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Full text of "Tales from Shakespear: Designed for the Use of Young Persons"

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TALES 



FROM 



S M^K E S WB^ R, 



DESIGNED 



FOR THE USE OF YOUNG PERSONS. 



Bt CHARLES LAMB^ yt. ^ 



THE SECOND EDIT^ON.^ ' ' 



<i 












IN TWO V<>LUKfE9,. ;. /'/',; 

voL.:ii;V' '* ' 






ZONDON: 

PEUfTED FOR M. J. GODWIN, AT THE JUVENILE LIBRART, 

NO. 41, SKINNER-STREET^ 
AND TO BE HAD OF AIX BOOKSELLERS. 



1809. 



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•• -• 



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••• 



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Piinted by t. DAVISON, 
Whitefriars^ London. 



CONTENTS 



OF 



THE SECOND VOLUME. 



J 



/ 



TALE / PAGE 

Xr. ALL^s WcU that Ends WcU ^ - 1 

XII. The Taming of the Shrew - >^ • 24 

XIII. The Comedy of Errors - • 44 

XIV. Measure for A^sisur^ ^- ^ . >*, -^ 70'^'^^ 

XV. Twelfth Ni^ti^«|piat yoi^Will 97 

XVI. Timon of Athenf^ i . , ;- - - 121 

XVII. Romeo and Jiilict >:*: / - : - 145 ^ 

XVIII. Hamlet, Prince of "Denmark s - 177 

XIX. Othello. - . ^ . . 206 

XX. Pericles, Prince of Tyr^ / - - 231 



• • , . 

• • • •. 



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• • • • 





TALES FROM SHAKESPEAR. 



— •'jt 



TALE THE ELEVENTH. 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS 

WELL. 

Bertram, count of RossiHon, had newly 
come to his title and estate, by the death of his 
father. The king of France loved the father of 
Bertram, and when he heard of his death, he 
sent for his son to come immediately to his 
royal court in Paris; intending, for the friend* 
ship he bore the late count, to grace young Ber- 
tram with his especial favour and protection. 

Bertram was living with his mother, the wi* 
dowed countess, when Lafeu, an old lord of the 
French court, came to conduct Bertram to the 
king. The king of France was aa absolute 

VOL. 11. A 



2 all's well 

monarchy and the invitation to court was in the 
form of a royal mandate^; or positive commandyH 
which no subject of what high dignity soever 
might disobey ; therefore though the countess^ in 
parting with this dear son> seemed a second time 
to bury her husband> whose loss she had so 
lately mourned^ yet she dared not to keep him a 
single day, but gave instant orders for his de- 
parture. Lafeu, wha came to fetch him^ tried 
to comfort the countess for the loss of her late 
lord, and her son's sudden absence ; and he said, 
in a coiurtier'a tattering manner, that the king 
was so kind a prince^ she would find in his ma- 
jesty a husband, and that he would be a father 
to her son : meaning only that the good king 
would befriend the fortunes of Bertram. Lafeu 
told the countess that the king had fallen into a 
sad malady, which was pronounced by his phy^ 
sicians to be incurable. The lady expressed 
great sorrow on hearing this account of the 
king^s ill health, and said, she wished the father 
of Helena (a young gentlewoman who was pre- 
sent in attendance upon her) w^ere Uving, for 
that she doubted not he could have cured hii 
majesty of his disease. And she told XaUv^ 
•OQsetking of the bi^torjr of liektia, sgying ikf^ 



THAT ENDS WELL. S 

sfis die wif ^aughlerrof the famous physician 
Qertrd de Narbon, and that he had recom- 
mended his daughter to her care when he was 
dying, so that since his death she had taken He- 
lena under her protection; then the countess 
praised the virtuous disposition and excellent 
ijualities of Helena^ saying she inherited these 
virtues from her worthy father. While she was 
speaking, Helena wept in sad and mournful si- 
lence, which made the countess gently reprove 
her for too much grieving for her father's death. 

Bertram now bade his mother farewel. The 
countess parted with diis^dear son with tears and 
many blessings, and commended him to the care 
of Lafeu, saying, " Good my lord, advise him, 
for he is an unseasoned courtier^" 

Bertram's last words were spoken to Helena, 
but they were words of mere civility, wishing 
her happtnessf j and he concluded his short fare- 
wel to her with saying, <^ Be comfortable to my 
flwiher your mistress, and make much of her." 

Helena had long loved Bertram, and when she 
w^ in sad and motucnful silence, the tears she 
Aed were not for Gerard de Narbon. Helena 
loved her fother, bnt in die present feeling of a 
deeper love, the ol^ect of which she was about 



4 all's wcct 

to lose} she had forgotten the very form and fea- 
tures of her dead father^ her imagination preseotr 
ing no image to her mind but Bertram's. 

Hekna had long loved Bertram, yet she always 
remembered that he was the count of Rossilion, 
descended from the most ancient family in 
France. She of humble birth. Her parents of 
no note at all. His ancestors all noble. And 
therefore she looked up to the high-born Ber- 
trami as to her master and to her dear lord, and 
dared not form any wish but to live his servant, 
and so living to die his vassal. So great the dis- 
tance seemed to her between his height of dig-r 
nity and her lowly fortunes, that she would say, 
** It were all one that I should love a bright pe- 
culiar star and think to wed it, Bertram is so far 
^bove me." 

Bertram's absence filled her eyes with tears» 
and her heart with sorrow \ for though she loved 
without hope, yet it was a pretty comfort to her 
to see him every hour, and Helena would sit and 
look upon his dark eye, his arched brow, and the 
curls of his fine hair, tiU she seemed to draw his 
portrait on the tablet of her heart, that heart too 
qapable of retaming the miemory of every line in 
the features of tbit loved face^ 



THAT ENDS WEtL* S 

Gerard dc Narbon, when he died, left her no 
other portion than some prescriptions of rare and 
well proved virtue, which by deep study and 
long experience in medicine, he had collected as 
sovereign and almost infallible remedies. Among 
the rest there was one set down as an approved 
medicine for the disease under which Lafeu said 
the ling at that time languished; and when He- 
lena heard of the king's complaint, she who till 
now had been so humble and so hopeless, formed 
in ambitious project in her mind to go herself 
to Paris, and undertake the cure of the king. 
But though Helena was the possessor of this 
choice prescription, it was unlikely, as the king 
as well as his physicians wes^ of opinion that his 
disease was incurable, that they would give credit 
to a poor unlearned virgiui if she diould offer to 
perform a cure. The 'firm hopes that Helena 
bad of succeeding, if she might be permitted to 
make the trial, seemed more than even her fa- 
ther's skill warranted, though he was the most 
jfamous physician of hb time; §sff she felt a strong 
faith that this good medicine wa« sanctified by 
dl the luckiest stars in heaven, to be die legacy 
diat should advance her fortune, even to the higk 
dignity of being count Rossilion's wi 



6 all's well 

B^tram had not been long gone^ when th^ 
countess was informed by her steward, that he 
had overheard Helena talking to herteif, and 
that he understood from some words ^e uttered^ 
she was in love with Bertram, and had thought 
of following him to Paris. Tl»e countess dis- 
missed the steward with dtanks, and desired him 
to tell Helena she wkbed to speak with her. 
What she had just heard of Helena brought the 
remembrance of days long past into the iaaind of 
the countess, those days probably when her love 
for Bertram's father first began ; and she said to 
herself, <^ Even so it was with me when I was 
young. Love is a thorn tha^ belongs to the rose 
of youth ; for in the season of youth, if ever we 
are nature's children, these faults are ours, though 
then we think not they are faults." While the 
countess was thus meditating on the loving e r ro r s 
of her own youth, Helena entered, and she said 
to her, '* Helena, you know I am a mother to 
you." Helena replied, "** You are my honour- 
able mistress." ** You are my daughter," said 
the countess ag^in : ^ I say I am your mother. 
Why do you start and look pale at my words ?** 
With looks of alarm and confused thoughts, 
fearing the countess suspected her love, Helena 



\ 



Still replied, ^' Parckm me, madbAaii yo« zre not 
my mother; the oouiit RossiiiOB camiot be mj 
brother^ nor I your dseu^ter." '^ Yet, Hekaoa,'' 
€a!d the couiUess, '* you might be my daugfalieT*- 
in-law ; and I am afraid that is 'what you mfeaii 
to be, the words moiier and daatghttr do disturb 
you. Helena, do you love my son?" " Good 
madam, pardon me," said the afir^lrted Hdena. 
Again the countess repeated her question, ^ Do 
you iove my son ?" " Do not you love him, ma* 
dam ?" said Helena. The countess replied, ** Give 
me not this eyasive answer, Helena. Come, 
come, disclose the state of your affeictions, for 
your love has to the full appeared." Helena 
on her knees now owned her love, and with 
diame and terror implored the pardon of her 
Qoblc mistress ; and with words expressive of ihe 
sense she had of the inequality between their 
fortunes, sh^ protested Bertram did not know 
she loved him, comparing her humble unaspiring 
iove to a poor Indian, who adores the sun, that 
looks upon his worshipper but knows of him iao 
more. The countess asked Helena if she had 
not lately an intent to go to Paris? Helena 
owned the design she had formed in her mind, 
when she heard Lafeu speak of the king's iUaess. 

B 2 



S AhVs WELL 

^This was your motive for wishing to go to 
Paris/' said the countess^^' was it? Speak truly/' 
Udexu honestly answered) ** My lord your son 
made me to think of this; else Parisy and the 
medicinci and the king, had from the conversa- 
tion of my thoughts been absent then." The 
countess heard the whole of this confession with- 
out saying a word either of approval or of blame, 
but she strictly questioned Helena as to the pro- 
bability of the medicine being useful to the king. 
She found that it was the most prized by Gerard 
de Narbon of all he possessed, and that he had 
given it to his daughter on his death-bed; and 
remembering the solemn promise she had made 
at that awful hour in regard to this young maid, 
whose destiny, and the life of the king himself, 
seemed to depend on the execution of a project 
(which though conceived by the fond suggestions 
ei a loving maiden's thou^ts, the countess knew 
not but it might be die unseen workings of Pro- 
vidence to bring to pass the recovery of the kingi 
and to lay the foundation of the future fortunes 
of Gerard de Narbon's daughter), free leave she 
gave to Helena to pursue her own way, and ge- 
nerously furnished her with ample means and 
suitable attendants, and Helena set out for Paris 



THAT BNDS ^ELL. 9 

With the blessings of the countess^ and ber kind- 
est wishes for her success. 

Helena arrived at Paris, and by the assistance 
of her friend the old lord Lafeu, she obtained 
an audience of the king. She had still many 
difficulties to encounter, for the king was not 
easily prevailed on to try the medicine oflered 
him by this fair young doctor. But she told him 
she was Gerard de Narbon's daughter (with 
whose fame the king was well acquainted), and 
she offered the precious medicine as the darling 
treasure which contained the essence of all her 
father's long experience and skill, and she boldly 
engaged to forfeit her life, if it failed to restore * 
his majesty to perfect health in the space of two 
days. The king at length consented to try it, 
and in two days time Helena was to lose her life 
if the king did not recover; but if she succeeded, 
he promised to give her the choice of any man 
throughout all France (the princes only excepted) 
whom she could like for an husband; the choice 
of an husband being the fee Helena demanded, 
if she cured the king of his disease. 

Helena did not deceive herself in the hope she 
conceived of the efficacy of her father's medicine. 
Before two days were at an end, the king waft> 

B3 



10 axl's Will 

restored to perfect Inalth, and 1^ acsemUed' aS 
the young noblemen of bU conrt togedacr^ in 
order to coiner the pronxbed reward of aa bus- 
band i^>on bis fur pbysician; and be desired 
Helena to look round on thi» youthful parcel of 
noble bachek>rSj and choose her husband* Helena 
was not slow to make her choice^ for amoog 
these young lords she saw the count Ros«iIicii, 
and turning to Bertram, she said^ *^ This is the 
man. I dare not say, my lord, I take you, bat I i 
give me and my service ever whilst I live into 
your guiding power." ** Why then," said the 
king, ^^ young Bertram, take her ; she ia your 
wife." Bertram did not heskate to declare bts 
dislike to this pvesent of the king's of the self- 
offered Helena^ who, he said, was a poor phy^- 
cian's daughter, bred at his father's charge, and 
now living a dependent on his mother's bounty* 
Helena heard bkn speak these words of rejection 
and of scorn, and she said to the king, <* That 
you are well, my lord, I am glad. Let the rest 
go." But the king would not suffer his royal 
command to be so slighted; for the power of 
bestowing their nobles in marriage was one of 
the many privileges of the kings of France; and 
that same day Bertram was married to Helens^ 



THAT ENDS WELL. 1 1 

af forced and uneasy marriage to Bertram, and of 
no promising hope to the poor lady, who, though 
she gained the nobk husband she had hazarded 
her life to obtain, seemed to have won but a 
^lendid blal^, her husband's k>ve not being a 
gift ia the power of the king of France to bestow. 
Hekna was no sooner married, than she was 
desired by Bertram to apply to the king for him 
for leave of absence from court ; and when she 
brought him the king's permission for his de« 
parture^ Bertram told her that as he was not pre- 
pared for this sudden marriage, it had much 
unsettled hiiB, and therefore she must not won- 
der al die course he sboidd pursue. If Helena 
wondered not, she grieved, when she found it 
vras his intention to leave her. He ordered her 
to go home to his mother. When Helena heard 
this unkind command, she replied, << Sir, I can 
nothing say to this, but that I am your most obe- 
dient servant, and shall ever with true observance 
seek to eke out that desert, wherein my homely 
stars have failed to equal my great fortunes.*' 
But this humble speech of Helena's did not at all 
move the haughty Bertram to pity his gentle 
wtfe, and he parted from her without even the 
common civility of Sfekind farewel. 

B 4 



12 all's WELL 

Back to Ae couatess then Hekna returned. 
Stie had accomplished the purport of her joumej} 
she had preserved the life of the king, and she 
had wedded her heart's dear lord, the count Ros- 
silion:} but she returned back a dejected lady to 
her noble mother4n-IaW| and as soon as she en- 
tered the house, she received a letter from Ber- 
tram which almost broice her heart. 

The good countess received her with a cordial 
welcome, as if die had been her son's own choice, 
and a lady of a hi^ degree^ and she spoke kind 
words, to comfort her for the unkind neglect of 
Bertram in sending his wife home on her bridal 
day alone. But this gracious reception failed to 
cheer the sad mind of Helena, and she said, 
*' Madam, my lord is gohe, for ever gone." She 
then read these words out of Bertram's letter: 
fVben you can get the ring from my finger nvhieb 
nei)er shall cometff^ then call me husband^ but in such 
a Then I write a Never, " This is a dreadful 
sentence I" said Helena. The countess begged 
her to have patience^ and said, xiow Bertram was 
gone, she should be her child, and that she de* 
served a lord, that twenty such rude boys as 
Bertram might tend upon, and hourly call her 
mistress. But in vain by ^spectful condescen»> 



THAT MHDB WILL. IS 

sion and kind flattery thi^ matdUeas mother 
tried to sootilK tbe sorrows of her daughter-in* 
law. Helena still kept her eyes fixt upon the 
letter, and cried out in an agcmy of grief. Till 
I have no wifi^ I ha^ mUbing in Frdnci. The 
countess asked her if she found those words in 
the letter ? ^' Yes, madam," was all poor Helena 
couM answer. 

The next mommg Helena was missing. She 
left a letter to be ddSvtred to the countess after 
she was gone, to acquaint her with the rei^on o£ 
her sudden absence: m ^s letter she ii^ormed 
her, that she was so mudi grieved at harisg 
driven Bertram from his miiive country and his 
home, diat to atone for her ofience she had un-, 
dertaken a pilgrimage to the dirine of St. Jaques 
le Grand, and concluded with requesting the 
countess to inform her son that the wife he so 
hated had left his house for ever. 

Bertram, when he left Paris, went to Florence, 
and there became an officer in the duke of' Flo- 
rence's army, and after a successful war, in.iR^ucb 
he disdnguished himself by many brave actions^ 
Bartram received letters from his mother, con- 
taining the acceptable tidings that Helena would 
no more disturb him \ and he was preparing to 

B 5 



MuJt vrttv 

rtinxm home^ wbm Hekns hosielfy dad in ber 
fi\gnm'» weedsy axrived at die chy of Fktenee. 

Flofence was a city thzeugh which the ptl- 
grims used to pass on dicar way to St, Jaques k 
Grand; and when Hekna arrived at this city^ 
she beard that a hoq>iftable widow dwelt tksre^ 
who used to recehw into her house the £emale 
pilgrims that were going to visit the sfartne of 
that saiat, giving theos lod^og and kiiid enter- 
taktmeat. To dbis good huly thereCore Heki^ 
wenty and the widow gave her a courteous wel- 
oone, aod invited her to see whatever was cu- 
rious-ia that famous city, and told her that if she 
would like to see the duke's anny> she wmiU 
take her where she m^ht have a full view of it 
'f And yoiu will see a countryman of yoursy" said 
the widow; ^^ his name is count Rossilion, who 
has done worthy service in the duke's wars." 
Helena wanted no second invitation, \riien she 
found Bertram was to make a part of the show. 
She accompanied her ^hostess; and a sad and 
mouri^ul pleasure it was to her to look once 
more upon her dear husband's face. <^ Is he not 
a handsome man ?" said the widow. '* I like 
bim welV replied Helena with great truth. All 
%he way they walked, the talkative uridow's die- 



THinr BNDS WELL. IS 

course was all of Berteam \ she told HeloDa the 
story of Bertraqi's marriagei and Iiow he had 
deserted the poor lady his wife> and entered into 
the duke^& army to avcnd living with her. To 
thia account of her own misfortunes Helena pa- 
tiently li^csedj and when it was ended, the h^ 
tory of Bertram was not yet done^ for then the 
widow began another tale^ every word oi which 
sunk deep into the mind of Helena; for the story 
she now told was of Bertram's love for her 
daughter. 

Though Bertram did not like the marriage 
forced on him by the king, it seems he was not 
insensible to love, for since he had been statbned 
with the army at Florence, he had fallen in 
love wtdi Diana, a fair young gentlewoman, the 
daughter of this widow who was Helena^s hos« 
tess; and eyery night, with music of all sorts, 
and songs composed in praise of Diana's beauty, 
he would come under her window, and solicit 
her love: and all his suit to her was that she 
wouki permit him to visit her by stealth after 
the &mily were retired to rest; but Diaqa wouM 
by no means be persuaded to grant this improper 
request^ nor give any encouragement to his suit, 
knowing Hm to be a married man : for Diana 



16 all's will 

had been brought up under the counsels of a 
prudent mother, who, though she was now in re* 
duced circumstances, was well-bom, and descend- 
ed from the noble family of the Capule'ts. 

All this the good lady rdated to Helena, highly^ 
praising the virtuous principles of her discreet 
daughter, which she said were entirely owing to 
the exceUcnt education and good advice she had 
given her ; and she farther said, that Berti^am 
had been particularly importunate with Diana to 
admit him to the visit he so much desired that 
night, because he was going to leave Florence 
early the next morning. 

Though it grieved Helena to hear of Bertram's 
love for the widow's daughter, yet from this 
story the ardent mind of Helena conceived a 
project (nothing discouraged at the ill success of 
her former one) to recover her tritan^ lord. She 
disclosed to the widow, that she was Helena, 
the deserted wife of Bertram, and requested that 
her kind hostess and her daughter would suffer 
this visit from Bertram to take place, and allow 
her to pass herself upon Bertram for Dianas 
telling them, her duef motive for desiring to 
have this secret meeting with her husband, was 
to get a ring from him, which he had said if ever 



THAT ENDS W2LL. 17 

she was in possession of, he woujd acknowledge 
her as his wife. 

The widow and her daughter promised to as- 
nst her in this afiair, partly moved by pity for 
this unhappy forsaken wife, and partly won over 
to her interest by the promises of reward which 
Hefena made them, giving them a purse of mo« 
ney in earnest of her future favour. In the 
course of that day Helena caused information to 
be seiit to Bertram, that she was dead, hoping 
that when he thought himself free to make a 
second choice by the news of her death, he 
would ofier marriage to her in her feigned cha- 
racter of Diana, ^nd if she could obtain the 
ring and this promise too, she doubted not she 
shotiM make some future good come of it. 

In the evening, after it was dark, Bertram was 
admitted into Diana's chamber, and Helena was 
diere ready to receive him. The flattering com- 
pliments and love-discourse he addressed to He- 
lena w^e precious sounds to her, though she 
knew they were meant for Diana ; and Bertram 
was so well pleased with her, that he made her a 
solemn promise to be her husband, and to love 
her for ever; which she hoped would be pro- 
phetic of a real afitction, when he should know 



18 ALi'% VrZLt 

it was his own wife, the despised Kdeoa) wkostf 
conversation had so delighted him. 

Bertram never knew how sensible a Hij He- 
lena was, else perhaps he would not have been 
so regardless of her; and seeing hef every da]F» 
he had entirely overlooked her beauty, a face we 
are accustomed to see constantly losing the efiect 
which is caused by the first sight either of beauty 
or of plainness ; and of her understanding it was 
impossible he should judge, because she felt wck 
reverence, mixed witht her love for him^ that she 
was always silent in his presence *, but now thai 
her future fate, and the happy ending of all her 
love-projects> seemed to depend on her leaving 
a favourable impre$sion on the mind of Bertram 
from this night's interview, she exerted all her 
wit to please him ; and the simple graces of her 
lively conversation and the endearing sweetness 
of her manners so charmed Bertram, that he 
vowed she should be bis wife* Helena bilged 
the ring from off his finger as a tok^i o&his re- 
gard, and he gave it to her; and in return for 
this ring, which it was of such importance to her 
to possess, she gave him another ting, which 
was one the king had made her a present of. 
Before it was light in the morning, she sent 



THAT £KDS WILL. 1$ 

Beftmm away; and he immediateljr set out on 
his journey towards his mother's house. 

Helena ptevailed on the widow and Diana to 
accompany ter to Paris, their farther assistance 
being necessary to the fell accompltshme&t of 
die pkn she had £»Rncd. When diey arrived 
thercy they found the king was gone upon a 
visit to the countess of Rossilbn^ and Helena 
followed the king with all the speed she could 
make. 

The king was still in perfect heahh^ and his 
gratitude to her who had been ihe means of hia 
recovery was so lively in his mind» that the mo^ 
mest he saw the countess of Rosstlion, he began 
to talk (^ Helena, calling her^^ precious jewel 
that was lost by the folly of her son; but seeing 
the subject dbtressed the countess, who sincerely 
lamented the death of Helena> he said, ** My 
good lady, I have forgiven and fbrgottoi all/' 
But the good-natured <^d Iiafeu, who was pre* 
sent, and could not bear that the memory of his 
favourite Helena should be so lightly passed 
over, said, ** This I must say, the young lord did 
great offence to his majesty > his mother, and lus 
lady ; but to himself he did the greatest wrong of 
aU^ for be h^s fcst a wife whose beauty astonidied 



20 ill's vbll 

all eyes, whose words took all ears captive, whose 
deep perfection made all hearts wish to serve 
her." The king said, *^ Praising what is lost 
makes the remembrance dear. Well — call him 
hither ;" meaning Bertram, who now presented 
himself before the king : and, on his expressing 
deep sorrow for the injuries he had done to 
Helena, the king, for his dead father's and his 
admirable mother's sake, pardoned him, and ra» 
stored him once more to his favour. But the 
gracious countenance of the king was soon 
changed towards him, for he perceived that Bar- 
tram wore the very ring upon his finger which 
he had given to Helena ; and he well remembered 
that Helena had called all the saints in heaven , 
to witness she nfould never part with that ring, 
unless she sent it to the king himself upcm some 
great disaster befalling her ; and Bertram, on the 
king's questioning him how he came by the 
ring, told an improbable story of a lady throwing 
it to him out of a window, and denied evcF 
having seen Helena since the day of their maiw. 
riage. The kingr knowing Bertram's dislike to- 
bis wife, feared he had destroyed her; and he 
ordered^his guards to seize Bertram, saying,/^ I 
am wrapt in dismal diinkingi for I feai^ the life 



THAT ENDS WELL* 21 

ef Helena was foully snatched/' At this mo- 
ment Diana and her mother entered^ and pre- 
sented a petition to the king, wherein thej 
begged his majesty to exert his royal power to 
compel Bertram to marry Diana, he having made 
her a solemn promise of marriage. Bertram, 
fearing the king's anger, denied he had made 
aay such promise, and then Diana produced the 
ring (which Helena had put into her hands) to 
confirm the truth of her words; and she s^d 
that she had given Bertram the ring he then 
wore, in exchange for that, at the time he 
vowed to marry her. On hearing this, the 
king ordered the guards to seize her also $ and 
her account of the ring difiering from Ber. 
tram*s, the king's suspicions were confirmed; 
and he said, if they did not confess how they 
came by this ring of Helena's, they should be 
both put to death. Diana requested her mother 
might be permitted to fetch the jeweller of whom 
she bought the. ring, which being granted, the 
widow went out, and presently returned leading 
in Helena herself. 

The good countess, who in silent grief had 
beheld her son's danger, and had even dreaded 
that the suspicion of his having destroyed his 



22 all's well 

Wife might possiblj be trne, fiodiog her dear 
Helena, whom she loved with even a matenial 
affection, was still living, felt a delight she was 
hardly able to support *, and the king^ scarce be- 
lieving £(Mr joy that it was Heleoa> said, *' Is this 
indeed the wife of Bertram that I see ?'' Hdena, 
feeling herself yet an inuieknowledged wife, re- 
plied, ^* No, my good Icrd, it b bot the shadow 
of a wife you see, the name and not die thiogJ* 
Bertram cried out, <^ Both, both I O pardon V^ 
^ O my lord,^' said Helena, ^* when I personated 
this fair maid, I found you wondrous kind ^ amd 
look, here is your letter !'' readii^ to him in a 
jioyful tone those words^ which At had once 
repeated so sorrowfully. Whin from my finger ym 
can git tins ring-^*^ This is done, it was to me 
you gave the ring. Will you be mine, now you 
are doubly won P* Bertram rq)lied, ** If you 
can make it plain that you were the lady I talked 
with that night, I will love you dearly, ever, ever 
^dearly*'' This was no difficult t^isk, for the wi- 
dow and Diana came with Helena purposely to 
prove this fact ; and the king was so well pleased 
with Diana, for the friendly assistance she had 
rendered the dear lady he so truly valued for 
the service she had done him, that be promised 



THAT ENDS WELL. 23 

her also a noble husband : Heletia's history giving 
him a hint that it was a suitable reward for 
kings to bestow upon fair ladies when they per- 

* form notable services. 

Thus Helena at last found that her father's 
legacy was indeed sanctified iTy the luckiest stars 
in heaven ; for she was now the beloved wife of 
her dear Bertram, the daughter-in-law of her 
noble mistresS) and herself the countess of Ro»- 

jiillon. 



TALE THE TWELFTH. 



THE TAMING OF THE 
SHREW. 

KaTHERINE, the shrew, was the eldest 
daughter of Baptista, a rich gentleman of Padua. 
She was a lady of such an ungovernable spirit 
and fiery temper, such a loud-tongued scold, 
that she was known in Padua by no other name 
than Katherine the Shrew. It seemed very un- 
likely, indeed impossible, that any gentleman 
would ever be found who would venture to marry 
this lady, and therefore Baptista was much 
blamed for deferring his consent to many excel- 
lent offers that were made to her gentle sister 
Bianca, putting off all Bianca's suitors with this 
excuse, that when the eldest sister was fairly off 
his hands, they should have free leave to address 
young Bianca. 

It happened however that a gentlemen, named 
Petruchio^ came to Padua, purposely to look out 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 25 

for a wife^ whoy nothing discouraged by these 
reports of Katherine's temper, and hearing she 
was rich and handsome, resolved upon marrying 
this famous termagant, and taming her into a 
meek and manageable wife. And truly none 
was so fit to set about this herculean labour as 
Petruchio, whose spirit was as high as Katbe- 
rine's, and he was a witty and most happy*tem- 
pered humourist, and withal so Wise, and of such 
a true judgment, that he well knew how to feign 
a passionate and furious deportment, when his 
spirits ware so calm diat himself could have 
laughed merrily at his own angry feigning, for 
his natural temper was careless and easy; the 
boisterous airs he assumed when he became the 
husband of Eatherine being but in sport, or, 
more properly speaking) afiected by hb excellent 
discernment, as the only means to overcome in 
her own way the passionate ways of the furious 
Katfaerine. 

A courting then Petnichio went to S^atherine 
the Shrew, and first of all he applied to Baptista, 
her father, for leave to woo his gentU daughter 
Katherine, as Petnichio called her, saying archly, 
that having heard of her bashful modesty and 
mild behaviour^ be had come from Verona to 



i 



i6 Tȣ TAMING OF TOS ^HREW. 

solicit her love. Her father, though he wished 
lier married, was foirced to confess Katheiitte 
would ill answer dm character, at being soon, 
apparent of what manner of geatkncn the was 
composed, for her music-master ruehed into the 
room to complain that the gentle Katherine, his 
pupil, had broken his head with her lute for 
prejsuQiing to find fault with her performance $ 
which, when Petruduo heard, he said, ** It is 
a brare wench ; I love her more than ever, and 
long to have some chat with her j and hurrying 
the old gentleman for a positive answer, he said, 
^ My business is in haste, signior Baptista, I 
cannot come every day to woo. You knew my 
father. He is dead, and has left me heir to ait 
his lands and goods. Then tell me, if I get 
your daughter'^ lov«, what dowry you will give 
with her." Baptista thought his manner was 
somewhat blunt for a lover ; but being giad to 
get Katherine married, he answered that he 
would give her twenty <housand crowns for her 
dowry, and half his estate at his death : so this 
odd match was quidcly agreed on, and Baptista 
went to apprize his shrewish daughter of ber 
lover's adflhresses, and sent her in to Petmthio to 
tistea to his suit* 



THE TAMIKG Of THS SHRSW. 2? 

In tJie mean time Petruchio was settling with 
himself the mode of courtdiip he s^hould pursne : 
and he Baid, ^ .1 witl wtoo her with some spirit 
when she oomes. If she rails at me, why then I 
wiU tell het she sings as sweetly as a nightingale; 
and if she frowns, I mil say she looks as clear 
as roses newly washed with dew. If she will 
not speak a word, I wiil praise the eloquence of 
her language ; and* if she bids me leare her, I will 
gi^ve her thanks as if she bid me stay with her a 
week." Now die stately Kathcrine entered, 
and Petmchio first addressed her widi ^* Good 
morrow, Kate, lor that is your name, I bear.^ 
Katherine, not liking diis plain salutation, said 
disdaia£udly, ** They call me Katherine who do 
speak to me.*' ** You Ke,*' replied the lover; 
« fioar yoB are called plain Kate, and bonny Kate, 
and sometimes Kate the Shrew; but, Kate, you 
a«e the prettiest Kate in Christendomi, and there- 
fose, Kate, hesrbig yonr mildness praised in 
evary town, i aai cdfue to ^woo you for my 
wife"' 

A strange courcAip diey made of it. She in 
loud and angry terms shewing him how justly 
she had .gained the name of Shrew, while he still 
praised her sweet ^nd couiteous words, till at 



28 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 

lengthy hearing her father coming, he said, (in- 
tending to make as quick a wooing as possible) 
<' Sweet Elatherine, let us set this idle chat aside, 
for your father has consented that you shsdl be 
my wife, your dowry is agreed on, and whether 
you will or no, I will marry you." 

And now Baptista^ entering, Petruchio told 
him his daughter had received him kindly, and 
that she had promised to be married the next 
Sunday. This Katherine denied, saying she 
would rather see him hanged on Sunday, and re- 
proached her father for wishing to wed her to 
such a mad-cap ruffian as Petruchio. Petruchio 
desired her father not to regard her angry words, 
for they had agreed she should seem reluctant 
before him, but that when they were alone he 
had found her very fond and lovmg ; and he said 
to her, ^^ Give me your hand, Kate ; I will go to 
Venice to buy you fine apparel against our wed- 
ding-<lay. Provide the feast, fadier, and bid th^ 
wedding guests. I will be sure to bring rings, 
fine array, and rich clothes, that my Katherine 
may be fine; and kiss mC) Slate, for we will be 
married on Sunday.'' 

On the Sunday all the wedding guests were 
assembled! but they waited long before Petruchio 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 2^ 

csmei and Kttherkie wept for vexation to think 
that Pdtfticliio had only been making a jest of 
her. At last however he appeared, but he 
brought nolle of the bridal Stierjr he had pto- 
nnsed KaAefrine, nor Wa^ he dressed himself like 
a brtdegrooni, but in Strang disordered attire, 
asf if he meant to make a sport of the serious 
bnsifiess he came about; and his servant and 
the very horses on which they rode were in 
^ like manner in mean and fantastic fashion 
halted. 

Pctruchio could not be persuaded to change 
his dress ; he said Katherine was to be married 
to him, and not to his clothes ; and finding it 
was in vain to argu^ with him, to the church 
they went, he still behaving in the same mad 
way, for when the priest asked Petruchio if Ka- 
therine should^be his wife, he swore so loud that 
, she should, that all amazed the priest let fall his 
book, and as he stooped to take it up, this mad-* 
brained bridegroom gave him such a cufF, that 
down fell the priest and his book again. And 
all the while Aey were being married he startipt 
and swore so, that the high-spirited Katherine 
tfeniUed and shogk With fear. After^ the cere- 
mony was orer^ while they were yet in the 

VOL. If. c 



30 THE TAMING OF TH« SFTREW. 

churdi he called for wine^ and drank a loud 
health to the company, and threw a sop which 
was at the bottom of the glass full in the sexton's 
face^ giving no other reason for this strange acty 
than that the sexton's beard grew thin and hun- 
gerly, and seemed to ask the sop as he was 
drinking. Never sure was there such a mad 
marriage ; but Petruchio did but put this wildness 
on, the better to succeed in the plot he had 
formed to tame his shrewish wife. 

Baptista had provided a sumptuous marriage- 
feast, but when they returned from church, Pe- 
trucjiio, taking hold of Kathetine, declared his 
intention of carrying his wife home instantly; 
and no remonstrance of his father-in-law, or 
angry words of the enraged Katherine, could 
make him change his purpose ; he claimed a hus- 
band's right to dispose of his wife as he pleased, 
and away he hurried Katherine off : he seeming 
so daring and resolute that no one dared attempt 
to stop him. 

Petruchio mounted his wife upon a miserable 
horse, lean and lank, which he bad picked out 
for the purpose, and himself and his servant no 
better mounted, they journeyed on through 
rough and miry ways, and ever when this horse 




THE TAMIKO O^ THE SHREW. 31 

<rf Katherine's stumbled, he would storm and 
swear at the poor jaded beast, who could scarce 
crawl under his burthen, as if he had been the 
most passionate man alive. 

At length, after a weary journey, during which 
Katherine had heard nothing but the wild ravings 
of Petruchio at the servant and the horses, they 
arrived at his house. Petruchio welcomed her 
kindly to her home, but he resolved she should 
have neither rest nor food that night. The ta- 
bles were spread, and supper ^on served; but 
Petruchio, pretending to find fault with every 
dish, threw the meat about the floor, and or* 
dered the servants to remove it away, and all this 
he did, as he said, in love for his Katherine, that 
she might not eat meat that was not well dressed. 
And when Katherine weary and supperless re- 
tired to rest, he found the same fault with the 
bed, throwing the pillows and bed-clothes about 
the room, so that she was forced to sit down in 
a chair, where if she chanced to drop asleep, she 
was presently awakened by the loud voice of her 
husband, storming at the servants for the ill- 
making of his wife's bridal-bed. v 

The next day Petruchio pursued the same 
course, still speaking kind words to Katherine, 

c 2 . 



