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Full text of "The family Shakespeare, in one volume; in which nothing is added to the original text, but those words and expressions are omitted which cannot with propriety be read aloud in a family"

Digitized by the Internet Archive 

in 2007 with funding from 

IVIicrosoft Corporation 



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



THE 



FAMILY SHAKSPEARE. 



Sportive Fancy round liim flew, 
Nature led him by the hand. 
Instructed him in all she knew. 
And gave him absolute command. 



London ; 

Printed by A. Spottiswoode, 

New. Street- Square. 



TIIK 



FAMILY SHAKSPEARE, 



IN ONE VOLUME; 

IN WHICH 

NOTHING IS ADDED TO THE ORIGINAL TEXT. 

BUT THOSE WORDS AND EXPRESSIONS ARE OMITTED WHICH CANNOT 

WITH PROPRIETY BE READ ALOUD IN A FAMILY. 




Kp 

o^ 



By THOMAS BOWDLER, ESQ. F.K.S. & S.A. 



eXEMIT I.AnEM, PURIMQUE RKMgUIT 

^THEIIKUM SBNSUM, ATQUK AfUAI SIMPr.rcrS IGKKM. 



'I'HE NINTH EDITION. 



LONDON: 

nn\TEl) FOR LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, & LONGMANS, 



l*ATKKNOSTFK-I?OAV 

JS47. 




TO 



THE MEMORY 

OF 

ELIZABETH MONTAGU, 

AUTHOR OF 

THE ESSAY ON THE WRITINGS AND GENIUS OF SHAKSPEAREj 

IN WHICH 

THE BRITISH POET IS COMPLETEIY VINDICATED 

FROM 

THE MISREPRESENTATIONS AND CENSURES 

OP 

VOLTAIRE, 

THIS WORK IS INSCRIBED, 

BY 

SINCERE AND RESPECTFUL 

FRIENDSHIP. 



A 2 



Sweetest Bard that ever sung. 
Nature's Glory, Fancy's Child ; 
Never sure did Poet's tongue 
Warble forth such wood-notes wild. 



PREFACE 



TO 

THE FOURTH EDITION. 



It lias been observed by a learned writer in a preface to his second edition, that the feel- 
ings of an author at that time, are very different from those which he experiences, when 
he offers a new work at the tribunal of public opinion. The truth of this observation must 
of course be felt more strongly in the present instance, when a fourth edition is committed 
to the press. The reception which the Family Shakspeare has experienced from the 
Public has indeed been gratifying. It has been commended by all those who have ex- 
amined it, and censured by those only who do not appear to have made any enquiry into 
the merits or demerits of the performance, but condemn every attempt at removing inde- 
cency from Shakspeare. It would, indeed, have given me real pleasure, if any judicious 
and intelligent reader had perused the work with the eye of rigid criticism, and had 
pointed out any improper words which were still to be found in it. All observations of that 
nature would have been candidly and maturely considered, and if well founded, would 
have been followed by the erasure of what was faulty. On the other hand, I cannot but 
be gratified, ^t perceiving that no person appears to have detected any indecent expression 
in these volumes : but this has not made me less solicitous to direct my own attention to 
that object, and to endeavour to render this work as unobjectionable as possible. I have, 
therefore, in preparing this Edition for the press, taken great pains to discover and cor- 
rect any defects which might formerly have escap ed my^notice. but they have appeared in 
this last perusal of the work to be very fewlri number, and not of any great importance^ 
Such, however, as I have been able to perceive, I have carefully removed, and I hope I 
may venture to assure the parents and guardians of youth, that they may read the Familt 
Shakspeare aloud in the mixed society of young persons of both sexes, sans peur et saru 
reproche. 

My next object was to observe, whether the sense and meaning of the author were in 
any degree perverted or impaired by the erasures which I had made. The final decision 
of this question must be left to the careful and intelligent critic ; but to myself it appears, 
that very few instances will be found in which the reader will have any cause to regret 
the loss of the words that have been omitted. The great objection which has been urged 
against the Family Shakspeare, and it has been urged with vehemence by those who 
have not examined the work, is the apprehension, that, with the erasure of the indecent 
passages, the spirit and fire of the poet would often be much injured, and sometimes be 
entirely destroyed. ^pThis objection arises pri ncipally from those p ers ons who have_ £ftp- 
iined their study of ShakspcaretolHe^cIoset, and have not learned, icjtbi. theatre^wlth 
Riov8:.iuuch safety it is possiljle to make the necessary alterations. J They have not learned, 
/or they have forgot, that except in one, or at most in two instances, the plays of our author 
I are never presented to the public without being corrected, and more or less cleared of in- 
1 decency ; lyet Macbeth and Othello, Lear, Hamlet, and As you Like it, continue still to ex- 
hibit th^uperior genius of the first of dramatic poets. The same may be said of his other 
transcendent works ; but those which I have named are selected as being five of the finest 
plays in the world, the most frequently acted, the most universally admired ; but of which, 
tliere is not one that can be read aloud by a gentleman to a lady, without imdergoing 

some correction. I have ntt Pinpt^H tn jln for th p lihrfiry what thp manacrpr Anp<i fcr the 

^\^^^.^^^yy']^hS^)^^L^^£$J^3SiiSi~s!^o urgcjhisj^big ction wou ld.C7iamin^ thp playi*; vith 
attention. I venture to assert, that in the far greater part of them, they would find that 
itinSot diflScult to separate the indecent from the decent expressions ; and they would 
soon be convinced, that, by removing the stains, they would view the picture not only un- 
injured, but possessed of additional beauty. The truth of this observation has been 
expressed with such elegance, and in terms so honourable to Shakspeare, by a very supe- 
rior judge of poetic composition, that I cannot resist the temptation of inserting the whole 
passage. 

After censuring the indecencies of Dryden and Congreve, as being the exponents of 
licentious principles, the reviewer observes, in language more expressive than any which 
I could have employed, " that it has in general been found easy to extirpate the offensive 
" expressions of our groat poet, without any injury to the context, or any visible scar, or 
•* blank in the composition. Tliey turn out, not to be so much cankers in the flowers, 
" as weeds that have sprung up by their side : not flaws in the metal, but impurities that 
" have gathered on its surface, and that, so far from being missed on tlieir removal, the 
" work generally appears more natural and harmonious without them."* I will not 
• Edinburgh Review, Na L\xl p. 5S, 



VI PREFACE TO THE FOURTH EDITION. 

weaken the foregoing quotation by adding any less forcible language of my own, but I 
will endeavour to prove by examples the perfect justice of the observation. I t \ ^ indeed 
a difliculty, and a very great '^'^^, iin/^»r yx,h\nU T laTwijr, that it is not possible for m e to 
state t|j^;, wonlv; ulii(Ji J liiiy;^ jDjm ittcd ; but I think that I may adduce oTTeTnstance, wliich, 
without ofll'iuling the eye or the ear of modesty, will sufficiently confirm the remarks of 
the judicious reviewer, and prove that a whole scene may be omitted, not only without 
injury, but with manifest advantage to the drama. 

In the second scene of the third act of Henry V., the English monarch, after taking 
Harfleur, is preparing to march towards Calais. In the fourth scene of that act, we find 
the French king and his counsellors deliberating on the means of intercepting the Eng- 
lisli army. These scenes naturally follow each other — but what is the intermediate 
scene, the third of the third act ? It is a dialogue between the French princess and her 
female attendant, of whom she is endeavouring to learn the English language. She 
asks her, 

Kath. Comment appellez-vous la main en Anglois 9 

Alice. La main 9 EUe est appellee de hand. 

Kath. De hand. Et les doigts ? 

Alice. Les doigts 9 Je pense quils sent appelUe dejingres, ouy defingres. 

Kath. ComTnent ajrjyellez-vous les angles 9 

Alice. Les angles 9 les ajipellons de nails. 

I will not tire my readers with a longer extract from this uninteresting dialogue ; it is 
continued through more than twenty questions and answers of the very same nature ; and 
as there is not a single word on any subject but the foregoing, every person will be ready 
to ask, what could induce Shakspeare to insert so useless a scene ? The answer, I be- 
lieve, must be, that it was written in compliance with the bad taste of the age, for the 
express purpose of raising a laugh at the conclusion, by introducing, through the me- 
dium of imperfect pronunciation, the two most indecent words in the French language. 
At the mention of those words, the princess is shocked, as every virtuous woman would 
be, if she were either here or elsewhere, to see them written, or hear them repeated. Is it 
possible that any person will feel regret at perceiving that, in the Family Shakspeare, 
the beautiful play of Henry V. is not interrupted in a very interesting part of the nar- 
rative, by so improper a scene — by a scene so totally unconnected with every thing which 
precedes or which follows after it, that if it were taken by itself, no reader would be able 
to discover in what act it was meant to be inserted? Let it not be said as an excuse, 
that it introduces to our acquaintance the princess, who is afterwards to be the wife of 
Henry. The excuse is too trifling to be admitted. 

I may next observe, that the scene which I have here quoted, is by no means a solitary 
instance. Examples of a similar nature are to be found in several of the plays, comedies as 
well as tragedies. In most of these cases, the o bjectionahle parts are so CQmplptply ^ppon - 
ne cted with the nlay ^ that one mi^ht almost "Ge inclined to suppose. , that Shakspeare. 
in the first in '^tfltifp, composed one of Jiis be^ ii|ifn| Hramagj aq d aftpr it was finish ed, 
wa s'cQmuelled, bv the wretched taste of the age, to add sompfhingr nf ^ j nw and lilc ' i- 
cro us natur e. The passages thus inggrted. have really, in many cases, the appearance of 
interpolations ; and adopting the expressive language of the reviewer, they are weeds 
which have sprung up by the side of the flowers, and the former being removed, the lattei^ 
appear with additional beauty. What has been said of whole scenes in some instancesjB « 
may be applied in a great many, to speeches, to parts of speeches, and to single words. 
From Macbeth, the noblest effort of dramatic genius that ever was exhibited in any age 
or in any language (I do not except the OEdipus of Sophocles), very little has been 
erased ; but the description of the effects of drunkenness, which is given to Macduff' by 
the porter at the gate of the castle, is of so gross a nature, that it is impossible that any 
person should be sorry for its omission. The same may be said of the indecent words 
which are addressed by Hamlet to Ophelia, before the representation of the play. These, 
like most other alterations, were made without difficulty, but I confess that there are three 
plays, which form exceptions to what I have advanced respecting the facility of the task 
that I have undertaken. To Measure for Measure, Henry^ IV., and Othello, I ha\e _an- 
nexed parti cular prefaces, stati ngthe difficulties whfch oxisted^and thejnetho^^ 
I shoujd endeavour to overcomethem. In the first of the three, I hope I have succeeded ; 
and I should not be sorry iFthe merit of this whole work were to be decided by a com- 
parison of this very extraordinary play, in the original, and in the Family Shakspeari 
Of Falstaff* and Othello, I shall only say, that I acknowledge the difficulty of my taskk 
I have indeed endeavoured, as cautiously as possible, to remove the objectionabl 
speeches, without injuring the characters ; but wantonness of expression and action ar 
very closely connected with Falstaff"; and the infuriate passions of rage, jealousy, and 
revenge, which torture the breast of Othello, are like " Macbeth's * distempered cause," 
incapable of being completely buckled within the belt of rule. " 



Preface 

TO 

THE FIRST EDITION. 



Jf a presumptuous artist should undertake to remove a supposed defect in the Trans- 
figuration of Raphael, or in the Belvidere Apollo, and in making the attempt should 
injure one of those invaluable productions of art and genius, I should consider his name 
as deserving never to be mentioned, or mentioned only with him who set fire to the 
Temple of Diana. ^*f>But the works of the poet may be considered in a very different 
light from those of the painter and the statuary. Shakspeargj, inimitable Shaks peare. will 
remainOi e subject of admirati on a s long as ta st e and literature shall exi st, and his writings 
will be han^ d_^df)W" topg sterlty iu-their native beautv . although the present attempt to 
add to his fame should prove entirely' abortive. Here, tnen, is the great difference. Tf 
the endeavour to improve the picture or the statue should be unsuccessful, the beauty of 
the original would be destroyed, and the injury be irreparable. In such a case, let the 
artist refrain from using the chisel or the pencil : b ut with the works of t he poet no such 
danger occurs^ and the critic^need not be afraid of employing jiis p en ^~for~THe original 
will conriiJUjLJiiiiIDJpaiI^~arthough"liis own labours^ho'uldjmmedia^ to 

o blivio n. That Shakspeare Ts tHe"lirs£~6r dramatic writers will be denied by few, and_^ 
I doubt whether it will be denied by any who have really studied his works, and com- 
pared the beauties which they contain with the very finest productions either of our own 
or of former ages. It musl^ however, be acknowledged, by his warmest admirers, that 
some^de feqts <^r eto be fQUja^:4ft.4fae>^'nTtting8--jaf -oiig-imm<irtaI hand. The language is 
not always faulHcssTiltlany words and expressions occur which are of so indecent a 
nature as to render it highly desirable that they should be erased. Of these, the greater 
part are eyidentl^Jntrpjdui^ed^ to gratify the bad tastg^ gf the age i n which he lived, and 
the rest may perhaps be ascribei3ToTiTs own unbridled fancy. But-jjeither the jisipus 
tast ^ of the age» pof j he mostjjxill iant eflfj isions of-j^it, can-a^ord an excuse for.profime- 
nesg.jir.obscenit_yj and if these c ould hs. obliterated^_the tran sceiideat geiwus-of the p««t 
would jiudoubtedly shine with more_unclouded Fustre. To banish e xeiX-th ing of this 
natjicafrnm the, writtngsr'gf^S Eakspeare is thp nljprt of thp prpspnt iinHprtglring My 
earnest wish is to render his plays unsullied by any scene, by any speech, orTTTpossible, 
by any word that can give pain to the most chaste, or offence to the most religious of 
his readers. Of the latter kind, the examples are by no means numerous, for the writings 
of our author are, for the most part, favourable to religion and morality. There are, 
however, in some of his plays, allusions to Scripture, which are introduced so unneces- 
sarily, and on such trifling occasions, and are expressed with so much levity, as to call 
imperiously for their erasement. As an example of this kind I may quote a scene in 
the fifth act of Lovers Labour's Lost, in which an allusion is made (very improperly) to 
one of the most serious and awful passages in the New Testament. I flatter myself that 
every reader of the Family Shakspeare will be pleased at perceiving that what is so 
manifestly improper, is not permitted to be seen in it. The most Sacred Word in our 
language is omitted in several instances, in which it appeared as a mere expletive ; and it 
is changed into the word Heaven, in a still greater number, where the occasion of using 
it did not appear sufficiently serious to justify its employment. 
Nee Deus intersit nisi dignus vindice nodus. 

In the original folio of 1623, the same alteration from the old quartos is made in a great 
variety of places, and I have followed the folio. 

I wish it were in my power to say of indecency as I have said of profaneness, that the 
examples of it are not very numerous. Unfortunately the reverse is the case. Those 
persons whose acquaintance with Shakspeare depends on theatrical representations, in 
which great alterations are made in the plays, can have little idea of the frequent recur- 
rence in the original text, of expressions, which, however they might be tolerated in the 
sixteenth century, are by no means admissible in the nineteenth. Of these expressions 
no example can in this place be given, for an obvious reason. I feel it, however, incum- 
bent on me to observe, in behalf of my favourite author, that, in comparison with most 
of the contemporary poets, and with the dramatists of the seventeenth century, the plays 



Vlll PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 

of Shakspeare are remarkably decent ; but it is not sufficient that his defects are trifling 
in comparison with writers who are highly defective. It certainly is my wish, and it has 
been my study, to exclude from this publication whatever is unfit to be read aloud by a 
gentleman to a company of ladies. I can hardly imagine a more pleasing occupation 
for a winter's evening in the country, than for a father to read one of Shakspeare's plays 
to his family circle. My object is to enable him to do so without incurring the danger 
of falling unawares among words and expressions which are of such a nature as to raise 
a blush on the cheek of modesty, or render it necessary for the reader to pause, and exa- 
mine the sequel, before he proceeds further in the entertainment of the evening. • 

But though many erasures have for this purpose been made in the writings of Shak- 
speare in the present edition, the reader may be assured that not a single line, nor even 
the half of a line, has, in any one instance, been added to the original text. I know the 
force of Shakspeare, and the weakness of my own pen, too well, to think of attempting 
the smallest interpolation. In a few, but in very few instances, one or two words (at the 
most three) have been inserted to connect the sense of what follows the passage that is 
expunged with that which precedes it. The few words which are thus added, are con- 
necting particles, words of little moment, and in no degree affecting the meaning of the 
author, or the story of the play. A word that is less objectionable is sometimes substituted 
for a synonymous word that is improper. 

In the following work I have copied the text of the last Edition of the late Mr. Stee- 
vens. This I have done so scrupulously, as seldom to have allowed myself to alter either 
the words or the punctuation. Othello's speech, for example, in the second scene of the 
fifth act, will be found as it is in Mr. Steevens, and in the old editions of Shakspeare, not 
as it is usually spoken on the stage. In a few instances I have deviated from Mr. Steevens, 
in compliance with the original folio of 1623. I do not presume to enter into any critical 
disputes as to certain readings of " Judean or Indian," " Sables or Sable," or any thing 
of that nature, respecting which many persons of superior abilities have entertained con- 
trary opinions. The glossary (but nothing except the glossary) is borrowed from the 
edition of 1803. It was compiled by Mr. Harris, under the direction of Mr. Steevens. 

My great objects in this undertaking are to remove from the writings of Shakspeare 
some defects which diminish their value, and at the same time to present to the Public 
an edition of his plays, which the pai'ent, the guardian, and the instructor of youth may 
place, without fear, in the hands of the pupil ; and from which the pupil may derive in- 
struction as well as pleasure; may improve his moral principles while he refines his 
taste ; and, without incurring the danger of being hurt with any indelicacy of expression, 
may learn in the fate of Macbeth, that even a kingdom is dearly purchased, if virtue be 
the price of the acquisition. 

* My first idea of the Family Shakspeare arose from the recollection of my father's custom of reading 
in this manner to his family. Shakspeare (with whom no person was better acquainted) was a frequent 
subject of the evening's entertainment In the perfection of reading few men were equal to my father ; 
and such was his good taste, his delicacy, and his prompt discretion, that his family listened with delight 
to Lear, Hamlet, and Othello, without knowing that those matchless tragedies contained words and ex- 
pressions improper to be pronounced ; and without having reason to suspect that any parts of the plays 
had been omitted by the circumspect and judicious reader. 

It afterwards occurred to me, that what my father did so readily and successfully for his family, my 
inferior abilities might, with the assistance of time and mature consideration, be able to accomplish for 
the benefit of the public. I say, therefore, that if " The Family Shakspeare " is entitled to any merit, 
it originates with my father. 



tf 



TEMPEST. 



' '/ 



' ' 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



Alonso, King of Naples. 

Sebastian, his Brother. 

Prospero, the nghtful Duke of Milan. 

Antonio, his brother, the usurping Duke of Milan. 

Ferdinand, son to the King of Naples. 

GoNZALo, an honest old Counsellor of Naples. 

Adrian, \ t 1 

Francisco, J 

Caliban, a savage and deformed Slave. 

Trinculo, a Jester. 

Stephano, a drunken Butler. 

Master of a Ship, Boatswain, and Mariners. 

SCENE, the Sea, with a Ship / 



Miranda, Daughter to Prospero. 

Ariel, an axry Spirit. 
Iris, 



Ceres, 
Juno, 
Nymphs, 
Reapers, 



Spirits. 



Other Spirits attending on Prospero. 
afterwards an uninhabited Island. 




A BRA9B VESSfcl., 
WHO HAD MO DOOBT SOME NOBLK CRKArORFS IM HER 
IJASH'U ALL TO PIKflRH. 



TEMPEST. 



ACT I. 



SCENE l. — Ona Ship at Sen. 
A storm with thunder and lightning. 

Enter n Ship-master and a Boatswain. 

Master. Boatswain, — 
Ii'i(t/s. Hero, master : what cheer ? 
.Master. Good : Speak to the mariners : fall to't 
yarcly ', or we run ourselves aground : bestir, bestir. 

[Exit. 
Enter Mariners. 

lioats. Heigli, my hearts ; cheerly, cheerly, my 
hearts ; yare, yare : Take in the top-sail ; Tend to 

the master's whistle Blow till thou burst thy 

wind, if room enough ! 

Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, pERniNANn, 
GoNZALo, and others. 

Alon. Good boatswain, have care. Where's the 
master ? Play the men. 

Boats, I pray now, keep below. 

j4nt. Where is the master, boatswain ? 

Boats. Do you not hear him? You mar our 
labour ! keep your cabins . you do assist the storm. 

Gon. Nay, good, be patient. 

Boats. When the sea is. Hence ! What care 
these roarers for the name of king ? To cabins : 
silence ; trouble us not. 

' R«'adily. 



I Gon. Good ; yet rememl)er wimm thou Ikjm 
I aboard. 

j Boats. None that I more love than myself. You 

\ are a counsellor ; if you can command these ele- 

j ments to silence, and work the peace of the present-, 

we will not hand a rope more ; use your authority. 

If you cannot, give thanks you liave lived so long, 

and make yourself ready in your cabin for the 

mischance of the hour, if it so hap. — Cheerly, good 

hearts. — Out of our way, I say. {Exit. 

Gon. I liave great comfort from this fellow ; 

metliinks, he hatli no drowning mark upon him ! 

his complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, 

good fate, to his hanging ; make the rope of his 

destiny our cable, for our own doth little advantage ! 

If he be not born to be hanged, our case is miser> 

able. [E remit. 

He-enter Boatswain. 

Boats. Down witli the tojimast ; yare ; lower, 
lower ; bring her to try with main course. [A cry 
ttithin.] A plague upon this howling! they are 
louder than the weather, or our office — 

Re-enter Skbastian, Antonio, and GoNrAi.o. 

Yet again ? wiiat do you here? Shall we give o'er 
and drown ? Have you a mind to sink ? 

Seb. A plague o' your throat ! you bawling, blius- 
phemous, uncharitable dog ! 

* Presenl instam 



TEMPEST 



Act I. 



Boats. Work you, then. 

Ant. Hang, cur, hang ! you insolent noise-maker, 
we are less afraid to be drowned than thou art. 

Gon, I'll warrant him from drowning ; though 
the ship were no stronger than a nut-shell. 

Boats. Lay her a-hold, a-hold ; set her two 
courses ; off to sea again, lay her off. 

Enter Mariners, wet. 

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

\_Exeunt. 

Boats. What, must our mouths be cold ? 

Gon. The king and prince at prayers ! let us assist 
them. 
For our case is as theirs. 

Seb. I am out of patience. 

Ant. We are merely 3 cheated of our lives by 
drunkards. — 
This wide-chapped rascal ; — 'Would, thou might'st 

lie drowning, 
The washing of ten tides ! 

Gon. He'll be hang'd yet ; 

Though every drop of water swear against it. 
And gape at wid'st to glut him. 
{A confused noise within.] Mercy on us ! — We 
split, we split ! — Farewell, my wife and children ! — 
Farewell, brotlier ; — We split, we split, we split ! — 

Ant. Let's all sink with the king. f Exit. 

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

Gon. Now would I give a thousand furlongs of 
sea for an acre of barren ground ! long heath, brown 
furze, any thing : The wills above be done ! but I 
would fain die a dry death. [Exit. 



SCENE IL 



The Island: before the Cell of 
Prospero. 



Enter Prospero and Miranda. 

il/»'a. If by your art, my dearest father, you 
have 
Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them : 
The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch. 
But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's clieek, 
Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffer'd 
W^ith those that I saw sufl'er ! a brave vessel. 
Who had no doubt some noble creatures in her, 
Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock 
Against my very heart ! Poor souls ! they perish'd. 
Had I been any god of power, I would 
Have sunk the sea within the earth, or e'er 
It should the good ship so have swallowed, and 
The freighting souls within her. 

Pro. Be collected ; 

No more amazement : tell your piteous heart. 
There's no harm done. 

Miro. O, woe the day ! 

Pro. No harm. 

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

Mira. More to know 

Did never meddle with my thoughts. 

/Vo. 'Tis time 

3 Absolutely. 



I should inform thee further. Lend thy hand, 
And pluck my magic garment from me. — So ; 

[Lai/s down his mantle. 
Lie there my art. — Wipe thou thine eyes ; have 

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

Sit down ; 
For thou must now know further. 

Mira. You have often 

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

Pro. The hour's now come ; 

The very minute bids thee ope thine ear ; 
Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember 
A time before we came into this cell ? 
I do not think thou canst ; for then tliou wast not 
Out 4 three years old. 

Mira. Certainly, sir, I can. 

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

Mira. 'Tis far off; 

And rather like a dream than an assurance 
That my remembrance warrants : Had I not 
Four or five women once, that tended me ? 

Pro. Thou had'st, and more, Miranda : But 
is it, 

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

Mira. But tliat I do not. 

Pro. Twelve years since, 
Miranda, twelve years since, thy father was 
Tlie duke of Milan, and a prince of power. 

Mira. Sir, are not you my father ? 

Pro. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and 
She said — thou wast my daughter ; and thy father 
Was duke of Milan ; and his only heir 
A princess ; — no worse issued. 

Mira. O, the heavens ! 

What foul play had we, that we came from thence ? 
Or blessed was't we did ? 

Pro. Both, botli, my girl : 

By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heav'd 

thence ; 
But blessedly holp hither. 

Mira. O, my heart bleeds 

To think o' the teen ^ that I have turn'd you to, 
Which is from my remembrance ! Please you, 
further. 

Pro. My brother, and thy uncle, call'd Anto- 
nio, — 
I pray thee, mark me, — that a brother sliould 
Be so perfidious ! — he whom, next thyself, 
Of all the world I lov'd, and to him put 
The manage of my state ; as, at that time. 
Through all the signiories it was the first, 
And Prospero the prime duke ; being so reputed 
In dignity, and, for the liberal arts, 
Without a i)arallcl : tliose being all my study 



J 



Scene II. 



TEMPEST. 



The government I cast upon my brother, 
And to my state grew stranger, being transported, 
And wrapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle — 
Dost thou attend me ? 

Mira. Sir, most heedfully. 

Pro. Being once perfected how to grant suits. 
How to deny them ; whom to advance, and whom 
To trash " for over-topping ; new-created 
The creatures that were mine ; I say, or chang'd 

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

not : 
I pray thee mark me. 

Mira. O good sir, I do. 

Pro. I thus neglecting wordly ends, all dedi- 
cate 
To closeness, and the bettering of my mind 
With that, wliich, but by being so retir'd, 
O'er-priz'd all popular rate, in my false brother 
Awak'd an evil nature : and my trust, 
Like a good parent, did beget of liim 
A falsehood, in its contrary as great 
As my trust was ; wliich had, indeed, no limit, 
A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded, 
Not only with what my revenue yielded. 
But what my power might else exact, — like one 
Who, having unto truth, by telling of it, 
INIade such a sinner of his memory, 
To credit liis own lie, — ■ he did believe 
He was the duke ; out of the substitution. 
And executing the outward face of royalty. 
With all prerogative : — Hence his ambition 
Growing, — Dost hear ? 

Mira. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. 

Pro. To have no skreen between this part he 
play'd 
And him he play'd it for, he needs will be 
Absolute Milan : Me, poor man ! — my library 
Was dukedom large enough ; of temporal royalties 
He thinks me now incapable : confederates 
(So dry he was for sway) with the king of Naples, 
To give him annual tribute, do him homage ; 
Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend 
The dukedom, yet unbow'd (alas, poor Milan !) 
To most ignoble stooping. 

Mira. O the heavens ! 

Pro. Mark his condition, and the event ; then 
tell me. 
If tliis might be a brotlier. 

Mir. I should sin 

To think but nobly of my grandmother. 

Pro. Now the condition. 

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

* Cut away. 



Mira. Alack, for pity ! 

I, not rememb'ring how I cried out then, 
Will cry it o'er again, it is a hint. 
That wrings mine eyes. 

Pro. Hear a little further, 

And then I'll bring thee to the present business 
Which now's upon us ; without the which, this 

story 
Were most impertinent. 

Mira. Wherefore did they not 

That hour destroy us ? 

Pro. Well demanded, wench ; 

My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst 

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

Mira. Alack ! what trouble 

Was I then to you ! 

Pro. O ! a cherubim 

Thou wast, tliat cuq preserve me ! Thou didst 

smile. 
Infused with a fortitude from heaven, 
When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt j 
Under my burden groan'd ; wliich rais'd in me 
An undergoing stomach 7, to bear up 
Against what should ensue. 

Mira. How came we ashore ? 

Pro. By Prondence divine. 
Some food we had, and some fresh water, that 
A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo, 
Out of his charity (who being then appointed 
Master of this design), did give us ; with 
Rich garments, linens, stuffs, and necessaries, 
Wliich since have steaded much ; so, of liis gen- 
tleness. 
Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me. 
From my own library, witli volumes that 
I prize above my dukedom. 

Mira. 'Would 1 might 

But ever see that man ! 

Pro. Now I arise : — 

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

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

Pro. Know thus far forth. — 

By accident most strange, bountiful fortune. 
Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies 
Brought to this shore : and by my prescience 
I find my zenith doth depend upon 
A most auspicious star ; whose influence 
If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes 
Will ever after droop. — Here cease more ques- 
tions: 



^ Stubborn resolution. 
B 2 



TEMPEST. 



Act I 



Tlioii art inclin'd to sleep ; 'tis a good dulness, 
And give it way; — I know thou canst not choose 

[MlftAjtfDA sleeps. 

Come away, servant, come : I am ready .nqw : 
Approach, my Ariel ; come. 

Enter Ariel. 

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

PrO' Hast thou, spirit, 

Perform'd to point 8 the tempest that I bade thee ? 

Ari. To every article. 
I boarded the king's ship ; now on the beak, 
Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, 
I flamed amazement : Sometimes, I'd divide. 
And burn in many places ; on the top-mast. 
The yards, and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly, 
Then meet, and join : Jove's lightnings, the precur- 
sors 
O' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary 
And siglit-outrunning were not : The fire, and 

cracks 
Of sulphurous roaring, the most mighty Neptune 
Seem'd to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble. 
Yea, liis dread trident shake. 

Fro. My brave spirit ! 

Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil 9 
Would not infect his reason ? 

Ari. Not a soul 

But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd 
Some tricks of desperation : All, but mariners, 
Plung'd in the foaming brine, and quit the vessel. 
Then all a-fire with me : the king's son, Ferdinand, 
With hair up-staring, (then like reeds, not hair,) 
Was the first man that leap'd. 

Pro. Wliy, that's my spirit ! 

But was not this nigh shore ? 

Ari. Close by, my master. 

Pro. But are they, Ariel, safe ? 

Ari. Not a hair perish'd ; 

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

Pro. Of the king's ship, 

The mariners, say, how thou hast dispos'd. 
And all the rest o' the fleet ? 

Ari. Safely in harbour 

Is the king's ship ; in the deep nook, where once 
Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew 
From the still-vex'd Bermoothes ', there she's hid : 
The mariners all under hatches stow'd ; 
Whom, with a charm join'd to their suffer'd labour, 
I have left asleep : and for the rest o' the fleet. 
Which I dispers'd, they all have met again ; 
And are upon the Mediterranean flote % 
Bound sadly home for Naples ; 
Supposing that they saw the king's ship wreck'd. 
And his great person perish. 

Pro. Ariel, thy charge 



8 The minutest article. 
1 Bermudas. 



9 Bustle, tumult. 
2 Wave. 



Exactly is perform'd ; but there's more work : 
What is the time o' the day ? 

Ari. Past the mid season. 

Pro. At least two glasses : The time 'twixt six 
and now, 
Must by us both be spent most preciously. 

Ari. Is tliere more toil ? Since thou dost give 
me pains. 
Let me remember thee what thou hast promised, 
Whicli is not yet perform'd me. 

Pro. How now ? moody ? 

What is't thou canst demand ? 

Ari. . My liberty. 

Pro. Before the time be out ? no more. 

Ari. I pray thee 

Remember, I have done thee worthy service ; 

Told thee no lies, made no mistakings, serv'd 

Without or grudge or grumblings : thou didst 

promise 
To bate me a full year. 

Pro. Dost thou forget 

From what a torment I did free thee ? 
Ari. No. 

Pro. Thou dost ; and think'st 
It much, to tread the ooze of the salt deep ; 
To run upon the sharp wind of the north ; 
To do me business in tlie veins o' the eartli. 
When it is bak'd with frost. 

Ari. I do not, sir. 

Pro. Thou liest, malignant thing ! Hast thou 
forgot 
The foul witch Sycorax, who, with age and envy, 
Was grown into a hoop ? hast thou forgot her ? 
Ari. No, sir. 
Pro. Thou hast : where was she born ? 

speak ; tell me. 
Ari. Sir, in Argier.3 

Pro. O, was she so ? I must. 

Once in a month, recount what thou hast been. 
Which thou forget'st. This vile witch, Sycorax, 
For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terril)le 
To enter human hearing, from Argier, 
Thou know'st, was banish'd ; for one thing she did, 
They would not take her life : Is not this true ? 
Ari. Ay, sir. 

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

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

Ari. Yes ; Caliban her son. 

Pro. Dull thing, I say so ; he, that Caliban, 
Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st 
What torment I did find thee in ; thy groans 
Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts 



Algiers. 



* Comnmnds. 



Scene II. 



TEMPEST. 



Of ever-angry bears. This Sycorax 
Could not again undo ; it was mine art, 
When I arriv'd, and heard thee, that made gape 
The pine, and let thee out. 

jiri, I thank thee, master. 

Pro. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak, 
And peg tlicc in his knotty entrails, till 
Tliou hast howl'd away twelve winters. 

^ri. Pardon, master: 

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

Pro. Do so ; and after two days 

1 will discharge thee. 

Art. That's my noble master ! 

What shall I do ? say what ? what shall I do ? 

Pro. Go make thyself like to a nymph o' the sea; 
Be subject to no sight but mine ; invisible 
To every eye-ball else. Go take tliis shape, 
And hither come in't : hence, with diligence. 

lExU Ariel. 
Awake, dear heart, awake ! thou hast slept well ; 
Awake ! 

Mira. The strangeness of your story put 
Heaviness in me. 

Pro. Shake it off: Come on, 

We'll visit Caliban, my slave, who never 
Yields us kind answer. 

Mira. 'Tis a villain, sir, 

I do not love to look on. 

Pro. But, as 'tis. 

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

Cal. [JVUhi7i.] There's wood enough within. 

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

Re-enter Ariel like a water-nymph. 
Fine apparition ! My quaint Ariel, 
Hark in thine ear. 

Ari. My lord, it shall be done. [^Exit. 

Pro. Thou poisonous slave, come forth ! 

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

Pro. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have 

cramps. 
Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up ; urchins * 
Shall, for that vast of night that they may work. 
All exercise on tliee : thou shalt be pinch'd 
As thick as honey-combs, each pinch more stinging 
Than bees that made them. 

Cal. I must eat my dinner. 

This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother. 
Which thou tak'st from me. When thou earnest 

first. 
Thou strok'dst me, and mad'st much of me; 

would'st give me 
Water with berries in't ; and teach me how 
To name the bigger light, and how the less. 
That bum by day and night : and then I lov'd tliee, 
And show'd tliee all the qualities o' the isle, 

» Fairies. 



The fresh springs, brine pits, barren place, and fer- 
tile ; 
Cursed be I that did so ! — All the charms 
Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, liglit on you ! 
For I am all the subjects that you have. 
Which first was mine own king : and here you sty me 
In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me 
The rest of the island. 

Pro. Thou most lying slave, 

Whom stripes may move, not kindness ! I have us'd 

thee. 
Filth as thou art, with human care ; and lodg'd thee 
In mine own cell, till thou did'st seek to violate 
The honour of my child. Abhorred slave ; 
Which any print of goodness will not take. 
Being capable of all ill ! I pitied thee, 
Took pains to make tliee speak, taught thee c^ch hour 
One thing or other : when thou didst not, savage, 
Know thine own meaning, but would'st gabble like 
A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes 
With words that made them known : But thy vile 

race. 
Though thou didst learn, had that in't which good 

natures 
Could not abide to be with ; therefore wast thou 
Deservedly confin'd into this rock. 
Who hadst deserv'd more than a prison. 

Cal. You taught me language; and my profit on t 
Is, I know how to curse : the red plague rid ^ you, 
For learning me your language ! 

Pro. Hag-seed, hence ! 

Fetch us in fuel ; and be quick, thou wert best. 
To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, malice ? 
If thou neglect'st, or dost unwillingly 
What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps ; 
Fill all thy bones with aches ; make thee roar. 
That beasts shall tremble at thy din. 

Cal. No, 'pray thee ! — 

I must obey : his art is of such power, [Aside. 

It would control my dam's god, Setebos, 
And make a vassal of him. 

Pro. So, slave ; hence ! 

\^Exit Caliban. 

Re-enter Ariel invisible, playing and singing,- 
FKRvivAifD following him. 

Ariel's Song. 

Come unto these yellow sands 

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

{The wild waves whist ") 
Foot itfeatly here ayid there ; 
And, sweet sprites, tlie burden Uar, 

Hark, hark ! 
Bur. Bowgh, wowgh. [difpersedly. 

The vmtch-dogs bark : 
Bur. Bowgh, wowgh. [disperscdly. 

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

Fer. Where should this musick be ? i' the air, or 
the earth ? 
It sounds no more : — and sure, it waits upon 
Some god of the island. Sitting on a bank, 
Weeping again the king my father's wreck, 
This musick crept by me upon the waters ; 



« Destroy. 



' Being stilled, silenced. 
B 3 



TEMPEST. 



Act I. Scene II. 



Allaying both their fury, and my passion, 
With its sweet air ; thence I have foUow'd it, 
Or it hath drawn me rather ; — But 'tis gone. 
No, it begins again. 

Ariel sings. 

Full fathom five thy father Iks; 

Of his bones are coral made : 
Those are pearls, that icere his eyes : 

Nothing of him that dothfadej 
J3ut doth suffer a sea-change 
Into something rich and strange. 
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : 
Hark ! now I hear them, — ding-dong, bell. 
[Burden, ding-dong. 

Fer. The ditty does remember my drown'd fa- 
ther : — 
This is no mortal business, nor no sound 
That the earth owes 8 : — I hear it now above me. 

Pro. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance 
And say, what thou seest yond'. 

Mira. What is't ? a spirit ? 

See how it looks about ! Believe me, sir, 
It carries a brave form : — But 'tis a spirit. 

Pro. No, wench ; it eats and sleeps, and hath 
such senses 
As we have, such : This gallant which thou seest, 
Was in the wreck ; and but he's something stain'd 
With grief, that's beauty's canker, thou might'st 

call him 
A goodly person : he hath lost his fellows. 
And strays about to find them. 

Mira. I might call him 

A thing divine ; for nothing natural 
I ever saw so noble. 

Pro. It goes on, [Aside. 

As my soul prompts it : — Spirit, fine spirit ! I'll 

free thee 
Within two days for this. 

Fer. Most sure the goddess 

On whom these airs attend ! — Vouchsafe my prayer 
May know, if you remain upon this island ; 
And that you will some good instruction give. 
How I may bear me here : My prime request. 
Which I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder ! 
If you be maid, or no ? 

Mira. No wonder, sir ; 

But, certainly a maid. 

Fer. My language ; heavens ! — 

I am the best of them that speak this speech. 
Were I but where 'tis spoken. 

Pro. How ! the best ? 

What wert thou, if the king of Naples heard thee ? 

Fer. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders 
To hear thee speak of Naples : He does hear me ; 
And, that he does, I weep : myself am Naples ; 
Who with mine eyes, ne'er since at ebb, beheld 
The king my father wreck'd. 

Mira. Alack, for mercy ! 

Fer. Yes, faith, and all his lords ; the duke of 
Milan, 
And his brave son being twain. 

Pro. The duke of Milan, 

And his more braver daughter, could controls thee, 
If now 'twere fit to do't : — At the first sight 

[Adde. 
They have chang'd eyes : — Delicate Ariel, 



" Owns. 



» Confute. 



I'll set thee free for this ! — A word, good sir ; 
I fear, you have done yourself some wrong : a word. 
Mira. Why speaks my father so ungently ? Tliis 
Is the third man that e'er I saw ; the first 
That e'er I sigh'd for : pity move my father 
To be inclin'd my way ! 

Fer. O, if a virgin, 

And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you 
The queen of Naples ! 

Pro. Soft, sir ; one word more. — 

They are both in either's powers ; but this swift 

business 
I must uneasy make, lest too light winning [Aside. 
Make the prize light. —One word more ; I charge 

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

Per. No, as I am a man. 

Mira. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a 
temple : 
If the ill spirit have so fair an house. 
Good things will strive to dwell vdth't. 

p^n. Follow me. — [To Ferd. 

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

Fer. No ; 

I will resist such entertainment, till 
Mine enemy has more power. [He draws. 

Mira. O dear father. 

Make not too rash a trial of him, for 
He's gentle, and not fearful. ' 

Pro. What, I say, 

My foot my tutor ! — Put thy sword up, traitor ; 
Who mak'st a show, but dar'st not strike, thy con- 
science 
Is so possess'd with guilt : come from thy ward "2 ; 
For I can here disarm thee vdth this stick. 
And make thy weapon drop. 

Mira. Beseech you father ! 

Pro. Hence ; hang not on my garments. 

Mira. Sir, have pity ; 

I'll be his surety. 

Pro. Silence : one word more 

Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What ! 
An advocate for an impostor ? hush ! 
Thou think'st there are no more such shapes as he, 
Having seen but him and Caliban : Foolish wench ! 
To the most of men this is a Caliban, 
And they to him are angels. 

Mira. My affections 

Are then most humble ; I have no ambition 
To see a goodlier man. 

Pro. Come on; obey: [To Ferd. 

Thy nerves are in their infancy again. 
And have no vigour in them. 

Fer. So they are : 

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

1 Frightful. 2 Guard. 



1 



Act II. Scene I. 



TEMPEST. 



Pro. It works : — Come on. — 

Thou hast done well, fine Ariel ! — Follow me. — 

[To Ferd. and Mir. 

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

Mira. Be of comfort ; 

My father's of a better nature, sir, 



Than he appears by speech ; this is unwonted, 
Which now came from him. 

Pro. Thou shalt be as free 

As mountain winds : but then exactly do 
All points of my command- 

^^' To the syllable. 

Pro. Come, follow : speak not for him. [Exeunt. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I. — Anothei' part of the Island. 

Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, 
Adrian, Francisco, and others. 
Gon. 'Beseech you, sir, be merry : you have cause 
(So have we all) of joy ; for our escape 
Is much beyond our loss : our hint of woe 
Is common ; every day, some sailor's wife. 
The masters of some merchant, and the merchant. 
Have just our theme of woe : but for the miracle, 
I mean our preservation, few in millions 
Can speak like us : then wisely, good sir, weigh 
Our sorrow with our comfort. 
^^<>^' . Pr'ythee, peace! 

Seb. He receives comfort like cold porrido^e. 
Ant. The visitor will not give him o'er so. 
Seb. Look, he's winding up the watch of his wit • 
By and by it will strike. ' 

Gon, Sir, 

Seb. One : Tell. 

Gon. When every grief is entertain'd, that's 
offer'd. 

Comes to the entertainer 

^*- A dollar. 

Gon. Dolour comes to him, indeed; you have 
spoken truer tlian you purposed. 

Seb. You have taken it wiselier than I meant you 
should. ^ 

Gon. Therefore, my lord, — 
Ant. Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue ' 
Alon. I pr'ythee, spare. 

Gon. Well, I have done : But yet 

Seb. He will be talking. 

Ant. Which of them, he, or Adrian, for a good 
wager, first begins to crow ? 
Seb. The old cock. 
Ant. The cockrel. 
Seb. Done : the wager ? 
Ani. A laughter. 
Seb. A match. 

Adr. Though this island seem to be desert, 

Seb. Ha, ha, ha! 
Ant. So you've pay'd. 

Adr. Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible, 

Seb. Yet. 
Adr. Yet — 

Ant. He could not miss it. 

Adr. The air breatlies upon us here most sweetly. 
Gon. Here is every thing advantageous to life. 
Ant. True ; save means to live. 
Seb. Of that there's none, or little. 
Gon. How lush 3 and lusty the grass looks ' how 
green! 

Ant. Tlie ground, indeed, is tawny. 
Seb. With an eye * of green in't 



3 Rank. 



< Shade of colour. 



Ant. He misses not much. 
Seb. No : he doth but mistake the truth totally. 
Gon. But the rarity of it is (which is indeed 
almost beyond credit) — 

Seb. As many vouch'd rarities are. 
Gon. That our garments, being, as they were, 
drenched in the sea, hold, notwithstanding, their 
freshness, and glosses ; being rather new dy'd, than 
stain'd with salt water. 

Ant. If but one of his pockets could sptak, 
would it not say, he lies ? 

Seb. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report. 
Gon. Methinks, our garments are now as fresh 
as when we put them on first in Afric, at the mar- 
riage of the king's fair daughter Claribel to the king 
of Tunis. 

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

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

Gon. Not since widow Dido's time. 
Ant. How came that widow in ? Widow Dido ! 
Seb. What if he had said, widower ^neas too ? 
good lord, how you take it ! 

Adr. Widow Dido, said you? you make me 
study of that : she was of Carthage, not of Tunis. 
Gon. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage. 
Adr. Carthage? 
Gon. I assure you, Carthage. 
Ant. His word is more than the miraculous harp. 
Seb. He hath rais'd the wall, and houses too. 
Ant. What impossible matter will he make easy 
next? 

Seb. I think, he will carry this island home in 
his pocket, and give it his soil for an apple. 

Ant. And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, 
bring forth more islands. 
Gon. Ay? 

Ant. Why, in good time. 

Go7i. Sir, we were talking, that our garments 
seem now as fresh, as when we were at Tunis at tlie 
marriage of your daughter, who is now queen. 
Ant. And the rarest that e'er came there. 
Seb. 'Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido. 
Ant. O, widow Dido ; ay, widow Dido. 
Gon. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresli as the first 
day I wore it ? I mean, in a sort. 
Ant. That sort was well fish'd for. 
Gon. When I wore it at your daughter's mar- 
riage? 
Alon. You cram these words into mine cars 
against 
The stomach of my sense : 'Would I had never 
Married my daughter there ! for, coming thence, 
My son is lost ; and, in my rate, she too. 
Who is so far from Italy removed, 
B 4 



8 



TEMPEST. 



Act II 



I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir 
Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish 
Hath made his meal on thee ! 

Fran. Sir, he may live ; 

I saw him beat the surges under him. 
And ride upon their backs ; he trod the water. 
Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted 
The surge most swoln that met him : his bold head 
'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd 
Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke 
To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd. 
As stooping to relieve liim ; I not doubt, 
He came alive to land. 

Alon. No, no, he's gone. 

Seb. Sir, you may thank yourself for this great 
loss ; 
That would not bless our Europe with your daugh- 
ter. 
But rather lose her to an African ; 
Where she, at least, is banish'd from your eye. 
Who hath cause to wet the grief on't. 

Alon. Pr'ythee, peace. 

Seb. You were kneel'd to, and importun'd other- 
wise 
By all of us ; and the fair soul herself 
Weigh'd, between lothness and obedience, at 
Which end o' the beam she'd bow. We have lost 

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

Alon. So is the dearest of the loss. 

Gon. My lord Sebastian, 

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

Seb. Very well. 

Ant. And most chirurgeonly. 

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

Seb. Foul weather? 

Ant. Very foul. 

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

Ant. He'd sow it with nettle-seed. 

Seb. Or docks, or mallows. 

Gon. And were the king of it. What would I 
do? 

Seb. 'Scape being drunk for want of wine. 

Gon. V the commonwealth I would by con- 
traries 
Execute all things : for no kind of traffic 
Would I admit ; no name of magistrate ; 
Letters should not be known ; no use of service. 
Of riches or of poverty ; no contracts. 
Succession ; bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none : 
No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil : 
No occupation ; all men idle, all ; 
And women too ; but innocent and piure : ^ 
No sovereignty : — . 

Seb. And yet he would be king on't. 

Ant. The latter end of his commonwealth forgets 
tlie beginning. 

Gon. All things in common nature should pro- 
duce, 
Without sweat or endeavour : treason, felony, 
Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine. 
Would I not have ; but nature should bring forth. 
Of its own kind, all foison », all abundance, 
5 Plenty. 



To feed my innocent people. 

I would with such perfection govern, sir. 

To excel the golden age. 

Seb. 'Save his majesty ! 

Ant. Long live Gonzalo \ 

Gon. And, do you mark me, sir ? — 

Alon. Pry'thee, no more : thou dost talk nothing 
to me. 

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

Ant. 'Twas you we laugh'd at. 

Gon. Who, in this kind of merry fooling, am 
nothing to you ; so you may continue, and laugh 
at nothing still. 

Ant. What a blow was there given ! 

Seb. An it had not fallen flat-long. 

Gon. You are gentlemen of brave metal : you 
would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would 
continue in it five weeks without changing. 

Enter Ariel invisible, playing solemn music. 

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

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

Gon. No, I warrant you ; I vrill not adventure 
my discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep, 
for I am very heavy ? 

Ant. Go sleep, and hear us. 

\^All sleep but Alon. Seb. and Ant. 

Alon. What, all so soon asleep ! I wish mine eyes 
Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts : I 

find 
They are inclin'd to do so. 

Seb. Please you, sir. 

Do not omit the heavy offer of it : 
It seldom visits sorrow : when it doth. 
It is a comforter. 

Ant. We two, my lord, 

Will guard your person, while you t^e your rest, 
And watch your safety. 

Alon. Thank you : wondrous heavy. '— 

[Alonso sleeps. Exit Ariel. 

Seb. What a strange drowsiness possesses them ! 

Ant. It is the quality o' the climate. 

Seb. Why 

Doth it not then our eyelids sink ? I find not 
Myself dispos'd to sleep. 

Ant. Nor I ; my spirits are nimble. 

They fell together all, as by consent ; 
They dropp'd as by a thunder-stroke. What might, 
Worthy Sebastian ? — O, what might ? — No 

more : — 
And yet, methinks, I see it in thy face, 
What thou should'st be : the occasion speaks thee ; 

and 
My strong imagination sees a crown 
Dropping upon thy head. 

Seb. What, art thou waking ? 

Ant. Do you not hear me speak ? 

Seb. I do ; and surely. 

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

Ant, Noble Sebastian, 

Tliou let'st thy fortune sleep — die rather ; wink's! 
Wliiles thou ait waking 



Scene I. 



TEMPEST. 



9 



Seb. Thou dost snore distinctly ; 

There's meaning in thy snores. 

Ant. I am more serious than my custom : you 
Must be so too, if heed me ; wliich to do, 
Trebles thee o'er. 

Scb. Well ; I am standing water. 

Ant. I'll teach you how to flow. 

Seb. Do so : to ebb, 

Hereditary sloth instructs me. 

Ant. O, 

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

Seb. Pr'ythee, say on : 

The setting of thine eye, and cheek, proclaim 
A matter from thee ; and a birth, indeed. 
Which throes thee much to yield.- 

Ant. Thus, sir. 

Although this lord of weak remembrance, this 
(Who shall be of as little memory, 
When he is earth'd,) hath here almost persuaded 
(For he's a spirit of persuasion only,) 
The king his son's alive : 'tis as impossible 
That he's undrown'd as he that sleeps here, swims. 

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

Ant. O, out of that no hope, 

What great hope have you ! no hope, that way, is 
Another way so high an hope, that even 
Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond, 
But doubts discovery there. Will you grant, with 

me. 
That Ferdinand is drown'd ? 

Seb. He's gone. 

Ant. Then, tell me. 

Who's the next heir of Naples ? 

Seb. Claribel. 

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

Naples 
Can have no note, unless the sun were post, 
(The man i' the moon's too slow) till new-born chins 
Be rough and razorable ; she, from whom 
We were all sea-swallow'd, though some cast again ; 
And, by that, destin'd to perform an act, 
Whereof what's past is prologue ; what to come. 
In yours and my discharge. 

Seb. What stuff' is this ? — How say you ? 

'Tis true, my brother's daughter's queen of Tunis ; 
So is she heir of Naples ; 'twixt which regions 
There is some space. 

Ant. A space whose every cubit 

Seems to cry out, How shall that Claribel 
Measure us back to Naples ? — Keep in Tunis, 
And let Sebastian wake ! — Say, this were death 
That now hath seiz'd them ; why, they were no worse 
Than now they are : there be, that can rule Naples 
As well as he that sleeps ; lords, that can prate 
As amply, and unnecessarily, 
As this Gonzalo ; I myself could make 
A chough 6 of as deep chat. O, that you bore 
'J'lie mind that I do ! what a sleep were this 
For your advancement ! Do you understand me ? 
Seb. Methinks 1 do. 

Anl. And how docs your content 

Tender your own good fortune ? 

^ A bird of the jackdaw kind. 



Seb. I remember, 

You did supplant your brother Prospero. 

Ant. True ; 

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

Seb. But, for your conscience — 

Ant. Ay, sir ; where lies that ? if it were a kybe, 
'Twould put me to my slipper ; but I feel not 
This deity in my bosom : twenty consciences. 
That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they, 
And melt, ere they molest ! Here lies your brother, 
No better than the earth he lies upon. 
If he were that which now he's like ; whom I, 
With this obedient steel, three inches of it. 
Can lay to bed for ever : whiles you, doing thus. 
To the perpetual wink for aye might put 
This ancient morsel, this sir Prudence, who 
Should not upbraid oiu course. For all the rest. 
They'll take suggestion, as a cat laps milk ; 
They'll tell the clock to any business that 
We say befits the hour. 

Seb. Thy case, dear friend, 

Shall be my precedent ; as thou got'st Milan, 
I'll come by Naples. Draw thy sword : one stroke 
Shall free thee from the tribute which thou pay'st ; 
And I the king shall love thee. 

Ant. Draw together : 

And when I rear my hand, do you the like. 
To fall it on Gonzalo. 

Seb. O, but one word ! 

\_Thei/ converse apart* 

Music. Re-enter Ariel, invisible. 
Ari. My master through his art foresees the danger 
Tliat these, his friends, are in ; and sends me forth, 
(For else his project dies,) to keep them living. 

iSivgs in GoNZALo's ear. 

While 1/ou here do snoring lie, 
Open-ey^d conspiracy 

His time doth take : 
If of life you keep a care, 
Shake off slmnber, and beware: 
Awake ! awake ! 
Ant. Then let us both be sudden. 
Gon. Now, good angels, preserve tlic king ! 

iThey wake. 
Alon. Why, how now, ho ! awake 1 Why are 
you drawn ? 
Wherefore this ghastly looking ? 

Gon. What's the matter ? 

Seb. Wliiles we stood here securing your reiwsc. 
Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing 
Like bulls, or rather lions ; tlid it not wake you ? 
It struck mine ear most terribly. 

Alon. I l>ea"^ nothing. 

Ant. O, 'twas a din to fright a nionster's car ; 
To make an earthquake ! sure it was the roar 
Of a whole herd of lions. 

^lon. Heard you this, Gonzalo ? 

Gon. Ui)on mine honour, sir, 1 heard a humming. 
And that a strange one too, which did awake me : 
I shak'd you, sir, and cry'd : as mine eyes open'd, 
I saw their weapons drawn : — there was a noise. 
That's verity : 'Best stand upon our guard ; 
Or that we quit tins place : let's draw our weapons. 
Alon. I-rcad oflf this ground ; and let's make fur- 
ther search 
For my poor son. 



10 



TEMPEST. 



Act II. Scene II. 



Gon. Heavens keep him from these beasts ! 

For he is, sure, i' the island. 

j4lon. Lead away. 

Ari. Prosper© my lord shall know what I have 

done ; [Aside. 

So, king, go safely on to seek thy son. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. —Another part of the Island. 

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

him 
By inch-meal a disease ! His spirits hear me. 
And yet I needs must curse. But they'll nor pinch. 
Fright me with urchin shows, pitch me i' the mire. 
Nor lead me, like a fire-brand, in the dark 
Out of my way, unless he bid them ; but 
For every trifle are they set upon me : 
Sometime like apes, that moe 7 and chatter at me. 
And after, bite me ; then like hedge-hogs, which 
Lie tumbling in my bare-foot way, and mount 
Their bristles at my foot-fall ; sometime am I 
All wound with adders, who, with cloven tongues. 
Do hiss me into madness : — Lo ! now ! lo ! 

Enter Trinculo. 

Here comes a spirit of his ; and to torment me. 
For bringing wood in slowly : I'll fall flat ; 
Perchance, he will not mind me. 

Tiin. Here's neither bush nor shrub, to bear off 
any weather at all, and another storm brewing ; I 
hear it sing i' the wind : yond' same black cloud, 
yond' huge one, looks like a foul bumbard 8 that 
would shed his liquor. If it should thunder, as it 
did before, I know not where to hide my head : 
yond' same cloud cannot choose but fall by pailfuls. 
What have we here ? a man or a fish ? dead or alive ? 
A fish : he smells like a fish ; a very ancient and fish- 
like smell ; a kind of, not of the newest, Poor- John. 
A strange fish ! Were I in England now (as once I 
was,) and had but this fish painted, not a holiday- 
fool there but would give a piece of silver : there 
would this monster make a man ; any strange beast 
there makes a man : when they will not give a doit 
to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to 
see a dead Indian. Legg'd like a man ! and his fins 
like arms ! Warm, o' my troth ! I do now let loose 
my opinion, hold it no longer ; this is no fish, but an 
islander, that hath lately suffered by a thunderbolt. 
[ Thunder.] Alas ! the storm is come again : my best 
way is to creep under his gaberdine 9 ; there is no 
other shelter hereabout : Misery acquaints a man 
with strange bedfellows. I will here shroud, till 
the dregs of the storm be past. 

Enter Stephano, singing ; a bottle in his hand. 

Ste. / shall no more to sea, to sea, 
Here shall I die a-shore ; — 

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

funeral : 
Well here's my comfort. [^DrinkS' 

The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I, 
The gunner, and his mate, 

' Make mouths. 

" A black jack of leather to hold beer. 

5 The frock of a peasant 



Lov'd Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margeryy 
But none of us car d for Kate : 
For she had a tongue loilh a tang, 
Would cry to a sailor, Go hang : 
Then to sea, boys, and let Iter go hang. 

This is a scurvy tune too : But here's my comfort. 

[Drinks. 

Cal. Do not torment me : O ! 

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

Cal. The spirit torments me : O ! 

Ste. This is some monster of the isle, with four 
legs ; who hath got, as I take it, an ague : Where 
the devil should he learn our language ? I will give 
him some relief, if it be but for that : If I can re- 
cover him, and keep him tame, and get to Naples 
with him, he's a present for any emperor that ever 
trod on neat's leather. 

Cal. Do not torment me, pr'ythee ; 
I'll bring my wood home faster. 

Ste. He's in his fit now ; and does not talk after 
the wisest. He shall taste of my bottle : if he have 
never drunk wine afore, it will go near to remove 
his fit : If I can recover him, and keep him tame, I 
will not take too much for him : he shall pay for 
him that hath him, and that soundly. 

Cal. Thou dost me yet but little hurt ; thou wilt 
Anon, I know it by thy trembling : 
Now Prosper works upon thee. 

Ste. Come on your ways ; open your mouth ; 
here is that which will give language to you, cat ; 
open your mouth : this will shake your shaking, I 
can tell you, and that soundly : you cannot tell 
who's your friend : open your chaps again. 

Trin. I should know that voice : It should be — 
But he is drowned ; and these are devils : O ! de- 
fend me ! — 

Ste. Four legs, and two voices ; a most delicate 
monster ! If all the wine in my bottle will recover 
him, I vrill help his ague : Come, I will pour some 
in thy other mouth. 

Trin. Stephano ! — 

Ste. Doth thy other mouth call me ? Mercy ! 
mercy ! This is a devil, and no monster ! I will 
leave him ; I have no long spoon. 

Trin. Stephano ! — if thou beest Stephano, touch 
me, and speak to me ; for I am Trinculo ; — be not 
afeard, — thy good friend Trinculo. 

Ste. If thou beest Trinculo, come forth ; I'll puil 
thee by the lesser legs : if any be Trinculo's legs, 
these are they. Thou art very Trinculo, indeed I 
How cam'st thou to be the siege- of this moon-calf? 

Trin. I took him to be killed with a thunder- 
stroke : — But art thou not drowned, Stephano ? 
I hope now, thou art not drowned. Is the storm 
overblown ? I hid me under the dead moon-calf's 
gaberdine, for fear of ttie storm : And art thou 
living, Stephano? O Stephano, two Neapolitans 
'scap'd ! 

Ste. Pr'ythee, do not turn me about j my stomach 
is not constant. 

Cal. These be fine things, an if they be not 
sprites. 

« StooL 



Act III. Scene I. 



TEMPEST. 



II 



That's a brave god, and bears celestial liquor : 
I will kneel to him. 

Ste. How did'st thou scape ? How cam'st thou 
hither ? swear by this bottle, how thou cam'st hither. 
I escaped upon a butt of sack, which the sailors 
heaved overboard, by this bottle ! which I made of 
the bark of a tree, with mine own hands, since I was 
cast ashore. 

CcU. I'll swear, upon that bottle, to be thy 
True subject ; for the liquor is not earthly. 

Ste. Here ; swear then how thou escap'dst. 

Trin. Swam a-shore, man, like a duck ; I can 
swim like a duck, I'll be sworn. 

Ste. Here, kiss the book : Though thou canst 
swim like a duck, thou art made like a goose. 

Trin. O Stephano, hast any more of this ? 

Ste. The whole butt, man ; my cellar is in a rock 
by the sea-side, where my wine is hid. How now, 
moon-calf? how does thine ague? 

Cal. Hast thou not dropped from heaven ? 

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

Cal. I have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee ; 
My mistress showed me thee, thy dog and bush. 

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

Trin. By this good light, this is a very shallow 
monster : — I afeard of him ? — a very weak monster : 
— The man i' the moon ? — a most poor credulous 
monster : — Well drawn, monster, in good sooth. 

Cal. I'll show thee every fertile inch o' the island : 
I'll kiss thy foot : I'll swear myself thy subject. 

Ste. Come on, then ; down and swear. 

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

Ste. Come, kiss. 



Trin. — but that the poor monster's in drink. 
An abominable monster ! 

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

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

Cal. I pr'ythee, let me bring thee where crabs grow ; 
And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts ; 
Shew thee a jay's nest, and instruct thee how 
To snare the nimble marmozet ; I'll bring thee 
To clust'ring filberds, and sometimes I'll get thee 
Young sea-mells 3 from the rock : Wilt thou go with 
me? 

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

Cal. Farewell, master i farewell, farewell. 

\Si7igs drunkenly. 

Trin. A howling monster ; a drunken monster. 

Cal. No more dams Vll make for fish ; 
Nor fetch in firing 
At requiring. 

Nor scrape trenchering, nor wash dish { 
'Ban 'Ban, Ca — Caliban 
Has a new muster — Get a new man. 

Freedom, hey-day ! hey-day, freedom ! freedom, 
hey-day, freedom ! 
Ste. O brave monster ! lead the way. 

\^Exeunl. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I. — Before Prospero's Cell. 

Enter Ferdinand, bearing a log. 

Fcr. There be some sports are painful ; but their 

labour 
Delight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness 
Are nobly undergone ; and most poor matters 
Point to rich ends. This my mean task would be 
As heavy to me, as 'tis odious ; but 
The mistress, which I serve, quickens wh'at's dead. 
And makes my labours pleasures : O, she is 
Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed ; 
And he's composed of harshness. I must remove 
Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up, 
\J\wn a sore injunction : My sweet mistress 
Weeps when she sees me work ; and says, such 

baseness 
Had ne'er like Executor. I forget : 
But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours ; 
Most busy-less, when I do it. 

Enter Miranda ; and Prospero at a distarice. 

Mir a. Alas, now ! pray you 

Work not so hard : I would the lightning had 
Burnt up those logs, that you arc enjoin'd to pile ! 



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

Fer. O most dear mistress, 

The sun will set, before I shall discharge 
What I must strive to do. 

Mira. If you'll sit down, 

I'll bear your logs the wliile : Pray, give me that ; 
I'll carry it to the pile. 

Fer. No, precious creature : 

I had rather crack my sinews, break my back, 
Than you should such dishonour undergo. 
While I sit lazy by. 

Mira. It would become mc 

As well as it does you : and I should do it 
With much more ease ; for my good will is to it. 
And yours against. 

Pro. Poor worm ! tliou art infected ; 

This visitation shows it. 

Mira. You look wearily. 

Fer. No, noble mistress ; 'tis fresh morning with 
me, 
When you vtc by at night. I do beseech you, 

3 Seagulls. 



12 



TEMPEST. 



Act III. 



(Chiefly, tliat I might set it in my prayers,) 
What is your name ? 

Mira. Miranda : — O my father, 

I have broke your best * to say so ! 

Fer, Admir'd Miranda ! 

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

Mira. I do not know 

One of my sex ; no woman's face remember. 
Save, from my glass, mine own ; nor have I seen 
More that I may call men, than you, good friend, 
And my dear father : how features are abroad, 
I am skill-less of; but, by my modesty, 
(The jewel in my dower,) I would not wish 
Any companion in the world but you j 
Nor can imagination form a shape, 
Besides yourself, to like of : but I prattle 
Something too wildly, and my father's precepts 
Therein forget. 

Fer. I am, in my condition, 

A prince, Miranda ; I do think, a king ; 
(I would, not so !) and would no more endure 
This wooden slavery, than I would suflfer 
The flesh-fly blow my mouth. — Hear my soul 

speak ; — 
The very instant that I saw you, did 
My heart fly to your service ; there resides, 
To make me slave to it ; and, for your sake. 
Am I this patient log-man. 

Mira. Do you love me ? 

Fer, O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this 
sound. 
And crown what I profess with kind event. 
If 1 speak true ! if hollowly, invert 
What best is boded me, to mischief ! I, 
Beyond all limit of what else i' the world, 
Do love, prize, honour you. 

Mira. I am a fool. 

To weep at what I am glad of. 

Pro. Fair encounter 

Of two most rare affections ! Heavens rain grace 
On that which breeds between them ! 

Fer. Wherefore weep you ? 

Mira. At mine unworthiness, that dare not 
offer 
What I desire to give ; and much less take. 
What I shall die to want : but this is trifling ; 
And all the more it seeks to hide itself, 
The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning ! 
And prompt me, plain and holy innocence ! 
I am your vdfe, if you will marry me ; 
If not, I'll die your maid : to be your fellow 
You may deny me ; but I'll be your servant. 
Whether you will or no. 

Fer. My mistress, dearest, 

And I thus humble ever. 

Mira. My husband then ? 

Fer. Ay, with a heart as willing 
As bondage e'er of freedom ; here's my hand. 



* Command. 



6 Own'A 



Mira. And mine, with my heart in't ; And now 
farewell, 
Till half an hour hence. 

Fer. A thousand ! thousand ! 

[Exeunt Fer. and Mir. 

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

SCENE II. — Another part of the Island. *" 

Enter Stephano and Trincujlo ; CaajIbk-s following 
with a bottle. 

Ste. Tell not me ; — when the butt is out, w© 
will drink water j not a drop before : therefore 
bear up and board 'em : Servant-monster, drink 
to me. 

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

Ste. Drink, servant-monster, when I bid thee ; thy 
eyes are almost set in thy hea(l. 

Trin. Where should they be set else ? 

Ste. My man-monster hath drowned his tongue 
in sack : for my part, the sea cannot drown me : I 
swam, ere I could recover the shore, five-and-thirty 
leagues, off and on, by this light. — Thou shalt be 
my lieutenant, monster, or my standard. 

Trin. Your lieutenant, if you list ; he's no 
standard. 

Ste. We'll not run, monsieur monster. 

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

Ste. Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou 
beest a good moon-calf. 

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

Trin. Thou liest, most ignorant monster ; I am 
in case to justle a constable : Was there ever man 
a coward, that hath drunk so much sack as I to- 
day ? Wilt thou tell a monstrous lie, being but half 
a fish, and half a monster ? 

Cal. Lo, how he mocks me ! wilt thou let him, 
my lord ? 

Tjin. Lord, quoth he ! — that a monster should 
be such a natural ! 

Cal. Lo, lo, again ! bite him to death, I pr'ythee. 

Ste. Trinculo, keep a good tongue in your head ; 
if you prove a mutineer, the next tree — The poor 
monster's my subject, and he shall not suffer indig- 
nity. 

Cal. I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleas'd 
To hearken once again the suit I made thee ? 

Ste. Marry will I : kneel, and repeat it ; I wil 
stand, and so shall Trinculo. 

Enter Ariel, invisible. 

Cal. As I told thee 
Before, I am subject to a tyrant ; 
A sorcerer, that by his cunning hath 
Cheated me of this island. 

u4ri. Thou liest. 

Cal. Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou ; 
I would my valiant master would destroy tliee 
I do not lie. 

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



Scene III. 



TEMPEST. 



13 



Trin. Why, I said notliing. 
Sle. Mum then, and no more. — \_To Caliban.] 
1 *roceed. 

Cal. I say, by sorcery he got this isle ; 
From me he got it. If thy greatness will 
Revenge it on him — for, I know, thou dar'st ; 
But this thing dare not. 
Stc. That's most certain. 

Cal. Thou shalt be lord of it, and I'll serve thee. 
ISte. How now shall this .be compassed ? Canst 
thou bring me to the party ? 

Cal. Yea, yea, my lord : I'll yield him thee asleep, 
Where thou may'st knock a nail into his head. 
Ari. Thou liest, thou canst not. 
Cal. What a pied ninny's this ! 6 Thou scurvy 
patch ! — 
I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows, 
And take his bottle from him : when that's gone, 
He shall drink nought but brine ; for I'll not show 

him 
Where the quick freshes 7 are. 

Ste. Trinculo, run into no further danger : inter- 
rupt the monster one word further, and, by this 
hand, I'll turn my mercy out of doors, and make a 
stock-fish of thee. 

Trm. Why, what did I ? I did nothing ; I'll go 
further off. 

Ste. Didst thou not say, he lied ? 
Ari. Thou liest. 

Ste. Do I so ? take thou that. [Strikes him.'] As 
you like this, give me the lie another time. 

Trin. I did not give the lie : — Out o' your wits, 
and hearing too ? — This can sack and drinking do. 
— A murrain on your monster, and the devil take 
your fingers ' 

Cal. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Ste. Now, forward with your tale. Pr'ythee 
stand further off. 

Cal. Beat him enough : after a little time, 
I'll beat him too. 
Ste. Stand further. — Come, proceed. 

Cal. Why, as I told thee, 'tis a custom with him 
r the afternoon to sleep : there thou may'st brain 

him. 
Having first seiz'd his books ; or with a log 
Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake. 
Or cut his wezand 8 with thy knife : Remember, 
First to possess his books ; for without them 
He's but a sot, as I am, nor hath not 
One spirit to command : They all do hate him. 
As rootedly as I : Bum but his books ; 
He has brave utensils, (for so he calls them,) 
Which, when he has a house, he'll deck witlial. 
And that most deeply to consider, is 
The beauty of his daughter ; he himself 
Calls her a nonpareil : I ne'er saw woman. 
But only Sycorax my dam and she ; 
But she as far sur})asseth Sycorax, 
As greatest does least. 

Ste. Is it so brave a lass ? 

Cal. Ay, my lord; she will become thy bed, I 
warrant. 
And bring thee forth brave brood. 

Ste. Monster, I will kill this man : his daughter 
nnd I will be king and queen ; (save our graces ! ) 
and Trinculo and thyself shall be viceroys : — Dost 
thou like the plot, Trinculo? 
Trin. Excellent. 

« Alluding to Trinculo 's partv-colourcd dross 
'Springs. « Throat 



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

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

Ste. Ay, on mine honour. 

Ari. This will I tell my master. 

Cal. Thou mak'st me merry : I am full of plea- 
sure ; 
Let us be jocund : Will you troll the catch 
You taught me but while-ere ? 

Sle. At tliy request, monster, I will do reason, 
any reason : Come on, Trinculo, let us sing. [Sirigs. 

Flout 'em, and skout ""em ; and skout 'em, and 
Jiout 'em ; 

Thought is free. 

Cal. That's not the tune. 

[Arlel plays the tune on a tabor and jtipe. 

Ste. What is this same ? 

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

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

Trin. O, forgive me my sins ! 

Ste. Mercy upon us ! 

Cal. Art thou afeard? 

Ste. No, monster, not I. 

Cal. Be not afeard ; the isle is full of noises. 
Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not. 
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments 
Will hum about mine ears ; and sometimes voices, 
That, if I then had wak'd after long sleep, 
Will make me sleep again : and then, in dreaming, 
The clouds, methought, would open, and show riches 
Ready to drop upon me ; that, when I wak'd, 
I cry'd to dream again. 

Ste. This will prove a brave kingdom to mo, 
where I shall have my musick for notliing. 

Cal. When Prospero is destroyed. 

Ste. That shall be by and by : I remember the 
storj-. 

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

Ste. Lead, monster ; we'll follow. — I would I 
could see this taborer : he lays it on. 

rWn. Wilt come? I'll follow, Steplamo. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IIL — Another part of the Island. 

Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, 
Adrian, Francisco, and others. 

Gon. By'r lakin 9, I can go no further, sir ; 
My old bones ache : here's a maze trod, indeed, 
Through forth-rights, and meanders ! by your pa.- 

tience, 
I needs must rest me. 

Alon. Old lord, I cannot blame thee 

Who am myself attach'd with weariness. 
To the dulling of my spirits : sit down, and rest. 
Even here I will put off my hope, and keep it 
No longer for my flatterer : he is drown 'd. 
Whom thus we stray to find ; and the sea mocks 
Our frustrate search on land : well, let him go. 

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

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

» Our lady. 



u 



TEMPEST. 



Act hi. Scene III. 



Tljc next advantage 



Seb. 
Will we take thoroughly. 

Ant. Let it be to-night ; 

For, now they are oppress'd with travel, they 
Will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance, 
As when tliey are fresh. 

Seb. I say, to-night : no more. 

Solemn and strange Mustek ; arid PaosPERO above, 
invbible. Enter several strange Shapes, bringing 
in a Banquet ; they dance about it with gentle ac- 
tions <f salutation : and, inviting tlie King, i^c. to 
eat, they depart. 

Alan. What haraiony is this ? my good friends, 
hark ! 

Gon. Marvellous sweet musick ! 

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

Seb. A living drollery ^ : Now I will believe. 
That there are unicorns ; that in Arabia 
There is one tree, the phoenix' throne ; one phoenix 
At this hour reigning there. 

Ant. I'll believe both ; 

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

Gon. If in Naples 

I should report this now, would they believe me ? 
If I should say I saw such islanders, 
(For, certes, these are people of the island,) 
Who, though they are of monstrous shape, yet, note. 
Their manners are more gentle-kind, than of 
Our human generation you shall find 
Many, nay, almost any. 

Pro. Honest lord. 

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

Alon. I cannot too much muse. 

Such shapes, such gesture, and such sound, ex- 
pressing 
( Although they want the use of tongue) a kind 
Of excellent dumb discourse. 

Pro- Praise in departing. 

[Aside. 

Fran. They vanish'd strangely. 

Seb. No matter, since 

They have left their viands behind j for we have 

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

Alon. Not I. 

Gon. Faith, sir, you need not fear : When we 
were boys. 
Who would believe that there were mountaineers, 
De^s'-lapp'd like bulls, whose throats had hanging 

at them 
Wallets of flesh ? or that there were such men. 
Whose heads stood in their breasts ? which now we 

find, 
Each putter-out on five for one, will bring us 
Good warrant of. 

Alon. I will stand to, and feed. 

Although my last : no matter, since I feel 
The best is past : — Brother, my lord the duke, 
Stand to, and do as we. 

Thunder and lightning. Enter Ariel like a harpy ; 
claps his ivings ujjon the table, and, with a quaint 
device, the banquet vanishes. 

' Show. 



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

[Seeing Alon. Seb. <^c. draw their swords. 
And even with such like valour, men hang and 

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

from 
(Which here, in this most desolate isle ; else falls 
Upon your heads,) is nothing, but heart's sorrow, 
And a clear 3 life ensuing. 

He vanishes in thunder : then, to soft musick, enter 
the Shapes again, a7id dance ivith mops and viowes, 
and carry out the table. 

Pro. [Aside."] Bravely the figure of this harpy 
hast thou 
Perform'd, my Ariel ; a grace it had, devouring : 
Of my instruction hast thou nothing 'bated, 
In what thou hadst to say : so, with good b'fe. 
And observation strange, my meaner ministers 
Their several kinds have done : my high charms 

work. 
And these, mine enemies, are all knit up 
In their distractions : they now are in my power ; 
And in these fits I leave them, whilst I visit 
Young Ferdinand, (whom they suppose is drown'd,) 
And his and my loved darling. 

[Exit PROSPERoyro/n above. 

Gon. V the name of something holy, sir, why 
stand you 
in this strange stare ? 

Alon. O, it is monstrous ! monstrous ! 

Methought the billows spoke, and told me of it ; 
The winds did sing it to me ; and the thunder. 
That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc'd 
The name of Prosper ; it did bass my trespass. 
Therefore my son i' the ooze is bedded ; and 
I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded. 
And with him there lie mudded. [Exit. 

Seb. But one fiend at a time, 

I'll fight their legions o'er. 

Ant. I'll be thy second. 

[Exexint Seb. and Ant. 

Gon. All three of them are desperate ; their great 
guilt, 



2 Down. 



3 Pure, blameless. 



Act IV. Scene I. 



TEMPEST. 



15 



Like poison given to work a great time after, 

Now 'gins to bite the spirits : I do beseech 

you 
That are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly, 



And hinder them from what this ecstacy * 
May now provoke them to. 

Adr. Follow, I p/ay you. 

{^ExcuiU 



ACT IV. 



I 



SCENE I. — Before Prospero's Cell. 

Enter Prospero, Ferdinand, and Miranda. 

Pj 0. If I have too austerely punish 'd you, 
Your compensation makes amends ; for I 
Have given you here a tlu-ead of mine own life, 
Or that for wliich I live ; whom once again 
I tender to thy hand : all thy vexations 
Were but my trials of thy love, and thou 
Hast strangely stood the test : here, afore Heaven, 
I ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand, 
Do not smile at me, that I boast her off, 
For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise. 
And make it halt behind her. 

Fer. I do believe it. 

Against an oracle. 

Pro. Then, as my gift, and tliine own acquisition 
Worthily purchas'd, take my child, but not 
Till sanctimonious ceremonies may 
With full and holy rites be minister'd. 
Then Hymen's lamps shall light you. 

Fer. As I hope 

For quiet days, fair issue, and long life. 
With such love as 'tis now ; the strong'st suggestion 
Our worser Genius can, shall never taint 
My honour. 

Pro. Fairly spoke : 

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

Enter Ariel. 

An. What would my potent master ? here I am. 

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

Ari. Presently ? 

Pro. Ay, with a twink. 

Ari. Before you can say, Come, and go, 
And breathe twice ; and cry, so, so ; 
Each one, tripping on liis toe, 
Will be here with mop and mowe : 
Do you love me, master ? no. 

Pro. Dearly, my delicate Ariel: Do not approach. 
Till thou dost hear me call. 

An. Well I conceive. [Exit. 

Pro. Look, thou be true. 

Fer, I warrant you, sir. 

Pro. Well. — 

Now come, my Ariel ; bring a corollary •», 
Rather than want a spirit ; appear, and pertly. — 
No tongue ; all eyes ; be silent. [.Soft musick. 

A Masque. Enter Iris. 
Iris. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas 
Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and peas ; 
* Surplus. 



Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep. 
And flat meads tliatch'd with stover, them to kee 
Thy banks with peonied and lilied brims. 
Which spongy April at thy hest^ betrims, 
To make cold nymphs chaste crowns ; and thy 

broom groves, 
Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves, 
Being lass-lorn ; thy pole-clipt vineyard ; 
And thy sea-marge, steril, and rocky-hard, 
Where thou thyself dost air : The queen o' the sky, 
Whose wat'ry arch, and messenger, am I, 
Bids thee leave these ; and with her sovereign grace, 
Here, on this grass-plot, in this very place. 
To come and sport : her peacocks fly amain ; 
Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain. 

Enter Ceres. 

Cer. Hail, many-colour'd messenger, that ne'er 
Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter ; 
Who, with thy saffron wings, upon my flowers 
Diffiisest honey-drops, refreshing showers ; 
And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown 
My bosky 7 acres, and my unshrubb'd down, 
Rich scarf to my proud earth ; Why hath thy queen 
Summon'd me liifher, to this short-grass'd green ? 

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

Cer. Tell me, heavenly bow. 

If Venus, or her son, as thou dost know. 
Do now attend the queen ? since they did plot 
The means, that dusky Dis 8 my daughter got 
Her and her blind boy's scandal'd company 
I have forsworn. 

Iris. Of her society 

Be not afraid : I met her deity 
Cutting the clouds towards Paphos ; and her son 
Dove-drawn with her. 

Cer. Highest queen of state, 

Great Juno comes : I know her by her gait. 

Enter Juno. 
Juno. How does my bounteous sister? Go with 
me. 
To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be. 
And honour'd in their issue. 

SONG. 

Juno. Honour, riches, marriage-blessing. 
Long continuance, and increasing. 
Hourly joys be stili upon you ! 
Juno sirtgs her blessings on you. 

Cer. Earth's increase, andfoison ^ plenty ; 
Bams, and garners never empty; 
Vines with clustering bunches growing ; 
Plants, with goodly burden bowing; 



^ Alienation of mind. 

r Woody. » Pluta 



« Command. 
> Abundance. 



IG 



TEMPEST. 



Spring come to you, at the farthest, 

the very end of harvest .' 
Scarcity and want shall shun you ; 
Ceres^ blessing so is on you. 

Fer. This is a most majestic vision, and 
Harmonious charmingly : May I be bold 
To think these spirits ? 

Pro. Spirits, which by mine art 

I have from their confines call'd to enact 
My present fancies. 

Fer. Let me live here ever ; 

So rare a wonder'd ' father, and a wife. 
Make this place paradise. 

[Juno and Ceres luhisper, and send Iris on 
employment. 

Pro. Sweet now, silence : 

Juno and Ceres whisper seriously ; 
Tiierc's something else to do : hush, and be mute, 
Or else our spell is marr'd. 

Iris. You nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the wan- 
d'ring brooks, 
Witli your sedg'd crowns, and ever harmless looks, 
Leave your crisp channels, and on this green land 
Answer your summons ; Juno does command : 
Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate 
A contract of true love ; be not too late. 

Enter certain Nymphs. 
You sunburn'd sicklemen, of August weary, 
Come hither from the furrow, and be merry ; 
Make holy-day : your rye-straw hats put on. 
And these fresh nymphs encounter every one 
In country footing. 

Enter certain Reapers, properly habited : they join 
with the Nymjihs in a graceful dance; towards 
the end whereof Prospero starts suddenly, and 
speaks ; after which, to a strange, hollow, and con- 
fused noise, they heavily vanish. 
Pro. \^Aside.'\ I had forgot that foul conspiracy 
Of the beast Caliban, and his confederates. 
Against my life ; the minute of their plot 

Is almost come [To the Spirits.'] Well done ; — 

avoid ; — no more. 
Fer. This is most strange : your father's in some 
passion 
That works him strongly. 

Mira. Never till this day. 

Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd. 
Pro. You do look, my son, in a mov'd sort. 
As if you were dismay'd ; be cheerful, sir : 
Our revels now are ended : these our actors. 
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and 
Are melted into air, into thin air ; 
And, like the baseless fabrick of this vision, 
The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces, 
The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve ; 
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded. 
Leave not a rack behind : We are such stuff 
As dreams are made of, and our little life 
Is rounded with a sleep. — Sir, I am vex'd ; 
Bear with my weakness : my old brain is troubled. 
Be not disturb'd with my infirmity : 
If you be pleas'd, retire into my cell. 
And there repose ; a turn or two I'll walk. 
To still my beating mind. 

Fer. Mira. We wish your peace. 

\^Exeui^t. 
1 Able to produce such wonders. | 



Pro. Come with a thought : - 
Ariel, come. 

Enter Ariel. 



Act IV. 

I thank you : — 



An. Thy thoughts I cleave to : What's thy plea- 
sure? 

Pro. Spirit, 

We must prepare to meet with Caliban. 

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

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

Ari. I told you, sir, they were red-hot with 
drinking ; 
So full of valour, that they smote the air 
For breathing in their faces ; beat the ground 
For kissing of their feet ; yet always bending 
Towards their project : Then I beat my tabor. 
At which, like unback'd colts, they prick'd their ears, 
Advanc'd their eyelids, lifted up their noses. 
As they smelt musick ; so I charm'd their ears. 
That, calf-like, they my lowing foUow'd, through 
Tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss, and 

thorns. 
Which enter'd their frail shins ; at last I left them 
I' the filthy mantled pool beyond your cell. 
Up to the chins. 

Pro. This was well done, my bird. 

Thy shape invisible retain thou still : 
The trumpery in my house, go, bring it hither. 
For stale 2 to catch these thieves. 

Ari. I go, I go. {^Exit. 

Pro. A devil, a born devil, on whose nature 
Nurture 3 can never stick ; on whom my pains, 
Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost ; 
And as, with age, his body uglier grows. 
So his mind cankers : I will plague them all. 

Re-enter Ariel, loaden with glistering apparel, ^c. 
Even to roaring : — Come, hang them on this line. 

Prospero and Ariel remain invisible. Enter 
Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo, all wet. 

Cal. Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole 
may not 
Hear a foot fall : we now are near his cell. 

Ste. Monster, your fairy, which, you say, is a 
harmless fairy, has done little better than played the 
Jack 4 with us. 

Trin. Monster, my nose is in great indignation. 

Ste. So is mine. Do you hear, monster ? If I 
should take a displeasure against you ; look you,— 

Trin. Thou wert but a lost monster. 

Cal. Good my lord, give me thy favour still : 
Be patient, for the prize I'll bring thee to 
Shall hood-wink this mischance : therefore, speak 

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

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

Ste. There's not only disgrace and dishonour in ' 
that, monster, but an infinite loss. 

Trin. That's more to me than my wetting : yet 
this is your harmless fair}', monster. 

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



3 Education. 



Jack with a lantern. 



Act V. Scene I. 



TEMPEST. 



17 



Cal. Pr'ythee, my king, be quiet : Seest thou here, 
This is the mouth of the cell : no noise, and enter : 
Do that good mischief, which may make this island 
Tliine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban, 
For aye thy foot-licker. 

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

Tr'm. O king Stephano ! O peer ! O worthy Ste- 
phano ! look, what a wardrobe here is for thee ! 

Cal. Let it alone, thou fool ; it is but trash. 

Trin. O, ho, monster ; we know what belongs to 
a frippery ^ : — O king Stephano ! 

Sle. Put off that gown, Trinculo ; by this hand, 
I'll have that gown. 

Trin, Tliy grace shall have it. 

Cal. The dropsy drown tliis fool ! what do you 
mean, 
To doat thus on such luggage ? Let's along, 
And do the murder first : if he awake. 
From toe to crown he'll fill our skins with pinches ; 
Make us strange stuff. 

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

Trin. Do, do : We steal by line and level, a'nt 
like your grace. 

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



Trin. Monster, come, put some lime 7 upon your 
-fingers, and away with tlie rest. 

Cal. I will have none on't : we shall lose our time, 
And all be turn'd to barnacles, or to apes 
With foreheads villainous low. 

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

Trin. And this. 

Ste. Ay, and this. 

A noise of hunters heard. Enter divers Spirits, in 
shape of hounds, and hunt them about ; Prospero 
and A riel setting tliem on. 

Pro. Hey, Mountain, hey ! 

Jri. Silver ! there it goes. Silver / 

Pro. Furi/, Fury! there. Tyrant, there ! hark, hark ! 
[Cal. Ste. and Trin. are driven out. 
Go, charge my goblins that they grind their joints 
With dry convulsions ; shorten up their sinews 
With aged cramps ; and more pinch-spotted make 

them. 
Than pard % or cat o' mountain. 

Ari. Hark, they roar. 

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

[Ejxunt. 



ACT V. 



SCENE I. -- Before the Cell of Prospero. 

Enter Prospero m his magic robes, and Ariel. 

Pro. Now does my project gather to a head : 
My charms crack not ; my spirits obey ; and time 
Goes upright with his carriage. How's the day ? 

Ai-i. On the sixth hour ; at which time, my lord. 
You said our work should cease. 

Pro. I did say so. 

When first I rais'd the tempest. Say, my spirit. 
How fares the king and his ? 

Ari. Confin'd together 

In the same fashion as you gave in charge ; 
Just as you left them, sir ; all prisoners 
In the lime-grove which weather-fends ^ your cell; 
They cannot budge, till you release. The king, 
His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted ; 
And the remainder mourning over them, 
Brim-full of sorrow and dismay ; but chiefly 
Him you term'd, sir. The good old lord, Gonzalo ; 
His tears run down his beard, like winter's drops 
From eves of reeds : your charm so strongly works 

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

Pro. Dost thou think so, spirit? 

