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I 


I 


I 


VOLUME    I. 


COMEDIES. 


THE  DRAMATIC  WORKS 


or 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE. 


EDITED  BT 

WILLIAIC    aEORGE    CLARK 


WILLIAM    ALDIS    VRIGHT 


IN    THREE    YOLTJMES. 


NEW  YORK. 

AMERICAN  BOOK  EXCHANaE, 

Tbxbvmx  Bxjii*dino. 

18  81.  ' 


/ 


NOTICE. 


Ths  text  of  these  plays  is  that  of  the  "  aiobe  edition," 
with  the  exception  that  in  passages  left  oonjectaral  by  the 
Globe  editors,  the  readings  from  the  text  of  Dyce's  last 
edition  are  substituted.  The  numbering  of  the  lines  is  that 
of  the  Globe  edition,  this  numbering  being  now  universally 
accepted  as  the  most  convenient  means  of  reference  to  par* 
ticular  passages. 


%'5^1/ 


PREFACE. 


In  preparing  tlie  text  of  this  rolume,  we  liave  iu  general 
followed  the  same  rules  as  in  the  so-called  "Cambridge 
Shakespeare":  rales  which  we  adopted  originally  after 
much  deliberation,  and  of  which  the  soundness  has  been 
confirmed  by  our  subsequent  experience. 

As,  howerer,  the  two  editions  differ  in  plan,  the  one  re- 
cording in  foot-notes  all  the  rarious  readings  and  conject- 
ural emendations,  the  other  giving  only  the  text  we  have 
in  some  particulars  modified  our  rales. 

For  instance,  in  cases  where  the  text  of  the  earliest  edi- 
tions is  manifestly  faulty,  but  where  it  is  impossible  to  de- 
*  cide  with  confidence  which,  if  any,  of  several  suggested  emen- 
dations is  right,  we  have  in  the  "  Cambridge  Shakespeare" 
left  the  original  reading  in  our  text,  mentioning  in  our  notes 
all  the  proposed  alterations  :  in  this  edition,  we  have  sub- 
stituted in  the  text  the  emendation  which  seemed  most  prob- 
able, or  in  cases  of  absolute  equality,  the  earliest  suggested. 
But  the  whole  number  of  such  variations  between  the  texts 
of  the  two  editions  is  very  small. 

In  this  volume,  whenever  the  original  text  has  been  cor- 
rapted  in  such  a  way  as  to  affect  the  sense,  no  admissible 
emendation  having  been  proposed,  or  whenever  a  lacuna 
occurs  too  great  to  be  filled  up  with  any  approach  to  cer- 
tainty by  conjecture,  we  have  niarked  the  passage  with 
an  obelus  (f ), 


X  PREFACE. 

As  in  tbe  larger  work,  we  have  nnmbered  the  lines  of 
each  scene  for  convenience  of  reference. 

In  the  stage  directions  we  have  preserved  as  far  as  we 
could,  consistently  with  cleaness,  the  language  of  tlie  old- 
est texts. 

The  Gloasarj  has  been  prepared  hj  the  Rev.  J.  M.  Jeph- 
son. 

We  trust  that  the  title  which  has  been  chosen  for  the 
present  edition  will  neither  be  thought  presumptuous  nor 
be  found  inappropriate.  It  seems  indeed  safe  to  predict 
that  any  volume  which  presents,  in  a  convenient  form,  with 
elear  type  and  at  a  moderate  cost,  the  complete  works  of  the 
foremost  man  in  all  literature,  the  greatest  master  of  the 
language  most  widely  spoken  among  men,  will  make  its 
way  to  the  remotest  comers  of  the  habitable  globe. 

WILLIAM  GEORQE  CLARK. 
WILLIAM  ALDIS  WRIGHT. 

TRIUnT  COLLBOB,   CaMBRIDGK, 

N^tmbtT,  1864. 


CONTENTS  VOLUME  L 


Ths  Tsmfxst 

The  Two  Geittlbhen  of  Vebona 
The  Mbbiit  Wivks  of  Wihdsor    . 
msaburb  for  measure 

'HE  CoaCEDT  OF  ERRORS 

.J^ucH  Ado  ABoirr  Nothing 

^  Love's  Labour's  Lost       .... 

K  MiDsxnofER-NioHT's  Dreah    . 

The  Merchaitt  of  Vbkicb 
—  As  You  Like  It 

The  TAMnro  of  the  Shrew    . 

Aix's  Well  that  £in>s  Well    . 

Twelfth  Night  ;  or,  What.  You  Will 

The  Winter's  Tale    .... 


PASB 

.  13 
66 
118 
181 
247 
290 
850 
414 
465 
526 
588 
650 
718 
776 


\ 


X 


THE  TEMPEST. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS 

Alombo,  Kinff  of  Naples.  9rxpr avo,  a  dnmken  Butler. 

SsBAflTiAx,  Els  brother.  Master  of  a  Ship. 

Pbospbbo,  the  right  Dake  of  Milan.  Boatswain . 

Ahtom  10,  his  brother,  the  msnrplDg  Mariners. 

I^RmHA,Sf,^""io  tbe  King  of  f  «^b^.  I>anghter  to  ftoepero. 

Naple*.  Abucl,  aa  airy  Spirit. 

GoNZALo,  an  honest  old  Counsel-  Jf^  ) 

.     ><>«••  jf«S5J'*        f  presented 

Caliban,  a  savage  and  deformed     i«apeWi      ' 

Slave.  Other  Spirits  attending  on  Pro»* 

TBisrcuLo,  a  Jester.  pero. 

ScBKE — A  s7Up  at  Sea :  an  idand, 

ACT  I. 

BcENB  I.     On  a  ship  at  sea:  a  tempetttuma  naUe qf  thunder 

and  UfffUnmg  Jieard, 

Enter  a  Ship-Master  and  a  Boatswain. 

Mast,  Boatswain  I 
Boats,  Here,  master  :  wliat  clieer  ? 

Ma$t,  Qood,  speak  to  the  mariners :  fall  to^t,  yaielj,  or 
we  run  ourselves  aground :  bestir,  bestir.  \ExU. 

Enter  Mariners. 

Boats.  Heigh,  my  hearts  !  checrly,  cheorly,  my  hearts ! 
yare,  yare !  Take  in  the  topsail.  Tend  to  the  master's 
whistle.     Blow,  till  thou  burst  thy  wind,  if  room  enough ! 

Entw  AiiONso,  Sebastian,  Aktomo,  Ferdinand,  Gon- 

ZALO,  and  others, 

Alon.  Good  boatswain,  have  care.  AVherc's  the  master  ? 
Play  the  men.  11 

Boats,  I  pray  now,  keep  below. 
Ant.  Where  is  the  master,  boatswain  ? 


14  THE  TEMPEST.  [Apr  L 

Boats,  Do  yon  not  hear  him  ?  Yon  mar  <mr  labor ;  keep 
your  cabins :  you  do  assist  the  storm. 

Gon,  Nay,  good,  be  patient. 

Boats.  When  the  sea  is.  Hence  I  What  cares  these  roar- 
ers for  the  name  of  king  ?   To  cabin :  silence !  troable  us  not. 

0<m.  Good,  yet  remember  whom  thou  hast  aboard.        2t 

Boats.  None  that  I  more  love  than  myself.  You  are  a 
counsellor  ;  if  you  can  command  these  elements  to  silence, 
and  work  the  peace  of  the  present,  we  will  not  hand  a  rope 
more ;  use  your  authority  :  if  you  cannot,  give  thanks  you 
have  lived  so  long,  and  make  yourself  ready  in  your  cabin 
for  the  mischance  of  the  hour,  if  it  so  hap.  Cheerly,  good 
hearts  I    Out  of  our  way,  I  say.  [£Jxit 

Oon.  I  have  great  comfort  from  this  fellow :  methinks  he 
hath  no  drowning  mark  upon  him  ;  his  complexion  is  per- 
fect gallows.  SUnd  fast,  good  Fate,  to  his  hanging  :  make 
the  rope  of  his  destiny  our  cable,  for  our  own  doth  little  ad- 
vantage. If  he  be  not  born  to  be  hanged,  our  case  is  mis- 
erable. \^Exeunt, 

Re-enter  Boatswain. 

Boats,  Down  with  the  topmast  I  yare  I  lower,  lower  I 
Bring  her  to  tiy  with  main-couise.  \^A  cry  uitlUn.']  A 
plague  upon  tliis  howling  1  they  are  louder  than  the  wea- 
ther or  our  office.  40 

Re-enter  Sebastian,  Antokto,  and  Gonzalo. 

Yet  again  1  what  do  you  here  ?  Shall  we  give  o'er  and 
drown  ?    Have  you  a  mind  to  sink  ? 

8d>,  A  pox  o'your  throat,  you  bawling,  blasphemous,  in- 
charitable  dog  I 

Boats.  Work  you  then. 

Ani.  Hang,  cur  1  hang,  you  whoreson,  insolent  noise- 
maker  !     We  are  less  afraid  to  be  drowned  than  thou  art. 

Oon.  I'll  warrant  him  for  drowning  ;  though  tlie  ship 
were  no  stronger  than  a  nutshell  and  as  leaky  as  an  un- 
stanched  wench. 

Boats,  h&y  her  a-hold,  a-hold  I  set  her  two  courses  oft 
to  sea  again  ;  lay  her  off. 

Enter  Mariners  uet. 

Mariners.  All  lost  1  to  prayers,  to  prayers  I  all  lost  I 
Boats.  What,  must  our  mouths  be  cold  ? 
Oon.  The  king  and  prince  at  prayers  1  let's  assist  them, 
For  our  case  is  as  theirs. 
8cb,  Tm  out  of  patience. 

Ant^  We  are  merely  cheated  of  our  lives  by  drunkards : 


SCKHEh.]  THE  TEMPEST.  15 

Tlilfl  wide-cbapp*d  rascal — ^woald  tlioa  mightst  lie  drown- 
ing 60 
Tho  washing  of  ten  tides  I 

Goji.  Hell  be  hang'd  jet, 

Thoagh  every  drop  of  water  swear  against  it 
And  gape  at  widest  to  glut  him. 
[A  eoiiftised  noise  rcUhin :   "  Mercy  on  us  I '* — 
•  *  We  split,  wo  split "— '  *  Farewell  my  wife  and  children  !  "— 
"  Farewell,  brother  !"—"  Wo  split,  we  split,  we  split  r*'] 

Ant,  Let's  all  sink  with  the  Idng.   . 

8eb,  Let's  take  leave  of  him.  [Ex^utU  Ant,  and  8eb, 

Oon,  Now  would  I  give  «  thousand  furlongs  of  sea  for 
an  acre  of  barren  ground,  long  'heath,  brown  furze,  any 
thing  The  wills  alwve  be  done  1  but  I  would  fain  die  a 
dry  death.  [Exeunt, 

Scene  IL  Theidand,    Before  Vhobpero* a  eeil, 

ETUer  Pbosfsro  and  MmA2n>A. 

Mir.  If  by  your  art,  my  dearest  father,  you  have 
Put  the  wild  waters  in  this  roar,  allay  them. 
The  sky,  it  seems,  would  pour  down  stinkin?  pitch, 
But  that  the  sea,  mounting  to  the  welkin's  cheek. 
Dashes  the  fire  out.     O,  I  nave  suffered 
With  those  that  I  saw  suffer ;  a  brave  vessel, 
Wlio  had,  no  doubt,  some  noble  creature  in  her, 
Dash'd  all  to  pieces.     O,  the  cry  did  knock 
Against  my  very  heart.     Poor  souls,  they  perish'd. 
Had  I  been  any  god  of  power,  I  would  10 

Have  sunk  the  sea  within  the  earth  or  ere 
It  should  the  goocl  ship  so  have  swallow'd  and 
The  f  ranghting  souls  within  her. 

Pros.  Be  collected : 

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

Mir.  O,  woe  the  day  1 

Proe,  No  harm. 

I  have  done  nothing  but  in  care  of  thee. 
Of  thee,  my  dear  one,  thee,  my  daughter,  who 
Art  ignorant  of  what  thou  art,  nought  knowing 
Of  whence  I  am,  nor  that  I  am  more  better 
Than  Prospero,  master  of  a  full  poor  cell,  *  '      20 

And  thy  no  greater  father. 

Mir.  More  to  know 

Did  never  meddle  with  my  thoughts. 

Pros,  'Tis  time 

I  should  Inform  thee  farther.     Lend  thy  hand. 


1«  THE  TEMPEST.  [act  i. 

And  pluck  my  ma^ic  garment  from  me.     So  : 

[Lays  down  Ms  mantle. 
Lie  there,  my  art.     Wipe  thou  thine  eyes  :  have  comfort. 
The  direful  spectacle  of  the  wreck,  which  touch'd 
The  very  virtue  of  couipassion  in  thee, 
I  have  with  such  provision  in  mine  art 
So  safely  ordered  tliat  tliere  is  no  soul — 
No,  not  so  much  perdition  as  an  hair  30 

Betid  to  any  creature  in  the  vessel 
Which  thou  heard*st  cry,  which  thou  saw'st  sink. 

Sit  down  : 
For  thou  mast  now  know  farther. 

Mir.  You  hare  often 

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

Pros.  The  hour's  now  come  ; 

The  very  minute  bids  thee  ope  thine  ear  ; 
Ol3ey  and  be  attentive.     Canst  thou  remember 
A  time  before  we  came  unto  this  cell  ? 
I  do  not  think  thou  canst,  for  then  thou  wast  not  40 

Out  three  years  old. 

Mir,  Certainly  sir,  I  can. 

Pros,  By  what?  by  any  other  house  or  person ? 
OF  any  thing  tlie  image  tell  me  that 
Hath  kept  with  thy  remembrance. 

Mir.  'Tis  far  off. 

And  rather  like  a  dream  than  an  assurance 
That  luy  remembrance  warrants.     Had  I  not 
Four  or  five  women  onoe  that  tended  me  ? 

Pros,  Thou  hadst,  and  more,  Miranda.     But  how  is  it 
Tliat  this  lives  in  thy  mind?    What  seest  thou  else 
In  the  dark  backward  and  abysm  of  time?  CO 

If  thou  remember'st  aught  ere  thou  camest  here. 
How  thou  camest  here  thou  mayst. 

Mir.  But  that  I  do  not. 

Pros,  Twelve  year  since,  Miranda,  twelve  year  since, 
Thy  father  was  the  Duke  of  Milan  and 
A  prince  of  power. 

Mir.  Sir,  are  not  you  my  father? 

Pros.  Thy  mother  was  a  piece  of  virtue,  and 
She  said  thou  wast  my  daughter  ;  and  thy  father 
Was  Duke  of  Milan  ;  and  thou  hia  only  heir 
And  princess  no  worse  issued. 

Mir.  O  the  heavens  1 

What  foal  play  had  we,  that  we  came  from  thence  I         00 
Or  blessed  was't  we  did? 


BCEXSii.]  THE  TEMPEriT.  ^'^ 

Pros.  Both,  both,  my  {jlil : 

lijr  foul  play,  &8  thou  say 'at,  -were  wo  heaved  thence. 
But  blessedly  holp  hither. 

Mir.  O,  my  heart  bleeds 

To  think  o'  tho  teen  that  I  have  luni'd  you  to, 
Wliich  is  from  my  remembrance  I     Please  you,  farther. 

Pros.  My  brother  and  thy  uncle,  call'd  Antonio— 
I  pray  thee,  mark  me — that  a  brother  should 
Be  so  perfidious  ! — ^lie  ■whom  next  thyself 
Of  all  the  world  I  loved  and  to  him  put 
The  manage  of  my  stato  ;  as  at  that  timo  70 

Through  ^1  tho  signories  it  was  the  first 
And  Prospero  the  prime  duke,  being  so  reputed 
In  dignity,  and  for  tho  lilx*ral  arts 
Without  &  parallel  ;  those  being  all  my  study. 
The  government  1  cast  upon  my  brother 
And  to  my  state  grew  stranger,  being  transfmrted 
And  rapt  in  secret  studies.     Thy  false  uncle — 
Dost  thou  attend  mo  ? 

Mir.  Sir,  most  heedfully. 

Pros.  Being  once  perfected  how  to  grant  suits* 
How  to  deny  them,  who  to  advance  and  who  80 

To  trash  for  over-topping,  new  created 
The  creatures  that  were  mine,  I  say,  or  changed  *em. 
Or  else  new  form'd  'em  ;  having  both  the  key 
Of  officer  and  office,  set  all  hearts  i'  the  state 
To  what  tuno  pleased  his  ear  :  that  now  he  was 
The  ivy  which  liad  hid  my  princely  trunk, 
And  suck'd  my  verdure  out  ou't.     lliou  attend'st  not. 

•^^<     O,  good  sir,  1  do. 

Pros.  I  pray  thee,  mark  me. 

I,  thus  neglecting  worldly  ends,  all  dedicated 
To  closeness  and  the  bettering  of  my  mind  00 

With  that  which,  but  being  so  retired, 
O'cr-prized  all  popular  rate,  in  my  false  brother 
Awaked  an  evil  nature  ;  and  my  trust, 
Like  a  good  parent,  did  beget  of  him 
A  falsehood  in  its  contrary  as  great 
As  my  trust  was  ;  which  had  indeed  no  limit, 
A  confidence  sans  bound.    He  bting  thus  lorded, 
Not  only  with  what  my  revenue  yielded, 
Bat  what  my  power  might  else  exact,  like  one 
f  Who  having  into  truth,  by  telling  of  it,  100 

Made  such  a  sinner  of  his  memory, 
To  credit  his  own  lie,  he  did  believe 
He  was  indeed  tho  duke  ;  out  o'  the  substitution. 
And  ozecating  the  outwnrd  face  of  royalty. 


18  THE  TEMPEST.  [act  L 

Witli  all  prerogative  :  hence  his  ambition  growing — 
Dost  tliou  hear  ? 

Mir,  Your  tale,  sir,  "would  cure  deafness. 

Pros.  To  have  no  screen  between  this  part  lie  play'd 
And  him  he  plaj'd  it  for,  he  needs  will  be 
Absolute  Milan.     Me,  poor  man,  my  library 
AVas  dukedom  large  enough :  of  temporal  royalties  110 

He  thinks  me  now  incapable ;  confederates — 
So  dry  he  was  for  sway — wi'  the  King  of  Naples 
To  give  him  annual  tribute,  do  him  homage. 
Subject  his  coronet  to  his  crown  and  bend 
The  dukedom  yet  unbow'd — alas,  poor  Milan  I — 
To  most  ignoble  stooping. 

Mir.  O  the  heavens  I 

Pro9.  Mark  his  condition  and  the  event ;  then  tell  me 
If  this  might  be  a  brother. 

Mir.  I  should  sin 

To  tliink  but  nobly  of  my  grandmother : 
Good  wombs  have  borne  bad  sons. 

Pros.  Now  the  condition,      120 

This  King  of  Naples,  being  an  enemy 
To  me  inveterate,  hearkens  my  brother's  suit ; 
Which  was,  that  he,  in  lieu  o'  the  premises 
Of  homage  and  I  know  not  how  much  tribute. 
Should  presently  extirpate  me  and  mine 
Out  of  the  dukedom  and  confer  fair  Milan 
With  all  the  honours  on  my  brother  :  whereon, 
A  treacherous  army  levied,  one  midnight 
Fated  to  the  purpose  did  Antonio  open 
The  gates  of  Milan,  and,  i'  the  dead  of  darkness^  130 

The  ministers  for  the  purpose  hurried  thence 
Me  and  thy  crying  self. 

Mir.  Alack,  for  pity ! 

I.  not  remembering  how  I  cried  out  then, 
Will  cry  it  o'er  again  ;  it  is  a  hint 
That  wrings  mine  eyes  to't. 
Pro$.  Hear  a  little  further 

And  then  Til  bring  thee  to  the  present  business 
Which  now's  upon's  ;  without  the  which  this  story 
Were  most  impertinent. 

Mir.  Wherefore  did  they  not 

That  hour  destroy  us  ? 

Pros.  Well  demanded,  wench  : 

My  tale  provokes  that  question.     Dear,  they  durst  not,   140 
So  dear  the  love  my  people  bore  me,  nor  set 
A  mark  so  bloody  on  the  business,  but 
With  colours  fairer  painted  their  foul  ends. 


8CBNBII.]  THE  TEMPEST.  19 

la  few,  they  liurried  us  aboard  a  bark, 

Bore  us  some  leagues  to  sea  ;  "where  they  prepaied. 

A  rotten  carcass  of  a  boat,  not  rigg'd. 

Nor  tadkle,  sail,  nor  mast ;  the  very  rats 

Instinctively  had  quit  it :  there  they  hoist  ns. 

To  cry  to  the  sea  that  roar'd  to  ua,  to  sigh 

To  the'  winds  whose  pity,  sighing  back  again,  150 

Did  us  bat  loving  wrong. 

JUir.  Alack,  what  trouble 

Was  1  tlien  to  you  I 

Pros.  O,  a  cherubin 

Thou  wast  that  did  preserve  me.     Thou  didst  smile, 
Infused  with  a  fortitude  from  heaven, 
When  I  have  deck'd  the  sea  with  drops  full  salt, 
Under  my  burthen  groan'd  ;  which  raised  in  mc 
An  undergoing  stomach,  to  bear  up 
Against  wiiat  should  ensue. 

Mir,  How  came  wo  ashore  ? 

Pros,     By  Providence  divine. 
Some  food  we  had  and  some  fresh  water  that  100 

A  noble  Neapolitan,  Gonzalo, 
Oat  of  his  charity,  being  then  appointed 
Master  of  this  dettign,  did  give  us,  with 
Rich  garments,  linens,  stuffs  and  necessaries. 
Which  since  have  steaded  much  ;  so,  of  his  gentleness. 
Knowing  I  loved  my  books,  he  furnish'd  me 
From  mine  own  library  wiUi  volumes  that 
I  prisse  above  my  dukedom. 

Mir,  Would  I  might 

But  ever  see  that  man  ! 

Pros,  Now  I  arise  :     [Resumes  his  marUle, 

Sit  still,  and  hear  the  last  of  our  sea- sorrow.  170 

Here  in  this  island  we  arrived ;  and  here 
Have  I,  thy  schoolmaster,  made  tlrce  more  profit 
Than  other  princesses  can  that  have  more  time 
For  vainer  hours  and  tutors  not  so  careful. 

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

Pros.  Know  thus  far  forth. 

By  accident  most  strange,  lx)untiful  Fortune, 
Now  my  dear  lady,  hath  mine  enemies 
Brought  to  this  s&ore  ;  and  by  my  prescience  180 

I  find  my  zenith  doth  depend  upon 
A  most  auspicious  star,  whose  influence 
If  now  I  court  not  but  omit,  my  fortunes 


20  THE  TEMPEST.  [act  L 

Will  over  after  droop.     Here  cease  more  questions  ; 
Tbou  art  inclined  to  sleep  ;  'tis  n  good  dulness, 
And  give  it  "vray  :  I  know  tbou  canst  not  choose. 

[Mirandfl  deeps. 
Come  away,  servant,  come.     I  am  ready  now. 
Approach,  my  Ariel,  come. 

Entcj*  AniEL. 

An,  All  hail,  great  master  I  grave  sir,  hail !  I  como 
To  answer  thy  best  pleasure  ;  be't  to  fly,  190. 

To  swim,  to  dive  into  the  fii*c,  to  ride 
On  the  curl'd  clouds,  to  thy  iitrong  bidding  task 
Ariel  and  ail  his  quality. 

Pros,  Ilast  thou,  spirit, 

Pcrforni'd  to  point  the  tempest  that  1  bade  tliee  ? 

Aii,  To  every  article. 
I  boarded  the  king's  ship  ;  now  on  the  beak. 
Now  in  ilio  waist,  the  deck,  in  every  ciibin, 
I  flamed  amazemt  nt :  i^ometime  I'ld  divide. 
And  bum  in  many  places  ;  on  the  topmast. 
The  yards  and  Iwwsprit,  would  I  flame  distinctly,  200 

Then  meet  and  join.     Jove's  lightnings,  the  precursors 
O'  the  dreadful  thunder  claps,  more  momentary 
And  sight-out nmning  were  not ;  the  Are  and  cracks 
Of  sulphurous  roaring  the  most  mighty  Neptune 
Seem  to  besiege  and  make  his  bold  waves  tremble. 
Yea,  his  dread  trident  shake. 

Pros,  My  brave  spirit  I 

Who  was  80  firm,  so  constant,  that  this  coil 
Would  not  infect  his  reason  ? 

Ari,  Not  a  soul 

But  felt  a  fever  of  the  mad  and  play'd 
Some  tricks  of  desperation.     All  but  marinera  210 

PlungcHi  in  the  foaming  brine  and  quit  the  vessel, 
Then  all  afire  with  me  :  the  King's  son,  Ferdinand, 
AVith  hair  up-staring, — then  like  reeds,  not  liair, — 
Was  tUe  first  man  that  leap'd  ;  cried,  "  Hell  is  empty^ 
And  all  the  devils  aro  here. " 

Pros.  Why,  that's  my  spirit ! 

But  was  not  this  nigh  shore  ? 

Aii.  Close  by,  my  master. 

Pros.  But  are  they,  Ariel,  safe  ? 

Ari,  Not  a  hair  perish'd ; 

On  their  sustaioing  garments  not  a  blemish, 
But  freslfer  than  l)efore  :  and,  as  thou  badest  me. 
In  troops  I  have  dispersed  them  'bout  the  isle,  220 

The  King's  sou  have  I  landed  by  himself ; 


BCENBii.]  THE  TEMPEST.  21 

Wliora  I  left  cooling  of  the  air  with  sighs 
In  an  odd  anf^le  of  the  isle  and  sitting, 
Fls  arms  in  this  sad  knot. 

ProB,  Of  the  king's  ship 

llie  mariners  say  how  thou  hast  disposed 
And  all  the  rest  o'  the  fleet. 

Ari.  Safely  in  harhour 

Ts  the  king's  ship  ;  in  the  deep  nook,  where  once 
Tliou  call'dst  me  up  at  midnight  to  fetch  dew 
l?rom  the  still -vex'd  Bermoothes,  there  she's  hid  : 
The  mariners  all  under  hatches  stow'd  ;  230 

Who  with  a  cliarm  join'd  to  their  sufffer'd  labour, 
'i  have  left  asleep  :  and  for  the  rest  o'  the  fleet 
^hich  I  dispersed,  they  all  have  njet  again 
^nd  are  upon  the  Mediterranean  flote. 
Bound  sadly  home  for  Naples, 
Supposing  that  they  saw  the  king's  ship  wreck'd 
And  his  great  person  perish. 

Pro9.  Ariel,. thy  charge 

Exactly  is  performed  :  but  there's  more  work. 
What  is  the  time  o'  the  dry? 

AH.  Past  the  mid  season. 

Pros.  At  least  two  glasses.     The  time  'twixt  six  and  now 
Must  by  us  both  be  spent  most  preciously.  241 

Ari.  Is  there  more  toil  ?    Since  thou  dost  give  me  ]mins, 
Let  me  remember  thee  what  thou  hast  promised, 
Which  is  not  yet  perform'd  me. 

Pro9.  How  now?  moody? 

What  is't  thou  canst  demand? 

AH.  My  liberty. 

Pros.  Before  the  time  be  out  ?  no  more  I 

AH.  I  prithee, 

Remember  I  have  done  thee  worthy  service  ; 
Told  thee  no  lies,  n^ado  thee  no  mistakings,  served 
Without  or  grudge  or  grumblings  :  thou  didst  promise 
To  bate  me  a  full  year. 

ProB.  Dost  thou  forget  250 

From  what  a  torment  1  did  free  thee  ? 

AH.  No. 

Pros.  Thou  dost,  and  think'st  it  much  to  tread  the  ooze 
Of  the  salt  deep, 

To  run  upon  the  sharp  wind  of  the  north, 
To  do  me  business  in  the  veins  o'  the  earth 
When  it  is  baked  with  frost. 

AH.  I  do  not,  sir. 

Pros.  Thou  liest,  malignant  thing  !    Host  thou  forgot 
The  foal  witch  Sycorax,  who  with  age  and  eiivy 
Was  grown  into  a  hoop  ?  hast  thou  forgot  her  ? 


22  THE  TEMPEST.  [act  l 

Art.  No,  sir. 

Pro$,  Thou  hast     Where  was  she  bom  ?  speak  ; 

tell  me.  260 

Art.  Sir,  in  Argier. 

Pros.  O,  was  she  so  ?  I  must 

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

Art.  Ay,  sir. 

Pros.  This  blue-eyed  hag  was  hither  brought  with  child 
And  here  was  left  by  tha  sailors.     Thou,  my  slave,         270 
As  thou  report'st  thyself,  wast  then  her  servant ; 
And  for  thou  wast  a  spirit  too  delicate 
To  act  her  earthly  and  abhorred  commands. 
Refusing  her  grand  bests,  she  did  confine  thee. 
By  help  of  her  more  potent  ministers 
And  in  her  most  unmitirable  rage. 
Into  a  cloven  pine  ;  within  which  rift 
Imprisoned  thou  didst  painfully  remain 
A  dozen  years  ;  within  which  space  she  died 
And  left  thee  there  ;  where  thou  didst  vent  thy  groans    280 
As  fast  as  mill-wheels  strike.     Then  was  this  island — 
Save  for  the  son  that  she  did  litter  here, 
A  freckled  whelp  hag-bom — not  honour'd  with 
A  human  shape. 

Ari,  Yes,  Caliban  her  son. 

Pros.  Dull  thing,  I  say  so ;  he,  that  Caliban 
Wliom  now  I  keep  in  service.     Thou  best  know'st 
^Vllat  torment  I  did  find  thee  in  ;  thy  groans 
Did  make  wolves  howl  and  penetrate  tne  breasts 
Of  ever  angary  hesLrs  :  it  was  a  torment 
To  lay  upon  the  damn'd,  which  Sycorax  290 

Could  not  again  undo  :  it  was  mine  art. 
When  I  arrived  and  heard  thee,  that  made  gape 
The  pine  and  let  thee  out. 

Ari.  I  thank  thee,  master. 

Pros.  If  thou  more  mnnnur'st,  I  will  rend  an  oak 
And  peg  tliee  in  its  knotty  entrails  till 
Tliou  hast  liowl'd  away  twelve  winters. 

Ari.  Pardon,  master ; 

[  will  be  correspondent  to  command 
And  do  my  spiriting  gently. 

Pros.  Do  so,  and  after  two  days 

[  will  discharge  thee. 


BCENKII.]  THE  TEMPEST.  23 

Ari.  That's  my  noble  master  I 

What  shall  I  do  T  say  what :  what  shall  I  do  ?  800 

Pros.  Go  make  thyself  like  a  nymph  o'  the  sea :  be  snb- 
ject 
To  no  sight  bat  thine  and  mine,  invisible 
To  every  eyeball  else.     Go  take  this  shape 
And  hither  come  in't :  go,  hence  with  diligence  1 

[ExU  Ariel. 
Awake,  dear  heart,  awake  !  thou  hast  slept  well ;  Awake  I 

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

Pros.  Shake  it  off.     Come  on  ; 

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

Mir.  'Tis  a  villain,  sir, 

I  do  not  love  to  look  on. 

Pros.  Bat  as  tis,  810 

We  cannot  miss  him  :  he  does  make  our  fire. 
Fetch  in  oar  wood  and  serves  in  offices 
That  profit  us.     What,  ho  1  slave  I  Caliban  I 
Thou  earth,  thou  I  sp^ik. 

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

Pros.  Como  forth,  I  say  I  there's  other  business  for  thee  ; 
Come,  thou  tortoise!  when  ? 

Be-enter  Ariel  like  a  water-nympK 

Fine  apparition  1    My  quaint  Ariel, 
Hark  in  thine  ear. 

Ari.  My  lord,  it  shall  be  done.  \lSxit. 

Pros.  Thou  poisonous  slave,  got  by  the  devil  himseli 
Upon  thy  wicked  dam,  come  forth  I  820 

Enter  Caliban. 

CcH.  As  wicked  dew  as  e'er  my  mother  brush'd 
With  raven's  feather  from  unwholesome  fen 
Drop  on  you  both  !  a  south-west  blow  on  ye 
And  blister  you  all  o'er  1 

Pros.  For  this,  be  sure,  to-night  thou  shalt  have  cramps. 
Side-stitches  that  shall  pen  thy  breath  up  ;  urchins 
Shall,  for  that  vast  of  night  that  they  may  work, 
All  exercise  on  thee  ;  thou  shalt  be  pinch'd 
As  thick  as  honeycomb,  each  pinch  more  stinging 
Than  bees  that  made  'em. 

Cal.  I  must  eat  my  dinner.  830 

This  island's  mine,  by  Sycorax  my  mother, 
Whidi  thou  takest  from  me.     When  thou  camest  first, 
Thott  stxokedst  me  aad  madest  much  o€  me>  wooldst  give  me 


34  THE  TEMPEST.  [act  i. 

Water  with  berries  in  't,  and  tcacli  me  liow 

To  name  the  bigger  light,  and  how  the  less, 

Tliat  bum  by  day  and  night :  and  then  I  loved  thee 

And  siiow'd  thee  all  the  qualities  o'  the  isle. 

The  fresli  springs,  brine- pits,  barren  place  and  fertile  : 

Cursed  be  I  that  did  so  I     All  the  cliamis 

Of  Sycorax,  toads,  lieetles,  bats,  light  on  you  !  340 

For  1  am  all  the  subjects  that  you  have, 

Which  first  was  mine  own  king  :  and  here  you  sty  me 

In  this  hard  rock,  wluies  yoa  do  keep  from  me 

Tlie  rest  o*  the  island. 

Pros.  Thou  mo6t  lying  slave, 

Whom  stripes  may  move,  not  kindness  1  1  have  used  theo. 
Filth  as  thoa  art,  with  human  care,  and  lodged  thee 
In  mine  own  cell,  till  thou  didst  seek  to  violate 
Thtj  honour  of  my  child. 

Col.  O  ho,  O  ho  1  would*t  had  been  done  I 
Thou  didst  prevent  me  ;  I  had  peopled  else  850 

This  isle  with  Calibans. 

Pros.  Abhorred  slave. 

Which  any  print  of  goodness  wilt  not  take. 
Being  capable  of  nil  ill  I     I  pitied  thee, 
Took  paias  to  mako  theo  6i)ealc,  taught  thee  each  hour 
One  thing  or  other  :  when  thou  didst  not,  savage, 
Know  thine  own  meaning,  but  wouldst  gabble  like 
A  thing  nio3t  brutish,  I  endowed  thy  purposes 
With  words  that  made  them  known.     But  thy  vile  race. 
Though  thou  didst  learn,  had  that  in  't  which  good  natures 
Could  not  abide  to  be  with  ;  therefore  wast  thou 
Deservedly  confined  into  this  rock,  801 

Who  hadst  deserved  more  than  a  prison. 

Col.  You  taught  me  language  ;  end  my  profit  on  *t  • 
Is,  I  know  how  to  curse.     The  red  plague  rid  you 
For  learning  mo  your  language  ! 

Pros.  Hag- seed,  hence  1 

Fetch  us  in  fuel  ;  and  be  quick,  thou  'rt  best, 
To  answer  other  business.     Shrng*st  thou,  malice? 
If  thou  neglect'st  or  dost  unwillinglv 
Wliat  I  command.  Til  rack  thee  with  old  crampS| 
Fill  all  thy  bones  with  aches,  make  thee  roar  870 

That  beasts  ^hall  tremble  at  thy  din. 

Col.  No,  pray  thee. 

[Aside]  I  must  obey  :  his  art  is  of  such  power, 
It  would  control  my  dam's  god,  Setebos, 
And  make  a  vassal  of  him. 

Pros,  So,  slave  ;  hence  I  IWxU  CdUban, 


SCENE  II.  j  THE  TEMPEST.  25 

Re-enUr  Ariel,  intisible,  playing  and  singing;  Ferdinand 

following. 

Ariel's  song. 

'  Come  unto  these  yellow  sands. 
And  then  take  hands  : 
Gourtsled  when  you  have  and  kiss'd 

The  wild  waves  whi  t, 
Foot  it  featly  here  and  there  ;  880 

And,  sweet  sprites,  tlie  burthen  bear. 
Burthen  [dispersedly].     Hark,  hark  ! 

Bow-wow. 
The  watch-dogs  bark : 

Bow-wow, 
AH.  Hark,  hark  !  I  hear 

The  strain  of  strutting  chanticleer 
Cry,  Cock-a-diddle-dow. 

Fer.  Where  should  this  music  be  !  i'  the  air  or  the  earth  ? 
It  sounds  no  more  :  and,  sure,  it  wails  ui)on 
Some  god  o'  the  island.     Sitting  on  a  bank. 
Weeping  again  the  king  my  fatlier's  wreck,  890 

This  music  crept  by  me  upon  the  waters. 
Allaying  both  their  fury  and  my  passion 
With  its  sweet  air  :  thence  I  have  follow'd  it. 
Or  it  hath  drawn  me  rather.     But  'tis  gone. 
No  it  begins  again. 

Ariel  sings. 

Full  fathom  five  thy  fat  Tier  lies  ; 
Of  his  bones  are  coral  made  ; 
Those  are  pearls  that  were  his  eyes  : 

Nothing  of  him  that  doth  fade 
But  doth  suffer  a  sea  change  400 

Into  something  rich  and  strange. 
8ea-nymphs  hourly  ring  his  knell  : 

Burthen.  Ding-dong. 
AH,  Hark  !  now  I  hear  them, — Ding-dong,  bell. 

Fer.  Tlie  ditty  does  remember  my  drown'd  father. 
This  is  no  mortal  business,  nor  no  sonnd 
Tliat  the  earth  owes.     I  hear  it  now  a1)ove  me.  • 

Proa.  The  fringed  curtains  of  thine  eye  advance 
And  say  what  thou  seest  yond. 

Mir.  What  is't  ?  a  spirit  ? 

I/ord,  how  it  looks  about?    Believe  inc.  sir,  410 

It  carries  a  bravo  form.    But  'iU  a  spirit. 


20  THE  TEMPEST.  [acti. 

Ptm,  No,  wench ;  it  eats  and  sleeps  and  hath  such  senses 
A  8  we  have,  such.     This  gallant  which  thou  seest 
Was  in  the  wreck  ;  and,  but  he  's  something  stain'd 
With  grief  that's  beauty's  canker,  thou  mightst  call  him 
A  goodly  person  :  he  hath  lost  his  fellows 
And  strays  about  to  find  'enu 

Mir,  I  might  call  him 

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

Pros.  \^A9ide\  It  goes  on,  I  see. 

As  my  soul  prompts  it.     Spirit,  fine  spirit  I    I'll  free  thee 
Within  two  days  for  ^liis. .  421 

Fer.  Host  sure,  the  goddess 

On  whom  these  airs  attend  I    Vouchsafe  my  prayer 
May  know  if  you  remain  upon  this  island  ; 
And  that  you  will  some  good  instruction  give 
How  I  may  bear  me  here  :  my  prime  request. 
Which  I  do  last  pronounce,  is,  0  you  wonder  I 
If  vou  be  maid  or  no? 

Mir.  No  wonder,  sir ; 

But  certainly  a  maid. 

Fer.  My  language  1  heavons  I 

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

Prm.  How  ?  the  best  ?  480 

What  wert  thou,  if  the  King  of  Naples  heard  tbee  ? 

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

Mir.  Alack,  for  mercy ! 

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

Proa.  [Aside]  The  Dake  of  Milan 

And  his  more  braver  daughter  could  control  thee, 
If  now  'twere  fit  to  do  't.     At  the  first  siffbt  440 

They  have  changed  eyes.     Delicate  Ariel, 
I'll  set  thee  free  for  this.     [To  Fer.]  A  word,  good  sir  ; 
I  fear  you  have  done  yourself  some  wrong  :  a  word, 

Mir.  Why  speaks  my  father  so  ungently  ?    This 
Is  the  third  man  that  e'er  I  saw,  the  first 
That  e'er  I  siffh'd  for  :  pity  move  my  father 
To  be  inclined  my  way  I 

Fer.  O,  if  a  virgin. 

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


8CEXE 11.]  THE  TEMPEST.  27 

Pron,  Soft,  sir  I  one  word  more. 

[Adde\  They  are  both  in  cither's  powers ;  but  this  swift 
business  450 

I  most  uneasy  make,  lest  too  Ught  winning 
Mak^the  prize  light.     [To  Fer."]  One  word  more  ;  I  charge 

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

Fer,  No,  as  I  am  a  man. 

Mir,  There's  nothing  ill  canMwell  in  such  a  temple : 
If  the  ill  spirit  liave  so  fair  a  house, 
Good  things  will  strive  to  dwell  with  't. 

Pros,  Follow  me. 

Speak  not  you  for  him  ;  he's  a  traitor.     Come  ;  460 

ril  manacle  thy  neck  and  feet  together : 
Sea- water  shalt  thou  drink  ;  thy  fcx)d  shall  be 
The  fresh-brook  muscles,  wither'd  roots  and  husks 
Wherein  the  acorn  cradled.     Follow. 

Fer,  No ; 

I  will  resist  such  entertainment  till 
Mine  enemy  has  more  power. 

\Draw8,  and  is  charmed  frort^  m&oing. 

Mir,  O  dear  father,- 

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

Pros,  What?    I  say 

My  foot  my  tutor?    Put  thy  sword  up,  traitor ; 
Who  makest  a  show  but  darest  not  strike,  thy  conscience 
Is  so  possessed  with  guilt :  come  from  thy  ward,  471 

For  I  can  here  disarm  thee  with  this  stick 
And  make  thy  weapon  drop. 

Mir,  Beseech  you,  father. 

Pros.  Hence  I  hang  not  on  my  garments. 

Mir.  Sir,  have  pity ; 

I'll  be  his  surety. 

Pros,  Silence  !  one  word  more 

Shall  make  me  chide  thee,  if  not  hate  thee.     What  I 
An  advocate  for  an  impostor  !  hush  ! 
Thou  think'st  there  is  no  more  such  shapes  as  he. 
Having  seen  but  him  and  Caliban  :  foolish  wench  I 
To  the  mast  of  men  this  is  a  Caliban  480 

And  they  to  him  are  angels. 

Mir.  My  affections 

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


S8  THE  TEMPEST.  [act  ii 

Pros,  Come  on  ;  obey : 

Tliy  nerves  are  in  their  infancy  ogain 
And  have  no  vigour  in  them. 

Fer.  Bo  they  ore  ; 

My  spirits,  as  in  a  dream,  arc  all  bound  up.  • 

My  father's  loss,  the  weakness  whicli  I'  feel. 
The  -wreck  of  all  my  friends,  nor  this  man's  threats. 
To  whom  I  am  subdued,  are  but  light  to  me, 
Might  I  but  through  my  prison  once  a  day  400 

Behold  this  maid  :  all  corners  else  o'  the  earth 
Let  liberty  make  use  of  ;  space  enough 
Have  I  in  such  a  prison*. 

Pros.  [Aside]  It  works.     [To  Per.]  Come  on. 
Thou  hast  done  well,  fine  Ariel  I    [To  Per.]  Follow  mc. 
[  To  Ari.]    Hark  what  thou  else  shalt  do  me. 

Mir,  Be  of  comfcrt ; 

My  father's  of  n  better  nature,  sir, 
Than  he  appears  by  speech  :  this  is  unwonted 
Which  now  came  from  him. 

Pros.  Thou  shalt  be  as  free 

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

Ari,  To  the  syllable.  500 

Pros,  Come,  follow.     Speol^  not  for  liim.  [Exeunt, 


ACT  II. 

Scene  I.    Anot/ier  part  of  the  idand. 

Enter  Alonso,  Sebastiak,  Antonio,  Gonzalo,  Adhian, 

Francisco,  and  otiiers, 

Oon,  Beseech  you,  sir,  be  merry  ;  you  have  cause. 
So  have  we  all,  of  joy  ;  for  our  escape 
Is  much  beyond  our  loss.     Our  hint  of  woo 
Is  common  ;  every  day  some  sailor's  wife, 
The  ipasters  of  some  merchant  and  the  merchant 
Have  just  our  theme  of  woo  ;  but  for  the  miracle, 
I  mean  our  preservation,  few  in  millions 
Can  speak  like  us  :  then  wisely,  good  sir,  weigh 
Our  sorrow  with  our  comfort. 

Alon,  Prithee,  peace. 

JSeb.  He  receives  comfort  like  cold  porridge.  10 

Ant.  The  visitor  will  not  give  him  o'er  so. 

Seb.  Look,  he's  winding  up  the  watch  of  his  wit ;  by  ac*^ 
by  it  will  strike. 

Oon,  Sir, — 


L 


SCE5EI.]  THE  TEMPEST.  29 

8eb,  One :  tell. 

Qon.  When  ever?'  grief  is  entertain'd  tliat's  offer* J, 
Comes  to  the  entertainer — 

&b,  A  dollar. 

Qon,  Dolour  comes  to  bim,  indeed :  you  liave  spoken 
truer  than  you  purposed.  20 

8eb.  You  liavo  taken  it  iviseller  than  I  meant  you 
should. 

Gon.  Therefore,  my  lord, — 

.471^.  Fie,  wliat  a  s])endthnft  is  he  of  his  tong^ue  I 

Alon,  I  prithee,  spare. 

Qon,  Well,  1  have  dtme  :  but  yet, — 

8d>,  He  will  be  talking. 

Ant  Which  of  ho  or  Adrian,  for  a  good  wager,  first  be- 
gins  to  crow  ? 

8eb,  The  old  cock.  SO 

Ant.  The  cockereL 

8eb,  Done.     The  wager? 

Ant.  A  laughter. 

Beb.  A  match  1 

Adr.  Though  this  island  seem  to  be  desert, — 

8eh.  Ha,  ha,  ha  1    So  you're  paid. 

Adr.  Uninhabitable  and  almost  inaooesaible, — 

Beb.  Yet,— 

Adr.  Yet,— 

Ant.  He  could  not  miss't  40 

Adr.  It  must  needs  be  of  subtle,  tender  and  delicate  tem- 
perance. 

Ant.  Temperance  was  a  delicate  wench. 

Beb.   At,  and  a  subtle ;  as  he  most  learnedly  delivered. 

Adr.  The  air  breathes  upon  us  here  most  sweetly. 

Bth.  As  if  it  had  lungs  and  rotten  ones. 

Ant.  Or  as  'twere  perfumed  by  a  fen. 

Oon.  Here  is  every  thing  advantageous  to  life. 

Ant.  True ;  save  means  to  lii'o.  SO 

Bd>.    Of  tliat  there's  none,  or  little. 

Gon,  How  lush  and  lusty  the  grasii  looks  1  how  green  I 

Ant.  The  ground  indeed  is  tawny. 

Sfib,  With  an  eye  of  green  int. 

Ant.  He  misses  not  much. 

8eb.  No ;  he  doth  but  mistake  the  truth  totally. 

Oon.  But  the  rarity  of  it  is, — which  is  indeed  almost 
beyond  credit.  -- 

8A.  As  many  vouched  rarities  are.     . 

Gon.  That  our  garments,  being,  as  they  were,  drenched 
in  the  sea,  hold  noth withstanding  their  freshness  and 
glosses,  being  rather  new-dycd  than  stained  with  saltwater. 


80  THE  TEMPEST.  [act  ii. 

Ant.  If  bnt  one  of  Ills  pockets  could  speak,  irotdd  it  not 
sajlielies? 

Seb,  Ay,  or  very  falsely  pocket  np  liis  report. 

€hn,  Metbinks  oar  garments  are  now  as  fresh  as  wlicn 
we  put  them  on  first  in  Afric,  at  the  marriage  of  the  king's 
fair  daughter  Claribel  to  the  King  of  Tunis.  71 

8eb.  'Twasa  sweet  marriage,  and  wo  prosper  well  in  our 
return. 

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

Gon,  Not  since  widow  Dido's  time. 

Ant,  Widow  1  a  pox  o'that  1  How  came  that  widow  in? 
widow  Dido  I 

8eb.  What  if  ho  had  said  "  widower  ^neas/' too  ?  Good 
Lord,  how  you  take  it ! 

Adr,  "Widow  Dido"  said  you?  you  make  me  study  of 
that :  she  was  of  Carthage,  not  of  Tunis. 

Oon.  This  Tunis,  sir,  was  Carthage. 

Adr,  Carthage? 

Oon.  I  assure  you,  Carthage. 

Seb,  His  word  i^  more  tluin  the  miniculoas  harp;  he 
hath  raised  the  wall  and  houses  too. 

Ant.  What  impossible  matter  will  he  make  easy  next? 

Seb.  I  think  he  will  carry  this  island  home  in  his  pocket 
and  give  it  his  son  for  an  apple.  91 

Ant.  And,  sowing  the  kernels  of  it  in  the  sea,  bring 
forth  more  JHlanda. 

Oon,  Av. 

Ant.  Why,  In  good  time. 

Oon,  Sir,  we  were  talking  that  our  garments  seem  now 
as  fredi  as  when  we  were  at  Tunis  at  the  marriage  of  your 
daughter,  who  is  now  queen. 

Ant,  And  the  rarest  that  e'er  came  there. 

S^.  Bate,  I  beseech  you,  widow  Dido.  100 

Ant.  O,  widow  Dido  I  ay,  widow  Dido. 

Oon.  Is  not,  sir,  my  doublet  as  fresh  as  the  first  day  I 
wore  it  7    I  mean,  in  a  sorl 

Ant,  That  sort  was  well  fished  for. 

Oon.  When  I  wore  it  at  your  daughter's  marriage? 

Alon.  Tou  cram  these  words  into  mine  ears  against 
The  stomach  of  my  sense.     Would  I  had  never 
Married  my  daughter  there  !  for,  coming  thence, 
Mv  son  is  lost  and,  in  my  rate,  she  too. 
Who  is  so  far  from  Italy  removed  110 

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


BCENEI.]  THE  TEMPEST.  81 

Fran.  Sir,  lie  may  live  : 

I  saw  him.  beat  the  sarges  under  him, 
And  ride  upon  their  bocks  ;  he  trod  the  water, 
Whose  enmity  he  flung  aside,  and  breasted 
The  surge  most  swoln  that  met  him  ;  his  bold  head 
'Boye  the  contentious  waves  he  kept,  and  oar'd 
Himself  with  his  good  arms  in  lusty  stroke 
To  the  shore,  that  o'er  his  wave- worn  basis  bow'd,  120 

As  stooping  to  relieve  him  :    I  not  doubt 
He  came  alive  to  land. 

Ahn.         '  No,  no,  lie's  gone. 

5fe6.  Sir,  you  may  thank  youjseU  for  this  great  loss. 
That  would  not  bless  our  Europe  with  your  daughter, 
But  rather  lose  her  to  an  African  ; 
Where  she  at  h«st  is  banish 'd  from  your  eye. 
Who  hath  cause  to  wet  the  grief  on't. 

Alon.  Prithee,  peace, 

8d),  You  were  kneeVd  to  and  importuned  otherwise 
By  all  of  us,  and  the  fair  soul  herself 

Weigh'd  between  loathness  and  obedience  at  130 

Which  end  o'  the  beam  should  bow.  We  have  lost  your  son, 
I  fear,  for  ever :  Milan  and  Naples  liave 
More  widows  in  them  of  this  business'  malung 
Than  we  bring  men  to  comfort  them  : 
The  fault's  your  own. 

Alon,  So  is  the  dear'st  o'  tbe  lo6& 

Qon.  My  lord  Sebastian, 
The  truth  you  speak  doth  lack  some  gentleness 
And  time  to  speak  it  in  :  vou  rub  the  sore, 
When  you  should  brin^  the  plaster. 

8eh.  Very  well. 

Ant,  And  most  chimrgeonly.  140 

Oon,  It  is  foul  weather  in  us  all,  good  sir. 
When  you  are  doudy. 

8eb,  Foul  weather? 

Ant.  Very  foul. 

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

Ant.  He'ld  sow't  with  nettle-seed. 

iSSs6.  Or  docks,  or  mallowB. 

Chn.  And  were  the  king  on't,  what  would  I  do  ? 

8eb.  'Scape  being  drunk  for  want  of  wine. 

Oon.  V  the  commonwealth  I  would  by  contraries 
Execute  all  things  ;  for  no  kind  of  traffic 
Would  I  admit  ;  no  name  of  magistrate ; 
Letters  should  not  be  known  ;  riches,  poverty. 
And  use  of  service,  none ;  contract,  succession. 
Bourn,  bound  of  land,  tiltli,  vineyard,  none  ; 


y 


S2  THE  TEMPEST.  [act  ii. 

No  use  of  metal,  com,  or  wine,  or  oil ; 

No  occupation  ;  all  men  idle,  all ; 

And  women  too,  but  innocent  and  pure  ; 

No  sovereignty  ; —  ^ 

Seb'  Tet  ho  would  be  king  on't. 

Ant  The  Litter  end  of  his  commonwealth  forgets  tho 
beginning. 

Qon,  All  things  in  common  nature  should  produce 
Without  sweat  or  dndeavour  :  treason,  felony,  100 

Bword,  pike,  knife,  gun,  or  need  of  any  engine, 
AVould  I  not  have ;  but  nature  should  bring  forth. 
Of  its  own  kind,  all  foison,*ll  abundance, 
To  feed  my  innocent  people. 

Scb.  No  marrying  'ra»ng  his  subjects? 

Ant.  None,  man  ;  all  idle  :  whores  and  knaves. 

Cron,  I  would  with  such  perfection  govern,  sir. 
To  excel  tho  golden  age. 

>&6.  Go'.l  save  his  majesty  I 

Ant.  Long  live  Gonzalo  I 

Ooti.  And, — do  you  mark  mo,  sir  ? 

Alon.  Prithco,  r.o  moro  :  ihou  dost  talk  nothing  to  mo. 

Gon.  I  do  well  beliovo  your  highnesss  ;  and  did  it  to 
minister  occasion  to  th(«o  gentlemen,  who  arc  of  such  si^n- 
sible  aud  nimblo  lungs  that  they  always  use  to  laugh  at 
nothing. 

Ant.  'Twas  you  wo  laughed  at. 

Gon,  Who  ill  iliLs  kind  of  merry  fooling  am  nothing  to 
you  :  so  you  may  continue  and  laugh  at  nothing  still. 

Ant,  What  a  blow  wns  there  given  I  180 

Seb.  An  it  had  not  fallen  fiat-long, 

Gon.  You  are  gentlemen  of  bravo  mettle ;  you  would  lift 
the  moon  out  of  her  sphere,  if  sho  would  continue  ia  it  fivo 
weelcs  without  changing. 

Enter  Ariel,  intidble,  playing  golemn  music. 

8eb.  We  would  so,  and  thrn  go'a  batfowling. 

Ant  Nay,  gtyod  my  lord,  be  not  angry. 

Gon.  No,  I  warrant  you  ;  I  will  not  adventure  my  dis- 
cretion so  weakly.  Will  you  laugh  me  asleep,  for  I  am 
very  heavy  ? 

Afit,  Go  sleep,  and  hear  us.  190 

[AU  sleep  except  Alon.,  Seb.,  and  Ant. 

Alon  Wliat,  all  so  soon  asleep  !     I  wish  mine  eyes 
Would,  with  themselves,  shut  up  my  thoughts :  1  find 
They  are  inclined  to  do  so. 

8eb.  Please  you,  sir,  ' 

00  not  omit  the  heavy  ofter  of  it  *: 


bcenbl]  the  tempest.  83 

It  seldom  visits  sorrow ;  when  it  dotli. 
It  is  a  comforter. 

Ant.  We  two,  my  lord. 

Will  guara  your  person  while  you  take  your  rest. 
And  watch  your  safety. 

Alon,  Thank  you.     Wondrous  heavy. 

[Ahnso  sleeps.     Exit  Ariel. 

8eb.  What  a  strange  drowsiness  possesses  them  ! 

Ant.  It  is  the  quality  o'  the  climate. 

Seb.  ■  Wliy  200 

Both  it  not  then  our  eyelids  sink?    I  find  not 
Myself  disposed  to  sleep. 

Ant.  Nor  I ;  my  spirits  are  nimble. 

They  fell  togetlier  all,  as  by  consent ; 
They  dropp'd,  as  by  n  thunder-stroke.     What  might. 
Worthy  Sebastian  f    O,  what  might  ? — No  more : — 
And  yet  me  tliinks  I  see  it  in  thy  face, 
What  thou  shouldst  bo :  the  occasion  speaks  thee,  and 
My  strong  imagination  sees  a  crown 
Dropping  upon  thy  head. 

Seb.  What,  art  thou  waking? 

A  nt.  Bo  you  not  hear  me  speak  ? 

Seb.  I  do ;  and  surely         210 

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

Ant.  Noble  Sebastian, 

Tbou  let*st  thy  fortune  sleep— die,  rather  ;  ivink'st 
Whiles  tlion  art  waking. 

8A,  Thou  dost  snore  distinctly  ; 

There's  meaning  in  thy  snores. 

Ant.  I  am  more  serious  than  my  custom  :  you 
Must  be  so  too,  if  heed  me  ;  which  to  do  220 

Trebles  theo  o'er. 

Seb.  Well,  I  am  standing  water. 

Ant.  1*11  teach  you  how  to  flow. 

J3i'b.  Boeo:  to  ebb 

Hereditary  sloth  instructs  me. 

A7it.  O, 

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

Seb,  Prithee,  say  on  : 

fiHAK.  I.— 2 


84  THE  TEMPEST.  [xcTiu 

Tho  Betting  of  tliine  eye  and  check  proclaim  ^ 

A  matter.from  thee,  and  a  birth  indeed  280  . 

Which  tlut)es  thee  much  to  yield.  ' 

Ant.  Thus,  sir :     ♦ 

Although  this  lord  of  weak  remembrance,  this. 

Who  shall  be  of  as  little  memory  *      i 

When  lie  is  earth'd,  hath  here  almost  persuaded, —  ^ 

For  he's  a  spirit  of  pereuasion,  only 
Professes  to  persuade, — the  king  his  son's  alive, 

'Tis  as  impossible  that  he's  undrown'd  ^     ^i| 

As  he  that  sleeps  here  swims. 

S^.  I  have  no  hope 

That  he's  undrown'd. 

Ant  O,  out  of  that  "no  hope" 

What  gpreat  hope  have  you  !  no  hope  that  way  is  240 

Another  way  so  high  a  hope  that  even 
Ambition  cannot  pierce  a  wink  beyond. 
But  doubt  discovery  there.    Will  you  grant  with  me 
That  Ferdinand  is  drown'd  ? 

ikb.  He's  gone. 

Ant,  Then,  tell  me. 

Who's  the  next  heir  of  Naples? 

JSeh.  Claribel. 

Ant  She  that  is  queen  of  Tunis  ;  she  that  dwells 
Ten  leagues  beyond  man's  life  ;  she  that  from  Naples 
Can  have  no  note,  unless  the  sun  were  post — 
The  man  i'  the  moon's  too  slow — till  new-bom  china 
Be  rough  and  razorable  ;  she  that — from  whom  ?  250 

We  all  were  sea-swallow'd,  though  some  cast  again» 
And  by  that  destiny  to  perform  an  act 
Whereof  what's  past  is  prologue,  what  to  come 
In  yours  and  my  discharge. 