32 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 

but when she attempted ffo eat^ finding ^uh 
vMh evefy thing that was set before her, throw- 
ing, the breakfast on the floor as he had done 
the supper ; and Katherine, the haughty Ka^e-^ 
ritiei^ was fain to beg the servants would bring 
her secretly a morsel of food, but they being, 
instructed by Petruchio replied, they dared not 
give her any thing unknown to their mastor. 
** Ah," said she, " did he marry me to famish 
me ? Beggars that come to my father's door 
have food given them. But I, who never fcneW 
what it was to intreat for any tihing, am starved 
for want of food, giddy for want of sleep, with 
oaths kept waking, and with brawling fed, and 
that which vexes me more than all, he does it 
under the name of perfect love, pretending that 
if I sleep or eat it were present death to me." 
Here her soliloquy was interrupted by the en- 
trance of Petruchio : he, not meaning she sbouW 
be quit? starved, had brought her a small por- 
tion of meat, and he said to her, *^Ht)w fares my 
sweet Kate ? Here, love, you see how diligent I 
am, I have dressed your meat myself. I am sure 
this kindness merits thanks. What not a word ? 
Nay then you love not the meat, and all the 
pains I have taken is to no purpose." He then 



THE TAliIKO OF THE SHREW. S3 

ordered the servant to take the dish away. Ex- 
treme hunger^ which had abated the pride of 
Katherine^ made her say, though angered to the 
heart, *^ I pray you, let it stond." But this was 
not all Petruchio intended to bring her to, and 
he replied, ** The poorest service is repaid with 
thanks, and so shall mine before you touch the 
meat." On this Katberine brought out a re- 
luctant "I thank you, sir." And now he suf- 
feied her to make a slender meal, saying, *^ Much 
good may it 4o ^ur gentle heart, Kate; eat 
•pace i And now, my honey love, we will re^ 
turn to your father^^ hojuse, and revel it as bravely 
as the b^sti with silken coat^ and caps and golden 
img$f with rttffi» and scarfs and fans and double 
change of finery^ ^ad to make her believe he 
really intended to give her these gay things, he 
called in a taylor and a haberdasher, who brought 
some new clothes he had ordered for her, and 
then giving her plate to the servant to take 
away, before she had half satisfied her hunger, 
he said, " What ? have you dined ?'* The ha- 
berdasher presented a cap, saying, ^^ Here is the 
cap your worship bespoke;'' on which Petruchio 
began to storm afresh, saying, the cap was mo\}ld^ 
cd in a porringer, aiid that it was no bigger than 

c 8 



34? THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. ** 

a cockk or a walnut shell, desiring the habei^^ 
dasher to take it away and make a bigger. Ka.^ 
therine said, ^^ I will have thi»; all gentlewomen 
wear such caps as these.'* " When you are gen- 
tle," replied Petruchio, " you. shall have one too, 
and not till then." The meat Katherine had 
eaten had a liule revived her fallen spirits^ and 
sjie said, ^' Why, sir, I trust I may have leave to 
speak, and speak I will. I am no child, no babe; 
your betters have endured to hear me say my 
mind; and if you cannot, you had better stop 
your ears." Petruchio would not hear these an- 
gry words, for he had happily discovered a better 
way of managing his wife than keeping up a 
jangling argument with her;, therefore his an- 
swer was, " Why, you say true, it is a paltry cap, 
and I love you for not liking it." ** Love me, 
or love me not," said Katherine, " I like the cap, 
and I will have this cap or none." *' You say 
you wish to see the gown,'* said Petruchio, still 
affecting to misunderstand her. The taylor then 
came forward, and shewed her a fine gown he 
had made for her. Petruchio, whose intent was 
that she should have neither cap nor gown, 
found as much fault with that. ** O mercy. 
Heaven!*' said he, ^* what stuff is here ! What, 



THB TAMING OF THE SHREW. 5S 

do you call this a sleeve? it is like a demy-can- 
non, carved up and down like an apple-tart," 
The taylor said, " You bid me make it accord- 
ing to the fashion of the times;*' and Katherine 
said she never saw a better fashioned gown. This 
.was enough for . Petruchio, and privately desiring 
these people might be paid for their goods^ and 
.excuses made to them for the seemingly strange 
treatment he bestowed upon them, he with fierce 
.words and furious gestures drove the taylor and 
the haberdasher out of the room: and then, 
turning to Katherine, he said, " Well, come, my 
Kate, we will go to your father's even in these 
mean garments we now wear." And then he 
ordered his horses, affirming they should reach 
Baptista^s house by dinner-time, for that it was 
but seven o'clock. Now it was not early morij- 
ing, but the very middle of the day, when he 
spoke this ; therefore Katherine ventured to say, 
though modestly, being almost overcome by the 
vehemence of his manner, '* I dare assure you^ 
sir, it is two o'clock, and will be supper-time 
before we get there." But Petruchio meant 
that she should be so completely subdued, that 
she should assent to every thing he said, before 
be carried her to her father ; and therefore^ as 

c 4 



{ 



S6 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 

if be were lord even of the sun, and could cooii- 
mand the hours, he said it should be what time 
he pleased to have it, before he set forvnurd^ 
" For," said he, "whatever I say or do, you still 
are crossing it. I will not go to*day, and when I 
go, it shall be what o'clock I say it is." An- 
other day Katherine was forced to practise 
her newly-found obedience, and not till he had 
brought her proud spirit to such a perfect sub* 
jection, that she dared not remember there wa«^ 
such a word as contradiction, would Petruchio- 
allow her to go to, her father's house ; and even 
while they were upon their journey thither, she 
was in danger of being turned back again, only 
because she happened to hint it was the sun^ 
v/licii he affirmed the moon shone brightly at 
noon-day. " Now, by my mother's son," said 
he, ^' and that is myself, it shall be the moon, or 
stars, or what I list, bef(^e I journey to your fa- 
ther's house."' He then made as if he were going 
back again ; but Katherine, no longer Katherine 
the Shrew, but the obedient wife, said, *< Let us 
go forward, I pray, now we have come so far, 
and it shall be the sun, or moon, or what you 
please, and if you please to call it a rush, candle 
henceforth, I vow it shaU be so for me/' This 



i wae resolved to {M:pve> UieEplore hie i»i4 agaioi 
J ^jf k is the jBOfKM.^ *^ I know it is tJ«e 
ooni" xeplieid K^lli^^ilie/ <^ Tou Uie^ it i$ the 
es^ sun/' ssu4 PetrucUo. *' T1k!» it is the 
essed mn^** replied Kitherine } *^ hdt sim it is 
}t» whw you say it is not. What you wijl 
ive it named even so it is* and so it eyer shall 
i for Katherine.'^ Now then he sulBEhrpd her 

proceed on hepr journey ; bat further to try if 
is yielding huiQOur would lastj he addressed an 
d gentlen^ao they i^et on the road as if jtie had 
«n a young woman, sayiiig to him> *' Good 
pcrpw, genjtle misj^es^s j" and ^ked Kathcrine 

she had ever beheld a fairer ^ejatlewomauy 
raising the red and white pf the old noian's 
icifik^ and ccnnparing his eyes tp two bright 
srs ; and again he addressed him^ saying, <* Fair 
Vi^ly l^if OAce more good day to you I and 
id to Ws wifc^ '* S.weet Kate, embrace her for 
r beauty'^-s sake,'* The now completely van- 
lished Katherine quickly adopted her husband's 
liuion, and made her speech in like sort to thp 
i gendeman, saying to him, ^^ Young budding 
irgin^ yxui are fair, and fresh, and sweet : whi- 

.^r arc you gpiug, and where is your dwelling?. 

c 5 



S8 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 

Happy are the parents of so fair a child." ** Why, 
how now, Kate," said Petrochio ; ** I'hofe you 
are not mad. This is a man, old and wrinkled, 
faded and withered, and not a maiden, as yon say 
he is." On this Katherine said, "Pardon mc, 
old gentleman ; the sun has so dazzled my eyes, 
that every thing I look on seemeth green. Now 
I perceive you are a reverend father : I hope you 
will pardon me for my mad mistake'.'* ** Do, 
good old grandsire," said Petruchio, *• and tell us 
which way you are travelling. We shall be glad 
of your good company, if you are gomg our 
way.** The old gendeman replied, " Fair sir, 
and you my merry mistress, your strange en- 
counter has much amazed me. "My name is Vin- 
centio, and I am going to visit a son of mine who 
lives at Padiia.'* Then Pet ruchio knew the old 
gentleman to be the father of Lucentio, a young 
gentleman who was to be married to Baptista*s 
younger daughter, Bianca, and he made Vincentio 
very happy by telling him the rich marriage hb 
son was about to make ; and they all journeyed 
on pleasantly together till ihey came to Baptista's 
house, v^rhere there was a large company assem- 
bled to celebrate the wedding of Bianca and XiU- 



THE TAMINC OF THE SHREW. 3& 

cetitio, B;i^ista having wiUingly consented to the 
.marriage of Bianqa when he had got Katherinc 
off hi3 hands. 

When they entered, Baptista welcomed them 
to the wedding*feast, and there was present also 
another, newly-married pair. 

Lucentio, Bianca's husband, and HortenstOy 
the other new- married man, could not forbear 
sly jests, which seemed to hint at the shrewish 
disposition of . Petruchia's wife, and these fond 
bridegrooms seemed highly pleased with die 
mild tempers of the ladies they: had chosen^ 
laughing at Petruchio for his less fortunate 
choice. Petruchio took little notice of their 
jokes till the ladies were retired after dinner, 
. and then he perceived Baptista himself joined in 
. the lau^ against him ; for when . Petruchio af- 
, firmed that his wife would prove more obedient 
than theirs, the father of Katherine said, ^^ Now, 
in good sadness, ^on Petruchio^ I fear you have 
got the veriest shrew of all." " Well,"^ said Pe- 
truchio, I say no, and therefore for assurance 
that I speak the truth, let us each one s^nd for 
his wife, and he whose wife is most obedient to 
come at first when she is sent for, shall win a 
wager whiqh we will propose,." To this the 



other two husbamU willingly consented, for ^j 
were quite confident that their gende wires 
would prove more obedient than die headstrong 
Katherine ) and Aej proposed a wager of twenty 
crowns, but Petruchio merrily said he would lay 
as much as that upon bis hawk or hound, but 
twenty times as much upon his wife. Lucentio 
and Hortensio raised the wager to an hundred 
crowns, and Lucentio first sent his servant to 
desire Bianca woidd come to him. But die ser- 
vant returned, and said» ^ Sir, my mistress isaid^ 
you word she is busy and dannot come.'' '^ How/^ 
said Petruchio, *' does she say she is busy and 
cannot c<»ne f Is that an answer for a wife ?"^ 
Then they laughed at him>. and said^ it woidd be 
well if Kadierine did not send him a worse an- 
swer. And now it was Hortensio's turn to send 
for his wife V and he said to his servant, ^' Go, 
and intreat my wife to come to me."' *♦ Oh ho t 
intreat her F' said PetruchtOw ^ Nay, tibien, Ae 
needs must come.*' ** 1 am afraid> sir," «said 
Hortensio, ** your wife will not be intreated." 
But presently this civil husband looked a little 
blank, when the servant returned without fais^ 
mistress ; and he said to him, ^ How now t 
Where is my wife P « Sir,'* said the servant,. 



Tss rjmvtc of the ibmw. f i 

^ mjr misifets sayt you have seme goodly jest in 
hiad^ and theceforfi dbe wiU not came^ Sbe 
Ms you come to her J* << Worse and yrofse V* 
uiA Pctmciiio; and that ke sent I^s senraitfy 
sayiagt ^' Skiabf goto yew nistreMi and teUher 
I cotnmand ber to jcome to me.'* The conapany 
Iiad scarcely tiaae to liunk d^ woiiU oot obey 
ihis sitrnmoas^ ^vhtn BaptiBta^ all m asia9ie> ex- 
claimed, ^ Now, by my faoUklam) hei^ comcs^ 
Katkerine!" and she enta^d, sayiog meekly to 
PdrucSiio, ^ What is your will* Bir» Aat yoa 
send for meP' ** Whore is your sister and Hor- 
tensio's vnteV* said he. Katherine replied^ 
^ They sit conferring by die parlour-^De." ^' Go, 
fetch them hither !" said Fetnidiio. Away vent 
Katherine without tefdy to perform her hus- 
famd's command. <' Hcse is a wonder^'* said 
Lucentio, '' if you talk of a wonder.'^ ^ And so 
it is,'* said Hortensio ;, ** I manrel what it bodes.'^ 
^ Marry, peace it bodes>'' wi Petruchu), ** and 
lore, and qinet Sfe, and right supremacy ^ and to 
be shorty every thing tiiat is ^r eet and hs^y/' 
Katiberine^^ fadier, orcqoyed to see this re%ma» 
don in his daughter, saidy ** Now, lair befall 
diee, sm Petntchiol you haexe wpn the wsger, 
and I wlU add another twenty lJu)ttSind gfowns 



42 The taming of the shrew. 

to her dowry, a3 if she were another daughter, 
for she is changed as ijf she had never been." 
** Nay," said Petruchio, ** I will win the wager 

: better yet, and shew more signs of her new-buHt 
virtue and obedience," Katherine now entering 
with the two ladies, he continued, ** See where 

^ she comes, and brings your froward wives as pri- 
soners to her womanly persuasion. Katherine, 
that cap of yours does not become you \ oflF with 

^ that bauble, and throw it under foot." Kathe- 
rine instantly took off her cap, and threw it 

• down. " Lord !" said Hortensio's wife, '* may I 
never have a cause to sigh till I am brought to 

« such a silly pass!" ^nd Bianca, she too said, 

- ** Fie, what foolish duty call you this !" On 
this Bianca's husband said to her, '* I wish your 
duty were as foolish too ! The wisdom of your 

^ duty, fair Bianca, has cost me an hundred crowns 
since dinner-rtime/* ** The more fool you,'* said 

i Bianca, " for laying on my duty." " Katherine/* 

• said Petruchio, "I charge you tell these head- 
strong women what duty they owe their lords 
and husbands." And to the wonder of all pre- 
sent, the reformed shrewish lady spoke as elo- 
quently in praise of the wife-like duty of obedi- 
ence^ as she had practised it implicitly in a i^eady 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 43 

submission to Petruchio's wiN. And Katherine 
once more became famous in Padua, not as 
heretofore, as Katherine the Shrew, but as Ka- 
dierine the most obedient and duteots wife in 
Padua. 



TALE THE THIRTEENTH. 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 

1 HE states of Syracuse and Ephesus being at 
variance, there was a cruel law made at Ephesus,^ 
ordaining that if any merchant of Syracuse was 
seen in the city of Ephesus, he was to be put to 
death, unless he could pay a thousand marks for 
the ransom of his^ life. 

j£geon, an old merchant of Syracuse^ was dis- 
covered in the streets of Ephesus, and brought 
before the duke,, either to pay this heavy fine, or 
to receive sentence of death. 

-figeon had no money to pay the fine, and the 
duke, before he pronounced the sentence of death 
upon him, desired him to relate the history of 
his life, and to tell for what cause he had ven- 
tured to come to the city of Ephesus, which it 
was death for. any Syracusan merchant to enter. 

u£geon said, that he did not fear to die, for 



Ta£ COMEDY OF £^ROiUB. 45 

sofTdW had made hkn wesury of his Sfe, but that 
a hefMrier task could not have been imposed upon 
him thsm to relate the events of his unfortunate 
life. He then began his own history, in the fol- 
lowing words. 

<^ I was bodrn at Syracuse, and brought up to 
the profession of a merchant. I married a lady^ 
with whom I lived very happily, but being 
obliged to go to Epidmnnium^ I was detained 
theie by my business six months, and then, find* 
ing I should be obliged to stay some time longer^ 
I sent for my wife, who, as soon as she arrived, 
was brought to bed of two sons, and what was 
very strange, they were both so exactly alike,, 
that it was impossible to distinguish the one from 
the other. At the same time that my wife was 
brought' to bed of these twin-boys^ a poor wo« 
man in the inn where my wife lodged was 
brcmght to bed of two sons, and these twins were 
as much like each other as my two sons were 
The parents of these children being 'exceeding 
poor, I bought die two boys, and brought them 
up to attend upon my sons. 

^* My sons were very fine children, and my 
wife was not a little proud of two such boys : and 
she daily wishing to return home, I unwillingly 



46 TrtE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 

agreed, and in an evil hour we got on shipboard^ 
for we had not sailed above a league from Epi- 
damnium before a dreadful storm arose, which 
continued with such violence, that the sailors, 
seeing no chance of saving the ship, crowded into 
the boat to save their own lives, leaving us alone 
in the ship, which we every moment expected 
would be destroyed by the fury of the storm. 

^* The incessant weeping of my wife, and the 
piteous complaints of the pretty babes, who not 
knowing what to fear, wept for fashion, because 
they saw their mother weep, filled me with ter- 
ror for them, though I did not for myself fear 
death 5 and all my thoughts were bent to contrive 
means for their safety. I tied my youngest son 
to the end of a small spare mast, such as sea- 
faring men provide against storms ; . at the other 
end I bound the youngest of the twin-slaves, and 
at the same time I directed my wife how to fasten 
the other children in like manner to. another 
mast. She thus having the care of the two 
eldest children, and I of the two younger^ we 
bound ourselves separately to. these masts with 
the children ; and but for this contrivance we had 
all been lost, for the ship split on a mighty rock 
and was dashed in pieces^ and we clinging to 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 47 

these slender masts were supported above the 
water, where I, having the care of two chil- 
dren, was unable to assist my wife, who with the 
other children was soon separated from me ; but 
while they were yet in my sight, they were taken 
up by a boat of fishermen, from Corinth (as I 
supposed), and seeing theni in safety, 1 had no 
care but to struggle with the wild sea waves, to 
preserve my dear son, and the youngest slave. At 
length, we in our ^urn were taken up by a shfp, 
and the sailors, knowing me, gave us kind wel- 
tcomc and assistance, and landed us in safety at 
Syracuse; but from that sad hour I have never 
known what became of my wife and eldest child. 
** My youngest son, and now my only care, 
when he was eighteen years of age, began to be 
inquisitive after his mother and his brother, and 
often importuned me that he might take his at- 
tendant, the young slave, who had also lost his 
brother, and go in search of them : at length I 
unwillingly gave consent, for though I anxiously 
desired to hear tidings of my wife and eldest son, 
yet in sending my younger one. to find them I 
hazarded the loss of him also. It is now seven 
years since my son left me ; five years have I past 
in travelling through the world in search of him ^ 



46 THE COMEDY Of EltllOltS. 

I have been in farthest Greece, and through the 
hounds of Asia, and coasting homewards I landed 
here in Ephesus, being unwilling to leave any 
place unsought ihat harbours men -, but this day 
must end the story of my life, and happy should 
I think myself in my death, if I were assured mj 
wife and sons were living.'*^ 

Here the hapless ^geon ended the account qi 
his misfortunes \ and the duke^ pitying this un;- 
fortunate father, who had brought upon himself 
this great peril by hifr love for his lost son, said,^ 
if it were not against the laws, which his oatli 
and dignity did not permit him to alter, he would 
freely pardon him ; yet, instead of dooming him 
to instant deaths as the Hrict letter of the law 
required, he would give him that day, to try if 
he could beg or borrow the money to pay the 
fine. 

This day of grace did seem no great favour to 
i^eon, for not knowing |i;;iy^man in Epfaesus, 
there seemed to him but little chance that any 
stranger would lend or give him a thousand mark$ 
to pay the fine : and helpless smd hopeless of any 
relief, he retired from the presence of die duke in 
the custody of a jailor. 

^geon supposed he knew no person in £pbe» 



THE GOME]>Y OF BRROltS. ^ 

«ttsj but at the very time he was in danger 
of losing his life through the careful search he 
was making after his youngest son^ that son and 
bis *eldest son also were both in the city o£ 
£l^sus« 

. ^geon's scmS| besides being exactly alike in 
face and person, were both named alike, being 
both called Antipholis, and the two twin skvea 
were also both named Dromio. j^eon's young- 
est son, Antipholis of Syracuse, he whom the 
old man had <:ome to Ephesus to seek^ hap- 
pened to arrive at Ephesds with his slave Dro- 
mio that very same day that Mgeon did ; and 
he bding also a merchant of Syracuse, he would 
have been in the same danger that his father was> 
but by good fortune he met a friend who told 
him the peril an old merchant of Syracuse was 
in, 2aid advised him to pass for a merchant of 
Epidattinium : this Antipholis agreed to do^ and 
he was sorry to hear one of his own countrymen 
was in this danger, but h^ little drought this old 
merchant was- hie own father. 

The el^st son of ^geon (who must be called 
Antipholis of E^esus, to distingui^ him from 
his brother Antipholis of Syracuse) had lived at 
Ephesus twenty yeafSi and^ being a rich man, was 



f 



so THE COMEDY Ot ER&ORS. 

well able to have paid the money for the ransom 
ef his father's life; but Antipholis knew nothing 
of his father, being so young when he was taken 
out of the sea with his mother by the fishermen, 
that he only remembered he had been so pre- 
served, but he had no recollection of either his 
father or his mother ; the fishermen who took 
lip this Antipholis and his mother and the young 
slave Dromio having carried the two children 
away 'from her (to the great grief of that un- 
happy lady), intending to sell them. 

Antipholis and Dromio were sold by them to 
duke Menaphon, a famous warrior, who was un« 
cle to the duke of Ephesus, and he carried the 
boys to Ephesus, when he went to visit the duke 
his nephew. 

The duke of Ephesus taking a liking to young 
Antipholis, when he grew up, made him an of- 
ficer in his army, in which he distinguished him- 
self by his great bravery in the wars, where he 
saved the life of his patron the duke, who re* 
warded his merit by marrying him to Adriana, a 
rich lady of Ephesus ; with whom he was living 
(his slave Dromio stil attending him) at the time 
his father came there. 

Antipholis of Syracuse, when he parted with 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 51 

Kis friend, who advised him to say he came from 
Epidamnium, gave bis slave Dromio some money 
to carry to the inn where he intended to dine, 
and in the mean time he said he would walk about 
and view the city, and observe the manners of the 
people. 

Dromio was a pleasant fellow, and when Anti- 
pholis was dull and melancholy, he used to divert 
himself with the odd humours and merry jests of > 
his slave, so that the freedoms of speech he 
allowed in Dromio were greater dian is usual be- 
tween masters and their servants. 

When Antipholis of Syracuse had sent Dromio 
away, he stood a while thinking over his solitary 
wanderings in search of his mother and his bro- 
ther, of whom in no place where he landed coi^d 
he hear the least tidings ; and he said sorrowfully 
to himself, ^^ I am like a drop of water in the 

« 

ocean, which seeking to find its fellow-drop, loses 
itself in the wide sea. So I unhappily, to find a 
mother and a brother, do lose myself." 

While he was thus meditating on his weary 
travels, which had hitherto been so useless, Dro* 
nuo (as he thought) returned. Antipholis, won- 
dering that he came back so soon, asked him 
where he had left the moaej. Now it was not 



QW 




.at- •-^jfc -^ 




r 



TlfE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 53 

dt dinner : I had no charge but to fetch you 
home^ to dine with my mistress and her sister." 
Now Antipholis lost all pauence^ and beat Dro- 
nuo, who ran home^ and told his mistress that his 
master had refused to come to dinner^ and said 
that he had no wife. 

Adriana^ the wife of Antipholis of EphesuSj 
was very angry, when she heard that her hus- 
band said he had no wife; for she was of a 
jealous temper, and she said her husband meant 
diat he loved another lady better than herself; 
and she began to fret, and say unkind words 
of jealousy and reproach of her husband; and 
her sister Luciana^ who lived with her, tried 
in^ vain to persuade her out of her groundless 
suspicions. 

Antipholis of Syracuse went to the inn, and 
found Dromio with the money in safety there, 
and seeing his own Dromio, he was going again 
to chide him for his free jests, when Adrianacame 
up to kun, and not doubting but it was her 
husband she saw, she began to reproach him for 
looking strange upon her (as well he might, never 
having seen this angry lady before); and then she 
told him bow well he loved her brfore diey were 
married^ and that now he loved some other lady 
VOL* lit o 



M THE COlil^DY OF EltHQftS. 

instead of her. ^* How cornea it now, mf htt»*. 
band|" said she, *^ O how comes it diat I have, 
lost your love ?** " Plead you to me> fait dame?'* 
said the astonished Antipholis. It was in yain he 
told her he was not her husband^ and that he bad 
been in Ephesus but two hours ^ she insisted 
on his going home with her, and Antipholis at 
lastj being unable to get zwzj% went with her to 
his brother's house^ and dined with Adriana aad- 
her sister, the one calling him hufband and thci 
other brother, he, all amazed» thinking he must 
have been married to her in his sleep, or that he 
was sleeping now. And Dromio, who feUowed 
them, was no less surprised, for the cookprna^V 
who was his brother's wife> also daiqied him for 
her husband. 

While Antipholis of Syracuse was dining with 
his brother's wife, his bix>thef, the real husband, 
returned home to dinner with hb slave Dromio i 
bu^ the servants wotUd not open the door, be- 
cause their mistress had ordered them not to ad- 
mit zxxf company; and when they repeatedly 
knocbed,; and said they were Antipholis and 
Diomio, the maids . laughed at them, and said 
that Antipholis was at dinner with their mis» 
ttpssj and DromiQ was in the kiteheai aad 



THE COMEBY OF Ea&01t9i 55 

thoiigii tbey almote kilockeid die dd^ d^im$ they 
couldr not pan admittancey and at last An|i« 
pfaofis went away very angry, and' strangely 8tfr« 
prised at hearing a gentleman was dkiing With hif 
wife. 

When Antipholis of Syraeuae had fimshed hU 
dimier, be wais so perplexed at the lady's stiU per* 
sillfiig in calling lumhosbandp and at heatiqg. th^t. 
Drbmio had also been claimed by the cook^maidi 
that he left the house, as soOn as he €(»uld find 
any pretence to get away ; for though he was very 
much pleased with Luciana^ the sister, yet the 
jealous^tempered Adriana he disliked very much, 
nor was Dromio at all better satisfied with his fair 
mfe in the kitchen ; therefore both master and 
man were glad to get slMray firom their new wives 
as fast as they could. 

THie moment Antipholis of Syracuse had left 
the house, he waiK met by a goldsmith, who mis- 
talnng him, as Adriana had done, for Antipholis 
ofJSphesttS) gave Inm a gold; chain, calling him 
by his name ; and when Aiitipholis would have. 
rdf^sed the <iiain, saying it did not belong to 
him> the goUfrmith replied he made it by his own 
order's; ^nd went away, leaving the chain i|i the 
hands of Antipholis, who ordered his man Dro- 

D 2 



56 THE COMEPY OF ERRORS. 

nuo t6 get hb tkings on board a ship, not choo^g 
to ttay in a place any longer, where he met with 
such strange adventures that he surely thought 
hknself bewitched. 

The goldsmith who had given the chain to the 
wrong Antipholis, was arrested immecUately after 
for a sum of money he owed ; and Andpholis, 
the married 1>rotherf to whom the goldsmith 
diought he had given the chain, happened to 
come to the place where the officer was arresting 
the goldsmith,. who, when he saw Antipholis, 
asked him to pay for the gold chain he had just 
delivered to him, the price amountbg to nearly 
the same sum as that for which he had been ar- 
rested. Antipholis denying the having received 
the chain, and the gddsmith persisting to declare, 
that he had but a few minutes before given it to 
him, they disputed this matter a long time, both 
thinking they were right, for Antipholis knew^ 
the goldsmith never gave him the chain» and, so 
like were the two brothers, the goldsmith was 
as certain he had delivered the chain into his 
hands, till at last the officer took the goldsmith 
away to prison for the debt he owed, and at the 
same time the goldsmith made the officer arrest 
Antipholis for the price of the chain ; so that at 



THE. COMEDY OF ElUIOItS. A7 

the conclusion of their dispute^ AntiphoUs and 
the merchant were both taken away to prisim 
together. 

As Antipholis was going to priscni) he met 
Dromio of Syracuse, his brother^s slaTC, and mis- 
taking him for his own, he ordered him to go to 
Adriana his wife, and tell her to send the money 
for which he was arrested. Dromio wondering 
that his master should send hini back to tiK 
strange house where he dined, and from which 
he had just before been in such haste to depart, 
did not dare to reply, though he came to tell hb 
master the ship was ready to sail ; for he saw An- 
tipholis was in no humour to be jested with. 
Therefore he went away, grumbling within him- 
self that he must return to Adriana's house, 
" Where," said he^ " Dowsabel claims me for a 
husband : but I must go, for servants must obey 
their masters' commands." 

Adriana gave him the money, and as Dromio 
was returning, he met Antipholis of Syracuse, who 
was still in amaze at the surprising adventures 
he met with j for his brother being well kno#n 
in Ephesus, there was hardly a man he met in 
the streets but saluted him as an old acquaint- 
ance : some offered him money which they said 

D 3 



SS TUB COitEDV OF £&R01t9. 

was owing tohim, some mTited him. to come uJt 
•ee them, and some gaye him thanks for kind^ 
nesses they said he had done them, all mistaking 
him for bis brother. A taylor shewed him some 
silks he had bought for him> and insisted upon 
taking measure of him for some clothes. 

Antipholis began to think he was amofig a na^ 
tbn of sorcerers and witches^ and Dromio did 
not at all relieve his master from his bewildered 
th<»ight8| by asking him how he got free from 
the officer who was carrying him to prison, and 
giving him die purse of gold which Adriana bad 
s&at to pay the debt with. This talk of Dro- 
mio^s of the arrest and of a prison^ and of the 
money he had brou^t from Adriana, perfectly 
confounded Antipholis, and he said, <' TI^s fel- 
}ow Dromio is certainly distracted^ and we wan« 
dor here in illusions ;" and quite terrified at his 
own confused thoughts, he cried oi|t> ** Some 
blessed power deliver us from this strange 
place r* 

And no^ another stranger came up to him, 
and she was a lady, and she too called him 
Antipholis, and told him he had dinetl with 
her that day, and asked him for a gold"" chain 
whiph she said Tie had promised to give her. 



THS comedy of BItRORS. 59 

Aiifi^holis now lost till patienee^ and calling: 
her a sorceress, he denied diat he had ever pro- 
ttfised her a chain, or dined with her, or had ereti 
teen her face before that moment. The lady 
persisted in affirming he had dined with her, and 
had promised her a chain, which Antipholis still 
denying, she farther said» that she had given him 
k vaiuabie ring, and if he would not give her the 
gold chain, she insisted upon having her own 
ring again. On this Ahtipholis became quite 
frantic, and again calling her sorceress and witch, 
a^d denying 2II knowledge of her or her ring, 
ran nway from her, leaving her astonished at his 
words and his wild looks, for nediing to her ap- 
peared more certain than that he had dined with 
her, and that she had given him' a ring, in conse- 
i^uence of his ptom{l»ng to make htr a present of 
a gold ch^h. Bat this lady had fdlen into the 
same mistake the others had done, for she had 
t^en him for his brother : the married Antipho- 
lis had done all the things she taxed this Ami- 
pholiswith. 

When the married Antipholis was denied en- 
trance into his own house (those within suppos- 
ing hinfi to be already there), he had gone away 
very angry, believing it to be one of his wifc*s 

D 4 



60 THC COMEDY OF ERRORS. 

jealous freaks, to which she was . very subject 
and remembering that she had often falsely ac- 
cused him of Yisiting other ladies, he to be re- 
venged on her for shutting him out of his own 
house, determined to go and dine with this lady, 
and she receiving him with great civility, and 
his wife having so highly offended him, Anti- 
pholis promised to give her a gold chain, whi(^ 
he had intended as a present for his wife ; it was 
the same chain which the goldsmith by mistake 
had given to his brother. The lady liked so we|J 
the thoughts of having a fine gold chain, that she 
gave the married Antipholis a ring; which when, 
as she supposed (taking his brother for him), he 
denied, and said he did not know her, and left 
her in such a wild passion, she began to think he 
was certainly out of bis senses ; and presently 
she resolved to go and tell Adriana that her hujS- 
bahd was mad. And while she was telling it. to 
Adriana, he came, attended by the jailor (who 
allowed him to come home to get the money to 
pay the debt), for the purse of money, which 
Adriana had sent by Dromio, and he had deli- 
vered to the other Antipholis. 

Adriana believed the story the lady told her 
of her husband's madness must be trucj^ when he 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 61 

reproached her for shutting him out of, hU own 
house ; aild rememberii^ how be had protested 
all dinner-time that he was not her husband, and 
had never been in Ephesus till that day, she had 
no doubt that he was madj she therefore paid 
the jaibr the money, and having discharged 
htm, she ordered her servants to bind her hus- 
band with ropes, and had him conveyed into a 
dark room, ^d sent for a doctor to come and 
cure him of his madness : Antipbplis all the while 
hotly exclaiming against this false accusation^ 
which the exact likeness he boipe to his biodief 
had brought upon him* But his rage only the 
more confinned th^xi in the belief that he was 
mad y and Dromio persisting in the same starf, 
they bound himalsQ>and took him away along, 
with his master* 

Soon after Adriana had put her husband into 
confinement,, a servant came to tell her that Aur 
tiphoUs and Dromio n^ust have broken loose 
from their keepeis> for that they wese both walk,- 
ing at liberty in the next street. On he;^ring. 
ibUy Adiiana ran out to fetch hm home,, taking 
some peofde with her to secure her husband 
a^n ; and her sister went alofig with her. When 

Aej came to the g^tes ol a coinrent in tb^is 

A B 



€S THB COMBDY OF ERROaS. 

neighbeufkoed, there ihef saw AadphoUs and 
DromiOy as they thooghf , being i^aun deceived by 
die Ukeness of the twin-^brothets. 

Antipholk of Syracuse was sdll beset with the 
perpkxilies this likeness had brought upmi hiab 
The chain which the goMffinath had given htm 
was about hii neck) and Ae goldsmkh was re* 
proaching. hiiir for denying that he had it, ud 
refusing to pay fer it| and AntiphoKs was potest- 
ing that the goidsmith freely gare him tiic chain 
in the mornhigi and that from thas hour he had 
ncYer seen tlie goldsmith agam. 

Avid now Ackian^ cameup to him, and claimed 
him as her Innatic husband, who had escaped 
from his keepers ; and the men shebnNight vnih 
lier were going to lay vic^lent hands oa AntiphuGs 
and Dromio ; but they ran into the conirent^and 
Antipholn^ begged the abbess^ to give him sfadter 
in her bouse. - 

And now cdttie' out Ac tady^ abbess^howM . to 
enquire into the caiis^ of tlus distiurba»ce. She 
'wais a gi^ve and tenerable kidyi ^m4 wise to ji^dgc 
of what she saw^ and sbe^ weiihi not too hastily 
give up the ^ man who had sought prolei^CMB' in 
het house; so'sbe Sti^tfy qnestioned die wite 
abbuf the stdry she Mid" of jier husband^ tpmA- 



Aess^ afid ihe ^id^ « What h the e^nseof'this 
sudden distetli^ of font husband's f*^ Has he 
hit his weftltti tt ste? Or is it &e death of 
Mn^'deiir MttkdO^t has diiitiitbed his mind ?^' 
Adtiaha ir^litd, that no such things as these had 
been the cause. ••^Pethaps,*' said Ae abbess, 
** he has fited bis affi^on»^on s<»iAe 6&tt Ikij 
diaH ydu his ixpife; and thkt has driven him to 
thfo stl^.** A^iima said she had long thought 
Ae love of some odiei^ lady yit^ die cause of his 
&ftqoent absences Irom home: tShw it was not 
his love for fthothei^ but the tea^g jealousy of 
hi^ wife 'S temper>tiiat often obliged Ahtipholis to 
leave his home; and (the abbess suspecting this 
fi^m the vefaemenee of Adriansi's manner) to 
teiirti the truth, she said, ^ Ydu shouM havife re- 
prehended him for this/* •* Why so I did,*' re- 
plied Adriana. " Ayej** said the iibbess, " but 
perhaps not enough.'* Adriana, willing to con- 
vince the alAtss diat she had said enough to An* 
tipholls on this subject, repKed,/* It wafr the coii- 
kant subject of out conversation : in bed I would 
hot let him sleep for speaking of it^ At t«ible I' 
would not let him eat for Speaking of it. When 
tw^t al6ne With him, I tdked of nothing else $, 
4nd &i company I gave him Mqi^nt hintft of k. 



64 TBB COMBBY OF BRftim* 

StiU aU my talk was hxm vile aad bad it was in 
him to lore any lady better tbaa me." 

The lady abbess, baving dsawn this fiiU goih 
fession from the jealous Adriaaa, now said> ^ And 
therefore comes it that your hu^Nuid is naad» 
The venomous clamour of a jealous woman is a 
more deadly poison thsm a mad dog's tooth. It 
seems his deep was hindered by your raibig ; no 
wonder that his head is light : and his meat was 
sauced with your upbraidiags; unquiet meals 
make ill digestions, and that has thrown him into 
this fever. You say his sports were disturbed 
by your brawls ; being debarred (um the eajp]^ 
ntent of society and recreation, what could ensue 
but dull melancholy md comfortless despair? 
The consequence is then,, that your jealous fits^ 
h^ve made^your husband mad." 

Luciana would have excused her sister,,sayiag|, 
she always reprehended her husband mildly^ and 
she said taher sistoi;, ^' Why do. you, hcsa these 
rebukes without answ^ng them I** But the ab- 
bess had made her so plainly perceive her fault, 
that she could only answer,. <* She has betrayed 
me to my own reproof." 

Adriana, though ashamed of bar own cond)»cl, 
still insisted on having her husband delivered up 



a>iffED|r OF ruEOts. es 

to ber ; but tiie aUess wonU suStr no person to 
enter her houso, nor would she deliver up dib 
mibai^y m»i to the care of tlie jealous wife, 
detenmakof hersdlf to use gentle means for 
his recovery, and she retired into her house 
again, and ordered her gates to be shut against 
them. 

Diifing the course of this eventful day, in 
which so many errors bad happened from the 
likeness the twin brothers bore to each other, old 
.^gaon's day of grace was passing away, it being 
now near sunset: and at sunset he was doomed 
to die> if ke could net pay die nuH^y^ 

The place of his execution was near this cc»>- 
vent, and here he arrived just as the abbesr re- 
tired into the convent $ the duke att^ic^ in pev* 
son, that if any oflfered to pay the money, he 
nught be present to pordcm Urn. 
' Adrianfft stopped this^ melanchoiy procession,, 
and cried out to the duke for justice, telling him 
Aat the abbess had refused to deliver up her 
luna^ huai^nd to her cart. While she was 
speaddng, her real husband and his servant Dco^ 
mio, who had got loose, canie before the duke to 
deflBwd jn^e, coBopfauning thi^ lus wife had 
confined btin on a fafee chaige of Imncy i and 



6^ T«£ COM£]>T or £ULOKS. 

teMtng in what lEHumtr he had brokca his 
binds and ckided the T^ifamce of his kecficn. 
Adsiana was sltangely surprised to see her \ae^ 
bandy when die thought he lad been widiia the 
convent. 

^geon seeing his sou, concluded this was the 
son who had left him to go in search of his mo- 
ther and his brother ; and he fek secure that this 
dear son would readily pay the mouey densaudtd 
for his ransom. He therefore spoke to hniir 
phoUs in words of fatherly affection^ Wich joyfal 
hope that he shoukl now be released. Butto the 
utter astonishment of iEgeon, his son denied all 
knowledge of lum^ as well he mighty for .this 
An^holis had ncTet seen his fadiet sipce diey 
were separated in the storm in .his infsuo^y (. bat 
white the pdor old ..^E^geon was' in vain ei^dca* 
Youring to makeUlloa acknowledge him, think- 
ing sively thitteithier his griefs and the anjiieties 
Ke had suA^ed had so snaogdy altered him H^ 
iul son did not. .knew bimj (tf elsi; that;he^Kff^ 
ashanod to aeknowkdge his S^thfes in his opi^s^ -,. 
m die midst of this |ieiplefiutyy die lady a)>h^ 
and., die .other >Ar^ti|^i^ and Profnjii^ m^ qut^ 
and the wondciing JVdfii^ saiiv twp hn^irads* 
^ tfwoDi^mios stadding befosefasi;.^ 



Tim/CQMEOY OF B&ROaS. 67 

And sow these riddHog ^rrors^ which had so 
perjdcxed tbetn aU^ were deafly made out. When 
the dtdce saw the two AntipfaoUaes and the two 
Dromios both $6 exactly alike, be at once con^ 
jectured aright of these seeming mysteries^for he 
ranembered the stc»ry jS^geon bad tdd him in 
the morning ; and he said, these men must be the 
two Sana of JEg^m and their twin slaveSb 

JSm^nfm an unlooked-for joy indeed con»- 
pieted the ht^ory of ^geon ; and the tale he 
had in die mofning told in socrow, and under 
'9&Bi^em€9 of dealk, before the setting sun went 
down waa biougbt to a happy eonclutioB, for the 
voierafate lady abbela m(»de h^irself known to be 
the klBghlost wife of .^!geon, and the fond mo- 
ther of the two AntiphoVses. 