Ari. Mine would, sir, were I human. 

Pro. And mine shall. 

Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling 
Of their afHictions ? and shall not myself. 
One of their kind, that relisli all as sharply 

* A shop for sale of old clothes. 
6 Defends from bad weather. 



Passion as they, be kindlier mov'd than thou art ? 
Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the 

quick. 
Yet, with my nobler reason, 'gainst my fury 
Do I take part : the rarer action is 
In virtue than in vengeance : they being penitent. 
The sole drift of my purpose doth extend 
Not a frown further : Go, release them, Ariel ; 
My charms I'll break, tlieir senses I'll restore. 
And they shall be themselves. 

Ari. I'll fetch them, sir, 

[Exit. 

Pro. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, 
and groves ; 
And ye, that on the sands with printless foot 
Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him» 
When he comes back ; you demy-puppets, tliat 
By moon-shine do the green-sour ringlets make, 
Whereof the ewe not bites ; and you, whose pastime 
Is to make midnight-mushrooms ; that rejoice 
To hear the solemn curfew ; by whose aid 
( Weak masters tliough you be) I have be-dimm'd 
The noon-tide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds, 
And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault 
Set roaring war : to the dread rattling thunder 
Have I given fire, and rifled Jove's stout oak 
With his own bolt : the strong-bas'd promontory 
Have I made shake ; and by the spurs pluck 'd up 
The pine, and cedar : graves, at my command, 
Have wak'd their sleepers ; oped, and led them forth 
By my so potent art : But this rough magick 



' Bird-lime. 



* Leopard. 



18 



TEMPES'I'. 



Act V. 



I here abjure : and, when I have requir'd 

Some heavenly musick, (which even now I do,) 

To work mine end upon their senses, that 

This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff*. 

Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, 

And deeper than did ever plummet sound, 

I'll drown my book. [Solemn Musick. 

Be-eiiter Arikl: after him Alonso, with a frantic 
gesture, attended by Gonzalo; Sebastian aiid 
Antonio in like manner attended by Adrian and 
Francisco: They all enter the circle which Pros- 
PERO had made, and there stand charmed; which 
Prospero observing, speaks. 
A solemn air, and the best comforter 
To an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains, 
Now useless, boil'd within thy skull ! There stand, 

For you are spell-stopp'd. 

Holy Gonzalo, honourable man, 
Mine eyes, even sociable to the shew of thine, 
Fall fellowly drops. — The charm dissolves apace ; 
And as the morning steals upon the night. 
Melting the darkness, so their rising senses 
Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle 
Their clearer reason. — O my good Gonzalo, 
My true preserver, and a loyal sir 
To him thou follow'st ; I will pay thy graces 
Home both in word and deecl. — Most cruelly 
Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter : 
Thy brotlier was a furtherer in the act ; — 
Thou'rt pinch'd for't now, Sebastian. — Flesh and 

blood, 
You brother mine, that entertain'd ambition, 
Expell'd remorse' and nature ; who, with Sebastian, 
(Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong,) 
Would here have kill'd your king ; I do forgive thee. 
Unnatural though thou art ! — Their understanding 
Begins to swell ; and the approaching tide 
Will shortly fill the reasonable shores. 
That now lie foul and muddy. Not one of them. 
That yet looks on me, or would know me : — Ariel, 
Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell ; 

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

Ariel re-enters, singing, and helps to attire 
Prospero. 

Ari. Where the bee sucks, there suck I; 
In a coioslip's bell I lie : 
There I couch when oiols do cry. 
On the bat's back I do fly. 
After summer merrily : 
Meri'ily, merrily, shall I live now. 
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. 

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

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

Gon All torment, trouble, wonder, and amazement 
Inhabits here : Some heavenly power guide us 
Out of this fearful country ! 

1 Pity or tenderness of heart. 



Pro. Beliold, sir king, 

Tlie wronged Duke of Milan, Prospero : 
For more assurance that a living prince 
Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body : 
And to thee, and thy company, I bid 
A hearty welcome. 

Alon. Whe'r ^ thou beest he, or no, 

Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me. 
As late I have been, I not know : thy pulse 
Beats, as of flesh and blood ; and since I saw thee, 
The affliction of my mind amends, with which, 
I fear, a madness held me : this must crave 
( An if this be at all) a most strange story. 
Thy dukedom I resign ; and do entreat 
Thou pardon me my wrongs : — But how should 

Prospero 
Be living and be here ? 

Pro. First, noble friend. 

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

Gon. Whether this be. 

Or be not, I'll not swear. 

Pro. You do yet taste 

Some subtilties o' the isle, that will not let you 
Believe thingscertain : — Welcome,my friends all:— • 
But you, my brace of lords, were I so minded, 

[Aside to Seb. and Ant. 
I here could pluck his highness' frown upon you. 
And justify you traitors : at this time 
I'll tell no tales. 

Seb. The devil speaks in him. [Aside. 

Pro. No : — 

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

Alon. If thou beest Prospero, 

Give us particulars of thy preservation : 
How thou hast met us here, who three hours since 
Were wreck'd upon this shore ; where I have lost. 
How sharp the point of this remembrance is ! 
My dear son Ferdinand. 

Pro. I am woe 3 for't, sir. 

Alon. Irreparable is the loss ; and Patience 
Says, it is past her cure. 

Pro. I rather think. 

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

Alon. You the like loss ? 

Pi'o. As great to me, as late ; and, portable 
To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker 
Than you may call to comfort you : for I 
Have lost my daughter. 

Alon. A daughter? 

O heavens ! that they were living both in Naples, 
The king and queen there ! that they were, I wish 
Myself were mudded in that oozy bed 
Where my son lies. When did you lose your 
daughter ? 

Pro. In this last tempest. I perceive, these lords 
At this encounter do so much admire. 
That they devour their reason ; and scarce think 
Their eyes do offices of truth, their words 
Are natural breath ; but howsoe'er you have 
Been justled from your senses, know for certain. 
That I am Prospero, and that verj' duke 



2 Whether. 



Sony. 



Scene I. 



TEMPEST. 



19 



Which was thrust forth ol' Milan ; wIjo most strangely 
Upon tljis shore, where you were wreck 'd, was landed, 
To be the lord on't. No more yet of this ; 
For 'tis a chronicle of day by day, 
Not a relation for a breakfast, nor 
Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir; 
This cell's my court : here have I few attendants. 
And subjects none abroad : pray you look in. 
My dukedom since you have given me again, 
I will requite you with as good a thing j 
At least, bring forth a wonder, to content ye 
As much as me my dukedom. 

The entrance of the cell opens, and discovers Ferdi- 
nand and Miranda playing at chess. 

Mira. Sweet lord, you play me false. 

Fer. No, my dearest love, 

1 would not for the world. 

Mira. Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should 
wrangle. 
And I would call it fair play. 

^lo7i. If this prove 

A vision of the island, one dear son 
Shall I twice lose. 

Seb. A most high miracle ! 

Fer. Tho' the seas threaten, they are merciful ; 
I have curs'd them witliout cause. 

[Ferd. kneels to Alon. 

Alon. Now all the blessings 

Of a glad father compass thee about ! 
Arise, and say how thou cam'st here. 

Mira. O ! wonder ! 

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

Pro. 'Tis new to thee. 

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

Fer. Sir, she's mortal ; 

But, by immortal Providence, she's mine ; 
I chose her, when I could not ask my father 
For his advice ; nor thought I had one : she 
Is daughter to this famous duke of Milan, 
Of whom so often I have heard renown. 
But never saw before ; of whom I have 
Received a second life, and second father 
Tliis lady makes him to me. 

^lon. I am hers : 

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

Pro. Tliere, sir, stop : 

Let us not burden our remembrances 
With a heaviness that's gone. 

Gon. I have inly wept. 

Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you 

gods. 
And on this couple drop a blessed crown ; 
For it is you, that have chalk'd forth the way 
Which brought us liither ! 

^lon. I say, Amen, Gonzalo ! 

Gon. Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his issue 
Should become kings of Naples ? O, rejoice 
Beyond a common joy ; and set it down 
Wirij gold on lasting pillars : In one voyage 
Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis ; 
And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife, 
Where he himself was lost ; Prospero his dukedom. 



In a poor isle ; and all of us, ourselves. 
When no man was his own. 

Mon. Give me your hands : 

[To Fer. and Mir. 
Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart. 
That doth not wish you joy ' 



Gon. 



Be't so ! Amen ! 



He-enter Ariel, mth the Master and Boatswain 
amazedly following. 

look, sir, look, sir ; here are more of us ! 

1 prophesied, if a gallows were on land. 

This fellow could not drown : — Now, blasphemy. 
That swear'st grace o'erboard, not an oath on shore ? 
Hast thou no mouth by land ? What is the new s ? 
Boats. The best news is, that we have safely found 
Our king, and company : the next our ship, — 
Which, but three glasses since, we gave out split, 
Is tight and yare"*, and bravely rigg'd, as when 
We first put out to sea. 

An. Sir, all this service"] 

Have I done since I went. I Aside. 

Pro. My tricksy* spirit ! J 

Alon. These are not natural events ; they strengthen 
From strange to stranger : — Say, how came you 
hither? 
Boats. If I did think, sir, I were well awake, 
I'd strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep, 
And (how, we know not,) all clapp'd under hatches. 
Were, but even now, with strange and several noises 
Of roaring, shrieking, howling, gingling chains. 
And more diversity of sounds, all horrible. 
We were awak'd ; straitway, at liberty : 
Where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld 
Our royal, good, and gallant ship ; our master 
Cap'ring to eye her : On a trice, so please you. 
Even in a dream, were we divided from them. 
And were brought moping hither. 

Ari. Was't well done ? "] 

Pro. Bravely, my diligence. Thou shalt I Asiile. 

be free. J 

Alon. This is as strange a maze as e'er men trod : 
And there is in this business more than nature 
Was ever conduct ^ of: some oracle 
Must rectify our knowledge. 

Pro. Sir, my liege. 

Do not infest your mind with beating on 
Tlie strangeness of this business ; at pick'd leisure. 
Which shall be shortly, single I'll resolve you 
(Which to you shall seem probable) of every 
Tliese happen 'd accidents : till when, be cheerful. 
And think of each thing well. — Come hither, 
spirit; [Aside. 

Set Caliban and liis companions free : 
Untie the spell. [Exit Ariel.] How fares my 

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

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

Ste. Every man shift for all the rest, and let no 
man take care for himself; for all is but fortune : — 
Coragio, bully-monster, Coragio ! 

TVin. If these be true spies which I wear in my 
head, here's a goodly sight. 

Cal. O Setebos, Uiese be brave spirits, indeed ! 
How fine my master is ! I am afraid 
He will chastise me. 



Ready. 



Clever, adroit. 
C 2 



6 Conductor. 



TEMPEST. 



Act V. 



Scb. Ila, ha ; 

What things are these, my lord Antonio? 
Will money buy them ? 

Ant. Very like, one of them 

Is a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable. 

Pro. Mark but the badges of these men, my lords, 
Then say, if they be true ^ : — This mis-shapen knave. 
His mother was a witch ; and one so strong 
That could control the moon, make flows and ebbs, 
And deal in her command, without her power : 
These three have robb'd me ; and this demi-devil 
( For he's a bastard one) had plotted with them 
To take my life : two of these fellows you 
Must know, and own ; this tiling of darkness I 
Acknowledge mine. 

Cal. I shall be pinch'd to death. 

Alon. Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler ? 

St'b. He is drunk now : Where had he wine ? 

Alon. And Trinculo is reeling ripe : Where should 
they 
Find tills grand liquor that hath gilded them ? — 
How cam'st thou in this pickle ? 

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

Seb. Why, how now, Stephano? 

Ste. O, touch me not ; I am not Stephano, but 
a cramp. 

Pro. You'd be king of the isle, sirrah ? 

Ste. I should have been a sore one then. 

Alon. This is as strange a thing as e'er I look'd 
on. [Pointing to Caliban. 

Pro. He is as disproportion'd in his manners, 
As in his shape ; — Go, sirrah, to my cell ; 



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

Cal. Ay, that I will ; and I'll be wise hereafter. 
And seek for grace : What a thrice-double ass 
Was I, to take this drunkard for a god. 
And worship this dull fool ? 

Pro. Go to ; away ! 

Alo7i. Hence, and bestow your luggage where you 
found it. 

Seb. Or stole it, rather. 

[Exeunt Cal. Ste. and Trin. 

Pro. Sir, I invite your highness, and your train. 
To my poor cell : where you shall take your rest 
For this one night ; which (part of it) I'll waste 
With such discourse, as, I not doubt, shall make it 
Go quick away : the story of my life. 
And the particular accidents gone by. 
Since I came to this isle : And in the mom, 
I'll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples, 
Where I have hope to see the nuptial 
Of these our dear-beloved solemniz'd ; 
And thence retire me to my Milan, where 
Every third thought shall be my grave. 

Alon. I long 

To hear the story of your life, which must 
Take the ear strangely. 

Pro. I'll deliver all ; 

And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales, 
And sail so expeditious, that shall catch 
Your royal fleet far off. — My Ariel ;— chick. 
That is thy charge ; then to the elements 
Be free, and fare thou well ! — [Aside.] Please you 
di'aw near. [ExeufU. 



EPILOGUE. — Spoken hy Prospero. 



Nou.1 my charms are all overthrown, 
And what strength I havens mine own ; 
Which is mostjaint : now, 'tis true, 
I must be here coiifined by you. 
Or sent to Naples : Let me not. 
Since I have my dukedom got. 
And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell 
In this bare island, by your spell ; 
But release me from my bands. 
With the help ^your good hands. ^ 

1 Honest ^ Applause ; noise was supposed to dissolve a spell. 



Gentle breath of yours my sails 
Must Jill, or else my project fails, 
Which was to please : Now I want 
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant j 
And my ending is despair, 
Unless I be relieved by prayer ; 
Which pierces so, that it assaults 
Mercy itself, and frees all faults. 

As you from crimes would pardon'd be, 
Let your indulgence set me free. 



-2^ 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



Dpke of Milan, Father to Silvia. 

Valentine, 1 ^ ,, /.-ir 

T> Y Gentlemen of Verona. 

Proteus, J -^ 

A NTONio, Father to Proteus. 

Thurio, a foolish Rival to Valentine. 

Eglamour, Agent for Silvia in her Escape^ 

Speed, a clownish Servant to Valentine. 

Launce, Servant to Proteus. 



Panthino, Servant to Antonio. 
Host tvhere Julia lodges in Milan. 
Outlaws. 

Julia, a Lady of Verona, beloved by Proteus. 
Silvia, the Duke's Daughter, beloved by Valentine, 
Lucetta, Waiting-woman to Julia. 



Servants, Musicians. 
SCENE, sometimes in Verona; sometimes in Milan ; and on the Frontiers o/" Mantua. 



1^\ 




LET OO THAT UDIjE ONGIVIL TOCCH. 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA, 



ACT I. 



SC'ENE I. — yin o/}Pn Place in Vcroiiu. 
Enter Valentink mid Protkus. 

Vnl. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus ; 
Home-keeping youth have ever liomely wits : 
Wer't not aHcction chains tliy tender days 
To the sweet glances of thy lionour'd love, 
I ratlier would entreat tiiy company, 
To see the wonders of the world al)road, 
Than living dully sluggardiz'd at home, 
Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness. 
Hut, since thou lov'st, love still, and thrive therein, 
Even as I would, when 1 to love begin. 

Pro. Wilt tiiou begone ? Sweet Valentine, adieu ! 
Think on thy Proteus, wiien tliou, haply, seest 
Some rare note- worthy object in thy travel : 
Wish me partaker in thy happiness, 
When thou dost meet good hap ; and, in thy danger. 
If evt-r danger do environ tliee, 
('ommend thy grievance to my holy prayers, 
For I will be thy bead's-man, Valentine. 

Vol. And on a love-book jjray for my success. 

Pro. Upon some book I love, PU pray for thee. 

Val. That's on some shallow story of deep love. 
How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont. 

Pro. That's a deep story of a deeper love ; 
For he was more than over shoes in love. 

Vol. 'Tis true ; for you are over boots in love, 
And yet you never swam the Hellespont. 

Pro. Over the boots ? nay, give me not the boots. ' 

Val No, PU not, for it boots thee not. 

Pro. What? 

Val. To be 

' A hiiinoroin puiiUhmcnt at harvest-home fea&ts, iS.c. 



la love, where scorn is bought witli groans ; coy 

looks. 
With heart-sore sighs ; one fading moment's mirth. 
With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights : 
If haply won, perhaps, a hapless gain ; 
If lost, why then a grievous labour won ; 
However, but a folly bought with wit. 
Or else a wit by folly vanquished. 

Iho. So, by your circumstance, you call me fool. 

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

Pro. 'Tis love you cavil at ; I am not love. 

Val. Love is your master, for he masters you : 
And he that is so yoked by a fool, 
Methinks should not be chronicled for wise. 

Pro. Yet writers say. As in the sweetest bud 
The eating canker dwells, so eating love 
Inhabits in the finest wits of all. 

Vat. And writers say, As the most forward bud 
Is eaten by the canker ere it blow. 
Even so by love the young and tender wit 
Is turn'd to folly ; blasting in the bud. 
Losing its verdure even in the prime. 
And all the fair effects of future hopes. 
But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee. 
That art a votary to fond desire? 
Once more adieu : my father at the road 
Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd. 

/Vo. .'\nd thither will I bring thee, Valentine. 

Vnl. Sweet Proteus, no ; now let us take our leave. 
.'\t Milan let me hear from thee by letters. 
Of thy success in love, and what news else 
Betideth here in absence of thy friend ; 
And I likewise will visit thee with mine. 

Pro. All happiness Iwchance to thee in Milan ! 
C ;} 



22 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



Act 1. 



Val. As much to you at home ! and so farewell ! 
[Exit Valentine. 

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

Enter Speed. 

Speed. Sir Proteus, save you : saw you my master ? 

2*ro. But now he parted hence, to embark for 
Milan. 

Speed. Twenty to one then he is shipp'd already ; 
And I have play'd the sheep in losing him. 

Pro. Indeed a sheep doth very often stray. 
An if the shepherd be awhile away. 

Speed. You conclude that my master is a shepherd 
then, and I a sheep ? 

Pro. I do. 

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

Pro. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep. 

Speed. This proves me still a sheep. 

Pro. True ; and thy master a shepherd. 

Speed Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance. 

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

Speed. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the 
sheep the shepherd ; but I seek my master, and my 
master seeks not me ; therefore, I am no sheep. 

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

Speed. Such another proof will make me cry baa. 

Pro. But dost thou hear ? gav'st thou my letter 
to Julia? 

Speed. Ay, sir : I, a lost mutton, gave your letter 
to her ; and she gave me, a lost mutton, nothing for 
my labour. 

Pro. Nay, in that you are astray, 'twere best 
pound you. 

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

Pro. You mistake ; I mean the pound, a pinfold. 

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

Pro. But what said she? did she nod? 

[Speed nods 

Speed. I. 

Pro. Nod, I ? why, that's noddy. ^ 

Speed. You mistook, sir ; I say, she did nod : and 
you ask me, if she did nod; and I say, I. 

Pro. And that set together, is — noddy. 

Speed. Now you have taken the pains to set it to- 
gether, take it for your pains. 

Pro. No, no, you shall have it for bearing the letter. 

Speed. Well, I perceive, I must be fain to bear 
with you. 

Pro. Why, sir, how do you bear with me ? 

Speed. Marry, sir, the letter very orderly ; having 
nothing but the word, noddy, for my pains. 

Pro. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit. 

Speed. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse. 

Pro. Come, come, open the matter in brief: What 
said she ? 

2 A game at cards. 



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

Pro. Well, sir, here is for your pains : What said 
she? 

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

Pro. Why ? Could'st thou perceive so much from 
her? 

Speed. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from 
her ; no, not so much as a ducat for delivering your 
letter : And being so hard to me that brought your 
mind, I fear she'll prove as hard to you in telling her 
mind. 

Pro. What, said she nothing ? 

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

Pro. Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from 
wreck ; 
Which cannot perish, having thee aboard, 
Being destined to a drier death on shore : — 
I must go send some better messenger ; 
I fear, my Julia would not deign my lines. 
Receiving them from such a worthless post. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — The same. Garden of 3 uWsJ s house. 
Enter Julia and Lucetta. 

Jul. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone, 
Would'st thou then counsel me to fall in love? 

Luc. Ay, madam ; so you stumble not unheed- 
fully. 

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

Luc. Please you, repeat their names, I'll shew 
my mind 
According to my shallow simple skill. 

Jul. What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour i 

Luc. As of a knight well-spoken, neat and fine ;1 
But were I you, he never should be mine. 

Jul. What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio ? 

L.UC. Well of his wealth ; but of himself, so, so. 

Jul What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus ? 

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

Jul. How now! what means this passion at his 
name ? 

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

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

Luc. Then thus, of many good I think him 

best. 

Jul. Your reason ? 

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

Jul. And would'st thou have me cast my love on 
him ? 

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

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

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

Jul. His little speaking shews his love but small. 

Luc. Fire, that is closest kept, burns most of all. 

Jul. They do not love, that do not show their love. 

Luc. O, tliey love least, that let men know their 
love. 

Jul. I would I knew his mind. 



Given me a sixpence. 



Pass senteiicQ 



Scene II. 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



23 



Ltic. Peruse this paper, madam. 

Jul. To Julia, — Say, from whom ? 

Luc. That the contents will shew. 

Jul. Say, say ; who gave it thee ? 

Luc. Sir Valentine's page ; and sent, I tliink, 
from Proteus : 
He would have given it you, but I, being in the way. 
Did in your name receive it ; pardon the fault, I pray. 

Jul. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker ! * 
Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines? 
To wliisper and conspire against my youth ? 
Now, trust me, 'tis an office of great worth, 
And you an officer fit for the place. 
There, take tlie paper, see it be return'd ; 
Or else return no more into my sight. 

Luc. To plead for love deserves more fee than hate. 

Jul. Will you begone ? 

Lice. That you may ruminate. \^Ei'it. 

Jul. And yet, I would I had o'erlook'd tlie letter. 
It were a shame to call her back again, 
And pray her to a fault for which I chid her. 
"What fool is she, that knows I am a maid, 
And would not force the letter to my view? 
Since maids, in modesty, say No, to that 
Which they would have the profferer construe, Ay. 
Fie, fie ! how wayward is this foolish love, 
That, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse. 
And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod ! 
How churlishly I cliid Lucetta hence, 
When villingly I would have had her here ! 
How mgrily I taught my brow to fro\vn, 
When inward joy enforc'd my heart to smile ! 
jMy penance is, to call Lucetta back, 
And ask remission for my folly past : — 
What ho! Lucetta! 

Re-enter Lucetta. 

Luc. What would your ladyship ? 

Jul. Is it near dinner time ? 

Ltic. I would it were ; 

riiat you might kill your stomach ^ on your meat, 
And not upon your maid. 

Jul. What is't you look up 

So ;5inger.ly '( 

Luc. Nothing. 

Jul. Why didst thou stoop then ? 

IjUc To take a paper up that I let fall. 

Jul. And is that paper nothing ? 

Luc Nothing concerning me. 

Jul. Then let it lie for those that it concerns. 

Luc. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns, 
Unless it have a false interpreter. 

Jul. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme. 

Luc. That I might sing it, madam, to a tune : 
Give me a note : your ladyship can set. 

Jul. As little by such toys as may be possible : 
Best sing it to the tune of Light o love. 

Luc. It is too heavy for so light a tune. 

Jul. Heavy? belike it hatli some burden, then. 

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

Jul. And why not you ? 

Luc I cannot reach so high. 

Jul. Let's see your song : — How now, minion ? 

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

Jul. You do not ? 

Luc. No, madam ; it is too sharp. 



Matchmaker. 



Tassion or obetitwcy. 



Jul. You, minion, are too saucy. 

Lite. Nay, now you are too flat, 
And mar the concord with too harsh a descan' 
There wanteth but a mean ^ to fill your song. 

Jul. The mean is drown'd with your unruly base. 

Luc. Indeed I did the base 9 for Proteus. 

Jul. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me. 
Here is a coil' with protestation ! — 

[Tears the letter. 
Go, get you gone ; and let the papers lie : 
You would be fingering them, to anger me. 

Luc. She makes it strange; but she would be 
best pleas'd 
To be so anger'd with another letter. [Krit. 

Jul. Nay, would I were so anger'd with the same ! 

hateful hands, to tear such loving words ! 
Injurious wasps ! to feed on such sweet honey, 
And kill the bees, tliat yield it, with your stings ! 
I'll kiss each several paper for amends. 

And here is writ — kirid Julia ; — unkind Julia ! 
As in revenge of thy ingratitude, 

1 throw thy name against the bruising stones. 
Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain. 
Look, here is writ — love-wounded Proteus : — 
Poor wounded name ! my bosom as a bed. 

Shall lodge thee, till thy wound be throughly heal'd : 

And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss. 

But twice, or thrice, was Proteus written down ? 

Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away. 

Till I Iiave found each letter in tlie letter, 

Except mine own name ; that some wliirlwind bear 

Unto a ragged, fearful, lianging rock,. 

And throw it thence into the raging sea ! 

Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ, — 

Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus, 

To the sweet Julia ; — that I'll tear away ; 

And yet I will not, sith so prettily 

He couples it to his complaining names : 

Thus will I fold them one upon another ; 

Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will. 

Re-enter LncKTTA. 

Luc. Madam, dinner's ready, and your fatliei 

stays. 
Jul. Well, let us go, 
Luc. What, shall these papers lie like tell-tales 

here ? 
Jul. If you respect them, best to take them up. 
Luc. Nay, I was taken up for laying them do\N n : 
Yet here they shall not lie, for catching cold. 
Jul. I see you have a montli's mind to tlicm. 
Luc. Ay, madam, you may say what sights \ou 
see ; 
I see things too, although you judge I wink. 

Jul. Come, come, will't please you go? [^Excunt. 

SCENE III. — The same. A Room in Antonio's 
House. 

Enter Antonio and Panthino. 

Ant. Tell me, Panthino, what sad 2 talk was that. 
Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister? 

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

Ajit. Why, what of him ? 

Pant. He wonder'd that your lordship 

Would suffer him to spend his youth at home ; 
While other men, of slender reputation, 3 



7 A term in musick. 
' A chaUengo. 
2 Serious. 



C 4 



" The tenor in musick. 

' Bustle, stir. 

^ Little consequence. 



24 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



Act II. 



Put forth their sons to seek preferment out : 

Some, to the wars, to try their fortune there ; 

Some, to discover islands far away ; 

Some, to the studious universities. 

For any, or for all these exercises. 

He said, that Proteus, your son, was meet ; 

And did request me, to importune you, 

To let him spend his time no more at home, 

Which would be great impeachment ■* to his age. 

In having known no travel in his youth. 

Ant. Nor need'st thou much imp6rtune me to that 
Whereon this month I have been hammering. 
I have consider'd well his loss of time ; 
And how he cannot be a perfect man, 
Not being try'd and tutor'd in the world : 
Experience is by industry atchiev'd, 
And perfected by the swift course of time : 
Then, tell me, whither were I best to send him ? 

Pant. I think, your lordship is not ignorant. 
How his companion, youthful Valentine, 
Attends the emperor in his royal court. 

Ant. I know it well. 

Pant. 'Twere good, I think, your lordship sent 
him thither : 
There shall he practise tilts and tournaments. 
Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen ; 
And be in eye of every exercise 
Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth. 

Ant. I like thy counsel ; well hast thou advis'd : 
And that thou may'st perceive how well I like it. 
The execution of it shall make known j 
Even with the speediest execution 
I will dispatch him to the emperor's court. 

Pant. To-morrow, may it please you, Don Al- 
phonso. 
With other gentlemen of good esteem. 
Are journeying to salute the emperor. 
And to commend their service to his will. 

Ant. Good company; with them shall Proteus go; 
And, in good time, — now will we break with him. ^ 

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



Am. How now? what letter are you reading 
there? 

Pro. May't please your lordship, 'tis a word or 
two 
Of commendation sent from Valentine, 
Deliver'd by a friend that came from him. 

A7it. Lend me the letter ; let me see what news. 

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

Ant. And how stand you affected to his wish ? 

Pro. As one relying on your lordship's will. 
And not depending on his friendly vnsh. 

Ant. My will is something sorted with his wish : 
Muse 6 not that I thus suddenly proceed ; 
For what I will, I will, and there an end. 
I am resolv'd, that thou shalt spend some time 
With Valentinus in the emperor's court ; 
What maintenance he from his friends receives. 
Like exhibition 7 thou shalt have from me. 
To-morrow be in readiness to go : 
Excuse it not, for I am peremptory. 

Pro. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided; 
Please you, deliberate a day or two. 

Ant. Look, what thou want'st shall be sent after 
thee ; 
No more of stay ; to-morrow thou must go. — 
Come on, Panthino ; you shall be employ'd 
To hasten on his expedition. 

[Exeunt Ant. a7id Pant. 

Pro. Thus have I shunn'd the fire, for fear of 
burning ; 
And drench'd me in the sea, where I am drown'd : 
I fear'd to shew my father Julia's letter, 
Lest he should take exceptions to my love ; 
A nd with the vantage of mine own excuse 
Hath he excepted most against my love. 
O, how this spring of love resembleth 

The uncertain glory of an April day ; 
Which now shews all the beauty of the sun. 

And by and by a cloud takes all away ! 

He-enter Panthino. 

Pant. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you ; 
He is in haste, therefore, I pray you, go. 

Pro. Why, this it is : my heart accords thereto ; 
And yet a thousand times it answers, no. [Exeunt. 



ACT 11. 



SCENE L — Milan. An Apartment in the Duke's 
Palace. 

Enter Valentine and Speed. 

Speed. Sir, your glove. 

Val. Not mine : my gloves are on. 

Speed. Why then this may be yours, for this is 
but one. 

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

Speed. Madam Silvia! madam Silvia! 

Val. How now, sirrah ? 

Speed. She is not within hearing, sir. 



< Reproach. 



Break the matter to him. 



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

Speed. Your worship, sir ; or else I mistook. 

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

Speed. And yet I was last chidden for being too 
slow. 

Val. Go to, sir ; tell me, do you know madam 
Silvia? 

Speed. She that your worship loves ? 

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

Speed. Marry, by these special marks : First, you 
have learned, like sir Proteus ; to wreath your arms 
like a male-content ; to relish a love-song, like a 
robin-red-breast ; to walk alone, like one that had 
the pestilence ; to sigh, like a school-boy that had 



6 Wonder. 



Allowance. 



Scene I. 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



25 



lost his A, B, C ; to weep, like a girl that had 
buried her grandam ; to fast, like one that takes 
diet P ; to watch, like one that fears robbing; to speak 
puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. 9 You were 
wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock ; when 
you walked, to walk like one of the lions ; when 
you fasted, it was presently after dinner ; when you 
looked sadly, it was for want of money : and now 
you are metamorphosed with a mistress, that, when 
I look on you, I can hardly think you my master. 

Val. Are all these things perceived in me ? 

Speed. They are all perceived without you. 

Val. Without me ? They cannot. 

Speed. Without you ? nay, that's certain, for 
without you were so simple, none else would : but 
you are so without these follies, that these follies are 
within you. 

Fal. But, tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia ? 

Speed. She, that you gaze on so, as she sits at 
supper ? 

Val. Hast thou observed that ? even she I mean. 

Speed. Why, sir, I know her not. 

Val. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, 
and yet know'st her not ? 

Speed. Is she not hard favoured, sir ? 

VaJ, Not so fair, boy, as well favoured. 

Speed. Sir, I know that well enough. 

Val. What dost thou know ? 

Speed. That she is not so fair, as (of you) well 
favoured. 

Val. I mean, that her beauty is exquisite, but her 
favour infinite. 

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

Val. How painted ? and how out of count ? 

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

Vol. How esteemest thou me ? I account of her 
beauty. 

Speed. You never saw her since she was deformed. 

Vol. How long hath she been deformed ? 

Speed. Ever since you loved her. 

Vol. I have loved her ever since I saw her ; and 
still I see her beautiful. 

Speed. If you love her, you cannot see her. 

Val. Why? 

Speed. Because love is blind. O, that you had 
mine eyes ; or your own had the lights they were 
wont to have, when you chid at sir Proteus for going 
ungartered. 

Val. What should I see then ? 

Speed. Your own present folly, and her passing 
deformity : for he, being in love, could not see to 
garter liis hose ; and you, being in love, cannot see 
to put on your hose. 

Val. Belike, boy, then you are in love ; for last 
morning you could not see to wipe my shoes. 

Speed. True, sir ; I was in love with my bed : I 
thank you, you swinged ' me for my love, which 
makes me the bolder to chide you for yours. 

Val. Last night she enjoined me to write some 
lines to one she loves. 

Speed. And have you ? 

Val. I have. 

Sj)€ed. Are tliey not lamely writ ? 

Vai. No, boy, but as well as I can do them : — 
Peace, here she comes. 



" Under a rogimcn. 
> Whipped. 



9 AUhallowniaa. 



Eyiter Silvia. 

Speed. O excellent motion ! ■' O exceeding puppet ! 
now will he interpret to her. 

Val. Madam and mistress, a thousand good-mor- 
rows. 

Speed. O, give you good even ! here's a million 
of manners. [Asule. 

Sil. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand. 

Speed. He should give her interest ; and she gives 
it him. 

Val. As you enjoin'd me, I have writ your letter. 
Unto the secret nameless friend of yours ; 
Which I was much unwilling to proceed in. 
But for my duty to your ladyship. 

Sil. I thank you, gentle servant ; 'tis very clerkly 3 
done. 

Val. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off; 
For being ignorant to whom it goes, 
I writ at random, very doubtfully. 

SU. Perchance you tliink too much of so much 
pains? 

Val. No, madam ; so it stead you, I will write. 
Please you command, a thousand times as much : 
And yet, — 

Sil. A pretty period ! Well, I guess the sequel ; 
And yet I will not name it : — and yet I care not ; 
And yet take this again ; — and yet I thank you ; 
Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more. 

Speed. And yet you will ; and yet another yet. 

[A^ide. 

Val. What means your ladyship ? do you not 
like it? 

Sil. Yes, yes ; the lines are very quaintly writ 
But since unwillingly, take them again ; 
Nay, take them. 

Val. Madam, they are for you. 

SU. Ay, ay ; you writ them, sir, at my request : 
But I will none of them ; they are for you : 
I would have had them writ more movingly. 

Val. Please you, I'll write your ladyship another. 

5^. And, when it's writ, for my sake read it over ; 
And, if it please you, so ; if not, why, so. 

Val. If it please me, madam ! what then ? 

Sil. Why, if it please you, take it for your labour ; 
And so good-morrow, servant. [Exii Silvia. 

Speed. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible. 
As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a 

steeple ! 
My master sues to her; and she hath taught her suitor. 
He being her pupil, to become her tutor. 
O excellent device ! was there ever heard a better ? 
That my master, being scribe, to himself should 
write the letter ? 

Val. How now, sir? what are you reasoning with 
yourself? 

Speed. Nay, I was rhyming; 'tis you tliat have 
the reason. 

Val. To do what ? 

Speed. To be a spokesman from madam Silvia. 

Val. To whom ? 

Speed. To yourself: why, she wooes you by a 
figure ? 

Vol. What figure ? 

Speed. By a letter, I should say. 

Vol. Why, she hath not writ to me. 

Sj>eed. What need she, when she hatli matle you 
write to yourself? Why, do you not perceive the jest ? 



A ptippci-*how. 



3 like a scholar. 



26 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



Act II. 



Val. No, believe me. 

Speed. No believing you, indeed, sir: But did 
you perceive her earnest ? 

Val. She gave me none, except an angry word. 

Speed. Why, she hath given you a letter. 

Val. That's the letter I writ to her friend. 

Speed. And that letter hath she delivered, and 
there an end. 

Val. I would, it were no worse. 

Speed. I'll warrant you, 'tis as well. 
For often you have writ to her ; and she, in modesty. 
Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply ; 
Or fearing else some messenger, that might lier mind 

discover. 
Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto her 

lover. — 
All this I speak in print ; for in print I found it. — 
Why muse you, sir ? 'tis dinner-time. 

Val. I have dined. 

Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir : though the came- 
leon Love can feed on the air, I am one that am 
nourished by my victuals, and would fain have meat : 
O, be not like your mistress ; be moved, be moved. 

{^Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Verona. J Room in Julia's House. 

Enter Proteus and Julia. 

Pro. Have patience, gentle Julia. 

Jul. I must, where is no remedy. 

Pro. When possibly I can, I will return. 

Jul. If you turn not, you will return the sooner : 
Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake. 

\_Giving a ring. 

Pro. Why then we'll make exchange ; here take 
you this. 

Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss. 

Pro. Here is my hand for my true constancy ; 
And when that hour o'erslips me in the day. 
Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake. 
The next ensuing hour some foul mischance 
Torment me for my love's forgetful ness ! 
My father stays my coming ; answer not ; 
The tide is now : nay, not the tide of tears ; 
That tide will stay me longer than I should : 

l^ExU Julia. 
Julia, farewell. — What ! gone without a word ? 
Ay, so true love should do ; it cannot speak ; 
For truth hath better deeds, than words, to grace it, 

Enter Panthino. 

Pant. Sir Proteus, you are staid for. 
Pro. Go ; I come, I come ; — 
Alas ! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — The same. A Street. 

Enter Launce, leading a dog. 
Laun. Nay, it will be this hour ere I have done 
weeping ; all the kind^ of the Launces have this 
very fault : I have received my proportion, like the 
prodigious son, and am going with sir Proteus to 
the Imperial's court. I think, Crab my dog be the 
sourest-natured dog that lives : my mother weeping, 
my father wailing, my sister crying, our maid howl- 
ing, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house 
in a great perplexity, yet did not this crucl-hcarted 

■* Kindred. 



cur shed one tear ; he is a stone, a very pebble- 
stone, and has no more pity in him than a dog : a 
Jew would have wept to have seen our parting ; 
why, my grandam having no eyes, look you, wept 
herself blind at my parting. Nay, I'll show you 
the manner of it : This shoe is my father ; — no 
this left shoe is my father ; — no, no, this left shoe 
is my mother ; — nay, that cannot be so neither ; — 
yes, it is so, it is so ; it hath the worser sole ; This 
shoe is my mother, and this my father; A ven- 
geance on't ! there 'tis : now, sir, this staff is my 
sister; for, look you, she is as white as a lily, 
and as small as a wand : this hat is Nan, our 
maid ; I am the dog : — no, the dog is himself, 
and I am the dog ; — O, the dog is me, and I am 
myself; ay, so, so. Now come I to my father; 
Father, your blessing ; now should not the shoe speak 
a word for weeping ; now should I kiss my father ; 
well, he weeps on : — now come I to my mother, (O, 
that she could speak now !) like a wood ^ woman ; — 
well, I kiss her ; — why there 'tis ; here's my 
mother's breath up and down ; now come I to my 
sister ; mark the moan she makes ; now the dog all 
this while sheds not a tear, nor speaks a word ; but 
see how I lay the dust with my tears. 

Enter Panthino. 

Pant. Launce, away, away, aboard ; thy master 
is shipped, and thou art to post after with oars. 
What's the matter ? why weepest thou, man ? Away, 
ass ; you will lose the tide, if you tarry any longer. 

Laun. It is no matter if the ty'd were lost : for 
it is the unkindest ty'd that ever man ty'd. 

Pant. What's the unkindest tide ? 

Laun. Why, he that's ty'd here ; Crab, my dog. 

Pant. Tut, man, I mean thou'lt lose the flood ; 
and, in losing the flood, lose thy voyage ; and, in 
losing thy voyage, lose thy master ; and, in losing 
thy master, lose thy service ; and, in losing thy 
service, — 

Laun. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the 
master, and the service ? The tide ! — Why, man, if 
the river were dry, I am able to fill it with my 
tears; if the wind were down, I could drive the 
boat with my sighs. 

Pant. Come, come away, man ; I was sent to 
call thee. 

Laun. Sir, call me what thou darest. 

Pant. Wilt thou go ? 

Laun. Well, I will go. \^Exeunt. 



SCENE IV. 



Milan. An Apart?nent in the Duke's 
Palace. 



Enter Valentine, Silvia, Thurio, aiid Speed. 
Sil. Servant — 
Vol. Mistress? 

Speed. Master, sir Thurio frowns on you. 
Val. Ay, boy, it's for love. 
Speed. Not of you. 
Val. Of my mistress then. 
Speed. 'Twere good, you knock'd him. 
Sil. Servant, you are sad.^ 
Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so. 
Thu. Seem you that you are not ? 
Val. Haply, I do. 
Thu. So do counterfeits. 
Val. So do you. 



^ Crazy, distracted. 



^ Serious. 



Scene IV. 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



27 



7%?^. What seem I tliat I am not? 
Val. Wise. 

T/iu. What instance of the contrary? 

Vol. Your folly. 

Thu. And how quote 7 you my folly ? 

Fal. I quote it in your jerkin. 

Thu. My jerkin is a doublet. 

Fal. Well, then, I'll double your folly. 

Thu. How? 

Sil. What, angry, sir Thurio? do you change 
colour? 

Vol. Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of 
cameleon. 

Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your 
blood, than live in your air. 

Vol. You have said, sir. 

Thu. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time. 

VcU. I know it well, sir ; you always end ere 
you begin. 

Sil. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and 
quickly shot off. 

Val. 'Tis indeed, madam ; we thank the giver. 

Sii. Who is that, servant ? 

Val. Yourself, sweet lady ; for you gave the fire . 
sir Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's 
looks, and spends what he borrows, kindly in your 
company. 

Thu. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, 
I shall make your wit bankrupt. 

Val. I know it well, sir ; you have an exchequer 
of words, and I think no other treasure to give your 
followers : for it appears by their bare liveries, that 
tliey live by your bare words. 

Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more ; here comes 
my father. 

Enter Duke. 

Buke. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset. 
Sir Valentine, your father's in good health : • 
WJiat say you to a letter from your friends 
Of much good news ? 

Val. My lord, I will be thankful 

To any hajipy messenger from thence. 
Duke. Know you Don Antonio, your countrjonan ? 

Val. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman 
To be of worth, and worthy estimation. 
And not without desert so well reputed. 

Duke. Hath he not a son ? 

Val. Ay, my good lord ; a son that well deserves 
The honour and regard of such a father. 

Duke. You know him well ? 

Val. I knew him as myself ; for from our infancy 
We have conversed and spent our hours together ; 
And though myself have been an idle truant, 
Omitting the sweet benefit of time, 
To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection ; 
Yet hath sir Proteus, for tliat's his name, 
Made use and fair advantage of his days ; 
His years but young, but his experience old ; 
His head unmellow'd, but his judgment ripe ; 
And, in a word, (for far behind his worth 
Come all the praises that I now bestow,) 
He is complete in feature, and in mind, 
With all good grace to grace a gentleman. 

Duke. Beshrew me, sir, but, if he make this good, 
He is as worthy for an empress' love. 
As meet to be an emperor's counsellor. 
Well, sir ; tliis gentleman is come to me, 
Witli commendation from great potentates ; 

7 Note, observe. 



And here he means to spend his time a-while : 
I think, 'tis no unwelcome news to you. 

Val. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been he. 

Duke. Welcome him then according to his worth : 

Silvia, I speak to you ; and you, sir Thurio : 

For Valentine, I need not 'cite ^ him to it : 

I'll send him hither to you presently. [Ent Duke. 

Val. This is the gentleman, I told your ladyship, 
Had come along witli me, but that his mistress 
Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks. 

Sil. Belike tliat now she hath enfranchis'd them 
Upon some other pawn for fealty. 

Val. Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners 
still. 

Sil. Nay, then he should be blind ; and being 
blind, 
How could he see his way to seek out you ? 

Val. Why, lady, love hath twenty pair of eyes. 

Thu. They say that love hath not an eye at all. 

Vol. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself; 
Upon a homely object love can wink. 

Enter Proteus. 

Sil. Have done, have done ; here comes the gen- 
tleman. 

Val. Welcome, dear Proteus ! — Mistress, I be- 
seech you, 
Confirm his welcome with some special favour. 

Sil. His worth is warrant for his welcome hitlicr, 
If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from. 

Val. Mistress, it is : sweet lady, entertain him 
To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship. 

Sil. Too low a mistress for so high a servant. 

Pro. Not so, sweet lady ; but too mean a servant 
To have a look of such a worthy mistress. 

Val. Leave off discourse of disability : — 
Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant. 

Pro. My duty will I boast of, nothing else. 

Sil. And duty never yet did want his meed ; 
Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress. 

Pro. I'll die on him that says so, but yourself. 

Sil. Tliat you are welcome ? 

Pro. No ; that you are wortliless. 

Enter Servant. 

Ser. Madam, my lord your father would sjicak 

with you. 
Sil. I'll wait upon his pleasure. [Exit Servant. 
Come, sir Thurio, 
Go with me : — Once more, new servant, welcome : 
I'll leave you to confer of home-affairs ; 
When you have done, we look to hear from you. 
Pro. We'll both attend upon your ladyship. 

[Exeunt Silvia, Thurio, atid Speed. 
Vnl. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you 

came ? 
Pro. Your friends are well, and have them much 

commended. 
Vai. And how do yours ? 

Pro. I lefl them all in health. 

Val. How does your lady ? and how thrives your 

love? 
Pro. My tales of love were wont to weary you ; 
I know you joy not in a love-discourse. 

Val. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now; 
I have done penance for contemning love ; 
Whose high imi)erious thoughts have punish'd me 
With bitter fasts, with penitential groans, 

" Incite. 



28 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



Act II. 



With nightly tears, anil daily heart-sore sighs ; 

For, in revenge of my contempt of love, 

Love hath chas'd sleep from my enthralled eyes, 

And made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow. 

O, gentle Proteus, love's a mighty lord ; 

And hath so humbled me, as I confess, 

There is no woe to his correction, 

Nor, to his service, no such joy on earth ! 

Now, no discourse, except it be of love ; 

Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep, 

Upon the very naked name of love. 

Pro. Enough ; I read your fortune in your eye : 
Was this the idol that you worship so ? 

Val. Even she ; and is she not a heavenly saint ? 

Pro. No ; but she is an earthly paragon. 

Val. Call her divine. 

Pro. I will not flatter her. 

Val. O, flatter me ; for love delights in praises. 

Pro. When I was sick, you gave me bitter pills ; 
And I must minister the like to you. 

Val. Then speak the truth by her ; if not divine, 
Yet let her be a principality, 
Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth. 

Pro. Except my mistress, 

Val. Sweet, except not any ; 

Except thou wilt except against my love. 

Pro. Have I not reason to prefer mine own ? 

Val. And I will help thee to prefer her too : 
She shall be dignified with this high honour, — 
To bear my lady's train ; lest the base earth 
Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss. 
And, of so great a favour growing proud, 
Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower, 
And make rough winter everlastingly. 

Pro. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this ? 

Val. Pardon me, Proteus ; all I c^n, is nothing ; 
To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing ; 
She is alone. 

Pro. Then let her alone. 

Val. Not for the world : why, man, she is mine 
own ; 
And I as rich in having such a jewel. 
As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl. 
The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold. 
Forgive me, that I do not dream on thee. 
Because thou seest me dote upon my love. 
My foolish rival, that her father likes. 
Only for his possessions are so huge. 
Is gone with her along ; and I must after, 
For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy. 

Pro. But she loves you ? 

Val. Ay, and we are betroth'd ; 

Nay, more, our marriage hour, 
With all the cunning manner of our flight, 
Determin'd of : how I must climb her window ; 
The ladder made of cords ; and all the means 
Plotted, and 'greed on, for my happiness. 
Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber. 
In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel. 

Pro. Go on before ; I shall enquire you forth : 
I must unto the road, to disembark 
Some necessaries that I needs must use ; 
And then I'll presently attend you. 

Val. Will you make haste ? 

Pro. I will. — [Exit Val. 

Even as one heat another heat expels, 
Or as one nail by strength drives out another. 
So the remembrance of my former love 
Is by a newer object quite forgotten. 
Is it mine eye, or Valentinus' praise. 



Her true perfection, or my false transgression. 

That makes me, reasonless, to reason thus ? 

She's fair ; and so is Julia, that I love : — 

That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd ; 

Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire, 

Bears no impression of the thing it was. 

Methinks, my zeal to Valentine is cold ; 

And that I love him not, as I was wont : 

O ! but I love his lady too, too much ; 

And that's the reason I love him so little. 

How shall I dote on her with more advice 9, 

That thus without advice begin to love her ? 

'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld, 

And that hath dazzled my reason's light ; 

But when I look on her perfections, 

There is no reason but I shall be blind. 

If I can check my erring love, I will ; 

If not, to compass her I'll use my skill. \^Ej.it. 

SCENE V. — The same. A Street. 
Enter Speed and Launce. 

Speed. Launce ! by nline honesty, welcome to 
Milan. 

Laun. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth ; for I 
am not welcome. I reckon this always — that a 
man is never undone, till he be hanged ; nor never 
welcome to a place, till some certain shot be paid, 
and the hostess say welcome. 

Speed. Come on, you mad-cap, I'll to the ale- 
house vnth you presently ; where, for one shot of 
five-pence, thou shalt have five thousand welcomes. 
But, sirrah, how did thy master part with madam 
Julia? 

Laun. Marry, after they closed in earnest, they 
parted very fairly in jest. 

Speed. But shall she marry him ? 

Laun. No, 

Speed. How then ? shall he marry her ? 

Laun. No, neither. 

Speed. What, are they broken? 

Laun. No, they are both as whole as a fish. 

Speed. What an ass art thou ! I understand tliee not. 

Laun. What a block art thou, that thou canst 
not ! My staflP understands me. 

Speed. What thou say'st ? 

Lau7i. Ay, and what I do too : look thee, I'll 
but lean, and my staff understands me. 

Speed. It stands under thee, indeed. 

Laun. Why, stand under and understand is all one. 

Speed. But tell me true, wiO't be a match ? 

Laun. Ask my dog : if he say, ay, it will ; if 
he say, no, it will ; if he shake his tail, and say 
nothing, it will. 

Speed. The conclusion is then, that it will. 

Laun. Thou shalt never get such a secret from 
me, but by a parable. 

Speed. 'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, 
how say'st thou, that my master has become a nota- 
ble lover ? 

Laun. I never knew him otherwise. 

Speed. Than how ? 

Laun. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him 
to be. 

Speed. Why, thou ass, thou mistakest me. 

Laun. Why, fool, I meant not thee; I meant 
thy master. 

Sjyeed. I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover. 

9 On further knowledge. 



I 



Scene VII. 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



29 



Lnnn. Why, I tell thee, I care not though he 
burn himself in love. If thou wilt go with me to 
the alehouse, so; wilt thou go? 

Speed. At thy service. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI. — The same. An AjMrtment in the 
" Palace. 
Enter Proteus. 
Pro. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn ; 
To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn ; 
To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn ; 
And even that power, which gave me first my oath. 
Provokes me to this threefold perjury. 
Love bade me swear, and love bids me forswear : 

sweet-suggesting • love, if thou hast sinn'd. 
Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it. 
At first I did adore a twinkling star, 

But now I worship a celestial sun. 

Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken ; 

And he wants wit, that wants resolved will 

To learn his wit to exchange the bad for better. — 

Fie, fie, unreverend tongue ! to call her bad. 

Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd 

With twenty thousand soul -confirming oaths. 

1 cannot leave to love, and yet I do ; 

But there I leave to love, where I should love. 

Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose : 

If I keep them, I needs must lose myself; 

If I lose them, thus find I by their loss, 

For Valentine, myself; for Julia, Silvia. 

I to myself am dearer than a friend ; 

For love is still more precious in itself: 

And Silvia, witness heaven, that made her fair ! 

Shews Julia but a swarthy Ethiope. 

I will forget that Julia is alive, 

Rememb'ring that my love to her is dead ; 

And Valentine I'll hold an enemy. 

Aiming at Sylvia as a sweeter friend. 

I cannot now prove constant to myself. 

Without some treachery used to Valentine : — 

This night he meanetli with a corded ladder 

To climb celestial Silvia's chamber-window ; 

Myself in counsel, his competitor 2 : 

Now presently I'll give her father notice 

Of their disguising, and pretended 3 flight ; 

Who, all enrag'd, will banish Valentine ; 

For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter : 

But Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross, 

By some sly trick, blunt Thurio's dull proceeding. 

Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift. 

As tliou hast lent me wit to plot this drift ! [Exit. 

SCENE VII. — Verona. A Room in Julia's House. 
Enter Julia and Lucetta. 

Jul. Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me ! 
And, even in kind love, I do conjure thee, — 
Who art the table wherein all my thoughts 
Are visibly character 'd and engraved, — 
To lesson me ; and tell me some good mean, 
How, with my honour, I may undertake 
A journey to my loving Proteus. 

L71C. Alas ! the way is wearisome and long. 

./«/. A true devoted pilgrim is not weary 
To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps : 
Much less shall she, that hath love's wings to fly : 
And when the flight is made to one so dear, 
Of such divine perfection, as sir Proteus. 

Luc* Better forbear, till Proteus make return. 



Tempting 



' Confederate. 



3 Intended. 



Jid. O, know'st thou not, his looks are my soul's 
food? 
Pity the deartli that I have pined in. 
By longing for that food so long a time. 
Didst thou but know the inly touch of love. 
Thou would'st as soon go kindle fire with snow. 
As seek to quench the fire of love with words. 

Luc. I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire ; 
But qualify the fire's extreme rage. 
Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason. 

Jul. The more thou dam'st it up, the more it bums ; 
The current, that with gentle murmur glides. 
Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage ; 
But, when his fair course is not hindered. 
He makes sweet music with the enamel'd stones. 
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge 
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage ; 
And so by many winding nooks he strays. 
With willing sport to the wild ocean. 
Tlien let me go, and hinder not my course : 
I'll be as patient as a gentle stream. 
And make a pastime of each weary step. 
Till the last step have brought me to my love ; 
And there I'll rest, as, after much turmoil +, 
A blessed soul doth in Elysium. 

Ltic. But in what habit will you go along ? 

Jul. Not like a woman ; for I would prevent 
The loose encounters of lascivious men : 
Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds 
As may beseem some well-reputed page. 

Luc. Why then your ladyship must cut your hair. 

Jul. No, girl ; I'll knit it up in silken strings, 
With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots : 
To be fantastic may become a youth 
Of greater time than I shall show to be. 
But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me, 
For undertaking so unstaid a journey ? 
I fear me, it will make me scandaliz'd. 

Luc. If you think so, then stay at home, and go not. 

Jtd. Nay, that I will not. 

Luc. Then never dream on infamy, but go. 
If Proteus like your journey, when you come. 
No matter who's displeas'd, when you are gone : 
I fear me, he will scarce be pleas'd withal. 

Jul. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear : 
A tliousand oaths, an ocean of his tears, 
And instances as infinite of love. 
Warrant me welcome to my Proteus. 

Ltic All these are servants to deceitful men. 

Jul. Base men that use them to so base eflfect ! 
But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth : 
His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles ; 
His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate ; 
His tears pure messengers sent from his heart ; 
His heart as far from fraud, as heaven from earth. 

Luc. Pray heaven, he prove so, when you come 
to him ! 

Jul. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that wrong, 
To bear a hard opinion of his truth : 
Only deserve my love, by loving liim ; 
And presently go with me to my chamber, 
To take a note of what I stand in need of. 
To furnish me upon my longing * journey. 
All that is mine I leave at tliy dispose. 
My goods, my lands, my reputation ; 
Only in lieu thereof, despatch me hence : 
Come, answer not, but to it presently ; 
I am impatient of my tarriance. [Ereimt. 



Trouble. 



» Longed for. 



30 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



Act III. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I Milan. An Ante-room in the Duke'5 

Palace. 

Enter Duke, Thurio, and Proteus. 

Duhe. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray awhile ; 
We have some secrets to confer about — 

\^ExU Thurio. 
Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me ? 

Pro. My gracious lord, that which I would dis- 
cover. 
The law of friendship bids me to conceal : 
But, when I call to mind your gracious favours 
Done to me, undeserving as I am. 
My duty pricks me on to utter that 
Which else no worldly good should draw from me. 
Know, worthy prince, sir Valentine, my friend, 
This night intends to steal away your daughter ; 
Myself am one made privy to the plot. 
I know, you have determin'd to bestow her 
On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates ; 
And should she thus be stolen away from you. 
It would be much vexation to your age. 
Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose 
To cross my friend in his intended drift. 
Than, by concealing it, heap on your head 
A pack of soiTows, which would press you down. 
Being unprevented, to your timeless grave. 

Duke. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care ; 
Wliich to requite, command me while I live. 
This love of theirs myself have often seen. 
Haply, when they have judged me fast asleep ; 
And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid 
Sir Valentine her company, and my court : 
But, fearing lest my jealous aim 6 might err. 
And so, unworthily, disgrace the man, 
(A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd,) 
I gave him gentle looks ; thereby to find 
That which thyself hast now disclos'd to me. 
And, that thou may'st perceive my fear of this, 
Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested ', 
I nightly lodge her in an upper tower. 
The key whereof myself have ever kept ; 
And thence she cannot be convey'd away. 

Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a mean 
How he her chamber window will ascend. 
And with a corded ladder fetch her down ; 
For which the youthful lover now is gone. 
And this way comes he with it presently ; 
Where, if it please you, you may intercept him. 
But, good my lord, do it so cunningly, 
That my discovery be not aim'd 8 at ; 
For love of you, not hate unto my friend. 
Hath made me publisher of this pretence. 9 

Duke. Upon mine honour, he shall never know 
That I had any light from thee of this. 

Pro. Adieu, my lord ; sir Valentine is coming. 

[Exit. 
Enter Valentine. 

Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast ? 

Val. Please it your grace, there is a messenger 
That stays to bear my letters to my friends, 
And I am going to deliver them. 



6 Guess. 
* Guessed. 



^ Tempted. 
9 Design. 



Duke. Be they of much import? 

Val. The tenor of them doth but signify 
My health, and happy being at your court. 

Duke. Nay, then no matter ; stay with me a while ; 
I am to break with thee of some affairs. 
That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret. 
'Tis not unknown to thee, that I have sought 
To match my friend, sir Thurio, to my daughter. 

Vul. I know it well, my lord ; and, sure, the match 
Were rich and honourable ; besides, the gentleman 
Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities 
Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter : 
Cannot your grace win her to fancy him ? 

Duke. No, trust me ; she is peevish, sullen, fro- 
ward. 
Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty ; 
Neither regarding that she is my child. 
Nor fearing me as if I were her father : 
And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers. 
Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her ; 
And, where I thought the remnant of mine age 
Should have been cherish'd by her child-like duty, 
I now am full resolved to take a wife. 
And turn her out to who will take her in : 
Then let her beauty be her wedding dower ; 
For me and my possessions she esteems not. 

Val. What would your grace have me to do in this ? 

Duke. There is a lady, sir, in Milan, here. 
Whom I affect ; but she is nice and coy. 
And nought esteems my aged eloquence : 
Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor, 
( For long agone I have forgot to court : 
Besides, the fashion of the time is chang'd ;) 
How, and which way, I may bestow myself. 
To be regarded in her sun-bright eye. 

Val. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words; 
Dumb jewels often, in their silent kind. 
More than quick words, do move a woman's mind. 

Duke. But she did scorn a present that I sent her. 

Val. A woman sometimes scorns what best con- 
tents her : 
Send her another ; never give her o'er ; 
For scorn at first makes after-love the more. 
If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you. 
But rather to beget more love in you : 
If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone ; 
For why, the fools are mad, if left alone. 
Take no repulse, whatever she doth say ; 
For, get you gone, she doth not mean, away : 
Flatter, and praise, commend, extol their graces 
Though ne'er so black, say, they have angels' faces. 
That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man. 
If with his tongue he cannot win a woman. 

Duke. But she, I mean, is promis'd by her friends 
Unto a youthful gentleman of worth ; 
And kept severely from resort of men. 
That no man hath access by day to her. 

Val. Why then I would resort to her by night. 

Duke. Ay, but the doors be lock'd, and keys kept 
safe. 
That no man hath recourse to her by night. 

Val. What lets, but one may enter at her window? 

Duke. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground j 
And built so shelving, that one cannot climb it 
Without apparent hazard of his life. 



Scene I. 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



31 



Vol. Why then, a ladder, quauntly made of cords, 
To cast up with a pair of anchoring hooks, 
Would serve to scale another Hero's tower, 
So bold Leander would adventure it. 

Duke> Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood. 
Advise me where I may have such a ladder. 

Val. When would you use it? pray, sir, tell me that. 

Diike. This very night ; for love is like a child, 
That longs for every tiling that he can come by. 

Val. By seven o'clock 1*11 get you such a ladder. 

Duke. But, hark thee ; I will go to her alone j 
How shall I best convey the ladder thither ? 

Val. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it 
Under a cloak, that is of any length. 

Duke. A cloak as long as thine will serve the 
turn? 

Val. Ay, my good lord. 

Duke. Then let me see thy cloak ; 

I'll get me one of such another length. 

Val. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord. 

Duke. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak? — 
I pray tliee, let me feel thy cloak upon me. — 
What letter is this same ? What's here ? — To Silvia. 
And here an engine fit for my proceeding ! 
I'll be so bold to break the seal for once. [Reads. 

My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly; 

And slaves they are to me, that send themjlyiyig: 
0, could their master come and go as lightly. 

Himself would lodge, where senseless they are lying. 
My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom, rest them ; 

WhUe I, their king, that thither them importune. 
Do curse the grace that with such grace hath blcss'd 
them, 

Because myself do want my servant^ sjbrtune .- 
/ curse myself, for they are sent by me, 
That they should harbour where their lord should be. 
What's here ? 
Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee : 

'Tis so ; and here's the ladder for the purpose. — 
Why, Phaeton (for thou art Merops' son), 
Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car. 
And with thy daring folly bum the world ? 
Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee ? 
Go, base intruder ! over-weening slave ! 
Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates ; 
And think, my patience, more than thy desert. 
Is privilege for thy departure hence : 
Tliank me for this, more than for all the favours, 
Which, all too much, I have bestow'd on thee. 
But if tliou linger in my territories, 
Longer than swiftest expedition 
Will give thee time to leave our royal court. 
By heaven, my wrath shall far exceed the love 
I ever bore my daughter, or thyself. 
Begone, I will not hear thy vain excuse. 
But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hence. 

[Exit DOKE. 
Val. And why not death, rather than live in tor- 
ment? 
To die, is to be banishM from myself; 
And Silvia is myself; banish'd from her, 
Is self from self; a deadly banishment ! 
What light is light, if Silvia be not seen ? 
What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by ? 
Unless it be to think that she is by. 
And feed upon the shadow of peifection. 
Except I be by Silvia in the night. 
There is no musick in the nightingale • 
Unless 1 look on Silvia in the day, 



There is no day for me to look upon : 
She is my essence ; and I leave to be, 
If I be not by her fair influence 
Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive. 
I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom : 
Tarry I here, I but attend on death ; 
But, fly I hence, I fly away from life. 

Enter Proteus and Launce. 

Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out. 

Laun. So-ho ! so-ho ! 

Vro. What seest thou ? 

Laun. Him we go to find : there's not a hair 
on's head, but 'tis a Valentine. 

Pro. Valentine ? 

Val. No. 

Pro. Who then ? his spirit ? 

Val. Neither. 

Pro. What then ? 

Vol. Nothing. 

Laun. Can nothing speak ? master, shall I strike? 

Pro. Whom would'st thou strike ? 

Laun. Nothing. 

Pro. Villain, forbear. 

Laun. Why, sir, I'll strike nothing : I pray you,— 

Pro. Sirrah, I say, forbear ; Friend Valentine, a 
word. 

Vol. My ears are stopp'd, and cannot hear good 
news. 
So much of bad already hath possess'd them. 

Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine 
For they are harsh, untunable, and bad. 

Val. Is Silvia dead ? 

Pro. No, Valentine. 

Val. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia ! — 
Hath she forsworn me ? 

Pro. No, Valentine. 

Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me ! — 
What is your news ? 

Laun. Sir, there's a proclamation that you are 
vanish'd. 

Pro. That thou art banished, O, that's the news; 
From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend. 

Val. O, I have fed upon this woe already. 
And now excess of it will make me siu^eit. 
Doth Silvia know that I am banished ? 

Pro. Ay, ay ; and she hath oflTer'd to the doom, 
(Which, unrevers'd, stands in effectual force,) 
A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears : 
Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd ; 
With them, upon her knees, her humble self; 
Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them. 
As if but now they waxed pale for woe : 
But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, 
Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears. 
Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire ; 
But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die. 
Besides, her intercession chaTd him so. 
When she for thy repeal was suppliant, 
That to close prison he commanded her. 
With many bitter threats of 'biding there. 

Vul. No more ; unless the next word that thou 
speak'st. 
Have some malignant power upon my life : 
If so, I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear, 
As ending anthem of my endless dolour. 

Pro. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help. 
And study help for tliat which tliou lament'st. 
Time is the nurse and breeder of all good. 
Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love ; 



32 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Act III. Scene II. 



Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life. 
Hope is a lover's stall'; walk hence with that, 
And manage it against despairing thoughts. 
Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence ; 
"Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd 
Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love. 
The time now serves not to expostulate : 
Come, I'll convey thee through the city gate ; 
And, ere I part with thee, confer at large 
Of all that may concern thy love affairs : 
As thou lov'st Silvia, though not for thyself, 
Regard thy danger, and along with me. 

Val. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy. 
Bid him make haste, and meet me at the north gate. 

Pro. Go, sirrali, find him out. Come, Valentine. 

Val. O my dear Silvia ! hapless Valentine ! 

[Exeunt Valentine ajid Proteus. 

Laun. I am but a fool, look you ; and yet I have 
the wit to think my master is a kind of a knave : 
but that's all one, if he but one knave. He lives 
not now, that knows me to be in love : yet I am in 
love ; but a team of horse shall not pluck that from 
me ; nor who 'tis I love, and yet 'tis a woman : but 
what woman, I will not tell myself. 

Enter Speed. 

Speed. How now, signior Launce ? what news 
with your mastership ? 

Laun. With my master's ship ? why, it is at sea. 

Speed. Well, your old vice still; mistake the 
word : What news then in your paper ? 

Laun. The blackest news, that ever thou heard'st. 

Speed. Why, man, how black ? 

Laun, Why, as black as ink. 

Sp^ed. Let me read them. 

Laun. Fie on thee, jolt-head; thou canst not read. 

Speed. Thou liest, I can. 

Laun. I will try thee. 

Speed. Come, fool, come : try me in thy paper. 

Laun. There ; and saint Nicholas 9 be thy speed ! 

Speed. Imprimis, She can milk. 

Laun. Ay, that she can. 

Speed. Item, She brews good ale. 

Laun. And thereof comes the proverb. — Bless- 
ing of your heart, you brew good ale. 

Speed. Item, She can sew. 

LMtm. That's as much as to say, Can she so ? 

Speed. Here follow her vices. 

Lau7i. Close at the heels of her virtues. 

Speed. Item, She doth talk in her sleep. 

Laun. It's no matter for that, so she sleep not in 
her talk. 

Speed. Item, She is slow in words. 

Laun. O villain, that set this down among her 
vices ! To be slow in words, is a woman's only 
virtue : I pray thee, out with't ; and place it for her 
chief virtue. 

Speed. Item, She is proud. 

Laun. Out with that too ; it was Eve's legacy, 
and cannot be ta'en from her. 

Speed. Item, She hath no teeth. 

LMun. I care not for that neither, because I love 
crusts. 

Speed. Item, She is curst. ' 

Laun. Well ; the best is, she hath no teeth to bite. 

Speed. Item, She will often praise her liquor. 

Laun. If her liquor be good, she shall : if she will 
not, I will ; for good things should be praised. 

9 St. Nicholas presided over young scholars. 
1 Troward. 



Speed. Item, She is too liberal.'^ 

Laun. Of her tongue she cannot ; for that's writ 
down she is slow of : of her purse she shall not ; for 
that I'll keep shut. What's next ? 

Speed. She has more faults than hairs, — 

Laun. That's monstrous : O, that that were out ! 

Speed. And more wealth than faults. 

Laun. Why, that word makes the faults gra- 
cious : Well, I'll have her : and if it be a match, 
as nothing is impossible, — 

Speed. What then? 

Laun. Why, then I will tell thee, — that thy 
master stays for thee at the north gate. 

Speed. For me ? 

Laun. For thee ? ay ; who art thou ? he hath staid 
for a better man than thee. 

Speed. And must I go to him ? 

Laun. Thou must run to him, for thou hast staid 
.so long, that going will scarce serve the turn. 

Speed. Why didst not tell me sooner ? plague of 
your love-letters ! [Exit. 

Laun. Now will he be swinged for reading my 
letter : An unmannerly slave, that will thrust him- 
self into secrets ! — I'll after, to rejoice in the boy's 
correction. [Exit. 

SCENE II The same. A Room in the Duke's 

Palace. 
Enter Duke and Thurio ; Proteus behind. 

Duke. Sir Thurio, fear not, but that she will love 
you, 
Now Valentine is banish'd from her sight. 

Thu. Since his exile she hath despised me most. 
Forsworn my company, and rail'd at me, 
That I am desperate of obtaining her. 

Duke. This weak impress of love is as a figure 
Trenched 3 in ice ; which with an hour's heat 
Dissolves to water, and doth lose his form. 
A little time will melt her frozen thoughts, 
And worthless Valentine shall be forgot. — 
How now, sir Proteus ? Is your countryman, 
According to our proclamation, gone ? ^ 

Pro. Gone, my good lord. fl i 

Duke. My daughter takes his going grievously. 

Pro. A little time, my lord, will kill that grief. 

Duke. So I believe ; but Thurio thinks not so.— 
Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee 
f For thou hast shewn some sign of good desert) 
Makes me the better to confer with thee. 

Pro. Longer than L prove loyal to your grace, 
Let me not live to look upon your grace. 

Duke. Thou know'st how willingly I would effect 
The match between Sir Thurio and my daughter. 

Pro. I do, my lord. 

Duke. And also, I tliink, thou art not ignorant 
How she opposes her against my will. 

Pro. She did, my lord, when Valentine was here. 

Duke. Ay, and perversely she pers^vers so. 
What might we do to make the girl forget 
The love of Valentine, and love sir Thurio ? 

Pro. The best way is to slander Valentine 
With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent ; 
Three things that w^omen highly hold in hate. 

Duke. Ay, but she'll think, that it is spoke in hate. 

Pro. Ay, if his enemy deliver it : 
Therefore it must, with circumstance, be spoken 
By one, whom she esteemeth as his friend. 

Duke. Then you must undertake to slander him. 



2 Licentious in language. 



3 Cut. 



ACT IV. Scene I. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



33 



Pro. And that, my lord, I shall be loth to do : 
'Tis an ill office for a gentleman ; 
Especially, against Iiis very friend. 

Duke. Where your good word cannot advantage him, 
Your slander never can endamage him ; 
Therefore the office is indifferent, 
Being entreated to it by your friend. 

Pro. You have prevail'd, my lord : if I can do it. 
By aught that I can speak in his dispraise, 
She shall not long continue love to him. 
But say, this weed her love from Valentine, 
It follows not that she will love sir Thurio. 

Tliu. Therefore, as you unwind her love from him. 
Lest it should ravel, and be good to none, 
You must provide to bottom it on me : 
Which must be done, by praising me as much 
As you in worth dispraise sir Valentine. 

Duke. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind ; 
Because we know, on Valentine's report. 
You are already love's firm votary. 
And cannot soon revolt and change your mind. 
Upon this warrant shall you have access, 
Where you with Silvia may confer at large ; 
For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy. 
And, for your friend's sake, will be glad of you ; 
Where you may temper her, by your persuasion, 
To hate young Valentine, and love my friend. 
Pro. As much as I can do, I will effect : — 
But you, sir Thurio, are not sharp enough ; 
You must lay lime \ to tangle her desires. 



By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes 
Should be full fraught with serviceable vows. 

Duke. Ay, much the force of heaven-bred poesy. 

Pro. Say, that upon the altar of her beauty 
You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart : 
Write till your ink be dry ; and with your tears 
Moist it again ; and frame some feeling line, 
That may discover such integrity : — 
For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews ; 
Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones, 
Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans 
Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands. 
After your dire lamenting elegies. 
Visit by night your lady's chamber-window 
With some sweet concert : to their instruments 
Tune a deploring dump ^ ; the night's dead silence 
Will well become such sweet complaining grievance. 
This, or else nothing, will inherit her. 
Duke. Tills discipline shows thou hast been in love. 

Tim. And thy advice this night I'll put in practice. 
Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver. 
Let us into the city presently 
To sort 7 some gentlemen well skill'd in musick : 
I have a sonnet, that will serve the turn, 
To give tlie onset to thy good advice. 

Duke. About it, gentlemen. 

Pro. We'll wait upon your grace till after supper : 
And afterward determine our proceedings. 

DuJce. Even now about it : I will pardon you. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I A Forest near Mantua. 

Enter certain Out-laws. 

1 Out. Fellows, stand fast ; I see a passenger. 

2 Out. If there be ten, shrink not, but down 

with 'em. 

Enter Valentine and Speed. 

3 Out. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have 

about you ; 
If not, we'll make you sit, and rifle you. 

Speed. Sir, we are undone ! these are the villains 
That all the travellers do fear so much. 

Vol. My friends — 

1 Out. That's not so, sir ; we are your enemies. 

2 Out. Peace ; we'll hear him. 

3 Out. Ay, by my beard, will we ; 
For he's a proper * man. 

Vol. Then know, that I have little wealth to lose j 
A man I am, cross'd with adversity : 
My riches are these poor habiliments. 
Of which if you should here disfumish me, 
You take the sum and substance that I have. 

2 Out. Whither travel you ? 
Vol. To Verona. 

1 Out. Whence came you ? 
Vol. From Milan. 

3 Out. Have you long sojoum'd there ? 

Vol. Some sixteen months ; and longer might 
have staid. 
If crooked fortune had not thwarted me. 
1 Out. What, were you banish'd thence ? 
Vol. I was. 



Birdlime. 



■» Wen looking. 



2 Out. For what off'ence ? 

Vol. For that which now torments me to rehearse : 
I kill'd a man, whose death I much repent ; 
But yet I slew him manfully in fight. 
Without false vantage, or base treachery. 

1 Out. Why ne'er repent it, if it were done so 
But were you banish'd for so small a fault ? 

Vol. I was, and held me glad of such a doom. 

1 Out. Have you the tongues ? 8 

Vol. My youthful travel therein made me happy ; 
Or else I often had been miserable. 

3 Out. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat friar, 
This fellow were a king for our wild faction. 

1 Out. We'll have him : sirs, a word. 
Sj)eed. Master, be one of them ; 

It is an honourable kind of thievery. 
Fal. Peace, villain ! 

2 Out. Tell us this : Have you any thing to take 

to? 
Val. Nothing, but my fortune. 

3 Out. Know then, that some of us are gentlemen. 
Such as the fury of ungovemed youth 

Thrust from the company of awful » men. 

1 Out. But to the purpose, — you are beautified 
With goodly shape ; and by your own report 

A linguist ; and a man of such perfection, 
As we do in our quality much want ; — 

2 Out. Indeed, because you are a banish'd man. 
Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you : 

Are you content to be our general ? 

To make a virtue of necessity. 

And live, as we do, in this wilderness ? 



• Mournful elegy. 

• Languages. 



1 Choose out 
> LawAiL 



I 



3i 



TWO GENTLExMEN OF VERONA. 



Act IV. 



3 Out. What say'st thou ? wilt thou be of our 
consort ? 
Say, ay, and bo the captain of us all : 
We'll do tliee homage, and be rul'd by thee, 
Love thee as our commander, and our king. 

1 Oat. But if thou scorn our courtesy, thou diest. 

2 Out. Thou shalt not live to brag what we have 

offer'd. 
Val. I take your offer, and will live with you ; 
Provided that you do no outrages 
On silly women, or poor passengers. 

3 Out No, we detest such vile base practices. 
Como, go with us, we'll bring thee to our crews. 
And shew thee all the treasure we have got ; 
Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose. 

{^Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Milan. Court of the Palace. 
Enter Proteus. 

Pro. Already have I been false to Valentine, 
And now I must be as unjust to Thurio. 
Under the colour of commending him, 
I have access my own love to prefer : 
But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy. 
To be corrupted with my worthless gifts. 
When 1 protest true loyalty to her, 
She twits me with my falsehood to my friend : 
When to her beauty I commend my vows, 
She bids me think, how I have been forsworn 
In breaking faith with Julia whom I lov'd : 
And, notwithstanding all her sudden quips 9, 
The least whereof would quell a lover's hope, 
Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love. 
The more it grows and fawneth on her still. 
But here comes Thurio : now must we to her window, 
And give some evening musick to her ear. 

Enter Thurio, and Musicians. 

Tku. How now, sir Proteus ? are you crept before 
us? 

Pro. Ay, gentle Thurio ; for you know, that love 
Will creep in service where it cannot go. 

Thu. Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here. 

Pro. Sir, but I do ; or else I would be hence. 

Thu. Whom? Silvia? 

Pro. Ay, Silvia, — for your sake. 

Thu. I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen. 
Let's tune, and to it lustily a while. 

Enter Host, at a distance; and J vi.ia in boy's clothes. 

Host. Now, my young guest ! methinks you're 
allychoUy ; I pray you, why is it ? 

Jul. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry. 

Host. Come, we'll have you merry : I'll bring you 
where you shall hear musick, and see the gentleman 
that you ask'd for. 

Jul. But shall I hear him speak ? 

Host. Ay, that you shall. 

Jul. That will be musick. [Musick plays. 

Host. Hark! hark! 

Jul. Is he among these ? 

Host. Ay : but peace, let's hear 'em. 

SONG. 

Who is Silvia ? What is she ? 

That all our swains commend her 9 
Holy, fair, and wise is she ; 

The heavens such grace did lend her, 
That she might admired he. 

9 Passionate reproaches. 



Is she kind, as she is fair 9 

For beauty lives with kindness : 
Love doth to her eyes repair, 

To help him, of his blindness ; 
And, being help d, inhabits there. 

Tlien to Silvia let ns sing, 

That SUvia is excelling ; 
Site excels each mortal thing. 

Upon the dull earth dwelling ; 
To her let us garlands bring. 

Host. How now ? are you sadder than you were 
before ? 
How do you, man ? the musick likes you not. 

Jul. You mistake ; the musician likes me not. 

Host. Why, my pretty youth ? 

Jul. He plays false, father. 

Host. How ? out of tune on the strings ? 

Jul. Not so ; but yet so false that he grieves my 
very heart-strings. 

Host. You have a quick car. 

Jul. Ay, I would I were deaf ! it makes me have 
a slow heart. 

Host. I perceive you delight not in musick. 

Jul. Not a whit, when it jars so. 

Host. Hark, what fine change is in the musick I 

Jul. Ay ; that change is the spite. 

Host. You would have them always play but one 
thing ? 

Jul. I would always have one play but one thing. 
But, host, doth this sir Proteus, that we talk on, 
often resort unto this gentlewoman ? 

Host. I tell you what Launce, his man, told me, 
he loved her out of all nick, i 

Jul. Where is Launce ? 

Host. Gone to seek his dog ; which, to-morrow, 
by his master's command, he must carry for a pre- 
sent to his lady. 

Jul. Peace ! stand aside ! the company parts. 

Pro. Sir Thurio, fear not you ! I will so plead. 
That you shall say, my cunning drift excels. 
Thu. Where meet we? 

Pro. At saint Gregory's well. 

Thu. Farewell. [Exeunt Thurio anrf Musicians. 

Silvia appears above, at her window. 

Pro. Madam, good even to your ladyship, 

SU. I thank you for your musick, gentlemen 
Who is that, that spake ? 

Pro. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart's truth, 
You'd quickly learn to know him by his voice. 

Sil. Sir Proteus, as I take it. 

Pro. Sir Proteus, gentle lady,. and your servant. 

Sil. What is your will ? 

Pro. That I may compass yours. 

SU. You have your wish ; my will is even this, — 
That presently you hie you home to bed. 
Thou subtle, perjur'd, false, disloyal man ! 
Think'st thou, I am so shallow, so conceitless. 
To be seduced by thy flattery. 
That hast deceiv'd so many with thy vows ? 
Return, return, and make thy love amends. 
For me, — by this pale queen of night I swear, 
I am so far from granting thy request. 
That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit ; 
And by and by intend to chide myself. 
Even for this time I spend in talking to thee. 

Pro. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady 
But she is dead. 

J Beyond all reckoning. 



4 

ith, 11 



Scene IV. 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



35 



Jul. 'Twcre falso, if I should speak it ; 

For I am sure, she is not buried. [Aside. 

SH. &iy that she be ; yet Valentine, thy friend, 
Survives ; to vv^hom, thyself art witness, 
I am bethroth'd : And art thou not asham'd 
To wrong him with thy importunacy ? 

Pro. I likewise hear, tliat Valentine is dead. 

Sil.' And so, suppose, am I ; for in his grave 
Assure thyself my love is buried. 

Pro. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth. 

Sil. Go to thy lady's grave, and call her's thence; 
Or, at the least, in her's sepulchre thine. 

Jul. He heard not that. [Axiie. 

Pro. Madam, if your heart be so obdurate, 
Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love, 
The picture that is hanging in your chamber ; 
To that I'll speak, to that I'll sigh and weep : 
For, since the substance of your perfect self 
Is else devoted, I am but a shadow ; 
And to your shadow, I will make true love. 

Jul. If 'twere a substance, you would, sure, de- 
ceive it, 
And make it but a shadow, as I am. [Aside. 

Sil. I am very loth to be your idol, sir ; 
But, since your falsehood shall become you well 
To worship shadows, and adore false shapes, 
Send to me in the morning, and I'll send it : 
And so good rest. 

Pro. As wretches have o'er night, 

Tliat wait for execution in the mom. 

[Ereunt Proteus, and Silvia frotn above. 

Jul. Host, will you go ? 

Host. By my haJlidom ', I was fast asleep. 

Jul. Pray you, where lies sir Proteus ? 

Host. Marry, at my house : Trust me, I think 
'tis almost day. 

JuL Not so ; but it hath been the longest night 
Tliat e'er I watch'd, and the most heaviest. [Exeunt. 



SCENE III. 



The same. 



Enter Eglamour. 
Egl. This is the hour that madam Silvia 
Entreated me to call, and know her mind ; 
There some great matter she'd employ me in. — 
Madam, madam ! 

Silvia appears above, at her tvindow. 

Sil. Who calls? 

Egl. Your servant, and your friend ; 

One that attends your ladyship's command. 

Sil. Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good-morrow. 

Egl. As many, wortliy lady to yourself. 
According to your ladyship's impose % 
I am thus early come, to know what service 
It is your pleasure to command me in. 

Sil. O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman, 
(Think not I flatter, for, I swear, I do not,) 
Valiant, wise, remorsefuH, well accomplish'd. 
Thou art not ignorant, what dear good will 
I bear unto the banish'd Valentine ; 
Nor how my father would enforce me marry 
Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhorr'd. 
Tliyself hast lov'd ; and 1 have heard thee say, 
No grief did ever come so near thy heart. 
As when thy lady and thy true love died, 
I'pon whose grave tliou vow'dst pure chastity. 
Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine, 



' Holy dame, blessed lady. 
* Compassionate. 



3 Injunction, command. 



To Mantua, where, I hear, he makes al)ode ; 

And, for the ways are dangerous to pass, 

I do desire thy worthy company. 

Upon whose faith and honour 1 repose. 

Urge not my father's anger, Eglamour, 

But think upon my grief, a lady's grief; 

And on the justice of my flying hence. 

To keep me from a most unholy match. 

Which heaven and fortune still reward with plagues. 

I do desire tliee, even from a heart 

As full of sorrows as the sea of sands, 

To bear me company, and go with me : 

If not, to hide what I have said to thee. 

That I may venture to depart alone. 

Egl. Madam, I pity much your grievances . 
Which since I know tliey virtuously are plac'd, 
I give consent to go along with you ; 
Recking ^ as little what betideth mc. 
As much I wish all good befortune you. 
When will you go ? 

SU. This evening coming. 

Egl. Where shall I meet you ? 

Sil. At friar Patrick's cell, 

Where I intend holy confession. 

Egl. I will not fail your ladyship : 
Good-morrow, gentle lady. 

Sil. Good-morrow, kind sir Eglamour. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — IVie same. 
Enter Launch, unth his dog. 
When a man's servant shall play tlie cur with him, 
look you, it goes hard : one that I brought up of a 
puppy; one that I saved from drowning, when tliree 
or four of his blind brothers and sisters went to it ! 
1 have taught him — even as one would say pre- 
cisely, Tims I would teach a dog. I was sent to 
deliver him, as a present to mistress Silvia, from 
my master ; and I came no sooner into the dining- 
chamber, but he steps me to her trencher, and 
steals her capon's leg. O, 'tis a foul thing, whei^a 
cur cannot keep^ himself in all companies! I would 
have, as one should say, one that takes upon him 
to be a dog indeed, to be, as it were, a dog at all 
things. If I had not had more wit than he, to take 
a fault upon me that he did, I tliink verily he had 
been hanged for't ; sure as I live, he had suflered 
for't. I have sat in the stocks for puddings he hath 
stolen, otherwise he had l)een executed : I have 
stood on the pillory for geese he hath killed, other- 
wise he had suffered for't : thou tliink'st not of this 
now ! 

Enter Proteus and Julia. 

Pro. Sebastian is thy name? I like tijcc well, 
And will employ thee in some service presently. 

Jul. In what you please ; — I will do what I can. 

Pro. I hope thou wilt. — How now, you idle 
peasant? [To Launck. 

Where have you been these two days loitering ? 

Laun. Marry, sir, I carried mistress Silvia llie 
dog you bade me. 

Pro. And what says she to my little jewel ? 

Laun. Marry, she says, your dog w-as a cur; and 
tells you, currish thanks is good enough for such a 
present. 

Pro* But she received my dogl 

Laun. No, indeed, she did not: here have I 
brought him back again. 



Caring. 



D 2 



• Restrain. 



86 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Act IV. Scene IV. 



Pro. What, didst thou ofler her this from me ? 

Laun. Ay, sir; the other squirrel was stolen from 
me by the hangman's boys in the market-place : 
and then I offered her mine own ; who is a dog as 
big as ten of yours, and therefore the gift the greater. 

Pro. Go, get thee hence, and find my dog again, 
Or ne'er return again into my sight. 
Away, I say : Stay'st thou to vex me here ? 
A slave, that, still an end', turns me to shame. 

{Exit Launce. 
Sebastian, I have entertained thee, 
Partly, that I have need of sucli a youth, 
That can with some discretion do my business. 
For 'tis no trusting to yon foolish lowt ; 
But, chiefly, for thy face, and thy behaviour ; 
Which (if my augury deceive me not) 
Witness good bringing up, fortune, and truth : 
Tlierefore know thou, for this I entertain thee. 
Go presently, and take this ring with thee, 
Deliver it to madam Silvia : 
She loved me well, deliver'd it to me. 

Jul, It seems you loved her not, to leave her 
token ; 
Slie's dead, belike. 

Pro. Not so ; I think, she lives. 

Jul. Alas ! 

Pro. Why dost thou cry, alas ? 

Jul. I cannot choose but pity her. 

Pro. Wherefore should'st thou pity her ? 

Jul. Because, methinks, that she lov'd you as well 
As you do love your lady Silvia : 
She dreams on him, that has forgot her love ; 
You dote on her, that cares not for your love. 
'Tis pity, love should be so contrary; 
And thinking on it makes me cry, alas ! 

Pro. Well, give her that ring, and therewithal 
This letter ; — That's her chamber. — Tell my lady 
I claim the promise for her heavenly picture. 
Your message done, hie home unto my chamber, 
Where thou shalt find me sad and solitary. 
* \_Exit Proteus. 

Jul. How many women would do such a message? 
Alas, poor Proteus ! thou hast entertain'd 
A fox, to be the shepherd of thy lambs : 
Alas, poor fool ! why do I pity him 
That with his very heart despiseth me ? 
Because he loves her, he despiseth me ; 
Because I love him, I must pity him. 
This ring I gave him, when he parted from me, 
To bind him to remember my good will : 
And now am I (unhappy messenger) 
To plead for that which I would not obtain ; 
To carry that which I would have refus'd ; 
To praise his faith, which I would have disprais'd. 
I am my master's true confirmed love ; 
But cannot be true servant to my master. 
Unless I prove false traitor to myself. 
Yet I will woo for him ; but yet so coldy, 
As, heaven it knows, I would not have him speed. 

Enter Silvia attended. 
Gentlewoman, good day ! I pray you, be my mean 
To bring me where to speak with madam Silvia. 

SU. What would you with her, if that I be she ? 

Jul. If you be she, I do entreat your patience 
To hear me speak the message I am sent on. 

SU. From whom? 

Jul. From my master, sir Proteus, madam. 

SU. O ! — he sends you for a picture ? 
7 In the end 



Jul. Ay, madam. 

SU. Ursula, bring my picture there. 

[Picture brought. 
Go, give your master this : tell him from me. 
One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget, 
Would better fit his chamber than this shadow. 

