The works of Shakespeare: the text carefully restored according to the first editions; with introductions, notes original and selected, and a life of the poet;

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,-vfi M,

THE STUDENTS' HANDY EDITION.

THE WORKS

OF

SHAKESPEARE

THE TEXT CAREFULLY RESTORED ACCORDING TO

THE FIRST EDITIONS; WITH INTRODUCTIONS,

NOTES ORIGINAL AND SELECTED, AND

A LIFE OF THE POET;

BY THE

REV. H. N. HUDSON, A.M.

REVISED EDITION, WITH ADDITIONAL NOTES.

IN TWELVE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.

BOSTON:

ESTES AND LAURIAT,
301 WASHINGTON STREET.

Sintered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by

NOYES, HOLMES, AND COMPANY,
In the Office of the Librarian ol Congress at Washington.

Copyright, 1881,

BY ESTES AND LAUKIAT.

UNIVERSITY PRESS:
JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE.

SRLF
URL

PR

INTRODUCTION

n 06

TO /£§/

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

MEASURE FOR MEASURE stands the fourth in the list of Com-
edies in the folio of 1623, where it was first printed. Like the
four plays included in our first volume, the divisions and subdivis-
ions of acts and scenes are carefully noted in the original edition,
and at the end is a list of the persons represented, under the usual
heading, " The names of all the actors." Though the general
scope and sense of the dialogue are every where clear enough,
there are several obscure and doubtful words and passages, which
cause us to regret, more than in any of the preceding plays, the
want of earlier impressions to illustrate, and rectify, or establish,
the text. As it is, the right reading in some places can scarce be
cleared of uncertainty, or placed beyond controversy.

The strongly-marked peculiarity in the language, cast of thought,
and moral temper of Measure for Measure, have invested the play
with great psychological interest, and bred a strange curiosity
among critics to connect it in some way with the author's mental
history ; with some supposed crisis in his feelings and experience.
Hence the probable date of its composition was for a long time
argued more strenuously than the subject would otherwise seem to
justify ; and, as often falls out in such cases, the more the critics
argued the point, the farther they were from coming to an agree-
ment. But, what is not a little remarkable, the best thinkers have
here struck widest of the truth ; the dull matter-of-fact critics have
borne the palm away from their more philosophical brethren; —
an edifying instance how little the brightest speculation can do in
questions properly falling within the domain of facts. Tieck and
U.Hci, proceeding mainly upon internal evidence, fix the dale
somewhere between 1609 and 1612; and it is quite eurious to
observe how confident and positive they are in their inferences ;
Ulrici, after stating the reasons of Tieck for 1612, says, — -'The
later origin of the piece — certainly it did not precede 1609 — is

6 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

vouched still more strongly by the profound masculine earnes new
which pervades it, and by the prevalence of the same tone of feel-
ing which led Shakespeare to abandon the life and pursuits of
London for his native town."

Until since these conclusions were put forth, the English critics,
in default of other d^lu, grounded their rcitsonings upon certain
probable allusions to contemporary matters ; especially those pas-
sages which express the Duke's fondness for •' the life rerrov'd,"
*nd his aversion to being greeted by crowds of people : and Chal-
mers, a very considerable instance of critical dulness, had the sa-
gacity to discover a sort of portrait-like resemblance in the Duke
to King James I. As the King was undeniably a much bettei
theologian than statesman or governor, the circumstance of the
Duke's appearing so much more at home in the cowl and hood
than in his ducal robes certainly lends some credit to this discov-
ery. The King's unamiable repugnance to being gazed upon by
throngs of admiring subjects is thus spoken of by a contemporary
writer : " In his public appearance, especially in his sports, the
accesses of the people made him so impatient, that he often dis
persed them with frowns, that we may not say with curses." And
his unhandsome bearing towards the crowds which, prompted by
eager loyalty, flocked forth to hail his accession, is noted by several
historians. But he was a pretty liberal, and, for the time, judicious
encourager of the drama, as well as of other learned delectations ;
and with those who sought or had tasted his patronage it was nat
ural that these symptoms of weakness, or of something worse,
should pass for tokens of a wise superiority to the dainties of
popular applause.

All which renders it quite probable that the Poet may have had
an eye to the King in the passages cited by Malone in support of
his conjecture.

" I love the people,

But do not like to stage me to their eyes :
Though it do well, I do not relish well
Their loud applause and aves vehement ;
Nor do I think the man of safe discretion
That does affect it."

" And even so

The general, subject to a well-wish'd king,
Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness
Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love
Must needs appear offence."

The allusion here being granted, Malone's inference that the
play was probably made soon after the King's accession, and be-
fore the effect of his unlooked-for austerity on this score had spent
itself, was natural enough. Nor is the conjecture of Ulrici and
others without weight, " that Shakespeare was led to the compo-

INTRODUCTION. 7

sition of the play by the rigoristic sentiments and arrogant virtue
of the Puritans." And in this view several points of the main
action might be aptly suggested at the time in question ; for tho
King had scarcely set foot in England but he began to be worried
by the importunities of that remarkable people, who had been
feeding upon the hope, that by the sole exercise of his prerogative
he would cast out surplice, Liturgy, and Episcopacy, and revolu-
tionize the Church up to the Presbyterian model ; it being a prime
notion of theirs, that with the truth a minority, however small, was
better than a majority, however large, without it.

Whether this view be fully warranted or not, it has been much
strengthened by a recent discovery. The play is now knoAvn to
have been acted at court December 26, 1604. For this knowledge
we are indebted to Edmund Tylney's "Account of the Revels at
Court," preserved in the Audit Office, Somerset House, and lately
edited by Mr. Peter Cunningham. Tylney was Master of the
Revels from 1579 to 1610 ; and in his account of expenses for the
year beginning in October, 1604, occurs the following entry: " By
His Majesty's players: On St. Stephen's night in the Hall a play
called Measure for Measure.'' In a column headed " The Poets
which made the Plays," our author is set down as "Mr. Shax-
berd;" the writer not taking pains to know the right spelling of
a name, the mentioning of which was to be the sole cause that his
own should be remembered in after ages and on other continents.

The date of the play being so far ascertained, all the main
probabilities allegeable from the play itself readily fall into har-
mony therewith. And it is rather remarkable that Measure for
Measure most resembles some other plays, known to have been
written about the same time, in those very characteristics which
led the German critics to fix upon' a later date. Which shows
how weak, in such cases, the internal evidence of style, temper,
and spirit is by itself, and yet how strong in connection with the
external evidence of facts.

No question is made, that for some particulars in the plot and
story of Measure for Measure the Poet was ultimately indebted
to Giraldi Cinthio, an Italian novelist of the sixteenth century.
The original story forms the eighty-fifth in his Hecatommithi, or
Hundred Tales. A youth named Ludovico is there overtaken in
the same fault as Claudio; Juriste, a magistrate highly reputed
for wisdom and justice, passes sentence of death upon him ; and
Epitia, Ludovico's sister, a virgin of rare gifts and graces, goes
to pleading for her brother's life. Casting herself at the govern-
or's feet, her beauty and eloquence, made doubly potent by the
teal's of suffering affection, have the same effect upon him sis Isa-
bella's upon Angeln. His proposals are rejected with scorn and
horror ; but the lady, overcome by the pathetic entreaties of Ii2r
brother, at last yields to them under a solemn promise of marriage,
His object being gained, the wicked man commits a double vow

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

breach, neither marrying the lady nor sparing her brother. Sh«
carries her cause to the Emperor, by whom .luristr is convirted.
forced to marry her, and then sentenced to death ; but is at last
pardoned at the suit of Epitia, who is now as earnest and eloquent
for her husband as she had been for her brother. Her holy and
heroic conduct touches him with remorse, and finally proves ;is
effective in redeeming his character as it was in redeeming his life.

As early as 1578, this tale of Cinthio's was dramatized after a
sort by George Whetstone. The title of Whetstone's performance
runs thus : " The right excellent and famous History of Promos
Bud Cassandra, divided iuto Comical Discourses." In the con-
duct of the story Whetstone varies somewhat from his model ; as
may be seen by the following abstract of his argument :

III the city of Julio, then under the rule of Corviuus, King of
Hungary, there was a law that for incontinency the man should
lose his head, and the woman be marked out for infamy by her
dress. Through the indulgence of magistrates this severe law
came to be little regarded. At length the government falling into
the hands of Lord Promos, he revived the terrible statute, and, »
youth named Andrugio being convicted of the fault in question,
resolved to visit the penalties in their utmost rigour upon both him
and his partner in guilt. Andrugio had a sister of great virtue
and accomplishment, named Cassandra, who undertook to sue for
his life. Her good behaviour, great beauty, and the sweet order
of her talk wrought so far with the governor as to induce a shori
reprieve 5 but, his love soon turning into lust, he set down the spoil
of her honour as the ransom ; but she, abhorring both him and his
suit, could by no persuasion be won to his wish. Unable, how-
ever, to stand out against the pathetic pleadings of her brother,
she at last yielded 'to the wicked man's proposal, upon condition
that he should pardon her brother and then marry her. This he
solemnly vowed to do ; but, his wish being gained, instead of
keeping his vows, he ordered the jailei tc present Cassandra with
her brother's head. The jailer, knowing what the governor iiad
done, and touched with the outcries of Andrugio, took the head of
a felon just executed, and set the other at liberty. Cassandra,
thinking the head to he her brother's, was at the point to kill her-
self for grief at this treachery, but spared that stroke to be
avenged of the traitor. She devised to make her case known to
the King, and he forthwith hastened to do justice upon Promos,
ordering that to repair the lady's honor he should marry her, and
then for his crime against the state lose his head. No score:
was Cassandra a wife, than all her rhetoric of eye, tongue, and ac-
tion was tasked to procure the pardon of her husband; but the
King, tendering the public good more than hers, denied her suit
At length Andrugio, overcome by his sister's grief, made himself
known ; for he had all the while been about the place in disguise;
whereupon the King, to honour the virtues of Cassandra pardoned
hotli him autl Promos

INTRODUCTION. 9

la 1582 Whetstone published his Heptameron of Civil Dis-
courses, containing a prose version of the same tale. He was a
writer of learning and talent, but not such that even the instruc-
tions of Shakespeare could have made him capable of dramatic
excellence ; and, as he had no such benefit, his performance, as
might be expected, is insipid and worthless enough. It is observ-
able that he deviates most from Cinthio in managing to bring
Andrugio off alive ; and from Shakespeare's concurring with him
herein it may be fairly inferred that the borrowings were from
him, not from the original author. The Poet, moreover, repre-
sents the illicit meeting of Claudio and Juliet as taking place un-
der the shield of a solemn betrothment ; which very much softens
their fault, as marriage bonds were already upon them, and pro-
portionably heightens the injustice of Angelo, as it brings upon
him the guilt of making the law responsible for his own arbitrary
rigour. Beyond this outline of the story, it does not appear that
Shakespeare took any thing from Whetstone more than a few
slight hints and casual expressions. And a comparison of the two
performances were very far from abating the Poet's fame ; it be-
ing more creditable to have lifted the story out of the mire into
such a region of art and poetry than to have invented it. The
main original feature in the plot of Measure for Measure is the
part of Mariana, which puts a new life into the whole, and purifies
it almost into another nature ; as it prevents the soiling of Isabel-
la's holy womanhood, suggests an apt reason for the Duke's mys-
terious conduct, aud yields a pregnant motive for Angelo's par-
don, in that his life is thereby bound up with that of a wronged
and innocent woman, whom his crimes are made the occasion of
restoring to her rights and happiness, so that her virtue may be
justly allowed to reprieve him from death.

In the comic scenes of Whetstone's play there is all the gross-
jess of Measure for Measure, unredeemed by any thing that the
utmost courtesy of language can call wit or humour : here, as
Shakespeare took no help, so he can have no excuse, from his
predecessor. But he probably saw that some such matter was
required by the scheme of the work and the laws of artistic pro-
portion ; and as in these parts the truth and character are all his
own, so he can scarce be blamed for not anticipating the delicacy
of later times, there being none such in the most refined audiences
of his day : and his choice of a subject so ugly in itself is amply
justified by the many sweet lessons of virtue and wisdom which
he has used it as an opportunity of delivering. To have trained
and taught a barbarous tale of cruelty and lust into such a rich
mellow fruitage of poetry and humanity, may be safely left to off-
set whatsoever of offence there may be in the play to modem
taste. Perhaps the hardest thing to digest is the conduct of
Angelo, as being too improbable for a work of art or fiction
though history has recorded several instances substantially lh«

10 MEASUUK FOR MEASURE.

same, — of which probably the most familiar to English and
American ears is that of Colonel Kirke, a lewd and inhuman
minion of James II., whose crimes, however, did not exclude him
from the favour of William III.

We have already referred to certain characteristics of style and
lemper which this play shares with several others written about
the same period, and which have been thought to mark some cri-
•is in the Poet's life. It cannot well be denied that the plays in
question have something1 of a peculiar spirit, which might aptly
•uggest that some rude uncivil shock must have untuned the mel-
ody of his soul ; that some passage of bitter experience must have
turned the sweet milk of his genius for a time into gall, and put
him upon a course of harsh and ungentle thought. The matter is
well stated by Mr. Hallam : •' There seems to have been a period
of Shakespeare's life when his heart was ill at ease, and ill con
tent with the world or his own conscience : the memory of hours
misspent, the pang of affection misplaced or unrequited, the expe-
rience of man's worser nature, which intercourse with ill-chosen
associates peculiarly teaches ; these, as they sank down into the
depths of his great mind, seem not only to have inspired into it
the conception of Lear and Timon, but that of one primary char
acter, the censurer of mankind. This type is first seen in the
philosophic melancholy of Jaques, gazing with an undiminished
serenity, and with a gayety of fancy, though not of manners, on
the follies of the world. It assumes a graver cast in the exiled
Duke of the same play, and one rather more severe in the Duke
of Measure for Measure. In all these, however, it is merely a
contemplative philosophy. In Hamlet this is mingled with the
impulses of a perturbed heart under the pressure of extraordinary
circumstances j it shines no longer, as in the former characters,
with a steady light, but plays in fitful coruscations amid feigned
gayety and extravagance. In Lear, it is the flash of sudden in-
spiration across the incongruous imagery of madness; in Tiinou,
it is obscured by the exaggerations of misanthropy." Mr. Ver.
planck speaks in a similar strain of " that portion of the author's
life which was memorable for the production of Othello, with all
its bitter passion ; the additions to the original Hamlet, with the'.r
melancholy wisdom ; probably of Timon, with his indignant and
hearty scorn, ar d rebukes of the baseness of civilized society ;
and above all of Lear, with its dark pictures of unmixed, unmiti-
gated guilt, and its terrible and prophet-like denunciations."

These words certainly carry much weight, and may go far to
warrant the suggestion of the same authors, that the Poet wai
visited with some external calamity, which wrought itself into his
moral frame ; some assault of fortune, that wrenched his mind
from its once smooth and happy course, causing it to recoil upop
itself anu orood over its own thoughts. Yet there are consider-
able difficulties besetting a theory of this kind For Ihore is no

INTRODUCTION. 1 I

pi oof 'hat Timon, but much that Twelfth Night, was written diir.
ing the period in question : besides, even in the plays referred to
there is so much of unquestionable difference blended with the ac-
knowledged likeness, as will greatly embarrass, if not quite defeat,
such a theory. But whatsoever may have caused the peculiar tone,
tne darker cast of thought, in these plays, it is pleasing to know
that that darkness passed away ; the clear azure, soft sunshine, and
serene sweetness of The Tempest and The Winter's Tale being
unquestionably of a later date. And surely, in the life of so
thoughtful a man as Shakespeare, there might well be, nay, there
must needs have been, times when, without any special wouudings
or bruisings of fortune, his mind got fascinated by the awful mys-
tery, the appalling presence of e,vil that haunts our fallen nature

That these hours, however occasioned, were more frequent at
one period of his life than at others, is indeed probable. And it
was equally natural that their coming should sometimes engage
him in heart-tugging and brain-sweating efforts to scrutinize the
inscrutable workings of human guilt, and thus stamp itself strong-
ly upon the offspring of his mind. Thus, without any other than
the ordinary progress of thoughtful spirits, we should naturally have
a middle period, when the early enthusiasm of hope and success-
ful endeavour had passed away, and before the deeper, calmer,'
but not less cheerful tranquillity of resignation had set in, the ex-
perienced insufficiency of man for himself having charmed the
wrestlings of thought into repose, and his spirit having undergone
the chastening and subduing power of life's sterner discipline.

In some such passage as this, then, we should rather presume
the unique conception of Measure for Measure to have been
wrought up in his mind. We say unique, because this is his only
instance of comedy where the wit seems to foam and sparkle up
from a fountain of bitterness ; where even the humour is made
pungent with sarcasm ; and where the poetry is marked with tragic
austerity. In none of his plays does he exhibit less of leaning
upon preexisting models, or a more manly negligence, perhaps
sometimes carried to excess, of those lighter graces of manner
which none but the greatest minds may safely despise. His ge-
uius is here out in all its colossal individuality, and he seems to
dave meant it should be so ; as if he felt that he had now reached
his mastership ; as if a large experience and long testing of his
powers had taught him a just self-reliance, and given him to know
that, from being the offspring, he was to become the soul of ins
age ; that from his accumulated and well-practised learnings lie
had built up a power to teach still nobler lessons ; so that, instead
of leaning any longer upon those who had gone before, he was to
be himself a safe leaning-place for those that were to follow.

Accordingly, if we here miss something of what Wordsworth
calls

" That moimmental grace
Of Faith, which doth all passions tame

12 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

That Reason should control.
And shows in the untrembling frame
A statue of the soul ; "

yet we have the wise though fearless grapplings and struggling*
of mind with thoughts too big for human mastery, whereby the
imperfection was in due time to be outgrown. The thought is
strong, and in its strength careless of appearances, and rather
wishing than fearing to have its roughnesses seen : the style is
rugged, irregular, abrupt, sometimes running into an almost for-
bidding sternness, but every where throbbing with life ; the words,
direct of movement, sudden and sure of result, always going right
to the spot, and leaving none of their work undone : with but lit-
tle of elaborate grace or finish, we have a few bold, deep strokes,
where the want of finer softenings and shadings is more than made
np by increased energy and expressiveness : often a rush and flood
of thought is condensed and rammed into a line or clause, so that
the life thereof beats and reverberates through the whole scene.
Hence, perhaps, if is, in part, that so many axioms and " brief
sententious precepts " of moral and political wisdom from this
play have wrought themselves into the currency and familiarity
of household words, and live for instruction or comfort in the
memory of many who know nothing of their original source.

Whether from the nature of the subject, or the mode of treating
it, or both, Measure for Measure is generally regarded as one of
the least attractive, though most instructive, of Shakespeare's
plays. Coleridge, in those precious fragments of his critical lec-
tures, which now form our best text-book of English criticism,
says, — "This play, which is Shakespeare's throughout, is to me
me most painful — say rather, the only painful — part of his gen-
uine works. The comic and tragic parts equally border on the
jiicn)r<5i/, — the one being disgusting, the other horrible; and the
pardon and marriage of Angelo not merely baffles the strong in-
dignant claims of justice, (for cruelty, with lust and damnable
baseness, cannot be forgiven, because we cannot conceive them
as being morally repented of;) but it is likewise degrading to
woman." This language, though there is much in other critics to
bear it out, seems not a little stronger than the subject will fairly
justify ; and when, in his Table Talk, he says that " Isabella her-
*eit' contrives to be unamiable, and Claudio is detestable," we can
by no means go along with him.

It would seem indeed as if undue censure had often passed, not
»o much on the play itself, as upon some of the persons, from try-
ing them by a moral standard which cannot be fairly applied to
tiu-m. aj they are not supposed to have any means of knowing it;
or from not duly weighing all the circumstances, feelings, and mo-
tives under which they are represented as acting. Thus Ulrici
speaks of Claudio as beingf guilty of seduction : which is surely

INTRODUCTION. 13

wide of the mark ; it being clear enough, that by the standard ol
moralit) then and there approved, he was, as he considered him-
self, virtually married, though not admissible to all the rights of the
married life ; in accordance with what the Duke says to Mariana,
that there would be uo crime in her meeting with Angelo, because
he was her " husband on a pre-contract." And who does not
know that, in ancient times, the ceremony of betrothment conferred
Ihe marriage tie, but not the nuptials, so that the union of the par
lies was thenceforth firm in the eyes of the law itself? Mr. Hal-
lam, in like sort, speaking of Isabella, says, — " One is disposed
to ask, whether, if Claudio had been really executed, the spectator
would not have gone away with no great affection for her ; and
Bt least we now feel that her reproaches against her miserable
brother, when he clings to life like a frail and guilty being, are too
harsh." lii reply to the first part of which, we would venture to
ask this accomplished critic whether she would not have suffered
a still greater depreciation in his esteem, if she had yielded to
Angelo's proposal. As to the second part, though we do indeed
feel that Claudio were rather to be pitied than blamed, whatever
course he had taken in so terrible an alternative, yet the conduct
of his sister strikes us as every way creditable to her. Her re-
proaches were indeed too harsh, if they appeared to spring from
any want of love ; but as it Is their very harshness does her hon-
our, as it shows the natural workings of a tender and deep affec-
tion, in an agony of disappointment at being counselled, by one
lor whom she would die, to an act which she shrinks from with
noble horror, and justly regards as worse than death. We have
here the keen anguish of conflicting feelings venting itself in a se-
verity which, though certainly undeserved, only serves to disclose
"he more impressively the treasured riches of her character. And
the same judicious writer, after stating that, without the part of
Mariana, " the story could not have had any tiling like a satisfac-
iory termination," goes on, — "Yet it is never explained how the
Duke had become acquainted with this secret, and, being acquaint-
ed with it, how he had preserved his esteem and confidence in
Angelo." But surely we are given to understand in the outset
that the Duke has not preserved the esteem and confidence in
question. In his first scene with friar Thomas, among his reasons
for the action he has on foot, he makes special mention of this
Due :

" Lo"» Angelo is precise;
Stands at a guard with envy; scarce confesses
That his bldod "ows, or that his appetite
Is more to bread than stone : hence skall we see,
If power change purpose, what our seemers bt '

Uius inferring that his main purpose, in assuming the disguise of
;i monk, is to unmask the deputy, and demonstrate to olhfrr

14 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

what himself has long known. And the Duko throws out other
hints of a belief or suspicion that Lord Angelo is angling1 foi
emolument or popular breath, and baiting his hook with great
apparent strictness and sanctity of life ; thus putting on sheep's
clothing to the end that he may play the wolf with safety and suc-
cess. Nor was there much cause for explaining how the Duke
came by the secret concerning Mariana ; it being enough that he
knows it, that the knowledge thereof justifies his distrust, and thai
when the time comes he uses it for a good purpose ; the latter
part of the work thus throwing light on what has gone before, and
the former preparing the mind for what is to follow. Nor is it
unreasonable to presume that one of the Duke's motives for the
stratagem was, that he was better able to understand the deputy's
character than persuade others of it : for a man of his wisdom, even
if he had no available facts in the case, could hardly be ignorant
that an austerity so theatrical as Angelo's must needs be not so
much a virtue as an art; and that one so forward to air his graces
and make his light shiue could scarce intend thereby any other
glory than his own.

Yet Angelo is not so properly a hypocrite as a self-deceiver.
For it is very considerable that he wishes to be, and sincerely
thinks that he is what he affects and appears to be ; as is plain
from his consternation at the wickedness which opportunity awa-
kens into conscious action within him. For a most searching and
pregnant exposition of this type of character the reader may be
referred to Bishop Butler's Sermon before the House of Lords
on the 30th of January; where that great and good man, whose
every sentence is an acorn of wisdom, speaks of a class of men
who " try appearances upon themselves as well as upon the world,
and with at least as much success ; and choose to manage so as
tn make their own minds easy with their faults, which can scarce
be done without management, rather than to mend them." Thus
Angelo for self-ends imitates sanctity, and gets taken in by his
own imitation. His original fault lay in forgetting or ignoring his
own frailty. As a natural consequence, his " darling sin is pride
tti&t apes humility ; " and his pride of virtue, his conceit of puri-
ty, " my gravity wherein (let no man hear me) I take pride," while
it keeps him from certain vices, is itself a far greater vice tlniu
any it keeps him from ; insomuch that Isabella's presence may al-
most be said to elevate him into lust. And perhaps the array of
low and loathsome vices, which the Poet has clustered about him
in the persons of Lncio, the Clown, and Mrs. Over-clone, was ne-
cessary to make us feel how unspeakably worse than any or all
of these is Angelo's pride of virtue. It can hardly be needful to
add, that in Angelo this " mystery of iniquity" is depicted with a
truth and sternness of pencil, that could scarce have been achieved
but in an age fruitful in living examples of it.

The placing of Isabella, " a '.hing enskied and sainted.' and

INTRODUCTION. 15

wno truly is ail that Angeio seems, side by side with such a br«ath
ing shining1 mass of pitch, is one of those dramatic amlacities
wherein none perhaps but a Shakespeare could safely indulge
Of her character the most prolific hint that is given is what she
says to the Duke, when he is urging her to fasten her ear on his
advisings touching the part of Mariana : " I have spirit to do an}
thing that appears not foul in the truth of my spirit." Tha* is, shp
rares not what face the action may wear to the world, nor hov*
much reproach it may bring upon her from others, if it will onl}
leave her the society, which she has never parted from, of a clean
breast and an unsoiled conscience. In strict keeping with this,
her character appears to us among the finest, in some respects the
very finest in Shakespeare's matchless cabinet of female excel-
lence. Called from the cloister, where she is on the point of taking
Jhe veil of earthly renouncement, to plead for her brother's life,
she comes forth a saintly anchoress, clad in the sweet austere com-
posures of womanhood, to throw the light of her virgin soul upon
the dark, loathsome scenes and characters around her. With great
strength of intellect and depth of feeling she unites an equal power
of imagination, the; whole being pervaded, quickened, and guided
by a still, intense religious enthusiasm. And because her virtue
is securely rooted and grounded in religion, therefore she never
once thinks of it as her own, but only as a gift from the God whom
she loves, and who is her only hope for the keeping of what she
has. Which suggests the fundamental point of contrast between her
and Angelo, whose virtue, if such it may be called, is nothing, nay ,
worse than nothing, because it is one of his own making, and has
no basis but pride, which is itself but a bubble. Accordingly, there
is a vestal beauty about her, to which we know of nothing equal
save in the lives of some of the whitest saints. The power and
pathos with which she pleads for her brother are well known. At
first she is timid, distrustful of her powers, shrinking with modest
awe of the law's appointed organ ; and she seems drawn unawares
into the heights of moral argument and the most sweetly-breathing
strains of Gospel wisdom. Much of what she says has become
domesticated wherever the English language is spoken, and would
long since have grown old, if it were possible by any means to
crush the freshness of immortal youth out of it.

The Duke has been rather hardly dealt with by critics. The
Poet — than whom it would not be easy to find a better judge of
what belongs to wisdom and goodness — seems to have meant him
for a wise and good man ; yet he has represented him as h<i. l.ig
rather more skill and pleasure in strategical arts and roundabout
ways than is altogether compatible with such a character. Some
of his alleged reasons for the action he is going about reflect no
honour on him ; but it is observable that the result does not ap-
prove them to have been his real ones : his conduct at the end
'nfers better motives than his speech offered at the beginning ;

|6 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

which naturally suggests that there may have been more of pur-
pose than of truth in his statement of them. A liberal, sagacious,
and merciful prince, but with more of whim and caprice than suits
the dignity of his place, humanity speaks richly from his lips ; yet
in his action the philosopher and divine is better shown than the
statesman ; and he seems to take a very questionable delight in
moving about as an unseen providence, by secret counsels leading
the wicked designs of others to safe and wholesome issues. Schle-
gel thinks "he has more plpfl«nre in overhearing his subjects than
in governing them in tne usual way of princes ; " and sets him
down as an exception to the old proverb, — "A cowl does not
make a monk : " and perhaps his princely virtues are somewhat
obscured by the disguise which so completely transforms him into
a monk. Whether he acts upon the wicked principle with which
that fraternity is so often reproached, or not, it is pretty certain that
some of his means can be justified by nothing but the end : so that
•f he be not himself wrong in what he does, he has no shield from
the charge but the settled custom of the order whose functions he
undertakes. Schlegel justly remarks, that " Shakespeare, amidst
the rancour of religious parties, delights in painting monks, and
always represents their influence as beneficial ; there being in his
plays none of the black and knavish specimens, which an enthusi-
asm for Protestantism, rather than poetical inspiration, has put
some modern poets upon delineating. He merely gives his monks
an inclination to be busy in the affairs of others, after renouncing
the world for themselves ; though in respect of pious frauds he
does not make them very scrupulous." As to the Duke's pardon
of Angelo, though Justice seems to cry out against the act, yet
in the premises it were still more unjust in him to do otherwise ;
the deception he has practised upon Angelo in the substituting of
Mariana having plainly bound him to the course he takes. For
the same power whereby he effects this could easily have prevent-
ed Angelo's crime ; and to punish the offence after thus withhold-
ing the means of prevention were obviously wrong ; not to men
tion how h's proceedings here involve an innocent person, so that
he ought to spare Angelo for her sake, if not for his own. Nor
does it strike us as very prudent to set bounds to the grace of re-
pentance, or to say what amount of sin must render a man inca-
pable of it. All which may in some measure explain the Duke's
severity to the smaller crime of Lucio after his clemency to the
greater one of Angelo.

Lucio is one of those mixed characters, such as are often ges.
crated amidst the refinements of city life, in whom low and dis-
gusting vices, and a frivolity still more offensive, are blended with
engaging manners and some manly sentiments. Thus he appear*
a gentleman and a blackguard by turns, and, what is more, doe*
really unite something of these seemingly incompatible qualities.
With a true eye and a just sympathy for virtue in others, yet. so

INTRODUCTION. 17

Kir as we can sec, he cares not a jot to have it in himself. And
while his wanton, waggish levity seems too much for any generom
feeling to consist with, still he shows a strong and hearty friend-
ship for Claudio ; as if on purpose to teach us how " the web of
our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill togetn^i."

Dr. Johnson rather oddly remarks, that " the comic scenes are
natural and pleasing;" not indeed but that the remark is true
enough, but that it seems rather out of character. And if these
scenes please, it is not so much from any fund of mirthful exhila-
ration, or any genial gushes of wit and humour, as from me recK*
less, unsympathizing freedom, not unmingled with touches of scoru,
with which the deformities of mankind are shown up. The con-
trast between the right-thoughted, well-meaning Claudio, a gener-
ous spirit walled in with overmuch infirmity, and Barnardine, a
frightful petrifaction of humanity, " careless, reckless, and fearless
of what is past, present, or to come," is in the Poet's boldest
manner.

Nevertheless, the general current of things is far from musical,
^ and the issues greatly disappoint the reader's feelings. The drow-
' >y Justice, which we expect and wish to see awakened, and set in
living harmony with Mercy, apparently relapses at last into a
deeper sleep than ever. Our loyalty to Womanhood is not a little
wourded by the humiliations to which poor Mariana stoops, at the
ghostly counsels of her spiritual guide, that she may twine her life
with that of the cursed hypocrite who has wronged her ««x so
deeply. That, amid the general impunity of so much crime, tbe
mere telling of some ridiculous lies to the Duke about himself
should draw down a disproportionate severity upon Lucio, the
lively, unprincipled jester and wag, who might well be let pass as
a privileged character, makes the whole look more as if done in
mockery of justice than in honour of mercy. Except, indeed, the
noble unfolding of Isabella, scarce any thing turns out as we would
have it ; nor are we much pleased at seeing her diverted from the
quiet tasks and holy contemplations which she is so able and
worthy to enjoy.

It will not be amiss to add, that the title of this play is apt to
give a wrong impression of its scope and purpose. Measure for
Measure is in itself equivocal ; but the subject-matter here fixes it
to be taken in the sense, not of the old Jewish proverb, " An eye
for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth," but of the divine precept,
" Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye eveu
so to them." Thus the title falls in with that noble line by Cole-
ridge, " What nature makes us mourn, she bids us heal ; " or with
a similar passage in the Merchant of Venice, " We do pray fot
mercy, and that same prayer doth teach us all to render the deed*
of mercy."

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

VINCENTIO, Duke of Vienna.

AHGELO, Lord Deputy in the Duke's absence.

ESCALUS, an ancient Lord, joined with ANGELO in the

Deputation.

CLAUDIO, a young Gentleman.
Luciu, a Fantastic.
Two other like Gentlemen.
VARKIUS, a Gentleman, Servant to the Duke.
Provost.

THOMAS. ) „, .-, .
PETER, '{TwoFnan.

A Justice.

ELBOW, a simple Constable.
FROTH, a foolish Gentleman.
Clown, Servant to Mrs. Over-done.
ABHORSON, an Executioner.
BARNARDINE, a dissolute Prisoner.

ISABELLA, Sister to CLAUDIO.
MARIANA, betrothed to ANGELO.
JULIET, beloved by CLAUDIO.
FRANCISCA, a Nun.
MISTRESS OVER-DONE, a Bawd.

Lords, Gentlemen, Guards, Officers, and other
Attendants.

SCENE, Vienna.

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

ACT I.

SCENE I. An Apartment in the DUKE'S Palace

Enter DUKE, ESCALUS, Lords, and Attendants.

Duke. ESCALUS, —

fiscal. My lord.

Duke. Of government the properties to unfold,
Would seem in me .t'affect speech and discourse ;
Since I am put to know, 1 that your own science
Exceeds, in that, the lists 2 of all advice
My strength can give you : Then, no more remains,
But that, to your sufficiency, as your worth is able,
And let them work.3 The nature of our people,

1 That Is, informed ; much the same as our phrase, given to un-
derstand. H.

* Lists are bounds, or limits.

3 An instance of obscurity, such as often occurs in this play,
resulting from an overcrowding of thought. It hath been gener-
ally supposed that some words must have dropped out in the
hands of the transcriber or compositor. Of course no two ed-
itors can agree what those words were. Mr. Halliwell thinks to
reltere the passage of darkness by printing task instead of that, —
a correction which he found written by some unknown hand in an
old copy of the play belonging to Mr. Tunno. But if we under-
stand that as referring to the commission, which the Duke holds
in his hand, as he afterwards says, — " There is our commission, "
— the passage, though still obscure, will appear complete as it
stands. The meaning will then be, — '' Since, then, your worth
is ample, nothing is wanting to qualify you, to make yon sufficient
for the office, but this our commission, and let them, that is, the
ability, which is in you, and the authority, which I confer upon
you, v?ork." H.

20 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT »

Our city's institutions, and the terms

For common justice, y'are as pregnant in,4

As art and practice hath enriched any

That we remember : There is our commission,

From which we would not have you warp. — Cnll

hither,
I say, bid come before us Angelo. —

[Exit an Attendant

What figure of us think you he will bear ?
For you must know we have with special soul
Elected him our absence to supply ;
Lent him our terror, dress'd him with our love ;
And given his deputation all the organs
Of our own power : What think you of it 1

Escal. If any in Vienna be of worth
To undergo such ample grace and honour
It is lord Angelo.

Enter ANGELO.

Duke. Look, where he comes.

Aug. Always obedient to your grace's will,
1 come to know your pleasure.

Duke. Angelo,

There is a kind of character in thy life,
That, to the observer, doth thy history
Fully unfold. Thyself and thy belongings
Are not thine own so proper,5 as to waste
Thyself upon thy virtues, them on thee.
Heaven doth with us, as we with torches do ;
Not light them for themselves : for if our virtue*

4 That is, ready, skilful in. Terms, in the line before, Black
stone explains to mean the technical language of the courts ; and
be adds, — " An old book, called Les Termes de la Ley, was in
Shakespeare's day the accidence of young students in the law."
The same book was uaed in Blackstone's time. 11.

* So much thy own property.

SC I. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 2]

Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike

As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd.

But to fine issues ; 8 nor nature never lends 7

The smallest scruple of her excellence,

But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines

Herself the glory of a creditor,

Both thanks and use.8 But I do bend my speech

To one that can my part in him advertise : '

Hold, therefore, Angelo : I0

In our remove, be thou at full ourself ;

Mortality and Mercy in Vienna

Live in thy tongue and heart : n Old Escalus,

Though first in question, is thy secondary :

Take thy commission.

Ang. Now, good my lord,

Let there be some more test made of my metal,
Before so noble and so great a figure
Be stamp'd upon it.

Duke, No more evasion :

We have with a leaven'd " and prepared choice
Proceeded to you ; therefore take your honours.
Our haste from hence is of so quick condition,

• That is, to noble ends, to high purposes. H.

7 Two negatives, not making an affirmative, are common in
Shakespeare's writings. So in Julius Caesar : " Nor to no Roman
else."

8 Use in the mercantile sense of interest. H.

9 That is, one that can himself set forth what pertains to him
as my substitute. H.

10 Tyrwhitt thinks the Duke here checks himself, — Hold,
therefore : and that Angelo begins a new sentence. But hold
seems addressed to Ange'o ; the sense being, — " Hold, therefore,
our power ; " referring to the commission which the Duke has in
his hand. H.

11 That is, I delegate to thy tongue the power of pronouncing
sentence of death, and to thy heart the privilege of exercising
mercy.

11 A choice mature, concocted, fermented ; thst is, not hasty
but considerate.

22 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT \.

That it prefers itself, and leaves unquestion'd
Matters of needful value. We shall write to you,
As time and our concernings shall importune,
How it goes with us ; and do look to know
What doth befall you here. So, fare you well :
To the hopeful execution do I leave you
Of your commissions.

Ang. Yet, give leave, my lord,

That we may bring you something on the way.

Duke. My haste may not admit it ;
Nor need you, on mine honour, have to do
With any scruple : your scope18 is as mine own,
So to enforce or qualify the laws,
As to your soul seems good. Give me your hand.
I'll privily away : I love the people,
But do not like to stage me to their eyes :
Though it do well, I do not relish well
Their loud applause, and aves 14 vehement ;
Nor do I think the man of safe discretion
That does affect it. Once more, fare you well.

Ang. The heavens give safety to your purposes !

Escal. Lead forth, and bring you back in hap-
piness !

Duke. I thank you : Fare you well. [Exit.

Escal. I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave
To have free speech with you ; and it concerns me
To look into the bottom of my place :
A power I have ; but of what strength and nature
I am not yet instructed.

Ang. 'Tis so with me : — Let us withdraw together
And we may soon our satisfaction have
Touching that point.

Escal. I'll wait upon your honour.

[Exeunt.

u /Scope is extent of power. 14 Aves are ballings.

NO. D. ME A SLUE FOR MEASURE. 23

SCENE II. A Street.

Enter Lucio and two Gentlemen.

Lucio. If the Duke, with the other dukes, come
not to composition with the king of Hungary, why,
then all the dukes fall upon the king.

1 Gent. Heaven gran* us its peace, but not the
king of Hungary's !

2 Gent, Amen.

Lucio. Thou conclud'st like the sanctimonious
pirate, that went to sea with the Ten Command-
ments, but scrap'd one out of the table.

2 Gent. Thou shalt not steal 1

Lucio. Ay, that he raz'd.

1 Gent. Why, 'twas a commandment to command
the captain and all the rest from their functions:
they put forth to steal. There's not a soldier of us
all, that, in the thanksgiving before meat, doth relish
the petition well that prays for peace.

2 Gent. I never heard any soldier dislike it.
Lucio. I believe thee; for I think thou never

wast where grace was said.

2 Gent. No ? a dozen times at least.

1 Gent. What ! in metre ?

Lucio. In any proportion,1 or in any language.

1 Gent. I think, or in any religion.

Lucio. Ay ; why not 1 Grace is grace, despite of
all controversy : as, for example, thou thyself art
a wicked villain, despite of all grace.

I Gent. Well, there went but a oair of shears
between us.*

' That is, measure

An old proverb, meaning, — • We were both cut off, or oat of,
Ik game piece •

24 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT 1.

Ludo. I grant ; as there may between the lists
and the velvet : Thou art the list.

1 Gent. And thou the velvet : thou art good vel-
vet ; thou art a three-pil'd piece, I warrant thee : I
had as lief be a list of an English kersey, as be pil'd,
as thou art pil'd, for a French velvet.3 Do I speak
feelingly now ?

Ludo. I think thou dost ; and, indeed, with most
painful feeling of thy speech : I will, out of thine
own confession, learn to begin thy health ; but,
whilst I live, forget to drink after thee.

1 Gent. I think I have done myself wrong, have
1 not?

2 Gent. Yes, that thou hast, whether thou art
tainted or free.

Ludo. Behold, behold, where madam Mitigation
comes ! I have purchas'd as many diseases under
her roof as come to —

2 Gent. To what, I pray ?

Ludo. Judge.

2 Gent. To three thousand dollars a-year*

1 Gent. Ay, and more.

Ludo. A French crown more.

1 Gent. Thou art always figuring diseases in me .
but thou art full of error ; I am sound.

Ludo. Nay, not as one would say, healthy ; but
BO sound as things that are hollow : thy bones are
hollow ; impiety has made a feast of thee.

* A quibble upon piled and pilled. Velvet was esteemed ac-
cording to the richness of the pile; three-pil'd was the richest.
But Pird also means bald. The jest alludes to the loss of hair
in the French disease. Lucio, finding the Gentleman understands
the distemper so well, and mentions it so feelingly, promises to
remember to drink his liealih, but to forget tr drink after hint. It
old times the cup of an infected person was thought to be con-
tagious.

4 A quibble upou dollar and dolour. It occurs again in The
Tempest. Act U. sc. 1 B.

SO. IL MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 25

Enter Bawd.

1 Gent. How now 1 Which of your hips has the
most profound sciatica 1

Bawd. Well, well ; there's one yonder arrested,
and carried to prison, was worth five thousand of
you all.

1 Gent. Who's that, I pray thee 1

Bawd. Marry, sir, that's Claudio ; signior Clau-
dio.

1 Gent. Claudio to prison ! 'tis not so.

Bawd. Nay, but I know 'tis so : I saw him
arrested ; saw him carried away ; and, which ia
more, within these three days his head's to be
chopp'd off.

Lucio. But, after all this fooling, I would not
have it so : Art thou sure of this ?

Bawd. I am too sure of it ; and it is for getting
madam Julietta with child.

Lucio. Believe me, this may be : he promis'd to
meet me two hours since ; and he was ever precise
in promise-keeping.

2 Gent. Besides, you know, it draws something
near to the speech we had to such a purpose.

1 Gent. But, most of all, agreeing with the proc-
lamation.

Lucio. Away : let's go learn the truth of it.

[Exeunt Lucio and Gentlemen.

Bawd. Thus, what with the war, what with the
sweat,6 what with the gallows, and what with pov-
erty, I am custom-shrunk. How now 1 what's the
news with you 1

• The sweat ; the consequences of the curative process then
used for a certain disease.

26 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT 1

Enter Clown.

Clo. Yonder man is carried to prison.

Bawd. Well : what has he done 7

Clo. A woman.

Bawd. But what's his offence 1

Clo. Groping for trouts in a peculiar river.

Bawd. What ! is there a maid with child by liim 1

Clo. No ; but there's a woman with maid by
him: You have not heard of the proclamation,
have you 1

Bawd. What proclamation, man 1

Clo. All houses in the suburbs of Vienna must be
pluck'd down.

Bawd. And what shall become of those in the
city?

Clo. They shall stand for seed : they had gone
down too, but that a wise burgher put in for them.

Bawd. But shall all our houses of resort in thn
suburbs be pulPd down 7 6

Clo. To the ground, mistress.

Bawd. Why, here's a change, indeed, in the
commonwealth ! What shall become of me 7

Clo. Come, fear not you ; good counsellors lack
no clients : though you change your place, you need
not change your trade ; I'll be your tapster still.
Courage ! there will be pity taken on you : you
that have worn your eyes almost out in the service,
you will be considered.

Bawd. What's to do here, Thomas Tapster 1
Let's withdraw.

• In one of the Scotch Laws of James it is ordered, " thai
common women be put at the utmost endes of townes, queire least
peril of fire is." — It is remarkable that the licensed houses of r*
sort at Vienna are at this time all in the suburbs, under the per
mission of the Comimti.ee of Chastity.

SC. 111. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 27

Clo. Here comes signior Claudio, led by the pro-
vost to prison ; and there's madam Juliet. [Exeunt.

SCENE m. The Same.

Enter Provost,1 CLAUDIO, JULIET, and Officers,
Lucio, and two Gentlemen.

Claud. Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to

the world 1
Bear me to prison where I am committed.

Prov. I do it not in evil disposition,
But from lord Angelo by special charge.

Claud. Thus can the demi-god, Authority,
Make us pay down for our offence by weight. -
The words of Heaven ; — on whom it will, it will ;
On whom it will not, so ; yet still 'tis just.2

Lucio. Why, how now, Claudio 7 whence comes
this restraint ?

Claud. From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty :
As surfeit is the father of much fast,
So every scope by the immoderate use
Turns to restraint : Our natures do pursue,
Like rats that ravin * down their proper bane,
A thirsty evil ; and when we drink, we die.4

1 Provost was anciently used for principal or president of any
establishment. Here it means jailer. H.

* Authority, being absolute in Angelo, is finely styled by Clau-
dio the demigod, whose decrees are as little to he questioned as
the words of Heaven. The poet alludes to a passage in St. Paul's
Epist. to the Romans, ch. ix. v. 15-lft : " I will have mercy on
whom I will have mercy."

3 To ravin is to devour voraciously. Ravenous is still in use
from the same original. U

4 So, in Chapman's Revenge for Honour :

" Like poison'd rats, which, when they 've swallowed
The ple?ising bane, rest not until they drink,
And can rest then much less, until they burst "

ti8 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT 1.

IMCIO. If I could speak so wisely under an arrest,
I would send for certain of my creditors : And yet,
to say the truth, I had as lief have the foppery of
freedom, as the morality of imprisonment. — What's
thy offence, Claudio ?

Claud. What but to speak of would offend again.

Lurio. What is it 1 murder 1

Claud. No.

Lucio. Lechery ?

Claud. Call it so.

Prov. Away, sir : you must go.

Claud. One word, good friend : — Lucio, a word
with you. t ^ [Takes him aside.

Lucio. A hundred, if they'll do you any good. —
Is lechery so look'd after ?

Claud. Thus stands it with me : — Upon a true

contract,

I got possession of Julietta's bed :
You know the lady ; she is fast my wife,
Save that we do the denunciation * lack
Of outward order : this we came not to,
Only for propagation 6 of a dower

6 To denounce was sometimes used in the sense of to publish,
proclaim, or announce, a thing. Thus in Holinshed and others
we have the phrase, " denouncing of war." So, also, in Raleigh's
History of the World : " But Gracchus's soldiers, which were all,
in a manner, the late armed slaves, had received from their gen-
eral a peremptory denunciation, that, this day, or never, they
must purchase their liberty, bringing every man, for price thereof,
an enemy's head." H.

a A very singular and obscure use of propagation. The word,
lowever, is derived from the Greek itayu, ntiyvvni, to Jix ; and
Richardson says, that " in the methods of propagating trees de-
scribed by Pliny, one is, when the twigs or branches are Jixed in
the earth ; these branches, when rooted, are severed from Uw
parent stock, and thus the tree multiplied." So that the sense of
propagation in the text may be \\iejucing or securing of a dower.
Or the word may be useJ in the more common sense of to cr>n-
tinue, to prolong, or extend the duration of; as in Chauman'a

JiC. III. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 29

Remaining in the coffer of her friends ;
From whom we thought it meet to hide our love*
Till time had made them for us. But it chances*
The stealth of our most mutual entertainment
With charactei too gross is writ on Juliet.

Lucio. With child, perhaps 1

Claud. Unhappily, even so.
And the new deputy now for the Duke, —
Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness ;
Or whether that the body public be
A horse whereon the governor doth ride,
Who, newly in the seat, that it may know
He can command, lets it straight feel the spur ;
Whether the tyranny be in his place,
Or in his eminence that fills it up,
I stagger in : — But this new governor
Awakes me all the enrolled penalties,
Which have, like unscour'd armour, hung by the wall
So long, that nineteen zodiacs7 have gone round,
And none of them been worn ; and, for a name,
Now puts the drowsy and neglected act
Freshly on me : — 'tis surely for a name.

Lucio. I warrant, it is : and thy head stands so
tickle 8 on thy shoulders, that a milk-maid, if she
be in love, may sigh it off. Send after the Duke,
and appeal to him.

Odyssey : " To try if we alone may propagate to victory our bold
encounters." So also in Dryden's Virgil :

" Afric and India shall his power obey ;
He shall extend his propagated sway
Beyond the solar year, without the starry way."
In this case the meaning would be, that the lovers put off their
marriage with a view to continue the prospect, to keep up Uw
chance, of a dower, until time should favourably dispose the willy
of those upon whom the lady's fortune was dependent. H

7 Zodiac;, yearly circles.
• Tickle, lor ticklish.

30 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT I

Claud. I have done so, but he's not to be found.
I pr'ythee, Lucio, do rne this kind service :
This day my sister should the cloister enter,
And there receive her approbation : 9
Acquaint her with the danger of my state ;
Implore her, in my voice, that she make friends
To the strict deputy ; bid herself assay him :
I have great hope in that ; for in her youth
There is a prone I0 and speechless dialect,
Such as moves men : besides, she hath prosper-
ous art

When she will play with reason and discourse,
And well she can persuade.

Lucio. I pray, she may: as well for the encour
agement of the like, which else would stand under
grievous imposition ; as for the enjoying of thy life!
who 1 would be sorry should be thus foolishly lo«t
at a game of tick-tack.11 I'll to her.

Claud. I thank you, good friend Lucio.

Lucio. Within two hours.

Claud. Come, officer; away. [Exeunt

SCENE IV. A Monastery.

Enter DUKE and Friar THOMAS.

Duke. No, holy father ; throw away that
thought :

• That is, enter on her noriticue or probation.

10 Prcne seems to be here used in the sense of apt. Cotgrave
says, — "Prone, ready, nimble, quick, easily moving." And
elsewhere we meet with the phrases, " so prone and fit," and
" prow or apt." So that the meaning appears to be, " There is an
apt and silent eloquence in her looks, such as moves men.'' H.

11 Tick-tack, from the French trie-true, and sometimes spelt
trick-track in English, was a game played with tables, something
like backgammon. Of course the word is here used in a wanton
sense. H.

SC. IV. MEASURE FOB MEASURE. tfl

Believe not that the dribbling1 dart of \o\e
Can pierce a complete bosom : Why I desire thee
To give me secret harbour, hath a purpose
More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends
Of burning youth.

JFW. May your grace speak of it ?

Duke. My holy sir, none better knows than

you

How I have ever lov'd the life remov'd ;
And held in idle price to haunt assemblies,
Where youth, and cost, and witless bravery keeps.
I have deliver'd to lord Angelo
(A man of stricture and firm abstinence)
My absolute power and place here in Vienna,
And he supposes me travell'd to Poland ;
For so I have strew'd it in the common ear,
And so it is receiv'd : Now, pious sir,
You will demand of me, why I do this 7

Fri. Gladly, my lord.

1 " Dribble," says Richardson, " is a diminutive of drib," front
drip, and means to do any thing by drips 01 drops. The sense
of di-Uibling, therefore, is trifling, ineffective. Thus in Holland's
Livy : " Howbeit, there passed some dribbling skirmishes between
the rearward of the Carthaginians and the vaunt-couriers of the
Romans." So also in Milton's Apology for Smectymnus : " For
small temptations allure but dribbling offenders ! " And iu Brome's
Songs :

" And out of all 's ill-gotten store
He gives a dribbling to the poor."

Respecting the use of the term in archery, which Steevens thought
rould not be satisfactorily explained, Ascham says of one who,
having learned to shoot well, neglects to practise with the bow,—
" He shall become, of a fayre archer, a starke squyrter and drib-
her." — In the next line, " a complete bosom " is a bosom com
pletely armed. H.

* That is, dwells. So, in 1 Henry IV. Act i. sc. 3, Hotspur
says, — " 'Twas where the madcap duke, his uncle, kept." This
use of the word, though now rare in England, is so common in
America as to be called an Americanism. — Bravery is fine
showy dress. • H.

32 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT I.

Duke. We have strict statutes and most biting

laws,

(The needful bits and curbs to headstrong steeds,3
Which for these fourteen years we have let sleep ;
Even like an o'ergrown lion in a cave,
That goes not out to prey : Now, as fond father*,
Having bound up the threatening twigs of birch,
Only to stick it in their children's sight,
For terror, riot to use ; in time the rod
Becomes 4 more mock'd than fear'd : so our decrees,
Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead,
And liberty plucks justice by the nose ;
The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart
Goes all decorum.

Fri. It rested in your grace

To unloose this tied-up justice, when you pleas'd ;
And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd,
Than in lord Angelo.

Duke. I do fear, too dreadful :

Sith 'twas my fault to give the people scope,
'Twould be my tyranny to strike, and gall them
For what I bid them do : for we bid this be done,
When evil deeds have their permissive pass,
And not the punishment. Therefore, indeed, my

father,
I have on Ajigelo impos'd the office ;

8 The original here has weeds, which Mr. Collier retains, saying
that " weed is a term still commonly applied to an ill-conditioned
horse." But this wants confirmation ; otherwise the change were
hardly to be allowed. — In the next line, instead of let sleep, the
original has let slip, which Knight retains, notwithstanding its
jarring with the context. While sleep seems required by the
course of the metaphor, it is no less justified by what is said in
another place : " The law hath not been dead, though it hath
tlept." H.

* This word, not in the original, but required alike by the sense
and by the verse, was suggested by Davenant, and inserted by
Pope, "and has since been universally received B.

SC. V. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 3.1

Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home,

And yet my nature never in the fight,

To do in slander : s And to behold his sway,

I will, as 'twere a brother of your order,

Visit both prince and people : therefore, I pr'ythees

Supply me with the habit, and instruct me

How I may formally in person bear me

Like a true friar. More reasons for this action

At our more leisure shall I render you ;

Only, tliis one : — Lord Angelo is precise ;

Stands at a guard 8 with envy ; scarce confesses

That his blood flows, or that his appetite

Is more to bread than stone : Hence shall we see,

If power change purpose, what our seemers be.

[Exeunt

SCENE V. A Nunnery.

Enter ISABELLA and FRANCISCA.

Isab. And have you nuns no further privileges T

Fran. Are not these large enough ?

Isab. Yes, truly : I speak not as desiring more ;
But rather wishing a more strict restraint
Upon the sisterhood, the votarists of Saint Clare.

Lucio. [Within.] Ho! Peace be in this place !

Isab. Who's that which calls 1

Fran. It is a man's voice : Gentle Isabella,

* This is the reading of the original. The passage is vsuollj
printed thus :

" And yet my nature never in the sigltt

To do it slander."

The words ambush and strike home show the image ol a Jight to
have been in the Poet's mind. As the text stands, the speaker's
purpose apparently is to avoid any open contest with crime, where
his action would expose him to slander ; not to let his person be
seen in the fight, where he would have to work, to do, iu the lace
of detraction and censure. H.

' That is, stands on his defence against envy. H.

31 MEASURE FOB MEASURE. ACT I

Turn you the key, and know his business of him ;
You in ay, I may not ; you are yet unsworn :
When you have vow'd, you must not speak with mer
But in tne presence of the prioress:
Then, if you speak, you must not show your face ;
Or, if you show your face, you must not speak.
He calls again: I pray you, answer him.

[Exit FRANCISCA.
Isab. Peace and prosperity ! Who is't that calls '!

Enter Lucio.

Lucio. Hail, virgin, if you be; as those cheek-roses
Proclaim you are no less ! can you so stead me,
As bring me to the sight of Isabella,
A novice of this place, and the fair sister
To her unhappy brother Claudio ?

Isab. Why her unhappy brother ? let me ask ;
The rather, for I now must make you know
1 am that Isabella, and his sister.

Lucio. Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets

you :
Not to be weary with you, he's in prison.

Isab. Woe me ! For what 1

Lucio. For that, which, if myself might be liia

judge,

He should receive his punishment in thanks :
He hath got his friend with child.

Isab. Sir, make me not your story.1

Lucio. 'Tis true. I would not — though 'tis my
familiar sin

1 Such is the reading of the original -, the me being expletive,
as in the well-known passage setting forth the virtues of sack
" h ascen-ls me into the brain," &c. So that the meaning is, —
'' Make not your tale, invent not your fiction." Malone improved
the passage thus: " Sir, mock me not, — your story}" which
surely, renders Lucio's reply, 'tis true, very unapt. B.

bC. V. MEASURE FOB MEASURE. 3f>

With maids to seem the lapwing,* and to jest,
Tongue far from heart — play with all virgins so :
I hold you as a thing enskied and sainted
By your renouncement; an immortal spirit,
And to be talk'd with in sincerity,
As with a saint.

haft. You do blaspheme the good, in mocking me

Lucio. Do not believe it. Fewness and truth,

'tis thus :

Your brother and his lover have embrac'd :
As those that feed grow full ; as blossoming time,
That from the seedness the bare fallow brings
To teeming foison ; 4 even so her plenteous womb
Expresseth his full tilth 5 and husbandry.

Isab. Some one with cliild by him ? — My cousin
Juliet 1

Lucio. Is she your cousin ?

Isab. Adoptedly; as school-maids change their

names,
By vain though apt affection.

Lucio. She it is.

Isab. O, let him marry her !

Lucio. This is the point.

* This bird is said to divert pursuers from her nest by crying
in other places. " The lapwing cries most, farthest from her nest/'
is an old proverb. Thus in The Comedy of Errors :

" Far from her nest the lapwing cries away ;
My heart prays for him, though my tongue doth curse ; "

which shows what is meant by " tongue far from heart." So,
again, in Lyly's Alexander and Campaspe : '• You resemble the
lapw;ng, who crieth most where her nest is not, and so, to lead me
from espying your love for Campaspe, you cry Timoclea," H.

* That is, in few and true words.

* Teeming foison is abundant produce.

6 Tilth is tillage. So in Shakespeare's third Sonnet :

" For who is she so fair, whose unrear'd womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry t "

36 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT K

The Duke is very strangely gone from hence ;
Bore many gentlemen, myself being one,
In hand,6 and hope of action : but we do learn
By those that know the very nerves of state,
His givings-out were of an infinite distance
From his true-meant design. Upon his place,
And with full line of his authority,
Governs lord Angelo ; a man whose blood
Is very snow-broth ; one who never feels
The wanton stings and motions of the sense ;
But doth rebate 7 and blunt his natural edge
With profits of the mind, study and fast.
He — to give fear to use and liberty,8
Which have, for long, run by the hideous law,
As mice by lions — hath pick'd out an act,
Under whose heavy sense your brother's life
Falls into forfeit : he arrests him on it ;
And follows close the rigour of the statute,
To make him an example : all hope is gone,
Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer
To soften Angelo : And that's my pith
Of business 'twixt you and your poor brother.

Isab. Doth he so seek his life 1

Lucio. Has censur'd9 him

• " To bear in hand," says Richardson, " is merely to carry
along with us, to lead along, as suitors, dependants, expectants,
believers." The phrase is not uncommon in old writers. Thus,
in 2 Henry IV. Act i. sc. 2 : "A rascally yea-forsooth knave '
to bear a gentleman in hand, and then stand upon security ! " H.

7 To rebate is to beat back ; hence, applied to any thing snarp,
it is to make dull. B.

8 That is, to put the restraint of fear upon licentious curtoin
and abused freedom. H.

* To censure is to judge, to pass sentence. We have it again
in the next scene :

" When I that crnsiire him do so offend,

Let mine own judgment pattern out my death."

SC. V. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 37

Already ; and, as I hear, the provost hath
A warrant for hiss execution.

/.-fib. Alas ! what poor ability's in me
To do him good 1

Lucio. Assay tue power you have.

IsaJb. My power ? alas ! I doubt.

Lucio. Our doubts are traitors,

And make us lose the good we oft might win,
By fearing to attempt : Go to lord Angelo,
And let him learn to know, when maidens sue,
Men give like gods ; but when they weep and kneel,
All their petitions are as freely theirs
As they themselves would owe 10 them.

Isab. I'll see what I can do.

Lucio. But speedily

Isab. I will about it straight ;
No longer staying but to give the mother "
Notice of my affair. I humbly thank you:
Commend me to my brother : soon at night
I'll send him certain word of my success.

Lucio. 1 take my leave of you.

Isab. Good sir, adieu.

[Exeunt,

ACT II.

SCENE I. A Hall in ANGELO'S House.

Enter ANGELO, ESCALUS, a Justice, Provost, Officers,

and other Attendants.

A:iig. We must not make a scare-crow of the law.
Setting it up to fear ' the birds of prey,

10 To owe is to have, to possess. u Th-it is, ihe ablet*

x To fear is to affright.

88 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT H.

And let it keep one shape, till custom make it
Their perch, and not their terror.

Escal. Ay, but yet

Let us be keen, and rather cut a little,
Than fall,2 and bruise to death : Alas ! this geu

tleman,

Whom I would save, had a most noble father.
Let but your honour know,
(Whom I believe to be most strait in virtue,)
That, in the working of your own affections,
Had time cober'd with place, or place with wishing,
Or that the resolute acting of your blood
Could have attain'd the effect of your own purposef
Whether you had not sometime in your life
Err'd in this point where now you censure him,1
And pull'd the law upon you.

Ang. 'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus,
Another thing to fall. I not deny,
The jury, passing on the prisoner's life,
May, in the sworn twelve, have a thief or two
Guiltier than him they try : What's open made
To justice, that justice seizes. What know the laws,
That thieves do pass 4 on thieves 7 'Tis very preg-
nant,5

The jewel that we find, we stoop and take it,
Because we see it ; but what we do not see,
We tread upon, and never think of it.
You may not so extenuate his offence,
For8 I have had such faults; but rather tell me,

1 That is, throw down ; to fall a tree is still used for to fell it.

* To complete the sense of this \\nefor seems to be required, —
"which now you censure him for." But Shakespeare frequently
MC8 elliptical expressions.

* An old forensic term, signifying to pass judgment, or sentence.
6 Full of force or conviction, or full of proof in itself. So, in

Othello, Act ii. sc. 1 : " As it is a most pregnant and unforc'0
position." 9 That is, because.

5C. I. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 3D

When I, that censure liim, do so offend,

Let mine own judgment pattern out my death,

And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die.

EscaL Be it as your wisdom will.

Ang. Where is the provost t

Prov. Here, if it like your honour.

Ang. See that Claudio

Be executed by nine to-morrow morning :
Bring him his confessor, let him be prepar'd ;
For that's the utmost of his pilgrimage.

[Exit Provost.

EscaL Well, Heaven forgive him ; and forgive

us all !

Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall :
Some run from brakes of vice,7 and answer none ;
And some condemned for a fault alone.

* The original here reads, — " Some run from brakes of ice ; "
which Mr. Collier retains, silently changing brakes into breaks.
It can hardly be denied that this reading yields very good sense ;
the image of course being that of men making good their escape,
even when the ice is breaking under them. But brakes and ice do
not quite cohere ; and it seems as proper to change ice into vice,
as brakes into breaks ; and, as the former accords better with the
rest of the passage, we venture to accept it. It was first made
by Rowe. But there is a further question, whether brake, allow-
ing that to be the right word, here means an engine of war or tor-
ture, or a snare, or a bramble ; the word being used in all these
senses. For the first, thus in Holland's Pliny : " Among engines
of artillery, the Cretes invented the scorpion or erossohow ; the
Syrians, the catapult ; the I'heniciaus, the balist or brake, and the
sling ; " and in Palsgrave : " I brake on a brake or payne bauke,
as men do mysdoers to coiifesse the troiithe." For the second, it
occurs in Skelton's Ellinour Ilummin : " It was a stale to take —
the devil in a brake ; " and in another old play : " Her I'll make
a stale to catch this courtier in a. brake.'' For the third, it is found
in Henry VIII. Act i. sc. 2 : " TTis but the fate of place, and the
rough brake that virtue must go through ; " and Ben Jonson has,
— " Look at the false and cunning man. crnsh'd in the snaky
brakes that he had past." Which of these senses the word beau
in the text, we must leave the reader to decide for himself. Mr
Dy.i.-e thinks that brakes is hero used for m.-<irumciiL> or engines of

40 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. .ACT II

Enter ELBOW, FROTH, Clown, Officers, fyc.

Elb. Come, bring them away : If these be good
people in a commonweal, that do nothing but use
their abuses in common houses, I know no law :
bring them away.

Aug. How now, sir ! What's your name 1 and
what's the matter ?

Elb. If it please your honour, I am the poor
Duke's constable, and my name is Elbow : I do
lean upon justice, sir, and do bring in here before
your good honour two notorious benefactors.

Ang. Benefactors ! Well ; what benefactors are
they 1 are they not malefactors ?

Elb. If it please your honour, I know not well
what they are : but precise villains they are, that I
am sure of; and void of all profanation in the world,
that good Christians ought to have.

Escal. This comes off well : 8 here's a wise officei

Ang. Go to : What quality are they of 1 Elbow
is your name ? Why dost thou not speak, Elbow *

Clo. He cannot, sir : he's out at elbow.

Ang. What are you, sir 1

Elb. He, sir ? a tapster, sir ; parcel-bawd ; one
that serves a bad woman, whose house, sir, was, as
they say, pluck'd down in the suburbs ; and now
she professes a hot-house,9 which, I think, is a very
ill house too.

punishment, from which some men escape, and answer no ques-
tions. But the more common notion is, that in this place the word
means brambles, thickets, or thorny entanglements of vice, which
some rush into, and, when pursued, run away from uncaughL
while others have to suffer for a single act of vice. H.

8 That is, this w well told. The meaning of the phrase, whes
seriously applied to speech, is, " This is well delivered, this story
is well told."' But in the present instance it is used ironically.

e That is, professes, or pretends, to keep a hot-house. Hot

SC. I. MEASURE FQR MEASURE, 41

Escal. How know you that ?

Elb. My wife, sir, whom I detest lo before heaven
and your honour, —

Escal. How ! thy wife ?

jEK>. Ay, sir ; whom, I thank Heaven, is an honest
woman, —

Escal. Dost tliou detest her therefore ?

Elb. I say, sir, I will detest myself also, as well
as she, that this house, if it be not a bawd's house,
it is pity of her life, for it is a naughty house.

Escal. How dost thou know that, constable 1

Elb. Marry, sir, by my wife ; who, if she had been
a woman cardinally given, might have been accus'd
in fornication, adultery, and all uncleanliness there.

Escal. By the woman's means 1

Elb. Ay, sir, by mistress Over-done's means:
but as she spit in his face, so she defied him.

Clo. Sir, if it please your honour, this is not so.

Elb. Prove it before these varlets here, thou hon-
ourable man ; prove it.

Escal. [ To ANG.] Do you hear how he misplaces 1

Clo. Sir, she came in great with child ; and long-
ing (saving your honour's reverence) for stew'd
prunes : sir, we had but two in the house, which at
that very distant n time stood, as it were, in a fruit-
dish, a dish of some three-pence : your honours have
seen such dishes ; they are not Cliina dishes, but
very good dishes.

houses were bagnios supplied with vapour-baths ; but under this
name other accommodations were often furnished. — Parcel-bawd,
a few lines before, probably means partly bawd, alluding to his
oniting the two offices of pimp and tapster. So, in 2 Heury IV.
Act i. sc. 2. we have '• parcel-gilt goblet," for partly gilt. H.

10 Detest is an Elbowism for protest. H.

11 The Clown, catching the constable's trick of speech, hero
uses distant as an Elbowism for instant. H.

42 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT 11

Escal. Go to, go to : no matter for the dish, sift

do. No, indeed, sir, not of a pin ; you are therein
in the right : but, to the point : As 1 say, this mis-
tress Elhow, being, as I say, with child, and being
great-bellied, and longing, as I said, for prunes ;
and having but two in the dish, as I said, master
Froth here, this very man, having eaten the rest, as
I said, and, as I say, paying for them very honest-
ly ; — for, as you know, master Froth, I could not
give you three-pence again.

Froth. No, indeed.

Clo. Very well : you being then, if you be remem
ber'd, cracking the stones of the foresaid prunes.

Froth. Ay, so I did, indeed.

Clo. Why, very well : I telling you then, if you
be remember'd, that such a one, and such a one,
were past cure of the thing you wot of, unless they
kept very good diet, as I told you.

Froth. All this is true.

Clo. Why, very well then.

Escal. Come, you are a tedious fool : to the pur.
pose : — What was done to Elbow's wife, that he
hath cause to complain of? Come we to what was
done to her.

Clo. Sir, your honour cannot come to that yet.

Escal. No, sir, nor I mean it not.

Clo. Sir, but you shall come to it, by your hon
our's leave : And, I beseech you, look into master
Froth here, sir ; a man of fourscore pound a year ;
whose father died at Hallowmas : — Was't not at
Hallowmas, master Froth ?

Froth. All-hollownd eve.1*

Clo. Why, very well : I hope here be truths

» AU-Hollownd Eve, the Eve of All Saints' oar

3C. I. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. £1

He, sir, sitting, as I say, in a lower13 chair, sii ;--
'twas in the Bunch of Grapes,14 where, indeed, you
have a delight to sit, have you not ?

Froth. I have so ; because it is an open room,
and good for winter.

Clo. Why, very well then : — I hope here be truths.

Ang. This will last out a night in Russia,
When nights are longest there : I'll take my leave,
And leave you to the hearing of the cause ;
Hoping you'll find good cause to whip them all.

EscaL I think no less : Good morrow to your
lordship. [Exit ANGELO.

Now, sir, come on : What was done to Elbow's
wife, once more 1

Clo. Once, sir 1 there was nothing done to her once.

Elb. I beseech you, sir, ask him what this man
did to my wife.

Clo. I beseech your honour, ask me.

EscaL Well, sir : What did this gentleman to her ?

Clo. I beseech you, sir, look in this gentleman's
face : — Good master Froth, look upon his honour ,
'tis for a good purpose : Doth your honour mark
his face ?

Escal. Ay, sir, very well.

Clo. Nay, I beseech you, mark it well.

Escal Well, I do so.

Clo. Doth your honour see any harm in his face 1

Escal. Why, no.

Clo. I'll be suppos'd upon a book, his face is the
worst thing about him : Good then ; if his face be

13 Every house had formerly what was called a low, chair, de-
signed for the ease of sick people, and occasionally occupied by
lazy ones.

14 Such names were often given to rooms in the Poet's time.
Thus ih the Will of Henry Harte, we read of a " chamber called
the Half-moon " a

44 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT II

the worst thing about him, how could master Froth
do the constable's wife any harm 1 I would know
that of your honour 1

Escal. He's in the right : Constable, what say
you to it ?

Elb. First, an it like you, the house is a respect-
ed house : next, this is a respected fellow ; and his
mistress is a respected woman.

Clo. By this hand, sir, his wife is a more respect
ed person thmi any of us all.

Elb. Varlet, thou liest ; thou liest, wicked varlet :
the time is yet to come, that she was ever respected
with man, woman, or child.

Clo. Sir, she was respected with him before he
married with her.

Escal. Which is the wiser here, Justice, or
Iniquity 1 IS Is this true 1

Elb. O thou caitiff ! O thou varlet ! O thou wick-
ed Hannibal ! I respected with her, before I was
married to her 1 If ever I was respected with her,
or she with me, let not your worship think me the
poor Duke's officer : — Prove this, thou wicked Han
nibal, or I'll have mine action of battery on thee.

Escal. If he took you a box o' the ear, you might
have your action of slander too.

Elb. Marry, I thank your good worship for it :
What is't your worship's pleasure I shall do with
this wicked caitiff?

Escal. Truly, officer, because he has some of-
fences in him, that thou wouldst discover if thou
couldst, let him continue in his courses till thou
know'st what they are.

Elb. Marry, I thank your worship for it : — Thou
eeest thou wicked varlet now, what's come upon

16 That is, the prosecutor or the criminal.

?C. T. MEASriRK FOR ME>SURE. 45

thee : thou art to continue now. thou varlet ; thoo
art to continue.

EscaL Where were you born, friend 1

Froth. Here in Vienna, sir.

EscaL Are you of fourscore pounds a year 1

Froth. Yes, an't please you, sir.

EscaL So. — What trade are you of, sir 1

Clo A tapster ; a poor widow's tapster.

EscaL Your mistress's name 1

Clo- Mistress Over-done.

EscaL Hath she had any more than one husband T

Clo. Nine, sir ; Over-done by the last.

EscaL Nine ! — Come hither to me, mastel
Froth. Master Froth, I would not have you ac-
quainted with tapsters ; they will draw you, master
Froth, and you will hang them : Get you gone, and
let me hear no more of you.

Froth. I thank your worship: for mine own pan,
I never come into any room in a taphouse, but I am
drawn in.

EscaL WTell ; no more of it, master Froth : fare-
well. [Exit FROTH.] — Come you hither to me,
master tapster: What's your name, master tap-
Bter 1

Clo. Pompey.

EscaL What else 1

Clo. Bum, sir.

EscaL 'Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing
about you : 16 so that, in the beastliest sense, you are
Pompey the great. Pompey, you are partly a bawd,
Pompey, howsoever you colour it in being a tapster
Are you not 1 come, tell me true : it shall be the
better for you.

10 The breeches were formerly worn very large about the hips
mid perhaps Pouipoy went beyond the fasliiou. "

4(J MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT It.

Clo. Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow that would
live.

EscaL How would you live, Pompey '.' by being
a bawd 1 What do you think of the trade, Pompey 1
is it a lawful trade ?

Clo. If the law would allow it, sir.

EscaL But the law will not allow it, Pompey ;
nor it shall not be allowed in Vienna.

Clo. Does your worship mean to geld and spay
all the youth of the city 1

EscaL No, Pompey.

Clo. Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they will
to't then : If your worship will take order for the
drabs and the knaves, you need not to fear the
bawds.

EscaL There are pretty orders beginning, I can
tell you : It is but heading and hanging.

Clo. If you head and hang all that offend that
way but for ten year together, you'll be glad to give
out a commission for more heads. If this law hold
in Vienna ten year, I'll rent the fairest house in it
after three-pence a day : if you live to see this
come to pass, say Pompey told you so.

EscaL Thank you, good Pompey : and, in re
quital of your prophecy, hark you : — I advise you.
let me not find you before me again upon any com-
plaint whatsoever, no, not for dwelling where you
do : if 1 do, Pompey, I shall beat you to your tent,
mid prove a shrewd Caesar to you ; in plain dealing,
Puinpey, I shall have you whipt : so for this time,
Pompey, fare you well.

17 A bay is a principal division in building, as a hai-n of three
bays is a barn twice crossed by beams. Coles in his Latin Dic-
tionary defines " a bay of building, mensura 2t pultun ' Hounej
appear to have been estimated by the number of l>avs

tC. I. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. *

Clo. I thank your worship for your good coun-
sel ; but I shall follow it as the flesh and fortune
shall better determine.

Whip me 1 No, no ; let carman whip his jade ;
The valiant heart's not whipt out of his trade.

[Exit.

Escal. Come hither to rne, master Elbow; come
hither, master constable. How long have you been
in this place of constable 1

Elb. Seven year and a half, sir.

Escal. I thought, by your readiness in the office,
you had continued in it some time : You say, seven
years together 1

Elb. And a half, sir.

Escal. Alas ! it hath been great pains to you.
They do you wrong to put you so oft upon't : Are
there not men in your ward sufficient to serve it ?

Elb. Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters t
As they are chosen, they are glad to choose me for
them : I do it for some piece of money, and go
through with all.

Escal. Look you bring me in the names of some
six or seven, the most sufficient of your parish.

Elb. To your worship's house, sir ?

Escal. To my house : Fare you well. [Exit El*.
BOW.] What's o'clock, think you ?

Just. Eleven, sir.

Escal. I pray you home to dinner with me.

Just. I humbly thank you.

Escal. It grieves me for the death of Claudio ;
But there's no remedy.

Just. Lord Angelo is severe.

Escal. It is but needful :

Mercy is not itself that oft looks so ;
Pard >n is still the nurse of second woe :

48 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT II

But yet, — poor Claudio! — There's no remedy.
Come, sir. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. Another Room in the same.

Enter Provost and a Servant.

Serv. He's hearing of a cause : he will come

straight.
I'll tell him of you.

Prov. Pray you, do. [Exit Servant.] I'll know
His pleasure : may be, he will relent. Alas !
He hath but as offended in a dream :
All sects, all ages smack of this vice ; and he
To die for it ! —

Enter ANGELO.

Ang. Now, what's the matter, provost T

Prov. Is it your will Claudio shall die to-morrow 1

Ang. Did I not tell thee, yea 1 hadst thou not

order ?
Why dost thou ask again 1

Prov. Lest I might be too rash :

Under your good correction, I have seen,
When, after execution, judgment hath
Repented o'er his doom.

Ang. Go to ; let that be mine ;

Do you your office, or give up your place,
And you shall well be spar'd.

Prov. I crave your honour's pardon. —

What shall be done, sir, with the groaning Juliet ri
She's very near her hour.

Ang. Dispose of her

To some more fitter place ; and that with speed.

Re-enter Servant.

Serv. Here is the sister of the man co'idemn'd.
Desires access to you.

SC. II. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 4S>

Artg Hath he a sister ?

Prom Ay, my good lord ; a very virtuous maid,
And to be shortly of a sisterhood,
If not already.

Ang. Well, let her be admitted. [Exit Sen.
See you the fornicatress be remov'd :
Let her have needful but not lavish means ;
There shall be order for it.

Enter Lucio and ISABELLA.

Prov. Save your honour. [Offering to retire.

Ang. Stay a little while. — [To ISAB.] You are
welcome : What's your will ?

Isab. I am a woful suitor to your honour,
Please but your honour hear me.

Ang. Well ; what's your suit 1

Isab. There is a vice, that most I do abhor,
And most desire should meet the blow of justice ;
For which I would not plead, but that I must ;
For which I must not plead, but that I am
At war 'twixt will and will not.

Ang. Well ; the matter 1

Isab. I have a brother is condemn'd to die :
1 do beseech you, let it be his fault,
And not my brother.1

Prov. Heaven give thee moving graces !

Ang. Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it I
Why, every fault's condemn'd, ere it be done :
Mine were the very cipher of a function,
To fine* the faults, whose fine stands in record,
And let go by the actor.

Isab. O just, but severe law !

1 That is, let my brother's fault die, but let not him suffer.
* That is, " to pronounce the fine or sentence of the law upon
the crime, and let the delinquent escape."

50 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT U.

I had a brother then. — Heaven keep your hon-
our ! [Retiring

Lucio. [To ISAB.] Give't not o'er so: to him

again, intreat him ;

Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown ;
You are too cold : if you should need a pin,
You could not with more tame a tongue desire it :
To him, I say.

Isab. Must he needs die?

Aug. Maiden, no remedy.

Isab. Yes ; I do think that you might pardon him,
And neither Heaven, nor man, grieve at the mercy.

Ang. I will not do't.

Isab. But can you, if you would 1

Ang. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do.

Tsab. But might you do't, and do the world no

wrong,

If so your heart were touch'd with that remorse
As mine is to him 1

Ang. He's sentenc'd : 'tis too late.

Lucio. [To ISAB.] You are too cold.

Isab. Too late 1 why, no ; I, that do speak a word,
May call it back again : — Well, believe 3 this,
No ceremony that to great ones 'longs,
Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword,
The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe,
Become them with one half so good a grace
As mercy does. If he had been as you
And you as he, you would have slipt like him,
But he, like you, would not have been so stern.

Ang. Pray you, begone.

Isab. I would to Heaven I had your potency,
And you were Isabel ! should it then be thus T

• That is, he assured of it

SO. II. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 5<

No ; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge,
And what a prisoner.

Ludo. [Aside.] Ay, touch him : there's the vein

Ang. Your brother is a forfeit of the law.
And you but waste your words.

Jsab. Alas ! alas !

Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once ;
And lie, that might the vantage best have took,
Found out the remedy. How would you be,
If He, which is the top of judgment, should
But judge you as you are 1 O ! think on that ,
And mercy then will breathe within your lips,
Like man new made.4

Ang. Be you content, fair maid ••>

It is the law, not I, condemns your brother :
Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son,
It should be thus with him : — he must die to-mor-
row.

Isah. To-morrow 1 O, that's sudden ! Spare him,

spare him !

He's not prepar'd for death. Even for our kitchens
We kill the fowl of season : 6 shall we serve Heaven
With less respect than we do minister
To our gross selves 1 Good, good my lord, bethink

you :

Who is it that hath died for this offence ?
There's many have committed it.

Ludo. [Aside.] Ay, well said.

Ang. The law hath not been dead, though it hath

slept : 6
Those many had not dar'd to do that evil,

4 " You will then be as tender-hearted and merciful as the firtt
man was in his days of innocence."

* That is, when in season.

• " Dormiunt aliquando leget, moriuntur nunquam" is a maxim
of our law.

52 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT IU

[f the first that did the edict infringe
Had answer 'd for his deed : now 'tis awake ;
Takes note of what is done ; and, like a prophet,
Looks in a glass,7 that shows what future evils
(Either now, or by remissness new-conceiv'd,
And so in progress to be hatch'd and born)
Are now to have no successive degrees,
But, ere they live, to end.

Isab. Yet show some pity

Ang. I show it most of all, when I show justice ;
For then I pity those I do not know,8
Which a dismiss'd offence would after gall ;
And do him right, that, answering one foul wrong,
Lives not to act another. Be satisfied :
Your brother dies to-morrow : be content.

hab. So, you must be the first, that gives tliis

sentence ;

And he, that suffers : O ! it is excellent
To have a giant's strength ; but it is tyrannous
To use it like a giant.

Lucio. [Aside.] That's well said.

Isab. Could great men thunder
As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet,
For every pelting,9 petty officer
Would use his heaven for thunder ;
Nothing but thunder. Merciful Heaven !
Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt,
Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled I0 oak,
Than the soft myrtle ; but man, proud man !
Dress'd in a Little brief authority,

7 This alludes to the deceptions of the fortune-tellers, who pre-
tended to see future events in a beryl, or crystal glass.

8 One of Judge Hale's Memorials is of the same tendency
" When I find myself swayed to mercy, let me remember tha<
there is a mercy likewise due to the country."

" Pelting for paltry. I0 Gnarled, knotted.

SC. II. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 63

Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd,

His glassy essence," like an angry ape,

Plays such fantastic tricks before high Heaven,

As make the angels weep ; who, with our spleens,

Would all themselves laugh mortal.12

Lucio. [To ISAB.] O, to him, to him, wench ! be

will relent :
He's coming, I perceive't.

Prov. [Aside] Pray Heaven, she win him !

Isab. We cannot weigh our brother with your-
self:

Great men may jest with saints : 'tis wit in them ;
But in the less foul profanation.

Lucio. [To ISAB.] Thou'rt in the right, girl:
more o' that.

Isab. That in the captain's but a choleric word,
Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy.

Lucio. [Aside.] Art advis'd o' that ? more on't.

Ang. Why do you put these sayings upon me 1

Isab. Because authority, though it err like others,
Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself,
That skins the vice o' the top : 13 Go to your bosom,
Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know
That's like my brother's fault : if it confess
A natural guiltiness, such as is his,
Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue
Against my brother's life.

Ang. [Aside.] She speaks, and 'tis

11 That is, his brittle, fragile being. H.

11 The notion of angels weeping for the sins of n.en is rabbin,
ical. By spleens Shakespeare meant that peculiar (urn of tha
human mind, which always inclines it to a spiteful and unseason-
able mirth. Had the angels that, they would laugh themselves
out of their immortality, by indulging a passion unworthy of thst
prerogative.

13 Shakespeare has used this indelicate metaphor aga n i>
Hamlet : •• Jt will but skin and film the ulcerous place.''

54 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT U

Sucli sense, that my sense breeds with it.1*
[To her.] Fare you well.

Isab. Gentle my lord, turn back.

Aug. I will bethink me: — Come again to-mor
row.

Isab. Hark, how I'll bribe you: Good my lordi
turn back.

Ang. How ! bribe me 1

Isab. Ay, with such gifts, that Heaven shall share
with you.

Lucio. [Aside.] You had marr'd all else.

Isab. Not with fond shekels of the tested gold.
Or stones, whose rates are either rich or poor
As fancy values them : but with true prayers,
That shall be up at heaven, and enter there,
Ere sunrise ; prayers from preserved souls,
From fasting maids, whose minds are dedicate
To nothing temporal.

Ang. Well : come to me

To-morrow.

Lucio. [Aside to ISAB.] Go to ; it is well : away

Isab. Heaven keep your honour safe !

Ang. [Aside.] Amen;1*

For I am that way going to temptation,
Where prayers cross.18

Isab. At what hour to-morrow

Shall I attend your lordship 1

14 That is, such sense as breeds a response in his mind. Ma-
lone thought that sense here meant sensual desire.

14 Isabella prays that his honour may be safe, meaning' only
to give him his title : his mind is caught by the word honour, ha
feels that it is in danger, and therefore says amen to her benedic-
tion.

18 The petition of the Lord's Prayer, " Lead us not into temp-
tation," is here considered as crossing or intercepting the way in
which Angelo was going : he was exposing himself to lemptauov
by the appointment for the morrow's meeting.

SC. II. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 55

Ang. At any time 'fore noon.

hah. Save your honour !

[Exeunt Lucio, ISABELLA, and Provost

Ang. From tliee ; even from thy virtue ! —

What's this ? what's this ? Is this her fault, or mine 1
The tempter, or the tempted, who sins most 1 Ha !
Not she ; nor doth she tempt : but it is 1,
That, lying by the violet in the sun,
Do, as the carrion does, not as the flower,
Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be,
That modesty may more betray our sense
Than woman's lightness 1 Having waste ground

enough,

Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary,
And pitch our evils there ? l7 O, fie, fie, fie I
What dost thou, or what art thou, Angelo ?
Dost thou desire her foully, for those things
That make her good 1 O, let her brother live !
Thieves for their robbery have authority,
When judges steal themselves. What ! do I love her,
That I desire to hear her speak again,
And feast upon her eyes 1 What is't I dream on 1
O ! cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint,
With saints dost bait thy hook ! Most dangerous
Is that temptation, that doth goad us on
To sin in loving virtue : Never could the strumpet,
With all her double vigour, art and nature,
Once stir my temper ; but this virtuous maid
Subdues me quite. — Ever, till now,
When men were fond, 1 smil'd, and wonder'd how !

