  friar,  and  the  poor  hobby-horse  were  turned  out  of  the  games.  Some  who 
were  not  so  wisely  precise,  but  regretted  the  disuse  of  the  hobbif-horse,  no 
doubt,  satirized  this  piece  of  idolatry,  and  archly  wrote  the  epitapli  above  al- 
luded to.  Now  Moth  hearing  Amiado  groan  ridiculously,  and  cry  out.  But  oh ! 
But  oh! — humourously  pieces  out  his  exclamation  with  the  sequel  of  this  epi- 
taph.— Theobald. 


ACT  III.— SCENE  I.  347 

Arm.  Thy  meaning,  pretty  ingenious  ? 
Is  not  lead  a  metal  heavy,  dull,  and  slow? 

Moth.  Minime,  honest  master;  or  rather,  master,  no. 

Arm.  I  say,  lead  is  slow. 

Moth.  You  are  too  swift,  sir,  to  say  so  : 

Is  that  lead  slow  which  is  fir'd  from  a  gun? 

Arm.  Sweet  smoke  of  rhetorick ! 
He  reputes  me  a  cannon;  and  the  bullet,  that's  he  : — 
I  shoot  thee  at  the  swain. 

Moth.  Thump  then,  and  I  flee.     [Exit. 

j4rm.  A  most  acute  juvenal ;  voluble  and  free  of  grace. 
By  thy  favour,  sweet  welkin,^  I  must  sigh  in  thy  face : 
Most  rude  melancholy,  valour  gives  thee  place. 
My  herald  is  return'd. 

Re-enter  Moth  and  Costard. 

Moth.  A  wonder,  master :  here's  a  Costard  broken"  in  a 
shin. 

Arm.  Some  enigma,  some  riddle:  come, — thy  V envoy :^ — 
begin. 

Cost.  No  egma,  no  riddle,  no  V envoy ;  no  salve  in  them 
all,  sir:*=  O,  sir,  plantain,  a  plain  plantain;  no  Tenvoy,  no 
fenvoy,  no  salve,  sir,  but  a  plantain  ! 

Arm.  By  virtue,  thou  enforcest  laughter;  thy  silly 
thought,  my  spleen;  the  heaving  of  my  lungs  provokes 
me  to  ridiculous  smiling  :  O,  pardon  me,  my  stars !  Doth 
the  inconsiderate  take  salve  for  Venvoy,  and  the  word, 
V envoy,  for  a  salve  ? 

Moth.  Do  the  wise  think  them  other?  is  not  Venvoy  a 
salve  ? 

Arm.  No,  page:  it  is  an  epilogue  or  discourse,  to  make 
plain 
Some  obscure  precedence  that  hath  tofore  been  sain. 

^  \)idliini\     The  sky,  to  which  Annado,  with  the  false  dignity  of  a 

Spaniard,  m^kes  an  apology  for  sighing  in  its  face. — Johnson. 

a  here's,  a  Costard  broken — ]  i.  e.  Head. — Steevens. 

I)  I'envoy  ;]  The  Venvoy  is  a  term  borrowed  from  the  old  French  poe- 
try. It  appeared  always  at  the  head  of  a  few  concluding  verses  to  each  piece, 
which  either  served  to  convey  the  moral,  or  to  address  the  poem  to  some  par- 
ticular person.  It  was  frequently  adopted  by  the  ancient  English  writers. — 
Steevens. 

«  The  old  copy  reads,  no  salve  in  the  mail,  siir ;  but  the  emendation  of  Tyrwhitt, 
which  I  have  adopted,  is  evidently  right. 


348  LOVERS  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

I  will  example  it: 

The  fox,  the  ape,  and  the  humble-bee. 
Were  still  at  odds,  being  but  three. 
There's  the  moral :  Now  the  V envoy. 

Moth.  I  will  add  the  V envoy :  Say  the  moral  again. 

Arm.  The  fox,  the  ape,  and  the  humble-bee. 
Were  still  at  odds,  being  but  three : 

Moth.  Until  the  goose  came  out  of  door. 

And  stay'd  the  odds  by  adding  four. 
Now  will  I  begin  your  moral,  and  do  you  follow  with  my 
V  envoy. 

The  fox,  the  ape,  and  the  humble-bee, 

.  Were  still  at  odds,  being  but  three : 

Arm.  Until  the  goose  came  out  of  door. 
Staying  the  odds  by  adding  four. 

Moth.  A  good  I'envoy,  ending  in  the  goose; 
Would  you  desire  more? 

Cost.  The  boy  hath  sold  him  a  bargain,  a  goose,  that's 
flat:— 
Sir,  your  pennyworth  is  good,  an  your  goose  be  fat. — 
To  sell  a  bargain  well,  is  as  cuiiuixig  as  fast  and  loose: 
Let  me  see  a  fat  Venvoy;  ay,  that's  a  fat  goose. 

Arm.  Come  hither,  come  hither:  How  did  this  argu- 
ment begin? 

Moth.  By  saying  that  a  Costard  was  broken  in  a  shin. 
Then  call'd  you  for  the  Venvoy. 

Cost.  True,  and  I  for  a  plantain :  Thus  came  your  argu- 
ment in ; 
Then  the  boy's  fat  Venvoy,  the  goose  that  you  bought ; 
And  he  ended  the  market. 

Arm.  But  tell  me  ;  how  was  there  a  Costard  broken  in 
a  shin  ? 

Moth.  I  will  tell  you  sensibly. 

Cost.  Thou  hast  no  feeling  of  it.  Moth  ;  I  will  speak 
that  Venvoy. 

I,  Costard,  running  out,  that  was  safely  within. 
Fell  over  the  threshold,  and  broke  my  shin. 

Arm.  We  will  talk  no  more  of  this  matter. 

Cost.  Till  there  be  more  matter  in  the  shin. 

Arm.  Sirrah  Costard,  I  will  enfranchise  thee. 


ACT  III.— SCENE  r.  349 

Cost.  O,   marry   me    to  one   Frances ; — I   smell  some 
'  V envoy,  some  goose,  in  this. 

Arm.  By  my  sweet  soul,  I  mean,  setting  thee  at  liberty, 
enfreedoming  thy  person ;  thou  wert  immured,  restrained, 
captivated,  bound. 

Cost.  True,  true;  and  now  you  will  be  my  purgation, 
and  let  me  loose. 

Arm.  I  give  thee  thy  liberty,  set  thee  from  durance ; 
and,  in  lieu  thereof,  impose  on  thee-nothing  but  this :  Bear 
this  significant  to  the  country  maid  Jaquenetta :  there  is 
remuneration;  [giving  him  money  •]  for  the  best  ward  of 
mine  honour,  is,  rewarding  my  dependents.    Moth,  follow. 

[Exit. 

Moth.  Tjke  the  sequel,  I."* — Signior  Costard,  adieu. 

Cost.  My  sweet  ounce  of  man's  flesh !  my  incony  Jew  !^ 

[Exit  Moth. 
Now  will  I  look  to  his  remuneration.  Remuneration!  O, , 
that's  the  Latin  word  for  three  farthings :  three  farthings — 
remuneration. —  What's  the  -price  of  this  inkle  1  a  -penny : — 
A^o,  /'//  give  you  a  remuneration :  why,  it  carries  it. — Re- 
muneration!— why,  it  is  a  fairer  name  than  French  crown. 
I  will  never  buy  and  sell  out  of  this  word. 

Enter  Biron. 

Biron.  O,  my  good  knave  Costard !  exceedingly  well 
met ! 

Cost.  Pray  you,  sir,  how  much  carnation  ribbon  may  a 
man  buy  for  a  remuneration  ? 

Biron.  What  is  a  remuneration? 

Cost.  Marry,  sir,  half-penny  farthing. 

Biron.  O,  why  then,  three-farthings-worth  of  silk. 

Cost.  I  thank  your  worship  :  God  be  with  you ! 

Biron.  O,  stay,  slave ;  I  must  employ  thee  : 
As  thou  wilt  win  my  favour,  good  my  knave. 
Do  one  thing  for  me  that  I  shall  entreat. 

Cost.  When  would  you  have  it  done,  sir? 

'•  Ltfce  the  sequel,  J.]     Moth  alludes  to  the  sequel  of  any  Btory. — Mason. 

*= my  incony  Jew!]  Incony  or  kony  in  the  North,  signifies,  fine,  deli- 
cate— as  a  kony  thing,  a  fine  thing. — Warbueion.  Jew  in  our  author's  time, 
was,  for  whatever  reason,  apparently  a  word  of  endearment. — Johnson. 


3,50  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST, 

Birou.  O,  this  afternoon. 

Cost.  Well,  I  will  do  it,  sir:  Fare  you  well. 

Biron.  O,  thou  knowest  not  what  it  is. 

Cost.  I  shall  know,  sir,  when  I  have  done  it. 

Biron.  Why,  villain,  thou  must  know  first. 

Cost.  I  will  come  to  your  worship  to-morrow  morning. 

Biron.  It  must  be  done  this  afternoon.     Hark,  slave,  it 
is  but  this  ; — 
The  princess  comes  to  hunt  here  in  the  park, 
And  in  her  train  there  is  a  gentle  lady  ; 
When  tongues  speak  sweetly,  then  they  name  her  name. 
And  Rosaline  they  call  her :  ask  for  her ; 
And  to  her  white  hand  see  thou  do  commend 
This  seal'd-up  counsel.     There's  thy  guerdon;  go. 

[Gives  him  money. 

Cost.  Guerdon, —  O  sweet  guerdon!  better  than  remu- 
neration ;  eleven-pence  farthing  better  :  Most  sweet  guer- 
don!— I  will  do  it,  sir,  in  print.*^ — Guerdon — remuneration. 

[Exit. 

Biron.  O  ! — And  I,  forsooth,  in  love  !  I,  that  have  been 
love's  whip  ; 
A  very  beadle  to  a  humorous  sigh  ; 
A  critick ;  nay,  a  night-watch  constable  ; 
A  domineering  pedant  o'er  the  boy. 
Than  whom  no  mortal  so  magnificent ! 
This  wimpled,s  whining,  purblind,  wayward  boy ; 
This  senior-junior,  giant-dwarf,  Dan  Cupid  : 
Regent  of  love-rhymes,  lord  of  folded  arms. 
The  anointed  sovereign  of  sighs  and  groans, 
Liege  of  all  loiterers  and  malcontents. 
Dread  prince  of  plackets,""  king  of  codpieces. 
Sole  imperator,  anc^  great  general 
Of  trotting  paritors,'  O  my  little  heart! — 
And  I  to  be  a  corporal  of  his  field,*" 

*' in  'print,']  i.  e.  Exactly. — Steevens. 

g  This  wimpled,]  The  wimple  was  a  hood  or  veil  which  fell  over  the  face. 

h  Dread  prince  0/  plackets,]  A  placket  is  a  petticoat. — Douce. 

'  Of  truttinjT  paritors,]  An  apparitor,  or  paritor,  is  an  officer  of  the  Bishop's 
court,  who  carries  out  citations ;  as  citations  are  most  frequently  issued  for 
fornication,  the  paritor  is  put  under  Cupid's  government. — Johnson. 

^  And  I  to  be  a  corporal  of  his  field,]  A  corporal  of  the  field  was  employed  as 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  I.  351 

And  wear  his  colours  like  a  tumbler's  hoop !' 

What?  I !  I  love  !  I  sue  !  I  seek  a  wife  ! 

A  woman,  that  is  like  a  German  clock. 

Still  a  repairing  ;  ever  out  of  frame  ; 

And  never  going  aright,  being  a  watch. 

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  eyes ; 

Ay,  and,  by  heaven,  one  that  will  do  the  deed. 

Though  Argus  were  her  eunuch  and  her  guard  : 

And  1  too  sigh  for  her !  to  watch  for  her  ! 

To  pray  for  her  !  Go  to  ;  it  is  a  plague 

That  Cupid  will  impose  for  my  neglect 

Of  his  almighty  dreadful  little  might. 

Well,  I  will  love,  write,  sigh,  pray,  sue,  and  groan ; 

Some  men  must  love  my  lady,  and  some  Joan.  [Exit. 


ACT  IV. 

Scene  I. — Another  part  of  the  same. 

Enter  the  Princess,  Rosaline,  Maria,  Katharine, 
BoYET,  Lords,  Attendants,  and  a  Forester. 

Prin.  Was  that  the  king,  that  spurr'd  his  horse  so  hard 
Against  the  steep  uprising  of  the  hill  ? 

Boi/et.  I  know  not ;  but,  I  think,  it  was  not  he. 

Prin.  Whoe'er  he  was,  he  show'd  a  mounting  mind. 
Well,  lords,  to-day  we  shall  have  our  despatch  ; 
On  Saturday  we  will  return  to  France. — 
Then,  forester,  my  friend,  where  is  the  bush. 
That  we  must  stand  and  play  the  murderer  in  ?. 

For.  Here  by,  upon  the  edge  of  yonder  coppice  ; 
A  stand,  where  you  may  make  the  fairest  shoot. 

an  aid-de-camp  is  now,  in  taking  and  carrying  to  and  fro  the  directions  of  the 
general,  or  other  the  higher  officers  of  the  field. — Tyrwhitt. 

^And  wear  his  colours  like  a  tumblers's  hoop!]  Tumblers'  hoops  are  to  this 
day  bound  round  with  ribbands  of  various  colours. — Harris. 


352  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST, 

Prin.  1  thank  my  beauty,  I  am  fair  that  shoot, 
And  thereupon  thou  speak'st,  the  fairest  shoot. 

For.  Pardon  me,  madam,  for  I  meant  not  so. 

Prin.  What,  what  ?  first  praise  me,  and  again  say,  no  ? 
O  short-liv'd  pride  !  Not  fair?  alack  for  woe  ! 

For.  Yes,  madam,  fair. 

Prin.  Nay,  never  paint  me  now  ; 

Where  fair  is  not,  praise  cannot  mend  the  brow. 
Here,  good  my  glass,  take  this  for  telling  true ; 

[Giving  him  money. 
Fair  payment  for  foul  words  is  more  than  due. 

For.  Nothing  but  fair  is  that  which  you  inherit. ' 

Prin.  See,  see,  my  beauty  will  be  sav'd  by  merit: 
O  heresy  in  fair,  fit  for  these  days  ! 
A  giving  hand,  though  foul,  shall  have  fair  praise. 
But  come,  the  bow  : — Now  mercy  goes  to  kill. 
And  shooting  well  is  then  accounted  ill. 
Thus  will  I  save  my  credit  in  the  shoot : 
Not  wounding,  pity  would  not  let  me  do't ; 
If  wounding,  then  it  was  to  show  my  skill. 
That  more  for  praise,  than  purpose,  meant  to  kill. 
And,  out  of  question,  so  it  is  sometimes  ; 
Glory  grows  guilty  of  detested  crimes; 
When  for  fame's  sake,  for  praise,  an  outward  part. 
We  bend  to  that  the  working  of  the  heart : 
As  I,  for  praise  alone,  now  seek  to  spill 
The  poor  deer's  blood,  that  my  heart  means  no  ill. 

Boyet.  Do  not  curst  wives  hold  that  self-sovereignty 
Only  for  praise'  sake,  when  they  strive  to  be 
Lords  o'er  their  lords  ? 

Prin.  Only  for  praise :  and  praise  we  may  afford 
To  any  lady  that  subdues  a  lord. 

Fnter  Costard. 

Prin.  Here  comes  a  member  of  the  commonwealth. 
Cost,  God  dig-you-den"'  all !    Pray  you,  which  is  the 
head  lady  ? 

'"  God  dig-you-den — ]  A  corruption  oi— -God  give  you  good  even. — Malone. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  I.  353 

Prhi.  Thou  shalt  know  her,  fellow,  by  the  rest  that 
have  no  heads. 

Cost.  Which  is  the  greatest  lady,  the  highest  ? 

Prin.  The  thickest,  and  the  tallest. 

Cost.  The  thickest,  and  the  tallest !  it  is  so ;  truth  is 
truth. 
An  your  waist,  mistress,  were  as  slender  as  my  wit. 
One  of  these  maids'  girdles  for  your  waist  should  be  fit. 
Are  not  you  the  chief  woman  ?  you  are  the  thickest  here. 

Prin.  What's  your  will,  sir  ?  what's  your  will  ? 

CW.  I  have  a  letter  from  monsieur  Biron,  to  one  lady 
Rosaline. 

Prin.  O,  thy  letter,  thy  letter  ;  he's  a  good  friend  of 
mine. 
Stand  aside,  good  bearer. — Boyet,  you  can  carve  ; 
Break  up  this  capon." 

Boi/et.  I  am  bound  to  serve. — 

This  letter  is  mistook,  it  importeth  none  here  ; 
It  is  writ  to  Jaquenetta. 

Prin.  We  will  read  it,  I  swear  : 

Break  the  neck  of  the  wax,  and  every  one  give  ear. 

Boi/et.  [reads.]  Bi/  heaven,  that  thou  art  fair^  is  most 
infaUible ;  true,  that  thou  art  beauteous ;  truth  itself,  tlial 
thou  art  lovely :  More  fairer  than  fair,  beautiful  than 
beauteous ;  truer  than  truth  itself,  have  commiseration  on 
thy  heroical  vassal !  The  magnanimous  and  most  illustrate 
king  Cophetua  set  eye  upon  the  pernicious  and  indubitale 
beggar  Zenelophon ;  and  he  it  was  that  might  rightly  say, 
veni,  vidi,  vici ;  which  to  anatomize  in  the  vulgar,  (O  base 
and  obscure  vulgar  I)  videlicet ;  he  came,  saw,  and  over- 
came :  he  came,  one ;  saw,  two ;  overcame,  three.  Who  came  ? 
the  king ;  Why  did  he  come  ?  to  see ;  Why  did  he  see  7  to 
overcome :  To  xohom  came  he  ?  to  the  beggar ;  What  saw  he  ? 
the  beggar  ;  Who  overcame  he  1  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  king's  ? — no,  on  both  iji  07ie,  or  one  in 

"  Break  up  this  copon,~\  i.  e.  Open  this  letter.  Our  poat  uses  this  metaphor, 
as  the  French  do  their  poukt ;  which  signifies  both  a  young  fowl  and  a  love- 
1  e  tter . — T  h  e  o  b  a  i,  d  . 