Jul. Madam, please you peruse this letter. — 
Pardon me, madam ; I have unadvis'd 
Deliver'd you a paper that I should not ; 
This is the letter to your ladyship. 

SU. I pray thee, let me look on that again. 

Jul. It may not be ; good madam, pardon me. 

SU. There, hold. 
I will not look upon your master's lines : 
I know they are stuflT'd with protestations. 
And full of new-found oaths ; which he will break 
As easily as I do tear his paper. 

Jul. Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring. 

SU. The more shame for him tliat he sends it me : 
For I have heard him say a thousand times. 
His Julia gave it him at his departure : 
Though his false finger hath profan'd the ring. 
Mine shall not do his Julia; so much wrong. 

Jul. She thanks you. 

SU. What say'st thou ? 

Jul. I thank you, madam, that you tender her ; 
Poor gentlewoman ! my master wrongs her much. 

SU. Dost thou know her ? 

Jul. Almost as well as I do know myself. 
To think upon her woes, I do protest. 
That I have wept an hundred several times. 

SU. Belike, she thinks that Proteus hath forsook her. 

Jul. I think she doth, and that's her cause of 
sorrow. 

SU. Is she not passing fair ? 

Jul. She hath been fairer, madam, than she is : 
When she did think my master lov'd her well. 
She, in my judgment, was as fair as you ; 
But since she did neglect her looking-glass. 
And threw her sun-expelling mask away. 
The air hath starv'd the roses in her cheeks. 
And pinch'd the lily-tincture of her face, 
That now she is become as black as I. 

SU. How tall was she ? 

Jul. About my stature : for at Pentecost % 
When all our pageants of delight were play'd, 
Our youth got me to play the woman's part, 
And I was trimm'd in madam Julia's gown ; 
Which serv'd me as fit, by all men's judgment. 
As if the garment had been made for me : 
Therefore I know she is about my height. 
And, at that time, I made her weep a-good 9, 
For I did play a lamentable part : 
Madam, 'twas Ariadne, passioning 
For Theseus' perjury, and unjust flight ; 
Which I so lively acted with my tears, 
That my poor mistress, moved therewithal, 
Wept bitterly ; and, would I might be dead. 
If I in thought felt not her very sorrow ! 

SU. She is beholden to thee, gentle youth ! — 
Alas, poor lady ! desolate and left ! — 
L weep myself to think upon thy words. 
Here, youth, there is my purse ; I give thee this 
For thy sweet mistress' sake, because thou lov'st her. 
Farewell. [ExU Silvia. 

Jul. And she shall thank you for't, if e'er you 
know her. — 
A virtuous gentlewoman, mild, and beautiful. 



8 Whitsuntide. 



9 In good earnest 



Act V. Scene I. 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



37 



I hope my master's suit will be but cold, 
Since she respects my mistress' love so much. 
Alas, how love can trifle with itself ! 
Here is her picture : Let me see ; I tliink, 
If I had such a tire ', this face of mine 
Were full as lovely as is this of hers : 
And yet the painter flatter'd her a little, 
Unless I flatter with myself too much. 
Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow : 
If that be all the difference in his love, 
I'll get me such a colour'd periwig. 
Her eyes are grey as glass ; and so are mine : 
Ay, but her forehead's low, and mine's as high. 



What siiould it be, that he respects in her. 

But I can make respective in myself. 

If this fond love were not a blinded god ? 

Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up, 

For 'tis thy rival. O thou senseless form, 

Thou shalt be worshipp'd, kiss'd, lov'd, and ador'd ; 

And, were there sense in his idolatry. 

My substance should be statue in thy stead. 

I'll use thee kindly for thy mistress' sake. 

That us'd me so ; or else, by Jove I vow, 

I should have scratch'd out your unseeing eyes, 

To make my master out of love w ith thee. 

[Ejiit. 



ACT V. 



SCENE I. — Thesante. An Abbey. 

Enter Eglamour. 

Egl. The sim begins to gild the western sky ; 
And now, it is about the very hour 
That Silvia, at Patrick's cell, should meet me. 
She will not fail ; for lovers break not hours, 
Unless it be to come before their time ; 
So much they spur their expedition. 

Enter Silvia. 
See, where she comes : Lady, a happy evening ! 

SU. Amen, amen ! go on, good Eglamour ! 
Out at the postern by the abbey wall ; 
I fear, I am attended by some spies. 

Egl. Fear not: the forest is not three leagues off; 
If we recover that, we are sure enough. \Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — The same. An Apartment in the 
Duke's Palace. 

Enter Thurio, Proteus, and Julia. 

Thu^ Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit ? 

Pro. O, sir, I find her milder than she was ; 
And yet she takes exceptions at your person. 

Thu. What, that my leg is too long? 

Pro. No ; that it is too little. 

Thii. I'll wear a boot to make it somewhat rounder. 

Pro. But love will not be spurr'd to what it loaths. 

Thu. What says she to my face ? 

Pro. She says, it is a fair one. 

Thu. Nay, then, the wanton lies; my face is black. 

Pro. But pearls are fair ; and the old saying is. 
Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes. 

Jul. 'Tis true ; such pearls as put out ladies' eyes ; 
For I had rather wink than look on them. [Aside. 

Thu. How likes she my discourse ? 

Pro. Ill, when you talk of war. 

T/iu. But well, when I discourse of love, and 
peace ? 

Jul. But better, indeed, when you hold your 
peace. [Aside. 

Thu. What says she to my valour? 

Pro. O, sir, she makes no doubt of that. 

Jul. She needs not, when she knows it cowardice. 

[Aside. 

Thu. What says she to my birth ? 

Pro. That you are well deriv'd. 

Jul. True; from a gentleman to a fool. [Aside. 
' Hcad.drcw. 



Thu. Considers she my possessions ? 

Pro. O, ay ; and pities them. 

r/jM. Wherefore? 

Jid. That such an ass should owe - them. [Aside. 

Pro. That they are out by lease. 

Jul. Here comes the duke. 

Ejiter Duke. 

Duke. How now, sir Proteus? how now, Thurio? 
Which of you saw sir Eglamour of late ? 

Thu. Not I. 

Pro. Nor I. 

Duke. Saw you my daughter ? 

Pro. Neither. 

Duke. Why, then, she's fled unto that peasant 
Valentine ; 
And Eglamour is in her company. 
'Tis true ; for friar Laurence met them both. 
As he in penance wander'd through the forest : 
Him he knew well, and guess'd that it was she ; 
But, being mask'd, he was not sure of it : 
Besides, she did intend confession 
At Patrick's cell this even ; and there she was not : 
These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence. 
Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse, 
But mount you presently ; and meet with me 
Upon the rising of the mountain foot 
That leads towards Mantua, whither they are fled : 
Despatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me. [Exit. 

Thu. Why, this it is to be a peevish girl, 
Tliat flies her fortune when it follows her : 
I'll after ; more to be revenged on Eglamour, 
Than for the love of reckless 3 Silvia. [Exit, 

Pro. And I will follow, more for Silvia's love. 
Than hate of Eglamour, that goes with her. [Exit. 

Jul. And I will follow, more to cross that love, 
Than hate for Silvia, that is gone for love. [Exit. 

SCENE III. — Frontiers of Mantua. The Forest. 
Enter Silvla and Outlaws. 

Out. Come, come ; 
Be patient, we must bring you to our captain. 

Sil. A thousand more mischances than this one 
Have leam'd me how to brook this patiently. 

2 Out. Come, bring her away. 

1 Out. Where is the gentleman that was with her ? 

3 Out. Being nimble-footed, he hath out-run us, 
But Moyscs, and Valerius, follow him. 

^ Own. ' Carelcu. 

D3 



98 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



Act V 



Go thou with her to the west end of the wood, 
There is our captain ; we'll follow him that's fled ; 
The thicket is beset, he cannot 'scape. 

1 Out. Come, 1 must bring you to our captain's 
cave; 
Fear not ; he bears an honourable mind, 
And will not use a woman lawlessly. 

Sil. O Valentine, this I endure for thee ! \^Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — Another part of the Forest. 
Enter Valentine. 

Val. How use doth breed a habit in a man ! 
This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods, 
I better brook than flourishing peopled towns : 
Here can I sit alone, unseen of any, 
A nd, to the nightingale's complaining notes, 
Tune my distresses, and record 4 my woes. 

thou that dost inhabit in my breast. 
Leave not the mansion so long tenantless ; 
Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall, 
And leave no memory of what it was ! 
Repair me with thy presence, Silvia ; 

Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain ! — 
"What halloing, and what stir is this to-day ? 
These are my mates, that make their wills their law, 
Have some unhappy passenger in chase : 
They love me well ; yet I have much to do. 
To keep them from uncivil outrages. 
Withdraw thee, Valentine : who's this comes here ? 

[Steps aside. 

Enter Proteus, Silvia, and Julia. 

Pro. Madam, this service I have done for you, 
(Though you respect not aught your servant doth,) 
To hazard life, and rescue you from him 
That would have forc'd your honour and your love. 
Vouchsafe me for my meed but one fair look ; 
A smaller boon than this I cannot beg. 
And less than this, I am sure, you cannot give. 

Val. How like a dream is this I see and hear ! 
Love, lend me patience to forbear a while. \_Aside. 

Sil. O miserable, unhappy that I am ! 

Pro. Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came ; 
But, by my coming, I have made you happy. 

Sil. By thy approach thou mak'st me most un- 
happy. 

Jul. And me, when he approacheth to your pre- 
sence. [Aside. 

Sil. Had I been seiz'd by a hungry lion, 

1 would have been a breakfast to the beast, 
Rather than have false Proteus rescue me. 
O, heaven be judge how I love Valentine, 
Whose life's as tender to me as my soul ; 
And full as much (for more there cannot be) 
I do detest false perjur'd Proteus ; 
Therefore begone, solicit me no more. 

Pro. What dangerous action, stood it next to 
death. 
Would I not undergo for one calm look ? 
O, 'tis the curse in love, and still approv'd ^, 
When women cannot love where they're belov'd. 

Sil. When Proteus cannot love where he's belov'd. 
Read over Julia's heart, thy first best love. 
For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith 
Into a thousand oaths ; and all those oaths 
Descended into perjury, to love me. 
Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou hadst two. 
And tijat's far worse than none : better have none 



Sing. 



* Felt, experienced. 



Than plural faith, which is too much by one : 
Thou counterfeit to thy true friend ! 

Pro. In love, 

Who respects friend ? 

Sil. All men but Proteus. 

Pro. Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words 
Can no way change you to a milder form, 
I'll woo you like a soldier, at arms' end ; 
And love you 'gainst the nature of love, force you. 

Sil. O heaven ! 

Pro. I'll force thee yield to my desire. 

Val. Rufiian, let go that rude uncivil touch j 
Thou friend of an ill fashion ! 

Pro. Valentine ! 

Val. Thou common friend, that's without faith or 
^ love ; 
( For such is a friend now,) treacherous man ! 
Thou hast beguil'd my hopes ; nought but mine eye 
Could have persuaded me : Now I dare not say 
I have one friend alive ; thou would'st disprove me. 
Who should be trusted now, when one's right hand 
Is perjur'd to the bosom? Proteus, 
I am sorry, I must never trust thee more. 
But count the world a stranger for thy sake. 
The private wound is deepest : O time, most curet! 
'Mongst all foes, that a friend should be the worst ! 

Pro. My shame and guilt confound me. — 
Forgive me, Valentine : if hearty sorrow 
Be a sufficient ransom for offence, 
I tender it here ; I do as truly suffer. 
As e'er I did commit. 

Val. Then I am paid ; 

And once again I do receive thee honest : — 
Who by repentance is not satisfied. 
Is nor of heaven, nor earth ; for these are pleas'd ; 
By penitence the Eternal's wrath's appeas'd : — 
And, that my love may appear plain and free. 
All that was mine in Silvia, I give thee. 

Jul. O me unhappy ! [Faints. 

Pro. Look to the boy. 

Val. Why, boy ! why, wag ! how now ? what is* 
the matter ? 
Look up ; speak. 

Jul. O good sir, my master charg'd me 

To deliver a ring to madam Silvia ; 
Which, out of my neglect, was never done. 

Pro. Where is that ring, boy ? 

Jul. Here 'tis : this is it. [Gives a ritig. 

Pro. How ! let me see : 
Why this is the ring I gave to Julia. 

Jul. O, cry your mercy, sir, I have mistook ; 
This is the ring you sent to Silvia. 

[Shoii's another ring. 

Pro. But, how cam'st thou by tliis ring ? at my 
depart, 
I gave this unto Julia. 

Jul. And Julia herself did give it me ; 
And Julia herself hath brought it hither. 

Pro. How ! Julia ! 

Jul. Behold her that gave aim ^ to all thy oaths, 
And entertain'd them deeply in her heart : 
How oft hast thou with peijury cleft the root ? 7 
O Proteus, let this habit make thee blush ! 
Be thou asham'd, that I have took upon me 
Such an immodest raiment ; if shame live 
In a disguise of love : 
It is the lesser blot, modesty finds. 
Women to change their shapes, than mentheirminds. 

c Direction. 

7 An aUueioQ to cleaving the pin in archery. 



Scene IV. 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



39 



Pro. Than men thair minds ? 'tis true : O heaven ! 
were man 
But constant, he were perfect : that one error 
Fills him with faults ; makes him run through all 

sins : 
Inconstancy falls off, ere it begins ; 
What is in Silvia's face, but I may spy 
More fresh in Julia's with a constant eye ? 

Vol. Come, come, a hand from either : 
Let me be blest to make this happy close ; 
'Twere pity two such friends should be long foes. 
Pro. Bear witness, heaven, I have my wish for ever. 
Jul. And I have mine. 

Enter Out-laws, with Duke and Thurio. 

Out. A prize, a prize, a prize ! 

Vol. Forbear, I say ; it is my lord the duke. 
Yi)ur grace is welcome to a man disgrac'd, 
Banished Valentine. 

Duke. Sir Valentine ! 

Thu. Yonder is Silvia; and Silvia's mine. 

Val. Thurio, give back, or else embrace thy death ; 
Come not within the measure of my wrath -.8 
Do not name Silvia t^iine ; if once again, 
IMiJan shall not behold thee. Here she stands, 
Take but possession of her with a touch ; — 
I dare thee but to breathe upon my love. — 

Thu. Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I ; 
I hold him but a fool, that will endanger 
His body for a girl that loves him not : 
I claim her not, and therefore she is thine. 

Duke. The more degenerate and base art thou. 
To make such means 9 for her as thou hast done. 
And leave her on such slight conditions. — 
Now, by tlie honour of my ancestry, 
I do applaud thy spirit, Vdentine, 



Length of my sword. 



9 Interest 



And think thee worthy of an empress' love. 
Know then, I here forget all former griefs. 
Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again. — 
Plead a new state in thy uimvall'd merit. 
To which I thus subscribe, — sir Valentine, 
Thou art a gentleman, and well deriv'd ; 
Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserv'd her. 

Vol. I thank your grace ; the gift hath made me 
happy. 
I now beseech you for your daughter's sake, 
To grant one boon that I shall ask of you. 

Duke. I grant it, for thine own, whate'er it be. 

Vol. These banish'd men, tliat I have kept withal. 
Are men endued with worthy qualities ; 
Forgive them what they have committed here. 
And let them be recall'd from their exile : 
They are reformed, civil, full of good, 
And fit for great employment, worthy lord. 

Duke. Thou hast prevail'd: I pardon them, and 
thee; 
Dispose of them, as thou know'st tlieir deserts. 
Come, let us go ; we will include ' all jars 
With triumphs, mirth, and rare solemnity. 

Val. And, as we walk along, I dare be bold 
With our discourse to make your grace to smile : 
What think you of this page, my lord ? 

Duke. I think the boy hath grace in him : he 
blushes. 

Vol. I warrant you, my lord ; more grace than boy. 

Duke. What mean you by that saying ? 

Val. Please you, I'll tell you as we pass along. 
That you will wonder what hath fortuned. — 
Come, Proteus ; 'tis your penance, but to hear 
The story of your loves discovered : 
That done, our day of marriage shall be yours ; 
One feast, one house, one mutual happiness. 

\^Eieunt. 
' Conclude. 



D 4 



ul 



0^ 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



Sir John Falstakk. 

Fenton. 

Shallow, o country Justice. 

Slender, cousin to Shallow. 

Mr' P g"' 1 ^"'^ Gentlemen dweUing at Windsor. 
William Page, a Boy, son to Mr. Page. 
Sir Hugh Evans, a Welsh Parson. 
Dr. Caius, a French Physician. 
Host of the Garter Inn. 

Bardolph, "I 

Pistol, \ Followers of Falstafl'. 

Nym, J 

SCENEy Windsor ; 



Robin, Page to FalstaflT. 
Simple, Servant to Slender, 
RuoBT, Servant to Dr. Caius. 



Mrs. Ford. 

Mrs. Page. 

Mrs. Anne Page, her Daughter, in love with Fenton. 

Mrs. Quickly, Servant to Dr. Caius. 



Servants to Page, Ford, ^c. 
and the parts a(^acent. 




MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR 



SCENE 1. — Windsor. 



AC 

Before Page's House. 



E?iter Justice Shallow, Slender, aw/ Sir^ Hugh 
Evans. 

Shallow. Sir Hugh, persuade me not; I will make 
a Star-chamber matter of it ; if he were twenty sir 
Jolm Falstaffs, he shall not abuse Robert Shallow, 
esquire. 

Sleti. In the county of Gloster, justice of peace, 
and coram. 

Slial. Ay, cousin Slender, and Cust-alorum.^ 

Slen Ay, and rntolorum too ; and a gentleman 
born, master parson ; who writes himself armigero ; 
in any bill, warrant, quittance, or obligation, armi- 
gero. 

Shal. Ay, that we do : and have done any time 
these three hundred years. 

Slen. All his successor; ^ 
done't ; and all his ancestors, that come after him, 
may : they may give the dozen white luces in their 
coat. 

Shal. It is an old coat. 

Eva. The dozen white louses do become an old 
coat well ; it agrees well, passant : it is a familiar 
beast to man, and signifies — love. 

Shal. The luce is the fresh fish ; the salt fish is 
an old coat. 

' A title formerly appropriated to chaplains. 
2 C.ustos Rotulorum 



r I. 

I Slen. I may quarter, coz ? 
I Shal. You may, by marrying. 
1 Eva. It is marring indeed, if he quarter it. 
Shal. Not a whit. 

Eva. Yes, py'r ^ lady ; if he has a quarter of your 
; coat, there is but three skirts for yourself, in my 
j simple conjectures : but this is all one : If Sir J^hn 
I Falstaflf have committed disparagements unto you, 
j I am of the church, and will be glad to do my be- 
nevolence, to make atonements and compromises 
between you. 

Shal. Tile Council shall hear it ; it is a riot. 
Eoa. It is not meet the Council hear a riot ; there 
is no fear of Got in a riot; the Council, look you, 
shall desire to hear the fear of Got, and not to hear 
a riot ; take your vizaments * in that. 

Shal. Ha ! o' my life, if I were young again, the 
sword should end it. 
[ Eva. It is petter that friends is the sword, and 
end it : and there is also another device in my prain, 
which, peradventure, prings goot discretions with 
it : There is Anne Page, which is daughter to 
master George Page, which is pretty virginity. 

Slen. Mistress Anne Page ? She has brown hair, 
and speaks small like a woman. 

Eva. It is that fery person for all the 'orld, as 
just as you will desire : and seven hundred pounds 
of monies, and gold, and silver, is her grandsire, 



Scene I. 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



41 



upon his death's bed, give, when she is able to 
overtake seventeen years old : it were a goot motion, 
if we leave our pribbles and prabbles, and desire a 
marriage between master Abraham and mistress 
Anne Page. 

Shal. Did her grandsire leave her seven hundred 
pound? 

Eva. Ay, and her father is make her a petter penny. 

Shal. I know the young gentlewoman ; she has 
good gifts. 

Eva. Seven hundred pounds, and possibilities, 
is good gifts. . 

Shal. Well, let us see honest master Page : Is 
Falstaff there? 

Eva. Shall I tell you a lie? I do despise a liar, 
as I do despise one that is false ; or as I despise 
one that is not true. The knight, sir John, is 
tliere ; and, I beseech you, be ruled by your well- 
willers. I will peat the door [knocks] for master 
Page. What, hoa ! pless your house here ! 

Enter Page. 

Pt^e. Who's there ? 

Eva. Here's your friend, and justice Shallow : 
and here young master Slender; that peradven- 
tures shall tell you another tale, if matters grow 
to your likings. 

Page. I am glad to see your worships well : 1 
thank you for my venison, master Shallow. 

Shal. Master Page, I am glad to see you ; Much 
good do it your good heart ! I wished your venison 
better ; it was ill-kill'd : — How doth good mistress 
Page ? — and I love you always with my heart, la ; 
witli my heart. 

Page. Sir, I thank you. 

Shal. Sir, I thank you ; by yea and no, I do. 

Page. I am glad to see you, good master Slender. 

Slen. How does your fallow greyhound, sir? I 
lioard say he was outrun on Cotsale.* 

Page. It could not be judg'd, sir. 

Slen. You'll not confess, you'll not confess. 

Shah That he will not ; — 'tis your fault, 'tis your 
fault : — 'Tis a good dog. 

Page. A cur, sir. 

Shal. Sir, he's a good dog, and a fair dog ; Can 
there be more said ? he is good, and fair. — Is sir 
John Falstaff here ? 

Page. Sir, he is witliin ; and I would I could do 
a good office between you. 

Eva. It is spoke as a Christian ought to speak. 

Shal. He hath wrong'd me, master Page. 

Page. Sir, he doth in some sort confess il. 

Shal. If it be confess'd, it is not redress'd ; is not 
that so, master Page ? . He hath wrong'd me ; in- 
deed, he hath ; — at a word, he hath ; — believe me ; 
— Robert Shallow, esquire, saith, he is wrong'd. 

Page. Here comes sir John. 

Enter Sir John Falstaff, Bardolph, Nym, and 
Pistol. 

Fal. Now, master Shallow ; you'll complain of 
me to the king ? 

Shal. Knight you have beaten my men, killed my 
<leer,and brokeopen my lodge: this shall beanswer'd. 

Fal. I will answer it straight ; — I have done all 
1 1 lis : — That is now answer'd. 

Shal. The Council shall know this. 

Fal. 'Twere better for you, if it were known in 
counsel . you'll be laugh'd at. 

*' Cutswold, in Gloucestershire. 



Eva. Pauca verba, sir John, good worts. 

Fal. Good worts *5 ! good cabbage Slender, I 

broke your head; What matter have you against 
me? 

Slen. Marry, sir, I have matter in my head 
against you ; and against Bardolph, Nym, and 
Pistol. They carried me to the tavern, and made 
me drunk, and afterwards picked my pocket. 

Bar. You Banbury cheese ! ^ 

Slen. Ay, it is no matter. 

Pist. How, now, Mephostophilus ? 8 

Slen. Ay, it is.no matter. 

N^t/m. Slice, I say ! pauca, pauca ; slice ! that^s 
my humour. 

Slen. Where's Simple, my man ? — can you tell, 
cousin ? 

Eva. Peace : I pray you ! Now let us understand : 
There is three umpires in this matter as I under- 
stand : that is — master Fiigc,Jidelicet, master Page ; 
and there is myself, fidelket, myself ; and the three 
party is, lastly and finally, mine host of the Garter. 

Page. We three, to hear it, and end it between them. 

Eva. Fery goot : I will make a prief of it in my 
note-book ; and we will afterwards 'ork upon the 
cause, with as great discreetly as we can. 

Fal. Pistol, 

Pist. He hears with ears. 

Eva. What phrase is this. He hears with ear ? 
Why, it is affectations. 

Fal. Pistol, did you pick master Blender's purse? 

Slen. Ay, by these gloves, did he, (or I would I 
might never come in mine own great chamber again 
else,) of seven groats in mill-sixpences, and two Ed- 
ward shovel-boards**, that cost me two shillings and 
two pence a-piece of Yead Miller, by these gloves. 

Fal. Is this true. Pistol ? 

Eva. No ; it is false, if it is a pick-purse. 

Pist. Ha, thou mountain-foreigner ! — Sir John, 
and master mine, 
I combat challenge of this latten bilbo : ' 
Word of denial in thy labras^ here ; 
Word of denial ; froth and scum, thou liest. 

Slen. By these gloves, then 'twas he. 

Nt/m. Be advised, sir, and pass good humours : 
I will say, many trap, with you if you run the nut- 
hook's 3 humour on me ; that is the very note of it. 

Slen. By this hat, then he in the red face had it : 
for though I cannot remember what I did when you 
made me drunk, yet I am not altogether an ass. 

Fal. What say you. Scarlet and John ? 

Bard. Why, sir, for my part, I say, the gentleman 
had drunk himself out of his five sentences. 

Eva. It is liis five senses : fie, what the igno- 
rance is ! 

Bard. And being fap *, sir, was, as tliey say, 
cashier'd ; and so conclusions pass'd the careires.* 

Slen. Ay, you spake in Latin then too : but 'tis 
no matter : I'll ne'er be drunk whilst I live again, 
but in honest, civil, godly company, for this trick : 
if I be drunk, I'll be drunk with those that have 
the fear of God, and not witli drunken knaves. 

Eva. That is a virtuous mind. 

Fal. You hear all these matters denied, gentle- 
men ; you hear it. 

^ Worts was the ancient name of all the cabbage kitd. 

■ Nothing but paring ! 

" The name of an ugly spirit 

!* King Edward's sliilhngs used in the game of shuffleboard. 

> Blade as thin as a lath. 3 Lipa, 

3 If you say I am a thief •♦ Drunk, 

> The bounds of good behaviour. 



42 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



Act I. 



Eater Mistress Anne Page wUh wine; Mistress 
Ford and Mistress Pack fullomng. 

Page. Nay, daughter, carry tlie wine in; we'll 
drink within. [Exit Anne Page. 

Slen. O heaven ! this is mistress Anne Page. 

Page. How now, mistress P""ord ? 

Fal. Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are veiy 
well met : by your leave, good mistress. [JCissing her. 

Page. Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome : — 
Come, we have a hot venison pasty to dinner; 
come, gentlemen, I hope we shall drink down all 
unkindness. 

\^Exeiint all but Shal. Slender, and Evans. 

Slen. I had rather than forty shillings, I had my 
book of Songs and Sonnets here : — 

Enter Simple. 
How now. Simple ! where have you been ? I must 
wait on myself, must I ? You have not The Book 
if Riddles about you, have you ? 

Sim. Book of Riddles ! why did you not lend it 
to Alice Shortcake upon Allhallowmas last, a fort- 
night afore Michaelmas ? ^ 

Shal. Come, coz ; come, coz ; we stay for you, 
A word with you, coz ; marrj', this, coz ; There 
is, as 'twere a tender, a kind of tender, made afar 
off by sir Hugh here ; — Do you understand me ? 

Slen. Ay, sir, you shall find me reasonable ; if 
it be so, I shall do that that is reason. 

Shal. Nay, but understand me. 

Slen. So I do, sir. 

Eva. Give ear to his motions, master Slender : I 
will description the matter to you, if you be capa- 
city of it. 

Slen. Nay I will do as my cousin Shallow says : 
I pray you, pardon me ; he's a justice of peace in 
his country, simple though I stand here. 

Eva. But this is not the question ; the question 
is concerning your marriage. 
' Shal. Ay, there's the point, sir. 

Eva. Marry, is it ; the very point of it ; to mis- 
tress Anne Page. 

Slen. Why, if it be so, I will marry her, upon 
any reasonable demands. 

Eva. But can you affection the 'oman ? Let us 
command to know that of your naouth, or of your 
lips ; for divers philosophers hold, that the lips is 
parcel of the mouth ; — Therefore, precisely, can 
you carry your good will to the maid ? 

Shal. Cousin Abraham Slender, can you love her? 

Slen. I hope, sir, — I will do, as it shall become 
one that would do reason. 

Eva. Nay, you must speak possitable, if you can 
carry her your desires towards her. 

Shid. That you must. Will you, upon good 
dowry, marry her ? 

Slen. I will do a greater thing than that, upon 
your request, cousin, in any reason. 

Shal. Nay, conceive me, conceive me, sweet coz ; 
what I do, is to pleasure you, coz : Can you love 
the maid ? 

Slen. I will marry her, sir, at your request ; but 
if there be no great love in the beginning, yet 
heaven may decrease it upon better acquaintance, 
when we are married, and have more occasion to 
know one another : I hope, upon familiarity will 
grow more contempt ; but if you say, vxarry her, 

'• An intended blunder. 



I will marry her, tliat I am freely dissolved, and 
dissolutely. 

Eva. It is a fery discretion answer ; save, the 
faul' is in the 'ort dissolutely : the 'ort is, according 
to our meaning, resolutely ; — his meaning is good. 

Shal. Ay, 1 think my cousin meant well. 

Slen. Ay, or else I would I might be hanged, la. 

Re-enter Anne Page. 

Shal. Here comes fair mistress Anne : — Would 
I were young, for your sake, mistress Anne ! 

Anne. The dinner is on the table ; my father 
desires your worships' company. 

Shal. I will wait on him, fair mistress Anne. 
Eva. I will not be absence at the grace. 

[Exeunt Shallow and Sir H. Evans. 
Anne. Wil't please your worship to come in, sir ? 
Sle7i. No, I thank you, forsooth, heartily ; I am 
very well. 

Anne. The dinner attends you, sir. 
Slen. I am not a-hungry, 1 thank you, forsooth : 
Go, sirrah, for all you are my man, go, wait upon 
my cousin Shallow : [Exit Simple.] A justice of 
peace sometime may be beholden to his friend for 
a man : — I keep but three men and a boy yet, till 
my mother be dead : But what though ? yet I live 
like a poor gentleman born. 

Anne. I may not go in without your worship t 
they will not sit, till you come. 

Slen. I'faith, I'll eat nothing ; I thank you as 
much as though I did. 
■ Ajine. I pray you, sir, walk in. 
Slen. I had rather walk here, I thank you: I 
bruised my shin the other day with playing at sword 
and dagger with a master of fence, three veneys 7 
for a dish of stewed prunes ; and, by my troth, I 
cannot abide the smell of hot meat since. Why do 
your dogs bark so ? be there bears i'the town ? 

Anne. I think there are, sir ; I heard them 
talked of. 

Slen. I love the sport well ; but I shall as soon 
quarrel at it, as any man in England : — You are 
afraid, if you see the bear loose, are you not ? 
Anne. Ay, indeed, sir. 

Slen. That's meat and drink to me now : I have 
seen Sackerson ^ loose, twenty times : and have 
taken him by the chain : but, I warrant you, the 
women have so cried and shriek'd at it, that it 
pass'd 9 : — but women, indeed, cannot abide 'em ; 
they are very ill-favoured rough things. 

Re-enter Page. 

Page. Come, gentle master Slender, come 
stay for you. 

Slen. I'll eat nothing ; I thank you, sir. 

Page. By cock and pye, you shall not choose, 
sir ; come, come. 

Slen. Nay, pray you, lead the way. 

Page. Come on, sir. 

Slen. Mistress Anne, yourself shall go first. 

Anne. Not I, sir, pray you, keep on. 

Slen. Truly, I will not go first ; truly, la ; I will 
not do you that wrong. 

Anne. I pray you, sir. 

Slen. I'll rather be unmannerly than trouble- 
some ; you do yourself wrong, indeed, la. [Exeunt. 

? Three set-to's, bouts, or hits. „ . . 

« The name of a bear exhibited at Pans- Garden, South wark. 
9 Surpassed all expression. 



Scene IV. 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



43 



SCENE II. — The same. 
Enter Sir Hugh Evans and Simple. 

Eva. Go your ways, and ask of Doctor Cains' 
house, which is the way : and there dwells one 
mistress Quickly, which is in the manner of his 
nurse, or his dry nurse, or his cook, or his laundry, 
his washer, and his wringer. 

Sim. Well, sir. 

Eva. Nay, it is petter yet : give her this 

letter ; for it is a 'oman that altogether's acquaintance 
with mistress Anne Page ; and the letter is, to do- 
sire and to require her to solicit your master's desires 
to mistress Anne Page : I pray you be gone ; I will 
make an end of my dinner; there's pippins and cheese 
to come. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — A Room in the Garter Inn. 

Enter Falstaff, Host, Bardolph, Nym, Pistol, 
and Robin. 

Fal. Mine host of the Garter, — 

Hoit. What says my bully-rook ? Speak scholarly, 
and wisely. 

Fal. Truly, mine host, I must turn away some of 
my followers. 

Host. Discard, bully Hercules ; cashier : let them 
wag : trot, trot. 

Fal. I sit at ten pounds a week. 

Host. Thou art an eijiperor, Caesar, Keisar, and 
Pheczar. I will entertain Bardolph ; he sliall draw, 
he shall tap : said I well, bully Hector ? 

Fat. Do so, good mine host. 

Host. I have spoke ; let him follow : Let me see 
tliec froth, and lime : I am at a word ; follow. 

(Exit Host 

Fal. Bardolph, follow him ; a tapster is a good 
trade ; an old cloak makes a new jerkin ; a withered 
scrvingman, a fresh tapster ; Go, adieu. 

Dard. It is a life that I have desired ; I will thrive. 

[Exit Bard. 

Pist. O base Gongarian i wight ! wilt thou the 
spigot wield ? 

Kt/m. His mind is not heroitk, and there's the 
humour of it. 

Fal. I am glad I am so acquit of this tinder-box : 
his thefts were too open : his filching was like an 
unskilful singer, he kept not time. 

Ni/m. The good humour is, to steal at a minute's 
rest 

Pist. Convey, the wise it call : Steal! foh, a fico ^ 
for tlie phrase ! 

Fal. Well, sirs, I am almost out at heels. 

Pist. Why then let kibes ensue. 

Fal. There is no remedy ; I must shift. 

Pist. Young ravens must have food. 

Fal. Which of yru know Ford of this town ? 

Pist. I ken the wight ; he is of subtance good. 

Fal. My honest lads, I will toll you what I am 
al)out 

Pist. Two yards and more. 

Fal. No quips now, Pistol ; indeed I am in the 
waist two yards about: but I am now about no 
waste ; I am about thrift Briefly, I do mean to 
make love to Ford's wife ; I spy entertainment in 
her; she discourses, she carves, she gives the leer 
of invitation; I can construe tlic action of her 



For Hungarian. 



Fig. 



familiar style ; and the hardest voice of her beha- 
viour, to be English'd rightly, is, I am Sir John 
Falstnff's. 

Pist. He hath studied her well, and ti-anslated 
her well ; out of honesty into English. 

Ni/m. The anchor is deep ; will that humour pass ? 

Fal. Now, the report goes, she has all the rule of 
her husband's purse. 

Pist. To her, boy^ say I. 

Nym. The humour rises ; it is good. 

Fal. I have writ me here a letter to her : and here 
another to Page's wife ; who even now gave me good 
eyes too ; she bears the purse too ; she is a region 
in Guiana, all gold and bounty. I will be cheater 3 
to them both, and they shall be excliequers to me ; 
they shall be my East and West Indies, and I will 
trade to them both. Go, bear thou this letter to 
mistress Page ; and thou this to mistress Ford : we 
will thrive, lads, we will thrive. 

Pist. Shall I sir Pandarus of Troy become. 
And by my side wear steel ? then, Lucifer take all ! 

Nym. I will run no base humour ; here, take the 
humour letter ; I will keep the 'haviour of reputation. 

Fal. Hold, sirrah, [To Rob.] bear you these 
lettei-s tightly 4 ; 
Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores. — 
Rogues, hence avaunt ! vanish like hailstones, go ; 
Trudge, plod away, o' the hoof; seek shelter, pack ! 
Falstaff will learn the humour of this age, 
French thrift, you rogues ; myself, and skirted page. 
[Exeunt Falstaff and Robin. 

Pist. Let vultures gripe tliee, for gourd and 
fullam 5 hold. 
And high and low beguile the rich and poor : 
Tester I'll have in pouch 6, when thou shalt lack. 
Base Phrygian Turk ! 

Nym. I have operations in my head, which be 
humours of revenge. 

Pist. Wilt thou revenge ? 

Nym. By welkin, and her star ! 

Pist. With wit, or steel ? 

Nym. With both the humours, I : 
I will discuss the humour of tliis love to Pago. 

Pist. And I to Ford shall eke unfold. 
How Falstaff, varlet vile, 
His dove will prove, his gold will hold, 
And his soft couch defile. 

Nym. My humour shall not cool : I will incense 7 
Page to deal with poison ; I will possess him with 
yellowness 8, for the revolt of mien is dangerous : 
that is my true humour. 

Pist. Thou art the Mars of malcontents : I second 
thee; troop on. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. —^ Room in Dr. Caius'a House, 

Enter Mrs. Quickly, Simple, and Rugby. 

Quick. What ; John Rugby ! — I pmy thee, go to 
the casement, and see if you can see my master, 
master doctor Caius, coming : if he do, i' faith, and 
find any body in the house, here will be an old 
abusing of the king's. English. 

Rug. I'll go watch. [Exit Rugby. 

Quick. Go ; and we'll have a posset for't soon 
at night, at the latter end of a sea-coal fire. An 
honest, willing, kind fellow, as ever servant shall 



EuAciitour, an o(Hcer in the Exchequer. 



* Cleverly. 

f Sixpence I'll have in pocket 

« Jcolousjr. 



False dice. 
'' Instigate. 



4,4. 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



Act I. Scene IV 



come in liouse withal ; and, I warrant you, no tell- 
tale, nor no breed-bate 9 : his worst fault is, that he 
is given to prayer : he is something peevish ' that 
way : but nobody but has his fault ; — but let that 
pass. Peter Simple, you say your name is ? 

Sim. Ay, for fault of a better. 

Quick. And master Slender's your master ? 

Sim. Ay, forsooth. 

Quick. Does he not wear a great round beard, like 
a glover's paring knife ? 

Sim. No, forsooth : he hath but a little wee face, 
with a little yellow beard ; a Cain-coloured beard. 

Quick. A softly-sprighted man, is he not? 

Sim. Ay, forsooth : but he is as tall 2 a man of his 
hands, as any is between this and his head ; he hath 
fought with a warrener. 

Quick. How say you ? — O, I should remember 
him ; does he not hold up his head, as it were ? and 
strut in his gait ? 

Si?)i. Yes, indeed, does he. 

Quick. Well, heaven send Anne Page no worse 
fortune. Tell master parson Evans, I will do what 
I can for your master ; Anne is a good girl, and I 
wish — 

Re-enter Rugby. 

Jtug. Out, alas ! here comes my master. 

Quick. We shall all be shent 3 ; Run in here, good 
young man ; go into this closet. [iS7m^s Simple m 
t/ie closet.] He will not stay long. — What, John 
Rugby ! John, what, John, I say ! — Go, John, go 
enquire for my master ; I doubt he be not well, 
that he comes not home : — and down, down, 
adown-a, &c. [Sings. 

Enter Doctor Caius. 

Cuius. Vat is you sing ? I do not like dese toys ; 
Pray you, go and vetch me in my closet un hoitier 
verd ; a box, a green-a box ; Do intend vat T speak ? 
a green-a box. 

Quick. Ay forsooth, I'll fetch it you. I am glad 
he went not in himself; if he had found the young 
man, he would have been horn-mad. [Aside. 

Caius. Fe, fe, fe, fe ! ma foi, il fait fort chaud. 
Je r\ien vais a la cour, — la grande affaire. 

Quick. Is it this, sir ? 

Caius. Ouiy ; mette le au mon pocket ; Dipiche, 
quickly : — Vere is dat knave Rugby ? 

Quick. What, John Rugby ! John ! 

Rug. Here, sir, 

Caius. You are John Rugby, and you are Jack 
Rugby : Come, take-a your rapier, and come after 
my heel to de court. 

Rug. 'Tis ready, sir, here in the porch. 

Caius. By my trot, I tarry too long : — Od's me ! 
Qu^ay-f oublie ? dere is some simples in my closet, 
dat I vill not for the varld I shall leave behind. 

Quick. Ah me ! he'll find the young man there, 
and be mad. 

Caius. diable, diable I vat is in my closet ? — 
Villainy ? larron ! [Pulling Simple 0M^] Rugby, 
my rapier. 

Quick. Good master, be content. 

Caius. Verefore shall I be content-a ? 

Quick. The young man is an honest man. 

Caius. Vat shall de honest man do in my closet ? 
dere is no honest man dat shall come in my closet. 

Quick. I beseech you, be not so flegmatick ; hear 



9 Strife. 1 Foolish. 

3 Scolded, reprimanded. 



Brave. 



the truth of it. He came of an errand to me from 
parson Hugh. 

Caius. Veil. 

Sim. Ay, forsooth, to desire her to — — — 

Quick. Peace, I pray you. 

Caius. Peace-a your tongue : — Speak-a your tale. 

Sim. To desire this honest gentlewoman, your 
maid, to speak a good word to mistress Anne Page 
for my master, in the way of marriage. 

Quick. Tliis is all, indeed, la ; but I'll ne'er put 
my finger in the fire, and need not. 

Caius. Sir Hugh send-a you ? — Rugby, baillex 
me some paper : — Tarry you a little-a while. 

[ Writes. 

Quick. I am glad he is so quiet : if he had been 
thoroughly moved, you should have heard him so 
loud, and so melancholy : — But notwithstanding, 
man, I'll do your master what good I can : and the 
very yea and the no is, the French doctor, my 
master, — I may call him my master, look you, for 
I keep his house ; and I wash, wring, brew, bake, 
scour, dress meat and drink, make the beds, and 
do all myself ; — 

Sim. 'Tis a great charge, to come under one 
body's hand. 

Quick. Are you avis'd o' that ? you shall find it 
a great charge : and to be up early and down late : 
— but notwithstanding, (to tell you in your ear ; 
I would have no words of it;) my master himself 
is in love with mistress Anne Page ; but notwith- 
standing that, — I know Anne's mind, — that's 
neither here nor there. * 

Caius. You jack'nape; give-a dis letter to sir 
Hugh ; by gar, it is a shallenge ; I vill cut his troat 
in de park ; and I will teach a scurvy jack-a-nape 
priest to meddle or make : — you may be gone ; it 
is not good you tarry here. [ Exit Simple. 

Quick. Alas, he speaks but for his friend. 

Caius. It is no matter-a for dat ; — do not you 
tell-a me dat I shall have Anne Page for myself? — 
by gar, I will kill de jack priest ; and I have ap- 
pointed mine host of de Jarterre to measure our 
weapon : — by gar, I vill myself have Anne Page. 

Quick. Sir, the maid loves you, and all shall be 
well : we must give folks leave to prate. 

Caius. Rugby, come to the court vit me ; — By 
gar, if I have not Anne Page, I shall turn your head 
out of my door : — Follow my heels, Rugby. 

[Exeunt Caius and Rugby. 

Quick. You shall have An fools-head of your own. 
No, I know Anne's mind for that ; never a woman 
in Windsor knows more of Anne's mind than I do ; 
nor can do more than I do with her. 

Fent. [Within.} Who's within there, ho? 

Quick. Who's there, I trow? Come near the 
house, I pray you. 

Enter Fenton. 

Fent. How now, good woman ; how dost thou ? 

Quick. The better, that it pleases your good wor- 
ship to ask. 

Fent. What news? how does pretty mistress Anne? 

Quick. In truth, sir, and she is pretty, and honest, 
and gentle : and one that is your friend, I can tell 
you that by the way ; I praise heaven for it. 

Fent. Shall I do any good, thinkest thou ? Shall 
I not lose my suit ? 

Quick. Troth, sir, all is in his hands above ; but 
notwithstanding, master Fenton, I'll be sworn on a 



I 



Act II. Scene I. 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



45 



Have not your worsliip a 



book slie loves you : 
wart above your eye ? 

Fent. Yes, marry, have I ; what of that ? 

Quick. Well, thereby hangs a tale ; — good faith, 
it is such another Nan j — but, I detest •♦, an honest 
maid as ever broke bread : — We had an hour's 
talk of that wart ; — I shall never laugh but in that 
niaitl's company ! — But, indeed, she is given too 
nmcli to allicholly ^ and musing : But for you — 
Well, go to. 

Fent. Well, I shall see her to-day : Hold, there's 



money for thee ; let me have thy voice in my belialf : 
— if tliou seest her before me, commend me — 

Quick. Will I ? i'faith, that we will : and I will 
tell your worship more of the wart, the next time we 
have confidence ; and of other wooers. 

Fent. Well, farewell ; I am in great haste now. 

[Edt. 

Quick. Farewell to your worship. — Truly, an 
honest gentleman ; but Anne loves him not : for I 
know Anne's mind as well as another does : — Out 
upon't ! what have I forgot ? [Fxil. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I. — Before Page's House. 

Enter Mistress Page, with a letter. 
Mrs. Page. What ! have I 'scaped love-letters in 
the holy-day time of my beauty, and am I now a 
subject for them ? Let me see : \^Reads. 

Ask me no reason why I love you ; for though love 
use reason for his precisian ^, he admits him not for his 
counsellor : You are not young, no more am I : go 
to then, there's sympathy : you are merry, so am I ; 
Ha ! ha! then there's more sympathy : you love sack, 
and so do I ; JFould you desire better sympathy 9 Let 
it suffice thee, mistress Page, (at tlie least, if the love 
of a soldier can suffice,) that I love thee. I wiU not 
say, pity me, 'tis not a soldierlike phrase ; but I say, 
love me. By me. 

Thine own true knight. 

By day or night. 

With aU his might. 

For thee tofght, 

John Falstaff. 

wicked, wicked world ! — one that is well nigh 
worn to pieces with age, to show himself a young 
gallant! What unweighed behaviour hath this 
Flemish drunkard picked out of my conversation, 
that he dares in this manner assay me ? Why, he 
liath not been thrice in my company ! — What should 

1 say to him ? — I was then frugal of my mirth. — 
Why, I'll exhibit a bill in the parliament for the 
putting down of men. How shall I be revenged on 
liim ? for revenged I will be. 

Enter Mistress Ford. 

Mrs. Ford. Mrs. Page ! trust me, I was going to 
your house. 

Mrs. Page. And trust me, I was coming to you. 
You look very ill. 

Mrs. Ford. Nay, I'll ne'er believe that ; I have 
to show to the contrary. 

Mrs. Page. 'Faith, but you do, in my mind. 

Mrs. Ford. Well, I do then ; yet, I say, I could 
show you to the contrary : O, mistress Page, give 
me some counsel ! 

Mrs. Page. What's the matter, woman ? 

Mrs. Ford. O woman, if it were not for one trifling 
respect, I could come to such honour ! 

Mrs. Page. Hang the trifle, woman : — take the 
honour : What is it ? — disjiense with trifles ; — 
what is it? 

* She means, I protest * Melancholy. 

• Most probably Shakspoare wrote physician. 



Mrs. Ford. If I would but go to hell for an eternal 
moment, I could be knighted. 

Mrs. Page. What? — Sir Alice Ford ! 

Mrs. Ford. We burn daylight : . — here, read, 
read ; — perceive how I might be knighted, — I 
shall think the worse of fat men, as long as I have 
an eye to make difference of men's liking : And 
yet he would not swear ; praised women's modesty ; 
and gave such orderly and well-behaved reproof to 
all uncomeliness, that I would have sworn his dis- 
position would have gone to the truth of his words : 
but they do no more adhere and keep place together, 
than the hundredth psalm to the tune of Green 
sleeves. What tempest, I trow, threw this whale, 
with so many tuns of oil in him, ashore. at Windsor ? 
How shall I be revenged on him? I think, the 
best way were to entertain him with hope, till the 
wicked fire have melted him. — Did you ever hear 
the like ? 

Mrs. Page. Letter for letter ; but that the name 
of Page and Ford differs ! — To thy great comfort 
in this mystery of ill opinions, here's the twin-brother 
of thy letter : but let thine inherit first ; for, I pro- 
test, mine never shall. I warrant he hath a thousand 
of these letters writ with blank space for diflerent 
names (sure more), and these are of the second 
edition : He will print them out of doubt. 

Mrs. Ford. Why this is the very same ; the very- 
hand, the very words : What doth he think of 
us? 

Mrs. Page. Nay, I know not : it makes me al- 
most ready to wrangle with mine own honesty. I'll 
entertain myself like one that I am not acquainted 
withal ; for, sure, unless he know some strain in 
me, that I know not myself, he would never have 
boarded me in this fury. Let's be revenged on 
him ; let's appoint him a meeting ; give him a show 
of comfort in his suit : and lead him on with a fine- 
baited delay, till he hath pawn'd his horses to mine 
host of the Garter. 

Mrs. Ford. Nay, I will consent to act any villainy 
against him, that may not sully the chariness 7 of 
our honesty. O, that my husband saw this letter ! 
it would give eternal food to his jealousy. 

Mrs. Page. Why, look, where he comes ; and my 
good man too : he's as far from jealousy, as I am 
from giving him cause ; and that, I hope, is an un- 
measurable distance. 

Afrs. Ford. You are the happier woman. 

Mrs. Page. Let's consult together against tliis 
greasy knight . Come Iiither. [ They retire. 

I Caution. 



46 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



Act II, 



Enter Ford, Pistol, Page, and Nym. 



Ford. Well, I hope it be not so. 

Pint. Hope is a curtail » dog in some affairs : 
Sir John affects thy wife. 

Ford. Why, sir, my wife is not young. 

Fist. He wooes both high and low, both rich and 
poor. 
Both young and old, one with another, Ford ; 
He loves tliy gally-mawfry 9 ; Ford, perpend. ' 

Ford. Love my wife ? 

Fist. With liver burning hot : Prevent, or go thou 
Like sir Actjeon he, with Ring- wood at thy heels : 
O, odious is the name ! 

Ford. What name, sir ? 

Fist. The horn, I say : Farewell. 
Take heed ; have open eye ; for thieves do foot by 

night : 
Take heed, ere summer comes, or cuckoo-birds do 
sing. — 

Away, sir corporal Nym. 

Believe it, Page ; he speaks sense. [Exit Pistol. 

Ford. I will be patient ; I Avill find out this. 

Nym. And this is true. [To Page.] I like not 
the humour of lying. He hath wronged me in some 
humours ; I should have borne the humoured letter 
to her : but I have a sword, and it shall bite upon 
my necessity. He loves your wife ; there's the 
short and the long. My name is corporal Nym ; 
I speak, and I avouch. 'Tis true : — my name is 
Nym, and Falstaff loves your wife. —Adieu ! I love 
not the humour of bread and cheese j and there's the 
humour of it. Adieu. [Exit Nym. 

Page. The humour of it, quoth 'a ! here's a fellow 
frights humour out of his wits. 

Ford. I will seek out Falstaff. 

Page. I never heard such a drawling, affecting 
rogue. 

Ford. If I do find it, well. 

Page. I will not believe such a Catalan ^, tho' the 
priest o' the town commended him for a true man. 

Ford. 'Twas a good sensible fellow : Well. 
. Page. How now, Meg ? 

Mrs. Page. Whither go you, George ? — Hark you. 

Mrs. Ford. How now, sweet Frank ? why art thou 
melancholy ? 

Ford. I melancholy ! I am not melancholy. — 
Get you home, go. 

Mrs. Ford. Thou hast some crotchets in thy head 
now. — Will you go, mistress Page ? 

Mrs. Page. Have with you. — You'll come to 
dinner, George ? — Look, who comes yonder : she 
shall be our messenger to this paltry knight. 

[Aside to Mrs. Ford. 

Enter Mistress Quickly. 

Mrs. Ford. Trust me, I thought on her : she'll 
fit it. 

Mrs. Page. You^ are come to see my daughter 
Anne? 

Quick. Ay, forsooth ; and, I pray, how does good 
mistress Anne? 

Mrs. Page. Go in with us, and see ; we have an 
nour's talk with you. 

[Exeunt Mrs. Page, Mrs. Ford, and 
Mrs. Quickly. 

Page. How now, master Ford ? 



" A dog that misses his game. 
' Consider. 



9 A medley. 

2 A lying sharper 



Ford. You heard what this knave told me ; did 
you not ? 

Page. Yes ; and you heard what the other told me? 

Ford. Do you think there is truth in them ? 

Page. Hang 'em, slaves! I do not think the knight 
would offer it: but these that accuse him in his 
intent towards our wives, are a yoke of his discarded 
men ; very rogues, now they be out of service. 

Ford. Were they his men ? 

Page. Marry, were they. 

Ford. I like it never the better for that. — Does 
he lie at the Garter ? 

Page. Ay, marry, does he. If he should intend 
this voyage towards my wife, I would turn her loose 
to him ; and what he gets more of her than sharp 
words, let it lie on my head. 

Ford. I do not misdoubt my wife ; but I would 
be loth to turn them together : A man may be too 
confident : I would have nothing lie on my head : 
I cannot be thus satisfied. 

Page. Look, where my ranting host of the Garter 
comes : there is either liquor in his pate, or money 
in his purse, when he looks so merrily, — How how, 
mine host? 

Enter Host and Shallow. 

Host. How now, bully-rook ? thou'rt a gentle- 
man : cavalero-justice, I say. 

Shal. I follow, mine host, I follow. — Good even 
and twenty, good master Page ! Master Page, will 
you go with us ? we have sport in hand. 

Host. Tell him, cavalero-justice ; tell him, bully- 
rook. 

Shal. Sir, there is a fray to be fought, between sir 
Hugh the Welsh priest, and Caius the French doctor. 

Ford. Good mine host of the Garter, a word with 
you. 

Host. What say'st thou, bully-rook ? 

{They go aside. 

Shal. Will you \to Page] go with us to behold 
it ? my merry host hath had the measuring of their 
weapons; and, I think, he hath appointed them 
contrary places : for, believe me, I hear, the parson 
is no jester. Hark, I will tell you what our sport 
shall be. 

Host. Hast thou no suit against my knight, my 
guest-cavalier ? 

Ford. None, I protest : but I'll give you a pottle 
of burnt sack to give me recourse to him, and tell 
him, my name is Brook ; only for a jest. 

Host. My hand, bully : thou shalt have egress 
and regress ; said I well ? and thy name shall be 
Brook : It is a merry night. — Will you go on, 
hearts ? 

Shal. Have with you, mine host. 

Page. I have heard tlie Frenchman hath good 
skill in his rapier. 

Shal. Tut, sir, I could have told you more ! In 
these times you stand on distance, your passes, 
stoccadoes, and I know not what: 'tis the heart, 
master Page ; 'tis here, 'tis here. I have seen the 
time, with ray long sword, I would have made you 
four tall fellows skip like rats. 

Host. Here, boys, here, here ! shall we wag? 

Page. Have with you : — I had rather hear tliern 
scold than fight. 

[Exeunt Host, Shallow, and Page. 

Ford. Though Page be a secure fool, and stands 
so firmly on his wife's frailty, yet I cannot put off 
my opinion so easily : she was in his company at 



I 



Scene II. 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



47 



Page's house ; and, what tliey made there, I know 
not. Well, I will look furtlier into't : and I have 
a disguise to sound Falstaff: If I find her honest, I 
lose not my labour ; if she be otherwise, 'tis labour 
well bestowed. [Eiit. 

SCENE II. —^ Room in the Garter Imi. 
Enter Falstaff and Pistol. 

Fal. I will not lend thee a penny. 

Putt. Why tlien the world's mine oyster, 
Which I with sword will open. — 
I will retort tlie sum in equipage. 3 

Fal. Not a penny. I have been content, sir, you 
should lay ray countenance to pawn ; I have grated 
upon my good friends for three reprieves for you 
and your coach-fellow * Nym ; or else you had 
looked through the grate like a geminy of baboons. 
I am disgraced for swearing to gentlemen my friends, 
you were good soldiers, and tall fellows : and when 
mistress Bridget lost the handle of her fan, I took't 
upon mine honour, thou hadst it not. 

Pist. Didst thou not share? hadst thou not 
fifteen pence? 

Fal. Reason, you rogue, reason : Think'st thou, 
rU endanger my soul gratis ? At a word, hang no 
more about me, I am no gibbet for you : — go. — 
A short knife and a throng ^ : — to your manor 
of Pickt-hatch 6, go. — You'll not bear a letter for 
me, you rogue ! — you stand upon your honour! — 
Wliy, thou unconfinable baseness, it is as much 
as 1 can do, to keep tlie terras of ray honour pre- 
cise. I, I, I myself sometimes, leaving the fear of 
heaven on the left hand, and hiding mine honour in 
my necessity, am fain to shuflle, to hedge, and to 
lurch ; and yet you, rogue, will ensconce 7 your 
rags, your cat-a-mountain looks, your red-lattice 8 
phrases, and your bold-beating oaths, under the 
shelter of your honour ! You will not do it, you ? 

Pist. I do relent: what would'st thou more of man? 

Enter Robin. 
Rob. Sir, here's a woman would speak witli you. 
Fal. Let her approach. 

Enter Mrs. Quickly. 

Quick. Give your worship good-morrow. 

Fal. Good-morrow, good wife. 

Quick. Not so, an't please your worship. 

Fal. Goml maid, then. 

Quick. I'll be sworn ; as my mother was, the 
first hour I was born. 

Fal. I do believe the swearer : What with me ? 
Quick. Shall I vouchsafeyourworshipawordortwo? 

Fal. Two thousand, fair woman; and I'll vouch- 
safe thee the hearing. 

Quick. There is one mistress Ford, sir; — I pray, 
come a little nearer tliis ways ; — I myself dwell 
with master doctor Caius. 

Ful. Well, on : Mistress Ford you say, 

Quick. Your worship says very true : I pray your 
worship, come a little nearer this ways. 

Fal. I warrant thee, nobody hears; — raine own 
people, raine own people. 

Quick. Are tliey so? Heaven bless them, and 
make them his servants ! 

Fal. Well : Mistress Ford : — what of her ? 

* Pay you again in stolen goods. 

* Draws along with you. * To cut purses In a crowd. 
« Pickt-hatch was in Clerkenwell. 7 Protect 

' Al0-house. 



Quick. Why, sir, she's a good creature ; but 
your worship's a wanton : Well, heaven forgive 
you, and all of us, I pray ! 

Fal. Mistress Ford ; — come, mistress Ford, — 

Quick. Marry, this is the short and the long of 
it ; you have brought her into such a canaries », as 
'tis wonderful. Tlie best courtier of them all, 
when the court lay at Windsor, could never have 
brought her to such a canary. Yet there has been 
knights, and lords, and gentlemen, with their 
coaches ; I warrant you, coach after coach, letter 
after letter, gift after gift; sraelling so sweetly 
(all musk), and so rushling, I warrant you, in silk 
and gold ; and in such alligant terms ; and in such 
wine and sugar of the best and the fairest, that would 
have won any woman's heart ; and, I warrant you, 
they could never get an eye-wink of her. — I had 
myself twenty angels given me this morning : but 
I defy all angels, (in any such sort, as they say,) 
but in the way of honesty : — and, I warrant you, 
they could never get her so much as sip on a cup 
with the proudest of them all ; and yet there has 
been earls, nay, which is more, pensioners ; but, I 
warrant you, all is one with her. 

Fal. But what says she to me? be brief, my 
good she- Mercury. 

Qziick. Marry, she hath received your letter ; for 
the which she thanks you a thousand times ; and 
she gives you to notify, that her husband will be 
absence from his house between ten and eleven. 

Fal. Ten and eleven ? 

Quick. Ay, forsooth ; and then you may come 
and see the picture, she says that you wot ' of ; — 
master Ford, her husband, will be from home. 
Alas ! the sweet woman leads an ill life with him ; 
he's a very jealousy man ; she leads a very fram- 
pold - life with him, good heart. 

Fal. Ten and eleven : Woman, commend me to 
her ; I will not fail her. 

Quick. Why, you say well : But I have another 
messenger to your worship : Mistress Page hath her 
hearty commendations to you too ; — and let me 
tell you in your ear, she's as fartuous a civil modest 
wife, and one (I tell 'you) that will not miss your 
morning nor evening prayer, as any is in Windsor, 
whoe'er be tlie otlier : and she bade me tell your 
worship, that her husband is seldom from home ; 
but, she hopes, there will come a time. I never 
knew a woman so dote upon a man ; surely, I think 
you have charms, la ; yes, in trutli. 

Fal. Not I, I assure thee ; setting the attraction 
of my good parts aside, I have no other channs. 

Quick. Blessing on your heart for't ! 

Fal. But, I pray thee, tell me this : has Ford's 
wife, and Page's wife, acquainted each otlier how 
they love me ? 

Quick. That were a jest, indeed ! — they have 
not so little grace, I hope : — tliat were a trick, 
indeed ! But mistress Page would desire you to 
send her your little Page, of all loves'; her husband 
has a marvellous infection to the little page: and, 
truly, master Page is an honest man. Never a wife 
in Windsor leads a better life than she does; do 
what she will, say what she will, take all, pay all, 
all is as she will ; and, truly, she deserves it : for if 
tliere be a kind woman in Windsor, she is one. You 
must send her your Page ; no remedy. 



» A mistake of Mrs. Quickly's for quandary. 

I Know. s FretAU, peevish. » By aU 



48 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



Act II. 



Fal. Why, I will. 

Quick. Nay, but do so, then : and, look you, he 
may come and go between you both ; and, in any 
case, have a nay- word'*, that you may know one 
''notlier's mind, and the boy never need to under- 
stand any thing ; for 'tis not good that children 
should know any wickedness : old folks, you know, 
have discretion, as they say, and know the world. 

Fal. Fare thee well : commend me to them both : 
there's my purse ; I am yet thy debtor. — Boy, go 
along with tliis woman. — This news distracts me. 
[Exeunt Quickly and Robik. 

Pist. This is one of Cupid's carriers : — 
Clap on more sails ; pursue, up with your fights ; 
Give fire ; she is my prize, or ocean whelm them all ! 

[Exit Pistol. 

Fal. Say'st thou so, old Jack ? go thy ways ; I'll 
make more of thy old body than I have done. Will 
they yet look after thee ? Wilt thou, after the ex- 
pence of so much money, be now a gainer ? 

Enter Bardolph. 

Bard. Sir John, there's one master Brook below 
would fain speak with you, and be acquainted with 
you; and hath sent your worship a morning's draught 
of sack. 

Fal. Brook, is his name ? 

Bard. Ay, sir. 

Fal. Call him in. [Ent Bardolph.] Such 
Brooks are welcome to me, that o'erflow such 
liquor. Ah ! ha ! mistress Ford and mistress Page, 
have I encompassed you ? go to j via ! ^ 

Re-enter Bardolph, with Ford disguised. 

Ford. Bless you, sir. 

Fal. And you, sir : Would you speak with me ? 

Ford. I make bold, to press with so little prepar. 
ation upon you. 

Fal. You're welcome ; What's your will ? Give 
us leave, drawer. [Exit Bardolph. 

Ford. Sir, I am a gentleman that have spent 
much ; my name is Brook. . 

Fal. Good master Brook, Ldesire more acquaint- 
ance of you. 

Ford. Good sir John, I sue for yours : not to 
charge you ; for I must let you understand, I think 
myself in better plight for a lender than you are : 
the which hath something embolden'd me to this 
unseason'd intrusion : for they say, if money go 
before, all ways do lie open. 

Fal. Money is a good soldier, sir, and will on. 

Ford. Troth, and I have a bag of money here 
troubles me : if you will help me to bear it, sir 
John, take all, or half, for easing me of the carriage. 

Fal. Sir, I know not how I may deserve to be 
your porter. 

Ford. I will tell you, sir, if you will give me the 
hearing. 

Fal. Speak, good master Brook ; I shall be glad 
to be your servant. 

Ford. Sir, I hear you are a scholar, — I will be 
brief with you ; — and you have been a man long 
"known to me, though I had never so good means, 
as desire, to make myself acquainted with you. I 
shall discover a thing to you, wherein I must very 
much lay open mine own imperfection : but, good 
sir John, as you have one eye upon my follies, as 
you hear them unfolded, turn another into the 



* A watcli-word. 



A cant phrase of exultation. 



register of your own ; that I may pass with a. re- 
proof the easier, sith ^ you yourself know, how easy 
it is to be such an offender. 

Fal. Very well, sir ; proceed. 

Ford. There is a gentlewoman in this town, her 
husband's name is Ford. 

Fal. Well, sir. 

Ford- I liave long loved her, and, I protest to 
you, bestowed much on her; followed her with a 
doting observance ; engrossed opportunities to meet 
her ; fee'd every slight occasion, that could but 
niggardly give me sight of her ; not only bought 
many presents to give her, but have given largely 
to many, to know what she would have given : 
briefly, I have pursued her, as love hath pursued 
me ; which hath been, on the wing of all occasions. 
But whatsoever I have merited, either in my mind, 
or in my means, meed, I am sure, I have received 
none; unless experience be a jewel: that I have 
purchas'd at an infinite rate ; and that hath taught 
me to say this : 

Love like a shadow fiies, when substance love pursues ; 
Pursuing that that fives, andfiying what pursues. 

Fal. Have you received no promise of satisfac- 
tion at her hands ? 

Ford. Never. 

Fal. Have you importun'd her to such a purpose ? 

Ford. Never. 

Fal. Of what quality was your love then ? 

Ford. Like a fair house, built upon another 
man's ground ; so that I have lost my edifice, by 
mistaking the place where I erected it. 

Fal. To what purpose have you unfolded this to me? 

Ford. When I have told you that, I have told 
you all. Some say, that, though she appear honest 
to me, yet, in other places, she enlargeth her mirth 
so far, that there is shrewd construction made of 
her. Now, sir John, here is the heart of my pur- 
pose : You are a gentleman of excellent breeding, 
admirable discourse, of great admittance 7, authentic 
in your place and person, generally allowed 8 for your 
many warlike, courtlike, and learned preparations. 

Fal. O, sir ! 

Ford. Believe it, for you know it. — There is 
money ; spend it, spend it ; spend more ; spend all 
I have ; only give me so much of your time in ex- 
change of it, as to lay an amiable siege to the ho- 
nesty of this Ford's wife : use your art of wooing, 
win her to consent to you ; if any man may, you 
may as soon as any. 

Fal. Would it apply well to the vehemency of 
your affection, that I should win what you would 
enjoy? Methinks you prescribe to yourself veiy 
preposterously . 

Ford. O, understand my drift! she dwells so 
securely on the excellency of her honour, that the 
folly of my soul dares not present itself; she is too 
bright to be looked against. Now, could I come 
to her with any detection in my hand, my desires 
had instance and argument to commend themselves ; 
I could drive her then from the ward of her purity, 
her reputation, her marriage-vow, and a thousand 
other her defences, which now are too strongly 
embattled against me : What say you to't, sir John ? 

Fal. Master Brook, I will first make bold with 
your money ; next, give me your hand ; and last, 
as I am a gentleman, you shall, if you will, have 
Ford's wife. 



6 Since. 



7 In the greatest companies. 



Approved. 



Scene III. 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



49 



Ford. O good sir ! 

'Fed. Master Brook, I say you shall. 

Fwd. Want no money, sir John, you shall want 
none. 

JPa/. Want no mistress Ford, master Brook, you 
shall want none. I shall be with her (I may tell 
you) by her own appointment ; even as you came 
in to me, her assistant, or go-between, parted from 
me : I say, I shall be with her between ten and 
eleven ; for at that time the jealous rascally knave, 
her husband, will be forth. Come you to me at 
night ; you shall know how I speed. 

Ford. I am West in your acquaintance. Do you 
know Ford, sir? 

Fal. Hang him, poor knave ! I know him not : 
— yet I wrong him to call him poor ; they say, the 
jealous knave hath masses of money ; for the which 
his wife seems to me well-favoured. I will use her 
as the key of the rogue's coffer ; and there's my 
harvest-home. 

Ford. I would you knew Ford, sir ; that you 
might avoid him, if you saw him. 

Fed. Hang him, mechanical salt-butter rogue ! I 
will stare him out of his wits ; I will awe him with 
my cudgel : it shall hang like a meteor o'er his horns : 
master Brook, thou shalt know, I will predominate 
o'er the peasant, and thou shalt have his wife. — 
Come to me soon at night : — Ford's a knave, and 
I will aggravate his stile 9 ; thou, master Brook, 
shalt know him for a knave and cuckold : — come 
to me soon at night. \^ExU. 

Ford. What an Epicurean rascal is this ! — My 
lieart is ready to crack with impatience. — Who 
says this is improvident jealousy? My wife hath 
sent to him, the hour is fixed, the match is made. 
Would any man have thought this ? — See the 
curse of having a false woman ! my bed sliall be 
abused, my coffers ransacked, my reputation gnawn 
at; and I shall not only receive this villainous 
wrong, but stand under the adoption of abominable 
terms, and by him that does me this wrong. Page 
is an ass, a secure ass ; he will trust his wife, he 
will not be jealous : I will rather trust a Fleming 
with my butter, parson Hugh the Welshman with 
my cheese, an Irishman with my aqua-vitje bottle, 
or a thief to walk my ambling gelding, than my 
wife with herself: then she plots, then she rumi- 
nates, then she devises: and what they think in 
their hearts they may effect, they will break their 
liearts but they will effect. Heaven be praised for 
my jealousy ! — Eleven o'clock the hour ; — I will 
prevent this, detect my wife, be revenged on Fal- 
staff, and laugh at Page. I will about it ; better 
three hours too soon, than a minute too late. Fie, 
fie, fie ! cuckold ! cuckold ! cuckold ! \^ExU. 

SCENE III. — Windsor Park. 

Enter Caius and Rugbt. 

Cains. Jack Rugby ! 

Rug. Sir. 

Caius. Vat is de clock. Jack ? 

Rvg. 'Tis past the hour, sir, that sir Hugh pro- 
raised to meet. 

Caius. By gar, he has save his soul, dat he is no 
come ; he has pray his Pible veil, dat he is no 
come : by gar, Jack Rugby, he is dead already, if 
he be come. 

» Add to his titles. 



Rug. He is wise, sir; he knew, your worship 
would kill him, if he came. 

Caius. By gar, de herring is no dead, so as I vill 
kill him. Take your rapier, Jack ; I vill tell you 
how I vill kill him. 

Rug. Alas, sir, I cannot fence. 

Caius. Villainy, take your rapier. 

Riig. Forbear, here's company. 

Enter Host, Shallow, Slender, and Page. 

Host. 'Bless thee, bully doctor. 

Shal. 'Save you, master doctor Caius. 

Page. Now, good master doctor ! 

Sleri. Give you good morrow, sir. 

Coitcs. Vat be all you, one, two, tree, four, come for. 

Host. To see thee fight, to see thee foin ', to see 
thee traverse, to see thee here, £o see thee there ; to 
see thee pass thy punto, thy stock, thy reverse, thy 
distance, thy montlnt.^ Is he dead, my Ethiopian? 
is he dead, my Francisco? ha, bully! What says 
my ^sculapius ? my Galen ? my heart of elder ? 
ha ! is he dead, bully Stale ? is he dead ? 

Caius. By gar, he is de coward Jack priest of the 
vorld ; he is not show his face. 

Host. Thou art a Castilian king ! a Hector of 
Greece, my boy ! 

Caius. I pray you, bear vitness that me have stay 
six or seven, two, tree hours for him, and he is no 
come. 

Shal. He is the wiser man, master doctor : he is 
a curer of souls, and you a curer of bodies ; if you 
should fight, you go against the hair of your pro- 
fessions : is it not true, master Page ? 

Page. Master Shallow, you have yourself been 
a great fighter, though now a man of peace. 

Shal. Bodykins, master Page, though I now be 
old, and of the peace, if I see a sword out, my 
finger itches to make one : though we are justices, 
and doctors, and churchmen, master Page, we have 
some salt of our youth in us ; m'c are the sons of 
women, master Page. 

Page. 'Tis true, master Shallow. 

Shal. It will be found so, master Page. Master 
doctor Caius, I am come to fetch you home. I am 
sworn of the peace ; you have showed yourself a 
wise physician, and sir Hugh hath shown liimself a 
wise and patient churchman : you must go with me, 
master doctor. 

Host. Pardon, guest justice : — A word, monsieur. 

Caius. Scurvy Jack-dog priest ! by gar, me vill 
cut his ears. 

Host. He will clapper-claw thee tightly, bully. 

Caius. Clapper- de-claw ! vat is dat ? 

Host. That is, he will make thee amends. 

Caiiis. By gar, me do look, he shall clappcr-dc- 
claw me ; for by gar, me vill have it. 

Host. And I will provoke him to't, or let him wag. 

Caius. Me tank you for dat. 

Host. And moreover, bully, — But first, master 
guest, and master Page, and eke cavalero Slender, 
go you through the town to Frogmore. 

[jiside to them. 

Page. Sir Hugh is tlicrc, is he ? 

Host. He is there : see what humour he is in ; 
and I will bring the doctor about by the fields: will 
it do well ? 

Slial. We will do it. 

Page. Shal. and Slcn. Adieu, good master doctor. 
[Exeunt Page, Shallow, and Slender. 
' Fence. « Terras in fencing. 



50 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



Act III. 



Caius. By gar, me vill kill de priest; for he speak 
for a jack-an-ape to Anne Page. 

Host. Let him die : but, first, sheath thy impa- 
tience ; throw cold water on thy choler : go about 
the fields with me through Frogmore : I will bring 
thee where Mrs. Anne Page is, at a farm-house, a 
feasting ; and thou shalt woo her : said I well ? 

Caiiis. By gar, me tank you for dat : by gar, I 



love you ; and 1 shall procure-a you dc good guest, 
de earl, de knight, de lords, de gentlemen, my 
patients. 

Host. For the which, I will be thy adversary to- 
wards Anne Page ; said I well ? 

Caius. By gar, 'tis good ; veil said. 

Host. Let us wag then. 

Caiics. Come at my heels. Jack Rugby. [Exeunt. 



ACT III, 



SCENE I. — A Field near Frogmore. 

Enter Sir Hugh Evans and Simple. 

Eva. I pray you now, good master Slender's 

serving man, and friend Simple by your name, 

which way have you looked for master Caius, that 

calls himself Doctor of Phi/sick ? 

Sim. Marry, sir, the city-ward, the park-ward, 
every way ; old Windsor way, and every way but 
the town way. 

Eva. I most fehemently desire you, you will also 
look that way. 
Sim. I will, sir. 

Eva. 'Pless my soul ! how full of cholers I am, 
and trembling of mind ! — I shall be glad, if he 
have deceived me : — how melancholies L am ! — I 
will knog his knave's costards, when I have good 
opportunities for the 'ork: — 'pless my soul ! {Sings. 
To shallow rivers, to whose falls 
Melodious birds sing madrigals ; 
There will we make our peds of roses, 
And a thousand fragrant posies. 
To shallow ■ 
Mercy on me ! I have a great dispositions to cry. 
Melodious birds sing madrigals ; ■— 
When as I sat in Pabylon, — — 
And a thousan vagram posies. 

To shalloiv 

Sim. Yonder he is coming, this way, sir Hugh. 
Eva. He's welcome : — 

t To shallow rivers, to whose falls —— 

Heaven prosper the right ! — What weapons is he? 

Sim. No weapons, sir : There comes my master, 
master Shallow, and another gentleman from Frog- 
more, over the stile, this way 

Eva. Pray you, give me my gown ; or else keep 
it in your arms. 

Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender. 

Shal. How now, master parson ? Good morrow, 
good sir Hugh. Keep a gamester from the dice, and 
a good student from his book, and it is wonderful. 

Slen. Ah, sweet Anne Page ! 

Page. Save you, good sir Hugh ! 

Eva. 'Pless you from his mercy sake, all of you ! 

Shal. What ! the sword and the word ! do you 
study them both, master parson ? 

Page. And youthful still, in your doublet and 
hose, this raw rheumatic day ? 

Eva. There is reasons and causes for it. 

Page. We are come to you, to do a good office, 
master parson. 

Eva. Fery well : What is it ? 

Page. Yonder is a most reverend gentleman, 

8 Head. 



who belike, having received wrong by some person, 
is at most odds with his own gravity and patience, 
that ever you saw. 

Shal. I have lived fourscore years and upwards ; 
I never heard a man of his place, gravity, and 
learning, so wide of his own respect. 

Eva. What is he ? 

Page. I think you know him ; master doctor 
Caius, the renowned French physician. 

Eva. I had as lief you would tell me of a mess 
of porridge. 

Page. Why? 

Eva. He has no more knowledge in Hibocrates 
and Galen, — and he is a knave besides; a cowardly 
knave, as you would desires to be acquainted withal. 

Page. I warrant you he's the man should fight with 
him. 

Slen. O, sweet Anne Page ! 

Shal. It appears so, by his weapons : — Keep 
them asunder j — here comes doctor Caius. 

Enter Host, Caius, and Rugby. 

Page. Nay, good master parson, keep in your 
weapon. 

Shal. So do you, good master doctor. 

Host. Disarm them, and let them question : let 
them keep their limbs whole, and hack our English. 

Caius. I pray you, let-a me speak a word vit your 
ear : Verefore vill you not meet a-me ? 

Eva. Pray you, use your patience : In good time. 

Caius. By gar, you are de coward, de Jack dog, 
John ape- 

Eva. Pray you, let us not be laughing-stogs to 
other men's humours ; I desire you in friendship, 
and I will one way or other make you amends : 
and I will knog your knave's cogscomb, for missing 
your meetings and appointments. 

Caius. Hiable ! — Jack Rugby, — mine Host de 
Jarterre, have I not stay for him, to kill him ? have 
I not, at de place I did appoint ? 

Eva. As I am a christians soul, now, look you, 
this is the place appointed ; I'll be judgment by 
mine host of the Garter. 

Host. Peace, I say, Guallia, and Gaul, French 
and Welsh ; soul-curer and body-curer. 

Caius. Ay, dat is very good ! excellent ! 

Host. Peace, I say ; hear mine host of the Garter. 
Am I politick ? am I subtle ? am I a Machiavel ? 
Shall I lose my doctor ? no ; he gives me the po- 
tions. Shall I lose my parson ? my priest ? my sir 
Hugh ? no ; he gives me the proverbs and the no- 
verbs.— Give me thy hand, terrestrial ; so : — Give 

me thy hand, celestial ; so. Boys of art, 1 have 

deceived you both ; I have directed you to wrong 
places : your hearts are mighty, your skins are 
whole, and let burnt sack be the issue. — Come 



Scene II. 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



51 



lay their swords to pawn : — Follow me, lad of 
peace ; follow, follow, follow. 

Sluil. Trust me, a mad host : — Follow, gentle- 
men, follow. 

Slen. O, sweet Anne Page ! 

[Exeunt Shal. Slen. Page, and Host. 

Caius. Ha ! do I perceive dat ? have you make-a 
de sot of us ? ha, ha ! 

Eva. This is well ; he has made us his vlouting- 
stog. — I desire you, that we may be friends ; and 
let us knog our prains together, to be revenge on 
this same scall, scurvy, cogging companion, the 
host of the Garter. 

Caius. By gar, vit all my heart : he promise to bring 
me vere is Anne Page : by gar, he deceive me too. 

Eva. Well, I will smite his noddles : — Pray you, 
follow. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — The Street in Windsor. 

Enter Mistress Page a7id Robik. 

Mrs. Page. Nay, keep your way, little gallant ; 
you were wont to be a follower, but now you are a 
leader: Whether had you rather, lead mine eyes, 
or eye your master's heels ? 

Rob. I had rather, forsooth, go before you like 
a man, than follow him like a dwarf. 

Mrs. Page. O you are a flattering boy ; now, I 
see, you'll be a courtier. 

Enter Ford. 

Ford. Well met, mistress Page: Whither go you? 

Mrs. Page. Truly, sir, to see your wife : Is she 
at home? 

Ford. Ay ; and as idle as she may hang together, 
for want of company : I think if your husbands 
were dead, you two would marry. 

Mrs. Page. Be sure of that, — two other husbands. 

Ford. Where had you this jiretty weather-cock ? 

Mrs. Page. I cannot tell what his name is my 
husband had him of: What do you call your 
knight's name, sirrah ? 

Rob. Sir John Falstaff. 

Ford. Sir John Falstaff! 

Mrs. Page. He, he ; I can never hit on's name. 
There is such a league between my good man and 
he ! — Is your wife at home, indeed ? 

Ford. Indeed, she is. 

Mrs. Page. By your leave, sir ; — I am sick, till 
I see her. [Exeunt Mrs. Page and Robin. 

Ford. Has Page any brains ? hath he any eyes ; 
hath he any thinking ? Sure they sleep ; he hath no 
use of them. Why, this boy will carry a letter twenty 
miles, as easy as a cannon will shoot point-blank 
twelve score. He pieces-out his wife's inclination ; 
he gives her folly motion, and advantage : and now 
she's going to my wife, and Falstaff's boy with her. 
A man may hear this shower sing in the wind ! — 
and Falstaft"'s boy with her ! — Good plots ! — they 
are laid ; and our revolted wives share damnation 
togetlier. Well ; I will take him, then torture my 
wife, pluck the borrowed veil of modesty from the 
so seeming mistress Page, divulge Page himself for 
a secure and wilful Actaeon ; and to these violent 
proceedings all my neighbours shall cry aim.-* [Clock 
strikes.'l The clock gives me my cue, and my as- 
surance bids me search ; tliere I shall find Falstaff: 
I shall be rather praised for this than mocked ; for 
it is as positive as the eartli is firm, that Falstaff is 
there : I will go. 

< Shall encourage. 



Enter Page, Shallow, Slender, Host, Sir Hugh 
Evans, Caius, and Rugby. 

Shal. Page, &c. Well met, master Ford. 

Ford. Trust me, a good knot : I have good cheer 
at home ; and I pray you, all go witli me. 

Shal. I must excuse myself, master Ford. 

Slen. And so must I, sir ; we have appointed to 
dine with mistress Anne, and I would not break 
with her for more money than I'll speak of. 

Shal. We have lingered about a match between 
Anne Page and my cousin Slender, and this day 
we shall have our answer. 

Slen. I hope I have your good-will, father Page. 

Page. You have, master Slender ; I stand wholly 
for you : — but my wife, master doctor, is for you 
altogether, 

Caius. Ay, by gar ; and de maid is love-a me ; 
my nursh-a Quickly tell me so mush. 

Host. What say you to young master Fenton ? 
he capers, he dances, he has eyes of youth, he 
writes verses, he speaks holyday ^ ; he smells April 
and May : he will carry't, he will carry't. 

Page. Not by my consent, I promise you. The 
gentleman is of no having : he kept company with 
the wild Prince and Poins ; he is of too high a 
region, he knows too much. No, he shall not 
knit a knot in his fortunes ^vith the finger of my 
substance : if he take her, let him take her simply ; 
the wealth I have, waits on my consent, and my 
consent goes not that way. 

Ford. I beseech you, heartily, some of you go 
home with me to dinner : besides your cheer, you 

shall have sport ; I will show you a monster. 

Master doctor, you shall go ; — so shall you, master 
Page ; — and you, sir Hugh. 

Shal. Well, fare you well : — we shall have the 
freer wooing at master Page's. 

[Exeunt Shallow atid Slender. 

Caius. Go home, John Rugby; I come anon. 

[Exit Rugby. 

Host. Farewell, my hearts : I will to my honest 
knight Falstaff, and drink canary with him. 

[Exit Host, 

Ford. [Aside.] I think, I shall drink in pipe-wine 
first with him ; I'll make him dance. Will you go, 
gentles ? 

All. Have with you, to see this monster. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — A Room in Ford's House. 
Enter Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Page. 
Mrs. Ford. What, John ! what, Robert ! 
Mrs. Page. Quickly, quickly : Is the buck-bas- 
ket — 
Mrs. Ford. I warrant : — What, Robin, I say. 

Enter Servants tvith a basket. 

Mrs. Page. Come, come, come. 

Mrs. Ford. Here, set it down. 

Mrs. Page. Give your men the charge ; we must 
be brief. 

Mrs. Ford. Marry, as I told you before, John 
and Robert, be ready here hard by in tlie brew- 
house ; and when I suddenly call you, come forth, 
and (without any pause, or staggering,) take this 
basket on your shoulders : that done trudge with 
it in all haste, and carry it among the whitsters in 

* Out of the common style. 
£ 3 



52 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



Act III. 



Datchet-mead, and there empty it in the muddy 
ilitch, close by the Thames' side. 

Mrs. Page. You will do it ? 

Mrs. Ford. I have told them over and over ; they 
lack no direction : Begone, and come when you 
are called. [Exeunt Servants. 

Mrs. Page. Here comes little Robin. 

Enter Robin. 

Mrs. Ford. How now, my eyas-musket ? ^ what 
news with you ? 

Rob. My master sir John is come in at your back- 
door, mistress Ford ; and requests your company. 

Mrs. Page. You little Jack-a-lent 7, have you 
been true to us ? 

Rob. Ay, I'll be sworn : My master knows not 
of your being liere ; and hath threatened to put me 
into everlasting liberty, if I tell you of it ; for, he 
swears, he'll turn me away. 

Mrs. Page. Thou'rt a good boy ; this secrecy of 
thine shall be a tailor to thee, and shall make thee 
a new doublet and hose. — I'll go hide me. 

Mrs. Ford. Do so : — Go tell thy master, I am 
alone. Mistress Page, remember you your cue. 

[Exit Robin. 

Mrs. Page. I warrant thee ; if I do not act it, 
hiss me. [Exit Mrs. Page. 

Mrs. Ford. Go to then ; we'll use this gross 
watery pumpion j we'll teach him to know turtles 
from jays. 

Enter Falstaff. 

Fal. Have I caught thee, mi/ heavenly jewel ! 
Why, now let me die, for I have lived long enough : 
this is the period of my ambition : O this blessed 
hour! 

Mrs. Ford. O sweet sir John ! 

Fal. Mistress Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot prate, 
mistress Ford. Now shall I sin in my wish : I would 
thy husband were dead ; I'll speak it before the 
best lord, I would make thee my lady. 

Mrs. Ford. I your lady, sir John ! alas, I should 
be a pitiful lady. 

Fal. Let the court of France show me such an- 
other : I see how thine eye would emulate the dia- 
mond : Thou hast the right arched bent of the brow, 
that becomes the ship-tire, the tire-valiant, or any 
tire of Venetian admittance. 

Mrs. Ford. A plain kerchief, sir John : my brows 
become nothing else ; nor that well neither. 

Fal. Thou art a traitor to say so : thou would'st 
make an absolute courtier : and the firm fixture of 
thy foot would give an excellent motion to thy gait, 
in a semi-circled farthingale. I see what thou wert, 
if fortune thy foe were not ; nature is thy friend : 
Come, thou canst not hide it. 

Mrs. Ford. Believe me, there's no such thing in 
me. 

Fal. What made me love thee ? let that persuade 
thee, there's something extraordinary in thee. 
Come, I cannot cog, and say, thou art this and 
that, like a many of these lisping haw-thorn buds, 
that come like women in men's apparel, and smell 
like Bucklers-bury 8 in simple-time ; I cannot : but 
I love thee ; none but thee ; and thou deservest it. 

Mrs. Ford. Do not betray me, sir ; I fear, you 
love mistress Page. 

" A young small hawk. 

7 A puppet thrown at in Lent, like shrove-cocks. 

8 Formerly chiefly inhabited by druggists. 



Fal. Thou might'st as well say, I love to walk 
by the Counter-gate ; which is as hateful to me as 
the reek of a lime-kiln. 

Mrs. Ford. Well heaven knows, how I love you ; 
and you sliall one day find it. 

Fal. Keep in that mind ; I'll deserve it. 

Mrs Ford. Nay, I must tell you, so you do ; or 
else I could not be in that mind.' 

Rob. [ivithin.] Mistress Ford, mistress Ford ! 
here's mistress Page at the door, sweating, and 
blowing, and looking wildly, and would needs speak 
with you presently. 

Fal. She shall not see me ; I will ensconce 9 me 
behind the arras. 

Mrs. Ford. Pray you, do so ; she's a very tat- 
tling woman. — [Falstaff hides himself. 

Enter Mrs. Page and Robin. 
What's the matter ? how now ? 

Mrs. Page. O mistress Ford, what have you 
done ? You're shamed, you are overthrown, you 
are undone for ever. 

Mrs. Ford. What's the matter, good mistress 
Page? 

Mrs. Page. O well-a-day, mistress Ford ! having 
an honest man to your husband, to give him such 
cause of suspicion ! 

Mrs. Ford. What cause of suspicion ? 

Mrs. Page. What cause of suspicion ! — Out 
upon you ! how am I mistook in you ? 

Mrs. Ford. Why, alas ! what's the matter ? 

Mrs. Page. Your husband's coming hither, wo- 
man, with all the officers in Windsor, to search for 
a gentleman, that, he says, is here, now in the 
house, by your consent, to take an ill advantage of 
his absence : you are undone. 

Mrs. Ford. Speak louder, [Aside."] — 'Tis not 
so, I hope. 

Mrs. Page. Pray heaven it be not so, that you 
have such a man here ; but 'tis most certain your 
husband's coming with half Windsor at his heels, 
to search for such a one. I come before to tell 
you : If you know yourself clear, why I am glad of 
it : but if you have a friend here, convey, convey 
him out. Be not amazed ; call all your senses to 
you : defend your reputation, or bid farewell to 
your good life for ever. 

Mrs. Ford. What shall I do ? — There is a gen- 
tleman, my dear friend ; and I fear not mine own 
shame, so much as his peril : I had rather than a 
thousand pound, he were out of the house. 