When Ai fishermen took the eldest An^holis 
smdcDromto away from her, she entered a nun- 
]iei!y> and bf her wiae and virtuous conduct Ae 
was at length made lady abbess of this convent, 
and in dischatf^ng the ritf^s of hospitality to an 
imhappystraogierRdkebad wb^wingly protected 
hcrow&aoi^ 

Joffbil c9^i»(f6tthtions Mid affecUonate gneet- 
ifigja^^ btHfeeii tbese long S9paffit$d.ffu:ematand 



68 tHB COMEDY OF lAMRS. 

their children, made them for 9. while forget that 
JEgeon was fct under sentence of death: but 
when they were become a little calm, Aatipholis 
of Ephesus offered the duke the ransom-money 
for his father's life^ but the duke freely pardoned 
^geon, and would not take the money. And 
die duke went with the abbess and her newly^ 
found husband and children into the conrent. to 
hear this happy family discourse at leisure of the 
blessed lending of their adverse fortunes. And 
the two Dromios^ humble joy must not be forgot- 
ten ; they had their congratulations and greetings 
too, and eaeh Dromio pleasantly complimented 
his brother on his good looks, being well pleased 
to see his own- person (as in a glass) shew so 
handsome in his brotiier. 

Adriana had so weU pfofited by die good 
counsel of her mother-in-law, that she never 
after cherished unjust suspicions, cm was jealous 
of her husband'. 

Antipholis ot Syracuse married the hit Luci^ 
ana, the sister of his brother*s^ wife ; and the 
good old Mgeotiy with his wife and son^, lived 
at Ephesus many years. Nor did the unravelting 
of these perpkxities sa entively remove eveif 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 69 

ground of ^mistake for the future, but that some- 
timcsy to remind them of adventures past, comical 
blunders would happen, and the one Antipholis^ 
and the one Dromio, be mistaken for the other> 
making altogether a pleasant and diverting Co- 
medy of Errors. 



TALE THE FMtRTEENTH. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 

IN the city of Vienna there once reigned a duke 
of such a mild and gentle temper^ that be suf* 
fered his subjects to neglect the laws with impu- 
nity } and there was in particular one laW| the 
existence of which was almost forgotten, the 
duke never having put it in force during his whole 
reign. This was a law dooming any man to the 
punishment of death, who should live with a wo- 
man that was not his wife \ and this law through 
the lenity of the duke being utterly disregarded, 
the holy institution of marriage became neg* 
lected, and complaints were every day made to 
the duke by the parents of the young ladies in 
Vienna, that their daughters had been seduced 
from their protection, and were living as the corn-* 
panions of single men. 

The good duke perceived with sorrow this 
growing evil among his subjects ; but he thought 



that a sudcien di^mge in himsdf from die minU 
gence he had hitherto shewn, to the strict seve'- 
ntj requisite to dieck this abuse, would mal^ his 
people (wha had hitherto loved him) consider 
him as a tyrant : therefore he determined to ab« 
sent himself a while from his dukedom, and de- , 
pute another to the full exercise of his powert 
that the law against these dishonourable lovers 
ai%ht be put in effect, without giving ofience 
bj an unusual severity in bis own person^ 

Angelo, a man who bore the reputauon of a 
sfdnt in Vienna for h» strict and rigid life, was 
diosen by the duke as a fit person to undertake 
this important charge ; and when the duke im- 
parted his design to brd Escalus, his chief coun:* 
sellor, Escalns said, *' I£ any man ih Vienna be 
o£ worth to tmdergo such ample grace and bo« 
nour, it is lord Angelo." And now iht duke 
departed from Vienna under pretence of making 
a journey into Poland, leaving Angelo to act as 
the lord deputy in his absence ; but the didce's 
^sence was only a feigned one, for he privately 
itturoed to Vienna, habited Hke a friar, with the 
infient to watch unseen the conduct of the saint« 
ly-seeming Angelo. 

It happened just about the time that Angekx 



72 lf£i^U&E FOR MEASURE. 

was invested with his new dignity) that a gentle* 
man, whose name was Qaudio, had seduced a 
young lady from her parents } and for this of- 
ence, by command of the new.Ioxd deputy, 
Claudio was taken . up and committed to prison, 
and by virtue of the old law which had been 
so long neglected, Angelo sentenced Claudio to 
be beheaded. Great interest was made for the 
pardon of young Claudio, and the good old lord 
Escalus himself interceded for him. ** Alas," 
said he, ** this gentleman whom I would save had 
an honourable fafher» for whose sake I pray you 
pardon the young man's transgression.'' But 
Angelo replied, ** We must not make a scare- 
crow of the law, setting it up to frighten birds 
of prey, till custom, finding it harmless^ makes 
it their perch, and not their terror. Sir, be 
must die." 

Lucio, the friend of Claudio, visited him in 
the prison, and Claudio said to him, << I pray 
you, Lucio, do me this kind service. Go to my 
sister Isabel, who this day proposes to enter the 
convent of Saint Clare; acquaint her with the 
danger of my sUte ; implore her that she make 
friends with the strict deputy ; bid her go herself 
to Angelo. I have great hopes in that ; for she 



MEASURE FOU MEA6Uft£« 7d 

can cHscourse ixrkh prospetous Urty aad well she 
can persuade ; besidesi there is » speechless dia- 
lect in youthful sonowy such as moves men." 

Isabel^ the sister of Claudio5 hsttl, as he said^ 
that day entered' upon her novidfite in the con* 
vent, and it was her intent after fussing through 
her probation as a noTioe, to take the Teil, and 
she was enquiring of a nun concerning the rules 
of the convent, when they heard the voice of 
LuciO) who, as he entered that rel^ious housCf 
said, "Peace be in this place!" "Who is it. 
that speaks ?" said Isabel. " It is a man's voice," 
replied the nun: " Gentle Isabel^ go to him, and 
karn his business ; you may, I may not. When 
you have taken the veil, you must not speak with 
men but in the presence of the prior^s ; then 
if you speak, you must not shew your facet or if 
you sheW^ your face, you must not speak." " And 
have you ntms no farther privileges?" ssud Isabel. 
" Are not these brge enough?'' replied the nun. 
" Tes, truly,'' sidd Isabel : ^' I speak not as de- 
siring more, but rather wishing a more strict re- 
stiiint upon the ststerhoodt the votarists of Saint 
Clare.'' Again they heard the voice of Lucio, 
and the nun said^ *^ He calls s^ain. I pray you 
answer him." Isabel tl|en yreat out to Lucio, 



74 lt«A€lttB FMl MEASUftS; 

aaA in amwer to iii^ taltttatiDfi, saui, ^ Peace and 
prosperity I Wm h k ihat calls ?*! Tbcn Lucio, 
approadiing her wkh reverenee, satd^ ^ Hail» 
virgin, if such yon be^ as the roses in year 
cheeks proclaim yofO are no less I can yoa bring 
me to the sight of babel, a novice of this 
place, and the fair sister to her unhappy bro* 
ther Claudio ?*' *• Why her unhappy brother F 
said Isabel, ** let me a$k : for I am diat Isabel, 
and his sister." ** Fair and gentle lady,'* he re- 
plied^ ^ your brother kindly greets you by me ; 
he is in prison." " Woe is me ! for what ?** said 
Isabel. Lucio then told her, Claudio was impri* 
soned for seducing a young maiden. '* Ah/* 
said she, ** I fear it is my cousin Juliet." Juliet 
and Isabel were not related, but they called each 
other cousin in temembrance of their school-days 
friendship r and as Isabel knew that Juliet loved 
Claudio, ^e felted ^e had been led by her af^ 
fection for him into this^ transgression. ** She it 
is," replied Ludo. " Why then let my brothei* 
marry Juliet," said Ilsabel. Lucio replied, that 
Claudio would gladly' marry Juliet, but that the 
lord deputy had sentenced him to die for his 
offence v*f Unless," saidh^, ^^ you have the grace 
by your fair 'prayer to Soften Afigelo, and that is 



137 httoneds between you sad yoiar pcxir bra* 
ther." /< Ala%" said Isabd^ ** uriiat poor abdlity 
is tbeiet in. me to do him good } I doid>rI have 
no power to move Angelo.'^ ** 0«r doubts are 
traitors/' said I^ucio^ ** and make us lose the 
good we might dften win, by* fearing to attempt 
it. Go. to lord Angelo I When maidens sue, 
and kneel, and weepi men give like gods/' *^ I 
wiU see what lean do," said Isabd : << I will but 
stay to give th^ prioress notice of the afiair, and 
then I will go to Angelou Commend me to my 
brother : soon at night I will send him word of 
my success." 

Isabel hastened to the palace, and threw her- 
self on her knees before Angelo, saying, '<I am 
a woeful suitor ta your honour, if it will please 
yout hcuiour to hear me," ** Well, what is your 
suit?" said Angdo. She th^i made her petition 
in the most, moving terms for her brother's life. 
But Ang^elo said, ** Maiden,, there is no remedy, 
your brcither is senteneedt^ and he must die.^ 
<< O just^ but^aevere law !" said Isabel: I hada 
brother tbem-^Hfeavai keep your honour!" and 
she was ibduH t6 depart* > Bat Lucio, who Irad 
accompaniodhdr, said^ -^' GiM k not over, so ; 
return: to hito vgdiOf intreat him, kneel down 



?6 MEASURE FOE MBASUEB. 

before him^ hang iipon his gown* You are too 
cold} if foa should need a pin, you could not 
with a move tame toi^pe denre it." Then again 
Isabel on her knees implored for mercy. ^* He is 
sentenced/* said Angelo : " it is too late/' «* Too 
late I" said Isabel r^Why, no; I that do speak a 
word^ may call it back again. Believe this, my 
lord, no ceremony that to great ones belongs, 
not the king^s crown, nor the deputed sword, die 
marshars truncheon, nor the jndge*s robe, he" 
comes them with one half so good a grace as 
mercy does.*' " Pray you begone," said An- 
gelo. But still Isabel intreated; and she said^ 
^< If my brother had been as you, and you as he, 
you might have slipt like him, but he like you 
would not have been so stem. I would to 
Heaven I had your power, and you were Isa- 
bel. Should it then be thus ? No, I would tell 
you what it were to be a judge, and what a pri- 
soner." << Be content, fair maid !" said Angelo : 
^* it is the law, not I, condemns your brother. 
Were he my kinsman, my brother, or my son, 
it should be thus with him. He most die to- 
moCTow." " To-morrow ?'* said Issdiel 5 ** Gh 
that is sudden : spare him, spare him ; he is not 
prepared for de^ath. Even for out kitchens we 



IIEISURE FOR MEASURE. 17 

kill the fovrl in season ; shall we serve Heaven 
wkh less respect than we minister to our gross 
selves I Good, good my lord, bethink you, 
none have died for my brother's offence, 
though many have committed it. So you 
would be the first that gives this sentence, 
aud he the first that suffers It. Go to your 
own bosom, my lord; knock there, and ask 
your heart what it does know that is like my 
brother's fault ; if it confess a natural guiltiness, 
such as his is, let it not sound a thought again&t 
my brother's life !" Her last words more moved 
Angelo than all she had before said, for the 
beauty of Isabel had raised a guilty passion in his 
heart, and he began to form thoughts of disho- 
nourable love, such as Claudio's crime had been ; 
and the conflict in his mind made him to turn 
away from Isabel : but she called him back, say- 
ing, ** Gentle my lord, turn back; hark, how I 
will bribe you. Good my lord, turn back!'*' 
<* How, bribe me !" said Angelo, astonished that 
she should think of offering him a bribe. " Aye," 
faid Isabel, ** with such gifts that Heaven itself 
§hall share with you ; not with golden treasures, 
or those glittering stones, whose price is either 
rich or poor as fancy values them, but with true 
VOL. n. ' E ' 



IS MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 

prayers that shall be up to Heaven before sun- 
rise — ^prayers from preserved souls, from fasting 
maids whose minds are dedicated to nothing 
temporal." ** Well, come to me to-morrow," 
said Angclo. And for this short respite of her 
brother's life, and for this petmissibnthat she 
might be heard again, she left him with the joy- 
ful hope that she should at last prevail over his 
stern nature : and as she went away, she said, 
** Heaven keep your honour safe ! Heaven save 
your honour !" Which when Angelo heard, he 
s«id within his heart, ** Amen, I would be saved 
from thee and from thy virtues :" and then, af- 
frighted at hi% own evil thoughts, he said, ** What 
is this ! What is this ? Do I love her, that I 
desire to hear her speak again, and feast upon 
her eyes ? What is it I dream on ? The cun- 
ning enemy of mankind, to catch a saint, with 
saints does bait the hook. Never could an im- 
modest woman once stir my temper, but this vir- 
tuous woman subdues me quite. Even till now, 
when men were fond, I smiled, and wondered at 
them." 

In the guilty conflict in his mind Angelo suf- 
fered more that night, dian the prisoner he had 
so severely sentenced 5 for in the prison Claudio 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 1^ 

Was visited by the good duke, who in his friar*s 
habit taught the young man the way to Heaven, 
preaching to him the words of penitence and 
peace. But Angclo felt all the pangs of irreso- 
lute guilt : now wishing to seduce Isabel from the 
paths of innocence and honour, and now sufier- 
ing remorse and horror for a crime as yet but in- 
tentional. But in the end his evil thoughts 
prevailed ; and he who had so lately started at 
the oflFer of a bribe, resolved to tempt this 
maiden with so high a bribe, as she might not be 
able to resist, even with the precious gift of her • 
dear brother's life. 

When Isabel came in the moitaing, Angelo de- 
sired she might be admitted alone to his pre- 
sence ; and being there, he said to her, if she 
would yield to him her virgin honour, and trans- . 
gress even as Juliet had done with Claudio, he 
would give her her brother's life : " for," said 
Jie, " I love you, Isabel/* " My brother," said 
Isabel, " did so love Juliet, and yet you tell me 
he shall die for it/' " But," said Angelo, 
" Claudio shall not die, if you will consent to 
visit me by stealth at night, even as Juliet left 
her father's house at night to come to Claudio." 
Isabel in amazement at his words, that be should 

z 2 



ia MEASURE FOIL MEASURE* 

tempt hex to the same fault £pr which he passed 
sentence cf death upon her brother, said, '^I 

• 

would do as much for mj poor hiotber as for 

mjnself ; that is, were I under sentence of death, 

the impression of keen whips I would wear as 

rubies, and go to my deal^ as to a bed thai: 

longing I had been sick for, ere I would yield 

myself up to this shame." And dien she told 

him, she hoped he only spoke these words to try 

her virtue* But he said, '* Believe me on my 

honour, my words express my purpose/' Isadiel^ 

angered to the heart to hear him use the word 

Honour to express such dishonourable purposes^ 

said, ** Ha ! little honour, to be much believed ^ 

and most pernicious purpose. I will proclaim 

thee, Angelo ; look for it ! Sign me a present 

pardon for my brother, or I will tell the world 

aloud what man thou art !'* ** Who will beUevc 

you, Isabel?" said Angelo : ^^ my unsotled name, 

the austereness of my life, my word vouched 

against yours, will outweigh your accusation. 

Redeem your brother by yielding to my will, or 

he shall die to-morrow. As for you, say what 

you can, my false will overweigfa your true story. 

Answer me to-morrow.'* 

^' To whom should I eomplain i Did I tell 



M3&A5II1I1 FOR MMMiVkU. M 

AuBf Ufrho i»t)aM bdkve m« i^ said Isabel^ as she 
went towards the dMary piisoii where her bro«> 
Aer wae confined. When sh^ arrived tiiere^ 
her Inrodbefr was in piou» cmsf^e^^k^ with th^ 
cldfe, who in lus friat's haUt had alio vfsited 
hiiefj and brought both these^ guihy lowers to a 
proper sense of their faulty ^d unhappy Juliet 
with tears and a tme remorse cotifessed ^ that she 
i^s more to blMie than Claudio, in that she 
wilUxiglf cOMiftted to Ms disIionoQnUe seii* 
litatioas. 

As Isabel entared tho rooni where Claudio was 
eonfised, she said^ '< Peace he here^ Gra^y and 
good cowipany !" " Who Is there?*' said the 
di^piised do^^ *^ come m ; the wish deserved a 
wekone." ** My busiisess is a word or two 
with CkEudiO|!' seski Isabel. Then the duke teft 
thtm together) and dtsieed die profost^. who had 
die diargo oB the prisoneis, to pkice him where 
he might overhear their conversation* 

^ Nowi mssf, what is the comfort ! ^* said 
Qawdto. Isabel told hmi he n»lst prepare for 
death on the no^ow. ^ Is there no ronedy ?'^ 
said Obodfo. *^Ye$, btotlwt/' replied babel^ 
** diere is; kit sach a one,, as if yon conteaied to^ 
it would strip your honour hmmyoiaf and leaver 

E 3 



x3 

i 



82 MEISUHE FOR UtASUKZ^ 

you naked/' '^ Let me know the point/* ssdd 
Ciaudio. <^ O, I do fear you, Claudto !'' replied 
his sister i ^ and I quake, lest you should wish ta 
live,. and more respect the trifling term of six op 
seven winters added to your life, than your per- 
petual honour ! Do you dare to die ? The sense 
of death is most in apprehension, and the poon 
beetle that we tread upon, feels a pang as greafe 
as when a giant dies/' •* Why do you give nxe 
this shame ?" said Ciaudio. '* Thick you I caiy 
fetch a resolution from flowery tenderness ? li 
I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride, 
and hug it in my arms." *^ There spoke my bro*' 
ther," said Isabel •, " there my father's grave did 
utter forth a voice* Yes, y©tt mtet die ; yet,, 
would ypu think it, Ciaudio ! this outward-sainted 
deputy, if I would yield to him my vtrg^ ho^ 
nour, would grant your Kfe. O, were it but my 
life, I would lay it down for your deliverance as 
fraiikly as a pin !" ** Thanks, dear Isabel P' said 
Ciaudio. '* Be ready to die to-nu^row," said 
Isabel. ^' Death is a fearful thing/' said Ckudio.^ 
<^ And shamed life a hateful," replied his sister. 
But the thoughts *bf death now overcame the 
constancy of Claudio's temper, and terrors, such 
as the guilty only at their doiths do know^ 



MEASITRE FOR MRASURB. 93 

sailiflg him, he cried out, " Sweet sister, let me 
e ! The sin you do to save a brother's life, 
ture dispenses with the deed so Car/ that it 
comes a virtue." "O faithless coward ! O 
ihonest wretch I" said Isabel: "would you 
eserve your life by your sister's shame? O 
, fie, fie! I thought, my brother, you had 

you such a mind of honour, that had you 
enty heads to render up on twenty blocks, you 
mid have yielded them up all, before your sister 
ould stoop to such dishonour." ** Nay, hear 
;, Isabel !" said Claudio. But what he would 
ve said in defence of his weakness, in desiring 

live by the dishonour of his virtuous sister, 
IS interrupted by the entrance of the duke ; 
iio Baidi ** Claudio^ I have overheard what has 
st between you and your sister^ Angelo had 
rver the purpose to corrupt her ; what he said, 
,s only been to make trial of her virtue. She 
iving the truth of honour in her, has given 
m that gracious denial which he is most glad 
receive. There is no hope that he will par- 
»n you ; therefore pass your hours in prayer, 
id make ready for death." Then Claudio 
pented of his weakness, and said, ^^ Let me ask 
y sister's pardon ! I am so out of love with 

E.4 



S4 MEASURE FOU MEASUKE* 

life, that I will sue to be rid of it.'' And Ciaudio 
retired, overwhelmed with shame and sorrow for 
his fault. 

The duke being now alone with Isabel, com- 
mended her virtuous resolution, sa)rtng, "The 
hand that made you fair, has made you good." 
" O," said Isabel, •' how much is the good duke 
deceived in Angelo ! if ever he return, and I 
can speak to him, I will discover his govern- 
ment." Isabel knew not that she was even now 
making the discovery she threatened. The duke 
replied, << That shall not be mticb amisi $ yet t§ 
the matter now stands, Angelo will repel your 
accusation ; therefore lend an attentive ear to my 
advisings. I believe that you may most righte- 
ously do a poor wronged lady a merited benefity 
redeem your brother from the angry law, do no 
stain to your own most gracious person, suid 
much please the absent duke, if peradventure he 
shall ever return to have notice of this business.'^ 
Isabel said. She had a spirit to do any thing he 
desired, provided it was nothing wrong. " Vir- 
tue is bold, and never fearful," said the duke : 
and then he asked her, if she had ever heard of 
Mariana, the sister of Frederiek, the great scMier 
who was drowned at sea. ^* 1 have heard of the 



hdf/* said Isabel, ** and good words went with- 
ker name.** «* This lady,*' said the duke, " i$> 
&e wife of Angclb; but her marriage dowry was* 
en board the ressel in which hw brother pe- 
rished, and Btark how heavily this befeltothe 
poor gendeSvoman ! for, beside the loss of a most 
aoble and renowned brother, who in his love 
towards her waa ever most kihd and natural, in^ 
iUte wreck of her fortune she lost the affections 
•f her husband, the well-seeming Angelo i who- 
^tending to discover some dishonour in this* 
honourable lady (though the true cause was the^ 
liDss of her dowry) left her in her tears, ani 
dried not one of them with his comfort. Hi^ 
unjust unkindness, that in aH reason should have 
qiTenched her )ove, has, like an impediment in 
the current, made it more unruly, and Mariana 
loves her cruel huband with the full continuance 
of her first affection.'* The duke then more 
pt^Iy unfolded his plan.. It was^ that Isabel 
should go to lord Anj^lo, and seemingly consent 
to. come to him as he desired, at midnight; that 
by this means she would obtain the promised par- 
don ; and that Mariana should go in her stead to 
tiic anointment, and pass herself upon Angelo 
ia the dark for Isabel. '* Nor^ gentle daughter/.^ 

£ 5 



86 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 

said the feigned firiar,. fear you to do this 
thing ; Angelo is her husband, and to bring them 
thus together is no sin." Isabel being pleased 
\(rith this project, departed to do as he directed 
her ; and he went to apprize Mariana of theic 
intention. He bad before this time tisited this 
unhappy lady in his assumed character^ giving 
her religious instruction and friendly consolation, 
at which times he had learned her sad stor yfrom 
her own lips ; and now she, looking upon, him as. 
a holy man, readily consented to be directed by 
him in this undertaking. 

When Isabel returned from her interview widit 
Angelo, to the house of Mariana,, where the duke 
had appointed her to meet him, he said, *' Well 
met, and in good time ^ what is the news from this 
good deputy ?'' Isabel related the manner in 
which she had settled the affair. " Angelo,'* 
said she, ^* has a garden surrounded with a brick 
wall, on the western side of which is a vineyard^ 
and to that vineyard is a gate." And then ^e 
shewed to the duke and Mariana two keys that 
Angelo had given her ; and she said, '* This big- 
ger key opens the vineyard gate; this other a 
little door which leads from the vineyard to the- 
garden. There I have made my promise at the 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 87 

dead of night to call upon bim^ and have got 
from him his word of assurance for my brother's 
life. I have taken a due and wary note of the 
place ; and with lirbispering and most guilty dili- 
gence he shewed me the way twice over." " Ar« 
diere na other tokens agreed upon between you, 
that Mariana must observe ?" said the duke. 
*^No, none," said Isabel, ** only to go when it is 
dark. I have told him my time can be but short i 
for I have made him think a servant comes along 
with me, and that this servant is persuaded I 
€ome about my brother" The duke commended 
her discreet management, and she turning tQ 
Mariana, said, ^^ Little have you to say to Angelo^ 
when you depart from him, but soft and low Re-^ 
member now my brother /" 

Mariana was that night conducted to the ap* 
pointed place by Isabel, who rejoiced that she 
had, as she supposed,^ by this device preserved 
both her brother^s life and her own honour. 
But that her brotherV life was safe the duke 
*was not so well satisfied, and therefore at mid^ 
night he again repaired to the prison, and it was 
well for Claudio that he did so, else would Clau- 
dio have that night been beheaded ; for sooa 
after the duke entered the prison>^ an order came 



/ 






98 MEinnts for uMMijmm. 

from the cruel deputy commanding that Chudi^ 
diould be beheaded, and his head sent to him by 
five o'clock In the morning. Bot the dnke per* 
snaded the prorost to put off the execnttoo of 
Claudioy and to deceive Angelo by sending him 
the head of a man who died that morning in the 
prifon. And to prevail upon the provost to agree 
to this, the duke, whom still the provost sns*- 
pected not to be any thing mcnre or greater tban 
he seemed, shewed the provost a letter written 
vrith the duke's hand, and sealed with his seal, 
which when the provost saw,' he concluded this 
friar nmst have some secret order from the ab* 
sent duke, and therefore he consented to spare 
Claudio *y and he cut off the dead man's head> 
and carried it to Angelo, 

Then the duke, in his own name, wrote to An- 
gelo a letter, saying that certain accidents had put 
a stop to his journey, and that he should be in 
Vienna by the following morning, requiring An*' 
gelo to meet him at the entrance of the city, 
there to deliver up his authority ; and the duke 
also commanded it to be proclaimed, that if any 
of his subjects craved redress for injustice, they 
should exhibit their petitions in the street €H3 hh 
first entrance into the city. 



Early in the mornkig hJbcl came to the pri* 
soiif and the duke^ who there awaited her comii^ 
for secret reasons thought it good to tell her that 
Claudia was beheaded i therefore wheA Isabel 
caquired if Apgelo had sent |h^ pardon for her 
bro^r^ be said, ^' Angeio has released Claudio 
feom this world. His h^ad is offj and sent to> 
the deputy." The much^griened sister cried^iU;». 
*' P luibappy Claudio^ wretched Isabel, injurious, 
worldjt most wicked Angek) !" The seeming, 
friar bid her take comfort,^ and when she was be- 
come a little calm, he acquainted her with the^ 
near prospect of the duke's relursb and told her 
m what naanner she should proceed in preferring, 
her complaint a^inst Angelo ; and he bade hef 
uot to fear if the cause should seem to go against 
her for a while. Leaving Isabel sufficiently io^ 
Itructed, he neiit went to Mariana, and gave her 
counsel in what manner she also should act. 

Then the duke laid aside his friar's habit, an4 
in his own royal robes, amidst a joyful crowd o^ 
his faithful subjects assembled to greet his arrival^. 
entered the city of Vienna j where be was met b]^ 
AngelO) who delivered up his authority in th^e 
proper ibrm« Aj[i^ there came Isabel> in the mai^ 
ner af a petttiooer for riedsi^ and $aid» ^^ Jus«. 



96 MSISUHE FOR MBiSUtE, 

tice, most royal duke ! I am the sister of oie 
Claudioj who for the seducing a young maid was^ 
condemned to lose bis head. I made my suit 
to lord Angelo for my brother^s pardon. It 
were needless to tell your grace how I prayed 
and kneeledi how he repelled me^ and how I 
replied ; for this was of much length. The vilef 
conclusion I now begin with grief and shame to 
utter. Angelo would not but by my yielding to 
his dishonourable love release my brother; and 
after much debate within myself, my sisterly re- 
morse overcame my virtue, and I did yield to 
him. But the next morning betimes Angeb^ 
forfeiting his promise, sent a warrant for my poor 
brother's head !" The duke affected to disbe- 
lieve her story ; and Angelo said that grief for her 
brother's death, who Jiad sufiered by the due 
course of the law, had disordered her senses. And 
now another suitor approached, which was Ma- 
riana ; and Mariana said, •« Noble prince, as there 
comes light from heaven, and truth from breatir, 
as there is sense in truth, and truth in virtue, I 
am this man's wife, and^ my good lord, the words 
of Isabel are false, for the night she says she was 
with Angelo, I passed that night with him in the 
garden-house. As tUs is true^ let me in safety 



tfKASUR¥ tot, ihsiStJltE. ^1 

ri8e> or eke for ever be fixed here a marble mo« 
nument." Then did Isabet appeal for the truth 
of what she had said to friar Lodowick, that 
beipg the name the duke had assumed in his 
disguise. Isabel, and Mariana had both obeyed 
his mstructions in what they said, the duke 
intending that the innocence of Isabel should be 
plainly proved in that public manner before the 
whole city of Vienna j but Angclo little thought 
that it was from sueh a cause thatthiey thus differ-^ 
ed in their story, and he hoped from their con- 
tradictory evidence to be able to clear himself 
from the accusation of I^bel ; and he said, assum- 
ing the look of offended innocence, ^< I did but 
smile till now ; but, good my lord, my patience 
here is touched, and I perceive these poor dis- 
tracted women are but the« instruments of some 
greater one, who sets them on. Let me have way, 
my lord, to find this practice out.'* *' Aye, with all 
»y heart," said the duke, ** and punish them to 
the height of your pleasure. You, lord Escahis, 
sit with lord Angelo, lend him your pains to 
discover this abme ; the friar is sent for that set 
them on, and when he comes, do with your in- 
juries, as may seem best in any chastisement. I 
for a while witt leave you> but stir not you, lord 



Ai^elo, tiU jovL have well delemmiad tf^pon diis 
abiDfler.^ The duke then went away, ka?bg 
Angelo well pleased to be deputed judge and 
mnpire in his own cause;. But the duke was ak* 
sent onlf whUe he threw off bis royal robes and 
put on his friar's habit; and in Aat disguise ;^aiiir 
he presented himself before Angdo afld Escahis i 
and the good old Escalus, who thought Angela 
had been falsely accused, said to the supposed 
friar, ^* Come, sir, did you set these women oi^ 
to slander lord Angelo ?*' He replied,! ** Where 
18 the duke i It is he should hear me speak.'' 
Escalus said, *^ The duke is in us, and we wilt 
hear you. Speak justly/' *^ Boldly at lea^/' 
retorted the friar ; and then he blamed the duke 
for leaving the cause of Isabel in the hands-of him' 
she had accused, and spoke so freely of many cor^ 
rupt practices he had observed, while^ ^a he sai^f 
he had been a looker-on in Viennaj thai Sscftlui^ 
threatened him with the torture for speaking 
words agsunst the state, and fox censuxing, the: 
conduct of the duke, and ordered him to be 
taken away to prison,. Then, to the amaaement 
of all present, and to the utter confu^n of Ai^ 
gelo,^ the supposed friar threw off hi% ^gmh^ 
and they saw it wa& the duke hiqiielf. ^ 



The duke first addressed Isabel. He said to 
her, " Come hither, Isabel. Your friar is now 
your prince> but with my habit I have not 
changed my heart. I am still devoted to your 
service,*' " O give me pardon," said Isabel, 
*^ that I, your vassal, have employed and troubled 
your unknown sovereignty." He answered that 
he had most need of forgiveness from her^ 
for not having prevented the death of her 
brother— 'far not yet would he tell her that 
Claudio was livings meaning firtit to make a 
fardier trial of her goodness. Angelo now 
knew the duke had been a secret witness of ht$ 
bad deedsy and he said, ** O my dread lord> I 
should be guiltier than my guiltiness, to think I 
can be undiscemible, when I perceive your grace^ 
like power divine, has looked upon my actions* 
Then, good prince, no longer prolong my shame, 
but let my trial be my own confession. Imme- 
diate sentence and death is all the grace I beg." 
The duke replied, Angelo, thy faults are mani« 
fest. We do condemn thee to the very block 
where Claudio stooped to dea& ; and with like 
haste away with him ^ and for his possessioas, 
Mariana, we do enstate and widow you witbalt 
to buy you a better hwsbsmd." ^^ O my dear 



M MEASmtB FOR UEASORE^ 

lord," said Mariana, ** I crave no other, nor no 
better man :" and thfetr on her knees, even as 
Isabel had begged the life of Claudio, did this 
kind wife of ^ att ungrateful husband beg die life 
of Angelo ; and she said, **' Gentle my liege, O 
good my lord! Sweet Isabel, take my part! 
Lend me your knees, and all my Irfe to come I 
will lend you, all my life, to do you service !** 
The duke sard, ** Against all: sense you importune 
her. Should Isabel kneel down to beg for mer- 
cy, her brother's ghost would break his paved 
bed, and take her hence in horror." Still Ma-» 
riana said, ** Isabel, sweet Isabel, do but kneel 
by me, hold up your hand, say nothing ! I will 
speak alh They say, best men are moulded out 
of faultsi and for the most part become much 
the better for being a little hzd^ So may my 
husband. Oh Isabel, will you not lend a knee ?'* 
The duke then said, " He dies for Claudio.'^ 
But much pleased was the good duke, when his 
own Isabel, from whom he expected all gracious 
and honourable acts, kneeled down before him, 
and said, *' Most bounteous sir, look, if it please 
you, on this man condemned, as if my brother 
Hved. I partly think a due sincerity governed 
his deeds, till he did look on me. Since it is so> 



MEASURE FOR MBASURE, nS 

kt him not did My brother had but justice, 
in that he did the thing for which he diedt" 

The duke, as the best reply he could make to 
this noble petitioner for her enemy's life, sending 
for Claudio from his. prison-house, where he lay 
doubtful of his destiny, presented to her this 
lamented brother living v and he said to Isabel, 
''Give me your hand, Isabel; for your lovely 
sake I pardon Claudio. Say you will be mine, 
and he shall be my brother too." By this time 
lord Angelo perceived he was safe; and the duke 
observing his eye to brighten up a little, said, 
^ Well, Angelo, look that you love your wife ; 
her worth has obtained your pardon : joy to yout 
Mariana I Love her, Angelo- ! I have confessed 
her, and know her virtue/' Angelo remem- 
bered, when drest in a little brief authority, how 
bard bis heart had bees, and felt how sweet is 
mercy. 

The duke commanded Claudio to marry Juliet, 
and offered himself again to the acceptance of 
Isabel, whose virtuous and noble conduct had won 
her prince's heart. Isabel, not having taken the 
veil, was free to marry ^ and the friendly offices, 
while hid under the disguise of a humble friar, 
which the noble duke had done for her, made her 



JWJ MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 

wi^h grateful joy acciept the honour he ofiercd 
her ; and when she became duchess of Vienna, 
the excellent example of the virtuous Isabel 
worked such a complete reformation among die 
young ladies of that city, that from that time 
none ever fell into the transgression of Juliet, 
the repentant wife of the reformed Claudio. And 
the mercy-loving duke long reigned with his 
beloved tsabi^l| the hdppt^t of husbands and of 
prmceii ^ 



TALE THE FlfTEENTH. 



TWELFTH NIGHT; or WHAT 

YOU WILL, 

i&EfiASTlAN and his sister Viola, a young 
gentlonan and lady of Messaline, were twins, and 
(which was accounted a great wonder) from their 
birth they so much resembled each other, that, 
but for the difference in dieir dress, they could 
not be known apart. They were both born in 
one hour, and in one hour they were both in 
danger of perishing, for they were ^ipwrecked 
on the coast of Illyria as they were making a sea-^ 
voyage together. The ship, on board of which 
they were, split on a rock in a violent storm, aiid 
a very small number of the ship's company 
escaped with their lives. The captain of the ves* 
teli widi a few of the sailors &at were saved, got 
to land in a small boat, and with them they 
brought "Viola safe on ^lore^ where she, poor 



D'8 TWELFTH NIGHT; i 

lady, instead of rejoicing at her own deliverance, 
began to ttment her brother's loss ;' but the cap- 
tain comforted her with the assurance, that he 
had seen her brother, when the ship split, fasten 
himself to a strong mast, on which, as long as he 
could see any thing of him for the distance, he 
perceived him bornd up above the waves. Viola 
was much consoled by the hope this account 
gave her, and now considered how she was to 
dispose of herself in a strange country, so far 
from home ; and she asked the captain if he knew 
any thing of Illyria. " Aye, very well, madam,'* 
replied the captain, "for I was born not three 
hours' travel from this plaoe." " Who governs 
here ?" said Viola. The captain told herj Ulyria 
was governed by Orsino, a duke noble in nature 
as well as dignity. Viola said, she had heard her 
father speak of Orsino, and that he ws^ unmar- 
ried then. " And he is so now," said the cap- 
tain ; "or was so very lately, for but a month ago 
I went from here, and then it was the general 
talk (as you know what great ones do the people 
wijl prattle of) that Orsino sought the love of 
fair Olivia, a virtuous maid, the daughter of a 
count who died twelve months ago, leaving 
Olivia to the protection of her brother, who 



OR, What you will. ^ 

AiOtAj after died also-, and for the love of this 
dear brother/ they say, she has abjured the sight 
and company of men." Viola, who was herself 
in such a sad afHiction for her brother's loss, 
wished she could live with this lady, who so ten- 
derly mourned a brother's death. She asked the 
captain if he could introduce her to Olivia, say- 
ing she would willingly serve this lady. But he 
replied, this would be a hard thing to acconiplish^ 
because the lady Olivia would admit no person 
into her house since her brother's death, not 
even the duke himself. Then Viola formed an- 
other project in her mind, which was, in a man's 
habit to serve the duke Orsino as a page. It was 
a strange fancy in a young lady to put on male 
attire, and pass for a boy *, but the forlorn and 
unprotected state of Viola, who was young and 
of uncommon beauty, alone, and in a foreign 
land, must plead her excuse. 

She having observed a fair behaviour in the 
captaia, and that he shewed a friendly concern 
for her welfare, intrusted him with her design^ 
and he readily engaged to assist her. Viola 
gave him money, and directed him to furnish her 
with suitable apparel, ordering her clothes to be 
made of the same colour and in the same fashion 



^•i, 



100 TW^ELFTU MIGHT i; 

her brother Sebasdan used to wear^ tnd whec^ 
she was dresced in her manly garb, $be lookec) 
ao exactly like her brother, that some strange 
errors happened by means of their being mistaken 
for each other i for, as will afterwards appear^ 
Sebastian was also saved. 

Viola's good friend, the captain, when he had 
transformed this pretty lady into a gentleman, 
having some interest at court, got her presented 
to Orsino under tlie feigned name of Cesario. 
The duke was wonderfully pleased with the ad- 
dress and graceful deportment of this handsome 
youth, and made Cesario one of his pages, that 
bemg the office Viola wished to obtain : and she 
so well fulfilled the duties of her new station, 
and shewed such a ready observance.and faithful 
attachment to her lord, that she soon became his 
most favoured attendant. To Cesario Orsino 
confided the whole history of his love for the 
lady Olivia. To Cesario he told the long and 
unsuccessful suit he had made to one, who, re« 
jecting his long services, and despising his per- 
son, refused to admit him to her presence ; and 
for the love of this lady who had so unkindly 
treated him, the noble Orsino, forsaking the 
«ports of the field, and all manly exercises in 



OjHx WHAT TOU WILL. ! ?1 

which he used to delight, passed his hov\? l 
ignoble sloth, listening to the efi^minate souuif. 
of soft music, gentle airs, and passionate love- 
songs ; and neglecting the company of the wise 
and learned lords with whom he used to asso- 
ciate, he was now all day long conversing with 
young Cesiario. Unmeet companion no doubt 
his grave courtiers thought Cesario was for their 
once noble master, the great duke Orsino. 