354  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

both.  I  am  the  king ;  for  so  stands  the  comparison :  thou 
the  beggar ;  f 01'  so  witnesseth  thy  lowliness.  Shall  1  com- 
mand thy  love?  I  may  :  Shall  I  enforce  thy  love?  I  could: 
Shall  I  entreat  thy  love  ?  I  ivill.  What  shalt  thou  exchange 
for  rags?  robes;  For  tittles,  titles:  for  thyself ,  me.  Thus, 
expecting  thy  reply,  I  profane  my  lips  on  thy  foot,  my  eyes 
on  thy  picture,  and  my  heart  on  thy  every  'part. 

Thine,  in  the  dearest  design  of  industry, 

Don  Adriano  de  Akmado. 

Thus  doth  thou  hear  the  Nemean  lion  roar 

'Gainst  thee,  thou  lamb,  that  standest  as  his  prey ; 
Submissive  fall  his  princely  feet  before. 

And  he  from  forage  will  incline  to  play : 
But  if  thou  strive,  poor  soul,  what  art  thou  then  ? 
Food  for  his  rage,  repasture  for  his  den. 

Prin.  What  plume  of  feathers  is  he,  that  indited  this 
letter  ? 
What  vane?  what  v/eathercock  ?  did  you  ever  hear  better? 

Boyet.  I  am  much  deceived,  but  I  remember  the  style. 

Prin.  Else  your  memory  is  bad,  going  o'er  it  erewhile. 

Boyet.  This  Armado  is  a  Spaniard,  that  keeps  here  in 
court ; 
A  phantasm,  a  Monarcho,"  and  one  that  makes  sport 
To  the  prince,  and  his  book-mates. 

Prin.  Thou,  fellow,  a  word  : 

Who  gave  thee  this  letter  ? 

Cost.  I  told  you,  my  lord . 

Prin.  To  whom  shouldst  thou  give  it  ? 

Cost.  From  my  lord  to  my  lady. 

Prin.  From  which  lord,  to  which  lady  ? 

Cost.  From  my  lord  Biron,  a  good  master  of  mine  ; 
To  a  lady  of  France,  that  he  call'd  Rosaline. 

Prin.  Thou  hast  mistaken  his  letter.  Come,  lords,  away. 
Here,  sweet,  put  up  this  :  'twill  be  thine  another  day. 

Exit  Princess  and  Train. 

o a  Monarcho,']  The  allusion  is  to  a  fantastical  character  of  the  time. — 

Farmer.  In  Nash's  Have  with  you  to  Saffron-Walden,  &c.  1595,  I  meet  with 
the  same  allusion  : — "  but  now  he  was  an  insulting  monarch  above  Monarcho 
the  Italian,  that  ware  crownes  in  his  shoes,  and  quite  renounced  his  natural 
English  accents  and  gestures,  aud  wrested  himself  wholly  to  the  Italian 
punctilios,"  &c. — Steevens. 


ACT  IV. —SCENE  I.  355 

Boyet.  Who  is  the  suitor?  who  is  the  suitor  ? 

Ros.  Shall  I  teach  you  to  know  ? 

Boyet.  Ay,  my  continent  of  beauty. 

Ros.  Why,  she  that  bears  the  bow. 

Finely  put  off! 

Boyet.  My  lady  goes  to  kill  horns ;  but,  if  thou  marry. 
Hang  me  by  the  neck,  if  horns  that  year  miscarry. 
Finely  put  on  ! 

Ros.  Well  then,  I  am  the  shooter. 

Boyet.  And  who  is  your  deer  ? 

Ros.  If  we  choose  by  the  horns,  yourself:  come  near. 
Finely  put  on,  indeed  ! — 

Mar.  You  still  wrangle  with  her,  Boyet,  and  she  strikes 
at  the  brow. 

Boyet.  But  she  herself  is  hit  lower :  Have  I  hit  her  now  ? 

Ros.  Shall  I  come  upon  thee  with  an  old  saying,  that 
was  a  man  when  king  Pepin  of  France  was  a  little  boy, 
as  touching  the  hit  it  ? 

Boyet.  So  I  may  answer  thee  with  one  as  old,  that  was 
a  woman  when  queen  Guinever''  of  Britain  was  a  little 
wench,  as  touching  the  hit  it  ? 

Ros.   Thou  canst  not  hit  it,  hit  it,  hit  it,  [Sijiging. 

Thou  canst  not  hit  it,  my  good  man. 

Boyet.  A71  I  cannot,  cannot ,  caniiot . 
An  I  cannot,  another  can. 

[Exeunt  Ros.  and  Kath. 

Cost.  By  my  troth,  most  pleasant !  how  both  did  fit  it ! 

Mar.  A  mark  marvellous  well  shot ;  for  they  both  did 
hit  it. 

Boyet.  A  mark  !  O,  mark  but  that  mark ;  A  mark,  says 
my  lady  ! 
Let  the  mark  have  a  prick  in't,  to  mete  at,  if  it  may  be. 

Mar.  Wide  o'  the  bow  hand  !''  I'faith  your  hand  is  out. 

Cost.  Indeed,  a'  must  shoot  nearer,  or  he'll  ne'er  hit 
the  clout."" 

p queen  Guinever — ]  This  was  king  Arthur's  queen,  not  over  famous  for 

fidelity  to  her  husband. — Steevens. 

1  Wide  0'  the  bow  hand,']  i.  e.  A  good  deal  to  the  left  of  the  mark  ;  a  term 
still  retained  in  modem  archery. — Douce. 

>• the  clout.]  The  clout  was  the  white  mark  at  which  archers  took  aim. 

The  pin  was  the  wooden  nail  that  upheld  it. — Steevbns. 


35G  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

Boyet.  An  if  my  hand  be  out,  then,  belike  your  hand 

is  in. 
Cost.  Then  will  she  get  the  upshot  by  cleaving  the  pin. 
Mar.  Come,  come,  you  talk  greasily,'  your  lips  grow 

foul. 
Cost.  She's  too  hard  for  you  at  pricks,  sir ;  challenge 

her  to  bowl. 
Boyet.  I  fear  too  much  rubbing ;  Good  night,  my  good 
owl.  {^Exeunt  Boyet  and  Maria. 

Cost.  By  my  soul,  a  swain  !  a  most  simple  clown  ! 
Lord,  lord  !  how  the  ladies  and  I  have  put  him  down  ! 
O'  my  troth,  most  sweet  jests  !  most  incony  vulgar  wit ! 
When  it  comes  so  smoothly  off,  so  obscenely,  as  it  were, 

so  fit. 
Armatho  o'  the  one  side,  —  O,  a  most  dainty  man  ! 
To  see  him  walk  before  a  lady,  and  to  bear  her  fan ! 
To  see  him  kiss  his  hand  !  and  how  most  sweetly  a'  will 

swear !  — 
And  his  page  o'  t'  other  side,  that  handful  of  wit ! 
Ah,  heavens,  it  is  a  most  pathetical  nit ! 
Sola,  sola  !  [Shouting  within. 

\_Exit  Costard,  running. 

SCENE  n. 

The  same. 

Enter  Holofernes,'  Sir  Nathaniel,  and  Dull. 

Nalh.  Very  reverent  sport,  truly  ;  and  done  in  the  tes- 
timony of  a  good  conscience. 

* you  talk  greasily,]  i.  e.  Grossly. 

•  Enter  Holofemes,]  By  Holofemes  is  designed  a  particular  character,  a 
pedant  and  schoolmaster  of  our  author's  time,  one  John  Florio,  a  teacher  of 
the  Italian  tongue  in  London,  who  lias  given  us  a  small  dictionary  of  that  lan- 
guage under  the  title  of  A  World  of  IForris.— Wahbuuton.  Whether  the 
character  of  Holofemes  was  pointed  at  any  particular  man,  I  am,  notwitli- 
standing  the  plausibility  of  JJr.  Warburton's  conjecture,  inclined  to  doubt. 
Every  man  adheres  as  long  as  he  can  to  his  own  preconceptions.  Before  1 
read  this  note,  I  considered  the  character  of  Holofemes  as  borrowed  from  the 
Ithomhus  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  who  in  a  kind  of  pastoral  entertainment,  exhi- 
bited to  Queen  Elizabeth,  has  introduced  a  schoolmaster  so  called,  speaking 
a  leaah  oj  luvguages  at  once,  and  puzzling  himself  and  his  auditors  with  a  jargou 
)ike  that  of  Holofemes  in  the  present  play. — Johnson. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  II.  357 

Hoi.  The  deer  was,  as  you  know,  in  sanguis, — blood ; 
ripe  as  a  pomewater,"  who  now  hangeth  like  a  jewel  in  the 
ear  of  coelo, — thy  sky,  the  welkin,  the  heaven ;  and  anon 
falleth  like  a  crab,  on  the  face  of  terra, — the  soil,  the  land, 
the  earth, 

Nath.  Truly,  master  Holofernes,  the  epithets  are  sweetly 
varied,  like  a  scholar  at  the  least :  But,  sir,  I  assure  ye,  it 
was  a  buck  of  the  first  head. 

Hoi.  Sir  Nathaniel,  kaud  credo. 

Dull.  'Twas  not  a  hand  credo  ;  'twas  a  pricket." 

Hoi.  Most  barbarous  intimation !  yet  a  kind  of  insi- 
nuation, as  it  were,  in  via,  in  way,  of  explication  ;  facere, 
as  it  were,  replication,  or,  rather,  ostentare,  to  show,  as  it 
were,  his  inclination, — after  his  undressed,  unpolished, 
uneducated,  unpruned,  untrained,  or  rather  unlettered,  or, 
ratherest,  unconfirmed  fashion, — to  insert  again  my  haud 
credo  for  a  deer. 

Dull.  I  said,  the  deer  was  not  a  hand  credo ;  'twa,s  a 
pricket. 

Hoi.  Twice  sod  simplicity,  bis  coctus  ! — O  thou  monster 
ignorance,  how  deformed  dost  thou  look! 

Nath.  Sir,  he  hath  never  fed  of  the  dainties  that  are 
bred  in  a  book  ;  he  hath  not  eat  paper,  as  it  were  ;  he  hath 
not  drunk  ink  :  his  intellect  is  not  replenished  ;  he  is 
only  an  animal,  only  sensible  in  the  duller  parts  ; 
And  such  barren  plants  are  set  before  us,  that  we  thank- 
ful should  be 
(Which  wC  of  taste  and  feeling  are)  for  those  parts  that 
do  fructify  in  us  more  than  he. 

" pomewater,]  A  species  of  apple  called  Mahts  Carhanaria  by  Coles. — 

Nakes's  Glossary. 

^ It  was  a  buck  of  the  first  head 

'twas  a  pricket.]  In  a  play  called  The  Return  from 

Parnassus,  1606,  I  find  the  following  account  of  the  different  appellations  of 
deer,  at  the  different  ages  : 

"  Amoretto.  I  caused  the  keeper  to  sever  the  rascal  deer  from  the  bucks  of  the 
first  head.  Now,  sir,  a  buck  is  the  ^'rst  year,  a.  fawn ;  the  second  year  a 
pitiCKET  ;  the  third  year,  a  sorrell  ;  ihe  fourth  year,  a  soare  ;  the  fifth, a, 
buck  of  the  first  head  ;  the  sixth  year,  a  compleat  buck.  Likewise  your  hart 
is  the  first  year,  a,  calfe ;  the  second  year,  a.  brocket )  the  third  year,  a  spade  ; 
the  fourth  year,  a  stag ;  the  sixth  year,  a  hart.  A  roebuck  is  the  first  year,  a 
kid;  the  second  year,  a  gird  ;  the  third  year,  a  pemuse ;  and  these  are  your 
special  beasts  for  chase.'* — Steevens. 

>' which  we,  &c.]   i.  e.  We  who  are  persons  of  taste  and  feeling, 

VOL.  II.  2  B 


358  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

For  as  it  would  ill  become  me  to  be  vain,  indiscreet,  or  a 

fool. 
So,  were  there  a  patch^  set  on  learning,  to  see  him  in  a 

school : 
But  omne  bene,  say  I ;  being  of  an  old  father  s  mind, 
Many  can  brook  the  weather,  that  love  not  the  wind. 

Dull.  You  two  are  book -men  :    Can  you  tell  by  your 
wit. 
What  was  a  month  old  at  Cain's  birth,  that's  not  five 
weeks  old  as  yet  ? 

Hoi.  Dictynna,  good  man  Dull ;  Dictynna,  good  man 
Dull. 

Dull.  What  is  Dictynna  ? 

Nath.  A  title  to  Phoebe,  to  Luna,  to  the  moon. 

Hoi.  The  moon  was  a  month  old,  when  Adam  was  no 
more; 
And  raught  not  to  five  weeks,  when  he  came  to  fivescore. 
The  allusion  holds  in  the  exchange. 

Dull.  'Tis  true  indeed  ;  the  collusion  holds  in  the  ex- 
change. 

Hoi.  God  comfort  thy  capacity  !  I  say,  the  allusion 
holds  in  the  exchange. 

Dull.  And  I  say  the  pollusion  holds  in  the  exchange  ; 
for  the  moon  is  never  but  a  month  old :  and  I  say  beside, 
that  'twas  a  pricket  that  the  princess  kill'd. 

Hoi.  Sir  Nathaniel,  will  you  hear  an  extemporal  epitaph 
on  the  death  of  the  deer  ?  and,  to  humour  the  ignorant,  I 
have  call'd  the  deer  the  princess  kill'd,  a  pricket. 

Nath.  Perge,  good  master  Holofernes,  perge ;  so  it  shall 
please  you  to  abrogate  scurrility. 

Hoi.  I  will  something  affect  the  letter  f  for  it  argues 
facility. 

The  praiseful  princess  pierc'd  and  prick'd  a  pretty  pleasing 
pricket  ; 

.Some  say  a  sore ;  but  not  a  sore,  till  now  made  sore  with 
shooting. 

i a  patch — ]  Patch  or  low  fellow — but  in  this  place  it  must  mean  a  blot 

or  defacement.  Nathaniel  intends  to  say,  that  it  wouUl  dhgrace  kartiing  to  see 
Dull  in  a  school. 

a affect  the  letter  ;'\  That  is,  I  will  practise  alliteration. — M.  Mason. 


ACT  IV.~SCENE  II.  359 

The  dogs  did  yell ;  put  I  to  sore,  then  sorel  jumps  from 
thicket ; 

Or  pricket,  sore,  or  else  sorel ;  the  people  fall  a  hooting. 
If  sore  be  sore,  then  L  to  sore  makes  fifty  sores ;  O  sore  L  ! 
Of  one  sore  I  an  hundred  make,  by  adding  but  one  more  L. 

Nath.  A  rare  talent! 

Dull.  If  a  talent  be  a  claw,''  look  how  he  claws  him  with 
a  talent." 

Hoi.  This  is  a  gift  that  I  have,  simple,  simple;  a  foolish 
extravagant  spirit,  full  of  forms,  figures,  shapes,  objects, 
ideas,  apprehensions,  motions,  revolutions  :  these  are  be- 
got in  the  ventricle  of  memory,  nourished  in  the  womb  of 
pia  mater;  and  deliver'd  upon  the  mellowing  of  occasion  : 
But  the  gift  is  good  in  those  in  whom  it  is  acute.  And  I 
am  thankful  for  it. 

Nath.  Sir,  I  praise  the  Lord  for  you ;  and  so  may  my 
parishioners ;  for  their  sons  are  well  tutor'd  by  you,  and 
their  daughters  profit  very  greatly  under  you  :  you  are  a 
good  member  of  the  commonwealth. 

Hoi.  Mehercle,  if  their  sons  be  ingenious,  they  shall 
want  no  instruction  :  if  their  daughters  be  capable,  I  will 
put  it  to  them  :  But,  vir  sapit,  qui pauca  loquitur:  a  soul 
feminine  saluteth  us. 

iJn^er  Jaquenetta  and  Costard. 

Jaq.  God  give  you  good  morrow,  master  person. 

Hoi.  Master  person, — quasi  pers-on.  And  if  one  should 
be  pierced,  which  is  the  one  ? 

Cost.  Marry,  master  schoolmaster,  he  that  is  likest  to 
a  hogshead. 

Hoi.  Of  piercing  a  hogshead  !  a  good  lustre  of  conceit 
in  a  turf  of  earth  ;  fire  enough  for  a  flint,  pearl  enough  for 
a  swine  :  'tis  pretty  ;  it  is  well. 

Jaq.  Good  master  parson,  be  so  good  as  read  me  this 
letter;  it  was  given  me  by  Costard,  and  sent  me  from 
Don  Armatho  :  I  beseech  you,  read  it. 

Hoi.  Fauste,  precor  gelida  quando  pecus  omne  sub  umbra 

*>  If  a  talent  be  a  claw,'\  In  our  author's  time  the  talon  of  a  bird  was  fre- 
quently written  talent.— Malone. 

<=  claw  him  with  a  talent.']  One  of  the  senses  of  to  claw,  is  to  flatter. — 
Steevens. 

2  B  2 


360  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

Ruminat, — and  so  forth.     Ah,  good  old  Mantuan  !   1  may 
speak  of  thee  as  the  traveller  doth  of  Venice : 

Vinegia,  Vinegia, 

Chi  non  te  vede,  ei  non  te  pregia. 
Old  Mantuan  !  old  Mantuan !  Who  understandeth  thee 
not,  loves  thee  not.' — Ut,  re,  sol,  la,  mi,  fa. — Under  pardon, 
sir,  what  are  the  contents  ?  or,  rather,  as  Horace  says  in 
his — What,  my  soul,  verses  ? 
'Nath.  Ay,  sir,  and  y^tr^j  learned. 

