Full text of "The pictorial edition of the works of Shakspere. Edited by Charles Knight"

Presented to

Zbc Xtbrarv

ottbc

lanivereitv ot ^Toronto

iiir J. Ueynuids, i'.U.A.j .MUS. blUDUSS A3 THE "TRAGIC MUSE."

[Pinxit.

LONDON AND NEW YORK: VIRTUE & CO.

LONDON : VIRTUE AND CO., CITY ROAD AND IVY LANE.

1/ 7

CONTENTS.

TRAGEDIES.

PAQK

MACBETH i

TROILUS AND CRES3IDA 69

CORIOLANUS 145

JULIUS C^SAR 215

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 275

SUPPLEMENTARY NOTICE TO THE THREE ROItlAN PLAYS S33

POEMS.

VENUS AND ADONIS 365

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE 389

SONNETS rn

A LOVER'S COMPLAINT 4SD

THE PASSIONATE PILGRI-M, &c 497

VERSES AMONG THE ADDITIONAL POEMS TO CHESTER'S JOVE'S

MARTYR, 1601 , . - 504

SUPPLEMENTARY NOTICE TO THE POEMS 509

ILLUSTRATIONS

TRAGEDIES, VOL. IL, AND POEMS.

TITLE-PAGE TO VOLUME.
Mrs. Siddons as the Tragic Muse, from the Picture by Sir Josliua Reynolds.

MACBETH.

Title-page. Dickes ~

• And Duncan's horses, (a thing most strange and
certain,)
Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race,
Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung

out,
Contending 'gainst obedience.

INTBODUCTOEr >'OTICE.

Inverness. T. Creswick

PAGE
1

EBAMATIS PEHSONvE.

Border. — Banners and Arms

ACT I.

View from the site of Macbeth s Castle, Inverness.

T. Creswick ^

Distant View of the Heath. T. Creswick 17

H-LUSTBATIONS OF ACT I.

St. Colmes' Inch. T. Creswick .
Glamis Castle T. Cbeswick ....
Cawdor Castle. T. Creswick ....

20
21

PAOB

ACT II.

Scone. T. Creswick.
lona. T. Creswick....

ILLUSTEATIOXS OF ACT II.

Coronation Chair

ACT III.

Forres. T. Creswick

Forres ; Eminence at the AVes'.eni Estremity. T.
Creswick

ACT IV.

The Harmuir. T. Creswick.,
ACT r.

25
26

32
S9

Dunkeld. T. Cbeswick

The Dunsinane Range. T. Creswick 58

ILLUSTBATIOKS OF ACT V.

In Birnam Wood

ILLUSTRATIONS '

TROILUS

Title-page. — PanJarus, Troilus, and Cressida. W.
Harvey

ANL

AOK

77
77
78

79
80

31
91

92
93

94
101

VOL 11.— TRAGEDIES.
) CRESSIDA.

PAOB
ILLUSTRATIONS OF ACT II.

Plirvcian Sliields. Quivers and Baltle-axes 102

niTRODUCTOBY NOTICE.

Chaucer.— From T. Occlcve

A Trojan. — From an Antique in Hope's 'Costume
of the Ancieiita*

Head of Paris. — From an Antique in Hope's 'Cos

tume ' 103

ACT ni.

Scene I.— Helan unarming Hector. W. Harvey . 104
Achilles. — From a Statue in Borghese Collection ..112

ACT IV.

Scene I.— jEneas meeting Paris. W. Haiivey 114

iEneas. From a fictile Vase in Hope's ' Costume ' 123

ILLUSTRATIONS OF ACT IV.

Plirygian attired in a Coat of Mail. — From an an-
tique Bronze in Hope's ' Costume' 124

Hector. — From a Gem engraved in Winkelmann ... 125

ACT V.

Scene IX.— Death of Hector. W. Harvey 126

Diomedes. — From a fictile Vase in Hope's ' Costume' 135

ILLUSTRATIONS OF ACT V.

Parting of Hector and Andromache.— From Flax-
man 13G

SUPPLEMENTARY NOTICE.

PlainsofTroy.— From Sir W. Cell 139

Hector's Body dragged at the Car of Achilles. — From

Phrygian Helmets.— From Hope*s 'Costume'

DBAMVTia PEKSON.E.

Border. Grecian Htrald and Squire. — From An-
tinue Vases and Hone's * Costume '

PROLOGUE.
View of Tenedos.-^From d'Ohssoii

ACT 1.
Scene III.— Before Agamemnon's Tent. W. Har-

YEY

Ulysses. — From a Gem in Wosleyan Museum

nXUSTBATIONS OF ACT I.
Phrj-gian Lady with Casket.— From a Greek Vase

Phrygian Tunic, Bipeiines, Bow, Quiver, Helmets,
&c. FromHopc's 'Costume'

ACT II.

Scene II.— 'Enter Cassandra, raving.' W. Ha'.ivf.y

COR
Title-page.— Act II. Scene III. W. Harvey

INTBODUCTORY NOTICE.

Roman Eagle.— From a Painting on a Roman Vase

DKAMATI8 PEESONyE.

Border. — Roman Weapons and View of Rome.
W. Hartey

lOLi
145

147

150

151
163

164

168
178

179

iNUS.

ACT III.
Old "Walls of Rome. Melville 180

Tarpeian Rock.— From an Italian print 189

ILLUSTRATIONS OF ACT III.

ACT IV.

Roman Highway on the hanks of the Tiber.— From
Piranesi 191

Ancient Arcli on Road leading into Rome.— From

pjnelli 200

ACT I.

Bite of Rome : Tiburtine Chain in the distance —
From B print by Harding

The Tiber: Mount Aventine in the distance.

DiCKES

ILLUSTRATIONS OF ACT IV.
Old Roman Willow Wood Mecheau 201

ILLUBTKATIONS OF ACT I.
Isola Tiberiana. — From an Italian print

ACT V.

Public Place in Rome. Dickes. — From the Prce-

nestine Pavement 203

Roman Tomb and Fragments. Anelay 211

ACT II.

Roman VictcTry. — From Montfaueon

ILLUSTRATIONS OF ACT V.

Scene III. — 'Pebbles on the hungry beach.' Dickes 212
Kemble as Coriolanus. — After Sir T. Lawrence 21

ILLUSTRATIONS OF ACT 11.

Augur's Staff. — From an antique Specimen

IXLUSTEATIOIsTS TO VOL. II.— TRAGEDIES.

JULIUS C^SAR.

Title-page.— Act III., Scene I. W.Harvey 215

IXTRODTJCTORy NOTICE.

Roman Standard-Bearers. J. R. Plakch£ 217

Roman Soldiers. J. R. Planchb 219

Plebeians. J. R. Planche 223

DEAMJTIS PEESON.-E.

Border of Characters

226

ACT I.

A Restoration from the Remains known as the
Temple of Pallas, supposed to be a portion of
the Forum of Nerva. A. Potnter 22/

Statue of Cffisar 234

ILLIJSTBATIOXS OF ACT I.

Roman Augur. J. R. Plakche

ACT II.

2.13

Atrium of a Roman House. — It is of that species
called by Vitruvius the tetrastjle Atrium. A.

POYNTER 237

Brutus' Orchard. — This style of garden, universal
in Italy, is indisputably of great antiquity. A.
PoVXTER 244

ILLUSTHATI0N8 OF ACT II.
Roman Matron. J. R. Planch^ 243

ACT ui.

Street leading to the Capitol. A. Poynter 247

The Forum. A. Poynter 255

IlLUSTBATIONS OF ACT III.
Roman Consul. J. R. PlanchS

, 256

ACT IV.

A Room in Antony's House. — A Restoration from

Pompeii. A. Poynter 258

ACT V.

Plains of Philippi 2G6

Medal of Brutus 271

ILLUSTBATIOXS OF ACT V.

Statue of Pompey. — From an engraving by Fono-
tana after a pictureby Camucciniof the ' Death
ofCEBsar.' This is the statue beneath which
Caesar fell, and which is still preserved at Rome 274

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

Title-page. — Act III., Scene VI. W.Harvey 275

BRA3IATIS PEESON.i:.

Border of Characters. Egyptian and Roman Orna-
ments 278

Room in Cleopatra's Palace —Scene I Fairholt 279
Atrium of Caesar's House. — A Restoration from
Pompeii. A. Poynter 287

ILLirSTBATIOJrS OF ACT I.

Antony and Cleopatra. — From a Silver Coin in the

British Museum 288

ACT II.

Room in Pompey's House.— A Restoration from

Pompeii. A. Poynter 289

'The barge she satin.'— Scene II. Fairholt 299

ACT III.

Promontory of Aetium 302

Prow of a Roman Gallery.— From a Basso Relievo,
forming a portion of a frieze found at Pales-
trina. the ancient Preneste. The turret on the

forecastle indicates a galley of large size ; and
two tiers of oars are distinctly visible, with
leathers fixed on the oars, and nailed over the
oar-ports, to prevent the entrance of the water.
A Poynter 314

ILLUSTBATIOXS OF ACT UI.

Cleopatra's Needle. AV. Harvey 315

ACT IV.

Ancient Egyptian Palace.— From a Sketch made at
Medinet Abou, part of the ancient Thebes.
Arundale 318

Pompey's Pillar W. Harvey 327

IIXUSTEATIONS OF ACT IV.
Pyramid and Sphynx. W. Harvey ....

323

ACT V.

Interior of an Egyptian Monument. A. Poynter 330
Alexandria.— From an original Sketch. W. Har-
vey 338

illustbatioif s of act v.

Augustus. — From a Gold Coin in the British Mu-
seum 337

SUPPLEMENTARY NOTICE TO THE THREE ROMAN PLAYS.
Head Roman Symbols. W. Harvet

.*. 339

ILLUSTILVTIONS TO POEMS.
POEMS.

'All toe Illcstratioks from Original Designs by W. Harvet.)
tliilc-r)age Portrait of Shakspere, from the Portrait prefixed to his Works, page 3C1

VENUS AND ADONIS.

PAGE

Title to Venus and Adonis 365

Poruait of II. Wriothesley. Earl of Sjutliampton.. 307

Meeting of Venus and Adonis 3C9

The Horse of Adonis 373

Venus in a Swoon 376

PAGE

Herd of Deer 380

Boar and Dogs S8S

Lamentation of Venus over Adonis dead 386

The Anemone 387

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE.

Title to the Rape of Luerece 389

Coat of Arms of the Earl of Southampton 391

View of Ardea 393

Tarquin approaching the Chamber of I.ucrece 3%

Lucrece's Bedchamber 399

Flight of Tarquin <(H

Night and Morning 408

lucrece despatching the Messenger 412

Death of Lucrece 419

SONNETS.

Title to the Sonnets 421

Narcissus 423

Pompe>-'8 Remains burned by his Freedman 428

'Broils root out the work of masonry' 433

' Proud-pied April 441

'Love' 448

Nymphs 452

Nymphs stealing Cupid's Torch 453

Tail-piece 488

A LOVER'S COMPL-UNT, THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM, &c.

Title to Lover's Complaint 489

Head.— 'And down I laid to list the sad-tun'd

tale.' _ ^91

Tailpiece 496

Cytherea and Adonis 497

Sitting in a pleasant shade

Which a grove of myrtles made' 503

Love's Monuii.ent 504

Funeral Urn 505

Head.— Altar 509

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IKTRODUCTORY NOTICE-

State or the Text, and CnRONOLOGi', of Macbeth.

'TflflTragedie of Macbeth' was first published in the folio collection of 1623. Its place in that
edition is between Julius Ccesar and Hamlet. In the entry on the Stationers' register, imme-
diately previous to the publication of the edition of 1623, it is also classed amongst the Tragedies.
And yet, in many modern reprints of the text of Shakspere, Macbeth is placed the first amongst the
Histories. This is to convey a wrong notion of the character of this great drama. Shakspere's
Chronicle-histories are essentially conducted upon a different principle. The interest of Macbeth
is jiot an historical interest. It matters not whether the action is true, or has been related as true '.
it belongs to the realms of poetry altogether. We might as well call Lear or Hamlet historical
piaye, because the outlines of the story of each are to be foiuid in old records of the past. Oar text
ia, with very few exceptions, a restoration of the test of the original folio.

Malone and Chalmera agree in assigning this tragedy to the year 1606. Their proofs, as we ap-
prehend, are entirely frivolous and unsatisfactory. The Porter says, " Here 's a farmer that hanged
himself on the expectation of plenty : " the year 1606 was a year of plenty, and therefore Macbeth
was written in 1606. Again, the same character says, "Here's an equivocator, that could swear
in both the scales, against either scale." This passage Malone most solemnly tells us, " without
doubt, had a direct reference to the doctrine of equivocation avowed and maintained by Heury
Garnet, superior of the order of the Jesuits in England, on his trial for the Gunpowder Treason, on

B 2 3

INTRODUCTORY NOTICE.

the 28th of March, 1600, aud to hia detestable perjury." There is more of this sort of reasoning, iu
the examination of which it appears to us quite unnecessary to occupy the time of our readers. We
have two facts as to the chronology of this play which are indisputable : — the first is, that it must
have been written after the crowns of England and Scotland were united in one monarch, who waB
a descendant of Bauquo ; —

" Some I see
That two-fold balls and treble sceptres carry."

The second is, that Dr. Forman has most minutely described the representation of this tragedy in
the year 1610. The following extract from his 'Book of Plays, and Notes thereof, for common
Policy,' is copied by Mr. Collier from the manuscript in the Bodleian Library : —

"III Mtcbcth. at the Globe, 1610, the 20th of April, Saturday, there was to be observed, first, how Macbeth and Banquo,
two noblemen of Scotland, riding through a wood, there stood before them three women, fairies, or nymphs, and saluted
Macbeth, saying three times unto him, Hail, Macbeth, King of Coudor, for thou shalt be a king, but shalt beget no kings,
&c. Then, »aid Banquo, What, all to Macbeth and nothing to mef Yes, said tlie nymphs, Hail to thee. Banquo; thou
shalt beget kings, yet be no king. And so they departed, and came to the court of Scotland, to Duncan King of Scots,
and it was in the days of Edward the Confessor. And Duncan bade them both kindly welcome, and made Macbeth forth-
with Prince of Northumberland ; and sent him home to his own castle, and appointed Macbeth to provide for him, for he
would sup with him the next day at night, and did so.

" And Macbeth contrived to kill Duncan, and through the persuasion of his wife did that night murder the king in his
own castle, being his guest. And there were many prodigies seen that night and thf day before. And when Macbeth had
murdered the king, the blood on his hands could not be washed off by any means, no» from his wife's hands, which handled
the bloody daggers in hiding them, by which means they became both much amazed and affronted.

" The murder being known, Duncan's two sons fled, the one to England, the other to Wales, to save themselves ; they,
being fled, were supposed guilty of the murder of their father, which was nothing so.

" Then was Macbeth crowned king, and then he, for fear of Banquo, his old companion, that he should beget kings but be
no king himself, he contrived tlie death of Banquo, and causeS him to be murdered on the way that he rode. The night,
being at supper with his noblemen, whom he had bid to a feast (to the which also Banquo should have come), he began to
speak of noble Banquo, and to wish that he were there. And as he thus did, standing up to drink a carouse to him, the
ghost of Banquo came and sat down in his chair behind him. And he, turning about to sit down again, saw the ghost of
Banquo, which fronted him, so that he fell in a great passion of fear and fury, uttering many words about his murder, by
which, when they heard that Banquo was murdered, they suspected Macbeth.

" Then .Macduff fled to England to the king's son, and so they raised an army, and came into Scotland, and at Dunston
Anyse overthrew >fecbeth. In the mean time, while Macduff was in England, Macbeth slew Macduff's wife and children,
and after, in the battle, Macduff slew Macbeth.

" Observe, also, how Macbeth's queen did rise in the night in her sleep and walk, and talked and confessed all, and the
doctor noted her words."

Here, then, the date of this tragedj- must be fixed after the accession of James I. in 1603, and
before the representation at which Forman was present in 1610. Mr. Collier is inclined to believe
that the play was a new one when Forman saw it acted. Be that as it may, we can have no doubt
that it belonged to the last ten years of Sliakspere's life.

Supposed Souboes op the Plot.

That Shakspere found sufficient materials for this great drama in Holinshed's 'History of Scot-
land ' is a fact that renders it quite unnecessary for us to enter into any discussion as to the truth of
this portion of the history, or to point out the authorities upon which the narrative of Holinshed
was founded. Better authorities than Holinshed had access to have shown that the contest for the
crown of Scotland between Duncan and Macbeth was a contest of factions, and that Macbeth was
raised to the throne by his Norwegian allies after a battle in which Duncan fell : in the same way
after a long rule was he vanquished and killed by the son of Duncan, supported by his English
allies.* But, with the difieiences between the real and apocryphal history, it is manifest that we
can here have no concern. In the Illustrations of the several acts we have reprinted the passages
in Holinshed with which Shakspere was manifestly familiar. His deviations from the chronicler
vill be rep.dily traced. There is another storj', however, told also in the same narrative, which

See Skene's 'Highlanders of Scotland,' vol. !., p. 116.

MACBETH

Shakspere with cousummate skill has bleuded with the story of Macbeth,
of King Duff by Donwald and his wife in Donwald's castle of Forres :—

It is that of the murder

"The king got him into his privy chamber, only with two of his chamberlains, who, having brought him to bed, came
forth again, and then fell to banqueting with Donwald and his wife, who had prepared divers delicate dishes and sundry
sorts of drinks for their rear-supper or collation, whereat they sat up so long, till they had charged their stomachs with such
full gorges, that their heads were no sooner got to the pillow but asleep they were so fast that a man might have removed
the chamber over them sooner than to have awaked them out ol their drunken sleep.

" Then Donwald, though he abhorred the act greatly in heart, yet through instigation of his wife he called four of bis
servants unto him (whom he had made privy to his wicked intent before, and framed to his purpose with large gifts), and
now declaring unto them after what sort they should work the feat, they gladly obeyed his instructions, and, speedily going
about the murder, they enter the chamber (in which the king lay) a little before cock's crow, where they secretly cut his
throat as he lay sleeping, without any bustling at all : and immediately by a postern gate they carried forth the dead body
into the fields. *«*««»»»
Donwald, abont the time that the murder was in doing, got him amongst them that kept the watch, and so continued in
company with them all the residue of the night. But in the morning, when the noise was raised in the king's chamber how
the king was slain, his body conveyed away, and the bed all beraid with blood, he with the watch ran thither, as though
he had known nothing of the matter, and breaking into the chamber, and finding cakes of blood in the bed and on the floor
about the sides of it, he forthwith slew the chamberlains as guilty of that heinous murder. * « * •

For the space of six months together, after this heinous murder thus committed, there appeared no sun by day, nor moon
by night, in any part of the realm, but still was the sky covered with continual clouds, and sometimes such outrageous winds
arose, with lightnings and tempests, that the people were in great fear of present destruction."

It was originally the opinion of Steevens and Malone that a jslay by Thomas Middleton, entitled
' The Witch,' had preceded Macbeth, and that Shakspere was consequently indebted to Jliddletou
for the general idea of the witch incantations. Malone subsequently changed his opinion ; for in
a posthumous edition of his ' Essay on the Chronological Order,' he has maintained that ' The
Witch ' was a later production than Macbeth. We shall refer to this question in our Supplementary
Notice.

For the Local Illustrations affixed to each Act we have the gratification of acknowledging our
obligation to Miss Martineau, who in 1838 visited jill the locahties to which this tragedy refers.
^Ir. Creswick's sketches, which also adorn our pages, were made on the several spots in 1839.

Costume.

The rudely sculptured monuments and crosses which time has spai-ed upon the hills and heaths ol
Scotland, however interesting to the antiquary in other respects, afford but very slender and uncer-
tain information respecting the dress and arms of the Scotch Highlanders in the 11th century;
and, attempt how we will to decide from written documents, a hundred pens will instantly be
flourished against us. Our own opinion, however, formed long ago, has within these few years been
confirmed by that of a most intelligent modern historian,* who says "it would be too much perhaps
to affirm that the dress, as at present worn, in all its minute details, is ancient ; but it is very certain
that it is compounded of three varieties in the form of dress which were separately worn by the
Highlanders in the seventeenth century, and that each of these may be traced back to the remotest
antiquity." These are :— 1st, The belted plaid; 2nd, The short coat or jacket; 3rd, The truis
With each of these, or, at any rate, with the two first, was worn, from the earliest periods to the
seventeenth century, the long-sleeved, saffron-stained shirt, of Irish origin, called the Leni-croich.t
Pitscottie, in 1573, says, "they (the Scotch Highlanders) be cloathed with ane mantle, with ane
schirt, saffroned after the Irish manner, going bare-legged to the knee." And Nicolay d'Arfeville,
cosmographer to the King of France, who published at Paris, in 1583, a volume entitled 'La
Navigation du Roy d'Escosse Jacques, cinquiesme du nom, autour de son Royaume et Isle8 Hebrides

♦ ' The Highlanders of Scotland,' by W. J. Skene, F.S.A. Scot. 2 vols. 12mo., London, Murray. lS37.-Mr. Skene in
this excellent work has also thrown great light upon the real history of Macbeth, from a careful investigation and corapar-
son of the Irish annals and the Norse Sagas.

t " From the Irish words leni, shirt, and crotch, saffron."— Uaxtin'a Western Isles of Scotland.

INTRODUCTORY NOTICE.

Pt Orchadea, soutz In conduito d' Alexandre Lindsay, excellent Pilote Escossois,' says, "they
wear, like the Irish, a 'ai-ge full shirt, coloured with fiaflron, and over this a garment hanging to
the knee, of thick wool, after the manner of a cassock (soutane). They go with bare heads, and
allow their hair to grow very long, and they wear neither stockings nor shoes, except some who
have buskins (botines) made in a very old fashion, which come as high as the knees." Lesley in
1 578 says, " all, both nobles and common people, wore mantles of one sort (except that the noKles
preferred those of different colours) ; these were long and flowing, but capable of being gathered up

at pleasure into folds They had also shaggy rugs, such as the Irish use at the present

day The rest of their garments consisted of a short woollen jacket, with the sleeves open

below, for the convenience of throwing their darts, and a covering for the thighs of the simplest
kind, more for decency than for show or defence against cold. They made also of linen very large
shirts, with numerous folds and very large sleeves, which flowed abroad loosely on their knees.
These the rich coloured with saffron, and others smeared with some grease to preserve them longer
clean amoDg the toils and exercises of a camp, &c." » Here we have the second variety — that of
the short woollen jacket with the open sleeves ; and this confirms most curiously the identity of the
ancient Scottish with the ancient Irish dress, as the Irish chieftains who appeared at court in the
reign of Elizabeth were clad in these long shii-ts, short open-sleeved jackets, and long shaggy
mantles, the exact form of which may be seen in the woodcut representing them engraved in the
' History of British Costume,' p. 369, from a rare print of that period in the collection of the late
Francis Douce, Esq. The third variety is the truis, or trowse, " the breeches and stockings of one
piece," of the Irish in the time of Giraldus Cambreusis, and the bracchai of the Belgic Gauls and
Southern Britons in that of Caesar. The truis has hitherto been traced in Scotland only as far back
as the year 153S; and there are many who deny its having formed a portion of the more ancient
Scottish dress : but independently that the document of the date above mentioned recognises it as
an established " Hi [/hi and" garment at that time, thereby giving one a right to infer its having long
previously existed, the incontrovertible fact of a similar article of apparel having been worn by all
the chiefs of the other tribes of the great Celtic or Gaelic family is sufficient, in our minds, to give
probability to the belief that it was also worn by those of the ancient Scotch Highlanders. Mr.
Skene, after remarking that it was from the very earliest period the dress of the gentry of Ireland,
adds that he is therefore inclined to think it was introduced from that country ; but hints at no
particular period, and leaves us at liberty to presume such introduction to have taken place even
centuries prior to the birth of Macbeth. With regard to another hotly disputed point of Scottish
costume, the colours of the chequered cloth, commonly called tartan and plaid (neither of which
names, however, originally signified its variegated appearance, the former being merely the name
of the woollen stuff of which it was made, and the latter that of the garment into which it was
shaped), the most general belief is, that the distinction of the clans by a peculiar pattern is of com-
paratively a recent date : but those who deny " a coat cf many coloure " to the ancient Scottish
Highlanders altogether must as tmceremoniously strip the Celtic Britou or Belgic Gaul of his
tunic, " flowered with various colours in divisions," in which he has been specifically arrayed by
Diodorus Siculus. The chequered cloth was termed in Celtic, hreacan, and the Highlanders, we
are informed by Mr. Logan, f give it also the poetical appellation of "cath-dafh" signifying "the
strife" or "war of colours." In Major's time (1512) the plaids or cloaks of the higher classes
^one were variegated. The common people appear to have worn them generally of a brown
colour, "most near," says Moniepennie, "to the colour of the hadder" (heather). Martin, in
1716, speaking of the female attire in the Western Isles, says the ancient dress, which is yet worn
by some of the vxiigar, called arisad, is a white plaid, having a few small stripes of black, blue, and
red. The plain black and white stuff, now generally known in London by the name of " Shepherd's
plaid," is evidently, from its simplicity, of great antiquity, and could have been most easily manu-
factured, as it required no process of dyeing, being composed of the two natural colours of the fleece.
Defoe, in his 'Memoirs of a Cavalier,' describes the plaid worn in 1639 as "striped across, red and
yellow;" and the portrait of Lacy the actor, painted in Charles II. 's time, represents him dressed
for Sawney the Scot in a red, yellow, and black truis and belted plaid, or, at any rate, in stuff of
the natural yellowish tint of the wool, striped across with black and red.

• Jean dc Beaufnit, who accompanied the French auxiliaries to Scotland in 15<8, in like manner describes " les sauvages,'
as he calls the Highlanders, naked except theirstained shirts (chrmitei lainlcn) and a certain light covering made of wool of
various colours, carrjing large bovrt and similar swords and bucklers to the others. « *. the Lowlanders.

t ' History of the Gael.' 2 vols. 8vo. London.

MACBETH.

For the armour and weapons of the Scotch of the 11th century we have rather more «Ji«tinc*.
authority. The sovereign and his Lowland chiefs appear early to have assumed the shirt of riii^
mail of the Saxon ; or, perhaps, the quilted panzar of their Norwegian and Danish invaders : but
that some of the Highland chieftains disdained such defence must be admitted from the well-known
boast of the Earl Strathearne, as late as 1138, at the Battle of the Standard :— " I wear no
armour," exclaimed the heroic Gael, "yet those who do will not advance beyond me this day."
It was indeed the old Celtic fashion for soldiers to divest themselves of almost every portion of
covering on the eve of combat, and to rush into battle nearly, if not entirely, naked.

The ancient Scottish weapons were the bow, the spear, the claymore (cledheamh-more), the
battle-axe, and the dirk, or bidag, with round targets, covered with buU's-hide, and studded with
nails and bosses of brass or iron. For the dress and arms of the Anglo-Saxon auxiliaries of
Malcolm the Bayeux tapestry furnishes perhaps the nearest authority.

The Scottish female habit seems to have consisted, like that of the Saxon, Norman, and Danish
women — nay, we may even add the ancient British — of a long robe, girdled round the waist, and a
full and flowing mantle, fastened on the breast by a large buckle or brooch of brass, silver, or gold,
and set with common crystals, or precious gems, according to the rank of the wearer. Dio
describes Boadicea as wearing a variegated robe; and the ancient mantle worn by Scotchwomen,
denominated the arisad, which we have already mentioned, is described by Martin as chequered.

Tin'. Ghoit of Banquo, and other Appariliont.

SCENE,— in the end of the Fourth Act, lies in En ;■
LAND ; through the rest of the Play, in Scotlan:)
and, chi^y, at Macbftii'* Cnillt.

H'iew frcm the Site of Macbeth's Castle, Inverness.-

ACT I.

SCENE I.-

-Ah open Place.
Lightning.

Thunder and

Enter three Witches.

1 Witch. When shall we three meet again
In thunder, lightning, or in rain?*

2 Witch. When the hm-lyburly 's ^ done,
When the battle 's lost and won :

3 Witch. That will be ere the set of suu.'''

^ Hanmer proposed to read " and In rain," to prevent
that misconception of the question which might arise from
the use of or. The Witches invariably meet under a dis-
turbance of the elements; and this is clear enough without
any change of the original text.

b HurUihurly. In Peacham's ' Garden of Eloquence,'
1577, this word is given as an ex^ample of that ornament of
language which consists in "a name intimating the sound
of that it signifietli, as hurlijburly , for an uproar and
tumultuous stir." Todd finds the word in a collection of
Scottish proverbs, and therefore decides upon the propriety
of its use by the Scottish witch. This is unnecessary; for,
although 'it might belong to. both languages, Spenser had
used it in our own ; and it had the peculiar recommendation
of the quality described by Peacham for its introduction in
a Ivrical composition.

We have here the commencement of that system of

1 Witch. Wliere the place ?

2 Witch.

Upon the heath ;

tampering with the metre of Shakspere In this great tragedy,
which universally prevailed till the reign of the variorum
critics had ceased to be considered as firmly established and
beyond the reach of assault. When we saw an edition of
Shakspere bearing the name of Tlmmas Campbell as editor,
and found that the text of that edition was a literal reprint
from the textofSteevens.and that consequently theloppings-
oflT and patchingson, the transpositions, the substitutions
of a man without an ear were circulated with the im-
primatur of one of the most elegant of our poets, we could
not but see what a fearful weed bad taste is. — how prolific
in its growth, how difficult to be eradicated. These remarks
apply not so much to the particular instance before us a': to
the whole principle upon which the metre of this play has
been regulated. We admit that it will not do servilely to
follow the original in every instance where the commence-
ment and close of a line are so arranged that it becomes
prosaic; but on the other hand we contend that the desire
to get rid of hemistichs, without regard to the nature of
the dialogue, and so to alter the metrical arrangement of a
series of lines, is to disfigure, instead of to amend, the poet.
It is a matter of sincere gratification to the present editor,
that five-and-twenty years have produced a marked altera-
tion in the principles of criticism applied to the teit of
Shakspere. The line before us reads, in the original,

" That will be ere the set of sun."

Steevens strikes out the as harsh and unnecessary. \n\ one

Act L]

MACBETH.

[Sczv:i II.

3 Jf'i/cA. There to meet with Macbetli.

1 Jf'i/cA. I come, Graymalkia ! •

AH. Paddock calls : — Anon. —
Fair is foul, and foul is fair :
Hover through the fog and filthy air.

[Witches vanish.

SCENE II. — ./ Camp near Forres. Alarum
within.

Enter King Duncan, Malcolm, Dona.lbain,
Lenox, icith Attendants, meeting a bleeding
Soldier.

Dun. Wliat bloody man is that? He can re-
port.
As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt
The newest state.

Mai. This is the sergeant.

Who, like a good and hardy soldier, fought
'Gainst my capti\aty : — ^Hail, brave friend!
Say to the king the knowledge of the broil,
As thou didst leave it.

Sold. Doubtful'' it stood ;

As two spent swimmers, that do cling together,
And choke their art. Tiie merciless Mac-

donwald
(AVorthy to be a rebel ; for, to that.
The multiplying villainies of natiu-e
Do swarm upon him,) from the western isles
Of'= kernes and gallowglasscs is supplied;'
And fortune, on his damned quarry"* smiling,
Show'd like a rebel's whore : But all 's too weak •

who has an ear for the fine lyrical movement of the whole
scene will see what an exquisite variety of pause theie is in
the ten lines of which it consists. Take, for example, the
line

" There to meet with Macbeth ; "
and contr-st its solemn movement with what has preceded
it. But tampering editors must have «t)en syllables ; anil
so some read

" There I go to meet Jfacbeth : "
others,

" There to meet with great Macbeth : "
and others,

" There to meet with — irAom.'— Macbeth."
Malone has, howe\er, here succeeded in retaining the ori-
ffinal line, by persuading himself and others that there is a
dissyllable.
« Graymnlkin is a cat; Paddock, a toad.
^ Z)ou4//«/.— So the original. The common reading, dottfc.'-
fnlly " My addition," says Stcevens, "consists but of .1
single letter."
c 0/ is here used in the sense of tvilh.
•1 Quarry. — So the (jriBinal. The common reading, on the
emendation of Hanmer, is quarrel. We conceive tliat the
original word is that used by Shakspere. In Coriolanus we
have,

" I 'd make a quarry

With thousands of these quarter'd slaves, as high
.'Vs 1 could pick my lance."
It is ill the same sense, we believe, that the soldier uses
the word quarry: the " damned quarry" being the doomed
army of kerne* and gallowglasscs, who, although fortune
deceitfully smile'! on them, fled before the sword of Macbeth,
and became his quarry— his prey.
10

For brave Macbeth, (well lie deserves that name,)

Disdaining fortune, wilh liis brandish'd steel,

Which smok'd with bloody execution.

Like valour's minion, carv'd out his passage.

Till he faced the slave ;*

"Wliich ne'er shook huuds, nor bade farewell to

him.
Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the

chaps.
And fix'd his head upon our battlements.
Dnn. 0, vahant cousin ! worthy gentleman !
Sold. As whence the sun 'gins his reflection
Shipwi-acking storms and direful thunders

break ; •»
So from that spring, whence comfort seem'd to

come.
Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland,

mark:
No .sooner j ustice had, with valour aim'd,
CompelTd these skipping kernes to trust their

heels.
But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage,
With fiu-bish'd arms, and new supplies of men.
Began a fresh assault.

Dun. Dismay'd not this our captains, Macbeth

and Banquo?"
Sold. Yes : As sparrows, eagles ; or the hare,

the lion.
If I say sooth, I must report they were
As cannons overcharg'd with double cracks ;
So they doubly redoubled strokes upon th-.:;

foe:
Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds.
Or memorize another Golgotha,
I cannot tell :

But I am faint, my gashes cry for help.
Dun. So well thy words become thee as thy

wounds ;
They smack of honour both : — Go, get him sur-
geons. [^Exit Soldier, attended.

Enter RossE.

Who comes here ?

Mai. The worthy thane of Rosse.

Zen. What a haste looks through his eyes !

» We follow the metrical arrangement of the original.
Stcevens changes the hemistich thus : —

" Like valour's minion,
Carv'd out his passage, till he fac'd the slave."

b The work break is not in the original. The second
folio adds frrenArini;. Some verb is wanting; and the read-
ing of the second folio is some sort of authority for the in-
troduction of break, which word was added by Pope.

c We print this line according to the original as an
A'exandrine — a verse constantly introduced by Shakspere
for the production of variety.

Act I.J

MACBETH.

ISCBSZlIt.

So should he look that seems to speak things
strange.

Rosse. God save the king !

Dun. Whence cani'st thou, worthy thane ?

Rosse. From Fife, great king,
Wtere the Norweyan banners flout the sky,
And fan our people cold.
Norway himself, with terrible numbers.
Assisted by that most disloyal traitor
The thane of Ca\vdor, began a dismal conflict :
Till that Bellona's bridegroom,' lapp'd in proof,
Confronted him Math self-comparisons,
Point against point, rebellious arm 'gainst arm,h
Curbing his lavish spuit : And, to conclude,
The victory fell on us ; —

Dun. Great happiness !

Basse. That now
Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition ;
Nor would we deign him burial of his men,
Till he disbursed, at Saint Colmes' inch.
Ten thousand dollars to our general use.

Diot. No more that thane of Cawdor shall
deceive
Our bosom interest: — Go, pronounce his pre-
sent <= death.
And with his former title greet Macbeth.

Rosse. I '11 see it done.

Dun. What he hath lost noble Macbeth liath
■won. [Exeunt.

SCENE 111.— A Heath. Thunder.
Enter the three Witches.

1 Witch, Where hast thou been, sister ?

2 IFitch. Killing swine.

3 Witch. Sister, where thou ?

1 Witch. A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her

lap,
A.nd mounch'd, and mouuch'd, and mouuch'd :

— ' Give me,' quoth I :
'Ai-oint theCj-^ witch!' the rump-fed ronyon''

cries.
Her husband 's to Aleppo gone, master o' the

Tiger :
But in a sieve I 'U thither sail,^
And, like a rat without a tail,
I '11 do, I '11 do, and I '11 do.

.1 Bellona's brideoroom is here undoubtedly Macbeth ; but
Henley and Steevens, fancying that the God of War -n as
meant, chuckle over Shakspere's ignorance in not knowing
that Mars was not the husband of Bellona.

b This is the original punctuation, which we think, with
Tieck, is better than

" Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm."

c Without the slightest ceremony Steevens omits the em-
phatic word present, as " injurious to metre."

i Aroint /Aee.- See King Lear; Illustration of Act in.,

e fionyoB.— SeeAsYouLikelt; >fotc on Act ii.. Scene ii.

2 Witch. I '11 give thee a wind.
1 Witch. Th' art kmd.

3 Witch. And I another.

1 Witch. I myscK have all the other ;
And the very ports they blow,

AH the quarters that they know
r the shipman's card.
I 'U drain him dry as hay : *
Sleep shall neither night nor day
Hang upon his pent-house lid ;
He shall live a man forbid :
Weary sev'n-nights, nine times nine.
Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine :
Though his bark cannot be lost,
Yet it shall be tempest-toss'd.
Look what I have.

2 Witch. Show me, show me.

1 Witch. Here I have a pilot's thu.nb,
Wrack' d, as homeward he did come.

[Drum within.

3 Witch. A dram, a drum :
Macbeth doth come.

J II. The weird'' sisters, hand in hand.
Posters of the sea and land.

a Steevens says, " As I cannot help supposing this scene
to have been uniformly metrical when our author wrote it,
in its present state I suspect it to be clogged with inierpola-
tions, or mutilated by omissions." There really appears no
foundation for the supposition that the scene was uniformly
metrical. It is a mixture of blank-verse with the seven-
syllable rhyme, producing, from its variety, a wild and
solemn effect which no regularity could have achieved.

" Where hast thou been, sister!

Killing swine;'

is a line of blank verse :

" Sister, where thou?"
a dramatic hemistich. We have then four lines of blank
verse, before the lyrical movement. " But in a sieve," &c.

" I '11 give thee a wind.

Th* art kind.

And I another,"

is a ten-syllable line, rhyming with the following octo-syl-
labic line. So, in the same manner,

" I' the shipman's card.

I '11 drain him dry as hay,

is a ten-syllable line, rhj-ming with the following one of
seven syllables. Some editors have destroyed this metrical
arrangement by changing " Th' art kind" into '■ Thou art
kind;" and "I'll drain him dry as hay" into "/ vill
drain him dry as hay." CapeU's " thou 'rt " is an improve-
ment. , , . ■ J • I
b ll'eird. —There can be no doubt that this tenn is derived
from the Anglo-Saxon wi/rd, word spoken ; and in the same
way that the word/o/f is anything spoken, weird and fatal
are synonymous, and equallv applicable to such mysterious
beings as Macbeth's witches. We cannot therefore agree
with Tieck that the word is tC7»/«'arrf— wilful. He says that
it is written uai/ward in the original; but this is not so: it
is written iceijwnrd, which Steevens says is a blunder of the
transcriber or printer. We doubt this; for the word is thus
written wei/ward, to mark that it consists of two syllables.
For example, in the second act, Banquo says—

"I dreamt last night of the three weytcard sisters."
But it is also written weijard:—

" As the weyard women promis'd, and I fear."
Here the word is one syllable, by elision, When the poet
uses the w<ird wmiward in the sense of wilful, the editors ol
the original do not confound the words. Thus, in the third
act, Hecate says —

" And which is worse, all you have done
Hath been but for a wayward son."

ACTl.]

MACBETH.

[SCENS III

Thus do go about, about ;
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice again, to make up nine :
Peace ! — the charm 's wound up.

Enter Macbeth and Ba>'quo.

Macb. So foul and fair a day I have not seen.

Ban. How far is 't call'd to Forres ?— What
are these,
So wither'd and so wild in their attire ;
That look not like tlie inhabitants o' the earth.
And yet arc on 't? Live you? or arc yoa aught
That man may question? You sccin to under-
stand me,
By each at once her choppy finger laying
Upon her skinny lips : — You should be women,
And yet your beards forbid me to interpret
That you are so.

Macb. Speak, if you can ; — "What are you ?

1 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee,

thauc of Glamis !

2 Witch. All haU, Macbeth! hail to thee,

thane of Cawdor !

3 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! that shalt be

king hereafter.
Ban. Good sir, why do you start; and seem
to fear

Things that do sound so fair? — I' the name of
truth,

Are ye fantastical,* or that indeed

■\71iich outwardly ye show ? My noble partner

You greet with present grace, and great predic-
tion

Of noble having, and of royal hope.

That he seems rapt withal; to me you speak
not:

If you can look into the seeds of time.

And say, which grain will grow, and wluch wLU
not.

Speak then to me, who neither beg, nor feai".

Your favours nor your hate.

1 Witch. HaU!

2 intch. Had!

3 Witch. HaU!

1 Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater.

2 Witch. Not so happy, yet much happier.

3 Witch. Thou shalt get kings, though th(ju

be none :
So all hail, IMacbeth and Banquo !

1 Witch. Banquo, and Macbeth, all hail !
Macb. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me
more :
By Sinel's death I know I am thane of Glamis ;

» Faii<<7J/ico/— bclotipinR to fantaiiy -imaginary.
n

But how of Cawdor? the thane of Cawdor lives
A prosperous gentleman ; and, to l)e king,
Stands not \vithin the prospect of belief.
No more than to be Cawdor. Say, from whence
You owe this strange intelligence ? or why
Upon this blasted heath you stop our way
With such prophetic greeting ? — Speak, I charge
you. [Witches vanish.

Ban. The earth halh bubbles, as the watci
has.
And these are of them : Whither are thcv
vauish'd ?
Macb. Lito the air : and what secm'cl cor-
poral, melted
As breath into the wind. — 'Would they had
staid !
Ban. Were such things here as we do speak
about ?
Or have we eaten on* the insane root,"^"
That takes the reason prisoner ?
Macb. Your childi'cn shall be kings.
Ban. You shall be king.

Macb. And thane of Cawdor too ; went it not

so?
Ban. To the self-same tune and words. Who 's
here ?

Enter Kxjsse and Angus.

Rosse. The king hath happily receiv'd, Mac-
beth,
The news of thy success : and when he reads
Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight,
His wonders and his praises do contend,
■WTiich should be thine, or his : Silenc'd with that.
In viewing o'er the rest o' the self-same day.
He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks.
Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make,
Strange images of death. As thick as hail
Came post with post ; ' and every one did bear
Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence,
And pour'd them down before him.

Ang. We are sent,

To give thee, from our royal master, thanks ;
Only to herald thee into his sight, not pay thee.

0- On.— The modern editors substitute of; but why should
ve reject an ancient idiom in our rage for modernising?

I' Henbane is called in^nna in an old book of medJcinCi
which Shakspere might have consulted.
c The passage stands thus in the origin.il : —

" He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks,
Nothing afraid of what thyself did make,
Strange images of death, as thick as Tale
Can post witlj post."
We venture to adopt the reading of Howe; principally be-
cause the expression "as thick as hail" was rendered
familiar by poelica'i use : Spenser has

" As thick as hail forth poured from the sky."
And Drayton,

" Out of the town come quarries thick as hail."

Act I.]

MACBETH.

[scEVB n.

Rosse. And, for an earnest of a greater honour,
He bade me, fiom hini, call thee thane of

Cawdor :
In which addition, hail, most worthy thane !
For it is thine.

Ban. What, can the devil speak true ?

Macb. The thane of Cawdor lives : "Why do
you dress me
[n borrow'd robes ?

Ang. Who was the thane, lives yet ;

But under heavy judgment bears that life
Which he deserves to lose.
Whether he was combin'd with those of Nor-
way;
Or did line the rebel with hidden help
And vantage ; or that with both he labom-'d
In his country's wrack, I know not;"*
But treasons capital, confess' d, and proVd,
Have overthrown him.

Macb. Glamis, and thane of Cawdor ;

The greatest is behiad. — Thanks for your

pains. —
Do you not hope your children shall be kings,
"When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me,
Promis'd no less to them ?

Ban. That, trusted home,

IVIight yet enkindle you unto the crown,
Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 't is strange :
And oftentimes, to wiu us to our hai-m.
The instruments of darkness tell us tiiiths ;
Win us with honest trifles, to betray us
In deepest consequence. —
Cousins, a word, I pray you.

Macb. Two truths are told,

As happy prologues to the swelling act
Of the imperial theme. — ^I thank you, gentle-
men. —
This supernatural soliciting
Cannot be ill ; cannot be good : — If ill.
Why hath it given me earnest of success.
Commencing in a truth ? I am thane of Cawdor :
If good, why do I yield to that suggestion
Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair.
And make my seated heart knock at my ribs,
Against the use of nature ? Present fears
Are less than horrible imaginmgs :
My thought, whose murther yet is but fantas-
tical.
Shakes so my single state of man, that fimction
Is smother'd in surmise; and nothing is
But what is not.

;Ban. Look, how our partner 's rapt.

ft We follow the •metrical arrangement of the oricri'':^ ;—
not a perfect one, certainly.

Macb. If chance will have me king, why
chance may crown me.
Without my stir.

Ban. New honours come upon him

Like our strange garments ; cleave not to their

mould.
But with the aid of use.

Macb. Come what come may.

Time and the hour iiins through the roughest day.

Ban. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your

leisure.
Macb. Give me your favour : —
My didl brain was wrought with things forgotten.
Kind gentlemen, your pains are register'd
Where every day I turn the leaf to read them. —
Let us toward the king. — *
Think upon what hath chanc'd; and, at more

time.
The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak
Our free hearts each to other.

Ban. Very gladly.

Macb. Tin then, enough. — Come, friends.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.— Forres. A Boom in the Palace.

Floui-isli. Enter Dtjnca^t, Malcolm, Donal-
BALN, Lenox, and Attendants.

Bun. Is execution done on Cawdor ? Ai-e not
Those in commission yet return'd ?

Mai. My Uege,

They are not yet come back. But I have spoke
With one that saw hun die : who did report.
That very frankly he confess'd his treasons ;
Implor'd your highness' pardon ; and set forth
A deep repentance : nothing in his life
Became him hke the leaving it ; he died
As one that had been studied in his death.
To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd.
As 'twere a careless trifle.''

Bun. There 's no art

To find the mind's construction in the face :
He was a gentleman on whom I bmlt
An absolute trust. — worthiest cousin !

Enter Macbeth, Ban quo, Rosse, and ksGVS,.

The sin of my ingratitude even now
Was heavy on me : Thou art so far before.
That swiftest wing of recompense is slow
To ovei-take thee. 'Would thou hadst less
deserv'd ;

a To get rid of the two heinistichs these five lines an-
made four in modern edition;-.

b The metrical arrangement of this speech is deciaedly
improved in the modem text: but the improvement I4
not, as in the cases where we have rejected changes, pro-
duced by the determination to effect an absurd uniformity.
The same remark applies to Macbeth's answer to the kinj.

Act I.]

MACBETH.

[SCEXB V,

There if I grow,

That the proportiou both of thanks aud payment
Might have been mine ! only I have left to say.
More is thy due than more than all can pay.
Macb. The service and the loyalty I owe.
In doing it, pays itself. Your highness* part
Is to receive our duties : and our duties
Are to your tlirone and state, children and ser-
vants;
Which do but what they should, by doing every-
thing
Safe toward your love and honour.*

Dun. Welcome hither :

I have begun to plaut thee, aud will labour
To make tliec full of growing. — Xoble Bauquo,
That hast no less deserv'd, nor must be known
No less to have done so, let me enfold thee.
And hold thee to my heart.

Ban.
The harvest is your own.

Dun. My plenteous joys.

Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves
In drops of sorrow. — Sons, kinsmen, thanes.
And you whose places are the nearest, know.
We will establish our estate upon
Our eldest, Malcolm ; whom we name hereafter
The prince of Cumberland : which honour must
Not, unaccompanied, invest him only.
But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine
On all deservers. — From hence to Inverness,
And bind us further to you.
Macb. The rest is labour, which is not us'd
for you :
I '11 be myself the harbinger, and make joyful
The hearing of my wife with your approach ;
So humbly take ray leave.
Dun. My worthy Cawdor !

Macb. The priuce of Cimiberland ! — That is a
step
On which I must fall down, or else o'er-leap,

\Aiide.
For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires !
Let not light see my black and deep desires :
The eye wink at the hand ! yet let that be.
Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.

{Exit.

» Sir William Blackstone interprets the wordin/easjarira",
conceiving that the whole »peech is an allusion to feudal
homage: "The oath of allegiance, or liege homage, to the
king, was absolute, and without any exception ; but timtile
homage, when done to a subject for lands holden of him.
was always with a taring of the allegiance (the lore and
honour) due to the sovereign. ' Sauf la foy que jej doy a
nostre seignor le roy,' as it is in Littleton" According to
this interpretation, then, Macbeth only professes a qualified
homage to the king's throne and state, as if the kinfr's love
and honour were something higher than his power and
dignity. We cannot understand this. Surely it is easier to
receive the words in their plain acceptation — our duties are
called upon to do everylhinc which they can do tafely,
r.t regards the love and bonoui vie b.-ar you.

Dun. True, worthy Banquo; he is full so
valiant ;
And in liis commendations I am fed ;
It is a banquet to me. Let 's after him,
Wliose care is gone before to bid us welcome :
It is a peerless kinsman. {^Flourish. Exeunt.

SCENE V. — Inverness. A lioom in Macbeth'*
Ccfsile.

Enter Lady Macbeth, reading a letter.

Lady M. ■ They met me in the day of success ; and 1
have learned by the perfectest report, they have more in
them than mortal knowledge. When I burned in desire to
question them f'lrther, they made themselves air, into which
they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it,
came missives from the king, who all-hailedme, "Thane of
Cawdor;" by which title, before, these weird sisters saluted
me, and referred me to the coming on of time, with, " Hail,
king that shalt be ! " This have I thought good to deliver
thee, my dearest partner of greatness ; that thou mightest
not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant of what
greatness is promised thee. Lay it to thy heart, and fare-
well.'
I

Glamis thou art, and Cawdor ; and shalt be
What thou art promis'd : — Yet do I fear thy na-
ture;
It is too full o' the milk of human kindness
I To catch the nearest way: Thou wouldst be
' great ;

; Art not without ambition ; but without
The illness should attend it. AYhat thou wouldst

highly.
That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play

false.
And yet wouldst wrongly win; thou 'dst have,

great Glamis,
That which cries, ' Thus thou must do, if thou

have it :
And that which rather thou dost fear to do.
Than wishest should be undone.' Hie thee

hither,
That I may pour my spirits in tliine ear ;
And chastise with the valour of my tongue
All that impedes thee from the golden round.
Which fate and metaphysical* aid doth seem

To have thee crown'd withal. "Wliat is your

tidings?

Enter an Attendant.

Alten. The king comes here to-night.

Lady M. Thou 'rt mad to say it :

Is not thy master with him ? who, wer 't so.
Would have iuform'd for preparation.

Atten. So please you, it is true ; our thane is
coming J

* .If fta/zAyiicdl— supernatural.

ACTI.

MACBETH.

[SCESE VI

Oue of iny feiiows liad the speed of him ;
Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more
Than would make up his message.

Lady M. Give him tending,

He brings great news. The raven himself is
hoarse [Exit Attendant.

That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements. Come, you spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here ;
And fill me, from the erown to the toe, top-fidl
Of direst cruelty ! make thick my blood.
Stop up the access and passage to remorse ;
That no compimctious visitings of natm-e
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between
The effect and it! Come to my woman's

breasts,
Ajid take my milk for gall, you murthering

ministers,
Wlierever in your sightless substances
.''ou wait on uatui-e's mischief!' Come, thick

night.
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell,
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes ;
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of tlic

dark,*
To cry, 'Hold, hold!'-'' Great Glamis, wor-
thy Cawdor !

Enter Macbeth.

Greater than both, by the all-had hereafter !
Thy letters have transported me beyond
This ignorant present, and I feel now
The futiu-e in the instant.

]\facb. ^y dearest love,

Duncan comes here to-night.

Ladi/ M. And when goes hence ?

Macb. To-morrow,— as he pm-poses.

Lady M. 0' ^ever

Shall sun that morrow see ! ^
Your face, my thane, is as a book, whore

men
May read strange matters :— To beguile the

time.
Look like the time; bear welcome in your

eye,
Your hand, your tougue : look like the innocent

flower.
But be the serpent under it. He tliat 's coming

a The " blanket of the dark" has become a famil ar
phrase, and we are now to change it, under the autnorUy
of Mr. Collier's corrected folio, to " *'«*'f/ f^*''^/^"':;,,
The phrase in Cymbeline, " If Casar could l'«le/he su„
from us with a biuuket," gives the key to Lady Macheth ,
metaphor. The light of "heaven" was to be shut out b>
the " blanket of the dark." So Drayton :—

" The sullen night in misty rug is wrapt."

Must be provided for : and you shall put
This night's great business into my dispatch ;
Which shall to all our nights and days to come
Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom.

Macb. We will speak further.

Ladi/ M. Only look up clear ;

To alter favour ever is to fear :
Leave all the rest to rae. [Exeunt.

SCENE yi.—T/ie same. Before the Castle.

Hautboys. Servants of Macbeth attending.
Enter Duncan, !^Lllcolm, Donalbain, Ban-
quo, Lenox, ^M^cduef, Bosse, Angus, and
Attendants.

Lnn. This castle hath a pleasant seat ; the aii
Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself
"Unto our gentle senses.

Ban. This guest of summer.

The temple-haunt mg martlet, does approve.
By his lov'd mansionry that the heaven's breath
Smells wooingly here : no jutty, frieze.
Buttress, nor coigne of vantage, but this bu'd
Hath made his pendent bed and procreaut

cradle :
Where they most breed and haunt, I have ob-

serv'd,
The air is dthcatc'

Enter Lady Macbeth.

Bun. See, see ! our honour'd hostess !

The love that follows us sometime is our trouble.
Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach

yoi'
How you shall bid God-eyld us for your pams,

And thank ns for your trouble.''

Lady M. All our service

Li every point twice done, and then done

double.

a TVe request our readers to repeat these celebrated lines
as we have printed them. Our test is a literal copy of the
original. Is not the harmony perfect? Would tliey venture
to displace a syllable? And yet it was thus remodelled by
the master-hand of Steevens, without the sli-htest expUna-
lion or apology : —

" This guest of summer,
The temple haunting martlet, does approve,
By his lov'd mansionry, that the heaven s breath
Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze, buttress,
Nor coigne of vantage, but this bird hath made
His pendent bed, and procreaut cradle: where tuev
Most breed and haunt. I have observ'd, the air
Is delicate."

b We have restored the old familiar expression God-tyM,
as suiting better with the playfulness of I>"""" ', *I"^;;^
than the Gorf yidd im of Johnson's text. Malone ana
Steevens each ghe a very long paraphr..se °[ '"^^f ^^
There is ereat refinement in the sentiment, but the niian
Jn^Z iolerfbly clear. The love wh.cb fo'lo- "^,'^,^°;"/j
times troublesome; so we give you "°"^'^' '"' ^^^^^nk
only at the love we bear to you. and so bless lu ant tiwinK

us. J5

Aci I.]

MACBETH.

[Scene VI L

Were poor and single business, to contend

Against those honours deep and broad, where-
with

Your majesty loads our house : For those of old,

And the late dignities heap'd up to them,

We rest your hermits."

Dun. Where 's the thane of Cawdor ?

We cours'd him at the heels, and had a purpose

To be his purveyor : but he rides well ;

And his great love, sharp as his spur, liatli holp
him

To his home before us : Fair and noble hostess,

We are your guest to-night.

Lady M. Your servants ever

Have theirs, themselves, and what is theirs, in
compt.

To make their audit at your highness' pleasui-e.

Still to retui-n youi- own.
Bull. Give me your hand :

Conduct me to mme host ; we love him highly,

And shall continue our graces towards liim.

By your leave, hostess. [Exeunt.

SCENE ^11.— The same. A Room in the Castle.

Hautboys and torches. Enter, and pass over the
stage, a Sewer, and dicers Servants with dishes
and service. Then enter Macbeth.

Macb. If it were done, when 't is done, then
't were well
It were done quickly : If the assassination
Could trammel up the consequence, and catch,
With his surcease, success ; that but this blow
Might be the be-all and the end-all here.
But here, upon this bank and shoal *• of time.
We 'd jump the life to come. — But in these cases,
We still have judgment here ; that we but teach
Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return
To plague the inventor : This even-handed justice
Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice
To our own lips.'^ He 's here in double trust :

» Hermits — beadsmen — bound to pray for a benefactor.

b Shoal— in the original, *o//oo/p. Theo!)ald corrected the
word to ihoal.

e The entire passage, from the beginning of the speech
to this point, is obscure. Without venturing to alter the
common punctuation, we would recommend an attentive
consideration of the reading of the first line, as given by
Mr. Macready; and then carry on the soliloquy, as suggested
by that alteration : —

" If it were done when 't is done, then 't were well.
It were done quickly, if the assassination
Could trammel up the consequence, and catch.
With his surcease, success, that but this blow
Might be th» be-all and the end-all. Here, —
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time.
We'd jump the life to come, but in these cases
We still have-judgment here, that we but teach
Bloody instructions, which, l>eing taught, return
To plague the inventor: This even-handed justice
Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice
To our own lips.'

First, as I am his kinsman and his subject.
Strong both against the deed ; then, as his host.
Who shoidd against his mui-therer shut the door,
Not bear the knife myself. Besides, tliis Duncan
Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been
So clear in his great ofiBcc, that his virtues
Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against
The deep damnation of his taking-ofif :
And pity, like a naked new-bora babe.
Striding the bkst, or heaven's cherubim, hois'd
Upon the sightless couriers of the air.
Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye.
That tears shall drown the wind.— I have no

spur
To prick the sides of my intent, but only
Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself,"
And falls on the other"" — How now, what news ?

Enter Lady Macbeth.

Lady M. He has almost supp'd : Why have
you left the chamber ?

Macb. Hath he ask'd for me ?

Lady M. Know you not he has ?

Macb. We will proceed no further in this
business :
He hath honour'd me of late ; and I have bought
Golden opinions from all sorts of people,
Which would be worn now in their newest gloss,
Nor cast aside so soon.

Lady M. Was the hope drank.

Wherein you dress'd yoiirself? hath it slept

since?
And wakes it now, to look so green and pale
At what it did so freely ? From this time.
Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard
To be the same in thine own act and valoui".
As thou art in desire ? Wouldst thou have thai
"Wliich thou esteem' st the ornament of life,
And live a coward in thine own esteem ;
Letting I dare not wait upon I would.
Like the poor cat i' the adage ?<"

» It has been proposed (by Singleton, say the Cambridge
editors) to read, instead of itself, its sell, its saddle. How-
ever clever may be the notion, we can scarcely admit the
necessity for the change of the original. A person (aii6
vaulting ambition is personified) might be said to overleap
himself, as well as overbalance himself, or overcharge him-
self, or overlabour himself, or overmeasure himself, or over-
reach himself. There is a parallel u>e of the word over in
Beaumont and Fletcher. " Prove it again, sir; it may be
your sense was set too high, and so overtcrought itself." The
word orer in all these cases is used in the sense of too much.

b After other Hanmer introduced side. The addition is
held to be unnecessarj-, inasmuch as the plural noun,
*ides, occurs just before. But surely this notion is to
produce a jumble of the metaphor. Macbeth compares his
intent to a courser : I have no spur to urge him on. Unpre-
pared I am about to vault into my seat, but I overleap my.
self and fall. It appears to us that the sentence is brokec
by the entrance of the messenger ; that it is not complete ic
itself; and would not have been completed with side.

c We find the adage in Heywood's Proverbs, 1566:—" Tht
cat would eat fish and would not wet her feet."

Act 1.1

MACBETH.

[SCKSF. VII.

Macb . Prithee, peace :

1 dare do all that may become a man ;
Who dares do more, is none.

Lady M. What beast was 't tlien.

That made you break this enterprise to me ?
When you dui'st do it, then you were a man ;
And, to be more than what you were, you would
Be so much more the man. Nor time, nor

place.
Did then adhere, and yet you would make both :
They have made themselves, and that then- fit-
ness now
Does uimmke you, I have given suck; and

know
How tender 't is to love the babe that milks me :
I would, while it was smiling in my face,
Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums,
And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn,
As you have done to tliis.

diucb. If we should fail, ■

Lady 31. We fail.-*

But screw your courage to the sticking place.
And we '11 not fail. When Duncan is asleep,
(Wliereto the rather shall his day's hard journey
Soundly invite him,) his two chamberlains

a We fail. This is generally pointed We fail!— The
quiet self-possession of the punctuation -vv-e have adopted
appears preferable to the original " We fail?"

Will I with wme and wassel so convince,
That memory, the warder of the brain.
Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason
A limbeck '' only : When in s\vinish sleei)
Their drenched natures lie, as in a death.
What cannot you and I perform upon
The unguarded Duncan ? what not put upon
His spongy officers ; who shall bear the guilt
Of oui" great quell ? '^

Macb. Bring forth men-children only.

For thy undaunted mettle should compose
Notliing but males. Will it not be receiv'd,
Wlien we have mark'd with blood those sleepy

two
Of his o^vn chamber, and us'd then- veij daggers.
That they have done 't ?

Lady 31. Who dares receive it other,

As we shall make our griefs and clamour roar
Upon his death ?

3Iacb. I am settled, and bend up

Each corporal agent to this terrible feat.
Away, and mock the time Avith fairest show :
False face must hide what the false heart doth
know. \Exeunt.

a Convince — overpower.

b iimiecA:— alembic. Shakspere understood the construc-
tion of a still, in this happy comparison of the brain to tliat
part of a vessel through whicli a distilled liquor pr.sses

e Quu'W— murder.

[Distant View of the Heatli.]

Tragedies. — Vol. 11.

ILLUSTRATIONS OF ACT L

' Scene TI.— " Of iernes and gallowglasscs is
supplied."

Is the Second Part of Henry VI. we have this
passage : —

" The Duke of York is newly come from Ireland :
And with a puissant and a mighty power,
Of gallowglasses and stout kernes,
Is marching hitherward in proud array."

Bamaby Rich describes the gallowf/lass as a foot-
soldier armed with a skull, a shirt of mail, and a
gallowglass axe. The kernes he denounces as the
very dross and scum of the country, ready to run
out with every rebel.

' Scene III. — " But in a sieve I 'II thither sail."

In a pamphlet called ' News from Scotland,'
1591, it is shown how certain Avitches, who pre-
tended to bewitch and drown his majesty (our
James I.) in the sea coming from Denmark,
"together went to sea, each one in a riddle or
cive, and went in the same very substantially with
flagons of wine, making merry and drinking by
the way in the same riddles or cives."

' Scene V. — " Come, thick night" kc

This celebrated passage has given rise to much
discussion, particularly with reference to the word
blanket. This, Malone says, was certainly the
poet's word, and "perhaps was suggested to him
by the coarse icoollen curtain of his own theatre,
through which, probably, while the house was yet
but half lighted, he had himself often peeped." But
Whiter has very ingeniously illustrated the passage
by another view of the subject. The internal roof
of the stage was anciently called the heavens.
This was its known and familiar name, as we have
previously had occasion to mention. (See Henry
VI., Part I. Illustration of Act i.) But when
tragedies were represented, the back of the stage,
according to Malone, was hung with black. Whiter
is persuaded that, on these occasions, the deco-
rations about the roof, which were designed to re-
present the appearance of the heavens, were also
covered with black. This, then, was the " blanket
of the dark " through which " heaven " was not to
"peep." This is certainly ingenious; but is it
necessary to the understanding of the passage ?
Drayton, ■without any stago associations, has this
line in an eai'ly poem : —

" The sullen night in misty rug is wrapp'd."

HISTORICAL ILLUSTRATION.

It is not our intention to conduct our readers
through the obscure and contradictory traditions
that belong to the history of Macbeth. Shakspere
found this history, apocrj'phal as it may be,
graphically told in Holinshed; and it will be
BuflBcient for us to select such passages as must
necessarily have passed under the poet's eye in the
construction of this great tragedy.

" It fortuned as Mxicbeth and Banquo journeyed
towards Forres, where the king then lay, they went
sporting by the way together, without other com-
pany save only themselves, passing through the
woods and fields, when suddenly, in the midst of
a laund,* there met them three women in strange
and wild apparel, resembling creatures of elder
world, whom when they attentively beheld,
wondering much at the sight, the first of them

A plain unongit trees.

spake and said. All hail, Jfacbeth. thane of Glara-
niis ! (for he had lately entered into that dignity
and oflSce by the death of his father Sinell). The
second of them said, Hail, Macbeth, thane of
Cawder ! But the third said, All hail, Macbeth,
that liereafter shalt be king of Scotland 1

" Then Banquo : What manner of women (saith
he) are you, that seem so little favourable unto
me, whereas to my fellow here, besides high of-
fices, ye assign also the kingdom, appointing forth
nothing for me at all ? Yes (saith the first of them),
we promise greater benefits unto thee than unto
him, for he shall reign indeed, but with an un-
lucky end ; neither shall he leave any issue behind
him to succeed in his place, where contrarily thou
indeed shalt not reign at all ; but of thee shall be
bom which shall govern the Scottish kingdom by
long order of continual descent. Herewith the
foresaid women vanished immediately out of their

MACBETH.

sight. This was reputed at the first but some vaiu
fantastical illusion by Macbeth and Banquo, inso-
much that Banquo would call Macbeth in jest King
of Scotland ; and Macbeth again would caU. him in
sport likewise the father of many kings. But
afterwards the common opinion was, that these
women were either the weird sisters, that is (as ye
would say) the goddesses of destiny, or else some
nymphs or fairies, endued with knowledge of
prophecy by their necromantical science, because
everything came to pass as they had spoken.
For, shortly after, the Thane of Cawder being
condemned at Forres of treason against the king
committed, his lands, livings, and offices were
given of the king's liberality to Macbeth.

" The same night after, at supper, Banquo jested
with him, and said, Now, Macbeth, thou hast ob-
tained those things which the two former sisters
prophesied, there remaineth only for thee to pur-
chase that which the third said should come to
pass. Whereupon Macbeth, revolving the thing
in his mind, began even then to devise how he
might attain to the kingdom ; but yet he thought
with himself that he must tarry a time, which
should advance him thereto (by the Divine Pro-
vidence) as it had come to pass in his former
preferment. But shortly after it chanced that
King Duncan, having two sons by his wife, which
was the daughter of Siward Earl of Northumber-
land, he made the elder of them, called Malcolm,

Prince of Cumberland, as it were thereby to ap-
point him his successor in the kingdom imme-
diately after his decease. Macbeth, sore troubled
herewith, for that he saw by this means his hope
sore hindered, (where, by the old laws of the realm,
the ordinance was, that, if he that should succeed
were not of able age to take the charge upon him-
self, he that was nest of blood unto him should be
admitted.) he began to take counsel how he might
usurp the kingdom by force, having a just quarrel
so to do (as he took the matter), for that Duncan
did what in him lay to defraud him of all manner
of title and claim which he might in time to come
pretend unto the crown.

" The words of the three weird sisters also (of
whom before ye have heard) greatly encouraged
him hereunto, but specially his wife lay sore upon
him to attempt the thing, as she that was very am-
bitious, burning in unquenchable desire to bear
the name of a queen. At length, therefore, com-
municating his purposed intent with his trusty
friends, amongst whom Banquo was the chiefest
upon confidence of their promised aid he slew the
king at Envems, or (as some say) at Botgosvane.
in the first year of his reign. Then, having a com
pany about him of such as he bad made privy to
his enterprise, he caused himself to be proclaimed
king, and forthwith went unto Scone, where (by
common content) he received the investure of the
kingdom according to the accustomed manner."

[St. Colmes" Inch.]

LOCAL ILLUSTRATIONS.

Scene II. — "A camp near Forres."
Probably situated in the moors to the south of the
town, so as to intercept the march of the invaders
from Fife to the royal residences of the north.
Wide and almost level tracts of heath extend
southwards from Forres, amidst which the march
of an army might be discerned from a great
distance. It must be mentioned that the stage

C 2

direction, " Camp near Forres," does not occur in

the original ; although it is clear in the third scene

that Macbeth and Banquo are on their way

thither : —

" How far is 't called to Forres ?"

Scene 11.— " St. Colmes" inch."
Inch; Island. St. Colmes' ; St. Columba's.—Th^a
island of St. Columba lies in the Fii-th of Forth, oO"

ILLUSTRATIONS OF ACT I.

the coast of l ife, a little to the cast of North Queens-
ferry. Alexander 1. was WTecked on this island,
and entertained by a hermit. In memory of his
preservation Alexander founded a monastery, to
which great sanctity attached for many centuries,
and the remains of which are still conspicuous. It
wa« ofli^u plundered by English m:irauders; but it
WM BO generally believed that the 8;unt iuvaiiably
avenged himself on the pirates, that the sacredness
of the place, as the scene of conferences and con
tracts, remained xmimpaired. The " Norweyan
king" was probably compelled to disburse his "ten
thousand dollars " on this spot before burying his
men on the soil of Fife, in order to make his
humiliation as solemn and emphatic as possible.

Scene III.—'- A Hcathr

Common superstition assigns the Harmuir, on
the borders of Elgin and Nairn, as the place of the
interview between Macbeth and the weird sisters.
A more dreary piece of moorland is not to be found
in all Scotland. Its eastern limit is about six miles
from Forres, and its western four from Nairn, and
the high road from these places intersects it. This
" blasted heath" is without tree or shrub. A few
patches of oata are visible here and there, and the
eye reposes on a fir-plantation at one extremity ;
but all around is bleak and brown, made up of peat
and bog-water, white stones and bushes of furze.
Sand-hills and a line of blue sea, beyond which are
the distant hills of Ross and Caithness, bound it to
the north ; a farmstead or two may be seen afar off;
and the ruins of a castle rise from amidst a few trees
on the estate of Brodie of Brodie on the north-west.
There is something startling to a stranger in seeing
the solitary figure of the peat-digger or rush-
gatherer moving amidst the waste in the sunshine
of a calm autumn day; but the desolation of the
scene in stormy weather, or when the twilight fogs
are trailing over the pathless heath or settling down
ui">n the pools, must be indescribable.

Boece naiTates the intei-view of Macbeth and
Bauquo with the weird sisters as an actual occur-
rence ; and he is repeated by Holinshed. Bucha-
nan, whose mind was averse from admitting more
superstitions than were necessary to historical
fidelity, relates the whole scene as a dream of
Macbeth's. It is now scarcely possible even for
the imagination of the historical student to make
its choice between the scene of the generals, mounted
and attended by their troops, meeting the witches
in actual presence on the waste of the Harmuir,
and the encounter of the aspiring spirit of Macbeth
with the prophets of its fate amid the wilder
scenei-y of the laud of dreams. As far as the
superstition is concerned with the real history,
the poet has boitnd us in his mightier spells. The
Witches of Shakspere have become realities.

Scene III. — '' Thane of Glamis."

Glamis Castle, five miles from Forfar, is one of
the four or five castles in which the murder of Dun-
can is erroneously declared to have been perpe-
trated. Previous to 1372 a small castle, two stories
high, stood on this spot, commanding a wide extent
of level country, bounded in one direction by the
range of Dunsinaue hills, and within view of Birnam
hill. Tradition assigns this old stronghold as the
occasional residence of Macbeth ; who, how ever, as
will be seen elsewhere, could never have dwelt within
stone walls. The present magnificent edifice is above
a hundred feet in height, and contains a hundi'ed
rooms; and the walls of the oldest part of the build-
ing are fifteen feet thick. An ancient bedstead is pre-
served in it, on which it is pretended that Duncan
was murdered. Glamis Castle is made by tradition
the scene of another murder — that of Malcolm II.,
in 1034. The property passed into the hands of
the Strathmore family (to whom it still belongs) in
1372, on occasion of the marriage of John Lyon,
ancestor of the family, with a daughter of Robert
II., from whom the estate was received as a gift.

iUlMUiia CVwtle.]

MACBETH.

Scene [II.—" Thane of Cawdor."

Cawdor Castle is another supposed scene of the
murder of Duncan. A portion of Duncan's coat-
of-mail is pretended to be shown there ; and also
the chamber in which he was murdered, with the
recess, cut out of the thickness of the walls, in which
the king's valet hid himself during the perpetration
of the deed. Cawdor Castle is about six miles from
Nairn, and stands on a rising ground above the
windings of the Calder, overlooking a wide tract of
woodland, bounded on the north by the Moray Fii'th.
It has a moat and drawbridge ; and a part of it,
without date, shows marks of very high antiquity.
The more modern part bears the date of 1510. Tra-

dition says that the original builder of this cas^tle
was desired to load an ass with the gold he could
afford for his edifice, to follow where the ass should
lead, and build where it should stop. The ass
stopped at a hawthorn in the wood, and this haw-
thorn was built into the centre chamber of the
ground-floor of the castle. There it is still, worn
and cut away till it is a slender wooden pillar in the
midst of the antique apartment. Beside it stands
the chest which contained the gold ; and here, it is
supposed, did the train of Duncan mingle in revel
with the servants of Macbeth on the night of the
murder. The stranger who stands in the low, dim
vault, regi-ets that history and tradition cannot be
made to agree.

[Cawdor Castle.]

Scene IV. — " Forres. A Room in the Palace."

Forres is a town of great antiquity. At its west-
em extremity there is an eminence commanding
the river, the level country to the coast of Moray
Firth, and the town. On this spot, advantageous
for strength and survey, stand the ruins of an an-
cient castle, the walls of which are very massive,
and the architecture Saxon. Tradition declares
that before this castle was built the fort stood there
in which King Duffus was murdered in 965 or 966.
It is probable that this fort was the residence of

Duncan, and afterwards of Macbeth, when the
court or royal army was at Forres. The imagina-
tion of the student of the chroniclers or of Shak-
spere fixes on this green mound as the spot where
Macbeth bent the knee to his sovereign, while
internally occupied with the greetmgs which had
just met him on the Harmuir.

Scene V. — " Inverness. A Room in Macbeth's
Castle."

Boece declares that Macbeth's castle, in which
Duncan was murdered, was that which stood on an

ILLUSTRATIONS OF ACT I.

r^aiti' ' iMAt of the U-'wn of liivor-

CMM. the huiliiiug, calleil A castle,

which ■tood therr, wu.i rnzt^i to the ground by Mal-
colm Ckiii toil of DiuiCAD, who built an-
other on ■> '- i>iu-t of tho hill. It \vaa this
Utt, diaiuAnUod in tho war of 1745, which Dr. John-
•<>M Mid I' .t*rwl in 1773, aiiparently with-
out an J »\: , . :iat it was not tho identical place
in which Duncan was rcceired by I^idy Macbeth.
Ilo«w«ll not only recoguiBea tho " pleasant scat " of
th« building, but lookj up with ronci-atiou tu the
battlemonta on which the raven croaked. He de-
rlarM— "I had a roniMjtic satisfaction in seeing
Dr. Johnaon actually in it." It appears, however,
from the ro6«arches of antiquarians, that the castles
of Macbeth's days wen- not built of stone and mor-
tar at alL The "vitridcd forts," whose vestiges are
found scattered over Scotland, and which are con-
jectured to bo the work of the primitive Celtic in-
habitants, remain a mystery, both as to theii- con-
struction and purposes ; but, with the exception of
theae, there are no traces of erections of stone of
ao early a date as tho reign of Duncan. T) <
forta and castles of those days appeitr to have
I- ■ :>8ed of timber and soils, which crumbled
»' .ved away ages ago, leaving only a faint
circle upon the soil, to mark the place where
t* * 1. It is thus that the site of Luufanan
1 supposed scene of Macbeth 's death) has
be«n ascertaiucd. ThL- fact about the mofcUod of

building in that age settles thequestion of Duncan's
murder at Cawdor Castle, or Qlamis, or any other
to which that event has been assigned. It could
not have taken place in any building now in
existence.

It is now believed by some that Duncan was not
assassinated at all, but slain in battle. Later his-
torians follow Boece in bis declaration that the king
was murdered in Macbeth's castle at Inverness ;
but the register of the Priory of St. Andrew's says,
'■ Doucath iuterfectus est in Bothgonanan." For-
dun says that, being wounded, he was conveyed to
Elgin, and died there. The meaning of Bothgona-
nan being "the smith's dwelling," it has been con-
jectured that the king was murdered by ambushed
assassins, at or near a smith's dwelling, in the
neighbourhood of Elgin.

Supposing the murder to have taken place,
however, at Macbeth's castle at Inverness, the
abode might well be said to have "a pleasant
seat." The hill overhangs the river Ness, and
commands a fine view of the iovnx, the surrounding
levels, and the mountains which enclose Loch Ness
to the west. The eminence is at present crowned
with the new castle, which contains the courts
and the ofiices connected with them. No vestiges
remain of Malcolm's castle, visited by Dr. John.son
and Roswell as the Macbeth's castle of Boece ano'
Shakupere.

O.)

[Scone.]

ACT II.

SCENE l.—The same. Court within the Castle.

'Enter Baijquo and Eleance with a torch.

Ban. How goes the uight, boy ?

IHe. Tlie moon is dov/a; I have not heard

the clock.
Ban. And she goes down at twelve.
pig_ I take 't, 't is later, sir.

Ban. Hold, take my sword.— There 's hus-
bandry* in heaven,
Their candles are all out.— Take thee that

too.
A heavy summons lies like lead upon me.
And yet I would not sleep : Merciful powers !

a i/Ksfcn;!(i;-(/— frvgality.

Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature
Gives way to in repose !— Give me my sword;—

Enter Macbeth, and a Servant with a torch.

Who 's there ?

Macb. A friend. .

Ban. What, sir, not yet at rest ? The king s
a-bed :
He hath been in unusual pleasure, and
Sent forth great largess to your offices :"
This diamond he greets youi- wife withal.
By the name of most kind hostess ; and shut :ip
In measureless content.

a Offices.-TV.s is the original word. Malone ^^ould^ read
omcc^; but it is of little ^""sequence jrhe her the lar^e^s
was sent to the servants or the servants hall.

Acr M.)

MACBETH.

[SCEKK II.

.ViirA. Btinii; uuprcparM,

Our will became the scn-aut to defect ;
^Vhich else should free have wrought.

BiiH. All 's \\ ell.

I dreamt last nipht of the three weird sisters :
To you thev have show'd some truth.

}facb. I think not of them :

Yet, when we cm entreat an hour to serve.
We would spend it in sonic words upon that

business,
If Tou would grant the time.
Ban. At vour kind'st leisure.

Miicb. If Tou shall cleave to my consent," —
when 't is,
It shall make honour for you.

lian. So I lose none,

In seeking to augment it, but still keep
My bosom franchis'd, and allegiance clear;
I sh.all be counsell'd.
Macb. Good repose, the while !

Ban. Thanks, sir ; the like to you !

[EriV Banquo and Fleauce.
^f(leb. Go, bid thy mistress, when my di-iuk
is ready,
She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed.

[Exit Servant.
Is thii a dagger which I see before me,
The Lindle toward my hand? Come, let me

clutch thee :
I have thee not, and yet I sec thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling, as to sight ? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind, a false creation,
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain ?
I see thee yet, in form as pialpablc
As this which now I draw.
Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going,
And such an instrument I was to use.
Mine eyes arc made the fools o' the other senses.
Or else worth all the rest : I see thee still ;
And on thy blade and dudgeon ^ gouts of blood.
Which was not so before. — There 's no such

thing.
It is the bloody business which informs
I'h ; * yes. — Now o'er the one half world

N» l<ad, and wicked dreams abuse

The curtain'd sleep:* witchcraft celebrates

* C»mt*mt'—t%nian.

Ur
t' ■■

Ir.
»r

MvhHh

covrrHy

/•Tf.il .-.1

^.-'Vd,

you
< to

■ Uj>C

wi;i

read

• i >TH

"■ of Uic

s an

1 ■-.♦

.e Iwr.^ i.4ui« u> *UU tu llic tuieiiiiiity oi llio

P:Uc Hecate's offerings ; and wither'd murther,

Alaruin'u by his sentinel, the wolf,

\Vliosc howl 's his watch, thus with his stealthy

pace.
With Tarquin's ravishing strides," towai-ds his

design
Moves like a ghost. Thou sure'' and firm-set

earth,
Hear not my steps, which way they walk','= for fear
Thy very stones prate of my where-about,
And take the present horror from the time,
TMiich now suits with it. — Wliilcs I threat he

lives:
Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.

{_A bell rings.
I go, and it is done ; the bell invites me.
Hear it not, Duncan ; for it is a knell
That summons thee to heaven, or to hell. [E-vit.

SCENE II. — The same.
Enter Lady Macbeth.

Lady M. That which hath made them drunk

hath made me bold :
What hath qucnch'd them hath given rae fire : —
Hark ! Peace ! It was the owl that shriek'd,
The fatal bellman which gives the stern'st good

night.
He is about it:^ The doors are open;

a Strides. Sides is the word of the old copies ; but Pope
changed it to strides. A doubt then arises whether this word
is compatible with " stealthy pace." Johnson says that a
ravishing stridi.- is an action of violence, impetuosity, and
tumult. This is denied ; and we have examples given of a
"leisurable stride" and " an easy stride." The word, in its
usual acceptation, and looking at its etymology, does not
convey the motion of stealthy and silent movement. We
receive it as Milton uses it : —

" Satan was now at hand, and from his seat
The monster moving onward came as fast
With horrid strides, hell trembled as he strode."
Can we reconcile then the word sides with the context ?
Tieck contends that sides has been received as the seat of
the passions, and is so here poetically used. We have
some doubt of this ; although we do not reject the opinion.
Might we not receive sides as a verb, and read the passage
thus ?—

" Wither'd murther,
Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf,
■\\Tiose howl 's his watch, thus, with his stealthy pace
(Which Tarquin's ravishing sides) towards his design,
Moves like a ghost."
To side is to m.itch, to balance, to be in collateral position
Thus, in Ben Jonson's ' Scjanus,"

" Whom he, upon our low and suffering necks,
Hath rais'd from excrement to side the gods?"
In the passage before us, "murther" "with his stealthy
pace," which pace sides, matches, " Tarquin's ravishing,"
'raiistiinq a noun.) moves like a ghost towards his design.
Thi». conjecture has been noticed by the Cambridge editors,
but they adopt strides, as do most other recent commentators.
Although a conjectural emendation, strides gives a clear
meaning, however imperfect.
Sure. — The original has snwre.

t The original has "which they may walk." Tii'ck de-
fends the niiginal reading, as ungrammatical, singular, and
perfectly dream-like. Is not this to refine somewhat over-
much f

•1 Here we follow the metrical arrangement of the original,
with a slight deviation in the subsequent lines.

Act II.]

MACBETH.

[SuF.sB ir.

And the suiieited grooms do mock their charge
vdth. snores :

I have di'ugg'd their possets.

That death and nature do contend about them,

Whether they live, or die.
Macb. \_7FMtfi.'] Who's there?— what, hoal^
Lad^ M. Alack ! I am afraid they have
awak'd.

And 'tis not done: — the attempt, and not the
deed.

Confounds us:— Hark!— I laid then- daggers
ready.

He could not miss them. — Had he not resembled

My father as he slept I had done 't— My hus-
band!

Enter Macbeth.

Macb. I have done the deed :— Didst thou not

hear a noise ?
Ladi/ M. I heai-d the owl scream, and the
crickets cry.
Did not you speak ?
Macb. When?

Ladj/ M. Now.

Macb. ^ I descended ?

Lad)/ II. Ay.
Macb. Hark!—
Who lies i' the second chamber ?
Ladi/ M. Donalbain.

Macb. This is a soiTy sight.

\Lookinfj on his hands.
Lady M. A foolish thought, to say a sorry

sight.
Macb. There 's one did laugh in his sleep,
And one cried, 'mui-ther!' that they did wake

each other ;
I stood and heard them : but they did say their

prayers,
And address'd them again to sleep.*
Lady M. There are two lodg'd together.
Macb. One cried, ' Gk)d bless us!' and 'Ameu,'
the other ;
As they had seen me, with these hangiuau's

hands.
Listening their fear, I could not say, amen.
When they did say, God bless us.
Lady M. Consider it not so deeply.

Macb. But wherefore could not I pronomice,
amen?
I had most need of blessing, and amen
Stuck in my throat.

Lady 3L These deeds must not be thought
After these ways ; so, it will maie us mad.

liaes.

Here again ^e follow the original regulation of the

Macb. Methought, I heard a voice cry, ' Sleep
no more !
Macbeth does murtlier sleep,' — the iunocent

sleep ;
Sleep, that knits up the ravell'd sleavc * of care,
The death of each day's life, sore labour's

bath.
Balm of hm-t miads, great natui'e's second

coui'se.
Chief nourisher iii life's feast.''

Lady M. TYhat do you mean ?

Macb. Still it cried, 'Sleep no more!' to all
the house :
' Glamis hath murther'd sleep : and therefore

Cawdor
Shall sleep no more, Macbeth shall sleep no
more ! '
Lady M. Wbo was it that thus cried ? Why,
worthy thane.
You do unbend your noble strength, to thuik
So brainsickly of things :— Go, get some water,
And wash this filthy witness from your hand.—
Why did you bring these daggers from the

place ?
They must lie there: Go, carry thera; and

smear
The sleepy grooms with blood.

Macb. I 'il go no more ;

I am afraid to think what I have done ;
Look on 't again I dare not.

Lady M. Infii'^ of purpose !

Give me the daggers: The sleeping, and the

dead,
Ai-e but as pictiu-es : 'tis the eye of childhood
That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed,
I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal,
Por it mxist seem their guilt.

[Exit. Knocking within.

Macb. Whence is that knocking ?

How is 't with me, when every noise appals

me?
^\Tiat hands ai-e here ? Ha ! they pluck out

mine eyes !
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
Clean fi-om my hand? No; this my hand wiU

rather
The multitudinous seas incamardine
Making the green, one red.'

a SJ^ai-e-unwrought snk-thejyr.V«=a of the Italians^
b There are differences of op.n.on as \o^^"l'^l V*^^"
er.ds. Hanmer carried it to the end of ^•"^'^'J' ^Xr of
Johnson made it stop at 'murther sleep; the remainder
the speech being Macbeth's comment.
c Heywood has this passage :

" The multitudes of seas dyed red with blood."
This gives us, we think, the meaning of muttUudinou.

Act II.]

MACBETH.

[SCEHE III.

B^^mier Lady Macbetu.

I^Jy .V. My hands arc of your colour ; but

I ahame
To wear a heart so wlutc. [Knock:'\ I hoar a

knock iu(;
At the south entry :— retire wc to our chamber:
A little water clears us of this deed :
How ea*y i.«* it then! Your constancy
Hath left you unattended.— [A'worXiwy.] Hark !

more \ ' ' :
Get on your nij;:. _ , lest occasion call us,
And show us to be watchers :— Be not lost
So poorly in your thoughts,

Macb'. To know my deed, 't were best not

know myself. [Knock.

Wake Duncan with thy knocking ; I» would thou

coiddst ! ' lExeunt.

SCENE \\\.— The same.

Enter a Porter. [Knocking within.

Porter. Here 's a knocking, indeed! If a
man were porter of hell-gate, he should have old
turning the key. [Knocking.'] Knock, knock,
knock : "\Mio 's'thcre, i' the name of Belzcbub?
Here 's a fanner, that hanged himself on the ex-
jicctation of plenty : Come in time ; have nap-
kins enough about you ; here you '11 sweat for 't.
[Knocking.'] Knock, knock: "Who 's there,
i' the other devil's name ? 'Faith, here's an equi-
vocator, that could swear in both the scales
against cither scale; who committed treason
enough for God's sake, yet could not equivocate
to heaven: 0, come in, cquivocator. [Knocking!]
Knock, knock, knock: Who's there? 'Faith,
here 's an T ' ' tailor come hither, for steal-
ing out of , i ii hose : Come in, tailor •, here
you may roast your goose, [Knocking.] Knock,
knock : N«Tcr at quiet ! What arcyou ?— But tliis
place b too eold for hell. 1 '11 devil-porter it no
further : I had thought to have let in some of all
profcssionii, tliat go the primrose way to the cver-

I ;

Tt.ii M». • '

■ tig line the commcn-
it ttandi
1 one, red."

■1, one red,"
■r;riv'« Inn Jnumril." anil

■dopt'
brod.

nf »n the »lr."

Ut." He U pro
( ^n the old cop;

\ -.1 the y,-:vj-u:\ »;>iiC4r« 1" '.;> in''>c cii.j.;i»lic.
26

lasting bonfire. [Knocking.] Anon, anon; I
pray you, remember the porter. [Opens the gate.

Enter Macdupf and Lenox.

Macd. Was it so late, friend, ere you went to
bed,
That you do lie so late ?

Port. 'Faith, sir, we were carousing till the
second cock : and drink, sir, is a great provoker
of three things.

Mdcd. What three things does drink espe-
cially provoke ?

Port. Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and
urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unpro-
vokes : it provokes the desire, but it takes away
toe performance : Therefore, much drink may he
said to be au equivocator with lechery : it makes
him, and it mars liim ; it sets him on, and it
takes him off ; it persuades him, and disheartens
him ; makes him stand to, and not stand to : in
conclusion, equivocates him in a sleep, and,
giving him the lie, leaves him.

Macd. I believe, drink gave thee the lie last
night.

Port. That it did, sir, i' the very throat o' me :
But I requited him for his lie; and, T think,
being too strong for him, though he took up my
legs sometunc, yet I made a shift to cast him.

3facd. Is thy master stirring ? —
Our knocking has awak'd him ; here he comes.

Enter Macbetu.

Len. Good morrow, noble sir !
Macb. Good-morrow, both !

Macd. Is the king stirring, worthy thane ?
Macb. Not yet.

Macd. He did command me to call timely on
him;
I have almost slipp'd the hour.

Macb. I '11 bring you to him.

Macd. I know this is a joyful trouble to
you;
But yet 't is one.

Macb. The labour we delight in physics pain.
This is the door.

Macd. ■ I '11 make so bold to call,
For 'tis my limited* service. [E.dt Macduff.
Len. Goes the king hence to-day ?
Macb. He does : — he did appoint so.''

K Limited — appointed.

b Stccvcns writes the passage thus : —

"Goes the king
From hence to-day f
Afacb. He does :— he did appoint so."

We rrjecl mch forced attempts to get rid of tl]C hemistich
&nd the Alexandrine.

Act II.]

MACBETH.

[SCBME III

Len. The night has been unruly : Where we

lay.

Our chimneys were blown down : and, as they

say,
Lamentings heard i' the air ; strange screams of

death :
And, prophesying with accents terrible,
Of dire combustion and confus'd events.
New hatch'd to the woeful time,
The obscure bird clamour'd the live-long night :
Some say the earth was feverous and did shake*
Macb. 'T was a rough night.
Len. My young remembrance cannot pa-
rallel
A feUow to it.

Re-enter Macduff.

Macd. O horror ! horror 1 horror !
Tong-ue, nor heart, cannot conceive, nor name
thee!
Mach. Len. What 's the matter ?
Macd. Confusion now hath made his master-
piece !
Most sacrilegious murther hath broke ope
The Lord's anomted temple, and stole thence
The life o' the building.

Macb. What is 't you say ? the life ?

Len. Mean you his majesty ?
Macd. Approach the chamber, and destroy
your sight
With a new Gorgon :— Do not bid me speak ;
See, and then speak yourselves. — Awake !
awake ! —

\E.Teimt Macbeth and Lenox.
Eing the alai-um-bell : — Murther ! and trea-
son!
Banquo, and Donalbain ! Malcolm ! awake !
Shake off this downy sleep, death's counter-
feit,
And look on death itself !— up, up, and see

The great doom's image Malcolm ! Banquo !

As from your graves rise up, and walk like

sprites.
To countenance this horror ! Ring the bell.''

{Bell rings.

Unter Lady Macbeth.

Lady M. What 's the business,

a W^e here follow the regulation of the original. But we
have adopted a punctuation suggested by a friend, which
connects "the obscure bird" with "prophesying." _

b The words " riny the bell" form part of the original
text; and the stage direction, "bell rings," immediately
follows. Theobald and other conimentatois strike out
" ring the bell," contending that these words also were a
stage direction. But how natural is it that Macdutl, having
previously cried "ring the alarum-bell," should repeat the
order 1

That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley
The sleepers of the house ? speak, speak !

Macd. 0, gentle lady,

'T is not for you to hear what I can speak :
The repetition, in a woman's car,
Would murther as it fell.

Enter Banquo.

Banquo! Banquo! our royal m?.ster's mur-

ther'd !

Lady M. Woe, alas ! what, in our house ?

Ban. Too cruel, anywhere.

Dear Duff, I prithee coutradict thyself,
And say, it is not so.

Re-enter Macbeth and Lenox.

Macb. Had I but died an hour before this
chance,

1 had liv'd a blessed time ; for, from this in-

stant.
There 's nothing serious in mortality :
AH is but toys : renown, and grace, is dead ;
The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees
Is left this vaidt to brag of.

Enter Malcolm and Donalbain.

Don. What is amiss ?

Macb. You are, and do not know 't.

The spring, the head: the fountain of your

blood
Is stopp'd ; the very source of it is stopp'd.
Macd. Your roval father 's murther'd.
Mai. -" 0, by whom?

Len. Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had
done't:
Their hands and faces were all badg'd with

blood,
So were their daggers, which, unwip'd, we

found
Upon their pillows: they star'd, and were dis-

tracted ;
No man's life was to be trusted with them.
Macb. 0, yet I do repent me of my fury.
That I did kill them.

Macd. Wterefore did you so ?

Macb. Wlio can be wise, amaz'd, temperate,
and fiu-ious, _

Loyal, and neuti-al, in a moment? No man:
The expedition of my violent love
Outran the pauser reason.-Here lay Duncan,
His silver skin lac'd with his golden blood ;
And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach

nature

Act!:.]

MACBETH.

[Scene IV.

tar ruin's wasteful entrance: there, the niur-

thercrs,
Slcep'd in the colours of their trade, their

daggers
Uunumnerlv brt-cch'd with gore: AMio coidd

refrain
That had a heart to love, and in that hC'irt
Courage, to make his love known ?

Lady .V. Help me hence, hoa !

3faed. Look to the lady.

Mai Why do wc hi)kl our tongues,

T!.-.t n.-=' ' um this argument for ours ?

/ . W ill be spoken here,

^\^lc^c our fate, hid in an auger-hole,
May rush, and seize us ? Let 's away ; our

tears
Are not vet lm;w'J.

.V</.'

Nor our strong sorrow

Ui>on the loot of motion.
Ban. Look to the lady : —

{_Lady !Macbeth is carried out.
And when wc have our naked frailties hid,
That suffer in exposure, let us meet.
And question this most bloody piece of work,
To know it further. Fears and scruples shake

us :
In the great hand of God I stand ; and, lliencc.
Against the undivulg'd pretence I fight
Of treasonous malice.

Macd. And so do L*

All. So aU.

Macb. Let 's briefly put on manly readiness,
And meet i' the hall together.
■^11. Well contented.

{Exeunt all but ^Mjul. and Don.
Mai. What -will you do ? Let 's not consort
with them :
To show an unfclt sorrow is an ofBcc
Which the false man does easy : I '11 to Eng-
land.
Thn. To telanil, 1 ; our separated fortune
Shall keep us both the safer: where we are.
There 's d,iggcrs in men's smiles : the near in

blood,
T' r arer bloody.

■' '. This murthcrous shaft tliat's shot

Hath not yet lighted ; and our safest way
Is to avoid the aim. Tliercfore, to horse ;
And let us not be dainty of leave-taking.
But shift away : There 's warrant in that theft
Which steals itself, when there 's no mercy left.

[Exeunt.

• Thi» »p««ch la the crif inal belonir* to itaeduff; but,
vhhoQt tnr rtptaiMlion, it in (firen by the variorun:
r<lilor( to MarNth.

'2S

SCENE Vf.— Without the Castle.

Enter BossE and an old Man.
Old M. Threescore and ten I can remember

eU:

Within the volume of which time, I have seen
Hours dreadful and things strange ; but tlus

sore niglit
Hath trifled former knowings.

Rosse. Ah, good father,

Thou see'st, the heavens, as troubled with man's

act,
Tlu-eaten his bloody stage : by the clock, 't is

day.
And yet dark night strangles the travelling

lamp :
Is 't night's predominance, or the day's shame.
That darkness does the face of earth intomb.
When living light should kiss it ?

OldM. 'T is unnatural,

Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday

last,
A falcon, tow'riug in her pride of place,
Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kiU'd.
Rosse. And Duncan's horses, (a thing most
strange and certain,)
Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race,
Turn'd ^vild in natui-e, broke their stalls, flung

out.
Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would
Make war with mankiad.