JSeb.  Wliat  stuff  is  this  1  how  say  you  T 

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

Aht.  A  space  whose  every  cubit 

Beems  to  cry  out,  **  How  shall  that  Claribel 
Measure  us  back  to  Naples  ?    Keep  in  Tunis, 
And  let  Sebastian  wake."     Say,  this  were  death  200 

Thnt  now  hath  seized  them  ;  why,  they  were  no  worse 
Than  now  they  are.     There  be  that  can  rule  Nap'.s.« 
As  well  as  he  that  sleeps  ;  lords  that  can  prato 
As  amply  and  unnecessarily 
A3  this  Uonzalo ;  I  m^'self  could  make 
A  chough  of  as  deep  chat.     O,  that  you  bore 
The  mind  that  I  do  !  what  a  sleep  were  this 
For  your  advauccmeut  I    Do  you  understand  me  ? 


acEOTi]  THE  TEMPEST.  85 

8eb.  Metliinkslda 

Ant,  And  liow  does  your  content 

Tender  your  own  good  fortune  ? 

Beb.  I  remember  270 

You  did  supplant  your  brother  Prospcro. 

ArU.  True : 

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

8eb.  But,  for  your  conscience  ? 

Ant,  Ay,  sir ;  where  lies  that?  if  'twere  a  kibe, 
Twould  put  me  to  my  slipper  :  but  I  feel  not 
This  deity  in  my  bosom  :  twenty  consciences, 
That  stand  'twixt  me  and  Milan,  candied  be  they 
And  melt  ere  they  molest  I    Here  lies  your  brother,        280 
No  better  than  the  earth  he  lies  upon. 
If  he  were  that  which  now  he's  like,  that's  dead  ; 
Whom  I,  with  this  obedient  steel,  three  inches  of  it. 
Can  lay  to  bed  for  ever  ;  whiles  you,  doing  thus. 
To  the  perpetual  wink  for  aye  wight  put 
This  ancient  morsel,-  this  Sir  Prudence,  who 
Should  not  apbraid  our  course.     For  all  the  rest. 
They'll  take  suggestion  as  a  cat  laps  milk ; 
They'll  tell  the  dock  to  any  business  that 
We  say  befits  the  hour. 

8d),  Thy  case,  dear  friend,  290 

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

Ant  Draw  together ; 

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

Bib,  O,  but  one  word.      [TTiey  talk  apart. 

Re-enter  Ahiel,  intmble. 

Art.  My  master  through  his  art  foresees  the  danger 
That  you,  his  friend,  arc  in  ;  and  sends  me  forth —  • 
For  else  his  project  dies— to  keep  them  living. 

losings  in  Q<mtaU>*z  ear. 

While  yon  here  do  snoring  lie,  800 

Open-eyed  conspiracy 

His  time  dotli  take. 
If  of  life  you  keep  a  care, 
8hake  of!  slumber,  and  beware : 

Awake^  awake  1 


36  THE  TEMPEST.  [act  ii. 

Ant,  Tlicn  let  ns  botli  bo  sadden. 

Gon,  Now,  ftood  angels 

Preserve  the  king.  [  Th^j/  uake. 

Alon.  Why,  how  now?  ho,  awake  I  Why  n re  you  drawn  V 
Wherefore  this  ghastly  looking  ? 

Oon,  Wlmt's  the  matter? 

Seb.  Whiles  wo  stood  hero  securing  your  rcjxjsc, 
'Even  now,  wo  heard  a  hollow  burst  of  bellowii^g 
Like  bulls,  or  rather  lions  :  did't  not  wake  you  V     ^ 
It  struck  mine  ear  most  terribly. 

Alon,  I  heard  nothing. 

A7it,  O,  'twas  a  din  to  fright  a  monster's  ear, 
To  make  an  earthquake  !  sure,  it  was  the  rear 
Of  a  whole  herd  of  lions. 

Alon,  Heard  you  this,  Gonzalo? 

Oon.  Upon  mine  honor,  sir,  I  heard  a  humming. 
And  tbat  a  strange  one  too,  which  did  awake  me  : 
I  shaked  you,  sir,  and  cried  :  as  mine  eyes  open'd, 
I  saw  their  weapons  drawn  :  there  was  a  noise,  SSO 

That's  verily.     *Tis  best  we  stand  upon  our  guard. 
Or  that  we  quit  this  place  :  let's  draw  our  weapons. 

Alon.  Lead  off  this  ground ;  and  let's  make  further  search 
For  my  poor  son. 

Oon.  Heavens  keep  liim  from  these  beasts  I 

For  he  Is,  sure,  i'  the  island. 

Alon,  Lead  away. 

Art.  Prosjiero  my  lord  shall  know  wliat  I  liave  done : 
60,  king,  go  safely  on  to  seek  thy  son.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  IL    Another  part  of  the  island. 

Enter  Caliban  icUh  a  burden  oftDood,    A  noise  of  thunder 

heara, 

Cal.  All  the  Infections  that  the  sun  sucks  up 
From  bogs,  fens,  Hats,  on  Prosper  fall  and  make  him 
By  inch -meal  a  disease  I    His  spirits  hear  me 
And  yet  I  needs  must  curse.     But  they'll  nor  pinch. 
Fright  me  with  urchin -shows,  pitch  me  i*  the  mire. 
Nor  lead  me,  like  a  firebrand,  in  the  dark 
Out  of  my  way,  unless  he  bid  *em  ;  but 
For  every  trifle  are  they  set  upon  me  ; 
Sometime  like  apes  that  mow  and  chatter  at  mo 
And  after  bite  me,,  then  like  hedgehogs  which.  10 

Lie  tumbling  in  my  barefoot  way  and  mount 
Their  pricks  at  my  footfall ;  sometime  am  I 
All  wound  with  adders  who  "with  cloven  tongues 
Do  hiss  me  into  madness. 


{ 


B0E3nsiL]  THE  TEMPEST.  87 

EnUr  TRmciJLO. 

Lo,  now,  lo  I  / 

Here  comes  a  spirit  of  his,  and  to  torment  me  ^ 

For  bringing  wood  in  slowly.     I'll  fall  fiat ; 
Perchance  he  will  not  mind  me. 

Trill.  Here's  neither  bash  nor  shrub,  to  bear  off  any 
weather  at  all,  and  another  storm  brewing  ;  I  hear  it  sing  i' 
the  wind :  yond  same  blaclc  cloud,  vond  huge  one,*  looks  like 
a  foul  bombard  that  would  shed  his  liquor.  If  it  should 
thunder  as  it  did  before,  I  know  not  where  to  hide  my  head: 
yond  same  cloud  cannot  choose  but  fall  by  pailfuls.  Wliat 
iiave  we  here  ?  a  man  or  a  fish ?  dead  or  alive?  A  fish  :  he 
smells  like  a  fish  ;  a  very  ancient  and  fish4ike  smell ;  a  kind 
of  not  of  the  newest  Poor-John.  A  strange  fish  !  Were  I 
in  England  now,  as  once  I  was,  and  liad  but  this  fish 
painted,  not  a  holiday  fool  there  but  would  give  a  piece  of 
silver :  there  would  this  monster  make  a  man  ;  any  strange 
beast  there  makes  a  man  :  when  they  will  not  give  a  doit  to 
relieve  a  lame  beggar,  they  will  lay  out  ten  to  see  a  dead 
Indian.  Legged  like  a  man  t  and  his  fins  like  arms  !  Warm 
o'  my  troth  I  I  do  now  let  loose  my  opinion ;  hold  it  no 
longer :  this  is  no  fish,  but  an  islander,  that  hath  lately  suf- 
fer^ by  a  thunderbolt.  [Thunder J\  Alas,  the  storm  is  come 
again  I  my  best  way  is  to  creep  under  his  gaberdine ;  there 
is  no  other  shelter  nereabout :  misery  acquaints  a  man  with 
strange  bed- fellows.  I  will  here  shroud  till  the  dregs  of 
the  storm  be  past. 

Enter  Stefhano,  tinging :  a  7>otUe  in  his  liand. 

Ste.  I  shall  no  more  to  sea,  to  sea. 
Here  shall  I  die  ashore — 

This  is  a  very  scurvy  tune  to  sing  at  a  man's  funeral :  well, 
here's  my  comfort  •  [I>riHk4. 

[Singg, 

The  master,  the  swabber,  the  boatswain  and  I, 

ThJe  gunner  and  his  mate 
Loved  Mall,  Meg  and  Marian  and  Margery,  60 

Bnt  none  of  us  cared  for  Kate ; 
For  she  liad  a  tonn^ue  with  a  tang. 
Would  cry  to  a  sailor.  Go  hang  1 
She  loved  not  the  savour  of  tar  nor  of  pitch. 
Yet  a  tailor  might  scratch  her  where'er  she  did  itch  : 
Then  to  sea,  boys,  and  let  her  go  hang  I 

This  is  a  scurvy  tune  too :  but  here's  my  comfort.  [Drinka, 
Col.  Do  not  torment  me :  Oh  1 


88  THE  TEMPEST.  [act  ir. 

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

Col.  The  spirit  torments  me  ;  Oh  I 

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

Col,  Do  not  torment  me,  prithee ;  1*11  bring  my  wood 
home  faster. 

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

Col.  Thou  dost  me  yet  but  little  hurt ;  thou  wilt  anon,  I 
know  it  by  thy  trembling  :  now  Prosper  works  upon  thee. 

Ste.  Come  on  your  ways  ;  open  your  mouth  ;  here  is  that 
wliich  will  give  language  to  you,  cat :  open  your  mouth ; 
this  will  shake  your  shaking,  lean  tell  you,  and  that  sound- 
ly :  you  cannot  tell  who's  your  friend  :  open  your  chapB 
again, 

IHn.  I  should  know  that  voice  :  it  should  be — but  he  is 
drowned  ;  and  these  are  devils  :  O  defend  me  1 

Ste.  Four  legs  and  two  voices  :  a  most  delicate  monster  I 
His  forward  voice  now  is  to  speak  well  of  his  friend  ;  his 
bacikward  voice  is  to  utter  foul  speeches  and  to  detract.  If 
all  the  wine  in  my  bottle  will  recover  him,  I  will  help  his 
ague.  Come.  Amdlil  I  will  pour  some  in  thy  other 
mouth. 

Trin.  St«pliano !  100 

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

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

Ste.  If  thou  beest  Trinculo,  come  forth :  I'll  pull  thee  by 
the  lesser  legs  :  if  any  be  Trinculo's  legs,  these  are  they. 
Thou  art  very  Trinculo  indeed  I  How  camest  thou  to  be 
the  siege  of  this  moon-calf  ?  can  he  vent  Trinculos? 

Trin,  I  took  him  to  be  killed  with  a  thunder-stroke.  But 


SCENE  II.]  THE  TEMPEST.  80 

ftit  tlioa  not  drowned,  Stepliano?  I  hope  now  tUon  art  not 
drowned.  Is  the  storm  overblown  ?  I  Lid  me  under  the 
dead  moon-calf's  gaberdine  for  fear  of  the  storm.  And  art 
thou  living,  Stephano?  O  Stephano,  two  Keopolitans 
'scaped  t 

8te.  Prithee,  do  not  turn  me  alx>ut ;  my  stomach  is  not 
constant. 

^     Cat.  [Aside]  Thesebefinethings,  an  if  they  be  not  sprites. 
Tliat's  a  brave  god  and  bears  celestial  liquor^ 
I  will  kneel  to  him. 

Ste.  How  didst  thou  'scape  ?  How  earnest  thou  hither  1 
swear  by  this  bottle  how  thou  earnest  hither.  I  escaped 
upon  a  butt  of  sack  which  the  sailors  heaved  o'crboard,  by 
this  bottle  I  which  I  made  of  the  bark  of  a  tree  with  mine 
own  hands  since  I  was  cast  ashoro. 

Col.  m  swear  upon  that  bottle  to  he  thy  true  subject ; 
for  the  liquor  is  not  earthly. 

Ste.  Here  ;  swear  then  how  thou  escapedst. 

Trin,  Swui||%shore,  man,  like  a  duck  :  I  can  swim  like  a 
duck«  I'll  be  swom. 

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

Trin,  O  Stephano,  hast  any  more  of  this  ? 

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

Gal.  Hast  thou  not  dropp'd  from  heaven  ?  140 

Ste,  Out  o'  the  moon,  t  do  assure  thee :  I  was  the  man  T 
the  moon  when  time  was. 

Cat,  I  have  seen  tliee  in  her  and  I  do  adore  thee : 
My  mistress  show'd  me  thee  and  thy  dog  and  tliy  bush. 

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

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

Cat.  1*11  show  thee  every  fertile  inch  o*  th*  island ; 
And  I  will  kiss  thy  foot :  I  prithee,  be  my  god. 

Trin.  By  this  light,  a  most  perfidious  and  drunken  mon- 
ster !  when's  god's  asleep,  he'll  rob  his  bottle. 

Cat.  I'll  kiss  thy  foot ;  I'll  swear  myself  thy  subject. 

Ste.  Come  on  then  ;  down,  and  swear. 

IHn.  I  shall  laugh  myself  to  death  at  this  puppy-headed 
monster.  A  mosi  scurvy  monster  1  I  could  nnil  in  my 
heart  to  beat  him,-^  160 

Ste*  Come,  kiss. 


40  THE  TEMPEST.  [acthl 

7Hn,  Bnt  that  the  poor  monster's  in  drink:  an  abomi- 
nable monster  I 
Cal,  111  show  thee  the  best  springs  ;  I'll  pluck  thee  ber- 
ries; 
I'll  fish  for  thee  and  get  thee  wood  enough. 
A  plague  upon  the  tyrant  that  I  serve  I 
I'll  bear  him  no  more  sticks,  but  follow  thee. 
Thou  wondrous  man. 

Trin,  A  most  ridiculoos  monster,  to  make  a  wonder  of  a 
poor  drunkard  !  170 

Col.  I  prithee,  let/ me  bring  thee  where  crabs  grow  ; 
And  I  with  my  long  nails  will  did  thee  pig-nuts ; 
Show  thee  a  jay's  nest  and  instruct  thee  how 
To  snare  the  nimble  marmoset ;  I'll  bring  thee 
To  clustering  filberts  and  sometimes  I'll  get  thee 
Young  scamcls  from  the  rock.     Wilt  thou  go  with  me  ? 

8^,  I  prithee  now,  lead  the  way  without  any  more  talk- 
ing.    Trincnlo,  the  king  and  all  our  company  else  being 
drowned,  we  will  inherit  here  :  here  ;  bea#||iy  bottle  :  fel- 
low Trincnlo,  we'll  fill  him  by  and  by  again. 
QU.  [&ngs  drunkenly] 

Farewell,  master  ;  farewell,  farewell  1 
7Hn,  A  howling  monster  ;  a  drunken  monster  I 
Col,        No  more  dams  I'll  make  for  fish ; 
Nor  fetch  in  firing 
At  requiring ; 
Nor  scrape  trencher,  nor  wash  dish : 
'Ban,  'Ban,  Cacaliban 
Has  a  new  master :  get  a  new  man. 
Freedom,  hey-day !    hey-day,  freedom  I   freedom,  hey-day, 
freedom  1  191 

8U,  O  brave  monster  !    Lead  the  way.  [Exeunt, 


ACT.  III. 

Scene  I.    Before  Probpero's  cell. 

Unter  Ferdinand,  hearing  a  log. 

Fef,  There  be  some  sports  are  painful,  and  their  labor 
Delight  in  them  sets  off  :  some  kinds  of  baseness 
Are  nobly  undergone  and  most  poor  matters 
Point  to  rich  ends.     This  my  mean  task 
Would  be  as  heavy  to  me  as  odious,  but 
The  mistress  which  I  serve  quickens  what's  dead 
And  makes  my  labours  pleasures  :  O,  she  is 
Ten  times  more  gentle  than  her  father's  crabbed. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  TEMPEST.  41 

And  he's  composed  of  liarslmess.     I  must  remove 

Some  thousands  of  these  logs  and  pile  them  up^ 

Upon  a  sore  injunction  :  my  sweet  mistress 

Weeps  when  she  sees  me  work,  and  says,  such  baseness 

Had  never  like  executor.     I  forget : 

But  these  sweet  thoughts  do  even  refresh  my  labours, 

f  Most  busilcbs  when  1  do  it. 

Enter  Miranda  ;  and  Psosfero  ai  a  dikance,  unseen. 

Mir.  "  Alas,  now,  pray  you, 

Work  not  so  hard  :  I  would  the  lightning  had 
Burnt  up  those  logs  that  you  are  enjoia'd  to  pile? 
Pray,  set  it  down  and  rest  you  :  when  this  burns, 
'Twill  weep  for  having  wearied  you.     My  father 
Is  hard  at  study  ;  pray  now,  rest  yourself  ;  30 

He's  safe  for  these  three  hours. 

Fer.  O  most  dear  mistress, 

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

Mir.  If  you'll  sit  down, 

rU  bear  your  logs  the  while  :  pray,  give  me  that ; 
ril  carry  it  to  the  pile. 

Fer,  No,- precious  creature  ; 

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

Mir.  It  would  become  me 

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

Pros.  Poor  worm,  thou  art  infected  ! 

This  visitation  shows  it. 

Mir.  You  look  wearily. 

Fer.  No,  noble  mistress  ;  'tis  fresh  morning  with  me 
Wlien  you  are  by  at  night.     I  do  l>eseech  you — ' 
Chietfy  that  I  might  set  it  in  my  prayers — 
'Wliat  is  your  name  ? 

■   Mir.  Miranda — 0  my  father, 

3  have  broke  your  best  to  say  so  ! 

Fer.  Admired  Miranda  I 

Indeed  the  top  of  admiration  !  worth 
What's  dearest  to  the  world  !     Full  many  a  lady 
1  have  eyed  with  best  regard  and  many  a  time  40 

The  harmony  of  their  tongues  hath  into  bondage 
Brought  my  too  diligent  ear  :  for  several  virtues 
Have  I  lik^  several  women  ;  never  any 
With  so  full  soul,  but  some  defect  in  her 


42  THE  TEMPEST.  [actiii. 

Did  quarrel  with  the  noblest  grace  she  owed  | 

And  put  it  t^  the  foil  :  but  jou,  O  you, 
So  perfect  and  so  peerless,  are  created 
Of  every  creature's  best ! 

Mir,  I  do  not  know 

One  of  my  sex  ;  no  woman's  face  remember, 
Save,  from  my  glass,  mine  own  ;  nor  have  I  seen 
More  that  I  may  call  men  than  you,  good  friend. 
And  my  dear  father  :  how  features  are  abroad, 

I  am  skilless  of  ;  but,  by  my  modesty^  j 

The  jewel  in  my  dower,  I  would  not  wish 
Any  companion  in  the  world  but  you. 

Nor  can  imagination  form  a  shape,  I 

Brides  yourself,  to  like  of.     But  I  prattle 

Something  too  wildly  and  my  father's  precepts  I 

I  therein  do  forget. 

Fer.  I  am  in  my  condition 

A  prince,  Miranda  ;  I  do  think,  a  king  ;  00 

I  would,  not  BO  ! — and  would  no  more  endure 
This  wooden  slavery  than  to  suffer 
Tlie  tlesh-ily  blow  my  mouth.     Hear  my  soul  speak  : 
The  very  instant  that  I  saw  vou,  did 

My  heart  fly  to  your  service  ;  there  resides,  -. 

To  make  me  slave  to  it ;  and  for  your  sake 
Am  I  this  patient  log-man. 

3/ir.  Do  you  love  me  ? 

Fer.  O  heaven,  O  earth,  bear  witness  to  this  sound 
And  crown  what  I  profess  with  kind  event 
If  I  speak  true  !  if  lioUowly,  invert  70 

What  best  is  boded  me  to  mischief  I    I 
Beyond  all  limit  of  what  else  i'  the  world 
Do' love,  prize,  honour  you. 

Mir,  I  am  a  fool 

To  weep  at  what  I  am  glad  of. 

Pros,      '  Fair  encounter  | 

Of  two  most  rare  affections  I    Heavens  rain  grace 
On  that  which  breeds  between  'em  1  ^ 

Fer.  Wherefore  weep  you  ? 

Mir.  At  mine  unworthiness  that  dare  not  offer 
What  I  desire  to  give,  and  much  less  take 
What  I  shall  die  to  want.     But  this  is  trifling  ; 
And  all  the  more  it  seeks  to  hide  itself,  80 

The  bigger  bulk  it  shows.     Hence,  bashful  cunning  I 
And  prompt  me,  plain  and  holy  innocence  ! 
I  am  your  wife,  if  you  will  marry  me  ; 

If  not,  ril  die  your  maid  :  to  be  your  fellow  1 

You  may  d«ny  me ;  but  I'll  be  your  servant* 


fiCENBU.]  THE  TEMPEST.  48 

Wbetlier  you  will  or  no, 

Fer,  My  mistress,  dearest ; 

And  I  thus  humble  ever. 

Mir,  '  My  husband,  then  ? 

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

Mir.  And  mine,  witli  my  heart  in't ;  and  now  farewell 
Till  half  an  hour  hence.  91 

Fer.  A  thousand  thousand  ! 

[Exeunt  Fer,  and  Mir,  severally. 

Pros,  So  glad  of  this  as  they  I  cannot  be. 
Who  are  suprised  withal ;  but  my  rejoicing 
At  nothing  can  be  more.     I'll  to  my  book, 
For  yet  ere  supper-time  must  I  perform 
Mucn  business  appertaining.  [Fxit, 

Scene  II.    Another  part  of  tTie  island. 

Enter  Caliban,  Stephano,  and  Trinculo. 

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

Trin.  Servant-monster  I  the  folly  of  this  island  1  They 
say  there's  bat  five  upon  this  isle  :  we  are  three  of  them  ; 
if  th'  other  two  bo  brained  like  us,  the  state  totters. 

Ste.  Drink,  servant-monster,  when  I  bid  thee :  thy  eyes 
are  almost  set  in  thy  head.  10 

Trin,  Where  should  they  be  set  else  ?  he  were  a  brave 
monster  indeed,  if  they  were  set  in  his  tail. 

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

Trin,  Your  lieutenant,  if  yon  list ;  he's  no  standard.      20 

Ste,  We'll  not  run,  Monsieur  Monster. 

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

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

Col.  How  does  thv  honour?    Let  me  lick  thy  shoo, 
ril  not  ser^'e  him  ;  he's  not  valiant. 

Trin.  Thou  liest,  most  ignorant  monster  :  I  am  in  rase  to 
justle  a  constable.  Why,  thou  deboslied  fish,  thou,  was 
there  ever  man  a  coward  that  hath  drunk  so  much  f<ack  as  I 
to-day  ?  Wilt  thou  tell  a  monstrous  lie,  being  but  half  a 
fish  and  half  a  monster  ? 


44  THE  TEMPEST.  [act  ill. 

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

Trin.  * '  Lord  "  quoth  he  I  That  a  monster  should  be  such 
a  natural ! 

Cal.  Lo,  lo,  again  !  bite  him  to  death,  I  prithee. 

Ste.  Trinculo,  keep  a  good  tongue  in  your  head  :  if  you 
prove  a  mutineer, — ^tne  next  tree  I  The  poor  monster's  my 
&ul)ject  and  he  shall  not  suffer  indignity. 

CaL  I  thank  my  noble  lord.  Wilt  thou  be  pleased  to 
hearken  once  again  to  the  suit  I  made  to  thee? 

8U.  Marry,  will  I :  kneel  and  repeat  it ;  I  will  stand,  and 
so  shall  Trinculo. 

Enter  Ariel,  invuible, 

Cal.  As  I  told  thee  before,  I  am  subject  to  a  tyrant,  a  sor- 
cerer, that  by  his  cunning  hath  cheated  me  of  tlie  island. 

Ari.  Thouliest.  51 

Cal.  Thou  liest,  thou  jesting  monkey,  thou  :  I  would  my 
valiant  master  would  destroy  thee  !    I  do  not  lie. 

JSte.  Trinculo,  if  you  trouble  him  any  more  in  's  talc,  by 
this  hand,  I  will  supplant  some  of  your  teeth. 

Trin.  Why,  I  said  nothing. 

Ste.  Mum,  then,  and  no  more.     Proceed. 

Cal.  I  say,  by  sorcely  he  got  this  isle  ;  60 

From  me  he  got  it.     If  thy  greatness  will 
Revenge  it  on  him, — for  1  know  thou  darest. 
But  this  thing  dare  not, — 

Ste.  That's  most  certain. 

Cal.  Thou  shalt  be  lord  of  it  and  I'll  serve  thee. 

Ste.  How  now  shall  this  be  compassed  ?  Canst  thou  bring 
me  to  the  party  ? 

Cal.  Yea,  yea,  my  lord  :  I'll  yield  him  thee  asleep. 
Where  thou  mayst  knock  a  nail  into  his  head. 

Art.  Thou  liest ;  thou  const  not.  70 

Cal.  What  a  pied  ninny's  this  !    Thou  scurvy  patch  I 
I  do  beseech  thy  fatness,  give  him  blows 
And  take  his  bottle  from  him  :  when  that's  gone 
He  shall  drink  nought  but  brine  ;  -for  I'll  not  show  him 
Where  the  quick  freshes  are. 

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

Trin.  Why,  what  did  I  ?  I  did  notliing.  I'll  go  farther 
off.  81 

Ste.  Didst  thou  not  say  he  lied  t 

Ari.  Thou  liest. 

Ste.  Do  I  so?  take  thou  that.    IBeots  Trin.} 


BCEKEH.]  THE  TEMPEST.  49 

As  70U  like  this,  give  me  the  lie  another  time. 

Trin.  I  did  not  give  the  lie.  Out  o'  your  wits  and  hear- 
ing too  ?  A  po]w  o'  your  bottle  I  this  can  sack  and  drinking 
do.  A  murrain  on  your  monster,  and  the  devil  take  your 
fingers  ! 

Gal.  Ha,  ha,  ha  I  90 

fiK«.  Now,  forward  with  your  tale.  Prithee,  stand  farther, 
off. 

Oal.  Beat  him  enough  :  after  a  little  time 
ril  beat  him  too. 

Ste.  Stand  farther.     Come,  proceed. 

CcU.  Why,  as  I  told  thee,  'tis  a  custom  with  him, 
I'  th'  afternoon  to  sleep  :  there  thou  mayst  brain  him, 
ELaving  first  seized  his  books,  or  with  a  log 
Batter  liis  skull,  or  ptfunch  him  with  a  8tcS[e, 
Or  cut  his  wezand  with  thy  knife.     Remember 
First  to  possess  his 'books  ;  for  without  them  100 

He'd  but  a  sot,  as  I  am,  por  hath  not 
One  spirit  to  command  :  they  all  do  hate  him 
As  lootedly  as  I.     Bum  but  liis  books. 
He  has  brave  ut«nsils,  — for  so  he  calls  them, — 
Which,  when  he  has  a  house,  he'll  deck  withal. 
And  that  most  deeply  to  consider  is 
The  beauty  of  his  daughter  ;  he  himself 
Calls  her  a  nonpareil  :  I  never  saw  a  woman. 
But  only  Sycorax  my  dam  and  she  ; 

But  she  as  far  surpasse  th  Sycorax  110 

As  great'st  docs  least. 

8te.  Is  it  so  brave  a  lass  ? 

CcU.  Ay,  lord  :  she  will  become  thy  bed,  I  warrant. 
And  bring  thee  forth  brave  brood. 

Ste.  Monster.  I  will  kill  this  man  :  his  daughter  and  I 
will  be  king  and  queen,— save  our  graces  1 — and  Trinculo 
and  thvself  shall  be  viceroys.  Dost  thou  like  the  plot, 
Triucuio? 

Trin.  Excellent. 

8U.  Give  me  thy  hand  :  I  am  sorry  I  beat  thee  ;  but, 
while  thou  livest,  keep  a  good  tongue  in  thy  head.  '        121 

OfH.  Within  this  half  hour  will  he  be  asleep  :  Wilt  thou 
destroy  him  then  ? 

Ste.  Ay,  on  mine  honour. 

An.  This  will  I  tell  my  master. 

Col.  Tiiou  makest  me  merry  ;  I  am  full  of  pleasure  : 
liet  us  be  jocund  :  w!ll  you  troll  the  catch 
You  taught  me  but  while- ere? 

Ste.  At  thy  request,  monster,  I  will  do  reason,  any  reason. 
Gome  on,  Trinculo,  let  us  sing.     [SinffS, 


49  THE  TEMPEST.  [act  lii. 

Flout  'em  and  scout  'em  130 

And  scout  'em  and  flout  *em ; 
Thought  is  free. 

Cal.  That* s  not  the  tune. 

[Ariel  plays  tlie  tun^  an  a  tabor  and  pipe, 

Ste.   what  is  this  same? 

THn.  This  is  the  tune  of  our  catch,  phiyed  by  the  picture 
of  Nobody. 

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

Trin,  O,  forgive  me  my  sins  I 

Bte,  He  that  dies  pays  all  debts :  I  defy  thee.  *  Mercy 
upon  us  I  141 

Cal.  Art  thou  afeard  ? 

Ste,  No,  monster,  not  I. 

Cal.  Be  not  afeard  :  the  isle  is  fuH  oi  noises, 
Soiinds  and  sweet  airs,  that  give  delight  and  hurt  not» 
Sometimes  a  thousand  tw^angling  instruments 
Will  hum  about  mine  ears,  and  sometimes  voices 
That,  if  I  then  had  waked  after  long  sleep, 
Will  make  me  sleep  again  :  and  then,  in  dreaming. 
The  clouds  methought  would  open  and  show  riches         150 
Ready  to  drop  upon  me,  that,  when  I  waked, 
I  cried  to  dream  again. 

Ste.  This  will  prove  a  brave  kingdom  to  me,  where  I  shall 
have  my  music  for  nothing. 

Cal.  When  Prospero  is  destroyed. 

Ste.  Tliat  shall  be  by  and  by  :  I  remember  the  stor>'. 

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

jSfe.  Lead,  monster  ;  we'll  follow.     I  would  I  could  s«^e 
this  taborer  ;  he  lays  it  on.  160 

Trin,  Wiltoome?    I'll  follow,  Stephano.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  III.    Another  part  of  the  ida7\d. 

Enter  Alonso,  Sebastian,  Antonio,  Gonz-vlo,  Ai>ii'-an, 

Fbancisco,  and  others. 

Oon.  By  'r  lakin  I  can  go  no  further,  sir  ; 
My  old  bones  ache  :  here's  a  maze  trod  indeed 
Through  forth-rights  and  meanders  I  By  your  patier»ce, 
I  needs  must  rest  me. 

Alan.  Old  lord,  I  cannot  blame  the&. 

Who  am  myself  attach'd  with  weariness, 
To  the  dulling  of  my  spirits  :  sit  down  and  rest. 
Even  here  I  will  put  off  my  hope  and  keep  it 
No  longer  for  my  flatterer :  ho  is  drown'd 


BCRNEiri.]  THE  TEMPEST.  .    47 

Wliom  thus  we  stnj  to  find,  and  the  sea  mocks 

Oar  frustrate  search  on  land.     Well,  let  him  go.  10 

Ant.  [Aside  to  Seb,]     I  am  right  glad  that  ne's  so  oat  of 
hope. 
Do  not,  for  one  repulse,  forego  the  purpose 
That  you  resolved  to  effect.  * 

8sb,    [Aside  to  Ant]    The  next  advantage 
Will  we  take  throughly. 

Ant.  [AHde  to  Seb.]    Let  it  be  to-night ; 
For,  now  they  are  oppress'd  vnth  travel,  they 
Will  not,  nor  cannot,  use  such  vigilance 
As  when  they  are  fresh. 

Seb.  [Aside  to  Ant.]     I  say,  to-night ;  no  more. 

[aolefnn  and  strange  music. 

Alon.  What  harmony  is  this  ?    My  good  friends,  hark ! 

Oon,  Marvellous  sweet  music  ! 

Enter  Prospero  above,  invisible.  Enter  several  strange 
Shapes,  bringing  in  a  banquet;  tJiey  dance  about  U  with 
genUe  actions  of  salutation;  and,  inviting  the  King,  dc, 
to  eat,  theg  depart. 

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

/8s6.     A  living  drollery.     Now  I  will  believe 
That  there  are  unicorns,  that  in  Arabia 
There  is  one  tree,  the  phoenix'  throne,  one  phoenix 
At  this  hour  reigning  there. 

Ant.  1*11  believe  both ; 

And  what  does  else  want  credit,  come  to  me. 
And  rU  be  sworn  'tis  true  :  travellers  ne'er  did  lie. 
Though  fools  at  home  condemn  'em. 

Oon,  If  in  Naples 

I  sliould  report  this  now,  would  they  believe  met 
If  I  should  say,  I  saw  such  islanders — 
For,  certes,  these  are  people  of  the  island —  80 

Who,  though  they  are  of  monstrous  shape,  yet  note, 
Their  manners  are  more  gentle-kind  than  of 
Our  human  generation  you  shall  find 
Many,  nay,  almost  any. 

Pros.  [Aside]  Honest  lord, 

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

Alon.  I  cannot  too  much  muse  , 

Such  shapes,  snch  gesture  and  such  sound,  expressing. 
Although  they  want  the  use  of  tongue,  a  kind 
Of  excellent  dumb  discourse. 

Pros.  [Aside]  Praise  in  departing. 

Fran,  They  vanish'd  strangely. 


48  THE  TEMPEST.  Lactiii. 


n 


Sd>.  No  matter,  since  40 

They  have  left  their  viands  behind  ;  for  we  have  stomachs.  I 

Wiirt  please  you  taste  of  what  is  here  ?  | 

AIOTL  Not  I.  I 

Goiu  Faith,  sir,  yon  need  not  fear.     When  we  were  boys, 
Who  jjould  believe  that  there  were  mountaineers 
Dew-lapp'd  like  bulls,  whose  throats  bad  hanging  at  'em 
Wallets  of  flesh  ?  or  that  there  were  such  men 
Whose  heads  stood  in  their  breasts  ?  which  now  we  find 

Each  putter-out  of  five  for  one  will  bring  us  I 

Qood  warrant  of.  i 

Alan,  I  will  stand  to  and  feed. 

Although  my  last :  no  matter,  since  I  feel  60 

The  best  is  past.     Brother,  my  loitl  the  duke. 
Stand  to  and  do  as  we. 

Thunder  and  UglUning.  Enter  Ariet.,  like  a  harpy  ;  clapi 
hie  wings  'upon  t/ie  table  ;  and,  xcUh  a  quaint  device,  the 
banquet  vanishes. 

Art.  You  are  three  men  of  sin,  whom  Destiny, 
That  hath  to  instrument  this  lower  world 
And  what  is  in't,  the  never-surfeited  sea 
Hath  caused  to  belch  up  you  ;  and  on  this  island 
Where  man  doth  not  inhabit ;  you  'mongst  men 
Being  most  unfit  to  live.     I  have  made  you  mad  ; 
And  even  with  such-like  valour  men  hang  and  drown 
Their  proper  selves, 

[Alon, ,  Scb. ,  d-e. ,  draw  their  mcords. 

Tou  fools  !  I  and  my  feUows  60 

Are  ministers  of  Fate    the  elements^ 
Of  whom  your  swords  are  temper'd,  may  as  well 
Wound  the  loud  winds,  or  with  bemock'd-at  stabs 
Kill  the  still-cloeing  waters,  as  diminisli 
One  dowle  that's  in  my. plume  :  my  fellow-ministers 
Are  like  invulnerable.     If  you  could  hurt, 
Your  swords  are  now  too  massy  for  your  strengths 
And  will  not  be  uplifted.     But  remember — 
For  that's  my  business  to  you — that  you  three 
From  Milan  did  supplant  ffood  Prospero  ;  70 

Exposed  unto  the  sea,  which  hath  requit  it. 
Him  and  his  innocent  child  :  for  whicli  foul  deed 
The  powers,  delaying,  not  forgetting,  have 
Incensed  the  seas  and  shores,  yea,  all  the  creatures. 
Against  your  peace.     Thee  of  thy  son,  Alonso, 
They  have  bereft ;  and  do  pronounce  by  me  : 
Lingering  perdition,  worse  than  any  death 
Can  be  at  once,  shall  step  by  step  attend 


SCKNKl]  the  tempest.  40 

You  and  your  ways ;  whose  wraths  to  gaard  you  from — 
Which  here,  m  this  most  desolate  isle,  else  falls  80 

Upon  your  heads — is  nothing  but  heart-sorrow 
And  a  clear  life  ensuing. 

He  vanishes  in  thunder  ;  then,  to  soft  mime,  enter  the  Shapes 
againf  and  dance,  tcith  mocks  and  niows,  and  carrying  out 
the  t(Me. 

Pros   Bravely  the  figures  of  this  liarpy  hast  thou 
Perform'd,  my^Ariel ;  a  grace  it  had,  devouring : 
Of  my  instruction  hast  thou  nothing  bated 
In  what  thou  hadst  to  say  :  so,  with  good  life 
And  observation  strange,  my  meaner  ministers 
Their  several  kinds  have  done.     My  high  charms  work 
And  these  mine  enemies  are  all  knit  up 
In  their  distractions  :  they  now  are  in  my  power ;  90 

And  in  these  fits  I  leave  them,  while  I  visit 
Young  Ferdinand,  whom  they  suppose  is  diown'd, 
And  his  and  mine  loved  darling.  [ExU  (dnyoe, 

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

Alon.  O,  it  is  monstrous,  monstrous  I 

Metbought  the  billows  spoke  and  told  me  of  it : 
The  winds  did  sing  it  to  me,  and  the  thunder, 
That  deep  and  dreadful  organ -pipe,  pronounced 
The  name  of  Prosper  :  it  did  bass  my  trespass. 
Therefore  my  son  i'  the  ooze  is  bedded,  and  100 

I'll  seek  him  deeper  than  e'er  plummet  sounded 
And  with  him  there  lie  mudded.  [Exit, 

8eb.  But  one  fiend  at  a  time, 

ril  fight  their  legions' o'er. 

Ant.  Ill  be  thy  second. 

[Exeunt  8di,  and  Ant. 
Oon.  All  three  of  them  are  desperate  :  their  great  guilt. 
Like  poison  given  to  work  a  great  time  after, 
Now  'gins  to  bite  the  spirits.     I  do  beseech  you 
That  are  of  suppler  joints,  follow  them  swiftly 
And  hinder  them  from  what  this  ecstasy 
May  now  provoke  them  to. 

Adr,  Follow,  I  prajr  you.         [Exeunt. 

ACT  IV. 

Scene  I.  Before  PnosPEfeo's  ceU. 

Enter  Prosfero,  FerdinAt^d,  and  Mira^nda. 

Pros.  If  I  have  too  austerely  punish'd  you. 
Your  compensation  makes  amends,  for  I 


50  THE  TEMPEST.  [activ. 

Have  given  you  here  a  third  of  mine  own  life. 

Or  tiiat  for  which  I  live  :  who  once  again 

I  tender  to  thy  hand  :  all  thy  vexations 

Were  but  my  trials  of  thy  love,  and  thou 

Hast  strangely  stood  tlie  test :  here,  afore  Heaven, 

I  ratify  this  my  fich  gift.     O  Ferdinand, 

Do  not  smile  at  me  that^  I  boast  her  oif , 

For  thou  shall  find  she  will  outstrip  all  praise  10 

And  make  it  halt  behind  her. 

Fer.  I  do  believe  it 

Against  an  oracle. 

Pros,  Then,  as  my  gift  and  tliine  own  acquisition 
Worthily  purchased,  take  my  daughter  :  but  ' 

If  thou  dost  break  her  virgin-knot  before 
All  sanctimonious  ceremonies  may 
With  full  and  holy  rite  be  ministered, 
No  sweet  aspersion  shall  the  heavens  let  fall 
To  make  this  contract  grow  ;  but  barren  hate. 
Sour-eyed  disdain  and  discord  shall  bestrew  SO 

The  union  of  your  bed  with  weeds  so  loathly 
That  you  shall  hate  it  both :  therefore  take  heed. 
As  Hymen's  lamps  shall  light  you. 

Fer.  As  I  hope 

For  quiet  days,  fair  issue  and  long  life, 
With  such  love  as  'tis  now,  the  murkiest  den, 
The  most  opportune  place,  the  strong'st  suggestion 
Our  worser  genius  can.  shall  never  melt 
Mine  honour  into  lust,  to  take  away 
The  edge  of  that  day's  celebration 

Wlien  1  shall  think,  or  Phoebus'  steeds  are  founder'd,        30 
Or  Night  kept  chain'd  below. 

Pros.  Fairly  spoke. 

Sit  then  and  talk  with  her  ;  she  is  tliine  own. 
What,  Ariel !  my  industrious  servant,  Ariel  1 

Enter  Ariel. 

Art.  Wliat  would  my  potent  master  ?  hero  I  am. 

Pros.  Tkou  and  thy  meaner  fellows  your  last  service 
Did  worthily  perform  ;  and  I  must  usis  you 
In  such  another  trick.     Go  bring  the  rabble. 
O'er  whom  I  give  the  power,  here  to  this  place  •. 
Incite  them  to  quick  motion  ;  for  I  must 
Bestow  upon  tlie  eyes  of  this  young  couple  40 

Some  vanity  of  mine  art  :•  it  is  my  promise. 
And  they  expect  it  from  me. 

Ari.  Presently? 

Pros.  Ay,  with  a  twink. 


iCENEi.]  THE  TEMPEST.  51 


Ari'  Before  you  can  say  **  come  "  and  "  {ro. 

And  breatlie  twice  and  cry  **  so,  so," 
Eacli  one,  tripping  on  his  too, 
Will  be  here  with  mop  and  mow. 
Do  you  love  me,  master?  no? 
Pro9,  I>early,  my  delicate  Ariel.     Do  not  approach 
Till  thou  dost  hear  me  call. 
AH,  Well,  I  conceive.        [Ejrit.        C3 

Pros.  Look  thou  be  true  ;  do  not  give  dalllanco 
Too  much  tlie  rein  :  the  strongest  oaths  are  straw 
To  the  fire  i'  the  blood  :  be  more  abstemious, 
Or  else,  good  night  your  vow  I 

Fer.  I  warrant  you,  air ; 

The  white  cold  virgin  snow  upon  my  heart 
Abates  the  ardour  of  my  liver. 

Pros.  Well. 

Now  come,  my  Ariel !  bring  a  corollary, 
leather  than  want  a  spirit :  appear,  and  pertly  ! 
No  tongue  !  all  eyes  I  be  silent.  [Soft  music. 

Enter  Ibib. 

Iris.  Ceres,  most  bounteous  lady,  thy  rich  leas 
Of  wheat,  rye,  barley,  vetches,  oats  and  pease  ; 
Thy  turfy  mountains,  where  live  nibbling  sheep, 
And  flat  meads  thatch 'd  with  stover,  them  to  keep  ; 
Thy  banks  with  pioned  and  twilled  brims, 
Which  spongy  April  at  thy  best  betrims, 
To  make  cold  nymplis  chaste  crowns  ;  aiid  thy  broom-grovcn. 
Whose  shadow  the  dismissed  bachelor  loves. 
Being  lass-lorn  ;  thy  pole- dipt  vineyard  ; 
And  thy  sea-marge,  sterile  and  rocky-hard, 
Where'thou  thyself  dost  air  ; — the  queen  o'  the  sky,  10 

Whose  watery  arch  and  messenger  am  1, 
Bids  thee  leave  these,  and  with  her  sovereign  grace, 
Here  on  this  grass-plot  in  this  very  place, 
To  come  and  sport ;  her  peacocks  fiy  amain : 
Approach,  rich  Ceres,  her  to  entertain. 

Enter  Ceres. 

Cer.  Hall,  many-colour'd  messenger,  that  ne'er 
Dost  disobey  the  wife  of  Jupiter : 
Who  with  thy  saffron  wings  upon  my  flowers 
Diffosest  honey-drops,  refreshing  showers. 
And  with  each  end  of  thy  blue  1k)w  dost  croii^ii  89 

My  bosky  acres  and  my  unshrubb'd  down, 
Uieh  scarf  to  my  proud  earth  ;  why  hath  thy  queen 
Summon*d  me  hither,  to  this  short-grass'd  greon  t 


1 


63  THE  TEMP2ST.  [activ. 


Iris,  A  contract  of  true  love  to  celebrate  ;  I 

And  some  donation  freely  to  estate 
On  the  blest  lovers. 

Cer,  Tell  me,  heavenly  bow, 

If  Venus  or  her  eon.  as  thou  dost  know, 
Do  now  attend  the  queen  ?    Since  they  did  plot 
The  means  that  dusky  Dis  my  daughter  got. 

Her  and  her  blind  boy's  scandal'd  company  90  « 

I  have  forsworn  .  { 

Iris,  Of  her  society  *  j 

Be  not  afraid  :  I  met  her  deity 
Cutting;  the  clouds  towards  Paphoa  and  her  son 
-Dove  drawn  with  her.     Here  thought  they  to  have  done 
Home  wanton  charm  upon  this  man  and  maid, 
Mliose  vows  are,  that  no  bed-ri^ht  shall  be  paid 
Till  Hymen's  torch  be  lighted  :  but  in  vain ; 
Mars's  hot  minion  is  returned  again  ; 
Her  waspish -headed  son  has  broke  his  arrows. 
Swears  he  will  shoot  no  more  bat  play  with  sparrows,     100 
And  be  a  boy  right  out. 

Cer.  High'st  queen  of  state. 

Great  Juno,  comes  ;  I  know  her  by  her  gait. 

Enter  Juno.  ' 

Juno.  How  does  mv  bounteous  sister?    Go  with  me 
To  bless  this  twain,  that  they  may  prosperous  be 
And  honoured  in  their  issue.  [They  ting  : 

Juno,  Honour,  riches,  marriage-blessing, 

Long  continuance,  and  increasing, 
Hourlv  joys  be  still  upon  you  1 
Juno  sings  her  blessings  on  you. 

Cer,  Earth's  increase,  foison  plenty,  110 

Bams  and  gamers  never  empty. 
Vines  with  clustering  bunches  growing, 
Plants  with  goodly  burthen  bowing  ;•      ^  i 

Spring  come  to  you  at  the  farthest 
In  the  very  end  of  harvest ! 
Scarcitv  and  want  shall  shun  you ; 
Oeres'  blessing  so  is  on  yon, 
]fer.  This  is  a  most  majestic  vision,  and 
Hamionious  charmingly.     May  I  be  bold 
To  think  these  spirits  ? 

Pros,  Spirits,  which  by  mine  art  130  ^ll 

I  have  from  their  coixfines  call'd  to  onact 


cbublJ  the  tempest.  58 

My  present  fancies, 

Fer,  Let  me  live  here  ever ; 

So  rare  a  wondered  father  and  a  wife 
Hakes  this  place  Paradise. 

\Jmio  and  Ceres  tohuper,  and  send  Iris  on 

emplof^nent 

Pros.  Sweet,  now,  silence  I 

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

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

Enter  certain  Nymphs. 

You  sunburnt  sicklemen,  of  August  weary, 
Come  hither  from  the  furrow  and  be  merry  : 
Make  holiday-;  your  rye-straw  hats  put  on 
And  these  fresh  nymphs  encounter  every  one 
Li  country  footing. 

Enter  certain  Reapers,  properly  habited :  they  join  with  the 
Nymphs  in  a  graceful  dance;  towards  the  end  whereof 
Prospero  starts  suddenly,  and  speaks  ;  after  which,  to  a 
strange,  hollow,  and  confused  noise,  they  lieavUy  vanish. 

Pros.  [Aside"]  I  had  forgot  that  foul  conspiracy 
Of  the  beast  Caliban  and  his  confederates  140 

Against  my  life  :  the  minute  of  their  plot 
Is  almost  come.     [To  the  Spirits.]   Well  done  1  avoid ;  no 
more ! 

Fer.  This  is  strange  :  your  father's  in  some  passion 
That  works  him  strongly. 

Mir.  Never  till  this  day 

Saw  I  him  touch'd  with  anger  so  distempered. 

Pros.  You  do  look,  my  son,  in  a  moved  sort, 
As  if  you  were  dismayM  :  be  cheerful,  sir. 
Our  revels  now  are  ended.     These  our  actors, 
As  I  foretold  you,  were  all  spirits  and 
Are  melted  into  air,  into  thin  air  :  150 

And,  like  the  baseless  fabric  of  this  vision, 
Tlie  cloud-capp*d  towers,  the  gorgeous  palaces, 
The  solemn  temples,  the  great  globe  itself. 
Yea,  all  which  it  inherit,  shall  dissolve 
And,  like  this  insubstantial  pageant  faded. 


64  THE  TEMPEST.  [activ. 

Leave  not  a  rack  behind.  \We  are  such  stuff 

As  dreams  are  made  on.  and  oar  little  life  ^ 

Is  rounded  with  a  sleem    Sir,  I  am  vex'd  ; 

Bear  with  my  weakness  ;  my  old  brain  is  troubled :         IftO 

Be  not  disturbed  '.vith  my  infirmity  : 

If  you  be  pleased,  retire  into  my  cell 

And  there  repose  :  a  turn  or  two  I'll  walk. 

To  still  my  beating  brain. 

Fer.  Mir.  We  wish  your  peace.         [Exeunt, 

Pros,  Come  with  a  thought.     I  thank  thee,  Ariel :  come. 

i 

Enter  Ariel. 

Ari,  Thy  thoughts  I  cleave  to.     What's  thy  pleasure? 

Pros.  Spirit, 

We  must  prepare  to  meet  with  Caliban. 

Ari.  Ay,  my  commander  :  when  I  presented  Ceres  ** 

I  thought  to  have  told  thee  of  it,  but  1  fear'd 
Lest  I  might  anger  thee. 

Pros,  Siy  again,  where  didst  thou  leave  these  varlets  ? 

Ari.  I  told  you.  sir,  they  were  red-hot  with  drinking ; 
So  full  of  valour  that  tuey  smote  the  air 
For  breathing  in  their  faces  ;  beat  the  ground 
For  kissing  of  their  feet ;  yet  always  bending 

Towards  their  project.     Then  I  beat  my  tabor ;  \ 

At  which,  like  unpack'd  colts,  they  prick'd  their  ears. 
Advanced  their  eyelids,  lifted  up  their  noses 
As  they  smelt  music  :  so  I  charm'd  their  ears 
That  calf-like  they  my  lowing  foUow'd  through 
Tooth'd  briers,  sharp  furzes,  pricking  goss  and  thorns,    180 
Which  entered  their  frail  shins  :  at  last  I  left  them 
r  the  filthy-mantled  pool  beyond  your  cell. 
There  dancing  up  to  the  chins,  that  the  foul  lake 
O'erstunk  their  feet. 

Pros,        '  Tills  was  well  done,  my  bird. 

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

Ari.  I  go,  I  go.  [Exit, 

Pros.  A  devil,  a  bom  devil,  on  whose  nature 
Nurture  can  never  stick  ;  on  whom  my  pains. 
Humanely  taken,  all,  all  lost,  quite  lost ;  190 

And  as  with  age  his  body  uglier  grows. 
So  his  mind  cankers.     I  will  plague  them  all. 
Even  to  roaring. 

Re-enter  Ariel,  haden  mt7i  glistering  apparel,  ite,  t 

Come,  hang  them  on  this  line.  ^ 


BCBKKI.]  THE  TEMPEST.  65 

Prospkro  and  Artel  remain,  invisible,     Enter  Caliban, 
Stephano,  and  Trinculo,  aU  wet. 

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

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

Trin.  Monster,  I  do  smell  all  horae-piss ;  at  which  my 
noso  is  in  great  indignation.  20O 

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

Trin.  Thou  wert  but  a  lost  monster. 

Cal,  Good  my  lord,  giye  me  thy  fayour  still. 
Be  patient,  for  the  prize  Til  bring  thee  to 
Shall  hoodwink  this  mischance :  therefore  speak  softly. 
All's  hush'd  as  midnight  yet. 

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

Ste.  There  is  not  only  disgrace  and  dishonour  in  that, 
monster,  but  an  infinite  loss.  210 

2Hn.  That's  more  to  me  than  my  wetting ;  yet  this  ia 
your  harmless  fairy,  monster. 

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

Cat.  Prithee,  my  king,  'bo  quiet.     See'st  thou  here. 
This  is  the  mouth  o'  the  cell :  no  noise,  and  enter. 
Do  that  good  mischief  which  may  make  this  island 
Thine  own  for  eyer,  and  I,  thy  Caliban, 
For  aye  thy  foot-licker. 

Ste.  Giye  me  thy  hand.  I  do  begin  to  haye  bloody 
thoughts.  220 

Trin.  O  king  Stephano  I  O  peer !  O  worthy  Stephano  f 
look  what  a  wardrobe  here  is  for  thee  I 

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

Trin.  O,  ho,  monster  1  we  know  what  belongs  to  a  frip- 
pery.   O  king  Stephano  1 

ate.  Put  off  that  gown,  Trinculo  ;  by  this  kemd,  I'll  Lays 
that  gown. 

Ih'in,  Thy  grace  shall  haye  it. 

Cal,  The  dropsy  drown  this  fool  I  what  do  you  mean  2d0 
To  dote  thus  on  such  luggage .'    Let's  alone 
And  do  the  murder  first :  if  he  awake. 
From  toe  to  crown  he'll  fill  our  skins  with  pinches. 
Make  us  strange  stuff. 

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

TrtJL  Do,  do :  we  steal  by  line  and  leyel,  an't  like  your 
grace.         ^  240 


66  THE  TEMPEST.  [act  v. 

Ste.  I  tliank  thee  for  that  jest :  here's  a  garment  for't : 
wit  shall  not  go  unrewarded  while  I  am  king  of  this  coun- 
try. "  Steal  bj  line  and  level "  is  an  excellent  pass  of  pate  ; 
there's  another  garment  for't. 

Trin.  Monster,  come,  put  some  lime  upon  your  fingers, 
and  awav  with  the  rest. 

Cat.  I  will  have  none  on't :  we  shall  lose  our  time, 
And  all  be  tum'd  to  barnacles,  or  to  apes 
With  foreheads  villanous  low.  250 

Ste.  Monster,  lay -to  your  fingers  :  help  to  bear  this  away 
where  my  hogshead  of  wine  is,  or  III  turn  you  out  of  my 
kiii^dom  :  go  to,  carry  this. 

Trin.  And  this. 

Ste.  Ay,  and  this. 

A  noise  nf  hunters  heard.  Enter  divers  Spirits,  in  shape  of 
dogs  and  hounds,  and  hunt  them  about,  Prospero  ana 
Ariel  setting  tJum  on. 

Pros.  Hey,  Mountain,  hey  I 

Ari.  Silver  !  tliere  it  goes,  Silver  I 

Pros.  Fury,  Fury  1  there.  Tyrant,  there,  hark  I  hark  I 

[Cal.f  Ste.,  and  Trin,  are  driven  out. 
Oo  charge  my  goblins  tliat  they  gnnd  their  joints 
With  dry  convulsions,  shorten  up  their  sinews  ^ 
With  aged  cramps,  and  more  pinch-spotted  malce  them 
Than  pard  or  cat  o'  mountain. 

Ari.  ,  Hark,  they  roar  I 

Pros.  Let  them  be  hunted  soundly.     At  this  hour 
Lie  at  my  mercy  all  mine  enemies : 
Shortlv  shall  aU  my  labours  end,  and  thou 
Shalt  have  the  air  of  freedom  ;  for  a  little 
Follow,  and  do  me  service.  [Exeunt 


ACT  V. 

Scene  I.    B^ore  Prospero's  ceflL 

Enter  Prospero  in  his  magic  robes,  and  Abihl. 

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

Ari.  On  the  sixth  hour  ;  at  which  time,  my  lord. 
You  said  oar  work  should  cease. 

Pros,  I  did  say  so 


^ 


t. 


BCEiffii.]  THE  TEMPEST.  57 

When  first  I  raised  the  tempest.     Say,  my  spirit. 
How  fares  the  king  and's  followers? 

Ari.  Confined  together 

In  the  same  fashion  as  you  gave  in  charge, 
Just  as  you  left  them  ;  all  prisoners,  sir. 
In  the  line-grove  which  weather-fends  your  cell ; 
They  cannot  budge  till  your  release.     Tlie  king, 
His  brother  and  yours,  abide  all  three  distracted 
And  the  remainder  mourning  over  them. 
Brimful  of  sorrow  and  dismay  ;  but  chiefly 
Him  that  you  torm'd,  sir,  *'  The  good  old  lord,  Gonzalo  ;'* 
His  tears  ran  down  his  beard,  like  winter's  drops 
From  eaves  of  reeds.     Your  charm  so  strongly  works  'em 
That  if  you  now  beheld  them,  your  affections 
Would  become  tender. 

Pros.  Dost  thou  think  so,  spirit? 

Ari.  Mine  would,  sir,  were  I  human. 

Pros.  And  mine  sliall.  20 

Hast  thou,  which  art  but  air,  a  touch,  a  feeling 
Of  their  aJfliictions,  and  shall  not  myself, 
One  of  their  kind,  that  relish  all  as  sharply. 
Passion  as  they,  be  kindlier  moved  than  tliou  art? 
Though  with  their  high  wrongs  I  am  struck  to  the  quick. 
Yet  with  my  nobler  reason  'gainst  my  fury 
Do  I  take  part :  the  rarer  action  is 
In  virtue  than  in  vengeance  :  they  being  penitent. 
The  sole  drift  of  my  purpose  doth  extend 
Not  a  frown  further.     Go  release  them,  Ariel :  80 

My  charms  Til  break,  their  senses  I'll  restore, 
And  they  sliall  be  themselves. 

Ari.  I'll  fetch  them,  sir.        \Exit. 

Pros.  Ye  elves  of  hills,   brooks,    standing   lakes,   and 
groves. 
And  ye  that  on  the  sands  with  printless  foot 
Do  chase  the  ebbing  Neptune  and  do  lly  him 
Wlien  he  cbmes  back ;  you  demi-puppets  that 
By  moonshine  do  the  green  sour  ringlets  make, 
Whereof  the  ewe  not  bites,  and  you  whose  pastime 
Is  to  moke  midnight  mushrooms,  that  rejoice 
To  hear  the  solemn  curfew  ;  by  whose  aid,  40 

Weak  masters  though  ye  bf*,  I  have  bedimm'd 
The  noontide  sun,  call'd  forth  the  mutinoUs  winds. 
And  'twixt  the  green  sea  and  the  azured  vault 
Set  roaring  war :  to  the  dread  rattling  thunder 
Have  I  given  tire  and  rifted  Jove's  stout  oak 
With  his  own  bolt ;  the  strong-based  promontory 
Have  I  made  shake  and  by  the  spurs  pluck'd  up 


58  THE  TEMPEST.  [Acry. 

The  pine  and  cedar :  graves  at  my  command 

Have  waked  their  sleepers,  oped,  and  let  'em  forth 

Bv  my  80  potent  art.     But  this  rough  magic  50 

I  here  abjure,  and,  when  I  have  required 

Some  heavenly  music,  which  even  now  I  do. 