Hoi.  Let  me  hear  a  staff,  a  stanza,  a  verse ;  Lege,  domine. 
Nath.  If  love  make  me  forsworn,  how  shall  I  swear  to 

love? 
Ah,  never  faith  could  hold,  if  not  to  beauty  vowed  ! 
Though  to  myself  forsworn,  to  thw>e  I'll  faithful  prove  ; 
Those   thoughts  to  me  were   oaks,  to  thee  like  osiers 

bowed. 
Study  his  bias  leaves,  and  makes  his  book  thine  eyes ; 
Where  all  those  pleasures  live,  that  art  would  com- 
prehend : 
If  knowledge  be  the  mark,  to  know  thee  shall  suflSce  ; 
_  Well  learned  is  that  tongue,  that  well  can  thee  com- 
mend : 
All  io-norant  that  soul,  that  sees  thee  without  wonder : 
(Which  is  to  me  some  praise,  that  I  thy  parts  admire ;) 
Thy  eye  Jove's  lightning  bears,  thy  voice  his   dreadful 
thunder. 
Which,  not  to  anger  bent,  is  niusick,  and  sweet  fire. 
Celestial,  as  thou  art,  oh  pardon,  love,  this  wrong. 
That  sings  heaven's  praise  with  such  an  earthly  tongue ! 
Hoi.  You  find  not  the  apostrophes,  and  so  miss  the  ac- 
cent :  let  me  supervise  the  canzonet.     Here  are  only  num- 
bers 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   of  fancy,   the  jerks    of   invention?     Imitari,   is 
nothing  :  so  doth  the  hound  his  master,  the  ape  his  keeper, 
the  tired  horse**  his  rider.     But  daraosella  virgin,  was  this 
directed  to  you  ? 

•*  the  tired  }iorse — ]  The  tired  horse  was  the  horse  adorned  with  ribbands, 

— The  famous  bankes's  horse  so  often  alluded  to. — Farmer. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  II.  361 

Jaq.  Ay,  sir,  from  one  monsieur  Biron,'=  one  of  the 
strange  queen's  lords. 

Hoi.  I  will  overglance  the  superscript.  To  the  snow- 
white  hand  of  the  most  beauteous  Lady  Rosaline.  I  will  look 
again  on  the  intellect  of  the  letter,  for  the  nomination  of 
the  party  writing  to  the  person  written  unto : 

Your  Ladyship's  in  all  desired  employ me)it,  Biron. 

Sir  Nathaniel,  this  Biron  is  one  of  the  votaries  with  the 
king;  and  here  he  hath  framed  a  letter  to  a  sequent  of  the 
stranger  queen's,  which,  accidentally,  or  by  the  way  of 
progression,  hath  miscarried. — ^Trip  and  go,  my  sweet; 
deliver  this  paper  into  the  royal  hand  of  the  king;  it  may 
concern  much  :  Stay  not  thy  compliment ;  I  forgive  thy 
duty  ;  adieu. 

Jaq.  Good  Costard,  go  with  me. — Sir,  God  save  your 
life ! 

Cost.  Have  with  thee,  my  girl.    [^Exeunt  Cost,  and  Jaq. 
Nath.  Sir,  you  have  done  this  in  the  fear  of  God,  very 

religiously ;  and,  as  a  certain  father  saith 

Hal.  Sir,  tell  not  me  of  the  father,  I  do  fear  colourable 
colours.*^  But,  to  return  to  the  verses  ;  Did  they  please 
you,  sir  Nathaniel  ? 

Nath.  Marvellous  well  for  the  pen. 
Hoi.  I  do  dine  to-day  at  the  father's  of  a  certain  pupil 
of  mine ;  where  if,  before  repast,  it  shall  please  you  to 
gratify  the  table  with  a  grace,  I  will,  on  my  privilege  I 
have  with  the  parents  of  the  foresaid  child  or  pupil,  under- 
take your  ben  venuto ;  where  I  will  prove  those  verses  to 
be  very  unlearned,  neither  savouring  of  poetry,  wit,  nor 
invention:   I  beseech  your  society. 

Nath.  And  thank  you  too  :  for  society,  (saith  the  text,) 
is  the  happiness  of  life. 

Hoi.  And,  certes,^  the  text  most  infallibly  concludes  it.' 
— Sir,  [^0  Dull,]  I  do  invite  you  too;  you  shall  not  say 

«  Ay,  sir,  from  one  7nonsieur  Biron,']  Shakspeare  forgot  himself  in  this  pas- 
sage. Jaquenetta  knew  nothing  of  Biron,  aid  had  said,  just  before,  that  the 
letter  had  been  "  sent  to  her  from  Don  Armatho,  and  given  to  her  by  Costard." 
— M.  Mason. 

f  colourable  colours,]  i.  e.    Specious   or   fair-seeming   appearances. — 

Johnson. 

£  ceites,]  i.e.   Certainly,  in  truth. —  Steevens. 


362  LOVERS  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

me,  nay  :  pauca  verba.     Away ;  the  gentles  are  at  their 
game,  and  we  will  to  our  recreation.  [^Exeunt. 

SCENE  IIL 

Another  part  of  the  same. 

Enter  Biron,  with  a  paper. 

Biron.  The  king  he  is  hunting  the  deer;  I  am  coursing 
myself:  they  have  pitch 'd  a  toil;  I  am  toiling  in  a  pitch ;'' 
pitch  that  defiles ;  defile  !  a  foul  word.  Well,  Set  thee 
down,  sorrow  !  for  so  they  say,  the  fool  said,  and  so  say 
I,  and  I  the  fool.  Well  proved,  wit !  By  the  Lord,  this 
love  is  as  mad  as  Ajax:  it  kills  sheep;  it  kills  me,  I  a 
sheep  :  Well  proved  again  on  my  side  !  I  will  not  love  :  if 
I  do,  hang  me;  iYaith,  I  will  not.  O,  but  her  eye, — by 
this  light,  but  for  her  eye,  I  would  not  love  her ;  yes,  for 
her  two  eyes.  Well,  I  do  nothing  in  the  world  but  lie, 
and  lie  in  my  throat.  By  heaven,  I  do  love  :  and  it  hath 
taught  me  to  rhyme,  and  to  be  melancholy ;  and  here  is 
part  of  my  rhyme,  and  here  my  melancholy.  Well,  she 
hath  one  o'  my  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. 

Enter  the  King,  with  a  paper. 

King.  Ah  me  ! 

Biron  [aside.]  Shot,  by  heaven  ! — Proceed,  sweet  Cupid; 
thou  hast  thump 'd  him  with  thy  bird-bolt  under  the  left 
pap: — I'faith  secrets. 

King  [reads.]   So  sweet  a  kiss  the  golden  sun  gives  not 

To  those  fresh  morning  drops  upon  the  rose. 
As  thy  eye-beams,  when  their  fresh  rays  have  smote 

The  night  of  dew  that  on  my  cheeks  downjiows :' 

h   lam  toiling  in  a  pitch ;"]  Alluding  to  lady  Rosaline's   complexion, 

who  is  through  the  wJiole  play  represented  as  a  black  beauty. — Johnson. 

'  The  night  of  dew  that  on  7ny  cheeks  down  flows:]  He  means,  the  dew  that 
nightly  flows  down  hii  cheeks. — Steevens. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  III.  363 

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 ; 
JDo  but  behold  the  tears  that  swell  in  me. 

And  they  thy  glory  through  my  grief  will  show : 
But  do  not  love  thyself;  then  thou  wilt  keep 
My  tears  for  glasses,  and  still  make  me  weep. 
O  queen  of  queens,  how  far  dost  thou  excel! 
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  ? 

l^Steps  aside. 

Enter  Longaville,  with  a  paper. 

What,  Longaville  !  and  reading !  listen,  ear. 

Biron.  Now,  in  thy  likeness,  one  more  fool  appear ! 

[Aside. 
Long.  Ah  me  !  I  am  forsworn. 

Biron.  Why,  he  comes  in  like  a  perjure,''  wearing  pa- 
pers. \_Aside. 
King.  In  love,  I  hope ;  Sweet  fellowship  in  shame  ! 

[Aside. 
Biron.  One  drunkard  loves  another  of  the  name.   [Aside. 
Long.  Am  I  the  first  that  have  been  perjur'd  so? 
Biron  [aside.']  I  could  put  thee  in  comfort ;  not  by  two, 
that  I  know: 
Thou  mak'st  the  triumviry,  the  corner  cap  of  society. 
The  shape  of  Love's  Tyburn  that  hangs  up  simplicity. 

Long.  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 
hose : 
Disfigure  not  his  slop.' 

^  he  comes  in  like  a  perjure,']  The  punishment  of  perjury  is  to  wear  on 

the  breast  a  paper  expressing  the  crime. — Johnson. 

'  Disfigure  not  his  slop.]  I  suppose  this  alludes  to  the  usual  tawdry  dress  of 
Cupid,  when  he  appeared  on  the  stage. — Farmeb. 


364  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

Long.  This  same  shall  go. — 

[He  reads  the  sonnet. 
Did  not  the  heavenly  rhetorick  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;  hut,  I  will  prove. 

Thou  being  a  goddess,  I  forswore  not  thee ; 
My  voio  vms  earthly,  thou  a  heavenly  love; 

Thy  grace  being  gain'd,  cures  all  disgrace  in  me. 
Vows  are  but  breath,  and  breath  a  vapour  is: 

Then  thou,  fair  sun,  which  on  my  earth  dost  shine, 
Exhal'st  this  vapour  vow ;  in  thee  it  is: 

If'  broken  then,  it  is  no  fault  of  mine; 
If  by  me  broke.      What  fool  is  not  so  wise. 
To  lose  an  oath  to  win  a  paradise  ? 

Biron  [aside.']  This  is  the  liver  vein,'"  which  makes  flesh 
a  deity : 
A  green  goose,  a  goddess  :  pure,  pure  idolatry. 
God  amend  us,  God  amend!  we  are  much  out  o'the  way. 

Enter  Dumain,  with  a  paper. 

Long.  By  whom  shall  I  send  this? — Company  !  stay. 

[Stepping  aside. 

Biron  [aside.']  All  hid,  all  hid,"  an  old  infant  play: 
Like  a  demi-god  here  sit  I  in  the  sky. 
And  wretched  fools'  secrets  heedfully  o'er-eye. 
More  sacks  to  the  mill !  O  heavens,  I  have  my  wish ; 
Dumain  transform 'd  :  four  woodcocks  in  a  dish  ! 

Dum.  O  most  divine  Kate  ! 

Biron.  O  most  prophane  coxcomb. 

[Aside. 
Dum.  By  heaven,  the  wonder  of  a  mortal  eye  ! 
Biron.  By  earth  she  is  but  corporal :  there  you  lie. 

[Aside. 
Dum.  Her  amber  hairs  for  foul  have  amber  coted." 

m  —  the  liver  vein,]  The  liver  was  anciently  supposed  to  be  the  seat  of 
love. — Johnson. 

"  All  hid,  all  hid,']  The  children's  cry  at  hide  and  see/t.— 3Iusgh ave. 

"  Her  amber  hairs  for  foul  have  amber  cnled.']  That  is,  hath  so  far  passed 
amber,  as  to  make  it  seem  foul.— Nares's  Glossary. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  III.  365 

Biron.  An  amber-colour'd  raven  was  well  noted.   \^Aside. 
Dum.  As  upright  as  the  cedar. 
Biroti.  Stoop,  I  say  ; 

Her  shoulder  is  with  child.  \_Aside. 

Dum.  As  fair  as  day. 

Biron.  Ay,  as  Some  days  ;  but  then  no  sun  must  shine. 

[^Aside. 
Dum.  O  that  I  had  my  wish  ! 
Long.  And  I  had  mine  ! 

\^Aside. 
King.  And  I  mine  too,  good  lord  !  [^ Aside. 

Biron.  Amen,  so  I  had  mine  :  Is  not  that  a  good  word? 

\^Aside. 
Dum.  I  would  forget  her  ;  but  a  fever  she 
Reigns  in  my  blood,  and  will  remember'd  be. 

Biron.  A  fever  in  your  blood,  why,  then  incision 
Would  let  her  out  in  saucers  ;  Sweet  misprision  !    [^Aside. 
Dum.  Once  more  I'll  read  the  ode  that  I  have  writ. 
Biron.  Once  more  I'll  mark  how  love  can  vary  wit. 

\^Aside. 
Dum.    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 Jind ; 

That  the  lover,  sick  to  death, 

Wish'd  himself  the  heaven  s  breath. 

Air,  quoth  he,  thy  cheeks  may  blow ; 

Air,  ivould  I  might  triumph  so! 

But  alack,  my  hand  is  sworn, 

Ne'er  to  pluck  thee  from  thy  thorn  : 

Vow,  alack,  for  youth  unmeet ; 

Youth  so  apt  to  pluck  a  sweet. 

Do  not  call  it  sin  in  me, 

That  I  am  forsworn  for  thee : 

Thou  for  whom  even  Jove  would  sivear, 

Juno  but  an  Ethiop  tvere ; 

And  deny  himself  for  Jove, 

Turning  mortal  for  thy  love. — 


366  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

This  will  I  send  ;  and  something  else  more  plain, 
That  shall  express  my  true  love's  fasting  pain. 
O,  would  the  King,  Biron,  and  Longaville, 
Were  lovers  too  !  Ill,  to  example  ill. 
Would  from  my  forehead  wipe  a  perjur'd  note ; 
For  none  offend,  where  all  alike  do  dote. 

Long.  Dumain,  [advancing,']  thy  love  is  far  from  charity. 
That  in  love's  grief  desir'st  society  : 
You  may  look  pale,  but  I  should  blush,  I  know, 
To  be  o'erheard,  and  taken  napping  so. 

King.  Come,  sir,  [advancing,]  you  blush  ;  as  his  your  case 
You  chide  at  him,  offending  twice  as  much  :         [is  such  ; 
You  do  not  love  Maria  ;  Longaville 
Did  never  sonnet  for  her  sake  compile ; 
Nor  never  lay  his  wreathed  arms  athwart 
His  loving  bosom,  to  keep  down  his  heart. 
I  have  been  closely  shrouded  in  this  bush. 
And  mark'd  you  both,  and  for  you  both  did  blush. 
I  heard  your  guilty  rhymes,  observ'd  your  fashion  ; 
Saw  sighs  reek  from  you,  noted  well  your  passion : 
Ah  me  !  says  one  ;  O  Jove  !  the  other  cries  ; 
One,  her  hairs  were  gold,  crystal  the  other's  eyes  : 
You  would  for  paradise  break  faith  and  troth  ;  [To  Long. 
And  Jove,  for  your  love,  would  infringe  an  oath. 

[To  DUMAIN. 
What  will  Biron  say,  when  that  he  shall  hear 
A  faith  infring'd,  which  such  a  zeal  did  swear  ? 
How  will  he  scorn  ?  how  will  he  spend  his  wit  ? 
How  will  he  triumph,  leap,  and  laugh  at  it? 
For  all  the  wealth  that  ever  I  did  see, 
I  would  not  have  him  know  so  much  by  me. 

Biron.  Now  step  I  forth  to  whip  hypocrisy. — 
Ah,  good  my  liege',  I  pray  thee  pardon  me  : 

[Descends  Jrom  the  tree. 
Good  heart,  what  grace  hast  thou,  thus  to  reprove 
These  worms  for  loving,  that  art  most  in  love  ? 
Your  eyes  do  make  no  coaches  ;  in  your  tears, 
There  is  no  certain  princess  that  appears : 
You'll  not  be  perjured,  'tis  a  hateful  thing  ; 
Tush,  none  but  minstrels  like  of  sonneting. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  III.  367 

But  are  you  not  asham'd  ?  nay,  are  you  not, 
All  three  of  you,  to  be  thus  much  o'ershot  ? 
You  found  his  mote  ;  the  king  your  mote  did  see  ; 
But  I  a  beam  do  find  in  each  of  three. 

0,  what  a  scene  of  foolery  I  have  seen. 

Of  sighs,  of  groans,  of  sorrow,  and  of  teen  !p 

0  me,  with  what  strict  patience  have  I  sat. 
To  see  a  king  transformed  to  a  gnat  I'' 

To  see  great  Hercules  whipping  a  gigg. 
And  profound  Solomon  to  tune  ajigg. 
And  Nestor  play  at  push-pin  with  the  boys. 
And  critick  Timon'  laugh  at  idle  toys  ! 
Where  hes  thy  grief,  O  tell  me,  good  Dumain  ? 
And,  gentle  Longaville,  where  lies  thy  pain  ? 
And  where  my  liege's  ?  all  about  the  breast : — 
A  caudle,  ho  ! 

King.  Too  bitter  is  thy  jest. 

Are  W' e  betray'd  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  break  the  vow  I  am  engaged  in ; 

1  am  betray'd,  by  keeping  company 

With  moon-like  men,  of  strange  inconstancy. 
When  shall  you  see  me  write  a  thing  in  rhyme  ? 
Or  groan  for  Joan  ?  or  spend  a  minute's  time 
In  pruning  me  V  When  shall  you  hear  that  I 
Will  praise  a  hand,  a  foot,  a  face,  an  eye, 
A  gait,  a  state,'  a  brow,  a  breast,  a  waist, 
A  leg,  a  limb  ? — 

King .  Soft ;  Whither  away  so  fast  ? 

A  true  man,  or  a  thief,  that  gallops  so  ? 

Biron.  I  post  from  love  ;  good  lover,  let  me  go. 

P teen!]  i.  e.  Grief. — Steevens. 

q  To  see  a  king  transformed  to  a  gnat !]  Biron  is  abusing  the  king  for  his  son- 
neting like  a  minstrel,  and  compares  him  to  a.  gnat,  which  always  sings  as  it 
flies.— M.  Mason. 

r critick  Timon — ]  Critic  and  critical  are  used  by  our  author  in  the 

same  sense  as  cynic  and  cynical. — Steevens. 

•  In  pruning  mel]  A  bird  is  said  to  prune  himself  when  he  picks  and  sleeks 
his  feathers. — Steevens. 

t a  gait,  a  state,]  State,  I  believe,  in  the  present  instance,  is  opposed 

to  gait(i.  e,  the  motion)  and  signifies  the  act  of  standing, — Steevens. 


368  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

Enter  Jaquenetta  and  Costard. 

Jaq.  God  bless  the  king  ! 

King.  What  present  hast  thou  there  ? 