[Exit.

17 No language could more forcibly express the aggravated
profligacy of Angeio's passion, which the purity of Isabella but
served the more to inflame. The desecration of edifices devoted
to religion, by converting them to the most abject purposes of
nature, was an eastern method of expressing contempt. See 9
Kings x. 27.

56 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT II

SCENE IE. A Room in a Prison.

Enter Duke, habited like a Friar, ami Provost.

Duke. Hail to you, provost ! so, I think, you are.
Prov. I am the provost : What's your will, good

friar 1

Duke. Bound by my charity, and my bless'd order,
I come to visit the afflicted spirits
Here in the prison : do me the common right
To let me see them, and to make me know
The nature of their crimes, that I may minister
To them accordingly.

Prov. I would do more than that, if more were
needful.

Enter JULIET.

Look, here comes one ; a gentlewoman of mine.
Who, falling in the flames of her own youth,
Hath blister'd her report : She is with child ;
And he that got it, sentenc'd ; a young man
More fit to do another such offence
Than die for this.

Duke. When must he die 1

Prov. As I do think, to-morrow. —
[ To JULIET.] I have provided for you : stay a while,
And you shall be conducted.

Duke. Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry 1

Juliet. I do ; and bear the shame most patiently.

Duke. I'll teach you how you shall arraign youl

conscience,

And try your penitence, if it be sound.
Or hollowly put on.

Juliet. I'll gladly learn.

Duke. Love you the man that wrong'd you ?

Juliet. Yes. as 1 love the woman that wrong'd him

•isis. IF. MEASLTIE FOR MEASURE. 57

Duke. So then, it seems, your most offenceful act
Was mutually committed 1

Juliet. Mutually.

Duke. Then was your sin of heavier kind than
his.

Juliet. I do confess it, and repent it, father.

Duke. 'Tis meet so, daughter : But lest you do

repent,

As that the sin hath brought you to this shame, —
Which sorrow is always towards ourselves, not

Heaven ;

Showing, we would not serve Heaven as we love it,
But as we stand in fear, —

Juliet. I do repent me, as it is an evil ;
And take the shame with joy.

Duke. There rest/

Your partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow,
And I am going with instruction to him. —
Grace go with you ! Benedicite. [Exit,

Juliet. Must die to-morrow ! O, injurious law,*
That respites me a life, whose very comfort
Is still a dying horror !

Prov. 'Tis pity of him. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV. A Room in ANGELO'S House.

Enter ANGELO.

Ang. When 1 would pray and think, I think and

pray
To several subjects : Heaven hath my empty words ;

1 That is, not spare to offend Heaven.

* That is, keep yourself in this frame of mind.

* Sir Thomas Hanmer proposed to read htw instead of li<ve ; *
reading that coheres well with the Provost's reply. H

58 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT II

Whilst my invention,1 hearing not my tongue,
Anchors on Isabel : Heaven in my mouth,
As if I did but only chew His name ;
And in my heart, the strong and swelling evil
Of my conception. The state, whereon I studied,
Is like a good thing, being often read,
Grown sear'd2 and tedious; yea, my gravity.
Wherein (let no man hear me) I take pride,
Could I, with boot,3 change for an idle plume,
Which the air beats for vain. O place ! O form '
How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit,
Wrench awe from fools, and tie the wiser souls
To thy false seeming ! 4 Blood, thou art blood !
Let's write good angel on the devil's horn,
'Tis not the devil's crest.*

1 Invention for imagination. So, in Henry V. :

" O for a muse of fire, that would ascend

The brightest heaven of invention."

* Respecting this word, which is usually given as feared, ?t IN
quite remarkable that of the first folio some copies read fenr'd,
and others sear'd, as if the correction were made while the edition
was going through the press ; though which way the change ran
is not altogether certain. Such a use of either word is singular
enough : but on the whole we prefer seo.r'd, as it agrees very well
with the Poet's use of that word in other places. Thus, in The
Comedy of Errors, Act iv. sc. 2 :

" He is deformed, crooked, old, and sere,

Ill-fac'd, worse-bodied, shapeless every where."
And again, in the well-known passage in Macbeth :
" I have liv'd long enough 5 my way of life

Is fall'n into the sere, the yellow leaf."
So, also, in Spenser's Shepherd's Calender, January :
" All so my lustfull leafe is drie and sere,

My timely buds with wayling all are wasted." H.

Boot is profit.

Shakespeare judiciously distinguishes the different operations
of high place upon different minds. Fools are frighted and wise
men allured. Those who cannot judge but by the eye are easi-
ly awed by splendour ; those who consider men as well as condU
tions, are easily persuaded to love the appearance of virtue dig
nifieH with power.

6 The crest was often emblematic of something in the weare»

S>C. TV. MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Enter Servant.

How now ! who's there ?

Scrv. One Isabel, a sister,

Desires access to you. -

Aug. Teach her the way. [Exit

O heavens !

Why does my blood thus muster to my heart,
Making both it unable for itself,
And dispossessing all ray other parts
Of necessary fitness ?

So play the foolish throngs with one that swoon* ,
Come all to help him, and so stop the air
By which he should revive : and even so
The general,6 subject to a well-wish'd king,
Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness
Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love
Must needs appear offence.

Enter ISABELLA.

How now, fair maid ?

Isab. I arn come to know your pleasure.

Ang. That you might know it, would much better

please me,

Than to demand what 'tis. Your brother cannot
live.

such, for example, as bis ancestral name. " The devil's horn " IK
" the devil's crest ; " but if we write " good angel " on it, the em-
blem is overlooked in the " false seeming;" we think it is noi
the devil's horn, because itself tells As otherwise. n

6 Thot is. the people or multitude subject to a king. So. in
Hamlet : " The play pleased not the million ; 'twas caviare to
the general." It is supposed that Shakespeare, in this passage
and in one before, Act i. sc. ~, intended to flatter the uukingry
weakness of James I., which made him so impatient of the crowds
which flocked to see him, at his first coming, that IIP restrained
them by a proclamation.

60 MEASURE FOR MEASURE ACT H.

Isab. Even so ? — Heaven keep your honour !

[Retiring

Ang. Yet may he live awhile ; and it may be,
As long as you, or I : Yet he must die.

Isab. Under your sentence ?

Ang. Yea.

Isab. When, I beseech you ? that in his reprieye,
Longer, or shorter, he may be so fitted,
That his soul sicken not.

Ang. Ha ! Fie, these filthy vices ! It were a«

good

To pardon him, that hath from nature stolen
A man already made,7 as to remit
Their saucy sweetness, that do coin Heaven's image
In stamps that are forbid : 'tis all as easy
Falsely to take aAvay a life true made,
As to put mettle in restrained means,
To make a false one.8

Isab. 'Tis set down so in heaven, but not in earth

Ang. Say you so ? then I shall pose you quickly
Which had you rather, that the most just law
Now took your brother's life ; or, to redeem him,
Give up your body to such sweet uncleanness.
As she that he hath stain'd 1

Isab. Sir, believe this,

I had rather give my body than my soul.9

Ang. I talk not of your soul : Our compell'd sins
Stand more for number than accompt.10

7 That is, that hath killed a man.

* The thought is simply, tfcat murder is as easy as fornication ;
and the inference which Angelo would draw is. that it is as im
proper to pardon the latter as the former.

* Isabel appears to use the words " give my body" in a differ-
ent sense than Angelo. Her meaning appears to be, " I had rathei
die. than forfeit my eternal happiness by the prostitution of my
person."

10 That is, actions that we are compelled to. however nuiner
ous. are not imputed to us by Heaven H.H crimes.

\
SC. IV. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 61

Isab. How say you ?

Ang. Nay, I'll not warrant that ; for I can speak
Against the thing I say. Answer to this: —
I, now the voice of the recorded law,
Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life :
Might there not be a charity in sin,
To save this brother's life 1

Isab. Please you to do't,

Til take it as a peril to my soul :
It is no sin at all, but charity.

Ang. Pleas'd you to do't, at peril of your soul,
Were equal poise of sin and charity.

Isab. That I do beg his life, if it be sin,
Heaven, let me bear it ! you granting of my suit,
[f that be sin, I'll make it my morn prayer
To have it added to the faults of mine,
And nothing of your answer.

Ang. Nay, but hear ine :

Your sense pursues not mine : either you are igno-
rant,
Or seem so, craftily ; and that's not good.

Isab. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good
But graciously to know I am no better.

Ang. Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright,
When it doth tax itself: as these black masks"
Proclaim an enshield '? beauty ten times louder
Thau beauty could displayed. — But mark me :
To be received plain, I'll speak more gross :
Your brother is to die.

Tstib. So

11 The masks worn, by female spectators .of the play are her*
probably meant. At the beginning of Romeo and Juliet, we hav«
a passage of similar import :

" These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows,
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair."
'* That is, enshielded, covered.

62 MEASURE FOK MEASURE. ACT I)

Ang. And his offence is so, as it appears
. ccnuntant to the law upon that pain.

Isab. True.

Ang. Admit no other way to save his life,
(As 1 subscribe not that, nor any other,)
But, in the loss of question, I3 that you, his sister,
Finding yourself desir'd of such a person,
Whose credit with the judge, or own great place,
Could fetch your brother from the manacles
( )f the all-binding law ; and that there were
No earthly mean to save him, but that either
You must lay down the treasures of your body
To this suppos'd, or else to let him suffer ;
What would you do ?

Isab. As much for my poor brother, as myself:
That is, were I under the terms of death,
The impression of keen whips I'd wear as rubies
And strip myself to death, as to a bed
That longing I've been sick for, ere I'd yield
My body up to shame.

Ang. Then must your brother die

Isab. And 'twere the cheaper way :
Better it were, a brother died at once,
Than that a sister, by redeeming him,
Should die forever.

Ang. Were not you then as cruel as the sentence
That you have slander'd so ]

Isab. Ignomy14 in ransom, and free pardon,
Are of two houses : lawful mercy is
Nothing akin to foul redemption.

Ang. You seem'd of late to make the law a tyrant
And rather prov'd the sliding of your brother
A merriment than a vice.

13 That is, conversation that tends to nothing.
w Ignomy, ignominy.

bC. IV MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 63

Isab. O pardon me, my lord ! it oft falls out,
To have what we would have, we speak not what

we mean :

I something do excuse the thing I hate,
For his advantage that I dearly love.

Ang. We are all frail.

Isab. Else let my brother die ;

If not a feodary, but only he,
Owe, and succeed this weakness.18

Ang. Nay, women are frail too.

Isab. Ay, as the glasses where they view them-
selves ;

Which are as easy broke as they make forms.
Women ! — Help, Heaven ! men their creation mar
In profiting by them.16 Nay, call us ten times frail ;
For we are soft as our complexions are,
And credulous to false prints.17

Ang. I think it well :

And from this testimony of your own sex,
(Since, I suppose, we are made to be no stronger
Than faults may shake our frames,) let me be

bold:—"

[ do arrest your words : Be that you are,
That is, a woman ; if you be more, you're none :
If you be one, (as you are well express'd

16 A very obscure passage. The original reads, thy iceaknes*
which fairly defies explanation. The word this is adopted by Mr.
Collier from an old manuscript note in a copy of the first folio
belonging to Lord Francis Egerton. With this change, the pas-
sage, though still obscure, makes good sense enough : " If we are
nut all frail, — if my brother have no feodary, that is, no com
panion, one holding by the same tenure of frailty, — if he alone
be found to own and succeed to this weakness, — then let him
«iie." H.

18 The meaning appears to be, that men debase their natures
by taking advantage of women's weakness. She therefore calif
"n Heaven to assist them

" That is, impressions

(it MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT 11

By all external warrants,) show it now,
By putting on the destin'd livery.

Isab. I have no tongue but one : gentle my lord,
Let me entreat you speak the former language.

Ang. Plainly, conceive I love you.

Isab. My brother did love Juliet ; and you tell me
That he shall die for it.

Ang. He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love.

Isab. I know your virtue hath a license in't,
Which seems a little fouler than it is,
To pluck on others.18

Ang. Believe me, on mine honour,
My words express my purpose.

Isab. Ha ! little honour to be much believ'd,
And most pernicious purpose ! — Seeming, seem

ing! —

I will proclaim thee, Angelo ; look for't !
Sign me a present pardon for my brother,
Or, with an outstretch'd throat, I'll tell the world

aloud
What man thou art.

Ang. Who will believe thee, Isabel 1

My unsoil'd name, the austereness of my life,
My vouch against you, and my place i'the state,
Will so your accusation overweigh,
That you shall stifle in your own report,
And smell of calumny. I have begun,
And now I give my sensual race the rein :
Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite ;
Lay by all nicety, and prolixious blushes,19
That banish what they sue for ; redeem thy brothei

18 That is, your virtue assumes an air of licentiousness, which
•s not natural to you, on purpose to try me.

19 Prolixious blushes means what Milton has elegant)} called
' sweet reluctant amorous delay."

SC. IV". MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 66

By yielding up thy body to my will ;

Or else he must not only die the death,

But thy unkindness shall his death draw on*

To lingering sufferance. Answer me to-morrow,

Or, by the affection that now guides me mosir

I'll prove a tyrant to him : As for you,

Say what you can, my false o'erweighs your true.

[Exit.
Isab. To whom should I complain ? Did 1 tell

this,

Who would believe me ? O perilous mouths !
That bear in them one arid the selfsame tongue,
Either of condemnation or approof ;
Bidding the law make courtesy to their will;
Hooking both right and wrong to the appetite,
To follow as it draws ! I'll to my brother :
Though he hath fallen by prompture of the blood.
Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour,
That had he twenty heads to tender down
On twenty bloody blocks, he'd yield them up,
Before his sister should her body stoop
To such abhorr'd pollution.
Then, Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die :
More than our brother is our chastity !
I'll tell him yet of Angelo's request,
And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest. I Exit.

H8 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT IIL

ACT III.

SCENE I. A Room in the Prison.

Enter DUKE, as a jFHar, Ci. AUDIO, and Provost.

Duke. So, then, you hope of pardon from lord

Angelo ? ,

Claud. The miserable have no other medicine,
But only hope :
I have hope to live, and am prepar'd to die.

Duke. Be absolute for death ; either death or life
Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with

life:

If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing
That none but fools would keep : l a breath thou

art,

Servile to all the skyey influences,
That dost this habitation, where thou keep'st,*
Hourly afflict : Merely, thou art death's fool ;3
For him ihou labour'st by thy flight to shun,
And yet runn'st toward him still : Thou art not no

ble;

' Keep nere means care for, a common acceptation of me
word in Chaucer and later writers.

* That is, dwellest. See Act i. sc. 4, note 2, of this play.

8 Death and his fool were personages that once figured on the
*tage. Douce relates having seen a play at a fair, in which Death
bore a part, attended by a fool or clown ; the person that repre-
sented Death being habited in a close black vest so painted as to
look like a skeleton. Douce also had an old wood-cut, one of a
series representing the Dance of Death, in which the fool was en-
gaged in combat with his adversary, and bufiettiiig him with a
bladder filled with peas or small pebbles. In all such perform-
ances, the rule appears to have been, that the fool, after struggling
loig against the stratagems of Death, at last became his victim.

H.

St.. I. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 67

For all the accommodations that thou bear'st

Are nurs'd by baseness : 4 Thou art by no meant

valiant ;

For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork
Of a poor worm : 5 Thy best of rest is sleep,
And that thou oft provok'st ; yet grossly fear'st
Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself,
For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains
That issue out of dust : Happy thou art not ;
For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get ;
And what thou hast, forge st : Thou art not certain ;
For thy complexion shifts to strange effects,
After the moon : If thou art rich, thou art poor ;
For, like an ass whose back with ingots bows,
Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey,
And death unloads thee : Friend hast thou none ;
For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire,
The mere effusion of thy proper loins,
Do curse the gout, serpigo,6 and the rheum,
For ending thee no sooner : Thou hast nor youth,

nor age ;

But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep,
Dreaming on both : 7 for all thy blessed youth

4 Upon this passage Johnson observes : " A minute analysis ot
life at once destroys that splendour which dazzles the imagination.
Whatever grandeur can display, or luxury enjoy, is procured by
baseness, by offices of which the mind shrinks from the contem-
plation. All the delicacies of the table may be traced back to the
shambles and the dunghill, all magnificence of building was hewii
from the quarry, and all the pomp of ornament from among the
damps and darkness of the mine."

* Worm is put for any creeping thing or serpent. Shakespeare
adopts the vulgar error, that a serpent wounds with his tongue,
and that his tongue is forked. In old tapestries and paintings the
tongues of serpents and dragons always appear barbed like the
point of an arrow.

• Serpigo is a leprous eruption.

7 This is exquisitely imagined. When we are young, we busy
ourselves in forming schemes for succeeding time, and miss UM

68 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT III.

Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms
Of palsied eld ; 8 and when thou art old and rich,
Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty,
To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this
That bears the name of life ? Yet in this life
Lie hid more thousand deaths ; yet death we fear,
That makes these odds all even.

Claud. I humbly thank you

To sue to live, I find I seek to die ;
And, seeking death, find life : Let it come on.

Isab. [ Without.] What, ho ! Peace here ; grace
and good company !

Prop. Who's there 1 come in : the wish deserves
i welcome.

Enter ISABELLA.

Duke. Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again.
Claud. Most holy sir, I thank you.
Isab. My business is a word or two with Claudio.
Prov. And very welcome. Look, signior, here's

your sister.

Duke. Provost, a word with you.
Prov. As many as you please.

gratifications that are before us ; when we are old, we amuse the
languor of age with the recollection of youthful pleasures or per-
formances ; so that our life, of which no part is filled with the
business of the present time, resembles our dreams after dinner,
when the events of the morning' are mingled with the designs of
the evening.

• Old age. In youth, which is or ought to be the happiest lime,
man commonly wants means to obtain what he could enjoy ; he is
dependent on palsied eld ; must beg alms from the coffers of hoary
avarice ; and, being very niggardly supplied, becomes as aged,
iooks like an old man on happiness beyond his reach. And when
he is old and rich, when he has wealth enough for the purchase of
all that formerly excited his desires, he has no longer the powers
of enjoyment.

SC. I. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 60

Duke. Bring me to hear them speak, where J
may be couceal'd.

[Exeunt DUKE and Provost.

Claud. Now, sister, what's the comfort 1

Isab. Why, as all

Comforts are ; most good, most good, indeed :
Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven,
Intends you for his swift ambassador,
Where you shall be an everlasting lieger : 9
Therefore your best appointment 10 make with speed ;
To-morrow you set on.

Claud. Is there no remedy '?

Isab. None, but such remedy, as to save a head
To cleave a heart in twain.

Claud. But is there any ?

Isab. Yes, brother, you may live :
There is a devilish mercy in the judge,
If you'll implore it, that will free your life,
But fetter you till death.

Claud. Perpetual durance ?

Isab. Ay, just ; perpetual durance : a restraint,
Though all the world's vastidity11 you had,
To a determin'd scope.12

Claud. But in what nature ?

Isab. In such a one as, you consenting to't,
Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear,
And leave you naked.13

Claud. Let me know the point.

Isab. O ! I do fear thee, Claudio ; and I quake,
Lest thou a feverous life shouldst entertain,
And six or seven winters more respect

8 A lieger is a resident. 10 That is, preparation.

11 That is, vastness of extent.

11 A confinement of your mind to one idea ; to ignominy, o
which the remembrance can neither be suppressed nor escaped.
13 A metaphor, from stripping trees of their bark.

70 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT 1(1.

Than a perpetual honour. Dar'st thou die 1
The sense of death is most in apprehension ;
And the poor beetle, that we tread upon,
In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great
As when a giant dies.14

Claud. Why give you me tliis shame 1

Think you I can a resolution fetch
From flowery tenderness ? If I must die,
I will encounter darkness as a bride,
And hug it in mine arms.

Isab. There spake my brother : there my father's

grave

Did utter forth a voice ! Yes, thou must die :
Thou art too noble to conserve a life
In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy -
Whose settled visage and deliberate word
Nips youth i'the head, and follies doth emmew,1*
As falcon doth the fowl — is yet a devil :
His filth witliin being cast, he would appear
A pond as deep as hell.

Claud. The precise Angelo t

Isab. O ! 'tis the cunning livery of hell,
The damned'st body to invest and cover
In precise guards ! " Dost thou think, Claudio,

14 This beautiful passage is in all our minds and memories, hui
it most frequently stands in quotation detached from the antece-
dent line, — " The sense of death is most in apprehension ; " with-
out which it is liable to an opposite construction. The meaning
is, that fear is the principal sensation in death, which has no pain ,
and the giant when he dies feels uo greater pain than the beetle.

14 In whose presence the fellies of youth are afraid to show
themselves, as the fowl is afraid to flutter while the falcon hovers
over it. To emmetn is a term in falconry, signifying to restrain,
•o keep in a mew or cage e;ther by force or terror.

18 The original here reads prenzie guards, and, three lines
above, prenzie Angela ; both of them evident corruptions, there
being no such word. The common reading in both places is
p;-au:ely. Warbnrton would have it priestly, and Tieck sugge^

SO. I. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 71

If I would yield him my virginity,
Thou might'st be freed 7

Claud. O, heavens ! it cannot be.

Isab. Yes, lie would give't thee, from this rank

offence,

So to offend him still.17 This night's the time
That I 'should do what I abhor to name,
Or else thou diest to-morrow.

Claud. Thou shall not do't.

Isab. O ! were it but my life,
I'd throw it down for your deliverance
As frankly18 as a pin.

Claud. Thanks, dear Isabel.

Isab. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-mor-
row.

Claud. Yes. — Has he affections in him,
That thus can make him bite the law by the nose,
When he would force it 1 19 Sure it is no sin ;
Or of the deadly seven it is the least.

Isab. Which is the least 7

precise, which is adopted by Knight and Verplanck. Precise cer-
tainly suits well with the character of the Deputy, and the Duke
has already said, — "Lord Angelo is precise." And the use, so
familiar in the Poet's time, of precisian for puritan, would render
the term as intelligible to an audience as it is appropriate to the
person. — Guards were trimmings, facings, ornaments; and as
Angelo was a precisian in morals and manners, he would natural-
ly be so likewise in his dress : the " pride " he takes in his " grav-
ity " would lead him to affect plainness of decoration. Halliwell
objects to precise, that it makes the metre irregular ; but such ir-
eguUrities appear to have been oftener sought than shunued by
the Poet. H.

17 That is, "from tlie time of my committing this offence, you
might persist in sinning with safety."

18 Frankly, freely.

18 " Has he passions that impel him to transgress the law at th«
very moment that he is enforcing it against others ? Surely then
it cannot be a sin so very heinous, since Angelo, who is so wise,
will venture it." Shakespeare shows his knowledge of human
nature in thp conduct of Claudio.

T'2 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT 1IL

Claud. If it were damnable, he, being so wise,
Why, would he for the momentary trick,
Be perdurably fin'd 1 — O Isabel !

Isab. What says my brother 1

Claud. Death is a fearful thing

Isab. And shamed life a hateful.

Claud. Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ;
To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot;
This sensible warm motion to become
A. kneaded clod ; and the delighted spirit *°
To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside
In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice ; *'

80 This passage is a standing puzzle to commentators ; " fierj
floods " and " region of thick-ribbed ice " being, as one would
think, among the last places to be delighted in. The most common
explanation is, that delighted spirit means the spirit that has been
delighted, or is accustomed to delight. Another, and perhaps a
better explanation, is, that the passive form is here used in an ac-
tive sense, delighted for delighting or delightful, — an usage quite
frequent in Shakespeare ; as in Othello, Act i. sc. 3 : "If virtue
no delighted beauty lack ; " and in The Merry Wives of Windsor,
Act iv. sc. 6 : " Give our hearts united ceremony." But the best
suggestion we have seen is, that the word is here used in the sense
of removed from or deprived of the light, as if it were written
de-lighted ; which is a strictly classical use of the prepositive de,
and certainly has the merit of harmony with the context. The
use of the Latin prepositive de, di, dis, in combination with native
words, is so common in Shakespeare and other writers of that time
that it is scarce worth the while to cite examples. Thus, Shake
speare has dislimns and dismask'd ; Drayton, diswitted ; Daniel,
disweaponing ; Feltham, disman'd ; Drant, dehusk'd ; Speed,
deking'd ; and Giles Fletcher, in his fine poem, Christ's Victory
and Triumph, thus describes the passing away of an eclipse of
the sun :

" But soon as he again deshadow'd is.
Restoring the blind world his blemish'd sight,
As though another day wert newly his,
The coz'ned birds busily take their flight,
And wonder at the shortness of the night." H.

** So, in Ben Jonson's Catiline, Act i sc. 1 : " We are spirit-
bouiid in ribs of ice, our whole bloods are one stone, and honour
cannot thaw us ; " and in Paradise Lost, Book ii. :

SO. 1. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 73

To be imprison'd in the viewless winds,
And blown with restless violence round about
The pendent world ; or to be worse than worst
Of those, that lawless and incertain thoughts
Imagine howling ! — 'tis too horrible !
The weariest and most loathed worldly life,
That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment
Can lay on nature, is a paradise
To what we fear of death.

Isab. Alas ! alas !

Claud. Sweet sister, let me live:

What sin you do to save a brother's life,
Nature dispenses with the deed so far,
That it becomes a virtue.

Isab. O, you beast !

O, faithless coward ! O, dishonest wretch !
Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice 1
Is't not a kind of incest, to take life
From thine own sister's shame 1 What should I

think ?

Heaven shield, my mother play'd my father fair !
For such a warped slip of wilderness 22
Ne'er issued from his blood. Take my defiance : M
Die ; perish ! might but my bending down
Reprieve tliee from thy fate, it should proceed:
I'll pray a thousand prayers for thy death,
No word to save thee.

Claud. Nay, hear me, Isabel.

Isab. O, fie, fie, fie !

Thy sin's not accidental, but a trade :

" From beds of raging1 lire to starve in ice
Their soft ethereal warmth, and there to pine
Immovable, infix'd, and frozen round.
Periods of time." B

** Wilderness for wildness.
w That is, my refusal.

74 MEASURE FOK MEASURE. ACT IIL

Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd :
'Tis best that thou diest quickly. [Going

Claud. O, hear me, Isabella !

Re-enter DUKE.

Duke. Vouchsafe a word, young sister ; but one
word.

Isab. What is your will 1

Duke. Might you dispense with your leisure, 1
would by and by have some speech with you : the
satisfaction I would require is likewise your own
benefit.

Isab. I have no superfluous leisure : my stay must
be stolen out of other affairs ; but I will attend you
a while.

Duke. [Aside to CLAUDIO.] Son, I have overheard
what hath pass'd between you and your sister. An-
gelo had never the purpose to corrupt her ; only he
hath made an assay of her virtue, to practise hia
judgment with the disposition of natures : She, hav-
ing the truth of honour in her, hath made him that
gracious denial which he is most glad to receive : I
am confessor to Angelo, and I know this to be true ;
therefore prepare yourself to death : Do not satisfy
your resolution 24 with hopes that are fallible : to
morrow you must die : Go to your knees, and make
ready.

Claud. Let me ask my sister pardon. I am so
out of love with life, that I will sue to be rid of it

Duke. Hold 2& you there : Farewell.

[Exit CLAUDIO

** Satisfy was used by old writers in the sense of to stay, stop
fittnch, or stint; as in the phrase, — "Sorrow is satisfied with
tears." To satisfy or stint hunger ; to quench or satisfy thirst.

** Hold vnt there : continue iu tha'. resolution

SC. L MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 75

Re-enter Provost.

Provost, a word with you.

Prov. What's your will, father ?

Duke. That now you are come, you will be gone :
Leave me awhile with the maid : my mind promises
with my habit ; no loss shall touch her by my com-
pany.

Prov. In good time.28 [Exit Provost.

Duke. The hand that hath made you fair hath
made you good : the goodness that is cheap in beau
ty makes beauty brief in goodness ; but grace, being
the soul of your complexion, shall keep the body
of it ever fair. The assault that Angelo hath made
to you fortune hath convey'd to my understanding ;
and, but that frailty hath examples for his falling, I
'should wonder at Angelo. How would you do to
content this substitute, and to save your brother ?

Isab. I am now going to resolve him : I had rath
er my brother die by the law, than my son should
be unlawfully born. But O, how much is the good
Duke deceiv'd in Angelo ! If ever he return, and
[ can speak to him, I will open my lips in vain, or
discover his government.

Duke. That shall not be much amiss : Yet, as
the matter now stands, he will avoid your accusa-
tion ; he made trial of you only. — Therefore, fasten
your ear on my advisings : to the love I have in do-
ing good a remedy presents itself. I do make my-
self believe, that you may most uprighteously do a
poor wronged lady a merited benefit ; redeem your
brother from the angry law; do no stain to. your
own gracious person ; and much please the absenl

48 That is, 4 la bonne heure. so b« it, very well.

7fi MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT IIL

Duke, if, peradventure, he shall ever return to have
hearing of this business.

Isab, Let me hear you speak further: I have
spirit to do any thing that appears not foul in the
truth of my spirit.

Duke. Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful.
Have you not heard speak of Mariana, the sister
of Frederick, the great soldier who miscarried at
sea?

Isab. I have heard of the lady, and good words
went with her name.

Duke. She should this Angelo have married ; he
was affianced to her by oath, and the nuptial ap-
pointed : between which time of the contract and
limit 27 of the solemnity, her brother Frederick waa
wreck'd at sea, liming in that perished vessel the
dowry of his sister. But mark how heavily this be-
fel to the poor gentlewoman : there she lost a noble
and renowned brother, in his love toward her ever
most kind and natural ; with him the portion and
sinew of her fortune, her marriage dowry ; with
both, her combinate 28 husband, this well-seeming
Angelo.

Isab. Can this be so 1 Did Angelo so leave her 1

Duke. Left her in her tears, and dried not one of
them with his comfort ; swallowed his vows whole,
pretending in her discoveries of dishonour : in few,
bestow'd her on her own lamentation,29 which she
yet wears for his sake ; and he, a marble to her
tears, is washed with them, but relents not.

Isab. What a merit were it in death, to take this
poor maid from the world ! What corruption in this

17 That is, appointed time.

*3 That is, betrothed.

* That is. gave her up to her sorrows.

bC. 1. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 77

life, that it will let this man live ! — But how out of
this can she avail 1

Duke. It is a rupture that you may easily heal ;
and the cure of it not only saves your brother, but
keeps you from dishonour in doing it.

Isab. Show me how, good father.

Duke. This forenamed maid hath yet in her the
continuance of her first affection : his unjust unkind-
ness, that in all reason should have quenched her
love, hath, like an impediment in the current, made
it more violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo ;
answer his requiring with a plausible obedience ;
agree with his demands to the point : only refer
yourself 30 to this advantage, — first, that your stay
with him may not be long ; that the time may have
all shadow and silence in it ; and the place answer
to convenience. This being granted in course, now
follows all : We shall advise this wronged maid
to stead up your appointment, go in your place ; if
the encounter acknowledge itself hereafter, it may
compel him to her recompense : and here, by this,
is your brother saved, your honour untainted, the
poor Mariana advantaged, and the corrupt deputy
foiled. The maid will I frame, and make fit for
Jus attempt. If you think well to carry this, as
you may, the doubleness of the benefit defends iho
deceit from reproof. What think you of it ?

Isab. The image of it gives me content already ;
and I trust it will grow to a most prosperous per-
fection.

Duke. It lies much in your holding up : Haste

*° Rfftr yourself, have recourse to.

31 Thai is, stripped of his covering or disguise, his alienation
•jf virtue; dfsquamatus. A metaphor of a similar nature has be-
fore occurred in this play, taken from the harking, peeling, or strip
l>inp ol trees.

78 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT 111

you speedily to Angelo : if for this night he entreat
you to his bed, give him promise of satisfaction
I will presently to St. Luke's ; there, at the moated
grange, resides this dejected Mariana : 32 At that
place call upon me ; and despatch with Angelo, that
it may be quickly.

Isab. I thank you for this comfort : Fare you
well, good father. [Exeunt severally

SCENE H. The Street before the Prison.

Enter DUKE, as a Friar ; to him ELBOW, dotcn,
and Officers.

ETb. Nay, if there be no remedy for it, but that
you will needs buy and sell men and women like
beasts, we shall have all the world drink brown and
white bastard.1

Duke. O, heavens ! what stuff is here ?

11 The dreary and desolate solitude of Mariana at the moated
grange is wrought oui with great power by Mr. Tennyson, in »
poem from which we hate room for but one stanza :
" Her tears fell with the dews at even,

Her tears fell ere the dews were dried ;
She could not look on the sweet heaven,

Either at morn or eventide.
After the flitting of the bats,

When thickest dark did trance the sky,
She drew her casement curtain by,
And glane'd athwart the glooming flats
She only said, ' The night is dreary —

He cometh not,' she said ;
She said, ' 1 am aweary, aweary ;

I would that 1 were dead ! ' "

'('he whole poem is a rare specimen in the art of creating imagery
so fitted to a given tone of feeling as to reproduce the feeling it
self. — A grange was a large farm-house, such as are often kepi
"or summer residence hy wealthy citizens. The grange was some-
times moated for defence and safety. H.
1 fSustard. A sweet wine, Kaisin wine, according to Miushew

SC. 11. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 79

Clo. 'Twas never merry world, since, of two
usuries, the merriest was put down, and the worsei
allow'd by order of law a furr'd gown to keep him
warm ; and furr'd with fox and lamb-skins 2 too, tc
signify that craft, being richer than innoceucy, stands
for the facing.

Elb. Come your way, sir : — Bless you, good fa-
ther friar.

Duke. And you, good brother father : 3 What
offence hath this man made you, sir 1

Elb. Marry, sir, he hath offended the law; and,
sir, we take him to be a thief too, sir ; for we have
found upon him, sir, a strange pick-lock,4 which we
have sent to the deputy.

Duke. Fie, sirrah ! a bawd, a wicked bawd !
The evil that thou causest to be done,
That is thy means to live : Do thou but think
What 'tis to cram a maw, or clothe a back,
From such a filthy vice : say to thyself, —
From their abominable and beastly touches
I drink, I eat, array myself, and live.
Canst thou believe thy living is a life,
So stinkingly depending 1 Go, mend ; go, mend.

Clo. Indeed, it does stink in some sort, sir ; but
yet, sir, I would prove

Duke. Nay, if the devil have given thee proofs
for sin,

f Perhaps we should read " fox on lamb-skins," otherwise craft
will not stand for the facing. Fox-skins and lamb-skins were both
used as facings. So, in Characterismi, 1631 : " An usurer is an
old fox clad in lamb-skin."

3 The Duke humorously calls him brother fattier, because he
had called him father friar, which is equivalent to father brother,
friar being derived from frere, Fr.

4 It is not necessary to lake honest Pompey for a housebreak-
er : the locks he had occasion to pick were Spanish padlocks, la
Jonson's Volpone, Corvino threatens to make his wife wear one
of then strange contrivances.

80 MEASURE FOR MKASTTKE. ACT US.

Thou wilt prove his. Take him to prison, officer:
Correction and instruction must both work,
Ere this rude beast will profit.

Elb. He must before the deputy, sir ; he has
given him warning : The deputy cannot abide a
whoremaster : if he be a whoremonger, and cornea
before him, he were as good go a mile on his er-
rand.

Duke. That we were all, as some would seern

to be,
Free from our faults, as faults from seeming free !

Enter Lucio.

Elb. His neck will come to your waist ; a cord,*
sir.

do. I spy comfort : I cry, bail : Here's a gen-
tleman, and a friend of mine.

Lucio. How now, noble Pompey ? What, at the
wheels of Caesar ? Art thou led in triumph 7 What,
is there none of Pygmalion's images, newly made
woman,7 to be had now, for putting the hand ija the
pocket and extracting it clutch'd ? What reply ?
Ha! What say'st thou to this tune, matter, and
method ? Is't not drowri'd i'the last rain 1 Ha !
What say'st thou, trot 1 Is the world as it was,
man ? Which is the way 1 Is it sad, and few
words ? Or how 1 The trick of it ?

Duke. Still thus, and thus : still worse !

Lucio. How doth my dear morsel, thy mistress ?
Procures she still 1 Ha !

5 That is, as free from faults as faults are from seemlinesa. H.
' His neck will be tied, like your waist, with a cord. The friai
wore a rope for a girdle.

T That is, hnve you uo new courtesans to recommend to yoiu

customers 1

SC. U. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 81

Clo. Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef,
and she is herself in the tub.8

Lucio. Why, 'tis good ; it is the right of it : it
must be so : Ever your fresh whore, and your pow-
der'd bawd : an unshunn'd 9 consequence ; it must
be so : Art going to prison, Pompey ?

Clo. Yes, faith, sir.

Lucio. Why, 'tis not amiss, Pompey : Farewell ;
go ; say I sent thee thither. For debt, Pompey 1
Or how ?

Elb. For being a bawd, for being a bawd.

Lucio. Well, then imprison him : If imprisonment
be the due of a bawd, why, 'tis his right : Bawd
is he, doubtless, and of antiquity too ; bawd-born
Farewell, good Pompey : Commend me to the
prison, Pompey : You will turn good husband now,
Pompey ; you will keep the house.10

Clo. I hope, sir, your good worship will be my
bail.

Lucio. No, indeed, will I not, Pompey ; it is not
the wear.11 I will pray, Pompey, to increase your
bondage : if you take it not patiently, why, your
mettle is the more : Adieu, trusty Pompey. — Bless
you, friar.

Duke. And you.

Lucio. Does Bridget paint still, Pompey ? Ha 1

Elb. Come your ways, sir ; come.

Clo. You will not bail me then, sir ?

Lucio. Then, Pompey ? nor now. — What news
abroad, friar ? What news ?

Elb. Come your ways, sir ; come.

* The method of cure for a certain disease was grossly called
the powdering tub.
9 That is, inevitable.

0 That is, stay at home, alluding to the etymology of fuuband
11 That is, fashion.

82 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT (IL

Lucio. Go, — to kennel, Pompey, go :

[Exeunt ELBOW, Clown, and Officers,
What news, friar, of the Duke 1

Duke. I know none : Can you tell me of any 1

Lucio. Some say he is with the emperor of Rus-
sia ; other some, he is in Rome : But where is he,
think you ?

Duke. I know not where : but wheresoever, I
wish him well.

Lucio. It was a mad fantastical trick of him, to
steal from the state, and usurp the beggary he was
never born to. Lord Angelo dukes it well in his
absence : he puts transgression to't.

Duke. He does well in't.

Lucio. A little more lenity to lechery would do
no harm in him : something too crabbed that way,
friar.

Duke. It is too general a vice, and severity must,
cure it.

Lucio. Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great
kindred ; it is well allied : but it is impossible to
extirp it quite, friar, till eating and drinking be put
down. They say this Angelo was not made by man
and woman, after the downright way of creation •
Is it true, think you ?

Duke. How should he be made then ?

Lucio. Some report a sea-maid spawn'd him : —
Some, that he was begot between two stock-fishes ;
•— But it is certain, that when he makes water his
urine is congeal'd ice ; that I know to be true : and
he is a motion ingenerative ; that's infallible.

Duke. You are pleasant, sir ; and speak apace.

Lucio. Why, what a ruthless thing is this in him
for the rebellion of a cod-piece to take away the

11 That is, a puppet, or moving body.

SC. II. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 83

life of a man 1 Would the Duke that is absent have
done this 1 Ere he would have hang'd a man for the
getting a hundred bastards, he would have paid for
the nursing of a thousand : He had some feeling of
the sport ; he knew the service, and that instructed
him to mercv.

Duke. I never heard the absent Duke much de-
tected l3 for women : he was not iiiclin'd that way.

Lucio. O, sir ! you are deceiv'd.

Duke. 'Tis not possible.

Lucio. Who 1 not the Duke ? yes, your beggar
of fifty ; — and his use was, to put a ducat in her
clack-dish : 14 the Duke had crotchets in him : He
would be drunk too ; that let me inform you.

Duke. You do him wrong, surely.

Lucio. Sir, I was an inward 1S of his : A shy fel
low was the Duke : and I believe I know the cause
of his withdrawing.

Duke. What, I pr'ythee, might be the cause ?

Lucio. No, — pardon ; — 'tis a secret must be
lock'd within the teeth and the lips : but this I can
let you understand, — The greater file 16 of the sub-
ject held the Duke to be wise.

Duke. Wise ? why, no question but he was.

Lucio. A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing *
fellow.

13 Detected for suspected. See The Merry Wives of Windsor,
Act. iii. sc. 5, and note 4.

14 A wooden dish with a movable cover, formerly carried by
beggars, which they clacked and clattered to show that it was
empty. It was one mode of attracting attention. Lepers and
other paupers deemed infectious originally used it, that the sound
might give warning not to approach too near, and alms be given
without touching the object. The custom of clacking at Easter is
i.ot yet quite disused in some counties.

15 That is, intimate.

l« n The greater fie," the majority of his subjects.
17 That is, inconsiderate.

84 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT III.

Duke. Either this is envy in you, folly, or mis-
taking : the very stream of his life, and the business
he hath helmed,18 must, upon a warranted need,
give him a better proclamation. Let him be but
testimonied in bis own bringings forth, and he shall
appear to the envious a scholar, a statesman, and
a soldier : Therefore you speak unskilfully, or, if
your knowledge be more, it is much darken'd io
your malice.

Ludo. Sir, I know him, and I love him.

Duke. Love talks with better knowledge, and
knowledge with dearer love.

Ludo. Come, sir, I know what I know.

Duke. I can hardly believe that, since you know
not what you speak. But, if ever the Duke return,
(as our prayers are he may,) let me desire you to
make your answer before him : If it be honest you
have spoke, you have courage to maintain it : 1
am bound to call upon you ; and, I pray you, your
name?

Luriu. Sir, my name is Lucio ; well known to the
Duke.

Duke. He shall know you better, sir, if I may
live to report you.

Lucio I fear you not.

Duke. O ! you hope the Duke will return no
more; or you imagine me too unhurtful an oppo-
site : 19 But, indeed, I can do you little harm : you'll
forswear this again.

Lucio. I'll be harig'd first : thou art deceiv'd in
me, friar. But no more of this : Canst thou tell if
Claudio die to-morrow, or no 1

Duke. Why should he die, sir?

Lucio. Why ? for filling a bottle with a tun-dish

18 Gu'uled, steered through, a metaphor from navigation.
'• Opposite, opponent.

SC II. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 85

I would the Duke we talk of were return'd again :
this ungenitur'd 20 agent will unpeople the province
with continency ; sparrows must not build in his
house-eaves, because they are lecherous. The Duke
yet would have dark deeds darkly answered ; he
would never bring them to light : would he were
return'd ! Marry, this Claudio is condemn'd for un-
trussing. Farewell, good friar ; I pr'ythee, pray for
me. The Duke, I say to thee again, would eat mut-
ton21 on Fridays. He's not past it yet; and I say
to thee, he would mouth with a beggar, though she
smelt 22 brown bread and garlic : say that I said
BO. Farewell. [Exit.

Duke. No might nor greatness in mortality
Can censure 'scape : back-wounding calumny
The whitest virtue strikes : What king so strong,
Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue ?
But who comes here 1

Enter ESCALUS, Provost, Bawd, and OJficets.

Escal. Go : away with her to prison.

Bawd. Good my lord, be good to me ; your hon
our is accounted a merciful man : good my lord.

Escal. Double and treble admonition, and still
forfeit " in the same kind 1 This would make
mercy swear, and play the tyrant.

*° That is, unfathered, not begotten after the ordinary course
of nature ; in accordance with what Lucio says of him a little
before. The word seems to be formed from genitoirs, which oc-
curs several times in Holland's Pliny, and comes from the French
genitoires. H.

n A wench was called a laced mutton. In Doctor Faustus,
1601, Lechery says, " I am one that loves an inch of raw mutton
better than an ell of stock-fish." See The Two Gentlemen of
Verona, Act. i. sc. 1, and note 9.

n Smelt, for smelt of.

** Forfeit, transgress, offend, from fo'faire, FT

80 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT III.

Prov. A bawd of eleven years' continuance, may
it please your honour.

Bawd. My lord, this is one Lucio's information
against me : Mistress Kate Keep-down was with
cliild by him in the Duke's time ; he promis'd her
marriage : his child is a year and a quarter old,
come Philip and Jacob : I have kept it myself ; and
see how he goes about to abuse me.

Escal. That fellow is a fellow of much license :
.et him be call'd before us. — Away with her to
prison : Go to ; no more words. [Exeunt Bawd and
Officers.] Provost, my brother Angelo will not be
alter'd ; Claudio must die to-morrow : Let him be
furnish'd with divines, and have all charitable prep-
aration : if my brother wrought by my pity, it
should not be so with him.

Prov. So please you, this friar hath been with him,
and advis'd him for the entertainment of death.

Escal. Good even, good father.

Duke. Bliss and goodness on you !

Escal. Of whence are you ?

Duke. Not of this country, though my chance is

now

To use it for my time : I am a brother
Of gracious order, late come from the see,
In special business from his holiness.

Escal. What news abroad i'the world 1

Duke. None, but that there is so great a fever on
goodness, that the dissolution of it must cure it :
novelty is only in request ; and as it is as dangerous
to be aged in any kind of course, as it is virtuous to
be constant in any undertaking, there is scarce truth
enough alive, to make societies secure ; but security
enough, to make fellowships accurs'd : S4 Much upon

M The allusion is to those legal securities into which fellowship

SO. II. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 97

this riddle runs the wisdom of the world. This
news is old enough, yet it is every day's news. I
pray you, sir, of what disposition was the Duke ?

Escal. One that, above all other strifes, contend-
ed especially to know himself.

Duke. What pleasure was he given to ?

Escal. Rather rejoicing to see another merry, than
merry at any thing which profess'd to make him re-
joice : a gentleman of all temperance. But leave
we him to his events, with a prayer they may prove
prosperous; and let me desire to know how you find
Claudio prepar'd. I am made to understand, that
you have lent han visitation.

Duke. He professes to have received no sinister
measure from his judge, but most willingly humbles
himself to the determination of justice : yet had he
framed to himself, by the instruction of his frailty,
many deceiving promises of life ; which I, by my
good leisure, have discredited to him, and now is
he resolv'd 25 to die.

Escal. You have paid the heavens your function,
and the prisoner the very debt of your calling. I
have labour'd for the poor gentleman, to the ex-
tremest shore of my modesty ; but my brother jus-
tice have 1 found so severe, that he hath forc'd me
to tell him, he is indeed — justice.28

Duke. If his own life answer the straitness of his
proceeding, it shall become him well ; wherein, if
he chance to fail, he hath sentenc'd himself.

Escal. I am going to visit the prisoner : Fare
you well.

leads men to enter for each other. For this quibble Shakespeara
has hig-h authority ; " He that hateth suretyship is sure." Pro*.
xi. 15.

45 That is, satisfied ; probably because conviction leads to in-
cision or resolution.

98 Summum jus, tumma iniuria.

88 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT III.

Duke. Peace be with you !

[Exeunt ESCALUS and Provost
He who the sword of Heaven will bear
Should be as holy as severe ;
Pattern in himself to know,
Grace to stand, and virtue go ; *7
More nor less to others paying,
Than by self-offences weighing.
Shame to him, whose cruel striking
Kills for faults of his own liking !
Twice treble shame on Angelo,
To weed my vice,28 and let his grow !
O ! what may man within him hide,
Though angel on the outward side !
How may likeness wade in crimes !
Making practice on the times,
To draw with idle spiders' strings
Most ponderous and substantial things ! 2*

17 Coleridge, in his Literary Remains, remarks upon this pas-
sage. — " Worse metre indeed, but better English would be :

' Grace to stand, virtue to go.' " H.

18 The Duke's vice may be explained by what he says himself
Act i. sc. 4 : " 'Twas my fault to give the people scope." An-
gelo's vice requires no explanation.

19 We here give the reading of the original, except the change-
ing of made into wade ; an emendation proposed by Mr. Halliwell,
and so apt that we have ventured to adopt it. How easy it were
for a printer to put m for w, or vice versa, need not be argued ; and
an instance of it has already occurred in this play, Act ii. sc. 3,
where the original reads Jlatces for flames. With this change, the
passage, though rather dark in itself, is intelligible enough, when
we consider that the speaker has Angelo in his mind ; who, bad
a* lie is, has by bis hypocrisy managed to raise himself as high as
merit could lift him. Likeness apparently has much the samn
meaning here as what the Poet elsewhere calls " virtuous-seem-
ing." So that the passage may be rendered thus : How may
seeming virtue, unsubstantial a» it is, and wickedly put on, by
practising upon the times draw to itself the greatest of earlhlv
honours and emoluments, even while it is wading or rioting in
erime ' H

SC. II. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 89

Craft against vice I must apply :

With Angelo to-night shall lie

His old betrothed, but despised ;

So disguise shall, by the disguised,

Pay with falsehood false exacting,

And perform an old contracting. [Exit

ACT IV.

SCENE I. A Room at the Moated Grange.
MARIANA discovered sitting: a Boy singing.

Song}

Take, O ! take those lips away,

That so sweetly were forsworn ;
And those eyes, the break of day,

Lights that do mislead the morn :
But my kisses bring again,

Bring again,
Seals of love, but seal'd in vain,

Seal'd in vain.

1 It does not appear certain to whom this beautiful little song
rightly belongs. It is found with an additional stanza in Fletcher's
Bloody Brother. Mr. Malone prints it as Shakespeare's, Mr.
Boswell thinks Fletcher has the best claim to it, Mr. Weber that
Shakespeare may have written the first stanza, and Fletcher Uw
second. It may indeed be the property of some unknown or for-
gotten author. Be this as it may, the reader will be pleased to
kave the second stanza : —

" Hide. O ! hide those hills of snow

Which thy frozen bosom bears,
On whose tops the pinks that grow

Are of those that April wears.
But first set my poor heart free,
Bound in those icy chains by thee '"

SJO MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT If

Mart. Break off thy song, and haste thee quick

away :

Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice
Hath often still'd my brawling discontent. —

[Exit Bov
Enter DUKE.

I cry you mercy, sir ; and well could wish

You had not found me here so musical :

I«et me excuse me, and believe me so, —

My mirth it much displeas'd, but pleas'd my woe.*

Duke. 'Tis good : though music oft hath such a

charm,

To make bad good, and good provoke to harm.
I pray you, tell me, hath any body inquir'd for me
here to-day? much upon this time have I promis'd
here to meet.

Mori. You have not been inquir'd after : I have
sat here all day.

Enter ISABELLA.

Duke. I do constantly believe you: — The time
is come, even now. I shall crave your forbearance
a little : may be, I will call upon you anon, for some
advantage to yourself.

Mori. I am always bound to you. [Exit

Duke. Very well met, and welcome.
What is the news from this good deputy ?

Isab. He hath a garden circuinmur'd 3 with brick,
Whose western side is with a vineyard back'd ;
And to that vineyard is a planched 4 gate,
That makes his opening with this bigger key :
This other doth command a little door,

1 Though the music soothed my sorrows, it had no tendency to
produce light merriment.

1 Circumnuir'd, walled round. 4 Planched, planked, wooden

hC. L MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 91

Wliich from the vineyard to the garden leads ;
There have I made my promise, upon the
Heavy middle of the night to call upon him.

Duke. But shall you on your knowledge find this

way

Isab. I have ta'en a due and wary note upon't :
With whispering and most guilty diligence,
In action all of precept, he did show me
The way twice o'er.

Duke. Are there no other tokens

Between you 'greed, concerning her observance ?

Isab. No, none, but only a repair i'tlie dark ;
And that I have possess'd 3 him, my most stay
Can be but brief: for I have made him know
[ have a servant comes with me along,
That stays 8 upon me ; whose persuasion is,
I come about my brother.

Duke. 'Tis well borne up.

I have not yet made known to Mariana
A word of this : — What, ho ! within ! come forth !

Re-enter MARIANA.

1 pray you, be acquainted with this maid :
She comes to do you good.
Isab. I do desire the like.
Duke. Do you persuade yourself that I respect

you ?
Mori. Good friar, I know you do ; and hare

found it.
Duke. Take, then, this your companion by the

hand,
Who hath a story ready for your ear :

5 That is, informed. Thus Shylock says, — " I have po*sei*'d
your grace of what I purpose."
* (Stays, waits

92 MEASURE FOR MEASUKE. ACT FT.

( shall attend your leisure ; but make haste ;
The vaporous night approaches.

Mori. Will't please you walk aside ?

[Exeunt MARI. and ISAB

Duke. O place and greatness ! millions of false

eyes

Are stuck upon thee. Volumes of report
Run with these false and most contrarious quests '
Upon thy doings : thousand escapes 8 of wit
Make thee the father of their idle dream,
And rack thee in their fancies !

Re-enter MARIANA and ISABELLA.

Welcome ! How agreed ?

Isab. She'll take the enterprise upon her, father,
If you advise it.

Duke. It is riot my consent,

But my entreaty too.

Isab. Little have you to say,

When you depart from him, but, soft and low,
" Remember now my brother."

Mori. Fear me not.

Duke. Nor, gentle daughter, fear you not at all
He is your husband on a pre-contract :
To bring you thus together, 'tis no sin ;
Sith that the justice of your title to him
Doth flourish 9 the deceit. Come, let us go :
Our corn's to reap, for yet our tilth's 10 to sow.

[Exeunt.

1 Quest*, inquisitions, inquiries.

8 Escapes, sallies, sportive wiles.

* That is, ornament, embellish ail action that would otherwise
seem ugly.

10 Tilth here means land prepared for sowing. The old copy
reads tithe; the emendation is Warhurton's. See Act i. sc. 5
•otc 6.

SCI. II. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 93

SCENE II. A Room in the Prison.
Enter Provost and Cloien.

Prov Come hither, sirrah : Can you cut off a
man's head 1

Clo. If the man be a bachelor, sir, I can ; but if
he be a married man, he is his wife's head, and I
can never cut off a woman's head.

Prov. Come, sir, leave me your snatches, and
yield me a direct answer. To-morrow morning
are to die Claudio and Barnardine : Here is in our
prison a common executioner, who in his office
lacks a helper : if you will take it on you to assist
him, it shall redeem you from your gyves ; ' if not,
you shall have your full time of imprisonment, and
your deliverance with an unpitied * whipping ; for
you have been a notorious bawd.

Clo. Sir, I have been an unlawful bawd, time out
nf mind ; but yet I will be content to be a lawful
hangman. I would be glad to receive some instruc-
tion from my fellow-partner.

Prov. What ho, Abhorson ! Where's Abhorson,
there ?

Enter ABHORSON.

Abhor. Do you call, sir ?

Prov. Sirrah, here's a fellow will help you to-
morrow in your execution : If you think it meet,
compound with him by the year, and let him abide
here with you ; if rot, use him for the present, and
dismiss him : He cannot plead his estimation witfc
you ; he hath been a bawd.

1 That is, fetters.

* That is, a whipp:ng that none shall pity.

94 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT IV.

Ab/ior. -A bawd, sir 1 Fie upon him ! he will
discredit our mystery.

Prov. Go to, sir ; you weigh equally '. a feather
will turn the scale. [Exit.

Clo. Pray, sir, by your good favour, (for, surely,
sir, a good favour 3 you have, but that you have a
hanging look,) do you call, sir, your occupation a
mystery 1

Abhor. Ay, sir ; a mystery.

Clo. Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mystery ;
and your whores, sir, being members of my occupa-
tion, using painting, do prove my occupation a mys-
tery : but what mystery there should be in hanging,
if 1 should be hang'd, I cannot imagine.

Abhor. Sir, it is a mystery.

Clo. Proof?

Abhor. Every true * man's apparel fits yom
thief —

Clo.b If it be too little for your thief, your true
man thinks it big enough ; if it be too big for your
thief, your thief thinks it little enough : so every
true man's apparel fits your thief.

Re-enter Provost.

Prov. Are you agreed ?

Clo. Sir, I will serve him ; for I do find your

1 Favour is countenance. 4 That is, honest.

* So in the original : but the most of modern editions put ttiis
speech into the mouth of Abhorson ; whereas such a lively, flip-
pant piece of logic seems quite unsuiled to so grave, slow-tongw.d,
sententious a person. The Clown asks for proof that " hanging
is a mystery;'' and the hangman begins with a creeping, rounda
bout answer, when the (/town, being nimbler-wilted, catches his
method of proof, darts ahead of him in the argument, and proves
not indeed that hanging is a mystery, but that something1 else is.

MJ. II. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 35

hangman is a more penitent trade than yo ir bawd
he doth oftener ask forgiveness.6

Prov. You, sirrah, provide your block and yoia
axe to-morrow four o'clock.

Ablwr. Come on, bawd ; I will instruct thee in
my trade : follow.

Clo. I do desire to learn, sir ; and I hope, if you
have occasion to use me for your own turn, you shall
find me yare ; 7 for, truly, sir, for your kindness, I
owe you a good turn.

Prov. Call hither Barnardine and Claudio :

[Exeunt Clown and ABHORSON.
One has my pity ; not a jot the other,
Being a murderer, though he were my brother.

Enter CLAUDIO.

Look, here's the warrant, Claudio, for thy death :
'Tis now dead midnight, and by eight to-morrow
Thou must be made immortal. Where's Barnardine ?
Claud. As fast lock'd up in sleep, as guiltless

labour

When it lies starkly 8 in the traveller's bones :
He will not wake.

Prov. Who can do good on him ?

Well, go, prepare yourself. But hark ! what noise ?

[Knocking tcithm.

Heaven give your spirits comfort ! — • By and by : —

[Exit CLAUDIO.

T hope it is some pardon, or reprieve,
For the most gentle Claudio. — Welcome, father.

6 It was formerly the custom for an executioner, before pro
needing to bis office, to ask forgiveness of the person to be exe
ruled. H

7 That is, ready, nimble.
" That is, stiffly

96 MKASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT IV

Enter DUKE.

Duke. The best and wholesomest spirits of the

night
Envelop you, good provost ! Who call'd here of

late ?

Prom. None, since the curfew rung.
Duke. Not Isabel 1
Prov. No.

Duke. They will then, ere't be long.
Prov. What comfort is for Claudio ?
Duke. There's some in hope.
Prov. It is a bitter deputy.
Duke. Not so, not so : his life is parallel'd
Even with the stroke 9 and line of his great justice .
He doth with holy abstinence subdue
That in himself, which he spurs on his power
To qualify10 in others: were he meal'd11
With that which he corrects, then were he tyran-
nous ; [Knocking within.
But this being so, he's just. — Now are they come. —

[Exit Provott*

This is a gentle provost : Seldom — when
The steeled jailer is the friend of men. —
How now ! What noise ? That spirit's possess'd

with haste,

That wounds the unsisting'* postern with these
strokes.

• Stroke is here put for the stroke of a pen, or a line.

10 To qualify is to temper, to moderate.

11 Meafd. appears to mean here sprinkled, o'erdusted, defilen.
lf So in the original. Sir William Blackstone suggests that

unfitting may mean " never at rest, always opening." Mr. Collier
proposes resisting, which might easily be misprinted unsisnng, and
seems to agree better with the subject ; the Provost wounding the
door with strokes, because it resisted, or stuck in the casemen'.
\ev€ rtheless, w e adhere to the original. H

8C. 11. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 97

Re-enter Provost.

Prow. [Speaking to one at the door.] There be

must stay, until the officer
Arise to let him in : he is call'd up.

Duke. Have you no countermand for Claudio yet,
But he must die to-morrow ?

Prov. None, sir, none.

Duke. As near the dawning, provost, as it is,
You shall hear more ere morning.

Prov. Happily,13

You something know; yet, I believe, there comes
No countermand : no such example have we :
Besides, upon the very siege u of justice,
Lord Angelo hath to the public ear
Profess'd the contrary.

Enter a Messenger.

This is his lordship's man.

Duke. And here comes Claudio's pardon.

Mess. My lord hath sent you this note ; and by
me this further charge, that you swerve not from
the smallest article of it, neither in time, matter, or
other circumstance. Good-morrow ; for, as I take
it, it is almost day.

Prov. I shall obey him. [Exit Messenger.

Duke. [Aside.] This is his pardon, purchas'd by

such sin ;

For which the pardoner himself is in :
Hence hath offence his quick celerity,
When it is borne in high authority.
When vice makes mercy, mercy's so extended,

13 Haply, perhaps, the old orthography of the word.
u That is, seat

98 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT IV.

That for the fault's love is the offender friended. —
Now, sir, what news ?

Prov. I told you : Lord Angelo, be-like, think-
ing me remiss in mine office, awakens me with this
unwonted putting on : I6 methinks, strangely ; for he
hath not us'd it before.

Duke. Pray you, let's hear.

Prov. [Reads.] " Whatsoever you may hear to the con-
trary, let Claudio be executed by four of the clock ; and,
in the afternoon, Barnardine : For my better satisfaction,
let me have Claudio's head sent me by five. Let this be
duly performed ; with a thought, that more depends on it
than we must yet deliver. Thus fail not to do your office,
as you will answer it at your peril."
What say you to this, sir ?

Duke. What is that Barnardine, who is to be ex-
ecuted in the afternoon ?

Prov. A Bohemian born ; but here nurs'd up and
bred : one that is a prisoner nine years old.16

Duke. How came it, that the absent Duke had not
either deliver'd him to his liberty, or executed him ?
I have heard it was ever his manner to do so.

Prov. His friends still wrought reprieves for him :
and, indeed, his fact, till now in the government of
lord Angelo, came not to an undoubtful proof.

Duke. Is it now apparent 1

Prov. Most manifest, and not denied by himself

Duke. Hath he borne himself penitently in pris-
on ? How seems he to be touch'd ?

Prov. A man that apprehends death no more
dreadfully, but as a drunken sleep ; careless, reck-
less, and fearless of what's past, present, or to come
insensible of mortality, and desperately mortal.17

15 Putting on is spur, incitement.

16 That is, nine years in prison.

17 Perhaps we should read mortally desperate ; as we have

SC. II. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 9P

Duke. He wants advice.

Prov. He will hear none : He hath evermore had
the liberty of the prison : give him leave to escape
hence, he would not : drunk many times a day, if
not many days entirely drunk. We have very oft
awak'd him, as if to carry him to execution, and
show'd him a seeming warrant for it : it hath not
moved him at all.

Duke. More of him anon. There is written in
your brow, provost, honesty and constancy : if I
read it not truly, my ancient skill beguiles me ; but
in the boldness of my cunning,18 I will lay myself
in hazard. Claudio, whom here you have warrant
to execute, is no greater forfeit to the law than An-
gelo who hath sentenc'd him : To make you under-
stand this in a manifested effect, 1 crave but four
days' respite ; for the which you are to do me both
a present and a dangerous courtesy.

Prov. Pray, sir, in what 1

Duke. In the delaying death.

Prov. Alack ! how may I do it ? having the hour
limited, and an express command, under penalty,
to deliver his head in the view of Angelo ? I may
make my case as Claudio's, to cross this in the
smallest.

Duke. By the vow of mine order, I warrant you :
if my instructions may be your guide, let this Bar-
nardine be this morning executed, and his head
borne to Angelo.

Prov. Angelo hath seen them both, and will dis-
cover the favour.

Duke. O ! death's a great disguiser ; and you

harmonious charmingly for charmingly harmonictu, in The Tern
pest.

* That is, in confidence of my tagacity.

100 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT IV

may add to it. Shave the head, and dye the beard;
and say, it was the desire of the penitent to be so
bar'd before his death : You know the course is
common.19 If any thing fall to you upon this more
than thanks and good fortune, by the saint whom I
profess, I will plead against it with my life.

Prov. Pardon me, good father : it is against my
oath.

Duke. Were you sworn to the Duke, or to the
deputy 1

Prov. To him, and to his substitutes.

Duke. You will think you have made no offence,
if the Duke avouch the justice of your dealing 1

Prov. But what likelihood is in that ?

Duke. Not a resemblance, but a certainty. Yet
since I see you fearful ; that neither my coat, integ-
rity, nor my persuasion, can with ease attempt you,
I will go further than I meant, to pluck all fears out
of you. Look you, sir ; here is the hand and seal
of the Duke. You know the character, 1 doubt
not ; and the signet is not strange to you.

Prov. I know them both.

Duke. The contents of this is the return of the
Duke : you shall anon overread it at your pleasure ;
where you shall find, within these two days he will
be here. This is a thing that Angelo knows not ;
for he this very day receives letters of strange ten-
or ; perchance, of the Duke's death ; perchance,
entering into some monastery ; but, by chance, noth-
ing of what is hei-e writ. Look, the unfolding star
calls up the shepherd.20 Put not yourself into amaze-

18 This probably alludes to a practice among Roman Calholiei
of desiring to receive the tonsure of the monks before they died.
* So Milton in Comus :

" The star that bids the shepherd fold
Now the top of heaven doth hold."

SC. 111. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. KM

men! ., how these things should be : all difficulties are
out easy when they are known. Call your execu-
tioner, and off with Barnardine's head : I will give
Mm a present shrift, and advise him for a better
place. Yet you are amaz'd ; but this shall abso-
lutely resolve you. Come away ; it is almost clear
dawn. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. Another Room in the same.
Enter Claim.

Clo. I am as well acquainted here, «is 1 was iu
our house of profession : one would think it were
mistress Over-done's own house, for here be many
of her old customers. First, here's young master
Rash ; ' he's in for a commodity of brown paper
and old ginger, ninescore and seventeen pounds ; of
which he made five marks, ready money : 2 marry,
then, ginger was not much in request, for the old
women were all dead. Then is there here one mas-
ter Caper, at the suit of master Three-pile the mer
cer, for some four suits of peach-colour'd satin, which
now peaches liim a beggar. Then have we here
young Dizzy, and young master Deep-vow, and

1 This enumeration of the inhabitants of the prison affords a
very striking view of the practices predominant in Shakespeare's
age. Besides those whose follies are common to all times, we have
four fighting men and a traveller. It is not unlikely that the origi-
nals of the pictures were then known. Rush was a silken stuff
formerly worn in coats : all 'he names are characteristic.

* It was the practice of money lenders in Shakespeare's time,
as well as more recently, to make advances partly in goods and
partly in cash. The goods were to he resold generally at an encr-
mous loss upon the cost price, and of these commodities it appears
that brown paper and ginger often formed a part. In Green's
Defence of Gouey-catching, 1592 : " If he borrow a hundred
pound, he shall have forty in silver, and threescore in wares a»
lute-strings, hobby-horses, or brown paper."

lOii MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT IV.

master Copper-spur, and master Starve-lackey, the
rapier and dagger man, and young Drop-heir that
kill'd lusty Pudding, and master Forthright the tilt
er, and brave master Shoe-tie the great traveller,
and wild Half-can that stabb'd Pots, and, I think,
forty more ; all great doers in our trade, and are
now for the Lord's sake.3

Enter ABHORSON.

Abhor. Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither.

Clo. Master Barnardine ! you must rise and be
hang'd, master Barnardine.

Abhor. What, ho ! Barnardine !

Barnar. [Within.] A pox o' your throats ! Who
makes that noise there ? What are you ?

do. Your friends, sir ; the hangmen : You must
be so good, sir, to rise and be put to death.

Barnar. [Within.] Away, you rogue, away! I
am sleepy.

Abhor. Tell him he must awake, and that quick
ly too.

Clo. Pray, master Barnardine, awake till you are
executed, and sleep afterwards.

Abhor. Go in to him, and fetch him out.

Clo. He is coming, sir, he is coming : I hear his
straw rustle.

Enter BARNARDINE.
Abhor. Is the axe upon the block, sirrah ?

* It appears from an ancient Epigram, that this was the lan-
guage in which prisoners who were confined for deht addressed
passengers : " Good gentle writers, for the Lord's sake, for the
Lord's take, like Lndgate prisoners, lo, I, begging, make my
mone." And in Nashe's Peirce Pennilesse. 1593 : " At that time
lhat thy joys were in the fleeting, and thus crying for the Ltn ft
sakt out of an iron window."

5C. Ill MEASURE FOR MEASURE. (W

Clo. Very ready, sir.

Barnar. How now, Abhorson ? what's the news
with you 1

Abhor. Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap into
your prayers ; for, look you, the warrant's come.

Barnar. You rogue, I have been drinking all
night ; I am not fitted for't.

Clo. O ! the better, sir ; for he that drinks all
night, and is hanged betimes in the morning, may
sleep the sounder all the next day.

Enter DUKE.

Abhor. Look you, sir ; here comes your ghostly
father : Do we jest now, think you ?

Duke. Sir, induced by my charity, and hearing
how hastily you are to depart, I am come to advise
you, comfort you, and pray with you.

Barnar. Friar, not I : I have been drinking hard
all night, and I will have more time to prepare me,
or they shall beat out my brains with billets : I will
not consent to die this day, that's certain.

Duke. O ! sir, you must : and therefore, I beseech

you,
Look forward on the journey you shall go.

Barnar. I swear I will not die to-day for any
man's persuasion.

Duke. But hear you, —

Barnar. Not a word : if you have any thing to
say to me. come to my ward ; for thence will not
I to-day. [Exit.

Enter Provost.

Duke Unfit to live, or die : O, gravel heart ! —
After him, fellows: bring him to the block.

[Exeunt ABHORSON and Cloum

104 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT IV,

Prov. Now, sir, how do you find the prisoner ?

Duke. A creature unprepar'd, unmeet for death \
And, to transport 4 him in the mind he is,
Were damnable.

Prov. Here in the prison, father,

There died this morning of a cruel fever
One Ragozine, a most notorious pirate,
A man of Claudio's years ; his beard and head
Just of his colour : What if we do omit
This reprobate, till he were well inclin'd,
And satisfy the deputy with the visage
Of Ragozine, more like to Claudio 1

Duke. O, 'tis an accident that Heaven provides '
Despatch it presently : the hour draws on
Prefix'd by Angelo. See this be done,
And sent according to command ; while* I
Persuade this rude wretch willingly to die.

Prov. This shall be done, good father, presently.
But Barnardine must die this afternoon :
And how shall we continue Claudio,
To save me from the danger that might come,
Tf he were known alive 1

Duke. Let this be done : —

Put them in secret holds, both Barnardine and

Claudio :

Ere twice the sun hath made his journal greeting
To yonder generation,* you shall find
Vour safety manifested.

4 That is, to remove him from one world to another. Th«
French trtpas affords a kindred sense.

* That is, to the people without the walls of (he prison ; the sun
never visiting- those within. The usual reading is, the under gen-
eration, meaning the antipodes ; a change first proposed by Hail,
mer, and approved by Johnson, but which, besides having no au-
thority from the original, not a little mars the harmony of the text
For the scene takes place, and the pledge is given to the jailer,
in the pmon before dawn : Claudio is to be executed by four o'clock

SC. III. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 105

Prov. I am your free dependant.

Duke. Quick, despatch, and send the head to
Angelo. [Exit Provost.

Now will I write letters to Angelo, —
The provost, he shall bear them, — whose contents
Shall witness to him, I am near at home ;
And that, by great injunctions, I am bound
To enter publicl) : him I'll desire
To meet me at the consecrated fount,
A league below the city ; and from thence,
By cold gradation and well-balanc'd 8 form,
We shall proceed with Angelo.

Re-enter Provost.

Prov. Here is the head : I'll carry it myself.
Duke. Convenient is it : Make a swift return ;
For I would commune with you of such things,
That want no ear but yours.

Prov. I'll make all speed.

[Exit.

Isab. [ Within.] Peace, ho, be here !
Duke. The tongue of Isabel : — She's come to
know,

that morning, and his head sent to Angelo by five. On the nexl
morning the Duke is to arrive, and his coming is to manifest the
jailer's safety. This manifestation the jailer is to have before the
sun hath twice made his daily greeting to the city : accordingly,
on the morning of his arrival, the Duke says to Friar Peter,
" The Provost knows our purpose and our plot ; " which knowl-
edge he must have received before sunrise that day, the Duke
having had no communication with him since. It is nardly need-
ful to add, that the sun would not have risen twice to the antipodes
till the evening after the Duke's arrival ; and his object is to make
the time as short as he can, for the better satisfying of the Pro-
vost. H.

* The original has " we*il-balanc'd form ; " which may indeed
poss:bly be right, referring to the state — balanced for the public
tceal ; but this sense is so far-fetched and improbable, that we cajr
scarce think it the Poet'* H

106 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT IV

If yet her brother's pardon be come hither:
But I will keep her ignorant of her good,
To make her heavenly comforts of despair,
When if is least expected.

Enter ISABELLA.

Isab. Ho ! by your leave.

Duke. Good morning to you, fair and gracious
daughter.

Isab. The better, given me by so holy a man.
Hath yet the deputy sent my brother's pardon 1

Duke. He hath releas'd him, Isabel, from the

world :
His head is off, and sent to Angelo.

Isab. Nay, but it is not so.

Duke. It is no other .

Show your wisdom, daughter, in your close patience.

Isab. O, I will to him, and pluck out his eyes !

Duke. You shall not be admitted to his sight.

Isab. Unhappy Claudio ! Wretched Isabel !
Injurious world ! Most damned Angelo !

Duke. This nor hurts him, nor profits you a jot :
Forbear it, therefore ; give your cause to Heaven.
Mark what I say, which you shall find
By every syllable a faithful verity : —
The Duke comes home to-morrow ; — nay, dry your

eyes :

One of our convent, and his confessor,
Gives me this instance : Already he hath carried
Notice to Escalus and Angelo ;
Who do prepare to meet him at the gates,
There to give up their power. If you can, pace

your wisdom
In that good path that I would wish it go ;

SC. III. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 107

And you shall have your bosom 7 on this wretch,
Grace of the Duke, revenges to your heart.
And general honour.

Isah. I am directed by you.

Duke. This letter, then, to friar Peter give ;
'Tis that he sent me of the Duke's return :
Say, by this token, I desire his company
At Mariana's house to-night. Her cause, and yours.
I'll perfect him withal ; and he shall bring you
Before the Duke ; and to the head of Angelo
Accuse him home, and home. For my poor self,
I am combined 8 by a sacred vow,
And shall be absent. Wend 9 you with this letter '.
Command these fretting waters from your eyes
With a light heart : trust not my holy order,
ff I pervert your course. — Who's here 1

Enter Lucio.

Lucio. Good even, friar : where is the provost 1

Duke. Not within, sir.

Lucio. O ! pretty Isabella, I am pale at mine
heart, to see thine eyes so red : thou must be pa-
tient. I am fain to dine and sup with water and
bran ; I dare not for my head fill my belly : one
fruitful meal would set me to't : But they say the
Duke will be here to-morrow. By my troth, Isabel,
I lov'd thy brother : if the old fantastical Duke of
dark corners had been at home, he had lived.

[Exit ISABELLA.

Duke. Sir, the Duke is marvellous little beholden

1 Your bosom is your heart's desire, your wish.

8 Shakespeare uses combine for to bind by a pact or agreement
so he calls Angelo the combinate husband of Mariana

9 That is. go

108 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT IV

to your reports ; but the best is, he lives not in
them.10

Lucio. Friar, thou knowest not the Duke so well
as I do : he's a better woodman n than thou takest
him for.

Duke. Well, you'll answer this one day. Fare ye
well.

Lucio. Nay, tarry ; I'll go along with thee : I can
tell thee pretty tales of the Duke.

Duke. You have told me too many of him al-
ready, sir, if they be true ; if not true, none were
enough.

Lucio. I was once before him for getting a wench
with child.

Duke. Did you such a tiling ?

Lucio. Yes, marry, did I ; but was fain to forswear
it : they would else have married me to the rotten
medlar.

Duke. Sir, your company is fairer than honest:
Rest you well.

Lucio. By my troth, I'll go with thee to the lane's
end : If bawdy talk offend you, we'll have very little
«f it : Nay, friar, I am a kind of bur ; I shall stick.

[Exeunt.

10 That is, he depends not on them.

11 A woodman was an attendant on the forester ; his great em-
ployment was hunting1. It is here used in a wanton sense for a
hunter of a different sort of game. So, FalstafT asks his mistresses
in The Merry Wives of Windsor : " Am I a woodman ? Ha ! "
This use of the word may have sprung from the consonance of
deer and dear ; as in Beaumont and Fletcher's play, The Chances
Act i. ic. 8 :

" Well, well, son John,
I see you are a woodman, and can choose
Your deer, though it be i'the dark." H

SC. IV. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 109

SCENE IV. A Room in ANGELO'S House.

Enter ANGELO and ESCALUS.

Escal. Every letter he hath writ hath dis-
vouch'd ' other.

Ang. In most uneven and distracted manner. His
actions show much like to madness : pray Heaven,
his wisdom be not tainted ! And why meet him at
the gates, and re-deliver our authorities there 1

Escal. I guess not.

Ang. And why should we proclaim it in an hour
before his entering, that, if any crave redress of in-
justice, they should exliibit their petitions in the
street ?

Escal. He shows his reason for that : to have a
despatch of complaints ; and to deliver us from de-
vices hereafter, which shall then have no power to
stand against us.

Ang. Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaimed :
Betimes i'the morn I'll call you at your house.
Give notice to such men of sort and suit,2
As are to meet him.

Escal. I shall, sir : fare you well. [Exit

Ang. Good night. —

This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpregnant,1
And dull to all proceedings. A deflowered maid !
And by an eminent body, that enforc'd
The law against it ! — But that her tender shame
Will not proclaim against her maiden loss,
How might she tongue me ! Yet reason dares her
no ;4

1 Disrouciid is contradicted. l Figure and rank.

* Unready, unprepared ; the contrary to pregnant in its serif
>>f ready, apprehensive.

4 Tliis is commonly printed thus : " Yet reason dares her 1

110 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT IV.

For my authority here's of a credent * hulk,

That no particular " scandal once can touch,

But it confounds the breather.7 He should have hv'd,

Save that his riotous youth, with dangerous sense,

Might, in the times to come, have ta'en revenge,

By so receiving a dishonour'd life,

With ransom of such shame. 'Would yet he had

liv'd !

Alack ! when once our grace we have forgot,
Nothing goes right : we would, and we would not.

[Exit.

no ; for my authority," &c. ; in which cas<* darts has the sense
of prompt, challenge, or call forth, as in 1 Henry IV. Act v. sc.2 '
" Unless a brother should a brother dare

To gentle exercise and proof of arms."

" Does reason move her to expose me ? — NTo ; the drawings ol
reason are all the other way ; " whirli certainly yields an apt and
clear meaning enough. Yet we give the passage as it stands in
the original. Nor is the sense much less clear and apt as there
printed. For dart, used transitively, may well have, and often
has, the effect to keep or dissuade one from doing a thing ; as if
one should say, — " I dared him to strike me, and he durst net do
it." So, in the text as we give it, the sense plainly is, — "Yet
reason bids her not expose me ; " the effect of that bidding be.
ing expressed by no ; reason threatens and overawes her, so tha
she dare not do it. Thus, ill Beaumont and Fletcher's play, The
Chances, Act iii. sc. 4 :

'< His sister that you nam'd 'tis true I have long lov'd,

As true. I have enjoy'd her ; no less truth,

I have a child by her : but that she, or he,

Or any of that family, are tainted,

Suffer disgrace, or ruin, by my pleasures,

I wear a sword to satisfy the world no."

That is, to satisfy the world that 'tis not so. So, also, in A Wife for
a Month, by the same authors : " I'm sure he did not, for I charg'd
him no ; " that is, charged him not to do it. Hut indeed this use
of no is not uncommon in the old writers. — The of after bears, ;n
the next line, seems to have a partitive sense: " For my authority
tarries so much of weight,'' &,c. H

6 Credent, creditable, not questionable.

• Particular is private ; a French sense of the word.

7 That is. utterer.

AT.. VI MEASURE FOR MEASURE. Ill

SCENE V. Fields without the Town

Enter DUKE in his own habit, and Friar PETER.

Duke. These letters at fit time deliver me.

[Giving letter i

The provost knows our purpose, and our plot.
The matter being afoot, keep your instruction,
And hold you ever to our special drift ;
Though sometimes you do blench ' from this to that,
A? cause doth minister. Go, call at Flavius' house,
And tell him where I stay : give the like notice
To Valentinus, Rowland, and to Crassus,
And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate ;
But send me Flavius first.

f. Peter. It shall be speeded well. [Exit Friar

Enter VARRIUS.

Duke. I thank thee, Varrius ; thou hast made

good haste :

Corne, we will walk : There's other of our friends
Will greet us here anon, my gentle Varrius.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VI. Street near the City Gate,

Enter ISABELLA and MARIANA.

Isab. To speak so indirectly, I am loth :
I would say the truth ; but to accuse him so,
That is your part : Yet I'm advis'd to do it ;
He says, to vailful purpose.

Mari. Be rul'd by him.

Isab. Besides, he tells me, that, if peradventuro

To blt-nch, to start off, to fly off.

112 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT 7.

He speak against me on the adverse side,

I should not think it strange ; for 'tis a physic.

That's bitter to sweet end.

Mori. I would, friar Peter —

Tsab. O, peate ! the friar is come.

Enter Friar PETER.

F. Peter. Come ; I have found you out a stand

most fit,

Where you may have such vantage on the Duke,
He shall not pass you. Twice have the trumpets

sounded :

The generous * and gravest citizens
Have hent 3 the gates, and very near upon
The Duke is entering : therefore hence, away.

[Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I. A public Place near the City Gate.

MARIANA veiled, ISABELLA, and PETER, at a distance.
Enter, at opposite doors, DUKE, VARRIUS, Lords ;
ANGELO, ESCALUS, Lucio, Provost, Officers, and
Citizens.

Duke. My very worthy cousin, fairly met : —
Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to see you.
Ang. and Escal. Happy return be to your royal

grace

Duke. Many and hearty thankings to you both.

ifenerous, for most nol>le, or those of rank ; generosi, LaU
That is, seized, laid hold on : from the Anglo-Saxon.

»C. I. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 1 13

We have made inquiry of you ; and we hear
Such goodness of your justice, that our soul
Cannot but yield forth to you public thanks,
Forerunning more requital.

Ang. You make my bonds still greater.

Duke. O ! your desert speaks loud ; and I should

wrong it,

To lock it in the wards of covert bosom,
When it deserves with characters of brass
A forted residence, 'gainst the tooth of time,
And razure of oblivion : Give me your hand,
And let the subject see, to make them know
That outward courtesies would fain proclaim
Favours that keep within. — Come, Escalus ;
You must walk by us on our other hand ; —
And good supporters are you.

Friar PETER and ISABELLA come forward

F. Peter. Now is your time : Speak loud, and
kneel before him.

Isab. Justice, O royal Duke ! Vail l your regard
Upon a wrong'd, I would fain have said, a maid !
O worthy prince ! dishonour not your eye
By throwing it on any other object,
Till you have heard me in my true complaint,
And given me, justice, justice, justice, justice !

Duke. Relate your wrongs : In what 1 By whom 1

Be brief:

Here is lord Angelo shall give you justice :
Reveal yourself to him.

Isab. O ! worthy Duke,

You bid me seek redemption of the devil:
Hear me yourself-, for that which I must speak

1 To w': is to lower to let fil'-., to casl down.

114 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT V

Must either punish me, not being believ'd,
Or wring redress from you : Hear me, O, hear me,
here !

Ang. My lord, her wits, I fear me, are not firm ?
She hath been a suitor to me for her brother,
Cut off by course of justice.

Isab. By course of justice '

Ang. And she will speak most bitterly, and strange.

Isab. Most strange, but yet most truly, will I speak .
That Angelo's forsworn ; is it not strange 1
That Angelo's a murderer ; is't not strange 7
That Angelo is an adulterous thief,
An hypocrite, a virgin-violator ;
Is it not strange, and strange 1

Duke. Nay, it is ten times strange.

Isab. It is not truer he is Angelo,
Than this is all as true as it is strange ;
Nay, it is ten times true ; for truth is truth
To the end of reckoning.

Duke. Away with her : — Poor soul '

She speaks this in the infirmity of sense.

Isab. O prince ! I conjure thee, as thou believ'st
There is another comfort than this world,
That thou neglect me not, with that opinion
That I am touch'd with madness : make not impos-
sible

That which but seems unlike : 'Tis not impossible
But one, the wicked'st caitiff on the ground,
May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute,
As Angelo ; even so may Angelo,
In all his dressings,2 characts,3 titles, forms,

* That is, habiliments of office.

3 Characts are distinctive marks or characters. A statute of
Edward VI. directs the seals of office of every bishop to have
« certain characts under the king's arms for the knowledge of the
diocese."

SC. 1. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 115

Be an arch-villain : Believe it, royal prince,
If he be less, he's notliing ; but he's more,
Had I more name for badness.

Duke. By mine honesty,

If she be mad, as I believe no other,
Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense,
Such a dependency of thing on thing,
As e'er I heard in madness.

Isab. O, gracious Duke '

Harp not on that ; nor do not banish reason
For inequality : 4 but let your reason serve
To make the truth appear, where it seems hid
And hide the false seems — true.

Duke. Many that are not mad

Have, sure, more lack of reason. — What would you
say 7

Isab. I am the sister of one Claudio,
Condemn'd upon the act of fornication
To lose his head ; condemn'd by Angelo .
I, in probation of a sisterhood,
Was sent to by my brother : One Lucio
As then the messenger ; —

Lucio. That's I, an't like your grace :

I came to her from Claudio, and desir'd her
To try her gracious fortune with Lord Angelo,
For her poor brother's pardon.

Isab. That's he, indeed

Duke. You were not bid to speak.

Lucio. No, my good lord ;

Nor wish'd to hold my peace.

Duke. I wish you now then :

Pray you, take note of it ; and when you have

* The meaning appears to be, — " Do not suppose me mad bo-
cause I speak inconsistently or unequally."

* That is, — Let your reason serve to discover the truth, where
it lien hid, and to refute the false, where it seems true. H

116 MEASURE FOR MEASURE ACT V,

A business for yourself, pray Heaven you then
Be perfect.

Lucio. I warrant your honour.

Duke. The warrant's for yourself: take heed
to it.

hob. This gentleman told somewhat of my tale.

Lucio. Right.

Duke. It may be right ; but you are in the wrong
To speak before your time. — Proceed.

Isab. I went

To this pernicious caitiff deputy.

Duke. That's somewhat madly spoken.

Isab. Pardon it »

The phrase is to the matter.6

Duke. Mended again : the matter 1 — Proceed.