Mrs. Page. For shame, never stand you had 
rather, and you had rather,- your husband's here 
at hand, bethink you of some conveyance : in the 
house you cannot hide him. — O, how have you 
deceived me ! — Look, here is a basket : if he be 
of any reasonable stature, he may creep in here; 
and throw foul linen upon him, as if it were going 
to bucking : Or, it is whiting-time ', send him by 
your t\?'o men to Datchet-mead. 

Mrs. Ford. He's too big to go in there: What 
shall I do ? 

Re-enter Falstaff. 

Fal. Let me see't ! let me see't ! O let me see't ! 
I'll in, I'll in ; — follow your friend's counsel ; — 
I'll in. 

Mrs. Page. What ! sir John Falstaff ! Are these 
your letters, knight ? 

" Hide. 1 Bleaching time. 



Scene IV. 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



53 



Fed. I love ihee, and none but thee ; help me 

away : let me creep in here ; I'll never 

\_He goes into the basket ; they cover him 
with foul linen. 

Mrs. Page. Hef][> to cover your master, boy : 
Call your men, mistress Ford : — You dissemblinff 
knight. ^ 

Mrs Ford. What, John, Robert, John ! [Exit 
RowN ; Re-enter Servants.] Go, take up these 
clothes here, quickly; Where's the cowl-staff?^ 
look, how you drumbleS ; carry them to the laun- 
dress in Datchet-mead ; quickly, come. 

EiUer Ford, Page, Caius, and Sir Hugh Evans. 

Ford. Pray you, come near : if I suspect without 
cause, why Uien make sport at me, then let me be 
your jest ; I deserve it. — How now ? whither bear 
you this ? 

Serv. To the laundress, forsooth. 
Mrs. Ford. Why, what have you to do whither 
they bear it ? You were best meddle with buck- 
washing. 

Ford. Buck ? I would I could wash myself of 
tlie buck ! Buck, buck, buck ? Ay, buck ; I war- 
rant you, buck ; and of the season too, it shall ap- 
pear. [Exeunt Servants with the basket.] Gentle- 
men, I have dreamed to-night: I'll tell you my 
dream. Here, here, here be my keys : ascend my 
chambers, search, seek, find out : I'll warrant we'll 

unkennel the fox : — Let me stop this way first : 

So now uncape.* 

Page. Good master Ford, be contented : you 
wrong yourself too much. 

Ford. True, master Page.— Up, gentlemen; you 
shall see sport anon : follow me, gentlemen. [Exit. 
Eva. This is fery fantastical humours, and jea- 
lousies. 

Caius. By gar, 'tis no de fashion of France : it is 
not jealous in France. 

Page. Nay, follow him, gentlemen ; see the issue 
of liis search. [Exeunt Evans, Page, and Caius. 
Mrs. Page. Is there not a double excellency in 
this? ^ 

Mrs. Ford. I know not which pleases me better, 
tliat my husband is deceived, or sir John. 

Mrs. Page. What a taking was he in, when your 
husband asked who was in the basket ? 

Mrs. Ford. Tlu-owing him into the water will do 
liim a benefit. 

Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest rascal ! I would, 
all of tlie same strain were in the same distress. 

Mrs. Foi'd. I think my husband hath some spe- 
cial suspicion of Falstaff*'s being here ; for I never 
saw him so gross in his jealousy till now. 

Mrs. Page. I will lay a plot to try that : And we 
will yet have more tricks with Falstaft': his dissolute 
disease will scarce obey this medicine. 

Mrs. Ford. Shall we send that foolish carrion, 
mistress Quickly, to him, and excuse his throwing 
into the water; and give him another hope, to 
betray him to another punishment ? 

Mrs. Page. We'll do it ; let him be sent for to- 
morrow eight o'clock, to have amends. 

Re-enter Ford, Page, Caius, andSirlixsQn Evans. 
Ford. I cannot find him: may be the knave 
bragged of Uiat he could not compass. 



Mrs. Page. Heard you that ? 
Mrs. Ford. Ay, ay, peace : — You use me well, 
master Ford, do you ? 
Ford. Ay, I do so. 

Mrs. Ford. Heaven make you better than your 
thoughts ! 

Ford. Amen. 

Mrs. Page. You do yourself mighty wrong, mas- 
ter Ford. 

Ford. Ay, ay ; I must bear it. 
Eva. If there be any pody in the house, and in 
the chambers, and in the coflfers, and in the presses, 
heaven forgive my sins ! 

Caius. By gar, nor I too ; dere is no bodies. 
Page. Fie, fie, master Ford! are you not ashamed? 
What spirit, what devil suggests this imagination ? 
I would not have your distemper in tliis kind, for 
the wealth of Windsor Castle. 

Ford. 'Tis my fault, master Page : I suffer for it. 
Eva. You suffer for a pad conscience ; your wife 
is as honest a 'omans, as I will desires among five 
thousand, and five hundred too. 

Caius. By gar, I see 'tis an honest woman. 

Ford. Well ; — I promised you a dinner : 

Come, come, walk in the park : I pray you, pardon 
me ; I will hereafter make known to you, why I 
have done this. — Come, wife ; — come mistress 
Page : I pray you pardon me ; pray heartily, par- 
don me. 

Page. Let's go in, gentlemen; but, trust me, 
we'll mock him. I do invite you to-morrow morn- 
ing to my house to breakfast ; after, we'll a birding 
together ; I have a fine hawk for the bush : Shall it 
be so? 

Ford. Any thing. 

Eva. If there is one, I shall make two in the 
company. 

Ford. Pray you go, master Page. 
Eva. I pray you now, remembrance to-morrow 
on the knave, mine host. 

Caius. Dat is good ; by gar, vit all my heart. 
Eva. A knave ; to have liis gibes and his mock- 
eries- [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — A Room in Page's House. 

Enter Fenton, and Mistress Anne Page. 

Fent. I see, I cannot get thy father's love ; 
Therefore, no more turn me to him, sweet Nan. 

Anne. Alas ! how then ? 

Fen. Why, thou must be tliyself. 

He doth object, I am too great of birtli ; 
And that, my state being gall'd with my expence, 
I seek to heal it only by his wealth : 

Besides these, other bars he lays before me, 

My riots past, my wild societies ; 
And tells me, 'tis a thing impossible 
I should love thee, but as a property. 

Anne. INIay be, he tells you true. 

Fent. No, heaven so speed mc in my time- lo 
come ! 
Albeit, I will confess, thy father's wealth 
Was the first motive that I woo'd thee, Anne : 
Yet, wooing thee, I found thee of more value 
Than stamps in gold, or sums in scaled bags ; 
And 'tis the very riches of thyself 
That now I aim at, 

Anne. Gentle master Fenton, 

Yet seek my father's love : still seek it, bir : 
E 3 



54 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



Act III. 



If opportunity and humblest suit. 

Cannot attain it, why then. — Hark you hither. 

{_Tliey converse apart. 

Enter Shallow, Slender, and Mrs. Quickly. 

Shal. Break their talk, Mrs. Quickly j my kins- 
man shall speak for himself. 

Slen. I'll make a shaft or a bolt on't* : slid, 'tis 
but venturing. 

Shal. Be not dismay'd. 

iSZen. No, she shall not dismay me : I care not* 
for that, — but that I am afeard. 

Quiclc. Hark ye ; master Slender would speak a 
word with you. 

Anne. I come to him. — This is my father's 
choice. 
O, what a world of vile ill-favour'd faults 
Looks liandsome in three hundred pounds a year ! 

[Asixle. 

Quick. And how does good master Fenton? Pray 
you, a word with you. 

Shal. She's coming ; to her, coz. O boy, thou 
hadst a father. 

Slen. I had a father, mistress Anne ; — my uncle 
can tell you good jests of him : — Pray you, uncle, 
tell mistress Anne the jest, how my father stole 
two geese out of a pen, good uncle. 

Shal. Mistress Anne, my cousin loves you. 

Slen. Ay, that I do ; as well as I love any woman 
in Glocestershire. 

Shnl. He will maintain you like a gentlewoman. 

Slen. Ay, that I will, come cut and long-tail, 
under the degree of a 'squire. 

Shal. He wall make you a hundred and fifty 
pounds jointure. 

Anne. Good master Shallow, let him woo for 
himself. 

Shal. Marry, I thank you for it ; I thank you for 
that good comfort. She calls you, coz ; I'll leave 
you. 

Anne. Now, master Slender. 

Slen. Now, good mistress Anne. 

Anne. What is your will. 

Slen. My will? od's heartlings, that's a pretty 
jest indeed ! I ne'er made my will yet, I thank 
heaven ; I am not such a sickly creature, I give 
heaven praise. 

Anne. I mean, master Slender, what would you 
with me ? 

Sle?i. Truly, for mine own part, I would little or 
nothing with you : Your father, and my uncle, have 
made motions : if it be my luck, so ; if not, happy 
man be his dole ! ^ They can tell you how things 
go, better than I can : You may ask your father ; 
here he comes. 

E7iter Page, and Mistress Page. 
Page. Now, master Slender : — Love him, daugh- 
ter Anne. — 
Why, how now ! what does master Fenton here ? 
You wrong me, sir, thus still to haunt my house : 
I told you, sir, my daughter is dispos'd of. 
Fent. Nay, master Page, be not impatient. 
Mrs. Page. Good master Fenton, come not to 

my child. 
Page. She is no match for you. 
Fent. Sir, will you hear me ? 
Page. No, good master Fenton. 

* A proverb — a shaft was a long arrow, and a bolt a thick 
ihort one. » Lot. 



Come, master Shallow : come, son Slender ; in : — 

Knowing my mind, you wrong me, master Fenton. 

[Exeunt Page, Shallow, and Slendek. 

Quick. Speak to mistress Page. 

Fent. Good mistress Page, for that I love your 
daughter 
In such a righteous fashion as I do. 
Perforce, against all checks, rebukes, and manners, 
I must advance the colours of my love, 
And not retire : Let me liave your good will. 

Anne. Good mother, do not marry me to yond' 
fool. 

Mrs. Page. I mean it not ; I seek you a better 
husband. 

Quick. That's my master, master doctor. 

Anne. Alas, I had rather be set quick i' the earth, 
And bowl'd to death with turnips. 

Mrs. Page. Come, trouble not yourself: Good 
master Fenton. 
I will not be your friend, nor enemy : 
My daughter will I question how she loves you. 
And as I find her, so am I aflfected ; 
'Till then, farewell sir : — : She must needs go in ; 
Her father will be angry. 

[Exeunt Mrs. Page and Anne. 

Fent. Farewell, gentle mistress ; farewell. Nan. 

Quick. This is my doing now ; — Nay, said I, 
will you cast away your child on a fool, and a 
physician ? Look on master Fenton : — this is my 
doing. 

Fent. I thank thee ; and I pray thee, once to- 
night 
Give my sweet Nan this ring : There's for thy pains. 

[Exit. 

Quick. Now heaven send thee good fortune ! A 
kind heart he hath : a woman would run through 
fire and water for such a kind heart. But yet, I 
would my master had mistress Anne ; or I would 
master -Slender had her ; or, in sooth, I would 
master Fenton had her : I will do what I can for 
tliem all three ; for so I have promised, and I'll be 
as good as my word ; but speciously ^ for master 
Fenton. Well, I must of another errand to sir 
John Falstaff from my two mistresses: What a 
beast am I to slack 7 it. [ExU, 

SCENE V. — A Room in the Garter Inn. 

Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. 

Fal. Bardolph, I say, — 

Bard. Here, sir. 

Fal. Go fetch me a quart of sack ; put a toast 
in't. [Exit Bard.] Have I lived to be carried in 
a basket, like a barrow of butcher's offal ? and to 
be thrown into the Thames? Well; if I be served 
such another trick, I'll have my brains ta'en out, 
and buttered, and give them to a dog for a new 
year's gift. The rogues slighted me into the river 
with as littlp remorse as they would have drowned 
blind puppies, fifteen i' the litter : and you may 
know by my size, that I have a kind of alacrity in 
sinking ; if the bottom were ever so deep, I should 
down. I had been drowned, but that the shore 
was shelvy and shallow : a death that I abhor ; for 
the water sM^ells a man ; and what a thing should I 
have been, when I had been swelled! I should 
have been a mountain of mummy. 



Specially. 



Neglect. 



J 



Scene V. 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



bb 



Re-enter Bardolph, with the wine. 

Hard. Here's mistress Quickly, sir, to speak with 
you. 

Fal. Come, let me pour in some sack to the 
Thames water ; for my inside's as cold, as if I liad 
swallowed snow-balls. Call her in. 

Bard. Come in, woman. 

Enter Mrs. Quickly. 

Quick. By your leave ; I cry you mercy : Give 
your worship good-morrow. 

Fal. Take away these chalices : Go brew me a 
pottle of sack finely. — {Eint Bardolph.] — How 
now ? 

Quiclr. Marry, sir, I come to your worship from 
mistress Ford. 

Fal. Mistress Ford! I have had ford enough: I 
was thrown into the ford. 

Quick. Alas the day ! good heart, that was not 
her fault ; she does so take on with her men ; they 
mistook their erection. 

Fal. So did I mine, to build upon a foolish wo- 
man's promise. 

Quick. Well, she laments, sir, for it, that it would 
yearn your heart to see it. Her husband goes tliis 
morning a birding ; she desires you once more to 
come to her between eight and nine : I must carry 
her word quickly ; slie'll make you amends, 1 
warrant you. 

Fal. Well, I will visit her: Tell her so; and bid 
her tliink, what a man is : let her consider his 
frailty, and then judge of my merit. 

Quick. I will tell her. 

Fal. Do so. Between nine and ten, say'st thou? 

QuicA: Eight and nine, sir. 

Fal. Well, be gone : I will not miss her. 

Quick. Peace be with you, sir. [Exit. 

Fal. I marvel, I hear not of master Brook ; he 
sent me word to stay within : I like his money 
well. O, here he comes. 

Enter Ford. 

Ford. Bless you, sir ! 

Fal. Now, master Brook? you come to know 
what hath passed between me and Ford's wife ? 

Ford. That, indeed, sir John, is my business. 

Fal. Master Brook, I will not lie to you ; I was 
at her house the hour she appointed me. 

Ford. And how sped you, sir? 

Fal. Very ill-favouredly, master Brook. 

Ford. How so, sir ? Did she change her deter- 
mination ? 

Fal. No, master Brook ; but the peaking cor- 
nuto, her husband, master Brook, dwelling in a 
continual 'larum of jealousy, comes me in the in- 
stant of our encounter, after we had embraced, 
kissed, protested, and, as it were, spoke tlie pro- 
logue of our comedy ; and at his heels a rabble of 
his companions, tliither provoked and instigated by 
liis distemjjer, and, forsooth, to search his house for 
his wife's love. 

Ford. What, while you were there ? 

Fal. While I was there. 

Ford. And did he search for you, and could not 
find you ? 

Fal. You shall hear. As good luck would have 
it, comes in one mistress Page ; gives intelligence 
of Ford's approach ; and, by her invention, and 



Ford's wife's distraction, they conveyed me into a 
buck-basket ? 

Ford. A buck-basket? 

Fal. Yea, a buck-basket: rammed me in with 
foul shirts and socks, foul stockings, and greasy 
napkins; that, master Brook, there was the rankest 
compound of villainous smell, that ever offended 
nostril. 

Ford. And how long lay you there ? 
Fal. Nay, you shall hear, master Brook, what I 
have suffered to bring this woman to evil for your 
good. Being thus crammed in the basket, a couple 
of Ford's knaves, his hinds, were called forth by 
tlieir mistress, to carry me in the name of foul 
clothes to Datchet-lane : they took me on tlieir 
shoulders ; met the jealous knave their master in 
tlie door ; who asked them once or twice what tljey 
had in their basket : I quaked for fear, lest the 
lunatic knave would have searched it; but Fate, 
ordaining he should be a cuckold, held his hand. 
Well ; on went he for a search, and away went I 
for foul clothes. But mark the sequel, master 
Brook : I suffered tlie pangs of three several deatlis: 
first, an intolerable fright, to be detected -with a 
jealous bell-wether : next, to be compassed like a 
good bilbo 8, in the circumference of a peck, hilt to 
point, heel to head : and then, to be stopped in, 
like a strong distillation, with stinking clothes : 
think of that, — a man of my kidney, think of that ; 
that am as subject to heat as butter ; a man of 
continual dissolution and thaw ; it was a miracle to 
'scape suffocation. And in the height of this bath, 
when I was more than half stewed in grease, like a 
Dutch dish, to be thrown into the Thames, and 
cooled, glowing hot, in that surge, like a horse- 
shoe ; think of that ; — hissing hot, — think of that, 
master Brook. 

Ford. In good sadness, sir, I am sorry that for 
my sake you have suffered all this. My suit then 
is desperate ; you'll undertake her no more. 

Fal. Master Brook, I will be thrown into ^tna, 
as I have been into Thames, ere I will leave her 
thus. Her husband is this morning gone a bird- 
ing : I have received from her another embassy of 
meeting ; 'twixt eight and nine is the hour, master 
Brook. 
Ford. 'Tis past eight already, sir. 
Fal. Is it? I will then address me to my appoint- 
ment. Come to me at your convenient leisure, and 
you shall know how I speed ; and the conclusion 
shall be crowned with your having her : Adieu. 
You shall have her, master Brook ; master Brook, 
you shall cuckold Ford. [Exit. 

Ford. Hum! ha! is this a vision? is this a dream? 
do I sleep ? Master Ford, awake ; awake, master 
Ford; there's a hole made in your best coat, master 
Ford. This 'tis to be married ! this 'tis to have 
linen and buck-baskets ! — Well, I will proclaim 
myself what I am : I will now take the lecher ; he 
is at my house : he cannot 'scaj>e me ; 'tis impos- 
sible he should ; he cannot creep into a halfpenny 
purse, nor into a pepper-box : but, lest the devil 
that guides him should aid him, I will search im- 
possible places. Though what I am I cannot 
avoid, yet to be what I would not, shall not make 
me tame : if I have horns to make one mad, let tlie 
proverb go with me, I'll be horn mad. [Exit. 

^ Bilboa, where the lN>st blades arc made. 
E 4 



56 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



Act IV. 



ACT IV. 



SCENE l. — A Room in Ford'* House. 

Enter Falstaff and Mrs. Ford. 

Fed. Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten up 
my sufferance : I see you are obsequious in your 
love, and I profess requital to a hair's breadUi; not 
only, mistress Ford, in the simple office of love, but 
in all the accoutrement, complement, and ceremony 
of it. But are you sure of your Iiusband now ? 

Mrs. Ford. He's a birding, sweet sir John. 

Mrs. Page. [Within.'\ What hoa, gossip Ford! 
what hoa ! 

Mrs. Ford. Step into the chamber, sir John. 

\_E3it Falstaff. 
Enter Mrs. Page. 

Mrs. Page. How now, sweetheart? who's at 
home beside yourself? 

Mrs. Ford. Why, none but mine own people. 

Mrs. Page. Indeed? 

Mrs. Ford. No, certainly ; — speak louder. [Aside. 

Mrs. Page. Truly, I am so glad you have nobody 
here. 

Mrs. Ford. Why ? 

Mrs. Page. Why, woman, your husband is in 
his own lunes 9 again : he so takes on yonder with 
my husband ; so rails against all married mankind j 
so curses all Eve's daughters, of what complexion 
soever ; and so buffets himself on the forehead, cry- 
ing Peer out, peer out ! that any madness I ever 
yet beheld seemed but taraeness, civility, and pa- 
tience, to this his distemper he is in now : I am 
glad the fat knight is not here. 

Mrs. Ford. Why, does he talk of him ? 

Mrs. Page. Of none but him; and swears, he 
was carried out, the last time he searched for him 
in a basket : protests to my husband he is now 
here; and hath drawn him and the rest of their 
company from their sport, to make another experi- 
ment of liis suspicion : but I am glad the knight is 
not here ; now he shall see his own foolery. 

Mrs. Ford. How near is he, mistress Page ? 

Mrs. Page. Hard by ; at street end ; he will be 
here anon. 

Mrs. Ford. I am undone ! — the knight is here. 

Mrs. Page. Why, then you are utterly shamed, 
arid he's but a dead man. What a woman are you ? 
— Away with him, away with him ; better shame 
than murder. 

Mrs. Ford. Which way should he go? how 
should I bestow him? Shall I put him into the 
basket again? 

Re-enter Falstaff. 

Fa I. No, I'll come no more i' the basket : May 
I not go out ere he come ? 

Mrs. Page. Alas, three of master Ford's bro- 
thers watch the door with pistols, that none shall 
issue out ; otherwise you might slip away ere he 
came. But what make you here ? 

Fal. Whall shall I do ? — I'll creep up into the 
chimney. 

Mrs. Ford. There they always use to discharge 
their birding pieces : creep into the kiln hole. 

Fal. Where is it ? 

3 Mad fits. 



Mrs. Ford. He will seek there on my word. 
Neither press, coffer, chest, trunk, well, vault, but. 
he hath an abstract for the remembrance of such 
places, and goes to them by his note : There is no 
hiding you in the house. 

Fal. I'll go out then. 

Mrs. Page. If you go out in your own sem- 
blance, you die, sir John. Unless you go out dis- 
guised. 

Mrs. Ford. How might we disguise him? 

Mrs. Page. Alas the day, I know not. There 
is no woman's gown big enough for him ; other- 
wise, he might put on a hat, a muffler, and a ker- 
chief, and so escape. 

Fed. Good hearts, devise something ; any extre- 
mity rather than a mischief. 

Mrs. Ford. My maid's aunt, the fat woman of 
Brentford, has a gown above. 

Mrs. Page. On my w'ord, it will serve liim ; 
she's as big as he is : and there's her thrum'd hati 
and her muffler too : Run up, sir John. 

Mrs. Ford. Go, go, sweet sir John : mistress 
Page and I will look some linen for your head. 

Mrs. Page. Quick, quick; we'll come dress you 
straight: put on the gown the while. [£xj/ Falstaff. 

Mrs. Ford. I would my husband would meet liim 
in this shape : he cannot abide the old woman of 
Brentford ; he swears she's a witch : forbade lier 
my house, and hath threatened to beat her. 

Mrs. Page, Heaven guide him to thy husband's 
cudgel ; and the devil guide his cudgel afterwards ! 

Mrs. Ford. But is my husband coming ? 

Mrs, Page. Ay, in good sadness is he; and talks 
of the basket; too, howsoever he hath had intelli- 
gence. 

Mrs. Ford. We'll try that ; for I'll appoint my 
men to carry the basket again, to meet him at the 
door with it, as they did last time. 

Mrs. Page. Nay, but he'll be here presently ; 
let's go dress him like the witch of Brentford. 

Mrs. Ford. I'll first direct my men, what they 
shall do with the basket. Go up, I'll bring linen 
for him straight. [Exit. 

Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest varlet ! we can- 
not misuse him enough. 

We'll leave a proof, by that which we will do. 

Wives may be merry, and yet honest too. [Exit. 

Re-enter Mrs. Ford, with two servants. 
Mrs. Ford. Go, sirs, take the basket again on 
your shoulders ; your master is hard at door ; if he 
bid you set it down, obey him : quickly, dispatch. 

[Exit. 

1 Serv. Come, come, take it up. 

2 Serv. Pray heaven, it be not full of the knight 
again. 

1 Serv, I hope not ; I had as lief bear so much 
lead. 

Enter Ford, Page, Shallow, Caius, and Sir 
Hugh Evans. 

Ford. Ay, but if it prove true, master Page, have 
you any way then to unfool me again ? — Set down 

the basket, villain : — Somebody call my wife 

You, youth in a basket, come out here ! — O, you 
panderly rascals ! there's a knot, a gang, a pack, a 



Scene I. 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



57 



conspiracy against me : Now shall the devil be 
shamed. What ! wife, I say ! come, come forth ; 
behold what honest clothes you send forth to bleach- 
ing. 

Page. Why, this passes! Master Ford, you are not 
to go loose any longer ; you must be pinioned. 

Eva. Why, this is lunatics ! this is mad as a mad 
dog! 

Shed. Indeed, master Ford, this is not well ; in- 
deed. 

Enter Mrs. Ford. 

Ford. So say I too, sir. — Come hither, mistress 
Ford ; mistress Ford, the honest woman, the modest 
wife, the virtuous creature, that hath the jealous fool 
to her husband ! — I suspect without cause, mistress, 
do I? 

Mrs. Ford. Heaven be my witness, you do, if you 
suspect me in any dishonesty. 

Ford. Well said, brazen-face j hold it out. 

Come fortli, sirrah. 

{Pulls the clothes out of the basket. 

Page. Tliis passes ! 

Mrs. Ford. Are^you not ashamed? let the clothes 
alone. 

Ford. I shall find you anon. 

Eva. 'Tis unreasonable ! Come away. 

Ford. Empty the basket, I say. 

Mrs. Ford. Why, man, why, — 

Ford. Master Page, as I am a man, there was one 
conveyed out of my house yesterday in this basket : 
Why may not he be there again ? In my house I am 
sure he is : my intelligence is true ; my jealousy is 
reasonable : Pluck me out all the linen. 

Mrs. Ford. If you find a man there, he shall die 
a flea's death. 

Page. Here's no man. 

Shot. By my fidelity, this is not well, master Ford ; 
this wrongs you. 

Eva. Master Ford, you must pray, and not fol- 
low the imaginations of your own heart : tliis is 
jealousies. 

Ford. Well, he's not here I seek for. 

Page. No, nor no where else, but in your brain. 

Ford. Help to 5earch my house this one time : 
if I find not what I seek, show no colour for my 
extremity, let me for ever be your table-sport ; let 
tliem say of me, As jealous as Ford, that searched a 
hollow walnut for his wife's Icman. ' Satisfy me once 
more ; once more search with me. 

Mrs. Ford. What hoa, mistress Page ! come you, 
and the old woman down ; my husband will come 
into the chamber. 

Ford. Old woman ! What old woman's that ? 

Mrs. Ford. Why, it is my maid's auntof Brentford. 

Ford. A witch, a quean, an old cozening quean ! 
Have I not forbid her my house ? She comes of er- 
rands, does she ? We are simple men ; we do not 
know what's brought to pass under the profession 
of fortune-telling. She works by charms, by spells, 
by the figure, and such daubcry as tliis is ; beyond 
our element : we know nothing. — — Come down, 
you witch, you hag you ; come down, I say. 

Mrs. Ford. Nay, good, sweet husband ; — good 
gentlemen, let him not strike the old woman. 

Enter Falstaff in woman s clothes, led by Mrs. 
Page. 
Mrs. Page. Come, mother Pratt, come, give me 
your hand. 

» Lover. 



Ford. I'll jjrat her : out of my door, you 

witch ! {beats him.'] you rag, you baggage, you 
pole-cat, you ronyon ! ^ out ! out ! I'll ceujure you, 
I'll fortune-tell you. [Exit Fal. 

Mrs. Page. Are you not ashamed ? I tliink you 
have kill'd the poor woman. 

Mrs. Ford, Nay, he will do it : — 'Tis a goodly 
credit for you. 

Ford. Hang her, vHtch ! 

Eva, By yea and no, I think, the 'oman is a witch 
indeed : I like not when a 'oman has a great peard ; 
I spy a great peard under her muffler. 

Ford. Will you follow, gentlemen ? I beseech 
you, follow ; see but the issue of my jealousy : if I 
cry out thus upon no trail 3, never trust me when I 
open again. 

Page. Let's obey his humour a little further: 
Come, gentlemen. 

{Exeunt Page, Ford, Shallow, and Evans. 

Mrs. Page. Trust me, he beat him most pitifully. 

Mrs. Ford. Nay, by the mass, that he did not ; 
he beat him most unpitifuUy, methought. 

Mrs. Page. I'll have the cudgel hallowed ; it hatli 
done meritorious service. 

Mrs. Ford. What think you ? May we, with the 
warrant of womanhood, and the witness of a good 
conscience, pursue him with any further revenge ? 

Mrs. Page. The spirit of wantonness is, sure, 
scared out of him ; if the devil have him not in fee- 
simple, with fine and recovery, he will never, 1 
think, attempt us again. 

Mrs. Ford. Shall we tell our husbands how we 
have served him ? 

Mrs. Page. Yes, by all means ; if it be but to 
scrape the figures out of your husband's brains. If 
they can find in their hearts, the poor unvirtuous 
fat knight shall be any further afiSicted, we two will 
still be the ministers. 

Mrs. Ford. I'll warrant, they'll have him pub- 
lickly shamed : and, methinks, there would be no 
period to the jest, should he not be publickly 
shamed. 

Mrs. Page. Come, to the forge with it then, shape 
it : I would not have things cool. {Exeu7zt. 

SCENE II. — ^ Room in the Garter Inn. 

Enter Host and Bardolph. 

Bard. Sir, the Germans desire to have three of 
your horses : the duke himself will be to-morrow at 
court, and they are going to meet him. 

Host. What duke should that be, comes so se- 
cretly ? I hear not of him in the court : Let me 
speak with the gentlemen ; they speak English ? 

Bard. Ay, sir ; I'll call them to you. 

Host. They shall have my horses ; but I'll make 
them pay, I'll sauce them : they have had my houses 
a week at command ; I have turned away my other 
guests: they must come off ; I'll sauce them : Come. 

{Exeunt, 

SCENE IIL — A Room in Ford'* House. 

Enter Page, Ford, Mrs. Page, Mrs. Ford, and 
Sir Hugh Evans. 
Eva. 'Tis one of the pest discretions of a 'oman 
as ever I did look upon. 

Page. And did he send you both these letters at 
nn instant? 

J Scab. i Scent 



58 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



Act IV. 



Mrs. Page, Within a quarter of an hour. 

Ford. Pardon me, wife : Henceforth do what 
thou wilt ; 
I rather will suspect the sun with cold, 
Than thee with wantonness : now doth thy honour 

stand, 
In him that was of late an heretick. 
As firm as faith. 

Page. 'Tis well, 'tis well; no more. 

Be not as extreme in submission, 
As in offence ; 

But let our plot go forward : let our wives 
Yet once again, to make us publick sport. 
Appoint a meeting with this old fat fellow, 
Where we may take him, and disgrace him for it. 

Ford. There is no better way than that they 
spoke of. 

Page. How ! to send. him word they'll meet him 
in the park at midnight ! fie, fie ! he'll never come. 

Eva. You say, he has been thrown in the rivers ; 
and has been grievously peaten, as an old 'oraan : 
methinks, there should be terrors in him, that he 
should not come. 

Page. So think I too. 

Mrs. Ford. Devise but how you'll use him when 
he comes. 
And let us two devise to bring him thither. 

Mrs. Page. There is an old tale goes, that Heme 
the hunter, 
Sometime a keeper here in Windsor forest, 
Doth all the winter time, at still midnight. 
Walk round about an oak, with great ragg'd horns ; 
And there he blasts the tree, and takes * the cattle ; 
And makes milch-kine yield blood, and shakes a 

chain 
In a most liideous and dreadful manner : 
You have heard of such a spirit ; and well you know. 
The superstitious idle-headed eld ^ 
Received, and did deliver to our age. 
This tale of Heme the hunter for a truth. 

Page. Why, yet there want not many, that do fear 
In deep of night to walk by this Heme's oak : 
But what of this ? 

Mrs. Ford. Marry, this is our device ; 
That FalstafF at that oak shall meet with us, 
Disguis'd like Herne, with huge horns on his head. 

Page. Well, let it not be doubted but he'll come. 
And in this shape : When you have brought him 

tliither, 
What shall be done with him ? what is your plot ? 

Mrs. Page. That likewise have we thought upon, 
and thus : 
Nan Page my daughter, and my little son. 
And three or four more of their growth, we'll dress 
Like urcliins, ouphes 6, and fairies, green and white. 
With rounds of waxen tapers on their heads, 
And rattles in their hands ; upon a sudden, 
As Falstaff", she, and I, are newly met, 
Let them from forth a saw-pit rush at once 
With some diffused song ; upon their sight. 
We two in great amazedness will fly : 
Then let them all encircle him about. 
And, fairy-like, to pinch the unclean knight ; 
And ask him, why, that hour of fairy-revel. 
In their so sacred paths he dares to tread. 
In shape prophane. 

Mrs. Ford. And till he tell the truth, 

Let the supposed fairies pinch him sound, 
And burn him with their tapers. 



■• Strikes. 



s Old age. 



6 Elf, hobgoblia 



Mrs. Page. The truth being known. 

We'll all present ourselves ; dis-horn the spirit. 
And mock him home to Windsor. 

Ford. The children must 

Be practised well to this, or they'll ne'er do't. 

Eva. I will teach the children their behaviours ; 
and I will be like a jack-an-apes also, to burn the 
knight with my taber. 

Ford, That will be excellent. I'll go buy them 
vizards. 

Mrs. Page. My Nan shall be the queen of all the 
fairies. 
Finely attired in a robe of white. 

Page. That silk will I go buy ; — and in that time 
Shall master Slender steal my Nan away, [Aside. 

And marry her at Eton. Go, send to Falstaff 

straight. 

Ford. Nay, I'll to him again in name of Brook : 
He'll tell me all his purpose : Sure, he'll come. 

Mrs. Page. Fear not you that : Go, get us pro- 
perties. 
And tricking for our fairies. 

Eva. Let us about it : It is admirable pleasures, 
and fery honest knaveries. 

[Exeunt Page, Ford, and Evans. 

Mrs. Page. Go, mistress Ford, 
Send quickly to sir John, to know his mind. 

[Exit Mrs. Ford. 
I'll to the doctor ; he hath my good will. 
And none but he, to marry with Nan Page. 
That Slender, though well landed, is an idiot ; 
And he my husband best of all affects : 
The doctor is well money'd, and his friends 
Potent at court ; he, none but he, shall have her, 
Though twenty thousand worthier come to crave her. 

[Exit. 

SCENE IV. — ^ Room hi the Garter Inn. 
Enter Host and Simple. 

Host. What would'st thou have, boor? what, 
thick-skin? speak, breathe, discuss; brief, short, 
quick, snap. 

Sim. Marry, sir, I come to speak with sir John 
Falstaff from master Slender. 

Host. There's his chamber, his house, his castle, 
his standing-bed, and truckle-bed ; 'tis painted about 
with the story of the prodigal, fresh and new : Go, 
knock and call ; he'll speak like an Anthropopha- 
ginian 7 unto thee : Knock, I say. 

Sim. There's an old woman, a fat woman, gone 
up into his chamber ; I'll be so bold as stay, sir, 
till she come down : I come to speak with her, in- 
deed. 

Host. Ha ! a fat woman ! the knight may be 
robbed : I'll call.— Bully knight ! Bully sir John ! 
speak from thy lungs military : Art thou there ? it 
is thine host, thine Ephesian, calls. 

Fal. [above."] How now, mine host? 

Host. Here's a Bohemian- Tartar tarries the com- 
ing down of thy fat woman : Let her descend, bully, 
let her descend ; my chambers are honourable : Fye ! m j 
privacy ! fye ! f| ! 

Enter Falstaff. 

Fal. There was, mine host, an old fat woman 
even now with me ; but she's gone. 

Sim. Pray you, sir, was't not the wise woman of 
Brentford ? 

7 A cannibal. 



Scene IV. 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



59 



Fal. Ay, marry, was it, muscle-shell; What 
would you with her ? 

Sim. My master, sir, my master Slender, sent to 
her, seeing her go through the streets, to know, sir, 
whether one Nym, sir, that beguiled him of a chain, 
had the chain, or no. 

Fal. I spake with tlie old woman about it. 

Sinu And what says she, I pray, sir? 

Fal. Marry, she says, that tlie very same man, 
that beguiled master Slender of his chain, cozened 
him of it. 

Sim. I would, I could have spoken with the 
woman herself; I had other things to have spoken 
with her too, from him. 

Fal. What are tliey ? let us know. 

Host. Ay, come ; quick. 

Sim. I may not conceal them, sir. 

Fal. Conceal them, or thou diest. 

Sim, Why, sir, they were notliing but about 
mistress Anne Page ; to know, if it were my mas- 
ter's fortune to have her, or no. 

Fal. 'Tis, 'tis his fortune. 

Sim. What, sir? 

Fal. To have her, — or no : Go ; say, the woman 
told me so. 

Sim. May I be so bold to say so, sir ? 

Fal. Ay, sir Tike ; who more bold ? 

Sinu I thank your worship : I shall make my 
master glad with these tidings. \^Exit Simple. 

Host. Thou art clerkly >*, thou art clerkly, sir 
John. Was there a wise woman with thee ? 

Fal. Ay, tliat there was, mine host ; one, that 
hath taught me more wit than ever I learned before 
in my life : and I paid nothing for it neither, but 
was paid for my learning. 

Enter Bardolph. 

Bard. Out, alas, sir ! cozenage ! mere cozenage ! 

Host. Where be my horses ? speak well of them, 
varletto. 

Bard. Run away with the cozeners : for so soon 
as I came beyond Eton, they threw me off, from 
behind one of them, in a slough of mire ; and set 
spurs, and away, like three German devils, three 
Doctor Faustuses. 

Hoft. They are gone but to meet the duke, vil- 
lain : do not say, they be fled ; Germans are honest 
men. 

Enter Sir Hugh Evans. 

Eva. WTiere is mine host ? 

Host. What is the matter, sir ? 

Eva. Have a care of your entertainments : there 
is a friend of mine come to town, tells me, there is 
three couzin germans, that has cozened all the 
hosts of Readings, of Maidenhead, of Colebrook, 
of horses and money. I tell you for good-will, look 
you : you are wise, and full of gibes and vlouting- 
stogs ; and 'tis not convenient you should be co- 
zened : Fare you well. \^Exit. 

Enter Doctor Caius. 
Caius. Vere is mine Host de Jarterre 9 
Host. Here, master doctor, in perplexity, and 
doubtful dilemma. 

Caius. I cannot tell vat is dat : but it is tell-a me, 
dat you make grand preparation for a duke dc Jar- 
many : by my trot, dere is no duke, cLit the court 
is know to come ; I tell you for good vill : Adieu. 

{EiU. 
* Scholar like. 



Host. Hue and cry, villain, go : — assist me, 
knight ; I am undone : — fly, run, hue and cry, 
villain ! I am undone ! 

\^Exeunt Host and Bardolph. 

Fal. I would, all the world might be cozened ; 
for I have been cozened and beaten too. If it 
should come to the ear of the court, how I have 
been transformed, and how my transformation hath 
been washed and cudgeled, they would melt me 
out of my fat, drop by drop, and liquor fishermen's 
boots with me ; 1 warrant, they would whip me 
with their fine wits, till I were as crest-fallen as a 
dried pear. I never prospered since I foreswore 
myself at Primero. 9 Well, if my wind were but 
long enough to say my prayers, I would repent. — 

Enter Mrs. Quickly. 

Now ! whence come you ? 

Quick. From the two parties, forsooth. 

Fal. The devil take one party, and his dam the 
other, and so they shall be both bestowed ! I have 
suffered more for their sakes, more, tlian the vil- 
lainous inconstancy of man's disposition is able to 
bear. 

Quick. And have not they suffered ? Yes, I war- 
rant ; speciously one of them : mistress Ford, good 
heart, is beaten black and blue, that you cannot 
see a white spot about her. 

Fal. What tell'st thou me of black and blue ? I 
was beaten myself into all the colours of the rain- 
bow, and I was like to be apprehended for the 
witch of Brentford ; but that my admirable dex- 
terity of wit, my counterfeiting the action of an 
old woman, deliver'd me, the knave constable had 
set me i' the stocks, i' the common stocks, for a 
witch. 

Quick. Sir, let me speak with you in your cham- 
ber : you shall hear how things go ; and, I warrant, 
to your content. Here is a letter will say some- 
what. Good hearts, what ado here is to bring you 
together ! Sure one of you does not serve heaven 
well, that you are so crossed. 

Fal. Come up into my chamber. - [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — Another Room in the Garter Inn. 

Enter Fenton and Host. 

Host. Master Fenton, talk not to me ; my mind 
is heavy, I will give over all. 

Fent. Yet hear me speak : Assist me in my pur- 
pose. 
And, as I am a gentleman, I'll give thee 
A hundred pound in gold, more than your loss. 

Host. I will hear you, master Fenton ; and I will, 
at the least, keep your counsel. 

Fent. From time to time I have acquainted you 
With the dear love I bear to fair Anne Page ; 
Who, mutually, hath answered my affection 
(So far fortli as herself might be her chooser). 
Even to my wish : I have a letter from her 
Of such contents as you will wonder at; 
The mirth whereof so larded with my matter. 
That neither, singly, can be manifested. 
Without the show of both ; — wherein fat Falstaff 
Hath a great scene : the image of the jest 

[Shoning the letter 
I'll show you here at large. Hark, good mine host 
To-night at Heme's oak, just 'twixt twelve and one, 

> A game at cards. 



60 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



Act V. 



Must my sweet Nan present the fairy queen ; 

The purpose why, is here ; in which disguise, 

While other jests are something rank on foot, 

Her father hath commanded her to slip 

Away with Slender, and with him at Eton 

Immediately to marry : she hath consented : 

Now, sir, 

Her mother, ever strong against that match, 

And firm for doctor Caius, hath appointed 

That he shall likewise shuffle her away, 

While other sports are tasking of their minds. 

And at the deanery, where a priest attends, 

Straight marry her: to this her mother's plot 

She, seemingly obedient, likewise hath 

Made promise to the doctor ; — Now, thus it rests ; 

Her father means she shall be all in white ; 

And in that habit, when Slender sees his time 

To take her by the hand, and bid her go, 

She shall go with him : — her mother hath intended, 



Tlie better to denote her to the doctor 
(For they must all be mask'd and vizarded). 
That, quaint in green, she shall be loose enrob'd, 
With ril)ands pendant, flaring 'bout her head j 
And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe. 
To pinch her by the hand, and on that token, 
The maid hath given consent to go with him. 

Host. Which means she to deceive? father or 
mother ? 

Fent. Both, my good host, to go along with me : 
And here it pests, — that you'll procure the vicar 
To stay for me at church, 'twixt twelve and one, 
And, in the lawful name of marrying, 
To give our hearts united ceremony. 

Host. Well, husband your device; I'll to the 
vicar : 
Bring you the maid, you shall not lack a priest. 

Fent. So shall I evermore be bound to thee ; 
Besides, I'll make a present recompense. \_Exeunt. 



ACT V. 



SCENE I. — A Room in the Garter Inn. 

Filter Falstaff and Mrs. Quickly. 

Fal. Pr'y thee, no more prattling ; — go. I'll 

hold 1 : This is the third time ; I hope, good luck 
lies in odd numbers. Away, go ; they say, there is 
divinity in odd numbers, either in nativity, chance, 
or death. — Away. 

Quick. I'll provide you a chain j and I'll do what 
I can to get you a pair of horns. 

Fal. Away, I say ; time wears : hold up your 
head, and mince. [Exit Mrs. Quickly. 

Enter Ford. 
How now, master Brook ? master Brook, the mat- 
ter will be known to-night, or never. Be you in 
the Park about midnight, at Heme's oak, and you 
shall see wonders. 

Ford. Went you not to her yesterday, sir, as you 
told me you had appointed ? 

Fal. I went to her, master Brook, as you see, 
like a poor old man : but I came from her, master 
Brook, like a poor old woman. That same knave. 
Ford, her husband, hath the finest mad devil of 
jealousy in him, master Brook, that ever governed 
frenzy. I will tell you. — He beat me grievously, 
in the shape of a woman ; for in the shape of man, 
master Brook, I fear not Goliath with a weaver's 
beam ; because I know also, life is a shuttle. I am 
in haste; go along with me ; I'll tell you all, master 
Brook. Since I plucked geese, played truant, and 
whipped top, I knew not what it was to be beaten, 
till lately. Follow me : I'll tell you strange things 
of this knave Ford : on whom to-night I will be 
revenged, and I will deliver his wife into your hand. 
— Follow : Strange things in hand, master Brook ! 
follow. \_Exexint. 

SCENE II. — Windsor Park. 

Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender. 
Page. Come, come ; we'll couch i' the castle- 
ditch, till we see the light of our fairies. — Re- 
member, son Slender, my daughter. 

' Keep to the time. 



Slen. Ay, forsooth ; I have spoke with her, and 
we have a nay-word ^, how to know one another. 1 
come to her in white, and cry mum; she cries 
budget ; and by that we know one another. 

Shal. That's good too; But what needs either 
your mum or her budget ? the white will decipher 
her well enough. — It hath struck ten o' clock. 

Page. The night is dark ; light and spirits will 
become it well. Heaven prosper our sport ! No 
man means evil but the devil, and we shall know 
him by liis horns. Let's aAvay ; follow me. 

\_Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — The Street in Windsor. 

Enter Mrs. Page, Mrs. Ford, and Dr. Caius. 

Mrs- Page. Master doctor, my daughter is in 
green : when you see your time, take her by the 
hand, away with her to the deanery, and despatch 
it quickly : Go before into the park ; we two must 
go together. 

Caius. I know vat I have to do ; Adieu. 

Mrs. Page. Fare you well, sir. [Exit Caius.] 
My husband will not rejoice so much at the abuse 
of Falstaff, as he will chafe at the doctor's marrying 
my daughter : but 'tis no matter ; better a little 
chiding, than a great deal of heart-break. 

Mrs. Ford. Where is Nan now, and her troop 
of fairies ? and the Welsh devil, Hugh ? 

Mrs. Page. They are all couched in a pit hard 
by Heme's oak, with obscured lights : which at the 
very instant of Falstaff 's and our meeting, they will 
at once display to the night. 

Mrs. Ford. That cannot choose but amaze him. 

Mrs. Page. If he be not amazed, he will be 
mocked ; if he be amazed, he will every way be 
mocked. 

Mrs. Ford. We'll betray him finely. 

Mrs. Page. Those who betray him do no treach- 
ery. 

Mrs. Ford. The hour draws on ; To the oak, to 
the oak! [Exeunt. 

2 Watch-word. 



Scene IV. 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



61 



SCENE IV. — Windsor Park. 

Enter Sir Hugh Evans, and Fairies. 
Eoa. Trib, trib, fairies ; come ; and remember 
your parts : be pold, I pray you ; follow me into 
the pit : and when I give the watch-'ords, do as I 



pid you ; Come, come ; trib, trib. 



\^Exeunt. 



SCENE V. — Another Part of the Park. 

Enter Falstaff dutguised, with a buck's head on. 

Fal. Tlie Windsor bell hath struck twelve; the 
minute draws on : Now, love assist me : — Re- 
member, Jove, thou wast a bull for thy Europa; 
love set on thy horns. — O powerful love ! — For 
me, I am here a Windsor stag ; and the fattest, I 
think, i' the forest : Who comes here ? my doe ? 

Enter Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Page. 

Mrs. Ford. Sir John ? art thou there, my deer ? 
my male deer ? 

Fal. My doe? — Let the sky rain potatoes; let 
it thunder to the tune of Green Sleeves; hail kissing- 
corafits, and snow eringoes ; I will shelter me here. 

[Embracing her. 

Mrs. Ford. Mistress Page is come with me, 
sweet-heart. 

Fal. Divide me like a bribe-buck, each a haunch : 
I wiU keep my sides to myself, my shoulders for the 
fellow of this walk, and my horns I bequeath your 
husbands. Am I a woodman ? ha ! Speak 1 like 
Heme the hunter? — Why, now is Cupid a child of 
conscience ; he makes restitution. As I am a true 
spirit, welcome. [Noise within. 

Mrs. Page. Alas ! what noise ? 

Mrs. Ford. Heaven forgive our sins ! 

Fal. What should this be ? 

mZ pZ': } ''™'" '™^- f ''"'••' "'" °-^- 

Fal. I think, the devil will not have me ; he 
would never else cross me thus. 

E7iter Sir Hugh Evans, like a satyr; Mrs. Quicklt 
and Pistol ; Anne Page, as tlie Fairy Queen, at- 
tended by her brother and others, dressed like fairies, 
%vith waxen tapers on their heads. 

Quick. Fairies, black, grey, green, and white. 
You moon-shine revellers, and shades of night, 
You orphan heirs of fixed destiny. 

Attend your office, and your quality. 

Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy o-yes. 

Pist. Elves, list your names; silence, you airy toys. 
Cricket, to Wi4idsor chimnies shalt thou leap : 
Wherefiresthou find'stunrak'd,and hearths unswept, 
There pinch the maids as blue as bilberry : 
Our radiant queen hates sluts and sluttery. 

Fal. They are fairies ; he, that speaks to them, 
shall die : 
I'll wink and couch : No man their works must eye. 
[Lies down upon his face. 

Eva. Where's Pede ? — Go you, and where you 
find a maid. 
That, ere she sleep, lias tlirice her prayers said, 
Raise up the organs of her fantasy, 
Sleep slic as sound as careless infancy : 
But those as sleep, and think not on their sins, 
Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides, and 
shins. 



Quick. AI)Out, about ; 
Search Windsor Castle, elves, within and out : 
Strew good luck, ouphcs, on every sacred room ; 
That it may stand till the perpetual doom, 
In state as wholesome, as in state 'tis fit ; 
Worthy the owner, and the owner it. 
The several chairs of order look you scour 
With juice of balm, and every precious flower ; 
Each fair instalment, coat, and several crest. 
With royal blazon,. evermore be l)lest! 
And nightly, meadow-fairies, look you sing, 
Like to the Garter's compass, in a ring : 
The expressure that it bears, green let it be. 
More fertile-fresh than all the field to see ; 
And, Hony soil qui mal y j)ense, write. 
In emerald tufts, flowers purjjle, blue, and white ; 
Like sapphire, pearl, and rich embroidery, 
Buckled below fair knighthood's bending knee : 
Fairies use flowers for their charactery. 
Away ; disperse : But, till 'tis one o'clock, 
Our dance of custom, round about the oak 
Of Heme the hunter, let us not forget. 

Eva. Pray you, lock hand in hand ; yourselves 
in order set : 
And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns be, 
To guide our measure round about the tree. 
But, stay ; I smell a man of middle earth. 

Fal. Heavens defend me from that Welsh fiiiry ! 
lest he transform me to a piece of cheese ! 

Pist. Vile worm thou wast o'erlooked even in 
thy birth. 

Quick. With trial-fire touch me his finger-end : 
If he be chaste, the flame will back descend. 
And turn him to no pain ; but if he start. 
It is the flesh of a corrupted heart. 

Pist. A trial, come. 

Eva. Come, will this wood take fire ? 

[ They bum him wiih their tapers. 

Fal. Oh, oh, oh ! 

Quick. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire ! 
About him fairies ; sing a scornful rhyme : 
And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time. 

Eva. It is right ; indeed he is full of iniquity. 

SONG. 

Fye on sinful fantasy I 
Eye on lust and luxury ! 
Lust is but a bloody fu-e. 
Kindled with unchaste desire. 
Fed in heart ; tohose flames aspire. 
As thoughts do bloiv then}, higher and higlier* 
Pinch him, fairies, mutually ; 
Pinch him for his villainy ; 
Pinch him, and bum him, and turn him about. 
Till candles, and starlight, and moonshine be out. 
[During this song, the fairies pinch FalstaflT. Doctor 
Caius comes one u<ay, and steals away a fairy in 
green ; Slender another way, and takes off a fairy 
in white; and Fenton comes, and steals away 
Mrs. Anne Page. A noise of hunting is made 
within. All the fairies run away. Fal&taff pulls 
off his buck's head, and rises.] 
EiUer Page, Ford, Mrs. Page, and Mrs. Ford. 
They lay hold on him. 
Page. Nay, do not fly ; I think we have watch 'd 
you now ; 
Will none but Heme the hunter serve your turn ? 
Mrs. Page. I pray you, come ; hold up the jest 
no higher : — 

« 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



Act V. 



Now, good sir John, how like you Windsor wives? 
See you these, husband ? do not these fair yokes 3 
Become the forest better than the town ? 

Ford. Now, sir, who's a cuckold now? — Master 
Brook, Falstaff 's a knave, a cuckoldly knave ; here 
are his horns, master Brook : And, master Brook, 
he hath enjoyed notliing of Ford's but his buck- 
basket, his cudgel, and twenty pounds of money ; 
which must be paid to master Brook ; his horses 
are arrested for it, master Brook. 

Mrs. Ford. Sir John, we have had ill luck : we 
could never meet. I will never take you for my 
love again, but I will always count you my deer. 

Fal. I do begin to perceive that I am made an ass. 

Ford. Ay, and an ox too ; both the proofs are 
extant. 

Fal. And these are not fairies ? I was tliree or 
four times in the thought, they were not fairies : and 
yet the guiltiness of my mind, the sudden surprise 
of my powers, drove the grossness of the foppery 
into a received belief, in despite of the teeth of all 
rhyme and reason, that they were fairies. See 
now, how wit may be made ^ Jack-a-lent, when 'tis 
upon ill employment ! 

Evn. Sir John FalstafF, serve Got, and leave your 
desires, and fairies will not pinse you. 

Ford. Well said, fairy Hugh. 

Eva. And leave you your jealousies too, I pray 
you. 

Ford. I will never mistrust my wife again, till 
thou art able to woo her in good English. 

Fal. Have I laid my brain in the sun, and dried 
it, that it wants matter to prevent so gross o'er- 
reaching as this ? Am I ridden with a Welsh goat 
too ? Shall I have a coxcomb of frize ? 4 'tis time I 
were choked with a piece of toasted cheese. 

Eva. Seese is not good to give putter ; your 
pelly is all putter. 

Fal. Seese and putter ! Have I lived to stand at 
the taunt of one that makes fritters of English? 
This is enough to be the decay of late-walking, 
through the realm. 

Mrs. Page. Why, sir John, do you think, though 
we would have thrust virtue out of our hearts by 
the head and shoulders, and have given ourselves 
without scruple to hell, that ever the devil could 
have made you our delight ? 

Ford. What, a hodge-pudding ? a bag of flax ? 

Mrs. Page. A puffed man ? 

Page. Old, and withered ? 

Ford. And one that is as slanderous as Satan ? 

Page. And as poor as Job. 

Ford. And as wicked as his wife ? 

Eva. And given to taverns, and sack, and wine, 
and metheglins, and to drinkings, and swearings, 
and starings, pribbles and prabbles ? 

Fal. Well, I am your theme : you have the start 
of me : I am dejected ; I am not able to answer the 
Welsh flannel ; ignorance itself is a plummet o'er 
me : use me as you will. 

Ford. Marry, sir, we'll bring you to Windsor, to 
one master Brook, that you have cozened of money, 
to whom you should have been a pander : over and 
above that you have suffered, I think to repay that 
money will be a biting affliction. 

Mrs. Ford. Nay, husband, let that go to make 
amends ; 
Forgive that sum, and so we'll all be friends. 

3 Horns which Falstaff had. 

•* A fool's cap of Welsh materials. 



Ford. Well, here's my hand ; all's forgiven at last. 

Page. Yet be cheerful, knight : thou shalt eat a 

posset to-night at my house ; where I will desire thee 

to laugh at my wife that now laughs at thee : Tell 

her, master Slender hath married her daughter. 

Mrs. Page. Doctors doubt that : — If Anne Page 
be my daughter, she is, by this, doctor Caius's wife. 

[Aside. 
Enter Slender. 

Slen. Whoo, ho ! ho ! father Page ! 

Page. Son ! how now ? how now, son ? have you 
despatched ? 

Slen. Despatched — I'll make the best in Glo- 
cestershire know on't ; would I were hanged, la, 
else. 

Page. Of what, son ? 

Slen. I came yonder at Eton to marry mistress 
Anne Page, and she's a great lubberly boy : If it 
had not been i' the church, I would have swinged 
him, or he should have swinged me. If I did not 
think it had been Anne Page, would I might never 
stir, and 'tis a post-master's boy. 

Page. Upon my life then you took the wrong. 

Slen. What need you tell me that? I think so, 
when I took a boy for a girl : If I had been married 
to him, for all he was in woman's apparel, I would 
not have had him. 

Page. Why, this is your own folly. Did not I 
tell you, how you should know my daughter by her 
garments ? 

Sle7i. I went to her in white, and cry'd mum, and 
she cry'd budget, as Anne and I had appointed ; 
and yet it was not Anne, but a post-master's boy. 

Eva. Master Slender, cannot you see but marry 
boys? 

Page. O, I am vexed at heart : What shall I do ? 

Mrs. Page. Good George, be not angry : I knew 
of your purpose ; turned my daughter into green ; 
and, indeed, she is now with the doctor at the 
deanery, and there married. 

Enter Caius. 

Cains. Vere is mistress Page? By gar, I am 
cozened; I ha' married un garqon, a boy ; unpaisan, 
by gar, a boy ; it is not Anne Page : by gar, I am 
cozened. 

Mrs. Page. Why, did you take her in green ? 

Caius. Ay, by gar, and 'tis a boy : by gar, I'll 
raise all Windsor. [Exit Caius. 

Ford. This is strange : Who hath got the right 
Anne? 

Page. My heart misgives me : Here comes 
Fenton. 

Enter Fenton and Anne Page. 

How now, master Fenton ? 

An7ie. Pardon, good father ! good my mothe 
pardon ! 

Page. Now, mistress ? how chance you went not 
with master Slender ? 

Mrs. Page. Wliy went you not with master doctor, 
maid? 

Fent. You do amaze her : Hear the truth of it. 
You would have married her most shamefully, 
Where there was no proportion held in love. 
The truth is, she and I, long since contracted. 
Are now so sure, that nothing can dissolve us. 
The offence is holy, that she hath committed : 
And this deceit loses the name of craft. 
Of disobedience, or unduteous title ; 



Scene V. 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



63 



Since therein she doth cvitate and shun 
A thousand irreligious cursed hours, 
Which forced marriage would have brought upon 
her. 

Ford. Stand not amaz'd : here is no remedy : — 
In love, the heavens tlicmselves do guide the state; 
Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate. 

Fal. I am glad, though you have ta'en a special 
stand to strike at me, that your arrow hath glanced. 

Page. Well, what remedy ? Fenton, heaven give 
thee joy ! 
What cannot be eschew 'd must be embrac'd. 



Fal. When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer arc 
chas'd. 

Eva I will dance and eat plums at your wedding. 

Mrs. Page. Well, I will muse no further : 

Master Fenton, 
Heaven give you many, many merry days ! 
Good husband, let us every one go home, 
And laugh this sport o'er by a country fire ; 
Sir John and all. 

Ford. Let it be so : — Sir John, 

To master Brook you yet shall hold your word ; 
For he, to-night, shall lie with Mrs. Ford. \^Exeunt. 



TWELFTH NIGHT: 

OR, 

WHAT YOU WILL. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



O RSI NO, Duke of Illyria. 

Sebastian, a young Gentleman, Brot/ier to Viola. 
Antonio, a Sea-Captain, Friend to Sebastian. 
A Sea-Captain, Friend to Viola. 
Valentine, ~| ^ , ^ 

Curio, | ^^^^"^"' attending on the Duke. 

Sir Tobv Belch, Uncle o/* Olivia. 
Sir Andrew Agoe-cheek. 
Malvolio, steward to Olivia. 



Fabian, "1 
Clown, J 



Servants to Olivia. 



Olivia, a nch Countess. 
Viola, in love with the Duke. 
Maria, Olivia'5 woman. 

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



SCENE, a city in Illyria ; and the Sea- Coast near it. 



» 




J! ' I F \ t IV. 



OLl. — WH«iT la lUE MATTER WITH THEEr" 

MAL. — NOT blac;k; in my mind, thoogh tkltow in my legs. 



TWELFTH NIGHT: 

OR, 

WHAT YOU WILL. 



ACT L 



SCENE I. — All Aparimeyit in the Duke's palace. 
Enter Duke, Curio, Lords; Musicians attending. 

Duke If musick 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 soutli, 

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 soever, 

But falls into abatement and low price, 

Even in a minute! so full of shapes is fancy 

That it alone is high-fantastical. 

Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord ? 

Duke. What, Curio? 

Cur. The hart. 

Duke. Why, so I 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 turned into a hart ; 
And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, 
E'er since pursue me. — How now ? wliat news 
from her? 



Enter Vai.kntine. 



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 fill'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 II. — The Sea Coast. 
Enter Viola, Captain, and Sailors. 
Via. What country, friends, is this ? 
Clip. lUyria, lady. 

Vio. And wiiat should I do in Illyria? 



Act I. Scene II. TWELFTH NIGHT : OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



65 



My brother he is in Elysium. 

Perchance, he is not drown'd : — What think you, 
sailors ? 
Cap. It is perchance, that you yourself wore 

saved. 
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 bom, 
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 tlie 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 served that lady : 

And might not be delivered to the world. 
Till 1 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 a page to him. 
It may be worth thy pains ; for I can sing. 
And speak to him in many sorts of musick, 
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 page, and I your mute will be : 
W'hen my tongue blabs, let mine eyes not see ! 
Vio. I thank thee, lead me on. 

[Exeunt. 



SCENE III. — A Room in Olivia'a House. 
Enter Sir Toby Belch, and Maria. 

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 troth. Sir Toby, you must come in ear- 
lier o'nights ; your cousin, my lady, takes great ex- 
ceptions 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. 

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. 

Mar. 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 hatli 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 quarrelling, 'tis thought among 
the prudent, he would quickly have the gift of a grave. 

Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels, and 
substractors, 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 vnll not drink to my niece, till his 
brains turn o' the toe like a parish-top. 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 
acquaintance. 

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. Is that the meaning of accost? 

Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen. 

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

Sir And. And you part so, mistress, I would I 

« KeTBtril, • bastard hawk. 
F 



66 



TWELFTH NIGHT: 



Act I. 



might never draw sword again. FaiT 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. 

Sir And. Wherefore, sweet heart? what's your 
metaphor ? 

Mar. Its 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. 

[Eodt 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 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 Toby. 

Sir To. Pour quay, my dear knight ? 

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

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

Sir To. Excellent ; it hangs like flax on a distaff. 

Sir And. 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. 

Sir To. She'll none o' the count ; she'll not 
match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor 
wit ; I have heard her swear it. Tut, there's life 
in't, man. 

Sir And. I'll stay a montli 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 Illyria, 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. I can cut a caper. 

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

Sir And. Shall we set about some revels ? 

Sir To. What s'nall we do else? — Let me see 
thee caper : ha ! higher : ha, ha ! — excellent ! 

{^Exeunt. 

SCENE IV A Room in the Duke'5 Palace. 

Enter Valentine, and Viola in mans attire. 
Vol. If the duke continue these favours towards 
you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced; I 



he hath known you but three days, and already you 
are no stranger. 

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

Vol. No, believe me. 

Enter Duke, Cuaio, 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 than 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 grave aspect. 

Vio. I think not so, my lord. 

Duke. Dear lad, believe it ; 

For they shall yet belie thy happy years 
That say, thou art a man : Diana's lip 
Is not more smooth and rubious ; thy small pipe 
Is as the maiden's organ, shrill, and sound, 
And all its 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'5 House. 

Enter Maria, and Clown. 

Mar. Nay, either tell me where thou hast beim, 
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 3 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. 

Clo. Well, Heaven 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 
absent : or, to be turned away ; is not that as good 
as a hanging to you ? 

2 Full of impediments. 3 Short and spare. 



Scene V. 



OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



67 



Go. Many a good hanging prevents a bad mar- 
riage; 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. 

do. 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 lUyria. 

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

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. 

OIL Go to, you're a dry fool : I'll no more of 
you : besides, you grow dishonest. 

Clo. Two faults, madonna 4, that drink and good 
counsel will am.end : 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. — The lady 
bade take away the fool; therefore, I say again, take 
her away. 

Olu Sir, I bade them take away you. 

Clo- Misprision in the highest degree ! — Lady, 
Cucullus nonfacit monachum ; that's as much as to 
say, I wear not motley in my brain. 

Oil 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. Heaven send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, 
for the better increasing your folly ! sir Toby will 
be sworn, that I am no fox ; but he will not pass 
his word for two- pence that you are no fool. 

Oli. How say you to that, Malvolio ? 

Mai. I marvel your ladysliip 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 take these wise 
men, tliat crow so at these set kind of fools, no 
better than the fools' zanies.* 

Oli. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and 
taste with a distempered appetite. To be generous, 
guiltless, and of free disposition, is to take tliose 
things for bird-bofts ^, that you deem cannon-bul- 
lets : 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. 

Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing 7, for 
thou speakest well of fools. 

Itc'enter Maria. 

Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gen- 
tleman, mucli desires to speak with you. 
Oli. From the count Orsino, is it ? 



* Ualiim, mistress, dama 

* Short arrow*. 



s FooU* baubleti. 
7 Lying. 



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. 

Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing 
but madman: Fye on him ! {Exit Maria.J 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 dislike it. 

Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy 
eldest son should be a fool : whose skull Jove cram 
with brains, for here comes one of thy kin, has a 
most weak pia mater. 8 

Enter Sir Toby Belch. 

Oli. By mine honour, half drunk. — Wliat is he 
at the gate, cousin ? 

Sir 2'f). A gentleman. 

Oli. A gentleman ! What gentleman ? 

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

Clo. Good sir Toby, 

Sir To. There's one at the gate, 

OIL Ay, marry ; what is he ? 

Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will, I care 
not: give me faith, say I. Well, it's all one. \_Exii. 

OH. 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 se- 
cond mads him : and a third drowns him. 

OIL 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 Malvolio. 

Mai. Madam, yond' young fellow swears he will 
speak with you. I told liim 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 fore-knowledge of that 
too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What 
is to be said to him, lady ? he's fortified against any 
denial. 

OU. 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 sherifl[''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. 

OIL What manner of man ? 

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

OIL Of what personage, and years, is he ? 

Mai. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young 
enough for a boy, between boy and man. He is 
very well favoured, and he speaks very shrewishly ; 
one would think, his mother's milk were scarce out 
of him. 

OIL Let him approach : Call in my gentlewoman. 

Mai. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. [Exit. 

Re-enter Maria. 

OIL Give mc my veil : come, throw it o'er my 
face; 
We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy. 

* The cover of the brain. 
- F 2 



68 



TWELFTH NIGHT: 



Act I. Scene V. 



she 



Enter Viola. 
Vio. The honourable lady of the house, which is 



Your 



OH. Speak to me, I shall answer for her. 
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 loth 
to cast away my speech ; for, besides that it is ex- 
cellently 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 ? 

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

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

Oli. Come to what is important in't ; I forgive 
you the praise. 

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

Oli. It is the more like to be feigned ; I pray 
you, keep it in. I heard, you were saucy at my 
gates ; and allowed your approach, rather to won- 
der 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 de- 
liver, 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 appeared in me, 
have I learn'd from my entertainment. What I 
am, and what I would, are to your ears, divinity ; 
to any other's profanation. 

OH. Give us the place alone : we will hear this 
divinity. [^a^ Maria.] Now, sir, what is your 
text? 

Vio. Most sweet lady, — — 

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

Vio. In Orsino's bosom. 

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

" Accountable. 

' It appears from several parts of this play that the original 
actress of Maria was very short 



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

OH. O, T 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 
negotiate with my face ? you are now out of your 
text ; but we will draw the curtain, and show you 
the picture. Look you, sir, such a one as I was 
this present " : Is't not well done ? [ Unveiling. 

Vio. Excellently done, if nature did all. 

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

Via. '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. 

Oli. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted ; I will 
give out divers schedules of my beauty : It shall be 
inventoried ; and every particle, and utensil, la- 
belled 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 you what you are : you are too proud ; 
But, if you were the devil, you are fair. 
My lord and master loves you ; O, such love 
Could be but recompens'd, though you were crown'd 
The nonpareil of beauty ! 

Oli. How does he love me ? 

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

Oli. Your lord does know my mind, I cannot 
love him : 
Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, 
Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youtli ; 
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. Wliy, 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 liills. 
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 : Whatisyour parentage? 

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

Oli. Get you to your lord ; 

I cannot love him : let him send no more ; 
Unless, perchance, you come to me again, 
To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well : 
1 thank you for your pains : spend this for me. 

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. [Eiit. 

2 Presents. 3 Well spoken of by the world. 

4 Cantos, verses. 



Act 11. Scene 1. 



OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



09r 



Oli. What is your parentage ? 
Above my fortunes, yet my state is well : 

I am a gentleman. I'll be sworn thou art ; 

Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit. 
Do give thee five-fold blazon : — Not too fast : — 

soft! soft! 
Unless the master were the man. — How now ? 
Even so quickly may one catch the plague ? 
Methinks, I feel this youtli'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. 



I 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. [ExU. 

Oli. I do I know not what : and fear to find 
Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. 
Fate, show thy force : Ourselves we do not 

owe ^ ; 
What is decreed, must be ; and be this so ! 

[ExU. 



ACT 11. 



SCENE I. — The Sea-coast. 

Enter Antonio and Sebastian. 

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

Scb. By your patience, no : my stars sliine darkly 
over me ; the malignancy of my fate might, per- 
haps, distemper yours ; therefore 1 shall crave of 
you your leave, that 1 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 ex- 
cellent a touch of modesty, that you will not extort 
from me what I am willing to keep in ; therefore it 
charges me in manners the rather to express myself. 
You must know of me then, Antonio, my name is 
Sebastian, which I called Rodorigo : my father was 
tliat 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 pleas'd, would we had so ended ! but you, sir, 
alter'd that ; for, some hour before you took me 
from the breach of the sea, was my sister drowned. 

Ant. Alas, the day ! 

Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much re- 
sembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful : 
but, tliough I could not, with such estimable won- 
der, overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly 
publish her, she bore a mind that envy could not 
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 

Seb. 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 tlie least occasion more, mine 
eyes w ill tell tales of me. I am bound to the count 
Orsino's court : farewell. \^ExU. 

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



SCENE U.— A Street. 

Enter Viola j Mai^volio following. 

Mai. Were not you even now with the counttss 
Olivia? 

Via. Even now, sir ; on a moderate pace I liave 
since arrived but hither. 

Mai. She returns this ring to you, sir ; you 
might have saved me my pains, to have taken it 
away yourself. She adds, moreover, that you should 
put your lord into a desperate assurance she will 
none of him : And one tiling 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. 

Via. She took the ring of me ; I'll none of it. 

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

Vio. I left no ring with her: Wliat means this lady ? 
Fortune forbid, my outside have not charm '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 pa.ssion 
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 ? 7 My master loves her dearly; 
And I, poor monster, fond as much on him ; 
And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me : 
What will become of this ! As I am man, 
My state is desperate for my master's love ; 
As I am woman, now alas the day ! 
Wliat thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe ! 
O time, thou must untangle Uiis, not I ; 
It is too hard a knot for me to untie. [Exit. 

SCENE III. — ^ Boom in Olivia'* House. 

Enter SirTovvBzLCH, and Sir AavKKw Acvz-cHr.r.K. 
Sir To. Approach, sir Andrew : not to be a-bcd 

^ Own, pwten. * Dexterous, ready. f Suit 

F 3 



70 



TWELFTH NIGHT: 



Act II. 



after midnight, is to be up betimes ; and diluculo 
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 un- 
filled can : To be up after midnight, and to go to 
bed then, is early ; so that, to go to bed after mid- 
night, is to go to bed betimes. Do not our lives 
consist of the four elements ? 

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

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

Enter Clown. 

Sir And. Here comes the fool. 

Clo. How now, my hearts ? Did you never see 
the picture of we three ? 8 

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

Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excellent 
breast. 9 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 spokest of Pigrogro- 
mitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of 
Queubus ; 'twas very good, i'faith. 

Clo. My lady has a white hand, and the Myrmi- 
dons are no boltle-ale houses. 

Sir And. Excellent ! Why, this is the best fool- 
ing, when all is done. Now, a song. 

Sir To. Come on ; there is a 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, mistress mine, where are you roaming 9 
stay and hear ; your true love's coming, 

That can sing both high and low : 
Trip no further, pretty sweeting ; 
Journeys end in lovers' meetings 
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, sweet-and-twenty, 

Youth's a stuff will not endure. 

Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight. 

Sir To. A contagious breath. 

iSiV 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 rouse the night-owl in a catch, 
that will draw three souls out of one weaver? 
Shall we do that ? 

Sir And. An you love me, let's do't ; I 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. 



Loggerheads be. 



9 Voice. 



Clo. Hold thy peace, thou knave, knight ! I shall 
be constrain'd in't to call thee knave, knight. 

Sir And. 'Tis not tlie first time I have constrain'd 
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, Mal- 
volio, and bid liim turn you out of doors, never 
trust me. 

Sir To. My lady's a Catalan ', we are politicians : 
Malvolio's a Peg- a- Ramsey -, and Three merry men 
we be. Am not I consanguineous ? am I not of her 
blood ? Tilly-valley 3, lady ! There dwelt a man in 
liabylon, lady, lady! [Singing. 

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

Sir And. Ay, he does well enough, if he be dis- 
posed, and so do I too ; he does it with a better 
grace, but I do it more natural. 

Sir To. the twelfth day of December, — [Si7iging. 

Mar. Peace. 

Enter Malvolio. 

Mai. My masters, are you mad? or what are 
you ? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but 
to gabble like tinkers at this time of night ? Do ye 
make an alehouse of my lady's house, that ye squeak 
out your coziers'^ catches without any mitigation 
or remorse of voice ? Is there no respect of place, 
persons, nor time, in you ? 

Sir 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 show 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 go ? [^Singing. 

Clo. What an if you do 9 

Sir To. Shall I bid him go, and spare not 9 

Clo. 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 'm 
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, 

Mar. Go shake your ears. 

1 Romancer. 2 Name of an old song. 

3 Equivalent to filly-fally, shilly-shaUy. 
'» Cobblers. s Hang yourself. 



Scene III. 



OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



71 



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

Sir To. Do't, knight; I'll write thee a chal- 
lenge : 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 nay-word^, and make him a common 
recreation, do not I 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 some- 
thing 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 exqui- 
site reason, 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 
constantly but a time-pleaser ; an affectioned ass, 
that cons state without book, and utters it by great 
swartlis ^ : the best persuaded of himself, so cram- 
med, 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 work. 

Sir To. What wilt thou do ? 

Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure epistles 
of love ; wherein, by tlie colour of his beard, the 
shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expres- 
sure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall 
find himself most feelingly personated : I can write 
very like my lady, your niece ; on a forgotten matter 
we can hardly make distinction of our hands. 

Sir To. Excellent ! I smell a device. 

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 And. 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 will plant 
you two, and let tlie 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, 9 

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 
liow you will. 



• Bvc-word. 

'• The row of grass left by a mower. 

' Amazon. 



7 Inform u«. 
FooL 



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

SCENE lY.—A Room in Vie Duke'« Palace. 



Viola, Curio, and others. 

musick : — Now, good 



Enter Dui 

Duke. Give me some 

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

Cur. He is not here, so please your 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. — Musick. 
Come hither, boy : If ever thou shalt love. 
In the sweet pangs of it, remember me : 
For, such as I am, all true lovers are ; 
Unstaid and skittish in all motions else, 
Save, in that constant image of the creature 
That is belov'd. — How dost thou like this tune ? 

Via. It gives a very echo to the seat 
Where Love is thron'd. 

DuJce. Thou dost speak masterly : 
My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye 
Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves j 
Hath it not, boy ? 

Vio. A little, by your favour. 

Duke. What kind of woman is't ? 

Via. 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. 

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. 

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

Re-enter Cuaio, 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 tliread 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. {Muack, 

4 Simple truth. 
F 4 



72 



TWELFTH NIGHT: 



Act n, 



SONG. 

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

Fly away,jiy away, breath; 
I am slain by a fair cruel maid. 
My shroud of white, stuck all with yewy 

0, "prepare it ; 
My part of death, no one so true 
Did share it. 
Not a flower, not a flower sweet, 
On my black coffin let there be strown ; 

N^ot a friend, not a friend greet 
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown : 
A thousand thousand sighs to save, 

Lay me, 0, where 
Sad true lover ne'er find my grave, 
2'o weep there. 

Duke. There's for thy pains. 

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. Give me now leave to leave thee. 

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 their business might 
be every thing, and their intent every where ; for 
that's it, that always makes a good voyage of no- 
thing Farewell. [Exit Clown. 

Duke. Let all the rest give place. — — 

[Exeunt Curio and 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 3 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. 
But mine is all as hungry as the sea. 
And can digest as much : make no compare 
Between that love a woman can bear me. 
And that I owe Olivia. 

Vio. Ay, but I know, — 

Duke. What dost thou know ? 

Via. 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, 

3 Decks. 



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 tliy 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. — OHvia'5 Garden. 

Enter Sir Toby Belch, Sir Akdrew 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. 

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 Andrew? 

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

Enter Maria. 

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

Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree : Mal- 
volio's coming down this walk ; he has been yonder 
i'the sun, practising behaviour to his own shadow 
this half hour : observe him, for the love of mockery • 
for, 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 overweening rogue ! 

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

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

Sir To. Peace, I say. 

Mai. To be count Malvolio ; — 

Sir To. Ah, rogue ! 

Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him. 

Sir To. Peace, peace ! 

Mai. There is example for't ; the lady of the 
strachy married the yeoiifian of the wardrobe. 

Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel ! 

Fab. O, peace ! now he's deeply in, look, how 
imagination blows him. 

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

4 Denial. * Struts 



Scene V. 



OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



73 



iSiV 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 ! 

Med. 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, per- 
chance, 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. 1 extend my hand to him thus, quenching 
my familiar 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 ! 

Fab. 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 Andrew : 

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 in- 
timate reading aloud to him ! 

Mai. By my life, this is my lady's hand : these 
be her very P's her C7"s and her T's, and thus makes 
she her great C's. It is, in contempt of question, 
her hand. 

Sir And. Her P's, her U% and her Ts : Why that? 

Mai. [^Reads.j To the unknoum beloved, this, and 
my good u'ishes : 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. \Reads.^ 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 mu^ know : — If this should be 
thee, Malvolio ? 

Sir To. Marry, hang thee, brock ! ^ 

Mai. / may command, where I adore : 

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

Fab. A fustian riddle ! 

Sir To. Excellent wench, say I. 

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

Fab. What a dish of poison has she d essed him ! 

* Badger. 



Sir To. And wdth what wing the stannyel 7 checks 
at it ! 8 

Mai. I may command where I adore. Why, she 
may command me ; I serve her, she is my Jady. 
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 something in me, — 
Softly \ — M,0, A, L — 

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

Fab. Sowter ^ will 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 sequel : that suffers under probation : A should 
follow, but does. 

Fab. And shall end, I hope. 

Sir To. Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him 
cry, 0. 

Mai. And then / comes behind ; — 

Fab. Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you 
might see more detraction at yoiu- heels, than for- 
tunes before you. 

Mai. M, 0, A, I; — This simulation is not as the 
former : — and yet, to crush this a little, it would 
bow to me, for every one of these letters are in my 
name. Soft ; here follows prose. — If this fall into 
thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above thee; 
but be not afraid of greatness : Some are bom great, 
some achieve greatness, and some have greatness 
thrust upon them. Thy fates open their hands; let 
thy blood and spirit embrace t/iem. And, to inure 
thyself to what thou art like to be, cast thy hximble 
slough ', and appear fresh. Be opposite with a 
kinsman, surly with servants : let thy tongue tang 
argumeiUs of state ; put thyself into the trick of 
singularity : she thus advises thee, that sighs for 
thee. Remember who commended thy yellow stock- 
ings; and unshed to see thee ever cross- gartered : I 
say, remember. Go to; thou art made, if thou 
desirest to be so ; if not, let me see thee a steward 
still, the fellow <f servants, and not worthy to touch 
fortune's fngtrs. Farewell. S/ie that would alter 
services with thee. The fortunate-unhappy. 

Day-light and champian « discovers not more : this 
is open. I will be proud, I will read politick 
authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off gross 
acquaintance, I will be point-de-vice 3, 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 stock- 
ings, and cross-gartered, even with the swiftness of 
putting on. Jove, and my stars be praised ! — 
Here is yet a postscript. Thou canst not choose but 
know who lam. If thou erUertainest my loi^, let it 
appear in thy smiling; thy smiles become thee well: 
therefore in my presence still smile, dear my sweet, 
Ipr'ythee. Jove, I thank thee. — I will smile ; I 
will do every tiling that thou wilt have me. [Exit. 
1 Hawk. ' Flyi at it » Name of a hound. 

» SkiD of » anake. • Open country. 3 Utmost exactness. 



74. 



TWELFTH NIGHT: 



Act ni 



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 another 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 ? 
Sir To. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip 4, 
and become thy bond slave ? 
Sir And. Ffaith, or I either. 
Sir To. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream, 



that, when the image of it leaves him, he must run 
mad. 

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

Sir To. Like aqua vitae. 

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 de- 
tests ; 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. 

iSir To. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excel- 
lent devil of wit ! 

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



ACT III. 



SCENE I Olivia's Garden. 

Enter Viola, and Clown with a tabor. 

Vio. Save thee, friend, and thy musick : Dost 
tliou live by thy tabor ? 

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

Vio. 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 tabor, if thy tabor stand by the church. 

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

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 wall 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 
tlie sun ; it shines every where. I would be sorry, 
sir, but the fool should be as oft with your master, as 
with my mistress : I think, I saw your wisdom there. 

Via. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more 
with thee. Hold, there's expences for thee. Is thy 
lady within ? 

Clo. My lady is within, sir. I will construe to 
her 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. \_Eodt. 

Vio. This fellow's wise enough to play the fool ; 
And, to do that well, craves a kind of wit. 
He must observe their mood on whom he jests, 
The quality of persons, and the time ; 



A boy's diversion, three and trip. 
Dwells. 



6 Kid. 



And, like the haggard ', check at every feather 

That comes before his eye. This is a practice, 

As full of labour as a wise man's art : 

For folly, that he wisely shows, is fit ; 

But wise men, folly-fallen, quite taint their wit. 

Enter Sir Toby Belch and Sir Andrew Aoue- 

CHEEK. 

Sir To. Save you, gentleman. 

Vio. And you, sir. 

Sir And. Dieu vous garde, monsieur. 

Vio. Et vous aussi ; voire serviteur. 

Sir And. 1 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 ; I mean, she 
is the list 8 of my voyage. 

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

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

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

Vio. I 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 ! 

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

Via. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your 
own most pregnant 9 and vouchsafed ear. 

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

OH. Let the garden door be shut, and leave me 
to my hearing. 

[Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Maria. HI 
Give me your hand, sir. ^ j 

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

on. 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. 

I 



A hawk not well trained. 
Ready. 



8 Bound, limit 



Scene I. 



OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



75 



OH. For him, I think not on him : for his thoughts, 
'Would they were blanks, rather than fill'd with me ! 
Vio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts 
On his behalf : 

Oli, 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 musick from the spheres. 

rU). I^ear lady, 

OH. Give me leave, I beseech you : I did send. 
After the last enchantment you did here, 
A ring in chase of you : so did 1 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 

tliink? 
Have you not set mine honour at the stake, 
And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts 
That tyrannous heart can think ? To one of your 

receiving • 
Enough is shown ; a Cyprus, not a bosom, 
Hides my poor heart : So let me hear you speak. 
Vio. I pity you. 
Oli. That's a degree to love. 
Vio. No, not a grise '2 ; for 'tis a vulgar proof. 
That very oft we pity enemies. 

Oli. Why, then, methinks, 'tis time to smile again ; 
O, 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? iClock 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. 

yio. Then westward-hoe : 

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

Oli. Stay: 
I 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. 

OU. 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, maujgre all thy pride. 
Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide. 
Do not extort thy reasons from this clause. 
For, that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause : 
But, rather, reason thus with reason fetter : 
Love sought is good, but given unsought is better. 

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



SCENE II. — ui Room in Olivia's House. 

Enter Sir Toby Belch, Sir Andrew Ague-cheek, 
and 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 An- 
drew. 

Sir And. Marry, I saw your niece do more favours 
to the count's serving man, than ever she bestowed 
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 before Noah was a sailor. 

Fai. She did show favour to the youth in your 
sight, only to exasperate you, to awake your dor- 
mouse valour, to put fire in your heart, and brim- 
stone in your liver : You should then have accosted 
her ; and with some excellent jests, fire-new from 
the mint, you should have banged the youth into 
dumbness. This was looked for at your hand, and 
this was baulked: the double gilt of this oppor- 
tunity 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 3, 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 woman, than report of 
valour. 

Fab. There is no way but this. Sir Andrew. 
Sir And. Will either of you bear me a challenge 
to him ? 

Sir To. Go, vmte it in a martial hand ; be curst * 
and brief; it is no matter how witty, so it be elo- 
quent, and full of invention : taunt him with the 
licence of ink : if thou thou'st him some thrice, it 
shall not be amiss ; and as many lies as will lie in 
thy sheet of paper, although the sheet were big 
enough for the bed of Ware ^ in England, set 'em 
down ; go, about it. Let tlicre 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 tliee at the cubictilo 6 .• Go. 

[Exit Sir Andrew. 
Fab. Tliis is a dear manakin to you. Sir Toby. 
Sir To. 1 have been dear to him, lad ; some two 
thousand strong, or so. 

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

Sir To. Never trust me then ; and by all means 

3 ScparatitU in Queen Elizabeth's reign. * Crabbed. 

» In Hertfordshire, which held forty persons. 6 chamber. 



76 



TWELFTH NIGHT: 



Act hi. 



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, wherp the youngest wren of nine 
comes. 

Mar. If you desire the spleen, and will laugh 
yourselves into stitches, follow me : yon' gull Mal- 
voHo is in yellow stockings. 

Sir To. And cross-gartered ? 

Mar. Most villainously ; like a pedant that keeps 
a school i'the church. — I have dogged him, like 
his murderer: He does obey every point of the 
letter that I dropped to betray him. He does 
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 ; I can 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. 

\_Exeunt. 

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, 
1 will no further chide you. 

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, often 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 oflfence is not of such a bloody nature ; 
Albeit the quality of the time and quarrel. 
Might well have given us bloody argument. 
It might have since been answer'd in repaying 
What we took from them ; which for traffick's sake 
Most of our city did : only myself stood out : 



For which, if I be lapsed 7 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 ; 
In the south suburbs, at the Elephant, 
Is best to lodge : I will bespeak our diet. 
Whiles you beguile the time, and feed your know- 
ledge, 
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. 

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

Ant. To the Elephant. — 

Seb. I do remember. 

\^Exeunt» 

SCENE IV. — Olivia'5 Garden. 

Enter Olivia and Maria. 

OH. 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 bor- 

row'd. 
I speak too loud. ■ 
Where is Malvolio ? — he is sad, and civil. 
And suits well for a servant with my fortunes ; — 
TVhere is Malvolio ? 

Mar. He's coming, madam ; 

But in strange manner. He is sure possess'd. 

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

Mar. No, madam. 

He does nothing but smile ; your ladyship 
Were best have guard about you if he come ; 
For, sure, the man is tainted in his wits. 

Oil. 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 fantasticalli/. 

Oli. Smil'st thou ? 
I sent for thee upon a sad 8 occasion. 

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

Oli. 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 executed. I think, we do know the sweet 
Roman hand. 

Oli. Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio ? 

Mai. To bed? ay, sweet-heart; and I'll come 
to thee. 

Oli. 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 an- 
swer daws. 

Mar. Why appear you with this ridiculous bold- 
ness before my lady ? 

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

Oli. What meanest thou by that, Malvolio ? 



7 Caught. 



8 Grave. 



Scene IV. 



OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



77 



Mai. 
OIL 
Mai. 
OIL 
Mai. 
OIL 
Mai. 
ings ; — 

on. 

Mai. 

OIL 

Mai. 

SOS — 

OIL 

Mai. 

0/t. 



Sonic are born great, — 
Ha? 

Some ac/iieve greatness, — 
What say'st thou ? 

j47id some have greatness thrust upon them. 
Heaven restore thee ! 

lieniember who commended thy yeUow stock- 

Thy yellow stockings ? 

And wished to see thee cross-gartered. 
Cross-gartered ? 

Go to : thou art made, if thou desirest to be 



Am I made ? 

If not, let me see thee a servant still. 
hy, this is very midsummer madness. 

Enter Servant. 



Wh 



Serv. Madam, the young gentleman of the count 
Orsino'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. [Exeunt Olivia and Maria. 

Mai. Oh, ho ! do you come near me now ? no 
worse man than sir Toby to look to me ? This con- 
curs directly witli 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 hum- 
ble sloughy says she : be opposite with a kinsman, 
surly unth servants, — let thy tongue tang with 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 fellow be looked to : Fellow ! 9 
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 incredulous or unsafe circumstance, — What 
can be said ? Nothing, that can be, can come be- 
tween 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, with Sir Toby Belch, and 
Fabian. 

Sir To. Which way is he, in the name of sanctity ? 
I'll speak to him. 

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

MaL 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, ha ! does she so ? 

Sir To. Go to, go to ; peace, peace, we must 
deal gently 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 heaven, he be not be- 
witched ! My lady would not lose him for more 
than I'll say. 

• Companion. 



Mai. How now, mistress? 

Mar. O lord ! 

Sir To. Pr'ythee, hold tihy 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 ! 

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

Sir To. Is't possible ? 

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

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

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

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

Mar. The house 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. 

En^er Sir Andrew Aooe-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.] Youtli, 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 
fort. 

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. / will way-lay t/iee going home ; where if it 
be thy chance to kill me, 

Fab. Good. 

Sir To. Thou killest me Wee a roguf and a tnllain. 