Cost.  Some  certain  treason. 

King.  What  makes  treason  here  ? 

Cost.  Nay,  it  makes  nothing,  sir. 

King.  If  it  mar  nothing  neither. 

The  treason,  and  you,  go  in  peace  away  together, 

Jaq.  I  beseech  your  grace,  let  this  letter  be  read ; 
Our  parson  misdoubts  it;  'twas  treason,  he  said. 

King.  Biron,  read  it  over.  [Giving  him  the  letter. 

Where  hadst  thou  it  ? 
Jaq.  Of  Costard. 
King.  Where  hadst  thou  it  ? 
Cost.  Of  Dun  Adramadio,  Dun  Adramadio. 
King.    How    now !   what  is   in    you  ?    why   dost    thou 

tear  it? 
Biron.  A  toy,  my  liege,  a  toy  ;  your  grace  needs  not 

fear  it. 
Long.  It  did  move  him  to  passion,  and  therefore  let's 

hear  it. 
Dum.  It  is  Biron's  writing,  and  here  is  his  name. 

[Picks  up  the  pieces. 
Biron.  Ah,  you  whoreson  loggerhead,  [to  Costard,] 
you  were  born  to  do  me  shame. — 
Guilty,  my  lord,  guilty  ;  I  confess,  I  confess. 
Kins,.  What? 

Biron.  That  you  three  fools  lack'd  me  fool  to  make  up 
the  mess  : 
He,  he,  and  you,  my  liege,  and  I, 
Are  pick-purses  in  love,  and  we  deserve  to  die. 
O,  dismiss  this  audience,  and  I  shall  tell  you  more. 
Dum.  Now  the  number  is  even. 

Biron.  True,  true  ;  we  are  four  : — 

Will  these  turtles  be  gone? 

King.  Hence,  sirs  ;  away. 

Cost.  Walk  aside  the  true  folk,  and  let  the  traitors  stay. 

[Exeunt  Costard  and 
Jaquenetta. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  III.  369 

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  will  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 

That,  like  a  rude  and  savage  man  of  Inde,  [Rosaline, 

At  the  first  opening  of  the  gorgeous  east. 
Bows  not  his  vassal  head  ;  and,  strucken  blind. 

Kisses  the  base  ground  with  obedient  breast  ? 
What  peremptory  eagle-sighted  eye 

Dares  look  upon  the  heaven  of  her  brow. 
That  is  not  blinded  by  her  majesty  ? 

King.  What  zeal,  what  fury  hath  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, — 

Fye,  painted  rhetorick  !   O,  she  needs  it  not : 
To  things  of  sale  a  seller's  praise  belongs  ; 

She  passes  praise ;  then  praise  too  short  doth  blot. 
A  wither'd  hermit,  five-score  winters  worn. 

Might  shake  off"  fifty,  looking  in  her  eye : 
Beauty  doth  varnish  age,  as  if  new-born. 

And  gives  the  crutch  the  cradle's  infancy. 
O,  'tis  the  sun,  that  maketh  all  things  shine  ! 
King.  By  heaven,  thy  love  is  black  as  ebony. 
Biron.  Is  ebony  like  her?  O  wood  divine  ! 
A  wife  of  such  wood  were  felicity. 
O,  who  can  give  an  oath  ?  where  is  a  book  ? 

That  I  may  swear,  beauty  doth  beauty  lack  : 
If  that  she  learn  not  of  her  eye  to  look  : 

No  face  is  fair,  that  is  not  full  so  black. 


370  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

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,  if  in  black  my  lady's  brows  be  deckt. 

It  mourns,  that  painting,  and  usurping  hair," 
Should  ravish  doters  with  a  faise  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. 
Dum.  To  look  like  her,  are  chimney-sweepers  black. 
Long.  And,  since  her  time,  are  colliers  counted  bright. 
King.  And  Ethiops  of  their  sweet  complexion  crack 
Dum.  Dark  needs  no  candles  now,  for  dark  is  light. 
Biron.  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  to-day. 
Biron.  I'll  prove  her  fair,  or  talk  till  dooms-day  here. 
King.  No  devil  will  fright  thee  then  so  much  as  she. 
Dum.  I  never  knew  man  hold  vile  stuff  so  dear. 
Long.  Look,  here's  thy  love:  my  foot  and  her  face  see. 

[Showing  his  shoe. 
Biron.  O,  if  the  streets  were  paved  with  thine  eyes. 

Her  feet  were  much  too  dainty  for  such  tread  ! 
Dum.  O  vile !  then  as  she  goes,  what  upward  lies 

The  street  should  see  as  she  walk'd  over  head. 
King.  But  what  of  this  ?  Are  we  not  all  in  love  ? 
Biron.  O,  nothing  so  sure  ;  and  thereby  all  forsworn. 
King.  Then   leave  this   chat ;    and,  good  Biron,  now 

Our  loving  lawful,  and  our  faith  not  torn.  [prove 

Dum.  Ay,  marry,  there  ; — some  flattery  for  this  evil. 
Long.  O,  some  authority  how  to  proceed ; 
Some  tricks,  some  quillets,''  how  to  cheat  the  devil. 

"  And  beauty's  crest  becomes  the  heavens  welL']  i.  e.  The  very  top,  the  height 
of  beauty,  or  the  utmost  degree  of  fairness,  becomes  the  heavens. — Tollett. 

X usurping  hair,']  Alludes  to  the  fashion,  which  prevailed  among  ladies 

in  our  author's  time,  of  wearing  false  Lair. — Mai.one. 

y  quillets;]  Quillet  is  the  peculiar  word  applied  to  law-chicane.     I 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  III.  371 

Dum.  Some  salve  for  perjury. 

Biron.  O,  'tis  more  than  needi — 

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. 
Without  the  beauty  of  a  woman's  face  ? 
From  women's  eyes  this  doctrine  I  derive  : 
They  are  the  ground,  the  books,  the  academes. 
From  whence  doth  spring  the  true  Promethean  fire. 
Why,  universal  plodding  prisons  up 
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. 
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 

imagine  the  original  to  be  this.  In  the  French  pleadings,  every  several  alle- 
gation in  the  plaintifTs  charge,  and  every  distinct  plea  in  the  defendant's  an- 
swer, began  with  the  word  qu'd  est:  from  whence  was  formed  the  word  quillet, 
to  signify  a  false  charge  or  an  evasive  answer. — Warburton. 

z affection's  men  at  arms:]  i.  e.  Ye  soldiers  of  affection. — Johnson. 

a  The  nimble  spirits  in  the  arteries  ;]  In  the  old  system  of  physic  they  gave 
the  same  office  to  the  arteries  as  is  now  given  to  the  nerves. — Warburton. 


372  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  L,OST. 

Of  beauteous  tutors  have  enrich 'd  you  with  ? 

Other  slow  arts  entirely  keep  the  brain ;'' 

And  therefore  finding  barren  practisers. 

Scarce  show  a  harvest  of  their  heavy  toil : 

But  love,  first  learned  in  a  lady's  eyes. 

Lives  not  alone  immured  in  the  brain  ; 

But  with  the  motion  of  all  elements. 

Courses  as  swift  as  thought  in  every  power  : 

And  gives  to  every  power  a  double  power. 

Above  their  functions  and  their  offices. 

It  adds  a  precious  seeing  to  the  eye  ; 

A  lover's  eyes  will  gaze  an  eagle  blind  ; 

A  lover's  ear  will  hear  the  lowest  sound. 

When  the  suspicious  head  of  theft  is  stopp'd  ;*" 

Love's  feeling  is  more  soft,  and  sensible. 

Than  are  the  tender  horns  of  cockled'*  snails  ; 

Love's  tongue  proves  dainty  Bacchus  gross  in  taste  : 

For  valour,  is  not  love  a  Hercules, 

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. 

Make  heaven  drowsy  with  the  harmony/ 

Never  durst  poet  touch  a  pen  to  write. 

Until  his  ink  were  temper'd  with  love's  sighs  ; 

O,  then  his  lines  would  ravish  savage  ears. 

And  plant  in  tyrants  mild  humility. 

From  women's  eyes  this  doctrine  I  derive  : 

•>  Other  slow  arts  entirely  keep  the  brain ;]  As  we  say,  keep  the  house,  or  keep 
their  bed.— M.  Mason. 

c the  suspicious  head  of  theft  is  stopp'd  ;]  The  tliief  is  as  watchful  on  his 

part,  as  the  person  who  fears  to  be  robbed,  and  Biron  poetically  makes  theft  a 
person. — M.  Mason. 

<i cockled — ]  i.  e.  Inshelled,  like  the  fish  called  a  cockle. — Steevens. 

*  Still  climbing  trees  in  the  Hesperides  ?J  Our  author  seems  to  have  thought 
that  the  latter  word  was  the  name  of  the  garden  in  which  the  golden  apples 
were  kept.  Our  poet's  contemporaries  are  chargeable  with  the  same  inaccu- 
racy.  Ma  LONE. 

f  Make  heaven  drowsy  with  the  harnionyJ]  I  have  given  the  reading  of  the  folio, 
because  none  of  the  explanations  or  alterations  proposed  appear  satisfactory. 
The  author  probably  wrote,  He  makes  heaven  drowsy  with  the  harmony. — Love  is 
mentioned  as  the  voice  of  all  the  gods,  probably  as  Warburton  suggests,  "in  allu- 
sion to  the  ancient  Theogony,  which  represented  love  as  the  parent  and  support 
of  all  the  gods  :" — or  perhaps  in  recollection  of  a  higher  original  in  the  New 
Testament,  which  declares  that  God  is  love. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  III.  373 

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. 

Long.  Now  to  plain-dealing ;  lay  these  glozes  by  : 
Shall  we  resolve  to  woo  these  girls  of  France  ? 

King.  And  win  them  too :  therefore  let  us  devise 
Some  entertainment  for  them  in  their  tents. 

Biron.  First,  from  the  park  let  us  conduct  them  thither ; 
Then,  homeward,  every  man  attach  the  hand 
Of  his  fair  mistress  :  in  the  afternoon 
We  will  with  some  strange  pastime  solace  them. 
Such  as  the  shortness  of  the  time  can  shape ; 
For  revels,  dances,  masks,  and  merry  hours. 
Fore-run  fair  Love,  strewing  her  way  with  flowers. 

King.  Away,  away !  no  time  shall  be  omitted. 
That  will  be  time,  and  may  by  us  be  fitted. 

Biron.  Allans !  Allans!  —  Sow'd  cockle  reap'd  no  corn  ; 
And  justice  always  whirls  in  equal  measure  : 
Light  wenches  may  prove  plagues  to  men  forsworn ; 

If  so,  our  copper  buys  no  better  treasure.      \^Eieunt 

e a  word  that  loves  all  men  ;]  i.  e.  That  is  pleasing  to  all  men.     So  in 

tlie  lancfuage  of  our  author's  time  :  it  likes  me  xvell,  for  it  pleases  me.  Shakspeare 
uses  the  word  thus  licentiously  merely  for  the  sake  of  the  antithesis. — 
Ma  LONE. 

VOL.  II.  2   c 


374  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


ACT   V. 

Scene  L — Another  part  of  the  same. 
Enter  Holofernes,  Sir  Nathaniel,  and  Dull. 

HoL  Satis  quod  sufficit. 

Nath.  I  praise  God  for  you,  sir  :  your  reasons  at  dinner 
have  been''  sharp  and  sententious;  pleasant  without  scur- 
rility, witty  without  affection,'  audacious  without  impu- 
dency,  learned  without  opinion,  and  strange  without  he- 
resy. I  did  converse  this  quondam  day  with  a  companion 
of  the  king's,  who  is  intituled,  nominated,  or  called,  Don 
Adriano  de  Armado. 

Hoi.  Novi  hominem  tanquam  te:  His  humour  is  lofty, 
his  discourse  peremptory,  his  tongue  filed,  his  eye  ambi- 
tious, his  gait  majestical,  and  his  general  behaviour  vain, 
ridiculous,  and  thrasonical.''  He  is  too  picked,'  too  spruce, 
too  affected,  too  odd,  as  it  were,  too  peregrinate,  as  I  may 
call  it. 

Nath.  A  most  singular  and  choice  epithet. 

[Takes  out  his  table  book. 

Hoi.  He  draweth  out  the  thread  of  his  verbosity  finer 
than  the  staple  of  his  argument.  I  abhor  such  fanatical 
fantasms,  such  insociable  and  point-devise™  companions  ; 
such  rackers  of  orthography,  as  to  speak,  dout,  fine,  when 
he  should  say,  doubt ;  det,,  when  he  should  pronounce 
debt ;  d,  e,  b,  t ;  not  d,  e,  t :  he  clepeth  a  calf,  cauf ;  half, 

h yonr  reasons  at  dinner  have  been,  &c.]    I  know  not  well  what  degree  of 

respect  Shakspeare  intends  to  obtain  for  his  vicar,  but  be  has  here  put  into  his 
mouth  a  finished  representation  of  colloquial  excellence.  It  is  very  difficult 
to  add  any  thing  to  his  character  of  the  schoolmaster's  table-talk,  and  perhaps 
all  the  precepts  of  Castiglioue  will  scarcely  be  found  to  comprehend  a  rule  for 
conversation  so  justly  delineated,  so  widely  dilated,  and  so  nicely  limited. 

It  may  be  proper  just  to  note,  that  reason  here,  and  in  many  other  places, 
signifies  discourse ;  and  that  audacious  is  used  in  a  good  sense  for  spirited,  ani- 
mated, conjident.     Opinion  is  the  same  with  obUinncv  or  opiniatrete. — Johnson. 

' without  affection,]  i.  e.  Without  affectation. — Steevens. 

^ thrasonical.]    Boastful,  bragging, _/row  Terence. 

'  He  is  too  picked,]  Nicely  drest. 

" point-devise — ]  A  French  expression  for  the  utmost,  or  finical  ex- 
actness. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  I.  375 

hauf ;  neighbour,  vacatur,  nebour ;  neigh,  abbreviated,  ne  : 
This  is  abhominable,  (which  he  would  call  abominable,)  it 
insinuateth  me  of  insanie ;  Ne  intelligis  domine  ?  to  make 
frantick,  lunatick. 

Nath.  Laus  Deo,  bone  intelligo. 

Hal.  Bone? bone,  for  beni :  Priscian  a  little  scratch'd ; 

'will  serve. 

Enter  Arm  A  no.  Moth,  awe?  Costard. 

Nath.   Videsne  qiiis  venit  ? 

Hoi.   Video,  et  miideo. 

Arm.  Chirra!  [To  Moth. 

Hoi.  Quare  Chirra,  not  sirrah? 

Arm.  Men  of  peace,  well  encounter'd. 

Hoi.  Most  military  sir,  salutation. 

Moth.  They  have  been  at  a  great  feast  of  languages,  and 
stolen  the  scraps.  [To  Costard  aside. 

Cost.  O,  they  have  liv'd  long  in  the  alms-basket  of 
words !  I  marvel,  thy  master  hath  not  eaten  thee  for  a 
word ;  for  thou  art  not  so  long  by  the  head  as  honoriji- 
cabilitudinitatibus :  thou  art  easier  swallowed  than  a  flap- 
dragon." 

Moth.  Peace  ;  the  peal  begins. 

Arm.  Monsieur,  [to  Hol.]  are  you  not  letter'd? 

Moth.  Yes,  yes  ;  he  teaches  boys  the  hornbook : — 
What  is  a,  b,  spelt  backward  with  a  horn  on  his  head  ? 

Hol.  Ba,  piieritia,  with  a  horn  added. 

Moth.  Ba,  most  silly  sheep,  wuth  a  horn : — You  hear 
his  learning. 

Hol.  Qiiis,  quis,  thou  consonant? 

Moth.  The  third  of  the  five  vowels,  if  you  repeat  them ; 
or  the  fifth,  if  I. 

Hol.  I  will  repeat  them,  a,  e,  i. — 

Moth.  The  sheep:  the  other  two  concludes  it;  o,  u. 

Arm.  Now,  by  the  salt  water  of  the  Mediterraneum,  a 
sweet  touch,  a  quick  venew  of  wit:"  snip,  snap,  quick  and 
home ;  it  rejoiceth  my  intellect :  true  wit. 

B  Jiap.dragon.']     A  small  combustible  body,  set  on  fire,  and  put  afloat 

in  a  glass  of  liquor.  Raisins  in  hot  brandy  were  the  commonest  flap-dragons. 
— Nares's  Glossary. 

o  a  quick  venew  of  wit :]     A  venew  is  the  technical  term  for  a  bout  at 

the  fencing-school. — Steevens. 

2  c  2 


376  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

Moth.  OfFer'd  by  a  child  to  an  old  man  5  which  is  wit- 
old. 

Hoi.  What  is  the  figure  ?  what  is  the  figure  ? 

Moth.  Horns. 

Hoi.  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  circa ;  A  gig  of  a  cuckold's  horn. 

Cost.  An  I  had  but  one  penny  in  the  world,  thou  shouldst 
have  it  to  buy  gingerbread :  hold,  there  is  the  very  remu- 
neration 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  wouldst  thou  make  me  !  Go  to ;  thou  hast  it  ad 
dunghill,  at  the  fingers'  ends,  as  they  say. 

Hoi.  O,  I  smell  false  Latin  ;  dunghill  for  unguem. 

Arm.  Arts-man,  praamhula;  we  will  be  singled  from  the 
barbarous.  Do  you  not  educate  youth  at  the  charge-houseP 
on  the  top  of  the  mountain  ? 

Hoi.  Or  mons,  the  hill. 

Arm.  At  your  sweet  pleasure,  for  the  mountain. 

Hoi.  I  do,  sans  question. 

Arm.  Sir,  it  is  the  king's  most  sweet  pleasure  and  af- 
fection, to  congratulate  the  princess  at  her  pavilion,  in  the 
posteriors  of  this  day ;  which  the  rude  multitude  call,  the 
afternoon. 

Hoi.  The  posterior  of  the  day,  most  generous  sir,  is 
liable,  congruent,  and  measurable  for  the  afternoon  :  the 
word  is  well  cuU'd,  chose;  sweet  and  apt,  I  do  assure  you, 
sir,  I  do  assure. 