Old M. 'Tis said, they eat each other.
Rosse. They did so; to the amazement of
mine eves.
That look'd upon 't. Here comes the good
Macduff :

Enter Macduff.

How goes the world, sir, now ?

Macd. Wliy, see you not ?

Rosse. Is't known who did this more than
bloody deed ?

Macd. Those that Macbeth hath slain.

Rosse. Alas, the day !

"Wliat good could they pretend ?•

Macd. They were subom'd :

Malcolm, and Donalbaiu, the king's two sons.
Are stol'n away and fled ; which puts upon thenj
Suspicion of the deed.

Rosse. 'Gainst nature stdl :

Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin u^)
Thine owi^ life's means ! — Then't is most like
The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth.

* Pretend — propose.

ACT II.]

MACBETH.

[ScEKE rv.

Macd. He is already nain'd ; and ^one to
Scone,
To be invested.

Rosse. Where is Duncan's body ?

Macd. Carried to Cohne-kill ;
The sacred storehouse of his predecessors.
And guardian of their bones.

Eosse. Will you to Scone ?

3fard. No cousin, I '11 to Fife.

House. Well, I will thitlier.

Macd. Well, may you see things well done
there : — adieu !
Lest our old robes sit easier than our new !
Rosse. Farewell, father.
Old M. God's benison go wth you, and with
those
That would make good of bad, and friends of

foes !

{Ete'.irJ..

[lona.]

TLLrSTRATIOXS OF ACT IT.

» Scene II.—" Who's there f—irhat, hoa/"

ArrKB"Th«t mimnions thco to heaven or to hell,"
Tieck in»«rt«— " *<• asccndi.''—o.nA snys, " we Icaiii
•A«nrmni.« tb«t ho drs-nids. I hnvo inserted tiiifl
■Ug« direction that th- rvader may the liuttcr uu-
deraUnd the constnution of the old theatre."
Agkln. when Macbeth mIU out "Who's there?" lie
inwrlA, Wforo the oxcliimation, " he apptars above,"
and aft«r it, " he a^ain vithdraici." Tieck says,
" I ' '.'1 added the^e directions for the sake of

I>. : , . The eilitora make him say this with-

out being seen — 'tfiVA in,'— which is an impossibility.
T' ■ ' y^hould he m.ake this inquiry within the
c!. '.vhere all are sleeping ? The king, be-

eidca, doea not sleep in the first, but in the second
chamber ; how loud then must be the call to be
heard from within the &ccond ch.amber in the court-

yard bolow ' The original at this passage has 'Enter
Mavhclh.' 1 explain this peculiar direction thus : —
Macbeth lingers yet a moment within : his unquiet
mind imagines it heai-s a noise in the court below,
and thoughtlessly, bewildered, and crazed, he
rashes back to the balcony, and calls beneath,
' Who's there ?' in his agony, however, he waits for
no answer, but rushes back into the chambers to
execute the murder. Had Fleance, or Banquo, or
even any of the servants of the house, whom he
had but just sent away, been beneath, the whole
secret deed would have been betrayed. I consider
this return, which appears but a mere trifle, as a
striking beauty in Shakspere's drama. He delights
(because he always sets tragedy in activitj' through
passion as well as through intrigue) in suspending
success and failure on a needle's point."

[Coronation Chair.]
LOC.\L ILLUSTRATIONS.

ScEXi IV.— "And gone to Scone,

To he intetltd."

Tnt MtricDt r>-)yal city of Scouo, supposed to have
\<Ma tbfl capital of the Pictinh kingdom, Liy two
mdcj D'lrthwApl from the ]>rcscDt town of Perth.
It WM the residence of tho .Scottish monarchs as
••riy M the reign of Kenneth M'Aljin, an<l there
80

was a long scries of kings crowned on the cele-
brated stone enclosed in a chair, now used as the
scatof our sovereigns at coronations in Westminster
Abbey. This stone was removed to Scone from
Dunstaffnage, the yet earlier residence of the Scot-
tish kin;,'s,by Kenneth IL, soon after the founding
of the abbey of Scone by tho Culdees in S38, and

ILLUSTRATIONS OF ACT II.

was transferred by Edward I. to Westminster
Abbey in 1296. This remarkable stone is repoi-ted
to have found its way to DunstafFnage from the
plain of Luz, where it was the pillow of the
patriarch Jacob while he dreamed his dream.

An aisle of the abbey of Scone remains. A few
poor habitations alone exist on the site of the
ancient royal city.

Scene IV. — " W/tere is Duncan's lodi/?

Carried to Oolme-Jcill."

Colme-hill (St. Columba's Cell). Icolm-Tcill.
Hyona. lona. — The island of lona, separated only
by a narrow channel from the island of Mull, off
the western coast of Argyle, was the place of sepul-
ture of many Scottish kings; and, according to tra-
dition, of several Irish and Norwegian monarchs.
This little island, only three miles long and one
and a half broad, was once the most impoi-taut spot
of the whole cluster of British Islea. It was inha-
bited by Di-uids previous to the year 563, when
Colum M'Felim M'Fergns, afterwards called St.
Columba, lauded with twelve companions, and be-
gan to preach Christianity. A monastery was soon
established on the spot, and others afterwards arose
in the neighbouring isles, and on the mainland. A
noble cathedral was built, aad a nunnery at a short
distance from it, the ruins of both of which still
remain. The reputation of the learning, doctrine,
and discipline of these establishments extended over
the whole Christian world for some centuries ; de-
votees of rank or other eminence strove for admis-
sion into them ; missionaries of the highest quali-
fications issued from them; the records of royal
deeds were preserved there ; and there the bones
of kings reposed. Historians seem to agi-ee that all
the monarchs of Scotland, from Kenneth III. to
Macbeth, inclusive— that is, from 973 to 1040— were
buried at lona ; and some suppose that the cathe-
dral was a place of royal sepulture from the time of
its erection. The island was several times laid waste
by the Danes and by pirates ; and the records which
were saved were removed to Ireland in consequence

of the perpetual peril ; but the monastic est-iblish
ments survived every such attack, and remained in
honour till the year 1561, when the Act of the
Convention of Estates was passed, by which all
monasteries were doomed to demolition. Such
books and records as could be found in lona were
burnt, the tombs were broken open, and the
gi-eater number of its host of crosses thrown
down or carried away.

The cathedral of lona, as seen afar off from the
outside of Fingal's Cave in StaSa, standing out
against the western sky, is a singular object in the
midst of some of the wildest scenery of the ocean,
— the only token of high civilization — the solitary
record of an intellectual world which has passed
away. It presides over a wide extent of stormy
waters, with their scattered isles ; and the stone
crosses of its cemetery, and the lofty walls and
Saxon and Gothic arches of its venerable build-
ings, form a strange contrast with the hovels of
the fishermen which stand upon the shore.

In the cemetery, among the monuments of the
fouudcrs and of many subsequent abbots, are
three rows of tombs, said to be those of the
Scottish, Irish, and Norwegian kings, in number
reported to be forty-eight. For Etateraents like
these, however, there is no authority but tradition.
Tradition itself does not pretend to individualize
these tombs ; so that the stranger must be satisfied
with the knowledge that within the enclosure
where he stands lie Duncan and Macbeth.

Corpach, two miles from Fort William, retains
some distinction from being the place whence the
bodies of the Scottish monai'chs were embai'ked
for the sacred island. While traversing the stormy
waters which surround these gloomy western isles,
the imagination naturally reverts to the ancient
days when the funeral train of barks was tossing
amidst the waves, and the chant of the monks
might be heard from afar welcoming the remains
of the monarch to their consecrated soil.

Some of the Irish and Noi-wegian kings buried in
lona were pilgrims, or had abdicated their thrones
and retired to the monastery of St. Columba.

r*ftft**'

[Forrei.]

ACT III.

SCENE I. — Forres. A Room in the Palace.

Entfr Baxquo.

Ban. Thou liast it now, king, Cawdor, Glamis,
all,
As the weird women promis'd ; and I fear
T ' ■'' -t foully for 't: yet it was said,

j rl in thy posterity ;

Bat that myself should be the root, and father
Of rnany kinps. If there come truth from them,
{Ks upon thee, MaclK'th, their speeches shine,)
Wiy, by tlw verities on thee made good,
May they not be my oracles as well.
And set me up in hope ? But, hush ; no more.

S^Hft Bounded. Entrr MAfiiKTlI, an King; I^dy
Macbeth, a* Cluten ,- Lenox, Rosse, Lords,
Ladies, and Attendants.

Maeb. Here 's our chief guest.
Jjad^ "St. If lie hwl been forgotten

It had been as a gap in om* great feast,
And all-tiling » unbecoming.

Mach. To-ui^ht we hold a solemn supper, sir.
And I '11 request your presence.

Ban. Let your highness

Command upon me ; to the which, my duties
Are with a most indissoluble tie
For ever knit.

Mach. Ride you tliis afternoon ?

Ban. Ay, my good lord.

Mach. We should have else desir'd your good
advice
(Wliich still hath been both grave and pros-
perous,)
In this day's council; but we'll take*" to-morrow.
Is 't far you ride ?

» A lllhinff.— So the original— not all things, as sometimes
printed.

b Take. — Tliis is the word of the original, which Stecvens
liaa very properly retained ; although Malone changes it to

Act III.]

MACBETU.

[SCEHZ L

Ban. As far, my lord, as will fill up the time
'Twixt this and supper: go not my horse the

better,
I must become a borrower of the night,
"For a dark hour, or twain.

Macb. Fail not our feast.

Ban. My lord, I will not.
Much, We hear, our bloody cousins are be-
stow' d
In England, and in Ireland ; not confessing
Their cruel parricide, filling their hearers
With strange invention : But of that to-morrow;
When, therewithal, we shall have cause of state.
Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse : Adieu,
Till you return at night. Goes Pleance with
you?
Ban. Ay, my good lord: our time does call

upon us.
Mach. I wish your horses swift and sure of
foot;
And so I do commend you to their backs.
Farewell. \_Exit BANqxro.

Let every man be master of his time
Till seven at night ; to make society
The sweeter welcome, we wiU keep ourself
Till supper-time alone : while then, God be with
you.
[Exeunt Lady Macbeth, Lords, Ladies, &c.
Sirrah, a word with you : Attend those meu our
pleasure ?
Attend. They are, my lord, without the palace

gate.
Much. Bring them before us. — {Exit Atten.]
To be thus, is nothing ;
But to be safely thus : — Our fears in Banquo
Stick deep ; and in his royalty of nature
Beigns that which would be fear'd : 't is much

he dares ;
And, to that dauntless temper of his mind.
He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valoui-
To act in safety. There is none but he
Whose being I do fear : and under him
My genius is rebuk'd ; as, it is said,
Mark^ Antony's was by Csesar. He chid the

sisters,
When first they put the name of king upon
me,

talk. It is difficult to imagine a more unnecessary cliange.
Who could doubt our meaning if we were to say, ' Well,
sir, if you cannot come tliis afternoon, we will take to-
morrow 1." „ ^ 1
a Steevens proposed to omit Mark, " tor the sake or
metre." Johnson would have gone farther, and would have
omitted the whole allusion to Mark Antony, writing the
passage thus : —

He chid the sisters."

" My genius is rebuk'd.

Tii.vGEDiiis. — Vol. II.

And bade them speak to him; then, prophet-

Uke,
They hail'd him father to a line of kings :
Upon my head they plac'd a fruitless crown,
And put a barren sceptre in my gripe.
Thence to be wrench'd with an imUneal hand,
No son of mine succeeding. If it be so.
For Banquo's issue have I fil'd" my miiid ;
For them the gracious Duncan have I murther'd :
Pat rancours in the vessel of my peace,
Only for them ; and mine eternal jewel
Given to the common enemy of man,
To make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings !
Bather than so, come, fate, into the Hst,
And champion me to the utterance ! '' — "Who 's

there ? —

Re-enter Attendant, with two Murderers.

Now go to the door, and stay there till we call.

\Bxit Attendant.
Was it not yesterday we spoke together ?
1 Mur. It was, so please your highness.
Macb. Well then, now

Have you consider'd of my speeches ? Know,
That it was he, in the times past, which held you
So under fortune ; which, you thought, had been
Our innocent self : this I made good to you
In our last conference ; pass'd in probation with

you.
How you were borne in hand; how cross'd; the

instruments ;
Who wrought with them; and all things else,

that might.
To half a soul, and to a notion craz'd.
Say, Thus did Banquo.

1 Mur. You made it known to us.

Macb. I did so; and went further, which is now
Our point of second meeting. Do you find
Your patience so predominant in your nature,
That you can let this go ? Are you so gospell'd.
To pray for this good man, and for his issue.
Whose heavy hand hath bo\v'd you to the grave,
And beggar'd yours for ever ?

1 Mur. We are men, my liege.

Macb. Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men ;
As hounds, and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels,

curs,
Shoughs, water-rugs, and demi-wolves, are

cleped
All by the name of dogs : the valued file
Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle,

a T^iVW— defiled.

b Xrti^.raJtce. — TheViench combat-i-cutrance. SefcCymbo-
line, Act iii.. Scene i.
c Borne in hand — encouraged by false hopes.

ACTilLJ

MACBETH.

[SCKKE II.

The housekeeper, the hunter, every one
Acoorviing to tlic gift wliich bouulcoiis nature
llath iu him clos'd ; whereby he doc^ receive
Farticuhir addition, from the bill
Tliat writes them all alike : and so of lueu.
Kow, if you have a station in the lUc,
Not in the worst rank • of manhood, say it ;
And I will put that business in your bosoms
AVhose execution takes your enemy off;
Grapples you to the heart and love of us,
Who wear our health but sickly in his life,
Mliich in his death were perfect.

2 Mur. I am one, my liege,

Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world
Have so inccns'd, that I am reckless what
I do, to spite the world.

1 M\ • And I another.

So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune.
That I would set my life on any chance,
To mend it, or be rid on 't.

Macb. Both of you

Know, Banquo was your enemy.

2 Mur. True, my lord.
Macb. So is he mine ; and iu such bloody dis-
tance.

That every minute of his being thrusts
Against my near'st of life : Ajid though I could
^\ ith bare-fac'd power sweep him from my sight.
And bid my will avouch it, yet I must not,
For*" certain friends that ai-e both his and mine,
Wliose loves I may not drop, but wail Ids fall
Whom I myself struck down : and thence it is
That I to your assistance do make love ;
Masking the business from the common eye,
Fur sundry weighty reasons.

2 Mur. We shall, my lord.

Perform what you command us.

1 Mur. Though our lives

Macb. Your spirits shine through you. With-
in this hour, at most,
I will advise you where to plant yourselves.
Acquaint you with the perfect spy o' the time,
The moment on 't ; for 't must be done to-night,"

• In the prcccalng p.-irt of this speech a distinction is
rtrawn »w«wr<-Ti thr ralalogue and the valued file. The cata-
' "nc« of all; the valued aie select names.

■" '« may l«; a " station in the file" above

l..al. . l.c w.,r,i rank." The ronA, then, is the row,—
XhrfiU thoH; »tt aj.art from the row, for superior qualities
It not Ihl. '.h. .i.r,„ing of the tnUitar>- tenn, rank and file",
wbich u • 7

b Pot- \ of — bcctusc of.

'We onitritinil thU puiage as follows. Macbeth bos
•aid,

" I will adrUe you where to jdant yourselves :"
hethrna-!^. "Acquaint you "—inform yourselves— " witir
•■'*■ -*t»h amo»t careful inquiry— "o* the time"

— '!■ liaie of Banquo't return ; —

'•lUe moiacnl on't ; for 'l must be done to night."
34

And somctliing from the palace ; always thouglit
Tliat I require a clearness : And with him,
(To leave no rubs, nor botches, in the work,)
Fleance his son, that keeps him company,
Whose absence is no less materitd to me
Than is his father's, must embrace the fate
Of that dai-k hour. Kesolve yourselves apart ;
I '11 come to you anon.

2 Mur. We are resolv'd, my lord.

Macb. I 'U call upon you straight ; abide
witliin.
It is concluded : — Banquo, thy soul's flight,
If it find heaven, must find it out to-night.

[Exeuiit,

SCENE H.—The same. Another Room.

Enter La(h/ AIacbeth and a Servant.

Ladi/ 31. Is Banquo gone from court ?

Serv. Ay, madam, but returns again to-night.

Ladt/ 31. Say to the king, I would attend his
leisure
For a few words.

iServ. Madam, I will. Exit.

Lady M. Nought 's had, all 's spent,

■\\Tiere our desire is got without content :
'T is safer to be that which we destroy,
Thau, by destruction, dwell m doubtful joy.

Enter Macbeth.

How now, my lord ? why do you keep alone.
Of sorriest fancies your companions making ?
Using those thoughts whicb should indeed have

died
With them they think on ? Things without all"

remedy.
Should be without regard : what's done is done.
Macb. We have scotcli'd the snake, not kiU'd

it:
She '11 close, and be herself; whilst our poor

malice
Remains in danger of her former tooth.
But let the frame of tilings disjoint, both the

worlds suffer.
Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep ~
In the affliction of these terrible di-eams.
That shake us nightly : Better be with the dead,
Whom we, to gam our peace,'' have sent to peace,

» Sfeevcns omits all.

b Peace. — For this word of the original the editor of the
second folio substituted place. The repetition of the word
peace seems very much in Shakspere's manner ; and as every
one who commits a crime such as that of Macbeth proposes
to himself, in the result, ha|)pine3s, which is another word
for peace, — as the very promptings to the crime disturb his
peace, — we think there is something much higher in the

Act III.]

MACBETH.

Than ou the torture of the mind to lie

In restless ecstacy. Duncan is in his grave ;

After life 's fitful fever he sleeps well ;

Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor

poison,
Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing.
Can touch him further !

Lacli/ M. Come on ;
Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks ;
Be bright and jovial among your guests to-
night.
Macb. So shall I, love; and so, I pray, be
you:
Let your remembrance apply to Banquo ;
Present him eminence, both with eye and

tongue :
Unsafe the while, that we
Must lave our honours in these flattering streama;
And make oui- faces vizards to our heartsj
Disguismg what they are.
Ladi/ M. You must leave this.

Macb. 0, full of scoi-pions is my mhid, dear
wife!
Thou know'st that Banquo, and his Fleance,
lives.
Lady M. But in them nature's copy's* not

eterne.
Macb. There 's comfort yet ; they are assail-
able;
Then be thou jocund : Ere the bat hath flown
His cloister'd flight ; ere, to black Hecate's sum-
mons.
The shard-borne beetle, '^ with his drowsy hums.
Hath rung night's ya^vniug peal.
There shall be done a deed of dreadful note.":
Ladi/ M. What 's to be done ?
Mac. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest
chuck.

sentiment conveyed by the original word than in that ot
iHace. In the very contemplation of the murder of Banquo,
Macbeth is vainly seeking for peace. Banquo is the object
that makes him eat his meal in fear and sleep in terrible
dreams. His death, therefore, is determined; and then
comes the fearful lesson,

" Better be with the dead,
Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace,
Than on the torture of the mind to lie
In restless ecstacy."

There is no peace with the wicked.

■I Nature's co/ij/.— Johnson explains this as the copr/, the
lease, by which they hold their lives from nature ; and Rit-
son says it is the copy of court roll. Is not this very forced?
Although the expression may be somewhat obscure, does
not every one feel that the copy means the individual, — the
particular cast from nature's mould, — a perishable copy of
the prototype of man ?

b Shard-borne beetle — the beetle borne on its shards, or
scaly wing-cases. See Cymheline; Illustration of Act in,,
Scene in.

c We print these lines as in the original. In modern
editions they are "regulated" thus: —

" Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done
A deed of dreadful note."

D"2

ISCENE lU.

TiU thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling"

night,
Skarf up the tender eye of pitiful day ;
And, with thy bloody and mvisible hand,
Cancel, and tear to pieces, that great bond
Which keeps me pale !— Light thickens ; and the

crow
Makes wing to the rooky wood ;
Good thmgs of day begin to di-oop and drowse ;
Whiles night's black agents to their prey do

rouse.
Thou marvell'st at my words: but hold thee

stiU;
Things bad begun make strong th emselv es by ill :
So, prithee, go with me. [JExeuiit.

SCENE IIL—The same. A Park or Laivn,
with a Gate leading to the Falace.

Enter three Murderers.

1 Mur. But who did bid thee join with us ?

3 Mur. Macbeth.

2 Mur. He needs not our mistrust; since ho

delivers
Our offices, and what we have to do.
To the dii-ection just.

1 Mur. Then stand with us.
The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day :
Now spurs the lated traveller apace,

To gam the timely inn; and near approaches
The subject of our watch.

3 Mur. Hark ! I hear horses.
Ban. [Within.] Give us a light there, hoa !

2 Mur. Then 't is he ; the rest
That are withm the note of expectation,
Already are i' the court.

1 Mur. His horses go about,

3 Mur. Almost a mile; but he does usually.
So all men do, from hence to the palace gate
Make it their walk.

Enter Banquo and Flkance with a torch.

2 Mur. A light, a liglit !

3 Mm: 'T is he,
1 Mtcr. Stand to 't.

Ban. It will be rain to-niglit.
1 Mur. Let it come down.

\_Assaulls Bakquo.
Ban. 0, treachery ! Ely, good Fleance, flv,

fly, fly;

Thou mayst revenge. — O slave !

[Dies. EiEANCE escapes.

^ Seeling^-hYmdiins. The expression is taken from the
practice of closing the eyelids of hawks.

Act HI.]

MACBETH.

ISCEKB IV

Wlio did strike out the liRhtP

3 .V«r.

1 ,v„r. Was 't uot the wa.T P
8 }[ur. Then- 's but cue down ; the sou is fled.

2 Mur. We liave lost best half of our affair.

1 Mur. Well, let's away, and say how much
is done. [Rreuni.

SCENE IV.— J Boom of Slate in the Palace.
A Banquet prepared.

Enter Macbetu, Lady Macbetu, Rosse, Lenox,
Lords, and Attcuduuts.
Macb. You know your own degrees, sit down :
at first
And last, the hearty vrelconic.

Lord4. Thanks to your majesty.

Macb. Ourself will mingle with society.
And play the humble host.
Our hostess keeps her state ; but, in best time.
We will require her welcome.

Lady M. Prouounce it for me, sir, to all our
friends ;
For my heart speaks, they are welcome.

Enter first Murderer, to the door.

Macb. See, they encounter thee -with their
hearts' thanks :
l^oth sides are even : llere I '11 sit i' the midst :
Be large in mirth ; anon, we '11 drink a measure
The table round. [Approaching the door.'] There's
blood upon thy face.
Mur. 'T is Banquo's then.
Macb. 'T is better thee without, than he
within. /-

Is he dispatch'd?

Mur. My lord, his throat is cut ; that 1 did

for him.
Macb. Thou art the best o' the cut-throats :
Yet he 's good.
That did the like for Fleance : if thou didst it.
Thou art the nonpareil.

Mur. Most royal sir,

FlcaiKC is 'scap'd.
Macb. Then comes my fit again: I had else
been perfect ;
Wliolc as the marble, founded as the rock :
As broad and general as the casing air :
But now, I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd, bound

in
To saucy doubts and fears. Hut Banquo's safe P
Mur. Ay, my good lord : safe in a ditch he
bides.
With twenty trenched gashes on his head ;
The least a death to nature.

Macb. Thanks for that :

There the grown serpent lies ; the worn, that 's

fled,
llath natuic that in time will venom breed,
No teeth for the present.— Get thee gone; to-
morrow
We '11 hear, ourselves again. [E.rit Murderer.

Lady M. My royal lord.

You do not give the cheer ; the feast is sold
That is uot often vouch 'd, while 't is a making,
'T is given with welcome :* To feed, were best at

home ;
From thence, the sauce to meat is ceremony.
Meeting were bare without it.

Macb. Sweet remembrancer ! —

Now, good digestion wait on appetite.
And health on both !

Led. May it please your highness sit ?

Enter the Ghost of Banquo, and sits in Mac-
beth'* placc.^
Macb. Here had we now our country's honour

roof'd,
Were the grac'd person of our Banquo present ;
"VVho may I rather challenge for unkindness
Thau pity for mischance !

Jtosse. His absence, sir.

Lays blame upon his promise. Please it your

highness
To grace us with your royal company ?
Macb. The table 's fuU.
Len. Here is a place reserv'd, sir.
Macb. Where?
Zen. Here, my good lord. What

is 't that moves your highness ?
Macb. Which of you have done this ?
Lords. Wliat, my good lord P

Macb. Thou canst not say I did it : never
shake
Thy gory locks at me.

Rosse. Gentlemen, rise; Ws highness is not

weU.
Lady3f. Sit, worthy friends :— my lord is
often thus,
And hath been from liis youth: 'pray you,

keep seat ;
The fit is momentary ; upon a thought
He will again be weU : If much you note him.
You shall offend him, and extend his passior.;
Feed, and regard him not.— Are you a mauP
Macb. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on
that
Which might appal the devil.
LadyM. O proper stuff!

» We understand, thai 'tis given with welcome.

Act III.]

MACBETH.

[Scene IV.

This is the very painting of your fear :
This is the air-drawn dagger, which, you said,
Led you to Duncan. 0, these flaws, and starts,
(Impostors to true fear,) would well become
A woman's story, at a winter's fire,
Authoriz'd by her grandam. Shame itself !
Why do you make such faces ? When all 's done.
You look but on a stool.

Macb. Prithee, see there ! behold ! look ! lo !
how say you ?
Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak

too. — •
K charnel-houses, and our graves, must send
Those that we bury, back, our monuments
Shall be the maws of kites. [Ghost dlmppears.

Lady M. What ! quite unmann'd in foUy ?

Macb. If I stand here, I saw him.

Lady M. Fie, for shame !

Macb. Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the
olden time.
Ere human statute pui'g'd the gentle weal ;
Ay, and since too, murthers have been perform'd
Too terrible for the ear : the times have been,
That when the brains were out the man would

die,
And there an end : but now, they rise again.
With twenty mortal mui'thers on their crowns.
And push us from oui* stools : This is more

strange
Than such a murther is.

Lady M. My worthy lord.

Your noble friends do lack you.

Macb. I do forget : —

Do not muse at me, my most worthy fi-iends ;
I have a strange iafirmity, which is nothing
To those that know me. Come, love and health

to aU;
Then I '11 sit down : — Give me some wine, fill
full:-

Re-enfer Ghost.
I drink to the general joy of the whole table.
And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss ;
Would he were here ! to all, and him, we thu'st.
And all to aU.

Lords. Our duties, and the pledge,

Macb. Avaunt ! and quit my sight ! Let the
earth hide thee !
Thy bones are maiTowless, thy blood is cold ;
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes
Which thou dost glare with !

Lady 31. Think of this, good peers.

But as a thing of custom : 't is no other ;
Only it spoils the pleasure of the time.

Macb. What man dare, I dare :
Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear.

The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger,
Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves
Shall never tremble : Or, be alive again.
And dare me to the desert with thy sword ;
If trembling I inhabit then," protest me
The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow !

\_Ghost disappears.
Unreal mockery, herce! — Why, so; — being

gone,
I am a man again. — ^Pray you, sit still.

Lady M. You have displac'd the mirth, broke
the good meeting,
With most admir'd disorder.

Macb. Can such things be.

And overcome us like a summer's cloud.
Without our special wonder ? You make me

straiige
Even to the disposition that I owe.
When now I think you can behold such sights.
And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks.
When mine are blanch' d with fear.

Rosse. What sights, my lord ?

Lady M. I pray you, speak not ; he grows
worse and worse ;
Question em-ages him : at once, good night : —
Stand not upon the order of your going.
But go at once.

Len. Good night, and better health

Attend his majesty !

Lady M. A kind good night to aU !

[Exeunt Lords and Attendants.
Macb. It will have blood; they say, blood
win have blood :
Stones have been known to move, and trees to

speak ;
Augurs, aud understood relations, have
By magot-pies, and choughs, and rooks, brought

forth
The secret' st man of blood. — What is the night?
Lady M. Almost at odds with morning, which

is which,
Macb. How say'st thou, that Macduff denies
his person.
At our great bidding ?

Lady M. Did you send to him, sir ?

Macb. I hear it by the way ; but I will send :
There 's not a one of them, but in his house
I keep a servant fee'd. I wQl to-moiTOw
(And betimes I wiU) to the weird sisters :
More shall they speak ; for now I am bent to
know,

a Inhabit <//<?«.— This is the original reading, -vrhich has
been changed into inhibit thee. Home Tooke was ttie first
to denounce this alteration ; contending that the true mean-
ing is, that if he were dared to the desert he would not skulk
within his house.

Tz}

ACT III.)

MACBETH.

[Scenes V., VI,

Hy f)i> wofbt inean5, the worst: for mine o\ni

gOOil,

All cau5C5 shall give way ; I am in blood
Stopp'd in so far, tliat, should I wade no

moro,
Rctuniing were as tedious as go o'er :
Strange tliiniis I have in head, that will (o

hand ;
AMiich must \)c acted, ere they may be scann'd.
Lady }f. You lack the season of all natures,

sleep.
Macb. Come, wo '11 to sleep : My strange and

self-abuse
Is tlie initiate fear, that wants hard use : —
V!^c arc yet but young in deed. [Exeunt.

SCENE \.—Tf,e Heath. Thunder.

Enter Hecate, meeting the three "Witches,

1 Witch. Why, how now, Hecate ? you look
angcrly.

Hec. Have I not reason, beldams as you are.
Saucy, and over-bold ? How did you dare
To trade and traffic with Macbeth,
In riddles, and affairs of death ;
And I, the mistress of your cliamis.
The close contriver of all harms,
Was never eall'd to bear my part.
Or show the glory of our art ?
And, which is worse, all you have done.
Hath been but for a wayward son.
Spiteful, and wrathful ; who, as others do.
Loves for his own ends, not for you.
But make amends now : Get you gone.
And at the pit of Acheron
Meet me i' the morning ; thither he
Will come to know his destiny.
Your vesseb, and your spells, provide.
Your cliarms, and everything beside :
I am for the air ; this night I '11 spend
Unto a dismal and a fatal end.*
Great business must be wrought ere noon :
Upon the comer of the moon
There hangs a vaporous drop, profound ;
I '11 catch it ere it come to ground :
And that, di-still'd by magic slights.
Shall ri' \ artificial sprites.

As, by 1 •^\\ of their illusion.

Shall draw him on to his confusion :
He slifill spurn fate, scorn death, and boar
His hopes 'Ixjvc wisdom, grace, and fear :

• So (be orijfin*!. ThU noble line, by which the mclri.
to M beanUfttlfy T.rircl. bu been changc.l to-

" Unto • (liim&l— fatal end."

And you all know, security
Is mortal's cliiefest enemy.

Song. [Within.'] 'Come away, come away,' &c.

Hark, I am eall'd ; my little spirit, see.
Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me. [E.rit.
1 Witch. Come, let 's make haste : she '11 soon
be back again. [Exeunt.

SCENE VI.— Eorres. A Room in the Palace.

Enter Lenox, and another Lord.

Len. My former speeclies have but hit your
thoughts,
Wtich can intepret farther : only, I say.
Things have been strangely borne : The graciou''

Duncan
Waa pitied of Macbetli : — marry, he was dead : —
And the right-valiant Banquo walked too late j
"Whom, you may say, if 't please you, Fleance

kill'd.
For Eleance fled. Meu must not walk too late.
Who cannot want the thought how monstrous
It was for Malcolm, and for Donalbain,
To kill their gracious father ? damned fact !
How it did grieve Macbeth ! did he not straight,
lu pious rage, the two delinquents tear,
That were the slaves of di-ink, and thralls of

sleep :
Was not that nobly done ? Ay, and wisely too ;
For 't would have anger'd any heart alive
To hear the meu deny it. So that, I say,
He has borne all things weU : and I do think.
That, had he Duncan's sons under his key,
(As, an 't please heaven, he shall not,) they

should find
What 'i were to kill a father ; so should Fleance,
But, peace ! — for from broad words, and 'cause

he fail'd
Hjs presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear,
Macduff lives in disgrace : Sir, can you teU
Wliere he bestows himself?

Lord. The son of Duncan,

From whom this tyrant holds the due of bii-th.
Lives in the English coui't ; and is received
Of the most pious Edward with such gi-a<Je,
That the malevolence of fortune nothing
Takes from his high respect : Thither Macduff
Is gone to pray the holy king, upon his aid
To wake Northumberland, and warlike Siward :
That, by the help of these, (with Him above
To ratify the work,) we may again
Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights ;
Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives ;
Do faithful homage, and receive free honours ;—

Act III.]

MACBETH.

[SCESS M

All wliich we pine for now : And this report
Hatli so exasperate the king, that he
Preparea for some attempt of vrar.

ten. Sent he to Macduff?

Lord. He did : and vrith an absolute, ' Sir,
not I,'
The cloudy messenger turns me his back.
And hums; as who should say, 'You'll rue the time
That clogs me witli this answer.'

Len. And that well might

Advise nim to a caution, to hold what distance
His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel
Fly to the court of England, and unfold
His message ere he come ; that a swift blessbg
May soon return to this our suffering country
Under a hand accurs'd !

Lord. I 'II send my prayers with him !

\Exeunt.

[Forres— Eminence at the Wes'.ern Extremity.]

ILLUSTllATIONS OF ACT TIL

' ScEXB IV. — " Enter the Ghost of Banquo and »its
in Machtth's place."

This is the Ftnge direction of the original ; and no-
thing can bo nioro precise. It presents the strongest
evidenco that, in the roprcsontation of this tragedy
within 8ixt<>en years of its original production, and
only seven years after the death of its author, the
ghost of Banquo Wiis exhibited to the audience.*
It has been uiaint-aiued, however, and the opinion
was acted upon by John Kemble, that the ghost of
Banquo ought not to be visible to the audience ;
&nd that, as it was visible only to Macbeth of all the
company assembled at the solemn supper, it can
only be regarded as

" A false creation
Proceeding (Vom the heat-oppressed brain,"

like the dagger which he saw previous to the murder
of Duncan. This opinion is, of course, supported
by the argument that the visible introduction of the
ghost is to be ascribed to an injudicious stage di-
rection of the players, and was not intended by the
poet. Tieek, in his translation of this tragedy, re-
ceives, though unwillingly, the stage direction; and
he explains that the banquet takes place on the
eecondary stage (see Othello, Illustration of Act v.),
and that the ghost enters from behind the curtain
of that stage. I'here cannot, we think, be any he-
sitation about the acceptance of the stage direction
as evidence how the play was acted by Shakspere's
"fellows;" and this is the best evidence we can
have of Shakspere's own conception of the thing.
But there is another point, to which our attention
has been drawn by the communication of a gentle-
man personally unknown to us, which cannot be
dismissed with such certainty. This gentleman
states that, having recently attended a meeting of
a Society for Literary Discussion, one, who called
himself an actor, " among other dramatic criticLsms
boldly propounded the following, somewhat to the
astonishment of the audience, viz. that the first
apparition which Macbeth beholds in the celebrated
banquet scone is that of Duncan — the second only
that of Banquo." Our correspondent favours us
with some of the ar^raents by which this proposi-
tion was si: - "'•••rary meeting; and ho
adds somi' ii appear to us equally
ingenioua. But wo arc met on the threshold of the
arguni' • ' •' .'[jal stage direction. Wc
ahou, 1 i Kemble, and CiipcU LofTt,
and Tiock, to rojoct any visible ghost adlogethcr, but

* Forman'a account conflnni thl*. (See Introductory
Nonce.)

for this stage direction; and it equally compels us
to admit in this place the ghost of Banquo. Is there
anything, then, in the text inconsistent with the
stage direction ? When Macbeth has hypocritically
said, in his consciousness of the murder, —
" Were thegrac'd person of our Banquo present,"

it is a piece of consummate art that he should see
the table full, and his own chair occupied by the
vision of him whose presence he has just affected
to desire. His first exclamation is

" Thou canst not say / did it."

The hired murderers had done it, — the common
evasion of one perpetrating a crime through the
instrumentality of another. If it be Duncans ghost
we must read,

" Thou canst not say I did it."

But we have afterwards the expression, —

" If clianiel-houses, and our graves, must send
Those that we bury, back, our monuments
Sliall be the maws of kites."

This must apply, it is said, to Duncan : — " Dun-
can is iu his grave." Of Banquo, Macbeth has
just heard, "safe in a ditch he bides." But the
same species of argument is equally strong against
the proposed change. If the second ghost is to be
the ghost of Banquo, how can it be said of him, —
"Thy bonea are marrmcless" ? There can be no
doubt that these terms, throughout the scene, must
be received as general expressions of the condition
of death as opposed to that of life ; and have no
more dii-ect reference to Duncan than to Banquo.
There is a coincidence of passages pointed out by
our correspondent which strongly makes, as ad-
mitted by him, against the opinion which he com-
municates to us. The murderer has said, —

" Safe in a ditch he bides,
With twenty trenched gashes on his head;
The least a death to nature."

The idea seized upon Macbeth's mind ; and it
embodied itself iu this echo : —

" The times have been,
That when the brains were out the man would die,
And there an end : but now, they rise again,
With tweniy mortal murlheri on Iheir crowns,
And p\ish us from our stools: This is more strange
Than such a murther is."

We have no doubt of the correctness of the original
t-'age direction.

But there is no direction in the original copy for
the disappearance of the ghost before Macbeth ex-
claims " If I stand here I saw him." The diiec-

ILLUSTRATIONS OF ACT IIL

tion Wiiich we find is modem ; but tlie ghost is
unquestionably gone, as far as Macbeth is con-
scious of its presence. Macbeth recovers his self-
possession. After " Give me some wine, fill full,"
we have in the original the stage direction,

Enter Ghost.
Now, then, arises the question. Is this the ghost of
Banquo ? To make the ghost of Banquo return a
second time at the moment when Macbeth wishes
for the presence of Banquo is not in the highest
style of art. The stage direction does not prevent
us arguing that here it maybe the ghost of Duncan.
The terror of Macbeth is now more intense than on
the first appearance ; it becomes desperate and de-
fying. In the presence of the ghost of Banquo,
when he is asked, " Are you a man," he repUes, —

" Ay, and a 1)01(1 one, that dare look on that
%Vhich might appal the devil."

Upon the second apparition it is, "Avaunf and
quit my sight,' —" Take any shape but that"—
" Hence, horrible shadow ! " Are not these words
■applied to some object of greater terror than
the former? Have there not been two spectral
appearances, as implied in the expressions

" Can such thint/s be I "

and

" You make me strange
Even to the disposition that I owe,
When now I think you can behold such sights "f

"We of course placelittle confidence in this opinion,
though we confess to a strong inclination towards it.
At aoiy rate we have discharged a duty which we
owed to our kind con-espondent, in examining the
question somewhat fully.

HISTORICAL ILLUSTRATION.

The murder of Banquo is thus told by Holin-
shed : —

" These and the like commendable laws Macbeth
caused to be put as then in use, governing the realm
for the space of ten years in equal justice. But
this was but a counterfeit zeal of equity showed by
him, partly against his natural inclination, to pur-
chase thereby the favour of the people. Shortly
after, he began to show what he was, — instead of
equity, practising cruelty : for the prick of con-
science (as it chanceth ever in tyrants, and such as
attain to any estate by unrighteous means) caused
him ever to fear lest he should be served of the
same cup as he had ministered to his predeces-
sor. The words also of the thi-ee wekd sisters would
not out of his mind, which, as they promised him
the kingdom, so likewise did they promise it at the
same time unto the posterity of Banquo. He wUled
therefore the same Banquo, with his son, named
Fieance, to come to a supper that he had prepared

for them, which was indeed, as he had devised, pre-
sent death at the hands of certain murderers whom
he hired to execute that deed, appointing them to
meet with the same Banquo and his son without
the palace as they returned to their lodgings, and
there to slay them, so that he would not have his
house slandered, but that in time to come he might
clear himself if anything were laid to his charge
upon any siispicion that might arise.

" It chanced yet by the benefit of the dark night
that, though the father were slain, the son, yet by
the help of Almighty God, reserving him to better
fortune, escaped that danger; and afterwards having
some inkling (by the admonition of some friends
which he had in the court) how his life was sought
no less than his father's, who was slain not by chance-
medley (as by the handling of the matter Macbeth
would have had it to appear), but even upon a
devise ; whereupon, to avoid further peril, he fled
into Wales."

--*

{Tlie Harmuii.]

ACT IV.

SCENE I. — A dark Cave. In the middle, a
Caldron boiling. Thunder.

Enter the three Witches.

1 Witch. Thnce the brinded cat hath raew'd.

2 Witch. Thrice; and once the hedge-pig

whin'd.

3 Witch. Hai^jier cries : — 'T is time, 't

time.
L Witch. Round about the caldron go ;

In the poison' d entrails throw.

Toad, that under cold" stone,

Days and nights hast thirty-one

Swelter' d venom sleeping got,

BoU thou first i' the channed pot !
All. Double, double, toil and trouble ;

Fire bum, and caldron bubble.
2 Witch. Fillet of a fcimy snake.

In the caldron boil and bake :

Eye of newt, and toe of frog.

Wool of bat, and tongue of dog.

» This Is the reading of the original — cold. The line is
certainly defective in rhythm, for a pause hero cannot take
the place of a syllable, unless we pronounce cold — co-old.
There is no natural retardation. We do not, however, alter
the text. The emendation of Stecvens is

"Toad, that under coldett stone.'

Rowe has,

" Toad, that under the cold stone."
42

Adder's fork, and blind-wonn's stinr;,

Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing.

For a chanu of powerful trouble ;

Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
All. Double, double, toil aud trouble ;

Fire burn, aud caldron bubble.
3 Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf;

Witches' mummy, maw and gulf

Of the raviu'd salt-sea shark ;

Hoot of hemlock digg'd i' the dark ;

Liver of blaspheming Jew ;

Gall of goat, and shps of yew,

Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse ;

Nose of Turk, and Tartai-'s lips ;

Finger of birth-strangled babe,

Diteh-deliver'd by a ch-ab.

Make the gruel thick and slab ;

Add thereto a tiger's chaudron,''

For the ingredients of our caldron.
All. Double, double, toil and trouble ;

Fire burn, and caldron bubble.
2 Witch. Cool it with a baboon's blood,

Then the charm is firm and good.

Enter liECATE.

Ilee. 0, well done ! I commend your pains ;
And every one shall share i' the gams,

« CAai/rfroB^ntrails.

Act IV.]

MACBETH.

[SCEHE I

Ajid now about the caldi-on sing,
Like elves and fairies in a ring,
Enchanting all that you put in.

[Music and a Song, 'Black spirits/ Sfc?-'^
2 Witch. By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes : —
Open, locks, whoever knocks.

Enter !Macbeth.

Macb. How now, you secret, black, and mid-
night hags.
What is 't you do ?
All. A deed without a name.

Macb. I conjure you, by that which you pro-
fess,
(Howe'er you come to know it,) answer me :
Though you untie the winds, and let them fight
Against the chui'ches : though the yesty waves
Confound and swallow navigation up ;
Though bladed com be lodg'd, and trees blown

down;
Though castles topple on their warders' heads 7"
Though palaces, and pyramids, do slope
Their heads to their foundations; though the

treasure
Of nature's germins^ tumble aU together.
Even till destruction sicken, answer me
To what I ask you.

1 Witch. Speak,

2 Witch. Demand.

3 Witch. We 'U answer.
1 Witch. Say, if thou 'dst rather hear it from

our mouths.
Or from our masters' ?
Macb. CaU them, let me see them,

1 Witch. Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten
Her nine farrow ; grease, that 's sweaten
From the murderer's gibbet, throw
Into the flame. ~

All. Come, high, or low ;

Thyself, and office, deftly show.

Thunder. An Apparition of an. armed Head
rises.

Macb. Tell me, thou unknown power, —

ft This is the original stage-direction. The variorum editors
Inserted four lines of a song, which thev found in Middle
ton's ' Witch,' but without anyauthority for their introduc-
tion here, beyond the stage-durection. In the Witch scene of
Act lit. we have mention of a song, " Come away.'' These
words are also in Middleton. If the song of the fourth act
should be inserted in the text, why not that of the third act t
See Illustration.

b Gerrains— the original is germaine, which Tieck would
retain. Germins are seeds; germaine, kindred, something
closely related to another. We cannot see whence he derives
his opinion that "natures germaine " means the sun and
moon.

bewaif

me: —

1 Witch. He knows thy thought ;

Hear his speech, but say thou nought.
App. Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth!
Macduff;
Beware the thane of Fife.— Dismiss

Enough. [Descends.

Macb. Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution,
thanks ;
Thou hast harp'd my fear aright : — But ouc word
more : —
1 Witch. He will not be commanded: Here's
another.
More potent than the first.

Thunder. An Apparition of a bloody Child
rises.

App. Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth!—

Macb. Had I three ears, I 'd hear thee.

App. Be bloody, bold, and resolute ; laugh to
scorn
The power of man, for none of woman bom
Shall harm Macbeth.^ [Descends.

Macb. Then live, Macduff : What need I fear
of thee ?
But yet I 'U make assurance double sure,
And take a bond of fate : thou shalt not live ;
That I may tell, pale-hearted fear it Hes,
And sleep in spite of thunder. — What is this.

Thunder. An Apparition of a Child crowned.,
with a Tree in his Hand, rises.

That rises like the issue of a king ;
And wears upon his baby brow the round
And top of sovereignty ?

All. Listen, but speak not to 't.

App. Be Uon-mettled, proud ; and take no
care
Who chafes, who frets, or where conspii-ers are :
Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be, until
Great Bimam wood to high Dunsinane hill
Shall come against him. [Descends.

Macb. That wiU never be ;

Who can impress the forest ; bid the tree
Unfix his earth-bound root ? sweet bodements !

good!
BebeUious head,'' rise never, till the wood
Of Bimam i-isc, and our high-plac'd Macbeth
Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath

a In the desire to make their own metrical arrangement,
the variorum editors shut their eyes to the fact that we
have here a rhyming couplet. They write,

" Be bloody, bold,
And resolute; laugh to scorn the power of man,
For none of woman born shall harm Macbeth."
b Head. — The old copy has rf^arf. The correction of Artirf,
which is evidently required, was made by Theobald. Han-
mer reads Rebellion's head.

Act IV.]

MACRKTII.

[SrBNS II.

To time, and mortal custom. — Yet my heart
Throbs to know one tliinp : Tell me, (if your art
Can tell so much,) sliall IJanquo's issue ever
llcign in this kingdom?

AIL Seek to know no more.

Macb. I will be satisfied : deny me this,
And an elernal curse full on you! Let iiu;

know : —
Wliy sinks that caldron? and what noise" is
this? [Uauthop.

I Witch. Show ! 2 IVitch. Show ! 3 Witch.

Sliow !
All. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart;
Come like shadows, so depart.

Eight Kings appear, and pass over (he Stage in
order; the last trith a Gla.ss in his hand;
^Aiiq,vo/ultoioing.

Macb. Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo ;

down !
Tliy crown does sear mine eyeballs : — And thy

hair,''
Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first : —
A third is like the former : — Filthy hags !
Why do you show me this? — A fonrlli ? — Start,

eyes I
■\Vliat ! will the line stretch out to the crack of

doom ?
Another yet ?— A seventh ? — I '11 see no more : —
And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass
Which shows mc many more ; and some I see,
Tliat two-fold balls and treble sceptres carry :
Horrible sight ! — Now, I see, 't is true ;
For the blood-bolter'd'' Banquo smiles \q)on lue,
And points at them for his. — What, is tliis so ?

1 Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so : — But why
Stands Macbeth thus amazedly?
Come, sisters, eheer wc \ip his sprites.
And show the best of our delights ;
I '11 charui the air to give a sound.
While you perform your antique round :
That this great king may kindly say,
Our duties did his welcome pay.

\_Music. The AVitchcs dance, and vanish.
Maclj. Where are they? Gone?— Let this

pernicious hour
Stand aye accursed in the calendar ! —
Come in, without there !

• Aroi».\— This is tlic mutic of llic hnutboys, tho word
niiitr bcinu synoiiyiiiouii wllli tlie sound of instrimiciits. It
Wns io little uii<l<T»l(iO(l, even by John Kemblo, that under
his mnnngcmcnt tiihrick w.i« liere heard.

t> //fl/r.— This U the orljiinnl word, which Wnrburtoii
:hBnf(cd to air. Monck Mason neiilely defemU the old
reading: "It implies that their hair was ol the ituiuc colour.
»hieh is nioru likely to mark a rauiily likeness than thu uir,
which depemls on habit."

Blooii-bolter'd. Jlotter'd is n word of the midland coun-
ties, nieaninu bCRrlmed, besmeared.

Fnter Lenox,

/>w. Wliat 's your grace's will F

Macb. Saw you the weird sisters ?

//<?». No, my lord.

Macb. Came they noi by you ?

Jyffn. No, indeed, my lord.

flfacb. Infected bo the air whereon they ride ;
And damn'd all those that trust them ! — I did

hear
The gallo])ing of horse : Wlio was 't came by P

Z(V/. 'T is two or three, my lord, that bring
you word,
MncdiilT is tied to lOngland.

Macb. Fled to England ?

Len. Ay, my good lord.

Macb. Time, thou aiiti('ij)at'st my dread ex-
ploits :
The flighty purpose never is o'ertook.
Unless the deed go with it : From this moment.
The very firstlings of my heart shall be
The firstlings of my hand. And even now,
To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought

and done :
The castle of Maeduff I will surprise;
Seize upon Fife ; give to the edge o' the sword
His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls
That trace liiin in" his line. No boasting like a

fool ;
This deed I '11 do before this purpose cool :
But no more sights ! — Where arc these gentle-
men?
Come, bring mc where they are. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.— Fife. A Room in Macduff's
Castle.

Enter Lady Macduff, her Son, and Rosse,

Ladi/ Macd. What had he done to make liim
fly the land ?

Rosse. You must have patience, madam.

J J. Macd. He had none:

His flight was madness : Wiien o>ir actions do

not.
Our fears do make us traitors.

Rosse. You know not

Wliether it WJis his wisdom, or his fear.

//. Macd. Wisdom ! to leave his wife, to leave
his babes,
Hi.s mansion, and his titles, in a place
From whence himself does fly ? He loves us not ;
He wants tlie natural touch : for tiie poor wren,
The most diminutive of birds, will fight,
Her young ones in her nest, against tho owl.

• Stcoveni omits him in.

Act IV.]

MACBETH.

[SCEMS III.

All is the fear, and notliing is the love ;
As little is the wisdom, where the flight
So runs against all reason.

Rosse. My dearest coz,

I pray you, school yourself: But, for your hus-
band,
He is noble, wise, judieious, and best knows
The fits o' the season. I dare not speak much

f ui-ther :
But cruel are the times, when we are traitors,
And do not know ourselves; wlien we hold

rumour
From what we fear ; yet know not what we fear ;
But float upon a wild and violent set'..
Each way, and move. — I take my leave of

you:
Shall not be long but I '11 be here again :
Things at the worst will cease, or else cUmb

upward
To what they were before. — My pretty cousin,
Blessing upon you !

L. Macd. Tather'd he is, and yet he 's father-
less.
Rosse. I am so much a fool, should I stay
longer.
It would be my disgrace, and your discomfort :
I take my leave at once. \ExU Rosse.

L. Macd. Sirrah, your father 's dead ;
And what will you do now ? How will you live ?
Son. As birds do, motlier.
L. Macd. What, with worms and flies ?

Son. With what I get, I mean; and so do

they.
Z. Macd. Poor bird ! thou 'dst never fear the
net, nor lime.
The pit-fall, nor the gin.

Son. Why should I, mother ? Poor birrls they
arc not set for.
My father is not dead, for all your saying.
L. Macd. Yes, he is dead ; liow wilt thou do

for a father?
Son. Nay, how will you do for a husband ?
L. Macd. Wliy, I can buy me twenty at any

market.
Son. Then you '11 buy 'em to sell again.
L. Macd. Thou speak'st with all thy wit ; aud
yet, i' faith.
With wit enough for thee.

Son. Was my fatlier a traitor, mother ?
L. Macd. Ay, that he was.
Son. What is a traitor?
I. Macd. Wliy, one that swears and lies.
Son. And be all traitors that do so ?
L. Macd. Every one that does so is a traitor,
and must be hanged.

Son. And must they all be hanged that swear
and lie ?

L. Macd. Every one.

Son. Who must hang them ?

Jj. Macd. Why, the honest men.

Son. Then the liars and swearers are fools:
for there are liars and swearers enow to beat
the honest men, and liang up ihcm.

L. Macd. Now God help thee, poor monkey '
But how wilt thou do for a father ?

Son. If he were dead, you 'd weep for liim :
if you would not, it were a good sign that I
should quickly have a new father.

L. Macd. Poor prattler ! how thou talkest.
Unter a Messenger.

Mess. Bless you, fair dame ! I am not to you
known.
Though in your state of honour I am perfect.
I doubt, some danger does approach you nearly :
If you win take a homely man's advice.
Be not found here ; hence, with your little ones.
To fright you thus, metliinks, I am too savage ;
To do worse to you were fell cruelty.
Which b too nigh your persoiu Heaven pre-
serve you !
I dare abide no longer. SJlxit Messenger.

L. Macd. Wliither should I fly ?

I have done no harm. But x remember now
I am in this earthly world ; where, to do harm.
Is often laudable ; to do good, sometime.
Accounted dangerous folly : Why, then, alas ! .
Do I put up that womanly defence.
To say, I have done no harm ? What are these
faces?

Unter Murderers.

Mur. Where is your husband ?

L. Macd. I hope, in no place so unsanctified,
"NA^icre such as thou mayst find him.

j/^;._ He 's a traitor

Son. Thou liest, thou shag-ear'd' villain.

Mur. What, you egg ! {Stabbing him.

Young fry of treachery !

Son. He has kill'd me, mother :

Bun away, I pray you. [Dus.^

[Exit Lady Macduff, crying 'Murder,'
and pursued by the Murderers.

SCENE III.— England. A Room in the King'*
Palace.
Enter Maxcolm and Macduff.
Mai. Let us seek out some desolate shade,
and there
Weep our sad bosoms empty.

. 5/<a<7-<:«r'<l.-Thi8 should be probably Maj^-Aafr*./, a form
of abuse found in old plays, and even in Uw rcporU.

Act IV.]

MACBETH.

[SCENB III.

Macd. Let us ruther,

Hold fast the mortal sword ; aud, like good men,
Bestride our do\m-fall'u birtlidom: Each new

morn.
New widows howl ; new orphans cry ; new sor-
rows
Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds
As if it felt \\\i\\ Seotlaud, and yell'd out
Like syllable of dolour.

Mai. "Wliat I believe I '11 wail ;

Wliat know, believe ; and, what I ean redress.
As I shall find the time to friend, I will.
Wliat you have spoke, it may be so, perchance.
This tyrant, whose sole name bUstcrs our tongues,
Was once thought honest; you have lov'd him

well;
He liath not touch'd you yet. I am young, but

something
You may deserve' of hini through me ; and wisdom
To offer up a weak, poor, imioccnt lamb,
To appease an angry God.
Macd. I am not treacherous.
Mai. But Macbeth is.

A good and virtuous nature may recoil,
Li an imperial charge. But I shall'' crave your

pardon ;
That wliich you are my thoughts cannot trans-
pose:
Angels arc briglit still, though the brightest fell :
Though all things foul would wear the brows of

grace.
Yet grace must still look so.

Macd. I have lost my hopes.

Mai. Perchance, even there, where I did find
my doubts.
Why in that rawness left you wife and child,
(Those precious motives, those strong knots of

love,)
Without leave-taking ? — I pray you,
Let not my jealousies be your dishonours,
But mine own safeties: — You may be rightly

just,
^\^latcver 1 shall think.

Mard. Bleed, bleed, poor country !

Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure,
For goodness dare not cheek thee ! wear thou

thy wrongs,
The title is affeer'd.'' — Fare thee well, lord :

■ Deterre. — The original reads diMcernc.

b I ihall. — Stcevcns omits these words, for the old reason.

t The cripinal reads, Ihe Title is itffvar d. A r"odem

readiiiK i^ "'!/ TilU is ajfeer'd. We li.ive first to consider

how Shakspcrcuscs tlic word title. In asubsc(|ucnt passage

of this play, An(;u3, speaking of Macbeth, says,

" Now does he feci his title
Hang loose about liim, like a giant's robe
Upon a dwarfish thief."
In each of these passages title it printed with a capitnl T.

I would not be the villain that thou think'st
For the whole sj)ace that 's in the tyrant's grasp.
And the rich East to boot.

Mul. Be not offended ;

I speak not as in absolute fear of you.
I think, our country sinks beneath the joke ;
It wc(^)s, it bleeds : and each new day a gash
Is added to her wounds : I thiuk, withal.
There would be hands uplifted in my right ;
And here, from gracious England, have I offer
Of goodly tiiousands : But, for all tliis,
When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head,
Or wear it on my sword, yet, my poor country
Shall have more vices than it had before ;
More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever,
By him that shall succeed.

Macd. What should he be ?

Mai. It is myself I mean : in whom I know
iUl the particulars of vice so grafted,
That, when they shall be opcn'd, black Macbeth
WiU seem as pure as suow ; and the poor state
Esteem him as a lamb, being compared
With my confhielcss harms.

Macd. Not in the legions

Of horrid hell, can come a devil more damn'd
In evils, to top Macbeth.

Mai. I grant him bloody,

Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,
Sudden, maUcious, smacking of every sin
That has a name : But there 's no bottom, none.
In my voluptuousness : your wives, your daugh-
ters.
Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill up
The cistern of my lust ; and my desire
All continent impediments would o'erbear,
Tliat did oppose my will : Better Macbeth,
Than such a one to reign.

Macd. Bomidless intemperance

In nature is a tyranny ; it hath been
The \intimcly emptying of the happy tlu-ouc,
And fall of many Idugs. But fear not yet
To take upon you what is yours : you may
Convey your pleasiu-es in a spacious plenty.
And yet seem cold, the time you may so hood-
wink.
Wo have willing dames enough; there can-
not be
That vulture in you, to devour so many

Does Macduff then mean to say, liurt and indignant at the
doubts of Malcolm, the title (personifying the regal title)
hafear'd — frighted ; — and therefore, "poor country," " wear
thou thy wrongs:" or, continuing to apostrophise " great
tyranny," " wear thou thy wrongs "— enjoy thy usurpation ;
UTongs being lierc opposed to rights: the title is affi'cr'd
— confinned — admitted — as atfeerors decide upon a claim,
ond terminate a dispute? We hold to the latter inlerpreta-
tiun.

A CT IV.]

MACBETH.

[Scemj: [II.

As will to greatness dedicate themselves,
Finding it so inclin'd.

Mai. With this there gi-ows,

In my most iU-compos'd affection, such
A stanchless avarice, that, were I king,
I should cut off the nobles for their lands ;
Desire his jewels, and this other's house :
And my more-having would be as a sauce
To make me hunger more ; that I should forge
Quarrels unjust against the good, and loyal.
Destroying them for wealth.

Ilaccl. This avarice

Sticks deeper ; grows with more pernicious root
Than summer-seeming lust ; and it hath been
The sword of our slain kings : Yet do not fear ;
Scotland hath foysons " to fill up your will
Of your mere own : All these are portable,''
With other graces weigh'd.

Mai. But I have none : The king-becoming
graces.
As justice, verity, temperance, stableness.
Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness.
Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude,
I have no relish of them ; but abound
In the division of each several crime.
Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I

should
Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell.
Uproar the universal peace, confound
All unity on earth.

Macd. Scotland ! Scotland !

Mai. If such a one be fit to govern, speak :
1 am as I have spoken.

Macd. Fit to govern !

No, not to live. — nation miserable.
With an untitled tyrant bloody-sceptre' d.
When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again?
Since that the truest issue of thy throne
By his own interdiction stands accurs'd.
And does blaspheme his breed?— Thy royal

father
Was a most sainted king : the queen, that bor«

thee,
Oft'ner upon her knees than on her feet.
Died every day she lived. Fare thee well !
These evils thou repeat' st upon thyself
Have banish' a me from Scotland,— 0, my breast.
Thy hope ends here !

Mai. Macduff, this noble passion.

Child of integrity, hath from my soul
Wip'd the black "^scruples, reconcil'dmy thoughts
To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth

» Foi/sons— abundant provision.

b Portable.— The -svord is used in tlie same sense in Lear :
"How light and portable my pain seems now."

By many of these trains hath sought to ynn mc
Into his power ; and modest ^visdom plucks me
From over-credulous haste : But God above
Deal between thee and me ! for even now
I put myself to thy direction, and
Unspeak mine own detraction; here abjure
The taints and blames I laid upon myself.
For strangers to my nature. I am yet
Unknown to woman ; never was forsworn ;
Scarcely have coveted what was mine own ;
At no time broke my faith ; would not betray
The devil to his fellow ; and delight
No less iu truth, than life : my first false speaking
Was this upon myself : What I am truly.
Is thine, and my poor country's, to command :
"Whither, indeed, before thy here-approach.
Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men,
Already at a point,* was setting forth :
Now we '11 together : And the chance, of good-
ness.
Be like our warranted quarrel ! AYhy are you
silent ?
3Iacd. Such welcome and unwelcome things
at once,
'T is hard to reconcile.

Enter a Doctor.

Mai. Well; more anon. — Comes the king

forth, I pray you ?
Dod. Ay, sir : there are a crew of wretched
souls
That stay his cure : their makdy convinces
The great assay of art ; but, at his touch.
Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand.
They presently amend.

Mai, I thank you, doctor.

[fo(V Doctor.
" Macd. What 's the disease he means ?

Mai. 'T is called the evil ;

A most miraculous work in this good king :
Which often, since my here-remain in England,
I have seen him do. How he soUcits heaven.
Himself best knows : but strangely-visited people,
All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye,
The mere despair of surgery, he cures ;
Hanging a golden stamp about their necks,^
Put on with holy prayers : and 't is spoken,
To the succeeding royalty he leaves
The healing benediction. With this strange
virtue,

a So the original. Some read "all ready," and it is held
that "at a point" means fully equipped, as in Hamlet,
"armed at point." This we know is point-device; nut we
have no example of the use of the word with the ar"clf-
Is it not that the " ten thousand warlike men " were alre-idy
assembled "at a point?"— at a particular spot where tUey
had collected— a point of space.

Act IV.J

MACBETH.

[Scene IIL

lie halli a hcavenlj gift of prophecy;

And sundry blessmgs hang about Jiis throne,

That speak him full of grace.

Enter E.OSSE.

Mavd. See, who comes here ?

Mai. My countryman; but yet I know him

not.

Macd. My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither.

Mai. I know him now: Grood God, betimes

remove

The means that make us strangers !

Rosse. Sir, Amen.

Macd. Stands Scotland where it did ?

Rosse. Alas, poor country ;

Almost afraid to know itself ! It cannot

Be caU'd our mother, but our grave: where

nothing,

But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile ;

Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks that rend

the air,

Aie made, not mark'd; where violent sorrow

seems

A modem ecstasy ; the dead man's kneU

Is there scarce ask'd, for who ; and good men's

lives

Expire before the flowers in their caps.

Dying, or ere they sicken.

Macd. 0, relation,

Too nice, and yet too true !

Mai. What 's the newest giief ?

Bosse. That of an hour's age doth hiss the

speaker ;

Each minute teems a new one,

Macd, How does my wife ?

Rosse. Why, well.

Macd. And all my children ?

Rosse. Well too.

Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their

peace ?

Tiosse. No ; they were well at peace, when I

did leave them.

Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech : How

goes it?

Rosse. When I came hither to transport the

tidings,

Wliich I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour

Of many worthy fellows that were out ;

"Which was to my belief mtncss'd the rather,

For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot :

Now is the time of help ; your eye in Scotknd

Would create soldiers, make our women fight

To doff their dire distresses.

Mai. Be 't their comfort.

We are coming thither : gracious England hath
48

Lent us good Si ward, and ten thousand men;
An older, and a better soldier, none
That Christendom gives out.

Rosse. 'Would I could answer

This comfort with the like f But I have words
That would be howl'd out in the desert air,
^Yherc hearing should not latch them.'

Macd. What concern they ?

The general cause ? or is it a fee-grief.
Due to some single breast?

Rosse. No mmd that 's honest

But in it shares some woe; though the main

part
Pertains to vou alone.

Macd. If it be mine,

Keep it not from me, quickly let me hare it.
Rosse. Let not youi- ears despise my tongue
for ever.
Which shall possess them with the heaviest

sound.
That ever yet they heard.
Macd. Humph ! I guess at it.

Rosse. Youi" castle is surpris'd; youi- wife,
and babes,
Savagely slaughter'd : to relate the manner, .
AVere, on the quarry of these murder'd deer.
To add the death of you.

Mai. Merciful heaven ! —

What, man! ne'er puU your hat upon yoixr

brows,
Give soiTow words : the grief that does not speak
Whispers the o'erfraught heart, and bids it
break.
Macd. My children too ?
Rosse. Wife, children, servants, all that could

be found.
Macd. And I must be from thence ! My wife

kill'dtoo?
Rosse. I have said.

Mai. Be comforted :

Let 's make us med'cincs of our great re-
venge.
To cure this deadly grief.

Macd. He has no children.^ — All my pretty
ones?
Did you say, all ?— 0, heli-kitc !— All ?

* Latch them — lay hold of llicm.

b One would ima^-inc that there could be no doubt of
whom Macduff was thinking when he says, "lie has no
children :" but variorum commentators enter into a dis-
cussion whether Macbeth had any children, or not; and
upon the whole they consider that Macduff points at Mal-
colm, reprcachiuR him for sayinj; " Be comforted." Look
at the whole course of the luart-btricken man's sorrow. He
is first speechless; he then ejaculates " my children too? "
then "my wife kill'd too.'" And then, utterly insensible
to the words addressed to him,

" He Las no children. — All my pretty ones f "

Act IV.]

MACBETH.

[SCEKR III.

What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam,
At one fell swoop ?
Mai. Dispute it like a man.
Macd. I shall do so ;

But I must also feel it as a man :
I cannot but remember such things were,
That were most precious to me. — Did heaven

look on.
And would not take their part ? Sinful Macduff,
They were all struck for thee 1 naught that I am,
Not for their own demerits, but for mine.
Fell slaughter on their souls : Heaven rest them
now!
Mai. Be this the whetstone of your sword:
let grief
Convert to auger; blunt not the heart, em-age it.
Macd. 0, I could play the woman with mine
eyes,

And braggart with my tongue! — But gentle

heavens,
Cut short all intermission ; front to front,
Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself ;
Within my sword's length set him ; if he 'scape,
Heaven forgive him too !

Mai. This time* goes manly.

Come, go we to the king ; our power is ready ;
Our lack is nothing but our leave : Macbeth
Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above
Put on their iustruments. Receive what cheer

you may ;
The night is long that never finds the day.

[Exeimt.

a Time. — Ilowe changed tins to tunc. Giflbrd has shown,
in a note on Massinger, that the two words were once
synonymous in a musical acceptation ; and that iime wa»
the more ancient and common term.

TiiAGEDiEs. — Vol. IT. E.

-fn

ILLUSTIUTIONS OF ACT lY.

' Scene I.—" Black spirits," &c.

In Act III. Scene v. we have the stage-direction,
" Siiig within, Conic aicaij, come away, tLc." In
the same manner we have iu this scene "Music and
a song, Black .•'jiirits,d-c." In Middleton's 'Witch'
we find two songs, each of which begins according
to the stage-direction. The first ia,

" Come away, come away ; \. ,,
Hecate, Hecate, come away.i'" '" '"'^'
//ic. I come, I conic, I come,
With all the speed I may,
With all the speed I may."

The second is called 'A Charm Song about a

Vessel : ' —

''Black spirits and white, red spirits and gray;
Mingle, mingle, mingle, you that mingle may.
Titty, Tiffin, keep it stiff in;
Firedrake, Puckey, make it lucky;
Liard, Rohin, you must bob in.

Round, around, around, about, about ;
All ill come running in, all good keep out ! "

- Scene III.—" Hanging a golden stamp about their
necks."

Iloliushed thus describes the gift of curing the
evil which was alleged to exist in the person of
Edward the Confessor :— " As it has been thought,
he was inspired with the gift of prophecy, and also
to have the gift of healing infirmities and diseases.
He used to help those that were vexed with the
disease commonly called the king's evil, and left
that virtue as it were a portion of inheritance unto
his successors, the kings of this realm." The
golden stamp is stated to be the coin called an
angel ; for the origin of which raniC. as given by
Verstegan, see the Merchant of Venice, Illustra-
tions of Act ir.

HISTORICAL ILLUSTRATION.

We continue our extracts from Holinshed : —
" Neither could he afterwards abide to look
upon the said Macduff, either for that he thought
his puissance over great ; either else for that ho
had learned of certain wizards, in whose words he
put great confidence, (for that the prophecy had
happened so right which the three fairies or weird
sisters had declared unto him,) how that he ought
to take heed of Macduff, who in time to conie
should seek to destroy him.

" And surely hereupon had ho put Macduff to
death, but that a certain witch, whom he had in
great trust, had told that he should never be slain
with man bom of any woman, nor vanquished till
the wood of Bernaue came to the castle of Dunsi-
nane. By this prophecy Macbeth put all fear out
of his heart, supposing he might do what he would
without any fear to be punished for the same; for
by the one prophecy he believed it was impossible
for any man to vanquish him, and by the other im-
possible to slay him. This vain hope caused him to
do many outrageous things, to the grievous oppres-
sion of his subjects. At length Macduff, to avoid
peril of life, purposed with himself to pass into
England, to procure Malcolm Cammore to claim
the crown of Scotland. But this was not so secretly
devised by Macduff but that Macbeth had know-
ledge given him thereof; for kings (as is said) have
sharp sight like nnto Lynx, and long ears like unto
Midas: for Macbeth had iu every nobleman's house
one sly /ellow or other in fee with him, to reveal all
.SO

that was said or done within the same, by which
flight he oppressed the most part of the nobles of
his I'ealm.

" Immediately then, being advertised whereabout
Macduff went, he came hastily with a great power
into Fife, and forthwith besieged the castle where
Macduff d welled, trusting to have found him therein.
They that kept the house, without any resistance
opened the gates, and suffered him to eut«r, mis-
trusting none evU. But nevertheless Macbeth most
cruelly caused the wife and children of Macduff,
with all other whom he found in that castle, to be
slain. Also he confiscated the goods of Macduff,
proclaimed him traitor, and confined him out of all
the parts of his realm ; but Macduff was already
escaped out of danger, and gotten into England
unto Malcolm Cammore, to try what purchase he
might make by means of his support to revenge
the slaughter so cruelly executed on his wife, his
children, and other friends.

" Though Malcolm was very sorrowful for the
oppression of his countrymen the Scots, in manner
as Macduff had declared ; yet, doubting whether
he were come as one that came unfeignedly as he
spake, or else as sent from Macbeth to betray him,
lie thought to have some further trial ; and there-
upon, dissembling his mind at the first, he answered
as foUoweth : —

" I am truly very sorry for the misery chanced
to my country of Scotland, but, though I have never
so great affection to relieve the same, yet by reason

MACBETH.

of certain incurable vices which reign in me, I am
nothing meet thereto. First, such immoderate lust
and voluptuous sensuality (the abominable foun-
tain of all vices) follow eth me, that, if I were made
king of Scots, I should seek to destroy your maids
and matrons, in such wise that mine intemperancy
should be more importable unto you than the bloody
tyranny of Macbeth now is. Hereunto Macdufi*
answered. This surely is a very evil fault, for many
noble princes and kings have lost both lives and
kingdoms for the same; nevertheless there are
women enough in Scotland, and therefoi-e follow
my counsel : make thyself king, and I shall con
the matter so wisely, that thou shalt be so satisfied
at thy pleasure in such secret wise that no man
shall be aware thereof.

" Then said Malcolm, I am also the most avari-
cious creature on the earth, so that if I were king I
should seek so mauy ways to get lands and goods
that I would slay the most part of all the nobles of
Scotland by furnished accusations, to the end I
might enjoy their lands, goods, and possessions;
and therefore, to show you what mischief may ensue
on you through my unsatiable covetousness, I will
rehearse unto you a fable. There was a fox having
a sore place on him overset with a swarm of flies
that continually sucked out his blood : and when
one that came by, and saw this manner, demanded
whether he would have the flies driven beside him,
he answered. No ; for if these flies that are already
full, and by reason thereof suck not very eagerly,
should be chased away, other that are empty and
an hungered should light in their places, and suck
out the residue of my blood, far more to my griev-
ance than these, which now being satisfied, do not
much annoy me. Therefore, said Malcolm, suffer
me to remain where I am, lest, if I attain to the
regiment of your realm, mine unquenchable ava-
rice may prove such that ye would think the dis-
pleasures which now grieve you should seem easy
in re"spect of the unmeasurable outrage which might
ensue through my coming amongst you.

" Macduff to this made answer, how it was a far
worse fa\ilt than the other ; for avarice is the root
of all mischief, and for that crime the most part of
our kings have been slain and brought to their final
end. Yet, notwithstanding, follow my counsel, and
take upon thee the crown. There is gold and riches

enough in Scotland to satisfy thy greedy desire.
Then said Malcolm again, I am furthermore in-
clined to dissimulation, telling of leasinga, and all
other kind of deceit, so that I naturally rejoice in
nothing so much as to betray and deceive such as
put any trust and coufidence in my words. Then,
sith there is nothing that more becometh a prince
than constancy, verity, tiiith, and justice, with the
other laudable fellowship of those fair <.nd noble
virtues which are comprehended only in soothfa-st-
ness, and that lying utterly overthroweth the same,
you see how unable I am to govern any province or
regiment ; and, therefore, sith you have remedies
to cloak and hide all the rest of my other vices, I
pray you find shift to cloak this vice amongst the
residue.

" Then said Macduff, This yet is the worst of
all, and there I leave thee, and therefore say, Oh
ye unhappy and miserable Scotchmen, which are
thus scourged with so many and sundry calamities,
each one above other ! Ye have one cursed and
wicked tyrant that now reigneth over you without
any right or title, oppressing you with his most
bloody cruelty. This other, that hath the right to
the crown, is so replete with the inconstant be-
haviour and manifest vices of Englishmen, that he
is nothing worthy to enjoy it; for, by his own con-
fession, he is not only avaricious and given to un-
satiable lust, but so false a traitor withal, that no
trust is to be had imto any word he speaketh.
Adieu, Scotland ! for now I account myself a ba-
nished man for ever, without comfort or consola-
tion. And with those words the brackish tears
trickled down his cheeks very abundantly.

" At the last, when he was ready to depart, Mal-
colm took him by the sleeve, and said, Be of good
comfort, Macduff, for I have none of these vices
before remembered, buthave jested with thee in this
manner only to prove thy mmd : for divei-se times
heretofore hath Macbeth sought by this manner of
means to bring me into his hands ; but the more
slow I have showed myself to condescend to thy
motion and request, the more diligence shall I use
in accomplishing the same. Incontinently here-
upon they embraced each other, and, promising to
be faithful the one to the other, they fell in con-
sultation how they might best provide for all their
business, to bring the same to good effect."

LOCAL ILLUSTRATION.

Scene 11.— " Fife. A Room in Macduff's Castle."
On the Fifeshire coast, about three miles from
Dysart, stand two quadrangular towers, supposed
to be the ruins of Macduff's castle. These are not

the only remains in Scotland, however, which
claim to have been the abode of Macduff's wife
and children when they were surprised and
slaughtered by Macbeth.

E 2

r.:vc« SC.;-

[Dr.rkcul.l

ACT V.

SCENE I.

Dunsinauc.
Cdstle.

A Room m the

Unlet a Doctor of Phi/sic^ atid a wailing
Gentlewoman.

Docl. I have two nights watched ^vith you,
but cau perceive no truth in your report. When
was it she last walked ?

Gent. Since his majesty went into the field," I
have seen her rise from her bed, tlirow her night-
gown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth
paper, fold it, write upon 't, read it, afterwards
seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this
while in a most fast sleep.

» Steevens tay*, " this is one of Shakspere's oversights:
he forRot tliat he had >hul up Macbeih in Dunsinanc, and
«urrounded him willi btsicRcrs." We may reply, this is one
of Slctvens's ]>resumptiiou» assertions. In the next scene
the Scotchmen say " the Engli-.h power is near." When an
enemy is advancm); from another country it it not likely
that the commander about to be attacked would first f;o
*• into the field " before he finallv resolved to trust to his
" castle's strength ?"

DocL A great perturbation in natm-e ! to re-
ceive at once the benefit of sleep, and do the
effects of watching. — In this slumbery agita-
tion, besides her walking and other actual per-
formances, what, at any time, have you heard
her say ?

Gent. That, sir, which I will not report after
her.

Docl. You may, to me ; and 't is most meet
you should.

Genl. Neither to you, nor any one ; having no
witness to confirm my speech.

Unlet Lady MACBEin, with a taper.

Lo you, here she comes ! Tliis is her very guise;
and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her :
stand close.

Bod. How came she by that light ?

Gent. Why, it stood by her : she has light by
her continually ; 't is her command.

Docl. Yon 6ec, her eyes are open.

Act V.l

MACBETH.

[ScEsa II.

Gent. Ay, but their sense is shut.
Doct. Wliat is it she does now ? Look how
she rubs her hands.

Gent. It is an accustomed action with her, to
seem thus washing her hands. I have known
her continue in this a quarter of an hour.
Ladi/ M. Yet here 's a spot.
JDoct. Hark, she speaks : I will set down what
comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the
more strongly.

Lad^ M. Out, damned spot ! out, I say ! —
One; Two: Why, then 'tis time to do 't:— Hell
is murky! — Pie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and
afeard ! What need we fear who knows it, when
none can call our power to account ? — Yet who
woidd have thought the old man to have had so
much blood in him !
Doct. Do you mark that ?
Ladi/ M. The thane of Fife had a wife ; Where
is she now ? — "What, will these hands ne'er be
clean ? — No more o' that, my lord, no more
o' that : you mar all with this starting.

Doct. Go to, go to; you have known what
you should not.

Gent. She has spoke what she should not, I
am sure of that : Heaven knows what slie has
known.

Ladi/ 31. Here 's the smell of the blood still :
aU the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this
little hand. Oh! oh! oh!

Doct. What a sigh is there ! The heart is sorely
charged.

Gent. I woidd not have such a heart in my
bosom, for the dignity of the whole body.
Doct. Well, well, well,—
Gent. 'Pray God, it be, sir.
Doct. This disease is beyond my practice :
Yet I have known those wliich have walked in
their sleep who have died holily in their beds.

Lady M. Wash your hands, put on your
night-gown ; look not so pale : — I teU you yet
again, Banquo 's buried ; he cannot come out
on 's grave.
Doct. Even so ?

Lady M. To bed, to bed ; there 's knocking

at the gate. Come, come, come, come, give me

your hand. Wliat 's done cannot be undone ; To

bed, to bed, to bed. [J^xit Lady Macbeth.

Doct. Will she go now to bed ?

Gent. Directly.

Doct. Foul whisperings are abroad : Unnatui'al
deeds
Do breed \mnatural troubles : Infected minds
To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets
More needs she the divine than the physician.

God, God, forgive us all ! Look after her ;
Remove from lier the means of all annoyance.
And still keep eyes upon her :— So, good night :
My mind she has mated," and amaz'd my sight :
I think, but dare not speak.

Gent. Good night, good doctor.

\Exeunt.

SCENE II. — The Country near Dunsinane.

F/nter, tcith drum and colours, Menteth, Catu-
NEss, Angus, Lenox, and Soldiers.

3Ient. The English power is near, led on by
Malcolm,
His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff.
Revenges burn in them : for their dear causes
Would, to the bleeding and the grim alarm.
Excite the mortified man.*"

-^"ff- Near Birnam wood

Shall we well meet them; that way are they

Cath.

Who knows if Doualbaiu be with his
brother ?

Len. For certain, sir, he is not : I have a file
Of all the gentry : there is Siward's son,
x\nd many unrough youths, that even now
Protest their first of manhood.

Ment. Wliat does the tyrant ?

Caifi. Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies :
Some say he 's mad ; others, that lesser hate

him.
Do call it valiant fury : but, for certain.
He cannot buckle his distemper'd cause
Within the belt of rule.

J.nff. Now does he feel

His secret murthers sticking on liis hands ;
Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach ;
Those he commands move only in command.
Nothing in love : now does he feel his title
Hang loose about him, like a giant 's robe
Upon a dwarfish thief.

Ment. Who then shall blame

His pester'd senses to recoil, and start,
When all that is within him does condemn
Itself, for being there ?

Cath. Well, march we on.

To give obedience where 't is truly ow'd :
Meet we the medicine of the sickly weal ;
And with him pour wc, in our country's purge,
Each drop of us.

» Mated — amated— dismayed.

b Mortified man.— We think, with Warburton, that fhs
poet here means a hermit or religious ascetic, — one indif-
ferent to the concerns of the world, but who would be
excited to fight by such "causes" of revenge as Sfacduff
comes with.

Act v.]

MACBETH.

[ScnsBlIl.

' Len. Or so much as it needs,

To dew the sovereign flower, and drown the

weeds.
Make we oiir march towards Bimam.

[Ereutit, marching.

SCENE III.-

-Dmisiuane.
Castle.

A Boom in the

Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants.

Matb. Bring me no more reports ; let them

fly all:
Till Biniain wood remove to Dunsinane,
I cannot taint with feai-. What 's the boy Mal-

cohn ?
Was he not bom of woman ? The spirits that

know
AH mortal consequences have pronounc'd me

thus :
' Fear not, Macbeth ; no man that 's born of

woman
Shall e'er have power upon thee.' Then fly,

false thanes.
And mingle with the English epicures :
The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear,
Shall never sagg" with doubt, nor shake with

fear.

Enter a Servant.

The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac'd

loon;
Where gott'st thou that goose look ?

Serv. There is ten thousand —

Macb. Geese, villain ?

Serv. Soldiers, sir.

Macb. Go, prick tiiy face, and over-red thy feaj,
Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch ?
Death of thy soul ! those linen cheeks of thine
Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face ?

Serv. The English force, so please you.

Macb. Take thy face hence. — Seytou ! — I am
sick at heart,
When I behold — Seyton, I say ! — This push
Will cheer "' me ever, or dis-seat me now.
I have liv'd long enough : my way of life *^

* Sagg is to droop or sink down ; probably from ic tlge,
the firsl person present of the irregular Anglo-Saxon verb,
tigitn, to Call, or sink down ; to fail.

b Cheer is the word of tli; original folio, but Percy sug-
gested chair, vrhich is alto the reading of Mr. Collier's MS.
Corrector.

c Dr. Johnson proposed to read ".Ifny of life." If the
t>oet intended to represent Macbeth a-s a young man, — one
in the

"May of youth, and bloom of lustyhood," —
who had by his crimes and their consequent anxieties
" Fallen into the sear, the yellow leaf," —

the emendation would be Just and beautiful. But we doubt
if the poet had any such intention. The expression "way

Is fallen into the sear, the yellow leaf :
And that which should accompany old age.
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,
I must not look to have ; but, in their stead.
Curses not loud, but deep, mouth-honour, breath,
Whioli the poor heart would fain deny, and

dare not.
Seyton ! —

Enter Seyton.

Sey. What 's your gracious pleasmc ?

Macb. Wliat news more ?

Sey. AH is confinn'd, my lord, which was
reported.

Macb. I 'II fight, till from my bones my flesh
be back'd.
Give me my armour.

Set/. 'T is not needed yet.

Macb. I 'U put it on.
Send out 'more horses, skir'' the country round ;
Hang those that talk of fear. — Give me mine

armour : —
How does your patient, doctor ?

Boct. Not so sick, my lord,

As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies.
That keep her from her rest.

Macb. Cui-e her of that :

Canst thou not minister to' a mind diseas'd :
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow;
Raze out the written troubles of the brain ;
And, with some sweet oblivious antidote,
Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that peiilous stuff,
Which weighs upon the heart ?

Loct. Therein the patient

Must minister to himself.

Macb. Throw physic to the dogs, I '11 none of
it.—
Come, put mine armour on; give me my staff: —
Seyton, send out. — Doctor, the thanes fly from

me: —
Come, sir, dispatch : — If thou couldst, doctor,

cast
The water of my land, find her disease.
And purge it to a sound and pristine health,
I would applaud thee to the very echo.
That should applaud again. — Pull 't off, I say —
What rhubarb, senna,'' or what purgative drug,

of life " appears to us equivalent with " time of year," in
the seventy-third Sonnet :—

" That time of year thou niay'st in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold.
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang."
Giffbrd says, " tcny of life is neither more nor less than a
simple periphrasis for life."
"■ Skir—tcuT — scour.

b Senna. — This Is the reading of the fourth folio. The
original reads cyme.

Act v.]

MACBETH.

[SCEKE8 IV., V.

Would scour these English hence? — Hearest
thou of them ?
Bod. Ay, my good lord ; your royal prepara-
tion
Makes us hear something.

Much. Bring it after me. —

I will not be afraid of death and bane,

Till Bimam forest come to Dunsinane. \Jixit.

Bod. Were I from Dunsinane away and

clear.

Profit again should hardly draw me here. \Ilxit.

SCENE ] ^.—Country near Dunsinane : A
Wood ill view.

Enter, with drum and colours, ^Malcolm, old
SiWA'RD a7id Ms Son, Macdtjff, IVIenteth,
Catsness, Angus, Lexox, Bosse, and Sol-
diers, marching.

JtTal. Cousins, I hope the days are near at
hand,
That chambers will be safe.

2£e)it. "We doubt it nothing.

Siw. Wliat wood is this before us ?

jlgiii. The wood of Birnam.

Ilal. Let every soldier hew him down a bough.
And bear 't before him ; thereby shall we sha-
dow
The numbers of oui- host, and make discovery
EiT in report of us.

Sold. It shall be done.

Sire. We learn no other, but the confident
tyrant
Keeps stm in Dunsinane, and will endure
Our settiug down before 't.

jjj;^l 'T is his main hope ;

For where there is advantage to be given,
Both more and less'' have given him the revolt ;
And none serve with him but constrained

things,
Whose hearts are absent too.

jjjacd. Let °^^ P^*' censures

Attend the true event, and put we on
Industrious soldiership.

Sl^c, The time approaches.

That will wath due decision make us know
. What we shaU say we have, and what we owe.
Thoughts speculative their unsui-e hopes re-
late ;
But certain issue strokes must arbitrate :
Towards which advance the war.

[Exeimt, vmrcUng.

. More and Ze.s.-Shdkspere uses these words, as Chaucer
5r.e spenser use them, for greater and less.

SCENE v.— Dunsinane. Wifhin the Castle.

Enter, with drums and colours, Macseth,
Seyton, and Soldiers.

Macb. Hang out our banners on the outward
walls;
The cry is still, 'They come:' Our castle's

strength
Will laugh a siege to scorn : here let them lie,
Tni famine, and the ague, eat them up :
Were they not forc'd with those that should be

ours.
We might have met them dareful, beard to beard,
And beat them backward home. Wliat is that
noise ? [^A cry within, of women.

Sey. It is the cry of women, my good lord.
Macl. I have almost forgot the taste of fears :
The time has been, my senses would have cool'd
To hear a night-shriek ; and my fell of hair
Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir
As life were in 't: I have supp'd full with

horrors ;
Direuess, familiar to my slaughf rous thoughts,
Cannot once start me.— Wherefore was that cry ?
Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead.
Mach. She should have died hereafter ;
There would have been a time for such a word. —
To-moiTOW, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time ;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty '^ death. Out, out, brief candle !
Life 's but a waUdng shadow ; a poor player,
That struts and frets hi.s hour upon the stage.
And then is heard no more : it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury.
Signifying nothing. —

Enter a Messenger.

Thou com'st to use thy tongue ; thy story qiuckly.

Mess. Gracious my lord,
I should report that which I say I saw.
But know not how to do it.

Mach. Well, say, sir.

Mess. As I did stand my watch upon the hill,
I look'd toward Bimam, and, anon, raefhought,
The wood began to move.

Mach. Liai". ^^ slave !

{Striking him.

a D„s/«.-^Varburton ^rould read dusky. In Troilus and
Cressida we have "dusty nothing." Douce has the foUow-
in 'valuaWe illustration of the passage : " Perhaps no qu^
afion can be better calculated to show the Propnety oHh^
epithet than the following P^»»d lines in -The ^ mon of
Pierce Plowman,' a work which Shakspeare might have

'^""''Death came drivynge after, and all to rfurt pashed
Kynges and kaysers. knightes and popes.

Act v.]

MACBETH.

[SCEKES VI., VII

Mess. Let me endure jour wrath if 't be not so ;
Within this three mile may you see it coming ;
I say, a moving grove.

Macb. If thou speak'st false,

Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive.
Till famine cling thee : if thy speech be sooth,
I care not if thou dost for me as much. —
I pull in resolution;* and begin
To doubt the equivocation of the fiend,
That lies like truth : * Fear not, till Birnam wood
Do come to Dunsinane ;' — and now a wood
Comes toward Dunsinane.— Arm, arm, and

out !—
If this wliich he avouches does appear.
There is nor Hying hence, nor tarrying here.
T 'gin to be a-weary of the sun,
A.nd wish the estate o' the world were now

undone. —
Ring the alarum-bell : — Blow wind ! come ^v^ack !
At least we '11 die with harness on our back.

[Eaetenl.

SCENE VI.— .77/<? same. A Plain be/ore the
Castle.

Enter, with drums and colours, [Malcolm, old
SiWARD, Macduff, §-c., and their Amy, with
boughs.

Mai. Now, near enough ; your leavy screens
throw down,
And show like those you are: — You, worthy

uncle.
Shall, \vith my consul, your I'ight-noblc son,
Lead our fu-st battle : worthy Macduff, and wc,
Shall take upon us what else remains to do.
According to our order.

Siw. Fare you well. —

Do we but Gnd the tyrant's power to-night.
Let us be beaten if we cannot fight.

Macd. Make all our trumpets speak; give
them all breath.
Those clamorous liarbingers of blood and death.
[^Exeunt. Alarums continued.

SCENE \U.~The same. Another part oj the
Plain.

Enter Macbetu.

Zrar.b. They have tied me to a stake ; I can-
not fly,

a Monck M.ison gives an illustration from Fletclier, which
explains the use of pull in : —

" All mv spirits
>*8 if they had (leard my passing bell po for nic,
Pull in their powers, an'l give nie up to destiny."
56

But, bear-like, I must fight the course. — ^Wliat 's

he
That was not born of woman P Such a one
Am I to fear, or none.'

Enter Young Siward.

Yo. Siw. What is thy name ?,
Macb. Thou 'It be afraid to licar it.

To. Siw. No ; though thou call'st thyself a
hotter name
Than any is in hell.

Macb. My name 's Macbeth.

To. Siw. The devil himself coidd not pro-
nounce a title
More hateful to mine ear.

Macb. No, nor more fearful.

Fo. Siw. Thou liest, , abhorred tyrant; with
my sword
I '11 prove the lie thou speak'st.

{They fight, and young SrwARD is slain.
Macb. Thou wast bom of woman. —

But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn,
Braudish'd by man that 's of a woinuu bom.

[TLxit.

Alarums. Enter Macduff.

Macd. That way the noise is : — Tyrant, show
thy face :
If thou be'st slain, and with no stroke of mine.
My wife and chilch-eu's ghosts wiU haunt me

still.
I cannot strike at wretched kernes, whose amis
Are hir'd to bear their staves ; either thou, Mac-
beth,
Or else my sword, with an unbatter'd edge,
I sheathe again undeeded. There thou shouldst

be;
By this great clatter, one of gi-eatcst note
Seems bmited. Let me find him, fortune !
And more I beg not. [Exit. Alarum.

Enter Malcolm and old Sfward.

Siw. This way, my lord ; — the castle 's gently
rcndcr'd :
The tyrant's people on both sides do fight ;
The noble thanes do bravely in the war ;

a We have again the small critics discovering oversights
in Shakspcre. Mrs. Lenox, the queen of fault-finders, says,
" Shakspeare seems to have committed a great oversight in
making Macheth, after he found himself deceived in the
prophecy relating to Birnam wood, so absolutely rely on the
other, which he had pood reason to foar might be equally
fallacious." If Mrs. Lenox had known as much of human
nature as Shakspcre knew, she would have understood that
one hope destroyed does not necessarily banish all hope; —
Ih.at the gambler wlio has lost thousands still believes that
liis last guinea will redeem them;— and that the last of a
long series of perishing delusions is as firmly trusted as if
the great teacher. Time, had taught nothing.

Act V

MACBETH.

The daj almost itself professes yours.
And little is to do.

Mai. We have met witli foes

That strike beside us.

^^^' Enter, sir, the castle.

[Exeuiit. Alarum.

Re-enter ^Macbeth.
Macb. Why should I play the Roman fool,
and die
On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the

gashes
Do better upon them.

Re-enter Macduff.

Macd. Turn, hell-hoimd, tui-n.

Macb. Of aU men else I have avoided thee :
But get thee back, my soul is too much charg'd
With blood of tliine already.

M.acd. I Iiave no words.

My voice is in my sword; thou bloodier villain
Than terms can give thee out ! {They fight.

^acb. Thou loscst laboiu- :

As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air
With thy keen sword impress, as make me

bleed :
Let faU thy blade on \Tibierable crests ;
I bear a charmed life, wliich must not yield
To one of woman born.

^lacd. Despair- thy charm ;

And let the angel whom thou still hast serv'd
TeU thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb
Untimely ripp'd.

Macb. Accm-sed be that tongue that tells
me so.
For it hath cow'd my better part of man !
And be these juggling fiends no more believ'd.
That palter with us in a double sense ;
That keep the word of promise to our ear,
And break it to our hope.— 1 '11 not fight with
thee.

Macd. Then yield thee, coward,
And live to be the show and gaze o' the time.
We 'IL have thee, as our rarer monsters are,
Pamted upon a pole ; and underwrit,
' Here may you see the tyrant.'

^acj). I will not yield, a

To kiss the ground before young Malcohn's

feet.
And to be baited with the rabble's curse.
Though Bimam wood be come to Dunsinane,
And thou oppos'd, being of no woman born.
Yet I wiU try the last : Before my body

a I will not »/icW.— This is sometimes nuiiced Into

not yield."

J 11

[SCEKE VII.

I throw my warlike shield : lay on, Macduff;
And damn'd be him that first cries, 'Hold,
enough.' [Exeunt, fighting.

Retreat. Flourish. Re-enter, with drum and
colours, M.\LCOi,M, old Siward, Kosse,
Lenox, Angus, Cathness, MENizxif, and
Soldiers.

Mai. I would tlie friends we miss were safe

arriv'd.
Siw. Some must go off; and yet, by these
I see.
So great a day as this is clieaply bought.
Mai. Macduff is missing, and your noble

son.
Rosse. Your son, mv lord, has paid a soldier's
debt :
He only liv'd but till he was a man ;
The which no sooner had his prowess con-

firm'd,
In the unshrinking station where he fought.
But like a man he died.
Siw. Then he is dead ?

Rosse. Ay, and brought off the field: your
cause of sorrow
Must not be measur'd by his worth, for then
It hath no end.
Siw. Had he his hurts before ?

Rosse. Ay, on the front.
Siw. Why, then, God's soldier be he !

Had I as many sons as I have hairs,
I would not wish them to a fairer death :
And so his knell is knoU'd.

Mai. He 's worth more sorrow.

And that I '11 spend for hun.

Siw. He 's worth no more ;

They say, he parted well, and paid his score :
And so, God be with him 1 — Here comes newer
comfort.

Re-enter IVLvcduff, with Macbeth'* head.
Macd. Hail, king! for so thou art: Behold,
where stands
The usurper's cursed head : the tune is free :
I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl.
That speak my salutation in their minds ;
Whose voices I desire aloud with mine, —
Hail, king of Scotland !

^11- Hail, king of Scotland !

[Flourish.
Mai. We shall not spend a large expense of
time.
Before we reckon with your several loves.
And make us even with you. My thanes and
kinsmen,

Act v.]

MACBETH.

[Scene VII

Ilenceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland
In such an honour nani'd. What 's more to do,
"\Much would be planted newly with the time; —
As calling home our cxJl'd friends abroad
That fled the snares of watchful tyranny ;
Producing forth the cruel ministers
Of this dead butclier, and his ficnd-likc queen.

Who, as 't is thoiight, by self and violent hands
Took off her life ; — tliis, and what needful else
That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace,
We will perform in measure, time, and place :
So thanks to all at once, and to each one,
"\yhom we invite to see us crown'd at Scone.