Isab. In brief, — to set the needless process by,
How I persuaded, how I pray'd, and kneel'd,
How he refell'd 7 me, and how I replied ;
(For this was of much length) — the vile conclusion
I now begin with grief and shame to utter :
He would not, but by gift of my chaste body
To his concupiscible intemperate lust,
Release my brother ; and, after much debatement,
My sisterly remorse 8 confutes mine honour,
And I did yield to him. But the next morn betimes,
His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant
For my poor brother's head.

Duke. This is most likely !

Isab. O, that it were as like as it is true !

Duke. By Heaven, fond wretch ! thou know'st not

what thou speak'st ;
Or else thou art suborn'd against his honour,

• That is, suited to the matter ; as in Hamlet : " The phraM
would be more gentian to the matter."

7 RefelPd is refuted. • Rtmwsr. is pity.

SC. 1 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 117

In hateful practice.' First, his integrity
Stands without blemish : — next, it imports no rea-
son,

That with such vehemency he should pursue
Faults proper to himself: if he had so offended,
He would have weigh'd thy brother by himself,
And not have cut him off: Some one hath, set

you on :

Confess the truth, and say by whose advice
Thou cam'st here to complain.

Isab. And is this all ?

Then, O ! you blessed ministers above,
Keep me in patience ; and, with ripen'd time,
Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up
In countenance! 10 — Heaven shield your grace from

woe,
As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelieved go !

Duke. I know, you'd fain be gone : — An officer '
To prison with her ! — Shall we thus permit
A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall
On him so near us 1 This needs must be a practice.
Who knew of your intent, and coming hither ?
Isab. One that I would were here ; friar Lodowick.
Duke. A ghostly father, belike : — Who knows

that Lodowick 1
Ludo. My lord, I know him : 'tis a meddling

friar ;

I do not like the man : had he been lay,11 my lord,
For certain words he spake against your grace
In your retirement, I had swing'd him soundly
Duke. Words against me 1 This a good friar
belike !

• Practice was used by the old writers for any insidious strut'
agftn or treachery.

10 That is, false appearance.

11 Thai s, of the laity, a layman.

118 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT V

And to set on this wretched woman here
Against our substitute ! — Let this friar be found.

Lucio. But yesternight, my lord, she and that friar
I saw them at the prison : a saucy friar,
A very scurvy fellow.

F. Peter. Blessed be your royal grace !

I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard
If our royal ear abus'd. First, hath this woman
Most wrongfully accus'd your substitute ;
Who is as free from touch or soil with her,
As she from one ungot.

Duke. We did believe no less.

Know you that friar Lodowick that she speaks of?

F. Peter. I know him for a man divine and holy ;
Not scurvy nor a temporary meddler,11
As he's reported by this gentleman :
And, on my trust, a man that never yet
Did, as he vouches, misreport your grace.

Lucio. My lord, most villanously ; believe it.

jP. Peter. Well, he in time may come to clear

himself;

But at this instant he is sick, my lord,
Of a strange fever : Upon his mere request,
(Being come to knowledge that there was complaint
Intended 'gainst lord Angelo,) came I hither
To speak, as from his mouth, what he doth know
Is true, and false ; and what he with his oath,
And all probation, will make up full clear,
Whensoever he's convented.13 First, for this woman;
(To justify this worthy nobleman,
So vulgarly14 and personally accus'd;)

18 That is, a minder of other men's business ; an intermeddlei
in matters that do not belong to him. Temporary means time
•ving. H.

3 Convented, cited, summoned. 14 That s, publicly

SC. 1. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 119

Her shall you hear disproved to her eyes,
Till she herself confess it.

Duke. Good friar, let's hear it

[ISABELLA is carried of, guarded;

and MARIANA comes forward.
Do you not smile at this, lord Angelo 1 —

0 Heaven, the vanity of wretched fools ! —
Give us some seats. — Come, cousin Angelo ;
In this I'll be impartial : 1S be you judge

Of your own cause. — Is this the witness, friar ?
First, let her show her face ; and, after, speak.

Mari. Pardon, my lord : I will not show my face
Until my husband bid me.

Duke. What, are you married 1

Mari. No, my lord.

Duke. Are you a maid 7

Mari. No, my lord.

Duke. A widow then 1

Mari. Neither, my lord.

Duke. Why, you are nothing then : — Neither
maid, widow, nor wife 1

Lucia. My lord, she may be a punk ; for many
of them are neither maid, widow, nor wife.

Duke. Silence that fellow : I would he had some
cause to prattle for himself.

Lucio. Well, my lord.

Mari. My lord, I do confess I ne'er was married ;
And I confess, besides, I am no maid :

1 have known my husband ; yet my husband knows

not
That ever he knew me

Lucio. He was drunk then, my lord : it can be
no better.

18 That is, I'll take no part in this ; as appears from his sayinf
to Angelo, — " B« you judge of your own cause." H

120 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT V.

Duke. For the benefit of silence, 'would thou
wert so too.

Lucio. Well, my lord.

Duke. This is no witness for lord Angelo.

Mori. Now I come to't, my lord :
She, that accuses him of fornication,
In selfsame manner doth accuse my husband ;
And charges him, my lord, with such a time,
When I'll depose I had him in mine arms,
With all the effect of love.

Ang. Charges she more than me 1

Mari. Not that I know.

Duke. No ? you say, your husband.

Mari. Why, just, my lord, and that is Angelo,
Who thinks he knows, that he ne'er knew my body,
But knows he thinks, that he knew Isabel's.

Ang. This is a strange abuse : 16 — Let's see thy
face.

Mari. My husband bids me : now I will unmask.

[ Unveiling.

This is that face, thou cruel Angelo,
Which once, thou swor'st, was worth the look-
ing on :

This is the hand, which, with a vow'd contract,
Was fast belock'd in thine : this is the body
That took siway the match from Isabel,
And did supply thee at thy garden-house,17
In her imagin'd person.

Duke. Know you this woman 1

" Abuse stands in this place for deception or puzzle. So in
Macbeth: " My strange and self abuse;" meaning this strange
deception of myself.

17 Garden-houses were formerly much itf fashion, and often us«l
as places of clandestine meeting and intrigue. They were chiefly
such buildings as we should now call summer-houses, standing in
• walled or a closed gardei in the suburbs of London.

SC I MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 121

Ludo. Carnally, she says.

Duke. Sirrah, no more !

Ludo. Enough, my lord.

Ang. My lord, I must confess I know this woman ;
Ajid, five years since, there was some speech of

marriage

Betwixt myself and her ; which was broke off,
Partly, for that her promis'd proportions
Came short of composition ; 18 but, in chief,
For that her reputation was disvalued
In levity : since which time of five years
T never spake with her, saw her, nor heard from her,
Upon my faith and honour.

Mari. Noble prince,

As there comes light from heaven, and words from

breath ;

As there is sense in truth, and truth in virtue,
I am affianc'd this man's wife, as strongly
As words could make up vows : and, my good lord,
But Tuesday night last gone, in his garden-house,
He knew me as a wife : As this is true
Let me in safety raise me from my knees ;
Or else for ever be confixed here,
A marble monument !

Ang. I did but smile till now .

N 3^; good my lord, give me the scope of justice ;
My patience here is touch'd : I do perceive,
These poor informal 19 women are no more
But instruments of some more mightier member

18 Her fortune, which was promised proportionate to mine, fell
short of what was compoimded, contracted for.

19 Informal signifies out of thtir senses. So, in The Com-
edy of Errors, Act v. .sc. 1 : " To make of him a formal man
again." The speaker had just before said that she would keep
Antipholus of Syracuse, who is behaving1 like a madman, till gha
had brought him to his right wits again. See also Twelfth N'ght
A.ct ii sc. 5, and note 11.

122 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT V.

That sets them on : Let me have way, my lord,
To find tliis practice out.

Duke. Ay, with my heart ;

And punish them unto your height of pleasure. —
Thou foolish friar, and thou pernicious woman,
Compact with her that's gone, think'st thou, thy

oaths,

Though they would swear down each particular saint,
Were testimonies against his worth and credit,
That's seal'd in approbation ? 20 — You, lord Escalus,
Sit with my cousin : lend him your kind pains
To find out this abuse, whence 'tis deriv'd. —
There is another friar that set them on ;
Let him be sent for.

F. Peter. Would he were here, my lord ; for he,

indeed,

Hath set the women on to this complaint :
Your provost knows the place where he abides,
And he may fetch him.

Duke. Go, do it instantly. — [Exit Provost.

And you, my noble and well-warranted cousin,
Whom it concerns to hear this matter forth,21
Do with your injuries as seems you best,
In any chastisement : I for a while
Will leave you ; but stir not you, till you have well
Determin'd upon these slanderers.

Escal. My lord, we'll do it throughly. — [Exit
DUKE.] Signior Lucio, did not you say you knew
that friar Lodowick to be a dishonest person ?

Lucio. Cucullus rum facit monachum : ** honest in
nothing, but in his clothes ; and one that hath spoke
most villanous speeches of the Duke.

*° Stamped or sealed, as tried and approved.
n That is, out, to the end.

** " The cowl does uot make a monk." It occurs igain iv
Twelfth Night, Act i. »c. 5. H.

SC. 1. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 123

Escal. We shall entreat you to abide here till he
come, and enforce them against him : We shall find
this friar a notable fellow.

Lucio As any in Vienna, on my word.

Escal [To an Attendant.] Call that same Isabel
here once again : I would speak with her. Pray
you, iny lord, give me leave to question : you shall
see how I'll handle her.

Lucio. Not better than he, by her own report.

Escal. Say you ?

Lucio. Marry, sir, I think, if you handled her
privately, she would sooner confess : perchance,
publicly, she'll be asham'd.

Re-enter Officers, with ISABELLA, t/ie DUKE in the
Friar's habit, and Provost.

Escal. I will go darkly to work with her.

Lucio. That's the way ; for women are light *3 at
midnight.

Escal. [ To ISAB.] Come on, mistress : here's a
gentlewoman denies all that you have said.

Lucio. My lord, here conies the rascal I spoke
of; here, with the provost.

Escal. In very good time: — speak not ycu to
him, till we call upon you.

Lucio. Mum.

Escal. Come, sir : Did you set these women on
lo slander lord Angelo ? they have confess'd you did.

Duke. 'Tis false.

Escal. How ! know you where you are 1

Duke. Respect to your great place ! and let the
devil

M This is one of the words on which Shakespeare delights to
quibble. Thus Portia, in The Merchant of Venice : •• Let me
give light, but let me not be light."

[24 MEASURE FOR MEASURE ACT V

Be sometime honour'd for his burning throne : —
Whore is the Duke 7 'tis he should hear me speak.

Escal. The Duke's in us ; and he will hear you

speak :
Look, you speak justly.

Duke. Boldly, at least: — But, O, poor souls!
Come you to seek the lamb here of the fox 7
Good night to your redress. Is the Duke gone ?
Then is your cause gone too. The Duke's unjust,
Thus to retort 24 your manifest appeal,
And put your trial in the villain's mouth,
Which here you come to accuse.

Lucia. This is the rascal : this is he I spoke of.

Escal. Why, thou unreverend and unhallow'd

friar !

Is't not enough, thou hast suborn'd these women
To accuse this worthy man ; but, in foul mouth,
And in the witness of his proper ear,
To call him villain ? And then to glance from him
To the Duke himself, to tax him with injustice 7
Take him hence ; to the rack with him : We'll

touse you

Joint by joint, — but we will know his purpose : —
What ! unjust 7

Duke. Be not so hot ; the Duke dare
No m ire stretch this finger of mine, than he
Dare rack his own : his subject am I not,
Ncr here provincial : a6 My business in this state
Made me a looker-on here in Vienna,
Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble,
Till it o'errun the stew : laws for all faults ;

** To retort is to refer back.

** Provincial is pertaining to a province ; most usually taken
for the circuit of an ecclesiastical jurisdiction. The chief or head
of any religious order in such a province was called the provin-
cial to whom Uone the members of that order were accountable

SO. I. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 123

But faults so countenanc'd, that the strong statutes
Stand like <he forfeits in a barber's shop,
As much in mock as mark.26

Escal. Slander to the state ! Away with him to

prison.
. Ang. What can you vouch against him, signioi

Lucio ?
Is this the man that you did tell us of?

Lucio. 'Tis he, my lord. Come hither, goodman
bald-pate : Do you know me ?

Duke. I remember you, sir, by the sound of your
voice : I met you at the prison in the absence of
the Duke ?

Lucio. O ! did you so ? And do you remembei
what you said of the Duke ?

Duke. Most notedly, sir.

Lucio. Do you so, sir ? And was the Duke a
flesh-monger, a fool, and a coward, as you then
reported him to be ?

Duke. You must, sir, change persons with me,
ere you make that my report : you, indeed, spoke
so of him ; and much more, much worse.

Lucio. O, thou damnable fellow ! Did not I pluck
thee by the nose for thy speeches 1

Duke. I protest, I love the Duke, as I love my-
pelf.

Aug. Hark ! how the villain would glose now
after his treasonable abuses.

Escal. Such a fellow is not to be talk'd withal :

88 Barbers' shops were anciently places of great resort for
passing away time in an idle manner. By way of enforcing some
kind of regularity, and perhaps as much to promote drinking, cer-
tain laws were usually hung up, the transgression of which was to
be punished by specific forfeits; which were as much in mock at
mark, because the barber had no authority of himself to enforce
them, and also because they were of a ludicrous nature.

126 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT V

— Awny with him to prison: — Where is the pro-
vost ? — Away with him to prison : Lay bolts enough
upon him : — Let him speak no more. — Away with
those giglots 27 too, and with the other confederate
'•ompanion. [The Provost lays hands on tJte DUKE.

Duke. Stay, sir ; stay a while.

Aug. What ! resists he 1 Help him, Lucio.

Lucio. Come, sir ; come, sir ; come, sir ; foh !
sir : Why, you bald-pated, lying rascal ! you must
l>e hooded, must you 1 Show your knave's visage,
with a pox to you ! show your sheep-biting face, and
be hang'd an hour!28 Will't not off ? [Pulls off
the Friar's hood, and discovers tJie DUKE.

Duke. Thou art the first knave that e'er made a

duke. —

First, provost, let me bail these gentle three -• —
[ To Lucio.] Sneak not away, sir ; for the friar and

you
Must have a word anon : — Lay hold on him.

Lucio. This may prove worse than hanging.

Duke. [To ESCALUS.] What you have spoke, 1

pardon ; sit you down.
We'll borrow place of him : — [To ANGELO.] Sir,

by your leave : —

Hjist thou or word, or wit, or impudence,
That yet can do thee office ? 29 If thou hast,
Rely upon it till my tale be heard,
And hold no longer out.

17 Giglots are wantons. So, in 1 Henry VI., Act iv. se.
7 " Young Talbot was not born to be the pillage of a giglc*
wench."

w " What, Piper ho ! be hung'd awhile," is a line in an old madri-
gal. And in Ben Jonson's Bartholomew Fair, we have, — -" Leave
UH> bottle behind you, and be curst awhile.'' That is, be hang'd,
be curst; awhile being, like an hour m the text, merely a vulgai
expletive. n.

18 That is, do thee service.

SC. 1- MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 127

Ang. O, my dread lord '

I should be guiltier than my guiltiness,
To think I can be undiscernible,
When I perceive your grace, like power divine,
Hath look'd upon my passes : 30 Then, good prince,
No longer session hold upon my shame,
But let my trial be mine own confession :
Immediate sentence then, and sequent death,
Is all the grace 1 beg.

Duke. Come hither, Mariana : —

Say, wast thou e'er contracted to this woman ?

Ang. I was, my lord.

Duke. Go take her hence, and marry her in

stantly. —

Do you the office, friar; which consummate,
Return him here again: — Go with him, provost.

[Exeunt ANGELO, MARIANA, PETER,
and Provost.

Escal, My lord, I am more amaz'd at his dis-
honour,
Than at the strangeness of it.

Duke. Come hither, Isabel :

Your friar is now 'your prince : As I was then
Advertising and holy 3I to your business,
Not changing heart with habit, 1 am still
Attorney'd at your service.

Isab. O, give me pardon,

That I, your vassal, have employ'd and pain'd
Your unknown sovereignty !

Duke. You are pardon 'd, Isabel :

And now, dear maid, be you as free " to us.

30 Passes probably put for trespasses ; or it may mean ecvrtei,
from possets, Fr. Les passers d'un cerf is the track or passages
of. a stag, his courses.

31 Advertising and holy, attentive and faithful.

M That is, geitervtts ; — pardon us as we have pardoned yon

Ii28 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACJ V.

Your brother's death, I know, sits at your heart ;
And you may marvel why I obscur'd myself,
Labouring to save his life ; arid would not rather
Make rash remonstrance " of my hidden power,
Than let him so be lost : O, most kind maid !
[t was the swift celerity of his death,
Which I did think with slower foot came on,
That brain'd my purpose : 34 But, peace be with him
That life is better life, past fearing death,
Than that which lives to fear : make it your comfort,
-So happy is your brother.

Re-enter ANGELO, MARIANA, Friar PETER, and
Provost.

hob. I do, my lord.

Duke. For this new-married man, approaching

here,

Whose salt imagination yet hath wrong'd
Your well-defended honour, you must pardon
For Mariana's sake : But as he adjudg'd youi

brother,

(Being criminal, in double violation
Of sacred chastity, and of promise-breach,34
Thereon dependent for your brother's life,)
The very mercy of the law cries out
Most audible, even from his proper 38 tongue,
" An Angelo for Claudio, death for death ! "
Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure

33 Rash remonstrance ; that is, " a premature display " of it. Per-
haps we should read Remonstrance ; but the word may be formed
from remonstrer, French, to show again.

34 That brain'd my purpose. We still use in conversation a
like phrase : " that knocked my design on the head."

34 Promise-breach. It should be promise ; breach is superfluous
" Augelo's own tongue.

SC. I. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. I5i9

Like doth quit like, and Measure .still for Measure."
Then, Angelo, thy fault's thus manifested ;
Which, though thou wouldst deny, denies thee van-

tage : 38

We do condemn thee to the very hlock
Where Claudio stoop'd to death, and with like

haste : —
Away with him.

Mori. O, my most gracious lord !

[ hope you will not mock me with a husband

Duke. It is your husband mock'd you with a

husband :

Consenting to the safeguard of your honour,
I thought your marriage fit; else imputation,
For that he knew you, might reproach your lile,
And choke your good to come : For his possessions,
Although by confiscation they are ours,
We do instate and widow you withal,
To buy you a better husband.

Mari. O, my dear lord !

I crave no other, nor no better man.

Duke. Never crave him : we are definitive.

Mari. Gentle my liege, — [Kneeling.

Duke. You do but lose your labor :

Away with him to death. — [To Lucio.] Now, sir,
to you.

Mari. O, my good lord ! — Sweet Isabel, take

my part :

Lend me your knees, and all my life to come
I'll lend you ; all my life to do you service.

37 Measure still for measure. This appears to have been a
current expression for retributive justice. So, in 3 Henry VI.
Act. ii. sc. 6 : " Measure for measure must be answered." Pcr-
naps the proverb grew from the Scripture, — " With what measure
ye mete, it shall be measured to you again." H.

M That is, « To deny which will avail thee nothing."

9

Lift) MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT v

Duke, Against all sense 39 you do importune her
Should she kneel down in mercy of tins fact,40
Her brother's ghost his paved bed would break,
And take her hence in horror.

Mori. Isabel,

Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me
Hold up your hands, say nothing, I'll speak all.
They say best men are moulded out of faults ; 41
And, for the most, become much more the better
For being a little bad: so may my husband.
O, Isabel ! will you not lend a knee 1

Duke. He dies for Claudio's death.

Isab. [Kneeling:] Most bounteous sir,

Look, if it please you, on this man condemn'd,
As if my brother liv'd : I partly think
A due sincerity govern'd liis deeds,
Till he did look on me : since it is so,
Let him not die : My brother had but justice,
In that he did the thing for which he died :
For Angelo,

His act did not o'ertake his bad intent ;
And must be buried but as an intent
That perish'd by the way :,42 thoughts are no sub

jects ;
Intents but merely thoughts.

Mari. Merely, my lord.

Duke. Your suit's unprofitable : stand up, I say. —

** That is, against reason and affection.

40 That is, to beg for mercy on this act. H.

41 On the principle that Nature or Providence cflen uses our
vices to scourge down our pride ; as in All 's Well that Ends Well,
Act iv. sc. 3 : " Our virtues would be proud, if our faults whipp'd
them not." H.

41 That is, like the traveller, who dies on his journey, is o«>-
jcurely interred, and thought of no DC ore I

" Ilium expirantem — —
OblUi igiioto camporum in pulvere linquunt."

SO. I. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 131

I have bethought me of another fault : —
Provost, how came it Claudio was beheaded
At an unusual hour 1

Prov. It was commanded so.

Duke. Had you a special warrant for the deed ?

Prov. No, my good lord : it was by private mes-
sage.

Duke. For which I do discharge you of your

office :
Give up your keys.

Prov. Pardon me, noble lord •

I thought it was a fault, but knew it not ;
Yet did repent me, after more advice :
For testimony whereof, one in the prison,
That should by private order else have died,
I have reserv'd alive.

Duke. What's he 7

Prov. His name is Barnardine.

Duke. I would thou hadst done so by Claudio. —
Go, fetch him hither : let me look upon him.

[Exit Provost

Escal. I am sorry, one so learned and so wise
As you, lord Angelo, have still appear'd,
Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood,
And lack of temper'd judgment afterward.

Ang. I am sorry, that such sorrow I procure ;
And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart,
That I crave death more willingly than mercy :
!Tis my deserving, and I do entreat it.

Re-enter Provost, BARNARDINE, CLAUDIO, and
JULIET.

Duke. Which is that Barnardine 1

Prov. This, my lord.

Duke. There was a friar told me of this man. —

132 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT V.

Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul,

That apprehends no further than this world,

And squar'st thy life according : Thou'rt condemn'd :

But, for those earthly 43 faults, I quit them all ;

And pray thee, take this mercy to provide

For better time? to cojne. — Friar, advise him :

[ leave him to your hand. — What muffled fellow's

that 1

Prov. This is another prisoner that I sav'd,
That should have died when Claudio lost his head ;
As like almost to Claudio, as himself.

[Unmuffles CLAUDIO.
Duke. [ To ISAB.] If he be like your brother, for

his sake

Is he pardon'd : And, for your lovely sake,
Give me your hand, and say you will be mine ;
He is my brother too : But fitter time for that.
By this, lord Angelo perceives he's safe :
Methinks I see a quickening in his eye : —
Well, Angelo, your evil quits 44 you well :
Look that you love your wife ; her worth, worth

yours.45 —

I find an apt remission in myself;
And yet here's one in place I cannot pardon : —
[To Lucio.] You, sirrah, that knew me for a fool,

a coward,

One all of luxury,46 an ass, a madman ;
Wherein have I so deserv'd of you,
That you extol me thus 1

Lucio. 'Faith, my lord, I spoke it but according
to the trick : 47 If you will hang me for it, you may ;

43 That is, so far as they are punishable on earth.

44 Requites.

45 That is, " her value is equal to yours ; the match is not on
worthy of you."

*• lucon'inenee. 47 Thoughtless practice.

SC. 1. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 133

but I had rather it would please you I might be
whipp'd.

Duke. Whipp'd first, sir, and hang'd after. —
Proclaim it, provost, round about the city,
If any woman's wrong'd by this lewd fellow,
(As I have heard him swear himself there's one
Whom he begot with child,) let her appear,
And he shall marry her : the nuptial finish 'd,
Let him be whipp'd and hang'd.

Lucio. 1 beseech your highness, do not marry mo
to a whore ! Your highness said even now, I made
you a duke : good my lord, do not recompense m«
in making me a cuckold.

Duke. Upon mine honour, thou shalt marry her.
Thy slanders I forgive; and therewithal
Remit thy other forfeits : 48 — Take him to prison ;
And see our pleasure herein executed.

Lucio. Marrying a punk, my lord, is pressing to
death, whipping, and hanging.

Duke. Slandering a prince deserves it. —
She, Claudio, that you wrong'd, look you restore.
Joy to you, Mariana ! — love her, Angelo :
I have confess'd her, and I know her virtue. —
Thanks, good friend Escalus, for thy much good

ness :

There's more behind, that is more gratulate.49
Thanks, provost, for thy care and secrecy ;
We shall employ thee in a worthier place : —
Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home
The head of Ragozine for Claudio's:
The offence pardons itself. — Dear Isabel,

48 Dr. Johnson says, forfeits means punishments ; hut is it not
more likely to signify misdoings, transgressions, from the French
foifa.it 1 Steevens's note affords instances of the word in this
tense.

*• That is. more to be rejoiced in.

liJ4 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT V

I have a motion much imports your good ;
Whereto if you'll a willing ear incline,
What's mine is yours, and what is yours is mine. —
So, bring us to our palace ; where we'll show
What's yet behind, that's meet you all should know

[ Exeunt

INTRODUCTION

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.

THE earliest notice that has reached us of MUCH ADO ABOUT
NOTHING is an entry in the books of the Stationers' Company,
bearing date August 4, 1600, and running thus :

« As You Like It, a book. \

" Henry the Fifth, a book. f To bg gt d „

" Every Man in his Humour, a book, f

" Much Ado about Nothing, a book. )

Why these plays were thus entered and the publication stayed,
caunot be cfirtainly determined : probably it was to protect the
authorized publishers and the public against those " stolen and
surreptitious copies " which the editors of th» folio allege to have
been put forth. In the same Register, under the date of August
23, 1600, the following entry was made by Andrew Wise and
William Aspley : " Two books, the one called Much Ado about
Nothing, and the other The Second Part of the History of King
Henry the IV., with the Humours of Sir John Falstaff: Written by
Mr. Shakespeare." This entry was for publication ; which may
infer that the stay of August 4 had been revoked by the 23<1 of
the same month. In the course of the same year a quarto pam-
phlet of thirty-six leaves was published, with a title-page reading
as follows : " Much Ado ah ;ut Nothing : As it hath been sundry
times publicly acted by the right honourable the Lord Chamber-
lain his servants. Written by William Shakespeare. — London :
Printed by V. S. for Andrew Wise and William Aspley. 1(500."
The frequent use of the play on the public stage, and the nted
of a stay to prevent a stolen issue, may doubtless be taken as evi-
dence of a pretty good run. There is one more contemporary
reference to this play, which should not be omitted. Mr. Sleevens
ascertained from one of Vertue's manuscripts that Much Ado about
Nothing once passed under the title of Benedick and IJeatme;

138 MITCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.

and that Heminge the player received on the 20th of May, 1613
the sum of 40 pounds, and 20 pounds more as his Majesty's gra
tuity, for exhibiting six plays at Hampton Court, among which was
this comedy.

Except the quarto of 1600, there was no other edition of Much
Ado about Nothing, that we know of, till the folio of 1623, where
it stands the sixth in the division of Comedies. In the first edition
neither the scenes nor the acts, in the second only the latter, are
marked. Some question has been made whether the folio were a
reprint of the quarto, or from another manuscript. Considerable
might be urged on either side of the question : but the arguments
would hardly pay for the stating ; the differences between the two
copies being so few and slight as to make it of little consequence
whether they were printed from several manuscripts, or the one
from the other. And the superior authority of the quarto is suf
ficiently established in that it came out during the author's life, and
when he was at hand to correct the proof : besides, in nearly every
case of difference the reading of the quarto seems belter in itself.
There is one point, however, bearing rather in favor of several
manuscripts, which ought perhaps to be stated. In Act ii. sc. 3,
one of the stage directions in the folio is, — " Enter Prince, Leo
nato, Claudio. and Jack Wilson" thus substituting the name of the
actor for that of the character ; which looks very much as if the
whole came fresh from the prompter's book. Wilson was a cele-
brated stage singer of that time 5 and we thus learn that he per-
formed the part of Balthazar. Again, in Act iv. sc. 2, both quarto
and folio set the names of Kemp and Cowley before the speeches
of Dogberry and Verges ; thus showing what actors originally
played the parts of^those immortal magistrates. So far as the
question of several manuscripts is concerned, perhaps the agree-
ment of the two editions in this latter case may be fairly regarded
as offsetting their difference in the former, as Kemp had been dead
so.ne years when the folio appeared. It may be worth the while
to add, that the folio omits some passages that are found in the
quarto, two of which, besides being quite at home where thej
stand, are too good to be lost. One is the following part of Doc
Pedro's speech in Act iii. sc. 2 : " Or in the shape of two countries
at once ; as a German from the waist downward, all slops, and a
Spaniard from the hip upward, no doublet : " which Mr. Collier
llniiks may have been left out in consequence of some change of
fashion between 1600 and 1623. The other passage includes a
part of Dogberry's speech in Act iv. sc. 2 : " Write down — that
they hope they serve God : — and write God first ; for God defend
but God should go before such villains : " which, as Blackstona
suggests, may have been thrown out in 1623, on account of a law
made in the third year of James I. against the irreverent use of
the sacred Name.

What with the copies of 1600 anu 1623, the text of Much Ado

INTRODUCTION. 139

al>out Nothing, except in one instance, is every where so clear and
well-settled as almost to foreclose controversy. That exception
is the last verse of the Song in Act v. sc. 3 ; where the best result
we can come to will be found in a note.

This play, as may be seen in our Introduction to The Two Gen-
tlemen of Verona, is not in the list given by Francis Meres in
1598. As Meres' purpose was to set forth the Poet's excellence
in comedy, it is hardly to be supposed that he would have taken
The Two Gentlemen of Verona and left Much Ado about Noth-
ing, if the latter had then been known. This circumstance, tuere-
fore, together with the publishing of the play in the latter part o*"
1600, sufficiently ascertains the probable date of the composition.
Allowing time enough for a successful run upon the boards, and
for such a growth of popularity as to invite a fraudulent publica-
tion, the play could scarce have been written after 1599, when the
Poet was in his thirty-fifth year.

As in many other of our Author's plays, a part of the plot and
story of Much Ado about Nothing was borrowed. But the same
matter had been borrowed so many times before, and run into so
many variations, that we cannot affirm with certainty to what source
Shakespeare was immediately indebted. Mrs. Lenox, indeed, char-
acteristically instructs us, that the Poet here " borrowed just enough
to show his poverty of invention, and added enough to prove his
want of judgment : " and this choice dropping of criticism, like
many others vouchsafed by her learned ladyship, is too wise, if
not too womanly, to need any comment from us, save that the
Poet can better afford to have such things said, than the sayer can
to have them repeated.

Pope says, — "The story is taken from Ariosto." And so
much of it as relates to Hero, Claudio, and John, certainly bears
a strong resemblance to the tale of Ariodaute and Genevra, which
occupies the whole of the fifth and part of the sixth books of
Ariosto's Orlando Furioso. A translation of this part of the poem
by Peter Beverly was licensed for the press in 1565 ; and Warton
tells us it was reprinted in 1GOO 3 which is of some consequence
as suggesting that Shakespeare's play ma}' have had something
to do with the republication. An English version of Ariosto's
whole poem, by Sir John Harrington, came out in 1591 ; but Much
Ado about Nothing yields no traces of the Author's having been
with Sir John. And indeed the fixing of any obligations in this
quarter is the more difficult, forasmuch as the same matter appears
to have been borrowed by Ariosto himself. For the story of a
la'ly betrayed to peril and disgrace by the personation of her
waiting-woman was an old European tradition : it has been traced
to Spain ; and Ariosto interwove it with the adventures of Kiual-
do, as yielding an apt occasion for his chivalrous heroism. An
outline of the story as told by Ariosto is thus given by Mr. Knight

- The Lady Geuevra, so falsely accused, was doomed io di»

140 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.

nnless a true knight came within a month to do battle for her hon
our. Her lover, Ariodante, had fled, and was reported to have
perished. The wicked duke, Polinesso, who had betrayed Gene-
vra, appears secure in his treachery. But the misguided woman,
Ualinda, who had been the instrument of his crime, flying from
her paramour, meets with Kinaldo, and declares the truth. Then
comes the combat, in which the guilty duke is slain by the cham-
pion of innocence, and the lover reappears to be made happy with
his spotless princess."

From which it will be seen at once that the Polinesso of the
poem answers to the John of the play. But there is this impor
lant difference, that the motive of the former in vilifying the lady
is to drive away her lover, that he may have her himself; where
as the latter acts from a self-generated malignity of spirit that
takes pleasure in blasting the happiness of others without any hope
of supplanting them.

Spenser, whose genius sucked in whatsoever was rich and rare
in all the resources that learning could accumulate, seems to have
followed Ariosto in working the same tale into the variegated
structure of his great poem : but the Englishman so used it as to
set forth a high moral lesson ; the Italian, to minister opportunity
for a romantic adventure. The story of Phedon, relating the
treachery of his false friend Philemon, is in Book ii. Canto 4 of
the Faery Queene.

The same story also forms the groundwork of one of Bandello s
novels ; and Mr. Skottowe's brief analysis of that tale will indi-
cate the most probable source of Shakespeare's borrowings :

" Fenicia, the daughter of Lionato, a gentleman of Messina, is
betrothed to Timbreo de Cardona. Giroudo, a disappointed lover
of the young lady, resolves, if possible, to prevent the marriage.
He insinuates to Timbreo that his mistress is disloyal, and offers
to show him a stranger scaling her chamber window. Timbreo
accepts the invitation, and witnesses the hired servant of Girondo,
iii the dress of a gentleman, ascending a ladder and entering the
nouse of Lionato. Stung with rage and jealousy, Timbreo the
next morning accuses his innocent mistress to her father, and re.
jects the alliance. Fenicia sinks in a swoon ; a dangerous illness
succeeds ; and to stifle all reports injurious to her fame, Lionato
proclaims that she is dead. Her funeral rites are performed in
Messina, while in truth she lies concealed in the obscurity of a
country residence.

" The thought of having occasioned the death of ah innocent
and lovely female strikes Girondo with horror ; in tte agony of
remorse he confesses his villany to Timbreo, and they both throw
themselves on the mercy, and ask forgiveness, of the insulted fam-
ily of Fenicia. On Timbreo is imposed only the penance of
espousing a lady whose face he should not see previous to his
marriage : instead of a new bride, whom he expected, he is pro

INTRODUCTION. 141

sented, at the nuptial altar, with his injured and beloved Fe-
oicia."

How Shakespeare could have come to the knowledge of Ban
dello's novel, unless through the original, is not easy to explain ;
no translation of so early a date having been preserved. Which
is probably the cause why the critics have been so unwilling to
trace him to this source ; as it did not suit their theory to allow
that he had learning enough to read a simple tale in what waa
then the most generally-studied language of Europe.

This account of the matter, if it do no more, may serve to show,
what is so often shown elsewhere, that in his borrowing of stories
Shakespeare seems to have preferred such as were most received
into the common circulation of thought, and most familiar to his
audience, that he might have some tie of association to draw and
hold their minds to the deep lessons of beauty and wisdom which
he was ever pouring forth from himself. And surely much less
of insight than he possessed might have taught him, that men are
apt to study for novelty in proportion as they lack originality ; and
that where the latter abounds the former may be rather a hin-
drance than a help.

This placing of the main interest in something higher and better
than any mere plot or story can be, is well stated by Coleridge :
" The interest in the plot is on account of the characters, not vice
versa, as in almost all other writers ; the plot is a mere canvas,
and no more. Take away from Much Ado about Nothing all that
is not indispensable to the plot, either as having little to do with
it, or, like Dogberry and his comrades, forced into the service,
when any other less ingeniously-absurd watchmen and night-con-
stables would have answered the mere necessities of the action ;
take away Benedick, Beatrice, Dogberry, and the reaction of the
former on the character of Hero, — and what will remain ? In
other writers the main agent of the plot is always the prominent
character : John is the mainspring of the plot in this play ; but he
is merely shown, and then withdrawn."

We have already seen from the external evidence that Much
Ado about Nothing was probably written in or near the author's
thirty-fifth year. And it requires no great perspicacity to see
from the play itself that it naturally falls somewhere in the middle
period of his productive years. The style, like that of Twelfth
Night, is sustained and equal ; easy, natural, and modest in dress
and bearing ; every where alive indeed with the exhilaration of
wit, or numour, or poetry, but without the labored smoothness of
his earlier plays, or the penetrating energy and quick, sinewy
movement of his later ones. Compared with some of its prede-
cessors, the play shows a decided growth in what may be termed
virility of mind : a wider scope, a higher reach, a firmer grasp,
have been attained : the Poet's faculties nave manifestly been feed-
ing upon tonics, and inhaling invigoration : he has come to rcarf

142 MUCH ADO ABOUT KOTHING.

nature less through " the spectacles of books," and does nut hesi-
tate to meet her face to face, and trust and try himself alone with
her. The result of all which appears in a greater freshness and
reality of characterization: there being less of a certain dim,
equivocal hearsay air about the persons ; as if his mind, hav-
ing outgrown its recollected terms and booidsh generalities, had
plunged into living intercourse with surrounding life, where his
personal observation and experience are blossoming up into poe-
try and going to seed in philosophy.

Much Ado about Nothing has great variety of interest, now run-
Ding into the most grotesque drollery, now rising into an almost
tragic dignity, now revelling in the most sparkling brilliancy. Its
excellences, however, both of plot and of character are rather of
the striking sort, involving little of the hidden beauty which shows
just enough on the surface to invite a diligent search, and then
overpays all the labour it costs. The play, accordingly, has al-
ways been very effective on the stage. — The characters of Hero
and Claudio, though rather beautiful thuu otherwise in their sim-
plicity and uprightness, offer no very salient points, and are indeed
nowise extraordinary : they derive their interest mainly from the
events that befall them ; the reverse of which is generally true of
Shakespeare's plays. One can scarce help thinking, that had the
course of love run smooth with them, its voice, even if audible,
had been hardly worth the hearing. Hero, indeed, is altogether
gentle and womanly in her ways, and she offers a rather sweet,
inviting nestling-place for the fireside affections ; and there is
something very pathetic and touching in her situation when she is
stricken down in mute agony by the tongue of slander. — That
Claudio should lend his ear to the poisonous breathings of ont
whose spirits are known to " toil in frame of villanies," is no little
impeachment of his temper, or his understanding; and the prepar-
ing us for this, by representing him as falling into a fit of jealousy
towards the Prince, is a fine instance of the Poet's skill and care
in small matters. A piece of conduct, which the circumstances
do not explain, is explained at once by thus disclosing a slight pre-
disposition to jealousy in the subject. In keeping with this part
of his behaviour, Claudio's action every where smacks of the sol-
dier : he shows all along both the faults and the virtues of his cal.-
ing; is sensitive, rash, "quick in quarrel," and as quick in recon-
ciliation : and has a sort of unreflective spontaneousuess about
him, that is only not so good as a chastened discretion and a firm,
gteady self-control. This accounts very well for his sudden run-
ning into a match, which in itself looks more like a freak of fancy
than a resolution of love ; while the same suddenness on the side
of the more calm, discreet, and patient Hero, is accounted for by
the intervention of the Prince, and the sway he might justly have
over her thoughts. — Critics have unnecessarily found fault witb
the Poet for the character of John, as if it lay without the circum

INTRODUCT ION. 1 43

ference of truth and nattire. They would apparently prefer th«
more commonplace character of a disappointed rival in love, whoifl
guilt might be explained away into a pressure of violent motives.
But Shakespeare saw deeper into human character; and perhaps
ins wisest departure from the orig-iual story is in making John a
moody, sullen, envious rascal, who joys at others' pain, is pained
at others' joy, and gloats over his power in working mischief; thus
exemplifying in a smaller figure the same innate, spontaneous
malice which towers into such a stupendous height of wickedness
in lago. We may well reluct to believe in the fact of such char-
acters ; but history is unhappily too full of deeds and plots that
cannot be otherwise accounted for; nor need we go far to learn
that men may " spin motives out of their own bowels ; " and that
the man often lias more to do in shaping the motive than the mo-
tive in determining the man.

Ulrici, regarding the play as setting forth the contrast between
life, as it is in itself, and as it seems to those engaged in its strug-
gle, looks upon Dogberry as embodying the whole idea of the
piece. And, sure enough, the impressive insignificance of his ac
tiou to the lookers-on is equalled only by its stuffed importance to
himself: when he is really most absurd and ridiculous, precisely
then it is that he feels most confident and grave ; the iron}' that is
rarified into wit and poetry in the other characters being thus con-
densed into the broadest humour and drollery in him. The Ger-
man critic, however, is not quite right in thinking that his blunder-
ing garruli.y brings to light the internal plot; a.s it rather keeps it
in the dark : he is too fond of hearing himself talk to make known
what he has to say, in time to do any good ; and amidst his huge
struuings and tumblings of mind the truth leaks out at last in spite
of him. The part was imitated by other dramatists of the time ;
which shows it to have been a decided hit on the stage ; and per-
haps the Poet has evinced something of an author's weakness in
attempting a repetition of Dogberry under the name of Elbow in
Measure for Measure. But even Shakespeare himself could not
make an imitation come up to his own original.

The good repute of Benedick and Beatrice has been greatly
perilled by their wit. But it is the ordinary lot of persons sc wise
as they, to suffer under the misconstructions of prejudice or partia
acquaintance ; their wisdom augmenting the difficulty of coming
ta a true knowledge of them. How dangerous it is to be so gift-
ed tha* way, may be seen by the impression these persons have
had the ill luck to make on one whose good opnti )n is so desirable
as Campbell's. He says, — " During one half of the play, w<;
have a disagreeable female character in that of Beatrice. Her
portrait. I may he told, is deeply drawn, and minutely finished.
It is ; and so is that of Benedick, who is entirely her counterpart,
except that he is less disagreeable." A little after, he pionoincec
Beatrice '• an odious woman." We are sorry so tastefn/ and

144 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.

charming a critic should think so, but suppose there is no nelp fb»
it. In support of his opinion he quotes Hero's speech, — " Dis-
dain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes," &c. ; but he seems to
forgot that these words are spoken with the intent that Beatrice
shall hear them, nnd at the same time think she overhears them ;
that is, not as being true, but as being suitet to a certain end, and
as having just enough of trulh to be effective for that cud. So
lhat, viewed in reference to the speaker's purpose, perhaps noth-
ing could be better ; viewed as describing the character of Bca
trice, scarce any thing were worse ; and the effect the speech has
on her proves it is not true. To the same end, the Prince, Leo-
nato, and Claudio speak as much the other way, where they know
Benedick is overhearing them ; and what is there said in her favoi
is just a fair offset of what was before said against her. But in
deed it is clear enough that a speech thus made really for the eai
of the subject, yet seemingly in confidence to another person, can-
not be received in evidence against her.

Fortunately, however for Beatrice, the critic's unfavorable opin
ion is accounted for by what himself has unfortunately witnessed.
He says, — "I once knew such a pair; the lady was a perfect
Beatrice ; she railed hypocritically at wedlock before her marriage,
and with bitter sincerity after it. She and her Benedick now live
apart, hut with entire reciprocity of sentiments ; each devoutly
wishing that the other may soon pass into a better world." So
that the writer's strong dislike of Beatrice is one of the finest tes-
timonies we have seen to the Poet's wonderful truth of delineation ;
inasmuch as it shows how our views of his characters, as of those
in real life, depend less perhaps on what they are in themselves,
than on our own peculiar associations. Nature's and Shake-
speare's men and women seem very differently to different per-
sons, and even to the same persons at different times. Need it be
said that this is because the characters are individuals, not abstrac-
tions 1 — Viewed therefore in this light, the tribute is so exquisite
that we half suspect the author meant it as such. In itself, how
ever, we much prefer the ground taken by other critics : That in the
unamiahle part of their deportment Benedick and Beatrice are but
playing; that their playing is with a view to conceal, not express,
their real feelings ; that it is the very strength of their feelings that
puts and keeps them upon this mode of concealment ; and that the
exclusive pointing of their raillery against each other is itself proof
of a deep and growing attachment : though it must be confessed,
lhat the ability to play so well is a great temptation to carrv it
to excess, or where it will he apt to cause something else than
mirth. This it is that justifies the repetition of the stratagem, the
»ame process being necessary in both cases " to get rid of their
reciprocal disguises, and make them straightforward and in ear-
nest." And the effect of the stratagem is to bogin the unmasking
which is so thoroughly completed by the wrongs and sufferings of

INTRODUCTION. 145

Hero . thei are thus disciplined, for a time at least, out of their
playing, and made to show themselves as they are : before we saw
but thejr art, now we see their virtue ; and this, though not a little
clouded with faults, strikes us as something rather noble.

The wit of these persons, though seeming at first view much the
same, is very nicely discriminated, discovering in her more spright
liness, in him more strength, of niiiixl. Beatrice, intelligent but
thoughtless, has little of reflection in her wil ; but throws it off in
rapid flashes whenever any object ministers a spark to her fancj .
1 hough of the most piercing keenness and the most exquisite apt-
ness, there is no ill-nature about it ; it stings indeed, but does not
poison. The offspring merely of the moment and the occasion, it
strikes the fancy, but leaves no trace on the memory ; but we feel
that she forgets it as soon as we do. Its agility is infinite : wher-
ever it may be, the instant one goes to put his hand upon it, he is
sure to find or feel it somewhere else. — The wit of Benedick, on
the other hand, springs more from reflection, and grows with the
growth of thought. With all the pungency and nearly all the
pleasantry, it lacks the free, spontaneous volubility, of hers.
Hence in their skirmishes she always gets the better of him. But
he makes ample amends when out of her presence, trundling of
jests in whole paragraphs. In short, if his wit be slower, it is
also stronger than hers : not so agile in manner, more weighty in
matter, it shines less, but burns more ; and as it springs much less
out of the occasion, so it will bear repeating much better. — The
effect of the serious events in bringing these persons into an ar-
mistice of wit is indeed a rare stroke of art ; and perhaps some
such thing was necessary, to prevent the impression of their being
jesters by trade. It proves at least that Beatrice is a witty woman,
and not a mere female wit.

The general view of life, as opened out in this play, is pretty
clearly indicated by the title. The characters do indeed make 01
have much ado ; but all the while to us who are in the secret, and
ultimately to the persons themselves, all this much ado proves to
be about naming. Which is but a common difference in the aspect
of things, as they appear to the spectators and to the partakers ;
it needs but an average experience to discover that real life is full
of just such passages : what troubled and worried us yesterday,
made others laugh then, and makes us laugh to-day : what we fret
or grieve at in the progress, we still smile and make merry over
in the result. This, we believe, is the simple upshot of whal
Ulrici, writing in a style that few know or care to understand,
has discoursed upon with much ado, though we cannot quite add
about nothing.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

DON PEDRO, Prince of Arragon.

JOHN, his bastard Brother.

CLAUDIO, a young Lord of Florence, ) Favourites of

BENEDICK, a young Lord of Padua, ) D°» Pedro.

LEONATO, Governor of Messina.

ANTONIO, his Brother.

BALTHAZAR, Servant to Don Pedro

BORACHIO,

CONRADE,

DOGBERRY, > „ , .. , _. _
VERGES, ' J Two foolwh Officen.

FRANCIS, a Friar.
A Sexton.
A Boy.

HERO, Daughter to Leonato.

BEATRICE, Niece to Leouato.

MARGARET. ) _,

URSULA * Oeutlewomen attending on Hero.

Messengers, Watchmen, and Attendant*.
SCENE, Mesiina

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.

ACT I.

SCENE I. Before LEONATO'S House.

Enter LEONATO, HERO, BEATRICE, and others,
uoith a Messenger.

Leon. I LEARN in this letter, that Don Pedro
of Arragon comes this night to Messina.

Mess. He is very near by this : he was not three
leagues off when I left him.

Leon. How many gentlemen have you lost in thia
action 1

Mess. But few of any sort, and none of name.

Leon. A victory is twice itself, when the achiever
brings home full numbers. I find here, that Don
Pedro hath bestowed much honour on a young
Florentine, called Claudio.

Mess. Much deserv'd on his part, and equally re-
membered by Don Pedro : He hath borne himself
beyond the promise of his age, doing in the figure
of a lamb the feats of a lion : he hath, indeed, bet-
ter better'd expectation, than you must expect of
rue to tell you how.

Leon. He hath an uncle here in Messina will be
very much glad of it.

Mf.ss. I have already delivered him letters, and
there appears much joy in him ; even so much, tha*

148 MUCH ADO A.CT L

joy could not show itself modest enough, without a
badge of bitterness.1

Leon. Did he break out into tear* 1

Mess. In great measure.

Leon. A kind overflow of kindness : There are
no faces truer than those that are so wash'd. How
much better it is to weep at joy, than to joy at
weeping !

Beat. I pra^ you, is signior Montanto * return'd
from the wars, or no ?

Mess. I know none of that name, lady : there
was none such in the army of any sort.3

Leon. What is he that you ask for, niece ?

Hero. My cousin means signior Benedick of
Padua.

Mess. O ! he is return'd ; and as pleasant as ever
he was.

Beat. He set up his bills 4 here in Messina, and
challeng'd Cupid at the flight;5 and my uncle's
fool, reading the challenge, subscrib'd for Cupid,

1 In Chapman's version of the 10th Odyssey, a somewhat sim-
ilar expression occurs : " Our eyes wore the same wet badge of
weak humanity." This is an idea which Shakespeare apparently
delighted to introduce. It occurs again in Macbeth : " My plep
leous joys, wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves in drops of
sorrow."

* Montanto is an old term of the fencing-school, humorously or
sarcastically applied here in the sense of a bravado. See The
Merry Wives of Windsor, Act. ii. sc. 3, note 2. H.

3 Sort is here used in the sense of rank. So, in A Midsummer-
Night's Dream, Act iii. sc. 2 : " None of nobler sort would so of-
fend a virgin ; " and in Measure for Measure, Act iv. sc. 4 : " Give
notice to such men of sort and suit, as are to meet him." H.

4 This phrase was in common use for affixing a printed notice
in some public place, long before Shakespeare's time, and long
after.

6 That is, dared him to a match with the flight. The flight was
a long, slender, sharp arrow, such as Cupid shot with , so called
because used for flying 'ong distances, and to distinguish it from
the bird-bolt, a short, thick, blunt arrow, used in a lower kind of

SC. I. ABOUT NOTHING. 149

and challeng'd him at the bird-bolt. — I pray you,
how many hath he kill'd and eaten in these wars 7
But 1 ow many hath he kill'd 1 for, indeed, I prom-
is'd to eat all of his killing.

Leon. Faith, niece, you tax signior Benedick too
much ; but he'll be meet with you,8 I doubt it not.

Mess. He hath done good service, lady, in these
wars.

Beat. You had musty victual, and he hath holp
to eat it : he is a very valiant trencher-man ; he hath
an excellent stomach.

Mess. And a good soldier too, lady.

Beat. And a good soldier to a lady ; — but what
is he to a lord 1

Mess. A lord to a lord, a man to a man ; stuff 'd 7
with all honorable virtues.

Beat. It is so, indeed : he is no less than a stuff 'd
man ; but for the stuffing ! — Well, we are all mor
tal.

Leon. You must not, sir, mistake my niece .
There is a kind of merry war betwixt signior Ben-
edick and her : they never meet, but there's a skir-
mish of wit between them.

Beat. Alas ! he gets nothing by that. In our last
conflict four of his five wits 8 went halting off, and

archery, and permitted to fools. " A fool's bolt is soon shot," is
an old proverb. See Twelfth Night, Act i. sc. 5, note 5. H.

8 That is, he'll be even with you ; or, as we should say, he'll be
np with you. H.

7 Mede, in his discourses on Scripture, speaking of Adam, sayg,
" He whom God had stuffed with so many excellent qualities."
Beatrice starts an idea at the words stuffed man, and prudently
checks herself in the pursuit of it. A stuffed man appears to have
been one of the many cant phrases for a cuckold.

8 In Shakespeare's time, the jive wits was used to denote both
the five senses, and the intellectual powers, which were thought to
correspond with the senses in number. Here it of course means
the latter ; as in the Poet's 141st Sonnet :

i50 MUCH ADO ACT I

now is the whole man govern'd with one : so that
if he have wit enough to keep himself warm, lei
him bear it for a difference * between himself and
his horse ; for it is all the wealth that he hath left,
to be known a reasonable creature. — Who is hia
companion now ? He hath every month a new
sworn brother.

Mess. Is't possible ?

Beat. Very easily possible: he wears his faith
but as the fashion of his hat ; it ever changes with
the next block.10

Mess. I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your
books.11

Beat. No ; an he were, I would burn my study.
But, I pray you, who is liis companion ? Is there
no young squarer 1S now, that will make a voyage
with him to the devil ?

Mess. He is most in the company of the right
noble Claudio.

Beat. O Lord ! he will hang upon him like a
disease : he is sooner caught than the pestilence.

" But my Jive wits, nor my Jive senses can
Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee.*' H.

• This is an heraldic term. So, in Hamlet, Ophelia says, —
" You may wear your roe with a difference."

10 The mould on which a hat is formed. It is here used for
shape or fashion.

11 The most probable account derives this phrase from the cus-
tom of servants and retainers being1 entered in the books of those
to whom they were attached. To be in one's books was to be in
favour. That this was the ancient sense of the phrase, and its
origin, appears from Florio : " Casso. Cashier'd, crossed, can-
celled, or put out of booke and checke roule."

'* That is, quarrelUr. To square was to take a posture of de-
fiance or of resistance So, in A Midsummer-Night's Dream, Act
\. sc. 1 :

" And now they never meet in grove or green,
By fountain clear, or spangled star-light sheen,
But they do square." H,

SC. L ABOUT NOTHING. 151

and the taker runs presently mad. God help the
noble Claudio ! if he have caught the Benedick, il
will cost him a thousand pound ere he be cur'd.

Mess. I will hold friends with you, lady.

Beat. Do, good friend.

Leon. You'll ne'er run mad, niece.

Beat. No, not till a hot January.

Mess. Don Pedro is approach'd.

Enter Don PEDRO, JOHN, CLAUDIO, BENEDICK,
BALTHAZAR, and others.

D. Pedro. Good signior Leonato, are you come
to meet your trouble ? the fashion of the world ig
to avoid cost, and you encounter it.

Leon. Never came trouble to my house in the
likeness of your grace : for, trouble being gone,
comfort should remain ; but, when you depart from
me, sorrow abides, and happiness takes his leave.

D. Pedro. You embrace your charge too willing-
ly.— I think this is your daughter.

Leon. Her mother hath many times told me so.

Bene. Were you in doubt, sir, that you ask'd
her?

Leon. Signior Benedick, no ; for then were you
a child.

D. Pedro. You have it full, Benedick : we may
guest by tliis what you are, being a man. Truly,
the lady fathers herself:13 — Be happy, lady, for
you are like an honourable father.

Bene. If signior Leonato be her father, she would
not have his head on her shoulders for all Messina,
as like him as she is

u This phrase is common in Dorsetshire : " Jf.ck fathers hire-
self," i« like his father.

152 MUCH ADO ACT I

Beat. I wonder that you will still be talking
signior Benedick: nobody marks you.

Bene. What, my dear lady Disdain ! are you yet
living ?

Beat. Is it possible disdain should die, while she
hath such meet food to feed it as signior Benedick 1
Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if you come
in her presence.

Bene. Then is courtesy a turncoat : — But it is
certain, I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted :
and I would I could find in my heart that I had
not a hard heart ; for, truly, I love none.

Beat. A dear happiness to women : they would
else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I
thank God, and my cold blood, I am of your hu-
mour for that : I had rather hear my dog bark at
a crow, than a man swear he loves me.

Bent. God keep your ladyship still in that mind !
so some gentleman or other shah1 'scape a predesti
natt scratch'd face.

Beat. Scratching could not make it worse, an
twere such a face as yours were.

Bene. Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.

Beat. A bird of my tongue is better than a beast
of yours.

Bene. I would my horse had the speed of your
tongue ; and so good a continuer : But keep your
way o'God's name ! I have done.

Beat. You always end with a jade's trick : I know
you of old.

D. Pedro. This is the sum of all : Leonato, —
signior Claudio, and signior Benedick, — my dear
friend Leonato, hath invited you all. I tell him we
shall stay here at the least a month , and he heart-
ily prays some occasion may detain us longer : I

SO. 1. ABuiT NOTHING. 1553

dare swear he is no hypocrite, but prays from his
heart.

Leon. If you swear, my lord, you shall not be
forsworn. — Let me bid you welcome, my lord : be-
ing reconciled to the prince your brother, I owe you
all duty.

John. I thank you : I am not of many words, but
I thank you.

Lr.on. Please it your grace lead on ?

D. Pedro. Your hand, Leonato : we will go to-
gether. [Exeunt all but BENEDICK and CLADDIO.

Claud. Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of
signior Leonato ?

Bene. I noted her not ; but I look'd on her.

Claud. Is she not a modest young lady 7

Bene. Do you question me, as an honest man
should do, for my simple true judgment ; or would
you have me speak after my custom, as being a pro-
fessed tyrant to their sex 1

Claud. No ; I pray thee, speak in sober judg-
ment.

Bene. Why, i'faith, methinks she's too low for
a high praise, too brown for a fair praise, and too
little for a great praise : only this commendation I
can afford her ; that were she other than she is, she
were unhandsome ; and being no other but as she is,
I do not like her.

Claud. Thou think'st I am in sport : I pray thee,
tell me truly how thou lik'st her.

Bene. Would you buy her, that you inquire after
her?

Claud. Can the world buy such a jewel 1

Bene. Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak
you this with a sad brow, or do you play the flout-
ing Jack, to tell us Cupid is a good hare-finder, and

154 MUCH AJDO ACT 1

Vulcan a rare carpenter ? u Come, in what key shall
a man take you, to go in the song ? I8

Claud. In mine eye, she is the sweetest lady that
ever I look'd on.

Bene. I can see yet without spectacles, and I see
no such matter : there's her cousin, an she were
not possess'd with a fury, exceeds her as much in
beauty, as the first of May doth the last of Decem-
ber. But I hope you have no intent to turn hus-
band, have you ?

Claud. I would scarce trust myself, though I had
sworn the contrary, if Hero would be my wife.

Bene. Is't come to this, i'faith '? Hath not the
world one man, but he will wear his cap with sus-
picion ? " Shall I never see a bachelor of three-
score again ? Go to, i'faith ; an thou wilt needs
thrust thy neck into a yoke, wear the print of it,
and sign away Sundays.17 Look, Don Pedro is re-
turned u» seek you.

Re-enter Don PEDRO.

D Pedro. What secret hath held you here, that
you followed not to Leonato's ?

Bene. I would your grace would constrain me to
«jll.

D. Pedro. I charge thee on thy allegiance.

Bene. You hear, Count Claudio : I can be secret
as a dumb man, I would have you think so ; but on

14 Do you scoff and mock in telling us that Cupid, who is blind,
is a good hare-finder ; and that Vulcan, a blacksmith, is a good
carpenter 7

16 That is, join you, go along with you, in singing. H.
18 That is, subject his head to the disquiet of jealousy.

17 That is, become sad and serious, alluding to the manner IE
which the Puritans usually spent Sunday, with sighs and grunt
ings, and other hypocritical marks of devotion.

SC. 1. ABOUT NOTHING. 155

my allegiance, — mark you this, on my allegiance.
— He is in love. With whom ? — now that is your
grace's part. — Mark, how short his answer is : —
With Hero, Leonato's short daughter,

Claud. If this were so, so were it utter'd.

Bene. Like the old tale, my lord : it is not so,
nor 'twas not so ; but, indeed, God forbid it should
be so.18

18 In illustration of this passage Mr. Blakeway has given his
recollections of an old tale, which he thinks may be the one allud-
ed to, very like some that we in our boyhood have often lain awake
to hear, and been kept awake with thinking of after the hearing.
" Once upon a time there lived a Mr. Fox, a bachelor, who made,
it his business to decoy or force young women to his house, that
he might have their skeletons to adorn his chambers with. Near by
dwelt a family, the lady Mary and her two brothers, whom Mr. Fox
often visited, they, especially the lady, being much pleased with his
company. One day, the lady, being left alone and having nothing
else to do, thought to amuse herself by calling upon Mr. Fox, as
he had often invited her to do./ Knocking some time, but finding
no one at home, she at length opened and went in. Over the por-
tal was written, Be. bold, be bold, but not too bold. Going forward,
she saw the same over the stairway, and again over the door of
the chamber at the head of the stairs. Opening this door, she saw
at once what sort of work was carried on there. Retreating has-
tily, she saw out of the window Mr. Fox coming, holding a sword
in one hand, and with the other dragging a young lady by the hair.
She had just time to hide herself under the stairs before he en-
tered. As he was going up stairs the young lady caught hold of
the banister with her hand, whereon was a rich bracelet ; he then
cut oft" her hand, and it fell, bracelet and all, into Mary's lap, who
took it. and, as soon as she could, hastened home. A few days
after, Mr. Fox came to dine with her and her brothers. As they
•vere entertaining each other with stories, she said she would tell
them a strange dream she had lately had. She said, — I dreamed,
Mr. Fox, that as you had often invited me to your house, I went
there one morning. When 1 came, I knocked, but no oue an-
swered ; when 1 opened the door, over the hall was written, Be
bold, be bold, but not too bold. But, said she, turning to Mr. Fox
and smiling, — It is not so, nor it was not so. Then she went on
with the story, repealing this at every turn, till she came to the
room full of dead bodies, when Mr. Fox took up the himleu of the
tale, saying, — // is not so, nor it was not so, and (rod forbid 4
t/wuld be so ; which he kept repeating at every turn of the dread

156 MUCH ADO ACT 1

Claud. If my passion change not shortly, God
forbid it should be otherwise.

D. Pedro. Amen, if you love her ; for the lady
is very well worthy.

Claud. You speak this to fetch me in, my lord.

D. Pedro. By my troth, I speak my thought.

Claud. And in faith, my lord, I spoke mine.

Bene. And, by my two faiths and troths, my lord,
I spoke mine.

Claud. That I love her, I feel.

D. Pedro. That she is worthy, I know.

Bene. That I neither feel how she should be loved,
nor know how she should be worthy, is the opinion
that fire cannot melt out of me : I will die in it at
the stake.

D. Pedro. Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic
n the despite of beauty.

Claud. And never could maintain his part, but in
the force of his will.19

Bene. That a woman conceived me, I thank her .
that she brought me up, I likewise give her most
humble thanks; but that I will have a recheat20
winded in my forehead, or hang my bugle in an
invisible baldrick, all women shall pardon me : Be-
cause I will not do them the wrong to mistrust any,

fill story, till she came to his cutting off the lady's hand; then,
upon his saying the same words, she replied, — But it is so, and
it was to, and here the hand I have to show, at the same time pro-
ducing the hand and bracelet from her lap; whereupon the guests
drew their swords, and cut Mr. Fox into a thousand pieces." H

18 Alluding to the definition of a heretic in the schools.

*° Some of the Poet's jests about horns might well be spared.
Benedick's meaning seems to be, that he would not render him-
self liable to have such an ornament in his forehead. A recheat
was a peculiar sound of the bugle, whereby the hounds were called
hack from the chase. Baldrick is the belt whereby the hunts-
man's horn is slung. It is here called invisible, in reference to the
same ideal horn, which, though never seen, is sometimes Jf.lt. H

SO. I. ABOUT NOTHING. 15?

I will do myself the right to trust none ; and the
fine Sl is, (for the which I may go the finer,) I will
live a bachelor.

D. Pedro. I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale
with love.

Bene. With anger, with sickness, or with hunger,
my lord ; not with love : prove, that ever I lose
more blood with love, than I will get again with
drinking, pick out mine eyes with a ballad-maker's
pen, and hang me up at the door of a brothel-house,
for the sign of blind Cupid.

D. Pedro. Well, if ever thou dost fall from this
faith, thou wilt prove a notable argument.

JBene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat,8*
and shoot at me ; and he that hits me, let him be
clapp'd on the shoulder, and call'd Adam.23

D. Pedro. Well, as time shall try :
" In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke." "

Bene. The savage bull may ; but if ever the sen
sible Benedick bear it, pluck off the bull's horns,
and set them in my forehead ; and let me be vilely
painted, and in such great letters as they write,
" Here is good horse to hire," let them signify
under my sign — " Here you may see Benedick the
married man."

Claud. If this should ever happen, thou wonldst
be horn-mad.

D. Pedro. Nay, if Cupid have not spent all

£l The Jine is the conclusion.

22 it seems to have been one of the inhuman sports of the tim«
to enclose a cat in a wooden tub or bottle suspended aloft to b«j
shot at.

83 That is, Adam Bell. " a passing good archer," who, with
Clym of the Clough and William of Cloudesly, were outlaws as
famous in the north of England as Robin Hood and his fello-*f
were in the midland counties.

44 This line is from The Spanish Tragedy.

158 MUCH ADO ACT I

his quiver in Venice,8* thou wilt quake for thig
shortly.

Bene. I look for an earthquake too, then.

D. Pedro. Well, you will temporize with the
hours. In the mean time, good signior Benedick,
repair to Leonato's : commend me to him, and tel!
him I will not fail him at supper ; for, indeed, he
hath made great preparation.

Bene. I have almost matter enough in me for
mch an embassage ; and so I commit you —

Claud. To the tuition of God : From my house,
if I had it. —

D. Pedro. The sixth of July : Your loving friend,
Benedick.

Bene. Nay, mock not, mock not : The body of
your discourse is sometime guarded 28 with fragments,
and the guards are but slightly basted on neither :
ere you flout old ends27 any further, examine your
conscience, and so I leave you. [Exit BENEDICK.

Claud. My liege, your highness now may do me
good.

D. Pedro. My love is thine to teach : teach it

but how,

And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn
Any hard lesson that may do thee good.

Claud. Hath Leonato any son, my lord ?

D. Pedro. No child but Hero, she's his only heir :
Dost thou affect her, Claudio 1

Claud. O ! my lord,

When you went onward on this ended action,
I look'd upon her with a soldier's eye,

** Venice bore much the same character in Shakespeare's time
as Paris does in ours; being' celebrated as the great metropolis
of profligate intrigue and pleasure. H.

86 (ruards were trimmings, ornaments of dress, what we call
facings. See Measure for Measure. Act. iii. sc. 1. H.

27 Old ends probably meaii.s the conclusions of letters, whicB
were frequently couched in the quaint forms used above.

)tC. I. ABOUT NOTHING. 159

That lik'd, but had a rougher task in hand
Than to drive liking to the name of love :
But now I am return'd, and that war-thoughts
Have left their places vacant, in their rooms
Come thronging soft and delicate desires,
All prompting me how fair young Hero is,
Saying I lik'd her ere I went to wars.

D. Pedro. Thou wilt be like a lover presently,
And tire the hearer with a book of words :
If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it ;
And 1 will break with her, and with her father,
And thou shall have her: Was't not to this end,
That thou began'st to twist so fine a story ?

Claud. How sweetly do you minister to love,
That know love's grief by his complexion !
But lest my liking might too sudden seem,
T would have salv'd it with a longer treatise.

/>. Pedro. What need the bridge much broader

than the flood 1

The fairest grant is the necessity:28
Look, what will serve, is fit : 'tis once,*9 thou lov'st ;
And I will fit thee with the remedy.
I know we shall have revelling to-night:
1 will assume thy oart in some disguise,
And tell fair Hero I am Claudio ;
And in her bosom I'll unclasp my heart,
And take her hearing prisoner with the force
And strong encounter of my amorous tale :
Then, after, to her father will I break ;
And, the conclusion is, she shall be thine :
In practice let us put it presently. [Exeunt,

K Mr. Hayley, with great acuteness, proposed to read, " The
fairest grant is to necessity;" i. e., necessitas quod cogit deferuiit.
The meaning may, however, he, — "The fairest or most equitable
concession is that which is needful only."

* That is. once for all. So. in Coriolnnus : «« <>«ce if be do
require our voices, we ought not to deny him."

160 MUCH ADO ACT I

SCENE II. A Room in LEONATO'S House.

Enter LEONATO and ANTONIO.

Leon. How now, brother 1 Where is my cousin,
your son ? Hath he provided this music ?

Ant. He is very busy about it. But, brother, I
can tell you strange news that you yet dream'd
not of.

Leon. Are they good 1

Ant. As the event stamps them ; but they have
a good cover ; they show well outward. The prince
and Count Claudio, walking in a thick-pleached
alley in my orchard, were thus much overheard by
a man of mine : The prince discovered to Claudio,
that he loved my niece your daughter, and meant
to acknowledge it this night in a dance ; and, if he
found her accordant, he meant to take the present
time by the top, and instantly break with you of it.

Leon. Hath the fellow any wit, that told you this 7

Ant. A good sharp fellow : I will send for him,
and question him yourself.

Leon. No, no ; we will hold it as a dream, till if
appear itself: — but I will acquaint my daughter
withal, that she may be the better prepared for an
answer, if peradventure this be true. Go you, and
tell her of it. [Several persons cross t/ie ytagc.]
Cousins,2 you know what you have to do. — O ! I
cry you mercy, friend ; go you with me, and I will
use your skill : — Good cousins, have a care this
busy time. [Ercimt.

1 Tiiickly interwoven.

* Cousins were formerly enrolled among the dependants, it n >t
the domestics, of great families, such as that of Leonato. — Pe-
•ruchio, while intent on the subjection of Katharine, calls out ui
terms imperative for his cousin Ferdinand.

SC. III. ABOUT NOTHING. ]t»l

SCENE ill. Another Room in LEONATO'S House
Enter JOHN and CONRADE.

Con. What the good year,1 my lord ! why are
you thus out of measure sad ?

John There is no measure in the occasion that
breeds it, therefore the sadness is without limit.

Con. You should hear reason.

John. And when I have heard it, what blessing
bringeth it 1

Con. If not a present remedy, at least a patient
sufferance.

John. I wonder that thou, being (as thou say'st
thou art) born under Saturn, goest about to apply
a moral medicine to a mortifying mischief. I can-
not hide what I am : * I must be sad when I have
cause, and smile at no man's jests ; eat when I
have stomach, and wait for no man's leisure; sleep
when I am drowsy, and tend to no man's busi-
ness ; laugh when I am merry, and claw 3 no
man in his humour.

1 The commentators say, that the original form of this excla-
mation was the gougere, i. e., morhus galliciis , which ultimately
became obscure, and was corrupted into the good year, a very
opposite form of expression.

2 This is one of Shakespeare's natural touches. An envious
and unsocial mind, too proud to give pleasure and too sullen to
receive it. often endeavours to hide its malignity from the world
and from itself, under the plainness of simple honesty or the dig-
nity of haughty independence.

3 To claw, in the sense of to scratch, and to ease by scratch-
ing, was often used for to soothe, flatter, or curry favour. Thus.
in Howell's Letters : " Here it is not the style to elate and com
pliment with the King." Claw-back occurs in the same sense
bolh as a noun and a verb. Thus Camden says of Queen Eliza-
beth,— " When she often used the saying. That most men neglect-
ed the setting- sun. these claw-hacks ceased not to heat into hei
ears,— Who will neglect the wholesome beams of the clear sun
shine, to behold the pitiful sparkling of the smaller stars ? '' H

Ifi2 MUCH ADO ACT 1.

Con. Yea, but you must not make the fiill show
of this, till you may do it without conti olment. You
have of late stood out against your brother, and
he hath ta'en you newly into his grace ; where
it is impossible you should take true root, but by
the fair weather that you make yourself : it ia
needful that you frame the season for your own
harvest.

John. I had rather be a canker 4 in a hedge, than
a rose in his grace ; and it better fits my blood to
be disdain'd of all, than to fashion a carriage to rob
love from any : in this, though I cannot be said to
be a flattering honest man, it must not be denied
out I am a plain-dealing villain. I am trusted vvitli
a muzzle, and enfranchis'd with a clog ; therefore
I have decreed not to sing in my cage : If I had
my mouth, I would bite ; if I had my liberty, I
would do my liking : in the mean time, let me be
that I am, and seek not to alter me.

Can. Can you make no use of your discontent?

John. I make all use of it, for I use it only.*
Who comes here 1 What news, Borachio 1

Enter BORACHIO.

Bora. I came yonder from a great supper : the
prince, your brother, is royally entertained by Leo
nato ; and I can give you intelligence of an intended
marriage.

4 A canker is the canker-rose, or dog-rose. So, in Henry IV.

" To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose,
And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolinghroke."

Richardson says that in Devonshire the dog-rose is called the can-
ker-rose. The meaning in the text is, — I had rather be a wiW
dog rose in a hedge, than a garden-rose of his cherishing, u.
6 That is, " for I make nothing else my counsellor."

6C. III. ABOUT NOTHING. IGtf

John. Will it serve for any model 3 to build mis
chief oil ? What is he for a fool, that betrotha
himself to unquietness 1

Bora. Marry, it is your brother's right hand

John. Who 1 the most exquisite Claudio 1

Bora. Even he.

John. A proper squire ! And who, and who ?
which way looks he 1

Bora. Marry, on Hero, the daughter and heir of
Leonato.

John. A very forward March chick ! How came
you to this ?

Bora. Being entertain'd for a perfumer, as I was
smoking a musty room,7 comes me the prince and
Claudio, hand in hand, in sad 8 conference : I wlupt
me behind the arras, and there heard it agreed upon,
that the prince should woo Hero for himself, and
having obtain'd her, give her to Count Claudio.

John. Come, come, let us thither : this may prove
food to my displeasure : That young start-up hath
all the glory of my overthrow : if I can cross him
any way, I bless myself every way : You are both
sure,9 and will assist me 1

Con. To the death, my lord.

John. Let us to the great supper : their cheer ia
the greater, that I am subdued : 'Would the cook
were of my mind ! — Shall we go prove what's to
be done !

Bora. We'll wait upon your lordship. [Exeunt.

' Model is here used in an unusual sense, but Bullokar explains
it, " Model, the platforme, or form of any thing."

7 The neglect of cleanliness among our ancestors rendered
such precautions too often necessary. In Burton's Anatomy of
Melancholy : " The smoke of juniper is in great request w'ti us
at Oxford to sweeten our chambers."

Serious. 9 That is, to be depended on

•64 MUCH ADO ACT II.

ACT II.

SCENE I. A Hall in LEONATO'S House.

Enter LEONATO, ANTONIO, HERO, BEATRICE,
and others.

Leon. Was not count John here at supper ?

Ant. I saw him not.

Beat. How tartly that gentleman looks ! I never
can see him, but I am heart-burn 'd an hour after.

Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposition.

Beat. He were an excellent man that were made
just in the mid-way between him and Benedick :
the one is too like an image, and says nothing ;
and the other too like my lady's eldest son, ever-
more tattling.

Leon. Then, half signior Benedick's tongue in
count John's mouth, and half count John's melan
choly in signior Benedick's face, —

Befit. With a good leg, and a good foot, uncle,
and money enough in his purse, sucli a man would
win any woman in the world, — if a' could get her
good will.

Leon. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get
thee a husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue

Ant. In faith, she is too curst.

Beat. Too curst is more than curst : I shall lessen
God's sending that way : for it is said, " God sends
a curst cow short horns ; " but to a cow too curst
he sends none.

Leon. So, by being too curst, God will send you
no horns.

Beat. Just, if he send me no husband ; for the

SO. I. ABOUT NOTHING. 165

which blessing I am at Him upon my knees every
morning arid evening: Lord! I could not endure a
husband with a beard on his face : I had rather lie
in the woollen.

Leon. You may light upon a husband that hath
no beard.

Beat. What should I do with him ? dress him in
my apparel, and make him my waiting gentlewoman ?
lie that hath a beard is more than a youth, and he
that hath no beard is less than a man ; and he that
is more than a youth is not for me, and he that ia
less than a man I am not for him : Therefore I will
even take sixpence in earnest of the bear-ward, and
lead his apes into hell.

Leon. Well, then, go you into hell ?

Beat. No ; but to the gate ; and there will the
Jevil meet me, like an old cuckold, with horns on
his head, and say, " Get you to heaven, Beatrice,
get you to heaven ; here's no place for you maids : "
so deliver I up my apes, and away to Saint Peter
for the heavens : he shows me where the bachelors
sit, and there live we as merry as the day is long.

Ant. [ To HERO.] Well, niece, I trust you will be
rul'd by your father.

Beat. Yes, faith ; it is my cousin's duty to make
courtesy and say, " Father, as it please you : " —
but yet for all that, cousin, let him be a handsome
fellow, or else make another courtesy and say,
" Father, as it please me."

Leon. Well, niece, I hope to see you one day
fitted with a husband.

Beat. Not till God make men of some other
metal than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to
be over-master'd with a piece of valiant dust ? to
make an account of her life to a clod of wayward

166 MUCH ADO ACT II

marl ? No, uncle, I'll none : Adam's sons are my
brethren ; and, truly, I hold it a sin to match in my
kindred.

Leon. Daughter, remember what I told you : if
the prince do solicit you in that kind, you know
your answer.

Beat. The fault will be in the music, cousin, if
you be not wooed in good time : if the prince be
too important,1 tell him there is measure 2 in every
thing, and so dance out the answer. For, hear
me, Hero : Wooing, wedding, and repenting, is aa
a Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque-pace : 3 the
first suit is hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full
as fantastical ; the wedding mannerly-modest, as a
measure full of state and ancientry ; and then comes
repentance, and with his bad legs falls into the
cinque-pace faster and faster, till he sink into bin
grave.

Leon. Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly

Beat. I have a good eye, uncle : I can see a
church by daylight.

Leon. The revellers are entering, brother : Make
good room !

1 Important and importunate were sometimes used indiscrimi
nately. See Twelfth Night, Act v. sc. 1, note 17. H.

* A measure, in old language, besides its ordinary meaning,
signified also a dance. So, in Richard II. :

" My legs can keep no measure in delight,
When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief."

The measures were grave, solemn dances with slow and measured
steps like the minuet ; and therefore described as " full of state
acd ancientry."

* The cinque-pace was a dance, the measures whereof were
regulated by the number five. See Twelfth Night, Act i. K. 3
note 10. K.

§C. I. ABOUT NOTHING. «W

Enter Don PEDRO, CLAUDIO, BENEDICK, BALTHA-
ZAR; JOHN, BORACHIO, MARGARET, URSULA, and
mtiskers.

D. Pedro. Lady, will you walk about with your
friend ?

Hero. So you walk softly, and look sweetly, and
say nothing, I am yours for the walk ; and espe-
cially when I walk away.

D. Pedro. With me in your company 1

Hero. I may say so, when I please.

D. Pedro. And when please you to say so ?

Hero. When 1 like your favour ; for God defend,
the lute should be like the case ! 4

D. Pedro. My visor is Philemon's roof; within
the house is Jove.5

Hero. Why, then your visor should be thatch'd.

D. Pedro. Speak low, if you speak love.

[Takes her aside,

Balth. Well, I would you did like me.

Marg. So would not I, for your own sake ; for I
have many ill qualities.

Balth. Which is one ?

Marg. I say my prayers aloud.

JSalth. I love you the better ; the hearers may
itry Amen.

4 That is, God forbid that your face should be like your mask.

5 Alluding to the fable of Baucis and Philemon in Ovid, who
describes the old couple as living in a thatched cottage : " Stipalh
et canna tecta pudustri;" which Golding renders: " The rooft
thereof was thatched all with straw and feunish reede." Jaiaies
in As You Like It, again alludes to it : ' O knowledge ill-iiihahi-
ed, worse than Jove i-t a. tliatched-tiouse."

168 MUCH ADO ACT II

Marg. And God keep him out of my aight. when
the dance is done ! — Answer, clerk.

Balth. No more words : the clerk is answered.

f/rs. I know you well enough : you are signior
Antonio.

Ant. At a word, I am not.

Urs. I know you by the waggling of your head.

Ant. To tell you true, I counterfeit him.

Urs. You could never do him so ill-well, unless
you were the very man : Here's his dry hand up
and down ; 6 you are he, you are he.

Ant. At a word, I am not.

Urs. Come, come ; do you think I do not know
you by your excellent wit? Can virtue hide itself?
Go to, mum, you are he : graces will appear, and
there's an end.

Beat. Will you not tell me who told you so 1

Bene. No, you shall pardon me.

Beat. Nor will you not tell me who you are ?

Bene. Not now.

Beat. That I was disdainful, — and that I had
my good wit out of The Hundred Merry Tales ; 7

* So, in The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act ii. sc. 3, Launco
says, " Here's my mother's breath up and down." The phrase
apparently means exactly, precisely ; something like those of onr
time, out and out, all over, to a t. H.

7 This was the term for a jest-book in Shakespeare's time, from
a popular collection of that name, about which the commentators
were much puzzled, until a large fragment was discovered in 181.7,
oy the Rev. J. Conybeare. Professor of Poetry in Oxford. It was
printed by Rastell, and therefore must have been published pre-
vious to 1533. Another collection of the same kind, called Tales
and Quicke Answeres, printed by Berthelette, and of nearly equa!
antiquity, was also reprinted at the same time ; and it is remarka-
ble that this collection is cited by Sir John Harrington under the
title of The Hundred Merry Tales. It continued for a long period
to be the popular name for collections of this sort ; for in the Lon
don Chaunticlere, 1G59, it is mentioned as being cried for sale by *
ballad man.

SC. I. ABOUT NOTHING. 109

— Well, tliis was signior Benedick that said so.

Bene. What's he ?

Beat. I am sure you know liim well enough.

Bene. Not I, believe me.

Beat. Did he never make you laugh ?

Bene. I pray you, what is he ?

Beat. Why, he is the prince's jester : a very dull
fool ; only his gift is in devising impossible si antlers :
none but libertines delight in him ; and the com-
mendation is not in his wit, but in his villany ; for
he both pleaseth men, and angers them, and then
they laugh at him, and beat him : I am sure he is
in the fleet; I would he had boarded8 me.

Bene. When 1 know the gentleman, I'll tell him
what you say.

Beat. Do, do ; he'll but break a comparison or
two on me ; which, peradventure, not mark'd, or
not laugh'd at, strikes him into melancholy ; and
then there's a partridge wing saved, for the fool will
eat no supper that night. [Music urithin.] We must
follow the leaders.

Bene. In every good thing.

Beat. Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave
them at the next turning.

[Dance. Then exeunt all but JOHN,
BORACHIO, and CL AUDIO.

John. Sure, my brother is amorous on Hero, and
hath withdrawn her father to break with him about
•t : The ladies follow her, and but one visor re-
nains.

Bora. And that is Claudio ; I know him by hii
bearing.9

Jolw. Are not you signior Benedick7

8 Boarded, besides its usual meaning, signified accosted
• Carriage, demeanour

170 MUCH ADO ACT II

Claud. You know me well : I am he.

John. Signior, you are very near my brother in
his love : he is enamour'd on Hero. I pray you
dissuade him from her ; she is no equal for his
birth : you may do the part of an honest man in it.

Claud. How know you he loves her 1

John. I heard him swear his affection.

Bora. So did I too ; and he swore he would
marry her to-night.

John. Come, let us to the banquet.

[Exeunt JOHN and BORACHIO

Claud. Thus answer I in name of Benedick,
But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio. —
'Tis certain so : — the prince woos for himself.
Friendship is constant in all other things,
Save in the office and affairs of love :
Therefore,10 all hearts in love use their own tongues.
Let every eye negotiate for itself,
And trust no agent ; for beauty is a witch,
Against whose charms faith melteth into blood.11
This is an accident of hourly proof,
Which I mistrusted not : Farewell, therefore, Hero !

Re-enter BENEDICK.

Bene. Count Claudio ?

Claud. Yea, the same.

Bene. Come, will you go with me 1

Claud. Whither?

Bene. Even to the next willow, about your own
business, count. What fashion will you wear the
garland of 1 About your neck, like an usurer's

10 Let, which is found in the next line, is understood here.

11 Blood signifies amorous heat or passion. So, in All's Well
lhat fcnds Well. Act iii. sc. 7 : " Now his important bicod will
•ought deny, that she'll demand.4'

SC. I. ABODT NOTHING. 171

chain,12 or under your arm, like a lieutenant's scarf 1
You must wear it one way, for the prince hath got
your Hero.

Claud. I wish him joy of her.

Bene. Why, that's spoken like an honest drover ;
so they sell bullocks. But did you think the prince
would have served you thus 1

Claud. I pray you, leave me.

Bene. Ho ! now you strike like the blind man :
'twas the boy that stole your meat, and you'll beat
the post.

Claud. If it will not be, I'll leave you. [Exit.

Bene. Alas, poor hurt fowl ! Now will he creep
into sedges. — But, that my lady Beatrice should
know me, and not know me ! The prince's fool '
Ha ! it may be I go under that title, because I am
merry. Yea ; but so I am apt to do myself wrong.
— I am not so reputed : it is the base though bitter
disposition of Beatrice, that puts the world into her
person, and so gives me out.13 Well, I'll be re-
venged as I may.

Re-enter Don PEDRO.

D. Pedro. Now, signior, where's the count 1
Did you see him ?

Bene. Troth, my lord, I have played the part of
lady Fame. I found him here as melancholy as a

12 Chains of gold of considerable value were in Shakespeare's
lime worn by wealthy citizens and others, in the same manner as
they are now on public occasions by the aldermen of London.
Usury was then a common topic of invective. So, in The Choice
of Change, 1598 : " Three sortes of people, in respect of necessi-
ty, may be accounted good : — Merchants, for they may play tha
usurers, instead of the Jews." Again, " There is a scarcity of
Jews, because Christians make an occupation of iisurit."

13 That is, who takes upon herself to personate the world, and
so fancies tl,-> the world thinks >us as she doe* Tr near 3' a)

172 MUCH Al»0 , ACT II

lodge in a warren : 14 I told him, and I think I told
him true, that your grace had got the good will of
this young lady ; and I offered him my company
to a willow tree, either to make him a garland, as
being forsaken, or to bind him up a rod, as being
worthy to be whipp'd.

D. Pedro. To be whipp'd ! What's his fault !

Bene. The flat transgression of a schoolboy >,
who, being overjoyed with finding a bird's nest,
shows it his companion, and he steals it.

D. Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a trangression 1
The transgression is in the stealer.

Bene. Yet it had not been amiss, the rod had
been made, and the garland too : for the garland
he might have worn himself; and the rod he might
have bestowed on you, who, as I take it, have stol'n
his bird's nest.

D. Pedro. I will but teach them to sing, and re-
store them to the owner.

Bene. If their singing answer your saying, by my
faith, you say honestly.