To  work  mine  end  upon  their  senses  that 

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

Bury  it  certain  fathoms  in  the  earth, 

And  deeper  than  did  ever  plummet  sound 

rU  drown  my  book.  [Solemn  mune. 

Re-enter  AniEii  hefore :  then  Alonso,  with  a  frantic  ges- 
ture, attended  by  Qonzalo  ;  Sbbastian  and  Antonio  in 
like  manner,  attended  by  Adrian  and  Francisco  :  they 
all  enter  the  circle  which  Prospero  had  made,  and  there 
stand  charmed  ;  which  Prospero  observing ,  speaks : 

A  solemn  air  and  the  best  comforter 

To  an  unsettled  fancy  cure  thy  brains. 

Now  useless,  boil'd  within  thy  skull  I    There  stand, 

For  you  are  spell -stopp'd. 

Holy  Gonzalo,  honourable  man, 

Mine  eyes,  even  sociable  to  the  show  of  thine, 

Fall  feilowly  drops.     The  charm  dissolves  apace. 

And  as  the  morning  steals  upon  the  night, 

Melting  the  darkness,  so  their  rising  senses 

Begin  to  chase  the  ignorant  fumes  that  mantle 

Their  clearer  reason.     O  good  Gonzalo, 

My  true  preserver,  and  a  loyal  sir 

To  him  thou  follow'st !     I  will  pay  thy  graces  70 

Home  both  in  word  and  deed.    Most  cruelly 

Didst  thou,  Alonso,  use  me  and. my  daughter : 

Thy  brother  was  a  furtherer  in  the  act. 

Thou  art  pincli'd  for't  now,  Sebastian.     Flesli  and  blood. 

You,  brother  mine,  that  entertain'd  ambition, 

Expeird  remorse  and  nature  ;  who,  with  Sebastian, 

Whose  inward  pinches  therefore  are  most  strong, 

Would  here  have  kill'd  your  king ;  I  do  forgive  thee. 

Unnatural  though  thou  art.     Their  understanding 

Begins  to  swell,  and  the  approaching  tide  80 

Will  shortly  fill  the  reasonable  shore 

That  now  lies  foul  and  muddy.     Not  one  of  them 

That  yet  looks  on  me,  or  would  know  me  :  Ariel, 

Fetch  me  that  hat  and  rapier  in  my  cell : 

I  will  disease  me,  and  myself  present 

As  I  was  sometime  Milan  :  quickly,  spirit ; 

Thou  shalt  ere  long  be  free. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  TEMPEST.  '59 

AsTEii  sings  and  helps  to  attire  him. 

Where  the  bee  sucks,  there  suck  I : 

In  a  cowslip's  bell  I  lie : 

There  I  couch  when  owls  do  cry.  90 

On  the  bat's  back  I  do  fly 

After  summer  merrily. 
Merrily,  merrily  shall  I  live  now 
Under  the  blossom  that  hangs  on  the  bough. 

Pros.  Why,  that's  my  dainty  Ariel  !    I  shall  miss  thee ; 
Bat  yet  thou  shalt  have  freedom  :  so,  so,  so. 
To  the  king's  ship,  invisible  as  thou  art : 
Tliere  shalt  thou  find  the  mariners  asleep 
Under  the  hatches  ;  the  master  and  the  boatswain 
Being  awake,  enfdrce  them  to  this  place,  100 

And  presently,  I  prithee. 

Ari.  I  drink  the  air  before  me,  and  return 
Or  ere  your  pulse  twice  beat.  [Ejni. 

Qon.  All  torment,  trouble,  wonder  and  amazement 
Inhabits  hero  :  some  heavenly  power  guide  us 
Out  of  this  fearful  country  ! 

Pros.  Behold,  sir  king. 

The  wronged  Duke  of  Milan,  Prospero  : 
For  more  assurance  that  a  living  prince 
Does  now  speak  to  thee,  I  embrace  thy  body ; 
And  to  thee  and  thy  company  I  bid  110 

A  hearty  welcome. 

Alon.  Whether  thou  be'st  he  or  no. 

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

Pros.  First,  noble  friend,  120 

Let  me  embrace  thine  age,  whose  honour  cannot 
Be  measured  or  confined. 

Qon,  Whether  this  bo 

Or  be  not,  I'll  not  swear. 

Pros.  Ton  do  yet  taste 

Some  subiUties  o'  the  izle,  that  will  not  let  you 
Believe  things  certain.     Welcome,  my  friends  all  I 
[Aside  to  8eb.  and  Ant]  ~But  you,  my  brace  of  lords,  were 
I  so  minded, 


00  THE  TEMPEST.  [actv» 

1  here  oonld  pluck  liis  Uigliness'  frown  upon  you 
And  justify  .you  traitors  ;  at  this  time 
I  will  tell  no  tales. 

8eb.  [Aside]  The  devil  speaks  in  him. 

Pros.  No. 

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

Alon.  If  thou  be'st  Prosper©, 

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

Pros.  I  am  woe  for*t,  sir. 

Alon.  Irreparable  is  the  loss,  and  patience  140 

Says  it  is  past  her  cure. 

Pros.  I  rather  think 

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

Ahn.  .  You  the  like  loss !  ^ 

Pros.  As  great  to  me  as  late :  and,  supportable 
To  make  the  dear  loss,  have  I  means  much  weaker  | 

Than  you  may  call  to  comfort  you,  for  I 
Have  lost  my  daughter. 

Alon.  A  daughter? 

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

Pros.  In  this  last  tempest.     I  perceive,  these  loras 
'  At  this  encounter  do  so  much  admire 
That  they  devour  their  reason  and  scarce  think 

Their  eyes  do  offices  of  truth,  tbeir  words  * 

Are  natural  breath :  but,  howsoe'er  you  have 
Been  i  us:  led  from  your  senses,  know  for  certain 

That  I  am  Prospero  and  that  very  duke  I 

Which  was  thrust  forth  of  Milan,  who  most  strangely   160  ; 

Upon  this  shore,  where  you  were  wreck'd,  was  landed. 
To  be  the  lord  ou't.     No  more  yet  of  this ; 
For  'tis  a  chronicle  of  day  by  day. 
Not  a  relation  for  a  breakfast  nor 

Befitting  this  first  meeting.     Welcome,  sir ;  /^ 

This  cell's  my  court :  here  have  I  few  attendants 


flCKNBl.]  THE  TEMPEST.  61 

And  subjects  none  abroad  :  pray  you,  look  in. 

My  dukedom  since  you  Lave  given  me  again, 

I  will  requite  you  with  as  good  a  thing  ; 

At  least  bring  forth  a  wonder,  to  content  ye  170 

As  much  as  me  my  duls.edonL 

Here  Pro^pero  discovers  Ferdinand  and  Mikanda 

playing  at  chess, 

Mir,  Sweet  lord,  you  play  me  false. 

Fer.  No,  my  dear'st  love, 

I  would  not  for  the  world. 

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

Alon.  If  this  prove 

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

Seb.  A  most  high  miracle  I 

Ftr,  Though  the  seas  threaten,  they  are  mercifal  ; 
I  have  cursed  them  without  cause.  [Kneels, 

Alon,  Now  all  the  blessings 

Of  a  glad  father  compass  thee  about !  180 

Arise,  and  say  how  thou  earnest  here. 

Mir.  O,  wonder ! 

How  many  goodly  creatures  are  there  here  I 
How  beauteous  mankind  is  !  O  brave  new  world. 
That  has  such  ])eople  in't ! 

Pros,  Tis  new  to  thee. 

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

Fer,  Sir,  she  is  mortal ; 

But  by  immortal  Providence  she's  mine  : 
I  chose  her  when  I  could  not  ask  my  father 
For  his  advice,  nor  thought  1  had  one.     She 
Is  daughter  to  this  famous  Duke  of  Milan, 
Of  whom  so  often  I  have  heard  renown. 
But  never  saw  before  ;  of  whom  I  have 
Kocoivcd  a  second  life  ;  and  second  father  190 

This  lady  makes  him  to  me. 

Alon.  I  am  hers : 

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

Pros.  There,  sir,  stop  : 

Let  us  not  burthen  our  remembrance  with 
A  heaviness  that's  gone. 

Oon,  I  have  inly  wept,  200 


as  THE  TEMPEST.    .  [act  T. 

Or  should  have  spokjo  ere  this.     Look  down,  you  gods, 
And  on  this  couple  drop  a  blessed  crown  1 
For  it  is  you  that  have  chalk'd  forth  the  way 
Which  brought  us  hither. 

Alofi,  I  say,  Amen.  Qonzalo  I 

Gan.  Was  Milan  thrust  from  Milan,  that  his  issue 
Should  become  kings  of  Naples  ?    O,  rejoice 
Beyond  a  common  joy,  and  set  it  down 
With  gold  on  lasting  pillars :  In  one  voyage 
Did  Claribel  her  husband  find  at  Tunis 
And  Ferdinand,  her  brother,  found  a  wife  210 

Where  he  himself  was  lost,  Prospero  his  dukedom 
Xn  a  poor  isle  and  all  of  us  ourselves 
^Vhen  no  man  was  his  own. 

Alon,  [To  Fir.  and  Mir.']  Give  me  your  hands  : 
Let  grief  and  sorrow  still  embrace  liis  heart 
That  doth  not  wish  you  joy  ! 

Qon.  Be  it  so  !    Amen  I 

Be-eriter  Abiel,  wUh  the  Master  and  Boatswain  amazedly 

following. 

O,  look,  sir,  look,  sir  I  here  is  more  of  us  : 

I  prophesied,  if  a  gallows  were  on  land, 

Tnis  fellow  could  not  drown.     Now,  blasphemy, 

That  swear'st  grace  o'erboard,  not  an  oath  on  shore  ? 

Hast  thou  no  mouth  by  land  ?    What  is  the  news  ? 

Boats.  Tlie  best  news  is,  that  we  have  safely  found     221 
Our  king  and  company  ;  the  next,  our  ship — 
Which,  but  three  glasses  since,  we  gave  out  split — 
Is  tight  and  yare  and  bravely  rigg'd  tus  when 
We  first  put  out  to  sea. 

Ari.  [Aside  to  Pros."]  Sir,  all  this  service 
Have  I  done  since  I  went. 

Pros.  [Aside  to  Ari.']  My  tricksy  spirit ! 

Alon.  These  are  not  natural  events  ;  they  strengthen 
From  stranffe  to  stranger.     Say,  how  came  you  hither  % 

Boats.  If  1  did  think,  sir,  I  were  well  awtie, 
rid  strive  to  tell  you.     Wo  were  dead  of  sleej), 
And — ^how  we  know  not — all  clapp'd  under  hatches  ; 
Where  but  even  now  with  strange  and  several  noises 
Of  roaring,  shrieking,  howling,  jingling  chains,  i 

And  more  diversity  of  sounds,  all  horrible,  '-    .' 


We  were  awaked  ;  straightway,  at  liberty ;  <^                                      ( 

Where  we,  in  all  her  trim,  freshly  beheld  ! 

Our  royal,  good  and  gallant  ship,  our  master  ) 

Capering  to  eye  her  :  on  a  trice,  so  please  you,  /I 

Even  in  a  dream,  were  we  divided  from  them  •     '  \' 


i: 


BCKNBI.]  THE  TEMPEST.  68 

And  were  bronght  moping  hither. 

Ari.  [AHde  to  ProsA  Was't  well  done?         240 

Pros.  {^Aside  to  An.\  Bravely,  my  diligence.     Thoa  shalt 
be  free. 

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

Pros.  Sir,  my  liege. 

Do  not  infest  your  mind  with  beating  on 
The  strangeness  of  this  business  ;  at  picked  leisure 
Which  shall  be  shortly,  single  Til  resolve  you, 
Which  to  you  shall  seem  probable,  of  every 
These  happen'd  accidents  ;  till  when,  be  clieerful 
And  think  of  each  thing  well.     [Aside  to  Ari.^  250 

Come  hither,  spirit : 
Set  Caliban  and  his  companions  free  ; 
Untie  the  spell.     [Exit  Arid.]    How  fares  my  gracious  sir? 
There  are  yet  missing  of  your  company 
Some  few  odd  lads  that  you  remember  not. 

JRe-erUer  Ariel,  driving  in  Caliban,  Stepiiano  and  Trik- 

CULO,  in  their  stolen  apparel. 

8te.  Every  man  shift  for  all  the  rest,  and  let  no  man  take 
care  for  himself ;  for  all  is  but  fortune.  Coragio,  bully- 
monster,  coragio  ! 

Trin.  If  these  be  true  spies  which  I  wear  in  my  head, 
here's  a  goodly  sight.  260 

Cal.  O  Setebos,  these  be  brave  spirits  indeed  !  How  fine 
My  master  is  I    I  am  af  ndd 
He  will  chastise  me. 

8eb.  Ha,  ha ! 

Wliat  things  are  these,  my  lord  Antonio  ? 
Will  •'money  buy  *em  ? 

Ant.  Very  like  ;  one  of  them 

Is  a  plain  lish,  and,  no  doubt,  marketable.  ^^ 

Pros.  Mark  but  the  badges  of  these  men,  my  lords. 
Then  say  if  they  be  true.     This  mis-shapen  knave. 
His  motiier  was  a  witch,  and  one  so  strong 
That  could  control  the  moon,  make  flows  and  ebbs,  270 

Ar  '  deal  in  her  command  without  her  ])ower. 
Tixv    •  three  have  robb'd  me  ;  and  this  denii-devil — 
For  lie's  a  bastard  one — had  plotted  with  them 
To  take  my  life.     Two  of  these  fellows  you 
Must  know  and  own  ;  this  thing  of  darkness  I 
Acknowledge  mine. 

(kU.  I  shall  be  pinch'd  to  death. 


$4  THE  TEMPEST.  [act  v. 

Alan,  la  not  this  Btephano,  my  drunken  butler? 

Seb.  He  Is  drunk  now  :  where  had  he  wine  ? 

Alon.  And  Trinculo  is  reeling  ripe  :  wliere  should  thej 
Find  this  grand  iiquor  that  hath  gilded  'em?  280 

How  earnest  thou  in  this  pickle  ? 

7Mn.  I  liave  been  in  such  a  pickle  since  I  saw  70U  last 
that,  I  fear  me,  will  never  out  of  my  bones :  I  shall  not  fear  4 

fly-blowing.  ^ 

Seb.  Why,  how  now,  Stephano  ! 

I^e.  O,  touch  roe  not ;  I  am  not  Stephano,  but  a  cramp. 

Pros.  You'ld  l>e  king  o'  the  isle,  sirrah? 

Sle.  I  should  have  been  a  sore  one  then. 

Alon.  This  is  a  strange  thing  as  e'er  I  look'd  on. 

[PoijiUnff  to  Caiiban. 

Pros.  He  is  as  disproportion'd  in  his  manners  290 

As  in  his  shape.     Go,  sirrah,  to  my  cell : 
Take  with  you  j'our  companions  ;  as  you  look 
To  have  my  pardon,  trim  it  handsomely. 

Col.  Ay,  that  I  will  ;  and  I'll  Imj  wise  hereafter 
And  seek  for  grnce.     "What  a  thrice-double  aas 
Was  I,  to  take  this  drunkard  for  a  god 
And  worship  this  dull  fv)ol  I 

Pros.  Go  to  ;  away  ! 

Alon.  Hence,  and  bt*stow  your  luggage  where  you  ^ound  it. 

8d)    Or  stole  it,  rather  [Exettnt  Col.   Ste  ,  and  Trin. 

Pros.  Sir,  I  invite  your  liighness  and  your  train  800 

To  my  poor  cell,  where  you  shall  take  your  rest 
For  this  one  night ;  which,  part  of  it.  111  waste 
With'Such  discourse  &s,  I  not  doul/t,  shall  make  it 
Go  quick  away    the  story  of  my  life 
And  the  particular  accidents  gone  by 
Since  I  came  to  this  isle  :  and  in  the  morn 
I'll  bring  you  to  your  slnp  and  so  to  Naples, 
Where  I  have  hope  to  sen;  the  nuptial 
Of  the^y)ur  dear-beloved  solemnized  ; 
And  th^ce  retire  me  to  my  Milan,  where  810 

Every  third  thought  shall  be  my  grave. 

Alon.  I  long 

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

Pros.  I'll  deliver  all ; 

And  promise  you  calm  seas,  auspicious  gales  \     y 

And  sail  so  expeditiuus  tliat  shall  catch  • 

Your  royal  fleet  far  olf.  [Aside  to  Ari.\  My  Ariel,  chick. 
That  is  thy  charge  :  then  to  the  elements  .    /     J 

Be  free,  and  faro  thou  well  1  Please  you  draw  near.  T   ^ 

[Exeunt  i ' 

I 


< 


l]  THE' tempest.  05 

EPILOGUE. 

6F0KEN  BT  FROSPERO. 

Now  mj  charms  are  all  o*ertlirown. 
And  what  strength  I  have's  mine  own, 
Which  is  most  faint :  now,  tis  true, 
I  must  be  here  confined  bj  you, 
Or  sent  to  Naples.     Let  me  not, 
Since  I  have  mv  dukedom  got 
And  pardon'd  tlie  deceiver,  dwell 
In  this  bare  island  by  your  spell ; 
Bat  release  me  from  my  bands 
With  the  help  of  your  good  hands  :  10 

Gentle  breath  of  yours  my  sails 
Must  fill,  or  else  my  project  fails. 
Which  was  to  please,     j^ow  I  want 
Spirits  to  enforce,  art  to  enchant, 
^         And  my  ending  is  despair, 
y  -     \        Unless  I  be  relieved  by  prayer, 

•<a  t'^'     ^^       Ayhich  pierces  so  that  it  aiMaults 
^I^^^^O      ^      Mercy  itself  and  frees  all  faults. 
\  '       ^  J  As  you  from  crimes  would  pardon'd  be, 

\/t^     ^,  '  Let  your  indulgence  set  me  free.  20 


esAx.  i.->8 


THE  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  YERONA. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONiB. 

DUEX  opMilak,  Father  to  Silria.  Spieed,  a  clon'oish  acrrant  to  Val* 

J^J^J^}th«twoGeaUemen.  liSJ.'^*;  t^e  Bke  to  Proteaa. 

Antonzo.  Father  to  Protens.  PA»xmNo,  Servant  to  Antonio.* 

Thubio,  a  foolleh  rival  to  Valentino.  _  -  ,      ^    ••«_^ 

Eglamour.  Agent  for  Silvia  in  her  Jui-ia,  beloved  of  Protean. 

escape  Silvia,  beloved  of  Valentine. 

no8T.  where  Jnlla  lodm,  Lucetta,  waiting-woman  to  Julia. 
OuTULWB,  with  Valentine.       »  Servanta,  HasicianB. 


• 


ScENEr— Fero/ia;  Milan;  the  frontiers  of  Mantua, 

ACT  I. 

Scene  1.     Verona.    An  open  place. 

Enter  Valentine  and  Proteus. 

V(d,  Cease  to  persuade,  my  loving  Proteus  : 
Home-keeping  youth  liiive  ever  homely  wits. 
Were't  not  afiection  chains  thy  tender  days 
To  the  sweet  glances  of  thy  honour'd  love, 
I  rather  wouhT  entreat  thy  company 
To  see  the  wonders  of  the  world  ahroad 
Than,  living  dally  sluggardized  at  home, 
Wear  out  thy  youth  with  shapeless  idleness. 
But  since  thoa  lovest,  love  still  and  thrive  therein, 
Evenki  would  when  I  to  love  begin.  10 

Pro.  Wilt  thou  be  gone  ?    Sweet  Valentine,  adieu  1 
Think  on  thy  Proteus,  when  thou  hai)ly  seest 
Some  rare  note- worthy  object  in  thy  travel  :• 
Wish  me  partaker  in  thy  happiness 
When  thou  dost  meet  gc)od  liap  ;  and  in  thy  danger. 
If  ever  danpfor  do  environ  thee. 
Commend  thy  grievance  to  my  holy  prayers. 
For  I  will  be  thy  beadsman,  Valentine. 

Vol.  And  on  a  love-book  pray  for  my  success  ? 

Pro,  Upon  some  book  I  love  I'll  pray  for  thee. 

(66) 


BCBNE  l]      two  OENTLEMEN  of  VERONA.  67 

Vol,  Tliftt's  on  some  sliallow  story  of  deep  love :  20 

How  yonng  Lcander  cross'd  the  Hellespont. 

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

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

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

Vol.  No,  I  will  not,  for  it  lxx>ts  thee  not. 

Pro.  What  ?  . 

Vol.  To  be  in  love*,  when  scorn  is  bought  with  groans  ;  ' 
Coy  looks  with  heart-sore  sighs  ;  one  fadine^  moment's  mirth 
With  twenty  watchful,  weary,  tedious  nignts  : 
If  haply  won,  perhaps  a  hapless  gain  ; 
If  lost,  why  then  a  grievous  labour  won ; 
However,  but  a  folly  bought  with  wit, 
Or  else  a  wit  by  folly  vanquished. 

Pro,  So,  by  your  circamstance,  you  call  me  fool. 

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

Pro.  'Tis  love  you  cavil  at :  I  am  not  Love. 

Vol.  Love  is  your  master,  for  he  masters  you  : 
And  he  that  is  so  yoked  by  a  fool,  40 

Methinks,  should  not  be  chronicled  for  wise. 

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

Val.  And  writers  say,  as  the  most  forward  bud 
Is  eaten  by  the  canker  ere  it  blow. 
Even  so  by  love  the  young  and  tender  wit 
Is  tum'd  to  folly,  blasting  in  the  bud. 
Losing  his  verdure  even  in  the  prime 

And  fdl  the  fair  effects  of  future  hope&  60 

But  wherefore  waste  I  time  to  counsel  thee 
That  art  a  votary  to  fond  desire  ? 
Once  more  adieu  I  my  father  at  the  road 
Expects  my  coming,  there  to  see  me  shipp'd. 

Pro.  And  thither  will  I  bring  thee,  Valentine. 

Vol.  Sweet  Proteus,  no  ;  now  let  us  take  our  leave. 
To  Milan  let  me  hear  from  thee  by  letters 
Of  thy  success  in  love  and  what  news  else 
Betideth  here  in  absence  of  thy  friend  ; 
And  I  likewise  will  visit  thee  with  mine. 

Pro.  All  happiness  bechance  to  thee  in  Milan  I  60 

Vol.  As  much  to  you  at  home  !  and  so,  farewell.     [Escit. 

Pro.  He  after  honour  hunts,  I  after  love  : 
He  leaves  his  friends  to  dignify  them  more ; 
I  leave  mvself ,  my  friends  and  all,  for  love. 
Thou,  Julia^  thou  hast  metamorphosed  me. 


88  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA,  [act  t 

Made  me  neglect  my  studies,  lose  my  time, 
War  with  gcxxl  counsel,  set  the  %vorld  at  nought ; 
Made  %vit  with  musing  weak,  heart  sick  ^ith  thought. 

^nter  Speed. 

Speed.  Sir  Proteus,  save  you  !    Saw  you  my  muster !    70 

Pro.  But  now  he  parted  hence,  to  embark  for  MiUn. 
§     Speed.  Twenty  to  one  then  he  is  shipp'd  already. 
And  I  hare  play'd  the  sheep  in  losing  iiim. 

Pro.  Indeed,  a  sheep  doth  very  of  ton  stray. 
An  if  the  shepherd  be  a  while  away. 

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

Pro.  I  do. 

Speed.  Why  then,  my  lioms  are  his  horns,  whether  I 
wake  or  sleep.  80 

Pro.  A  silly  answer  and  fitting  well  a  sheep. 

Speed.  This  proves  me  still  a  uieep. 

P'roi  True  ;  and  thy  master  a  shepherd. 

Speed.  Nay,  that  I  can  dei^  by  a  circumstance. 

Pro.  It  shall  go  hard  but  rll  prove  it  by  another. 

Speed.  The  shepherd  seeks  the  sheep,  and  not  the  sheep 
the  shepherd  ;  but  I  seek  my  master,  and  my  master  seeks 
not  me  ;  therefore  I  am  no  sheep.  91 

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

Speed.  Sucli  another  proof  will  make  me  <?ry  **  baa." 

Pro.  But,  dos^t  thou  hear?  gavestthou  my  letter  to  Julia? 

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

Pro.  Here's  too  small  a  pasture  for  such  store  of  muttons. 

Speed.  If  the  ground  be  overcharged,  you  were  best  stick 
her. 

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

Speed.  Nay,  sir,  less  than  a  pound  shall  serve  me  for  car- 
rying your  letter. 

Pro.  You  mistake  ;  I  mean  the  pound, — a  yvinfold. 

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

Pro.  But  what  said  she? 

i^tfed.  [Firtt  nodding]  Ay. 

Pro.  Nod — Ay — why,  tnat's  noddy. 

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


8CSNB II.]     TWO  QENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  60 

Pro,  And  that  set  together  is  noddy.     .  122 

Speed.  Now  joa  have  taken  the  pains  to  set  it  togpether, 
take  it  for  your  pains. 

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

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

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

Speed.  Marry,  sir,  the  letter,  very  orderly  ;  having  noth- 
ing but  the  word  **  noddy  "  for  ray  pains. 

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

Speed.  And  yet  it  cannot  overtake  yoor  slow  purse. 

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

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

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

^Med,  Trvdy,  sir,  I  think  youll  nardly  win  her.  141 

Pro,  Why,  couidst  thou  perceive  so  much  from  her  ? 

Sjpeed,  Sir,  I  could  perceive  nothing  at  all  from  hnr  ;  no, 
not  so  much  as  a  ducat  for  delivering  your  letter :  and  being 
80  hard  to  me  that  brought  your  mind,  I  fear  she'll  prove 
as  hard  to  yoa  in  telling  your  mind.  Give  her  no  token  but 
stones ;  for  she's  as  hanl  as  steel. 

Pro,  What  said  she?  notiung?  150 

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

Pro.  Go,  go,  be  gone,  to  save  your  ship  from  wreck. 
Which  cannot  perish  having  thee  aboard. 
Being  destined  to  a  drier  death  on  shore.  [&U  Speed. 

I  mtut  go  send  some  better  mess.mger : 
I  fear  my  Julia  would  not  deign  my  lines,  160 

Beceiviog  them  from  such  a  wortldess  post.  [£nl 

ScEKB  II.    The  mme.    Garden  of  Julia's  ?4ouie. 

Enter  Julia  and  Lucetta. 

Jid.  But  say,  Lucetta,  now  we  are  alone, 
Wouldst  thou  then  counsel  me  to  fall  in  love? 

Lue.  Ay,  madam,  so  you  stumble  not  unheedfully. 

Jvl.  Of  all  the  fair  resort  of  gt>ntlemen 
That  every  day  with  parle  encounter  me. 
In  thy  opinion  which  is  worthiest  love? 

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

Jul,  What  think'st  thou  of  the  fair  Sir  Eglamour  ? 

jLuc  As  of  a  knight  weU-spoken,  neat  and  fina  ;  10 


70  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  [act  i. 

But,  were  I  you,  lie  never  should  be  mine. 

JuL  What  thlnk'st  thou  of  the  rich  Mercatio  ? 

Luc.  Well  of  his  wealth  ;  but  of  himself,  so  so. 

Jul.  What  thlnk'st  thou  of  the  gentle  Proteus  ? 

Lvc.  Lord,  Lord  1  to  sfee  what  folly  reigns  in  us  I 

Jul,  How  now  !  wluit  means  this  passion  at  his  name? 

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

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

Xt/A  Then  thus  :  of  many  good  I  think  him  best. 

Jul.  Your  reason  ? 

Lue.  I  luive  no  other  but  a  woman's  reason ; 
I  think  him  so  because  I  think  him  so. 

Jul.  And  wouldst  thou  have  me  cost  my  love  on  him  T 

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

Jul.  Why  he,  of  all  the  rest,  hath  never  moved  me. 

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

Jul.  His  little  speaking  shows  his  love  but  small. 

Luc.  Fire  that's  closest  kept  bums  most  of  all.  80 

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

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

Jul.  I  would  I  knew  his  mind. 

I/iJic.  Peruse  this  paper,  madam. 

Jul.  "  To  Julia."    Say,  from  whom  ? 

Liic.  That  the  contents  will  show. 

Jul.  Say,  say,  who  gave  it  thee  ? 

Lu4i.  Sir  Valentine's  page ;  and  sent,  I  think,  from  Pro- 
teus. 
He  would  have  given  it  you  ;  but  I,  being  in  the  way. 
Did  in  your  name  receive  it :  pardon  the  fault,  I  pray.       40 

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

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

Jul.  Will  ye  be  gone  ? 

Lmi.  That  you  may  ruminate.     [Exit. 

I    Jul.  And  yet  I  would  I  had  o'eriooked  the  letter :  50 

It  were  a  shame  to  call  her  back  again 
And  pray  her  to  a  fault  for  which  I  chid  her. 
What  a  fool  is  she,  that  knows  I  am  a  maid. 
And  would  not  force  the  letter  to  my  view  I 
Since  maids,  in  modesty,  say  "  no"  to  that 


f 


BCEKE  II.]     TWO  GENTLEMEN  OP  VERONA.  71 

WhicTi  they  would  have  the  profferer  constme  "ay." 

Fie,  fie,  how  wayward  is  this  foolish  love 

That,  like  a  testy  babe,  will  scratch  the  nnrse 

And  presently  all  humbled  kiss  the  rod  I 

How  churlishly  I  chid  Lucetta  hence, 

When  willingly  I  would  have  had  her  here  I 

How  angerly  I  taught  my  brow  to  frown, 

When  inward  joy  enforced  my  heart  to  smilo  I 

My  penance  is  to  call  Lucetta  back 

And  ask  remission  for  my  folly  past. 

What  ho !  Lucetta  1 

Re-enter  Lucetta. 

Luc,  Wliat  would  your  ladyshio  7 

Jul,  Is't  near  dinner-time  ? 

Luc,  I  would  it  were, 

Tiiat  you  might  kill  your  stomach  on  your  meat 
And  not  npon  your  maid. 

Jul,  What  is't  that  you  took  up  so  gingerly  ?  70 

Luc,  Nothing. 

Jul,  Why  didst  thou  stoop,  then  ? 

Luc,  To  take  a  paper  up  that  I  let  fall. 

Jul,  And  is  that  paper  nothing  ?  , 

Luc.  Nothing  concerning  me. 

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

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

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

Luc.  That  I  might  sing  it,  madam,  to  a  tune.  80 

Give  me  a  note  ;  your  ladyship  can  set. 

Jul,  As  little  by  such  toys  as  may  he  x>ossible. 
Best  sing  it  to  the  tune  of  **  Light  o'  love." 

IjUC,  It  is  too  heavy  for  so  light  a  tune. 

Jul.  Heavy  !  belike  it  hath  some  burden  then  ? 

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

Jul,  And  why  not  you  ? 

Luc,  I  cannot  roach  so  high. 

Jul.  Let's  see  your  song.     How  now,  minion  I 

Luc.  Keep  tune  there  still,  so  you  will  sing  it  out : 
And  yet  metlunks  I  do  not  like  this  tune.  90 

Jul.  You  do  not  ? 

Luc.  No,  madam  ;  it  is  too  sharp. 

Jul.  You,  minion,  are  too  saucy. 

Luc,  Nay,  now  you  are  too  flat 
And  mar  the  concord  Avith  too  harsh  a  descant :  ,- 

There  wanteth  but  a  mean  to  fill  your  song. 

Jul,  The  mean  is  drown'd  with  your  unruly  bass. 


72  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  [act  r. 

LvLt,  Indeed,  I  bid  the  base  for  Protens. 

Jvd.  This  babble  shall  not  henceforth  troable  me. 
Here  is  a  coil  with  protestation  I  [Tears  fhe  letter. 

Go  get  j-ou  gone,  and  let  the  papers  lie  :  100 

You  would  be  fingering  them,  to  anger  me. 

Xt/e.  She  makes  it  strange  ;  but  she  would  be  best  pleased 
To  be  so  anger'd  with  another  letter.  [Exit, 

Jul,  Nav,  would  I  were  so  anger'd  with  the  same  I 

0  hateful  hands,  to  tear  such  loving  words  I 
Injurious  wasps,  to  feed  on  such  sweet  honey 
And  kill  the  tiees  that  yield  it  with  your  stings  1 
ril  kiss  each  several  paper  for  amends. 

Look,  here  is  writ  "  kind  Julia."     Unkind  Julia  I 

A&)n  revenge  of  fchy  ingratilute,  110 

1  throw  thy  name  against  the  bniising  stones,  ^ 
Trampling  contemptuously  on  thy  disdain.  I 
And  here  is  writ  '*  love- wounded  Protens."  ] 
Poor  wounded  name  I  my  bosom  as  a  bed 

Shall  lodge  thee  till  thy  wound  be  throughly  heal'd  ; 

And  thus  I  search  it  with  a  sovereign  kiss. 

Bat  twice  or  thrice  was  **  Proteus  "  written  down. 

Be  calm,  good  wind,  blow  not  a  word  away 

Till  I  have  found  each  letter  in  the  letter,  ' 

Except  mine  own  name  :  that  some  whirlwind  bear  120  ^  j 

Unto  a  ragged  fearful-hanging  rock 

And  throw  H  thence  into  the  raging  sea  ! 

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

*•  Poor  forlorn  Proteus,  passionate  Proteus, 

To  the  sweet  Julia  : "  that  I'll  tear  away. 

And  yet  I  will  not,  sith  so  prettily 

He  couples  it  to  his  complaining  names. 

Thus  will  I  fold  them  one  upon  another : 

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

Re-enter  Lucetta. 

I/tie,  Madam,  130 

Dinner  is  ready,  and  your  father  stays. 

Jul,  Well,  let  us  go. 

Liic,  What,  sliall  these  papers  lie  like  tell-tales  here? 

Jul,  If  yoa  respect  them,  best  to  take  them  up. 

Luc,  Nay,  I  was  taken  up  for  laying  them  down  : 
Yet  here  they  shall  not  lie,  for  cat<rhiug  cold. 

Jul,  I  see  you  have  a  month's  mind  to  them. 

Lvc,  Ay,  madam,  you  may  say  what  sights  you  see ; 
I  see  things  too,  although  you  judge  I  wink. 

i/t^.  Come,  come  ;  wiirt  please  you  go?  140 

[Exeunt, 


flCBNifi  in.]    TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  79 

ScEKE  III.    Thesafne,    Antonio's  Tiouge, 

Enter  Antonio  and  Panthino. 

Ant.  Tell  me,  Panthino,  wlmt  sad  talk  was  that 
Wlierewlth  my  brother  held  you  in  the  cloister?  .^^ 

Pan.  'Twrs  of  his  nephew  Proteus,  your  son. 

Ant.  Why,  what  of  him? 

Pan,  He  wonder'd  that  your  lordship 

Would  suffer  him  to  spend  his  youth  at  homis. 
While  other  men,  of  slender  reputation. 
Put  forth  their  sons  to  seek  preferment  out : 
Some  to  the  wars,  to  try  their  fortune  there  ; 
Some  to  discover  islands  far  away  ; 

Some  to  the  studious  universities.  10 

For  any  or  for  all  these  exercises 
He  said  that  Proteus  your  son  was  meet. 
And  did  request  me  to  importune  you 
To  let  him  spend  his  time  no  more  at  home. 
Which  would  be  great  impeachment  to  his  age. 
In  having  known  no  travel  in  his  youth. 

Ant.  Nor  need'st  thou  much  importune  me  to  that 
Whereon  this  month  I  liave  been  hammering. 
I  have  considered  well  his  loss  of  time 
And  how  he  cannot  be  a^rfect  man,  20 

Not  being  tried  and  tutoiPd  in  the  world : 
Experience  is  by  industry  achieved 
And  perfected  by  the  swift  course  of  time* 
Then  tell  me,  whither  were  I  best  to  send  him? 

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

Ant,  I  know  it  well. 

Pan.  'Tweregood,  I  think,  your  lordsliip  sent  him  thither, 
There  shall  he  practise  tilts  and  tournaments,  80 

Hear  sweet  discourse,  converse  with  noblemen. 
And  be  in  eye  of  every  exercise 
Worthy  his  youth  and  nobleness  of  birth. 

Ant.  I  like  thy  counsel ;  well  hast  thou  advised  : 
And  that  thou  mayst  perceive  how  well  I  Uke  it 
The  execution  of  it  shall  make  known. 
Even  with  the  speediest  expedition 
I  will  dispatch  him  to  the  emperor's  court 

Pan.  To-morrow,  may  it  please  you,  Don  Alphonso 
With  other  gentlemen  of  good  esteem  40 

Are  joumeymg  to  salute  the  emperor 
And  to  commend  their  service  to  his  will. 

Ant.  Good  company  ;  with  them  shall  Proteus  go : 


74  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  [act  i. 

And,  in  good  time  I  now  will  wo  break  with  kini. 

Enter  Proteus. 

Pro,  Sweet  love  !  sweet  lines  I  sweet  life  ! 
4  jfere  is  her  hand,  the  agent  of  her  heart ; 
Here  is  her  oatli  for  love,  her  hoiour's  pawn. 
O,  that  our  fathers  would  applaud  our  loves,    ■ 
To  seal  our  happiness  with  their  consents  1 

0  heavenly  Julia  1  60 
Ant  How  now  !  what  letter  are  you  reading  there? 
Pro,  May*t  please  your  lordship,  'tis  a  word  or  two 

Of  commendations  sent  from  Valentine, 
Deliver'd  by  a  friend  that  came  from  him. 

Ant.  Lend  me  the  letter ;  let  me  see  wliat  news. 

Pro,  There  is  no  news,  my  lord,  but  that  he  writes 
How  happily  he  lives,  Jiow  well  beloved 
And  daily  graced  by  the  emperor  ; 
Wishing  me  with  him,  partner  of  his  fortune. 

Ant,  And  how  stand  you  affected  to  his  wish  ?  GO 

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

Ant.  My  will  is  something  sorted  with  his  wish. 
Muse  not  that  I  thus  suddenly  proceed  ; 
For  what  I  will,  I  will,  and  there  all  end. 

1  am  resolved  that  thou  shalt  spend  some  time 
With  Valentmus  in  the  emperor's  court : 
What  maintenance  he  from  his  friends  receives. 
Like  exhibition  thou  shalt  have  from  me. 

To-morrow  be  in  readiness  to  go  :  70 

Excuse  it  not,  for  I  am  peremptory. 

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

Ant.  rxx)k,  what  thou  want'st  shall  be  sent  after  thee  : 
No  more  of  stay  I  to-morrow  thou  must  go. 
Come  on,  Panthino  :  you  shall  be  employ'd 
To  hasten  on  his  expedition.  [Exeunt  Ant,  and  Pan. 

Pro,  Tlius  have  I  shunn'd  the  fire  for  fear  of  burning. 
And  drench'd  me  in  the  sea,  where  I  am  drown'd- 
I  fear'd  to  show  my  father  Julia's  letter,  80 

Lest  he  should  take  exceptions  to  my  love  ; 
And  with  the  vantage  of  mine  own  excuse 
Hath  he  excepted  most  against  my  love. 
O,  how  this  sprittg  of  love  resembleth 

The  uncertain  glory  of  an  April  day. 
Which  now  shows  all  the  beauty  of  the  son. 

And  by  and  by  a  dead  takes  all  away  1 


flCBNB  L]       TWO  GENTLEMEN  OP  VERONA.  76 

Be-erUer  Panthino. 

Pan,  Sir  Proteus,  your  father  calls  for  you : 

He  is  in  iiaste  ;  therefore,  I  pray  you,  go.* 
Pro.  Why,  this  it  is  :  my  heart  accords  tnereto,  90 

And  yet  a  thousand  times  it  answers  ' '  no."  [ BsDeujU. 

i  ACT  11. 

&CE3m  I.    Milan,    The  Dtjke'b  palace. 

Enter  Yalektine  and  Speed. 

Speed.  Sir,  your  glove. 

Vol.  .   Not  mine  ;  my  gloves  are  on. 

Speed.  Why,  then^  this  may  be  yours,  for  this  is  but  one. 
Vol.  Ha  I  let  m^  see :  ay,  give  it  me,  it's  mine : 
Sweet  ornament  that  decks  a  thing  divine ! 
Ah,  SUvia,  SUvia  1 

Speed.  Madam  Silvia  I  Madam  Silvia  I 

Vol,  How  now,  sirrah  ? 

Speed,  She  is  not  within  hearing,  sir. 

Vol,  Why,  sir,  who  bade  you  call  her  ? 

Speed.  Your  worship,  sir  ;  or  else  I  mistook.  10 

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

Speed,  And  yet  I  was  last  chidden  for  beinff  too  slow. 
Vol.  Go  to,  sir  :  tell  me,  do  you  know  Madam  Silvia? 

Speed.  She  that  your  worship  loves  ? 
Vol.  Why,  how  know  you  that  I  am  in  love  ? 

Speed.  Ma^rj,  by  these  special  marks  :  first,  you  have 
learned,  like  Sir  Proteus,  to  wreath  your  arms,  like  a  male- 
content  ;  to  relish  a  love-song,  like  a  robin-redbreast ;  to 
walk  alone,  like  one  that  had  the  pestilence ;  to  sigh,  like  a 
school-boy  that  liad  lost  his  A  B  C  ;  to  weep,  like  a  young 
wench  that  had  buried  her  grandam  ;  to  fast,  like  one  that 
takes  diet ;  to  watch,  like  one  that  fears  robbing  ;  to  speak 
puling,  like  a  beggar  at  Hallowmas.  You  were  wont,  when 
yon  laughed,  to  crow  like  a  code ;  when  you  walked,  to 
walk  like  one  of  the  lions  ;  when  you  fasted,  it  was  present- 
ly after  dinner  ;  when  you  looked  sadly,  it  was  for  want  of 
money  :  and  now  you  are  metamorphosed  with  a  mistress, 
that,  when  I  look  on  you,  1  can  hardly  think  you  my  master. 

Vol,  Are  all  these  things  perceived  in  me? 

Speed.  They  are  all  perceived  without  ye. 

Vol,  Without  me  ?  they  cannot. 

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


76       .    TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  [act  it. 

tlirough  70a  like  tbe  water  in  an  nrinal,  that  not  an  eye 
that  sees  you  but  is  a  physician  to  commentonvour  malady. 

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

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

Val,  Hast  thou  observed  that?  even  she,  1  mean. 

Speed.  Why,  sir,  I  know  her  not.  50 

Vol.  Dost  thou  know  her  by  luy  gazing  on  her,  and  yet 
knowest  her  not  ? 

Bpeed.  Is  she  not  hard-favoured,  sir? 

Vol,  Not  so  fair,  boy,  as  well-favoured. 

^eed.  Sir,  I  know  that  well  enough. 

Val.  What  dost  thou  know  ? 

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

Val.  I  mean  that  her  beauty  is  exquiste,  but  ber  favour 
infinite.  60 

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

Vol.  How  painted  ?  and  how  out  of  count  ? 

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

Val.  How  esteem  est  thou  me?  I  account  of  her  beauty. 

Speed.  You  never  saw  ber  since  she  was  deformed. 

Vol:  How  long  hath  she  been  deformed  ?  70 

Speed.  Ever  since  you  loved  her. 

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

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

Vol.  Why? 

Speed.  Because  Love  is  blind.  O,  that  you  had  mine 
eyes ;  or  your  own  eyes  had  tlie  lights  they  were  wont  to 
have  wben  you  chid  at  Sir  Proteus  for  going  ungartered  1 

Val.  What  should  I  see  then  ?  80 

Speed.  Your  own  present  folly  and  her  passing  deform- 
ity ;  for  he,  being  in  love,  could  not  see  to  garter  his  hose, 
and  you,  being  in  love,  cannot  see  to  put  on  your  lio,«e. 

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

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

Vol,  In  conclusion,  I  stand  affected  to  her.  90 

Speed.  I  would  you  were  set,  so  your  affection  would 
cease. 

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

Speed.  And  have  you  ? 

Val,  I  have. 


BCENR  I.]       TWO  GENTLEMEN  OP  VERONA.  77 

Speed.  Are  they  not  lamelj  ^vrit? 

Vol.  No,  boy,  but  as  well  as  I  can  do  them.     Peace  ! 
here  she  comes. 

Speed.  [Asidel  O  excellent  motion  I  O  exceeding  puppet  I 
Now  will  ne  interpret  to  her. 

ErUer  Silvia, 

Vol.  Madam  and  mistress,  a  thousand  ffood-morrows. 

Speed.  [AMe\  O,  give  ye  good  even  1  here's  a  million  of 
manners. 

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

Speed.  [Aride]  He  should  give  her  interest,  and  she  gives 
it  him. 

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

SU.  I  thank  you,  gentle  servant :  'tis  very  clerkly  done. 

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

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

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

SU.    A  pretty  period  I     Well,  I  guess  the  sequel ; 
And  yet  I  will  not  name  it ;  and  yet  I  care  not ; 
And  yet  take  this  again  ;  and  yet  I  thank  you, 
Meaninfi^  henceforth  to  trouble  you  no  more. 

Speed,  ^side]  And  yet  you  will ;  and  yet  another  "yet." 

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

SU.  Yes,  yes  :  the  lines  are  very  quaintly  writ ; 
But  since  unwillingly,  take  them  again. 
Nay,  take  them.  190 

Vol.  Madam,  they  are  for  you. 

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

Vol.  Please  you,  1*11  write  your  ladyship  another. 

SU.  And  when  it's  writ,  for  my  sake  read  it  over, 
And  if  it  please  yon,  so  ;  if  not,  why,  so. 

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

SU.  Why,  if  it  please  you,  take  it  for  your  labour  : 
And  so,  good  morrow,  servant.  [Exit,  140 

Speed,  O  jest  unseen,  inscrutable,  invisible. 
As  a  noee  on  a  man's  face,  or  a  weathercock  on  a  steeple  ! 
My  nuuiter  sues  to  her,  and  she  hath  taught  her  suitor, 


4 


78  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  [act  n. 

He  being  lier  pupil,  to  become  lier  tutor. 
O  excellent  device  I  was  there  ever  heard  a  better. 
That  my  master,  being  scribe,  to  himself  should  write  the 
letter  ? 

Vol.  How  now,  sir  ?  what  are  vou  reasoning  with  your- 
self ? 

Bpeed.  Nay,  I  was  rhyming :  'tis  you  that  have  the 
reason.  150 

Vol.  To  do  what? 

Bpeed.  To  be  a  spokesman  for  Madam  Silvia. 

Val,  To  whom? 

f^eed.  To  yourself  :  whv,  she  wooes  you  by  a  figure. 

Vol,  What  figure? 

Speed.  By  a  letter,  I  should  say. 

Vol.  Why,  she  hath  not  writ  to  me  ? 

Speed.  What  need  she.  when  she  hath  made  you  write 
to  yourself?    Why,  do  you  not  perceive  the  jest?  160 

Vol.  No,  believe  me. 

Speed,  No  believing  you,  indeed,  sir.  But  did  you  per- 
ceive her  earnest  ? 

Vol.  She  gave  mo  none,  except  an  angry  word. 

Speed.  Why,  she  hath  given  vou  a, letter. 

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

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

Vcd.  I  would  it  were  no  worse. 

Speed.  I'll  warrant  you,  'tis  as  well :  170 

For  often  have  you  writ  to  her,  and  slie,  in  modesty. 
Or  else  for  want  of  idle  time,  could  not  again  reply  ; 
Or  fearing  else  some  messenger  that  might  her  mind  dis- 
cover. 
Herself  hath  taught  her  love  himself  to  write  unto  her  lover. 
All  this  I  speak  in  print,  for  in  print  I  found  it. 
Why  muse  you,  sir?  'tis  dinner-time. 

Val.  I  have  dined. 

Speed.  Ay,  but  hearken,  sir  ;  though  the  chameleon 
Ix>ve  can  feed  on  the  air,  I  am  one  that  am  nourished  by  my 
victuals  and  would  fain  have  meat.  O,  be  not  like  your 
mistress ;  be  moved,  be  moved.  [Exeunt, 

ScEKE  n.     Verona,    Julia's  A<?t««, 

Enter  Proteus  and  Julia. 

Pro.  Have  patience,  gentle  Julia. 

Jul.  I  must,  where  is  no  remedy. 

Pro.  When  possibly  I  can,  I  will  return. 

Jul,  If  you  turn  not,  you  will  return  the  sooner. 


SCENE  III.]    TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  ^^RONA.  79 

Keep  tills  remembrance  for  thy  Julia's  sake. 

.   [Giving  a  ring. 

Pro.  Why,  then,  well  make  exchange ;   nfte,  take  you 
this. 
*    Jul.  And  seal  the  bargain  with  a  holy  kiss. 

Pr0.  Here  is  my  hand  for  my  true  constancy  ; 
And  when  that  hour  o'erelips  me  in  the  day 
Wherein  I  sigh  not,  Julia,  for  thy  sake,  10 

The  next  ensuing  hour  some  foul  mischance 
Torment  me  for  my  love's  forgetful ness  ! 
My  father  stays  my  coming  ;  answer  not ; 
The  tide  is  now  :  nay,  not  thy  tide  of  tears  ; 
That  tide  will  stay  me  longer  than  I  should. 
Julia,  farewell  I  [ExU  Julia. 

What,  gone  without  a  word  ? 
Ay,  80  true  love  should  do  :  it  cannot  speak  ; 
For  truth  h&th  better  deeds  than  words  to  grace  It. 

Enter  PAimnNO. 

Pan.  Sir  Proteus,  you  are  stay'd  for. 
Pro.  Go  ;  I  come,  I  come.  20 

Alas  1  this  parting  strikes  poor  lovers  dumb.  [Exeunt, 

Scene  III.     The  same.    A  Hreet. 

Enter  Lauxce,  leading  a  dog. 

Launee.  Nay,  'twill  be  this  hour  ere  I  have  done  weep- 
ing ;  all  the  kind  of  the  Launces  have  this  very  fault.  I 
have  received  my  proportion,  like  the  prodigious  son,  and 
am  going  with  Sir  Proteus  to  the  Imperial's  court.  I  think 
Crab  my  dog  be  the  sourest-natured  dog  that  lives :  my 
mother  weeping,  my  father  wailing,  my  sister  crying,  our 
maid  howling,  our  cat  wringing  her  hands,  and  all  our  nouse 
in  a  great  perplexity,  yet  did  not  this  cruel-hearted  cur  shed 
one  tear :  he  is  a  stone,  a  very  pebble  stone,  and  has  no 
more  pity  in  him  tVan  a  dog :  a  Jew  would  have  wept  to 
luive  seen  our  parting  ;  why,  my  grandam,  having  no  eyes, 
look  you,  wept  herself  blind  at  my  parting.  Nay,  I'll  show 
you  the  manner  of  it.  This  shoe  is  my  father :  no,  this 
left  shoe  is  my  father :  no,  no,  thht  left  shoe  is  my  mother : 
nay,  tliat  cannot  be  so  neither  :  yes,  it  is  so,  it  is  so,  it  hath 
the  worser  sole.  This  shoe,  with  the  hole  in  it,  is  my 
mother,  and  this  my  father ;  a  vengeance  on't !  there  'tis  : 
now,  sir,  this  staff  is  my  sister,  for,  look  you.  she  is  as 
white  as  a  lily  and  as  small  as  a  wand  :  this  liat  is  Nan,  our 
maid  :  I  am  the  dog :  no,  the  dog  is  himself,  and  I  am  the 
dog — Oh  I  the  dog  is  me,  and  I  am  myself ;  ay,  so,  so.    Now 


aO  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  [act  u. 

oome  I  to  niy  father ;  Father,  your  blessing :  now  should 
not  the  shoe  speak  a  word  for  weeping  :  now  should  I  kiss 
ihy  father ;  •rell,  he  weeps  on.  Now  come  I  to  my  mother ; 
O,  that  she  could  speak  now  like  a  wood  woman  I  WeU, 
I  kiss  her  :  why,  there  'tis;  here's  my  mother's  breath  up* 
and  down.  Now  come  I  lo  my  sister ;  mark  the  moan  she 
makes.  Now  the  dog  all  this  while  sheds  not  a  tear  nor 
speaks  a  word ;  but  see  how  I  lay  the  dust  with  my  tears. 

Enter  Panthino. 

Pan,  Launoe,  away,  away,  aboard  !  thy  master  is  shipped 
and  thou  art  to  post  after  with  oars.  What's  the  matter? 
why  weepest  thou,  man  ?  Away,  ass  1  you'll  lose  the  tide, 
if  you  tarry  any  longer. 

Launce.  It  is  no  matter  if  the  tied  were  lost ;  for  it  is  the 
unkindest  tied  that  ever  any  man  tied. 

Pan^  What's  the  unkindest  tide  ? 

LaufiM.  Why,  he  that's  tied  here,  Crab,  my  dog. 

Pan.  Tut,  man,  I  mean  thou'lt  lose  the  flood,  and,  in 
losing  the  flood,  lose  thy  voyage,  and,  in  losing  thy  voyage, 
lose  Uiy  master,  and,  in  losing  thy  master,  lose  thy  service, 
and,  in  losing  thy  service, — Why  dost  thou  stop  my 
mouth  t  51 

Launce.  For  fear  thou  shouldst  lose  thy  vongue. 

Pan.  Where  should  I  lose  my  tongue  ? 

Launce.  In  thy  tale. 

Pan.  In  thy  taiU 

Launce.  Lose  the  tide,  and  the  voyage,  and  the  master, 
and  the  service,  and  the  tied  I  Why,  man,  if  the  river  were 
dry,  I  am  able  to  fill  it  with  my  tears ;  if  the  wind  were 
down,  I  could  drive  the  boat  with  my  sighs.  60 

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

Launce.  Sir,  call  me  what  thou  darest. 

Pan.  Wilt  thou  go  ? 

Launce.  Well,  I  will  go.  [Exeunt, 

Scene  IV.    MUan.    The  Duke's  palace. 

Enter  Silvia,  Valentine,  Thukio,  and  Speed. 

Sil.  Servant ! 

Val.  Mistress? 

Speed.  Master,  Sir  Thurio  frowns  on  you. 

Val.  Av,  boy,  it's  for  love. 

Speed.  Not  of  you. 

Vol.  Of  my  mistress,  then. 

Speed.  'Twere  good  you  knocked  him.  [EisiL 

SU,  Servant,  you  are  sad. 


lOOKE  IV.]    TWO  OENTLEMEN  OF  VEbONA.  81 

Vol.  Indeed,  mad&m.  I  seem  so. 

Thu.  Seem  you  that  you  are  not?  10 

Vol.  Haply  1  do. 

Thu,  So  do  counterfeits. 

Vol,  So  do  you. 

ThiL  What  seem  I  that  I  am  not? 

Vol,  Wise. 

Thu,  What  instance  of  the  contrary  ? 

Vol,  Your  folly. 

Thu.  And  how  quote  you  my  folly? 

Vol,  I  quote  it  in  your  jerkin. 

2'hu.  My  jerkin  is  a  doublet.  90 

Vol,  W«^l,  then,  I'll  double  your  folly. 

Thu,  How? 

Sil.  What,  angry,  Sir  Thurio  !  do  you  change  colour  ? 

Vol.  Qlve  him  leave,  madam ;  he  is  a  kind  of  cliameleon. 

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

Vol.  You  have  sud,  sir. 

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

VcU,  1  know  it  well,  sir  ;  you  always  end  ere  you  begin. 

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

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

8U.  Who  19  that,  servant  ? 

Vol.  Yourself,  sweet  lady  ;  for  you  gave  the  fire.  Sir 
Thurio  1x>rrows  his  wit  from  your  ladyship's  looks,  and 
spends  what  he  borrows  kindly  in  your  company.  40 

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

Vol,  I  know  it  well,  sir;  you  liave  an  exchequer  of 
words,  and,  I  think,  no  other  treasure  to  give  your  follow- 
ers, for  it  appears,  by  their  bare  liveries,  that  they  live  by 
your  bare  words. 

8U,  No  more,  gentlemen,  no  more  :  here  comes  my  father. 

JE^rUer  Duke. 

Duke.  Now,  daughter  Silvia,  you  are  hard  beset 
Sir  Valentine,  your  father's  in  good  health  :  60 

What  say  you  to  a  letter  from  your  friends 
Of  much  good  news  ?  * 

Vol,  My  lord,  I  will  be  thankful 

To  any  happy  messenger  from  thence. 

Duke,  Know  ye  Don  Antonio,  your  countryman  ? 

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

Duke,  Hath  he  not  a  son  ? 


82  TWO  GENTLKMEN  OF  VERONA,  [act  ir. 

Vol.  Ajf  my  good  lord  ;  a  son  that  well  deserves 
The  honour  and  regard  of  such  a  father.  (K) 

Duke.  You  know  him  well  ? 

Val.  I  know  him  a^  mjself  ;  for  from  our  infancy 
We  have  conversed  and  spent  our  hours  together  : 
And  though  myself  have  been  an  idle  truant, 
Omitting  the  sweet  benefit  of  time 
To  clothe  mine  age  with  angel-like  perfection, 
Yet  hath  Sir  Proteus,  for  that's  his  name, 
Made  use  and  fair  advantage  of  his  days ; 
Uis  years  but  young,  but  Ids  experience  old  ; 
His  head  unmellow'd,  but  his  iudgment  ripe ;  70 

And,  in  a  word,  for  far  behind  his  worth 
Comes  all  the  praises  that  I  now  bestow, 
He  is  complete  in  feature  and  in  mind 
With  all  good  grace  to  grace  a  gentleman. 

Duke,  Beshrew  me,  sir,  but  if  he  make  this  good 
He  is  as  worthy  for  an  empress'  love 
As  meet  to  be  an  emperor's  counsellor. 
Well,  sir,  this  c^entleman  is  come  to  me, 
With  commendation  from  great  potentates  ; 
And  here  he  means  to  spend  his  time  awhile  :  80 

I  think  'tis  no  unwelcome  news  to  you. 

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

Duke.   Welcome  him  then  accoixling  to  his  worth. 
Silvia,  I  speak  to  you,  and  you,  sir  Thurio  ; 
For  Valentine,  I  need  not  cite  him  to  it : 
I  will  send  him  hither  to  you  presently.  \Eaif. 

Val.  This  is  the  gentleman  I  told  your  ladyship 
Had  come  along  with  me,  but  that  his  mistress 
Did  hold  his  eyes  lock'd  in  her  crystal  looks. 

8U.  Belike  that  now  she  hath  enfranchised  them  00 

Upon  some  other  pawn  for  fealty. 

Val.  Nay,  sure,  I  think  she  holds  them  prisoners  still. 

^.  Nay,  then  he  should  be  blind  ;  and,  being  blind. 
How  could  he  see  his  way  to  seek  out  you? 

Val.  Why,  lady.  Love  hath  twenty  jMilr  of  eyes. 

Thu.  They  say  that  Love  hath  not  an  eye  at  all. 

Val.  To  see  such  lovers,  Thurio,  as  yourself : 
U]K)n  a  homely  object  Love  can  wink. 