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

Sir To. Fare thee u^U : And God have mercy 

upon one of our souls/ He may have mercy upon 

mine ; bui my hope is better, and so look to thyself. 

Thy friend, as thou usest him, and thy sworn enemy. 

Andrew Ague-cheek. 

Sir To. If this letter move him not, his legs can- 
not : I'll giv'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 depart. 

Sir To. Go, sir Andrew; scout me for him at 
the comer of the orchard, like a bailiff: so soon as 
» Jolly cock, beau and eoq. ' A play among boys. 



78 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



ActHI. Scene IV. 



over tliou seest him, draw ; and, as thou drawest, 
swear liorrible ; for it comes to pass oft, that a ter- 
rible oath, with a swaggering 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. [ErU. 

Sir To. Now will not I deliver his letter : for the 
behaviour of the young gentleman gives him out to 
be of good capacity and breeding ; liis 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 gentle- 
man, (as, I know his youth will aptly receive it,) 
into a most hideous opinion of his rage, skill, fury, 
and impetuosity. This will so frighten them both, 
that tliey will kill one another by the look, like 
cockatrices. 

Unter 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 message for a challenge. 

[Exeunt Sir Toby, Fabian, and Maria. 

OH. 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; 
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, sav'd, may upon asking give ? 

Via. 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. 

OIL Well, come again to-morrow : Fare thee well. 

[ExU. 

Re-enter Sir Toby Belch, and Fabian. 

Sir To. Gentleman, heaven 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 3, be yare ^ in thy prepar- 
ation, for thy assailant is quick, skilful, and deadly. 

Vio. You mistake, sir; I am sure, no man Jiath 
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 



Rapier 



Ready. 



is so implacable, that satisfaction can be none but 
by pangs of death and sepulchre : hob, nob, is his 
word ; give't or tak't. 

Vio. I will return again into the house, and de- 
sire 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 tlieir valour : 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 : there- 
fore, on, or strip your sword stark naked : for meddle 
you must, that's certain, or forswear to wear iron 
about you. 

Vio. 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. lExit Sir Toby. 

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

Eab. 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 ? 

Fab. 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 lUyria: 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, with Sir Andrew. 

Sir To. Why, man, he's a very devil ; I have not 
seen such a virago. I had a pass with him, rapier, 
scabbard, and all, and he gives me the stuck-in 5, 
with such a mortal 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 fencer to the Sophy. 

Sir And. 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 
valiant, and so cunning in fence, I'd have seen him 
hanged 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 per- 
dition 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 liim, 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's sake : marry, he hath better be- 
thought him of his quarrel, and he finds that now- 
scarce to be worth talking of: therefore draw, for 

5 Stoccato, an Italian term in fencing. 



Act IV. Scene I. 



OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



79 



the supportance of his vow; he protests, he will 
not hurt you. 

Vio. Pray heaven 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 gentleman will, for his honour's sake, have one 
bout with you : he cannot by the duello ^ avoid it : 
but he has promised me, as he is a gentleman and 
a soldier, he will not hurt you. Come on ; to't. 

Sir And. Pray heaven, he keep his oath ! [Draws. 

Enter Antonio. 

Vio. I do assure you, 'tis against my will. {Draws. 

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 ? 

Ant. 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. 

Fab. 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, vrill 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 Off. ITiis is the man, do thy office. 

2 Off. Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit 
Of Count Orsino. 

Ant. You do mistake me, sir. 

1 Off. No, sir, no jot ; 1 know your favour well. 
Though now you have no sea-cap on your head. — 
Take liim away ; he knows, I know him well. 

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

2 Off. Come, sir, away. 

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

Via. 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 ; 
1*11 make division of my present with you : 
Hold, there is half my coffer. 

Ant. 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. I know of none ; 

Nor know I you by voice, or any feature : 
I hate ingratitude more in a man. 
Than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness. 
Or any taint of vice, whose strong corruption 
Inhabits our frail blood. 

Ant. O heavens themselves ! 

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

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

Reliev'd him with such sanctity of love, 

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

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 feature shame. — 
In nature there's no blemish, but the mind ; 
None can be call'd deform'd, but the unkind : 
"Virtue is beauty ; but the beauteous evil 
Are empty trunks, o'erflourish'd by the devil. 

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

Ant. Lead me on. [Exeunt Officers, unth Antonio. 

Vio. Methinks, his words do from such passions 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 couplet or two of most 
sage saws. 

Vio. He nam'd Sebastian ; I my brother know 
Yet living in my glass ; even such, and so. 
In favour was my brother ; and he went 
Still in this fashion, colour, ornament, 
For him I imitate : O, if it prove. 
Tempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love ! [Exit. 

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

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. — Tlie 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. 

6 Law3 of duel 



Clo. Well held out, i 'faith ! No, I do not know 
you ; nor 1 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. 1 pr'ythee, vent thy folly somewhere else j 
Tliou know'st not me. 

Clo. "Vent my folly ! He has heard that word of 



80 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



Act IV. 



some great man, and now applies it to a fool. Vent 
iny folly ! I am afraid this great lubber, the world, 
will prove a cockney. — I pr'ythee now ungird thy 
strangeness, and tell me what I shall vent to my 
lady : Shall I vent to her, that thou art coming ? 

Seb. I pr'ythee, foolish Greek, depart from me ; 
There's money for thee ; if you tarry longer, 
1 shall give worse payment. 

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

Enter Sir Andrew, Sir Toby, and Fabian. 

Sir And. Now, sir, have I 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. 

Clo. 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 lUyria : though 
I struck 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 
know? 
If thou dar'st tempt me further, draw thy sword. 

[Draws. 

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

Enter Olivia. 

OH. 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 7, be gone ! — I pr'ythee, gentle friend, 

[Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian. 
Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway 
In this uncivil and unjust extent 8 
Against thy peace. Go with me to my house ; 
And hear thou there how many fruitless pranks 
Tliis 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 I am mad, or else this is a dream : — 
Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep ; 
If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep ! 

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

Seb. Madam, I will. 

OIL O, say so, and so be ! 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE II 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 
7 Rude fellow. 8 Violence. 



curate ; do it quickly : I'll call sir Toby the 
whilst. [Exit Maria. 

Clo. Well, I'll put it on, and I will dissemble 
myself in't ; I am not tall enough to become the 
function well : nor lean enough to be thought a 
good student : but to be said, an honest man, and 
a good housekeeper, goes as fairly, as to say, a 
careful man, and a great scholar. The competitors » 
enter. 

Enter Sir Toby Belch a7id Maria. 

Sir To. Jove bless thee, master parson. 

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

Sir To. To him, sir Topas. 

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

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

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

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

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 a man thus wronged : 
good sir Topas, do not think I am mad ; they have 
laid me here in hideous darkness. 

Clo. Fie, 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 
barricadoes, and the clear stones towards the south- 
north are as lustrous as ebony ; and yet complainest 
thou of obstruction ? 

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

Mai. 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 con- 
stant question. ' 

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

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

Clo. What think est thou of his opinion ? 

Mai. I think nobly of the soul, and no way 
approve his opinion ? 

Clo. Fare thee well : Remain thou still in dark- 
ness : thou shalt hold the opinion of Pythagoras, 
ere I will allow of thy wits ; and fear to kill a wood- 
cock, lest thou dispossess 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. 2 

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 

9 Confederates. ' Regular conversation. 

2 Any other Gem as well ai a Topaz. 



Scene II. 



OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



81 



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 upshot Come by and 
by to my chamber. [Exeunt Sir Toby and Maria. 

Clo. Hei/ Robin, jolly Jiobin. 

Tell me how thy lady does. [Singing. 

Mai. Fool. — . 

Clo. My lady is unkind, perdy. 

Mai. Fool. — 

Clo. j4las, why is she so ? 

Mai. Fool, I say ; — 

Clo. She loves another — Who calls, ha ? 

Mai. Good fool, as ever thou wait 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 thank- 
ful to thee for't. 

Clo. Master Malvolio ! 

Mai. Ay, good fool. 

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

Mai. Fool, there was never man so notoriously 
{U}used : 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 wits than a fool. 

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

Clo. Advise you what you say ; the minister is 
here. — Malvolio, Malvolio, thy vvdts the heavens 
rt^tore ! endeavour thyself to sleep, and leave thy 
vain bibble babble. 

Mai. 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 3 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 letter 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, I'll ne'er believe a madman, till I see 
his brains. I will fetch you light, and paper, and ink. 

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

Clo. / am gone, sir, 

.And ancnh sir, 



[ExU. 



rU be with you again. 

In a trice ; 

Like to the old vice ^ 
Your need to sustain. 

Who with dagger of lath. 
In his rage and his wrath. 

Cries, ah, ha ! to the devil : 
Like a mad lad. 
Pare thy nails, dad. 

Adieu, goodman drival. 

SCENE HI. — OUvia'« Garden. 
Enter Sebastian. 
Seb. Thfs'is the air ; that is the glorious sun ; 
This pearl she gave me, 1 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 this 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. 
Or else the lady's mad ; yet, if 'twere so. 
She could not sway her house, command her fol- 
lowers. 
Take, and give back, affairs and their despatch. 
With such a smooth, discreet, and stable l)earing, 
As, I perceive, she does : there's something in't. 
That is deceivable. But here comes the lady. 

E7iter Olivia ajid a Priest. 

Oli. Blame not this haste of mine : If you mean 
well, ' 
Now go with me, and with this holy man, 
Into the chantry by : there, before him. 
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, 
Wliiles 6 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. 

Oli. Then lead the way, good father ; And 

heaven to shine. 
That they may fairly note this act of mine ! 

[Exeunt. 



ACT V. 



SCENE I. — The Street before OUvia's House. 

Enter Clown and Fabian. 
Fab. Now, as thou lovest me, let me see his letter. 
Clo. Good master Fabian, grant me another re- 
quest. 

FeUf. Any thing. 

3 Scolded, reprimanded. 



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

Enter Duke, Viola, and Attendants. 
Duke. Belong you to the lady Olivia, friends? 

* A buflbon character in the old plajg, and father of the 
modem harlequin. * Account 6 Until 

G 



82 



TWELFTH NIGHT 



Act V. 



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 j 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 tliat, 
conclusions to be as kisses, if your four negatives 
make your two affirmatives, why, then the worse for 
my friends, and the better for my foes. 

Duke. Why, this is excellent. 

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

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

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

Clo. 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 covetous- 
ness : but, as you say, sir, let your bounty take a 
nap, I will awake it anon. \_ExU Clown. 

Enter Antonio and Officers. 

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 ; 
AVith 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 Off. Orsino, this is that Antonio, 
That took the Phoenix, and her fraught? from 

Candy ; 
And this is he, that did the Tiger board. 
When your young nephew Titus lost his leg : 
Here in the streets, desperate of shame, and state. 
In private brabble did we apprehend him. 

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, 

7 Freight. 



Be pleas'd that I shake off 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 ingrateful boy there, by your side. 
From the rude sea's enrag'd and foamy mouth 
Did I redeem ; a wreck past hope he was : 
His life I gave him, and did thereto add • 

My love, without retention, or restraint, 
All his in dedication : for his sake. 
Did I expose myself, pure for his love. 
Into the danger of this adverse town j 
Drew to defend him, when he was beset ; 
Where being apprehended, his false cunning, 
(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. 

on. What would my lord, but that he may not 
have, 
Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable ? — 
Cesario, you do not keep promise with me. 

Via.. Madam ? 

Duke. Gracious Olivia, — — 

OH. 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 8 and fulsome to mine ear, 
As howling after musick. 

Duke. Still so cruel? 

Oli. Still so constant, lord. 

Duke. What ! to perverseness ? you uncivil lady. 
To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars 
My soul the faithfull'st offiirings hath breath 'd out. 
That e'er devotion tender'd ! What shall I do ? 

Oli. Even what it please my lord, that shall be- 
come him. 

Dxike. 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 faitli. 
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 mis- 
chief : 
I'll sacrifice the lamb that I do love. 
To spite a raven's heart within a dove. [Going. 

^ Dull, gross. 



Scene 1. 



OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



83 



Vio. And I, most jocund, apt, and willingly, 
To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die. 

[Follotving, 

OIL Wliere goes Cesario ? 

;7o. 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 ! 

OH. Ah me, detested ! how am I beguil'd ! 

Vio. Who does beguile you ? who does do you 
wrong ? 

Oti. Hast thou forgot thyself ! Is it so long ! -^ 
Call forth the holy father. [Exit an Attendant. 

Duke. Come away. [To Viola. 

OH. Wliither, my lord ? — Cesario, husband, stay. 

Duke. Husband ? 

OH. Ay, husband ; Can he that deny ? 

Duke. Her husband, sirrah ? 

Vio. No, my lord, not I. 

OH. Alas, it is tlie baseness of thy fear, 
Tliat 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 fcar'st. — O, welcome, father !■ 

Re-enter Attendant and Priest. 
Father, I charge thee, by tliy 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 travell'd 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, vMh his head 
broke. 

Sir And. For the love of heaven, a surgeon ; 
send one presently to sir Toby. 

OH. 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 heaven, your help : I had rather than forty 
pound, I were at home. 

OH. 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. 

Dtike. INfy gentleman, Cesario ! 

Sir And. Od's lifelings, here he is : — You broke 
my hcatl 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 noU 



Sir And. If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you 
have hurt me j I think, you set notliing 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 othergates 9 than he did. 

Duke. How now, gentleman ? how is't with you ? 

Sir 7'o. Tliat'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, and a passy-measures 
pavin ' ; I hate a drunken rogue. 

Olu Away with him : Who hath made tliis havock 
with them? 

Sir And. I'll help you, sir Toby, because we'll 
be dressed together. 

Sir To. Will you help an ass-head, and a cox- 
comb, and a knave? a thin-faced knave, a gull? 

OH. Get him to bed, and let his hurt be look'd to. 
[Exeunt Clown, Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew. 

Ejiter Sebastian. 

Seb. I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kins- 
man ; 
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 1 have lost thee ! 

Ant. Sebastian are you ? 

Seb. Fcar'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 iiarentagc ? 

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 fonn 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 particijjate. 
Were you a woman, as the rest goes even, 
I should my teai-s let foil upon your check, 
And say — Tlirice welcome, diown'd Viola! 

Ho. My father had a mole upon his brow. 

Seb. And so had mine. 

Vio. And died that day when Viola from her birth 
Had namber'd thirteen years. 

Seb. O, that record is lively in my soul ! 



9 Otherways. 



Serious dances. 



G 2 



84 



TWELFTH NIGHT: 



Act \ 



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 to a captain in this town, 
Where lie my maiden weeds ; by whose gentle help 
I was preserv'd, to serve this noble count : 
All the occurrence of my fortune since 
Hath been between this lady and this lord. 

Sel)> So comes it, lady, you have been mistook : 

[To Olivia. 
But nature to her bias drew in that. 
You would have been contracted to a maid ; 
Nor are you therein, by my life, deceived. 
You are betroth'd both to a maid and man. 

Duke. Be not amaz'd ; right noble is his blood 

If tliis 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, 

[To 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 tliat 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. 

on. 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 banish'd his. — 
How does he, sirrah ? 

Clo. Truly, madam, he holds Belzebub at the 
stave's end, as well as a man in his case may do : he 
lias here writ a letter to you ; I should have given 
it to you to-day morning ; but as a madman's epis- 
tles are no gospels, so it skills not much, when they 
are delivered. 

Oli. Open it, and read it. 

Clo. Look then to be well edified, when the fool 
delivers the madman : — By the Lord, madam, — 

Oli. How now ! art thou mad ? 

Clo. No, madam, I do but read madness : an your 
ladyship will have it as it ought to be, you must 
allow vox.'^ 

Oli. Pr'ythee, read i'thy right wits. 

Clo. So I do, madonna ; but to read his right 
wits, is to read thus : therefore perpend % my prin- 
cess, and give ear. 

Oli. Read it you, sirrah. [To Fabian. 

Fab. [Reads,] By the Lord, madam, you wrong 
me, and the world shall know it : thotigh you have 
put me into darkness, and given your drunkeri cousin 
rule over me, yet have I the benefit of m-y senses as 
ivell as your ladyship. I have your oxvn letter that 
induced me to the semblance I put on ; with the 
which I doubt not but to do myself much right, or 



* Voice. 



3 Attend. 



you much shame. Think of me as you please. I 
leave my duty a little unthought of, and speak out of 
my injury. The madly used Malvolio. 

Oli. Did he write this ? 

Clo. Ay, madam. 

Duke. This savours not much of distraction. 

OIL 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, the 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-garter'd 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 geek ^, and gull. 
That e'er invention play'd on ? tell me why. 

Oli. Alas, Malvolio, this is not my writing. 
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 ; then cam'st in smiling. 
And in such foratis 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 j 

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 had conceived against him : Maria writ 
The letter, at sir Toby's great importance ^ ; 
In recompense whereof, he hath married her. 
How with a sportful malice it was follow'd. 



4 Frame and constitution. 
6 Importunity. 



* Fool. 



Scene I. 



OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



85 



May ratlier pluck on lauglitur than revenge ; 
If that the hijuries be justly weigh'd, 
That have on both sides past. 

OIL Alas, poor fool ! how have tiiey baffled thee .' 

Clo. Why, some are born great, some achieve great- 
ness, and some have greatness thrown upon thern. I 
was one, sir, in tliis interlude; one sir Topas, sirj 
but that's all one : — By the Lord, fool, I am not 
mud ; — But do you remember ? Madam, why laugh 
you at such a barren rascal f an you smile not, he's 
gaggd: And thus the whirligig of time brings in 
his revenges. 

Mat, I'll be revenged on the whole pack of you. 

[ExU. 

OIL He hath been most notoriously abus'd. 

D ike. Pursue him, and entreat him to a peace ; — 
He hath not told us of the captain yet ; 
When that is known and golden time convents,' 
A solemn conibinatix)n shall be made 
Of our dear souls — Mean time, sweet sister. 
We w ill not part from hence. — Cesario, come, 

1 Shall serve. 



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 was and a little tiny boy, 
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 
A foolish thing was but a toy, 

For the rain it raitwth every day. 

But when I come to mans estate. 
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 

* Gainst knave and thief men shut their gate, 
For tlie rain it raineth every day. 

But when I caine, alas I to wive. 

With hey, ho, the wind and the rain. 

By swaggering could I never thrive. 
For the rain it raineth every day. 

A great while ago the world begun. 
With hey, ho, the unnd and the rain, 

But that's all one, our jAay is done. 

And xue'U strive to please you every day. 

[Exit. 



G3 



i 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



ViNCENTio, Duke o/* Vienna. 

Angelo, Lord Deputy in the Duke'5 absence. 

EscALus, an ancient Lordt joined with Angelo in llie 

deputation. 
Claudio, a young Gentleman. 
Lucio, a Fantastic. 
Two other like Gentlemen. 
Varrius, a Gentleman^ Servant to tfie Onke. 
Provost. 

Thomas, ] y^ ^^,,. 
Pkter, J 
Elbow, a simple ComtatfUi. 

SCENE, 



Clown, Servant to Mrs. Overdone. 
Abhorson, an Executioner. 
Barnardine, a dissolute Prisoner. 

Isabella, Sister to Claudio. 
Mariana, betrotlied to Angelo. 
Juliet, beloved by Claudio. 
Francisca, a Nun. 
Mistress Overdone. 

Lords, Gentlemen, Guards, OJJicers, and other 
Attendants. 

— Vienna. 




iSUOB, O ROYAL UDKE ! 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



'RE FACE TO MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



L 



This comedy contains scenes which are truly 
worthy of the first of dramatic poets. Isabella 
pleading with Angelo in behalf of mercy to her 
brother, and afterwards insisting that his life must 
not be purchased by the sacrifice of her chastity, 
is an object of such interest, as to make the reader 
desirous of overlooking the many great defects 
which are to be found in other parts of this play. 
The story is little suited to a comedy. The wicked- 
ness of Angelo is so atrocious, that I recollect only 
one instance of a similar kind being recorded in 
history * ; and that is considered by many persons 
;is of doubtful authority. His crimes, indeed, are 
not completed, but lie supposes them to be so ; 
and his guilt is as great as it would have been, if 
the person of Isabella had been violated, and the 
head of Ragozine had been Claudio's This mon- 
ster of iniquity appears before the Duke, defending 
his cause with unblushing boldness ; and after the 
detection of his crimes, he can scarcely be said to 
receive any punishment. A hope is even expressed 
that he will prove a good husband, but for no good 
reason — namely, because he has been a little bad. 
Angelo abandoned his contracted wife for the most 
despicable of all reasons, the loss of her fortune. 
He added to his guilt not only insensibility to her 
afliiction, but the detestable aggravation of injuring 
her reputation by an unfounded slander ; ascribing 
his desertion of Mariana to levity in her conduct, 
of which she never was guilty. He afterwards 
betrayed the trust reposed in him by the Duke. 
He threatened Isabella that if she would not sur- 
render her virtue, he would not merely put her 
brother to death, but make 

' His death draw out to lingering suttcrancc. " 
• Kirk. 



And, finally, when he thought his object accom- 
plished, he ordered Claudio to be murdered, in 
violation of his most solemn engagements. 

These are the crimes, which, in the language ot 
Mariana, are expressed by the words a little bad; 
and with a perfect knowledge of Angelo's having 
committed them, she 



Craves no other, nor no better man.' 



(^audio's life having been preserved by the Pr 
vost, it would not, perhaps, have been lawful 
have put Angelo to death ; but the Duke might 
with great propriety have addressed him in the 
words of Bolingbroke to Exton : — 

•• Go, wander through the shades of night, 
" And never show thj- head by day nor light' 

Other parts of the play are not without faults.] 
The best characters act too much upon a system 
duplicity and falsehood ; and the Duke, in the firsi 
act, trifles cruelly with the feelings of Isabella/ 
allowing her to suppose her brother to be dead 
much longer than the story of the play required. 
Lucio is inconsistent as well as profligate. He 
appears, in the first act, as the friend of Claudio, 
and in the fifth he assists the cause of Angelo, 
whom he supposes to be his murderer. Lastly, 
the indecent expressions with which many of the 
scenes abound are so interwoven with the story, 
that it is extremely difficult to separate the one 
from the other. 

I trust, however, that I have succeeded in doing 
it, and I should not be sorry if the merit or demerit 
of the whole work were to be decided by the exa- 
mination of this very extraordinary Play, as it is 
now printed in the Family Shakspeare. 



Jl 



Act I. Scene I. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



87 



ACT I. 



SCENE I. — Ati Apartment in tlie Duke's Palace. 

Enter Duke, Escalus, and Lords. 

DvJce. Escalus, — 

Esc. My lord. 

Duke. Of government the properties to unfold, 
Would seem in me t'affect speech and discourse, 
Since I am put to know, that your own science 
Exceeds in that the lists of all advice 
My strength can give you : Then no more remains 
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, y'are as pregnant in 
As art and practice hath enriched any 
That we remember : There is our commission, 
From which we would not have you warp. Call hither, 
I say, bid come before us Angelo. — 
What figure of us tliink 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 deputations all tlie organs 
Of our own power : What think you of it ? 

Esc. If any in Vienna be of worth 
To undergo such ample grace and honour. 
It is lord Angelo. 

Enter Angelo. 

Duke. Look, where he comes. 

Ang. Always obedient to your grace's will, 
I come to know your pleasure. 

Duke. Angelo, 

There is a kind of character in thy life, 
That, to th' observer, doth thy history 
Fully unfold : — Thyself, and thy belongings. 
Are not tliine own so proper, as to waste 
Tliyself upon thy virtues, them on thee. 
Heaven doth with us, as we with torches do. 
Not light tliem 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 tlianks and use ; but I do bend my speech 
To one that can my part in him advertise ; 
Hold, therefore, Angelo : 
In our remove, be thou at full ourself ; 
Mortality and mercy in Vienna 
Live in thy tongue and heart: Old Escalus, 
Though first in question, is thy secondary. 
Take thy commission. 

Aiifi,. Now, good my lord, 

Let there be some more test made of my mettle, 
Before so noble and so great a figure 
Be stamp'd upon it. 

Duke. No more evasion : 

We h.ive with a leavcn'd and prepared choice 
Proceeded to you ; therefore take your honours. 
Our haste from "hence is of so quick condition, 
Tliat it prefers itself, and leaves unquestion'd 
Matters of needful value. We sliall write to you. 
As time and our couccmings sliall importune, 



How it goes with us, and do look to know 
What dotli befall you here. So, fare you wel! : 
To th' 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 like to stage me to their eyes : 
Though it do well, I do not relish well 
Their loud applause, and aves vehement : 
Nor do I think the man of safe discretion 
That does affect it. Once more, fare you well. 

Ang. The heavens give safety to your jjurposos ! 

Esc. Lead forth, and bring you back in happiness ! 

Duke. I thank you. — Fare you well. [Exit. 

Esc. 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 what 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 

Esc. I'll wait upon your honour. 

{Exeunt. 

SCENE U.— 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 kiflg. 

1st Gent. Heaven grant us its peace j but not the 
king of Hungary's ! 

2d Gent. Amen. 

Lucio. Thou concludest like the sanctimonious 
pirate, that went to sea with the ten command- 
ments, but scraped one out of the table. 

2d Gent. Thou shalt not steal ? 

Lucio. Ay, that he razed. 

1st Gent. Why, 'twas a commandment to com- 
mand the captain and all the rest from tlieir func- 
tions ; 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. 

2d Gent. I never heard any soldFer dislike it. 

Lncio. i believe thee ; for, I tliink, thou never 
wast where grace was said. But see, where j^adam 
Mitigation c omes. 

Enter Mrs. Overdone. 

Overdone. There's one yonder, arrested and car- 
ried to prison, was worth five thousand of you all. 

Is/. Gent. Who's that, I pray tliee? 

Overd, Marry sir, that's Claudio, Signior Claudio. 

\st Gent. Claudio to prison ! 'tis not so. 

Overd. Nay, but I know 'tis so : I saw him ar- 
rested ; saw him carried away ; and, which is more, 
witliin these three days his head's to be chopped oiV. 

Lucio. But, after all tin's fooling, I would not 
liave it so : art thou sure of this ? 
G 4 



1 



88 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



Act I. 



Overd. I am too sure of it ; and it is on account 
of Madam JuHetta. 

Lucio. Believe me, this may be : he promised 
to meet me two hours since ; and he was ever pre- 
cise in promise-keeping. 

2d Gent. Besides, you know, it draws something 
near to the speech we had to such a purpose. 

1st Gent. But most of all, agreeing with the 
proclamation. 

Lucio. Away ; let's go learn the truth of it. 

[Exeunt Lucio and Gentlemen. 

Overd. Thus, what witli the war, what with the 
gallows, and what with poverty, I am custom- 
shrunk. How now ! what's the news with you ? 

Enter Clown. 

Cloivn. You have not heard of the proclamation, 
have you ? 

Overd. What proclamation, man ? 

Clown. All houses in the suburbs of Vienna must 
be pluck'd down. 

Overd. And what shall become of those in the 
city? 

Clown. They had gone down too, but that a wise 
burgher put in for them. 

Overd. But, shall all ^our houses of resort in the 
suburbs be pulled down ? 

Clown. To the ground, mistress. 

Overd. Why, here's a change indeed in tlie com- 
monwealth : what shall become of me ? 

Clown. Come, fear not you ; good counsellors 
lack no clients. Though you change your place ; 
you need not change your trade ; I'll be your 
tapster still. 

Overd. What's to do here ? Thomas Tapster let's 
withdraw. 

Clown. Here comes Signior Claudio, led by the 
provost to prison : and there's Madam Juliet. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — The same. 

Enter Provost, Claudio, Juliet, and Officers. 

Claud. Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to 
; the world. Bear me to prison, where I am com- 
mitted. 

1 Prov. I do it not in evil disposition, 
} But from lord Angelo by special charge. 
I Claud. Thus can the demigod. Authority, 
j Make us pay down for our offence by weight. — 
I The words of heaven ; on whom it will, it will j 
On whom it will not, so ; yet still 'tis just. 

Enter Lucio. 

Lucio. Why, how now, Claudio ? whence comes 
I 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, 
1 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 ? 

Claud. What, but to speak of would offend again. 

Lucio. What is il ? murder? 



Gaud. No. 

Prov. Away, sir ; you must go. 

Claud. One word, good friend : — Lucio, a word 
with you. [ Takes him aside. 

Lticio. A hundred, if they'll do you any good. 

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 taift^ial i ntercourse. 
With character too gross, is writ on Juliet. 

Lucio. With child, perhaps? 

Claud. IJnhappilyJ eieiL^o. 
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 d6th ride. 
Who, newly in the seat, that it may know 
He can command, let's 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 enrolled 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, 
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 encou- 
ragement of the like, which else would stand under 
grievous imposition ; as for the enjoying of thy life, 
who I would be sorry should be thus foolishly lost. 
I'll to her. 

Claud. I thank you, good friend Lucio. 

Lucio. Within two hours, — 

Claud. Come, oflficer, 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 
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 



Scene V. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



89 



How I have ever lov'd the life remov'd ; 

And held in idle price to haunt assemblies, 

Where youth and cost, and witless bravery 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 
laws, 
(The needful bits and curbs for head-strong steeds,) 
Which for these fourteen years we have let sleep ; 
Even like an o'ergrown lion in a cave, 
That goes not out to prey : Now, as fond fathers 
Having bound up the threat'ning twigs of birch. 
Only to stick it in their children's sight. 
For terror, not to use ; in time the rod 
Becomes more mock'd than fear'd : so our decrees, 
Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead ; 
And liberty plucks justice by the nose ; 
The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart 
Goes all decorum. 

Fri. It rested in your grace 

To unloose tliis tied-up justice, when you pleas'd : 
And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd. 
Than in lord Angelo. 

Duke. I do fear, too dreadful : 

Sith 'twas my fault, to give the people scope, 
'Twould be my tyranny to strike, and gall them 
For what I bid them do : For we bid this be done. 
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 sight. 
To do it slander : And to behold his sway, 
I will, as 'twere a brother of your order, 
Visit both prince and people : therefore, I pr'ythee, 
Supply me with the habit, and instruct me 
How I may formally in person bear me 
Like a true friar. More reasons for this action. 
At our more leisure shall I render you ; 
Only, this one : — Lord Angelo is precise ; 
Stands at a guard with envy ; scarce confesses 
Tliat his blood flows, or that his appetite 
Is more to bread than stone : Hence shall we see, 
If power change purpose, what our scemers be. 

[Exeunt, 

SCENE y.—A Nunnery. 

Enter Isabella and Francisca. 

Itab. And have you nuns no further privileges ? 

jPron. Are not these large enough ? 

Iiab. Yes, truly : I speak not as desiring more ; 
But ratlier wishing a more strict restraint 
Upon the sistertiood, the votarists of saint Clare. 

Lucio. Ho ! Peace be in this place ! [Within. 

Ifob. WTio'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 

But in the presence of the prioress : 

Tlicn, if you speak, you must not show your face ; 



Or if you show your face, you must not speak. 
He caJls 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 : 

Isab. Sir, make me not your story. ^ 

Lucio. It is truei " 

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. 

7506. You do blaspheme the good, in mocking me 

Lucio. Do not believe it. Fewness and truth *, 
'tis thus : 
Your br other and his lover have embrac'd : 
~i?c(ftr My cousin Juhety ~ "* 

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 full 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 liis life ? 

Lucio. Has censur'ds him 

Already ; and, as I hear, the provost hath 
A warrant for his execution. 

Isab. Alas ! what poor ability's in me 
To do liim good ? 



> Do not make a Jest of me. 
2 In few and true words. 



» Sentenced. 



90 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



Lucio. Assay the power you have. 

Isab. My power ! Alas ! I doubt, — 

Lueio. 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. 

Isab. I'll see what I can do. 



Act II. 

But speedily. 



Lucio. 

Isab. 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. 

Isab. Good sir, adieu. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I.— A Hall in Angela's House. 

Enter Angelo, Escalus, Provost, Officers, and 
other Attendants. 

Ang. We must not make a scare-crow of the 
law, 
Setting it up to fear the birds of prey, 
And let it keep one shape, till custom make it 
Their perch and not their terror. 

Escal. Ay, but yet 

Let us be keen, and rather cut a little, 
Than fall, and bruise to death : Alas ! this gentle- 
man. 
Whom I would save, had a most noble father. 
Let but your honour know, 
(Whom I believe to be most straight 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 some time in your life 
Err'd in tliis point which now you censure him, 
And pull'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 to 

justice. 
That justice seizes. What know the laws. 
That thieves do pass on tliieves ? 'Tis very pregnant, 
The jewel that we find, we stoop and take it, . 
Because we see it ; but what we do not see. 
We tread upon, and never think of it. 
You may not so extenuate his offence, 
For ^ I have had such faults ; but rather tell me, 
When I that censure him, do so offend, 
Let mine own judgment pattern out my death. 
And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die. 

Escal. Be it as your wisdom will. 

j4ng. Where is the provost ? 

Prov. Here, if it like your honour. 

Ang. See that Claudio 

Be executed by nine to-morrow morning : 
Bring him his confessor, let him be prepared :. 
For that's the utmost of his pilgrimage. 

[Exeunt Angelo and Provost. 

Escal Well, heaven forgive him ; and forgive 
us all ! 
]Mcrcy is not itself that oft looks so, 
Pardon is still the nurse of second woe. 
But yet, poor Claudio ! — there's no remedy. 

[Exit. 
* Have. 5 Because. 



SCENE II. — Another Room in the same. 
Enter Provost and a Servant. 

Serv. He's hearing of a cause j he will come 
straight. 
I'll tell him of you. 

Prov. Pray you, do. [Edt Servant.] I'll kupwl 
his pleasure ; may be, he will relent : 

Enter Angelo. 

Ang. Now, what's the matter. Provost ? 

Prov. Is it your will Claudio shall die to-j 
morrow ? 

Ang. Did I not tell thee, yea ? hadst thou not ■■ 
order ? 
Why dost thou ask again ? 

Prov. Lest I might be too rash ; ' 

Under your good correction, I have seen. 
When, after execution, judgment hath 
Repented o'er his doom. 

Ang. Go to ; let that be mine ; 

Do you your office, or give up your place. 
And you shall well be spar'd. 

Prov. I crave your honour's pardon. — 

What shall be done, sir, witjijhegroamng Juliet ? 

Shft's vpfy ppf^r l]pr hour. 

Atig. Dispose of her 

To some more fitter place ; and that with speed. 

Re-enter Servant. 

Serv. Here is the sister of the man condemn'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. 

Ang. Well, let her be admitted. 

[Exit Servant. 
See you, that Julietta be remov'd ; 
Let her have needful, but not lavish, means ; 
There shall be order for it. 

Enter Lucio and Isabella. 

Prov. Save your honour ! [Offering to retire. 

Ang. Stay a little wliile. — [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 j 
For which I must not plead, but that I opx 
At war, 'twixt will, and will not. 



Scene II. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



91 



Ang. Well; the matter? 

fsab. 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 tliee moving graces ! 

Ang. Condemn the fault and not the actor of it ! 
Why, every fault's condemn'd, ere it be done : 
Mine were the very cipher of a function, 
To find the faults, vjrhose fine stands in record, 
And let go by the actor. 

IscA. 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, intreat him ; 
Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown ; 
You are too cold : if you should need a pin, 
You could not with more tame a tongue desire it : 
To him, I say. 

Isab. Must he needs die ? 

A7ig. Maiden, no remedy, 

Isab. Yes ; I do tliink that you might pardon him. 
And neither heaven, nor man, grieve at the mercy. 
Aug. 1 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. 

ying. 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 stem. 
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. 
Aiig. Your brother is a forfeit of the law, 
And you but waste your words. 

Isdb. 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 judg«? you as you are ? O, think on that ; 
And mercy then will breathe within your lips. 
Like man new made. 

Ang. Be you content, fair moid ; 

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. 
IstU). To-morrow ? O, that's sudden ! Spare him, 
spare him : 
He's not prepar'd for death ! 
Gootl, good my lord, bethink you : 
Who is it tlrnt hath die<l for this ofl'ence ? 
There's many have committed it. 

Lucio. Ay, well said. 

^ng. 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 bom,) 
Are now to have no successive degrees, 
But, where they live, to end. 

Isab. Yet show some pity. 

Ang. I show it most of all, when I show justice; 
For then I pity those I do not know. 
Which a dismiss'd offence would after gall ; 
And do him right, that answering one foul wrong, 
Lives not to act another. Be satisfied ; 
Your brother dies to-morrow : be content. 

Isab. So you must be the first that gives this sen- 
tence ; 
And he, that suffers : O, it is excellent 
To have a giant's strength ; 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 6, petty oflScer, 
Would use his heaven for thunder ; nothing but 

thunder. — 
Merciful heaven ! 

Thou rather, with tliy sharp and sulphurous bolt, 
Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled ^ oak. 
Than the soft myrtle ; — O, but man, proud man ! 
Drest in a little brief authority ; 
Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd, 
His glassy essence, — l ike an angry ape, 
Plays such fantastic tricks betore high heaven. 
As make the angels weep; 

Luc. 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 yourself: 
Great men may jest with saints : 'tis wit in them ; 
But, in the less, foul profanation. 

Lucio. 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. 

Lucio. 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. Slie speaks, and 'tis 

Such sense, that my sense breeds witli it. — Fare 
you well. 

Isab. Gentle my lord, turn back. 

Ang. I will bethink me : — Come again to- 
morrow. 

Isab. Hark, how I'll bribe you : Good my lord, 
turn back. 

Ang. How, bribe me ? 

Isab. Ay, with such gifU, tliat heaven shall share 
with you. 

Lucio. You had marr'd all else. 

Isab, Not with fond shekels of tlie tested 8 gold. 



Paltry. 



Knotted. 



»* Stamped, 



92 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



Act II. 



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 9 souls. 
From fasting maids, whose minds are dedicate 
To nothing temporal. 

A7ig. Well : come to me 

To-morrow. 

Lucio. Go to ; it is well ; away. [Aside to Isab. 

Isab. Heaven keep your honour safe ! 

Ang. Amen : for I 

Am that way going to temptation, [Aside. 

Where prayers cross. 

Isab. At what hour to-morrow 

Shall I attend your lordship ? 

Ang. At any time 'fore-noon. 

Isab. Save your honour ! 

[Exeunt Lucio, Isabella, and Provost. 

Ang. 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 evils there ? O, fye, fye, fye ! 
What dost thou ? or what art thou, Angelo ? 
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 ? 

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 
Once stir my temper ; but this virtuous maid 
Subdues me quite ; — Ever, till now. 
When men were fond, I smil'd, and wonder'd how. 

[Exit. 

SCENE III A Room in a 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, 

1 come to visit the afflicted spirits 

Here in the prison : do me the common right 
To let me see them ; and to make me know 
The nature of their crimes, that 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 : Shejsjxjthlchild ; 
^nd he th at o wns it sentencM T 

Duke. " When must he die ? 

Prov. As I do think, to-morrow. — 
I have provided for you; stay awhile, [To Juliet. 
And you shall be conducted. 

3 Preserved from the corruption of the world. 



Duke. Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry ? 

Jtdiet. I do ; and bear the shame most patiently. 

Duke. I'll teach you how you shall arraign your 
conscience. 
And try your penitence, if it be sound. 
Or hollowly put on. 

Juliet. I'll gladly learn. 

Duke. Love you the man tliat wrong'd you ? 

Juliet. Yes, as I love the woman that wrong'd him. 

Duke. So then, it seems, your most offenceful act 
Was mutually committed ? 

Juliet. Mutually. 

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'd 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 ! [Exit. 

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 I did but only chew his name ; 
And in my heart, the strong and swelling evil 
Of my conception : The state, whereon I studied. 
Is like a good thing, being often read, 
Grown fear'd and tedious ; yea, my gravity. 
Wherein (let no man hear me) I take pride. 
Could I, with boot ', change for an idle plume. 
Which the air beats for vain. 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 ? 

Enter Servant. 
How now, who's there ? 

Serv. One Isabel, a sister, 

Desires access to you. 

Ang. Teach her the way. [Exit Serv. 

O heavens ! 

Why does my blood thus muster to my heart ; 
Making both it unable for itself, y 
A nd 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 2, 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. 



1 



Profit. 



'■ The people. 



Scene IV. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



93 



Entei' Isabella. 



How now, fair maid ? 

Isab. I am come to know your pleasure. 

Jtng. That you might know it, would much 
better please me, 
Tlian to demand what 'tis. Your brotlier cannot live. 

Isab. Even so ? — Heaven keep your honour ! 

[Retiring. 

^ng. Yet may he live a while ; and, it may be 
As long as you or I : Yet he must die. 

Isab. Under your sentence ? 

Ang. Yea. 

Isab. When, I beseech you ? that in his reprieve. 
Longer, or shorter, he may be so fitted. 
This his soul sicken not. 

y{jig. 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 saucy sweetness, that do coin heaven's image, 
In stamps that are forbid. 

Isab. 'Tis set down so in heaven, but not in earth. 

Aug. Say you so ? then I shall pose you quickly. 
Which had you rather, that the most just law 
Now took your brother's life ; or, to redeem him, 
Give up your pers on U) s''^ ^* giy<^p» i]nr»1o^pppc^Cj 

As shft that hp jmth ct^WrpH ? 

^Jsab. Sir, believe this, 

I had rather give my body than my soul. 

Ang. I talk not of your soul ; our compell'd sins 
Stand more for number than accompt. 

Isab. How say you ? 

Ayig. Nay, I'll not warrant that ; for I can speak 
Against the tiling I say. Answer to this ; — 
I, now the voice of the recorded law. 
Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life : 
Might there not be a charity in sin. 
To save tliis brother's life ? 

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 poise 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 igno- 
rant. 
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. 

Ang. Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright. 
When it doth tax itself : as these black masks 
Proclaim an enshield 3 Ixjauty 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. 

ytng. And his offence is so, as it appears 
Accountant to the law upon that pain. 

Isab. True. 

■Ang. Admit uo other way to save his life, 
(As I subscribe not tnat, nor any other, 
But in the loss of question,) that you, his sister, 
Finding yourself desir'd of such a person, 

' Covered. 



Whose credit with the judge, or own great place, 
Could fetch your brother from the manacles 
Of t+ie all-binding law ; and that there were 
No earthly mean to save him, but that either 
Y9U must lay down tha traaeuran of jour pm-ua 
'lo this s upposed, or el se let Iiim s ufl'erj ^ 
W hat 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 honour 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 ransom, 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'd have, we speak not what we mean : 
I something do excuse the thing I hate, 
For his advantage that I dearly love. 

j4ng. We are all frail. 

Isab. Else let my brother die. 

If not a feodary *, but only he. 
Owe ^, and succeed by weakness. 

Aug. Nay, women are frail too. 

Isab. Ay, as the glasses where they view themselves; 
Which are as easy broke as tliey make forms. 
Women ! — Help heaven ! men their creation mar 
In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times frail ; 
For we are soft as our complexions are. 
And credulous to false prints. 6 

Ang. I tliink 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 tliat 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 wan-ants,) show it now. 
By putting on the destin'd livery. 

Isab. I have no tongue but one : gentle my lord. 
Let me entreat you, speak the former language. 

Ang. Plainly conceive, I love you. 

Isab. My brother did love Juliet ; and you tell me. 
That he shall die for it. 

yl7}g. He shall not,. Isal)el, if you givejneJoga. - 

Isab. I know your virtue TiaHrffTimice in't. 
Which seems a little fouler than it is. 
To pluck on otliers. 

A fig. 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. 

j4ng. Who will believe tliee, Isabel ? 

My unsoil'd name, the austereness of my life, 
^ Own. s Impressiona. 



94? 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



Act III. 



My vouch against you, and my place i'the state 
Will so your accusation overweigli, 
That you shall stifle in your own report, 
And smell of calumny. I have begun ; 
And now I give my sensual race the rein : 
Lay by all nicety ; redeem thy brother 
By yielding up tliy perspjj 4o my will ; 
Or else he musFltiot 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. 

[ExU. 
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 person 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. — ^ 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 medicine. 
But only hope : 
I have hope to live, and am prepar'd to die. 

Duke. Be absolute for death : either death, or life, 
Shal 1 thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life,— 
If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing 
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, 
A re 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 7, 
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 efiusion of thy proper loins. 
Do curse the gout, serpigo ?, and the rheum. 
For ending thee no sooner : Thou hast nor youth, 

nor age ; 
But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep, 
Dreaming on both : for all thy blessed youth 
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms 
Of palsied eld ; and when thou art old, and rich, 
Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty, 
To make tliy 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. 



7 Affects, affections. 



Leprous eruptions. 



Claud. 1 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 welcome. 

Duke. Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again. 

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 sister. 

Duke. Provost, a word with you. 

Prov. As many as you please. 

Duke, Bring them to speak, where I may be 
conceal'd. 
Yet hear them. [Exeunt 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 9 : 
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. 
Though all the world's fastidity you had. 
To a determined scope. 

Claud. But in what nature ? 

Isab. In such a one as (you consenting to't) 
Would bark your honour from that trunk you beat 
And leave you naked. 

Claud. Let me know the point. 

Isab. O, I do fear thee, Claudio ; and I quake, 
Lest thou a feverous life should'st entertain. 
And six or seven winters more respect 



Scene I. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



9^ 



Tlian a perpetual honour. Dar'st thou die ? 
The sense of death is most in apprehension ; 
And tlie poor beetle that we treaid upon, 
In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great 
As when a giant dies. 

Claud. Why give you me this shaine ? 

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. 

hub. There spake my brother ; there my fatlier's 
grave 
Did utter forth a voice ! Yes, thou must die : 
ITiou 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 ; 

Claud. Ulie princely Angelo ? 

Isab. O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell, 
The vilest body to invest and cover 
In princely guards ! Dost thou tliink, Claudio, 
if I would yip)fl Hi'm my vir ginity, 
Thou might'stj je freed ? 

"'XTatair 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. lie ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow. 
Claud. Yes. — Has he affections in him. 
That thus can make him bite the law by tlie nose, 
When he would force it ? Sure it is no sin ; 
Or of tlie deadly seven it is the least. 
Isab. Wliich is the least ? 
Claud. If it were. dajnnable^^ 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 tiling. 

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 ! 
I'he weariest and most loathed worldly life, 
'ITiat age, ach, penury, and imprisonment 
Can lay on nature, is a paradise 
To what we fear of death. 
Isab. Alas ! alas ! 

Clauil. Sweet sister, let me live : 

What sin you do to save a brother's life, 
Nature dispenses with the deed so far, 
riiat it becomes a virtue. 

Isab. O, faithless coward ! O, dishonest wretch ! 
^\ ilt thou be made a man out of my vice? 
li^'t not a kind of incest, to take life 



From thine own sister's shame ? 

Take my defiance : 

Die ; perish ! might but my bending down 

Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed : 

I'll pray a thousjind prayers for thy death. 

No word to save thee. 

Claud. Nay, hear me, Isabel. 

Isab. O, fye, fye, fye ." 

Thy sin's not accidental, but a trade : 
'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 awhile. 

Duke. {To Claudio, aside.'\ Son, I have over- 
heard what hath past between you and your sister. 
Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her; only 
he hath made an 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 fallible : 
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. [iJxff Claudio. 

He-enter Provost. 
Provost, a word with you. 

Vrov. What's your will, father ? 

Duke. That now you are come you will be gone -, 
Leave me a while with tlie maid ; my mind pro- 
mises 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. Tlie assault that Angelo 
hath made to you, fortune hath convey'd 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 matter now stands, he will avoid your accus- 
ation ; he made trial of you only. — Therefore, 
fasten your ear on my advisings : to the love I 
have in doing good, a remedy presents itself. I 
do make myself believe, that you may most up- 
righteously do a ytoor wronged lady a merited 



96 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



Act III. 



benefit ; redeem your brother from the angry law ; 
do no stain to your own gracious person ; and 
much please the absent duke, if, peradventure, he 
shall ever return to have hearing of tills business. 

Isab. Let me hear you speak further; I have 
spirit to do any tiling that appears not foul in the 
truth of my spirit. 

Duke. Virtue is bold, and goodness never fear- 
ful. Have you not heard speak of Mariana the 
sister of Frederick, the great soldier, who miscar- 
ried at sea ? 

Isab. I have heard of the lady, and good words 
went with her name. 

Duke. Her should this Angelo have married ; was 
affianced to her by oath, and the nuptial appointed : 
between which time of the contract, and limit of 
tlie solemnity, her brother Frederick was vrrecked 
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 re- 
nowned brother, in his love toward her ever most 
kind and natural ; with him the portion and sinew 
of her fortune, her marriage-dowry ; v*dth both, her 
combinate • husband, this well 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 with 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 : 
and the cure of it not only saves your brother, but 
keeps you from dishonour in doing it. 

Isab. Show me how, good father. 

Duke. This fore-named maid hath yet in her the 
continuance of her first affection ; his unjust un- 
kindness, that in all reason should have quenched 
her love, hath, like an impediment in the current, 
made it more violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo ; 
answer his requiring with a plausible obedience; 
agree with his demands to the point : only refer 
yourself to tliis 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 acknowledge itself hereafter, it may 
compel him to her recompense : and here, by this, 
is your brother saved, your honour untainted, the 
poor Mariana advantaged, and the corrupt deputy 
scaled. ^ The maid will I frame, and make fit for 
his attempt. If you think well to carry this as you 
may, the doubleness of the benefit defends the deceit 
from reproof. What think you of it ? 

Isab. 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 dejected Mariana: At that 
place call upon me ; and despatch with Angelo, that 
it may be quickly. 

' Betrothed. 2 Over-reached. 



Isab. I thank you for this comfort : Fare you well, 
good father. [Exeunt severally. 

SCENE II. — The Street before the Prison. 

Enter Duke, as a Friar ; to him Elbow, Clown, 
and Officers. 

Elb. '^2iy, if there be no remedy of it, but that 
you will needs buy and fiffll men nnd women like 
beasts, we shall have all the world drink^browiTahd"" 
"white bastard. 3 

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 friar. 

Duke. And you, good brother father : What 
offence hath this man made you, sir ? 

Elb. Marry, sir, he hath oflTended 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. 
Take him to prison, officer ; 
Correction and instruction must both work. 
Ere this rude beast will profit. 

Elb. He must before the deputy, sir ; he has 
given him warning. 

Duke. That we were all, as some would seem to be. 
Free 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 gentle- 
man, and a friend of mine. 

Lucio. How, now, noble Pompey ? What, at the 
heels of Caesar? Art thou led in triumph? Art 
going to prison, Pompey ? 

Clo. Yes, faith, sir. 

Lucio. Why, 'tis not amiss, Pompey : Farewell : 
Go; say, 'I sent thee thither. 

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 Pompey 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 ? 

Elb. Come your ways, sir; come. 

Lucio. Go, — to kennel, Pompey, go : 

[Exeunt Elbow, Clown, and Officers. 
What news, friar, of the duke ? 

Duke. I know none : Can you tell me of any ? 

Lucio. Some say, he is vdth the emperor of 
Russia ; other some, he is in Rome : But where is 
he, think you ? 

Duke. I know not where : But wheresoever, I 
wish him well. 

Lucio. It was a mad fantastical trick of him, to 

3 A sweet wine. 



SCEKE II. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



97 



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 well in't. 

Ludo. A little mo re lenity to wenching would do 
no harm in him : something too crabbed that way, 
friar. 

Duke. It is too general a vice, and severity must 
cure it. 

Ludo. Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great 
kindred ; it is well ally'd. 

Duke. You are pleasant, sir ; and speak apace. 

Lucio. Why, what a ruthless thing is it in 
Angelo to take away the life of a man thus ? Would 
the duke that is absent have done this ? He knew 
the service, and tliat 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. 
f Lricb. Who? not the duke? yes, your beggar 
jcf 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. 

Ludo. Sir, I was an inward of his : a shy fellow 
was the duke : and I believe I know the cause of 
his withdrawing. 

Duke. What, I pr'ythee, might be the cause ? 

Lucio. No, — pardon ; — 'tis a secret must be 
lock'd within the teeth and the lips : but this I can 
let you understand, — The greater file of the sub- 
ject held the duke to be wise. 

Duke. Wise ? why, no question but he was. 

Ludo. A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing 
fellow. 

Duke. Either this is envy in you, folly, or mis- 
taking ; the very stream of his life, and the business 
he hath helmed *, must, upon a warranted need, give 
him a better proclamation. Let him be but testi- 
monied in his own bringings forth, and he shall 
appear to the envious, a scholar, a statesman, 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 
knowledge with dearer love. 

Lucio. Come, sir, I know what I know. 

Duke. I can hardly believe that, since you know 
not what you speak. But, if ever the duke return, 
(as our prayers are he may,) let me desire you to 
make your answer before him : If it be honest you 
have spoke, you have courage to maintain it : I am 
bound to call upon you; and, I pray you, your name ? 

Lucio. Sir, my name is Lucio, well known to 
the duke. 

Duke. He shall know you better, sir, if I may 
live to report you. 

Lucio. I fear you not. 

Duke. O, you hope the duke will return no more ; 
or you imagine me too unhurtful an opposite. But, 
indeed, I can do you little harm : you'll forswear 
this again. 

Ludo. I'll be hanged first : thou art deceived in 
mc, friar. But no more of this : 1 would the duke 

* Clack.di$h : ThebegRars, two or three centuries ago,use<l 
to pr<Hi;um their want bv a wooden dish with a moveable 
cover, which they clacked, to show that their vessel was 
empty. 

"" Ouided. 



we talk of were retum'd again : tliis agent will 
unpeople the province. Farewell, good friar : I 
pr'ythee pray for me. The duke, I say to thee 
again, would. eatmulioUL-iMi Fridays: say, that I 
said so. Farewelir [Exit. 

Duke. No^ittight 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, Overdone, and Officers. 

Escal. Go, away with her to prison. 

Over. Good my lord, be good to me ; your honour 
is accounted a merciful man : good my lord. 

Escal. Double and ti^le admonition, and still 
forfeit^ in the same kind ! This would make mercy 

swear, and play the tyrant Away with her to 

prison : Go to ; no more words. [Exeunt Overdone 
and Officers.'\ Provost, my brother Angelo will not 
be altered ; Claudio must die to-morrow : let him 
be furnished with divines, and have all charitable 
preparation : if my brother wrought by my pity, it 
should not be so with him. 

Prov. So please you, this friar hath been with him, 
and advised him for the entertainment of death. 

Escal. Good even, good father. 

Duke. Bliss and goodness on you ! 

Escal. Of whence are you ? 

Duke. Notof this country, though my chance is now 
To use it for my time : I am a brother 
Of gracious order, late come from the see, 
In special business from his holiness. 

Escal. What news abroad i' the world ? 

Duke. None, but that there is so great a fever on 
goodness that the dissolution of it must cure it : 
novelty is only in request; and it is as dangerous 
to be aged in any kind of course, as it is virtuous to 
be constant in any undertaking. There is scarce 
truth enough alive, to make societies secure ; but 
security enough, to make fellowships accurs'd: much 
upon this riddle runs the wisdom of the world. 
This news is old enough, yet it is every day's news. 
I pray you, sir, of what disposition was the duke ? 

Escal. One, that, above all other strifes, con- 
tended especially 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 under- 
stand, that you have lent him visitation. 

Duke. He professes to have received no sinister 
measure from his judge, but most willingly humbles 
himself to the determination of justice : yet hati he 
framed to himself, by the instruction of his frailty, 
many deceiving promises of life ; which I, by my 
good leisure, have discredited to him, and now is he 
resolved to die. 

Escal. You have paid the heavens your function, 
and the prisoner the very debt of your calling. I 
have labour'd for the poor gentleman, to the 
extremest shore of my modesty ; but my brother 
justice have I found so severe, that he hath forced 
me to tell him, he is indeed —justice. 

Duke. If his own life answer the straitness of his 



TransgreM. 
H 



98 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



Act IV. 



proceeding, it shall become him well ; wherein, if 
he chance to fail, he liath 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 would bear, 
Sliould 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 may likeness, made in crimes, 
Making practice on the times. 
Draw with idle spiders' strings 
Most pond'rous and substantial things 
Craft against vice 1 must apply : 
With Angelo to-night shall lie 
His old betrothed, but despis'd ; 
So disguise shall, by the disguis'd. 
Pay with falsehood false exacting. 
And perform an old contracting. 



[Rvit. 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I. — A Room in Mariana's House. 

Mariana discovered sitting ; a Boy singing- 
SONG. 
Take, oh take those lips away, 

That so sweetly were forsworn ; 
And those eyes, the break of day, 

Lights that do mislead the morn : 
But my kisses bring again, 

bring again, 
Seals of love, but seaVd in vain, 

seaVd 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, — 
IVIy mirth it 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 enquired for me 
here to-day ? much \ipon this time have I promis'd 
here to meet. 

Mari. 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 yourself. 

Mari. I am always bound to you. [Exit. 

Duke. Very well met, and welcome. 
What is the news from this good deputy ? 

Isab. He hath a garden circummur'd? with brick, 
Whose western side is with a vineyard back'd ; 
And to that vineyard is a planched 8 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 to call on him, 
Upon the heavy middle of the night. 



Walled round. 



Planked, wooden. 



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 j 
She comes to do you good. 

Isdb. I do desire the like. 

Duke. Do you persuade yourself that I respect you ? 

Mai-i. Good friar, I know you do ; and have 
found it. 

Duke. Take then this your companion by the hand. 
Who hath a story ready for your ear : 
I shall attend your leisure ; but make haste ; 
The vaporous night approaches. 

Mari. Will't please you walk aside ? 

[Exeunt Mariana and Isabella. 

Duke. O place and greatness, millions of false eyes 
Are stuck upon thee ! volumes of report 
Run with these false and most contrarious quests 9 
Upon thy doings ! thousand 'scapes ' of wit 
Make thee the father of their idle dream, 
And rack thee in tlieir fancies ! — Welcome ! Ho\^ 
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 low. 
Remember now my brother. . 

Mari. Fear me not. 



Inquisitions, inquiries. 



1 SalUes. 



Scene II. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



99 



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 tliat the justice of your title to him 
IDoth flourish- the deceit. Coine, let us go ; 
Oiu" corn's to reap, for yet our tithe's 3 to sow. 

\^Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — A Room in the Prison. 
Enter Provost and Clown. 

Prov. Come hither, sirrah : Can you cut off a 
man's head ? 

Clo. If the man be a batchelor, sir, I can : but if 
he be a married man, he is his wife's head, and I can 
never cut off a woman's head. 

Prov. Coirte, sir, leave me your snatches, and 
yield me a direct answer. To-morrow morning are 
to die Claudio and Bamardine : here is in our pri- 
son a common executioner, who in his office lacks 
a helper : if you will take it on you to assist him, 
it shall redeem you from your gyves ** ; if not, you 
shall have your full time of imprisonment, and your 
deliverance with an unpitied whipping. 

Clo. Sir, I will be content to be a lawful hangman. 
I would l)e glad to receive some instruction from my 
fellow-partner. 

Prov. What ho, Abhorson ! Where's Abhorson, 
there? 

Enter Abhorsok. 

Abhor. 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. 

Abhor. Fye upon him, he will discredit our mys- 
tery. 5 

Prov. Go to, sir j you weigh equally ; a feather 
will turn the scale. [Erit. 

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, 
but what mystery there should be in hanging, if I 
should be hanged, I cannot imagine. 

Abhor. Sir, it is a mystery. 

C7o. 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 
tliief thinks it little enough: so every true man's 
apparel fits your thief. 

Re-enter Provost. 

Prov. Arc you agreed? 

Clo. Sir, I will serve him ; for I do find, your 
hangman is a penitent trade ; he doth often ask for- 
giveness. 

Prov. You, sirrah, provide your block and your 
axe, to-morrow, four o'clock. 

Abhor. Come on ; 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 



' Oild, or varnish over. 

' Tilth, land prepared for sowing. 

* Fetters. 



> Trade. 



shall find me yare C : for truly, sir, for your kindness, 
I owe you a good turn. 

Prov. Call hither Barnardine and Claudio : 

[ExeuTit Clown and Abhorson. 
One has my pity ; not a jot the other, 
Being a murderer, tliough he were my brother. 

Enter Claudio. 
Look, here's the warrant, Claudio, for thy death : 
'Tis now dead midnigiit, 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 youi-self. But liark, \\'hat noise ? 

[^Knocking within. 
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 wholsomest spirits of the night 
Envelope you, good provost! Who call'd here of 
late? 

Prov. 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 7 
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 steel'd gaoler is the friend of men. — 
How now ? what noise ? That spirit's possess'd with 

haste. 
That wounds the unsisting postern with these strokes. 

Provost returns, speaking to one at the door. 

Prov. Tliere 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 
No countermand ; no such example have we : 
Besides, upon the very siege 9 of justice. 
Lord Angelo hath to the public ear 
Profess'd the contrary. 

Enter a Messenger. 
Duke. Tliis is his lordship's man. 
l*rov. And here comes Claudio's pardon. 
Mess. My lord hath sent you this note ; and by 
me tliis further charge, tliat you swerve not from 



' Ready. 
" Perhapc 



H 2 



7 Defiled. 
"Soat 



100 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



Act IV. 



the smallest article of it, neither in time, matter, or 
other circumstance. Good morrow j for, as 1 take 
it, it is almost 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, wliat news ? 

Prov. I told you : Lord Angelo, belike, thinking 
me remiss in mine office, awakens me with this un- 
wonted 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 Claudia be executed by four of the clock : 
and, in the afternoon, Barnardine : for my belter 
salisfdclion, let me have Clatidiu's head sent me by five. 
Let this be duly performed : uith a thought, that more 
depends on it than we must yet deliver. Thus fail not 
to do your office, as you will answer it at your jieril. 
What say you to this, sir ? 

Duke. What is that Barnardine, who is to be 
executed in the afternoon ? 

Prov. A Bohemian born ; but here nursed up 
and bred : one that is a prisoner nine years old. • 

Duke. How came it, that the absent duke had 
not either delivered 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, 
dreadfully, but as a drunken sleep ; careless, reck- 
less, and fearless of what's past, present, or to come ; 
insensible of mortality, and desperately mortal. 

Duke. He wants advice. 

Prov. He will hear none : he hath evermore had 
the liberty 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 showed him a seeming warrant for it : it hath 
not moved him at all. 

Duke. More of him anon. There is written in 
your brow, provost, honesty and constancy : if I 
read it not truly, my ancient skill beguiles me ; but 
in the boldness of my cunning, I will lay myself in 
hazard. Claudio, whom here you have a warrant 
to execute, is no greater forfeit to the law than 
Angelo who hath sentenc'd him : To make you 
imderstand 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. 

Prov. Alack ! how may I do it ? having the hour 
limited ; and an express command, under penalty, 
to deliver his head in the view of Angelo ? I may 
make my case as Claudio's, to cross this in the 
smallest. 

Duke. By the vow of mine order, I warrant you, 

1 Nine years in prison. 



if my instructions may be your guide. I/Ct this 
Barnardine be this morning executed, and his head 
borne to Angelo. 

Prov. Angelo hath seen them both, and will dis- 
cover 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 tlie 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 j it is against my 
oatli. 

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, in- 
tegrity, nor my persuasion, can with ease attempt 
you, I will go further than I meant, to pluck all 
fears out of you. Look you, sir, here is the hand 
and seal of the duke. You know the character, I 
doubt not ; and the signet is not strange to you. 

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 chance, nothing of 
what is writ. Look, the unfolding star calls up the 
shepherd : put not yourself into amazement, how 
these things should be : all difficulties are but easy 
when they are known. Call your executioner, and 
off" with Barnardine's head : I will give him a pre- 
sent shrift, and advise him for a better place. Yet 
you are amazed ; but this shall absolutely resolve 
you. Come away, it is almost clear dawn. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — Another Room m the same. 

Enter Clown. 

Clo. I am as well acquainted here, as I was ii 

our house of profession : one would think, it wen 

mistress Overdone's own house, for here be manj 

of her old customers. s|^ 

Enter Abhorson. 

Abhoi\ Sirrah, bring Barnardine hithen 

Clo. Master Barnardine ! you must rise and be 
hang'd, master Barnardine ! 

Abhor. What, ho, Barnardine ! 

Bamar. [ Within. ] A plague o' your throats ! 
Who makes that noise there ? What are you ? 

Clo. Your friends, sir ; the hangmen : You must 
be so good, sir, to rise and be put to death. 

Barnar. [Within.^ 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 
executed, and sleep afterwards. 

Abhor. Go in to him, and fetch him out. 

2 Countenance. 



Scene III. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



101 



Clo. He is coming sir, he is coining ; I hear his 
straw rustic. 

Enter Barnakiune. 

Abhor. Is the axe upon tlie 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, the warrant's 
come. 

liarnar. 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. 

Jknter Duke. 

Abhor. Look you, sir, here comei your ghostly 
father : Do we jest now, think you ? 

Duke. Sir, induced by my charity, and hearing 
how hastily you are to depart, I am come to advise 
you, comfort you, and pray with you. 

liarnar. Friar, not I j 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 forwarcl on the journey you shall go. 

Barjiar. I swear, 1 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. 

Diike. Unfit to live, o)c 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 horrible. 

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 inclined ; 
And satisfy tlie deputy with the visage 
Of Ragozine, more like to Claudio ? 

Duke. O, 'tis an accident that heaven provides ! 
Despatch it presently ; the hour draws on 
Prefix'd by Angelo : See this bedone, 
And sent according to command ; whiles I 
Persuade this rude wretch willingly to die. 

Prov. This shall be done, good father, presently. 
But Bamardine must die this afternoon : 
A fid 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, 
Botli Bamardine and Claudio : Ere twice 
Tlie sun hath made his journal greeting to 
Tlie under generation % you shall find 
Your safety manifested. 

Prov. I am your free dependant. 

3 The antlpodca. 



Duke. Quick, despatch, 

And send the head to Angelo. [Exit Provost. 

Now win I write letters to Angelo, — 
Tlie 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 publickly.: 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. [E.iit. 

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, fair and gracious 
daughter. - 

Isab. The better, given me by so holy a man. 
Hath yet the deputy sent my brother's pardon ? 

Duke. He hath relcas'd him, Isabel, from tlie 
world J 
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. Unhappy Claucho ' Wretched Isabel ! 
Injurious world ! A<^ur^ Angelo ! 

Duke. This nor hurts him, nor profits you a jot ; 
Forbear it therefore ; give your cause to heaven. 
Mark what I say ; which you shall find 
By every syllable, a faithful verity : 
The duke comes home to-morrow ; — 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 wisdom 
In that good path that I would wish it go ; 
And you shall have your bosom •* on ttjjs 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. Iler 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 tliis 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 ? 



« Your heul't desire. 



H 3 



» Go. 



10^ 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



Act IV. Scene VI. 



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 : But 
they say the duke will be here to-morrow. By my 
troth, Isabel, I lov'd thy brother: if the old fantas- 
tical 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. 

Lucio. Friar, thou knowest not the duke so well 
as I do : he's a better woodman than thou takest 
him for. 

Duke. Well, you'll answer this one day. Fare 
ye well. 

Lucio. Nay, tarry ; I'll go along with thee ; I 
can tell thee pretty tales of the duke. 

Duke. You have told me too many of him 
already, sir, if they be true ; if not true, none were 
enough ; but, sir, your company is fairer than 
honest : Rest you well. 

Lucio- By my troth, I'll go with thee to the 
lane's end : Nay, friar, I am a kind of burr, I shall 
stick. \_Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — A Room in Angelo's House. 

Enter Angelo and Escalus. 

Escal. Every letter he hath writ hath disvouch'd 
other. 

Ang. In most uneven and distracted manner. 
His actions show much like to madness : pray, 
heaven, his wisdom be not tainted ! And why meet 
him at the gates, and re-deHver our authorities there? 

Escal. I guess not. 

Ang. 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 
street ? 

Escal. He shows his reason for that : to have a 
despatch of complaints; and to deliver us from 
devices hereafter, which shall then have no power 
to stand against us. 

Ang. 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 suite 
As are to meet him. 

Escal. I shall, sir : fare you well. 

[Exit. 

Ang. 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 enToTC*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 : 

6 Figure and rank. 



For my authority bears a credent bulk, 

TJiat 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. 

[ExU. 

SCENE V. — Fields without the town. 

Enter Duke in his own habit, and Friar Peter. 
Duke. These letters at fit time deliver me. 

[Giving letters. 
The provost knows our purpose, and our plot. 
The matter being afoot, keep your instruction. 
And hold you ever to our special drift ; 
Though sometimes you do blench 7 from this to that. 
As cause doth minister. Go, call at Flavins' 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 Flavins first. 

F. Peter. It shall be speeded well. 

[Exit Friar. 
Enter Varrius. 

Duke. I thank thee, Varrius ; thou hast made 
good haste : 
Come, we will walk : There's other of our friends 
Will greet us here anon, my gentle Varrius. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI. — Street near the city gate. 

Enter Isabella and Mariana. 

Isah. 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 s purpose. 

Mari. Be rul'd by him. 

Isab. Besides, he tells me, that if peradventure 
He speak against me on the adverse side, 
I should not think it strange ; for 'tis a physick 
That's bitter to sweet end. 

Mari. I would, friar Peter — 

Isab, O, peace ; the friar is come. 

Enter Friar Peter. 

F. Peter. Come, I have found you out a stand 

most fit, 
Where you may have such vantage on the duke. 
He shall not pass you; Twice have the trumpets - 

sounded ; 
The generous 9 and gravest citizens 
Have hent ' the gates, and veiy near upon , 

Thedukeisent'ring; therefore hence, away. [Exeunt. 



7 Start off 
s Most noble. 



8 Av^ful 
1 Seized. 



Acr V. Scene I. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



103 



ACT V. 



SCENE I. — A public Place near the City Gate. 

Mariana {veiCd), Isabella, and Peter, at a 
distance. Enter at opposite doors, Duke, Varrius, 
Lords: Anoelo, Escalus, Lucio, Provost, 
Officers, and Citizens. 

Du/ce. My very 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. 

Arig. You make my bonds still greater, 

Duke. O, your desert speaks loud j and I should 
wrong it. 
To lock it in the wards of covert bosom, 
When it deserves with characters of brass 
A forted residence, 'gainst the tooth of time, 
And razure of oblivion : Give me your hand, 
And let the subject see, to make them know 
That outward courtesies would fain proclaim 

Favours that keep within Come, Escalus ; 

You must walk by us on our other hand ; — 
And good supporters are you. 

Peter and Isabella come forward. 

F. Peter. Now is your time; speak loud, and 
kneel before him. 

Isab. Justice, O royal duke ! Vail 2 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 t 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 oft* 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 muifderei*, isVirot strange ? 
That Angelo is an adultereus-thief^ . 
An hypocrite, a virgih-violator'c 
Is it not straAge, and sfcrengeT 

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 tliis in the infirmity of sense. 

Isab. O prince, I conjure thee, as tliou belicv'st 
' Lower. 



There is another comfort than this world. 

That tliou neglect me not, with that opinion 

That I am touch'd with madness : make not impossible 

That which but seems unlike : 'tis not impossible. 

But one the wicked'§t 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, gi-acious 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 {^ of fornication, 
To lose his head ; condemn'd by AngClo 1 
I, in probation of a sisterhood. 
Was sent to by my brother : one Lucio 
Was 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 tlien ; 

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 caitiflf 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 person 
Helease my brother ;anrt^afte'riTiuch debatement 
"MyTJsferly 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. 



3 UabiU and characters of office. 
H 4 



* Refuted. 



Pity. 



104. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



Act V. 



Duke. This is most likely. 

Jsab. O, that it were as like, as it is true ! 

Duke. By heaven, fond 6 wretch, thou know'st not 
what thou speak'st ; 
Or else thou art suborn'd against his honour, 
In hateful practice : First, his integrity 
Stands without blemish: — next, it imports no reason. 
That with such vehemency he should pursue 
Faults proper to himself: if he had so offended, 
He would have weigh'd thy brother by himself, 
And not have cut him off: Some one hath set you on : 
Confess the truth, and say by whose advice 
Thou cam'st here to complain. 

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 yoiu* 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 meddling friar; 
I do not like the man : had he been lay, my lord, 
For certain words he spake against your grace 
In your retirement, I had swing'd him soundly. 

Duke. Words against me? This' a good friar, belike! 
And to set on this wretched woman here 
Against our substitute ! — Let this friar be found. 

Lucio. But yesternight, my lord, she and that friar 
I saw them at the prison : a saucy friar, 
A very scurvy fellow. 

F. Peter. Blessed be yom- royal grace ! 

I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard 
Your royal ear abus'd : First, hath this woman 
Most wrongfully accus'd your substitute : 
Who is as free from touch or guilt with her 
As she from one unborn. 

Duke. We did believe no less. 

Know you that friar Lodowick, that she speaks of? 

F. Peter. 1 know him for a man divine and holy : 
Not scurvy, nor a temporary medler. 
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 him- 
self; 
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, 
Wliensoever he's convented. 7 First, for this woman ; 
(To justify this worthy nobleman, 
So vulgarly 8 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 
Mariana comes forward. 
« Foolish. 7 Convened. » Publickly. 



,„™../ 



Do you not smile at this, lord Angelo ? — 

heaven ! the vanity of wretched fools ! 
Give us some seats. — Come, cousin Angelo, 
In tliis 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. 

Marl. Pardon, my lord ; I will not show my face, 
Until my husband bid me. 

Duke. Wliat, are you married ? 

Mari. No, my lord. 

Duke. Are you a maid ? 

Mari. No, my lord. 

Duke. A widow then ? 

Mari. Neither, my lord. 

Duke. Why, you 

Are nothing then : — Neither maid, widow, nor wife? 

Mari. My lord, I do confess I ne'er was married ; 
And, I confess, besides, I am no maid: 

1 have known my husband ; yet my husband knowi 

not, 
That ever he knew me. 

Lucio. He was drunk, then, my lord : 
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 lo't, my lor^ : 
She that accuses him of fornicatio^, 
In self-same manner doth accu^ my husband: 
And charges him, my lord, with such a time, 
When I'll depose I had him in mine arms. 

Ang. Cliarges she more than me ? 

Mari. Not that I know. 

Duke. No ? you say your husband ? 

Mari. Why, just, my lord, and that is Angelo. 

Ang. This is a strange abuse 9 : — Let's see thy face. 

Mari. My husband bids me ; now I will unmask. 

[ Unveiling. 
This is that face, thou cruel Angelo, 
Which once thou swor'st was worth the looking on ; 
This is the hand, which, with a vow'd contract, 
Was fast belock'd in thine : and this is she 
That took away the match from Isabel, 
And did supply thee at thy garden-house, 
In her imagin'd person. 

Duke. Know you this woman ? 

Ang. My lord, I must confess, I know this woman ; 
And, five years since, there was some speecli of mar- 
riage 
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 ! 

9 Deception. 



Scene I. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



105 



jliig. 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 
IJut instruments of some more mightier member, 
That sets them on : Let me have way, my lord. 
To find this practice 2 out. 

Duke. Ay, with my heart ; 

And punish them unto your height of pleasure. — 
Thou foolish friar ; and thou pernicious woman, 
Compact with her that's gone! think'stthou 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, 
Sit with my cousin ; lend him your kind pains 
To find out this abuse, whence 'tis derived. — 
There is another friar that set them on j 
Let him be sent for. 

F. Peter. Would he were here, my lord ; for he, 
indeed. 
Hath set the women on to this complaint : 
Your provost knows the place where he abides, 
And he may fetch him. 

Duke. Go do it instantly. — \_Exit Provost. 

And you, my noble, and well-warranted cousin. 
Whom it concerns to hear this matter forth, 
Do witli 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 Lodowick to be a dishonest person ? 

Lucio. CucuUus nonfacit monachum : honest in 
nothing but in his clothes ; and one that hath spoke 
most villainous 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. 

Re-enter Officers^ tmth Isabella ; the Duke, in the 
Friar's habity and Provost. 

Escal. Come on, mistress : [To Isabella.] here's 
«i gentlewoman denies all that you have said. 
^ Lucio. My lord, here comes tlie rascal I spoke of; 
here with the provost. 
: - Escal. In very good time : — speak not you to 
liim, till we call upon you. 

Lucio. Mum. 

Escal. Come, sir : Did you set these women on 
to slander lord Angelo ? they have confess'd you did. 

Duke. 'Tis false. 
x^ Escq I. How ! know you where you are ? 

Duke. 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. 

' Crazy. a CoMpiracy. 



Lucio. This is tlie rascal ; tlus is he I spoke of. 

Escal. Why, thou unreverend and unhallow'd friar ! 
Is'tnot enough, that thou hast suborn'd these women. 
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 liimself ; 
To tax him with injustice ? — Take him hence ; 
To the rack with him : — We'll touze you joint byjoint, 
But we will know this 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. 
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 : laws 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. 

Ang. 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. 
,,,Lucii). Do you so, sir ? And was the duke a^flesh- 
mongeiv a fool, and a coward, as you then reporteX 
him to be ? 

Duke. You must, sir, change persons with me, 
ere you make that my report : you, indeed, spoke 
so of him ; and much more, much worse. 

Lucio. O thou abominable fellow ! Did not I 
pluck thee by the irose, fbr thy speeches ? 

Duke. I protest I love the duke as I love myself. 

Aug. Hark ! how the villain would close now, 
after his treasonable abuses. 

Escal. Such a fellow is not to ho ♦nikcd withal : — 
Away with him to prison. Wliere is tlie provost ? — 
Away with him to prison ; lay bolts enough upon 
him : let him speak no more. Away with those giglots 3 
too, and with the other confederate companion. 

[The Provost lays hands on the Duke. 

Duke. Stay, sir ; stay awhile. 

Ang. What ! resists he ? Help him, Lucio. 

Lucio. 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 ! 
Show your sheep-biting face, and be hang'd an hour! 
Will't not off? [PuUs off the Friar'5 Aoorf, and 

discovers the Duke. 

Duke. Thou art tlie first knave that e'er made a 

duke. 

First, provost, let me bail these gentle three : - 
Sneak not away, sir; [To Lccio.] 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. 
3 Wantons. 



106 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



Act V. 



Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudence, 
That yet can do thee office ? 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 e'er contracted to this woman ? 

Ang. I was, my lord. 

Duke. Go, take her hence, and marry her in- 
stantly. — 
Do you the office, friar ; which consummate, 
Return him here again : — Go with him, provost. 
\_Exeunt Angelo, Mariawa, Peter, 
and Provost. 

Escal. My lord, I am more amazed at his dis- 
honour. 
Than at tlie strangeness of it. 

Duke. Come hither, Isabel : 

Your friar is now your prince : As I was then 
Advertising 6, 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 liis life ; and would not rather 
Make rash remonstrance of my hidden power. 
Than let him be so 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 foul imagination yet hath wrong'd 
Your well-defended honour, you must pardon 
For Mariana's sake : but as he adjudged your brother, 
( 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 Angelo for Claudio, death for death." 
Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure ; 
Like doth quit like, and " Measure still for Mea- 
sure ! " 
Then, Angelo, thy fault's thus manifested ; 
Which though thou would'st deny, denies thee van- 
tage : 
We do condemn thee to the very block 
Where Claudio stoop'dtodeath,andwithlikehaste: — 
Away with him. 



4 Devices. 



Following. 



« Attentive. 



Mari. O my most gracious lord, 

I liope you will not mock me with a husband ! 

Duke. It is your husband mock'd you with a hus- 
band : 
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. 

Mari. Gentle, my liege, — [Kneeling. 

Duke. You do but lose your labour ; 

Away with him to death. — Now, sir, [Tb Lucio.] 
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 you do importune her : 
Should she kneel down, in mercy of this fact. 
Her brother's ghost his paved bed would break, 
And take her hence in horror. 

Mari. Isabel, 

Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me ; 
Hold up your hands ; say nothing ; I'll speak all. 
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. 

Isab. 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 mes- 
sage. 

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 7 : 
For testimony whereof, one in the prison. 
That should by private order else have died, 
I have reserv'd alive. 

Duke. What's he? 

Prov. His name is Bamardine. 

Duke. I would thou hadst done so by Claudio. — 
Go, fetch him hither ; let me look upon him. 

[Exit Provost. 
7 Consideration. 



Scene 1. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



107 



Esctd. I am sorry, one so learned and so wise 
As yoii, lord Angelo, have still appear'd, 
Should sh'p so grossly, both in the heat of blood, 
And lack of temper'd judgment afterward. 

^Ing. I am sorry, that such sorrow I procure : 
And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart, 
'lliat I crave- death more willingly than mercy ; 
"fis my deserving, and I do entreat it. 

Re-enier Provost, Barnarwne, Claudio, and 
Juliet. 
Duke. Which is that Bamardine ? 
Prov. This, my lord. 

Duke. There was a friar told me of this man. 
Sirrali, thou art said to have a stubborn soul, 
That apprehends no further than this world, 
And squar'st thy life according. Thou'rt condemned; 
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. Tills is another prisoner, that I sav'd. 
That should have died when Claudio lost his head j 
As like almost to Claudio as himself. 

[Unmuffies Claudio. 
Duke. If he be like your brother, [ To Isabella.] 
for his sake 
Is he pardon'd ; and for your lovely sake. 
Give me your hand, and say you will be mine. 
He is my brother too : But fitter time for that. 
By this lord Angelo perceives he's safe ; 
Methinks, I see a quick'ning in his eye : — 
Well, Angelo, your evil quits 8 you well : 
Look that you love your wife; her worth, worth 

yours. — 
I find an apt remission in myself: 
And yet here's one in place I cannot pardon : 
You, sirrah, {To Lucio.] that knew me for a fool, 

a coward, . ^ 
One all of luxury, an ass, a madman ; 
8 Requites. 



Wherein have I so deserved of you. 
That you extol me thus ? 

Lucia- 'Faith, my lord, I spoke it but according 
to the trick 9 : If you will hang me for it, you may, 
but I had rather it would please you, I might be 
whipp'd. 

Duke. Whipp'd first, sir, and hang'd after. — 
Proclaim it, provost, round about the city ; 
If ^ny woman's wrong'd by this lewd fellow, 
(As I have heard him swear himself, there's one 
Whom he hath injured thus,) let her appear. 
And he shall marry her : the nuptial finish'd, 
Let him be whipp'd and hang'd. 

Ludo. I beseech your highness, do not marry me 
so. Your highness said even now, I made you a 
duke; good my- iord, do not recompense me, in 
making me 2^ cuckold 

Duke. UpolT'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 me so, my lord, is pressing to 
death, whipping, and hanging. 

Duke. Sland'ring a prince deserves it. — 
She, Claudio, that you wrong'd look you restore. 
Joy to you, Mariana ! — love her, Angelo ; 
I have confess'd her, and I know her virtue. — 
Thanks, good friend Escal us, for thy much goodness: 
There's more behind, that is more gratulate. 
Thanks, provost, for thy care and secrecy ; 
We shall employ thee in a worthier place : — 
Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home 
The head of Ragozine for Claudio's ; 
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 yours, and what is yours is mine : 
So bring us to our palace ; where we'll show 
What's yet behind, that's meet you all should know. 

{Exeunt. 

> Thoughtless practice. 



v? 



/ 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



Don Pedro, Prince of Arragon. 

Don John, his Bastard Brother. 

Claudio, a young Lord of Florence, Favourite to 
Don Pedro. 

Benedick, a young Lord of Padua, Favourite like- 
wise of Don Pedro. 

Leo NATO, Governor of Messina. 

Antonio, his Brother. 

Balthazar, Servant to Don Pedro. 



Conk aX } -^^^^^'^''^ of Don John. 



> two foolish Office 



Dogberry, 
Verges, 
^ Sexton. 
A Friar. 
J Boy. 

Hero, Daughter to Leonato. 
Beatrice, Niece to Leonato. 

ARC A RET, I Q^jjjigjji^jjigji attending on He 

Messengerst Watchy and Attendants. 



SCENE, Messina. 




OOME, BINlJ lUEM : 



THOn NA.T3GHT5 VARLEl 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING, 



ACT I. 



SCENE I. — Before Leonato's House. 



Enter Leonato, Hero, Beatrice, and others, witli 
a Messenger. 

Leonato. I learn in this letter, that don Pedro of 
Arragon comes this night to Messina. 

Mess. He is very near by this ; he was not three 
leagues ofT, when I left him. 

Leon. How many gentlemen have you lost in this 
action ? 

Mess. But few of any sort, and none of name. 

Leon. A victory is twice itself, when the achiever 
brings home full numbers. I find here, that don 
Pedro hath bestowed much honour on a young 
Florentine, called Claudio. 

Mess. Much deserved on his part, and equally 
remembered by don Pedro : He hath borne him- 
self beyond the promise of his age ; doing, in the 
figure of a lamb, the feats of a lion : he hath, indeed, 
better bettered expectation, than you must expect of 
me to tell you how. 

Leon. He hath an uncle here in Messina will be 
very much glad of it. 

Mess. I have already delivered him letters, and 
there appears much joy in him ; even so much, that 
joy could not show itself modest enough, without a 
badge of bitterness. 

Leon. Did he break out into tears ? 

Mess.r In great measure. ' 

Leon. A kind overflow of kindness : There are 



no faces truer than those that are so washed. How 
much better is it to weep at joy, than to joy at 
weeping ? 

Beat. I pray y'ou, is signior Montanto returned 
from the wars, or no ? 

Mess. I know none of that name, lady ; there 
was none such in the army of any sort. 

Leon. What is he that you ask for, niece ? ^^ > 

Hero. My cousin means signior Benedick of|^|j 
Padua. VI 

Mess. O, he is returned ; and as pleasant as ever 
he was. 

Beat. He set up his bills here in Messina, and 
challenged 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 j 
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. 

Beat. Well, we are all mortal. 

Leon. You must not, sir, mistake my niece : thcrv 



41 



Acfl. Sce^teI. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



109 



is a kind of merry war betwixt signior Benedick 
an<i her : they never meet, but there is a skirmish 
of wit between them. 

Beat. Alas, he gets nothing by that. In our last 
conflict, four of his five wits went halting off, and 
now is the whole man governed with one : so tliat 
if he have wit enough to keep liimself warm, let him 
bear it for a difference between himself and his 
liorse : for it is all the wealth that he hath left, to 
be known a reasonable creature. — Who is his com- 
panion 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, the gentleman is not in your 
books. 

Beat. No : an he were, I would burn my study. 
But, I pray you, who is his companion ? 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 ! he will hang upon him like a 
disease : he is sooner caught than the pestilence, 
and the taker runs presently mad. Heaven help 
the noble Claudio ! if he have 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. 

Leon. You will never run mad, niece. 

Beat. No, not till a hot January. 

Mess. Don Pedro is approached. 

Enter Don Pedro, attended by Balthazar and 
others, Don John, Claudio, and Benedick. 

D. Pedro. Good signior Leonato, you are come 
to meet your trouble : the fashion of the world is to 
avoid cost, and you encounter it. 

Leon. Never came trouble to my house in the 
likeness of your grace: for trouble being gone, 
comfort should remain ; but, when you depart from 
me, sorrow abides, and happiness takes his leave. 

D. Pedro. You embrace your charge too willing- 
ly. — 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 fathers herself : Be happy, lady ! for you 
are like an honourable 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 presence. 

Bene. Then is courtesy a turn-coat : — But it is 
certain, I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted : 
and I would I could find in my heart that I had not 
a hard heart ; for, truly, I love none. 

' Quarrelsome fellow. 



Beat. A dear happiness to women ; they would 
else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. 
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. Heaven 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. 

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 ; 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 : Don John, — 
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 l>c 
forswora. — 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 to- 
gether. [Exeunt all but Benedick and Claudio. 

Claud. Benedick, didst thou note tlie daughter of 
signior Leonato ? 

Bene. I noted her not ; but I looked on her. 

Claud. Is she not a modest young lady ? 

Bene. Do you question me, as an honest man 
should do, for my simple true judgment ; or would 
you have me speak ailter 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 commend- 
ation 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 spe.nk 
you this witli a sad brow ? or do you play the flout- 
ing Jack ; to tell us Cupid is a gootl hare-finder, 
and Vulcan a rare carpenter? Come, in what key 
shall a man take you, to go in the song ? 

Claud. In mine eye, she is the sweetest lady that 
ever I look'd 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 Decem- 
ber. But I hope, you have no intent to turn 
husband ; have you ? 

Claud. I would scarce trust myself, though I liad 
sworn the contrary, if Hero would be my wife. 

Bene* Is it come to this? Hath not the world 
one man, but he will wear his cap with suspicion ? 



110 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



Act I. Scene II. 



Shall I never see a baclielor of tliree-score again? 
Go to ; 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 : T can be secret 
as a dumb man, I would have you think so ; but on 
my allegiance, — mark you this, on my allegiance : 
— He is in love. With who ? — now that is your 
grace's part. — Mark, how short his answer is : — 
With Hero, Leonato's short daughter. 

Claud. If this were so, so were it uttered. 

Bene. Like the old tale, my lord : it is not so, 
nor 'twas not so ; but, indeed, heaven forbid it 
should be so. 

Claud. If my passion change not shortly, heaven 
forbid it should be otherwise. 

D. Pedro. Amen, if you love her ; for the lady 
is very well worthy. 

Claud. You speak this to fetch me in, my lord. 

D. Pedro. By my troth, I speak my thought. 

Claud. And, in faith, my lord, I spoke mine. 

Bene. And, by my two faiths and troths, my 
lord, I spoke mine. 