D. Pedro. The lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to
you : the gentleman, that danc'd with her, told her
she is much wrong'd by you.

Bene. O ! she misus'd me past the endurance
of a block: an oak, but with one green leaf on it,
would have answered her : my very visor began to
assume life, and scold with her : She told me, not
thinking I had been myself, that I was the prince 'a

modern editions, the base though bitter disposition is changed to
the base, tlie bitter d imposition ; probably because the editors could
discover no antithesis between base and bitter. Perhaps they would
have &een the appropriateness of though, had they but understood
bitter in me sense of sharp, witty, satirical. H.

14 A similar image of loneliness occurs in Measure for Measure •
* At the moated grange resides this dejected Mariana " H

SC. 1. ABOUT NOTHING. 173

jester, and that I was duller than a great thaw ; hud-
dling jest upon jest, with such impossible la convey-
ance, upon me, that I stood like a man at a mark,
with a whole army shooting at me. She speaks
poniards, and every word stabs : if her breath were
as terrible as her terminations, there were no living
near her ; she would infect to the north star. I
would not marry her, though she were endowed
with all that Adam had left him before he trans-
gress'd : she would have made Hercules have turn'd
spit ; yea, and have cleft his club to make the fire
too. Come, talk not of her ; you shall find her the
infernal Ate in good apparel." 1 would to God
some scholar would conjure her ; for, certainly,
while she is here, a man may live as quiet in hell
as in a sanctuary ; and people sin upon purpose,
because they would go thither : so, indeed, all dis-
quiet, horror, and perturbation follow her.

Re-enter CLAUDIO, BEATRICE, HERO, and
LEONATO.

D. Pedro. Look, here she comes.

Bene. Will your grace command me any service
to the world's end ? I will go on the slightest er-
rand now to the Antipodes, that you can devise to
send me on : I will fetch you a toothpicker now
from the farthest inch of Asia ; bring you the length

15 That is, " with a rapidity equal to that of jugglers," whose
conveyances or tricks appear impossibilities. Impossible, may, how-
ever, be used in the sense of incredible or inconceirable, both here
and in the beginning of the scene, where Beatrice speaks of " im-
possible slanders."

" Upon this passage Warburton remarks, and Collier endorses
him, that " the ancient poets and painters represent the Furies in
rags. Ate, however, was not a Fury, but the daughter of Jupiter
mil goddess of mischief and discord. n.

174 MUCH ADO ACT H

of Prester John's foot ; " fetch you a hair of the
great Cham's beard ; do you any embassage to the
Pigmies, rather than hold three words' conference
with this harpy : You have no employment for me 1

D. Pedro. None, but to desire your good com
pany.

Bene. O God ! sir, here's a dish I love not : J
cannot endure my lady Tongue. [Exit.

D. Pedro. Come, lady, come ; you have lost the
heart of signior Benedick.

Beat. Indeed, my lord, he lent it me a while ;
and I gave him use 18 for it, a double heart for hia
single one : marry, once before he won it of me
with false dice ; therefore your grace may well say
I have lost it.

D. Pedro. You have put him down, lady ; you
have put him down.

Beat. So I would not he should do me, my lord,
lest I should prove the mother of fools. I have
brought count Claudio, whom you sent me to seek.

D. Pedro. Why, how now, count ! wherefore are
vou sad ?

Claud. Not sad, my lord.

D. Pedro. How then ? Sick ?

Claud. Neither, my lord.

Beat. The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor
merry, nor well ; but civil, count; civil as an orange,19
and something of that jealous complexion.

D. Pedro. I'faith, lady, I think your blazon to be

7 How difficult this had been, may be guessed from Butler's
account of that distinguished John :

" While like the mighty Prester John,
Whose person none dares look upon,
But is prcserv'd in close disguise
From being made cheap to vulgar eyes." H.

19 Interest.

19 A quibble; alluding to the Seville orange, a frail then weD
known in London. •

SO. 1. ABOUT NOTHING. 175

true ; though I'll be sworn, if he be so, his conceit
is false. Here, Claudio, I have wooed in i\iy name,
and fair Hero is won : I have broke witli her father,
and his good will obtained : name the day of mar-
riage, and God give thee joy !

Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and with
her my fortunes : his grace hath made the match,
and all grace say Amen to it !

Beat. Speak, count ; 'tis your cue.

Claud. Silence is the perfectest herald of joy : I
were but little happy, if I could say how much. —
Lady, as you are mine, I am yours : I give away
myself for you, and dote upon the exchange.

Beat. Speak, cousin ; or, if you cannot, stop his
mouth with a kiss, and let him not speak neither.

D. Pedro. In faith, lady, you have a merry
heart.

Beat. Yea, my lord : I thank it, poor fool, it
keeps on the windy side of care. — My cousin tells
him in his ear, that he is in her heart.

Claud. And so she doth, cousin.

Beat. Good Lord, for alliance ! — Thus goes
every one to the world but I ; 20 and I am sun-
burn'd : I may sit in a corner, and cry heigh-ho !
for a husband.

20 To go to the world is used by Shakespeare for to get mar-
ried. Thus, in All's Well that Ends Well, Act i. sc. 3, the Clown
says, — " If I may have your ladyship's good will to go to the
world, Isabel, the woman, and I will do as we may." And in As
You Like It, Act v. sc. 3. Audrey says, — " I hope it is no dis-
honest d«s:re, to desire to br a wnmrtn of the world."— (rood Lord,
for alliance ! seems to mean, — Good Lord, how matrimony pros-
pers ! Mr. Collier, however, points the passage thus : " Good
Lord ! for alliance thus goes every one to the world but I ; "
which might do verv well hut for the tautology it makes, the sense
in that rase being. '• for marrt.ige thus every one get.s married but
1." — I am suit-burn 'd means, I have lost my beauty, and so am
dot one of Hvmen's prize-*. Tims, in Troihis and Crcssida Ari
'. sc 3 : " The Grecian dames were siin-tnim'd, and not worth th*
splinter of a lanre." H

I7ti MUCH ADO ACT 11.

n. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one.

Beat. 1 would rather have one of your father's
getting : Hath your grace ne'er a brother like you ?
Your father got excellent husbands, if a maid could
come by them.

D. Pedro. Will you have me, lady ?

Beat. No, my lord, unless I might have another
for working-days : your grace is too costly to wear
every day : — But, I besee'ch your grace, pardon me :
I was born to speak all mirth, and no matter.

D. Pedro. Your silence most offends me, and to
be merry best becomes you ; for, out of question,
you were born in a merry hour.

Beat. No, sure, my lord ; my mother cried ; but
then there was a star danc'd, and under that was I
born. — Cousins, God give you joy !

Leon. Niece, will you look to those things I told
you of?

Beat. I cry you mercy, uncle. — By your grace's
pardon. [Exit BEATRICE.

D. Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady.

Leon. There's little of the melancholy element
in her, my lord : she is never sad, but when she
sleeps ; and not ever sad then ; for I have heard my
daughter say, she hath often dream 'd of unhappi-
ness,21 and wak'd herself with laughing.

D. Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of a
husband.

Leon. O, by no means ! she mocks all her wooers
out of suit.

D. Pedro. She were an excellent wife for Ben-
edick.

** That is, mischief. Unhappy was often used for mitrlutrowt,
as we now say an unlucky boy for a mischieroiis boy. So, in All'^
Well that Ends Well, Act iv. sc. 5: " A slinwd knave and an
•tnhappy."

SC. I. ABOUT NOTHING. 17?

Leon. O Lord ! my lord, if they were but a week
married, they would talk themselves mad.

D. Pedro. Count Claudio, when mean you to go
to Church 1

Claud. To-morrow, my lord : Time goes on
clutches, till Love have all his rites.

Leon. Not till Monday, my dear son, which is
hence a just seven-night : and a time too brief, too,
to have all things answer my mind.

D. Pedro. Come, you shake the head at so long
a breathing ; but I warrant thee, Claudio, the time
shall not go dully by us : I will in the interim un-
dertake one of Hercules' labours ; which is, to bring
signior Benedick and the lady Beatrice into a moun-
tain of affection, the one with the other. I would
fain have it a match ; and I doubt not but to fashion
it, if you three will but minister such assistance as
I shall give you direction.

Leon. My lord, I am for you, though it cost me
ten nights' watchings.

Claud. And I, my lord.

D. Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero ?

Hero. I will do any modest office, my lord, to
help my cousin to a good husband.

D. Pedro. And Benedick is not the unhopefullest
husband that I know : Thus far can I praise him :
He is of a noble strain,22 of approved valour, and

** Strain, sometimes spelt strene, means stock, lineage, descent,
from the Anglo-Saxon strind, and another word than strain, from
the German strengen. Thus Spenser has, — "Sprung of the
aunrient siocke of princes straine." Again, — "For that same
Beast was bred of hellish strene." And he speaks of " sacred
Reverence vborne of heavenly strene." The word occurs several
times in Shakespeare. Thus in Henry V., Act ii. sc. 4 :

" And he "3 bred out of that bloody strain
That haunted us in our familiar paths." B.

178 MUCH ADO ACT 11

confirm 'd honesty. I will teach you how to hu-
mour your cousin, that she shall fall in love with
Benedick ; — and I, with your two helps, will so
practise on Benedick, that, in despite of his quick
wit and his queasy stomach, he shall fall in .ove
with Beatrice. If we nan— J— •J-z-
longer an archer : his giury snail be ours, for we
are the only love-gods. Go in with me, and I will
tell you my drift. [Exeunt

SCENE II. Another Room in LEONATO'S House

Enter JOHN and BORACHIO.

John. It is so : the count Claudio shall marry the
daughter of Leonato.

Bora, Yea, my lord ; but I can cross it.

John. Any bar, any cross, any impediment will
be medicinable to me : I am sick in displeasure to
him ; and whatsoever comes athwart his affection
ranges evenly with mine. How canst thou cross
this marriage 1

Bora. Not honestly, my lord ; but so covertly
that no dishonesty shall appear in me.

John. Show me briefly how.

Bora. I think I told your lordship, a year since,
how much I am in the favour of Margaret, the wait-
ing-gentlewoman to Hero.

John. I remember.

Bora. I can, at any unseasonable instant of the
night, appoint her to look out at her lady's chnin-
ber-window.

John. What life is in that to be the death of this
marriage 1

Bora. The poison of that lies in you to temper
Go you »o the prince your brother : spare not to

tsC. II. ABOUT NOTHING. 179

tell him that he hath wronged his honour in marry-
ing the renowned Claudio (whose estimation do you
mightily hold up) to a contaminated stale,1 such a
one as Hero.

John. What proof shall I make of that ?

Bora. Proof enough to misuse the prince, to vex
Claudio, to undo Hero, and kill Leonato : Look
you for any other issue 1

John. Only to despite them, I will endeavour any
thing.

Bora. Go then ; find me a meet hour to draw
Don Pedro and the count Claudio alone : tell them
that you know that Hero loves me ; intend 2 a kind
of zeal both to the prince and Claudio, as — in
love of your brother's honour, who hath made this
match, and his friend's reputation, who is thus like
to be cozen'd with the semblance of a maid — that
you have discover'd thus. They will scarcely be-
lieve this without trial : offer them instances ; which
shall bear no less likelihood, than to see me at her
chamber- window ; hear me call Margaret Hero ;
hear Margaret term me Claudio : 3 and bring them
to see this, the very night before the intended wed-

1 Shakespeare uses stale here, and in a subsequent scene, for
an abandoned woman. A stale also meant a decoy or lure, but the
two words had different origins. It is obvious why the term was
applied to prostitutes.

2 Pretend.

3 So in all the old copies. Theobald thought it should read
Borachio instead of Claudio ; whereas the expression, term me, in-
fers that a false name is to be agreed upon between the speaker
and Margaret. Both Claudio and the Prince might well be per.
suaded that Hero received a clandestine lover, whom she called
Claudio, in order to deceive her attendants, should any be within
hearing ; and this they would of course deem an aggravation of
her offence. It is hardly worth the while to add, that they would
be in no danger of supposing the man, whom Margaret termed
Claudio, to be Claudio in fact. It seems strange that so 1111 cb
ink should have been thrown away on so plain a matter H

180 MUCH ADO ACT IT.

ding ; for in the mean time I will so fashion the
matter, that Hero shall be absent ; and there shall
appear such seeming truth of Hero's disloyalty, that
jealousy shall be call'd assurance, and all the prep-
aration overthrown.

John. Grow this to what adverse issue it can, 1
will put it in practice : Be cunning in the working
this, and thy fee is a thousand ducats.

Bora. Be you constant in the accusation, and my
cunning shall not shame me.

John. I will presently go learn their day of mar-
riage. [Exeunt.

SCENE IH. LEONATO'S Garden.

Enter BENEDICK.'
Bene. Boy !

Enter a Boy.

Boy. Signior.

Bene. In my chamber-window lies a book ; bring
it hither to me in the orchard.2

Boy. I am here, already, sir.

Bene. I know that ; — but I would have thee
hence, and here again. [Exit Boy.] — I do much
wonder that one man, seeing how much another

1 In the original, both quarto and folio, the stage direction here
is, '' Enter Benedick alone ; " in all modern editions till Mr. Col-
lier's it is, « Enter Benedick and a Boy." The original is prob-
ably right, the design being that Benedick shall be seen pacing to
and fro, ruminating and digesting the matter of his forthcoming
soliloquy. In this state his mind gets so deep in philosophy, that
he wants a book to feed the appetite which passing events have
awakened. Of course the boy comes when called for. H.

1 Orcliard in Shakespeare's time signified a garden. So, in
Romeo and Juliet : " The orchard walls are high and hard to
climb." This word was first written hart-yard, then by corruption
hortchard, and hence orchard.

kC. III. ABOUT NOTHING. 181

man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviours to
love, will, after he hath laugh'd at such shallow fol-
lies in others, become the argument* of his own scorn
by falling in love ; and such a man is Claudio. I have
known when there was no music with him but the
drum and the fife ; and now had he rather hear the
tabor and the pipe : I have known when he would
have walk'd ten mile afoot, to see a good armour;
and now will he lie ten nights awake, carving the
fashion of a new doublet.3 He was wont to speak
plain, and to the purpose, like an honest man arid
a soldier ; and now is he turn'd orthographer : his
words are a very fantastical banquet, just so many
strange dishes. May J be so converted, and see with
these eyes ? I cannot tell ; I think not : I will not
be sworn, but love may transform me to an oyster ;
but I'll take my oath on it, till he have made an
oyster of me, he shall never make me such a fool.
One woman is fair ; yet I am well : another is
wise ; yet I am well : another virtuous ; yet I am
well : but till all graces be in one woman, one
woman shall not come in my grace. Rich she
shall be, that's certain ; wise, or I'll none ; virtuous,
or I'll never cheapen her ; fair, or I'll never look
on her ; mild, or come not near me ; noble, or not
I for an angel ; of good discourse, an excellent
musician, and her hair shall be of what colour it
please God.4 Ha ! the prince and monsieur Love !
I will hide me in the arbour. [ Withdraws

8 This folly is the theme of all comic satire. In Barnabe
Riche's Faults and Nothing hut Faults, 1606, " The fashionmonger
that spends his time in the contemplation of suites " is said to have
" a sad and heavy countenance." because his tailor " hath cut hw
new sute after the olde stampe of some stale fashion that is at th«
'«*ast of a whole fortnight's standing."

• Disguises of false hair and of dyed hair were quite commcn.

182 MUCH ADO ACT IL

Enter Don PEDRO, LEONATO, and CLAUDIO.

D. Pedro. Come, shall we hear this music 1
Claud. Yea, my good lord : — How still the even-
ing is,
As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony !

D. Pedro. See you where Benedick hath hid

himself ?

Claud. O ! very well, my lord : the music ended,
We'll fit the kid-fox 5 with a penny-worth.

Enter BALTHAZAR, with musicians.

D. Pedro. Come, Balthazar, we'll hear that song
again.

Balth. O ! good my lord, tax not so bad a voice
To slander music any more than once.

D. Pedro. It is the witness still of excellency,
To put a strange face on his own perfection : —
t pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more.

Balth. Because you talk of wooing, I will sing
Since many a wooer doth commence his suit

especially among the ladies, in Shakespeare's time ; scarce any
of them being so richly dowered with other gifts as to be conten,.
with the hair which it had pleased Nature to bestow. The Foe-1
has several passages going to show that this custom was not mucl
in favour with him ; as in Love's Labour's Lost, Act iv. sc. 3
where Biron " mourns that painting and usurping hair should rav
ish doters with a false aspect." That in this as in other things hi
mind went with Nature, further appears from his making so sen
sible a fellow as Benedick talk that way. H.

5 A deal of learned, but, as it would seem, not very wise ink
has been shed about this little innocent word. Some editors print
it hid-fox ; others say kid means discovered or detected, there being
an old word, kith, kid, with that meaning ; as in John Skelton's
Image of Ypocresy : " The truth cannot be hid, for it is plain
kid." Probably there need be no scruple about taking the word
to mean a young fox. Richardson quotes it as such in his Dic-
tionary B.

SO ITT. ABOUT NOTHING. 183

To her he thinks not worthy ; yet he woos,
Yet will he swear, he loves.

1). Pedro. Nay, pray thee, come •

Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument,
Do it in notes.

Balth. Note this before my notes,

There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting.

D. Pedro. Why, these are very crotchets that he

speaks ;
Note, notes, forsooth, and nothing ! [Music.

Bene. [Aside.] Now, divine air ! now is his soul
ravished ! — Is it not strange, that sheep's guta
should hale souls out of men's bodies!' — Well, »
horn for my money, when all's done.

The Song.

I.
Balth. Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,

Men were deceivers ever ;
One foot in aea, and one on shore,
To one thing constant never:
Then sigh not so,
But let them go,
And be you blithe and bonny ;
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into, Hey nonny, nonny.

II.

Sing no more ditties, sing no mo

Of dumps so dull and heavy ;
The fraud of men was ever so,

Since summer first was leavy :
Then sigh not so, &c.

8 A similar tribute to the power of music occurs in Twelitt
Night, Act ii. sc. 3, only it is there spoken of as able to " draw
three souls out of one weaver." H.

184 MUCH ADO ACT II

D. Pedro. By my troth, a good song.

Balth. And an ilJ singer, my lord.

D. Pedro. Ha ? no, no ; faith, thou singest well
enough for a shift.

Bcne. [Aside.] An he had been a dog, that should
have howl'd thus, they would have hang'd him :
and I pray God his bad voice bode no mischief!
[ had as lief have heard the night-raven,7 come
what plague could have come after it.

D. Pedro. Yea, marry ; dost thou hear, Baltha-
zar 1 I pray thee, get us some excellent music ; for
to-morrow night we would have it at the lady Hero's
chamber-window.

Balth. The best I can, my lord.

D. Pedro. Do so : farewell. [Exeunt BALTHAZAB
and musicians.] Come hither, Leonato : What was
it you told me of to-day ? that your niece Beatrice
was in love with signior Benedick ?

Claud. [Aside to Pedro.] O, ay : — Stalk on, stalk
on ; 8 the fowl sits. — [Aloud.] I did never think
that lady would have loved any man.

Leon. No, nor I neither ; but most wonderful^
that she should so dote on signior Benedick, whom
she hath in all outward behaviours seemed ever to
abhor.

' That is, the owl; ™«r«copa$. So, in 3 Henry VI. : "The
tight-crow cried, ahoding luckless time." Thus also Milton, in
I. 'Allegro : " And the night-raven sings."

8 An allusion to the stalking-horse, whereby the fowler ancient-
ry screened himself from the sight of the game. It is thus de
scribed in John Gee's New Shreds of the Old Snare • " Methinks
I behold the cunning fowler, such as I have known in the fen-
countries and elsewhere, that do shoot at woodcocks, snipes, and
wild-fowl, by sneaking behind a painted cloth which they carry
before them, having pictured on it the shape of a horse ; which
while the silly fowl gazeth on. it is knocked down with hail shot
and so put into the fowler's budget.' H.

SC. 111. ABOUT NOTHING. 185

Bcnc, [Aside.] Is't possible ? Sits the wind in
that corner ?

Leon. By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what
to think of it, but that she loves him with an en-
raged affection : — it is past the infinite of thought.

D. Pedro. May be, she doth but counterfeit.

Claud. 'Faith, like enough.

Leon. O God ! counterfeit ! There never waa
counterfeit of passion came so near the life of pas-
sion, as she discovers it.

D. Pedro. Why, what effects of passion shows
she 1

Claud. [Aside.] Bait the hook well ; this fish will
bite.

Leon. What effects, my lord ! She will sit you,
— you heard my daughter tell you how.

Claud. She did, indeed.

D. Pedro. How, how, I pray you 1 You amaze
me: I would»have thought her spirit had been in-
vincible against all assaults of affection.

Leon. I would have sworn it had, my lord ; es-
pecially against Benedick.

Bene. [Aside.] 1 should tliink this a gull, but that
the white-bearded fellow speaks it : knavery can-
not, sure, hide himself in such reverence.

Claud. [Aside.] He hath ta'en the infection ; hold
it up.

D. Pedro. Hath she made her aft'ection known
to Benedick ?

Leon. No, and swears she never will ; that's her
torment.

Claud. 'Tis true, indeed ; so your daughter says :
" Shall I," says she, " that have so oft encounter'd
him with scorn, write to him that I love him 1 "

Leon. This says she now when she is beginning

186 MUCH ADO ACT H.

to write to him : for she'll be up twenty times a
night ; and there will she sit in her smock, till she
have writ a sheet of paper : — My daughter tells
us all.

Claud. Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I re-
member a pretty jest your daughter told us of.

Leon. O ! — When she had writ it, and was read
ing it over, she found Benedick and Beatrice be-
tween the sheet 1 —

Claud. That.

Leon. O ! she tore the letter into a thousand
half pence ; 8 rail'd at herself, that she should be so
immodest to write to one that she knew would
flout her : — "I measure him," says she, " by my
own spirit ; for I should flout him, if he writ to me ;
vea, though I love him, I should."

Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls,
weeps, sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays,
cries ; — " O sweet Benedick ! God give me pa-
tience ! "

Leon. She doth indeed ; my daughter says so .
and the ecstasy hath so much overborne her, that
my daughter is sometime afraid she will do a des-
perate outrage to herself: It is very true.

D. Pedro. It were good that Benedick knew of
it by some other, if she will not discover it.

Claud. To what end 1 He would but make a
sport of it, and torment the poor lady worse.

D. Pedro. An he should, it were an alms to hang
him : She's an excellent sweet lady ; and out of all
suspicion she is virtuous.

Claud. And she is exceeding wise.

* That is, into a thousand small pieces ; it should be remem-
bered that the silver halfpence, which were then sirrent, were verj
minute pieces

SO. III. ABOUT NOTHING. 187

D. Pedro. In every thing but in loving Benedick.

Leon. O ! my lord, wisdom and blood combating
in so tender a body, we have ten proofs to one, that
blood hath the victory. I am sorry for her, as. I
have just cause, being her uncle and her guar-
dian.

D. Pedro. I would she had bestowed this dotage
on me ; I would have daff 'd 1C all other respects, and
made her half myself: I pray you, tell Benedick
of it, and hear what he will say.

Leon. Were it good, think you 1

Claud. Hero thinks surely she will die : for she
»ays she will die if he love her not ; and she will
die ere she make her love known ; and she will
die if he woo her, rather than she will 'bate one
breath of her accustomed crossness.

D. Pedro. She doth well : if she should make
tender of her love, 'tis very possible he'll scorn it ;
for the man, as you know all, hath a contemptible "
spirit.

Claud. He is a very proper man.

D. Pedro. He hath, indeed, a good outward hap-
piness.

Claud. 'Fore God, and in my mind very wise.

D. Pedro. He doth, indeed, show some sparks
that are like wit.

Leon. And I take him to be valiant.

D. Pedro. As Hector, I assure you : and in the
managing of quarrels you may say he is wise ; for
either he avoids them with great discretion, or un-
dertakes them with a most Christian-like fear.

Leon. If he do fear God, he must necessarily

10 To daff is the same as to do off, to doff, to put aside.
1 That is, contemptuous. The active and passive adjectives
weie often used indiscriminately. a.

188 MUCH ADO ACT [I.

keep peace : if he break the peace, he ought to
enter into a quarrel with fear and trembling

D. Pedro. And so will he do ; for the man doth
feaj God, howsoever it seems not in him by si -me
large jests he will make. Well, I am sorry for
your niece : Shall we go seek Benedick, and tell
him of her love ?

Claud. Never tell him, my lord : let her wear it
out with good counsel.

Leon. Nay, that's impossible ; she may wear her
heart out first.

D. Pedro. Well, we will hear further of it by your
daughter : let it cool the while. I love Benedick
well ; and I could wish he would modestly examine
himself, to see how much he is unworthy to have s">
good a lady.

Leon. My lord, will you walk ? dinner is ready.

Claud. [Aside,] If he do not dote on her upon
this, I will never trust my expectation.

D. Pedro. [Aside.] Let there be the same net
spread for her ; and that must your daughter and
her gentlewomen carry. The sport will be, when
they hold one an opinion of another's dotage, and
no such matter ; that's the scene that I would see,
which will be merely a dumb show. Let us send
her to call him in to dinner.

[Exeunt Don PEDRO, CLAUDIO, and LEONATO.

Bene. [Advancing from the arbour.] This can
be no trick : The conference was sadly borne.12 —
They have the truth of this from Hero. They
seem to pity the lady : it seems, her affections have
their full bent. Love me ! why, it must be requited
I hear how I am censur'd : they say I will bear
myself proudly, if I perceive the love come from

12 Seriously carried on.

SO. HI. ABOUT NOTHING. 18!)

her : they say, too, that she will rather die than give
any sign of affection. — I did never think to marry :
— 1 must not seem proud. — Happy are they that
hear their detractions, and can put them to mending.
They say the lady is fair ; 'tis a truth, I can bear
them witness : ahd virtuous ; 'tis so, I cannot i <•-
prove it: and wise, but for loving me: — by my
troth, it is no addition to her wit ; — nor no great
argument of her folly, for I will be horribly in love
with her. I may chance have some odd quirks and
remnants of wit broken on me, because I have rail'd
so long against marriage : — But doth not the appe-
tite alter ? A man loves the meat in his youth that
he cannot endure in his age. Shall quips, and sen-
tences, and these paper bullets of the brain, awe a
man from the career of his humour ? No : The
world must be peopled. When I said I would die
a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were
married. — Here comes Beatrice : By this day,
she's a fair lady : I do spy some marks of love in
her.

Enter BEATRICE.

Beat. Against my will, I am sent to hid you comw
in to dinner.

Bcne. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains.

Brat. I took no more pains for those thanks, than
you take pains to thank me : if it had been painful,
1 would not have come.

Dene. You take pleasure, then, in the message ?

Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon
a knife's point, arid choke a daw withal : — You
have no stomach, signior ] fare you well. [Exit.

Bene. Ha ! " Against my will, I am sent to bid
you come ir. to dinner; " — there's a double rneuiiiiij;

100 MITCH AI>0 ACT in.

in that. " I took no more pains for those thanks,
than you took pains to thank me;" — that's as much
as to say, Any pains that I take for you is as easy
as thanks. — If I do not take pity of her, I am a
villain ; if I do not love her, I am a Jew : I will
go get her picture. [Exit

ACT III.

SCENE I. LEONATO'S Garden.

Enter HERO, MARGARET, and URSULA.

Hero. Good Margaret, run thee to the parlour ,
There shall thou find my cousin Beatrice
Proposing ' with the prince and Claudio :
Whisper her ear, and tell her I and Ursula
Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse
Is all of her : say, that thou overheard'st us ;
And bid her steal into the pleached bower,
Where honey-suckles, ripen'd by the sun,
Forbid the sun to enter ; like favourites.
Made proud by princes, that advance their pride
Against that power that bred it: — There will she

hide her,

To listen our propose. This is thy office ;
Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone.

1 This is from the French propos, signifying talk, conversation.
A few lines below we have the noun, " to listen our propose,'' bear-
ing the same sense. In the latter case the folio reads purpose ; but
Dere, as in almost every instance where the two copies differ, the
reading of the quarto seems preferable. H.

SC. 1. ABOUT NOTHING. 191

Marg. I'll make her come, I warrant you, pre»
ently. [Exit.

Hero. Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come,
As we do trace this alley up and down,
Our talk must only be of Benedick :
When I do name him, let it be thy part
To praise him more than ever man did merit.
My talk to thee must be, how Benedick
Is sick in love with Beatrice : Of this matter
Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made,
That only wounds by hearsay. Now begin ;

Enter BEATRICE, behind.

For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs
Close by the ground, to hear our conference.

Urs. The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish
Cut with their golden oars the silver stream,
And greedily devour the treacherous bait :
So angle we for Beatrice ; who even now
Is couched in the woodbine coverture :
Fear you not my part of the dialogue.

He.ro. Then go we near her, that her ear lose

nothing

Of the false sweet bait, that we lay for it. —
No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful ;
1 know her spirits are as coy and wild
As haggards of the rock.2

Urn. But are you sure,

That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely 1

Hero. So says the prince, and my new-trothed lord.

Urs. And did they bid you tell her of it, madam '

* The haggard is a wild hawk. Latham, in his Book of Fal-
conry, says, — " Such is the greatness of her spirit, she will not
admit of any society until such a time as nature worketh." Se<
Twelfth Night, Act iii. sc. 1, note h

192 MUCH ADO ACT 1IF.

Hero. They did entreat me to acquaint her of it ,
But I persuaded them, if they lov'd Benedick,
To wish him wrestle with affection,
And never to let Beatrice know of it.

Urs. Why did you so ? Doth not the gentleman
Deserve as full, as fortunate a bed,
As ever Beatrice shall couch upon ?

Hero. O, God of love ! I know he doth deserve
As much as may be yielded to a man ;
But nature never fram'd a woman's heart
Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice :
Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,
Misprising what they look on ; and her wit
Values itself so highly, that to her
All matter else seems weak : She cannot love,
Nor take no shape nor project of affection,
She is so self-endeared.

Urs. Sure, I think so ;

And therefore, certainly, it were not good
She knew his love, lest she make sport at it.

Hero. Why, you speak truth : I never yet saw

man,

How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd,
But she would spell him backward : 3 if fair-fac'd,
She would swear the gentleman should be her sister:
If black, why, Nature, drawing of an antic,
Made a foul blot : 4 if tall, a lance ill-headed :
If low, an agate very vilely cut : "

3 That is, misinterpret him. An allusion to the practice of
witches in uttering prayers. In like sort, we often say of a man
who refuses to take things in their plain natural meaning, as if he
were on the lookout for some cheat, — "He reads every thing
backwards." H.

4 A black man here means a man with a dark or thick heard,
which is the blot in nature's drawing. The antic was the fool or
Hofibon of the old farces.

* An agate is often used metaphorically for a very diniioutiv

SO. I, ABOUT NOTHING. 193

If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds :
If silent, why, a block moved with none.
So turns she every man the wrong side out ;
And never gives to truth and virtue that
Which simpleness and merit purchaseth.

Urs. Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable

Hero. No ; not to be so odd, and from all fashions,
As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable :
But v, ho dare tell her so ? If I should speak,
She would mock me into air : O ! she would laugh

me

Out of myself, press me to death with «vit.*
Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire,
Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly :
It were a better death than die with mocks ,
Which is as bad as die with tickling.7

Urs. Yet tell her of it : hear what she will say.

Hero. No ; rather I will go to Benedick,
And counsel him to fight against his passion :
And, truly, I'll devise some honest slanders
To stain my cousin with : One doth not know
How much an ill word may empoison liking.

Urs. O ! do not do your cousin such a wrong.
She cannot be so much without true judgment,
(Having so swift and excellent a wit,
As she is priz'd to have,) as to refuse
So rare a gentleman as signior Benedick.

Hero. He is the only man of Italy,
Always excepted my dear Claudio.

person, in allusion to the figures cut in agate for rings. Queen
Mab is described " in shape no bigger than an agate stone on the
forefinger of an alderman."

8 The allusion is to an ancient punishment inflicted on those
who refused to plead to an indictment. If they continued silent,
they were pressed to death by heavy weights laid on their stomach.

7 This word is intended to be pronounced as a trisyllable ; it
was sometimes written ticketing.

li»4 MUCH ADO ACT 111

Urs. \ pray you, be not angry with me, madam,
Speaking my fancy : signior Benedick,
For shape, for bearing, argument," and valour,
Goes foremost in report through Italy.

Hero. Indeed, he hath an excellent good name.

Urs. His excellence did earn it, ere he had it. —
When are you married, madam ?

Hero. Why, every day ; — to-morrow. Come,

go in:

1*11 show thee some attires ; and have thy counsel,
Which is tho best to furnish me to-morrow.

Urs. [Asiflf.] She's lim'd 9 I warrant you ; we
have caught her, madam.

Hero. [Aside.] If it prove so, then loving goes

by haps :
Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.

[Exeunt HERO and URSULA.

Beat. [Advancing.] What fire is in mine ears 1 10

Can this be true 1

Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn so much ?
Contempt, farewell ! and maiden pride, adieu !
No glory lives behind the back of such.
And, Benedick, love on : I will requite thee,
Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand.11
If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee
To bind our loves up in a holy band :
For others say thou dost deserve, and I
Believe it better than reportingly. [Exit

8 Conversation.

' That is, ensnared and entangled, as a sparrow with bird lime.

10 Alluding to the proverbial saying, which is as old as Pliny's
time, " That when our ears do glow and tingle, some there be
that in our absence do lalke of us."

11 This image is taken from falconry. She has been charged
with being- as wild as haggards 'of the rock; she therefore says,
that wild as her heart is, she will tame it to the hand.

SC. n. ABOUT NOTHING. 1%

SCENE II. A Room in LEONATO'S House.

Enter Don PEDRO, CLAUDIO, BENEDICK, and
LEONATO.

D. Pedro. I do but stay till your marriage be
consummate, and then go I toward Arragon.

Claud. I'll bring you thither, my lord, if you'll
vouchsafe me.

D. Pedro. Nay, that would be as great a soil in
the new gloss of your marriage, as to show a child
his new coat, and forbid him to wear it. I will only
be bold with Benedick for his company : for, from
the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, he is
all mirth ; he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid's bow
string, and the little hangman ' dare not shoot at
him : he hath a heart as sound as a bell, and his
tongue is the clapper ; for what his heart thinks, liis
tongue speaks.

Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been.

Leon. So say I : methinks you are sadder.

Claud. I hope he be in love.

D. Pedro. Hang him, truant ; there's no true drop
of blood in him, to be truly touch'd with love : if
he be sad, he wants money.

Bcne. I have the tooth-ache.*

D. Pedro. Draw it.

Bene. Hang it !

Claud. You must hang it first, and draw it after
wards.

1 That is, executioner, slayer of hearts.
8 So, in The False One, by Beaumont and Fletcher i
" O ! this sounds mangily,

Poorly, and scurvily, in a soldier's mouth ;

You had best be troubled with the tooth-ache too,

for lover* ever are."

ISI6 MUCH ADO ACT II i

D. Pedro. What ! sigh for the tooth-ache ?

Leon. Where is but a humour, or a worm ?

Bene. Well, every one can master a grief, but he
that has it.

Claud. Yet say I, he is in love.

D. Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy 3 n
him, unless it be a fancy that he hath to strange dis-
guises ; as, to be a Dutchman to-day, a Frenchman
to-morrow, or in the shape of two countries at
once ; 4 as, a German from the waist downward, all
slops ; * and a Spaniard from the hip upward, no
doublet : Unless he have a fancy to this foolery, as
it appears he hath, he is no fool for fancy, as you
would have it to appear he is.

Claud. If he be not in love with some woman,
there is no believing old signs : a' brushes his hat
o' mornings ; what should that bode ?

D. Pedro. Hath any man seen him at the bar-
ber's ?

Claud. No, but the barber's man hath been seen
with him ; and the old ornament of his cheek hath
already stuiF'd tennis-balls.

Leon. Indeed, he looks younger than he did, by
the loss of a beard.

3 A play upon the word fancy, which Shakespeare uses for love,
t>s well as for \urnour, caprice, or affectation.

4 So, in Th< Seven Deadly Sinnes of London, by Dekker, 1606 :
" For an Englishman's sute is like a traitor's body that hath beene
hanged, drawne, and quartered, and is set up in several places :
his codpiece, in Denmarke ; the collar of his dublet and the belly,
rn France ; the wing and narrow sleeve, in Italy ; the short waste
hangs over a botcher's stall in Utrich ; his huge sloppes speak
Spanish; Polonia gives him the bootes, &.c. — and thus we mocke
everie nation for keeping one fashion, yet steale patches from
everie of them to piece out our pride ; and are now laughing
stocks to them, because their cut so scurvily becomes us."

* Large, loose breeches or trousers. Hence a */op-seller for
one who furnishes seamen, &.C., with clothes.

Sr~ II. ABOUT NOTHING. IU7

D. Pedro. Nay, a' rubs himself with civet : Can
you smell him out by that 1

Claud. That's as much as to say, The sweet
youth's in love.

D. Pedro. The greatest note of it is his melan-
choly.

Claud, And when was he wont to wash his face J

D. Pedro. Yea, or to paint himself 1 for the which
I hear what they say of him.

Claud. Nay, but his jesting spirit ; which is now
crept into a lutestring,6 and now govern'd by stops.

D. Pedro. Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him :
Conclude, conclude, he is in love.

Claud. Nay, but I know who loves him.

D. Pedro. That would I know too : I warrant,
one that knows him not.

Claud. Yes, and his ill conditions ; and, in de-
spite of all, dies for him.

D. Pedro. She shall be buried with her face up-
wards.7

Bene. Yet is this no charm for the tooth-ache. —
Old signior, walk aside with me : I have studied
eight or nine wise words to speak to you, which
these hobby-horses must not hear.

[Exeunt BENEDICK and LEONATO.

D. Pedro. For my life, to break with him about
Beatrice.

Claud. 'Tis even so : Hero and Margaret have
by this played their parts with Beatrice ; and then

9 Love-songs, in Shakespeare's time, were sung to the late. So,
in 1 Henry IV. : " As melancholy as an old lion, or a lover's lute *
' That is, in her lover's arms. So, in The Winter's Tale :
« Flo. What ! like a corse T

Per. No, like a bank for love to lie and play on ;
Not like a corse : — or if, — not to be bnried
But quick and in my arms."

198 MUCH ADO ACT III

the two bears will not bite one another when they
meet.

Enter JOHN.

John. My lord and brother, God save you !

D. Pedro. Good den,8 brother.

John. If your leisure serv'd, I would speak with
you.

D. Pedro. In private ?

John. If it please you : — yet count Claudio may
hear ; for what I would speak of concerns him.

D. Pedro. What's the matter ?

John. [To CLAUDIO.] Means your lordship to be
married to-morrow 1

D. Pedro. You know he does.

John. I know not that, when he knows what I
know.

Claud. If there be any impediment, I pray you
discover it.

John. You may think I love you not : let that
appear hereafter, and aim better at me by that I
now will manifest. For my brother, I think he
holds you well ; and in dearness of heart hath holp
to effect your ensuing marriage : surely, suit ill
spent, and labour ill bestowed !

D. Pedro. Why, what's the matter 1

John. I came hither to tell you ; and, circum-
stances shorten'd, (for she hath been too long a
talking of,) the lady is disloyal.

Claud. Who? Hero?

John. Even she ; Leonato's Hero, your Hero,
every man's Hero.

Claud. Disloyal?

A colloquial abridgment of good evert ; also used for good
day. H.

SC. III. ABOUT NOTHING. 19J)

John. The word is too good to paint out her
wickedness : I could say she were worse : think you
of a worse title, and I will fit her to it. .Wonder
not till further warrant : go but with me to-night
you shall see her chamber-window enter'd ; even
the night before her wedding-day : if you love hei
then, to-morrow wed her ; but it would better fit
your honour to change your mind.

Claud. May this be so ?

D. Pedro. I will not think it.

John. If you dare not trust that you see, confess
not that you know. If you will follow me, I will
show you enough ; and when you have seen more,
and heard more, proceed accordingly.

Claud. If I see any thing to-night why I should
not marry her to-morrow, in the congregation, where
I should wed, there will 1 shame her.

I). Pedro. And as 1 wooed for thee to obtain her,
I will join with thee to disgrace her.

John. I will disparage her no farther, till you are
my witnesses : bear it coldly but till midnight, and
let the issue show itself.

D. Pedro. O day untowardly turned !

Claud. O mischief strangely thwarting !

John. O plague right well prevented !
So will you say, when you have seen the sequel.

[Exeunt.
SCENE III. A Street.

Enter DOGBERRY and VERGES,' with Watchmen.

Dogb. Are you good men and true 1
Verg. Yea, or else it were pity but they should
Buffer salvation, body and soul.

1 The first of these worthies is named from the dog-berry, or
female cornel, a shrub that grows in every county in England
Verges is only the provincial pronunciation of fi-.rjuice.

200 MUCH ADO ACT III

Dogb. Nay, that were a punishment too good foi
them, if they should have any allegiance in them,
being chosen for the prince's watch.

Vcrg. Well, give them their charge,2 neighbour
Dogberry.

Dogb. First, who think you the most desartless
man to be constable ?

1 Watch. Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal ,
for they can write and read.

Dogb. Come hither, neighbour Seacoal. God hath
bless'd you with a good name : to be a well-favoured
man is the gift of fortune ; but to write and read
comes by nature.

2 Watch. Both which, master constable, —
Dogb. You have ; I knew it would be your an-
swer. Well, for your favour, sir, why, give God
thanks, and make no boast of it ; and for your writ-
ing and reading, let that appear when there is no
need of such vanity. You are thought here to be
the most senseless and fit man for the constable of
the watch ; therefore bear you the lantern. This
is your charge : You shall comprehend all vagrom
men : you are to bid any man stand, in the prince's
name.

2 Watch. How if a' will not stand ?

Dogb. Why, then, take no note of him, but
.et him go ; and presently call the rest of the
watch together, and thank God you are rid of
a knave.

Verg. If he will not stand when he is bidden, he
is none of the prince's subjects.

Dogb. True, and they are to meddle with none

* To charge his fellows seems to have been a regular part of
the duty of the constable. So, in A New Trick to Cheat th«
Devil, 1639, " My watch is set — cliarge given — and all at peace-'

SO. Il». ABOUT NOTHING. 201

but the prince's subjects. — You shall also make no
noise in the streets; for, for the watch to babble mid
talk is most tolerable, and not to be endured.

2 Watch. We will rather sleep than talk : we know
what belongs to a watch.

Dogb. Why, you speak like an ancient and mopt
quiet watchman ; for I cannot see how sleeping
should otfend; only, have a care that your bills3 be
not stolen. — Well, you are to call at all the ale-
houses, and bid them that are drunk get them to
bed.

2 Watch. How, if they will not 1

Dogb. Why, then, let them alone till they are
sober : if they make you not then the better an-
swer, you may say they are not the men you took
them for.

2 Watch. Well, sir.

Dogb. If you meet a thief, you may suspect him,
by virtue of your office, to be no true man ; and, for
such kind of men, the less you meddle or make with
them, why, the more is for your honesty.

2 Watch. If we know him to be a thief, shall we
not lay hands on him 1

Dogb. Truly, by your office, you may ; but 1
think they that touch pitch will be defil'd : the most
peaceable way for you, if yo.u do take a thief, is, to
let him show himself what he is, and steal out of
your company.

Verg. You have been always call'd a merciful
man, partner.

Dogb. Truly, I would not hang a dog by my
will ; much more a man who hath any honesty in
him.

3 A sort of halberd, or hatchet with a hooked point, used by
watchmen. B.

202 MUCH ADO ACT lit

Verg. If you hear a child cry in the night, you
must call to the nurse, and bid her still it.

2 Watch. How if the nurse be asleep, and will
not hear us ?

Dogb. Why, then, depart in peace, and let the
child wake her with crying : for the ewe tliat will
not hear her lamb when it baas will never answer a
calf when he bleats.

Verg. 'Tis very true.

Dogb. This is the end of the charge. You, con-
stable, are to present the prince's own person ; if
you meet the prince in the night, you may stay him.

Verg. Nay, by'r lady, that, I think, a' cannot.

Dogb. Five shillings to one on't, with any man
that knows the statues, he may stay him : marry,
not without the prince be willing; for, indeed, the
watch ought to offend no man ; and it is an offence
to stay a man against his will.

Verg. By'r lady, I think it be so.

Dogb. Ha, ha, ha ! Well, masters, good night »
an there be any matter of weight chances, call up
me : keep your fellows' counsels and your own, and
good night. — Come, neighbour.

2 Watch. Well, masters, we hear our charge : let
us go sit here upon the church-bench till two, and
then all to bed.

Dogb. One word more, honest neighbours : I pray

you, watch about signior Leonato's door ; for, the

wedding being there to-morrow, there is a great

coil to-night : Adieu ; be vigilant, I beseech you.

[Exeunt DOGBERRY and VERGES

Enter BORACHIO and CONRADE.

Bora. What ! Conrade !
Watch. [Aside..] Peace, stir not.

SC. III. ABOUT NOTHING. 203

Bora. Comrade, I say !

Con. Here, man, I am at thy elbow.

Bora. Mass, and my elbow itch'd ; I thought,
there would a scab follow.

Con. I will owe thee an answer for that ; and
now forward with thy tale.

Bora. Stand thee close, then, under this pent-
house, for it drizzles rain ; and I will, like a true
drunkard, utter all to thee.

Watch. [Aside.] Some treason, masters ; yet
stand close.

Bora. Therefore know, I have earned of Don
John a thousand ducats.

Con. Is it possible that any villany should be so
dear?

Bora. Thou shouldst rather ask, if it were pos-
sible any villany should be so rich ; for when rich
villains have need of poor ones, poor ones may
make what price they will.

Con. I wonder at it.

Bora. That shows thou art uncon6rm'd:4 Thou
knowest that the fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or
a cloak, is nothing to a man.

Con. Yes, it is apparel.

Bora. I mean, the fashion.

Con. Yes, the fashion is the fashion.

Bora. Tush ! I may as well say, the fool's the
fool. But seest thou not what a deformed thief thig
fashion is ?

Watch. [Aside.] I know that Deformed ;, a' has
been a vile thief this seven year : a' goes up and
down like a gentleman : I remember his name.

Bora. Didst thou not hear somebody ?

Con. No; 'twas the vane on the house.

4 Unpractised in the ways of the world.

204 MUCH ADO ACT III

Bora. Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed
thief this fashion is ? how giddily a' turns about all
the hot bloods, between fourteen and five and thir-
ty ? sometime fashioning them like Pharaoh's sol-
diers in the reechy5 painting; sometime, like god
Bel's priests in the old church window ; sometime,
like the shaven Hercules in the smirch'd 6 worm-
eaten tapestry, where his cod-piece seems as massy
as his club ?

Con. All this I see ; and see that the fashion wears
out more apparel than the man. But art not thou
thyself giddy with the fashion too, that thou hast
shifted out of thy tale into telling me of the fashion 1

Bora. Not so neither : but know that I have to-
night wooed Margaret, the lady Hero's gentlewo-
man, by the name of Hero : she leans me out at her
mistress' chamber- window, bids me a thousand times
good night. — I tell this tale vilely : — I should first
tell thee how the prince, Claudio, and my master,
planted, and placed, and possessed by my master
Don John, saw afar off in the orchard this amiable
encounter.

Con. And thought thy Margaret was Hero ?

Bora. Two of them did, the prince and Claudio ;
but the devil my master knew she was Margaret ;
and partly by his oaths, which first possess'd them,
partly by the dark night, which did deceive them,
but chiefly by my villany, which did confirm any
slander that Don John had made, away went Clau-
dio enraged ; swore he would meet her, as he was
appointed, next morning at the temple, and there,
before the whole congregation, shame her with what

' That is, discoloured by smoke, reeky ; from recan, Saxon.
• Soi'ed, sullied. Probably only another form of smutched
The won! is peculiar to Shakespeare.

SC. IV. ABOUT NOTHING. 205

lie saw over-night, and send her home again with-
out a husband.

1 Watch. We charge you in the prince's name,
stand !

2 Watch. Call up the right master constable : We
have here recovered the most dangerous piece of
lechery that ever was known in the commonwealth.

1 Watch. And one Deformed is one of them : I
know him ; a' wears a lock.7

Con. Masters, masters !

2 Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed forth,
I warrant you.

Con. Masters, —

1 Watch. Never speak : we charge you, let us
obey you to go with us.

Bora. We are like to prove a goodly commodity,
being taken up of these men's bills.8

Con. A commodity in question,9 I warrant you.
Come, we'll obey you. [Exeunt,

SCENE IV. A Room in LEONATO'S House.

Enter HERO, MARGARET, and URSULA.

Hero. Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice,
and desire her to rise.
Urs. I will, lady.
Hero. And bid her come hither.

7 A lock of hair, called " a love-lock/' was oflen worn by the
gay young- gallants of Shakespeare's time. This ornament and
invitation to love was cherished with great care by the owners,
being brought before and tied with a riband. Prynne, the great
Puritan hero, spit some of his bile against this fashion, in a book
on The Uuloveliness of Love-locks. H.

s We have the same conceit in 2 Henry VI. : " My lord, when
shall we go to Cheapside, and take up commodities upon on
bills 1 "

* That is, in examination or trial.

206 MUCH ADO ACT 111.

Urs. Well. [Exit URSULA.

Marg. Troth, I think, your other rabato ! were
brtter.

Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll wear this.

Marg. By my troth, it's not so good ; and 1
warrant your cousin will say so.

Hero. My cousin's a fool, and thou art another ;
I'll wear none but this.

Marg. I like the new tire * within excellently, if
the hair were a thought browner ; and your gown's
a most rare fashion, i'faith. I saw the duchess of
Milan's gown, that they praise so.

Hero. O ! that exceeds, they say.

Marg. By my troth, it's but a night-gown in re
spect of yours : Cloth o' gold, and cuts, and lac'd
with silver ; set with pearls down sleeves,3 side
sleeves, and skirts round, underborne with a bluish
tinsel : but for a fine, quaint, graceful, and excellent
fashion, yours is worth ten on't.

The rabato was a kind of ruff or collar for the neck, such a»
were much worn in the Poet's time, and are often seen in the por-
traits of Queen Elizabeth. Dekker calls them "your stiff-necked
fe.baJ.oes." The word is from the French rebattre, to beat back ,
and the thing is said to be so called because put back towards the
shoulders. Shakespeare elsewhere uses rebate, from the same
source, and with a similar meaning. H.

* Head-dress. See Merry Wives of Windsor, Act iii. sc. 3,
note 6.

9 That :s, with pearls set along down the sleeves. Side sleeves
are long, ftill sleeves. Side is from the Anglo-Saxon sid, long,
ample. Peele, in his Old Wives' Tale, has " side slops," for long
trousers. So, likewise, in Jonson's play, The New Inn, Act v.
»c. 1 :

" He belly'd for it, had his velvet sleeves,
And his branch'd cassock, a side sweeping gown,
All his formalities, a good cramm'd divine."

It is plain that our word sid?, in its ordinary use, has reference U
the tm^th of the thing to which it is applied. H

8C. IT ABOUT NOTHING. 207

Hero. God give me joy to wear it, for my heart
is exceeding heavy !

Marg. 'Twill be heavier soon by the weight of a
man.

Hero. Fie upon thee ! art not asham'd ?

Marg. Of what, lady ? of speaking honourably 1
Is not marriage honourable in a beggar 1 Is not your
lord honourable without marriage ? I think you
would have me say, saving your reverence, — a hus-
band : an bad thinking do not wrest true speaking,
I'll offend nobody : Is there any harm in — the
heavier for a husband ? None, I think, an it be
the right husband, and the right wife ; otherwise 'tia
light, and not heavy : Ask my lady Beatrice else ;
here she comes.

Enter BEATRICE.

Hero. Good morrow, coz.

Beat. Good morrow, sweet Hero.

Hero. Why, how now ! do you speak in the sicK
tune 1

Beat. I am out of all other tune, methinks.

Marg. Clap us into — " Light o' love ; " that goes
without a burden : do you sing it, and I'll dance it.

Beat. Yea, " Light o' love," 4 with your heels ! —
then if your husband have stables enough, you'll look
he shall lack no barns.6

Marg. O illegitimate construction ! I scorn that
with my heels.

Beat. 'Tis almost five o'clock, cousin ; 'tis time

4 The name of a popular old dance tune mentioned aguin in
The Two Gentlemen of Vorona, and in several of our old drama*

* A quibble between barns, repositories for com, and bnirru
rhIMren. formerly pronounced bams. So. in The Winter's Talf
' Mercy on us, a harn .' a very pretty harn!"

208 MCTCH ADO ACT III

you were ready. By my troth I am exceeding ill •
— hey ho !

Marg. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband 1

Beat, For 6 the letter that begins them all, H.T

Marg. Well, an you be not turn'd Turk, there's
uo more sailing by the star.

Beat. What means the fool, trow ? "

Marg. Nothing I ; but God send every one tlieit
heart's desire !

Hero. These gloves the count sent me : they are
an excellent perfume.

Beat. I am stuff 'd, cousin ; I cannot smell.

Marg. A maid, and stuff 'd ! there's goodly catch
ing of cold.

Beat. O, God help me ! God help me ! how long
have you profess'd apprehension 1

Marg. Ever since you left it : doth not my wit
become me rarely ?

Beat. It is not seen enough ; you should wear it
in your cap. — By my troth, I am sick.

Marg. Get you some of this distill'd Carduua
Henedictus,9 and lay it to your heart : it is the only
thing for a qualm

* Because of.

7 That is for an ache or pain, pronounced like the letter h. Sea
The Tempest, Act i. sc. 2, note 34. Heywood has an epigram
which best elucidates this :

" II is worst among letters in the cross-row,
For if thon find him either in thine elbow,
In thine arm or leg, in any degree ;
In thine head, or teeth, or toe, or knee ;
Into what place soever H may pike him.
Wherever thou find him ache thou shall not like him."

* So, in The Morry Wives of Windsor: — "Who's there,
trow ? " This obsolete exclamation of inquiry is a contraction of
trow ye ? think you ? believe you ?

9 Carduns lienedictiis, or the blessed thistle, was one of the
ancient herbs medicinal, like thos« vhich in our day a much-expe-

SO. IV. ABOUT NOTHING. 200

Hero. There thou prick'st her with a thistle.

Beat. Benedictus ! why Benedictus 1 you have
some moral lo in this Benedictus.

Marg. Moral ! no, by my troth, I have no moral
meaning ; I meant, plain holy-thistle. You may
think, perchance, that I think you are in love : nay,
by'r lady, I am not such a fool to think what I list ;
nor I list not to think what I can ; nor, indeed, I
cannot think, if I would think my heart out. of
thinking, that you are in love, or that you will be in
love, or that you can be in love. Yet Benedick was
such another, and now is he become a man : he
swore he would never marry ; and yet now, in de-
spite of his heart, he eats his meat without grudg-
ing:11 and how you may be converted, I know
not ; but methinks you look with your eyes as other
women do.

Beat. What pace is this that thy tongue keeps 1

Marg. Not a false gallop.

Re-enter URSULA.

Urs. Madam, withdraw : the prince, the count,
Dignior Benedick, Don John, and all the gallants of
the town, are come to fetch you to Church.

Hero. Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg,
good Ursula. [Exeunt.

rienced motherhood has often applied successfully lo the " ills that
flesh is heir to." Thus, in Cogau's Haven of Health. 1595 : " This
nerh, for the singular virtue it haih, is worthily named Benedictus,
or Omnimorhia, that is, a salve for every sore, not known to the
physicians of old time, but lately revealed by the special provi-
dence of Almighty God." H.

10 That is. some hidden meaning, like the moral of a fable.
Thus, in the Rape of Lucrece : " Nor could she moralize his wan-
ton sight." And in The Taming of the Shrew : " To expound
llie meaning or moral of his signs aud tokens."

11 That is, feeds on love, and likes his food.

210 MUCH ADO ACT Ilk

SCENE V Another Room in LEONATO'S House

Enter LEONATO, with DOGBERRY and VERGES.

Leon. What would you with me, honest neigh
hour ?

Dogb. Marry, sir, I would have some confidence
with you, that decerns you nearly.

Leon. Brief, I pray you ; for you see it is a busy
time with me.

Dogb. Marry, this it is, sir.

Verg. Yes, in truth it is, sir.

Leon. What is it, my good friends ?

Dogb. Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little off
the matter : an old man, sir, and his wits are not so
blunt, as, God help, I would desire they were ; but,
in faith, honest as the skin between his brows.

Verg. Yes, I thank God, I am as honest as any
man living, that is an old man, and no honester
than I.

Dogb. Comparisons are odorous : palabras,1 neigh-
bour Verges.

Leon. Neighbours, you are tedious.

Dogb. It pleases your worship to say so, but we
are the poor 2 Duke's officers ; but, truly, for mine
own part, if I were as tedious as a king, I could
find in my heart to bestow it all of your worship.

Leon. All thy tediousness on rne 1 ha !

1 How this Spanish word came into our language is uncertain.
It seems to have been current for a time, even among the vulgar,
and was probably introduced by our sailors, as well as the cor-
rupted form, palaver. We have it again in the mouth of Sly the
Tinker : " Therefore paucas pallabris : let the world slide, Sessa."

* This stroke of pleasantry, arising from the transposiiion of the
epithet poor, has already occurred in Measure for Measure. El
bow sa\ «, " If '«. u'ea.se your honour, I am the poor Duke's con
stable."

SC. V. ABOUT NOTHING. 21 1

Dogb. Yea, an 'twere a thousand pound more
<han 'tis ; for I hear as good exclamation on your
worship, as of any man in the city ; and though I
be but a poor man, I am glad to hear it.

Verg. And so am I.

Leon. I would fain know what you have to say.

Verg. Marry, sir, our watch to-night, excepting
your worship's presence, have ta'en a couple of as
arrant knaves as any in Messina.

Dogb. A good old man, sir ; he will be talking :
as they say, When the age is in, the wit is out.
God help us ! it is a world to see ! 3 — Well said,
i'faith, neighbour Verges : — well, God's a good
man : an two men ride of a horse, one must ride
behind. — An honest soul, i'faith, sir ; by my troth
he is, as ever broke bread : but God is to be wor-
shipp'd : All men are not alike ; alas ! good neigh
bour !

Leon. Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of
you.

Dogb. Gifts, that God gives.

Leon. I must leave you.

Dogb. One word, sir : Our watch, sir, have, in
deed, comprehended two aspicious persons, and we
would have them this morning examined before your
worship.

Leon. Take their examination yourself, and bring
it me : I am now in great haste, as it may appear
unto you.

Dogb. It shall be suffigance.

* This was a common apostrophe of admiration, equivalen to
it is wonderful, or it is admirable. Baret in his Alvearie, 1580,
explains " It is a world to heart " by " It is a thing worthie th«
hearing, audire est operce pretium." In Cavendish's Life of Wol
sey ws have " Is it not a world to consider 1 "

212 MUCH ADO ACT IV

Lettn. Drink some wine ere you go : Fare you
well.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. My lord, they stay for you to give your
daughter to her husband.

Leon. I'll wait upon them : I am ready.

[Exeunt LEONATO and Messenger.

Dogb. Go, good partner, go ; get you to Francis
Seacoal ; bid him bring his pen and inkhorn to the
jail : we are now to examination these men.

Verg. And we must do it wisely.

Dogb. We will spare for no wit, I warrant you ;
here's that [ Touching his forehead.] shall drive some
of them to a non com : only get the learned writer
to set down our excommunication, and meet me at
the jail. [Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. The Inside of a Church.

Enter Don PEDRO, JOHN, LEONATO, Friar, CLAUDIO,
BENEDICK, HERO, BEATRICE, fyc.

Leon. Come, friar Francis, be brief: only to the
plain form of marriage, and you shall recount their
particular duties afterwards.

Friar. You come hither, my lord, to marry this
ladyl

Claud. No.

Leon. To be married to her ; friar, you come to
marry her.

Si . I. ABOUT NOTHING. 213

Friar. Lady, you come hither to be married to
this count 1

Hero. I do.

Friar. If either of you know any inward imped-
iment why you should not be conjoined, I charge
you, on your souls, to utter it.1

Claud. Know you any, Hero ?

Hero. None, my lord.

Friar. Know you any, count ?

Leon. I dare make his answer ; none.

Claud. O, what men dare do ! what men may do !
what men daily do ! not knowing what they do !

Bene. How now ! Interjections ? Why, then
some be of laughing, as, ha ! ha ! he ! 2

Claud. Stand thee by, friar : — Father, by your

leave !

Will you with free and unconstrained soul
Give me this maid, your daughter ?

Leon. As freely, son, as God did give her me.

Claud. And what have I to give you back, whose

worth
May counterpoise this rich and precious gift 1

D. Pedro. Nothing, unless you render her again.

Claud. Sweet prince, you learn me noble thank

fulness. —

There, Leonato, take her back again :
Give not this rotten orange to your friend ;
She's but the sign and semblance of her honour ; —
Behold, how like a maid she blushes here :
O, what authority and show of truth
Can cunning sin cover itself withal !

1 This is borrowed from our marriage ceremony, which (with a
few changes in phraseology) is the same as was used in Shake-
speare's time.

* Benedick is in a grammatical state of mind and here quote*
from his Accidence. H.

214 MUCH ADO ACT IV

Comes not that blood, as modest evidence,

To witness simple virtue ? Would you not swear

All you that see her, that she were a maid,

By these exterior shows ? — But she is none !

She knows the heat of a luxurious bed ;

Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty.

Leon. What do you mean, my lord ?

Claud. • Not to be married]

Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton.

Leon. Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof,
Have vanquish'd the resistance of her youth,
And made defeat of her virginity, —

Claud. I know what you would say : If I have

known her,

You'll say she did embrace me as a husband,
And so extenuate the 'forehand sin :
No, Leonato,

I never tempted her with word too large ;
But, as a brother to his sister, show'd
Bashful sincerity, and comely love.

Hero. And seem'd I ever otherwise to you 1

Claud. Out on thy seeming ! I will write

against it, —

You seem to me as Dian in her orb ;
As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown ;
But you are more intemperate in your blood
Than Venus, or those pamper'd animals
That rage in savage sensuality.

Hero. Is my lord well, that he doth speak BO
wide 7

Leon. Sweet prince, why speak not you ?

D. Pedro. What should I speak 1

I stand dishonour'd, that have gone about
To link my dear friend to a common stale.

Leon. Are these things spoken ? or do 1 but
dream ?

BC. L * ABOUT NOTHING. 215

John. Sir, they are spoken, and these things ar«
true.

Bene. This looks not like a nuptial.

Hero. True? O God ! *

Claud. Leonato, stand I here 1
Is this the prince ? Is this the prince's brother ?
Is this face Hero's 7 Are our eyes our own 1

Leon. All this is so ; but what of this, my lord 1

Claud. Let me but move one question to your

daughter ;

And, by that fatherly and kindly power 4
That you have in her, bid her answer truly.

Leon. I charge thee do so, as thou art my child.

Hero. O God, defend me ! how am I beset ! —
What kind of catechizing call you this 1

Claud. To make you answer truly to your name.

Hero. Is it not Hero ? Who can blot that name
With any just reproach 1

Claud. Marry, that can Hero :

Hero itself can blot out Hero's virtue.
What man was he talk'd with you yesternight
Out at your window, betwixt twelve and one ?
Now, if you are a maid, answer to this.

Hero. I talk'd with no man at that hour, my lord

D. Pedro. Why, then are you no maiden. — Leo
nato,

J Hero's words are in reply to the speech of John. The paw-
sage is usually pointed thus : " True, O God! " as if it were in
answer to Benedick. H.

* Kind was often used in Shakespeare's time for nature, kindly
for natural or naturally. So that kindly power here means natu-
ral power. Thus, in the Induction to The Taming of the Shrew i
' This do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs." So, likewise, in Sj»en-
ser's Faery Queene :

" The earth shall sooner leave her kindly skill
To bring forth fruit, and make eternall dearth,
Than I leave you, my life, yborne of heaveulv birth." u

21(5 MUCH ADO ACT IV.

I am sorry you must hear: Upon mine honour,
Myself, my brother, and this grieved count,
Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night,
Talk with a ruffian at her chamber-window ;
Who hath, indeed, most like a liberal 5 villain,
Confess'd the vile encounters they have had
A thousand times in secret.

John. Fie, fie ! they are not to be nam'd, my lord,
Not to be spoke of;

There is not chastity enough in language,
Without offence, to utter them : Thus, pretty lady,
I am sorry for thy much misgovernment.

Claud. O Hero ! what a Hero hadst thou been,
If half thy outward graces had been plac'd
About thy thoughts, and counsels of thy heart !
But, fare thee well, most foul, most fair ! farewell
Thou pure impiety, and impious purity !
For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love,
And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang,
To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm,
And never shall it more be gracious.

Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point for
me ? [HERO swoons.

Beat. Why, how now, cousin ! wherefore sink
you down 1

John. Come, let us go : these things, come thus

to light,
Smother her spirits up.

[Exeunt D. FED., JOHN, and CLAUD

Bene. How doth the lady 1

Beat. Dead, I think : — help, uncle ! —

Hero ! why, Hero ! — Uncle ! — Signior Benedick !
— Friar!

* Liberal here, as in many places of these plays, means Keen-
traits, free teyorul honour or decency. This sense of the word is
not peculiar to Shakesueaie.

tC. I ABOUT NOTHING. 217

Leon. O fate ! take not away thy heavy hand !
Death is the fairest cover for her shame,
That may be wish'd for.

Beat. How now, cousin Hero ?

Friar. Have comfort, lady.

Leon. Dost thou look up 1

Friar Yea ; wherefore should she not t

Leon. Wherefore ? Why, doth not every earthly

thing

Cry shame upon her ? Could she here deny
The story that is printed in her blood ? 6 —
Do not live, Hero ; do not ope thine eyes :
For did I think thou wouldst not quickly die,
Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames,
Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches,
Strike at thy life. Griev'd I, I had but one '
Chid I for that at frugal nature's frame 1
O, one too much by thee ! Why had I one ?
Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes ?
Why had I not, with charitable hand,
Took up a beggar's issue at my gates ;
Who smirched thus, and mir'd with infamy,
I might have said, " No part of it is mine ;
This shame derives itself from unknown loins 1 *
But mine, and mine I lov'd, and mine I prais'd,
And mine that I was proud on ; mine so much.
That I myself was to myself not mine,
Valuing of her; why, she — O, she is fallen
Into a pit of ink ! that the wide sea
Hath drops too few to wash her clean again ;
And salt too little, which may season give
To her foul tainted flesh !

Hene. Sir, sir, be patient

• That is, which her blushes discovered to be true.

218 MUCH iDO ACT IV

For my part, I am so attir'd in wonder,
F know not what to say.

Beat. O, on my soul, my cousin is belied !

Bene. Lady, were you her bedfellow last night ?

Beat. No, truly, not ; although, until last night,
F have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow.

Leon. Confirm'd, confirm'd ! O, that is strongei

made,

Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron !
Would the two princes lie 1 and Claudio lie ?
Who lov'd her so, that, speaking of her foulness,
Wash'd it with tears ? Hence from her ! let her die.

Friar. Hear me a little ;
For I have only been silent so long,
And given way unto this course of fortune,
By noting of the lady : I have mark'd
A thousand blushing apparitions start
Into her face ; a thousand innocent shames
In angel whiteness beat away those blushes;
And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire,
To burn the errors that these princes hold
Against her maiden truth. — Call me a fool ;
Trust not my reading, nor my observations,
Which with experimental seal doth warrant
The tenour of my book ; trust not my age,
My reverence, calling, nor divinity,
If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here
Under some biting error.

Leon. Friar, it cannot be :

Thou seest, that all the grace that she hath left
Is, that she will not add to her damnation
A sin of perjury : she not denies it.
Why seek'st thou, then, to cover with excuse
That which appears in proper nakedness 1

Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accus'd of 1

»C. I. ABOCr NOTHING. 219

Hero. They know, that do accuse me ; I know

none :

If I know more of any man alive,
Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant,
Let all my sins lack mercy ! — O, my father !
Prove you that any man with me convers'd
At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight
Maintain 'd the change of words with any creature,
Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death.

Friar. There is some strange misprision in the
princes.

Benc. Two of them have the very bent of honour ;
And if their wisdoms be misled in this,
The practice of it lives in John the bastard,
Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies.

Leon. I know not : If they speak but truth of

her,
These hands shall tear her : if they wrong hei

honour,

The proudest of them shall well hear of it.
Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine,
Nor age so eat up my invention,
Nor fortune made such havoc of my means,
Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends,
But they shall find, awak'd in such a kind,
Both strength of limb, and policy of mind,
Ability in means, and choice of friends,
To quit me of them throughly.

Friar. Pause awhile,

And let my counsel sway you in this case.
Your daughter here the princes left for dead ;
Let her awhile be secretly kept in,
\nd publish it, that she is dead indeed :
Maintain a mourning ostentation ;
And on your family's old monument

220 MUCH ADO ACT IV

Hang mournful epitaphs, and do all rites
That appertain unto a burial.

Leon. What shall become of this ? What will
this do ?

Friar. Marry, this, well carried, shall on her behalf
Change slander to remorse ; that is some good :
But not for that dream I on this strange course,
But on this travail look for greater birth.
She dying, as it must be so maintain'd,
Upon the instant that she was accus'd,
Shall be lamented, pitied and excus'd,
Of every hearer : For it so falls out,
That what we have we prize not to the worth,
Whiles we enjoy it ; but being lack'd and lost,
Why, then we rack 7 the value ; then we find
The virtue, that possession would not show us
Whiles it was ours. — So will it fare with Claudio
When he shall hear she died upon his words.
The idea of her life shall sweetly creep
Into his study of imagination ;
And every lovely organ of her life
Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit,
More moving, delicate, and full of life,
Into the eye and prospect of his soul,
Than when she liv'd indeed : — then shall he mount,
(If ever love had interest in his liver,)8
And wish he had not so accused her ;
No, though he thought his accusation true.
Let this be so, and doubt not but success
Will fashion the event in better shape
Than I can lay it down in likelihood.

7 That is, strain it up to the highest pitch. So, in the common
phrase, rack-rent. H.

8 The liver was formerly thought to be the seat of the passions
Bee The Tempest, A*i iv sc. 1, note 5.

»C. 1. ABOUT NOTHING. 221

But if all aim but this be levell'd false,

The supposition of the lady's death

Will quench the wonder of her infamy :

And, if it sort not well, you may conceal her,

As best befits her wounded reputation,

In some reclusive and religious life,

Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries.

Bene. Signior Leonato, let the Friar advise you J
And though, you know, my inwardness 9 and love
Is very much unto the prince and Claudio,
Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this
As secretly, and justly, as your soul
Should with your body.

Leon. Being that 1 flow in grief,

The smallest twine may lead me.10

Friar. 'Tis well consented : presently away ;
For to strange sores they strangely strain the cure. —
Come, lady, die to live : this wedding day,
Perhaps, is but prolong'd : have patience, and en-
dure. [Exeunt Friar, HERO, and LEON

Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while 1

Beat. Yea, and I will weep awhile longer.

Bene. I will not desire that.

Beat. You have no reason ; I do it freely.

Bene. Surely, I do believe your fair cousin is
wrong'd.

• Inwardness is here used for intimacy. Inward often occurs
in a similar sense, both as a noun and an adjective. Thus, in
Measure for Measure, Act iii. sc. 2 : " Sir, 1 was an inward of
his." And in Richard III., Act iii. sc. 4 :

" Who knows the lord protector's mind herein 7
Who is most inward ^whh the noble Duke ? " H.

10 This is one of Shakespeare's subtle observations upon life
Men, overpowered with distress, eagerly listen to the first offers
of relief, close with every scheme, and believe every promise. He
that has no longer any confidence in himself is glad lo repose hi*
'.rust in any other that will undertake lo guide him.

222 MUCH ADO ACT IV

Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserve of
me, that would right her '

Bene. Is there any way to show such friendship "

Beat. A very even way, but no such friend.

Bene. May a man do it ?

Beat. It is a man's office, but not yours.

Bene. I do love nothing in the world so well as
you : Is not that strange 1

Beat. As strange as the thing I know not : It
were as possible for me to say, I loved nothing so
well as you : but believe me not ; and yet I he not :
I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing : — I am sor
ly for my cousin.

Bene. By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me.

Beat. Do not swear by it, and eat it.

Bene. I will swear by it that you love me ; and
I will make him eat it, that says I love not you.

Beat. Will you not eat your word 1

Bene. With no sauce that can be devised to it :
I protest I love thee !

Beat. Why then, God forgive me !

Bene. What offence, sweet Beatrice ?

Beat. You have stayed me in a happy hour : I
was about to protest I loved you.

Bene. And do it with all thy heart.

Beat. I love you with so much of my heart, that
none is left to protest.

Bene. Come, bid me do any thing for thee.

Beat. Kill Claud io.

Bene. Ha ! not for the wide world.

Beat. You kill me to deny it : Farewell.

Bene. Tarry, sweet Beatrice.

Brat. I am gone, though I am here:" — There

11 Thai is, though my person stay with you, my heart :s gone
from you. H.

i»C. 1. ABOUT NOTHING. 223

is no lote in you: — Nay, I pray you, let me
go.

Rene. Beatrice, —

Beat. In faith, I will go.

Bene. We'll be friends first.

Beat. You dare easier be friends with me, than
fight with mine enemy.

Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy ?

Beat. Is he not approved in the height a villain,
that hath slandered, scorned, dishonoured my kins-
woman 1 — O, that I were a man ! — What ! bear
her in hand I8 until they come to take hands ; and
then with public accusation, uncovered slander, un-
mitigated rancour, — O God, that I were a man ! I
would eat his heart in the market place.

Bene. Hear me, Beatrice ; —

Beat. Talk with a man out at a window ! — a
proper saying !

Bene. Nay, but, Beatrice ; —

Beat. Sweet Hero ! — she is wrong'd, she is slan
dered, she is undone.

Bene. Beat —

Brat. Princes, and counties ! ls Surely, a princely
testimony, a goodly count, Count Confect ; u a sweet
gallant, surely ! O that I were a mail for his sake !
or that I had any friend would be a man for my
sake ! But manhood is melted into courtesies, val-
our into compliment, and men are only turned into

lz A common phrase of the time, signifying to take, lead,c*irry
along, as an expectant or friend. See Measure for Measure, Act
i. sc. 5, note 6. H

13 Countie was the ancient term for a coinit or earl.

14 That is, an image of a man. cast in sugar-, such a nobleman
as confectioners sell, " a sweet gallant •" of course spoken in con-
tempt. We give the old and true reading. The usuaJ reading
is " a goodly couiit-confect.'' H.

'££4 MUCH ADO A«T IV

tongue, and trim ones too : 18 he is now as valiar t
as Hercules, that only tells a he, and swears it. —
I cannot be a man with wishing, therefore I will die
a woman with grieving.

Bene. Tarry, good Beatrice : By this hand, 1
love thee.

Beat. Use it for my love some other way than
swearing by it.

Bene. Think you in your soul the count Claudio
hath wrong'd Hero ?

Beat. Yea, as sure as I have a thought, or a soul.

Bene. Enough ! I am engag'd, I will challenge
liim : I will kiss your hand and so leave you : By
this hand, Claudio shall render me a dear account :
As you hear of me, so think of me. Go, comfort
your cousin : I must say, she is dead ; and so, fare-
well. [Exeunt.

SCENE H. A Pnson.

Enter DOGBERRY, VERGES, and Sexton, in gowns,
and Watchmen, with CONRADE and BORACHIO.

Dogb. Is our whole dissembly appear'd ?
Verg. O, a stool and a cushion for the sexton !
Sexton. Which he the malefactors 1
Dogb. Marry, that am I and my partner.
Verg. Nay, that's certain ; we have the exhibition
to examine.1

Sexton. But which are the offenders that are to

ls Trim seems here to signify apt, fair spoken. Timgitf use<i
in the singular, and trim ones in the plural, is a mode of construe
lion not uncommon in Shakespeare.

1 This is a blunder of the constables, for '• examination to ex-
hibit." In the last scene of the third act, Lconato says, " Tak«
(heir examination yourself and bring it me."

•jv :. II. ABOUT NOTHING. 225

be examined ? let them come before master con-
stable.

Dogb. Yea, marry, let them come before me. —
What is your name, friend ?

Bora, Borachio.

Dogb. Pray write down — Borachio. — Yours,
sirrah ?

Con. I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is
Conrade.

Dogb. Write down — master gentleman Conrade
— Masters, do you serve God 1

Con. Bora. Yea, sir, we hope.

Dogb. Write down — that they hope they serve
God : — and write God first ; for God defend but
God should go before such villains ! — Masters, it
is proved already that you are little better than
false knaves ; and it will go near to be thought so
shortly. How answer you for yourselves 1

Con. Marry, sir, we say we are none.

Dogb. A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you ;
but I will go about with him. — Come you hither,
sirrah ; a word in your ear, sir : I say to you, it is
thought you are false knaves.

Bora. Sir, I say to you, we are none.

Dogb. Well, stand aside. — Tore God, they are
both in a tale ! Have you writ down — that they
are none ?

Sexton. Master constable, you go not the way to
examine : you must call forth the watch that are
their accusers.

Dogb. Yea, marry, that's the eftest 2 way : — Let
the watch come forth : — Masters, I charge you, in
the prince's name, accuse these men.

• That is, the quickest way.

U'«JG MUCH ADO ACi' H

1 Watch. This man said, sir, that Don John, the
prince's brother, was a villain.

Dogb. Write down — prince John a villain. —
Why, this is flat perjury, to call a prince's brother
villain.

Bora. Master constable, —

Dogb. Pray thee, fellow, peace : I do not like
thy look, I promise thee.

Sexton. What heard you him say else ?

2 Watch. Marry, that he had received a thousand
ducats of Don John, for accusing the lady Hero
wrongfully.

Dogb. Flat burglary, as ever was committed.
Verg. Yea, by the mass, that it is.
Sexton. What else, fellow?

1 Watch. And that count Claudio did mean.upoi*
his words, to disgrace Hero before the whole assem-
bly, and not marry her.

Dogb. O villain! thou wilt be condemn'd into
everlasting redemption for this.
Sexton. What else 7

2 Watch. This is all.

Sexton. And this is more, masters, than you can
deny. Prince John is this morning secretly stolen
away : Hero was in this manner accus'd, in this
very manner refus'd, and upon the grief of this sud-
denly died. — Master constable, let these men be
bound, and brought to Leonato's : I will go before,
and show him their examination. [Brit.

Dogb. Come, let them be opinion'd.

Verg. Let them be in the hands J —

8 The reading of the old copies here is, — " Let them be in
the hands of coxcomb ; " thus running two speeches into one, as
is evident from Dogberry's reply. The correction was made by
Theobald, and has been universally received. Of course Vergei

SC. II. ABOUT NOTHING. 227

Con, Off, coxcomb !

Dogb. God's my life ! where's the sexton ? let
him write down — the prince's officer, coxcomb. —
Come, bind them : — Thou naughty varlet !

Con. Away ! you are an ass, you are an ass !

Dogb. Dost thou not suspect my place 1 Dost
thou not suspect my years ? — O that he were here
to write me down — an ass ! — but, masters, re-
member, that I am an ass; though it be not written
down, yet forget not that I am an ass : — No, thou
villain, thou art full of piety, as shall be prov'd upon
thee by good witness. I am a wise fellow; and,
which is more, an officer ; and, which is more, a
householder ; and, which is more, as pretty a piece
of flesh as any is in Messina ; and one that knows
the law, go to ; and a rich fellow enough, go to ;
and a fellow that hath had losses ; and one that
hath two gowns, and every thing handsome about
him: — Bring liim away. O, that I had been writ
down — an ass ! [Exeunt

ACT V.

SCENE T. Before LEONATO'S House.

Enter LEONATO and ANTONIO.

Ant. If you go on thus, you will kill yourself;
And 'tis not wisdom, thus to second ^grief
Against yourself.

was broken off in the midst of his speech ; so that f.ere is no tell
iiig how he would have ended. H.

228 MUCH ADO ACT V

Leon. I pray thee, cease thy counsel

Which falls into mine ears as profitless
As water in a sieve : give not me counsel ;
Nor let no comforter delight mine ear,
But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine.
Bring me a father, that so lov'd his child,
Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine,
And bid him speak of patience ;
Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine
And let it answer every strain for strain ;
As thus for thus, arid such a grief for such,
In every lineament, branch, shape, and form :
If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard;
Cry — sorrow, wag! and hem, when he should

groan ; '

Patch grief with proverbs ; make misfortune drunlt
With candle-wasters ; * bring him yet to me,
And I of him will gather patience.
But there is no such man : For, brother, men
Can counsel, and speak comfort to that grief
Which they themselves not feel ; but, tasting it,
Their counsel turns to passion, which before
Would give preceptial medicine to rage,
Fetter strong madness in a silken thread,

1 The old copies read, — "And sorrow, wagge, cry hem," &c.
The emendation and arrangement of this line is by Dr. Johnson,
who thus explains the passage : " If he will smile, and cry sorrow
be ffone ! and hem instead of groaning." Steevens proposed to
read, — " And, sorry wag, cry hem," &c., which is very plausible,
but he abandoned his own reading in favour of Johnson's.

3 Candle-waster was sometimes used as a contemptuous term for
a book-worm, as appears from a passage in Ben Jonson's Cynthia's
Revels, Act iii. sc. 2 : " Heart, was there ever so prosperous an in
veution thus unluckily perverted and spoiled by a whoreson book
worm, a candle-waster ? " Leonato's whole speech is aimed at
those comforters who moralize by the book against our natural
emotions ; who would have us drown our troubles m a cup of
bookish philosophy. H.

SC. I. ABOUT NOTHING. 229

Charm ache with air, and agony with words.

No, no ; 'tis all men's office ti speak patience

To those that wring under the load of sorrow ;

But no man's virtue, nor sufficiency,

To be so moral, when he shall endure

The like himself. Therefore give me no counsel :

My griefs cry louder than advertisement.3

Ant. Therein do men from children nothing differ.

Leon. I pray thee, peace ! I will be flesh and

blood ;

For there was never yet philosopher,
That could endure the tooth-ache patiently ;
However they have writ the style of gods,
And made a push 4 at chance and sufferance.

Ant. Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself;
Make those, that do offend you, suffer too.

Leon. There thou speak'st reason : nay, I will

do so.

My soul doth tell me Hero is belied,
And that shall Claudio know ; so shall the prince,
And all of them, that thus dishonour her.

Enter Don PEDRO and CLAUDIO.

Ant. Here comes the prince, and Claudio, hastily.

D. Pedro. Good den, good den.

Claud. Good day to both of you.

Leon. Hear you, my lords, —

D. Pedro. We have some haste, Leonato.

Leon. Some haste, my lord ! — well, fare you

well, my lord : —
Are you so hasty now ? — well, all is one.

3 That is, my griefs outtongue your admonition. H.

4 Push is the reading of the old copy, which Pope altered to
pish without any seeming necessity. To make a push at any
thing is to contend against it or defy it.

23fl MUCH ADO ACT V.

D. Pedro. Nay, do not quarrel with us, good oJd
man.

Ant. If he could right himself with quarrelling,
Some of us would lie low.

Claud. Who wrongs him 1

Leon. Marry, thou dost wrong me ; thou dissem-
bler, thou : —

Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword ;
I fear thee not.

Claud. Marry, beshrew my hand,

If it should give your age such cause of fear :
In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword.

Leon. Tush, tush, man ! never fleer and jest at me ;
I speak not like a dotard, nor a fool ;
As, under privilege of age, to brag
What I have done being young, or what would do,
Were I not old : Know, Claudio, to thy head,
Thou hast so wrong'd mine innocent child and me,
That I am forc'd to lay my reverence by ;
And, with grey hairs, and bruise of many days,
Do challenge thee to trial of a man.
I say, thou hast belied mine innocent child :
Thy slander hath gone through and through her

heart,

And she lies buried with her ancestors;
O ! in a tomb where never scandal slept,
Save this of hers, fram'd by thy villainy.

Claud. My villainy ?

Leon. Thine, Claudio ; thine I say

D. Pedro. You say not right, old man.

Leon. My lord, my lord

I'll prove it on his body, if he dare ;
Despite his nice fence, and his active practice,*
His May of youth, and bloom of lustyhood.

5 Skill ill fencing.

SC. 1 ABOUT NOTHING. '-531

Claud. Away ! I will not have to do with you.

Leon. Canst thou so daff 6 me 1 Thou hast kill'd

my child ;
If thou kill'st me, boy, thou shall kill a man.

Ant. He shall kill two of us, and men indeed :
But that's no matter : let him kill one first ; —
Win me and wear me, — let him answer me : —
Come, follow me, boy ! come, sir boy, come, follow

me :

Sir boy, I'll whip you from your foining 7 fence ;
Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will.

Leon. Brother, —

Ant. Content yourself: God knows, I lov'd my

niece ;

And she is dead ; slander'd to death by villains.
That dare as well answer a man, indeed,
As I dare take a serpent by the tongue ;
Boys, apes, braggarts, jacks, milksops ! —

Leon. Brother Antony, —

Ant. Hold you content : What, man ! I know

them, yea,

And what they weigh, even to the utmost scru-
ple :

Scambling,8 out-facing, fashion-mongering boys,
That lie, and cog, and flout, deprave and slander,
Go anticly, and show outward hideousness,
And speak ofF half a dozen dangerous words,
How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst.
And this is all

Leon. But, brother Antony, —

* This H only a corrupt form of doff, to do ojf, or jmt off.

7 Thrusting.

' Scumbling appears to have been much the same as scr^n-
bling, shifting or shuffling. '• Grifl'e grafFe," says Cotgrave. •• by
hook or hy crook, squimhle squamhle, scamlilinyly, catch that ( atri
may " We have " skimble skanMe slull'" in 1 Ileiiry IV.

232 MUCH ADO ACT V

Ant. Come, 'tis no matter .

Do not you meddle ; let me deal in this.

D. Pedro. Gentlemen both, we will not wake*

your patience.

My heart is sorry for your daughter's death ;
But, on my honour, she was charg'd with nothing
But what was true, and very full of proof.