Arm.  Sir,  the  king  is  a  noble  gentleman ;  and  my  fa- 
miliar, I  do  assure  you,  very  good  friend  :■ — 'For  what  is 
inward'i  between  us,  let  it  pass  : — I  do  beseech  thee, 
remember  thy  courtesy ; — I  beseech  thee,  apparel  thy 
head/ — and  among  other  importunate  and  most  serious 
designs, — and  of  great  import  indeed,  too ;  but  let  that 
pass  : — for  I  must  tell  thee,  it  will  please  his  grace  (by  the 

V    P the  charge-house — ]   I  suppose,  is  the  free-sclwol. — Steevens. 

q  mward — ]  i.  e.  Confidential. 

^  I  do  beseech  thee,  remember  thy  courtesy  ;  I  beseech  thee,  apparel  thy  head ;'] 
By  "  remember  thy  courtesy,"  I  suppose  Armado  means — remember  that  all 
this  time  thou  art  standing  with  thy  hat  off. — Steevens. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  I.  377 

world)  sometime  to  lean  upon  my  poor  shoulder;  and  with 
his  royal  finger,  thus,  dally  with  my  excrement,'  with  my 
mustachio :  but,  sweet  heart,  let  that  pass.  By  the  world, 
I  recount  no  fable ;  some  certain  special  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,  I  do  implore  secrecy, — 
that  the  king  would  have  me  present  the  princess,  sweet 
chuck,'  with  some  delightful  ostentation,  or  show,  or  pa- 
geant, or  antick,  or  fire-work.  Now,  understanding  that 
the  curate  and  your  sweet  self,  are  good  at  such  eruptions, 
and  sudden  breaking  out  of  mirth,  as  it  were,  I  have  ac- 
quainted you  withal,  to  the  end  to  crave  your  assistance. 

Hoi.  Sir,  you  shall  present  before  her  the  nine  wor- 
^jjies. — Sir  Nathaniel,  as  concerning  some  entertainment 
of  time,  some  show  in  the  posterior  of  this  day,  to  be 
rendered  by  our  assistance, — the  king's  command,  and 
this  most  gallant,  illustrate,  and  learned  gentleman, — 
before  the  princess ;  I  say,  none  so  fit  as  to  present  the 
nine  worthies. 

Nath.  Where  will  you  find  men  worthy  enough  to  pre- 
sent them  ? 

liol.  Joshua,  yourself;  myself,  or  this  gallant  gentle- 
man, Judas  Maccabajus  ;  this  swain,  because  of  his  great 
limb  or  joint,  shall  pass  Pompey  the  great ;  the  page, 

Hercules. 

Arm.  Pardon,  sir,  error:  he  is  not  quantity  enough  for 
that  worthy's  thumb :  he  is  not  so  big  as  the  end  of  his 

club. 

Hoi.  Shall  I  have  audience  ?  he  shall  present  Hercules 
in  minority :  his  enter  and  exit  shall  be  strangling  a  snake ; 
and  I  will  have  an  apology  for  that  purpose. 

Moth.  An  excellent  device  !  so,  if  any  of  the  audience 
hiss,  you  may  cry :  well  done,  Hercules !  now  thou  crushest 
the  snake !  that  is  the  way  to  make  an  offence  gracious ; 
thouo-h  few  have  the  grace  to  do  it. 

Arm.  For  the  rest  of  the  worthies  ? 

g ^ally  with  mil  excrement,]  The  author  calls  the  beard  valour's  ex- 
crement in  The  Merchant  of  Venice.— JoHT^soy. 

t chuck,]  i.  e.  Chicken}  an  ancient  term  of  endearment.— oteevens. 


378         .        LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

Hoi.  I  will  play  three  myself. 

Moth.  Thrice-worthy  gentleman  ! 

Arm.  Shall  I  tell  you  a  thing? 

Hoi.  We  attend. 

Arm.  We  will  have,  if  this  fadge  not,"  an  antick.     I 
beseech  you,  follow. 

Hoi.   Fm,"  goodman  Dull !  thou  hast  spoken  no  word 
all  this  while. 

Dull.  Nor  understood  none  neither,  sir. 

Hoi.  Allans!  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. 

Hoi.  Most  dull,  honest  Dull,  to  our  sport,  away. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IL 

Another  part  of  the  same.    Before  the  Princess's  Pavilion. 
Enter  the  Princess,  Katharine,  Rosaline,  and  Maria. 

Prin.  Sweet  hearts,  we  shall  be  rich  ere  we  depart. 
If  fairings  come  thus  plentifully  in  : 
A  lady  wall'd  about  with  diamonds  ! 
Look  you,  what  I  have  from  the  loving  king. 

Ros.  Madam,  came  nothing  else  along  with  that? 

Prin.  Nothing,  but  this?  yes,  as  much  love  in  rhyme. 
As  would  be  cramm'd  up  in  a  sheet  of  paper. 
Writ  on  both  sides  the  leaf,  margent  and  all ; 
That  he  was  fain  to  seal  on  Cupid's  name. 

Ros.  That  was  the  way  to  make  his  god-head  wax  ■/ 
For  he  hath  been  five  thousand  years  a  boy. 

Kath.  Ay,  and  a  shrew  unhappy  gallows  too. 

Ros.  You'll  ne'er  be  friends  with  him ;  he  kill'd  your 
sister. 

Kath.  He  made  her  melancholy,  sad,  and  heavy ; 
And  so  she  died  :  had  she  been  light,  like  you. 
Of  such  a  merry,  nimble,  stirring  spirit, 

u  if  this  fadge  mot,]   i.  e.  Suit  not,  go  not,  pass  not  into  action. — 

Steevens. 

*  Via,']  An  Italian  exclamation,  signifying  courage.'  come  on! 

y to  make  his  god-head  wax  ;]     To  wax  anciently  signified  to  grow.     It 

is  yet  said  of  the  moon,  that  she  waxes  and  wanes. — Steevens. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  II.  379 

She  might  have  been  a  grandam  ere  she  died  : 
And  so  may  you-;  for  a  light  heart  lives  long. 

Ros.  What's  your  dark  meaning,  mouse/  of  this  light 

Kath.  A  light  condition  in  a  beauty  dark.  [word  ? 

Ros.  We  need  more  light  to  find  your  meaning  out. 

Kath.  You'll  mar  the  light,  by  taking  it  in  snuff  j* 
Therefore,  I'll  darkly  end  the  argument. 

Ros.  Look,  what  you  do,  you  do  it  still  i'the  dark. 

Kath.  So  do  not  you  :  for  you  are  a  light  wench. 

-Ros.  Indeed,  I  weigh  not  you  ;  and  therefore  light. 

Kath.  You  weigh  me  not, — O,  that's  you  care  not  for 

Ros.  Great  reason  ;  for.  Past  cure  is  still  past  care,  [me, 

Prin.  Well  bandied  both  ;  a  set  of  wit*"  well  play'd. 
But  Rosaline,  you  have  a  favour  too : 
Who  sent  it  ?  and  what  is  it  ? 

Ros.  I  would,  you  knew  ? 

An  if  my  face  were  but  as  fair  as  yours. 
My  favour  were  as  great ;  be  witness  this. 
Nay,  I  have  verses  too,  I  thank  Biron  : 
The  numbers  true  ;  and,  were  the  numb'ring  too, 
I  were  the  fairest  goddess  on  the  ground  : 
I  am  compar'd  to  twenty  thousand  fairs. 
O,  he  hath  drawn  my  picture  in  his  letter ! 

Prin.  Any  thing  like? 

Ros.  Much,  in  the  letters  ;  nothing  in  the  praise. 

Prin.  Beauteous  as  ink  ;  a  good  conclusion. 

Kath.  Fair  as  a  text  B  in  a  copy-book. 

Ros.  'Ware  pencils  !"  How  ?  let  me  not  die  your  debtor, 
My  red  dominical,  my  golden  letter  : 
O,  that  your  face  were  not  so  full  of  O's  ! 

Kath.  A  pox  of  that  jest !  and  beshrew  all  shrows  l^ 

^ moHSK,']  This  was  a  term  of  endearment  formerly. — Malone. 

* taking  it  in  snuff;]  Snuff  ia  here  used  equivocally  for  anger,  and  the 

snuff  of  a  candle. — Steevens. 

^ a  set  of  wit — ]  A  term  from  tennis. 

c  '  Ware  peiicib .']  Rosaline  advises  Katharine  to  beware  of  pencils,  that  is 
of  drawing  likenesses,  IpsI  she  should  retaliate ;  which  she  afterwards  does, 
by  comparing  her  to  a  red  dominical  letter,  and  calling  her  marks  of  the  small- 
pox, oes. — M.  Mason. 

d  A  pox  of  that  jest !  and  beshrew  all  shrows  /]  "  Pox  of  that  jest !"  Mr.  Theobald 
is  scandalized  at  this  language  from  a  princess.  But  there  needs  no  alarm — 
the  small-pox  only  is  alluded  to  ;  with  which,  it  seems,  Catharine  was  pitted  ; 
or,  as  it  is  quaintly  expressed,  "  her  face  was  full  of  O's." — Farmer. 


380  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

Priti.  But  what  was  sent  to  you  from  fair  Dumain  ? 

Kath.  Madam,  this  glove. 

Mar.  Did  he  not  send  you  twain  ? 

Kath.  Yes,  madam ;  and  moreover. 
Some  thousand  verses  of  a  faithful  lover  : 
A  huge  translation  of  hypocrisy. 
Vilely  compil'd,  profound  simplicity. 

Mar.  This,  and  these  pearls,  to  me  sent  Longaville  ; 
The  letter  is  too  long  by  half  a  mile. 

Prin.  I  think  no  less :  Dost  thou  not  wish  in  heart. 
The  chain  were  longer,  and  the  letter  short  ? 

Mar.  Ay,  or  I  would  these  hands  might  never  part. 

Prin.  We  are  wise  girls,  to  mock  our  lovers  so. 

Ros.  They  are  worse  fools  to  purchase  mocking  so. 
That  same  Biron  I'll  torture  ere  I  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. 

Prin.  None  are  so  surely  caught,  when  they  are  catch 'd. 
As  wit  turn'd  fool :  folly,  in  wisdom  hatch'd. 
Hath  wisdom's  warrant,  and  the  help  of  school; 
And  wit's  own  grace  to  grace  a  learned  fool. 

Ros.  The  blood  of  youth  burns  not  with  such  excess. 
As  gravity's  revolt  to  wantoness. 

Mar.  Folly  in  fools  bears  not  so  strong  a  note. 
As  foolery  in  the  wise,  when  wit  doth  dote  ; 
Since  all  the  power  thereof  it  doth  apply. 
To  prove,  by  wit,  worth  in  simplicity. 

* in  hy  the  week!]  An  expression  taken  from  hiring  servants  or  arti- 
ficers ;  meaning,  I  wish  I  was  as  sure  of  his  service  for  any  time  limited,  as 
if  1  had  hired  him. — Steevens. 

'  And  make  him  proud  to  make  me  proud  that  jests .']  The  meaning  of  tliis  ob- 
scure line  seems  to  be,  1  loould  make  him  proud  to  flatter  me  who  make  a  mock  of 
his  flattery, — Edinburgh  Magazine, ^br  Nov.  1736. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  II.  381 


Enter  Boyet. 

Prin.  Here  comes  Boyet,  and  mirth  is  in  his  face. 

Boyet.  O,  I  am  stabb'd  with  laughter !    Where's  her 

Prin.  Thy  news,  Boyet  ?  [grace  ? 

Boyet.  Prepare,  madam,  prepare  ! — 

Arm,  wenches,  arm  !  encounters  mounted  are 
Against  your  peace  :  Love  doth  approach  disguis'd. 
Armed  in  arguments  ;  you'll  be  surpris'd : 
Muster  your  wits ;  stand  in  your  own  defence; 
Or  hide  your  heads  like  cowards,  and  fly  hence. 

Prin.  Saint  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  !  to  interrupt  my  purpos'd  rest. 
Toward  that  shade  I  might  behold  addrest 
The  king  and  his  companions  :  warily 
I  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  con'd  his  embassage  : 
Action,  and  accent,  did  they  teach  him  there ; 
Thus  must  thou  speak,  and  thus  thy  body  hear: 
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  reply 'd.  An  angel  is  not  evil ; 
I  should  have  fear' d  her,  had  she  been  a  devil. 
With  that  all  laugh'd,  and  clapp'd  him  on  the  shoulder ; 
Making  the  bold  wag  by  their  praises  bolder. 
One  rubb'd  his  elbow,  thus  ;  and  fleer 'd,  and  swore, 
A  better  speech  was  never  spoke  before  : 
Another,  with  his  finger  and  his  thumb, 
Cry'd,  Via  !  loe  will  do't,  come  what  ivill  come : 
The  third  he  caper'd,  and  cried.  All  goes  well : 
The  fourth  turn'd  on  the  toe,  and  down  he  fell. 


382  LOVE  S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

With  that,  they  all  did  tumble  on  the  ground;, 
With  such  a  zealous  laughter,  so  profound. 
That  in  this  spleen  ridiculous^  appears. 
To  check  their  folly,  passion's  solemn  tears. 

Prin.  But  what,  but  what,  come  they  to  visit  us  ? 

Boyet.  They  do,  they  do ;  and  are  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. 

Prin.  And  will  they  so  ?  the  gallants  shall  be  task'd: 
For,  ladies,  we  will  every  one  be  mask'd  ; 
And  not  a  man  of  them  shall  have  the  grace. 
Despite  of  suit,  to  see  a  lady's  face. — 
Hold,  Rosaline,  this  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.— 
And  change  your  favours  too  ;  so  shall  your  loves 
Woo  contrary,  deceiv'd  by  these  removes. 

Pos.  Come  on  then  ;  wear  the  favours  most  in  sight. 

Kath.  But,  in  this  changing,  what  is  your  intent? 

Prin.  The  effect  of  my  intent  is,  to  cross  theirs : 
They  do  it  but  in  mocking  merriment ; 
And  mock  for  mock  is  only  my  intent. 
Their  several  counsels  they  unbosom  shall 
To  loves  mistook  ;  and  so  be  mock'd  withal. 
Upon  the  next  occasion  that  we  meet. 
With  visages  display'd,  to  talk  and  greet. 

Bos.  But  shall  we  dance,  if  they  desire  us  to't  ? 

Prin.  No  ;  to  the  death,  we  will  not  move  a  foot : 


f sj)leen  ridiculous — ]  Is,  a  ridiculous/t  of  laughter. — Johnson. 

•'  Like  Muscovites  or  Russians :  as  I  guess,'}  A  mask  of  Muscovites  was  no  un- 
common recreation  at  court  long  before  our  author's  time.  In  the  first  year  of 
King  Henry  the  Eighth,  at  a  bamiuet  made  for  the  foreign  embassadors  in  the 
parliament-chamber  at  Westminster  :  "  came  the  lorde  Henry,  Earle  of  Wilt- 
shire, and  the  lorde  Fitzwater,  in  twoo  long  gounes  of  yellowe  satin  traversed 
with  white  satin,  and  in  every  ben  of  wliite  was  a  bend  of  crimson  satin  after 
the  fashion  of  Russia  or  Ruslande,  with  furred  hattes  of  grey  on  their  hedes, 
either  of  them  having  an  hatchet  in  their  handes,  and  bootes  with  pykes  turned 
up." — Hall,  Henry  VIll.p.  6. — Kitson. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  II.  383 

Nor  to  their  penn'd  speech  render  we  no  grace  : 
But,  while  'tis  spoke,  each  turn  away  her  face. 

Boyet.  Why,  that  contempt  will  kill  the  speaker's  heart. 
And  quite  divorce  his  memory  from  his  part. 

Prin.  Therefore  I  do  it ;  and,  I  make  no  doubt. 
The  rest  will  ne'er  come  in,  if  he  be  out. 
There's  no  such  sport,  as  sport  by  sport  o'erthrown ; 
To  make  theirs  ours,  and  ours  none  but  our  own  : 
So  shall  we  stay,  mocking  intended  game  ; 
And  they,  well  mock'd,  depart  away  with  shame. 

[^Truinpets  sound  within. 

Boyet.  The  trumpet  sounds;  be  mask 'd,  the  maskers 
come.  \_The  Ladies  mask. 

Enter  the  King,  Biron,  Longaville,  and  Dumain,  in 
Russian  habits,  and  masked;  Moth,  Musicians,  and 
Attendants. 

Moth.  All  hail  the  richest  beauties  on  the  earth! 

Boyet.  Beauties  no  richer  than  rich  taffata.' 

Moth.  A  holy  parcel  of  the  fairest  dames, 

[The  Ladies  turn  their  backs  to  him. 
That  ever  turned  their — backs — to  mortal  views ! 

Biron.  Their  eyes,  villain  ;  their  eyes. 

Moth.  That  ever  tunid  their  eyes  to  mortal  views! 
Out — 

Boyet.  True  ;  out,  indeed. 

Moth.  Out  of  your  favours,  heavenly  spirits,  vouchsafe 
Not  to  behold — 

Biron.  Once  to  behold,  rogue. 

INIoth.  Once  to  behold  tvith  your  sun-beamed  eyes, 

toith  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. 

Ros.  What  would  these  strang-ers  ?  know  their  minds. 
If  they  do  speak  our  language,  'tis  our  will  [Boyet : 

•  Beauties  no  ricJier  than  rich  taffata.']   i.  e.  The  taffata  masks  they  wore  to 
conceal  themselves. — Theobald. 


384  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

That  some  plain  man  recount  their  purposes  : 
Know  what  they  would. 

Boyet.  What  would  you  with  the  princess  ? 

Biron.  Nothing  but  peace,  and  gentle  visitation. 

Ros.  What  would  they,  say  they  ? 

Boi/et.  Nothing  but  peace,  and  gentle  visitation. 

Ros.  Why,  that  they  have  ;  and  bid  them  so  be  gone. 

Boi^et.  She  says,  you  have  it,  and  you  may  be  gone. 

Khig.  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. 

Ros.  It  is  not  so  :  ask  them,  how  many  inches 
Is  in  one  mile  :  if  they  have  measur'd  many. 
The  measure  then  of  one  is  easily  told. 