SU,  Have  done,  have  done  ;  here  comes  the  gentleman. 

Enter  Proteus.  [Exit  Thurio. 

Val.  Welcome,  dear  Proteus  I  Mistress,  I  beseech  you, 
Confirm  liis  welcome  with  some  special  favour. 

3U.  His  worth  is  warrant  for  his  welcome  hither. 
If  this  be  he  you  oft  have  wish'd  to  hear  from. 


BCBJfJB  rv.]     TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  83 

Vol.  Mistress,  it  is  :  sweet  lady,  entertaia  him 
To  be  my  fellow-servant  to  your  ladyship. 

8U.  Too  low  a  mistress  for  so  high  a  servant. 

Pro.  Not  so,  sweet  lady  :  but  t^o  mean  a  servant         110 
To  have  a  look  of  such  a  wortliy  mistress. 

Vfd.  Loave  oflE  discourse  of  disability : 
Sweet  lady,  entertain  him  for  your  servant. 

Pro.  My  duiy  will  I  boast  of  ;  nothing  else. 

8il.  And  duty  never  yet  did  want  his  meed  : 
Servant,  you  are  welcome  to  a  worthless  mistress. 

Pro.  ru  die  on  him  tliat  says  so  but  yourself. 

Sil.  That  you  are  welcome  ? 

Pro.  That  you  are  worthless. 

Re-enter  Thubio. 

Thu.  Madam,  my  lord  your  father  would  speak  with  you. 

SU.  I  wait  upon  his  pleasure.     Come,  Sir  Thurio, 
Go  with  me.     Once  more^  new  servant,  welcome  : 
ru  leave  yon  to  confer  of  home  affairs  :  . 
Wlien  you  have  done,  we  look  to  hear  from  you« 

Pro,  We'll  both  attend  upon  your  ladyship. 

[Exeunt  Silma  and  Thurio. 

Vol.  Now,  tell  me,  how  do  all  from  whence  you  came  ? 

Pro.  Your  friends  are  well  and  have  them  much  com- 
mended. 

Vol.  And  how  do  yours  ? 

Pro.  I  left  them  all  in  health. 

Vol.  How  does  yonr  lady  ?  and  how  thrives  your  love? 

Pro.  My  tales  of  love  were  wont  to  weary  you  ; 
I  know  you  joy  not  in  a  love-discourse. 

Vol.  Ay,  Proteus,  but  that  life  is  alter'd  now  : 
I  have  done  penance  for  contemning  Love, 
Whose  high  imperious  thoughts  have  punish'd  me 
With  bitter  fasts,  with  penitential  groans. 
With  nightly  tears  and  daily  heart-sore  sighs  ; 
For  in  revenge  of  my  contempt  of  love, 
Love  hath  chased  sleep  from  my  enthralled  eyes 
And  made  them  watchers  of  mine  own  heart's  sorrow. 
O  gentle  Proteus,.  Love's  a  mighty  lord 
AM  hath  so  humbled  me  as  I  confess 
There  is  no  woe  to  his  correction 
Nor  to  his  service  no  such  jov  on  earth. 
Now  no  discourse,  except  it  be  of  love  ;  140 

Now  can  I  break  my  fast,  dine,  sup  and  sleep. 
Upon  the  very  nake<i  name  of  love. 

Pro.  Enough ;  I  read  your  fortune  in  your  eye. 
Was  this  the  idol  that  you  worship  so  ? 


84  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  Iactii. 

Vol.  Even  she  ;  and  is  she  not  a  heavenly  saint  ? 

Pro.  No  ;  but  she  is  an  earthly  paragon. 

Vol,  Call  her  divine. 

Pro.  •  I  will  not  Hatter  her. 

Vol.  O,  flatter  me  ;  for  love  delights  in  prai^fes. 

Pro.  When  I  was  sick,  you  gave  me  bitter  pills, 
And  I  must  minister  the  like  to  you.  150 

Val.  Then  spesik  the  truth  by  her  ;  if  not  divine, 
Yet  let  her  be  a  principality, 
Sovereign  to  all  the  creatures  on  the  earth. 

Pro.  Except  my  mistress. 

Val.  Sweet,  except  not  any ; 

Except  thou  wilt  except  against  my  love. 

Pro.  Have  I  not  reason  to  prefer  mine  own? 

Val.  And  I  will  help  thee  to  prefer  her  too  : 
She  shall  be  dignified  with  this  high  honour — 
To  bear  my  lady's  train,  lest  the  base  earth 
Should  from  her  vesture  chance  to  steal  a  kiss  160 

And,  of  so  great  a  favour  growing  proud, 
Disdain  to  root  the  summer-swelling  flower 
And  make  rough  winter  everlastingly. 

Pro.   Why,  Valentine,  what  braggardism  is  this? 

Val.  Pardon  me,  Proteus  ;  all  I  can  is  nothing 
To  her  whose  worth  makes  other  worthies  nothing ;  I 

She  is  alone.  I 

Pro  Then  let  her  alone.  I 

Vol.  Not  for  the  world  :  why,  man,  she  is  mine  own. 
And  I  as  rich  in  having  such  a  jewel 

As  twenty  seas,  if  all  tlieir  sand  were  pearl,  170 

The  water  nectar  and  the  rocks  pure  gold. 
Forgive  me  that  I  do  not  dream  on  thee, 

Because  thou  see'st  me  dote  upon  my  love.  ^ 

My  foolish  rival,  that  her  father  likes 
Only  for  his  possessions  are  so  huge, 
Is  gone  with  her  along,  and  I  must  after, 
For  love,  thou  know'st,  is  full  of  jealousy. 

Pro.  But  she  loves  you  ? 

Val.  Ay,  and  we  are  betroth'd  :  nay,  more,  our  marriage-^ 
hour, 
With  all  the  cunning  manner  of  our  flight,  180 

Determined  of  ;  how  I  must  climb  her  window, 
The  ladder  made  of  cords,  and  all  the  means 
Plotted  and  'greed  on  for  my  happiness. 
Good  Proteus,  go  witli  me  to  my  chamber. 
In  these  aifairs  to  aid  me  with  thy  counsel. 

Pro.  Go  on  before  ;  I  shall  inquire  you  forth  :  ' 

I  must  unto  the  road,  to  disembark  ^ ' 


SCENE  v.]      TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  05 

Some  necessaries  t1\at  I  needs  must  use, 

And  then  I'll  presently  attend  you. 

Vol.  Will  you  make  haste?  190 

Pro.  I  will.  [Exit  Valentine, 

Even  as  one  heat  another  heat  expels, 

Or  as  one  nail  by  strength  drives  out  another. 

So  the  remembrance  of  my  former  love 

Is  by  a  newer  object  quite  forgotten. 

Is  it  mine  eye,  or  Valentinus*  praise, 

Her  true  perfection,  or  my  false  trancresston, 

Tliat  makes  me  reasonless  to  reason  thus  ? 

She  is  fair ;  and  so  is  Julia  that  I  love — 

That  I  did  love,  for  now  my  love  is  thaw'd,  200 

Which,  like  a  waxen  image  'gainst  a  fire. 

Bears  no  impression  of  the  thing  it  was. 

Methinks  my  zeal  to  Valentine  is  cold, 

And  that  I  love  him  not  as  I  was  w^ont. 

O,  but  I  love  his  lady  too  too  much, 

And  that's  the  reason  I  love  him  so  little. 

How  shall  I  dote  on  her  with  more  advice. 

That  thus  without  advice  begin  to  love  her  I 

'Tia  but  her  picture  I  have  yet  beheld, 

And  that  hatli  dazzled  my  reason's  light ;  910 

But  when  I  look  on  her  perfections, 

Tliere  is  no  reason  but  I  shall  be  blind. 

If  I  can  check  my  erring  love,  I  will ; 

If  not,  to  compass  her  I'll  use  my  skill.  [Exit, 

Scene  V.     The  mme,    A  street. 

Enter  Speed  and  Laukce  severally. 

Speed.  Launce  !  by  mine  honesty,  welcome  to  Milan  I 

Launce.  Forswear  not  thyself,  sweet  youth,  for  I  am  not 
welcome.  I  reckon  this  always,  that  a  man  is  never  undone 
till  he  1)e  lianged,  nor  never  welcome  to  a  place  till  some 
certain  shot  be  paid  and  the  hostess  say  **  Welcome  ! " 

Speed.  Come  on,  you  madcap,  I'll  to  the  alehouse  with 
you  presently ;  where,  for  one  shot  of  five  pence,  thou  shalt 
have  five  thousand  welcomes.  But,  sirrali,  how  did  thy 
master  part  with  Madam  Julia  ? 

LoMnce.  Marry,  after  they  closed  in  earnest,  they  parted 
vervfairly  in  jest.  11 

Speed.  But  shall  she  marry  him  ? 

Launce.  Ko. 

Speed.  How  then  ?  shall  he  marry  her  ? 

Launce.  No,  neither. 

Spesd,  Wliat,  are  they  broken? 


86  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  [act  il 

Launce.  No,  they  are  both  as  whole  as  a  fish. 

Speed.  Wliy,  then,  how  stands  the  matter  with  them  ? 

Launce.  Marry,  thus  :  when  it  stands  well  with  him,  it 
stands  well  with  her. 

Speed.  What  an  ass  art  thou  !  I  understand  thee  not.     20 

Launce.  What  a  block  art  thou,  that  thou  canst  not  I  My 
stall  understands  nie. 

Speed.  What  thou  sayest  ? 

Jjaunce.  Ay,  and  what  I  do  too  :  look  thee,  I'll  but  lean, 
and  my  stafE  understands  me. 

Speed.  It  stands  under  thee,  indeed. 

Launce.  Why,  stand-under  and  under-stand  is  all  one. 

Speed.  But  tell  me  true,  will't  be  a  match  ? 

Launce.  Ask  my  dog  :  if  he  say  ay,  it  will ;  if  he  say,  no, 
it  will ;  if  he  shake  liis  tail  and  say  nothing,  it  \vill.  30 

Speed.  The  conclusion  is  then  that  it  will. 

Launce.  Thou  shalt  never  get  such  a  secret  from  me  but 
by  a  parable. 

Speed.  'Tis  well  that  I  get  it  so.  But,  Launce,  how  say- 
est thou,  that  my  master  is  become  a  notable  lover  ? 

Launce.  I  never  knew  him  otherwise. 

Speed.  Than  how  ? 

Launce.  A  notable  lubber,  as  thou  reportest  him  to  be. 

Speed.  Why,  thou  whoreson  ass,  thou  mistaltest  mo. 

Launc-e.  Wliy,  fool,  I  meant  not  thee  ;  I  meant  thy  master. 

Speed.  I  tell  thee,  my  master  is  become  a  hot  lover. 

Launce.  Why,  I  tell  thee,  I  care  not  though  he  bum 
himself  in  love*.  If  thou  wilt,  go  with  me  to  the  alehouse  ; 
if  not,  thou  art  an  Hebrew,  a  Jew,  and  not  <\'orth  the  name 
of  a  Cliristian. 

Speed.  Wliy? 

Launce  Because  thou  hast  not  so  much  charity  in  thee  as 
to  go  to  the  ale  with  a  Christian.     Wilt  thou  go  ? 

Speed.  At  thy  service.  [Exeunt 

Scene  VI.     ihe  same.    T?ie  Duke's  palace. 

Enter  Proteus. 

Pro.  To  leave  my  Julia  shall  I  be  forsworn ; 
To  love  fair  Silvia,  shall  I  be  forsworn  ; 
To  wrong  ray  friend,  I  shall  be  much  forsworn  ; 
And  even  that  power  which  gave  me  first  my  oath 
Provokes  me  to  this  threefolil  perjury  ; 
Love  l)ade  me  swear  and  Love  bids  me  forswear. 
O  sweet  suggesting  Love,  if  thou  hast  sinn'd, 
Teach  me,  thy  tempted  subject,  to  excuse  it  I 
At  first  I  did  adore  a  twinkling  star, 


BCEXE^^I.]    TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  87 

ft 
But  now  I  worship  a  celestial  sun.  10 

Unlie«dful  vows  may  lieedfuUy  be  broken, 
And  lie  wants  wit  that  wants  resolved  will 
To  learn  his  wit  to  exchange  the  bad  for  better. 
Fio,  fie,  unreverencj^tongue  1  to  call  her  bad, 
Whose  sovereignty  so  oft  thou  hast  preferred 
With  twenty  thousand  soul-confirming  oaths. 
I  cannot  leave  to  love,  and  yet  I  do  ; 
Bat  there  I  leave  to  love  where  I  should  love. 
Julia  I  lose  and  Valentino  I  lose  : 

If  I  keep  them,  I  needs  must  lose  myself ;  20 

If  I  lose  them,  thus  find  I  by  their  loss 
For  Valentine  myself,  for  Julia  Silvia. 
I  to  myself  am  dearer  than  a  friend. 
For  love  is  still  most  precious  in  itself  ; 
And  Silvia — witness  Heaven,  that  made  her  fidr  I — 
Shows  Julia  but  a  swarthy  Ethiope. 
I  will  forget  that  Julia  i%  alive. 
Remembering  that  my  love  to  her  is  dead  ; 
And  Valentine  I'll  hold  an  enemy. 

Aiming  at  Silvia  as  a  sweeter  friend.  80 

I  cannot  now  prove  constant  to  myself. 
Without  some  treachery  used  to  Valentine. 
This  night  he  meaneth  with  a  corded  ladder 
To  climb  celestial  Silvia's  chamber- window. 
Myself  in  counsel,  his  competitor. 
Now  presently  I'll  give  her  father  notice 
Of  their  disguising  and  pretended  flight ; 
Who,  all  enraged,  will  banish  Valentine  ; 
For  Thurio,  he  intends,  shall  wed  his  daughter ; 
But,  Valentine  being  gone,  I'll  quickly  cross  40 

By  some  sly  trick  bmnt  Thurio's  dull  proceeding. 
Love,  lend  me  wings  to  make  my  purpose  swift, 
As  thou  hast  lent  me  wit  to  plot  this  drift  I  [Exit. 

Scene  VII.     Verona,    Julia's  Jiause, 

Enter  Julia  and  Lucetta. 

Jul.  Counsel,  Lucetta  ;  gentle  girl,  assist  me ; 
And  even  in  kind  love  I  do  conjure  thee. 
Who  art  the  table  wherein  all  my  thoughts 
Are  visibly  character'd  and  engraved. 
To  lesson  me  and  tell  me  some  good  mean 
How,  with  my  honour,  I  may  undertake  • 

A  journey  to  my  loving  Proteus. 

JjUC,  Alas,  the  way  is  wearisome  and  long  I 

Jul,  A  true-devoted  pilgrim  is  not  weary 


88  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.^       [act  ii. 

To  measnre  kingdoms  with  Lis  feeble  steps  ;  10 

Much  less  sliall  she  that  hath  Love's  wings  to  fly. 
And  when  the  ilight  is  made  to  one  so  dear, 
Of  such  divine  perfection  as  Sir  Proteus. 

Jaig.  Better  forbear  till  Proteus  make  return. 

Jul.  O,  knoVst  thou  not  his  looks  are'mj  soul's  food  7 
Pity  the  dearth  that  I  have  pined  in, 
By  lon^ng  for  that  food  so  long  a  time. 
Didst  thou  but  know  the  inly  touch  of  love, 
Thou  wouldst  as  soon  go  kindle  fire  with  snow 
As  seek  to  quench  the  fire  of  love  with  words.  20 

Luc.  I  do  not  seek  to  quench  your  love's  hot  fire. 
But  qualify  the  fire's  extreme  rage, 
Lest  it  should  bum  above  the  bounds  of  reason. 

Jvl.  The  moro  thou  damm'st  it  up,  the  more  it  bums. 
The  current  that  with  gentle  murmur  glides, 
Thou  know'st,  being  stopp'd,  impatiently  doth  rage  ; 
But  when  his  fair  course  is  not  hindered. 
He  makes  sweet  nrusic  with  the  enamell'd  stones. 
Giving  a  gentle  kiss  to  every  sedge 

He  overtaketh  in  his  pilgrimage,  SO 

And  so  by  many  winding  noo^  he  strays 
With  willing  sport  to  the  wild  ocean. 
Then  let  me  go  and  hinder  not  my  course  : 
I'll  be  as  patient  as  a  gentle  stream 
And  make  a  pastime  of  each  weary  step. 
Till  the  last  step  have  brought  me  to  my  love ; 
And  there  I'll  rest,  as  after  much  turmoil 
A  blessed  soul  doth  in  Elvsium. 

Lxui.  But  in  what  habit  will  you  go  along? 

Jul,  Not  like  a  woman  ;  for  I  would  prevent  40 

The  loose  encounters  of  lascivious  men  : 
Gentle  Lucetta,  fit  me  with  such  weeds 
As  may  beseem  some  well- reputed  page. 

Luc.  Why,  then,  your  ladyship  must  cut  your  hair. 

Jul.  No,  girl  ;  I'll  knit  it  u]>  in  silken  strings 
With  twenty  odd-conceited  true-love  knots. 
To  be  fantastic  may  become  a  youth 
Of  greater  time  than  I  shall  snow  to  be. 

Luc.  What  fashion,  madam,  shall  I  make  your  breeches? 

Jul.  That  fits  as  well  as  "  Tell  me,  eood  my  lord,  50 

What  'compass  will  you  wear  your  farUiingalc  ?  " 
Whv  even  what  fashion  thou  best  llkest,  Lucetta. 

Mic.  You  must  needs  have  them  with  a  codpiece,  madam. 

Jul.  Out,  out,  Lucetta  I  that  will  be  ill-favour'dl 

Luc.  A  round  hose,  madam ,  now's  not  worth  a  pin, 
Unless  you  have  a  codpiece  to  stick  pins  on. 


iCEKK  I.]       TWO  GENTLEMEN  OP  VERONA.  8& 

Jul.  Lucetta,  as  tliou  lovest  me,  let  me  bavo 
What  tkou  thinkest  meet  and  is  most  mamierly. 
But  tell  me,  wench,  how  will  the  world  repate  me 
For  undertaking  so  unstAid  a  journey  ?  60 

I  fear  me,  it  will  make  me  scandalized. 

Lue.  If  70a  think  so,  then  stay  lit  homo  and  go  not. 

Jul.  Nay,  that  I  will  not. 

Lue.  Then  never  dream  on  infamy,  but  go. 
If  Proteus  like  your  ioumcy  when  you  come. 
No  matter  who's  displeased  when  you  are  gone  : 
I  fear  me,  he  will  scarce  be  pleased  withal. 

Jul.,  Thatia  the  least,  Lucetta^  of  my  fear : 
A  thousand  oaths,  an  ocean  of  his  tears 
And  instances  of  infinite  of  love  70 

Warrant  me  welcome  to  my  Proteus. 

Lite.  All  these  are  servants  to  deceitful  men. 

Jul.  Base  men,  that  use  them  to  so  base  effect  I 
But  truer  stars  did  govern  Proteus'  birth  ; 
His  words  are  bonds,  his  oatlis  are  oracles. 
His  love  sincere,  his  thoughts  immaculate, 
His  tears  pure  messengers  sent  from  his  heart. 
His  heart  as  far  from  fraud  as  heaven  from  earth. 

Lu/C.  Pray  heaven  ho  prove  so,  when  you  come  to  him  I 

Jul.  Now,  as  thou  lovest  me,  do  him  not  that  wrong     80 
To  bear  a  hard  opinion  of  his  truth  : 
Onlv  deserve  my  love  by  loving  him ; 
And  presently  go  witli  me  to  my  chamber. 
To  take  a  note  of  what  I  stand  iu  need  of. 
To  furnish  me  upon  my  longing  journey. 
All  that  is  mine  I  leave  at  thy  dispose, 
My  goods,  my  lands,  my  reputation  ; 
Only,  in  lieu  thereof,  dispatch  me  hence. 
Conae,  answer  not,  but  to  it  presently  1 
I  am  impatient  of  my  taniance.  [E^ceunt.    90 

ACT   III. 

ScKSB  L    Milan.     The  Duke's  jyalace. 

Enter  Duke,  Thuhio,  and  Protecs. 

Duke.  Sir  Tliurio,  give  us  leave,  I  pray,  awliilo ; 
We  liave  some  secrets  to  confer  about.  [Exit  Thu, 

Now,  tell  me,  Proteus,  wliat's  your  will  with  me  ? 

Pro.  My  gracious  lord,  that  which  I  would  discover     » 
Tlie  law  of  friendship  bids  me  to  conceal ; 
But  when  I  call  to  mind  your  gracious  favours 
Done  to  me,  undeserving  as  I  am. 


90  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.       *  [Act  ni. 

My  duty  pricks  me  on  to  utter  that 
« ■  Which  else  no  worldly  good  should  draw  from  mo. 

y  Know,  worthy  prince,  Sir  Valentine,  my  friend  10 

This  night  intends  to  steal  away  your  daughter ; 

Myself  am  one  made  privy  to  the  plot. 

I  know  you  have  determined  to  bestow  her 

On  Thurio,  whom  your  gentle  daughter  hates ; 

And  should  she  thus  be  stol'n  away  from  you. 

It  would  be  much  vexation  to  your  age. 

Thus,  for  my  duty's  sake,  I  rather  chose 

To  cross  my  friend  in  his  intended  drift 

Than,  by  concealing  it,  heap  on  your  head 

A  pack  of  sorrows  which  would  press  you  down,  20 

Being  unprevented,  to  your  timeless  grave. 
Duke,  Proteus,  I  thank  thee  for  thine  honest  care  ; 

Which  to  requite,  command  me  while  I  live. 

This  love  of  theirs  myself  have  often  seen, 

Haply  when  they  have  judged  me  fast  asleep, 

And  oftentimes  have  purposed  to  forbid 

Sir  Valentine  her  conipany  and  my  court : 

Bat  fearing  lest  my  jealous  aim  might  err 

And  so  unworthily  disgrace  the  man, 

A  rashness  that  I  ever  y^t  have  shunn'd,  80 

I  gave  him  gentle  looks,  thereby  to  find 

That  which  thyself  hast  now  disclosed  to  me. 

And,  that  thou  mayst  perceive  my  fear  of  this. 

Knowing  that  tender  youth  is  soon  suggested, 

I  nightly  lodge  her  in  an  upper  tower. 

The  key  whereof  myself  have  ever  kept ; 

And  thence  she  cannot  be  convey'd  away. 
Pro.  Know,  noble  lord,  they  have  devised  a  mean 

How  he  her  chamber- window  will  ascend 

And  with  a  corded  ladder  fetch  her  down  ;  40 

For  which  the  youthful  lover  now  is  gone 

And  this  way  comes  he  with  it  presently ; 

Where,  if  it  please  you,  you  may  intercept  him. 

But,  good  my  Lord,  do  it  so  cunningly 

That  my  discovery  be  not  aimed  at. 

For  love  of  you,  not  hate  unto  my  friend. 

Hath  made  me  publisher  of  this  pretence. 
Duke.  Upon  mine  honour,  he  shall  never  know 

That  I  had  any  light  from  thee  of  this. 
Pro,  Adieu,  my  Lord  ;  Sir  Valentine  is  coming.  60 

[Exit, 

Enter  Valentine. 
Duke,  Sir  Valentine,  whither  away  so  fast? 


V 


r 


8CEKK  I.]       TWO  GENTLEMEN  OP  VERONA.  91 

Vat.  Please  it  your  grace,  there  is  a  messenger 
Tliat  stays  to  bear  my  letters  to  my  friends. 
And  I  am  ffoing  to  deliver  them. 

Duke.  Be  they  of  much  import  ? 

Vol.  The  tenour  of  them  doth  but  signify 
My  health  and  happy  being  at  your  court. 

Ihike.  Nay  then,  no  mattur  ;  stay  with  me  awhile  ; 
I  am  to  break  with  thee  of  some  affairs 
That  touch  me  near,  wherein  thou  must  be  secret.  60 

'Tis  not  unknown  to  thee  that  I  have  sought 
To  match  my  friend  Sir  Thurio  to  my  daughter. 
.    \ ,  <         Vol.  I  know  it  well,  my  Lord  ;  and  sure  the  match 
L\  .  Were  rich  and  honourable  ;  besides,  the  gentleman 

'  Is  full  of  virtue,  bounty,  worth  and  qualities  • 

Beseeming  such  a  wife  as  your  fair  daughter  : 
Cannot  your  Qrace  win  her  to  fancy  him  ? 

Duke.  No,  trust  me ;  she  is  peevish,  sullen,  froward, 
Proud,  disobedient,  stubborn,  lacking  duty, 
Neitlier  regarding  that  she  is  ray  child  70 

Nor  fearing;  me  as  if  I  were  her  father  ; 
And,  may  1  say  to  thee,  this  pride  of  bei-s, 
Upon  advice,  hath  drawn  my  love  from  her ; 
And,  where  I  thought  the  remnant  of  mine  age 
Should  have  been  cherished  by  her  child-like  duty, 
I  now  am  full  resolved  to  take  a  wife 
And  turn  her  out  to  who  will  take  her  in  : 
Then  let  her  beauty  be  her  wedding-dower ; 
For  me  and  my  possessions  she  esteems  not. 
.   Vol.  What  would  your  Qrace  have  me  to  do  In  this?    80 

Duke,  f There  is  a  lady  in  Milano  here 
Whom  I  affect ;  but  she  is  nice  and  coy 
And  nought  esteems  my  aged  eloquence  : 
Now  therefore  would  I  have  thee  to  my  tutor — 
For  long  agone  I  have  forgot  to  court ; 
Besides,  the  fashion  of  the  time  is  changed — 
How  and  which  way  I  may  bestow  myself 
To  be  r^arded  in  her  sun-bright  eye. 

Vol.   Win  her  with  gifts,  if  she  respect  not  words  : 
Dumb  jewels  often  in  their  silent  kind  00 

More  than  quick  words  do  move  a  woman's  mind. 

Ihike.  But  she  did  scorn  a  present  that  I  sent  her. 

Vol.  A  woman  sometimes  scorns  what  best  contents  her. 
Send  her  another  ;  never  give  her  o'er  ; 
For  scorn  at  first  makes  after-love  the  more. 
If  she  do  frown,  'tis  not  in  hate  of  you. 
But  rather  to  beget  more  love  in  you  : 
If  she  do  chide,  'tis  not  to  have  you  gon^ ; 


/ 

/ 

/ 
/ 


OS  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.        [act  hi. 

For  why,  the  fools  are  mad,  if  left  alone. 

Take  no  repulse,  wliatever  she  doth  say ;  100 

For  "get  you  gone,"  she  doth  not  mean  *'  away  !  '* 

Flatter  and  i)rais<*,  commend,  extol  their  graces  ; 

Though  ne'er  so  black,  say  they  have  angels*  faces. 

That  man  that  hath  a  tongue,  I  say,  is  no  man. 

If  with  his  tongue  he  cannot  win  a  woman. 

Duke,  But  she  I  mean  is  promised  by  her  friends 
Unto  a  youthful  gentleman  of  worth 
And  kept  severely  from  resort  of  men. 
That  no  man  hatn  access*  by  day  to  her. 

Vol.  Why,  then,  I  would  resort  to  her  by  night. 

Duke.  Ay,  but  the  doors  be  lock'd  and  keys  kept  safe, 
Tliat  no  man  hath  recourse  to  her  by  night. 

VaL  What  lets  but  one  may  enter  at  her  window  ? 

Duke,  Her  chamber  is  aloft,  far  from  the  ground. 
And  built  so  shelving  that  one  cannot  climb  It 
Without  apparent  hazard  of  his  life. 

Vcd.  Why  then,  a  ladder  quaintly  made  of  cords. 
To  cast  up,  with  a  pair  of  anchoring  hooks. 
Would  serve  to  scale  another  Hero's  tower, 
So  bold  Leander  would  adventure  it.  120 

Duke.  Now,  as  thou  art  a  gentleman  of  blood. 
Advise  me  where  I  may  have  such  a  ladder. 

Vol.  When  would  you  use  it  ?  pray,  sir,  tell  me  that 

Duke,  This  very  night ;  for  Love  is  like  a  child. 
That  longs  for  every  thing  that  he  can  come  by. 

Vol.  By  seven  o'clock  I'll  get  you  such  a  ladder, 

Duke.  But,  hark  thee  ;  I  m  ill  go  to  her  alone  : 
How  shall  I  best  convey  the  ladder  thither  ? 

Vol.  It  will  be  light,  my  lord,  that  you  may  bear  it 
Under  a  doak  that  is  of  any  length.  130 

Duke.  A  cloak  as  long  as  thine  will  serve  the  turn  ? 

Val.  Ay,  my  good  lord. 

Duke.  Then  let  me  see  thy  cloak : 

I'll  get  me  one  of  such  another  length. 

'  Vol.  Why,  any  cloak  will  serve  the  turn,  my  lord. 

Duke.  How  shall  I  fashion  me  to  wear  a  cloak  ? 
I  pray  thee,  let  me  feel  thy  cloak  upon. me. 
What  letter  is  this  same  ?    What's  here  ?    "To  Silvia  "  ! 
And  here  an  engine  fit  for  my  proceeding. 
I'll  be  so  bold  to  break  the  seal  for  once.  [Rcade. 

"  My  thoughts  do  harbour  with  my  Silvia  nifhtly. 

And  slaves  they  are  to  me  that  send  them  flying : 
O,  could  their  master  come  and  go  as  lightly. 

Himself  would  lodge  where  senselesn  tliey  are  lying  I 
My  herald  thoughts  in  thy  pure  bosom  rest  them  ; 


8CENK 1.]       TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  88 

Wliile  I,  their  kinf ,  that  hither  them  importune, 
Bo  curse  the  grace  that  witli  sucli  grace  hnth  hless'd  them, 

Because  m>self  do  want  my  servants'  fortune  : 
I  curse  myself,  for  they  are  sent  by  me. 
That  they  should  harbour  where  their  lord  would  be." 
What's  here?  151 

'*  Silvia,  this  night  I  will  enfranchise  thee." 
Tis  so  ;  and  here's  the  ladder  for  the  purposo. 
Wliy,  Pliaethon, — for  thou  art  Merops'  son, — 
Wilt  thou  aspire  to  guide  the  heavenly  car 
And  with  thy  daring  folly  bum  the  wor*d  ? 
Wilt  thou  reach  stars,  because  they  shine  on  thee  Y 
Qo,  base  intruder  I  overweening  slave  1 
Bestow  thy  fawning  smiles  on  equal  mates, 
And  think  my  patience,  more  than  thy  desert, 
Is  privilege  for  thy  departure  hence  :  160 

Thank  me  for  this  more  than  for  all  the  favours 
Which  all  too  much  I  have  bestow'd  on  thee. 
But  if  thou  liuger  in  my  territories 
Longer  than  swiftest  expedition 
Will  give  thee  time  to  leave  our  royal  court, 
By  heaven  I  my  wrath  shall  far  exceed  the  love 
I  ever  bore  my  daughter  or  thyself. 
Be  gone !  I  will  not  hear  thy  vain  excuse ; 
But,  as  thou  lovest  thy  life,  make  speed  from  hence.  [Exit. 

Vol.  And  why  not  death  rather  tnan  living  torment?  170 
To  die  is  to  be  banish'd  from  myself  ; 
And  Silvia  is  myself  :  banish'd  from  her 
Is  self  from  self  :  a  deadly  banishment  I 
What  light  is  light,  if  Silvia  be  not  seen  1 
What  joy  is  joy,  if  Silvia  be  not  by? 
Unless  it  be  to  think  that  she  is  by 
And  feed  upon  the  shadow  ot  perfection. 
Except  I  be  by  Silvia  in  the  night. 
There  is  no  music  in  the  nightingale  ; 
Unless  I  look  on  Silvia  in  the  day,  180 

There  is  no  day  for  me  to  look  upon ; 
She  is  my  essence,  and  I  leave  to  be. 
If  I  be  not  by  her  fair  influence 
Foster'd,  illumined,  cherish'd,  kept  alive. 
I  fly  not  death,  to  fly  his  deadly  doom  : 
Tarry  I  here,  I  but  attend  on  death  : 
But,  fly  I  hence,  I  fly  away  from  life. 

Enter  Proteus  and  Launcb. 

Pro,  Ron,  boy,  ran,  run,  and  seek  him  out 
Launes,  Soho,  soho  1 


94  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.        [act  hi. 

Pro.  VVliat  seest  tliou  ?  190 

Launce.  Him  we  go  to  find  :  there's  not  a  hair  on's  head 
but  'tis  a  Valentine. 

Pro.  Valentine? 
Vol.  No. 

Pro.  Who  then  ?  his  spirit  ? 
Val.  Neither. 

Pro.  What  thent 

Val.  Nothing. 

Launce.  Can  nothing  speak  ?    Master,  shall  I  strike  ? 

Pro.  Who  wouldst  tlioa  strike  ?  200 

Launce.  Nothing. 

Pro.  Villain,  forbear. 

Launce.  Why,  sir,  I'll  strike  nothing :  I  pray  you, — 

Pro.  Sirrah,  I  say,  forbear.     Friend  Valentine,  a  word. 

Val.  My  ears  are  stopt  and  cannot  hear  good  news. 
So  much  of  bad  already  hath  possess'd  them. 

Pro.  Then  in  dumb  silence  will  I  bury  mine, 
For  they  are  harsh,  untuneable  and  bad. 

Val.  Is  Silvia  dead? 

Pro.  No,  Valentine.  210 

Val.  No  Valentine,  indeed,  for  sacred  Silvia. 
Hath  she  forsworn  me  ? 

Pro.  No,  Valentine. 

Val.  No  Valentine,  if  Silvia  have  forsworn  me. 
What's  your  news  ? 

Launce.  Sir,  there  is  a  proclamation  that  you  are  vanished. 

Pro.  That  thou  art  banished — O,  that's  the  news  ! — 
From  hence,  from  Silvia  and  from  me  thy  friend. 

Val.  0,  I  have  fed  upon  this  woe  already. 
And  now  excess  of  it  will  make  me  surfeit".  220 

Doth  Silvia  know  that  I  am  b^lshed  ? 

Pro.  Ay,  ay  ;  and  she  hath  offer'd  to  the  doom — 
Which,  unreversed,  stands  in  effectual  force — 
A  sea  of  melting  pearl,  which  some  call  tears  ; 
Tliose  at  her  father's  churlish  feet  she  tender'd  ; 
With  them,  upon  her  knees,  her  humble  stlf  ; 
Wringing  her  hands,  whose  whiteness  so  became  them 
As  if  but  now  they  waxed  palo  for  woe  : 
But  neither  bended  knees,  pure  hands  held  up, 
Sad  sighs,  deep  groans,  nor  silver-shedding  te«rs,  230 

Could  penetrate  her  uncompassionate  sire  ; 
But  Valentine,  if  he  be  ta'en,  must  die. 
Besides,  her  intercession  chafed  him  so, 
When  she  for  thy  repeal  was  suppliant. 
That  to  close  prison  he  commanded  her, 
With  many  bitter  threats  of  binding  there. 


8CBKE  I.]       TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  95 

« 

Vol.  No  more ;  unless  the  next  word  tliat  thou  speak'st 
Have  some  malignant  power  upon  my  life : 
If  so,  I  pray  thee,  breathe  it  in  mine  ear. 
As  ending  anthem  of  my  endless  dolour.  Z40 

Pro,  Cease  to  lament  for  that  thou  canst  not  help, 
And  study  help  for  that  which,  thou  lamcnVst. 
Time  is  the  nurse  and  breeder  of  all  good. 
Here  if  thou  stay,  thou  canst  not  see  thy  love  ; 
Besides,  thy  staying  will  abridge  thy  life. 
Hope  is  a  lover's  stafE ;  walk  hence  with  that 
And  manage  it  aeainst  despairing  thoughts. 
Thy  letters  may  be  here,  though  thou  art  hence  ; 
Which,  being  writ  to  me.  shall  be  deliver'd 
Even  in  the  milk-white  bosom  of  thy  love.  250 

The  time  now  serves  not  to  expostulate  : 
Come,  I'll  convey  thee  through  the  city-gate  ; 
And.  ere  I  part  with  thee,  confer  at  large 
Of  all  that  may  concern  thy  love-affairs. 
As  thou  lovest  Silvia,  though  not  for  thyself, 
Itef  ard  thy  danger,  and  along  with  me  ! 

vol.  I  pray  thee,  Launce,  an  if  thou  scest  mv  boy. 
Bid  him  make  haste  and  meet  me  at  the  Nortn-gate. 

Pro.  Go,  sirrah,  find  him  out.     Come,  Valentine. 

Vol.  O  my  dear  Silvia  I     Hapless  Valentino  !  260 

[Exeunt  Vol.  and  Pro. 

Launce,  I  am  but  a  fool,  look  you ;  and  yet  I  have  the 
wit  to  think  my  master  is  a  kind  of  a  knave :  but  that's 
all  one,  if  he  be  but  one  knave.  He  lives  not  now  that 
knows  me  to  be  in  love  ;  yet  I  am  in  love  ;  but  a  team 
of  horse  shall  not  pluck  that  from  me ;  nor  who  'tis  I 
love ;  and  yet  'tis  a  woman  ;  but  what  woman,  I  will  not 
tell  myself ;  and  yet  'tis  a  milkmaid ;  yet  'tis  not  a  maid, 
for  she  liatli  had  gossips;  yet  'tis  a  maid,  for  she  is  her 
master's  maid,  and  serves  for  wages.  She  hath  more 
qualities  than  a  water-spaniel ;  whirh  is  much  in  a  bare 
Christian.  [Pulling  out  a  paper. "l  Here  is  the  cate-log  of 
her  condition.  "Imprimis:  She  can  fetch  and  carry." 
Why,  a  horse  can  do  no  more  :  nay,  a  horse  cannot  fetch, 
but  only  carry  ;  therefore  is  she  better  than  a  jade.  *'  Item  : 
She  can  milk ; "  look  you,  a  sweet  virtue  in  a  maid  with 
clean  hands. 

Snter  Speed. 

Speed,  How  now,  Signior  Launce  !  what  news  with  your 
mastership?  280 

Launce,  With  my  master's  ship?  why,  it  is  at  sea. 


M  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.        [act  nil 

Speed,  Well,    your  old  yice  still ;  mistake  the   word. 
What  news,  then,  in  your  paper? 
Launce.  The  blackest  news  that  ever  thou  heardest. 
Speed.     Why,  man,  how  black  ? 
Launce.  Why,  as  black  as  ink. 

Speed.  Let  me  read  them.  290 

Launce.  Fie  on  thee,  jolt-head  !  thou  canst  not  read. 

foeed.  Thou  liest ;  I  can. 
aunce.  I  will  try  thee.     Tell  me  this  :  who  begot  thee? 

Speed.  Mary,  the  son  of  my  grandfather. 

Launce.  0  illiterate  loiterer  !  it  was  the  son  of  thy  grand- 
mother :  this  proves  that  thou  canst  not  read. 

Speed.  CJome,  fool,  come  ;  try  me  in  thy  paper..  300 

jMunee.  There  ;  and  Saint  Nicholas  be  thy  speed  I 

Speed.  [Reads]  *'  Imprimis  :  She  can  milk." 

Launce.  Ay,  that  she  can. 

Speed.  "  Item  :  She  brews  good  ale." 

Launce.  And  therefore  comes  the  proverb  :  "  Blessing  of 
your  heai-t,  you  brew  good  ale." 

Speed.  *'  Item  :  She  can  sew." 

Launce.  That's  as  much  as  to  say,  Can  she  so  f* 

Speed.  "Item:  She  can  knit."  310 

Launce.  What  need  a  man  care  for  a  stock  with  a  wench, 
Vhen  she  can  knit  hhn  a  stock  ? 

Speed.  *'  Item  :  She  can  wash  and  scour." 

Launce.  A  special  virtue  ;  for  then  she  need  not  bo 
washed  and  scoured. 

Speed.   **  Item  :  She  can  spin." 

Launce.  Then  may  I  set  the  world  on  wheels,  when  she 
can  spin  for  her  living. 

Speed.   "  Item  :  She  hath  many  nameless  virtues."       820 

Launce.  That's  as  much  as  to  say,  bastard  virtues  ;  that, 
indeed,  know  not  their  fathers  and  therefore  have  no  names. 

Speed.  "  Here  follow  her  vices." 

Launce.  Close  at  the  heels  of  her  virtues. 

Speed.  "  Item  :  She  is  not  to  be  kissed  fasting,  in  re- 
spect of  her  breath." 

Launce.  Well,  that  fault  may  be  mended  with  a  break- 
fa.st.     Read  on. 

Spe^d.  "Item:  She  hath  a  sweet  mouth."  330 

Launce.  That  makes  amends  for  her  sour  breath. 

Speed.  "  Item  :  She  doth  tjilk  in  her  sleep." 

Launce.  It's  no  matter  for  that,  so  she  sleep  not  in  her  talk. 

Speed.  "  Item  :  She  is  slow  in  words." 

Launte.  O  villain,  that  set  this  down  among  her  vices  I 
To  be  slow  in  words  is  a  woman's  only  virtue  ;  I  pray  thee, 
out  with't,  and  place  it  for  her  chief  virtue.  840 


BCBNE  L]       TWO  aENTLEMEN  OP  VERONA.  «7 

Speed,  "  Item  :  she  ia  proud." 

Launce.  Out  with  that  too  ;  it  was  Eve's  legacy,  and  can- 
not be  ta'en  from  her. 

Speed.  "  Item  :  she  hath  no  teeth." 

Launee.  I  care  not  for  that  neither,  because  I  love  crusts. 

Speed.  **  Item  :  She  is  curst." 

Launee.  Well,  the  best  is,  she  hath  no  teeth  to  bite. 

Speed.  '*  Item  :  She  will  often  praise  her  liquor."         851 

Launee.  If  her  liquor  be  good,  slie  shall :  if  she  will  not, 
I  will ;  for  good  things  should  be  praised. 

Speed,  "  Item  :  She  is  too  liberal." 

Lajmce.  Of  her  tongue  she  cannot,  for  that's  writ  down 
she  is  slow  of ;  of  her  purse  she  shall  not,  for  that  I'll  keep 
shut :  now,  of  another  thing  she  may,  and  tliat  cannot  I 
help.     Well,  proceed.  360 

Speed.  **  Item  :  She  hath  more  hair  than  wit,  and  more 
faults  than  hairs,  and  more  wealth  than  faults." 

Launee.  Stop  there ;  V\\  have  her :  she  was  mine,  and 
not  mine,  twice  or  thrice  in  that  last  article.  Rehearse 
that  once  more. 

Speed.  "  Item :  She  hath  more  hair  than  wit," — 

Launee.  More  hair  than  wit?  It  may  be  ;  I'll  prove  it. 
The  cover  of  the  salt  hides  the  salt,  and  therefore  it  is 
more  than  the  salt ;  the  hair  that  covers  the  wit  is  mojre 
than  the  wit,  for  the  greater  hides  the  less.     What's  next? 

Speed.  "  And  more  faults  than  hairs," — 

Launee.  That's  monstrous  :  O,  that  that  were  out  I 

Speed.  "And  more  wealth  than  faults." 

Launee.  Whv,  that  word  makes  the  faults  gracious. 
Well,  I'll  have  her :  and  if  it  be  a  match,  as  nothing  is  im- 
possible.— 

Speed.  What  then  T  880 

Launee.  Why,  then  will  I  tell  thee — ^that  thy  master  stays 
for  thee  at  the  North-gate. 

j^>eed.  For  meT 

Launee.  For  thee  1  ay,  who  art  thouY  he  hath  stayed  for 
a  better  man  than  thee. 

Speed.  And  must  I  go  to  him  ? 

Launee.  Thou  must  run  to  him,  for  thou  hast  stayed  so 
long  that  going  will  scarce  serve  the  turn. 

Speed.  Why  didst  not  tell  me  sooner?  pox  of  your  love- 
letters  !  [ExU.     891 

Launee.  Now  will  he  be  swinged  for  reading  my  letter ; 
an  unmannerly  slave,  that  will  thrust  himself  into  secrets  ! 
I'll  after,  to  rejoice  in  the  boy's  correction.  [EhcU. 


.  I.-4 


98  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.:]        [act  iil 

Scene  II.     The  same.     The  Duke's  palaee. 

Enter  Duke  and  Tnunio. 

I)vke.  Sir  Tliurio,  fear  not  but  that  she  will  love  you. 
Now  Valentine  is  banish 'd  from  her  sight. 

Thu.  Since  his  exile  she  liatli  despiijtd  me  most. 
Forsworn  my  company  and  rail'd  at  me, 
That  I  am  desperate  of  obtaining'  her. 

Duke.  This  weak  impress  of  love  is  ns  a  iigare 
Trenched  in  ice,  which  with  an  hour's  heat 
Dissolves  to  water  and  doth  ]ose  his  form. 
A  little  time  will  melt  her  frozen  thoughts 
And  worthless  Valentine  shall  be  forgot.  10 

Enter  Proteus. 

How  now.  Sir  Proteus  !    Is  yonr  countryman 
According  to  our  proclamation  gone  ? 

Pro.  Gone,  my  good  lord. 

Duke.  My  daugliter  takes  his  goinp  grievously. 

Pro.  A  little  time,  my  lord,  will  kill  that  grief. 

Duke.  So  I  believe  ;  but  Thurio  thinks  not  so. 
Proteus,  the  good  conceit  I  hold  of  thee — 
For  thou  hast  shown  some  sign  of  good  desert — 
Makes  me  the  better  to  confer  with  thee. 

Pro,  Longer  tlian  I  prove  loyal  to  your  grace  20 

Let  me  not  live  to  look  upon  your  grace. 

Duke.  Thou  know'st  how  willingly  I  would  effect 
The  match  between  Sir  Thurio  and  my  daughter. 

Pro.  I  do,  my  lord. 

DuM  And  also,  I  think,  thou  art  not  ignorant 
How  she  opposes  her  ogainst  my  will. 

Pro   She  did,  my  lonl,  when  Valentine  was  here. 

Duke.  Ay,  and  perversely  she  perseveres  so. 
What  might  we  do  to  make  the  girl  forget  i 

The  love  of  Valentine  and  love  Sir  Thurio  ?  SO  , 

Pro.  The  best  way  is  to  slander  Valentine 
With  falsehood,  cowardice  and  poor  descent, 
Thret?  things  that  women  highly  hold  in  hate. 

Duke.  Ay,  but  she'll  think  that  it  is  spoke  in  hate 

Pro.  Ay,  if  his  enemy  dehver  it : 
TherefoK^  it  must  with  circumstance  be  spoken 
By  one  whom  she  esteem eth  as  a  friend. 

Duke.  Then  you  must  undertake  to  slander  him. 

Pro,  And  that,  my  lord,  I  shall  l»e  loath  to  do  : 
'Tis  an  ill  office  for  a  gentleman,  40 

Especially  a^inst  his  very  friend. 

Ihike.  Where  your  good  word  cannot  advantage  him, 


SCENE  n.]     TWO  GENTLEMEN  OP  VERONA.  99 

Tour  slander  never  can  endamage  lilm  ; 
Tlierefore  the  office  is  indiiferent. 
Being  entreated  to  it  by  your  friend.  * 

Pro.  You  liave  prevail'd,  my  lord  ;  if  I  can  do  it 
By  ought  tliat  I  can  speak  in  his  dispraise, 
8he  shall  not  long  continue  love  to  him. 
But  say  this  woed  her  love  from  Valentine, 
It  follows  not  that  she  will  love  Sir  Thurio.  50 

Thu.  Therefore,  as  you  unwind  her  love  from  him, 
Lest  it  should  ravel  and  be  good  to  none. 
You  must  provide  to  bottom  it  on  me  ; 
Which  must  be  done  by  praising  me  as  much 
Aa  you  in  worth  dispraise  Sir  Valentine. 

Duke.  And,  Proteus,  we  dare  trust  you  in  this  kind. 
Because  we  know,  on  Valentine's  report, 
You  are  already  Love's  firm  votary 
And  cannot  soon  revolt  and  change  your  mind. 
Upon  this  warrant  shall  you  have  access 
Where  you  with  Silvia  may  ionfer  at  large  ; 
For  she  is  lumpish,  heavy,  melancholy. 
And,  for  your  friend's  Bcd^e,  will  be  glad  of  yon  ;, 
Where  you  may  temper  her  by  your  persuasion 
To  hate  young  Valentine  and  love  my  friend. 

Pro.  As  much  as  I  can  do,  1  will  effect : 
But  you.  Sir  Thurio,  are  not  sharp  enough  ; 
You  must  lay  line  to  tangle  her  desires 
By  wailful  sonnets,  whose  comi)osed  rhymes 
Should  be  full- fraught  with  serviceable  vows.  70 

Duke.  Ay, 
Much  is  the  force  of  heaven-bred  poesy. 

Pro.  Say  that  upon  the  altar  of  her  beauty 
You  sacrifice  your  tears,  your  sighs,  your  heart : 
Write  till  your  ink  be  dry,  and  with  your  tears 
Moist  it  again,  Jind  frame  some  feeling  line 
That  may  discover  such  integrity  : 
For  Orpheus*  lute  was  strung  with  poets'  sinews. 
Whose  golden  touch  could  soften  steel  and  stones. 
Make  tigers  tame  and  huge  leviathans  80 

Forsake  un.souuded  deeps  to  dance  on  sands. 
After  your  dire-lamenting  elegies, 
Visit  by  night  your  lady's  chamber-window 
With  some  sweet  concert ;  to  their  instruments 
Tune  a  deploring  dump  :  the  night's  dead  silence 
Will  well  become  such  sweet-«omplaining  grievance. 
This,  or  else  nothing,  will  inherit  her. 

Dvki.  This  discipline  shows  thou  ha.st  been  in  love. 

Thu.  And  thy  advice  this  night  I'll  put  in  practice. 


100         TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.         [act  iv. 

Therefore,  sweet  Proteus,  my  direction-giver,  90 

Let  us  into  the  city  presently 

To  sort  some  gentlemen  well  skill'd  in  music. 

I  have  a  sonnet  that  will  serve  the  turn 

To  give  the  onset  to  thy  good  advice. 

Duke.  About  it,  gentlemen  1 

Pro.  We'll  wait  upon  your  grace  till  after  supper, 
9 And  afterward  determine  our  proceedings. 

Dviu.  Even  now  about  it !  I  will  pardon  you.     [Exeunt. 

ACT  IV. 

ScENsL     The  frontier  of  Mantua.    Aforeit, 

Enter  certain  Outlaws. 

Fir9t  Out.  Fellows,  stand  fast,  I  see  a  passenger. 

See.  Out.  If  there  be  ten,  shrink  not,  but  down  with  'em. 

Enter  Valentine  and  Speed. 

Tlwrd  Out.  Stand,  sir,  and  throw  us  that  you  have  about 
ye: 
If  not,  we'll  make  you  sit  and  rifle  you. 

Speed.  Sir,  we  are  undone ;  these  are  the  villains 
That  all  the  travellers  do  fear  ho  much. 

Val.  My  friends, — 

First  Out.  That's  not  so,  sir  :  we  are  your  enemies. 

Sec.  Out.  Peace !  we'll  hear  him.  , 

Third  Out.  Ay,  by  my  beard,  will  we,  for  he's  a  proper  j 

man.  10  ; 

Val.  Then  know  that  I  have  little  wealth  to  lose : 
A  man  I  am  cross'd  with  adversity  ; 
My  riches  are  these  poor  habiliments. 

Of  which  if  you  should  hero  disfumish  me,  j 

You  take  the  sum  and  substance  that  I  have.  ' 

Sec.  Out.  Whither  travel  you  ? 
*   Val.  To  Verona. 

First  Out.  Whence  came  you  ? 

Val.  From  Milan. 

Third  Out.  Have  you  long  sojourned  there  ?  20 

Val.  Some  sixteen  months,  and  longer  might  havo  stay'd 
If  crooked  fortune  had  not  thwarted  mo. 

First  Out.  What,  were  you  banish'd  thence  ? 

Val.  I  was. 

Sec.  Out.  For  what  offence  ? 

Vol.  For  tliat  which  now  torments  mo  to  rehearse  : 
I  kiU'd  a  man,  whoso  death  I  must  repent ; 


BCKNB  I.]       TWO  GENTLEMEN  OP  VERONA.  101 

But  yet  I  slew  him  manf  ally  in  fight, 
Witliont  false  vantage  or  base  treacliery. 

Firtt  Out.  Why,  ne'er  repent  it,  if  it  were  done  so.        30 
Bat  were  yoa  banish'd  for  so  small  a  fault  t 

Vol.  I  was,  and  held  me  glad  of  such  a  doom. 

i&fcr.  Out.  Have  you  the  tongues  ? 

Vol,  My  yoatliful  travel  therein  made  me  happy. 
Or  else  I  often  had  been  miserable. 

TMrd  Out.  By  the  bare  scalp  of  Robin  Hood's  fat  friar. 
This  fellow  were  a  king  for  our  wild  faction  ? 

Mrnt  Out.  We'll  have  him.     Sirs,  a  word. 

Speed.  Master,  be  one  of  them  ;  it's  an  honourable  kind 
of  thievery.  40 

Vol.  Peace,  villain  ! 

Sec.  Out.  Tell  us  this  :  have  you  any  thing  to  take  to  ? 

Vol.  Nothing  but  mv  fortune. 

Third  Out.  Einow,  then,  that  some  of  us  are  gentlemen, 
Such  as  the  fury  of  ungovem*d  youth 
Thrust  from  the  company  of  awful  men  : 
Myself  was  from  Verona  banished 
For  practising  to  steal  away  a  lady, 
An  heir,  and  near  allied  unto  the  duke. 

See.  Out,  And  I  from  Mantua,  for  a  gentleman,  60 

Who,  in  my  mood,  I  stabb'd  unto  the  heart. 

Firtt  Out.  And  I  for  such  like  petty  crimes  as  these. 
But  to  the  purpose — for  we  cite  our  faults, 
That  they  may  hold  excus'd  our  lawless  lives  ; 
And  partly,  seeing  you  are  beautified 
With  goodly  sliape  and  by  your  own  report 
A  linguist  and  a  man  of  such  perfection 
As  we  do  in  our  quality  much  want — 

Sec.  Out.  Indeed,  because  you  are  a  banish'd  man. 
Therefore,  above  the  rest,  we  parley  to  you  :  60 

Are  you  content  to  be  our  general  ? 
To  make  a  virtue  of  necessity 
And  live,  as  we  do,  in  this  wilderness? 

Third  Out.  What  say'st  thou?  wilt  thou  be  of  our  consort? 
Say  ay,  and  be  the  eaptain  of  us  all : 
We'll  do  thee  homage  and  be  ruled  by  thee. 
Love  thee  as  our  commander  and  our  king, 

First  Out.  But  if  thoa  scorn  our  courtesy,  thou  diest. 

Sec.  Out.  Thou  shalt  not  live  to  brag  what  we  have  offor'd. 

Vol.  I  take  your  offer  and  will  live  with  you.  70 

Provided  that  you  do  no  outrages 
On  silly  women  or  poor  passengers. 

mpd  Out.  No,  we  detest  such  vile  base  practices. 
Come,  go  with  us,  we'll  bring  thee  to  oar  crews. 


103  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.         [act  iv. 

And  show  thee  all  the  treasure  we  have  got ; 

Which,  Avith  ourselves,  all  rest  at  thy  dispose.         [JjJxettnt, 

Scene  II.     MUan,     Outside  the  Dukb'b  palace,  under 

SiLViA*8  c/iamber. 

Enter  Proteus. 

Pro.  Already  have  I  l)een  false  to  Valentine 
And  now  I  must  be  as  unjust  to  Thurio. 
Under  the  colour  of  commending  him, 
I  have  access  my  own  love  to  prefer  : 
But  Silvia  is  too  fair,  too  true,  too  holy. 
To  be  corrupted  with  my  worthless  gifts. 
When  I  protest  true  loyalty  to  her. 
She  twits  me  with  my  falsehood  to  my  friend  ; 
When  to  her  beauty  1  commend  my  vows, 
She  bids  me  think  how  I  have  been  forsworn  10 

In  breaking  faith  with  Julia  whom  I  loved  : 
And  notwithstanding  all  her  sudden  quips. 
The  least  whereof  would  quell  a  lover's  hope. 
Yet,  spaniel-like,  the  more  she  spurns  my  love, 
The  more  it  grows  and  fawneth  on  her  still. 
But  here  comes  Thurio  :  now  must  we  to  her  window. 
And  give  some  evening  music  to  her  ear. 

Elder  Thubio  and  Musicians. 

Thu,  How  now.  Sir  Proteus,  are  you  crept  before  us  t 

Pro.  Ay,  gentle  Thurio  :  for  you  know  that  love 
W^ill  creep  in  service  where  it  cannot  go.  20 

Thu,  Ay,  but  I  hope,  sir,  that  you  love  not  here. 

Pro,  Sir.  but  I  do  ;  or  else  I  would  be  henoe. 

Thu.  Who?    fiUvia? 

Pro,  Ay,  Silvia ;  for  your  sake. 

llvu,  I  thank  you  for  your  own.     Now,  gentlemen, 
Let's  tune,  and  to  it  lustily  awhile. 

Enter,  at  a  distance.  Host,  and  Julia  in  hoy's  clot?ies. 

Host.  Now,  my  young  guest,  methinks  you're  allycholly  : 
I  pray  you,  why  is  it? 

Jul.  Marry,  mine  host,  because  I  cannot  be  merry. 

Host.  Come,  we'll  have  you  merry  :  I'll  bring  you  where 
you  shall  hear  music  and  see  the  gentleman  tliat  you  asked 
for. 

Jul.  But  shall  I  hear  him  speak  ? 

Host.  Ay,  that  you  shall. 

Jul.  That  will  be  music.  [Music  plaf/i. 

Host.  Hark,  bark  1 


8CBNE  n.]     TWO  GENTLEMEN  OP  VERONA.  108 

Jul.  Is  he  amoBg  these  ? 

Hast.  Aj  :  but,  peace  I  let's  hear  'em. 

Song. 

Who  is  Silvia  ?  what  is  she, 

That  all  onr  swains  commend  her  ?  40 

Holy,  fair  and  wise  is  she  ; 

Tne  heaven  such  grace  did  lend  her. 
That  she  might  admired  be. 

Is  she  kind  as  she  is  fair? 

For  beauty  lives  with  kindness. 
Love  doth  to  her  eyes  repair. 

To  help  him  of  his  blindness. 
And,  bein^  help'd,  inhabits  thm. 

Then  to  Silvia  let  us  sing. 

That  Silvia  is  excelling ;  60 

She  excels  each  mortal  thing 

Upon  the  dull  earth  dwelling : 
To  her  let  us  garlands  bring. 

ITott.  How  now  !  are  jou  sadder  than  you  were  before? 
How  do  you,  man  ?  the  music  likes  you  not. 

Jul.  You  mistake ;  the  musician  likes  me  not. 

Host.  WTiv,  my  pretty  youth  ? 

Jul.  He  plays  false,  father. 