Claud. That I love her, I feel. 

D. Pedro. That she is worthy, I know. 

Bene. That I neither feel how she should be 
loved, nor know how she should be worthy, is the 
opinion that fire cannot melt out of me j 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 3 
winded in my forehead, 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. 

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 drink- 
ing, pick out mine eyes with a ballad-maker's pen, 
and hang me up for the sign of blind Cupid. 

D. Pedro. Well, if ever thou dost fall from this 
faith, thou wilt prove a notable argument. 

Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat, and 
shoot at me ; and he that hits me, let him be clapped 
on the shoulder, and called Adam."* 

B. Pedro. Well, as time shall try : 
In time the savage bull doth bear Ike yoke. 

Bene. The savage bull may ; but if ever the sen- 
sible Benedick bear it, pluck off the bull's horns, and 
set them in my forehead : and let me be vilely paint- 
ed ; 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. 

3 The tune sounded to call off the dogs. 
* The name of a faraoug archer. 



Claud. If this should ever happen, thou wouldst 
be horn-mad. 

D. Pedro. Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his 
quiver in Venice, thou wilt quake for this shortly. 

Bene. I look for an earthquake too then. 

D. Pedro. Well, you will temporize with the 
hours. In the 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 — 

Claud. To the tuition of heaven : From my 
house, (if I had it,) — 

D. Pedro. The sixth of July : Your loving friend, 
Benedick. 

Bene. Nay, mock not, mock not : The body of 
your discourse is sometime guarded with fragments, 
and the guards are but slightly basted on neither ; 
ere you flout old ends any further, examine your 
conscience ; and so I leave you. ^Exit Benedick. 

Gaud. My liege, your highness now may do me 
good. 

D, Pedro. My love is thine to teach j teach it 
but how. 
And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn 
Any hard lesson that may do thee good. 

Claud. Hath Leonato any son, my lord ? 

D. Pedro. No child but Hero, she's his only heir : 
Dost thou aflfect her, Claudio ? 

Claud. O my lord. 

When you went onward on this ended action, 
I look'd upon her with a soldier's eye. 
That lik'd, but had a rougher task in hand 
Than to drive liking to the name of love : 
But now I am return'd, and that war-thoughts 
Have left their places vacant, in their rooms 
Come thronging soft and delicate desires, 
All prompting me how fair young Hero is. 
Saying, I lik'd her ere I went to wars. 

D. Pedro. Thou wilt be like a lover presently, 
And tire the hearer with a book of words : 
If 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 ! 
But lest my liking might too sudden seem, 
I would have salv'd it wdth a longer treatise. 

D. Pedro. What need the bridge much broader 
than the flood ? 
The fairest grant is the necessity : 
Look, what will serve, is fit : 'tis once s, 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. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — A Room in Leonato's House. 

Enter Leonato and Antonio. 
Leon. How now, brother ? Where is my cousin, 
your son ? Hath he provided this musick ? 
* Once for all. 



Act II. Scene I. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



Ill 



Jnt. He is very busy about it. But, brother, 
I can tell you strange news that you yet dreamed 
not of. 

Leon. Are they good ? 

Ant. As the event stamps them ; but tliey have 
a good cover, they show well outward. The prince 
and count Claudio, walking in a thick.plcached*^ 
alley in my orchard, were thus much overheard by 
a man of mine : The prince discovered to Claudio, 
that he loved my niece your daughter, and meant 
to acknowledge it this night in a dance ; and, if he 
found her accordant, he meant to take the present 
time by the top, and instantly break with you of it. 

I^eon. Hath the fellow any wit, that told you this ? 

A7U. 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 peradventure 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 Don John and Conrade. 

Con, 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 suf- 
ferance. 

D. John. I wonder, that thou being (as thou 
say'st tliou art) born under Saturn, goest about to 
apply a moral medicine to a mortifying mischief. 
I cannot hide what I am : I must be sad when I 
have cause, and smile at no man's jests ; eat when I 
have stomach, and wait for no man's leisure ; sleep 
when I am drowsy, and tend to no man's business; 
laugh when I am merry, and claw 7 no man in his 
humour. 

Con. Yea, but you must not make the full show 
of this, till you may do it without controlment. You 
have of late stood out against your brother, and he 
hath ta'en you newly into his grace ; where it is 
impossible you should take true root, but by the fair 



weather that you make yourself: it is needful that 
you frame the season for your own harvest. 

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 disdained of all, than to fashion a carriage to 
rob love from any : in this, though I cannot be said 
to be a flattering honest man, it must not be denied 
that I am a plain-dealing villain. I am trusted with 
a muzzle, and enfranchised with a clog ; therefore I 
have decreed not to sing in my cage : If 1 had my 
mouth, I would bite ; if I had my liberty, I would 
do my liking ; in the mean time, let me be that I 
am, and seek not to alter me. 

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 Leo- 
nato ; and I can give you intelligence of an intended 
marriage. 

L>. John. Will it serve for any model to build 
mischief on ? What is he for a fool, tliat betroths 
himself to unquietness ? 

Bora. Marry, it is your brother's right hand. 

D. John. Who ? (he 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 
Leonato. 

J). John. A very forward March-chick ! How 
came you to this ? 

Bora. Being entertained for a perfumer, as I was 
smoking a musty room, comes me the prince and 
Claudio, hand in hand, in sad conference : I whipt 
me behind the arras ; and there heard it agreed 
upon, that the prince should woo Hero for himself, 
and having obtained her, give her to count Claudio. 

L>. John. Come, come, let us thither ; this may 
prove food to my displeasure ; that young start-up 
hath all the glory of my overthrow ; if I can cross 
him any way, I bless myself every way : You are 
both sure, and will assist me ? 

Con. To the death, my lord. 

L>. John. Let us to the great supper j 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 11. 



SCENE I. — ^ HaU in Leonato'* House. 

Enter Lbokato, 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-bunicd 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 : 

« Thickly.intcrwoTea ? Flatter. 



the one is too like an image, and says nothing ; and 
the other, too like my lady's eldest son, evermore 
tattling. 

Leon. Then half signior Benedick's tongue in 
count John's mouth, and half count John's melan- 
choly in signior Benedick's face, — 

Beat. With a good leg, and a good foot, uncle, 
and money enough in his purse, such a man would 
win any woman in tlie world, — if he could get her 
good will. 

Leon. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get 
thee a husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue. 



112 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



Act II. 



Ant. Well, niece, [To Hero.] I trust, you will 
be ruled by your father. 

Beat. Yes, it is my cousin's duty to make courtesy, 
and say, Father, as it please j/ou : — but yet for all 
that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, or else 
make another courtesy, and say. Father, as it please 
me. 

Leon. Well, niece, I hope to see you one day 
fitted with a husband. 

Beat. Not till men are made of some other metal 
than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be 
ovemiaster'd 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 answer. 

Beat. The fault will be in the musick, cousin, if 
you be not woo'd in good time : if the prince be 
too important s 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 revellers are entering ; brother, make 
good room. 

Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Bal- 
thazar ; 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, 1 am yours for the walk : and, espe- 
cially, 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 ? 

Hero. When I like your favour; for heaven 
forbid 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. 

Urs. I know you well enough ; you are signior 
Antonio. 

Ayit. 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 wit? 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. 

s Importunate. 



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. 

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 com- 
mendation is not in his vnt, but in his villainy ; for 
he both pleaseth men, and angers them, and then 
they laugh at him, and beat him. 

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. [Musick within.^ 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 hut 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 
bearing. 9 

D. John. Are not you signior Benedick ? 

Claud. You know me well ; I am he. 

D. John. Signior, you are very near my brotlier 
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. 

Bora. So did I too ; and he swore he would marry 
her to night. 

D. John. Come, let us to the banquet. 

[Exeunt 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 oflSce and affairs of love : 
Therefore, all hearts in love use their own tongues ; 
Let every eye negotiate 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 
business, 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. 

9 Carriage, demeanour ' Passion. 



Scene I. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



113 



I 



Claud. I wish him joy of her. . 

Bene. Why, 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 ; 
'twas the boy that stole your meat, and you'll beat 
the post. 

Gaud. 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, 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 dis- 
position of Beatrice, that puts the world into her 
person, and so gives me out. Well, I'll be re- 
venged as I may. 

Re-enter Don Pedro. 

D. Pedro. Now, signior, where's the count ? Did 
you see him ? 

Bene. Troth, my lord, I have plfyed the part of 
lady Fame. I found him here as melancholy as a 
lodge in a wai-ren ; I told him, and, I tliink, I told 
him true, that your grace had got the good will of 
this young !ady ; 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 overjoyed 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 be- 
stow'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 re- 
store 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 wronged by you. 

Bene. O, she misused me past the endurance of a 
block ; an oak, but with one green leaf on it, would 
have answ^ered her ; my very visor began to assume 
life, and scold with her. She told me, not thinking I 
had been myself, that I was the prince's jester; that 
I was duller than a great thaw; huddling jest upon 
jest, with such 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 : she would have made Hercules have 
turned spit ; yea, and have cleft his club to make 
the fire too. Come, talk not of her. 

Re-enter Claudio, Beatrice, Leovato, anef Hbro. 

/>. 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 Antipotles, tliat 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 embassage 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 sir, here's a dish I love not ; I cannot 
endure my lady Tongue. [Exit. 

D. Pedro. Come, lady, come ; you have lost tlie 
heart of signior Benedick. 

Beat. Indeed, my lord, he lent it me a while; and 
I give him use '-' for it, a double heart for his single 
one : marry, once before, he won it of me with false 
dice, therefore your grace may well say I have lost 
it. 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 ? 

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 mar- 
riage, and God give thee joy ! 

Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and with 
her my fortunes : his grace hath made tlie match, 
and all grace say Amen to it ! 

Beat. Speak, count, 'tis your cue. 3 

Claud. Silence is the perfectest herald of joy : I 
were but little happy, if I could say how much. — 
Lady, as you are mine, I am yours ; I give away 
myself for you, and dote upon the exchange. 

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. 

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 comer, and cry, heigh ho ! for a hus- 
band. 

D. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one. 

Beat. Hath your grace ne'er a brother like you ? 

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 bom in a merry hour. 

Beat. No, sure, my lord, my mother cry'd ; but 
then there wao a star danced, and under that was I 
bom. — 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 

pardon. [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 un- 

happiness, and waked herself with laughing. 

« Interett ' Turn : a phraw among the playen. 



1]4. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



Act II. 



D. Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of a 
husband. 

Leon. O, by no means ; she mocks all her wooers 
out of suit. 

D. Pedro. She were an excellent wife for Be- 
nedick. 

Leon. O, my lord, if they were but a week mar- 
ried, 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, 
tc have all things answer my mind. 

D. Pedro. Come, you shake the head at so long 
a breathing ; but, I warrant thee, Claudio, the time 
shall not go dully by us ; I will, in the interim, 
undertake one of Hercules' labours ; wliich 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 1 doubt not but 
to fashion it, if you three will but minister such as- 
sistance as I shall give you direction. 

Leon. My lord, I am for you, though it cost me 
ten nights' 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. Pedro. And Benedick is not the unhopefullest 
husband 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 Bene- 
dick : — and I, with your two helps, will so practise 
on Benedick, that, in despite of his quick wit and 
his queasy ^ stomach, he shall fall in love with Bea- 
trice. If we can do this, Cupid is no longer an 
archer ; his glory shall be ours, for we are the only 
love-gods. Go in with me, and I will tell you my 
dnft. {Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Another Room in Leonato's House. 

Enter Don John and Borachio. 

D, John. It is so ; the count Claudio shall marry 
the daughter 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 -gentlewoman to Hero. 

D. John. 1 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. Ttie 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 



■* Lineage. 



' Fastidious. 



the renowned Claudio (whose estimation do you 
mightily hold up) to a contaminated person, such a 
one as Hero. 

I). John. What proof shall I make of that? 

Bora Proof enough to misuse the prince, to vex 
Claudio, to undo Hero, and kill Leonato : Look 
you for any other issue ? 

D. John* Only to despite 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 6 a kind 
of zeal both to the prince and Claudio, as — in love 
of your brother's honour who hath made this match; 
and his friend's reputation, who is thus like to be 
cozened with the semblance of a maid, — that you 
have discovered thus. They will scarcely believe 
this without trial : cffer 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 Borachio ; and bring them to 
see this, the very night before the intended wed- 
ding : for, in the mean time, I will so fashion the 
matter, that Hero shall be absent ; and there shall 
appear such seeming truth of Hero's disloyalty, that 
jealousy shall be call'd assurance, and all the pre- 
paration overthrown. 

I). John. Grow this to what adverse issue it can, 
I will put it in practice : Be cunning in the work- 
ing this, and thy fee is a thousand ducats. 

Bora. Be you constant in the accusation, and my 
cunning shall not shame me. 

D. John. I will presently go learn their day of 
man'iage. \_Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — Leonato's Garden. 
Enter Benehick 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. {ExU Boy.] — I do much 
wonder, that one man, seeing how much another 
man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviours to 
love, will, after he hath laughed at such shallov^ 
follies in others, become the argument of his own 
scorn by falling in love : And such a man is Clau- 
dio. I have known, when there was no musick 
with him but the drum and fife ; and now had he 
rather hear the tabor and the pipe : I have known, 
when he would have walked ten mile afoot, to see 
a good armour ; and now will he lie ten nights 
awake carving the fashion of a new doublet. He 
was wont to speak plain, and to the purpose, like an 
honest man, and a soldier ; and now is he turn'd 
orthographer ; his words are a very fantastical ban- 
quet, just so many strange dishes. May I be so 
converted, and see with these eyes ? I cannot tell ; 
I think not : I wall 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 : 
another virtuous ; yet I am well : but till all graces 
be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my 
grace. Rich she shall be, that's certain ; wise, or ■ 
<> Pretend. 



Scene III. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



115 



I'll none ; virtuous, or I'll never cheapen her ; fair, 
or I'll never look on her ; mild, or come not near ; 
noble, or not I for an angel ; of good discourse, an 
excellent musician, and her hair shall be of what 
colour it pleases. Ha ! the prince and monsieur 
love ! I will liide me in the arbour. [ Withdraws. 

Enter Don Pedro, Leonato, and Claudio. 
D. Pedro. Come, shall we hear this musick ? 
Claud. Yea, my good lord : — How still the 
evening is. 
As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony 1 
D. Pedro. See you where Benedick hath liid liim- 

self? 
Claud. O, very well, my lord : the musick ended, 
We'll fit the kid-fox with a penny-worth. 

Enter Balthazar with musick. 

D. Pedro. Come, Balthazar, we'll hear tliat song 
again. 

Balth. O good my lord, tax not so bad a voice 
To slander musick any more than once. 

D. Pedro. It is the witness still of excellency, 
To put a strange face on his own perfection : — 
I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more. 

Balth. Because you talk of wooing, I will sing : 
Since many a wooer doth commence his suit 
To her he thinks not worthy ; yet he wooes ; 
Yet will he swear, he loves. 

1). Pedro. Nay, pray thee, come : 

Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument, 
Do it in notes. 

Balth. Note this before my notes, 

There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting. 

D. Pedro. Why these are very crotchets that he 
speaks ; 
Note, notes, forsootli, and noting ! [Miisick. 

Bene. Now, Divine air! now is his soul ravish 'd ! 
— Is it not strange, that sheep's guts should hale 
souls out of men's bodies ? — Well, a horn for my 
money, when all's done. 

Balthazar sings. 
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, nonny. 

II. 

Sing no more ditties, sing no mo'' 

Ofdtnnps so dull and heavy; 
The fraud of men was et>er so. 
Since summer first was leafy. 
Then sigh not so, ^c 
D. Pedro. By my troth, a good song. 
Balth. And an ill singer, my lord. 
D. Pedro. Ha ? no ; no, faith ; tliou singest well 
enough for a shift. 

Bene. [Aside.] An he had been a dog, that 
should have howled thus, tliey would have hanged 
him ; and, I pray heaven, his bad voice bode no 
mischief! I had as lief have heard the night-raven, 
come what plague could have come after it. 
' More. 



D. Pedro. Yea, marry; [To Claudio.] — Dost 
thou hear, Balthazar ? I pray thee, get us some ex- 
cellent musick ; 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, [^j-^mh^ Balthazar 
and musick.] 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 comer ? 

[Aside. 

Leon. By my troth, ray lord, I cannot tell what to 
think of it; but that she loves him with an enraged 
alfection, — it is past the infinite of thought. 

D. Pedro. May be, she doth but counterfeit. 

Claud. 'Faith, like enough. 

Leon. Counterfeit! There never was counterfeit 
of passion came 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 fisli will bite. 

[Asiile. 

Leon. What effects, my lord ! She will sit you — 
You heard my daughter tell you how. 

Claud. She did, indeed. 

D. Pedro. How, how, I pray you? You amaze 
me : I would have thought her spirit had been in- 
vincible against all assaults of affection. 

Leon. I would have sworn it had, my lord ; es- 
pecially against Benedick. 

Bene. [Aside.] I should tliink this a gull, but 
that the white-bearded fellow speaks it : knavery 
cannot, sure, hide itself in such reverence. 

Clatid. He hath ta'en the infection ; hold it up. 

[Aside. 

D. Pedro. Hath she made her affection known 
to Benedick? 

Leon. No ; and swears she never will : that's her 
torment. 

Claud. 'Tis true, indeed ; so your daughter says : 
Shall I, says she, that have so oft encounter d him 
with scorn, un-ile to him that I love him ? 

I^eon. This says she now when she is beginning 
to write to him : for she'll be up twenty times a 
night ; and there will she sit till she have writ a 
sheet of paper: — my daughter tells us all. Then 
will she tear the letter into a thousand lialf-pence ; 
rail at herself, that slie should write to one that she 
knew would flout her : / measure him, says she, hy 
my own spirit ; for I should flout 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, and 
cries, siveet Benedick ! 

Leon. She doth, indeed ; my daughter says so : 
and the ecstasy hath so much overborne her, that 
my daughter is sometime afraid she will do a des- 
perate outrage to herself : It is very true. 

D. Pedro. It were good, that lienedick knew of 
it by some otlier, 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 
I 2 



116 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



Act III 



him : She's an excellent sweet lady ; and, out of all 
suspicion, she is virtuous. 

Claud. And she is exceeding wise. 

D. Pedro. In everything, but in loving Benedick. 

Leon. I am sorry for her, as I have just cause, 
being her uncle and her guardian. 

-D. Pedro. I would she had bestowed this dotage 
on me ; I would have daff 'd 8 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. 

D. Pedro. She doth well : if she should make 
tender of her love, 'tis very possible he'll scorn it ; 
for the man, as you know all, hath a contemptuous 
spirit. 

Claud. He is a very proper man. 

D. Pedro. He hath indeed a good outward hap- 
piness. 

Claud. And in my mind, very wise. 

D. Pedro. He doth, indeed, show some sparks 
that are like wit 

Leo7i. And I take him to be valiant. 

D. Pedro. As Hector, I assure you : and in the 
managing of quarrels you may say he is wise ; for 
either he avoids them with great discretion, or un- 
dertakes them with a most Christian-like fear. 

Leon. If he do fear God, he must necessarily keep 
peace ; if he break the peace, he ought to enter into 
a quarrel with fear and trembling. 

B. Pedro. And so will he do; for the man doth 
fear God. 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 
daughter ; let it cool the while. I love Benedick 
well ; and I could wish he would modestly examine 
himself, to see how much he is unworthy so good a 
lady. 

Leon. My lord, 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 thei'e be the same net spread for 
her ; and that must your daughter and her gentle- 
woman carry. The sport will be, when they hold 
one an opinion of another's dotage, and no such 



matter ; tliat's the scene that I would see, which 

will be merely a dumb show. Let us send her to 

call him in to dinner. [Aside. 

[Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato. 

Benepick advances from the Arbour. 

Bene. This can be no trick : The conference wa-^ 
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 ra- 
ther 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 vir- 
tuous ; — 'tis so, I cannot reprove it ; and wise, but 
for loving me : — By my troth, it is no addition to 
her wit ; — nor no great argument of her folly, for 
I will be horribly in love with her. — I may chance 
have some odd quirks and remnants of wit broken 
on me, because I have railed so long against mar- 
riage : — But doth not the appetite alter? A man 
loves the meat in his youth, that he cannot endure 
in his age : Shall quips, and sentences, and these 
paper bullets of the brain, awe a man from the 
career of his humour ? No : The world must be 
peopled. When I said, I would die a bachelor, I 
did not think I should live till I were mamed. — 
Here comes Beatrice : By this day, she's a fair lady ; 
I do spy some marks of love in her. 

Enter Beatrice. 

Beat. Against my will, I am sent to bid you come 
in to dinner. 

Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains. 

Bent. 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 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. [Exit. 

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 : — If 
I do not take pity of her, I am a villain ; if I do not 
love her, I am a Jew : I will go get her picture. 

[Exit. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I Leonato'5 Garden. 

Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula. 
Hero. Good Margaret, run thee into the parlour ; 
There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice 
Proposing 9 with the prince and Claudio i 
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, 

8 Thrown ofF. 9 Discoursing. 



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, pre- 
sently. [Exit. 
Hero. Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come, 
1 Seriously carried on. 



Scene I. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



117 



As we do trace this alley up and down, 

Our talk must only be of Benedick : 

When I do name liim, let it be thy part 

To praise him more than ever man did merit : 

My talk to thee m'ust be, how Benedick 

Is sick in love with Beatrice : Of this matter 

Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made, 

That only wounds by hearsay. Now begin ; 

Enter Beatrice, behind. 
For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs 
Close by the ground, to hear our conference. 

Urs. The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish 
Cut vvitli her golden oars the silver stream. 
And greedily devour the treacherous bait : 
So angle we for Beatrice ; who even now 
Is couch'd 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. — 

[Thei/ advance to the bower. 
No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful ; 
I know, her spirits are as coy and wild 
As haggards of the rock. 2 

Urs. But are you sure, 

That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely ? 

Jlero. So says the prince, and my new-trothed 
lord. 

Urs. And did they bid you tell her of it, madam? 

Hero. They did entreat me to acquaint her of it : 
But I persuaded them, if they loved Benedick, 
To wish liim wrestle with aiFection, 
And never to let Beatrice know of it. 

Urs. Wliy 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 j 
If low, an agate very vilely cut : 
If speaking, why, a vane blown with all wind : 
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 wlio dare tell her so ? If I should speak, 
She'd mock me into air ; O, she would laugh me 
Out of myself, press me to death with wit. 
Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire, 
' A species of hawks. 



Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly : 
It were a better deatli than die with mocks. 

Urs. Yet tell her of it ; hear what she will say. 

Hero. No ; rather I will go to Benedick, 
And counsel him to fight against his passion : 
And, truly, I'll devise some honest slanders 
To 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. 

Urs. She's lim'd, I warrant you ; we have caught 
her, madam. 

Hero. If it prove so, then loving goes by haps : 
Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps. 

[Exeunt Hero and Ursula. 

Beatrice advances. 

Bent. 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 tliee 

To bind our loves up in a holy band : 
For others say, thou dost deserve ; and I 
Believe it better than reportingly. \^ExU. 

SCENE II. — A Room in Leonato'* House. 

Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, ayid 
Leonato. 

D. Pedro. I do but stay till your marriage be 
consummate, and then I go toward Arragon. 

Claud. I'll bring you thitlier, my lord, if you'll 
vouchsafe 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 Benedick for his company ; for, from 
the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, he is 
all mirth ; he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid's bow- 
string, and the little hangman dare not shoot at 
him : he hath a heart as sound as a bell, and his 
tongue is the clapper ; for what his heart thinks, 
his tongue speaks. 

Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been. 

Leon. So say I ; methinks you are sadder. 

Claud. I hoiie, 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 \vants money. 

Bene. I have the tooth-ach. 

D. Pedro. Draw it. 

I 3 



118 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



Act III. 



Bene. Hang it ! 

Claud. You must hang it first, and draw it after- 
wards. 

D. Pedro. What ? sigh for the tooth-ach ? 

Leon. Where is but a humour, or a worm ? 

Bene. Well, every one can master a grief, but 
he that has it. 

Claud. Yet say I, he is in love. 

D. Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy in 
him, \inless it be a fancy that he hath to strange 
disguises ; as, to be a Dutchman to-day ; a French- 
man to-morrow ; or in the shape of two countries 
at once. 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 ; What should that bode ? 

D. Pedro. Hath any man seen him at the barber'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. 

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? 

Z>. 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 : 
Conclude, 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. 

Bene, Yet is this no charm for the tooth-ach. — 
Old signior, 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 and Leonato. 

D. Pedro. For my life, to break with him about 
Beatrice. 

> 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 they 
meet. 

Enter Don John. 

D. John. My lord and brother, God save you. 

L>. Pedro. Good den, brother. 

D. John. If your leisure served, I would speak 
with you. 

D. Pedro. In private? 

D. Pedro. If it please you ; — yet count Claudio 
may hear ; for what I would speak of, concerns him. 

Z). Pedro. What's the matter? 

D. John. Means your lordship to be married to- 
morrow? [To Claudio. 

D. Pedro. You know, he does. 

D. Johii. I know not that, when he knows what 
I know. 

Claud. If there be any impediment, I pray you, 
discover it. 

D. John. You may think I love you not; let that 



appear 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 ! 

n. Pedro. Why, what's the matter ? 

D. John. I came hither to tell you ; and, cir- 
cumstances shortened, (for she hath been too long 
a talking of,) the lady is disloyal. 

Claud. Who? Hero? 

I). John. Even she ; Leonato's Hero, your Hero, 
every man's Hero. 

Claud. Disloyal? 

B. John. The word is too good to paint out her 
wickedness ; I could say, she were worse ; think 
you of a worse title, and I will fit her to it. Wonder 
not till further warrant : 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, con- 
fess not that you know : if you will follow me, I 
will show 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. 

Z>. Pedro. And as I wooed for thee to obtain 
her, I will join with thee to disgrace her. 

D. John. 1 will disparage her no farther, till you 
are my witnesses : bear it coldly but till midnight, 
and let the issue show itself. 

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. —^Street. 

Enter Dogberry and Verges, with the Watch. 

Dogb. Are you good men, and true ? 

Ve7-g. Yea, or else it were pity but they should 
suffer salvation. 

Dogb. Nay, that were a punishment too good for 
them, if they should have any allegiance in them, 
being chosen for the prince's watch. 

Verg. Well, give them their charge, neighbour 
Dogberry. 

Dogb. First, who think you the most disheartless 
man to be constable ? 

1 Watch. Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal ; 
for they can write and read. 

Dogb. Come hither, neighbour Seacoal. Heaven 
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 nature. 

2 Watch. Botli which, master constable, 

Dogb. You have ; I knew it would be your an- 
swer. Well, for your favour, sir, make no boast of 
it ; and for your writing and reading, let that appear 
when there is no need of such vanity. You are 
thought here to be the most senseless and fit man for ,^ 
the constable of the watch ; therefore bear you the \ 
lantern: This is your charge ; You shall comprehend 
all vagrom men ; you are to bid any man stand, ia .> 
the prince's name. 

2 Watch. How, if he will not stand ? 



Scene III. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



119 



Dogb. Why then, take no note of him, but let 
hhn go ; and presently call the rest of the watch to- 
gether, and Uiank heaven you are rid of a knave. 

Verg. If he will not stand when he is bidden, he 
is none of the prince's subjects. 

Dogb. True, and they are to meddle with none 
but the prince's subjects : — You shall also make no 
noise in tlie streets ; for, for the watcli to babble and 
talk is most tolerable and not to be endured. 

2 Watch. We will rather sleep than talk ; we 
know what belongs to a watch. 

Dogb. AVhy, you speak like an ancient and most 
quiet watchman ; for I cannot see how sleeping 
should offend : only, have a care that your bills 3 
be not stolen : — Well, you are to call at all the 
ale-houses, and bid those tliat are drunk get them to 
bed. 

2 JFatch. How, if they will not ? 

Dogb. Why then, let them alone till they are 
sober; if they make you not then the better an- 
swer, you may say, tliey are not the men you took 
them for. 

2 iratch. 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 himself what he is, and steal out 
of your company. 

Verg. You have been always called a merciful 
man, 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 tlie 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, con- 
stable, 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, tliat, I think, he cannot. 

Dogb. Five sliillings 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. 

Verg. 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 tliere to-morrow, tliere is a great 

coil to-night: Adieu, be vigitant, I beseech you. 

[Exeunt Dogberry and Verges. 

3 Weapons of the w atchraaj. 



Enter Borachio and Conrade. 



Bora. What ! Conrade, — 

Watch. Peace, stir not. \^Aside. 

Bora. Conrade, I say ! 

Con. Here, man, I am at thy elbow. 

Bora. Stand thee close then under this pent- 
house, for it drizzles rain ; and I will, like a true 
drunkard, utter all to thee. 

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 shouldst rather ask, if it were pos- 
sible 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 shows thou art unconfirmed ^ : Thou 
knowest that tlie fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or a 
cloak, is notliing 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 
tliis fashion is ? 

Watch. I know that Deformed; he has been a 
vile thief this seven year ; he goes up and down like 
a gentleman : I remember his name. 

Bora. Didst thou not hear somebody ? 

Co7i. No ; 'twas the vane on the house. 

Bora. Seest thou not, I say, what a deformeil 
thief this fashion is? how giddily he turns about 
all the hot bloods, between fourteen and five-and- 
thirty ? 

Con. All tills 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 gentle- 
woman, by tlie 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 tliee, how the prince, Claudio, and 
my master, planted, and placed, and possessed by 
my master don John, saw afar off" in the orchard 
this amiable 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 IMargaret ; 
and partly by his oaths, which first possessed them, 
partly by the dark night, which did deceive tJieni, 
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 aji- 
pointed, 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 t>f 
lechery that ever was known in tlic commonwealth. 

< Unpractiaed in the ways of the world. 
I 4 



120 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Act HI. Scene IV. 



1 Watch. And one Deformed is one of them ; I 
know him, he wears a lock. 

Con. Masters, masters. 

2 Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed forth, 
I warrant you. 

Con. Masters, — 

1 Watch. 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 desire her to rise. 

Urs. I will, lady. 

Hero. And bid her come hither. 

Urs. Well. [Eait 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 war- 
rant, your cousin will say so. 

Hei'o. 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 saw the duchess of Milan's 
gown, that they praise so. 

Hero. O that exceeds, they say. 

Marg. By my troth, its but a night-gown in re- 
spect of yours : Cloth of gold, and cuts, and laced 
with silver; set with pearls, down sleeves, side- 
sleeves, and skirts round, underborne with a bluish 
tinsel : but for a fine, quaint, graceful, and excel- 
lent fashion, yours is worth ten on't. 

Hero. God give me joy to wear it, for my heart 
is exceeding heavy ! 

Enter Beatrice. 

Hero. Good morrow, coz. 

Beat. Good morrow, sweet Hero. 'Tis almost 
five o'clock, cousin j 'tis time you were ready. By 
my troth, I am exceeding ill : — hey ho ! 

Marg. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband ? 

Beat. By my troth, I am sick. 

Marg. Get you some of this distilled Carduus 
Benedictiis, and lay it to your heart ; it is the only 
thing for a qualm. 

Hero. There thou prick'st her with a thistle. 

Beat. Bened ictus ! why Benedictus ? you have 
some moral in this Benedictus. 

Marg. Moral ! no, by my troth, I have no moral 
meaning ; I meant, plain holy^thistle. You may 
think, perchance, that I think you are in love : nay, 
hy'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 you will be 
in love, or that you can be in love ; yet Benedick 
was such another, and now is he become a man ; 
he swore he would never marry ; and yet now, in 
despite of his heart, he eats his meat without grudg- 
ing : and how .you 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. 

^ A kii.dof ruff 



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. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — Another Room in Leonato's House. 
Enter Leonato, with Dogberry and Verges. 

Leon. What would you with me, honest neigh- 
bour? 

Dogb. Marrj', 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. 

Dogh. 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 matter ; an old man, sir, and his wits are not so 
blunt, as 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, neigh- 
bour Verges. 

Leon. Neighbours, you are tedious. 

Dogb. It pleases your worship to say so, but we 
are the poor duke's oflicers ; 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 thy 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. 

I^eon. 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 : it 
is a world to see ! 6 — Well said, i'faith, neigbour 
Verges : — well, 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, all 
men are not alike ; alas, good neighbour ! 

Leon. Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of 
you ; but I must leave you. 

Dogb. One word, sir ; our watch, sir, have, in- 
deed, 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 

6 J. e. It is wonderful to see. 



Act IV. Scene I. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



121 



Seacoal, 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 non com : only get the learned writer 
to set down our excommunication, and meet me at 
the gaol. {Exeunt, 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I. — Tlui Inside of a Church. 

Enter Don Pedro, Don John, Leonato, Friar, 
Claudio, Benedick, Hero, and Beatrice, ^c 

Leon. Come, friar Francis, be brief; only to tlie 
plain form of marriage, and you shall recount their 
particular duties afterwards. 

Friar. You come hitlicr, 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 
tliis count ? 

Hero. I do. 

Friar. If eitlier of you know any inward impe- 
diment 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 laughing, as, ha ! ha ! he ! 

Claud. Stand thee by, friar: — Father, by your leave ! 
Will you witli 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 thank- 
fulness. — 
There, Leonato, take her back again ; 
Give not this rotten orange to your friend ; 

vShe's but the sign and semblance of her honour : 

Behold, how like a maid she blushes here : 

(), 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 : 

Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty. 

Leon. What do you mean, my lord ? 

Claud. Not to be married. 

Not 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 her, 
You'll say, she did embrace me as a husband, 
And so extenuate the 'forehand sin : 
No, Leonato, 
1 never tempted her with word too large 7 ; 

7 Licentioiu. 



But, as a brother to his sister, show'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 
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 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 ? WTio 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 are you no maiden. — Leonato, 
I am sorry you must hear ; Upon mine honour. 
Myself, my brother, and this grieved count. 
Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night, 
Talk with a ruffian at her chamber-window ; 
Who hath, indeed, most like a liberal 9 villain, 
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 tliem : Tlius, pretty lady, 
.1 am sorry for thy much misgovcmment. 

Claud. O Hero ! what a Hero hadst thou been, 
fhalf tliy outward graces had been placed 

bout thy thoughts, and counsels of thy heart ! 
t, fare thee well, most foul, most fair ! fart well, 
Thou pure impiety, and impious purity ! 
For tliee I'll lock up all the gates of love. 



Wildly. 



9 Too firee of tongue. 



122 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



Act IV. 



And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang, 
To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm, 
And never shall it more be gracious. 

Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point for me? 

[Hero swoons. 

Beat. Why, how now, cousin? wherefore sink 
you down ? 

D. John. Come, let us go ; these things, come 
thus to light, 
Smotlier her spirits up. 

[Exeunt Don Pedro, Don John, <and Claudio. 

Bene. How doth the lady ? 

BecU. Dead, 1 think ; — help, uncle ; — 

Hero! why. Hero ! — Uncle ! — Signior Benedick ! 
friar ! 

Leon. O fate, take not away thy heavy hand ! 
Death is tlie 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 ? 
Do not live. Hero : do not ope thine eyes : 
For did I think thou wouldst not quickly die. 
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, i 
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 mir'd with infamy, 
I might have said. No part of it is mine, 
This shame derives itself Ji-o^n unknown loins 9 
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. 

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, confinn'd ! O, that is stronger 
made, 
Which \\ as 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 noting 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 ; 
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 j 



• Dispocition of things. 



Trust not my reading, nor my observations. 
Which with experimental seal doth warrant 
The tenour of my book ; trust not my age, 
My reverence, calling, nor divinity, 
If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here 
Under some biting error. 

Leon. Friar, it cannot be : 

Thou seest, that all the grace that she hath left, 
Is, that she will not add unto her guilt 
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 3 in the 
^princes. 

Bene. Two of them have the very bent of honour ; 
And if their vnsdoms 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 havock of my means, 
Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends. 
But they shall find, awak'd in such a kind. 
Both strength of limb, and policy of mind. 
Ability in means, and choice of friends, 
To quit me of them throughly. 

Friar. Pause a while, 

And let my counsel sway you in this case. 
Your daughter here the princes left for dead ; 
Let her a while 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. 

Leo7i. 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 show us 
Whiles it was ours : — So will it fare with Claudio r 
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, 



2 Sullied. 



Misconception. 



■* Over-rate. 



Scene I. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



123 



Into the eye and prospect of his soul, 

Than when she liv'd indeed: — then shall he mourn, 

And wish he had not so accus'd her ; 

No, though he thought his accusation true. 

Let this be so, and doubt not but success 

Will fashion the event in better shape 

ITian I can lay it down in likelihood. 

But if all aim but this be levell'd false, 

The supposition of tlie lady's death 

Will quench the wonder of her infamy : 

And, if it sort not well, you may conceal her 

( As best befits her wounded reputation) 

In some reclusive and religious life, 

Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries. 

Bene. 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. 

Leon. Being that I flow in grief. 

The smallest twine may lead me. 

Friar. 'Tis well consented ; presently away ; 
For to strange sores strangely they strain the 
cure : — 
Come, lady, die to live : this wedding day, 

Perhaps, is but prolong'd ; have patience, and 
endure. 

[Exeiint Friar, Hero, and Leonato. 

Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept ail this 
wliile ? 

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 show such friendship ? 

Beat. A very even way, but no such friend. 

Bene. May a man do it ? 

Beat. It is a man's office, but not yours. 

Bene. I do love nothing in the world so well as 
you : Is not that 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 sw ear by it, and eat it. 

Bene. I will swear by it, that you love me ; and 
I will make him eat it, that says I love not you. 

Beat. Will you not eat your word ? 

Bene. With no sauce that can be devised to it : 
I protest, I love thee. 

Beat. Why then, heaven 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. Tarry, sweet Beatrice. 

* Intimacy. 



Btat. 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. 

Bene. 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 kins- 
woman ? — O, that I were a man ! — What ! bear 
her in hand until they come to take hands ; and 
then with public accusation, uncovered slander, im- 
mitigated rancour, — O, 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^ ! Surely, a princely 
testimony, a goodly count-confect 7 ; a sweet gal- 
lant, surely ! O, that I were a man for his sake ! or 
that I had any friend would be a man for my sake ! 
But manhood is melted into courtesies, valour into 
compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, 
and trim ones too : he is now as valiant as Hercu- 
les, that only tells a lie, and swears it : — I cannot 
be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman 
with grieving. 

Bene- Tarry, good Beatrice : By this hand, I love 
thee. 

Beat. Use it for my love some other way than 
swearing by it. 

Bene. Think you in 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 me a dear account : 
As you hear of me, so think of me. Go, comfoit 
your cousin : I must say, she is dead ; and so, fare- 
well. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — A Prison. 

Enter Djdgberry, Verges, arid Sexton, in gowns ; 
and the Watch, with Conrade and 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 1 and my partner. 

Verg. Nay, diat's certain ; we have the exhibition 
to examine. 

Sexton. But which are the offenders that are to be 
examined ? 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, it is proved already that you are little 
better than false knaves ; and it w ill go near to be 



< Noblemen. 



' A nobleman made out of sugar. 



124. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



Act V. 



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. 

Birra. Sir, I say to you, we are none. 

Dogb. Well, stand aside. — They are both in a 
tale : Have you writ down — that they are none ? 

Sexton. Master constable, you go not the way to 
examine : you must call forth tlie watch that are 
their accusers. 

Dogb. Yea, marry, that's the eftest way : — Let 
the watch come forth — Masters, I charge you, in 
the prince's name, accuse these men. 

1 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 hiin say else ? 

2 Watch. Marry, that he had received a thousand 
ducats of Don John, for accusing the lady Hero 
wrongfully. 

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 as- 
sembly, and not marry her. 



Dogb. O villain ! tliou wilt be condemned into 
everlasting redemption for this. 

Sexton. 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 constable, 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 band. 

Con. Off, coxcomb. 

Dogb. Where's the sexton ; let him write down 
— the prince's officer, coxcomb. — Come, bind 
them : Thou naughty varlet ! 

Con. Away ! you are an ass, you are an ass. 

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, remem- 
ber, that I am an ass; though it be not written down, 
yet forget not that I am an ass : — No, thou villain, 
thou art full of piety, as shall be proved upon thee 
by good witness. I am a wise fellow ; and, which 
is more, an officer ; and, which is more, a house- 
holder : and, which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh 
as any is in Messina ; and one that knows the law, 
go to ; and a rich fellow enough, go to ; and a fel- 
low 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 ; 
Nor 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 overwhelm'd like 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 such. 
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 
With candle- wasters ; 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 acb 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. 8 

Ant. Therein do men from children nothing difiFer. 

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 pish 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. 
Claud. Good day to both of you. 

Leon. Hear you, my lords, — 
D. Pedro. We have some haste, Leonato. 

Leon. Some haste, my lord ! — well, fare you well, 
my lord : — 
Are you so hasty now? — well, all is one. 
8 Admonition. 



Scene I. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



125 



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, thou dost wrong me : thou dissembler, thou : — 
Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword, 
I fear tliee 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 lies buried with her ancestors : 
O ! in a tomb where never scandal slept, 
Save this of hers fram'd by thy villainy ! 

Claud. My villainy ! 

Leon. Thine, Claudio ; thine, I say. 

D. Pedro. You say not right, old m'an. 

Leon. My lord, my lord, 

I'll 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 child ; 
If thou kill'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man. 

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, boy, follow me: 
Sir boy, I'll whip you from your foining 9 fence ; 
Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will. 

Leon. Brother, — 

Jnt. 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, — 

Ant. Hold you content ; What, man ! I know 
them, yea. 
And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple : 
Scambling, out-facing, fashion-mong'ring Iwys, 
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 patience. 
IV^y heart is sorry for your daughter's death ; 
but, on my honour, she was charg'd with nothing 
But what was true, and very full of proof. 
9 Thrusting. 



Leon. My lord, my lord, — 

D. Pedro. I will not hear you. 

L^eon. No ? 

Brother, away : — I will be hoard ; — 

Ant. And shall, 

Or some of us will smart for it. 

[Exeunt Leonato and Antonio. 

Enter Benedick. 

D. Pedro. Se^, 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. 

i). 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 ? 

D. 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 minstrels ; 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. Pedro. By this light, he changes more and 
more ; I think, he be angry indeed. 

Claud. If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle. 

Bene. Shall I speak a word in your ear ? 

Claud. Heaven 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 pro- 
test 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 ? 

Clmid. I'faith, I tliank him ; he hath bid me to 
a calf's head and a capon ; the which if I do not 
carve most curiously, say, my knife's naught. — 
Shall I not find a woodcock too? 

Bene. Sir, your wit ambles well ; it goes easily. 

D. Pedro, I'll tell thee how Beatrice praised tJiy 
wit the other day : I said, thou hadst a fine wit : 
lYue, says she, ajine lUtie one : No, said I, a great 
wit s Right, says she, a great gross one : Kay, said I, 
a good wit s Just, said she, it hurts nobody : Nay, 
said I, the gentleman is wise; Certain, said she, a 
wise gentleman : Nay, said I, he hath the tongues ; 
That I believe, said she, for he swore a thing to me 
on Monday night, which he forswore on Tuesday 
morning ; there's a double tongue ; there's two tongues. 
Thus did she, an hour together, trans-shape thy par- 



126 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



Act V. 



ticular virtues ; 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 divughter told us all. 

Claud. All, all. 

D. Pedro. But when shall we set the savage bull's 
horns on the sensible Benedick's head ? 

Claud. Yea, and text underneath. Here dwells 
Benedick the married man ? 

liene. 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 
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. \^E3nt Benedick. 

D. Pedro. He is in earnest. 

Claud. In most profound earnest ; and, I'll war- 
rant 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, ivith 
CoNRADE and Boraohio. 

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 ! i Did he not say, my brother was 
fled? 

Dogb. 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 ! 

Claud. Hearken after their offence, my lord ! 

D. Pedro. OflScers, what offence have these men 
done? 

Dogb. Marry, sir, they have committed false re- 
port ; moreover, they have spoken untruths ; se- 
condarily, they are slanders ; sixth and lastly, they 
have belied a lady ; thirdly, they have verified un- 
just things ; and, to conclude, 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. 

D. Pedro. Whom liave you offended, masters, 
that you are thus bound to your answer ? this learned 
constable is too cunning to be understood ; What's 
your oflf'ence ? 

Bora. Sweet prince, let me go no further to mine 
answer ; do you hear me, and let this count kill me. 
I have deceived even your very eyes ; what your 
wisdoms could not discover, these shallow fools 
have brought to light; who, in the night, over- 
neard 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 



Seriou*. 



2 Incited. 



saw me court Margaret in Hero's garment; how 
you disgraced her, when you should marry her : 
my villainy they have upon record ; which I had 
rather seal with my death, than repeat over to my 
shame : the lady is dead upon mine and my master's 
false accusation ; and, briefly, I desire notliing but 
the reward of a villain. 

D. Pedro. Runs not this speech like iron through 
your blood ? 

Claud. I have drunk poison, whiles he utter'd 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 trea- 
chery : — 
And fled he is upon this villainy. 

Claud. Sweet Hero ! now thy image doth appear 
In the rare semblance tliat I loved it first. 

Dogb. 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 and Antonio, vnth the Sexton. 

Leon. 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 ? 

Bora. If you would know your wronger, look 
on me. 

Leon. Art thou the slave, that with thy breath 
hast kill'd 
Mine innocent child ? 

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 3 the people in Messina here 
How innocent she died : and, if your love 
Can labour aught in sad invention, 
Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb. 
And sing it to her bones ; sing it to-night : — 
To-morrow morning come you to my house ; 
And since you could not be my son-in-law. 
Be yet 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 your offer ; and dispose 
For henceforth of poor Claudio. 

3 Acquaint 



Scene II. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



127 



Leon. To-morrow tlaen I will expect your coming; 
To-niglit I take my leave. — Tliis 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,) tliis plaintiff here, the offender, 
did call me ass : I beseech you, let it be remembered 
in his punishment : And also the watch heard them 
talk of one Deformed : tliey say, he wears a key in 
his ear, and a lock hanging by it; and borrows mo- 
ney ; the which he hath used so long, and never 
paid, that now men grow hard-hearted, and will 
lend nothing : 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. 

Leon. There's for thy pains. 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. I wish your worship 
well : I humbly give you leave to depart. — Come, 
neighbour. [Exeu7it Dogberry, Verges, a«rf 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. 

[Exeunt Don Pedro ayid Claudio. 

Leon. Bring you these fellows on ; we'll talk witli 
Margaret, 
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, de- 
serve well at my liands, by helping me 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 deservest it. 

Marg. Well, I will call Beatrice to you. 

^ Exit Margaret. 
Bene. [Sin^ng."] 

The god of love i 
That sits above, 
And knows me, and knows me. 
How pitiful I deserve, — 
I mean, in singing : but in loving. — Leander the 
good swimmer, Troilus the first employer of pan- 
dars, and a whole book full of these quondam car- 
pet 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 ; I have tried ; I 
can find out no rhyme to ladt/ but babi/, an innocent 
rhyme ; for scorn, horn, a hard rhyme ; for school, 
fihtL, a babbling rhyme ; very ominous endings : 
No, I was not l>om under a rhyming planet, nor I 
cannot woo in festival terms. 

« Combined. » Wicked. 



Enter Beatrice. 
Sweet Beatrice, wouldst 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 came 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 are but foul breath, and foid 
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, Claudio 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 altogether ; which maintained so 
politick 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. Su^er love ; a good epithet ! I do suffer 
love, indeed, 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 quarter in rheum : Therefore it is most ex- 
pedient 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 1 leave you too, for here comes one in haste. 

Enter 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 abused ; and don John is tlie 
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, be buried in thy 
eyes, and will go with thee to thy uncle's. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III Tlu: Inside of a Church. 

Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, and Attendants, with 
viusick ami tapers. 
Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato ? 

6 Stir. 



128 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



Act V 



yltlen. It is, my lord. 
Claud. [Heads from a scroll] 

Done to death by slanderous tongues, 

Was the Hero that here lies : 
Death in guerdon "^ of her wrongs. 

Gives her fame which never dies : 
So the life, that died with shame, 
'Lives in death with glonous fame. 
Hang thou there upon the tomb, [Affixing it. 
Praising her when I am dumb. — 
Now, musick, sound, and sing your solemn hymn. 

SONG. 

Pardon, goddess cf the night, 
Those that slew thy virgin knight. 
For the tvhich, with so7igs of woe. 
Round about her tomb they go. 
Midnight, assist our moan ; 
Help us to sigh and groan, 

Heavily, heavily: 
Graves yawn, and yield your dead, 
Till death be uttered, 
Heavily, heavily. 
Claud. Now, unto thy bones good night ! 

Yearly will I do this rite. 
D. Pedro. Good morrow, masters; put your 

torches out : 
The wolves have prey'd ; and look, the gentle day, 
Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about 

Dapples the drowsy east with spots of grey : 
Thanks to you all, and leave us ; fare you well. 
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 we render'd up this woe ! 

\_Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — A Room in Leonato's House. 

Enter 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 ac- 
cus'd 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 the question. 

Ant. 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. 

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. [Fxeunt Ladies. 

Ant. Which I will do with confirm'd countenance. 

Rene. Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think. 

Friar. To do what, signior? 

Bene. To bind me, or undo me, one of them. — 
Signior Leonato, trutli it is good signior. 
Your niece regards me with an eye of favour. 

7 Reward. 



Leon. That eye my daughter lent her : 'Tis most 
true, 

Rene. 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. 

Fntet Don Pedro and Claudio, tuith Attendants. 

D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly. 
Leon. 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, were she an Ethiope. 
Leon. Call her forth, brother, here's the friar 
ready. [Exit Antonio. 

Z). Pedro. Good morrow. Benedick : Why, what's 
the matter. 
That you have such a February face, 
So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness? 

Claud. I think, he thinks upon the savage bull : — 
Tush, fear not, man, we'll tip thy horns with gold. 

Re-enter Antonio, with the Ladies masked. 

For this I owe you : here come other reckonings. 
Which is the lady I must seize upon ? 

Ant. This same is she, and I do give you her. 

Claud. Why, then she's mine : Sweet, let me see 
your face. 

Leon. No, that you shall not, till you take her 
hand, 
Before this friar, and swear to marry her. 

Claud. Give me your hand before this holy friar; 
I am your husband, if you like of me. 

Hero. And when I lived, I was your other wife : 

[ Unmasking. 
And when you loved, you were my other husband. 

Claud. Another Hero? 

Hero. Nothing certainer : 

One Hero died defam'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 ; 
WTien, after that the holy rites are ended, 
I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death : 
Mean time, let wonder seem familiar, 
And to the chapel let us presently. 

Rene. Soft and fair, friar. — WTiich is Beatrice ? 

Beat. I answer to that name; [U7imasking.} 
What is your will ? 

Bene. Do not you love me ? 

j]eat. Noj no more than reason. 

Bene. Why, then your uncle, and the prince, 
and Claudio, 
Have been deceived ; for they swore you did. 

Beat. Do you not love me ? 

jjene. No, no niore than reason. 

Beat. Why, then my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula, 
Are much deceiv'd; for they did swear you did. 



Scene IV. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



129 



Bene. They swore that you were almost sick for me. 

Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh dead 
for me. 

Bene. 'Tis no such matter : — Then you do not 
love me ? 

Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense. 

Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the 
gentleman. 

Claud. And I'll be sworn upon't, that he loves her; 
For here's a paper, written in his hand, 
A halting sonnet of his own pure brain, 
Fashion'd to Beatrice. 

Hero. And here's another. 

Writ in my cousin's hand, stolen from her pocket. 
Containing her affection unto Benedick. 

Bene. A miracle ! here's our own hands against 
our hearts ! — 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 j for I was told you were in a con- 
sumption. 

Bene. Peace, I will stop your mouth. — 

[ITissing her. 

D. Pedro. How dost thou. Benedick the married 
man? 

Bene. I'll tell thee what, prince ; a college of wit- 
crackers cannot flout me out of my humour : Dost 
thou think, I care for a satire, or an epigram ? No : 
If a man will be beaten with brains, he shall wear 



notliing handsome about him : In brief, since I do 
propose to marry, I will think nothing to any pur- 
pose 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 tliat^ thou art like to be my kinsman, 
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 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 might lighten 
om* own hearts and our wives' heels. 

Leon. We'll have dancing afterwards. 

Bene. First, o'my word ; therefore, play, musick. 
— Prince, thou art sad ; get thee a wife, get thee a 
wife : there is no staff more reverend than one 
tipped with horn. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My lord, your brother John is ta'en in 
flight, 
And brought with armed men back to Messina. 

Bene. Think not on liim till to-morrow ; I'll 
devise thee brave punishments for him. — Strike up, 
pipers. [Ifance.^Exeunt, 

B Because. 



^ 

c 



y 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



m love with Hermia. 



Theseus, Duke of Athens. 

Egeus, Father la Hermia. 

Lysander, 1 

Demetrius, J 

Philostrate, Master of the Revels to Theseus, 

QriNCE, the Carpenter. 

Snug, the Joiner. 

Bottom, the Weaver. 

Flute, the liellows-menfler. 

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 ivith Demetrius. 



- Fairies. 



Oberok, King of the Fairies. 

Titania, Queen oftlie Fairies. 

Puck, or Robin-goodfellow, a Fairy. 

Peas-blossom, 

Cobweb, 

Moth, 

Mustard-seed, 

Pyramus, 

Thisbe, 

WaU, 

Moonshiney 

Lio?i, 



Characters in tlie Interlude per- 
formed by the Clowns. 



Other Fairies attending their King and Queen. 
Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyta. 



SCENE, Athens ; and a Wood not far from it. 




HENCE, AWAY I 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM, 



ACT I. 



SCENE I Athens. A Room in the Palace (f 

Theseus. 

Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, and 
Attendants. 

Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour 
Draws 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 
New bent in heaven, shall behold the night 
Of our solemnities. 

The. Go, Philostrate, 

Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments : 
Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth; 
Turn melancholy forth to funerals, 
The pale companion is not for our pomp. 

\^Evit 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 triumjih find with revelling. 



Enter Egeus, Hermia, Lvsander, o/irf Demetriuj,. 

Ege. Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke ! 

IVie. Thanks, good Egeus : What's the news with 
thee? 

E<:^e. 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 betwich'd the bosom of my child : 
Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes, 
And interchang'd love-tokens with my child : 
Thou hast by moon-light at her window sung, 
With feigning voice, verses of feigning love ; 
And stol'n the impression of her fantasy 
With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gauds, 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 cither to this gentleman, 



Act I. Scene I. 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



131 



Or to her death ; according to our law, 
Iramediatoly provided in that case. 

The. What say you, Ilermia? 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 liis power 
To leave the figure, or disfigure it. 
Demetrius is a worthy gentleman. 

Her. So is Ly sunder. 

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 tliis case, 
If I refuse to wed Demetrius. 

The. Either to die the death, or to abjure 
For ever the society of men. 
Therefore, fair Ilennia, question your desires, 
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 tliey, tliat 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 : 
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. 

Li/s. You have Iier father's love, Demetrius : 
Let me have Hermia's : do you marry him. 

Ege. Scornful Lysander ! true, he hath my love ; 
And what is mine my love shall render him : 
And she is mine ; and all my right of her 
I do estate unto Demetrius. 

Lt/s. 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 ? 
Dfmetrius, I'll avouch it to his head. 
Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena, 
And won her soul ; and she, sweet lady, dotes 
Upon this spotted ' and inconstant man. 
» Wicked 



The. I must confess, that I have heard so much» 
And with Demetrius thought to have spoke tliereof > 
But, being over-full of self-affairs. 
My mind did lose it. — But, Demetrius, come ; 
And come, Egeus ; you shall go witli me ; 
I have some private schooling for you both. — 
For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself 
To fit your fancies to your father's will ; 
Or else the law of Athens yields you up 
( Wliicii by no means we may extenuate,) 
To death, or to a vow of single life. — 
Come, my Hippolyta ; What cheer, my love ? — 
Demetrius, and Egeus, go along : 
I must employ you in some business 
Against our nuptial ; and confer with you 
Of something nearly that concerns yourselves. 

Ege. With duty, and desire, we follow you. 

[Exeunt Thes. PIip. Ege. Dem. and train. 

Eys. 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. 

Lys. 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 ; 
Or else misgrafl^ed, in respect of years ; 
Or else it stood upon the choice of friends : 
Or, if there were a sympathy in choice. 
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it ; 
Making it momentany 5* as a sound. 
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream ; 
Brief as the lightning in the coUied * 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 tilings 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 sigjis, 
Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's = followers. 

Lys. A good persuasion ; therefore, hear me, 
Hennia. 
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. 
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 bum'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. 



2 Give, bestow. 
4 Black. 



' Momentary. 
* Love'i. 



132 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT S. DREAM. 



Act I. ScENK II. 



Lys. Keep promise, love : Look, here comes 
Helena. 

Enter Helena. 

Her. God speed fair Helena ! Wliither away ? 

Hel. Call you me fair ? that fiiir again unsay. 
Demetrius loves you fair ; O happy fair ! 
Your eyes are lode-stars '5; and your tongue's sweet air 
More tuneable than lark to shepherd'^ ear, 
When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear. 
Sickness is catching ; O, were favour 7 so ! 
Yours woukl I catch, fair Hennia, 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. 
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 skill ! 

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 j 'Would that fault 
were mine ! 

Her. Take comfort ; he no more shall see my face, 
Lysander and myself will fly this place. — 

Lys. 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. 

Her. And in the wood, where often you and I 
Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie. 
Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet ; 
There my Lysander and myself shall meet : 
And thence, from Athens, turn away our eyes. 
To seek new friends and stranger companies. 
Farewell, sweet play-fellow ; pray thou for us. 
And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius ! 
Keep word, Lysander : we must starve our sight 
From lovers' food, till morrow deep midnight. 

[Exit Herm. 

hys. I will, my Hermia. — Helena, adieu : 
As you on him, Demetrius dote on you ! \_Ex^ Lys. 

Hel. How happy some, o'er other 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, 
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 judgment taste ; 
Wings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste : 
And therefore is love said to be a child. 
Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd. 
As waggish boys in game 8 themselves forswear. 
So the boy love is perjur'd every where : 
For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne 9, 
He hail'd down oaths, that he was only mine ; 
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 : 

^ Polo stars. y Countenance. 

** Sport. 9 Eyes. 



But herein mean I to enrich my pain. 

To have his sight thither, and back again, \ExM, 

SCENE II r/ic same. A Room in a Cottage. 

Enter Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, Quince, and 
Starveling. 

Qnin. Is all our company here ? 

JSot. You were best to call them generally, man 
by man, according to the scrip. 

Quin. 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. 

Bol. First, good Peter Quince, say what the 
play treats on ; then read the names of the actors ; 
and so grow 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 per- 
forming of it : If 1 do it, let the audience look to 
their eyes ; I will move storms, I will condole in 
some measure. To the rest : — Yet my chief hu- 
mour is for a tyrant : I could play Ercles rarely, 
or a part to tear a cat in, to make all split. 

" The raging rocks, 

" With shivering shocks, 

" Shall break the locks 

" Of prison gates : 
** And Phibbus' car 
« Shall shine from far, 
" And make and mar 

" The foolish fates." 

This was lofty ! — Now name the rest of the players. 
— This is Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein ; a lover is 
more condoling. 

Quin. Francis Flute, the bellows-mender. 

Elu. Here, Peter Quince. 

Quin. You must take Thisby on you. 

Fhi. What is Thisby? a wandering knight? 

Quin. It is the lady that Pyramus 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,B I 
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, 
Thime, — Ah, Pyramus, my lover dear; thy Thishy 
dear : and lady dear ! 

Quin. No, no: you must play Pyramus, and, 
Flute, you Thisby. 

Bot. Well, proceed. ^_ 

Quin. Robin Starveling, the tailor. ^| 

Starv. Here, Peter Quince. ^^ 

Quin. Robin Starveling, you must play Tliisby's 
mother. — Tom Snout, the tinker. 

Snout. Here, Peter Quince. 



I 



Act II. Scene I. 



MIDSUMJVIEIl-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



133 



Quin. You, Pyramus's father ; myself Thisby's 
father ; — Snug, the joiner, you, the lion's part : — 
and, I hope, here is a play fitted. 

Snug. Have you tlie 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, tliat I 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, timt they would 
shriek : and that were enough to hang us all. 

All. Tliat would hang us every mother's son. 

Bot. I grant you, friends, if that you should 
fright the ladies out of their wits, they would have 
no more discretion but to hang us : but I will ag- 
gravate my voice so, tliat I will roar you as gently 
as any sucking dove; I will roar you an ' 'twere 
any nightingale. 

Quin. You can play no part but Pyramus ; for 
Pyramus is a sweet-faced man ; a proper man, as 



one shall see in a summer's day : a most lovely, 
gentleman-like man ; therefore you must needs 
play Pyramus. 

Bot. Well, I will undertake it. What beard were 
I best to play it in ? 

Quin. Why, what you will. 

Bot. I will discharge it in either your straw- 
coloured beard, your orange-tawny beard, your 
purple-in-grain beard, or your perfect yellow. 

Quin. 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 reliearse : 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 6, such as our play wants. I pray 
you, fail me not. 

Bot. We will meet ; and there we may reliearse 
courageously. Take pains ; be perfect ; adieu. 

Quill. At the duke's oak we meet. 

Bot. Enough : Hold, or tut bow-strings. 7 

[Lxcunt. 



ACT 11. 



SCENE I. —yi fVood near Athens. 

Enter a Fairy at 07ie 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 2 upon the green : 
The cowslips tall her pensioners be j 
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 3 of spirits, I'll be gone ; 
Our queen and all her 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 tliat 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 Ills train, to trace the forests wild : 
But she, perforce, withholds the loved lioy. 
Crowns him with flowers, and makes hira 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. Eitlier 1 mistake your shape and making quite, 
Or else you arc that shrewd and knavish sprite, 
Call'd Robin Gootlfellpw : are you not he. 
That fright the maidens of the villagery ; 



> At if. 

^ tihining. 



« Circle*. 
* Quarrfl. 



3 A term of coDtenipt 



Skim milk ; and sometimes labour in the quern 8, 
And bootless make the breathless housewife churn ; 
And sometimes 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 tliey 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 silly foal : 
And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl, 
In very likeness of a roasted crab ' ; 
And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob. 
And on her wither'd dew-lap pour the ale. 
The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale. 
Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me ; 
Then slip I from her, and 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. Fairy, here comes Oberon. 

Fai. And here my mistress : — 'Would that he 
were gone ! 

SCENE II. 

Enter Oberon, at one door, tciih his train, and 
TiTANiA, at another, with hers. 

Ohe. Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania. 

Pita. What, jealous Oberon ? Fairj-, skip hence ; 
I have forsworn his bed and company, 

Obe. Tarry, rash wanton: Am not I thy lord? 

7't/a. Then I must be thy lady : But I know 
W hen thou hast stol'n away from fairy land. 
And in the shape of Corin sat all day, 

« Articles required in performing a plav. 
7 At all events. •* Mill. 

9 Ycait Wild aiTi)le. 

K :} 



134 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



Act II. 



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 tlieir bed joy and prosperity. 

Obe. How cansf diou thus, for shame, Titania, 
Glance at my credit with Hippolyta, 
Knowing I know thy love to Theseus ? 
Didst thou not lead him through the glimmering 

night. 
And make him with fair ^gle 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. 
ITierefore 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 '2 river made so proud. 
That they have overborne their continents 3 : 
The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in vain. 
The ploughman lost his sweat ; and the green corn 
Hath rotted ere his youth attain'd a beard : 
The fold stands empty in the drowned field. 
And crows are fatted with the murrain flock ; 
Tlie nine men's morris "* is fill'd up with mud ; 
And the quaint mazes in the wanton green. 
For lack of tread, are undistinguishable : 
The human mortals want their winter here ; 
No night is now with hymn or carol blest : — 
Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, 
Pale in her anger, washes all the air, 
That rhcumatick 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 Hyem's 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 dissension ; 
We are their parents and original. 

Obe. Do you amend it then ; it lies in you : 
Why should Titania cross her Oberon ? 
I do but beg a little changeling boy, 
To be my henchman. 6 

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 ; 
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. 

2 Petty. 3 Banks which contain them. 

•* Holes made for a game played by boys. 

' Autumn producing flowers unseasonably. ^ Page. 



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 kingdom. — Faries, away : 
We shall chide downright, if I longer stay. 

[Exeiint Titania, and her traitu 

Obe. Well, go thy way : thou shalt not from this 
grove, 
Till I torment thee for tliis 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 musick. 

Puck. 1 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 vot'ress passed on. 
In maiden meditation, fancy-free. 
Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell : 
It fell upon a little western flower, — 
Before, milk-white ; now pu rple 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 again, 
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, He-l^-s a following him. 

Bern. 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 stolen into this wood. 
And here am I, and wood 7 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 
Is true as steel : Leave you your power to draw. 
And I shall have no power to follow you. 

Dem- Do I entice you ? Do I speak you fair? 
Or rather, do I not in plainest truth 
Tell you — I do not, nor I cannot love you ? 

" Raving mad. 



1 



Scene II. 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



135 



Hel. And even for that do I love you the more. 
I am your spaniel ; and, Demetrius, 
The more you beat me, I will fawn on you : 
Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me, 
Neglect me, lose me ; only give me leave. 
Unworthy as I am, to follow you. 
What worser place can I beg in your love, 
(And yet a place of high respect with me,) 
Than to be used as you use your dog ? 

Dejn. Tempt not too much the hatred of my 
spirit ; 
For I am sick, when I do look on thee. 

Hel. And I am sick, when I look not on you. 

Dem. You do impeach ^ your modesty too much. 
To leave the city, and commit yourself 
Into the hands of one that loves you not. 

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 tlie 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 j 
Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase ; 
The dove pursues the griflin ; the mild hind 
IVIakes speed to catch the tiger : Bootless speed ! 
When cowardice pursues, and valour flies. 

Dem. I will not stay thy questions : let me go : 
Or, if thou follow me, do not believe 
But I shall do thee mischief in the wood. 

Hel. Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field. 
You do me mischief. 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 9 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 tlie 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 lush « 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 Atheman 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. 
EflJect it with some care ; that he may prove 



' Bring in question. 
The greater cowslip. 



9 By. 

2 Vigorous. 



More fond on her, than she upon her love ; 
And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow. 
Puck. Fear not, my lord, your servant shall do so. 

\_Exeunt. 
SCENE III. -u Another part of the Wood. 
Enter Titania, urUh her train. 
Tita. Come, now a roundel 3, and a fairy song ; 
Then, for the third part of a minute, hence ; 
Some, to kill cankers in tlie musk-rose buds ; 
Some, war with rear-mice 4 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 7, do no wrong; 
Come not near our fairy queen : 
Chorus. Philomel, with melody, 

Sing in our sweet lullaby ; 

Lulla, lulla, hdlaby ; lulla, luUa, lullaby: 
Never harm, nor spell, nor charm, 
Come our lovely lady nigh ; 
So, good night, with lullaby. 



2 Fai. 



II. 



hence , 



Weaving spiders, come not here ; 

Hence, you long-leggd spinners. 
Beetles black, approach not near ; 
Worm, nor snail, do no offence. 

Chorus. Philomel, ivith melody, ^c. 

1 Fax. 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 Titania's eye -lids. 
Do it for thy true love take ; 
Love, and languish for his sake : 
Be it ounce 8, or cat, or bear, 
Pard, or boar with bristled hair. 
In thy eye that shall appear 
When thou wak'st, it is thy dear ; 
Wake, when some vile thing is near. {Exit. 

Enter Ltsander and Hermia. 

Lys. Fair love, you faint with wandering in tl;e 
wood; 

And to speak troth, I have forgot our way ; 
We'll rest us, Hermia, if you tliink it good, 

And tarry for the comfort of the day. 

Her. Be it so, Lysander : find you out a bed, 
For I upon tliis bank will rest my head. 
Such separation, as, may well be said. 
Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid : 
So far be distant ; and good night sweet friend . 
Tliy 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 tliee all his rest ! 

Her. With half tliat wish the wislier's eyes he 
press'd! [TltcysUrp. 

3 A kind of dance. < Bal«. » Sports. 

« EiU. ? Siow.womu. f The small tiger 

K 4 



136 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



Act III. 



Enter Puck. 

Puck. Through the forest have I gone, 
But Athenian found I none, 
On whose eyes I might approve 
This flower's force in stirring love. 
Night and silence ! who is here ? 
Weeds of Athens he doth wear : 
This is he my master said, 
Despis'd the Athenian maid ; 
And here the maiden, sleeping sound, 
On the dank and dirty ground. 
Pretty soul ! she durst not lie 
Near this lack-love, kill-courtesy. 
Churl, upon thy eyes I throw 
All the power this charm doth owe 9 : 
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. [JExit. 

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, whereso'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 ? T see no blood, no wound : — 
Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake. 

Li/s. And run through fire I will, for thy sweet 
sake. [ Waking. 

Transparent Helena ! Nature here shows art. 
That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart. 
Where is Demetrius ? O, how fit a word 
Is that vile name to perish on my sword ! 



Hel. Do not say so, Lysander : say not so : 
What though he love your Hermia? O, what though? 
Yet Hermia still loves you : then be content. 

Lj/s. Content with Hermia ? No : I do repent 
The tedious minutes I with her have spent. 
Not Hermia, but Helena I love : 
Who will not change a raven for a dove ? 
The will of man is by his reason sway'd ; 
And reason says you are the worthier maid. 
Things growing are not ripe until their season : 
So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason ; 
And touching now the point of human skill. 
Reason becomes the marshal to my will, 
And leads me to your eyes ; where I o'erlook 
Love's stories written in love's richest book. 

Hel. Wherefore was I to this keen mockery bom ? 
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 ! [Exit. 

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 ! [Edoit. 

Her. [Starting.^ Help me, Lysander, help me ! 
do thy best. 
To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast ! 
Ah me, for pity ! — what a dream was here ? 
Lysander, look, how I do quake with fear ! 
Methought a serpent eat my heart away. 
And you sat smiling at his cruel prey : — 
Lysander ! what, removed ? Lysander ! lord ! 
What, out of hearing ? gone ? no sound, no word ? 
Alack, where are you ? speak, an if you hear ; 
Speak, of all loves 2 ; I swoon almost with fear. 
No ? — - then I well perceive you are not nigh : 
Either death, or you, I'll find immediately. \_Exit. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I. — The same. The Queen of Fairies 
lying asleep. 

Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, and 
Starveling. 

Bot. Are we all met ? 

Q.uin. Pat, pat ; and here's a marvellous conve- 
nient 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, — 



5 Po5sesf. 



> In the dark. 



Qxiin. 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 3, 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 ; 



2 By all that is dear. 



3 By our ladykin. 



SC£N£ I. 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



137 



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. — 

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. 

Bot. Masters, you ought to consider with your- 
selves : to bring in 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 come hither as a lion, it were pity 
of my life : No, I am no such thing ; I am a man 
as other men are : — and there, indeed, let him 
name his name ; and tell them plainly, he is Snug 
the joiner. 

Quitu Well, it shall be so. But there is two hard 
things ; that is, to bring the moon-light into a cham- 
ber : 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 alma- 
nack ; 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 j and 
the moon may shine in at the casement. 

Quin. Ay ; or else one must come in with a bush 
of thorns and a lanthorn, and say, he comes to dis- 
figure, or to present, the person of moon-shine. 
Then, there is another thing : we must have a wall 
in the great chamber ; for Pyramus and Thisby, says 
the story, did talk through the chinks 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 tlirough that cranny shall 
Pyramus and Thisby wliisper. 

Quin. If that may be, then all is well. Come, sit 
down, every mother's son, and rehearse your parts. 
Pyramus, you begin : when you have spoken your 
speech, enter into that brake ■♦ ; and so every one 
according to his cue. 

Enter Puck behind. 

Puck. What hempen home-spuns have we swag- 
gering here. 
So near the cradle of the fairy queen ? 
What, a play toward ? I'll be an auditor ; 
An actor too, perhaps, if 1 see cause. 

Quin. Speak, Pyramus : — Thisby, stand fortli. 

Pyr. Thish/, thejiou^ers of odious savours sweety — 

Quin. Odours, odours. 

« Thicket 



Pyr. odours savours sweet : 

So doth thy breath, my dearest Thisby dear. — 
But, hark, a voice ! stay thou but here awhile, 

j^nd by and by I will to thee appear. [^Exii. 

Puck. A stranger Pyramus than e'er play'd here ! 
\^Aiide. — Exit. 

This. Must I speak now ? 

Quin. Ay, marry, must you : for you must under- 
stand, he goes but to see a noise that he heard, and 
is to come again. 

This, Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-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', 
ril meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny s tomb. 

Quin. Ninus' tomb, man : Why you must not 
speak that yet ; that you answer to Pyramus : you 
speak all your part at once, cues 6 and all. — Pyra- 
mus, enter j your cue is past ; it is, never tire. 

Re-enter Puck, and Bottom with an Ass's head. 
This. O, — As tru£ as truest horse, thai yet would 

never tire. 
Pyr. If I were fair, Thisby, I were only Ihine : — 
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, tlirough brake, 
tlu-ough brier; 
Sometime a horse I'll be, sometime a hound, 
A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire ; 
And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and bum, 
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? {Exit. 

Bot. What do you see ? you see an ass's head of 
your own ; Do you ? 

Re-enter Quince. 

Quin. Bless thee. Bottom ! bless thee ! thou art 
translated. {Exit. 

Bot. I see their knavery : this is to make an ass 
of me ; to fright me, if they could. But I will not 
stir from tliis place, do what they can : I will walk 
up and down here, and I will sing, tliat they shall 
hear I am not afraid. {Sings. 

The ousel cock, so Mack of hue, 

With orange-tawny bill. 
The throstle with his note so true, 
Tiie wren with little quill. 
Tita. W' hat angel wakes me from my flowery bed ? 

[ f raking, 
Bot. The finch, tlie sparrow, and tlu: lark. 
The jdain-song cuckoo grey, 
U'hose note full ywmy a man doth mark. 
And dares not answer, nay ; — 
or, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolisli a 
bird ? who would give a bird the lie, though he cry, 
cuckoo, never so ? 

Tita. I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again : 
Mine car is much enamour'd of thy note, 

* Young man. 

< The last words of the preceding speech, which sorve as a 
hint to him who is to 8|ieak next 



138 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHTS DREAM. 



Act III. 



So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape ; 

And tliy fair virtue's force perforce doth move me, 

On the first view, to say, to swear, I love thee. 

Bot. Metliinks, mistress, you should have little 
reason for that : And yet, to say the truth, reason 
and love keep little company together now-a-days : 
The more the pity, that some honest neighbours 
will not make them friends. Nay, I can gleek 7 upon 
occasion. 

Tita. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful. 

Bot. Not so, neither ; but if I had wit enough to 
get out of this wood, I have enough to serve mine 
own turn. 

Tita. Out of this wood do not desire to go ; 
Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no. 
I am a spirit of no common rate : 
The summer still doth tend upon my state, 
And I do love thee : therefore, go with me ; 
I'll give thee fairies to attend on thee; 
And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep. 
And sing, while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep : 
And I will purge thy mortal grossness so, 
That thou shalt like an airy spirit go. — 
Peas-blossom ! Cobweb ! Moth ! and Mustard-seed ! 

Ertterfour 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 I 

2 Fai. Hail ! 

3 Fai. Hail ! 

4 Fai. Hail ! 

Bot. I cry your worship's mercy, heartily. — I 
beseech, your worsliip's name ? 

Cob. 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 Squashy 
your mother, and to master Peascod, your father. 
Good master Peas-blossom, I shall desire you of more 
acquaintance too. — Your name, I beseech you, sir, 

Mas. Mustard-seed. 

Bot. Good master Mustard-seed, I know your 
patience well : that same cowardly, giant-like ox- 
beef hath devoured many a gentleman of your 
house ; I promise you, your kindred hath made my 
eyes water ere now. I desire you more acquaint- 
ance, 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. 
^ Joke. 



SCENE II. — Another part of the Wood. 
Enter Oberon. 
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 8, 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 I did him at this advantage take, 
An ass's nowl I fixed on his head ; 
Anon, his Thisbe must be answered, 
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 9 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. Tliis 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 in his sleep. 
Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep. 
And kill me too. 

The sun was not so true unto the day. 
As he to me : Would he have stol'n away 
From sleeping Hermia ? I'll believe as soon. 
This whole earth may be bor'd ; and that the moon 
May through the centre creep, and so displease 
Her brother's noon-tide with the Antipodes. 
It cannot be, but thou hast min-der'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 sphere. 
8 Simple fellows. ^ InfectetL 



Scene II. 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



139 



Her. What's this to my Lysandcr ? where is he ? 
Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me ? 

Dent. I had rather give his carcase to my hounds. 

Her. Out, dog ! out, cur ! thou driv'st me past 
tlie bounds 
Of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him then ? 
Henceforth be never number'd among men ! 

! 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 ! 
Could not a worm, an adder, do so much ? 

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: 

1 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. And if I could, what should 1 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 or no. [^Exit. 
Dem. There is no following her in this fierce vein : 
Here, tlierefore, 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 doivn. 
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 tum'd true. 
Puck. Then fate o'er-rules ; that, one man hold- 
ing 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 2 she is, and pale of cheer 3, 
With sighs of love, that cost the fresh blood dear : 
By some illusion see thou bring her here ; 
I'll charm his eyes, against she do appear. 

Puck. I go, I go ; look how I go ; 
Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow. [^ExU. 
Obe. Flower of this purple die, 
Hit with Cupid's archery, 
Sink in apple of his eye ! 
When his love he doth espy, 
Let her shine as gloriously 
As the Venus of the sky. — 
When thou wak'st, if she be by, 
Beg of her for remedy. 

Re-enter Puck. 
Puck. Captain of our fairy band, 
Helena is here at hand ; 

And the youth, mistook by me, 
Pleading for a lover's fee ; 
Shall we their fond pageant see ? 
O, 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 Lvsandbr and Helena. 
Lys. Why should you think, that I should woo 

in scorn ? 
Scorn and derision never come in tears : 

Mistaken. > Love-sick. ^ Countenance. 



Look, when I vow, I weep ; and vows so born, 

In their nativity all truth appears. 
How can these things in me seem scorn to you, 
Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true ? 

Hel. You do advance your cunning more and 
more. 

When truth kills truth, O matchless 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. [awaking.'\ O Helen, goddess, nymj)!), 
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 cruel spite ! I see you all are bent 
To set against me, for your merriment. 
If you were civil, and knew courtesy, 
You would not do me thus much injury. 
Can you not hate me, as I know you do. 
But you must join, in souls'*, to mock me too? 
If you were men, as men you are in show, 
You would not use a gentle lady so ; 
To vow, and swear, and superpraise my pints. 
When, I am sure, you hate me with your liciirts. 
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. 

Lys. You are unkind, Demetrius : be not so ; 
For you love Hermia ; this, you know, I know : 
And here, with all good will, with all my heart, 
In Hermia's love I yield you up my part ; 
And yours of Helena to me bequeath, 
Whom I do love, and will do to my death. 

Hel. Never did mockers waste more idle breath. 

Dem. Lysandcr, keep tliy Hermia ; I will none : 
If e'er I lov'd her, all that love is gone. 
My heart with her but, as guest-wise, sojourn 'd ; 
And now to Helen is it home retuni'd. 
There to remain. 

Lys. Helen, it is not so. 

Dem. Disparage not the faith thou dost not know. 
Lest, to thy peril, thou aby it dear. * — 
Look, where thy love comes ; yonder is tliy dear. 

Enter Hkrmia. 
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 tlie hearing double recompense : — 
Thou art not by mine eye, Lj-sander, found ; 
Mine car, I thank it, brought me to tliy sound. 
But why unkindly didst thou leave me so ? 



Heartily. 



ray dearly for it 



140 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



Act III. 



Lys. Why slioiild 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 6 and eyes of light. 
Why seek'st thou me ? could not tliis make thee 

know, 
The hate I bare thee made me leave thee so ? 

Her. You speak not as you think ; it cannot be. 

Hel. Lo, she is one of tliis confederacy ! 
Now I perceive they have conjoin'd, all three, 
To fashion this false sport in spite of me. 
Injurious Hermia : most ungrateful maid ! 
Have you conspir'd, have you with these contriv'd 
To bait me with this foul derision ? 
Is all the counsel that we two have shar'd. 
The sisters' vows, the hours that we have 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 7 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 T 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 
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. I understand not what you mean by this. 

Hel. Ay, do, pers^ver, counterfeit sad looks, 
Make mows 9 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 svich 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. 



" Circles. 
^ Needles. 



" Ingenious. 
3 Wry faces. 



Dem. If she cannot entreat, I can compel. 

L^ys. Thou canst compel no more than she en- 
treat ; 
Thy threats have no more strength than her weak 

prayers. — 
Helen, I love thee ; by my life, I do ; 
I swear by that which I will lose for thee. 
To prove him false, that says I love thee not. 

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. 

Lys. Away, you Ethiop ! 

Dem. No, no, sir : — he will 

Seem to break loose ; take on, as you would follow ; 
But yet come not : you are a tame man, go ! 

Lys. Hang off, thou cat, thou burr : vile thing, 
let loose ; 
Or I will shake thee from me, like a serpent. 

Her. Why are you grown so rude ? what chahge 
is this. 
Sweet love ? 

Lys. Thy love ? out, tawny Tartar, out ! 

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 ! wherefore ? 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, 
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 ; 

1 A worm that preys on buds of flowers. 

2 Shrewish or mischievous. 



\\ 



SCKNE II. 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



141 



Let her not strike me : You, perhaps, may think. 
Because she's something lower than myself, 
Tliat I can match her. 

Her. Lower ! hark, again. 

Hel. Good Ilennia, 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, I foUow'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 3 I am. 

Her. Why, get you gone : Who is't tliat hinders 

you ? 
Hel. A foolish heart, that I leave here behind. 
Her. What, with Lysander? 
Hel. With Demetrius. 

Lys. Be not afraid : she shall not harm thee, 

Helena. 
Bern. 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 ? notliing but low and little ? — 
Why w ill you suffer her to flout me thus ? 
Let me come to her. 

Lys. 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 ; 
Take not her part : for if thou dost intend ^ 
Never so little show of love to her, 
Thou shalt aby it. 

Lys. Now, she holds me not ; 

Now follow, if thou 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. [^ExU. 
Her. I am amaz'd, and know not what to say. 

\^Exit, pursuing Helena. 
Obe. This is thy negligence : still tliou mistak'st, 
Or else commit'st tliy 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 enterprize, 
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 tliese testy rivals so astray, 
As one come not within another's way. 
' Foolish. 

* Annently knot-graM was believed to prevent the growth 
ofchiWrca * Pretend. 



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, 

'i'ill o'er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep 

With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep : 

1'hcn crush this herb into Lysander's eye ; 

Whose liquor hath tliis virtuous property. 

To take from thence all eiTor, with his might. 

And make his eye-balls roll with wonted sight. 

When they next wake, all this derision 

Shall seem a dream, and fruitless vision ; 

And back to Athens shall the lovers wend", 

With league, whose date till death shall never 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 : and the 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 niglit. 

Obe. But we are spirits of another sort : 
I with the Morning's Love ' have oft made sport ; 
And, like a forester, the groves may tread, 
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. \^ExU Ob. 
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. 

I.ys. Where art thou, proud Demetrius ? speak 
thou now. 

P^tck. Here, villain ; drawn and ready. Where 
art thou ? 

Lys. I will be with thee straight. 

Puck. Follow me then 

To plainer ground. 

[Exit Lysander asfoUouing the voice. 

Enter Demetrius. 
Dem. Lysander ! speak again. 

Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled ? 
Speak. In some bush? Where dost thou hide thy 
head? 
Puck. Thou coward, art thou bragging to the stars. 
Telling the bushes that thou look'st for wars, 
And wilt not come ? Come, recreant ; come, thou 

child ; 
I'll whip thee with a rod : He is defil'd, 
That draws a sword on thee. 

j)g„i. 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. 



• Qo. 



7 Cephalus, the paramour of Aurora. 



142 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



Act IV. 



The villain is much lighter heel'd than I : 

I follow'd fast, but faster he did fly ; 

That fallen am I in dark uneven way, 

And here will rest me. Come, thou gentle day ! 

[Lies down. 
For if but once thou show me thy grey light, 
I'll find Demetrius, and revenge this spite. \_Sleeps. 

Re-enter Puck and Demetrius. 
Puck. Ho,ho!ho,ho! Coward, why com'st thou not? 
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 daylight see : 
Now, go thy way. Faintness constraineth me 
To measure out my length on this cold bed. — 
By day's approach look to be visited. 

[Lies down and sleeps. 
Enter Helena. 
Hel. O weary night, O long and tedious night. 
Abate thy hours : shine, comforts, from the east ; 
Tliat 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 awhile 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 donm. 
Puck. On the ground 
Sleep sound : 
I'll apply 
To your eye. 
Gentle lover, remedy. 

[Squeezing the juice on Lysander'^ eye. 
When thou wak'st, 
Thou tak'st 
True delight 
In the sight 
Of thy former lady's eye : 
And the country proverb known, 
That every man should take his own, 
In your 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, Fairies attending ; 
Oberon behind unseen. 

Tita. Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed, 
While I thy amiable cheeks do coy 8, 
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 
monsieur Cobweb? 

Cob. Ready. 

Bot. Monsieur Cobweb ; good monsieur, get your 
weapons in your hand, and kill me a red-hipped 
humble-bee on the top of a thistle ; and, good mon- 
sieur, bring me the honey-bag. Do not fret your- 
self too much in the action, monsieur ; and, good 
monsieur, have a care the honey-bag break not : I 
would be loath to have you overflown with a honey- 
bag, signior. — Where's monsieur Mustard-seed ? 

Must. Ready. 

Bot. Give me your nief 9, monsieur Mustard-seed. 
Pray you, leave your courtesy, good monsieur. 

Must. What's your \vill ? 

Bot. Nothing, good monsieur, but to help cavalero 
Cobweb to scratch. I must to the barber's, mon- 
sieur ; 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 musick, my 
sweet love? 
^ Stroke. 9 Fist. 



Bot. I have a reasonable good ear in musick : 
let us have the tongs and the bones. 

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 bottle 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 I will wind thee in my arms. 
Fairies, begone, and be all ways away. 

[Exeunt Fairies. 
So doth the woodbine, the sweet honeysuckle. 
Gently entwist, — the female ivy so 
Enrings the barky fingers of the elm. 
O, how I love thee ! how I dote on thee ! 

[They sleep. 



Oberon advances. 



Enter Pock. 

See'st thou this 



Obe. Welcome, good Robin 
sweet sight ? 
Her dotage now I do begin to pity. 
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 flowrets' eyes, 



Scene I. 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



143 



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 tlie boy, I will undo 
Tliis hateful imperfection of her eyes. 
And, gentle Puck, take this transformed scalp 
From off the head of tliis Athenian swain ; 
That he awaking when the others 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 ; 

[ Toitching 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. 
TUa. How came these things to pass? 

O, how mine eyes do loath his visage now ! 

Obe. Silence, a while. — Robin, take off this head. 
Titania, musick call ; and strike more dead 
'I'han common sleep, of all these five the sense. 
TUa. Musick, ho ! musick, such as charmeth 

sleep. 
Puck. Now, when thou wak'st, with thine own 

fool's eyes peep. 
Obe. Sound, musick. {StUl mxitick.'\ 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 jolity. 

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. 

TUa. 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. lExeunt. 
\^Homs sound unthin. 
Enter Thkskus, Hippolyta, Egeus, and train. 
The. Go, one of you, find out the forrester ; — 
For now our observation is perform'd ; 
And since we have the vaward ' of the day. 
My love shall hear the musick 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 witli Hercules, and Cadmus, once. 
When in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear 
With hounds of Sparta : never did I hear 
Such gallant chiding ; for, besides the groves, 
ITie skies, the fountains, every region near 

' Forepart 



Seem'd all one mutual cry : I never heard 
So musical a discord, such sweet thunder. 

Tfie. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind. 
So flew'd 2, 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 to, nor cheer'd with horn. 
In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly : 
Judge, when you hear. — But, soft j what, nymphs 
are these ? 

Ege. My lord, this is my daughter here asleep : 
And this, Lysander ; this Demetrius is ; 
This Helena, old Ncdar's Helena ; 
I wonder of their being here together. 

The. No doubt, they rose up early, to observe 
The rite of May ; and, hearing our intent. 
Came here in grace of our solemnity. — 
But, speak, Egeus ; is not this the day 
That Hermia should give answer of her choice ? 

Ege. It is, my lord. 

The. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their 
horns. 

Horns, and shouts wUhin. Demetrius, Lysander, 
Hermia, and Helena, waJce and start tip. 

The. Good-morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is 
past; 
Begin these wood-birds but to couple now ? 

Lys. Pardon, my lord. 

[JSe 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 tliink, (for truly would I speak, — 
And now 1 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. 

JDem. My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealtit. 
Of this their purpose hither to this wood ; 
And I in fury hither follow'd them ; 
Fair Helena in fancy 3 following me. 
But, my good lord, I wot not by what power, 
(But by some power it is,) my love to Hermia, 
Melted as doth the snow, seems to me now 
As the remembrance of an idle gawd. 
Which in my childhood I did dote upon : 
And all the faith, the virtue of my heart. 
The object, and the pleasure of mine eye. 
Is only Helena. To her, my lord. 
Was I betroth *d ere I saw Hermia : 
But, like in sickness, did I 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 flewt are the large chap* of a hound. 