Leon. My lord, my lord ! —

D. Pedro. I will not hear you.

Leon. No 1

Come, brother, away : — I will be heard. —

Ant. And shall, or some of us will smart for it.
[Exeunt LEONATO and ANTONIO

Enter BENEDICK.

D. Pedro. See, see : here conies the man we
went to seek.

Claud. Now, signior, what news ?

Rene. Good day, my lord.

D. Pedro. Welcome, signior : You are almost
come to part almost a fray.

Claud. We had like to have had our two noses
snapp'd off with two old men without teeth.

D. Pedro. Leonato and his brother : What think'st
thou 1 Had we fought, I doubt, we should have
been too young for them.

Benc. In a false quarrel, there is no true valour.
I came to seek you both.

Claud. We have been up and down to seek thee;
for we are high-proof melancholy, and would fain
have it beaten away : Wilt thou use thy wit 1

Bf,ne. It is in my scabbard : shall I draw it 1

D. Pedro. Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side ?

• That is, rouse, stir up, convert your patience into anger, bf
remaining longer in your presence.

SO. I. ABOUT NOTHING. 233

Claud. Never any did so, though very many have
been beside their wit. — 1 will bid thee draw, as we
do the minstrels ; draw, to pleasure us.10

D. Pedro. As I am an honest man, he looks pale :
— Art thou sick, or angry 1

Claud. What ! courage, man ! What though
care kill'd a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee
to kill care.

Bene. Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career,
an you charge it against me : — 1 pray you, choose
another subject.

Claud. Nay, then give him another staff; this last
was broke cross.11

D. Pedro. By this light, he changes more and
more : 1 think he be angry indeed.

Claud. If he be, he knows how to turn his gii
die.12

Bene. Shall I speak a word in your ear ?

Claud. God bless me from a challenge !

Bene. You are a villain. — I jest not : — I will
make it good how you dare, with what you dare,
and when you dare : — Do me right, or I will pro-
test your cowardice. You have kill'd a sweet lady,

iu n I wju bid thee draw thy sword, as we bid the minstrels draw
the bows of their fiddles, merely to please us."

11 The allusion here is to tilting. It was held very disgracelu.
for a tiller to have his spear broken across the body of his adver-
sary, instead of by a push of the point. Thus, in As You Like
It, Adt iii. sc. 4 : " As a puny tiller, thai spurs his horse but on
one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose." H.

12 Thus, Sir Ralph Winwood in a letler to Ceci. : " I said, « hat
I spake was not to make him angry. He replied. — If I were
angry, I might turn the buckle of my girdle behind me." The
phrase came from the practice of wrestlers, and is thus explained
by Mr. Holt White: " Large belts were worn with the buckle he-
fore, but for wrestling the buckle was turned behind, to give the
adversary a fairer grasp at the girdle. To turn the buckle behind
was therefore a challenge." M.

2:>4 MUCH ADO ACT v

and her death shall fall heavy on you : Let me heai
from you.

Claud. Well, I will meet you, so I may have
good cheer.

D. Pedro. What, a feast 1 a feast ?

Claud. I'faith, I thank him ; he hath bid me to
a calf's head and a capon ; the which if 1 do not
carve most curiously, say my knife's naught. —
Shall I not find a woodcock too.18

Bcne. Sir, your wit ambles well ; it goes easily.

D. Pedro. I'll tell thee how Beatrice prais'd thy
wit the other day. I said thou hadst a fine wit :
* True," says she, " a fine little one : " " No," said
I, " a great wit : " " Right," says she, " a great
gross one : " " Nay," said I, " a good wit : " " Just,"
said she, " it hurts nobody : " " Nay," said I, " the
gentleman is wise : " " Certain," said she," a wise gen-
tleman : " u " Nay," said I, " he hath the tongues : "
•* That I believe," said she, " for he swore a tiling
to me on Monday night, which he forswore on Tues-
day morning : there's a double tongue ; there's two
tongues." Thus did she, an hour together, trans-
shape thy particular virtues ; yet, at last, she con-
cluded with a sigh, thou wast the properest man in
Italy.

Claud. For the which she wept heartily, and said
she car'd not.

13 A woodcock was a common term for a foolish fellow ; that
savoury bird being supposed to have no brains. Clandio alludes
to the stratagem whereby Benedick has been made to fall in love.
Thus, Sir William Cecil, in a letter to Secretary Maitland, refer-
ring to an attempted escape of some French hostages • " I went
to lay some lime-twigs for certain woodcocks, which I have taken."
The proverbial simplicity of the woodcock is often celebrated b^
Shakespeare. See Twelfth Night. Act iv. sc. 2, note 7 u.

14 Wite gentleman was probablv used ironically for a silly fel
low ; as we still say a uise-ticre.

SC. L ABOUT NOTHING. 2»*

D. Pedro. Yea, that she did ; but yet, for all
that, an if she did not hate him deadly, she would
love him dearly : The old man's daughter told
us all.

Claud. All, all ; . and moreover, God saw him
when he was hid in the garden.

D. Pedro. But when shall we set the savage
bull's horns on the sensible Benedick's head ?

Claud. Yea, and text underneath, " Here dwells
Benedick the married man ! "

Bene. Fare you well, boy ; you know my mind
I will leave you now to your gossip-like humour :
you break jests as braggarts do their blades, which,
God be thanked, hurt not. — My lord, for your many
courtesies I thank you : I must discontinue your
company. Your brother, the bastard, is fled from
Messina : you have, among you, kill'd a sweet and
innocent lady. For my lord Lack-beard, there, he
and I shall meet ; and till then, peace be with him.

[Exit BENEDICK.

D. Pedro. He is in earnest.

Claud. In most profound earnest ; and, I'll war-
rant you, for the love of Beatrice.

D. Pedro. And hath challeng'd thee 1

Claud. Most sincerely.

D. Pedro. What a pretty thing man is, when he
goes in his doublet and hose, and leaves off his wit !

Claud. He is then a giant to an ape : but then
ie an ape a doctor to such a man.

D. Pedro. But, soft you ; let me be : pluck up,
my heart, and be sad ! '* Did he not say my
brother was fled ?

14 That is, " rouse thyself, my heart, and he prepared for sec
ous consequences."

236 MTTCH ADO ACT V

Enter DOGBERRY, VERGES, and Watchmen, vrith
CONRADE and BORACHIO.

Dogb. Come you, sir : if justice cannot tame
you, she shall ne'er weigh more reasons in her bal-
ance : Nay, an you be a cursing hypocrite once,1*
you must be look'd to.

D. Pedro. How now ! two of my brother's men
bound 1 Borachio, one ?

Claud. Hearken after their offence, my lord !

D. Pedro. Officers, what offence have these men
done 1

Dogb. Marry, sir, they have committed false re-
port ; moreover, they have spoken untruths ; second-
arily, they are slanders ; sixth and lastly, they have
belied a lady ; thirdly, they have verified unjust
things ; and, to conclude, they are lying knaves.

D. Pedro. First, I ask thee what they have donej
thirdly, I ask thee what's their offence ; sixth and
lastly, why they are committed ; and, to conclude,
what you lay to their charge 1

Claud. Rightly reasoned, and in his own division ;
and, by my troth, there's one meaning well suited.17

D. Pedro. Whom have you offended, masters,
that you are thus bound to your answer ? this learned
constable is too cunning to be understood : What's
your offence 1

Bora. Sweet prince, let me go no further to mine
answer : do you hear me, and let this count kill me
I have deceived even your very eyes : what your
wisdoms could not discover, these shallow fools have

" That is, once for all. See Act i. sc. 1, note 29, of this play.

H.

n That is, one meaning put into many different dresses ; th«
Prince having asked the same question in four modes of speech

SO. I, ABOUT NOTHINO. &}7

brought to light ; who, in the night, overheard trie
confessing to this man, how Don John, your brother,
incensed me to slander the lady Hero ; how you
were brought into the orchard, and saw me court
Margaret in Hero's garment ; how you disgrac'd
her, when you should marry her. My villainy they
have upon record ; which I had rather seal with my
death, than repeat over to my shame. The lady is
dead upon mine and my master's false accusation ;
and; briefly, I desire nothing but the reward of a
villain.

D. Pedro. Runs not this speech like iron through
your blood ?

Claud. I have drunk poison, whiles he utter'd it.

D. Pedro. But did my brother set thee on to this ?

Bora. Yea ; and paid me richly for the practice
oi it.

D. Pedro. He is compos'd and fram'd of treach

ery : —
And fled he is upon this villainy.

Claud. Sweet Hero ! now thy image doth appear
In the rare semblance that I lov'd it first.

Dogb. Come, bring away the plaintiffs : by this
time our sexton hath reform'd signior Leonato of
the matter. And, masters, do not forget to specify,
when time and place shall serve, that I am an ass.

Verg. Here, here comes master signior Leonato,
and the sexton too.

Re-enter LEONATO, ANTONIO, and the Sexton.

Leon. Which is the villain ? Let me see his eyes •
That when I note another man like him,
I may avoid him : Which of these is he 1

Bora. If you would know your wronger, look
on me.

238 MUCH ADO ACT T

Leon. Ait them the slave, that with thy breath

hast kill'd
Mine innocent child ?

Bora. Yea, even I alone.

Leon. No, not so, villain; thou beliest thyself:
Here stand a pair of honourable men,
A third is fled, that had a hand in it. —
I thank you, princes, for my daughter's death :
Record it with your high and worthy deeds :
'Twas bravely done, if you bethink you of it.

Claud. I know not how to pray your patience,
Yet I must speak : Choose your revenge yourself
Impose me 18 to what penance your invention
Can lay upon my sin : yet sinn'd I not,
But in mistaking.

D. Pedro. By my soul, nor I ;

And yet, to satisfy this good old man,
I would bend under any heavy weight
That he'll enjoin me to.

Leon. I cannot bid you bid my daughter live ;
That were impossible : but, I pray you both,
Possess M the people in Messina here
How innocent she died : and, if your love
Can labour aught in sad invention,
Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb,20
And sing it to her bones : sing it to-night. —
To-morrow morning come you to my house ;
And since you could not be my son-in-law,
Be yet my nephew: My brother hath a daughtei,

18 That is, impose upon me.

19 To possess anciently signified to inform, to make acquainted
with. So, in The Merchant of Venice : '• 1 have possess'd you/
grace of what I purpose."

*° It was the custom to attach, upon or near the tombs of cele
brated persons, a written inscription, either in prose or verse, gen
erally in praise of the deceased.

ABOUT NOTHING. 2&»

Almost the copy of my child that's dead,

And she alone is heir to both of us.21

Give her the right you should have given her cousin*

And so dies my revenge.

Claud. O, noble sir !

Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me.
I do embrace your offer ; and dispose
For henceforth of poor Claudio.

Leon. To-morrow, then, I will expect your com

ing:

To-night 1 take my leave. — This naughty man
Shall face to face be brought to Margaret,
Who, I believe, was pack'd 22 in all this wrong,
Hir'd to it by your brother.

Bora. No, by my soul, she was not ,

Nor knew not what she did, when she spoke to me ;
But always hath been just and virtuous,
In any thing that I do know by her.

Dogb. Moreover, sir, which, indeed, is not under
white and black, this plaintiff here, the offender, did
call me ass : I beseech you, let it be remember'd
in his punishment. And, also, the watch heard them
talk of one Deformed : they say, he wears a key
in his ear, and a lock hanging by it ; ?3 and borrows
money in God's name ; the which he hath us'd so
long, and never paid, that now men grow hard-heart-
ed, and will lend nothing for God's sake : Pi ay you,
examine him upon that point.

Leon. I thank thee for thy care and honest pains.

** It would seem that Antonio's son, mentioned in Act i. sc. 2.
tr.ust have died since the play began. H.

zz That is. combined ; an accomplice.

43 It was one of the fantastic fashions of Shakespeare's time to
wear a long hanging lock of hair dangling by the ear : it is often
mentioned hy contemporary writers, and ma} be observed in some
ancient portraits. The humour of this passage is in Dogberry's
supposing the lock to have a key to it

SJ40 ML JH ADO ACT V

Dogb. Your worship speaks like a most thankful
and reverend youth ; and I praise God foi you.
Leon. There's for thy pains.
Dogb. God save the foundation ! 24
Leon. Go : I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and
I thank thee.

Dogb. I leave an arrant knave with your worship ;
which, I beseech your worship, to correct yourself,
for the example of others. God keep your wor-
ship ; I wish your worship well : God restore you
to health. I humbly give you leave to depart ; and
if a merry meeting may be wish'd, God prohibit it.
— Come, neighbour.

[Exeunt DOGBERRY, VERGES, and Watchmen.
Leon. Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell.
Ant. Farewell, my lords : we look for you to-
morrow.

D. Pedro. We will not fail.

Claud. To-night I'll mourn with Hero.

[Exeunt Don PEDRO and CL AUDIO.

Leon. Bring you these fellows on ; we'll talk with

Margaret,

How her acquaintance grew with this lewd 2S fel-
low. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. LEONATO'S Garden.

Enter BENEDICK and MARGARET, meeting.

Rene. Pray thee, sweet mistress Margaret, de-
serve well at rny hands, by helping me to the speech
of Beatrice.

84 A phrase used by those who received alms at the gates of
religious houses. Dogberry probably designed to say, " God save
the founder."

K Here lewd has not the common meaning ; nor do 1 think it
can be used in the more uncommon sense of ignorant ; but rathei

9C. II. ABOUT NOTHING. 241

Marg. Will you, then, write me a-somiet in praise
of my beauty 1

Rene. In so high a style, Margaret, that no man
living shall come over it ; for, in most comely truth
thou deservest it.

Marg. To have no man come over me 7 why,
shall I always keep below stairs ? *

Bene. Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's
mouth ; it catches.

Marg. And yours as blunt as the fencer's foils,
which hit, but hurt not.

Bene. A most manly wit, Margaret ; it will not
hurt a woman : and so, I pray thee, call Beatrice.
I give thee the bucklers.2

Marg. Give us the swords ; we have bucklers of
our own.

Bene. If you use them, Margaret, you must put
in the pikes with a vice ; and they are dangerous
weapons for maids.

Marg. Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who, I
think, hath legs. [Exit MARGARET

Bene. And therefore will come.

Sings. The god of love,
That sits above,
And knows me, and knows me,
How pitiful I deserve, —

means knvrish, ungracious, naughty, which are the synonynes
used with it in explaining the Latin pravus in dictionaries of the
sixteenth century.

1 Theobald proposed to read, ahore stairs ; and the sense of the
passage seems to require some such alteration : perhaps a word has
been lost, and we may read. «< Why. shall I always keep them
below stairs ? " Of this passage Dr. Johnson says, " I suppose
every reader will find the meaning."

2 To give the bucklers, was to yield the victory ; whereby tht
•ictor got his adversary's shield, and kept his own. a

242 MUCH ADO ACT V

I mean, in singing ; but in loving, — Leander the
good swimmer, Troilus the first employer of pan-
ders, and a whole book full of these quondam car-
pet-mongers, whose names yet run smoothly in the
even road of a blank verse, why, they were never
so truly turned over and over as my poor self, in
love. Marry, I cannot show it in rhyme ; I have
tried ; I can find out no rhyme to " lady " but
" baby," an innocent rhyme ; for " scorn," " horn,"
a hard rhyme ; for " school," " fool," a babbling
rhyme; — very ominous endings: No, I was not
born under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot woo in
festival terms.3 —

Enter BEATRICE.

Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I call'1
thee?

Beat. Yea, signior; and depart when you bid me

Bene. O, stay but till then !

Beat. " Then " is spoken ; fare you well now : —
and yet, ere I go, let me go with that I came for ;
which is, with knowing what hath pass'd between
you and Claudio.

Bene. Only foul words; and thereupon I will kiss
thee.

Brat. Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind
is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome ; there-
fore I will depart unkiss'd.

Bcnc. Thou hast frighted the word out of his
right sense, so forcible is thy wit : But I must tell
thee plainly, Claudio undergoes 4 my challenge :
and either I must shortly hear from him, or I will

3 That is, in choice phraseology. So mine Host in The Merry
Wives of Windsor says of Fenton, " He speaks holiday." And
Hotspur, in 1 Henry IV. : " With many holiday and lady terms.'1

* Is under challenge, or now stands challenged, by me.

SC. II. ABOUT NOTHING. 243

subscribe liim a coward. And, I pray thee now, tell
me, for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall
iu love with me ?

Beat. For them all together ; which maintain'd
so politic a state of evil, that they will not admit
any good part to intermingle with them. But for
which of my good parts did you first suflfer love
for me 1

Bene. " Suffer love ! " a good epithet. I do suf-
fer love, indeed, for I love thee against my will.

Beat. In spite of your heart, I think : alas, poor
heart ! If you spite it for my sake, I will spite
it for yours ; for I will never love that which my
friend hates.

Bene. Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.

Beat. It appears not in this confession : there's
not one wise man among twenty that will praise
himself.

Bene. An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that liv'cl
in the time of good neighbours : & If a man do not
erect in this age his own tomb ere he dies, he shall
live no longer in monument than the bell rings, and
the widow weeps.

Beat. And how long is that, think you ?

Bene. Question : 8 — Why, an hour in clamour,
and a quarter in rheum : Therefore it is most expe-
dient for the wise (if Don Worm, his conscience,
find no impediment to the contrary) to be the trum-
pet of his own virtues, as I am to myself : So much
for praising myself, who, I myself will bear witness,
is praise-worthy. And now tell me, how doth your
cousin 1

6 That is, when men were not envious, hut every one guva
another his due.

8 This phrase seems equivalent to, — "You ask a qusstiot.
indeed ! " or, " That is the question ! ''

244 MUCH ADO ACT V

Beat. Very ill.
Bene. And how do you 1
Beat. Very ill too.

Bene. Serve God, love me, and mend : there will
I leave you too, for here comes one in haste.

Enter URSULA.

Urs. Madam, you must come to your uncle .
bonder's old coil 7 at home : it is proved, my lady
Hero hath been falsely accus'd, the prince and
Claudio mightily abus'd ; and Don John is the
author of all, who is fled and gone : Will you come
presently ?

Beat. Will you go hear this news, signior ?

Bene. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and
be buried in thy eyes ; 8 and, moreover, I will go
with thee to thy uncle's. \ExeurJt

SCENE III. The Inside of a Church.

Enter Don PEDRO, CLAUDIO, and Attendants,
with music and tapers.

Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato ?
Atten. It is, my lord.

7 That is, huge bustle, or stir. Old was much used as an aug-
mentative in familiar language, perhaps because things that are
old have given proof of strength, in having outstood the trial of
time. Thus, in The Merry Wives of Windsor, Act i. sc. 4
" Here will be an old abusing of God's patience, and the king's
English." So, likewise, in Dekker's comedy, " If this be not a
good Play the Devil is in it:" " We shall have old breaking of
.iccks " And in Le Bone Florence, quoted by Boswell : " Gode
oldt fyghtyiig was there." H.

8 Mr. Collier says, — "The Rev. Mr. Barry suggests to me,
that the words heart and eyes have in some way changed places
in the old copies "' H

SC. III. ABOUT NOTHING. 245

Claud. \Rcads.]

Epiiaph,

Done to death ' by slanderous tongues

Was the Hero that here lies :
Death, in guerdon 2 of her wrongs,

Gives her fame which never dies :
So the life, that died with shame,
Lives in death with glorious fame.

Hang thou there upon the tomb,
Praising her when I am dumb. —

Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn.

Song.

Pardon, goddess of the night,
Those that slew thy virgin knight ; s
For the which, with songs of woe,
Round about her tomb they go.

Midnight, assist our moan ;

Help us to sigh and groan,
Heavily, heavily :

Graves, yawn, and yield your dead,

Till death be uttered,
Heavily, heavily.4

1 This phrase occurs frequently in writers of Shakespea'-e a
time : it appears to be derived from the French phrase, fain
mourir.
* Reward.

3 Knight was a common poetical appellation of virgins in
Shakespeare's time ; probably in allusion to their being the vo-
larisls of Diana, whose chosen pastime was iu knightly sports.
Thus, in Fletcher's Two Nohle Kinsmen, Act v. sc. 1 :
" O ! sacred, shadowy, cold, and constant queen,
Abandoner of revels, mute, contemplative,
Sweet, solitary, white as chaste, and pure
As wind-fann'd snow, who to thy female knights
Allow'st no more blood than will make a blush,
Which is their order's robe." H.

« Wo here give the reading of the quarto, though we co»f«;ss

24t> MUCH ADO ACT V.

Claud. Now, unto thy bones good night !

Yearly will I do this rite.
D. Pedro. Good morrow, masters ; put you.

torches out :

The wolves have prey'd ; and look, the gentle day
Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about
Dapples the drowsy east with spots of grey.
Thanks to you all, and leave us : fare you well.
Claud. Good morrow, masters : each his several

way.
I). Pedro. Come, let us hence, and put on other

weeds ;
And then to Leonato's we will go.

Claud. And Hymen now with luckier issue speeds,
Than this, for whom we reuder'd up this woe !

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV. A Room in LEONATO'S House.

Enter LEONATO, ANTONIO, BENEDICK, BEATRICE,
URSULA, Friar, and HERO.

Friar. Did 1 not tell you she was innocent ?
Lion. So are the prince and Claudio, who accu&M

her
Upon the error that you heard debated :

c-Trselvps somewhat puzzled to find its meaning, and on the whole
rather doubtful whether it have any. The folio reads, — " Heav
eiiiv, heavenly/' which seems still more obscure or meaningless
Inn which Knight and Verplanck retain, explaining uttered to mean
put (nit or crpelled, a sense which it sometimes hears, and hear-
enlij to mean by the pou-er of heaven. In this case the sense
jumps well enough with what goes before, but it looks loo much
like making tho passage a hieroglyph. Steevens' explanation is,
" till songs of d'aath be uttered ; " which makes hearily appropri-
ate ; but then it gives a sense that can hardly be crushed into
agreement with what precedes. Difficult as the meaning is either
way, we keep to the reading that has the oldest authority. Mr.
Dyce justly urges against the reading of the folio, th;^1 it give* a

i<C. IV ABOUT NOTHING. 247

But Margaret was in some fault, for this ;
Although against her will, as it appears
In the true course of all the question.

Ant. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well.

Bene. And so am 1, being else by faith enforc'd
To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it.

Leon. Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all,
Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves ;
And, when I send for you, come hither mask'd :
The prince and Claudio promis'd by this hour
To visit me. — You know your office, brother ;
You must be father to your brother's daughter,
And give her to young Claudio. [Exeunt Ladies

Ant. Which I will do with confirm 'd countenance

Bene. Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think.

jFHar. To do what, signior ?

Bene. To bind ine, or undo me ; one of them.
Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior,
»Your niece regards me with an eye of favour.

Leon. That eye my daughter lent her : 'tis most
true.

Bene. And 1 do with an eye of love requite her.

Lean. The sight whereof, 1 think, you had from

me,

From Claudio, and the prince : But what's youi
will ?

Bene. Your answer, sir, is enigmatical :
But, for my will, my will is, your good will
May stand with ours, this day to be conjoin'd
In tiie estate of honourable marriage : —
In wliich, good Friar, 1 shall desire your help

passage in Hamlet. Act ii. sc. 2, thus : " And indeed, it joes so
lirarenly with my disposition, that this goodly frame the Earth
seems to me a steril promontory." And he thinks heavenly is at
certainly a misprint for licai-ily in one case as in the other. H-

248 MUCH ADO ACT V

Leon. My heart is with your liking.
Friar. And my help

Here come the prince and Ciaudio.

Enter Don PEDRO and CLADDIO, with Attendants

D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly.

Leon. Good morrow, prince ; good morrow

Ciaudio :

We here attend you: Are you yet determin'd
To-day to marry with my brother's daugiiter ?

Claud. I'll hold my mind, were she an Ethiope.

Leon. Call her forth, brother : here's the Friar
ready. [Exit ANTONIO

D. Pedro. Good morrow, Benedick : Why, what'a

the matter,

That you have such a February face,
So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness ?

Claud. I think he thinks upon the savage bull : ' — •
Tush ! fear not, man, we'll tip thy horns with gold,*
And all Europa shall rejoice at thee ;
As once Europa did at lusty Jove,
When he would play the noble beast in love.

Bene. Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low :
And some such strange bull leap'd your father's cow,
And got a calf in that same noble feat,
Much like to you, for you have just his bleat.

Re-enter ANTONIO, with the Ladies masked.

Claud. For this I owe you : here come othei

reckonings.
Which is the lady I must -^tize upon ?

Leon. This same is she, and I do give you her

1 SliU ilhuling to the passage quoted from The Spanish Trage
dy, in thr first scene of the play.

SC. IV. ABOUT NOTHING. 249

Claud. Why, then she's mine : Sweet, let me see
your face.

Leon. No, that you shall not, till you take her

hand
Bofore this Friar, and swear to marry her.

Claud. Give me your hand before this holy Friar
L am your husband, if you like of me.

Hero. And when I liv'd, I was your other wife :

[ Unmasking
And when you lov'd, you were my other husband.

Claud. Another Hero 1

Hero. Nothing certainer :

One Hero died defil'd ; but I do live,
And, surely as I live, I am a maid.

D. Pedro. The former Hero ! Hero that is dead !

Leon. She died, my lord, but whiles her slander
liv'd.

JFriar. All this amazement can I qualify ;
When, after that the holy rites are ended,
I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death :
Mean time, let wonder seem familiar,
And to the chapel let us presently.

Bene. Soft and fair, Friar. — Which is Beatrice 1

Beat. I answer to that name : [ Unmasking.] What
is your will ?

Bene. Do not you love me 7

Beat. Why, no ; no more than reason.

Bene. Why, then your uncle, and the prince, and
Claudio, have been deceived : they swore you did.

Beat. Do not you love me ?

Btrie. Troth, no ; no more than reason.

Beat. Why, then my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula,
Are much deceiv'd ; for they did swear you did.

Bene. They swore that you were almost sick for
me.

850 MUCH ADO ACT V

Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh dead
for me.

Bent. 'Tis no such matter : — Then, you do not
love me \

Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense.

Leon. Come, cousin, I arn sure you love the gen-
tleman.

Claud. And I'll be sworn upon't, that he loves

her;

For here's a paper, written in his hand,
A halting sonnet of his own pure brain,
Fashioned to Beatrice.

Hero. And here's another,

Writ in my cousin's hand, stolen from her pocket,
Containing her affection unto Benedick.

Bene. A miracle ! here's our own hands against
our hearts : — Come, 1 will have thee ; but, by this
light, I take thee for pity.

Beat. I would not deny you ; but, by this good
day, I yield upon great persuasion ; and, partly, to
save your life, for I was told you were in a con
sumption.

Bene. Peace ! I will stop your mouth.

[Kissing her.

D. Pedro. How dost thou, Benedick the married
man ?

Bene. I'll tell thee what, prince, a college of wit-
crackers cannot flout me out of my humour : Dost
thou think I care for a satire, or an epigram 1 No :
if a man will be beaten with brains, a' shall wear
nothing handsome about him. In brief, since I do
purpose to marry, I will think nothing to any pur-
pose that the world can say against it ; and there-
fore never flout at me for what I have said against
it ; for man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclu

SC. IV. ABOUT NOTHING. 251

sion. — For thy part, Claudio, I did think to have
beaten thee ; but, in that " thou art like to be my
kinsman, live unbruis'd, and love my cousin.

Claud. I had well hop'd, rhou wouldst have de-
nied Beatrice, that I might have cudgell'd thee out
of thy single life, to make thee a double dealer ;
which, out of question, thou wilt be, if my cousin
do not look exceeding narrowly to thee.

Bene. Come, come, we are friends : — Let's have
a dance ere we are married, that we may lighten
our own hearts, and our wives' heels.

Leon. We'll have dancing afterwards.

Bene. First, of my word ; therefore play, music.
— Prince, thou art sad ; get thee a wife, get thee a
wife : there is no staff more reverend than one tipped
tvith horn.3

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. My lord, your brother John is ta'en in flight,
And brought with armed men back to Messina.

Bene. Think not on liim till to-morrow : I'll de-
vise thee brave punishments for liim. — Strike up,
pipers ! [Dance. Exeunt.

1 Because.

3 Divers commentators think there is an allusion here to the
staff used in the ancient trial by wager of battle. But Benedick
is evidently regarding marriage as a staff, such a support as hu
man infirmity often needs in the walk of life. And because the
siatf was used to be tipped with horn, he must needs have a
final flout at the norn as emblematic of what he has all along
regarded as the destiny of married men. Chaucer's Soinpnoui
describes one of his friars as having a " scrippe and tipped staf,"
and he adds that •• his felaw had a staf tipped icith horn." H.

INTRODUCTION

A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.

A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM was entered in the nooks of
the Stationers' Company, by Thomas Fisher, October 8, 1600. In
ihe course of that year was published a quarto pamphlet of thirty-
two leaves, with a title-page reading as follows : " A Midsummer-
Night's Dream : As it hath been sundry times publicly acted by
the Right honourable, the Lord Chamberlain his servants. Written
by William Shakespeare. Imprinted at London for Thomas Fish
er, and are to be sold at his shop, at the Sign of the White Hart,
Fleetestreet : 1600." Another edition came out the same year,
" printed by James Roberts." The play was not printed again
till in the folio of 1623, where it stands the eighth in the list of
comeuifcs.

Fisher was a publisher, but not a printer ; Roberts was both ;
and the entering of the play to the former seems to argue that he
had the copy-right, and that the edition of the latter was unau-
thorized. Yet, from the agreement of this and the folio in certain
misprints, we are brought to infer that Heminge and Condell must
have taken Roberts' text in making up their copy for the press In
all three of the copies, however, the printing is remarkably clear
and accurate for the time, leaving little room for controversy as to
the true reading : probably none of the Poet's works has reached
us in a more perfect state. As an instance of the general cor
rectness, Knight aptly refers to the Prologue of the Interlude
which is carefully mispointed in the original copies ; thus showing
that either the proof was corrected by the Author, or the printing
was from a very clear manuscript. The main difference between
the qtiartos and the folio is, that the latter distinguishes the acts
the scenes are not marked in either.

Tli" j'lay is mentioned by Meres in his Pulladis Tamia ; which
ascertains that it was made before 151)8 : and a curious piece of
internal evidence renders it highly probable that the writing waj
afiu 16'J-l. One of the finest pa>sages in the play is in Act ii

£">(> A MIDSUMMER-NIGHTS DREAM.

sc. 1, where Titania describes the confusion of the seasons, and tho
evils thence resulting to man and beast ; and the description tallies
so well with the strange misbehaviour of the weather in 1594, as
to leave scarce any room for doubt as to the allusion. The disor-
derly conduct of the elements that year is thus recorded in Strvpe's
Annals from a discourse at York by Dr. King : " Remember thai
the spring was very unkind, by means of the abundance of rain
'.hat fell. Our July hath been like to a February ; our June even
as an April : so that the air must needs be infected." Again, after
recounting other signs of the divine wrath, the preacher adds, —
" Aud see, whether the Lord doth not threaten us much more, by
sending such unseasonable weather, and storms of rain among us :
which if we will observe, and compare it with what is past, w<a
may say that the course of nature is very much inverted. Our
years are turned upside down : our summers are no summers ; our
harvests are no harvests; our seed-times are no seed-times. For
a great space of time scant any day hath been seen that it hath
not rained." To the same eflect Mr. Halliwell has produced an
extract from the Diary of Dr. Simon Forman, showing how tli«
heavy rains

" Have every pelting river made so proud,
That they have overborne their continents."

So that we can hardly choose but conclude that the play, or ai
least the passage in question, must have been written after the
summer of 1594, when the Poet had passed his thirtieth year. And
surely, the truth of the allusion being granted, all must admit that
passing events and matters of fact were never turned to better
account in the service of poetry.

Another passage has been often quoted and discussed as bear*-
ing upon the matter in hand. We confess ourselves quite unable
to make any thing out of it for that purpose. In Act v. sc. 1,
when the parties interested are considering what entertainment
shall be made choice of to grace the forthcoming nuptials, the
Master of the Revels produces " a brief how many sports are
ripe," the third item of which is —

" The thrice three Muses mourning for the death
Of learning, late deceased in beggary."

Some have regarded this as pointing to the death of Spenser
which occurred in 1599 ; others, as referring to Spenser's Tears
of the Muses, which appeared in 1591. The former, of course,
could not be the case but upon the supposal that the lines were
written in at a revisal, which would rule them out of the question
as to when the play was lirst made. The latter might indeed
pass, but for what Theseus says of the performance there desig

INTRODUCTION. '257

" That 15 some satire, keen and cnt.eal,
Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony : ''

a description to which The Tears of the Muses nowise correspc nds.
Mr. Knight suggests that the passage may refer to Harvey's " keen
and critical," but ungenerous attack upon Greene, soon after the
death of the latter in 1592 : which suggestion, however, he does
not himself consider of much value, wherein we cordially agree
with him.

Upon the whole, therefore, the best conclusion we can form is,
that the play was written somewhere between 1594 and 1598. Yet
we have to concur with Mr. Verplaiick, that there are some pas-
sages which relish strongly of an earlier period ; while again there
are others that with the prevailing sweetness of the whole have
such an intertwisting of nerve and vigour, and such an energetic
compactness of thought and imagery, mingled occasionally with
the deeper tonings of " years that bring the philosophic mind," as
to argue that they were wrought into the structure of the play not
long before it came from the press. The part of the Athenian
lovers certainly has much that would scarce do credit even to
such a boyhood as Shakespeare's must have been. On the other
hand, there is a large philosophy in Theseus' discourse of " the
lunatic, the lover, and the poet," a noble sagacity in his reasons
for preferring the " tedious brief scene of young Pyramus and his
love Thisbe," and a bracing freshness and inspiriting hilarity in
the short dialogue of the chase, such as the Poet's best years need
not blush to have been the father of. Perhaps, however, what
geem the defects of the former, the far-fetched conceits and arti-
ficial elegances, were wisely designed, in order to invest the part
with such an air of dreaminess and unreality as would better sort
with the scope and spirit of the piece, and preclude a dispropor-
tionate resentment of some naughty acts into which those love
bewildered frailties are betrayed. So that we cannot quite go
along with the judicious critic last mentioned, in thinking the part
in question to have been the remains of a juvenile effort, with
which, after a long interval, the heroic personages and some of the
fairy scenes were amalgamated or interwoven.

It is hardly to be supposed that this play could have been very
successful on the boards. Though unsurpassed and unsurpassable
in its kind, such a preponderance of the poetical over the dramatic
could scarce hare been greatly relished by the same audiences and
in tl:e same places where those performances so intensely crowded
with dramatic life made their Author •' the npplauso. delight, the
wonder of our stage." Notwithstanding, as evidence that the play
enjoyed a good share of fame, we may quote a passage from Sir
Gregory Nonsense, by Taylor the Water-poet in 1622 : " 1 say
it is applausetully written, and commended to posterity, in the
Midsummer-Night's Dream. — If we offcnd, it is with our ^ood

258 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.

will : We come with no intent but to offend, and show our simple
skill." And a manuscript has been discovered in the Library at
Lambeth Palace, showing that the play was represented, Septem
ber 27, 1631, at the house of John Williams, Bishop of Lincoln ;
the same great but by no means faultless man who was so harshly
treated by Laud, and gave the King such crooked counsel in the
case of Stratford, and spent his last years in mute sorrow at the
death of his royal master, and had his life written by the wise,
witty, good Bishop Hacket.

Some hints for the part of Theseus and Hippolyta appear to hav«
been taken from The Knightes Tale of Chaucer, as may be seen by
the extracts given in our notes. Chaucer's Legend of Thisbe of
Kabilou, and Golding's translation of the same story from Ovid,
probably furnished the matter for the Interlude. So much as re-
lates to Bottom and his fellows evidently came fresh from nature as
she had passed under the Poet's eye. The linking of these clowns
in with the ancient tragic tale of Pyramus and Thisbe, so as to draw
the latter within the region of modern farce, thus travestying the
classic into the grotesque, is not less original than droll. How far
it may have expressed the Poet's judgment touching the theatrical
doings of his time, perhaps were a question more curious than
profitable. The names of Oberon, Titania, and Robin Goodfel-
low, were made familiar by the surviving relics of Gothic and
Druidical mythology ; as were also many particulars in their hab-
its, mode of life, and influence in human affairs. Hints and allu-
sions, scattered through many preceding writers, might be produced,
showing that the old superstition had been grafted into the body
of Christianity, where it had shaped itself into a regular system
go as to mingle in the lore of the nursery, and hold an influeptial
place in the popular belief. Some features, or rather some re-
ports of this ancient Fairydom are thus translated into poetr> by
Chaucer in The Wif of Bathes Tale :

" In olde dayes of the King Artour,
Of which that Bretons speken gret honour,
All was this lond fulfilled of faerie ;
The Elf-quene, with hire joly compagnie,
Danced ful oft in many a grene mede.
This was the old opinion as I rede ;
I speke of many hundred yeres ago ;
But now can no man see non elves mo,
For now the grete charitee and prayeres
Of limitoures and other holy freres,
That serchen every land and every streme
As thikke as motes in the sonne-beme,
This maketh that ther ben no faeries -
For ther as wont to walken was an elf,
Ther walketh now the limitour himself."

INTRODUCTION. 259

But, though Chaucer and others had spoken about the fairy na-
tion, it was for Shakespeare to let them speak for themselves : until
ne clothed their substances in apt forms, their thoughts in fitting
words, they but floated unseen and unhenrd in the mental atmos-
phere of his father-land. But for him, we mijlit indeed have
heard of them, but not have known them. So thai Mr. Hallam is
quite right in regarding A Midsummer-Night's Dream as " alto-
gether original in one of the most beautiful conceptions that ever
visited the mind of a poet — the fairy machinery. A few before
lim," he adds, " had dealt, in a vulgar and clumsy manner, with
oopular superstitions ; but the sportive, beneficent, invisible popu-
lation of air and earth, long since established in the creed of child-
hood, and of those simple as children, had never for a moment
been blended with ' human mortals,' among the personages of the
drama." How much Shakespeare did as the friend and saviour
of those sweet airy frolickers of the past, from the relentless mow
ings of Time, has been charmingly set forth by a poet of our own
day. We af.ude to Thomas Mood's delightful poem, The Pica
of the Midsummer Fairies.

Coleridge says he is " convinced that Shakespeare availed him-
self of the title of this play in his own mind, and worked upon it
as a dream throughout." And elsewhere he remarks that " the
whole of A Midsummer-Night's Dream is one continued specimen
of the dramatized lyrical.7' These observations, both of which spring
out of one and the same idea, undoubtedly hit the true centre and
life of the performance ; and on no other ground can its merits be
rightly estimated. This it is that explains and justifies the dis
tiuctive features of the work, such as the constant subordination
of the dramatic elements, and the free playing of the action un-
checked by the laws and conditions of outward fact and reality
A sort of lawlessness is indeed the very law of the piece : the
actual order of things giving place to the spontaneous issues and
capricious turnings of the mind ; the lofty and the low, the beau-
:ful and the grotesque, the worlds of fancy and of fact, all the
strauge diversities that enter into " such stuff as dreams are made
of," every where running and frisking together, and interchanging
their functions and properties : so that the whole seems confused,
flitting, shadowy, and indistinct, as fading away in the remoteness
and fascination of moonlight. The very scene is laid in a sort
of dream-land, called Athens indeed, but only because Athens was
the greatest beehive of beautiful visions then known ; or rather, it
lies in an ideal forest near an ideal Athens, — a forest peopled
with sportive elves, and sprites, and fairies, feeding on moonlight,
and music, and fragrance : a place where nature herself is super-
natural ; where every thing is idealized, even to the sunbeams and
the soil ; where the vegetation proceeds by enchantment ; and
where there is magic in the germination of the seed and sec re too
of the sap

260 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DHL AM.

Great strei.gth of passion or of volition would obviously be
out of place in such a performance : it has room but for love, and
beauty, and delight, — for whatsoever is most poetical in nature
and fancy ; and therefore for none but such tranquil stirrings of
thought and feeling as ma}' flow out in musical expression : any
tuggings of mind or heart, that should ruffle and discompose the
smoothnesses of lyrical division, would be quite out of keeping with
a dream, especially a midsummer-night's dream, and would be very
apt to turn it into something else. The characters, therefore, are
appropriately drawn with light, delicate, vanishing touches ; some
of them being dreamy and sentimental, some gay and frolicsome,
an 1 others replete with amusing absurdities, while all are alike
dipped in fancy or sprinkled with humour. And for the same rea
sou the tender distresses of unrequited or forsaken love here touch
not the moral sense at all, but only at most our human sympathies ;
for love is represented as but the effect of some visual enchant-
ment, which the king of fairies can undo or suspend, reverse or
inspire, at pleasure. The lovers all seem creatures of another
mould than ourselves, with barely enough of the fragrance of hu-
manity about them to interest our human feelings, and whose
deepest sorrow wears upon its face a flush and play of inward
happiness. Even the heroic personages are fitly represented with
unheroic aspect : we see them but in their unbendings, when they
have daffed their martial robes aside, to lead the train of day
dreamers, and have a nuptial jubilee. In their case great care
and art were required, to make the play what it has been censured
for being, — that is, to keep the dramatic sufficiently under, and
lest the law of a part should override the law of the whole. So,
likewise, in the transformation of Bottom and the dotage of Tita-
nia, all the resources of fancy were needed, to prevent the unpo
etical from getting the upper hand, and thus swamping the genius
of the piece. As it is, what words can fitly express the effect
with which the extremes of the grotesque and the beautiful are
here brought together ; and how, in their meeting, each passes into
the other without leaving to be itself? What an inward quiet
laughing springs up and lubricates the fancy at Bottom's droll
confusion of his two natures, when he talks, now as an ass, now
as a man, and anon as a mixture of both, his thoughts running at
(he same time upon honey-bags and thistles, the charms of music
*ud of g'»od dry oats! Who but another nature could have so
interfused the lyrical spirit, not onlv with, but into and through a
ueries or cluster of the most irregular and fantastical drolleries ?
But indeed this embracing and kissing of the most ludicrous and
the most poetical, the enchantment under which they meet, and lh<
airy, dream-like grace that hovers over their union, are altogether
inimitable and indescribable. In this unparalleled wedlock the
very diversity of the elements ^eems to link them the closer, while
this linking in turn heighten* u.at diversity; Titania being there' >;

INTRODUCTION. ()l

drawn on to finer issues of soul, and Bottom to larger expression*
of stomach. The union is so very improbable as to seem quite
natural : we cannot conceive how any thing- but a dream could
possibly have married thing's so contrary ; ami ihat they could
not have come tog-ether save in a dream, is a sort of proof that
they were dreamed tog-ether.

And so, throughout, the execution is in strict accordance with
the plan : the play, from beginning to end, is a perfect festival of
whatsoever dainties and delicacies poetry may command. — a con-
tinued revelry and jollification of soul, where the understanding
;s put asleep that fancy may run riot, and wanton in unrestrained
carousal. The bringing together of four parts so dissimilar as
those of the Duke and his warrior Bride, of the Athenian ladies
and their lovers, of the amateur players and their woodland re-
hearsal, and of the fairy bickerings and overreaching ; and the
carrying of them severally to a point where they all meet and
blend in Ivrical respondence ; — all this is done in the same free
dom from the rules that govern the drama of character and life.
Each group of persons is made to parody itself into concert with
the others, while the frequent iiitershootings of fairy influence lift
the whole into the softest regions of fancy. At last the Interlude
conies in as an amusing burlesque 011 all that has gone before, as
in our troubled dreams we sometimes end with a dream that we
have been dreaming, and our perturbations sink to rest in the sweet
assurance that they were but the phantoms and unrealities of a
busy sleep. Ulrici, — whose criticisms generally appear too some-
thing, perhaps too profound, to be of much use, — rightly consid-
ers this reciprocal parody the basis and centre where the several
parts coalesce and round themselves into an organic whole. Yet,
is if this vital coherence of all the parts were not enough, th«
several threads are collected and bound together ; the nuptial do-
ings at the close winding up whatsoever might else seem scattered
and uiicomposed, thus setting a formal knot upon an unity that
was real before.

Partly for the reasons already stated, and partly for others thai
we scarce know how to state, A Midsummer-Night's Dream is a
most effectual poser to criticism. Besides that its very essence is
irregularity, so that it cannot be fairly brought to the test of rules,
die play forms a complete class by itself : literature has noihii.g
else like it ; nothing therefore with which it may be compared and
t.i merits adjusted. For the Poet has here exercised powers ap-
parently differing even in kind, not only from those of any othe
writer, but from those shown in any other of his own writings :
elsewhere, if his characters be penetrated with the ideal, their where-
about lies in the actual, and the work may in some measure be
judged by that life which it claims to represent : here the where,
about is as ideal as the characters ; all is in the land of di earns
— a place for dreamers, not for critics. The whole tiling, mor«-

262 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.

over, swarms with enchantment : all the sweet witchery of Shake
speare's sweet genius is concentrated into it, yet disposed with so
subtle and cunning a hand, that we can as little grasp it as <ret
away from it : its charms, like those of a summer evening, are such
as we may see and feel, hut cannot locate or define ; cannot say
they are here, or they are there : the moment we yield ourselves
up to them, they seem to be ever)- where ; the moment we go to
master them, they seem to he nowhere.

Though, as already remarked, the characterization he here quite
secondary and subordinate, yet the play probably has as much of
character as is compatible with so much of poetry. Theseus has
been well described as a classic personage drawn with romantic
features and expression. The name is Greek ; but the nature and
spirit are essentially Gothic. Nor does the abundance of classic
allusion and imagery in the story call for any qualification here,
because whatsoever is taken is thoroughly steeped in the efficacy
of the taker. This species of anachronism, common to all mod-
ern writers before and during the age of Shakespeare, seems to
have risen in part from a comparative dearth of classical learning,
which left men to contemplate the heroes of antiquity under the
forms into which their own minds and manners were cast. Thus
all their delineations became informed with the genius of romance :
the condensed grace of ancient character gave way to the enlarge-
ment of chivalrous magnanimity and honour, with its " high-erect-
ed thoughts seated in the heart of courtesy." Such appears to
have been the no less beautiful than natural result of the " small
Latin and less Greek," so often smiled and sometimes barked at,
by those more skilled in the ancient languages than in the mother-
tongue of nature.

Puck is apt to remind one of Ariel, though they have little in
cokiinon. save that both are supernatural, and therefore live no
longer in the faith of reason. Puck is no such sweet-mannered,
tender-hearted, music-breathing spirit, there are no such Delicate
iuterweavings of a sensitive moral soul in his nature, he has no
such soft touches of compassion and pious awe of goodness, as
link the dainty Ariel in so sweetly with our best sympathies.
Though Goodfellow by name, his powers and aptitudes for mis-
chief are qu te unchecked by any gentle relentings of fellow-feel-
ing: in whatsoever distresses he finds or occasions he sees much
to laugh at, nothing to pity : to tease and vex poor human suffer-
ers, and then to think " what fools these mortals he,'' is pure fun
to him ; and if he do not cause pain, it is that the laws of Fairy
dom forbid him, not that he wishes it uncaused. Vet, notwith-
standing his mad pranks, we cannot choose but love him, and let
our fancy frolic with him, his sense of the ludicrous is so exquisite
be is so fond of sport, and so quaint and merry in his mischief*
while at the same time such is the strange web of his nature as to
keep him morally innocent. It would seem that some of the trick'

INTRODUCTION. 208

once ascribed to nim were afterwards transferred to witchcraft.
Well do we remember a black spot in the bottom of the old chum
over which we have toiled away many an autumnal evening. A
red-hot horse-shoe had been thrown in to disbewitch the cream,
and had left its mark there. Report told how a certain old woman
of the neighbourhood was fretting and groaning the next morning
with a terrible burn. Of course she was burnt out of the churn,
and, she away, the butter soon came.

But of all the characters in this play. Bottom descends by fir
the most into the realities of common experience, and is therefore
much the most accessible to the grasp of prosaic and critical fin
gets. It has been thought the Poet meant him as a satire on the
envies and jealousies of the green-room, as they had fallen under
his keen ye', kindly eye. Surely the qualities uppermost in Bot-
om had forced themselves on his notice long before he entered
the green-room. It is indeed curious to observe the solicitude of
this 1'roteau actor, and critic, and connoisseur, that all the parts
of the forthcoming play may have the benefit of his execution ;
how great is his concern lest, if he be tied to one, the others may
be " overdone or come tardy off; " and how he would fain engross
them all to himself, to the end of course that all may succeed to
the honour of the stage and the pleasure of the spectators. But
Bottom's metamorphosis is the most potent drawer-out of his ge-
nius. The sense of his new head-dress stirs up all the manhood
within him, and lifts his character into ludicrous greatness at once.
Hitherto the seeming a man has made him content to be little bet-
ter than an ass ; but no sooner does he seem an ass than he tiies
his best to be a mail ; and all his efforts that way only go to ap-
prove the perfect fitness of his present seeming to his former being

Schlegel ingeniously remarks, that" the droll wonder of Bottom's
metamorphosis is merely the translation of a metaphor in its iit
eral sense." The turning a figure of speech thus into visible form
is a thing only to be thought of or imagined ; so that probably no
attempt to paint or represent it to the senses can ever succeed.
We can bear, we often have to bear, that a man should seem an
ass to the mind's eye ; but not that he ,hould seem so to the eye
of the body. A child, for example, takes great pleasure in fan-
cying the stick he rides to be a horse, when he would be frightened
oui ol his wits were the stick to quicken and expand into an ac-
tual h^rse. In like manner, we often delight in indulging fancies
and giving names, when we should be shocked, were our fancies
to harden into facts : we enjoy visions in our sleep, that would only
disgust or terrify us, should we wake up and find them solidified
into things. The effect of Bottom's transformation can scarce be
much otherwise, if brought upon the stage. Delightful to think,
it is intolerable to look upon : exquisitely true in idea, it has no
truth, or even verisimilitude, when reduced to fact; so that, how-
ever gladly imagination receives it, sense and understanding revolt
at it

THESEUS, Duke of Athens.

EGECS, Father to Hermia.

LYSANDER, ) . , ... „

DEMETRIUS, JinlovewithHennia-

PHILOSTRATE, Master of the Revels to Theseus.

QUINCE, a Carpenter.

SNUG, a Joiner.

BOTTOM, a Weaver.

FLUTE, a Bellows-mender.

SNOUT, a Tinker.

STARVELING, a Tailor.

HiPPOLYTA, Queen of the Amazons.
HERMIA, in love with Lysander.
HELENA, in love with Demetrius.

OBERON, King of the Fairies.
TITANIA, Queen of the Fairies.
PUCK, or ROBIN-GOODFELLOW, a Fairy.
PEAS-BLOSSOM, \

COBWEB, I r< • • .

,, > tames.

MOTH, f

MUSTARD-SEED, )

PTRAMDS, -\

THISBE, /

WALL, > Characters in the Interlude.

MOONSHINE, V

LION, J

Other Fairies attending their King and Queer
Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyta.

SCENE, Athens and a Wood not far from it

A

MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.

ACT I.

SCENE I. Athens.
A Room in the Palace of THESEUS.

Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PHILOSTRATK,
and Attendants.

The. Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial houi
Draws on apace ; four happy days bring in
Another moon : but O ! methinks, how slow
This old moon wanes ! she lingers my desires,
Like to a step-dame, or a dowager,
Long withering out a young man's revenue.

Hip. Four days will quickly steep themselves in

nights ;

Four nights will quickly dream away the time ;
And then the moon, like to a silver bow
New-bent in heaven, shall behold the night
Of our solemnities.

The. Go, Philostrate,

Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments ;
Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth :
Turn melancholy forth to funerals,
The pale companion is not for our pomp.

[Exit PHILOSTRATK
Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword,

266 A MIDSUMMER ACT I

And won thy love, doing thee injuries ;

But I will wed thee in another key,

With pomp, with triumph, and with revelling.

Enter EGEUS, HERMIA, LYSANDER, and DEMETRIUS.

Egc. Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke ! '] 0
The. Thanks, good Egeus : What's the news

with thee 1

F,ge. Full of vexation come I, with complaint
Against my child, my daughter Hermia. —
Stand forth, Demetrius : — My noble lord,
This man hath my consent to marry her. —
Stand forth, Lysander ; — and, my gracious duke,
This man hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child :

1 Steevens set this down as " a misapplication of a modem
title." If it be such, Shakespeare is not responsible for it, as
Theseus is repeatedly called duk in Chaucer's Knight's Tale, to
which the Poet was evidently indebted for some of the material
of this play. But indeed this application of duke to the heroes
of antiquity was quite common ; the word being from the Latin
dux, which means a chief or leader of any sort. Thus in 1 Chron-
icles, i. 51, we have a list of " the dukes of Edom." We will sub-
join the opening of The Knight's Tale, as illustrating both th«
matter in hand and the general scope of the Poet's obligations ill
that quarter :

" Whilom, as olde stories tellen us,

Ther was a duk that highte Theseus.

Of Athenes he was lord and governour,

And in his time swiche a conquerour,

That greter was ther non under the sonne.

Ful many a riehe contree had he wonne.

What with his wisdom and his chevalrie,

He conquerd all the regne of Feminie,

That whilom was ycleped Scythia ;

And wedded the fresshe queue Ipolita,

And brought hire home with him to his coiitree

With mochel glorie and gret solempnitee,

And eke hire yonge suster Emelie.

And thus with victorie and with melodiw

Let I this worthy duk to Athenes ride,

Aud all his host in annes him beside " H.

sc. i. NIGHT'S DREAM. '267

Thou, thou, Lysander, them hast given hei rhymes,

And interchang'd love tokens with rny child :

Thou hast by moon-light at her window sung,

With feigning voice, verses of feigning love ;

And stol'n the impression of her fantasy

With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits,

Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweet-meals; messengers

Of strong prevailment in unharden'd youth :

With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's heart :

Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me,

To stubborn harshness: — And, my gracious duke,

Be it so she will not here before your grace

Consent to marry with Demetrius, ~

I beg the ancient privilege of Athens ;

As she is mine, I may dispose of her ;

Which shall be either to this gentleman,

Or to her death ; according to our law

Immediately provided in that case.

The. What say you, Hermia ? be advis'd, fair

maid :

To you your father should be as a god ;
One that compos'd your beauties ; yea, and one
To whom you are but as a form in wax,
By him imprinted, and within his power fa &
To leave the figure, or disfigure it.
Demetrius is a worthy gentleman.

Her. So is Lysander.

The. In himself he is :

But, in this kind, wanting your father's voice,
The other must be held the worthier.

Her. I would my father look'd but with my eyes !

The. Rather your eyes must with his judgment
look.

Her. I do entreat your grace to pardon me.
I know not by what power 1 am made bold ;

268 A MIDSUMMER ACT 1

Noi how it may concern my modesty,:-,,
In such a presence here, to plead my thought* :
But I beseech your grace that I may know
The worst that may befall me in this case,
If I refuse to wed Demetrius.

The. Either to die the death, or to abjure
For ever the society of men.
Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires,
Know of your youth, examine well your blood,
Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice,
You can endure the livery of a nun ;
For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd,
To live a barren sister all your life,
Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon.
Thrice blessed they, that master so their blood,
To undergo such maiden pilgrimage:
But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd,
Than that which, withering on the virgin thorn,
Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness.

Her. So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord.
Ere I mil yield my virgin patent up
Unto his lordship ; whose unwished yoke 3
My soul consents not to give sovereignty.

T/ie. Take time to pause : and, by the next new

moon,
The sealing-day betwixt my love and me

* This reading was first proposed by Capell, that of the old
copies being earthUer happy. As in the ancient spelling the pos-
itive would be eartlilif happie,\\. is easy to see how the r may have
been transposed ; such being in fact a very common error of the
press. H.

3 Lordship was anciently used for authority, rulr. Thus Wii-k-
liffe's New Testament has lordship where the received version has
dominion. — The folio of 163i inserted to before whose unwMea
yoke , which reading Mr. Collier adopts on the ground that to \t
Decessary to the sense, forgetting, apparently, how common it is*
for give to be followed by two objectives H.

sc. i. NIGHT'S DREAM. 269

For everlasting bond of fellowship; —
Upon that day either prepare to die,
For disobedience to your father's will ;
Or else to wed Demetrius, as he would ;
Or on Diana's altar to protest,
f .. For aye, austerity and single life. /

Dem. Relent, sweet Hermia : — And, Lysauder

yield
Thy crazed title to my certain right.

Lys. You have her father's love, Demetrius ;
Let me have Hermia's : do you marry him.

Ege. Scornful Lysander ! true, he hath my love^
And what is mine my love shall render him ;
And she is mine ; and all my right of her
I do estate unto Demetrius.

Lys. I am, my lord, as well deriv'd as he,
As well possess'd ; my love is more than his ;
My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd,
If not with vantage, as Demetrius' ;
And, which is more than all these boasts can be,
I am belov'd of beauteous Hermia :
Why should not I, then, prosecute my right ?
Demetrius, I'll avouch it to his head,
Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena,
And won her soul ; and she, sweet lady, dotes.
Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry,
Upon this spotted 4 and inconstant man. / / 4/

The. I must confess, that I have heard so much,
And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof;
But, being over-full of self-affairs,
My mind did lose it. But, Demetrius, come ;

4 Spotted is wicked, the opposite of spotless. So in Caven-
dish's Metrical Visions : " The spotted queen causer of all this
strife ; " and again : " Sjwtted with pride, viciousnes, and cm

270 A MIDSUMMER ACT I

And come, Egeus : you shall go with me ;
I have some private schooling for you both. —
For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself
To fit your fancies to your father's will ;
Or else the law of Athens yields you up
(Which by no means we may extenuate)
To death, or to a vow of single life. —
Come, my Hippolyta : what cheer, my love 1 —
Demetrius, and Egeus, go along :
I must employ you in some business
Against our nuptial ; and confer with you
Of something nearly that concerns yourselves.

Ege. With duty and desire we follow you.

[Exeunt THE., HIP., EGE., DEM., and Train,

Lys. How now, my love ? Why is your cheek

so pale 1
How chance the roses there do fade so fast ?

Her. Belike, for want of rain ; which I could well
Beteem 6 them from the tempest of mine eyes.

Lys. Ah me ! for aught that I could ever read,
Could ever hear by tale or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth :
But, either it was different in blood ; —

Her. O cross ! too high to be enthrall'd to low !

* Steevens says beteem is used in the North of England foi
pour out, and thinks it may have that sense here. But it is more
probably used in the sense, not uncommon in the Poet's time, of
pirnut, afford ; as in The Faery Queene, B. ii. Can. 8, stan. 19 •
11 So would I, said th' Enchaunter, glad and faine
Beteeme to you this sword, you to defend,
Or ought that els your honour might maintaine."
Likewise, in Golding's Ovid :

" Yet could he not beteemt

The shape of anie other bird than egle for to seeme.
The passage in Hamlet is doubtless familiar to all : " So loving to
my mother, that he might not beteem the winds of heaven visit lie;
face too roughly." u

so t. NIGHT'S DREAM. 271

Lys. Or else misgraffed, in respect of years ; —

Her. O spite ! too old to be engag'd to young !

Lys. Or else it stood upon the choice of
friends ; —

Her. O hell ! to choose love by another's eye !

Lys. Or, if there were a sympathy in choice,
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it ;
Making it momentany 6 as a sound,
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream ;
Brief as the lightning in the collied 7 night,
That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth,
And ere a man hath power to say, — Behold!
The jaws of darkness do devour it up :
So quick bright things come to confusion.

6 An old form of momentary. Milton seems to have reinem
bered this passage in his account of the " innumerable disturbances
on earth through female snares," Paradise Lost, Book x. :

" For either

He never shall find out fit mate, hut such
As some misfortune brings him. or mistake ;
Or whom lie wishes must shall seldom gain.
Through her perverseness, but shall see her gain'h
By a far worse ; or, if she love, withheld
By parents ; or his happiest choice too late
Shall meet, already link'd and wedlock-bound
To a fell adversary, his hate or shame :
Which infinite calamity shall cause
To human life, and household peace confound."
It did not fall within Milton's purpose to consider that poor wo'nan
is a sufferer in these disturbances as well as man : he vii ws her
as the cause, not as the victim, of these mischief's; whereas Shake-
speare regards both sexes as subject to them by an edict of Dea
tiny, ii.

7 A word derived from the collieries, and meaning smutted or
black. Shakespeare found few words so far gone but he could
regenerate them with his poetical baptism. — Spleen, in the next
line, means a fit of passion or riolence ; as in King John, Act ii
gc. 2:

" This union will do more than battery can,
To our fast-closed gates ; for at this match,
With swifter spteeri than powder can enforce,
The mouth o'' passage shall we fling wide ope,
And give you entrance ''

272 A MIDSUMMER ACT I

Her. If, then, true lovers have been ever cross'd,
It stands as an edict in destiny :
Then, let us teach our trial patience,
Because it is a customary cross,
As due to love as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs,
Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's8 followers.

Lys. A good persuasion : therefore, heai me

Hennia

1 have a widow aunt, a dowager
Of great revenue, and she hath no child :
From Athens is her house remote seven leagues \
And she respects me as her only son. ' c? &
There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee ;
And to that place the sharp Athenian law
Cannot pursue us : If thou lov'st me, then,
Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night ;
And in the wood, a league without the town,
Where I did meet thee once with Helena,
To do observance to a morn of May,9
There will I stay for thee.

8 The Poet often uses fancy for love. So, afterwards, in thii
play : " Fair Helena in fancy following me." And again, in the
celebrated passage applied to Queen Elizabeth : " In maiden
meditation fanctj-free."

9 Here again we may perceive that Shakespeare and Chance
have been together :

" Thus passeth yere by yere, and day by day,
Till it felle ones in a morwe of May,
That Emelie, that fayrer was to sene
Than is the lilie upon his stalke grene,
And fressher than the May with floures newe,
(For with the rose colour strof hire hewe ;
I n'ol which was the finer of hem two,)
Er it was day, as she was wont to do,
She was arisen, and all redy dight.
For May wol have no slogardie a-night.
The seson priketh every gentil herte,
And niaketh him out of his slepe to sterte,
And saylh, arise, and do thin observance."

Touching- the rites of this ancient holiday, — a time that inspired

the wraph-HHiIftd Chawer u> siiisr.

•ji; i. NIGHT'S DREAM. 2713

Her. My good Lysander !

I swear to thee, by Cupid's strongest bow ;
By his best arrow with the golden head ; I
By the simplicity of Venus' doves ;
By that which knitteth souls, and prospers loves ;
And by that fire which burn'd the Carthage queeii,
When the false Trojan under sail was seen ;
By all the vows that ever men have broke,
In number more than ever women spoke ; —
In that same place thou hast appointed me,
To-morrow truly will I meet with thee.

Lys. Keep promise, love : Look, here comci
Helena.

Enter HELENA. -
/f J
Her. God speed fair Helena ! Whither away ?

HeL Call you me fair ? that fair again unsay.
Demetrius loves you, fair : 10 O happy fair !
Your eyes are lode-stars ; " and your tongue's sweet
air

" O Maye, with all thy floures and thy grene,
Right welcome be thou. faire freshe May,
I hope that 1 some grene here getten may," —
Siowe informs us how our ancestors were wont to go out into " the
eweet meadows and green woods, there to rejoice their spirits with
the beauty and savour of sweet flowers, and with the harmony of
I irds praising God in their kind." But Stubbs. the atrabilious Pu-
ritan, in his Anatomic of Abuses, speaks very differently : he
accounts for the delight others take in the season thus : "And nc
marvel, for there is a great lord present among them, as superin
tendent over their pastimes and sports, namely, Saihau, Prince of
Hell " The spirit of the olden time, however, seems to have re-
vived in the great Bard who hath lately joined his brethren. See
Wordsworth's Odes to May. H.

10 Fair for fairness, beauty : quite common in writers of Shake-
speare's age.

11 The lode-star is the leading or guiding star, that is, the polai
ttar. The magnet is for the same reason called the lode-slou.fi
The reader will remember Milton's beauty : " The cynosure of
ueighb'ring eyes "

271 A MIDSUMMER ACT I

More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear,
When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear.
Sickness is catching; O, were favour12 so !
Yours would 1 catch, sweet Hennia, ere I go;
My ear should catcu your voice, my eve your eye,
My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet mel-

ody.

" Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated,
The rest I'll give to be to you translated.
O ! teach me how you look ; and with what art
You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart.

Her. 1 frown upon him, yet he loves me still.
Hel. O, that your frowns would teach my Hinilea

such skill !

Her. 1 give him curses, yet he gives me love.
Hcl. O, that my prayers could such affection

move !

Hr.r. The more I hate, the more he follows me.
Hid. The more I love, the more he hateth me.
k Hrr. His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine.
Hcl. None, but your beauty : 'would that fault

were mne

Her. Take comfort : he no more shall see l

face ;

Lysander and myself will fly this place.—
Before the time 1 did Lysander see,
Seem'il Athens as a paradise to me :
O then, what graces in my love do dwell,
That he hath turn'd a heaven into a hell !

L>y*. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold
To-morrow night when Phoebe doth behold
Her silver visage in the watery glass,
Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass,

'* Countenance, feature.

so. i NIGHT'S DREAM. 275

(A time iliat lovers' flights doth still conceal,)
Through Athens' gates have we devis'd to steal.

Her. And in the wood, where often you and I
Upon faint primro.se beds were wont to lie,
Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet,
There my Lysunder and myself shall meet :
And thence, from Athens turn away our eyes,
To seek new friends and stranger companies.
Farewell, sweet playfellow: pray thou for us, >•
And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius !
Keep word, Lysander : we must starve our sight
From lovers' food, till morrow deep midnight.

[Exit HERM

Lys. 1 will, my Hermia. — Helena, adieu :
As you on him, Demetrius dote on you ! [Exit LYS

Hel. How happy some o'er other some can be !
Through Athens I am thought as fair as she :
But what of that 1 Demetrius thinks not so ;
He will not know what all hut he do know ;
And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes,
So I, admiring of his qualities.
Things base and vild,13 holding no quantity,
Love can transpose to form and dignity.
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind ;
And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind :
Nor hath love's mind of any judgment taste ;
Wings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste :
And therefore is love said to be a child,
Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd.
As waggish boys in game u themselves forswear,'-^
So the boy Love is perjur'd every where :
For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne,15
He hail'd down oaths, that he was only mine ;

13 Vild is an old form of rile, ofteii used in the Poet's time. •

14 S}M>n. '* Eves.

270 & r A /MIDSUMMER . ACT i

And when this lia.il some heat from Hennia felt,
So he clissolv'd, and showers of oaths did melt
1 will go tell him of fair Hermia's, flight ;
Then to the wood will he, to-morrow night.
Pursue her ; and for this intelligence
If 1 have thanks, it is a dear expense :
But herein mean I to enrich my pain, Q/ ft 0
To have his sight thither and back again. [Exit

SCENE II. The same. A Room in a Cottagfc

Enter SNUG, BOTTOM, FLUTE, SNOUT, QUINCE,
and STARVELING.

Quin. Is all our company here ?

Bot. You were best to call them generally, man
by man, according to the scrip.1

Quin. Here is the scroll of every man's name
which is thought fit, through all Athens, to play in
our interlude before the duke and duchess, on his
wedding-day at night.

Bot. First, good Peter Quince, say what the
play treats on ; then read the names of the actors ;
and so grow to a point. ;

Quin. Marry, our play is — The most lamenta
ble comedy, and most cruel death of Pyramus and
Thishy.2

1 Scrip, that is, script, from scriptum, is a piece of writing, the
tcroll mentioned just afterwards ; and will doubtless be intelligi-
ble enough to all who have heard or read understandingly of
Texas scrip. The word still has a place in the language of the
Exchange. The scrip, meaning a small sack for scraps, has an-
other origin. Thus, in As You Like It, Act iii. sc. 2 : " Let us
make an honourable retreat ; though not with bag and baggage,
yet with scrip and scrippage." H.

* Probably a burlesque upon the titles of some of our old
dramas : thus — "A lamentable Tragedie, mixed full of pleasant
mirth, containing the Life of Cantbises, king of Percia."

HC 21. NIGHT'S DREAM. 277

Dot. A very good piece of work, I assure you,
and a merry. — Now, good Peter Quince, call forth
your actors by the scroll : Masters, spread your-
selves.

Quin. Answer, as I call you. — Nick Bottom, the
weaver.

Bot. Ready: Name what part I am for, and
proceed.

Quin. You, Nick Bottom, are set down for
Pyramus.

Bot. What is Pyramus ? a lover, or a tyrant ?

Quin. A lover, that kills himself most gallantly
for love. L ti

Bot. That will ask some tears in the true per
forming of it : If I do it, let the audience look to
their eyes ; I will move storms, I will condole in
some measure. To the rest : — Yet my chief hu-
mour is for a tyrant : I could play Ercles 3 rarely,
or a part to tear a cat in, to make all split.

" The raging rocks,
And shivering shocks,
Shall break the locks

Of prison gates :
And Phibbus' car
Shall shine from far,
And make and mar

The foolish fates."

This was lofty ! — Now name the rest of the play
era. — This is Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein: fc lover
is more condoling.

Quin. Francis Flute, the bellows-mender.

' Ercles — Hercules — was one of the roarers if the old lude
stage. Thus Greene in his (Jroatsvorth of Wit, 1592: "The
twelve labours of Hercules have I lerriMy tluiudcred on the

a.

278 A M1DSUMMEK ACT L

Flu. Here, Peter Quince.

Quin. You must take Tlu'sby on you :

flu. What is Tliisby 1 a wandering knight 1

Quin. It is the lady that Pyramus must love.

Flu. Nay, faith, let me not play a woman : I
have a beard coming.

Quin. That's all one : You shall play it in a
mask, and you may speak as small as you will.4

. Bot. An I may hide my face, let me play Thisby
too : I'll speak in a monstrous little voice : — " This-
ne, Thisne — Ah, Pyramus, my lover dear! thy
Thisby dear, and lady dear ! "S' '\

Quin. No, no; you must play Pyramus, and
Flute, you Thisby.

Bot. Well, proceed.

Quin. Robert Starveling, the tailor.

Star. Here, Peter Quince.

Quin. Robert Starveling, you must play Thisby s
mother. — Tom Snout, the tinker.

Stwut. Here, Peter Quince.

Quin. You, Pyramus's father ; myself, Thisby's
father. — Snug, the joiner, you, the lion's part : —
and, I hope, here is a play fitted.

Snug. Have you the lion's part written ? pray
you, if it be, give it me, for I am slow of study.

Quin. You may do it extempore, for it is nothing
but roaring.

But. Let me play the lion too : I will roar, that

4 See The Merry Wives of Windsor, Act i. sc. 1, note 8, where
Slender says of Anne Page, — " She has brown hair, and speaks
tma/t like a woman." This speech of Peter Quince's shows, what
is knowu from other sources, that the parts of women were used
to be played by boys, or, if these could not be had. by men in
masks. Prynne, the Puritau hero, informs us that female actors
appeared on the stage at the Blackfriars as early as 1C29. The
pious dare-devil comes down upon women's acting with a tempest
nf wrath ; bui then he i* still harder upou tin- personating of

so. ii NIGHT'S DREAM. 279

I will do any man's heart good to hear me : I will
roar, that I will make the duke say, " Let him roar
again : let him roar again."

Quin. An you should do it too terribly, you would
fright the duchess and the ladies, that they would
ehriek ; and that were enough to hang us all. t

All. That would hang us every mother's son.

Bot. 1 grant you, friends, if that you should
fright the ladies out of their wits, they would have
no more discretion but to hang us : but I will ag-
gravate my voice so, that I will roar you as gently
as any sucking dove ; I will roar you an 'twere any
nightingale.

Quin. You can play no part but Pyramus : for
Pyramus is a sweet-fac'd man ; a proper man, as
one shall see in a summer's day ; a most lovely,
gentleman-like man : therefore you must needs play
Pyramus. ^ \s

Bot. Well, I will undertake it. What beard were
I best to play it in ?

Quin. Why, what you will.

Bot. I will discharge it in either your straw-
colour beard, your orange-tawny beard, your purple-
in-grain beard, or your French-crown-colour beard,
your perfect yellow.5 •

Quin. Some of your French crowns have no hai r
at all, and then you will play bare-fac'd.8 — But,
masters, here are your parts : and I am to entreat

women by hoys and men : he could endure the histrionic art no
where but in religion. H.

5 It seems to have been a custom to stain or dye the beard.
So. in Ben Jonson's Silent Woman : •• I have fitted my divine
and canonist, dyed tlifir beards and all." And, in The Alchemist :
'< He has dy'd his beard and all."

6 This allusion to (he Corona Veneris, or baldness attendant
upon a particular stage of what was then termed l!ie /'/••/«•'( dis-
ease, is too frequent in Shakespeare, and is here explained once
for nil

'480 A MIDSUMMER ACT II

you, request you, and desire you, to con them by
to-morrow night ; and meet me in the palace wood,
a mile without the town, by moon-light: there will
we rehearse ; for if we meet in the city, we shall
be dogg'd with company, and our devices known.
In the mean time, I will draw a bill of properties,7
ouch as our play wants. I pray you, fail n.e not.

Bot. We will meet ; and there we may rehearse
more obscenely, and courageously. Take pains ;
be perfect ; adieu.

Qiiin. At the duke's oak we meet. \
not. Enough : Hold, or cut bow-strings.8

[E'tcunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. A Wood near Athens.

Enter a Fairy, and PUCK, from opposite sides.

Puck. How now, spirit ! whither wander you ?
Fai. Over hill, over dale,

Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,

Thorough flood, thorough fire,

' The properties were the furnishings of the stage, the keepei
of which is still called the property-maM. A curious list of them
U given by Bronte, 1C 10 :

" He has got into our tiring-house amongst us,
And ta'en a strict survev of all our properties ;
Our statues and our images of gods,
Our planets and our constellations,
Our giants, monsters, furies, beasts, and bugbears,
Our helmets, shields and vizors, hairs and beards,
Our pasteboard marchpanes, and our wooden pies." H
" Ciij-fll informs us thai this was u common pledge ul punclu

sc. I. NIGHT'S DREAM. 281

I do wander every where,

Swifter than the moon's sphere ; *

And 1 serve the fairy queen,

To dew her orbs 2 upon the green :

The cowslips tall her pensioners 3 be ;

In their gold coats spots you see :

ality among archers ; as we should say, — " I'll be there, rain or
thine." H.

1 Mr. Collier informs us that " Coleridge, in his lectures in 1818,
was very emphatic in his praises of the beauty of these lines :
' the measure,' he said, ' had been invented and employed by
Shakespeare for the sake of its appropriateness to the rapid and
airy motion of the Fairy by whom the passage is delivered.' "
And in his Literary Remains, after analyzing the measure, he
speaks of the " delightful effect on the ear," caused by " the sweet
transition " from the amphimacers of the first four lines to the
trochaic of the next two. An absurd passion for rhymed regular-
ity has caused moon's to be usually printed as a dissyllable, moones.
There is no authority for this : besides, it mars the beauty of the
verse ; and is quite unnecessary, as the pronouncing of moon's
naturally occupies the time of a trochee. Coleridge is rather hard
upon Theobald for shortening thorough into through, as he had
the authority of the folio and one of the quartos for doing so. Bui
if any confirmation of thorough be wanted, we have it in Dray
ton's imitation of the passage in his Nymphidia, 1G19 :

" Thorough brake, thorough brier,
Thorough muck, thorough mier,
Thorough water, thorough fier,

And thus goes Puck about it." H

* These orhs were the verdant circles which the sweet old su-
perstition here so sweetly delineated called fairy-rings, siippo ling
them to be made by the night-tripping fairies dancing their n erry
roundels. As the ground became parched under the feet of the
moonlight dancers, Puck's ofiice was to refresh it with sprinklings
of dew, thus making it greener than ever. Science has of course
brushed away the charm that once hung about these circles ; but
we are not aware that it has given any belter explanation of them
than that of the old superstition. H.

3 The allusion is to Elizabeth's band of gentlemen pensioners,
who were chosen from among the handsomest and tallest young
men of family and fortune ; they were dressed in habits richlj
garnished with gold lace. See The Merry Wives of \> udsor
Act ii. sc. 2, note 9

282 A MIDSUMMER ACT II

These be rubies, fairy favours,
In those freckles live their savours :
[ must «jo seek some dewdrops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.4
Fiirewell, thou lob 5 of spirits ; I'll be gone :
Our queen and all her elves come here anon.
Puck. The king dotli keep his revels here to

night ;

Take heed the queen come not within his sight.
For Oberon is passing fell and wrath,
Because that she, as her attendant, hath
A lovely boy, stol'n from an Indian king ;
She never had so sweet a changeling:'

* In the old comedy of Doctor Dodypoll, 1600, an enchanter
«ays :

" 'Twas I that led you through the painted meads
Where the light fairies dauc'd upon the flowers,
Hanging on erery Ir.af an orient pearl."

* It would seem that Pu^k, though he could "put a girdlo
round about the earth in fort} minutes," was heavy and sluggish
in comparison with the other fairies : he was the lubber of the
spirit tribe. Shakespeare's " loh of spirits " is the same as Milton's
" Inbbar fiend," thus spoken of in his L'Allcgro:

" And he, by friar's lantern led,
Tells how the drudging- goblin swet,
To earn his cream-bowl duly set,
When in one night, ere glimpse of morn,
His shadowy flail hath thresh'd the corn,
That ten day-labourers could not end :
Then lies him down the lubbar fieud,
And, stretch'd out all the chimney's length,
Basks at the fire his hairy strength,
And crop-full out of doors he flings,
Ere the first cock his matin rings." H.

* A changeling was a child taken or given in exchange ; it being
a logiiish custom of the fairies, if a child of great promise v/ere
uorn, to steal it away, and leave an ugly, or foolish, or ill-condi
lioned one in its stead. Thus, in The Faerie Queene, Book i
Can. 10, stan. 65 :

" From thence a Faery thee unweeting reft,
There as thou sleptst in lender swadling baud,

sc. i. NIGHT'S DREAM. 283

And jealous Oberon would have the child
Knight of his train, to trace the forest wild ;
But she, perforce, withholds the loved boy,
Crowns him with flowers, and makes him all her joy
And now they never meet in grove, or green,
By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen,7
But they do square ; 8 that all their elves, for fear,
Creep into acorn cups, and hide them there.

Fai. Either I mistake your shape and making

quite,

Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite,
Call'd Robin Goodfellovv : are you not he,
That frights the maidens of the villagery ;
Skims milk ; and sometimes labours in the quern,
And bootless makes the breathless housewife churn ;
And sometime makes the drink to bear no barm ; 10
Misleads night-wanderers, laughing at their harm f

And her base ElTin brood there for thee left :
Such, men do cliaungelings call, so chaung'd by Faeries theft."

Sir Thomas Browne, in his Religio Medici, sec. 30, speaking of
the devil's practices, says, — " Of all the delusions wherewith he
deceives mortality, there is not any that puzzleth me moro than the
legerdemain of changelings." How much comfort this old belief
sometimes gave to parents, may be seen from Draytou's Nyro
phidia :

" When a child haps to be got,
Which after proves an idiot,
When folk perceive it thriveth not ;

The fault therein to smother,
Some silly, doating. hi .unless calf.
That understands things by the half,
Says, that the fairy left this aulf,

And took away the other." H.

7 Shining.

8 That is, quarrel. See Much Ado about Nothing, Act i. sc. 1,
note 12. H.

9 A quern was a handmill.

10 Harm is yeust. Thus, in Holland's Pliny : " Now the froth
or barm, that riseth from these ales or beers, have a properly to
Keep the skin fair and clear in women's faces." H.

J4 A MIDSUMMER ACT II

Those that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck,
You do their work ; and they shall have good luck •
Are not you he 1 "

Puck. Thou speak'st aright ,

I am that merry wanderer of the night.
I jest to Oberon, and make him smile,
When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile,
Neighing in likeness of a filly foal :
And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl,
In very likeness of a roasted crab ; 1S
And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob,
And on her wither'd dew-lap pour the ale.
The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale,
Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me ;
Then slip I from her hum, down topples she,

11 That this whole account of Puck was gathered from the
popular notions of the time, might be shown from many passages.
Thus, in Harsnet's Declaration of Popish Impostures : " And if
that the bowl of curds and cream were not duly set out for Robin
Goodfellow, the friar, and Sisse the dairy-maid, why, then eithei
the pottage was burnt next day in the pot, or the cheeses would
not curdle, or the butter would not come, or the ale in the fat
never would have good head." Likewise, in Scot's Discovery of
Witchcraft : " Your grandames' maids were wont to set a bowl
of milk for him, for his pains in grinding malt and mustard, and
sweeping the house at midnight ; — this white bread and milk was
his standing fee." See also the preceding quotation from Milton,
note 5, the ballad entitled The Merry Pranks of Robin Goodfe!-
.ow, in Percy's Reliques, and Drayton's Nymphidia; from tbe
latter of which we subjoin one stanza :

" This Puck seems but a dreaming dolt,
Still walking like a ragged colt,
And oft out of a bush cloth bolt,

Of purpose to deceive us :
And. leading us. makes us to stray
Long winter nights out of the way,
And when we slick in mire and clay,

He doth with laughter leave us." H.

>• Wild apple.

sc. i. NIGHT'S DREAM. k<i85

And " tailor " cries,13 and falls into a cough ;
And then the whole quire hold their hips, and loffe,
And waxen u in their mirth, and neeze, and swear
A merrier hour was never wasted there. —
But room, Fairy : here comes Oberon.

Fed. And here my mistress: — 'Would that he
were gone !

Enter OBERON, from one side, with his Train, and
TITANIA, from the otJter, with Jiers.

Obe. Ill met by moon-light, proud Titania.

Tito. What ! jealous Oberon 1 Fairies, skip hence :
I have forsworn his bed and company.

Obe. Tarry, rash wanton : Am not I thy lord ?

Tito. Then I must be thy lady : but I know
When thou hast stol'n away from Fairy-land,
And in the shape of Corin sat all day,
Playing on pipes of corn, and versing love
To amorous Phillida. Why art thou here,
Come from the farthest steep of India ?
But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon,
Your buskin'd mistress, and your warrior love,
To Theseus must be wedded ; and you come
To give their bed joy arid prosperity.

Obe. How canst thou thus, for shame, Titania,
Glance at my credit with Hippolyta,

13 Dr. Johnson thought he remembered to have heard thi* ludi-
crous exclamation upon a person's seat slipping from under him.
He that slips from his chair falls as a tailor squats upon his board.

14 Waxen seems to he an old plural form of vox; the meaning
of course being', increase in their mirth. Dr. Farmer proposed to
read yrrr n. Ye.r is an old synon yme of hiccvp : so that the sense
in this case would be, they laugh themselves into a hiccuping ;
which is indeed very good, but by no means such as to warrant
the change. The Chiswick editor adopted yexen : why he should
think that only " a glimmering of sense may be extracted from the
passage as it stand* in the old copies," is too deep for us H.

280 A MIDSUMMER ACT tl

Knowing I know thy love to Theseus'1

Didst thou not lead him through the glimmering night

From Pengenia, whom he ravished 1

And make him with fair ^Egle break his faith,

With Ariadne, and Antiopa ?

Tito. These are the forgeries of jealousy :
And never, since the middle summer's spring,1*
Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead,
By paved fountain, or hy rushy brook,
Or on the beached margent of the sea,
To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind,
But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our sport.
Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain,
As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea
Contagious fogs ; which, falling in the land,
Have every pelting 16 river made so proud,
That they have overborne their continents : 17
The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in vain,
The ploughman lost his sweat ; and the green corn
Hath rotted, ere liis youth attained a beard :
The fold stands empty in the drowned field,
And crows are fatted with the murrain flock :
The nine men's morris 18 is fill'd up with mud ;

14 Spring seems to he here used for beginning. The spring
of day is used for the dawn of day in 2 Henry IV.

16 A very common epithet with our old writers to signify paltry.

17 That is, borne down the hanks which contain them.

18 This was a plat of green turf cut into a sort of chess hoard,
for the rustic youth to exercise their skill upon. The game was
called nine men's morris, because the players had each nine men,
which (hey moved along the lines cut in the ground, until one side
had t^ken or penned up all those on the other. The game is said
to have been brought into England by the Normans, under \\&
name of mfrrllei. which meant counters, and w;is corrupted into
morris. — "The quaint mazes in the wanton gr<-en " were where
the youths and maidens led their happy dances in the open air,
before people were so wise but that they would sufler kind thoughti
and tender loves to be cherished by the remembered pleasures of
each other's company. n

jic. i. NIGHT'S DREAM. 287

And the quaint mazos in the wanton green,
For lack of tread, are (indistinguishable :
The human mortals want ; their winter here,"
No night is now with hymn or carol blest.
Therefore the moon, the governess of floods,
Pale in her anger, washes all the air,
That rheumatic diseases do abound ;
And thorough this disternperature, we see
The seasons alter : hoary-headed frosts
Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose :
And on old Hyems' chin, and icy crown,20
An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds
Is, as in mockery, set : The spring, the summer^
The childing autumn,81 angry winter, change

19 That is, "their winter being here," or, "though their winter
be here, no night is now," <fcc. The line is usually pointed thus :
" The human mortals want their winter hore ; " which, though it
have the authority of the old cop es, can hardly be right, since
they h<ire winter here, and want it a A ay. But, winter being here,
what they do want is the evening hymns and carols that are wont
to come with it. Theobald proposed cheer, which is indeed very
plausible; yet we prefer the reading here given, which was pro-
posed by an anonymous author in 1814, aud has been adopted
by Mr. Knight. H.