Hast.  How  ?  out  of  tune  on  the  strings?  60 

Jul.  Not  so  ;  but  yet  so  false  that  he  grieves  my  very 
heart-strings. 

Hast.  You  have  a  quick  ear. 

Jul.  Ay,  I  would  I  were  deaf  ;  it  makes  me  have  a  slow 
heart. 

Host.  I  perceive  you  delight  not  in  music. 

Jul.  Not  a  whit,  when  it  jars  so. 

Host.  Hark,  what  fine  change  is  in  the  music  I 

Jul.  Ay,  that  change  is  the  spite. 

Host.  You  would  have  them  always  play  but  one  thing? 

Jul.  I  would  always  have  one  play  but  one  thing. 
But,  host,  doth  this  Sir  Proteus  that  we  talk  on 
Often  resort  unto  this  gentlewoman  ? 

Host.  I  tell  you  what  Launce,  his  man,  told  me  :  he  loved 
her  out  of  all  nick. 

Jul.  Wlure  is  Launce? 

Host.  Gone  to  seek  his  dog;   which  to-morww,  by  his 
master's  command,  he  must  carry  for  a  prwwnt  to  his  I*<iy« 

Jul.  Peace !  stand  aside  :  the  company  parts.  81 


104         TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.         |act  iv. 

Pro.  Sir  Thurio,  fear  not  you  :  I  will  so  plead 
That  you  shall  say  my  cunning  drift  excels. 
Thu.  Where  meet  we  ? 

Pro.  At  Saint  Gregory's  well. 

Thu.  '  Farewell. 

[Exeunt  Thu.  arid  Musicians. 

Enter  Silvia  above. 

Pro.  Madam,  good  even  to  your  ladyship. 

8il.  I  thank  you  for  your  music,  gentlemen. 
Who  is  that  that  spake  ? 

Pro.  One,  lady,  if  you  knew  his  pure  heart's  truth, 
You  would  quickly  learn  to  know  him  by  his  voice. 

8U.  Sir  Proteus,  as  I  take  it.  00 

Pro.  Sir  Proteus,  gentle  lady,  and  your  servant. 

8a.  What's  your  will  ? 

Pro.  Tl\at  I  may  compass  yours. 

6il.  You  have  your  wish  ;  my  will  is  even  this  : 
That  presently  you  hie  you  home  to  bed.. 
Tliou  subtle,  ])erjured,  false,  disloyal  man  I 
Think'st  thou  I  am  so  shallow,  so  conceitless. 
To  be  seduced  by  thy  flattery. 
That  hast  deceived  so  many  with  thy  vowst 
Return,  return,  and  make  thy  love  amends. 
For  me,  by  this  pale  queen  of  night  I  swear,  100 

I  am  so  far  from  granting  thy  request 
That  I  despise  thee  for  thy  wrongful  suit, 
And  by  and  by  intend  to  chide  myself 
Even  for  this  time  I  spend  in  talking  to  thee. 

Pro.  I  grant   sweet  love,  that  I  did  love  a  lady ; 
But  she  is  dead. 

Jul.  [Aside]  'Twere  false,  if  I  should  speak  it ; 
For  I  am  sure  she  is  not  buried. 

8U.  Say  that  she  be ;  yet  Videntine  thy  friend 
Survives  ;  to  whom,  thyself  art  witness,  110 

I  am  betroth'd  :  and  art  thou  not  ashamed 
To  wrong  him  with  thy  importunacy  ? 

Pro.  I  likewise  hear  that  Valentine  is  dead. 

Sil.  And  so  suppose  am  I ;  for  in  his  grave 
Assure  thyself  my  love  is  buried. 

Pro.  Sweet  lady,  let  me  rake  it  from  the  earth. 

8il.  Go  to  thy  lady's  grave  and  call  hers  thence. 
Or,  at  the  least,  in  hers  sepulchre  thine. 

Jul.  [Aside]  He  heard  not  that. 

Pro.  Madam,  if  your  heart  be  so  obdurate,  120 

Vouchsafe  me  yet  your  picture  for  my  love. 
The  picture  that  is  hanging  in  your  chamber ; 


BCENE  m.]     TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  105 

To  that  I'll  Bpcak,  to  that  I'll  sigh  and  weep  : 
For  since  the  substance  of  your  perfect  self 
Is  else  devoted,  I  am  but  a  shadow  ; 
And  to  your  shadow  will  I  make  true  love. 

Jul.  [AdcW\  If  'twere  a  substance,  you  would,  sure,  de- 
ceive it. 
And  make  it  but  a  shadow,  as  I  am. 

8U»  I  am  very  loath  to  be  your  idol,  sir  ; 
But  since  your  falsehood  shall  become  you  well  180 

To  worship  shadows  and  adore  false  shapes. 
Send  to  me  in  the  morning  and  I'll  send  it : 
And  so,  good  rest. 

Pro.  As  wretches  have  o'emight 

That  wait  for  execution  in  the  mom. 

[Exeunt  Pro,  cmd  SU.  severaUp. 

Jul.  Ho6t,  will  you  go  ? 

Host.  By  my  halidom,  I  was  fast  asleep. 

Jul.  Pray  you,  where  lies  Sir  Proteus  f 

Host.  Many,  at  my  house.     Trust  me,  I  think  'tis  almost 
day. 

Jul.  Not  so  ;  but  it  hath  been  the  longest  night  140 

That  e'er  I  watch'd  and  the  most  heaviest. 

[Ezeunt. 

Scene  III.    The  same. 

JStUer  Eglamottr. 

Ugl.  Tills  is  the  hour  tliat  Madam  Silvia 
Entreated  me  to  call  and  know  her  mind  : 
There's  some  great  matter  she'ld  employ  me  in. 
Madam,  madam  I 

Enter  Silvia  above, 

Sa.  Who  calls  ? 

Egl.  Tour  servant  and  your  friend ; 

One  that  attends  your  ladyship's  command. 
^     SU.  Sir  Eglamour,  a  thousand  times  good  morrow. 

£^l.  As  many,  worthy  lady,  to  yourself : 
According  to  your  ladyship's  impose, 
I  am  thus  early  come  to  know  what  service 
It  is  your  pleasure  to  commend  me  in.  10 

8U.  O  B^lamour,  thou  art  a  gentleman — 
Think  not  I  flatter,  for  I  swear  I  do  not — 
Valiant,  wise,  remorseful,  well  accomplished  : 
Thou  art  not  ignorant  what  dear  good  will 
I  bear  unto  the  banish'd  Valentine, 
Nor  Ikow  my  father  would  enforce  me  marry 


106         TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.         [act  iv. 

Vain  Thurio,  whom  my  very  soul  abhors. 

Tbyself  ha.st  loved  ;  and  I  have  heard  thee  say 

No  grief  did  ever  come  so  near  thy  heart 

As  wlien  thy  lady  and  thy  true  love  died,  20 

Upon  whose  grave  thou  vow'dst  pure  chastity. 

Sir  Eglamour,  I  would  to  Valentine, 

To  Mantua,  where  I  hear  he  makes  abode  ; 

And,  for  the  ways  are  dangerous  to  pass, 

I  do  desire  thy  wortliy  company, 

Upon  whose  faith  and  honour  I  repose. 

Urge  not  my  father's  anger,  Eglamour, 

But  think  upon  my  grief,  a  lady's  grief. 

And  on  the  justice  of  my  flying  hence. 

To  keep  me  from  a  most  unholy  match,  80 

Which  heaven  and  fortune  still  rewards  with  plagues. 

I  do  desire  thee,  even  from  a  heart 

As  full  of  sorrows  as  the  sea  of  sands. 

To  bear  me  company  and  go  with  me : 

If  not,  to  hide  what  I  have  said  to  thee. 

That  I  may  venture  to  depart  alone. 

Egl.  Madam,  I  pity  much  your  grievances ; 
Which  since- 1  know  they  virtuously  are  placed, 
I  give  consent  to  go  along  with  you, 

Recking  as  little  what  betideth  me  40 

As  much  I  wish  all  good  befortune  you. 
When  will  you  go  ? 

SU.  This  evening  coming. 

Egl.  Where  shall  I  meet  you  ? 

8U,  At  Friar  Patrick's  cell, 

Where  I  intend  holy  confession. 

Egl,  I  will  not  fail  your  ladyship.  Good  morrow,  gentle 
lady. 

Sil,  Good  morrow,  kind  Sir  Eglamour. 

[Exeunt  aeverallp, 

ScENB  IV.     The  same. 

EvJUr  LAUifCE,  wiUi  7m  Dog, 

Launec.  When  a  man's  servant  shall  play  the  cur  with 
him,  look  you,  it  goes  hard  :  one  that  I  brought  up  of  a 
pappy  ;  one  that  I  saved  from  drowning,  when  three  or 
four  of  his  blind  brothers  and  sisters  went  to  it.  I  have 
taught  him,  even  as  one  would  say  precisely,  "  thus  I  would 
teach  a  dog."  1  was  sent  to  deliver  him  as  a  present  to 
Mistress  Silvia  from  my  master ;  and  I  came  no  sooner  into 
the  dining-chamber  but  he  steps  me  to  her  trencher  and 
steals  her  capon's  leg  :  0,  'tis  a  fool  thing  when  a  car  caa- 


BCBME IV.]    TWO  GENTLEMEN  OP  VERONA*  107 

not  keep  liimself  in  all  companies !  I  would  have,  as  one 
should  say,  one  that  takes  upon  him  to  be  a  dog  indeed,  to 
be,  as  it  were,  a  dog  at  all  things.  If  I  had  not  liad  more 
wit  than  he,  to  take  a  fault  upon  me  that  he  did,  I  think 
verily  he  had  been  hanged  for't ;  sure  as  I  live,  he  had 
suffered  for^t :  you  shall  judge.  He  thrusts  me  himself 
into  the  company  of  three  or  four  gentlemanlike  dogs,  under 
the  duke's  table  :  he  had  not  been  there — ^bless  the  mark  I 
— «  pissinff  while,  bat  all  the  chamber  smelt  him.  "  Out 
with  the  aogr  says  one  :  "What  cur  is  that?"  says  an- 
other :  "  Whip  him  out,"  says  the  third  :  **  Hong  him  up," 
says  the  duke.  I,  having  been  acquainted  with  the  smell 
before,  knew  it  was  Crab,  and  ^oea  me  to  the  fellow  that 
whips  the  dog  :  "  Friend,"  quotli  I,  **  you  mean  to  whip  the 
dog?"  "Ay,  marrv,  do  I,"  quoth  he.  "You  do  him  the 
more  wrong,"  quoth  I ;  "  'twas  I  did  the  thing  you  wot  of." 
He  makes  me  no  more  ado,  but  whips  me  out  of  the  cham- 
ber. How  many  masters  would  do  this  for  his  servant? 
Nay,  m  be  sworn,  I  have  sat  in  the  stocks  for  puddings  he 
hath  stolen,  otherwise  ho  had  been  executed  :  I  have  stood 
on  the  pillory  for  geese  he  hath  killed,  otherwise  he  had 
suffered  for't.  Thou  thinkest  not  of  this  now.  Nay,  I  re- 
member the  trick  you  served  me  when  I  took  my  leave  of 
Madam  Silvia :  did  not  I  bid  thee  still  mark  me  and  do  as  I 
do  ?  when  didst  thou  see  me  heave  up  my  leg  and  make 
water  against  a  gentlewoman's  farthingale  ?  didst  thou  ever 
see  me  do  such  a  trick  ? 

Hhiier  Pbotbus  and  Julia. 

Pro,  Sebastian  is  thy  name  7    I  like  thee  well.     And  will 
employ  thee  in  some  service  presently. 

Jul,  In  what  you  please ;  I'll  do  what  I  can. 

Pro.  I  hope  thou  wilt.     [To  Launce]    How  now,  you 
whoreson  peasant  I 
Where  have  you  been  these  two  days  loitering  ? 

Launce.  Marry,  sir^  I  carried  Mistress  Silvia  the  dog  you 
bade  me.  50 

Pro.  And  what  says  she  to  my  little  jewjel  ? 

Launce.  Marry,  she  says  your  dog  was  a  cur,  and  tells 
you  currish  thanks  is  good  enough  for  such  a  present. 

Pro,  But  she  received  my  dog  ? 

Launce.  No,  indeed,  did  she  not :  here  have  I  brought 
him  back  again. 

Pro.  What,  didst  thou  offer  her  this  from  me? 

Jjaujice,  Ay,  sir ;  the  other  squirrel  was  stolen  from  me 
by  the  hangman  boys  in  the  market-place  :   and  then  I 


108         TWO  GENTLEMEN  OP  VERONA.         [act  iv. 

offered  her  mine  own,  who  is  a  dog  as  big  as  ten  of  jours, 
and  therefore  the  gift  the  greater. 

Pro   Go  get  thee  hence,  and  find  my  dog  again. 
Or  ne'er  return  again  into  my  sight. 
Away,  I  say  1  stay*st  thou  to  vex  me  here? 

[Exit  Launce, 
A  slave,  that  still  an  end  tnms  me  to  shame  I 
Selmstian,  I  have  entertained  thee, 
Partly  that  I  have  need  of  such  a  youth 
That  can  with  some  discretion  do  my  business,  70 

For  'tis  no  trusting  to  yond  foolish  lout, 
But  chiefly  for  thy  face  and  thy  behaviour, 
"Which,  if  my  augury  deceive  me  not, 
W^itness  good  bringing  up,  fortune  and  truth  : 
Therefore  know  thou,  for  this  I  entertain  thee. 
Go  presently  and  take  this  ring  with  thee. 
Deliver  it  to  Madam  Silvia  : 
She  loyed  me  well  deliver'd  it  to  me. 

J\d.  It  seems  you  loved  not  her,  to  leave  her  token. 
She  is  dead,  belike  T 

Pro.  Not  BO ;  I  think  she  lives.  80 

Jvl.  Alas ! 

Pro,  Why  dost  thou  cry  "  alas?" 

Jul.  I  cannot  choose 

But  pity  her. 

Pro,     Wherefore  shouldst  thou  pity  her? 

Jul.  Because  metliinks  that  she  loved  you  as  well 
As  you  do  love  your  lady  Silvia  : 
She  dreams  on  him  that  has  forgot  her  lovo  ; 
You  dote  on  her  that  cares  not  for  your  love. 
'Tis  pity  love  should  be  so  contrary  ; 
And  thinking  on  it  makes  me  cry  **  alas  ! "  00 

Pro.  Well,  give  her  that  ring  and  therewithal 
Tliis  letter.     That's  her  chamber.     Tell  my  lady 
I  claim  the  promise  for  her  heavenly  picture. 
Your  message  done,  hie  home  unto  my  chamber. 
Where  thou  shalt  find  me,  sad  and  solitary.  [EtU. 

Jul,  How  many  women  would  do  such  a  message  ? 
Alas,  poor  Porteus  !  thou  hast  entertain'd 
A  fox  to  be  the  shepherd  of  thy  lambs. 
Alas,  poor  fool !  why  do  I  pity  him 
That  witli  his  very  heart  despiseth  mo  ? 
Because  he  loves  iier,  he  despiseth  me  ;  100 

Because  I  love  him,  I  must  pity  him. 
This  ring  I  gave  him  when  he  parted  from  me, 
To  bind  him  to  remember  my  good  will ; 
And  now  am  I,  imhappy  messenger. 


BCKNK IV.]     TWO  GENTLEMEN  OP  VERONA.         109 

To  plead  for  tliiit  which  I  would  not  obtain. 

To  carry  that  which  I  would  hkve  refused. 

To  praise  liis  faith  which  I  would  have  dispraised. 

I  am  my  master's  true-confirmed  love  ; 

But  cannot  be  true  servant  to  my  master, 

Unless  I  prove  false  traitor  to  myself.  110 

Yet  will  I  woo  for  him,  but  yet  so  coldly 

As,,  heaven  it  knows,  I  would  not  have  him  speed. 

Enter  Silvia,  attended. 

Gentlewoman,  good  day  1  I  pray  you,  be  my  mean 
To  bring  mo  where  to  speak  witli  Madam  Silvia. 

8U.  What  would  you  with  her,  if  that  I  be  she? 

JuL  If  you  be  she,  I  do  entreat  your  patience 
To  hear  me  speak  tlie  message  I  am  sent  on. 

Sil.  From  whom  ? 

Jul,  From  my  master,  Sir  Proteus,  madam. 

SU.  O,  he  sends  you  for  a  picture.  120 

Jul.  Ay,  madam. 

8U.  Ursula,  bring  my  picture  there. 
Go  give  your  master  this  :  tell  him  from  me. 
One  Julia,  tliat  his  changing  thoughts  forget. 
Would  better  fit  his  chamber  than  this  shadow. 

JuL  Madam,  please  you  peruse  this  letter. — 
Pardon  me,  madam  ;  I  have  unadvised 
Deliver'd  you  a  paper  that  I  should  not : 
This  is  the  letter  to  your  ladyship. 

8U.  I  pray  thee,  let  me  look  on  that  again. 

Jul.  It  may  not  be  ;  good  madam,  pardon  me. 

SU.  There,  hold  1 
I  will  not  look  upon  your  master's  lines  : 
I  know  they  are  stuff'd  with  protestations 
And  fall  of  new-found  oaths  ;  which  he  will  break 
As  easily  as  I  do  tear  his  paper. 

Jul.  Madam,  he  sends  your  ladyship  this  ring. 

JSl.  The  more  sliame  for  him  that  he  sends  it  me  ; 
For  I  have  heard  him  say  a  thousand  times 
His  Julia  gave  it  him  at  his  departure.  140 

Though  his  false  finger  have  profaned  the  ring. 
Mine  shall  not  do  his  Julia  so  much  wrong. 

Jul.  Slie  thanks  you. 

SU.  Wliat  say'st  thou  ? 

Jul.  I  thank  you,  madam,  that  you  tender  her. 
Poor  gentlewoman  !  my  master  wrongs  her  much. 

SU.  Dost  thou  know  her  ? 

Jul.  Almost  as  well  as  I  do  know  myself  : 
To  think  upon  her  woes  I  do  protest. 


110         TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.         [act  iv. 

That  I  have  wept  a  hundred  several  times.  150 

8U.  Belike  she  thinks  that  Proteus  hath  forsook  her. 

Jul.  I  think  she  doth  ;  and  that's  her  cause  of  sorrow. 

SU.  Is  she  not  passing  fair  ? 

Jul.  She  hath  been  fairer,  madam,  than  she  is  : 
When  she  did  think  my  master  loved  her  well. 
She,  in  my  judgement,  was  as  fair  ns  you  ; 
But  since  she  did  neglect  her  looking.gla£» 
And  threw  her  sun-expelling  mask  away, 
The  air  hath  starved  the  roses  in  her  cheeks 
And  pinched  the  lily-tincture  of  her  face,  160 

That  now  she  is  become  as  black  as  I. 

j3U.  How  tall  was  she  ? 

Jul.  About  my  stature  ;  for  at  Pentecost, 
When  all  our  pageants  of  delight  were  play'd. 
Our  youth  got  me  to  play  the  woman's  part, 
And  I  was  trimm'd  in  Madam  Julia's  gown. 
Which  served  me  as  fit,  by  all  nien's  judgements. 
As  if  the  garment  had  been  made  for  me  : 
Therefore  I  know  she  is  about  my  height. 
And  at  that  time  I  made  her  weep  agood,  170 

For  I  did  play  a  lamentable  part ; 
Madam,  'twas  Ariadne  ])assioning 
^or  Theseus*  perjury  and  unjust  flight ; 
Which  1  so  lively  acted  with  my  tears 
That  my  poor  mistress,  moved  tlierewithal. 
Wept  bitterly  ;  and  would  I  might  be  dead 
If  I  in  thouglit  felt  not  her  very  sorrow  ! 

SU.  She  is  beholding  to  thee,  gentle  youth. 
Alas,  poor  lady,  desolate  and  left  I 

I  weep  myself  to  think  upon  thy  words.  180 

Here,  youth,  there  is  my  purse  ;  I  give  thee  this 
For  thy  sweet  mistress'  sake,  because  thou  lovest  lier. 
Farewelb  [JSxit  SHria,  tcith  attendants. 

Jul.  And  she  shall  thank  you  for't,  if  e'er  you  know  her. 
A  virtuous  gentlewoman,  mild  and  beautiful ! 
I  hope  my  master's  suit  will  be  but  cold. 
Since  she'  respects  my  mistress'  love  so  much. 
Alas,  how  love  can  trifle  with  itself  ! 
Here  is  her  picture  :  let  me  see  ;  I  think. 
If  I  had  such  a  tire,  this  face  of  mine  190 

Were  full  as  lovely  as  this  of  hers  : 
And  yet  the  painter  flatter'd  her  a  little. 
Unless  I  flatter  with  myself  too  much. 
Her  hair  is  auburn,  mine  is  perfect  yellow  : 
If  that  be  all  the  difference  in  liis  love, 
I'll  get  me  such  a  colour'd  periwig. 


8CEOT  I.]       TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  Ill 

^      Her  eyes  are  grey  as  glass,  and  so  arc  mine  : 
\     Ay,  but  her  forehead's  low,  and  mine's  as  high. 
.   What  should  it  be  that  he  respects  in  her 

But  I  can  make  respective  in  myself,  200 

If  this  fond  Love  were  not  a  blinded  ffod  ? 

Come,  shadow,  come,  and  take  this  shadow  up. 

For  'tis  thy.rival.     O  thou  senseless  form, 

Thou  shalt  be  worshipp'd,  kiss'd,  loved  and  adored  ! 

And  were  there  sense  in  his  idolatry. 

My  substance  should  be  statue  in  thy  stead. 

I'll  use  thee  kindly  for  thy  mistress'  sake. 

That  used  me  so  ;  or  else,  by  Jove  I  vow, 

I  should  have  scratch'd  out  your  unseeing  eyes. 

To  make  my  majster  out  of  love  with  thee  !  lEaat. 

ACT  V. 

Scene  L     Milan.     An  dUbey. 

Enter  Eglamour. 

Egl,  Tlie  sun  begins  to  gild  the  western  sky  ; 
And  now  it  is  about  the  very  hour 
That  Silvia,  at  Friar  Patrick's  cell,  should  meet  me. 
She  will  not  fail,  for  lovers  break  not  hours. 
Unless  it  be  to  come  before  their  time  ; 
So  much  they  spur  their  expedition. 
See  where  she  comes. 

Enter  Silvia. 

Lady,  a  happy  evening  I 
8U,  Amen,  amen  I    Qo  on,  good  Eglamour, 

Out  at  the  postern  by  the  abbey- wall : 

I  fear  I  am  attended  by  some  spies.  10 

Egl.  Fear  not :  the  forest  is  not  three  leagues  off*; 

If  we  recover  that,  we  are  sure  enough.  [Exeunt* 

Scene  II.     The  mme,     TTie  Duke's  palace. 

Enter  Thuhio,  Pboteus,  and  Julia, 

Thu,  Sir  Preteus,  what  says  Silvia  to  my  suit  ? 
Pro.  O,  sir,  I  find  her  milder  than  she  was ; 
And  yet  she  takes  exceptions  at  your  person. 
Thu.  What,  that  my  leg  is  too  long  ? 
Pro.  No  ;  that  it  is  too  Tittle. 
2hu.  I'll  wear  a  boot,  to  make  it  somewhat  rounder. 
Jul.  [Aside]  Bat  lovo  will  not  be  spurr'd  to  what  it 
loathes. 


^ 


112         TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  [act  v. 

Thu.  What  says  she  to  my  face  ? 

Pro,  She  says  it  is  a  fair  one. 

Thu.  Nay  then,  the  wanton  lies ;  my  face  is  black.        10  > 

Pro.  But  pearls  are  fair  ;  and  the  old  saying  is, 
Black  men  are  pearls  in  beauteous  ladies'  eyes. 

Jtd.  [Aside)  'Tis  true  ;  such  pearls  as  put  out  ladies'  eyes. 
For  I  had  rather  wink  than  look  on  them. 

Thu.  How  likes  she  ray  discourse  ? 

Pro.  Ill,  when  you  talk  of  war. 

'j.hu.  But  well,  when  I  discourse  of  love  and  peace? 

Jul.  [Asidel  But  better,  indeed,  when  you  hold  your  peace. 

Thu.  What  says  she  to  my  valour  ? 

Pro.  O,  sir,  she  makes  no  doubt  of  that.  20 

Jul.  [A9ide\  She  needs  not,  when  she  knows  it  cowardice. 

Thu.  What  says  she  to  ray  birth  ? 

Pro.  That  you  are  well  derived. 

Jul.  [Aside]  True  ;  from  a  gentleman  to  a  fool. 

'ihu.  Considers  she  my  possessions? 

Pro,  O,  ay  ;  and  pities  them. 

Thu.  Wlierefore? 

Jul.  [Aside]  Tliat  such  an  ass  should  owe  them. 

Pro.  That  they  are  out  by  lease. 

Jul.  Here  comes  the  duke.  80 

Enter  Duke. 

Duke.  How  now,  Sir.  Proteus  !  how  now,  Thurio  I 
Which  of  you  saw  Sir  Eglamour  of  late? 

TJiU.  Not  I. 

Pro.  Nor  I. 

Duke.  Saw  you  my  daughter? 

Pro.  Neither. 

Duke.  Why  then. 
She's  fled  unto  that  peasant  Valentine ; 
And  Eglamour  is  in  her  company. 
'Tis  true  ;  for  Friar  Laurence  met  them  both, 
As  he  in  penance  wander'd  through  the  forest ; 
Him  he  knew  well,  and  guess'd  that  it  was  she. 
But,  bein^  mask'd  he  was  not  sure  of  it ;  40 

Besides,  slie  did  intend  confession 
At  Patrick's  cell  this  even  ;  and  there  she  was  not ; 
These  likelihoods  confirm  her  flight  from  hence. 
Therefore,  I  pray  you,  stand  not  to  discourse, 
But  mount  you  presently  and  meet  with  me 
Upon  the  rising  of  the  mountain -foot 
That  leads  toward  Mantua,  whither  they  are  fled 
Dispatch »  sweet  gentlemen,  and  follow  me.  [ExU. 

Thu.  Why,  this  it  is  to  be  a  peevish  girl. 


8C8NB  IV.]    TWO  GENTLExMEN  OP  VERONA.  113 

That  flies  her  fortano  when  it  follows  her.  50 

ru  after,  more  to  be  revenged  on  Eglamour 

Than  for  the  love  of  reckless  Silvia.  [BzU, 

Pro.  And  I  will  follow,  more  for  Silvia's  love 
Tlian  hate  of  Eglamour  that  goes  with  her.  [ExiL 

Jul.  And  I  will  follow,  more  to  cross  that  love 
Than  haie  for  Silvia  that  is  gone  for  love.  [^E^ . 

Scene  III.     The  frontiers  of  Mantua,     The  forest. 

Enter  Outlaws  v>Uh  Silvia. 

Fir^  Out.    Come,  come. 
Be  patient ;  we  must  bring  you  to  our  captain. 

SU.  A  thousand  more  mischances  than  this  one 
Have  learn'd.me  how  to  brook  this  patiently. 

See.  Out,  Come,  bring  her  away. 

First  Out,  Wliere  is  the  gentleman  that  was  with  her  ? 

Third  Out.   Being  nimble-footed,  he  hath  outrun  us. 
But  Moyses  and  Valerias  follow  him. 
Go  thou  with  her  to  the  west  end  of  the  wood  ; 
There  is  our  Captain  :  we'll  follow  him  that's  fled  ;  10 

The  thicket  is  beset ;  he  cannot  'scape. 

First  Out.  Come,  I  must  bring  you  to  our  captain's  cave  : 
Fear  not ;  he  bears  an  honourable  mind, 
And  will  not  use  a  woman  lawlessly. 

S^,  O  Valentine,  this  I  endure  for  thee  I  [ExeurU, 

Scene  IV.    Another  part  of  the  forest. 

Enter  Valentine. 

Vol.  How  use  doth  breed  a  habit  in  a  man  1 
This  shadowy  desert,  unfrequented  woods, 
I  better  brook  than  Nourishing  peopled  towns  : 
Here  can  I  sit  alone,  unseen  of  any, 
And  to  the  nightingale's  complaining  notes 
Tune  my  distresses  and  record  my  woes. 
O  thou  that  dost  inhabit  in  my  breast. 
Leave  not  the  mansion  so  long  tenantless. 
Lest,  growing  ruinous,  the  building  fall 
And  leave  no  memory  of  what  it  was  !  10 

Repair  me  with  thv  presence,  Silvia  ; 
Thou  gentle  nymph,  cherish  thy  forlorn  swain  I 
What  nalloing  and  what  stir  is  this  to-dny  ? 
These  are  my  mates,  that  make  their  wil&  their  law. 
Have  some  unhappy  passenger  in  chase. 
They  love  me  well  ;  yet  I  have  much  to  do 
To  keep  them  from  uncivil  outrages. 


114  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  [act  v. 

Withdraw  thee,  Valentine  :  who's  thia  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Proteus,  Silvia,  and  Julia. 

Pro.  Madam,  this  service  I  have  done  for  you. 
Though  you  respect  not  aught  your  servant  doth,  20 

To  hazard  life  and  rescue  you  from  him 
That  would  have  forced  your  honour  and  your  love  ; 
Vouchsafe  me,  for  my  meed,  hut  one  fair  look  ; 
A  smaller  lx)on  than  this  I  cannot  bog 
And  less  than  tins,  I  am  sure,  you  cannot  give. 

Vol.  [Aside]  How  Jike  a  dream  is  this  I  see  and  hear  ! 
Love,  lend  me  patience  to  forbear  awhile. 

Sil.  O  miserable,  unhappy  that  I  am  I 

Pro.  Unhappy,  were  you,  madam,  ere  I  came ; 
But  by  my  coming  I  have  made  you  happy.  80 

8U.  By  thy  approach  thou  makest  me  most  unhappy. 

JtU.  [Aside]  Aiid  me,  when  he  approacheth  to  your  pres- 
ence. 

Sil.  Had  I  been  seized  by  a  hungry  lion, 
I  would  have  been  a  breakfast  to  the  beast. 
Rather  than  have  false  Proteus  rescue  me. 
O,  Heaven  be  judge  liow  I  love  Valentine, 
Whose  life's  as  tender  to  me  as  my  soul ! 
And  full  as  much,  for  more  there  cannot  be, 
I  do  detest  false  perjured  Proteus. 
Therefore  be  gone  ;  solicit  mo  no  more.  40 

Pro.  What  dangerous  action,  stood  it  next  to  death, 
Would  I  not  undergo  for  one  calm  look  1 
O,  'tis  the  curse  in  love,  and  still  approve], 
Wlien  women  cannot  love  where  they're  beloved  ! 

SU.  When  Proteus  cannot  love  where  he's  beloved. 
Read  over  Julia's  heart,  thy  first  best  love. 
For  whose  dear  sake  thou  didst  then  rend  thy  faith 
Into  a  thousand  oaths  ;  and  all  those  oaths 
Descended  into  perjury,  to  love  me. 
Thou  hast  no  faith  left  now,  unless  thou'dst  two  ; 
And  that's  far  worse  than  none  ;  better  have  nono 
Than  plural  faith  which  is  too  much  by  one  : 
Thou  counterfeit  to  thy  true  friend  ! 

Pro.  In  love 

Who  respects  friend  ? 

SU.  All  men  but  Proteus. 

Pro.  Nay,  if  the  gentle  spirit  of  moving  words 
Can  no  way  change  you  to  a  milder  form, 
ril  woo  you  like  a  soldier,  at  arms'  end, 
And  love  you  'gainst  fhe  nature  of  love,— *force  ye. 

80.  O  heaven  I 


8CENB IV.]     TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  115 

Pro,  111  force  thee  yield  to  my  desire. 

Vol,  Ruffian,  let  go  that  rude  ancivil  touch. 
Thou  friend  of  an  iu  fashion  I  60 

Pro,  Valentine ! 

VcA.  Thou  common  friend,  that's  without  faith  or  love, 
^  For  such  is  a  friend  now  ;  treacherous  man  I 

Thou  hast  beguiled  my  hopes  ;  nought  but  mine  eyo 
Could  liave  persuaded  me  :  now  I  dare  not  say 
I  liave  one  friend  alive  ;  thou  wouldst  disprove  me. 
Who  should  be  trusted,  when  one's  own  right  hand 
\  Is  perjured  to  the  bosom  ?    Proteus, 

\  I  am  sorn'  I  must  never  trust  thee  more, 

But  count  the  world  a  stranger  for  thy  sake.  70 

The  private  wound  is  deepest :  O  time  most  accurst, 
'Mongst  all  foes  that  a  friend  should  be  the  worst  I  "^ 

Pro.  My  shame  and  guilt  confounds  me. 
Forgive  me,  Valentine  :  if  hearty  sorrow 
Be  a  sufficient  ranspm  for  offence, 
I  tender  \  here  ;   I  do  as  truly  suJScr 
As  e'er  I  did  commit. 

Vai.  Then  I  am  paid  ; 

And  once  again  I  do  receive  thee  honest. 
Who  by  repentance  is  not  satisfied 

Is  nor  of  heaven  nor  earth,  for  these  are  pleased.  80 

By  penitence  the  EternaFs  wrath's  appeased  : 
And,  that  my  love  may  appear  plain  and  free. 
All  that  was  mine  in  Silvia  I  give  thee. 

t7>i/.  O  me  unhappy  ?  \8vRoon9. 

Pro.  Laok  to  the  boy. 

Vol.  Why  boy  1  why  wag  \  how  now !  what's  the  mat- 
ter?   Look  up  ;  speak. 

Jul.  O  good  sir,  my  master  charged  me  to  deliver  a  ring 
to  Madam  Silvia,  which,  out  of  my  neglect,  was  never  done. 

Pro.  Where  is  tliat  ring,  boy  ?  90 

Jul.  Here  'tis  ;  this  is  it. 

Pro.  How  I  let  me  see : 
Why,  this  is  the  ring  I  gave  to  Julia. 

Jul.  O,  cry  you  mercy,  sir,  I  have  mistook  ; 
This  is  the  ring  you  sent  to  Silvia. 

Pro.  But  how  earnest  thou  by  this  ring  ?    At  my  depart 
I  gave  this  unto  Julia. 

Jul.  And  Julia  herself  did  give  it  me  ; 
And  Julia  herself  hath  brought  it  hither. 

Pro.  How  !  JuUa  I  100 

Jul.  Behold  her  that  gave  aim  to  all  thy  oaths, 
And  entertain'd  'em  deeply  in  her  heart. 
How  oft  hast  thou  with  perjury  cleft  the  root ! 


116  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA,  [act  v. 

0  Proteus,  let  this  habit  make  thee  blush  ! 
Be  thou  ashamed  that  1  have  took  upon  mo 
Such  an  immodest  raiment,  if  shame  live 
In  a  disguise  of  love  : 

It  is  the  lesser  blot,  modesty  finds. 

Women  to  change  their  shapes  than  men  their  minds. 

Pro.  Than  men  their  minds  1  'tis  true.     O  heaven  I  were 
man  110 

But  constant,  ho  were  perfect.     That  one  error 
Fills  him  with  faults ;  makes  him  run  through  all  the  sins  : 
Inconstancy  falls  off  ere  it  begins. 
Wliat  is  in  Silvia's  face,  but  I  may  spy 
More  fresh  in  Julia's  with  a  constant  eye? 
Vol.  Come,  come,  a  hand  from  either  : 
Let  me  be  blest  to  make  this  happy  <Uose  ; 
Twere  pity  two  such  friends  should  be  long  foes. 

Pro.  Bear  witness,  Heaven,  I  have  my  wish  for  ever. 

J^d.  And  I  mine.  120 

Enter  Outlaws,  wUh  Duke  and  Thurio. 

Ontlatrs.  A  prize,  a  prize,  a  prize  I 

Vai.  Forbear,  forbear,  I  say  1  it  is  my  lord  the  duke. 
Tour  grace  is  welcome  to  a  man  disgraced, 
Banished  Valentine. 

Duke.  Sir  Valentine  I 

7hu.  Yonder  is  Silvia  ;  and  Silvia's  mine. 

VcU.  Thurio,  give  back,  or  else  embrace  thy  death ; 
Come  not  within  the  measure  of  my  wrath  ; 
Do  not  name  Silvia  thine  ;  if  once  again, 
f  Milano  shall  not  hold  thee.     Here  she  stands  : 
Take  but  possession  of  her  with  a  touch  :  180 

1  dare  thee  but  to  breathe  upon  my  love. 

I'hu.  Sir  Valentine,  I  care  not  for  her,  I : 
I  hold  him  but  a  fool  that  will  endknger 
His  body  for  a  girl  that  loves  him  not : 
I  claim  her  not,  and  therefore  she  is  thine. 

Duke.  The  more  degenerate  and  base  art  thou. 
To  make  such  means  tor  her  as  thou  hast  done 
And  leave  her  on  such  slight  conditions. 
Now,  by  the  honour  of  my  ancestry, 

I  do  applaud  thy  spirit,  Valentine,  140 

And  think  thee  worthy  of  an  empress'  love : 
Know  then,  I  hero  forget  all  former  griefs, 
Cancel  all  grudge,  repeal  thee  home  again. 
Plead  a  new  state  in  thy  unrival'd  merit. 
To  which  I  thus  subscribe  :  Sir  ValentinOi 
Thou  art  a  gentleman  and  well  derived ; 


N 


WJEJUB  VI.]     TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  117 

Take  thoa  thy  Silvia,  for  tliou  hast  deserved  her. 

Vol.  I  thank  yoar  grace  ;  the  gift  hath  made  me  happy. 
I  now  beseech  yoa,  for  yoar  daughter's  sake. 
To  Arrant  one  boon  that  I  shall  ask  of  you.  150 

J^^.  I  grant  it,  for  thine  own,  whate'er  it  be. 

Val.  These  banished  men  that  I  have  kept  withal 
Are  men  endued  with  worthy  qualities : 
Forgive  them  what  tbey  have  committed  here 
And  let  them  be  recalled  from  their  exile : 
They  are  reformed,  civil,  full  of  good 
And  fit  for  great  employment,  worthv  lord. 

Duke.  Thou  hast  prevail'd  ;  I  pardon  them  and  thee  : 
Dispose  of  them  as  tnou  know'st  their  deserts. 
\  Come,  let  us  go  :  we  will  include  all  jars  160 

With  triumphs,  mirth  and  rare  solemnity. 

Vai,  And,  as  we  walk  along,  I  dare  be  bold 
With  our  discourse  to  make  your  grace  to  smile. 
Wliat  think  you  of  this  page,  my  lord? 

Duke.  I  think  the  boy  liath  grace  in  him  ;  he  blushes. 

Vol.  I  warrant  you,  my  lord^  more  grace  than  boy. 

Duke,  What  mean  you  by  that  saying? 

Val.  Please  you,  I'll  tell  you  as  we  pass  along, 
That  you  will  wonder  what  hath  fortuned. 
Come,  Proteus ;  'tis  your  penance  but  to  hear  170 

The  story  of  your  loves  discovered  : 
That  done,  our  day  of  marriage  shall  be  yours  ; 
One  feast,  one  house,  one  mutual  happiness.  [Exeunt. 


THE  MERRY  WIYES  OF  WINDSOR. 


DRAMATIS  PERSOXJB. 

8iR  JoBK  Falbtaw.  BoBor,  page  to  Mstaff . 

Fenton,  a  gentlemsn.  Sxmplb,  serrant  to  Slender. 

Shallow,  a  country  Justice.  Ruobt,  eorvant  to  Doctor  Cains. 

^ENDKB,  cousin  to  Rhallow. 

Ford,  Kwo  gentlemen  dwdllng  at  /UtmauB  Ford. 

S?^"''    i>.  •   Windsor.  ^Mi8TBK8e  PAflB. 

WiluamPaojb,  aboy,  son  toPage.  ^„j,b  PAas,  lier  daughter. 

ri^^^n  ^T^'^^tsLJlK  «K  Pil!S2"'    PfiTRBBB  Qiicm.T,servant  to  Doc- 
Doctor  Caixts,  a  French  physician.     ^^I-tor  Caiua. 
Host  of  the  Garter  Inn. 

p^T^^^'  j.8harpa«attendlng0n         Serranta  to  Page,  Potd,  &c 
Nth.   *       )  Falstaff. 

ScEi^E  :  Windsor,  and  Hie  neigJibourhood, 

ACT  L 

Scene  I.     Windsor,    Before  Page's  house. 

Enter  Justice  Shallow,  Slkndeb,  and  bm  Hugh  Evaks. 

SIiaL  Sir  Hugh,  persuade  me  not ;  I  will  make  a  Star- 
cliaml>er  matter  of  it :  if  he  were  twenty  Sir  John  Falstaita, 
he  shall  not  abuse  Robert  Shallow,  esquire. 

Slen.  In  the  county  of  Gloucester,  lustice  of  peace  and 
"Coram."  *• 

STial.  Ay,  cousin  Slender,  and  "Custalorum." 

Slen.  Ay,  and  "Rato-lorum"  too  ;  and  a  gentleman  bom, 
master  parson  ;  who  writes  himself  **  Armigcro,"  in  any  bill, 
warrant,  quittance,  or  obligation,  *' Armigero."  11 

8hal.  Ay,  that  I  do ;  ana  have  done  any  time  these  three 
hundred  vears. 

Slen.  All  his  successors  gone  before  him  hath  done't ;  and 
nil  his  ancestors  that  come  after  him  may  :  they  may  give 
the  dozen  white  luces  in  their  coat. 

ShcU.  It  is  an  old  coat. 

Etans.  Tlie  dozen  white  louses  do  become  an  old  coat 
well ;  it  agrees  well,  passant ;  it  is  a  familiar  beiist  to  man, 
and  signifies  love.  21 


8CEH1B  L]  MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR      •  11§ 

ShM.  The  lace  is  the  fresh  fish ;  the  salt  fish  is  an  old 
coat. 

8len.  I  may  quarter,  coz. 

Shtd.  You  may,  by  marrying 

Etans.  It  is  marrying  inde^,  If  he  quarter  it. 

8fud.  Not  a  whit. 

Evans.  Yes,  py'r  lady  ;  if  he  has  a  quarter  of  your  coat, 
there  is  but  three  skirts  for  yourself,  in  my  simple  conjec- 
tures :  but  that  is  all  one.  If  Sir  John  Falstaff  have  com- 
mitted disparagements  unto  you,  I  am  of  the  church,  and 
will  be  glad  to  do  my  benevolence  to  make  atonements  and 
compromises  between  you. 

SieU,  The  council  sliall  hear  it ;  it  is  a  riot. 

Eoans.  It  is  not  meet  the  council  hear  a  riot  ;  there  is  no 
fear  of  Gtot  in  a  jtot :  the  council,  look  you,  shall  desire  to 
hear  the  fear  of  Got, 'and  not  to  hear  a  riot ;  take  your  viza- 
ments  in  that. 

8hal,  Ha  1  o'  my  life,  if  I  were  young  again,  the  sword 
should  end  it.  41 

EvanA.  It  is  petter  that  friends  Is  the  sword,  and  end  it : 
and  tliere  is-  also  another  device  in  my  prain,  which  perad- 
venture  prings  goot  discretions  with  it :  there  is  Anne  Page, 
which  is  daughter  to  Master  Thomas  Page,  which  is  pretty 
virjrinity. 

Sen.  Mistress  Anne  Paget  She  has  brown  hair,  and 
speaks  small  like  a  woman. 

Eoans.  It  is  that  fery  person  for  all  the  orld,  as  just  as 
yon  will  desire ;  and  seven  hundred  pounds  of  moneys,  and 

gold  and  silver,  is  her  grandsire  upon  his  death's-bed — Got 
eliver  to  a  joyful  "resurrections  ! — give,  when  she  is  able 
to  overtake  seventeen  years  old  :  it  were  a  eoot  motion  if 
we  leave  our  pribbles  and  prabbles,  and  desire  a  marriage 
between  Master  Abraham  and  Mistress  Anne  Page. 

8len,  Did  her  grandsire  leave  her  seven  liunc&ed  pound? 

Evans.  Ay,  and  her  father  is  make  her  a  petter  penny. 

8len.  I  know  the  young  gentlewoman ;  she  has  good  gifts. 

Evans.  Seven  hundred  pounds  and  possibilities  is  goot 
gifts. 

J^hal,  Well,  let  us  see  honest  Master  Page.  Is  Falstaff 
there? 

Eoans.  Shall  I  tell  you  a  lie  ?  I  do  despise  a  lie  as  I  do 
despise  one  that  is  false,  or  as  I  despise  one  that  is  not 
true.  The  knight,  Sir  John,  is  there  ;  and,  I  beseech  you, 
be  ruled  by  your  well-willers.  I  will  peat  the  door  for 
Master  Page.  [Knocks]  What,  hoa  1  Got  pleas  your  house 
here  I 

Page.  [WUMn]  Who's  there? 


120         MERRY  WIVES  OP  WINDSOR.  [act  1 

Enter  Page. 

Eoans.  Here  is  Got's  plessing,  and  your  friend,  and  Jus- 
tice Shallow  ;  and  here  young  Master  Slender,  that  perad- 
ventures  shall  tell  you  another  tale,  if  matters  grow  to  your 
likings. 

P^e.  I  am  glad  to  see  your  worships  well.  I  thank  you 
for  my  venison,  Master  Shallow.  81 

Shal.  Master  Page,  I  am  glad  to  see  you  :  much  good  do 
it  your  good  heart  !  I  wished  your  venison  better  ;  it  was 
ill  killed.  How  doth  good  Mistress  Page? — and  I  thank  you 
always  with  my  heart,  la  !  with  my  heart. 

Page.  Sir,  I  thank  you. 

Shal.  Sir,  I  thank  you  ;  by  yea  and  no,  I  do. 

Page.  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  good  Master  Slender.  90 

JSkn.  How  does  your  fallow  greyhound,  sir?  I  heard  say 
Le  was  outrun  on  Cotsall. 

Page.   It  could  not  be  judged,  sir. 

Slen.   You'll  not  confess,  you'll  not  confess. 

Sfial.  'J'liat  l:e  will  not.  'Tis  your  fault,  'tis  your  fault ; 
'tis  a  good  dog. 

Page.  A  cur,  sir. 

Sfial.  Sir,  he's  a  good  dog,  and  a  fair  dog  :  can  there  be 
more  said  ?  he  is  good  and  fair.     Is  Sir  John  Falstaff  here? 

Page.  Sir,  he  is  within ;  and  I  would  I  could  do  a  good 
office  between  you. 

Ewms.  It  is  spoke  as  a  Christians  ought  to  speak. 

Shal.  He  hath  wronged  me.  Master  Page. 

Pa>ge.  Sir,  he  doth  in  some  sort  confess  it. 

Shal.  If  it  be  confessed,  it  is  not  redressed  :  is  not  that  so, 
Master  Page?  He  hath  wronged  me  ;  indeed  he  hath  ;  at  a 
word,  ho  hath,  believe  me :  Robert  Shallow,  esquire,  saith, 
he  is  wronged.  110 

Pa^fe.  Here  comes  Sir  John. 

Enter  Sir  John  Palstafp,  Bardolph,  Nym,  and  Pistol, 

Fal.  Now,  Master  Shallow,  you'll  complain  of  me  to  the 
king? 

Shal.  Knight,  you  have  beaten  my  men,  killed  my  deer, 
and  broke  open  my  lodge. 

Fal.  Bat  not  kissed  your  keeper's  daughter  ? 

Sfud.  Tut,  a  pin  !  this  shall  be  answered. 

Fal.  I  will  answer  it  straight ;  I  have  done  all  this. 
Tliat  is  now  answered. 

Sh^.  The  council  shall  know  this.  120 

Fal.  'Twere  better  for  you  if  it  were  known  in  counsel : 
you'll  be  laughed  at. 


8CBNE  L]  MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  -       121 

J^KSTM.  Pauca  verba,  Sir  John  ;  goot  worts. 

Fal.  Good  worts  1  good  cabbage.  Slender,  I  broke  your 
head  :  what  matter  have  you  against  me  ? 

8len.  Marry,  sir,  I  have  matter  in  my  head  against  you  ; 
and  against  your  cony-catching  rascals,  !Bardolph,  Nym,  anil 
Pistol. 

JBard.  You  Banbury  cheese  !  130 

Slen.  Ay,  it  is  no  matter. 

Pist.  How  now,  Mephostophilus  I   • 

Slen.  Ay,  it  is  no  matter. 

ifym.  Slice,  I  say  I  pauca,  pauca :  slice  I  that's  my  nu- 
mour. 

SUn.  Where's  Simple,  my  man?    Can  you  tell,  cousin? 

Beans.  Peace,  I  pray  you.  Now  let  us  understand.  ITiere 
is  three  umpires  in  this  matter,  as  I  understand ;  that  is, 
Master  Page,  fidelicet  Master  Pago ;  and  there  is  myself, 
fidelicet  myself  ;  and  the  three  party  is,  lastly  and  finally, 
mine  host  of  the  Garter. 

Page,  We  three,  to  hear  it  and  end  it  between  them. 

Eoans.  Fery  goot :  I  will  make  a  prief  of  it  in  jny  note* 
book  ;  and  we  will  afterwards  ork  upon  the  cause  with  as 
great  discreetly  as  we  can. 

F<U.  Pistol  I 

Pist.  He  hears  with  ears.  150 

Beans.  The  tevil  and  his  tarn  I  what  phrase  is  this,  **  He 
hears  with  ear"?  why,  it  is  affectations. 

Fal.  Pistol,  did  you  pick  Master  Slender's  purse  ? 

Slen.  Ay,  by  these  gloves,  d^d  he,  or  I  would  I  might 
never  come  in  mine  own  great  chamber  again  else,  of  seven 
groats  in  mill-sixpences,  and  two  Edward  shovel-boards, 
that  cost  me  two  shilling  and  two  pence  a-piece  of  Yead 
Miller,  by  these  gloves.  161 

Fal.  Is  this  true.  Pistol? 

Btans.  No ;  it  is  false,  if  It  is  a  pick- purse. 

Pist.  Ha,  thou  mountain-foreigner?  Sir  John  and  master 
mine, 
I  combat  challenge  of  this  latten  bilbo. 
Word  of  denial  in  thy  labras  here  I 
Word  of  denial :  froth  and  scum,  thou  liest  1 

Slen.  By  these  gloves,  then,  'was  ho. 

Ifym.  Be  avised,  sir,  and  pass  good  humours  :  I  will  say 
*  marry  trap  "  with  you,  if  you  run  the  nuthook's  humour 
on  me  ;  that  is  the  very  note  of  it. 

Slen,  By  this  hat,  then,  he  in  the  red  face  had  it ;  for 
though  I  cannot  rememl)er  what  I  did  when  you  made  me 
drunk,  yet  I  am  not  altogether  an  ass. 

Fal.  What  say  you.  Scarlet  and  John  ? 


V.A. 


122         MERRY  WIVES  OP  WINDSOR.  [act  i. 

Bard.  Why,  sir,  for  my  part,  I  say  the  gentleman  had 
drank  himself  out  of  his  five  sentences.  180 

£kans.  It  is  his  five  senses  :  fie,  what  the  ignorance  is  ! 

Bard.  And  being  fap,  sir,  was,  as  they  say,  cashiered ; 
and  so  conclusions  passed  the  careires. 

Slen.  Ay,  you  spake  in  Latin  then  too  ;  but  'tis  no  matter  : 
I'll  ne'er  bo  drunk  whilst  I  live  again,  but  in  honest,  civil, 
godly  company,  for  this  trick  :  if  I  be  drunk,  I'll  l^  drunk 
with  those  that  have  the  fear  of  (^od,  and  not  with  drunken 
knaves.  190 

Msans.  So  Got  udgo  me,  that  is  a  virtuous  mind. 

MU.  Tou  hear  all  these  matters  denied,  gentlemen  ;  you 
hear  it. 

Enter  Annb  Paob,  vdth  wine;  Mistress  Fobd  and  Mis- 
tress Page,  following. 

Page.  Nay,  daughter,  carry  the  wine  in  ;  we'll  drink 
within.  1^^^  Anne  Page. 

Slen.  0  heaven  !  this  is  Mistress  Anne  Page. 

Page.  How  now,  Mistress  Ford  ! 

MU.  Mistress  Ford,  by  my  troth,  you  are  very  well  met : 
by  your  leave,  good  mistress.        [Kiesea  her.  200 

Page.  Wife,  bid  these  gentlemen  welcome.  Come,  we 
have  a  hot  venison  \msty  to  dinner :  come,  gentlemen,  I 
hope  we  shall  drink  down  all  unkindness. 

[Exeunt  aU  exeept  8^ial.,  Slen.,  and  Enane. 

Slen.  1  had  rather  than  forty  shillings  I  had  my  Book  of 
Songs  and  Sonnets  here. 

ETiter  SiMFLB. 

How  now,  Simple  1  where  have  you  been  ?  I  must  wait  on 
myself,  must  I  ?  You  have  not  the  Book  of  Riddles  about 
you,  have  you  ? 

Sim.  Book  of  Riddles  I  why,  did  you  not  lend  it  to  Alice 
Shortcake  upon  AU-hallowmas  last,  a  fortnight  afore 
Michaelmas  ? 

Shal.  Come,  coz ;  come,  coa ;  we  stay  for  you.  A  word 
with  you,  coz  ;  marry,  this,  coz :  there  is,  as  'twere,  a  ten- 
der, a  kind  of  tender,  made  afar  off  by  Sir  Hugh  hoi-e.  Do 
you  understand  nie  ? 

Slen.  Ay,  sir,  you  shall  find  me  reasonable  ;  if  it  be  so,  I 
shall  do  that  that  is  reason. 

SJial.  Nav,  but  understand  me. 

Slen.  Soldo,  sir.  220 

Evang.  Give  cMir  to  his  motions.  Master  Slender :  I  will 
description  the  matter  to  you,  if  you  be  capacity  of  it. 

Slen.  Nay,  I  will  do  as  my  cousin  Shallow  says  :  I  pray 


8CBNB  L]  MERRY  WIVES  OP  WINDSOR.  128 

yoa,  pardon  me ;  he's  a  justice  of  peace  in  liis  country, 
simple  tUougli  I  stand  here. 

Eoftns.  But  that  is  not  the  question  :  the  question  is  con- 
cerning your  marriage. 

ShoT.  Ay,  there's  tiie  point,  sir. 

Evans.  Marry,  is  it ;  the  very  point  of  it ;  to  Mistress 
Anne  Page.  231 

Slen.  Why,  if  it  be  so,  1  will  marry  her  ux>on  any  reason- 
able demands. 

Evam.  But  can  you  affection  the  'oman  ?  Let  us  com- 
mand to  know  that  of  your  mouth  or  of  your  lii^s ;  for  divei's 
philosophers  hold  that  the  lips  is  parcel  of  the  month. 
Therefore,  precisely,  can  you  carry  your  good  will  to  the 
maid? 

Shal.  Cousin  Abraham  Slender,  can  you  lovo  her  ?       240 

Blen,  I  hope,  sir,  I  will  do  as  it  shall  become  one  tliat 
would  do  reason. 

Enans.  Nay,  Got's  lords  and  his  ladies  I  you  must  speak 
pos stable,  if  you  can  carry  her  your  desires  towards  her. 

8/ial,  That  you  must.  Will  you,  upon  good  dowry,  mar- 
ry her? 

Slen,  1  will  do  a  greater  thing  than  tliat,  upon  your  re- 
quest, cousin,  in  any  reason. 

8luU.  Nay,  conceive  me,  conceive  me,  sweet  coz :  what  I 
do  is  to  pleasure  you,  coz.     Can  you  love  the  maid  ? 

Sien.  I  will  marry  her,  sir,  at  your  request :  but  if  there 
be  no  great  love  in  the  beginning,  yet  heaven  may  decrease 
it  upon  better  acquaintance,  when  we  are  married  and  have 
more  occasion  to  know  one  another  ;  I  hope,  upon  familiar- 
ity will  grow  more  contempt :  but  if  you  say,  "Marry  her," 
I  will  marry  her  ;  that  I  am  freely  dissolved,  and  dis.solute- 
ly.  260 

Etans.  It  is  a  fery  discretion  answer ;  save  the  fall  is  in 
the  ort  "dissolutely  :"  the  ort  is,  according  to  our  meaning, 
"  resolutely :"  his  meaning  is  good. 

8hal.  Ay,  I  think  my  cousin  meant  well. 

Slen.  Ay,  or  else  I  would  I  might  be  hanged,  la  I 

Shal.  Here  comes  fair  Mistress  Anne. 

Re-enter  Anne  Page. 

Would  I  were  young  for  your  sake.  Mistress  Anne  ! 

Anne.  The  dinner  is  on  the  table  ;  my  father  desires  your 
worships'  company.  271 

SJud.  I  will  wait  on  him,  fair  Mistress  Anne. 

Evans.  Od*s  plessed  will  I  I  will  not  be  absence  at  the 
grace.  [Exeunt  SfiaUoie  and  Evans. 

Anne.  Wiirt  please  your  worship  to  come  in,  sir? 


134         MERRY  WIVES  OP  WINDSOR.  [act  I. 

8len.  No,  I  thank  you,  forsooth,  heartily  ;  I  am  very  well. 

Anne.  The  dinner  attends  you,  sir., 

Slen,  i  am  not  a-hungry,  I  thank  you,  forsootli.  Go,  sir- 
rah, for  all  you  are  my  man,  go  wait  upon  my  cousin  Shal- 
low. [Exit  8imple.'\  A  justice  of  x>eace  sometimes  may  be 
beholdmg  to  his  friend  for  a  man.  I  keep  bat  three  men 
and  a  boy  yet,  till  my  mother  be  dead  :  bat  what  though  ? 
yet  I  live  like  a  poor  gentleman  bom. 

Anne.  I  may  not  go  in  without  your  worship  :  they  will 
not  sit  till  you  come. 

^en.  V  faith.  Til  eat  nothing ;  I  thank  you  as  much  as 
though  I  did.  291 

Anne.  I  pray  you,  sir,  walk  in. 

8Un.  I  had  rather  walk  here,  I  thank  you.  I  braised  my 
shin  th'  other  day  with  playing  at  sword' and  dagger  with  a 
master  of  fence  ;  three  veneys  for  a  dish  of  stewed  prunes  ; 
and,  by  my  troth,  I  cannot  abide  the  smell  of  hot  meat 
since.  Why  do  your  dogs  bark  so  ?  be  there  bears  i'  the 
town? 

^7171^.  I  think  there  are,  sir ;  I  heard  them  talked  of. 

8len.  I  love  the  sport  well ;  but  I  shall  as  soon  quarrel  at 
it  as  any  man  in  England.  You  are  afraid,  if  you  see  the 
bear  loose,  are  you  not  ? 

Amu.  Ay,  indeed,  sit. 

8len.  That's  meat  and  drink  to  me,  now.  I  liave  soen 
Sackerson  loose  twenty  times,  and  have  taken  him  by  the 
chain  ;  but,  I  warrant  you,  the  women  have  so  cried  and 
shrieked  at  it.  that  it  passed  :  but  women,  indeed,  cannot 
abide  'em ;  they  are  very  ill-favoured  rough  things. 