It Is a dangerous matter for young maidens to 
be the confidants of handsome young dukes ; 
which Viola too soon found to her sorrow, for all 
that Chssino told her he endured for Olivia, she 
presently perceived she sufFered for the love of 
him : and m^ch it moved her wonder, that Olivia 
could be so r^ardlesa of this bet peerless lord 
and Qias^r, whom she thought no one should 
bt^old without the deepest admiration, and she 
i^entur^d gently to hint to Orsino that it was 
pity be should aiiect a lady who was so blind to 
bis worthy qualities ; and she said, *^ If a lady 
were to love you, my lord, as you love Olivia 
(and perhaps there may be one who does), if you 
could not love her in return, would you not tell 
her that you could not love, and must not she 
be content with this answer ?^' JBut Orsino would 

VOL. !!• F 



102 TWELFTH night; 

not admit of this reasoning, for he denied thsrt 
it was possible for any woman to love as he did. 
He said^ no woman's heart was big enough to 
hold so much loye, and therefore it was unfair 
to compare the lore of any lady for him, to his 
love for Olivia. Now though Viola had the ut- 
most deference for the duke's opinions, she could 
not help thinking this was not quite true, for she 
thought her heart had full ts much love in it as 
Orsino's ha4 i and she said, ^* Ah, but I know, 

my lord,** ** What do you know, Cesario?'* 

said Orsino. •* Too well I know," replied Viola, 
** what love women may owe to men. They arc 
as true of heart as we are. My father had a 
daughter loved a man, as I perhaps, were I a 
woman, should love your lordship." <' And what 
is her history ?" said Orsino. ^' A blank, my 
lord," replied Viola : ** she never told her love, 
but let concealment, like a worm in the bud, 
prey on her damask cheek. She pined in 
thought, and with a green and yellow melan- 
choly^ she sat like Patience on a monument, 
smiling at grief.** The duke enquired if this 
lady died of her love, but to this question Viola 
returned an evasive answer ; as probably she had 
feigned the story, to speak words expressive of 



OR, WHAT YOU WILL: 103 

the secret love and silent grief she suffered for 
Orsino* 

While they were talking, a gentlemen entered 
whom the duke had sent to Olivia, and he said, 
" So please you, my lord, I might not be ad- 
mitted to the lady, but by her handmaid she re* 
turned you this answer : Until seven years hence,, 
the element itself shall not behold her face ; but 
like a cloistress she will walk veiled,. watering 
her chamber with her tears for the sad remem- 
brance of her dead brother. On hearing this, 
the duke exclaimed, ^^ O she that has a heart of 
this fine frame, to pay this debt of love to a 
dead brother, how will she love, when the rich 
golden shaft has touched her heart !" And then 
he said to Viola, ** You know, Cesario, I have 
told you all the secrets of my heart ; therefore, 
good youth, go to Olivia's house^ Be not denied 
access ; stand at her doors, and tell her there your 
fixed foot shall grow till you have audience." 
" And if I do speak to her, my lord, what then ?** 
said Viola. " O then," replied Orsino, ** un- 
fold to her the passion of my love. Make a long 
discourse to her of my dear faith. It will well 
become you to act my woes, for she will attend 
more to you than to one ofgravcr aspect/' 

r 2 



104 TWELFTH KIGHT; 

Away then went Viola \ but not willingly did 
she undertake this courtshipi for she was to weo 
a lady to become a wife to him she wished to 
marry : but having undertaken the afiair, she 
performed it with fidelity ; and Olivia soon heard 
that a youth was at her door who insisted upon 
being admitted to her presence. *' I told him/' 
said the servant, ^' that you were sick : he said 
he knew you were, and therefore h« came to 
speak with you. I told him that you were 
asleep: he seemed to have a foreknowledge of 
that too, and said, that therefore he must speak 
wiA you. What is to be &aid to him, lady ? for 
he seems fortified: against all denial, and will 
speak with you, whether you will or no/* Olivia, 
curious to sec who this peremptory messenger 
might be, desired he might be admitted v and 
throwing her veil over her face, she said she 
would once more hear Orsino's embassy, not 
doubting but that he came from the duke^ by 
his importunity. Viola entering, put on the 
most manly air she could assume, and affect- 
ing the fine courtier's language of great men*s 
pages, she said to the veiled lady, ** Most radiant, 
exquisite, and matchless beauty, I pray you telt 
me if you arc the lady of the house i b>r I should 



OR, WHAT YOU WILL. IQ5 

he sorry to cast away my speech \iFpon another ; 
for besides that it is excellently well penne4, 1 
have taken great pains to learn it." ** Whence 
come youy sir ?" said Olivia. ^' I can say little 
more than I have studied,'* replied Viola \ " and 
that <}uestion is oat of my part." ^< Are you a 
comedian ?'* said Olivia. ** No/' replied Viola ; 
**and yet I am not that which I play^*' meanini;* 
ihat she being a woman^ ietgned herself to be a 
man. And again she asked Olivia if she were the 
lady of the house. Olivia said she was -^ and then 
Viola, having more xuriosily to see her rival's 
featm^s than liaste to deliver her master's noes • 
stge» tzidf *^ OoDd madam, iet me see your facc.'^ 
With •this bold request Olivia was not averse to 
totfiply : for this haughty beauty, whom the 
dttkc Orsmo had krved so loikg in vain, at £rst 
s!^ conceded a |>a^sk)n for the supposed page^ 
the humble Cesario. 

When Viola asked to see her face, Olivia said, 
^' Have you any commission from your lord and 
master to negotiate with my face ?" And then, 
forgetting her determination to ^o veiled for 
seven long years^ she drew aside her veil, saying, 
^ But I will draw the curtain and shew the pic- 
ture. Is it not well done ?" Viola replied, «* It 

f3 



106 TWELFTH NIGHT; 

IS beauty truly mixed ; the red and white upoa 
your cheeks is by Nature's own cunning hand 
laid on. Too are the most cruel lady living, if 
you will lead these graces to the grave, and leave 
the world no copy." •*© sir,**^ replied Olivia, 
*' I will not be so cruel. The world may have 
an inventory of my beauty. As, itetny two lips, 
indifferent red ; item^ two grey eyes, with lids to 
- them \ one neck \ one chin, and so forth. Were 
you sent here to praise me ?*' Viola replied, " I 
see you what you are: you are too proud^but 
you are fair. My lord and master loves you« 
such a love could but be' recompensed^ though 
you were crowned the queen of beauty: ios Or- 
sino loves you with adoration and with tearsj widi 
groans that thunder love> and sighs of fire.'^ 
** Your lord,'* said Olivia, •• knows well my mind. 
I cannot love him ; yet I doubt not he is virtu- 
ous ; I know him to be noble and of high estate} 
of fresh and spotless youth. All voices proclaim 
him learned, courteous, and valiant ; yet I cannot 
love him, he might have taken his answer long 
ago." ^^ If I did love you as my master does," 
said Viola, *^ I would make me a willow cabin at 
your gates, and call upon your name. I would 
write complaining sonnets on Olivia^ and sing 



OR, WHAT VOD WILL. 107 

tliein in the dead of the night ; your name should 
sound among the hills, and I would make Echo, 
the babbling gossip of the air, cry out Olivia^ 
O you should not rest between the elements of 
earth and air, but you should pity me." " You 
might do much,*' said Olivia : *^ what is your pa- 
rentage ?" Viola replied, •* Above my fortunes, 
yet my state is well. I am a gentleman/* Olivia 
now reluctantly dismissed Viola, saying, •* Go to 
your master, and tell him, I cannot love him. 
Let him send no more, unless perchance you 
come again to tell me how he takes it." And 
Viola departed, bidding the lady farewel by the 
name of Fair Cruelty. When she was gone^ 
Olivia repeated the words, jitove myfortuneSy yet 
my state is well. lam a gentleman. And she said 
aloud, '^ I will be sworn he is ; his tongue, his 
face, his limbs, action, and spirit, plainly shew he 
is a gentleman." - And then she wished Cesario 
was the duke ; and perceiving the fast hold he 
had taken on her affections, she blamed herself 
for her sudden love ; but the gentle blame which 
people lay upon their own faults has no deep 
root : and presently the noble lady Olijria so far 
forgot the inequality between her fortunes and 
those of this seeming page, as well as the maidenly 

f4 



lOlS TVTEL^TH NIXSHTJ 

reserve Irhkh -is the cWcf ornament of a lady^i 
character, that she resohred to court the love of 
young Cesario, and sent a servant after him 'whh 
a diamond ring, under the pretence that he had 
left it with her as a present from Orsino. She 
hoped, by thus artfully making Cesario a present 
©f the ring, she sliould give^iim some intimation 
of her design ; and trtdy it did make Viola sus- 
pect ; for knowing that Orsino had sent no ring 
by her, she began to recollect that Olivia's looks 
and manner were expressive of admiration, and 
she presently guessed her master's mistiness had 
fallen in love with her. " Alas,'* Baid Ac, •* the 
poor lady might as well love a dream. Disguise 
1 see is wicked, for it has caused Ofivia to 
breathe as fruitless si^^s &r me, lis I do kt 
Orsino.'' 

Viola tfetumed to Orsino's palace, and related 
to her lord the ill success of the negociation, re- 
peating the command of Olivia, that the duke 
shoiM trouble her no more. Yet still the duke 
persisted iti hoping that rfie gentle Cesario would 
n time be able to persuade her to ^ew some 
pity, and therefore he bade him he shouM go to 
her again the next day. In the mean time, to 
pass away the tedious interval, he commanded a 



01t> WHAT TOV WILL. 109^ 

A>nf tv&Ich he Icrved to be sung} and he mi, 
<* My good Cesaiioi when I heard that song last 
flighty methought it did relieire my passion much. 
Mark it, Cesario, k is old and plain. TKe spift« 
sters and the ktitttcrs when they sit in tiie sun, 
and the young maids that weave their thread 
with bone, chaunt this soi^. It is siHy, yet Z 
love it, for it tells of the iimocence of love in 
the old tuaes.^ 

SONG. 

Come away, come away, Death, 
And in sad cypress let me be laid ; 

^ly away, fly away, breath, 
f afh ilain by a fair cruel maid. 
My liiroud of White stuck a(Il wilh yew, O |>4«pare it^ 
My part of death no one so true did share it. 

Not a flower, not a flower sweet, 

Oh my blac'k coffin let there be strovVn t 
Net a friend, not a friend greet 
My poor corpse, where my bones shaH brtHrown. 
A thousand thousand sighs to save, lay me O where 
Sad true lover never find my ji^rave, to weep there. 

Viola did not fail to mark the words of the 
old song, which in such true simplicity described 
the pangs of unrequited love, and she bore testl- 

f5 



no TWELFTH RIGHT $ 

monf in ber cotrntenance of feding what tbc 
song expressed. Her sad looks were observed 
hj OrrinO) who said to her, ^ My life upon it| 
Cesario, though you are so yoong) your eye has 
looked upon some face that it loves ; has it not| 
boy ?** •* A little, with your leave,** replied Yick. 
*' And what kind of woman, and of ix^at age 
is she ?"* said Orsino. ^ Of your age^ and of 
your complexion, my lord/' said Viola ; which 
made the duke smile to hear this fair young boy 
loved a woman so much older than himself, and 
of a man's dark complexion ; but Viola secretly 
mean^ Orsino, and not a woman like him. 

When Viola^made her second visit to Olivia, 
she found no di£Eculty in gaining access to her. 
Servants soon discover when their ladies delight 
to converse with handsome young messengers; 
and the instant Viola arrived, the gates were 
thrown wide open, and the duke's page was 
shewn into Olivia's apartment with great respect ; 
and when Viola told Olivia that she was come 
once more to plead in her lord's behalf, this 
lady said, *' I desired you never to speak of him 
again ; but if you would undertake another suit, 
I had rather hear you solicit, than music from 
the spheres." This was pretty plain spcakingi 



OR, WHAT TOU WILL. HI 

but Olivia soon explained herself still more 
'plainl]r, and openly confessed her love ; and 
when she saw displeasure with perplexity ex- 
pressed in Viola's face, she said, ^^ O what a 
.deal of scorn looks beautiful in the contempt 
and anger of his lip! Cesario, by the roses 
of the spring, by maidhood, honour, and by 
truth, I love you so, that, in Spite of your 
pride, I have neither wit nor reason to con- 
ceal my passion." But in vain the lady wooed ^ 
Viola hastened from her presence, threatening 
never more to come to plead Orsino's love ^ 
and all the reply she made to Olivia's fond 
solicitations was, a declaration of a resolution 
Never to love any woman. 

No sooner had Viola left the lady than a claim 
was made upon her valour. A gentleman, a re« 
jected suitor of Olivia, who had leached how 
that lady had favoured the duke's » messenger, 
challenged him to fight a duel. What should 
poor Viola do, who, though she carried a man- 
like outside, had a true woman's heart, and feared 
to look cm her own sword I 

When she saw her formidable rival advancing 
towards her with his sword drawn, she began to 
think of confessing that she was a woman \ but 



112 rvrttrtH KfCliT; 

she was reliered «C ofice fipm her lerrory and the 
shame of such a discovery, by a stranger that 
was passing by, who made up to them, and as if 
he had been long known to her, and were her 
dearest friend, s^id to her opponent, *^ If ihn 
young gentleman has done ofience, I will take 
die fault on me ; and if you offend him, I will 
for his sake defy you." Before Viola had time 
to thatik him for his protection, or to enquire 
the reason of his kind interference, her new 
friend met with an enemy where his bravery was 
of no use to him ; for the officers of justice 
coming tip in that instant, apprehended ^ 
stranger in the duke's^ name to answer for an 
ofience he had committed some years before^ 
and he said to Vida, ** This comes with seeking 
you :" and then he asked her for a purse^ saying, 
" Now my netessity mak«s me ask for my futsCf 
and it grieves tne much more for what I cannot 
do for you, than for what befalls myself. Yoe 
stand amazed, but be of cotnfort." His words 
did indeed amaze Viola, and she- protested she 
knew him not, nor had ever received a purse 
from him; but for the kindness he had just 
shewn her, she offered him a small sum of mo- 
ney, being neatly the whck she possessed. And 



. OK, imiT TOV WILL. liS 

now the stranger spcke severe things, dbargittf 
her wkh ingratititde and vnldndfiess. He said« 
** Tliis yoitth, wliom you see here, I snatched 
from the jaws of death, aad for his sake alone I 
came to Illyfia» and have fallen ialD this danger." 
But the oficers cared Utile for hearkening to 
the complaints of their prisoner,, and they hur** 
ried him off, saying, *^ What is that to us ?" And 
as he was car>ried away, he caMed Viola by the 
name of Sebastian, reproaching the supposed 
Sebastian for disowning his friend, as long as he 
was within hearing. When Viola heard herself 
called Sebastian, though the stranger was taken 
away too hastily, for her to ask an explanation^ 
she conjectured that this seeming mystery might 
arise from her being mistaken for her brother ; 
and she began to cherish hopes that it was her 
brother whose life this man said he had pre- 
served. And so indeed it was« The stranger, 
whose name was Anthonio, was a sea-captain. 
He bad taken Sebastian up into his ship, when^ 
almost exhausted with fatigue, he was floating 
on the mast to which he had fastened himself in 
the storm. Anthonio conceived such a friend- 
ship for Sebastian, that he resolved to accom- 
pany him whicbersoever be went ^ and when the 



'^, 



« 



114 TWELFTH KICHT; 

youth expressed a curiodty to visit Orsiso's courts 
Anthonio, rather than part from him^ came to 
Ill3rria, though he knew» if his person should be 
known there, his fife would be in danger, because 
in a sea-fight he had once dangerously wounded 
the duke Orsino's liephew. This was the ofience 
for which he was now made a prispner. 

Anthonio and Sebastian had landed together 
but a few hours before Anthonio met Viola. He 
had given his purse to Sebastian, desiring him to 
use it freely if he saw any thing he wished to 
purchase, telling him he would wait at die inn, 
while Sebastian went to view the town : but Se- 
bastian net returning at the time appointed, An-^ 
thonio had ventured but to look for him, and 
Viola being dressed the same, and in face so ex- 
actly resembling her brother, Anthonio drew his 
sword (as he thought) in defence of the youth 
he had saved, and when Sebastian (as he sup- 
posed) disowned him, and denied him his own 
purse, no wonder he accused him of ingratitude. 

Viola, when Anthonio was gone, fearing a 
second invitation to fight, slunk home as fast 
as she could. She had not been long gone, 
when her adversary thought he saw her return ; 
but it was her brother Sebastian who happened 



OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 1 15 

to arrive at this place, and he said, ^^ Now, sir, 
hare I met vrith you again i There's for you ;'^ 
and struck him a blow. Sebastian was no cow^ 
ard; he returned the blow with interest, and 
drew his sword. 

A lady now put a stop to this duel, for Olivia 
came out of the house, and she too mistaking 
Sebastian for Cesario, invited him to come into 
her house, expressmg much sorrow at the rude 
attack he had met with- Though Sebastian was 
as much surprised at the courtesy of this lady 
as at the rudeness of his unknown foe, yet he 
went very willingly into the house, and^ Olivia 
was delighted to find Cesario (as she thought 
him) become more sensible of her attentions ^ 
for though their features were exactly the same, 
there was none of the contempt and anger to be 
seen in bis face, which she had complained of 
when she told her love to Cesario. 

Sebastian did not at all object to the fondness 
the lady lavished on him. He seemed to take it 
in very good part, yet he wondered how it 
had come to pass, and he was rather inclined 
to think Olivia was not in her right senses ; 
but perceiving that she was mistress of a fine 
house, and that she ordered her affairs and 



1116 TWECFTH KtOflTj 



/ 



seemed to goyem ber famHy Atscreetly, and ikat I 
in ali but her sudden love for bhn she appeared 
in the full possession of her reason, he well ap- 
proved of the courtship ; and OUvia finding Ce- 
sario in this good humour, and fearing he might 
change his mind, proposed that, as she had a 
priest in the house, they should be instantly 
married. Sebastian assented to thb proposal; 
and when the marriage-ceremony was over, he 
left his lady for a short time, intending to go 
and tell his friend Anthonio the good fortune 
that he had met with. In the mean time Orskio 
came to visit Olivia*, and at the moment he 
arrived before Olivia's ho^se, the officers of jus- 
tice brought their prisoner, Anilionio, befote 
the duke. Viola was with Orsino, her mastor ; 
and when Anthonio saw Viola, whom he stHl 
imagined to be Sebastian, he told the duke m 
what manner he had rescued this youth from tie 
perils of the sea j and after fully relatifig all the 
kindness he had really shewn to Sebastian, be 
ended his complaint with saying, that for three 
months, both day and night, this ungratefal 
youth had been with him. But now the lady 
Olivia coming forth from her house, the duke- 
could no longer attend to Anthonio's story 5 and 



OR, 1;^HAT YOU yfriLL. 117 

he said, *' Here comes tht countess : now Heaven 
Walks on earth ! but for thee, fellow, thy words 
are madtieds. Three months has this youth at- 
tended on tne :" and flien lie ordered Anthonio 
to be takem aside. B«t Orsino's heavenly coun- 
tess soon gave the duke cause to accuse Cesario 
ts much €f( ingratitude as Antonio had done> 
for all &t words he could hear Olfvia speak 
were words of kindness to Cesario : and when he 
found his page had obtained this high place in 
OUvia*8 favour, he threatened him with aH the 
terrors of his just revesige ; and as he was going 
to depart, he called Viola to loHow htm, saying, 
** Come, l}oy, with me. My thoughts arc ripe 
for mischief." Though it seemed m his jcalc^s 
rage he was^oing to doom Viola to instant death, 
yet her love made her no longer a coward, and 
she said rfie would mo^t joyfully sufier death to 
give her master ease. But OKvia would not so 
lose her husband, and die cried, " Where goes 
my Cesario ?" Viola replied, ** After him I love 
more than my life.'* Olivia however prevented 
their departure by loudly proclaiming that Cesa- 
rio was her husband, and sent for the priest, who 
declared that not two hours had passed since be 
had fnarried the lady OHvia to this young maa^ 



lis TWELFTH MIGHT} 

In vain Viola protested she was not .married to 
Olivia ; the evidence of that lady and the priest 
made Orsino believe that hb page had robbed 
him of the treasure he prized above his life. 
But thinking that it was past recall, he was bid« 
ding farewd to his faithless mistress^ and the 
yfung dissemUer^ her husband, as he called Viola) 
warning her never to come in his sight again, 
when (as it seemed to them) a miracle appealed ! 
for another Cesario entered, and addressed Olivia 
as his wife. This new Cesario was Sebastiaoi 
the real husband of Olivia ; and when their won- 
der had a little ceased at seeing two persons 
with the same face, the same voice, and the same 
habit^ the brother and sister began to question 
each other, for Viola could scarce be persuaded 
that her brother was living, and Sebastian knew 
not how to account for the sister he supposed 
drowned being found in the habit of a young 
man* Btst Viola presently acknowledged that 
she was indeed Viola and his sister under that 
disguise. 

When all the errors were cleared up which 
the extreme likeness between this twin brother 
and sister had occasioned, they laughed at the 
bdy Olivia Sgr the pleasant mistake she had 



Olt, WHIT YOU WILL. 119 

made in falling in love vrith a woman; and Olivia 
shewed no dislike to her exchange^ when she 
found she had wedded the brother instead of the 
sister. 

The hopes of Orsino were for ever at an end 
by this marriage of Olivia, and with his hopesi 
all his fruitless love seemed to vanish away, and 
all his thoughts were fixed on the event of his 
favourite, young Ces^rio, being changed into a 
fair lady. He viewed Viola with great attention, 
and he remembered how very handsome he had 
always thought Cesario was, and he concluded 
she would look very beautiful in a woman's at- 
tire; and then he remembered how often she 
had said she loved hlm^ which at the time seemed 
only the dutiful expressions of a faithful page, 
but now he guessed that something more waa 
meant, for many of her pretty sayings, which 
were like riddles to him, came now into his 
mind, and he no sooner remembered all these 
things than he resolved to make Viola his wife ; 
and he said to her (he still could not help calling 
her Cesario and boy)^ *' Boy, you have said to me 
a thousand times that you should never love a 
woman like to me, and for the faithful service 
you have done for me so much beneath your 



120 TWELFTH IHGHT; OR, WHAT TOU WILL. 

soft and tender breeding, smd since you have 
csdled me master so long, you shall now be your 
master's mUtress, and Orsino's true duchess." 

Olivia, perceiving Orsino was making over that 
heart, which she bad so ungraciously rejected, 
to Viola, invited them to enter her house, and 
offered th< assistance of the good priest, who 
bid oMrruKl her to Sobtstian in the morning, to 
])erform the same ceremony in the remainii^ 
part of the day for Orsino and Viola. Thus the 
twin brother and sister were both wedded on the 
^ame day : the storm and shipwreck, which bad 
separated them, being the means of bringing 
to pass dieir h'^h and mighty fortunes. Viola 
was the wife of Or»ino, the «luke of Illyria, and 
Sebastian the husband of the rich and neble 
countesS) the lady Olivia* 



TALE THE SIXTEENTH. 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 

1 IMON, a lord of Athens, in the enjoyment of 
a princely &)rtune, aiFected a humour of liberality 
which knew no limits. His almost infinite wealth 
could not flow in so fast, but he poured it out 
faster upon all sorts and degrees of people. Not 
the poor only tasted of his bounty, but great 
lords did not disdain to rank themselves among 
hi^ dependants and followers. His table; was re- 
sorted to by all the lus^urious fqasters, and his 
house was open to all comers and goers at Athens. 
His large wealth combined with his free and 
prodigal nature to subdue all hearts tp hi3 love ; 
m^n of all minds an4 dispositions tendered their 
servicer to lord Timon, from the glass-faced flat- 
terer, whos^ face reflect^ as i|i a mirrpr the pre- 
sent humour of his patron, to the rough and 
unbending cynic, who affecting a coi^tempt of 



\M TIMOM OF ATHEM8. 

men's persons, and an indifference to worldly 
things, yet could not stand out against the gra- 
cious manners and munificent soul of lord Timon, 
but would come (against his nature) to partake 
of his royal entertainments, and return most rich 
in his own estimation if he had received a nod 
or a salutation from Timon. 

If a poet had composed a work which wanted 
a recommendatory introduction to the world, he 
had no more to do but to dedicate it to lord 
Timoii, and the poem was sure of a sale, besides 
a present purse from the patron, and daily access 
to his house and table. If a painter had a pic* 
ture to dispose of, he had only to take it to lord 
Timon, and pretend to consult his taste as to the 
merits of it ; nothing more was wanting to per- 
suade the liberal-hearted lord to buy it. If a 
jeweller had a stone of price, or a mercer rich 
costly stuffs, which for their Costliness lay upon 
his hands, lord Timon's house was a ready mart 
always open, where they might get off their 
wares or their jewellery at any price, and the 
good natured lord would thank them into the 
bargain, as if they had done him a piece of cour- 
tesy in letting him have the refusal of such pre- 
cious commodities. So that by this means his 



TtMON Of ATHENE. 12) 

house Was thronged with superfluous purchases^ 
of no use but to swell uneasy and ostentatious 
pomp ; and his person was still more iticc) ;;:ni- 
cntly beset with a crowd of these idle visitors^ 
lying poetS) painters, sharking tradesmen, lords, 
ladies, needy courtiers, and expectants, who con- 
tinually filled his lobbies, raining their fulsome 
flatteries in whispers in his ears, sacrificing to 
him with adulation as to a God, making sacred 
the very stirrup by which he mounted his horse, 
and seeming as though they drank the free air 
but through his permission and bounty. 

Some of these daily dependents were young 
men of birth, who (their means not answering 
to their extravagance) had been put in prison by 
creditors, and redeemed thence by lord Timon ; 
these young prodigals thenceforward fastened 
Upon his lordship, as if by common sympathy he 
were necessarily endeared to all such spendthrifts 
and loose livers, who not being able to follow 
him in his wealthy found it easier to copy him 
in prodigality and copious spending of what was 
not their own* One of these flesh-flies was 
Ventidius, for whose debts unjustly contracted 
Timon but lately had paid down the sum of five 
talents. 



124 Timm Of AT9BK9. 



Bat :|iBoog t]ii$ cooflacace, tbis gwii^ flood of 
TisitorSy aooc were n^are coa^cqoii^ dun the 
maken of pretcnts aad pwcn of gifis> It was 
fiortmiate for these men, if Timon took a £uKcy 
to a dog, or a liocse» or any jueoe of dieap for- 
Dhnre whicb was thdis. The dung so praisedj 
wh;Mtever it was, was sore to be sent tl^e next 
moniing with, the compliments of the gtver for 
lord Timon^s acceptance, and apc^ogies for the 
nnworthiness of the gift ; and this dog or horse^ 
or whatever it might be, did not fail to produce, 
from Timon's bounty^ who would not be outdone 
in gifts, perhaps twenty dogs or horses, certainly 
presents of far richer worth, as these pretended 
donors knew well enough, and that their false 
presents were but the putting out of so much 
money at large and speedy interest. In this way 
lord Lucius had lately sent to Hmon a present 
of four milk-white horses trapped in silver, which 
this cunning lord had observed Timon upon 
some occasion to commend ; and another lord- 
Lucullus, had bestowed upon him in the same 
pretended way of free gift a brace of greyhounds^ 
"whose make and flcetness Timon had been heard 
to admire : these presents the easy-hearted lord 
accepted without suspicion of the dishonest views 



TIMOM OF ATHENS. .125 

#f the presenters : and the givers of course were 
rewarded with some rich return^ a diamond or 
some jewel of twenty times the value of their 
false and mercenary donation. 

Sometimes these creatures would go to work- 
in a more direct way, and with gross and palpa- 
ble artifice^ which yet the credulous Timon was 
too blind to see, would affect to admire and 
praise something that Timon possessed, a bargain 
that he had bought, or some late purchase, 
which was sure to draw from this yieldiiig and 
soft-hearted lord a gift of the thing commended, 
for no service in the world done for it but the 
easy expence of a little cheap and obvious flat- 
tery. In this way Timon but the other day had 
given to one of these mean lords the bay courser 
which he himself rode upon, because his lord- 
ship had been pleased to say that it was a hand- 
some beast and went well; and Timon knew that 
no man ever justly praised what he did not wish 
to possess. For lord Timon weighed his friends* 
aiFection with his own, and so fond was he of 
bestowing, that he could have dealt kingdoms 
to these supposed friends, and never have been 
weary. 

Not that Timon's wealth all went to enrich 

VOL. II. G 



126 TIUaK OF ATHil^KSs 

these wicked flatt«rers$ he could do noble and 
praise- worthy zcdons ; and when a servant of his 
once loved the daughter of a rich Athenian^ but 
could not hope to obtain her by reason that in 
wealth and rank the maid was so far above him, 
ford TinicHi freely bestowed upon his servaat 
three Athenian talents, to make his fortune equal 
with the dowry which the father of the young 
maid demanded of him who should be her hus-^ 
band* But for the most partj knaves and para- 
sites had the command of his fortune, false 
friends^ whom he did not know to be tucb, but, 
because they flocked around his person, he 
thought they must needs l<we him ^ and because 
they smiled) and flattered him^ he thought surdy 
diss bis conduct was approved by all the wise 
and good. And when he w^s feasting in the 
midst of ail these flatterera and mock friends^ 
when they were eating him up, and draining his 
fortunes dry with large draughts of richest wima 
drunk to his heakh and prosperity, he eould not 
^eesve the diflF(^ence of a friend from a flat« 
terer^ but to his deluded eyes (nmde prcmd with 
the sight) it seemed a precious cbaifort to have 
so many, like brothers commanding one an* 
ether's fortttiic» (though is was his own fortune 



nvltidi paid i8 1^ cost), md wiA joy they 
wotild itifi 6Vet at the i^facte of mich, as 
it appeared to hlnsi truly fecftite and Aratemal 
incctitig^ 

Biit JuAiSk he Aan outwefit die Yery heart df 
kindnest, and poured out hia boUlttyi as if Plutus, 
the god of gokli h^d be^n hcit hta steward; 
wiHe thus he proceeded #khotit care or stop, 
so setiseless of expenee that he i^^ould neither 
enqaite hotr he could maintain it, n^ cease his 
vnlA flb^ of tf&t; his rithe^, l^Mch were not 
infinite^ mast iteedsr melt aurny before a prodt- 
gafity wiAi3x knew m liitlits. fivt who sho^ki 
tdl'bifei so ? his flatterers ? they had an immtm 
in shifting his eyes. I^ T^n did his honest 
steWvrd Flavins try t6^ represetilt to him his cori- 
dition, laying his accounts before him, begging 
of hiitiy praying of bhti, With an importtiA^ky 
that on any other oeeasioh wotid have been uii<* 
niatfnerlyin a servant, beseeching him with tears^ 
to hxyk into the state of his affithrs. Timoti 
wouM 9till put him off*, and turn the discourse to 
GOmcthing cbc; for nothing is so deaf to re*- 
monstrance as riches turned to poverfy^ nothing 
is so unwiUing ta belkve its situation^ nothing 
so itior^ulous to Its owtftttie state^aM^hardto' 



2^8 TTIMON OF ATHENS. » 

£Hre credit to a reverse. Often had 'this good 
steward, this honest creature, when all the rooms 
of Timon's great house have been choked up 
with riotous feeders at his master's cost, when 
the floors have wept with drunken spilling of 
wine, and every apartment has blazed with 
lights and resounded with music and feasting, 
often had he retired by himself to some solitary 
spot, and wept faster than the wine ran from the 
wasteful casks within, to see the mad bounty 
of his lord, and to tUnk, when the means 
were gone which bought him praises from all 
sorts of people, how quickly the breath woukl 
be gone of which the praise was made ; praises 
won in feasting would be lost in fasting, and at 
one cloud of winter-showers these flies would 
disappear. 

But now the time was come that Timon could 
shut his ears no longer to the representations of 
this faithful steward. Money must be had ; and 
when he ordered Flavius to sell some of his land 
for that purpose, Flavius informed him, what 
he had in vain endeavoured at several times be- 
fore to make him listen to, that most of his land 
was already sold or forfeitedi and that all he 
possessed at present was not enough to pay tfaf 



tiMQM OT ATHENS^. 129 

one half of what he awed. Struck with wonder 
at thi» representation, Timon hastily replied^ 
" My lands extended from Athens to Lacede- 
mon." ** O my good lord," said Flavius, *' the 
world is but a world, and has bounds; were it 
all yours to give it in a breath, how quickly were 
it gone V* 

Timoir consoled himself that no villainous 
bounty had yet come from him, that if he had 
given his wealth away unwisely, it had not 
been bestowed to feed his vices, but to cherish 
his friends \ and he bade the kind-hearted stew- 
ard (who was weeping) to take comfort in the 
assurance that his master could never lack means^ 
while he had so many noble friends i and thia 
infatuated lord persuaded himself that he had 
nothing to do but to send and borrow, to use 
every man's fortune (that had ever tasted His 
bounty) in thia extremity, as freely as his own. 
Then with a cheerful look, as if confident of the 
trial, he severally dispatched messengers to lord 
Lucius, to lords Luculius and Sempronius, men 
upon whom he had lavished hia gifts in past 
times without measure or moderation ; and \o 
Ventiditts, whom he had lately released out of 
prison by paying his debts, and who by the 

g3 



130 ^ TIMOK OP ATK&NSb 

deoA of his Either was now CMiie into the {MS« 
session of an ample forrtune, and well enabled to 
requite Timon's courtesy; to request of Vsn- 
tidius the return of those five talents which he 
had paid for him, and of each of those noble 
lords the loan of fifty talents: nothing doubting 
that their gratitude would supply his wants (if 
he needed it) to the amount of fiy<e hundred 
times fifty talents. 

LucuUus was the first applied to^ This mean 
lord had been dreaming o?er^night of a silver 
bason and cup^ and when Union's servant waf 
announced, his sordid mind suggested to Urn 
that this was wrely a making out ol his dieaiDi 
aud that Timon had sent him such a pmieiit: 
hut when he understood die txufk at the matttri 
and that Timon wanted money, the quality of 
his faint and watery frtenddiip shewed itselfy far 
with many protestations he vowed to the smvdfit 
that he had long foreseen the ruin of bis m^ 
ter's afiairs, and many a time had he come to 
dinner, to teU him of i^ and had come agmn to 
supper, to try to persuade him to spend less, bat 
he would take no counsel nor warnii^ hy his 
coining: and true it was that he had been a 
constant attender (as he said) at Timon's feasts, 



TIM6K OF ATHEN9. 131 

U he had in greater things tasted his bountjTf 
but that he ever came vnth thai intent) or gave 
good counsel or reproof to Timon^ was a base 
unworthy lie» which he suitably Ic^lowed up wkh 
meanly o^ering ihe servant a bribe^ to go home 
to his master and tell bim that he had not found 
LuciiUus at home. 

As liitk success had ike messenger who was 
sent to lord Lucius. This lying lord, who was 
full of Timon's meat, and enriched almost to 
bursting \^ith Timon's costly presents, when he 
found the wind changed, and the fountain of 
80 much bounty suddenly stopt, at first could 
hardly belieVe it i but on its being confirmed, he 
affiscted great regret that he shcaild not have it 
in his |)ower to serve lord Timon, for unfor- 
tunately (which was a base falsehood) he had 
made a great purchase the day before, which had 
^ttke disfurnished him of the means at present ; 
the more beast he) be called himself, to put it 
out of his power to serve so good a friend ; and 
be covoted it one of bis ^easest afflictions that 
his ability should fiiil bim to pleasure such an 
honour^e gentleman. 

Who can call any nan friend diat dips in the 
same dish wldi iiim ? just of this metal is every 

c 4 



132 TIMON Of ATHEKS. 

flatterer. lu the recollection of every body Ti- 
mon had been a father to this Lucius^ had kept 
up his credit with his purse; I'imon's money had 
gone to pay the wages of his servants, to pay the 
hire of the labourers who had sweat to build the 
fine houses which Lucius's pride had made ne- 
cessary to him : yet,. oh ! the monster which man 
makes himself when he proves ungrateful ! this 
Lucius now denied to Timon a sum, which, in 
respect of what Timon had bestowed on him, 
was less than charitable men afford to beggars. 

Sempronius and every one of these mercenary 
lords to whom Timon applied in their turn, re- 
turned the same evasive answer or direct denial; 
even Ventidius, the redeemed and now rich Ven- 
tidius, refused to assist him with those five ta- 
lents which Timon had not lent but generously 
given him in his distress. 

Now was Timon as much avoided in his po- 
verty, as he had been courted and resorted to in 
his riches. Now the same tongues which had' 
been loudest in his praises, extolling him as 
bountiful, liberal, and open-handed, were not 
ashamed to censure that very bounty as foilyy 
that liberality as profuseness, though it had 
shewn itself folly in nothing so truly as in the 



•TIMOH OF ATHENS. I S3 

election of such unworthy creatures as them- 
selves for its objects. Now waaTimon's princely 
mansion forsaken, and become a shunned and 
hated piace, a place for men to pass by, not a 
place as formerly where every passepger must 
stop and taste of his wine and good cheer; now 
instead of being thronged with feasting and tu» 
multuous guests, it was beset with impatient suid 
clangorous cr^it(»rs, usurers, extortioners,, fierce 
and intolerable in th^ir demands, pleading bonds, 
interest^ mortages, iron*heart6d men that would 
take no denial nor putting off, that TimonV 
liouse was now his jail, where he could notpass,^ 
nor go in nor out for them \ one demanding his 
due of fifty talents, another bringing in a bill of 
five liiousand crowns,, which if he would tell 
out his blood by drops, and pay them so, he 
had not enough in his body to discharge, drop by 
. drop. 