2U The concurrence of all the old copies in the reading here
given intimidates us from doing what we wish to do. Mr. Dyce
remarks upon the passage, that " Hi/ems with a chaplet of summer
biids on his CHIN is a grotesque which mu«t surely startle even the
dullest reader." He then quotes from Gilford, — •• What child
dors not see that the line should be, — • And on old Hyems' Ihir,
ami icy crown ? ' " and adds. — " This correction, requiring only
the change nf a single letter, had been long ago proposed by Ty?
whitt. These authorities and reasons are indeed strong, yet wj
dare 1101 admit the change. Nor can it well be denied that the
old reading has some support in the passage so often quoted for
that purpose from Gelding's Ovid :

' And lastly, quaking for the colde, stood Winter all forlorne,
With rugged head as white as dove, and garments all to-torne,
Forladen with the isyc'es, that dangled up and downe
Upon his gray and honric heard and snowie frn:en crotrne." H

11 Childing autumn is fruitful, teeming autumn ; as in the Poet's
17th Sonnet :

2Hb A MIDSUMMER ACT II

Their wonted liveries ; and the 'mazed world,
By their increase, now knows not which is which
And this same progeny of evils comes
From our debate, from our dissension ;
We are their parents and original.22

Obe. Do you amend it then ; it lies in you :
Why should Titania cross her Oberon 1
I do but beg a little changeling boy,
To be my henchman.23

Tita. Set your hearUat rest*

The Fairy-land buys not the child of me.
His mother was a votaress of my order :
And, in the spiced Indian air, by night,
Full often hath she gossip'd by my side,
And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands,
Marking the embarked traders on the flood ;
When we have laugh'd to see the sails conceive,
And grow big-bellied, with the wanton wind ;
Which she, with pretty and with swimming gait
Following, (her womb then rich with my young
'squire,)

" The teeming autumn, big with rich increase

Bearing the wanton burden of the prime.' H.

M This disorder of the seasons, which Shakespeare with such
on array of poetical witchery attributes to the strife between the
fairy rulers, is otherwise accounted for by Churchyard, who, bro-
ken with age and sorrow, thus speaks of it in his Charity, a poem
published in 1595 :

" A colder time in world was never seen :
The skies do lour, the sun and moon wax dim ;
Summer scarce known, but that the leaves are green.
The winter's waste drives water o'er the brim ;
Upon the land great floats of wood mav swim.
Nature thinks scorn to do her duty right,
Because we have displeased the Lord of Light." H.
w ffettrlinan is an attendant, or page : probably from the An
glo-Saxon hengst, a horse. Thus, in Chaucer :

" And every knight had after him riding
Three hensmen, on him awaiting." H

•;c. i. NIGHT'S DREAM. 289

Would imitate, and sail upon the land
To fetch me trifles, and return again,
As from a voyage, rich with merchandise.
But she, being mortal, of that boy did die ;
And for her sake I do rear up her boy,
And for her sake I will not part with him.

Obe. How long within this wood intend you stay 1

Tita. Perchance, till after Theseus' wedding-day
If you will patiently dance in our round,
And see our moon-light revels, go with us ;
If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts.

Obe. Give me that boy, and I will go with thee.

Tita. Not for thy fairy kingdom. — Fairies, away.
We shall chide down-right, if I longer stay.

[Exeunt TITANIA and her Train.

Obe. Well, go thy way : thou shalt not from tin*

grove,

Till I torment thee for this injury. —
My gentle Puck, come hither : Thou remember'st
Since once I sat upon a promontory,
And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back,
Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath,
That the rude sea grew civil at her song ;
And certain stars shot madly from their spheres,
To hear the sea-maid's music.

Puck. T remember.

Obe. That very time I saw (but thou couldst not)
Flying between the cold moon and the earth,
Cupid all arm'd : a certain aim he took
At a fair vestal throned by the west;
And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow,
As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts:
But 1 might see young Cupid's fiery shaft
Q.uench'd in the chaste beams of the watery moon \
And the imperial votaress passed on.

290 A MIDSUMMER ACT IL

In maiden meditation, fancy-free.

Yet mark'd I where the holt of Cupid feJJ :

It fell upon a little western flower, —

Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound —

And maidens call it love-in-idleness.24

Fetch me that flower : the herb I show'd thee once :

The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid,

Will make or man or woman madly dote

Upon the next live creature that it sees.

Fetch me this herb : and be thou here again,

Ere the leviathan can swim a league.

Puck. I'll put a girdle round about the earth
In forty minutes. [Exit PUCK.

Obe. Having once this juice, '

I'll watch Titania when she is asleep,
And drop the liquor of it in her eyes :
The next thing then she waking looks upon. '
(Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull,
On meddling monkey, or on busy ape,)
She shall pursue it with the soul of love.
And ere I take this charm off from her sight,
(As I can take it with another herb,)
I'll make her render up her page to me.
But who comes here 1 I am invisible,
And I will overhear their conference.

Enter DEMETRIUS, HELENA following him.
\<»S J

Dem. I love thee not, therefore pursue me not.

Where is Lysander, and fair Hermia?
The one I'll stay, the other stayeth me.86

** The tri-coloured violet, commonly railed pansies, or hearts
ease, is here meant : one or two of its petals are of a pnrpl«
colour. It has other fanciful and expressive names, such as —
Cuddle me to \ou ; Three faces under a hood ; Herb trinity, «kc

** Pnch is the reading of all the old co|>ie« ; which has lu:en
•naccountably changed in modern editions to — "The one I'l.

so. i. NIGHT'S DREAM. 291

Tliou tolcl'st me they were stol'n into this wood.
And here am I, and wood26 within tins wood,
Because I cannot meet my Hermia.
Hence ! get thee gone, and follow me no more.

Hel. You draw rue, you hard-hearted adamant;*'
But yet you draw not iron, for my heart
Is true as steel : Leave you your power to draw,
And I shall have no power to follow you.

Dem. Do I entice you ? Do I speak you fair ?
Or, rather, do I not in plainest truth
Tell you [ do not, nor I cannot love you ?

Hel. And even for that do I love you the more.
I am your spaniel ; and, Demetrius,
The more you beat me, I will fawn on you :
Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me,
Neglect me, lose me ; only give me leave,
Unworthy as I am, to follow you.
What worsen place can I beg in your love,
(And yet a place of high respect with me,)
Than to be used as you use your dog ?

Dem. Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit
For I am sick, when I do look on thee.

Hel. And I am sick, when I look not on you.

Dem. You do impeach your modesty too much,
To leave the city, and commit yourself
Into the hands of one that loves you not ;

xtity, the other slayrth me ; " thus making' the one refer to f ,ygan
dcr. the other to Hermia. The meaning' plainly is. — Tie nnt
(licrmia) I'll stop, the other (Lysander) hinderttli me. H.

26 Wood is an ok! word Cor frantic, mad. See The Two Gen-
tlemen of Verona. Act. ii. sc. 3, note 4. H.

27 " There is now a daves a kind of adamant which drmveih
auto it fleshe, and (he same so strongly, that it hath power to knil
mid tie together two immthes of contrary persons, and drawe the
heart of a man out of his bodie without offending any part of
him." Cert?iiie Secrete Wonders of Nature, by Edward Feiilon
1669.

292 A MIDSUMMER ACT fl

To trust the opportunity of night,
A.nd the ill counsel of a desert place,
With the rich worth of your virginity.

IfeL YSur^ virtue is my privilege for that.
It is not nightj^when I do see your face ;
Therefore I think I am not in the night :
Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company ;
For you, in my respect, are all the world :
Then how can it be said I am alone,
When all the world is here to look on me 1

Dem. I'll run from thee, and hide me in the brakes,
And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts.

Hel. The wildest hath not such a heart as you.
Run when you will, the story shall be chaug'd ;
Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase :
The dove pursues the griffin ; the mild hind
Makes speed to catch the tiger : Bootless speed !
When cowardice pursues, and valour flies.

Dem. I will not stay thy questions ; let me go :
Or, if thou follow me, do not believe
But I shall do thee mischief in the wood.

Hel. Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field,
You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius !
Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex :
We cannot fight for love, as men may do ;
We should be woo'd, and were not made to woo.
I'll follow thee, and make a heaven of hell,
To die upon the hand I love so well.

f Exeunt DEM. and HEL.

Obe. Fare thee well, nymph : ere he do leave

this grove,
Thou shall fly him, and he shall seek thy love

Re-enter PUCK.
Hast thou the flower there ? Welcome, wanderer

i*c. ii. NIGHT'S DREAM. 2JJ8

Puck. Ay, there it is.

Obe. I pray thee, give it me-

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where ox-lips, and the nodding violet grows;
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine :
There sleeps Titania, some time of tbe night,
Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight ;
And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin,
Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in :
And with the juice of this I'll streak ber eyes,
And make her full of hateful fantasies.
Take thou some of it, arid seek through this grove :
A sweet Athenian lady is in love
With a disdainful youth : anoint his eyes ;
But do it, when the next thing he espies
May be the lady : Thou shall know the man
By the Athenian garments he hath on
Effect it with some care, that he may prove
More fond on her, than she upon her love :
And look thou meet rne ere the first cock crow.

Puck. Fear nol, nay lord : your servant shall
do so. "jj (jjs Sk [Exeunt.

h-W+'\
SCENE II. Another part of^ the Wood.

Enter TITANIA, with her Train.

Tito. Come, now a roundel, and a fairy song;
Then, for the third part of a minute, hence :
Some, to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds ,
Some war with rear-mice ' for their leathern wings,
To make my small elves coats ; and some keep
back

1 Bat*.

•«!i>4 A MIDSUMMER ACT II

The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots, and wonders
At our quaint spirits : Sing me now asleep ;
Then to your offices, and let me rest.

Fairies' Song.

1 Fai. You spotted snakes, with double tongue,

Thorny hedge-hogs, be not seen ;
Newts, and blindworms, do no wrong'
Come not near our fairy queen :

1'horus. Philomel, with melody,

Sing in our sweet lullaby ;
Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby.
Never harm, nor spell nor charm,
Come our lovely lady nigh ;
So, good night, with lullaby.

11.

2 Fai. Weaving spiders, come not here ;

Hence, you long-leggM spinners, hence :
Beetles black, approach not near ;
Worm, nor snail, do no offence.

Chorus. Philomel, with melody, &c.

i Fai. Hence, away ! now all is well
One, aloof, stand sentinel.

[Exeunt fairies. TITANIA sleeps.

Enter OBERONT.

Obe What thou seest, when thou dost wake,

[Squeezes the Jlmcer on TITANIA'S eyelids
Do it for thy true love take ;
Love, and languish for his sake :
Be it ounce, or cat, or hear,
Pard. or boar with bristled hair.

sc. 11. NIGHT'S DREAM. • 285

In thy eye that shall appear
When thou wak'st, it is thy dear ;
Wake, when some vile thing is near.

Enter LYSANDER and HERMIA.

Lys. Fair love, you faint with wandering in the

wood ;

And, to speak troth, I have forgot our way :
We'll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good,
And tarry for the comfort of the day.

Her. Be it so, Lysander : find you out a bed,
For I upon this bank will rest my head.

Lys. One turf shall serve as pillow for us both;
One heart, one bed, two bosoms, and one troth.

Her. Nay, good Lysander ; for my sake, my dear,
Lie further off yet ; do not lie so near.

Lys. O ! take the sense, sweet, of my innocence ;
Love takes the meaning, in love's conference.
I mean, that my heart unto yours is knit,
So that but one heart we can make of it :
Two bosoms interchained with an oath ;
So then, two bosoms, and a single troth.
Then, by your side no bed-room me deny;
For, lying so, Hermia, I do not lie.

Her. Lysander riddles very prettily : —
Now much beshrew my manners and my pride,
If Hermia meant to say Lysander lied.
But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy
Lie further off; in human modesty
Such separation as may well be said
Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid ;

* That is, understand tlte meaning of my innocence, or my inno-
cent meaning. Let no suspicion of ill enter thy mind. In the
conversation of those who are assured of each other's kindness,
not suspicion but love takes the meaning.

296 A MIDSUMMER ACT II

So far be distant ; and good night, sweet friend '
Thy love ne'er alter, till thy sweet life end !

Lys. Amen, amen, to that fair prayer, say I ;
And then end life, when J end loyalty !
Here is my bed : Sleep give thee all his rest !

fler. With half that wish the wisher's eyes be
press'd ! [ Tlicy sleep.

I'uck. Through the forest have I gone,
But Athenian found I none,
On whose eyes I might approve
This flower's force in stirring love.
Night and silence ! who is here 1
Weeds of Athens he doth wear :
This is he, my master said,
Despised the Athenian maid ;
And here the maiden, sleeping sound
On the dank and dirty ground.
Pretty soul ! she durst not lie
Near this lack-love, this kill-courtesy.
Churl, upon thy eyes I throw
All the power this charm doth owe : 3
When thou wak'st, let love forbid
Sleep his seat on thy eye-lid.
So, awake when I am gone ;
For I must now to Oberon. [Exit

ff

Enter DEMETRIUS and HELENA, running.^ »

Hel. Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius.
Dem. I charge thee, hence ! and do not hauni

me thus.
Hel. O ! wilt thou darkling leave me 1 * do not so

• Own.
. * That is, " wilt thou leave me in the dark t " B.

sc ft. NIGHT'S DREAM. '297

Dem. Stay, on thy peril : I alone will go.

[Exit DEMETRIUS

Hcl. O, I am out of breath in this fond chase !
The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace.
Happy is Hermia, wheresoe'er she lies ;
For she hath blessed and attractive eyes.
How came her eyes so bright ? Not with salt tears
If so, my eyes are oftener wash'd than hers.
No, no, I am as ugly as a bear ;
For beasts that meet me run away for fear :
Therefore, no marvel, though Demetrius
Do, as a monster, fly my presence thus.
What wicked and dissembling glass of mine
Made me compare with Hermia's sphery eyne ?
But who is here 1 — Lysander on the ground !
Dead, or asleep? I see no blood, no wound: —
Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake.

Lys. [Waking.] And run through fire I will, foi

thy sweet sake.

Transparent Helena ! Nature shows her art,5
That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart.
Where is Demetrius 1 O, how fit a word
Is that vile name to perish on my sword !

Hel. Do not say so, Lysander ; say not so ;
What though he love your Hermia ! Lord, what

though !
Yet Hermia still loves you : then be content.

Lys. Content with Hermia ? No : I do repent
The tedious minutes I with her have spent.
Not Hermia, but Helena I love :
Who will not change a raven for a dove ?

• The quartos have only — "Nature shows art." The first
folio — " Nature her shows art." The second folio changes her
to here. Malone thought we should read, •• Nature showt her

295 A MIDSUMMER ACT II

The will of man is by his reason sway'd,
And reason says you are the worthier maid.8
Tilings growing are not ripe until their season ;
So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason ;
And touching now the point of human skill,
Reason becomes the marshal to my will,
And leads me to your eyes ; where I o'erlook
Love's stories written in love's richest book.

Hel. Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born 1
When, at your hands, did I deserve this scorn 1
Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man,
That I did never, no, nor never can,
Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye,
But you must flout my insufficiency ?
Good troth, you do me wrong ; good sooth, you do,
In such disdainful manner me to woo.
But fare you well : perforce I must confess,
I thought you lord of more true gentleness.
O, that a lady, of one man refus'd,
Should, of another, therefore be abus'd ! [Exit.

Lys. She sees not Hermia. — Hermia, sleep thou

there ;

And never may'st thou come Lysander near !
For, as a surfeit of the sweetest things
The deepest loathing to the stomach brings ;
Or, as the heresies, that men do leave,
Are hated most of those they did deceive ;
So thou, my surfeit, and my heresy,
Of all be hated ; but the most of me !

• Though this play be but a dream, Lysander shows a good
deal of human nature, as it is when awake, or claiming to be so,
in thus attributing to riper reason a change wrought in his vision
by encnantment. The bewitching juice only develops a " higher
law" in him. Aud in like sort it often happens that men, mistak-
ing change for progress, grow the more opinionated for their fre-
quent changes of opinion, thus turning the natural arguments of
modesty into a basis of conceit. B.

sc. 11. NIGHT'S DREAM. '2JK)

And, all my powers, address your love and might,
To honour Helen, and to be her knight ! [Exit
Her. [Starting.] Help me, Lysander, help me I

do thy best,

To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast !
Ah me, for pity ! — what a dream was here !
Lysander, look, how I do quake with fear :
Mefhought a serpent eat my heart away,
And you sat smiling at his cruel prey : —
Lysander ! what, remov'd ? Lysander ! lord !
What, out of hearing 1 gone 1 no sound, no word 1
Alack ! where are you 1 speak, an if you hear ;
Speak, of all loves ! 7 I swoon almost with fear.
No 1 — then I well perceive you are not nigh :
Either death, or you, 1U1 find immediately. [Exit

ACT III.

^x/"

SCENE I. The same.
The Queen of Fairies lying asleep.

Enter QUINCE, SNUG, BOTTOM, FLUTE, SNOUT,
and STARVELING.

Bot. Are we all met ?

Quin. Pat, pat ; and here's a marvellous conve-
nient place for our rehearsal : This green plot shall
be our stage, this hawthorn brake our 'tiring-house ;
and we wJl do it in action, as we will do it before
the duke.

* A proverbial phrase, equivalent to our " by all means." Set
*"he Meiry Wives of Windsor, Act. ii. sc. 2, note II. H.

300 A MIDSUMMER ACT III

Bot. Peter Quince, —

Quin. What say'st thou, bully Bottom ?

Bot. There are things in this comedy of Pyramus
and Thisby, that will never please. First, Pyramus
must draw a sword to kill himself; which the ladies
cannot abide. How answer you that 1

Snout. By'rlakin,1 a parlous 2 fear.

Star. I believe we must leave the killing out.
when all is done.

Bot. Not a whit : I have a device to make all
well. Write rne a prologue ; and let the prologue
seem to say, we will do no harm with our swords ;
and that Pyramus is not kill'd indeed: and, for the
more better assurance, tell them, that I Pyramus
am not Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver : This will
put them out of fear.

Quin. Well, we will have such a prologue ; and
it shall be written in eight and six.3

Bot. No, make it two more ; let it be written in
eight and eight.

Snout. Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion 1

Star. I fear it, 1 promise you.

Bot. Masters, you ought to consider with your-
selves : to bring in, God shield us ! a lion among
ladies, is a most dreadful thing; for there is not a
more fearful wild-fowl than your lion living, and we
ought to look to it.

Snout. Therefore, another prologue must tell he
is not a lion.

Bot. Nay, you must name his name, and half
his faoe must be seen through the lion's neck ; and

1 That is, by our ladykin, or little lady, as i'/akins is a corrup
lion of by my faith.

* Corrupted from perilous.

* That is, in alter^aie verses of eight and six syllables.

so. i. NIGHT'S DREAM. 301

he himself must speak through, saying thus, 01 to
the same delect: — "Ladies, or fair ladies, I would
wish you, or, I would request you, or, I would en-
treat you, not to fear, not to tremhle : my life foi
yours, if you think I come hither as a lion, it were
pily of my life : No, I am no such tiling ; I am a
man as other men are : " and there, indeed, let, him
name his name ; and tell them plainly lie is Snug
the joiner.4

Quin. Well, it shall be so. But there is two
hard things : that is, to bring the moon-light into
a chamber; for you know, Pyramus and Thisby
meet by moon-light.

Snug. Doth the moon shine that night we play
our play ?

Bot. A calendar, a calendar ! look in the alma-
nack ; find out moon-shine, find out moon-shine.

Quin. Yes, it doth shine that night.

Bot. Why, then you may leave a casement of
the great chamber window, where we play, open ;
and the moon may shine in at the casement.

Quin. Ay ; or else one must come iti with a bush
o* ^horns and a lanthoru, and say he comes to disfig-
ure, or to present, the person of moon-shine. Then,
there is another tiling : we must have a wall in the

« Shakespeare may here allude to an incident said to have oc-
curred in his time, which is recorded in a collection entitled Merry
f'assages and Jests : " There was a spectacle presented to Queen
Klizabeth upon the water, and among1 others Harry Goldingham
was to represent Arion upon the Dolphin's l>acke ; but finding1 his
voice to be verye hoarse and unpleasant when he came to perform
it, he tears off his disguise, and swears he was none of Arion, not
ne, but even honest Harry Goldingham ; which blunt discoverie
pleased the queen better than if he had gone through in the righl
way : — yet he could order his voice to an instrument exceeding
well."

302 A MIDSUMMER ACT 111

great enamber; for Pyramus and Thisby, says the
story, did talk through the chink of a wall.

Snug. You never can bring in a wall. — Wha
say you, Bottom ?

Bot. Some man or other must present wall : and
let him have some plaster, or some loam, or some
rough-cast about him, to signify wall ; or let him
hold his fingers thus, and through that cranny shall
Pyramus and Thisby wliisper.

Quin. If that may be, then all is well. Come,
sit down, every mother's son, and rehearse your
parts. Pyramus, you begin : when you have spoken
your speech, enter into that brake ; and so every
one according to his cue.

Enter PUCK behind.

Puck. What hempen home-spuns have we swag-
gering here,

So near the cradle of the fairy queen ?
What, a play toward ? I'll be an auditor ;
An actor, too, perhaps, if I see cause.

Quin. Speak, Pyramus: — Thisby, stand forth.

Pyr. " Thisby, the flowers of odious savours sweet," —
Quin. Odours, odours.

Pyr. " odours savours sweet :

So hath thy breath, my dearest Thisby dear. —
But, hark, a voice ! stay thou but here a while,
And by and by I will to thee appear." [Exit.

Puck. [Aside.] A stranger Pyramus than e'er
play'd here ! [Exit.

This. Must I speak now 1

Quin. Ay, marry, must you : for you must under-
stand, he goes but to see a noise that he heard, an. I
is to come again.

sc. i. NIGHT'S DREAM. 303

This. " Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of hue.
Of colour like the red rose on triumphant brier,
Most brisky Juvenal,5 and eke most lovely Jew,
As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire,
I'll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny's tomb."

Quin. Ninus' tomb, man : Why you must not
speak that yet ; that you answer to Pyramus : you
speak all your part at once, cues 6 and all. — Pyra-
mus, enter : your cue is past ; it is, " never tire."

Re-enter PUCK, and BOTTOM with an ass's he.ad.

This. O ! — "As true as truest horse that yet would

never tire."
Pyr. " If I were, fair Thisby, I were only thine." —

Quin. O monstrous ! O strange ! we are haunted.
Pray, masters ! fly, masters ! help ! [Exeunt Clowns.

Puck. I'll follow you, I'll lead you about a round,
Through bog, through bush, through brake, through

brier :

Sometime a horse I'll be, sometime a hound,
A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire ;
And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn,
Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn.7

[Exit.

6 Young man

6 The rws were the last words of the preceding speech, which
served as a hint to him who was to speak next.

7 The Protean versatility of Puck is celebrated in whatsoever
has come down to us respecting him. Thus, in an old tract enti-
tlt.d Robin Goodfellow, his Mad Pranks and Merry Jests, reprint-
ed by the Percy Society, and quoted by Mr. Collier :

" Thou hast the power to change thy shape

To horse, to hog, to dog, to ape."

And. in a ballad given in the Introduction to the same tract i
" Sometimes a walking fire he'd be,

And lead them from their way."

So, too, in the ballad referred to in Act ii. sc. 1, note 11, which w«
jive entire at the end of the play »

3U4 A MIDSUMMER ACT IIL

Rot. Why do they run away 1 this is a knavery
of them, to make me afeard.

Re-enter SNOUT.

Snout. O Bottom, thou art chaug'd ! what do 1
gee on tliee ? [Exit.

Bot. What do you see 1 you see an ass's head
of your own, do you?

Re-enter QUINCE.

Quin. Bless thee, Bottom ! bless thee ! thou art
translated. [Exit.

Bot. I see their knavery ! this is to make an ass
of me ; to fright me, if they could. But I will not
stir from this place, do what they can : I will walk
up and down here, and I will sing, that they shall
hear I am not afraid. [Sings.

The ousel cock, so black of hue,
With orange-tawney bill,8

• In the opinion of some commentators, the Poet or Bottom is
a little out here in his ornithology. This opinion has probably
arisen from a change in the use of the name since Shakespeare's
day ; ousel being then used \o denote the blackbird, as is evidert
from the Thirteenth Song of Urayton's Polv-Olhion :
" The woosel near at hand, that hath a golden bill,
As nature him had mark'd of purpose t' let us see
That from all other birds his tunes should different be ;
For with their vocal sounds they sing to pleasant May ;
Upon his dulcet pipe the merle doth only pla}'."
And in a note upon this passage he adds. — «• Of all birds th«
blackbird only whistleth ; '' thus showing that the ousel, the merle
and the blackbird were all one. Bottom's oran^r-tairney bill ac-
cords with what Yarrell says of the blackbird : " The beak aixi
the edges of the eyelids in the adult male are gamboge yellow."
The; whistling of the blackbird is thus spoken of in Spenser's
Epithalamion :

"The merry Larke hir mattins sings aloft ;
The Thrush rcplyes ; the Mavis descant playes ;
The Ouzell shrills ; the Ruddock warbles soft." •

sc. i. NIGHT'S DREAM. 305

The throstle with his note so true,
The wren with little quill ; —

Tito. [Waking.] What angel wakes me from
my flowery bed ?

Bot. The finch, the sparrow, and the lark,

The plain-song cuckoo 9 grey,
Whose note full many a man doth mark,
And dares not answer, nay ; —

for, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish a
bird ? who would give a bird the lie, though he cry
" cuckoo," never so 1

Tita. I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again :
Mine ear is much enamour'd of thy note,
So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape ;
And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move me,
On the first view, to say, to swear, I love thee.

Bot. Methinks, mistress, you should have little
reason for that : and yet, to say the truth, reason
and love keep little company together nowadays :
The more the pity, that some honest neighbours will
not make them friends. Nay, I can gleek 10 upon
occasion.

Tita. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful.

Bot. Not so, neither : but if I had wit enough to

• The plam-song was used for the simple air or gro-imd in mu-
g'c, to distinguish it from the tenor, which was called mean, and
f">m the variations, which were called descant. See The Two
Gentlemen of" Verona, Act i. sc. 2, note 7. Thus, also, in Ben
Jonson's Every Man out of His Humour, Act iii. sc. 3 : " Are
these the admired lady-wits, that having so good a plain-song can
run no better division upon it ? All her jests are of the stamp
March was fifteen years ago." The cuckoo is called plain-song
as having no variety of note, but singing in a monotone, after the
manner of the ancient simple chant. H.

10 Bottom is chuckling over the wit he has just vented. Gleek
is from i..e Anglo-Saxon glig, and means catch, entrap, play upon
ncojf cu So says Richardson. Glee is from the same original.

306' A MIDSUMMER ACT III.

get out of this wood, I have enough to sorve mine
own turn.

Tita. Out of this wood do not desire to go :
Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no
1 am a spirit of no common rate ;
The summer still doth tend upon my state ;
And I do love thee : therefore, go with me :
I'll give thee fairies to attend on thee ;
And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep,
And sing, while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep :
And I will purge thy mortal grossness so,
That thou shalt like an airy spirit go. —
Peas-blossom ! Cobweb ! Moth ! and Mustard-seed '

Enter four Fairies

1 Fed. Ready.

2 Fai. And I.

3 Fai. And I.

4 Fai. Where shall we go 1
Tita. Be kind and courteous to this gentleman ;

Hop in his walks, and gambol in his eyes ;
Feed him with apricocks and dewberries,
With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries :
The honey bags steal from the humble-bees,
And, for night tapers, crop their waxen thighs,
And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes,11
To have my love to bed, and to arise ;
And pluck the wings from painted butterflies.
To fan the moon-beams from his sleeping eyes :
Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.
1 Fai. Hail, mortal !

11 Dr. Johnson informs us, in a note upon this passage, that the
glow-worin s light is in his tail, not his eyes. What a pity it is
the Poet did not know this ! as he might then have written,—
'« And light them at the fiery glow-worm's tail." H.

sc. I. NIGHT'S DREAM. &07

2 Fai. Hail !

3 Fai. Hail!

4 Fai. Hail !

Bot. I cry your worship's mercy, heartily. - (
beseech, your worship's name 1

Cob. Cobweb.

Bot. I shall desire you of more acquaintance, :1
good master Cobweb : If I cut my finger, I shall
make bold with you. — Your name, honest gentle
man ?

Peas. Peas-blossom.

Bot. 1 pray you, commend me to mistress
Squash,13 your mother, and to master Peascod,
your father. Good master Peas-blossom, I shall
desire you of more acquaintance too. — Your name,
I beseech you, sir 1

Mus. Mustard-seed.

Bot. Good master Mustard-seed, I know your
patience 14 well : that same cowardly, giant-like
ox-beef hath devoured many a gentleman of your
house. I promise you, your kindred hath made
my eyes water ere now. I desire you more ac-
quaintance, good master Mustard-seed.

Tita. Come, wait upon him : lead him to my

bower.
The moon, methinks, looks with a watery eye ;

lf This kind of phraseology was not uncommon. In Lusty
Juveutus, a Morality, we have : " I shall desire you of better
acquaintance." And, in A Humorous Day's Mirth, 1599 : " I do
desire you of more acquaintance.1'

13 A squash is an immature peascod.

14 That is, your patience in suffering " that same cowardly,
g-iant-like ox-beef" to devour " many a gentleman of your house."
Mason proposed to read, — >• 1 know you passing well;" but the
proposal has been rejected on the ground that IJottom here intends
a dit of irony on the supposed virtue of mustard in making the
eaters cc jleric ! H.

X(ti* A MIDSUMMER 4CT lit

Ami when she weeps, weeps every little flower,

Lamenting some enforced chastity.

Tie up my lover's tongue, bring him silently.

[Enunt

SCENE II. Another part of the Wood.

Enter OBERON.

Obe. I wonder, if Titania be awak'd ;
Then, what it was that next came in her eye,
Which she must dote on in extremity.

Enter PUCK.

Here comes my messenger. — How now, mad spirit I
What night-rule * now about this haunted grove ?

Puck. My mistress with a monster is in love.
Near to her close and consecrated bower,
While she was in her dull and sleeping hour,
A crew of patches,4 rude mechanicals,
That work for bread upon Athenian stalls,
Were met together to rehearse a play,
Intended for great Theseus' nuptial day.
The shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort,
Who Pyramus presented, in their sport
Forsook his scene, and enter'd in a brake :
When I did him at this advantage take,

1 Night-rw/e is such rule as is apt to govern in the night ; thai
is, ferelry. H.

1 Patch was sometimes used for fool, probably because of th«
'' motley gear " worn by professed fools. Thus, in The Comedy
of Errors, Act in. sc. 1 :

" Motne, malt-horse, capon, coxcomb, idiot, patch !

Either get thee from the door, or sit down at the hatch."
Richardson, however, says the word, applied to a person, means
• one who wears or assumes false or deceitful appearances 5 a
rogue, a knave ; and hence, contemptuously, any low or despised
rharacter." H

•SC. II. NIGHT'S DREAM. 30ft

An ass's nowl 3 1 fixed on his head ;

Anon, his Thisbe must be answered,

And forth my mimic comes : When they him spy,

As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye,

Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort,4

Rising and cawing at the gun's report,

Sever themselves, and madly sweep the sky ,

So, at his sight, away his fellows fly :

And, at our stamp, here o'er and o'er one falla ;

He murder cries, and help from Athens calls.

Their sense, thus weak, lost with their fears, thus

strong,

Made senseless things begin to do them wrong :
For briers and thorns at their apparel snatch;
Some, sleeves, some, hats, from yielders all things

catch.

I led them on in this distracted fear,
And left sweet Pyramus translated there :
When in that moment (so it came to pass)
Titania wak'd, and straightway lov'd an ass.

Obe. This falls out better than I could devise.
But hast thou yet latch'd 5 the Athenian's eyes
With the love-juice, as I did bid thee do ?

Puck. I took him sleeping, — that is finished

too, —

And the Athenian woman by his side ;
That, when he wak'd, of force she must be ey'd.

Enter DEMETRIUS and HERMIA.

Obe. Stand close : this is the same Athenian.
Puck. This is the woman, but not this the man.

» A head.

4 Sort, both here and cii^ht lines above, means company. H.
6 Latcli'd or ietch'd. lirked or smeared over ; leiher, Fr. Ste«
rens says that, iu »he North, it signifies to inffft.

310 A MIDSUMMER ACT III.

Dem. O . why rebuke you him that loves you so 1
Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.

Her. Now I but chide, but I should use thee worse ,
For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse.
If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep,
Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep,
And kill me too.

The sun was not so true unto the day,
As he to me : Would he have stol'n away
From sleeping Hermia ? I'll believe as soon,
This whole earth may be bor'd ; and that the moon
May through the centre creep, and so displease
Her brother's noon-tide with the Antipodes.
It cannot be but thou hast murder'd him ;
So should a murderer look, so dead, so grim.

Dem. So should the murder'd look ; and so should I,
Pierc'd through the heart with your stern cruelty:
Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear,
As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere.

Her. What's this to my Lysander 1 Where is he '
Ah ! good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me 1

Dem. I had rather give his carcass to my hounds.

Her. Out, dog ! out, cur ! thou driv'st me past

the bounds

Of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him then 7
Henceforth be never number'd among men !
O ! once tell true, tell true, even for my sake ;
Durst thou have look'd upon him, being awake,
And hast thou kill'd him sleeping ? O brave touch !
Could not a worm, an adder, do so much ?
An adder did it ; for with doubler tongue
Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung.

« A touch anciently signified a trick. Ascham has — "The
snrewd touclies of many curst hoys." And, in the old story of
Howleglas, — ' For at all times he did some mad touch

sc. nu NIGHT'S DREAM. 811

Dem. You spend your passion on a misprif'd

mood : 7

[ am not guilty of Lysander's blood ;
Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell.

Her. I pray thee, tell me, then, that he is well.

Dem. And, if I could, what should I get there-
fore ?

Her. A privilege, never to see me more. —
And from thy hated presence part I so :8
See me no more, whether he be dead or no. [Exit.

Dem. There is no following her in this fierce vein :
Here, therefore, for a while I will remain.
So sorrow's heaviness doth heavier grow
For debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe ;
Which now in some slight measure it will pay,
If for his tender here I make some stay.

[Lies down.

Obe. What hast thou done 1 thou hast mistaken

quite,

And laid the love-juice on some true-love's sight :
Of thy misprision must perforce ensue
Some true-love turn'd, and not a false turn'd true.

Puck. Then fate o'er-rules ; that, one man hold-
ing troth,
A million fail, confounding oath on oath.

Obe. About the wood go swifter than the wind,
And Helena of Athens look thou find :
All fancy-sick she is, and pale of cheer 9
With sighs of love, that cost the fresh blood dear : '*

7 That is, in a mistaken manner. On was sometimes used
licentiously for in.

9 So was here supplied by Pope, and has been universally
received. H.

8 Cheer is from the old French ch<>re, which Cotgrave thai
explains : " The face, visage, countenance, favour, looks, aspect."
Hence it naturally came to mean that which affects the face, o
gives it expression. H.

10 So, in Heury VI., we have " blood-consuming," " b'ooH

312 A MIDSUMMER ACT III.

By some illusion see thou bring her here ;
I'll charm his eyes, against she do appear.

Puck. 1 go, I go ; look, how I go :
Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow. \Exit
Obe. Flower of this purple dye,

Hit with Cupid's archery,

Sink in apple of his eye.

When his love he doth espy,

Let her shine as gloriously

As the Venus of the sky. —

When thou wak'st, if she be by,

Beg of her for remedy.

Re-enter PUCK.

Puck. Captain of our fairy band,
Helena is here at hand ;
And the youth, mistook by me,
Pleading for a lover's fee :
Shall we their fond pageant see ?
Lord, what fools these mortals be !

Obe. Stand aside : the noise they make
Will cause Demetrius to awake.

Puck. Then will two at once woo one ;
That must needs be sport alone ; "
And those things do best please me,
That befall preposterously.

Enter LYSANDER and HELENA.

Lys. Why should you think that I should woo

in scorn ?
Scorn and derision never come in tears:

drinking," and " blood-sucking sighs ; " all alluding to the anc ien(
supposition, that every sigh was indulged at the expense of a drop
of blood.

11 That is, so gooJ that none other will seem sport iu cumpar

sc. n. NIGHT'S DREAM. 313

Look, when I vow, I weep; and vows so born,
In their nativity all truth appears.
How can these things in me seem scorn to you,
Bearing the badge of faith to prove them true ?

Hel. You do advance your cunning more and

more.

When truth kills truth, O, devilish-holy fray !
These vows are Hermia's : Will you give her c er 1
Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing we?gh •
Your vows, to her and me, put in two scales,
Will even weigh ; and both as light as tales.

Lys. I had no judgment when to her I swore.

Hel. Nor none, in my mind, now you give her
o'er.

Lys. Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you.

Dem. [Awa/dng.] O Helen, goddess, nymph, per-
fect, divine !

To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne ?
Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show
Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow !
That pure congealed white, high Taurus's snow,
Fann'd with the eastern wind, turns to a crow,
When thou.hold'st up thy hand : O let me kiss
This princess of pure white, this seal l3 of bliss !

Hel. O spite ! O hell ! I see you all are bent
To set against me, for your merriment.
If you were civil, and knew courtesy,
You would not do me thus much injury.

12 So, in Antony and Cleopatra, Act Hi. sc. 2 : " My playfellow,
your hand ; this kingly seal, and plighter of high hearts." Prin-
cess here plainly has the force of the superlative ; the paragon,
the purest of while. Mr. Dyce laughs at Collier for suggesting
that princess may be a misprint for impress. This pretty piece
of extravagance reminds us of Spenser's Una :
" A lovely ladie rode him f'aire beside,
Upon a lowly ass more while then snow ;
Yet the much whiter." n

314 A MIDSUMMEK ACT 111

Can you not hate me, as I know you do,

But you must join in souls 13 to mock me too 1

ff you were men, as men you are in show,

You \\ ould riot use a gentle lady so ;

To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts,

When, I am sure, you hate me with your hearts.

You both are rivals, and love Hermia ;

And now both rivals, to mock Helena :

A trim exploit, a manly enterprise,

To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes

With your derision ! none of noble sort

Would so offend a virgin, and extort

A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport.

Lys. You are unkind, Demetrius ; be not so ;
For you love Hermia: this you know I know:
And here, with all good will, with all my heart,
(n Hermia's love I yield you up my part ;
And yours of Helena to me bequeath,
Whom I do love, and will do to my death.

Hel. Never did mockers waste more idle breath.

Dem. Lysander, keep thy Hermia ; I will none :
[f e'er I lov'd her, all that love is gone.
My heart to her but as guest-wise sojourn'd,
And now to Helen is it home return'd,
There to remain.

Lys. Helen, it is not so.

Dem. Disparage not the faith thou dost not know,
Iscst to thy peril thou aby it dear.14 —
Look, where thy love comes ; yonder is thy dear.

13 That is. join heartily, unite in the same mind.

14 Aby or abie means to suffer for. Skinner thinks it is formed
not from abide., hut from hny ; though the two are often confound-
ed. Most editions print abide in this place : Fisher's quarto, howr
ever, has aby. Thus, also, in The Faery Queene, B. ii. Can. 8
'• That dircfull siroake thou dearely shall ahy." And in Beaumon
md Fk teller's Knight of the Hunting Pestle, Act iii. sc. 4: " Foo>

sc ii. NIGHT'S DREAM. 315

Enter HERMIA.

Her. Dark niglit, that from the eye his function

takes,

The ear more quick of apprehension makes;
Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense,
It pays the hearing double recompense : —
Thou art riot by mine eye, Lysander, found ;
Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound.
But why unkindly didst thou leave me so ?

I*ys. Why should he stay, whom love doth press
to go?

Her What love could press Lysander from my
side 7

Lys. Lysander's love, that would not let him bide
Fair Helena, who more engilds the night
Than all yon fiery oes and eyes of light.
Why seek'st thou me 7 could not this make thee

know,
The hate I bare thee made me leave thee so 7

Her. You speak not as you think ; it cannot be.

Hel. Lo, she is one of this confederacy !
Now I perceive they have conjoin'd, all three.
To fashion this false sport in spite of me.
Injurious Hermia ! most ungrateful maid !
Have you conspir'd, have you with these contriv'd
To bait me with this foul derision 7
Is all the counsel that we two have shar'd,
The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent,
When we have chid the hasty-footed time
For parting us, — O ! is all forgot 7 16

hardy knight, full soon thou shall aby this fond reproach ; thy body
will I bang." H.

15 The omission of a syllable after 0, thus giving O the time
of two syllables, adds greatly to the forcp and beaut}1 of t'lis line ;
all which the habit of nieire-mongermg Lt. spoilt by inserting
vnd. B

316 A MIDSUMMER ACT III

AH school-days' friendship, childhood innocence '

We, IJermia, like two artificial l6 gods,

Have with our needles created both one flower,

Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion,

Both warbling of one song, both in one key ;

As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds,

Had been incorporate.17 So we grew together,

Like to a double cherry, seeming parted,

But yet an union in partition ;

Two lovely berries moulded on one stem :

So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart ;

Two of the first, like coats in heraldry,

Due but to one, and crowned with one crest.18

16 Artificial is here used for the worker in art, not the work 5
like its Latin original artifex, artist, or artificer. — Needles, in the
next line, has been corrupted in modern editions into neelds ; all
for the sake of the measure ! Those who cannot read poetry with
out counting the syllables on their fingers are very unwilling to let
Shakespeare use dactyls. H.

17 Gibbon, in his account of the holy friendship between the
great Cappadocian saints, Basil and Gregory Nazianzen, Decline
and Fall, Chap, xxvii. note 29, refers to this passage, and quotes
a parallel passage from Gregory's Poem on his own Life. Trie
historian adds, — Shakespeare had never read the poems of Greg-
ory Nazianzen, he was ignorant of the Greek language ; but nis
mother-tongue, the language of Nature, is the same in Cappado-
cia and in Britain." The following translation of St. Gregory's
lines is given by Mr. Newman in his Church of the Fathers :

" May I not boast how in our day we moved
A truest pair, not without name in Greece ;
Had all things common, and one only soul
In lodgment of a double outward frame ?
Our special bond, the thought of God above,
And the high longing after holy things.
And each of us was bold to trust in each,
Unto the emptying of our deepest hearts ;
And then we loved the more, for sympathy
Pleaded in each, and knit the twain in one." H.

18 Mr. Douce thus explains this passage : " We had two of the
first, i. e bodies, like the double coats in heraldry that belong to

man and wife as one person, but which, like our single heart, have
but one ci-est."

BC. ii. NIGHT'S DREAM. 317

And will you rend our ancient love asunder,
To join with men in scorning your poor friend T
It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly :
Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it ;
Though I alone do feel the injury.

Her. I am amazed at your passionate words :
I ocorn you not ; it seems that you scorn me.

HeL Have you not set Lysander, as in scorn.
To follow me, and praise my eyes and face 7
And made your other love, Demetrius,
(Who even but now did spurn me with his foot,}
To call me goddess, nymph, divine, and rare,
Precious, celestial 7 Wherefore speaks he this
To her he hates 7 and wherefore doth Lysander
Deny your love, so rich within his soul,
And tender me, forsooth, affection,
But by your setting on, by your consent 7
What though I be not so in grace as you.
So hung upon with love, so fortunate ;
But miserable most, to love unlov'd ;
This you should pity, rather than despise.

Her. I understand not what you mean by this

HeL Ay, do, persever, counterfeit sad looks,
Make mouths upon me when I turn my back;
Wink at each other; hold the sweet jest up:
This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled.
If you have any pity, grace, or manners,
You would not make me such an argument.
But fare ye well : 'tis partly mine own fault,
Which death, or absence, soon shall remedy.

Lys. Stay, gentle Helena ! hear my excuse :
My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena !

HeL O excellent •

Her. Sweet, do not scorn hei «f>

Dem. If she cannot entreat, I can compel.

318 A MIDSUMMER ACT III

Lys. Thou canst compel no more than she en-
treat :
Thy threats have no more strength, than her weak

prayers. —

Helen, I love thee ; by my life I do :
I swear by that which I will lose for thee,
To prove him false, that says I love thee not.

Dem. I say I love thee more than he can do.

Lys. If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too.

Dem. Quick, come, —

Her. Lysander, whereto tends all this ?

Lys. Away, you Ethiope !

Dem. No, no, he'll — Sir,"

Seem to break loose ; take on, as you would follow;
But yet come not : You are a tame man, go !

Lys. Hang off, thou cat, thou burr ! vile thing,

let loose,
Or I will shake thee from me like a serpent.

Her. Why are you grown so rude 1 what change

is this,
Sweet love ?

Lys. Thy love 1 out, tawny Tartar, out !

Out, loathed medicine ! O hated poison, hence !

Her. Do you not jest ?

Hel. Yes, 'sooth; and so do you.

Lys. Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee.

Dem. I would I had your bond ; for I perceive
A weak bond holds you : I'll not trust your word.

Lys. What ! should I hurt her, strike her, kill

— her dead ?
Although I hate her, I'll not harm her so.

19 This arrangement of the text is Malone's, who thus explains
it. The words he'll are not jn the folio, and sir is not in the quarto
Demetrius. I suppose, would say, No, no, he'll not have the reso-
lution to disengage himself from Hermia. But turning to Lys an-
dttr, he addresses him ironically : " Sir, seem to break loose," &o

tic. ii. NIGHT'S BREAM. 31U

Her. What ! can you do me greater harm than

hate ?

Hate me ! wherefore ? O me ! what means my love ?
Am not I Hermia ? Are not you Lysander ?
I am as fair now as I was erewhile.
Since night you lov'd me ; yet since night you left

me :

Why, then you left me, — O, the gods forbid ! —
In earnest shall 1 say 1

Lys. Ay, by my life ;

And never did desire to see thee more.
Therefore, be out of hope, of question, doubt ;
Be certain, nothing truer : 'tis no jest,
That I do hate thee, and love Helena.

Her. O me — you juggler ! you canker-blos-

som ! 20

You thief of love ! what, have you come by night,
And stol'n my love's heart from him ?

Hel Fine, i'faith '

Have you no modesty, no maiden shame,
No touch of bashfulness 1 What ! will you teai
Impatient answers from my gentle tongue ?
Fie, fie ! you counterfeit, you puppet you !

Her. Puppet ! why so 1 Ay, that way goes the

game.

Now I perceive that she hath made compare
Between our statures : she hath urg'd her height,
And with her personage, her tall personage,
Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail'd with him. —
And are you grown so high in his esteem,
Because I am so dwarfish, and so low 1
How low am 1, thou painted maypole 1 speak ;

*° The canker is a worm that preys on the leaves or buds of
flowers, always beginning in the middle. So before, iu this play
" Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds."

320 A MIDSUMMER ACT III.

How low am I 1 I am not jet so low,
But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes.

Hel. I pray you, though you mock me, gentlemen,
Let her not hurt me : I was never curst ; 21
I have no gift at all in shrewishness ;
I am a right maid for my cowardice :
Let her not strike me : You, perhaps, may think.
Because she is something lower than myself,
That I can match her.

Her. Lower ! hark, again.

Hel. Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me.
I evermore did love you, Hermia,
Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong'd you;
Save that, in love unto Demetrius,
1 told him of your stealth unto this wood :
He follow'd you ; for love I follow'd him :
But he hath chid me hence ; and threaten'd me
To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too :
And now, so you will let me quiet go,
To Athens will I bear my folly back,
And follow you no further : Let me go :
V m see how simple and how fond I am.

Her. Why, get you gone : Who is't that lan-
ders you ?

Hel. A foolish heart that I leave here behind.

Her. What ! with Lysander 1

Hel. With Demetrius.

Lys. Be not afraid : she shall not harm thee,
Helena.

Dem. No, sir; she shall not, though you take her
part.

HeL O ! when she's angry, she is keen arid
shrewd :

* That is, froward, cross, ill-conditioned, or ill-spoken.

ac. ii. NIGHT'S DREAM. 321

She was a vixen, when she went to school ;
And, though she be but little, she is fierce.

Her. Little again ! nothing but low and little ! —
Why will you suffer her to flout me thus ?
Let me come to her.

Lys. Get you gone, you dwarf1

You minimus, of hindering knot-grass made ; **
You bead, you acorn !

Dem. You are too officious

In her behalf that scorns your services :
Let her alone ; speak not of Helena ;
Take not her part : for if thou dost intend
Never so little show of love to her,
Thou shalt aby it.23

Lys. Now she holds me not ;

Now follow, if thou dar'st, to try whose right,
Of thine or mine, is most in Helena.

Dem. Follow ? nay, I'll go with thee cheek by
jowl. [Exeunt LYS. and DEM.

Her. You, mistress, all this coil is 'long of you : *4
Nay, go not back.

Hel. I will not trust you, 1 ;

Nor longer stay in your curst a5 company.
Your hands, than mine, are quicker for a fray ,
My legs are longer though, to run away. [Exit

Her. I am amaz'd, and know not what to say.

[Exit) pursuing HELENA.

** Knot-grass, it seems, was anciently supposed to stop the
growth of those to whom it was applied. Thus, in Beaumont and
Fletcher's Knight of the Burning Pestle, Act ii. sc. 2 : " The
child's a fatherless child, and say they should put him into a strait
pair of gaskins, 'twere worse than knot-grass ; he would never
grow after it." " O, who can tell the hidden power of herbs, and
might of magic spell ! " Knot-grass is a low, creeping herb. H

23 That is, pay dearly for it, rue it. See note 14.

44 Is owing to you, is caused by you.

** Curst is shrewish, sirite/ul, not cursed, as readers are apt to
suppose.

322 A MIDSUMMEH ACT III

Obe. This is thy negligence : still th«»u mis-

tak'st,
Or else committ'st thy knaveries wilfully.

Puck. Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook.
Did not you tell me I should know the man
By the Athenian garments he had on ?
And so far blameless proves my enterprise,
That I have 'nointed an Athenian's eyes :
And so far am I glad it so did sort,
As this their jangling I esteem a sport.

Obe. Thou seest, these lovers seek a place to

fight:

Hie, therefore, Robin, overcast the night ;
The starry welkin cover thou anon
With drooping fog, as black as Acheron ;
And lead these testy rivals so astray,
As one come not within another's way.
Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue,
Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong ;
And sometime rail thou like Demetrius :
And from each other look thou lead them thus,
Till o'er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep
With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep :
Then crush this herb into Lysander's eye ;
Whose liquor hath this virtuous property,
To take from thence all error with his might,
And make liis eye-balls roll with wonted sight.
When they next wake, all this derision
Shall seem a dream, and fruitless vision ;
And back to Athens shall the lovers wend,
With league whose date till death shall never end.
Whiles I in this affair do thee employ,
I'll to my queen, and beg her Indian boy ;
And then I will her charmed eye release
From monster's view, and all things shall be peace

sc IL NIGHT'S DREAM. 323

Puck. My fairy lord, this must be done with haste ;
For night's swift dragons 28 cut the clouds full fast,
And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger ;
At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and

there,

Troop home to church-yards : damned spirits all,
That in cross-ways and floods have burial,27
Already to their wormy beds are gone ;
For fear lest day should look their shames upon,
They wilfully themselves exile from light,
And must for aye consort with black-brow'd night.

Obe. But we are spirits of another sort :
[ with the Morning's love 2S have oft made sport ;
And, like a forester, the groves may tread,
Even till the eastern gate, all fiery red,29
Opening on Neptune with fair .blessed beams,
Turns into yellow gold his salt-green streams.

28 The chariot of Madam Night was anciently drawn by a team
of dragons, that is, serpents, who were thought to be always
awake, because (hey slept with their eyes open ; and therefore
were selected for this purpose. So, in Cymbeline, Act ii. sc. 2:
" Swift, swift, ye dragons of the night." And in Milton's II
I'enseroso :

" Smoothing the rugged brow of night,

While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke." H.

27 The ghosts of self-murderers, who are buried in cross-roads;
and of those who being drowned were condemned (according 10
the opinion of the ancients) to wander for a hundred years, as ide
rites of sepulture had never been regularly bestowed on iheir
bodies. See the fine passage in Hamlet, Act i. sc. 1 : " 1 have
neard, the cock, thai is the trumpet of the morn,'' &c.

** Csphalus, the mighty hunter, and paramour of Aurora, was
here probably meant.

49 This, it is thought, may have been suggested by the follow
ing from Chaucer's Knight's Tale :

" The besy larke, the messager of day,
Salewith in hire song the morwe gray,
And firy I'hebus riseth up so bright
That nil the orient latighclii of the sight,
And with his stremes drielh in the greves
The silver dropes, hanging on the leves." B.

324 A MIT»SUMMER ACT III,

But, notwithstanding, haste ; make no delay :
We may effect this business yet ere day.

[Exit OBERON.

Puck. Up and down, up and down,
I will lead them up and down :
I am fear'd in field and town ;
Goblin, lead them up and down.
Here comes one.

Enter LYSANDER.

Lys. Where art thou, proud Demetrius ? speak

thou now.
Puck. Here, villain ! drawn and ready. Where

art thou ?

Lys. I will be with thee straight.
Puck. Follow me then

To plainer ground. [Exit LYS. as following the voice

Enter DEMETRIUS.

Dem. Ly sander ! speak again.

Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled 7
Speak ! In some bush 7 Where dost thou hide

thy head ?
Puck. Thou coward ! art thou bragging to the

stars,

Telling the bushes that thou look'st for wars,
And wilt not come ? Come, recreant ; come, thou

child,

I'll whip thee with a rod : He is defil'd,
1'hat draws a sword on thee.

Dem. Yea ; art thou there ?

Puck. Follow my voice : we'll try no manhood

here. [Exeunt

sc, ii. NIGHT'S DREAM. '£25

Re-enter LYSANDER.

Lys. He goes before me, and still dares me on :
When I come where he calls, then he is gone.
The villain is much lighter heel'd than I :
I follow'd fast, but faster he did fly ;
That fallen am I in dark uneven way,
And here will rest me. Come, thou gentle day !

[Lies down

For if but once thou show me thy grey light,
I'll find Demetrius, and revenge this spite. [Sleeps

Re-enter PUCK and DEMETRIUS.

Puck. Ho, ho, ho ! Coward, why com'st thoi

not?

Dem. Abide me, if thou dar'st ; for well I wot,
Thou runn'st before me, shifting every place ;
And dar'st not stand, nor look me in the face.
Where art thou now ]

Puck. Come hither ; I am here.

Dem. Nay, then thou mock'st me. Thou shah

'by this dear,30

If ever I thy face by day-light see :
Now, go thy way. Faintness constraineth me
To measure out my length on this cold bed. —
By day's approach look to be visited.

[Lies doicn and sleeps.

Enter HELENA.

Hel. O weary night ! O long and tedious night 1
Abate thy hours : shine, comforts, from the east ;
That I may back to Athens by day-light,
From these that my poor company detest : —

*° Aby. See rotes 1-1 and 23.

326 A MIDSUMMER ACT IH

And, sleep, that sometime shuts up sorrow's eye,
Steal me awhile from mine own company. [Sleeps
Puck. Yet but three ? Come one more ;

Two of both kinds makes up four.

Here she comes, curst and sad : —

Cupid is a knavish lad,

Thus to make poor females mad.

Enter HERMIA.

Her. Never so weary, never so in woe,
Bedabbled with the dew, and torn with briers,
I can no further crawl, no further go ;
My legs can keep no pace with my desires.
Here will I rest me till the break of day :
Heaven shield Lysander, if they mean a fray !

[Lies down.

Puck. On the ground sleep sound :
I'll apply to your eye,
Gentle lover, remedy.

[Squeezing the juice on LYSANDER'S eye
When thou wak'st, thou tak'st
True delight in the sight
Of thy former lady's eye :
And the country proverb known,
That every man should take his own,
In your waking shall be shown :
Jack shall have Jill ;
Nought shall go ill ;
The man shall have his mare again,
And all shall be well.31

[Exit PUCK. — DEM., HEL., <Sfc., sleep.

sl These last four lines are to be found in Heywood's Epigrams,
or Three Hundred Proverbs.

NIGHT'S DREAM. 327

ACT IV.

SCENE I. The same.

Enter TITANIA and BOTTOM, Fairies attending;
OBERON behind unseen.

Tita. Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bedf
While I thy amiable cheeks do coy,1
And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head,
And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy.

Bot. Where's Peas-blossorn ?

Peas. Ready.

Bot. Scratch my head, Peas-blossom. — Where's
monsieur Cobweb ?

Cob. Ready.

Bot. Monsieur Cobweb, good monsieur, get your
weapons in your hand, and kill me a red-hipp'd
humble-bee on the top of a thistle ; and, good mon-
sieur, bring me the honey-bag. Do not fret yourself
too much in the action, monsieur ; and, good mon-
sieur, have a care the honey-bag break not : I would
be loth to have you overflown with a honey-bag,
signior. — Where's monsieur Mustard-seed ?

Must. Ready.

Bot. Give me your neif,2 monsieur Mustard-seed.
Pray you, leave your courtesy, good monsieur.

Must. What's your will ?

Bot. Nothing, good monsieur, but to help cavalery
Cobweb3 to scratch. 1 must to the barber's, mon-

1 To coy, is to stroke or soothe with the hand.

* That is, fist. So, in 2 Henry IV., Pistol says : " Sweet
knight, I kiss thy neif." In Ben Jonson's Poetaster, Act iii. sc. 1.
the word is spelt neuf H.

* Grey says, — " Without doubt it should be cavalery Peas

328 A MIDSUMMER ACT IV

sieur ; for, methinks, 1 am marvellous hairy about
the face ; and I am such a tender ass, if my hair
do but tickle me, I must scratch.

Tito. What, wilt thou hear some music, my sweel
love 1

Bot. I have a reasonable good ear in music : let
us l.ave the tongs and the bones.

Tita. Or say, sweet love, what thou desir'st to
eat.

Bot. Truly, a peck of provender : I could munch
your good dry oats. Methinks, I have a great
desire to a bottle of hay : 4 good hay, sweet hay,
hath no fellow.

Tito. I have a venturous fairy that shall seek
The squirrel's hoard, and fetch thee new nuts.

Bot. I had rather have a handful or two of dried
peas. But, I pray you, let none of your people stir
me ; I have an exposition of sleep come upon me.

Tito. Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms
Fairies, be gone, and be awhile away.
So doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle
Gently entwist ; the female ivy so
Enrings the barky fingers of the elm.*
O, how I love thee ! how I dote on thee !

[They sleep

blossom : as for cavalery Cobweb, he has just been despatched
upon a perilous adveuture." Of course Mr. Grey is right. H.

* Bottle is an old word for handle, from the French hmjaii.
Richardson says, — " It is still common in the northern parts of
England to call a truss or bundle of hay a bottle." H.

• This is usually printed as if sweet honeysuckle were in appo
sition with woodbine, making the barky Jingers the object of both
tiUwitt and enrings But Steevens, who introduced this reading
has given no authority for thus making woodbine and honeysucklt
meaii the same thing. The true reading is aptly shown by a pas-
sp.ge in Joiisou's Vision of Delight :

•• It looks, metliinks, like one of Nature's eyes,
Or her whole l>o<ly set in art : behold!

8C. I. NIGHT'S DREAM. 329

OBERON advances. Enter PUCK.

Obe. Welcome, good Robin. Seest thou thin

sweet sight 1

Her dotage now I do begin to pity.
For meeting her of late behind the wood,
Seeking sweet favours for this hateful fool,
I did upbraid her, and fall out with her :
For she his hairy temples then had rounded
With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers ;
And that same dew, which sometime on the buds
Was wont to swell like round and orient pearls*.
Stood now within the pretty flowerets' eyes,
Like tears that did their own disgrace bewail.
When I had at my pleasure taunted her,
And she in mild terms begg'd my patience,
I then did ask of her her changeling child ;
Which straight she gave me, and her fairy sent
To bear him to my bower in Fairy-land.
And now I have the boy, I will undo
This hateful imperfection of her eyes.
And, gentle Puck, take this transformed scalp
From off the head of this Athenian swain ;
That he awaking when the other do,
May all to Athens back again repair ;
And think no more of this night's accidents,
But as the fierce vexation of a dream.
But first I will release the fairy queen.

How the blue bindweed doth itself infold
With honey-suckle, and hoth these intwine
Themselves with bryony and jessamine,
To cast a kind and odoriferous shade."

Mr. Giffbrd, in a note upon this passage, remarks, — " The \rood
bine of Shakespeare is the blue bindtreed of Jonson. In man}
of our counties, the woodbine is still the name of the great con
vehulti*." H

S*0 A MIDSUMMER ACT IV

Be, as them wast wont to be ;
See, as thou wast wont to see :
Dian's bud o'er Cupid's flower 6
Hath such force and blessed power.
Now, in} Titania ! wake you, my sweet queen.
Tito. My Oberon ! what visions have I seen .
M '.thought I was enarnour'd of an ass.
Obe. There lies your love.

Tito, How came these things to pass 1

3, how mine eyes do loathe liis visage now !

Obe. Silence, awhile. — Robin, take off this

head. —

Titania, music call ; and strike more dead
Than common sleep of all these five the sense.
Tito. Music, ho ! music : such as charmeth

sleep.
Puck. Now, when thou wak'st, with thine own

fool's eyes peep.
Obe. Sound, music. [Still musir ] Come, mj

queen, take hands with me,
And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be
Now thou and I are new in amity ;
And will, to-morrow midnight, solemnly
Dance in Duke Theseus' house triumphantly,
And bless it to all fair posterity :
There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be
Wedded, with Theseus, all in jollity.

Puck. Fairy king, attend and mark ;
I do hear the morning lark.

Obe. Then, my queen, in silence sad,7
Trip we after the night's shade :

• Dian's bud is the hud of the Agnus Caslns, or Chaste Trte.
•' The vertue of this hearbe is, that he will kepe man ajid woman
chaste." Macers Herbal, by Lynacre. Cupid's flower is the
Viola tricolor, or Lore in Idleness. See Att ii. sc. 1, note 24

7 Kad here signifies oiily grju-n, serious.

sc. i. NIGHT'S DREAM. 331

We the globe can compass soon,
Swifter than the wandering moon.

Tita. Come, my lord ; and in our flight,
Tell me how it came this night,
That I sleeping here was found,
With these mortals on the ground. [Exeunt.
[Horns sound within.

Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, EGEUS, and Train,

Ttie. Go, one of you, find out the forester ; —
For now our observation is perform 'd : 8
And since we have the vavvard 9 of the day,
My love shall hear the music of my hounds. —
Uncouple in the western valley ; let them go :
Despatch, I say, and find the forester. —
We will, fair queen, up to the mountain's top,
And mark the musical confusion
Of hounds and echo in conjunction.

Hip. I was with Hercules, and Cadmus, once,
When in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear
With hounds of Sparta : never did I hear
Such gallant chiding ; 10 for, besides the groves.
The skies, the fountains, every region near
Seem'd all one mutual cry : I never heard
So musical a discord, such sweet thunder.

The. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kindt
So flew'd, so sanded; " and their heads are hung

8 That is, the honours due to the morning of May. So, in a
former scene — " to do obsei-rance to a morn of May."

' The early part, the vanward, of the day.

10 Chiding means here the cry of hoitjids. To chide is used
sometimes for to sound, or make a noise without any reference to
scolding. So. in Henry VIII. : " As doth a rock against the
chiding flood.'*

•' Thereto* are the large chaps of a deep-mouthed hound. —
Sanded means of a sandy colour, which is one of the true denote
menu of a blood-hound.

3JK2 A MIDSUMMER ACT IV

Witli ears that sweep away the morning dew ;
Crook-kneed, and dew-lapp'd like Thessaltan bulls $
Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells,
Each under each. A cry more tuneable
Was nevnr halloo'd to, nor cheer'd with horn,
In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly :
Judge, when you hear. — But, soft ! what nymphs
are these ?

Ege. My lord, this is my daughter here asleep :
A.nd this, Lysander ; this Demetrius is ;
This Helena, old Nedar's Helena :
I wonder of their being here together.

The. No doubt, they rose up early, to observe
The rite of May ; and, hearing our intent,
Came here in grace of our solemnity. -
But speak, Egeus ; is not this the day
That Hermia should give answer of her choice ?

Ege. It is, my lord.

The. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their
horns.

Horns, and shout within. DEMETRIUS, LYSANDER,
HERMIA, and HELENA, wake and start up.

The. Good-morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is

past :
Begin these wood-birds but to couple now ?

Lys. Pardon, my lord. [He and the rest kneel.

The. I pray you all, stand up.

I know you are two rival enemies :
How comes this gentle concord in the world,
That hatred is so far from jealousy,
To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity ?

Lys. My lord, I shall reply amazedly,
Half 'sleep, half waking : But as yet, I swear,
1 cannot truly say how I came here ;

sc. i. NIGHT'S DREAM. 3tJ3

But, as I think, (for truly would I speak, —
And now I do bethink me, so it is,)
I came with Hermia hither : our intent
Was to be gone from Athens, where we might
Without, the peril of the Athenian law —

Ege. Enough, enough ! my lord, you have enough :
1 beg the law, the law, upon his head. —
They would have stol'n away ; they would, Demetrius,
Thereby to have defeated you arid me ;
You, of your wife, and me, of my consent;
Of my consent that she should be your wife.

Dfm. My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth,
Of this their purpose hither, to this wood ;
And I in fury hither follow'd them ;
Fair Helena in fancy following me.1*
But, my good lord, I wot not by what power,
(But by some power it is,) my love to Hermia,
Melted as the snow, seems to me now
As the remembrance of an idle gawd,
Which in my childhood I did dote upon :
And all the faith, the virtue of my heart,
The object, and the pleasure of mine eye,
Is only Helena. To her, my lord,
Was I betroth'd ere I saw Hermia :
But, like in sickness, did I loathe this food ;
But, as in health, come to my natural taste,
Now do I wish it, love it, long for it,
And will for evermore be true to it.

The. Fair lovers, you are fortunately met :
Of this discourse we more will hear anon. —
Egeus, I will overbear your will ;

li Fancy is here lore or affection, and is opposed to fury. So,
in Shakespeare's Venus and Adonis : " A martial man to be sort
fancy's slave." Some now call that which a man takes partieu
las delight in his fancy.

334 A MIDSUMMER ACT IV

For in the temple, by and by with us,
These couples shall eternally be knit.
And, for the morning now is something worn,
Our purpos'd hunting shall be set aside. —
Away, with us, to Athens : Three and three,
We'll hold a feast in great solemnity. —
Come, Hippolyta.

[Exeunt THE., HIP., EGE., and Train.

Dem. These things seem small and undistinguish-

able,
Like far-off mountains turned into clouds.

Her. Methinks, I see these things with parted eye,
When every thing seems double.

HeL So methinks :

And I have found Demetrius like a jewel,
Mine own, and not mine own.13

Dem. Are you sure

That we are awake ? It seems to me,
That yet we sleep, we dream. — Do not you think
The duke was here, and bid us follow him ?

Her. Yea ; and my father.

HeL And Hippolyta.

Lys. And he did bid us follow to the temple.

Dem. Why, then we are awake : let's follow him ;
And by the way let us recount our dreams.

[Exeunt.

Bot. [Awaking.] When my cue comes, call me,
and I will answer : — my next is, " Most fair Pyra-
mus." — Hey, ho! — Peter Quince! Flute, the bel-
lows-mender ! Snout, the tinker ! Starveling ! God'a
my life ! stolen hence, and left me asleep ! I have
had a most rare vision. I have had a dream, —
past the wit of man to say what dream it was : Man

u That is, as the jewel which one finds is his own and not hi/
own ; bis own unless the loser claim it. H.

sc. n. NIGHT'S DREAM. 335

is but an ass, if he go about to expound this dream.
Methought 1 was — there is no man can tell what.
Methought I was, and methought I had, — But man
is but a patch'd fool, if he will offer to say what
methought I had. The eye of man hath not heard,
the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not
able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart
lo report, what my dream was. I will get Peter
Quince to write a ballad of this dream : it shall be
called Bottom's Dream, because it hath no bottom ;
arid I will sing it in the latter end of a play, be-
fore the duke : Peradventure, to make it the more
gracious, I shall sing it at her death.14 [Exit.

SCENE II. Athens. A Room in QUINCE'S House.
Enter QUINCE, FLUTE, SNOUT, and STARVELING.

Quin. Have you sent to Bottom's house ? is he
come home yet I

Star. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt, he
is transported.

Flu. If he come not, then the play is marr'd :
It goes not forward, doth it 1

Quin. It is not possible : you have not a man in
all Athens able to discharge Pyramus, but he.

Flu. No ; he hath simply the best wit of any
handicraft man in Athens.

Quin. Yea ; and the best person too ; and he is
a very paramour for a sweet voice.

Flu. You must say, paragon : a paramour is,
God bless us ! a thing of nought.

14 That is, at Thisbe's death, Bottom's head being- full of the
part he is going to play. Theobald could not iiuigiue wh.it ht>
meant, and therefore proposed after death. K

336 A MIDSUMMER ACT IV

Enter SNUG.

Snug. Masters, the duke is coming from the tern
pie, and there is two or three lords and ladies more
married : if our sport had gone forward, we had
all been made men.

Flu. O, sweet bully Bottom ! Thus hath he lost
sixpence a-day during his life ; he could not have
'scaped sixpence a-day : an the duke had not given
him sixpence a-day for playing Pyramus, I'll be
hang'd ; he would have deserved it : sixpence a-day,
in Pyramus, or nothing.

Enter BOTTOM.

Bot. Where are these lads 1 where are these
hearts ?

Quin. Bottom ! — O, most courageous day ! O,
most happy hour !

Bot. Masters, I am to discourse wonders : but
ask me not what ; for, if I tell you, I am no true
Athenian. I will tell you every thing, right as it
fell out.

Quin. Let us hear, sweet Bottom.

Bot. Not a word of me. All that I will tell you
is, that the duke hath dined : Get your apparel to-
gether ; good strings to your beards, new ribbons to
your pumps : meet presently at the palace ; every
man look o'er his part ; for, the short and the long
is, our play is preferred. In any case let Thisby
have clean linen ; and let not him that plays the
lion pare his nails, for they shall hang out for the
lion's claws. And, most dear actors, eat no onions,
nor garlic, for we are to utter sweet breath ; and I
do not doubt but to hear them say, it is a sweet
comedy No more words : away ! go, away !

[Exeunt.

NIGHT'S DREAM. 337

ACT V.

SCENE I. The same.
An Apartment in the Palace of THESEDS.

Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLTTA, PHIL.OSTRATE,
Lords, and Attendants.

Hip. 'Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers

speak of.

The. More strange than true : I never may believe
These antique fables, nor these fairy toys.
Lovers, and madmen, have such seething brains '
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend
More than cool reason ever comprehends.
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet,
Are of imagination all compact : *
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold ;
That is the madman : the lover, all as frantic,
Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt :
The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to

heaven ;

And, as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing

1 So, in The Tempest : " Thy brains, now useless, boil'd within
thy skull." And in The Winter's Tale : " Would any but these
boil'd brains of three and twenty hunt this weather ? " Drayton,
in his Epistle to Reynolds on poets and poetry, seems to have h&d
this in his mind, when, speaking of Marlowe, he says :
" That fine madness still he did retain.

Which rightly should possess a poet's brain."
8 That is. are made, composed, of mere imagination.

3N A MIDSUMMER ACT T

A local habitation, and a name.
Such tricks hath strong imagination,
That, if it would but apprehend some joy,
It comprehends some bringer of that joy;
Or, in the night, imagining some fear,
How easy is a bush suppos'd a bear !

Hip. But all the story of the night told over
And all their minds transfigur'd so together,
More witnesseth than fancy's images,
And grows to something of great constancy ; *
But, howsoever, strange and admirable.

Enter LYSANDER, DEMETRIUS, HERMIA, and
HELENA.

The. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth. —
Joy, gentle friends ! joy, and fresli days of love,
Accompany your hearts !

Lys. More than to us

Wait on your royal walks, your board, your bed !

TJie. Come now; what masks, what dances shall

we have,

To wear away this long age of three hours,
Between our after-supper, and bed-time 1
Where is our usual manager of mirth 1
What revels are in hand 1 Is there no play,
To ease the anguish of a torturing hour 1
Call Philostrate.

Philost. Here, mighty Theseus.

The. Say, what abridgment 4 have you for tliia

evening 1

What mask ? what music ? How shall we beguile
The lazy time, if not with some delight 1

* That is, consistency, stability, certainty.

4 Abridgment appears to mean some pastime to *horte-\ the
tedious evening.

*c. i. NIGHT'S DREAM. 339

Philost. There is a brief,6 how many sports are

ripe :

Make choice of which your highness will see first.

[Giving a paper.
The. [Reads.] " The battle with the Centaurs, to

be sung

By an Athenian eunuch to the harp."
We'll none of that : that have I told my love,
In glory of my kinsman Hercules.
" The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals,
Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage."
That is an old device ; and it was play'd
When I from Thebes came last a conqueror.
" The thrice three Muses mourning for the death
Of learning, late deceas'd in beggary."
That is some satire, keen, and critical,
Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony.
" A tedious brief scene of young Pyranms,
And his love Thisbe ; very tragical mirth."
Merry and tragical ! Tedious and brief !
That is, hot ice, and wondrous strange snow.
How shall we find the concord of this discord ?
Philost. A play there is, my lord, some ten words

long ;

Which is as brief as I have known a play ;
But by ten words, my lord, it is too long ;
Which makes it tedious: for in all the play
There is not one word apt, one player fitted.
And tragical, my noble lord, it is ;
For Pyranms therein doth kill himself.
Which, when I saw rehears'd, 1 must confess,
Made mine eyes water ; but more merry tears
The passion of loud laughter never shed.
T/te. What are they that do play it ?

* Sl» rt account.

'34U A MIDSUMMER ACT V.

Philost. Hard-handed men, that work in Athens

here,

Which never labour'd in their minds till now ;
And now have toil'd their unhreath'd6 memories
With this same play, against your nuptial.

T/ie. And we will hear it.

Philost. No, my noble lord,

It is not for you : I have heard it over,
And it is nothing, nothing in the world,
(Unless you can find sport in their intents,)
Extremely stretch'd, and conn'd with cruel pain,
To do you service.

The. I will hear that play ;

For never any thing can be amiss,
When simpleness and duty tender it.
Go, bring them in ; — and take your places, ladies.

[Exit PHILOSTRATE.

Hip. I love not to see wretchedness o'ercharg'd,
And duty in his service perishing.

The. Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such
thing.

Hip. He says they can do nothing in this kind.

The. The kinder we, to give them thanks for

nothing.

Our sport shall be, to take what they mistake :
And what poor duty cannot do,
Noble respect takes it in might, not merit.7
Where I have corne, great clerks have purposed
To greet me with premeditated welcomes ;
Where I have seen them shiver and look pale,
Make periods in the midst of sentences,
Throttle their practis'd accent in their fears,

8 That is, unexercised, unpractised.

1 That is, according- to the alulity of the floer, not according to
tiie worth of the thing done. H.

sc. i. NIGHT'S DREAM. 341

And, in conclusion, dumbly have broke off,

Not paying me a welcome : Trust me, sweet,

Out of this silence, yet, I pick'd a welcome ;

And in the modesty of fearful duty

I read as much, as from the rattling tongue

Of saucy and audacious eloquence.

Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity,

In least speak most, to my capacity.

Enter PHILOSTRATE.

Philost. So please your grace, the prologue is

addrest.8
Tlie. Let him approach. [Flourish of trumpets*

Enter Prologue.

Prol. " If we offend, it is with our good will.
That you should think, we come not to offend,
But with good will. To show our simple skill,
That is the true beginning of our end.
Consider then, we come but in despite.
We do not come as minding to content you,
Our true intent is. All for your delight,
We are not here. That you should here repent you,
The actors are at hand ; and, by their show,
You shall know all, that you are like to know." 10

8 Ready.

• Anciently the prologue entered after the third sounding of the
trumpets, or, as we should now say, after the third music.

10 Had " this fellow " stood " upon points," his speech would
have read nearly as follows :

" If we offend, it is with our good will
That you should think we come not to offend ;
But with good will to show our simple skill :
That is the true beginning. Of our end
Consider then : we come ; but in despite
We do not come : as minding to content you,
Our true intent is a'l for your delight.
We are not here, tnat you should here repent y ou
The actors are at hand j and, by their show,
You shall know all ihut you are like to know." a

342 A MIDSUMMER ACT V.

Tlie This fellow doth not stand upon points.

Lys. He hath rid his prologue, like a rough colt ;
he knows not the stop. A good moral, my lord : Ft
is not enough to speak, but to speak true.

Hip. Indeed he hath play'd on his prologue like
a child on a recorder;11 a sound, but not in gov-
ernment.

The. His speech was like a tangled chain ; noth-
ing impaired, but all disordered. Who is next 1

Enter PTRAMCS and THISBE, Wall, Moonshine, and Lion,

as in dumb show.

Prol. " Gentles, perchance, you wonder at this show ;
But wonder on, till truth make all things plain.
This man is Pyramus, if you would know ;
This beauteous lady Thisby is, certain.
This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth present
Wall, that vile wall which did these lovers sunder ;
And through wall's chink, poor souls, they are content
To whisper ; at the which let no man wonder.
This man, with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn,
Presenteth moonshine ; for, if you will know,
By moonshine did these lovers think no scorn
To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo.
This grisly beast, which lion hight 1!! by name,
The trusty Thisby, coming first by night,
Did scare away, or rather did affright :
And, as sho fled, her mantle she did fall,
Which lion vile with bloody mouth did stain.
Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth, and tall,
And finds his trusty Thisby's mantle slain :
Whereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade,
He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody breast ;
And, Thisby tarrying in mulberry shade,
His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest,

11 A kind of flagrolet. See The Two Gentlemen of Verona,
Act v. sc. 4, note 1.
14 Is called.

sc. i. NIGHT'S DREAM. 343

Let lion, moonshine, wall, and lovera twain,
A t large discourse, while here they do remain."

[Exeunt Pro/., THISBE, Lion, and Moonshine.

The. I wonder, if the lion be to speak.
Dem. No wonder, my lord : one lion may, when
many asses do.

Wall. " In this same interlude, it doth befall,
That I, one Snout by name, present a wall ;
And such a wall, as I would have you think,
That had in it a cranny'd hole, or chink,
Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby,
Did whisper often veiy secretly.
This lime, this rough-cast, and this stone, doth show
That I am that same wall ; the truth is so :
And this the cranny is, right and sinister,
Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper.

Tlie. Would you desire lime and hair to speak

better 7

Dem. It is the wittiest partition l3 that ever 1
heard discourse, my lord.

The. Pyramus draws near the wall : silence !

Enter PYRAMUS.

Pyr. " O grim-look'd night ! O night with hue so black '
O night, which ever art, when day is not !

0 night! O night! alack, alack, alack!

1 fear my Thisby's promise is forgot. —

13 Some commentator has expressed the odd fancy, that parti
tian here refers to the many-headed sermons which the Paritaoi
•were so zealous to reform into the place of the Scriptures and the
Book of Common Prayer ; and which Jeremy Taylor had in his
eye. something more than fifty years later, when he got himself
imprisoned for writing, — " The people have fallen under the saws
and harrows of impertinent and ignorant prrachers, who think »U
religion is a sermon, and pray, that they may be thought able to
talk, but not to hold their peace." H

344 A MIDSUMMER ACT V

And thou, O wall ! O sweet, O lovely wall .
That stand'st between her father's ground and mine ,
Thou wall, O wall ! O sweet, and lovely wall !
Show me thy chink, to blink through with mine eyne.

[Wall holds up his fngers.

Thanks, courteous wall : Jove shield thee well for this '
But what see I ? No Thisby do I see.

0 wicked wall ! through whom I see no bliss ;
Curs'd be thy stones for thus deceiving me ! "

The. The wall, methinks, being sensible, should
curse again.

Pyr. No, in truth, sir, he should not. " Deceiv-
ing me," is Thisby's cue : she is to enter now, and

1 am to spy her through the wall. You shall see,
it will fall pat as I told you : — Yonder she comes.

Enter THISBE.
This. " O wall ! full often hast thou heard my moans

For parting my fair Pyramus and me :

My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones ;

Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee."
Pyr. " I see a voice : now will I to the chink.

To spy an I can hear my Thisby's face.

Thisby ! "

This. " My love ! thou art my love, I think."

Pyr. " Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's grace .

And like Limander u am T trusty still."
This. " And I like Helen, till the fates me kill."
Pyr. " Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true."
This. "As Shn fains to Procrus, I to you."
Pyr. " O ! kiss me through the hole of this vile wall."
This. " I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all."
Pyr. " Wilt thou at Ninny's toinb meet me straight-
way ? "
This. " 'Tide life, 'tide death, I come without delay."

14 Limander and Helen, blunderingly for Leander and Hero, as
and Procrus for Cephalus and Procris.

sc. i. NIGHT'S DREAM. 345

Wall. " Thus have I, wall, my part discharged so ;
And, being done, thus wall away doth go."

[Exeunt Wall, PTRAMUS, and THISBE.

Tlie. Now is the mural down between the two
neighbours.

Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so
wilful to hear without warning.15

Hip. This is the silliest stuff that e'er I heard.

TJie. The best in this kind are but shadows ; and
the worst are no worse, if imagination amend them

Hip. It must be your imagination then, and not
iheirs.

The. If we imagine no worse of them, than they
of themselves, they may pass for excellent men.
Here come two noble beasts in, a man and a lion.

Enter Lion and Moonshine.

Lion. " You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear
The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor,
May now, perchance, both quake and tremble here,
When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar.
Then know, that I, one Snug the joiner, am
No lion fell, nor else no lion's dam :
For if I should as lion come in strife
Into this place, 'twere pity on my life."

The. A very gentle beast, and of a good con
science.

Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er
I saw.

Lys. This lion is a very fox for his valour.

The. True ; and a goose for his discretion.

Dem. Not so, my lord : for his valour can-

" This alludes to the proverb, " Walls have ears." A vail
l*tween almost aiiy two neiglibvurs would soon be down, were it
to exercise this faculty without previous warning.

346 A MIDSUMMER ACT V

not carry his discretion; and the fox carries the
goose.

The. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his
valour ; for the goose carries not the fox. It is
well : leave it to his discretion, and let us listen to
the moon.

Moon. "This lantern doth the horned moon present.1"

Dem. He should have worn the horns on his head.
The. He is no crescent, and his horns are invis-
ible within the circumference.

Moon. "This lantern doth the horned moon present:
Myself the man i'the moon do seem to be."

The. This is the greatest error of all the rest :
The man should be put into the lantern : how is it
else the man i'the moon ?

Dem. He dares not come there for the candle ;
for, you see, it is already in snuff.16

Hip. I am aweary of this moon : Would he
would change !

The. It appears, by his small light of discretion,
that he is in the wane : but yet, in courtesy, in all
reason, we must stay the time.

Lys. Proceed, moon.

Moon. All that I have to say is, to tell you, that
the lantern is the moon ; I, the man in the moon ;
this thorn-bush, my thorn-bush ; and this dog, my
dog.

Dem. Why, all these should be in the lantern;
for they are in the moon. But, silence ! here comes
Thisbe.

Enter THISBE.

This. " This is old Ninny's tomb : Where is my love ?"

" An equivoque. Snuff signifies both the c\t*<*fr'f "andla
and hasty anger.

sc. i. NIGHT'S DREAM. &47

Lion. "Oh — " [The Lion roars. — THISBE run* off.

Dem. Well roar'd, lion.
TJie. Well run, Thisbe.

Hip. Well shone, moon. — Truly, the moon shines
with a good grace.

[The Lion tears THISBE'S mantle, and exit.

The. Well mous'd,17 lion.
Dem. And then came Pyramus.
Lys. And so the moon vanish'd.

Enter PYRAMUS.

Pyr. " Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams'
I thank thee, moon, for shining now so bright ;
For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering gleams,
I trust to taste of truest Thisby's sight.

But stay ; — O spite ! but mark, poor knight,

What dreadful dole is here !
Eyes, do you see ? how can it be ?

O dainty duck ! O dear !
Thy mantle good, what ! stain'd with blood ?

Approach, ye furies fell !
O fates ! come, come ; cut thread and thrum ;
Quail, crush, conclude, and quell ! "

The. This passion, and the death of a dear friend,
tvrmld go near to make a man look sad.

Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man.

Pyr. " O, wherefore, Nature, didst thou lions frame ?
Since lion vile hath here deflour'd my dear :
Which is — no, no — whicli was the fairest dame,
That liv'd, that lov'd, that lik'd, that look'd with cheer-
Come, tears, confound ; out, sword, and wound
The pap of Pyramus :

17 To mouse, according to Malone, signified to mammock W
tear in pieces, as a cat tears a mouse.

348 A MIDSUMMER ACT V

Ay, that left pap, where heart doth hop : —

Thus die I, thus, thus, thus !
Now am I dead, now am I fled ;

My soul is in the sky :
Tongue, lose thy light! moon, take thy flight!

Now die, die, die, die, die."

[Dies. — Exit Moonshine,

Dem. No die, but an ace, for him ; for he is but
one.

Lys. Less than an ace, man, for he is dead ; he
Lg nothing.

The. With the help of a surgeon, he might yet
recover, and prove an ass.

Hip. How chance moonshine is gone, before
Thisbe comes back and finds her lover '!

The. She will find him by star-light. — Here she
comes ; and her passion ends the play.

Enter THISBE.

Hip. Methinks, she should not use a long one
for such a Pyramus : I hope 'she will be brief.

Dem. A mote will turn the balance, which Pyra-
mus, which Thisbe, is the better ; he for a man, God
warrant us; she for a woman, God bless us.18

Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet
eyes.

Dem. And thus she moans, videlicet. —

This. " Asleep, my love ? what, dead, my dove ?

O Pyramus . arise :
Speak, speak ! Quite dumb ? Dead, dead ! A tomb

Must cover thy sweet eyes.

19 This passage, beginning at he for a man, is from the quartos,
and is left out of modern editions generally, which herein follow
the folio. It was probably omitted in Ifi23 on account of the
statute, passed after tin- quartos were printed, against the irrever-
ent use of the sacred Name. K.

so. I. NIGHT'S I>HEAM. 349

These lily lips, this cherry nose,

These yellow cowslip cheeks,
Are gone, are gone : Lovers, make moan !

His eyes were green as leeks.
O ! sisters three, come, come, to me,

With hands as pale as milk ;
Lay them in gore, since you have shore

With shears his thread of silk.
Tongue, not a word : — come, trusty sword ;

Come, blade, my breast imbrue :
And farewell, friends ; — thus Thisby ends .

Adieu, adieu, adieu." [Dies.

The. Moonshine and lion are left to bury the dead.

Dem. Ay, and wall too.