\_Flourish. Exeunt

^..t''.<'''a-j-

[The Dnnsinane Range.

ILLITSTEATIONS OP ACT Y.

HISTORICAL ILLUSTRATION.

HoLiNSHED thus naiTates the catastrophe : —

" He had such confidence in his prophecies, that
he believed he should never be vanquished till Ber-
nane wood were brought to Dunsinane ; nor yet to
be slain with any man that should be or was boi-n
of any woman.

" Malcolm, following hastily after Macbeth, came
the night before the battle unto Bernane wood, and,
when his army had rested awhile there to refresh
them, he commanded every man to get a bough of
some tree or other of that wood in his hand, as big
as he might bear, and to march forth therewith in
such wise that on the next morrow they might come
closely and without sight in this manner within
view of his enemies. On the morrow, when Mac-
beth beheld them coming in this sort, he first mar-
velled what the matter meant, but in the end re-
membered himself that the prophecy which he had
heard long before that time, of the coming of Ber-
nane wood to Dunsinane Castle, was likely to be
now fulfilled. Nevertheless, he brought his men in
order of battle, and exhoi-ted them to do valiantly ;
howbeit, his enemies had scarcely cast from them
their boughs when Macbeth, perceiving their num-
bers, betook him straight to flight, whom Macduff
pursued with gi-eat hatred, even till he came unto
Lunfannaine, where Macbeth, perceiving that Mac-

duff was hard at his back, leaped beside his horse,
saying, Thou traitor, what meaneth it that thou
shouldst thus in vain follow me, that am not ap-
pointed to be slain by any creature that is born of
a woman ? Come on, therefore, and receive thy re-
ward, which thou hast deserved for thy pains : and
therewithal he lifted up his sword, thinking to have
slain him.

" But Macduff, qu ickly avoiding from his horse ere
he came at him, answered (with his naked sword in
his hand), saying, It is true, Macbeth, and now shall
thine insatiable cruelty have an end, forlamevenhe
that thy wizards have told thee of; who was never
born of my mother, but ripped out of her womb :
therewithal he stepped unto him, and slew him
in the place. Then cutting his head from his
shoulders, he set it upon a pole, and brought it unto
Malcolm. This was the end of jNIacbeth, after he had
reigned seventeen years over the Scottishmen. In
the beginning of his reign he accomplished many
worthy acts, very profitable to the commonwealth
(as ye have heard) ; but afterwards, by illusion of the
devil, he defamed the same with most terrible
cruelty. He was slain in the year of the Incar-
nation 1057, and in the sixteenth year of King
Edward's reign over the Englishmen."

LOCAL ILLUSTRATIONS.

Scene IV. — " What wood is this before its ?

The wood of Bh-nam."
BiRXAM Hill is distant about a mile from Dunkeld;
and the two old trees, which are believed to be the
last remains of Birnam Wood, grow by the river-
side, half a mile from the foot of the hill. The hills
of Birnam and Dunsinane must have been excellent
posts of observation in time of war, both command-
ing the level country which lies between them, and
various passes, lochs, roads, and rivers in other di-
rections. Birnam Hill, no longer clothed with forest,
but belted with plantations of young larch, rises to
the height of 1040 feet, and exhibits, amidst the
heath, ferns, and mosses, which clothe its sides, dis-

tinct traces of an ancient fort, which is called Dun-
can's Court. Tradition says that Duncan held his
court there. The Dunsmane hills are visible, at the
distance of twelve miles, from every part of its
northern side. Birnam Hill is precisely the point
where a general, in full march towards Dunsinane,
would be likely to pause, to survey the plain which
he must cross ; and from this spot would the " leavy
screen" devised by Malcolm become necessary to
conceal the amount of the hostUe force from the
watch on the Dunsinane heights :—

" Thereby ehall we shadow
The numbers of our host, and make discovery
Err in report of us."

ILLUSTRATIONS OF ACT V.

Scene V.— "At I did stand my watch upon the hill."

It ia not ascertained on which hill of the Dun-
Binane range, in Perthshire, Macbeth'3 forces were
posted. Behind Dunsinane House there ia a green
hill, on the summit of which are vestiges of a vitri-
fied fort, whicli tradition has declared to be the
remains of Macbeth "s castle.

The coimtry between Bimam and Dunsinane is
level and fertile, and from several parts of the Dun-

sinane range the outline of Birnam Hill is visible ;
but, as the distance is twelve miles in a direct line,
no sentinel on the Dunsinane hills could see the
wood at Birnam begin to move, or even that there
was a wood. We must suppose either that the
distance was contracted for the poet's purposes, or
that the wood called Biniam extended from the hill
for some miles into the plain : —

" Within this three mile may you see it coming."

—-'•t''-.

[In Birnam Wood.]

SUPPLEMENTARY NOTICE.

In Coleridge's early sonnet 'to the Author of tha Robbers,' his imagination is euchainod to the
most terrible scene of that play ; disregarding, as it were, all the accessaries by which its horrors
are mitigated and rendered endurable :—

" Schiller I that hour I would have wish'd to die,
If through the shuddering midnight I had sent
From the dark dungeon of the tower time-rent
That fearful voice, a famish'd father's cry —
Lest in some after-moment aught more mean
Might stamp me mortal ! A triumphant shout
Black Horror scream'd, and all her goblin rout
Diminish'd shrunk from the more withering scene !"

It was in a somewhat similar manner that Shakspere's representation of the mrxder of Duncan
affected the imagination of Mrs. Siddons : — " It was my custom to study my characters at night,
when all the domestic cares and business of the day were over. On the night preceding that on
which I was to appear in this part for the first time, I shut myself up, as usual, when all the family
were retired, and commenced my study of Lady Macbeth. As the character is very short, I thought
I should soon accomplish it. Being then only twenty years of age, I believed, as many others do
believe, that little more was necessary than to get the words into my head ; for the necessity of dis-
crimination, and the development of character, at that time of my life, had scarcely entered into
my imagination. But, to proceed. I went on with tolerable composure, in the silence of the night,
(a night I can never forget,) till I came to the assassination scene, when the horrors of the scene
rose to a degree that made it impossible for me to get farther. I snatched up my candle, and hurried
out of the room in a paroxysm of terror. My dress was of silk, and the rustling of it, as I ascended
the stairs to go to bed, seemed to my panic-struck fancy like the movement of a spectre pursuing me.
At last I reached my chamber, where I found my husband fast asleep. I clapped my candlestick
.down upon the table, without the power of putting it out; and I threw myself on my bed, without
daring to stay even to take off my clothes." * This most interesting passage appears to us to involve
the consideration of the principles upon which the examination of such a work of art as Macbeth can
alone be attempted. To analyse the conduct of the plot, to exhibit the obvious and the latent
features of the characters, to point out the proprieties and the splendours of the poetical language, —
these are duties which, however agreeable they may be to ourselves, are scarcely demanded by the
nature of the subject ; and they have been so often attempted, that there is manifest danger of being
trite and wearisome if we should enter into this wide field. We shall, therefore, apply ourselves ae
strictly as possible to an inquiry into the nature of that poetical Art by which the horrors of this
groat tragec^y are confined within the limits of ple;isurable emotion.

• Memoranda by Mrs. Siddons, inserted in her ' Life' by Mr. Campbell.

SUPPLEMENTARY NOTICE.

If the drama of Macbeth wero to produce the same effect upon the mind of an imaginative reader ae
that described by Mrs. Siddons, it would not be the great work of art which it really is. If our poet
had resolved, using the words of his own Othello, to

" ab.indon all remorse,
On horror's head horrors accumulate,"

the midnight lerrora, such as Mrs. Siddons has described, would have indeed 'been a tribute to
iwiccr, — but not to the power which has produced Macbeth. The paroxysm of fear, the panic,
struck fancy, the prostrated senses, so beautifully described by this impassioned actress, were the
result of the intensity with which she had fixed her mind upon that part of the play which she was
herself to act. In the endeavour to get the words into her head, her own fine genius was naturally
kindled to behold a complete vision of the wonderful scene. Again and again were the words
repeated, on that night which she could never forget, — in the silence of that night when all about
her were sleeping. And then she heard the owl shriek, amidst the hurried steps in the fatal chamber,
— and she taw the bloody hands of the assassin,— and, personifying the murderess, she rushed to
dip her own hands in the gore of Duncan. It is perfectly evident that this intensity of conception
has carried the horrors far beyond the limits of pleasurable emotion, and has produced all the terrors
of a real murder. No reader of the play, and no spectator, can regard this play as Mrs. Siddons
regarded it. On that night she, probably for the first time, had a strong though imperfect vision of
the character of Lady Macbeth, such as she afterwards delineated it ; and in that case, what to all of
us must, under any circumstances, be a work of art, however glorious, was to her almost a reality.
It was the isolation of the scene, demanded by her own attempt to conceive the character of Lady
Macbeth, which made it so terrible to Mrs. Siddons. We have to regard it as a part of a great whole,
which combines and harmonizes with all around it; for which we are adequately prepared by what ha.s
gone before ; and which, — even if we look at it as a picture which represents only that one portion of
the action, has still its own repose, its own harmony of colouring, its own chiai-o-'scuro, — is to be seen
under a natural light. There was a preternatural light upon it when Mrs. Siddons saw it as she has
described.

The assassination scene of the second act is dimly shadowed out in the first liues of the drama,
when those mysterious beings, —

" So withcr'd, and so wild in their attire ;
That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth,
And yet are on 't," —

have resolved to go

" Upon the heath ;
There to meet with Macbeth."

We know there is to be evil. One of the critics of the last age has obseiTed, " The Witches here
seem to be introduced for no other purpose than to tell us they are to meet again." If the Witches
had not been introduced in the first scene, — if we had not known that they were about "to meet
with Macbeth," — the narrative of Macbeth's prowess in the second scene, and the resolution of
Duncan to create him Thane of Cawdor, would have been comparatively pointless. The ten lines
of the first Witch-scene give the key-note of the tragedy. They take us out of the course of ordi-
nary life; they tell us there is to be a "supernatural soliciting;" they show us that we are entering
into the empu-e of the unreal, and that the circle of the magician is to be drawn about us. When
the Witches "meet again" their agency becomes more clear. There they are, again muttering of
their uncouth spells, in language which sounds neither of earth nor heaven. Fortunate are those
who have never seen the stage-witches of Macbeth, hag-like forms, with beards and brooms, singing
D'Avenant's travestic of Shakspere's lyrics to music, fine aud solemn indeed, but which is utterly
inadequate to express the Shaksperian idea, as it does not follow the Shaksperian words. Fortunate
are they ; for, without the stage recollections, they may picture to themselves beings whoso
" character consists in the imaginative disconnected from the good ; the shadowy obscure and
fearfully anomalous of physical nature, the lawless of human nature, — elemental avengers without
62

MACBETH.

aex or kiu." * TLe stage-Vfitches of Macbeth are not much elevated above the • Witch of Edmonton,
of Kowley and Dekker — " the plain traditional old-woman witch of our ancestors ; poor, defonned'
and ignorant; the terror of villages, herself amenable to a justice." Charlea Lamb (from whom
we quote these words) has, with his accustomed discrimination, also shown the essential differences
between the witches of Shakspere and the witches of Middleton : " These (Middleton's) are creatures
to whom man or woman plotting some dire mischief might resort for occaaional consultation.
Those originate deeds of blood, and begin bad impulses to men. From the moment that their eyes
first meet with Macbeth, he is spell-bound. That meeting sways his destiny. He can never break
the fascination. These witches hurt the body; those have power over the soul."f But the witches
of the stage Macbeth are Middleton's witches, and not Shakspere's ; and they sing Middleton's lyricp,
as stolen by D'Avenant, but they are not Shakspere's lyrics. The witches of Shakspere essentially
belong to the action. From the moment they exclaim

" A drum, a drum;
Macbeth doth come,

all their powers are bent up to the accomplishment of his ruin. Shakspere gives us no choruses of

and

" We dance to the echoes of our feet;

" We fly by night 'mongst troops of spirits."

He makes the superstition tell upon the action of the tragedy, and not a jot farther; and thus he
makes the superstition harmonize with the action, and prepare us for its fatal progress and consum-
mation. It was an effect of his consummate skill to render the superstition essentially poetical.
When we hear in imagination the drum upon that wild heath, and see the victorious generals in the
" proper temperament for generating or receiving superstitious impressions,":}: we connect with these
poetical situations the lofty bearing of the " imperfect speakers," and the loftier words of the
" prophetic greeting : " —

" All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of Glamis !
All hail, Macbeth ! hail to thee, thane of Cawdor !
All hail, Macbeth! that slialt be king hereafter."

It is the romance of this situation which throws its charm over the subsequent horrors of the
realization of the prophecy, and keeps the whole drama within the limits which separate tragedy
from the ' Newgate Calendar.' If some Tate had laid his hand upon Macbeth, aa upon Lear (for
D'Avenant, who did manufacture it into something which up to the time of Quin was played as
Shakspere's, had yet a smack of the poet in him) — if some matter-of-fact word-monger had thought
it good service to " the rising generation " to get rid of the Witches, and had given the usurper and
his wife only their ambition to stimulate their actions, he would have produced a George Barnwell
instead of a Macbeth.

It is upon the different reception of the supernatural influence, proceeding out of the different
constitution of their minds, by which we must appreciate the striking differences in the charactera
of Macbeth, Banquo, and Lady Macbeth- These are the three who are the sole recipients of
the prophecy of the Witches ; and this consideration, as it appears to us, must determine all that
has been said upon the question whether Macbeth was or was not a brave man. There can be no
doubt of his braveiy when he was acting under the force of his own will. In the contest with " the
merciless Macdouwald " he was "valour's minion." In that \\-ith "Norway himself" he was
"Bellona's bridegroom." But when he encountered the Witches, and his will was laid prostrate
under a belief in destiny, there was a new principle introduced into his mind. His self-possession
?-nd liis self-reliance were gone : —

" Good sir, why do you start ; and seem to fear
Things that do sound so fair?"

* Coleridge s ' Literary Remains, vol. ii., p. 238.
t ' Specimens of English Dramatic Poets,' vol. i., p. 187.

X Coleridge.

SUPPLEMENTARY NOTICE.

But he yet depended upon bia reason AVith marvelloua art Shakspere at this moment throwa on
the straw which is to break the camel's back : —

"The thane of Cawdor lives,
A prosperous gentleman ; and, to be klni?,
Stands not within the prospect of belief,
No more than to be Cawdor."

In a few minutes he knows he 15 Cawdor : —

" Glamis, and thane of Cawdor :
The greatest is behind.

But Banquo receives the partial consummation of the prophecy with an unsubdued mind : —

" Oftentimes, to win us to our harm.
The instruments of darkness tell us truths ;
AVin us with honest trifles, to betray us
In deepest consequence."

The will of Banquo refuses to be mixed up with the prophecy. The will of Macbeth becomes the
accompUce of the " instruments of darkness," and is subdued to their purposes : —

" Why do I yield to that suggestion
Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair.
And make my seated heart knock at my ribs,
Against the use of nature?"

And then comes the refuge of every man of vmfirm mind upon whom temptation is laid : —

" If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me,
Without my stir."

If he had opposed the chance he would have been safe ; but his will was prostrate before the chance,
and he perished. It is perfectly clear that the faint battle had been fought between his principle
and his "black and deep desires" when he saw something to "o'erleap" even beyond the life of
Duncan, — " the prince of Cumberland." In the conflict of his mind it is evident that he commu-
nicates to his wife the promises of those v\-ho " havo more in them than mortal knowledge," not only
that she might not lose the "dues of rejoicing," but that he might have some power to rely upon
stronger than his own will. He was not deceived there. It is clear that Lady Macbeth had no
reliance upon the prophecy working out itself. iJlie had no belief that chauce would make Itim king
without his stir : —

" Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be
AVhat thou art promis'd."

It waa not thou mayst be, or thou wilt be, but thou shcUt be. The only fear she had was of his
nature. She would " catch the nearest way." She instantly saw that way. The prophecy was to her
nothing but as it regarded the effect to be produced upon him who would not play false, and yet would
wrongly win. All that is coming is clear before her through the force of her will ■ —

" The raven himself is hoarse
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements."

Upon the arrival of Macbeth, the breathless rapidity with which she subjects him to her resolve is
one of the most appalling thiugH in the whole drama. Her tremendous will is the real destiny which
subjugates his indecision. Not a word of question or explanation ! She salutes him as Glamis and
Cawdor, and

" Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter."

This is the sole allusion to the weird sidters,
C4

" We will speak further," seals his fate.

MACBETH.

Here then, up to this point, we have the supernatural influence determining the progress of the
action with a precipitation which in itself appears almost supernatural ; and yet it is in itself strictly
consonant to nature. It works in and through human passions and feelings. It woi'ks through
unbelief as weU as through belief. It pervades the entire action, whether in its repose or in its
tumult. When " the heavens' breath smells wooingly " in Macbeth's castle, we feel that it is as
treacherous to the " gentle senses " of Duncan as the blandishments of his hostess ; and that this
calm is but the prelude to that " unruly " night which is to follow, with its " lamentings " and its
" strange screams of death." But this is a part of the poetiy of the action, which keeps the horror
within the boiuids prescribed by a high art. The beautiful adaptation of the characters to the
action constitutes a higher essential of the poetry. The last scene of the first act, where Macbeth
marshals before him. the secondary consequences of the meditated crime, and the secondary argu-
ments against its commission, — all the while forgetting that the real question is that of the one
step from innocence into guilt, — and where all these prudential considerations are at once over-
whelmed by a guUty energy which despises as well as renounces them,- — that scene is indeed more
terrible to us than the assassination scene ; for it shows us how men fall through their own weak-
ness and the bad strength of others. But in all this we see the deep philosophy of the poet,— hia
profound knowledge of the springs of human action, derived perhaps from his experience of every-
day crime and folly, but lifted into the highest poetry by his marvellous imagination. We know
that after this the scene of the murder must come. All the preparatory incidents are poetical.
The moon is down; Banquo and Fleance walk by torch-light; the servants are moving to rest;
Macbeth is alone. He sees " the air-drawn dagger " which leads him to Duncan ; he is still under
the influence of some power stronger than his will ; he is beset with false creations ; his imagina-
tion is excited; he moves to bloodshed amidst a crowd of poetical images, with which his mind
dallies, as it were, in its agony. Half frantic he has done the deed. His passion must now have
vent. It rushes like a torrent over the calmness which his wife opposes to it. His terrors embody
themselves in gushing descriptions of those fearful voices that rang in the murderer's eai-s.
Reproaches and taunts have now no power over him : — ■

"I'll go no more:
1 am afiaid to think what I have done ,
Look on't again, I dare not."

It is impossible, we think, for the poet to have more clearly indicated the mode in which he meant
to contrast the characters of Macbeth and his wife than in the scene before us. It is a mistake to
characterise the intellect of Lady Macbeth as of a higher order than that of her husband. Her
force of character was stronger, because her intellect was less. She wanted that higher power
which he possessed — the power of imagination. She hears no noises in that terrible hour but the
scream of the owl and the cry of the crickets. To her.

In her view

' The sleeping, and the dead,
Are but as pictures."

" A little water clears us of this deed."

We believe that, if it had not been for the necessities of a theatrical representation, Shakspere would
never have allowed it to have been supposed that a visible ghost was presented in the banquet-
scene. It is to him who saw the dagger, and heard the voices cry "sleep no more," and who
exclaimed

" Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand?" —

it is to him alone that the spectral appearances of that "solemn supper" are vi^ibla Are they not
then the forms only of his imagination ? The partner of his guilt, who looked upon the great crime
only as a business of necessity, — who would have committed it herself but for one touch of foelinp
confessed only to herself, —

Thagkcies.— Vol. II.

SUPPLEMENTARY NOTICE.

' Had he not resembled
My father as lie slept, 1 had done 't,"—

who had before disclaimed eveu the teudcrest feelings of a mother if they had Btood betweeu her
and her purpose, — she sees no spectre, because her obdurate will cannot co-exist with the imagina-
tion which produces the terror and remorse of her husband. It is scarcely the " towering bravery
of her mind," * in the right sense of the word : it is something lower than courage ; it is the
absence of impressibility : the tenacious adherence to one dominant passion constitutes her force of
character.

As Macbeth recedes from his original nature under the influence of his fears and his superstition.^^
he becomes, of necessity, a lower creatii re. It is the uatui'al course of guilt. The " bravo Macbeth "
changes to a counterfeiter of passions, a hypocrite, —

" O, yet T do repent mo of my fury,
That I did kill them."

He descends not only to the hire of murderei'S, but to the slander of his friend to stimulato their
revenge. But his temperament is still that of which poets are made. In his mui'derous purposes he
is still imaginative : —

" Ere the bat hath flown

His cloister'd flight; ere to black Hecate's summons,

The shard-borne beetle, -with his drowsy hums,

Hath rung night's yawning peal.

There shall be done a deed of dreadful note."

It is this condition of Macbeth's mind which, we must again repeat, limits and mitigates the horror of
the ti-agedy. After the tumult of the banquet-sicene the imagination of Macbeth again overbears
(a.s it did after the murder) the force of the will in Lady Macbeth. It appears to v.s that her taunts
and reproaches are only ventured upon by her when his excitement is beginning. After it has run
its ten-ific course, and the frighted guests have departed, and the guilty man mutters " it v/ill have
blood," then is her intellectual energy \itterly helpless before his higher passion. Jlrs. Jameson says
of this remarkable scene, " A few words of submissive rejily to his questions, and an entreaty to seek
repose, are all she permits herself to utter. There is a touch of pathos and tenderness in thi.s silence
which has always affected me beyond expression." Is it submission ? Is it tenderness ? Is it not
rather the lower energy in subjection to the higher? Her intellect has lost its anchorage; but his
imagination is about to receive a new stimulant : —

" I will to-monow
(And betimes I will) unto the weird sisters :
More shall they speak ; for now I am bent to know,
By the worst means, the worst."

" He has by guilt torn himself live-asunder from nature, and is therefore himself in a preternatm-al
state : no wonder, then, that he is inclined to superstition, and faith in the unknown of signs and
tokens, and superhuman agencies." Coleridge thus notices the point of action of which wo are
speaking. But it must not be forgotten that Macbeth was inclined to superstition before the guilt,
and that his faith in superhuman agencies went far to produce the guUt. From this moment, how
ever, his guilt is bolder, and his will more obdurate ; his supernatural knowledge stands in the place
of reflection and caution. He believes in it, and yet he will do something beyond the belief. He is
told to " beware Macduff;" but he is also told that "none of woman bom shall harm Macbeth." How
does he reconcile this contrary belief? —

" Then live, MacdufT: What need I fear of thee?
But yet 1 '11 make assurance double sure.
And take a bond of fate : thou s-'ialt not live
That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies,
And sleep in spite of thunder."

* Mrs. Jameson.

MACBETH.

And then comes the other prophecy of safety : —

" Macbeth shall never vanquisli'd he, until
Great BLrnam wood to high Dunsinane hill
Shall come against him."

Does it produc3 tranquillity ? All beyond is desperation : —

" Macb. Saw you the weird sisters ?

Len. No, my lord.

Macb. Came they not by you ?

Len. No, indeed, my lord,

Macb. Infected be the air whereon they ride ;
And damn'd all those that trust them !— I did hear
The galloping of horse : Who was 't came by?

Len. 'T is two or three, my lord, that bring you word,
Macduff'is fled to England.

Macb. Fled to England ?

Len. Ay, my good lord.

Macb. Time, thou anticipat 'st my dread exploits :
The flighty purpose never is o'ettook,
Unless the deed go with it : From this moment. •
The very firstlings of my heart shall be

The firstlings of my hand. And even now, •

To crown my thought:; with acts, be it thought and done •
The castle of Macdufl' I will surprise ;
Seize upon Fife ; give to the edge o' the sword
His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls
That trace him in his line."

The retribution which falls upon Lady Macbeth is precisely that which is fitted to her guilt. The
powerful will is subjected to the domination of her own imperfect senses. We cannot dwell upon her
teiTible punishment. There can be nothing beyond the agony of

" Here's the smell of the blood still : all the
perfumes of Arabia wiU not sweeten this little
hand."

The Tengeance falls more gently on Macbeth ; for he is in activity ; he is stiU confident in prophetic
securities. The contemplative melancholy which, however, occasionally comes over him in the last
struggle is still true to the poetry of his character : —

" Seyton ! — I am sick at heart,
■WTien I behold— Seyton, I say !— This push
Will cheer me ever, or dis-seat me now.
I have liv'd long enough : my way of life
Is fallen into the sear, the yellow leaf:
And that which should accompany old age,
.\s honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,
I must not look to have ; but, in their stead.
Curses not loud, but deep, mouth-honour, breath.
Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not."

This passage, and the subsequent one of

" To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time i
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death," —

tell us of something higher and better in his character than the assassin and the usurper He was
the victim of " the equivocation of the fiend ;" and he has paid a fearful penalty for his belfef. The
final avenging is a compassionate one, for he dies a warrior's death : —

F 2 . ^^

;

SUrPLEMENTARV NOTICE.

' I will not yield,
To kiss tbe ground before young Malcolm's feet,
And to be baited with the rabble's curse.
Though Bimam wood be come to Uunsinanc,
And thou oppos'd, being of no woman boni.
Yet I will try the last : Before my body
I throw my warlike shield."

The princii'le which we have thus so imperfectly attempted to exhibit, aa the leading characteristic
of this glorious tragedy, is, without doubt, that which constitutes the essential difference between
a work of the highest genius and a work of mediocrity. Without jjoiccr— by which we here especially
mean the ability to produce strong excitement by the display of scenes of horror— no poet of the
highest order was ever made ; but this alone does not make such a poet. If he is called upon to
present such scenes, they must, even in their most striking forms, be associated with the beautiful.
The pre eminence of his art in this particular can jdone prevent them affecting the imagination beyond
the limits of pleasurable emotion. To keep within these limits, and yet to preserve all the energy
which results from the power of dealing with the terrible apart from the beautiful, belongs to few
chat the world has seen : to Shak.?pere it belongs surpassingly.

-^^:^?i:^^mii

-I'

1 ;7- A-"^-<^-"-Vf a

n'l;

'plf

'• ii

]

[Chaucer.j

INTRODUCTORY NOTICE.

State of the Text, and Chronology, of Teoilus and Cressida.

The original quarto edition of Troilus and Cressida, printed in 1C09, bears the following title :—' The
famous Historie of Troylus and Cresseid. Excellently expressing the Beginning of their Loues, with
the Conceited Wooing of Pandarus Prince of Licia. Written by William Shakespeare. London,
Imprinted by G. Eld, for R. Bonian and H. Walley, and are to be sold at the Spred Eagle in Paules
Churchyeard, ouer against the great North Doore, 1609.' In the same year a second edition was put
forth by the same publishers, in the title-page of which appears, " As it was acted by the King's
Majesty's Servants at the Globe." There was a preface to the first edition, which is omitted in the
second, in which are these words : — " You have here a new play, never staled with the stage." AVe
shall have occasion more fully to notice this preface. No other edition of the play was published
until it appeared in the folio collection of 1623. Its position in this collection has given rise to a
singular hypothesis. Steevens says, " Perhaps the drama before us was not entirely of his
(Shakspere's) construction. It appears to have been unknown to his associates, Hemings and Condell,
tUl after the first folio was almost printed off." If the play had been uiiknoum to Hemings and
Condell, the notion that, for this reason, it might not be entirely of Shakspere's construction, would
be a most illogical inference. But how is it shown that the play was unknown, to Shakspere's
associates ? Farmer tells us, " It was at first either vmhnmim or forgotten. It does not, however,
appear in the list of the plays, and is thrust in between the Histories and the Tragedies, without any
enumeration of the pages ; except, I think on one leaf only." If these critics had carried their

IXTRODUCTORY NOTICE.

inquiries one step farther, they would have found that Troilus and Cressida was neither unknown nor
forgotten by the editors of the first folio. It is more probable that they were only doubtful how to
cliissify it. In the first quarto edition it is called a famous i/w^').-?/, in the title-page; but in the
preface it is repeatedly mentioned as a Covicdy. In the folio edition it boars the title of ' The
Tragcdie of Troylus and Cressida.' In that edition the Tragedies begin with Coriolanus ; and the
paging goes on regularly from 1 to 7C, that last page bringing us within a hundred lines of the close of
Romeo and Juliet. We then skip pages 77 and 78, Ilomeo and Juliet concluding with 79. Now the
leaf of Troilus and Cressida on which Farmer observed an enumeration of pages includes the second
and third pages of the play, and those are marked 79, 80. If the last page of Romeo and Juliet had
been marked 77, as it ought to have been, and the first page of Troilus and Cressida 78, we should
have seen at once that this Tragedy was intended by the editors to follow Romeo and Juliet. But
they found, or they were infoi-med, that this extraordinary drama was neither a Comedy, nor a
Ilistor}-, nor a Tragedy ; and they therefore placed it between the Histories and the Tragedies, leaving
to the reader to make his own classification. This is one solution of the matter which we have to
offer ; and it is a bettor one, we think, than the theorj' that so remarkable a production of Shakspere's
later years should be unknown or forgotten by his " fellows." But there is another view of the
matter, to be presently noticed, which involves a curious point in literary history.
The first quarto edition of 1609 contains the following very extraordinaiy preface : —

" A never writer to an ever reader.
" News.
" Eternal reader, you have hero a new play, never staled with the stage, never clapper-clawed with the
palms of the vulgar, and yet passing full of the palm comical ; for it is a birth of your brain, that never
imdertook anj-thing comical vainly : and were but the vain names of comedies changed for the titles of
commodities, or of plays for pleas, you should see all those grand censors, that now style them such
vanities, flock to them for the main grace of their gravities ; especially this author's comedies, that are so
framed to the life, that they serve for the most common commentaries of all the actions of our lives, show-
ing such a dexterity and power of wit, that the most displeased with plays are pleased with his comedies.
And all such dull and heavy-wittcd worldlings as were never capable of the wit of a comedy, coming by
report of them to his representations, have found that wit there that they never found in themselves, and
have parted better witted than they came ; feeling an edge of wit set upon them more than ever they
dreamed they had brain to grind it on. So much and such favoured salt of wit is in his comedies, that they
seem (for their height of pleasure) to be bom in that sea that brought forth Venus. Amongst all there is
none more witty than this : and had I time I would comment upon it, though I know it needs not (for so
much as will make you think your testern well bestowed), but for so much worth as even poor I know to
be stuffed in it. It deserves such a labour, as well as the best comedy in Terence or Plautus. And believe
this, that when he is gone, and his comedies out of sale, you will scramble for them, and set up a new Eng-
lish Inquisition. Take this for a warning, and at the peril of your pleasures' loss and judgments, refuse not,
nor like this the less for not being sullied with the smoky breath of the multitude ; but thank Fortune for
the scape it hath made amongst you, since by the grand possessora' wills I believe you should have prayed
for them rather than been prayed. And so I leave all such to be prayed for (for the states of their wit's
healths) that will not praise it. Vale."

In 1609, then, the reader is told, "You have here a new play, never staled with the stage, never
clapper-clawed with the palms of the vulgar ;" and he is farther exhorted — " refuse not, nor like this
the less for not being sullied with the smoky breath of the multitude." The reader is also invited to
spend a sixpence upon this play : — " Had I time I would comment upon it, though I know it needs
not, for so much as will make you think your testern well bestowed." Never was one of Shakspere's
plays set forth during his life with such commendation as here abounds. His Comedies " are so
framed to the life, that they serve for the most common commentaries of all the actions of our lives."
The passage towards the conclusion is the most remarkable : — " Thank Fortune for the scape it hath
made amongst you, since by the grand possessors' wills I believe you should have prayed for them
rather than been prayed." We have here, then, first, a most distinct assertion that, in 1609, Troilus
and Cressida was a new play, never staled with the stage. This, one might think, would bo decisive
SM to the chronology of this play ; but in the Stationers' books is the following entry : — " Feb. 7,
1602. Mr. Roberts. The booke of Troilus and Crcsseda, as yt is acted by my Lo. Chambcrlen's
men." Malone assumes that the Troilus and Cressida thus acted by the Lord Chamberlain's men
72

TEOILUS AND CHESSID^V.

(the players at the Globe during the reign of Elizabeth) was the same as that published in 1609.
Yet there were other authors at work upon the subject besides Shakspere. In Henslowe's manuscripts
there are several entries of moneys lent, in 1599, to Dekker and Chettle, in earnest of a book
called Troilus and Cressida. This play, thus bargained for by Henslowe, appears to have been
subsequently called Agamemnon. The probability is, that the rival company at the Globe had, about
the same period, brought oxit their own Troilus and Cressida ; and that this is the play referred to
in the entry by Roberts in 1602 ; for if that entry had applied to the Troilus and Cressida of Shak-
spere, first published in 1609, how are we to account for the subsequent entry in the same registers
made previously to the publication of that edition? "Jan. 28, 1608. Richard Bonian and Hen.
Walley. A booke called the History of Troylus and Cressuda." According to Malone's theory,
the copyright in 1602 was in Roberts; but in 1608 a new entry claims it for Bonian and Walley.
In that case there must have been an assignment from Roberts to Bonian and Walley. Roberts
was a printer. His name appears as printer to the second edition of A Midsummer Night's Dream,
to the second edition of The Merchant of Venice, and to two editions of Hamlet ; but nowhere as a
publisher. Altogether the evidence of the date of the play, derived from the entry of 1602, appears
to us worth very little. Malone most gratuitously assumes that the statement in the preface to the
edition of 1609, that it was a new play never staled by the stage, was altogether false : " Mr. Pope,
in his ' Table of Editions of Shakspeare's Plays,' having mentioned one of Troilus and Cressida in
1609, subjoined a notice of a second copy — 'as acted by the King's Majesty's Servants at the
Globe ; ' not thinking it necessary to repeat the year. But in fact both these copies are one and
the same edition. The truth is, that in that edition, where no mention is made of the theatre in
which the play was represented, we find a preface, in which, to give an additional value to the
piece, the booksellers assert that it never had been acted. That being found a notorious falsehood,
they afterwards suppressed the preface, and printed a new title-page, in which it is stated to have
been acted at the Globe Theatre by his Majesty's Servants. The date of this, as of the other title-
page, is 1609."* According to this theory, a preface is written which sets out with a lie, known
to be such by every person who buys the book ; and then, because the lie is found out, a new title-
page is printed, acknowledging the truth that the play hnd been acted, and the lying preface is
withdrawn. Is not all this the most forced interpretation of two very simple facts, which are
perfectly consistent with each other ? Troilus and Cressida was a new play, and it had not been
publicly acted, when the original edition appeared. The editor does not state this to give an
" additional value to the piece," for he evidently thinks that the circumstance may be injurious to
the sale of the book : " Refuse not, nor like this the less for not being sullied with the smoky
breath of the multitude." After the piece has thus been published, it is publicly acted ; and then
the preface which states that it has not been acted is naturally suppressed, in a new edition of
which the title-page bears the additional recommendation of, " As it was acted by the filing's
Majesty's Servants at the Globe."

And here arises the question, whether the expressions, "never staled with the stage," — "never
clapper-clawed with the palms of the vulgar," — " not sullied with the smoky breath of the multitude,"
mean that the play had not been acted at all, or that it had not been acted on the public stage.
There is a good deal of probability in the conjecture of Tieck upon this subject : —

"In the palace of some great personage, for whom it was probably expressly written, it was first repre-
sented, — according to my belief for the King himself, who, weak as he was, contemptible as he sometimes
showed himself, and pedantic as his wisdom and shortsighted as his politics were, yet must have had a
certain fine sense of poetry, wit, and talent, beyond what his historians have ascribed to him. But whether
the King, or some one else of whom we have not received the name, it is sufficient to know that for this
person, and not for the public, Shakspere wrote this wonderful comedy."

We have already noticed the remarkable passage in the conclusion of the preface of 1609 in the
Introductory Notice to Henry V. We there stated that the copy of Troilus and Cressida was
acknowledged by the editor to have been obtained by some artifice ; that we learn that the copy
had an escape from some powerful possessors ; and that those possessors were probably the proprietors
of the Globe Theatre. But another view of this matter may be taken without any glaring inconsistency

* Note in Malone's edition of Dryden's Prose Works, vol. i., part ii., p. 261.

INTRODUCTORY NOTICE.

The proprietors of tlie Globe Theatre were clearly hostile to the publication of Shakspere's later plays ;
and, in fact, with the exception of Lear, and Troilus and Creseida, no play was published between
1603 and Sliakspere's death. Now, in the title-page of the original Lear, published in 1608, there is
the following minute particularity : — "As it was played before the King's Majesty at Whitehall upon
St. Stephen's liight in Christmas holidays, by his Majesty's Sei-vants playing usually at the Globe, on
the Bank's side." From this statement it appears to us highly probable that in the instances both of
Lear, and Troilus and Cressida, the pLiys were performed, for the first time, before the King ; that
the copies so used were out of the control of the players who represented these dramas ; and that
oome one, authorized or not, printed each play from the copy used on these occasions. Let us look
again at the passage in the preface to Troilus and Cressida under this impression ; — " Thank Fortune
for the scape it hath made amongst you, since by the grand possessors' wills I believe you should have
prayed for them rather than been prayed." There is an obscurity in this passage which we cannot
attempt to clear up if we receive " the grand possessors " as the proprietors of the Globe Theatre.
But suppose the grand possessors to be, as Tieck has conjectured, some great personage, probably the
King himself, for whom the play was expressly written, and a great deal of the obscurity of the
preface vanishes. By the grand possessors' wills you should have prayed for them (as subjects
publicly pray for their rulers) rather than been prayed (as you are by players who solicit your
indulgence in prologues and epilogues).

We have bestowed more attention upon this inquiry than it may appear at first intrinsically
to deserve ; but it must be borne in mind that the original quarto edition, upon the credibility of
which these questions have been raised, is not, like several of the early quartos, a mutilated and
imperfect copy. From whatever secondary source it proceeded, there can be no doubt that it was
printed from the genuine copy of the great poet. The slight variations between the text of the
quarto and of the folio, which we have indicated in our foot-notes, sufficiently show that the
original was most accurately printed. The alterations of the folio are not corrections of errora in
the original ; but, for the most part, slight changes of expression. We have no doubt that each text
was printed from a different but a genuine copy. The consideration of the genuineness of the
original edition brings us back to the point from which we started. Troilus and Cressida might, as
we have shown, have been placed between the Histories and Tragedies of the foUo collection, on
accoimt of the difficulty of classification. But suppose another probable case. The proprietors of
this first-collected edition of Shakspere's works entered upon the Stationei-s' registers, in 1623, a
claim to the copyright of sixteen plays, " not formerly entered to other men." The proprietoi-s of
that edition were four booksellers, in whom, for the most part, the copyright of the original
quartos had merged by assignment. But it is not difficult to imagine that Bonian and Walley, or
their representatives, the possessors of the copy of this single play, might have refused to come to
terms with the proprietors of the folio, and that the printing of this play was necessarily suspended
till the final settlement of the matter in dispute. In the mean time the printing of the volume had
gone on to its completion ; and Troilus and Cressida was finally inserted, out of its order, but having
two pages numbered which show where it was intended to have been placed.

TROILL'S AOT) CKESSIDA.

Supposed Source of the Plot.

■ "The original story," says Dryden, "was ^vTitten by one Lollius, a Lombard, in Latin verse, and
translated by Chaucer into English; intended, I suppose, a satire on the inconstancy of women. I
find nothing of it among the ancients, not so much as the name Cressida once mentioned. Shak-
speare (as I hinted), in the apprenticeship of his writing, modelled it into that play which is now
called by the name of Troilus and Cressida." "We shall have occasion to revert to Drydcn's opinion
of this play, and to his transmutation of it into what he considered his own fine gold. Chaucer
himself speaks of " Myne Auctor Lollius;" and in his address to the Muse, in the beginning of
the second book, he says, —

" To every lover I me excuse
That of no sentiment 1 this endite,
But out of Latin in my tongue it \\rite."

Without entering into the question who Lollius was, or believing more than that "Lollius, if a
writer of that name existed at all, was a somewhat somewhere,"* we at once receive the 'Troilus
and Creseide ' of Chaucer as the foundation of Shakspere's play. Of his perfect acquaintance with
that poem there can be no doubt. Chaucer, of all English writers, was the one who would have
the gi-eatest charm for Shakspere. The Rape of Lucrece is written precisely in the same versifica-
tion as Chaucer's 'Troilus and Creseide.' When Lorenzo, in The Merchant of Venice, exclaims, —

" In such anight,
Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan vrall,
And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents
Where Cressid lay that night," —

we may be sure that Shakspere had in his mind the following passages of Chaucer : —

" Upon the wallas fast eke would he walk,
. And on the Greekes host he would ysee,

And to himself right thus he would ytalk :
' Lo ! yonder is mine owne lady free,
Or elles yonder there the tentes be,
And thence cometh this air that is so sote,
That in my soul I feel it doth me bote.'
« « * * *

The day go'th fast, and after that came eve,
And yet came not to Troilus Creseid :
He looketh forth by hedge, by tree, by grove.
And far his head over the wall he laid."

Mr, Godwin has justly observed that the Shaksperian commentators have done injustice to Chaucer
in not more distinctly associating his poem with this remarkable play : —

" It would be extremely unjust to quit the consideration of Chaucer's poem of ' Troilus and Creseide'
without noticing the Idgh honour it lias received in having been made the foundation of one of tlie plays
of Shakespear. There seems to have been in this respect a sort of conspiracy in the commentators upon
Shakespear ag.unst the glory of oiu- old English bard. In what they have written concerning this play,
they make a very slight mention of Chaucer ; they have not consulted his poem for the purpose of illus-
trating this admirable drama ; and they have agreed, as far as possible, to transfer to another author
the honom- of having supplied materials to the tragic artist. Dr. Johnson says, ' Shakespeare has in his

Coleridge. ' Literary Remains,' vol. ii., p. 130.

IXXrvODUCTORY NOTICE.

Btorj' followed, for the greater part, the old book of Caxton, which was then very popular ; but the cha-
racter of Thcrsite3, of which it makes no mention, is a proof that this i>lay was written after Chapman
had published his version of Homer.' Mr. Steevcns asserts that 'Shakspe.iro received the greatest part
of his materials for the structure of this play from the Troyo Boko of Lydgate.' And Mr. Malono
rcjieatedly treats the 'History of the Destruction of Troy, translated by Caxton,' as ' Shakspearo'a
authority ' in the composition of this drama. • * » • The fact is, that the play of Shakespear we are
here considering has for its main foundation the poem of Chaucer, and is indebted for many accessorj'
heljis to the books mentioned by the commentators. ««••••••*

" We are not, however, left to probability and conjecture as to the use made by Shakespear of the poem
of Chaucer. His other sources were Chapman's translation of Homer, the ' Troy Book ' of Lydgate, and
Caxton's ' History of the Destruction of Troy.' It is well known that there is no trace of the particulai
story of 'Troilus and Creseidc' among the ancients. It occurs, indeed, in Lydgate and Caxton ; but the
n.-uno and actions of Pandarus, a very essential personage in the tale as related by Shakespear and Chaucer,
are entirely wanting, except a single mention of him by Lydgate, and that with an express reference to
Chaucer as his authority. Shakespear has taken the story of Chaiicer with all its imperfections and deftects,
and has copied the series of its incidents with his customary fidelitj ; an exactness seldom to be found in
any other dramatic writer."*

Although the main incidents in the adventures of the Greek lover and his faithless mistress are
followed with little deviation, yet, independent of the wonderful difference in the characterization,
the whole story under the treatment of Shakspere becomes thoroughly original. In no play does
he appear to us to have a more complete mastery over his materials, or to mould them into more
plastic shapes by the force of his most surpassing imagination. The gieat Homeric poem, the
rude romance of the destruction of Troy, the beautiful elaboration of that romance by Chaucer, are
all subjected to his wondrous alchemy ; and new forms and combinations are called forth so lifelike,
that all the representations which have preceded them look cold and rigid statues, not warm and
breathing men and women. Coleridge's theory of the principle upon which this was effected is, we
have no doubt, essentially true :^

*' I am half inclined to believe that Shukspeare's mam object (or shall I rather say his ruling impulse ?)
was to translate the poetic heroes of Paganism into the not less rude, but more intellectually vigorous, and
more featurdy, warriors of Christian chivalry, and to substantiate the distinct and graceful profiles or
outlines of the Homeric epic into the flesh and blood of the romantic drama, — in short, to give a gi-and
history-piece in the robust style of Albert Durer."t

Without attempting to exhibit all the materials which Shakspere has thus made his ovra, we shall,
in the Illustrations to each act, give some passages from Chaucer's poem, Chapman's ' Homer,'
Caxton's ' Destruction of Troy,' and Lydgate's ' Troy Book,' in which the reader may trace the re-
semblances which, however obvious or minute, equally manifest the same power in the dramatic
poet of fashioning a perfect whole out of th.e most incongruous p.arts.

• I/ife of Chaucer,' vol. i. (4to.). p. SIS

♦ ' I.iterar>' Remains,' vol. ii., p. 1S3

TROILUS AND CEESSIDA

Costume.

In our notice of the costume for the Midsummer Night's Dream we have given a description
of the dress and arms of the Greeks during the heroical ages, illustrated by engravings from the
frieze of the Parthenon. To the information there collected may be added on the present occasion
that afforded to us by the Iliad of Homer, and the vases and statues possessed or described by the
late Mr. Hope. According to the latter authorities, the Trojans and other Phrygians appear to have
worn the tunic with sleeves to the wrist, the tight trousers or pantaloons, and the cap with the
point bending forwards, in the form of which their helmets were made. In war the tunic of mail

[A Trojan ]

[Phrygian Helmets.]

composed of rings sewn flat upon leather or cloth, like those of the Anglo-Saxons and Normans of
the 11th century, would seem to have distinguished them in general from the Greeks, who wore
the cuirass and the greaves. Homer, however, by his descriptions of the armour of the Trojan
heroes, would induce us to believe that it did not always so essentially differ from that of the Greeks.
He describes Paris, when arming for the combat with Menelaus, as putting on greaves,* fastened
with silver buttons, a thorax, or breast-plate, and a helmet with a horse-hair ci-est.+ On an old
Sicilian vase too, in the Hope collection, Eneas is represented in complete Grecian armour.J Again,
we gather from the vases that the Phrygian shield, like that of the Amazons, was the Pelta, or
small semi-lunar shield, and their favourite weapon the bi-pennis, or double axe. Yet Homer
does not make this distinction, but arms the Trojans with the large orbicular shield of the Greeks,
the two spears, the sword, &c. He also describes the warriors of both armies as wearing occasionally
the skins of beasts over their armour. Is it that some of the poets and painters of Greece, like
all those of the middle ages, represented persons of every nation and period in the costume of
the country and time in which they themselves wrote or painted ; or was there really little or
no difference between the Greeks and Trojans when armed for battle ? § In the latter case, are we
to look upon the interesting figures of Paris and other Phrygians represented on the ancient vases,
&c., as things of no authority? These are questions the discussion of which would require much
more time and space than can be afforded to us in the present instance, and we must content our-
selves with submitting to our readers the engravings from the antique which are scattered through-
out this play, with the avowal that we lean, as in duty bound, to the pictorial side, and consider
that there was that remarkable difference between the Grecian armour and that of the Trojans
which may be observed in the specimens given. The Phrygians are represented in shoes, the
Greeks in sandals, or with naked feet, when wearing the greaves.

* Ridiculously rendered by Pope as "pHrp^e catiA^i."

+ Phrygian helmets, with crests, both of horse-hair and metal, in imitation of the Greek, appear in Hope's collection,
and so far bear out the poet's description.

1 Mr. Hope, however, does not give us his authority for so designating the figure, which in the edition of 1S06 is termed
" a Greek warrior."

§ Then wherefore " the weli-greaved Greeks? " Does not that designation imply a peculiarity distinguishing them from
thsir Asiatic or other opponents ?

INTRODUCTORY NOTICE.

TLe arms of Achilles, worn by Patroclu?, arc said by Homer to have been of brass ornamented
with gold. Those made for Achilles, by Vulcan, were of various metals, — the greaves of tin, the
corslet of gold, the sword of brass, the helmet with a fourfold crest of gilded horse-hair, the
shield of the most elaborate workmanship. The arms of Diomed were all brass; those of Ajax
steel. Agamemnon's cuirass w.-v? composed of steel, tin, and gold, and ornamented with dragons.
The hilt of his sword was gold, the sheath silver. His buckler was defended by ten circles and
twenty bosses of brass, and in the centre had a Gorgon's head. The helmet was surmounted by a
fuur fold crest of horse-hair.

[Homer.]

PERSONS REPRESENTED

his sons.

Grecian commanders.

Priam, King of Troy.

Hector,

Troiltjs,

Paris,

Deiphobus,

Helenus,

' f Trojan commanders.

Antenor, •'

Calch AS, a Trojan priest taJiingparl uiih ^/isGreeks

Pandarus, uncle to Cressida.

Margarelon, a bastard son of Priam

Agamemnon, the Grecian general.

Menelaus, his brother.

AcaiLLES,

Ajas,

Ulysses,
Nestor,

DlOMEDES,

Patrocltjs,

Thersites, a deformed and scurrilnus Grecicn.

Alexander, servant to Cressida.

Servant to Troilus.

Servant to Paris.

Servant to Diomedes

Helen, wife to Menelaus.
Andhomaciie, wife to Hector.
Cassandra, daughter to Priam; a prophetess.
Cressida, daughter to Calchas.

Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants

SCENE,— Troy, and the Grecian Camp
before it.

[" To Tenedos they come.^J

PROLOGUE.

la Troj there lies the sceue. Fiom isles of

Greece
The princes orgulous," their high blood chaf 'd.
Have to the port of Athens sent their ships,
Fraught with the ministers and instruments
Of cmel war : Sixty and nine that wore
Their crownets regal, from the Athenian bay
Put forth toward Phrygia : and their vow is made
To ransack Troy, ^vithin whose strong immures
The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen,
AVith wanton Paris sleeps, — and that's the

quarrel.
To Tenedos they come ;
And the deep-drawing barks do there disgoi'ge
Their warlike fraughtage : Now on Dardan

plains
The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch
Their brave pavilions : Priam's six-gated city,
Dardan, and Tymbria, Ilias, Chetas, Trojan,
And Antenorides,^ with massy staples.

* Orgulom — proud — the French orgeuilleux. Lord Bemers,
in liis translation of Froissart, several times uses the word:
as, "The Flemings were great, fierce, and orgulout."

y> The names of the gates thus stand in the folio of 1G23: —

" Dard;iii and Tinibria, Helias, Chetas, Troicn,
And Anlcnonidui."

There can be little doubt that Shakspere had before him
Caxton's translation of the ' Ilccuyel of the Ilistoryes of
Troy,' and there the names of the gates are thus pivcn: "In
this cittie were sixa principall gates : of which the one was
named Dardane, the second Tymbria, the thyrd llelias, the
fourth, Chetas, the fifth Troyan, and the sixt Anicnorides."
But he was also familiar witli the ' Troy Boke ' of Lydpate,
in which the six gates are described as Dardanydes, Tym-
bria, Ilelyas, Cetheas, Trojana, Anthonydcs. It is diflicult

And corresponsive and fulfilling * bolts,
Sperr up ^ the sons of Troy.
Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits.
On one and other side, Trojan and Greek,
Sets aU on hazard : — And hither am I come
A prologue arm'd," — but not in confidence
Of author's pen, or actor's voice ; but suited
In like conditions as our argument, —
To teU you, fair beholders, that our play
Leaps o'er the vaxmt^ and firstlings of those broils,
Beginning in the middle ; starting thence away
To what may be digested in a play.
Like, or find fault ; do as your pleasures are ;
Now good, or bad, 't is but the chance of war.

to say whether Shakspere meant to take the Anlenorides of
Caxton, or the Anthonyiles of Lydgate; or whether, the
names l)ei!ig pure inventions of the middle age of romance-
writers, he deviated from both. As it is, we have retained
the Antenorides of the modern editors.

a Fulfilling. The \ex\i fulfil is here used in the original
sense ot fill full.

*> Sperr up. The original has stirre up, which Tieck con-
siders preferable to Theobald's substitution of sperr up.
Desirous as we are to hold to the original, wc cannot a;;rce
with Tieck. The relative positions of each force are con-
trasted. The Greeks pitrh their pavilions on Dardan plains;
the Trojans are shut up in their six-gated city. The com-
mentators give us examples of the use of .t/xrr, in the sense
of to fasten, by Spenser and earlier writers. They have
overlooked a passage in Chaucer's ' Troilus and Crcssida'
(book v.), which Shakspere must have had before him in
the composition of his play: —

" For when he saw her dor6s iperred all.
Wcl ni(;h for sorrow adoun he gan to fall."

c Arm'd. Johnson has pointed out that the prologue
was spoken by one of the characters in armour. "This was
noticed, because in general the speaker of tlie Prologue
wore a black cloak. (See Collier's 'Annals of the Stage,'
(vol. iii , p. 412.)

d Vaunt — the van.

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[SCEKE III. Before Agamemnon's Tent ]

ACT I.

SCENE I.— Troy. Before Pnara'5 Palace.

Enter Tkoilus armed, and Pakdakus.

Tro. Call here my varlet,*^ I '11 unarm again :
Why sliould I war without the walls of Troy,
That find such cruel battle here within ?
Each Trojan that is master of his heart,
Let him to field ; Troilus, alas ! hath none.
Pan. Will this gear ne'er be mended ?
Tro. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to
their strength,
Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness

valiant ;
But I am weaker than a woman's tear,
Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance,

" Varlet-a. servant. Tooke considers that varlet and
valet are the same; and ihat, as well as harlr.t, they mean
hireling.

Tragedies —Vol, II. G

Less valiant than the virgin in the night,
And skni-less as unpractis'd infancy.

Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this :
for my part I '11 not meddle nor make no fartlier.
He that will have a cake out of the wheat must
needs '^ tarry the grinding.

Tro. Have I not tarried ?

Pan. Ay, the grinding : but you must tarry the
bolting.

Tro. Have I not tarried ?

Pan. Ay, the bolting : but you must tarry the
leavening.

Tro. Still have I tamed.

Pan. Ay, to the leavening : but here's yet m
the word hereafter, the kneading, the making of

a Needs is not found in the quarto, and is consequently
omitted in all modern editions.

ACT I.]

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

[SCEME I.

the cake, the heating of the oven, and the baking :
nay, you must stay tlie cooling too, or you may
chance to burn your lips.

Tro. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she

be,
Doth lesser blench at sufferance than I do.
At Priam's royal table do I sit ;
And when f;ur Cressid comes into my thoughts, —
So, traitor ! when she comes ! — \\'heu is she

thence ? '
Pan. Well, slie looked yesternight fairer than
ever I saw her look, or any woman else.

Tro. I was about to tell thee,— When my

heart.
As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain;
Lest Hector or my father should perceire me,
I have (as when the sun doth light a storm)
Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile :
But sorrow that is couch'd in seeming gladness
Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness.

Pan. An her hair were not somewhat darker
than Ilelen's, (well, go to,) there were no more
comparison between the women. — But, for my
part, she is my kinswoman ; I would not, as
they term it, praise her, — But I would some-
body had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I
will not dispraise your sister Cassandra's wit ;
but—

Tro. O, Pandarus ! I tell thee, Pandarus, —
When I do tell thee, there my hopes He drown'd.
Reply not in how many fathoms deep
They lie indrench'd. I teU thee, I am mad
In Cressid's love : Thou answer'st, she is fair ;
Pour'st in the open ulcer of my heart
Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her

voice ;
Handiest in thv discourse, 0, that her hand,
In whose comparison all whites are ink.
Writing their own reproach ; ^ to whose soft

seizure
The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense "^
Hard as the palm of ploughman; — this thou

tell'st me.
As true thou tell'st me, when I say I love her ;
But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm.
Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me
The knife that made it.

• This line a? it stands is an inf;enious and tasteful cor-
rection by Rowe The line in both the originals appears
thus:—

" So (traitor) then she conies when she is thence."

b We do not receive this passage as an interjection be-
ginning " O ! that her hand ;" for what does Troilus desire?
— the wish is incomplete. The meaning we conceive to be
rather,— in thy discourse thou handiest that hand of hers,
ill whose comparison, &c.

c Johnson explains tpirit of tensi as the most exquisite
sensibility of touch.
82

Pan. I speak no more than truth.

Tro. Thou dost not speak so much.

Pan. 'Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her
be as she is : if she be fair 't is the better for
her; an she be not slie has the mends in her
own hands.

Tro. Good Pandarus ! How now, Pandarus ?

Pan. I have had my labour for my travail;
Hi-thought on of her, and ill-thought ou of you :
gone between and between, but small thanks for
my labour.

Tro. What, art thou angry, Pandarus ? what,
with me ?

Pan. Because she is kin to me, therefore she 's
not so fair as Helen : an she were not kin to me,
she would be a.s fair on Friday as Helen is on
Sunday. But what care I ? I care not an she
were a black-a-moor ; 't is all one to me.

Tro. Say I she is not fair ?

Pan. I do not care whether you do or no.
She 's a fool to stay behind her father ; let her
to the Greeks ; and so I '11 tell her the next time
I see her : for my part, I '11 meddle nor make no
more in the matter.

Tro. Pandarus, —

Pan. Not I.

Tro. Sweet Pandarus, —

Pan. Pray you, speak no more to me ; I will
leave all as I found it, and there an end.

lE.rit Pakdartjs. Jn alarvm.

Tro. Peaoe, you ungracious clamours ! peace,
rude sounds !
Fools on both sides ! Helen must needs be fair.
When with your blood you daily paint her thus.
I cannot fight upon this argument ;
It is too starv'd a subject for my sword.
But Pandarus — gods, how do you plague me !
I cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar ;
And he 's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo.
As she is stubborn-chaste, against all suit.
Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love.
What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we ?
Her bed is India ; there she lies, a pearl :
Between our Ilium and where she resides.
Let it be call'd the vrild and wandering flood ;
Ourself, tlie merchant ; and this sailing Pandar,
Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our baik.

Alarum. Enter JEneas.

J^ne. How now, prince Troilus? wherefore

not afield ?
Tro. Because not there : This woman's answer
sorts.
For womanish it is to be from thence.
What news, iEneas, from the field to-day r

Act I.l

TROILUS AND CEESSIDA.

[Scene II.

^ne. That Paris is retiirued home, and hui-t.
Tro. By M'hom, ^Eneas ?
/Sne. Troilus, by Meuelaus.

Tro. Let Paris bleed : 't is but a scar to scorn;
Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' hoi-n. [Alanrm.
JH/ie. Hark ! wliat good sport is out of to^vn

to-day !
Tro. Better at home, if 'would I micyht'
were 'may.' —
But to the sport abroad: — Ai-e you bound
thither ?
jEiie. In all swift haste.
Tro. Come, go we then together.

{Exe2int.

SCENE II.— The same. A Street.

Enter Cresslda and Alexander.

Cres. Who were those went by ?

Ale.T. Queen Hecuba, and Helen.

Cres. And whither go they ?

Ale.r. Up to the eastern towei',

"Wliose height commands as subject all the

vale.
To see the battle. Hector, whose patience
Is, as a virtue, fix'd, to-day was raov'd :
He chid Andi-omache, and struck his armoiu-er ;
And, like as there were husbandry in war.
Before the sun rose he was harness'd light.
And to the field goes he ; where every flower
Did, as a prophet, weep what it foresaw
In Hector's wrath.

Cres.

Wliat was his cause of an£cer ?

Alex. The noise goes, this : There is among
the Greeks
A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector ;
They call him Ajax.

Cres. Good ; and what of him ?

Ale.x. They say he is a very man per se.
And stands alone.

Cres. So do all men ; unless they are drunk,
sick, or have no legs.

Alex. This man, lady, hath robbed many
beasts of their particular additions; he is as
vaHant as the Hon, churlish as the bear, slow as
the elephant : a man into whom nature hath so
crowded humours, that his valour is crushed
into foUy, his folly sauced with discretion : there
is no man hath a virtue that he hath not a
glimpse of; nor any man an attaint but he
carries some stain of it : he is mekncholy with-
out cause, and merry against the hair- : He hath
the joints of everything; but evei-y thing so out
of joint, that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands

G 2

and no use ; or purbliuded " Argus, all eyes and
no sight.

Cres. But how should this man, that makes
me smile, make Hector angry ?

Alex. They say he yesterday coped Hector in
the battle, and struck him down; the disdain
and shame whereof hafh ever since kept Hector
fasting and waking.

Enter Pandartjs.

Cres. Who comes here ?

Alex. Madam, your uncle Pandarus.

Cres. Hector 's a gallant man.

Alex. As may be in the world, lady.

Pan. What 's that ? what 's that ?

Cres. Good morrow, uncle Pandanis.

Pan. Good morrow, cousin Cressid : What do
you talk of?— Good morrow, Alexander. — How
do you, cousin ? When were you at Ilium ? '

Cres. This morning, uncle.

Pan. What were you talking of when I came ?
Was Hector armed, and gone, ere ye came to
Ilium ? Helen was not up, was she ?

Cres. Hector was gone ; but Helen was not

up-

Pan. E'en so ; Hector was stirring early.

Cres. That were we talking of, and of his
anger.

Pan. Was he angry ?

Cres. So he says here.

Pan. True, he was so ; I know the cause too ;
he 'U lay about him to-day, I can tell them that :
and there's Troilus will not come far behind
him ; let them take heed of Troilus ; I can teU
them that too.

Cres. What, is he angry too ?

Pan. Who, Troilus ? Troilus is the better
man of the two.

Ores. 0, Jupiter ! there 's no comparison.

Pan. What, not between Troilus and Hector ?
Do you know a man if you see him ?

Cres. Ay ; if I ever saw him before, and knew
him.

Pan. Well, I say Troilus is Troilus.

Cres. Then you say as I say ; for I am sui'e he
is not Hector.

Pan. No, nor Hector is not Troilus, in some
degrees.

Cres. "T is just to each of them ; he is liim-
self.

Pan. Himself ? Alas, poor Troilus ! I would
he were.

Cres. So he is.

Purblindcd in the folio— the quarto /jurft/ind.

ACT I.]

TKOILUS AND CKESSIDA.

[scESF. n.

Fan. 'Condition, I had gone barefoot to
India.

Cres. He is not Hector.

Tan. Himself? no, he 's not himself. — MVould
'a were himself ! "Well, the gods are above. Time
must friend, or end : Well, Troilus, well, — I
would my heart were in her body ! — No, Heetor
is not a belter man than Troilus.

Cres. Excuse me.

Tan. He is elder.

Cres. Pardon me, pardon me.

Tan. The other's not come to't; you shall
tell me another tale when the other's come to't.
Hector shall not have his wit ' this year.

Cres. He shall not need it, if he have his
own.

Tan. Nor his qualities ; —

Cres. No matter.

Nor his beauty.

'T would not become him,

his ovni 's

Tan.

Cres,
better.

Tan. You have no judgment, niece: Helen
herself swore the other day, that Troilus, for a
bro\vn favour, (for so 'tis, I must confess,) —
Not brown neither.

Cres. No, but brown.

Tan. Faith, to say truth, brown and not
brown.

Cres. To say the truth, true and not true.

Tan. She prais'd his complexion above Paris.

Cres. lYhy, Paris hath colour enough.

Tan. So he has.

Cres. Then Troilus should have too much : if
she praised him above, his complexion is higher
than his; he having colour enough, and the
other higher, is too llaming a praise for a good
complexion. I had as lief Helen's golden tongue
had cemmended Troilus for a copper nose.

Tan. I swear to you, 1 think Helen loves him
better than Paris.

Cres. Th?n she 's a merry Greek, indeed.

Tan. Nay, I am sure she does. She came to
him the other day into the compassed window,**
— and, you know, he has not past three or four
hairs on his chin.

Cres. Indeed, a tapster's arithmetic may soon
bring his particulars therein to a total.

Tan. Wliy, he is very young : and yet will
he, within tliree pound, lift as much as his bro-
ther Hector.

Cres. Is he so young a man, and so old a
lifter?"

» Wil. — This is Rowe's correction : both the old copies
have will.
b Cnmpattfd irinrfoir— a bow-'window.
c Lifler— thief. We still say a thopli/ter.

Tan. But, to prove to you that Helen loves
him ; — she came, and puts me her white hand
to his cloven chin, —

Cres. Juno have mercy ! — How came it
cloven ?

Ta/i. Why, you know, 't is dimpled : I think
his smiUng becomes him better than any man in
all Phrygia.

Cres. O, he smiles valiantly.

Tan. Does he not ?

Crc-i. O yes, an 'twere a cloud in autumn.

Tan. AVhy, go to then. — But to prove to you
that Helen loves Troilus, —

Cres. Troilus will stand to the proof, if you 'h
prove it so.

Tan. TroUus ? why, he esteems her no more
than I esteem an addle egg.

Cres. If you love an addle egg as well as you
love an idle head, you would eat chickens i' the
shell.

Tan. I cannot choose Ijut laugh, to think how
she tickled his chin ! — Indeed, slie has a mar-
vellous white hand, I must needs confess.

Cres. Without the rack.

Tan. And she takes upon her to spy a white
hair on his ehiu.

Cres. Alas, poor chin ! mauy a wart is richer.

Tan. But there was siicli laughing ; — Queen
Hecuba lauglied, that her eyesTan o'er.

Cres. With mill-stones.

Tan. And Cassandra laughed.

Cres. But there was more temperate fire under
the pot of her eyes : — Did her eyes nm o'er
too?

Tan. jVnd Hector laughed.

Cres. At what was all this laughing ?

Tan. iNIarry, at the white hair that Helen
spied on Troilus' chin.

Cres. An "t had been a green hair, I should
have laughed too.

Tan. They laughed not so much at the hair,
as at his pretty answer.

Cres. What was his answer ?

Tan. Quoth she, ' Here 's but two and fifty
hairs on your chin, and one of them is white.'

C/es. This is her qiiestion.

Tan. That 's true ; make no question of that.
' Two and fifty hairs,' » quoth be, ' and one white :
Tliat white hair is my father, and all the rest are
his sons.' ' Jupiter ! ' quoth she, ' which of these

» So the quarto and folio. Some modern copies read
one and fifty. "How else can the number make out Priam
anil )ll^ iiliy son> ? " says Tliroh.ild. 'Jliis is an exactness
which Priam and his chroniclers would equally have
spumed. The Margnrelon nf the romance-writers, who
makes his appearance in Act v., is one of the additions to
the old classical family. We leave the text as we find it.

Act I.]

TliOILUS AXD CEESStDxi.

[SclXK II.

hairs is Paris my husbaud ? ' * The forJied one,'
quoth he, ' pluck it out, and give it him.' But,
there was such laughing ! and Helen so blushed,
and Paris so chafed, and all the rest so laughed,
that it passed.*

Ores. So let it now ; for it has been a great
wlule going by.

Pan. Well, cousin, I told you a thiug yester-
day ; think on 't.

Cres. So I do.

Fan. I'll be sworn 'tis true; He will weep
yoc, an 't were a man born in April.

Crcs. And I'U spring up in his tears, an
't were a nettle against May.

\_A retreat sotinded.

Pan. Hark, they are coming from the field:
Shall we stand up here, and see them, as they
pass toward Ilium ? good niece, do ; sweet niece
Cressida.

Ores. At your pleasure.

Pan. Here, here, here's an excellent place;
here we may see most bravely : I 'U tell you
them all by their names, as they pass by ; but
mark Troilus above the rest.

jEneas passes over the Stage.

Cres. Speak not so loud.

Pan. That 's jEneas : Is not that a brave
man ? he 's one of the flowers of Troy, I can tell
you. But mark Troilus ; you shall see anon.

Cres. Who 's that ?

Antenor passes over.

Pan. That's Anteuor ; he has a shrewd wit, I
can tell you ; and he 's a man good enough :
he 's one o' the soundest judgment in Troy,
whosoever, and a proper man of person : — When
comes Troilus ? — I 'U show you Troilus anon ; if
he see me, you shall see him nod at me.

Cres. Wni he give you the nod ?

Pan. You shall see.

Cres. If he do, the rich shall have more.

Hector passes over.

Pan. That 's Hector,^ that, that, look you,
that : there 's a feUow ! — Go thy way. Hector !
— There 's a brave man, niece. — O brave Hector !
— Look, how he looks ! there 's a countenance !
Is 't not a brave man ?

Cres. 0, a brave man !

Pan. Is 'a not ? It does a man's heart good —
Look you what hacks are ou hia helmet ! look

» Passed— vcas excessive. So in the Merry Wives of
Windsor,—" AVhy, this passes, master Ford." Cressida
retorts in the common acceptation of the word.

you yonder, do you sec ? look you there ! there is
no jesting: there's laying en; tak't off who
will, as they say : there be hacks !
Cres. Be those with swords ?

Tavus passes over.

Pan. Swords ? anything, he cares not : an the
devil come to him, it 's all one : By god's lid,
it does one's heart good : — Yonder comes Paris,
yonder comes Paris : look ye yonder, niece. Is't
not a gallant man too, is 't not ?— Why, this is
brave now. — Who said he came hurt home to-
day ? he 's not hurt : why, this will do Helen's
heart good now. Ha ! 'would I could see
Troilus now ! — you shall see Troilus anon.

Cres. Who 's that ?

Helenus passes over.

Pan. That 's Helenus, — I marvel where Troilus
is : — That 's Helenus ; — I think he went not forth
to-day : — That 's Helenus.

Cres. Can Helenus fight, uncle ?

Pan. Helenus ? no ; — yes, he '11 fight indif-
ferent well : — I marvel where Troilus is ! —
Hark ; do you not hear the people cry, Troilus ?
— Helenus is a priest.

Cres. What sneaking fellow comes yonder ?

Troilus passes over.

Pan. Where? yonder? that's Deiphobus:
'Tis Troilus! there's a man, niece! — Hen'---
Brave Troilus ! the prince of chivahy.

Cres. Peace, for shame, peace !

Pan. Mark him ; note him ; — brave Troilus
— look well upon him, niece ; look you, how his
sword is bloodied, and his helm more hacked
than Hector's : And how he looks, and how he
goes ! — O admirable youth ! he ne'er saw three-
and-twenty. Go thy way, Troilus, go thy way ;
had I a sister were a grace, or a daughter a god-
dess, he shoiJd take his choice. O admirable
man 1 Paris ? — Paris is dii't to him ; and, I war-
rant, Helen, to change, would give money to
boot.

Forces pass over the stage.

Cres. Here come more.

Pan. Asses, fools, dolts ! chaff and bran, chaff
and bran! porridge after m.eat! I coidd live
and die i' the eyes of Troilus. jN'e'cr look, ne'er
look ; the eagles are gone ; crows and daws,
crows and daws ! I had rather be such a man as
Troilus, than Agamemnon and all Greece.

Cres. There is among the Greeks, Achilles ;
a better man tlian Troilus.

Act 1.]

TROILUS AND CllESSIDA.

[Scene III.

Pan. Acliillcs ? a drayman, a porter, a very
camel.

Cres. Well, wcU.

Pan. "Well, well ? — Why, have yovi any dis-
cretion? have you any eyes? Do you know
what a man is ? Is not birth, beauty, good
shape, discourse, nianliood, learning, gentleness,
virtue, youth, liberality, and so forth,'' the spice
and salt that season a man ?

Crcs. Ay, a minced man : and then to be
baked with no date in the pie, — for then the
man's date 's out.

Pan. You are such another "^ woman! one
knows not at what ward you lie.

Cres. Upon my back, to defend my belly ;
upon my wit, to defend my wiles ; upon my
secrecy, to defend mine honesty ; my mask, to
defend my beauty ; and you, to defend all these :
and at all these wards I lie, at a thousand
watches.

Pan. Say one of youi- watches.

Cres. Nay, I '11 watch you for that ; and that 's
cue of the chiefcst of them too ; if I cannot ward
•what I would not have hit, I can watch you for
telling how I took the blow ; unless it swell past
hiding, and then it 's past watching.

Pan. You are such another !

Enier Troelus' Boy.

Boy. Su', my lord would instantly speak with
you.

Pan. Where?

Boy. At vour own house ; [there he unarms
him.*=J

Pan. Good boy, tell him I come : [Exit Boy.
I doubt, he be hurt. — Fare ye well, good niece.

Cres. Adieu, uncle.

Pan. I '11 be with you, niece, by and by.

Cres. To bring, uncle, —

Pan. Ay, a token from Troilus.

Cres. By the same token — you are a bawd.

\_E.vii Pandakus.
Words, vows, gifts,"* tears, and love's full sacrifice.
He offers in another's enterprise :
But more in Troilus thousand-fold I sec
Than in the glass of Bandar's praise may be ;
Yet hold I olT. Women are angels, wooing :
Things won are done, joy's soul lies in the doing :
That she bclov'd knows nought that knows not

this, —
Men prize the thing ungain'd more than it is :

" Sn forth in the folio— the qiiarto, luch like.
*> AnulHi-r in the folio — the ijuarlo, a.
c The \vor(l.'i in brackets arc not in the folio,
d Ci/lt is the reading of all the old copies. GrU/$ crept
into tome of the earlier modern editions.
86

That she was never yet that ever knew
Love got so sweet, as when desire did sue :
Therefore this maxim out of love I teach, —
Achievement is command ; ungain'd, beseech :
Then though my heart's content firm love dotii

bear.
Nothing of that shall from mine eyes appear.

[ErU.

SCENE lU.—ne Grecian Camp. Before
Agamcmnon'5 2'enL

Senet. Enter Agamejinox, Nestor, Ulysses,
!Menelal'S, and others.

Agam. Princes,
What grief hath set the jaundice on your

cheeks ?
The ample proposition that hope makes
In all designs begun on earth below.
Fails in the promis'd largeness : checks and dis-
asters
Grow in the veins of actions highest rear'd ;
AlS knots, by the conflux of meeting sap,
Infect the sound pine, and divert his grain
Tortive and errant from his coiu'se of growth.
Nor, princes, is it matter new to us.
That we come short of our suppose so far.
That, after seven years' siege, yet Troy walls

stand ;
Sith every action that hath gone before,
Whereof we have record, trial did draw
Bias and thwart, not answering the aim.
And that unbodied figure of the thought
That gave 't surmised shape. "Wliy then, you

princes.
Do you with cheeks abash'd behold our works ;
And call' them sharnes, which are, indeed,

nought else
But the protraelive trials of great Jove,
To find persistivc constancy in men ?
The fineness of which metal is not found
In fortune's love : for then, the bold and coward,
The wise and fool, the artist and unread.
The hard and soft, seem all atSn'd and kin :
But, in the wind and tempest of her frown.
Distinction, with a broad '■ and powerful fan.
Puffing at all, winnows the light away ;
And what hath mass, or matter, by itself
Lies, rich in virtue, and muningled.

Isest. With due observance of thy godlike seat,
Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply
Thy latest words. In the reproof of chance

> Call is the reading of the quarto— the folio has tkink
them shame.
b Broad in the quarto — tho folio, loud.

Act I.]

TROILUS AA'D CEESSIDA.

[Scene III.

Lies the true proof of men : tlie sea being

smooth,
How many shallow bauble boats dare sail
Upon her patient breast, making their way
With those of nobler bulk !
But let the ruffian Boreas once em-age
The gentle Thetis, and, anon, behold
The strong-ribb'd bark through liquid mountains

cut,
Bouudiug between the two moist elements.
Like Perseus' horse : Where 's then the saucy

boat.
Whose weak untimber'd sides but even now
Co-rivall'd greatness ? either to harbour fled,
Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so
Doth valour's show, and valour's worth, divide.
In storms of fortune : For, in her ray and bright-
ness.
The herd hath more annoyance by the brize *
Than by the tiger ; but when the splitting wind
Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks.
And flies fled under shade, why, then, the thing

of courage.
As rous'd with rage, with rage doth sympathize.
And, with an accent tun'd in self-same key,
Returns to chiding fortune.''

Ulyss. Agamemnon, —

Thou great commander, nerve and bone of

Greece,
Heart of our numbers, soul and only spirit.
In whom the tempers and the minds of all
Should be shut up, — hear what Ulysses speaks.
Besides the applause and approbation
The which, — most mighty for thy place and

sway, — [_To Agaieeilnox.

jVnd thou most reverend for thy stretch'd-out

life,— ITo Nestok.

I give to both your speeches, — which were such
As Agamemnon and the hand of Greece
Should hold up high in brass ; and such again.
As venerable Nestor, hatch' d in silver,
Should with a bond of air, strong as the axletree
On which heaven rides, knit all the Greekish ears.'=
To his experienced tongue,— yet let it please

both,—
Thou great, — and wise,— to hear Ulysses speak.
Agam. Speak, prince of Ithaca ; and be 't of

less expect
That matter needless, of importless burden,
Divide thy lips, than we are confident,

tt Brixe— the gad-fly.

i* The original has an obvious misprint: —
"iJe/eVci to chiding fortune."
Pope suggested retvnis. Hanmer and Mr. Collier's folio
Corrector have replies, which is better, although returns
gives the meaning. Mr. Dyce suggests retorts, which might
well be adopted. « This is the reading of the auarto.

When rank Thersites opes his mastick" jaws,
We shall bear music, wit, and oracle.

Uylss, Troy, yet upon his basis, had been
down.
And the great Hector's sword had lack'd a

master.
But for these instances.
The specialty of rule hath been neglected :
And, look, how many Grecian tents do stand
Hollow upon this plain, so many hollow fac-
tions.
When that the general is not like the hive
To whom the foragers shall all repair.
What honey is expected ? Degree being vizarded.
The unworthiest shows as fairly in the mask.
The heavens themselves, the planets and this

centre,
Observe degree, priority, and place,
Insisture, coui-se, proportion, season, fonu,
OfiBce, and custom, in all line of order :
And therefore is the glorious planet, Sol,
In noble eminence enthron'd and spher'd
Amidst the other ; whose med'cinable eye
Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil.
And posts, like the commandment of a king,
Sans check, to good and bad : But when the

planets.
In evil mixture, to disorder wander.
What plagues, and what portents ! what mutiny !
What raging of the sea ! shaking of earth !
Commotion in the winds ! frights, changes, hor-
rors.
Divert and crack, rend and deracinate
The unity and married calm of states
Quite from their- fixture ! 0, when degree is

shak'd,
Which is the ladder to all high designs.
The enterprise is sick ! How could communities.
Degrees in schools, and brotherhoods in cities.
Peaceful commerce from dividable shores,
The primogenitive and due of birth.
Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels.
But by degree, stand in authentic place ?

" Maslkh.—V>'e retain the word of the original. Mas-
tide is there printed with a capital initial, as marking
something emphafc. In BasweU's edition the word is
rendered ma.-,tive. We are ire iiied to think that ">">'"■!' '«
not a typographical mistake. Every one has heard ol
Prynne's celebrated book, " Histrio-ilastix: The Piayers
Scourge:" but it is not so generally known that this title-
was borrowed by the great controversialist from a plav first
printed in IGIO. but supposed to be written earlier, which is
a satire upon actors and dramatic writers from first to last.
We attach little importance to ihe circumstance that tue
author of that satire has introduced a dialogue between
Troilus and Cressida ; for the subject had most probably
possession of the stage before Shakspere's play. «>." "
appears to us by no means improbable that an epithe
should be applied to the "rank Thersites" which shoiUd
pretty clearly point at one who had done enough to make
himself obnoxious to the poet's fraternity.

Act I.]

TKOILUS A^D CRESS IDA.

[Scene III.

thing

Take but degree awav, untune that string,
And, hark, uhat discord follows ! each

meets
In mere oppugnaucy : The bounded waters
Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores,
And make a sop of all this solid globe :
Strength should be lord of imbecility,
And the rude son should strike his father dead :
Force should be right; or, rather, right aud

(Between whose endless jar justice resides)
Should lose their names, and so should justice

too.
Then everything includes itself in power,
Power into will, will mto appetite ;
And appetite, an universal wolf.
So doubly seconded with will and power,
Must make, perforce, an universal prey.
And, last, eat up himself. Great Agamemnon,
This chaos, when degree is suffocate.
Follows the choking.
And this neglection of degree is it,
That by a pace goes backward, in a purpose
It hath to climb. The general 's disdain'd
By him one step below ; he, by the next ;
That next, by him beneath : so every step,
Exampled by the first pace that is sick
Of his superior, grows to an envious fever
Of pale and bloodless emulation :
And 't is this fever that keeps Troy on foot,
Not her own sinews. To end a talc of length,
Troy in our weakness lives,* not in her strength.

Nesi. !Most wisely hatli Ulysses here discover'd
The fever whereof all our power is sick.

Agam. The nature of the sickness found,
Ulysses,
What is the remedy ?

Vlyss. The great Achilles, whom opinion
crowns
The sinew and the forehand of our liost,
Having his ear full of his airy fame.
Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent
Lies mocking our designs : With him, Patroclus,
Upon a lazy bed, the livelong day
Breaks seurril jests ;
Aud with ridiculous and awkward action
f Which, slanderer, he imitation calls,)
Ue pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon,
Thy topless deputation he puts on ;
And like a strutting player, whose conceit
Lies in his hamstring, aud doth think it rich
To hear the wooden dialogue and sound
'T wi.\t his strctch'd footing aud the scaffold-
age,

' Litei in the roUo— in the qmrto, tlantit.
88

Such to-be-pitied and o'er-wTcsted seeming
lie acts thy greatness in : and when he speaks,
'T is like a chime a mending ; with terms un-

squar'd,
Wliich from the tongue of roaring Typlion

dropp'd
Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff.
The large Achilles, on his prcss'd bed lolling.
From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause ;
Cries — ' Excellent ! — 'T is Agamemnon just. —
Now play me Nestor ;— hem, and stroke thy

beard.
As he, being 'dress'd to some oration.' —
That 's done ; — as near as the extremest ends
Of parallels, — as like as Vulcan and his wife :
Yet god "^ Achiiles still cries, ' Excellent ;
'T is Nestor right ! Now play him me, Patroclus,
Ai-ming to answer in a night alarm.'
And then, forsooth, the faint defects of age
Must be the scene of mirth ; to cough, and spit
And with a palsy, fumbling on his gorget.
Shake in aud out the rivet ; — aud at this sport.
Sir Valoui' dies ; cries, ' ! — enough, Patroclus ;
Or give me ribs of steel ! I shall split all
In pleasure of my spleen.' And in this fashion,
All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes,
Sevcrals and generals of grace exact.
Achievements, plots, orders, preventions,
Excitements to the field, or speech for truce.
Success, or loss, Avhat is, or is not, serves
As stuff for these two to make paradoxes.

Nesi. And in the imitation of these twain
(AVhom, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns
With an imperial voice,) many are infect.
Ajax is grown self-will'd ; and bears his head
In such a rein, in full as proud a place
As broad Achilles j keeps his tent like him ;
!Makes factious feasts ; rails on our state of war,
Bold as an oracle ; aud sets Thersitcs
(A slave whose gall coins slanders like a mint)
To match us in comparisons with dirt ;
To weaken and discredit our exposure,
How rank soever rounded iu with danger.
U/j/ss. They tax our policy, and call it cow-
ardice ;
Count •wisdom as no member of the war ;
Forestall prescience, and esteem no act
But that of hand : the still and mental parts, —
That do contrive how many liands shall strike,
When fituess calls tliem on ; and know, by

measure
Of their observant toil, the enemies' weight, —
Why, this hath not a finger's dignity :

•I Clod in the old copies. It is flittered down by the
moderns into good.

Act 1.]

TKOILUS Ai!^D CEESSIDA.

[SC£N£ 111.

They call this bed-work, mappery, closet-war :
So that the ram that batters down the wall,
For the great spring and rudeness of his poise,
They place before his hand that made the engine ;
Or those that with the fineness of their souls
By reason guide his execution.

Nest. Let this be granted, and AchiUes' horse
;Makes many Thetis' sons. \_Tucket sounds.

Agam. "What trumpet? look, Menelaus.

Enter jExeas.

Men. From Troy,

Agam. What would you 'fore our tent ?

^ne. Is this

Great Agamemnon's tent, I pray you ?

Agam. Even this.

Mie. May one that is a herald, and a prince,
Do a fair message to his kingly ears ?

Agam. With surety stronger than AchUles'
arm
'Fore all the Greekish heads, which with one

voice
CaU. Agamemnon head and general.

Mne. Fair leave, and large security. How
may
A stranger to those most imperial looks
Know them from eyes of other mortals ?

Agam. How ?

Mne. Ay;
I ask, that I might waken reverence,
And bid the cheek be ready with a blush
Modest as morning when she coldly eyes
The youthful Phoebus :
IVhich is that god in office, guiding men ?
AVhich is the high and mighty Agamemnon ?

Agam. This Trojan scorns us ; or the men of
Troy
Are ceremonious courtiers.

Mie. Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm' d,
A.S bending angels ; that 's then- fame in peace :
But when they would seem soldiers, they have

galls,
Good arras, strong joints, true swords ; and,

Jove's accord,
Nothing so full of heart. But peace, Jilneas,
Peace, Trojan ; lay thy finger on thy lips !
The worthiness of praise distains his worth,
If that the prais'd liimself bring the praise forth :
But what the repming enemy commends.
That breath fame blows ; that praise, sole pure,
ti'anscends.

Agam. Sir, you of Troy, call you yourself
Jineas ?

^Ene. Ay, Greek, that is my name.

Agam. AVliat 's youi" affair, I pray you ?

/Ene. Sir, pardon; 'tis for Agamemnon's
ears.

Agam. He hears nought privately that comes
from Troy.

AEne. Nor I from Troy come not to whisper
him :
I bring a trumpet to awake his ear ;
To set his sense on the attentive bent,
And then to speak.

Agam. Speak frankly as the wind :

It is not Agamemnon's sleeping hour :
That thou shalt know, Trojan, he is awake,
He tells thee so himself.

AEne. Trumpet, blow loud.

Send thy brass voice through all these lazy

tents ;
And every Greek of mettle, let him know,
What Troy means faiiiy shall be spoke aloud.

[_Trumpet sounds.
We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy
A prince call'd Hector, (Priam is his father,)
Who in this dull and long- continued truce
Is rusty gro\vn ; he bade me take a trumpet.
And to this pm-pose speak. Kings, princes,

lords ! =>
If there be one, among the fair'st of Greece,
That holds liis honour higher than his ease ;
That seeks his praise more than he fears his

peril ;
That knows liis valoui", and knows not his fear.
That loves' his mistress more than in confession,
(With truant vows to her own lips he loves,)
And dare avow her beauty and her worth,
In other arms than hers — to him this challenge.
Hector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks,
Shall make it good, or do his best to do it.
He hath a lady, wiser, fairer, truer,
Than ever Greek did compass in his arms ;
And will to-morrow with his trumpet call,
Mid-way between your tents and walls of Troy,
To rouse a Grecian that is true in love :
If any come. Hector shaU honour liim ;
If none, he '11 say in Troy, when he retires,
The Grecian dames are sunburnt, and not

worth
The splinter of a lance. Even so much.

Agam. This shall be told oui- lovers, lord
jEneas ;
If none of them have soul in such a kind.
We left them all at home : But we are soldiers ;
And may that soldier a mere recreant prove.
That means not, hath not, or is not in love !
If then one is, or hath, or means to be,
That one meets Hector ; if none else, I '11 be he.

Nest. Tell him of Nestor, one that was a man

8f»

(

Act l.J

TKOILUS AND CRESSIDA.

IScENt III

"W^Leu Hector's grandsirc suck'd . he is old

now ;
But, if there be not in our Grecian mould'
One noble rnan, that hath one spark of fire
To answer for his love, tell liiin from me, —
I '11 hide my silver beard in a gold beaver,
And in my vantbrace put this withcr'd brawn ;
And meeting him, will tell liim, that my lady
Was fairer than his graudame, and as chaste
As may be in the world ; his youth in flood,
I'll pawn*' this truth with my tlirec drops of
blood.

^;te. Now heavens forbid such scarcity of
youth !

Vlyss. Amen.

J^am. Fair lord ^neas, let me touch your
hand ;
To our pavUiou shall I lead you first.
Achilles ihall have word of this intent ;
So shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent :
Yourself shall feast with us before you go,
And find the welcome of a noble foe.

[Exeunt all but Ulysses and Nestok.

Ut^ss. Nestor !

Nest. What says Ulysses ?

Uli/ss. I have a young conception in my
brain.
Be you my time to bring it to some shape.

Nest. Wiat is 't ?

Ul^ss. This 't is :
Blunt wedges rive hard knots : The seeded pride
That hath to this matmity blown up
In rank Achilles, must or now be cropp'd,
Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil,
To overbulk us all.

Nest. Well, and how ?

Ulps. This challenge that the gallant Hector
sends,
However it is spread in general name.
Relates in purpose only to Achilles.

Nest. The purpose is perspicuous even as
substance,
Whose grossness little characters sum up :
And, in the publication, make no strain.
But that Acliilles, were his brain as barren
As banks of Libya, — though, Apollo knows,
'Tis dry enough, — will, with great speed of

judgment.
Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose
Pointing on him.

Utj/ss. And wake him to the answer, think

Nest.

you

Yes,

■ Mould in the folio —in tlie quarto, hoit.
*> Paicn 111 the folio— in the quarto prove.

£0

It is most meet : Whom may you else oppose.

That can from Hector bring his honour off.

If not Achilles ? Thougli 't be a sportful combat.

Yet in this trial much opinion dwells ;

For here the Trojans taste our dear'st repute

With then: fin'st palate: iVnd trust to mc,

Ulysses,
Our imputation shall be oddly pois'd
In this wild action : for the success.
Although particular, shall give a scantling
Of good or bad unto the general ;
And in such indexes, although small pricks
To their subsequent volumes, there is seeu
The baby figure of the giant mass
Of tilings to come at large. It is suppos'd.
He that meets Hector issues from our choice :
And choice, being mutual act of all our souls.
Makes merit her election ; and doth boil.
As 't were from forth us all, a man distill'd
Out of our virtues ; who, miscarrying,
What heart from hence receives the conquering

part,
To steel a strong opinion to themselves ?
Which entertain'd, limbs are his instruments,
In no less working, than are swords and bows
Directive by the limbs.

Uli/ss. Give pardon to my speech ; —
Therefore 't is meet, Achilles meet not Hector.
Let us hke merchants show our foulest wares.
And think, perchance, they '11 sell ; if not,
The lustre of the better yet to show
Shall show the better.'' Do not consent
That ever Hector and Achilles meet ;
For both our honour and our shame, in this.
Are dogg'd with two strange followers.

Nest. I see them not with my old eyes ; what

are they ?
Ulyss. What glory our Achilles shares from

Hector,
Were he not proud, we all should wear** with

him :
But he already is too insolent ;
And we were better parch iu Afric sun.
Than in the pride and salt sconi of his eyes,
Shoidd he 'scape Hector fair : If he were foil'd.
Why, then we did our main opinion crush
In taint of our best man. No, make a lottery ;
And, by device, let blockish Ajax draw
The sort to fight with Hector :

selves
Give him allowance as the worthier man,"

Among our-

» The quarto reads—

" The lustre of the hc-ttcr shall exceed,
By showing the worse first."

b Wear in the folio — in the quarto, share.

c So the folio— in the quarto, for the belter man.

Act I.]

TKOILUS AND CEESSIDA.

[SCEht III.

For thai; will physic the great Myrmidon,

Who broils iu loud applause; and make him

fall
His crest, that prouder than blue Iris bends.
If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off,
We '11 dress him up in voices : If he fail,
Yet go we under our opinion still
That we have better men. But, hit or miss,

Oui- project's life this shape of sense assumes, —
Ajax, employ' d, plucks down Achilles' plumes.
Nest. Now, Ulysses, I begin to relish thy
advice ;
And I will give a taste of it forthwith
To Agamemnon : go we to him straight.
Two curs shall tame each other : Pride alone
Must tarre the mastiffs on, as 't were their bone.

\_Exeuiii,

[Ulysses.

[Phrygian Lady, with Casket.]

ILLUSTRATIONS OP ACT I.

^ Scene II,—" H7tere were you at Ilium. V
Ilium, according to the romance-writers, was the
palace of Priam. The author of ' The Destruction
of Troy' thus describes it : — "In the most open place
of the city, upon a rock, the king Priamus did build
his rich palace, which was named Ilion : that was
one of the richest palaces and the strongest that
ever was in all the world."

=" ScE^^: II.—" That 'a Hedor," JL-c.
This scene, in which Pandarus so characteristic-
ally describes the Trojan leaders, is founded upon
a similar scene in Chaucer, in which the same per-
sonage recounts the merits of Priam's two valiant
sons : —

" Of Hector needeth nothing for to tell ;
In all this world there n' is a better knight
Than he, that is of worthiness the well,
And he well more of virtue hath than miKht ;
This knoweth many a wise and worthy knight:
And the same praise of Troilus I say :
God help me, so I know not suchc tway.

" Pardie, quod she, of Hector there is solh.
And of Troilus the same thing trow I,
For dredeless • men telleth that he doth
In arm^s day by day so worthily,
And bear'th him here at home so gently
To cv'ry wight, that all6 praise hath he
Of them that me were levest praised bc.t

• Doubtless.
t Whose praiic I should moit desire.

" Ye say right sotb, I wis, quod Pandarus,
For yesterday whoso had with him been
Mighten have wonder'd upon Troilus;
For never j'et so thick a swarm of been *
Ne flew, as Greek6s from him 'gonnen fleen.
And through the field in every wightes ear
There was no cry but ' Troilus is there I '

" Now here, now there, he hunted them so fast,
There n'as but Greekes blood and Troilus ;
Now him he hurt, and him all down he cast ;
Aye where he went it was arrayed thus :
He was their death, and shield and life for us.
That as that day there durst him none withstand
While that he held his bloody sword in hand."

3 Scene III. — " Eiiifjs, princes, lords," tLc.
Stecvens says the challenge thus sent "would
better have suited Palmerin or Amadis than Hector
or .^neas." Precisely so. And this was not only
the language of romance, but of real life, almost up
to the days of Shakspere. In a challenge of the
reign of Mary, four Spanish and English kuij^'hts
will maintain a fight on foot at the barriers against
all comers, that " they may show their great desires
to serve their ladies by the honourable adventure
of their person." But would Steevens assert that
Shakspere did not purposely make the distinction
between the Homeric and the feudal ages? He
found the challenge of Hector in Homer; he in-
vested it with its Gothic attributes in accordance
with a principle. The commentators sneer at

• Bees.

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

Sbakspere's violation of chronology, in the men-
tion of Aristotle : what do they say to Chaucer's
line in the * Troilus and Creseide ' —

" He sung, she play'd, he told a tale of Wade"?
Wade was a hero of the same fabulous school as
Levis and Launcelot. The challenge of Hector is
thus rendered by Chapman : —

"Hear, Trojans, and ye well-ami'd Greeks, what my

strong mind, diffus'd
Through all my sinrits, commands me speak; Saturnius

hath not us'd
His promis'd favour for our truce, but, studying both our

ills,
Will never cease till Mars, by you, his ravenous stomach

fills
With ruin'd Troy; or -we consume your mighty sea-bom

fleet.
Since then the general peers of Greece in reach of one voice

meet.

Amongst you all whose breast includes the most impulsive

mind
Let him stand forth as combatant, by all the rest design'd ;
Before whom thus I call high Jove to witness of our strife,
If he with home-thrust iron can reach th' exposure of my

life.
Spoiling my arms, let him at will convey them to his tent ;
But let my body be retum'd, that Troy's two-sex'd descent
May waste it in th€ funeral pile : if I can slaughter hira,
Apollo honouring me so much, I '11 spoil his conquer'd limb,
And bear his arms to Ilion, where in Apollo's shrine
I 'U hang them as my trophies due : his body I "11 resign
To be disposed by his friends in flamy funerals.
And honour'd with erected tomb where Hellespontus falh
Into Egaeura, and doth reach even to your naval road;
That, when our beings in the earth shall hide their period,
Survivors sailing the Black Sea may thus his name renew.
This is his monument whose blood long since did fates

embrue.
Whom passing fair in fortitude illustrate Hector slew.
This shall posterity report, and my fame never die."

Book vii.

Phrj-gian Tunic, Bi-peiiiies, Bow, Quiver, Helmets, &c.

''M,.

'lOfcir'is'l

[ScENK II. ' Enter Cassandra, raving.']

ACT II.

SCENE I. — Another part of the Grecian Camp.

Enter Ajax and Thersites.

Ajax. Thersites, —

Ther. Agamemnon — how if he had boils ?
full, all over, generally ?

Ajax. Thersites, —

Ther. And those boils did run? — Say so, —
did not the general run ? were not that a botchy
core?

Ajax. Dog,—

Ther. Then would come some matter from
him ; I see none now.