Boyet.  If,  to  come  hither  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. 

Ros.  How  many  weary  steps. 

Of  many  weary  miles  you  have  o'ergone. 
Are  number'd  in  the  travel  of  one  mile  ? 

Biron.  We  number  nothing  that  we  spend  for  you ; 
Our  duty  is  so  rich,  so  infinite. 
That  we  may  do  it  still  without  accompt. 
Vouchsafe  to  show  the  sunshine  of  your  face. 
That  we,  like  savages,  may  worship  it. 

Ros.  My  face  is  but  a  moon,  and  clouded  too. 

King.  Blessed  are  clouds,  to  do  as  such  clouds  do  ! 
Vouchsafe,  bright  moon,  and  these  thy  stars,  to  shine 
(Those  clouds  remov'd,)  upon  our  wat'ry  eyne. 

Ros.  O  vain  petitioner  !  beg  a  greater  matter ; 
Thou  now  request'st  but  moonshine  in  the  water. 

King.  Then,  in  our  measure  do  but  vouchsafe  one  change : 
Thou  bid'st  me  beg  ;  this  begging  is  not  strange. 

Ros.  Play,  musick,  then:  nay,  you  must  do  it  soon. 

[Musick  plays. 
Not  yet; — no  dance: — thus  change  I  like  the  moon. 

^  To  Ircad  a  measure — ]  The  measures  were  dances  solemn  and  slow. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  11.  385 

King.    Will   you   not   dance?    How  come    you    thus 
estrang'd  ? 

Ros.  You  took  the  moon  at  full ;  but  now  she's  chang'd. 

King.  Yet  still  she  is  the  moon,  and  I  the  man. 
The  musick  plays ;  vouchsafe  some  motion  to  it. 

Ros.  Our  ears  vouchsafe  it. 

King.  But  your  legs  should  do  it. 

Ros.  Since  you  are  strangers,  and  come  here  by  chance. 
We'll  not  be  nice  :  take  hands  ; — we  will  not  dance. 

King.  Why  take  we  hands  then  ? 

Ros.  Only  to  part  friends  : — 

Court'sy,  sweet  hearts;  and  so  the  measure  ends. 

King.  More  measure  of  this  measure;  be  not  nice. 

Ros.  We  can  afford  no  more  at  such  a  price. 

King.  Prize  you  yourselves  ;  What  buys  your  company  ? 

Ros.  Your  absence  only. 

King.  That  can  never  be. 

Ros.  Then  cannot  we  be  bought :  and  so  adieu ; 
Twice  to  your  visor,  and  half  once  to  you  ! 

King.  If  you  deny  to  dance,  let's  hold  more  chat. 

Ros.  In  private  then. 

King.  I  am  best  pleas'd  with  that. 

[^T hey  converse  apart. 

Biron.    White-handed  mistress,  one  sweet  word  with 
thee. 

Prin.  Honey,  and  milk,  and  sugar ;  there  is  three. 

Biron.  Nay  then,  two  treys,  (an  if  you  grow  so  nice,) 
Metheglin,  wort,  and  malmsy  ; — Well  run,  dice  ! 
There's  half  a  dozen  sweets. 

Prin.  Seventh  sweet,  adieu  ! 

Since  you  can  cog,'  I'll  play  no  more  with  you. 

Biron.  One  word  in  secret. 

Prin.  Let  it  not  be  sweet. 

Biron.  Thou  griev'st  my  gall. 

Prin.  Gall?  bitter. 

Biron.  Therefore  meet. 

[They  converse  apart. 

Dum.  Will  you  vouchsafe  with  me  to  change  a  word  ? 

•  Since  you  can  cog,]  To  cog,  signifies  to  falsify  the  dice,  and  to  falsify  a  nar- 
rative, or  to  lye. — Johnson. 


386  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

Mar.  Name  it. 

Dum.  Fair  lady, — 

Mar.  Say  you  so  ?   Fair  lord, — 

Take  that  for  your  fair  lady. 

Dum.  Please  it  you, 

As  much  in  private,  and  I'll  bid  adieu. 

[They  converse  apart. 

Kath.  What,  was  your  visor  made  without  a  tongue? 

Long.  I  know  the  reason,  lady,  why  you  ask. 

Kath.  O,  for  your  reason  I  quickly,  sir ;  I  long. 

Long.  You  have  a  double  tongue  within  your  mask. 
And  would  afford  my  speechless  visor  half. 

Ki72g.  Veal,  quoth  the  Dutchman  ;"" — Is  not  veal  a  calf? 

Long.  A  calf,  fair  lady  ? 

Kath.  No,  a  fair  lord  calf. 

Long.  Let's  part  the  word. 

Kath.  No,  I'll  not  be  your  half: 

Take  all,  and  wean  it ;  it  may  prove  an  ox. 

Long.  Look,  how  you  butt  yourself  in  these  sharp 
Will  you  give  horns,  chaste  lady?  do  not  so.        [mocks! 

Kath.  Then  die  a  calf,  before  your  horns  do  grow. 

Long.  One  word  in  private  with  you,  ere  I  die. 

Kath.  Bleat  softly  then,  the  butcher  hears  you  cry. 

[They  converse  apart. 

Boyet.  The  tongues  of  mocking  wenches  are  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. 
Fleeter  than  arrows,  bullets,  wind,  thought,  swifter  things. 

Ros.  Not  one  word  more,  my  maids ;  break  off,  break  off. 

Biron.  By  heaven,  all  dry-beaten  with  pure  scoff! 

King.  Farewell,  mad  wenches  ;  you  have  simple  wits. 
[Exeunt  King,  Lords,  Moth,  Mustek, 
and  Attendants. 

Prin.  Twenty  adieus,  my  frozen  Muscovites. — 
Are  these  the  breed  of  wits  so  wonder'd  at  ? 

™  Veal,  quoth  Ihe  Dutchman ; — ]  I  supj)ose  by  veal,  she  means  we//,  sounded 
as  foreigners  usually  pronounce  that  word  ;  and  introduced  merely  for  the  sake 
of  the  subsequent  question. — Ma  lone. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  II.  387 

Boyet.  Tapers  they  are,  with  your  sweet  breath  pufTd 
out. 

Ros.  Well-liking  wits"  they  have;  gross,  gross;  fat,  fat. 

Prin.  O  poverty  in  wit,  kingly-poor  flout ! 
Will  they  not,  think  you,  hang  themselves  to  night  ? 

Or  ever,  but  in  visors,  show  their  faces  ? 
This  pert  Biron  was  out  of  countenance  quite. 

Ros.  O  !  they  were  all  in  lamentable  cases  ! 
The  king  was  weeping-ripe  for  a  good  word. 

Prin.  Biron  did  swear  himself  out  of  all  suit. 

Mar.  Dumain  was  at  my  service,  and  his  sword  : 
No  point,  quoth  I ;"  my  servant  straight  was  mute. 

Kath.  Lord  Longaville  said,  I  came  o'er  his  heart ; 
And  trow  you,  what  he  call'd  me  ? 

Prin.  Qualm,  perhaps. 

Kath.  Yes,  in  good  faith. 

Prin.  Go,  sickness  as  thou  art ! 

Ros.  Well,  better  wits  have  worn  plain  statute-caps. p 
But  will  you  hear?  the  king  is  my  love  sworn. 

Prin.  And  quick  Biron  hath  plighted  faith  to  me. 

Kath.  And  Longaville  was  for  my  service  born. 

Mar.  Dumain  is  mine,  as  sure  as  bark  on  tree. 

Boyet.  Madam,  and  pretty  mistresses,  give  ear : 
Immediately  they  will  again  be  here 
In  their  own  shapes  ;  for  it  can  never  be. 
They  will  digest  this  harsh  indignity. 

Prin.  Wdl  they  return? 

Boyet.  They  will,  they  will,  God  knows. 

And  leap  for  joy,  though  they  are  lame  with  blows  : 
Therefore,  change  favours  ;  and,  when  they  repair. 
Blow  like  sweet  roses  in  this  summer  air. 

Prin.  How  blow?  how  blow?  speak  to  be  understood. 

Boyet.  Fair  ladies,  mask'd,  are  roses  in  their  bud : 

n  Well-liking  irits, — ]    Well-liking  is  the  same  as  embonpoint. — Steevens. 

o  No  point,  quoth  I ;]  Point  in  French  is  an  adverb  of  negation;  but,  if 
properly  spoken,  is  not  sounded  like  the  point  of  a  sword.  A  quibble,  how- 
ever, is  intended. — Malone. 

P  . better  wits  hate  worn  plain  statute-caps.^     Probably  the  meaning  is — • 

better  wits  may  be  found  among  the  citizens,  who  are  not  in  general  remarkable  for 
sallies  of  imagmation.  In  Marston's  Dutch  Courtezan,  1605,  Mrs.  Mulligrut 
sayg  ;  "  —  though  ffij  husbaud  be  a  citizen,  and  his  cap's  made  oj  wool,  yet  I 
have  wit." — Steevens.    Statute-caps,  were  woollen-caps. — Nares's  Glossary. 


388  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

Dismask'd,  their  damask  sweet  commixture  shown. 
Are  angels  vailing  clouds/'  or  roses  blown. 

Prm.  Avaunt,  perplexity !   What  shall  we  do. 
If  they  return  in  their  own  shapes  to  woo  ? 

Ros.  Good  madam,  if  by  me  you'll  be  advis'd. 
Let's  mock  them  still,  as  well  known,  as  disguis'd : 
Let  us  complain  to  them  what  fools  were  here, 
Disguis'd  like  Muscovites,  in  shapeless  gear  ; 
And  wonder,  what  they  were ;  and  to  what  end 
Their  shallow  shows,  and  prologue  vilely  penn'd. 
And  their  rough  carriage  so  ridiculous. 
Should  be  presented  at  our  tent  to  us. 

Boi/et.  Ladies,  withdraw  :  the  gallants  are  at  hand. 

Ptin.  Whip  to  our  tents,  as  roes  run  over  land. 

[Exeunt  Princess,  Ros.  Kath.  and  Maria. 

Enter  the  King,  Biron,  Longaville,  and  Dumain,  in 
their  proper  habits. 

King.  Fair  sir,  God  save  you !  Where  is  the  princess  ? 

Boyet.  Gone  to  her  tent :   Please  it  your  majesty. 
Command  me  any  service  to  her  thither? 

King.  That  she  vouchsafe  me  audience  for  one  word. 

Boyet.  I  will;  and  so  will  she,  I  know,  my  lord.  [jGx;V. 

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  wassels,'  meetings,  markets,  fairs  ; 
And  we  that  sell  by  gross,  the  Lord  doth  know. 
Have  not  the  grace  to  grace  it  with  such  show. 
This  gallant  pins  the  wenches  on  his  sleeve ; 
Had  he  been  Adam,  he  had  tempted  Eve  : 
He  can  carve  too,  and  lisp  :  Why,  this  is  he. 
That  kiss'd  away  his  hand  in  courtesy ; 
This  is  the  ape  of  form,  monsieur  the  nice. 
That,  when  he  plays  at  tables,  chides  the  dice 

'I  Are  angels  vailing  clouds,']  i.  e.  Letting  those  clouds  which  obscured  their 
brightness,  sink  from  before  them. — Johnson. 

«■  Wu.sieh,']  Waesheal,  that  is,  be  of  health,  was  a  salutation  first  used  by 
the  lady  Rowena  to  King  Vortigem.  Afterward  it  became  a  custom  in  vil- 
lages, on  new  year's  eve  and  twelfth-night,  to  carry  a  wassel  or  walssail  bowl  from 
bouse  to  house,  which  was  presented  with  tlie  Saxon  words  above  mentioned. 
Hence  in  process  of  time  wassel  signified  intemperance  in  drinking,  and  also  a 
meeting  for  the  purpose  of  festivity. — Mai-one. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  11.  389 

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  while  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  Armado's  page  out  of  his  part ! 

Enter  the  Princess,  usher'd  hx)  Boyet;   Rosaline, 
Maria,  Katharine,  and  Attendants. 

Biron.  See  where  it  comes ! — Behaviour,  what  wert  thou. 
Till  this  man  show'd  thee  ?  and  what  art  thou  now  ? 
King.  All  hail,  sweet  madam,  and  fair  time  of  day  ! 
Prin.  Fair,  in  all  hail,  is  foul,  as  I  conceive. 
King.  Construe  my  speeches  better,  if  you  may. 
Prin.  Then  wish  me  better,  I  will  give  you  leave. 
King.  We  came  to  visit  you;  and  pui-pose  now 
To  lead  you  to  our  court :  vouchsafe  it  then. 
Piin.  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  eye  must  break  my  oath. 
Pri7i.  You   nick-name  virtue  :   vice  you    should  have 
For  virtue's  office  never  breaks  men's  troth,  [spoke; 
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  1  hate  a  breaking-cause  to  be 
Of  heavenly  oaths,  vow'd  with  integrity. 
King.  O,  you  have  liv'd  in  desolation  here, 

Unseen,  unvisited,  much  to  our  shame. 
Prin.  Not  so,  my  lord,  it  is  not  so,  I  swear ; 
We  have  had  pastimes  here,  and  pleasant  game ; 
A  mess  of  Russians  left  us  but  of  late. 

'  A  mean—]  The  mean  in  musick,  is  the  tenor. — Steevens. 
VOL.  II.  2    D 


390  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

King.  How,  madam  ?  Russians  ? 

Pri?i.  Ay,  in  truth,  my  lord  ; 

Trim  gallants,  full  of  courtship,  and  of  state. 

Ros.  Madam,  speak  true  : — It  is  not  so,  my  lord  ; 
My  lady  (to  the  manner  of  the  days,) 
In  courtesy,  gives  undeserving  praise.* 
We  four,  indeed,  confronted  here  with  four 
In  Russian  habit;  here  they  stay'd  an  hour. 
And  talk'd  apace  ;  and  in  that  hour,  my  lord. 
They  did  not  bless  us  with  one  happy  word. 
I  dare  not  call  them  fools  ;  but  this  I  think. 
When  they  are  thirsty,  fools  would  fain  have  drink. 

Biron.  This  jest  is  dry  to  me. — Fair,  gentle  sweet. 
Your  wit  makes  wise  things  foolish  ;  when  we  greet 
With  eyes  best  seeing  heaven's  fiery  eye. 
By  light  we  lose  light :  Your  capacity 
Is  of  that  nature,  that  to  your  huge  store 
Wise  things  seem  foolish,  and  rich  things  but  poor. 

Ros.  This  proves  you  wise  and  rich,  for  in  my  eye, — 

Biron.  I  am  a  fool,  and  full  of  poverty. 

Ros.  But  that  you  take  what  doth  to  you  belong. 
It  were  a  fault  to  snatch  words  from  my  tongue. 

Biron.  O,  I  am  yours,  and  all  that  I  possess. 

Ros.  All  the  fool  mine  ? 

Biron.  I  cannot  give  you  less. 

Ros.  Which  of  the  visors  was  it,  that  you  wore  ?   [this  ? 

Biron.  Where  ?  when  ?  what  visor  ?  why  demand  you 

Ros.  There,  then,  that  visor ;  that  superfluous  case. 
That  hid  the  worse,  and  show'd  the  better  face. 

King.  We  are  descried:  they'll  mock  us  now  down- 
right. 

Dum.  Let  us  confess,  and  turn  it  to  a  jest. 

Prin.  Amaz'd,  my  lord?  Why  looks  your  highness  sad? 

Ros.  Help,  hold  his  brows  !  he'll  swoon !    Why  look 
you  pale  ? — 
Sea-sick,  I  think,  coming  from  Muscovy. 

'  My  lady  (to  the  manner  of  the  days,^ 
In  courtesy ,  gives  undeserving  praise.^   To  the  manner  of  the  days,  means  ac- 
cording to  the  manner  of  the  times.     Gives  undeserving  praise,  means  praise  to 
wliat  does  not  deserve  it. — M.  Mason. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  II.  39t 

Biron.  Thus  pour  the  stars  down  plagues  for  perjury. 

Can  any  face  of  brass  hold  longer  out  ? 
Here  stand  I,  lady  ;  dart  thy  skill  at  me  ; 

Bruise  me  with  scorn,  confound  me  with  a  flout ; 
Thrust  thy  sharp  wit  quite  through  my  ignorance ; 

Cut  me  to  pieces  with  thy  keen  conceit  j 
And  I  will  wish  thee  never  more  to  dance. 

Nor  never  more  in  Russian  habit  wait. 

0  !  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  affectation, 
Figures  pedantical ;  these  summer-flies 

Have  blown  me  full  of  maggot  ostentation : 

1  do  forswear  them  :  and  I  here  protest. 

By  this  white  glove,   (how    white   the    hand,    God 
Henceforth  my  wooing  mind  shall  be  express'd    [knows  !) 

In  russet  yeas,  and  honest  kersey  noes  : 
And,  to  begin  wench, — so  God  help  me,  la ! — 
My  love  to  thee  is  sound,  sans  crack  or  flaw. 

Ros.  Sans  sans,  I  pray  you.* 

Biron.  Yet  I  have  a  trick 

Of  the  old  rage : — ^bear  with  me,  I  am  sick  ; 
I'll  leave  it  by  degrees.     Soft,  let  us  see; — 
Write,  Lord  have  mercy  on  us,""  on  those  three; 
They  are  infected,  in  their  hearts  it  lies  ; 
They  have  the  plague,  and  caught  it  of  your  eyes : 
These  lords  are  visited  ;  you  are  not  free. 
For  the  Lord's  tokens  on  you  do  I  see. 

Prin.  No,  they  are  free,  that  gave  these  tokens  to  us. 

Biron.  Our  states  are  forfeit,  seek  not  to  undo  us. 

" my  friend  ;]  i.  e.  Mistress. — Steevens. 

*  Three-pil'd  hyperboles,']  A  metaphor  from  the  ■pile  of  velvet. 

y  Sans  Sans,  I  pray  you.']  i.  e.  Without  Sans;  -without  French  words  :  an 
affectation  of  which  Biron  had  been  guilty  in  the  last  line  of  his  speech,  though 
just  before  he  had  forsworn  all  affectation  in  phrases,  terms,  &c. — Tyrwhitt. 