3 Love 



144 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



Act V. 



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 The. Hip. Ege. and train. 

JDem. These things seem small and undistin- 
guishable. 
Like far-off mountains turned into clouds. 

Her. Methinks, I see these things with parted 
eye 
When every thing seems double. 

Hel. So methinks : 

And I have fovmd Demetrius like a jewel. 
Mine own, and not mine own. 

Denu It seems to me, 

That yet we sleep, we dream. — Do not you think, 
The duke was here, and bid us follow him ? 

Her. Yea ; and my father. 

Hel, And Hippolyta. 

Lys. And he did bid us follow to the temple. 

Dem. Why then, we are awake : let's follow 
him; 
And, by the way, let us recount our dreams. 

[Exeunt. 

As they go out, Bottom awakes. 

Bat. 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 ! Odd'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. 
Methought 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 1 had. 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 the play, before 
the duke ! Peradventure, to make it the more gra- 
cious, I shall sing it at her death. [Exit. 



SCENE II. — Atliens. 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 transported. 

Flu. If lie come not, then the play is marred j 
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 
handycraft man in Athens. 

Q.uin. Yea, and the best person too : and he is a 
very paramour, for a sweet voice. 

Flu. You must say, paragon : a paramour is 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 Buttom ! Thus hath he lost 
sixpence a day during his life ; he could not have 
'scaped sixpence a-day ; an the duke had not given 
him sixpence a-day for playing Pyramus, I'll be 
hanged ; he would have deserved it : sixpence 
a-day, in Pyramus, or nothing. 

Enter Bottom. 

Bot. Where are these lads ? whiere 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 Athe- 
nian. 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 to- 
gether ; 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 garlick, for we are to utter sweet 
breath ; and I do not doubt, but to hear them say, 
it is a sweet comedy. No more words ; away ; go, 
away. [Exeunt. 



ACT V. 



SCENE I. — An Apartment in the palace o/'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 lunatick, the lover, and the poet, 
Are of imagination all compact**: 

* Compacted, made. 



One sees more devils than vast hell can hold; , 

That is, the madman : the lover, all as frantick. 

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? 



Scene I. 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



145 



Hip. But all the story of the night told over, 
And all their minds transfigur'd so together, 
More witnesseth than fancy's images, 
And grows to sometliing of great constancy ; 
But, howsoever, strange and admirable. 

Enter Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia, 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 have, 
To wear away this long age of three hours, 
Between our after-supper, and bed-time ? 
Where is our usual manager of mirth ? 
What revels are in hand ? Is there no play, 
To ease tlue anguish of a torturing hour ? 
Call Philostrate. 

Philost. Here, miglity Theseus. 

Tlie. Say what abridgment * have you for this 
evening ? 
What mask ? what musick ? How shall we beguile 
The lazy time, if not with some delight? 

Philost, There is a brief, how many sports are ripe ; 
Make choice of which your highness will see first. 

[ Giving a paper. 

The. \^Reads.'\ Tlie battle with the Centaurs, to be 
sung. 

By an Athenian songster to the harp. 
We'll none of that : tliat have I told my love. 
In glory of my kinsman Hercules. 

The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals, 

Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage. 
That is an old device ; and it was play'd 
Wlien I from Thebes came last a conqueror. 

The thrice three muses mourning for the death 

Of learnings late deceased in beggary. 
That is some satire, keen, and critical, 
Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony. 

A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus, 

And his love Thisbe ; very tragical mirth. 
Merry and tragical ? Tedious and brief? 
That i», 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 j 
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 unbrcath'd 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 notliing, nothing in tlie world ; 
Unless you can find si)ort in tlieir intents, 

' rastimc. « Short account 



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. 

Tlie. Why, gentle sweet, you shall see nosuch thing. 

Hip. He says, they can do nothing in this kind. 

The. The kinderwe,togivethemthanksfornothing. 
Our sport shall be, to take what they mistake : 
And what poor duty can do. 
Noble respect takes it in might, not merit. 
Where I have come, great clerks have purposed 
To greet me with premeditated welcomes ; 
Where I have seen them shiver and look pale, 
Make periods in the midst of sentences. 
Throttle their practis'd accent in their fears. 
And, in conclusion, dumbly have broke off, 
Not "paying me a welcome : Trust me, sweet. 
Out of this silence, yet, I pick'd a welcome ; 
And in the modesty of fearful duty 
I read as much, as from tlie 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.7 
The. Let him approach. [Flourish of trumpets. 

Enter Prologue. 

Prol. Jfwe offend, it is tvith our good-will. 

That you should think, we come not to offend^ 
But with good-will. To show our simple skilly 

Thai is the true beginning of our end. 
Consider then, we come bui in despite. 

fVe do not come as minding to content you. 
Our true intent is. All for your delight. 

We are not here. That you should here repent you. 
The actors are at hand ; and, by their show. 
You shall know all, that you are like to know. 

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. 

Hip. Indeed he hath played on tliis prologue, 
like a child on a recorder f^ ; a sound, but not in 
government. 

The. His speech was like a tangled chain ; no- 
thing impaired, but all disordered. Who is next ? 

Enter Pyramus and Thisbe, Wall, Moonshine, 

and Lion, as in 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 la<ly 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; art the which let no man wondir. 



Ready. 



A musical instrument 



./ 



U6 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



Act V. 



** This man, with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn, 

" Presenteth moon-sliine : for, if you will know, 
" By moon-shine did these lovers think no scorn 

" To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo. 
" This grisly beast, which by name lion hight 9, 
" 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; 
** And, Thisby tarrying in mulberry shade, 

« His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest, 
" Let lion, moonshine, wall, and lovers twain, 
" At large discourse, while here they do remain." 
[Exeunt Prol. Pyr. Thisbe, Lion, and Moonshine. 

The. I wonder if the lion be to speak. 

Dem. No wonder, my lord : one lion may, when 
many asses do. 

Wall. " In this same interlude, it doth befall, 
" That I, one Snout by name, present a wall : 
" And such a wall, as I would have you think, 
" That had in it a 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 
discourse, my lord. 

The. Pyramus draws near the wall : silence ! 

Enter Pyramus. 
Pi/r. " O grim-look'd night ! O night with hue 

so black ! 
" O night, which ever art, when day is not ! 
" 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, 
" Show me thy chink, to blink through with mine 
eyne. [Wall holds up his fingers. 

" Thanks, courteous wall : Jove shield thee well for 

this ! 
" But what see I ? No Thisby do I see. 
" 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. 

Pyr. No, in truth, sir, he should not. Deceiving 
niey 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 Thisby's face. 

« Thisby ! " 



This. ** My love, thou art my love, I think." 

Pyr. " Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's grace ; 

" And like Limander am I trusty still." 

This. " And I Hke Helen, till the fates me kill." 
Pyr. " Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true." 
This. " As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you." 
Pyr. " 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 

straightway ? " 
This. " Tide life, tide death, I come without delay.** 
WaJl. " Thus have I, wall, my part discharged so;" 

" And, being done, thus wall away doth go." 

Exeunt Wall, Pyramus, and Thisbe. 
The. Now is the mural down between the two 

neighbours. 

Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so 

wilful to hear without warning. 

Hip. This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard. 
The. The best in this kind are but shadows : and 

the worst are no worse, if imagination amend them. 
Hip. It must be your imagination then, and not 

theirs. 

The. If we imagine no worse of them, than they 

of themselves, they may pass for excellent men. 

Here come two noble beasts in, a moon and a lion. 

Enter Lion and Moonshine. 

Lion. " 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. 

Lys. 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. 

The. 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 
vnthin the circumference. 

Moon. " Thislantem doth the horned moon present; 
" Myself the man i'the moon do seem to be." 

The. This is the greatest error of all the rest : the 
man should be put into the 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. ^ 

Hip. I am aweary of this moon : Would, he 
would change ! 

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 d 
I In anger ; a quibble. 




Scene I. 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM 



U7 



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 roars. — Thisbe runs off. 
Dem. Well roared, lion. 
The. Well run, Thisbe. 
Bip. Well shone, moon. — Truly, the moon 

shines with a good grace. 
The. Well moused, lion. 

[ The Lion tears Thisbe'a- mantle, and exit. 
Dem- And so comes Pyramus. 
Lys. And so the lion vanish'd. 

Enter Pyramus. 
Pyr. " Sweet moon, I tliank thee for thy sunny 

beams ; 
" I thank tliee, 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, slain'd with blood ? 
" Approach, ye furies fell ! 
" O fates ! come, come ; 
" Cut thread and thrum ; « 
" Quail, crush, conclude, and quell ! " 
The. Tliis 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 damo, 
« That liv'd, that lov'd, that lik'd, tliat look'd with 
" cheer. 3 
" Come, tears, confound ; 
" Out, sword, and wound 
** The pap of Pyramus : 
" Ay, that left pap, 
" Where heart doth hop : 
" Thus die I, thus, thus, thus. 
** Now am I dead, 
" Now am I fled ; 
" My soul is in the sky : 

" Tongue, loose Uiy 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. 
Lys. Less than an ace, man ; for he is dead ; he 
is notliing. 

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 Thisbk. 
Hip. Methinks, she should not use a long one, 
for such a Pyramus : I hope, she will be brief. 

' Coarse yarn. s Countenance. 



Dem. A mote will turn the balance, which Py- 
ramus, which Thisbe, is the better. 

Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet 
eyes. 

Dem. And thus she moans, tddelicet. — 
Thi<i. " Asleep, my love ? 
" What, dead, my dove ? 
" O Pyramus, ari'..e, 

" Speak, speak. Quite dumb ? 
" Dead, dead ? A tomb 
" Must cover thy sweet eyes. 
" These lily brows, 
" 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 tliat 
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 garter, it would have 
been a fine tragedy : and so it is, truly ; 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 outsleep the coming morn. 
As much as we this night have overwatch'd. 
This palpable gross play hath well beguil'd 
The heavy gait of night. — Sweet friends, to bed. — 
A fortnight hold we this solemnity. 
In nightly revels, and new jollity. [Exeunt. 

SCENE XL 
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 : 

* Overcome. 
L 2 



148 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 



Act V. 



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 Obe&on and Titania, vnth their Train. 

Obe. Through this house give glimmering light. 
By the dead and drowsy fire : 

Every elf, and fairy sprite. 

Hop as light as bird from brier ; 
And his ditty, after me, 
Sing, and dance it trippingly. 

Tito. 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 ; 
So shall all the couples three 
Ever true in loving be ; 
And the blots of nature's hand 
Shall not in their issue stand ; 



Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar, 

Nor mark prodigious *, such as are 

Despised in nativity, 

Shall upon their children be. — 

With this field-dew consecrate, 

Every fairy take his gait 6 ; 

And each several chamber bless. 

Through this palace with sweet peace : 

E'er shall it in safety rest. 

And the owner of it blest. 
Trip away ; 
Make no stay ; 

Meet me al I by break of day. 

[Exeunt Oberon, Titania, and Train. 
Puck. If we shadows have offended, 

Think but this, {and all is mended,) 
That you have but slumbered hei-e, 
While these visions did appear. 
And this weak and idle theme, 
No more yielding but a dream,. 
Gentles, do not reprehend ; 
If you pardon, we will mend. 
And, as I am honest Puck, 
If we have unearned luck 
Now to ^scape the serpent's tongue. 
We wUl nwke amends, ere long : 
Else the Puck a liar call. 
So, good night unto you all. 
Give me your hands, if we bejtiends, 
And Robin shall restore amends. [Exit. 
» Portentous. « Way. 



\^ 






LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



Ferdinand, King of Navarre. 

BiRON, "1 

LoNGAViLLE, \ Lords, attending on the King. 

DUMAIN, J 

BoYET, \ Lords, attending on the Princess of 

Mercade, J 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, "1 

Maria, > Ladies attending on the Princess. 

Katharine, J 

Jaquenetta, a Country Girl. 



Officers and others, attendants on the King and 
Princess. 



SCENE, Navarre. 




rr^-^^.—^TTiT 



i^OHK I I,L BKAU TUE UDK THAT I HaVE WHIT. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST, 



ACT I. 



SCENE I. — Navarre. A I'ark, 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 anny 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 with me, 
My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes, 
That are recorded in this schedule here : 
Your oaths are past, and now subscribe your names ; 
That his own hand may strike his honour down. 
That violates the smallest branch herein : 
If you are arm'd to do, as sworn to do. 
Subscribe to your deep oath, and keep it too. 

I.img. I am resolv'd : 'tis but a three years' fast ; 
The mind shall banquet, though the body pine : 
Fat paunches have lean pates ; and dainty bits 
Make rich the ribs, but bank'rout quite the wits. 

J)um. 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 wink of all the day ; 
(When I was wont to think no harm all night. 
And make a dark night too of half the day ;; 
Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there : 
O, these are barren tasks, too liard to keep ; 
Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep. 

A'ing. Your oatli is pass'd to pass away from these. 

liiron. 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, tlien I swore in jest. — 
W^hat is the end of study ? let me know. 

A'ifig. Why, that to know, which else we should 
not know. 

Biron. Things hid and barr'd, you mc>an, from 
common sense? 

King. Ay, that i> study's god-like recomp<;nse. 
L 3 



w 



150 



LOVES LABOUR'S LOST. 



Act I, 



Biron. Come on then, I will swear to study so, 
To know the thing I 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 : 
Or, having sworn too hard-a-keeping oath, 
Study to break it, and not break my troth. 
If study's gain be thus, and this be so, 
Study knows that, which yet it doth not know : 
Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say, no. 

King. These be the stops that hinder study quite. 
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 where light in darkness lies. 
Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes. 
Study me how to please the eye indeed, 

By fixing it upon a fairer eye ; 
Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed, 

And give him light that 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 let's grow 
the weeding, 

Biron. The spring is near, when green geese are 
a breeding. 

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. 

Biron. 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 shows ; 
But like of each thing, that in season grows. 
So you, to study now it is too late, 
Climb o'er the house t' unlock the little gate. 

King. Well, sit you out : go home, Biron ; adieu ! 

Biron. No, my good lord ; I have suorn to stay 
with you : 
And. though I have for barbarism spoke more, 

Than for tliat 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 papei-, 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 ! 

' Nipping. 



Biron. \^Reads'\ Item, That no woman shall come 
within a mile of my court. — 
And hath this been proclaim'd ? 

Long. Four days ago. 

Biron. Let s see the penalty. 
[^Reads.'\ — 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 pe- 
nalty. 

Biron. A dangerous law against gentility. 

[Reads.} Item, If any man be seen to talk tvilh a 
woman within the term of three years, he shall endure 
such publicic 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 Frenchking'sdaughter, 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 hitlier. 

King. What say you, lords ? why, this was quite 
forgot. 

Biron. So study evermore is overshoot ; 
While it doth study to have what it wouhi. 
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 be here on mere necessity. 

Biron. 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 . 

[Subs{ 

And he, that breaks them in the least degree 
Stands in attainder of perpetual 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 ? 

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 musick of his own vain tongue 

Doth ravish, like enchanting harmony ; 
A man of compliments, 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. 

Biro7i. Armado is a most illustrious wight, 
A man of fire-new words, fashion's own knight. 

Long. Costard the swain, and he, shall be oi 
sport ; 
And, so to study, three years is but short 

King. Then go we, lords, to put in practice thai 

Which each to other hath so strongly sworn . 

[Exeunt King, Longaville, and UuMAislf^ 

1| 




Tcmi)tatioi)s. 



3 Calletl. 



Scene II. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 

JBiron. I'll lay my head to any good man's hat, 
These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn. 

lExit. 
SCENE II. — Armado's House. 

Enter Armado and Moth 

Arm. Boy, what sign is it when a man of great 
spirit grows melancholy ? 

Moth. A great sign, sir, that he will look sad. 
Arm. Why, sadness is one and the self-same 
thing, dear imp. 

Moth. No, no, sir, no. 

Arm. How canst thou part sadness and melan- 
choly, my tender ju venal ? ^ 

Moth. By a famih'ar demonstration of the work- 
ing, 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 
epitheton, appertaining to thy young days, which 
we may nominate tender. 

Moth. And I, tough senior, as an appertinent title 
to your old time, which we may name tough. 
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. lAside. 

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 ? 
Arm. I am ill at reckoning, it fitteth the spirit 
of a tapster. 

Moth. You are a gentleman, and a gamester, sir. 
Arm. I confess both ; they are both the varnish 
of a complete man. 

Moth. Then, I am sure you know how much the 
gross sum of deuce-ace amounts to. 

Arvu It doth amount to one more than two. 
Moth. Which the base vulgar do call three, 
Arm^ True. 

Moth. Why, sir, is this such a piece of study? 
Now here is three studied, ere 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 cipher. [Aside. 

Arm. I will hereupon confess, I am in love : and 
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 ! 
* Young maa 



* The name of a coin once current 



151 

Arm. Sweet invocation of a child ; most pretty 
and pathetical ! r /» 

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. 6 
A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of 
white and red. 

Arm. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and 
the Beggar? ^ 

Moth. The world was very guilty of such a ballad 
some three ages since : but, I think, now 'tis not to 
be found ; or, if it were, it would neither serve for 
the writing nor the tune. 

Arm. I will have 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 

woman. 

Arm. 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 penance ; but a' must fast three days a- week : 
For this damsel, I must keep her at the park ; she 
is allowed for the day- woman. 7 Fare you well. 

Arm. I do betray myself with blushing. — Maid. 

Ja/f. Man. 

Arm. I will visit thee at the lodge. 

Jaq. That's hereby. 

Arm. I know where it is situate. 

Jag. How wise you are ! 

Arm. I will tell thee wonders. 

Jaq. With that face ? 

Arm. I love thee. 

Jaq. So I heard you say. 

Arm. And so farewell. 

Jaq. Fair weather after you ! 

Dull. Come, Jaquenetta, away. 

[Exe^int Dull a7id 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, tliat were fast and loose : thou 
shalt to prison. 

Cost. Well, if ever I do see the merry days of 
desolation ttiat I have seen, some shall see — 

Moth. What shall some see ? 

Cost. Nay, notliing, master Moth, but what they 
look upon. It is not for prisoners to be too silent 



^ Of which the it naturally poMcsaed. 
L 4 



Dairjr-wonuuL 



152 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



Act IL 



in their words ; and, therefore, I will say nothing : 
I have as little patience as another man ; and there- 
fore I can be quiet. [Exeunt Moth and Costard. 
^rm. 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, 
(wliich is a great argument of falsehood,) if I love : 
And how can that be true love, which is falsely 
attempted? Cupid's butt-shafts 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, va- 
lour ! rust, rapier ! be still, drum ! for your manager 
is in love ; yea, he loveth. Assist me, some extem- 
poral god of rhyme, for, I am sure, I sliall turn 
sonneteer. Devise, wit ; write, pen j for I am for 
whole volumes in folio. 

[ExU. 



ACT IL 



SCENE 1. — A Pavilion, and Tents at a distance. 

Enter the Princess of France, Rosaline, Maria, 
Katharine, Boyet, Lords, and other Attendants. 

Boyet. Now, madam, summon up your dearest 
spirits : 
Consider who the king your father sends ; 
To whom he sends ; and what's his embassy : 
Yourself, held precious in the world f 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. 

Priti. 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 
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 gates. 
To know his pleasure ; and, in that behalf. 
Bold of your worthiness, we single you 
As our best-moving fair solicitor : 
Tell him, the daughter of the king of France, 
On serious business, craving quick despatch, 
Imp6rtunes 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. 

Prin. All pride is willing pride, and yours is so. — 
Who are the votaries, my loving lords. 
That are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke? 

1 Lord. Longaville is one. 

Prin. 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 arms : 
* Love. 9 Arrow to shoot at butts with. 



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. 

Prin. Some merry mocking lord, belrke ; is't so ? 

Mar. They say so most, that most his humours 
know. 

Prin. 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 harm, least knowing ill ; 
For he hath wit to make an ill shape good. 
And shape to win grace though he had no wit. 
I saw him at the duke Alen9on's once ; 
And much too little of that good I saw, 
Is my report, to his great worthiness. 

JRo5. Another of these students at that time 
Was there with him : if I have heard a truth, 
Biron they call him ; but a merrier man, 
Within the limit of becoming mirth, 
I never spent an hour's talk withal : 
His eye begets occasion for his wit ; 
For every object that the one doth catch. 
The other turns to a mirth-moving jest ; 
Which his fair tongue (conceit's expositor) 
Delivers in such apt and gracious words. 
That aged ears play truant at his tales. 
And younger hearings are quite ravished ; 
So sweet and voluble is his discourse. 

Prin. Heaven bless my ladies ! are they all in love; 
That every one her own hath garnished 
With such bedecking ornaments of praise ? 

Mar. Here comes Boyet. 

Re-enter Boyet. 

Prin. Now, what admittance, lord ? 

Boyet. Navarre had notice of your fair approach j 
And he, and his competitors i 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. [Tfie Ladies mask. 

Enter King, Longaville, Dumain, Biron, and 
Attendants. 
King. Fair princess, welcome to the court of 
Navarre. 
> Confederates. a Preitared, 



■ 



Scene I. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



153 



Prin. Fair, I give you back again ; and, welcome 
I have not yet : the roof of this court is too high to 
be yours ; and welcome to the wild fields too base 
to be mine. 

Ji'ing. You shall be welcome, madam, to my court. 

Prin. I will be welcome then; conduct me 
thither. 

ITing. Hear me, dear lady ; I have sworn an oath. 

Prin. Our lady help my lord ! he'll be forsworn. 

Mng. Not for the world, fair madam, by my will. 

Prin. Why, will shall break it ; will, and nothing 
else. 

I^ing. Your ladyship is ignorant what it is. 

Prin. 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 deaidly 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. 

liiron. 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 witli 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 shall ask. 

Biron. Now fair befall your mask ! 

Ros. Fair fall the face it covers ! 

Biron. And send you many lovers ! 

Ros. Amen, so you be none. 

Biron. Nay, then vnll I be gone. 

King. Madam, your father here doth intimate 
The payment of a hundred thousand crowns ; 
Ik'ing but the one half of an entire sum. 
Disbursed by my father in his wars. 
I Jut say, that he, or we, (as neither have,) 
Receiv'd that sura ; 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. 
Hut that, it seems, he little purposeth, 
I 'or here he doth demand to have repaid 
An hundred thousand crowns; and not demands. 
On payment of a hundred tliousand crowns, 
To have his title live in Aquitain ; 
Which we much rather had depart 3 withal. 
And have the money by our father lent, 
Than Aquitain divided 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, 
3 Part 



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. 

Prill. We arrest your word : ^ 

Boyet, you can produce acquittances. 
For such a sum, from special officers 
Of Charles his father. 

King. Satisfy me so. 

Boyet. So please your grace, the packet is not 
come, 
Where that and other specialties are bound ; 
To-morrow you shall have a sight of them. 

King. It shall suffice me : at which interview, 
All liberal reason I will yield unto. 
Mean time, receive such welcome at my hand, • 
As honour, without breach of honour, may 
Make tender of to thy true worthiness : 
You may not come, fair princess, in my gates ; 
But here without, you shall be so receiv'd, 
As you shall deem yourself lodg'd in my heart. 
Though so denied fair harbour in my house. 
Your own good thoughts excuse me, and 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 ! 
[Exeunt 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 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. No poynt ^, with ray knife. 

Biron. Now, heaven save thy life ! 

Ros. And yours from long living ! 

Biron. I cannot stay thanksgiving. [Retiring. 

Dum, Sir, I pray you, a word : What lady is tliat 
sarae? 

Boyet. The heir of Alen^on, Rosaline her name. 

Dum. A gallant lady ! Monsieur, fare you well. 

[Eiit. 

Long. I beseech you a word ; What is she in the 
white ? 

Boyet. A woman sometimes, an you saw her in 
the light. 

Long. Pray you, sir, whose daughter ? 

Boyet. Her mother's, I have heard. 

Long. Heaven's blessing on your beard ! 

Boyet. Good sir, be not offended : 
She is an heir of Falconbridge. 

Long. Nay, ray choler is ended. 
She is a raost 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. 

♦ Ay, ye*. * A French particle of negation. 



154 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



Act IlL 



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. 

If my observation, (which very seldom lies,) 
By the heart's still rhetorick, disclosed with eyes, 
Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected. 

Pnn. With what? 

Boyet. With that which we lovers entitle, affected. 

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 ; 
Who, tend'ring their own worth, from where they 

were glass' d, 
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 disclos'd : 
I only have made a mouth of his eye, 
By adding a tongue which I know will not lie. 
Ros. Thou art an old love-monger, and speak'st 

skilfully. 
Mar. He is cupid's grandfather, and learns news 

of him. 
Ros. Then was Venus like her motner ; for her 

father is but grim. 
Boyet. Do you hear, my mad girls ? 
Mar. No. 

Boyet. What then, do you see ? 

Ros. Ay, our way to be gone. 
Boyet. You are too hard for me. 

\_Exeunt7 



ACT III. 



SCENE 1 The Park, near the Palace. 

Enter Arm a do and Moth. 

Arm. Warble, child ; make passionate my sense 
of hearing. 

Moth. Concolinel ^Singing. 

Arm. Sweet air ! — Go, tenderness of years ; take 
this key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him 
festinately 6 hither ; I must employ him in a letter 
to my love. 

Moth. Master, will you \dn yoiu* love with a 
French brawl ? 7 

Arm. How mean'st thou ? brawling in French ? 

Moth. No, my complete master: but to jig off 
a tune at the tongue's end, canary 6 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 vnth singing love ; 
sometime through the nose, as if you snuffed up 
love by smelling love ; with your hat penthouse- 
like, o'er the shop of your eyes ; with your arms 
crossed on your thin doublet, like a rabbit on a 
spit ; or yoiu- hands in your pocket, like a man after 
the old painting; and keep not too long in one 
tune, but a snip and away. 

Arm. How hast thou purchased this experience ? 

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 ? 

Arm. Almost I had. 

Moth. Negligent student ! learn her by heart. 

Arm. By heart, and in heart, boy. 

Moth. And out of heart, master : all those three 
1 will prove. 

Arm. What will that prove ? 

6 Hastily. 7 A kind of dance. 

s Canary was the name of a sprightly dance. 



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 have 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 embassador for an ass ! 

Arm. Ha, ha ! what sayest thou ? 

Moth. Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the 
horse, for he is very slow gaited : But I go. 

Arm. The way is but short ; away. 

Moth. As swift as lead, sir. 

Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious ? 
Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow ? 

Moth. Minime, honest master ; or rather, master 



Arm. I say, lead is slow. 

Moth. You are too swift, sir, to say so 

Is that lead slow which is fired 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 fl 

[JExif. 

Arm. A most acute Juvenal ; voluble and free of 



I 



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. 1 

Moth. A wonder, master; here's a costard 
broken in a shin. 

9 A head. 



Scene I. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



155 



Arm. Some enigpia, some riddle : come, — thy 
T envoy ' ; — begin. 

Cost. No egma, no riddle, no V envoy ; no salve 
in the mail, sir : O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain ; 
no t envoy, no t envoy, no salve, sir, but a plantain ! 

Arm. By virtue, thou enforcest laughter; thy 
silly thought, my spleen ; the heaving of my lungs 
provokes me to ridiculous smiling : O, pardon me, 
my stars! Doth the inconsiderate take salve for 
V envoy, and the word, V envoy, for a salve ? 

Moth. Do the wise think them other? is not 
V envoy a salve ? 

Arm. No, page : it is an epilogue or discourse 
to make plain 
Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain. 
I will example it : 

The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee. 
Were still at odds, being but three. 
There's the moral : Now the V envoy. 

Moth. I will add the Venvoy : 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 Venvoy. 

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 Venvoy, ending in the goose : 
Would you desire more ? 

Cost. The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose, 
that's flat : — 
Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose be fat — 
To sell a bargain well, is as cunning as fast and loose : 
Let me see a fat Venvoy ; ay, that's a fat goose. 

Arm. Come hither, come liither : How did this 
argument 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 argument 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. 

Cost. O, marry me to one Frances : — I smell 
some Venvoy, some goose, in this. 

Arm^ I mean, setting thee at liberty, enfreedom- 
ing thy person ; thou wert immured, restrained, 
captivated, bound. 

Cost. True, true ; and now you will let me loose. 

Arm. I give thee thy liberty, set thee from dur- 
ance ; and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing 
but this : Bear this significant to the country maid 
Jaquenetta: there is remuneration; [Gitnng him 
money.] for the best ward of mine honour, is re- 
warding my dependents. Moth, follow. lErit. 

'An old French term for concludine verses, which served 
either to convey the moral, or to address the poem to some 
person. *^ 



Moth. Like the sequel, I. — Signior Costard, 
adieu. [Exit Moth. 

Cost. Now will I look to his remuneration. Re- 
muneration ! O, that's the Latin word for three 
farthings : three farthings — remuneration. — WhaVs 
the price of this inkle ? a penyiy : — No, VU give you 
a remuneration : why, it carries it, — Remuneration ! 

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-fannings-worth of silk. 

Cost. I thank your worship : Heaven 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 ? 

Biron. 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 Uiey 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 2 ; 
go. [Gives him money. 

Cost. Guerdon, — O sweet guerdon ! better than 
remuneration ; eleven-pence farthing better : Most 
sweet guerdon ! — I will doit,sir,in print.3 — Guer- 
don — remuneration. [Exit. 

Biron. O ! — And I, forsooth, in love ! I, tliat 
have been love's whip ; 
A very beadle to a humourous sigh ; 
A critick ; nay, a night-watch constable ; 
A domineering pedant o'er the boy, 
Than whom no mortal so magnificent ! 
This whimpled ^, whining, purblind, wayward boy; 
This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid ; 
Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms. 
The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans, 
Liege of all loiterers and malcontents. 
And I to be a corporal of his field. 
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 ; 
And I to 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 most mighty dreadful little might. 
Well, 1 will love, write, sigh, pray, sue, and groan ; 
Some men must love my lady, and some Joan. 

[EiU. 
' Reward. a With the utmoct exactness. 

'* Hooded, veiled. 



156 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



Act IV. 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I. —A Pavilion in the Park. 

Enter the Princess, Rosaline, Maria, Katharine, 
BoYET, Lords, Attendants, and a Forester. 

Prin. Was that the king, that spurred his horse 
so hard 
Against the steep uprising of the hill ? 

Jioi/et. I know not ; but 1 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, ray 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. 

Prin. I 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, tliat my heart means no ill. 

Boyet. Do not curst wives hold that self-sove. 
reignty 
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. 

ErUer Costard. 
Prin, Here comes a member of the common- 
wealth. 
Cost. Pray you, which is the head lady ? 
Prin- Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest 
that have no heads. 

Cost. Which is the greatest lady, the highest ? 
Prin. The thickest, and the tallest. 
Cost, The thickest, and the tallest! it is so; truth 
is truth. 
Are not you the chief woman ? you are the thick- 
est here. 
Prin. What's your will, sir ? what's your will ? 
Cost. I have a letter from monsieur Biron, to one 
lady Rosaline. 



I 



Prin. O, thy letter, thy letter ; he's a good friend 
of mine : 

Stand aside, good bearer Boyet, you can carve ; 

Break up this capon. 

Boyet. I am bound to serve. — 

This letter is mistook, it importeth none here ; 
It is writ to Jaquenctta. 

Prin. We will read it, I swear : 

Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear. 

Boyet. [Reads.] By heaven, that thou art fair, is 
most infallible ; true, that thou art beavieous ; truth 
itself that thou art lovely : More fairer than fair, 
beautiful than beauteous : truer than truth itself, have 
commiseration on thy heroical vassal ! The magnan- 
imous and mA>st illustrate king Cophetua set eye upon 
the pernicious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon; 
and he it was that might rightly say, veni, vidi, vici ; 
which to anatomize in the vulgar, {Obase and obscure 
vulgar ! ) videlicet, he came, saw, and overcame : he 
came, one ; saw, two ; overcame, three. Who came ? 
the king : Why did he come ? to see : Why did he see ? 
to overcome : To whom came he ? to the beggar : 
What saw he ? the beggar : Who overcame he ? the 
beggar: the conclusion is victory; On whose side? the 
king's : The captive is enriched; On whose side ? the 
beggars: The catastrophe is a nuptial; On whose 
side ? the kings ? — no, on both in one, or one in both, 
I am the king ; for so stands the comparison : thou 
the beggar ; for so witnesseth thy lowliness. Shall I 
command thy love ? I may : Shall I enforce thy love? 
I could : Shall I entreat thy love ? I vdll. 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 thee. 

Thine, in the dearest design of industry, 

Don Adriano de Armabo. 
Thus dost 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 weathercock ? did you ever hear 
better ? 

Boyet. I am much deceived, but I remember the 

Prin. Else your memory is bad, going o er it ere-^B J 
while. ^ i^H I 

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 i 

Who gave thee this letter ? 

Cost. I told you ; my lord. 

Prin. To whom should'st 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. 

* Just now. 



I 




Scene II. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



157 



Prin. Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, 
lords, away. 
Here, sweet, put up this ; 'twiU be thine another day. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE II. — The same. 

Enter Holofernes, Sir Nathaniel, and Dull. 

Nath. Very reverent sport, truly ; and done in 
the testimony of a good conscience. 

Hoi. The deer was, as you know, in sanguis, — 
blood ; ripe as a pomewater 6, who now hangeth 
like a jewel in the ear ofccelo, — the 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. 7 

Hoi. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo. 

Dull. 'Twas not a haud credo, 'twas a pricket. 

Hoi. Most barbarous intimation ! yet a kind of 
insinuation, as it were, in via, in way, of explica- 
tion ; /acere, 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, un- 
confirmed fashion, — to insert again my haud credo 
for a deer. 

Dull. I said, the deer was not a haud credo ; 'twas 
a pricket. 

Hoi. Twice sod simplicity, bis coctus! — O thou 
monster ignorance, how deformed dost thou look ! 

Nath. Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that 
are bred in a book ; he hath not eat paper, as it 
were ; he hath not drunk ink : his 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 

thankful should be 
(Which we of taste and feeling are) for those parts 

that do fructify in us more than he. 
For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet, 

or a fool. 
So, were there a patch 8 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 tveather, that love not the wind. 

Dull. You two are bookmen : Can you tell by 
your wit. 
What was a month old at Cain's birth, that's not five 
weeks old as yet ? 

HoL 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 9 not to five weeks, when he came to 

fivescore. 
The allusion holds in the exchange. 

Dull. 'Tis true indeed; the collusion holds in 
tlie exchange. 

Hoi. Heaven comfort thy capacity ! I say, the 
allusion holds in the exchange. 

' A species of apjile. 

■ To render some of the allusions in this scene intelligible to 
persons who are not acquaintetl with the language of jwrk- 
kceiH-rs and foresters, it may be necessary to mention, that a 
fawn, when it is a year old, is called by them a pricket ; when 
t is two years old, it is a sorel ; when it is three years old, it 
- a sore ; when it is four years, it is a buck of the first head ; 
.it five vears, it is an old buck. 

• A low fellow. » Reached. 



Dull. And I say the pollution holds in the ex- 
change ; for the moon is never but a month old : 
and I say beside, that 'twas a pricket that the prin- 
cess 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 attect the letter; for it 
argues facility. 

The praiseful princess pierced and prick'd a pretty 
pleasing pricket ; 

Some say a sore ; but not a sore, till now made sore 
with shooting. 
The dogs did yell; put L to sore, then sorel jumps 
from thicket 1 

Or pricket, sore, or else sorel ; the people Jail a 
hooting. 
If sore be sore, then L to sore makes fifty sores ; 

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, revo- 
lutions : But the gift is good in those in whom it is 
acute, and I am thankful for it. 

Nath. Sir, I praise heaven 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 ca- 
pable, I will put it to them : But, vir sapit, qui 
pauca loquitur : a soul feminine saluteth us. 

Enter Jaquenetta arid Costard. 

Jaq. 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 : 
'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 gelidd quando j)ecus omne sub 
umbra 
Ruminat, — and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan : 
I 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 understandcth 
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 ? 

Nnth. Ay, sir, and very learned. 

Hoi. Let me hear a staff, a stanza, a verse ; Lege, 
domine. 

Nath. [Reads.] If love make me forsworn, how 
shall I swear to loi^ T 

Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vowed I 



158 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



Act IV. 



Though to myself forsworn, to thee VU 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 suffice; 

Well learned is that tongue, that well can thee 
commend : 
AU ignorant that soul, that sees thee without wonder ,- 

( Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts ad- 
mire i) 
Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful 
thunder. 

Which not to anger bent, is musick, and sweet f re. 
Celestial, as thou art, oh pardon, love, this wrung. 
That sings heaven s praise with such an earthly 
tongue ! 

Hoi. You find not the apostrophes, and so miss 
the accent : let me supervise the canzonet. Here 
are only numbers ratified; but for the elegancy, 
facility, and golden cadence of poesy, caret. Ovidius 
Naso was the man : and why, indeed, Naso ; but 
for smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy, 
the jerks of invention ? Imitari, is notWng : so doth 
the hound his master, the ape his keeper, the tired ' 
horse his rider. But damosella virgin, was this 
directed to you ? 

Jaq. Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Biron, one of 
the strange queen's lords. 

Hoi. I will overglance the superscript. To the 
snow-ivhite 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 employment, Biron. 

Sir Nathaniel, this Biron is one of the votaries with 
the king ; and here he hath framed a letter to a 
sequent of the stranger queen's, which, accidentally, 
or by the way of progression, hath miscarried. — 
Trip and go, my sweet; deliver this paper into the 
royal hand of the king ; it may concern much : Stay 
not thy compliment ; I forgive thy duty ; adieu. 

Jaq. Good Costard, go with me. 

Cost. Have with thee, my girl. 

[Exeunt Cost, and Jaq. 

Naih. Sir, you have done this very religiously ; 
and, as a certain father saith 

Hoi. Sir, tell not me of the father, I do fear co- 
lourable 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, undertake your ben venuto ; where 
I will prove those verses to be very unlearned, 
neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor invention : I 
beseech your society. 

Nath. And thank you too : for society, (saith 
. the text,) is the happiness of life. 

Hoi. And, certes^, the text most infallibly con- 
cludes it. — Sir, [To Dull.] I do invite you too ; 
you shall not say me, nay : pauca verba. Away ; 
the gentles are at their game, and we will to our 
recreation. \_Exeunt. 



Attired, caparisoned. 



2 In truth. 



SCENE III. — Jmjther pari of the Park. 

Enter Birok, with a paper, 
Biron. The king he is hunting the deer ; I am 
coursing myself. Well, Set thee down, sorrow ! for 
so, they say, the fool said, and so say I, and I the 
fool. Well proved, wit ! 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 ; i'faith, 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, 1 do nothing in thf 
world but lie, and lie in my throat. By heaven, I 
do love : and it hatli 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 son- 
nets 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. 
[ Gets up into a tree. 

Enter the King, with a paper. 

Xing. Ah me ! 

Biron. [Aside.] Shot, by heaven! — Proceed, 
sweet Cupid ; thou hast thump'd him with thy bird- 
bolt under the left pap : — 

^ng. [Reads.] So sweet a kiss the golden sun 
gives not 

To those fresh morning drops upon the rose 
As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote 

The night of dew that on my cheeks down fows 
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 tecr that I do weep : 
No drop, but as a coach doth carry thee. 

So ridest thou triumphing in my woe ; 
Do but behold the tears that sivell 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. 
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 ? 

[Stq)S aside. 

Enter Longaville, with a paper. 

What Longaville ! and reading ! listen, ear. 

Biron. Now, in thy likeness, one more fool, ap- 
pear ! [Aside. 
Long. Ah me ! I am forsworn. 
Biron. Why, he comes in like a perjure, wearing 
papers. [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 perjured 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. 



I 




Scene III. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



159 



Biron. ^jlside.'] O, rhymes are guards on wanton 
Cupid's hose : 
Disfigure not his slop. 

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 tliee broke, deserve not pnnishm£nt. 
A woman I forswore ; but, I tvill prove. 

Thou, being a goddess, I forswore not thee : 
My vow was eartldy, thou a heavenly love ; 

Thy grace being gaitid, cures all disgrace in m<?. 
Voxos are but breath, and breath a vapour is : 

Then thou, fair su7i, which on my earth doth 
shine, 
Exhatsl 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 ivin a paradise 9 

Enter Dumain, vnth a paper. 

Long. By whom shall I send this ? — Company ! 

stay. [Step])ing aside. 

Biron. [Aside.} All hid, all hid, an old infant 

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. As fair as day. 

Biron. Ay, as some days ; but then no sun must 
shine. [Aside. 

Dunu 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 1 have 

writ. 
Biron. Once more I'll mark how love can vary 
wit. [Aside. 

Dum. On a day, {alack the day 1 1 

Ixme, whose month is ever May, 
Spied a blossom, passing fair. 
Playing in the wanton air : 
Through the velvet leaves the wind. 
All unseen, 'gan passage find ; 
That the lover, sick to death, 
IFish'd himself the heaven's breath. 
Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow ; 
Air, would I might triumph so ! 
But, alack, my hand is sworn. 
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn : 
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet ; 
Youth so apt to pluck a sweet. 
Do not call it sin in me. 
That I amfrrswornfor thee : 
Thou for whom even Jove would swear, 
Juno but an Ethiop were ,- 



And deny himself for Jove, 
Turning mortal for thy love. — 
This will I send ; and something else more plain, 
That shall express my true love's fasting pain. 

would the King, Biron, and Longa^e, 
Were lovers too ! Ill to example ill, 
Would from my forehead wipe a peijur'd note ; 
For none offend, where all alike do dote. 

J^ong. 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 is such ; 
You chide at him, offending twice as much : 
You do not love Maria ; Longaville 
Did never sonnet for her sake compile ; 
Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart 
His loving bosom, to keep down his heart. 

1 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 bresJc faith and troth ; 

[To Long. 
And Jove, for your love, would infringe an oatli. 

[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 from 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 perjur'd, 'tis a hateful thing ; 
Tush, none but minstrels like of sonneting. 
But are you not asham'd ? nay, are you not. 
All three of you, to be thus much o'ershot ? 

what a scene of foolery I have seen, 

Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen ! ' 
(> me, with what strict patience have I sat. 
To see a king transformed to a gnat ! 
And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys. 
And critick ^ Timon laugh at idle toys ! 
Where lies 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 we betray'd thus to thy over-view ? 

Biron. Not you by me, but I betray'd to you ; 
I, 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 ? When shall you hear that I 
Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye ? 



> Grief. 



Cjrnic. * In trimming rayseli. 



160 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



Act IV. Scene IU. 



Enter Jaquenetta and Costaed. 
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. J^h, you loggerhead, [To Costard.] you 
were born to do me shame. — 
Guilty, my lord, guilty ; I confess, I confess. 
King. 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 tliis 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 Cost, and Jaq. 

King. What, did these rent lines show some love 

of thine ? 
Biron. Did they, quoth you ? Who sees the 
heavenly Rosaline, 
That, like a rude and savage man of Inde, 

At the first opening of the gorgeous east. 
Bows not his vassal head ; and, strucken blind, 

Kisses the base ground with obedient breast ? 
What peremptory eagle-sighted eye 

Dares look upon the heaven of her brow, 
That is not blinded by her majesty ? 

King. What zeal, what fury hath inspired thee now? 
My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon ; 

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 ! 
Kitig. 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. 
O, if in black my lady's brows be deckt, 

It mourns, that painting, and usurping hair, 
Should ravish doters with a false aspect ; 

And therefore is she bom 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. 

King. But what of this ? Are we not all in love ? 

Biron. Nothing so sure; and thereby all forsworn. 

King. Then leave this chat: and, good Biron, 
now prove 
Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn. 

Dum. Ay, marry, there, — some flattery for tliis 
evil. 

Long. O, some authority how to proceed ; 
Some tricks, some quillets 6, how to cheat the devil. 

Dum. Some salve for perjury. 

Biron. O, 'tis more than need ! — 

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 fl 
Why, universal plodding prisons up 
The nimble spirits in the arteries ; 
As motion, and long-during action, tires 
The sinewy vigour of the traveller. 
N"ow, 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 
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 oflSces. 

6 Law-chicane. 






Act V. Scene I. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



161 



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 

Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony. 

Never durst poet touch a pen to write. 

Until his ink were temper'd with love's sighs ; 

O, then his lines would ravish savage ears, 

And plant in tyrants mild humility. 

From women's eyes this doctrine I derive ; 

They sparkle still the right Promethean fire ; 

They are the books, the arts, the academes, 

That show, contain, and nourish all the world ; 

Else none at all in aught proves excellent : 

Then fools you were these women to forswear ; 

Or, keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools. 



For wisdom's sake, a word that all men love ; 
Or for love's sake, a word that loves all men ; 
Let us once lose our oaths, to find ourselves, 
Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oatlis : 
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! 

Long. Shall we resolve to woo tliese girls of 
France ? 

King. And win them too: therefore let us devise 
Some entertainment for them in their tents. 

Biron. First, from tlie 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. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT V. 



SCENE I. —A Street. 
Enter Holofebnes, Sir Nathaniel, and Dull. 

HoL Satis quod siifftcii. 

Nalk. Sir, your reasons " at dinner have been 
sharp and sententious ; pleasant witliout scurrility, 
witty without affection**, audacious without impu- 
dency, learned without opinion, and strange without 
heresy. I did converse this quondam day with a 
companion of the king's, who is intituled, nominated, 
or called, Don Adriano de Armado. 

Hoi. Novi hominem tanquam te : His humour is 
lofly, his discourse peremptory, his tongue filed, his 
eye ambitious, his gait majestical, and his general 
behaviour vain, ridiculous, and thrasonical. 9 He 
is too picked ', too spruce, too affected, too odd, as 
it were, too perigrinate, as I may call it. 

Nath. A most singular and choice epithet. 

[ 2''akes out his table-book. 

Hoi. He draweth out the thread of his verbosity 
finer than the staple of his argument. I abhor sucli 
fanatical phantasms, such insociable and point-de- 
vise 5 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, hauf; 
neighbour, vocatur, nebour, neigh, abbreviated, ne : 
This is abhominable, (which he would call abomin- 
able,) it insinuateth me of insanie ; Ne intcUigis 
domine f to make frantick, lunatick. 

Nath. Laus deo, bone inti'lligo. 

Hoi. Bone ? bom; for bene : Priscian a little 

scratch 'd ; 'twill serve. 

Enter Armado, Moth, and Costard. 
Nath. Viflesnc quis venit f 
Hoi. Vieleo, et gaudeo. 
Arnu Chirra! [To Moth. 



Discourset. 
Overdressed. 



AfTcct-iUon. 9 BoantfUl ' A small 

Finical exactneM. wine. 



Hoi. Quare Chirra, not sirrah? 

Arm. Men of peace well encounter'd. 

Hal. Most military sir, salutation. 

Moth. They have been at a great feast of lan- 
guages, and stolen the scraps. [To Costa RDosv/e. 

Cost. O, they have lived long in the alms-basket 
of words ! I marvel, thy master hath not eaten tliee 
for a word ; for thou art not so long by the head as 
honorijicabilitudinitatibus : thou art easier swallowed 
than a fiap-dragon. 3 

Moth. Peace ; the peal begins. 

Arm. Monsieur, \_To Hol.] are you not letter'd ? 

Moth. Yes, yes ; he teaches boys the horn-book : 
— What is a, b, spelt backward with a horn on his 
head ? 

Hd. Ba, puerilia, with a horn added. 

Moth. Ba, most silly sheep, with a horn : — You 
hear his learning. 

Hol. Qvis, 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 wave of the Meditcrra- 
neum, a sweet touch, a quick vencw of wit : snip, 
snap, quick and home ; it rejoiceth my intellect : 
true wit. 

Moth. OfTer'd by a child to an old man. 

Co-tt. And 1 had but one penny in the world, thou 
shouldst have it to buy gingerbread : hold, there is 
the very remuneration I had of thy master, thou 
halfpenny purse of wit, thou pigeon-egg of discretion. 

Arm. Arts-man, prtBambula ; we will be singled 
from the barbarous. Do you not educate youth at 
the charge-house * on the top of the mountain ? 

Hol. Or, mans, the hill. 

Arm^ At your sweet pleasure, for the mountain. 



iflammahle substance, iwallowcd in a plass of 
* Free-school. 



162 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



Act V. 



Hoi. I do, sans question. 

Arm. Sir, the king is a noble gentleman ; and my 
familiar, I do assure you, very good friend : — For 
what is inward beween us, let it pass : — I do be- 
seech thee, remember thy courtesy ; — I beseech 
thee, apparel thy head ; — and among other im- 
portunate 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 world) 
sometime to lean upon my poor shoulder ; 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 tlie princess, sweet chuck, with some de- 
lightfid ostentation, or show, or pageant, or antick, 
or fire-work. Now, understanding tliat the curate 
and your sweet self, are good at such eruptions, 
and sudden breaking out of mirth, as it were, I have 
acquainted you withal, to the end to crave your 
assistance. 

Hoi. Sir, you shall present before her the nine 
worthies. — Sir Nathaniel, as concerning some en- 
tertainment of time, to be rendered by our assist- 
ance, — 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 present them? 

Hoi. Yourself; myself, or this gallant gentle- 
man ; 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 ; though few have the 
grace to do it. 

Arm. For the rest of the worthies ? — 

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 5 not, an antick. 
I beseech you follow. 

Hoi. Via ^, goodman Dull ! thou hast spoken no 
word all this while. 

Hull. Nor understood none neither, sir. 

Hoi. Allons ! we will employ thee. 

Hull. 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 II. — Bef(yre the Princess'^ Pavilion. 

Enter the Princess, Katharine, Rosaline, and 
Maria. 
Prin. Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart. 
If fairings come thus plentifully in : 

• Suit. e Courage 



A lady wall'd about with diamonds ! — 
Look you, what I liave from the loving king. 

Ros. Madam, came nothing else along with that ? 

Prin. Nothing but tliis ? 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 7 ; 
For he hath been five thousand years a boy. 

ITath. Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too. 

22 OS. You'll ne'er be friends with him ; he kill'd 
your sister. 

ITath. He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy ; 
And so she died : had she been light, like you. 
Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit. 
She might 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 word ? 

Xath. A light condition in a beauty dark. 

Ros. We need more light to find your meaning 
out. 

ITath. You'll mar the light, by taking it in snufF" ; 
Therefore, I'll darkly end the argument. 

Ros. Look, what you do, you do it still i' the 
dark. 

ITath. So do not you ; for you are a light girl. 

Ros. Indeed, I weigh not you ; and therefore light. 

ITath. You weigh me not — O, that's you care 
not for me. 

Ros. Great reason ; for, Past cure is still past care. 

Prin. Well bandied both ; a set of wit well play'd. 
But, Rosaline, you have a 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. 

ITath. 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! 

ITath. A plague of that jest ! and beshrew all 
shrows ! 

Prin. But what was sent to you from fairDumain ? 

ITath. Madam, this glove. 

Prin. Did he not send you twain ? 

Xath. 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 Lon- 
gaville ; 
The letter is too long by half a mile. 

Prin. I think no less : Dost thou not wish in heart. 
The chain were longer, and the letter short ? 

Mar. Ay, or I would these hands might never 
part. 



I 



I 
II 



" Grow. 
9 In anger. 



^ Formerly a term of endearment. 



Scene II. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



163 



Prin. We are wise girls to mock our lovers so. 

Itos. Tliey arc worse fools to jjurchase mocking so. 
That same Biron I'll torture ere I go. 
(), 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. 

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. 

Enter Boyet. 

Prin. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face. 

Boyet. O, I am stabb'd with laughter ! Where's 
her grace ? 

Prin. Thy news, Boyet ? 

Boyet. Prepare, madam, prepare ! — 

Ann, my girls, 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 conn'd his embassage : 
Action, and accent, did they teach him there ; 
Thus must thou speak, and thus thy body bear : 
And ever and anon they made a doubt. 
Presence majestical would put him out ; 
For, quoth the king, an angel shalt thou see ; 
Yet fear not thou, but speak atidaciously. 
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 flcer'd, and swore, 
A better speech was never spoke before : 
Another with his finger and his tliumb, 
Cry'd, Via ! we wUl do't, come what will come : 
The third he caper'd, and cried. All goes well : 
Tlie fourth turn'd on the toe, and down he fell. 
W^ith that they all did tumble on the ground. 
With such 9 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 tlie 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. 

Bos. Come on then; wear the favours most in sight. 

Xath. Butj in this changing, wliat 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. 

Ros. But shall we dance, if they desire us to't? 

Prin. No : to the death, we will not move a foot, 
Nor to their penn'd speech render we no grace ; 
But, while 'tis spoke, each turn away her face. 

Boyet. Why, that contempt will kill the speaker's 
heart. 
And quite divorce his memory from his part. 

Prin. Therefore 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. 
[ Trumpets sound within^ 

Boyet. The trumpet sounds ; be mask'd, the 
maskers come. [TAe Ladies mask. 

Enter the King, Birok, Longaville, and Do- 
main, in Russian habiis, and masked; Moth, 
Musicians, and Attendants. 

Moth. All hail, the richest beauties on the earth ! 
Boyet. Beauties no richer than rich taf!ata. 
Moth. A holy parcel of the fairest dames, 

[The Ladies turn their backs to him. 
That ever turn'd their — backs — to mortal views ! 
Biron. Their eyes, villain, their eyes. 
Moth. Thai ever turn'd 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. 
Moth. Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes, 
• with your sun- beamed eyes — 

Boyet. They will not answer to that epithet ; 
You were best call it, daughter-l>eamcd eyes. 

Moth. They do not mark me, and tliat brings me 

out. 
Biron. Is this your perfectness? begone, you rogue. 
Bos. What would these strangers? know their 
minds, Boyet : 
If they do speak our language, 'tis our will 
Tliat some plain man recount their purposes : 
Know what they would. 

Boyet. What would you with the princess? 
Biron. Nothing but peace and gentle visitation. 
M 2 



164. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



Act V. 



Ros. What would they, say tliey? 
Boyet. Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation. 
Ros. Why, that they have ; and bid them so be gone. 
JBoyeU She says, you have it, and you may be gone. 
King. Say to her, we have measur'd many miles 
To tread a measure with her on this grass. 

Boyet. They say that they have measur'd many a 
mile, 
To tread a measure with you on this grass. 

Ros. It is not so : ask them how many inches 
Is in one mile : if they have measur'd many, 
Tlie 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. 
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. 

[They 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 malmsey ; — Well run, dice. 
There's half a dozen sweets. 



Pri7i. 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? 
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 ! quickly, sir ; I long. 
Long. You have a double tongue within your mask, 
And would afford my speechless visor half. 

Kath. Veal, quoth the Dutchman ; — Is not veal 

a calf? 
Long. A calf, fair lady ? 

Kath. No, a fair lord calf. 

Long. Let's part the word. 

Kath. No, I'll not be your half. 

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 damsels 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 damsels ; you have simple wits. 

{Exeunt King, Lords, Moth, Musick, and 

Attendants. 

Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites. — 

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. 
Pnn. Biron did swear himself out of all suit. 
Mar. Dumain was at my service, and his sword : 
No point '^i 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. 3 
But vrill 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 

1 Falsify dice, lie. 

2 A quibble on the French adverb of negation. 

3 Better wits may be found among citizens. 



I 



Scene II. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



165 



In their own shapes ; for it can never be, 
They will digest this harsh indignity. 

PrtJi. Will they return ? 

Boyet. They will, they will, heaven knows ; 

And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows : 
Therefore, change favours ♦ ; and, when tliey repair, 
Blow like sweet roses in this summer air. 

Prin. How blow ? how blow ? speak to be un- 
derstood. 

Boyet. Fair ladies, mask'd, are roses in their bud : 
Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture shown, 
Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown. 

Frin. Avaunt, perplexity ! What shall we do, 
If they return in their own shapes to woo ? 

Bos. 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, 
A nd their rough carriage so ridiculous. 
Should be presented at our tent to us. 

Boyet. Ladies, withdraw ; the gallants are at hand. 

Prin. Whip to our tents^ as roes run over land. 
lExeunt Princess, Ros. Kath. and Maria. 

Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumaik 
in their proper habits. 

King* Fair sir, heaven save you ! WTiere 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 j and so will she, I know, my lord. 

{Exit. 

Biron. This fellow picks up wit, as pigeons peas ; 
And utters it again when Jove doth please : 
He is wit's pedler ; and retails his wares 
At wakes, and wassels ^, meetings, markets, fairs ; 
He can carve too, and lisp : Why, this is he, 
That kiss'd away his hand in courtesy j 
Th's is the ape of form, monsieur the nice, 
That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice 
In honourable terms ; nay, he can sing 
A mean '^ most meanly ; and, in ushering. 
Mend him who can : the ladies call him, sweet ; 
The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet : 
This is the flower that smiles on every one. 
To show his teeth as white as whales' bone 7 : 
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 Arm ado's page out of bis part ! 

Enter the Princess, ushered by Botet ; Rosaline, 
Maria, Katharine, otuI 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 conceivp. 
King. Construe my speeches better, if you may. 
Prin. Then wish me better, I will give you leave. 
King. We came to visit you ; and purpose now 
To lead you to our court : vouchsafe it then. 

* Features, countenances. 
Rustic merry-meetings. " The tcuor in miuick. 

The tooth of the horse-whale. 



Prin. This field shall hold me; and so hold your 
vow : 
Nor heaven, 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. 
Prin. You nick-name virtue: vice you should 
have spoke ; 
For virtue's office never breaks men's troth. 
Now by my maiden honour, yet as pure 

As the unsullied lily, I protest, 
A world of torments though I should endure, 

I would not yield to be your house's guest : 
So much I hate a breaking-cause to be 
Of heavenly oaths, vow'd with integrity. 
King. O, you have liv'd in desolation here, 

Unseen, unvisitcd, 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. 
R^i7ig. How, madam ? Russians ? 
Prin. Ay, in truth, my lord ; 

Trim gallants, full of courtship, and of state. 

Bos. Madam, speak true : — It is not so, my lord ; 
My lady, (to the manner of the days 8,) 
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. 
Bos. This proves you wise and rich ; for in my 

eye, — 
Biron. I am a fool, and full of poverty. 
Bos. 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. 
Bos. All the fool mine ? 

Biron. I cannot give you less. 

Bos. Which of the visors was it, that you wore ? 
Biron. Where ? when ? what vizor ? why demand 

you this ? 
Bos. There, then, that vizor ; that superfluous 
case. 
That hid the worse, and show'd the better face. 
King. We are descried : they'll mock us now 

downright. 
Dum. Let us confess, and turn it to a jest. 
Pfin. Amaz'd, my lord ? Why looks your high- 
ness sad ? 
Bos. Help, hold his brows ! he'll swoon ! Why 
look you pale ? — 
Sea-sick, 1 think, coming from Muscovy. 

Biron. Thus pour the stars down plagues for 
perjury. 
Can any face of brass hold longer out ? — 
Here stand I, lady ; dart thy skill at me ; 

Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a 
flout; 
Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance ; 
Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit ; 

• After the fashion of the times. 
M 3 



[66 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



Act V. 



And I will wish thee never more to dance, 
Nor never more in Russian habit wait. 

! 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, 
heaven knows!) 
Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express'd 

In russet yeas, and honest kersey noes : 
And, to begin, girl, — so heaven help me, la ! — 
My love to thee is sound, sans crack er 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, heaven 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. 

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 
transgression 
Some fair excuse. 

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 didrespect 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 9 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. Heaven give thee joy of him ! the noble lord 
Most honourably doth uphold his word. 

King. What mean you, madam ? by my life, my 
troth, 
I 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 ? 

Biron. Neither of either; I remit both twain. — 
9 Make no difficulty. 



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 ; and knows the trick 
To make my lady laugh, when she's dispos'd, — 
Told our intents before : which once disclos'd, 
Tlie 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 vnW, and error. 
Much upon this it is : — And might not you, 

[To BOYET. 

Forestal our sport, to make us thus untrue ? 
Do not you know my lady's foot by the squire % 

And laugh upon the apple of her eye ? 
And stand between her back, sir, and the fire. 

Holding a trencher, jesting merrily ? 
You leer upon me, do you ? there's an eye. 
Wounds like a leaden sword. 

Boyet, Full merrily 

Hath this brave manage, this career, been run. 
Biron. Lo, he is tilting straight ! Peace ; I have 
done. 

Enter Costard. 

Welcome, pure wit ! thou partest a fair fray. 

Cost. O, sir, they would know, 
Whether the three worthies shall come in, or no. 

Biron. What, are there but three? 

Cost. No, sir ; but it is vara fine. 

For every one pursents three. 

Biron. And three times thrice is nir^. 

Cost. Not so, sir ; under correction, sir ; I hope, 
it is not so : 
You cannot beg us, 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, sir, it were pity you should get your 
living by reckoning, sir. 

Biron. How much is it ? 

Cost. O, sir, the parties themselves, the actors, 
sir, will show whereuntil it doth amount : for ray 
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 : 



I 



2 Buffoon. 



3 Square, rule. 



Scene II. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



167 



Where zeal strives to content, and the contents 
Die in the zeal of them which it presents, 
Their form confounded makes most form in mirth ; 
When great things labouring perish in their birth. 
Biron. A right description of our sport, my lord. 

Enter Arm ado. 
Arm. Anointed, I implore so much expence of 
thy royal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of words. 
[Arm ADO converses mth the King, and de- 
livers him a paper. 
That's all one, my faii:, sweet, honey monarch : 
for, I protest, the schoolmaster is exceeding fantas- 
tical ; too, too vain ; too, too vain : But we will 
put it, as they say, to fortuna delta guerra. I wish 
you the peace of mind, most royal couplement ! 

[Exit Armado. 
£ing. Here is like to be a good presence of wor- 
thies: He presents Hector of Troy; the swain, 
Pompey the great ; the parish curate, Alexander ; 
Armado's page, Hercules j the pedant, Judas Ma- 

chabaeus. 
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. 
Xing. 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 pick out five such, take each one in his vein. 
H^ng. The ship is under sail, and here she comes 
amain. 
[Seats brought/or the King, Princess, ^c. 

Pageant of the Nine Worthies. 

Enter Costard arm* d for Pompey. 

Cost. / Pompey am, 

Boyet. You lie, you are not he. 

Cost. I Pompey am, 

Boyet. With libbard's head on knee. 

Biron. Well said, old mocker ; I must needs be 

friends with thee. 
Cost. 7 Pompey am, Pompey sumam'd the big,— 
Dum. Tlie great. 

Cost. It is great, sir; — Pompey sumam'd the 
great ; 
That oft in f eld, vuith 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 feet of this s^eet 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 
perfect : I made a little fault in great. 

Biron. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves 
the best worthy. 

Enter Nathanikl arm'd, for Alexander. 

Nath. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's 
comviander, 
£y cast, west, north, and toutht I spread my conquer- 
ing might : 

* A game with dice. 



My 'scutcheon plain declares, that I am Alimnder. 

Boyet. Your nose says, no, you are not ; for it 
stands too right. 

Prin. The conqueror is dismay'd . Proceed, good 
Alexander. 

Nath. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's 
commander J — 

Boyet. Most true, 'tis right ; you were so, Ali- 
sander. 

Biron. Pompey the great, 

Cost. Your servant, and Costard. 

Biron. Take away the conqueror, take away Ali- 
sander. 

Cost. O, sir, [To Nath.] you have overthrown 
Alisander the conqueror ! You will be scraped out 
of the painted cloth for this. A conqueror, and 
afeard to speak ! run away for shame, Alisander. 
[Nath. retires.] There, an't shall please you ; a 
foolish mild man ; an honest man, look you, and 
soon dash'd ! He is a marvellous good neighbour, 
insooth ; and a very good bowler : but, for Alisan- 
der, alas, you see, how 'tis ; — a little o'erparted : 
— But there are worthies a coming will speak tlieir 
mind in some other sort. 

Prin. Stand aside, good Pompey. 

Enter Holofernes arm'd, and Moth arm'd, for 
Hercules. 

Hoi. Great Hercules is presented by this imp. 
Whose club kUl'd Cerberus, that three-headed 
can us ; 
And when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp, 

Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus 
Quoniam, he seemeth in minority ; 
Ergo, / come with this apology. — 
Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish. 

[Exit Moth. 

Hoi. Judas I am, ycleped Machabaeus. 

Dum. Judas Machabseus dipt, is plain Judas. 

Hoi. I will not be put out of countenance. 

Biron. Because thou hast no face. 

Hoi. What is tins? 

Boyet. 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. 

Biron. St. George's half-cheek in a brooch. 

Dum. Ay, in a brooch of lead. 

Biron. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth- 
drawer: 
And now, forward ; for we have put thee in coun- 
tenance. 

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. 

[Exit HOLOFERKU. 

Enter Armado arm'd, for Hector. 

Biron. Hide thy head, Achilles; here comes 
Hector in arms. 

Dunu Though my mocks come home by me, I 
will now be merry. 

ITing. Hector was but a Trojan in respect of this. 

Boyet. But is this Hector ? 

Dum. I think. Hector was not so clean-timber'd. 

Long. His leg is too big for Hector. 
M 4 



168 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



Act V. 



Dum. More calf, certain. 

Boyel. No ; he is best indued in the small. 

Biron. This cannot be Hector. 

Dum. He's a painter ; for he makes faces. 

Arm. The armipotcnt Mars, of lances the mighty. 
Gave Hector a gift, — 

Bum. A gilt nutmeg. 

JSiron. A lemon. 

Long. Stuck with cloves. 

Dum. No, cloven. 

Arm. Peace! 
Tlie armipotent Mars, of lances the mighty, 

Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion ; 
A man so breath'd, that certain he would fight, yea 

From morn till night, out of his pavilion. 
I am that fiower, — 

Dum, That mint. 

Loiig. That columbine. 

Ar7n. Sweet lord Longaville, rein thy tongue. 

Long. I must rather give it the rein ; for it runs 
against Hector. 

Dum. Ay, ajid Hector's a greyhound. 

Arm. The sweet war-man is dead ; 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 hearing. [Bihon whispers Costard. 

Prin. Speak, brave Hector j we are much de- 
lighted. 

Arm. I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper. 

Boyet. Loves her by the foot. 

Arm. This Hector far surmounted Hannibal, — 

Cost. The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone. 

Arfn. Dost thou infamonize me among poten- 
tates ? thou shalt die. 

Cost. Then shall Hector be hanged, 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 hhn. 

Biron. Ay, if he have no more man's blood in 
him 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. 

Enter Meecade. 

Mer. Heaven 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 discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier. 

[Exeunt Worthies. 

King. How fares your majesty ? 

Prin. Boyet, prepare ; I will away to-night. 

'•' Aii. was the goddess of discord. 



King. Madam, not so ; I do beseech you, stay. 

Prin. Prepare, 1 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. 

King. The extreme parts of time extremely form 
All causes to the purpose of his speed j 
And often, at his very loose, decides 
That which long process could not arbitrate : 
And though the morning 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 
grief; — 
And by these badges understand the king. 
For your fair sakes have we neglected time, 
Play'd foul play with our oaths ; your beauty, ladies. 
Hath much deform'd us, fashioning our humours 
Even to the opposed end of our intents : 
And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous, — 
As love is full of unbefitting strains ; 
All wanton as a child, skipping, and vain ; 
Form'd by the eye, and, therefore, like the eye 
Full of strange shapes, of habits, and of fonns, 
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 j 
Your favours, the embassadors of love ; 
And, in our maiden council, rated them 
At courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesy, 
As bombast, and as lining to the time : 
But more devout than this, in our respects, 
Have we not been ; and therefore met your 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 7 them so. 

King. Now, at the latest minute of the hour. 
Grant us your loves. 

Prin. A time, methinks, too short 

To make a world-without-end bargain in : 
No, no, my lord, your grace is perjur'd much, 



I 

II 



Free to excess. 



Regard. 



Scene II. 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



169 



Full of dear guiltiness ; and therefore this, — 

If for my love (as there is no sucli cause) 

You will do aught, this shall you do for me : 

Your oatli I will not trust ; but go with speed 

To some forlorn and naked hermitage, 

Remote from all the pleasures of the world ; 

There stay, until the twelve celestial signs 

Have brought about their annual reckoning ; 

If this austere insociable life 

Change not your offer made in heat of blood ; 

If frosts, and fasts, hard lodging, and thin weeds 8, 

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 tliine, 

I will be thine ; and, till that instant, shut 

My woeful self up in a mourning house ; 

Raining the tears of lamentation. 

For the remembrance of my father's death. 

If tliis thou do deny, let our hands part ; 

Neither intitled in the other's heart. 

£ing. If this, or more than this, I would deny, 

To flatter up these powers of mine with rest. 
The sudden hand of death close up mine eye ! 

Hence ever then my heart is in thy breast. 

Biron. And what to me, my love? and what to 
me ? 

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 Avife! — A beard, fair health, and ho- 
nesty ; 
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 He 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, 
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? 

« Clothing. 



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 Kino. 

King. No, madam : we will bring you on your 
way. 

Biron. Our wooing doth not end like an old play j 
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 Akmado. 

jlrm. Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me, — 

Prin. Was not that Hector ? 

Dum, The worthy knight of Troy. 

Arm, I vrill kiss thy royal finger and take leave : 
I am a votary ; I have vowed to Jaquenetta to hold 
the plough for her sweet love three years. But, 
most esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue 
that the two learned men have compiled, in praise 
of the owl and the cuckoo ? it should have followed 
in the end of our show. 

King. Call them forth quickly, we will do so. 

Arm, Holla! approach. 

Enter Holoferkes, Nathakiel, Moth, Costard, 

and others. 
This side is Hieras, winter ; this Ver, the spring ; 
the one maintain'd by the owl, the other by the 
cuckoo. Ver, begin. 

SONG. 

I. 

Spring. IVlien daisies yied, and violets biiie, 
And lady-smocks all silver-white^ 
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue. 

Do paint the meadows with ddight. 
The cuckoo then, on every tree. 
Mocks married men, for thtis sings he, 

Cuckoo ; 
Cuckoo, cuckoo, — word of fear, 
Unpleasing to a married ear I 

II. 

When shepherds pipe on oaten straxia. 
And merry larks are plotighmcn'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 ; 



170 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



jVct v. 



Cuckoo, cuckoo — word offeaVf 
Unpleasing to a married ear ! 

III. 

Winter. IVlien icicles hang by the wall. 

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail. 
And Tom bears logs into the hall. 

And milk comes frozen home in pail. 
When blood is nipped, and ways befoul, 
IVien nightly sings the staring owl, 

To-who ; 
Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note. 
While greasy Joan doth keel ^ the pot. 

» Scum. ^ 



IV. 

When all aloud the wind doth blow. 

And coughing drowns the parson's saw, 
And birds sit brooding in the snow. 

And Marian's nose looks red and raw, 
When roasted crabs ' hiss in tlie bowl. 
Then nightly sings the staring owl, 

To-who ; 
Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note. 
While greasy Joan dath keel the pot. 

Arm. The words of Mercury are harsh after the 
songs of Apollo. You, that way ; we, this way. 

\E.xeunt. 
' Wild apples. 



I 






ry^ 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



o, I 

.N, / 



Suitors to Portia. 



Old GoBBO, Father to Launcelot. 

Salerio, a Messenger from Venice. 

Leonardo, Servant to Bassanio. 

Balthazar, "| _ . ^ t» ^' 

c J- Servants to Portia. 

Stephano, J 



Duke of Venice 

Prince of Morocco 

Prince of Arrago 

ANTOXio, the Merchant of Venice. 

Bassanio, his Friend. 

Salanio, ~j 

Salarino, I- Friends to Antonio and Bassanio. 

Gratiano, J 

Lorenzo, in love with Jessicj. 

Shylock, a Jew. 

Tubal, a Jew, his Fi-iend. 

Launcelot Gobbo, a Clovm, Servant to Shylock. 

SCENE, partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the Seat of Portia, on the Continent 



Portia, a rich Heiress. 
Nerissa, her Waiting-Maid. 
Jessica, Daughter to Shylock. 

Magnificoes (f Venice, Officers of the Court ofJuLSticei 
Gaoler, Servants, and other Attendants. 




Ol-VB all TOOK HAMI). BA33ANIO ; FARB YOO WEI,!,! 
.>RIKVB NOT TDiT 1 AM fAULRN TO THIS FOR TOD. 



MERCHANT OF VENICE, 



ACT I. 



SCENE I. — Venice. ^ Street. 
Enter Antonio, Salarino, nnd Salanio. 

Ant. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad ; 
It wearies me ; you say it wearies you ; 
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, 
What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, 
I am to learn ; 

And such a want-wit sadness makes of me. 
That I have much ado to know myself. 

Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean ; 
There, where your argosies ' with portly sail, — 
Like signiors and rich burghers of the flood. 
Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea, — 
Do overpeer the petty traffickers, 
That curt'sy to them, do them reverence, 
As they fly by them with their woven wings. 

Saliin. Kelieve me, sir, had I such venture forth, 
Tlie better })art of my affections would 
He with my hopes abroad. I should be still 
Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind ; 
Peering in maps, for ports, and piers, and roads; 
And every object, that might make me fear 
^Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt. 
Would make me sad. 

Salar. My wind, cooling my broth, 

Would blow me to an agxie, when I thought 
What harm a wind too great might do at sea. 
I should not see tlie sandy hour-glass run, 
' Ships of large Imrden. 



But I should think of shallows and of flats ; 
And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand, 
Vailing* her high-top lower than her ribs, 
To kiss her burial. Should I go to church. 
And see the holy edifice of stone. 
And not bethink me straight of dangerous rock-; ? 
Which touching but my gentle vessel's side, 
Would scatter all her spices on the stream ; 
Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks; 
And, in a word, but even now worth this, 
And now worth nothing ! Shall I have the thought 
To think on this ; and shall I lack tJie thought, 
j That such a thing, bechanc'd, would make me sad? 
But, tell not me; I know, Antonio 
Is sad to think upon his merchandize. 

Ant. Believe me, no : I thank my fortune for it. 
My ventures are not in one bottom trusted. 
Nor to one place ; nor is my whole estate 
Upon the fortune of this present year : 
Therefore, my merchandize makes me not sad. 

Satan. Why then you are in love. 

Ant. Fyc, fye ! 

SfUan. Not in love neither? Then let's say, you 
are sad. 
Because you are not merry : and 'twere as easy 
For you, to laugh, and leap, and say. you are merry, 
Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus. 
Nature hath fram'd strange fellows in her time : 
Some that will evenriore peep through their eyes, 
And laugh, like parrots, at a bag-piper; 
I * Ix.wcring. 



172 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



Act 1. 



And other of such vinegar aspect, 

That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, 

Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable. 

Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano. 

Solan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble 
kinsman , 
Gratiano, and Lorenzo : Fare you well ; 
We leave you now with better company. 

Snlar. I would have staid till I had made you merry, 
If worthier friends had not prevented me. 

Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard. 
I take it, your own business calls on you, 
And you embrace the occasion to depart. 

Salar. Good morrow, my good lords. 

Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh ? 
Say, when ? 
You grow exceeding strange : Must it be so ? 

Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. 
[Exeunt Salarino and Salanio. 

Lor. My lord Bassanio, since you have found 
Antonio, 
We two will leave you : but, at dinner-time, 
I pray you, have in mind where we must meet. 

Bass. I will not fail you. 

Gra. You look not well, signior Antonio ; 
You have too much respect upon the world : 
They lose it, that do buy it with much care. 
Believe me, you are marvellously chang'd. 

Ant. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano ; 
A stage, where every man must play a part, 
And mine a sad one. 

Gra. Let me play the Fool : 

With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come ; 
And let my liver rather heat with wine. 
Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. 
Why should a man, whose blood is warm within, 
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster ? 
Sleep when he wakes ? and creep into the jaundice 
By being peevish ? 1 tell thee what, Antonio, — 
I love thee, and it is my love that speaks ; 
There are a sort of men, whose visages 
Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond ; 
And do a wilful stillness 3 entertain. 
With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion 
Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit ; 
As who should say, / am sir Oracle, 
And, when I ope my lips, let no dog bark ! 
O, my Antonio, I do know of these, 
That therefore only are reputed wise, 
For saying nothing ; who, I am very sure. 
If they should speak, would almost dam those ears. 
Which, hearing them, would call their brothers, fools. 
I'll tell thee more of this another time : 
But fish not, with this melancholy bait, 
For this fool's gudgeon, this opinion. — 
Come, good Lorenzo : — Fare ye well, a while ; 
I'll end my exhortation after dinner. 

Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time : 
I must be one of these same dumb wise men. 
For Gratiano never lets me speak. 

Gra. Well, keep me company but two years more. 
Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue. 

Ant. Farewell : I'll grow a talker for this gear. 
[Exeunt Gratiano and Lorenzo. 

Bass. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, 
more than any man in all Venice : His reasons are 
as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff; 

3 Obstinate silence 



I you shall seek all day ere you find them : and, when 
you have them, they are not worth the search. 

Ant. Well ; tell me now, what lady is this same 
To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage, 
That you to-day promis'd to tell me of? 

Bass. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, 
How much I have disabled mine estate. 
By something showing a more swelling port 
Than my faint means would grant continuance ; 
Nor do I now make moan to be abridg'd 
From such a noble rate ; but my chief care 
Is, to come fairly off from the great debts. 
Wherein my time, something too prodigal, 
Hath left me gag'd : To you, Antonio, 
I owe the most, in money, and in love ; 
And from your love I have a warranty 
To unburthen all my plots, and purposes. 
How to get clear of all the debts I owe. 

Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it; 
And, if it stand, as you yourself still do, 
Within the eye of honour, be assured. 
My purse, my person, my extremest means, 
Lie all unlock'd to your occasions. 

Bass. In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft] 
I shot his fellow of the self-same flight 
The self-same way, with more advised watch. 
To find the other forth ; and by advent'ring both, 
I oft found both : I urge this childhood proof, 
Because what follows is pure innocence. 
I owe you much ; and, like a wilful youth. 
That which I owe is lost : but if you please 
To shoot another arrow that self way 
Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt, 
As I will watch the aim, or to find both. 
Or bring your latter hazard back again. 
And thankfully rest debtor for the first. 

Ant. You know me well ; and herein spend but 
time, 
To wand about my love with circumstance ; 
And, out of doubt, you do me now more wrong, 
In making question of my uttermost. 
Than if you had made waste of all I have : 
Then do but say to me what I should do, 
That in your knowledge may by me be done, 
And I am prest "* unto it : therefore, speak. 

Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left. 
And she is fair, and, fairer than that word. 
Of wond'rous virtues ; sometimes^ from her eyes 
I did receive fair speechless messages : 
Her name is Portia ; nothing undervalued 
To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia. 
Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth ; 
For the four winds blow in from every coast 
Renowned suitors : and her sunny locks 
Hang on her terajjles like a golden fleece ; 
Which makes her seat of Belmont, Colchos' strand. 
And many Jasons come in quest of her. 

my Antonio, had I but the means 
To hold a rival place with one of them, 

1 have a mind presages me such thrift. 
That I should questionless be fortunate. 

Ant. Thou know'st, that all my fortunes are at sea; 
Nor have I money, nor commodity 
To raise a present sum : therefore go forth. 
Try what my credit can in Venice do ; 
That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost, 
To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia. 
Go presently inquire, and so will I, 

■• Ready. * Formerly. 



SCKNE II. 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



173 



Where money is ; and I no question make, 

To have it of my trust, or for my sake. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II Belmont. A Roo in in Fortia,' s House. 

Enter Portia and Nerissa. 

For. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is 
a-wcary of this great world. 

Ner. You would be, sweet madam, if your mi- 
series were in the same abundance as your good 
fortunes are : And yet, for aught I see, they are as 
sick, that surfeit with too much, as they that starve 
with nothing : It is no mean happiness, therefore, 
to be seated in the mean ; superfluity comes sooner 
by white hairs, but competency lives longer. 

For. Good sentences, and well pronounced. 

Ner. They would be better, if well followed. 

For. If to do were as easy as to know what were 
good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor 
men's cottages, princes' palaces. It is a good divine 
that follows his own instructions : I can easier teach 
twenty what were good to be done, than be one of 
the twenty to follow mine own teaching. But this 
reasoning is not in the fashion to choose me a hus- 
l)and : — O me, the word choose ! I rilay neither 
choose whom I would, nor refuse whom I dislike ; 

^ \< thp i.jl) r.f ^ <i i:.n«,. rini.gUf^j- f;uj|]'fl hy thpwjl l 

of :i dead father : — Is it not hard, Nerissa, that! 
cannot choose one, nor refuse none ? 

Nor. Your father was ever virtuous ; and holy 
Jen, at tlieir death, have good inspirations ; there- 
fore, the lottery, that he hath devised in these three 
chests, of gold, silver, and lead, (whereof who 
chooses his meaning, chooses you,) will, no doubt, 
never be chosen by any rightly, but one who you 
shall rightly love. But what warmth is there in 
your aflfection towards any of these princely suitors 
that are already come ? 

For. I pray thee, over-name them ; and as thou 
namest them, I will describe them ; and, according 
to my description, level at my afiection. 

Ner. First, there is the Neapolitan prince. 
For. Ay, that's a colt, indeed, for he doth nothing 
but talk of his horse ; and he makes it a great ap- 
propriation to his own good parts, that he can shoe 
him liimself. 

Ner. Then, is there the county ^ Palatine. 
For. He doth nothing but frown ; as who should 
say. An if you xvill not have me, choose j he hears 
merry tales, and smiles not : I fear he will prove 
the weeping philosopher when he grows old, being 
so full of unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had 
rather be married to a death's head with a bone in 
his mouth, than to either of these. Heaven defend 
me from these two ! 

iVt'r. How say you by the French lord, monsieur 
Le Bon? 

For. Heaven made him, and therefore let him 
pass for a man. In truth, I know it is a sin to be a 
mocker : But, he ! why, he hath a horse better than 
the Neapolitan's; a better bad habit of frowning 
than the count Palatine : he is every man in no man : 
if a throstle sing, he falls straight a capering; he 
will fence with his own shadow ; If I should marry 
him, I should marry twenty husbands : If he would 
despise me, I would forgive him ; for if he love me 
to matlness, I shall never requite him. 

Ner. What say you then to Faulconbridge, tlie 
young baron of England ? 



For. You know, I say nothing to him ; for he 
understands not me, nor I him : he hath neither 
Latin, French, nor Italian ; and you will come into 
the court and swear, that I have a poor penny wortli 
in the English. He is a proper man's picture ; But, 
alas ! who can converse with a dumb show ? How 
oddly he is suited ! I think he bought his doublet 
in Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet in 
Germany, and his behaviour every where. 

Ner. What think you of the Scottish lord, his 
neighbour ? 

For. That he hath a neighbourly charity in him ; 
for he borrowed a box of the ear of the Englishman, 
and swore he would pay him again, when he was 
able : I think, the Frenchman became liis surety, 
and sealed under for another. 

Ner. How like you the young German, the duke 
of Saxony's nephew ? 

For. Very vilely in the morning, when he is 
sober ; and most vilely in the afternoon, when he is 
drunk : when he is best, he is a little worse than a 
man ; and when he is worst, he is little better than 
a beast : an the worst fall that ever fell, I hope, I 
shall make shift to go without him. 

Ner. If he should offer to choose, and choose the 
right casket, you should refuse to perform your 
father's will, if you should refuse to accept him. 

For. Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee, 
set a deep glass of Rhenish wine on the contrary 
casket ; for, if the devil be within, and that tempt- 
ation without, I know he will choose it. I will do 
any thing, Nerissa, ere I will be married to a spunge. 

Ner. You need not fear, lady, tlie having any of 
these lords; they have acquainted me with their 
determinations : which is indeed, to return to their 
home, and to trouble you with no more suit ; unless 
you may be won by some other sort than your fa- 
ther's imposition, depending on the caskets. 

For. If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die 
as chaste as Diana, unless I be obtained by the man- 
ner of my father's will : I am glad tliis parcel of 
wooers are so reasonable ; for there is not one among 
them but I dote on his very absence, and I wish them 
a fair departure. 

Ner. Do you not remember, lady, in your father's 
time, a Venetian, a scholar, and a soldier, that came 
hither in company of the Marquis of Montferrat ? 

For. Yes, yes, it was Bassanio ; as I think, so 
was he called. 

Ner. True, madam ; he of all the men that ever 
my foolish eyes looked upon, was tlie best deserving 
a fair lady. 

For. I remember him well ; and I remember him 
worthy of thy praise. — How now ! what news ? 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. The four strangers seek for you, madam, 
to take their leave : and there is a fore-runner come 
from a fifth, the prince of Morocco ; who brings 
word, the prince, his master, will be here to-night. 

For. If I could bid the fifth welcome with so 
good heart as I can bid the other four farewell, I 
should be glad of his approach : if he have the con- 
dition 7 of a saint, and the complexion of a devil, I 
had rather he should shrive me than wive me. 
Come, Nerissa. — Sirrah, go before. — Whiles we 
shut the gate upon one wooer, another knocks at 
the door. [Exeunt. 

7 Temper, qualities. 



174 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



Act I. Scene III. 



SCENE III. — Venice. A Public Place. 

Enter Bassanio and Shylock. 

Sky. Three thousand ducats, — well. 

Bass. Ay, sir, for three months. 

Shy. For three months, — well. 

Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall 
be bound. 

Shy. Antonio shall become bound, — well. 

Bass. May you stead me ? Will you pleasure me ? 
Shall I know your answer ? 

Shy. Three thousand ducats, for three months, 
and Antonio bound. 

Bass. Your answer to that. 

Shy. Antonio is a good man. 

Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the con- 
trary ? 

Shy. Ho, no, no, no, no ; — my meaning, in say- 
ing he is a good man, is to have you understand me, 
that he is sufficient: yet his means are in supposition ; 
he hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another to the 
Indies ; I understand moreover upon the Rialto, he 

hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England, 

and other ventures he hath, squander'd abroad : 
But ships are but boards, sailors but men ; there be 
land-rats, and water-rats, water-thieves, and land- 
thieves ; I mean, pirates ; and then, there is the 
peril of waters, winds, and rocks : The man is, not- 
withstanding, sufficient ; — three thousand ducats ; 

— I think I may take his bond. 
Bass. Be assured you may. 

Shy. I will be assured, I may ; and, that I may 
be assured, 1 will bethink me : May I speak with 
Antonio ? 

Bass. If it please you to dine with* us. 

Shy. Yes, to smell pork : I will buy with you, 
sell with you, talk with you, walk with you, and so 
following ; but I will not eat with you, drink with 
you, nor pray with you. What news on the Rialto ? 

— Who is he comes here ? 

Enter Antonio. 

^055. This is signior Antonio. 

Shy. {Aside.'] How like a fawning publican he 
looks ! 
I hate him for he is a Christian : 
But more, for that, in low simplicity. 
He lends out money gratis, and brings down 
The rate of usance here with us in Venice. 
If I can catch him once upon the hip, 
I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. 
He hates our sacred nation ; and he rails, 
Even there where mercliants most do congregate. 
On me, my bargains, and my well won thrift, 
Which he calls interest : Cursed be my tribe. 
If I forgive him ! 

Bass. Shylock, do you hear ? 

Shy. I am debating of my present store ; 
And, by the near guess of my memory, 
I cannot instantly raise up the gross 
Of full three thousand ducats : What of that ? 
Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe. 
Will furnish me : But soft ; How many months 
Do you desire ? — Rest you fair, good signior ; 

[To Antokio. 
Your worship was the last man in our mouths. 

Ant. Shylock, albeit I neither lend nor borrow, 
By taking, nor by giving of excess, 
Yet to supply the ripe wants ^ of my friend, 
8 Wants which admit no longer delay. 



I'll break a custom : — Is he yet possess'd 9, 
How much you would? 

Shy. Ay, ay, three thousand ducats. 

Ant. And for three months. 

Shy. I had forgot, — three months, you told me so. 

Well then, your bond ; and, let me see, But 

hear you ; 
Methought, you said, you neither lend nor borrow. 
Upon advantage. 

Ant. I do never use it. 

Shy. Three thousand ducats, — 'tis a good round 
sum. 
Three months from twelve, then let me see the rate. 
Ant. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholden to you ? 
Shy. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft. 
In the Rialto you have rated me 
About my monies, and my usances ' : 
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug ; 
For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe : 
You call me — misbeliever, cut-throat dog. 
And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine. 
And all for use of that which is mine own. 
Well then, it now appears, you need my help : 
Go to then ; you come to me, and you say, 
Shylock, we would have monies ; You say so ; 
You, that did void your rheum upon my beard. 
And foot me, as you spurn a stranger cur 
Over your threshold ; monies is your suit. 
What should I say to you ? Should I not say. 
Hath a dog money ? is it possible, 
A cur caji lend three thousand ducats 9 or 
Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key. 
With 'bated breath, and whispering humbleness, 

Say this, 

Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last ; 
You spurned me such a day ; another time 
You calVd me — dog; and for these courtesies 
Ell lend you thus much monies. 

Ant. I am as like to call thee so again. 
To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too. 
If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not 
As to thy friends ; (for when did friendship take 
A breed for barren metal of his friend ?) 
But lend it rather to thine enemy ; 
Who if he break, thou may'st with better face 
Exact the penalty. 