Ajax. Thou bitch-wolf's son, canst thou not
hear? Feel then. \_Slrikcs him.

Ther. ITie plague of Greece upon thee, thou
mongrel beef-witted lord ! '

Ajax. Speak then, thou vinew'dest* leaven,
speak : I will beat thee into handsomeness.

» Vinm'dett — vincwcd — vinny — signifles decayed,
94

Ther. I shall sooner rail thee into wit and
holiness : but 1 think thy horse will sooner con
an oration, than thou learn a prayer without
book. Thou canst strike, canst thou? a red
murrain o' thy jade's tricks !

Ajaz. Toadstool, learn me the proclamation.

Ther. Dost thou think I liave no sense, thou
strik'st me thus ?

Ajax. 'J'he proclamation, —

Ther. Thou art proclaimed a fool, 1 think.

Ajax. Do not, porpentine, do not ; my fiugers
itch.

Ther. I would thou didst itch from head to
foot, and I had the scratching of thee ; I would
make thee the loathsomest scab in Greece.
[When thou art forth in the incursions, thou
strikest as slow as another."]

mouldy ; the word in the text is the superlative otvinewed.
In the preface to our translation or the Bible we have
"fenewed traditions."
> These vords are not in the folio.

Act Il.j

TEOTLUS AND CEESSIDA.

[Scene I.

Ajax. I say, the proclamation, —

Ther. Thou grumblest and railest every hour
on Achilles ; and thou art as full of envy at his
greatness, as Cerberus is at Proserpina's beauty,
ay, that thou bark'st at him.

Ajax. Mistress Thersites !

Ther. Thou shouldst strike him.

Ajax. Cobloaf!

Ther. He would pun"* thee into shivers with
his fist, as a sailor breaks a biscuit.

Ajax. You whoreson cur ! \^Beat'uig him.

Ther. Do, do.

Ajax. Thou stool for a witch !

jihp,; s^j^ (Jo^ [lo; thou sodden-witted lord!
thou hast no more brain than I have in mine
elbows; an assinego'' may tutor thee: Thou
scurvy- valiant ass ' thou art here butc to thrash
Trojans ; and thou art bouqiit and sold amoncr
those of any wit, like a Barbarian slave. If
thou use to beat me, 1 will begin at thy heel,
and tell what thou art by inches, thou thing of
no bowels, thou !

Ajax. You dog !

Ther. You scurvy lord !

Ajax. You cur ! [^Beating him.

Ther. Mars his idiot ! do, rudeness ; do, ca-
mel; do, do.

Unter Achilles and Patroclus.

Achil. Why, how now, Ajax? wherefore do
you this ?
How now, Thersites ? what 's the matter, man ?

Ther. You see him there, do you ?

Achil. Ay ; what 's the matter ?

Ther. Nay, look upon him.

Achil. So I do ; what 's the matter ?

Ther. Nay, but regard him well.

Achil. Well, why I do so.

Ther. But yet you look not well upon him :
for, whosoever you take him to be, he is Ajax.

Achil. I know that, fool.

Ther. Ay, but that fool knows not himself.

Ajax. Therefore I beat thee.

Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he
utters ! his evasions have ears thus long. I have
bobbed his brain more than he has beat my
bones : I will buy nine sparrows for a penny,
and his pia mater is not worth the ninth part of
a sparrow. This lord, Achilles, Ajax, — who
wears his wit in his belly, and his guts in liis
head, — I'll tell you what I say of him.

Achil. What?

* Pun — pound.
b Assinego — an ass.

<: But.—Boih. the quarto and fol'a so read; but put was
substituted by Steevens.

Ther. I say, this Ajax —
Achil. Nay, good Ajax.

[Ajax offers to strike him, Achilles
interposes.
Ther. Has not so much vAi —
Achil. Nay, I must hold you.
Ther. As \vill stop the eye of Helen's needle,
for whom he comes to fight.
Achil. Peace, fool !

Ther. T would have peace and quietness, but
the fool will not : he there ; that he ; look you
there.

Ajax. thou damned cur ! I shall —

Achil. Wni you set your wit to a fool's ?

Ther. No, I warrant you; for a fool's will
shame it.

Pair. Good words, Thersites.

Achil. What 's the quarrel ?

Ajax. I bade the vile owl go learn me the
tenor of the proclamation, and he rails upon
me.

Ther. I serve thee not.

Ajax. Well, go to, go to.

Ther. I serve here voluntary.

Achil. I'our last service was sufferance, 't was
not voluntary ; no man is beaten voluntary ;
Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under
an impress.

Ther. E'en so ; — a great deal of your wit too
lies in your sinews, or else there be liars. Hector
shall have a great catch if he knock out either of
your brains ; 'a were as good crack a fusty nut
with no kernel.

Achil. What, with me too, Thersites ?

Ther. There 's Ulysses and old Nestor, — whose
wit was mouldy ere your grandsires had nails on
their toes, — yoke you like draught oxen, and
make you plough up the war.

Achil. "What, what ?

Ther. Yes, good sooth. To, Achilles ! to,
Ajax ! to !

Ajax. I shall cut out your tongue.

Ther. 'T is no matter ; I shall speak as much
as thou, afterwards.

Patr. No more woi'ds, Thersites ; peace.

Ther. I vrill hold my peace when Achilles'
brach bids me, shall I ?

Achil. There 's for you, Patroclus.

Ther. I will see you hanged, like clotpoles,
ere I come any more to your tents ; I will keep
where there is wit stirring, and leave the faction
of fools. \E.Tit.

Patr. A good riddance.

Achil. Marry, this, sir, is proclaim'd through
all our host :

Act II.]

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

[SrE3B II.

That Hector, by the fifth'' hour of the sun,
Will, with a trumpet, 'twixt our tents and Troy,
To-morrow morning call some knight to arms,
That hath a stomacli ; and such a one that dare
Maintain — I know not what; 'tis trash: Fare-
well.
Ajar. Farewell. Who shall answer him ?
Achil. 1 know not, it is put to lottery ; otlier-
wise,
He knew his man.
Ajax. 0, meaning you :— I '11 go learn more
of it. ' [I'JTeunt.

SCEISE II.— Troy. A Room in Priam'* Palace.

Enter PiUA.M, Hector, Tkoilus, Pakis, and
Helenus.

Pri. After so many hours, lives, speeches
spent.
Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks :
' Deliver Helen, and all damage else —
As honour, loss of time, travel, expense.
Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is con-
sun I'd
In hot digestion of this cormorant war, —
Shall be struck off : '—Hector, what say you to 't?
Hed. Though no man lesser fears the Greeks
than I,
As far as toucheth my particular, yet, dread

Priam,
There is no lady of more softer bowels.
More spongy to suck in the sense of fear.
More ready to cry out — 'Who knows what fol-
lows ? '
ITian Hector is : The wound of peace is surety,
Surety secure ; but modest doubt is call'd
The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches
To the bottom of the worst. Let Helen go :
Since the first sword was drawn about this ques-
tion.
Every tithe soul, 'mongst many thousand dismes,''
Hath been as dear as Helen ; I mean of ours :
If we have lost so many tenths of ours,
To guard a thing not ours ; nor worth to us,
Had it our name, the value of one ten ;
What merit 's in that reason which denies
The yielding of her up ?

Tio- Fie, fie, my brother !

Weigh you the worth and honour of a kmg
So great as our dread father, in a scale

» Fifth.- So the folio; the quarto has yfr»/, which obtained
In most modern edilinns. The kniphta of chivalry Hid n<it
encounter at tlic firtt hour of the sun ; by the fifth of a
summer's morninp the lists would be set, and the ladies in
their seats. The usages of chivalry are those of this play.

b Dimet — ^teii.hs.

Of common ounces ? will you with counters sum
The past-proportion of liis infinite ?
And buekle-in a waist most fathomless
Witli spans and inches so duniimtivc
As fears and reasons ? fie, for godly shame !
Hcl. No marvel, though you bite so sharp at
reasons.
You are so empty of them. Should not our

father
Bear the great sway of his affairs with reasons.
Because your speech hath none, tliat tells him
so?
Tro. You are for dreams and slumbers, brother
priest,-
You fur your gloves with reason. Here are your

reasons :
You know an enemy intends you hai-m ;
You know a sword euiploy'd is perilous.
And reason flies the object of all harm :
Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds
A Grecian and his sword, if he do set
The very wings of reason to his heels ;
And fly like chidden ^Mercury from Jove,
Or like a star dis-orb'd ?— Nay, if we talk of

reason,
Let's shut our gates, and sleep: !Manhood and

honour
Should have hare* hearts, would they but fat

their thoughts
With this cramm'd reason ; reason and respect
Make livers pale, and lustihood deject.

lied. Brother, she is not worth what she doth
cost
The holding.

Tro. What 's aught but as 't is valued ?
IlecL But value dwells not in particular will ;
It holds his estimate and dignity
As well wherein 't is precious of itself
As in the prizer; 'tis mad idolatry
To make the service greater than the god ;
And the will dotes that is inclinable''
To what infectiously itself effects,
Without some image of the affected merit.

Tro. I take to-day a wife, and my election
Is led on in the conduct of my wall ;
My ^vill enkindled by mine eyes and ears,
Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores
Of will and judgment : How may I avoid.
Although my will distaste what it elected,
The wife I chose ? there can be no evasion
To blench from this, and to stand firm by honour :
We tuni not back the silks upon the merchant.

» Ilnre in the quarto; by a typographical error, hard in
the f )lio.
b Inclinable in the folio ; the quarto, atlribttlive.

Act II]

TEOILUS AND CEESSLDiL

[SCF.NE II.

When we have spoil'd them : nor the remaiudcr

viands
We do not tlu-ow in iinrespective sieve,"
Because we now are full. It was thouglit meet,
Paris should do some vengeance on the Greeks :
Your breath of fidl consent'' bellied his sails ;
The seas and winds (old wranglers) took a tnice,
And did him service : lie touch'd the ports desir'd;
And, for an old aunt, whom the Greeks held

captive,
He brought a Grecian quecD, whose youth and

freshness
Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes stale the morning.
Why keep we her ? the Grecians keep our aunt :
Is she worth keeping ? why, she is a pearl,
Whose price hath launch'd above a thousand ships,
And tum'd crowu'd kings to merchants.
If you '11 avouch 't was wisdom Paris went,
(As you must needs, for you all cried — ' Go, go,')
If you 'U confess he brought home noble prize,
(As you must needs, for you all clapp'd your

hands.
And cried — 'Inestimable !') why do you now
The issue of your proper wisdoms rate ;
And do a deed that fortune never did.
Beggar the estimation which you priz'd
Richer than sea and land ? theft most base ;
That we have stolen what we do fear to keep !
But thieves, unworthy of a thing so stolen.
That in their country did them that disgrace.
We fear to warrant in our native place !

Cas. [Within..'] Cry, Trojans, cry!

Pri. What noise ? what shriek is this ?

Tro. 'T is our mad sister, I do know her voice.

Cas. [Within^ Cry, Trojans !

Red. It is Cassandi-a.

Enter Cassandka, raving.
Cas. Cry, Trojans, cry ! lend me ten thousand
eyes,
^bid I will fill them with prophetic tears.
Hed. Peace, sister, peace.
Cas. Virgins and boys, mid age, and wrinkled

eld,"

a Sieve. The quarto has sive, the old mode of spelling
sieve. The first folio has same; the second folio place.
Same is held to be a misprint. The commentators explain
that sieve is a basket, and that the term is well known in
Covent Garden and other markets for fruit and vegetables.
The original notion of sieve implies separation, and we
therefore held, in our first edition, that a sieve of fruit was a
basket of sorted fruit. But domestic observation might
have shown us that the " unrespective" sieves into which
any "remainder" is thrown has subsequently to perform
the office of separation. This consideration reconciles us
to the adoption of sieve.

b How forcible is "your breath of full consent,"— com-
pared with the reading of the quarto, " your breath, with
full consent."

c Old in the folio— the quarto, eldm. Theobald substi-
tuted eid.

Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry,
Add to my clamours ! let us paj betimes
A moiety of that mass of moan to come.
Cry, Trojans, cry ! practise your eyes with tears !
Troy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand ;
Our firebrand brother, Paris, burns us all.
Cry, Trojans, cry ! a Helen, and a woe :
Cry, cry ! Troy bui-ns, or else let Helen go. [Exit.

Hed. Now, youthful Troilus, do not these
high strains
Of divination in our sister work
Some touches of remorse ? or is your blood
So madly hot, that no discourse of reason.
Nor fear of bad success in a bad cause.
Can qualify the same ?

Ti-o. Wliy, brother Hector,

We may not think the justness of each act
Such and no other than event doth form it ;
Nor once deject the courage of our minds
Because Cassandra 's mad ; her brain-sick rap-
tures
Cannot distaste the goodness of a quarrel
Which hath our several honours all engag'd
To make it gracious. For my private part,
I am no more touch'd than all Priam's sons :
And Jove forbid, there should be done amongst

Tbaoedies. — Vol. II.

Such things as might oifend the weakest spleen
To fight for and maintain !

Par. Else might the world convince of levity
As well ray und ertakings as your counsels :
But I attest the gods, your full consent
Gave wings to my propensiou, and cut off
AH fears attending on so dire a project.
For what, alas, can these my single arms ?
WTiat propuguation is in one man's valour.
To stand the push and enmity of those
This quarrel woidd excite ? Yet, I protest.
Were I alone to pass the difficulties.
And had as ample power as I have will,
Paris should ne'er retract what he hath done.
Nor faint in the pursuit.

Pri. Paris, you speak

Like one besotted on your sweet delights :
You have the honey still, but these the gall ;
So to be valiant is no praise at all.

Par. Sir, I propose not merely to myself
The pleasures such a beauty brings. with it;
But I would have the soil of her fair rape
Wip'd off, in honourable keeping her.
What treason were it to the ransack'd queen.
Disgrace to your great worths, and shame to me,
Now to deliver her possession up.
On terms of base compulsion ! Can it be
That so degenerate a strain as this

ACI 11.]

TROILUS AND CIIESSIDA.

[Scene III.

Shoul J once set footing in your generous bosoms ?
There 's. not the lucanest spii-it on our party,
Without a heart to dare, or sword to draw,
When Helen is defended ; nor none so noble,
Whose life were ill bestow'd, or death uufaui'd,
Where Helen is the subject : then, I say,
Well may we fight for her, whom, we know well.
The world's large spaces cannot parallel.

Hcct. Paris, and Troilus, you have both said
well;
And on the cause and question now in hand
Have gloz'd, — but superficially ; not much
Uulikc young men, whom Aristotle thought
Unfit to hear moral philosophy :
The reasons you allege do more conduce
To the hot passion of distemper'd blood,
Than to make up a free determination
'Twixt right and wrong; for pleasure, and re-
venge,
Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice
Of any true decision. Nature craves
All dues be rcndcr'd to their owners : Now
What nearer debt in all humanity
Than wife is to the husband ? if this law
Of nature be corrupted through affection.
And that great minds, of partial indulgence
To their benumbed wills, resist the same.
There is a law in each well-order'd nation.
To curb those raging appetites that are
Most disobedient and refractory.
If Helen then be wife to Sparta's king, —
As it is kuo\vii she is, — these moral laws
Of nature, and of nations, speak aloud
To have her back return'd : Thus to persist
In doing wrong extenuates not wrong.
But makes it much more heavy. Hector's opinion
Is this, in way of truth : yet, ne'ertheless.
My spritely brethren, I propend to you
In resolution to keep Helen stUl ;
For 't is a cause that hath no mean dcpcudancc
Upon our joint and several dignities.

Tro. Why, there you touch'd the life of our
design :
Were it not glory that we more affected
Than the performance of our heaving spleens,
I would not wish a drop of Trojan blood
Spent more in her defence. But, worthy Hector,
She is a theme of honour and renown ;
A spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds ;
Whose present courage may beat down our foes.
And fame, in time to come, canonize us :
For, I presume, brave Hector would not lose
So rich advantage of a promis'd glory.
As smiles upon the forehead of this action,
For the wide world's revenue.

Hcct. 1 am yours.

You valiant ofFspruig of great Prianms.
I have a roLsting ehidlengc sent amongst
The dull and factious nobles of the Greeks,
Will strike amazement to their drowsy spirits :
I was advertis'd their great general slept,
Whilst emidation in the army crept;
This, I presume, wiU wake him. [Eveu/iL

SCENE UL — T/ie Grecian Cump. Be/ore
AchiUes' 'JhiL

Enter TlIEKSITES.

T/ici: How now, Thersites ? what, lost in the
labyrinth of thy fury ? Shall the elephant Ajax
cai-ry it thus ? he beats me, and I rail at him :
worthy satisfaction 1 would it were otherwise ;
that I could beat him, whilst he railed at me :
'Sfoot, I '11 learn to conjure and raise devils, but
I'U see some issue of my spiteful execrations.
Then there's AchiUes, — a rare engineer. If
Troy be not taken till these two undermine it,
the walls will stand till they fall of themselves.
thou great thunder-darter of Olympus, forget
that thou art Jove the king of gods ; and. Mer-
cury, lose all the serpentine craft of thy Cadu-
ccas ; if ye take not that little little less-than-
little wit from them that they have 1 which short-
armed ignorance itself knows is so abundant
scarce, it will not in circumvention deliver a fly
from a spider, without drawing the massy irons,
and cutting the web. After this, the vengeance
on the whole camp ! or, rather, the bone-ache !
for that, methiuks, is the curse dependant on
those that war for a placket. I have said my
prayers ; and devil envy, say Amen. What
ho ! my lord Achilles !

Enter Patkoclus.

I'atr. Who 's there ? Thersites ? good Ther-
sites, come in and rail.

T/ier. If I could have remembered a gilt
counterfeit, thou wouldst not have slipped out
of my contemplation : but it is no matter : Thy-
self upon thyself 1 The common curse of man-
kind, folly and ignorance, be thine in great
revenue! heaven bless thee from a tutor, and
discipline come not near thee ! Let tliy blood
be thy direction tiU thy death ! then if she that
lays thee out says thou art a fair corse, I '11 be
swoni and sworn upon't, she never shrouded
any but lazars. Amen. "Where 's Achilles ?

Pair. What, art thou devout ? wast thou in a
prayer ?

T/icr. Ay : the heavens hear me !

Act II.]

TEOILUS AND CEESSIDA.

[Scene III.

Enter Achilles.

Achil Who 's there ?

Pair. Thersites, my lord.

Achil. Where, where ? — Art thou come ? Why,
my cheese, my digestion, why hast thou not
served thyself in to my table so many meals ? —
Come; what's Agamemnon?

Ther. Thy commander, Acliilles : — Then tell
me, Patroclus, what 's Achilles ?

Patr. Thy lord, Thersites : Then tell me, I
pray thee, what 's thyself ?

Ther. Thy knower, Patroclus : Then tell me,
Patroclus, what art thou ?

Patr. Thou mayst tell that knowest.

Achil. 0, tell, tell.

Ther. I '11 decline the whole question. Aga-
memnon commands Achilles; Achilles is my
lord ; I am Patroclus' knower ; and Patroclus is
a fool.

Patr. You rascal !

Ther. Peace, fool ; I have not done.

Achil. He is a privileged man. — Proceed,
Thersites.

Ther. Agamemnon is a fool; Achilles is a
fool ; Thersites is a fool ; and, as aforesaid, Pa-
troclus is a fool.

Achil. Derive this ; come.

Ther. Agamemnon is a fool to offer to com-
mand Achilles; Achilles is a fool to be com-
manded of Agamemnon; Thersites is a fool to
serve such a fool ; and Patroclus is a fool posi-
tive.

Patr. Why am I a fool ?

Ther. Make that demand of the prover.— It
suiSces me thou art. Look you, who comes
here ?

Enter Agamemnon, Ultsses, Nestor, Dio-
MEDES, and Ajax.

Achil. Patroclus, I'll speak with nobody.—
Come in with mc, Thersites. [_Exit.

Ther. Here is such patchery, such juggling,
and such knavery ! aU the argument is, a cuck-
old and a whore: A good quarrel, to draw
emulous factions, and bleed to death upon.
Now the di-y serpigo on the subject ! and war,
and lechery, confound all ! [E.vit.

Again. Where is Achilles ?

Patr. Within his tent; but ill-disposed, my
lord.

Agam. Let it be known to him that we are
here.
He shent* our messengers, and we lay by

a SAe«;.— The quarto reads salt, the folio s:Mt. Theobald
made the change to shent, meaning to rebuke.

H 2

Our appertainments, visiting of him :
Let him be told so ; lest, perchance, he think
We dare not move the question of our place.
Or know not what we are.

Patr. I shall so say to him. \Exit.

XJlyss. We saw him at the opening of liis tent ;
He is not sick.

Ajax. Yes, lion-sick, sick of proud heart : you
may caU it melancholy, if you will favour the
man ; but, by my head, it is pride : But why,
why ? let him show us the cause. — A word, my
lord. {Takes Agamemnon aside.

Nest. What moves Ajax thus to bay at him ?

Ulyss. Achilles hath inveigled his fool from
him.

Nest. Who? Thersites?

Uli/ss. He.

Nest. Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have
lost his argument.

Uli/ss. No ; you see, he is his ai-gnment that
has his argument, — Achilles.

Nest. All the better ; their fraction is more
our wish than their faction : But it was a strong
counsel a fool could disunite,

Ulyss. The amity that wisdom knits not, folly
may easily xuitie. Here comes Patroclus.

Re-enter Patkocltjs.

Nest. No Achilles with him.

Uli/ss. The elephant hath joints, but none for
courtesy :
His legs are legs for necessity, not for flexui-e.^

Pair. Achilles bids me say— he is much sorry
If anything more than your sport and pleasure
Did move your greatness, and this noble state.
To call upon him ; he hopes it is no other.
But, for your health and your digestion sake,
An after-diuner's breath.

Agam. Hear you, Patroclus ; —

We are too well acquainted with Itese answers :
But his evasion, wing'd thus with scorn.
Cannot outfly our apprehensions.
IMuch attribute he hath ; and much the reason
Why we ascribe it to him : yet all his virtues,
Not virtuously of his own part beheld.
Do, in our eyes, begui to lose then- gloss ;
Yea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish,
Are like to rot untasted. Go and tell him
We come to speak with hun : And you shall not

sin.
If you do say— wc think him over-proud,
Ajid under-honest ; in self-assumption greater
Than in the note of judgment ; and worthier

than himself
Here tend the savage strangeness he puts on ;

iCT II.]

TROILUS AKD CRESSIDA.

[Scr.NE III

Disguise the holy strength of their command,
And underwrite in an observing kind
His humorous predominance ; yea, watch
His pettish lines,' his ebbs, his flows, as if
The passage and whole carriage of this action
llodc on his tide. Go, tell him this ; and add.
That, if he overbold his price so much,
TVe '11 none of him ; but let him, like an engine
Not portable, lie under this report —
Bring action hither, this cannot go to war :
A stirring dwarf we do allowance give
Before a sleeping giant : — Tell him so.

Fafr. I shall : and bring his answer presently.

[Exif.

Agam. In second voice we '11 not be satisfied,

We come to speak with him. — Ulysses, enter

you. [Exit Ulysses.

Aja-x. What is he more than another ?

Agara. No more than what he thinks he is.

Ajax. Is he so much ? Do you not think he
thinks himself a better man than I am ?

Agam. No question.

Ajax. Will you subscribe his thought, and say
he is ?

Agam. No, noble Ajax ; you are as strong, as
valiant, as wise, no less noble, much more gentle,
and altogether more tractable.

Ajax. Why should a man be proud ? How
doth pride grow ? I know not what pride is.

Agam. Your mind 's the clearer, Ajax, and
your virtues the fairer. He that is proud cats
up himself: pride is his own glass, his o\^ti
trumpet, his own chronicle ; and whatever
praises itself but in the deed, devours the deed
in the praise.

Ajax. I do hate a proud man, as I hate the
engendering of toads.

Nest. Yet he loves himself : Is 't not strange ?

[Aside.
Re-enter Ulysses.

Ulgss. Achilles will not to the field to-morrow.

Agam. Wliat 's his excuse ?

Ulyss. He doth rely on none ;

But carries on the stream of his dispose.
Without observance or respect of any,
In will peculiar and in self-admission.

Agam. Why, will he not, upon our fair request,
Untent his person, and share the air with us ?

Uli/ss. Things small as nothing, for request's
sake only.
He makes important : Possess'd he is with great-
ness;
And speaks not to himself, but with a pride

» Linrt In the folio. Hamncr changed the word, the
meaning of trhich is clear enough, into lunct.

100

That quarrels at self-breath : iniagiii'd worth
Holds in his blood such swoln and hot discourse,
That, 'twixt his mentid and his active parts,
Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion rages.
And batters 'gainst itself." Wliat should I say r
He is so plaguy '' proud, that the death-tokens of it
Cry — ' 1^0 recovery. '

Agam. Let Ajax go to him. —

Dear lord, go you and greet him in his tent :
'T is said, he holds you well ; and will be led.
At your request, a little from himself.

Ul^ss. O Agamemnon, let it not be so !
We '11 consecrate the steps that Ajax makes
When they go from Achilles : Shall the proud

lord.
That bastes his arrogance with his own seam.
And never suffers matter of the world
Enter his thoughts, — save such as do revolve
And ruminate himself, — shall he be worshipp'd
Of that we hold an idol more than he ?
No, this thrice worthy and right valiant lord
!Must not so stale his palm, nobly acquir'd ;
Nor, by my will, assubjugate liis merit.
As amply titled as Achilles is.
By going to Achilles ;
That were to enlard his fat-already pride ;
And add more coals to Cancer, when he bums
With entertaining great Hyperion.
This lord go to him ! Jupiter forbid ;
And say in thunder — 'Achilles go to him.'

Nest. 0, this is well; he rubs the vem of
him. [Aside.

Dio. And how his silence drinks up this ap-
plause ! [Aside.

Ajax. If I go to him, Avith my arm'd fist I '11
pash him
Over the face.

Agam. 0, no, you shall not go.

Ajax. An r' be proud with me, I '11 pheeze his
pride :
Let me go to him.

Ulyss. Not for the worth that hangs upon our
quarrel.

Ajax. A paltry, insolent fellow !

Nest. How he describes himself ! [Aside.

Ajax. Can he not be sociable ?

Ulgss, The raven chides blackness. [Aside.

Ajax. I '11 let his humours blood.

Agam. He will be the pliysician, that should
be the patient. [Aside.

* 'Gainst iUel/li the reading of the folio ; the quarto, down
liimself.

b I'laijuy. — Stcevens, in his horror of a line of more than
ten syllables, calls plapuy a "vulgar epithet, — the wretched
interpolation of some foolish player." Malone, with good
sense, says, " the very word explains what follows, — the
death-tokens."

Act II.]

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

[Scene III.

Ajax. An all men were o' my mind !

Uli/ss. Wit would be out of fasliiou. [^Aside.

Ajax. A.' should not bear it so, a' should eat
swords first : Shall pride carry it ?

JVesf. An't would, you'd carry half. \_Aside.

Ulyss. He would have ten shares. [Aside.

Ajax. I will knead him, I '11 make him supple.

Nest. He 's not yet through warm : force him
with praises : Pour in, pour in ; his ambition is
dry. [Aside.

Ulyss. My lord, you feed too much on this
dislike. [To Agamemnon.

Nest. Our noble general, do not do so.

Dio. You must prepare to fight without
Achilles.

Uli/ss. Why, 't is this naming of him does him
harm.
Here is a man — But 't is before his face ;
I will be silent.

Nest. Wherefore should you so ?

He is not emulous, as Achilles is.

Uli/ss. Know the whole world, he is as valiant.

Ajax. A whoreson dog, that shall palter thus
with lis ! Would he were a Trojan !

Nest. What a vice were it in Ajax now —

Uli/ss. If he were proud —

Bio. Or covetous of praise —

Uli/ss. Ay, or surly borne —

Bio. Or strange, or self-affected !

Uli/ss. Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of
sweet composure;
Praise him that got thee, she that gave thee

suck :
Fam'd be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature
Thrice-fam'd, beyond all erudition :

But he that disciplin'd thy arms to fight, "
Let Mars divide eternity in twain.
And give him half : and, for thy vigour.
Bull-bearing ]\Iilo his addition yield
To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom.
Which, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines
Thy spacious and dilated parts : Here 's Nes-
tor, —
Instructed by the antiquary times,
lie must, he is, he cannot but be wise ; —
But pardon, father Nestor, were your days
As green as Ajax, and your brain so tempcr'd,
You should not have the eminence of him,
But be as Ajax.

Ajax. Shall I call you father ?

U!i/is. Ay, my good son.''

Bio. Be rul'd by him, lord Ajax.

Uli/ss. There is no tarrying here; the hart
Achilles
Keeps thicket. Please it our great general
To call together aU his state of war ;
Fresh kings are come to Troy : To-morrow,
We must with all our main of power stand fast :
And here 's a lord, — come knights from east to

west.
And cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best.

Agam. Go we to council. Let Achilles sleep :

Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks

draw deep. [E.veunt.

» The folio gives tliis line to Ulysses; the quarto to
NestMJr. We believe that the fono, in this instance, is not
to be hastily superseded, because Nestor was an old man.
In Shakspere's time it was the highest compliment to call a
man whose wit or learning was reverenced, father. Ben
JoDson had thus his sons. The (lattery of Ulysses has won
the heart of Aja.x; Nestor has said nothing.

[Cassandra.]

[Phrygian Shields, Quivers, and Battle Axes.]

ILLUSTEATIONS OF ACT II.

' Scene I. — "Tlie plague of Greece upon thee" <Lc.

TnERsrrE3 has been termed by Coleridge "the
Caliban of demagogic life;" and he goes on to de-
scribe him as "the admirable portrait of intellectual
power deserted by all grace, all moral principle, all
not momentary impulse ; j ust wise enough to detect
the weak head, and fool enough to provoke the
armed fist, of his betters." This is the Thersites
of Shakspere ; he of Homer is merely a deformed
jester. The wonderful finished portrait is made
out of the slightest of sketches : —

" All sat, and audience gave;

Thersites only would speak all. A most disorder'd store

Of words he foolishly pour'd out; of which his mind held
more

Than it could manage; anything with which he could pro-
cure

Laughter, he never could contain. He should have yet been
sure

To touch no kings. T' oppose their states becomes not
jesters' parts.

Dut he the filthiest fellow was of all that had deserts
102

In Troy's brave siege: he was squint-eyed, and lame o(

either foot :
So crook-back'd that he had no breast: sharp-headed, where

did shoot
(Here and there sperst) thin mossy hair. He most of all

envied
Ulysses and .SlaciJes, whom still his spleen would chide j.
Nor could the sacred king himself avoid his saucy vein,
Against whom, since he knew the Greeks did vehement

hates sustain,
(Being angry for Achilles' wrong,) he cried out, railing

thus: —
' Atrides, why complain'st thou nowf what wouldst

thou more of us?
Thy tents are full of brass, and dames ; the choice of all are

thine :
With whom we must present thee first, when any towns

resign
To our invasion. Wan'st thou then (besides all this) more

gold
From Troy's knights, to redeem their sons? whom, to bi

dearly sold,
I, or some other Greek, must lake? or wouldst thou yci

again
Force from some other lord his prize, to soothe the lustj

that reign

ILLUSTRATIONS OF ACT II.

In thy encroaching appetite? It fits no prince to be

A prince of ill, and govern us ; or lead our progeny

By rape to ruin. O base Greeks, deserving infamy,

And ills eternal ! Greekish girls, not Greeks, ye are : Come,

fly
Home with our ships ; leave this man here, to perish with

his preys.
And try if we help'd him, or not: he wrong'd a man that

weighs
Far more than he himself in worth: he forc'd from Thetis'

son.
And keeps his prize still : nor think I that mighty man

hath won
The style of wrathful worthily ; he 's soft, he 's too remiss.
Or else, Atrides, his had been thy last of injuries.'
Thus he the people's pastor chid ; but straight stood up to

him
Divine Ulysses, who, with looks exceeding grave and grim,
This bitter check gave: 'Cease, vain fool, to vent thy

railing vein
On kings thus, though it serve thee well; nor think thou

canst restrain
With that thy railing faculty, their wills in least degree,
For not a worse, of all this host, came with our king than

thee
To Troy's great siege : then do not take into that mouth of

thine
The names of kings, much less revile tlie dignities that

shine
In their supreme states ; wresting thus this motion for our

home
To soothe thy cowardice; since ourselves yet know not

what will come
Of these designmcnts,— if it be our good to stay or go:
Nor is it that thou stand'st on ; thou revil'st our general

so;
Only because he hath so much, not given by such as thou,
But by our heroes. Therefore this thy rude vein makes me

vow
(Which shall be curiously observ'd), if ever I shall hear
This madness from thy mouth again, let not Ulysses l)ear
This head, nor be the father call'd of young Telemachus,
If to thy nakedness I take and strip thee not, and thus
Whip thee to fleet from council; send, with sharp stripes,

weeping hence,
This glory thou alTect'st to rail.' This said, his insolence

He settled with his sceptre, strook his back and shoulders so
That bloody wales rose : he shrunk round, and from hia

eyes did flow
Moist tears ; and, looking filthily, he sat, fear'd, smarted ;

dried
His blubber'd cheeks ; and all the press (though griev'd to

be denied
Their wish'd retreat for home) yet laugh'd delightsomely,

and spake
Either to other." (Chapman's ' Homer,' Book ii.)

^ Scene II. — " You are for dreams and slumbers,
hrother priest."

From his ' Homer ' Shakspere turned to the old
Gothic romancer, and there he found the reproach
of Troilus to Helenus, in the following very cha-
racteristic passage : —

" Then arose up on his feet Troylus, the youngest
son of King Pryamus, and began to speak in this
manner : — noblemen and hardy, how be ye
abashed for the words of this cowardly priest here ?
* * * If Helenus be afraid, let him go into the
Temple, and sing the divine service, and let the
other take revenge of their injurious wrongs by
strength and force of arms. * * * AH they that
heard Troylus thus speak allowed him, saying
that he had very well spoken. And thus they
finished their parliament, and went to dinner."

^ Scene III. — " The elepliant hath joints" <i:c.

Up to the time when Sir Thomas Brown wrote
his 'Vulgar Errors ' (aboitt 1670), there was a pre-
vailing opinion that the elephant had no joints,
and that it could not lie down. Its joints, accord-
ing to the passage before \\a, were not " for flexure."
Sir T. Brown refutes the error by appealing to the
experience of those who had "'not many years
past" seen an elephant in England, "kneeling,
and lying down."

[Head of Park-.]

Ii
1 !

[ScESE I. ITelen unarming Hector.]

ACT III.

SCENE I.— Troy. J Room in Priam'5 Palace.

Enter Pandartjs and a Servant.

Pan. Friend ! you ! pray you, a word
not you follow the yoimg lord Paris ?

Sen. Ay, sir, when he goes before lue.

Pan. You depend upon him, I mean.

Sere. Sir, I do depend upon the lord.

Pan. You depend upon a noble gentleman;
1 must needs praise him.

Sere. The lord be praised !

Pan. You know me, do you not ?

Serv. 'Faith, sir, superficially.

Pan. Friend, know mc better ; I am the lord
Pandarus.

Serv. I hope I shall know your honour better.

Pan. I do dcsiic it.
104

Sere. You arc in the state of grace

[^Iimc within.

Pan. Grace ! not so, friend ; honour and
lordship are my titles : — What music is this ?

Sere. I do but partly know, sir ; it is music
in parts.

Pan. Know you the musicians ?

Sere. TTholly, sir.

Pan. "Who play they to ?

Sere. To the hearers, sir.

Pan. At whose pleasure, friend ?

Sere. At mine, sir, and theirs that love music.

Pan. Command, I mean, friend.

Serv. Who shall I command, sir ?

Pan. Friend, we understand not one another ;
[ am too courtly, and thou art too cunning : At
whose request do these men play ?

Act Ill.l

TEOILUS AND CRESSIDvV.

[SCEKE 1.

Sero. Tliat 's to 't, indeed, sir : Marry, sir, at
the request of Paris my lord, who's there iu
person ; with him, the mortal Venus, the heart-
blood of beauty, love's invisible soul, —

Pan. Who, my cousin Cressida ?

Sen. No, sir, Helen ; could you not find out
that by her attributes ?

Pan. It should seem, fellow, that thou hast
not seen the lady Cressida. I come to speak
with Paris from the prince Troilus : I will make
a complimeutal assault upon him, for my business
seeths.

Serv. Sodden business ! there 's a stewed
phrase, indeed !

Enter Pakis and Helen, attended.

Pan. Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this
fair company ! fair desires, in all fair measure,
faii-ly guide them ! especially to you, fair queen !
fair thoughts be your fair pillow !

Helen. Dear lord, you are full of fair words.

Pan. You speak your fail* pleasure, sweet
queen. Pair prince, here is good bioken music.

Par. You have broke it, cousin : and, by my
life, you shall make it whole again ; you shall
piece it out with a piece of youi" performance :
— NeU, he is full of harmony.

Pan. Truly, lady, no.

Helen. O, sir, —

Pan. Rude, in sooth; iu good sooth, very
rude.

Pan. Well said, my lord ! well, you say so iu
fits.

Pan. I have business to my lord, dear queen : —
My lord, will you vouchsafe me a word ?

Helen. Nay, this shall not hedge us out : we '11
hear you sing, certainly.

Par. Well sweet queen, you are pleasant
with me. — But, marry, thus, my lord, — My
dear lord, and most esteemed friend, your brother
Troilus—

Helen. My lord Pandarus ; honey-sweet
lord, —

Pan. Go to, sweet queen, go to : — commends
himself most affectionately to you.

Helen. You shall not bob us out of our
melody: If you do, our melancholy upon youi-
head!

Pan. Sweet queen, sweet queen; that's a
sweet queen, i' faith.

Helen. And to make a sweet lady sad is a
sour offence.

Pan. Nay, that shall not serve your tui-n;
that shall it not, iu truth, la. Nay, I care not
for such words: no, no.— And, my lord, he

desii'es you, that if the king call for him at sup-
per you will make his excuse.

Helen. My lord Pandarus, —

Pan. What says my sweet queen, — my very
very sweet queen ?

Par. What exploit 's iu hand ? where sups he
to-night ?

Helen. Nay, but my lord, —

Pan. What says my sweet queen? — My cousin
win faU out with you. You must not know
where he sups.

Par. [I'll lay my life,"] with my disposer
Cressida.

Pan. No, no, no such matter, you are wide ;
come, your disposer is sick.

Par. Well, I '11 make excuse.

Pan. Ay, good my lord. Why should you
say Cressida ? no, youi- poor disposer 's sick.

Par. I spy.

Pan. You spy ! what do you spy ? — Come,
give me an instrument. — Now, sweet queen.

Helen. Why, this is kiudly done.

Pan. My niece is horribly in love with a thuig
you have, sweet queen.

Helen. She shall liave it, my lord, if it be not
my lord Paris.

Pan. He ! no, she '11 none of him ; they two
are twain.

Helen. Palling in, after falling out, may make
them three.

Pan. Come, come, I '11 hear no more of this ;
I 'U sing you a song now.

Helen. Ay, ay, prithee now. By my troth,
sweet lord, thou hast a fine forehead.

Pan. Ay, you may, you may.

Helen. Let thy song be love: this love will
undo us all. O, Cupid, Cupid, Cupid !

Pan. Love ! ay, that it shall, i' faith.

Par. Ay, good now, love, love, nothmg but
love.

Pan. In good troth, it begins so :

Love, love, nothing but love, still more I

For, oh, love's bow

Shoots buck and doe :

The shaft confounds,

Not that it wounds,
But tickles still the sore.

These lovers cry— Oh ! oh ! they die !

Yet that -which seems the wound to kill.
Doth turn oh ! oh ! to ha ! ha ! hu I

So dying love lives still :
Oh ! oh ! a while, but ha ! ha! ha!
Oh ! oh ! groans out for ha ! ha ! ha I

Ilcy ho !

The words in brackets are not in the folio.

105

Act III.]

TEOILUS AKD CEESSIDA.

[SCEIIE II.

Helen. In love, i' faith, to the very tip of the
nose.

Par. He eats nothing but doves, love; and
that breeds hot blood, and hot blood begets hot
thoughts, and hot thoughts beget hot deeds, and
hot deeds is love.

Tan. Is this the generation of love? hot blood,
hot thoughts, and hot deeds? — "Wliy, they are
vipers : Is love a generation of vipers ? Sweet
lord, who 's atield to-day ?

Par. Heetor, Deiphobus, Ilelcnus, iVnlcuor,
and all the gallantry of Troy : I woidd fain have
armed to-day, but my Nell would not have it so.
How chance my brother Troilus went not ?

Helen. He hangs the lip at something ; — you
know all, lord Pandarns.

Pan. Not I, honey-sweet queen. — I long to
hear how they sped to-day. — You'll remember
your brother's excuse ?

Par. To a hair.

Pan. Farewell, sweet queen.

Helen. Commend me to your niece.

Pan. I will, sweet queen. [^Exit.

[A retreat sounded.

Par. They are come from field : let us to
Priam's hall.
To greet the warriors. Sweet Helen, I must

woo you
To help unarm our Hector : his stubborn buckles,
"With these your white enchanting fingers touch'd,
Shall more obey, than to the edge of steel,
Or force of Greekish sinews ; you shall do more
Than all the island kings, disarm great Hector.

Helen. 'T vrill make us proud to be his servant,
Paris:
Yea, what he shall receive of us in duty
Gives us more palm in beauty than we have ;
Yea, overshines ourself.

Par. Sweet, above thought I love thee."

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.— Troy. Pandarus' Orchard.

Enter Paxdarus and a Servant, meeting.

Pan. How now ? where 's thy master ? at my
cousin Crcssida's ?

Serv. No, sir; he stays for you to conduct
him thither.

Enter TnoiLUS.

Pan. O, here he comes. — How now, how now?

» The readinR of the quarto is " Sweet, above thought I
lore Aer," and the speech is there correctly given to Paris.
Thee is the reading of the folio, and the words incorrectly
conclude the speech of Helen.

106

Tfo. Sirrah, walk off. [Exit Servant.

Pan. Have you seen my cousin ?

Ti-o. No, Pandarus : I stalk about her door,
Like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks
Staying for waftage. O, be thou my Charon,
And give me swift transportance to those fields
Where I may wallow in the lily beds
Propos'd for the deserver ! gentle Pandarus,
From Cupid's shoulder pluck his painted wings,
And fly with mc to Cressid !

Pan. A\'alk here i' the orchard, I '11 bring her
straight. [E.vit Paudakus.

Tro. I am giddy; expectation wliirls me
round.
The imaginary relish is so sweet
That it enchanth my sense. What will it be,
Wlien that the wat'ry palate tastes indeed
Love's thrice repured" nectar ? death, 1 fear me ;
Swooning destruction ; or some joy too fine,
Too subtle-potent, and too sharp in sweetness,
For the capacity of my ruder powers :
I fear it much ; and I do fear besides.
That I shall lose distinction in my joys ;
As doth a battle, when they charge on heaps
The enemy flying.

Re-enter Paxdauus.

Pan. She's making her ready, she'll come
straight : yon must be witty now. She docs so
blush, and fetches her wind so short, as if she
were frayed with a sprite : I '11 fetch her. It is
the prettiest villain : — she fetches her breath so
short as a new-ta'en sparrow. [E.vit Pa:xdaiius.

Tro. Even such a passion doth embrace my
bosom :
My heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse ;
And all my powers do their bestowing lose,
Like vassalage at unawares eneount'ring
The eye of majesty.

Enter Paj.dab.vs and Cressida.

Pan. Come, come, what need you blush ?
shame 's a baby. — Here she is now : swear the
oaths now to her that you have sworn to me. —
AVTiat, are you gone again ? you must be watched
ere you be made tame, must you? Come your
ways, come your ways ; an you draw backward,
we'U put you i' the fills. — Why do you not speak
to her? — Come, draw this curtain, and let's see
your picture. Alas the day, how loth you are
to offend daylight ! an 't were dark you 'd close
sooner. So, so ; rub on, and kiss the mistress.
How now, a kiss in fcc-f;u-m ! build there,

a Thrice rrpurrd in the quarto of 1609 — that is thrice rc-
puriticd. The folio ha3 thrice reputed.

Act in.]

TEOILUS AND CEESSIDA.

[SCEKE II.

carpenter; the ak is sweet. Nay, you sliall
fight youi' hearts out ere I part you. The falcou
as the tercel, for all the ducks i' the river : go
to, go to.

Tro. You have bereft me of all words, lady.

Tan. Words pay no debts, give her deeds :
but she '11 bereave you of the deeds too, if she
call your activity in question. What, billing
again ? Here 's^' In witness whereof the parties
interchangeably' — Come in, come in; I'll go
get a fire. \Ilxit Pandakus.

Cres. Will you walk in, my lord ?

Tro. Cressida, how often have I wish'd me
thus?

Ores. Wish'd, my lord ? — The gods grant ! —
my lord !

Tro. What should they grant? what makes
this pretty abruption? What too curious di-eg
espies my sweet lady in the fountain of our
love ?

Cres. More di'egs than water, if my fears have
eyes.

Tro, Eears make devils of cherubins ; they
never see truly.

Cres. Blind fear, that seeing reason leads,
finds safer footing than blind reason stumbling
without fear : To fear the worst oft cures the
worse.

Tro. 0, let my lady apprehend no fear : in
all Cupid's pageant there is presented no mon-
ster.

Cres. Nor nothing monstrous neither ?

Tro. Nothing, but our undertakings ; when
we vow to weep seas, live in fire, eat rocks, tame
tigers; thinking it harder for our mistress to
devise imposition enough, than for us to undergo
any difficulty imposed. This is the moustruosity
in love, lady, — that the will is infinite, and the
execution confined ; that the desire is boundless,
and the act a slave to limit.

Cres. They say, all lovers swear more per-
formance than they are able, and yet reserve an
ability that they never perform ; vowing more
than the perfection of ten, and discharging less
than the tenth part of one. They that have the
voice of Hons, and the act of hares, are they not
monsters ?

Tro. Are there such ? such are not we :
Praise us as we are tasted, allow us as we prove ;
our head shall go bare till merit crown it: no
perfection in reversion shall have a praise in
present: we will not name desert before his
birth; and, being bora, his addition shall be
humble. Pew words to fair faith : TroUus shall
be such to Cressid, as what envy can say worst

shall be a mock for his truth ; and what trulh
can speak truest, not truer than Troilus.
Cres. Will you walk in, my lord ?

Re-enter Pandauus,

Tan. What, blushing stdl ? have you not done
talking yet ?

Cres. Well, uncle, what folly I commit I
dedicate to you.

Tan. I thank you for that ; if my lord get a
boy of you, you '11 give him me : Be true to mj
lord : if he flinch, chide me for it.

Tro. You know now your hostages; your
uncle's word, and my firm faith.

Tan. Nay, I '11 give my word for her too ; our
kindred, though they be long ere they are wooed,
they are constant, being won: they are burs,
I can tell you; they'll stick where they are
thrown.

Cres. Boldness comes to me now, and brings
me heart :
Prince Troilus, I have lov'd you night and day,
For many weary months.

Tro. Why was my Cressid then so hard to
win?

Cres. Hard to seem won ; but I was won, my
lord.
With the first glance that ever — Pardon me ; —
If I confess much, you wiU play the tyi'ant.
I love you now ; but not, till now, so much
But I might master it : — in faith, I lie ;
My thoughts were like unbridled childi-en, grown
Too headstrong for their mother : See, we fools !
Wby have I blabb'd ? who shall be true to us.
When we are so unsecret to ourselves ?
But, though I lov'd you well, I woo'd you not ;
And yet, good faith, I wish'd myself a man;
Or that we women had men's privilege
Of speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my

tongue ;
For, in this rapture, I shall surely speak
The thing I shall repent. See, see, youi- silence.
Cunning in dumbness, from my weakness di-aws
My soul of counsel from me : ^ Stop my mouth.

Tro. And shall, albeit sweet music issues
thence.

Tan. Pretty, i' faith.

Cres. My lord, I do beseech you, pardon me :
'T was not my piu'pose thus to beg a kiss :
I am asham'd;— heavens! what have i

done ? —
For this time will I take my leave, my lord.

Tro. Your leave, sweet Cressid ?

•T So the folio; the quarto, mij very soul ofcou:isfL

107

Act III.]

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

[SCEKE III.

Pa7i. Leave ! au you lak« leave till to-morrow
luoniing, —

Cres. Pray you, content you.

Tro. What offends you, lady ?

Cres. Sir, mine owu company.

Tro. You caimot slum

Yourself.

Cres. Let me go and tiy :
I have a kind of self resides with you :
But an unkind self, that itself will leave.
To be another's fool. "Where is my wit ?
1 would be gone : — I speak I know not what."

Tro. Well know they what they speak that
speak so wisely.

Cres. rcrchancc, my lord, I show more craft
than love :
And fell so roiyully to a large confession.
To angle for your thoughts : But you are wise ;
Or else you love not : I'or to be wise, and love,
Exceeds man's might; that dwells with gods
above.

Tro. O, tliat I thought it could be in a woman,
(As, if it can, I will presume in you,)
To feed for aye licr lamp and flames of love ;
To keep her constancy in pliglit and youth,
Outliving beauty's outward, with a mind
That doth renew swifter than blood decays !
Or, that persuasion could but thus convince me.
That my integrity and truth to you
Might be affronted with the match and weight
Of such a winnowed piu'ity in love;
How were I then uplifted ! but, alas,
I am as true as truth's simplicity.
And simpler than the infancy of trath.

Cres. In that I '11 war with you.

Tro. virtuous fight.

When right with right wars who shall be most

right !
True swains in love shall, in the world to come,
Approve their truths by Troilus: when their

rhymes.
Full of protest, of oath, and big compare,
Want similes, truth tir'd with iteration,—
As true as steel, as plantage to the moon,
\s sun to day, as turtle to her mate.
As iron to adamant, as eartli to the centre,—
Yet, after all comparisons of truth,
As truth's authentic author to be cited.
As true as Troilus shall crown up the verse.
And sanctify the numbers.

Cres. Prophet may you be !

If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth.
When time is old and hath forgot itself,

* Wc follow the reading of the folio,
transpoied in the quarto.

103

The sentences are

Wlien waterdrops have woru the stones of Troy,

And blind oblivion swallow'd cities up.

And mighty states characterless are grated

To dusty nothing ; yet let memory

From false to false, among false maids in love.

Upbraid my falsehood ! when they have said, as

false
As air, as water, wind, or sandy earth,
Ab fox to lamb, or wolf to heifer's calf,
Pard to the hind, or stepdame to her son;
Yea, let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood.
As false as Crcssid,

Fan. Go to, a bargain made : seal it, seal it ;
I '11 be the witness. — Here I hold your hand :
here, my cousin's. If ever you prove false one
to another, since I have taken such pains to bring
you together, let all pitiful goers-between be
called to the world's end after my name, call
them all— Pandars; let all constant men be
Troiluses, all false women Cressids, and all
brokers-between Pandars ! say, amen.

Tro. Amen.

Cres. Amen.

Pan. Amen. Whereupon I will shosv you a
chamber, which bed, because it shall not speak
of your pretty encounters, press it to death :
away.

And Cupid grant all tongue-tied maidens here.

Bed, chamber, and I'andar to provide this
gear ! [E.Teunt.

SCENE 111.— The Grecian Camp.

Enter Agamemnox, Ulysses, Diomedes, Nes-
TOE, Ajax, Menelatjs, and Calcuas.

Cal. Now, princes, for the service I have done

you.
The advantage of the time prompts me aloud
To call for recompense. Appear it to your

mind.
That, through the sight I bear in things to love,"
I have abandou'd Troy, loft my possession,
Tncurr'd a traitor's name ; expos'd myself.
From certain and possess'd conveniences.
To doubtful fortunes ; ^ scqucst'ring from me all
That time, acquaintance, custom, and condition.
Made tame and most familiar to my nature ;
And here, to do you service, am become
As new into the world, strange, luiacquaintcd :

« The meaning apjicars to us sufficiently clear— through
my prescience in knowing wliat things I should love. The
conjeclui.il reading, unsupported by any authority, is—

" That, through the sight 1 bear in things, to Jove
1 have abandon'd Troy."
This is the favourite reading of Mr. Dyce.

Act III.]

TEOILUS AJN^D CRESSIDA.

[Scene III.

I do beseech you, as iu way of taste.
To give me uow a little beuefit,
Out of those many register'd in promise,
Which you say live to come in my beluilf.

Agctm. What wouldst thou of us, Trojan ?

make demand.
Cal. You have a Trojan prisoner, call'd An-
tenor,
Yesterday took ; Troy holds him very dear.
Oft have you (often have you thanks therefore)
Desir'd my Cressid iu right great exchange,
Whom Troy hath still denied : But this Antenor,
I know, is such a wrest in their aifairs.
That their negotiations all must slack.
Wanting his manage ; and they will almost
Give us a prince of blood, a son of Priam,
In change of him : let him be sent, great princes.
And he shall buy my daughter; and her pre-
sence
Shall quite strike off all service I have done,
In most accepted pain.

Again. Let Diomedes bear him,

x\nd bring us Cressid hither ; Calchas shall have
What he requests of us. — Good Diomed,
Furnish you fairly for this interchange :
Withal, bring word, if Hector will to-morrow
Be answer'd in his challenge : Ajax is ready.

Bio. This shall I undertake; and 'tis a
burthen
Wliich I am proud to bear,

{E.veunt Diomedes and Calchas.

Elder Achilles and Patkoclus, before their
Tent.

JJlyss. Achilles stands i' the entrance of his
tent : —
Please it our general to pass strangely by him,
As if he were forgot ; and, princes all,
Lay negligent and loose regard upon him :
I will come last : 'T is like, he '11 question me,
"Wliy such nnplausive eyes are bent, why turn'd

on him :
If so, 1 have derision medicinable,
To use between your strangeness and his pride.
Which his own will shall have desire to drink ;
It may do good : pride hath no other glass
To show itself, but pride ; for supple knees
Feed arrogance and are the proud man's fees.
Again. We'll execute your purpose, and put

on
A form of strangeness as we pass along ; —
So do each lord ; and either greet him not.
Or else disdainfully, which shall shake him

more
Than if not look'd on. I wiU lead the way.

Achil. What, comes the general to speak with
me ?
You know my miud, I '11 fight no more 'gainst
Troy.
Agar,!. What says Achilles? would he aught

with us ?
Nest. Would you, my lord, aught with the

general ?
Acliil. No.

Nest. Nothing, niy lord.
Agam. The better. .

[E.reunf Agamemnon and Nestor.
Ac/iil. Good day, good day.
Men. How do you ? h.ow do you ?

lEvit Menelal's.
Aciil, Wliat, does the cuckold scoi-n me ?
AJa.v. How now, Patroclus ?
Ac/iil. Good morrow, Ajax.
AJa.T. Ha? — •
Ac/iil. Good morrow.
AJa.T. Ay, and good next day too.

[Edit Ajax.
Achil. What mean these fellows ? Know they

not Achilles ?
Patr. They pass by strangely : they were us'd
to bend.
To send their smiles before them to AchUles ;
To come as humbly as they us'd to creep
To holy altars.

Achit. What, am I poor of late ?

'T is certain, greatness, once fallen out with for-
tune.
Must fall out with men too : "VYhat the declin'd is^
He shall as soon read in the eyes of others.
As feel in his o\vn fall : for men, like butterflies.
Show not their mealy wings but to the summer ;
And not a man, for being simply man.
Hath any honour ; but honour for those honom-s
That are without him, as place, riches, aud

favom',
Prizes of accident as oft as merit :
Which, when they fall, as being slippery standers.
The love that lean'd on them as slippery too.
Do one pluck do^vn another, and together
Die in the fall. But 't is not so with me :
Fortune and I are friends ; I do enjoy
At ample point all that I did possess.
Save these men's looks : who do, mctliinks, find

out
Something not worth iu me such rich beholding
As thev have often given. Here is Ulysses ;
I '11 interrupt his reading. —
How noWjUlysses ?

Vlyss. Now, great Thetis' son !

Achil. What are you reading ?

10?

Act III.]

TEOILUS iVND CEESSLDA.

[Scene 111.

Uli/ss. A stmngc fellow here

Writes mc, That mau, how deai-ly ever parted,"
How much ia having, or mthout, or iu,
Caimot make boast to have that wliich he hath,
Nor feels not what he owes, but by rcdcctiou ;
As when his virtues shiniug upon others
Heat them, and they retort that heat again
To the first giver.

Achil. This is not strange, Ulysses.

The beauty that is borne here in the face
The bearer knows not, but commends itself
[To others' eyes : nor doth the eye itself
(That most pure spirit of sense) behold itself,'"]
Not going from itself; but eye to eye oppos'd
Salutes each other with each other's form.
For speculation turns not to itself,
TiU it hath travell'd, and is married "^ I here
ATlicre it may see itself: this is not strange at all.

Uli/ss. I do not strain at the position,
It is familiar ; but at the author's drift :
Who, in his ciicumstancc, expressly proves.
That no man is the lord of anything,
(Though in and of him there is much consisting,)
Till he communicate his parts to others :
Nor doth he of himself know them for aught
Till he behold them form'd in the applause
Where they are extended; who, like an arch,

reverberates
The voice again ; or, like a gate of steel
Fronting the sun, receives and renders back
Uis figure and his heat. I was much rapt in

this;
And apprehended here immediately
The unknown Ajax.

Heavens, what a man is there ! a very horse ;
That has he knows not what. Nature, what

things there are.
Most abject in regard, and dear iu use !
What things again most dear iu tlic esteem,
.\jid poor in worth ! Now shall we see to-
morrow.
An act that very chance doth tlu-ow upon him,
Ajax renowu'd. heavens, what some men do.
While some men leave to do !
How some men creep in skittish fortune's hall,
"\71iile others play the idiots in her eyes !
How one man cats into another's pride.
While pride is feasting in his wantonness !
To see these Grecian lords ! — why, even akeady
They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder ;
As if liis foot were on brave Hector's breast.
And great Troy shrinking.

» PaWorf— endowed wiili parts, talenta.
b The lines in brackets arc not in the folio,
e Married. So the quarto and folios. Mr. Collier's cor-
rected folio ha3 mirror'd.

110

Achil. I do believe it : for f hey pass'd by me
As misers do by beggars ; neither gave to mc
Good word, nor look: What, are my deeds

forgot ?
Uli/ss. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his

back.
Wherein he puts alms for oblivion,
A great sized monster of ingratitudes :
Those scraps arc good deeds past : which arc

devour'd
As fast as they are made, forgot as soon
As done : Perseverance, dear my lord,
Keeps honour bright : To have done, is to hang
Qidte out of fashion, like a iiisty mail
In monumental mockery. 'J'ake the instant

w;iy ;
For honour travels in a strait so narrow,
Where one but goes abreast : keep then the

path ;
For emulation hath a thousand sons.
That one by one pursue : If you give way.
Or hedge aside from the direct forthright.
Like to an enter'd tide, they jdl rush by.
And leave you hindmost ; —
Or, like a gallant horse fallen in fii'st rank,
Lie there for pavement to the abject rear,
O'errun and trampled on : Then what they do

in present,
Though less than yom-s in past, must o'crtop

yours :
For time is like a fashionable host.
That slightly shakes his parting guest by the

hand;
And with his arms outstretch' d, as he would fly,
Grasps-in the comer : Welcome ever smiles,
i\jid farewell goes out sighing. 0, let not virtue

seek
Remuneration for the thing it was ;
For beauty, wit.

High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service.
Love, friendship, charity, ai'c subjects all
To envious and calumniating time.
One touch of nature makes the whole world

kin, —
That all, with one consent, praise new-born

gawds,
Though tlicy are made and moulded of things

past ;
And give to dust, tliat is a little gilt.
More laud than gUt o'cr-dusted.
The present eye praises the present object :
Then marvel not, thou great and complete

man,
That all the Greeks begm to worship Ajax ;
Smee tilings iu motion sooner catch the eye.

A.CT ni.]

TEOILUS AND CEESSIDA.

[Scene III.

Than what uot stirs. The cry went once on

thee.
And still it might ; and yet it may again,
If thou wouldst not entomb thyself alive,
And case thy reputation in thy tent ;
Whose glorious deeds, but in these fields of late,
Made em'ilous missions 'mongst the gods them-
selves,
And drave great Mars to faction.

Achil. Of this my privacy

I have strong reasons.

Uli/ss. But 'gainst your privacy

The reasons are more potent and heroical :
'Tis known, AchiUes, that you are in love
With oue of Priam's daughters.

AcJiil. Ila ! known ?

Uli/ss. Is that a wonder ?
The providence that 's in a watchful state
Knows almost every grain of Plutus' gold ;
Finds bottom in the uncompreheusive deeps ;
Keeps place with thought, and almost, like the

gods.
Does t'houghts unveil in then: dumb cradles.
There is a mystery (with whom relation
Durst never meddle) iu the soul of state ;
Wbich hath au operation more divine
Than breath, or pen, can give expressui-e to :
All the commerce that you have had with Troy>
As perfectly is ours, as yours, my lord ;
And better would it fit Achilles much.
To throw down Hector, than Polyxena :
But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home,
When fame shall in oiu- islands sound her

tnimp ;
And all the Greekish girls shall tripping sing,—
' Great Hector's sister did Achilles win ;
But our great Ajax bravely beat down him.'
Farewell, my lord : I as your lover speak ;
The fool slides o'er the ice that you shoidd

break. U^-^'it-

Pair. To this effect, Achilles, have I mov'd

you :
A woman impudeut and mannish grown
Is not more loath'd than an effeminate man
In time of action. I stand condemu'd for this ;
They think, my little stomach to the war.
And yoiu- great love to me, restrains you thus :
Sweet, rouse yourself; and the weak wanton

Cupid
Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold.
And, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane,
Be shook to airy air.''

Achil Shall Ajax fight with Hector ?

a Airy air is the reading of tlie folio; the quarto has
air.

Pair. Ay ; and, pei'haps, receive muck honour
by him.

Achil. I see, my reputation is at stake ;
My fame is shrewdly gor'd.

Pat/-. O, then beware ;

Those wounds heal ill that men do give them-
selves :
Omission to do M'hat is necessary
Seals a commission to a blank of danger ;
And danger, like au ague, subtly taints
Even then when we sit idly iu the smi.

Achil. Go call Thersitcs hither, sweet Pa-
troclus :
I'U send the fool to Ajax, and desire him
To invite the Troiau lords after the combat,
To see us here nnarm'd : I have a woman s

longing,
An appetite that I am sick withal,
To see great Hector in his weeds of peace ;"
To talk with him, and to behold his visage.
Even to my full of view. A labour saVd !

Enter Thersites.

Ther. A wonder !

Achil. What?

Ther. Ajax goes up and down the field, ask-
ing for 'himself.

Achil. How so ?

Ther. He must fight singly to-moiTOW with
Hector; and is so prophetically proud of an
heroical cudgelling, that he raves in saying no-
thing.

Achil. Hovv" can that be ?

Ther. Why, he stalks up and down like a
peacock— a stride and a stand: ruminates- like"
an hostess that hath no arithmetic but her brain
to set down her reckoning : bites his lip with a
politic regard, as who shoidd say, there were
wit iu this head, an't would out ; and so there
is ; but it lies as coldly iu him as fire in a flint,
which will not show without knocking. The
man's undone for ever ; for if Hector break not
his neck i' the combat, he '11 break it himself in
vainglory. He knows not me : I said, ' Good-
morrow, Ajax;' and he replies, 'Thanks, Aga-
memnon.' What think you of this man, that
takes me for the general? He is grown a very
land fish, languageless, a monster. A plague
of opinion ! a man may wear it on both sides,
like a leather jerkin. •

Achil. Thou must be my ambassador to him,
T]i6rsitcs.

Ther. Who, I? why, he'll answer nobody;
he professes not answering ; speaking is for beg-
gars : he wears his tongue in his arms. I will
^ 111

Act 1 1 I.J

TliOILUS AND CKESSIDA.

[Scene 111.

put on his presence ; let Patroelus make his
demands to nic, you shall sec the pageant of
Ajax.

Jchil. To him, Patroelus: Tell him, I hum-
bly desire the valiant Ajax to invite the most
valorous Hector to come unarmed to my tent ;
and to procure safe conduct for his person, of
the magnanimous, and most illustrious, six-or-
seven-times honoured eaptain-gencral of the
Grecian army, Agamemnon, &e. Do this.

Patr. Jove bless great Ajax.

Ther. Humph!

Patr. I come from the worthy Achilles, —

Ther. Ha!

Patr. Who most humbly desires you to invite
Hector to his tent, —

Ther. Humph!

Patr. And to procure safe conduct from Aga-
memnon.

Ther. Agamemnon?

Patr. Av, my lord.

Ther. Ha !

Patr. "What say you to 't ?

Ther. God be wi' you, with all my heart.

Patr. Your answer, sir.

Ther. If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven
o'clock it will go one way or other ; howsoever,
he shall pay for me ere he has me.

Patr. Your answer, sir.

Ther. Tare you well, with all my heart.

Achil. ^Vhy, but he is not in tliis tune, is he ?

T/icr. No, but he 's out o' tune thus. What
music will be in him when Hector has knocked
out his brains, I know not : But, I am sure,
none ; unless the fiddler Apollo gets his sinews
to make catlings on.

Acliil. Come, thou shalt bear a letter to him
straight.

Ther. Let me can-y another to his horse ; for
tha't's the more capable creature.

Achil. My mind is troubled, Hke a fountain
stirr'd ;
And I myself see not the bottom of it.

\_E.re/ait AcuiLLES and Patroclus.

Ther. 'Would the fountain of your mind were
clear again, that I might water an ass at it ! 1
had rather be a tick in a sheep, than such a va-
liant ignorance. [E.vii.

[Achilles.]

ILLUSTRATIONS OP ACT III.

' Scene III. — " Expos' d myself.
From certain and possess'd conveniences,
To doubtful fortunes"

The ' Troy Book ' gives a different version of the
motives of Calchas iu going over to the Greeks.
Apollo appeared to the priest, —

" And said Calchas twice by his name;
Be right well 'ware thou ne turn again
To Troy tcrni, for that were hut in vain ;
For finally learn this thing of me,
In short time it shall destroyed be."

- Scene III. — " I have a woman's longing.
An appetite that I am sich withal.
To see great Hector in his weeds of peace."

In the ' Destruction of Troy ' we have the same
conception worthy to be received into the poetry
of Shakspere : — •

" The truce during, Hector went on a day unto
the tents of the Greeks, and Achilles beheld him
gladly, forasmuch as he had never seen him un-
armed. And at the request of Achilles, Hector
went into his tent ; and as they spake together of
many things, Achilles said to Hector, I have great
pleasure to see thee unarmed, forasmuch as I have
never seen thee before."

TKAaEDIES.--YOL. II.

113

-1.*

■f

[jEneas meoting Tans.]

ACT TV

SCENE I.-Tioj. A SI reel.

Enter, at one side, JilxEAS, and Servant with a
torch; at the other, Paris, Deiphobus, An-
T£NOR, DiOMEDES, and others, with torches.

Par. See, ho ! who 's that there ?
Dei. 'Tis the lord ^neas.

J^ne. Is the prince there in person ? —
Had I so good occasion to lie long,
As you, prince Paris, nothing but heavenly busi-
ness
Should rob my bed-mate of my company.

JJio. ITiat 's my mind too. — Good morrow,

lord iEueas.
Par. A valiant Greek, jEncas ; take his hand :
Witness the process of your speech, wherein
You told how Diorr.jd, in a whole week by days.
Did haunt you in the field.
114

J^ne. Health to you, valiant sir,

During all question of the gentle truce : "
But wlicn I meet you arni'd, as black defiance.
As heart can think or courage execute.

Bio. Tlie one and other Diomed embraces.
Our bloods are now in calm ; and, so long, healtli :
But, when contention and occasion meet.
By Jove, I '11 play the hunter for thy life.
With all my force, pursuit, and policy.

Jl'Jne. And thou shalt hunt a lion, that will fly
With his face backward. — In humane gentleness,
AVelcome to 1'roy ! now, by Anchises' life,
W^eleome, indeed ! By Venus' hand I swear.
No man alive can love, in such a sort,
The tiling he means to kill, more excellently.

• The Eciitence scarcely requires explanation : j^neas
wishes DIomedes health, whilst tliere is no question, argu-
ment, between them but what arises out of the truce.

Act IV.]

TEOILUS AND CRESSIDA.

rScENS II.

Dio. We sympathize : — Jove, let J<lneas live,
If to my sword his fate be not the glory,
A thousand complete courses of the sun !
But, in mine emulous honour, let him die,
With every joint a wound ; and that to-morrow !

^ne. We know each other weU.

Bio. We do ; and long to know each other
worse.

Par. This is the most despitefull'st '^ gentle
greeting,
The noblest hateful love, that e'er I heard of. —
What business, lord, so early ?

J;! lie. I was sent for to tiie king; but why, I
know not.

Par. His purpose meets you : 'T was to bring
this Greek
To Calchas' house ; and there to render liim.
For the enfreed Antenor, the fair Cressid :
Let 's have your company ; or, if you please.
Haste there before us : I constantly do think,
(Or, rather, call my thought a certain know-
ledge,)
My brother Troilus lodges there to-night ;
Rouse him, and give liim note of our approao'.i.
With the whole quality whereof ; I fear,
We shall be nuich unwelcome.

jEne. That I assure you ;

Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece,
Than Cressid borne from Troy.

Par. There is no help ;

The bitter disposition of the time
Will have it so. On, lord ; we '11 follow you.

JEne. Good morrow, all. \_Exit.

Par. And tell me, noble Diomed ; faith, tell
me true.
Even in the soul of sound good-fellowship, —
Who, in your thoughts, merits fair Helen most,''
Myself, or Menelaus ?

Dio. Both alike :

He merits well to have her that doth seek her
(Not making any scruple of her soilure)
With such a hell of pain, and world of charge ;
And you as well to keep her, tliat defend her
(Not palatiug the taste of her dishonour)
With such a costly loss of wealth and friends :
He, like a puling cuckold, would drink up
The lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece ;
You, like a lecher, out of whorish loins
Are pleas'd to breed out your inheritors ;
Both merits pois'd, each weighs no less nor

more ;
But he as he ; which heavier for a whore ?°

* This, the reading of the folio, is a common construction
of the age of Shakspere : the quarto reading is despiieful.
b Most is the reading of the folio; tlic quarto, best
c This is the reading of the folio.

I 2

Par. You are too bitter to your cctmtry-
womac.

Dio. She 's bitter to her couiitry : Hear me,
Paris. —
For every false drop in her bawdy veins
A Grecian's life hath sunk ; for every scruple
Of her contaminated carrion weight,
A Trojan hath been slain; since she cotud

speak.
She hath not given so many good words breath,
As for her Greeks and Trojans suffer'd death.

Par. Fan- Diomed, you do as chapmen do,
Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy :
But we in silence hold this vntue well, —
We '11 not commend what we intend to sell.^
Here lies our way. [jE.veuiit.

SCENE II.— The same. Conrl be/ore the House
of Pandarus.

Enter Tkoilus and Cressida.

Tro. Dear, trouble not yourself ; the morn is
cold.

Cres. Then, sweet my lord, I '11 call mine uncle
down ;
He shall unbolt the gates.

Tro. Trouble liim not ;

To bed, to bed : Sleep kill those pretty eyes.
And give as soft attachment to thy senses,
As infants' empty of all thought !

Ores. Good morrov/, then.

Tro. Prithee now, to bed.

des. Are you aweary of me ?

Tro. Cressida ! but that the busy day,
Wak'd by the lark, hath rous'd the ribald crows.
And dreaming night will hide our joys ^ no longer,
I would not from thee.

Ores. Night hath been too brief.

Tro. Beshrew the witch ! M"ith venomous
\viglits she stays.
As tediously " as hell ; but flies the grasps of love.
With wintrs more momeutarv-swift thanthouglit.
You will catch cold, and curse me.

Cres. Prithee, tarry; — you men will never
tarry.—
O foolish Cressid!— I might have still held off.
And then you would have tarried. Hark ! there 's
one up.

Pan. [JFithin.'] What, are all the doors open
here ?

* Warhurfon proposed to read not sell, which is evidently
the meaning,— antithetically oppose. 1 to biiij. Ticck and
Voss support the change of reading; but our principle is
not to alter tlie text. In this respect It is the same in both
editions, the quarto and tlie folio.

b Joys in tlie quarto ; the folio, ci/es.

c Tediously in the quarto ; the folio, hideously.

Act IV.l

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

[SC£NE II.

Tro. It is your xincle.

Enter Pandakus.

Cres. A pestilence on him! now will he be
mocking :
I shall have such a life, —

Pan. How now, how now ? how go maiden-
heads ? Here, you maid ! where 's my cousin
Cressid ?
Cres. Go hang yourself, you naughty mock-
ing uncle !
You brine: me to do, and then vou flout me
too.
Pan. To do what ? to do what ?— let her say
what : what have I brought you to do ?

Cres. Come, come ; besluew your heart :
you '11 ne'er be good.
Nor suffer others.

Pan. Ha, ha ! Alas, poor wretch 1 a poor ca-
pocchia ! '^ hast not slept to-night ? would he not,
a naughty man, let it sleep ? a bugbear take
him ! \Knocldng.

Cres. Did not I tell you ? — 'would he were
kuock'd o' the head !
Who 's that at door ? good uncle, go and see. —
My lord, come you again into my chamber :
You smile, and mock me, as if I meant naugh-
tily.
Tro. Ha, ha!

Cres. Come, you are deceiv'd, I think of no
such thing. — [Knocking.

How earnestly they knock ! pray you, come in ;
I would not for half Troy have you seen here.

[Exeunt Troiltjs and Ckessida.
Pan. [Going to the door.'] Wlio's there?
what 's the matter ? will you beat down the
door ? How now ? what 's the matter ?

Enter JUneas.

./E?ie. Good-morrow, lord, good-morrow.

Pan. "Who 's there ? my lord ^ueas ? By my
troth,
I knew you not : what news with you so early ?

.^ne. Is not prince Troilus here ?

Pan. Here ! what should he do here ?

JEne. Come, he is here, my lord, do not deny
him ;
It doth import him much to speak with me.

Pan. Is he here, say you ? "t is more than I
know, I '11 be sworn : — For my own part, I came
in late : What should he do here ?

jEne. Who! — nay, then: — Come, come, you'll
Ho him wrong ere y^ are 'ware : You '11 be so true

" CnpoccAia. —Florio, in liis Italian Dictionary, explains
capocchio as "a shallow skonce, a loggerhead."

116

to him, to be false to hiin : Do not you know of
him, but yet go fetch him hitlicr ; go.

As PaxDx\.iius is going out, enter Tkoilus.

Tro. How now ? what 's the matter ?

.^ne. My lord, I scarce have leisure to ^alutc
you.
My matter is so rash There is at hand
Paris your brotlier, ami Deiphobus,
The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor
Delivcr'd to us ; and for him forthwith.
Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour,
We must give up to Diomcdes' hand
The lady Cressida.'

Tro. Is it concluded so ?

.^ne. By Priam, and the general state of
Troy:
They are at hand, and ready to effect it.

Tro. How my achievements mock me !
I wUl go meet them : and, my lord iEneas,
We met by chance ; you did not find me here.

^ne. Good, good, my lord ; the secrets of
natui'e
Have not more gift in taciturnity.

[Exeunt Troilus and ^xeas.

Pan. Is "t possible ? no sooner got but lost ?
The devil take Antenor ! the young prince will
go mad. A plague upon Antenor ! I would they
had broke 's neck.

Enter Cressida.

Cres. How now ? what 's the matter ? Who
was here ?

Pan. Ah, ah !

Cres. Why sigh you so profoundly ? where 's
ray lord gone? Tell me, sweet uncle, what's
the matter ?

Pan. 'Would I were as deep under the earth
as I am above !

Cres. O the gods ?— what 's the matter ?

Pan. Prithee, get thee in. Would thou hadst
ne'er been born ! I knew thou wouldst be his
death: — poor gentleman!— A plague upon
Antenor !

Cres. Good uncle, I beseech you on my knees,
I beseech you, what 's the matter ?

Pan. Thou must be gone, wench, thou must
be gone ; thou art changed for Antenor : thou
must to thy father, and be gone from Troilus ;
't will be his death ! 't will be his baue ; he can-
not bear it,

Cres. O you immortal gods! — I will not

go-
Pa;!. Thou must.

Cres. I will not, uncle : I have forgot my
father ;

ACT iV.j

TROILUS Al^D CRESSIDA.

[SCES£S III., IV.

I know no toucli of consariguinity;

No kiu, no love, no blood, no soul so near

me,
As the sweet Troilus. —0 you gods divine 1
Make Cressid's name the very crown of false-
hood
If ever she leave Troilus ! Time, force, and

death,
Do to this body what extremity- you can ;
But the strong base and building of rriy

love
Is as the very centre of the earth,
Drawhig all thmgs to it. — I will go in, and

weep ; —
Fan. Do, do.
Ores. Tear my bright hair, and scratch my

praised cheeks ;
Crack my clear voice with sobs, and break my

heart
With soimding Troilus. I M'iU not go from

Troy. [Exeiint.

SCENE 111.— The same. Before Pandarus'
House.

Enter Pahis, Troilus, ^neas, Deiphobtjs,
Antenok. and Dioiiedes.

Far. It is great morning ; and the hour pre-
fix'd
Of her delivery to this valiant Greek
Comes fast upon : — Good my brother Troilus,
TeU you the lady what she is to do.
And haste her to the purpose.

Tro. Walk in to her house ;

I '11 bring her to the Grecian presently :
And to his hand when I deliver her,
Think it an altar ; and thy brother Troilus
A priest, there offermg to it his own heai't. [E.vit.

Far. I know what 't is to love ;
And 'would, as I shall pity, I could help !—
Please you walk in, my lords. [Exeunt.

SCENE IS.— The same. A Room in Pandarus'
Hotcse.

Enter Pandarus and Cressida.

Fa7i. Be moderate, be moderate.
Ores. Why tell you me of moderation?
The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste.
And no less in a sense as strong as that
Which causeth it : ^ How can I moderate it ?

* Extremity in the folio ; the quarto, extremes.
b This is the reading of the folio ; the quarto has,

" And violenielh in a sense as strong
As that -which causeth it."

If I could temporize with my affection.
Or brew it to a weak and colder palate.
The Uke allayment could I give my grief :
My love admits no qualifyiag cross : "
No more my grief, m such a precious loss.

Enter Troilus.

Fan. Here, here, here he comes, a sweet
duck!

Ores. Troilus ! Troilus !

Fan. Wliat a pair of spectacles ri here ! Let
me embrace too : heart,— as the goodly say-
ing is,—

O heart, heavy heart.
Why sigh'st thou without breaking?

where he answers again,

Because thou canst not ease thy smart,
By friendship, nor by speaking.

There w^as never a truer rhyme. Let us cast
away nothing, for we may live to have need of
such a verse ; we see it, we see it. — How now,
lambs ?

Tro. Cressid, I love thee in so strain'd a
pui-ity,
That the blest gods— as angry with my fancy,
More bright in zeal than the devotion which
Cold lips^blow to their deities,— take thee from
me.
Ores. Have the gods envy ?
Fan. Ay, ay, ay, ay ; 't is too plain a case.
Ores. And is it true that I must go from

Troy?
Tro. A hateful truth.

Ores. What, and from Troilus too ?

Tro. From Troy, and Troilus.
Ores. Is 't possible ?

Tro. And suddenly ; where injury of chance
Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by
All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips
Of all rejoindui-e, forcibly prevents
Oiu- lock'd embrasures, strangles our dear vows
Even in the birth of our own labouring breath :
We two, that with so many thousand sighs
Did buy each other, must poorly sell our-
selves
With the rude brevity and discharge of one.
Injurious time now, with a robber's haste.
Crams Ms rich thievery up, he knows not how :
As many farewells as be stars in heaven,
With distinct breath and consigu'd kisses to

them.
He fumbles up into a loose adieu j

a Cross in the folio; dross in the quarto. The folio give^
as clear a meaning, without a raised metaphor.

117

AjT IV.J

TEOILUS AND CEESSIDA

[SiCKM. IV.

And scants us with a single faniish'd kiss,
Distasting" with the salt of broken tears.
^ne. SJVithin^ My lord ! is the lady ready ?
Tro. Hark ! you are call'd : Some say, the
Genius so
Cries, 'Come!' to him that instantly must

die. —
Bid them have paticuee ; she shall come anon.

Tan. Where are my tears ? rain, to lay this
wind, or my heart will be blown up by the root.

[Exit Pakdakvs.
Crei. I must then to the Grecians ?
Tro. No remedy.

Ores. A woeful Cressid 'mongst the merry
Greeks !
When shall we see again?

Tro. Hear me, mv love : Be thou but true of

heart, — '
Ores. I true ! how now ? what wicked deem

is this ?
Tro. Nay, we must use expostulation kindly,
For it is parting from us :
[ speak not, ' be thou true,' as fearing thee ;
For I will throw my glove to Death himself.
That there's no niaculation in thy heart :
But ' be thou true,' say I, to fashion in
My sequent protestation ; be thou true.
And I will see thee.

Cres. 0, you shall be expos'd, my lord, to
dangers
As infinite as imminent ! but, 1 '11 be true.
Tro. And I '11 grow friend with danger. Wear

this sleeve.
Cres. And you this glove. When shall I see

you?
Tro. I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels,
To give thee nightly visitation.
But yet, be true.

Cres. heavens ! — be true, again ?

Tro. Hear why I speak it, love ;
The Grecian youths are full ^l quality ;
Their loving well compos'd with gift of nature,
Flowing and swelUng o'er with arts and exercise -^

» DUlatling in the folio; the quarto, ditlailed.

"" Thcie are three fine lines, perfectly intelligible: — their
loving is well composed with the gift of nature, which gift
(natural quality) is flowing, and swelli! g over, with arts
and exercise. The second line is not found ia the quarto,
nrhicb reads,

" The Grecian youths are full of quality.
And swelling o'er with arts and exfrcise."
The poet appears to have strsnsthcned the image in his
last copy. In the Vdriorum edivions we have —
" The Grecian youths ars full of quality,

r/i^reloving, v.eii compos'd, with gifts of nature flowing.
And swelling o'er with arts and exercise."
Mr. Staunton reads —

'•Tbey 're loving, well composed with gifts of nature,
And Powing o'tr with arts and exercise: "

118

How novelties may move, and parts with person,
Alas, a kind of godly jealousy
(Which, I beseech you, call a virtuous sm,)
Makes me afraid.

Cres. heavens ! you love me not.

Tro. Die I a villain then !
In this I do not call your faith in question.
So mainly as my merit : I cannot sing,
Nor heel the high lavolt, nor sweeten talk.
Nor play at subtle games ; fair virtues all,
To which the Grecians are most prompt and

pregnant :
But 1 can tell, that in each grace of these
There lurks a still and dumbdiseoursive devil.
That tempts most cunningly: but be not tempted.

Cres. Do you think I will ?

Tro. No.
But something may be done that we will not :
i\jid sometimes we are devils to ourselves,
AVhen we will tempt the frailty of our powers,
Presuming on their changeful potency.

Mie. [irUhin.'] Nay, good my lord, —

Tro. Come, kiss, and let us part.

Par. \JFilhin.'} Brother Troilus !

Tro. Good brother, come you hither ;

And bring ^neas and the Grecian with you. .

Cres. My lord, will you be true ?

Tru. Who, 1 ? alas, it is my vice, my fault ;
T\'Tiile others fi.sh with craft for great opinion,
I with great truth catch mere simplicity ;
Whilst some with cunning gild their copper

crowns,
With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare.
Fear not my truth ; the moral of my wit
Is — plain, and true, — there 's all the reach
of it.

Enter ^neas, Paris, Antenok, Deiphobus,
and DioiiEDES.

Welcome, sir Diomed ! here is the lady.
Which for Antenor we deliver you :
At the port, lord, I '11 give her to thy hand ;
And, by the way, possess thee what she is.
Entreat her fair ; and, by my soul, fair Greek,
If e'er thou stand at mercy of my sword.
Name Cressid, and thy life shall be as safe
As Priam is in Ilion.

J)io. Fair lady Cressid,

So please you, save the thanks this prince ex-
pects :
The lustre in your eye, heaven in your check.
Pleads yoar fair usage ; and to Diomed
You shall be mistress, and command him wholly.

Tro. Grecian, thoi; dost not use me courte-
ously,

Act IV.]

TEOILUS AND CRESSIDA,

[Scene V,

To shame the seal " of my petition to thee,
lu praising her : I tell thee, lord of Greece,
She is as far high-soaring o'er thy praises.
As thou unworthy to be called her servant.
I charge thee, use her well, even for my cliarge ;
For, by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not.
Though the great bulk Achilles be thy guard,
I '11 cut thy throat.

Dio. 0, be not mov'd, prince Troilus :

Let me be privileg'd by my place and message.
To be a speaker free ; when I am hence,
I 'U answer to my lust : And know you, lord,
I '11 nothing do on charge : To her own worth
She shall be priz'd ; but that you say — be 't so,
I '11 speak it in my spirit and honour, — no.

Tro. Come, to the port. — I'll tell thee, Diomed,
This brave shall oft make thee to hide thy head.—
Lady, give me your hand ; and, as we walk,
To our own selves bend wc our needful talk.

\_Exeunt Troilus, CiuiissiDA, and Dioiied.

\Trumpet heard.

Par. Hark ! Hector's trumpet.

Mie. How have we spent this morning !

The prince must think me tardy and remiss.
That swore to ride before him in the field.

Par. 'T is Troilus' fault : Come, come, to field
with him.

Dei. Let us make ready straight.

Mie. Yea, with a bridegroom's fresh alacrity,
Let us address to tend on Hector's heels :
The glory of our Troy doth this day lie
On his fair worth, and single chivalry. [_Exeuiit.

SCENE N.—The Grecian Camp. Lists set out.

Enter Ajax, armed; Agamemnon, Achilles,
Patroclus, Menelaus, Ulysses, Nestoe,
and others.

Agam. Here art thou in appointment fresh
and fair,
Anticipating time. With starting courage,
Give with thy trumpet a loud note to Troy,
Thou dreadful Ajax ; ^ that the appalled air
May pierce the head of the great combatant.
And hale him hither.

a Seal is the reading of all the old copies. Warburton
rhanged this to %eal, which is commonly adopted. The
strong meaning attached to seal in Shakspere's age is ex-
pressed in the line of the well-known song

" Seals of love, but scaVd inVain.'

b Our text is pointed as the first folio (which is also the
punctuation of the quarto). This is the modern punetua
tion : —

" Here art thou in appointment fresh and fair,
Anticipating time with alarting courage.
Give with thy trumpet," &o.

The variation was first introduced by Theobald.

Ajax. Thou, trumpet, there 's my purse.

Now crack thy lungs, and sph't thy brazen pipe :
Blow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek
Out-swell the coUc of puft''d Aquilon:
Come, stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout

blood ;
Thou blow'st for Hector. {Trumpet sounds.

Uli/ss. No trumpet answers.
Achil. 'T is but early days.

Agam. Is not yon Diomed, with Calchas'

daughter ?
JJlyss. 'T is he, I ken the manner of his gait ;
He rises on the toe : that spirit of his
In aspiration lifts him from the earth,

Enkr DiOMED, with Cressida.

Agam. Is this the lady Cressid ?

Bio. Even she.

Agam. Most dearly welcome to the Greeks,
sweet lady.

Nest. Our general doth salute you with a kiss.

TJlyss. Yet is the kindness but particular ;
'T were better she were kiss'd in general.

Nest. And very courtly counsel : I 'U begin. —
So much for Nestor.

Achil. I'll take that winter from your lips,
fair lady :
Achilles bids you welcome.

Men.

I had good argument for kissing once.

Pair. But that's no argument for kissing
now :
For thus popp'd Paris in his hardiment ;
[And parted thus you aud your argument.^]
TJlgss. deadly gall, and theme of all our
scorns !
For which we lose our heads, to gild his horns.
Patr. The first was Menelaus' kiss,— this,
mine:
Patroclus kisses you.

Men. O, this is trim !

Patr. Paris, and I, kiss ever more for him.

Men. I'll have my kiss, sir:— Lady, by your

leave.
Ores. In kissing, do you render or receive ?
Patr. Both take and give.
Ores. I '11 make my match to live.

The kiss you take is better than you give ;
Therefore no kiss.

Men. I'll give you boot, I'll give you three

for one.
Ores. You 're an odd man ; give even, or give

none.
Men. An odd man, lady ? every man is odd.

'■- The line in brackets is not in the folio.

119

A.CT IV.]

TEOILUS .VlsD CEESSIDA.

[SCBSl. V.

Ores. No, Paris is not; for you know 'tis
true
That you are odd, and he is even witli you.
Men. You fillip mo o' the head.
Cres. No, I '11 be sworu.

Ulyss. It T'cre no match, your nail against his
horn. —
May I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you ?
Cres. You may.
Ult/ss. I do desire it.

Cres. ^Vhy, beg then.

Ul^ss. V^\s then, for Venus' sake, give me a
kiss,
"When Helen i.s a maid again, and his.

Cres. I am your debtor, claim it when 't is

due.
Ulyss. Never 's my day, and then a kiss of you.
Dio. Lady, a word ; — I '11 bring you to your
father. [Diomed leads out Ckessida.
Nest. A woman of quick sense.
Uli/ss. Fie, fie upon her !

There's language in her eye, her cheek, her

lip,
Nay, her foot speaks ; her wanton spirits look

out
At every joint and motive of her body.
0, these encounterers, so gHb of tongue,
That give a coasting welcome ere it comes.
And wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts
To every tickling * reader ! set them down
For sluttish spoils of opportunity,
.\jid daughters of the game. [Tnmpet irithin.
All. The Trojans' trumpet.
Afjam. Yonder comes the troop.

Enter Hector, armed ; ^neas, Tuoilus, and
other Trojans, with Attendants.

JFw. Hail, all you state ^ of Greece ! what
shall be done
To him that victory commands ? Or do you pur-
pose,
A victor shall be known ? will you, the knights
Shall to the edge of aU extremity
Pursue each other, or shall be divided
By any voice or order of the field ?
Hector bade ask.

Affum. AVhich way would Hector have it ?

£ne. He cares not, he '11 obey conditions.

Achil. 'T is done like Hector ; but securely
done,
A little proudly, and great deal disprizing "^
The knight oppos'd.

» Tickling in the folio; the quarto, ticklish.
b You slate in tlie folio; the quarto, the stale.
« Diti/Titing in the folio; the quarto, mispriting.

120

Ult/ss.
A gam.

JEne. If not Achilles, sir,

AVhat is your name ?
Achil. If not Achilles, nothing.

Jine. Therefore Achilles : But, whate'er,
know this ; —
In the extremity of great and little.
Valour and pride excel themselves in Hector ;
The one almost as infinite as all.
The other blank as nothing. Weigh him well,
And that which looks like pride is courtesy.
This Ajax is half made of Hector's blood :
In love whereof half Hector stays at home ;
Half heart, half hand, half Hector comes to seek
This blended kuigbt, half Trojan, and half Greek.
Achil. A maiden battle tlicii ?— 0, I perceive
you.

Re-enter Diomedes.
Agam. Here is sir Diomed: — Go, gentle knight,
taud by oui- Ajax : as you and lord .Sneas
Consent upon the order of theii' fight,
So be it ; either to the uttermost.
Or else a breath : the combatants being kin.
Half stints their strife before then- strokes begin.
[Ajax and HtCTOK enter the lists.
They are oppos'd already.
\Vliat Trojan is that same that looks
so heavy ?
Ult/ss. The youngest son of Priam; a true
knight ; *
Not yet matm-e, yet matchless : fii'm of word ;
Speaking in deeds, and deedless in his tongue ;
Not soon provok'd, nor, being provok'd, soon

calm'd :
His heart and hand both open, and both free ;
For what he has he gives ; what thinks he shows ;
Yet gives he not till judgment guides Jiis bounty,
Nor dignifies an impair- '' thought with breath :
Manly as Hector, but more dangerous ;
For Hector, in his blaze of wrath, subscribes
To tender objects ; but he, in heat of action.
Is more vindicative than jealous love :
They call him Troilus ; and on him erect
A second hope, as fairly built as Hector.
Thus says jUncas ; one that knows the youth
Even to his inches, and, with private soul,
Did m great llion thus translate him to me.

lAlariim. Hectok and Ajax ^//ht.

a We fake the reading of ihe quarto. The folic has,
" The youngest son of Priam;
A true knight; they call him Troilus."
These words, they cull him 'J'roiliti, are found below; and
their introduction here is probably a clerical or typogra-
phical error.

b Impair. Johnson conjectured that impure waa the
proper word. In adopting this, Mr. Dyce contends that
there is no precedent for the use of this word adjcctively.
The Cambridge editors retain impnir, considering that
ctymologically 't may have the sense " unsuitable."

e-ii IV.]

TEOILUS AKD CRESSIDA.

[SlENE V.

Agani. They are in action.

Nest. Now, Ajax, hold thine own !

Tro. Hector, thou sleep'st ;

Awake thee !

Agam. His blows are well dispos'd : — there,
Ajax !

Bio. You must no more. [Trumpels cease.

Mie. Princes, enough, so please you.

Ajax. ' I am not warm yet, let us fight again.

Bio. As Hector pleases.

Hect. Why then, wiU I no more : —

Thou art, great lord, my father's sister's sou,-''
A cousin-german to great Priam's seed ;
The obligation of our blood forbids
A gory emulation 'twixt us twain :
Were thy commixtiou Greek and Trojan so
That thou couldst say — ' This hand is Grecian

all,
And this is Trojan ; the sinews of this leg
All Greek, and this all Troy ; my mother's blood
Runs on the dexter cheek, and tliis sinister
Bounds in my father's ;' by Jove multipotent.
Thou shouldst not bear from me a Greekish

member
Wherein my sword had not impressure made
Of our rank feud : But the just gods gainsay.
That any drop thou borrow'dst from thy mother,
My sacred aunt, should by my mortal sword
Be di-ain'd ! Let me embrace thee, Ajax :
By him that thunders, thou hast lusty arms ;
Hector would have them fall upon hiin thus :
Cousin, all honour to thee !

Ajax. I thank thee. Hector :

Thou art too gentle, and too free a man :
I came to kill thee, cousin, and bear hence
A great addition earned in thy death.

Hect. Not Neoptolemus so mirable
(On whose bright crest Fame with her loud'st

yes
Cries, 'This is he,') could promise to himself
A thought of added honour torn from Hector.

Mie. There is expectance here from both the
sides.
What further you will do.

TIect. We '11 answer it ;

The issue is embracement : — Ajax, farewell.

Ajax. If I might in entreaties find success,
(As seld' I have the chance,) I would desire
My famous cousin to our Grecian tents.

Bio. 'Tis Agamemnon's wish, and great
Achilles
Doth Ions; to see unarm'd the valiant Hector.

Hect. Jincas, call my brother Troilus to me :
And signify this loving interview
To the expecters of oui- Trojan part ;

Desu-e them home.— Give me thy hand, my

cousin ;
I will go eat with thee, and see your knights.
Ajax. Great Agamemnon comes to meet us

here.
Hect. The worthiest of them tell me name by
name ;
But for Achilles, mine own searching eyes
Shall find him by his large and portly size.

Agam. Worthy of arms ! as welcome as to one
That would be rid of such an enemy ;
But that 's no welcome : Understand more clear
What 's past, and what 's to come, is strew'd with

husks
And formless ruin of oblivion ;
But in this extant moment, faith and troth,
Strain'd purely from all hollow bias-dl•a^ving,
Bids thee, with most divine integrity.
Prom heart of very heart, great Hector, wel-
come.^
Hect. I thank thee, most imperious Aga-
memnon.
Agam. My well-fam'd lord of Troy, no less to
you. \To Troilus.

Men. Let me confirm my princely brother's
greeting ; —
You brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither.
Hect. Whom must we answer ?
Mne. The noble Menelaus.**

Hect. you, my lord ? by Mars his gauntlet,
thanks !
Mock not, that I affect the uutraded *^ oath ;
Your qnondam wife swears stiU by Venus' glove .
She's well, but bade me not commend her to
you.
Men. Name her not now, sir ; she 's a deadly

theme.
Hect. 0, pardon ; I offend.
Nest. I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee
oft,
Labom'ing for destiny, make cruel way
Tlu-ough ranks of Greekish youth : and I have

seen thee.
As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed.
And seen thee scorning forfeits and subdue-
ments,"^

" The quarto has only the two first lines, and the last line,
of this noble address; and yet Steevens and Malone talk
about the additions and substitutions of "the player-
editors."

b In the quarto, and the folio, this answer to the question
of Hector is given by jEncas ; in the variorum editions it is
assigned to Mcnclaus ; and tlien, without looking at the
originals, Reed and M. Mason discuss whether it is proper
for Rfenelaus to call hinseif " noble."

c Untraded — unused — uncommon.

d So the folio ; the quarto,

" Despising many forfeits and subduements "

121

Act IV.]