In this desperate and irremediable state (as it 
seemed) of his affairs, the eyes of all men were 
suddenly surprised at a new and incredible lustre 
which this setting sun put forth. Once more 
lord Timon proclaimed a feast, to which he in- 
vited his accustomed guests, lords, ladies, all that 
* was great or fashionable in Athens. Lords Lu*- 

a 5 



, 114 nMOH or AiwuriL 

dui md LilCttUtia oune, VaEittdiiii> Senqpnmimi 
and the tett Wlio more «ony now dian dttte 
£iw»iiig wr^cbct» when thej found (as &y 
tbovgbt) that lord Timon's poveity waa all pie« 
teace^ and bad heea oidy put on to make tiki of 
Aeir iovcfs, to tbiMk that tb^ riwiild >not iiafe 
aetn throvgk th« artifice at th^ time, and htnt 
had the cheap orodit of obli^g his Ic^dihip? 
yet who mere glad to find die fountsAtk of that 
nobte bowity, vfaich tihey bad diooght dried i^, 
sti^ fresh and romiing? Tbef came dissem- 
bling, ptotesting, «xpres$Ing deepest sorrow and 
ehgme, that when his lordship sent to diem, Atj 
sfaottkl have been so vnfortunate as to want die 
pi^sent means to oblige so hononrabfe a friend. 
But TRmon begged diem not to give such triSes 
a thought, for he had akogether forgotten it. 
And these base fawning lords, though they had 
denied him money in his adversity, yet could not 
refuse their presence at this new blaze of his 
returning prosperity. For the swallow follows 
not summer more willingly than men of these 
dispositions follow the good fortunes of the great, 
nor more willingly leaves winter than these 
shrink from the first appearance of a reverse; 
such summer-birds are men. But now with mu- 



THfON ^P ATHEKS. ISi 



sic aiid «tale the ^Mfiquet <if smoking JSmcs vas 
served iij> { and whea the guests had a little done 
adaiirmg wheace the bankrupt Timon could find 
means to ffirm^h so ct)stly a feast^ some doubting 
whether the sciene which tbef saw w» real, as 
scarce trustii]^ thdr own efee $ at a signal givcn». 
the disfars v^^t uncoveredii and Timoo's dsiBt 
appeared: instead ^f those varieties and €mp- 
fet<^d dainties which they expected, that Ti- 
mon's ^cureun table in past times had ^o ISbe* 
rally presented, now appeared under the covers 
of these dishes a preparation more suitable to 
Timon's poverty, noting but a little smoke 
and Ittke-warm ni^ter, fit feast for this knot of 
mouth-friends, whose pvefessicms were indeed 
smokj^ «nd their hearts luke-warm and ilipperf 
as tlie water, widi which Ti«M welcomed hii 
Htonished guests, bidding them, << Uncover, 
dogs^ and lap )" and before jrhey couid recover 
^ir surprisei sprinkling it in their faees, tha^ 
they might have enoi^bi and throw^ing dish^ 
and att after them, who now ran huddling out, 
k>rds, ladies, with their caps snatched up ill 
haste, a splendid cotolusied, Timon pursuing 
Oiem, stiU^caUfaig them whtt tfaiy we», ^< SoMott^ 



1S6 TIMON OF ATHENS. 

smiling paradtes^ destroyers under the mask of 
courtesy, afiable wolves, meek bears, fools of for- 
tune, feast- friends, time-flies." They, crowding 
out to avoid him, left the house more willingly 
than they had eatcrcd it; some losing their gowns 
and caps, and some their jewels in the hurry, all 
glad to escape out of the presence of such a mad 
lord, and the ridicule of his mock baiiquet. 

This was the last feast which ever Timon 
made, and in it he took farewel of Athens and 
the society of men; fori after that, he betook 
himself to the woods, turning his back upon the 
hated city and upon all mankind, wishing the 
walls of that detestable city might sink, and the 
houses fall upon their owners, wishing all plagues 
which infest humanity, war, outrage, poverty, 
diseases, might fasten upon its inhabitants, pray- 
ing the just gods to confound all Athenians, both 
young and old, high and low; so wishing, he 
iirent to the woods, where he said he should find 
the unkindest beast much kinder than those of 
his own species. He stripped himself nakedi 
that he might retain no fashion of a man, and 
dug a cave to live in, and lived solitary in the 
manner of a beast, eating the wild rootSi and 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 137 

drinking water, flying from the face of his kind, 
and choosing rather to herd with wild beasts, as 
more harmless and friendly than man. 

What a change from lord Timon the rich, lord 
Timon the delight of mankind, to Timon the 
naked, Timon the man-hater ! Where were his 
flatterers now ? Where were his attendants and 
retinue ? Would the bleak air, that boisterous 
servitor, be his chamberlain, to put his shirt on 
warm ? Would those stiflF trees, that had out- 
lived the eagle, turn young and airy pages to 
him, to skip on his errands when he bade them ? 
Would the cold brook, when it was iced with 
winter, administer to him his warm broths and 
caudles when sick of an over-night's surfeit? 
Or would the creatures that lived in those wild 
woods, come, and lick his hand, and flatter 
him ? 

Here on a day, when he was digging for roots, 
his poor sustenance, his spade struck against 
something heavy, which proved to be gold, a 
great heap which some miser had probably bu- 
ried in a time of alarm, thinking to have come 
again and taken it from its prison, but died be- 
fore the opportunity had- arrived, without mak- 
ing any man privy to the concealment \. so it lay^ 



liQ IriMON OF ATHENr. 

whom love and zealous afiection to his master 
had led to seek him out at his wretched dwell- 
ing, and to offer his services I and the first sight 
of his master, the once noble Timon, in that ab- 
ject condition, naked as he was born, living in 
the manner of a beast among beasts, looking 
like his own sad ruins and a monument of de- 
cay, so affected this good servant, that he stood 
speechless, wrapt up in horror, and confounded^ 
And when he found utterance at last to his 
words, they were so choaked with tears, that 
Timon had much ado to know him again, or to 
make out who it was that had come (so contrary 
to the experience he had had of mankind) to 
offer him service in extremity. And being in 
the form and shape of a man, he suspected him 
for -^ traitor, and his tears for false; but the good 
servant by so many tokens confirmed the truth 
t)f his fidelity, and made it clear that nothing 
but love and zealous duty to his once dear mas- 
ter had brought him there» that Timon was 
forced to confess that the world contained one 
honest man; yet, being in the shape and formof 
a man, he could not look upon his man's face 
without abhorrence, or hear words uttered from 
Jbis man's lips without loathing; and this ^ingfy 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 14l 

honest man was forced to depart, because he was 
a man, and because, with a heart more gentle 
and compassionate than is usual to man, he bore 
man's detested form and outward feature. 

But greater visitants than a poor steward were 
about to interrupt the savage quiet of Timon's 
solitude. For now the day was come when the 
ungrateful lords of Athens sorely repented the 
injustice which they had done to the noble 
Timon. For Alcibiades, like an incensed wild 
boar, was raging at the walls of their city, and 
with his hot siege threatened to lay fair Athens 
in the dust. And now the memory of lord 
Timon's former prowess and military conduct 
came freah into their forgetful minds, for Timon 
had beien their general in past times, and was a 
valiant and expert soldier, who alone of all the 
AthehiaiDi was deemed able to cope with a 
besieging army, such as then threatened them, 
or to drive back the furious approaches of Alci- 
biades. 

A deputation of the senators was chosen in 
this emergency to wait upon Timon. To him 
they come in their extremity, to whom, when he 
was in extremity, they had shewn but small re- 
gard; as if they presumed upon his gratitude 



N 



Hi TIMON OF ITlttNf. 

whom they had disoibligedj usd had 4crhrtA a 
claim to bis courtesy from their own most di§- 
courteous and unpiteous treatment. 

Now they earnestly beseech bim^ implof e him 
with tears, to return and save that city, from 
which their ingratitude had so lately driven him; 
now they oflFer him richesi power, dignities, sa- 
tisfaction for past injuries, and public honours 
and the public love } their persons, lives and for- 
tunes, to be at his disposal, if he wiU but come 
back and save them. But Timon the naked^ 
Timon the man-hater, was no longer lord Timent 
the lord of bounty, the flower of valour, their 
defence in war, their ornament in p^ace. If 
Alcibiades killed his countrymen, Timcm cared 
not. If he sacked fair Athens, and dbew her oU. 
men and her infants, Timon would rejoice. So^ 
be told them ; and that there was not i knife in 
the unruly camp which he did not prize above 
the reverendest throat in Athens. 

This was all the answer he vouchsafed to the 
weeping disappointed senators; cftly at paarting^ 
be bade them commend him to his ceuntrymen, 
and tell them, that to ease them of their griefs 
and anxieties, and to prevent the consequences 
ef fierce Alc3}iades' wrath, tfaefe was yet a way 



triliOli OF ATHENS. J 43 

Ith, which he would teach them, for he had yet 
so mach affeaion kft for his (tear countrymen as 
to be willing to do them a kindness before his 
deadi. These words a little revived the senators, 
who hoped that his kindness for their city was 
Ktuming. Then Timon told them that he had 
a tree, which grew near his cave, which he 
should shortly have occasion to cut down, and 
he invited all his friends in Athens, high or low, 
of what degree soever, who wished to shun af- 
fliction, to come and take a taste of his tree 
before he cut it down \ meaning, that they might 
come and hang themselves on it, and escape af- 
fliction that way. 

And this was the kst courtesy, of all his noble 
bounties, which Timon shewed to mankind, and 
this the last sight of him which his countrymen 
had: for not many days after, a poor soldier, 
passing by the sea-beach, which was at a little 
distance from the woods which Timon frequent- 
ed, found a tomb on the verge of the sea, with 
an inscription upon it, purporting that it was the 
grav^ of Timon the man-hater, who, " While he 
lived, did hate all living men, and dying, wished 
a plague might consume all caitiffs left !" 

Whether he finished his life by violence, or 



l44 TIMON OF ATHENS. 

whether mere distaste of life and the loathing he 
had for mankind brought Timon to his coii- 
clusion, was not clear, yet all men admired the 
fitness of his epitaph, and the consistency of his 
end ; dying, as he had lived, a hater of mankind : 
and some there were who fancied a conceit in 
the very choice which he made of the sea-beach 
for his place of burial, where the vast sea might 
weep for ever upon bis grave, as in contempt of 
the transient and shallow tears of hypocritical 
and deceitful mankind* 



TALE THE SEVENTEENTH. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 

1 HE two chief families in Verona were the 
rich Capulets and the Mountagues, There had 
been an old quarrel between these families, 
which was grown to such a height, and so deadly 
was the enmity between them, that it extended 
to the remotest kindred, to the followers and re- 
tainers of both sides, msomuch that a servant of 
the house of Mountague could not meet a servant 
of the house of Capulet, nor a Capulet encounter 
^ith a Mountague by chance, but fierce words 
and sometimes bloodshed ensued *, and frequent 
were the brawls from such accidental meetings, 
which disturbed the happy quiet of Verona's 
streets. 

Old lord Capulet made a great supper, to 
which many fair ladies and many noble guests 
were invited. All the admired beauties of Verona 
were present^ and all comers were made welcome 



{ 



US ROMEO AND JULIET. 

If they were not of the house of Mountague, At 
this feast of Capnlets, Rosaline, beloved of Ro^ 
meoy son to the old lord Mountague, was present | 
and though it was dangerous for a Mountague to 
be seen in this assembly, yet Benvolio, a friend 
of Romeo, persuaded the young lord to go to 
this assembly in the disguise of a mask, that he 
might see his Rosaline, and seeing her compare 
her with some choice beauties of Verona, who 
(he said) would make him think his swan a crow. 
Romeo had small faith in Benvolio's words; ne- 
rertheless, for the love of Rosaline, he was per- 
suaded to go. For Romeo was a sincere and 
passionate lover, and one that lost his sleep for 
love, and fled society to be alone, thinking on 
Rosaline, who disdained him, and never requited 
his love with the least show of courtesy or afiec- 
tion; and Benvolio wi^ed to cure his friend of 
this love by shewing him diversity of ladies and 
company. To this feast idf Capulets then young 
Romeo with Benvolid and their friend Mer- 
cutiQ went masked. Old Capulet bid them wel« 
come, and told them that ladies who had their 
tQ^s udplagued with corns would dance with 
them. And the old man was light-hearted and 
mcny, and said that he had worn a madk when 



soHSo Ana juliet. 147 

be was youngs md could hare told a whispering 
tale in a fair lady's ear. Afid they fell to danc- 
ings and Romeo was suddenly struok with the 
exceecHng beauty of a lady who danced there^ 
who seemed to him to. teach the torches to bum 
brig^ and her beauty tp shew by night like a 
lich jewel worn by a blackamoor : beauty too 
rich for use» too dear for earth I like a snowy 
dore trooping widi crows (he said), so richly did 
her beauty and perfections slune above the ladiea 
her companions. Whik he uttered these praises, 
he was overheard by Tybalt, a nephew of lord 
C^pulet, who knew him by his voice to be 
Romeo* And this Tybalt, being of a fiery and 
passionate temper, could not endure that a 
Mount^ue should come under cover of a mask, 
to ieer and scorn (as he said) at their solemnities. 
And he stormed and ragiM exceedingly, and 
would have struck young Romeo dead* But his 
uncle, the old lord Capulet, would not sufier 
him to do any injury at that time, both out 
of respect to his guests, and because Romeo had 
borne himself like a gentleman, and all tongues 
in Verona bragged of him to be a virtuous and 
wdi-govemed youth. Tybahb forced to be pa- 
tient against his wiU, i^ttmuuk bixmdff but 



148 ROMEO AND JULIET.' 

swore diat tkis vile MoUntague sfaoidd at another 
time dearly pay for his intrusion. 

The dancing being done^ Romeo watched the 
place where the lady stood; and under £avour of 
his masking habit, which might seem to excuse 
in part the liberty, he presumed in the gentlest 
manner to take h^ by her hand, calling it a 
shrine, which if he prophaned by touching it, 
he was a blushing pilgrim, and would kiss it for 
atonement. " Good pilgrim," answered the la- 
dy? ** your devotion shews by far too mannerly 
and too courtly: saints have hands, which pil- 
grims may touch, but kiss not." ** Have not 
saints lips, and pilgrims too?^^ said Romeo. 
« Aye," said the lady, ** lips which they must 
vse in prayer." " O then, my dear saint," said 
Romeo : " hear my prayer and grant it, lest I 
despair." In such like allusions and loving con- 
ceits they were engaged, when the lady was called 
away to her mother. And Romeo enquiring 
who her mother was, discovered that the lady 
whose peerless beauty he was so much struck 
with, was young Juliet, daughter and heir to the 
lord Capulet, the great enemy of the Mountagues; 
and that he had unknowingly engaged his heart 
to his foe. This troubled him, but it co^ild not 



&OMEO AND JULIET. 149 

dissuade him from loving. As little f€it had Ju-» 
liet, when she found that the gentleman that sh^ 
had been talking with was Romeo and a Moun- 
tague^ for she had been suddenly smit with the 
same hastjr and inconsiderate passion for Romeoy 
which he had conceived for her ; and a prodi- 
gious birth of love it seemed to her^ that ^hemust 
love her enemy, and that her affections should 
settle there^ where family considerations should 
induce her chiefly to hate. 

It being midnight, Romea with his com- 
panions departed; but they soon nussed him, 
for unable to stay away from the house where 
he had left his heart, he leaped the wall of 
an orchard which was at the back of Juliet's 
house. Here he had not been long, rumi- 
nating on his new love, when Juliet appeared 
above at a window, through which her ex*- 
ceedxng beauty seemed to break like the. light 
of the sun in the east ; and the moon, which 
shon&vin the orchard with a faint light, appeared 
to Romeo as if sick and pale with grief at the 
superior lustre of this new sun. And she lean- 
iqg her hand upon her cheek, he passionately 
wished himself a glove upon that, hand, that he 
might touch her cheek. She all this while 

VOL. lu H 



150 &OIIEO AND JULIET* 

thinking herself alone, fetched a deep sigh, and 
exdaimed, << Ah me !" Romeo» enraptured to 
hear her speak, said softly, and unheard by her, 
** O speak again, bright angel, for such you ap- 
pear^ being over my head, like a winged mes^ 
senger from heaven whom mortals fall back to 
gaze upon." She, unconscious of being over- 
heard, and full of the new passion which that 
night's adventure had given birth to, called upon 
her lover by name (whom she supposed absent): 
** O Romeo, Romeo !" said she, *' wherefore art 
thou Romeo ? Deny thy father, and refuse thy 
name, for my sake ; or if thou wilt notj be but 
my sworn love, and I no longer will be a Ca« 
pulet." Romeo, having this encouragement, 
would fain have spoken, but he was desirous of 
4iearing more ) and the lady continued her pas- 
sionate discourse with herself (as she thought), 
still chiding Romeo for being Romeo and a 
Moufitague, and wishing him some other name^ 
or that he would put away that hated name,*>nd 
for that name, which was no part of himself, he 
should take all herself. At this loving word 
Romeo could no longer refrain, but taking,up 
the dialogue as if her wosds had been addressed 
to him personally, and not merely in fancyi he 



ROMEO AND JULIET. l$i. 

bade her call him Love, or by whaterer othet; 
name «he pleased, for he was^o longer Romeo^ 
if that name was displeasing to her. Juliet> 
alarmed to hear a man's voice in the garden, did 
not at first know who it was, that by favour o£ 
the night and darkness had thus stumbled upon 
the discovery of her secret ; but when he spoke 
again, though her ears had not yet drunk a huur 
drcd words of that tongue's uttering, yet so nice 
is a lover's hearing, that she immediately knew 
him to be young Romeo, and she expostulated 
with him on the danger to which he had ex« 
posed himself by climbing the orchard walls, for 
if any of her kinsmen should find him there, it 
Would be death to him, being a Mountague« 
" Alack," said Romeo, ** there is more peril ia 
your eye, than in twenty of their swords. Do 
you but look kind upon me, lady, and I ^am 
'proof against their enmity. Better my life should 
be ended by their hate, than that hated life should 
,be prolonged, to live without your love." **How 
came you into this place," said Juliet, ** and by 
whose direction ?" « Love directed me," an- 
swered Romeo : ** I am no pilot, yet wert thou 
as far apart from me, as that vast shore which 
is washed with the farthest sea, I should adven- 

H 2 



152 ROME!a AND JULIET. 

ture for such merchandize.'* A crimson blush 
came over Juliet's face, yet unseen by Romeo by 
reason of the night, when she reflected upon the 
discovery which she had made, yet not meaning 
to make it, of her love to Romeo. She would 
fain have recalled her words, but that was im- 
possible : fain would she have stood upon form, 
and have kept her lover at a distance, as the 
custom of discreet ladies is, to frown and be per- 
verse, and give their suitors harsh denials at 
first; to stand off, and affect a coyness or indif- 
ference, where they most love, that their lovet:3 
may not think them too lightly .or too easily 
won : for the difficulty of attainment increases 
the value of the object. But there Was no room 
in her case for denials, or puttings oiF, or any of 
the customary arts of delay and protracted court- 
Ship. Romeo had heard from her own tongue, 
\vhen she did not dream that he was near her, a . 
confession of her love. So with an honest frank- 
ness, which the novelty of her situation excus^ll^,^ 
she confirmed the truth of what he had before 
heard, and addressing him by the name of Jair 
Mountague (love can sweeten a sour name), she 
begged him not to impute her easy yielding to 
levity or an unworthy mind, but that he must 



ROMEO AlCD JUJLIET. 155 

lay the fault of it (if it were a fault) upon the 
accident of the night which had so strangely dis- 
covered her thoughts. And she added, that 
though her behaviour to him might not be suf- 
ficiently prudent, measured by the custom of her 
stx, yet that she would prove more true than 
many whose prudence was dissembling, and their 
modesty artificial cunning. 

Romeo was beginning to call the heavens to 
witness, that nothing was farther from his 
thoughts than to impute a shadow of dishonour 
to such an honoured lady, when she stopped 
him, begging him not to swear : for although 
she joyed in him, yet she had no joy pf that 
night's contract $ it was too rash, too unadvised, 
too sudden. But he bemg urgent with her tp 
exchange a vow of love with him that night, 
she said that she already had given him hers be- 
fore he requested it ^ meaning, when he over- 
heard her confession -, but she would retract 
what she then bestowed, for the pleasure of 
giving it again, for her bounty was as infinite as 
the sea, and her love as deep. From this loving 
conference she was called away by her nurse, 
who slept with her, and thought it tifne for her 
to, b^ in bed, for it was near .to 4ay-break ; . but 

« 3 



154 HOMEO AMD JULIET. 

hastily returning) she said three or four \vordll 
niore to Romeo, the purport of which was^ that 
if his love was indeed honourable, and his pur- 
pose marriage, she would send a messenger to 
him to-morrow, to appoint a time for their mar- 
riage, when she would lay all her fortunes at his 
feet, and follow him as her lord through the 
world. While they were settling this point, Jur 
Het was repeatedly called for by her nurscj and 
went in and returned, and went and returned 
again, for she seemed as jealous of Romeo going 
from her, as a youn^ girl of her bird, which she 
will let hop a little from her hand).asul pluck it 
back with a silken thread *, and Romeo was as 
loth to part as she: for the sweetest music to 
lovers is the sound of each other's tongues at 
night. But at last they parted, wishing mutually 
sweet sleep and rest for that night. 

The day was breaking when they parted, and 
Romeo, who^as too full of thoughts of his mlis- 
tress and^at blessed meeting to allow him to 
sleep, instead of going home, bent his course to 
a monastery hard by, to find friar Lawrence. 
The good friar was already up at hb devotions, 
but seeing young Romeo abroad so early, he 
conjectured rightly that he had not been .arbed 



ROMEO AHD JULIET. 155 

that night, birt that some distemper of youthfiil 

affection had kept him waking. He was right 

in imputing the cause of Romeo's wakefulness 

to love, bufhe made a wrong guess at the object^ 

for he thought that his love for RosaHne had 

kept him waking. But when Romeo revealed 

his new passion for Juliet, and requested the 

assistance of the friar to marry them that day, 

the holy man lifted up his eyes and hands in a 

, sort of wonder at the sudden change in Romeo's 

. affections, for he had been privy to all Romeo's 

love for Rosaline, and his many complaints of 

her disdain ; and he said, that young men's love 

lay not truly in their' hearts, but in their eyes. 

But Romeo replying that he himself had often 

chidden him for doting on Rosaline, who cou}d 

not love him again, whereas Juliet both loved 

and was beloved by him, the friar assented in 

some measure to his reasons ; and thinking diat 

a matrimomal alliance between young Juliet and 

.Romeo might happily be a means of making ap 

the long breach between the Capulets and the 

Mountagues ; which no one more lamented than 

this good friar, who was a friend to>botii the 

families, and had often interposed hfis mediatbn 

10 make up die quarrel withoutt eSfct \ partly 

H f 



156 ROMEO A»D JULIET^ 

moved by policy, afid partly by his fondness for 
young Romeo, to whom he could deny nothing, 
the old man consented to jpin their hands in 
marriage. 

Now was Romeo blest indeed, and Juliet, who 
knew his intent from a messenger which she had 
dispatched according to promise, did not fail to 
be early at the cell of friar Lawrence, where their 
hands were joined in holy marriage ; the good 
friar praying the heavens to smile upon that act, 
and in the union pf this young Mountague and 
young Capulet to bury the old strife and long 
dissensions of their families. 

The ceremony* being over, Juliet, hastened 
home, where she staid impatient for the coming 
of night, at which time Ronieo promised to come 
and meet her in the orchard, where they ^ad 
met the night before; and the time between 
seemed as tedious to her, as the night before 
some great festival seems to an impatient child, 
that has got new finery which it may not put on 
till the morning. 

That same day about noon, Romeo's friends, 
Benrolio aind Mercutio, walking through the 
: streets of Verona, wci^met by a party of the 
Capttlets with the impetuoiss Tybalt at their head. 



B.OMEO AND jyUET» 157 

Thi« was the same angry Tyljalt who woul4 
have fought with Romeo at old lord Capulet's 
feast. He seeing Mercutio, accused him bluntly 
of associating with Roo^eo^ a &Io«^ltague. Mer- 
^utiO| who had 9s much fire and yputhful blood 
in him as Tybalt, replied to this accusation with 
some sharpness j and in spite pf all Benvolio 
could say to moderate their w^-ath, a quarrel was 
beginning, when Romep himself passing tha^ 
way, the fierce Tibalt turned from Mercutio to 
Romeo^ and gave him the disgraceful appellation 
of villain. Romeo wished to avoid a quarrel 
with Tybalt above all^ men, because he w^s the 
kinsman of Juliet, and much beloved by h^x i 
besides, this young Mountague had never ,thQ* 
roughly entered into the family quarrel, beting 
by nature wise and gentle, and the name of a 
Capulet, which was his dear lady's name, was 
now rather a charm to allay resentment, than a 
watch-word to excite fury. So he tried to reason 
with Tybalt, whom he saluted mildly by the 
name of good Capulet y as if he, though a Moun- 
tague, had some secret pleasure in uttering that 
name : but Tybalt, who hated all Mountagues 
as he hated hell, would hear no reason, but 
drew his weapon \ and Mercutio, who knew not 

US 



158 ROMEO AHD JULIET. ^ 

• 

G(f Romeo's secret motiTe for desiring peace wiA 
Tybalt, but looked upon his present forbearance 
as a sort of calm dishonourable submission, with 
many disdainful words provoked Tybalt to the 
prosecution of his first quarrel with him ; and 
Tybalt and Mercutio fought, till Mercutio fell> 
receiring his death^s wound while Romeo and 
BenTolio were vainly endeavouring to part the 
combatants. Mercutio being dead, Romeo kept 
his temper, no longer, but returned the scornful 
appellation of villain which Tybalt had given 
him ; and they fought till Tybalt was slain by 
Romeo. This deadly broil falling out in the 
midst of Verona at noon-day, the news of it 
quickly brought a crowd of citizens to the spoti 
and among them the old lords Capulet and Moun- 
tague, with their wives j and soon after arrived 
the prince .himself, who being related to Mercu- 
tio, whom Tybalt had slain, and having had the 
peace of his government often disturbed by these 
brawls of Mountagues and Capulets, came deter- 
mined to put the law in strictest force against 
those who should be found to be offenders. Ben- 
volio, who had been eye-witness to the fray, was 
commanded by the prince to relate the origin of 
it, which he didj keeping as near to the truth as 



ROliiEO JlKD JULIB7. t H^ 

iie could without injury to RomeOf softemng 
and excusing the part which his friends took in 
it. Lady Capulet, whose extreme grief for tli^ 
loss of her kinsman Tybalt made her keep no 
bounds in her revenge^ exhorted the prince to 
do strict justice upon his murderer>.and to paj 
no attention to Benrolio's rqnresentation^ who 
being Romea's friend, and a Mountague, spoke 
partially. Thus she pleaded against her new 
son*in law, but she knew not yet that he was her 
son-in-law and Juliet's husband. On the other 
hand was to be seen lady Mountague pleading for 
her child's life, and arguing with some justice that 
Romeo had done nothing worthy of punishment 
in taking the life of Tybalt, which was already 
forfeited to the law by his having -slain Mercutio. 
The prince, unmoved by the passionate exclama- 
tions of these women, on a careful, examinaf- 
tion of the facts, pronounced hb sentence, and 
by that sentence Romeo . waa. banbhed from 
Verona. 

Heavy news to young Juliet,, who hi^d beea 
but a few hours a bride,^ and now by this decree 
seemed everlastingly divorced ! When the tidings 
reached her, she at first gave way to rage against 
Romeo^ who bad slain her dear cousin : she called 



160 



a beaiitifiil bfnmtf a fiend aogdicd, a tm- 
Tenous doFe^ a lamb with a wolf's nature^ a ser- 
pent-heait hid with a flowering £actp and other 
Vke contradictory Kuotest wiitch denoted die 
strugglea in her mind between her lore and her 
fetentment : but in the end lore got the maslerf^ 
and die tears which she shed for grief that Ro- 
meo had sfadn her cousin^ turned to dfops of jof 
that her husbaM lived whom Tybalt wodU have 
dain. llieii cainfe fresh teart) ^Mkl they were 
altogether of grief fer Romeo's banishment. 
That wo»i was more terriUe to hef dian the 
. iieath of many Tybalts. 

Romeo, after the fray,, had talcen reftige in 
friar Lawrence's cell, where hewaafkst made 
acquainted widi the prince*^ sentence, whidt* 
s^med to him far more terrible lihsfn ^eath. To 
liim it appeared there was no worid out of Ve- 
rona's walk, no livitig out of the sight of Julkr. 
Heaven was there where Juliet Kved, and all be-^ 
yond was purgatory, torture, hell. The good 
Triar would have applied the consolation of phi<-^ 
losophy to his griefs ; but this frantic young man 
would hear of hontj but like a madman he tore 
liis hair, aiid threw himself all along upon the 
grouild> ^ lie ^d, to take the n^asore of hh 



gtave* From €m ttnseenriy state he wis roused 
by a message from his dear hdy, which a Iktts 
revived him^ and then die finar took the adv8i>^ 
lage to exposldate with Him on the nmnanly 
weakness wfaieh he had shown* He had skin 
Tybaki but would he also shy himself,, slay his^ 
dear Isdy who lived hut in his jltfe ? The noUe 
farm of maui, he said, was hot a -shape of waxs. 
when it wanted the courage which should keep 
ft finn. The l^w iiad been lenietit to him, diat 
inatead of death which he had iocuiyed,. had^ 
prononncedby die prinee's mmndioidy banish- 
ment. He had dain Tybak^ but Tybalt would 
have slain him : there was a sort of hapfoness in 
that. Juliet was alive, and (beyond all hope) 
had become his 4ear wife, thereni he was most 
happy. Mi these blessings, as the fsiar made 
them out to be, did Romeo put from Jum like a^ 
sullen misbehaved vronch. And die friar bade him 
beware, for such as despaired (he said) jdiod xoih 
serable. Then when Romeo was aiittle.cabQed^ 
he counselled him that he ^uld ^o that migbft 
and secretly take his leave of Juliet,, and tfienoe 
^proceed straitways to Mantua, at wluch place 
he should sojourn, till the friar found a £t oc«- 
caskm to puUieh his manage, which (mijgfat be 



162 KOMEO AND JULIET. 

a joyful means of reconciling^ their families ; zni 
Aen he did not doubt but the prince wOuId be 
mored to pardon^ himt isnd he would return with 
twenty times more joy than he went forth with 
grief. Romeo was convinced by these wise coun- 
sels of the friar^ and took his leave to go and 
seek his lady, purposing to stay with her that 
nighty and by day-break pursue his journey akme 
to Mantua i to wfaieh place the good friar pro* 
mised to send him letters from time to time> ao* 
quaiiUing him with the state of a&irs at home^ 
- That night Rooko passied with his dear wife, 
gaining secret admission to her chamber^ from 
the orchard in which he had heard her confess 
sion of love the night before. That had been a 
night of unmixed joy and rapture ; but the plea* 
sures of this lii^t and the delight which these 
lovers took in each other's society, were sadly 
allayed with the prospect of partings and the 
fatal adventures of the past day. The unwelcome 
day-break seemed to come too soon, and when 
Juliet heard the morning-song of tihe lark, she 
would fain have persuaded herself that it was the 
nightingale, which sings by night; but it was toe 
truly the lark which sung, and a discordant .and 
unpleasing note it seemed to her.; and the streaks 



KOMEO AVD JULIET. 193 

of day in the east too certainly pointed out tliat 
it was time for these lovers to part. Romeo took 
his leave of his dear wife with a heavy hearty 
promising to write to her from Mantua every hour 
Hi'the day, and when he had descended from her 
chamber-window, as he stood below her on the 
ground) in that sad foreboding state of mind in 
which she was he appeared to her eyes as one 
dead in the bottom of a tomb. Romeo's mind 
misgave him in like manner y but now he was 
forced hastify to depart, for it was death for 
him to be found within tlie walls, of Verona after 
day-break* 

This was but the beginning of the tragedy of 
this pair of star-crossed lovers. Romeo had nol: 
been gone many days, before the old lord Ca- 
pulet proposed a match for Juliets. The husband 
he had chosen for her, not dreaming that she 
was married already, was count Paris^ a gallant, 
young, and noble gentleman, no unworthy suitor 
to the yoimg Juliet> if she had never seem 
Romeo. , 

The terrified Juliet was in a sad perplexity at 
her father's ofier. She pleaded her youth un- 
suitable to marriage, the recent death of Tybak 
^hich bad left her spirits too weak to meet a 



husband vnA any face of joy^ and how indcco* 
rous it would shew for the family of Ac C^p^kts 
to be celebrating a nuptial-feast> when his fune« 
ral splenmities were hardly oyer: she pleaded 
every reason against the match* but die true one» 
namely, that she was married already. But lor4 
Capulet was deaf to all her excuses, and in a pe« 
remptory manner ordered her to get ready, for 
by the foHowing Thursday she should be married 
to Paris : and having found her a husband rich, 
young, and noble, such as the proudest maid in 
Verona might joyfully accept, he could not bear 
that out of an affected coyness, as he construed 
her denial, she should oppose obstacles to her 
own good fortune. 

In ^ts extremity Juliet applied to the friendly 
£nar, always her counsellor in distress, and he 
asking Jier if she had resolution to undertake a 
desperate ifemedy, and she answering^ that she 
would go into the grave alive, rather than 
marry Paris, her own dear husband living ; he 
directed her to go home, and appear merry^ and 
^ive her consent to marry Paris, according to her 
-father's desire, and on the next night, which was 
Ae night before the marriage, to drink off the 
contents of a phial which he then gave her, the 



ftOMSa AMD JULIET. 165 

effect of which would be, that for two-andforty 
hours after drinking it she should appear coM 
and lifeless ; that when ihe bridegroom came to 
fetch her in the iDorningj^^ he would find her to 
appearance dead; A»t then she would be bome^ 
as the manner in that country was, uncovered, 
on a bier, to be buried in the family vault ; that 
if she c&uld put off womanish fear, and consent 
to tbis^ terrible trial, in forty-two hours ^ftec 
swallowing the liquid (such was its certain ope- 
jiatioii] she would be sure to awake, as from a 
dream ; mi before she diould awake, he would 
let her hu^and know theit drift, and be should 
come in the night, and bear her thence to Man:* 
tua. Love, and the dread of marrying Pari«» 
gave young Juliet strength to undertake this hor- 
rible adventure ; and she took the phial of the 
friar, promising to observe his directions. 

Going from the monastery, she met the young 
count PariS]^nd, modestly dissembling, promised 
to become his bride. This was joyful news to 
the lord Capulet and his wife. It seemed to put 
youth into the old man : and Juliet, who had dis- 
pleased him exceedingly by her refusal of the 
count, was his darling again, now she promised 
to he obedient. All things in tjit hoo^ .vrere m 



166 ROMEO AK9 jULtfiT. 

a bustk against the approachii^. niqptials. N9 
cost was spared to prepare sach fe^vsd rejoicii^a^ 
as Verona had never before witnessed. 

On the Wednesday ni^t Juliet drank off the 
podon. She bad many misgiviags, lest the friar, 
to avoid the blame which might be imputed to 
him for marrying her to RomeOj had given her 
poison 'j but then he was always known for a 
holy maa : then lest she should awake before the 
time that Romeo was to come for her ; whether the 
termor of the place, a vault full of dead Capulets' 
bcmes, and where Tybalt, allbloody, lay festering 
in his shroud^ would not be* enou^^ to drive 
her distracted : again tht Aought oi all the sto^ 
ries she had heard of spirits haunting the places 
where their bodies are bestowed* But then her 
love for Romeo^ and her aversion for Paris, re* 
turned, «ut she de^rately swallowed the 
drai^t, and became insensiblei 

When young Paris came early in^the morning 
with inu»c, ta awaken his bride, instead of a 
living Juliet, her diamber presented the dreary 
spectacle of a lifeless corse» What d^di to^ his 
hopes^l What confusion then : reigned through 
&e wfade house ! Poor Paris Jaunenting his 
liride> vidiom naost detestable death^ had beguiled' 



AOMEO ANir JULIET. 1#7 

htm ofy had divorced from him even before theiy 

hands were joined. But still more piteous it 

was to hear the mournings of the old lord and 

lady Capttlet, who having but this one, one poor 

bring child to rejoice and s(4ace in, cruel death 

had snatched her from their sight, just as these 

careful parents were on the point of seeing her 

advanced (as they thought) by a promising and 

advantageous match. Now all things that were 

ordained for the festival, were turned from their 

properties to do the office of a black funeral. The 

wedding cheer served for a sad burial feast, the 

bridal hymns weie chai^d to suOen dirges, the 

sprightly instruments to melancholy bells, and 

the flowers that should bsnre been strewed in the 

bride's path, now served but to strew her corse. 

Now instead of a priest to maorry her, a priest 

was needed to bury her; and she was borne to 

ehurch indeed, not to augment the cheerful hopes 

of the living, but to swell the dreary numbers of 

the dead. 

Bad news, which always travels faster than 
good, now brought the dismal story of his Juliet's 
death to Romeo at Mantua, before the messenger 
could arrive, who was sent from fnar Lawrence to 
apprize him that these were mock £anesals only 



t6g ILOMtO AHX> JltLI^'Vi 

and bttt the sKadow and ropi;e«9Bt9tioB of deatbi 

and that his dear lady lay in tlie tomb bi^ fbv ^ 

short while, expecting when IU>niep s^iouid come 

|0 release her £rom ths^^ dreary naansipn. }as( 

before, Romeo had beeo uniis^^Uy joyful an^ 

Hght-hearttd, He had dreamed i» the night 

diat he was dead (a strange dream^ that gave ^ 

dead nian leave to think), and that his lady came 

and found him dead, and breathed such life widi^ 

kisses in hi^ lips, that he revived, and was an 

emperor ! And now Aat a octessenger came from 

Verona> he thought surely it was to confirca 

some good news which his dreiixis h^ pifes^^df 

But when the conftiary to tUs im^$g yism^ 

appeared, and that it was his bdy whp was dead 

in truth, whom he could not revive h>y any 

kisses, he ordered horses to he got ready, f^ 1m: 

determined that night to vkit Verona, and to 

see his lady in her tomb. And as. mischief is 

swift to enter into the thought^ of desperate 

men, he called to mind a poor apotheca^, whose 

shop in Mantua he had lately p^s^ed, and from 

the beggarly appearance of the mm% Vho secgjied 

fambhed, and the wretched sh^w in bis %hiV of 

empty boxes ranged oa dirty shdves, and qii^ 

Ipkens of extreme vrretcbednf ^ ke h^d ^ at 



ILOMEQ IKD JULIET. , 16f 

^ tiih^ (perhaps having some misgivings that 
his owti-tikastrous life might haply meet with % 
conclusion so desperate)^ ^^ If a man were to need 
poison^ which by the law of Mantua it is death to 
sell, here lives a poor wretch who would sell it 
him." These words of his now came into his 
mind, and he sought out the apothecary^ who, 
after some pretended scruples, Romeo offering 
him gold which his poverty could not resist, sold 
hhn a poison, which, if he swallowed, he told 
\Am, if he had the strength of twenty men, would 
i}uickly dispatch him. 