Bot. No, I assure you ; the wall is down that
parted their fathers. Will it please you to see the
epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance,19 between
two of our company 1

The. No epilogue, I pray you ; for your play
needs no excuse. Never excuse ; for when the
players are all dead, there need none to be blamed.
Marry, if he that writ it had play'd Pyramus, and
hang'd himself in Thisbe's garter, it would have
been a fine tragedy : and so it is, truly ; and very
notably discharg'd. But come, your Bergomask :
let your epilogue alone. [Here a dance of Clowns.
The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve: —
Levers, to bed ; 'tis almost fairy time.
I fear we shall outsleep the coming morn,
As much as we this night have overwatch'd.
This palpable -gross play hath well beguil'd

19 A rustic dance framed in imitation of the people of Berga-
masco, (a province in the state of Venice.) who are ridiculed ai
being more clownish in their manners and dialect than any other
people of Italy. The lingua rustica of the buffoons, in thfl oW
Italian comedies, is an imitatio'i of their iargon.

350 A MIDSUMMER AC! V

The heavy gait of night. — Sweet friends, to bed. —

A fortnight hold we this solemnity

In nightly revels, and new jollity. [Exeunt

SCENE II.

Enter PUCK.

Puck. Now the hungry lion roars,1

And the wolf behowls the moon ;
Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,
All with weary task fordone.
Now the wasted brands do glow,
Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud,
Puts the wretch, that lies in woe,
In remembrance of a shroud.
Now it is the time of night,
That the graves all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth his sprite,
In the church-way paths to glide :
And we fairies, that do run
By the triple Hecate's team,
From the presence of the sun,
Following darkness like a dream,
Now are frolic ; not a mouse
Shall disturb this hallow'd house :
I am sent with broom, before,
To sweep the dust behind the door.2

1 Upon this passage Coleridge thus remarks in his Literary
Remains : " Very Anacreon in perfectness, proportion, graze, and
spontaneity! So far it is Greek; — hut then add.O! what wealth,
what wild ranging, and yet \\hat compression and condensation,
of English fancy ! In truth, there is nothing in Anacreon more
perfect than these thirty [twenty ?] lines, or half so rich and
imaginative. They form a speckless diamond." H.

* That is, " to sweep the dust from, behind the door." Mr. Col
tier informs us that on the title-page of the tract, " Robin Good
fellow, his Mad Pranks and Merry Jests," Puck is represented in

so. ii. NIGHT'S DREAM. 351

Enter OBERON and TITANIA, with their Train,

Obe. Through this house give glimmering light,

By the dead and drowsy lire :

Every elf, and fairy sprite,

Hop as light as bird from brier ;

And this ditty after me

Sing, and dance it trippingly.
Tita. First, rehearse your song by rote,

To each word a warbling note :

Hand in hand with fairy grace

Will we sing, and bless this place.

[ They sing and dance '
Obe. Now, until the break of day,

Through this house each fairy stray.

To the best bride-bed will we,

Which by us shall blessed be ; 4

a wood-cut with a broom over his shoulder. The whole lairy
nation, for which he served as prime minister, were great sticklers
for cleanliness. For some notices of their doing's on this score, see
The Merry Wives of Windsor, Act v. sc. 5, note 8. H.

3 The stage-direction here is usually printed as if what follows
were the fairies7 song; which is clearly wrong, the following lines
being spoken by Oberon, alter the song and dance are ended. As
for the fairies' song on this occasion, it has never, so far as we
know, been heard of since ; and however we may regret the loss,
it is hardly fair to put Oberon's speech in the place of it. The
mistake was first made in the folio of 1623 ; the editors probably
knowing of nothing else that they could print as the song. H.

4 This ceremony was in old times used at all marriages. Mr.
Douce has given the formula from the Manual for the use of Salis-
bury. In the French romance of Melusine, the Bishop who mar-
ries her to Raymondin blesses the nuptial bed. The ceremony is
there represented in a very ancient cut. The good prelate it
sprinkling the parties with holy water. Sometimes, during the
benediction, the married couple only sat on the bed; but they
generally received a portion of the consecrated bread and wine-
It was ordained, in the year 1577, that the ceremony of blessing
the nuptial bed should be performed in the daytime, and in the
presence of the bride and bridegroom, and of their nearest re.V
lions, only.

352 A MIDSUMMER ACT V

And the issue, there create,

Ever shall be fortunate.

So shall all the couples three

Ever true in loving be ;

And the blots of nature's hand

Shall not in their issue stand :

Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar,

Nor mark prodigious, such as are

Despised in nativity,

Shall upon their children be. —

With this field-dew consecrate,

Every fairy take his gait,

And each several chamber bless,*

Through this palace with sweet peace ;

And the owner of it blest,

Ever bhal) in safety rest.

Trip awa^ ; make no stay ;

Meet me all by break of day.

[Exeunt OBERON, TITANIA, and IVoin

Puck. If we shadows have offended,

Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber'd here,
While these visions did appear ;
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend :
If you pardon, we will mend.

* Of this ancient rite Chaucer gives an example in The Millerea
Tale:

" Ther with the nightspel said he anon rightes,
On foure halves of the hous ahoute,
And on the threswold of the dore withoute.
Jesu Crist, and Seint Benedight,
Blisse this hous from every wicied wight.
Fro the nightes mare '' v

sc. ii. NIGHT'S DREAM. 353

And, as I'm an honest Puck,6

If we have unearned luck

Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,7

We will make amends ere long ;

Else the Puck a liar call :

So, good night unto you all.

Give me your hands,8 if we be friends,

And Robin shall restore amends. [Exit.

Puck, it seems, was a suspicious name, which makes that this
merry, mischievous gentleman does well to assert his honesty. As
for the name itself, it was no better than^eW or devil. In Pierce
Ploughman's Vision, some personage is called helie Pouke. And
the i ame thus occurs in Spenser's Epithalamion :
" Ne let the pouke, nor other evill sprights,
Ne let mischievous witches with theyr charmes,
Ne let hobgoblins, names whose sence we see not,
Fray us with things that be not." p

7 That is, hisses.
3 Clap your bands, give us youi applause.

THE MERRY PRANKS OF ROBIN GOODFELLOW,

TO THE TUNE OK DULCI.NKA.1

FROM Oberon, in fairye land,

The king of ghosts and shadowes there,

Mad Robin I, at his command,

Am sent to viewe the night-sports here.

What ravell rout is kept about,

In every corner where I go,

I will o'ersee, and merry bee,

And make good sport, with ho, ho, ho !

More swift than lightening can I flye
About this aery welkin soone,
And, in a minute's space, descrye
Each thing that's done belowe the moone:
There's not a hag or ghost shall wag,
Or cry, 'ware goblins ! where I go ;
But Robin I their feates will spy,
And send them home, with ho, ho, ho !

Whene'er such wanderers I meete,

As from their night-sports they trudge home :

With counterfeiting voice I greete,

And call them on, with me to roame

Thro' woods, thro' lakes, thro' bogs, thro' brakes ;

Or else, unseen, with them I go,

All in the nicke to play some tricke

And frolicke it, with ho, ho, ho!

Sometimes I meete them like a man ;
Sometimes, an ox, sometimes, a hound ;
And to a horse I turn me can ;
To trip and trot about them round.
But if, to ride, my backe they stride,
More swift than wind away I go ;

1 This title is given by Bishop Percy from an old black- letter
copy in the British Museum. H

A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 355

O'er Ledge and lands, thro' pools and ponds.
I whirry, laughing, ho, ho, ho !

When lads and lasyes merry be,

With possets and with juncates fine ;

Unseene of all the company,

I eat their cakes and sip their wine ;

And, to make sport, I fart and snort,

And out the candles I do blow :

The maids I kiss ; they shrieke, — Who's this ?

I answer nought, but ho, ho, ho !

Yet now and then, the maids to please,
At midnight I card up their wooll ;
And while they sleepe and take their ease,
With wheel to threads their flax I puli
I grind at mill their malt up still ;
I dress their hemp, I spin their tow •
If any wake, and would me take,
I wend me, laughing, ho, ho, ho !

When house or harth doth sluttish lye,
I pinch the maidens black and blue ;
The bed-clothes from the bed pull I,
And lay them naked all to view:
'Twixt sleepe and wake, I do them take,
And on the key-cold floor them throw :
If out they cry, then forth I fly,
And loudly laugh out, ho, ho, ho !

When any need to borrowe ought,
We lend them what they do require ;
And for the use demand we nought :
Our owne is all we do desire.
If, to repay, they do delay,
Abroad amongst them then I go,
And night by night I them affright
With pinchings, dreames, and ho, ho, ho !

When lazie queans have nought to do,
But study how to cog and lye ;
To make debate and mischief too,
'Twixt one another secretlye ;

•J56 A M1DSUMMEK NIGHT'S DREAM.

I marke their gloze, and it disclose
To them whom they have wronged so ;
When I have done, I get me gone,
And leave them scolding, ho, ho, ho !

When men do traps and engins set

In loope-holes, where the vermine creepe,

W ho, from their foldes and houses, get

Their duckes and geese, and lambes and sheepe ;

I spy the gin, and enter in,

And seeme a vermine taken so ;

But when they there approach me neare,

I leap out laughing, ho, ho, ho !

By wells and rills, in meadowes greene,
We nightly dance our hey-dey guise ;
And to our fairye king and queene
We chant our moonlight minstrelsies :
When larks 'gin sing, away we fling ;
And babes new-borne steal as we go,
And elfe in bed we leave instead,
And wend us laughing, ho, ho, ho !

From hay-bred Merlin's time have I

Thus nightly revell'd to and fro ;

And for my pranks men call me by

The name of Robin Goodfellow.

Fiends, ghosts, and sprites, who haunt the nightes,

The hags and goblins, do me know ;

And beldames old my feates have told ;

So, Vale, Vale! ho, ho, ho!'

* This ballad has been generally attributed to Ben Jonson
dun Mr. Collier has a version in a manuscript of the time, with
ihe initials B. J. at the end. This copy, he says, varies some-
we At from that given above, and has an additional stanza, wbicb
we subjoin :

" When as my fellow elfes and I

In circled ring do trip around,

If that our sports by ?riy eye

Do happen to be scene or found ;

•If that they no words do say,

But mum continue as they go,

Each night 1 do put groat in shoe,

And wind out laughing, ho. ho, ho ! " H

INTRODUCTION

LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.

LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST was first published in a quarto pam-
phlet of thirty-eight leaves in 1598, the title-page reading aa
follows : " A pleasant-conceited Comedy called Love's Labour's
Lost : As it was presented before her Highness this last Christ-
inas : Newly corrected and augmented : By W. Shakespeare.
Imprinted at London by W. W. for Cuthbert Burby : 1598."
There was no other known edition of the play till the folio of 1623,
where it is the seventh in the division of Comedies. From the
repetition of certain errors of the press, it is quite probable that
the second copy was reprinted from the first ; while, on the other
hand, there are certain differences thai look as if another authority
had in some points been consulted : the editors of the folio prob-
ably taking the quarto as their standard, and occasionally having
recourse to a play-house manuscript. In the quarto neither scenes
nor acts are distinguished ; in the folio only the latter ; and even
here, as may easily be seen, the division into acts is very unequal
and inartificial : yet no modern edition has ventured upon any
change in this respect.

In the Accounts of the Revels at Court, under the date of Jan-
uary, 1605, occurs the following entry : " Between New-years Day
and Twelfth Day, a play of Love's Labour's Lost." As success oil
the public stage was generally at that time the main reason of a
play's being selected for performance at court, we may infer that
this play continued popular after many better ones had been writ-
ten. The play was also entered in the Stationers' Books, January
22, 1607, the right of it being1 passed over from Bur-by to Ling,
probably because the latter contemplated a new edition. The
design, however, if any such there were, seems to have been given
up, as no impression of that date has come down to us.

Love's Labour's Lost is mentioned in the list of Shakespeare's
o'.ays given by Francis Meres in 1598. The same year one Robert

360 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.

Tofte put forth a poem entitled " Alba the Months Minde of a
Melancholy Lover," wherein the play is thus referred to t

" Love's Labour Lost ! I once did see a play

Ycleped so, so called to my paine,
Which I to heare to my small joy did stay,
Giving attendance on my froward dame :
My misgiving mind presaging to me ill,
Yet was I drawn to see it 'gainst my will.

This play no play, but plague, was unto me.

For there I lost the love I liked most ;
And what to others seemde a jest to be,

I that in earnest found unto my cost.
To every one, save me, 'twas comicall,
While tragic-like to me it did befall.

Each actor plaid in cunning wise his part,
But chiefly those entrapt in Cupid's snare ;

Yet all was fained, 'twas not from the hart,

They seeme to grieve, but yet they felt no caie ;

'Twas I that grief indeed did beare in brest ;

The others did but make a shew in jest."

These are all the contemporary notices of the play that have
reached us. In our Introduction to The Two Gentlemen of Ve-
rona we have stated our main reasons for assigning an earlier
date to the Poet's first dramatic efforts than has been generally
supposed. That this play was among the earliest scarce admits
of question, from the character of the thing itself. Though it be
apparently designed as a satire upon book-men in general, yet it
displays in almost every part, and a good deal more than any other
of the Poet's dramas, just such a preponderance of book-knowl-
edge as were to be looked for in one fresh from school. Moreover,
after the first writing a considerable time must naturally have
passed before it was " newly corrected and augmented," as stated
in the title-page of the quarto. There may be some question as
to what year " it was presented before her Highness ;" hut as the
year was then reckoned from the twenty-fifth of March, it seems
quite likely that "this last Christmas " refers to the Christmas of
1598. Though we need not suppose so many as ten years to have
elapsed between the writing and the revising, yet there is nothing
that apparently makes against such a supposal. And To tie's
expression, " I once did see a play/' may well enough infer that
it was some years since he saw it.

The fact of the play's having been " corrected and a'tg-mented,"
of course invalidates whatsoever of evidence on this score might
else be drawn from ullusiuns to contemporary matters. The

INTRODUCTION. 361

"dancing horsi;." spoken of in Act i. sc. 2, is plainly an allusion
of this son. Bankes and his wonderful horse made their debut
in London in 158ih But all that can be thence inferred is, that the
passage in question was written after that date ; and Bankes and
his horse were so much and so long distinguished, that the refer-
ence may well enough have been made eight or nine years after
their first appearance, when the play was revised. The many
allusions to the same matter in other writers of the time show that
it was a more remarkable performance than to pass out of thought
with the day that brought it forth; though much of this celebrity
was doubtless owing to the alleged fate of Baukes and his horse
when they fell under the papal discipline. The " finished repre-
sentation of colloquial excellence," as Dr. Johnson calls it. at the
opening of Act v., has been thought to have been borrowed from
a passage in Sidney's Arcadia, which came out in 1590. But the
resemblance is not so close but that it may very well have been
a mere coincidence. The passage is Sir Philip's fine description
of Parthenia : " That which made her fairness much the fairer
ivas that it was but the fair embassador of a most fair mind, full
of wit, and a wit which delighted more to judge itself than to
show itself : her speech being as rare as precious ; her silence
without sullenness ; her modesty without affectation ; her shame-
fastness without ignorance : in sum, one that to praise well, one
must first set down with himself what it is to be excellent." Even
granting the imitation in this case, still there is no reason but that
the similar passage may have first appeared in the augmented
copy of the play. We lay no stress on the circumstance that the
Arcadia was considerably read in manuscript before it was print-
ed, and so may have come to the Poet's knowledge before the
original writing of Love's Labour's Lost ; for we suppose this play
to have been one of the exhibitions that brought the Author into
Sir Philip's acquaintance, and recommended him to Southampton's
patronage. As for the notion of certain critics, that Holoferne."
was meant for satire upon John Florio. whose Second Fruits
appeared in 15(J1, containing some reflections on the indecorum of
(he English stage, we cannot discover the slightest ground for it.
Shakespeare, no doubt, had ample occasion to laugh at the ped-
antry of pedagogues long before he knew any thing of Florio.

Internal evidence in such questions is necessarily a matter of
individual judgment and opinion ; so that no great weight can be
given it, save where we have a concurrence of several experienced
and judicious minds. Here, however, the best critics all agree in
fixing the date in accordance with whatsoever of evidence is thus
producible (run without. Coleridge in 1811) set it down as a "ju-
venile drama." and as " Shakespeare's earliest dramatic attempt,
— perhaps even prior in conception to the Venus and Adonis, and
p. aimed before ne left Stratford ; " and his judgment herein is
the more considerable, forasmuch as he once thought otherwise

362 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.

He remarks, that " the characters of this play are either imperson
ated out of Shakespeare's own multiformity by imaginative self-
position, or out of such as a country town and a schoolboy's
observation might supply ; " and that " the frequency of the rhymes,
the sweetness as well as the smoothness of the metre, and the
number of acute and fancifully-illustrated aphorisms, are all as
they ought to be in a poet's youth." Making due allowance tor
certain passages which show a more experienced hand, and were
orobably written in at the revisal, we apprehend that few will dis-
sent from the judgment here given, so far as it bears upon the date
of the original composition ; though, as to the characters, we con-
fess that the higher ones seem " impersonated " rather at second
hand and from books, than either out of the Poet's " observation "
or out of his " own multiformity.''

For the plot and matter of this play no foreign sources have
been identified ; and the amount of research spent for that purpose
b vain leaves little room to doubt that the whole was the offspring
of the Poet's invention. Which oulv favours the conclusion, that
Shakespeare, in common with the greatest dramatists before him,
though probably without knowing it, in proportion as he came to
understand his art and to be formed and furnished for its service,
cared less for mere novelty, and took more to such subjects as
were already fixed in the popular belief and familiar to the minds
of his audience. It should be observed, however, that in the
original copies Annado and Holoternes are often designated by
their characters, not by their names, the former being called The
Braggart, the latter The Pedant; which Mr. Collier regards as
indicating that at the time of writing this play the Author had
some acquaintance with the nature of the Italian comic perform
ances, where such characters were quite common ; and he points
out a strong resemblance between these personages and two thai
figure in GV Ingannati, the braggart under the name of Giglio,
and the other under that of M. Piero Pedants. GV IngaruuM
is oce of the Italian plays spoken of in our Introduction to Twelfth
Night, as having, perhaps, contributed something towards that
delectable comedy. Besides the scarce-perceptible footprints in
this quarter, the Poet's reading may be more clearly traced among
the Spanish romances of chivalry; and indeed, as a clever writer
hath remarked, " the story has most of the features which wonH
be derived from an acquaintance with the ancient romance's.'' Au
apt instance of this is furnished in the King's description of " this
child of fancy, that Annado hight," in the first art. And Cole-
ridge speaks of the extravagant whim of the leading characters
as being " not altogether improbable to those who are conversant
in the history of the middle ages, with their Courts of Love, and
all that lighter drapery of chivalry, which engaged even ini^hiy
kiugs with a sort of serio-comic interest, and may well r>e sup-
posed i > have occupied more completely the smaller princes, at •

INTRODUCTION. &5H

time when the noble's or prince's court contained the only theatra
of a domain or principality."

We have already remarked upon the hig-hei characters of thif
play as appearing to have been drawn rather from books than from
life. They have little of the close compacting of living power,
which so marks the Poet's delineations generally, and which natu-
rally results in distinctive features and characteristic trails. We
can scarce distinguish and remember them as individuals : they run
together, as it were, in our thoughts, as being rather personified
whimsicalities and affectations than affected and whimsical per-
sons ; are not fully cut out and rounded into severally ; but ?.ppear
somehow too much like the same thing under several varialions ;
in short, they affect us more as ingeniously-wrought figures and
images of men and women, than as real men and women them-
selves ; though we must confess that something of a determinate
ainl specific individuality is given to Biron and Rosaline, so that
we take up a more distinct impression and carry away a much
clearer remembrance of them. Thus they differ from Shakespeare's
other representalions very much as a portrait taken from the life
differs from a mere copy ; which a practised eye will readily dis-
tinguish, without being told the facts. So thai the play thus far
almost reverses the Poet's general rule ; the characters existing
rather for the sake of the plot, than the plot for the sake of the
characters ; these being indeed mainly used as a sort of ground
for llie projecting and carrying on of a dramatic device. Thus
the thing, at least in this part, is nol so much a play as a show.
Hence, perhaps, the comparaiively little interest that readers gen-
erally take in it : for a mere siory or show is interesting only while
it is new ; whereas a work of art, a real expression of charaoiei
and life, grows in interest as we grow more acquainted with it

The other set of characters, however, especially Costard. Arrna
do, and Moth, are of a very different slamp. Here ihe Poel was
evidently feeding of ihe fruit that grows from observation, nol " of
the dainties that are bred in a book : '* here he is plainly at work
in a vein where his eve and hand are at home; moulding his forms
out of the materials amidst which his life has been passed and his
thinking shaped. For whatsoever prototypes of Armado may be
found in Italian comedies, there is no denying that Shakcspcnre
constructed that •• mighty potentate of nonsense" in the streng'h
of a knowledge far more living and operative than could hav<s
Dcen gained by mere reading. In this case only a Spanish name
was given to an old Knglisli substance : Coleridge informs us that
even in his lime the character was not extinct in the cheaper iuns
of North Wales. As for Hololernes the schoolmaster, and Sir
Nathaniel the curate, those prodigious epicures of learned voca-
bles, who " have been at a groat Coast of languages, and stolen
the scraps.'' Shakespeare's age was just the time for such char-
acters to je generated, uml ir.iii.o-i oti into ludicrous perfection

364 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.

The traits uppermost in them were but the natural working down
of what was then a leading aim with the highest and wittiest in
society, — a continual effort to appear clever and spirited, to shine
and entertain by talking out of the common way ; so that " the
courtiers, and men of rank and fashion, affected a display of wit,
point, and sententious observation, that would be deemed intoler-
able at present." This straining after mental ornament, which so
filled the palace and the cottage with every variety of small wit,
was indeed a disease, and perhaps this plav yields proof enough
•hat Shakespeare viewed it as such : yet there is no telling how
much it may have had to do with the discipline, which taught
Hooker to write the richest, noblest, most varied and musical prose
style that has yet been written in the English tongue. Nor in
our time, as perhaps in all times when learning is duly prized, is
there »7anting a class of men whose ordinary talk shows them to
" have lived long on the alms-basket of words ; " thu« eversing
the fine old maxim of Roger Ascham, " to speak as th« common
people do, to think as wise men do."

Whatsoever, therefore, may have been the Poet's design, at ah
events the play, throughout, is a sham-fight of words ; and per
haps it may be justly regarded as a piece of good-natured irony
on the abuse of learning, and a merry caricature of intellectual
vanity and display. In this view the whole forms a capital take-
off of the shallow, vain philosophy which puts men upon the stud»
of words to the neglect of things, and prompts them to seek after
wisdom by using other people's eyes instead of their own; — the
same habit of mind which may be so often seen drawing out the
smallest possible amount of matter into an infinite agitation of wit.
It is not without significance, therefore, that the higher characters
are represented all along as hunting and straining alter puns, and
quibbles, and clenches, and conceits, thus spending their superflu-
ous mental activity in learned trifling and elaborate folly. Perhaps
Biron is the only one of them that has wisdom enough to catch
and save him when his wit breaks down. Meanwhile the lower
characters, though seemingly the opposite of the former, in reality
but present the more ludicrous and farcical side of the same thing;
the readiness with which they rattle off quips and quirks, and twi.st
language into fantastical shapes, being an apt commentary on iha
tendency of the study, to which their betters have vowed them-
selves, to degenerate into verbal tricks and bookish formalities.

As a work of art, perhaps the chief merit of the play lies in
the unity and harmony of feeling that pervade it. The leading
characters are all young, and there is an answering spirit of youth
in every thing about them, as if surrounding objects had caught
from them the trick of hilarity, and must needs keep lime with llie
beating of their hearts. It is by thus diffusing over all things the
lone and temper of his persons, that the Poet often so completely
transports us into their whereabout, and makes us see with tLeir

INTRODUCTION. "365

C)es. Here as ehewhere, however, the means whereby he does
this are so cunningly hidden as to suggest that art with him wa?
instinct. The two sets of persons, moreover, are wrought in
together with great skill ; while with the higher ones are inter-
woven several passages of superb poetry, as if on purpose to make
up in some measure for the comparatively unvital and inorganic
structure of the characters. One need not he very deeply skilled
in Shakespea**, to be able to distinguish with great probability
the main passages that appeared first in the augmented copy. At
the head of these, of course, stands Biron's speech near the close
of the fourth act, to " prove our loving lawful and our faith not
torn ; " which Coleridge thus describes : " It is logic clothed in
rhetoric; — but observe how Shakespeare, in his two-fold being
of poet and philosopher, avails himself of it to convey profound
truths in the most lively images, — the whole remaining faithful to
the character supposed to utter the lines, a«d the expressions
themselves constituting a further development of that charac
ter.' Scarcely inferior to this, except as being shorter, are two
speeches of Rosaline, one near the opening of Act ii. describing
Biron, the other at the close of the play laying down the terms
upon which he may gain her hand. Of the strange song at the
end, made up as it is of the most homely and familiar words and
images, Mr. Knight has remarked, what is indeed sufficiently obvi-
ous, how fitly it serves '• to mark, by au emphatic close, the triumph
of simplicity over false refinement."

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

FERDINAND, K.mg of Navarre.

BlRON, -j

LONGAVILLE, C Lords, attending on the King.
DOMAIN, )

,. ' C Lords, attending on the Princess of France.

DON ADRIANO DE ARMAOO, a fantastical Spaniard

SIR NATHANIEL, a Curate

HOLOFERNES, a Schoolmaster

DULL, a Constable.

COSTARD, a Clown.

MOTH, Page tc Armado.

A Forester.

PRINCESS of France.

ROSALINE, ^

MARIA, C Ladies, attending on the Princess.

KATHARINE, )

JAQUENETTA, a country Wench.

Officers and others, attendant* on the King and
Princess.

SCENE, Navarre

LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.

ACT I.

SCENE I. Navarre. A Park with a Palace in it
Enter the KING, BIRON, LONGAVILLE, and

DtlMAlN.

King. LET fame, that all hunt after in their lives,
Live register'd upon our brazen tombs,
And then grace us in the disgrace of death ;
When, spite of cormorant devouring Time,
The endeavour of this present breath may buy
That honour, wlu'ch shall bate his scythe's keen

edge,

And make us heirs of all eternity.
Therefore, brave conquerors ! — for so you are,
That war against your own affections,
And the huge army of the world's desires, —
Ou'r late edict shall strongly stand in force :
Navarre shall be the wonder of the world ;
Our court shall be a little Academe,
Still and contemplative in living art.
You three, Biron,1 Dumain, and Longaville,
Have sworn for three years' term to live with me
My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes,

1 In (le old copies this name is uniformly spelt Hrrowne, thus
giving the proper pronunciation of the French Kiron. Of course
iliu verse requires that the accent lie on the last syllable. H.

368 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT i.

That are recorded in this schedule here :

Your oaths are past, and now subscribe your names ;

That his own hand may strike his honour down,

That violates the smallest branch herein •

If }ou are arm'd to do, as sworn to do,

Subscribe to your deep oaths, and keep it too.2

Lon. \ am resolv'd : 'tis but a three years' fast ;
The mind shall banquet, though the body pine :
Fat paunches have lean pates ; and dainty bits
Make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite the wits.

Dum. My loving lord, Dumain is mortified :
The grosser manner of these world's delights
He throws upon the gross world's baser slaves ;
To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die ;
With all these living in philosophy.

Bir. I can but say their protestation over;
So much, dear liege, I have already sworn,
That is, to live and study here three years.
But there are other strict observances :
As, not to see a woman in that term ;
Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there :
And, one day in a week to touch no food,
And but one meal on every day beside ;
The which, I hope, is not enrolled there :
And then, to sleep but three hours in the night,
And not be seen to wink of all the day ;
(When I was wont to think no harm all night,
And make a dark night too of half the day ;)
Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there :
O ! these are barren tasks, too hard to keep ;
Not to see ladies — study — fast — not sleep.

* It evidently refers, not to oaths, but u the preceding clause
keep your subscription, or what you have sworn. So that the
changing,..of oaths into oath, or of it into them, is quite unneces-
•ar>. H-

sc. i. IOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 3(>9

King. Your oath is pass'd to pass away from
these.

Bir. Let me say no, my liege, an if you please ;
I only swore to study with your grace,
And stay here in your court for three years' space.

Lon. You swore to that, Biron, and to the rest.

Bir. By yea and nay, sir, then I swore in jest. —
What is the end of study 1 let me know.

King. Why, that to know, which else we should
not know.

Bir. Things hid and barr'd, you mean, from
common sense ?

King. Ay, that is study's god-like recompense.

Bir. Come on, then ; I will swear to study so,
To know the thing I am forbid to know :
As thus — to study where I well may dine,
When I to feast expressly am forbid ;
Or study where to meet some mistress fine,
When mistresses from common sense are hid ;
Or, having sworn too hard-a-keeping oath,
Study to break it, and not break my troth.
If study's gain be thus, and this be so,
Study knows that which yet it doth not know:
Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say no.

King. These be the stops that hinder study quite,
And train our intellects to vain delight.

Bir. Why, all delights are vain ; but that mosl

vain,

Which, with pain purchas'd, doth inherit pain:
As, painfully to pore upon a book,
To seek the light of truth : while truth the wlule
Doth falsely 3 blind the eyesight of his look :
Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile :

* Dishonestly, treacherously.

770 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT i.

So, ere you find where light in darkness lies,

Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes.

Study me how to please the eye indeed,

By fixing it upon a fairer eye ;

Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed,

And give him light that it was blinded by.4

Study is like the heaven's glorious sun,

That will not be deej>-search'd with saucy looks :

Small have continual plodders ever won,

Save base authority from others' books.

These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights,

That give a name to every fixed star,

Have no more profit of their shining nights,

Than those that walk, and wot not what they are.

Too much to know is, to know nought but fame;

And every godfather can give a name.

King. How well he's read, to reason against
reading !

Hum. Proceeded well, to stop all good proceed
ing!s

Lon. He weeds the corn, and still lets grow the
weeding.

Bir. The spring is near, when green geese are
a-breeding.

Dum. How follows that 7

Bir. Fit in his place and time.

Dum. In reason nothing.

Bir. Something then in rhyme

King. Biron is like an envious sneaping 6 frost,
That bites the first-born infants of the spring.

4 The meaning- is, that when his eye is daztled, or made weak
by fixing it upon a fairer eye, the latter shall be his heed or guide
his lodt-star, and give light to him that was blinded by it.

6 Proceed w-as an academical term for taking a degree ; as, to
proceed master of arts. H.

4 That is, nipping. In The Winter's Tale, Act i. sc. 1, w\
have sneuping winds. To sneap is also to jheck, to rebukt-

so. i. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 371

Bir. Well, say I am : \vliy should proud summer

boast,

Before the birds have any cause to sing ?
Why should I joy in any abortive birth ?
At Christmas 1 no more desire a rose,
Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled shows ; 7
But like of each thing that in season grows.
So you, to study now it is too late,
f -limb o'er the house to unlock the little gate.

King. Well, sit you out : go home, Biron ; adijeu !

Kir. No, my good lord ; I have sworn to stay

with you :

And, though I have for barbarism spoke more,
Than for that angel knowledge you can say,
Yet confident I'll keep what I have swore,
And bide the penance of each three years' day.
Give me the paper ; let me read the same ;
And to the strict'st decrees I'll write my name.

King. How well this yielding rescues thee from
shame !

Bir. [Reads.] " Item, That no woman shall come
within a mile of my court," — Hath this been pro-
claimed 1

Lon. Four days ago.

Bir. Let's see the penalty. [Reads.] " — on pain
of losing her tongue." — Who devis'd this penally ?

Lon. Marry, that did I.

Bir. Sweet lord, and why ?

Lon. To fright them thence with that dread
penalty.

Bir. A dangerous law against gentility.8 [Reads.]

" By these shows the Poet means May-frames, at which a snow
would be very unwelcome and unexpected.

* That is, politeness, civility ; referring to the influence of womai
io bringing or keeping man oui of barbarism and brutality. H

372 LOVE'S LABOLTR'S LOST. ACT i

" Item, If any man be seen to talk with a \voman
within the term of three years, he shall endure
such public shame as the rest of the court can pos-
sibly devise." —

Tliis article, my liege, yourself must break ;
For, well jou know, here comes in embassy
The French king's daughter ,with yourself to speak, —
A maid of grace, and complete majesty, —
About surrender-up of Aquitain
To her decrepit, sick, and bed-rid father :
Therefore this article is made in vain,
Or vainly comes the admired princess hither.

King. What say you, lords 1 why, this was quite
forgot.

BIT. So study evermore is overshot :
While it doth study to have what it would,
[t doth forget to do the thing it should ;
And when it hath the thing it hunteth most,
'Tis won, as towns with fire ; so won, so lost.

King. We must of force dispense with this decree
She must lie9 here on mere necessity.

Bir. Necessity will make us all forsworn
Three thousand times within this three years' space ;
For every man with his affects is born ;
Not by might master'd, but by special grace :
If I break faith, this word shall speak for me,
I am forsworn on mere necessity. —
So to the laws at large I write my name ; [Subscribes.
And he, that breaks them in the least degree,
Stands in attainder of eternal shame :
Suggestions 10 are to others, as to me ;

• That is, reside here. So, in Sir Henry Wotton's equivocal
definition : " An Ambassador is an honest man sent to lie abroad
for the good of his country." Affects, in the third line below, wa«
sometimes used for affections.

10 Temptations.

sc. i. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 373

But I believe, although I seem so loth,
I am the last that will last keep his oath.
But is there no quick11 recreation granted?

King. Ay, that there is : our court, you know,

is haunted

With a refined traveller of Spain ;
A man in all the world's new fashion planted,
That hath a mint of phrases in his brain :
One, whom the music of his own vain tongue
Doth ravish, like enchanting harmony ;
A man of complements,15 whom right and wrong
Have chose as umpire of their mutiny :
This child of fancy, that Armado hight,
For interim to our studies, shall relate
In high-born words the worth of many a knight
From tawny Spain, lost in the world's debate.
How you delight, my lords, I know not, I ;
But, I protest, I love to hear him lie,
And I will use him for my minstrelsy.13

liir. Armado is a most illustrious wight,
A man of fire-new u words, fashion's own knight.

Lon. Costard, the swain, and he shall be our sport ;
And, so to study, three years is but short.

Enter DULL, witH a letter, and COSTARD.

Dull. Which is the duke's own person '

Bir. This, fellow : What wouldst 1

Dull. I myself reprehend his own person, for I

11 Lively, sprightly.

12 Complements are whatsoever finishes or completes a thing,
supplying what were else wanting' . hence often used of old for
accomplishments, or ceremonious observances. — Hight, in the sec-
ond line below, is an old word for is called. H.

13 I will make use of him instead of a minstrel, whose occupa-
tion was to relate fabulous stories.

14 That is, new from the forge ; we have still retained a similar
mode of speech iu the colloquial phrase biund-nfir

374 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT i.

am his grace's tharborough : I5 but I would see his
own person in flesh and blood.

Bir. This is he.

Dull. Signior Arm — Arm — commends you.
There's villainy abroad : this letter will tell you more.

Cost, Sir, the contempts thereof are as touching
me.

King. A letter from the magnificent Armado.

Bir. How low soever the matter, I hope in Gou
for high words.

Lon. A high hope for a low having : God grant
us patience !

Bir. To hear, or forbear laughing ?

Lon. To hear meekly, sir, and to laujjh moder-
ately ; or to forbear both.

Bir. Well, sir, be it as the style 16 shall give us
cause to climb in the merriness.

Cost. The matter is to me, sir, as concerning
Jaquenetta. The manner of it is, I was taken with
the manner."

Bir. In what manner ?

Cost. In manner and form following, sir ; all those
three : I was seen with her in the manor-house, sit-
ting with her upon the form, and taken following
her into the park ; which, put together, is, in man
ner and form following. Now, sir, for the manner
— it is the manner of a man to speak to a woman :
for the form, — in some form.

Bir. For the following, sir ?

Cost. As it shall follow in my correction : And
God defend the right !

15 That is, third-borough, a peace-officer.
'• A quibble is here intended between a stilt and style.
17 That is, in the fact. A thief is said to be taken with the
manner, when he is taken with the thing stolen about him.

SC. I. LOVE S LABOUR S LOST. 375

King. Will you hear this letter with attention ?
Bir. As we would hear an oracle.
Cost. Such is the simplicity of man to hearken
after the flesh.

King. [Reads.] " Great deputy, the welkin's vicegerent,
and sole dominator of Navarre, my soul's earth's God, and
body's fostering patron ; " —

Cost. Not a word of Costard yet.

King. — " so it is," —

Cost. It may be so ; but if he say it is so, he is,
in tellin-g true, but so, —

King. Peace !

Cost. — be to me, and every man that dares noi
fight!

King. No words.

Cost. — of other men's secrets, I beseech you.

King. — " so it is, besieged with sable-coloured melan-
choly. I did commend the black-oppressing humour to the
most wnolesome physic of thy health-giving air ; and, as
I am a gentleman, betook myself to walk. The time
when? About the sixth hour; when beasts most graze,
birds best peck, and men sit down to that nourishment
which is called supper. So much for the time when : Now
for the ground which ; which, I mean, I walked upon : it
is ycleped 1S thy park. Then for the place where ; where,
I mean, I did encounter that obscene and most preposter-
ous event, that draweth from my snow-white pen the ebon-
coloured ink, which here thou viewest, beholdest, survey-
est, or seest. But to the place where : — It standeth
north-north-east and by east from the west corner of thy
curious-knotted garden.19 There did I see that low-spir-
ited swain, that base minnow of thy mirth," —

Cost. Me.

18 Called ; past lense of the verb to clepe.

" Ancient gardens abounded with knots or figures, of which the
lines intersected rach other. In the old books of gardening are
devices for them

376 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT t

King. — "that unlettered small-knowing soul,"--

Cost. Me.

King. — " that shallow vessel," —

Cost. Still me.

King. — "which, as I remember, bight Costard," —

Cost. O me !

King. — " sorted and consorted, contrary to thy estab-
lished proclaimed edict and continent canon, with — with,
O! with — but with this I passion to say wherewith," —

Cost. With a wench.

King. — " with a child of our grandmother Eve, a
female ; or, for thy more sweet understanding, a woman.
Him I (as my ever-esteemed duty pricks me on) have sent
to thee, to receive the meed of punishment, by thy sweet
grace's officer, Antony Dull ; a man of good repute, car-
riage, bearing, and estimation."

Dull. Me, an't shall please you ; I am Antony
Dull.

King. " For Jaquenetta, (so is the weaker vessel called,
which I apprehended with the aforesaid swain,)! keep her
as a vessel of thy law's fury ; and shall, at the least of thy
sweet notice, bring her to trial. Thine, in all compliments
of devoted and heart-burning heat of duty,

DON ADRIA.NO DE ARSIADO."

Bir. This is not so well as 1 looked for, hut the
best that ever 1 heard.

King. Ay, the best for the worst. But, sirrali,
what say you to this 1

Cost. Sir, I confess the wench.

King. Did you hear the proclamation ?

Cost. I do confess much of the hearing it, but
little of the marking of it.

King. It was proclaimed a year's imprisonment,
to be taken with a wench.

Cost. I was taken with none, sir ; I was taken
with a

sc. ii. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 377

King. Well, it was proclaimed damosel.

Cost. This was no damosel neither, sir ; she wag
a virgin.

King. It is so varied too ; for it was proclaimed,
virgin.

Cost- If it were, I deny her virginity ; I was taken
with a maid.

Ki-ng. This maid will not serve your turn, sir.

Cost. This maid will serve my turn, sir.

King. Sir, I will pronounce your sentence : You
shall fast a week with bran and water.

Cost. I had rather pray a month with mutton and
porridge.

King. And Don Armado shall be your keeper. -
My lord Biron, see him deliver'd o'er. —
And go we, lords, to put in practice that
Which each to other hath so strongly sworn.

[Exeunt KING, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN.

Bir. I'll lay my head to any good man's hat,
These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn.—
Sirrah, come on.

Cost. I suffer for the truth, sir : for true it is, I
was taken with Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a true
girl ; and, therefore, welcome the sour cup of pros-
perity ! Affliction may one day smile again, and till
then, sit thee down, sorrow ! [Exeunt.

SCENE II. ARM ADO'S House in the Park.

Enter ARMADO and MOTH.

Arm. Boy, what sign is it, when a man of great
spirit grows melancholy 1

Moth. A great sign, sir, that he will look sad.

378 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT i.

Arm. Why, sadness is one and the self-same
thing, dear imp.1

Moth. No, no ; O Lord ! sir, no.

Arm. How canst thou part sadness and melan-
choly, my tender Juvenal ? *

Moth. By a familiar demonstration of the work-
ing, my tough senior.

Ann. Why tough senior ? why tough senior ?

Moth. Why tender Juvenal ? why tender Juvenal 1

Arm. I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a congruent
epitheton, appertaining to thy young days, which
we may nominate tender.

Moth. And I, tough senior, as an appertinent title
to your old time, which we may name tough.

Arm. Pretty, and apt.

Moth. How mean you, sir 1 I pretty, and my
saying apt ? or I apt, and my saying pretty ?

Arm. Thou pretty, because little.

Moth. Little pretty, because little : Wherefore
apt?

Arm. And therefore apt, because quick.

Moth. Speak you this in my praise, master 1

Arm. In thy condign praise.

1 Imp literally means a graff, scion, or shoot of a tree ; hence
formerly used in a good sense for offspring or child. Thus, in the
Introduction to Book i. of The Faerie Queene ;

" And thou, most dreaded impe of highest Jove,
Faire Venus sonne, that with thy cruell dart
At that good Knight so cunningly didst rove,
That glorious fire it kindled in his hart."

And again, in the interview of Una and Prince Arthur, Book 1
Can. 9, stan. 6 :

" ' Well worthy impe,' said then the Lady gent,

' Ana pupil fitt for such a tutor's hand ! ' "

Of course every body knows the word is now used only for a
wicked or mischievous being, — a child of the devil. H.

» That is. youtii.

sc. ii. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 379

Moth. I will praise an eel with the same praise.

Arm. What ! that an eel is ingenious ?

Moth. That an eel is quick.

Arm. 1 do say, thou art quick in answers : Thou
heatest my blood.

Moth. I am answer'd, sir.

Arm. I love not to be cross'd.

Mith. [Aside.] He speaks the mere contrary :
crosses3 love not him.

Arm. I have promis'd to study three years with
the duke.

Moth. You may do it in an hour, sir.

Arm. Impossible.

Moth. How many is one thrice told ?

Arm. I am ill at reckoning : it fits the spirit ol
a tapster.

Moth. You are a gentleman, and a gamester, sir.

Arm. I confess both : they are both the varnish
of a complete man.

Moth. Then, I am sure, you know how much the
gross sum of deuce-ace amounts to.

Arm. It doth amount to one more than two.

Moth. Which the base vulgar call three.

Arm. True.

Moth. Why, sir, is this such a piece of study ?
Now here 's three studied, ere you'll thrice wink :
and how easy it is to put years to the word three,
and study three years in two words, the dancing
horse will tell you.4

3 By crosses he means money. So, in As You Like It, the
Clown says to Celia, " If I should bear you, I should bear no
cross." Many coins were anciently marked with a eras* on one
gide.

4 The dancing horse was a very celebrated wonder of the Poet'«
time. He was the pupil and property of a person named Bankes.
Sir Kenelm Digfby says, — " He would restore a glov* to the dl«

380 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT L

Arm. A most fine figure !

Moth. [Aside.] To prove you a cipher.

Arm. I will hereupon confess, I am in love : ami,
as it is base for a soldier to love, so am I in love
with a base wench. If drawing my sword against
the humour of affection would deliver me from the
reprobate thought of it, I would take desire pris-
oner, and ransom him to any French courtier for a
new-devis'd courtesy. I think scorn to sigh ; me-
thinks, I should out-swear Cupid. Comfort me,
boy : What great men have been in love 1

Moth. Hercules, master.

Arm. Most sweet Hercules ! — More authority,
dear boy, name more ; and, sweet my child, let
them be men of good repute and carriage.

Moth. Samson, master : he was a man of good
carriage, great carriage ! for he carried the town-
gates on his back, like a porter ; and lie was in love.

Arm. O well-knit Samson ! strong-jointed Sam-
son ! I do excel thee in my rapier, as much as thou
didst me in carrying gates. I am in love too. —
Who was Samson's love, my dear Moth ?

Moth. A woman, master.

Arm. Of what complexion ?

Moth. Of all the four, or the three, or the two,
or one of the four.

owner, after the master had whispered the man's name in his ear ;
would tell the just number of pence in any piece of silver coin
newly showed him by his master." Bankes showed his horse
upon the continent, and in France had a narrow escape from the
Capuchins, who suspected him of being in league with the devil.
There was a report that he fell a victim to a similar suspicion al
Rome. Ben Jonson, in his Epigrams, speaks of
" Old Banks the juggler, our Pythagoras,
Grave tutor to the learned horse; both which
Being, beyond sea, burned for one wiu-b
Their spirits transmigrated to a -;ai " H

sc ii. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 381

Arm. Tell me precisely of what complexion.
Moth. Of the sea-water green, sir.
Arm. Is that one of the four complexions ?
Moth. As I have read, sir ; and the best of them
too.

Arm. Green, indeed, is the colour of lovers : * but
to have a love of that colour, methinks, Samson
had small reason for it. He, surely, affected hei
for her wit.

Moth. It was so, sir ; for she had a green wit.
Arm. My love is most immaculate white and
red.

Moth. Most maculate thoughts, master, are mask'd
under such colours.

Arm. Define, define, well-educated infant.
Moth. My father's wit, and my mother's tongue,
assist me !

Arm. Sweet invocation of a child ; most pretty
and pathetical !

Moth. If she be made of white and red,

Her faults will ne'er be known ;
For blushing cheeks by faults are bred,

And fears by pale-white shown :
Then, if she fear, or be to blame,

By this you shall not know ;
For still her cheeks possess the same,

Which native she doth owe.6

A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of
white and red.

Arm. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and
the Beggar 1 7

* The allusion probably is to the willow, the supposed ornament
of unsuccessful lovers.

8 Of which she is naturally possessed.

7 This ballad, entitled King Oophetua and The Beggar -Maid, if
printed in Percy's Koliquos. Scries First, Book ii. a

ft82 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT L

Moth. The world was very guilty of such a l>al
lad some three ages since : but, I think, now 'tis not
to be found ; or, if it were, it would neither serve
for the writing, nor the tune.

Arm. I will have the subject newly writ o'er,
that I may example my digression 8 by some mighty
precedent. Boy, I do love that country girl, that
1 took in the park with the rational hind Costard :
she deserves well.

Moth. [Aside.] To be whipp 1 ; and yet a better
love than my master.

Arm. Sing, boy : my spirit grows heavy in love.

Moth. And that's great marvel, loving a light
wench.

Arm. I say, sing.

Moth. Forbear till tliis company be past.

Enter DULL, COSTARD, and JAQ.UENETTA.

Dull. Sir, the duke's pleasure is, that you keep
Costard safe : and you must let him take no delight,
nor no penance ; but a' must fast three days a-vveek :
For this damsel, I must keep her at the park ; she
is allow'd for the day-woman.9 Fare you well.

Arm. I do betray myself with blushing. — Maid

Jay. Man.

Arm. I will visit thee at the lodge.

* IHtrression is here used in the sense of going ascray, 01
dUerging from the right. Thus, in the Poet's Rape of Lucrece I

" Then, my digression is so vile, so base,
That it will live engraven in my lace "

An J in Richard II., Act v. sc. 3, when York reveals the treache-
DUS conspiracy of his son. Boliiighroke says, —

- And thy abundant goodness shall excuse
This deadly blot in thy digressing son." H.

* A day-woman is a dtirry-iromuit. Johnson says day is an old
word for milk. A dairy-maid is still called a deii or day in in*
northern jmrLs of Scotland

se. n. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST, '383

Jaq. That's hereby.10

Arm. I 'mow where it is situate.

Jaq. Lord, how wise you are !

Arm. I will tell thee wonders.

Jaq. With that face ? "

Arm. I love thee.

Jaq. So I heard you say.

Arm. And so farewell.

Jaq. Fair weather after you !

Dull. Come, Jaquenetta, away.

[Exeunt DULL and JAQUENETTA.

Arm. Villain, thou shall fast for thy offences, ere
thou be pardoned.

Cost. Well, sir, I hope, when I do it, I shall do
it on a full stomach.

Arm. Thou shall be heavily punished.

Cost. I am more bound to you than your fellows,
for they are but lightly rewarded.

Arm. Take away this villain : shut him up.

Moth. Come, you transgressing slave ; away.

Cost. Let me not be pent up, sir : I will fast,
being loose.

Moth. No, sir ; thai were fasl and loose : thou
shall to prison.

Cost. Well, if ever I do see the merry days of
desolation ihal I have seen, some shall see —

Moth. Whal shall some see I

Cost. Nay, nothing, master Moth, but what ihey
l:>ok upon. It is not for prisoners to be too silent

10 Jaquenetta and Armado are at cross-purposes. Hereby is
used by her (as among; the common people of some counties) in
the sense of as it may happen. He takes it in the sense of just by.

11 This odd phrase was still in use in Fielding's time, who,
putting it into the mouth of Beau Didapper, thinks it necessary to
apologize for its want of sense, by adding thet it was takeu ver-
batim from very polite conversation

384 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT j.

in their words ; and therefore I will say nothing :
I thank God, I have as little patience as another
man ; and therefore I can be quiet.

[Exeunt MOTH and COSTARD
Arm. I do affect the very ground, which is base,
where her shoe, which is baser, guided by her foot,
which is basest, doth tread. I shall be forsworn,
(which is a great argument of falsehood,) if I love :
And how can that be true love, which is falsely
attempted 1 Love is a familiar : love is a devil :
there is no evil angel but love. Yet was Samson
so tempted ; and he had an excellent strength : yet
was Solomon so seduced ; and he had a very good
wit. Cupid's butt-shaft I2 is too hard for Hercules'
club, and therefore too much odds for a Spaniard's
rapier. The first and second cause will not serve
my turn; 13 the passado he respects not, the duello
he regards not : his disgrace is to be called boy ;
but his glory is to subdue men. Adieu, valour !
rust, rapier ! be still, drum ! for your arniiger is in
love ; yea, he loveth. Assist me, some extemporal
god of rhyme, for, I am sure, I shall turn sonnetist.
Devise, wit ! write, pen ! for I am for whole vol-
umes in folio. [Exit.

l* A kind of arrow used for shooting at butts with. The tutl
was the place on which the mark to be shot at was placed.

15 This is explained in Touchstone's learned discourse on the
causes of quarrel, in As You Like It, Act v. sc. 4. H.

LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 385

ACT II

SCENE I. Another part of the Park.

A Pavilion and Tents at a distance.

Enter the PRINCESS of France, ROSALINE, MARIA,
KATHARINE, BOYET, Lords, and other Attendants.

Boy. Now, madam, summon up your dearest

spirits :

Consider whom the king your father sends ;
To whom he sends ; and what's his embassy .
Yourself, held precious in the world's esteem ;
To parley with tiie sole inheritor
Of all perfections that a man may owe,
Matchless Navarre ; the plea of no less weight
Than Aquitain, a dowry for a queen.
Be now as prodigal of all dear grace,
As nature was in making graces dear,
When she did starve the general world beside,
And prodigally gave them all to you.

Prin. Good lord Boyet, my beauty, though bill

mean,

Needs not the painted flourish of your praise :
Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye,
Not utter'd by base sale of chapmen's tongues.
I am less proud to hear you tell my worth,
Than you much willing to be counted wise
In spending your wit in the praise of mine.
But now to task the tasker, — Good Boyet,
You are not ignorant, all-telling fame
Doth noise abroad, Navarre hath made a vow,

586 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT n

Till painful study shall out-wear three years,
No woman may approach his silent court :
Therefore to us seem'th it a needful course,
Before we enter his forbidden gates,
To know his pleasure ; and in that behalf,
Bold of your worthiness, we single you
As our best-moving fair solicitor :
Tell liiin, the daughter of the king of France,
On serious business, craving quick despatch,
Importunes personal conference with his grace.
Haste, signify so much ; while we attend,
Like humble-visag'd suitors, his high will.

Boy. Proud of employment, willingly I go. [Exit

Prin. All pride is willing pride, and yours is so. —
Who are the votaries, rny loving lords,
That are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke 1

Lord. Longaville is one.

Prin. Know you the man t

Mar. I know him, madam : at a marriage feast,
Between lord Perigort and the beauteous heir
Of .Jaques Falconbridge, solemnized
In Normandy, saw 1 this Longaville :
A man of sovereign parts he is esteem'd ;
Well fitted in arts, glorious in arms :
Nothing becomes him ill, that he would well.
The only soil of his fair virtue's gloss,
If virtue's gloss will stain with any soil,
Is a sharp wit match'd with too blunt a will ;
Whose edge hath power to cut, whose will still wills
It should none spare that come within his power.

Prin. Some merry mocking lord, belike ; is't so ?

Mar. They say so most, that most his humours
know.

Prin. Such short-liv'd wits do wither as they

grow.
Who are the rest /

sc. i. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 397

Kath. The young Dumain, a well-accomplish'd

youth,

Of aJl that virtue love for virtue lov'd :
Most power to do most harm, least knowing ill ;
For he hath wit to make an ill shape good,
And shape to win grace though he had uo wit-
I saw him at the duke Alen^on's once ;
And much too little of that good I saw
Is my report to his great worthiness.

Ros. Another of these students at that time
Was there with him : if 1 have heard a truth,
Biron they call him ; but a merrier man,
Within tiie limit of becoming mirth,
I never spent an hour's talk withal :
His eye begets occasion for his wit ;
For every object that the one doth catch,
The other turns to a mirth-moving jest;
Which his fair tongue (conceit's expositor)
Delivers in such apt and gracious words,
That aged ears play truant at his tales,
And younger hearings are quite ravished ;
So sweet and voluble is his discourse.

Prin. God bless my ladies ! are they all in love,
That every one her own hath garnished
With such bedecking ornaments of praise 1

Lord. Here comes Boyet.

Re-entir Bo YET.

Prin. Now, what admittance, lord ?

Boy. Navarre had notice of your fair approach :
And he and his competitors1 in oath
Were all address'd to meet you, gentle lady,
Before I came. Marry, thus much I have learnt,

1 Confederates. See The Two Geatleineii of Verona, Act ii
»c. 6, note 2.

888 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT u

He rather means to lodge you in the field,

Like one that comes here to besiege his court,

Than seek a dispensation for his oath,

To let you enter his unpeopled house.

Here comes Navarre. [T/te Ladies mask.

Enter KING, LONGAVILLE, DUMAIN, BIRON, and
Attendants.

King. Fair princess, welcome to the court ol
Navarre.

Prin. Fair I give you back again ; and welcome
1 have not yet : the roof of this court is too high
to be yours, and welcome to the wide fields too
base to be mine.

King. You shall be welcome, madam, to my court.

Prin. I will be welcome, then : conduct me thither.

King. Hear me, dear lady ; I have sworn an oath.

Prin. Our Lady help my lord ! he'll be forsworn.

King. Not for the world, fair madam, by my will.

Prin. Why, will shall break it ; will, and nothing
else.

King. Your ladyship is ignorant what it is.

Prin. Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise
Where 2 now his knowledge must prove ignorance.
I hear your grace hath sworn-out house-keeping:
'Tit- deadly sin to keep that oath, my lord,
And sin to break it.
But pardon me, I am too sudden-bold :
To teach a teacher ill beseemeth me.
Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my coming,
And suddenly resolve me in my suit.

[Gives a paj er

King. Madam, 1 will, if suddenly I rnay.

1 Where is here usc<l for wtterfo*

«c. i. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 389

t Prin. You will the sooner, that I were away ;
For you'll prove perjur'd, if you make me stay.

Bir. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once 1

Ros. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once 1

Bir I know you did.

Ros. How needless was it, then,

To ask the question !

Bir. You must not be so quick.

Ros. 'Tis 'long of you, 3 that spur me with such
questions.

Bir. Your wit's too hot, it speeds too fast, 'twill
tire.

Ros. Not till it leave the rider in the mire.

Bir. What time o' day 1

Ros. The hour that fools should ask.

Bir. Now fair befall your mask !

Ros. Fair fall the face it covers !

Bir. And send you many lovers !

Ros. Amen, so you be none.

Bir. Nay, then will I be gone.

King. Madam, your father here doth intimate
The payment of a hundred thousand crowns ;
Being but the one half of an entire sum,
Disbursed by my father in his wars.
But say, that he, or we, (as neither have,)
Receiv'd that sum, yet there remains unpaid
A hundred thousand more ; in surety of the which..
One part of Aquitain is bound to us,
Although not valued to the money's worth.
If, then, the king your father will restore
But that one half which is unsatisfied,

3 The phrase. It is along of you, or, It is along on you, means
It is ynnr fault. It is owing to you ; that is, caused by you. Thus
in the Prologue to Retunie from Parnassus : " It's all 'long on y<n»
I could not get my part a night or two before." H.

WO LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT u

We will give up our right in Aquitain,

And hold fair friendship with his majesty.

But that, it seems, he little purposeth,

For here he doth demand to have repaid

A hundred thousand crowns; and not demands,

On payment of a hundred thousand crowns,

To have his title live in Aquitain;

Which we much rather had depart 4 withal,

And have the money by our father lent,

Than Aquitain so gelded 6 as it is.

Dear princess, were not his requests so far

From reason's yielding, your fair self should make

A yielding, 'gainst some reason, in my breast,

And go well satisfied to France again.

Prin. You do the king my father too much wrong
And wrong the reputation of your name,
fri so unseeming to confess receipt
Of that which hath so faithfully been paid.

King. I do protest, I never heard of it ;
And, if you prove it, I'll repay it back,
Or yield up Aquitain.

Prin. We arrest your word : —

Boyet, you can produce acquittances
For such a sum, from special officers
Of Charles his father.

King. Satisfy me so.

Soy. So please your grace, the packet is not

come,

Where that and other specialties are bound :
To-morrow you shall have a sight of them.

4 To depart and to part were anciently synonymous.

6 This phrase was a common metaphorical expression then
much used. In The Returne from Parnassus, Act iii. sc. 1, we
find : " He hath a proper gelded parsonage." And Bishop Hall
in the second Satire of Hook iv. : •• I'lod it at a patron's tail, to
get some geldfd chapel's cheaper sale." It appears to have been
syuouymous willi curtailed.

sc. L LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 391

King. It shall suffice me : at which interview,
All liberal reason I will yield unto.
Meantime, receive such welcome at my hand,
As honour, without breach of honour, may
Make tender of to thy true worthiness.
You may not come, fair princess, in my gates ;
But here without you shall be so receiv'd,
As you shall deem yourself lodg'd in my heart,
Though so denied fair harbour in my house.
Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewell:
To-morrow shall we visit you again.

Prin. Sweet health and fair desires consort your
grace !

King. Thy own wish wish I thee in every place .
[Exeunt KING and his Train.

Bir. Lady, I will commend you to my own heart.

Ros. 'Pray you, do my commendations ; I would
be glad to see it.

Bir. I would you heard it groan.

Ros. Is the fool sick ?

Bir. Sick at heart.

Ros. Alack ! let it blood.

Bir. Would that do it good ? •

Ros. My physic says, ay.

Bir. Will you prick't with your eye 1

Ros. No point,8 with my knife.

Bir. Now, God save thy life !

Ros. And yours from long living !

Bir. I cannot stay thanksgiving. [Retiring

Dum. Sir, I pray you, a word : What lady is that
same 1

* Point, in French, is an adverb of negation, but, if properly
spoken, is not sounded like the point of a knife. A quibble was
However intended. Fiorio in his Dictionary explains punlo by

never a whit ; — no paint, as ihe Frenchman says."

392 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT IL

Boy. The heir of Aler^on, Katharine her name.
Dum. A gallant lady ! Monsieur, fare you well.

[Exit
Lon. I beseech you, a word : What is she in the

white 7
Boy. A woman sometimes, an you saw her in the

light.
Lon. Perchance, light in the light : I desire her

name.
Boy. She hath but one for herself; to desire

that, were a shame.
Lon. Pray you, sir, whose daughter ?
Boy. Her mother's, I have heard.
Lon. God's blessing on your beard !
Boy. Good sir, be not offended :
She is an heir of Falconbridge.

Lon. Nay, my choler is ended.
She is a most sweet lady.

Boy. Not unlike, sir ; that may be.

[Exit LONGAVILLE.

Bir. What's her name, in the cap ?

Boy. Rosaline, by good hap.

Bir. Is she wedded, or no 1

Boy. To her will, sir, or so.

Bir. You are welcome, sir : adieu !

Boy. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you.

[Exit BIRON. — Ladies unmask.
Mar. That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap lord :
Not a word with him but a jest.

Boy. And every jest but a word.

Prin. It was well done of you to take him at

his word.
Boy. I was as willing to grapple, as he was to

board.
Mar. Two hot sheeps, rnarry !

HO. i. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 398

Boy. And wherefore not ships 1

No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips.

Mar. You sheep, and I pasture : Shall that finish
the jest ?

Boy. So you grant pasture for me.

[Offering to kiss her.

Mar. Not so, gentle beast:

My lips are no common, though several 7 they be.

Boy. Belonging to whom ?

Mar. To my fortunes and me.

Prin. Good wits will be jangling ; but, gentles,

agree :

The civil war of wits were much better us'd
On Navarre and his book-men ; for here 'tis abus'd.

Boy. If my observation, (which very seldom lies,)
By the heart's still rhetoric, disclosed with eyes,
Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected.

Prin. With what 1

Boy. With that which we lovers entitle, affected.

Prin. Your reason ?

Boy. Why, all his behaviours did make their

retire

To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire :
His heart, like an agate, with your print impress'd,
Proud with his form, in his eye pride express'd :
His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see,
Did stumble with haste in his eye-sight to be ; 8

7 A quibble is here intended upon the word severed, which,
besides its ordinary signification of separate, distinct, signified
also an enclosed pasture, as opposed to an open field or common.
Thus, in Lord Bacon's Apothegms : " There was a lord that was
leane of visage, but immediately after his marriage he grew fat.
One said to him, — ' Your lordship doth contrary to other married
men ; for they first wax lean, and you wax fat.' Sir Walter
Raleigh stood by, and said, — ' Why there is no beast, that if you
take him from the common, and put him into the several, but he
will wax fat.' "

8 Although the expression in the text is extremely odd yet the

394 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT n

All senses to that sense did make their repair.
To feel only looking on fairest of fair :
Methought, all his senses were lock'd in his eye,
As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy ;
Who, tend'ring their own worth, from where they

were glass'd,

Did point you to buy them, along as you pass'd.
His face's own margent 9 did quote such amazes,
That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes.
I'll give you Aquitain, and all that is his,
An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss
Prin. Come, to our pavilion : Boyet is dispos'd —
Boy. But to speak that in words, which his eye

hath disclos'd :

1 only have made a mouth of his eye,
By adding a tongue which I know will not lie.
Ros. Thou art an old love-monger, and speak st

skilfully.
Mar. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news

of him.
Ros. Then was Venus like her mother ; for her

father is but grim.

Boy. Do you hear, my mad wenches ?
Mar. No.

Boy. What then, do you see 1

Ros, Ay, our way to be gone.
Boy. You are too hard for me

[Exeunt

sense appears to be, that his tongue envied the quickness of his
eyes, and strove to be as rapid in its utterance as they in their
perception.

* In Shakespeare's time, notes, quotations, &c., were usually
printed in the margin of books.

LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. &)5

ACT III.

SCENE I. Another part of the same.

Enter ARMADO and MOTH.

Arm. Warble, child; make passionate my sense
of hearing.

Moth. Concolinel ' [Singing.

Arm. Sweet air ! — Go, tenderness of years ; take
this key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him
festinately * hither : I must employ him in a letter
to my love.

Moth. Master, will you win your love with a
French brawl 1 3

1 The songs formerly used on the stage were often popular
ditties, and therefore were omitted in the writing of a play. Such
is apparently the case here ; Concolinel being the first word of
Moth's "sweet air." The song is probably lost; at least, it has
not been identified. H.

2 That is, hastily. So, in Lear : " Advise the Duke where you
are going to a most /estimate preparation."

3 Brawl, from the French bransle, is a kind of dance men-
tioned by several old writers, and thus described by Marston :
•' The brawl! why, 'tis but two singles to the left, two ou the right,
Ihree doubles forwards, a traverse of six rounds : do this twice,
three singles side galliard trick of twenty coranto pace : a figure
of eight, three singles broken down, come up, meet two doubles,
fall back, and then honour." Ben Jonson gives it a most poetical
dash in The Vision of Delight :

u In curious knots and mazes so,

The Spring at first was taught to go ;

And Zephyr, when he came to woo

His Flora, had their motions too :

And thence did Venus learn to lead

The Idalian brawls, and so to tread

As if the wind, not she, did walk ;

Nor prest a flower, nor bow'd a stalk."

And Gray thus alludes to Elizabeth's " dancing Chancellor," while
describing the ancient seat of the Hattons :

390 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT ni.

Arm. How meanest thou 1 brawling in French 1

Moth. No, my complete master : but to jig off a
tune at the tongue's end, canary 4 to it with your
feet, humour it with turning up your eyelids ; sigh
a note, and sing a note ; sometime through the
throat, as if you swallowed love with singing love ;
sometime through the nose, as if you snuff'd up
love by smelling love ; with your hat penthouse-like
o'er the shop of your eyes ; with your arms cross'd
on your thin belly-doublet, like a rabbit on a spit ;
or your hands in your pocket, like a man after the
old painting ; and keep not too long in one tune,
but a snip and away : These are complements,'
these are humours ; these betray nice wenches —
that would be betrayed without these ; and make
them men of note (do you note, men ?) that most
we affected to these.

Arm. How hast thou purchased this experience 1

Moth. By my penny of observation.

Arm. But O, — but O, —

Moth. — the hobby-horse is forgot.8

" Full oft, within the spacious walls,
When he had fifty winters o'er him,
My grave Lord-keeper led the brawls ;
The seals and maces danc'd before him.
His bushy beard, and shoe-strings green,
His high-crown'd hat, and satin doublet,
Mov'd the stout heart of England's Queen,
Though Pope and Spaniard could not trouble it." H.

* Canary was the name of a sprightly dance, sometimes accom
panied by the castanets.

• That is, accomplishments. See Act i. sc. 1, note 12.

8 The Hobby-horse was a personage belonging to the ancient
Morris dance, when complete. It was the figure of a horse fas-
tened round the waist of a man, his own legs going through the
body of the horse, and enabling him to walk, but concealed by a
long footcloth ; while false legs appeared whore those of the man
should be at the sides of the tiorse. The Puiitans waged a furioiu
war against the Morris dance ; which caused the Hobby-horse to
be often left out : hence the line or burden of the song, which
D«-s«e<l into a proverb.

so. i. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 39?

Ann. Callest thou my love hobby-horse 1

Moth. No, master ; the hobby-horse is but a eolt>
und your love perhaps a hackney.7 But have you
forgot your love ?

Arm. Almost I had.

Moth. Negligent student ! learn her by heart.

Arm By heart, and in heart, boy.

Moth. And out of heart, master : all those three
I will prove.

Ann. What wilt thou prove ?

Moth. A man, if I live : and this, by, in, and
without, upon the instant : By heart you love her,
because your heart cannot come by her ; in heart
you love her, because your heart is in love with
her ; and out of heart you love her, being out of
heart that you cannot enjoy her.

Arm. I am all these three.

Moth. And three times as much more, and yet
nothing at all.

Arm. Fetch hither the swain : he must carry me
a letter.

Moth. A messagerwell-sympathiz'd ; a horse to
be ambassador for an ass !

Arm. Ha, ha ! what sayest thou ?

Moth. Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the
horse, for he is very slow-gaited : But I go.

Arm. The way is but short : away.

Moth. As swift as lead, sir.

Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious ?
Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow ?

Moth. Minime, honest master ; or rather, mas-
ter, IK .

* Dr. Johnson says, — " A colt is a hot, mad-brained, unbroken
young fellow '' Hackney seems to have been a cant term for a
prostitute, 01 a stnle. a

398 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT nv

Arm. I say, lead is slow.

Moth. You are too swift, sir, to say so ;

Is that lead slow which is fir'd from a gun 1

Arm. Sweet smoke of rhetoric !
He reputes me a cannon ; and the bullet, that's he : —
I shoot thee at the swain.

Moth. Thump then, and I flee. [Exit.

Arm. A most acute Juvenal ; voluble and free of

grace !

By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face
Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place.
My herald is return'd.

Re-enter MOTH with COSTARD.

Moth. A wonder, master ! here's a Costard *
broken in a shin.

Arm. Some enigma, some riddle: — come, — thy
V envoy ;9 — begin.

Cost. No egma, no riddle, no Tenvoy : no salve
in the mail,10 sir : O ! sir, plantain, a plain plantain ;
no Fenvoy, no I 'envoy ; no salve, sir, but a plantain '

Arm. By virtue, thou enforces! laughter ; thy silly
thought, my spleen ; the heaving of my lungs pro-
vokes me to ridiculous smiling : O, pardon me, my
stars ! Doth the inconsiderate take salve for Tenvoy
and the word Penvoy for a salve ?

* That is, a head ; a name adopted from an apple shaped like
a man's head : hence the " wonder " of the thing.

' An old French terra for concluding verses, which served
either to convey the moral, or to address the poem to some person.

10 A mail or male, was a budget, wallet, or portmanteau. Cos-
tard, mistaking enigma, riddle, and I'enroy for names of salves,
objects to the application of any sulre in the budget, and cries out
for a plantain leaf. There is a quibble upon salve and salvt, a
word with which it was not unusual to conclude epistles, and which
therefore was a kind of I' envoy. Tyrwhitt aptly proposed to read,
— *'No salve in tliem all, sir:" but as the meaning is the sara«
either way, perhaps it is best not to adni'i the change.

sc. t. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 399

Moth, Do the wise think them other? is not
r envoy a salve 1

Arm. No, page ; it is an epilogue or discourse

to make plain

Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain
I will example it :

The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
Were still at odds, being but three.
There's the moral : Now the T envoy.

Moth. I will add the Tenvoy. Say the moral again.
Arm. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,

Were still at odds, being but three :
Moth. Until the goose came out of door,

And stay'd the odds by making four.
Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow
with my Venvoy.

The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
Were still at odds, being but three :
Arm. Until the goose came out of door,

Staying the odds by making four.
Moth. A good F envoy, ending in the goose.
Would you desire more 1

Cost. The boy hath sold him a bargain,11 a goose,

that's flat : —
Sir your pennyworth is good, an your goose be

fat.—
To sell a bargain well, is as cunning as fast and

loose :

Let me see, a fat Fenroy ; ay, that's a fat goose.
Arm. Come hither, come hither : How did this

argument begin ?
Moth. By saying that a Costard was broken in a

shin.
Then cull'd you for the Fcnvoy.

11 That is, hath made a foo! of him ; or, as we should say, ItM

t.mn* it O"«»r him •,

400 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT HL

Cost. True, and I for a plantain : Thus came

your argument in ;

Then the boy's fat P envoy, the goose that you bought ;
And he ended the market.12

Arm. But tell me ; how was there a Custard
broken in a shin ?

Moth. I will tell you sensibly.

Cost. Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth : I wil .
speak that Penvoy :

I, Costard, running out, that was safely within,

Fell over the threshold, and broke my shin.

Arm. We will talk no more of this matter.

Cost. Till there be more matter in the shin.

Arm. Sirrah Costard, I will enfranchise thee.

Cost. O ! marry me to one Frances ? — I smell
some Venvoy, some goose, in this.

Arm. By my sweet soul, I mean, setting thee at
liberty, enfreedoming thy person ; thou wert im
mured, restrained, captivated, bound.

Cost. True, true ; and now you will be my pur-
gation, and let me loose.

Arm. I give thee thy liberty, free thee from du-
rance ; and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing
but this : Bear this significant to the country maid
Jaquenetta : there is remuneration ; [Giving him
money.] for the best ward of mine honour is re-
warding my dependents. Moth, follow. [Exit.

Moth. Like the sequel, I. — Signior Costard, adieu.

Cost. My sweet ounce of man's flesh ! my in-
cony 13 Jew ! — [Exit MOTH.

11 Alluding to the proverb, " Three women and a goose maice a
imirket."

13 The meaning1 and etymology of this word are not clearly
defined, though numerous instances of its use are adduced. Sweet,
pretty, deticate seem to he some of its acceptations ; and the besl
derivation seems to be from the northern word canny or connyi
meaning pretty; the in being intensive and equivalent '.o very.

sc. i LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 401

Now will I look to his remuneration. Remunera-
tion ! O ! that's the Latin word for three farthings :
three farthings — remuneration. — " What's the price
of this inkle ? M a penny : — No, I'll give you a re-
muneration:" why, it carries it. — Remuneration !
— why, it is a fairer name than French crown. I
will never buy and sell out of this word.

Enter BIRON.

Bir. O, my good knave Costard ! exceedingly
well met.

Cost. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon
may a man buy for a remuneration ?

Bir. What is a remuneration ?

Cost. Marry, sir, half-penny farthing.

Bir. O ! why then, three-farthings-worth of silk.

Cost. I thank your worship : God be wi' you !

Bir. O, stay, slave ! I must employ thee :
As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave,
Do one thing for me that I shall entreat.

Cost. When would you have it done, sir 1

Bir. O ! this afternoon.

Cost. Well, I will do it, sir : Fare you well.

Bir. O ! thou knowest not what it is.

Cost. I shall know, sir, when I have done it.

Bir. Why, villain, thou must know first.

Cost. I will come to your worship to-morrow
morning.

Bir. It must be done this afternoon. Hark
slave, it is but this : —

The princess comes to hunt here in the park,
And in her train there is a gentle lady ;
When tongues speak sweetly, then they name hei
name,

14 Inkle was a species of tape.

402 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT in

And Rosaline they call her : ask for her :
And to her white hand see thou do commend
This seal'd-up counsel. There's thy guerdon ; go

[Gives him rioney

Cost. Guerd/m.16 — O, sweet guerdon ! better than
remuneration ; eleven-pence farthing better : Most
sweet guerdon! — I will do it, sir, in print.18 —
Guerdon — remuneration. [Exit.

Bir. O ! — And I, forsooth, in love ! I, thai

have been love's whip ;
A very beadle to a humorous sigh ;
A critic ; nay, a night-watch constable ;
A domineering pedant o'er the boy,
Than whom no mortal so magnificent !
This wimpled,17 whining, purblind, wayward boy ;
This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid ;
Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms,
The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans,
Liege of all loiterers and malcontents,
Dread prince of plackets,18 king of cod-pieces,
Sole imperator, and great general
Of trotting paritors,19 — O my little heart! —
And I to be a corporal of his field,
And wear his colours like a tumbler's hoop ! *°
What ! I love ! I sue ! I seek a wife !
A woman, that is like a German clock,*1

18 Guerdon is reward ; from the French.

16 With the utmost nicety.

17 To wimple is to veil. Shakespeare means no more than that
l/upid was hood-winked.

14 Plackets were stomachers.

" The officers of the spiritual courts who serve citations.

10 It was once a mark of gallantry to wear a lady's colours
It appears that a tumbler's hoop was usually dressed out with
coloured ribands.

11 Clocks, which were usually imported from Germany at this
time, were intricate and clumsy pieces of mechanism, soon de-
ranged, and frequently '• out of frame." Ben Jonson. in The

sc. i. LOVE s LABOUR'S LOST. 403

Still a repairing ; ever out of frame ;

And never going aright ; being a watch,

But being watch'd that it may still go right !

Nay. to be perjur'd, which is worst of all ;

And, among three, to love the worst of all ;

A witty wanton with a velvet brow,

With two pitch balls stuck in her face for eyes \

Ay, and, by Heaven, one that will do the deed,

Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard:

And I to sigh for her ! to watch for her !

To pray for her ! Go to ; it is a plague

That Cupid will impose for my neglect

Of his almighty dreadful little might.

Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue, groan .

Some men must love my lady, and some Joan.

[Exit.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. Another part of the same.

Lnter the PRINCESS, ROSALINE, MARIA, KATHARINE,
BOYET, Lords, Attendants, and a Forester.

Prin. Was that the king, that spurred his horse

so hard
Against the steep uprising of the hill ?

Boy. I know not ; but I think it was not he.
Prin. Whoe'er a' was, a' show'd a mounting mind

Silent Woman, Act. iv. sc. 1, thus describes a fashionable lady i
" She takes herself asunder still when she goes to bed. into som<
twenty boxes ; and about next day noon is put together a$rain,lik»
^ great German cloclr."

4fU LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT iv.

Well, lords, to-day we shall have our despatch ;
On Saturday we will return to France. —
Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush,
That we must stand and play the murderer in 1

For. Hereby, upon the edge of yonder coppice
A stand, where you may make the fairest shoot.

Prin. I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot,
And thereupon thou speak'st, the fairest shoot.

For. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so*

Prin. What, what ! first praise me, and again

say no ?
O short-liv'd pride ! Not fair 1 Alack for woe !

For. Yes, madam, fair.

Prin. Nay, never paint me now:

Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow.
Here, good my glass, take this for telling true :

[Giving him money.
Fair payment for foul words is more than due.

For. Nothing but fair is that which you inherit.

Prin. See, see ! my beauty will be sav'd by merit.
O heresy in fair, fit for these days !
A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise. —
But come, the bow : — Now mercy goes to kill,
And shooting well is then accounted ill.
Tims will I save rny credit in the shoot:
Not wounding, pity would not let me do't ;
If wounding, then it was to show my skill,
That more for praise than purpose meant to kill.
And, out of question, so it is sometimes.;
Glory grows guilty of detested crimes ;
When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part,
We bend to that the working of the heart :
As 1, for praise alone, now seek to spill
The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill

Boy Do not curst wives hold that self-sovereignty

sc. i. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 405

Only for praise' sake, when they strive to be
Lords o'er their lords ?

Prin. Only for praise ; and praise we may afford
To any lady that subdues a lord.

Enter COSTARD.

Here comes a member of the commonwealth.1

Cost. God dig-you-den 2 all ! Pray you, which is
the head lady ?

Prin. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest
that have no heads.

Cost. Which is the greatest lady, the highest ?

Prin. The thickest, and the tallest.

Cost. The thickest, and the tallest ! it is so ; truth

is truth.

An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit,
One o' these maids' girdles for your waist should

be fit.
Are not you the chief woman 1 you are the thickest

here.

Prin. What's your will, sir 1 what's your will '.'
Cost. I have a letter from monsieur Biron, to one

lady Rosaline.
Prin. O, thy letter, thy letter ! he's a good friend

of mine :

Stand aside, good bearer. — Boyet, you can carve ;
Break up this capon.3

Boy. I am bound to serve. —

1 The Princess calls Costard a member of the dymmomoealth,
because he is one of the attendants on the king and his associate*
in their new-modelled society.

* A corruption of God g'ive you good even.

3 That is, open this letter. The Poet uses this metaphor as
the French do their p&ulat; which signifies both a young fowl anJ
a love-letter To ireiwt up was a phrase for to ca;t'«.

406 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. ACT iv.

This letter is mistook ; it importeth none here :
It is writ to Jaquenetta.

Prin. We will read it, I swear

Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear

Boy. [Reads.] " By Heaven, that them art fair, is most
infallible ; true, that thou art beauteous ; truth itself, that
thou art lovely. More fairer than fair, beautiful than beau-
teous, truer than truth itself, have commiseration on thy
heroical vassal ! The magnanimous and most illustrate
king Cophetua4 set eye upon the pernicious and indubitate
beggar Penelophon ; and he it was that might rightly say,
»en», vidi, vici ; which to annotanize in the vulgar, (O base
and obscure vulgar !) videlicet, he came, saw, and overcame:
he came, one ; saw, two ; overcame, three. Who came ?
the king : Why did he come ? to see : Why did he see ?
to overcome. To whom came he ? to the beggar : What
saw he ? the beggar : Whom overcame he ? the beggar.
The conclusion is victory : On whose side ? the king's :
The captive is enrich'd : On whose side ? the beggar's
The catastrophe is a nuptial : On whose side ? the king's ?
—no, on both in one, or one in both. I am the king ; for
so stands the comparison : thou the beggar ; for so wit-
nesseth thy lowliness. Shall I command thy love ? I may :
Shall I enforce thy love ? I could : Shall I entreat thy love ?
I will. What shalt thou exchange for rags ? robes : For
tittles ? titles : For thyself? me. Thus, expecting thy re-
ply, I profane my lips on thy foot, my eyes on thy picture,
and my heart on thy every part.

Thine, in the dearest design of industry,

Dow ADRIANO DE ARMADO."

"Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar
'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his prey;
Submissive fall his princely feet before,
And he from forage will incline to play :
But if thou strive, poor soul, what art th-t, .1 then ?
Food for his rage, repasture for his den."

4 See Act i. sc. 2, note 1

sc. i> LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 407

Prin. What plume of feathers is he that indited

this letter ?
What vane 1 what weathercock 1 did you ever hear

better 1
Boy. I am much deceiv'd, but I remember the

style.
Prin. Else your memory is bad, going o'er it

erewhile.5
Boy. This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps here

in court ;

A phantasm, a Monarcho,8 and one that makes sport
To the prince, and his book-mates.

Prin. Thou, fellow, a word :

Who gave thee this letter 1

Cost. I told you ; my lord.

Prin. To whom shouldst thou give it 1
Cost. From my lord to my lady.
Prin. From which lord, to which lady ?
Cost. From my lord Biron, a good master of mine,
To a lady of France, that he call'd Rosaline.

Prin. Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come,

lords, away.

TIere, sweet, put up this: 'twill be thine another
day. [Exeunt PRINCESS and Train.

Boy. Who is the suitor ? who is the suitor ? 7
Ros. Shall I teach you to know ?

6 That is, lately. A pun is intended upon the word stile.

• The allusion is to a fantastical character of the time. Thm
Meres, in his Palladis Tamia, 1598 : " Popular applause doth nour-
ish some, neither do they gape aller any other thing but vaine praise
and glorie, — as in our age Peter Shakerlye of Paules. and Mo-
narcho that lived about the court." He is called an Italian by
Nashe, and Churchyard has written some lines which he calls his
Epitaphe. By another writer it appears that he was a Berga
oiasco.

7 An equivoque was here intended ; it should appear that the
<vords tkooter and suitor were pronounced alike in Shakespeare's
'ime.

408 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT iv

Boy. Ay, my continent of beauty.
Kos. Why, she that bears th»j bow.

Finely put off!

Boy. My lady goes to kill horns ; but, if thou

marry,

Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry
Finely put on !

Ros. Well, then, I am the shooter.

Boy. And who is your deer t

Ros. If we choose by the horns, yourself: come

near.
Finely put on, indeed !

Mar. You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she

strikes at the brow.
Boy. But she herself is hit lower : Have I hit

her now ?

Ros. Shall I come upon thee with an old saying,
that was a man when king Pepin of France was a
little boy, as touching the hit it ?

Boy. So I may answer thee with one as old, that
was a woman when queen Guinever of Britain was
a little wench, as touching the hit it.

Ros. Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it, [Singing.

Thou canst not hit it, my good man.
Soy. An I cannot, cannot, cannot,
An I cannot, another can.

[Exeunt Ros. and KATH.
Cost. By my troth, most pleasant! how both did

fit'it !
Mar. A mark marvellous well shot ; for they both

did hit it.
Boy. A mark ! O, mark but that mark ! A mark

says my lady.

Let the mark have a prick in't, to mete at, if it
may be.

so. i. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 409

Mar. Wide o' the bow hand ! 8 I'faith your hand

is out.
Cost. Indeed, a* must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er

hit the clout.
Roy. An if my hand be out, then belike your

hand is in.
Cost. Then will she get the upshot by cleaving

the pin.
Mar. Come, come, you talk greasily ; your lips

grow foul.

Cost. She's too hard for you at pricks, sir : chal-
lenge her to bowl.

Boy. I fear too much rubbing : Good night, my

good owl. [Exeunt BOTET and MARIA.

Cost. By my soul, a swain ! a most simple clown !

Lord, Lord! how the ladies and I have put him

down!
O' my troth, most sweet jests ! most incony vulgar

wit!
When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it

were, so fit.

Armatho o' the one side, — O, a most dainty man !
To see him walk before a lady, and to bear her fan !
To see him kiss his hand ! and how most sweetly

a' will swear ! —

And his page o' t' other side, that handful of wit I
Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit !
Sola, sola ! [Shouting within. Exit COST,

8 This is a term in archery still in use, signifying " a good deal
to the left of the mark." Of the other expressions, the clout was
the white mark at which the archers took aim. The pin was the
wooden nail in the centre of it

410 LOVF'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT iv

SCENE H. The same.

Enter HOLOFERNES, Sir NATHANIEL, and DULL.

Nath. Very reverent sport, truly ; and done in
the testimony of a good conscience.

Hoi. The deer was, as you know, sanguis, — in
blood ; ripe as the pomewater,1 who now hangeth
like a jewel in the ear of cento, — the sky, the wel
kin, the heaven ; and anon falleth like a crab, on
the face of terra, — the soil, the land, the earth.

Nath. Truly, master Holofernes, the epithets are
sweetly varied, like a scholar at the least : But, sir,
I assure ye, it was a buck of the first head.*

Hoi. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo.

Dull. 'Twas not a haud credo, 'twas a pricket.

HoL Most barbarous intimation ! yet a kind of
insinuation, as it were, in via, in way of explica-
tion ; facere, as it were, replication, or, rather, osten-
tare, to show, as it were, his inclination,' — after his
undressed, unpolished, uneducated, unpruned, un-
trained, or, rather, unlettered, or, ratherest, uncon-
firmed fashion, — to insert again my haud credo for
a deer.

Dull. I said, the deer was not a haud credo ;
'twas a pricket.