TEOILUS AND CEESSIDA.

[SCBKE V.

When tliou hast hung thy advanced sword i' the

air,
Not letting it decline on the decliu'd ;
That I have said unto my standers-bv,
'Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life !'
And I have seen thee pause, and take tliy

breath,
\Vhen that a ring of Greeks have hemm'd thee

iu.
Like an Olympian wrestling : This have I seen ;
But this thy countenance, still lock'd in steel,
I never saw till now. 1 knew thy graudsii-e.
And once fought with him : he was a soldier

good;
But, by great Mars, the captain of us all,
Never like thee : Let an old man embrace thee ;
And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents.

£ne. 'T is the old Nestor.

Hed. Let me embrace thee, good old chro-
nicle.
That hast so long walk'd hand in hand with

time : —
Most reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee.

Nest. I would my arms could match thee iu
contention,
-\s they contend with thee in courtesy.

Heel. I would they could.

Nest. Ha!
By this white beard, I'd fight with thee to-
morrow.
Well, welcome, welcome ! I have seen the time.

Ultjss. I wonder now how yonder city stands,
When we have here her base and pillar by us.

Ilect. I know your favour, lord Ulysses, well.
Ah, sir, there's many a Greek and Trojan dead.
Since first I saw yourself and Diomcd
In Ilion, on your Greekish embassy.

Ulyss. Sir, I foretold you then what would
ensue :
My prophecy is but half his journey yet ;
For yonder walls, that pertly front your town,
Yon towers, whose wanton tops do buss the

clouds,
Must kiss their own feet.

lied. I must not believe you :

There they stand yet ; and modestly I think.
The fall of every Phrygian stone will cost
A drop of Grecian blood : Tlie end cro\ras all ;
And that old common txrbitrator, time,
Will one dfty end it.

Vlyas. So to him we leave it.

Most gentle, and most valiant Hector, wel-
come :
.Vfter the general, I beseech you next
To feast with me, and see me at my tent.

122

Adiil. I shall forestall thee, lord Ulysses,
thou !—
Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee :
I have with exact view pcrus'd thee, Hector,
And quoted joint by joint.

Uect. Is this Achilles ?

Jchil. I am Achilles.

Hed. Stand fair, I pray thee : let me look on
thee.

Achil. Behold thy fill.

Hed. Nay, I have done already.

Achil. Thou art too brief; I will the second
time,
As I would buy thee, view thee limb by limb.

Hed. 0, like a book of sport thou 'It read nic
o'er;
But there 's more in me thau thou understand'st.
Why dost thou so oppress me with thine eye ?

Achil. Tell me, you heavens, in which part ol
his body
Shall I destroy him ?^ whether there, or there, or

there ?
That I may give the local wound a name ;
And make distinct the very breach whereout
Hector's great spirit flew : Answer me, heavens !

Hed. It would discredit the bless'd gods,
proud man.
To answer such a question : Stand again :
Think'st thou to catch my life so pleasantly,
As to prenominate in nice conjecture
Where thou wilt liit me dead ?

Addl. I tell thee, yea.

Hed. Wert thou the oracle to tell me so,
I'd not believe thee. Henceforth guard thee

well ;
For I 'U not kill thee there, nor there, nor there ;
But, by the forge that stithied Mars his helm,
I '11 kill thee everywhere, yea, o'er and o'er, —
You wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag,
His insolence draws folly from my lips ;
But I'll endeavour deeds to match tlicse words.
Or may I never —

Ajax. Do not chafe thee, cousin ; —

And you, Acliilles, let these threats alone.
Till accident, or purpose, bring you to 't :
You may have every day enough of Hector,
If you have stomach ; tlie general state, I fear.
Can scarce entreat you lo be odd with him.

Hed. I pray you, let us see you in the field ;
We have had pelting" wars, since you rcfus'd
The Grecians' cause.

Ach'.l. Dost thou entreat me, Hector '

To-morrow do I meet thee, fell as death ;
Tonight, all friends.

* Pillinff — petty.

Act IV.]

TEOILUS iLND CEESSIDA.

[Scene V.

lied. Thy hand upon that match.

Agam. First, all you peers of Greece, go to my
tent;
Tliei-e in the full convive you : '^ afterwards.
As Hector's leisure and youi- bounties shall
Concur together, severally entreat him.
Beat loud the tabourines, let the trumpets blow.
That this great soldier may his welcome know.
[Exenni all but Tkoilus and Ulysses.

Tro. My lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech you,
In what place of the field doth Calchas keep ?

Vltjss. At Menelaus' tent, most princely
Troilus :
There Diomed doth feast with him to-nisrht ;
Who neither looks on heaven, nor on earth,''

;» Yuu in the folio ; the quarto, we.
>> So tlie folio ; tlie quarto,

" Who neijher looks upon the LeET^n ncT Oirth."

But gives all gaze and bent of amorous view
On the fair Crcssid.

Tro. Shall I, sweet lord, be bound to thee so
much,
After we part from Agamemnon's tent,
To bring me thither ?

Uli/ss.

You shall command me, sir.

As gentle tell me, of what honoui' was

This Cressida in Troy ? Had she no lover

there.
That wails her absence ?

Tro. 0, sir, to such as boasting show their

scars,
A mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord ?
She was belov'd, she lov'd ; she is, and doth :
But, still, sweet love is food for fortune's tooth.

\_Exeunt.

[/Kncas.]

[Phrygian attired in Coat of Mail.]

ILLUSTRATIONS OP ACT IV.

• Scene II. — " We must ffive np to Dlomedes' hand
The lady Cressida."

This part of the story is thus told in the ' De-
struction of Troy : ' —

" Calcas, that by the commandment of Apollo
had left the Troyaus, had a passing fair daughter,
and wise, named Briseyda — Chaucer, in his book
that he made of Troylus, named her Cresida — for
which daughter he prayed to King Agamemnon,
and to the other princes, that they would require
the King Priamus to send Briseyda unto him.
They prayed enough to King Priamus at the in-
stance of Calcas, but the Troyans blamed sore
Calcas, and called him evil and false traitor, and
worthy to die, that had left his own land and his
natural lord, for to go into the company of his
mortal enemies : yet, at the petition and earnest
desire of the Greeks, the King Priamus sent
Briseyda to her father."

« Scene IV.—" Be thou lut true of heart."

The parting of Troilus and Cressida is very
beautifully told by Chaucer ; but as Shakspere's
conception of the character of Cressida is alto-
gether different from that of Chaucer, we see
little in the scene before us to make us believe
that Cressida will keep her vows. In the elder poet
she manifests a loftiness of character which ought
124

to have preserved her faith,
her consistent : —

Shakspcre has made

" And o'er all this, I pray you, quod she tho,»
Mine owne heartes sotlifast suffisance !
Sith I am thine all whole withouten mo.
That while that I am absent, no pleasincc
Of other do me from your remembrance,
For I am e'er aghast ; for why ? men rede |
That love is thing aye full of busy drede.

" For in this world there liveth lady none,
If that ye were untrue, as God defend I
That so betrayed were or woe begone
As I, that alle truth in you intend :
And doubteless, if that I other ween'd,
I n'ere but dead, and ere ye cause yfind.
For Goddfes love, so be me nought unkind.

" To this answered Troilus, and said,
Xow God, to whom there is no cause awry.
Me glad, as wis I never to Cressid',
Sith thilke day I saw her first with eye,
Was false, nor ever shall till that 1 die:
At short wordes, well ye mriy me believe;
I can no more ; it shall be found at preve. J

" Grand mercy, good heart mine ! iwis, (quod she,)
And, blissful Venus ! let me never sterve §
Ere I may stand of p'.easancc in degree
To quite him well that bo well can deserve;
And while that God my wit will me conserve
I shall so do, so true I have you found.
That aye bon6ur to me-ward shall rebound :

• Then.

t Say.

I Vroof.

i Die.

ILLUSTEATIONS OF ACT IV.

" For trusteth well that your estate royal,
Nor vain delight, nor only worthiness
Of you in warjor tourney martial,
Nor pomp, array, nobley,* or eke riches?,
Ne maden me to rue on your distress.
But moral virtue, grounded upon truth ; —
That was the cause I first had on you ruth :

" Eke gentle heart, and manhood that ye had,
And that ye had (as me thought) in despite
Every thing that souned into t bad.
As rudeness, and peoplishj: appetite,
And that your reason bridled your delight;
This made aboven ev'ry creature
That I was yours, and shall while I may dure." — Book iv.

3 Scene V. — " Thou art, great lord, my father's
sister's son."

This incident, which is one of the occasions in
which Shakspere, following the old romance-
writers, desires to exhibit the magnanimity of
Hector, is found in the 'Destruction of Troy :' —

" As they were fighting, they spake and talked
together, and thereby Hector knew that he was his
cousin-german, sou of his aunt : and then Hector,
for courtesy, embraced him in his arms, and made
great cheer, and offered to him to do all his plea-
sure, if he desired anything of him, and prayed him
that he would come to Troy with him for to see his
lineage of his mother's side : but the said Thela-
mon, that intended to nothing but to his best ad-

Nobilitv.

t Verged towards. J Vulgar.

vantage, said that he would not go at this time.
But he prayed Hector, requesting that, if he loved
him Bo much as he said, that he would for his sake,
and at his instance, cease the battle for that day,
and that the Troyans should leave the Greeks in
peace. The unhappy Hector accorded unto him
his request, and blew a horn, and made all hia
people to withdraw Into the city."

^ Scene V. — " Tell rue, you heavens, in which part

of his body

Shall I destroy hivi V

It was a fine stroke of art in Shakspere to borrow
the Homeric incident of Achilles surveying Hector
before he slew him, not using it in the actual scene
of the conflict, but more characteristically in the
place which he has given it. The passage of Homer
is thus rendered by Chapman : —

" His bright and sparkling eyes
Look'd through the body of his foe, and sought through a.\

that prize
The next way to his thirsted life. Of all ways, only one
Appear'd to him ; and this was, where th' unequal winding

bone
That joins the shoulders and the neck had place, and where

there lay
The speeding way to death; and there his quick eye could

display
The place it sought,— even through those arms his friend

Patroclus wore
Wlien Hector slew him." (Book xxiL)

[TIaetor.l

[ScESF. IX. Dsath of ilector

ACT V.

SCENE I.— The Grecian Camp. Before
Achilles' Tent.

Enter AcHiLLZS and Patroclcs.

AcMl. I '11 heat his blood with Greekish wine
to-night,
WLich with my scimitar I '11 cool to-morrow. —
Patroclus, let us feast him to the height.

Patr. Here comes Thersites.

Enter Thersites.

Achil. How now, thou core of envy ?

Thou crusty batch of nature, what 's the news ?

Tfier. TThy, thou picture of what thou seemest,
and idol of idiot-worshippers, here 's a letter for
thee.

Achil. From whence, fragment ?

Ther. Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy.

Pntr. "Who keeps the tent now ?

Ther. The surgeon's box, or the patient's
wound.

120

Patr. Well said. Adversity! and what need
these tricks ?

Ther. Prithee be silent, boy ; I profit not by
thy talk : thou art thought to be Achilles' male
varlet.

Patr. ilale varlet, you rogue ! what 's that ?

Ther. Why, his masculine whore. Now the
rotten diseases of the south, guts-griping, rup-
tures, catarrhs, loads o' gravel i' the back, lethar-
gies, cold palsies, raw eyee, dirt-rotten livers,
wheezing lungs, bladders full of imposthume,
sciaticas, lime-kilns i' the palm, incurable bone-
ache, and the rivelled fee-simple of the tetter,
take and take again such preposterous disco-
veries ! '

Patr. VThj, thou damnable box of envy, thou,
what meanest thou to curse thus ?

Ther. Do I curse thee ?

• This is the reading of the quarto. The folio shortens
the enumeration of loathsome diseases, with, " and the
like."

Act v.]

TEOILUS AND CEESSIDA.

[Scene 11.

Patr. Why, no, you ruinous butt ; you whore-
son indistinguishable cur, no.

Ther. No ? why art thou then exasperate,
thou idle immaterial skein of sleVd silk;, thou
green sarcenet flap for a sore eye, thou tassel of
a prodigal's purse, thou? Ah, how the poor
world is pestered with such water-flies ; diminu-
tives of nature !

Patr. Out, gall !

Ther. Finch ^^^ !

Achil. My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted
quite
From my great purpose in to morrow's battle.
Here is a letter from queen Hecuba ;
A token from her daughter, my fair love ;
Both taxing me, and gaging me to keep
An oath that I have sworn. I wiU not break it :
Fall, Greeks ; fail, fame ; honour, or go, or stay ;
My major vow lies here, this I '11 obey.
Come, come, Thersites, help to trim my tent ;
This night in banqueting must all be spent.
Away, Patroclus.

{Exeunt Achilles and Patroclus.

Ther. With too much blood and too little
brain, these two may run mad ; but if with too
much brain and too little blood they do, I '11 be
a curer of madmen. Here's Agamemnon, — an
honest fellow enough, and one that loves quails ;
but he has not so much brain as ear-wax : And
the goodly transformation of Jupiter there, his
brother, the bull, — the primitive statue and
oblique memorial of cuckolds ; a thrifty shoeing-
liora in a chain, hanging at his brother's lee, —
to what form, but that he is, should wit larded
with malice, and malice forced with wit, turn
him to ? To an ass were nothing ; he is both ass
and ox : to an ox were nothing ; he is both ox
and ass. To be a dog, a mule, a cat, a fitchew,
a toad, a lizard, an owl, a puttock, or a herring
without a roe, I woidd not care : but to be
Menelaus, 1 would conspire against destiay.
Ask me not what I would be if I were not
Thersites ; for I care not to be the louse of a
lazar, so I were not Menelaus. — Hey-day ! spii'its
and fires !

Enter Hector, Troilus, Ajax, Agamem:ncn,
Ulysses, Nestor, JIexelaus, and Dioaled,
with lights.

Agam. We go wrong, we go wrong.
Ajax. No, yonder 't is ;

There, where we see the lights.

Hect. I trouble you.

Ajax. No, not a whit.

JJlyss. Here comes himself to guide you.

Unter Achilles.

Achil. Welcome, brave Hector; welcome,

princes idl.
Agam. So now, fair prince of Troy, I bid
good night.
Ajax commands the guard to tend on you.
Hect. Thanks, and good night, to the Greeks'

general.
Men. Good night, my lord.
Hect. Good night, sweet lord Menelaus.

Ther. Sweet draught : Svceet, quoth'a! sweet
sink, sweet sewer.

Achil. Good night, and welcome, both at once,
to those
That go, or tarry.
Agam. Good m'ght.

\_Kveunt Agamemxcx and Mexelaus.
Achil. Old Nestor tarries ; and you too, Dio-
med,
Keep Hector company an hour or two.

Dio. I caimot, lord; I have important "busi-
ness,
The tide whereof is now. — Good night, great
Hector.
Hect. Give me your hand.
Uli/ss. Follow his torch, he goes

To Calchas' tent ; I 'U keep you company.

{Aside to Troilits.
Tro. Sweet sir, you honour me.
Hect. And so good night.

{E.nt DiOHED ; Ulyss. and Tro. following.
Achil. Come, come, enter my tent.

\_E.rei(nt Achil., Hector, Aj.\:x, and Nest.
Ther, That same Diomed's a false-hearted
rogue, a most unjust knave ; I will no more
trust him when he leers, than I will a serpent
when he hisses : he will spend his mouth, and
promise, like Brablcr the hound; but wheu he
performs, astronomers foretell it that it is pro-
digious, there will come some change ; the sun
borrows of the moon when Diomed keeps his
word. I will rather leave to see Hector than
not to dog him : they say he keeps a Trojan
drab, and uses the traitor Calchas' tent : I '11
after. — Nothing but lechery ! all incontinent
varlets ! [E.nt.

SCENE U.—The same. Before Calchas' Tent.

Enter Diomedes.
Dio. What, are you up here, ho ? speak.

Ceil. [With in ^^ "VVho calls?
Dio. Diomed.— Calchas, I think.— Where 's
your dau2;hter ?

Cal. [Within.'] She comes to you.

127

Act v.]

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA

[SCEiJK II.

Enter Thoiltjs and Ulysses, at a distance ; after

them TlIERSITES.

Ul^ss. Stand \rhere the torch ni:iy not dis-
cover us.

Enter Cressida.

Tro. Crcssid comes fortli to bini.
Dio. How now, my charge ?

Ores. Now, my sweet guardian! — Hark! a
word with you. [IF/dspers.

Tro. Yea, so faniihar !
Ult/ss. She will sing any man at first sight.
Ther. And any man may sing her, if he can
take her cliiT ; she's noted.
Dio. "Will you remember ?
Cres. Remember? yes.

Dio. Nay, but do then ;

And let your niiud be coupled with your words.
Tro. What should she remember ?
Uli/ss. List!
Cres. Sweet honey Greek, tempt me no more

• to folly.
Ther. Roguery !
Dio. Nay, then, —

Cres. I '11 tell you what :

Dio. Pho ! pho ! come, tell a pin : You arc a

forsworn —
Cres. In faith, I cannot: What would you

have me do ?
Ther. A juggling trick, to be secretly open.
Dio. What did you swear you would bestow

on me ?
Cres. I prithee, do not hold me to mine oath ;
Bid me do anything but that, sweet Greek.
Dio. Goodnight.
Tro. Hold, patience !

Uli/ss. How now, Trojan ?

Cres. Diomed, —

Dio. No, no, good night : I '11 be yoiu- fool no

more.
Tro. Thy better must.

Cres. Hark ! one word in your car.

Tro. plague and madness !
Uli/ss. You are mov'd, prince ; let us depart,
I pray you.
Lest yoiu* displeasure should enlarge itself
To wrathful terras ; this place is dangerous ;
The time right deadly ; I beseech you, go.
Tro. Behold, I pray you !
Ulj/ss. Nay, good my lord, go olT :

You flow to great distraction, come, my lord.
Tro. I pray thee, stay,

Ulyss. You have not patience ; come.

Tro. I pray you, stay; by hell and all hell
torments,
I will not speak a word.
128

Dio. . And so, good night.

Cres. Nay, but you part in anger.

Tro. Doth that grieve tlicc ?

wither'd truth !

Uli/ss. Why, how now, lord ?

Tro. By Jove,

1 will be patient.

Cres. Guardian ! — why, Greek !

Dio. Elio, pho ! adieu ; you palter.

Cres. In faith, I do not; come hither once
again.

Uli/ss. You shako, my lord, at something ; will
you go ?
You will break out.

Tro. She strokes his cheek !

Ulyss. Come, come.

Tro. Nay, stay; by Jove, I will not speak a
word :
There is between my will and aU offences
A guard of patience : — stay a little while.

Ther. IIow the devil luxury, with his fat
rump, and potato finger, tickles these together 1
Fry, lechery, fry !

Dio. But will you then ?

Cres. Li faith, I wDl, la : never trust me else.

Dio. Give me some token for the surety of it.

Cres. I'll fetch you one. \E.vil.

Ult/ss. You have sworn patience.

Tro. Fear me not, sweet lord ;

I will not be myself, nor have cognition
Of what I feel ; I am all patience.

Re-enter Cressida.

Ther. Now the pledge ; now, now, now !

Cres. Here, Diomed, keep this sleeve.*

Tro. beauty ! where 's thy faith ?

Uli/ss. My lord, —

Tro. I will be patient ; outwardly I wdl.

Cres. You look upon that sleeve: Behold it
weU.—
He lov'd mc — false M'cnch ! — Give 't me again.

Dio. Whose was 't ?

Cres. It is no matter, now I have 't again.
I will not meet with you to-morrow night :
I prithee, Diomed, visit me no more.

T/ier. Now she sharpens : — Well said, whet-
stone.

Dio. I shall have it.

Cres. What, this ?

Dio. Ay, that.

Cres. O all you gods ! — pretty pretty
pledge !
Thy master now lies thinking in his bed
Of thee, and me ; and sighs, and takes my glove,
And gives memorial dainty kisses to it,

Act V.

TROILUS A^^D CRESSIDA.

[SCENb I i.

As I kiss thee. — Nay, do not snatch it from me ;
He that takes that doth take my heart withal.*

Dio. I had yoiir heart before, this follows it.

Tro. I did swear patience.

Ores. You shall not have it, Diomed; 'faith
you shall not ;
I '11 give you something else.

Dio. I will have this : whose was it ?

Cres.

'T is no matter.

Dio. Come, tell me whose it was.

Cres. 'T was one's that loved me better than
you will.
But, now you have it, take it.

Dio. "Wliose was it ?

Cres. By all Diana's waiting-women, youd,
And by herself, I will not tell you whose.

Dio. To-morrow will I wear it on my helm ;
And grieve his spirit that dares not challenge it.

Tro. Wert thou the devil, and wor'st it on thy
horn.
It should be chaUeng'd.

Cres. Well, well, "t is done, 't is past : — And
yet it is not ;
I will not keep my word.

Dio. ^^ I'y then, farewell ;

Thou never shalt mock Diomed again.

Cres. You shall not go:-^One cannot speak
a word,
But it straight starts you.

Dio. I do not like tliis fooling.

Ther. Nor I, by Pluto : but that that likes
not you pleases me best.

Dio. What, shall I come ? the hoiu- ?

Cres. Ay, come : — Jove !

Do come : — I shall be plagued.

Dio. Farewell till then.

Cres. Good night. I prithee, come. —

[Exit DlOMEDES.

Troilus, farewell ! one eye yet looks on thee ;
But with my heart the other eye doth see.
Ah ! poor oar sex ! this fault in n5 I find.
The error of our eye directs our mind :
What error leads must err ; then conclude.
Minds sway'd by eyes are full of turpitude.

[Exit Cressida.

Ther. A proof of strength she could not
publish, more,
Unless she say, my mind is now turn'd whore.

Uli/ss. All 's done, my lord.

Tro. It is.

UIi/ss. Why stay we then ?

Tro. To make a recordation to my soul

a Tliis is the line of the quarto. The folio has

" He that takes that takes my heart withal."
Tragedies. — Vol. II. K

Of every syllable that here was spoke.
But, if I tell how these two did co-act.
Shall I not lie in publishing a truth ?
Sith yet there is a credence in my heart.
An esperance so obstinately strong,
That doth invert the attest of eyes and ears.
As if those organs had deceptious functions.
Created only to calumniate.
Was Cressid here ?

Ulps. I cannot conjure, Trojan.

Tro. She was not, sure.

Ulj/ss. Most sure she was.

Tro. Why, my negation hath no taste of mad-
ness.

Uli/ss. Nor mine, my lord : Cressid was here
but now.

Tro. Let it not be believ'd for womanhood !
Think, we had mothers ; do not give advantage
To stubborn ci-itics, apt, without a theme.
For depravation, to square the general sex
By Cressid's rule : rather think this not Cressid.

Uli/ss. What hath she done, prince, that can
soil onr mothers ?

Tro. Nothing at all, unless that this were she.

Ther. Will he swagger himself out on 's own
eyes?

Tro. This she ? no, this is Diomed's Cressida :
If beauty have a soul, this is not she ;
If souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimony.
If sanctimony be the gods' delight,
If there be rule in unity itself.
This is not she. madness of discourse.
That cause sets up with and against thyself '
Bi-fold authority ! where reason can revolt
"Without perdition, and loss assume aU reason
Without revolt ; this is, and is not, Cressid !
Within my soul there doth conduce" a fight
Of this strange nature, that a thing inseparate
Divides more wider than the sky and earth ;
And yet the spacious breadth of this division
Admits no orifice for a point, as subtle
As Ariachne's broken woof, to enter.
Instance, O instance ! strong as Pluto's gates ;
Cressid is mine, tied with the bonds of heaven •
Instance, O instance ! strong as heaven itself ;
The bonds of heaven are slipp'd, dissolv'd, and

loos'd ;
And with another knot, five-finger-tied,
The fractions of her faith, orts of her love.
The fragments, scraps, the bits, and greasy

reHques
Of her o'er-eaten faith, are bound to Diomed.

Ulyss. May worthy Troilus be half attach'd
With that wiiich here his passion doth express?

a Conduce in both copies ; in the Latin sense of le.id to.

129

Act V,

TlfOlLUS AND CliESSIDA.

[SttM-, II.

Tro. Ay, Gieek ; nud that shall be diviilgcil

MCll

III characters as red as Mars his heart

lullum'd with Venus : never did young inau

fancy
"With so eternal and so fix'd a soid.
Hark, Greek : As much as I do Crcssid love,
So much by weight hate I her Diomcd :
That sleeve is mine that he'll bear in his helm ;
Were it a casque compos'd by Vulcan's skill,
My sword should bite it : not the dreadful spout
"Which shipmen do the hurrieano call,
Constring'd in mass by the almighty sun,
Shall dizzy with more clamour Neptune's ear
In his descent, than shall my piompled sword
Falling on Diomed.

Ther. lie '11 tickle it for his coucupy.

Tro. Crcssid ! false- Cressid ! fahe, false,
false !
Let aQ untruths stand by thy stained name,
And they '11 seem glorious.

Ulyss. 0, contain yourself;

Your passion draws ears hither.

Enter ^neas.

J^ne. I have been seeking you this hour, my
lord :
Hector, by this, is arming him in Troy ;
Ajax, your guard, stays to conduct you home.

Tro. Have with you, prince : — My courteous
lord, adieu : —
Farewell, revolted fair ! — and, Diomed,
Stand fast, and wear a castle on thy head !

Ulyss. I '11 bring you to the gates.

Tro. Accept distracted thanks.

[Exeunt Tkoilus, jEnkas, and Ulysses.

T/ier. 'Would I could meet that rogue Dio-
med ! I would croak like a raven ; I would bode,
I would bode. Patroclus will give me any thing
for the intelligence of this whore : the parrot will
not do more for an almond than he for a com-
modious drab. Lechery, lechery ; still, wars and
lechery; nothing ebe holds fashion: A burning
devil take them ! [/^.r/V.

SCENE III.— Troy. Ue/ure Priam'* Palace.
Enter Hector and Andromacue.

Jnd. When was my lord so much ungently
tcmpcr'd,
To stop his ears against admonishment ?
Unarm, unarm, and do not fight to-day.

Ilert. You train mc to offend you ; get you
gone :
By all the everlasting gods, I '1! go.
130

A/iJ. My dreams will, sure, prove ominous to

the day.^
llccl. No more, I say.

Enter Cassandra.

Ci/,1. AVhcrc is my brother Hector?

Jud. Hero, sister ; urm'd, and bloody in in-
tent.
Consort with mc in loud and dear petition,
Pursue we him on knees ; for 1 have dream'd
Of bloody turbulence, and this whole night
Hath nothing been but shapes and forms of
slaughter.
Cas. 0, it is true.

Ilect. Hu ! bid my trumpet sound !

Cas. No notes of sally, for the heavens, sweet

brother.
Ilect. Begone, I say : the gods have heard me

swear.
Cas. The god.s are deaf to hot and peevish
vows ;
They are polluted offering.s, more abhorr'd
Than spotted livers in the sacrifice.

Jnd. ! be persuaded : Do not count it holy
To hurt by being just : it is as lawful.
For we would give much, to count violent

thefts,
And rob in the behalf of charity."

Cas. It is the purpose that makes strong the
vow :
But vows to every purpose must not hold :
Unarm, sweet Hector.

Hect. Hold you still, 1 say ;

Mine honour keeps the weather of my fate :
Life every man holds dear ; but the dear man
Holds honour- far more precious dear than life. —

Enter Troilus.

How now, young man ? mean'st thou to fight to-
day ?
Jnd. Cassandra, call my father to persuade.

\_E.Tit Cassandr\.

' This i.s one of the very few obscure pass-nges in this pl.iy.
The lines are not in the quarto. In t)ie folio we find,

" Do not count it holy
To hurt by bein'; Just : it is as lawful :
l-'or we would count give much to as violent thefts,
And rob," &c.
The ordinary reading is,

" Tor wc would give much, to use violent thefts."
To use thefts is clearly not Sh.iksperian. I'erh.ips count, or
giic, might lie omitted, supposing that one word had bt-cn
.substituted for another m the maniis(ript, without the
erasure of lliat first written; but this omission will not (.-i'C
us a meaning. We have ventured to tran.sposc Count, and
omit as: —

" For we would give much, to count violent thefts."
We have now a clear meaning :— it is as lawful, because we
desire to give much, to count violent thefts as holy.

" And rol) in the behalf of charity."

Alt V ]

TKOILUS iVI^I) CliESSlDA.

ISCEM III.

llecl. No, 'faith, young Troilus; doff tliy
liai-ness, youth,
I am to-day i' the vein of chivalry :
Let grow thy sinews till their knots be strong.
And tempt not yet the brushes of the war.
Unarm thee, go ; and doubt thou not, brave boy,
I '11 stand to-day, for thee, and me, and Troy.

Tro. Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you,
^Yhich better fits a lion than a man.

Hect. Wliat vice is that, good Troilus ? chide
me for it.

Ti-o. When many times the captive Grecians
fall,
Even in the fan and wind of your fair sword,
You bid them rise and live.

Jlect. 0, 't is fair play.

Tro. Fool's play, by heaven, Hector !

Hed. How now ? how now ?

Tro. Eor tht love of all the gods.

Let 's leave the hermit pity with our mothers ;
And when we have our armours buckled on.
The venom'd vengeance ride upon our swords ;
Spur them to ruthful work, rein them from ruth.

Red. Pie, savage, fie !

Tro. Hector, then 't is wars.

Hed. Troilus, I would not have you fight to
day.

Tro. Who should withhold me ?
Not fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars
Beckoning with fiery truncheon my retii-e ;
Not Priamus, and Hecuba on knees.
Their eyes o'ergalled with recourse of tears ;
Nor you, my brother, with your true sword

drawn,
Oppos'd to hinder me, should stop my way.
But by my ruin.

Re-enter Cassandra, with Phiaji.

Cas. Lay hold upon him, Priam, hold him fast :
He is thy crutch ; now if thou lose thy stay,
Thou on him leaning, and aU Troy on thee.
Fall all together.

Fri. Come, Hector, come, go back :

Thy wife hath dream'd; thy mother hath had

visions ;
Cassandra doth foresee ; and I myself
Am like a prophet suddenly enrapt.
To tell thee that this day is ommous :
Therefore, come back.

Hect. iEneas is a-field ;

And I do stand cngag'd to many Greeks,
Even in the faith of valour, to appear
Tills morning to them.

P/-/. Ay, but thou shalt not go.

lied. I must not break my faith.
K 2

You know me dutiful; therefore, dear sir,
Let me not shame respect ; but give me leave
To take that course by your consent and voice.
Which you do here forbid me, royal Priam.
Cas. Priam, yield not to him .
And. Do not, dear father.

lied. Audj'omache, I am offended with vou :
Upon the love you bear me, get you in.

{Exit Andromache.
Tro. This foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl
Makes all these bodements.

Cas. farewell, dear Hector.

Look, how thou diest ! look, how thy eye turns

pale !
Look, how thy wounds do bleed at many vents !
Hark, how Troy roars ! how Hecuba cries out !
How poor Andromache shrills her dolour forth!
Behold distraction, frenzy, and amazement.
Like witless antics, one another meet,
And all cry — Hector ! Hector 's dead ! Hector !
Tro. Away ! — Away !

Cas. Farewell. — Yet, soft. — Hector, I take
my leave :
Thou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive. [iij-jY.
Hed. Xqta. are araaz'd, my liege, at her ex-
claim:
Go in, and cheer the town ; we '11 forth, and fight ;
Do deeds worth praise, and tell you them at night.
Fri. Farewell: the gods with safety stand
about thee !

{Exeunt severally Priam and Hector.
Alarur.is.
Tro. They are at it ; hark ! Proud Diom^,
believe,
I come t :i lose my arm, or win my sleeve.

As Troilus is going out, enter, from the other
side, Pandartjs.

Pan. Do you hear, my lord ? do you hear ?

Tro. "Wliat now ?

Pan. Here 's a letter from you' poor gin.

Tro. Let me read.

Pan. A whoreson tisick, a whoreson rascally
tisick so troubles me, and the foolish fortune
of this girl ; and what one thing, what another,
that I shall leave you one o' these days : And I
have a. rheum in mine eyes too ; and such an
ache in my bones, that, unless a man were
cursed, I cannot tell what to think on 't. — What
says she there ?

Tro. Words, words, mere words, no jnatter
from the heart ; [Tearing the letter.
The effect doth operate another way. —
Go, wind, to wind, there turn and change toT-
ther. —

A<T V.)

TROILUS AT^ID CRESSIDA.

[Sci;nes IV.. V.

My love with words and ciTors still she feeds ;
But edifies another with her deeds.
Pan. Why ! but hear you.
Tro. Hence, broker lackey ! ignoniy and
shame
Pursue thy life, and live aye with thy name."

{Exeunt scteraUt/.

SCENE IV. — Between Troy and the Grecian
Camp.

Alarums : Excursions. Enter TilEKSITES.

Ther. Now they are clapper-clawing one
another ; I '11 go look on. That dissembling
abominable varlet, Diomed, has got that same
scurvy doting foolish young knave's sleeve of
Troy there in his helm : I would fain see them
meet ; that that same young Trojan ass, that
loves the whore there, might send that Greekish
whoremasterly villain, \vith the sleeve, back to
the dissembling luxurious drab, of a sleeveless
errand. O' the other side, the policy of those
crafty swearing rascals, — that stale old mouse-
eaten dry cheese, Nestor, and that same dog-
fox, Ulysses, — is not proved worth a blackberry :
— They set me up, in policy, that mongrel cur,
Ajax, against that dog of as bad a kind, Achilles :
and now is the cur Ajax prouder than the cur
Achilles, and will not arm to-day ; whereupon
the Grecians begin to proclaim barbarism, and
policy grows into an ill opinion. Soft ! here
come sleeve, an'^. t' other.

Enter DiOMEDES, Iv.oiujs following.

Tro. Fly not ; for, shouldst thou take the
river Styx,
I would swira after.

Dio. Tliou dost miscall retire :

I do not fly ; but advantageous care
Withdrew me from the odds of multitude :
Have at thee !

Ther. Hold thy whore, Grecian ! — now for
thy whore, Trojan ! — now the sleeve, now the
sleeve !

{Exeunt Troilus and Dio^iedes, fttjhting.

Enter ITectoh.

Jlect. What art thou, Greek, art thou for
Hector's match ?

•■V This couplet, wliich we here find In the folio, is apain
nseil by Troilus towards the conclusion of the play— the last
words which Troilus speaks. Followin); the (|iiartu, llie
lines are usually omitted in the close of the third scene.
Stcevenj says, "the poet would h.irdly have piven us an
unnecessary repetition of the same words, nor have dis-
missed P.ind*rus twice in the same manner." Tlie Cam-
bridge editors think that the repetition is .in indication that
the I'lay has been tampered -vith by anoihcr hand than
Shakspere's.

132

Art thou of blood and honour ?

Ther. No, no : — I am a rascal ; a scurvy
railing knave ; a very filthy rogue.

Uect. I do believe thee ; — live. \Exit.

Ther. God-a-mercy that thou wilt believe me ;
buf a plague break thy neck for frighting me !
"What's become of the wenching rogues? 1
think they hnve swallowed one another: I
would laugh at that miracle. Yet, in a sort,
lechery eats itself. I 'U seek them. \Exit.

SCENE v.— r/;e same.

Enter Diomedes and a Servant.

Dio. Go, go, my servant, take thou Troilus'
horse ! ^
Present the fair steed to my lady Cressid :
Fellow, commend my service to her beauty ;
Tell her I have chastis'd the amorous Trojan,
And am her knight by proof.

Sere. I go, my lord.

{Exit Servant.

Enter Agamemnon.

Af/am. Renew, renew ! The fierce Polydauius
Hath beat down Menon : bastard Margarelon
Hath Doreus prisoner ;
And stands colossus-wise, waving his beam.
Upon the pashed corses of the kings
Epistrophus and Cedius : Polixenes is slain ;
Amnhimacus, and Thoas, deadly hurt ;
Patroclus ta'en, or slain ; and Palamedes
Sore hurt and bruis'd : the dreadful Sagittary
Appals our numbers ;'' haste we, Diomed,
To reinforcement, or we perish all.
Enter Nestok.

Nest. Gro, bear Patroclus' body to Achilles j
And bid the snail-pac'd Ajax arm for shame.
There is a thousand Hectors in the field ;
Now here he fights on Galathe his horse, *
And there lacks work ; anon, he 's there afoot,
And there they fly, or die, like scaled sculls "
Before the belching whale ; then is he yonder.
And there the strawy '' Greeks, ripe for his edge.
Fall down before him like the mower's swath :
Here, there, and everywhere, he leaves and

takes ;
Dexterity so obeying appetite
That what he will he does ; and does so much
Thiat proof is call'd impossibility.

" 5ci//fj— shoals of fish. We have the word in Milton
(I'aradisc Lost, book vii.): —

•' Fish, that with their fin.s .nnd shininp scales
(ilide under the preen wave, in sculls that oft
I3ank the mid sea."
b Strawy. This beautiful epithet is found in the quarto;
the folio has straying.

xc^ r.-\

TROILUS AXD CRESSIDA.

[SCESIS Vi.—VIIl.

E/ifer Ulysses.
Uij/ss. O courage, courage, princes ! gi-eat

AcliiUes
Is arming, weepiug, cursing, vowing vengeance ;
Putroclus' wounds have rous'd his di'owsy blood,
Together with his mangled Myrmidons,
That noseless, handless, hack'd and chipp'd,

come to him.
Crying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend.
And foams at mouth, and he is arm'd, and at it.
Roaring for Troilus ; who hath done to-day
^lad and fantastic execution;
Engaging and redeeming of himself.
With such a careless force, and forceless care,
ks if that luck, in very spite of cunning.
Bade him win all.

Ent^ Ajax.

Jja.r. Troilus, thou coward Troilus ! [Edi.
Dio. Ay, there, there.

NesL So, so, we draw together.

Eaier Achilles.

JchiL Where is this Hector ?

Come, come, thca boy-queller, show thy face ;
Know what it is to meet Achilles angry.
Hector! where 's Hector? I wdl none but
Hector. [Exeui/L

SCENE Yi— Another Part of the Field.

Enter Ajax.

Ajax. Troilus, thou coward Troilus, show thy
head!

Enter DiOiiEDES.

Dio. Troilus, I say ! where 's Troilus ?
Jjax. Wliat woiddst thou ?

I)io. I would correct him.
Ajax. Were I the general, thou shouldst have

my office
Ere that correction :— Troilus, I say ! what,

Troilus !

Enter Tkoilus.

Tro. traitor Diomed ! — turn thy false face,
thou traitor.
And pay thy life thou ow'st me for my horse !

Dio. Ha 1 art thou there ?

Ajax. I'll fight with him alone: stand, Dio-
med.

Bio. He is my prize. I will not look upon.

Tro. Come both you cogging Greeks; have
at you both. \Exeuntf(jhtincj.

Enter Hector.

Hect. Yea, Troilus? O well fought, div
youngest brother !

Enter Achilles.

Achil. Now do I see thee : — Ha ! — Have at
thee. Hector.

Kect. Pause, if thou wilt.

Achil. I do disdain tliy courtesy, proud Trojan.
Be happy that my amis are out of use :
My rest and neghgence befriend thee now.
But thou auon shalt hear of me again ;
Till when, go seek thy fortune. \Exit.

Hect. Fiu'e thee well : —

I would have been much more a fresher man
Had I expected thee. — How now, my brother ?

Re-enter Teoiltjs.

Tro. Ajax hath ta'en ^neas : Shall it be ?
No, by the flame of yonder glorious heaven.
He shall not carry him ; I '11 be ta'en too.
Or bring him off : — Eate, hear me what I say !
I reck not though I end my life to-day. \^Exit.

Enter one in sumptnous armour.

Hect. Stand, stand, thou Greek; thou art a
goodly mark : —
No ? wilt thou not ? — I like thy armour well ;
I '11 frush ** it, and unlock the rivets aU,
But I 'U be master of it : — Wilt thou not, beast,

abide ?
"VYhy then, fly on, I'll hunt thee for thy hide.

[Exeunl.

SCENE \ll.—The same.

Enter Achilles, with Myrmidons.
Achil. Come here about me, you my iMyrmi-
dons;
}*[ark what I say.— Attend me where I wheel :
Strike not a stroke, but keep yourselves in

breath ;
And when I have the bloody Hector found,
Empale him with your weapons round about ;
In fellest manner execute your arms.''
Follow me, sirs, and my proceedings eye : —
It is decreed Hector the great must die.

[Ereuzt-

SCENE Wll.—The same.

Enter Menelatjs and Paris, ////<//////; then
Thebsites.

Ther. The cuckold and the cuckold-maker
are at it : Now, bull ! now, dog ! 'Loo, Paris,
'loo! now my double-henned sparrow! 'loo,

a fcus/j— break to pieces.

b Capell suggested aimi.
133

AiT V.|

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

rScFvrs IX -Xi

Paris, 'loo I The bull Las the game: — 'ware
homs, ho ! [Exeunt Pabis and Mexki-aus.

Enter Margarelok.

Mar. Turn, slave, and fight.

Ther. What art thou ?

Mar. A bastard son of Priam's.

Ther. I am a bastard too ; I love bastards : I
am a bastard begot, bastard instnicted, bastard
in mind, bastard in valour, in everything illegi-
timate. One bear will not bite another, and
wherefore should one bastard? Take heed, the
quarrel 's most ominous to us : if the son of a
whore fight for a whore, he tempts judgment.
Farewell, bastard.

Mar. The devil take thee, coward ! [E.r^in/t.

SCENE lX.—Jj>otAer Part of the Field.

Enter Hector.

Ueet. Most putrefied core, so fair without,
Thy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life.
Now is my day's work done : 1 '11 take good

breath :
Rest, sword : ® thou hast thy fill of blood and
death !
[Vids off his helmet, and hangs his shield
behind him.

Enter Achilles and Myrmidons.

Achil. Look, Hector, how the sun begins to
set;
How ugly night comes breathing at his heels :
Even with the vail and darking' of the sun.
To close the day up. Hector's life is done.
ITert. I am unarm'd ; forego this vantage,

Greek.
Achil. Strike, fellows, strike ; ' this is the man
I seek. [HECTORy«//«.

So, riion, fall thou ; now, Troy, sink down ;
Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone. —
On, Myrmidons ; and cry you all amain,
•Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain.'

\_A retreat sounded.
Hark ! a retreat npon our Grecian part.
Mi/r. The Trojan trumpets sound the like, mv

lord.
Achil. The dragon wing of night o'ersprcads
the earth,
And, stickler-like,'' th.c armies sc) arate.

• Darking — so the folio ; the common reading is dark'ning
*> Stickler like. — A stickler was an arl.ilrator, or sidesman ;

sne who l•re^i:!ed over the combats of q'larterstaff and

•rrettling.

My half-supp'd sword that frauklv would have

fed,
Pleas'd with this dainty bit, thus goes to bed. —

[Sheaths his sword.
Come, tie his body to my horse's tail ;
Along the field I will the Trojan trail. [Exeunt.

SCENE 'L.—The same.

Enter Agamemnox, Ajax, Mexelaus, Nestor,
! DfOMEDES, and others, marching. Shouts
iritliin.

Agam. Hark ! hark ! what shout is that ?
Nest. Peace, drums.

[Within?^ Achilles!

Achilles! Hector *s slain ! Achilles!

Lio. The bruit is Hector's slain, and by

Achilles.
Ajax. If it be so, yet bragless let it be ;
Great Hector was a man as good as he.

Agam. March patiently along: — Let one be
sent
To pray Achilles see us at our tent. —
If in his de^ith the gods have us befriended,
Gieat Troy it ours, and our sharp wars arc
ended. [Exeunt, marching.

SCENE m.— Another Part of the Field.

Enter -Sxeas and Trojans.
ASne. Stand, ho! vet are we masters of the
field :
Never go home ; here starve we out the night.

Enter Tkoilus.

'fro. Hector is slain.

All. Hector ? — Tlie gods forbid !

Tro. He 's dead ; and at the murtherer's
horse's tail.
In beastly sort, drasrg'd through the shameful

field.—
Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with

speed !
Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy !
I say, at once let your brief plagues be mercy,
And linger not our sure destructions on !

jEne. My lord, you do discomfort all the host.

Tro. You understand me not that tell me so :
I do not speak of flight, of fear, of death ;
But dare all imminence that gods and men
Address their dangers in. Hector is goue !
Who shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba ?
Let him that will a screech-owl aye be call'd
Go in to Troy, and say there — Hector 's dead :
There is a word will Priam turn to stone;
Make wells and N lobes of the maids and wives,

Act v.]

TROILUS AND CRF.SSIDA.

[Scene X I.

Cold statues of the youth ; and, in a word,

Scare Troy out of itself. But, march, away :

Hector is dead ; there is no more to say.

Stay yet : — You viJe abominable tents.

Thus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains,

Let Titan rise as early as he dare,

I '11 through and through you ! — And thou,

great-siz'd coward !
No space of earth shall sunder our two hates ;
I '11 haunt thee like a wicked conscience still.
That mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy's thoughts.
Strike a free march to Tioy ! — with comfort go:
Elope of revenge shall hide our inward woe.

\_ExYii)it JilNEAS and Trojans.
As Troiltjs is f/oiiig out, enter, from the other

side, Pandauus.
Pun. But hear you, hear you !
Tro. Hence, broker lackey ! ignomy and
shame
Pursue thy life, and live aye with thy name.

\_Exit Tkoilus.

Pan. A goodly medicine for mine aching

bones ! — world 1 world ! world ! thus is the

poor agent despised ! O traitors and bawds,

how earnestly are you set a-work, and how ill
requited ! Why should our endeavour be so
desired, and ti\e performance so loathed ? what
verse for it? what instance for it? — Let me
see : —

Full merrily the humble-bee dotli sing,
Till he hath lost his honey and his sting :
And being once subdued in armed tail.
Sweet honey and sweet notes togetlier fail. —
Good traders in the flesh, set this in your painted
cloths.

As many as be here of pander's hall.
Your eyes, half out, weep out at Pandar's fall :
Or, if you cannot weep, yet give some groans,
Though not for me, yet for your aching bones.
Brethren, and sisters, of the hokl-door trade.
Some two months hence my will shall here be

made :
It should be now, but that my fear is this, —
Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss :
Till then I '11 sweat, and seek about for eases ;
And, at that time, bequeath you my diseases.

[Krlt.

[Diomedes.]

^Parting of Hector and Andromache.]

ILLUSTRATIONS OF ACT V.

■ Scene II. — " Here, Diomed, keep this sleeve."
The story of Cressida's falsehood is prettily told
V>y Chaucer. Shakspere has literally copied one of
the incidents : —

" She made him wear a pencell of her sleeve."
But we Btill trace the inconsistency of character
in Chaucer's Cressida. Mr. Godwin laments that
Shakspere has not interested us in his principal
female, as Chaucer has done. Such an interest
would have been bought at the expense of truth.
The passages which we give will enable the reader
to compare the two characters : —

" The morrow came, and ghostly for to speak,
This Diomed is come unto Crest-id' ;
And, shortly, lest that ye my tale break,
So well he for himselfen spake and said
That all her sighes sore adown he laid ;
And, Anally, the soth6 for to sain,
He reft her of the great of all her pain.

" And after this the story telleth us
That she unto him gave the fair bay steed
The which she ones won of Troilus,
And eke a brooch (and that was little neud)
That Troilus' was, she pave this Diomed ;
And eke the bet from sorrow him to relieve.
She made him wear a pencell of her sleeve.
136

" I find eke in the story eU6s where,
When through the body hurt was Diomed
Of Troilus, then wept she many a tear
When that she saw his wide wciundes bleed,
And that she took to keepen him good heed,
And for to heal him of his woundes smart :
Men say, — 1 n'ot, — that she give liim her heart.

" But truely the siory telleth us
There maden never women more woe
Than she when that she falsed Troilus ;
She said, Alas ! for now is clean ago
My name in tnitli of love for evermo.
For I have falsed one of the gentillest
That ever was, and one of the worthiest."

(Book T.;

" Scene III. — "My dreams will, sure, prove
ominous to ike day."

Chaucer has mentioned the presaging dreams of
Andromache in the 'Canterbury Tales.' We find
the same relation in ' The Destruction of Troj' :' —

" Andromeda saw that night a marvellous vi-
sion, and her seemed if Hector went that day to
the battle he should be slain. And she, that had
great fear and dread of her husband, weeping, said
to him, praying that ho would not go to the battle
that day ; whereof Hector blamed his wife.sayin-,'

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

that she should not believe nor give faith to
dreams, and would not abide nor tarry therefore.
When it was in the morning, Andromeda went
to the King Priamus and to the queen, and told to
them the verity of her vision ; and prayed them with
all her heart that they would do so much at her
request as to dissuade Hector, that he should not
in any wise that day go to the battle, &c. It hap-
pened that day was fair and clear, aud the Tioyans
armed them, and Troylus issued first into the bat-
tle ; after him ^neas. * * Aud the King Priamus
sent to Hector that he should keep him well that
day from going to battle. AVherefore Hector was
angry, and said to his wife many reproachful words,
as tliat he knew well that this commandment came
by her request ; yet, notwithstanding the forbid-
ding, he armed him. ^' * At this instant came the
Queen Hecuba, aud the Queen Helen, aud the
sisters of Hector, aud they humbled themselves
and kneeled down presently before his feet, and
prayed and desired him with weepiag tears that he
would do off his harness, and unarm him, and come
with them into the hall : but never would he do
it for their prayers, but descended from the palace
thus armed as he was, and took his horse, aud
would have gone to battle. But at the request of
Andromeda the King Priamus came running auou,
and took him by the bridle, and said to him so
many things of one and other, that he made him
to return, but iu no wise he would be made to
unarm him."

^ Scene V. — " Go, go, my servant, take thou Tro'dus
horse."

This circumstance is also miuutely copied from
' The Destruction of Ti-oy : * —

"And of the party of the Troyans came the
King Ademon that jousted against Menelaus, and
smote him, and hurt him in the face : and he and
Troylus took him, aud had led him away, if Dio-
medes had not come the sooner with a great com-
pany of knights, aud fought with Troylus at his
coming, and smote him down, and took his horse,
and sent it to Briseyda, and did cause to say to her
bv his servant that it was Troylus's horse, her
love, and that he had conquered him by his pro-
mise, and prayed her from thenceforth that she
would hold him for her love."

■• Scene V. — ''

-The dreadful Sagittarij

Appals our numbers."
In ' The Destruction of Troy ' we have an ac-
count of " a marvellous beast that was called Sa-
gittary." The qualities of this beast are more cir-
cumstantially related by Lydgate : —

" And with him Guido saith that he had
A wonder archer of siglit mervaylous.
Of form and shape in manner monstrous :
For like mine auetour as I reliearse cm,
Fro the navel upward he was man^

And lower down like a horse yshaped:
And thilke part that after man was maked
Of skin was black and rough as any bear,
Cover'd with liair fro cold liim for to wear.
Passing foul and horrible of sight,
Whose eyes twain were sparkling as bright
As is a furnace with his red leven,
Or the lightning that falleth from the heaven ;
Dreadful of look, and red as fire of cheer,
And, as I read, he was a good archer ;
And with his bow both at even and morrow
Upon Greeks he wrought much sorrow."

' Scene V. — "Now Jure he fights on Galathe his
horse."

" Then when Hector was richly arrayed, aud
armed with good harness and sure, he mounted
upon his horse named Galathe, that was one of the
most great and strongest horses of the world."
{' Destruction of Troy.')

" Scene IX.- -" Jiest, sword."

Shakspere borrowed the circumstance which pre-
ceded the death of Hector from the Gothic ro-
mancers : —

" When Achilles saw that Hector slew thus the
nobles of Greece, and so many other that it was
mai-vel to behold, he thought that, if Hector were
not slain, the Greeks would never have victory.
And forasmuch as he had slain many kings and
princes, he ran upon him marvellously, * * but
Hector cast to him a dart fiercely, and made him
a wound in his thigh : aud then Achilles issued
out of the battle, and did biud up his wound, and
took a gi-eat spear in purpose to slay Hector, if he
might meet him. Among all these things Hector
had taken a very noble baron of Greece, that was
quaintly and richly armed, and, for to lead him
out of the host at his ease, had cast his shield
behind him at his back, and had left his breast dis-
covered : and as he was in this point, and took
none heed of Achilles, he came privily unto him,
and thrust his spear within his body, and Hector
fell down dead to the ground."

" Scene IX. — " Strike, fellows, strike."

From the same authorities Shakspere took the
incident of Achilles employing his Myrmidons for
the destruction of a Trojan chief ; but they tell the
story of Troilus, and not of Hector : —

" After these things the nineteenth battle began
with great slaughter ; and afore that Achilles
entered into the battle he assembled his Myr-
midons, and prayed them that they would intend
to none other thing but to enclose Troylus, and
to hold him without flying till he came, and
that he would not be far from them. And
they promised him that they so would. And
he thronged into the battle. And on the other
side came Troylus, that began to flee and beat

137

ILLUSTRATIONS OF ACT V.

down all them that he caught, and did so mucli,
that about midday he put the Greeks to fliglit :
then the Myrmidons (that were two thousand
fighting men, and had not forgot the command-
ment of their lord) thi-ust in among the Troynns,
and recovered the field. And as they held them
together, and sought no man but Troylus, they
found him thnt he fought strongly, and was en-
closeil on all part,"*, but he slew and wounded many.
And as he was all alone among them, and had no
man to succour him, they slew his horse, aud hurt
him in many places, and plucked off bis head helm,
and his coif of ii-on, and ho defended hivn in the
best manner he could. Then came ou Achillea,
when he saw Troylus all nuked, and ran upon him
in a rage, and smote ofiF his head, aud cast it under
tl:e feet of his horse, and took the body an 1 bound

it to the tail of his horse, and so drew It aftei him
throughout the host."

But Shakspere again goes to his ' Homer,' when
Achilles trails Hector "along the field :" —

" This said, a work not wortliy him he set to ; of both feet
He bor'd tlie nerves through from the heel to Ih' ankle, and

then knit
Both to his chariot with a Ihong of white leather, his head
Trailing the centre. Up he got to chariot, where he laid
The arms repurchas'd, and scourg'd on his horse that freely

flew;
A whirlwind made of startled dust drave with them as the)

drew,
With which were all his black -brown curls knoited in heaps

and fill'd.
And there l.ny Troy's late gracious, by Jupiter exil'd,
To all disgrace in his own land, and by his parents seen."
(Chapman's Translation, book xxii.

[Plains of Troy. J

SUPPLEMENTAUY NOTICE.

To Dryden's alteration of Tioilus and Cressida was prefixed a prologue, "spoken by Mr. Betterton

representing the Ghost of Shakspere." The Ghost appears to have entirely forgotten what he was

on earth ; and to present a marvellous resemblance, in his mind at least, to Mr. John Dryden. lie

siiys,

" In this my rough-drawn play you shall behold
Some master-strokes."

Dryden, in his elaborate ' Preface to Troihis and Cressida, containing the grounds of Criticism in
Trage'ly,' thus speaks of Shakspere's pei-formance : —

" For the play itself, the author seems to have begun it with some fire ; the characters of Pandarus
and Thersites are promising enough ; but, as if he grew weary of his ta.sk, after an entrance or two he
lets them fall ; and the latter part of the tragedy is nothing but a confusion of drums and trumpets, ex-
cursions and alarms. The chief persons who gave name to the tragedy are left alive : Cressida Li false, and
is not punislied. Yet, after all, because the play was Shakspcare's, and that there appeared in some j)lac(s
of it the admirable genius of the author, / itndcrtooh to remove that heap of rubbish un'ler which rnatii/ excel-
lent thouffhts la>i vho'l ij buried.''

1 .",0

SU PPI.EiMENTA IIY NOTICE.

The liioUe in which Dryden got riil of the rubbish, and built up his own edifice, is very cbaracteriptic
of the age and of the man : —

" I now-modelled the plot ; threw out many unneccsaary persons ; improved those characters which were
htfrnn and l^fl uiifinuh(d,—t\s Hector, Troihis, Pimdarus, and Thcrsitca ; and added that of Andromache.
After this I made, with no small trouble, lui order and connexion of all the scenes, removing thcui from the
places where they wore inartificially set."

The result of all this is, that the Ghost of Shakspere, iu the concluding lines of the Prologue, thua
eulighteija the audience aa to the dominant idea of the Troilua and Cressida : —

" My faithful scene from tfue records sliall tell
How Trojan valour did the Greek excel ;
Your great forefathers shall their fame rej;ain,
And Homer's angry ghost repine in vain."

Coleridge says, " there is no one of Shak.spere's plays harder to characteri.se." He has overlooked
the circumstance that, when the "rubbish" was removed, it became a true record, a faithful chro-
nicle, of the heroic actions of the Trojans, — our "great forefathers." With every admiration for
"glorious John" in his own proper line, we must endeavour to understand what Shakspere's Troilus
and Cressida is, by comparing it with what it is not in the alteration before us.

The notion of Dryden was to convert the Troilus and Cressida into a regular tragedy. He com-
plains, we have seen, that " the chief persons who give name to the tiugedy are left alive : Cressida
is false, and is not punished." The excitement of pity and terror, we are told, is the only ground
of tragedy. Tragedy, too, must have "a moral that directs the whole action of the play to one
centre." To this standard, then, is Shakspere's Troilus and Ci'essida to be reduced. The chief
persons who give name to the tragedy are not to be left alive. Cressida is not to be false ; but .she
is to die : and so terror and pity are to be produced. And then comes the moral : —

" Then, since from home-bred factions ruin springs,
I.ct subjects Uarn obedience to their kings.''

The management by which Dryden has accomplished this metamorphosis is one of the most remark-
able examples of perverted ingenuity. He had a licentious age to please. He could not spare a
line, or a word, of what may be considered the objectionable scenes between Pandarus, Troilus, and
Cressida. They formed no part of the " rubbish " he desired to remove. He has heightened them
wherever possible ; and what in Shakspere was a sly allusion becomes with him a positive gross-
ness. Now let us consider for a moment what Shakspere intended by these scenes. Cressida is
the exception to Shakspere's general idea of the female character. She is beautiful, witty, accom-
plished, — but she is impure. In her, love is not a sentiment, or a passion, — it is an impulse. Tem-
perament is stronger than will. Her love has nothing ideal, spiritual, in its composition. It is not
constant, because it is not discriminate. Setting apart her inconstancy, how altogether different is
Cressida from Juliet, or Viola, or Helena, or Perdita ! There is nothing in her which could be
called love ; no depth, no concentration of feeling, — nothing that can bear the name of devotion.
Shakspere would not permit a mistake to be made on the subject ; and he has therefore given to
Ulysaes to describe her, as he conceived her. Considering what his intentions were, and what really
18 the high morality of the characterisation, we cau scarcely say that he has made the representation
too prominent When he drew Cressida, we think he had the feeling strong on his mind which gave
birth to the 129th Sonnet. A French writer, in a notice of this play, says, " Les deux amauts se voient,
B'entendent, et sout heureiix." Shakspere has described such happiness : —

" A bliss in proof, — and prov'd, a very woe;
Before, a joy propos'd; behind, a dream:
All tliis the world well knows ; yet none knows well
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell."

It WM thia morality that Shaksi>ere meant to teach when he painted this one exception to the
general purity of hU female characterd. He did not, like the dramatists of the age of the Reatora-
1«0

TEOILUS AND CRESSIDA.

tion, make purity the exception : his estimate of women was formed upon a truer standard. But
when Dryden undertook to remodel Shakspere, female morality, like every other morality, was
merely conventional : virtue was an afitxir of expediency, and not of principle. With an 'entire
submission, then, to the genius of his age, does Dryden retain and heighten the scenes between
Troilus and Cressida until she quits the Trojan camp. But in all this, as we are to see in the
sequel, Cressida is a perfectly correct and amiable personage. We are told, indeed, of her frank recep-
tion of the welcome of the Grecian chiefs; but there is no Ulysses to pronounce a judgment upon
her character. She admits, indeed, the suit of Diomedes, and she gives him pledges of her
affection; but this is all a make-believe, for, like a dutiful child, she is following the advice
of her father : —

" You must dissemble love to Diomede still :
False Diomede, bred in Ulysses' school,
Can never be deceiv'd

But by strong arts and blandishments of love.
Put 'em in practice all ; seem lost and won,
And draw him on, and give him line again."

Upon this very solid foundation, then, are built up the terror and pity of Dryden's tragedy : and so
Troilus, who has witnessed Cressida's endearments to Diomede, refuses to believe that she is faithful ;
and then Cressida kills herself; and Troilus kills Diomede; and Achilles kills Troilus; and all
the Trojans are killed: and the Greeks who remain upon the field are very happy; and Ulysses
tells us,—

" Now peaceful Order has resumed the reins,
Old Time looks young, and nature seems renew'd."

Here is a tragedy for you, which " is an imitation of one entire, great, and probable action, not told,
but represented ; which, by moving us to fear and pity, is condvicive to the purging of those two
passions in our minds." So Dryden quotes Aristotle ; and so, not understanding Aristotle, he takes
upon himself to mend Shakspere, "incomparable," as he calls him, according to the notions of "my
friend Mr. Rymer," and of "Bossu, the best of modern critics."

The feeling which the study of Shakspere's Troilus and Cressida slowly but certainly calls forth,
is that of almost prostration before the marvellous intellect which has produced it. But this is the
result of study, as we have said. The play cannot be understood upon a superficial reading : it is
full of the most subtle art. We may set aside particular passages, and admire their surpassing
eloquence, — their profound wisdom ; but it is long before the play, as a whole, obtains its proper
mastery over the imderstanding. It is very difficult to define what is the great charm and wonder
of its entirety. To us it appears as if the poet, without the slightest particle of presumption, had
proposed to himself to look down upon the Homeric heroes from an Olympus of his own. He opens
the 'Iliad,' and there he reads of "Achilles' baneful wrath." A little onward he is told of the "high
threatening" of "the great cloud-gatherer." The gods of Homer are made up of human passions.
But he appears throned upon an eminence, from which he can not only command a perfect view
of the game which men play, but, seeing all, become a partisan of none, — perfectly cognisant of all
motives, but himself motiveless. And yet the whole representation is true, and it is therefore
genial. He does not stand above men by lowering men. Social life is not made worse than it is,
that he who describes it may appear above its ordinary standard. It is not a travcstie of Homer, or
of Nature, The heroic is not lowered by association with the ridiculous. The heroes of the 'Iliad'
show us very little of the vulgar side of human life, —not much even of the familiar; but the result
is, that they cease to be heroic. How this is attained is the wonder. It is something to have got
rid of the machinery of the gods, — something to have a Thersites eternally despising and despised.
But this is not all. The whole tendency of the play, — its incidents, its characterisation, — is to lower
what the Germans call herodom. Ulrici maintains that " The far-sighted Shakspere most certainly
did not mistake as to the beneficial effect which a nearer intimacy with the high culture of anti-
quity had produced, and would produce, upon the Christian European mind. But he saw the danger
of an indiscriminate admiration of this classical antiquity ; for he who thus accepted it must neces-
sarily fall to the very lowest station In religion and morality ;— as, indeed, if we closely observe the

141

SUPPLEMEXTAKY XOTICK.

character of the ISth ceutury, we see has happened. Out of thia propLetic spiiit, wlii.h pene-
trated with equal clearness through the darkness of coming centuries and the clouds of a
far-distant past, Shakspere wrote thia deeply-significant satire upon the Homeric herodom. He
had no desire to debase the elevated, to deteriorate or make little the great, and still less to
attack the poetical worth of Homer, or of heroic poetry in general. But he wished to warn tho-
roughly against the over-valuation and idolatry of them, to which man so willingly abandons him-
self. He en'leavoured, at the same time, to bring strikingly to view the universal truth that every-
thing that is merely human, even when it is glorified with the nimbus of a poetic ideality and a
tnythicid past, yet, seen in the bird's-eye peispective of a pure moral ideality, appears very small."
All this may seem as super-refinement, in which the critic pretends to see farther than the poet ever
taw. But to such an objection there is a very plain answer. A certain result is produced : — is the
result correctly described ? If it be so, is that result an effect of principle or an effect of chance ?
As a proof that it was the effect of principle, we may say that Dryden did not see the principle ;
and that, not seeing it, he entirely changed the character of the play as a work of art. For example,
there is no scene in the drama so entirely in accordance with the principle as that in which Ulysses
stirs up the slothful and dogged Achilles into a rivalry with Aji\x. It is altogether so Sliaksperiau
in its profundity, — it presents such a key to the whole Shak^perian conduct of thia wonderful
dnima, — that we can scarcely be content merely to refer to it,

" Vlyn. Now, great Thetis' son!

Jchii. What are yoii reading I

Ulyit. A strange fellow htie

Vrites me, That man, how dearly ever parted.
How much in having, or without, or in.
Cannot make boast to have that which he hath.
Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection ;
As when his virtues shining upon others
Heat them, and they retort that heat again
To the first giver.

Jchil. This is not strange, Ulysses.

The beauty that is borne here in the face
The bearer knows not, but commei.ds itself
[To others' eyes : nor doth the eye itself
(That most pure spirit of sense) behold itselfi]
Not going from itself; but eye to eye oppos'd
SaJutes each other with each other's form.
For speculation turns not to itself,
1 ill It hath travell'd, and is married tliere
Where it may see itself: this is not stran^'e at all.

Vlyit. I do not strain at the position,
It is familiar ; but at the author's drirt :
Who, In his circumstance, expressly proves.
That no man Is the lord of anything,
(Though in and of him there is much consisting,)
Till he communicate his parts to others :
Nor doth he of himself know them for aught
Till he behold them form'd in the applause
Where they are extended; si\\o, like an arch, icicr-

berates
The voice again ; or '.ike a gate of steel
Fronting the sun, receives and renders back
His figure and his heat. 1 was much rapt in this;
And apprchtiided here imincdialcly
The unknown Ajax.

Heavens, what a man is there ! a very h.orse ;
That has he knows not what. Nature, what things there

are.
Most abject in regard, and dear in use !
What thing! again most dear in the esteem.
And poor in worth I Now shall we sec to-morrow.
An act that very cliancc doth throw upon him, •

Ajax renown'J. O heavens, what some men do,
While some men leave to do !
How some men creep in skittish fortune'b hall.
While* others play the idiot* In her ey^s !
142

How one man eats into another's pride,
While pride is feasting in his wantonness !
To see these Grecian lords 1 — why, even already
They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder;
As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast,
And great Troy shrinking.

Achil. I do believe it : for they pass'd by me
As misers do by beggars ; neither gave to tiie
Good word, nor look; What, are my deeds forgot ?

Ulyss. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back,
Wherein he puts alms for oblivion,
A great-sized monster of ingratitudes :
Those scraps are good deeds past ; which are devour'd
As fast as they are made, forgot as soon
As done : Perseverance, dear my lord.
Keeps honour bright ; To have done, is to hang
Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail
In monumental mockery. Take the instant way ;
For honour travels in a straight so narrow.
Where one but goes abreast : keep then the path ;
For emulation hath a thousand sons.
That one by one pursue : If you give way,
Or hedge aside from the direct forthright,
Like to an enter'd tide, they all rush by,
And leave you hindmost ; —
Or, like a gallant horse fallen in first rank.
Lie there for pavement to the abject rear,
O'errun and trampled on: Th.-n what they do in )ire

sent,
Though less than yours in past, must o'eitop yours:
For .time is like a fashionable host.
That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand;
And with his arms out-stretch 'd, as he would (1y,
Grasps-in the comer: AVelcome ever smiles,
And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue seek
llemuneration for the thing it was ;
For beauty, wit.

High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service.
Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all
To envious and calumniating time.
One touch of nature makes the whole world kin, —
That all, with one consent, praise new-born gawds.
Though they are made and moulded of things past ;
And give to dust, that is a little gilt,
.More laud than gilt o'er-dusted.
The present eye praises the present objoct :

TKOILUS AND CRESSIDA.

rlien marvel not, thou great ant complete man,
That all the Greeks beijin to worship Ajax ;
Since things in motion sooner catch the eye,
Tlian what not stirs. The cry went once on thee,
And still it might; an>l yet it may again.

If thou wouldst not entomb tliyself alive,

And case thy reputation in thy tent;

Whose glorious deeds, but in these fields of late.

Made emulous missions 'mongst tlie gods themselves,

And drave great Mars to faction."

Now, of this scene Dryden has not a word. This was apart of the "rubbish" which he discarded.
But in the place of it he gives us an entirely new scene between Hector and Troilus — "almost half
the act." He says, " the occasion of raising it was hinted to me by Mr. Betterton ; the contrivance
and working of it was my own." This scene, he admits, was an imitation of the famous scene in
Julius Caesar between Brutus and Cassius. And so Dryden transposes the principle of one play into
another; destroys the grave irony of Troilus and Cre.9sida by the iutroJuctiun of the heroic serious-
ness which was in its place in Julius Caesar ; and gives us, altogether, a set of mongrel characters,
compounded of the commonplace heroic and Shakspere's reduction of the false heroic to truth and
reason. And yet, with all his labour, Dryden could not make the thing consistent. He is compelled
to take Shakspere's representation of Ajax, for e.'cample. One parallel passage wiU be sufficient to
show how Dryden and Shakspere managed these things : — "*

Drvdkn.

" Thank Htav'n, my lord, you're of a gentle nature,
Praise liim that got you, her that brought you foith ;
liiit he who taught you first the use of arms,
Let Mars divide eternity in two.
And give him half. I will not praise your wisdom,
Nestor shall do't ; but pardon, father Nestor,
Were you as green as Ajax, and your brain
Teraper'd like his, you never should excel him,
But be as Ajax is."

Shakspere.

" Ulyss. Thank the heavens, lord, thou ait of sweet
composure;
Praise him that got thee, she that gave thee suck :
Fiim'd be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature
Thriee-fam'd, beyond all erudition :
But he that disciplin'd thy arms to tight,
let Mars divide eternity in twain,
And give him half: and, for thy vigour.
Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield
To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom,
Which, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines
Thy spacious and dilated parts: Here's Nestor,—
Instructed by the antiquary times,
He must, he is, he cannot but be wise ; —
But pardon, father Nestor, were your days
As green as Ajax, and your brain so temper'd,
You should not have the eminence of him,
But be as Ajax."

One of the most extraordinary subtleties of Shakspere's Troilus and Cressida arises out of the
circumstance that the real heroic tragedy is found side by side with the ironical heroic. Cassan-
dra, short as the character is, may be classed amongst the finest creations of art. Dryden omits
Cassandra altogether. Was this a want of a real perception of " the grounds " . of tragedy ; or an
instinct which avoided the higher heroic, when it would come into contrast with his own feebler
conceptions ? The Cassandra of Shakspere is introduced to heighten the efifect of the petty passions,
the worldliuess, which are everywhere around her. The solemn and the earnest are in alliance with
madness.

Ulrici has a curious theory about this drama. Without yielding our assent to it, we give it as a

specimen of very ingenious conjecture : —

" Sh:^k3pere, in working up these materials, has had another design in the background respecting him-
self and his art. We know that Ben Jonson, his fj-iend as a man, but his decided opponent as a dramatist,
bad taken, as the object of his critical and poetical activity, the restoration of the dramatic art in his Ufe-
tlme to the ancient form according to the (certainly misunderstood) rules of Aristotle ; and afterwards,
upon that principle, to form the English national drama. Shakspere, although frequently attacked, has
never openly and directly engaged in the advocacy of the contrary principle. He despised the contest ;
doubtless because nothing was to be decided upon by vag-ue abstract reasoning upon the merits of a theory.
But the T^oints of his opponent's arrows were broken off as soon as it was proved, m the most striking
manner, that the spirit and character, customs and forms of life, of antiquity were essentially dLEferent ana
distinct from those founded upon Christian opinions and represented in a Christian pomt of view^ t
would appear at once as a most contradictory beginning to wish to transfer foreign ancient prmciples ot art
into the poetry of Christianity. And how could Shakspere, the poet, produce a proof more strong, strUcmg,

SUPPLEMENTARY NOTICE.

and convincing, than to embody his own principles in a poem open to all eyes ? But we must not cxncct
to find such a by-end mode prominent ; tho poet, indeed, hedges it round, and scarcely leaves anything
inlpablo. • • • * Only one single dismembered feature ho suffered to remain, perhaps in order to act
as a direction to tho initiated. 1 mean tho passage where Hector reproaches Troilus and Paris that they
had discussed very siiperficially the controversy as to the delivering up of Helen : —

' Not much
Unlike young men, -whom Aristotle tliouglit
Unfit to hear moral philosophy.'

Tho words have certainly their value in themselves for their comic effect. Nevertheless, may not this va-y
useless and unfitting anachronism contain a satirical horsewhip for Shakspere's pedantic adversaries who
evjrywhero invoked their Aristotle without sense or understanding ?"

[Hector's Body dragyec at the Gar oi Achii.us.j

Tragedies. — Vol. ]I.

IKomrtn Eagle.]

INTEODUCTOHY NOTICE.

State op the Text, and Chronology, op Coriolanus.

' The tragedy of Coriolanus ' was first printed in the folio collection of 1623. It is entered in the
Sbationers' registers of that year by the publishers of the folio, as one of the copies "not formerly
entered to other men." In this folio edition it stands the first of the tragedies in the order of
paging ; but this arrangement, as in every other case, was in all likelihood aa arbitrary one. The
text is divided into acts and scenes, according to the modern editions ; and the stage directions aro
very full and precise. With the exception of some obvious typographical errors, such as invariably
occur even under the eye of an author when a book is printed from manuscript, the text may be
received as accurate.

It would be a natural and almost imavoidable consequence of printing blank verse from a post-
humous manuscript, that the beginnings and endings of the lines should be occasionally confused, and
that therefore the metrical arrangement of the author would not be perfectly represented in the
printed copy. In the text of Coriolanus the variorum editors have, in several instances, corrected
obvious defects of the oi-iginal metrical arrangement; but they have as frequently destroyed its
harmony and force from their invariable dislike to short lines and alexandrines, and so they piece on
and lop off with their usual vigour.

L 2 147

i2;tkoductoiiy notice.

Malone a-ssigns the tragedy of Coriolinus to the year 1610. He has given Julius Cxsar to 1607,
aud Antony and Cleopatra to 1608. On tlie 20th of May of that year Edward Blount enters at
Stationers' Hall "a book called Anthony and Cleopatra;" but in 1623 Blount and Jaggard, the
publishers of the folio, enter "Mr. William Shakspere's Comedies, Histories, and Tiugedies, so
nuny of the said copies as are not formerly entered to other men." Amongst these is Antony
and Cleopatra. All the plays thus entered in 1623 were unpublished ; and not one of them, with
the exception of Antony and Cleopatra, had been "formerly entered "by name. It is therefore
more than probable that the 'Anthony and Cleopatra' entered in 1008 was not Shakspere's tra-
gedy; and we therefore reject this entry as any evidence that Shakspere's Antony and Cleopatra was
written as c.-irly as 1608. Upon the date of this play depends, according to Malone, the date of
Julius Ca;sar. We state, imhesitatingly, that there is no internal evidence whatever for the dates
of any of the three Roman plays. We believe that they belong to the same cycle ; but we would
place that later in Shakspei-e's life than is ordinarily done. Malone places them together, properly
enough ; but in assuming that they were written in 1607, 1608, and 1610, his theoi-y makes Shak-
spere almost absolutely unemployed for the last seven years of his life. We hold that his last yeai-s
were devoted to these plays. The proof which Chalmers ofifers that Coriolanus was written in 1609
15 one of the many ingenious absurdities with which he has suiToiinded the question of the chrono-
logical order of Shakspere's plays. The citizens, he says, are resolved rather to die than to famish ;
— they require com cheap; there is a dearth. He adds, very gravely, "Now the fixct is, that the

years 1608 and 1609 were times of great deai-th And therefore the play was probably

written in I611O while the pressure was yet felt." We say, now the fact is, the ori'jinal slori/ turns
upon the dearth. In North's 'Plutarch' we have the causes assigned "which ina<le the extreme
dearth ; " and Plutarch also tells us there was great scarcity of com within the city. If Shakspere
found the dearth in the original story, what could the dearth of 1608 possibly have to do with
the mode in which he dramatized it?

ScprosED Source op the Plot.

' The Lives of the Xoblc Grecians and Romans, compared together by Plutarch, done into English
by Thomas North,' is a book on many accounts to be venerated. It is still the best translation of
Plutarch we have, — full of fine robust English, — a book worthy of Shakspere to read and some-
times to imitate. Here he found the story of Coriolanus told in the most graphic manner ; and he
followed it pretty literally. Niebuhr places this story amongst the fabulous legends of Rome.
Plutarch, and especially Shakspere, have made it almost impossible to believe that such Romans
did not really live, and think, and talk, and act, as we see them in these wonderful pictures of
humanity. In the Illustrations to each act we have given the parallel passages from Plutarch. We
here subjoin a summary of the story of Coriolanus, which we extract from a work whose articles ou
classical literature are deservedly valued as authorities.

" Coriolanus was in the Roman camp when the consul Cominius was laying siege to Corioli. The be-
sieorcd, makinir a vii,'orous sally, succeeded in driving back the Romans to their camp ; but Coriolanus
Immediately rallied them, rushed through the gates, and took the ]>1a(}e. Meanwhile the Antiates had come
to relieve the town, and were on the point of engaging with the consul's army, when Coriolanus commenced
the battle, and soon completely defeated them. From this time he was greatly admired for his warlike abili-
ties, but his haughty demeanour gave considerable ofifenco to the commonalty. Not long afterwards his
implacable anger was excited by being refused the consiilship ; and when, on occasion of a severe famine in
the city, com was at last brought from Sicily (some purchased and some given by a Greek prince), and a
debate arose whether it should be given gratis or sold to the plebs, Coriolanus strenuously advised that it
should be sold. The people in their fury would have torn him in pieces had not the tribunes summoned
Ha

COR 101 ANUS.

him to take his trial. He was banished by a majority of the tribes, and retired to Antiura, the chief town
of the Volsci, where the king, Attius Tullus, received him with great hospitality. Coriolanus promised the
Volsci his aid in their war against Rome, and they forthwith granted him the highest civil honours, and ap-
pointed him their general. He attacked and took many towns ; among others, Circeii, Satricum, Longula,
and Lavinium. At last he directed his march to Rome itself, and pitched his camp only a few miles from
the city, where he dictated the terms at which the Romans might pui-chase a cessation of hostilities. Among
other things he demanded that the land taken from the Volsci should be restored, that the colonies settled
there should be recalled, and that the whole people should bo received as alUes and citizens with equal
rights ; and that all those who had enlisted themselves under Lis banners should be recalled, as well as him-
self. Coriolanus allowed them two terms, one of thirty and the other of three days, for making up their
minds. After thirty days had expired, a deputation of four leading senators came before his tribunal, but
were repulsed with threats if they should again offer anything but unreserved submission.

" On the second day the whole body of priests and augurs came in their official garb, and implored him,
but in vain. On the third and last day which he had allowed them he intended to lead his ai-my against the
city, but another expedient was tried, and succeeded. The noblest matrons of the city, led by Vcturia, the
mother of Coriolanus, and his wife Volumnia, who held her little childi-en by the hand, came to his tent.
Their lamentations at last prevailed on his almost unbending resolution, and addressing his mother he said,
with a flood of tears, ' Take then thy country instead of me, since this is thy choice.' The embassy departed ;
and, dismissing his forces, he returned and lived among the Volsci to a great age. According to another
accoimt, he was murdered by some of the Volsci, who were indignant at his withdrawing from the attack.

" After his death, however, the Roman women were mourning for him, as they had done for some foi-mer
heroes. The public gratitude for the patriotic services of Volumnia was acknowledged by a temple, which
was erected to Female Fortune."*

SCENEEir AND COSTUME.

It would be extremely difficult to represent the Rome of Coriolanus, — its streets, its market-place,
its senate-house,— without a violation of historical propriety. The stage may properly take a
greater licence in this matter than we can venture to do. We have therefore judged it best to
illustrate this tragedy by engravings which show the unchanging natural localities of Rome, and
some of the remains of the ancient city. We do not assume that these remains belong to the Rome
of Coriolanus : we know the contrary. But they are the nearest associations which we can offer ;
and they tell a tale of grandeur and of ruin which harmonizes with the leading idea of the drama.

The general subject of Roman costume will be more appropriately examined in the succeeding
tragedy of Julius Caesar.

Kiiplish Cyclopaedia— Art. Coriolanus.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

I iri

tribunes of the people.

Caids Makcius CoRioLASJUs, a noble Roman.
TiTvs Lartius, I yg„„g,g „g„i„,t f,,c Volsce?.

COMINIUS, •'

Mexenius AoRiTr a, friend to Coriolanu».

SiciNivs Velutcs,

Junius Brutus,

Young Marcius, son to Coriolanus.

A Roman Herald.

TuLLUs AuFiDivs, general of the Volsces.

Lieutenant to Aufidius.

Cor,spirators wUh Aufidius.

A Citizen o/Antium.

Two Volscian Guard'.

VoLDMSiA, mother to Corioianus.
ViRGiLiA, wife to Coriolanus.
Valeria, /rifnrf to Virgilia.
Gentlewoman, attending Virgilia.

Roman and Volscian Senators, Patricians, /EdiUs, Liclors,
Soldiers, Citizens, Messengers, Servants lo AuHdius, and
other Attendants.

SCRiiE,— partly in Rome; and partly in the territories of
the Volsciass and Antiateb.

.■'^'

■2

o
o

&
H
OS

O
iJ

tSite of Home. Tiburtine Chain in the clistaace j

ACT I.

SCENE I.— Ex)nie. A Street.

Enter a company of mutinous Citizeus, with
staves, clubs, and other weapons.

1 at. Before we proceed any further, hear
me speak.

at. Speak, speak. iSeceral speaUng at once.

1 at. You are all resolved rather to die than
to famish ?

at. llesolved, resolved.

1 at. First, you know, Cains IMareius is chief
enemy to the people.

at. We know 't, we know 't.

1 ad. Let us kill him, and we '11 have corn at
our own price. Is 't a verdict ?

at. No more talking on't: let it be done:
away, away !

^^ at. One word, good citizens.

1 at. We are accounted poor citizens ; the

pati-icians, good-.=' What authority surfeits on
would reUeve us. If they would yield us but
the superfluity, while it were wholesome, we
might guess they relieved us humanely; but
they thmk we are too dear : the leanness that
afflicts us, the object of oui- misery, is as an in-
ventory to particularize their abundance; our
sufferance is a gain to them.— Let us revenge
this with our pikes, ere we become rakes :•> for
the gods know, I speak this in hunger for bread,
not in thirst for revenge.

» Goorf— used in the sense in which Shylock, m the Mci-
chant of Venice, says, " Antonio is a <7ood inan.

b Uahes. Spenser, in the ' Fairy Queen, has—
" His body lean and meagre as a rake"
The allusion, there can be little doubt, is to the tool so
called. The simile is very old ; we find m Ctiaucer—

" As lean was his horse as is a rake."
This is the sense, we apprehend, in which the citizens are
toJ' become rakes. "

« 151

Act i.]

CORIOLANUS.

[SCEME 1

2 at. "Would you proceed especially against
Cains Marcius ?

Alt. Apalust hiiu first ; lie 's a very dog to the
coiunionalty.

2 Cil. Cousidcr you what services he has done
for his count ry ?

1 at. Very well ; and could be content to
give him pood report for't, but that he pays
himself with being proud.

All. Kay, but speak not maliciously.

1 at. I say unto you, what he hath done fa-
mously he did it to that cud ; though soft-con-
scieneed men can be content to say it was for his
country, he did it to please his mother, and to
be partly proud ; which he is, even to the altitude
of his virtue.

2 at. What he cannot help in his nature you
account a vice in him : You must in no way say
he is covetous.

1 at. If I must not, I need not be barren of
accusations ; he hath faults, with sui-plus, to tu-e
in repetition. \_Shoids tcit/ti//.] "Wliat shouts arc
these ? The other side o' the city is risen : "Why
stay wc prating here ? to the Capitol !

All. Come, come.

1 at. Soft ! who comes here ?

Enter Menekius Agrippa.

2 at. "Worthy Menciiius Agrippa ; one that
hath always loved the people.

1 at. He 's one honest enough : 'Would all
the rest were so !

Men. "What work 's, my countrymen, in hand ?
"Where go you
"With bats and clubs ? The matter ? Speak, I
pray you.

2 at.^ Our business is not unknown to the
senate ; they have had inkling, this foi'tnight,
what wc intend to do, which now we '11 show 'em
in deeds. They say poor suitors have strong
breaths; they shall know we have strong arms
too.

» All Iho subsequent dialof;uc with Mcneniiis is given by
the Tsri'iniTii editors fo the j!r»/ citizen. Malone thus ex-
plains thechanf^e: — " This and all the subsequent plebeian
sp-erhes In this scene arc given by the old copy to the
secund citizen. But the dialogue at the 0|)cniiig of the play
ihnws that It must have been a mistake, and that they
ought to be .^tt^lbuted to the Jir'l citizen. The second is
rather friendly to Coriolanus." We adhere to the original
copy, for the precise reason which Malone gives for de-
parting from it. The Jirtl citizen is a hater of public vieii,
— the second of public meatura; the first would kill Corio-
lanus, — the second would repeal the laws relating to corn
and usury. He says not one word against Coriolanus. Wc
.trc satiihcd that it was not Shakspcre's intention to make
the low brawler against an individual argue so well with
Mcncnius in the mailer <>f the " kingly-crowned head," Kv.
The speaker is of a higher cast than he who says, " LcLus
kill hini, and we'll have com at our own price."
152

Men. A\niy, masters, my good friends, mine
honest neighbours,
AVill you undo yourselves ?

2 at. "We cannot, sir, wc are undone already.

Men. I tell you, friends, most charitable care
Have the patricians of you. For your wants.
Your suiTcring in this dearth, you may as well
Strike at the heaven with your staves, as lift them
Against the lloinan state ; whose course will on
The way it takes, cracking ten thousand curbs.
Of more strong link asunder than can ever
Appear in your impediment : For the dearth.
The gods, not the patricians, make it ; and
Yom" knees to them, not arms, must help. Alack,
You are transported by calamity
Thither where more attends you ; and you slander
The helms o' the state, who care for you like

fathers.
When you cuj-se them as enemies.

2 at. Care for us ! — True, indeed ! — They
ne'er cared for us yet. Suffer us to famish, and
their storehouses crammed with grain ; ' make
edicts for usury, to support usurers ;- repeal daily
any wholesome act established against the rich ;
and pro\ide more piercing statutes daily, to chain
up and restrain the poor. If the wars cat us
not up, they will; and there's all the love they
bear us.

Men. Either you must
Confess youi'sclves wondrous nuilicious,
Or be accus'd of folly. I shall tell you
A pretty tale ; it may be you have heard it ;
But, since it serves my purpose, I will venture
To stale 't "^ a little more.

• » To stale 'I. The original has to scale 'I. We adopted
it in previous editions, in the sense of weight. Menenius will
venture to uifiV' to try the value, of the " pretty tale," a little
more; though they may have heard it, he will again scale
it. But Steevens says, "to scale is to disperse; though
some of you have heard the story, I will spread it still
wider, and diffuse it among the rest." Hornc Tooke"s ex-
planation appears to us somewhat fanciful. To scale, he
says, is derived from the Anglo-Sa.ton sci/lan, to divide.
The tale of Menenius is scaled by being divided into par-
ticulars. But Mr. Dyce has referred to a note by GifTuid,
on a passage in Massinger,

"I'llnot»/o/e thejest
By my relation."

GIfford gives this explanation of stale: "render It flat, de-
prive it of zest by previous intimation ;" and then notices
the passage of the text. " This is one of a thousand in-
stances wliich might be brought to prove that the true reading
in Coriolanus, Act i., Sc. i., is

",' To stale 't a little more.' "

The old copies have scale, for which Theobald judicinuyly
proposed stale. To this Warburton objects, petulantly
enough, it must be confessed, because to s. ale signifies lo
weigh; so, indeed, it does, and many other things; none of
which, however, bear any relation to the text. Steevens,
too, prefers scale, which lie proves, from a variety ofauiho-
rltici, to mean, "'scatter, disperse, spread.'" .Mr. Dyce
.".dds, "Thcie is, indeed, no cr.d of passages in our early
dramatists whtre stale occurs in the sense of ' make stale,
f&miliar,' &c." Upon these authorities we adopt stale 'I.

Act 1.]

COEIOLANUS.

[SCKN£ 1.

2 at. Well, I '11 hear it, sir : yet you must
not think to fob off our disgrace with a tale :
but, au 't please you, deliver.
Men. There was a time when all the body's
members
Rebell'd against the belly ; thus accus'd it : —
That only Uke a gulf it did remain
L' the midst o' the body, idle and unaclive,
Stni cupboardiug the viand, never bearuig
Like labour with the rest ; where the other in-
struments
Did see and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel.
And mutually participate; did minister*
Unto the appetite and affection common
Of the whole body. The belly answered, —
2 at. Well, sir, what answer made the

belly ?
Men. Sir, I shall tell you.— With a kind of
smile.
Which ne'er came from the lungs, but even

thus,
(For, look you, I may make the belly smile
As well as speak,) it tauntingly replied
To the discontented members, the mutinous

parts
That envied his receipt ; even so most fitly
As you mahgn our senators, for that
They are not such as you.

2 at. Your belly's answer : What !

The kingly-crowned head, the vigilant eye.
The counsellor heart, the arm our soldier.
Our steed the leg, the tongue our trumpeter,
With other muniments and petty helps
In this our fabric, if that they —

Men. What then ?—

'Fore me, this fellow speaks !— what then ? what
then?
2 at. Should by the cormorant belly be re-
strain'd.
Who is the sink o' the body, —
]^£en. Well, what then ?

2 at. The former agents, if they did com-
plain,
What could the belly answer ?

Men. 1 will tell you ;

[f you '11 bestow a small (of what you have

little)
Patience a while, you '11 hear the belly's answer.
2 at. You are long about it.
Men. Note me this, good friend ;

Your most grave belly was deliberate,

a This is usually pointed thus : —

"And, mutually participate, did minister," &c.

Malone tel's us that participate is participant (the par-
ticiple). We follow the punctuation of the folio.

Not rash like his accusers, and thus auswer'd.
' True is it, my incorporate friends,' quoth he,
* That I receive the general food at first,
Which you do live upon : and fit it is ;
Because I am the storehouse, and the shop
Of the whole body : But if you do remember,
I send it through the rivers of your blood.
Even to the coiu't, the heart, to the seat o' the

brain,
And through the cranks and offices of man :
The strongest nerves, and small inferior veins.
From me receive that natural competency
Whereby they live : "■ And though that all at once.
You, my good friends,' (this says the belly,)

mark me, —
2 at. Ay, sir ; well, well.
Men. ' Though all at once cannot

See what I do deliver out to each ;
Yet I can make my audit up, that all
From me do back receive the flotu* ^ of all.
And leave me but the bran.' What say you to 't ?
2 at. It was an answer : How apply you

this?
Men. The senators of Rome are this good

beUy,
And you the mutinous members : For examine
Their counsels and their cares ; digest things

rightly.
Touching the weal o' the common ; you shaD

find.
No public benefit, which you receive.
But it proceeds, or comes, from them to you.
And no way from yourselves. — What do you

think?
You, the great toe of this assembly ? —

a A common punctuation of this passage is,—

" I send it through the rivers of your blood,
Even to the court, the heart,— to the seat o' tlie brain ;
And, through the cranks and offices of man,
The strongest nerves," &c.
This arrangement of the passage involves a difficulty. The
" heart" is metaphorically " tlie court," the centre to which
all tends : but the punctuation also makes it " the seat of
the brain." This, Malone and Douce tell us, is ri-ht : the
"brain" is here put for the understanding, and according to
the old philosophy the " heart" was the seat of the under-
standing. Now, we do not believe that Shak^pere's judg-
ment would have permitted him to use " heart" in a phy-
sical sense, and "brain" in a metaphysical; nor do we see
why the belly should not claim the merit of supplying the
head as well as the heart. The obvious meaning of the
passage without anv of this forced punctuation (the origmal
uses uo point hut the comma) appears to us to be,— I send
the general food through the rivers of your blood, to the
court, the heart ; I send it to the scat of the brain, and
through the cranks and offices (obscure parts) of the whole
body. By this means

" The strongest nerves, and small inferior veins,
From me receive that natural competency
Whereby they live."
b Flour. This is certainly the flour of corn opposed to
"the bran." The word in the text was usually spelt floicer,
which, though correct in the original sense of flour, may
give an erroneous impression to the reader.

153

Act I.]

l^ORTOLANUS.

LSCENE 1.

•2 Ci/. I the great toe ? AMiy the great (oc ?
Mai. For that, behig one o' the lowest, basest,
poorest.
Of this most wise rebellion, thou go'st fore-
most :
Thou rascal, that art worst in blood to run,
liCad'st first, to win some vantage. —
But make jou ready your stiff bats and clubs ;
Rome and her rats are at the point of battle,
The one side must have bale." -Hail, noble
Marcius !

E/iier Caius Marcius.

Miir. Thanks. — "What 's the matter, you dis-
sent ions rogues.
That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion.
Make yourselves scabs ?
2 Cii. Vi'e have ever your good word.

^far. He that will give good words to thee

will flatter
Beneath abhorrin£r. — What would vou have, vou

curs.
That like nor peace, nor war? the cue affrights

)ou,
The other makes you proud. He lliat trusts to

vou.
Where he should find you lions finds you hares ;
Where foxes, geese : You are no surer, no.
Than is the coal of fire upon the ice.
Or hailstone in the sun. Your vu-tuc is,
To make him worthy whose offence subdues

him.
And curse that justice did it. Who deserves

greatness
Deserves your hate : and your affections are
A sick man's appetite, who desires most that
Which would increase his evil. He that depends
Upon your favour swims with fins of lead.
And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang yc !

trust ye ?
With everv minute vou do change a mind :
And call him noble that was now your hate.
Him vile that was your garland. W^hat's tlic

matter,
That in these several places of the city
You cry against the noble senate, who,
Under the gods, keep you in awe, which else
Would feed on one another? — What's tlicir

seeking ?

» /Jn;<— Piin. This is the only instance in which Shak-
«p«Te uses the suhsLintive hale; thnui;li we have frequently
baUful. Malone tt-lls us the word was ohsolote in Shak-
ipcre's time : but it is cue of Shakspcre's merits to clinjr to
our fine eld langiiaKe, not ostentatiously, hut with a full
knowledge of its powers.

164

Men. Tor corn at their own rates ; whereof,

they say.
The city is well stor'd.

3r(/r. Hang 'em ! They say !

They '11 sit by the fire, and presume to know
What 's done i' the Capitol : who 's like to rise.
Who thrives, and who declines : side factions,

and give out
Conjectural marriages ; making parties strong,
And fcebling such as stand not in their liking
Below their cobbled shoes. They say there's

grain enough !
Would the nobility lay aside their ruth,'*
And let me use my sword, I 'd make a quarry
With thousands of these quartcr'd slaves, as high
As I could pick '' my lance.

Men. Nay, these are almost thoroughly per-
suaded ;
For though abundantly they lack discretion.
Yet are they passing cowardly. But, 1 beseech

you,
W^hat says the other troop ?

Mar. They are dissolved : Hang 'em !

They said they were an-lunigry; sigh'd forth

proverljs.
That hunger broke stone walls, that dogs must

eat.
That meat was made for mouths, that the gods

sent not
Corn for the rich man only : — With these shreds
They vented their complainings; which being

answer' d.
And a petition granted them, a strange one,
(To break the heart of generosity.
And make bold power look pale,) they threw

their caps
As they would hang them on the horns o' the

moon.
Shouting their emulation.
Men. What is granted them ?

Mar. Five tribunes to defend their vulgar

wisdoms.
Of their own choice : One 's Junius Brutus,
Sieinius Vclutus, and I know not — 'Sdeath !
The rabble should have first unroof 'd the city.
Ere so prevail'd witli me ; it will in time
Win upon power, and tkrow forth greater themes
For insurrection's arguing.