^  Write,  Lord  have  mercy  on  ns,]  This  was  the  inscription  put  upon  the 
doors  of  the  houses  infected  with  the  plague,  to  which  Biron  compares  the 
love  of  himself  and  his  companions ;  and  pursuing  the  metaphor  finds  the 
tokens  likewise  on  the  ladies.  The  tokens  of  the  plague  are  the  first  spots  or 
discolorations;  by  which  the  infection  is  known  to  be  received. — Johnson. 

2d2 


392  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

Ros.  It  is  not  so  ;  For  how  can  this  be  true, 
That  you  stand  forfeit,  being  those  that  sue  ? 

Biron.  Peace ;  for  I  will  not  have  to  do  with  you. 

Ros.  Nor  shall  not,  if  I  do  as  I  intend. 

Biron.  Speak  for  yourselves,  my  wit  is  at  an  end. 

King.  Teach  us,  sweet  madam,  for  our  rude  transgres- 
Some  fair  excuse.  [sion 

Prin.  The  fairest  is  confession. 

Were  you  not  here,  but  even  now,  disguis'd  ? 

King.  Madam,  I  was. 

Prin.  And  were  you  well  advis'd  ? 

King.  I  was,  fair  madam. 

Prin.  When  you  then  were  here. 

What  did  you  whisper  in  your  lady's  ear  ? 

King.  That  more  than  all  the  world  I  did  respect  her. 

Prin.  When  she  shall  challenge  this,  you  will  reject  her. 

King.  Upon  mine  honour,  no. 

Prin.  Peace,  peace,  forbear  ; 

Your  oath  once  broke,  you  force  not  to  forswear.* 

King.  Despise  me,  when  I  break  this  oath  of  mine. 

Prin.  I  will :  and  therefore  keep  it : — Rosaline, 
What  did  the  Russian  whisper  in  your  ear  ? 

Ros.  Madam,  he  swore  that  he  did  hold  me  dear 
As  precious  eye-sight ;  and  did  value  me 
Above  this  world  :  adding  thereto,  moreover. 
That  he  would  wed  me,  or  else  die  my  lover. 

Prin.  God  give  thee  joy  of  him  !  the  noble  lord 
Most  honourable  doth  uphold  his  word. 

King.  What  mean  you,  madam?  by  my  life,  my  troth, 
1  never  swore  this  lady  such  an  oath. 

Ros.  By  heaven,  you  did  ;  and  to  confirm  it  plain. 
You  gave  me  this  :  but  take  it,  sir,  again. 

King.  My  faith,  and  this,  the  princess  I  did  give ; 
I  knew  her  by  this  jewel  on  her  sleeve. 

Prin.  Pardon  me,  sir,  this  jewel  did  she  wear; 
And  lord  Biron,  I  thank  him,  is  my  dear: — 
What ;  will  you  have  me,  or  your  pearl  again  ? 

". 2^014  force  not  toforsiceur.     You  force  not  is  the  same  with  you  make  no 

difficutty.     This  is  a  very  just  observation.     The  crime  whicli  has  been  once 
committed,  is  committed  again  with  less  reluctance. — Johnson. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  II.  393 

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  : 
Some  carry-tale,  some  please-man,  some  slight  zany,"= 
Some  mumble-news,  some  trencher-knight,  some  Dick, — 
That  smiles  his  cheek  in  years  f  and  knows  the  trick 
To  make  my  lady  laugh,  when  she's  dispos'd, — 
Told  our  intents  before  :  which  once  disclos'd. 
The  ladies  did  change  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  Bo  yet. 
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  shrowd. 
You  leer  upon  me,  do  you  ?  there's  an  eye. 
Wounds  like  a  leaden  sword. 

Boijet.  Full  merrily 

Hath  this  brave  manage,  this  career,  been  run. 

Biron.  Lo,  he  is  tilting  straight !  Peace;  I  have  done. 

Enter  Costard. 

Welcome,  pure  wit !  thou  partest  a  fair  fray. 

Cost.  O.  lord,  sir,  they  would  know. 
Whether  the  three  worthies  shall  come  in,  or  no. 

Biron.  What,  are  there  but  three  ? 

b a  consent,]  i.  e.  A  conspiracy. — Steevens. 

c zany,']  A  zany  is  a  buffoon,  a  merry  Andrew. 

d his  cheekin  years  ;]   In  years,  signifies,  into  wrinkles. — Warburton. 

e hy  the  squire,]  From  esquiei~re,  French,  a  rule,  or  square.     The  sense 

is  nearly  the  same  as  that  of  the  proverbial  expression  in  our  own  language, 
he  hath  got  the  length  of  her  foot ;  i.  e.  he  hath  humoured  her  so  long  that  he 
can  persuade  her  to  what  he  pleases. — Heath. 

f Go,  you  are  allow'd  ;]  i.  e.  You  may  say  what  you  will ;  you  are  a  li- 
censed fool,  a  common  jester. — Warburton. 


394  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

Cost.  No,  sir  ;  but  it  is  vara  fine, 

^or  every  one  pursents  three. 

Biroii.  And  three  times  thrice  is  nine. 

Cost.  Not  so,  sir;  under  correction,  sir;  I  hope,  it  is 
not  so  : 
You  cannot  beg  us,8  sir,  I  can  assure  you,  sir  ;  we  know 

what  we  know  : 
I  hope,  sir,  three  times  thrice,  sir, — 

Biron.  Is  not  nine. 

Cost.  Under  correction,  sir,  we  know  whereuntil  it  doth 
amount. 

Biron.  By  Jove,  I  always  took  three  threes  for  nine. 
Cost.  O  Lord,  sir,  it  were  pity  you  should  get  your 

living  by  reckoning,  sir. 
Biron.  How  much  is  it? 

Cost.  O  Lord,  sir,  the  parties  themselves,  the  actors,  sir, 
will  show  whereuntil  it  doth  amount :  for  my  own  part,  I 
am,  as  they  say,  but  to  parfect  one  man, — e'en  one  poor 
man  ;  Pompion  the  great,  sir. 

Biron.  Art  thou  one  of  the  worthies  ? 
Cost.  It  pleased  them,  to  think  me  worthy  of  Pompion 
the  great :  for  mine  own  part,  I  know  not  the  degree  of  the 
worthy ;  but  I  am  to  stand  for  him. 
Biron.  Go,  bid  them  prepare. 

Cost.  We  will  turn  it  finely  off,  sir ;  we  will  take  some 
care.  [Exit  Costard. 

King.  Biron,  they  will  shame  us,  let  them  not  approach. 
Biron.  We  are  shame-proof,  my  lord  :  and  'tis   some 
policy 
To  have  one  show  worse  than  the  king's  and  his  company. 
King.  I  say,  they  shall  not  come. 
Prin.  Nay,  my  good  lord,  let  me  o'er-rule  you  now  ; 
That  sport  best  pleases,  that  doth  least  know  how  : 
Where  zeal  strives  to  content,  and  the  contents 
Die  in  the  zeal  of  them  which  it  presents,*" 

8  You  cannot  beg  us,"]  That  is,  we  are  not  fools  ;  our  next  relations  cannot 
beg  the  wardship  of  our  persons  and  fortunes. — Johnson. 

••  Die  in  tlie  zeal  of  them  which  it  presents,']  The  word  it  I  believe,  refers  to 
sport.  That  sport,  says  the  princess,  pleases  best,  where  the  actors  are  least  skilful ; 
where  zeal  strives  to  please,  and  the  contents,  or  (as  these  exhibitions  are  imme- 
diately afterwards  called)  great  things,  f^rent  attemjits,  perish  in  the  very  act  of 
being  produced,  from  the  ardent  zeal  of  those  who  present  the  spo7-tive  intertain- 


ACT  v.— SCENE  II.  395 

Their  form  confounded  makes  most  form  in  mirth  ; 
When  great  things  laboming  perish  in  their  birth. 
Biron.  A  right  description  of  our  sport,  my  lord. 

Enter  Arm  a  do. 

Arm.  Anointed,  I  implore  so  much  expence  of  thy  royal 
sweet  breath,  as  will  utter  a  brace  of  words. 

[Arm  A  no  converses  with  the  King,  and  delivers 
him  a  paper. 

Prin.  Doth  this  man  serve  God  ? 

Biron.  Why  ask  you  ? 

Prin.  He  speaks  not  lik6  a  man  of  God's  making. 

Arm.  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  della  guerra.  I  wish  you  the  peace  of 
mind,  most  royal  couplement!  [Exit  Armado. 

King.  Here  is  like  to  be  a  good  presence  of  worthies  : 
He  presents  Hector  of  Troy ;  the  swain,  Pompey  the  great ; 
the  parish  curate,  Alexander ;  Armado's  page,  Hercules ; 
the  pedant,  Judas  Machabaeus. 
And  if  these  four  worthies  in  their  first  show  thrive. 
These  four  will  change  habits,  and  present  the  other  five. 

Biron.  There  is  five  in  the  first  show. 

King.  You  are  deceiv'd,  'tis  not  so. 

Biron.  The  pedant,  the  braggart,  the  hedge-priest,  the 
fool  and  the  boy  : — 

Abate  a  throw  at  novum  ;'  and  the  whole  world  again, 
Cannot  prick  out  five  such,  take  each  one  in  his  vein. 

King.  The  ship  is  under  sail,  and  here  she  comes  amain. 
[Seats  brought  for  the  King,  Princess,  S^c. 

Pageant  of  the  Nine  Worthies. 

Enter  Costard  arm' d,  for  Pompey. 

Cost.  I  Pompey  am, 

Boyet.  You  lie,  you  are  not  he. 

mmt.  To  "present  a  play"  is  still  the  phrase  of  the  theatre.  It  however 
may  refer  to  contents,  and  that  word  may  mean  the  most  material  part  of  the 
exhibition. — Ma  lo  n  e. 

'  Abate  a  throw  at  novum  ;]  Noviivi  (or  novem)  appears  from  a  passage  in 
Green's  Art  of  Legerdemain,  1612,  to  have  been  some  game  at  dice. — 
Steevens. 


396  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

Cost.  /  Pompey  am,- 


Boyet.  With  libbard's''  head  on  knee. 

Biron.  Well  said,  old  mocker ;  I  must  needs  be  friends 
with  thee. 

Cost.   /  Pornpey  am,  Ponipey  surnam'd  the  big. — 

Dum.  The  great. 

Cost.  It  is  great,  sir ; —  Pnmpey  surnam'd  the  great ; 
That  oft  in  field,  with  targe  and  shield,  did  make  my  foe  to 

sweat ; 
And,  travelling  along  this  coast,  I  here  am  come  by  chance ; 
And  lay  my  arms  before  the  legs  of  this  siveet  lass  of  France. 
If  your  ladyship  would  say,  Thanks,  Pompey,  I  had  done. 

Prin.  Great  thanks,  great  Pompey. 

Cost.  'Tis  not  so  much  worth ;  but,  I  hope,  I  was  per- 
fect :  I  made  a  little  fault  in,  great. 

Biron.  My  hat  to  a  halfpenny,  Pompey  proves  the  best 
worthy. 

Enter  Nathaniel  arm'd,  for  Alexander. 

Nath.     When  in  the  world   I  liv'd,    I  was  the  -world's 
commander ; 
By  east,  west,  north,  and  south,  I  spread  my  conquering  might : 
My  'scutcheon  plain  declares,  that  I  am  Alisander. 

Boyet.  Your  nose  says,  no,  you  are  not ;  for  it  stands 
too  right.' 

Biron.    Your  nose    smells,  no,   ni   this,    most  tender- 
smelling  knight. 

Prin.  The  conqueror  is  dismay 'd  :  Proceed,  good  Alex- 
ander. 

Nath.   When  in  the  world  I  liv'd,  I  was  the  world's  com- 
mander. 

Boyet.  Most  true,  'tis  right ;  you  were  so,  Alisander. 

Biron.  Pompey  the  great, — 

(^ost.  Your  servant,  and  Costard. 

Biron.  Take  away  the  conqueror,  take  away  Alisander. 

•' ;-  libbard — ]  i.  e.  Leopard,  Liehard,  German. — Narf.s's  Glossary.     The 

old  heroic  habits  on  the  knees  and  shoulders  had  usually,  by  way  of  ornament, 
the  resemblance  of  a  leopard's  or  lion's  head. — Wahburton. 

' '*  stands  too  right.]  It  should  be  remembered,  to  relish  this  joke,  that 

the  head  of  Alexander  was  obliquely  placed  on  his  shoulders.— Steevens. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  II.  397 

Cost.  O,  sir,  \_to  Nath.]  you  have  overthrown  AU- 
sander  the  conqueror !  You  will  be  scraped  out  of  the 
painted  cloth  for  this  :  your  lion,  that  holds  his  poll-ax 
sitting  on  a  close  stool,""  will  be  given  to  A-jax  :"  he  will 
be  the  ninth  worthy.  A  conqueror,  and  afeard  to  speak! 
run  away  for  shame,  Alisandev.  [Nath.  retires.^  There, 
an't  shall  please  you  ;  a  foolish  mild  man ;  an  honest  man, 
look  you,  and  soon  dash'd  !  He  is  a  marvellous  good 
neighbour,  insooth ;  and  a  very  good  bowler :  but,  for 
Alisander,  alas,  you  see,  how  'tis; — a  little  o'er-parted :" 
But  there  are  worthies  a  coming  will  speak  their  mind  in 
some  other  sort. 

Prin.  Stand  aside,  good  Pompey. 

jEn^er  HoLOFERNEs  arm' d,  for  Judas,  and  Moth  arm'd, 
for  Hercules. 

Hoi.  Great  Hercules  is  presented  bi/  this  imp. 

Whose  club  kill'd  Cerberus,  that  three-headed  canus  ; 
A7id,  when  he  icas  a  babe,  a  child,  a  shrimp. 

Thus  did  he  strangle  serpents  in  his  manus  : 
Quoniam,  he  seemeth  in  minority ; 
Ergo,  I  come  ivith  this  apology. — 
Keep  some  state  in  thy  exit,  and  vanish.        \_Exit  Moth. 

Hoi.  Judas  I  am, — 

Dum.  A  Judas  ! 

Hoi.  Not  Iscariot,  sir. — 
Judas  I  am,  ycleped  MachabeEus. 

Dum.  Judas  Machabaeus  dipt,  is  plain  Judas. 

Biron.  A  kissing  traitor : — How  art  thou  prov'd  Judas  ? 

Hoi.  Judas,  I  am, — 

Dum.  The  more  shame  for  you,  Judas. 

Hoi.  What  mean  you,  sir? 

Boyet.  To  make  Judas  hang  himself. 

m  that  holds  his  poll-ax  sitting  on  a  close-stool,]     This  alludes  to  the 

arms  given  in  the  old  history  of  The  Nitte  Worthies,  to  "  Alexander,  the  which 
did  beare  gules,  a  lion  or,  seiante  in  a  chayer,  holding  a  battle-axe  argent." — 
Leigh's  Accidence  of  Armoury,  1597,  p.  23. — Tollet. 

■> A-jax:]     There  is  a  conceit  oi  Ajai  dinA  a.jakes. — Johnson.     This 

conceit,  paltry  as  it  is,  was  used  by  Ben  Jonson,  and  Camden  the  antiquary. — 
Steevens. 

o  a  little  o'er-parted :]     That  is,  the  part  or  character  allotted  to  him 

in  this  piece  is  too  considerable. — Ma  lone. 


398  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

Hoi.  Begin,  sir  ;  you  are  my  elder. 

Biron.  Well  follow'd  :  Judas  was  hang'd  on  an  elder. 

Hoi.  I  will  not  be  put  out  of  countenance. 

Biron.  Because  thou  hast  no  face. 

Hoi.  What  is  this  ? 

Boi/et.  A  cittern  head.'' 

Dum.  The  head  of  a  bodkin. 

Biron.  A  death's  face  in  a  ring. 

Long.  The  face  of  an  old  Roman  coin,  scarce  seen. 

Boyet.  The  pummel  of  Caesar's  faulchion. 

Dum.  The  carv'd-bone  face  on  a  flask.i 

Biron.  St.  George's  half-cheek  in  a  brooch. 

Dum.  Ay,  and  in  a  brooch  of  lead. 

Biron.  Ay,  and  worn  in  the  cap  of  a  tooth-drawer: 
And  now,  foi^ward ;  for  we  have  put  thee  in  countenance. 

Hoi.  You  have  put  me  out  of  countenance. 

Biron.  False  :  we  have  given  thee  faces. 

Hoi.  But  you  have  out-fac'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  !  nay,  why  dost  thou  stay  ? 

Dum.  For  the  latter  end  of  his  name.  [away. 

Biron.  For  the  ass  to  the  Jude ;  give  it  him  : — Jud-as, 

Hoi.  This  is  not  generous,  not  gentle,  not  humble. 

Boyet.  A  light  for  monsieur  Judas  :  it  grows  dark,  he 
may  stumble. 

Prin.  Alas,  poor  Machabaeus,  how  hath  he  been  baited ! 

Enter  Arm  a  do  arm' d,  for  Hector. 

Biron.  Hide  thy  head,  Achilles ;  here  comes  Hector  in 
arms. 

Dum.  Though  my  mocks  come  home  by  me,  I  will  now 
be  merry. 

King.  Hector  was  but  a  Trojan"  in  respect  of  this. 

Boyet.  But  is  this  Hector? 

P  A  cittern  head.]  Cittern  was  a  musical  instrument,  like  a  guitar,  which 
had  usually  a  head  grotesquely  carved  at  the  extremity  of  the  neck  and  finger- 
board.— Nares's  Glossary. 

'I ojt  a  flask.]    i.e.   A  soldier's  powder-horn. — Steevens. 