Re-enter  Page. 

Page,  Come,  gentle  Master  Slender,  oome  ;  we  stay  for 
you. 

8Un.  Ill  eat  nothing,  I  thank  you,  sir. 

Page,  By  cock  and  pie,  you  shall  not  ichoose,  sir  I  come, 
come. 

fflen.  Nay,  pray  you,  lead  the  way. 

Page.  Come  on,  sir. 

tilea.  Mistress  Anne,  yourself  shall  go  first.  320 

Anne.  Not  I,  sir  ;  pray  you,  keep  on. 

8len.  Truly,  I  will  not  go  first ;  truly,  la  I  I  will  not  do 
you  that  wrong. 

Anne.  I  pray  you,  sir. 

Blen.  I'll  rather  be  unmannerly  than  troublesome.  You 
do  yourself  wrong,  indeed,  la ! 

\  Exeunt 


SCENE  ni.]     MERRY  WIVES  OP  WINDSOR.  195 

Scene  IL    The  same. 

Enter  Sir  Huan  Evans  and  Simple. 

Etana,  Go  your  ways,  and  ask  of  Doctor  Caius'  house 
which  is  the  way  :  and  there  dwelU}  one  Mistress  Quickly, 
which  is  in  the  manner  of  his  nurse,  or  his  dry  nurse,  or 
his  cook,  or  his  hiundry,  hhj  washer,  and  his  wringer. 

Sim,  Well,  sir. 

Evans.  Nay,  it  is  petter  yet.  Give  her  this  letter  ;  for  it 
is  a  'oman  that  altogether's  acquaintance  with  Mistress 
Anne  Page  :  and  the  letter  is,  to  desire  and  require  her  to 
solicit  your  master's  desires  to  Mistress  Anne  Page.  I  pray 
you,  be  gone :  I  will  make  an  end  of  my  dinner  ;  there's 
pippins  and  cheese  to  come.  [Exeunt, 

Scene  UL    A  room  in  the  Garter  Inn. 

Enter  Falstafp,  Host,  Bardolph,  Nym,  Pistol  and 

Robin. 

Fal.  Mine  host  of  the  Garter  I 

Host.  What  says  my  bully-rook?  speak  scholarly  and 
wisely. 

Fal.  Truly,  mine  host,  I  must  turn  away  some  of  my 
followers. 

Soat,  Discard,  bully  Hercules ;  cashier :  let  them  wag ; 
trot,  trot. 

Eal.  I  sit  at  ten  pounds  a  week. 

Hoit,  Thou'rt  an  emperor,  Csesar,  Eeisar,  and  Pheezar. 
I  will  entertain  Bardolph ;  he  shall  draw,  he  shall  tap : 
said  I  well,  bully  Hector  ? 

Fbl.  Do  so,  good  mine  host. 

^o«(.  I  have  spoke ;  let  him  f(Alow.  [To  Bard.]  Let  mo 
see  thee  froth  and  lime  :  I  am  at  a  word  ;  follow.        [Exit. 

Fal.  Bardolph,  follow  him.  A  tapster  is  a  good  trade ; 
an  old  cloak  nmkes  a  new  jerkin  ;  a  withered  serving-man 
a  fresh  tapster.     Go  ;  adieu.  ^ 

Bard,  it  is  a  life  that  I  have  desired  :  I  will  thrive. 

Piat.  O  base  Hungarian  wight  I  wilt  thou  tlie  spi|rot 
wield  ?  [Exit  Bardolph. 

NyvfK  He  was  gotten  in  drink  :  is  not  the  humour  con- 
ceited? 

Fal.  I  am  glad  I  am  so  acquit  of  this  tinder-box  :  his 
thefts  were  too  open  ;  his  filching  was  like  an  unskilful 
singer  ;  he  kept  not  time.  80 

Nym.  The  good  humour  is  to  steal  at  a  minute's  rest. 

Pitt.  "  Convey,"  the  wise  it  call.  *'  Steal  l"  fob  1  a  fico 
(or  the  phrase  1 


126  MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  [act  I. 

Fdl,  Well,  sirs,  I  am  almost  out  at  heels. 

Pist.  Why,  then,  let  kibes  ensue. 

Fad.  There  is  no  remedy  ;  I  must  cony-catch  ;  I  must 
shift. 

Pist,  Young  ravens  must  have  food. 

Fal.  Which  of  you  know  Ford  of  this  town  ?  40 

Pi9t.  I  ken  the  wig^ht :  he  is  of  substance  good. 

Fal,  My  honest  lads,  I  will  tell  you  what  I  am  about. 

Pist,  Two  yards,  and  more. 

Ftd.  No  quips  now.  Pistol !  Indeed,  I  am  in  the  wais*. 
two  yards  about ;  but  I  am  now  about  no  waste ;  I  am  about 
thrift.  Briefly,  I  do  mean  to  make  love  to  Ford's  wife  : 
I  spy  entertainment  in  her ;  she  discourses,  she  carves,  she 
gives  the  leer  of  invitation  :  I  can  construe  the  action  of 
her  familiar  style  ;  and  the  hardest  voice  of  her  behaviour, 
to  be  Englished  rightly,  is,  "I  am  Sir  John  Falstaff 's." 

put.  He  hath  studied  her  will,  and  translated  her  will, 
out  of  honesty  into  English. 

Nym.  The  anchor  is  deep  ;  will  that  humour  pass  ? 

Fal,  Now,  the  report  goes  she  has  all  the  rule  of  her 
husband's  purse  :  he  hath  a  legion  of  angels.  60 

Pisi,,  As  many  devils  entertain  ;  and  **  To  her,  boy," 
say  I. 

Nym.  The  humour  rises  ;  it  is  good :  humour  me  the 
angels. 

Fal,  I  have  writ  me  here  a  letter  to  her :  and  here  an- 
other to  PagQ,*g  wife,  who  even  now  gave  me  good  eyes  too, 
examined  my  parts  with  most  judicious  ccillades  ;  sometimes 
the  beam  of  her  view  gilded  my  foot,  sometimes  my  portly 
belly. 

Pist,  Tlien  did  the  sun  on  dunghill  shine.  70 

Nym,  I  thank  thee  for  that  humour. 

F^.  O,  she  did  so  course  o'er  my  exteriors  with  such  a 
greedy  intention,  that  tlie  appetite  of  her  eye  did  seem  to 
scorch  me  up  like  a  burning-glass !  Here's  another  letter 
to  her  :  she  bears  the  purse  too  ;  she  is  a  region  in  Guiana, 
all  gold  and  bounty.  I  will  be  cheater  to  them  ]x)th,  and 
they  shall  be  exchequers  tome  ;  they  shall  be  my  East  and 
West  Indies,  and  I  will  trade  to  them  both.  Go  bear  thou 
this  letter  to  Mistress  Page;  and  thou  this  to  Mistress 
Ford  :  we  will  thrive,  lads,  we  will  thrive. 

Pi^.     Shall  I  Sir  Pandarus  of  Troy  become, 
And  by  my  side  wear  steel  ?  then,  Lucifer,  take  all  ! 

Nym.  1  will  run  no  base  humour  :  here,  take  the  humour- 
letter  :  I  will  keep  the  haviour  of  reputation. 

Fal,    \To  Mobin]   Hold,  sirrah,  bear  you  these  letteis 
tightly ; 


scEars  IV.]     MERRY  WIVES  #F  WINDSOR.  137 

Sail  like  ray  pinnace  to  these  «)lden  sliores. 
Rogues,  hence,  avaant  1  vanish  like  hailstones,  go ; 
Trudge,  plod  away  o'  the  hoof  ;  seek  shelter,  pa^  I 
FalstafiE  will  Jeam  the  humour  of  the  ago, 
French  thrift,  you  rogues  ;  myself  and  skirted  page. 

{Exeunt  Fahftaff  and  Robin, 

Pi»t.  Let  vultures  gripe  thy  guts  I  for  gourd  and  f  uUam 
holds, 
And  high  and  low  beguiles  the  rich  and  poor  : 
Tester  I'll  have  in  pouch  when  thou  shalt  lack. 
Base  Plyygian  Turk  1 

Jiym,  I  have  operations  which  bo  hamouraof  revenge. 

Pist.  Wilt  thou  revenge  ?  tOO 

Nym,  By  welkin  and  her  star  1 

Fiit,  With  wit  or  steel? 

Nym.  With  both  the  humours,  I : 
I  will  discuss  the  humour  of  this  love  to  Page. 

Fid,  And  I  to  Ford  shall  eke  unfold       * 
How  Falstaff,  varlet  vile, 
His  dove  will  prove,  his  gold  will  hold. 
And  his  soft  couch  defile. 

Ifym.  My  humour  shall  not  cool  :  I  will  incense  Page  to 
deal  with  poison  ;  I  will  possess  f  him  with  yellowness,  for 
this  revolt  of  mine  is  dangerous  :  that  is  my  true  humour. 

Pist.  Thou  art  the  Mars  of  malecontents :  I  second  thee  ; 
troop  on.  [Exeunt, 

Scene  IV.    A  roatn  in  Doctor  Cails's  ^otue. 

Enter  MianiESS  Quickly,  Simple,  and  Rugby. 

Quick.  What,  John  Rugby !  I  pray  thee,  go  to  the 
casement,  and  see  if  yon  can  seo  my  master.  Master  Doctor 
Coins,  coming.  If  he  do,  i'  faith,  and  find  any  body  in  the 
house,  here  will  be  on  old  abusing  of  God's  patience  and 
the  king's  English. 

Mug.  I'll  go  watch. 

Quick.  Go  ;  and  we'll  have  a  posset  for't  soon  at  night, 
in  faitn,  at  the  latter  end  ot  a  sea-coal  fire.  [Exit  Eu^/.] 
An  honest,  willing,  kind  fellow,  as  ever  servant  shall  come  in 
house  withal,  and,  I  warrant  you,  no  tell-tale  nor  no  breed- 
bate  :  his  worst  fault  is,  that  he  is  given  to  prayer  ;  he  is 
something  peevish  that  way  :  but  nobody  but  has  his  fault ; 
but  let  that  pass.     Peter  Simple,  you  say  your  name  is  ? 

Sim.  Ay,  for  fault  of  a  better. 

Qjjfick.  And  Master  Slander's  your  master  ? 

Sim.  Ay,  foraoeth. 


198  MERRr  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR  [actl 

Quick.  Does  he  not  wear  a  great  round  beard,  like  a 
glover^s  paring-knife?  21 

Sim.  No,  forsooth  ;  he  hath  but  a  little  wee  face,  with  a 
little  yellow  beard,  a  Cain-coloured  beard. 

Quick.  A  sof tly-spriglited  man,  is  he  not  ? 

8im.  Ay,  forsooth  :  but  he  is  as  tall  a  man  of  his  hands 
as  any  is  between  this  and  his  head  ;  he  hath  fought  with  a 
warrener. 

Quick.  How  say  you  ?  O,  I  should  remember  him  :  does 
he  not  hold  up  his  head,  as  it  were,  and  strut  in  his  gaiti 

Sim.  Yes,  indeed,  d'jes  he. 

Quick.  Well,  heaven  send  Anne  Page  no  worse  fortune  I 
Tell  Master  Parson  Evans  I  will  do  what  I  can  for  your 
master  :  Anne  is  a  good  girl,  and  I  wish — 

Re-enter  Rugby. 

Rug.  Out,  alas  I  here  comes  my  master. 

Quick.  We  sliall  all  bo  shent.  Run  in  here,  good  young 
man ;  go  into  this  closet :  he  will  not  stay  long.  [ShutB 
Simple  in  the  closet.]  What,  John  Rugby !  John  1  what, 
John,  I  say  !  Go,  John,  go  inquire  for  my  master ;  I  doubt 
he  be  not  well,  tliat  he  comes  not  home.  48 

[Singing]  And  down,  down,  adown-a,  &c 

Bnter  Doctor  Caius. 

Caius.  Vat  is  you  sing  ?  I  do  not  like  des  toys.  Pray 
you,  go  and  vetch  me  in  my  closet  un  boiter  vert,  a  box,  a 
green -a  box  :  do  intend  vat  I  speak  ?  a  green-a  box. 

Quick.  Ay,  forsooth  ;  111  fetch  it  you.  [Aside]  I  am 
glad  he  went  not  in  himself  :  if  he  had  found  the  young 
man,  he  would  have  been  horn  mad.  5l 

Caitu.  Fe,  fe,  fe,  fe  !  ma  foi,  il  fait  fort  chaud. 
Je  m'en  vais  a  la  cour — la  grande  affaire. 

Quick.  Is  it  this,  sir? 

Vaius.  Oui ;  mette  le  au  mon  pocket ;  depeche,  quickly. 
Vere  is  dat  knave,  Rugby  ? 

Quick.  What,  John  Rugby  I  John  I 

Rup.  Here,  sir  1 

Cams.  You  are  John  Rugbv,  and  you  are  Jack  Rugby. 
Come,  take-a  your  rapier,  ana  come  after  my  heel  to  the 
court.  62 

Rug.  *Tis  ready,  sir,  here  in  the  porch. 

Caius.  By  my  trot,  I  tarrj'  too  long.  Od's  me  !  Qu'ai- 
j'oublie  !  dere  is  some  simples  in  my  closet,  dat  I  vill  not 
for  the  varld  I  shall  leave  behind. 

Quick.  Ay,  me,  he'll  find  the  young  man  there,  and  be 
mad. 


8CBNB  IV.]      MERRY  WIVES  OP  WINDSOR.  13» 

Cuius,  O  diable,  diable  !  vat  is  In  my  closet  ?  Villain  ! 
larron  I     [PuUinff  Simple  out.]    Rugby,  my  npier  I         72 

QiUck,  Good  master,  be  content. 

VaiiM.  Wherefore  shall  I  be  content-a? 

Xiuick.  The  young  man  is  an  honest  man. 

Uaius.  Wluit  shall  de  honest  man  do  in  my  closet  7  dere 
is  no  honest  man  dat  slial]  come  in  my  closet. 

Quick.  I  beseech  you,  be  not  so  phlegmatic.  Hear  the' 
truth  of  it :  he  came*  of  an  errand  to  me  from  Parson 
Hugh.  81 

Caius.  Veil. 

Sim.  Ay,  forsooth  ;  to  desire  her  to— 

Ouiek.  Peace,  I  pray  you. 

Vaius.  Peace-a  your  tongue.     Speak-a  your  talc. 

Sim.  To  desire  this  honest  gentlewoman,  your  maid,  to 
speak  a  good  word  to  Mistress  Anne  Page  fur  my  master  in 
the  way  of  marriage. 

Quick.  This  is  all,  indeed,  la  I  but  I'll  ne'er  put  my  finger 
in  the  fire,  and  need  not     ^  91 

Caius.  Sir  Hugh  send-a  you?  Rugby,  bailie  me  some 
paper.     Tarry  you  a  little-a  while.  [  Writes. 

Quick.  [Aside  to  Simple]  I  am  glad  ho  is  so  quiet :  if  he 
had  been  thoroughly  moved,  you  should  have  heard  him 
so  load  and  so  melancholy.  But  notwithstanding,  man, 
ril  do  yoa  your  master  what  good  I  can  :  and  the  very  yea 
and  the  no  is,  the  French  doctor,  my  master, — I  may  call 
him  my  master,  look  you,  for  I  keep  his  house  ;  and  I  wash, 
wring,  brew,  luike,  scour,  dress  meat  and  drink,  make  the 
beds,  and  do  all  myself, — 

Sim.  [Aside  to  Quickly]  'Tis  a  great  cliarge  to  come 
under  one  body's  hand. 

Quick.  [^Asidc  to  Simple]  Are  you  avised  o'  that?  you 
shall  find  it  a  great  charge  :  and  to  be  up  early  and  down 
late ;  but  noth withstanding, — ^to  tell  you  in  your  ear ;  I 
would  have  no  words  of  it, — my  master  himself  is  in  love 
wirh  Mistress  Anne  Page  :  but  notwithstanding  that,  I 
know  Anne's  mind, — that's  neither  here  nor  there. 

Caius.  You  jack'nape,  give-a  this  letter  to  Sir  Hufh  ;  by 
gar,  it  is  a  shallenge  :  I  will  cut  his  troat  in  de  park  ;  and 
I  will  teach  a  scurvy  jack-a-napu  priest  to  meddle  or  make. 
You  may  be  gone  ;  it  is  not  good  you  tarry  here.  By  gar,  I 
will  cut  all  his  two  stones ;  by  gar,  he  shall  not  have  a  stone 
to  throw  at  his  dog.  [Exit  Simple. 

Quick.  Alas,  he  speaks  but  for  his  friend.  12K) 

Oaius.  It  is  no  matter-a  ver  dat :  do  not  you  tell-a  me 
dat  I  shall  have  Anne  Page  for  myself?    Dy  gar,  I  vill  kill 
de  Jack  priest ;  and  I  have  appointed  mine  host  of  de  Jar- 
BHAK.    I.— 5 


180  MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  [act  i. 

teer  to  measure  onr  weapon.  By  gar,  I  will  myself  hare 
Anne  Page. 

Quick.  Sir,  the  mnid  loves  yon,  and  all  shall  be  well. 
We  Tiiust  give  folks  leave  4o  prate  :  what,  the  goocl-jer  I 

Cairn.  Rugby,  come  to  the  court  with  me.  By  gar,  if  I 
have  not  Aniie  Page,  I  shall  turn  your  head  out  of  my  door. 
Follow  mv  heels,  Rugby.  [Exrnnt  Caiuft  and  Rugby. 

Quick.  You  sliall  have  An  fooFs-head  of  your  own.  No, 
I  know  Anne's  mind  for  that :  never  a  woman  in  Windsor 
knows  more  of  Anne's  mind  than  I  do;  nor  can  do.  more 
than  I  do  with  her,  I  thank  heaven. 

Fmt,  [WWiin.\  Who's  withiu  there?  ho  I 

Quick,  Who's  there,  I  trow  /  Come  near  the  house,  I  pny 
you.  14l 

EtUct  Fenton. 

Fent.  How  now,  good  woman  !  how  dost  thou  ? 

Quick,  The  better  that  it  pjeases  your  good  worship  to 
ask. 

Fent,  What  news?  how  does  pretty  Mistress  Anne? 

Qaick.  In  truth,  sir,  and  she  is  pretty,  and  honest,  and 
gentle  ;  and  one  that  is  your  friend,  I  can  tell  you  that  by 
the  way  ;  I  praise  heaven  for  it.  l.^l 

Fent.  Shall  I  do  any  good,  thinkest  thou  ?  shall  I  not 
lose  my  suit  ? 

Quick.  Troth,  sir,  all  is  in  his  hands  above  :  but  notwith- 
standing. Master  Fcnton,  I'll  be  sworn  on  a  book,  sho  loves 
you.     Have  not  your  worship  a  wart  above  your  eye? 

Fent.  Yes,  marry,  have  I ;  what  of  tjiat  ? 

Quick.  Well,  thereby  hangs  a  talc  ;  good  faith,  it  is  such 
another  Nan  ;  but,  I  detest,  an  honest  maid  as  ever  broko 
bread  :  we  had  an  hour's  talk  of  that  wart.  I  sliall  never 
laugh  but  in  that  maid's  company  I  But  indeed  she  is  given 
too  much  to  allicholy  and  musing :  but  for  you — ^well,  go  to. 

Fent,  Well,  I  shoJl  see  her  to-day.  Hold,  there's  money 
for  thee  ;  let  me  have  thy  voice  in  my  behalf :  if  thou  seest 
her  before  me,  commend  me. 

Quick.  Will  I?  i'  faith,  that  we  will ;  and  I  will  tell  your 
worship  more  of  the  wart  the  next  time  we  have  confidence ; 
and  of  other  wooers. 

Fent.  Well,  farewell ;  I  am  in  great  haste  now. 

Quick.  Farewell  to  your  worship.  [Exit  Fcnton.']  Truly, 
an  honest  gentleman  :  but  Anne  loves  him  not ;  for  I  know 
Anise's  mind  as  well  as  another  does.  Out  upon't  I  what 
have  I  forgot?  [ExU,    180 


8CBNB  I.]       MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  131 

ACT  II. 

Scene  1.    Bef^e  Page's  house, 

Enier  Mistress  Page,  with  a  letter. 

Mrs,  Page.  What,  have  I  scaped  love-letters  in  the  holi- 
day-time of  my  beauty,  and  am  I  now  a  subject  for  them  ? 
Let  me  see.  [Reads. 

*'  Ask  me  no  reason  whv  I  love  you  ;  for  though  Ijovc  use 
Reason  for  his  physician,  he  admits  him  not  for  his  counsel- 
lor. You  are  not  young,  no  more  am  I ;  go  to  then,  there's 
sympathy  :  you  are  merry,  so  am  I ;  ha,  ha !  then  there's 
more  sympathy :  you  love  sack,  and  so  do  I ;  would  you 
d(«ire  better  sympathy  ?  Let  it  suffice  thee.  Mistress  Pag^, 
— at  the  least,  if  the  love  of  soldier  can  suffice, — that  I  love 
thee.  I  will  not  say,  pity  me  ;  'tis  not  a  soldier-like  phrase ; 
but  I  say,  love  me.     By  me, 

Thine  own  true  knight, 
By  day  or  night. 
Or  any  kind  of  light. 
With  all  his  might  ^ 

For  thee  to  fight,  JomT  Falstaff." 

What  a  Herod  of  Jewry  is  this !  O  wicked,  wicked  world  I 
One  that  is  well  nigh  worn  to  pieces  with  age  to  show  him- 
self a  young  gallant !  What  an  unweighed  behaviour  hath 
this  Flemish  drunkard  picked — with  the  devil's  name  I— out 
of  my  conversation,  that  he  dares  in  this  manner  assay  mo? 
Why,  he  hath  not  been  thrice  in  my  company!  Wluit 
should  I  say  to  him  ?  I  was  then  frugal  of  my  mirth : 
Heaven  forji^vo  me  I  Why,  Y\\  exhibit  a  bill  in  the  parlia- 
ment for  tlie  putting  down  of  men.  How  shall  I  be  re- 
venged on  him?  for  revenged  I  will  be,  as  sure  as  his  guta 
are  made  of  puddings. 

Enter  Mistress  Ford. 

Mi's.  Ford,  Mistress  Page  I  trust  me,  I  was  going  to  your 
house. 

Mrs.  Pctge.  And,  trust  me,  I  was  coming  to  you.  You 
look  very  111. 

Mrs,  Pord,  Nay,  I'll  ne'er  believe  that ;  I  have  to  show  to 
the  contrary. 

Mrs.  Page.  Faith,  but  you  do,  in  my  mind. 

Mrs.  Ford-  Well,  I  do  then  ;  yet  I  say  I  could  show  you 
to  the  contrary.     O  Mistress  Page,  give  me  some  counsel ! 

Mrs.  Page.  What's  the  matter,  woman  ? 

Mrs.  Ford,  O  woman,  if  it  were  not  for  one  trifling  re- 
spect, I  could  come  to  such  honour  1 


132  MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  [ACT  n. 

Mrs.  Page.  Hang  the  trifle,  woman  !  take  the  honour. 
Wliat  is  it  ?  dispense  with  trifles  ;  what  is  it  ? 

Mrs.  Ford.  If  I  would  but  go  to  hell  for  an  eternal  mo- 
ment or  so,  I  could  be  knighted.  50 

Mrs.  Page.  Wliat?  thou  liest  1  Sir  Alice  Ford!  These 
knights  will  hack  ;  and  so  thou  shouldst  not  alter  the  arti- 
cle of  thy  gentry. 

Mm.  Ford.  We  bum  daylight :  here,  read,  read ;  per- 
ceive how  I  might  be  knighted.  I  shall  think  the  worse  of 
fat  men,  as  long  as  I  have  an  eye  to  malce  difference  of  men's 
lildng ;  and  yet  he  would  not  swear ;  praised  women's  mod- 
esty ;  and  gave  such  orderly  and  well-behaved  reproof  to  all 
uncomeliness,  that  I  would  have  sworn  his  disposition  would 
have  gone  to  the  truth  of  his  words  ;  but  they  do  no  more 
adhere  and  keep  place  together  than  the  Hundredth  Psalm 
to  the  tune  of  "Green  Sleeves."  What  tempest,  I  trow, 
threw  this  whale,  with  so  many  tuns  of  oil  in  his  belly, 
ashore  at  Windsor  ?  How  shall  I  be  revenged  on  him  ?  I 
think  the  best  way  were  to  entertain  him  with  hope,  till  the 
wicked  Are  of  lust  have  melted  him  in  his  own  grease.  Did 
you  ever  hear  the  like?  70 

Mr8.  Pa{/e.  Letter  for  letter,  but  that  the  name  of  Page 
and  Ford  differs  I  To  thy  great  comfort  in  this  mystery  of 
ill  opinions,  here's  the  twin-brother  of  thy  letter ,  but  let 
thine  inherit  first ;  for,  I  protest,  mine  never  shall.  1  war- 
rant he  hath  a  thousand  of  these  letters,  writ  with  blank 
space  for  different  names, — sure,  more, — and  these  are  of 
the  second  edition  .  ho  will  print  them,  out  of  doubt ;  for 
he  cares  not  what  he  puts  into  the  press,  when  he  would 

Eut  us  two.  I  had  rather  be  a  giantess,  and  lie  under 
[ount  Pel  ion.  Well,  I  will  find  you  twenty  lascivious 
turtles  ere  one  chaste  man. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Why,  this  is  the  very  same  ;  the  very  hand, 
the  very  words.     What  doth  he  think  of  us  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Nay,  I  know  not :  it  makes  me  almost  ready 
to  wrangle  with  mine  own  honesty.  I'll  entertain  myself 
like  one  that  I  am  not  acquainted  withal  ;  for,  sure,  unless 
ho  know  some  strain  in  me,  that  I  know  not  myself,  ho 
would  never  have  boarded  me  in  this  fury. 

Mrs.  Ford.  "  Boarding,"  call  you  it?  I'll  be  sure  to  keep 
him  above  deck. 

Mrs.  Page.  So  will  I :  if  he  come  under  my  hatclies,  I'll 
never  to  sea  again.  Let's  be  revenged  on  him  :  let's  appoint 
him  a  meeting  ;  ^ive  him  a  show  of  comfort  in  his  suit  and 
lead  him  on  wiUi  a  fine-baited  delay,  till  he  hath  pawned 
his  horses  to  mine  host  of  the  Garter.  100 

■  Mrs,  Ford,  Nay,  I  will  consent  to  act  any  villany  against 


SCENB  I.]        MERRY  WIVES  OP  WINDSOR.  138 

liim,  that  may  not  sally  the  cliariness  of  oar  honesty.  O, 
that  my  hasband  saw  this  letter  t  it  would  give  eternal  food 
to  his  jealousy. 

Mrs.  Page,  Why,  look  where  he  comes ;  and  my  good 

man  too :  he's  as  far  from  jealousy  as  I  am  from  giving 

him  canso  ;  and  that  I  hope  is  an  unmeasurable  distance. 

Mrs.  Ford.  You  are  the  happier  woman.  110 

Mrs,  Page,   Let's  consult  together  against  this    greasy 

knight.     0>me  hither.  \Tlify  retire. 

Enter  Ford  vM  Pistol,  atid  Page  icith  Ntm. 

F(yrd.  Well,  I  hope  it  be  not  so. 

Pist.  Hope  is  a  curtal  dog  in  some  %ffairs  : 
Sir  John  anects  thy  wife. 

/Vrd.  Why,  sir,  my  wife  is  not  young. 

Put  He  wooes  both  high  and  low,  both  rich  and  poor. 
Both  young  and  old,  one  with  another.  Ford ; 
He  loves  the  gallimaufry  :  Ford,  perpend. 

Ford,  Love  my  wife  I  120 

Pist.  With  liver  burning  hot.     Prevent,  or  go  thou. 
Like  Sir  Actsaon  he,  with  Ringwood  at  thy  heels  : 
0,  odious  is  tlie  name  ! 

Fbrd.  What  name,  sir? 

Pist.  The  horn,  I  say.     Farewell. 
Take  heed,  have  open  eye,  for  thieves  do  foot  by  night : 
Take  heed,  ere  summer  comes  or  cuckoo-birds  do  sing. 
Away,  Sir  Corporal  Nym  I 
Believe  it.  Page  ;  he  speaks  sense.  [Ejrit. 

JFord.  [Aside]  I  will  be'  patient ;  I  will  find  out  this.    131 

Ifjfm,  [To  Page]  And  this  is  true  ;  I  like  not  the  humour 
of  lying.  He  hath  wronged  me  in  some  huuiours  :  I  should 
luive  borne  the  humoured  letter  to  her ;  but  I  have  a  sword 
and  it  shall  bite  upon  my  necessity.  He  loves  your  wi  fe  ; 
tliere's  the  short  and  the  long.  My  name  is  Corporal  Nym  ; 
I  speak  and  I  avouch  ;  'tis  true  :  my  name  is  Nym  and  Fal- 
Btaif  loves  vour  wife.  Adieu.  I  love  not  the  humour  of 
bread  and  cfieese,  and  there's  the  humour  of  it.     Adieu. 

[^.r*^.     141 

Page.  "The  humour  of  it,"  quoth  a' I  here's  a  fellow 
frights  English  out  of  his  wits. 

Ford.  I  will  seek  out  Falstaff. 

Page.  I  never  heard  such  a  drawling,  affecting  rogue. 

Ford.  If  I  do  find  it :  well. 

Page.  1  will  not  believe  such  a  Catalan,  though  the  priest 
o'  the  town  commended  him  for  a  true  man.  150 

Ford,  'Twos  a  good  sensible  fellow  :  well. 


184  MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  [act  ii. 

Page,  How  now,  Meg ! 

^Mrs.  Page  and  Mrs.  Ford  come  for^card. 

Mrs.  Page.  Whither  go  you,  George  ?    Hark  you. 

Mrs.  Ford,  How  now,  sweet  Frank  !  why  art  thou  mel- 
ancholy ? 

Ford.  I  melancholy !  I  am  not  melancholy.  Get  yoa 
home,  go. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Faith,  thou  hast  some  crotchets  in  thy  head. 
Now,  will  you  go,  Mistress  Page  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Have  with  you.  You'll  come  to  dinner, 
George.  \ Aside  to  Mrs.  Ford]  Look  who  comes  yonder  : 
she  shall  be  our  messenger  to  this  paltr}'  knight. 

Mrs.  Ford.  [Aside  to  Mrs.  Page]'  Trust  me,  I  thought  on 
her :  she'll  fit  it. 

Enter  Mibtrebs  Quickly. 

Mrs.  Page.  You  are  come  to  see  my  daughter  Anne  ? 

Quick.  Ay,  forsooth  ;  and,  I  pray,  how  does  good  Mistress 
Anne  ?  170 

Mrs.  Page.  Go  in  with  us  and  see  :  we  have  an  hoar's 
talk  with  you.  [Exeunt  Mrs.  Page,  Mrs.  Ford,  and 

Mrs.  Quiekl^f, 

Page.  How  now.  Master  Ford  I 

Ford.  You  heard  what  this  knave  told  me,  did  you  not  ? 

Page.  Yes  :  and  you  heard  what  the  other  told  me  ? 

Ford.  Do  you  think  there  is  truth  in  tbcm  ? 

Page.  Hang  'em,  slaves  1  I  do  not  think  the  knight  would 
offer  it  :  hut  these  that  accuse  him  in  his  intent  towards  our 
wives  are  a  yoke  of  his  discarded  men  ;  very  rogues,  now 
they  he  out  of  service. 

Ford.  Were  they  his  men  ? 

Page.  Marry,  were  they. 

Ford.  1  like  it  never  the  hetter  for  that  Does  he  lie  at 
the  Garter? 

Page.  Ay,  marry,  does  he.  If  he  should  intend  this  voy- 
age towards  my  wife,  I  would  turn  her  loose  to  him  ;  and 
what  he  gets  more  of  her  than  sharp  words,  let  it  lie  on  my 
head.  191 

Ford.  I  do  not  misdouht  my  wife  ;  hut  I  wonld  he  loath  to 
turn  them  together.  A  man  may  be  too  confident :  I  would 
have  nothing  lie  on  my  head  :  I  cannot  be  thus  satisfied. 

Page.  Look  where  my  ranting  host  of  the  Garter  comes  : 
there  is  either  liquor  in  his  pate  or  money  in  his  purse  when 
he  looks  80  merrUy. 

Enter  Hoar. 
How  now,  mine  host  I 


BCBNK  I.]         MEERT  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  135 

Ho9t,  Hotr  now,  bullj-iook  I  tlioa'xt  a  geatleman.  Cav- 
aleiro- justice,  I  say  1  201 

Enter  Shallow. 

Sh/d.  I  follow,  mine  host,  I  follow.  •  Good  even  and 
twenty,  good  Master  Page  I  Master  Page,  will  joa  go  witli 
us  ?  we  have  sport  in  luuid. 

Hofit.  Tell  him,  cavaleiro- justice  ;  tell  him,  bully-rook. 

8JuU.  Sir,  there  is  a  fray  to  be  fought  between  Sir  Hugh 
the  Welsh  priest  and  Caius  the  French  doctor.  210 

Ford,  Good  mine  host  o'  the  Garter,  a  word  with  you. 

[DratHng  him  <mde. 

Ho9t.  What  sayest  thoa,  my  bully-rook? 

Bhal.  [To  Page]  Will  you  go  with  us  to  behold  it?  My 
merry  host  hath  had  the  measuring  of  their  weapons  ;  and, 
I  think,  hath  appointed  them  contrary  places  ;  for,  believo 
me,  I  hear  the  parson  is  no  jester.  Hark,  I  will  tell  you 
what  our  sport  shall  be.  [T/iey  converae  apart. 

Ho9t.  Hast  thou  no  suit  against  my  knight,  my  guest- 
cavaleire  ?  221 

Ford.  None,  I  protest :  but  I'll  give  you  a  pottle  of  burnt 
sack  to  give  me  recourse  to  him  and  tell  him  my  name  is 
Brook  ;  only  for  a  jest. 

Host,  "iliy  hand,  bully ;  thou  shalt  h^ve  egress  and  regress ; 
— said  I  well  ?-r-ahd  thy  name  shall  be  Brook.  It  is  a  merry 
knight     Will  you  go,  f  mynheers  ? 

Skai.  Have  with  you,  mine  host. 

Page.  I  have  heard  the  Frenchman  hath  good  skill  in 
his  rapier.  231 

Shot.  Tut,  sir,  I  could  have  told  you  more.  In  these 
times  you  stand  on  distance,  your  passes,  stoccudoes,  and  I 
know  not  what :  'tis  the  heart.  Master  Page ;  'tis  here,  'tis 
here.  I  have  seen  the  time,  >vith  my  long  sword  I  would 
have  made  you  four  tall  fellows  skip  like  rats. 

Host.  Here,  boys,  here,  here !  shall  we  wag? 

Pa^ge.  Have  with  you.  I  had  rather  hear  them  scold 
than  fight.  240 

[Exeunt  Host,  SfuU. ,  and  Page. 

Ford.  Though  Page  be  a  secure  fool,  and  stands  so  firmly 
on  his  v.'ife's  frailty,  yet  I  cannot  put  off  my  opinion  so 
easily :  she  was  in  his  company  at  Page's  house ;  and  what 
they  made  there,  I  know  not.  Well.  I  will  look  further 
into't :  and  I  have  a  disguise  to  sound  Falstaff.  If  I  find 
her  honest,  I  lose  not  my  labour ;  if  she  be  otherwise,  'tis 
labour  well  bestowed.  [Exit, 


186         MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  [act  n. 

ScEivB  II.  A  room  in  the  Oarter  Inn. 

Enter  Palstafp  and  Pistol. 

Fhl,  I  will  not  lend  thee  a  penny. 

Pwrf,  Why,  then  the  world's  mine  oyster, 
Which  I  with  sword  will  open. 

Fal.  Not  a  penny.  I  have  been  content,  sir,  you  should 
lay  my  countenance  to  pawn  :  I  have  grated  upon  my  good 
friends  for  three  reprieves  for  you  and  your  coach-fellow 
Nym ;  or  else  you  had  looked  through  the  grate  like  a 
geminy  of  balxx)ns.  I  am  damned  in  hell  for  swearing  to 
gentlemen  my  friends,  you  were  good  soldiers  and  tall  fel- 
lows ;  and  when  Mistress  Bridget  lost  the  handle  of  her 
fan,  I  took't  upon  mine  honour  thou  hadst  it  not. 

Pi^.  Didst  thou  not  share  ?  hadst  thou  not  fifteen 
pence? 

JFhl,  Reason,  you  rog^e,  reason :  thinkest  thou  I'll  en- 
danger my  soul  gratis  ?  At  a  word,  hang  no  more  about 
me,  I  am  no  gibbet  for  you.  Go.  A  short  knife  and  a 
throng  !  To  your  manor  of  Pickt  hat<;h  !  Go.  You'll  not 
bear  a  letter  for  me,  you  rogue  !  you  stand  upon  your  hon- 
our. Why,  thou  unconfinable  baseness,  it  is  as  much  as  I 
can  do  to  keep  the  terms  of  my  honour  precise  :  I,  I,  I  my- 
self sometimes,  leaving  the  fear  of  God  on  the  left  hand 
and  hiding  mine  honour  in  my  necessity,  am  fain  to  shuffle, 
to  hedge  and  to  lurch  ;  and  yet  you,  rogue,  will  ensconce 
your  rags,  your  cat-a- mountain  looks,  your  red -lattice 
phrases,  and  your  bold-beating  oaths,  under  the  shelter  of 
your  honour  I    You  will  not  do  it,  you  !  30 

Pist.  1  do  relent :  what  would  thou  more  of  man  t 

Enter  Robin. 

Hob.  Sir,  here's  a  woman  would  speak  with  you. 
Fal,  Let  her  approach. 

Enter  Mistress  Quickly. 

Quick:  Give  your  worship  good  morrow. 

Eal.  Good  morrow,  good  wife. 

Quick.  Not  so,  an't  please  your  worship. 

Eal.  Good  maid,  then. 

Quick.  I'll  be  sworn, 
As  my  mother  was,  the  first  hour  I  was  bom. 

Fal.  I  do  believe  the  swearer.     What  with  me? 

Qnick.  Shall  I  vouchsafe  your  worship  a  word  or  two? 

Fal.  Two  thousand,  fair  woman :  and  I'll  vouchsafe  tliee 
the  hearinfi^. 

Quick,  There  is  one  Mistress  Ford,  sir : — I  yray,  come  a 


aCBNE  II.]      MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  137 

little  nearer  this  ways : — ^I  myself  dwell  with  Master  Doctor 
Cains, — 

Fal.  Well,  on  :  Mistress  Ford,  you  say, — 

Quick.  Your  worship  says  very  true :  1  pray  your  wor- 
ship,  come  a  little  nearer  this  ways.  50 

Fal.  1  warrant  thee,  nolK>dy  hears;  x^ine  own  people* 
mine  own  people. 

Quick.  Are  they  so  ?  God  bless  them  and  make  them  his 
servants  1 

Fal.  Well,  Mistress  Ford  ;  what  of  her? 

Quick.  Why,  sir,  she's  a  |[ood  creature.  Lord,  Lord  I 
your  worship's  a  wanton  I  ^\  ell,  heaven  forgive  you  and 
all  of  us,  I  pray  ! 

Fal.  Mistress  Ford  ;  come,  Mistress  Ford, — 

Quick,  Marry,  this  is  the  short  and  the  long  of  it ;  you 
have  brought  her  into  such  a  canaries  as  'tis  wonderful. 
The  best  courtier  of  them  all,  when  tlie  court  lay  at  Wind- 
sor, could  never  liave  brought  her  to  such  a  canary.  Yet 
there  has  been  knights,  and  lords,  and  gentlemen,  with 
their  coaches,  I  warrant  you.  coach  after  coach,  letter  after 
letter,  gift  after  gift ;  smelling  so  sweetly,  all  musk,  and 
so  rushling,  I  warrant  you,  in  silk  and  gold ;  and  in  such 
alligant  terms ;  and  in  such  wine  and  sugar  of  the  best  and 
the  fairest,  that  would  have  won  any  woman's  heart ;  and, 
I  warrant  you,  they  could  never  get  an  eye-wink  of  her  :  I 
had  mvself  twenty  angels  given  me  this  morning;  but  I 
defy  all  angels,  in  any  such  sort,  as  they  say,  but  in  the 
way  of  honesty :  and,  I  warrant  you,  they  could  never  get 
her  so  much  as  sip  on  a  cup  with  the  proudest  of  them  all : 
and  yet  there  has  been  earls,  nay,  which  is  more,  i)ension- 
ers  ;  but,  I  warrant  you,  all  is  one  with  her.  80 

Fal.  But  what  says  she  to  me  ?  be  brief,  my  good  she- 
Mercury. 

Quick,  Marry,  she  hath  received  your  letter,  for  the  which 
she  thanks  you  a  thousand  times  ;  and  she  gives  you  to  no- 
tify that  her  husband  will  he  absence  from  his  house  be- 
tween ten  and  eleven. 

Fal.  Ten  and  eleven  ? 

Quick.  Ay,  forsooth  ;  and  then  you  may  come  and  see  the 
picture,  she  says,  that  you  wot  of :  Master  Ford,  her  hus- 
band, will  be  from  home.  Alas  I  the  sweet  woman  leads 
an  ill  life  with  him  :  he's  a  very  jealousy  man  :  she  leads  a 
very  frampold  life  with  nim,  good  heart. 

PtU,  Ten  and  eleven.  Woman,  commend  me  to  her  ;  I 
will  not  fail  her. 

Quick.  Why,  you  say  well.  But  I  have  another  mes- 
senger to  your  worship.    Mistress  Page  hath  her  hearty 


138  MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  [act  it 

commendations  to  you  too :  and  let  me  tell  yon  in  your  ear, 
she's  as  fartuous  a  civil  modest  wife,  and  one,  I  tell  you, 
tliat  will  not  miss  you  morning  nor  evening  prayer,  as  any 
is  in  Windsor,  whoe'er  be  the  other  :  and  she  bade  me  tell 
your  worship  that  her  husband  is  seldom  from  home  ;  but 
she  hopes  t]iere  will  come  a  time.  I  never  knew  a  woman 
60^  dote  upon  a  man  :  surely  I  think  you  have  charms,  la ; 
yes,  in  truth. 

FcU.  Not  I.  I  assure  thee :  setting  the  attraction  of  my 
good  parts  aside  I  have  no  other  charms.  Ill 

Qiiick.  Blessing  on  your  heart  for't  1 
'  Fal.  But,  I  pray  thee,  tell  me  this  :  has  Ford's  wife  and 
Page's  wife  acquainted  each  other  how  they  love  me? 

Quick.  That  were  a  jest  indeed  I  they  have  not  so  little 
grace,  I  hope :  that  were  a  trick  indeed  1  But  Mistress 
Page  would  desire  you  to  send  her  your  little  page,  of  all 
loves  :  her  husband  has  a  marvellous  infection  to  the  little 
page  ;  and  truly  Master  Page  is  an  honest  man.  Never  a  wife 
in  Windsor  leads  a  better  life  than  she  does  :  do  what  she 
will,  say  what  she  will,  take  all,  pay  all,  go  to  bed  when  she 
list,  rise  when  she  list,  all  is  as  sue  w^ill :  and  truly  she  de- 
serves it ;  for  if  there  be  a  kind  woman  in  Windsor  she  is 
one.     You  must  send  her  your  page  :  no  remedy. 

Fal.  Why,  I  will. 

Quick.  Nay,  but  do  so,  then :  and,  look  you,  he  may  come 
and  go  between  you  both ;  and  in  any  case  have  a  nay- 
word,  that  you  may  know  one  another's  mind,  and  the  boy 
never  need  to  understand  any  thing ;  for  'tis  not  good  that 
children  should  know  any  wickedness  :  old  folks,  you  know, 
have  discretion,  as  they  say,  and  know  the  world. 

Fal.  Fare  thee  well :  commend  me  to  them  both :  there's 
my  purse  ;  I  am  yet  thy  debtor.  Boy,  go  along  with  this 
woman.  [Ex£unt  Mistress  Quickly  and  £a&i/t.]  This  news 
distracts  me  t 

Pid.  This  punk  is  one  of  Cupid's  carriers  : 
Clap  on  more  sails ;  pursue ;  up  witli  your  fights : 
Give  fire  :  she  is  my  prize,  or  ocean  whelm  them  all !  [Exit, 

Fal.  Sayest  thou  so,  old  Jack  ?  go  thy  ways ;  I'll  mako 
more  of  thy  old  body  than  I  have  done.  Will  they  yet 
look  after  thee?  Wilt  thou,  after  the  expense  of  so  much 
money,  be  now  a  gainer  ?  Good  body,  I  thank  thee.  Let 
them  say  'tis  grossly  done ;  so  it  be  fairly  done,  no  matter. 

Enter  Bardolfh. 

Bard.  Sir  John,  there's  one  Master  Brook  below  would 
fain  speak  with  you,  and  be  acquainted  with  you;  and 
hath  sent  your  worship  a  morning's  draught  of  sftck. 


:^ 


BCBNE  n.]      MERRY  WIVES  OP  WINDSOR.  139 

Fhl.  Brook  is  Iiis  name  ? 

Bard,  Ay,  sir. 

Fal,  Call  him  in.  [Exit  BarcMph,]  Such  Brooks  aro 
welcome  to  me,  that  overflow  such  liquor.  All,  ha  !  Mis- 
tress Ford  and  Mistress  Page  have  I  encompassed  vou  ?  go 
to;  via  1 

Be-erUer  Babdolph,  toUh  Ford  disguised. 

Ford,  Bless  jou,  sir  t  160 

F(U,  And  you,  sir  I    Would  you  speak  with  me  ? 

F[^rd»  I  make  bold  to  press  with  so  little  preparation  upon 
you. 

FaL  Toa're  welcome.  What's  your  willlf  Qive us  leave, 
drawer.  [Exit  Bardolph. 

Ford,  Sir,  I  am  a  gentleman  that  have  spent  much :  my 
name  is  Brook. 

Fal,  Good  Master  Brook,  I  desire  more  acquaintance  of 
you. 

FML  Good  Sir  John,  I  sue  for  yours :  not  to  charge  vou ; 
for  I  must  let  you  understand  I  think  mvself  in  better  plight 
for  a  lender  than  vou  are :  the  which  hath  something  em- 
boldened me  to  tfiis  unseasoned  intrusion ;  for  they  say,  if 
money  go  before,  all  ways  do  lie  open.  - 

Fal,  Money  is  a  good  soldier,  sir,  and  will  on. 

Ford,  Troth,  and  I  have  a  ba^  of  money  here  troubles 
me :  if  you  will  help  to  bear  it,  Sir  John,  take  all,  or  half, 
for  easing  me  of  the  carriage. 

Fal,  Sir,  I  know  not  how  I  may  deserve  to  be  your  por- 
ter. 181 

Ford,  I  will  tell  you,  sir,  if  yon  will  give  me  the  hearing. 

Fal.  Speak,  gooa  Master  Brook  :  I  shall  be  glad  to  bo 
your  servant. 

Ford,  Sir,  I  hear  you  are  a  scholar, — I  will  be  brief  with 
you, — and  you  have  been  a  man  long  known  to  me,  though 
I  liad  never  so  good  means,  as  desire,  to  make  myself  ac- 
quainted with  you.  I  shall  discover  a  thing  to  vou,  wherein 
I  must  very  much  lay  open  mine  own  imperfection  :  but, 
good  Sir  John,  as  you  have  one  eye  upon  my  follies,  as  you 
hear  them  unfolded,  turn  another  into  the  register  of  your 
own ;  that  I  may  pass  with  a  reproof  the  easier,  sith  you 
yourself  know  how  easy  it  is  to  be  such  an  offender. 

FhU.  Very  well,  sir  ;  proceed. 

Ford,  There  is  a  gentlewoman  in  this  town ;  her  hus- 
band's name  is  Ford. 

Fal,  Well,  sir.  200 

Ford,  I  have  long  loved  her,  and,  I  protest  to  you,  be- 
stowed  much  on  her;  followed  her  with  a  doting  obser- 


140  MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  [act  ir. 

vance ;  engrossed  opportunities  to  meet  her ;  fee'd  every 
slight  occasion  that  could  but  niggardly  give  me  sight  of 
her  ;  not  only  bought  many  presents  to  give  her,  but  have 
given  largely  to  many  to  know  what  she  would  have  given  ; 
briefly,  I  have  pursued  her  as  love  hath  pursued  me ;  which 
hath  been  on  the  wing  of  all  occasions.  Bnt  whatsoever  I 
have  merited,  either  in  my  mind  or  in  my  means,  meed,  I 
am  sure,  I  have  received  none  ;  unless  e^^perience  bo  a  jewel 
that  I  have  purchased  at  an  infinite  rate,  and  that  hath 
taught  me  to  say  this : 
"  I^ve  like  a  shadow  flies  when  substance  love  pursues ; 

Pursuing  that  that  flies,  and  flying  what  pursues.'" 

Ibl,  Have  yon  recieved  no  promise  of  satisfaction  at  her 
hands  ? 

JFbrtL  Never. 

Fal.  Have  you  importuned  her  to  such  a  purpose  ?       221 

Ford.  Never. 

Fdl,  Of  what  quality  was  your  love,  then? 

F<yrd.  Like  a  fair  house  built  on  another  man's  ground  ; 
80  that  I  have  lost  my  edifice  by  mistaking  the  place  where 
I  erected  it. 

Fal.  To  what  purpose  have  you  unfolded  this  to  me? 

Ford.  When  I  have  told  you  that,  I  have  told  you  all. 
Some  say,  that  though  she  appear  honest  to  me,  yet  in  other 
places  she  enlargeth  her  mirth  so  far  that  there  is  shrewd 
construction  made  of  her.  Now,  Sir  John,  here  is  the  heart 
of  my  purpose  :  you  are  a  gentleman  of  excellent  breeding, 
admirable  discourse,  of  great  admittance,  authentic  in  your 
place  and  person,  generally  allowed  for  your  many  war-like, 
court-like,  and  learned  preparations. 

Fal.  O,  sir  I 

Ford.  Believe  it,  for  you  know  it.  There  is  money  ; 
sx)end  it,  spend  it ;  spend  more  ;  spend  all  I  have  ;  only  give 
me  so  much  of  your  time  in  exchsjigo  of  it,  as  to  lay  an  ami- 
able siege  to  the  honesty  of  this  Fonl's  wife  :  use  your  art  of 
wooing  ;  win  her  to  consent  to  you  ;  if  any  man  may,  you 
may  as  soon  as  any. 

Fal.  Would  it  apply  well  to  the  the  vehemency  of  your 
affection,  that  I  should  win  what  you  would  enjoy  ?  Mo- 
thinks  you  prescribe  to  yourself  very  preposterously.       250 

Ford.  O,  understand  my  drift.  She  dwells  so  securely  on 
the  excellency  of  her  honour,  that  the  folly  of  my  soul  dares 
not  present  itself :  she  is  too  bright  to  be  looked  against. 
Now,  could  I  comfe  to  her  with  any  detection  in  my  hand, 
my  desires  had  instance  and  -argument  to  commend  them- 
selves :  I  could  drive  her  then  from  the  ward  of  her  purity, 
her  reputation^  her  marriage- vow,  and  a  thousand  other  her 


SCENE  n.]      MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  141 

defences,  which  now  are  too  strongly  embattled  against  me. 
Wliat  say  you  to't,  Sir  John  ?  261 

Fal.  Master  Brook,  I  will  first  make  bold  with  your 
money  ;  next,  give  me  yoar  hand  ;  and  last,  as  I  am  a  gen- 
tleman, you  shall,  if  yo'i  will,  enjoy  Ford's  wife. 

Ford.  O  good  sir  I 

Fal.  I  say  you  shall. 

Ford.  Want  no  money,  Sir  John  :  you  shall  want  none. 

Fal.  Want  no  Mistress  Ford,  Master  Brook ;  you  shall 
want  none.  I  shall  be  with  her,  I  may  tell  you,  by  her  own 
appointment ;  even  as  you  came  into  me,  her  assistant  or 
go-between  parted  from  me  :  I  say  I  shall  be  with  her  be- 
tween ten  and  eleven  ;  for  at  that  time  the  jealous  rascally 
knave  her  husband  will  be  forth.  Come  you  to  me  at  night ; 
you  shall  know  how  I  speed. 

Ford.  I  am  blest  in  vour  acquaintance.  Do  you  know 
Ford,  sir?  '  280 

Fal.  Hang  him,  poor  en ckoldly  knave  I  I  know  him  not : 
yet  I  "wrong  liim  to  call  him  poor  ;  they  say  the  jealous  wit- 
tolly  knave  hath  masses  of  money  :  for  the  which  his  wife 
seems  to  me  well-favoured.  I  will  use  her  as  the  key  of 
the  cuckoldly  rogue's  coifer  ;  and  there's  my  harvest- home. 

Ford.  I  would  you  knew  Ford,  sir,  that  you  might  avoid 
him  if  you  saw  him. 

J^o/.  Hang  him,  mechanical  salt-butter  rogue  I  I  will 
stare  him  out  of  his  wits  ;  I  will  awe  him  with  my  cudgel  : 
it  shall  hang  like  a  meteor  o'er  the  cuckold's  horns.  Master 
Brook,  thou  shalt  know  I  will  predominate  over  the  peas- 
ant, and  thou  shalt  lie  with  his  wife.  Come  to  me  soon 
at  night.  Ford's  a  kna'W,  and  I  will  aggravate  his  style  ; 
thou,  Master  Brook,  shalt  know  him  for  knave  and  cuckold. 
Come  to  me  soon  at  night.  [Exit. 

Ford.  What  a  damned  Epicurean  rascal  is  this  f  My  lieart 
is  ready  to  crack  with  impatience.  Who  says  this  is  im- 
provident jealousy  ?  my  wife  hath  sent  to  him  ;  the  hour  is 
fixed ;  the  match  is  made.  Would  any  man  have  thought 
this  ?  See  the  hell  of  having  a  false  woman  1  My  bed  shall 
be  abused,  my  coffers  ransacked,  my  reputation  gnawn  at ; 
and  I  shall  not  only  receive  this  villanous  «ri*ong,  but  stand 
under  the  adoption  of  abominable  terms,  and  by  him  that 
does  me  this  wrong.  Terms  I  names  I  Amaimon  sounds 
well ;  Lucifer,  well ;  Barbason,  well  ;  yet  they  are  devils* 
additions,  the  nam^s  of  fiends :  but  Cuckold  I  Wittol ! — 
Cuckold  1  the  devil  himself  hath  not  such  a  name.  Page  is 
an  ass,  a  secure  ass  :  he  will  trust  his  wife  ;    he  will  not  be 

i'ealous.  I  will  rather  trust  a  Fleminu:  with  my  butter, 
'arson  Hugh  the  Welshman  with  my  cheese  an  Irishman 


142  MEBRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  [act  ii. 

with  mj  aqua-vitas  bottle,  o^  a  tliief  to  walk  mj  ambling 
gelding,  tlian  my  wife  with  herself  :  then  she  plots,  then  she 
ruminates,  then  she  devises  ;  and  wliat  they  think  in  their 
hearts  they  may  effect,  they  will  break  their  hearts  but  they 
will  effect.  Qod  be  praised  for  my  jealousy  !  Eleven  o'clock 
the  hour.  I  will  prevent  this,  detect  my  wife,  be  revenged  on 
Falstaif ,  and  laugh  at  Page.  I  will  about  it ;  better  three 
hours  too  soon  than  a  minute  too  late.  Fie,  fie,  fie  I  euckold  I 
cuckold  !  cuckold  I  [£!M. 

ScEiaB  III.    A  fidd  near  Windtor. 

Enter  Caius  an<2  Rugby. 

Caiui.  Jack  Rugby  t 

livg.  Sir? 

Caivs.  Vat  is  de  clock,  Jack  ? 

Rug.  'Tis  past  the  hour,  sir,  that  Sir  Hugh  promised  to 
meet. 

Coins.  By  gar,  he  had  save  his  soul,  dat  he  is  no  come  : 
he  has  pray  his  Pible  well,  dat  he  is  no  come  :  by  gar,  Jack 
Rugby,  he  is  dead  already,  if  he  be  come. 

Hug.  He  is  wise,  sir  ;  he  knew  your  worship  would  kill 
him,  if  he  came.  11 

Caius.  By  gar,  the  herring  is  no  dead  so  as  I  vill  kill  him. 
Take  your  rapier.  Jack  ;  I  vill  tell  you  how  I  vill  kill  him. 

Rug.  Alas,  sir,  I  cannot  fence. 

Caiue.  Villany,  take  your  rapier. 

Rug.  Forbear;  here's  company. 

Enter  Host,  Shallow,  Slsnder,  and  Page. 

Hofit.  Bless  thee,  bully  doctor  I 

Shal.  Save  you.  Master  Doctor  Caius  I 

Page.  Now,  good  master  doctor  I  20 

Slen.  Give  you  p>od  morrow,  sir. 

Caius.  Vat  be  all  you,  one,  two,  tree,  four,  come  for? 

Host.  To  see  thee  fight,  to  see  thee  foin ,  to  see  thee  traverse  ; 
to  see  thee  here,  to  see  thee  tb  ire  ;  to  see  thee  pass  thy 
punto,  thy  stock,  thy  reverse,  thy  distance,  thy  niontant. 
Is  he  dead,  my  Ethiopian  ?  is  he  dead,  my  Francisco  ?  ha, 
bully!  What  says  my  B^ulapius?  my  Galen  ?  my  heart 
of  elder  ?  ha  I  is  he  dead,  bully  stale  ?  is  he  dead  ?  81 

Caius.  By  gar,  lie  is  de  coward  Jack  priest  of  de  vorld  ; 
he  is  not  show  his  face. 

Host.  Thou  art  a  Castalion-Eing-Urinal.  Hector  of 
Greece,  my  boy  I 

Caius.  1  pray  you  bear  vitness  that  me  have  stay  six  or 
seven,  two,  tree  hours  for  him,  and  he  is  no  come. 


BCBira  in.]      MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  148 

Shal.  He  is  the  wiser  man,  master  doctor :  he  is  a  curer 
of  souls,  and  you  a  carer  of  bodies  ;  if  you  should  fight, 
you  go  against  the  Jiair  of  your  professions.  Is  it  not  true, 
Master  Page  ? 

Page.  Master  Shallow,  you  have  yourself  been  a  great 
fighter,  though  now  a  man  of  peace. 

Shal.  Bodykins,  Master  Page,  though  I  now  be  old  and 
of  the  peace,  if  I  see  a  sword  out,  my  finger  itches  to  make 
one.  Though  we  are  justices  and  doctors  and  churchmen, 
Master  Page,  we  have  some  salt  of  our  youth  in  us ;  we  are 
the  sons  of  women.  Master  Page.  61 

Page.  'Tis  true.  Master  Shallow. 