Men. This is strange.

Mar. Go, get you home, you fragments !

Jin/er a [Messenger, hasiili/.
Mess. Where 's Caius Marcius ?

n 7?m//i- pity— another old word,
b i'.c*— pitch.

Act I.J

COEIOLANUS.

[Scene II.

Mar Here : T\liat 's the matter ?

Mess. The news is, sir, the Volsces are in arms.
Mar. I am glad on't; then -we shall have
means to vent
Our musty superfluity : — See, our best elders.

Enter CojnNius, Titus Lartius, Uiid other Sena-
tors ; Junius Bruius, and Sicixius Yelutus.
1 Sen. Marcius, 't is true that you have lately
told us ;
The Volsces are in arms.

Mar. They have a leader,

Tullus Auiidius,-4hat vill put you to 't.
I sin in envying his nobility :
And were I anything but what I am,
I would wish me only he.

Com. You have fought together.

Mar. "Were half to half the world by the ears,
and he
Upon my party, I 'd revolt, to make
Only my wars with him : he is a lion
That I am proud to hunt.

1 Sen. Then, worthy Marcius,

Attend iipon Cominius to these wars.
Com. It is your former promise.
Mar. Sir, it is ;

And I an: constant. — Titus Lartius, thou
Shalt see me once more strike at Tullus' face :
\Yhat, art thou stiff? stand'st out ?

Tit. No, Cains Marcius ;

I '11 lean upon one crutch, and fight 'svith t' other,
Ere stay behind this business.

Men. 0, true bred !

1 Sen. Your company to the Capitol; where,
I know,
Our greatest friends attend us.

Tit. Lead you on :

Follow, Cominius ; we must foUow you ;
Right worthy you priority.*

Com. Noble Marcius !

1 Sen. Hence ! To your homes, be gone.

[To the Citizens.

Mar. Nay, let them follow :

The Voices have much corn; take these rats

thither.
To gnaw their garners :— "ITorshipful mutineers.
Your valoiu- puts well forth : pray, follow.

[E-reuiit Senators, Coir., Mail, Tit., and
;Menex. Citizens steal atca_'/.
Sic. Was ever man so proud as is this

Marcius ?
Bru. He has no equal.

Sic. "When we were chosen tribunes for the
people, —

' We must here understand, worthy of riiorily.

Brtc. Mark'd you his lip and eyes ?

Sic. Nay, but his taunts.

Bru. Being mov'd, he wiU not spare to gird"
the gods.

Sic. Be-mock the modest moon.

Bru. The present wars devour him : he is
grown
Too proud to be so valiant.''

Sic. Such a nature.

Tickled with good success, disdains the shadow
TVhich he treads on at noon : But I do wonder
His insolence can brook to be commanded
Under Cominius.

Bru. Fame, at the which he aims.

In whom already he is well grae'd, cannot
Better be held^ nor more attain'd, than by
A place below tlie first : for what miscarries
Shall be the general's fault, though he perform
To the utmost of a man ; and giddy censure
Will then cry out of Marcius, ' 0, if he
Had borne the business ! '

Sic. Besides, if things go well,

Opinion, that so sticks on Marcius, shall
Of his demerits" rob Cominius.

Bru. Come :

Half aU Cominius' honours are to Marcius,
Though IMarciiis eam'd them not ; and all his

faults
To Marcius shall be honours, though, indeed,
In aught he merit not.

Sic. Let 's hence, and hear

How the despatch is made ; and in what fashion,
]\[ore than in singularity, he goes
Upon this present action.

Bru. Let 's along. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.— Corioli. The Senate-House.
Enter Tullus Aufidius, and certain Senators.

1 Sen. So, your opinion is, Aufidius,
That they of Rome are enter'd in our counsels.
And know how we proceed.

jiiij; Is it not \ ours?

Whatever have"* been thought on in this state.
That could be brought to bodily act ere Rome

=» Gird. This is the verb of Falstaffs noun, " Every mau
has a.nird at me." .

b There is much dispute about the meani;^? of this sen-
t»iice "The present vrars devour him" is clear enougli,
we thiuk; the wars absorb, cat up the wliolo m.-in:^anrt
then comes the explanation; he is trown too proud o. his
valour — of beins so valiant.

c Demerits. The word is used in a similar sense in
Othello,— that of merits. The meaniiif: of i"-''^*'^'T'"S,'"*^
acquired later; for demerit is constantly used tor desert oy
the old writers.

<l Whalei-er Aace— elliptically, whatever thinr/s have.

155

Act 1.]

COKIOLAliUS.

[Scene 111.

Had circumvention? 'Tis not four days gone
Since I board thence ; these are the words : I

think
I have the letter here ; yes, here it is : [lu-ads.
' They have prcss'd a power, but it is not known
"Whether for east or west : The dearth is great ;
The people mutinous : and it is runiour'd,
Coniiuius, Marcius your old enemy,
(Who is of Eome worse hated than of yon,)
And Titus Lartius, a most valiant Roman,
These three lead on this preparation
"Whither 't is bent : most likclv, 't is for vou :
Consider of it.'

1 Sen. Our army 's in the field :
AVe never yet made doubt but Rome was ready
To answer us.

An/. Nor did you think it folly

To keep your great pretences veil'd till when
They needs must show themselves; which in

the hatching.
It seem'd, appear'd to Rome. By the discovery,
We shall be shortened in our aim ; which was,
To take in* many towns, ere, almost, Rome
Should know we were afoot.

2 Se/i. Noble Aufidius,
Take your commission ; hie you to your bands :
Let us alone to guard Corioli :

If they set down before us, for the remove
Bring up your army ; but, I think, you '11 find
They 'vc not prepar'd for us.

Ji'/. 0, doubt not that ;

I speak from certainties. Nay, more ;
Some paicels of their powers are forth already,
And only hitherward. I leave your honours.
K we and Caius iNIarcius chance to meet,
'Tis sworn between us we shall ever*" strike
Till one can do no more.

Jll. The gods assist you !

Au/. And keep your honours safe !

1 Sen. Farewell.

2 Sen. Farewell.
All. Farewell. \_Exeunl.

SCENE III. — Rome. An Apartment tn Mar-
cius* House.

Enter Volumxia and "Virgiua: They sit down
on Itco low stools, and sew.

Vol. I pray you, daughter, sing;' or express

• Take in — tiilidue.

b Brer. In Rced'i edition Ihli was itrangcly cliaiigcd
to ntrer. By " rrtr strike" wc underitaiid, we sliall con-
tinue to itrikc; if v«e adopt the reading of nrvrr, we
muit accept ilrike in tlie sen»e of strikinK a colour—
yielding.

156

yourself in a more comfortable sort : If my son
were my husband, I should freelier rejoice in
that absence wherein he won liouour, than
in the embracements of his bod, where he
would show most love. "When yet ho was but
tender-bodied, and the only son of my womb ;
when youth with comeliness plucked all gaze his
way; when, for a day of kings' entreaties, a
mother should not sell him an hour from her be-
holding ; I, — considering how honour would be •
eome such a person; that it was no better than
picture-like to hang by the wall, if renown made
it not stir,— was pleased to let«him seek danger
where he was like to find fame. To a cruel war
I sent him ; from whence he returned, his brows
bound with oak."* I tell thee, daughter, — I sprang
not more in joy at first hearing he was a man-
child, than now in first seeing he had proved
himself a man.

Vir. But had he died in the business, madam ?
how then?

Vol. Then his good report should have been
my son; I therein would have found issue.
Hear me profess sincerely : — Had I a dozen
sons, each in my love alike, and none less dear
than tliine and my good Marcius, I had rather
had eleven die nobly for their country, than one
voluptuously surfeit out of action.

Enter a Gentlewoman.

Gent. Madam, the lady Valeria is come to

visit you.
Fir. 'Beseech you, give me leave to retire

myself.
Vol. Indeed, you shall not.
Methiuks, I hear hither your husband's drum ;
See liim pluck Aufidius down by the hair ;
As children from a bear, the Volsces shunning

him :
Methinks, I see him stamp thus, and call thus, —
' Come on, you cowards ! you were got in

fear.
Though you were bora in Rome : ' His bloody

brow
With his maii'd hand then wiping, forth he

goes;
Like to a harvest-man, that 's task'd to mow
Or all, or lose his hire.

Vir. His bloody brow ! 0, Jupiter, no blood !
Vol. Away, you fool ! it more becomes a man
Than gilt his trophy : The breasts of Hecub<t,
"When she did suckle Hector, look'd not lovelier
Than Hector's forehead, when it spit forth blood
At Grecian swords' contending. — Tell Valeria
We are fit to bid her welcome. [^Exit Gent.

Act I.]

COEIOLANUS.

[SCEKE IV.

Fir. Heavens bless my lord from fell Aufl-

dius !
T'ol. He '11 beat Aufidius' head below his
knee.
And tread upon his neck.

Re-enter Gentlewoman, wilh Valeria and her
Usher.

J'al. My ladies both, good day to you.

Vol. Sweet madam.

Fir. I am glad to see your ladyship.

Fal. How do you both ? you are manifest
housekeepers. ^Vhat are you sewing here? A
fine spot, in good faith. — How does yom- little
sou?

Fir. I thank your ladyship ; well, good ma-
dam.

Fol. He had rather see the swords, and hear
a dram, than look upon his schoohnaster.

Fal. 0' my word, the father's son : I '11 swear
't is a very pretty boy. O' my troth, I looked
upon him o' Wednesday half an hour together :
he has such a confirmed countenance. I saw
him run after a gilded butterfly; aud when he
caught it, he let it go again ; and after it again ;
aud over and over he comes, and up again ;
catched it again: or whether his fall enraged
him, or how 't was, he did so set his teeth, and
tear it ; O. I warrant, how he mammocked it !

Fol. One of his father's moods.

Fal. Indeed la, 't is a noble child.

Fir. A crack, madam.

Fal. Come, lay aside your stitchery ; I must
Lave you play the idle huswife with me this
afternoon.

Fir. No, good madam ; I will not out of
doors.

Fal. Not out of doors ?

Fol. She shall, she shall.

Fir. Indeed, no, by your patience: I will
not over the threshold tiU my lord return from
the wars.

Fal. Fie ! you confine yourself most um-eason-
ably. Come, you must go visit the good lady
that lies in.

Fir. I will wish her speedy strength, and
visit her with my prayers ; but I cannot go
thither.

Fol. Why, I pray you ?

Fir. 'T is not to save labour, nor that I want
love.

Fal. You would be another Penelope: yet,
they say, aU the yarn she spun in Ulysses' ab-
sence did but fill'lthaca full of moths. Come ;
I would yom- cambric were sensible as your

finger, that you might leave pricking it for pity.
Come, you shall go with us.

Fir. No, good madam, pardon me; indeed I
win not forth.

Fal. In truth, la, go with me ; and I '11 teU
you excellent news of your husband.

Fir. O, good madam, there can be none
yet.

Fal. Verily, I do not jest with you ; there
came news from him last night.

Fir. Indeed, madam ?

Fal. In earnest, it's true ; I heard^a senator
speak it. Thus it is : — The Volsces have an
army forth, against whom Cominius the general
is gone, with one part of our Roman power:
your lord and Titus Lai-tius are set down before
their city Corioli; they nothing doubt prevail-
ing, and to make it brief wars. This is true, on
mine honour ; and so, I pray, go with us.

Fir. Give me excuse, good madam ; I will
obey you in everything hereafter.

Fol. Let her alone, lady ; as she is now, she
will but disease our better mirth.

Fal. In troth, I think she would : — Fare you
well then. — Come, good sweet lady. — Prithee,
Virgilia, turn thy solemnness out o' door, and go
along with us.

J'ir. No : at a word, madam, indeed I must
not. I wish you much mirth.

Fal. Well, then farewell. [Exeunt.

SCENE lY.— Before CorioU.^

Enter, with drums and colours, Marcits, TlTl's
Laktitts, Ofiicers, and Soldiers. To them a
Messenger.

3Iar. Yonder comes news: — A wager, they

have met.
Lart. My horse to yours, no.
Mar. 'T is done.

Lart. Agreed.

Mar. Say, has our general met the enemy ?
Mess. They lie in view ; but have not spoke

as yet.
Lart. So, the good horse is mine.
Mar. I '11 buy Mm of you.

Lart. No, I '11 nor sell nor give him : lend

you hin\ I will.
For half a hundred years.— Summon the town.
Mar. How far off lie these armies ?
jJess. Within this mile and half.

Mar. Then shall we hear their 'lamm, and

they ours.
Now, Mais, i prithee, make us quick in work ;

157

Act I.]

CORIOr/VNUS.

[Scene IV.

That we \ritli smoking swords may march from

heucc,
To help our fielded friends !— Come, blow thy

blast.

They sound a parley. Enter, on the walls, some
Senators, and others.

Tullus Aufidius, is he within your walls ?

1 Sen. No, nor a man that fears you less than
he:
ITiat 's lesser than a little. Hark, our drums

*. \_Aluntms afar off-

Are bringing forth our youth : We '11 break our

walls.
Rather than they shall pound us up : Oui- gates.
Which yet seem shut, wc have but piuu'd with

rushes ;
They '11 open of themselves. Haik you, far
off ; [Other alarums.

There is Aufidius ; list, what work he makes
Amongst your cloven army.
Mar. 0, they are at it !

Lart. Their noise be our instruction. — Lad-
ders, ho !

The Volsces enter, and pass over the stage.

Mar. They fear us not, but issue forth their

city.
Now put your shields before your hearts, and

fight
With hearts more proof than shields. — Advance,

brave Titus ;
They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts,
Which makes me sweat with wrath. — Come on,

my fellows ;
He that retires I '11 take him for a Volsce^
And he shall feel mine edge.

.ilarums, and exeunt Romans and Volsces, fight-
ing. The Romans are beaten back to their
trenches. Re-enter Makcius.

Mar. All the contagion of the south light on

yon.
You shames of Rome ! — you herd of — Boils and

plagues
Plaster you o'er ; that you may be abhorr'd
Further than seen, and one infect another
Against the wind a mile ! You souls of geese
That bear the shapes of men, how have you run
From slaves that apes would beat ! Pluto and

hell!
.Vll hurt behind ; backs red, and faces pale
With flight and agned fear ! Mend, and charge

home,
Or, by the fires of heaven, I '11 leave the foe,

153

iVnd make my wars on you ! look to 't : Come

on ;
If you '11 stand fast, wc '11 beat them to their

wives.
As they us to our trenches followed.

.inother alarum. The Volsces and Romans re-
enter, and ike fiqht is renewed. The Volsces
retire into Corioli, and Makcius follows them
to the gates.

So, now the gates are ope : — Now prove good

seconds :
'T is for the followers fortune widens them,
Not for the fliers : mark mc, and do the like.

[He enters the gates, and is shut in.

1 Sol. Fool-hardiness ; not I.

2 Sol. Nor I.

3 Sol. See, they have shut him in.

[Alarum continues.
All. To the pot, I warrant him.

Enter Tixus Laktius.

iMrt. What 'is become of IMarcius?

All. Slain, sii-, doubtless.

1 Sol. Follo\\Tng the fliers at the very heels,
With them he enters : who, upon the sudden,
Clapp'd-to their gates ; he is himself alone,
To answer all the city.

Lart. noble fellow I

Who sensibly outdares his senseless sword.
And when it bows stands up ! Thou art left,

Mareius :
A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art,
"Were not so rich a jewel. Thou Avast a soldier
Even to Cato's wish,'' not fierce and terrible
Only in strokes ; but with thy grim looks and
The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds.
Thou mad'st thine enemies shake, as if the

world
Were feverous, and did tremble

» The ori^'inal has " Calues wish." This is evidently a
typographical error; but, following Rowe and Pope, Mr.
Monck Mason would have us read Cnhus u-hli. We
quite asree with Malone that the manuscript was Catoes ;
easily mistaken and rendered by the printer Calues. But
we do not agree with him that Shakspere committed the
anachronism in ignorance. Plutarch, de.<;crlbingtlie valiant
deeds c f Coriolanus, says (North's translation), " He was
even such another as Cato would have a soldier and a cap.
tain to be." Shakspere puts nearly the same words in the
mouth of Lartius; feeling that Lartius, in thus conveying
the sentiment of Plutarch, was to the avidience as a sort of
chorui. He had no vision of a critic before him, book in
hand, calling out that Cato was not born till two hundred
and fifty-three years after the death of Coriolanus. Now
Mr. Malone, with hisexact chronology of the death of Corio-
lanus, commits in the eyes of modem learning as great a
blunder as Shakspere commits in his eyes. We hold to the
reading of " Cato's wish," which Theobald very sensibly
gave us.

ACT I.]

COEIOLAl^rUS.

[Scenes V., VI.

Re-enter Marcius, bleedhuj, assaulted by the I Go, sound thy trumpet in the market-place •

enemy,

1 Sol. Look, sir.

Lart. O ! 't is Marcius :

Let 's fetch him off, or make remain alike.

[Thei/ fight, and all enter the city.

SCENE ^.—Within the Town. A Street.
Enter certain Romans, with spoils.

1 Rom. This will I carry to Eome.

2 Rom. And I this.

3 Rom. A murrain on 't ! I took this for

silver.

\^Alariim continues still afar off.

Enter Makcius and Titus Lartius, xcith a
trumpet.

Mar. See here these movers, that do prize

their hours
At a crack'd drachm ! Cushions, leaden spoons.
Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would
Bury with those that wore them, these base

slaves.
Ere yet the fight be done, pack up : — Down with

them ! —
And hark, what noise the general makes !— To

him ! —
There is the man of my soul's hate, Aufidius,
Piercing our Romans : Then, valiant Titus, take
Convenient numbers to make good the city ;
Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will

haste
To help Cominius.

Lart. Worthy sir, thou bleed'st ;

Thy exercise hath been too violent
For a second course of fight.

Mar. Sir, praise me not :

My work hath yet not warm'd me : Eare you

well.
The blood I drop is rather physical
Than dangerous to me : To Aufidius thus
I will appear, and fight.

Lart. Now the fair goddess. Fortune,

Fall deep in love with thee; and her great

charms
Misguide thy opposers' swords ! Bold gentle-
man.
Prosperity be thy page !

Mar. Thy friend no less

Than those she placeth highest ! — So, farewell.
Lart. Thou wortliiest Marcius ! —

\Exit Marcius.

Call thither all the oflicers of the town.
Where they shall krfow our mind : Away !

{Exeunt,

SCENE ^l.—Near the Camp of Cominius.

Enter Cominius and Forces, retreating.

Com. Breathe you, my friends ; well fought :
we are come off
Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands.
Nor cowardly in retire : believe me, sirs.
We shall be charg'd again. Whiles we have

struck,
By interims and conveying gusts we have heard
The charges of our friends : — The Roman gods
Lead their successes as we wish our own ;
That both our powers, with smiling fi-onts en-
countering.

Enter a Messenger.

May give you thankful sacrifice ! — Thy news ?

Mess. The citizens of Corioli have issued.
And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle :
I saw our party to their trenches driven,
And then I came away.

Com. Though thou speak'st truth,

Methinks thou speak'st not well. How long
is 't since ?

Mess. Above an hour, my lord.

Com. 'T is not a mile ; briefly we heard their
drums :
How couldst thou in a mile confound an hour,
And bring thy news so late ?

3Iess. Spies of the Yolsces

Held me in chase, that I was forc'd to wheel
Three or four miles about ; else had I, sir.
Half an hour since brought my report.

Enter !Marcius.
Com. "Wlio 's yonder.

That does appear as he were flay 'd ? gods !
He has the stamp of Marcius ; and I have
Before-time seen him thus.

Mar. Come I too late ?

Com. The shepherd knows not thunder from
a tabor.
More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue
From every meaner man.

Mar. Come I too late ?

Com. Ay, if you come not in the blood of
others,
But mantled in your own.

Mar. ! let me clip you

159

ACT I.]

CORTOLANUS.

tSiEUfceVII.Vni.

In arms as sound as when I woo'd ; in heart
As merry as when our nuptial day was done,
And tapers burn'd to bedward.

Com. riower of warriors,

How is 't with Titus Lartins ?

Mar. As with a man busied about decrees :
Condemning some to death, and some to exile ;
]{ansoming him, or pitying, tlireat'uing the other;
Holding Corioli in the name of Rome,
Even like a fawning greyhound in the leash,
To let liim slip at will.

Com. Where is that slave

AVhich told me they had beat you to your trenches ?
Where is he ? Call him liitlicr.

Mar. Let him alone,

He did infonn the truth : But for our gentlemen.
The common file, (A plague ! — Tribunes for

them !)
The mouse ne'er sbunu'd the cat as they did budge
From rascals worse than they.

Com. But how prevail'd you ?

Mar. Will the time serve to tell? I do not
think :
Wliere is the enemy ? Are you lords o' the field ?
If not, why cease you till you are so ?

Com. Marcius, we have at disadvantage fought,
.Vnd did retire, to win our purpose.

Mar. IIow lies their battle ? Know you on
which side
They have plac'd their men of trust ?

Com. As I guess, Marcius,

Their bands in the vaward arc the Antiates,
Of their best trust ; o'er them Aufidius,
Their very heart of hope.

Mar. 1 do beseech you,

By all the battles wherein we have fought.
By the blood we have shed together, by the vows
We have made to endure friends, that you directly
Set mc against Aufidius, and his Aniiates :
And that you not delay the present; but.
Filling the air with swords advanc'd, and darts,
We prove this very hour.

Com. Though I could wish

You were conducted to a gentle bath,
,Vnd balms applied to you, yet dare I never
Deny your asking ; take your choice of those
That best can aid your action.

Mar. Those are they

That most are willing: — If any such be here,
(As it were sin to doubt,) that love this painting
"Wherein vou see me smcar'd ; if anv fear
Lesser his person than an ill rej)ort ;
If any think brave death outweighs bad life,
And that his countiT 's dearer than himself;
Let him alone, or so many so minded,

ICC

Wave thus, {iravinj his haint] to express his dis-
position.
And follow ^farcins.

\_T/iei/ all shout, and vave their sicords ; take
him up in their anus, and cast vp their cap:,
me, alone ! !Make you a sword of me ?
If these shows be not outward, which of you
But is four Voices ? None of vou but is
Able to bear against the great Aufidius
A shield as hard as his. A certain number,
Though thanks to all, must I select from all : the

rest
Shall bear the business in some other fight.
As cause will be obev'd. Please vou to march ;
And four shall quickly draw out my connnand.
Which men arc best inclin'd.

Com. !March on, my fellows ;

Make good this ostentation, and you shall
Divide in all with us. [^Exeunt.

SCENE Yll.— The Gates of Corioli.

Titus Lartius, having set a guard upon Corioli,
ffoififf with a drum and trumpet totcardCoMiyuva
and Caius Makcius, enters with a Lieutenant,
a party of Soldiers, and a Scout.

Lart. So, let the ports be guarded ; keep your
duties,
As I have set them down. If I do send, despatch
Those centuries to our aid ; the rest will serve
For a short holding : If we lose the field.
We cannot keep the town.

Lieu. Fear not our care, sir.

Lart. Ilcnce, and shut your gates upon us. —

Oui- guider, come ; to the Roman camp conduct

us. [Exeunt.

SCENE VIII.— ^ Field of Battle between the
Roman and the Volscian Camps.

Alarum. Enter !Marcius and AvriDirs.

Mar. I '11 fight with none but thee ; for I do
hate thee
Worse than a promise-breaker.

Auf. \^c. hate alike ;

Not Afric owns a serpent I abhor
More llian thy tame, and envy : Fix thy foot.

Mar. Let the first budger die the other's slave.
And the gods doom him after !

Auf. If I fly, Mai'cius,

Halloo me like a hare.

Mar. Within these three hours, Tullus,

Alone I fought in your Corioli walls.

ACT I.]

COEIOLAISTUS.

[Scene IX.

And made what work I pleas'd; 'Tis not my

blood
Wherein thou seest me mask'd : for thy revenge
Wrench up thy power to the higliest.

Auf. Wert thou the Hector

That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny,
Thou shouldst not scape me here. — ■

[^They Jight, and certain Yolsces come to
the aid o/'Aufidius.
Officious, and not valiant — you have sham'd me
In your condemned seconds.

\Exeunt fighting, driven in by Mabcius.

SCENE X^.—The Roman Camp.

Alarum. A retreat is sounded. Flourish. Enter
at one side, CoMiNius, and Romans; at the
other side, Marcius, with his arm in a scarf,
and other Romans.

Com. If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's

woyJc,
Thou'lt not believe thy deeds : but I'll report it
Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles ;
Where great patricians shall attend, and shrug,
r the end, admire ; where ladies shall be frighted.
And, gladly quak'd, hear more ; where the dull

tribunes,
That, with the fustyplebeiaps, hate thine honours,
Shall say, against their hearts, — ' We thank the

gods.
Our Rome hath such a soldier ! ' —
Yet cam'st thou to a morsel of this feast.
Having fully din'd before.

Enter TiTus Lartius, with his power, from the
pursuit.

Lurt. O general.

Here is the steed, we the caparison :
Hadst thou beheld —

Mar. Pray now, no more : my mother.

Who has a charter to extol her blood.
When she does praise me grieves me. I have

done.
As you have done : that 's what I can ; induc'd
As you have been ; that 's for my country :
He that has but effected his good will
Hath overt a'c-n mine act.

Com. You shall not be

The grave of your deserving : Rome must know
The value of her own : 't were a concealment
Worse than a theft, no less than a traducement,
To hide your doings ; and to silence that,
\Vhich, to the spire and top of praises vouch' d.

Tragedies. — Vol. II. M

Would seem but modest : Therefore, I beseech

you,

(In sign of what you are, not to reward
What you have done,) before our army hear me.
Mar. I have some wounds upon me, and they

smart
To hear themselves remember'd.

Com. Should they not,

Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude.
And tent themselves with death. Of all the

horses,
(Whereof we have ta'en good, and good store,)

of all
The treasure, in this field aehiev'd, and city.
We render you the tenth ; to be ta'en forth.
Before the common distribution.
At your only choice.

Mar. I thank you, general ;

But cannot make my heart consent to take
A bribe to pay my sword : I do refuse it ;
And stand upon my common part with those
That have beheld the doing.

[_A long flourish. They all cry, Marcius !

Marcius ! cast up their caps and lances:

CoMiNius and Lartitjs stand bare.
Mar. May these same instruments, which you

profane.
Never sound mere, when drums and trumpets

shall
I' the field prove flatterers ! Let courts and cities

be
Made all of false-fac'd soothing, where steel

grows soft
As the parasite's siUc !
Let them be made an overture for the wars ! *

a We here venture to make an important change in the
generally received reading of this passage.

" May these same instruments, which you profane,
Never sound more! Wlien drums and trumpets shall
1' the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be
Made all of false-fac'd soothing! When steel grows
Soft as the parasite's silk, let him be made
An overture for the wars ! "
The stage direction of the original which precedes this
speech is, "A long flouruh." The drums and trumpets
have sounded in honour of Coriolanus; but, displeased as
he may be, it is somewhat unreasonable of him to desire
that these instruments may "never sound more. We
render his desire, by the slightest change of punctuation,
somewliat more rational : —

" May these same instruments, which you profane.
Never sound more, when drums and trumpets shall
1' the field prove flatterers! "
The difficulty increases with the received reading; for, ac-
cording to this, when drums and trumpets prove flatterers,
courts and cities are to be made of false-faced sooiliing.
Courts and cities are precisely what a soldier would describe
as invariably so made. But Coriolanus contrasts courts and
cities with the field ; he separates them:—

" Let courts and cities be
Made all of false-fac'd soothing:"

and he adds, as we believe,

101

Act I.]

CORIOLANUS.

[Scene X.

No more, I sav ! For Uiat I have not wasli'd
My nose tliat bled, or foil'd some dcbile wreteli,
Which without note here 's many else have

done,
You sliout lue forth
In acehimations hyperbolical;
As if I lov'd my little should be dieted
In praises sauc'd with lies.

Com. Too modest are you ;

More cruel to your good report than grateful
To us that give you truly : by your patience,
If 'gainst yourself you be incciis'd, we '11 put you
(Like one that means his proper harm) in mana-
cles,
Then reason safely with you. — Therefore, be it

known.
As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius
Wears this war's garland : in token of the which
My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him.
With all his trim belonging; and, from this

time.
For what he did before Corioli, call him.
With all the applause and clamour of the host,
Caics Marcius Coriolanus. —
Bear the addition nobly ever !

[^Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums.
All. Caius Marcius Coriolanus !
Cjr. I will go wash ;
And when my face is fair, you shall perceive
Whether I blush, or no : Howbeit, 1 thank

you : —
I mean to stride your steed ; and, at all times.
To undercrest your good addition,
To the fairness of my power.

Com. So, to our tent :

Where, ere we do repose us, we will write
To Rome of our success. — You, Titus Lartius,
Must to Corioli back : send us to Rome
The best, with whom we may articulate.
For their own good, and ours.

Lart. I shall, my lord.

" Where steel grows soft
.\? the parasite's silk ! "

The difnculties with the received readinR arc imiticasurablc.
ff'hen ^tecl Rrows soft as the parasite's silk theconinieiitators
say that him (the steel), used for il, is to bu made an over-
ture for the wars ; but what overture means here they do
not attempt to explain. The slight change we have made
(irivcs a perfectly clear meaning. The whole speech has now
a leading idea: —

" Let them be made an overture for the wars."

I^t them, the instntnicnti which you profane, be the pre-
lude to our wars. Opposed ai we are to editorial licence, we
hold ourselves kc<'ping within due bounds in nubstituting
where for irhen, and them for Aim ; for there are several in-
stances of these words having been misprinted in the original
copies. We bi-licve that the ^ense of these lines ha.s been
mistaken, in konie measure, through the ilevi.itions from the
metrical arrangement in the original. Our reading follows
this arrangement much moreclosely than that of the modern
editors.

162

Cor. The gods begiu to mock me. I that
now
llefus'd most princely gifts, am bound to beg
Of my lord general.

Com. Take it : 't is yours. — AVhat is 't ?

Cor. I sometime lay, here in Corioli,
At a poor man's house ; he us'd me kindly :
He cried to me ; I saw him prisoner ;
But then Aufidius was within my view.
And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity: I request

you
To give my poor host freedom.

Com. O, well begg'd !

Were he the butcher of my son, he should
Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus.

Lnri. Marcius, his name ?

Cor. By Jupiter, forgot ! —

T am weary ; yea, my memory is tir'd. —
Have we no wine here ?

Com. Go we to our tent :

The blood upon your visage dries : 't is time
It should be look'd to : come. [Rreitnl.

SCENE X.~T/ie C^mp of the Volsces.

A flourish. Cornels, linter Tui.LVS Aufiditts,
bloody, tcith Two or Three Soldiers.

Auf. The town is ta'en !
1 Sol. 'T will be deliver'd back on good con-
dition.
Aiff. Condition? —
I would I were a Roman ; for I cannot,
Beiug a Volsce, be that I am. — Condition !
What good condition can a treaty find
r the part that is at mercy ? Five times, Mar-
cius,
I have fought with thee ; so often hast thou beat

me;
And wouldst do so, I thiidc, should we en-
counter
As often as we eat. — By the elements.
If e'er again I meet him beard to beard.
He is mine, or I am his: Mine emulation
llath not that honour in 't it had : for where
I thought to crush him in an equal force,
(True sword to sword,) I '11 potch at him some

way ;
Or wrath, or craft, may get him.

ISol. He's the devil

Auf. Bolder, though not so subtle : My valour's
poison'd,
With only sufteruig stain by him ; for him
Shall fly out of itself: nor sleep, nor sanctuary,
Bting naked, sick : nor fane, nor Capitol,

Act I.]

CORIOLAITUS.

[SCEKE X.

The prayers of pi'iests, nor times of sacrifice,
Embarquements '^ all of fury, shall lift up
Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst
My hate to Marcius : where I find him, were it
At home, upon my brother's guard, even there,
Against the hospitable canon, would I
Wash my fierce hand in his heart. Go you to
the city ;

^ F.mbarijuements — embargoes.

Learn how 'tis held; and wliat they are that

must
Be hostages for Rome.

1 Sol. Will not you go ?

Ai/f. I am attended at the cypress grove :
I pray you, ('t is south the city mills,) bring me

word thither
How the world goes ; that to the pace of it
I may spur on my journey.

1 Sol. I shall, sir. [^Exeunt.

[The Tiber. Mount Aventine in the distance]

[Isoia Tiberlim^O

ILLUSTRATIONS OF ACT I.

' ScBNE I. — " Suffer us to famish, and their store-
houses crammed with grain."

Plutarch describes two iusurrections of the
Roman plebeians against the patricians. The second
was on account of the scarcity of corn, and is thus
related : —

" Now, when this war was ended, the flatterers
of the people began to stir up sedition again, without
any new occasion or just matter offered of com-
plaint. For they did ground this second insurrec-
tion against the nobility and patrician.s upon the
people's misery and misfortune, that could not but
fall out, by reason of the former discord and sedi-
tion between them and the nobility. Because the
most pan of the aralile laud within the territoiy of
Kome waa become heathy and barren for lack of
ploughing, for that they had no time nor mean to
cause corn to be brought them out of other countries
to sow, by reason of their wars, which made the ex-
treme dearth thoy had among them. Now those
busy prattlers, that sought the people's good will
by such flattering words, perceiving great scarcity
of Corn to be within the city — and, though there
had been plenty enough, yet the common people
had no money to buy it — they spread abroad false
tales and rumours against the nobility, that they,
in revenge of the people, had practised and pro-
cured the extreme dearth among them."
1G4

* Scene I. — " Make edicts for uswy, to support
usurers."

This was the principal cause of the first insur-
rection ; and it was upon this occasion that
Menenius told the "pretty tale " which Shakspere
has so dramatically treated : —

" Now, he being grown to great credit and autho-
rity in Rome for his valiantness, it fortuned there
grew sedition in the city, because the senate did
favour the rich against the people, who did com-
plain of tho sore oppression of usurers, of whom
they borrowed money. • « • ♦ • Whereupon
their chief magisti-ates and many of the senate be-
gan to be of divers opinions among themselves.
For some thought it was reason they should some-
what yield to the poor people's request, and that
they should a little qualify the severity of the law ;
other held hard against that opinion, and that was
Martius for one; for he alleged that the creditors
losing their money they had lent was not the worst
thing that was herein; but that the lenity that was
favoured was a beginning of disobedience, and that
the proud attempt of the commonalty was to abolish
l;iw, and to bring all to confusion; therefore he
said, if the senate were wise they should betimes
prevent and quench this ill-favoured and worse-
meant beginning. The senate met many days in
consultation about it ; but in the end they con

CORIOLAXUS.

cliulcd nothing. • * ♦ • • Of those, Meneuius
Agrippa was he who was sent for chief man of
the message from the senate. He, after many good
persuasions and gentle requests made to the people
on the behalf of the senate, knit up his oration in
the end with a notable tale, in this manner : — That,
on a time, all the members of man's body did rebel
against the belly, complaining of it that it only
remained in the midst of the body, without doing
anything, neither did bear any labour to the main-
tenance of the rest ; whereas all other parts and
members did labour painfully, and were very care-
ful to satisfy the appetites and desires of the body.
And so the belly, all this notwithstanding, laughed
at their folly, and said, It is true I first receive all
meats that nourish man's body ; but afterwards I
send it again to the nourishment of other parts of
the same. Even so (quoth he), you, my masters
and citizens of Rome, the reason is alike between
the senate and you ; for, matters being well di-
gested, and their counsels thoroughly examined,
touching the benefit of the commonwealth, the se-
nators are cause of the common commodity that
cometh unto every one of you. These persuasions
pacified the people, conditionally that the senate
would grant there should be yearly chosen five ma-
gistrates, which they now call Trihuni plebis, whose
office should be to defend the poor people from
violence and oppression. So Junius Brutus and
Sicinius Yelutus were the first tribunes of the
people that were chosen, who had only been the
causers and procurers of this sedition."

Shakspere found the apologue also in Camden's
' Remains,' and he has availed himself of one or
two peculiarities of the story, as there related : —
"All the members of the body conspired against
the stomach, as against the swallowing gulf of all
their labours : for whereas the eyes beheld, the
ears heard, the hands laboured, the feet travelled,
the tongue spake, and all parts performed their
functions; only the stomach lay idle and consumed
all. Hereupon they jointly agreed all to forbear
their labours, and to pine away their lazy and public
enemy. One day passed over, the second followed
very tedious, but the third day was so grievous to
them all that they called a common council. The
eyes waxed dim, the feet could not support the
body, the arms waxed lazy, the tongue faltered
and could not lay open the matter; therefore they
all with one accord desired the advice of the heart.
There reason laid open before them," &c.

^ Scene III. — " I praij you, daughter, sing."

According to Plutarch, Coriolanus, when he
married, " never left his mothers house ; " and
Shakspere has beautifully exhibited Volumnia
and Valeria following their domestic occupations
together : —

" The only thing that made him to love honour
was the joy he saw his mother did take of him ;

for he thought nothing made him so happy and
honourable as that his mother might hear every-
body praise and commend him, that she might
always see him return with a crown upon his head,
and that she might still embrace him with tears
running down her cheeks for joy. Which desire,
they say, Epaminondas did avow and confess to
have been in him, as to think himself a most happy
and blessed man that his father and mother in their
lifetime had seen the victory he won in the plain
Leuctres. Now, as for Epaminondas, he had this
good hap, to have his father and mother Uving to
be partakers of his joy and prosperity ; but Martius,
thinking all due to his mother, that had been also
due to his father if he had lived, did not only con-
tent himself to rejoice and honour her, but at her
desire took a wife also, by whom he had two
children, and yet never left his mother's house
therefore."

■'Scene III. — "To a cruel war I sent him; from
whence he returned, his brows hound with oak."

Plutarch thus describes the prowess of Coriolanus,
" When yet he was but tender-bodied : " —

" The first time he went to the wars, being but
a stripling, was when Tarquin, surnamed the Proud
(that had been King of Rome, and was driven out
for his pride, after many attempts made by sundry
battles to come in again, wherein he was ever over-
come), did come to Rome with all the aid of the
Latins, and many other people of Italy, even, as it
were, to set up his whole rest upon a battle by
them, who with a great and mighty army had un-
dertaken to put him into his kingdom again, not so
much to pleasure him as to overthrow the power of
the Romans, whose greatness they both feared and
envied. In this battle, wherein were many hot and
.«'• irp encounters of either party, Martius valiantly
ft • ht in the sight of the dictator ; and a Roman
solaier being thrown to the ground even hard by
him, Martius straight bestrid him, and slew the
enemy with his own hands that had before over-
thrown the Roman. Hereupon, after the battle was
won, the dictator did not forget so noble an act,
and therefore, first of all, he crowned Martius with
a garland of oaken boughs : for whosoever saveth
the life of a Roman, it is a manner among them
to honour him with such a garland."

5 Scene IV.—" Be/ore Corioli."

Shakspere has followed Plutarch very closely in
his narrative of the war against the Voices : —

" In the country of the Voices, against whom
the Romans made war at that time, there was a
principal city, and of most fame, that was called
Corioles, before the which the consul Cominius
did lay siege. Wherefore, all the other Voices
fearing lest that city should be taken by assault,
they came from all parts of the countrj- to save

165

ILLUSTRATIONS OF ACT I.

It, intending to give the Romans biittlo before the
city, and to give an onset on them in two several
places. Tlie consul Cominius, understanding this,
divided his army also into two parts, and, taking
the one part with himself, be marched towards
them that were dr.iwiiig to the city out of the
country ; and the other part of his army he left
in the camp with Titus Lartius (one of the
valiantest men the l^omans had at that time),
to resist those that would make any sally out of
the city upon them. So the Coriolans, making
small account of them that lay in camp before the
city, made a sally out upon them, in the which at
the first the Coriolans had the better, and drove
the Komans back again into the trenches of their
cnmp. But Martius being there at that time,
running out of the camp with a few men with
him, he slew the first enemies he met withal, and
made the rest of them stay upon the sudden,
crj-ing out to the Romans that had turned their
backs, and cr.lling them .again to fight with a
loud voice. For he was even such another as
Cato would have a soldier and a captain to be ;
not only terrible and fierce to lay about him, but
to make the enemy afeared with the sound of his
voice and grimness of his countenance. Then
there flocked about him immediately a great
number of Romans : whereat the enemies were
6o afeared, that they gave back presently. But
Martius, not staying so, did chase and follow them
to their own gates, that fled for life. And there
perceiving that the Romans retired back, for the
great number of darts and arrows which flew
about their ears from the walls of the city, and
that there was not one man amongst them that
durst venture himself to follow the flying enemies
into their city, for that it was full of men of war,
very well armed and appointed, he did encourage
his fellows with words and deeds, crying out to
them that Fortune had opened the gates of the
city more for the followers than the flyers : but
all this notwithstandinrj, few had the hearts to
follow him. Howbeit, Martius, being in the throng
amongst the enemies, thrust himself into the
gates of the city, and entered the same among
them that fled, without that any one of them
durst at the first turn their face upon him, or
ofler to stay him. But, he lo'ikiug about him, and
seeing he was entered the city with very few men
to help him, and perceiving ho was environed by
his enemies that gathered round about to set upon
him, did things, as it is written, wonderful and
incredible, xs well for the force of his hand as
also for the agility of his body, and with a won-
derful courr.ge and valiantncss he made a lane
through the midst of them, and overthrew also
those he laid at : that some he made run to the
furthest part of the city, and other for fear he
made yield themselves, and to let fall their weapons
before him. By this mains, Maitius, that was
166

gotten out, had some leisure to bring the Romans
with more safety into the city. 'J'he city being
taken in this sort, the most part of the soldiers
began incontinently to spoil, to carry away, and to
look up the booty they had won. But Martius
was marvellous angry with them, and cried out on
them, that it was no time now to look after spoil,
and to run straggling here and there to enrich
themselves, whilst the other consul and tlieir
fellow-citizens, peradventure, were fighting with
their enemies : and how that, leaving the spoil,
they should seek to wind themselves out of danger
and peril. Howbeit, cry and say to them what
ho could, very few of them would hearken to him.
Wherefore, taking those that willingly offered
themselves to follow him, he went out of the
city, and took his way towai'd that part where he
understood the rest of the army was, exhorting
and entreating them by the waj' that followed him
not to be faint-hearted ; .and oft holding up his
hands to heaven, he besought the gods to bo
gracious and favourable unto him, that he might
come in time to the battle, and in a good hour to
hazard his life in defence of his countrymen.
Now the Romans, when they were put in battle
array, and ready to take tlieir targets c)n their
arms, and to gird them upon their arming coats, had
a custom to make their wills at thiit very instant,
without anj' manner of writing, naming him only
whom they would make their heir in the pi-esence
of three or four witnesses. Martius came just to
that reckoning, whilst the soldiers were doing
after that sort, and that the enemies were ap-
proached so near as one stood in view of the other.
When they saw him at his first coming all bloody
and in a sweat, and but with a few men following
him, some thereupon began to be afeared. But
soon after, when they saw him run with a lively
cheer to the consul, and to take him by the hand,
declaring how he had taken the city of Corioles,
and that they saw the consul Cominius also kiss
and embrace him, then there was not a man but
took heart again to him, and began to be of good
courage, some hearing him report from point to
point the happy success of tliis exploit, and ot,her
also conjecturing it by seeing their gestures afar
off. Then they all began to call upon the consul
to march forward, and to del.-\y no longer, but to
give charge upon the enemy. Martius asked him,
how the order of the enemy's battle was, and on
which side they had placed their best fighting
men ? the consul made him answer, that he
thought the bands which were in the vaward of
their battle were those of the Antiates, whom
they esteemed to be the warlikest men, and which
for valiant courage would give no place to any of
the host of their enemies : then prayed Martius
to bo set directly against them. The consul
granted him, greatly praising his couiixge Then
Martius, when both anuics came almost to join.

COEIOLANUS.

advanced Limaelf a good spac j before bis company,
and went so fierely to give cbarge on tbe vaward
that came rigbt against bim, that they could stand
no longer in his bands ; he made such a lane
through tbem, and opened a passage into the
battle of the enemies. But the two wings of
either side turned one to tbe other, to compass
him in between them : which the consul Cominius
perceiving, he sent thither straight of tbe best
soldiers he had about him. So the battle was
marvellous bloody about Martins, and in a very
short space many were slain in the place. But in
the end the Romans were so strong that they dis-
tressed tbe enemies and brake their array ; and,
scattering tbem, made tbem fly. Then they prayed
Martius that he would retire to the camp, because
they saw he was able to do no more, be was already
so wearied with the great pain be had taken, and
so faint with the great wounds he had upon him :
but Martius answered them that it was not for
conquerors to yield, nor to be faint-hearted : and
thereupon began afresh to chase those that fled,
until such time as the army of the enemies was
utterly overthi-own, and numbers of them slain
and taken prisoners. The next morning, betimes,
Martius went to the consul, and the other Romans
with him. There the consul Cominius, going up
to his chair of state, in tbe presence of the whole
army, gave thanks to the gods for so great, glorious,
and prosperous a victory. Then he spake to Mar-
tius, whose valiantness be commended beyond the
moon, both for that he himself saw him do with
his eyes, as also for that Martius bad reported
unto him. So in the end he willed Martius that
he should choose out of all the horses they had
taken of their enemies, and of all tbe goods they
had won (whereof there was great store), ten of

every sort which he liked best, before any di.?tribu-
tiou should be made to other. Besides this great
honorable offer be had made him, he gave him, in
testimony that he had won that day the price of
prowess above all other, a goodly horse with a ca-
parison, and all furniture to him : which the whole
army beholding, did marvellously pi'aise and com-
mend. But Martius, stepping forth, told the consul
he most thankfully accepted the gift of bis horse,
and was a glad man besides that bis service had
deserved bis general's commendation : and as for
his other offer, which was rather a mercenary
reward than an honourable recompense, he would
have none of it, but was contented to have his
equal part with tbe other soldiers. Only, this
grace (said he) I crave and beseech you to grant
me : among tbe Voices there is an old friend and
host of mine, an honest wealthy man, and now a
prisoner, who, living before in great wealth in his
own country, liveth now a poor prisoner in the
hands of his enemies : and yet, notwithstanding
all this his misery and misfortune, it would do
me gi-eat pleasure if I could save him from this
one danger, to keep him from being sold as a slave.
The soldiers, bearing Martius's words, made a
marvellous great shout among them. * * * *
After this shout and noise of the assembly was
somewhat appeased, the consul Cominius began
to speak in this sort :— We cannot compel Martius
to take these gifts we offer bim if he will not
receive tbem, but we will give him such a reward
for the noble service be hath done as he cannot
i-efuse. Therefore we do order and decree that
' henceforth he be called Coriolanus, unless his
valiant acts have won him that name before our
nomination. And so ever since he still bare the
third name of Coriolanus."

[Sife of tbe Koman Forum.]

ACT II.

SCENE I.— Rome. A public Flare.
Enter Menenius, SiciNius, and Brutus.

Mfn. The augurer tells me we shall have news
to-night.

Bru. Good, or bad ?

Mf/t. Not according to the prayer of the
people, for they love not Marcius.

Sic. Nature teaches beasts to know their
friends.

Men. Pray you, who does the wolf love ?

Sic. The lamb.

Men. Ay, to devour him ; as the hungry ple-
beians would the noble Marcius.

Bru. He's a lamb indeed, that baes like a
bear.

Men. He 's a bear, indeed, that lives like a
lamb. You two are old men ; tell me one tiling
that I shall ask you.

Both Trih. Well, sir.

Men. In what enormity is Marcius po)r ir,^
that you two have not in abundance ?

Bru. He 's poor in no one fault, but i tored
with all.

Sic. Especially in pride.

Bru. And topping all others in boasting.

Men. This is strange now : Do you two know
how you are censured here in the city, I mean
of us o' the right-hand file ? Do you ?

Both Trih. ^^hy, how arc wc censured ?

Men. Because you talk of pride now, — Will
you not be angry ?

Both Trih. WeU, well, sir, well !

Mfn. Why, 'tis no great matter: for a very
little Ihicf of occasion will rob you of a great deal
of patience : give your disposition the reins, and

■ The repetition of the preposition, as in this sentence, ii
found in other passages of Sliakspere. In Romeo ai.d
Juliet,

" That fair, for which love proan'd for : "
in As you Like It, " the scene wherein we play in."

ACT II.]

CORIOLANUS.

[SCEKE I

be augry at jour pleasure? ; at the least, if you
take it as a pleasure to you, in being' so. You
blame Marcius for being proud ?

Bru. We do it not alone, sir.

Men. I know you can do very little alone;
for your helps are many; or else your actions
would grow wondrous single : your abilities are
too infant-like for doing much alone. You talk
of pride: O, that you could turn your eyes
towards the napes of your necks,* and make but
an interior survey of your good selves ! O, that
you could !

Bru. What then, sir ?

Men. Why, then you should discover a brace
of unmeriting, proud, violent, testy magistrates,
(alias, fools,) as any in Rome.

Sic. Meuenius, you are known well enough
too.

Men. I am known to be a humorous patrician,
and one that loves a cup of hot wine with not a
drop of allaying Tyber in 't ; said to be some-
thing imperfect, in favouring the first complaint :
hasty, and tinder-like, upon too trivial motion : ^
one that converses more with the buttock of the
night than with the forehead of the morning.
What I think I utter ; and spend my malice in
my breath: Meeting two such weals-men as
you are, (I cannot call you Lycurguses,) if the
drink you give me touch my palate adversely, I
make a crooked face at it. 1 cannot say your
woi'ships have delivered the matter well, when I
find the ass in compound with the major part of
your syllables : and though I must be content
to bear with those that say you are reverend
grave men, yet they lie deadly that tell you have
good faces. If you see this in the map of my
microcosm, follows it that I am known well
enough too ? What harm can your bisson*^ con-
spectuities glean out of this character, if 1 be
known well enough too ?

Bru. Come, sir, come, we know you well
enough.

Men. You kuow neither me, yourselves, nor
anything. You are ambitious for poor knaves'
caps and legs ; you wear out a good wholesome
forenoon in hearing a cause between an orange-
wife and a fosset-seller ; and then rejourn the
controversy of three-pence to a second day of
audience. — When you are heai'ing a matter
between party and party, if you chance to be
pinched with the coUc, you make faces like

a Johnson explains, "with allusion to the fable whicl\
savs that every man has a bag hanging before him in which
he" puts his neighbour's faults, and another behind him in
which he stows liis own."

b See recent New Reading at the end of Act II.

0. 7i/,>io«— hlinil.

mummers ; set up the bloody flag against all
patience; and, in roaring for a chambcr-pol,
dismiss the controversy bleeding, the more en-
tangled by your hearing : all the peace you
make in their cause is, calling both the parties
knaves : You are a pair of strange ones.

Bru. Come, come, you are well understood to
be a perfecter giber for the table, than a necessary
bencher in the Capitol.

Men. Our very priests must become mockers,
if they should encounter such ridiculous subjects
as you are. When you speak best unto the
purpose, it is not worth the wagging of your
beards ; and your beards deserve not so honoui-
able a grave as to stuff a botcher's cushion, or
to be entombed in an ass's pack-saddle. Yet
you must be saying, !Marcius is proud ; who, in
a cheap estimation, is worth all your predeces-
sors since Deucalion ; though, peradventurc,
dome of the best of 'em were hereditary hang-
men. Good e'en to your worships; more of
your conversation would infect my brain, being
the herdsmen of the beastly plebeians : I will be
bold to take my leave of you.

[Brutus and Sicixius retire to the back of the
scene.

Enter Volumnia, Vikgilia, and Valeria, §-c.

How now, my as fair as noble ladies, (and the
moon, were she earthly, no nobler,) whither do
you follow your eyes so fast ?

Vol. Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius
approaches ; for the love of Juno, let 's go.

Men. Ha ! Marcius coming home ?

Vol. Ay, worthy Menenius ; and with most
prosperous approbation.

Men. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee
— Hoo ! Marcius coming home !

Two Ladies. Nay, 't is true.

Vol. Look, here's a letter from him; the state
hath another, his wife another; and I thmk
there 's one at home for you.

Men. I will make my very house reel to-night :
— A letter for me ?

Vir. Yes, certain, there 's a letter for you ; I
saw 't.

Men. A letter for me ? It gives me an estate
of seven years' health ; in which time I will
make a lip" at the physician : the most sovereign
prescription in Galen is but empiricutick," and,
to this preservative, of no better report than a
horse-drench. Is he not wounded!' he was
wont to come home wounded.

" Empiricutick. This is a word coined from empiric, and
is spelt in the original " cmpcrickqutique."

169

Act II.]

COEIOLANUS.

[Scene I.

Vir. O, no, no, no.

Vol. 0, he is wounded, I thank the gods for 't.

Men. So do I too, if it be not too much : —
Brings a' victory in his pocket? — The wounds
become him.

Vol. On 's brows -. ' Mcnenius, he comes the
third time home with tlie oaken garland.

Men. Has he disciplined Aufidius soundly ?

Vol. Titus Lartius writes, — they fought toge-
ther, but Aufidius got off.

Men. And 't was time for him too, I'll v.ar-
rant him that : an lie had staid by liim, I would
not have been so fidiused for all the chests in
Corioli, and the gold that 's in them. Is the
senate possessed of this ?

Vol. Grood ladies, let 's go : — Yes, yes, yes :
the senate has letters from the general, wherein
he gives my son the whole name of the war : he
hath in this action outdone his former deeds
doubly.

Val. In troth, there 's wondrous things spoke
of him.

Men. Wondrous ! ay, I warrant you, and not
without his true purchasing.

J'ir. The gods grant them true !

Vol. True ? pow, wow !

Men. True ? I '11 be sworn they are true : —
^nlere is he wounded? — God save your good
worships ! [7'o the Tribunes, icho come f one ard7\
Marcius is coming home : he has more cause to
be proud. — "WTiere is he wounded ?

Vol. r the shoulder, and i' the left arm :
There will be large cicatrices to show the people
when he shall stand for his place. He received
in the repulse of Tarquin seven hui'ts i' the body.

Men. One in the neck, and two in the thigh,
— there 's nine that I know.

Vol. He had, before this last expedition,
twenty-five wounds upon him.

Men. Now it 's twenty-seven : every gash
was an enemy's grave : [a shout ayid flourish^
Hark ! the trumpets.

Vol. These are the ushers of Marcius : before
him he carries noise, and behind him he leaves
tears :

Death, that dark spirit, in 's nervy aim doth lie ;
"Which, being advanc'd, declines ; and then men
die.

A Sennet. Trumpets sound. Enter Coiliyirs
and Titus Lartius ; beticeen. them, Coriola-
NUS, crotcnrd tcith an oaken garland ; tcilh
Captains, Soldiers, and a Herald.

» Voliimnia here answers the question of Mcnenius,
"bring* m'(he) victory in his pocket?' without iioiici'jg the
old man's obiervatum about the " wounds."

170

Her. Know, Rome, that all alone [Marcius did

Within Corioli' gates : where he hath won.
With fame, a name to Caius Marcius;
Tlicsc in honour follows, Coriolanus : —
Welcome to Home, renowned Coriolanus !

^^Flourish.
All. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus !
Cor. No more of this, it does ofi'end my heart ;
Pray now, no more.

Com. Look, sir, your mother !

Cor. ! you have, I know, pctitiou'd all the
gods
For my prosperity. [Kneels.

Vol. Nay, my good soldier, up !

!My gentle Marcms, worthy Caius,
And by deed-achieving honour newly nam'd.
What is it ? Coriolanus must 1 call thee ?
But, thy wife !

Cor. My gracious sUence, hail !

Would'st thou have laugh'd had I come coffin'd

home.
That Aveep'st to see me triumph ? Ah, ray dear.
Such eves the widows in Corioli wear.
And mothers that lack sons.

Men. Now the gods crown thee !

Cor. And live you yet? — O my sweet lady,
pardon. [To Valeria.

Vol. I know not where to tuni ; — welcome
home;
And welcome, general : — And \ou are welcome
aU.
Men. A hundred thousand welcomes : I could
weep,
And I could laugh ; I am light and heavy :

Welcome :
A curse begin at every root of his heart
That is not glad to see thee ! — You are three
That Rome should dote on : yet, by the faith of

men.
We have some old crab-trees here at home that

will nut
Be grafted to your relish. Yet welcome, war-
riors :
We call a nettle but a nettle ;
And the faults of fools but folly.

Com. Ever right.

Cor. Mcnenius, ever, ever.
Her. Give way there, and go on.
Cor. Your hand, and yours :

[To his wife and mother.
Ere in our own house I do shade my head,
The good patricians must be visited ;
From whom I have receiv'd not only greetings.
But with them change of honours.

Act II.J

CORIOLAl^US.

[Scene 1.

Vol. I have liv'd

To see inherited my very wishes.
And the buildings of my fancy :
Only there 's one thing wanting, which I doubt

not.
But our Rome will cast upon thee.

Cor. Know, good mother,

I had rather be their servant in my way,
Than sway with them in theirs.

Com. On, to the Capitol !

[Flourish. Cornets. Exeunt in state, as before.
The Tribunes remain.

Bru. All tongues speak of him, and the
bleared sights
Are spectacled to see him. Your prattling nm-se
Into a rapture* lets her baby cry,
While she chats him ; the kitchen malkin'' pins
Her richest lockram" 'bout her reechy neck,
Clambering the walls to eye him : Stalls, bulks,

windows.
Are smother'd up, leads fill'd, and ridges hors'd
With variable complexions : iiU agreeing
In earnestness to see him : seld-shown flameus
Do press amoug the popular throngs, and puif
To win a vulgar station : our veil'd dames
Commit the war of white and damask, iu
Their nicely-gawded cheeks,'^ to the wanton

spoil
Of Phoebus' burning lasses : such a pother.
As if that whatsoever god who leads him
Were slily crept into his human powers.
And gave him graceful posture.

Sic, On the sudden,

I warrant him consul.

Bru. Then our office may.

During his power, go sleep.

Sic. He cannot temperately transport his ho-
nours

•"> Rapture — fit.

b Malkin. A scarecrow— a fipiire of rafrs— is called a
malkin. Is the kitchen-wench called a nialkln from her
sxipposed resemblance to such a fi{,nire? On the other hand,
Malkin is the diminutive of Mall, Moll ; and thus the lady
of the May had degenerated into Malkin in the time of
Beaumont and Fletcher. Is the scarecrow then called after
the kitchen-wench? Our readers must decide the question
for themselves.

c Lockram was no doubt a coarse linen. In Beaumont
and Fletcher's ' Spanish Curate ' we have—

" To poor maidens' marriages
I give per annum two hundred ells of lockram."

<1 Shakspere has the same image in the Tarquin and Lu-
crece, of white and red contending for the empire of a lady's
cheek : —

" The silent wars of lilies and of roses
Which Tarquin view'd in her fair iace's field."

But we are inclineci to think that in the passage before us
the word "damask " conveys an allusion to the more fearful
AVar of the Roses, which is more specially introduced by a
later writer, Cleaveland : —

" Her cheeks
AVhere roses mix : no civil war
Between her York and Lancaster."

From where he should begin, and end; but

will
Lose those he hath won.

Bru. In that there 's comfort.

Sic. Doubt not the commoners, for whom we
stand.
But they, upon their ancient malice, will
Forget, with the least cause, these his new

honours ;
Wliich that he'll give them, make I as little

question
As he is proud to do 't.

Bru. I heard him swear,

Were he to stand for consul, never would he
Appear i' the market-place, nor on him put
The napless* vesture of humility;
Nor, showing (as the manner is) his womids
To the people, beg their stinking breaths.

Sic. 'Tis right.

Bru. It was his word : 0, he would miss it,
rather
Then carry it, but by the sidt o' the gentry to

him.
And the desire of the nobles.

Sic. I wish no better

Than have him hold that purpose, and to

put it
In execution.

Bru. 'T is most like, he will.

Sic. It shall be to him then, as oui' good

will;

. h

A sure destruction.

/?/■«. So it must fall out

To him, or our authorities. For an end,
\{& must suggest the people in what hatred
He stiU hath held them ; that, to his power, he

would
Have made them mules, silenc'd their pleaders,
And dispropertied their freedoms : holding them,
In human action and capacity,
Of no more soul, nor fitness for the world,
Than camels in then- war ; who have their

provaud
Only for bearing burdens, and sore blows
For sinking under them.

Sic. This, as you say, — suggested

At some time when his soaring insolence
Shall touch the people, — (which time shall not

want,
If he be put upon't, and that's as easy
As to set dogs on sheep,) will be his fire

a Napless — threadbare.

b The passage may be either taken to mean that the pur-
pose of Coriolanus will be to him a sure destruction, in the
same way as the good wilts (ironically) of the tribunes; oi
as our good, our advantage, tuUls (a verb).

ACT 11.)

COIUOLANUS.

[Scene II.

To kindle their dry stubble ; * aud their bliize
Shall darken him for ever.

Enter a Messenger.
J^rti. "What's the matter?

Mess. You are sent for to the Capitol.
'Tis thought that Marcius shall be consul :
I have secu the dumb men throng to see hiui,
And the blind to hear him speak: Alatrons

fluiig gloves,*"
I>adics and maids their scarfs aud handkcrcluefs,
Upon him as he pass'd : the nobles beudcd,
As to Jove's statue; aud the commous made
A sliower aud thunder, with their caps aud

shouts :
I never saw the like.

Bru. Let 's to the Capitol ;

And cai-ry with us ears aud eyes for the time,
But hearts for the event.
Sic. Have with you.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.— The same. The Capitol.
Enter Ttco Officers, to lay cushions.

1 Off. Come, come, they are almost here:
How many stand for consulships ?

2 Off. Three, they say : but 't is thought of
every one Coriolanus will carry it.

1 Off. That 's a brave fellow ; but he 's ven-
geance proud, and loves not the common people.

2 Off'. 'Faith, there have been many great
men that have flattered the people, who ne'er
loved them; and there be many that they have
loved, they know not wherefore : so that if they
love they know not why, they hate upon no
better a ground : Therefore, for Coriolanus
neither to care whether they love or hate him,
manifests the true knowledge he has in their
disposition ; aud, out of his noble carelessness,
lets them plainly see 't.

1 Off. If he did not care whether he had their

» r/iM— this plan — is the antecedent to " will be his fire. "
The double parenthesis makes the sentence involved ; am!
we alwaya doubled whellier leach was the right word. We
incline to think that louch was the word ; as in Othello, —

" Touch me not so near."
We now alopt touch.

>> We pive the metrical arrangement as well as the words
of the ori|?inal. The versification indicates the freedom
which marks all Shakspere's later i<lays. Steevens says,
" the words the and their, which are waTiting in the old
ropy, were properly supplied by Sir T. llanmer to com-
pleie the verse " These words were adopted by Ilanmcr
from Pope. The following arrangement was long received : —

" You are sent for to the Capitol. 'T is thought,
That Marci\is shall he consul : I hare seen
The dumb men thronp to see him, and the blind
To hear him speak : The matrons flung Iheir gloves,

172

love or no, he waved indifferently 'twixt doing
them neither good nor harm ; but he seeks their
hate with greater devotion than they can render
it him ; and leaves nothing undone that may
fully discover him their opposite. Now, to seem
to affect the malice and displeasure of the people
is as bad as that which he dislikes, to flatter
them for their love.

2 Off. He hath deserved worthily of his coun-
try : And his ascent is not by such easy degrees
as those who, having been supple and courteous
to the people, bonneted,* without any further
deed to have them at all into their estimation
aud report : but he hath so planted his honours
in their eyes, and his actions in their hearts, that
for their tongues to be silent, and not confess so
much, were a kind of ingrateful injury; to re-
port otherwise were a malice, that, giving itself
the lie, would pluck reproof and rebuke from
every ear that heard it.

1 Off. No more of him : he is a worthy man :
Make way, they are coming.

A Sennet. Enter, with lictors before them, Co-
MiNius the Consul, Menenius, Coriolanus,
mani/ other Senators, Sicinius and Brutus.
The Senators take their places ; the Tribunes
take theirs also bi/ themselves.

Men. Having determin'd of the Yolsces,
And to send for Titus Lartius, it remains,
As the main point of this our after-meeting.
To gratify his noble service, that hath
Thus stood for his country: Therefore, please

you.
Most reverend and grave elders, to desire
The present consul, and last general
In our well-found successes, to report
A little of that worthy work perform'd
By Cains Marcius Coriolanus ; whom
We meet here, both to thank, and to remember
AVith honours like himself.

••> Bnnneled. The variorum editors said that to bonnet is
fo take oir the bonnet ; as to ca/t in the academic phrase is to
lake olf the cap. In illustration we may remark that in
the quarto edition of Othello we find "oft capp'd ; " in the
folio " oflf-capp'd ; " and we believe from the collateral cir-
cumstances that ilie latter is the true readiiig. (See note on
Othello, Act I. Scene i.) In a subsequent scene Othello
says —

" My demerits
May speak, unbonncted."

This is clearly without the bonnet, in whatever sense we
receive it. (See note on Othello, Act i. Scene ii.) But here
in the text before us we are told that bonneted also means
without the bonnet. Malonc says, "They humbly took oflT
their bonnets without any farther deed." The context
appears to us to give exactly the contrary meaning: " His
ascent is not by such easy degrees as those who, having
been supple and Ci iirteous to the people," put on their
bonnets "without anv farther dee 1."

&(T 11.]

CORIOLAl^TJS.

I Scene II.

1 Sen. Speak, good Cominius :

Leave nothing out for length, and make us

think,
Rather our state 's defective for requital.
Than we to stretch it out. Masters o' the

people.
We do request your kindest ears ; and, after,
Your loving motion toward the common body.
To yield what passes here.

Sic. We are convented

Upon a pleasing treaty ; and have hearts
Inclinable to honour and advance
The theme of our assembly.

Bru. Wliich the rather

We shall be bless'd to do, if he remember
A kinder value of the people than
He hath hereto priz'd them at.

Men. That's off, that's off;"

I would you rather had been silent : Please you
To hear Cominius speak ?

Bru. Most willingly :

But yet my caution was more pertinent
Than the rebuke you give it.

Men. He loves your people ;

But tie him not to be their bedfellow. —
Worthy Cominius, speak. — Nay, keep your
place.
[CoRiOLANUS rises, and offers to go away.
1 Sen. Sit, Coriolanus ; never shame to hear
What you have nobly done.

Cor. Your honours' pardon ;

I had rather have my wounds to heal again.
Than hear say how I got them.

Brtt. Sir, I hope

My words dis-bench'd you not.

Cor. No, sir : yet oft,

When blows have made me stay, I tied from

words.
You sooth'd not, therefore huit not : But, your

people,
I love them as they weigh.

Men. Pray now, sit down.

Cor. I had rather have one scratch my head
i' the sun.
When the alarum were struck, than idly sit
To hear my nothings monster' d.

\_Exit C0KIOLA.NTJS.
Men. Masters 0' the people.

Your multiplying spawn how can he flatter,
(That's thousand to one good one,) when you

now see
He had rather venture all his limbs for honour.
Than one of his ears to hear it ?— Proceed, Comi-
nius.

a That is nothing to the matter.

Com. I shall lack voice : the deeds of Corio'
lanus
Should not be utter'd feebly. — It is held
That valour is the chiefest virtue,
And most dignifies the haver : if it be.
The man I spe^ of cannot in the world
Be singly counterpois'd. At sixteen years,
AVhen Tarquin made a head for Rome,

fought

Beyond the mark of others : our then dictator,
TVTiom with all praise I point at, saw him

When with his Amazonian chm he drove

The bristled lips before him : he bestrid

An o'erpress'd Roman,* and i' the consul's

view
Slew three opposers : Tarquin's self he met.
And struck him on his knee : '^ in that day's

feats.
When he might act the woman in the scene,
He prov'd best man i' the field, and for his

meed
Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age
Man-enter'd thus, he waxed like a sea ;
And, in the brunt of seventeen battles since.
He lurch'd" all swords 0' the garland. For this

last.
Before and in Corioli, let me say
I cannot speak hun home: He stopp'd the

fliers ;
And by his rare example made the coward
Turn terror into sport : as weeds '^ befoie
A vessel under sail, so men obey'd.
And fell below his stem: his sword (death's

stamp),

a A touch of Malone's minute criticism will amuse our
readers: — " This was an act of similar friendship in our old
English armies: but there is no proof that any such practice
prevailed among the legionary soldiers of Rome, nor dirt
our author give himself any trouble on that subject."
b On his knee — down on his knee.

c Lurch'd. We have a similar expression in Ben Jensen's
'Silent Woman:' " Vou have lurched your friends of the
better half of the garland." The term is, or was, used in
some game of cards, in which a complete and easy victory
is called a lurch; and the w<ird, as we fnul in Florio's
Italian Dictionary, was in use in Shakspere's time,— " gioco
marzo— a lurch at any game;" and " gioce marcio-a
lurch-game."

d IVneds. The second folio chansred this wonl to fcirw ;
and Steevens adopting it, this reading became the common
one. Malone supports the original; of the correctness of
which we think there can be no doubt. Waces falling before
the stem of a vessel under sail is an image which conveys no
adequate notion of a triumph over petty obstacles: a ship
cuts the w.-ives as a bird the air; there is opposition to the
progress, but each moves in its element. But take the
ima^e of weeds encumbering the progress of a vessel under
sail, but with a favouring wind dasliing them aside; and we
have a distinct and heautifu! illustration of the proyf* "'
Coriolanus. Steevens says, " Weeds, instead of f-'Hing
below a vessel under sail, cling fast about the stem of it.
But Shakspere was not thinking of the weed floating on the
biliow: the Avon or the Thames supplied him wiiU tne
image of weeds rooted at the bottom.

173

Act II.]

COrJOLANUS.

[ScrNE in.

"Wlicrc il did mark, it took ; from face to foot
He was a thing of blood, whose every motion
Was tim'd witli dying cries : alone he enter'd
Tiie mortal gate o' the city, which he painted
With shunless destiny, aidless came off,
And with a sudden re-enforcement struck
Corioli like a planet : Now all 's his :
Wien by and by the din of war 'gan pierce
His ready sense, then straight his doubled spirit
Ke-quicken'd what in flesh was fatigate,
And to the battle came he ; where he did
Run recking o'er the lives of men, as if
'Twere a perpetual spoil : and, till we call'd
Both field and city ours, he never stood
To ease his breast with panting.

Men. Worthy man !

1 Sen. He cannot but with measure fit the
I honours
Which we devise him.

Com. Our spoils he kick'd at ;

And look'd upon things precious as they were
The common muck o' the world; he covets

less
Than misery itself would give; rewards
His deeds with doing them ; and is content
To spend the time, to end it.

Men. He 's right noble ;

Let him be call'd for.

1 Sen. Call Coriolanus.

Off. He doth appear.

lie-enter Couiolaxus.

Men. The senate, Coriolanus, are well pleas'd
To make thee consul.

Cor. I do owe them still

My life and services.

Men. It then remains

That you do speak to the people.^

Cor. I do beseech you.

Let me o'erleap that custom ; for I cannot
Put on the gown, stand naked, and entreat

them.
For my wounds' sake, to give their suffrage :

please you
That I may pass this doing.

Sic. Sir, the people

Mast have their voices ; neither will they bate
One jot of ceremony.

Men. Put them not to 't : —

Pray you, go fit you to the custom ;
And take to you, as your predecessors have,
Your honour with your form.

Cor. It is a part

That I shall blush in acting, and might well
Be taken from the people.
174

Bru. !Mark you that ?

Cor. To brag unto them, — Thus 1 did, and
thus ; —
Show them the unaching scarg which I siiould

hide.
As if I had reeeiv'd them for the hire
Of their breath only : —

Men. Do not stand upon 't. —

We recommend to you, tribunes of the people.
Our purpose to them; — and to our noble

consul
Wish we all joy and honour.

Sen. To Coriolanus come all joy and honour !

[Flourish. Then exeunt Senators.

Bra. You see how he intends to use the

people.
Sic. May they perceive his intent ! He will
require them,
As if he did contemn what he requested
Should be in them to give.

Bru. Come, we'll inform them

Of our proceedings here ; on the market-place
I know they do attend us. [Erennt.

, SCENE III.— The same. The Market-place.

Enter several Citizens.

1 at. Once, if he do require our voices, we
ought not to deny him.

2 at. We may, sir, if we will.

3 at. We have power in ourselves to do it,
but it is a power that we have no power to do :
for if he show us his wounds, and tell us his

'deeds, we are to put our tongues into those
wounds, and speak for them; so, if he tell us
his noble deeds, we must also tell him our noble
acceptance of them. Ingratitude is monstrous :
and for the multitude to be ingrateful were to
make a monster of the multitude ; of the which,
we being members, should bring ourselves to be
monstrous members.

1 at. And to make us no better thought of,
a little help will serve : for once, when we stood
up about the corn, he himself stuck not to call
us the many-headed multitude.

3 at. We have been called so of many ; not
that our heads are some brown, some black,
some auburn,'"' some bald, but that our wits are
so diversely coloured : and tnaly I think if all
our wits were to issue out of one skull, they
would fly east, west, north, south ; and their

' Auburn. The word of the or4f;inaI is nbram, and it so
continued until the publication of the fourth folio, when it
tirranie auburn.

i I

ACT II.]

COEIOLANUS.

[ScENi: 111.

consent of one direct way slioiild be at once to
all points o' the compass.

2 at. Think you so ? Which way do you
judge my wit would fly ?

3 at. Nay, your wit will not so soon out as
another man's will, 't is strongly wedged up in a
block-head ; but if it were at liberty, 't would,
sure, southward.

2 at. Why that way ?

3 at. To lose itself in a fog; where being
three parts melted away with rotten dews, the
fourth would return for conscience' sake, to help
to get thee a wife.

2 at. You are never without your tricks : — •
You may, you may.

3 at. Are you all resolved to give your
voices ? But that 's no matter, the greater part
carries it. I say, if he would incline to the
people, there was never a worthier man.

Enter Coriolanus and Menenufs.

Here he comes, and in the gown of humility ;

mark his behaviour. We are not to stay all

together, but to come by him where he stands,

hy ones, by twos, and by threes. He 's to make

his requests by particulars: wherein every one

of us has a single honour, in giving him our own

voices with our own tongues : therefore follow

me, aud I'll direct you how you shall go by

him.

All. Content, content. [Eveunt.

Men. sir, you are not right : have you not
known
The worthiest men have done 't ?

Cor. AVhat must I say ? —

I pray, sir, — Plague upon 't ! I cannot bring
My tongue to such a pace : — Look, sir ; — my

wounds ; —
I got them in my country's service, when
Some certain of your brethren roar'd, and ran
From the noise of our own drums.

Men. O me, the gods !

You must not speak of that : you must desire

them
To think upon you.

Cor. Think upon me ? Hang 'em !

I would they would forget me, like the virtues
\Yhich our divines lose by them.

Men. You '11 mar all ;

I '11 leave you : Pray you, speak to them, I pray

you.
In wholesome manner. \_E.ril.

Cor.

Enter two Citizens.

Bid them wash then- faces,

And keep their teeth clean. — So, here comes a

brace.
You know the cause, sir, of my standing here.

1 at. Wc do, sir ; tell us what hath brought
you to 't.''

Cor. Mine own desert.

2 at. Your own desert ?
Cor. Ay, not mine own desire.

1 at. How ! not your own desire ?

Cor. No, sir : 'T was never my desire yet to
trouble the poor with begging.

1 at. You must think, if we give you any-
thing, we hope to gain by you.

Cor. Well then, I pray, your price o' the
consulship ?

1 at. The price is, to ask it kiudly.

Cor. Kiudly, sir ? I pray, let me ha 't : I have
wounds to sliow you, which shall be yours in
private. — Your good voice, sir ; what say you ?

2 at. You shall have it, worthy sir.

Cor. A match, sir: — There is in all two
worthy voices begged: — I have your alms;
adieu.

1 at. But this is sometliing odd.

2 at. An 't were to give again,— But 't is no
matter. \_Exeiint two Citizens.

Enter two other Citizens.

Cor. Pray you now, if it may stand with the
tune of your voices that I may be consul, I have
here the customary gown.

3 at. You have deserved nobly of your
country, and you have not deserved nobly.

Cor. Youi" enigma ?

3 at. You have been a scourge to her enemies,
you have been a rod to her friends ; you have
not, indeed, loved the common people.

Cor. You should account me the more virtu-
ous that 1 have not been common in my love.
I will, sir, flatter my sworn brother the people,
to earn a dearer estimation of them ; 't is a con-
dition they account gentle : and since the wis-
dom of their choice is rather to have my hat
than my heart, I will practise the insinuating
nod, and be oft" to them most counterfeitly : that
is, su-, I will counterfeit the bewitchment of some
popular man, and give it bountifully to the
dcsirers. Therefore, beseech you, I may be
consul.

4 at. We hope to find you our friend ; and
therefore give you our voices heartily.

a All this dialogue is printed in the original ss we print
it,— as prose. The variorum editors turned it into limping

biauk-verse, f.iUowin? Capell.

170

Act II.]

CORTOLANUS.

[SCENEli;.

ynur knowledge with
make much of your

3 at. You have received many wounds for
your country.

Cor. 1 will not seal
showing them. I will
voices, and so trouble you no farther

Both at. The gods give you joy, sir, heartily !

\_E.rei(iit.

Cor. Most sweet voices ! —
Better it is to die, better to starve,
Than crave the hire which first we do deserve.
Why iu this woolvish gown" should 1 stand here,
To beg of Hob and Dick, that do appear.
Their needless vouchers ? Custom calls me to 't: —
What custom wills, in all things should we do 't,
The dust on antique time would lie unswept.
And mountainous error be too highly hcap'd
For truth to overpeer. Kathcr than fool it so.
Let the high office and the honour go
To one that would do thus. — I am half through
The one part suffer' d, the other will I do.

Enter three other Citizens.

Here come more voices. —
Your voices : for your voices I have fought ;
Watch'd for your voices ; for your voices, bear
Of wounds two dozen odd ; battles thrice six
I have seen and heard of; for your voices
Have done many things, some less, some more :

your voices :
Indeed, I would be consul.

5 at. He has done nobly, and caniiot go
without any houest man's voice.

G at. Therefore let him be consul : The gods
give him joy, and make him good friend to the
people !

All. Amen, amen. God save thee, nuble
consul ! [^Exeunt Citizens.

Cor. AYorthy voices !

Re-enter Meseniu.s, with Brutus and SiciNius.

Men. You have stood your limitation; and
the tribunes
Endue you with the people's voice :
B^mains, that, in the official marks invested,
You anon do meet the senate.

» Wooli-hh giiicn. The readin); of the fir>l folio is woolilsh
tongue; of t'lie second, ttuolvith gowne. We l)eliev-; the
C'lTrction of tongue to gown is right. Some of tlie com-
meniators think that the original word was loge. It Is
difllcult to say whether woolvish means a gown made of
wool, or a gown reieinhling a woU or tcolfiih. The notion
of Stecvens that the allusion was to tiie wolf in ^heell■s
cUithing iieenis iiierel) fanciful. Mr. Collii-r's Corrector
given us woollett logue. As the gowrn wa< made of wool, it
tur'.-ljr cannot be voolteit.

176

Cor. Is this done ?

Sic. The custom of request you have discliarg'd :
The people do admit you ; and are suminon'd
To meet anon upon your approbation.

Cor. Where ? at the senate-house ?

Sic. There, Coriolanus.

Cor. May I change these garments ?

Sic. You may, sir.

Cor. That I 'II straight do ; and, knowing
myself again.
Repair to the senate-house.

Men. I'll keep you company. — Will you
along ?

Br/i. We stay here for the people.

Sic. Fare you well.

^Exeunt Coriol. and Mknkn.
He has it now ; and by his looks, methinks,
'T is warm at his heart.

Bnt. With a proud heart he wore

His humble weeds : Will you dismiss the people ?

Re-enter Citizens.

Sic. How now, my masters ? have you chose
this man ?

1 at. He has our voices, sir.

Bru. Vie pray the gods he may deserve your
loves.

2 at. Amen, sir : to my poor unworthy notice,
He nioek'd us when he begg'd our voices.

3 at. ' Certainly,
He flouted us dowTiright.

1 at. No, 't is liis kind of speech, he did not

mock us.

2 at. Not one amongst us, save yourself, but

says
He used us scornfully : he should have shovv'd us
His marks of merit, wounds receiv'd for his
country.
Sic. Why, so he did, I am sure.
at. No, no ; no man saw 'em.

[^Several speak.

3 at. He said he had wounds, which he could

show in private ;
And with his hat, thus waving it in scorn,
' I would be consul,' says he : ' aged custom.
But by your voices, will not so permit me ;
Your voices therefore : ' When we granted that.
Here was, — ' I thank you for your voices, —

thank you, —
Your most sweet voices : — now you have left

your voices,
I have no further with you : ' — Was not this
mockery ?
Sic. Wliy, either, were you ignorant to see'tP

Act II.]

COEIOLANUS.

[Scene IJI.

Or, seeing it, of such eliildish friendliriess
To yield your voices ?

Bru. Could you not have told him,

As you were lesson'd, — When he had uo

power,
But was a petty servant to the state,
He was your enemy ; ever spake against
Your hberties, and the charters that you bear
I' the body of the weal : and now, arriving
A place of potency, and sway o' the state,
If he should still mahgnantly remain
Fast foe to the plebeii, your voices might
Be curses to yourselves ? You should have said,
That as his worthy deeds did claim no less
Than what he stood for, so his gi-acious nature
Would thiuk upon you for your voices.
And translate his malice towards you into love,
Standing your friendly lord.

Sic. Thus to have said,

As you were fore-advis'd, had touch'd his

spirit.
And tried his inclination ; from him pluck'd
Either his gracious promise, which you might.
As cause had call'd you up, have held him to ;
Or else it would have gall'd his surly natare,
Which easily endures not article
Tying him to aught ; so, putting him to rage,
You should have ta'en the advantage of his

choler.
And pass'd him unelected.

Bnt. Did you perceive

He did soUcit you in free contempt,
When he did need yoiu- loves; and do you

think
That his contempt shall not be bruising to you,
When he hath power to crush ? Why, had your

bodies
No heart among you? Or had you tongues, to

cry
Against the rectorship of judgment ?

Sic. Have you,

Ere now, denied the asker ? and, now again.
Of him that did not ask, but mock, bestow
Your sued-for tongues ?

3 at. He 's not confirm' d, we may deny him
yet.

2 at. And will deny him :
I '11 have five hundred voices of that sound.

1 at. I twice five hundred, and theii- friends
to piece 'em.

Bru. Get you hence instantly ; and tell those

friends.
They have chose a consul that will from them

take
Their liberties ; make them of no more voice

Tragedies.-

-VoL. IT.

Than dogs, that are as often beat for barking
As tlierefore kept to do so.

Sic. Let them assemble ;

And, on a safer judgment, all revoke
Your ignorant election : Enforce his pride.
And his old hate unto you : besides, forget not
With what contempt he wore the humble

weed :
How in his suit he seorn'd you : but your

loves,
Thinking upon his services, took from you
The apprehension of his present portancc,
Which most gibingly, ungravely, he did fashion
After the inveterate hate he bears you.

Bru. Lay a fault on us, your tribunes, that wc
labour' d
(No impediment between) but that you must
Cast your election on him.

Sic. Say, you chose him

Jklore after our commandment, than as guided
By your owii true affections ; and that, your

minds,
Pre-occupied with what you rather must do
Than what you should, made you against the

grain
To voice him consul ; Lay the fault on us.
Bru. Ay, spare us not. Say we read lectures
to you.
How youngly he began to serve his country,^
How long continued : and what stock he springs

of,2
The noble house o' the jMarcians ; from whence

came
That Ancus Marcius, Numa's daughter's son,
Who, after great Hostilius, here was king :
Of the same house Publius and Quintus were.
That our best water brought by conduits hither ;
[And Censorinus, darling of the people,]"
And nobly nam'd so, twice being censor,
Was his great ancestor.

,5-/^. One thus descended.

That hath beside well in his person wrought
To be set high in place, we did commend
To your remembrances : but you have found,
Scaling his present bearing with his past.
That he 's your fixed enemy, and revoke
Yom- sudden approbation.

a The line in brackets is not in the original, but was sup-
Dlied bv Pope. Something is clearly wanting to connect
with "nvice being eensor;" and Plutarch tells us who was
"nobly named: "—"Censorinus also came of that famiU,
that was so surnamed because the people had chosen h.m
rensor twice" The Cambridge editors have a readmg ol
^hefrown, which leaves the words of the folio still in thsu
order :—

" And [Censorinus] nobly named so, ^^

Twice being [by the people chosen] censor.

177

Act ri.]

CORIOLANUS.

[SCBMB III.

Bru. Say, you ne'er had done 't,

(Ilarp ou that still,) but by our putting on :
And presently, when you have drawn your

number,
Repair to the Capitol.

Cit. We will so : almost all repent in their
election. [^Several speak.

[Eretini Citizens.
Bru. Let them go on ;
This mutiny were better put in hazard.

Than stay, past doubt, for greater :

If, as his nature is, he fall in rage

With their refusal, both observe and answer

The vantage of his anger.

Sic. To the Capitol !

Come ; we '11 be there before the stream o' the

people ;
And this shall seem, as partly 't is, their own,
Whieh we have goaded onwaid.

[Exeunt.

RECENT NEW READING.

Apt III., Sc. IT., p. 1S.5—

" I have a heart as little apt as yours,

But yet a brain that leads my use of anger
To better vantage."

In this passage is introduced one of the ei-ht new lines,
whieli Mr. Collier considers to have been recovered as tlie
genuine writing of Shakspere. After the line " I liave a
heart," S.C., the Corrector inserts —

" Ti> brook control without l.'ie use of anger :"

and he holds the sense to be incomplete without it. The
incompleteness of the sense depends, in some degree, upon
our interpretation of tlie word "apt." In Ben Jonson
(' Cynthia's Revels') we liave, "I confess you to be of ar;
nptc'd and double humour.'' Assuming "apt" to mean
"ready," the new line is scarcely required ; for Volumnia
may refer to the aptitude to be " counselled," for «liich her
heart is as "little apt" as lliat of her son. Mr. Staunton
says the MS. Corrector's line has underj;one a change since
its first appearance. It is now— to brook reproof.

V.*;"' '" .^

[Tarpeian Bock.]

[Rome— a Fragment after Piranesi.]

ILLUSTRATIONS OP ACT III.

' ScESE I. — " Arc these your herd ?"
We continue our quotations from North's ' Plu-
tarch :'—

•' But when the day of election was come, and
that Martins came to the market-place with great
pomp, accompanied with all the senate and the
whole nobility of the city about him, who sought
to make him consul with the greatest instance
and entreaty they could or ever attempted for
any man or matter, then the love and good will
of the common people turned straight to an hate
and envy toward him, fearing to put this office of
Bovereign authority into his hands, being a man
somewhat partial towards the nobility, and of
great credit and authority amongst the patricians,
and as one they might doubt would take away
altogether the liberty from the people. Where-
upon, for these considerations, they refused Martins
in the end, and made two other that were suitors
consuls. The senate, being marvellously offended
with the people, did account the shame of this
n-'fu.'^al rather to redound to themselves than to
Marti uB : but Martins took it in far worse part
than the senate, and was out of all patience ; for
he waa a man t^)0 full of pa.'sion and choler, and
too much given over to self-will and opinion, as
one of It high mind and great courage, that lacked
the gravity and affability that is gotten with
judgment of learning and reason, which only is
to be looked for in a gov.emor of state ; and that
remembered not how wilfulness is the thing of
the world which a governor of a commonwealth
for pleasing shovdil shun, being that which Plato
calle<l BoliuriueBs."

' ScEXE III. — " Pirtt, hear vu gpeah."

" So Martins came and presented himself to an-
■wer their accusations against him ; and the people
held their peace, and gave attentive ear to hear
190

what he would say. But where they thought to
have heard very humble and lowly words come
from him, he began not only to use his wonted
boldness of speaking (which of itself was very
rough and unpleasant, and did more aggravate his
accusation than purge his innocency), but alsa gave
himself in his words to thunder, and look there-
withal so grimly, as though he made no reckoning
of the matter. This stirred coals among the
people, who were in wonderful fury at it, and
their hate and malice grew so toward him that
they could hold no longer, bear, nor endure his
bravery and careless boldness. Whereupon Sici-
nius, the cruellest and stoutest of the tribunes,
after he had whispered a little with his companions,
did openly pronounce, in the face of all the people,
Martius as condemned by the tribunes to die.
Then, presently, he commanded the a?diles to
apprehend him, and carry him straight to the
rock Tarpeian, and to cast him headlong down the
same. When the jediles came to lay hands upon
Martius to do that they were commanded, divers
of the people themselves thought it too cruel and
violent a deed."

3 Scene III. — " Our enemy is hanish'cH"
"When they came to tell the voices of the
tribes, there were three voices odd which con-
demned him to be banished for ever. After
declaration of the sentence, the people made such
joy, as they never rejoiced more for any battle
they had won upon their enemies, they were so
brave and lively, and went home so jocundly
from the assembly, for triumph of this sentence.
The senate again, in contrary manner, were as sad
and heavy, repenting themselves beyond measure
that they had not rather determined to have
done and suffered anything whatsoever, before
the common people should so arrogantly and out-
rageously have abused their authority."

1:1 &t;y--.-

[Roman Highway on the Banks of the Tiber.]

ACT IV.

SCENE I.— The

same. Before a Gale of the
City. '

Enter Cokiolanus, Volumnia, Vikgilia, !Me-
NENitrs, CoMiNiTJs, and several yoimg Patri-
cians.

Cor. Come, leave your tears ;^ a brief farewell :
— the beast
With many heads butts me away. — Nay, mother,
Where is your ancient courage ? you were used
To say, extremity* was the trier of spirits ;
That common chances common men could bear ;
That, when the sea was calm, all boats alike
Show'd mastership in floating : fortune's blows,
When most struck home, being gentle wounded,

craves
A noble cunning : you were used to load me
'With precepts, that would make invincible
The heart that conn'd them.

* Ertremily. So the second folio; the first exircmities.
This correction of what we call tlie false grammar, in an
edition published so soon after the original, ought perhaps
to be adopted in a modern text.

rir. heavens ! O heavens !
Cor. Nay, I prithee, woman, —

Vol. Now the red pestilence strike all trades
in Rome,
And occupations perish !

Cor. What, what, what !

I shall be lov'd when I am lack'd. Nay, mother,
Resume that spirit, when you were wont to

say.
If you had been the wife of Hercules,
Six of his labours you 'd have done, and sav'd
Your husband so much sweat. — Cominius,
Droop not ; adieu ! — Farewell, my wife ! my

mother !
I '11 do well yet. — Thou old and" true Menenius,
Thy tears are Salter than a younger man 's.
And venomous to thine eyes. — My sometime

general,
I have seen thee stern, and thou hast oft beheld
Heart-hard'ning spectacles ; tell these sad wo-
men,
'T is fond to wail inevitable strokes,

191

Act IV.]

CORIOLANUS.

[Scene 11.

As 't is to laugh at them. — My mother, you wot

well
Aly hazards still have becu your solace: and
Believe 't not lightly, (though I go alone.
Like to a lontly dragon, that his fen'
Makes fcar'd and talk'd of more than seen,)

your son
Will, or exeeed the common, or be caught
With cautclous baits and practice.

Vol. My first •> sou,

Whither wilt (hou go? Take good Coininius
With thee a while : Determine on some course,
More than a w.'.d exposure' to Cnich chance
That st^irts i' the way before thee.

Cor. O the gods !

Com. I'll follow thee a month, devise witii
tliee
Where thou shalt rest, that thou niay'st hear of

us,
And we of thee : so, if the time thrust forth
A cause for thy repeal, we shall not send
O'er the vast world, to seek a single man ;
And lose advantage, which doth ever cool
r the absence of the necder.

Cor. Fare ye well : —

Thou hast years upon thee ; and thou art too full
Of the wars' surfeits, to go rove with one
That's yet unbruis'd : bring mc but out at gate. —
Come, my sweet wife, my dearest mother, and
My friends of noble touch, when I am forth.
Bid me farewell, and smile. I pray you, come.
While I remain above the ground, you shall
Hear from me still ; and never of me aught
But what is like me formerly.

Men. That 's worthily

As any ear can hear. — Come, let 's not weep. —
If I could shake off but one seven years
From these old arms and legs, by the good gods,
I 'd with thee every foot !

Cor. Give me thy hand.

Come. [E.reunt.

SCENE II. — The same. A Street near the
Gale.

Enter Siciyics, Bkutus, and an Miile.

Sic. Bid them all home ; he 's gone, and we '11
no further. —
The nobility are vex'd, who, wc see, have sided
In his behalf.

» The fen U the pcitilentlal abode of the "lonely drafjon,"
which he maket "frarcd and talked of more than seen."

b Firtt — in the «cii«e of noblest.

<■ ' -• ••■-^ The original has expmturf ; but we think
wi' 1 tli.it lhi« H a typographical error, and correct

It 1 . y, tflcr Hfiwc.

192

Brii. Now we have shown our power,

Let us seem humbler after it is dune,
Thau when it was a doing.

Sic. Bid them home :

Say, their great enemy is gone, and they
Stand in their ancient strength.

Bni. Dismiss tlicra home.

[Exit ^dile.

Enter VoLUMNiA, Virgilia, and Menenius.

Here comes his mother.

Sic. Let 's not meet her.

Bni. Why?

Sic. Tlicy say she 's mad.

Bru. They have ta'en note of us :

Keep on your way.

Vol. 0, you 're well met : The hoarded plague
o' the gods
llequitc your love !

Men. Peace, peace ! be not so loud.

Vol. If that I could for weeping, you should
hear, —
Nay, and you shall hear some. — Will you be
gone ? {_To Brutus.

Vir. You shall stay too : [To Sicin.] I would
I had the power
To say so to my husband.

Sic. Are you mankind ? "

Vol. Ay, fool : Is that a shame ? — Note but
this fool. —
Was not a man my father ? Hadst thou foxship
To banish him that struck more blows for Rome,
Than thou hast spoken words ?

Sic. blessed heavens !

Vol. More noble blows, than ever thou wise
■words ;
And for Rome's good. — I '11 tell thee what; —

Yet go :—
Nay, but thou shalt stay too : — I would my son
Were iu Arabia, and thy tribe before him,
His good sword in his hand.

Sic. , What then?

Vir. ' AVhat then ?

He'd make an end of ihy posterity.

Vol. Bastards, and all. —
Good man, the wounds that he does bear for
Rome !

Men. Come, come, peace !

Sic. I would he had continued to his country.
As he began ; and not unknit himself
The noble knot he made.

Brii. I would he had.

" Mankind. Sicinius asks insultinply wlicther Volun-.r-'n
is mankinil — a woman with the rouphnesa of a man ? Shak-
spcre, in A Winter's Tale, uses the term " mankind witch."

Act IV.]

COEIOLAi^US.

[SCENEB III., IV.

Vol. I ^yould he had ! 'T was you incens'd
the rabble :
Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth,
As I can of those mysteries which heaven
Will not have earth to know.

Bru. Pray, let us go.

Vol. Now, pray, sir, get you gone :
Ton have done a brave deed. Ere yo" go, hear

this;
As far as doth the Capitol exceed
The meanest house in Rome, so far my son,
(This lady's husband here, this, do you see,)
Whom you have banish' d, does exceed you all.

Bru. Well, well, we '11 leave you.

Sic. Why stay we tr be baited

With one that wants her wits ?

Vol. Take my prayers with you. —

I would the gods had nothing else to do,

\_E.teunt Tribunes.
But to confirm my curses ! Could I meet them
But once a day, it would unclog my heart
Of what lies heavy to 't.

Men. You have told them home,

And, by my troth, you have cause. You '11 sup
with me ?

Vol. Anger 's my meat ; I sup upon myself,
And so shall starve with feeding. — Come, let's

go:
Leave this faint puling, and lament as I do,
In anger, Juno-like. Come, come, come.
Men. Fie, fie, fie ! \E.feuHt.

SCENE III. — A Uigliway beticeen Eome and
Antium.

Bnter a Roman and a Voice, meeting.

Rom. I know you well, sir, and you know me :
your name, I think, is Adrian.

Vole, it is so, sir : truly, I have forgot you.

Rom. I am a Roman ; and my services are,
as you are, against them : Know you me yet ?

Vole. Nicanor ? No.

Rom. The same, sir.

Vole. You had more beard when I last saw
you, but your favour is well appeared* by your
tongue. What 's the news in Rome ? I have a
note from the Volcian state, to find you out
there : You have well saved me a day's journey.

Rom. There hath been in Rome strange in-
surrections : the people against the senators,
patricians, and nobles.