With this poison he set out for Verona, to 
have a sight of his dear lady in her tomb, meai^ 
i^g, when he had satisfied his sight, to swallow 
the poison, and be buried by her side. He 
reached Verona at midnight, and found the 
church-yard, in the lAidst of which was situated 
the ancient tomb of the Gapulets. He had pro- 
vided a light, and a spade, and Mnrenehing iton, 
and was proceeding to break open the monu*- 
ment, when he was interrupted by a voice, which 
by the name of vik Mountague bade him desist 
from his unlawful business^ It was the young 
count Paris, who had come to the tomb of Juliet 
at thattinsedionable time of night, to strew flow- 



.»N 



no ROMEO AN© JULIET. 

ersy and to weep met the grare <^ her that 
•hottld have been hi8 bride. He knew not what 
an interest Romeo had in ibc dead, but know- 
ing him to be a Mountague, and (as he supposed) 
a sworn foe to aU the Capidets, he judged that 
he was come by n^ht to do 6ome villainous 
shame to the dead bodies; dieref ore in an asgrj 
tone he bade him desist } and as a criminal, con- 
demned by the laws of Verona to die if he were 
found within the walls of the city, he would 
have apprehended him. Romeo urged Paris to 
leave him, and warned him by the fate of Ty- 
balt who lay buried there, not to provoke his 
anger, or draw down another sin upon his head, 
by forcing him to kill him. But the couirt ifl 
scorn refused his warning, and laid hands oa 
him as a felon, which Romeo resisting, they 
fought, and Paris felL When Romeo,, by the 
help of a light, came to see who it was that he 
had slain, that it was Paris, who (he learned in 
his way from Mantua) should have married Ju* 
liet, he took the dead youth by the hand, as one 
whom misfortune had made a companion, and 
said that he would bury him in a triumphal 
grave, meaning in Juliet's grave, which he now 
opened : and there lay his lady» as one whom 



HOIiEO AMO JOLIfiT. ^171 

Death had oa fower upon ta change a feature 
or oi>]39{idexion in her matcUess beaiity, or as if 
Death were amorous^ and the lean' abhorred mon- 
ster kept her there for his delight ; for she lay 
yet fresh and blooming, as she had fallen to sleep 
when ^e swallowed that beniunbiog potion : syfid 
near .her lay Tybalt in his bloody shroud^ whom 
Rooaeo seeing, be^ed psurdon of his lifeless corse^ 
and for Juliet's sake called him cousin^ and said 
that be was about to do him a favour by putting 
his en^my to death. Here Romeo took his last 
leave of his lady's lips, kissing them ; and I^ere 
he shook the burden of his cross stars from his 
weary body, swallowing that poison which the 
apothecary had sold him, whose operation was 
fatal and real, nqt like that dissembling potion 
which Juliet had swallowed, the effect of which 
was now nearly expiring, and she about to awake 
to complain that Romeo had not kept his timej 
or that he had come too soon. 

For now the hour was arrived at which the 
friar had promised that she should awake ; add 
he, having learned that his letters which he had 
sent to Mantua, by some unlucky detention of 
the messenger, had never reached Romeo, came 
himself, provided with a pick-axe and lantern, to 



1T2 HOlimO AUV JULIET. 

^^^f«T the ladf from her confinement; but he 
was sarprbed to find a light already burning in 
the Capttlcts' monument, and to see swords and 
Uood near it, and Romeo and Paris lying breath- 
tess by the monument. 

Before he could entertain a conjecture, to 
imaghie how these fatal acddents had f aBen out, 
Jidiet awoke out of her trance, and seeing die 
frkir nearher^ she remembered the pk»:e where 
she was, and the oceasioniof her being th^re, and 
asked for Romeo : but die friar, hearing a noise, 
bade her come out of that place of death, and of 
unnatural sleep, for a greater power than they 
could contradict had thwarted their intents } and 
being frighted by the noise of people coming, 
he fled ; but when Juliet saw the cup closed in 
her true love*is hands, she guessed that poison had 
been the cause of his end, and she would have 
swallowed the dregs if any had been left, and she 
kissed his still warm lips to try if any poison yet 
^id hang upon them : then hearing a nearer 
noise of people coming, she quickly unsheathed 
a dagger which she wore, and stabbing herselfi 
died by her true Romeo's side. 

The watch by this time had come up to the 
place. A page belonging to count Paris, who 



ROMEO IHD JtritET* MS 

heid witnessed tbe fight between hid master and 
Romeo, had given the alarm, which had spread 
«nong the citizens^ who went up and down the 
streets of Verona confusedly, exclaiming, A Paris, 
ft Romeo, a Juliet, as the rumour had imper-^ 
fectly reached them, till the uproar brought lord 
Mountague axid lord Capulet out of their beds, 
with the prince, to enquire into the causes of 
the disturbance. The friar had been appre- 
hended by some of the watch, coming from the 
church-yard, trembling, sighing, and weeping, 
in a suspicious manner. A great multitude being 
assembled at tlie Capulets' monument, the friat 
was commanded by tfie prince to deliver what ht 
knew of these strange and disastrous accidents. 

And there, in the presence of the old lords 
Mountague and Capulet, he faithfully related the 
story of their children's fatal love, the part he 
took in promoting their marriage, in the hope 
in that union to end the long quarrels between 
their families ; how Romeo, there dead, was hus- 
baAd to Juliet, and JuKet, there dead, was Ro* 
meo's faithful wife : how before he could find a 
fit opportunity to divulge their inarriage, another 
matdi was projected for Juliet, who to avoid the 

VOL. 11. I 



174 aeilEO AMD JULIET. 

criine of a second marriage swaiowed the sleep* 
ing draught (as he adrised J, and all thought her 
dead : how meantime he wrote to Romeo, to 
come and take her thence when the force of the 
potion should cease, and hj what unfortunate 
miscarriage of the messenger the letters never 
reached Romeo: further than this the friar 
could not follow the story, nor knew more than 
that coming himself to deliver Juliet from that 
place of death, he found the count Paris and 
Romeo slain. The remainder of the transactaons 
Was supplied by the narration of the page who 
had seen Paris and Romeo fight, and by the ser- 
vant who came with Romeo from Verona, to 
whom this faithful lover had givenr letters to be 
delivtsred to his father in the event of his death 
which made good the friar's words, confessing 
his marriage with Juliet, imploring the forgive- 
ness of his parents, acknowledging the buying of 
tlie poison of die poor apothecary, and his intent 
in coming to ^he monument, to £e, and lie with 
Jufiet. All these circumstances agreed togetRer 
to ckar the finar from any hand he could be 
supposed to have had in diese complicated 
sla^hters, further than as the unintended con. 



HOMBO AK0 jm^ifET. 175 

sequences of hUown well meant> yettoo ;irtificial 
and subtle contrivaoces. 

And the prince, turning to these old lordis, 
Mountague and Capulet, rebuked them for theit 
brutal and irrational enmities^ and shewed them 
what a scourge heaven had laid upon such of-* 
fences, that it had found means even through the 
love of their children to punish their unnatural 
hate. And these old rivals, no longer enemies, 
agreed to bury their long strife in their chil- 
dren's graves; and lord Capulet requested lord 
Mountague to give him his hand, calling him by 
the name of brother, as if in acknowledgment of 
the union of their families by the marriage of 
the young Capulet and Mountague ; and saying 
that lord Mountague's hand (in token of recon- 
cilement) was all he demanded for his daughter's 
jointure : but lord Mountague said ha would 
give him more, for he would raise her statue df 
pure gold, that while Verona kept its name, no 
figure should be so esteemed for its richness and 
workmanship as that of the true and faithful Ju- 
liet. And lord Capulet in return said that he 
would raise another statue to Romeo. So did 
these poor old lords, when it was too late, strive 

I 2 



176 ROMEO ANO JULIET. 

to outgo each -Other in mutual courtesies : whiW 
so deadly had been their rage and enmity in pait 
times, that nothing but the fearful overthrow of 
their children (poor sacrifices to their quarrels 
and dissensions) could remove the rooted hates 
and jealousies of the noble families. 






TALE THE EIGHTEENTH! 



HAMLET, PRINCE. OF DEN- 
MARK. 

GrfeRTRUDEi queen of Denmark, becoming 
a widow by the sudden death of Hng Hamlet^ in 
kss than two month's after his death married 
bis brother Claudius, which was noted by all 
people at th^ time for a strange act of indiscre* 
tion, or unfeelingness, . or worse : for this Clau-> 
dius did no ways resemble her late husband in 
the qualities of his person or his mind, but was 
as contemptible in outward appearance, as he 
was base and unworthy in disposition *, and sus- 
picions did not. fail to arise in the minds of some, 
that he had privately made away with his bro- 
ther, the late king, with the view of marrying 
his widow, and ascending the throne of Den- 
mark, to the exclusion of young Hamlet, the son 



nS HAMLET^ 

of the buried king> and lawful successor to the 
throne. 

But upon no one did this unadvised action of 
the queen make such impression as upon this 
young prince, who loved and venerated the me- 
mory of his dead father almost to idolatry, and 
being of a nice sense of honour, and a most ex- 
quisite practiser of propriety himself, did sorely 
take to heart this unworthy conduct of his mo* 
ther Gertrude : insomuch diat, between grief for 
his ' father's death and shame for his mother's 
marriage, . this young prince was oveH^W^ed 
with a deep melancholy, and lost all his n\irt)i^ 
and all his good looks y all his customary oleasure 
in books forsook him, his princely exercises and 
sports, proper to his youth, were no longer ag-^ 
cepfeble ; he grew weary of the worlds which] 
seemed to bim an unweeded garden, where all 
the wholesome flowers were choaked up, and 
nothing but weeds could thrive. Not that the 
prospect of exclusion from the throne, his lawful 
inheritance, weighed so much upon his spirits, 
though that to a young and high-minded prince 
was a bitter wound and a sore iifdignity; but 
what so galled him, and took away all his cheer- 
ful spirits, was, that his mother had 'shewn her- 



Prince o? oenmark. 119 

lelf so forgetful to his fatfaer^s memory: and such 
a father ! who had beei^ to her so loving and so 
gentle a husband ! and th^n she always appeared 
as loving and obedient a wife to him> and wottI4 
hang upon him as if her affection grew to hint: 
and now within two months, or as it seemed ^ 
young Hamlet, less than two months, she hs^ 
married again, married his uncle, hex dead hus- 
band's brother^ in itself a highly improper and 
unlawful marriage, from the nearness of relation- 
ship, but made much more so by the indepent 
baste with which it was concluded, and the uo- 
kingly character of the mw whom sh^ Imi 
chosen to be the partner of her thrpne aisd bed. 
This it was, which, more than the lo§8 of tw 
kingdoms, dashed the Jipirits^ and brought a 
cloud over the mind of this . hpnouiabte young 
prince. 

In vain was all that his mother Gertrude Qt 
the king could do or contrive to divert him i hfi 
still appeared in court in 2, suit of dee^p blocks as 
mourning % the king his father's death, which 
mode pf dress he bad never laid mi^% ^ot evcfi 
in compliment to his mother upon thc^ d%f she was 
marrie4j nor cpuld he bq.bKOUgh^ taJQifl^:in.;ii]7 



ISO HAML£T, ' 

of the festivities or rejoicings of that (as appeared 
to him) disgraceful day. ' 

What mostly troubled him was an uncertainty 
about the manner of his father's death* It was 
given out by Cbiidius, that a serpent had stung 
him : but young Hamlet had shrewd suspicions 
that Claudius himself was the serpent \ in plain 
English, that he had murdered him for his 
crown, and that the serpent who stung his father 
did now sit on his throne* 

How far he was right in this conjecture^ and 
what he ought to think of his mother, how far 
she was privy to this murder^ and whether by 
her consent or knowledge, or without, it came 
to pass, were the doubts which continually har- 
rassed and distracted him. 

A rumour had reached the ear of young Ham- 
let, that an apparition, exactly resembling the 
dead king his father, had been seen by the soU 
diers upon watch, on the platform before th^ 
palace at midnight, for two or three nights suc- 
cessively. The figure came constantly clad in 
the same suit of armour, from head to foot, 
which the dead king was known to have worn : 
and ^y who saw it (Hamlet^s bosom-frieiKl 



PRINCB OF DENlil&K. . Itt < 

HMmtto wM oQte) agreed .in ^teirtes^ony as*^^ 
to the time and manner of its appearance ; that « 
it came just as jthe- clock struck twelve; that, 
it looked pale^ with -a face- more of ^oc^w t^ian . 
of anger; that Jts^ beard was griislyv and. the. 
colour 2L>sabU silvend, /sls xkcj had Sfeen it* 
in his life-time: that it unade na answer when.- 
they- sp<^e to it, yet once they thought. iu 
lifted up it^ head,, and addressed itself to mo- 
tion, as if it were about to speak ^ but in that. 
moment the morning cock crew, .a§d it^^hrunk 
io haste awayj^ , and vanishedr, out - of their ^ 
sight... 

The young prince, strangely' anuized at their;^^ 
relation^ which was too consistent and agreeing,, 
with, itself, to. disbelieve,, concluded that it was 
hia-fathcr's ghost which they had seen, and de-.^ 
tesmiaed to t^ke his watch with, the soldiers thfit, 
night,( that he- might. have a chance of seeing it : , 
for he re;|Soned with himself, that such an ap- 
pesurance did not come Sox nothing, but thai the; 
ghost hade something to impart, and though, it. 
had been ,^ilent hitherto, yet it would speak t^ 
him. And he waited with impatience for t^., 
cgming^^ffl^hj/.^ . , V.t 

'When j»igl}t..pme he tooK Jiis, jf^d. ^itk^f 

15 



the platfef m, #bere this tppaifttoii w^ actus*' 
toiiied to wrik : Mfd it being a cridnig^^ and die 
ai^ifftuiiMiIlf rawaaklnippiiif) Hamlet and Hiirt* 
tlo Mi their companion fell into tome talk abdnt ' 
tlie eoMhefs of the night, which was suddenly 
fatohm oiTbf Iforatio arniouncing that die ^bst ' 
\dMi eontf ng. 

' At the sight of his fethet's spirk, ifamlet #a» 
stihicK with a sndden stirpii2e and fnn% He at 
first called ofton the angets atid heavenly fninil^' 
ttn to defend them, for he knew not wfce<l^ 
it were a good spirit or bad | whether it a^' 
for good qst for eiil : but he gradually aistufiiA 
more courage I and hit father (as it seemed to' 
hhn) locked upon him so pitctmsly^ atht its k 
Were desiring to have con?erssftioii with htm^ 
and did in all respects appear to Hfce htmsdf ar ' 
he Nras vffith he Kved, that Hamlet etmki net ^ 
h^ ariihfe^ng him : he calkd him by his mdine, ' 
Hsymiet, Khng, Fariier ! andxo^nred him tfiatlMf ^ 
vfOuld teit the reasoA why he had left IBs-gfavey < 
vAtere they iiad steft him quietly besiewed^ te* 
ccMiie a^iii and visit die earth atut Ae tMcxt' 
lif^ : and besought him that he 1iro01 let thetid' 
know if there was any thing wluch tfiey eoold 



PRINCB OF DSNMA&K. ISS 

do to giTC peace to his spirit. And At ghost 
beckoned to Htoilet, that he should go with him 
to some move removed phce, where they might 
be alow : and Herado and MtveeBtts would have 
diftettded the fomig prtnee Irem foUowing it^ 
fct ^kej fisaved lest ft shoaU be some efi) spir)#^ 
iribo woeUtpmpt him to tM ^mf^boming 8ea» 
et to die top of some dreadful cfi^^and tbete 
pot on some honibto shape which might deprive 
die pdnce df his reason. But dim cdwosels and 
HlMelses ceuM not alttr Hamkt'a deSsradmK 
dm, who caftd too littl# about life to fear die 
losing of k; and as to his sm^ he said,^ what 
couM the spirit do to that, being fddq§ i«MMm- 
tal as ittoil2 and he feit.as haedf ae e Ini, 
and bssrsdng Imm them wkodideil they conlB 
teimldhiaSf he toilowed wbdMrnee^ef titospeet 
led him» 

And when dbey were alpnc tB|pdM% dm spf? 
lit^ hcehe siknce^ ani toM hh^ tint lie waa«4BS 
gheat 9f HamlBty las lather, who haA been ei4* 
dly mmrdered, end he told the mtenmr of ii^V 
that it wea dene by hai oMaihrodm OkuuMioS) 
HamlslPs unde^ w Hamist htd dteeadf tet:ito^ 
much sn spt j ct e d, jJMT dto bopeiiC eenecednHPto 
Ui had Jimltretoa^ That aa:he tea»> eiitpb§>ift> 



184 HAMLETf 

lijs gaidttii^lkii caetom always ia the j^fttciootfi 
jhis treasoaoiif broditv itole- upon him in.luf 
ikep, and ppured the jiHce of .poi$oiioii« ktali^ai 
ioto h^ears, wlmh haa wtdk aif amqpi^bp^ tk 
life <»f man^ iJiat swift as qiiiohsilvw il-tevisei 
diio«g)i all the ipeinaof die bo^| bridng «p A^ 
hlpoi^ smd spreadiag a crust^ike kprosy all onr 
ihejUn: dias aleepiBg^ by a brother's hinil hi 
m^ Cikt off. at OBoe from his orown^ his qaeeiii 
aad his^^: and he acl|«red Hamhtytftbc did 
ever his dear iidier loYCi dairiie would nmng t 
JMsfciil tp urder> Afid the ghost kraaenccd iphil 
mof that^ his nioifacr riionU sa (al off^isom 
•jfiits»|; as to prove Jfaise/to' the wedd edf lotie of 
her fas^'h^sband^ :and*to -many Ma^oMa gd erdrg 
^nt he camioned ' fUoActj Iwm i bt^ ^im pror 
:€S^ed^sn hisTevenge i^pmllr^hiiNwaskrfdtode) 
by no means to act any violence agaioi^ ths 
|fr8oii.QHdsiniiMl»i^ but to;lff«w her So heaveni 
4ttid^ to the-^ singa and^ Aoms^ eb cgpseJencj 
Ami :Hinlle# piwiised^ t^ obsette; fihe^ghosi'i 
:#rtckioii in afl dfmgiy Jtnd%ho^gfaiiilaaittudK 
< And wheiiHiiri^^MSleft alooi)*0^*teDki9 
<4iioiisiim resohmSon, that all fe hU in«1il«mb 
^nrnji sUdiat he had ever Jstuntod^bf^ bookaor 
^^olvmraiasn^ahoiild bo kstaaliy fisgy ^p by 



V 



MLIKCB^ 09 Dr<HMARK. IMf 



]fbl# JfldiiSiQdking live ia bU bmn^buC tlite mt^ 
morjr of what^tlieglK>9l bad told him» and enn 
joiacd htm to do. A«d Haodct/related th<& pari^ 
tkobc^-o^ tho coaY^nHitioii which: had.passedr 
to none but his dear Arieod Hoi»li<K| aiid-^MS ea^ 
joined both to him and MarceUua the atrictesW 
HOrecy as to what they^h^ seen that'nigbt. 4 

The terror which the aght of the ghost faad^ 
left upoa-^ sensed of Hamlet, he being weak 
^ddiq>ixitedbeloi^>. almost mihinged his mindr 
aad dro^ him beside his joeason. And he, ^fear^f 
ifig tbat. it would continue to have this effecfa 
which n^fght subject him to observation^ and se^ 
bis uncle upon bis guards if he suspei^c^d that hc^ 
wa«,.nie4itating^ any thing agiamst biiDf or ti^iat; 
Hamlet r^jr koewv niore. o£ his, £itber^s. deati^ 
tbaq he pwfe^df tocdc ifpa strai^gj^resplo^ 
firom: that time, tp counterfeits as if. he. wercf 
xeallj and tn^l;. mad^.thipkiiig that bcjrouldf 
he less. air pbjeiipt. of sijispicioii wt^en^his vadq, 
shouM belieYe; hiai^inqp{i|bl(^, of an|^,,scpous pro^ 
jg^t^ and tbathis,rea^ p^artjiirtiation of rs^ woaldf 
bf best eomr^.a]|0 tm qcmqsik^ ui|i)«r^ 4isff( 
gKWK: oCpreif nd^iaiipy V ,^ ,^ ,,^ 

]PrQin Uii^ liaiR PsMN^%teda^c€^ 



19S nkutnTf 

and b^Tiowri tail iH «o gtccHcMfly wmm k MM 
the mMtintn, tbftt the king and quoto wevt boA 
deeeiv^dy and net thinking his gri^ for hii li- 
ter's d«ath a suflkietit eauae to produce fwdi a 
distemper, for they kn^ not o( the appearaoce> 
•f tibe ^ost, t^y concluded dial his malady wu 
love, and they thought they bad found oat tho 

ohfe^. 

Before Hamli>i fell into the mebncholy way 
whidt has been related, he had dearly loiFcd a 
fsAt maid called Ophelia, the daughter of Pdo* 
alas, the king's chief counseHor in affaihrs cS 
itate. He had sent her letters and rings^ and 
made many tenders gf-jtf"^ ^^iT»<^» *^ her, and 
^.jiuportilned her with Icnre in hohoiMrable fashion f 
and^she had giiren belief to his vows aiid impof^ 
tunities. But the mdanchoty which he fell into^ 
tittefty had made hltn neglect her, and froni the 
time he jiosceucd^fae^project o£ counterfeiting 
madness, he affected tot treat her with unk^nd^* 
nesS) and a scirt of rudeness ; but sb^, goodiady 
radier than rep^roaeh him with betug jf^lse«'to< 
her, persuaded herself that tt was nothi^ btf^ 
the dtseaae in his mind,' and no settled . unlftnd^ 
veas, which bad made hhn leas dbserram of 'her 
than' taraierly s andaba eoip p ired thcliictthiea^ 



PRtKCS 0» DtnMARK. IVl 

Mi^ 4ifM ttoUt nrfad and excellent atiderfCaiKl-> 
teg, impttired as they were with Ac deep metaii* 
choly that oppressed him, to sweet bells wMch^ 
in themselves are capaMe of most exqui^te mu* ' 
sic, but when jangled otit of tune, or rwdely 
hahdfed, produce only a harsh and unpkasing ' 
s^ttud. . 

Thou^'the rough business which Hamkt kad 
in hand, the revenging of his father's death upon 
hii liiQfderer, did not suit with the playful ^!9t«te 
of courtship, or admit of the society of so idle 
a pttssion as love now seemed to him, yet it oould 
not hinder but that soft thoughts of his Oph^a 
wwM come betvii^eh, and in one of tfiese mo^ 
nsen^ when he thought that his treatment ofr 
this gentle lady had beien utireasonab)y harsh, he 
wrote htit a letter fcdi of wild starts of pasfion, 
and in extravagant terms, sudi as agreed with 
his sAi]^sed madness, but mixed with some gen* 
tte touches of aAection, whi<A could not but 
shew to this honoured hdy, that a deep lore for 
her yet My at Aie bottom of hi$ heart. ' He biwle 
hat to doubt the stars were'fire> and ta doubt 
thsit Ae sun did move, to doubt truth to be » 
liar, biit nev^ to doubt that he loyed ;, with 
more of such extravagant i^te-aaea. 'Hus letfeer 



ISftl RAMLB9V ' 

O^beKa dutif uUj shewed to berjalber» and^tbe* 
oU man thought himself bound to communicate: 
it to the king, and queen, who from that time, 
supposed that thcv true cause of Hamlet's madness * 
was love*^. And the queen wished that the good ' 
beauties of Ophelia might be the happy cause' of ; 
his wildness, for so she hoped that her virtues i 
might happily restore him to his accu^loikied way 
agaiiir to both their honourSf ^ 

But Hamlet'a malady lay deeper than she snp« 
posed, orphan could be so cured- His father's r 
||)ostj which he had seen, stUl daunted histima-. 
gioatian^ and the sacred injunction- to t6vei^> 
Us murder gave him no.re$t liU it was accom^r 
plished* Every hour of delay seemed to hioi »r 
sin, and a, violation of his iatfaer's commands*^, 
Tet how tfi comp^ss^the death of the kings sur** 
rOM^dcd . as he constantly . was with hiS' giiardi* • 
vr^m e;apy carter. (>; if it had becfi!> thepre*: 
sepee of^hie qi^een, . Hanilet's mother, ..who was-r 
generally .with th^ ijingi wa^ a resti^mt upon his. 
p4U^s?» wl^ich he qoiujd not bi^eak . throiigb* > 
l^Bsidps, ihfi yery grcun^ance that the itsurptf ^ 
yias.i^is mpther's Jiusband £lled him wjith soniff 
vqoi^se, aiHl still .blunted the. edge of hifpiws. 
V9Vr4 1JJ^9 »«««a<*pf*«^g ?ielfe^^ 



I^RINCE OF DENMARK. 18SI 

to death was in itself odious and terrible to ft 
disposition naturally so gentle as Hainkt's was* 
His very melancholy, and the dejection of spirits 
he had so long been in, produced an irresolute- 
ness and wavering of purpose, which kept him 
from proceeding to extremities. Moreover, he 
could not help having some scruples upon his 
mind, whether the spirit which he had seen was 
indeed his father, or whether it might not be 
the devil, who he had heard has power to take 
aay form he pleases, and who might have as* 
sumed his father^s shape only to take advantage 
of his weakness and his melancholy^ to drive 
him to the doing of so desperate an act as 'mur- 
der. And he determined that he would have 
more certain grounds to go vpon than a visioO) 
or apparition, which might be a delusion. 

While he was in this irresolute mind, there 
come to the court certain players, in whom 
Hamlet formerly used to take delight, and par^i^ 
ticularly to hear one of them speak a' tragical 
speech, descriUng the death of old Priam, king 
of Troy, with the grief of Hecuba, his queens 
Hamlet welcomed hts old frieilds, the players^ 
and remembering how that speech h^ formerly' 
l^t^n bipi]^fleasarey ^que^d fht playei^ uyte^ 



IX) HAMLET, 

peat it ; which he dki in so Ihrely a mannervsee^ 
ting fordi the cru«l murder of the feeble old 
king, with the destruction of his people and city 
by fire, and the mad grief of the old queen, run- 
ning barefoot up and down the palace, with a 
poor clout upon that head where a crown had 
been, and with nothing but a blanket upon her 
loins, snatched up in haste, where she had worn 
a royal robe : that not only it drew tears from 
all that stood by, who thought they saw the real 
s^ene, so livelily was it i^epresented, but even th% 
player himself ddivered it with a broken voic9 
W^d real tears* This put Hamlet upon thinking,^ 
if that player could so work himself up to passion 
by 3 mere fictitious speech, to weep for one that 

he had never seen, JicaLJiecubt> ^^^' ^^ ^^ 
dead so many huncbred years, how duU was he^ 
who having a real motive and cue for pasnon, a 
real k>ng.an4 a dear father nnirdered, was yet so 
Uule moved, that his revenge tfll this while had 
teemed to have slept in dull and muddy forget- 
fttlness ! And while he meditated tm actors anil 
aeltng, and the powerful efiects which a good* 
play, represented to the life, hasopon the spec^ 
tator, be temembered the instance of some mut^ 
derer> who seeing a murdor on die stuge^ was-b|r 



PRINCfi OV DENMARK. 191 

* 

the mere force of the $cene and resemblance of 
cmiyoAUA^s so affected, that on the spot he 
confessed the crime which he had committed. 
And he determined that these players should 
pkiy something like the murder of his father 
befove his uncle, and he would watch narrowly 
what eflFcct it might have upon him, and from his 
looks he would be able to gather with more cer- 
tainty if he were the murderer or not. To this 
efect he ordered a play to be prepared, to the 
representation of which he invited the king and 
queen. 

The story of the play was of a murder done 
in Vienna upon a duke. The duke^s name was 
Gon2ago, his wife Baptista. The play shewed 
hew one Lucianus, a near relation^ to the doke^ 
poisoned htm in his garden for his estate, and 
hew the murderer in a short time after got the 
love of Gonzago's wife. 

At the representation of this play the king, - 
who did not know the trap whioh was laid for ^ 
him, was present, with his queen and the whole: 
court : Hamlet sitting attentively near him to ' 
observe his looks. The play began with a con* ' 
versation between Gomsago and his wife, in ^ 
whiah the lady made many protestations of love, 



102. ^AMLET, 

%nd of never marrying a second husband, if 
should outlive Gonzago ; wishing she might 
accur&ed if she cvertook a second husband, ai 
adding that no woman ever did so but thot 
wicked women who kill their first husbaB< 
Hamlet observed the king, his unclei chan] 
colour at this expression, and that it was as badj 
as wormwood both to him and to the queen. .| 
But when Lucianu% according to the story, came i 
to poison Gonzago sleeping in the garden, th^ 
strong resemblance which it bore to his own 
wicked act upon the late king, his brother, whom 
hfi had poisojiedin his garden, so struck 4ipon 
t]^e conscience of this. usurper, that be was una* 
ble to sit out the rest of the play»^but on a 8ud<( 
den calling for lights to his chamber, and a&ctinf : 
or partly feeling a. sudden sickness, he^^ abruptly 
left the theatre* The king being departed, the 
play was given over. No^ H^ilet had seen i 
enough to be satisfied that, th^- words of the 
ghost were true, and no illusion^}, and in a fit of* 
gaiety, like that which comes over a man who^ 
suddenly has some great doubt or scruple re- 
solved,, be swore to Horatio that he would take 
tl)e ghost's word for a thousand pounds. Bui. 
before he. could make up his resolution as.to^ 



TRINCE OF DENMARK. 153 

^hat measures, of revenge he sltould take, now 
he was certainly informed that his uncle was his 
father's murderer, he was sent for by the queen, 
his mother, to a private conference in her closet. 
It was by desire of the king that the queen 
sent for Hamlet, that she might signify to her 
son how much his late behaviour had displeased 
them both ; and the king, wishing to know all 
that passed at that conference, and thinking that 
the too partial report of a mother might let slip 
some part of Hamlet's words, which it might 
much import the king to know, Polonius, the 

i t 

old counsellor of state, was ordered to plant him« 
self behind the hangings in the queen's closet, 
where he might unseen hear all that passed. 
This artifice was particularly adapted to the dis- 
position of Polonius, who was a man grown old 
in crooked maxims and policies of state, and de- 
lighted to get at the knowledge of matters in ah 
indirect and,£imxung way. 

Hamlet being come to his mother, she began 
to tax him in the roundest way with his actions 
and behaviour, and she told him that he had 
given grea t offence, to his father ^ meaning the 
king, his uncle, whom, because he had married 
her, she called Hamlet's father. Hamlet, soreFy 



1 §4 H AltETf 

indignant thatshe should gi^e so dear and 
noured a name as father seemed to him^ ton 
wretch who was indeed no better than theoiiif- 
derer of his true father^ with aome sharpness 
replied, *^ Motheri you have much offended my 
faihei*!^ The queen said that was but an idle 
answer. ** As good as the question deserved)*' 
said Hamlet. The queen asked him if he had 
forgotten who it wajs he was speaking to? 
/^ Alas !" replied Hamlet, ** I wish I could forget. 
Tou are the queen^ your husband's brother's 
wife \ and you are my mother : I wish you wete 
not what you are/* "Nay, then,** said the 
queen, " if you shew me so little respect, I will 
set those to you that can speak,*' and was going 
to send the king or Polonius to him. But Ham- 
let would not let her go, now he bad her alone, 
till he had tried if his words could not bring h^r 
to some sense of her wicked life ; and, taking 
her by the wrist, he held her fast, and made her 
sit down. She, afirighted at his earnest manner, 
and fearful lest in his lunacy he should do her a 
mischief, cried out : and a voice was heard from 
behind the bangmgs, *^ Help, help the queen ;" 
which Hamlet hearing, and verily thinking that 
it was the king himself there concealed, he drevr 



IPRIKCE OF DBHMARC. . 195 

Us sword, and stabbed at the phce where ihe 
voice came from, as he would have scabbed a rat 
0iat ran there, till the voice ceaisiiigi he con* 
tluded the person to hpe dead. But whf^ lie 
dragged fortb the bodf , it was not the king, but 
PolonkiSi thej old o&iMs eounsfdior, tbat had 
phnted htilAself as ajB£^b6htnd the bsmgii^i. 
^' Oh me !" exdaimed the queen, ** what a nuh 
aod bkx)dy deed have yoa done !" << A bloody 
deedf mother,'^ replied Baailet, -^^but not so 
had as yoors, who killed a king* and married 
his bcsocher*" Hamkt bad gone too far to leave 
eff heve. He was now in the humour to speak 
i^ifily to his mother, and he pureed it. And 
though the faults of parents are to be tenderly 
treated by thebr chitdren, yet in the case of great 
Crimes the son may have leave to speak even to 
Us own mother with some hasshness, so as that 
hardness is meant for her good^ and to turn her 
hma her widced ways^ and mit ibiie t&t the pur^ 
yoie of upbraiding. And sow this rvsiaom- 
pciiic* did in moving terms represent to the 
^ueen the heinousaess of her oftnce, in being 
m fiMEgetfnl of the dead-Ung^ his isdwr, aesn so 
shoit aq>aee of timeimmany widi ins brother 
wdA separndscmrdef^; smdnraa act^^a£ker the 



I9t HAttLEf) 

Yows which she had sworn to her first htt«batuti 

was enough to make all vows of women sus^ 

peeled, and ail rirtne to be accounted hypocnsyi 

weddinf contracts to be less than gamesters' 

oatlwi and religion to be a mockerjr and a mere 

form of words^ He s»d she had done sudi i 

deed, that the heavens blushed at it> and At 

«nth was sltk, of her because of it. And he 

shewed her two pktufes, the one of the late kiflg» 

her first husband, «id the other of the present 

king, her second husband, and he bade her mark 

the difierence : what a grace was on ^e brow of 

hb father, how like a god he looked ! the curb 

\ of Apolk), the forehead of Jupiter, the eye of 

Mars, and a posture like to Mercury newly 

alighted on some heaVen^kissing hill i this man^ be 

said, had been her huAand. And then he shewed 

her whom she had got in his stead : how like a 

blight or a mildew he looked^ for so he bad 

blasted his whoksome brother. ^ And^tbe queoi 

was sore ashamed that he should so tttm hsff 

eyes inward veptm her souiy which she now sanf 

so black and defDrmed. And he asked her how 

she could continue to live with diis man, and be 

a wife to him, who «hari osuidesed her Jrst huft^ 

bandyandfot nbecsiwii by *is fdbe.means as a 



u 



PRINCE OF DENMARK. 191 

thie f — And just as he spoke, the ghost of 

his father, such as he was in his K£s^cime, and 
such as he had lately seen it, entered die room, 
ahd Hamlet, in great terror, asked what it would 
have ; and the ghost said that it came to remind 
him of the revenge he iiad promised, which 
Hamlet seemed to have forgot : and the ghost 
bade him^ speak to his mother, for the grief and 
terror she was in would else kill her. It then 
vanished, and was seen by none but Hamlet, nei* 
tl^er could he by pointing to where it stood, or 
by any description, make his mother perceive it ; 
who was terribly frighted all this while to hear 
htm conversing, as it seemed to her, with no- 
thing : and she imputed it to the disorder of his 
mind. But Hamlet begged her not to flatter 
her wicked soul in such a manner as to think \ 
that it was his madness, and not her own of- 
fences, which had brought his father's spirit 
again on the earth. And he bade her feel his 
pulse, how temperately it beat, not like a mad« 
man's^. And he begged of her with tears, to con- ' 
fess herself to heaven for what was past, and for 
the future to avoid the company of the king, and 
ht no more as a wife to htm : and when, she 
should shew bersetf a mother 10 him, by re- 

VOL. II. K 



Iff MUitfXT, 



mm Mamkt imm at Iimbm to coipidef 
^Ao it WW diat i& In. vnfoftwnte TOthf^hl 
bad kitted: and wbea he caaie l» sfe tbiU pft wsi» 
BokmiiWy the iatlifr of Arnhdj^Ofbidig^ wbesh 
hr so (Ibtfly knKilf te Aecw apaft the dead bo^ 
aod, hk qiiiits kdog now »/]ittk qoieier, ba 
wept for what lie had dooe. 

Thk HofortttBate death of PoloniiB gave itm* 
king a pfetcaoe tor sendiog Hamlet out of the 
kiogdoiik Hewoold willioglf have pot hiovtO/ 
death, ieanng.hioi a$^ daogeiouft^;, hot he dreaded 
the people, who kyved Haoikt; aod. tbo,q|i«eii». 
who> wid> aU her faalt% doted opoo the prince,.- 
her son. Sq thif subtle king, under; pieteoce of. 
pcovidii^ for Hamlet's safety^ that he might net 
becaUed'to aocoujit fbr Polonius* deSahf caiUK^d 
him to be^ cpavej^d on b^ard a^ship bound les. 
England^ under the caie o£ two €Ourtiers». bjf 
whom hcdispatched'Jett^s to the EngUoh coiurtr 
which at that time- was in subjection and paid 
tribute toDenmarki reccing f<n' special reaseas' 
there prcAeudjid^ that Handet.. should he put to 
death as' soon as beJaoded OttT^i^lish ground* 



\ 



'^mi 



I»RINC£ OV ZnSMMARK. 199 



nAhfi sttspecting^aome treacherfi'm the niglit* 
time secretly got at the letters, and skilfiilly . 
^attii^ hir own nam^, he in the stead of it put in 
the iHunb'i' of thos^ two courtiers^ who hatt the 
charge of- hnhy to be put to death : then sealing , 
up the l^tbers;>he put tb^m into thdr place again. 
Soon' after the ship vfas attacked by pirates^ and 
m seaafigbt conuiibnc^} in the courte of whieh 
jflanblet, ddsirous to shdw his vaAour, with sword 
iii'hxnd singly boarded th^ enem)^'s vessel ; while 
liis own ship, in a cowardly mafiner, bore away, 
snd leaving him to his fafe, the two cooftiers L^ 
matdc the best of their M^ay to England, charged 
^th those letters the sense of which Hanqflet had 
Altered to their owii desenred destruction* 

The pnr^es, who hsKl the prince in their ' 
pcrwer, shewed theitiselves gentle enemies; and 
knbwing Whom they had got prisoner, in the 
lidpe diat the prince might d6 thefld a good turn 
at cotnt in recomp^nce for any favour they might 
shew himr^ ihey set Hamlet on shore at the ^eaf* . 
est port in Den'inark. Fcom that phce Camlet 
wrote to the Idng, acquainting him \^ith ^ , 
Strangfs chance which had brought him back to 
his o#n country, ahd saying that on the nei^ 
day he should presemhiinself before his ma)e%:. . 

K 2 



I^Od HAMLETy 

When he got home, a sad spectacle offered itself 
the first thing to his eyes. 