Shal.  It  will  be  found  so,  Master  Page.  Master  Doctor 
Caius,  I  am  come  to  fetch  you  home.     I  am  sworn  of  the 

Sjace :  you  have  showed  yourself  a  wise  physician,  and  Sir 
ugh  hath  shown  himself  a  wise  and  patient  churchman. 
You  must  go  with  me,  master  doctor. 

Host.  Pardon,  guest- justice.  A  word,  Mounseur  Mock- 
water.  60 

Caius,  Mock-vater  !  vat  is  dat  ? 

Host,  Mock-water,  in  our  English  tongue,  is  valour,  bully. 

Cains,  By  gar,  den,  I  have  as  mush  mock-vater  as  de 
Englishman.  Scurvy  jack-dog  priest !  by  gar,  me  vill  cut 
his  ears. 

Host.  He  will  clapper-claw  thee  tightly,  bully. 

Caius.  Clapper-de-claw  I  vat  is  dat  ? 

Host.  That  is,  he  will  make  thee  amends.  70 

Caius.  By  gar,  me  do  look  he  shall  clapper-de-claw  me ; 
for,  by  gar,  me  vill  have  it.  \ 

Host.  And  I  will  provoke  him  to't,  or  let  him  wag. 

Caius.  Mo  tank  you  for  dat. 

Host.  And,  moreover,  bully, — but  first,  master  guest,  and 
Master  Page,  and  eke  Cavaleiro  Slender,  go  you  through 
the  town  to  Frogmore.  [Aside  to  them, 

Pa^e,  Sir  Hugh  is  there,  is  he  ? 

Host.  He  is  there  :  see  wliat  humour  he  is  in  ;  and  I  will 
bring  the  doctor  about  by  the  fields.     Will  it  do  well  ? 

Shot,  We  will  do  it. 

Page,  Shal.,  and  Slen.  Adieu,  good  master  doctor. 

i  Exeunt  Page,  S/ial. ,  and  Slen, 
de  priest ;  for  ho  speak  for  a 
jack-an-ape  to  Anne  Page. 

Host.  Let  him  die  ;  sheathe  thy  impatience,  throw  cold 
water  on  thy  choler  :  go  about  the  fields  with  me  through 
Frogmore  :  I  will  bring  thee  where  Mistress  Anne  Page  is, 
at  a  farmhouse  a-feasting  ;  and  thou  shalt  woo  her.  Uried 
I  aim?  said  I  well? 


144  MERIIY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.         [act  m. 

Caius,  By  par,  me  dank  you  for  dat :  by  gar,  I  love  you  ; 
and  I  shall  procure-a  you  de  good  guest,  de  earl,  dv-  knight, 
de  lords,  de  gentlemen,  my  patients. 

Host.  For  the  which  1  will  be  thy  adversary  toward  Anne 
Page.     Said  I  well? 

Gains.  By  gar,  'tis  good  ;  veil  said.  100 

Host.  Let  us  wag,  tlien. 

Cains.  Come  at  my  heels.  Jack  Rugby.  [ExenrU, 


ACT  IIL 

Scene  I.    A  field  near  Frogmors. 

Enter  Sir  IIuqi^  Evans  and  Simple. 

Eeans.  I  pray  you  now,  good  Master  Slender's  serving- 
man,  and  friend  Simple  by  your  name,  which  way  have  you 
looked  for  Master  Caius,  that  calls  himself  doctor  of  physic? 
Sim.  Marry,  sir,  the  pittie-ward,  the  park-ward,  every 
way  ;  old  Windsor  way,  and  every  way  but  the  town  way. 

Evans.  I  most  fehemently  desire  you  you  will  also  look 
that  way. 
Sim.  I  will,  sir.  [Earit.        10 

Evans.  'Pless  my  soul,  how  full  of  choUors  1  am,  and 
trempling  of  mind  !  I  shall  be  glad  if  he  have  deceived  me. 
How  melancholies  I  om  I  I  will  knog  his  urinals  about  his 
knave's  costard  when  I  have  good  opportunities  for  the  ork 
'Pless  my  soul !  [Sings, 

To  shallow  rivers,  to  whose  falls 
Melodious  birds  sings  madrigals  ; 
There  will  we  make  our  peds  of  roees. 
And  a  thousand  fragrant  posies.  20 

To  shallow — 
Mercy  on  me  I  I  have  a  great  dispositions  to  cry.        [Sings, 
Melodious  birds  sing  madrigals — 
When  as  I  sat  in  Pabylon — 
And  a  thousand  vagmm  posies. 
To  shallow  &c. 

He  enter  Simple. 

Sim.  Yonder  he  is  coming,  this  way,  Sir  Hugh. 

Evans.  He's  welcome.  [Sings, 

To  shallow  rivers,  to  whose  falls — 
Heaven  prosper  the  right  I    Wliat  weapons  is  he  ? 

Sim.  No  weapons,  sir.  There  comes  my  master,  Ma.ster 
Shallow;  and  another  gentleman,  from  Frogmore,  over  the 
stile,  this  way. 


BCBNE  I.]        MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  146 

BcaM.  Pray  you,  give  me  my  gown  ;  or  else  keep  it  in 
your  arms. 

*     

Unter  Page,  Shallow,  and  Slender. 

Shal,  How  now,  master  Parson  I  Good  morrow,  good  Sir 
Hugh.  Keep  a  gamester  from  the  dice,  and  a  good  student 
from  his  book,  and  it  is  wonderful. 

J^n.  [Aride]  Ah,  sweet  Anne  Page  I  40 

Pag4,  'Save  you,  good  Sir  Hugh  I 

Bva7i8.  Tless  you  from  his  mercy  sake,  all  of  you  ! 

8hal.  What,  the  sword  and  the  word  1  do  you  study  them 
both,  master  parson  ? 

Page.  And  youthful  still  I  in  your  doublet  and  hose  this 
raw  rheumatic  day ! 

Evans.  There  is  reasons  and  causes  for  it. 

Page.  We  are  come  to  you  to  do  a  good  office,  master  par- 
son. 50 

Evans.  FeiT  well :  what  is  it  ? 

Page.  Yonder  is  a  most  reverend  gentleman,  who,  belike 
having  received  wrong  by  some  person,  is  at  most  odds  with 
his  own  grtkYitj  and  patience  that  ever  yon  saw. 

Shai.  1  have  lived  fourscore  years  and  upward  ;  I  never 
heard  a  man  of  his  place,  gravity  and  learning,  so  wide  of 
his  own  respect. 

Evans.  What  is  he? 

Page.  I  think  you  know  him  ;  Master  Doctor  Cains,  tlio 
renowned  French  physician.  Gl 

Evans.  Got's  will,  and  his  passion  of  my  heart  I  I  liad  as 
lief  yon  would  tell  me  of  a  mess  of  porridge. 

Page.  Why? 

Evans.  He  has  no  more  knowledge  in  Hibocrates  and 
Galen, — and  he  is  a  knave  besides :  a  cowardly  knave  as 
you  would  desires  to  be  acquainted  withal. 

Page.  1  warrant  you,  he's  the  man  should  fight  with  him. 

JSten.  [Aside]  O  sweet  Anne  Page  ! 

Shal.  It  appears  so  by  his  weapons.  Keep  them  asunder: 
here  comes  Doctor  Cains. 

Enter  Host.  Caius,  and  Rugby. 

Page.  Nay,  good  master  parson,  keep  in  your  weapon. 

^uil.  So  do  you,  good  master  doctor. 

Iloat.  Disarm  them,  and  let  them  question  :  let  them  keep 
their  limbs  whole  and  hack  our  English.  80 

Caiat.  I  pray  you,  let-a  me  speak  a  word  with  your  ear. 
Therefore  vill  you  not  aieet-a  me? 

Evans.  [Aside  to  Caius]  Pray  you,  use  your  patience :  in 
good  time. 


146  MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.         [act  iil 

Caiiu,  'By  gnr,  jou  are  de  coward,  de  Jack  dofc^  John  ape. 
Etans.  [Aside  to  Cains]  Pray  you,  let  us  not  be  laugliing- 
stocks  to  other  men's  humours  ;  I  desire  you  in  friendship, 
and  I  will  one  way  or  other  make  you  amends.  [Aloud]  I 
will  knog  your  urinals  about  your  knave's  cogscomb  for 
missing  your  meetings  and  appointments.  93 

Catus.  Diable  !  Jack  Rugby, — ^mine  host  do  Jarteer, — 
have  I  not  stay  for  him  to  kill  him  ?  have  I  not,  at  de  placo 
I  did  appoint  ¥ 

Beans.  As  I  am  a  Christians  soul  now,  look  you,  this  is 
the  place  appointed  :  I'll  be  judgement  by  mine  host  of  the 
Garter. 

Hast.  Peace,  I  say,  Qallia  and  Gaal,  French  and  Welisli, 
Boul-curer  and  body-curer !  100 

Caius.  Ay,  dat  is  very  good  ;  excellent. 

Host.  Peace,  I  say  I  hear  mine  host  of  the  Garter.  Am  I 
politic  ?  am  I  subtle  ?  am  I  a  Machiavel  ?  Shall  I  lose  my 
doctor?  no  ;  he  gives  me  the  potions  and  the  motions.  Shall 
I  lose  my  parson,  my  priest,  my  Sir  Hugh  ?  no  :  he  gives  me 
the  proverbs  and  the  no-verbs.  Give  me  thy  hand,  terres- 
trial ;  so.  Give  me  thy  hand,  celestial ;  so.  Boys  of  art,  I 
have  deceived  you  both  ;  1  have  directed  you  to  wrong 
places  :  your  hearts  are  mighty,  your  skins  are  whole,  and 
let  burnt  sack  be  the  issue.  Come,  lay  their  swords  to 
pawn.     Follow  me,  lads  of  peace  ;  follow,  follow,  follow. 

8hal.  Trust  me,  a  mad  host.     Follow,  gentlemen,  follow. 

Slen.  [Aside]  O  sweet  Anne  Page  ! 

[Exeunt  Shal.,  Slen.,  Page,  and  Host. 

Cains.  Ha,  do  I  i)erceive  dat  ?  have  you  make-a  de  sot  of 
us,  ha,  ha? 

Evans.  This  is  well ;  he  has  made  us  his  vlouting-stog. 
I  desire  you  that  we  may  be  friends  ;  and  let  us  knog  our 
prains  together  to  be  revenge  on  this  same  scall,  scurvy, 
cogging  companion,  the  host  of  the  Garter. 

Caius.  By  gar,  with  all  my  heart.  lie  promise  to  bring 
me  where  is  Anne  Page  ;  by  gar,  he  deceive  me  too. 

Evans,  Well,  I  will  smite  his  noddles.     Pray  you,  follow. 

[Exeunt. 

SCEKB  II.    A  street. 

Enter  Mistress  P.\oe  afid  Robin. 

Mrs.  Page.  Nay,  keep  your  way,  little  gallant ;  you  were 
wont  to  be  a  follower,  but  now  you  are  a  leader.  Whether 
had  you  rather  lead  mine  eyes,  or  eye  your  master's  heels  ? 

Rob.  1  had  rather,  forsooth,  go  before  you  like  a  man 
than  follow  him  like  a  dwarf. 


SCEWE II.]      MBBBY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  147 

Mn.  Page.  O,  you  are  a  flattering  boy  :  now  I  see  youll 
be  a  courtier. 

Enter  Ford. 

^r(f.  Well  met,  Mistress  Pago.     Wliithcr  go  yoa  ?       10 

Mrs,  Page.  Truly,  sir,  to  see  vour  wife.     Is  she  at  home  ? 

Ford.  Ay;  and  as  idle  as  sne  may  hang  together,  for 
want  of  company.  I  think,  if  your  liusbands  were  dead, 
you  two  would  marry. 

Jdrs.  Page.  Be  sure  of  that, — two  other  husbands. 

Ifbrd.  where  had  you  this  pretty  weathercock  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  I  cannot  tell  what  the  dickens  his  name  is  my 
husband  had  him  of.  What  do  you  call  your  knight's 
name,  sirrah?  21 

Bob.  Sir  John  Falstaff. 

Ford.  Sir  John  Falstaff  I 

Mrs.  Page.  He,  he  ;  I  can  never  hit  on's  name.  There  is 
such  a  league  between  my.  good  man  and  he  1  Is  your  wife 
at  home  indeed  ? 

F(yrd.  Indeed  she  is. 

Mrs.  Page.  By  your  leave,  sir  :  I  am  sick  till  I  see  her. 

[Exeunt  Mrs.  Page  and  Rabin, 

Ford.  Has  Page  any  brains  ?  hath  lie  any  eyes  ?  hath  he 
any  thinking?  Sure,  they  sleep  ;  he  hath  no  use  of  thorn. 
Why,  this  bov  will  carry  a  letter  twenty  mile,  as  easy  as  a 
cannon  will  shoot  point-blank  twelve  score.  He  pieces  oat 
his  wife's  inclination  ;  he  gives  her  folly  motion  and  ad- 
vantage :  and  now  she's  going  to  my  wife,  and  Falstaff's 
boy  with  her.  A  man  may  hear  this  shower  sing  in  the 
wind.  And  Falstaff  s  boy  with  her  I  Good  plots,  they  are 
laid ;  and  our  revolted  wives  share  damnation  together. 
Well ;  I  will  take  him,  then  torture  my  wife,  plack  the  bor- 
rowed veil  of  modesty  from  the  so  seeming  Mistress  Page, 
divulge  Page  himself  for  a  secure  and  wilful  Actaeon  ;  and 
to  these  violent  proceedings  all  my  neighbours  shall  cry  aim. 
[Clock  heard.'\  Tlie  clock  gives  me  my  cue,  and  my  as^^iir- 
ance  bids  me  search  :  there  I  shall  find  Falstaff  :  I  shall  be 
rather  praised  for  this  than  mocked  ;  for  it  is  as  positive  as 
the  earth  is  firm  that  Falstaff  is  there  :  I  will  go.  50 

Enter  Page,  Shallow,  Slender,  Host,  Sir  Hugh  Evans, 

Caius,  and  Bugby. 

Sfial.^  PagSy  d^.  Well  met,  Master  Ford. 
Fard.  Trust  me,  a  good  knot :  I  have  good  cheer  at  home  ; 
and  I  pray  you  all  go  with  me. 

8hai.  I  must  excuse  myself,  Master  Ford. 

SUn.  And  so  must  I,  sir :  we  have  apx>ointed  to  dine  with 


148  MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.         [act  iil 

Mistress  Anne,  and  I  would  not  break  with  her  for  more 
money  than  I'll  speak  of. 

Shal.  We  have  lingered  about  a  match  between  Anno 
\Page  and  my  cousin  Slender,  and  this  day  we  shall  have 
TOur  answer.  60 

SUn.  I  hope  I  have  your  good  will,  father  Pacfe. 

Page.  You  have,  Master  Sh*nder ;  I  stand  wholly  for  you  ; 
but  my  wife,  master  doctor,  is  for  you  altogether. 

Caius,  Av,  be-gar  ;  and  de  maid  is  love-a  me  :  my  nursh-a 
Quickly  tell  me  so  mush. 

Ilottt,  What  say  you  to  young  Master  Fenton  ?  he  capers, 
he  dances,  he  has  eyes  of  youth,  he  writes  verses,  he  speaks 
holiday,  he  smells  April  and  May  :  he  will  carry *t,  he  will 
carry 't ;  'tis  in  his  buttons  ;  he  will  carry *t.  71 

Page.  Not  by  my  consent,  I  promise  you.  Tlie  gentle- 
man is  of  no  having  :  he  kept  company  with  the  wild  prince 
and  Poins  ;  he  is  of  too  high  a  region  ;  he  knows  too  much. 
No,  he  shall  not  knit  a  knot  in  his  fortunes  with  the  finger 
of  my  substance  if  he  take  her,  let  him  take  her  simply  ; 
the  wealth  I  have  waits  on  my  consent,  and  my  consent  goes 
not  that  way. 

Foi'd.  I  beseech  you  heartily,  some  of  you  go  home  with 
me  to  dinner  :  besides  your  cheer,  you  shall  have  sport ;  I 
will  show  you  a  monster.  Master  doctor,  you  shall  go  ;  so 
shall  you.  Master  Page  ;  and  you,  Sir  Hugh. 

Shal.  Well,  fare  you  well ;  we  shall  have  the  freer  woo- 
ing at  Master  Pago's. 

[Exeunt  SJial.  and  SUn. 

Cuius.  Go  home,  John  Rugby  ;  I  come  anon. 

[Exit  Rvghy. 

Hott.  Farewell,  my  hearts  :  I  will  to  my  honest  knight 
Falstaff,  and  drink  canary  with  him.  [Exit. 

Foi^.  [AHde\  I  think  I  shall  drink  in  pipe- wine  first  with 
him  ;  I'll  make  him  dance.     Will  you  go,  gentles? 

AU,  Have  with  you  to  see  this  monster.  [Exeunt. 

0 

Scene  III.     A  room  in  Foud's  Tumse. 

Enter  Mistress  Ford  and  Mistress  Page. 

Mr$.  Ford.  What,  John  !  Wliat,  Robert  I 

Mrs.  Page.  Quickly,  quickly  !  Is  the  buck-basket — 

Mrs.  Ford.  I  warrant.     What,  Robin,  I  say  ! 

Enter  Servants  tcitJi  a  basket. 

Mrs.  Page.  Come,  come,  come. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Here,  set  it  down. 

Mrs.  Page.  Qive  your  men  the  charge ;  we  must  be  briei 


BCENK  III.]     MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  149 

Mrs.  Ford.  Marry,  as  I  told  you  before,  John  imd  Robert, 
be  ready  here  hard  by  in  the  brew-house :  and  when  1  sud- 
denly call  you,  come  forth,  and  without  any  pause  or  stagr- 
gering  take  this  basket  on  your  slioulders  :  that  done, 
trudge  with  it  in  all  haste,  and  carry  it  among  the  whitstcrs 
in  Datchet-mead,  and  there  empty  it  in  the  muddy  ditch 
close  by  the  Thames  side. 

Mrs.  Page.  You  will  do  it  ? 

Mrs.  Ford.  I  ha*  told  them  over  and  over ;  they  lack  no 
direction.     Be  gone,  and  come  when  you  are  called. 

[£heeunt  Servants.     20 

Mrs.  Page.  Here  comes  little  Robin. 

MrUer  Robin. 

Mrs.  Ford.  How  now,  my  eyas-musket  I  what  news  with 
you? 

Rob.  My  master.  Sir  John,  is  come  in  at  your  back-door, 
Mistress  Ford,  and  requests  your  company. 

Mrs.  Page.  You  little  Jack-a-Leut,  have  you  been  true 
to  us? 

Rob.  Ay,  I'll  bo  sworn.  My  master  knows  not  of  your 
being  here  and  hath  threatened  to  put  mo  into  everlasting 
liberty  if  I  tell  you  of  it ;  for  he  swears  he'll  turn  me  away. 

Mrs.  Page.  Thou'rt  a  good  boy  :  this  secrecy  of  thine 
shall  be  a  tailor  to  thee  and  shall  make  thee  a  new  doublet 
and  hose.     I'll  go  hide  me. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Do  so.  Go  tell  thy  master  I  am  alone. 
[ElHt  Robin.']  Mistress  Pa^e,  remember  you  your  cue. 

Mrs.  Page.  I  warrant  thee  ;  if  I  do  not  act  it,  hiss  me. 

[Exit.     41 

Mrs.  Ford.  Go  to,  then  :  we'll  use  this  unwholesome  hu 
midity,  this  gross  watery  pumpion ;  we'll  teach  him  to  know 
turtles  from  jays. 

Enter  Falstafp. 

Fal.  Have  I  caught  thee,  my  heavenly  jewel  ?  Why,  now 
let  me  die,  for  I  have  lived  long  enough  :  this  is  the  period 
of  my  ambition :  O  this  blessed  hour ! 

Mrs.  Ford.  O  sweet  Sir  John  ! 

Fal.  Mistress  Ford,  I  cannot  cog,  I  cannot  prate,  Mistress 
Ford.  Now  shall  I  sin  in  my  wish  :  I  would  thy  husb«>nd 
were  dead  :  I'll  speak  it  before  the  best  lord  ;  I  would  make 
thee  my  lady. 

Mrs.  Ford.  I  your  lady.  Sir  John  I  alas,  1  should  be  a  piti- 
ful lady  I 

Fal.  Let  the  court  of  France  show  me  such  another.  I 
see  how  thine  eye  would  emulate  the  diamond :  thou  hast 


MO  MERRY  WIVES  OP  WINDSOR         [act  ni. 

the  nshi  arched  beauty  of  the  brow  that  becomes  the  ship- 
tire,  the  tlre>yaliant,  or  any  tire  of  Venetian  admittance.  61 

Mrs,  Pord,  A  plain  kcrcliief,  Sir  John  :  my  brows  be- 
come nothing  else  ;  nor  that  well  neither. 

FcU.  By  the  Lord,  thou  art  a  traitor  to  say  so :  tliou 
wouldst  make  an  absolute  courtier ;  and  the  firm  fixture  of 
thy  foot  would  give  an  excellent  motion  to  thy  gait  in  a 
semi-circled  farthingale.  I  see  what  thou  wert,  if  Fortune 
thy  foe  were  not,  Nature  thy  friend.  Come,  thou  canst  not 
hide  it.  71 

Mrs.  Ford,  Believe  me,  there's  no  such  thing  in  me. 

Fed.  What  made  me  love  thee  ?  let  that  persuade  thee 
there's  something  extraordinary  in  thee.  Come,  I  cannot 
cog  and  say  thou  art  this  and  that,  like  a  many  of  these 
lisping  hawthom*buds,  that  come  like  women  in  men's  ap- 
parel, and  smell  like  Bucklersbury  in  simple  time  ;  I  cannot* 
but  I  love  thee  ;  none  but  thee  ;  and  thou  deservest  it.     81 

Mrs.  Ford.  Do  not  betray  me,  sir.  I  fear  you  love  Mis- 
tress Page. 

Fal.  Thou  mightst  as  well  say  I  love  to  walk  by  the  Counter- 
gate,  which  is  as  hateful  to  me  as  the  reek  of  a  lime-kiln. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Well,  heaven  knows  how  I  love  you ;  and 
you  shall  one  day  find  it. 

Fed.  Keep  in  that  mind  ;  I'll  deserve  it. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Nay,  I  must  tell  you,  so  you  do ;  or  else  I 
could  not  be  in  that  mind.  '  01 

Bob.  [  WWiin]  Mistress  Ford,  Mistress  Ford  I  here's  Mis- 
tress Page  at  the  door,  sweating  and  blowing  and  looking 
wildly,  and  would  needs  speak  with  you  presently. 

Fal.  She  shall  not  see  me  :  I  will  ensconce  me  behind  the 
arras. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Pray  you,  do  so  :  she's  a  very  tattling  woman. 

{Fahtaffhides  himself. 

Re-enter  Mistress  Page  and  Robin. 

Wliot's  the  matter  ?  how  now  1  100 

Mrs.  Page.  O  Mistress  Ford,  wliat  have  you  done  ?  You're 
shamed,  you're  overthrown,  you're  undone  for  ever  I 

Mrs.  Ford.  What's  the  matter,  good  Mistress  Page? 

Mrs.  Page.  O  well-a-day,  Mistress  Ford  !  having  an  hon- 
est man  to  your  husband,  to  give  him  such  cause  of  bu»- 
picion  I 

Mrs,  Ford.  What  cause  of  suspicion  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  What  cause  of  saspicion  1  Out  upon  you  I 
how  am  I  mistook  in  you  I  111 

Mrs.  Ford,  Why,  alas,  what's  the  matter  ? 

Mrs,  Page,  Your  husband's  coming  hither,  woman,  with 


wcwm  III.]     BfERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  151 

all  tlio  officors  in  Windsor,  to  searcli  for  a  gentleman  that 
he  saja  \b  here  now  in  the  house  by  your  consent,  to  take 
an  ill  advantage  of  his  absence :  you  are  undone. 

Mrs.  Ford.  'Tis  not  so,  I  hope. 

Mrs.  Page.  Pray  heaven  it  be  not  so,  that  yon  have  such 
a  man  here  L  bat  'tis  most  certain  yonr  husband's  coming, 
with  half  Windsor  at  his  heels,  to  search  for  such  a  one.  I 
come  before  to  tell  you.  If  you  know  yourself  clear,  why, 
I  am  glad  of  it ;  but  if  you  have  a  friend  here,  convey,  con- 
vey him  out.  Be  not  amazed  ;  call  all  your  senses  to  you  ; 
defend  your  reputation,  or  bid  farewell  to  your  good  life  for 
ever. 

Mrs.  Fard.  What  shall  I  do  ?  There  is  a  gentleman  my 
dear  friend  ;  and  I  fear  not  mine  own  sliame  so  much  as  his 
peril :  I  had  rather  than  a  thousand  pound  he  were  out  of 
the  house. 

Mrs.  Page.  For  shame !  never  stand  "  you  iMd  rather" 
and  "you  had  rather  *"  your  husband's  here  at  hand  ;  be- 
think you  of  some  conveyance :  in  the  house  you  cannot  hide 
him.  O,  how  have  you  deceived  nie  I  Look,  here  is  a  bas- 
ket :  if  he  be  of  any  reasonable  stature,  he  may  creep  in 
here ;  and  throw  foul  linen  upon  him,  as  if  it  were  going  to 
bucking  ;  or — it  is  whiting-time — ^send  him  by  your  two 
men  to  Datchet-mead.  141 

Mrs.  Ford.  He's  too  big  to  go  in  there.    What  sliall  I  do? 

Fed.  [Comifig  foru)ard\lu^%  me  see't,  let  me  see't,  O,  let 
me  see't !  I'll  in,  I'll  in.  Follow  your  friend's  counsel.  Til  in. 

Mrs.  Page.  What,  Sir  John  Falstaff  1  Are  these  your  let- 
ters,  knight? 

Fod.  I  love  thee.  Help  me  away.  Let  me  creep  in  here, 
ril  never--  loO 

[Oets  into  the  basket ;  tliey  cover  7iim 

mthfovl  linen. 

Mrs.  Page.  Help  to  cover  your  master,  boy.  Call  your 
men.  Mistress  Ford.     You  dissembling  knight  I 

Mrs.  Ford.  What,  John  !  Robert  I  John  1 

•  [ExU  Robin. 

Re-enter  Servants. 
Go  take  up  these  clothes  here  quickly.     Where's  the  cowl- 
staff  ?  look,  how  you  drumble  !     Carry  them  to  tlie  laun- 
dress in  Datchet-mead  ;  quickly,  come. 

Enter  Fobd,  Page,  Caius,  and  Sir  Hugh  Evans. 
Ford.  Pray  you,  come  near  :  if  I  suspect  without  cause, 
why  then  make  sport  at  me ;  then  let  me  be  your  Jest ;  I 
dflsenre  it    How  now !  whither  bear  you  this  ? 


153  MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.         [act  iil 

Serr,  To  the  laundress,  forsooth. 

Mr8.  Ford.  W^hy,  what  have  tou  to  do  whither  they  bear 
it?    You  were  best  meddle  witli' buck-washing. 

Ford.  Buck  !  I  would  I  could  wash  myself  of  the  buck  I 
Buck,  buck,  buck  1  Ay,  buck ;  I  warrant  you,  buck  ;  and 
of  the  season  too,  it  shall  appear.  [Eximut  srrcants  tcith  Vie 
basket.^  Gentlemen,  I  have  dreamed  to-night ;  I'll  tell  you 
my  dream.  Here,  here,  here  be  my  keys  :  ascend  my  cham- 
bers ;  search,  seek,  find  out :  Til  warrant  we'll  unkennel  the 
fox.  Let  me  stop  this  way  first.  [Locking  the  door.']  So, 
now  uncape. 

Page.  Good  Master  Ford,  be  contented  :  you  wrong  your- 
self too  much. 

FifTd.  True,  Master  Page.  Up,  gentlemen  ;  you  shall  see 
sport  anon  :  follow  me,  gentlemen.  [ExU.  180 

Evans.  This  is  fery  fantastical  humours  and  jealousies. 

Caius.  By  gar,  'tis  no  the  fashion  of  France  ;  it  is  not 
jealous  in  France. 

Page.  Nay,  follow  him,  gentlemen  ;  see  the  issue  of  his 
search.  [Exeunt  Page,  Cains,  and  Eoans. 

Mrs.  Page.  Is  there  not  a  double  excellency  in  this  ? 

Mrs.  Fard.  I  know  not  which  pleases  me  better,  that  my 
husband  is  deceived,  or  Sir  John. 

Mrs.  Page.  What  a  taking  was  he  in  when  your  husband 
asked  who  was  in  the  basket  ! 

3frs.  Ford.  I  am  half  af  rai<i  he  will  have  need  of  washing; 
BO  throwing  him  into  the  water  will  do  him  a  benefit. 

Mrs.  Page.  Hang  him,  dishonest  rascal  1  I  would  all  of 
the  same  strain  were  in  the  same  disti-ess. 

Mrs.  Ford.  I  think  my  husband  hath  some  special  sus- 
picion of  FalstafTs  being  here  ;  for  I  never  saw  him  so  gross 
in  his  jealousy  till  now. 

Mrs.  Page.'  I  will  lay  a  plot  to  try  that ;  and  we  will  yet 
have  more  tricks  with  Falstaif  :  his  dissolute  disease  will 
scarce  obey  this  medicine. 

M7's.  Ford.  Shall  we  send  that  foolish  carrion.  Mistress 
Quickly,  to  him,  and  excuse  his  throwing  into  the  ^ater ; 
and  give  him  another  hope,  to  betray  him  to  another  pun- 
ishment ? 

Mrs.  Page.  We  will  do  it ;  let  him  be  sent  for  to-morrow, 
eight  o'clock,  to  have  amends.  210 

Reenter  Ford,  Page,  Caius,  and  Sm  Hugh  Etans. 
Ford.  I  cannot  find  him  :  may  be  the  knave  bragged  of 
that  he  could  not  compass. 
Mrs.  Page.  [AMe  to  Mrs.  Ford]  Heard  you  that? 
Mrs,  Ford.  You  use  me  well,  Master  Ford,  do  you  ? 


BGEHB  IV.]     MERRY  WIVES  OP  WINDSOR.  158 

Ford.  Ay,  I  do  so. 

Mrs,  Ford,  Heaven  make  you  better  than  yoar  thoughts  1 

Ford.  Amen  I  220 

Mrs,  Page.  You  do  yourself  mighty  wrong.  Master  Ford. 

Ford,  Ay,  ay  ;  I  must  bear  it. 

Beans.  If  there  be  any  pody  in  the  house,  and  in  the 
chambers,  and  in  the  coffers,  and  in  the  presses,  lieaveu  for- 
give my  sins  at  the  day  of  judgement  1 

Caius.  By  gar,  nor  I  too  :  there  is  no  bodies. 

Page.  Fie,  fie.  Master  Fordl  are  you  not  ashamed? 
What  spirit,  what  devil  suggests  this  imagination?  I 
would  not  ha'  your  distemper  in  this  kind  for  the  wealth  of 
Windsor  Castle. 

Ford.  *Tis  my  fault,  Master  Page  :  I  suffer  for  it. 

Beans,  You  suffer  for  a  pad  conscience  :  your  wife  is  as 
honest  a  'omans  as  I  will  desires  among  five  thousand,  and 
five  hundred  too. 

Caius,  By  gar,  I  see  'tis  an  honest  woman. 

Ford.  Well,  I  promised  you  a  dinner.  Come,  come,  walk 
in  the  Park  :  I  pray  you,  pardon  me  ;  1  will  hereafter  make 
known  to  you  why  I  have  done  tliis.  Come,  wife  ;  come, 
Mistress  Page.  I  pray  you,  pardon  me  ;  pray  heartily,  par- 
don me. 

Page.  Let's  go  in,  gentlemen  ;  but,  trust  me,  we'll  mock 
him.  I  do  invite  you  to-morrow  morning  to  my  house  to 
breakfast :  after,  we'll  a-birding  together ;  I  have  a  fine 
hawk  for  the  bush.     Shall  it  be  so  ? 

Ford,  Any  thing. 

JSoans,  If  there  is  one,  I  shall  make  two  in  the  com- 
pany. 251 

Oaius,  If  dere  be  one  or  two,  I  shall  make>a  the  turd. 

Ford.  Pray  you.  go.  Master  Page. 

Enans,  I  pray  you  now,  remembrance  to-morrow  on  the 
lousy  knave,  mine  host. 

CaixLS.  Dat  is  good  ;  by  gar,  with  all  my  heart  I 

Eeans.  A  lousy  knave,  to  have  his  gibes  and  his  mock- 
eries! [Exeunt,      260 

ScBKE  IV.    A  room  in  Page's  Jiouse, 

Enter  Fentok  and  Anne  Page. 

Feni.  I  see  I  cannot  get  thy  father's  love  ; 
Therefore  no  more  turn  me  to  him,  sweet  Nan. 

Anne,  Alas,  how  then  ? 

Fent,  Why,  thou  must  be  thyself. 

He  doth  object  I  am  too  great  of  birth  ; 
And  that,  my  state  being  gall'd  with  my  expense, 


154  MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.         [act  in. 

I  seek  to  lieal  it  only  by  liis  wealth  : 

Besides  these,  other  bars  he  lays  before  me. 

My  riots  past,  my  wild  societies  ; 

And  tells  me  'tis  a  thing  impossible 

I  should  love  thee  but  as  a  property.  10 

Anne.  May  be  he  tells  you  true. 

Feht.  No,  heaven  so  speed  me  in  my  time  to  come  I 
Albeit  I  will  confess  thy  father's  wealth 
Was  the  first  motive  that  I  woo'd  thee,  Anne  : 
Yet,  wooing  thee,  I  found  thee  of  more  value 
Than  stamps  in  gold  or  sums  in  sealed  bags ; 
And  'tis  the  very  riches  of  thyself 
That  now  I  aim  at. 

Anne,  Oentle  Master  Fenton, 

Yet  seek  my  father's  love  ;  still  seek  it,  sir  : 
If  opportunity  and  humblest  suit  90 

Cannot  attain  it,  why,  then, — hark' you  hither  I 

[They  converse  apart. 

Enter  Shallow,  Slender,  and  Mistress  Quickly. 

Shal.  Break  their  talk.  Mistress  Quickly  :  my  kinsman 
shall  speak  for  himself. 

Slen.  I'll  make  a  shaft  or  a  bolt  on't :  'slid,  'tis  but  ven- 
turing. 

Shal.  Be  not  dismayed, 

Slen.  No,  she  shall  not  dismay  me :  I  care  not  for  that, 
but  that  I  am  afeard. 

Ouiefc.  Hark  ye;  Master  Slender  would  speak  a  word 
with  yon.  90 

Anne.  I  come  to  him.  TAnide]  Tliis  Is  my  father's  choice. 
O,  what  a  world  of  vile  iU-favour'd  faults 
Looks  handsome  in  three  hundred  pounds  a-year  I 

Quick.  And  how  does  good  Master  Fenton  ?  Pray  yon.  a 
word  with  you. 

S^uxl.  She's  coming ;  to  her,  coz.  O  boy,  thou  hadst  a 
father  I 

Slen.  I  liad  a  father,  Mistress  Anne  ;  my  nncle  can  tell 
you  good  jests  of  him.  Pray  you,  uncle,  tell  Mistress  Anne 
the  jest,  how  my  father  stole  two  geese  out  of  a  pen,  good 
uncle.  41 

Shal.  Mistress  Anne,  my  consin  loves  you. 

Slen.  Ay,  that  I  do ;  as  well  as  I  love  any  woman  in 
Gloucestershire. 

Shal.  He  will  maintain  you  like  a  gentlewoman. 

J^n.  Ay,  that  I  will,  come  cut  and  long-tail,  under  the 
degree  of  a  squire. 


8CKKB IV.]     MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOa  155 

Shal.  He  will  make  joa  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  joint- 
ure. 

Anne.  Good  Master  Shallow,  let  bim  woo  for  himself. 

8fud.  Marry,  I  tliank  you  for  it ;  I  thank  you  for  that 
good  comfort.     She  calls  you,  coz  :  I'll  leave  you. 

Anne.  Now,  Master  Slender, — 

Blen.  Now,  good  Mistress  Anne, — 

Anne.  What  is  your  will  ? 

SUn.  My  will  1  'od's  heartlings,  that's  a  pretty  jest  in- 
deed I  I  ne'er  made  my  will  yet,  I  thank  heaven;  I  am 
not  such  a  sickly  creature,  I  give  heaven  praise.  63 

Anne.  1  mean.  Master  Slender,  what  would  you  with  me? 

8len.  Truly,  for  mine  own  part,  I  would  little  or  nothing 
with  you.  Your  father  and  my  uncle  hath  made  motions : 
if  it  he  my  luck,  so ;  if  not,  happy  man  be  liis  dole  !  Tbey 
can  tell  you  how  things  go  better  than  I  can  :  you  may  ask 
your  father ;  here  he  comes.  70 

Enter  Page  and  Mistress  Page. 

Page.  Now,  Master  Slender  :  love  him,  daughter  Anne. 
Why,  how  now  I  what  does  Maater  Feuton  here  ? 
You  wrong  me,  sir,  thus  still  to  haunt  my  house  : 
I  told  you,  sir,  my  daughter  is  disposed  of. 

FerU.  Nay,  Master  Page,  bo  not  impatient. 

Mrs.  Page,  Good  Master  Fenton,  come  not  to  my  child. 

Page.  She  is  no  match  for  you. 

Fent.  Sir,  will  you  hear  me  ? 

Page.  No,  g^d  Master  Fenton. 

Come,  Master  Shallow ;  come,  son  Slender,  in. 
Knowing  my  mind,  you  wrong  lue.  Master  Fenton. 

[Skeeunt  Page,  S/iol.,  and  Slen. 

Quick.  Speak  to  Mistress  Page. 

Pent.  Good  Mistress  Page,  for  that  I  love  your  daughter 
In  such  a  righteous  fashion  as  I  do. 
Perforce,  against  all  checks,  rebukes  and  manners, 
I  must  advance  the  colours  of  my  love 
And  not  retire  :  let  me  have  your  good  will. 

Ann^.  Good  mother,  do  not  marry  me  to  yond  fool. 

Mrs.  Page.  I  mean  it  not ;  I  ^cck  you  a  better  husband. 

Quick.  That's  my  master,  master  doctor. 

Anne.  Alas,  I  had  rather  be  set  quick  i'  the  earth  90 

And  bowl'd  to  death  with  turnips  I 

Mn.  Page.  Come,  trouble  not  yourself.     Good  Master 
Fenton, 
I  will  not  be  your  friend  nor  enemy  : 
My  daufi^hter  will  I  question  how  she  loves  you. 
And  as  I  find  her,  so  am  I  affected. 


156  M£RRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR        [act  hi; 

Till  then  farewell,  sir  :  she  must  needs  go  in  ; 
Her  father  will  be  angry. 

Fent,  Farewell,  gentle  mistress :  farewell,  Nan. 

[Exeunt  Mrs.  Page  and  Anne. 

Quick.  This  is  my  doing,  now  :  **  Nay,"  said  I,  **  will  you 
cast  away  your  child  on  a  fool,  and  a  physician  ?  Look  on 
Master  Fenton  :"  this  is  my  doing. 

Fent.  I  thank  thee  ;  and  I  pray  thee,  once  to-night 
Give  my  sweet  Nan  this  ring  :  there's  for  thy  pains. 

Quick.  Now  heaven  send  thee  good  fortune  I  [Exit  Fen- 
tan.'l  A  kind  heart  he  hath  :  a  woman  would  run  through 
fire  and  water  for  such  a  kind  heart.  But  yet  I  would  uiy 
master  had  Mistress  Anne  ;  or  I  would  Master  Slender  had 
her  ;  or,  in  sooth,  I  would  Master  Fenton  had  her :  I  will 
do  what  I  can  for  them  all  three  ;  for  so  I  have  promised, 
and  111  be  as  good  as  my  word  ;  but  speciously  for  Master 
Fenton.  Well,  I  must  of  another  errsCnd  to  Sir  John  Fal- 
staff  from  my  two  mistresses  :  what  a  beast  am  I  to  slack 
it  I  [Exit. 

Scene  V.    A  roam  in  the  Oarter  Inn. 

Enter  Falstaff  and  Bardolph. 

Fal.  Bardolph,  I  say, — 

Bard.  Here,  sir. 

Fed.  Go  fetch  me  a  quart  of  sack  ;  put  a  toast  in't.  [Exit 
Bard.'\  Have  I  lived  to  be  carried  in  a  basket,  like  a  bar- 
row of  butcher's  offal,  and  to  be  thrown  in  tlie  Thames? 
Well,  if  I  be  served  such  another  trick,  I'll  have  my  brains 
ta'en  out  and  buttered,  and  give  them  to  a  dog  for  a  new- 
year's  gift.  The  rogues  slighted  me  into  the  river  with  as 
iittte  remorse  as  they  would  have  drowned  a  blind  bitch's 
puppies,  fifteen  i'  the  litter :  and  you  may  know  by  my  size 
that  I  have  a  kind  of  alacrity  in  sinkfng ;  if  the  bottom 
were  as  deep  as  hell,  I  should  down.  I  hml  been  drowned, 
but  that  the  shore  was  shelvy  and  shallow, — a  death  that  I 
abhor ;  for  the  water  swells  a  man  ;  and  what  a  thing  should 
I  have  been  when  I  had  been  swelled  I  I  should  have  been 
a  mountain  of  mummy. 

Re-enter  Bardolph  with  sack. 

Bard.  Here's  Mistress  Quickly,  sir,  to  speak  with  you. 

Fal,  Come,  let  me  pour  in  some  sack  to  the  Thames 
water  ;  for  my  belly  's  as  cold  as  if  I  had  swallowed  snow- 
balls for  pills  to  cool  the  reins.     Call  her  in. 

Bard,  Come  in,  woman  I 


BCENB  v.]       MERRY  WIVES  OF  WlNpSO»  157 

JEiUer  M1BTBE88  Quickly. 

Quick,  By  your  leave  ;  I  cry  you  mercy  :  give  your  wor- 
ship s^ood  morrow. 

FaZ  Take  away  these  chalices.  Go  brew  mo  a  pottle  of 
sack  finely.  80 

Bard,  Witlueggs,  sir? 

Fal.  Simple  of  itself ;  I'll  no  pullet-sperm  in  my  brew- 
age.     [Eiit  Bardolph.]    How  now  I 

Quick.  Marry,  sir,  I  come  to  your  worship  from  Misti%ss 
Pord. 

FiU.  Mistress  Ford  I  I  have  had  ford  enough  ;  I  was 
thrown  into  the  ford  ;  I  have  my  bcllv  full  of  ford. 

Quick.  Alas  the  day  I  good  lieart,  that  was  not  her  fault: 
she  does  so  take  on  with  her  meu ;  they  mistook  their 
erection.  41 

MU.  So  did  I  mine,  to  build  upon  a  foolish  woman's 
promise. 

Quick.  Well,  she  laments,  sir,  for  it,  that  it  would  yearn 
your  heart  to  see  it.  Her  husband  goes  this  morning 
a-birding ;  she  desires  you  once  more  to  come  to  her  be- 
tween eight  and  nine :  I  must  carry  her  word  quickly  : 
she'll  make  you  amends,  I  warrant  you. 

F<U.  Well,  I  will  visit  her  :  tell  her  so  :  and  bid  her 
think  what  a  man  is  :  let  her  consider  )iis  frailty,  and  then 
judge  of  my  merit.  OS 

Quick.  I  will  tell  her. 

Fal.  Do  so.     Between  nine  and  ten,  sayest  thou  ? 

Quick.  Eie^lit  and  nine,  sir. 

Fed.  Well,  be  gone  :  I  will  not  miss  her. 

Quick.  Peace  be  with  you,  sir.  [B!xit. 

Fed.  I  marvel  I  hear  hot  of  Master  Brook ;  he  sent  mo 
word  to  stay  within :  I  like  his  money  well.  O,  here  he 
comes.  60 

Enter  Ford. 

Ford.  Bless  you,  sir ! 

Fed.  Now,  master  Brook,  yon  come  to  know  what  hath 
pa.ssed  between  me  and  Ford's  wife  ? 

Ford.  That,  indeed,  Sir  John,  is  my  business. 

Fal.  Master  Brook,  1  will  nOt  lie  to  you :  I  was  at  her 
house  the  hour  she  appointed  me. 

Fbrd.  And  sped  you,  sir  ? 

Fal.  Very  ill-favoured ly,  Master  Brook. 

Ford.  How  so,  sir  ?  Did  she  change  her  determination  ? 

Fed.  No,  master  Brook ;  but  the  peaking  Comuto  her 
husband.  Master  Brook,  dwelling  in  a  continual  'larum  of 
Jealousy,  comes  me  in  the  instant  of  our  encounter,  after 


158  MERRY  WIVES  OP  WINDSOR.  [act  nr. 

we  had  embraced,  kissed,  protested,  and,  as  it  were,  spoke 
the  prologue  of  our  comedy  ;  and  at  liis  heels  a  rabble  of 
his  companions,  thither  provoked  and  instigated  by  his  dis- 
temper, and,  forsooth,  to  search  his  house  for  his  wife's 
love. 

Ford.  What,  while  you  were  there  ?  80 

FdL  While  I  was  there. 

Ford,  And  did  he  search  for  you,  and  could  not  find  you  ? 

Fal.  You  shall  hear.  As  good  luck  would  have  it,  comes 
in  one  Mistress  Page  ;  gives  intelligence  of  Ford*»  ap- 
proach ;  and,  in  her  invention  and  Ford's  wife's  distraction, 
they  conveyed  me  into  a  buck-basket. 

Ford,  Abuck-basket ! 

FaX.  By  the  Lord,  a  buck-basket  I  rammed  me  in  with 
foul  shirts  and  smocks,  socks,  foul  stockings,  greasy  nap- 
kins ;  that,  Master  Brook,  there  was  the  rankest  compound 
of  villanou«    .^ell  that  ever  offended  nostrlL 

Ford.  Ai«^  »r!^>4llsiig  lay  you  there  ?  , 

Fal.  Nay,  you  shall  hear,  Mestcr  Brook,  what  I  have  suf- 
fered to  bring  this  woman  to  evil  for  your  good.  Being 
thus  crtmmed  in  the  basket,  a  couple  of  Ford's  knaves,  his 
hinds,  were  called  forth  by  their  mistrtvsa  to  carry  mo  in  tho 
nam<^  of  foul  clothes  to  Datchet-lano :  thov  took  mo  on  their 
shoulders ;  met  the  jealous  knave  their  inastrT  in  tho  door, 
who  asked  them  once  or  twice  what  they  had  in  their  bas- 
ket :  1  quaked  for  fear,  lest  the  lunatic  knave  would  have 
searched  it ;  but  fate,  ordaining  he  should  bo  a  cuckold, 
held  his  hand.  Well :  on  went  he  for  a  search,  and  away 
went  1  for  foul  clot  lies.  But  mark  tho  sequel,  Master 
Brook  :  I  suffered  the  pangs  of  three  several  deaths  ;  first, 
an  intolerable  fright,  to  be  detected  with  a  jealous  rotten 
bell-wether;  next,  to  bo  compassed,  like  a  good  bilbo,  in 
the  circumference  of  a  peck,  hilt  to  point,  heel  to  head  ;  and 
then,  to  be  stopped  in,  like  a  strong  distillation,  with  stink- 
ing clothes  that  fretted  in  their  own  grease  :  think  of  that, 
— a  man  of  my  kidney, — think  of  that, — ^that  am  as  subject 
to  heat  as  butter  ;  a  man  of  continual  dissolution  and  thaw: 
it  was  a  miracle  to  scape  suffocation.  And  in  the  height  of 
this  bath,  when  I  was  more  than  half  stewed  in  grease,  like 
a  Dutch  dish,  to  be  thrown '  into  the  Thames,  and  cooled, 
glowing  hot,  in  that  surge,  like  ahorse-.shoo  ;  think  of  that, 
— hissing  hot, — think  of  that,  Master  Brook. 

Ford.  In  good  sadness,  sir,  I  am  sorry  that  for  my  sake 
you  liave  suffered  all  this.  My  suit  then  is  desperate  ; 
you'll  undertake  her  no  more  ? 

Fed,  Master  Brook,  I  will  be  thro\\ii  into  Etna,  as  I  have 
been  into  Thames,  ere  I  will  leave'her  thus.     Her  husband 


iCBJNELj        MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  159 

is  this  morning  gone  a-birding :  I  have  received  from  her 
another  embassy  of  meeting  ;  'twixt  eight  and  nine  is  the 
hour,  Master  Brook. 

Ford.  'Tis  past  eight  already,  sir. 

MU.  Is  it  ?  I  will  then  address  me  to  my  appointment. 
Come  to  me  at  your  convenient  leisure,  and  you  shall  iniow 
how  I  speed ;  and  the  conclusion  shall  be  crowned  with 
your  enjoying  her.  Adieu.  You  shall  liave  her,  Master 
Brook  ;  Master  Brook,  you  shall  cuckold  Ford.  [JCxit. 

JBard.  Hum  I  lia  1  is  this  a  vision  ?  is  this  a  dream  ?  do  I 
sleep  ?  Master  Ford,  awake  I  awake,  Master  Ford !  there's 
a  hole  made  in  your  best  coat.  Master  Ford.  Tliis  'tis  to  be 
married  I  this  'tis  to  have  linen  and  buck-baskets  I  Well,  I 
will  proclaim  myself  what  I  am :  I  will  now  take  tlie 
lecher ;  he  is  at  my  house  ;  he  cannot  'scape  me  ;  'tis  im- 
possible he  should  ;  he  cannot  creep  into  a  halfpenny  purse, 
nor  into  a  pepper-box  :  but,  lest  the  devil  -*'  4,  guides  him 
should  aid  him,  I  will  search  imposr*'<  •«-(>.dX?06.  Though 
wliat  I  am  I  cannot  avoid,  yet  to  l^  what  I  would  not  shall 
not  make  me  tame  :  if  I  have  horns  to  make  one  mad,  let 
the  proverb  go  with  me  :  I'll  ba  horn-mad.  [Eaat. 


ACT  IV. 

Scene  I.  A  street. 

Enter  Mistress  Page,  Mistress  Quickly,  and  William. 

MrH.  Page.  Is  ho  at  Ma.Mtor  Ford's  already, think *st  thou? 

Quick.  Sure  he  is  by  this,  or  will  be  presently :  but, 
truly,  he  is  very  courageous  mad  alx>ut  his  throwing  into 
the  water.     Mistress  Ford  desires  you  to  come  suddenly. 

Mrs.  Page.  I'll  be  with  her  by  and  b)*;  I'll  but  bring  my 
young  man  here  to  school.  Look,  where  his  master  comes; 
'tis  a  playing-day,  I  sec. 

Enter  Sir  Hugh  Evans. 

How  now.  Sir  Hugh  I  no  school  to-dav  ?  10 

Eoans.  No  ;  Mastf-r  Slender  is  let  tlie  boys  leave  to  play. 

Quick.  Blessing  of  his  heart  1 

Mrs.  Pa^ge.  Sir  Hugh,  my  husband  says  my  son  profits 
nothing  in  the  world  at  his  book.  I  pray  you,  ask  him 
some  questions  in  his  accidence. 

Evans,  Come  hither,  William  ;  hold  up  your  head  ; 
come. 

Mrs,  Page.  Come  on,  sirrah  ;  hold  up  your  head  ;  answer 
your  master,  be  not  afraid.  20 


1(K)  MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  [activ. 

Ihans.  William,  how  many  numbers  is  in  noons  ? 

WiU.  Two. 

Quick.  Truly,  I  tbongbt  there  had  been  one  number 
more,  because  they  say,  "  'Od's  nouns." 

Mans.  Peace  your  tattlings  I    What  is  "  fair,"  William  1 

Will.  Pulcher. 

Quick.  Polecats  I  there  are  fairer  things  than  polecats, 
sure.  80 

Evans.  You  are  a  very  simplicity  'oman  :  I  pray  you, 
peace.     What  is  **  lapis,"  William  ? 

TFiW.  A  stone. 

Evans.  And  wliat  is  **  a  stone,"  William  ? 

WiU.  A  pebble. 

Evans,  Wo,  it  is  "lapis  :"  I  pray  you,  remember  in  your 
prain. 

WiU.  Lapis. 

Evans.  That  is  a  good  William.  What  is  he,  William, 
that  does  lend  articles?  40 

Will.  Articles  are  borrowed  of  the  pronoun,  and  be  thus 
declined,  Singulariter,  nominativo,  hie  hajc,  hoc. 

Evans.  Nominativo,  hie,  hag,  hog ;  pray  you,  mark  : 
genitive,  hujus.     Well,  what  is  your  accusative  case? 

WHl.  Accusative,  hinc. 

Evans.  1  pray  you,  have  your  remembrance,  child  ;  ac- 
cusative, hung,  hang,  hog.  50 

Quick.   "  Hang-hog^ "  is  latin  for  bacon,  I  warrant  you. 

Evans.  Leave  ^our  prabbles,  'oman.  What  is  the  foca- 
tive  case,  William  ? 

WUl.  O,— vocative,  O. 

Evans,  Remember,  William  ;  focative  is  caret. 

Quick.  And  that's  a  good  root. 

Evans.  'Oman,  forbear. 

Mrs.  Page.  Pe^pe  1 

Evans.  What  is  your  genitive  case  plural,  William  ?     60 

WUl.  Genitive  case  1 

Evans.  Ay. 

WiU.  Genitive, — horum,  liarum,  horum. 

Quick.  Vengeance  of  Jenny's  case  I  fie  on  her  1  never 
name  her,  child,  if  she  be  a  whore. 

Econs.  For  shame,  'onjan. 

Quick.  You  do  ill  to  teach  the  child  such  words :  he 
teaches  him  to  hick  and  to  hack,  which  they'll  do  fast 
enough  of  themselves,  and  to  call  '*  horum  : "  fie  upon  you  ' 

Evans.  'Oman,  art  thou  lunatics?  hast  thou  no  under- 
standings for  thy  cases  and  the  numbers  of  the  genders  ? 
Thou  art  as  foolish  Cliristinn  creatures  as  I  would  desires. 

Mrs,  Page.  Prithee,  hold  thy  peace. 


k 


SCENE  n.]      MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  161 

JEhanf.  Show  me  now,  WLUiam,>Bome  declensions  of  your 
pronouns. 

WiU.  Forsooth,  I  have  forffot. 

Eoan9,  It  is  qui,  quae,  quod  :  if  rou  forget  your  "  quies," 
your  **  quaes,"  and  your  **  quods,"  you  must  be  preeches. 
Go  your  ways,  and  play  ;   go. 

Mrs:  Page.  He  is  a  better  scholar  than  I  thought  he  wns. 

Evans.  He  is  a  good  sprag  memory.  Farewell,  Mistress 
Page. 

Mm,  Page.  Adieu,  good  Sir  Hugh.  [Exit  J^r  Ilagh.] 

Get  you  home,  boy.     Come,  wo  stay  too  long.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  II.    A  room  ia  Ford's  Jioiise. 

Enter  Falstapp  and  Mistress  Ford. 

Fbl.  Mistress  Ford,  your  sorrow  hath  eaten  up  my  suffer- 
ance. I  see  you  are  obsequious  in  your  love,  and  I  profess 
Tequital  to  a  hair's  breadth  ;  not  only.  Mistress  Ford,  in  the 
simple  office  of  love,  but  in  all  the  accoutrement,  comple- 
ment and  ceremony  of  it.  But  arc  you  sure  of  your  husband 
now? 

Mm.  Ford.  He's  a-birding,  sweet  Sir  John. 

Mrs.  Pagti.  [  Within]  What,  ho,  gossip  Ford  I  what,  ho  ! 

Mrs,  Ford.  Step  into  the  chamber.  Sir  John.  11 

[Exit  FaUtaff. 
Enter  Mistress  Page. 

Mrs  Page,  How  now,  sweetheart !  w]io*s  at  home  besides 
yourself  ? 

Mrs.  Ford.  Why,  none  but  mine  own  people. 

Mrs.  Page.  Indeed  ! 

Mrs.  Ford^  No,  certainly.     [Adde  to  her']  Speak  louder. 

Mrs.  Page.  Truly,  I  am  so  glad  yovi  have  nobody  hero. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Why  ?  20 

Mrs.  Page.  Why,  woman,  your  huslxind  is  in  his  old 
lunes  again  :  he  so  takes  on  yonder  with  my  husband  ;  so 
vails  against  all  married  mankind ;  so  curses  all  Eve's 
daughters,  of  what  complexion  soever  ;  and  so  buffets  him- 
self on  the  forehead,  crying,  **  Peer  out,  peer  out !  "  that- 
any  madness  I  ever  yet  beheld  seemed  but  tamene8s,^civility 
and  patience,  to  this  his  distemper  he  is  in  now :  I  am  glad 
the  fat  knight  is  not  here. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Why,  does  he  talk  of  hira  ?  80 

Mrs.  Page.  Of  none  hut  him  {  and  stweaics  hfi,  waa  carried 

out,  the  last  time  he  sewrched  for  ntf..,  in  4^  basKCt ;  pttn^o— 

to  my  husband  he  is  now  here,  and  hath  drawn  him  and  the 

rest  of  their  company  from  their  sport,  to  make  another  ex- 

shak.  I.— 6 


163       ,  .    MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  [act  rv. 

periment  of  his  saspicion  :  but  I  am  giad  the  knight  Is  not 
here  ;  now  he  shall  see  his  own  foolerv. 

Mrs.  Ford.  How  near  is  he,  Mistress  Page  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Hard  by ;  at  a  street  end  ;  he  will  be  here 
anon.  41 

Mrs.  Ford.  I  am  undone  !    Tlie  knip^ht  is  here. 

Mrs.  Page.  Why  then  you  are  utterly  shamed,  and  he*8 
but  a  dead  man.  What  a  woman  are  you  ! — Away  with  him, 
away  with  him  f  better  shame  than  murder. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Which  way  should  he  go  ?  how  should  I  be- 
stow him  ?    Shall  I  put  him  into  the  basket  again  ? 

lU-entcr  Falstaff. 

Fal.  No,  Y\\  come  no  more  i'  tho  basket.  May  I  not  go 
out  ere  he  come  t  51 

Mrs.  Page,  Alas,  three  of  Master  Ford's  brothers  watch 
the  door  with  pistols,  that  none  shall  issue  out ;  otherwise 
you  might  slip  away  ere  he  came.  But  what  make  yoa 
here? 

Fal.  Wliat  sliall  I  do  ?    I'll  creep  up  into  the  chimnev. 

Mrs.  Ford.  There  they  always  use  to  discharge  their 
birding-pieces.     Creep  into  the  kiln-hole. 

Fal.  Where  is  it?  60 

Mrs.  Ford.  Ho  will  seek  there,  on  my  word.  Neither 
press,  coffer,  chest,  trunk,  well,  vault,  but  he  hath  an  ab- 
stract for  the  remembrance  of  such  places,  and  goes  to  them 
by  his  note  :  there  is  no  hiding  you  in  the  house. 

Fal.  I'll  go  out  then. 