Vole. Hath been ! Is it ended then ? Our state
thinks not so ; they are in a most warlike pre-

* Well appeared — rendered apparent.

Tragedies. — Vol. II,

paration, and hope to come upon them in the
heat of their division.

Rom. The main blaze of it is past, but a small
thing would make it flame again. For the no-
bles receive so to heart the banishment of that
worthy Coriolanus, that they are in a right apt-
ness to take all power from the people, and to
pluck from them their tribunes for ever. This
lies glowing, I can tell you, and is almost ma-
ture for the violent brealang out.

Vole. Coriolanus banished ?

Rom. Banished, sir.

Vole. You will be welcome with this intelli-
gence, Nicanor.

Rom. The day serves well for them now. I
have heard it said, the fittest time to corrupt a
man's wife is when she 's fallen out with her
husband. Your noble TuUus Aufidius will ap-
pear well in these wars, his great opposer, Co-
riolanus, being now in no request of his country.

Vole. He cannot choose. I am most fortunate
thus accidentally to encounter you : You have
ended my business, and I wiU merrily accom-
pany you home.

Rom. I shall, between this and supper, tell
you most strange things from Rome ; all tend-
ing to the good of their adversaries. Have you
an army ready, say you ?

Vole. A most royal one : the centmions, and
theii" charges, distinctly billeted, already in the
entertainment,^ and to be on foot at an hour's
warning.

Ro7n. I am joyful to hear of their readiness,
and am the man, I think, that shall set them in
present action. So, sii', heartily well met, and
most glad of your company.

Vole. You take my part from me, sir ; I have
the most cause to be glad of yours.

Rom. WeU, let us go together. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.— Antium. Before Aufidius',? House.

Enter Coriolanus, in mean apparel, disguised
and muffled.

Cor. A goodly city is this Antium : ^ City,
'T is I that made thy widows : many an heir
Of these fair edifices 'fore my wars
Have I heard groan, and di'op : then know me

not;
Lest that thy wives with spits, and boys with

stones.

Enter a Citizen.
In puny battle slay me. — Save you, sir.

' In the c»/fWaJ«m«;j<— under engagement for pay.

193

Act IV.J

CORIOLANUS.

[ScENi: V.

at. And you.

Cor. Direct mc, if it. be yoiir •w-ill,

Wbcrc great Aufidius lies : Is lie in Antium ?

at. Uc is, aud feasts the nobles of the state,
At liis bouse tliis night.

Cor. AMiich is lus house, 'beseech you ?

at. This, here, before you.

Cor. Thank you, sir ; farewell.

[^Exit Citizen.
O, world, thy slippery turns ! Friends now fast

sworn,
Whose double bosoms seem to wear one heart,
"Whose hours, whose bed, whose meal, and

exercise.
Are still together, who, twin, as't were, in love
Unseparable, shall within this hour,
Ou a dissension of a doit, break out
To bitterest enmity : So, fellcst foes,
Whose passions and whose plots have broke

their sleep
To take the one the other, by some chance.
Some trick not woi'th an gq^, shall grow dear

friends.
And interjoin their issues. So with me : —
My birthplace hate'' I, and my love 's upon
This enemy town. — I '11 enter : if he slay me.
He does fair justice ; if he give me way,
I '11 do his country service. ^^Exit.

SCENE \.—The same. A hall hi Aufidius'*
House.

Music icithin. Enter a Servant.

1 Sere. Wine, wine, wine .' What service is

here !
I think our fellows are asleep. \_E.rii.

Enter another Servant. ■

2 Serv. Where 's Cotns ! my master calls for

liim.
^ius 1 [^Exit.

Enter Coriolakits.

Cor. A goodly house : The feast smells well :
but I
Appear not like a guest.

He-enter the first SeiTant.

1 Scrv. "What would you have, friend ? "Whence
arc you ? llcrc 's no i)Uicc for you : Pray, go to
the door.

Cor. I have dcscrv'd no better entertainment.
In being Coriolanus,

* Halt. T)ic nrif^inal ha hare; and we owe the judici-
ous correction tc CapelL

194

Re-enter second Servant.

2 Serv. Whence are you, sir ? lias the porter
his eyes iu his head, that he gives entrance to
such companions ? Pray, get you out.

Cor. Away !

2 Serv. Away? Get you away.

Cor. Now thou art troublesome.

2 Serv. Are you so brave ? I '11 have jou
talked with anon.

Enter a third SeiTant. The first meets him.

?> Serv. "What fellow's this?

1 Serv. A strange one as ever I looked on : I
cannot get hir.i out o' the house : Prithee, call
my master to him.

3 Serv. What have you to do here, fellow ?
Pray you, avoid the house.

Cor. Let me but stand ; I will not hurt your
hearth.

3 Serv. What are you ?

Cor. A gentleman.

3 Serv. A marvellous poor one.

Cor. True, so I am.

3 Serv. Pray you, poor gentleman, take up
some other station ; here 's no place for you ;
pray you, avoid : come.

Cor. Pollow your function, go ! aud batten on
cold bits. \_Pi(shes him awai/.

3 Serv. "What, will you not ? Prithee, tell my
master what a strange guest he has here.

2 Serv. And I shall. [_Exit.

3 Serv. Where dwellest thou ?
Cor. Under the canopy.

3 Serv. Under the canopy ?

Cor. Ay.

3 Serv. Where 's that ?

Cor. V the city of kites and crows.

3 Serv. V the city of kites and crows ? — What
an ass it is !— Then thou dwcUest with daws
too?

Cor. No, I serve not thy master.

3 Serv. How, sir ! Do you meddle with my
master ?

Cor. Ay; 'tis an honester service than to
meddle with thy mistress : Thou prat'st, and
prat'st ; serve ^vith thy trencher, hence !

[Eeats him away.

Enter Aufldius and the second Servant.

Auf. Where is this follow ?
2 Serv. Here, sir ; I 'd have beaten him like
a dog, but for disturbing the lords within.
Auf. Whence com'st thou? what wouJdst

Act IV.]

CORIOLANUS.

[Scene V.

thou? Thy name? "Wliy speak'st not? Speak,
man : "Wliat 's thy name ?

Cor. If, Tullus, \ii7im7fffiin(f\ not yet thou
know'st me, and, seeing me, dost not think me
for the man I am, necessity commands me name
myself.

Aitf. What is thy name ? [Servants retire.
Cor. A name nnmusical to the Volscians'
ears.
And harsh in sound to thine.

Auf- Say, what 's thy name ?

Thou hast a grim appearance, and thy face

Bears a command in 't ; though thy tackle 's torn.

Thou show'st a noble vessel : Wliat 's thy name ?

Cor. Prepare thy brow to frown: Know'st

thou me yet ?
Auf. I know .thee not : — Thy name ?
Cor. My name is Cains Marcius, who hath
done
To thee particularly, and to all the Vol sees.
Great hui't and mischief; thereto witness may
My sm-name, Coriolanus : The painful service,
Tlie extreme dangers, and the drops of blood
Shed for my thankless country, are requited
But with that surname ; a good memory,
And witness of the malice and displeasure
lYliich thou shouldst bear me : only that name

remains ;
The cruelty and envy of the people.
Permitted by our dastard nobles, who
Have all forsook me, hath devom-'d the rest ;
And sujfer'd me by the voice of slaves to be
"Whoop'd out of Rome. Now, this extrenaty
Hath brought me to thy hearth : Not out of

hope.
Mistake me not, to save my life ; for if
I had fear'd death, of all the men i' the world
I would have 'voided thee : but in mere spite.
To be full quit of those my bauishers.
Stand I before thee here. Then if thou hast
A heart of wreak '^ in thee, that will revenge
Thme o^vn particidar wrongs, and stop those

maims
Of shame seen through thy country, speed thee

straight,
And make my misery serve thy turn ; so use it,
That my revengeful services may prove
As benefits to thee ; for I will fight
Against my canker' d country with the spleen
Of aU the imder fiends.^ But if so be
Thou dai-'st not this, and that to prove more

fortunes
Thou art tur'd, then, in a word, I tdso am

jrr«o At— revenge.

l" Under fiends-
2

■fiends below.

Longer to live most weary, and present
My throat to thee, and to thy ancient malice :
Which not to cut would show thee but a fool ;
Smee I have ever follow'd thee with hate.
Drawn tuns of blood out of thy counti-y's

breast.
And cannot live but to thy shame, unless
It be to do thee service.

^i^if- O Marcius, Marcius !

Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from

my heart
A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter
Should from yon cloud speak divine things.
And say, ' 'T is true,' I 'd not believe them more
Than thee, aU noble Marcius. — Let me t\vine
Mine arms about that body, where against
My grained ash an hundred times liath broke.
And scarr'd the moon with splinters! Here I

clip
The ^nvil of my sword ; and do contest
As hotly and as nobly with thy love,
As ever in ambitious strength I did
Contend against thy valour. Know thou first,
I lov'd the maid I married ; never man
Sigh'd truer breath ; but that I see thee here.
Thou noble thing ! more dances my rapt lieart
Thau when I first my wedded mistress saw
Bestride my threshold. Why, thou Mars ! I

tell thee,
We have a power on foot ; and I had piu'pose
Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn.
Or lose mine arm for 't : Thou hast beat me

out^'
Twelve several times, and I have nightly since
Dreamt of encounters 'twixt thyself and me :
We have been down together in my sleep.
Unbuckling helms, fisting each other's throat,
And walc'd half dead with nothing. Worthy

Alarcius,
Had we no other quarrel else to Home, but that
Thou art thence banish' d, we would muster all
Prom twelve to seventy ; and, pouring war
Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome,
Like a bold flood o'erbeat. 0, come, go in,
And take our friendly senators by the hands ;
Who now are here, taking their leaves of me,
Who am prepar'd against your territories.
Though not for Kome itself.

Cor. You bless me, gods !

Avf. Therefore, most absolute sir, if thou wilt

have
The leading of tliine own revenges, take
The one half of my commission; and set

dowa, —

" Oa/— complete.

195

.Act IV.)

COKIOLAiSUS

[SCKNE T ,

As best thou art expcricnc'd, since thou know'at
Thy countn-'s strength and weakness, — thine

own ways :
TMicthcr to knock against the gates of Rome,
Or rudely visit them in parts remote,
To fright them, ere destroy. But come in :
Let me commend thee first to those that shall
Say, Yea, to thy desires. A thousand welcomes !
And more a friend that e'er an enemy ;
Yet, Marcius, that was much. Your hand!

Most welcome !

\_E.reuii( CouioL.vNUS and AuFiDius.

1 Sen. [AdcanctHff.] Here 's a strange alter-
ation 1

2 St'rc. By my hand I had thought to have
struckcn him with a cudgel ; and yet my mind
gave me his clothes made a false report of him.

1 Serv. What an arm he has ! He turned
me about with his finger and his thumb, as one
would set up a top. ^

2 Sere. Kay, I knew by his face that there
was something in liim : he had, sir, a kind of
face, methought, — I cannot tell how to term it.

1 Serv. He had so ; looking as it were, —
'Would I were hanged but I thought there was
more iu him than I could think.

2 Serv. So did I, I '11 be sworn : he is simply
the rarest man i' the world.

1 Serv. I think he is : but a greater soldier
than he, you Mot one.

2 Serv. Who ? my master ?

1 Serv. Nay, it 's no matter for that.

2 Serv. Worth six of him.

1 Serv. Nay, not so neither ; but I take him
to be the greater soldier.

2 Serv. Taith, look you, one cannot tell how-
to say that : for the defence of a town our gene-
ral is excellent.

1 Serv. Ay, and for an assault too.

Re-cxter third Servant.

3 Serv. 0, slaves, I can tell you news ; news,
you rascals !

1 iJ- 2 Serv. What, what, what ? let 's par-
take.

3 S'Tv. I would not be a Boman, of all na-
tions ; 1 had as lieve be a condemned man.

1 tj- 2 Serv. Wherefore ? wherefore ?

3 Sere. Why, here 's he that was wont to
thwack our general, — Caius Marcius.

1 Serv. Why do you say thwack our gene-
ral ?

3 Serv. I do not say thwack our general :
but he was always good enough for him.
19G

2 Sere. Come, we arc fellows and friends :
he was tver too hard for him ; 1 have heard him
say so himself.

1 Serv. He was too hard for him directly, to
say the truth on't: before Corioli he scotched
him and notched him like a carbonado.

2 Serv. An he had been cannibally given, he
might have broiled and eaten him too.

1 Scree. But, more of thy news 'r*

3 Serv. Why, he is so made on here within,
as if he were son and heir to Mars : set at upper
end o' the table : no question asked him by any
of the senators, but they stand bald before him :
Our general himself makes a mistress of him ;
sanctifies himself with 's hand, and turns up the
white o' the eye to his discourse. But the bot-
tom of the news is, our general is cut i' the
middle, and but one half of what he was yester-
day ; for the other has half, by the entreaty and
grant of the whole table. He '11 go, he says,
and sowle'' the porter of Rome gates by the ears :
He will mow all down before him, and leave
his passage polled.''

2 Sere. And he 's as like to do 't as any man
I can imagine.

3 Serv. Do 't ? he will do 't : For, look you,
sir, he has as many friends as enemies : which
friends, sir, (as it were,) durst not (look you,
sir) show themselves (as we term it) his friends
whilst he 's in direct itude."

1 Serv. Directitude ! what 's that ?

3 Sere. But when they shall see, sir, his crest
up again, and the man in blood, they will out of
their burrows, like conies after rain, and revel
all with him.

1 Sere. But when goes this forward ?

3 Serv. To-morrow ; to-day ; presently. You
shall have the drum struck up this afternoon ■
't is, as it were, a parcel of their feast, and to be
executed ere they wipe their lips.

2 Serv. Why, then we shall have a stirring
world again. This peace is nothing, but to rust
ii'on, increase tailors, and breed ballad-makers.

1 Serv. Let me have war, say I ; it exceeds
peace as far as day does night ; it 's sprightly,
waking, audible, and full of vent. Peace is a
very apoplexy, lethargy; mulled, deaf, sleepy,
insensible ; a getter of more bastard children
than war 's a destroyer of men.

2 Sere. 'T is so : and as war, in some sort.

" Soirle — a provincial word for pull out.

1> /'o/Zfrf— cleared.

c Directitude. Malone would read discredilude. He
thinks the servant was not meant to talk absolute non-
sense. Why then does the other servant ask the niefi:iing
of the fine word \

Act IV.I

COEIOLANUS.

[Scene VI.

may be said to be a ra\asher, so it cannot be
denied but peace is a great maker of cuckolds.

1 Serv. Ay, and it makes men hate one an-
other.

3 Serv. Reason ; because they then less need
one another. The wars for my money. I
hope to see Romans as cheap as Volsciaiis.
They are rising, they ai'e rising.

All. In, in, in, in ! [Kveiint

SCENE VI.— Rome. A jmblic Place.
Enter SiCDiius and Brutus.

Sic. We hear not of him, neither need we

fear him;
His remedies are tame i' the present peace
And quietness o' the people, which before
Were in wild hurry. Here do we make his

friends
Blush that the world goes well; who rather

had.
Though they themselves did suifer by 't, beheld '^
Dissentious numbers pestering streets, than see
Our tradesmen singing in their shops, and going
About their functions friendlv.

Enter Menenius,

Bru. We stood to't in good time. Is this
Menenius ?

Sic. 'T is he, 't is he : 0, he is grown most
kind of late. Hail, sir !

Men. Hail to you both !

Sic. Your Coriolanus is not much missed
but with his friends ; the commonwealth doth
stand; and so would do, were he more angry
at it.

Men. All 's well ; and might have been much
better, if he could have temporised.

§ic. Where is he, hear you ?

Men. Nay, I hear nothing; his mother and
his wife hear nothing from him.''

Enter Three or Four Citizens.

at. The gods preserve you both !

Sic. Good-e'en, our neighbours.

Bru. Good-e'en to you all, good-e'en to you

all.
1 at. Ourselves, our wives, and childreu, on

oxir knees.
Are bound to pray for you both.

a Beheld. The original has behold, which is retained in
most modern editions; but we should certainly read would
behold, or had beheld.

b We print this dialogue in prose, as in the original.
It is ordinarily printed as ten lines of blank verse, after
Capell.

Sic. Live, and thrive !

Bru. Farewell, kind neighbours : We wish'd
Coriolanus
Had lov'd you as we did.

Cit. Now the gods keep you !

Both Tri. Farewell, farewell.

\_Exeunt Citizens.
Sic. This is a happier and more comely
time
Than Mheu these fellows ran about the streets,
Cryiag, Confusion.

Bru. Caius Marcius was

A worthy officer i' the war ; but insolent,
O'ercome with pride, ambitious past all think-

incr

SeLf-loving, —

Sic. And affecting .one sole throne.

Without assistance.

Men. I tliink not so.

Sic. We should by this, to all our lamenta-
tion.
If he had gone forth consul, found it so.

Bru. The gods have well prevented it, and
Rome
Sits safe and stUl without him.

Enter M(!a\e.

.^d. Worthy tribunes,

There is a slave, whom we liave put ia prison.
Reports, the Voices with two several powers
Are enter'd in the Roman territories ;
And with the deepest malice of the war
Destroy what lies before them.

Men. 'T is Aufidius,

AVho, hearing of our Marcius' banishment.
Thrusts forth his horns again into the world,
"Which were insheU'd when Marcius stood fi^r

Rome,
And durst not once peep out.

Sic. Come, what talk you of Marcius ?

Bru. Go see this rumourer whipp'd. — It can-
not be
The Volsces dare break with us.

Men. Cannot be !

We have record that very well it can ;
And three examples of the like have been
Within my age. But reason with the feUow,
Before you punish him, where he heard this :
Lest you shall chance to whip your informa-
tion,
And beat the messenger who bids beware
Of what is to be dreaded.

Sic. Tell not me :

I know this cannot be.

Bru. Not possible.

787

Aor iv.i

CORIOLANUS.

[SCEVl. VI.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. The nobles, in great earnestness, arc
going
All to the sonatc-house : some news is come "*
That turns their countenances.

Sic. 'T is this slave ; —

Go whip him 'fore the people's eyes : — liis rais-
ing!
Nothing but his report !

^fess. Yes, worthy sir.

The slave's report is seconded ; and more.
More fearful, is deliver'd.

Sie. What more fearful ?

Mess. It is spoke freely out of many mouths,
(llow probable, I do not know,) tliat ^larcius,
Joiu'd with Aufulius, leads a power 'gainst

Rome ;
And vows revenge as sjjacious as between
The young'st and oldest thing.

Sic. This is most likely !

Bru. Rais'd only that the weaker soi-t may
wish
Good Mareius home again.

Sic. The very trick on 't

Men. This is unlikely :
He and Aufidius can no more atone,''
Than nolentcst contraiiety.

Elder another Messenger.

Mess. You are sent for to the senate ;
A fearful army, led by Caius ]\Iarcius,
Associated with Aufidius, rages
Upon our temtories ; and have already,
O'erbome their way, eonsum'd with fire, and

took
What lay before them.

Enter CoiiiNlus.

Com. O, you have made good work !
Men. What news ? what news ?

Com. You have liolp to ravish
daughters, and
To melt the city leads upon your pates ;
To sec your wives dishonour'd to your noses ; —
Men. ^Vllat 's the news ? what 's the news ?
Com. Your temples burned in their cement;
and

'^ Cn-rj>. The orIgin.il h.u cnming. The alteration to
c>.TJ<! wa.1 by Ilowc, wlilcli \vc adopt, in Co:nmoii with other
recent editors. Yet we unwillinf^ly give up cnminy. The
reader will lemcmber Mr. Campbell's fine imat;L —

" Coming events ca»t their shadows before."

* AloTUr—ht reconciled— 3/ om.

198

your own

Your franchises, whereon you stood, confin'd
Into an auger's bore.

Men. Pray now, your news ? —

You have made fair work, I fear me: — Pray,

your news ?
If Mareius should be joiu'd with Volcians, —

Com. If!

He is their god; he leads them like a thing
Made by some other deity than nature,
That shapes man better : and they follow

him,
Against us brats, with no less confidence
Than boys pursuing summer butterflies.
Or butchers killing flics.

Men. You have made good work.

You, and your apron-men; you that stood so

much
Upon the voice of occupation, and
The breath of garlic-eaters !

Com. He'll shake your Rome about your
ears.

Men. As Hercules did shake down mellow
fruit:
You have made fair work !

Bru. But is this true, sir ?

Com. Ay ; and you '11 look pale
Before you find it other. All the regions
Do smilingly revolt ; and, who resist.
Are mock'd for valiant ignorance,
And perish constant fools. Who is 't can blame

him?
Your enemies, and his, find something in him.

Men. We are all undone, unless
The noble man have mercy.

Com. Who shall ask it ?

The tribimes cannot do 't for shame ; the people
Deserve such pity of him as the wolf
Does of the shepherds : for his best friends, if

they
Should say, 'Be good to Rome,' they charg'd

him even
As those should do that had deserv'd his hate.
And therein show'd like enemies.

Men. 'T is true :

If he were putting to my house the brand
That should consume it, I have not the face
To say, "Beseech you, cease.' — You have made

fair hands.
You and your crafts ! you have crafted fair !

Com. You have brought

A trembling upon Rome, such as was never
So incapable of help.

Tri. Say not we brought it.

Men. How ! Was it we ? We lov'd him ; but,
like beasts.

Act IY.]

COEIOLAlf[JS.

[SCESE vn.

And cowardly nobles, gave way unto your

clusters.
Who did hoot him out o' the city.

Com. Bat; I fear,

They '11 roar him in again. Tullus Aulidius,
The second name of men, obeys his points
As if he were his officer :— Desperation
Is all the policy, strength, and defence.
That Rome can make against them.

Enter a troop of Citizens.

Men. Here come the clusters. —

And is Aufidius with him ? — You are they
That made the air unwholesome, when you cast
Your stinking, greasy caps, in hooting
At Coriolauus' exUe. Now he 's comius' ;
And not a hair upon a soldier's head
WMch wUl not prove a whip; as many cox-
combs
As you threw caps up, will he tumble down.
And pay you for your voices. 'T is no matter ;
If he could bum us all into one coal.
We have deserv'd it.

at. 'Faith, we hear fearful news.

1 Git. For mine own part.
When I said, banish him, I said 't was pity.

2 at. And so did I.

3 at. And so did I; and, to say the truth,
so did very many of us : That we did we did for
the best ; and though we wiUingly consented to
liis banishment, yet it was against our -nTll.

Com. You are goodly things, you voices !
Meji. You have made

Good work, you and your cry ! — Shall us to the
Capitol ?
Com. O, ay ; what else ?

[Exeunt CoM. and Men.
Sic. Go, masters, get you home, be not dis-
may 'd.
These are a side that would be glad to have
This true, which they so seem to fear. Go home,
And show no sign of fear.

1 at. The gods be good to us! Come, masters,
let 's home. I ever said we were i' the wrong
when we banished him.

2 at. So did we all. But come, let 's home.

\Exeunt Citizens.
Bru. I do not like this news.
Sic. Nor I.

Brti. Let's to the Capitol: — 'Would half my
wealth
Would buy this for a lie !
Sic. Pray, let us go.

{Exeunt.

SCENE vn. — A Camp ; at a small distance
from Rome.

Enter Aufidius and his Lieutenant.

Aiif. Do they still fly to the Roman ?
Lieu. I do not know what witchcraft 's in him ;
but
Your soldiers use him as the grace 'fore meat,
Their talk at table, and their thanks at end ;
And you are darken' d in this action, su-.
Even by your own.

. -^uf. I cannot Jielp it now ;

Unless, by using means, I lame the foot
Of our design. He bears himself more proudliei ,
Even to my person, than I thought he would
When first I did embrace him : Yet his natia-e
In that 's no changeling ; and I must exciise
What cannot be amended.

Lieu. Yet I wish, sir,

(I mean, for your particular,) you had not
Join'd in commission with him : but either had

borne
The action of yourself, or else to him
Had left it solely.

Auf. I understand thee well; and be thou
sure,
When he shall come to his account, he knows

not
What I can urge against him. Although it

seems.
And so he thinks, and is no less apparent
To the vulgar eye, that he bears all things fairly.
And shows good huabandi-y for the Volcian

state ;
Fights dragon-like, and does achieve as soon
As draw his sword : yet he hath left undone
That which shall break his neck, or hazard mine,
Whene'er we come to our account.

Lieu. Sir, I beseech you, think you he'll

can-y Rome ?
Auf. All places yield to him ere he sits down ;
And the nobility of Rome are his :
The senators and patricians love him too :
The tribunes are no soldiers ; and their people
Win be as rash in the repeal, as hasty
To expel him thence. I think he '11 be to Rome,
As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it
By sovereignty of natm-e." First he was
A noble servant to them ; but he could not

* The force and propriety of this image will be seen from
the following extract from Drayton's ' Folyolbion,' descrit
ing the osprey, according to the popular notion : —
" The osprey, oft here seen, though seldom here it breeds.
Which over them the fish no sooner doth espy,
But, betwixt him and tliem by an antipathy,
Turning their bellies up, as though their death they saw,
They at his pleasure lie to stuff his gluttonous maw. '

190

Act IV. ]

CORIOLANUS.

(SCEKE VII.

Carry his honours even : wlicthcr 't was pride,
Which out of daily fortune ever taints
The happy man ; Mlicthcr defect of judgment,
To fail in the disposing of those chances
"Which he was lord of ; or whether nature,
Not to be other than one thing, not moving
From the casque to the cushion, but command-
ing peace
Even with the same austerity and garb
As he controU'd the war; but one of these
(As he hath spices of them all, not all,
For I dare so far free him) made him fcar'd,
So liatcd, and so banish'd : But he has a merit,
To choke it in the utterance. So our virtues
Lie in the interpretation of the time :
knd power, unto itself most commendable,

Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair

To extol what it hath done.

One fire drives out one fire ; one nail, one nail ;

Rights by rights fouler," strength by strengths do

fail.
Come, let 's away. WHien, Caius, Rome is thine,
Thou art poor'st of all ; then shortly art thou

mine. \_E.reuht.

* Fouler. So the original. Malone substitutes /ountfcr;
and the emendation has provoked three pages of controversy
nmonKst the commentators. We may understand the mean-
ing of the original expression if we substitute the op|)osite
epithet, fairer. As it is, the lesser rights drive out the
greater— the fairer rights fail through the fouler. In the
same manner, in The Taming of the Shrew, fouler is not
usad in the sense of more polluted ; we have,

" The fouler fortune mine, and there an eiid."

[Ancient Arch on Road leading int<i' Borne.]

-'■•«^^^1 ""^^ry"-

[Old Roman Willow Wood.]

ILLITSTExiTIONS OP ACT IV.

• Scene I.—" Come, leave your tears."

The departure of Coriolanus from Rome is thus
described by Plutarch : —

" When he was come home to his house again,
and had taken his leave of his mother and wife,
finding them weeping and striking out for sorrow,
and had also comforted and persuaded them to be
content with his chance, he went immediately to
the gate of the city, accompanied with a great
number of patricians that brought him thither,
from whence he went on his way with three or
four of his friends only, taking nothing with him,
nor requesting anything of any man. So he
remained a few days in the country at his houses,
turmoiled with sundry sorts and kinds of thoughts,
Buch as the fire of his choler did stir up."

2 Scene IV.— "A goodly city is this Antiuni."
The entry of Coriolanus into the " enemy city,"
and the interview between the two rival captains,
is most graphically told by Plutarch. Shakspere
has put forth all his strength in working up the
scene, and yet has kept to the original with
wonderful exactness : —

" It was even twilight when he entered the citv

of Antium, and many people met him ic the
streets, but no man knew him. So he went
directly to TuUus Aufidius' house ; and when he
came thither he got him up straight to the chimney-
hearth, and sat him down, and spake not a woi-d
to any man, his face all muffled over. They of
the house, spying him, wondered what he should
be, and yet they durst not bid him rise. For ill-
favouredly muffled and disguised as he was, yet
there appeared a certain majesty in his countenance
and in his silence : whereupon they went to Tulhis,
who was at supper, to tell him of the strange dis-
guising of this man. TuUus rose presently from
the board, and, coming towards him, asked him
what he was, and wherefore he came. Then JIartius
unmuffled himself, and after he liad paused awhile,
making no answer, he said unto him — If thou
knowest me not yet, Tulius, and, seeiug me, dost
not perhaps believe me to be the man I am indeed,
I must of necessity betray myself to be that I am.
I am Caius Martins, who hath done to thyself
particularly, and to all the Voices generally, great
hurt and mischief, which I cannot deny for my
surname of Coriolanus that I bear: for I never
had other benefit nor recompense of the true and

201

ILLUSTRATIONS OF ACT IV.

painful service I have done, and the extreme
dangers I have been in, but thia only surname,
a good mcruor)' find witness of the malice and
displeasure thou shouldst bear mo. Indeed the
name only remaineth with mo : for the rest, the
envy and cruelty of the people of Rome have
taken from me, by the sufferance of the dastardly
nobility and magisti-ates, who have forsaken me,
and let mo bo banished by tho people. This
extremity hath now driven me to come as a poor
suitor to take thy chimney-hearth, not of any hope
I have to save my life thereby, — for if I had feared
death I would not have como hither to have put
myself in hazard, — but pricked fonvard with desire
to be revenged of them that thus have banished
me, which now I do begin, in putting my person
into the hands of their enemies. AVherefore, if
thou hast any heart to bo wreaked of the injuries
thy enemies have done thee, speed thee now, and
let my misery serve thy turn, and so use it as my

service may be a benefit to the Voices : promising
thee that I will fight with better good will for all
you, than I did when I was against you, knowing
that they figlit more valiantly who know the force
of tho enemy, than such as have never proved it.
And if it be so that thou daro not, and that thou
art wcaiy to prove fortimo any more, then I am
also weary to live any longer. And it were no
wisdom in thee to save the life of him who hath
been heretofore thy mortal enemy, and whoso
service now can nothing help nor pleasure thee.
TuUus, hearing what he said, was a marvellous
glad man, and, taking him by tho hand, he said
unto him— Stand up, Martins, and be of good
cheer, for in j)roffering thyself unto us thou doest
us gi'eat honour : and by this means thou mayest
hope also of greater things at all the Voices' hands.
So he feasted him for that time, and entertained
him in the honourablest manner he could."

' •!' ''s^/mi

[Public Place in Rome.]

ACT V.

S(3ENE I.— Rome. J public Place.

Enter Menenius, Comintos, Sicmius, Brtjttts,
and others.

Men. No, I '11 uofc go : you hear wliat he hath
said
Which was sometime his general; who lov'd

him
In a most dear particular. He caU'd me father :
But what o ' that ? Go, you that banish'd him ;
A mile before his tent fall do^vu, and knee"'
The way into his mercy : Nay, if he coy'd
To hear Cominius speak, I '11 keep at home.
Com. He would not seem to know me.^
Men. Do you hear?

Com. Yet one time he did call me by my
name :
I urg'd our old acquaintance, and the drops

a Knee. So the original. The second folio, which has
been followed In all other editions, has the less expressive
verb kneel. Shakspere uses knee as a verb in Lear : —
" To knee his throne."

That we have bled together. Coriolanus
He would not answer to : forbad all names ;
He was a kind of nothing, titleless,
Tin he had forg'd liimself a name o' the fire
Of burning Eomc.

Men. Why, so ; you have made good work :
A pair of tribunes that have rack'd for Rome,
To make coals cheap : A noble memory !

Com. I minded him how royal 'twas to
pardon
WTien it was less expected : He replied.
It was a bare petition of a state
To one whom they had punish'd.

Men. "Very well ;

Could he say less ?

Com. I offer'd to awaken his regard
For his private friends : His answer to me was,
He could not stay to pick them in a pile
Of noisome musty chaff : He said, 't was folly
For one poor grain or two to leave unbumt.
And stiU to nose the offence.

Men. For one poor grain or two ?

203

Act V.J

CORTOLANUS

[SCF.KS II.

I am one of those ; his motlicr, wife, his child,
And this brave fellow too, \rc arc the grains :
You are tiic musty chaff ; and you are smelt
Above the moon : We must be burnt for you.

Sic. Nay, pray be patient : If you refuse your
aid
In this so ucvcr-nccdcd help, yet do not
Upbraid us with our distress. But, sure, if you
Would be your coimtry's pleader, your good

tongue.
More than the instant army we can make,
Might stop our countryman.

Men. No ; I '11 not meddle.

Sic. Pray you, go to him.

Men. What should I do ?

Bru. Only make trial what your love can do
For Rome, towards Marcius.

Men. Well, and say that Marcius return me.
As Cominius is returu'd, unheard ; what then ? —
But as a discontented friend, grief-shot
With his unkindness ? Say 't be so ?

Sic. Yet your good will

Must have that thanks from Rome, after the

measure
As you intended well.

Men. I '11 undertake it :

I think he '11 hear me. Yet, to bite his lip
And hum at good Cominius, much unhearts me.
He was not taken well : he had not din'd :
The veins unfill'd, our blood is cold, and then
We pout upon the morning, are unapt
To give or to forgive ; but when we have stuff 'd
These pipes, and these conveyances of our blood,
With \vine and feeding, we have suppler souls
Than in our priest-like fasts : therefore I '11 watch

him
Till he be dieted to my request.
And then I '11 set upon him.

Bru. You know the very road into his kuid-
ness.
And cannot lose your way.

Men. Good faith, I '11 prove him.

Speed how it will, I shall ere long have know-
ledge
Of my success. [^Exii.

Com. He '11 never hear him.

Sic. Not ?

Com. I tell you, he does sit in gold, his eye
Red as 't would burn Rome ; and his injury
The gaoler to his pity. I kneel 'd before him ;
'T was very faintly he said, ' Rise ;' dismiss'd me
Thus, with his speechless hand : What he would

do,
He sent in writing after me, — what he would
not ;

204

Bouud with an oath to yield to his conditions :*

So that all hope is vain.

Unless'* his no])le mother, and his wife ;

Who, as I hear, mean to solicit him

For mercy to his country. Tiierefore, let's

hence.
And with our fair entreaties haste them on.

[Exeun/.

SCENE 11.—^// advanced Post of the Volcian
Camp before Rome. The Guard at their stations.

Enter to them Menenius.

1 G. Stay : Whence are you ?

2 G. Stand, and go back.
Men. You guard like men ; 't is well : But,

by youi" leave,
I am an officer of state, and come
To speak with Coriolanus.

1 G. From whence ?

Men. From Rome.

1 G. You may not pass, you must return

our general
Will no more hear from thence.

2 G. Y'ou'U see your Rome embrac'd with

fire, before
You 'U speak with Coriolanus.

Men. Good my friends.

If you have heard your general talk of Rome,
And of his friends there, it is lots*^ to blanks
My name hath touch' d your ears : it is Me-
nenius.
1 G. Be it so ; go back : the virtue of your
name
Is not here passable.

Men. I tell tliee, fellow.

Thy general is my lover : I have been
The book of his good acts, whence men have

read
His fame unparallel'd, haply amplified ;
For I have ever verified my friends
(Of whom he's chief) with all the size that

verity
Would without lapsing suffer : nay, sometimes,
Like to a bowl upon a subtle ground.

a Tlie commentators suspect some omission here; but it
appears to us that Ihey have mistaken the passage. They
conceive that " what lie would not " is the matter especially
"bound with an oath." Coriolanus sends "in wri'lng "
both " what he would do" and " what he would not ; " and,
in justification of the harshness of his dem.Tnds, he adds that
he is " bound with an oath to yield to his conditions," —
that is, to make his sole law the " conditions " in which he
had become placed — hi< duty to the Volscians;— to yield
himself up entirely to the puidance of those " conditions."

b Unless is here used in the sense of except : We have no
hope except his noble mother, &c.

c L'lli are the whole number of tickets in alottery ; blankt
a proportion of the whole number.

Act v.]

CORIOLANUS

fScE.NE II.

I have tumbled past the throw ; and in his

praise
Have almost stamp'd the leasing: therefore,

fellow,
I must have leave to pass.

1 G. 'Eaith, su-, if you had told as many lies
in his behalf, as you have uttered words in your
own, you should not pass here : no, though it
were as virtuous to lie as to live chastely. There-
fore, go back.

Me7t. Prithee, fellow, remember my name is
Menenius, always factionary on the party of
your general.

2 G. Howsoever you have been his Har, (as
you say you have,) I am one that, telling true
under him, must say you cannot pass. There-
fore, go back.

Men. Has he dined, canst thou tell ? for I
would not speak with him till after dinner.
1 G. You are a Roman, are you ?
Men. I am as thy general is.

1 G. Then you should hate Rome, as he
does. Can you, when you have pushed out
your gates the very defender of them, and in a
violent popular ignorance given your enemy
your shield, think to front his revenges with
the easy groans of old women, the virginal
palms of your daughters, or with the palsied
intercession of such a decayed dotant as you
seem to be? Can you think to blow out the
intended fire your city is ready to flame in,
with such weak breath as this ? No, you are
deceived : therefore, back to Rome, and pre-
pare for your execution : you arc condemned ;
our general has sworn you out of reprieve and
pardon.

Men. Sirrah, if thy captain knew I were
here, he would use me with estimation.

2 G. Come, my captain knows you not.
Men. I mean, thy general.

1 G. My general cares not for you. Back,
I say ; go, lest 1 let forth your half-pint of blood ;
— back, — that 's the utmost of your having ; —
back.

Men. Nay, but feUow, fellow, —

Enter Coriolaijus and Aufidius.

Cor. What 's the matter ?

Men. Now, you companion, I '11 say an errand
for you ; you shall know now that I am in esti-
mation ; you shall perceive that a jack guardant
cannot office me from my son Coriolauus :
guess, but by my entertainment with him, if
thou stand'st not i' the state of hanging, or of
some death more long in spectatorship, and

crueller in suffering; behold now presently,
and swoon for what 's to come upon thee. —
The glorious gods sit in hourly synod about thy
particular prosperity, and love thee no worse
than thy old father Menenius does ! 0, my
son ! my son ! thou art preparing fire for us ;
look thee, here's water to quench it. I was
hardly moved to come to thee : but being as-
sured none but myself could move thee, T have
been blown out of your gates with sighs : and
conjure thee to pardon Rome, and thy peti-
tionary couutrymeu. The good gods assuage
thy wrath, and turn the dregs of it upon this
varlet here ; this who, like a block, hath de-
nied my access to thee.
Cor. Away !
Men. How ! away ?

Cor. Wife, mother, child, I know not. My
affairs
Are servanted to others : Though I owe
My revenge pi'operly, my remission lies
In Volcian breasts. That we have been fa-
miliar,
Ingrate forgetfulness shall poison rather
Than pity note how much. — Therefore, be

gone.
]\line ears against your suits are stronger than
Your gates against my force. Yet, for I lov'd

thee.
Take this along ; I writ it for thy sake,

\_Gives a letter.
And would have sent it. Another word, Me-
nenius,
I will not hear thee speak. — This man, Aufidius,
Was my belov'd in Rome : yet thou behold'st —
All/. You keep a constant temper.

\E.veiint CoRioLANUs and Aufidius.

1 G. Now, sir, is your name Menenius ?

2 G. 'T is a spell, you see, of much power :
you know the way home again.

1 G. Do you hear how we are shent* for
keeping your greatness back ?

2 G. What cause, do you think, I have to
swoon ?

3Ien. I neither care for the world nor your
general : for such thmgs as you, I can scarce
think there's any, you are so slight. He that
hath a will to die by himself, fears it not fr )m
another. Let your general do his worst. Tor
you, be that you are, long ; and your misery
increase \vith your age ! I say to you, as I was
said to. Away ! [Exit.

\ G. k noble fellow, I warrant him.

" S«en/— rebuked.

205

Act v.]

COIlIOL.iNUS.

[Scene III.

2 G. The worthy fellow is our gcucral : He
is the rock, the oak not to be \n:id-sh;ikcn.

\_Exeunl.

SCENE III.— r-i^ tent o/Coriolauus.
EnUr CoRiOLANUS, Aufidius, and others.
Cor. Wc M-ill before the walls of Rome to-

Set down our host. — My partner in this action,
You must report to the Volcian lords how

plainly
I have borne this business.

Auf. Only their ends

You have respected ; stopp'd your ears against
The general suit of Home ; never admitted
A private whisper, no, not with such friends
That thought them sure of you.

Cor. This last old man,

Whom with a crack'd heart I have sent to Eome,
Lov'd me above the measure of a father ;
Nay, godded me, indeed. Their latest refuge
Was to send him ; for whose old love I have
(Though I show'd sourly to him) once more offer'd
The first conditions which they did refuse.
And cannot now accept, to grace him only
That thought he could do more ; a very httlc
I have yielded too : Fresh embassies, and suits.
Nor from the state, nor private friends, hereafter
Will I lend ear to. — Ha ! what shout is this ?

[^Shout within.
Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow
In the same time 't is made ? I will not. —

BiUer ViBGiLU, Volumnia, leading young Mah-

cius, Valeria, and Attendants.
My wife comes foremost;^ then the honour'd

mould
Wherein this trunk was fram'd, and in her hand
The grandchild to her blood. But out, affection !
All bond and privilege of nature break !
Let it be virtuous to be obstinate. —
What is that curtsy worth ! or those doves' eyes.
Which can make gods forsworn! — I melt, and

am not
Of stronger earth than others. — My mother

bows ;
As if Olympus to a molehill bhould
In suppUcation nod : and my young boy
Hath an aspect of intercession, which
Great nature cries, 'Deny not.' — Let tlic Volsces
Plough Rome, and harrow Italy : I 'il never
Be such a gosling to obey instinct ; but stand,
As if a man were author of himself.
And knew no otlier kin.

206

Vir. My lord and husband !

Cor. These eyes arc not the same I wore in
Rome.

Vir. The sorrow that delivers us thus chaug'd
Makes you think so.

Cor. Like a dull actor now,

I have forgot my part, and I am out.
Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh,
Eorgivc my tyranny ; but do not say,
For tiuit, 'Forgive our Romans.' — O, a kiss
Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge !
Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss
I carried from thcc, dear, and my true lip
Hath virgin'd it e'er since. — You gods ! I

prate,*
And the most noble mother of the world
Leave unsaluted : Sink, my knee, i' the earth ;

\Knecls.
Of thy deep duty more impression show
Thau that of common sons.

Vol. 0, stand up bless'd !

Whilst, Anth no softer cushion than the flint,
I kneel before thee ; and unproperly
Show duty, as mistaken all this whUc
Between the child and parent. \Kncels

Cor. What is this ?

Your knees to me ? to your corrected son ?
Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach
Fillip the stars ; then let the mutinous winds
Stiike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery sun ;
Murd'ring impossibility, to make
What cannot be, slight work.

Vol. Thou ai't my warrior ;

I holp'' to frame thee. Do you know this
lady?

Cor. The noble sister of Publicola,
The moon of Rome ; chaste as the icicle,
That 's curded by the frost from purest snow.
And hangs on Dian's temple : Dear Valeria !

Vol. This is a poor epitome of yours.
Which by the interpretation of full time
May show like all yourself.

Cor. The god of soldiers,

With the consent of supreme Jove, infonn
Thy thoughts with nobleness ; that thou mayst

prove
To shame iuvuhierable, and stick i' the wars
Like a great sea mark, standing every flaw.
And saving those that eye thee !

Vol. Your knee, sirrah.

Cor. That 's my brave boy.

Vol. Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself.
Arc suitors to you.

» Prate. The original has pray. Wc owe the correction
to Theobald,
b Jlolp. In the original hope. Pope made the correctiou.

Act v.]

COEIOLAmJS.

[SCESE III.

Cor. I beseech you, peace :

Or, if you'd ask, remember this before, —
The things I have forsworn to grant may never
Be held by you denials. Do not bid me
Dismiss my soldiers, or capitidate
Again Mith Rome's mechanics : — Tell me not
AVherein I seem unnatural : Desire not
To allay my rages and revenges witli
Your colder reasons.

Fol. O, no more, no more !

You have said you wiU not grant us anything ;
For we have nothing else to ask but that
"WTiich you deny already : Yet we wiU ask ;
That, if you fail in our request, the blame
May hang upon your hardness ; therefore hear
us.
Cor. Aufidius, and you Yolsces, mark ; for
we'U
Hear nought from Rome ui private. — Your re-
quest ?
Fol. Shoidd we be silent and not speak, our
raiment
And state of bodies would bewray what life
We have led since thy exile. Think with thy-
self
How more unfortunate than all living women
Are we come hither : siuce that thy sight, which

should
Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with

comforts.
Constrains them weep, and shake with fear and

sorrow ;
Making the mother, wife, and child, to see
The son, the husband, and the father, tearing
His country's bowels out. And to poor we
Thine enmity 's most capital : thou barr'st us
Our prayers to the gods, wliich is a comfort
That all but we enjoy : For how can we,
Alas ! how can we for our country pray.
Whereto we are bound j together with thy

victory,
WTiereto we are bound ? Alack ! or we must

lose
The country, our dear nurse; or else thy per

son,
Our comfort iu the country. We must find
An evident calamity, though we had
Our wish, which side should win : for eithei-

thou
Must, as a foreign recreant, be led
With manacles through our streets, or else
Triumphantly tread on thy country's ruin ;
And bear the palm, for having bravely shed
Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, sou,
[ purpose not to wait on fortune till

These wars deiermine:^ if I cannot persuade

thee
Rather to show a noble grace to both paiis
Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner
March to assault tliy country than to tread
(Trust to't, thou shalt not) on thy mother's

womb.
That brought thee to this world.

Fir. Ay, and mine.

That brought you forth this boy, to keep your

name
Living to time.

Boy. A' shall not tread on me ;

I'll run away till I am bigger, but then I'l!
fight.
Cor. Not of a woman's tenderness to be.
Requires nor child nor woman's face to see.
1 have sat too long. [Rising.

J'ol. Nay, go not from us thus.

If it were so that our request did tend
To save the Romans, thereby to destroy
The Voices whom you serve, you might con-
demn us,
As poisonous of your honour : No ; our suit
Is that you reconcile them : while the A^olces
May say, 'This mercy we have show'dj' the

Romans,
' This we receiv'd ; ' and each in either side
Give the all-hail to thee, and cry, ' Be bless'd
For making up this peace!' Thou know'st,

great son.
The end of war 's uncertain ; but this certain.
That if thou conquer Rome, the benefit
Which thou shalt thereby reap is such a name,
Whose repetition will be dogg'd with curses ;
Whose chronicle thus writ,— 'The man was

noble.
But with his last attempt he wip'd it out ; _
Destroy'd his country ; and his name remains
To the eusuiug age abhorr'd.' Speak to me, son :
Thou hast affected the fine strains of honour.
To imitate the graces of the gods ;
To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' the air,
And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt
That should but rive an oak. Why dost not

speak?
Think'st thou it honourable for a noble man
Still to remember wrongs ?— Daughter, speak you :
He cai-es not for your weeping. Speak thou,

boy :
Perhaps thy childishness will move hun more
Than can our reasons.— There is no man iu the
world

a Determine— coxae to an end.

207

Acv v.]

COKIOLANUS.

[Scene iV

More bound to his motker ; vet here ho lets me

prate,
Like one i' the stocks. Thou hast never m thy

life
Show'd thy dear mother any courtsey ;
Wiien she, (poor hen !) fond of no second brood,
lias cluck'd thee to the ■wars, and safely home,
Loaden with honour. Sav, my request's unjust,
And spurn me back : But, if it be not so,
Thou art not honest ; and the gods will plague

thee.
That thou restrain'st from me the duty which
To a mother's part belongs. — He turns away :
Down, ladies ! lot us shame him with our

knees.
To his surname Coriolanus 'longs more pride
Than pity to our prayers. Down : An end :
This is the last :— So we will home to Rome,
And die among our neighbours. — Nay, behold

us :
Tliis boy, that cannot tell what he would have.
But kneels, and holds up hands, for fellowship.
Does reason our petition with more strength
Than thou hast to deny't. — Come, let us go :
This fellow had a Volscian to his mother;
His wife is in Corioli, and his child
Like him by chance : — Yet give us our despatch :
I am husird until our city be afire,
And then I '11 speak a little.

Cor. mother, mother !

[Holding VoLUMSiA by the hands, silent.

What have you done ? Behold, the heavens do

ope.
The gods look down, and this unnatural scene
They laugh at. my mother, mother ! !
You have won a happy victory to Eome :
But, for your son, — believe it, 0, believe it.
Most dangerously you have with him prevail d,
If not most mortal to him. But, let it come ; —
Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars,
I'll frame convenient peace. Kow, good Au-
fidius,
Were you in my stead, would you have heard
A mother less ? or granted less, Aufidius ?
Auf. I was mov'd ^vithal.
Cor. I dare be sworu you were :

And, sir, it is no little thing to make
Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good sir,
"What peace you '11 make, advise me : for my

part,
1 11 not to Rome, 1 '11 back with you ; and pray

you,
Stand to me in this cause. — O mother ! wife !
Ah/. I am glad thou hast set thy mercy and

thy honour

208

At dilTcrence in thee : out of that 1 '11 work
^Myself a former fortune. [Aside.

[TAe Ladies make signs to Coriolanus.
Cor. Ay, by and by ;

[To VOLUMNIA, VlKGILIA, ^C.

But we will drink together ; and you shall bear
A better witness back than words, which we,
Oq like conditions, will have counter-seal'd.
Come, cuter with us. Ladies, you deserve
To have a temple built you : all the swords
In Italy, and her confederate arms.
Could not have made this peace. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.— Rome. A public Place.

Enter Menenius and Sicinius.

Men. See you yond' coign o' the Capitol ;
yond' corner stone ?

Sic. AA'hy, what of that ?

Men. If it be possible for you to displace it
with your little finger, there is some hope the
ladies of Rome, especially his mother, may pre-
vail with him. But I say there is no hope in 't ;
cm- throats are sentenced, and stay upon execu-
tion.

Sic. Is 't possible that so short a time can alter
the condition of a man ?

Men. There is difiercucy between a grub and
a buttei-fly; yet your butterfly was a grub.
This Marcius is grown from man to dragon : he
has wings ; he 's more than a creeping thing.
- Sic. He loved his mother dearly.

Men. So did he me : and he no more remem-
bers his mother now than an eight year old
horse. The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes.
When he walks, he moves like an engine, and
tlic ground shrinks before his treading. He is
able to pierce a corslet with his eye ; talks like a
knell, and his hum is a battery. He sits in his
state, as a thing made for Alexander. Wliat he
bids be done is finished with his bidding. He
wants nothing of a god but eternity, and a heaven
to throne in.

Sic. Yes, mercy, if you report him truly.

Men. I paint him in the character. Mark
what mercy his mother shall brag from him :
There is no more mercy in him than there is
milk in a male tiger ; that shall our poor city
find : and all this is 'long of you.

Sic. The gods be good unto us !

Men. No, in such a case the gods will not bo
good unto us. AVhen we banished him we
respected not them : and he returning to break
our necks, they respect not us.

Act v.]

COEIOLANUS.

fSCiNi! V.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Sir, if you 'd save your life, fly to your
bouse ;
Tlie plebeians bave got your feUow-tribune,
And bale bim up and down ; all swearing, if
Tbe Roman ladies bring not comfort bome,
Tbey '11 give bim deatb by incbes.

Enter another Messenger.

Wbat 's tbe news ?
news : — Tbe ladies

Sic.

Mess. Good news, good
bave prevail' d,
Tbe Voleians are dislodg'd, and Marcius gone :
A merrier day did never yet greet Rome,
No, not tbe expulsion of tbe Tarquins.

Sif^- Friend,

Art tbou certain tbis is tnie? is it most certain?

Mess. As certain as I know tbe sun is fire :
Wbere bave you lurk'd, tbat you make doubt

of it?
Ne'er tbrougb an arcb so bm-ried tbe blown tide,
As tbe recomforted tbrougb tbe gates. Wby,
bark you !
\Trumpets and hautboys sounded, and drums
beaten, all together. Shouting also within.
Tbe trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries, and fifes,
Tabors, and cymbals, and tbe sbouting Romans,
Make tbe sun dance. Hark you !

\_Shonting again.
Men. Tbis is good news :

I will go meet the ladies. Tbis Volumnia
Is wortb of consuls, senators, patricians,
A city full ; of tribunes such as you
A sea and land full : You bave pray'd weU to-
day;
Tbis morning, for ten thousand of your tbroats
I'd not bave given a doit. Hark, bow tbey joy '.

[Shouting and music.
Sic. First, tbe gods bless you for their tidings :
next,
Accept my thankfulness.

3Iess. Sir, we bave all

Great cause to give great thanks.
Sic. Tbey are near the city ?

Mess. Almost at point to enter.
Sic. We wiU meet them.

And help tlie joy. [Going,

Enter the Ladies, accompanied by Senators,
Patricians, and People. They pass over the
Stage.

1 Sen. Behold our patroness, tbe life of Rome :
Call aU your tribes together, praise the gods.
And make triumphant fires; strew flowers be-
fore them :

Tragedies. — Vol. II. P

Unsbout the noise tbat bauish'd Marcius,
Repeal him with the welcome of bis mother ;
Cry, — Welcome, ladies, welcome ! —
All. Welcome, ladies, welcome !

[AJlourish with druMS and trumpets.

[Exeunt.

SCENE v.— Antium. A public Place.

Enter Tullus Aufidius, with Attendants.

Auf. Go tell tbe lords of the city I am here :
Deliver them this paper : having read it,
Bid them repair to the market-place ; wbere T,
Eveu in theirs and in the commons' ears,
Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse
The city ports by this bath enter'd, and
Intends to appear before the people, hoping
To purge himself with words : Dispatch.

[Exeunt Attendants.

Enter Three or Four Conspirators of Aufidius'

faction.
Most welcome !

1 Con. How is it with our general ?

Auf. Even so

As \vitb a man by bis own alms empoison' d,
And with his charity slain.

2 Con. Most noble sii*.
If you do hold the same intent wherein
You -wish'd us parties, we '11 deliver you
Of your great danger.

Auf. Sir, 1 cannot tell ;

We must proceed as we do find the people.

3 Con. The people will remain uncertain

whilst
'T wdxt you there 's difference ; but tbe fall of

either
Maflces tbe survivor heir of all.

Auf. I know it ;

And my pretext to strike at bim admits
A good construction. I rais'd bun, and I pawn'd
Mine honour for his truth : Who being so heigbt-

en'd,
He water'd bis new plants with dews of flattery.
Seducing so my friends : and, to this end,
He bow'd his natui-e, never known before
But to be rough, unswayable, and free.

3 Con. Sir, his stoutness.
When be did stand for consul, which be lost
By lack of stooping, —

Auf That I would have spoke of .-

Being bauish'd for 't, be came unto my hearth ;
Presented to my knife his throat : I took liim ;
Made him joint-servant with me ; gave bim way
In aU his own desires ; nay, let him choose

Act v.]

COEIOL^mUS.

[SCESK V,

Out of my files, Lis projects to acconiplisli,
My best and freshest men ; scrv'd his desigu-

ments
In mine own person ; holp to reap the fame,
Which he did end all iiis ; and took some pride
To do myself this wrong : till, at the hist,
I seera'd his follower, not padncr; and
lie wag'd me with his countcuance, as if
I had been mercenary.

1 Con. So he did, my lord :

The army marvell'd at it. And, in the last.
When he had c;irried Rome; and that we look'd
For no less spoil than glory, —

Ah/. There was it ; —

For wliich my sinews shall be stretch'd upon him.
At a few drops of women's rhenm, which are
As cheap as lies, ho sold the blood and laboiu-
Of our great action : Therefore shall he die.
And 1 '11 renew me in his fall. But, hark !

\_Drums and trumpets sound, with great
shouts of the people.

1 Con. Youi" native town you euter'd like a

post,
And had no welcomes home ; but he returns
Splitting the air with noise.

2 Con. And patient fools.
Whose children he hath slain, their base throats

tear
With giving him glory.

3 Con. Therefore, at yom- vantage.
Ere he express himself, or move tlic people
AVith what he would say, let him feel your sword,
Which we will second. Wlien he lies along.
After your way his tale prouounc'd shall bm-y
His reasons with his body.

Auf. Say uo more ;

Here come the lords.

Enter the Lords of the City.

Tjords. You are most welcome home.

Auf. I have not deserv'd it ;

But, worthy lords, have you with heed penis'd
What I have written to you ?

Lords. We have.

1 Lord. And grieve to hear it.

"What faults he made before the last, I think,
Might have found easy fines : but there to end
Where he was to begin, and give away
The benefit of our levies, answermc us
With our own charge ; making a treaty where
There was a yielding, — this admits no excuse.

Auf. lie approaches ; you shall hear him.

Enter C'ORlOLAXfs, tcith drums and colours ; a
crowd of Citizens icith him.
Cor. Uail, lords! I am retuni'd your soldier;*

•J.O

No more infected with my country's love
Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting
Under your great command. You are to know,
That prosperously I have attempted, and
With bloody passage led your wars, even to
The gates of Itome. Our spoils we have brought

home
Do more tlian counterpoise, a full third part,
The charges of the action. AVe have made

peace.
With no less honour to the Autiates,
Than shame to the Romans: and we here deliver.
Subscribed by the consuls and patricians.
Together with the seal o' the senate, what
We have compounded on.

Auf. Read it not, noble lords ;

But tell tlie traitor, in the highest degree
He hath abus'd your powers.

Cor. Tnulor ! — How now ? —

Auf Ay, traitor, Marcius.

Cor. Marcius !

Aif. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius : Dost thou
think
I '11 grace tlice with that robbery, thy stol'n name
Coriolanus in Corioli ?

You lords and heads of the state, perfidiously
He has betray'd yom* business, and given up,
For certain drops of salt, your city Rome
(I say, your city) to his wife and mother :
Breaking his oath and resoluiion, like
A twist of rotten silk ; never admitting
Counsel o' the war ; but at his nurse's tears
He whin'd and roar'd away your victory ;
That pages blush'd at him, and men of heart
Look'd wondering each at other.

Cor. Hear'st thou. Mars ?

Auf. Name not the god, thou boy of tears,—

Cor. . Ha !

Jjf. No more.

Cor. Measureless liar, thou hast made my
heart
Too great for what contains it. Boy ! O slave! —
Pardon me, lords, 't is the first time that ever
I was forc'd to scold. Your judgments, my

grave lords.
Must give this cui* the lie : and his own notion
(Who wears my stripes impress'd on him, that

must bear
My beating to his grave) shall join to thrust
The lie unto him.

1 Lord. Peace, both, and hear me speak.

Cor. Cut me to pieces, Volsccs; men and lads,
Stain all youi* edges on me. — Boy ! False hound !
If you have \vrit youi- annals true, 't is there.
That, like an eagle in a dove-cote, I

AiT v.]

CORIOLANUS.

Sceml V.

Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioii:
Alone I did it. — Boy !

Aiif. Why, noble lords,

Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune,
Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart.
Tore your own eyes and ears ?

Con. Let him die for 't.

\_Several speak at once.

at. [Speaking promiscuousli/.'] Tear him to
pieces, do it presently. He killed my son ; — my
daughter ; — He killed my cousin Marcus ; — He
killed my father. —

2 Lord. Peace, ho ! — no outrage ; — peace !
The mau is noble, and his fame folds in
This orb o' the earth. His last offences to us
Shall have judicious'* hearing.— Stand, Aufldius,
And trouble not the peace.

Cor. 0, that I had him,

With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe,
To use my lawful sword !

Auf. Insolent villain !

Con. Km, kill, kill, kill, kill him !

[AuFiDiTJS and the Conspirators draw, and
kill CoRiOLANUS, who falls, and Atji'I-
DIXJS stands on him.

lA)rds. Hold, hold, hold, hold !

Auf. My noble masters, hear me speak.

1 Lord. O Tullus,—

2 Lord. Thou hast done a deed whereat

valour will weep.

a yKdJcioui— judicial.

3 Lord. Tread not upon him. — Masters all,
be quiet ;
Put up your swords.

Auf. My lords, when you shall know (as in
this rage,
Provok'd by him, you cannot) the great danger
"\Yliich this man's life did owe you, you 'U rejoice
That he is thus cut off. Please it your honours
To call me to your senate, I '11 deliver
Myself your loyal servant, or endure
Your heaviest censure.

1 Lord. Bear from hence his body,
And mourn you for him : let him be regarded
As the most uoble corse that ever herald

Did follow to his urn.

2 Lord. His own impatience
Takes from Aufldius a great part of blame.
Let 's make the best of it.

Atf. My rage is gone,

And I am struck with sorrow. — Take him up : —
Help, three o' the chiefest soldiers; I'll be

one. —
Beat thou the dnim that it speak mournfully :
Trail your steel pikes. — Though in this city he
Hath widow'd and unchilded many a one,
Which to this hour bewail the injury.
Yet he shall have a noble memory.
Assist.

[Exeunt, bearing the body of CoRIOLA^■us.
./ dead march sounded.

[lloman Tomb and Fragments. J

<=!rC«:#r

J' I'ebbles on the hungry beach.']

ILLUSTRATIONS OF ACT Y

' Scene I. — " He would not seem to know me."

We continue our extracts from North's ' Plutarch : '
" So they all agreed together to send ambassadors
unto him, to let him understand how his country-
men did call him home again, and restored him to
all his goods, and besought him to deliver them
from this war. The ambassadors that were sent
were Martius's familiar friends and acquaintance,
who looked at the least for a courteous welcome of
him, as of their familiar friend and kinsman. How-
beit they found nothing less ; for, at their coming,
they were brought through the camp to the place
where he was set in his chair of state, with a mar-
vellous and an unspeakable majesty, having the
chiefest men of the Voices about him : sn he com-
manded them to declare openly the cause of their
coming, which they delivered in the most humble
and lowly words they possibly could devise, and
with all modest countenance and behaviour agree-
able to the same. When they had done their mes-
sage, for the injury they had done him he answered
them very hotly and in great choler ; but as general
of the Voices, ho willed them to restore imto the
Voices all their lands and cities they had taken
from them in former vr.irs ; an' i , moreover, that they
should give thcni the like honour and freedom of
Rome as they had before given to the Latins. For
otherwi.ac they had no other mean to end this wars
if they did not grant these honest and just condi-
tions of peace."
212

- Scene III. — " My wife comes foremost."

"She took her daughter-in-law, and Martius's
children, with her, and, being accompanied with all
the other Roman ladies, they went in troop toge-
ther imto the Voices' camp ; whom, when they saw,
they of themselves did both i^ity and reverence her,
and there was not a man among them that once
durst say a word unto her. Now was Martins set
then in his chair of state, with all the honours of a
general, and when lie had spied the women coming
afar off, he marvelled what the matter meant; but
afterwards, knowing his wife which came foremost,
he detei-mined at the first to persist in his obstinate
and inflexible rancour. But, overcome in the end
with natural affection, and being altogether altered
to see them, his heart would not serve him to tany
their coming to his chair, but, coming down in ha.ste,
he went to meet them, an<l first he kissed his mo-
ther, and embraced her a pretty while, then his
wife and little children ; and nature so wrought with
him that the tears fell from his eyes, and he could
not keep himself froni making much of them, but
yielded to the affection of his blood, as if he had
been violently carried with the fury of a most swift
running stream. After he had thus lovingly re-
ceived them, and perceiving that his mother Vo-
lumnia would begin to speak to him, he called the
chiefest of the council of tbe Voices to hear what
she would say. Then she spake in this sort : — ' If
wo held our peace (my son), and determined not to

COEIOLANUS.

speak, the state of oui* poor bodies, and present
sight of otir raiment, would easily betray to thee
what life we have led at home, since thy exile and
abode abroad ; but think now with thyself, how
much more unfortunate than all the women living
we are come hither, considering that the sight
which should be most pleasant to all other to
behold, spiteful Fortune hath made most fearful to
us ; making myself to see my son, and my daughter
here her husband, besieging the walls of his native
country ; so as that which is the only comfort to
all other in their adversity and misery, to pray unto
the gods, and to call to them for aid, is the only
thing which plungeth us into most deep perplexity.
For we cannot (alas !) together pray both for vic-
tory to our country, and for safety of thy life also ;
but a world of grievous curses, yea, more than any
mortal enemy can heap upon us, are forcibly wrap-
ped up in our prayers. For the bitter sop of most
hard choice is offered thy wife and children, to
forego one of the two — either to lose the person
of thyself, or the nurse of their native country.
For myself, my son, I am determined not to tarry
till fortune in my lifetime do make an end of this
war. For if I cannot persuade thee rather to do
good unto both parties, than to overthrow and
destroy the one, i:)referring love and nature before
the malice and calamity of wai's, thou shalt see,
my son, and trust unto it, thou shalt no sooner
march forward to assault thy country, but thy
foot shall tread upon thy mother's womb, that
brought thee first into this world. And I may not
defer to see the day, either that my sou be led
prisoner in triumph by his natural countiymen, or
that he himself do triumph of them and of his
natural country. For if it were so that my request
tended to save thy country in destroying the
Voices, I must confess thou wouldst hardly and
doubfuUy resolve on that. For as to destroy thy
natural country, it is altogether unmeet and un-
lawful ; so were it not just, and less honourable,
to betray those that put their trust in thee. But
my only demand consisteth to make a gaol-de-
liveiy of all evils, which delivereth equal benefit
and safety both to the one and the other, but most
honourable for the Voices. For it shall appear
that, having victory in their hands, they have of
special favour granted us singular graces, peace,
and amity, albeit themselves have no less part of
both than we ; of which good, if so it come to
pass, thyself is the only author, and so hast thou
the only honour. But if it fail, and fall out con-
trary, thyself alone deservedly shall carry the
shameful reproach and burden of either party ; so,
though the end of war be uncertain, yet this not-
withstanding is most certain, — that, if it be thy
chance to conquer, this benefit shalt thou reap of
thy goodly conquest, to be chronicled the plague
and destroyer of thy country. And if fortune
overthrow thee, then the world will say, that
through desire to revenge thy private injuries, thou
hast for ever imdone thy good friends, who did
most lovingly and courteously receive thee.' Mar-
tins gave good ear unto his mother's words, without
interrupting her speech at all, and, after she had
said what she would, he held his peace a pretty
while, and answered not a word. Hereupon she
began again to speak unto him, and said — ' My sou,
why dost thou not answer me ? dost thou think it

good altogether to give place unto thy choler and
desire of revenge, and thinkest thou it not honesty
for thee to gi-ant thy mother's request in so weighty
a cause ? dost thou take it honourable for a noble
man to remember the wrongs and injuries done
him, and dost not, in like case, think it an honest
noble man's part to be thankful for the goodness
that parents do show to their children, acknow-
ledging the duty and reverence they ought to bear
unto them ? No man living is more bound to show
himself thankful in all parts and respects than
thyself, who so universally showestall ingratitude.
Moreover, my son, thou hast sorely taken of thy
country, exacting grievous payments upon them iu
revenge of the injuries offered thee ; besides, thou
hast not hitherto showed thy poor mother any
courtesy, and therefore it is not only honest, but
due unto me, that, without compulsion, I should
obtain my so just and reasonable request of thee.
But since by reason I cannot persuade .thee to it,
to what fiurpose do I defer my last hope ? ' And
with these words, herself, his wife and children, fell
down upon their knees before him. Martius, seeing
that, could refrain no longer, but went straight
and lift her up, crying out, ' Oh, mother, what have
you done to me ? ' And, holding her hard by the
right hand, ' Oh, mother,' said he, ' you have won
a happy victory for your country, but mortal and
unhappy for your son ; for I see myself vanquished
by you alone.' These words being .spoken openly,
he spake a little apart with his mother and wife,
and then let them return again to Rome, for so
they did request him ; and so, remaining in camp
that night, the nest morning he dislodged, and
marched homeward into the Voices' country
again."

^ Scene V.—" Hail, lords I I am, retunCd your
soldier."

" Xow, when Martius was returned again into the
city of Antium from his voyage, Tullus, that hated
and could no longer abide him for the fear he had
of his authority, sought divers means to make him
away, thinking that, if he let slip that present time,
he should never recover the like and fit occasion
again. Wherefore Tullus, having procured many
other of his confederacy, required ^lartius might be
deposed from his estate, to render up account to the
Voices of his charge and government. Martius,
fearing to become a private man again, under Tullus,
being general (whose authority was greater, other-
wise, than any other among all the Voices), an-
swered — he was willing to give up his charge, and
would resign it into the hands of the lords of the
Voices if they did all command him, as by all
their commandment he received it ; and, more-
over, that he would not refuse even at that present
to give up an account imto the people, if they would
tarry the heai-ing of it. The people hereupon called
a common council, iu which assembly there were
certain orators appointed, that stirred up the com-
mon people against him : and when they had told
their tales, Martius rose up to make them answer.
Now, notwithstanding the mutinous people made a
marvellous great noise, yet, when they s;iw him, for
the reverence they bare unto his valiantness they
quieted themselves, and gave him audience to al-
lege with leisure what he could for his purgation.

213

ILLUSTRATIONS OF ACT V.

Moreover, the houestest nieu of the Antiates, and
who most rejoiced in peace, showed by their coun-
tenance that they would hear him willingly, and
judge also according to their conscience. Where-
iipon Tulhis, fearing that if he did let him speak
he would jrove his innocency to the j^cople, be-
cause, amongst other things, he had an eloquent
tongue ; besides that, the first good service he had
done to the people of the Voices, did win him more
favour than these last accusations could purchase
him displeasure; and furthermore, the offence they
laid to his charge was a testimony of the good will
they ought him ; for they would never have
'iiought he had done them wrong for that he

took not the city of Rome, if they had not been
very near taking of it by means of his approach
and conduction ; — for these causes, Tullus thought
he might no longer delay his pretence niKl enter-
prise, neither to tairy for the mutining and rising
of the common people against him : wherefore
those that were of the conspiracy began to cry
out that he was not to be heard, and that they
would not suffer a traitor to usurp tyrannical
power over the tribe of the Voices, who would not
yield up his state and authority. And in saying
these words they all fell upon him, and liilled him
in the market-place, .none of the people once of-
ferine: to rescue him."

LK>mMe as Coriolnnns.]

t !

•I ■

li
i\

[llonicin Standard r.earers.]

INTRODUCTOEY NOTICE.

Stath of the Text, and Chronology, op Julius Caesar.

' The Tragedy of Julius Cfesar' was first printed iu the folio collection of 1623. This play, as well
as Coriolanus, and Antony and Cleopatra, was entered in the Stationers' registers amongst those
copies " not formerly entered to other men. ' The text is divided into acts ; and the stage directions
are full and precise. Taken altogether, we know no play of Shakspere's that presents so few
difficulties arising out of inaccui'acies in the original edition. There are some half-dozen passages
in which there are manifest typographical errox's, such as occur in every modern book, even when
it is printed under the eye of the author. There are one or two others in which we can scarcely
venture to make alteration, although it is pretty manifest that error does exist. For example
in the second act, Brutus, addressing Conspiracy, says —

" Wliere wilt thou find a cavern dark enough
To mask thy monstrous visage? Seek none, Conspiracy ;
Hide it in smiles, and affability:
For if thou path, thy native semblance on," &c.

Johnson explains this, " If thou walk in thy true form." Coleridge says, " Surely, there need
be no scruple in treating this path as a mere misprint or misscript for put." We are inclined to
agree with him, for fxUte might be easily mistaken for pathe ; but we do not alter the passage, for

21?

INTRODUCTORY NOTICE

there is a menning in it as it sUukIs. On the contrary, when Cxsar says that the couchings
Cimber might

■ Turn pro-ordinanrc and first decree
Into the law of children,

we reject the laru of the original as clearly wrong.

lu the Introductory Notice to Coriolanua we expressed our opinion that the entry in the Stationers'
registers in 1608 of ' a book called Anthony and Cleopatra' did not determine the date of Shakepere's
tragedy; for the proprietors of the folio enter that tragedy in 1C23 as "not formerly entered." There
was a careful avoidance of publishing any of Shakspero's dramas after 1603. What were published
were piratically obtained. We believe the 'Anthony and Cleopatra' entered in 1608 was some other
work. Malone has very sensibly remarked that there are passages in Shakspere's Antouj and
Cleopatra which appear to discover " such a knowledge of the appropriated characters of the pereons
exhibited in Julius Caesar, and of the events there dilated and enlarged upon, as Shakspcre would
necessarily have acquired from having previously -written a play on that subject." The passages do
not BO much point to the general historical notion of the characters as to the poet's own mode of
treating them. This would imjily that the play of Julius Cresar had preceded that of Antony and
Cleopatra. But there is nothing to lis the exact time when either of them was written. We believe
that they were amongst the latest works of Shakspere.

Sdi'poeed Source ov tds Tlot.

We have given, as Illustrations to each act, very full extracts from North's translation of Plutarch.
Shakspere is to be traced in each of the three lives of Julius Ctcsar, Autonius, and Brutus ; and we
have selected those passages from the several narratives of the same events which appear to have
furnished the poet with the fullest materials.

SCENEiB.

We are indebted to Mr. A. Poynter for six designs for this tragedy. The principle by which Mr.
Poynter haq been guided in making these drawings is thus explained by himself in a note to the
editor : — " Augustus foimd Rome of brick and left it of marble. I am inclined to think it would
be an ungrateful task to illustrate the Home of brick : — the attempt would produce nothing either
true or interesting. I propose, therefore, to give the Forum, the Capitol, &c., not as scenes but as
illuttralions, and to represent them as tbey actually were some two centuries later."

218

Juomaii Soldier'i,^

Costume.

From the reign of Augustvis downwards innumerable authorities exist for the civil and military costume
of the Romans; but before that period much obscurity remains to be dispersed, notwithstanding the
labours of many learned men.

Tarquinius Priscus, the fifth King of Rome, an Etruscan by birth, introduced among the Romans
many of the manners and habits of his native country. He first distinguished the senators and
magistrates by particular robes and ornaments, surroimded the axes carried before great public
functionaries with bundles of rods (fasces), and established the practice of triumphing in a golden car
drawn by four horses. The toga pura, prastexta, and picta, the trabea, the paludamentum, the tunica
palmata, and the curule chairs, were all derived from the Etruscans, and from the Greeks and
Etruscans the early Romans borrowed also their arms, both offensive and defensive. Polybius extols
the readiness of the Romans in adopting such foreign customs as were preferable to their own. It is
therefore, amongst Grecian and Etrurian remains that we must look for the illustration of such points
as are still undecided respecting the habits of the Romans during the commonwealth, and not on the
columns and arches of the emperors, which may almost be termed the monuments of another nation.
The date assigned to the death of Caius Marcius Coriolanus is B.C. 488. Julius Ccesar was assassinated
B.C. 44. During four hundred years little alteration took place in the habiliments of the Romans, and
the civil and military dress of the earher play may, with very few exceptions, be worn by similar
personages in the other, and exhibit together the most particular drcses in use during the whole
period of the republic.

219

INTRODUCTORY NOTICE.

The civil dress of the higher classes amongst the ancient Romans consistdl of a woollen tunic, ovei
which, in public, was worn the toga. The toga was also of wool, and its colour, during the earlier
ages, of its o\vn natural yellowish hue. It was a robe of honour, which the common people were
not permitted to wear, and it was laid aside in times of mourning and public calamities. The
form of the toga has been a hotly-contested point; Dionysius of Halicamassus says it was semicircular;
and an ingenious foreigner,* who devoted many years to the inquiry, has practically demonstrated
that, though not perfectly semicircular, its shape was such as to be better described by that term than
any other.

The Roman tunic was of different lengths, according to the caprice of the wearer; but long
tunics were deemed effeminate during the time of the republic. Cicero, speaking of the luxury of
Catiline's companions, says they wore tunics reaching to their heels, and that their togas were as
large as the sails of a ship. Some wore two or more tunics ; the interior one, which held the place
of the modern shirt, was called intcrula or suhucida. The subucula of Augustus was of wool,
according to Suetonius; and there does not appear any proof that linen was used for this garment
by men before the time of Alexander Severus, who, according to Lampridius, was particularly fond
of fine linen. Women, however, appear to have generally used it, for Van-o mentions, as an
extraordinary circumstance, that it had long been the custom of the females of a particular Roman
family not to wear linen garments.

The common people wore over their tunics a kind of mantle or surtout, called lacerna, which was
fastened before with a buckle, and had a hood attached to it {cucidlus). It was generally made of
wool, and dyed black or brown. In the time of Cicero it was a disgrace for a senator to adopt such
a habit ; but it was afterwards worn by the higher orders. The luThus was a similar vestment,
also with a hood, but usually of a red colour. "When travelling, the heads of the higher classes were
generally covered by the petasus, a broad-brimmed hat, which they had borrowed from the Greeks.
The common people wore the pileiis, a conical cap, which was also the emblem of liberty, because it
was given to slaves when they were made fi'ee.f

Various kinds of covering are mentioned for the feet, and many were called by the Romans
calceus which are found under their own n.imes, as pei'o, mulleus, phajcasium, caliga, solea, crepida,
sandalium, baxea, &c. The caliga was the sandal of the Roman soldiei'y,+ such has had nails or
spikes at the .bottom. The pero is supposed by some to be the boot worn by the senators ; the
phtEcasium was also a kind of boot, covering the foot entirely. According to Appianus, it was of
white leather, and worn originally by the Athenian and Alexandrian i^riesthood at sacrifices : it was
worn in Rome by women and effeminate persons. Petronius, who wore it and called himself a soldier,
was asked by a legionary if in his army soldiers marched with the phoecasium : —

' Age vero, in exercitu vestro phscasiati milit»s ambulant ? "

The mulleus is described by Dion Cassius as coming up to the middle of the leg, though it did
not cover the whole foot, but only the sole, like a sandal : it was of a red colour, and originally
worn by the Alban kings.

The cothurnus, which Dion says it resembled both in colour and fashion, is described by Sidonius
ApoUinaris as having a ligature attached to the sole, which passed between the great and second
toes, and then divided into two bands. And Virgil tells us that it was worn by the Tyriau virgins.§

The armour of the Romans at the commencement of the republic consisted, according to Livy, of

• The late Mons. Combre, costumier to tlie Theatre Fr-inyais, Paris. This intelligent person, at the recommendation o(
Talma and Mr. Ch.irlcs Young, was engaged by Mr. Charles Kcnible, during his management of Covent Garden Theatre,
for the revival of Julius Caesar, and made th« beautiful togas which have since been worn in all the Roman plays at that
theatre,
t Vide Persius, Sat. 5, thus translated by Dryden : —

" What further can we from our caps receive, •

But as wc please without control to live? "
Suetonius (in Nero, cap. Ivii.) 8.-iys, " Mors Neronis tantum gaudiura publiciB prsebuit ut plebs pilcata tota urbe dis-
currcret."

I Hence Juvenal (Sat. IC) and Suetonius fin Augustus, 25) use the term caligali for tlie common soldiers, without the
addition of a substantive.

§ " Virpinibus Tyriis mos est gcstare pharetram,

Purjiureoque alte suras vincire cothurno.'— jCn. 2.
See many varieties of the mulleus and cothurnus in the paintings discovered at Ilcrculanxum.
tented wearing the cothurnus.

220

Diana is generally lepre-

JULIUS C^SAR.

the galea, the cassia, the clypeus, the ocrecB or greaves, and the lorica, all of brass. This was the
Etruscan attire, and introduced by Servius Tullius. The lorica, like the French cuirass, was so called
from having been originally made of leather. It followed the line of the abdomen at bottom, and
seems to have been impressed whilst wet with forms corresponding to those of the human body, and
this peculiarity was preserved in its appearance when it was afterwards made of metal. At top, the
square aperture for the throat was guarded by the pcctorale, a band or plate of brass; and the
shoidders were likewise protected by pieces made to slip over each other. The galea and cassis were
two distinct head-pieces originally, the former, like the loi-ica, being of leather, and the latter of metal :
but in the course of time the words were applied indifferently.*

Polybius has furnished us with a very minute account of the military equipment of the Eomans of
his time ; and it is from his description, and not from the statues, which have been generally con-
sidered as authorities, but which are in truth of a considerably later date, that we muit collect
materials for the military costume of the latter days of the republic.

He tells us then that the Roman infantry was divided into four bodies : the yoimgest men and of
the lowest condition were set apart for the light-armed troops {velites); the next in age were called
the haslati; the third, who were in their full strength and vigour, the principes ; and the oldest of
all were called triarii.f The velites were armed with swords, light javelins (a cubit and a span
in length), and bucklers of a circular foi-m, three feet in diameter; and they wore on their heads
some simple covering, like the skin of a wolf or other animal The hastati wore complete armour,
which consisted of a shield of a convex surface, two feet and a half broad and four feet or four feet
and a palm in length, made of two planks glued together, and covered, first with linen and then with
calves' skin, having in its centre a shell or boss of iron ; on their right thigh a sword, called the
Spanish sword, made not only to thrust but to cut with either edge, the blade remarkably firm and
strong; two piles or javelins, one stouter than the other, but both about six cubits long; a brazen
helmet; and greaves for the legs. JJpon the helmet was worn an ornament of three upright
feathers, either black or red, about a cubit in height, which, being placed on the very top of their
heads, made them seem much taller, and gave them a beautiful and terrible appearance. Their
breasts were protected by the pectorale of brass : but such as were rated at more than ten thousand
drachmae wore a ringed lorica. The principes and triarii were armed in the same manner as the
hastati, except only that the triarii carried pikes instead of javelins. The Roman cavalry, the same
author tells us, were in his time armed like the Greeks, but that, anciently, it was very different, for
they then wore no armour on their bodies, but were covered in the time of action with only an
under garment; they were thereby enabled certainly to mount and dismount with great facility,
but they were too much exposed to danger in close engagements. The spears, also, that were in
use amongst them in former times, were in a double respect unfit for service : first, as they were of
slender make, and always trembled in the hand, it was extremely difficult to direct them with any
certainty, and they were sometimes shaken to pieces by the mere motion of the horse ; and, secoudly,
the lower end not being armed with iron, they were formed only to strike with the point, and, when
broken with this stroke, became useless. Their bucklers were made of the hide of an ox, and in fonn
not unlike to the globular dishes which were used in sacrifices ; but these were also of too infirm
a texture for defence, and, when relaxed by weather, were utterly spoiled. Observing these defects,
therefore, they changed their weapons for those of the Greeks.

The siguiferi, or standard-bearers, seem to have been habited like their fellow-soldiers, with the
exception of the scalp and mane of a lion which covered then- heads and hung down on their
shoulders. The eagles of Brutus and Cassius were of silver. The lictors, according to Petronius,
wore white habits, and from the following passage of Cicero it would appear they sometimes
wore the saga, or paludameutum, aud sometimes a small kind of toga : — " Togulaj ad poi-tam
lictoribus praesto fuerunt quibua illi acceptis sagula rejecerunt." The fa.sces were bound with
purple ribbons. The axes were taken from them by Publicola ; but T. Lartius, the first dictator,
restored them. The augurs wore the frabca of purple and scarlet ; that is to say, dyed first with
one colour and then with the other. Cicero uses the word "dibaphus," twice dyed, for the

Vide Sir S. Meyiick's ' Crit. Inquiry,' Introduction.

Uonii
D. '/fo2.

Our tusinRss here is only with the dress of the soldiery ; but those who wish for further particulars respecting the
i; n legions will do well to consult Mons. le Beau's luminous account in the ' Acadeniie des Inscripticfls,' tome xxxv.

211

INTRODUCTORY NOTICE.

augural robe (Epist, Fam., lib. 12. IC); auJ iu another passage calls it "our purple," being himself
a member of the college of augurs. The shape of the aforesaid trabea is another puzzle for the
antiquiu-ies. Dionysius of Halicarnasaus says plainly enough that it only differed from the toga in
the quality of its stuff; but Kubeuius would make it appear from the lines of Virj^il —

•' I'arvaque sedcbat
Succinctus trabea." — .''En. " —

that it was shoi-t, and resembled the paludamentum, for which reason he says the salii (priests of
Mars), who are sometimes termed " trabcati," are called "paludati" by Festus.

The Roman women originally wore the toga as well as the men, but they soon abandoned it for the
Greek pallium, an elegant mantle, under which they wore a tunic descending in graceful folds to the
feet, called the stola.*

Another exterior habit was called the peplum, also of Grecian origin. It is very difl&cult, says
Montfaucon, to distinguish these habits one from the other. There was also a habit called crocota,
most probably because it was of a saffron colour, as we are told it was worn not only by the women,
but effeminate men, revellers, and buffoons.t

The fashions of ladies' head dresses changed aa often in those times as they do now. Vitta and
fascia, ribbons or hllcts, were the most simple and respectable ornaments for the hair. Ovid par-
ticularly mentions the former as the distinguishing badges of honest matrons and chaste virgins.t

The calantica was, according to some, a coverchief. Servius says the mitra was the same thing
as the calantica, though it anciently signified amongst the Greeks a ribbon, a fillet, a zone.§
Ajiother coverchief called flammeum, or flammeolum, was worn by a new-married female on the
wedding-day. According to Nonius, matrons also wore the flammeum, and TertuUian seems to
indicate that in his time it was a common ornament which Christian women wore also. The
caliendrum, mentioned by Horace (i. Sat. viii. 48), and aftenvards by Arnobius, was a round of
false hair which women added to their natural locks, in order to lengthen them and improve their
appearance. The Roman ladies wore bracelets {arniilla) of silver, or gilt metal, and sometimes
of pure gold, necklaces, and earrings. Pliny says, "they seek the pearl in the Red Sea, and the
emeralds in the depths of the earth. It is for this they pierce their ears." These earrings were
extremely long, and sometimes of so great a price, says Seneca, that " a pair of them would con-
sume the revenue of a rich house;" and again, that "the folly of them (the women) was such,
that one of them would carry two or three patrimonies hanging at her ears." Green and vei-mi-
lion were favourite colours, both ^vith Greek and Roman females. Such garments were called
"vestes herbidse," from the hue and juice of the herbs with which they were stained. The
rage for green and vermilion was of long duration, for Cyprian and TertuUian, inveighing against
luxury, name particularly those colours as most agreeable to the women; and Martian Capella,
who wrote in the fifth century, even says, "Floridam discoloremque vestem herbida palla con-
teiuerat." At banquets, and on joyful occasions, white dresses were made use of. || Among
the many colours in request with gentlewomen, Ovid reckons "albeutes rosaa" (de Ait. iii. v. 189);
and at v. 191 he says —

" .\lba decent fuscas : albis, es Cephei placebas."

In TibuUus we meet with the following passage : —

" Urit seu Tyria voluit procedere pillaj
Urit seu nivea caadida veste venit." — Eleg. iv. 2.

Having thus ^ven a sketch of the general costume of the Romans, we will proceed to notice

• " Ad talos stolaet demusa circumdata palla." — Horace, lib. i.. Sat. !, 99.

t Yellow was always considered effeminate amongst the Romans, and the votaries of pleasure are generally described
in it. See also a painting of vocal and instrumental performers found at Portici, A.D. 1701.

t " Estc procul vittae tenues insigne pudoris." — Mctain., lib. i., fab. 9.
And describing the chaste Daphne, he says,

" Vitta coercebat positos sine lege capUlos." — Met. lib. i.

§ " Unde mitram solvere quod metaphorice signiflcabat cum virgine coDcumberc." — .Montfaucon, Ant. £x;liq.
tome iii. p. -It.

1 Staekius, Ant. Con. IL 26.
222

JULIUS CJ^SAR

such peculiarities as are requisite to distinguish the dr:42i«,iis persona cf the Roman plays of
Shakspere.

The dress of the ancient Roman consuls consisted of the tunic, called from its ornament latidavian,
the toga pratexta (L e. bordered with purple), and the red sandals called mullei. Of all the disputed
points before alluded to, that which has occasioned the most controversy is the distinguishing mark of
the senatorial and equestrian classes.

The latus clavus is said to have been the characteristic of the magistrates and senators, and the
angustus clavus that of the equites or knights.

That it was a purple ornament we learn from Pliny * and Ovid ; but concerning its shape there
are almost as many opinions as there have been pages written on the subject, not one of the
ancients having taken the trouble to describe what to them was a matter of no curiosity, or by
accident dropped a hiut which "might serve as a clue to the enigma. Some antiquarians contend that
it was a round knob or naU with which the tunic was studded ah. over ; others that it was a flower ;
some that it was a fibula ; some that it was a ribbon worn like a modem order ; and others, again, that
it was a stripe of purple wove in or sewn on the tunic ; but these last are divided among themselves
as to the direction in which this stripe ran.f

The learned Pere Montfaucon, in his 'Antiquite ExpUquee p>ar les Figures,' observes that Lam-
pridius, in his ' Life of Alexander Severus,' says that at feasts napkins were used adorned with
scarlet clavi, " clavata cocco mantili-.u" These clavi were also seen in the sheets that covered the
beds on which the ancients lay to take their meals. Ammianus Marcellinus also tells us that a table
was covered with cloths so ornamented, and disposed in such a manner, that the whole appeared like
the habit of a prince.

Upon this Montfaucon ingeniously remarks, that, presuming the clavus to be a stripe or band of
purple running round the edges of these cloths, it would not be diificult by laying them one over the
other to show nothing but their borders, and thei-eby present a mass of pui-ple to the eye, which
might of course be very properly compared to the habit of a prince, but that this could not be
effected were the cloths merely studded with purple knobs, or embroidered with purple flowers, as
in that case the white ground must inevitably jippear. In addition to this, he observes that St. Basil,
in explanation of a passage in- Isaiah, says, he blames the luxury of women "who border their
garments with purple, or who insert it into the stuff itself;" and that St. Jerome, on the same
passage, uses the expression of " daiatum purpura."

Now, though these observations go some way towards proving the clavus to have been a band or
stripe (broad for the senators and narrow for the knights), we are as much in the dark as ever
i-especting the direction it took. It could not have hovdered the tunic, or surely, like that of the
Spaniards,^ it would have been called prsctexta (as the toga was when so ornamented). On the line
in Horace —

" Latum demisH pectore clavum." — Sat. 1, 6, 28 —

a commentator (Torreutius) says, "recto ordine descendebat insuti clavi vel intexti " — the clavi
sewn on, or woven into, the garment, descended in a right line ; but if he founded this conjecture
simply on the word " demisit," he did not recollect that the ornament gave its name to the garment,
and that the tunic itself ia repeatedly called the latus clavus by the ancient writers. Hoi-ace might,
therefore, merely allude to the tunic of the wearer hanging loosely and negligently down upon the
breast, an affectation of weaving it which is imputed to Julius Ca;sar. Nothing, in short, appears likely
to solve this difficulty but the discoveiy of some painting of Roman times, in which colour may afford
the necessary information.

Noble Roman youths wore the prtetexta, and the bulla, a golden ornament, which, from the rare
specimen in the collection of the late Samuel Rogers, we should compare to the case of what is called
a hunting- vvatch.§ It has generally been described as a small golden ball; but, imless the jne we

• Lib. 9, cap. xxxi.x.

t Those of our readers who would like to plunge into the depths of this unfathomable controversy are recommended to
a perusal of the essays of Kubenius and Ferrarius.

t Livy, speaking of the tunics of the Spaniards, says they were of a dazzling whiteness, and bordered with purple-" iV
tii pretextcc."

§ An exactly siruilar one is engraved in Montfaucon.

225

INTRODUCTORY NOTICE

liavo Been has been by accidout much compressed or flattened, wa eUould say they were not more
globular than an old-fasliionod watcL Macrobius says they were sometimes in the shape of a heait,
and that they frequently contained preservatives against envy, &c. On arriving at the age of
puberty, which was fourteen, youths abandoned the bulla, and exchanged the io>ja pvatcxta for the
toga pura, which was also called the "toga viniis," and "libera." — " virilis," iu allusion to the
period of life at which they had anived ; and libera, because at the same time, if they were
pupilii, they attained full power over their property, and were released from tutela. There is no
ascertaining the age of young Marcius, in the tragedy of Coriolanus; but as ho only appears in
the scene before the Volsciau camp when he is brought to supplicate his father, he phould wear
nothing but a black tunic, the toga and all ornaments being laid aside iu mourning and times of
public calamity.

Of Julius Cffisar we learn the followuig facts relative to his dress and personal appearance. Sue-
tonius tells us that he was tall, fair-complexioned, i-ound-limbed, rather full-faced, and with black
eyes ; that he obtained from the senate permission to wear constantly a laurel crown (Dion Cassius
Bays on account of his baldness); that he was i-eraarkable in his dress, wearing the laticlavian
tunic with sleeves to it, having gatherings about the wi-ist, and always had it girded rather loosely,
which latter circumstance gave origin to the esjiression of Sulla, " Beware of the loose-coated boy,"
or " of the man who is so ill girt.' Dion Cassius adds that he had also the right to wear a royal
robe in assemblies;* that he wore a i"ed sash and the calcei muUei even on ordinary days, to show
his descent from the Alban kings.f A statue of Julius Caesar, armed, is engraved in Rossi's
' Racolta di Statue Antiche e Moderne,' folio, Rome, 1704, pi. 15; also one of Octavianus, or
Augustus Coesar :— the latter statue having been once in the possession of the celebrated Marquis
Maffei. Octavius affected simplicity in his appearance, and humility in his conduct ; and, con-
sistently with this description, we find his armour of the plainest kind. His lorica, or cuirass, is
entirely without ornament, except the two rows of plates at the bottom. The thorax is i)artly
liidden by the paludamentum, which was worn by this emperor and by Julius Caesar of a much
larger size than those of his successors. Although he is without the cinctura, or belt, he holds in his
right hand the paragonium, a short sword, which, as the name imports, was fastened to it.

Suetonius tells us that Octavius was in height five feet nine inches, of a complexion between
brown and fair, his hair a little curled and inclining to yellow. He had clear bright eyes,
small cars, and an aquiline nose, — his eyebrows meeting. He wore his toga neither too scanty nor
too full, and the clavus of his tunic neither remarkably broad nor narrow. His shoes were a little
thicker in the jole than common, to make him appear taller than he was. In the winter he wore
a thick toga, four tunics, a shirt, a flannel stomacher, and wrappers on his legs and thighs. He
could not bear the winter's sun, and never walked in the open air without a broad-brimmed hat on
his head.

From the time of Caius Marius the senators wore black boots or buskins reaching to the middle of
the leg,i with the letter C in silver or ivory upon them, or rather the figure of a half-moon § or
crescent. II There is one engraved in Montfaucon, from the cabinet of P. Kircher. It was worn above
the heel, at the height of the ankle ; but this last honour, it is conjectured, was only granted to such
as were descended from the huutlred senators elected by Romulus.

In conclusion, it may not be amiss to say a few words respecting the purple of the ancients.
Gibbon says " it was of a dark cast, as deep as bulls' blood." — See also President Goguet's
' Origine des Loix et des Arts,' part ii. 1. 2, c. 2, pp. 184, 215. But there were several sorts of
purjile, and each hue was fashionable in its turn. "In my youth," says Cornelius Nepos (who

* Cicero alio says that Cssar sat in the rostra, in a purple toga, on a golden seat, crowned : " Sedebat in rostris coUega
tnus, aniictus toga purpurea, in sella aurea, coronatus." — Phil., 2, 34.

t Rubcniui thinks he wore the sleeved tunic for the saint reason, to show his descent, through those monarcU3, from
the Trojans, to whom Numanus objects, in Virgil, as a proof of their elTeminacy —

" Et tunica; luanicas et habent rediraicula mitrae." — yEn. 9, CIC.
I " Nam ut quisque insanus nigris medium impcdiit crus

Pellibus, et latum dcmisit pectore clavum." — Horace, i.. Sat. C, v. 27.
Hence also "calceos muiari," to become a senator, as they then exchanged one sort of chaussiire for anotbi.'r. — Cicero.
Phil. ziii. IS.
S Therefore called " Calcei /una/t."— Kubenius apud Philostratus.

i The crescent it teen upon the standards of the Roman centuries, probably to denote the number 100.
224

JULIUS C^SAR.

died during the reign of Augustus ; Pliny, ix. 39), " the violet purple was fashionable, and Eold
for a hundred denarii the pound. Some time afterwards the red purple of Tarentum came into
vogue, and to this succeeded the red Tyrian twice dyed, which was not to be bought under one
thousand denariL" Here, then, we ha%-e three sorts of purple worn during the life of one man.
The red purple is mentioned by Macrobius : he says the redness of the purple border of the toga
prsetexta was admonitory to those who assumed it to preserve the modesty of demeanour becoming
young noblemen ; and Virgil says that the sacrificing priest should cover his head with purple,
without noticing whether its hue be red or violet. Indeed, purple was a term applied indiscri-
minately by the ancients to every tint produced by the mixture of red and blue, and sometimes to
the pure coloui-s themselves. J. R. P.

I Plebeian

TaACJEDiES. —Vol. IT.