Thi$ was the funeral of die young and beau^ 
tiful Ophelia, his once dear mistress. The wits 
of this yoting lady had begun to turn ever since 
iier poor father's death. That he should die a 
Tioknt death, and by the hands of the prince 
nvhom she loved, so affected this tender young 
m^id, that in a Kttle time «he grew perfectly dis** 
tracted, and would go about giving flowers away 
to the ladies of the court, and saying that they 
were for her father's burial, singing songs about 
love and about death, and sometimes' such as bad 
no meaning at all, as if she had no memory of 
what had happened to her. There was a wUlow . 
which grew slanting over a brook, and reflected 
its leaves in the stream. To this brook, she 
csim'e one day when she was unwatched, with 
garlands she had been making,' mixed up of 
daisies and nettles, flowers and weeds (ogether, 
and clambering up to hang her garland upon 
the boughs of the willow, a bough broke and pre** 
cipitated this fair young maid, garland, and all 
that she had gathered, into the water, where her 
clothes bore her up for a while, during which 
^e chaunted scraps of old tunesi like one insen^ 



IPRIMCE Off DEimARK. SOI 

fible to her own distress, or as if she were a 
creature natural to that element : but long it 
was not before her garments^ heavy with the 
wet, pulled her in from her melodimis sing- 
ing to a muddy and miserable death* It was 
the funeral of thisf fair maid which her brother 
Laertes was celebrating, the king and que^n 
and whole court being present, when Hamkt 
arrived. He knew not what all this shew im- 
ported, but stood on one side, not indining to 
interrupt the ceremony. He saw the flowers 
'itrewed upon her grave, as the custoniwaski 
maiden bariatsi which the queen herself threw 
in I and as she threw them, the said, << Sweets 
to the sweet I T thought to have decked thy 
bride-bed, sweet maid, not to have strewed thy 
frave. Thou shouldst have been my Hamlet^s 
wife.** Aiid he heard her brother wish that 
violets might spring from her grave : and he saw 
him leap into the grave all frantic with grief, 
and bid the attendants pile mountains of earth 
upon him, that he might be buried with her. 
And Hamlet's love for this fair maid oime back 
to him, and he could not bear that a brother 
should shew so much transport of grief, for he 
thought that he loved Ophelia better than forty 

K 3 



•\ 



«o8 ^^t^f 

thousand broilers. Then ^dx^;i(exU)|g i^i^tq^giliy 
he leaped into the grave wh^e * Laert^ss yfs^j fjl 
as frantic or nvore frantic l;han h^^ ^nd j^'aert^ 
knowing him to be ^iamletj who i^^id j^een iif 
c^use of his father's an4 his lister's 4c^hj grap- 
pk d h:rn by the throat as an eijieiny» till j^e 3t« 
tendants parted them: ^d i^^\at, a£|er t))e 
funeralj excised his hasty act jn i^ro)(^i||g himr 
self into the grave as if to brave Laertes ; but hp 
said he^ould opt beair tfas^t any one shod4 ^cein tp 
outgo him in grief for the death of the fjf^ir Op^ 
lia. Axd for the lii^ tlijss« twjo 9flbl^ fm^ 
«cem^ recsbncil^t 

But out ol das grief ^ni anger c^ hzfittt^ kf 
the death of his father aod Opheliiii th^ jci^g, 
Harrfet^s wicked nncle ^ contriv ed 4i^tr|ic|ji^ i^ 
HaocUet. He set ,<m La^rte;/ u^er cQy^\^ 
peace and reconciliation, to chajfenge Haml^ 
a friendly trial, of skiH at fencing^ wfei^b H^ml^ 
accepting, a day was appoii^ted to try the match* 
At this match all the court was present, and La- 
erteS| by direction of the king» prepared a poi- 
soned weapon. Upon this match gteat wag^J^ 
-were hid by the courtkrs, as both Han^t anil 
Laertes were known to excel at this sword-play $ 
and HanUet taking up the foils chose €aie> pot at 



I'RINCE OF MHMAEK. £03 

iJI &U]^ctti)g Ums tieach^ <^ hf^^es^ or M^g 
careful to .examine Laertes' w«afc»^ who» ia- 
stead of a foil or blunted sword, which the laws 
of (ending. require, made use Gff one with a poinity 
and poisoned. At Ifirst Laeifes did bn^ p^y 
with Hamlet, and sufficed him to ^in s^^oe ad- 
vantagets, which the dtsaembJIiAg kiag magmfied 
and extolled beyoBd measure, drkikiisg, to Ham- 
let's SttocesSj »Bd wageriag rich bets upon the is- 
sue : but after a £ew passes^ Ziaertesgrowiag warm 
made a deadlf thru^ at Hamlet ivi ith bis poisoned 
.weappa, aad ga¥« luwa a inortal blow* Hamlet 
iacenited^ but &ot kaowiag the whole of the 
U^eacher]^, ia the scuAe ejechaoged JiiB own ii* 
aoceat weapea for Laertes' deadljr ^one, aad with 
a thiHtst of La^rte^' own sword ve|»atd Laerics 
home, who was dma justly caught m his own 
treachery.. In thi$ ki$tant the qu^n shrieked o«t 
^t she wi^ poisoned. She had inadvertently 
cbrunk o«it of a bowl which the kisig had prepared 
for H^mkf, in case thatbeif^ warm inienciiig 
be shoAiM call for drink : into this the treacher- 
ous king had infused a deadly poison, to make 
fur« of Hamlet, if Laentt had bikd. He bad 
|oi^ol|ca to warn die queen of the bowl, which 
she daraak ^, and imasadiateiy died, ei<:laimio 

K 4 



9 



204 MAMLET, 

with her last breath that she was poisoned* 
Hamlet, suspecting some treacheryi ordered the 
doors to be shut, while he sought it out. Laertes 
told htm to seek no further, for he was the 
traitor 5 and feeling his life go away with the 
wound which Hamlet had given him, he made 
confession of the treachery he had used, and how 
he had fallen a victim to it : and he tokl Hamlet o( 
the envenomed point, and said that Hamlet had 
not half an hour to lire, for no medidne cotrld 
cure htm ; and begging forgiveness of Hamlet 
he died, with his last words accusing the king oi 
being the contriver of the mischief. When Ham- 
let saw his end draw near^ there being yet some 
venom left upon the swordi he suddenly turned 
upon his false uncle^ and thrust the point of it 
to his heart, fulfilling the promise which he had 
made to his father's spirit, whose injunction was 
now accomplished, and his foul murder revenged 
upon the murderer* Then Hamlet, feeling hia 
breath fail and life departing, turned to his dear 
• friend Horatio, who had been > spectator of this 
fatal tragedy *, and with his dying breath requested 
him that he wotild live to tell his story to the 
world (for Horatio had made a motion as if he 
. would slay himself to accompany the prince in 



PRINCE OF DENMARK. 



d05 



deatb)i and Horatio promised that he would 
make a true rq>ort» as one that was privy to all 
the circumstances. And, thus satisfiedj the noble 
heart of Hamlet cracked : and Horatjo and the 
by-standers with maaf itears commended the 
spirit of their sweet prince to the guardianship c^ 
angels. For Hamlet was a loving and a gentle 
prince, and greatly beloved for his many noble 
and prince- like qualities; and if he had lived^ 
irould ho doubt have proved a most royal and 
complete king to Denmaric. 



■ - - ,, ■*(. *- • *'-\ '> 



i^ 



i 



K t 



f 



TALE THE N;N?TEENTH- 



BraB ANIlO, tbe fkl) mmiot of Veakci had 
VL fair daughter, the gemk Beidifiiima. ^ 

was sought to by divers suitotSi both on accoont 
of her many virtuous quaKties dfid for her rich 
expectations. But among the suitors of her own 
clime and complexion she saw none whom she 
could affect : for this noble lady, who regarded 
the mind more than the features of men, with a 
singularity rather to be admired than imitatedi 
had chosen for the object of her afiectionsaMoori 
a black, whom her father loved, and often intited 
to his house. 

Neither is Desdemona to be altogether con* 
demned for the unsuitableness of the person 
whom she selected for her loven Bating that 
Othello was black, the noble Moor wanted no- 
thing which might recommend hkn to the af* 



|ectioiA8 of t^ greatest }adf« He wai % ^oUktv 
and a brave one } and ;by his eoddiict in bldody 
^ars against the Turks^ had risen to. die rank of 
general in the Venetian serace^ and was esteemt4 
and trusted by the state.. 

He had been a tra^ellery and DeBdcaHona (tff 
16 the m^n^nfff of ladies) lov^d to hear him tell 
the story of his advefiClaes^ which he woBld rail 
through frevn his earliest fec(dlectton i thebaic 
tlesi siegesi and encoiinterii> which he had pwi 
^l-ofighi the perils he had been exposed to by 
lai^^vand by water \ hi&hair-breadlh escape^ wheo 
he has enured a. hreaeb» or marched up to the 
ni40«uh4>f a caaaan \ and how. he. had been taken 
p^isoofT by the insolent enemyy and seid to skive« 
ry: how he demeaned. hknself tn dtat stal^ and 
l^w he es(i»ped} aU these accounts^ added to t^ 
n^rratioia of ttie stranj^ things he had seen in 
£are^ coumriei^ the vast wiMesncsses and fo« 
msmiic cafernsi. die ^Hasries^ she rock^ and 
mountains) whose heads are ta die eksudf > df 
die saivag^.natien% die camubals wlirait? msA^ 
e^ters» and a race of peojde in Airier whose* 
heads da grow bcnoith d»eir lippuMeii^: these 
iraveUers' sleries wotdd so enchain the aftentiM 
of Desdemona^ tha^ if she wei» called off ataiqr 



K 



20S OTHELLO. 

time bf boiuebold aflbit^y she would dispatch 
with all haste that business, and return, and with 
a greedy ear devour Othello's discourse* And 
once he took advantage of a pliant hottr, and 
drew from her a prayer, that he would tdl her 
the wlude story of his life at large, of which she 
had beard so much, but only by parts : to whidi 
he consented, and beguiled her of many a tear, 
when he spoke of some distressful stroke which 
his youth suffered. 

His story being done, she gave- him fo^ his 
pains a world of sighs : shs swore a pretty oath) 
that it was all pasung strai^e, and pitiful, won- 
drous pidful: she wished {she said} she had not 
heard it, yet she wished that heaven had made 
her such a man : and then she thanfked him^ and 
told him, if he had a^ friend who loved her, he 
had on}y! to tedch him how to tell his story, and 
that would WOO: her. Upon thifs hint, delivered 
not with, moze frankness than modesty, accom- 
llfuiied with a certain bewitching prettiness, and 
l^Vlheii which- QtheUo coilld^ not but D^er- 
stand, he spoke morcopenlyof^ his love, and in 
this goMen opportunity gained vthe consent of 
the generous lady Desdembna pt ivately to marry 



.; J. 



OTHELLO, 205 

Neither Othcllo*s colour nor lils fortune were 
such) that it could be hoped Brabantio would 
accept him for a son-in-law. He had left hjs 
daughter free; but he did expect that, as the 
manner of noble Venetian ladies was, she would 
choose ere long a husband of senatorial rank or 
expectations : but in this he was deceired ; Des- 
demona loved the Moor, though he was black, 
and devoted her heart and fortunes to his valiant 
parts and qualities : so w^s her heart subdued to 
an implicit devotion to the man she had selected 
for a husband, that his very colour, which to aR 
but this discerning lady would have proved ar\ 
insurmountable objection, was by her esteemed 
above all the white skins and clear complexions 
of the young Venetian nobility, her suitors. 

Their marriage, which, though privately ca'r^ 
ried, could not long be kept a secret, came to 
the ears of the old man, Brabantio, who appeared 
in a solemn council of the senate, as ah accuser 
of the Moor Othello, who by spells and witchl 
craft (he maintained) had reduced the afTectiohs 
of the fair Desdemona to marry hitn, without 
the consent of her father, and against the obliga- 
tions of hospitality • 

At this juncture of time it happened that the 



?-w 



9 to OTHEIXO. 

State of Venice, bad immediate need of the seF^ 
vices of Othello, news having arrired that the 
Turks with mighty preparation had fitted out a 
fl«et, which was bending its course to Uie island 
of C jprusy with intent to r^in that strong poii: 
from the Venetians, who then held it : in tins 
emergency the state turned its eyes upon Othello, 
whu alone was deemed adequate to conduct th(e 
defence of C]^ru8 against the Turks. So that 
Othello, now sunmioned before the senate, stood 
in their presence at once as a candidate for a 
great state^employment, and as a culprit, charged 
with offences which by the laws of Venice were 
made capital. 

The age and senatorial character of old Bra« 
bantio commanded a most patient hearing from 
that grave assembly^ but the incensed father 
conducted his accusation with so much intemper* 
ance, producing likelihoods and allegations for 
proofs, that, when Othello was called upon for 
his defence, he had only to relate a plain tale of 
the course of bb lore ^ which he did with such an 
artless eloquence, recounting the whole story of 
his wooing, as we have related it aborey an^ 
delivered his speech with so noble a plainness 
(the evidence of truth)j that the duke, who sat as 



if}iic| j^gTf cowJd wt b^Ipi op|iie9fl»i^, Unit a 
{^ 80 told would have won hti d^iU^hter too : 
^nd the $pfll9 s^id cpajijiratiprlsi wbi^ QthdlQ 
\^4 u$ie4 in his courtship, plainly appeared to 
h^ye been no more th^p the honest arts of men 
in lore I and the only witchcraft which he ha4 
Wfd the facility of telling a soft tak to wia 
l> Iskdy*^ car. • 

This statement of Othello wa& cpnfirmed h| 
thf t^titmony of the lady Desdemona herself^ 
who appeared in courts and professing a duty to 
|ier father for life and education, challeoged leave 
of him to profess a yet higher d^ty to her lord 
vind husband, even so much as her mother had 
fhewn in preferring hi^ (Brabantio) above h^r 
father. 

Th.e old senator^ i^n^ble to maintain his plea, 
called the Moor to him with many expressions of 
sorrow, and, as an act of necessity, bestowed 
upon him his daughter, whom, if beliad been free 
to withhold her, (he told him) he would with 
all his heart have kept from him; adding, that 
he wasi glad at soul that he had no other child, 
for this^ behaviour of Desdemopa would have 
taught him to be a tyrant, and bapg clogs on 
them for her desertion. 



212 OTHILLO. 

TUs difficulty fieihg got over, Othello, to 
\rhom custom ha i rendered the hardship^ of i 
military life as natural as food and rest are to 
other men, readily undertook the management of 
the wars in Cyprus : and Desdemona, preferring 
the honour of her lord (though with danger) be- 
fore the Indulgence of those idle delights in 
which new-married people usually waste their 
time, cheerfully consented to his going. 
* No sooner were Othello and his lady landed 
in Cyprus, than news arrived, that a desperate 
tempest had dispersed the Turkish fleet, and 
thus the island was secure from any immediate 
apprehension of an attack. But the war, which 
Othello was to suffer, was now beginning ; and 
the enemies, which malice stirred up against his 
innocent lady, proved in their nature more deadly 
than strangers or infidels. 

Among all the general's friends no one pos- 
sessed the confidence of Othello more entirely 
than Cassio. Michael Cassio was a young sol- 
dier, a Florentine, gay, amorous, and of pleasing 
address, favourite qualities with women; he wa# 
handsome, and eloquent, and exactly such a.per- 
son as might alarm the jealousy of a man ad- 
vanced in years (as Othello in K>me measure 



OTHfeLLC). 2 IS 

Vas}> who had married a young and beautiful 
, wife I but Othetto was as free from jealousy as 
he was noble, and as incapable of suspecting, as 
<^ doing, a base action. He had employed this 
Cassio in his love-aflair with Desdeniona, and 
Cassio had been a sort of go-between in his 
suit : for Othello, ' fearing that himself had not 
those soft parts of conversation which please 
hdies, and finding these qualities in his friend, 
would often depute Cassio to go (as he phrased it) 
a courting for him: such innocent simplicity be- 
^tng^ rather an honour than a blemish to the ch;(^ 
tacter of this valiant Moor. So that no wonder, 
If next to Othello hinlself (but at far distance, 
as beseems a virtuous wife) the gentle Desde* 
mona loved and trusted Cassio. Nor had the 
marriage of this couple made any diiTerence in 
lli«ir bchftviottv to Michael Cassio. He fre« 
quented their house, and his free and rattling 
talk was no unpleasing variety to Othello, who 
liras himself of a more serious temper : for such 
tempers are observed often to delight in their 
cohtrarieSf as a rialief from the oppressive excess 
'of their own : and Desdemona and Casiio would 
«talkand laugh together, as in the days when be 
went a courting for his friend* . : ' 



OfihcfUe ;fa»d b^eiypwmmoi CbHio t# be 
lieisieoaiM) a place of tsmtt, mi asawxt te the 
general's parsosi. Tlii^ (jr^xM^ft giMrie ^r«At 
ciSettoe to Jhigo, an ^Uer 'officKJ) wtio tboi^^ tie 
had ^ better ^daim il^n Q^m^ and i¥«iddjQi£ten 
ridicule Caam^ aa a idiosi^ fit if>o}f f^rjllm Mxmh 
pswiy of ladicsj aiMl one tliat Ic^v no caore of 
the ait of war, or how to aet an amiy in anaf for 
batt}^ tbaa a girU Jago ^ated Casaioj and he 
hated Otbelto^ aa wdl for favaufing Caseio, aft 
for an unjust suspicion, which he had %htly 
lalcM up agaipat OthelJa» dm the Moor waa too 
foBd oi lago'a wife £mUa. Fi^m thaee ima- 
gkaurjr pvovoeatioasi the plottuig i»iod of lago 
cpui^eived a horrid tcbeooe of reirengoj whksh 
abould i^Tolve boih Casrio* the Mopic^ and Jhuh 
demona in one eommon ruio. 

lago waa art(u]> and bad atudiad h«imao na^iaa 
deeply, and he knew that of all the toments 
.which afflict the mnd of num (and far beyond 
bodily tort»fc), the pains of jeatouBy wieee the 
mo>t intolerablef and had the eoiest ating. If be 
could succeed in making OthciUo jealoua. of Gaa- 
aiof he thought it would be an eaqutflke plot of 
tf ve»g4Di %nA mighiL end in the de^ of Caiaio or 
Othelloi or both ; bs fSWd QOt* 



ibfi ^nqrn^'s rfii^^ n^^ 9 ^Tt of holiday m the 
idi^. ^€^7 bodfr gi^Vie th^msel^^ mp <» feast- 
ing md imimg msfiifry. Wmc ^owod i|i abpn* 
di^mOBf dud £1^9 went r0}md to the beakh pf tbe 
blac^ (MneUOf^fid ]»is bdj the fak Desjd^mo^i* 
£^saio h^i ijb(s 4k act^ of tl^ gmti t^t 
niighit^ ^ritli a charge from Otbejlo to ]R$fp tl|e 
^dl^ier^ itma eacjcese in driidung, that fip jl^r^wl 
taight aritf I to fright the inhabitan.t$> or 4.i|)g^^t 
^^msiwith the iiew49iMlcd fi>i:cft* Th^ ^^t 
lagohegw bi$ dis^-lai4 plant of misebiff i w- 
dbsv jCidoiur of Ipyj^yand ](cni« to tii^ gm9rA)> 
\bejeotioexi Gassio to aaafce rather too fte^ wkh 
e tfaji l^ttie (a great £wk in zn officer upo^ giKir4). 
Gasfiio fipr a tiipe resistedf but iie couU not loag 
hoid iput agaiust the honest freedom whidi lago 
f knew how to put oni hut kept vwvdl^rmti^ ghifS 
<a£li3r glass (as lago still pUed him with Arisk and 
; encouraging songs), Mid Casaio's toogw^ rani^yer 
' in praise of the lady Desdemona, whom he ajpin 
aa4 again toasted, affirming diat she was a mof t 
exquisite lady : until at last the enemy «4ioh he 
put into bit R&outh, stole awty his brains $ and 
upon tome prevooadon given bim by a letbiw 



Sid 0TIIM.LO. 

■ 

whom lago had set Ofi, swords were dvawtt, afld 
Montano, a worthy officer, who interfered fo ap- 
pease the dispute, was wounded in the scuffl:. 
The riot now began to be general^ and lago, who 
had set on foot the mischief, was foremost in 
spreading die alarm, causing the castle*belt to be 
rung (as if some dangerous mutiny instead of a 
slight drunken quarrel had arisen) : the alarm- 
bell ringing awakened Othello, who, dressing in 
a hurry, and coming to the scene of action, ques- 
tioned Cassio of the cause. Cassio was new 
- come toiiimself^ the efiect of the wine hsviag a 
' little gone off, but was too much ttihamed to 
reply I and lago, pretending a great reluctaaoe 
to accuse Casno, but as it were foroed into it by 
Otibello, who insisted to know the truths gaT» 
an account of the whole matter (leaving out Ms 
• own share in it, which Cassb was too^ far gone to 
remembciO in such a manner, as while he seemtd 
.to make Cassio's offence less, did indeed make it 
'appear greater than it was* The result was, 
^that Othello, who was a strict obsenrer of disci- 
pline, was compelled to take away Cassio's place 
of lieutenant from him* ^ ^ 

Thus did lago^s first artifice succeed com- 
-fiktely ^, he bad now undermined hi& hated mal> 



OTHELLO/ 217 

wad dxnist him out of his pktee r but a further^ 
use was^iereafter to be made of dte adveoture of 
diis disastrous night. 

CassiO) whom this misfortune had endrely so^ 
beredy now lamented to his seeming friend lagp- 
that he-shoutd hare been such a fool as to trans-v 
form himself into, a beast. He was undone, for 
how could he ask the general for his place again! 
4ie would tell him he was a drunkard. He. de* 
spised himself. lago, affecting to make light of - 
it^ said, that he, or any man living, might be 
drunk upon occasion; it remainibd now to make 
the best of a bad bargain ; the general's wife was « 
now the general, and could do any thipg with 
Othello ; that be were best to apply to the lady > 
' Desdemona to mediate for him with her lord,; ^ 
that slie was of a frank, obliging disposition, and > 
would readily undertake a good oiEce of this ; 
sort, and set Cassio right again in the general' s^ 
favour ; and then this crack in their love would./ 
be made stronger than ever. A good advice of. 
I'4go, if it had not been given for wicked pur- . 
poses, which will after appear. , 

Cassio did as lago advised him, and made sip- 
plication to the lady Desdemona, who was easy , 
to be won over in any honest suit; and she pro* j 



mistd Caatid'tftat theMPMld^belnrMiiaifeorwilir 
her lord, atid radier die tfairrgWe iqprltIrcM»etf' 
This she immediately set about ie soeamest^aai- 
pfettjr a maniiery dnt OU)ielkHi%be ^ita auNtdlf 
oftndedwi&Cassbf.coitld'iiolfmtlieroff* 'Wbait 
he pteaded'd^yv ^nd that it was tbo^somi to ptr« 
dtn such an^oAndei^) 3he wolildiiocflk^ beat<6adc^ 
but iamsted- that it shottid hothe nest iiighvor 
the mortiin^ after^ or the nealt mbrHtng to^diat 
ar fatdie^t'. Then^he shewed hbw ^onkeilt^afid' 
hamUed poor Cassio was^ airf dikt Us offbnce 
did not deserve so sharp st diecka And'wfwn^ 
OdieUo still hting^ back. " Wh« ! my Idrdi* »id- 
she, ** that i should have so much to do to pleid 
for Cassio, Michael Gassio, that canfe a* c()urtiil^ 
for you, and <^emii^eis, wfcen I hava s^^h in 
dispraise of you, hs^s taken yotrtr part 1 I c(ni%)t 
tUis bat ar little thing' to ask of you. Wheti I 
«iean to try youfr love indeed, I shall ask* a 
wtighty matter.** Othelld couM dchynothiftg 
to sudi a pleader, and otily requesttiig that' Difs* 
denioina^ would leave th^ timc> to hlnfi, protntsed'td 
receive Michael Cassio again into fatbur. 

It hftppfened th^t Othellb and lago had ciiti^ed 
iifto the r<k>iw where Desdemdhjl was; just as 
Cassio^ who had-betft imploring her inteftetek^. 



i^ifUriag at the oppoake d^opy ah^Iago, 
who wa» fuU of -aity.said in- r low voice, as i£ to' 
Umftlf^ <<I like'Mt tkat;" OUiello took no 
gfoat notice of' what he aaid;. indeed the con«* 
fevenor which inniediiltely toofe pkoe with his » 
lady put itrout of Ins bead ; but he remembered' 
it- aftekwards. For when- Desdenena^ was gonc^. 
h^i^ a§ iff for mevr satisfaction of his' thoughf, 
qfiestiooed. Othdlo whether Michael Cassio^ 
when; QtheHo. was tcdnr ting his lady, knew of his 
love; To f this the general answering in the af- 
finnalsve^iand'adduigy that he had gone between 
them rerf often during th^ courtship. lago knit* 
ted hii broW| as if he had got fresh light of 
some terrible matter,>and cri^d, <^ Indeed I" This 
brott^t into Othello's mind the words which 
lago had kt fall upoa entering the room and- 
seeing Cassio with Desdemona-) and he began' 
to think, tbere was some meaning in aU this:, 
for be deomed higp to be a just man, and full of 
love and^ honesty, and what in a false knave 
would be tricks,, in him seemed to be the na- 
tural workings of an honest mind^ big with 
something, too great for utterance : and Othello ' 
prayed lago to speak what be knew, and to give 
his worst thottgjbts words. ** And what," said; 



920 OTHBLLO. 

lago, ^< if some thoughts verf vale sbouU: have- 
intruded into my breast, as where is the palace- 
in^to which foul things do not enter ?" Th^ 
Iftgo went on to say, what a pity it were, if any 
trouble should arise to Othello out of his imper- 
fect observations j that it would not be for 
Othello's peace to know his thoughts i that peo- 
ple's good names were not to be taken away for 
slight suspicions ^ and when Othello's curiosity 
was raised almost to distraction with these hbts 
and scattered words, lago, as if in earnest care 
for Othello's peace of mind» besought him to be- 
ware of jealousy : with such art did this villain 
raise suspicions in the unguarded Othello, by the 
rery caution which he pretended to give him 
against suspicion. " I know," said Othello, ** that 
my wife is fair, loves company and feasting, is 
free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well : but 
where virtue is, these qualities are virtuous. I 
must have proof before I think her dishonest." 
Then lago, as if glad that Othello was slow to' 
believe ill of his lady, frankly declared that he 
had no proof, but begged Othello to observe her 
behaviour well, when Cassio was by ; ribt to be 
jealous, nor too secure neither, for that he (lago) 
knew the dispositions of the Italian ladies, his 



country-women, better than Othello could doj 
and that in Venice the wives let heaven sec 
many pranks they dared not shew their husbands^ 
Then he artfully insinuated, that Desdemona de- 
ceived her father in marrying with Othello, and 
carried it so closely, that the poor old man 
thought that witchcraft had been used. Othell6 
was much moved with this argument, which 
brought the matter home to him, for if she had 
deceived her father, why might she not deceive 

her husband ? 

> 

lago begged pardon for having moved him; 
but Othello, assuming an indifFerence, while he 
was really shaken with inward grief at lago's 
words, begged him to go on, which lago did 
with many apologies, as if unwilling to produce 
any thing against Cassio, whom he called his 
friend : he then came strongly to the point, and 
reminded Othello how Desdemona had refused 
many suitable matches of her own clime and 
complexion, and had married him, a Moor, which 
shewed unnatural in her, and proved her to have 
a headstrong will : and when her better judgment 
returned, how probable it was she should fall 
upon comparing Othello with the fine forms and 
dear white complexions of the young Italians her 

VOL. II. i * 



22dv OTHELLO. 

countrymen. He cfoncluded with advising Othelle 
to put off his reconcilement with Cassio a little 
longer, and in the mean while to note with what 
earnestness Desdemona should intercede in his 
behalf) for that much would be seen in that. 
So mischievously did this artful villain lay his 
plots to turn the gentle qualities of this innocent 
lady into her destruction^ and make a net for her 
out of her own goodness to entrap her : first set- 
ting Cassio on to intreat her mediation, and then 
out of that very mediation contriving stratagems 
for her ruin. 

The conference ended with lago's begging 
Othello to account his wife innocent, until he 
had more decisive proof; and Othello promised 
to be patient : but from that moment the de- 
ceived Othello never tasted content of mind. 
Poppy, nor the juice of mandragora, nor all the 
sleeping potions in the world, could ever again 
restore to him that sweet rest, which he had 
enjgyed but yesterday. His occupation sickened 
upon him. He no longer took delight in arms. 
His heart, that used to be roused at the sight of 
troops, and banners, and battle-array, and would 
Stir and leap at the sound of a drum, or a trum- 
pet^ or a neighing war-horscj seemed to have 



©THELLO. 223 

lost all that pride and ambition^ which are a sol- 
dicr*s virtue ; and his military ardour and all his 
old joys forsook him. Sometimes he thought 
his wife honest, and at times he thought her not 
so; sometimes he thought lago just, and at times 
he thought him not so; then he would wish that 
he had never known of it; he was not the worse 
for her loving Cassio, so long as he knew it not : 
torn in pieces with these distracting thoughts, 
he once laid hold on lago's throat, and demanded 
proof of Desuemona*s guilt, or threatened instanf 
death for his halrmg belied her. lago, feigning 
indignation that his honesty should be taken for 
a vice, asked Othello, if he had not $ometime^ 
seen a handkerchief spotted with strawberries in 
his wife's hand. Othello answered, that he had 
given her such a one, and that It was his first 
gift. ** That same handkerchief,'* said lago, 
*^ did I see Michael Cassio this day wipe his face 
with." '* If it be as you say," said Othello, « I 
will not rest till a ^ide revenge swallow them ^ 
up : and first, for a token of your fidelity, I ex- 
pect that Cassio shall be put to death within 
three days ; and for that fair devil [meaning his 
hdjlf F will withdraw and devise some swift 
vidans of death for her.'* 

l2 



\ 



224 QTH^LLO* 

TitfleSi light as air, are to the jealous proofo 
as strong as holy writ. A handkerchief of his 
wife^s seen in Casuo's hand, was motive enough 
to the deluded Othello to pass sentence of death 
upon them both, witliout once enquiring hpv 
Cassio came by it. Desdemotia'had never given 
such a present to Cassio, nor would this constant 
lady have wronged her lord with doing so naughty 
a thing, as giving his presents to anc^erman; 
both Cas»o and Desdemona were innocent o( 
any ofience against Othello: but the wicked 
lago, whose spirits never slept in coamvance 
of villainy, had made his wife (a good, but % 
ireak woman) stealt his handkerchief fipom DeSf 
demona, under pretei^e of getting the work co- 
pied, but in reality to drop it in Gassio's way, 
vhere be mi^t find it, and give a handle to 
Imago's suggestion that it was I>esdcmona's 
present. 

^' OdieUo, soon after meeting his wife, pretended 
tbat be had a head-ach (as he inight indeed 'With 
truth), and desired her to- lend him her band- 
kerchief to hold to hts temples. She did so*^ 
*? Not dbis," said Othelte, " but that handker* 
c^ief I gave you." Desdemona bad it not ^bcrut 
her ^for indeed it was stolen as we have related) # 



OTHELLO. 225 

•'How!" said Othello, " this is a £auU indeed. 
That handkerchief an Egyptism woman ^ve to 
my mother; the woman was a witch, and could 
read people^s thoughts ; ^e told my mother^ 
while she kept it, it would make her amiablC) 
and my father would lore her ; but, if she lost 
it> or gave it away,. my father's fancy would turn, 
and he would lothe her as much as he had loved 
her. She dying gave it me, and b^ide me, if I 
ei^r married, to ^ve it to my wife. I did so^ 
talce heed of it. Make it a darling as predous 
as your eye.^' " Is. it possible ?" said the frighted 
kdy. *^ 'Tis true :'' continued Othelb ; *^ it is 
a magicil handkerehief 4 a sybU that bad lived 
i» the wc»id two hundred years, in a fit of pro- 
f^etic f ury wof ked it ; the silk-wori3^ that fur- 
liiyicld the silk were hallowed, and it. was dyed 
•in mummy of maidens' hearts conserved." Des* 
demona, hearing the Wondrous virtues of tht 
handkerchief, was ready to die with fear,. for she 
plainly 'perceived she had lost it, and with it^ sh€ 
feared^ the affections of her husband. Thea 
PtheUo sorted, and looked aS; if he were g^oi^ 
to do vsome rash thing, and still he demanded 
the handkerchief, which when she couM net 
piOdnop^ 3he tried to. dbrert her hu^b^nd from 

l3 



2f6 OTKtLLO. 

too seriotts thoughts^ and cheerfully told hinfi 
she saw all his talk about die handkerchief was 
only to put her off from her suit about Michael 
Cassio, whom she went on to praise (as lago 
had foretold), till Othelk) in perfect di^racticm 
burst out of the room, and then Desdemons^ 
though unwillingly, began to suspect her lord 
was jealous. 

What cause she could have ministered to him 
she knew not, and then she accused herself for 
accusing the noble OtheUo, and thou^t to be 
sure that some untoward news irom Vettice, (x 
some state troubles, had puddkd bis spirits, and 
made his temper not so sweet as formerly. And' 
she said, '* Men are not gods, and we must not 
look for that observance from them when they 
are married, which they shew us on the bridal 
day/' And she beshrewed herself for so un- 
kindly judging of his unkindness. 

Again Othello and Desdemona met, and he 
accused her more plainly of being unfaithful, and 
of loving another man, but he did not name 
whom : and Othello wept, and Desdemona said, 
" Alas I the heavy day ! why do you weep ?** 
And Othello told her, he could have borne all 
sorts of evils with fortitude--*poverty, and disr 



OTHELLO. ^ S2T 

case, and disgrafce ; but her infidelity had broken 
his heart : and he called her a weed, that looked 
80 fair, and smelled so sweet, that the sense ached 
at it; and wished she had never been born. 
And when he had left 'her, this innocent lady 
was so stupified with wonder at her lord's untrue 
suspicion of her, that a weight-like sleep cam e 
over her, and she only desired h^f attendant to 
make her bed, and to lay her wedding-sheets 
upon it, saying, that when people teach their 
babes, they do it by gentle means and easy tasks, 
and Othello might have chid her so ; for in good 
faith 8l)C was but a child when ^e was chidden. 
And this was all the complaint whicb this gentle 
hdy made. 

Desdemona being retired to bed expecting her 
lord would follow her, soon fell into a slumber 
the eflFect of her troubled spirits, when Othello 
entered the chaniber, full of the black purpose 
which he had meditated of putting has lady to 
death. But when he saw her asleep, he thought 
he would not shed her blood, nor scar that white 
skin of hers, more white than alabaster. But he^ 
was resolved she should die; else (as he said) 
she would live to betray more men, as she had 

1.4 



228 OTHELLO. 

done him. ' Then be kissed her for the last time 
(as he said)^.and that kiss was so sweet, he must 
needs kiss her again : and he wept, but he said 
they were cruel tears. 

Desdemona was awakened with his kisses, and 
she looked upon Othello, and she saw him gnaw 
his under-lip, and roll his eyes, and she knew he 
was always fa|al when he looked so: and he 
bade her prepare for death, and to say her pray- 
ers, for he would not kill her soul. And this 
i^inocent wife, as she lay at his mercy, begged 
for compassipn, and to know her fault, and then 
he named Cassio, and the handkerchief, which 
(he said) she had given him ; and as theguilt* 
less lady was proceeding to clear herself, he 
suddenly would hear no more, but covering 
her up in the bed-clothes> stifled her till she 
died. 

. In this instant of time was brought iiito the 
house Cassio, wounded and bleeding, whom lago 
had set one of his creatures on to assassinate ; but 
die felkiw not succeedSng in his attempt to kill 
Cassio (whom he wounded, but not mortally), 
and being himself killed by lago* to prevent dis* 
iovtry, in his pockets were found certain letters. 



OTHBLLO. 229 

wbtch ma£e.the g«3t of lagOi and the iniukseaee 
(tf Gassioi clear beyond all doubt; and Caasio 
now came to beg pardon of Othello, aed to aok 
wherein he had offei^ed hbaj that he had em-^ 
ployed lago to. murder him. 

This discovery was as a thundcrstrcdce to> 
Othello^ who now plainly saw that he was no* 
better than a murderer, and that his wife (poor 
innocent lady) had been ever faithful to him ;i 
the extreme anguish of which discovery making^ 
life insupportable, he fell upon his sword, and 
throwing himself upon the body of his dear in* 
jured lady, expired. 

These rash acts raised much passion of horror 
and amazement in the by- stand ers, for Othello- 
had borne a fair reputation, and dll he was* 
wrought upon by the arts of a villain, which his 
own noble nature never gave him leave to sus* 
pect, he was a loving and a doting husband. 
He had loved, not wisely, but too well; and 
his manly eyes (when he learned his mistake), 
though not used to weep on every small occa- 
sion, dropt tears as fast as the Arabian trees 
their gum. And when he was dead all his. 
former merits and his valiant acts were remcm>- 

1.5 



\ 



230 OTHBLLO. 

bered. Nothing now remained for his succes* 
sor, but to put the utmost censure of the law 
in force against lago, who was executed widi 
strict tortures ; and to send word to the state of 
Venice of the lameatabk death of their rci« 
nowned geaerai. 



TALE THE TW^f TIETH. 



PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 

X ERIGLES, prince of Tyre, became a votutN 
tary exile from his dominions^ to avert the dread- 
ful calamities which Antiocbus, the wicked enm 
peror of Greece, threatened to bring upon hk 
subjects and city of Tyre, in revenge for a dis^ 
covery which the prince had made of a shocking 
deed which the emperor had done in secret s as 
commonly it proyes dangerous to pry mto thfe 
hidden crimes of great ones. Leaving the go^ 
vernment of his people in the haiids of his abfe 
and honest mintster, Hellicanus, Pericles set sail 
from Tyre, thinking to absent hioiself till the 
wrath of Antiodius> who was mightyi should be 
appeased. 

The first place which the prince directed his 
course to was Tharsus, and hearing that the city 
ef Th{^r9ut was at that tifBc suffering undeff -at 



232 PERICLBSi 



terere fainiiir» he took with hun store of pro- 
visions for its relief. On his arrival he found 
the city itduced to the ttanosr dtstrcsi ; and, he 
coming like a messenger from heaven wi^ this 
unhoped-for succour, Cleon, the governor o£ 
Tharsus, welcomed him with boundless thanks* 
Pericles had not been here many days, before 
letters came from bis faithful minister) warning 
him that it was not safe for him to stay at Thar- 
aus, for Aatiochus knew of bis abode, and by 
sfecret eeais^ries dispatched for that purpose 
•ought his^ li£s. Upon receipt of these letteM 
Pericles put out to sea again, amidst Hie blessings 
4md prayers of a whole people who had been fed 
4>y his bounty. 