Shy. Why, look you, how you storm ! 

I would be friends with you, and have your love, 
Forget the shames that you have stain'd me with. 
Supply your present wants, and take no doit 
Of usance for my monies, and you'll not hear me 
This is kind I offer. 

Ant. This were kindness. 

Shy. This kindness will I show] 

Go with me to a notary, seal me there 
Your single bond ; and, in a merry sport. 
If you repay me not on such a day. 
In such a place, such sum, or sums, as are 
Express'd in the condition, let the forfeit 
Be nominated for an equal pound 
Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken 
In what part of your body pleaseth me. 

Ant. Content, in faith; I'll seal to such a bond 
And say, there is much kindness in the Jew. 

Bass. You shall not seal to such a bond for me, 
I'll rather dwell in my necessity. 

Ant. Why, fear not, man : I will not forfeit it ; 
Within these two months, that's a month before 

» Informed. ' Interest. 




Act II. Scene I. 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



175 



This bond expires, I do expect return 

Of thrice three times the value of tliis bond. 

Shy. O father Abraham, what these Christians are; 
Whose own hard dealings teaches tliem suspect 
The thoughts of others ! Pray you, tell me this ; 
If he should break his day, what should I gain 
By the exaction of the forfeiture ? 
A pound of man's flesh, taken from a man, 
Is not so estimable, profitable neither, 
As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say 
1 o buy his favour, I extend this friendship : 
If he will take it, so ; if not, adieu ; 
And, for my love, I pray you, wrong me not. 



Ant. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond. 

Shy. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's ; 
Give him direction for this merry bond, 
And I will go and purse the ducats straight; 
See to my house, left in the fearful guard 
Of an unthrifty knave ; and presently 
I will be with you. [Exit. 

Ant. Hie thee, gentle Jew. 

This Hebrew will turn Christian ; he grows kind. 

Bass. I like not fair terms, and a villain's mind. 

Ant. Come on : in tliis there can be no dismay, 
My ships come home a month before the day. 

[^Exeunt. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I. — Belmont. A Room in Portia's 
House. 

Flourish of Comets. Enter the Prince of Morocco 

and his Train; Portia, Nkrissa, and other of her 

Attendants. 

Mor. Mislike me not for my complexion. 
The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun, 
I'o whom I am a neighbour, and near bred. 
Bring me the fairest creature northward born, 
Where Phoebus' fire scarce thaws the icicles, 
And let us make incision "^ for your love. 
To prove whose blood is reddest, his, or mine. 
I tell thee, lady, this aspj^ct of mine 
Hath fear'd 3 the valiant ; by my love, I swear, 
The best regarded virgins of our clime 
Have lov'd it too : I would not change this hue. 
Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen. 

For. In terms of choice I am not solely led 
By nice direction of a maiden's eyes : 
Besides, the lottery of my destiny 
Bars me the right of voluntary choosing : 
But, if my father had not scanted me, 
And hedg'd me by his wit, to yield myself 
His wife, who wins me by that means I told you. 
Yourself, renowned prince, then stood as fair. 
As any comer I have look'd on yet. 
For my affection. 

Mor. Even for that I thank you ; 

Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets. 
To try my fortune. By this scimitar, — 
'ITiat slew the Sophy, and a Persian prince. 
That won three fields of sultan Solyman, — 
I would out-stare the sternest eyes that look, 
Out-brave the heart most daring on the earth, 
Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she bear, 
Yt-a, mock tiie lion when he roars for prey, 
To win thee, lady : But, alas the while ! 
If Hercules, and Lichas, play at dice 
Which is the better man, the greater throw 
May turn by fortune from the weaker hand : 
So is Alcides beaten by his page ; 
And so may I, blind fortune leading me. 
Miss that which one unworthier may attain. 
And die with grieving. 

Por. You must take your chance ; 

And either not attempt to clioose at all, 
Or swear, before you choose, — if you choose wrong, 

' AlUiMon to the Eastern custom for lovers to testify their 
paMiiin hy cutting themselves in their mislrcsscs' sight 
3 Terrified. 



Never to speak to lady afterward 

In way of marriage ; therefore be advis'd. 

Mor. Nor will not ; come, bring me unto my 

chance. 
Por. First, forward to the temple ; after dinner 
Your hazard shall be made. 

Mor. Good fortune then ! [Cornets. 

To make me bless't or cursed'st among men. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Venice. A Street. 
Enter LAUNCEtoT Gobbo. 

Laun. Certainly my conscience will serve me to 
run from this Jew, my master : The fiend is at 
mine elbow ; and tempts me, saying to me, Gobbo, 
Launcelot Gobbo, good Launcelot, or good Gobbo, 
or good Launcelot Gobbo, use your legs, take the 
start, run away : My conscience says, — no ; take 
heed, honest Launcelot ,- take lieed, honest Gobbo ; 
or, as aforesaid, honest Launcelot Gobbo ; do not 
run; scorn running with thy heels: Well, tlie most 
courageous fiend bids me pack ; via ! says the 
fiend ; away ! says the fiend ; rouse up a brave 
mind, says the fiend, a7id run. Well, my conscience, 
hanging about the neck of my heart, says very 
wisely to me, — my honest friend Launcelot, being 
an honest m,an^s son, budge not ; budge, says the 
fiend ; budge not, says my conscience : Conscience, 
say I, you counsel well ; fiend, say I, you counsel 
well : to be ruled by my conscience, I should stay 
with the Jew my master, who is a kind of devil ; 
and, to run away from the Jew, I should be ruled 
by the fiend, who, saving your reverence, is tlie 
devil himself: Certainly, the Jew is tlie very devil 
incarnation ; and, in my conscience, my conscience 
is but a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel 
me to stay with the Jew : The fiend gives tlie more 
friendly counsel : I will run, fiend ; my heels are 
at your commandment, I will run. 

Enter old Gobbo, unlh a Basket. 

Gob. Master, young man, you, I pray you; 
which is the way to master Jew's ? 

Lau7i. [Aside.] O heavens, tliis is my true-be- 
gotten father ! who, being more than sand-blind, 
high-gravel blind, knows mc not : — I w ill try con- 
clusions * with him. 

Gob. Master, young gentleman, I pray you, 
which is the way to master Jew's ? 

* Experiments. 



176 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



Act II. 



Laun. Turn up on your right hand, at the next 
turning, but, at the next turning of all, on your 
left ; marjy, at tlie very next turning, turn of no 
hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jew's house. 

Gob. 'Twill be a hard way to hit. Can you tell 
me whether one Launcelot, that dwells with him, 
dwell with him, or no ? 

Lnun. Talk you of young master Launcelot? — 
Mark me now ; I Aside.} now will I raise the waters : 
— Talk you of young master Launcelot ? 

Gob. No master, sir, but a poor man's son ; his 
father, though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor 
man, and, God be thanked, well to live. 

Laun. Well, let his father be what he will, we 
talk of young master Launcelot. 

Gob. Your worship's friend, and Launcelot, sir. 

Laun. But I pray you ergo, old man, ergo, I 
beseech you ; Talk you of young master Launcelot? 

Gob. Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership. 

Laun. Ergo, master Launcelot; talk not of 
master Launcelot, father ; for the young gentleman 
(according to fates and destinies, and such odd 
sayings, the sisters three, and such branches of 
learning,) is indeed deceased. 

Gob. Marry, God forbid ! the boy was the very 
staff of my age, my very prop. 

Laun. Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-post, 
a staff, or a prop ? — Do you know me, father ? 

Gob. Alack the day, I know you not, young 
gentleman ; but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy alive 
or dead? 

Laun. Do you not know me, father ? 

Gob. Alack, sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not. 

Laun. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you 
might fail of the knowing me : it is a wise father, 
that knows his own child. Well, old man, I will 
tell you news of your son : Give me your blessing : 
truth will come to light; murder cannot be hid 
long, a man's son may ; but, in the end, truth will 
out. 

Gob. Pray you, sir, stand up ; I am sure, you are 
not Launcelot, my boy. 

Laun. Pray you, let's have no more fooling about 
it, but give me your blessing; I am Launcelot, 
your boy that was, your son that is, your child that 
shall be. 

Gob. I cannot think, you are my son. 
Laun. I know not what I shall think of that : 
but I am Launcelot, the Jew's man ; and, I am 
sure, Margery, your wife, is my mother. 

Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed : I'll be 
sworn, if thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own 
flesh and blood. What a beard hast thou got ! thou 
hast got more hair on thy chin, than Dobbin my 
thill-horse ' has on his tail. 

Laun. It should seem, then, that Dobbin's tail 
grows backward ; I am sure he had more hair on 
his tail, than I have on my face, when I last saw 
him. 

Gob. Lord, how art thou changed ! How dost 
thou and thy master agree? I have brought him 
a present ; How 'gree you now ? 

Laun. Well, well ; but for mine own part, as I 
have set up my rest to run away, so I will not rest 
till I have run some ground : my master's a very 
Jew : Give him a present ! give him a halter : I am 
famish'd in his service ; you may tell every finger I 
have with my ribs. Father, I am glad you are 
come ; give me your present to one master Bassa- 
* Shaft-horse. 



nio, who, indeed, gives rare new liveries ; if I 
serve not him, I will run as far as there is any 
ground. — O rare fortune ! here comes the man ; — 
to him, father ; for I am a Jew, if I serve tlie Jew 
any longer. 

Enter Bassanio, with Leonardo, and other 
Followei-s. 

Bass. You may do so; — but let it be so hasted, 
that supper be ready at the farthest by five of tlie 
clock : See these letters deliver'd ; put the liveries 
to making ; and desire Gratiano to come anon to 
my lodging. [Ei-U a Servant. 

Laun. To him, father 

Gob, God bless your worship ! 

Bass. Gramercy ; Wouldst thou auglit with me ? 

Gob. Here's my son, sir, a poor boy, — — 

Laun. Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's 
man ; that would, sir, as my father shall specify, 

Gob. He hath a great infection, sir, as one would 
say, to serve — — 

Laun. Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve 
the Jevf, and I have a desire, as my father shall 
specify, 

Gob. His master and he, (saving your worship's 
reverence,) are scarce cater-cousins : 

Laun. To be brief, the very truth is, that the 
Jew having done me wrong, doth cause me, as my 
father, being I hope an old man, shall frutify unto 
you, 

Gob. I have here a dish of doves, that I would 
bestow upon your worship ; and my suit is, 

Laun. In very brief, the suit is impertinent to 
myself, as your worship shall know by this honest 
old man ; and, though 1 say it, tliough an old man, 
yet, poor man, my father. 

Bass. One speak for both ; — What would you ? 

Laun. Serve you, sir. 

Gob. This is the very defect of the matter, sir. 

Bass. I know thee well, thou hast obtain'd thy 
suit : 
Shylock, thy master, spoke with me this day. 
And hath preferr'd thee, if it be preferment. 
To leave a rich Jew's service, to become 
The follower of so poor a gentleman. 

Laun. The old proverb is very well parted be- 
tween my master Shylock and you, sir ; you have 
grace, sir, and he hath enough. 

Bass. Thou speak'st it well : Go, father, with 
thy son : — 
Take leave of thy old master, and enquire 
My lodging out : — Give him a livery 

[To his Fallowers. 
More guarded ^ than his fellows' : See it done. 
Laun. Father, in : — I cannot get a service, no ; 

— I have ne'er a tongue in my head Well, father, 

come ; I'll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling 
of an eye. [Exeunt Launcelot a7id old Gobbo. 

Bass. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this ; 
These things being bought, and orderly bestow'd. 
Return in haste, for I do feast to-night 
My best- esteem 'd acquaintance ; hie thee, go. 
Leon. My best endeavours shall be done herein. 

Enter Gratiano. 

Gra. Where is your master ? 
Leon. Yonder, sir, he walks. 

[Exit Leonardo. 
Gra. Signior Bassanio, — — 
6 Ornamented. 




Scene III. 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



177 



Bass. Gratiano ! 

Gra. I have a suit to you. 

Bass. You have obtain'd it. 

Gra. You must not deny me ; I must go with 
you to Belmont. 

Bass. Why, then you must ; — But hear thee, 
Gratiano ; 
Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice ; — 
Parts, that become thee happily enough, 
And in such eyes as ours appear not faults ; 
But where thou art not known, why, there they show 
Something too liberal ' ; — pray thee take pain 
To allay with some cold drops of modesty 
Thy skipping spirit; lest, through thy wild be- 
haviour, 
I be misconstmed in the place I go to, 
And lose my hopes. 

Gra. Signior Bassanio, hear me : 

If I do not put on a sober habit. 
Talk with respect, and swear but now and then, 
Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely ; 
Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes 
Thus with my hat, and sigh, and say, amen ; 
Use all the observance of civility, 
Like one well studied in a sad ostent 8 
To please his grandam, never trust me more. 
Bass. Well, we shall see your bearing. 9 

Gra. Nay, but I bar to-night; you shall not 
gage me 
By what we do to-night. 

Bass. No, that were pity ; 

I would entreat you rather to put on 
Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends 
That purpose merriment : But fare you well, 
I have some business. 

Gra. And I must to Lorenzo, and the rest ; 
But we will visit you at supper-time. \^Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— A Room in Shylock's House. 

Enter Jessica and Launcelot. 

Jes. I am sorry, thou wilt leave my father so ; 
Our house is sad, but thou, a merry devil, 
Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness : 
But fare thee well ; there is a ducat for thee. 
And, Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see 
Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest : 
Give him this letter ; do it secretly, 
And so farewell ; I would not have my father 
See me talk with thee. 

Laun. Adieu! — tears exhibit my tongue. — 
Most beautiful pagan, — most sweet Jew ! If a 
Christian do not play the knave, and get thee, I 
am much deceiv'd : But, adieu ! these foolish drops 
do somewhat drown my manly spirit ; adieu ! [Exit. 

Jes. Farewell, good Launcelot. — 
Alack, what heinous sin it is in me, 
To be asham'd to be my father's child ! 
Hut though I am a daughter to his blood, 
I am not to his manners : O Lorenzo, 
If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife ; 
Become a Christian, and thy loving wife. [Eait. 

SCENE IV. — A Street. 

Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Salarino, and 

Salanio. 

Lor. Nay, we will slink away in supper-time ; 

' Licentious. « Showof staid and serious demeanour. 

■ Carriage, deportment. 



Disguise us at my lodging, and return 
All in an hour. 

Gra. We have not made good preparation. 

Salar. We have not spoke us yet of torch-bearers. 

Solan. 'Tis vile, unless it maybe quaintly order'd; 
And better, in my mind, not undertook. 

Lor. 'Tis now but four o'clock ; we have two 
hours 
To furnish us : — 

Enter Launcelot, tuith a Letter. 

Friend Launcelot, what's the news ? 

Laun. An it shall please you to break up this, it 
shall seem to signify. 

Lor. I know the hand : in faith, 'tis a fair hand ; 
And whiter than the paper it writ on, 
Is the fair hand that writ. 

Gra. Love-news, in faith. 

Laun. By your leave, sir. 

Lor. W^hither goest thou ? 

Laun. Marry, sir, to bid my old master the Jew 
to sup to-night with my new master the Christian. 

Lor. Hold here, take this : — tell gentle Jessica, 
I will not fail her ; — speak it privately ; go. — 
Gentlemen, [Exit Launcelot. 

Will you prepare you for this masque to-night ? 
I am provided of a torch-bearer. 

Salar. Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it straight. 

Salan. And so will I. 

Xor. Meet me, and Gratiano, 

At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence. 

Salar. 'Tis good we do so. 

[Exeunt Salar. and Salan. 

Gra. Was not that letter from fair Jessica ? 

Lor. I must needs tell thee all : She hath directed, 
How I shall take her from her father's house ; 
What gold, and jewels, she is furnish'd with ; 
What page's suit she hath in readiness. 
Come, go with me ; peruse this, as thou goest : 
Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — Before Shylock'5 House. 
Enter Shylock and Launcelot. 
Shy. Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy 
judge, 
The diflference of old Shylock and Bassanio : — 
What, Jessica ! — thou shalt not gormandize. 
As thou hast done with me : — What, Jessica ! — 
And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out ; — 
Why, Jessica, I say ! 

Laun. Why, Jessica ! 

Shy. Who bids thee call ? I do not bid thee call. 
Laun. Your worship was wont to tell me, I could 
do nothing without bidding. 

Enter Jessica. 

Jes. Call you ? What is your will ? 

Shy. I am bid • fortli to supper, Jessica ; 
There are my keys : — But wherefore should I go ? 
I am not bid for love ; they flatter me : 
But yet I'll go in hate, to feed upon 
The prodigal Christian. -:- Jessica, my girl, 
Look to my house : — I am right loth to go ; 
There is some ill a brewing towards my rest. 
For I did dream of money-bags to-night. 

Laun. I beseech you, sir, go ; my young master 
doth expect your reproach. 

Shy. So do I bis. 

> Invited. 
N 



178 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



Act II. 



Laun. And they have conspired together, — I 
will not say, you shall see a masque ; but if you do, 
then it was not for nothing that my nose fell a 
bleeding on Black- Monday last, at six o'clock i'the 
morning. 

Sliif. What ! are there masques ? Hear you me, 
Jessica : 
Lock up my doors ; and when you hear the drum, 
And the vile squeaking of the wry-neck'd fife, 
Clamber not you up to the casements then, 
Nor thrust your head into the public street. 
To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces : 
But stop my house's ears, I mean my casements ; 
Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter 
My sober house. — By Jacob's staff', I swear 
I have no mind of feasting forth to-night : 
But I will go. — Go you before me, sirrah ; 
Say, I will come. 

Laun. I will go before, sir. — 

Mistress, look out at window, for all this ; 
There will come a Christian by, 
Will be worth a Jewess' eye, [^Exii Laun. 

Shy. What says that fool of Hagar's offspring, 
ha? 

Jes. His words were. Farewell, mistress ; nothing 
else. 

Shy. The patch is kind enough ; but a huge feeder. 
Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day 
More than the wild-cat ; drones hive not with me ; 
Therefore I part with him ; and part with him 
To one that I would have him help to waste 
His borrow'd purse. — Well, Jessica, go in ; 
Perhaps, I will return immediately ; 
Do, as I bid you. 

Shut doors after you : Fast bind, fast find ; 
A proverb never stale in thrifty mind. \^Ent. 

Jes. Farewell : and if my fortune be not crost, 
I have a father, you a daughter, lost. \_E3it. 

SCENE VI. — The same. 

Enter Gratiano and Salarino, masked. 

Gra. This is the pent-house, under which Lorenzo 
Desir'd us to make stand. 

Salnr. His hour is almost past. 

Gra. And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour, 
For lovers ever run before the clock. 

Salar. O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly 
To seal love's bonds new made, than they are wont. 
To keep obliged faith unforfeited ! 

Gra. That ever holds : Who riseth from a feast. 
With that keen appetite that he sits down ? 
Where is the horse that doth untread again 
His tedious measures with the unbated fire 
That he did pace them first? All things that are, 
Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd. 
How like a younker, or a prodigal. 
The scarfed bark puts from her native bay. 
How like the prodigal doth she return ; 
With over-weatlier'd ribs, and ragged sails. 

Enter Lorehzo. 
Salar. Here comes Lorenzo ; — more of this 

hereafter. 
Lor. Sweet friends, your patience for my long 
abode ; 
Not I, but my affairs, have made you wait ; 
When you shall please to play the thieves for wives, 
I'll watch as long for you then. — Approach ; 
Here dwells my father Jew : — Ho ! who's within? 



Enter Jessica, above, in Boy's clothes. 

Jes Who are you ? Tell me, for more certainty, 
Albeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue. 

Lor. Lorenzo, and thy love. 

Jes. Lorenzo, certain ; and my love, indeed ; 
For who love I so much ? And now who knows, 
But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours? 

Lor. Heaven, and thy thoughts, are witness that 
thou art. 

Jes. Here, catch this casket, it is worth the pains. 
I am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me. 
For I am much asham'd of my exchange : 
But love is blind, and lovers cannot see 
The pretty follies that themselves commit : 
For if they could, Cupid himself would blush 
To see me thus transformed to a boy. 

Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer. 

Jes. What, must I hold a candle to my shames ? 
They in themselves, good sooth, are too too light. 
Why, 'tis an oflSce of discovery, love ; 
And I should be obscur'd. 

Lor. So are you, sweet, 

Even in the lovely garnish of a boy. 
But come at once ; 

For the close night doth play the run-away. 
And we are staid for at Bassanio's feast. 

Jes. I will make fast the doors, and join you 
straight. \^Eont,Jrom above. 

Gra. Now, by my hood, a Gentile, and no Jew 

Lor. Beshrew me, but 1 love her heartily : 
For she is wise, if I can judge of her ; 
And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true ; 
And true she is, as she hath prov'd herself; 
And therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true. 
Shall she be placed in my constant soul. 

Enter Jessica, below. 
What, art thou come ? — On, gentlemen, away ; 
Our masquing mates by this time for us stay. 

[Exit with Jessica and Salarino. 

Enter Antonio. 

Ant. Who's there ? 

Gra. Signior Antonio ? 

Ant. Fye, fye, Gratiano ! where are all the rest ? 
'Tis nine o'clock : our friends all stay for you : — 
No masque to-night ; the wind is come about, 
Bassanio presently will go aboard : 
I have sent twenty out to seek for you. 

Gra. I am glad on't ; I desire no more delight. 
Than to be under sail, and gone to-night. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VII. — Belmont. A Room in Portia's 
House. 

Flourish of Cornets. Enter Portia, with the Prince 
of Morocco, and both tfieir Trains. 

For. Go, draw aside the curtains, and discover 
The several caskets to this noble prince — 
Now make your choice. 

Mor. The first, of gold, who this inscription 
bears ; — 
Who chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire. 
The second ; silver, which this promise carries ; — 
JVho chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves. 
This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt ; — 
JVho chooseth me, must give and hazard all he hath. 
How shall I know if I do choose the right ? 

For. The one of them contains my picture, prince; 
If you choose that, then I am yours withal. 



I 



Scene VII. 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



179 



Mor. Some god direct my judgment ! Let me sec, 
I will survey the inscriptions back again : 
What says this leaden casket ? 
Who chooseth vie, viust give and hazard all he hath, 
Must give — For what ? for lead ? hazard for lead ? 
This casket threatens ; Men, that hazard all. 
Do it in hope of fair advantages : 
A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross ; 
I'll then nor give, nor hazard, aught for lead. 
What says the silver, with her virgin hue ? 
lHio chooseth vie, shall get as much as he deserves. 
As much as he deserves ? — Pause there, Morocco. 
And weigh thy value with an even hand : 
If thou be'st rated by thy estimation, 
Thou dost deserve enough ; and yet enough 
May not extend so far as to the lady ; 
And yet to be afeard of my deserving. 
Were but a weak disabling of myself. 
As much as I deserve ! — Why, that's the lady : 
I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes. 
In graces, and in qualities of breeding ; 
But more than these, in love I do deserve. 
What if I stray'd no further, but chose here ? — 
Let's see once more this saying grav'd in gold : 
Who chooseth me, shall gain what viany men desire. 
Why, that's the lady ; all the world desires her : 
From the four comers of the earth they come, 
To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint. 
Tlie Hyrcanian deserts, and the vasty wilds 
Of wide Arabia, are as through-fares now. 
For princes to come view fair Portia : 
The watery kingdom, whose ambitious head 
Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar 
To stop the foreign spirits ; but they come. 
As o'er a brook, to see fair Portia. 
One of these three contains her heavenly picture. 
Is't like, that lead contains her ? 'Twere a sin 
To think so base a thought ; it were too gross 
To rib '- her cerecloth in tlie obscure grave. 
Or shall I think, in silver she's immur'd, 
Being ten times undervalued to try'd gold? 
O sinful thought ! Never so rich a gem 
Was set in worse than gold. They have in England 
A coin that bears the figure of an angel 
Stamped in gold ; but that's insculp'd 3 upon ; 
But here an angel in a golden bed 
Lies all within. — Deliver me the key ; 
Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may ! 

For. There, take it, prince, and if my form lie 
there. 
Then I am yours. \^He unlocks the golden cas\et. 

Mor. What have we here ? 

A carrion death, within whose empty eye 
'Diere is a written scroll? I'll read die writing. 

All that glisters is not goldj 
Often have you heard that told : 
Many a man his life hath sold, 
But my outside to behold : 
Gilded tombs do worms infold. 
Had you been as tvise as bold, 
Young in limbs, in judgment old. 
Your answer had not been inscroCd : 
Fare you well; your suit is cold. 

Cold, indeed ; and labour lost : 

Then, farewell, heat; and, welcome, frost. — 
Portia, adieu ! I have too griev'd a heart 
To take a tedious leave : thus losers part. [Exit. 



« Enclo&e. 



3 Engraven. 



For. A gentle riddance ; Draw the curtains 

go; ■ 

Let all of his complexion choose me so. \^Exeunt. 

SCENE VIII. — Venice. A Street. 
Enter Salarino ani Salanio. 

Salar. Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail ; 
With him is Gratiano gone along ; 
And in their ship, I am sure, Lorenzo is not. 

Salan. The villain Jew with outcries rais'd the 
duke; 
Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship. 

Salar. He came too late, the ship was under sail ; 
But there the duke was given to understand, 
That in a gondola were seen together 
Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica : 
Besides, Antonio certify'd the duke, 
They were not with Bassanio in his ship. 

Salan. I never heard a passion so confus'd, 
So strange, outrageous, and so variable. 
As the dog Jew did utter in the streets : 
My daughter ! my ducats ; — my daughter ! 
Fled with a Christian ? — my christian ducats — 
Justice ! the law ! my ducats, and my dnighter f 
A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducat Sy 
Of double ducats, stoCnfroin me by my daughter ! 
Ami jewels ; a stone, a rich and precious stone, 
SloVn by my daughter ! — Justice / fnd the ff,rl ! 
She hath the stone upon her, and the ducats ! 

Salar. Why, all the boys in Venice follow him, 
Crying, — his stone, his daughter, and his ducats. 

Salan. Let good Antonio look he keep his day, 
Or he shall pay for this. 

Salar. Marry, well remem!)er*d : 

I reason'd ^ with a Frenchman yesterday ; 
Who told me, — in the narrow seas, that part 
The French and English, there miscarried 
A vessel of our country, richly fraught : 
I thought upon Antonio, when he told me; 
And wish'd in silence, that it were not his. 

Salan. You were best to tell Antonio what you 
hear; 
Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him. 

Salar. A kinder gentleman treads not the earth. 
I saw Bassanio and Antonio part ; 
Bassanio told him, he woidd make some speed 
Of his return ; he answer'd — Do not so. 
Slubber * not business for my sake, Bassanio, 
But stay the very riping of the time ; 
And for the Jew^s bond, which he hath of me. 
Let it not enter in your mind of love : 
Be merry ; and employ your chiifest thoughts 
To courtship, and such fair ostenls ^ of love 
As shall conveniently become you there : 
And even there, his eye being big with tears, 
Turning his face, he put his hand behind him, 
And with aflection wondrous sensible 
He wrung Bassanio's hand, and so they parted. 

Salan. I tliink he only loves the world for him. 
I pray thee, let us go, and find him out. 
And quicken his embraced heaviness ^ 
With some delight or other. 

Salar. Do we so. [Ereunt. 

SCENE IX.— Belmont. A Room «« Portia's //oi/se. 
Enter Nbrissa, with a Servant. 
Ner. Quick, quick, I pray tliee, draw the curtain 
straight ; 

* To slubber is to do a thing rarplessly. 



* Conversed. 
6 Shows, tokens. 



N 2 



rhe heaviness he is fond ^4, 



180 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



Act III. 



The prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath, 
And comes to his election presently. 

Flourish of Cornets. Enter the Prince of Arragon, 
Portia, and their Trains. 

For. Behold, there stand the caskets, noble prince : 
K you choose that wherein I am contain'd, 
Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemniz'd ; 
But if you fail, without more speech, my lord, 
You must be gone from lience immediately. 

Ar. I am enjoin'd by oath to observe three things: 
First, never to unfold to any one 
Which casket 'twas I chose ; next, if I fail 
Of the right casket, never in my life 
To woo a maid in way of marriage ; lastly, 
If I do fail in fortune of my choice. 
Immediately to leave you and be gone. 

For. To these injunctions every one doth swear, 
That comes to hazard for my worthless self. 

Ar. And so have I address'd*^ me : Fortune now 
To my heart's hope ! — Gold, silver, and base lead. 
Who chooseth tne, must give and hazard all he hath : 
You shall look fairer, ere I give, or hazard. 
What says the golden chest ? ha ! let me see : — 
Who chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire. 
What many men desire. — That many may be meant 
By the fool multitude, that choose by show. 
Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach : 
Which pries not to the interior, but, like the martlet, 
Builds in the weatlier on the outward wall, 
Even in the force and road of casualty. 
I will not choose what many men desire. 
Because I will not jump 9 with common spirits, 
And rank me with the barbarous multitudes. 
Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure house ; 
Tell me once more what title thou dost bear : 
Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves ; 
And well said too ; For who shall go about 
To cozen fortune, and be honourable 
Without the stamp of merit? Let none presume 
To wear an undeserved dignity. 
O, tliat estates, degrees, and offices. 
Were not deriv'd corruptly ! and that clear honour 
Were purchas'd by the merit of the wearer ! 
How many then should cover that stand bare ? 
How many be commanded, that command ? 
How much low peasantry v/ould then be glean'd 
From the true seed of honour? and how much honour 
Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times, 
To be new varnish'd ? Well, but to my choice : 
Who chooseth me shall get as viiich as he deserves : 
I will assume desert ; — Give me a key for this. 
And instantly unlock my fortunes here. 

For. Too long a pause for that which you find 
there. 



Ar. What's here ? the portrait of a blinking idiot, 
Presenting me a schedule ! I will read it. 
How much unlike art thou to Portia ! 
How much unlike my hopes, and my deservings ! 
Who chooseth me shall have as much as he desei ves. 
Did I deserve no more than a fool's head ? 
Is that my prize ? are my deserts no better ? 

For. To offend, and judge, are distinct offices, 
And of opposed natures. 

Ar. What is here ? 

Thejire seven tiTnes tried this . 
Si-ven times tried that judgment is, 
That did never choose amiss : 
Some there be, that shadows Iciss : 
Such have hut a shadow's bliss : 
There befools alive, I uis ', 
Silver d o'er ; and so was this. 
Take what wife you will to bed, 
I will ever be your head : 
So begone, sir, you are sped. 

Still more fool I shall appear. 

By the time I linger here : 

With one fool's head I came to woo. 

But I go away with two. 

Sweet, adieu ! I'll keep my oath, 

Patiently to bear my wroth. 

{Exeunt An-agon, and Train, 
For. Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth. 
O these deliberate fools ! when they do choose, 
They have tlie wisdom by their wit to lose. 

N'er. The ancient saying is no heresy ; — 
Hanging and wiving goes by destiny. 
For. Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa. 

Enter a Servant. 

Sei^j. Where is my lady ? 

l^or. Plere ; what wovdd my lord ? 

Sei'v. Madam, there is alighted at your gate 
A young Venetian, one that comes before 
To signify the approaching of his lord : 
From whom he bringeth sensible regrets ? ; 
To wit, besides commends, and courteous breath, 
Gifts of rich value ; yet I have not seen 
So likely an embassador of love : 
A day in April never came so sweet. 
To show how costly summer was at hand. 
As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord. 

For. No more, I pray thee ; I am half afeard, 
Thou wilt say anon, he is some kin to thee. 
Thou spend'st such high-day wit in praising him — 
Come, come, Nerissa ; for I long to see 
Quick Cupid's post, tliat comes so maimerly. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I. — Venice. A Street. 

Enter Salanio and Salarino. 

Salan. Now, what news on the Rialto ? 

Salar. Why, yet it lives there uncheck'd, that 
Antonio hath a ship of rich lading wreck'd on the 
narrow seas ; the Goodwins, I think they call the 



• Prepared. 



a Agiee. 



place ; a very dangerous flat, and fatal, where the 
carcases of many a tall sliip lie buried, as they say, 
if my gossip report be an honest woman of her word. 
Salan. I would she were as lying a gossip in that 
as ever knapp'd ginger, or made her neighbours 
believe she wept for the death of a third husband : 
But it is true, — without any slips of prolixity, or 



' Know. 



2 Salutations. 



Scene I 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



181 



crossing the plain high-way of talk, — that the good 

Antonio, the honest Antonio, O that I had a 

title good enough to keep his name company ! — 

Sal(ir. Come, the full stop. 

Salan. Ha, — what say'st thou ? — Why the end 
is, he hatii lost a ship. 

Sular. I would it might prove the end of his 
losses I 

Salan. Let me say amen betimes, lest tlie devil 
cross my prayer ; for here he comes in the likeness 
of a Jew. — 

Enter Shylock. 
How now, Shylock ? what news among the mer- 
chants ? 

Shy. You knew, none so well, none so well as 
you, of my daughter's flight. 

Siilar. That's certain ; I, for my part, knew the 
tailor tliat made the wings she flew withal. 

Salan. And Shylock, for his own part, knew the 
bird was fledg'd. 

S/ii/. INIy own flesh and blood to rebel ! 

Salar. There is more difference between thy flesh 
and hers, tlian between jet and ivory ; more between 
your bloods, than there is between red wine and 
Rhenish : — But tell us, do you hear whether An- 
tonio have had any loss at sea or no ? 

Shy. There I have another bad match : a bank- 
rupt, a prodigal, who dare scarce show his head on 
the Rialto ; — a beggar, that used to come so smug 
upon the mart ; — let him look to his bond : he was 
wont to call me usurer; — let him look to his bond : 
he was wont to lend money for a Christian courtesy ; 
— let him look to his bond. 

Salar. Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt 
not take his flesh ; What's that good for ? 

Shy. To bait fish withal : if it will feed nothing 
else, it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced 
me, and hindered me of half a million ; laughed at 
my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, 
thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated 
mine enemies ; and what's his reason ? I am a Jew : 
Hath not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs, 
dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with the 
same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to 
the same diseases, healed by the same means, 
warmed and cooled by the same winter and sum- 
mer, as a Christian is ? if you prick us, do we not 
bleed ? if you tickle us, do we not laugh ? if you 
poison us, do we not die ? and if you wrong us, 
shall we not revenge? if we are like you in the 
rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong 
a Christian, what is his humility ? revenge ; If a 
Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance 
be by Christian example ? why, revenge. The vil- 
lainy you teach me, I will execute ; and it shall go 
hard, but I will better the instruction. 

Enter a Servant. 
Serv. Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at his 
house, and desires to speak with you both. 

Salar. We have been up and down to seek him. 

EtUct Tubal. 

Salan. Here comes another of the tribe ; a third 
cannot be matched, unless the devil himself turn 
Jew. [Exeunt Salan. Salar. and Servant. 

Shy. How now. Tubal, what news from Genoa ? 
hast thou found my daughter ? 

Tub. I often came where I did hear of her, but 
cannot find her. 



Shy. Why there, there, there, there ! a diamond 
gone, cost me two thousand ducats in Frankfort ! 
The curse never fell upon our nation till now ; I 
never felt it till now : — two thousand ducats in 
that; and other precious, precious jewels. — I would, 
my daughter were dead at my foot, and the jewels 
in her ear ! 'would she were hears'd at my foot, and 
the ducats in her coffin ! No news of them ? — Why, 
so : — and 1 know not what's spent in the search : 
Why, thou loss upon loss ! the thief gone with so 
much, and so much to find the thief; and no satis- 
faction, no revenge : nor no ill luck stirring, but 
what lights o' my shoulders ; no sighs, but o' my 
breathing ; no tears, but o' my shedding. 

Tub. Yes, other men have ill luck too; Antonio, 
as I heard in Genoa, — 

Shy. What, what, what ? ill luck, ill luck ? 
7'u6. — hath an argosy cast away, coming from 
Tripolis. 

Shy. Is it true ? is it true ? 
Tub. I spoke with some of the sailors that es- 
caped the wreck. 

Shy. I thank thee, good Tubal ; — Good news, 
good news : ha ! ha ! — Where ? in Genoa ? 

Tub. Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, 
one night, fourscore ducats. 

Shy. Thou stick'st a dagger in me : T shall 

never see my gold again : Fourscore ducats at a 
sitting ! fourscore ducats. 

Tub. ITiere came divers of Antonio's creditors 
in my company to Venice, that swear he cannot 
choose but break. 

Shy. I am very glad of it : I'll plague him ; I'll 
torture him ; I am glad of it. 

Tub. One of them showed me a ring, that he had 
of your daughter for a monkey. 

Shy. Out upon her ! Thou torturest me. Tubal ; 
it was my torquoise-* ; I had it of Leah, when I was 
a bachelor : I would not have given it for a w ilder- 
ness of monkeys. 

Tub. But Antonio is certainly undone. 
Shy. Nay, that's true, that's very true : Go, 
Tubal, fee me an officer, bespeak him a fortnight" 
before : I will have the heart of him, if he forfeit ; 
for were he out of Venice, I can make what mer- 
chandize T will ; Go, go. Tubal, and meet me at 
our synagogue ; go, good Tubal ; at our syna- 
gogue, Tubal. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Belmont. A Room in Portia'* 
House. 

Enter Bassanio, Portia, Gratiano, Nerissa, a»(i 
Attendants. The caskets are set out. 
Par. I pray you, tarry ; pause a day or two. 
Before you hazard ; for in choosing wrong, 
I lose your company ; therefore, forbear a while : 
There's something tells me, (but it is not love,) 
I would not lose you ; and you know yourself, 
Hate counsels not in such a quality : 
But lest you should not understand me well, 
( And yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought,) 
I would detain you here some month or two, 
Before you venture for me. I could teach you. 
How to clioose right, but then I am forsworn ; 
So will I never be : Beshrew your eyes, 
'lliey have o'er-look'd me, and divided me ; 
One half of me is yours ; tlic other lialf yours, — 

< A precious stone 
N 3 



182 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



Act III. 



Mine own, I would say ; but if mine, then yours, 
And so all yours : O ! these naughty times 
Put bars between the owners and their rights ; 
And so, tliough yours, not yours. — Prove it so, 
Let fortune bear the blame of it, — not I. 
I speak too long : but 'tis to peize * the time ; 
To eke it, and to draw it out in length, 
To stay you from election. 

Bass. Let me choose ; 

For, as I am, I live upon the rack. 

For. Upon the rack, Bassanio ? then confess 
What treason there is mingled with your love. 

Bass. None, but that ugly treason of mistrust, 
Which makes me fear the enjoying of my love : 
Tliere may as well be amity and life 
'Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love. 

For. Ay, but, I fear, you speak upon the rack. 
Where men enforced do speak any thing. 

Bass. Promise me life, and I'll confess the truth. 

For. Well then, confess and live. 

Bass. Confess and love. 

Had been the very sum of my confession : 

happy torment, when my torturer 
Doth teach me answers for deliverance ! 
But let me to my fortune and the caskets. 

For. Away then : I am lock'd in one of them ; 
If you do love me, you will find me out. — 
Nerissa, and the rest, stand all aloof. — 
Let musick sound while he doth make his choice. 
Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end. 
Fading in musick : that the comparison 
May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream. 
And wat'ry death -bed for him : He may win ; 
And what is musick then ? then musick is 
Even as the flourish when true subjects bow 
To a new-crowned monarch : such it is, 
As are those dulcet sounds in break of day. 
That creep into the dreaming bridegroom's ear, 
And summon him to marriage. Now he goes. 
With no less presence ^, but with much more love. 
Than young Alcides, when he did redeem 
The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy 
To the sea-monster : I stand for sacrifice, ■ 
The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives. 
With bleared visages, come forth to view 
The issue of the exploit. Go, Hercules ! 
Live thou, I live : — With much much more dismay 

1 view the fight, than thou that mak'st the fray. 

Musick, whilst Bassanio comments on the caskets 
to himself. 

SONG. 

I. Tell me, where isfancy'J bred, 
Or in the heart or in the head 9 
How begot, hoio nourished ? 

Reply. 2. It is engender' d in the eyes, 

With gazing fed ; and fancy dies 
In the cradle where it lies : 

Let us all ringfancy^s knell ; 
JVZ begin it, — Ding, dong, bell. 
All. Ding, dong, bell, 

Bass. — So may the outward shows be least 
themselves ; . 
The world is still deceiv'd with ornament. 
In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, 
But, being season'd with a gracious voice. 



Delay. 



6 Dignity of mien. 



Obscures the show of evil? In religion. 
What dangerous error, but some sober brow 
Will bless it, and approve it with a text. 
Hiding tlie grossness with fair ornament? 
There is no vice so simple, but assumes 
Some mark of virtue on his outward parts. 
How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false 
As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins 
The beards of Hercules, and frowning Mars ; 
Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk ? 
And these assume but valour's countenance, 
To render them redoubted. Look on beauty. 
And you shall see 'tis purchas'd by the weight; 
Which therein works a miracle in nature. 
Making them lightest that wear most of it : 
So are those crisped 8 snaky golden locks. 
Which make such wanton gambols with the wind. 
Upon supposed fairness, often known 
To be the dowry of a second head, 
The scull that bred them, in the sepulchre 
Thus ornament is but the guiled 9 shore 
To a most dangerous sea ; the beauteous scarf 
Veiling an Indian beauty ; in a word. 
The seeming truth which cunning times put on 
To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold. 
Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee : 
Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge 
'Tween man and man : but thou, thou meagre lead. 
Which rather threat'nest than dost promise aught. 
Thy plainness moves me more than eloquence. 
And here choose I : Joy be the consequence ! 
For. How all the other passions fleet to air. 
As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embrac'd despair. 
And shudd'ring fear and green-ey'd jealousy. 

love, be moderate, allay thy ecstasy. 

In measure rein thy joy, scant this excess ; 

1 feel too much thy blessing, make it less. 
For fear I surfeit ! 

Bass. What find I here ? 

[Opening the leaden casket. 
Fair Portia's counterfeit ? What demi-god 
Hath come so near creation ? Move these eyes ? 
Or whether, riding on the balls of mine, 
Seem they in motion ? Here are sever'd lips. 
Parted with sugar breath ; so sweet a bar 
Should sunder such sweet friends : Here in her hairs 
The painter plays the spider ; and hath woven 
A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men. 
Faster than gnats in cobwebs : But her eyes, — 
How could he see to do them ? having made one, 
Methinks, it should have power to steal both his. 
And leave itself unfurnish'd : Yet look, how far 
The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow 
In underprizing it, so far this shadow 
Doth limp behind the substance, — Here's the scroll. 
The continent and summary of my fortune. 

You that choose not by the view. 
Chance as fair and choose as true! 
Since this fortune falls to you, 
Be contejit and seek no new. 
If you be well pleas' d with this. 
And hold your fortune for your bliss, 
Turn you where your lady is. 
And claim her with a loving kiss. 

A gentle scroll ; — Fair lady, by your leave ; 

[Kissing her, 
I come by note, to give and to receive. 



Curled. 



Treacherous. 



Scene II. 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



183 



Like one of two contending in a prize, 
That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes, 
Hearing applause and universal shout, 
Giddy in spirit, still gazing, in a doubt 
Whether those peals of praise be his or no : 
So, thrice fair lady, stand I, even so ; 
As doubtful whether what I see be true, 
Until confinn'd, sign'd, ratified by you. 

Por. You see me, lord Bassanio, where I stand, 
Such as I am : though, for myself alone, 
I would not be ambitious in my wish, 
To wish myself much better ; yet, for you, 
I would be trebled twenty times myself ; 
A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times 
More rich : 

That only to stand high on your account, 
I might in virtues, beauties. Livings, friends, 
Exceed account : but the full sum of me 
Is sum of something ; which, to term in gross, 
Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractis'd : 
Happy in this, she is not yet so old 
But she may learn ; and happier than this, 
She is not bred so dull but she can learn ; 
Happiest of all, is, tliat her gentle spirit 
Commits itself to yours to be directed. 
As from her lord, her governor, her king. 
Myself and what is mine, to you, and yours 
Is now converted : but now I ^as the lord 
Of this fair mansion, master of my servants, 
Queen o'er myself; and even now, but now, 
This house, these servants, and this same myself. 
Are yours, my lord ; I give them with this ring ; 
Which when you part from, lose, or give away. 
Let it presage the ruin of your love. 
And be my vantage to exclaim on you. 

Buss. ]Madam, you have bereft me of all words, 
Only my blood speaks to you in my veins : 
And there is such confusion in my powers, 
As, after some oration fairly spoke 
By a beloved prince, there doth appear 
Among the buzzing pleased multitude ; 
Where every something, being blent ' together. 
Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy, 
Express'd and not express'd : But when tliis ring 
Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence ; 
O, then be bold to say, Bassanio's dead. 

Ner. My lord and lady, it is now our time. 
That have stood by, and seen our wishes prosper. 
To cry, good joy ; Good joy, my lord and lady ! 

Gra. My lord Bassanio, and my gentle lady, 
I wish you all the joy tliat you can wish ; 
For, I am sure, you can wish none from me ; 
And, when your honours mean to solemnize 
The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you. 
Even at that time I may be married too. 

Bass. With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife. 

Gra. I thank your lordship; you have got me one. 
My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours : 
You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid ; 
You lov'd, I lov'd ; for intermission 
No more pertains to me, my lord, than you. 
Your fortune stood upon the caskets there ; 
And so did mine too, as the matter falls : 
For wooing here, until I sweat again ; 
And swearing, till my very roof was dry 
With oatJis of love ; at last, — if promise last, — 
I got a promise of this fair one here, 
To have her love, provided that your fortune 
Achiev'd her mistress. 



For. Is this true, Nerissa ? 

Ner. Madam, it is, so you stand plcas'd withal. 
Jiass. And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith? 
Gra. Yes, 'faith, ray lord. 
Bass. Our feast shall be much honour'd in your 

marriage. 
Gra. But who comes here? Lorenzo, and his 
infidel. 
What, my old Venetian friend, Salerio ? 

Enter Lorenzo, Jessica, and Salerio. 

Bass. Lorenzo and Salerio, welcome hither ; 
If that the youth of my new interest here 
Have power to bid you welcome : — By your leave, 
I bid my very friends and countrymen. 
Sweet Portia, welcome. 

Por. So do I, my lord ; 

They are entirely welcome. 

Lor. I thank your honour : — For my part, my lord, 
My purpose was not to have seen you here ; 
But meeting with Salerio by the way, 
He did entreat me, past all saying nay. 
To come with him along. 

Sale. I did, my lord. 

And I have reason for it. Signior Antonio 
Commends him to you. [Gives Bassanio a letter. 

Bass. Ere I ope this letter, 

I pray you, tell me how my good friend doth 

Sale. Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind; 
Nor well, unless in mind: his letter there 
Will show you his estate. 

Gra. Nerissa, cheer yon' stranger ; bid her welcome. 
Your hand, Salerio : What's tlie news from Venice ? 
How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio? 
I know, he will be glad of our success ; 
We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece. 

Sale Would you had won the fleece that he hath lost ! 

Por. There are some shrewd contents in yon' 
same paper. 
That steal the colour from Bassanio's cheek : 
Some dear friend dead ; else nothing in the world 
Could turn so much the constitution 
Of any constant man. What, worse and worse ? — 
With leave, Bassanio ; I am half yourself, 
And I must freely have the half of any thing 
That this same paper brings you. 

Bass. O sweet Portia, 

Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words. 
That ever blotted paper ! Gentle lady. 
When I did first impart my love to you, 
I freely told you, all the wealtli I had 
Ran in my veins, I was a gentleman ; 
And then I told you true : and yet, dear lady. 
Rating myself at nothing, you shall see 
How much I was a braggart : When I told you 
My state was nothing, I should then have told you 
That I was worse than nothing ; for, indeed, 
I have engag'd myself to a dear friend, 
Engag'd my friend to his mere enemy. 
To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady ; 
The paper as the body of my friend. 
And every word in it a gaping wound, 
Issuing life-blood. — But is it true, Salerio ? 
Have all his ventures fail'd ? What, not one hit ? 
From Tripolis, from Mexico, and England, 
From Lisbon, Barbary, and India? 
And not one vessel 'scape the dreadful touch 
Of mercliant-marring rocks ? 

Sale. Not one, my lord. 

Besides, it should appear, that if he had 
N 4 



184 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



Act III. Scene IV. 



The present money to discharge the Jew, 
He would not take it : never did I know 
A creature, that did bear the shape of man, 
So keen and greedy to confound a man : 
He plies the duke at morning, and at night ; 
And doth impeach the freedom of the state, 
If they deny him justice : twenty merchants, 
The duke himself, and the magnificoes 2 
Of greatest port, have all persuaded with him ; 
But none can drive him from the envious plea 
Of forfeiture, of justice, and his bond. 

Jes. When I was with him, I have heard himswear, 
To Tubal, and to, Chus, his countrymen. 
That he would rather have Antonio's flesh. 
Than twenty times the value of the sum 
That he did owe him : and I know, my lord. 
If law, authority, and power deny not, 
It will go hard with poor Antonio. 

For. Is it your dear friend, that is thus in trouble ? 

Bass. The dearest friend to me, the kindest man, 
The best condition'd and unwearied spirit 
In doing courtesies ; and one in whom 
The ancient Roman honour more appears, 
Than any that draws breath in Italy. 

For. What sum owes he the Jew ? 

Bass. For me, three thousand ducats. 

For. What, no more? 

Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond ; 
Double six thousand, and then treble that. 
Before a friend of this description 
Shall lose a hair through my Bassanio's fault. 
First, go with me to church, and call me wife : 
And then away to Venice to your friend ; 
For never shall you lie by Portia's side 
With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold 
To pay the petty debt twenty times over ; 
When it is paid, bring your true friend along : 
My maid Nerissa, and myself, mean time. 
Will live as maids and widows. Come, away ; 
For you shall hence upon your wedding-day : 
Bid your friends welcome, show a merry cheer 3 ; 
Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear. — 
But let me hear the letter of your friend. 

Bass. [Reads.] Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all 
miscarried, my creditors grow cruel, my estate is very 
low, my bond to the Jew is forfeit ; and since, in jmy- 
ing it, it is impossible I should live, all debts are 
cleared between you and I, if I might but see you at 
my death : notwithstanding, use your pleasure : if 
your love do not persuade you to come, let not my 
letter. 

For. O love, despatch all business, and be gone. 

Bass. Since I have your good leave to go away, 

1 will make haste : but till I come again. 
No bed shall e'er be guilty of my stay. 

No rest be interposer 'twixt us twain. 

\^Exeunt, 

SCENE III. Venice. A Street. 
Enter Shylock, Salakio, Antonio, and Gaoler. 
Shy. Gaoler, look to him ; — Tell not me of 

mercy ; 

This is the fool that lent out money gratis ; — 
Gaoler, look to him. 

Ant. Hear me yet, good Shylock. 

Shy. I'll have my bond; speak not against my bond; 
I have sworn an oath, that I will have my bond : 
Thou call'st me dog, before thou hadst a cause : 

2 The chief men. 3 Face. 



But, since I am a dog, beware my fangs : 
The duke sJiall grant me justice. — I do wonder. 
Thou naughty gaoler, that thou art so fond * 
To come abroad with him at his request. 

Ant. I pray thee, hear me speak. 

Shy. I'll have my bond; I will not hear thee speak : 
I'll have my bond ; and therefore speak no more. 
I'll not be made a soft and duU-ey'd fool. 
To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield 
To Christian intercessors. Follow not ; 
I'll have no speaking ; I'll have my bond. 

lExit Shylock. 

Solan, It is the most impenetrable cur. 
That ever kept with men. 

Ant. Let him alone ; 

I'll follow him no more with bootless prayers. 
He seeks my life ; his reason well I know ; 
I oft deliver'd from his forfeitures 
Many that have at times made moan to me 
Therefore he hates me. 

Salan. I am sure the duke 

Will never grant this forfeiture to hold. 

Ant. The duke cannot deny the course of law ; 
For the commodity that strangers have 
With us in Venice, if it be denied. 
Will much impeach the justice of the state ; 
Since that the trade and profit of the city 
Consisteth of all nations. Therefore, go : 
These griefs and losses have so 'bated me. 
That I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh 
To-morrow to my bloody creditor. — — 
Well, gaoler, on : — Pray God, Bassanio come 
To see me pay his debt, and then I care not ! 

\^Exeunt. 
SCENE IV. — Belmont. ARoominVortWsHouse. 

Enter Portia, Nerissa, Lorenzo, Jessica, and 
Balthazar. 

Lor. Madam, although I speak it in your pre- 
sence, 
You have a noble and a true conceit 
Of god-like amity ; which appears most strongly 
In bearing thus the absence of your lord. 
But if you knew to whom you show this honour. 
How true a gentleman you send relief. 
How dear a lover of my lord your husband, 
I know, you would be prouder of the work. 
Than customary bounty can enforce you. 

For. I never did repent for doing good. 
Nor shall not now : for in companions 
That do converse and waste the time together 
Whose souls do bear an equal yoke of love. 
There must be needs a like proportion 
Of lineaments, of manners, and of spirit ; 
Which makes me think, that this Antonio, 
Being the bosom lover of my lord. 
Must needs be like my lord : If it be so. 
How little is the cost I have bestow'd. 
In purchasing the semblance of my soul 
From out the state of hellish cruelty? 
This comes too near the praising of myself; 
Therefore, no more of it : hear other things. — 
Lorenzo, I commit into your hands 
Tlie husbandry and manage of my house, 
Until my lord's return ; for mine own part, 
I have toward heaven breath'd a secret vow, 
To live in prayer and contemplation. 
Only attended by Nerissa here, 
Until her husband and my lord's return : 
< Foolish. 



I 



Act IV. Scene I. 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



185 



There is a monastery two miles off, 

And there we will abide. I do desire you, 

Not to deny this imposition ; 

The which my love, and some necessity, 

Now lays upon you. 

Lor. Madam, with all my heart ; 

I shall obey you in all fair commands. 

For. My people do already know my mind, 
And will acknowledge you and Jessica 
I n place of lord Bassanio and myself. 
So fare you well, till we shall meet again. 

Lor. Fair thoughts, and happy hours, attend on 
you. 

Jes. I wish your ladyship all heart's content. 

For. I thank you for your wish, and am well 
pleas'd 
To wish it back on you : fare you well, Jessica. — 
[Exeutit Jessica and Lorenzo. 
Now, Balthazar, 

As I have ever found thee honest, true. 
So let me find thee still : Take this same letter, 
And use thou all the endeavour of a man, 
In speed to Padua ; see thou render this 
Into my cousin's hand, doctor Bellario ; 
And, look what notes and garments he doth give 

thee, 
Bring them, I pray tlice, with imagin'd speed 
Unto the tranect, to the common ferry 
Which trades to Venice : — waste no time in words, 
But get thee gone ; I shall be there before thee. 

Balth' Madam, I go with all convenient speed. 

[Exit. 

For. Come on, Nerissa ; I have work in hand. 
That you yet know not of: we'll see our hus- 
bands. 
Before they think of us. 

Ner. Shall they see us ? 

For. They shall, Nerissa ; but in such a habit, 
That they shall think we are accomplished 
With what we lack. I'll hold thee any wager. 
When we are both accoutred like young men, 
I'll prove tlie prettier fellow of the two. 
And wear my dagger with the braver grace ; 
And speak, between the change of man and boy. 
But come, I'll tell thee all my whole device, 
"NVhen I am in my coach, which stays for us 
At the park gate ; and therefore haste away, 
For we must measure twenty miles to-day. 

[Exeunt. 



SCENE V. A Garden. 
Enter Lorenzo, Jessica, and Launcelot. 

Lor. Go in, sirrali ; bid them prepare for dinner. 

Laun. That is done sir ; they have all stomachs. 

Lor. What a wit-snapper are you ! then bid them 
prepare dinner 

Laun. That is done too sir ; only, cover is the word. 

Lor. "Will you cover then, sir ? 

Latin. Not so, sir, neither ; I know my duty. 

Lor. Yet more quarrelling with occasion ! Wilt 
thou show the whole wealth of thy wit in an in- 
stant? I pray thee, understand a plain man in his 
plain meaning : go to thy fellows ; bid them cover 
the table, serve in the meat, and we will come 
in to dinner. 

Laun. For the table, sir, it shall be served in ; 
for the meat, sir, it shall be covered ; for your coming 
in to dinner, sir, why, let it be as humours and con- 
ceits shall govern. [Exit Launcelot. 

Lor. O dear discretion, how his words are suited ! 
The fool hath planted in his memory 
An army of good words ; And I do know 
A many fools, that stand in better place, 
Gamish'd like him, that for a tricksy word 
Defy the matter. How cheer'st thou, Jessica ? 
And now, good sweet, say thy opinion, 
How dost thou like the lord Bassanio's wife ? 

Jes. Past all expressing : It is very meet, 
The lord Bassanio live an upright life j 
For, having such a blessing in his lady. 
He finds the joys of heaven here on earth ; 
And, if on earth he do not mean it, it 
Is reason he should never come to heaven. 
Why, if two gods should play some heavenly match.. 
And on the wager lay two earthly women. 
And Portia one, there must be something else 
Pawn'd with the other ; for the poor rude world 
Hath not her fellow. 

Lor. Even such a husband 

Hast thou of me, as she is for a wife. 

Jes. Nay, but ask my opinion too of that. 

Lor. I will anon ; first, let us go to dinner. 

Jes. Nay, let me praise you, while I have a 
stomach. 

Lor. No, pray thee, let it serve for table-talk ; 
Then, howsoe'er thou speak'st, 'mong other things 
I shall digest it. 

Jes. Well, I'll set you forth. [Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I. — Venice. A Court of Justice. 

Enter the Duke, the Mngnificoes ; Antonio, Bas- 
sanio, Gratiano, Salarino, Salanio, and 
others. 

Duke. What, is Antonio here ? 
j4nt. Ready, so please your grace. 
Duke. I am sorry for thee; thou art come to 
answer 

A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch 

(incapable of pity, void and empty 

From any dram of mercy. 
^ AtU. I have heard, 

Your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify 

His rigorous course ; but since he stands obdurate, 



And that no lawful means can carry me 
Out of his envy's reach, I do oppose 
My patience to his fury ; and am arm'd 
To suffer, with a quietness of spirit. 
The very tyranny and rage of his. 

Duke. Go one, and caJl the Jew into the court. 

Salan. He's ready at the door: he comes, my 
lord. 

Enter Shtlock. 
Duke. Make room, and let him stand before our 
face. — 
Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too, 
TImt thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice 
To tlie last hour of act ; and tlien, 'tis thought, 



186 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



Act IV. 



Thou'lt show thy mercy, and remorse'', more strange 

Than is thy strange apparent cruelty : 

And where 6 thou now exact'st the penalty, 

(Which is a pound of tliis poor merchant's flesh,) 

Thou wilt not only lose the forfeiture. 

But touch'd with human gentleness and love. 

Forgive a moiety of the principal ; 

G lancing an eye of pity on las losses, 

That have of late so huddled on his back ; 

Enough to press a royal merchant down. 

And pluck commiseration of his state 

From brassy bosoms, and rough hearts of flint, 

From stubborn Turks, and Tartars, never train'd 

To oflSces of tender courtesy. 

We all expect a gentle answer, Jew. 

Shy. I have possess'd your grace of what I purpose ; 
And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn. 
To have the due and forfeit of my bond : 
If you deny it, let the danger light 
Upon your charter, and your city's freedom. 
You'll ask me, why I rather choose to have 
A weight of carrion flesh, than to receive 
Three thousand ducats : I'll not answer that : 
But, say, it is my humour ; Is it answer'd ? 
What if my house be troubled with a rat. 
And I be pleas'd to give ten thousand ducats 
To have it baned ? What, are you answer'd yet ? 
Some men there are, love not a gaping pig ; 
Some, that are mad, if they behold a cat ; — 
As there is no firm reason to be render'd. 
Why he cannot abide a gaping pig ; 
Wily he, a harmless necessary cat ; 
So can I give no reason, nor I will not. 
More than a lodg'd hate, and a certain loathing, 
I bear Antonio, that I follow thus 
A losing suit against him. Are you answer'd ? 

Bass. This is no answer, thou unfeeling man, 
To excuse the current of thy cruelty. 

Shy. I am not bound to please thee with my 
answer. 

Bass. Do all men kill the things they do not love ? 

Shy. Hates any man the thing he would not kill ? 

Bass. Every offence i§ not a hate at first. 

Shy. What, would'st thou have a serpent sting 
thee twice ? 

Ant. I pray you, think you question with the Jew : 
You may as well go stand upon the beach. 
And bid the main flood bate his usual height ; 
You may as well use question with the wolf. 
Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb ; 
You may as well forbid the mountain pines 
To wag their high tops, and to make no noise, 
When they are fretted with the gusts of heaven ; 
You may as well do any thing most hard, 
As seek to soften that (than which what's harder ?) 
His Jewish heart : — Therefore, I do beseech you. 
Make no more oflTers, use no further means. 
But, with all brief and plain conveniency, 
Let me have judgment, and the Jew his will. 

Bass. For thy three thousand ducats here are six. 

Shy. If eveiy ducat in six thousand ducats 
Were in six parts, and every part a ducat, 
I would not draw them, I would have my bond. 

Duke. How shalt thou hope for mercy, rend'ring 
none? 

Shy. What judgment shall I dread, doing no 
wrong ? 
You have among you many a purchas'd slave. 



Pity. 



6 Whereas. 



Which, like your asses, and your dogs, and mules, 
You use in alvject and in slavish parts, 
Because you bought them : — Shall I say to you. 
Let them be free, marry them to your heirs ? 
Why sweat they under burdens ? let their beds 
Be made as soft as yours, and let their palates 
Be season'd with such viands ? You will answer, 
The slaves are ours : — So do I answer you : 
The pound of flesh, which I demand of him. 
Is dearly bought, is mine, and I will have it : 
If you deny me, fye upon your law ! 
There is no force in the decrees of Venice : 
I stand for judgment : answer ; shall I have it ? 

Duke. Upon my power, I may dismiss this cour 
Unless Bellario, a learned doctor. 
Whom I have sent for to determine this. 
Come here to-day. 

Salar My lord, here stays without 

A messenger with letters from the doctor. 
New come from Padua. 

Duke. Bring us the letters ; Call the messengerj 

Bass. Good cheer, Antonio ! What, man ? cou.« 
rage yet ! 
The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones, and 
Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood. 

Ant. I am a tainted wether of the flock, 
Meetest for death ; the weakest kind of fruit 
Drops earliest to the ground, and so let me : 
You cannot better be employ'd, Bassanio, 
Than to live still, and write mine epitaph. 

Enter Nerissa, dressed like a Lawyers Clerk. 

Duke. Came you from Padua, from Bellario ? 

Her. From both, my lord : Bellario greets your 
grace. [Presents a letter. 

Bass. Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly ? 

Shy. To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt 
there. 

Gra. Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew, 
Thou mak'st thy knife keen : but no metal can. 
No, not the hangman's ax, bear half the keenness 
Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee ? 

Shy. No, none that thou hast wit enough to make. 

Gra. O, be thou curst, inexorable dog ! 
And for thy life let justice be accus'd. 
Thou almost mak'st me waver in my faith. 
To hold opinion with Pythagoras, 
That souls of animals infuse themselves 
Into the trunks of men : thy currish spirit 
Govern'd a wolf, who, hang'd for human slaughter. 
Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet. 
And, whilst thou lay'st in thy unhallow'd dam, 
Infus'd itself in thee ; for thy desires 
Are wolfish, bloody, starv'd, and ravenous. 

Shy. Till thou canst rail the seal from off my bond. 
Thou but ofFend'st thy lungs to speak so loud : 
Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall 
To cureless ruin. — I stand here for law. 

Duke. This letter from Bellario doth commend 
A young and learned doctor to our court : — 
Where is he ? 

Ner. He attendeth here hard by, 

To know your answer, whether you'll admit him. 

Duke. With all my heart : — some three or four 
of you. 
Go give him courteous conduct to this place. — 
Mean time, the court shall hear Bellario's letter. 

[Clerk reads.] Your grace shall understand, that, 
at the receipt of your letter, I am very sick : but in 
the instant that your messenger came, in loving visit- 



I 
I 



Scene I. 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



187 



fUion was with me a young doctor of Rome ; his name 
is Bdlthasar : I acquainted him with the cause in 
co?Uroversi/ between the Jew and Antonio the mer- 
chant : we turned o'er many books together : he i^ 
furnish' d with my opinion; which, better d with his 
oivn learning, {t/ie greatness whereof I cannot 
enough commend,) comes with him, at my impor- 
tunity, to fUl v.p your grace's request in my stead. 
I beseech you, let his lack of years be no impediment 
to let him lack a reverend estimation ; for I never 
knew so young a body uith so old a head. I leave 
him to your gracious acceptance, whose trial shall 
better publish his commendation. 

Duke. You hear the learn'd Bellario, what he 
writes : 
And here, I take it, is tlie doctor come. — 

Enter Portia, dressed like a Doctor of Laws. 
Give me your hand : Came you from old Bellario ? 

For. I did, my lord. 

Duke. You are welcome : take your place. 

Are you acquainted with the difference 
That holds this present question in the court ? 

For. I am informed throughly of the cause. 
Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew ? 

Duke. Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth. 

For. Is your name Shylock ? 

Shy. Shylock is my name. 

For. Of a strange nature is the suit you follow ; 
Yet in such rule, that the Venetian law 
Cannot impugn 7 you, as you do proceed. — 
You stand within his danger », do you not ? 

[To Antonio. 

Ant. Ay, so he says. • 

For. Do you confess the bond ? 

Ant. I do. 

For. Tlien must the Jew be merciful. 

Shy. On what compulsion must I ? tell me that. 

For. The quality of mercy is not strain'd ; 
It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven. 
Upon the place beneath : it is twice bless 'd ; 
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes : 
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes 
The tlironed monarch better than his crown : 
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power. 
The attribute to awe and majesty. 
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ; 
But mercy is above his scepter'd sway. 
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, 
It is an attribute to God himself; 
And earthly power doth then show likest God's 
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, 
Though justice be thy plea, consider this, — 
That, in the course of justice, none of us 
Should see salvation : we do pray for mercy ; 
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render 
riie deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much, 
I'o mitigate the justice of thy pleaj 
Which, if tliou follow, this strict court of Venice 
Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there. 

Shy. My deeds upon my head ! I crave the law, 
The penalty and forfeit of my bond. 

For. Is he not able to discharge the money ? 

Bass. Yes, here I tender it for him in the court ; 
Yea, twice tlie sum : if that will not suffice, 
I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er. 
On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart ; 
If tins will not suffice, it must appear 



Oi»posc. 



* Reach or controu- 



That malice bears down truth. And I beseech you, 
Wrest once the law to your authority : 
To do a great right, do a little wrong : 
And curb this cruel devil of his will. 

For. It must not be ; there is no power in Venice 
Can alter a decree established : 
'Twill be recorded for a precedent; 
And many an error, by the same example. 
Will rush into the state : it cannot be. 

Shy. A Daniel cometojudgment ! yea a Daniel ! — 
O wise young judge, how do I honour thee ! 

For. I pray you, let me look upon the bond. 

Shy. Here 'tis, most reverend doctor, here it is. 

For. Shylock, tliere's thrice thy money off*er'd 
thee. 

Shy. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven : 
Shall I lay perjury upon my soul ? 
No, not for Venice. 

For. Why, this bond is forfeit ; 

And lawfully by this the Jew may claim 
A pound of flesh J to be by him cut oft' 
Nearest the merchant's heart : — Be merciful ; 
Take thrice thy money ; bid me tear the bond. 

Shy. When, it is paid according to the tenour. — 
It doth appear, you are a M'orthy judge ; 
You know the law, your exposition 
Hath been most sound : I charge you by the law, 
Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar. 
Proceed to judgment : by my soul I swear. 
There is no power in the tongue of man 
To alter me : I stay here on my bond. 

A7it. Most heartily I do beseech the court 
To give the judgment. 

For. Why then, thus it is. 

You must prepare your bosom for his knife : 

Shy. O noble judge ! O excellent young man ! 

For. For the intent- and purpose of the law 
Hath full relation to the penalty. 
Which here appeareth due upon the bond. 

Shy. 'Tis very true : O wise and upright judge ! 
How much more elder art thou than thy looks ! 

For. Therefore, lay bare your bosom. 

Shy. Ay, his breast : 

So says the bond ; — Doth it not, noble judge ? — 
Nearest his heart, those are the very words. 

For. It is so. Are there balance here, to weigh 
The flesh. 

Shy. I have them ready. 

For. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your 
charge. 
To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death. 

Shy. Is it so nominated in the bond ? 

For. It is not so express'd : But what of that ? 
'Twere good you do so much for charity. 

Shy. I cannot find it ; 'tis not in tlie bond. 

For. Come, merchant, have you any tiling to say? 

Ant. But little ; I am arm'd, and well prepar'd.— 
Give me your hand, Bassanio ; fare you well ! 
Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you ; 
For herein fortune shows herself more kind 
Than is her custom : it is still her use. 
To let the wretched man out-live his wealth 
To view with hollow eye, and wrinkled brow, 
An age of poverty ; from which lingering penance 
Of such a misery doth she cut me off*. 
Commend me to your honourable wife : 
Tell her tlie process of Antonio's end, 
Say, how I lov'd you, speak me fair in death ; 
And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge. 
Whether Bassanio had not once a love. 



188 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



Act IV. 



Ilepent not you that you shall lose your friend, 
And he repents not that he pays your debt ; 
For, if the Jew do cut but deep enough, 
I'll pay it instantly with all my heart. 

Bass. Antonio, I am married to a wife. 
Which is as dear to me as life itself; 
But life itself, my wife, and all the world. 
Are not with me esteem'd above thy life : 
I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all 
Here to this devil, to deliver you. 

For. Your wife would give you little thanks for 
that, 
If she were by, to hear you make the offer. 

Gra. I have a wife, whom, I protest, I love ; 
I would she were in heaven, so she could 
Entreat some power to change this currish Jjw. 

Ner. 'Tis well you offer it behind her back ; 
The wish would make else an unquiet house. 

S/iJ/. These be the Christian husbands : I have a 
daughter ; 
'Would, any of the stock of Barrabas 
Had been her husband, rather than a Christian ! 

Inside. 
We trifle time ; I pray thee, pursue sentence. 

For. A pound of that same merchant's flesh is 
thine ; 
The court awards it, and the law doth give it. 

Shj/. Most rightful judge ! 

For. And you must cut this flesh from off his 
breast ; 
The law allows it, and the court awards it. 

Sht/. Most learned judge ! — A sentence ; come, 
prepare. 

For. Tarry a little ; — there is something else. 
This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood ; 
The words expressly are a pound of flesh : 
Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh ; 
But, in thecutting it, if thou dost shed 
One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods 
Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate 
Unto the state of Venice. 

Gra. O upright judge ! — Mark, Jew ; — O 
learned judge ! 

Sht/. Is that the law ? 

For. Thyself shall see the act : 

For, as thou urgest justice, be assur'd. 
Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desir'st. 

Gra. O learned judge ! — Mark, Jew j — a learned 
judge !^ 

Ski/. I take this offer then ; — pay the bond thrice. 
And let the Christian go. 

Bass. Here is the money. 

For. Soft; 
The Jew shall have all justice ; — soft ! — no haste ; — 
He shall have nothing but the penalty. 

Gra. O Jew ! an upright judge, a learned judge ! 

For. Therefore, prepare thee to cut off the flesh. 
Slied thou no blood ; nor cut thou less, nor more, 
But just a pound of flesh : if thou tak'st more. 
Or less, than a just pound, — be it but so much 
As makes it light, or heavy, in the substance, 
(^r the division of the twentieth part 
Of one poor scruple ; nay, if the scale do turn 
But in the estimation of a hair, — 
Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate. 

Gra. A second Daniel ! a Daniel, Jew ! 
Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip. 

For. Why doth the Jew pause ? take thy for- 
feiture. 

Shi/. Give me my principal, and let me go. 



Bass. I have it ready for thee ; here it is. 

For. He hath refus'd it in the open court ; 
He shall have merely justice, and his bond. 

Gra. A Daniel, still say I ; a second Daniel — 
I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. 

S/i7/. Shall I not have barely my principal ? 

For. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture, 
To be so fciken at thy peril, Jew. 

Shi/. Why then the devil give him good of it ! 
I'll stay no longer question. 

For. Tarry, Jew j 

Tlie law hath yet another hold on you. 
It is enacted in the laws of Venice, — 
If it be prov'd against an alien, 
That by direct, or indirect attempts, 
He seek the life of any citizen, 
The party, 'gainst the which he doth contrive, 
Shall seize one half his goods ; the other half 
Comes to the privy coffer of the state ; 
And the offender's life lies in the mercy 
Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice. 
In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st : 
For it appears by manifest proceeding. 
That, indirectly, and directly too. 
Thou hast contriv'd against the very life 
Of the defendant : and thou hast incurr'd 
The danger formerly by me rehears'd. 
Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the duke. 

Gra. Beg, that thou mayst have leave to hang 
thyself: 
And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state, 
Tliou hast not left the value of a cord ; 
Therefore thou must he hang'd at the state's charge. 

Duke. That tliou shalt see the difference of our 
spirit, 
I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it : 
For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's : 
The other half comes to the general state, 
Which humbleness may drive into a fine. 

For. Ay, for the state ; not for Antonio. 

Shi/. Nay, take my life and all, pardon not that : 
You take my house, when you do take the prop 
That doth sustain my house : you take my life, 
When you do take the means whereby I live. 

For. What mercy can you render him, Antonio ? 

Gra. A halter gi'atis ; nothing else, I hope. 

Ant. So please my lord the duke, and all the court. 
To quit the fine for one half of his goods ; 
I am content, so he will let me have 
The other half in use, — to render it, 
Upon his death, unto the gentleman 
That lately stole his daughter : 
Provided, that he do record a gift, 
Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd, 
Unto his son Lorenzo, and his daughter. 

Duke. He shall do this ; or else I do recant 
The pardon, that I late pronounced here. 

For. Art thou contented, Jew, what dost thou say? 

Shi/. I am content. 

For. Clerk, draw a deed of gift. 

Shi/. I pray you, give me leave to go from hence : 
I am not well ; send the deed after me, 
And I will sign it. 

Du/ce. Get thee gone, but do it. 

[Exit Shylock. 
Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner. 

Fo7'. I humbly do desire your grace of pardon ; 
I must away this night toward Padua, 
And it is meet, I presently set forth. 

Duke. I am sorry that your leisure serves you not. 



Act V. Scene I. 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



189 



Antonio, gratify tljis gentleman; 

For, in my mind, you are much bound to him. 

{^Exeunt Duke, Magnificoes, and Train. 

Bass. Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend, 
Have by your wisdom been this day acquitted 
Of grievous penalties ; in lieu whereof. 
Three thousand ducats, due unto the Jew, 
We freely cope your courteous pains withal. 

Ant. And stand indebted, over and above, 
In love and service to you evermore. 

For. He is well paid, that is well satisfied ; 
And I, delivering you, am satisfied, 
And therein do account myself well paid: 
My mind was never yet more mercenary. 
I pray you, know me, when we meet again ; 
I wish you well, and so I take my leave. 

Bass. Dear sir, of force I must attempt you further ; 
Take some remembrance of us, as a tribute, 
Not as a fee ; grant me two things, I pray you. 
Not to deny me, and to pardon me. 

Por. You press me far, and therefore I will yield. 
Give me your gloves, I'll wear them for your sake; 
And, for your love, I'll take this ring from you :— 
Do not draw back your hand ; I'll take no more ; 
And you in love shall not deny me this. 

Bass. This ring, good sir, — alas, it is a tnfle ; 
I will not shame myself to give you tliis. 

Por. 1 will have nothing else but only this ; 
And now, methinks, I liave a mind to it. 

Bass. There's more depends on this, than on the 
value. 
Tlie dearest ring in Venice will I give you. 
And find it out by proclamation ; 
Only for this, I pray you, pardon me. 

Por. I see, sir, you are liberal in offers : 
You taught me first to beg ; and now, methinks, 
You teach me how a beggar should be answer'd. 

Bass. Good sir, this ring was given me by my wife : 
And, when she put it on, she made me vow, 
'ITiat I should neither sell, nor give, nor lose it. 

Por. That 'scuse serves many men to save their 
gifts ; 
An if your wife be not a mad woman. 
And know how well I have deserv'd this ring, 



She would not hold out enemy for ever, 

For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you ! 

[Exeunt Portia and Nerissa. 

jint. My lord Bassanio, let him have the ring ; 
Let his deservings, and my love withal. 
Be valued 'gainst your wife's commandment. 

Bass. Go, Gratiano, run and overtake him. 
Give him tlie ring ; and bring him if tliou canst. 
Unto Antonio's house : — away, make haste. 

[Eadt Gratiano. 
Come, you and I will thither presently ; 
And in the morning early will we both 
Fly toward Belmont : Come, Antonio. [Exeutit. 

SCENE II.— A Street. 

Enter Portia and Nerissa. 

Por. Inquire the Jew's house out, give him tliis 
deed, 
And let him sign it : we'll away to-night. 
And be a day before our husbands home : 
This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo. 

Enter Gratiano. 

Gra. Fair sir, you are well overtaken : 
My lord Bassanio, upon more advice 9, 
Hath sent you here this ring ; and doth entreat 
Your company at dinner. 

Par. That cannot be : 

This ring I do accept most thankfully. 
And so, I pray you tell him : Furthermore, 
I pray you show my youth old Shylock's house. 

Gra. Tliat will I do. 

Ner. Sir, I would speak with you : — 

I'll see if I can get my husband's ring, [To Portia. 
Which I did make him swear to keep for ever. 

Por. Thou mayst, I warrant : We shall have old 
swearing. 
That they did give the rings away to men ; 
But we'll outface them, and outswear tliem too. 
Away, make haste ; thou know'st where I will tarry. 

Ner. Come, good sir, will you show me to this 
house ? [Exeunt. 



ACT V. 



SCENE I. — Belmont Avenue to Portia'^ House. 

Enter Lorenzo and Jessica. 

Lor. The moon shines bright : — In such a night 
as this. 
When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, 
And they did make no noise ; in such a night, 
Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan walls, 
And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents. 
Where Cressid lay that night. 

Jes. In such a night. 

Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew ; 
And saw the lion's shadow ere himself, 
And ran dismay'd away. 

Lor. In such a night, 

Stood Dido with a willow in her hand 
U|K)n the wild sea-banks, and wav'd her love 
To come again to Carthage. 

Jes. In such a night. 



Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs 
That did renew old ^son. 

Lor. In such a night. 

Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew ; 
And with an unthrift love did run from Venice, 
As far as Belmont. 

Jes. And in such a night. 

Did young Lorenzo swear he lov'd her well ; 
Stealing her soul with many vows of faith, 
And ne'er a true one. 

Lor. And in such a night, 

Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew. 
Slander her love, and he forgave it her. 

Jes. I would out^night you, did no body come : 
But, hark, I hear the footing of a man. 

Enter Stefhano. 
Lor. Who comes so fast in silence of the night ? 

> Reflection. 



190 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



Act V. 



Steph. A friend. 

Lor. A friend ? wliat friend ? your name, I pray 
you, friend? 

Stej)h> Stephano is my name ; and I bring word, 
My mistress will before the break of day 
Be here at Belmont : she doth stray about 
By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays 
For happy wedlock hours. 

Lor. Who comes with her ? 

Steph. None, but a holy hermit, and her maid. 
I pray you, is my master yet return'd ? 

Lor. He is not, nor we have not heard from him. — 
But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica, 
And ceremoniously let us prepare 
Some welcome for the mistress of the house. 

Enter Launcelot. 

Laun. Sola, sola, wo ha, ho, sola, sola ! 

Lor. Who calls ? 

Laun. Sola ! did you see master Lorenzo, and 
mistress Lorenzo ! sola, sola ! 

Lor. Leave hollaing, man ; here. 

Laun. Sola! where? where? 

Lor. Here. 

Laun. Tell him, there's a post come from my 
master, with his horn full of good news ; my master 
will be here ere morning. {Exit. 

Lor. Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect their 
coming. 
And yet no matter ; — Why should we go in ? 
My friend StephAno, signify, I pray you. 
Within the house, your mistress is at hand ; 
And bring your musick forth into the air. — 

\_Exit Stephano. 
How sweet the moon-light sleeps upon this bank ! 
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of musick 
Creep in our ears ; soft stillness, and the night. 
Become the touches of sweet harmony. 
Sit, Jessica : Look, how the floor of heaven 
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold ; 
There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st. 
But in his motion like an angel sings, 
Still quiring to the young-ey'd cherubins : 
Such hannony is in immortal souls ; 
But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay 
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. — 

Enter Musicians. 
Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn ; 
With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear. 
And draw her home with musick. 

Jes. I am never merry, when I hear sweet musick. 

[Musick. 

Lor. The reason is, your spirits are attentive : 
For do but note a wild and wanton herd. 
Or race of youthful, and unhandled colts, 
Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing loud. 
Which is the hot condition of their blood ; 
If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound. 
Or any air of musick touch their ears. 
You. shall perceive them make a mutual stand, 
Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze, 
By the sweet power of musick : Therefore, the poet 
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods ; 
Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage. 
But musick for the time doth change his nature : 
The man that hath no musick in himself. 
Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds. 
Is fit for ti-easons, stratagems, and spoils : 
Tlie motions of his spirit are dull as night, 



And his afTectlons dark as Erebus : 

Let no such man be trusted. — Mark the musick. 

Enter Portia and Nerissa, at a distance. 

For. That light we see, is burning in my hall. 
How far that little candle throws his beams ! 
So shines a good deed in a naughty world. 

JSfer. When the moon shone, we did not see the 
candle. 

For. So doth the greater glory dim the less : 
A substitute shines brightly as a king. 
Until a king be by ; and then his state 
Empties itself, as doth an inland brook 
Into the main of waters. Musick ! hark ! 

A^er. It is your musick, madam, of the house. 

For. Nothing is good, I see, without respect ; 
Methinks, it sounds much sweeter than by day. 

Ner. Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam. 

For. The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark, 
When neither is attended ; and, I think. 
The nightingale, if she should sing by day, 
When every goose is cackling, would be thought 
No better a musician than the wren. 
How many things by season season'd are 
To their right praise and true perfection ! — 
Peace, hoa ! the moon sleeps with Endymion 
And would not be awak'd ! [Musick ceases. 

Lor. That is the voice. 

Or I am much deceiv'd, of Portia. 

For. He knows me, as the blind man knows the 
cuckoo. 
By the bad voice. 

Lor. Dear lady, welcome home. 

For. We have been praying for our husbands' 
welfare. 
Which speed, we hope, the better for our words ; 
Are they return'd ? 

Lor. Madam, they are not yet ; 

But there is come a messenger before. 
To signify their coming. 

For. Go in, Nerissa, 

Give order to my servants, that they take 
No note at all of our being absent hence ; 
Nor you, Lorenzo ; — Jessica, nor you. 

[A tucket ' soti 

Lor. Your husband is at hand, I hear his trumpet: 
We are no tell-tales, madam ; fear you not. 

For. This night, methinks, is but the day-light sick. 
It looks a little paler ; 'tis a day. 
Such as the day is when the sun is hid. 

Enter Bassanio, Antonio, Gratiano, and their 
Followers. 

Bass. We should hold day with the Antipodes, 
If you would walk in absence of the sun. 

For. Let me give light, but let me not be light 
For a light wife doth make a heavy husband. 
And never be Bassanio so for me ; 
You are welcome home, my lord. 

Bass. I thank you, madam : give welcome to m 
friend. — 
This is the man, this is Antonio, 
To whom I am so infinitely bound. 

For. You should in all sense be much bound to 
him. 
For, as I hear, he was much bound for you. 

Ant. No more than I am well acquitted of. 

For. Sir, you are very welcome to our house : 

' A flourish on a trumpet. 



I 



II 
II 



I 



ScENK I. 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



191 



J I must appear in other ways than words, 
Therefore, I scant this breathing courtesy /2 

[Gratiano and Nerissa seem to talk apart. 
Gra. By yonder moon, I swear, you do me wrong; 
In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk. 

Por. A quarrel, ho, already ? what's the matter ? 
Gra. About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring 
That she did give me ; wliose posy was 
For all the world, like cutler's poetry 
Upon a knife, Love vie, and leave me not. 

Ner. What talk you of the posy, or the value ? 
You swore to me, when I did give it you, 
That you would wear it till your hour of death ; 
And that it should lie with you in your grave : 
Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths, 
You should have been respective 3, and have kept it 
Gave it a judge's clerk ! — but well I know, 
The clerk will ne'er wear hair on his face, that had it. 

Gra. He will, an if he live to be a man. 

Ner. Ay, if a woman live to be a man. 

Gra. Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth, — 
A kind of boy ; a little scrubbed boy, 
No higher than thyself, the judge's clerk ; 
A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee ; 
I could not for my heart deny it him. 

Por. You were to blame, I must be plain with you. 
To part so slightly with your wife's first gift ; 
A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger, 
And riveted so with faith upon your flesh. 
I gave my love a ring, and made him swear 
Never to part with it ; and here he stands ; 
I dare be sworn for him, he would not leave it. 
Nor pluck it from his finger, for the wealth 
That the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratiano, 
You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief ; 
An 'twere to me, I should be mad at it. 

Bass. Why, I were best to cut my left hand off. 
And swear, I lost the ring defending it. [Aside. 

Gra. My lord Bassanio gave his ring away 
Unto the judge that begg'd it, and indeed, 
Deserv'd it too ; and then the boy his clerk, 
That took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine : 
And neither man, nor master, would take aught 
But the two rings. 

Por. What ring gave you, my lord ? 

Not that, I hope, which you receiv'd of me. 

Bass. If I could add a lie unto a fault, 
I would deny it ; but you see my finger 
Hath not the ring upon it, it is gone. 

Por. Even so void is your false heart of truth. 
By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed 
Until I see the ring. 

Ner. Nor I in yours, 

Till I again see mine. 

Bass. Sweet Portia, 

If you did know to whom I gave tlie ring, 
If you did know for whom I gave the ring, 
And would conceive for what I gave the ring, 
And how unwillingly I left the ring. 
When nought would be accepted but the ring, 
Vou would abate the strength of your displeasure. 

Por. If you had known the virtue of the ring. 
Or half her worthiness that gave the ring, 
Or your own honour to contain the ring. 
You would not then have parted with the ring. 
What man is there so much unreasonable. 
If you had pleas'd to have defended it 
With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty 



■^ Verbal, complimentary form. 



' Reganlful 



To urge the thing held as a ceremony ? 

Nerissa teaches me what to believe ; 

I'll die for't, but some woman had the ring. 

Baf^s No, by mine honour, madam, by my soul. 
No woman liad, but a civil doctor. 
Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me. 
And begg d the ring ; the which I did deny him. 
And sufier'd him to go disjileas'd away ; 
Even he that had held up the very life 
Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady ? 
I was enforc'd to send it after him ; 
I was beset with shame and courtesy ; 
My honour would not let ingratitude 
So much besmear it : Pardon me, good lady ; 
For, by these blessed candles of the night, 
Had you been there, I think, you would have begg'd 
The ring of me to give the worthy doctor. 

Por. Let not that doctor e'er come near my house : 
Since he hath got the jewel that I lov'd, 
And tliat which you did swear to keep for me, 
I will become as liberal as you : . 

I'll not deny him any thing I have, ^ I 

Know him I shall, I am well sure of it : 
Lie not a night from home ; watch me, like Argus : 
If you do not, if I be left alone, 
Now, by mine honour, which is yet my own, 
I'll have that doctor for my bedfellow. 

Ner. And I his clerk; therefore be well advis'd, 
How you do leave me to mine own protection. 

Gra. Well, do you so : let not me take him then. ^ / 

Ant. I am the unhappy subject of these quarrels. 

Por. Sir, grieve not you ; You are welcome not- 
withstanding. 

Bass, Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong ; 
And in the hearing of these many friends, 
I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes. 
Wherein I see myself, 

PiTT. Mark you but that ! 

In both mine eyes he doubly sees himself: 
In each eye, one : — s'wear by your double self. 
And there's an oath of credit. 

Bass. Nay, but hear me : 

Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear, 
I never more will break an oath with thee. 

Ant. I once did lend my body for his wealth ^ : 
Which, but for him that had your husband's ring, 

[To Portia. 
Had quite miscarried : I dare be bound again, 
My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord 
Will never more break faith advisedly. 

Por. Then you shall be his surety : Give him this ; 
And bid him keep it better than the other. 

Ant. Here, lord Bassanio ; swear to keep tliisring. 

Bass. By heaven, it is th e same I gave the doctorj/ Ci 

Por. I had it of him. -<l^ou are an amaz d*: >w I 
Here is a letter, read it at your leisure ; 
It comes from Padua, from Bellario : 
There you shall find, that Portia was the doctor ; 
Nerissa there, her clerk : Lorenzo here 
Shall witness, I set forth as soon as you. 
And but even now return'd ; I have not yet 
Enter'd my house. — Antonio, you are welcome ; 
And I have better news in store for you. 
Than you expect : unseal this letter soon ; 
There you shall find, three of your argosies 
Are richly come to harbour suddenly : 
You shall not know by what strange accident 
I chanced on this letter. 

Ant. I am dumb. 

* Advantage 



192 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



Act V 



Bass.