■■  Hector  luas  hut  a  Trojan — ]  A  Trojan  was,  in  the  time  of  Shakspeare,  a 
cant  term  for  a  thief. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  II.  399 

Dum.  I  think.  Hector  was  not  so  clean-timber'd. 
Long.  His  leg  is  too  big  for  Hector. 
Dum.  More  calf,  certain. 
Boyet.  No ;  he  is  best  indued  in  the  small. 
Biron.  This  cannot  be  Hector. 
Dum.  He's  a  god  or  a  painter ;  for  he  makes  faces. 
Arm.   The  armipolent  Mars,  of  lances^  the  almighty. 
Gave  Hector  a  gift, — 
Dum.  A  gilt  nutmeg. 
Biron.  A  lemon. 
Long.  Stuck  with  cloves. 
Dum.  No,  cloven. 
Arm.  Peace ! 
The  armipotent  Mars,  of  lances  the  almighty. 

Gave  Hector  a  gift,  the  heir  of  llion ; 
A  man  so  breathed,  that  certain  he  would  fght,  yea 

From  morn  till  night,  out  of  his  pavilion. 
I  am  that  fio%oer , — 

Dum.  That  mint. 

Long.  That  columbine. 

Arm.  Sweet  lord  Longaville,  rein  thy  tongue. 
Long.  I  must  rather  give  it  the  rein,  for  it  runs  against 
Hector. 

Dum.  Ay,  and  Hector's  a  greyhound. 
Arm.  The  sweet  war-man  is  dead  and  rotten ;  sweet 
chucks,  beat  not  the  bones  of  the  buried :  when  he  breath 'd, 
he  was  a  man — But  I  will  forward  with  my  device :  Sweet 
royalty,  \to  the  Princess.]  bestow  on  me  the  sense  of  hear- 
ing. [Biron  whispers  Costard. 
Prin.  Speak,  brave  Hector :  we  are  much  delighted. 
Arm.  I  do  adore  thy  sweet  grace's  slipper. 
Boyet.  Loves  her  by  the  foot. 
Dum.  He  may  not  by  the  yard. 
Arm.  This  Hector  far  surmounted  Hannibal, — 
Cost.  The  party  is  gone,  fellow  Hector,  she  is  gone  ; 
she  is  two  months  on  her  way. 
Arm.  What  meanest  thou  ? 
Cost.  Faith,  unless  you  play  the  honest  Trojan,  the  poor 

■  o/' lances — ]  i.e.  Of  lance-men. 


400  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

wench  is  cast  away  :  she's  quick  ;  the  child  brags  in  her 
belly  already;  'tis  yours. 

Arm.  Dost  thou  infamonize  me  among  potentates?  thou 
shalt  die. 

Cost.  Then  shall  Hector  be  whipp'd,  for  Jaquenetta  that 
is  quick  by  him ;  and  hang'd,  for  Pompey  that  is  dead  by 
him. 

Dum.  Most  rare  Pompey  ! 

Boyet.  Renowned  Pompey  ! 

Biron.  Greater  than  great,  great,  great,  great  Pompey  ! 
Pompey  the  huge  ! 

Dum.  Hector  trembles. 

Biron.  Pompey  is  mov'd  : — More  Ates,'  more  Ates ;  stir 
them  on  !  stir  them  on  ! 

Dum.  Hector  will  challenge  him. 

Biron.  Ay,  if  he  have  no  more  man's  blood  in's  belly 
than  will  sup  a  flea. 

Arm.  By  the  north  pole,  I  do  challenge  thee. 

Cost.  I  will  not  fight  with  a  pole,  like  a  northern  man ;" 
I'll  slash;  I'll  do  it  by  the  sword: — I  pray  you,  let  me 
borrow  my  arms  again. 

Dum.  Room  for  the  incensed  worthies. 

Cost.  I'll  do  it  in  my  shirt. 

Dum.  Most  resolute  Pompey  ! 

Moth.  Master,  let  me  take  you  a  button-hole  lower.  Do 
you  not  see,  Pompey  is  uncasing  for  the  combat  ?  What 
mean  you?  you  will  lose  your  reputation. 

Ay-m.  Gentlemen  and  soldiers,  pardon  me ;  I  will  not 
combat  in  my  shirt. 

Dum.  You  may  not  deny  it ;  Pompey  hath  made  the 
challenge. 

Aim.  Sweet  bloods,  I  both  may  and  will. 

Biron.  What  reason  have  you  for't  ? 

Arm.  The  naked  truth  of  it  is,  I  have  no  shirt;  I  go 
wool  ward"  for  penance. 

t  More  Ates ;]  That  is,  more  instigation.     Ate  was  the  mischievous 

goddess  that  incited  bloodshed. — Johnson. 

u  tike  a  northern  man ;]   Vir  boreulis,  a  clown. 

X woolward — ]  To  go  woolward  1  believe  was  a  phrase  appropriated  to 

pilgrims  and  penitentiaries. — T.  Warton. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  II.  401 

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  Jaquenetta's  ;  and  that  'a  wears  next  his 
heart,  for  a  favour. 

Enter  Mercade. 

Mer.  God  save  you,  madam  ! 

Prin.  Welcome,  Mercade  ; 
But  that  thou  interrupt'st  our  merriment. 

Mer.  I  am  sorry,  madam  ;  for  the  news  I  bring. 
Is  heavy  in  my  tongue.     The  king  your  father — 

Prin.  Dead,  for  my  life. 

Mer.   Even  so  ;  my  tale  is  told. 

Biron.  Worthies,  away  ;  the  scene  begins  to  cloud. 

Arm.  For  mine  own  part,  I  breathe  free  breath  :  I  have 
seen  the  day  of  wrong  through  the  little  hole  of  discre- 
tion, and  I  will  right  myself  like  a  soldier. 

lExeunt  Woj'thies. 

King.  How  fares  your  majesty  ? 

Prin.  Boyet,  prepare  ;  I  will  away  to-night. 

King.  Madam,  not  so ;  I  do  beseech  you,  stay. 

Prin.  Prepare,  I  say. — I  thank  you,  gracious  lords. 
For  all  your  fair  endeavours  ;  and  entreat. 
Out  of  a  new-sad  soul,  that  you  vouchsafe 
In  your  rich  wisdom,  to  excuse,  or  hide. 
The  liberal^  opposition  of  our  spirits  : 
If  over-boldly  we  have  borne  ourselves 
In  the  converse  of  breath,^  your  gentleness 
Was  guilty  of  it, — Farewell,  worthy  lord  ! 
A  heavy  heart  bears  not  an  humble  tongue  : 
Excuse  me  so,  coming  so  short  of  thanks 
For  my  great  suit  so  easily  obtain'd. 

Kitig.  The  extreme  parts  of  time  extremely  form 
All  causes  to  the  purpose  of  his  speed  ; 
And  often,  at  his  very  loose,  decides* 
That  which  long  process  could  not  arbitrate : 

y liberal — ]  Free  to  excess. 

z  In  the  converse  if  breath,']  Perhaps  vonierse  may,  in  this  line,  mean  inter- 
change. — J  o  h  n  so  n. 

a  And  often,  at  his  very  loose,  decides,  &c.]  At  his  very  loose,  may  mean  at 
the  moment  of  his  parting,  i.  e.  of  his  getting  loose,  or  away  from  us. — Steevens, 


402  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

And  though  the  mourning  brow  of  progeny 

Forbid  the  smiling  courtesy  of  love. 

The  holy  suit  which  fain  it  would  convince  ;!> 

Yet,  since  love's  argument  was  first  on  foot. 

Let  not  the  cloud  of  sorrow  justle  it 

From  what  it  purpos'd  ;  since,  to  wail  friends  lost. 

Is  not  by  much  so  wholesome,  profitable. 

As  to  rejoice  at  friends  but  newly  found. 

Prin.  I  understand  you  not ;  my  griefs  are  double.'^ 
Biron.    Honest    plain   words  best  pierce   the  ear   of 

And  by  these  badges  understand  the  king.  [grief; — 

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  uubefitting  strains  ; 

All  wanton  as  a  child,  skipping,  and  vain ; 

Form'd  by  the  eye,  and  therefore,  like  the  eye 

Full  of  strange  shapes,  of  habits,  and  of  forms, 

Varying  in  subjects  as  the  eye  doth  roll 

To  every  varied  object  in  his  glance  : 

Which  party-coated  presence  of  loose  love 

Put  on  by  us,  if,  in  your  heavenly  eyes. 

Have  misbecom'd  our  oaths  and  gravities. 

Those  heavenly  eyes,  that  look  into  these  faults. 

Suggested  us^  to  make  :  Therefore,  ladies. 

Our  love  being  yours,  the  error  that  love  makes 

Is  likewise  yours  :  we  to  ourselves  prove  false. 

By  being  once  false  for  ever  to  be  true 

To  those  that  make  us  both, — fair  ladies,  you  : 

And  even  that  falsehood,  in  itself  a  sin. 

Thus  purifies  itself,  and  turns  to  grace. 

Prin.  We  have  receiv'd  your  letters,  full  of  love  ; 

Your  favours,  the  embassadors  of  love  ; 

b  v:hichfain  it  would  convince :]  I  believe  that  the  words  which  fain  it 

would  convince,  mean  what  it  would  wish  to  succeed  in  obtaining. — M.  Mason. 

<:  I  understand  you  not ;  my  griefs  are  double.]  1  suppose,  she  means,  1.  On 
account  of  the  death  of  her  father ;  2.  On  account  of  not  understanding  the 
king's  meaning. — Malone. 

"^  Suggested  us — ]  That  is,  tempted  us. — Johnson. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  II.  403 

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  loves 
In  their  own  fashion,  like  a  merriment. 

Dum.  Our  letters,  madam,  show'd  much  more  than  jest. 

Long.  So  did  our  looks. 

Ros.  We  did  not  quote  them  so. 

King.  Now,  at  the  latest  minute  of  the  hour, 
Grant  us  your  loves. 

Priu.  A  time,  methinks,  too  short 

To  make  a  vvorld-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  ; 
Where  stay,  until  the  twelve  celestial  signs 
Have  brought  about  their  annual  reckoning  : 
If  this  austere  insociable  life 
Change  not  your  offer  made  in  heat  of  blood  ; 
If  frosts,  and  fasts,  hard  lodging,  and  thin  weeds, 
Nip  not  the  gaudy  blossoms  of  your  love. 
But  that  it  bear  this  trial,  and  last  love  ;^ 
Then,  at  the  expiration  of  the  year. 
Come  challenge,  challenge  me  by  these  deserts. 
And,  by  this  virgin  palm,  now  kissing  thine, 
I  will  be  thine  ;  and,  till  that  instant,  shut 
My  woeful  ^elf  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, 

<^  As  bombast,]  Bombast  was  a  kind  of  loose  texture  not  unlike  what  is  now 
called  wadding,  used  to  give  the  dresses  of  that  time  bulk  and  protuberance, 
without  much  increase  of  weight. — Johnson. 

f and  last  love  :]  Means,  if  to  contimie  to  be  love.— Steevens. 


404  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

To  flatter  up  these  powers  of  mine  with  rest. 
The  sudden  hand  of  death  close  up  mine  eye  ! 

Hence  ever  then  my  heart  is  in  thy  breast. 

Biron.  And  what  to  me,  my  love?  and  what  to  me? 

Ros.  You  must  be  purged  too,  your  sins  are  rank  ; 
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. 

Dum.  But  what  to  me,  my  love  ?  but  what  to  me  ? 

Kath.  A  wife ! — A  beard,  fair  health,  and  honesty ; 
With  three-fold  love  I  wish  you  all  these  three. 

Dum.  O,  shall  I  say,  I  thank  you,  gentle  wife  ? 

Kath.  Not  so,  my  lord  ; — a  twelvemonth  and  a  day 
I'll  mark  no  words  that  smooth-fac'd  wooers  say  : 
Come  when  the  king  doth  to  my  lady  come. 
Then,  if  I  have  much  love,  I'll  give  you  some. 

Dum.  I'll  serve  thee  true  and  faithfully  till  then. 

Kath.  Yet  swear  not,  lest  you  be  forsworn  again. 

Long.  What  says  Maria  ? 

Mar.  At  the  twelvemonth's  end, 

I'll  change  my  black  gown  for  a  faithful  friend. 

Long.  I'll  stay  with  patience ;  but  the  time  is  long. 

Mar.  The  liker  you  ;  few  taller  are  so  young. 

Biron.  Studies  my  lady  ?  mistress,  look  on  me. 
Behold  the  window  of  my  heart,  mine  eye, 
What  humble  suit  attends  thy  answer  there  ; 
Impose  some  service  on  me  for  thy  love. 

Ros.  Oft  have  I  heard  of  you,  my  lord  Biron, 
Before  I  saw  you  :  and  the  world's  large  tongue 
Proclaims  you  for  a  man  replete  with  mocks ; 
Full  of  comparisons,  and  wounding  flouts  ; 
Which  you  on  all  estates  will  execute. 
That  lie  within  the  mercy  of  your  wit : 
To  weed  this  wormwood  from  your  fruitful  brain  ; 
And,  therewithal,  to  win  me,  if  you  please, 
(Without  the  which  I  am  not  to  be  won,) 
You  shall  this  twelvemonth  term  from  day  to  day 
Visit  the  speechless  sick,  and  still  converse 
With  groaning  wretches  ;  and  your  task  shall  be. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  II.  405 

With  all  the  fierce  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. 

Ros.  Why,  that's  the  way  to  choke  a  gibing  spirit. 
Whose  influence  is  begot  of  that  loose  grace, 
Which  shallow  laughing  hearers  give  to  fools : 
A  jest's  prosperity  lies  in  the  ear 
Of  him  that  hears  it,  never  in  the  tongue 
Of  him  that  makes  it :  then,  if  sickly  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  your  reformation. 

Biron.  A  twelvemonth  ?  well,  befal  what  will  befal, 
I'll  jest  a  twelvemonth  in  an  hospital. 

Prin.  Ay,  sweet  my  lord;  and  so  I  take  my  leave. 

[To  the  King. 

King.  No,  madam :  we  will  bring  you  on  your  way. 

Biron.  Our  wooing  doth  not  end  like  an  old  play ; 
Jack  hath  not  Jill :  these  ladies'  courtesy 
Might  well  have  made  our  sport  a  comedy. 

King.  Come,  sir,  it  wants  a  twelvemonth  and  a  day, 
And  then  'twill  end. 

Biron.  That's  too  long  for  a  play. 

Enter  Armado. 

Arm.  Sweet  majesty,  vouchsafe  me, — 

Prin.  Was  not  that  Hector  ? 

Dum.  The  worthy  knight  of  Troy. 

Arm.  I  will  kiss  thy  royal  finger,  and  take  leave  :  I  am 
a  votary  ;  I  have  vowed  to  Jaquenetta  to  hold  the  plough 
for  her  sweet  love  three  years.  But,  most  esteemed  great- 
ness, will  you  hear  the  dialogue  that  the  two  learned  men 
have  compiled,  in  praise  of  the  owl  and  the  cuckoo  ?  it 
should  have  followed  in  the  end  of  our  show. 

VOL.  II.  2  E 


406  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

King.  Call  them  forth  quickly,  we  will  do  so. 
^rm.  Holla!  approach. 

Eiiter  HoLOFERNEs,  Nathaniel,  Moth,  Costard, 
and  others. 

This  side  is  Hiems,  winter ;  this  Ver,  the  spring ;  the  one 
maintained  by  the  owl,  the  otlier  by  the  cuckoo.  Ver, 
begin. 

SONG. 

Spring.    When  daisies  pied,  and  violets  blue, 
And  lady-smocks  all  silver  white. 
And  cuckoo-buds^  of  yellow  hue. 

Do  paint  the  meadows  with  delight, 
The  cuckoo  then,  on  every  tree. 
Mocks  married  men,  for  thus  sings  he. 

Cuckoo ; 
Cuckoo,  cuckoo, — O  word  of  fear, 
Unpleasing  to  a  married  ear! 

IL 

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, — O  word  of  fear, 

Unpleasing  to  a  married  ear! 

in. 

Winter.    When  icicles  hang  by  the  wait, 

And  Dick  the  shepherd  blows  his  nail. 
And  Tom  bears  logs  into  the  hall. 
And  milk  comes  frozen  home  in  pail, 

t  cuckoo-bxidi — ]     i.  e.  Cowilip-hudi,  from  the  French  htrbe  cocu. — 

Nares. 


ACT  v.— SCENE  II.  407 

Whe7i  blood  is  nipp'd,  and  ways  befoul. 
Then  nightly  sings  the  staring  owl, 

To-who ; 
Tu-whit,  to-who,  a  merry  note, 
While  greasy  Joan  doth  keel^  the  pot. 

IV. 

When  all  aloud  the  wind  doth  blow, 
And  coughing  drowns  theparso?i^s  saw,^ 

And  birds  sit  brooding  in  the  snow. 

And  Marian's  nose  looks  red  and  raw. 

When  roasted  crabs  hiss  in  the  bowl,^ 

Then  nightly  sings  the  staring  owl, 
To-acho  ; 

Tu-whit,  to-who,  a  merry  note. 

While  greasy  Joan  doth  keel  the  pot. 

Arm.  The  words  of  Mercury  are  harsh  after  the  songs 
of  Apollo.     You,  that  way  ;  we,  this  way.  \_Exeunt} 

1'  dolh  keel  the  pot.']  i.  e.  Cool  the  pot. 

'  the  parson's  saw,]     Saw  seems  anciently  to  have  meant,  not  as  at 

present,  a  proverb,  a  sentence,  but  the  whole  tenor  of  any  instructive  dis- 
course.— Steevens. 

^  howl,]     The  bowl  must  be  supposed  to  be  filled  with  ale ;  a  toast 

and  some  spice  and  sugar  being  added,  what  is  called  lamb's  wool  is  produced. — 
Malone. 

'  In  this  play,  which  all  the  editors  have  concurred  to  censure,  and  some 
have  rejected  as  unworthy  of  our  poet,  it  must  be  confessed  that  there  are 
many  passages  mean,  childish,  and  vulgar  ;  and  some  which  ought  not  to  have 
been  exhibited,  as  we  are  told  they  were,  to  a  maiden  queen.  But  there  are 
scattered  through  the  whole  many  sparks  of  genius ;  nor  is  there  any  play  that 
has  more  evident  marks  of  the  hand  of  Shakspeare. — Johnson. 


END    OF    VOL.   II. 


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