He had ni>t sailed &-, when his ship was ovei- 
l^ken -by a dreadful storm, and every lyian on 
boaid perished except Perides, who was cast by 
the sea-waves naked oa «i imknovna shore, 
where he hjtd not wandered long before he met 
with soise poor fisbermfcn, who invited him to 
liieir homes, giving him do&CB and proviuons* 
The fishermen told Pericles the name of their 
COimtry was Petitapofis, and that their king, was 
£ymotiides, commonly called Ae good Symo* 
nidesi bccauie of his peaoeaWe reign and £Ood 



^ii^ 



PRINCB OF TTEE. 23^ 

gmemmtAt. Ftom them he i^fleafiied that 
king Symonides had a fair young daughlber^ and 
iiM che following day was her birthrday» wbaH 
a grand tournament was to be held at courty, 
many jprinoes and knights being come from att 
pails'i'to try thek skill in arm* for the love of 
Thatsa, this fair princess* WhUe the prince was 
Sstenkig to this aceoimt, and secretly lamenting. 
the loss of his good armour> which disabled him 
from makikig one among these valiant knight^ 
another fisherman btongbtjn^^ a complete suit of 
•ftmur Aat he had !t>keii out of the sea witk 
his fishingrtiet) which profired ,tp be the very 
sarmoiftT he had lost. Whep Pericks bel^d his^^ 
own armour^ be said) ^^ Thanks, Fortune > after 
all my crosses you give me somewhat to repair 
myself. This armour was bequeathed to me by 
my dead father, for whose dear Sake I have so 
loved it» that whithersoever I went I still have 
keft it by me, and the rough sea ^^ parted i^ 
ftom me, having no^ become calaiy bath given 
it b^ick again, for which I thank i% fbr^ since I 
have my father's gift again, J thaikjc my ship* 
wreck no misfortune/' 

The next day Pericles^ (Aad in his brave fa^ 
^r's acmouifi regiir^ lo libe jk>]M1 a>urt of 



M 



234 ^ERfCtfiS, ' 

Symoai^ft} %faef€ he performed wonders at die 
tournament, ▼aaquiahing with eaee aU the btave 
knight» and Taliant princes who contended with 
him in arms for the h<mOttr of Thaisa's love: 
When brave watriors contended at coiirt«^o«rBfti 
ments for the love of king^s daughters, if out 
proved sole victor over all the rest, it was usual 
{or the great lady for whose sake these deeds cl 
valour were undertaken to bestow att her ro^ 
spect upon the conqueror, and Thaisa did not 
depart from this custom^ for she presently dis- 
missed all the princes and kn^hts whom Peridcs 
had vanquished, and cUsttnguished him by bet 
especial favour and regard, crowning him whk 
the wreath of victory, as king of that day's hap« 
piness ; and Pericles became a most passionate 
lover of this beauteous priueess from the first 
moment he beheld her. 

The good Symonides so well approved of the 
valour and noble qualities of Pericles, who was 
kideed a most accomplished gentleman^ and well 
learned in all excellent arts, that though he knew 
not the rank of this royal stranger (for Pericl^ 
for fear of Antiochus gave out that he was a 
private gentleman of Tyre), yet did not Syrno* 
disdaia to accept of the valiant unknown 



MtlWCE OF TTllE. «S5 

for a B0ti-ifi4aw, wh^ he percrir^ his daugh* 
ter's affections were firmly fixed upon him* 

Pericles had not been many nxnilhs married 
to Thaisa^ before he received intetligence that 
Ms enemy Antiochus was dead; and that his 
subjects of TyrC} impatient of hia long absence^ 
direatened to rerolt) and talked of placmg Hel- 
Kcanus upon his vacant throne. This news came 
from Hellicanus himself, who being a loyal sub- 
ject to his royal master, would not accept of the 
high dignity ofiered him, but sent to let Pericles 
know their intentions^ that he might return 
home and resume bis lawful right. It was mat« 
ter of great surprise and joy to SymOnides, to 
find that his son-in-hw (the obscure knight) was 
the renowned prince of Tyre^ yet again he re- 
gretted that he was not the private gentleman he 
supposed him to be, seeing that he must now 
part both with this admired son-in-law, and his 
beloved daughter, whom he feared to trust to 
the perils of the sea, because Thaisa was with 
child; and Pericles himself wished her to remain 
with her father till after her confinement, but 
the poor lady so earnestly desired to go with her 
husband, that at last they consented, hoping she 
wQtfld xeach Tyre before she was brought to-bed. 



t$§ tfi&fCL£% 

Tt)t s6t If as oo friendly eWnMnt to unhappy 
Pericl^9^ for long before they reached Tyre aii^ 
^th^.i^re^dful tempest aro$e> whidi ao terrified 
7baisa that (he Vizs taken ill^ a&d in a short 
space tf time her nurse Lychorida came to Pe<> 
^icles with a little child in her armsy to tell thf 
prince the sad tidings that his wife died the mo<^ 
loent her little babe was born, j^ held the 
Jbabe towards its father^ saying, '^ Here is a thing 
loo young for such a place* This is the child oC 
your dead queen." No tongue eaa tell the 
dreadful sofiSprings of Pericles ^en hie heard hi» 
wife was dead; As soon as he cotUd speak, he 
aaid) '^ O you gods, why do you, make us love 
your goodly gifts^ and then mastch those gifts 
away ?" " Patience, good sir/' said Lychorida, 
^ here is all that is left alive of our dead queen, 
a little daughter, and far your child's sake be 
aiiore manly. Patience, good sir, even for th^ 
sake ©f this precious charge." Pericles took the 
new-born infant in his arms, and he said to the 
filtle babe, ** Now may your life be mild, for a 
more blusterous birth had never babe ! May 
your condition be nuld and gentle, for you. have 
had the rudest wdcome that ever prince's child 
iUd meet wida I May that which follotws he 



PRINCE OF TYRE. 237 

happy, for you have had as chiding a nativity as 
fire, air, water, earth, and heaven, could make, 
to herald you from the womb ! Even at , the 
first, your loss," meaning in the death of her 
mother,' *^ is more than all the joys which you 
shall find upon this earth, to which you are come 
z new visitor, shall be able to recompence." 

The storm still continuing to rage furiously, 
and the sailors having a superstition that while 
^ dead body remained in . the ship the storm 
would never cease, they came to Pericles to de- 
mand that his queen should be thrown over- 
board 'f and they said, ^' What courage, sir ? God 
aavc you !'* ** Courage «nough,V said the sor- 
rowing prince: " I do not fear the storm; it has 
done to me its worst; yet for the love of this 
poor infant, this fresh aew sea-farer, I wish the 
storm was over." " Sir," said the sailors, " your 
queen must overboard. The sea works high, 
the wind is . loud, and the storm will not abate 
till the ship be cleared of the dead." Though 
Periclds knew how weak and unfounded this 
supenii^on was, yet he patiently submitted, sav- 
ing, " As you think meet. Thin she must ovcr- 
bcmrd, most teetched queen!" And now this 



238 P£RICLES, 

unhappy prince went to take a last view of hig 
dear wife, and as he Idbked on his Thaisa, he 
said, ** A terrible child-bed hast thou had, mj 
dear j no light, no fire, the unfriendly elenaents 
forgot thee utterly, nor have I time to bring thee 
hallowed to thy grave, but must cast thee scarcely 
coffined into the sea, where for a monument 
upon thy bones the bumming waters must over- 
whelm thy corpse, lying virith simple shells. O 
Lychorida, bid Nestor bring me spices, ink, and 
paper, my casket and my jewels, and bid Nican- 
dor bring me the satin coffin. Lay the babe 
upon the pillow, and go about this suddenly! 
Lychorida, while I say a priestly farewel to mj 
Thaisa." 

They brought Pericles a large diest, in which 
(vnrapt in a satin shroud) he placed his queen^ 
and sweet-smelling spices he strewed over her^ 
and beside her he placed rich jewels^ and a 
written paper, telling who she was, and prayings 
if haply any one should find the cl^ which 
coutahied the body of his wife, they would give 
her burial : and then wilh his own hands he cast 
the chest into the sea. When the storm waa» 
over, Periclea ordered the sailonito make £or 



MUNCfi OP fYRE. 239 

Thyrsus. ** For/' said Pericks, " the babe can- 
not hold out till we come to Tyre. At Tharsus 
I will leave it at careful nursing/' 

After that tempestuous night when Thaisa 
was thrown into the sea, and while it was yet 
early morning, as Cerimon^ a worthy gentleman 
of Ephesus, and a most skilful physician, was 
Uandin^ by the sea-side, his servants brought to 
him a chest, which they said tlie sea-waves had 
thrown on the land^ " I never saw," said one 
of them, ^* so huge a billow as cast it on our 
shore." Ccrimon ordered the chest to be con* 
veyed to his own house, and when it was opened 
he beheld with wonder the body of a young and 
lovely lady ; and the sweet^smelling spices, and 
rich casket of jewels, made him conclude it was 
some great person who was thus strangely en- 
tombed: searching further, he discovered a paper 
from which he learned that the corpse which 
lay as dead before him had been a queen, and 
wtfe to Pericles, prince of Tyre ; and much ad* 
miring at the strangeness of that accident, and 
more pitying the husband who had lost thb 
sweet lady, he said, ** If you ate living, Pericles, 
you have a heart that even cracks with woe.'f 
Then observin^ttentively Tbaisa's face^ he saw 



240 PERICLES, 

how fresh and unlike death her looks were ; and 
he saidy " They werc^too hasty thait threw you 
into the sea :" for he did not believe her to be 
dead. He ordered a fire to be made, and pro- 
per cordials to be brought, and soft music to be 
played, which might help to calm her amazed 
spirits if she should revive ; and he said to thqse 
who crowded round her, wondering at what they 
saw, " I pray you, gentlemen, give her air ; this 
queen will live ; she has not been entranced 
above five hours; and see, she begins to blow 
into life again ; she is alive ; behold, her eyelids 
move; this fair creature will live to make we 
weep to hear her fate.** Thaisa had never died| 
but after the birth of her little baby had fallen 
into a deep swoon, which made ail that saw 
her jconclude her to be dead ; and now by the 
care of this kind gentlemaa $k« once more re- 
vived to light and life; and opening her eyes, 
she said, •« Where am I? Where is my lord i 
What world is this ?*' By gentle degrees Ceri- 
mon let her understand what had befallen her • 
and when he thought she was enough recovered 
to bear the sight, he shewed her the paper writ- 
ten by her hudnnd, and the jewels ; and she 
looked oo the paper, and said, « It is ray lord's 



PRINCa OV TTRB. 241 

writing. That I was shipped at sea, Iwell re* 
member, but whether there delivered of my 
babe, by the holy gods I cannot rightly say; 
but since my wedded lord I never shall see again^. 
I will put on a vestal livery, and never more 
have joy." " Madam," said Cerimon, " if you 
purpose as you speak, the temple of Diana is not 
far distant from hence, there you may abide as 
a vestal. Morever, if you please, a niece of, 
mine shall there attend you." This proposal 
was accepted with thanks by Thaisa ; and when 
4ie was perfectly recovered, Cerimon placed her 
in the temple of Diana, where she became a 
vestal or priestess of that goddess, and passed her 
days in sorrowing for her husband's supposed 
loss, and in the most devout exercises of those 
times. 

Pericles carried his young daughter (whom he 
named Marina, because she was born at sea) to 
Tharsus, intending to leave her with Cleon, the 
governor of that city, and his wife Dionysia, 
thinking, for the good he had done to them at 
the time of their famine, they would be kind to 
his little motherless daughter. When Gleon saw 
prince Pericles, and heard of the great loss which 
had befallen hioa, he said, '^ O your sweet queen^ 



242 PSILICL'es, 

Aiat it had pleased heaVen you could have 
brought her hither to have blessed my eyes with 
die sight of her !** Pericles replied, ** We must 
obey the powers above us. Should I rage and 
roar as the sea does in which my Thaisa lies, yet 
the end must be as it is. My gentle babe, Ma- 
rina here, I must charge your charity with her. 
I leave her the infant of your care, beseechmg 
you to give her princely training." And then 
turning to Cleon's wife, Dibnysia, he said, 
** Good madam, make me blessed in your care in 
bringing up my child :" and she answered, " 1 
have a child myself who shall not be more dear 
to my respect than yours, my lord ;*' and Cleon 
made the like promise, saying, '* Your noble 
services, prince Pericles, in feeding my whole 
people with your corn (for which in their pray- 
ers they daily remember you) must in your child 
be thought on. If I should neglect your child, 
my whole people that were by you relieved 
would force me to my duty; but if to that I need 
a spur, the gods revenge it on me and mine to 
the end of generation." Pericles being thus 
assured that his child would be carefully at- 
tended to, left her to the protection of CleoR 
and his wife Dionysia, and with her he left the 



JRINCE OT TYRE. 243 

nurse Lychorida. When he went away, the 
little Marina knew not her loss, biit Lychorida 
wept sadly at parting with her royal master. 
*^ O, no tears, Lychorida," said Pericles ; ** no 
tears; look to your little mistress, on whose grace 
you may depend hereafter." 

Pericles arrived in safety at Tyre, and was 
once more settled in the quiet possession of his 
throne, while his woeful queen, whom he thought 
dead, remained at Ephesus. Her little babe Ma- 
rina, whom this hapless mother had never seen, 
was brought up by Cleon in a manner suitable to 
her high birth. He gave her the most careful 
education, so that by the time Marina attained 
the age of fourteen years, the most deeply- 
learned men were not more studied in the learn- 
ing of those times than was Marina. She sung 
like one immortal, and danced as goddess-like, 
and with her needle she was so skilful that she 
seemed to compose nature*s own shapes, in birds, 
fruits, or flowers, the natural roses being scarcely 
more like to each other than they were to Ma- 
rina's silken flowers. But when she had gained 
from education all these graces, which made her 
the general wonder, Dionysia, the wife of Cleon, 
became her mortal enemy from jealousy, by 



244 PERICLES, • 

reason that her owti daughter, from the slowness 
df her mind, was not able to attain to that per- 
fection wherein Marina excelled: and finding 
that all praise was bestowed on Marina, whilst 
her daughter, who was of the same age and had 
been educated with the same care as Marina, . 
though not with the same success, was in com- 
parison disregarded, .she formed a project to re- 
move Marina out of the way, vainly imagining 
that her untoward daughter would be more re- 
spected when Marina was no more seen. To 
encompass this she employed a man to murder 
Marina, and she well timed her wicked design, 
when Lychorida, the faithful nurse, had just 
died. Dionysia was discoursing with the man 
she had commanded to commit this murder, 
when the young Marina was weeping over the 
dead Lychorida. Leoline, the man she employed 
to do this bad deed, though be was a very 
widced man, could hardly be persuaded to un- 
dertake it, so had Marina won all hearts to love 
her. He said, ** She is a goodly creature !*' 
** The fitter then the gods should have her,*^ 
replied her merciless enemy: "here she comes 
weeping for the death of her nurse Lychorida : 
are you resolved to obey me ?** LeoKne, fearing 



PRINO^ Q» 7YRB. MS 

80|. m that one sboct sentcncf ^ was the maMbfcM 
MaaBkiA.doameA taan ttntinMly ies^ Sha Htm. 
tpp tQ vtd w i, witb 3 basket of ftdwers ki Vat 
hmd, whidi sle satid she wvoUb 4aiiy sVreV 
over the gragme of gjiod LfdiorMi. Ttiir povpkf 
riolct andi di« mac^okb sliouddb as a< carpet hanff 
lipoB] hec gcavC) whfie snaimer days- diit kM(. 
<^' AIoH fior mdi*' sUe saU^ *^ poor imhoppf maid^ 
bont mz tempest wheti' mj motfier died;^ Tbis' 
worid to* me> is^ libe alasthig stopiti, hurrfihg me 
fVont my friends" ^ HVti^ now, Marina,'^ sat# 
die disBenbliBg Dumysta^ *^ db« yow weep alone ^ 
How does it chaaice my daugh^i? b not with' 
yott ? Do not sorrow for ILjcharii^ you Have 
a nurse in me. Your beauty is- quite^ changedf^ 
with this unjMfofitable woe. Come, give nie your 
flbwers^ the sea-air will spoil ^em^ afnd waik 
witk Leoline: the air is fihe^ and will enli^^^i 
you. Come^ LeoUn^, take her by the arfn> and 
wallc with her." " N6, madam>'* saidT Mfarina> 
•* I pray you^ lot me not deprive you of your 
servant:" for Leojtine was-' one of. DionyskV 
attendants << Come, come/' said' this artftil' wo<- 
man^ who wished for a pretenee to- leave' her 

VOL. II. M 



2i6 P£RICLES« 

llone With Leoline, '^ I love the prince, your 
father, and I lore you. We every day expect 
your father here ; and when he comes, and finds 
you so changed by grief from tl^ paragon of 
beauty we reported you, he will think we have 
taken no care of you. Go, I pray you, walk, 
and be cheerful once again. Be careful of that 
excellent complexion, whidi stole the hearts, ofi 
pld and young," Marina, being thus impor-' 
tunol, said, ** WeU, I will go, but yet I have no! 
desire to it." As Diony^ia walked away, she- 
said to LeoUnc, " Rementber what I have said T 
•—shocking words, for their meaning was that he 
should remember to kill Marina. ' 

Marina looked towards the sea, her birth- 
place, and said, " Is the wind westerly that 
blows?" " South-west," replied Leoline. *'Whcn 
I was born the wind was north," said she: and 
then the storm and tempest, and all her father's 
sorrows, and her mother's death, came full into 
her mind ; and she said, <* My father, as Lycho- 
rida told nie, did never fear, but cried, Courage^ 
good seameity to the sailors, galling his princely 
hands with the ropes, and clasping to the mast, 
he endured a sea that almost split the deck." 



PRINCE OF TTRE. 247 

« When was tliis ?'* said Lepline. « When I 
was born," replied Marina : " never were ws^ves 
nor w:ind more violent.'* And then she de- 
scribed the ^torm, the action of the sailors, the 
boatswain's whistle, and the loud call of the 
master, ** Which," said she, trebled the con- 
fosion of the ship." Lychorida had so often re- 
counted to Marina the story of her hapless birth, 
that these things seemed ever present to her 
imagination. But here Leoline interrupted her 
with desiring her to say her prayers. "What 
mean you?" said Marina, who beg^ to fear, she 
knew not why. " If you require a little space 
for prayer, I grant it," said Leoline; but be not 
tedious ; the gods are quick of ^ar, and I am 
sworn to do my work in haste." " Will yoa^ 
kill me ?" said Marina : " alas ! why ?" " To 
satisfy my lady," replied Leoline. " Why would 
she have me killed?" said Marina; " now, as I 
can reihember, I never hurt her in all my life. 
I never spake bad word, nor did any ill turn to 
any living creature. Believe me now, I never 
kiUed a mouse, nor hurt a fly. I trod upon a 
worm once against my will, but I wept for it. 
How have I offended ?" The n^urderer replied, 

m2 



^ My commissji^ i| npf to r^»n 9^ tfec a#r4 
but; 4q it-" An4 he ^;w just goj^g to Hijl b^^i 
when c^Tttzin pjii^a^tes hap[>ei^e4 to 1^4 ^. ^^.^ 
ti^CKy mpjoient, whp ^pmg Mari^, bq^c hfSii; <?^ 
s^$ 9 priz^ tp tl^ir ship. 

The pira^te who \^ ig^e Jferioa his p^igf 
c^ie4^h^r to Mct^K^,^ ^n^ sol.4 hc^ fpr ^ ^^^ 
Yi.et^, tl^PVah ii^ tK?t hwiible ?p?*4!!llP^ MmI% 
69Q9 ^pc;^Ra^ K^o^;^ thxpiftg^ou^ tl^/5 ^^9^ citj^ 
o^ Met^w fpr h£^ b^^ty ^ hex vift^^i ^, 
the person tp vrhpn?, sh^e w^s $9)^ bfic^g ?fft^ 
•9: the, xppn^Yjhfi ^Tue^ fja? I^ig^^ Shg, ^a^h^ 
raysic, <ianciigt a^iwj^ fine n^fdle-wprl^s, ;il^ tJ^ 
X99f^^ sh^ got by Ker; ^feM^FS s][>f gavft to h^- 
il^Stcr »n4 rpis^re;^ ^ w4. ^^9 f¥»? o| l>er Ig^^ft? 
't^ a^ her great ind^stry can^ tq th^ kj^^^in 
l^^c of Ly$ipiachttp, a ypH8g il5?Wem^% w^ft 
^^. the gpvernor, o| %t^inf^. ancl^ tF¥»#«t 
\xe^.t ^m§ptf IQ. th(e bojii^ wl\er<5i Mv»a,4^eJSi^ 
tp. see this, par^igpft ofi ^^criitgw:^ ^^g^, ^H tfeft 
city iM;aised «a highly* Ito CPOvgR$gfjoft 4fr-. 
lighted tywofc^lm? l^yoM m^^xe, foi^ ^l^QUj^l^, 
h^ had h^^d muph of this, %4n(i»r«4 mfti4p% 4W!.> 
did not; ex;pQct to, fi;?d h«r SQ s^o^bfe a^ ladjb SA^ 
virtupw, and «o. gpod^ as hq petteiiwsd/flfariiiai, tp 



FRiN'Gb OF TYRE. 24^ 

be \ and li* feft het^ sayings he hope<i she #o«ltl 
fyersevere in her nidtiistrious and virtuous course, 
^nd that if ev^ ^e he^rd from htm again it 
should he for her g66d. Lysimachus thought 
Mmfia stKh a Ikiifacle for sense, fine breeding, 
i^fid excell^t qualities, hs well as for beauty and 
All Outward gt^C^Sf that he wished to marty her, 
^tid notwithsta^idkig htt humble situation, he 
hoped to find that her birth Was noble ; but ever 
what th^y «^ked her jpareHtage, she would sit 
BtiU Ukd wet^ 

Meatitimvi u Thsrsus^ Ledline, fearing the 
Mger of DioDnfsia, told her he Kad killed Marina; 
ftn4 that wteked wt»mati pLtc dut that she waa 
dend, ^fil fA«d^ a p^aetided fii^«fral fofr her, and 
erected « ftateiy xftonimii^t; and shortly afte^ 
Pefides, ^ecompafiied by his loyal ttiitiisyter Mel^ 
licaiitt%, luade a voyage firom Tyre to Thar siis, on 
|mr{K>9t to «te his daughter, intending to tAt 
her home with l^im'; and, he nev^r having behekl 
bt^ since he kft 4ier an infant in the care of 
OkecAi and Ms ^e, ho^ did (his good prinot t^ 
}eike Ut the t}i<Mights of see^ this dear chiM df 
tii^ hwried q^eeii i txit wlien they told htfti H^ 
tinn wws ^lead, %nA Ai&wei the montNmenrt they 



250 PERICLE*^ 

had erected for her, great was the mistery thii 
most wretched father enduredj and not being 
able to bear the sight of that country where his 
last hope and only memory of his dear Thaisa 
was entombed, he took shipj and hastily departed 
from Tharsus. From the day he entered the 
ship a dull and heavy melancholy seized hink 
He never spoke, and seemed totally insensible to 
every thing around him. 

Sailing from Tharsus to Tyre, the ship in its 
course passed by Metaline, where Marina dwelt s 
the governor of which place, Lysimachus, ob- 
serving this royal vessel from the shore, and 
desirous of knowing who was on board, went in 
a barge to the side of the ship, to satisfy his cu« 
riosity. Hellicanus received him very €Ourte«> 
ously, and told him that the ship came from 
TyrC; and that they were conducting thithev 
Pericles, their prince ; ** A man,, sir," said Hel- 
licanus, '^ who has not spoken to any one these 
three months^ nor taken any sustenance, but just 
to prolong his grief; it would be tedious to re- 
peat the whole ground of his distemper, but the 
xnain springs from the loss of a beloved daughter 
and a wi£e»' Lysimachus begged to see tbk 



PRINCE OF TYRE. 251 

ajBiicted prince^ and when he beheld Pericles^ he 
saw he had been once a goodly person, and he 
said to him, ^^'Sir king, all hail, the gods pre- 
serve you, hail, royal sir I" But in vain Lysima- 
chus spoke to him; Pericles made no answer, 
nor did he appear to perceive any stranger ap«> 
proacfaed. And then Lysimachus bethought 
him of the peerless maid Marina, that haply 
with her sweet tongue she might win some an- 
swer /rem the silent prince : and with the con- 
sent of Hellicanus he $ent for Marina, and when 
she entered the ship in which her own father sat 
motionless with grief, they welcomed her on 
board as if they had known she was their prin- 
cess; and they criedy '^ She is a gallant lady." 
Lysimachus was well pleased to hear their com- 
^endations, and he said, *^ She is such an one 
that were I well assured she came of noble birth, 
i would wish no better choice, and think me 
rarely blest in a, wife." And; then he addressed 
her, in courtly terms, as if the lowly-seeming 
maid had been the high-born lady be wished to 
jind her, calling her Fair and be/iutiful Marina, 
telling her a great prince on board that ship had 
fallen into a sad and mournful silence; and, as If 



t 



2SS j^mcix^ 

Maana iiad Ae garner «F coafeiring htMi mmI 
felioitf y be begged At virmdd utt^rtake to cnont 
the Toydi iftranger of his inekilldbc^> ^ Sir> ' 
«aid Mtrmaj ^ I w31 use nvj vimDitt skffl m hk 
jcooverjj provided sione but I and my maid te 
suffered to come near bkn.*' 

She, who at MeUtline bad so €areldly om^ 
ceaied her birth, ashamed to te^ tbat «one of 
tojTd aarcestry was now a dave, £i«t began to 
apeak to Pericles of the wayward duuq^ in bet 
own fatCt telling him from wbat a high <esttie 
herself had fallen. As if she bad known it woa 
her royal father she stood before, all tht woNi 
she spoke were of her owtt sonows; biH tor 
reason for so doing was, that itt knew iiod|iB|g 
more wins die attention of the ttiifoM»Mie thaA 
the recital of some sad calamity to match tbeif 
own. The sound of her sweet voice avonsed the 
droo^ng prince; he lifted up his eyes, whicb 
had been so fauig fixed and motioi^ess; and 
Marinas, who was the perfect im^ of het mo« 
ther, {neseiMied to bis ^ainaffed sight tbe fcatores 
of his dead queen. The lotig^^ient pritiee was 
once more heard to opeak. ^ My dearest wife/* 
laid tbe awtdiened t^ctes, <^ was Ifte tbis mtUi 



PRINCE t>F TYRE. K^ 

Md eiidi a ^M «Eji^t my ^augfiter him lieen. 
M{f yieen's iquw^e htMNre, h^r ilfcatui« «d W ifid^ 
as wtfRd-Ube strait, M sSlveivvokdJ, jnef €^e» liiB 
jewel-Mke. Wheare <lo yoa Ktc^ young miudf 
Repent jovst p&retitage. I diink you vaiil yM 
bad i>eesi telded from wf<«liag to ii^ry^ imd that 
you dioiiglu yMf ^rief« #ouki ^equal xiihie, If bodi 
were^p^ed^" « Some such thing I ««id;*' nc- 
pUsd Maiina, ^ and said no more than what iny 
iboughte did warrant tne as likely/* " Teil mt 
ifomr atory/' anawertd Pericles i «* iff I find yo« 
Ittilv 1c«0wn the thDUfandth pact »f my en* 
duMtcct yott have boioe your s<ntows like a 
ana, aiiid I ha^ mifiered iibe a girl; yet you 
do look like Paticiice gazing tNl kings' grtives^ 
a«d saiiittig Eitrt m ky otA of act. TcH »)e 
fl^ur oatne, my nost kind Tirgin ? R^ecount your 
alofy, I beseech yon. Oonre, sit by me." How 
win P iMr i c i t a ^ntprised when sbe aaid her name 
WIS Mm^Of for he knew it was ^o tts^al tiamet 
but had beeti invented by bimdelf for his own 
cUld to Bi](ni<y seuJmm: "^^ O, I atii mocked," 
hM he, ^ amd you ure «em hAiber by loaae m- 
ccMied god «o fnake the world lai:^ at mfe^" 
) good m/' Mid Marina^ "^^ir t iMst 



254 PERICLES^ 

ccaac here." « Nay,*' s;ud Pcfides, « I wittbe 
patient; you little know how you do starde me, 
to call yourself Marina." << The name/* she re- 
plied, << was giTen me by one that had some 
power, my father, and a king." << How, a king^s 
daughter !" said Pericles, " and called Marina f 
But are you flesh and blood ? Are you no fairy? 
Speak <m ; where were you borfi ? and wherefore 
called Marina ?'* She replied, " I was called 
Marina, because I was bom at sea. My mother 
was the daughter of a king; she died tl^ mi- 
nute I was bom, as my good nurse Lychorida 
has often uAd me weeping* The king: my father 
left me at Tharsust titl the cmd wife:o(F Ooon 
sought to murder me. A crew of pirate eame 
and rescued me, and brought me here to Bfei* 
taline. But, good sir, why do you weep? it 
may be, you think me an impostor. But indeed^ 
sir, I am the daughter to king Perides, if tgood 
king Pericles be living." Then Pericles, terri* 
fied as it seemed at his own sudden joy, and 
doubtful if this could be real, loudly called .for 
his attendants, who rejoiced at the sound of theb 
beloved king's voice ; and he said to HelUcanusi 
^ O If ellicanusj^ strike me, give me a gasb^ put 



PRIlICE OF TYRE, 25jf 

nie to present pain, lest this great sea of joys 
rushing upon' me overbear the shores of my 
mortality. O, come hither, thou that wast bora 
at sea, buried at Tharsus, and found at sea again. 
O Hellicanus, down on your knees, thank the 
holy gods } This is Marina. Now blessings on 
thee, my child ! Give me fresh garments^ mine 
own Hellicanus ! She is not dead at Tharsus, as 
she should have been by the savage Dionysia; 
She shall tell you all, when you shall kneef ta 
her, and call her your very princess. Who i^ 
-this V (observing Lysimachus for the first time). 
'^^ Sir," «aid Hetticaaus, <* k is the governor of 
'Metaline, who> hearing of your mdanchcdy^ came 
to see you." •* I embrace you, sir," ssud Pe- 
ricles. *^ Give me my robes ! I am weU with 

beholding -O Heaven bless my girlt But 

hark! what music to thatT' — fof now, eithet 
sent by some kind god, or by his own delighted 
i«ncy deceived, he seemed to hear soft music. 
** My lord, I hear none," replied Hellicanus. 
** None," said Pericles j ** why it is the music of 
ibe's^eres." As there .was no music to b^ 
heafd, Lynmachus conchided Uiat the sudden joy 
had unsetded tlu: prince's understanding; and 



Q36 KRiCUMf 

ht siUf ^ It 4$ aot food to <re68 faim % let Um 
^ve hw wty:" «inil then they toM hm ^Nf 
lieard tlie mlisies and bt nowcol&plain^vft 
drow«y clumber ^oinifig ovtH him% h f AutAm 
pbC9tmd4ti kirn tb reat on it eoudi, mmI pl^i^g i 
f){ll»w under fail head> te, -cfttite ot e f yow rtr e t 
whh esocM ^ j<>yi^ fiunk kitd It soMd skvp, and 
Mmm w»tch«d In etleocc by the xxm<h t>f kcr 
jte^i^g parent. 

Whik h^ akyt^ Pbrictea dreafiftcd a dreaift 
wbidi tnade Jiim re«olve 4o go to Ephesitit. fih 
dream wM, 4kat £)iaa«9 tke Gl^dd^aof tiielpbli^ 
wn% appenrcd to Mnii and oeinmanded fiiol td 
go to 4ier teit^pk at ^jphealMii dnd tkere befiNb 
hR adlar to 4tclaM -the -aMrf of 4iis life and wk^ 
iortufiesi and by her ailver bow ahft itrorei Ait 
if he perforaied her ii^neiksli, be ebeidd flrioA 
wUi sofiie rare felicky^ WbeA ht aw^ee, blsk^ 
niifac!«loudy roifedied) be told hia dteacn, and 
that bit fesehitioa waa «e ob^y the bidding df 
the Goddess. 

Tbea Lyaiflaachu% isvited PefkfeU to oomt dft 
abore^ and fefresh bknaelf with sttcb ^itieftai» 
nae^t as he aboiild find at M c late e » ii»bithcew^ 
teous offer F^Nkplea eteecfiing^ agMd to tisf 



mmtk Utt bp tl^espace of % isLfOX ttma. Biiriaif 
wUcb. tia^e we om^ weU nipfiMe what ieaMtNif^. 
what rejoicings, wkat im^fif sb^iM and 4mie&% 
tunaients tlie^ govemoi^ ma^e ia Mtteliney tor 
grset thft. rsfal fktfaer^ oi bi» dsa* Mbriaa, iii4uuii. 
lA. (lef ' obscuMo (oisUiaeft he Uftd so lespeotedk 
Kbr 4id Q^ikles frown- upon L)FSunac]MM»'B^ suilv 
wfaea he ui|dex)8too4 how be bad: booouied- H^ 
child m the- days o£ her low estate^ and tbac 
Manna shewed hevsetf sot- averse to- his pro-^ 
posah ; only he made^ it a coiidkion, belbfe he 
gave his ci^seati that dioy should tclsiir witK hinir 
tbe sbtiiie of the- Bphestan EKana: to whose 
temple they^ shof^jr afWv^ all thvee^ undenook 9 
vopge^ ai|d, the goddess hersetf filing ^ir 
sails wbh pvosperows winds^ after a fewweefes^ 
they arrived in safety at Ephesus. 

Tberowa^ standing neas' tbe altar of the god- 
dess, whei^ Perielee with his tvain^ entered the- 
temple, the good-Cefimoaf now growB^viery aged) 
who had restoved- Thaisa, the wife of P^ric)e$, 
to life^ and Thaisa, now a prie^t^ss^ off thetenv* 
plo^ ^M Standing before die altar ; and^ though 
the nfiany^ years he hadpas^d in sorrow for her 
loss had muoh alleMd- Fences, Thaisa thought 



MIC IBDKW Oftt JUI^bttldiB vCStOCCSf SHu WuHl nfi 

9fftoaAtd the altar and began to qpeak, she 
mncoboped Us Yoke, and listened to Us woids 
widi won d er and a joyfnl amazement. And 
diese were the words that Pericles Bpcke before 
die altar: ^Hail, Diana! to peribnn thy just 
commands, I heie ooo&ss myself die prince of 
Tyre, who, frig^ited from my comtry, at Penta- 
poib wedded the fair Thaisa : she died at sea in 
childbed, but bronght forth a nuud«child called. 
Marina* The maid at Tharsos was nnrsed with 
Dionyria, who at fourteen years thought to kill 
her^ bat her better stars brouglu her to Metaline, 
by whose shores as I sailed, her good fortunes 
brought this child <m board, where by her most 
clear remembrance she made herself known to be 
my daughter." 

Thaisa, unable to bear the transports which 
his words had raised in her, cried out, *^ You 

arc, you arc, O royal Pericles" and fainted. 

^* What means this woman?'' said Pericles: '' she 
dies ; help, gentlemen !" *' Sir/' said Cerimon, 
*' if you have told Diana's altar true, this is your 
wife." " Reverend gentleman, no ;" said Peri- 
cles : << I threw her overboard with these yery 



PRINCE OF TTRE. 259 

arms/' Cenmon then recounted howj ezxlj one 
tempestuous mornings this lady was thrown upon 
the Ephesian ^ore ; how^ opening tho^coffini he 
found therein rich jeWels, and a paper ; howy 
happily^ he recovered her, and placed her here 
in Diana's temple. And now, Thaisa being re* 
stored from her, swoon, said, " O my lord, are 
you not Perick^? Like him you speak, like 
him you ar^. Did you not name a tempest, a 
birth and death?" He, astonished, said, ** The 
voice of dead Thaisa !" " That Thaisa am l/' 
she replied, *^ supposed dead and drowned." 
*y O true Diana !'' exclaimed Pericles, in a pas- 
sion of devout astonishment. ^* And now," said 
Thaisa, ^' I know you better. Such a ring as 
I see on your finger did the king my father give 
you^ when we with tears parted from him at 
P^ntapoKs." ** Enough, you gods !" cried Pe- 
ricles, '^ your {Htesent kindness makes my past 
miseries sport. O come, Thaisa, be buried a 
second time within these arms.'' 

A#d Marina said, " My heart leaps to be gone 
into my ,moiher's bosomj" Then did Pericles 
shew biS( daughter to her mother, saying, *^ Look 
who Imeela here, flesh of thy flesh, thy burthen 



at %ety waA QtUfli Msaii»f. because* she wa^ 
yieUfld tbofe.'' ^Bkst anfc mf owa!*^ aaM 
ThaiM : apt while die hung m rapmro ne jef 
ai(0i^ hor chJUi. Penclea kndit befovc die aHliary 
sAyijp^). ^^ Pure Dhyviy, Uess. thee^ for tfty-Timn. 
'EfMt tbi^ I wiiL oSar obiaiions nightly ta tfcee/* 
Apd tbfm and ttkcvQ Sd Penekiy widl* the con- 
saQt of Thfluse^ sokninly affiance lileif claughtery 
th^ TiatufiHf Mfliana, lo. the weiMesarraig* Lysi* 
mftchue in manrbgew 

Tbna hmc ve aeeo in Pertdes^ his queen, and 
dkughter^ » fanK)U8 exainpie of Tirtue assailed 
by Gsdatfiiil:y (through the suftranee of Ifeaveni 
tQ t^cb^ palienoe and. conatanoy te men), under 
the; same gmdance becomings finally aucceseluly 
and trmnfihifigk Ofsa chaner and* change^ In 
HrilWanuftwe hatre beheld^ a notable pattern of 
tritthi of faiithvastd loycrity, wbo^ when he-mtght 
h^ye: sttoceededc ta ». thg«ne) ehese rather to^ 
rei^all tbfif rigbtfial ewnec to^ his^ possesaibi^ than 
to become great hf anodiof^S wrong^. In the 
woKtby Cmntpity who« restored^ Tkatse to^ Kfe, 
we ant insmicted how geodnees^ dhected if 
kiumledgQ). ini bestowbg benefits iipetr nian«- 
kiod^ appioacbee tq the natwra at ^e- godlh 



MUHCE 0F TfM. 261 

It only remains to be teld, that tKonyski tkc 
wicked wife of Clean, met with an end pro- 
portionable to her deserts; the inhaBitants of 
HiarsuSy when faer cruel ^t?empt upon Martnn 
was known, rising in a bodjr to revenge the 
dftugiuer of their benefactor, and setting, fire 
to the palace of Cleon, burnt both him and 
ber, and their whoie household: the gods 
seeming well pleased, that so foul a rnurder^^ 
though b«t intentioiial^ and never carried intx> 
acty should be punished in a way befitting its 
enormity. 



-TiiB EMJi^ 



▼OL. lU 



Just Published by M.J. Godwin, 

AT THB 

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A NEW and IMPROVED GRAMMAR of the ENG4. 

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