1 A species of apple.

* In The Return from Parnassus, 1606, is the following account
of the appellations of deer at their different ages : •< Now, sir, a
back is, the first year, a fawn ; the second year, a pricket ; the
third year, a sorrel ; the fourth year, a scare j the fifth, a buck of
the first head ; the sixth year, a complete buck. Likewise, your
hart is, the first year, a calfe 5 the second year, a brocket ; the
third year, a spade ; the fourth year, a stag ; the sixth year, a hart
A roe-buck is, the first year, a kid ; the second year, a gird ; the
third year, a aemuse ; and these are your snecial beasts for chase '

so. ii. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 41 1

Hoi. Twice sod simplicity, bis cactus! — O, thou
monster, ignorance, how deformed dost thou look !
Nath. Sir, he hath never fed of ine dainties that
are bred in a book ; he hath not eat paper, as it
were ; he hath not drunk ink : his intellect is not
replenished ; he is only an animal, only sensible in
the duller parts ;
And such barren plants are set before us, that we

thankful should be
(Which we of taste and feeling are) for those parts

that do fructify in us more than he ;
For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet,

or a fool,
So, were there a patch set on learning, to see him

in a school :
But, omne berie, say I ; being of an old father's

mind,

Many can brook the weather that love not the wind.
Dull. You two are book-men : Can you tell by

your wit,
What was a month old at Cain's birth, that's not

five weeks old as ytt 1
Hoi. Dictynna,3 good man Dull ; Dictynna, good

man Dull.

Dull. What is Dictynna ?

Nath. A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon.
Hoi. The moon was a month old, when Adam

was no more ;
And raught 4 not to five weeks, when he came to

fivescore.
The allusion holds in the exchange.*

* Shakespeare might have found this uncommon title of Diana
in the second hook of Goldiiig's translation of Ovid's Metamor-
phoses

4 Reached.

6 That is, the riddle is as good when I use the name of Adam
as when 1 use the name of Cain.

412 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT iv

Dull 'Tis true indeed: the collusion holds in the
exchange.

Hoi. God comfort thy capacity ! I say, the allu-
sion holds in the exchange.

Dull. And I say the pollusion holds in the ex
change ; for the moon is never but a month old •
and I say, beside, that 'twas a pricket that the prin-
cess kill'd.

Hoi. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal
epitaph on the death of the deer ? and, to humour
the ignorant, 1 have call'd the deer the princess
kill'd, a pricket.

Nath. Perge, good master Holofernes, perge; so
it shall please you to abrogate scurrility.

Hoi. I will something affect the letter ; 6 for it
argues facility.
The preyful princess pierc'd and prick'd a pretty pleasing

pricket ;
Some say, a sore ; but not a sore, till now made sore with

shooting.
The dogs did yell ; put 1 to sore, then sorel jumps from

thicket ;

Or pricket, sore, or else sorel ; the people fall a-hooting.
If sore be sore, then L to sore makes fifty sores ; O sore L
Of one sore I a hundred make, by adding but one more L.

Nath. A rare talent !

Dull. If a talent be a claw, look how he claws
him with a talent.7

Hoi. This is a gift that I have, simple, simple ;
& foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures,
shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revo-
lutions : these are begot in the ventricle of memory,

6 That is, I will use or practise alliteration.

7 Talon was often written talent in Shakespeare's time. Honest
Dull quibbles. One of the senses of to claw is to flatter. Se«
Much Ado about Nothing, Act i. se. 3, note 3.

sc. ii. LOVT, s LABOUR'S LOST. 413

nourish 'd in the womb of pia mater, and deliver'd
upon the mellowing of occasion : But the gift is
good in those in whom it is acute, and, 1 am thank-
ful for it.

Nath. Sir, I praise the Lord for you, and so may
my parishioners ; for their sons are well tutor'd by
you, and their daughters profit very greatly under
you : you are a good member of the commonwealth.

Hoi. Mvhercle! if their sons be ingenious, they
shall want no instruction : if their daughters be
capable, I will put it to them : But, vir sapit, gui
pauca loquitur. A soul feminine saluteth us.

Enter JAQUENETTA and COSTARU.

Jaq. God give you good morrow, master person.

Hoi. Master person, — quasi pers-on. An if one
should be pierc'd, which is the one ?

Cost. Marry, master schoolmaster, he that is likest
to a hogshead.

Hoi. Of piercing a hogshead ! a good lustre of
conceit in a turf of earth ; fire enough for a flint
pearl enough for a swine : 'tis pretty ; it is well.

Jaq. Good master parson, be so good as read
me this letter ; it was given me by Costard, and
sent me from Don Annatho : 1 beseech you, read it.

Hoi. Fauste, prccor gdidd quando pecus omnc. sub

umbra

Ruminat, — and so forth. All, good old Mantuan ! '
I may speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice

8 The Eclogues of Maiituanus were translated before the time
of Shakespeare, and the Latin printed on the opposite side of the
pa^e for the use of schools. In 1567 they were also versified
by Turherville. The first Eclogue of Mautnanus I egius Fcutte
precor yelida, &.C.

*M LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT w

Vinegia, Vinegia,

Chi nun te vede, ei nan te pregia.'
Old Mantuaii ! old Mantuan ! Who understandeth
thee not, loves thee not. — Ut, re, sol, la, mi, fa.l(>
— Under pardon, sir, what are the contents ? or,
rather, as Horace says in his — What, my soul,
verses 1

Nath. Ay, sir, and very learned.

Hoi. Let me hear a staff, a stanza, a verse :
Lege, domine..

Nath. [Reads.] "If love make me forsworn, how shall 1

swear to love ?

Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd !
Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll faithful prove ;
Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers bow'u.
Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes ;
Where all those pleasures live that art would comprehend :
If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice :
Well learned is that tongue, that well can thee commend ;
All ignorant that soul, that sees thee without wonder ;
Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire :
Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful

thunder,

Which, not to anger bent, is music and sweet fire.
Celestial, as thou art, O ! pardon, love, this wrong,
That sings heaven's praise with such an earthly tongue ! " "

Hoi. You find not the apostrophes, and so miss
the accent : let me supervise the canzonet. Here
are only numbers ratified ; but, for the elegancy
facility, and golden cadence of poesy, caret. Ovid

9 This proverb occurs in Florio's Second Frutes, 1591, where i
stands thus :

" Venetia, chi non ti vede non ti pretia
Ma chi ti vede, ben gli costa."

10 He hums the notes of the gamut as Edmund does in King
Le«r. Ait i. sc. 2.

11 These verses are printed, with some variations, in The Paa
sionacr Pilgrim, 1599.

so. ii. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 415

ius Naso was the man ; and why, indeed, Naso, but
for smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy,
the jerks of invention 1 Imitari, is nothing : so doth
the hound his master, the ape his keeper, the 'tired
horse ls his rider. But, damosella virgin, was this
directed to you 1

Jaq. Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Biron,'3 one of
the strange queen's lords.

Hoi. I will overglance the superscript. " To the
snow-white hand of the most beauteous lady Rosa-
line." I will look again on the intellect of the letter,
for the nomination of the party writing to the per-
son written unto :

" Your ladyship's in all desired employment, BIRON."
Sir Nathaniel, this Biron is one of the votaries with
the king ; and here he hath framed a letter to a
sequent of the stranger queen's, which, accidentally,
or by the way of progression, hath miscarried. —
Trip and go, my sweet ; deliver this paper into the
royal hand of the king ; it may concern much :
Stay not thy compliment ; I forgive thy duty; adieu

Jaq. Good Costard, go with me. — Sir, God save
your life !

Cost. Have with thee, my girl.

[Exeunt COST, and JAQ.

Nath. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God,
very religiously ; and, as a certain father saith, —

Hoi. Sir, tell not me of the father ; I do fear
colourable colours.14 But to return to the verses :
Did they please you, Sir Nathaniel ?

11 That is, the horse adorned with ribands ; Bankes' horse is
here probably alluded to.

1S Shakespeare forgot that Jaquenetta knew nothing of Biron,
and had said just before that the letter had been " sent to her frow
Don Armatho, and given to her by Costard."

u That is, specious or fair-seeming appearances.

416 LOVE'S LABOUK'S LOST. ACT iv

Nath. Marvellous well for the pen.

Hoi. I do dine to-day at the father's of a certain
pupil of mine ; where if, before repast, it shall please
you to gratify the table with a grace, I will, on my
privilege I have with the parents of the foreaaid
child or pupil, undertake your ben venuto ; where I
will prove those verses to be very unlearned, neither
savouring of poetry, wit, nor invention : I beseech
your society.

Nath. And thank you too ; for society, saith the
text, is the happiness of life.

HoL And, certes, the text most infallibly con-
cludes it. — [To DULL.] Sir, I do invite you too ;
you shall not say me nay : pauca verba. Away !
the gentles are at their game, and we will to ouj
recreation. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. Another part of the same.

Enter BLRON, with a paper.

JBir. The king he is hunting the deer ; I am
coursing myself: they have pitch'd a toil ; I am
toiling in a pitch — pitch that defiles : Defile ! a foul
word. Well, set thee down, sorrow ! for so, they
say, the fool said, and so say I, and ay the fool.
Well proved, wit ! by the Lord, this love is as maj
as Ajax : it kills sheep ; it kills me, I a sheep
Well proved again o' my side ! I will not love : if
I do, hang me ; i'faith, I will not. O ! but her eye,
— by this light, but for her eye, I would not love
her ; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing
in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By Heaven
I do love ; and it hath taught me to rhyme, and to
be melancholy ; and here is part of my rhyme, and
here my melancholy. Well, she hath one o' my

sc. in. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 417

sonnets already ; the clown bore it, the fool sent it,
and the lady hath it : sweet clown, sweeter fool,
sweetest lady ! By the world, I would not care a
pin if the other three were in. Here comes one
with a paper : God give him grace to groan ! [Gets
up into a tree.

Enter the KING, toith a paper.

King. Ah me !

Bir. [ Aside.] Shot, by Heaven ! — Proceed, sweet
Cupid ; thou hast thump'd him with thy bird-bolt
under the left pap : — I'faith, secrets. —

King. [Reads.] " So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives

not

To those fresh morning drops upon the rose,
As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote
The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows :
Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright
Through the transparent bosom of the deep,
As doth thy face through tears of mine give light :
Thou shin'st in every tear that I do weep :
No drop but as a coach doth carry thee ;
So ridest thou triumphing in my woe.
Do but behold the tears that swell in me,
And they thy glory through my grief will show
But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep
My tears for glasses, and still make me weep.
O queen of queens, how far dost thou excel !
No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell." —

How shall she know my griefs ? I'll drop the paper :
Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here ?

[Steps aside.

Enter LONGAVILLE, with a paper.

[Aside.] What, Longaville ! and reading 1 listen, ear.
Bir. [Aside.] Now, in thy likeness, one more
fool, appear !

418 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. APT iv

Lon. Ah me ! I am forsworn.

Bir. [Aside.] Why, he comes in like a perjurer,

wearing papers. -
King. [Aside ] In love, I hope : Sweet fellowship

in shame !
Bir. [Aside.] One drunkard loves another of the

name.

Lon. Am I the first that have been perjur'd so ?
Bir. [Aside.] I could put thee in comfort : not

by two, that I know.

Thou mak'st the triumviry, the corner-cap of society,
The shape of love's Tyburn 2 that hangs up sim-
plicity.
Lon. I fear these stubborn lines lack power to

move :

O sweet Maria, empress of my love !
These numbers will I tear, and write in prose.
Bir. [Aside.1 O ! rhymes are guards on wanton

Cupid's hose:
Disfigure not his slop.3

Lon. This same shall go. — •«

[Reads.\ •' Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,
'Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument,
Persuade my heart to this false perjury ?
Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment.
A woman I forswore ; but I will prove,
Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee :
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love ;
Thy grace being gain'd, cures all disgrace hi me.
Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is :

1 The ancient punishment of a perjured person was to wear on
ihe breast a paper expressing the crime.

* By triumviry and the sliape of love's Tyburn, Shakespeare
nlludes to the gallows of the time, which was occasionally tri-
angular.

* Stop* were wide-kneed breeches, the garb in fashion in Shake
speare's tiire. — Guards an- facings, trimmings.

aO. ill. LOVE'S LABOURS LOST. 419

Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost shine.
Exhal'st this vapour vow ; in thee it is :
If broken, then, it is no fault of mine :
If by me broke, what fool is not so wise,
To lose an oath to win a paradise ?"

Bir. [Aszefe.] This is the liver vein,4 which makes

flesh a deity ;

A green goose, a goddess : pure, pure idolatry.
God amend us, God amend ! we are much out o'

the way.

Enter DUMA IN, with a paper.

Lon. By whom shall t send this ? — Company !
stay. [Stepping aside.

Bir. [Aside.] All hid, all hid, an old infant play :
Like a demi-god here sit I in the sky,
And wretched fools' secrets needfully o'er-eye.
More sacks to the mill ! 5 O heavens ! I have my

wish ;

Dumain transform'd : four woodcocks6 in a dish !
Duin. O most divine Kate !
Bir. [Aside.] O most profane coxcomb !
Du.ni. By Heaven, the wonder of a mortal eye !
Bir. [Aside.] By earth, she is not ; corporal,
there you lie.7

4 The liver was anciently supposed to be the seat of love. So,
in Much Ado about Nothing : " If ever lore had interest in his
liver."

* Mr. Collier says this is a well-known game still played among
boys. A passage in (iayton's Pleasant Notes upon Don Quixote
gives it another meaning more apt to the occasion : '• Who were
oppressed and overladen with heavy packs, and ought not to have
laid more sacks to the mill." All hid, three lines above, of course
is the child's play, hide ajid seek. H.

6 A woodcock ineaas a foolish fellow ; that bird being supposed
to have no brains.

1 That is, you lie in calling her " the wonder of a mortal eye
She is corporeal. H

420 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT iv

Dum. Her amber hairs for foul have ambei

quoted.8
Bir. [Aside.] An amber-colour'd raven was well

noted.

Dum. As upright as the cedar.
Bir. [Aside.] Stoop, I sav ;

Her shoulder is with child

Dum. As fair as day.

Bir. [Aside.] Ay, as some days ; but then no sun

must shine.

Dum. O, that I had my wish !
Lon. [Aside.] And I had mine !

King. [Aside.] And I mine too, good Lord !
Bir. [Aside.] Amen, so I had mine : Is not that

a good word 1

Dum. I would forget her ; but a fever she
Reigns in my blood, and will remember'd be.

Bir. [Aside.] A fever in your blood 1 why, then

incision

Would let her out in saucers : Sweet misprision !
Dum. Once more I'll read the ode that I have

writ.
Bir. [Aside.] Once more I'll mark how love can

vary wit.
Itum. On a day, alack the day !

Love, whose month is ever May,

Spied a blossom, passing fair,

Playing in the wanton air :

Through the velvet leaves the wind,

All unseen, 'gan passage find ;

That the lover, sick to death,

Wish'd himself the heaven's breath.

• Quoted signifies marked or noted. The construction of this
passage will therefore he : " Her amber hairs have marked or
shown that real amher is foul in comparison with themselves."

SC III. LOVE'S LABOL'R'S LOST. 421

Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow ,
Air, would I might triumph so !
But, alack! my hand is sworn
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn
Vow, alack ! for youth unmeet ;
Youth so apt to pluck a sweet.
Do not call it sin in me,
That I am forsworn for thee, —
Thee, for whom Jove would swear
Juno but an Ethiope were ;
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love.*

This will I send ; and something else more plain,
That shall express my true love's fasting pain.
O, would the King, Biron, and Longavilie,
Were lovers too ! Ill, to example ill,
Would from my forehead wipe a perjur'd note ;
For none offend, where all alike do dote.

Lon. [Advancing.] Dumain, thy love is far from

charity,

That in love's grief desir'st society :
You may look pale, but I should blush, I know,
To be o'erheard, and taken napping so.

King. [Advancing.] Come, sir, you blush ; as his

your case is such ;

You chide at him, offending twice as much :
You do not love Maria ; Longavilie
Did never sonnet for her sake compile ;
Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart
His loving bosom, to keep down his heart.
I have been closely shrouded in this bush,
And mark'd you both, and for you both did blush

9 This sonnet is printed in England's Helicon, 1600, and La
Jaggard's Collection, 1599, omitting the couplet,
" Do not call ii sin in me
That 1 am forsworn for thee.'

422 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT iv

I heard your guilty rhymes, ohserv'd your fashion ;
Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion
A.h me ! says one ; O Jove ! the other cries ;
One, her haiis were gold, crystal the other's eyes:
[ To LONG.] You would for paradise break faith and

troth ;
\_To DUM.] And Jove for your love would infringe

an oath.

What will Biron say, when that he shall hear
Faith infringed, which such zeal did swear ?
How will he scorn ! how will he spend his wit !
How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it !
For all the wealth that ever I did see,
T would not have him know so much by me.

Bir. [Descending from the tree.] Now step I forth

to whip hypocrisy. —

Ah, good my liege, I pray thee pardon me :
Good heart ! what grace hast thou, thus to reprove
These worms for loving, that art most in love ?
Your eyes do make no coaches ; 10 in your tears,
There is no certain princess that appears:
You'll not be perjur'd, 'tis a hateful tiling :
Tush ! none but minstrels like of sonneting.
But are you not asham'd ? nay, are you not,
All three of you, to be thus much o'ershot ?
You found his mote ; the king your mote did see
But I a beam do find in each of three.
O ! what a scene of foolery I have seen,
Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen !
O me ! with what strict patience have 1 sat,
To see a king transformed to a gnat !
To see great Hercules whipping a gig,11
4.nd profound Solomon to tune a jig,

10 Alluding to a passatr* in the King's Sonnet

•' No drop but as a coach rloth carry thee."
1 A o*£ was a ki"d of top.

so. n /. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 4£i

And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys,
And critic Timon laugh at idle toys !
Where lies thy grief? O ! tell me, good Dumain;
And, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain ?
And where my liege's ? all about the breast : —
A caudle, ho !

King. Too bitter is thy jest.

Are we betray'd thus to thy over-view ?

Bir. Not you by me, but I betray'd to you ,
I, that am honest ; I, that hold it sin
To break the vow I am engaged in;
I am betray'd, by keeping company
With men, like men of strange inconstancy.
When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme 7
Or groan for love 1 or spend a minute's time
In pruning ls me ? When shall you hear that I
Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye,
A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist,
A leg, a limb ? —

King. Soft ! Whither away so fast ?

A true man, or a thief, that gallops so 1

Bir. I post from love ; good lover, let me go

Enter JAQUENETTA and COSTABD.

Jaq. God bless the king !

King. What present hast thou there ?

Cost. Some certain treason.

King. What makes treason here 1 13

Cost. Nay, it makes nothing, sir.
King. If it mar nothing neither,

The treason and you go in peace away together.

18 A bird is said to be pruning himself whec he picks and
tieeks his feathers.

1 That is, " what does treason here ? "

424 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT iv

Jaq. I beseech your grace, let this letter be read
Our parson misdoubts it ; 'twas treason, he said.

King. Biron, read it over. [Giving him the letter
Where hadst thou it 1
Jaq. Of Costard.
King. Where hadst thou it 1
Cost. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.
King. How now ! what is in you 7 why dost thou

tear it ?
Bir. A toy, my liege, a toy : your grace needs

not fear it.
JLon. It did move him to passion, and therefore

let's hear it.

Dum. It is Biron 's writing, and here is his name.

[Picks up the pieces.

Bir. [To COSTARD.] Ah, you whoreson logger-
head ! you were born to do me shame. —
Guilty, my lord, guilty ! I confess, I confess.
King. What?
Bir. That you three fools lack'd me, fool, to

make up the mess :

He, he, and you, and you, my liege, and I,
Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die.
O ! dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more.
Dum. Now the number is even.
Bir. True ; true ; we are four : —

Will these turtles be gone 1

King. Hence, sirs ; away !

Cost. Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors
stay. [Exeunt COST, and JA^.

Bir. Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O let us em

brace '

As true we are, as flesh and blood can be :
The sea will ebb and flow, heaven show his face ;
Young blood will not obey an old decree :

sc. in. LOVE s LABOUR'S LOST. 425

We cannot cross the cause why we were born ;
Therefore, of all hands must we be forsworn.

King. What ! did these rent lines show some love
of thine ?

Bir. Did they, quoth you ? Who sees the heav-
enly Rosaline,

That like a rude and savage man of Inde,
A* the first opening of the gorgeous east,
Bows not his vassal head ; and, stricken blind,
Kisses the base ground with obedient breast ?
What peremptory eagle-sighted eye
Dares look upon the heaven of her brow,
That i« not blinded by her majesty ?

King. What zeal, what fury hath inspired thee

now?

My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon ;
She, an attending star, scarce seen a light.

Bir. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Biron
O, but for my love, day would turn to night !
Of all complexions the cull'd sovereignty
Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek;
Where several worthies make one dignity ;
Where nothing wants, that want itself doth seek.
Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues, —
Fie, painted rhetoric ! O ! she needs it not :
To things of sale a seller's praise belongs ;
She passes praise ; then praise too short doth blot
A wither'd hermit, five-score winters worn,
Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye :
Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born,
And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy.
O, 'tis the sun that maketh all things shine !

King. By Heaven, thy love is black as ebouv

Bir. Is ebony like her ? O wood divine 1
A wife of such wood were felicity.

426 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT nr,

O ! who can give an oath ? where is a be ok ?
That I may swear beauty doth beauty lack,
If that she learn not of her eye to look :
No face is fair, that is not full so black.

King. O paradox ! Black is the badge of hell,
The hue of dungeons, and the scowl of night ;
And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well.

Bir. Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of

light.

O ! if in black my lady's brows be deck'd,
It mourns, that painting, and usurping hair,14
Should ravish doters with a false aspect ;
And therefore is she born to make black fair.
Her favour turns the fashion of the days ;
For native blood is counted painting now ;
And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise,
Paints itself black, to imitate her brow.

Dum. To look like her, are cliimney-sweepers

black.
Lun. And since her time, are colliers counted

bright.
King. And Ethiopes of their sweet complexion

crack.
Dum. Dark needs no candles now, for dark is

light.

Bir. Your mistresses dare never come in rain,
For fear their colours should be wash'd away.
King. 'Twere good, yours did ; for, sir, to teL

you plain,
I'll find a fairer face not wash'd to-day.

Bir. I'll prove her fair, or talk till doomsday
here.

14 This alludes to the fashic. i, prevalent among ladies in Shake-
•peare's time, of wearing false hair, or periwigs as they were then
called, before that covering for the head had been adopted by
men. See Much Ado about Nothing, Act ii. sc. 3, note 4.

sc. ni. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 427

King. No devil will fright thee then so much as
she.

Dwm. I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear.

Lan. Look, here's thy love : my foot and her face
see. [SJtowing his shoe.

Bir. O ! if the streets were paved with thine eyes,
Her feet were much too dainty for such tread.

Dum. O vile ! then as she goes, what upward lies
The street should see as she walk'd over head.

King. But what of this ? Are we not all in love 1

Bir. O ! nothing so sure ; and thereby all for-
sworn.

King. Then leave this chat ; and, good Biron,

now prove
Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn.

Dum. Ay, marry, there : some flattery for this
evil.

Lori. O ! some authority how to proceed ;
Some tricks, some quillets,15 how to cheat the devil.

Dum. Some salve for perjury.

Bir. O ! 'tis more than need. —

Have at you, then, affection's men at arms.
Consider, what you first did swear unto ; —
To fast, — to study, — and to see no woman ; —
Flat treason 'gainst the kingly state of youth.
Say, can you fast ? your stomachs are too young ;
And abstinence engenders maladies.
And where that you have vow'd to study, lords,
In that each of you hath forsworn his book :
Can you still dream, and pore, and thereon look 1
For when would you, my lord, or you, or you,
Have found the ground of study's excellence,

1& A quillet is a sly trick or turn in argument, or excuse. Hai
ley derives it, with much probability, from quibblet, as a dimimt
live of quibble.

428 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST ACT iv,

Without the beauty of a woman's face t

From women's eyes this doctrine I derive ?

They are the ground, the books, the Academes,

From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire

Why, universal plodding prisons up

The nimble spirits in the arteries ;

As motion, and long during action, tires

The sinewy vigour of the traveller.

Now, for not looking on a woman's face,

You have in that forsworn the use of eyes,

And study, too, the causer of your vow ;

For where is any author in the world,

Teaches such learning as a woman's eye 1

Learning is but an adjunct to ourself,

And where we are our learning likewise is :

Then, when ourselves we see in ladies' eyes,

With ourselves

Do we not likewise see our learning there?

O ! we have made a vow to study, lords,

And in that vow we have forsworn our books ;

For when would you, my liege, or you, or you,

In leaden contemplation, have found out

Such fiery numbers, as the prompting eyes

Of beauty's tutors have enrich'd you with 1

Other slow arts entirely keep the brain ;

And therefore, finding barren practisers,

Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil :

But love, first learned in a lady's eyes,

Lives not alone immured in the brain ;

But, with the motion of all elements,

Courses as swift as thought in every power,

And gives to every power a double power,

Above their functions and their offices.

It adds a precious seeing to the eye ;

A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind ;

s»c. in. LOVE s LABOUR'S LOST. 429

A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound,

When the suspicious head of theft is stopp'd ;

Love's feeling is more soft, and sensible,

Than are the tender horns of cockled snails ;

Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in ta.'rtP

For valour, is not love a Hercules,

Still climbing trees in the Hesperides ? "*

Subtle as sphinx ; as sweet, and musical,

As blight Apollo's lute, strung with his hair;17

And, when love speaks, the voice of all the gods

Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony.18

Never durst poet touch a pen to write,

Until liis ink were temper'd with love's sighs ;

18 That is, the Garden of the Hesperides. Some of the com
mentators have made a very needless ado about the I'oet's mistake
as they call it, in thus putting' the name of the owners for the name
of the thing owned. But the same thing was done by several
writers of that time ; and indeed similar forms of elliptical ex-
pression often occur in all sorts of writing and conversation.
Gabriel Harvey, a man of unquestionable learning, uses Hesper-
ides in the same way. Thus, also, in Greene's Friar Bacou and
Friar Bungay :

" Show the tree, leav'd with refined gold.
Whereon the fearful dragon held his seat,
That watch'd the gardnii call'd Hespfridf.s." H.

17 The same matter has been thus turned to poetical uses by
Crashaw :

•'Trembling as when Apollo's golden hairs
Are fann'd and frizzled in the wanton airs
Of his own breath ; which, married to his lyre.
Doth tune the spheres, and make heaven's self look higher." H.

18 Heath thus explains this passage : " Whenever Love speaks,
all the gods join their \oices with his in harmonious concert."
The sleep-persuading powers of music have been much celebrated
by poets of all times, ami are probably well known to all who have
been children. Shirley in his Love Tricks carries the thing about
'ar enough :

" The tongue that's able to rock heaven asleep,
And make the music of the spheres stand still,
To listen to the happier airs it makes,
And mend their tunes by it." H

430 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT iv.

O ! then his lines would ravish savage ears,
And plant in tyrants mild humility.
From women's eyes this doctrine I derive :
They sparkle still the right Promethean fire ;
They are the books, the arts, the Academes,
That show, contain, and nourish all the world ;
Else, none at all in aught proves excellent.
Then, fools you were these women to forswear ;
Or, keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools.
For wisdom's sake, a word that all men love ;
Or for love's sake, a word that loves all men ; '*
Or for men's sake, the authors of these women ;
Or women's sake, by whom we men are men ;
Let us once lose our oaths to find ourselves,
Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths :
It is religion to he thus forsworn ;
For charity itself fulfils the law,
And who can sever love from charity ?

King. Saint Cupid, then ! and, soldiers, to the
field!

Bir. Advance your standards, and upon them,

lords !

Pell-ri.ell, down with them ! but be first advis'd,
lu conflict that you get the sun of them.20

Lun. Now to plain-dealing ; lay these glozes by :
Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France ?•

King. And win them too : therefore let us devise
Some entertainment for them in their tents.

Bir. First, from the park let us conduct them
thither ;

19 That is, pleasing to all men. So, in the language cf the
time : It likei me well, for it pleases me.

*° In the days of archery, it was of consequence to have the
sun at the back of the bowmen, and in the face of the enemy.
This circumstance was of great advantage to Henry V. at the
battle of Agineourt.

sc. in. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 431

Then, homeward, every man attach the hand
Of his fair mistress: in the afternoon
VVe will with some strange pastime solace them,
Such as the shortness of the time can shape ;
For revels, dances, masks, and merry hours,
Fore-run fair Love,21 strowing her way with flowers

King. Away, away ! no time shall be omitted,
That will be time, and may by us be fitted.

Bir. Allans! Allans! — So w'd cockle reap'd no

M

corn ; "

And justice always whirls in equal measure :
Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn ,
If so, our copper buys no better treasure. [Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I. Another part of the same.

Enter HOLOFERNES, Sir NATHANIEL, and DULL.

Hoi. Satis quod sujfic.it.*

Nath. I praise God for you, sir : your reasons f
at dinner have been sharp and sententious ; pleasant
without scurrility, witty without affection, audacious

** Fair Lave is Vfnus. So in Antony and Cleopatra :
" Now for the love of Lore, and her soft hours."

** That is, tnliere cockle is sow'd, no corn is reap'd. H.

1 That is, enough's as good as a feast.

* Johnson says, " I know not what degree of respect Shake-
jpenre intends to obtain for his vicar, but he has put into hit
mouth a finished representation of colloquial excellence." Reaton
here signifies discourse ; audacious is used in a good sense for
spirited, animated, confident ; affection is affectation ; opinion if
obstinacy, opinidtreti

432 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT v

without impudency, learned without opinion, and
gtrange without heresy. I did converse this quon-
dam day with a companion of the king's, who is
intituled, nominated, or called, Don Adriano de
Armado.

Hoi. Novi hominem tanquam te His humour is
lofty, his discourse peremptory, his tongue tiled,3 his
eye ambitious, his gait majestical, and his general
behaviour vain, ridiculous, and thrasonical. He is
too picked, too spruce, too affected, too odd, as it
were, too peregrinate, as I may call it.

Nath. A most singular and choice epithet.

[ Takes out his table-book.

Hoi. He draweth out the thread of his verbosity
finer than the staple of his argument. I abhor such
fantastical phantasms, such insociable and point-
device 4 companions ; such rackers of orthography,
as to speak dout, fine, when he should say doubt ;
det, when he should pronounce debt ; d, e, b, t, not
d, e, t : he clepeth a calf, cauf ; half, hauf ; neigh-
bour, vocatur, nebour, neigh, abbreviated, ne : This
is abhominable, (which he would call abominable ;)
it insinuateth me of insanie : ne intelligis, domine 1
to make frantic, lunatic.

Nath. Laus dco, bone intelligo.

Hoi. Bone 1 — bone, for bene : Priscian a little
acratch'd ; 'twill serve.

Enter ARMADO, MOTH, and COSTARD.

Nath. Videsne quis venit 1
HoL Video, et gaudeo.

* Filed is polished. — Thrasonical is vainglorious, boastful. —
Picked, piked, or picket, neat, spruce, over uice ; that is, too met
in hit dress.

4 A common expression foi exact, precise, or finical. So. in
TwelAh Night, Malvolio says . " I will be point-dnice th« very
m«n."

sc. i. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 4#1

Arm. [ To MOTH.] Chirra !

Hoi'. Quare Chirra, not sirrah 1

Arm. Men of peace, well encountered.

Hoi. Most military sir, salutation.

Moth. [To COST.] They have been at a gieat
feast of languages, and stolen tlie scraps.

Cost. O ! they have lived long in the alms-bas-
ket * of words. I marvel thy master hath not eaten,
thee for a word ; for thou art not so long by the
head as honor ificabilitudinitatibus : e thou art easier
swallowed than a flap-dragon.7

Moth. Peace ! the peal begins.

Arm. [To HOL.] Monsieur, are you not letter'd T

Moth. Yes, yes ; he teaches boys the horn-book :
What is a, b, spelt backward with a horn on his
head 1

Hoi. Ba, pueritia, with a horn added.

Moth. Ba ! most silly sheep, with a horn : — You
hear his learning.

Hoi. Quisj quis, thou consonant ?

Moth. The third of the five vowels, if you repeat
them ; or the fifth, if I.

Hoi. I will repeat them, a, e, i. —

Moth. The sheep : the other two concludes it ;
o. u.

Ann. Now, by the salt wave of the Mediterra-
neum, a sweet touch, a quick veney * of wit : snip,
snap, quick and home ; it rejoiceth my intellect :
true wit.

6 That is, the refuse of words. The refuse meat of families
was put into a basket, and given to the poor, in Shakespeare's time.

* This word, whencesoever it comes, is often mentioned as the
longest word known.

7 A Jlap-dragon was some small combustible body set on fir*
and put afloat in a glass of liquor. It was an act of dexterity in
the toper to swallow it without burning his mouth.

8 A hit See The Merry Wives of Windsor. Act i. sc. 1. note 2?

434 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT v

Moth. Offer 'd by a child to an old man ; which
is wit-old.

HoL What is the figure ? what is the figure ?

Moth, Horns.

HoL Thou disputes! like an infant : go, whip
thy giff.

Moth. Lend me your horn to make one, and I
will whip about your infamy circum circa : A gig
of a cuckold's horn !

Cost. An I had but one penny in the world, thou
shouldst have it to buy gingerbread : hold, there is
the very remuneration I had of thy master, thou
half-penny purse of wit, thou pigeon-egg of discre-
tion. O ! an the heavens were so pleased, that
thou wert but my bastard ; what a joyful father
wouldst thou make me ! Go to ; thou hast it ad
dunghill, at the fingers' ends, as they say.

Hoi. O ! I smell false Latin ; dunghill for un-
guent.

Arm. Arts-man, prxambula : we will be singled
from the barbarous. Do you not educate youth at
the charge-house 9 on the top of the mountain 1

Hoi. Or, motis, the hill.

Arm. At your sweet pleasure, for the mountain.

HoL I do, sans question.

Arm. Sir, it is the king's most sweet pleasure and
affection, to congratulate the princess at her pavil-
ion, in the posteriors of this day ; which the rude
multitude call the afternoon.

HoL The posterior of the day, most generous
sir, is liable, congruent, and measurable for the after-
noon : the word is well cull'd, chose ; sweet and
apt, I do assure you, sir ; I do assure.

Arm. Sir, the king is a noble gentleman ; and

9 Free school.

SC. I. LOVE'S LABOUR S LOST. 43n

my familiar, I do assure you, very good friend. —
For what is inward Ie between us, let it pass. — I do
beseech thee, remember thy courtesy ; '' — I beseech
thee, apparel thy head : — and among other impor-
tant and most serious designs, — and of great im-
port indeed, too ; — but let that pass : — for I must
tell thee, it will please his grace (by the world)
sometime to lean upon my poor shoulder ; and with
his royal finger, thus, dally with my excrement,1*
with my mustachio : but, sweet heart, let that pass.
By the world, I recount no fable : some certain
special honours it pleaseth his greatness to impart
to Armado, a soldier, a man of travel, that hath
seen the world ; but let that pass. — The very all of
all is, — but, sweet heart, I do implore secrecy, —
that the king would have me present the princess,
sweet chuck, with some delightful ostentation, or
show, or pageant, or antic, or firework. Now, un-
derstanding that the curate and your sweet self are
good at such eruptions, and sudden breaking out of
mirth, as it were, I have acquainted you withal, to
the end to crave your assistance.

JIol. Sir, you shall present before her the nine
Worthies. — Sir Nathaniel, as concerning some en-
tertainment of time, some show in the posterior of
this day, to be render'd by our assistance, — the
king's command, and this most gallant, illustrate,
and learned gentleman, — before the princess ; I say,
none so fit as to present the nine Worthies.

Nath. Where will you find men worthy enough
to present them 1

10 Confidential.

11 By remember thy courtesy, Armado probably means " remem
her thai all this time Uiou art standing with thy hat ofl'."

11 The beard is cal'ed valour's excrement in The Merchant of
Venice.

436 LOVE'S LABOUK'S LOST. AIT v

Hoi. Joshua, yourself; myself, or this gallant
gentleman, Judas Maccabeus ; this swnin, because
of his great limb or joint, shall pass 13 Pompey the
great ; the page, Hercules.

Arm. Pardon, sir ; error : he is not quantity
enough for that Worthy's thumb : he is not so big
as the end of his club.

Hoi. Shall \ have audience ? He shall present
Hercules in minority : his enter and writ shall be
strangling a snake ; and I will have an apology for
that purpose.

Moth. An excellent device ! so, if any of the
audience hiss, you may cry, " Well done, Hercules !
now thou crushest the snake ! " that is the way to
make an oftence gracious, though few have the grace
to do it.

Arm. For the rest of the Worthies ? —

Hoi. 1 will play three myself.

Moth. Thrice-worthy gentleman !

Arm. Shall 1 tell you a thing 1

Hoi. We attend.

Arm. We will have, if this fadge not,14 an antic
1 beseech you, follow.

Hoi. Via,14 goodman Dull ! thou hast spoken no
word all this while.

Dull. Nor understood none neither, sir.

Hoi. Alton*! we will employ thee.

Dull. I'll make one in a dance, or so; or I will
play on the tabor to the Worthies, and let them
dance the hay.

Hoi. Most dull, honest Dull : to our sport, away '

[Exeunt

" That is, shall march, or walk in the procession for Pompey.

14 That is, suit not, go not. See Twelfth Night, Act ii. sc. 2
jote 6.

15 An Italian exclamation, signifying Courage ! Cr.me on ! Se<
The Merry Wives of Windsor, Act ii. se. 2, note 15.

sc. IL LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 4JJ7

SCENE II. Another part of the sume.
Before the PRINCESS'S Pavilion.

Enter the PRINCESS, KATHARINE, ROSALINE, and
MARIA.

Prin. Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we de-
part,

If fairings come thus plentifully in :
A lady vvall'd about with diamonds ! —
Look you, what I have from the loving king.

Ros. Madam, came nothing else along with that 1

Prin. Nothing but this 1 yes, as much love in

rhyme,

As would be cramm'd up in a sheet of paper,
Writ on both sides the leaf, margent and all ;
That he was fain to seal on Cupid's name.

Ros. That was the way to make his god-head

wax : '
For he hath been five thousand years a boy.

Kath. Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too.

Ros. You'll ne'er be friends with him : a' killed
your sister.

Kath. He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy ;
And so she died : had she been light, like you,
Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit,
She might have been a grandam ere she died :
And so may you ; for a light heart lives long.

Ros. What's your dark meaning, mouse,* of this
light word ?

Kath. A light condition in a beauty dark.

1 Grow. The pun is obvious.

8 This was a term of endearment formerly. So, in Hamlet
" Pin^h wanton on your cheek ; rail you his motne."

J-'t8 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT v

Ros. We need more light to find your meaning

out.

Kath. You'll mar the light, by taking it in snuff; 3
Therefore, I'll darkly end the argument.

Ros. Look, what you do, you do it still i' the

dark.

Kath. So do not you ; for you are a light wench.
Ros. Indeed, I weigh not you ; and therefore

light.
Kath. You weigh me not 1 — O ! that's you care

not for me.
Ros. Great reason ; for, past cure is still past

care.
Prin. Well bandied both ; a set 4 of wit well

play'd.

But, Rosaline, you have a favour too :
Who sent it 1 and what is it ?

Ros. I would, you knew

An if my face were but as fair as yours,
My favour were as great : be witness this.
Nay, I have verses too, I thank Biron :
The numbers true ; and, were the numbering too,
I were the fairest goddess on the ground :
[ am compar'd to twenty thousand fairs.
O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter !
Prin. Any thing like ?

Ros. Much, in the letters ; nothing in the praise.
Prin. Beauteous as ink : a good conclusion.
Kath. Fair as a text B in a copy-book.
Ros. 'Ware pencils, 6 ho ! let me not die your
debtor,

* Snuff is here used equivocally for anger, and the snuff of a
candle.

* A set is a term at tennis for a gwte.

* She advises Katharine to bewart. ""f drawing likenesses, lest
she should retaliate.

SC II. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 439

My red dominical, my golden letter :

O, that your face were not so full of O's !

Prin. A pox ' of that jest ! and 1 beshrew all

shrows !

But, Katharine, what was sent to you from fair
Dumain 1

Kath. Madam, this glove.

Prin. Did he not send you twain 1

Kath. Yes, madam ; and, moreover,
Some thousand verses of a faithful lover :
A fiuge translation of hypocrisy,
Vilely compil'd, profound simplicity.

Mar. This, and these pearls, to me sent Longa

ville :
The letter is too long by half a mile.

Prin. I think no less : Dost thou not wish in

heart
The chain were longer, and the letter short ?

Mar. Ay, or I would these hands might never
part.

Prin. We are wise girls, to mock our lovers so.

Ros. They are worse fools to purchase mock-
ing so.

That same Biron I'll torture ere I go.
O, that I knew he were but in by the week ! 7
How I would make him fawn, and beg, and seek,
And wait the season, and observe the times,
And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes,
And shape his service wholly to my behests,
And make him proud to make me proud that jests !

8 Katharine's face, it seems, was pit.led, she having had the
tmalt-ppx : hence the " pox of that jesl ; " the Princess turning
off the talk, lest it get too personal. H.

7 This is an expression taken from the hiring of servants ;
meaning, " I wish 1 knew that he was iii I _>ve with me, or my ter
pan/," as I he phrase was.

440 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT v.

So persantly 8 would I o'ersway his state,
That he should be my fool, and I his fate.

Prin. None are so surely caught, when they are

catch d,

As wit turn'd ibol: folly, in wisdom hatch'd,
Hath wisdom's warrant, and the help of school;
And wit's own grace to grace a learned fool.

Ros. The blood of youth burns not with such

excess,
As gravity's revolt to wantonness.

Mar. Folly in fools bears not so strong a note,
As foolery in the wise, when wit doth dote ;
Since all the power thereof it doth apply,
To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity.

Enter BOYET.

Prin. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face.

Boy. O, I am stabb'd with laughter ! Where's
her grace ?

Prin. Thy news, Boyet 1

Boy. Prepare, madam, prepare ! —

Arm, wenches, arm ! encounters mounted are
Against your peace : Love doth approach disguis'd,
Armed in arguments ; you'll be surpris'd :
Muster your wits ; stand in your own defence ;
Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence.

Prin. Saint Dennis to saint Cupid ! What are

they
That charge their breath against us 7 say, scout, say

Boy. Under the cool shade of a sycamore,
1 thought to close mine eyes some half an hour ;
When, lo ! to interrupt my purpos'd rest,
Toward that shade I might behold addrest

8 The old copies read pertaunt-Like. The modern editions read
with Sir T. Haumer, portent-like.

sc ir. LOVE'S LABom's LOST. 441

The king and his companions : warily
I stole into a neighbour thicket by,
And overheard what you shall overhear ;
That, by and by, disguis'd they will be here.
Their herald is a pretty knavish page,
That well by heart hath conn'd his embassage i
Action, and accent, did they teach him there ;
" Thus roust thou speak, and thus thy body bear : *J
And ever and anon they made a doubt,
Presence tnajestical would put him out;
" For," quoth the king, " an angel shall thou see ;
Yet feat not thou, but speak audaciously."
The bo/ replied, " An angel is not evil ;
I shouM have fear'd her, had she been a devil."
With i'iat all laugh'd, and clapp'd him on the shoul-
der ;

Maki' £ the bold wag by their praises bolder.
One 'ubb'd his elbow thus, and fleer'd and swore
A bv'ter speech was never spoke before:
Am <her, with his finger and his thumb,
CriM, " Via ! 9 we will do't, come what will come : M
Th -• third he caper'd, and cried, "All goes well:"
Tbe fourth turn'd on the toe, and down he fell.
W^th that they all did tumble on the ground,
With such a zealous laughter, so profound,
That in the spleen ridiculous I0 appears,
To check their folly, passion's solemn tears.

Prin. But what, but what ! come they to visit us 1
Roy. They do, they do ; and are apparel'd thus, —
Like Muscovites, or Russians: " as I guess,

9 See the preceding scene, note 15.

10 That is, a Jit of laughter. The spleen was anciently sup-
posed to be the cause of laughter. So the old Latin verse '
" Splen ridere facit, cogit amare jecur." See A Mulsummer-
Nig)»«'s Dream, Act i. sc. 1, note 7.

l' tlall, describing a banquet made for the foreign embassndott

4--12 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT v

The purpose is, to parle, to court, and dance :
And every one his love-suit will advance
Unto his several mistress ; which they'll know
By favours several, which they did bestow.

Prin. And will they so ? the gallants shall be

task'd :

For, ladies, we will every one be mask'd ;
And not a man of them shall have the grace,
Despite of suit, to see a lady's face. —
Hold, Rosaline, this favour thou shall wear ;
And then the king will court thee for his dear :
Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me thine ;
So shall Biron take me for Rosaline. —
And change you favours, too ; so shall your loves
Woo contrary, deceiv'd by these removes.

Ros. Come on, then : wear the favours most in
sight.

Kath. But in this changing what is your intent ?

Prin. The effect of my intent is, to cross theirs
They do it but in mocking merriment ;
And mock for mock is only my intent.
Their several counsels they unbosom shall
To loves mistook ; and so be mock'd withal,
Upon the next occasion that we meet,
With visages display'd, to talk, and greet.

Ros. But shall we dance, if they desire us to't 1

Prin. No ; to the death, we will not move a
foot:

al Westminster, in the first year of Henry VIII., says, there •< came
the Lorde Henry Earle of Wiltshire and the Lorde Fitzwater, in
two long gownes of yellow satin traversed with white satin, and
in every bend of white was a bend of crimosen satlin after the
fashion of Russia or Ruslande, with furred hattes of grey on their
hedes, either of them havyng an hatchet in their handes. and
Bootes with pykes turned up." Which may serve to show that a
mask of Muscovites was a court recreation, and at the same time
•ouvey ac idea of the dress used on the present occasion.

se. n. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 443

Nor to their penn'd speech render we no grace ;
But, while 'tis spoke, each turn away her face.
Boy. Why, that contempt will kill the speaker's

heart,
And quite divorce his memory from his part.

Prin. Therefore I do it ; and I make no loubt,
The rest will ne'er come in, if he be out.
There's no such sport, as sport by sport o'erthrowa;
To make theirs ours, and ours none but our own:
So shall we stay, mocking intended game ;
And they, well mock'd, depart away with shame.

[Trumpets sound within.

Boy. The trumpet sounds : be mask'd, the mask-
ers come. [T/ie Ladies mask.

Enter the KING, BIRON, LONGA^H.LE, and DUMAIN,
in Russian habits, and masked; MOTH, Musicians,
and Attendants.

Moth. " All hail, the richest beauties on the earth ! "
Boy. Beauties no richer than rich taffata.
Moth. " A holy parcel of the fairest dames,

[The Ladies turn tlteir backs to him.
That ever turn'd their — backs — to mortal views ! "
Bir. " Their eyes," villain, " their eyes."
Moth. " That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal

views ! Out " —
Boy. True ; " out," indeed.
Moth. "Out of your favours, heavenly spirits,

vouchsafe
Not to behold" —

Bir. " Once to behold," rogue.

Moth. " Once to behold with your sun-beamed

eyes, — with your sun-beamed eyes," —
Boy. They will not answer to that epithet;
You were best call it daughter-beamed eyes.

444 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT v

Moth. They do not mark me, and that brings ma
out.

Bir. Is this your perfectness ? be gone, you rogue.

Ros. What would these strangers 1 know their

minds, Boyet :

If they do speak our language, 'tis our will
That some plain man recount their purposes :
Know what they would.

Boy. What would you with the princess ?

Bir. Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation.

Ros. What would they, say they ?

Boy. Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation.

Ros. Why, that they have ; and bid them so be
gone.

Boy. She says you have it, and you may be gone.

King. Say to her we have measur'd many miles,
To tread a measure I2 with her on this grass.

Boy. They say that they have measur'd many a

mile,
To tread a measure with you on this grass.

Ros. It is not so : ask them how many inches
Is in one mile ? if they have measur'd many,
The measure, then, of one is easily told.

Boy. If, to come hither, you have measur'd miles,
And many miles, the princess bids you tell
How many inches do fill up one mile.

Bir. Tell her we measure them by weary steps.

Boy. She hears herself.

Ros. How many weary steps,

Of many weary miles you have o'ergone,
Are number'd in the travel of one mile ?

l* A grave, solemn dance, with slow and measured steps, like
the miuuet. As it was of so solemn a nature, it was performed
at public entertainments in the Inns of Court; and it was not
unusual, nor thought inconsistent, for the first characters in the iaw
to hear a part in trending a iiu'usu'f. Sir Christopher ilatton wa»
famous lor it.

sc. 11. LOVE s LABOUR'S LOST. 446

Bir. We number nothing that we spend for you:
Our duty is so rich, so infinite,
That we may do it still without accompt.
Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face,
That we, like savages, may worship it.

Ros. My face is but a moon, and clouded too.
King. Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds

do!
Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, t<»

shine
(Those clouds remov'd) upon our watery eyne.

Ros. O, vain petitioner ! beg a greater matter ;
Thou now request'st but moonshine in tbe water.
King. Then, in >ur measure but vouchsafe one

change :

Thou bid'st me beg; this begging is not strange.
Ros. Play, music, then : nay, you must do it
soon. [Music plays.

Not yet ; — no dance : — thus change I like the

moon.
King. Will you not dance ? How come you thus

estrang'd ?
Ros. You took the moon at full ; but now she's

chang'd.

King. Yet still she is the moon, and 1 the man.
The music plays : vouchsafe some motion to it.
Ros. Our ears vouchsafe it.

Kins But your legs should do it.

Ros. Since you are strangers, and come here by

chance,

We'll not be nice : take hands ; — we will not dance.
King. Why take we hands, then ?
Ros. Only to part friends : —

Court'sy, sweet hearts ; and so the measure ends.
King. More measure of this measure ; be not nice

4-46 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT v

Rns. We can afford no more at such a pi ice.

King. Prize you yourselves : What buys your
company ?

Ron. Your absence only.

King. That can never be.

Ros. Then cannot we be bought : and so adieu
Twice to your visor, and half once to you !

King If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat

Ros. In private, then.

King. I am best pleas'd with thai

[They converse apart

Bir. White-handed mistress, one sweet word with
thee.

Prin. Honey, and milk, and sugar ; there are three.

Bir. Nay, then, two treys, (an if you grow so

nice,)

Metheglin, wort, and malmsey : — Well run, dice !
There's half a dozen sweets.

Prin. ' Seventh sweet, adieu i

Since you can cog,13 I'll play no more with you.

Bir. One word in secret.

Prin. Let it not be sweet.

Bir. Thou griev'st my gall.

Prin. Gall? bitter.

Bir. Therefore meet.

[They converse apart.

Dum. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a
word 1

Mar. Name it.

Dum. Fair lady, —

Mar. Say you so 1 Fair lord ; —

Take that for your fair lady.

Dum. Please it you, '

As much in private, and I'll bid adieu.

[They converse apart

13 To cog is to load dice ; hence to cheat, dfceioe.

KC. ii. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 4-47

Kadi. What ! was your visor made without P

tongue ?

Lon. I know the reason, lady, why you ask.
Katli. O, for your reason ! quickly, sir ; I long.
Lon. You have a douhle tongue within your mask,
And would afford my speechless visor half.

Kath. Veal,14 quoth the Dutchman : — Is not veal

a calf?

Lon. A calf, fair lady ?

Kath. No, a fair lord calf.

Lon. Let's part the word.

Kath. No ; I'll not be your half:

Take all, and wean it ; it may prove an ox.

Lon. Look, how you butt yourself in these sharp

mocks !
Will you give horns, chaste lady 1 do not so.

Kath. Then die a calf, before your horns do grow.
Lon. One word in private with you, ere I die.
Kath. Bleat softly, then ; the butcher hears you
cry. [They converse apart.

Boy. The tongues of mocking wenches are as

keen

As is the razor's edge invisible,
Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen ;
Above the sense of sense, so sensible
Seemeth their conference; their conceits have wings
Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter

things.
Res. Not one word more, my maids : break off,

break off.
Bir. By Heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff !

14 The same joke occurs in Dr. Dodypoll. " Doet. Haas,
my very special! friend ; fait and trot, me be right glad for se«
you veale. Hans. What, do you make a calfe of me, M. Doc
tor?"

448 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT v

King. Farewell, mad wenches : you have simple

wits. [Exeunt KING, Lords, MOTH,

Music, and Attendants.

Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites. —
Are these the breed of wits so wonder'd at 1

Boy. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths
puff 'd out.

Ros Well-liking IS wits they have ; gross, gross ;
fat, fat.

Prin. O, poverty in wit, kingly-poor flout !
Will they not, think you, hang themselves to-night.
Or ever, but in visors, show their faces 1
This pert Biron was out of countenance quite.

Ros. They were all in lamentable cases !
The king was weeping-ripe for a good word.

Prin. Biron did swear himself out of all suit.

Mar. Dumain was at my service, and his sword :
No point,18 quoth I : my servant straight was mute.

Kath. Lord Longaville said, I came o'er his heart ;
And trow you what he call'd me ?

Prin. Qualm, perhaps.

Kath. Yes, in good faith.

Prin. Go, sickness as thou art !

Ros. Well, better wits have worn plain statute-
caps.17
But will you hear ? the king is my love sworn.

16 Well-conditioned, fat. So, in Job, xxxix. 4 : " Their young
ones are in good-liking." And in The Book of Common Prayer,
Psalm xcii. : " They shall also bring forth more fruit in their age,
and shall be fat and well-liking." H.

16 No point. A quibble on the French adverb of negation, as
before, Act ii. sc. 1, note 6.

17 An act was passed in 1571, " for the continuance of making
and wearing woollen caps, in behalf of the trade of cappers, pro-
viding that all above the age of six years (except the uobility and
some others) should, on Sabbath days and holidays, wear caps of
wool, knit, thicked, and drest in England, upon penalty of len
groats." The term Jlai cap for a citizen will now be familiar to

ic n LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 44J>

Prin. And juick Biron hath plighted faith to me.

Kath. And Longaville was for my service horn

Mar. Domain is mine, as sure as bark on tJee.

Boy. Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear ;
Immediately they will again be here
In their own shapes ; for it can never be,
They will digest this harsh indignity.

Prin. Will they return ?

Boy. They will, they will, God knowu;

And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows :
Therefore, change favours ; and, when they repair,
Blow like sweet roses in this summer air.

Prin. How blow 1 how blow ? speak to be un
derstood.

Boy. Fair ladies, mask'd, are roses in their bud :
Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture shown,
Are angels vailing clouds,18 or roses blown.

Prin. Avaunt, perplexity ! What shall we do,
If they return in their own shapes to woo ?

Ros. Good madam, if by me you'll be advis'd,
Let's mock them still, as well, known, as disguis'd :
Let us complain to them what fools were here,
Disguis'd like Muscovites, in shapeless gear;
And wonder what they were, and to what end
Their shallow shows, and prologue vilely penn'd,
And their rough carriage so ridiculous,
Should be presented at our tent to us.

Boy. Ladies, withdraw : the gallants are at hand.

Prin. Whip to our tents, as roes run over land.
[Exeunt PRINCESS, Ros., KATH., and MARIA.

most readers from the use made of it in The Fortunes of Nigel.
The meaning of this passage probably is, " better wits may be
found among plain citizens." So, in The Family of Love, 1608 :
"It is a law enacted by the common-council of statntf-capt."

18 Ladies unmax/ced are like aiiffe/s railing cloiuis, or lettiry
those clouds whii h obscured their brightness sink before them.

450 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT v

Enter tftc KING, BIRON, LONGAVILLE, and DUMATN,

in their proper liabits.

King. Fair sir, God save vou ! Where is the
princess ?

Boy. Gone to her tent : Please it your majesty,
Command me any service to her thither 1

King. That she vouchsafe me audience for one
word.

Roy. I will ; and so will she, I know, my lord.

[Exit

Bir. This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeons peas,
And utters it again when Jove doth please :
He is wit's pedler, and retails his wares
At wakes and wassels,19 meetings, markets, fairs;
And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know,
Have not the grace to grace it with such show.
This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve :
Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve.
He can carve, too, and lisp : why, this is he,
That kiss'd his hand away in courtesy ;
This is the ape of form, Monsieur the Nice,
That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice
In honourable terms : nay, he can sing
A mean 20 most meanly ; and, in ushering,
Mend him who can : the ladies call him, sweet ;
The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet :
This is the flower that smiles on every one,
To show his teeth as white as whales bone ; *'

19 Wassels ; festive meeting-., drinking-bouts : from the Saxon
was-hxl, be in health, which was the form of drinking- a health ;
the customary answer to which was, drine-hcel, I drink your health

*° The tenor in music

fl \Vhalfs bone : the Saxon genitive case. It is a common
comparison in the old poets. This bone was the tooth of thr
horte-ictuile, morse, or walrus, now superseded by ivcrv.

sc. ii. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 451

And consciences, that will not die in debt,
Pay him the due of honey-tongued Boyet.

King. A blister on his sweet tongue with my heart,
That put Armado's page out of his part !

Enter the PRINCESS, ushered by BOYET ; ROSALINE,
MARIA, KATHARINE, and Attendants.

Bir. See where it comes ! — Behaviour, what

wert thou,
Till this man show'd thee ? and what art thou now ?

King. All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of
day!

Prin. Fair, in all hail, is foul, as I conceive
" King. Construe my speeches better, if you may.

Prin. Then wish me better : I will give you leave.

King. We came to visit you, and purpose now
To lead you to our court : vouchsafe it, then.

Prin. This field shall hold me ; and so hold your

vow :
Nor God, nor I, delight in perjur'd men.

King. Rebuke me not for that which you pro-
voke ;
The virtue of your eye must break my oath.

Prin. You nick-name virtue : vice you should

have spoke ;

For virtue's office never breaks men's troth.
Now, by my maiden honour, yet as pure
As the unsullied lily, I protest,
A world of torments though I should endure,
I would not yield to be your house's guest :
So much I hate a breaking-cause to be
Of heavenly oaths, vow'd with integrity.

King. O ! you have liv'd in desolation here,
Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame.

Prin. Not so, mv lord ; it is not so, I swear •

132 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT *

We have had pastimes here, and pleasant game :
A mess of Russians left us but of late.

King. How, madam ! Russians ?

Prin. Ay, in truth, my lord

Trim gallants, full of courtship, and of state.

Ros. Madam, speak true : — It is not so, my lord ;
My lady (to the manner of the days)
[n courtesy gives undeserving praise.
We four, indeed, confronted here with four
En Russian habit : here they stay'd an hour,
And talk'd apace ; and in that hour, my lord,
They did not bless us with one happy word.
I dare not call them fools ; but this I think,
When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink

Bir. This jest is dry to me. — Fair, gentle sweet
Your wit makes wise things foolish : when we greet,
With eyes best seeing, heaven's fiery eye,
By light we lose light : Your capacity
Is of that nature, that to your huge store
Wise tilings seem foolish, and rich things but poor

Ros. This proves you wise and rich ; for in my
eye,—

Bir. I am a fool, and full of poverty.

Ros. But that you take what doth to you belong
ft were a fault to snatch words from my tongue.

Bir. O ! I am yours, and all that I possess.

Ros. All the fool mine ?

Bir. I cannot give you less.

Ros. Which of the visors was it, that you wore ?

Bir. Where ? when ? what visor 1 why demand
you this ?

Ros. There, then, that visor ; that superfluous.

case,
That hid the worse, and show'd the better face.

King. We are descried : they'll mock us now
downright.

sic. IL LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 453

Dum. Let us confess, and turn it to a jest

Prin. Amaz'd, my lord 1 Why looks your high-
ness sad 7

Ros. Help, hold his brows ! he'll swoon ! Why

look you pale ? —
Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy.

Blr. Thus pour the stars down plagues for per-
jury.

Can any face of brass hold longer out ? —
Here stand I, lady ; dart thy skill at me ;
Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout ;
Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance ;
Cut rne to pieces with thy keen conceit ;
And I will wish thee never more to dance,
Nor never more in Russian habit wait.
O ! never will I trust to speeches penn'd,
Nor to the motion of a schoolboy's tongue ;
Nor never come in visor to my friend ;
Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper's song:
Taflata phrases, silken terms precise,
Three-pil'd 22 hyperboles, spruce affectation,
Figures pedantical ; these summer-flies
Have blown me full of maggot ostentation:
I do forswear them ; and I here protest,
By this white glove, (how white the hand, God

knows !)

Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express'd
In russet yeas, and honest kersey noes:
And, to begin, wench, — so God help me, la! —
My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.

Ros. Sans sans, I pray you.*3

Bir. Yet I have a trick

M A metaphor from the pile of velvet. See Measure for Meas-
ure, Act i. sc. 2, note 3.

83 That is, without French words I pray you

154 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT »

Of the old rage : — bear with me, I am sick ,

I'll leave it by degrees. Soft ! let us see : —

Write, " Lord, have mercy on us," 24 on those three

They are infected, in their hearts it lies ;

They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes :

These lords are visited ; you are not free,

For the Lord's tokens on you do I see.

Prin. No, they are free, that gave these tokens
to us.

Bir. Our states are forfeit : seek not to undo us.

Ros. It is not so ; for how can this be true,
That you stand forfeit, being those that sue ? 2S

Bir. Peace ! for I will not have to do with you.

Ros. Nor shall not, if I do as 1 intend.

Bir. Speak for yourselves : my wit is at an end.

King. Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude

transgression
2>ome fair excuse.

Prin. The fairest is confession.

Were you not here, but even now, disguis'd ?

King. Madam, I was.

Prin. And were you well advis'd 1

King. I was, fair madam.

Prin. When you then were here,

What did you whisper in your lady's ear ?

King. That more than all the world I did respect
her.

Prin. When she shall challenge this, you will
reject her.

King. Upon mine honour, no.

*• This was the inscription put upon the doors of houses infected
with the plague. The tokens of the plague were the first spots
of discolorations of the skin

16 That is, how can those be liable to forfeiture that begin the
process ? The quibble lies in the ambiguity of the word sue
which signifies to proceed to law, and to petilivn.

sc. n. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 455

Prin. Peace, peace ! forbear :

Your oath once broke, you force 2e not to forswear.

King Despise me, when I break this oath of
mine.

Prin. I will ; and therefore keep it: — Rosaline-
What did the Russian whisper in your ear ?

Ros. Madam, he swore that he did hold me dear
As precious eye-sight, and did value me
Above this world ; adding thereto, moreover,
That he would wed me, or else die my lover.

Prin. God give thee joy of him ! the noble lord
Most honourably doth uphold his word.

King. What mean you, madam 1 by my life, my

troth,
I never swore this lady such an oath.

Ros. By Heaven, you did ; and to confirm it

plain,
You gave me this : but take it, sir, again.

King. My faith, and this, the princess I did give •
I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve.

Prin. Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear;
And lord Biron, I thank him, is my dear: —
What ! will you have me, or your pearl again 7

Bir. Neither of either; I remit both twain. —
[ see the trick on't : — Here was a consent,
Knowing aforehand of our merriment,
To dash it like a Christmas comedy :
Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight zany,
Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some

Dick,—

That smiles his cheek in years,27 and knows the trick
To make my lady laugh, when she's dispos'd, —
Told our intents before : which once disclos'd,

* That is, you care not. or do not regard forswearing.
*' That is, makes his cheek look old by smilirtg. a.

456 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT v

The ladies did change favours ; and then we,
Following the signs, woo'd but the sign of she.
Now, to our perjury to add more terror,
We are again forsworn, — in will and error.*8
Much upon this it is: — [To BOYET.] And might

not you

Forestall our sport, to make us thus untrue 1
Do riot you know my lady's foot by the squire,89
And laugh upon the apple of her eye ?
And stand between her back, sir, and the fire,
Holding a trencher, jesting merrily?
You put our page out : Go, you are allow'd ; *
Die when you will, a smock shall be your shroud.
You leer upon me, do you ? there's an eye,
Wounds like a leaden sword.

Boy. Full merrily

Hath this brave manage, this career, been run.

Bir. Lo, he is tilting straight ! Peace ! I have
done.

Enter COSTARD.

Welcome, pure wit ! thoti partest a fair fray.

Cost. O Lord ! sir, they would know,
Whether the three Worthies shall come in, or no.

Bir. What. ! are there but three ?

Cost. No, sir ; but it is vara fine,

For every one pursents three.

Bir. And three times thrice is nine.

Cost. Not so, sir ; under correction, sir, I hope

it is not so :
You cannot beg us,si sir, I can assure you, sir ; we

know what we know:
I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir, —

m That is, first in will, and afterwards in error,

88 From ettfuierre, Fr., a rule or square.

*° That is, you arc an allowed or a licensed fool or jestei.

81 In the olil common law was a writ de idiota inquirendo, under

sc. ii. LOVE s LABOUR'S LOST. 457

Bir. Is not nine.

Cost. Under correction, sir, we know whereuntil
•t doth amount.

Bir. By Jove, I always took three threes for nine.

Cost. O Lord ! sir, it were pity you should get
your living by reckoning, sir.

Bir. How much is it ?

Cost. O Lord ! sir, the parties themselves, the
actors, sir, will show whereuntil it doth amount : for
my own part, I am, as they say, but to pursent one
man, — e'en one poor man; Pompion the Great,
Bir.

Bir. Art thou one of the Worthies ?

Cost. It pleased them to think me worthy of
Pompion the Great : for mine own part, I know not
the degree of the Worthy ; but I am to stand for
him.

Bir. Go, bid them prepare.

Cost. We will turn it finely off, sir ; we will take
some care. [Exit COST

King. Biron, they will shame us; let them not
approach.

Bir. We are shame-proof, my lord; and 'tis

some policy

To have one show worse than the king's and his
company.

King. I say, they shall not come.

Prin. Nay, my good lord, let me o'errule you

now ;
That sport best pleases, that doth least know how :

which, if a man was legally proved an idiot, the profits of his lands
and the custody of his person might be granted by the king to any
subject. Such a person, when this grant was asked, was said to
be begged for a fool. One of the legal tests appears to have
been, to try whether the party could answer a simple arillinie'ira.
question

458 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. Acr v

Where zeal strives to content, and the contents
Lie in the fail of them which it presents:
Their form confounded makes most form in mirth
When great things labouring perish in their birth.
Bir. A right description of our sport, my lord.

Enter ARMADO.

Arm. Anointed, I implore so much expense of
thy royal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of
words. [ARMADO converses with the RING,

and delivers him a paper

Prin. Doth this man serve God ?

Bir. Why ask you ?

Prin. A' speaks not like a man of God's making.

Arm. That's all one, my fair, sweet, honey mon
arch : for, I protest, the schoolmaster is exceeding
fantastical ; too too vain ; too too vain : But wa
will put it, as they say, to fortuna della guerra. I
wish you the peace of mind, most royal coupie-
ment. [Exit ARMADO.

King. Here is like to be a good presence of
Worthies : He presents Hector of Troy ; the swain,
Pompey the Great ; the parish curate, Alexander ;
Armado's page, Hercules ; the pedant, Judas Mac-
cabeus.

And if these four Worthies in their first show thrive.
These four will change habits, and present the other
five.

Bir. There is five in the first show.

King. You are deceived ; 'tis not so.

Bir. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest,
the fool, and the boy : —
4bate throw at novum,32 and the whole world again

3t A game at dice, properly called novem quinqve, from the
principal throws being nine and Jt .*. Abate obviously means, .eavt
out or except.

sc. u. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 459

Cannot pick out five such, take each one in his

vein.

King. The ship is under sail, and here she comes
amain.

Enter COSTARD armed, for Pompey.

Cost. " I Pompey ton," —

Boy. You lie, you are not he.

Cost. " I Pompey am," —

Boy. With libbard's head on knee.1*

Bir. Well said, old mocker: I must needs be

friends with thee.
Cost. " I Pornpey am, Pompey surnam'd the

big,"-

Dum. The Great.
Cost. It is Great, sir; — "Pompey surnam'd the

Great ;
That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make

my foe to sweat :
And travelling along this coast, I here am come by

chance ;
And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lasa

of France."

If your ladyship would say, " Thanks, Pompey," I
had done.

Prin. Great thanks, great Pompey.
Cost. 'Tis not so much worth ; but I hope I was
perfect : I made a little fault in " great."

Bir. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the
lest Worthy.

Enter Sir NAT HANIEL armed, for Alexander.

Nath. " When in the world I liv'd, I was the
world's commander;

33 This alludes to the old heroic habits which, oil the knees

4tiU LOVE s LABOUR'S LOST. ACT v.

By east, west, north, and south, I spread my con

quering might :

My 'scutcheon plain declares that I am Alisander.*1
Boy. Your nose says, no, you are not ; for it

stands too right.34

Bir. Your nose smells, no, in this, most tender-
smelling knight.34
Prin. The conqueror is dismay'd : Proceed, good

Alexander.
Natk. "When in the world I liv'd, I was the

world's commander ; " —
Boy. Most true ; 'tis right : you were so, Ali

sander.

Bir. Pompey the Great, —
Cost. Your servant, and Costard.
Bir. Take away the conqueror ; take away Ali
sander.

Cost. [ To NATH.] O ! sir, you have overthrown
Alisander the conqueror ! You will be scrap'd out
of the painted cloth for this : your lion, that holds
his poll-ax sitting on a close-stool,36 will be given to
Ajax : he will be the ninth Worthy. A conqueror,
and afeard to speak ! run away for shame, Alisan
der. [NATH. retires.] There, an't shall please you ;
a foolish mild man ; an honest man, look you, and
soon dash'd ' He is a marvellous good neighbour,

and shoulders, aad sometimes by way of ornament the resem
hlance of a leopard's or lion's head.

34 It should be remembered, to relish this joke, that the head
of Alexander was obliquely placed on his shoulders.

34 " Alexander's body had so sweet a smell of itselfe that all
the apparell he wore next unto his body tooke thereof a passing
delightful savour, as if it had been perfumed.'' North's Plutarch.

36 This alludes to the arms given, in the old history of the Nine
Worthies, to Alexander, "the which did bear geules a lion or
seiante in a chayer, holding a battle-axe argent." There is a
roil eit of Ajax ami a Ja/ces, by no means uncommon at the lime

sc. ii. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 461

in sooth ; and a very good bowler : but, for Alisan
tier, alas! you see how 'tis; — a little o'erparted :
— But there are Worthies a-coming will speak their
mind in some other sort.

Prin. Stand aside, good Pompey.

Enter HOLOFERNES armed, for Judas, and MOTH
armed, for HercMles.

Hoi. " Great Hercules is presented by this imp,
Whose club kill'd Cerberus, that three-headed canis ;
And, when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp,
Thus did he strangle serpents in his maims •
Quoniam, he seemeth in minority ;
Ergo, I come with this apology." —
Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish.

[Exit P^orn.

Hoi. " Judas I am," —

Dum. A Judas !

Hoi. Not Iscariot, sir. —
Judas I am, ycleped Maccabeus."

Dum. Judas Maccabeus clipt is plain Judas.

Kir. A kissing traitor : — How art thou prov'd
Judas 1

Hoi. «« Judas I am," —

Dum. The more shame for you, Judas

Hoi. What mean you, sir ?

Boy. To make Judas hang himself.

ffoL Begin, sir : you are my elder.

Bir Well follow'd : Judas was hang'd on an elder.

Hoi I will not be put out of countenance.

Bir Because thou hast no face.

Hoi What is this ?

Boy. A cittern head.37

97 The cittern, a musical instrument like a guitar, bad usually

4t)2 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT v.

Dum. The head of a bodkin.
Bir. A death's face in a ring.
Lon. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen.
Boy. The pummel of Caesar's faulchion.
Dum. The carv'd-bone face on a flask.38
Bir. St. George's half-cheek in a brooch.
Dum. Ay, and in a brooch of lead.
Bir. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer
And now, forward; for we have put thee in conn

tenance.

HoL You have put me out of countenance.
Bir. False : we have given thee faces.
HoL But you have out-fac'd them all.
Bir. An thou wert a lion, we would do so.
Boy. Therefore, as he is an ass, let him go.
And so adieu, sweet Jude ! nay, why dost thou stay 1
Dum. For the latter end of his name.
Bir. For the ass to the Jude ; give it him : —

Jud-as, away.

HoL This is not generous, not gentle, not humble.
Boy. A light for monsieur Judas ! it grows dark,

he may stumble.
Prin. Alas, poor Maccabeus, how hath he been

baited !

Enter ARM ADO orraerf, for Hector.

Bir. Hide thy head, Achilles : here comes Hec
tor in arms.

Dum. Though my mocks come home by me, I
will now be merry.

King. Hector was but a Trojan 38 in respect of
this.

a head grotesquely carved at the extremity of the neck and fin-
ger-board : hence these jests.

w That is, a soldier's powder-bora

** Trojan is supposed to have been a eant term for a thief I*
wa», however, a familiar name for any equa. or inferior.

sc. n. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 403

Boy. But is this Hector ?

Dum. I think Hector was not so clean-timber'd.

Lon. His leg is too big for Hector.

Dum. More calf, certain.

Hoy. No ; he is best indued in the small.

Bir. This cannot be Hector.

Dum. He's a god or a painter ; for he makes
faces.

Arm. " The armipotent Mars, of lances the al-
mighty,
Gave Hector a gift," —

Dum. A gilt nutmeg.

Bir. A lemon.

Lon. Stuck with cloves.

Dum. No, cloven.

Arm. Peace !

•« The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,
Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion ;
A man so breath'd, that certain he would fight ye
From morn till night, out of his pavilion.
I am that flower," —

Dum. That mint.

Lon. That columbine.

Arm. Sweet lord Longaville, rein thy tongue.

Lon. I must rather give it the rein ; for it rum
against Hector.

Dum. Ay, and Hector's a greyhound.

Arm. The sweet war-man is dead and rotten •
sweet chucks, beat not the bones of the buried :
when he breath'd, he was a man. — But I will for-
ward with my device. [To the PRINCESS.] Sweet
royalty, bestow on me the sense of hearing.

[BmoN whispers COSTABIX

JPrtn. Speak, brave Hector : we are much de-
lighted.

464 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT t

Arm. I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper.

Boy. Loves her by the foot.

Dum. He may not by the yard.

Arm. " This Hector far surmounted Hannibal,"-

Cost. The party is gone ; fellow Hector, she is
gone ; she is two months on her way.

Arm. What meanest thou 1

Cost. Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan,
the poor wench is cast away : she's quick ; the child
brags in her belly already : 'tis yours.

Arm. Dost thou infamonize me among poten-
tates 1 thou shalt die.

Cost. Then shah" Hector be whipp'd, for Jaque-
•aetta that is quick by him ; and hang'd, for Pompe*
that is dead by him.

Dum. Most rare Pompey !

Boj Renowned Pompey !

Bir. Greater than great, great, great, great Pom-
pey ! Pompey the huge !

Dum. Hector trembles.

Bir. Pompey is moved: — More Ates,40 more
Ales ; stir them on ! stir them on !

Dum. Hector will challenge him.

Bir. Ay, if a' have no more man's blood iii'g
oelly than will sup a flea.

Arm. By the north pole, I do challenge ,hee.

Cost. I will not fight with a pole, like a northern
man : I'll slash ; I'll do it by the sword : — I pray
you, let me borrow my arms again.

Dum. Room for the incensed Worthies,

' Cost. I'll do it in my shirt.

Dum. Most resolute Pompey !

Moth. Master, let me take you a button-hole
lower.

40 That is, more instigation. Ate was the goddess of disconf .

SC. II. LOVE'S LABOUR S LOST. 4t>5

Do you not see,, Pompey is uncasing for the combat 1
What mean you ? you will lose your reputation.

Arm. Gentlemen, and soldiers, pardon me ; I wil
not combat in my shirt.

Dum. You may not deny it : Pompey hath mado
the challenge.

Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will.

Bir. What reasons have you for't 1

Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt :
I go woohvard 41 for penance.

Boy. True, and it was enjoin'd him in Rome for
want of linen ; since when, I'll be sworn, he wore
none but a dish-clout of Jaquenetta's ; and that a1
wears next his heart for a favour.

Enter MERCADE.

Mer. God save you, madam.

Prin. Welcome, Mercade ;
But that thou interrupt'st our merriment.

Mer. I am sorry, madarn ; for the news I bring
Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father —

Prin: Dead, for my life.

Mer. Even so ; my tale is told.

Bir. Worthies, away : the scene begins to cloud.

Arm. For mine own part, 1 breathe free breath :
I have seen the day of wrong through the little hole
of discretion,42 and I will right myself like a sol-
dier. [Eifvnt Worthies,

King. How fares your majesty ?

Prin. Boyet, prepare : I will away to-night.

King. Madam, not so ; I do beseech you, stay.

41 That is, clothed in wool, and not in linen ; a penance often
enjoined in times of superstition.

** Armado probably means to say in his affected style that be
had discovered he was wronged. '« Ore may see day at a I'llie
iole," ii a proverb

466 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT v

Prin. Prepare, I say. — I thank you, gracious

lords,

For all your fair endeavours ; and entreat,
Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe
In your rich wisdom to excuse, or hide,
The liberal opposition of our spirits :
If over-boldly we have borne ourselves
In the converse of breath, your gentleness
Was guilty of it. — Farewell, worthy lord !
A heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue :
Excuse me so, coming too short of thanks
For my great suit so easily obtain'd.

King. The extreme haste of time extremely form*
All causes to the purpose of his speed ;
And often, at his very loose,43 decides
That which long process could not arbitrate :
And though the mourning brow of progeny
Forbid the smiling courtesy of love
The holy suit which fain it would convince ; 44
Yet, since love's argument was first on foot,
Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it
From what it purpos'd ; since, to wail friends lost,
Is not by much so wholesome, profitable,
As to rejoice at friends but newly found.

Prin. I understand you not : my griefs are dull.

Bir. Honest plain words best pierce the ear of

grief;

And by these badges understand the king.
For your fair sakes have we neglected time,
Flay'd foul play with our oaths : your beauty, ladies,
Hath much deform'd us, fashioning our humours
Even to the opposed end of our intents ;

*» Lootc may mean at the moment of his parting, that it, of hii
getting loose or away from us.

** That is, which it fain would succeed in obtaining.

sc. ii. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 467

And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous, —
As love is full of unbefitting strains ;
All wanton as a child, skipping, and vain ;
Form'd by the eye, and therefore, like the eye,
Full of strange shapes, of habits, and of forms,
Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll
To every varied object in his glance :
Which party-coated presence of loose love
Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes,
Have misbecome our oaths and gravities,
Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults,
Suggested45 us to make. Therefore, ladies,
Our love being yours, the error that love makes
Is likewise yours : we to ourselves prove false,
By being once false forever to be true
To those that make us both, — fair ladies, you :
And even that falsehood, in itself a sin,
Thus purifies itself, and turns to grace.

Prin. We have receiv'd your letters full of love {
Your favours, the ambassadors of love :
And, in our maiden counsel, rated them
At courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesy,
As bombast,46 and as lining to the time :
But more devout than this, in our respects,
Have we not been ; and therefore met your loves
In their own fashion, like a merriment.

Dum. Our letters, madam, show'd much more
than jest.

Lon. So did our looks.

44 Tempted.

48 Thus, in Dekker's Satiromastix ; " You shall swear net to
combust out a new play with the old linings of jests." Bombast
was the stuffing or wadding of doublets. Stubbs, in his Analomie
of Abuses, speaks of their being " stuffed with four, five, or six
pounds of bombast at least." The word originally signified cotton,
from the Latin bombax, thij material being principally used foi
wadding or stuffing.

408 DOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT v

Ros. We did not quote them HO

King. Now, at the latest minute of the hour,
Grant us your loves.

Prin. A time, methinks, too shorl

To make a world-without-end bargain in.
No, no, my lord, your grace is perjur'd much,
Full of dear guiltiness : and therefore this : —
If for my love (as there is no such cause)
You will do aught, this shall you do for me :
Your oath I will not trust ; but go with speed
To some forlorn and naked hermitage,
Remote from all the pleasures of the world ;
There stay, until the twelve celestial signs
Have brought about their annual reckoning :
If this austere insociable life
Change not your offer made in heat of blood ;
if frosts, and fasts, hard lodging, and thin weeds,
Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love,
But that it bear this trial, and last love ;
Then, at the expiration of the year,
Come challenge, challenge me by these deserts,
And by this virgin palm, now kissing thine,
I will be thine ; and, till that instant, shut
My woful self up in a mourning house ;
Raining the tears of lamentation,
For the remembrance of my father's death,
If this thou do deny, let our hands part ;
Neither intitled in the other's heart.

King. If this, or more than this, I would deny,
To flatter up these powers of mine with rest,
The sudden hand of death close up mine eye !
Hence ever then my heart is in thy breast.

Rir. And what to me, my love 7 and what to me 1
Ros, You must be purged too; your sins are
rank :

sc ii LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 460

You are attaint with faults and perjury;
Therefore, if you my favour mean to get,
A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest,
But seek the weary beds of people sick."

Dum. But what to me, my love 1 but what to
me?

Kath. A wife ! — A beard, fair health, and hon •

esty;
With three-fold love I wish you all these three.

Dum. O ! shall 1 say, I thank you, gentle wife 1

Kath. Not so, my lord : — A twelvemonth and a

day

I'll mark no words that smootb-fac'd wooers say :
Come when the king doth to my lady come,
Then, if I have much love, I'll give you some.

Dum. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then.

Kath. Yet swear not, lest you be forsworn again.

Lon. What says Maria ?

Mar. At the twelvemonth's end,

I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend.

Lon. I'll stay with patience ; but the time is long

Mar. The liker you ; few taller are so young.

Bir. Studies my lady ? mistress, look on me ;
Behold the window of my heart, mine eye,

47 The justice of Coleridge's remarks upon these lines is obvi
ous enough : •• There can be no rlouhi indeed about the propriety
of expunging this speech of Rosaline's ; it soils the very page thai
retains it. Hut I do not agree with Warburton and others iu
striking out the preceding line also. It is quite in Riron's char-
acter , and. Rosaline not answering it immediately, Dum a in takes
up the question for him. and. after he and Lougaville are answered,
Diron, with evident propriety, says, — ' Studies my lady? ' " &c
Nevertheless, we would not venture to strike it out ; though we
!>ave little doubt it was retained by mistake when the Poet rewrote
ine play; and perhaps the two speeches may be taken as an apt
illustration of the difl'erence between the original and the aug-
mented copies. H.

470 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT t

What humble suit attends thy answer there :
Impose some service on me for thy love.

Ros. Oft have I heard of you, my lord Biron,
Before I saw you : and the world's large tongue
Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks ;
Full of comparisons and wounding flouts;
Which you on all estates will execute,
That lie within the mercy of your wit :
To weed this wormwood from your fruitful bruin
And, therewithal, to win me, if you please,
(Without the which I am not to be won,)
You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day
Visit the speechless sick, and still converse
With groaning wretches ; and your task shall be,
With all the fierce endeavour of your wit,
To enforce the pained impotent to smile.

Bir. To move wild laughter in the throat of

death 1

It cannot be ; it is impossible :
Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.

Ros. Why, that's the way to choke a gibing spirit.
Whose influence is begot of that loose grace,
Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools.
A jest's prosperity lies in the ear
Of him that hears it, never in the tongue
Of him that makes it : then, if sickly ears,
Deaf 'd with the clamors of their own dear 48 groans,
Will hear your idle scorns, continue them,
And I will have you, and that fault withal ;
But, if they will not, throw away that spirit,
And I shall find you empty of that fault,
Right joyful of your reformation.

Bir. A twelvemonth 1 well, befall what will befall,
I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital.

« See Twelfth Night, Act v. sc. 1, uote 3.

sc. ii LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 471

Pnn. [ To the KING.] Ay, sweet my lord ; and so

I take my leave.
King. No, madam ; we will bring you on your

way.

Bir. Our wooing doth not end like an old play ;
Jack hath not Jill: these ladies' courtesy
Might well have made our sport a comedy.

King. Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth and a

day.
And then 'twill end.

Bir. That's too long for a play.

Enter ARMADO.

Arm. Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me, —

Prin. Was not that Hector ?

Dum. The worthy knight of Troy.

Ann. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave .
I am a votary ; I have vow'd to .Taquenetta to hold
the plough for her sweet love three years. But,
most esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue
that the two learned men have compiled, in praise
of the owl and the cuckoo 1 it should have followed
in the end of our show.

King. Call them forth quickly : we will do so.

Arm. Holla ! approach.

Enter HOLOFERNES, Sir NATHANIEL, MOTH,
COSTARD, and others.

This side is Hiems, winter ; this Ver, the spring ;
the one maintained by the owl, the other by tha
cuckoo Ver, begin.

472 LOVE'S LABOUR s LOST. ACT »

Song.

I.

Spring. When daisies pied, and violets blue,
And lady-smocks all silver-white,
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue,49

Do paint the meadows with delight,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,

Mocks married men, for thus sings he :

Cuckoo,

Cuckoo, cuckoo, — O word of fear!
Unpleasing to a married ear. .

II.

When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,
And rnerry larks are ploughmen's clocks;

When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws,
And maidens bleach their summer smocks,

The cuckoo then, on every tree,

Mocks married men, for thus sings he :
Cuckoo,

Cuckoo, cuckoo, — O word of fear !

Unpleasing to a married ear.

III.

Winter When icicles hang by the wall.

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,*0
And Tom bears logs into the hall.
And milk comes frozen home in pail ;

49 Gerarde in his Herbal, 1597, says, that the fios cuaili carda
mine, &.C., are called " in English citcicoo flowers, in Norfolk Can-
terbury bells, and at Namptwich, in Cheshire, Ladie-tmocks." In
Lyte's Herbal. 1578, it is remarked, that cowslips are, in French
of some called coquu prime vere, and brayes de coquu. Herbe a.
coqu was one of the old French names for the cowslip, which il
seems probable is the flower here meant.

so A similar expression occurs in one of South's Sermons : " So

sc. ii. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 473

When blood is nipp'd, and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,

To-who,

To- whit, to- who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.41

IV.

When all aloud the wind doth blow,

And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,

And Marian's nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs M hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,

To-who,

To- whit, to- who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

Arm The words of Mercury are harsh after the
songs of Apollo. You, that way ; we, this way.

[Exeunt.

that the king, for any thing that he has to do in these matters, ma;
sit and blow his nails; for use them otherwise he cannot." H.

61 To keel, or kele, is to cool. Latterly it seems to have been
applied particularly to the cooling of boiling liquor. To keel the
pot is to cool it by stirring the pottage with the ladle to prevent
the boiling over.

M The crab-apple, which used to be roasted and put hissing hoi
into a bowl of ale, previously enriched with toast, and spice, and
sugar. How much this was relished in old times, may be guessed
by those who appreciate the virtues of apple-toddy. Warner thus
speaks of a shepherd :

" And with the sun doth folde againe ;
Then, jogging home betime,
He turnei a crab, or tunes a round,
Or sings some merrie ryme " H.