«i

■PV-.'

pehsoxs represented.

JULIDS C;E8AH.

OcTAVius CxsAR, Marcvs Antonius, M. /Emu..

Lepiuus; triumvirs after the death 0/ Julius Cxsar.
Cicero, Poblius, Popihus Lena; senators.
Marcus Urutus, Cassius, Casca, Trebonius, Lica-

Rius. Decius ISrutus, Metellus Cimrer. Cinna

conspirators against Julius Csesar.
Flavius and Marullis, tribunes.
Artemidorus, a sophist o/Ciiidos.
4 Soothsayer. CiS}i\, a poet. Another Poet.
LuciLics, TiTixius, Messala, young Cato, and

VoLUMNius; friends to Brutus and Cassius.
Varro, Clitus. Claudius, Strato, Lucius, Darda-

Nlis; servants to Brutu."!.
PiNDARUs, servant to Cassius.

Calpiiurnia ici/e <o Ca»sar.

ACT I.

SCENE I.— Rome. // Street.

Enter Flavius, Mahullxjs, and a rabble of
Citizens.

Flav. Hence; home, you idle creatures, get
you home ;
Is this a holiday ? Wliat ! know you not,
Being mechanical, you ought not walk,
Upon a labouring day, without the sign
Of your profession ? — Speak, what trade art thou?

1 at. Why, sir, a carpenter.

Mar. Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule ?
What dost thou with thy best apparel on ? —
You, sir ; what trade are you ?

2 at. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine work-
man, I am but, as you would say, a cobbler.

Mar. But what trade art thou ? Answer me

directly.
2 at. A trade, sir, that I hope I may use
with a safe conscience; \ihich is, indeed, sk, a
mender of bad soles.

Q 2

Flac. ''What trade, thou knave? thou naughty
knave, what trade ?

2 at. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out
with me: yet if you be out, sir, I can mend
you.

Mar. What meanest thou by that? Mend
me, thou saucy feUow ?

2 at. Why, sir, cobble you.

Flav. Thou art a cobbler, art thou ?

2 at. Truly, su-, all that I live by is with the
awl ; I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor
women's matters, but with ail.'' I am, indeed,
SU-, a sm-geon to old shoes ; when they are in
great danger, I recover them. As proper men

a We follow the folios in givinfr this speech to Flaviu?.
Capell assigns it to MaruUus, and he is generally followed.
We doubt whether it is correct to assume that only one
should take the lead; whereas it is clear that the dialogue is
more natural, certainly more dramatic, according to the ori-
ginal arrangement, where Flavins and MaruUus alternately
rate the people, like two smiths smiting on the same anvil.

ij With all.— The original has withal. Some editors write
with awl, oiTering an equivoque to the eye which is some-
what too palpable.

227

Act I.J

JULIUS CESAR.

[SCKNK II.

as ever trod upon ueat's-Ieatbcr Lave gone upon
my handiwork.

Fldv. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-
day?
"Why dost thou lead these men about the streets ?
2 at. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to
get myself into more work. But, indeed, sir, we
make holiday, to see Csesar, and to rejoice in his
triumph.

Mar. Wherefore rejoice? Wliat conquest
brings he home ?
What tributaries follow him to Rome,
To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels ?
You blocks, you stones, you worse than sense-
less things !
0, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome,
Knew you not Pompey ? ilany a time and oft
Have you climbed up to walls and battlements.
To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops,
Your infants in your arms, and there have sat
The livelong day, with patient expectation.
To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome :
And when you saw his chariot but appear.
Have you not made an universal shout.
That Tiber trembled underneath her banks.
To hear the replication of your sounds.
Made in her concave shores ?
And do you now put on your best attire ?
And do you now cidl out a holiday ?
And do you now strew flowers in his way.
That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood ?
Be gone !

Run to your houses, fall upon your knees.
Pray to the gods to intermit the plague
That needs must light on this ingratitude.
Flat. Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this
fault,
Assemble all the poor men of your sort;
Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears
Into the channel, till the lowest stream
Do kiss the most exalted shores of all.

[^Exeunt Citizens.
See, whe'r their basest metal be not mov'd ;
They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness.
Go you down that way towards the Capitol ;
This way will I : Disrobe the images.
If you do fmd them deek'd with ceremonies.

Mar. May we do so ?
You know it is the feast of Lupercal.

Flav. It is no matter ; let no images
Be himg with Caisar's trophies. I '11 about.
And drive away the vulgar from the streets :
So do you too, wlicrc you perceive them thick.
These growing feathers pluck'd from Caesar's

wmg

228

Will make him fly an ordinaiy pitch ;

Who else would soar above the view of men,

And keep us all in servile fearfuluess. [Exeunt.

SCENE U.—The same. A Public FImc

Enter, in procession, with music, Cesah; Antony,
for the course ; Caxphurnia, Poutia, Decius,
CiCEiio, Brutus, Cassius, and Casca, a great
crowd following ; among them a Soothsayer.

Cas. Calphumia, —

Casca. Peace, ho ! Casar speaks.

[Music ceases.
Cas. Calphumia, —

Cal. Here, my lord.

Cas. Stand you directly in Antonius' way.
When he doth run his course. — .(Vutonius, —
Ant. CfEsai', my loi"d.
Cas. Forget not, in your speed, Antonius,
To touch Calphumia : for our elders say,
The barren, touched in this holy chase.
Shake off their sterile curse.^

Ant. I shall remember

When Ca;sar says, * Do this,' it is perform'd.
Cas. Set on ; and leave no ceremony out.

[Music.
Sooth. Caesar.
Cas. Ha! Who calls?

Cas. Bid every noise be still: — Peace yet
again. [Music ceases.

Cas. Who is it in the press that calls on me ?
I hear a tongue, striller than all the music,
Cry, Caesar : Speak ; Caesar is tum'd to hear.
Sooth. Beware the ides of March.
Cas. What man is that ?

Bru. A soothsayer bids you beware the ides

of !March.
Cas. Set him before me ; let me see his face.
Cas. Fellow, come from the tlirong: Look

upon Caesar.
Cas. What say'st thou to me now? Speak

once again.
Sooth. Beware the ides of March.*
Cas. He is a dreamer; let tis leave him; —
pass.

[Senet. Exeunt all but Bru. and Cas.
Cas. Will you go see the order of the course?^
Bru. Not I.
Cas. I pray you do.

Bru. I am not gamesome: I do lack some
part
Of that quick spirit that is in Antony.
Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires ;
I '11 leave you.
Cat. Brutus, I do obsene you now of late :

Acr I.]

JULIUS CESAR.

[SCESE II

I Have not fi'om your eyes that gentleness.
And show of love, as I was wont to have :
You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand
Over your friend that loves you.

Brii. Cassius,

Be not deceiv'd : If I have veil'd my look,
I turn the trouble of ray countenance
Merely upon myself. Vexed I am.
Of late, with passions of some difference.
Conceptions only proper to myself.
Which give some soil, perhaps, to my behaviours :
But let not therefore my good friends be gnev'd ;
(Among which number, Cassius, be you one ;)
Nor construe any fui-ther ray neglect.
Than that poor Biiitus, with himself at war,
Forgets the shows of love to other men.

Cas. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook
your passion ;
By means whereof this breast of mine hati

buried
Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations.
Tell rae, good Brutus, can you see your face ?

Bru. No, Cassius : for the eye sees not itself,
But by reflection, by some other things.

Cas. 'T is just :
And it is very much lamented, Brutus,
That you have no such mirrors as will turn
Your hidden worthiness into your eye.
That you might see your shadow. I have heard.
Where many of the best respect in Rome,
(Except immortal Csesar,) speaking of Brutus,
And groaning underneath this age's yoke.
Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes.

Bru. Into what dangers would you lead me,
Cassius,
That you would have me seek into myself
For that which is not in me ?

Cas. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar'd to
hear :
And, since you know you cannot see yourself
So well as by reflection, I, your glass.
Will modestly discover to yourself
That of yourself which you yet know not of.
And be not jealous on me,'' gentle Bmtus :
Were I a common laugher, or did use
To stale with ordinary oaths my love
To every new protester ; if you know
That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard,
And after scandal them ; or if you know
That I profess myself in banqueting
To all the rout, then hold me dangerous.

[Flottnsh and shout.

» On me. So the original. "We do not change this idiom-
atic language of Shakspere's time into the 0/ me of modern

speech.

Bru. What means this shouting ? I do fear,
the people
Choose Caesar for their king,

C'^^- Ay, do you fear it ?

Tlien must I think you would not have it so.

Bru. I would not, Cassius; yet I love him
well : —
But wherefore do you hold me here so long ?
What is it that you woidd impart to me ?
If it be aught toward the general good.
Set honour in one eye, and death i' the other.
And I will look on both indifferently :
For, let the gods so speed me as I love
The name of honour more than I fear death.

Cas. I know that virtue to be in you, Bmtus,
As well as I do know youi' outward favour.
Well, hououi- is the subject of my story. —
T cannot teU what you and other men
Think of tliis life ; but, for my single self,
I had as hef not be as hve to be
In awe of such a thing as I myself.
I was born free as Csesar ; so were you :
We both have fed as well ; and we can both
Endure the winter's cold as well as he :
For once, \ipon a raw and gusty day.
The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores,
Caesar said to me, ' Dars't thou, Cassius, now
Leap in with me into this angry flood.
And swim to yonder point ?' — Upon the word.
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in.
And bade him foUow : so, indeed, he did.
The torrent roar'd ; and we did buifet it
With lusty sinews ; throwing it aside
And stemming it with hearts of controversy.
But ere we could ai-rive the point propos'd,"
Caesar cried, ' Help me, Cassius, or I sink.'
I, as ^neas, our great ancestor.
Did from the flames of Troy upou his shoulder
The old Anchises bear, so, from the waves of

Tiber
Did I the tired Caesar : And this man
Is now become a god ; and Caseins is
A wretched creatui-e, and must bend his body
If Csesar carelessly but nod on him.
He had a fever when he was in Spain,
And, when the fit was on him, I did mark
How he did shake : 't is true, this god did shake ;
His coward lips did from their colour fly ;
And that same eye whose bend doth awe the
world

a The use of arrire without the preposition has an examiile
in the later writings of Milton : —

" Who shall spread his airy flight
Uphorne with indefatigable wings
Over the vast abrupt, ere he arrive
The happy isle "

229

Act I.)

JULIUS C^SAR.

ISlENE II.

Did lose liis liistre : I did hear him groau :

Ay, and that tongue of his tliat bade tlic Itoniaus

Mark him, and \rrite his speeches iu their books,

Alas ! it cried, ' Give rac some drink, Titiuius,'

As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me,

A man of such a feeble temper should

So get the start of the majestic world,

And beAr the palm alone. ISAou/. Flourhh.

Bni. Another general shout !
I do believe that these applauses are
For some new honours that are heap'd on Cncsar.
Cas. TMiy, man, he doth bestride the narrow
world.
Like a Colossus ; and we petty men
Walk tuidcr his huge legs, and peep about
To find ourselves dishououiable graves.
Men at some time are masters of their fates :
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars.
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.
Brutus, and Caesar: What should be in that

Cffisar?
\VTiy should that name be sounded more than

yours ?
Write them together, yours is as fair a name ;
Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well ;
Weigh them, it is as heavy ; conjure with them,
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Csesar.

IShoitt.
Now in the names of all the gods at once,
L^pon what meat doth this our Cajsar feed,
Tliat he is grown so great? Age, thou art

sham'd !
Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods !
Wiien went there by an age, since the great Qood,
But it was fam'd with more than with one man?
When could they say, till now, that talk'd of Rome,
That her wide walls* cncompass'd but one man?
Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough,
When there is in it but one only man.
O ! you and I have heard our fathers say.
There was a Brutus once that would have brook'd
The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome,
As easily as a king.

Brii. That you do love me, I am nothing
jealous ;
AVhat you would work roe to, I have some aim ;
IIow I have thoiight of this, and of these times,
I shall recount hereafter ; for this present,
I would not, so with love I might entreat you,
Be any further mov'd. "What you have said,
I will consider ; what you have to say,
I will with patience hear : and find a time
Both meet to hear and answer such high things.

Walki in the original : changed by Rowe to vallt.
230

Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this ;
Brutus had rather be a villager,
Than to repute himself a son of Rome
Under these hard conditions as this time
Is like to lay upon us.

Ciis. I am glad that my weak words
Have struck but thus much show of fire from
Brutus.

Re-enter C^sar, and his Train.

Bru. The games are done, and Casar is re-
turning.
Cas. As they pass by, pluck Casca by the
sleeve ;
And he will, aftf^r liis sour fashion, tell you
What hath proceeded worthy note to-day.

Bru. I will do so -.—But, look you, Cassius,
The angiy spot doth glow on Caesar's brow.
And all the rest look like a chidden train :
Calphumia's cheek is pale ; and Cicero
Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes.
As we have seen him in the Capitol,
Being cross'd in conference by some senators.
Cas. Casca will tell us what the matter is.
Cces. Antonius.
Ant. Ca:sar.

Cas. Let me have men about me that are
fat;
Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o'nights :
Yond' Cassius has a lean and hungry look ;
lie thinks too much : such men are dangerous.''
Ant. Tear liim not, Cajsar, he's not dan-
gerous ;
He is a noble Roman, and well given.

CcES. 'Would he were fatter : — But I fear him
not:
Yet if my name were liable to fear,
I do not know the man I should avoid
So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much ;
He is a great observer, and he looks
Quite through the deeds of men: he loves no

plays.
As thou dost, Antony ; he hears no music :
Seldom he smiles ; and smiles in such a sort
As if he mock'd himself, and scom'd his spirit
That could be mov'd to smile at anything.
Such men as he be never at heart's ease.
Whiles they behold a greater than themselves ;
And therefore are they very dangerous.
I rather tell thee what is to be fcar'd.
Than what I fear, for always I am Caesar.
Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf.
And tell me truly what thou thiuk'st of him.

\Excnnt CiiSAR and his Train. CiSCA
stays behind.

Act I.]

JULIUS CESAR.

[Some II.

Casca. You pull'd me by the cloak: Would
you speak with me?

Bru. Ay, Casca; tell us what hath chanc'd
to-day/
That Cffisar looks so sad ?

Casca. Wliy, you were with him, were you
not?
Bru. I should not then ask Casca what had

chanc'd.
Casca. Wliy, there was a crown offered him :
and being offered him, he put it by with the
back of his hand, thus : and then the people fell
a shouting.

Bru, What was the second noise for ?

Casca. Why, for that too.

Cas. They shouted thrice : What was the last

cry for ?
Casca. Why, for that too.
Bru. Was the crown offer'd him thrice ?
Casca. Ay, marry, was 't, and he put it by
thrice, every time gentler than other; and at
every putting by, mine honest neighbours
shouted.

Cas. Who offered him the crown ?
Casca. Why, ^intony.

Bru. TeU us the manner of it, gentle Casca.
Casca. I can as well be hanged as tell the
manner of it : it was mere foolery. I did not
mark it. I saw Mark Antony offer him a
crown ; — yet 't was not a crown neither, 't was
one of these coronets ; — and, as I told you, he
put it by once ; but for aU that, to my thinking,
he would fain have hud it. Then he offered it
to him again ; then he put it by again : but, to
my thinking, he was very loth to lay his fingers
off it. And then he offered it the third time;
he put it the third time by : and still as he re-
fused it, the rabblement hooted, and clapped
their chapped hands, and threw up their sweaty
nightcaps, and uttered such a deal of stinking
breath because Caesar refused the crown, that it
had almost chok'd Csesar ; for he swooned, and
fell down at it : And for mine own part, I dm-st
not laugh, for fear of opening my lips and
receiving the bad air.

Cas. But, soft, I pray you: What? Did

Csesar swoon ?
Casca. He fell down in the market-place, and
foamed at mouth, and was speechless.
Bru. 'T is very hke : he hath the falling sick-
ness.
Cas. No, Csesar hath it not ; but you, and I,
And honest Casca, we have the falling sick-
ness.
Casca. I know not what you mean by that;

but I am sure Csesar fell down. If the tag-rag
people did not clap him, and hiss him, according
as he pleased and displeased them, as they use
to do the players in the theatre, I am no true
man.
Bru. What said he when he came unto him-
self?
Casca. Marry, before he fell down, when he
perceived tlie common herd was glad he refused
the crown, he plucked me ope his doublet, and
offered them his throat to cut. — An I had been
a man of any occupation, if I would not have
taken him at a word, I would I might go to hell
among the rogues : — and so he fell. "V^Hien he
came to himself again, he said. If he had done
or said anything amiss, he desired their wor-
sliips to think it was his infirmity. Three or
four wenches, where I stood, cried ' Alas, good
soul!' — and forgave him with all their hearts:
But there's no heed to be taken of them; if
Csesar had stabbed their mothers they would
have done no less.

Bru. And after that he came, thus sad, away ?
Casca. Ay.

Cas. Did Cicero say anything ?
Ciisca. Ay, he spoke Greek.
Cas. To what effect ?

Casca. Nay, an I tell you that I '11 ne'er look
you i' the face again : But those that understood
hiia smiled at one another, and shook their
heads : but, for mine own part, it was Greek to
me. I could tell you more news too : Marullua
and Flavins, for puUing scarfs off Csesar's images,
are put to sdeuce. Fare you well. There was
more foolery yet, if I could remember it.
Cas. WiU you sup with me to night, Casca ?
Casca. No, I am promised forth.
Cas. WUl you dine with me to-morrow ?
Casca. Ay, if I be alive, and yoiu: mind hold,
and your dinner worth the eating.
Cas. Good ; I wiU expect you.
Casca. Do so : farewell both. [Exit Casca.
Bru. What a blunt fellow is this grown to be!
He was qiuck mettle when he went to school.

Cas. So ia he now, in execution
Of any bold or noble enterprise.
However he puts on this tardy form.
This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit.
Which gives men stomach to digest his words
With better appetite.
Bru. And so it is. For this time I will leave
you:
To-morrow, if you please to speak with me,
I win come home to you ; or, if you will.
Come home to me, and I ^siU wait for you.

231

Act I.l

JULIUS CAESAR.

[ScEKE m.

Cat. I ^vill do so: — till then, tliink of the
world. \_Exit Brutus.

Well, Brutn3, thou art noble ; yet, I see
Thv honourable metal may be ^vTOught
From that it is dispos'd : Therefore 't is meet
That noble minds keep ever with their likes :
For who so firm that cannot be scducM ?
Caesar doth bear mc hard : But he loves Brutus :
If I were Brutus now, and he were Cassius,
lie should not humour mc. I will this night,
In several hands, in at his windows throw,
As if they came from several citizens,
Writuigs, all tending to the great opinion
That Rome holds of his name; wherein ob-
scurely
Caesar's ambition shall be glanced at :
/Vnd, after this, let Csesar seat him sure ;
For we will shake him, or worse days endure.

[_ExU.

SCENE Ul.—The same. A Street.

ThtinJer and Lightning. Enter, from opposite
sides, Casca, with his sword drawn, and
CiCEKO.

Cic. Good even, Casca : Brought you Caesar
home ?•
Wliy are you breathless ? and why stare you so ?

Casca. Are you not mov'd, when all the sway
of earth
Shakes like a thing unfirm ? Cicero,
I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds
Have riv'd the knotty oaks ; and I have seen
The ambitious ocean swell, and rage, and foam,
To be exalted with the threat'ning clouds :
But never till to-night, never till now.
Did I go through a tempest dropping fire.
Either there is a civU strife in heaven ;
Or else the world, too saucy with the gods.
Incenses them to send d est motion.

Cic. ^ATiy, saw you anything more wonderful ?

Casca. A common slave (you know him well
by sight)
Held up his left hand, which did flame and bum
Like twenty torches johi'd ; and yet his hand.
Not sensible of fire, remain'd unscorch'd.
Besides, (I have not since pnt up my sword,)
Against the Capitol I met a lion,
Who glar'd* upon me, and went surly by

a To bring one on his way was to accompany liim.

•> Glar'd. The original has glnz'd. This is a mean-
Inirless word ; and we have therefore to choose between one
of two rorrectiont. Knowing the mode in wliicli typo-
graphical crrori ari«c, wc should «ay that gtar'd in the
manuscript might very rcudily become j/naVi in the printed
copy, bv the substitution of a 2 for an r. Glar'd U the read-
ing of Rowe. On the contrary, if the manuicript had been

232

Without annoying me : and there were drawn
Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women.
Transformed with their fear; who swore they

saw
Men all in fu-e walk up and down the streets.
And, yesterday, the bird of night did sit.
Even at noon- day, upon tlic market-place,
Hooting and shrieking.'' When these prodigies
Do so conjointly meet, let not men say
'These are their reasons, — They are natural;'
For, I behove, they are portentous things
Unto the cUmate that they point upon.

Cic. Indeed, it is a strange-disposed tune :
But men may constmc things, after their fashion.
Clean from the purpose of the things themselves.
Comes Caesar to the Capitol to-morrow ?

Casca. He doth ; for he did bid Antonius
Send word to you he would be there to-morrow.

Cic. Good night then, Casca: this disturbed
sky
Is not to walk in.

Casca. Farewell, Cicero. [Exit Cicero.

Enter Cassius.

Cas. Who 's there ?

Casca. A Roman.

Cas. Casca, by your voice.

Casca. Your ear is good, Cassius, what night

is this?
Cas. A very pleasing night to honest men.
Ca^ca. Who ever knew the heavens menace

so?
Cas. Those that have known the earth so full
of faults.
For my part, I have walk'd about the streets.
Submitting me unto the perilous night ;
And, thus unbraced, Casca, as you see.
Have bar'd my bosom to the thunder-stone :
jVnd when the cross blue lightning seem'd to

open
The breast of heaven, I did present myself
Even in the aim and very flash of it.

Casca. But wherefore did you so much tempt
the heavens ?
It is the part of men to fear and tremble,

gciz'd, which Malone adopts, the compositor must have in-
serted an /, to change a common word into an unfamiliar
one; and this is not the usual process of typographical
blundering. Malone quotes a passage from Stow, describing
a lion-fight in the Tower:— "Then was the great lion put
forth, who fjazed awhile ;" and he thinks the term to have
been peculiarly applied to the fierce aspect of a lion.
Surely this is nonsense. A well-known quotation from
Macbeth, given by Stccvcns, is decisive as to the propriety
o( using glar'd in the passage before us : —

" Thou hast no speculation in those eyes
That thou dost glare with."

Act I.]

JULIUS CiESAR.

[SCESE III.

When the most mighty gods, by tokens send
Such dreadful heralds to astonish us.

Cas. Yon are duU, Gasca; and those sparks
ofHfe
That should be in a Roman you do want,
Or else you use not : You look pale, and gaze.
And put on fear, and cast youi'self in wonder.
To see the strange impatience of the heavens :
But if you would consider the true cause
Why aU these fires, why all these gUding ghosts,
"Why birds and beasts, from quaUty and kind ;
Wliy old men, fools, and children calculate ;
Why all these things change from their ordi-
nance,
Their natures, and pre-formed faculties,
To monstrous quality, — why, you shall find.
That heaven hath infus'd them with these spirits.
To make them instruments of fear and warning
Unto some monstrous state.
Now could I, Casca, name to thee a man
Most like this dreadful night ;
That thunders, hghtens, opens graves, and roars
As doth the hon in the Capitol :
A man no mightier than thyself, or me.
In personal action ; yet prodigious grown,
And fearful, as these strange eruptions are.
Casca. 'T is Caesar that you mean : Is it not,

Cassius ?
Cas. Let it be who it is : for Romans now
Have thews and limbs like to then- ancestors,
But, woe the while ! our father's minds are dead.
And we are govem'd with our mothers' spirits ;
Our yoke and sufferance show us womanish.
Casca. Indeed they say the senators to-mor-
row
Mean to establish Caesar as a king :
And he shall wear his crown by sea and land,
In every place, save here in Italy.

Cas. I know where I wiU wear this dagger
then;
Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius :
Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most

strong ;
Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat :
Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass,
Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron.
Can be retentive to the strength of spuit :
But life, being weary of these wQrldly bars.
Never lacks power to dismiss itself.
If I know this, know aU the world besides.
That part of tyranny that I do bear
I can shake off at pleasure. \Thunder still.

Casca. So can I :

So every bondman in his own hand bears
The power to cancel his captivity.

Cas. And why should Caesar be a tyrant then ?
Poor man ! I know he would not be a wolf,
But that he sees the Romans are but sheep :
He were no Hon were not Romans hinds.
Those that with haste will make a mighty Gre
Begin it with weak straws : What trash is Rome,
AYhat rubbish, and what offal, when it serves
For the base matter to illiuninate
So vile a thing as Caesar ! But, 0, grief !
Where hast thou led me ? I, perhaps, speak this
Before a willing bondman : then I know
My answer must be made : But I am arm'd.
And dangers are to me indifferent.

Casca. You speak to Casca; and to such a man
That is no fleering teU-tale. Hold my band :
Be factions'' for redress of all these griefs;
And I win set this foot of mine as far
As who goes farthest.

Cas. There 's a bargain made.

Now know you, Casca, I have mov'd already
Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans,
To undergo with me an enterprise
Of honourable-dangerous consequence ;
And I do know by this they stay for me
La Pompey's porch : For now, this fearful night,
There is no stir or walking in the streets ;
And the complexion of the element
In favour 's'' like tlie work we have in hand,
Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible.

Enter Cinna.

Casca. Stand close awhile, for here comes one

in haste.
Cas. 'T is Cinna, I do know him by his gait ;
He is a friend. — Cinna, where haste you so ?
Cin. To find out you : Who 's that ? Metellus

Cimber ?
Cas. No, it is Casca ; one incorporate
To our attempts. Am I not staid for, Cinna ?
Cin. 1 am glad on't. What a fearful night
is this !
There 's two or three of us have seen strange
sights.
Cas. Am I not staid for ? Tell me.
Cin. Yes, you are.

0, Cassius, if you could but vnn the noble

Brut\is
To our party

a Faciious. Johnson considers that the expression here
means active. To be factious, in its original sense, is to be
doing; but Malone suggests that it means "embody a party
or faction."

b The original has is favors. Some would read is fa-
vour'd: but the use of the noun, in the sense of appearance,
is probably clearer.

233

Act I.]

JULIUS CiESAR.

Cos. Be you content: Good Cimia, take this
paper,
Ajid look you, lay it in the prtetor's chair,
WTiere Brutus may but find it ; and throw this
In at his window : set this up with wax
Upon old Brutus' statue : ' all this done.
Repair to Pompey's porch, where you shall find

us.
Is Decius Brutus, and Trcbonius there ?

Cin. All, but Metellus Cimber ; and he 's gone
To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie,
ind so bestow these papers as you bade me.
Ca4. That done, repair to Pompey's theatre.

[_Exit CiNNA.

Come, Casca, you and 1 will yet, ere day,
See Brutus at his house : three parts of Lim
Is ours already ; and the man entire.
Upon the next encounter, yidds him ours.

Casca. O, he sits high in all the people's
hearts :
And that which would appear offence in us,
llis countenance, like richest alchymy.
Will change to virtue and to worthiness.

Cas. Him, and his worth, and our great need
of him.
You have right well conceited. Let us go.
For it is after midnight ; and ere day
We will awake him, and be sure of him.

[ExeuT. t.

[Juliu3 Csesar.]

LKoman Augur ]

ILLUSTRATIONS OF ACT I.

1 Scene II. " Our elders say,

The barren," &c.

" At that time tlie feast Luperoalia was celebrated,
the which in old time, men say, was the feast of
shepherds or herdsmen, and is much like unto the
feast of the Lycseians in Arcadia. But howsoever
it is, that day there are divers noblemen's sons,
young men (and some of them magistrates them-
selves that govern there), which run naked through
the city, striking in sport them they meet in their
way with leather thongs, hair and all on, to make
them give place. And many noble women and
gentlewomen also go of purpose to stand in their
way, and do put forth their hands to be stricken,
as scholars hold them out to their schoolmaster to
be stricken with the ferula, persuading themselves
that being with child they shall have good de-
livery; and so being barren, that it will make
them to conceive with child."

2 Scene II.—" Beware the ides of March."

" Furthermore, there was a certain soothsayer
that had given Ctesar warning long time afore to

take heed of the day of the Ides of March (which
is the 15th of the month), for on that day he
should be in great danger."

3 Scene II.—" Will you go see the order of the
course J"

" Cassius asked him if he were determined to
be in the Senate-house the first day of the month of
March, because he heard say that Csesar's friends
should move the council that day that Csesar should
be called king by the Senate. Brutus answered
him he would not be there. But if we be sent for
(said Cassius), how then? For myself then (said
Brutus), I mean not to hold my peace, but to with-
stand it, and rather die than lose my liberty. Cas-
sius being bold, and taking hold of this word,—
Why (quoth he), what Roman is he alive that will
suffer thee to die for thy liberty ? What? knowest
thou not that thou art Brutus ? Thinkest thou that
they be cobblers, tapsters, or such-like base mecha-
nical people, that write these bills and scroUs which
are found daily in thy pnctor's chair, and not the
noblest men and best citizens that do it ? No; be
thou well assured that of other prsetors they look

235

ILLUSTRA.TIONS OF ACT I.

for gifts, common distribut'ious lAmoncpt tho people,
and for common plays, and to see fencers fight at
the sharp, to show the people pastime : but at thy
hands they specially require (as a due debt unto
them) the taking away of the tyranny, being fully
bent to suffer any extremity for thy sake, so that
thou wilt show thyself to be the man thou art
taken for, and that they hope thou art."

' SCF.XE II. — " Ld me hare men about me that arc
fat, kc"

" Csesar also had Cassius in great jealousy, and
suspected him much : whereupon he said on a time
to his friends, What will Caseins do, think ye ? I
like not his pale looks. Another time, when
Caesar's friends complained unto him of Autouius
and Dolabella, that they pretended some mischief
towards him, he answered them again, As for
those fat men and smooth-combed head.s, quoth
he, I never reckon of them ; but these pale-visaged
and carrion-lean people, I fear them most, meaning
Brutus and Cassius."

' Scene II. — "Ay, Casca; tell us \chat hath chanc'd
today."

" Caesar sat to behold that sport upon the pulpit
for Orations, in a chain of gold, appareled in tri-
umphant manner. Antonius, who \vas consul at
that time, was one of them that ran this holy
course. So when he came into the market-jjlace
the people made a lane for him to run at liberty,
and he came to Caesar, and presented him a diadem
wreathed about with laurel. Whereupon there
was a certain cry of rejoicing, not very great, done
only by a few appointed for the pui-pose. But
when Caesar refused the diadem, then all the people
together made an outcry of joy. Then Antonius
offering it him again, there was a second shout of
joy, but yet of a few. But when Caesar refused it
again the second time, then all the whole people
shouted. Cccsar, having made this proof, found
that the people did not like of it, and thereupon
rose out of his chair, and commanded the crown
to be carried unto Jupiter in the Capitol."

" When they had decreed divers honours for him
in the Senate, the consuls and pra-tors, accompa-
nied with the whole assembly of the Senate, went
unto him in the market-place, where he was set by

the pulpit for Orations, to tell him what honours
they had decreed for him in his absence. But he,
sitting still in his majesty, disdaining to rise up unto
them when they came in, as if they had been pri-
vate men, answered them, that his honours had
more need to be cut off than enlarged. This did not
only offend the Senate, but the common people also,
to see that he should so lightly esteem of the ma-
gistrates of the commonwealth ; insomuch as everj*
man that might lawfully go his way departed
thence very sorrowfully. Thereupon also Caesar,
rising, departed home to his house, and, tearing
open his doublet collar, m.iking his neck bare, he
cried out aloud to his friends that his throat was
ready to offer to any man that would come and cut
it. Notwithstanding, it is reported that after-
wards, to excuse his folly, he imputed it to his
disease, saying that their wits are not perfect which
have this disease of the falling evil, when, standing
on their feet, they speak to the common people,
but are soon troubled with a trembling of their
body, and a sudden dimness and giddiness."

^ Scene III. — " A common slave," &c.
" Touching the fires in the element, and spirits
running up and down in the night, and also the
solitary birds to be seen at noon-days sitting in
the great market-place, are not all these signs
perhaps worth the noting, in such a wonderful
chance as happened ? But Strabo the philosopher
writeth that divers men were seen going up and
down in fire; and, furthermore, that there was
a slave of the soldiers that did ca-st a man-ellous
burning flame out of his hand, insomuch as they
that saw it thought he had been burned ; but when
the fire was out, it was found he had no hurt."

'' Scene III. — " Good Cinna, take this paper " &c.
" But for Brutus, his friends and countrymen,
both by divers procurements and sundry rumours
of the city, and by many bills also, did openly call
and procure him to do that he did. For under the
image of his ancestor Junius Brutus (that drave
the kings out of Rome) they wrote — 0, that it
pleased the gods thou wert now alive, Brutus !
And again, That thou wert here among us now !
His tribunal, or chair, where he gave audience
during the time he was pnctor, was full of such
bills. Bnitus, thou art asleep, and art not Brutus
indeed."

2.36

ACT 11.

SCENE \.—The same. Brutus'* Orchard.

Enter Brutus.

Bru. What, Lucius ! lio ! —
I cannot, by the progress of the stars.
Give guess how near to day. — Lucius, I say ! —
I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. —

When, Lucius, when!*
Lucius !

Awake, I say ! What,

Enter Lucius.

Lnc. CaU'd you, my lord ?
Bru. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius :
When it is lighted, come and call me here.
Lite. I will, my lord. [Exit.

Bru. It must be by his death: and, for my
part,

^ So in Richard II.

"When, Harry, when!
A common expre.ssion of impatience

I know no personal cause to spm-n at him,
But for the general. He would be cro\yn'd : —
How that might change his nature, there 's the

question.
It is the bright day that brings forth the adder ;
And that craves wary walking. Crown him ? —

That;—
And then, I grant, we put a sting in him,
That at his will he may do danger with.
The abuse of greatness is when it disjoins
Remorse* from power : And, to speak truth of

Csesai-,
I have not kno\vn when his affections sway'd
More than his reason. But 't is a common

proof
That loMliness is young ambition's ladder,
Whereto the climber-upward turns his face ;
But when he once attaios the upmost round.

=» Remorse — pity — tenderness,
commonly used by Slir.kspere,

A sense In which it u
9Z^

Act II. j

JULIUS C^SAll.

[Sce:(E I.

He then unto the ladder turns his back,
Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees
By which he did ascend : So Ccesar may ;
Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the

quarrel
Will bear no colour for the tiling he is,
Fashion it thus ; that what he is, augmented,
Would run to these and these extremities :
And therefore think him as a serpent's egg,
TVliieh, hateh'd, would as his kind grow mis-
chievous ;
And kill him in the shell.

Re-enter Lucius.

Luc. The taper burneth in your closet, sir.
Searching the window for a fliul, I found
This paper, thus seal'd up ; and, I am sure.
It did not lie there when I went to bed.

Bru. Get you to bed again, it is not day.
Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of March i' "

Luc. I know not, sir.

Bru. Look in the calendar, and bring me
word.

Luc. I will, sir. [E.iit.

Bru. The exhalations, whizzing in the air.
Give so much light that I may read by them.

\_Opcns the letter, and reads,
" Brutus, thou sleep'st ; awake, and see thyself.
Shall Rome, &c. Speak, strike, redress ! "
' Brutus, thou sleep'st ; awake ! ' —
Such instigations have been often dropp'd
Where I have took them up.
' Shall Rome, &'c.' Thus must I piece it out ;
Shall Rome stand under one man's awe ? "What !

Rome ?
My ancestors did from the streets of Rome
The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king.
' Speak, strike, redress !'•' — Am I entreated
To speak, and strike ? O Rome ! I make thee

promise,
If the redresd will follow, thou receivest
Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus !

Be-enter Lucius.

Luc. Sir, March is wasted fourteen days.

[A«oc^ Kithin.

Bru. 'Tis good. Go to the gate : somebody

knocks. \_ExU Lucius.

• Idei of March.— In the original the first of March. Pre-
sently Lucius says also, in the folio, " March i.s wasted yf//ff;i
rtaiji." Theobald made the correction in both instances.

b Mr. Cralk, in his valuable Philological Commentary on
Julius CjEsarC'The English of Shakespeare"), has pointed
out that the letter unquestionably concluded with the em-
phatic adjuration — "Speak, strike, redress! "and that the
second enunciation of 'Brutus, thou tlccp'st; awake 1' is
a repetition by Brutus to himself.
238

Since Cassius first did whet me against Caisar

I have not slept.

Between the acting of a dreadful thing

And the first motion, all the interim is

Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream :

Tlic genius and the mortal instruments

Are then in council ; and the state of a man,*

Like to a little kingdom, suffers then

Tlie nature of an insurrection.

Be-enter Lucius.

Luc. Sir, 't is your brother Cassius'' at the
door,
Wlio doth desire to see you.

Bru. Is he alone ?

Lac. No, sir, there are more with him.
Bru. Do you know them ?

Lite. No, sir; their k-.ts are pluck' d about
their ears.
And half their faces buried in their cloaks.
That by no means I may discover them
By any mark of favour.'^
Bru. Let them enter.

[_E.dt Lucius.
They are the faction. ConspiJracy !
Sham'st thou to show thy dangerous brow by

night,
"When evils are most free ? 0, then, by day
\7here wilt thou find a cavern dark enough
To mask thy monstrous visage? Seek none,

Conspiracy ;
Hide it in smiles and affability :
For if thou path ^ thy native semblance on,
Not Erebus itself were dim enough
To hide thee from prevention.

Enter Cassius, Casca, Decius, Cinna, Metel-
Lus CiMBER, and Tbebonius.

Cas. I think we are too bold upon your
rest :
Good morrow, Brutus. Do wc trouble you ?

n i< mnn.— So the first folio; but the other folios and
iiioderii editors omit the article, which, we think, explains
"hat has preceded it. .-/ man individualizes the descrip-
tion ; and shows that "the genius," on the one hand,
means the spirit, or the Impelling higher power moving
the spirit, whilst •' the mortal instruments " has reference
to the bodily powers which the will sets in action. The
condition of Macbeth before the murder of Duncan illus-
trates this: —

" I am settled, and bend up
Each corporal agent to this terrible feat."

Mr. Dyce holds th,it the article a is a barbarous addition.
Mr. Craik retains the article.

i) Cassius had married Junia, the sister of Brutus.

c Favour — countenance.

A Path — walk on a trodden way— move forward amidst
observation. Sec Introductory Notice, p. 217.

Act II.]

JULIUS CvESAR.

[SCEKB I.

Bru. I have been up this hour ; awake all uight.
Know I these men that come along with you ?

Cas. Yes, every man of them ; and no man
here
But honours you : and every one doth wish
You had but that opinion of yourself
Which every noble Boman bears of you.
This is Trebonius.

Bru. He is welcome hither.

Cas. This Decius Brutus.

Bru. He is welcome too.

Cas. This, Casca ; this, Cinna ; and this,
Metellus Cimber.

Bru. They are all welcome.
What watchful cares do interpose themselves
Betwixt your eyes and night ?

Cas. Shall I entreat a word ? [The^ whisper.

Dec. Here lies the east : Doth not the day
break here ?

Casca. No.

Cin. 0, pardon, sir, it doth; and yon grey
lines
That fret the clouds are messengers of day.

Casca. You shall confess that you are both
deceiv'd.
Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises ;
Which is a great way growing on the south,
Weighing the youthful season of the year.
Some two months hence, up higher toward the

north
He first presents his fire ; and the high east
Stands, as the Capitol, directly here.

Bru. Give me your bauds all over, one by one.

Cas. And let us swear our resolution.

Bru. No, not au oath : If not the face of men.
The sufferance of our souls, the time's abuse, —
If these be motives weak, break off betimes.
And every man hence to his idle bed ;
So let high-sighted tyranny range on.
Till each man drop by lottery. But if these.
As I am sure they do, bear fire enough
To kindle cowards, and to steel with valour
The melting spirits of women ; then, countrymen,
What need we any spur but our own cause
To prick us to redress ? what other bond.
Than secret Romans, that have spoke the word.
And will not palter ? and what other oath.
Than honesty to honesty engag'd.
That this shall be, or we will fall for it ?
Swear priests, and cowards, and men cautelous,"
Old feeble carrions, and such suffering souls
That welcome wrongs ; unto bad causes swear
Such creatures as men doubt : but do not stain

• Cauteloui — vraxy — circumspect.

The even virtue of our enterprise,

Nor the insuppressive metal of our spii-its.

To think that, or our cause, or our performance.

Did need an oath ; when every drop of blood

That every Roman bears, and nobly bears,

Is guilty of a several bastardy,

If he do break the smallest particle

Of any promise that hath pass'd from him.

Cas. But what of Cicero? ' Shall we sound him?
I think he will stand very strong with us.

Casca. Let us not leave him out.

Cifi. No, by no means.

MeL O let us have him ; for his silver hairs
WUl purchase us a good opinion.
And buy men's voices to commend our deeds :
It shall be said his judgment rul'd our hands ;
Our youths, and wildness, shall no whit appear,
But all be buried in his gravity.

Bru. O, name him not ; let us not break with
him ;
For he wiU never follow anything
That other men begin.

Cas. Then leave him out.

Casca. Lideed, he is not fit.

Dec. Shall no man else be touch'd but only
Caesar ?

Cas. Decius, well ui-g'd :— I think it is not
meet,
Mark Antony, so well belov'd of Caesar,
Should outlive Csesar : We shall find of him
A shrewd contriver ; and you know his means.
If he improve them, may well stretch so far
As to annoy us all : which to prevent,
Let Antony and Csesar fall together.^

Bru. Our course wiU seem too bloody, Caius
Cassius,
To cut the head off, and then hack the lunbs ;
Like wrath in death, and envy afterwai'ds :
For Antony is but a Umb of Csesar.
Let us be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius.
We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar;
And in the spirit of men there is no blood :
O, that we then could come by Caesar's spirit.
And not dismember Csesar ! But, alas,
Ctesar must bleed for it ! And, gentle friends.
Let 's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully ;
Let 's carve him as a dish fit for the gods.
Not hew him as a carcase fit for hounds :
And let our hearts, as subtle masters do,
Stir up their servants to an act of rage,
And after seem to chide them. This shall make
Our purpose necessary, and not envious :
Which so appearing to the common eyes.
We shall be call'd purgers, not mui'derers.
And for Mark Antony, think not of him ;

239

Act II. ]

JULIUS C^SAR.

[SCEKE 1

For he can do uo more than Caesar's ami,
When CiEsar's head is off.

Cas. Yet I fear him : ■>

For in the ingrafted love he bears to Csesar, —

Bru. Alas, good Cassius ! do not think of hiin:
If he love Caesar, all that he can do
Is to himself, — take thought, and die for Ca;sar:
And that were much he should ; for he is given
To sports, to ^vildness, and much company.

Treb. There is no feai' in him ; let him not die;
For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter.

[Clock strikes.

£ni. Peace ! count the clock.

Cai. The clock hath stricken thi-ec.

Treb. 'T is time to part.

Cas. But it is doubtful yet

Wlicther Caesar will come forth to-day, or no :
For he is superstitious grown of late ;
Quite from the main opinion he held once
Of fantasy, of dreams, and ceremonies ;
It may be, these apparent prodigies.
The unaccustom'd terror of this night,
And the persuasion of his augurcrs.
May hold him from the Capitol to-day.

Ike. Never fear that : If he be so resolv'd
T can o'ersway liim : for he loves to hear
Chat unicorns may be betray'd with trees,
And bears ^nth glasses, elephants with holes,
Lions with toils, and men with flatterers :
But when I tell him he hates flatterers,
He says he does ; being then most flattered.
Let me work :

For I can give his humour the true bent ;
And I will bring him to the Capitol.

Cas. Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch
him.

Bru. By the eighth hour : Is that the utter-
most?

Cin. Be that the uttermost, and fail not then.

Met. Caius Ligarius doth bear Csesar hard,
^V^10 rated him for speaking well of Pompey ;
I wonder none of you have thought of him.

Bru. Now, good Metcllus, go along by him ;
lie loves me well, and I have given him reasons ;
Send him but hither, and I '11 fashion him.

Ctw. The morning comes upon us : Wc '11
leave you, Brutus : —
And, friends, disperse yourselves : but all re-
member
What you have said, and show yourselves true
Romans.

• The pause vrhich naturally occurs before Cassius offers

an answer to the impassioned argument of lirutus vrould

\x most decidedly marked by a proper reader or actor ; yet

Pope and other editors read do fear, to make out the inetre>

>> By him — by his house.

2tn

Bru. Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily;
Let not our looks put on our purposes ;
But bear it as our Roman actors do,
With untir'd spirits and formal constancy :
And so, good-moiTOw to you every one.'

[Rveu/it all but BRTJirs.
Boy ! Lucius ! — Fast asleep ! It is no matter ;
Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber :
Thou hast no figures, nor no fantasies.
Which busy care draws in the brains of men :
Therefore thou sleep'st so sound.

Enter Portia.

For. Brutus, my lord !

Brii. Portia, what mean you ? Wherefore rise
you now ?
It is not for your health thus to commit
Your weak condition to the raw-cold morning.

For. Nor for yours neither. You have lui-
gently, Brutus,
Stole from my bed : And yesternight, at supper,
You suddenly arose, and walk'd about.
Musing and sighing, with your anus across :
And when I asked you what the matter was.
You star'd upon me with ungentle looks :
I urg'd you further; then you scratch'd youi-

head.
And too impatiently stamp'd with your foot :
Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not ;
But, with an angry waftui-e of your hand.
Gave sign for me to leave you : So I did ;
Fearing to strengthen that impatience
Which seem'd too much enkiudled ; and, withal.
Hoping it was but an efi'ect of hujuour.
Which sometime hath his hour with every man.
It wiU not let you cat, nor talk, nor sleep ;
And, could it work so mucli upon your shape.
As it hath much pvevail'd on your condition,
I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord,
Make me acquainted with your cause of grief.

Bru. I am not weU in health, and that is all.

For. Brutus is wise, and were he not in health
He would embrace the means to come by it.

Bru. Why, so I do : — Good Portia, go to bed.

For. Is Brutus sick ? and is it physical
To walk unbraced, and suck up the humours
Of the dank morning ? What, is Brutus sick ;
And will he steal out of his wholesome bed.
To dare the vile contagion of the night.
And tempt the rheumy and uupurged air
To add unto Ids sickness ? No, my Brutus ;
You have some sick offence within youi* mind.
Which, by the right and virtue of my place,
I ought to know of : And, upon my knees,
I charm you, by my once commended beauty.

ACT II.]

JULIUS CiESAR

[Scene II.

By all your vows of love, and that great vow
Whicli did incorporate and make us one,
That you unfold to me, yourself, your half.
Why you are heavy ; and what men to-night
Have had resort to you : for here have been
Some six or seven, who did hide their faces
Even from darkness.

Bru. Kneel not, gentle Portia.

For. I should not need, if you were gentle
Brutus.
Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus,
Is it excepted I should know no secrets
That appertain to you ? Am I yourself
But, as it were, in sort or limitation ;
To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed.
And talk to you sometimes ? Dwell I but in the

subuibs
Of your good pleasui'e ? If it be no more,
Portia is Brutus' hai'lot, not his wife.

Bn(. You are my true and honourable wife ;
As dear to me as are the ruddy drops
That visit my sad heart.

For. If this were true, then should I know
tliis secret.
I grant I am a woman ; but, withal,
A woman that lord Brutus took to wife :
I grant I am a woman ; but, withal,
A woman well-reputed,— Cato's daughter.
Think you I am no stronger than my sex.
Being so father-' d, and so husbanded ?
Tell me yoiu- counsels, I will not disclose them :
I have made strong proof of my constancy,
Giving myself a voluntary wound
Here, iu the thigh : Cau I bear that with pa-
tience.
And not my husband's secretsV

Bru. ye gods,

Ecnder me worthy of this noble wife 1

\_Knockinff tcithin.
Hark, hark ! one knocks : Portia, go in a while ;
And by and by thy bosom shall partake
The secrets of my heart.
All my engagements I will construe to thee.
All the charactery of my sad brows : —
Leave me with haste. [Exit Portia.

Enter Lucius and Ligaeius.

Lucius, who 's that knocks ?
Luc. Here is a sick man that would speak

with you.
Bru. Caius Ligarius, that MeteUus spake of.—
Boy, stand aside.— Caius Ligarius ! how ?
Lig. Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble

tongue.

Tragedies. — Yol. II.

Bru. 0, what a time have you chose out,
brave Caius,
To wear a kerchief ! 'Would you were not sick '

Lig. I am not sick, if Brutus have in hand
Any exploit worthy the name of honour.''

Bru. Such au exploit have I in hand, Liga-
rius,
Had you a healthful ear to hear of it.

Lig. By all the gods that Romans bow before,
I here discard my sickness ! Soul of Rome !
Brave son, deriv'd from honoiu'able loins !
Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjur'd up
My mprtified spirit. Now bid me run.
And I wiU strive with things impossible ;
Yea, get the better of them. What 's to do ?
Bru. A piece of work that will make sick

men whole.
Lig. But are not some whole that we must

make sick ?
Bru. That must we also. What it is, my
Caius,
I shall unfold to thee, as we are going
To whom it must be done.

Lig. Set on your foot ;

And, with a heart new fir'd, I follow you.
To do I know not what : but it sufiiceth
That Brutus leads me on.

Bru. PoUow me then.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. —The same. A Room vi Ca;sar'«
Falace.

Thunder and lightning. En-ter C^sae, in his
nightgoicn.

Cas. Nor heaven, nor eaith, have been at
peace to-night :
Thrice hath Calphumia iu her sleep cried out,
'Help, hoi They murther Casarl' Who's
within?^

Enter a Servant.

Serv. My lord ?

Cccs. Go bid the priests do present sacrifice.
And bring -me then- opinions of success.

Serv. I will, my lord. [Exit.

Enter Calphurnia.

Cat. \Yhat mean you, Ctesai- ? Tlunk you to
walk forth ?
You shall not stir out of your house to-day.
Cces. Csesai- shall forth: The things that
threatcn'd me

Act II.]

JULIUS C^:SAR.

[ScEtiE II

Ne'er look'd but ou my back; when they shall

see
The face of Cwsar, they are vanished.

Cal. Cfesar, I never stood on ceremonies,
Yet now they fright inc. There is one within,
Besides the tilings that wc have heard and seen,
Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch.
A lioness bath whelped in the streets ;
And graves have yawu'd and yielded up their

dead :
Fierce fiery warriors fight upon the clouds,
In ranks, and squadrons, aud right form of war,
Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol :
The noise of battle hurtled* in the air,
Horses do neigh,'' and dying men did groan;
And ghosts did shriek and squeal about the

streets.
Ctesar ! these things ai'e beyond all use.
And I do fear them.

C^s. Wliat can be avoided

Whose end is purpos'd by the mighty gods ?
Yet Csesar shall go forth : for these predictions
Are to the world in general, as to Caesar.

Cal. When beggars die, there ai-e no comets

seen;
The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of

princes.
Cces. Cowards die many times before their

deaths ;
The valiant never taste of death but once.
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard.
It seems to me most strange that men should

fear;
Seeing that death, a necessary end,
WiU come when it will come.

Re-enter a Servant.

What say the augurers f
Sen. They would not have you to stir forth
to-day.
Plucking the entrails of ua. offering forth.
They could not find a heart witliin the beast.

C(es. The gods do this in shame of cowardice :
Csesar should be a beast without a heart.
If he should stay at home to-day for fear.
No, Cffisar shall not : Danger knows full well

» IIurtUd.—'ThXi mapnificcnt word expresses the clashinf;
of weapons : it is probably the same word as Hurled ; and
Sbakspere, with tlie boldness of genius, makes the action
give the »ound.

b Do nfijA.— Stetvcns departs from the original in read-
ing did neiyh; but the tenses might have been purposely
confounded, to represent the vague terror of the speaker.
Horses "do neigh ' continues the image of

" Fierce fiery warriors fight upon the clouds."
But to make did nriyh consistent with the action of the
"fiery warriors," Mr. Grant While writes /om<//i', and Mr.
Kelghtley, did lighl. It is perhaps better to retain the ori-
ginal text than go into alterations without knowing where
to stop.

242

That Cassai' is more dangerous than he.
Wc jirc •■* two lions litlcr'd in one day,
Aud I the elder and more terrible ;
Aud CiEsar shall go forth.

Cal. Alas, my lord.

Your wisdom is consum'd in confidence.
Do not go forth to-day : Call it my fear
That keeps you in Ihc house, and not your own.
"W^c 'U send Mark Antony to the senate-house;
And he shall say you are not wcU to-day :
Let me, upon my knee, prevail in tliis.

Ccfs. [Mark Antony shall say I am not well ;
And, for thy humouj-, I will stay at home.

Enter Decius.

Here 's Decius Erutus, he shall teU them so.

Dec. Cjfisar, aU hail ! Good morrow, worthy
Caisar :
I come to fetch you to the senate-house.

Cas. And you are come in very happy time.
To bear my greeting to the senators.
And teU them that I will not come to-day :
Cannot, is false ; aud that I dare not, falser ;
I will not come to-day : Tell them so, Decius.

Cal. Say he is sick.

Cces. Shall Caesar seud a lie '<

Have I in conquest stretch'd mine arm so far.
To be afeard to tell greybeards the truth ?
Decius, go tell them Caisar will not come.

Dec. Most mighty Caesar, let me know some
cause,
Lest I be laugh'd at when I tell them so.

Cas. The cause is in my will, I will not come ;
Tliat is enough to satisfy the senate.
But, for your private satisfaction.
Because I love you, I wiU let you know ;
Calphurnia here, my wife, stays mc at home :
She di-eamt to-night she saw my statue.
Which like a fountain, with an hundred spcuts,
Did run pure blood ; and many lusty Romans
Came simling, and did bathe thcii- hands in it.
And these docs she apply for warnings aud por-
tents.
And evils imminent ; and on her knee
Hath bcgg'd that I will stay at home to-day.

Dec. This dream is all amiss interpreted ;
It was a vision fair and fortunate :
Your statue spouting blood in many pipes.
In wliich so many smiling llomans bath'd.
Signifies that from you great Rome shall suck
Reviving blood ; and that great men shall press
For tinctures, stains, relics, and cognizance.
This by Calphuniia's di-cam is signified.

••< .-/re.— The original has heare: a correction by Theobald
is ucre. Capell has are.

Act II.]

JULIUS CiESAR.

[Scenes III., IV.

Cecs. And this way have you well expounded

it.
Dec. 1 have, when you have heard what I

can say :
And know it now ; the senate have concluded
To give, tliis day, a crown to mighty Cajsar.
If you shall send them word you will not come,
Their minds may change. Besides, it were a

mock
Apt to be render' d, for some one to say,
' Break up the senate till another time.
When Csesai-'s wife shall meet with better

dreams.'
If Caesar hide himself, shaU they not whisper,
' Lo, Caesar is afraid ? '
Pardon me, Caesar : for my dear, dear love
To your proceeding bids me tell you this ;
And reason to my love is liable.

C<ss. How foolisli do your fears seem now,

Calphui-uia !
I am ashamed I did yield to them.—
Give me my robe, for I will go : —

Enter Publius, Brutus, Ligamus, IMetellus,
Casca, Trebonius, and Cinna.

And look where Publius is come to fetch me.

Pub. Good morrow, Caesar.

Cccs. Welcome, Publius. —

What, Brutus, are you stirr'd so early too ?
Good morrow, Casca.— Caius Ligaiius,
Caesar was ne'er so much your enemy
As that same ague which hath made you lean. —
What is 't o'clock ?

Bru. Caesar, 't is strucken eight.

C(es. I thank you for your pains and courtesy.

Enter Antony.

See ! Antony, that revels long o' nights.
Is notwithstanding up : Good morrow, iintony.
Ant. So to most noble Caesar.
CiBS. Bid them prepare within : —
I am to blame to be thus waited for. —
Now, Cimia :— Now, Metellus :— What, Tre-

bonius !
I have an hour's talk in store for you;
Uemember that you call on me to-day :
Be near me, that I may remember you.

Treb. Caesar, I will : — and so near wiU I be,

\_Aside.
That your best friends shall wish I had been
further.
Cues. Good fi-iends, go in, and taste some
wine with me ;
And we, like friends, will straightway go to-
gether.

R 2

Bru. That every like is not the same, Caesar.
The heart of Brutus yearns to think upon '

[Exeunt

SCENE III.

-The same.
Capitol.

A Street near the

Enter Artemidobus, reading a paper.

Art. • Ceesar, beware of Brutus ; take lioed of Cassius j
come not near Casca; have an eye to China; trust not Tre-
bonius; mark -well Jletellus Cnnber ; Decius Brutus loves
thee not ; thou hast wronged Caius Ligarius. Tliere is tut
one mind iu all these men, and it is bent against Caesar. If
thou beest not immortal, look about you : Security gives
way to conspiracy. The mighty gods defend thee ! Tliy
lover Artemidorcs.'

Here will I stand till Caesar pass along.

And as a suitor will I give him this.

My heart laments that virtue cannot live

Out of the teeth of emulation.

If thou read this, Caesar, thou may'st live :

If not, the Eates with traitors do contrive.

[E.vit.

SCENE IV. — The same. Another part of the
same Street, before the House of Bnitus.

Enter Portia and Lucius.

For. I prithee, boy, riui to the senate-house ;
Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone :
Why dost thou stay ?

inc. To know my errand, madam.

For. I would have had thee there, andjiere
again.
Ere I can tell thee what thou shouldst do
there. —

constancy, be strong upon my side !

Set a huge mountain 'tween my hetu-t and
tongue !

1 have a man's mind, but a woman's might.
How hard it is for women to keep counsel !—
Ai-t thou here yet ?

l^c. Madam, what should I do ?

Bun to the Capitol, and nothing else ?
Aud so retui-n to you, and nothing else ?

For. Yes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord
look well.
For he went sickly forth : And take good note
What Ctesar doth, what suitors press to him.
Hark, boy ! what noise is that ?

Luc. I hear none, madam.

P(,^ Prithee, listen well;

I heard a bustling rumour, like a fray,
And the wind brings it from the Capitol.
Luc. Sooth, madam, I hear nothing.

243

Act II.)

JULIUS CESAR.

[Scene tV.

Enter Soothsayer.

Por. Come liither, fellow •

Which way hast thou been ?

Sooth. At niiue own house, good lady.

Por. AVhat is 't o'clock ?

Sooth. About the ninth hour, lady.

Por. Is Cfcsar yet gone to the Capitol ?

Sooth. Madam, not yet; I go to take my stand.
To see him pass on to the Capitol.

Por. Thou hast some suit to Caesar, hast thou
not?

Sooth. That I have, lady: if it will please
Cffisar
To be so good to Cwsar as to hear me,
I shall beseech him to befriend himself.

Por. Why, know'st thou" any harm's intended
towards him ?

Sooth. Nouc that I know \nll be, much that
I fear may chance.
Good morrow to you. Here the street is narrow:
The throng that follows Ca^ar at the heels.
Of senators, of pnetors, conuiion suitors,
AVill crowd a feeble man almost to death :
I '11 get me to a place more void, and there
Speak to great Ctcsar as he comes along.

{Exit.
Por. I must go in. — Ay me ! how weak a
thing
The heart of woman is ! Bnitus !
The heavens speed thee in thine enterprise !
Sure, the boy heard me : — Brutus hath a suit
Thai Cffisar will not grant. — 0, 1 grow faint : —
Run, Lucius, and commend me to my lord ;
Say I am merry : come to me again,
^^^i bring me word what he doth say to thee.

[Exeunt.

[Roman Matron, j

ILLTJSTUATIONS OE ACT II,

1 ScENK I,—" But what of Cicero ? "
" They durst not acquaint Cicero with their con-
spiracy, although he was a man whom they loved
dearly and trusted best; for they were afraid that,
he being a coward by nature, and age also having
increased his fear, he would quite turn and alter
all their purpose, and quench the heat of their en-
terprise, the which specially required hot and earnest
execution, seeking by persuasion to bring all things
to such safety as there should be no peril."

2 Scene I. — "Let Antony and Ccesar fall together."
"After that they consulted whether they should
kill Antonius with Caesar; but Brutus would in no
wise consent to it, saying, that venturing on such
an enterprise as that, for the maintenance of law
and justice, it ought to be clear from all villainy."

3 Scene I. — " Let not our holes" &c.
" Furthermore, the only name and great calling
of Brutus did bring on the most of them to give con-
sent to this conspu-acy : who having never taken
oaths together, nor taken nor given any caution or
assurance, nor binding themselves one to another
by any religious oaths, they all kept the matter so
secret to themselves, and could so cunningly handle
it, that notwithfit'indiug the gods did reveal it by

manifest signs and tokens from above, and by pre-
dictions of sacrifices, yet all this would not be be-
lieved. Now Brutus, who knew very well that for
his sake all the noblest, vaUantest, and most courage-
ous men of Rome did venture their lives, weighing
with himself the greatness of the danger, when he
was out of his house, he did so frame and fashion
his countenance and looks that no man could dis-
cern he had anything to trouble his mind. But
when night came that he was in his own house, then
he was clean changed; for either care did wake him
against his will when he would have slept, or else
oftentimes of himself he fell into such deep thoughts
of this enterpiise, casting in his mind all the dim-
gers that might happen, that his wife, lying by him,
found that there was some marvellous great matter
that troubled his mind, not being wont to be in that
taking, and that he could not well determine witli
himself. His wife, Portia, was the daughter of
Cato, whom Brutus married, being his cousin, not
a maiden, but a young widow, after the death of her
first husband Bi bulus, by whom she had also a young
sou called Bibulus, who afterwards wrote a book of
the acts and jests of Brutus, extant at this present
day. This young lady being excellently weU seen
in philosophy, loving her husband well, and being
of a noble coiu->wre, a>? she w;is also wise, because

2JI5

ILLUSTRATIONS OF ACT IL

slie would not ask her buabontl what he ailed before
she had made some proof by herself, she took a
little i-azor, such as barbers occupy to pare incu'.s
nails, and, causing her maids and women to go out
of her chamber, gave herself a great gash withal in
her thigh, that she was Btraightallof agoreof blood,
and incontinently after a vehement fever took her
by reason of the pain of her wound. Then perceiv-
ing her husband was marvellously out of quiet, and
that he could take no rest, even in her greatest
pain of all she spake in this sort unto him : — I being,

Brutus (said she), the daughter of Cato, was mar-
ried unto thee ; not to be thy bedfellow and com-
panion in bed and at board only, like a harlot, but
to be partaker also with thee of thy good and evil
fortune. Now for thyself I can find no cause of
fault in thee touching our match; but, for my part,
how may I show my duty towards thee, and how
much I would do for thy sake, if I cannot con-
stantly bear a secret mischance or grief with thee
which requireth secresy and fidelity? I confess
that a woman's wit commonly is too weak to keep a
secret safely ; but yet (Brutus) good education, and
the company of virtuous men, have some power to
reform the defect of nature. And for myself, I have
this benefit moreover, that I am the daughter of
C&to and wife of Brutus. This notwithstanding,

1 did not trust to any of these things before, until
that now I have found by experience that no pain
or grief whatsoever can overcome me. With these
words she showed him her wound on her thigh, and
told him what she had done to prove herself. Brutus
was amazed to heai- what she said unto him, and
lifting up his hands to heaven, he besought the gods
to give him the grace he might bring his enterprise
to so good pass that he might be found a husband
worthy of so noble a wife as Portia : so he then did
comfort her the best he could."

■• Scene I.— "Mere is a sich man," &c.
" Now amongst Pompey's friends there was one
called Caius Ligarius, who had been accused unto
Cxsar for taking part with Pompey, and Ctcsar
discharged him. But Ligarius thanked notCtcsar
so much for his discharge, as he was ofifendcd with
him for that he was brought in danger by his ty-
rannical power ; and therefore in his heart he was
always his mortal enemy, and was besides very
familiar with Brutus, who went to see him, being
sick in his bed, and "aid unto him, Ligarius, in what
a time art thou sick ! Ligarius, rising up in his bed,
and taking hiui by the right hand, said unto him,
Brutus (.«aid he), if thou hast any great enterin-ise
in hand worthy of thyself, I am whole."

* ScEJfE n. — " Thrice hath Calphumia in Jiei- sleep
cried out," &c.

" Then going to bed the same night, as his man-

ner was, and lying with his wife Cidpurnia, all tho
windows and doors of his chamber flying open, the
noise awoko him, and made him afraid when ho saw
such hght; but more, when ho heard his wife Cal-
purnia, being fast asleep, weep and sigh, and put
forth many grumbling lamentable speeches, for she
deemed that Casar was slain, and that she had him
in her arms. Others also do deny that she had any
such dream, as, amongst other, Titus Livius writeth
that it was in this soi't : — The Senate having set
upon tho top of Cffisar's house, for an ornament and
setting forth of tho same, a certain pinnacle, Cal-
purnia dreamed that she saw it broken down, and
that she thought she lamented and wept for it; in-
somuch that, Caesar rising in the morning, sho
prayed him, if it were possible, not to go out of the
doors that day, but to adjourn the session of tha
Senate until another day ; and if that he made no
reckoning of her dream, yet that he would search
further of the soothsayers by their sacrifices to know
what should happen him that day. Thereby it
seemed that Cres'ar likewise did fear and suspect
somewhat, because his wife Calpurnia, until that
time, was never given to any fear or superstition ;
and that then he saw her so troubled in mind with
this dream she had, but much more afterwards
when the soothsayer, having sacrificed many beasts
one after another, told him that none did like them.
Then he determined to send Antouius to adjourn
the session of the Senate ; but in the mean time came
Decius Brutus, surnamed Albinus, in whom Cssar
put such confidence that in his last will and testa-
ment he had appointed him to be his next heir, and
yet was of the conspiracy with Cassius and Brutus.
He, fearing that, if Cajsar did adjourn the session that
day, the conspiracy would be betrayed, laughed at
the soothsayers, and reproved Crosar, saying that he
gave the Senate occasion to mislike with him, and
that they might think he mocked them, considering
that by his commandment they were assembled, and
that they were ready willingly to grant him all
things, and to proclaim him king of all the provinces
of the empire of Rome out of Italy, and that he
should wear his diadem in all other places, both by
sea and land ; and furthermore, that if any man
should tell them from him they should dejiart for
that present time, and retuni again when Calpurnia
should have better dreams, what would his enemies
and ill-willers say, and how could they like of his
friend's words ? and who could persuade them other-
wise, but that they would think his dominion a slav-
ery unto them, and tyrannical in himself? And
yet, if it be so, said he, that you utterly mislike of
this day, it is better that you go yourself in person,
and, saluting the Senate, to dismiss them till an-
other time. Therewithal ho took Cicsar by the
hand, and brought him out of his house."

216

'^.^iui"\"'-ili*T.-'

f.-^i;^p|^'|]«^^rif=!U;iS^i^

ACT III.

SCENE I.— The same. The Capitol; the Se-
nate sitting.

A crowd of peo])le in the street leading to the Ca-
pitol; among them Autemidokus and the
Soothsayer. Flourish. Enter C^sar, Bru-
tus, Cassius, Casca, Decius, Metellus,
Tbebonius, Cinna, Antony, Lepidus, Popi-
Lius, PuBLius, and others.

Cas. The ides of March are come.
Sooth. Ay, Csesar ; but not gone.
Art. Han, Caesar ! Read this schedule.
Bee. Trebonius doth desire you to o'er-read,
At your best leisure, this his humble suit.
Art. 0, Caesar, read miae fii'st ; for mine 's a
suit
That touches Caesar nearer: Read it, great
Caesar.

CeEs. What touches us om-self shall be last

serv'd.
Art. Delay not, Caesar ; read it instantly.
Gas. "What, is the fellow mad ?
Pub. Sii'rah, give place.

Cas. What, urge you yom- petitions in the

street ?
Come to the Capitol.

C^SAR enters the Capitol, the rest following. All
the Senators rise.^

Pop. I wish your enterprise to-day may thiive.

Cas. What enterprise, Popiliiis ?

Poj). Pare you well.

\Adca7iCeS to C-ESAR.

Bru. What said Popilius Lena ?
Cas. He wish'd to-day our enterprise might
thrive.
I feax our purpose is discovered.

24 r

ACT in.]

JULIUS CtESAR.

[SCENK 1.

Bru. Look, how he makes to Ctcsar : Mark

him.
Cas. Casca, be sudden, for we fear preven-
tiou. —
Brutus, what shall be done ? If this be known,
Cassius or Ca>sar never shall turn back.
For I will slay myself.

])ru. Cassius, be constant :

Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes ;
For, look, he smiles, and Ca-sar doth not cliange.
Cas. Trebonius knows his time ; for, look you,
Brutus,
lie draws !Mark Antony out of the way.

[Exeunt Antony and Trebonius. Caesar
and the Senators take their seats.
Dec. Wlicre is MctcUus Cimbcr? Let him go.
And presently prefer his suit to Cajsar.
Bru. He is address'd:" press near, and second

him.
Cin. Casca, you are the first that rears your

hand.
Ctvs. Are we all ready ?'' what is now amiss,
That Casar, and his senate, must redress ?
Met. Most high, most mighty, and most
puissant Ccesar,
Mctcllus Cimber throws before thy seat
An humble heart : — [Kneelint/.

Cas. I must prevent thee, Cimber.

These coucliings, and these lowly courtesies,
Might fire the blood of ordinary men ;
And turn pre-ordinance, and first decree.
Into the law *" of children. Be not fond,
To think that Csesar bears such rebel blood.
That will be thaw'd from the true quality
With that which melteth fools ; I mean sweet

words.
Low crooked curtsies, and base spaniel fawTiing.
Thy brother by decree is banished ;
If thou dost bend, and pray, and fawn, for hiin,
I spurn thee, like a cur, out of my way.
Know, Ca:sar doth not wTong: nor without

cause
Win he be satisfied.''

* Addrets'd — ready.

^ Mr. Collier (,'ives the words to Casca; as Ritson also
did. The distribution seems plausible. But Brutus lias just
said of Ca!sar, " he is address'd," wliich means " he is ready."
Catar, heinR ready himself, looks to the senate, and says
"Are we all ready? "

c Lmc. — The orijrinal has lane.— sn easy misprint for lau-e.

d In Ben Jonson's 'Discoveries' there is the following
passage referrinR to Shakspere : " Many times he fell into
those thint's could not escape lauRhter: aa when he said in
the person of Caesar, one speaking to him, 'Caesar, thou
dost me wronp,' he rejjlied, 'Caesar did never wrong but
with just cause.'" Jonson wrote this, we have no douht,
before the publication of the folio of IC23; for he was in-
capable of falsely quoting his friend's lines. T^iTwhitt sup-
poses that the players altered the line; and maintains that
Shakspere did not use urong in the sense of impropriety,
liut with reference to his exercise of power which sometimes

218

Met. Is there no voice more worthy than my
own.
To sound more sweetly in great Ca;sar's ear.
For the repealing of my banish'd brother ?

Bru. I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery^
Cfcsar ;
Desiring thee that Publius Cimber may
Have an immediate freedom of repeal.

Ctcs. What, Brutus !

Cas. Pardon, Crosar ; Csesar, pardon :

As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall.
To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber.

Cccs. I could be well mov'd if I were as you ;
If I could pray to move, prayers would move

me :
But I am const:ii:fc as the northern star.
Of whose trae-fix'd and resting quality
There is no fellow in the firmament.
The skies arc painted with uuuumber'd sparks,
They are all fire, and every one doth shine ;
But there 's but one in all doth hold his place :
So, in the world : 'T is furnish'd well with men.
And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive ;
Yet, in the number, I do know but one
That unassailable holds on his rank,
Unshak'd of motion : and, that I am he.
Let me a little show it, — even in this.
That I was constant Cimbcr should be banish'd,
.;\jid constant do remain to keep him so,

Cin. O Cajsar, —

Cas. Hence ! wilt thou lift up Olympus ?

Dec. Great Caesar, —

Cas. - Doth not Brutus bootless kneel ?

Casca. Speak, hands, for me.

[Casca dabs Cesar in the neck. Caesar
catches hold of his arm. He is then stabbed
by several otlier Conspirators, and at last by
!Marcus Brutus.

Cas. Et tu, Brute f—lhen. fall, Csesar.

[Dies. The senators and people retire in con-
fusion.

Cin. Liberty ! Freedom ! Tvranny is dead ! —
Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets.

Cas. Some to the common pulpits, and cry
out,
' Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement ! *

Bru. People, and senators ! be not affrighted;
Fly not ; stand still : — ambition's debt is paid.

Casca. Go to the pulpit, Bnitus.

Dec. And Cassius too.

Bru. AVlicrc 's Publius ?

required him to punish. "On the whole," say the Cam-
bridge editors, " it seems more probable thai Jonson, quoting
from memory; quoted wrong, than that the passage w,i8
altered in consequence of his censure, which was first made
publicly, in 1025."

Act III]

JULIUS OiESAR.

fScElTE 1.

Cin. Here, quite confounded with tMs mu-
tiny.
Met. Stand fast together, lest some friend of
Csesar's
Should chance —
Bru. Talk not of standing ; — Pubhus, good
cheer ;
There is no harm intended to your person.
Nor to no Ex)man else : so teU them, Publius.
Cas. And leave us, Publius ; lest that the
people,
Rusliing on us, should do your age some mis-
chief.
Bnt. Do so ; — and let no man abide this deed
But we the doers.

Re-enter Trebonitjs.

Cas. Where is Antony ?

Tre. Pled to his house amaz'd :
Men, wives, and childi-en stare, cry out, and run,
As it were doomsday.

Bru. Pates ! we wiU know your pleasures : —
That we shall die we know ; 't is but the time,
And drawing days out, that men stand upon.

Casca. Why, he that cuts off twenty years of
life
Cuts off so many years of fearing death."

Bru. Grant that, and then is death a benefit :
So are we Csesar's friends, that have abridg'd
His tune of fearing death.— Stoop, Eomans,

stoop,
And let us bathe our hands in Csesar's blood
Up to the elbows, and besmear om- swords :
Then walk we forth, even to the market-place ;
And, waving our red weapons o'er our heads.
Let 's all cry. Peace, Freedom, and Liberty !

Cas. Stoop then, and wash.— How many ages
hence
Shall this our lofty scene be acted over,
La states unborn, and accents yet unknown !

Bru. How many times shall Csesar bleed in
sport.
That now on Pompey's basis lies along.
No worthier than the dust !

Cas. So oft as that shall be,

So often shall the knot of us be caU'd
The men that gave their country liberty.

Dec. What, shall we forth ?

Cas. Ay, every man away :

Brutus shall lead ; and we wiU grace his heels
With the most boldest and best hearts of Rome.

a The original copies give this speech fo Casca. The
variorum editors assigned it to Cassius. Jlr. Craik thinks
it is more in tlie manner of Cassius.

"Enter a SoiTant.

Bru. Soft, who comes here? A friend of
Antony's.

Serv. Tlius, Brutus, did my master bid me
kneel ;
Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down ;
Aid, being prostrate, thus he bade me say :
Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest :
Csesar was mighty, bold, royal, and lonng :
Say, I love Brutus, and I honour him ;
Say, I fear'd Csesar, honour'd him, and lov'd

him.
If Brutus wiU vouchsafe that Antony
May safely come to him, and be resolv'd
How Csesar hath deserv'd to lie in death,
Mark Antony shall not love Caesar dead
So well as Brutus Uving ; but will follow
The fortunes and affahs of noble Brutus,
Thorough the hazards of this untrod state.
With all true faith. So says iny master An-
tony.

Bru. Thy master is a wise and valiant Roman;
I never thought him worse.
TeU him, so please him come unto this place,
He shall be satisfied ; and, by my honour.
Depart untouch'd.

Serv. I 'U fetch him presently.

[_Bxit Servant.

Bru. I know that we shall have him well to
friend.

Cas. I wish we may : but yet have I a miud
That fears hira much ; and my misgiving stiU
Falls shrewdly to the purpose.

Re-enter Antony.

Bru. But here comes Antony.— Welcome,

Mark Antony.
Ant. mighty Csesar ! Dost thou lie so low ?
Are aU thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils.
Shrunk to this little measure ?— Pare thee well—
I know not, gentlemen, what you intend,
Who else must be let blood, who else is rank :
If I myself, there is no hour so fit
As Csesar's death's hour ; nor no instrument
Of half that worth as those your swords, made

rich
With the most noble blood of all this world.
I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard.
Now, whilst your purpled hands do reck and

smoke.
Fulfil yoiu- pleasui-e. Live a thousand years,
I shall not find myseK so apt to die :
No place will please me so, no mear. of death,
^ 249

Act III]

JULIUS CvESAR.

rScEXB L

As here by CiBsar, and by you cut off,
The clioicc and master spirits of this age.

Bru. O Antony ! beg not your death of us.
Though now we must appear bloody and cruel,
As, by our hands and this our present act.
You see wc do, yet sec you but our hands.
And this the bleeding business they have done :
Our hearts you see not, they arc pitiful ;
.iVnd pity to the general wrong of Rome
(As fire drives out fire, so pity, pity)
Hath done this deed on Casar. For your pari,
To you our swords have leaden points, Mark

Antony :
Our anus, in strength of nialiee," and oiu- hearts.
Of brothers' temper, do receive you in
With all kiud love, good thoughts, and reverence.
Cas. Your voice shall be as strong as any niau'.s
In the disposing of new dignities.

Bru. Only be patieut, till we have appeas'd
The multitude, beside themselves with fear ;
And then we will deliver you the cause,
>Vliy I, that did love Ctesar when I struck him.
Have thus proceeded.

j„/. I doubt not of your wisdom.

Let each man render mc his bloody hand :
First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you ;
Next, Cains Cassius, do I take your hand ;
Now, Dccius Brutus, yours ;— now yours, Mc-

tellus ;
Yours, Cinna ;— and, my valiant Casca, yours ; —
Though last, not least in love, yours, good Tre-

bonius.
Gentlemen all,— alas ! what shall I say ?
My credit now stands on such slippery ground,
That one of two bad ways you must conceit me,
Either a coward or a flatterer. —
That I did love thee, Csesar, 0, 't is true :
Tf then thy spirit look upon us now,
Shall it not grieve thee, dearer than thy death.
To see thy Antony making his peace.
Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes.
Most noble ! in the presence of thy corse ?
Had I as many eyes as thou liast wounds.
Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood.
It would become me better than to close
In terms of friendship with thine enemies.
Pardon me, Julius!— Here wast thou bay'd,

brave hart ;
Here didst thou fall; and here thy hunters

stand,
Sign'd in thy spoil, and crimson'd in thy lethe.
world ! tliou wast the forest to this hart ;
And this indeed, world ! the heart of thee.—

» See Recent New Reading at ihc end of the Act.
2j0

How like a deer, stricken by many princes,
Dost thou here lie !
Cas. !M;u-k Antony, —

Jnt. Pardon mc, Caius Cassius ;

The enemies of CiEsar shall say this ;
Then in a friend it is cold modesty,

Cas. I blame you not for praising Ctesar so ;
But what compact mean you to have with us ?
■\yill you be prick'd in number of oui- friends ;
Or shall wc on, and not depend on you ?

Ant. Therefore I took your hands ; but was,
indeed,
Sway'd from the point, by looking down on

Cicsar.
Friends am I with you all, and love you all ;
Upon this hope, that you shall give me reasons
'\Vliy and wherein Cscsar was dangerous.

Bru. Or else were this a savage spectacle.
Our reasons are so full of good regard.
That were you, Antony, the son of Ctesar,
You should be satisfied.

Ant. That 's all I seek :

And am moreover suitor that I may
Produce his body to the market-place ;
And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend.
Speak in the order of his funeral.
Bru. You sliidl, Mark Antony.
Cas. Brutus, a word with you. —

You know not what you do : Do uot consent

[^Aside.
That Antony speak in his funeral :
Know you how much the people may be mov'd
By that which he will utter ?

Brv. By your pardon ; —

I will myself into the pulpit fu'st.
And show the reason of our Caesar's death :
What Antony shall speak, I will protest
He speaks by leave and by permission ;
And that we are contented Ca!sar shall
Have all true rites and lawful ceremonies.
It shall advantage more than do us wrong.
Cas. I know not what may fall ; I like it not.
Bru. Mark Antony, here, take you Caisar's
body.
You shall not in your funeral speech blame us,
But speak all good you can devise of Caisar ;
And say you do 't by our permission ;
Else shall you not have any hand at all
About his funeral : And you shall speak
In the same pulpit whereto I am going,
After my speech is ended.

Ant. Be it so ;

I do desire no more.
Bru. Prepare the body then, and follow us.

[E.Tettnt all but Aktonjt.

Act rir.]

JULIUS C^^SAR.

[SCENIS IL

Ant. 0, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of
eai-th,"
That I am meek and gentle with these butchers !
Thou ai-t the ruins of the noblest man
That ever lived in the tide of tunes.
Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood !
Over thy wounds now do I prophesy, —
Which, like duiub mouths, do ope their ruby

lips,
To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue, —
A curse shall light upon the limbs of men ;
Domestic fury, and fierce civil strife.
Shall cumber all the parts of Italy :
Blood and destruction shall be so in use,
And dreadful objects so familiar,
That mothers shall but smile when they behold
Their infants qutirter'd with the hands of war ;
All pity chok'd with custom of fell deeds :
And Caesar's spuit, ranging for revenge.
With Ate by his side, come hot from hell,
ShaU. in these confines, with a monarch's voice.
Cry ' Havock,' t" and let slip the dogs of war ;
That this foul deed shall smell above the earth
With carrion men groaning for burial.

Eiite-i- a Servant.

You serve Octavius Caesar, do you not ?

Serv. I do, Mark Antony.

Ant. Cffisar did write for him to come to Rome.

Sere. He did receive his letters, and is coming :
And bid me say to you by word of mouth, —
Caesar ! — \8eeing the body.

Ant. Thy heart is big; get thee apart aud
weep.
Passion, I see, is catching ; for mine eyes.
Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine.
Began to water. Is thy master coming ?

Sero. He lies to-night within seven leagues of
Rome.

Ant. Post back with speed, and teU him what
hath chanc'd :
Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome,
No Rome of safety for Octavius yet ;
Hie hence, and tell him so. Yet, stay awhile ;
Thou shalt not back till I have bonie this corse
Into the market-place : there shaU I try,
In my oration, how the people take
The cniel issue of these bloody men ;
According to the which thou shalt discourse

a We give the line as in the first and second editions.
The text was invariably corrupted in all modem editions
before tlie Pictorial into —

" O, pardon me, thou piece of bleeding earth."

b Havock, according to Sir William Blackstone, was, in
the military operations of ancient times, the word by which
declaration was made that no quarter should be given.

To young Octavius of the state of things.
Lend me your hand.

[Exeunt, with C^sab's bodi/.

SCENE ll.—The same. The Forum.

Enter Beuttts and Cassitts, and a throng of
Citizens.^

at. We wiU be satisfied ; let us be satisfied.

Bru. Then follow me, and give me audience,
friends. — •
Cassius, go you into the other street.
And part the numbers. —
Those that will hear me speak, let tliem stay

here ;
Those that wiU foUow Cassius, go with him ;
And pubKc reasons shall be rendered
Of Caesar's death.

1 at. I win hear Brutus speak.

2 at. I will hear Cassius ; and compare their

reasons.
When severally we hear them rendered.

\Bxit Cassius, xcith some of the Citizens.
Brtjxus goes into the Rostrum.

3 at. The noble Brutus is ascended : Silence !
Bru. Be patient tUl the last.

Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! hear me for
my cause ; and be silent, that you may hear :
believe me for mine honour; and have respect
to mine honour, that you may believe : censure
me in your wisdom ; and awake your senses, that
you may the better judge. If there be any in
this assembly, any dear friend of Caesar's, to him
I say, that Brutus' love to Cfesar was no less
than his. If then that friend demand why
Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my answer, —
Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved
Rome more. Had you rather Caesar were living,
and die all slaves ; than that Caesar were dead,
to live all iTce-men ? As Caesar loved me, I weep
for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as
he was valiant, I honour him: but, as he was
ambitious, I slew him : There is tears, for his
love ; joy, for his fortune ; honour", for his valour;
and death, for his ambition. TVTio is here so
base that would be a bondman ? If any, speak ;
for him have I offended. Who is here so rude
that would not be a Roman? If any, speak;
for him have I offended. Who is here so vile
that win not love his country? If any, speak;
for him have I offended. I pause for a reply.

at. None, Brutus, none.

[Several speaking at once.

Bru. Then none have I offended. I have
done no more to Caesar than you shall do to

251

ACT III. J

JULIUS CESAR.

[ScEK3 n.

Brutus. The question ot his death is enrolled
in the Capitol ; his glory not extenuated, wherein
he was wortliy; nor liis offences enforced, for
which he suffered death.

EHtrr .\jfTOXY and othfn, with Ciesar'* bo(I>/.

Here comes his body, mourned by Jfark Antony :
who, though he had no hand iu his death, shall
receive the benefit of his dying, a place in the
commonwealth : As which of you shall not ? With
this I depart : That, as I slew my best lover for
the good of Rome, 1 have the same dagger for
myself, when it shall please my country to need
my death.

CU. Live, Brutus, live I live !

1 at. Bring liim with triumph home unto

his house.

2 at. Give him a statue with liis ancestors.

3 at. Let him be Csesar.

4 at. CfEsar's better parts
Shall be crown'd in Brutus.

1 at. We '11 bring him to his house with

shouts and clamours.
Bru. My countni-men, —

2 at. Peace ; silence ! Brutus speaks.
1 at. Peace, ho !

Bru. Good countrymen, let me depart alone.
And, for my sake, stay here with Antony :
Do grace to Caesar's corpse, and grace his speech
Tending to Caesar's glories ; which Mark Antony,
By our permission, is allow'd to make.
T do entreat you, not a man depart.
Save I alone, till Antony have spoke. [^Exit.

1 at. Stay, ho ! and let us hear Alark Antony.

3 at. Let him go up into the public chair ;
We '11 hear him : Noble Antony, go up.

Ant. For Brutus' sake, I am beholding to you.

4 at. What does he say of Bmtus ?

3 at. He says for Bmtus' sake.
He finds himself beholding to us all.

4 at. 'T were best he speak no hann of Brutus

here.

1 at. This Ctesar was a tyrant.

3 at. Nay, that 's rortain :

We arc bless'd that Rome is rid of him.

2 at. Peace; let us hear what Antony can

say.
Ant. You gentle Romans, —
Oil. Peace, ho ! let us hear him.

Jnt. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me
your cars ;
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them ;
The good is oft interred with their bones ;
So let it be %vith Caesar. The noble Brutus
252

Hath told you CiEsar was ambitious :

If it were so, it was a grievous fault ;

And grievously hatii Cffisar answer'd it.

Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest,

(For Brutus is an honourable man ;

So arc they all, all honourable men ;)

Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral.

He was my friend, faithful and just to mc :

But Bi-utus says, he was ambitious ;

And Brutus is an honourable man.

He hath brought many captives home to Rome,

Wliose ransoms did the general coffers fill :

Did this in Caesar seem ambitious ?

Wlien that the poor have cried, Cajsar iiath

wept :
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff :
Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
You all did see that on the Lupercal
I thrice presented bim a kingly crown.
Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ?
Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ;
And, sure, he is au honourable man.
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke.
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once, not without cause ;
What cause withholds you then to mourn for

him ?

judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts.
And men have lost their reason ! — Bear with me ;
My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar,
And I must pause till it come back to me.

1 at. Methiuks there is much reason in liis

sayings.

2 at. If thou consider rightly of the matter,
Cffisar has had great wrong.

3 at. Has he, masters ?

1 fear there will a worse come in his place.

4 at. ]Mark'd ye his words? He would not

take the crown ;
Tliercfore, 't is ecrtain he was not ambitious.

1 at. If it be found so, some will dear abide

it.

2 at. Poor soul ! his eyes are red as fire with

weeping.

3 at. There 's not a nobler man iu Rome than

Antony.

4 at. Now mark him, he begins again to

speak.
Ant. But yesterday, the word of Cajsar might
Have stood against the world : now lies he there,
And none so poor to do him reverence.

masters ! if I were dispos'd to stir
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,

1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong,

Act III.]

JULIUS CiKSAR.

[Scene IL

Who, you all know, are honoui-able men :
I will not do them wrong ; I rather choose
To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you,
Than I will wrong such honourable men.
But here 's a parchment, \vith the seal of Caesar,
I found it in his closet, 't is his will :
Let but the commons hear this testament,
(Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read,)
And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds.
And dip their napkins in his sacred blood ;
Yea, beg a hair of him for memory,
And, dying, mention it wiihin their wills,
Bequeatliing it, as a rich legacy.
Unto their issue.

4 at. We '11 hear the will : Read it, Mark
Antony.

at. The will, the will ! we will hear Csesar's
will.

Ant. Have patience, gentle friends, I must
not read it ;
It is not meet you know how Caesai- lov'd you.
You are not wood, you arc not stones, but men ;
And, being men, hearing the will of Csesar,
It will inflame you, it wdll make you mad :
'T is good you know not that you are his heirs ;
For if you should, 0, what would come of it !

4 au. Read the will ; we '11 hear it, Antony ;
you sliaU read us the will; Ctesar's will.

Ant. Will you be patient? Will you stay a
while?
I have o'ershot myself to tell you of it.
I fear I ^vrong the honourable men
Whose daggers have stabb'd Cssar : I do fear it.

4 at. They were traitors : Honourable men !

at. The win ! the testament !

2 ad. They were villains, murderers: The
will ! read the will !

Ant. You will compel me then to read the
will?
Then make a ring about the corpse of Ceesar,
And let me show you him that made the will.
Shall I descend ? And will you give me leave ?

ait. Come down.

2 ait. Descend.

\He comes down from the pulpit,

3 at. You shall have leave.

4 at. A ring ; stand round.

1 at. Stand from the hearse, stand from the
body.

2 at. Room for Antony; — most noble An-
tony.

Ant. Nay, press not so upon me ; stand far off.

ait. Stand back ! room 1 bear back !

Ant. If you have tears, prepare to shed them
now.

You aU do know this mantle : I remember

The first time ever Caesar put it on ;

'T was on a summer's evening, in his tent,

That day he overcame the Nervii : —

Look ! in this place ran Cassius' dagger through :

See, what a rent the envious Casca made :

Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd ;

And, as he pluck'd his cui-sed steel away,

Mark how the blood of Ca;sar foUow'd it.

As rushing out of doors, to be resolv'd

If Brutus so unkindly knock' d, or no ;

For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel :

Judge, you gods, how dearly Caesar lov'd

him !
This was the most uukindest cut of all :
For when the noble Caesar saw him stab.
Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms.
Quite vanquish'd him: then burst his mighty

heart ;
^Vnd, in his mantle muffling up his face.
Even at the base of Pompey's statue,*
Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell.
0, what a fall was there, my countrymen !
Then T, and you, and all of us fell down,
AVhilst bloody treason flourish'd over us.
0, now you weep ; and, I perceive, you feel
The dint*" of pity : these are gracious drops.
Kind souls, what weep you, when you but be-
hold
Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look you here,
Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors.

1 at. O piteous spectacle !

2 at. noble Caesar !

3 at. woeful day !

4 at. O traitors, villains !

1 ad. most bloody sight !

All. T^'e will be reveuged: revenge; about,
— seek, — burn, — fire, — kill, — slay!— let not a
traitor live.

Ant. Stay, coimtrymen.

1 Cd. Peace there :— Hear the noble Antony.

2 ad. We '11 hear him, we 'U follow him, we '11
die with him.

Ant. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not

stii- you up
To such a sudden flood of mutiny.
They that have done this deed are honourable ;
WTiat private griefs they have, alas ! I know not,
That made them do it; they are wise and

honom-able.

a Slaluc.—\\\ this passage, and in a previous instance, the
word Hatua has been substituted for the English word.
What we may gain in the harmony of the verse we lose in
the simplicity of the expression, by this alteration.

f) Dini— impression.

253

Act III]

JULIUS C;ESAR.

[Scene III.

Ajid will, no doubt, with reasons answer you.
I conic not, friends, to steal away your hearts ;
I ain no orator, as Brutus is ;
But as you know inc all, a plain blunt man,
That love my friend; and tliat they know full

weU
That gtive me public leave to spcjik of hiiu.
For 1 have neither wit,* nor words, nor worth,
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech,
To stir men's blood : I only speak riglit on ;
I tell you that which you yourselves do know ;
Show you sweet Cesar's wounds, poor, poor

dumb mouths.
And bid them speak for me : But were I Brutus,
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue
In every wound of Csesar, that should move
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.
at. We '11 mutiny !

1 at. We '11 bum the house of Brutus !

3 at. Away then; come, seek the couspii-a-
tors!

Ant. Yet hear me, countrymen ; yet hear me
speak.

at. Peace, ho! Hear Antony, most noble
Antony. ,

Ant. Why, friends, you go to do you know
not what :
U herein hath Cesar thus deserv'd your loves ?
Alas, you know not — I must tell you then : —
You have forgot the will I told you of.

Cil. Most true ; the will :— let 's stay, and hear
the will.

Ant. Here is the will, and under Caesar's seal.
To every Roman citizen he gives,
To every several man, seventy-five drachmas.

2 at. Most noble Csesar ! — we '11 revenge his
death.

3 at. O royal Csesar !

Ant. Hear me with patience.

at. Peace, ho !

Ant. Moreover, he hath left you all his walks,
Ilis private arbours, and new-planted orchards.
On this side Tiber ; he hath left them you.
And to your heirs for ever ; common pleasures.
To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves.
Here was a C»sar ! When comes such another ?

1 at. Never, never ! — Come, away, away !
Wc '11 bum his body in the holy place,
\nA. with the brands lire the traitors' houses.
Take up the body.

» rr</.— The folif) of IC2.1 has irri<— tbat of IC.32 nil.
irnl may be cxpUined n a prepared writinK; bulwe retain
the readme of the tccond folio, receiving tcil in the sense of
uoderttanding.

254

2 at. Go, fetch fu-e.

3 at. Pluck down benches.

4 at. Pluck down forms, windows, anytliing.

[Exeunt Citizens, with the body.
Ant. Now let it m ork ! Miseliicf, thou ait
afoot.
Take thou what course thou wilt ! — How now,
fellow ?

Enter a Servant.

Serv. Sir, Octavius is already come to Rome.

Ant. Where is he ?

Serv. He and Lepidus are at Csesar's house.

Ant. And thither wall I straight to visit him :
He comes upon a wish. Fortune is merry.
And in this mood will give us anything.

Serv. I heard him say, Bnitus and Cassius
iVi'C rid like madiucn thi-ough the gates of Rome.

Ant. Belike they had some notice of the
people.
How I had niov'd them. Bring me to Octavius.

\Exeunt.

SCENE IJl.—The same. A Street.

Enter Cinna, the Poet?

at. I di-eamt to-night that I did feast with
Csesar,
And things unluckily charge my phantasy :
I have no will to wander forth of doors.
Yet something leads me forth.

Enter Citizens.

1 at. What is your name ?

2 at. Whither are you going ?

3 at. Wliere do you dwell ?

4 at. Are you a married man, or a bachelor ?

2 at. Answer every man diixctly.

1 at. Ay, and briefly.
4 at. Ay, and wisely.

3 at. Ay, and truly, you were best.

an. Wliat is my name ? Whither am I going ?
Where do I dwell ? Am I a married man or a
bachelor? Tlicn, to answer every man directly,
and briefly, wisely, and tmly; wisely I say, I
am a bachelor.

2 at. That 's as much as to say they are
fools that marry: You'll bear me a bang for
that, I fear. Proceed; directly.

an. Directly, I am going to Caesar's funeral.

1 at. As a friend, or an enemy ?
an. As a friend.

2 at. That matter is answered dueetly.

4 at. For your dwelling, — briefly.
an. Briefly, I dwell by the Capitol.

A.CT III.]

JULIUS C^SAR.

[ScEKK m.

3 at. Your name, sir, truly.
Citi. Truly, my name is Cinna,

1 at. Tear him to pieces, he 's a conspii-ator.
an. I am Cinna the poet, I am Cinna the
poet.

4 at. Tear him for his bad verses, tear him
for his bad verses.

Cin. I am not Cinna the conspirator."

» Through a most extraordinary licence, or indolence in

2 at. It is no matter, his name's Cimia;
pluck but his name out of his heart, and turn
him going.

3 at. Tear him, tear hun! Come, brands,
ho! firebrands. To Brutus', to Cassius'; bum
all. Some to Decius' house, and some to Casca's ;
some to Ligarius' : away ; go ! [_Exeunt.

the collation of copies, this entire line is omitted in some
modern editions.