Mrs.  Page.  If  you  go  out  in  your  own  semblance,  you 
die.  Sir  John.     Unless  you  go  out  disguised — 

Mrs.  Ford.  How  might  we  di^uise  him  ?  .  70 

Mrs.  Page.  Alas  the  day,  I  know  not !  There  is  no 
woman's  gown  big  enough  for  liim  ;  otherwise  he  might 
put  on  a  hat,  a  muffler  and  a  kerchief,  and  so  escape. 

Fal.  Good  hearts,  devise  something  :  any  extremity  rather 
than  a  mischief. 

Mrs.  Ford.  My  maid's  aunt,  tho  fat  woman  of  Brentford, 
has  a  gown  above. 

Mrs.  Page.  On  my  word,  it  will  serve  him  ;  she's  as  big 
as  he  is :  and  there's  her  thrummed  hat  and  her  muffler 
too.     Run  up.  Sir  John. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Go,  go,  sweet  Sir  John  :  Mistress  Page  and  I 
will  look  some  linen  for  your  head. 

-»'^-'  -'^-y*.  <^ick  quick  f  i»»'W  ©omty  dvens  you  straight : 
put  on  the  gown  tlie  V?hile.  [ExH  FaUtaff.        81 

Mrs.  Ford.  I  would  my  husband  would  meet  him  in  this 
Bhape :  he  cannot  abide  the  old  woman  of  Brentford  ;  he 


SCBKE II.]      MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  168 

swears  slie's  a  witch ;    forbade  Iier  mj  house  and  hath 
threatened  to  beat  her. 

Mrs.  Page.  Heaven  guide  him  to  thy  husband's  cudgel, 
and  the  devil  guide  his  cudgel  afterwards  I 
Mn,  Ford    But  is  my  husband  coming  ? 
Mr3.  Page.  Ay,  in  good  sadness,  is  he ;  and  talks  of  the 
basket  too,  howsoever  he  hath  had  intelligence. 

Mrs.  Ford.  We'll  try  that :  for  I'll  appoint  my  men  to 
carry  the  basket  again,  to  meet  him  at  tne  door  with  it,  as 
they  did  last  time. 

Mrs.  Page,  Nay,  but  he'll  be  here  presently  :  let's  go 
dress  him  like  the  witch  of  Brentford. 

Mrs.  Ford.  I'll  first  direct  my  men  wliat  they  shall  do  with 
the  basket.     Go  up  ;  I'll  bring  linen  for  him  straight 

[Exit. 
Mrs.  Page.  Hang  him,  dishonest  varlet  ?  we  cannot  mis- 
use him  enough. 

We'll  leave  a  proof,  by  that  which  we  will  do. 

Wives  may  be  merry,  and  yet  honest  too  : 

We  do  not  act  that  often  jest  and  laugh  ; 

'Tis  old,  but  true,  Still  swine  eat  all  the  draff.  [Exit, 

Be-enier  Mistrbss  Ford  tcitli  ttoo  Servants. 

Mrs.  JFbrd.  Oo,  sirs,  take  the  basket  again  on  your  shoul- 
ders :  your  master  is  hard  at  door  ;  If  he  bid  you  set  it  down, 
obey  him  :  quickly,  dispatch.  [Exit, 

First  8erv.  Come,  come,  take  it  up. 

Scr.  8ero.  Pray  heaven  it  be  not  full  of  knight  again. 

First  8erv.  1  hope  not ;  I  had  as  lief  bear  so  much  lead. 

Enter  Fobd,  Page,  Shallow,  Caius,  and  Sib  Hugh 

EVAJN'8. 

Ford.  Ay,  but  if  it  prove  true,  Master  Page,  have  you 
any  way  then  to  unfool  me  again  ?  Set  down  the  basket, 
villain  !  Somebody  call  my  wife.  Youth  in  a  basket  !  O 
you  panderly  rascals  !  there's  a  knot,  a  ginff,  a  pack,  a  con- 
spiracy against  me  :  now  shall  the  devil  be  sliamed.  What, 
wife,  I  say !  Come,  come  forth !  Behold  what  honest 
clothes  you  send  forth  to  bleaching  ! 

Page.  Wliy,  this  passes,  Mast<»r  Ford  ;  you  are  not  to  go 
loose  any  longer  ;  you  must  be  pinioned.  180 

Eoans.  Why,  this  is  lunatics  !  this  is  mad  as  a  mad  dog  I 

Shot.  Indeed,  Master  Ford,  this  is  not  well,  indeed. 

jPbrd.  So  say  I  too,  sir. 

Be-enter  MisTRfids  Ford. 
Come  hither,  Mistress  Ford;  Mistress  Ford,  the  boaest 


166  MEHRT  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  [act  iv. 

Scene  III.    A  room  in  the  Garter  Inn, 

Enter  Host  and  Bakdolpd. 

Bard,  Sir,  the  Germans  desire  to  liave  three  of  your 
horses :  the  duke  himself  will  be  to-morrow  at  court,  and 
they  are  going  to  meet  him. 

Ho^.  What  duke  should  that  be  comes  so  secretly?    I. 
hear  not  of  him  in  the  court.     Let  me  speak  with  the  gen- 
tlemen :  they  speak  English  ? 

Bard,  Ay,  sir ;  I'll  call  them  to  you. 

JBbst.  They  shall  have  my  horses  ;  but  I'll  make  them 
pay ;  I'll  sauce  them :  they  nave  had  my  house  a  week  at 
command ;  I  have  turned  away  my  other  guests :  they  must 
come  off ;  I'll  sauce  them.    Come.  [ilxeunt 

Scene  IV.  A  room  in  Ford's  Tiouse, 

Enter  Page,  Ford,  Mistress  Page,  Mistress  Ford,  and 

Sir  Hugh  Evans. 

Eoani,  'Tis  one  of  the  best  discretions  of  a  'oman  aa  ever 
I  did  look  upon. 

Page.  And  did  he  send  you  both  these  letters  at  an  in- 
stant? 

Mrs.  Page.  Within  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

Ford,  Pardon  me,  wife.     Henceforth  do  what  thou  wilt : 
I  rather  will  suspect  the  sun  with  cold 
Than  thee  with  wantonness  :  now  doth  thy  honour  stand. 
In  him  that  was  of  late  an  heretic. 
As  firm  as  faith. 

Page.  'Tis  well,  'tis  well ;  no  more :  10 

Be  not  as  extreme  in  submission 
As  1^  offence. 

But  let- our  plot  go  forward  :  let  our  wives 
Tet  once  again,  to  make  us  public  sport, 
Appoint  a  meeting  with  this  old  fat  fellow, 
Where  we  may  take  him  and  disgrace  him  for  it. 

Ford.  There  is  no  better  way  than  that  they  spoke  of. 

Page,  How  ?  to  send  him  word  they'll  meet  him  in  the 
park  at  midnight  ?    Fie,  fie  I  he'll  never  come. 

Eoane.  You  say  he  has  been  thrown  in  tlio  rivers  and  has 
been  grievously  peaten  as  an  old  'oman  :  methinks  there 
should  be  terrors  in  him  that  he  should  not  come ;  mcs 
thinks  his  flesh  is  punished,  ho  shall  have  no  desires. 

Page,  So  think  I  too. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Devise  but  how  you'll  use  him  when  he 
comes. 
And  let  us  two  devise  to  bring  him  thither. 


fiCBKB  IV.]     MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  ie7 

Mrs,  Page,  There  is  an  old  tale  goes  that  Heme  the 
hunter, 
Sometime  a  keeper  here  in  Windsor  forest, 
Dotli  all  the  winter-time,  at  still  midnight,  80 

Walk  round  about  an  oak,  with  great  ragg'd  horns  ; 
And  there  lie  blasts  the  tree  and  takes  the  cattle 
And  makes  milch-kine  yield  blood  and  shakes  a  chain 
In  a  most  hideous  and  dreadful  manner  : 
Tou  have  heard  of  such  a  spirit,  and  well  you  know 
The  superstitious  idle-headed  eld 
Received  and  did  deliver  to  our  age 
This  tale  of  Heme  the  hunter  for  a  truth. 

Page,  Why,  yet  there  want  not  many  that  do  fear 
In  deep  of  night  to  walk  by  this  Heme's  oak  :  40 

But  what  of  this  ? 

Mrs.  Ford,         lAtaTy,  this  is  our  device ; 
That  Falstaff  at  that  oak  shall  meet  with  us. 

Page.  Well,  let  it  not  be  doubted  but  he'll  come  : 
And  in  this  shape  when  you  have  brought  him  thither, 
What  shall  be  done  with  him  ?  what  is  your  plot  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  That  likewise  have  we  thought  upon,  and 
thus : 
ITan  Page  my  daughter  and  my  little  son 
And  three  or  four  more  of  their  growth  we*ll  dress 
Like  urchins,  ouphes  and  fairies,  green  and  white. 
With  rounds  of  waxen  tapers  on  their  heads,  50 

And  rattles  in  their  hands  :  upon  a  sudden, 
As  Falstaff,  she  and  I,  are  newly  met, 
Let  them  from  forth  a  sawpit  rush  at  once 
With  some  diffused  song  :  upon  their  sight. 
We  two  in  great  amazedness  will  ily : 
Then  let  them  all  encircle  him  about 
And,  fairy-like,  to- pinch  the  unclean  knight. 
And  ask  him  why,  that  hour  of  fairy  revel. 
In  their  so  sacred  paths  he  dares  to  tread 
In  shape  profane. 

Mrs.  Ford.        And  till  he  teU  the  truth,  60 

Let  the  supposed  fairies  pinch  him  sound 
And  bum  him  with  their  tapers. 

Mrs.  Page.  The  truth  being  known. 

We'll  all  present  ourselves,  dis-hom  the  siurit, 
And  mock  him  home  to  Windsor. 

Ford.  The  children  must 

Be  practised  well  to  this,  or  they'll  ne'er  do  't. 

mans.  I  will  teach  the  children  their  behavionrs  ;  and  I 
will  be  like  a  jack-an-apes  also,  to  bum  the  knight  with  my 
taber. 


leS  MERBY  WIVESr  OF*  WINDSOR.  [act  it. 

Ford,  That  will  be  excellent.  1*11  go  and  buy  them 
vizards.  70 

Mrs.  Page.  My  Nan  shall  be  the  qaeen  of  all  the  tairies, 
Finely  aitired  in  a  robe  of  white. 

Page.  Tliat  silk  will  I  go  buy.      [Aside]   And  in  that 
time 
Shall  Master  Slender  steal  my  Nnn  away 
And  marry  her  at  Eton.    Go  send  to  FalstafF  straight. 

Ford.  Nay,  Til  to  him  again  in  name  of  Brook  : 
He'll  tell  mo  all  his  purpose  :  sure,  he'll  come. 

Mrs.  Page.  Fear  not  you  that.     Go  get  us  properties 
And  tricking  for  our  fairies. 

Evans.  Let  us  about  it :  it  is  admirable  pleasures  and  fery 
honest  knaveries.        [JSxeunt  Page,  Ford,  and  Evans.      81 

Mrs.  Page.  Go,  Mistress  Ford. 
Send  quickly  to  Sir  John,  to  know  his  mind. 

{EotU  Mrs.  Ford, 
I'll  to  the  doctor :  he  hath  my  good  will, 
And  none  but  ho,  to  marry  with  Nan  Page. 
That  Slender,  though  well  landed,  is  an  idiot ; 
And  he  my  husband  best  of  all  affects. 
The  doctor  is  well  money'd,  and  his  friends 
Potent  at  court :  he,  none  but  lie,  shall  have  her, 
Though  twenty  thousand  worthier  come  to  crave  her. 

[ExU.    90 

ScEiTE  V.    A  roam  in  the  Garter  Inn, 

Enter  Host  arid  Simple. 

Hoit.  What  wouldst  thou  have,  boor  ?  what,  thick-skin  T 
speak,  breathe,  discuss ;  brief,  short,  quick,  snap. 

^m.  Marry,  sir,  I  come  to  speak  with  Sir  John  FalstafE 
from  Master  Slender. 

Host,  There's  his  chamber,  his  house,  his  castle,  his 
standing-bed  and  truckle-bed  ;  'tis  painted  about  with  the 
story  of  the  Prodigal,  fresh  and  new.  Go  knock  and  call ; 
he'll  speak  like  an  Anthropophaginian  unto  thee  :  knock, 
I  say.  11 

aim.  There's  an  old  woman,  a  fat  woman,  gone  up  into 
his  chamber  ;  I'll  be  so  bold  as  stay,  sir,  till  she  comedown; 
I  come  to  speak  with  her,  indeed. 

Host.  Ha  I  a  fat  woman  I  the  knight  may  be  robbed  :  I'll 
call.  Bully  knight !  bully  Sir  John  !  speak  from  thy  lungs 
military :  art  thou  there  ?  it  is  thine  host,  thine  Ep'hesiun, 
calls. 

Fal.  [Ahcve^  How  now,  mine  host  I  20 

Ho9t,  Here's  a  Bohemian-Tartar  tarries  the  coming  down 


8CEWB  v.]      MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  100 

of  tliy  fat  woman.     Lot  her  descend,  bully,  let  her  descend  ; 
my  chambers  are  honourable  :  fie  1  privacy?  fie  I 

JSnter  Falstaff. 

Fal.  There  was,  mine  host,  an  old  fat  woman  even  now 
with  me  ;  but  she's  gone. 

Sim.  Pray  you,  sir,  was't  not  the  wise  woman  of  Brent- 
ford? 

Fal.  Ay,  marry,  was  it,  mussel-shell :  what  would  you 
with  her?  30 

Sim.  My  master,  sir.  Master  Slender,  sent  to  her,  seeing 
her  go  thorough  the  streets,  to  know,  sir,  whether  one 
Kym,  sir,  that  beguiled  him  of  a  chain,  had  the  chain  or 
no. 

Fed.  I  spake  with  the  old  woman  about  it. 

Sim.  And  what  says  she,  I  pray,  sir  ? 

Fed.  Marry,  she  says  that  the  very  same  man  that  be- 
guiled Mfcster  Slender  of  his  chain  dozened  him  of  it. 

Sim.  I  would  I  could  liave  spoken  with  the  woman  her- 
self ;  I  had  other  things  to  have  spoken  with  her  too  from 
liim.  43 

Fal.  Wliat  are  they  ?  let  us  know. 

ffagt.  Ay,  come ;  quick. 

Sim.  I  may  not  conceal  them,  sir. 

Hoit.  Conreal  them,  or  thou  diest. 

Sim.  Why,  sir,  they  were  nothing  but  about  Mistress 
Anne  Page ;  to  know  if  it  were  my  master's  fortune  to  have 
her  or  no. 

Fal.  'Tis,  'tis  his  fortuna  50 

Sim.  Wliat,  sir? 

FcU.  To  have  her,  or  no.     Qo ;  say  the  woman  told  mo 

80. 

Sim.  May  I  be  bold  to  say  so,  sir? 

Fal.  Ay,  sir  ;  like  who  more  bold. 

Sim.  I  thank  your  worship ;  I  shall  make  my  master 
glad  with  these  tidings.  [Exit. 

Host.  Thou  art  clerkly,  thou  art  clerkly.  Sir  John.  Was 
there  a  wise  woman  with  thee? 

Fal.  Ay,  that  there  was,  mine  host ;  one  that  hath  tanght 
me  more  wit  than  ever  I  learned  before  in  my  life  ;  aud  I 
paid  nothing  for  it  neither,  but  was  paid  for  my  learning. 

Enter  Bardolph. 

Bard.  Out,  alas,  sir  I  cozenage,  mere  cozenage  I 
Ho^.  Where  be  my  horses  ?  speak  well  of  them,  rar- 
letto. 
Bard,  Ron  away  with  tiie  oooenera;  for  so  soon  as  I 


170  MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.         [act  iv, 

came  beyond  Eton,  tliey  threw  mo  off  from  beliind  one  of 
tlieni,  in  a  slough  of  miro  ;  and  set  spurs  and  away,  like 
three  German  devils,  three  Doctor  Faust  uses.  71 

Host.  They  are  gone  but  to  meet  the  duke,  villain :  do 
not  say  they  be  fled  ;  Germans  are  honest  men. 

Enter  Sir  Hugh  Evans. 

Enans,  Where  is  mine  host  ? 

Host.  What  is  the  matter,  sir? 

Evans.  Have  a  care  of  your  entertainments:  there  is  a 
friend  of  mine  come  to  town,  tells  me  there  is  three  cozen- 
germans  that  has  cozened  all  the  hosts  of  Readins,  of  Mai- 
denhead, of  Colebrook,  of  horses  and  money.  I  tell  you 
for  good  will,  look  you  :  you  are  wise  and  full  of  gibes  and 
vlouting-stocks,  and  'tis  not  convenient  you  should  be 
cozene£    Fare  you  well.  [Exit. 

Enter  Doctor  Caius. 

Caiits,  Yere  is  mine  host  de  Jarteer  ? 

Host.  Here,  master  doctor,  in  perplexity  and  doubtful 
dilemma. 

Cains.  1  cannot  tell  vat  is  dat :  but  it  is  tell -a  hie  dat  you 
make  grand  preparation  for  a  duke  de  Jainany  :  by  my  trot, 
dere  is  no  duke  dat  the  court  is  know  to  come.  I  tell  you 
for  good  vill :  adieu.  [Eitit.    91 

Host.  Hue  and  cry,  villain,  go !  Assist  me.  Knight.  I 
am  undone  I  Fly,  run,  hue  and  cry,  villain  !  I  am  un- 
done I  [Exeunt  Host  and  Bard. 

Fal.  I  would  all  the  world  might  be  cozened  ;  for  I  have 
been  cozened  and  beaten  too.  If  it  should  come  to  the  ear 
of  the  court,  how  I  have  been  transformed  and  how  my 
transformation  hath  been  washed  and  cudgelled,  they  would 
melt  me  out  of  my  fat  drop  by  drop  and  liquor  fishermen's 
lK>ots  with  me :  I  warrant  they  would  whip  me  with  their 
fine  wits  till  I  were  as  crest-fallen  as  a  dried  pear.  I  never 
prospered  since  I  forswore  myself  at  primero.  Well,  if  my 
wind  were  but  long  enough  to  say  my  prayers,  I  would  repent. 

Enter  Mistress  Quickly. 

Now,  whence  come  you  ? 

Quick.  From  the  two  parties,  forsooth. 

Eal.  The  devil  take  one  party  and  his  dam  the  otlier  I 
and  so  they  shall  be  both  bestowed.  1  have  suffered  more 
for  their  sakes,  more  than  the  villanous  inconstancy  of 
man's  disposition  is  able  to  bear. 

Qnick.  And  have  not  they  suffered  t  Yes,  I  warrant ; 
spedouslv  one  of  them  ;  Mistress  Ford,  good  heart,  is  beaten 
black  and  blue,  that  you  cannot  see  a  white  spot  about  her. 


BCENB  VI.]     MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  171 

Fal.  WLat  tellest  thou  me  of  black  and  blue  ?  I  was 
beaten  myself  into  all  the  ooloors  of  the  rainbow ;  and  I 
was  like  to  be  apprehended  for  the  witch  of  Brentford  : 
but  that  my  admirable  dexterity  of  wit,  my  counterfeiting 
the  action  of  an  old  woman,  delivered  me,  the  knave  con- 
stable had  set  me  i'  the  stocks,  i'  the  common  stocks,  for  a 
witch. 

Quick,  Sir,  let  me  speak  with  you  in  your  chamber :  you 
slifdl  hear  how  things  go ;  and,  1  warrant,  to  your  content. 
Here  Ls  a  letter  will  say  somewhat.  Good  hearts,  what  ado 
here  is  to  bring  you  together  I  Sure,  one  of  you  does  not 
serve  heaven  well,  that  you  are  so  croraed.  180 

MU,  Come  up  into  mj  chamber.  [Exeunt. 

Scxms  VI.    Another  roam  in  the  Oarter  Inn. 

Enter  Fenton  and  Host. 

jffaet.  Master  Fenton,  talk  not  to  me  ;  my  mind  is  heavy : 
I  will  give  over  all. 

I'ent.  Yet  hear  me  speak.     Assist  me  in  my  purpose. 
And,  as  I  am  a  gentleman,  I'll  give  thee 
A  hundred  pounds  in  gold  more  than  your  loss. 

Host.  I  will  hear  you.  Master  Fenton  ;  and  I  will  at  the 
least  keep  your  counsel. 

Fent.  From  time  to  time  I  have  acqnainted  you 
With  the  dear  love  I  bear  to  fair  Anne  Pago ; 
Who  mutually  hath  answer'd  my  affection,  10 

So  far  forth  as  herself  might  be  her  chooser, 
Even  to  my  wish  :  I  have  a  letter  from  her 
Of  such  contents  as  you  will  wonder  at ; 
The  mirth  whereof  so  larded  with  my  matter, 
That  neither  sin^i^ly  can  be  manifested, 
Without  the  show  of  both  ;  fat  Falstaff 
Hath  a  g^eat  scene  :  the  image  of  the  jest 
I'll  show  you  here  at  large.     Hark,  good  mine  host. 
To-night  at  Kerne's  oak,  just  'twixt  twelve  and  one. 
Must  my  sweet  Nan  present  the  Fairy  Queen ;  20 

The  purpose  why,  is  here  :  in  which  disguise. 
While  other  jests  are  something  rank  on  foot. 
Her  father  hath  commanded  her  to  slip 
Away  with  Slender  and  with  him  at  Eton 
Immediately  to  marry  :  she  hath  consented : 
Now,  sir. 

Her  mother,  ever  strong  against  that  match 
And  firm  for  Doctor  Caius,  hath  appointed 
That  he  shall  likewise  shuffle  her  away, 
While  otiber  sports  are  tasking  of  their  minds.  30 


178  MEBET  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR  [act  v. 

And  at  the  deanery,  where  a  priest  attends, 

Straiglit  marry  her :  to  this  her  mother's  plot 

She  seemingly  obedient  likewise  hath 

Made  promise  to  the  doctor.     Now,  thus  it  rests : 

Her  father  means  she  shall  be  all  in  white. 

And  in  that  habit,  when  Slender  sees  his  time 

To  take  her  by  the  hand  and  bid  her  go, 

Slie  shall  go  with  him  ;  her  mother  hath  intended. 

The  better  to  denote  her  to  the  doctor, 

For  they  most  all  be  maak'd  and  vizarded,  40 

That  quaint  in  green  she  shall  be  loose  enrobed. 

With  ribands  pendent,  flaring  'bout  her  head  ; 

And  when  the  doctor  spies  his  vantage  ripe, 

To  pinch  her  by  the  hand,  and,  on  that  token, 

The  maid  hath  g^ren  consent  to  go  with  him. 

Host.  Which  means  she  to  deceive,  father  or  mother? 

Fent.  Both,  my  good  host,  to  go  along  with  me  : 
And  here  it  rests,  tliat  you'll  procure  the  vicar 
To  stay  for  me  at  church  'twixt  twelve  and  one. 
And,  in  the  lawful  name  of  marrying,  M) 

To  give  our  hearts  united  ceremony. 

Juost.  Well,  husband  your  device  ;  I'll  to  the  vicar  : 
Bring  you  the  maid,  you  shall  not  lack  a  priest. 

JF^ent.  So  shall  I  evermore  be  bound  to  tliee  ; 
Besides,  I'll  make  a  present  recompense.  [EiteunL 

ACT  V. 

Scene  1.    A  room  in  the  Qarter  Inn. 

Enter  Falstaff  and  MismEss  Quickly. 

Fal,  Prithee,  no  more  prattling  ;  go.  I'll  hold.  This  is 
the  third  time ;  I  hope  good  luck  lies  in  odd  numbers. 
Away  1  go.  They  say  there  is  divinity  in  odd  numbers, 
either  in  nativity,  chance,  or  death.     Away  I 

Quick.  I'll  provide  you  a  chain;  and  I'll  do  what  I  can  to 
get  vou  a  pair  of  horns. 

jFW.  Away,  I  say  ;  time  wears  :  hold  up  your  head,  and 
mince.  [ExU  Mr8,  QuirJcly. 

Enter  Ford. 

How  now.  Master  Brook  1  Master  Brook,  the  matter  wiU  be 
known  to-night,  or  never.  Be  you  in  the  Park  about  mid- 
night, at  Heme's  oak,  and  you  shall  see  wonders. 

Jford.  Went  you  not  to  her  yesterday,  sir,  as  yon  told  me 
yon  had  appointed? 

FcU.  I  went  to  her.  Master  Brook,  as  you  see,  like  a  poor 


8CENB  III.]      MBRBY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  178 

old  man  :  but  I  caxno  from  her,  Master  Brook,  like  a  poor 
old  woman.  That  same  knave  Ford,  her  husband,  liath  the 
finest  mad  devil  of  jealousy  in  him,  Master  Brook,  that  ever 
governed  frenzy.  I  will  tell  you  :  he  beat  me  grievously, 
in  the  shape  of  a  woman  ;  for  in  the  shape  of  man,  Master 
Brook,  I  fear  not  Goliatli  with  a  weaver's  beam  ;  because  I 
know  also  life  is  a  shuttle.  I  am  in  haste  ;  go  along  with 
me :  Til  tell  you  all,  Master  Brook.  Since  I  plucked  geese, 
played  truant  and  whipped  top,  I  knew  not  wuat  'twas  to  be 
beaten  till  lately.  Follow  me  :  V\l  tell  you  strange  things 
of  this  knave  Ford,  on  whom  to-night  I  will  be  revenged, 
and  I  will  deliver  his  wife  into  your  hand.  Follow.  Strange 
things  in  hand,  Master  Brook  I    FoUow.  [Exeunt 

Scene  II.     Windsor  Park. 

Enter  Page,  Shallow,  and  Slendeh. 

Page,  Come,  come  ;  we'll  couch  i'  the  castle-ditch  till  wo 
see  the  light  of  our  fairies.  Bemember,  son  Slender,  my 
daughter. 

8len.  Ay,  forsooth  ;  I  have  spoke  with  her  and  we  have 
a  nay-word  how  to  know  one  another :  1  come  to  her  in 
white,  and  cry  "mum  ;"  she  cries  "budget ;"  and  by  that 
we  know  one  another. 

SJtaX.  That's  good  too  :  but  what  needs  cither  your  "mum" 
or  her  "  budget?"  the  white  will  decipher  her  well  enough. 
It  hath  8tru(&  ten  o'clock. 

Page.  The  night  is  dark  ;  light  and  spirits  will  become  it 
well.  Heaven  prosper  our  sport  I  No  man  means  evil  but 
the  devil,  and  we  shall  know  him  by  his  horns.  Let's 
away  ;  follow  me.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  III.    A  street  leading  to  tlie  Park. 

Enter  Mistbess   Page,  Mistress   Ford,    and   Doctor 

Caius. 

Mre.  Page.  Master  doctor,  my  daughter  is  in  green  :  when 
you  see  your  time,  take  her  by  the  hand,  away  with  her  to 
the  deanery,  and  dispatch  it  quickly.  Go  before  into  the 
Park  :  we  two  must  go  together. 

Caius,  I  know  vat  I  have  to  do.     Adieu. 

Mrs.  Page.  Fare  you  well,  sir.  [£^ni  Cniue.]  My  husband 
will  not  rejoice  so  much  at  the  abuse  of  FalstafiE  as  he  will 
chafe  at  the  doctor's  marrying  my  daughter :  but  'tis  no 
matter  ;  better  a  little  chiding  than  a  great  deal  of  heart- 
break. 11 


174  MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  [act  v. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Wliere  is  Nan  now  and  lier  troop  of  fairies, 
and  the  Welsli  devil  Hup:h? 

Mrs.  Page.  They  are  all  couched  in  a  pit  hard  by  Heme's 
oak,  with  obscured  lights ;  which,  at  the  very  instant  of 
FalstafTs  and  our  meeting,  they  will  at  once  display  to  tho 
night. 

Mrs.  Ford.  That  cannot  choose  but  amaze  him. 

Mrs.  Pa{je.  If  he  be  not  amazed,  he  will  be  mocked ;  if 
ho  be  amazed,  he  will  every  way  be  mocked.  21 

Mrs.  Ford.  We'll  betray  him  finely. 

Mrs.  Page.  Against  such  lewdsters  and  their  lechery 
Those  that  betray  them  do  no  treacher}\ 

Mrs,  Ford.  The  hour  draws  on.     To  the  oak,  to  tho  oak  ! 

[Exevnt. 
Scene  IV.     Windsor  Park, 

Enter  Sir  Hugh  Evans  disguised,  with  otiiers  as  Fairies. 

Evans.  Trib,  trib,  fairies ;  come  ;  and  remember  your 
parts  :  be  pold,  I  pray  you  ;  follow  mo  into  the  pit ;  and 
when  I  give  the  watch-'ords,  do  as  I  pid  you  :  come,  come  ; 
trib,  trib.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  V.  Anotlier  part  of  the  Park. 

Enter  Falstaff  disguised  as  Ilerne, 

Fal,  Tho  Windsor  bell  hath  struck  twelve  ;  tho  minute 
draws  on.  Now,  the  hot-blooded  gods  assist  me  I  Remem- 
ber, Jove,  thou  wast  a  bull  for  thy  Europa ;  love  set  on  thy 
liorns.  O  powerful  love !  that,  in  some  respects,  makes  a 
l)east  a  man,  in  some  other,  a  man  a  beast.  You  were  also, 
Jupiter,  a  swan  for  the  love  of  Leda.  O  omnipotent  Love  I 
liow  near  the  god  drew  to  tho  complexion  of  a  goose  I  A 
fault  done  first  in  the  form  of  a  Ijeast.  O  Jove,  a  beastly 
fault !  And  then  another  fault  in  the  semblance  of  a  fowl  ; 
think  on't,  Jove  ;  a  foul  fault  1  When  gods  have  hot  backs, 
what  shall  poor  men  do  ?  For  mo,  I  am  hero  a  Windsor 
stag  ;  and  the  fattest,  I  think,  i'  the  forest.  Send  mo  a 
cool  rut-time,  Jove,  or  who  can  blame  me  to  pi.s3  my  tal- 
low ?    Who  comes  here  ?  ray  doe  ? 

Enter  Mistress  Ford  and  Mistress  Page, 

Mrs.  Ford.  Sir  John  I  art  thou  there,  my  doer?  my  malo 
deer? 

Fal.  My  doe  with  the  black  scut !  Let  the  sky  rain  po- 
tatoes ;  let  it  thunder  to  the  tune  of  Green  Sleeves,  hail 
kissing-comfits  and  snow  eringoes  ;  let  there  como  a  tempest 
of  provocation,  I  will  shelter  mo  hero. 


ftCKWB  v.]       MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  175 

Mrs.  Ford.  Mistress  Pago  is  come  with  mo,  Bweetlieart. 

Fal.  Divide  me  like  a  bribe  buck;  each  a  liaunch  :  I  will 
keep  my  sides  to  myself,  my  shoulders  for  the  fellow  of 
this  walk,  aad  my  horns  I  bequeath  your  husbands.  Am  I 
a  woodman,  ha?  Speak  I  like  Heme  the  huntor?  Why, 
now  is  Cupid  a  child  of  conscience  ;  he  makes  restitution. 
As  I  am  a  true  spirit,  welcome  !  [Noise  wUJdn. 

Mrs.  Page.  Alas,  wliat  noise  f 

Mrs.  Ford.  Heaven  forgive  our  sins  I 

Fal.  WhSit  should  tliis  be  ? 

Mrs.  P%t  \  ^-'^^^  *"«^y  ^  f  ^^  ^'"«  '^' 

Fal.  I  think  the  devil  will  not  have  me  damned,  lest  the 

oil  that's  in  me  should  set  hell  on  fire  ;  he  would  never  else 

cross  me  thus.  40 

Enter  Sm  Huan  Evans,  disguised  as  hrfore;  Pistol,  as 
Hobgoblin;  Mistress  Quickly,  Anitb  Faqz,  and  otiiers, 
as  Fairies,  with  tapers. 

QiUek.  Fairies,  black,  grey,  green,  and  white. 
You  moonshine  revellers,  and  shades  of  night. 
You  orplian  heirs  of  fixed  destiny, 
Attend  your  office  and  your  quality, 
Crier  Hobgoblin,  make  the  fcdry  oyes. 

^ist.  Elves,  list  your  names  ;  silence,  you  airy  toys. 
Cricket,  to  Windsor  chimneys  shalt  thou  leap  : 
Where  fires  thou  find'st  unraked  and  heartlis  nnswept, 
Tliere  pinch  the  maids  as  blue  as  bilberry  : 
Our  radiant  queen  hates  sluts  and  sluttery.  50 

Fid.  They  are  fairies  ;  he  that  speaks  to  them  shall  die : 
111  wink  and  couch  :  no  man  their  works  must  eye. 

[Lies  down  vpon  his  face. 

Evans.  Where's  Bede  ?    Go  you,  and  where  you  find  a 
maid 
That,  ere  she  sleep,  has  thrice  her  prayers  said, 
Raise  up  the  organs  of  her  fantasy ; 
Sleep  she  as  sound  as  careless  infancy  : 
But  those  as  sleep  and  think  not  on  their  sins. 
Pinch  them,  arms,  legs,  backs,  shoulders,  sides  and  shins.  ^ 

Quick.  About,  about ; 
Search  Windsor  Castle,  elves,  within  and  out :  60 

Strew  good  luck,  ouphes,  on  every  sacred  room : 
That  it  may  stand  till  the  perpetual  doom, 
In  state  as  wholesome  as  in  state  'tis  fit. 
Worthy  the  owner,  and  the  owner  it. 
The  several  chairs  of  order  look  you  scour 
With  juice  of  balm  and  every  precious  flower : 


170  MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR  [act  v. 

Each  fair  instalment,  coat,  and  several  crest. 

With  loyal  blazon,  evermore  be  blest ! 

And  nightly,  meadow- fairies,  look  you  sing. 

Like  to  the  Garter's  compass,  in  a  ring  :  70 

The  expressure  that  it  bears,  green  let  it  be. 

More  fertile-fresh  than  all  the  field  to  see ; 

And  "  Honi  soit  qui  mal  y  pense  "  write 

In  emerald  tufts,  flowers  purple,  blue  and  white ; 

Like  sapphire,  pearl  and  rich  embroidery, 

Buckled  below  fair  knighthood's  bending  knee  T 

Fairies  use  flowers  for  their  characterv. 

Away  ;  disperse  :  but  till  'tis  one  o'clock. 

Our  dance  of  custom  round  about  the  oak 

Of  Heme  the  hunter,  let  us  not  forget.  80 

Ecans.  Pray  you,  lock  hand  in-liand  ;  yourselves  in  order 
set ; 
And  twenty  glow-worms  shall  our  lanterns  be. 
To  guide  our  measure  round  about  the  tree. 
But,  stay  ;  I  smell  a  man  of  middle-earth. 

Fal.  Heavens  defend  me  from  tliat  Welsh  fairy,  lest  ho 
transform  me  to  a  piece  of  cheese  1 

put.  Vile  worm,  thou  wast  o'erlook'd  even  intby  birth. 

Quick.  With  trial-fire  touch  me  his  finger-end  : 
If  he  be  chaste,  the  flnme  will  back  descend 
And  turn  him  to  no  pain  ;  but  if  he  start,  #0 

It  is  the  flesh  of  a  corrupted  heart. 

Pi^t.  A  trial,  come. 

JUvans.  Come,  will  this  wood  take  fire  ? 

[TJiey  hum  him  toith  their  tapers, 

Fal.  Oh.  Oh,  Oh  I 

Quick.  Corrupt,  corrupt,  and  tainted  in  desire  I 
About  him  fairies,  sing  a  scornful  rhyme ; 
And,  as  you  trip,  still  pinch  him  to  your  time. 

Song. 

Fie  on  sinful  fantasy  ! 

Fie  on  lust  and  luxury  I 

Lust  is  but  a  bloody  fire, 

Kindled  with  unchaste  desire,  103 

Fed  in  heart,  whose  flames  aspire 

As  thoughts  do  blow  them,  higher  and  higher. 

Pinch  him,  fairies,  mutually  ; 

Pinch  him  for  his  villany  ;  * 

Pinch  him,  and  bum  him,  and  turn  him  about, 

Till  candles  and  starlight  and  moonshine  be  oui^ 

During  this  song  they  pinch  Falstapf.    Doctor  Caiub 
comes  one  way,  and  steals  atsay  a  hoy  in  greeny 


dtsmB  v.]       MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  177 

SiiBNDER  another  way,  and  takes  off  a  hoy  in  uhite ; 
and  Fenton  comes,  and  steals  axmy  Mrs.  Anne 
Page.  A  noise  of  hunting  is  heard  irilhin.  All  tlie 
Fairies.run  away.  Falstafp  pidls  off  his  buck's  liead, 
and  rises. 

Enter  Page,  Ford,  Mistbess  Page  ane^  Mistress  Ford. 

Page.  Nay,  do  not  fly;  I  think  we  have  watch'd  you 
now : 
Will  none  but  Home  the  hunter  serve  your  turn  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  I  pray  you,  come,  hold  up  the  jest  no  higher. 
Now,  good  Sir  John,  how  like  you  Windsor  wives? 
f  See  you  these,  husband  ?  do  not  these  fair  yokes 
Become  the  forest  better  than  tlie  town  ? 

Ford.  Now,  sir,  who's  a  cuckold  now?  Master  Brook, 
Fa]staff*s  a  knave,  a  cuckoldly  knave  ;  here  are  his  horns. 
Master  Brook  :  and,  Maslrer  Brook,  he  hath  enjoyed  nothing 
of  Ford's  but  his  buck-basket,  his  cudgel,   and  twenty 

Eounds  of  money,  which  must  be  paid  to  Master  Brook ; 
is  horses  are  arrested  for  it,  Master  Brook. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Sir  John,  we  have  liad  ill  luck  ;.  we  could 
never  meet.  I  will  never  take  you  for  my  love  again  ;  but 
I  will  always  count  you  my  deer. 

F^.  I  do  begin  to  perceive  that  I  am  made  an  ass. 

Ford.  Ay,  and  an  ox  too  :  both  the  proofs  are  extant. 

Fal.  And  these  are  not  fairies?  I  was  three  or  four 
times  in  the  thought  they  were  not  fairies :  and  yet  the 
guiltiness  of  my  mind,  th^  sudden  surprise  of  my  powers, 
drove  t)ie  grossness  of  the  foppery  into  a  received  belief,  in 
despite  of  the  teeth  of  all  rhyme  and  reason,  that  they  were 
fairies.  See  now  how  wit  may  be  made  a  Jack-a-Lent, 
when  'tis  upon  ill  eniployment  I 

Evans.  Sir  John  Falstalf ,  serve  Got,  and  leave  your  de- 
sires, and  fairies  will  not  pinse  yon. 

Ford.  Well  said,  fairy  Hugh. 

JSwins.  And  leave  your  jealousies  too,  I  pray  you.        140 

Ford.  I  will  never  mistrust  my  wife  again,  till  thou  art 
able  to  woo  her  in  good  English. 

•  Fal.  Have  I  laid  my  brain  in  the  sun  and  dried  it,  that  it 
wants  matter  to  prevent  so  gross  o'erreaching  as  this  ?  Am 
I  ridden  with  a  Welsh  goat  too  ?  shall  I  have  a  coxcomb  of 
frize?  'Tis  time  I  were  choked  with  a  piece  of  toasted 
cheese.  • 

Means.  Seese  is  not  good  to  give  putter  ;  your  belly  is  all 
putter. 

Fa.  "Seese"  and  "putter"  !  have  I  liv<Hl  to  stand  at 
the  taunt  of  one  that  makes  fritters  of  English  ?    This  Is 


178  MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  [act  r. 

enough  to  be  the  decay  of  last  and  late- walking  tliroagh 
the  realm. 

Mt%.  Page.  Why,  Sir  John,  do  vou  think,  though  we 
would  have  thrust  virtue  out  of  our  hearts  by  the  head  and 
shoulders  and  have  given  ourselves  without  scruple  to  hell, 
that  ever  the  devil  could  have  made  you  our  delight  ? 

Ford.  What,  a  hodee-pndding  T  a  bag  of  fiax  1 

Mrs.  Page,  A  puffed  man  ? 

Pa>ge.  Old,  cold,  withered  and  of  intolerable  entrails? 

Ford.  And  one  that  is  as  slanderous  as  Satan  ? 

Page,  And  as  poor  as  Job? 

Ford.  And  as  wicked  as  his  wife  ? 

Evans.  And  given  to  fornications,  and  to  taverns  and 
sack  and  wine  and  metheglins,  and  to  drinkings  and  swear- 
ings and  starings,  pribbles  and  prabbles  ? 

Fal.  Well,  1  am  your  theme  :  you  have  the  start  of  mr  ; 
I  am  dejected  ;  I  am  not  able  to  answer  the  Welsh  flannel  ; 
ignorance  itself  is  a  plummet  o'er  me  :  use  me  as  you  will. 

Ford.  Marry,  sir,  we'll  bring  you  to  Windsor,  to  one 
Master  Brook,  that  you  have  cozened  of  money,  to  whom 
vou  should  have  been  a  pander  :  over  and  above  that  you 
have  suffered,  I  think  to  repay  that  money  will  be  a  biting 
affliction. 

Page.  Yet  be  cheerful,  knight :  thou  shalt  eat  a  posset 
to-night  at  my  house  ;  where  1  will  desire  thee  to  laugh  at 
my  wife,  that  now  laughs  at  thee :  tell  her  Master  iSlcndcr 
hath  manied  her  daughter. 

Mrs.  Page.  [Aside]  Doctor^  doubt  that :  if  Anne  Page 
be  my  daughter,  she  is,  by  this,  Doctor  Caius'  wife. 

Enter  Slender. 

/SZen.  Whoa,  ho  1  ho,  father  Page  \ 

Page.  Son,  how  now !  how  now,  son  !  have  you  dig- 
patclicd  ? 

8len.  Dispatched  I  I'll  make  the  best  in  Gloucestershire 
know  on't ;  would  1  were  hanged,  la,  else  ! 

Page.  Of  what,  son  ? 

8ien.  I  came  yonder  at  Eton  to  marry  Mistress  Anae 
Paffe,  and  she's  a  great  lubberly  bov.  If  it  had  not  been 
1'  the  church,  I  would  have  swinged  him,  or  he  should  have 
swinged  me.  If  I  did  not  think  it  had  been  Anue  Page, 
would  I  might  never  stir  ! — and  'tis  a  postmaster's  boy. 

Page.  Upon  my  life,  then,  you  took  the  wrong.  ^1 

8Un.  What  need  you  tell  me  that  ?  I  think  so,  when  I 
took  a  boy  for  a  girl.  If  I  had  been  married  to  him,  for  all 
he  was  in  woman's  apparel,  I  would  not  have  had  him. 


SCENBY.]       MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  170 

Page.  Why,  this  is  yoar  ewn  folly.  Did  not  I  tell  yoa 
how  you  should  know  uiy  daughter  by  her  gamients  ? 

8len,  I  wdnt  to  her  in  white  and  cried  "innm,"  and  she 
cried  "budget,"  as  Anne  and  I  had  appointed  ;  and  yet  it 
was  not  Anne,  but  a  postmaster's  1)oy. 

Mrs.  Page.  Good  George,  be  not  angry  ;  I  knew  of  yonr 
pnrxx>se  ;  turned  my  daughter  into  green  ;  and,  indeed*  bho 
is  now  with  the  doctor  at  the  deanery,  and  there  married. 

Enter  Caius. 

Cktius.  Vere  is  Mistress  Page  ?  By  gar,  I  am  cozened  •  I 
ha*  married  un  gar^on,  a  boy ;  un  paysan,  by  gar,  a  boy  ; 
it  is  not  Anne  Page  :  by  gar,  I  am  cozened.  2dO 

Mrs,  Page.  Why,  did  you  take  her  in  green  ? 

Caius.  Ay,  by  gar,  and  'tis  a  boy  :  by  gar,  I'll  raiso  all 
Windsor.  [Kxit. 

Ford.  Tliis  is  strange.     Who  hath  got  the  right  Anne  ? 

Page.  My  heart  misgives  me  :  here  comes  Master  Fenton. 

Enter  Fenton  and  Anne  Paob. 

How  now.  Master  Fenton  I 

Anne.  Pardon,  good  father !  good  my  mother,  pardon  ! 

Page.  Now,  mistress,  how  chance  you  went  not  with 
Master  Slender?  281 

Mrs.  Page.  Why  went  you  not  with  master  doctor,  maid  ? 

Feni.  You  do  amaze  her  :  hear  the  truth  of  it. 
Yon  would  have  married  her  most  shamefully. 
Where  there  was  no  proportion  held  in  love. 
The  truth  is,  she  and  I,  long  since  contracted. 
Are  now  so  sure  tliat  nothing  can  dissolve  us. 
The  offence  is  holy  that  she  hath  committed ; 
And  this  deceit  loses  the  name  of  craft, 
Of  disol>edience,  or  unduteous  title,  240 

Since  therein  she  doth  evitate  and  shun 
A  thousand  irreligious  cursed  hours, 
Wliich  forced  marriage  would  have  brought  upon  her. 

Fbrd.  Stand  not  amazed  ;  here  is  no  remedy  : 
In  love  the  heavens  themselves  do  guide  the  state ; 
Monev  buys  lands,  and  wives  are  sold  by  fate. 

Fal.  I  am  glad,  though  yon  have  ta'en  a  special  stand  to 
strike  at  me,  that  your  arrow  hath  glanced. 

Page.  Well,   what  remedy?    Fenton,  heaven  give  thee 
joy  I  200 

What  cannot  be  eschew'd  must  be  embraced. 

FiU.  When  night-do^  run,  all  sorts  of  deer  are  chased. 

Mrs.  Page.  Well,  I  will  muse  no  further.  Master  Fenton, 
Heaven  give  you  many,  many  merry  days  I 


ISO  MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR  [act  v. 

Good  husband,  let  us  every  one  go  home, 
And  laugh  this  sport  o'er  by  a  country  fire  ; 
Sir  John  and  all. 

Ford.  Let  It  be  so«     Sir  John, 

To  Master  Brook  you  yet  shall  hold  your  word  ; 
For  he  to-night  shall  lie  with  Mistress  Ford.  [Exeunt 


MEASURE   FOR   MEASURE. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


Vixosxno,  the  Duke. 
AifQBLO,  Deputy. 
Bbcalub,  an  ancient  Lord. 
Claudio,  a  young  gentleman. 
Lncio,  a  fantastic. 
Two  other  gentlemen. 

PB0V08T. 
THOMA0,  I 

Pktbb,    I 
A  Justice. 

VARBIUa. 

Elbow,  a  simple  constable, 
Fboth,  a  foollah  gentleman. 


twofrian. 


PoxFET,  servant  to  Histress  Over- 

done 
Abhobson.  an  executioner. 
Babnabdihie,  a  diseolnte  prisoner. 

IfiABBLLA,  Bister  4o  Claudio. 
Mariana,  betrothed  to  Angelo. 
JuLixT,  beloved  of  Claudio. 
Fbancibca,  a  nun. 

MlBTBBBS  OVBBBOME,  a  bftWd. 

Lords,  Officers,  Citizens,  Boy,  and 
Attendants. 


Scene —  Vienna, 

ACT  I. 
ScBms  1.    An  apartment  in  the  Duke's  palace. 

Enter  Duke,  Escalus,  Lords  and  Attendants. 

Duke,  Escalus. 

Escal,  M  J  lord. 

Bake.  Of  government  the  properties  to  unfold, 
Would  seem  in  me  to  affect  speech  and  discourse  ; 
Since  I  am  put  to  know  that  your  own  science 
Exceeds,  in  that,  tlie  lists  of  all  advice 
My  strength  can  give  you  :  then  no  more  remains, 

f  But  that  to  your  sufficiency 

.     .     as  your  worth  is  able, 

And  let  them  work.     The  nature  of  our  people,  10 

Our  city's  institutions,  and  the  terms 

For  common  justice,  you're  as  pregnant  in 

As  art  and  practice  hath  enriched  any 

That  we  remember.     There  is  our  commission, 

Prom  which  we  would  not  have  you  warp.     Call  hither, 

I  say,  bid  come  before  us  Angelo. 

[ExU  an  Attendant, 
(181) 


183  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  [acti. 

What  figure  of  us  think  you  he  will  bear? 

For  you  must  know,  we  nave  with  special  soul 

Elected  him  our  absence  to  supply, 

Lent  him  our  terror,  dress'd  him  with  our  love,  20 

And  given  his  deputations  all  the  organs 

Of  our  own  power  :  what  think  you  of  it  ? 

Bscal.  If  any  in  Vienna  be  of  worth 
To  undergo  such  ample  grace  and  honour. 
It  Ls  Lord  Angelo. 

Duke,  Look  where  he  comes. 

Enter  Angelo. 

Ang.  Always  obedient  to  your  grace's  will, 
I  come  to  know  your  pleasure.  / 

Duke.  Angelo, 

There  is  a  kind  of  character  in  thy  life. 
That  to  the  observer  doth  thy  history 
Fully  unfold.     Thyself  and  thy  belongings  30 

Are  not  thine  own  so  proper  as  to  waste 
Thyself  upon  thy  virtues,  they  on  thee. 
Heaven  doth  with  us  as  we  with  torches  do. 
Not  light  them  for  themselves  ;  for  if  our  virtueB 
Did  not  go  forth  of  us,  'twere  all  alike 
As  if  we  had  them  not.     Spirits  are  not  finely  touch'd 
But  to  fine  issues,  nor  Nature  never  lends 
The  smallest  scruple  of  her  excellence 
But,  like  a  thrifty  goddess,  she  determines 
Herself  the  glory  of  a  creditor,  40 

Both  thanks  and  use.     But  I  do  bend  my  speech 
To  one  that  can  my  part  in  him  advertise  ; 
Hold  therefore,  Angelo  : — 
In  our  remove  be  thou  at  full  ourself  ; 
Mortality  and  mercy  in  Vienna 
Live  in  thy  tongue  and  heart :  old  Escalus, 
Though  first  in  question,  is  thy  secondary. 
Take  thy  commission. 

Ang.  Now,  good  my  lord, 

Let  there  be  some  more  test  made  of  my  metal. 
Before  so  noble  and  so  great  a  figure  60 

Be  stamp'd  upon  it. 

Duke,  No  more  evasion : 

We  have  with  a  leaven'd  and  prepared  choice 
Proceeded  to  you  ;  therefore  lake  your  honours. 
Our  haste  from  hence  is  of  so  quick  condition 
That  it  prefers  itself  and  leaves  unonestion'd 
Matters  of  needful  value.     We  shall  write  to  you, 
As  time  and  our  concemings  shall  importune. 


8CBNBJI.]       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  183 

How  it  goes  with  us,  and  do  look  to  know 

What  doth  befall  yoa  here.     So,  fare  you  well : 

To  the  hopeful  execution  do  I  leave  you  60 

Of  your  commissions. 

Ajig,  Yet  give  leave,  my  lord. 

That  we  may  bring  you  something  on  the  way. 

Duke.  My  haste  may  not  admit  it ; 
Kor  need  you,  on  mine  honour,  have  to  do 
With  any  scruple  ;  your  scope  is  as  mine  own. 
So  to  enforce  or  qualify  the  laws 
As  to  your  soul  seems  good.     Qive  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  70 

Their  loud  applaose  and  Aves  vehement ; 
Nor  do  I  think  the  man  of  safe  discretion 
That  does  affect  it.     Once  more,  fare  you  well. 

Atig.  The  heavens  give  safety  to  your  purposes  I 

Eseial,  Lead  forth  and  bring  you  back  in  happiness  ! 

Duke.  I  thank  you.     Fare  you  well.  \Ex%t, 

Eaccd.  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  80 

I  am  not  yet  instructed. 

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

E^cal.  I'll  wait  upon  your  honour.  [Exeunt, 

Scene  IL    A  street. 

Enter  Lucio  and  two  Gentlemen. 

Ludo.  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. 

Firtt  Oent.  Heaven  grant  us  its  peace,  but  not  the  King 
of  Hungary's ! 

See,  Sent.  Amen. 

Lucio,  Thou  concludest  like  the  sanctimonious  pirate, 
that  went  to  sea  with  the  Ten  Commandments,  but  scraped 
one  out  of  the  table.  , 

8ee.  Oent,  "  Thou  shalt  not  steal "  ?  10 

Ludo.  Ay,  that  he  razed. 

Mrtt  Oent,  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  ef  us  all,  that^  in  the 


184  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  [act  i. 

thanksgiving  l)efore  meat,  do  relish  the  petition  well  that 
prays  for  peace. 

iSpf.  Oent.  I  never  heard  anj'  soldier  dislike  it. 

Lucio.  I  believe  thee  ;  for  I  think  tlioii  never  wast  where 
grace  was  said.  20 

Sec.  Oent,  No  ?  a  dozen  times  at  least.  • 

Firtft  Oent.  What,  in  metre? 

Jjucio.  In  any  proportion  or  in  any  language. 

First  Oent.  I  think,  or  in  any  religion. 

Lucio.  Ay,  why  not?  Grace  is  grace,  despite  of  all  contro- 
versy :  as,  for  example,  thou  thyself  art  a  wicked  <rill&in, 
despite  of  all  grace. 

Firit  Oent.  Well,  tliere  went  but  a  pair  of  shears  be- 
tween us.' 

Lucio.  I  grant ;  as  there  may  between  the  lists  and  the 
velvet.     Thou  art  the  list.  31 

Fird  Oent.  And  thou  the  velvet  :  thou  art  good  velvet ; 
thou'rt  a  three-piled  piece,  I  warrant  thee  :  I  had  as  lief  be ' 
a  list  of  an  English  keraey  as  bo  piled,  as  thou  art  piled, 
for  a  French  velvet.     Do  I  speak  feelingly  now  ? 

Lucio.  I  think  thou  dost ;  and,  indeed,  with  most  painful 
feeling  of  thy  speech  :  I  will,  out  of  tliine  own  confession, 
learn  to  begin  thy  health  ;  but,  whilst  I  live,  forget  to 
drink  after  thee.  40 

Fird  Oent.  I  think  I  have  done  myself  wrong,  have  I 
not? 

Sec.  Oent.  Yes,  that  thou  hast,  whether  thou  art  tainted 
or  free. 

Lucio.  Behold,  behold,  where  Madam  Mitigation  comes  ! 
I  have  purchased  as  many  diseases  under  her  roof  as  come 
to— 

Sec.  Oent.  To  what,  I  pray  ? 

Lucio.  Judge. 

Sec.  Oent.  To  three  thousand  dolours  a  year.  50 

First  Oent.  Ay,  and  more. 

Lucio.  A  French  crown  more. 

First  Oent.  Thou  art  always  figuring  diseases  in  mo ; 
but  thou  art  full  of  error  ;  I  am  sound. 

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

Enter  Mistress  Overdone. 

First  Oent.  How  now  I  which  of  your  hips  has  the  most 
profound  sciatica  ? 

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


fiGKETSU.]        MEASURE  FOB  MEASURE.  186 

Sec,  GerU,  Who's  that,  I  pray  thee  ? 

Mrs,  Ov.  Marry,  sir,  that's  Claudlo,  Signior  Claudio. 

Mrt(  Gent,  Claadio  to  prison  ?  'tis  not  so. 

Mrs,  Ov,  Nay,  but  I  know  'tis  so  :  I  saw  him  arrested, 
saw  him  carried  away ;  and,  which  is  more,  within  these 
three  days  his  h*»ad  to  be  chopped  off.  70 

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

Mrs.  Od.  I  am  too  sure  of  it :  and  it  is  for  getting  Madam 
Jnlietta  with  child. 

Lttcio.  Believe  me,  this  may  be :  he  promised  to  meet 
me  two  hours  since,  and  he  was  ever  precise  in  promise- 
keeping. 

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

I\rst  Gent.  But,  most  of  all,  agreeing  with  the  proclama- 
tion. 81 

Ludo,  Away  I  let's  go  learn  the  truth  of  it. 

(Exeunt  Lucio  and  Gentlemen, 

Mrs,  Oc'Thus,  what  with  the  war,  what  with  the  sweat, 
what  with  the  gallows  and  what  with  poverty,  I  am  custom- 
shrunk. 

Enter  Pompey. 

How  now  !  what's  the  news  with  you  ? 

Pom,  Yonder  man  is  carried  to  prison. 

Mrs,  Ov.  Well ;  what  has  he  done  7 

Pom,  A  woman. 

Mrs.  Ov,  But  what's  his  offence  ?  90 

Pom,  Groping  for  trouts  in  a  peculiar  river. 

Jfrs.  Ov,  What,  is  there  a  maid  with  cluld  by  him? 

Pom,  No,  but  there's  a  woman  with  maid  by  him.  You 
have  not  heard  of  the  proclamation,  have  you  ? 

Mrs.  Od.  Wliat  proclamation,  man? 

Pom,  All  houses  in  the  suburbs  of  Vienna  must  be 
plucked  down.  100 

Mrs.  Ov.  And  what  shall  become  of  those  in  the  city  ? 

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

Mrs.  Ov.  But  shall  all  our  houses  of  resort  in  the  suburbs 
be  priled  down? 

Pom,  To  the  ground,  mistress. 

Mrs.  Ov.  Wliy,  here's  a  change  indeed  in  the  common- 
wealth I  Wliat  shall  become  of  me? 

Pom.  Come  ;  fear  not  you  :  good  counsellors  lack  no  cli- 
ents :  though  you  change  your  place,  you  need  not  change 
your  trade  ;  I'll  bo  your  tapster  still.     Courage  I  there  will 


186  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  •  [ACT  L 

be  pitj  taken  on  you :  joxl  that  have  worn  your  eyes  almost  out 

in  the  service,  you  will  be  considered. 
Mrs.  Or,  What's  to  do  here,  Thomas  tapster?  let's  withdraw. 
Pom.  Here  comes  Signior  Claudio,  led  by  the  provost  to 

prison  ;  and  there's  Madam  Juliet.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  Provost,  Claudio,  Juliet,,  and  Officers. 

Claud.  Fellow,  whv  dost  thou  show  me  thus  to  the  world  ? 
Bear  me  to  prison,  where  I  am  committed.  121 

ProD.  I  do  it  not  in  evil  disposition, 
But  from  Lord  Angelo  by  special  charge. 

Claud,  Thus  can  the  demigod  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. 

Be-enter  Lucio  and  two  Gentlemen. 

Lueio.  Why,  how  now,  Claudio!  whence  comes  this  re- 
straint ? 

Claud.  From  too  much  liberty,  my  Lucio,  liberty : 
As  surfeit  is  the 'father  of  much  fast,  180 

So  every  scope  by  the  immoderate  use 
Turns  to  restraint.     Our  natures  do  pursue. 
Like  rats  tliat  ravin  down  their  proper  bane, 
A  thirsty  evil ;  and  when  we  drink  we  die. 

Lucio.  If  I  could  speak  so  wisely  under  an  arrest,  I  would 
send  for  certain  of  my  creditors  :  and  yet,  Vo  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.        140 

Lucio.  What,  is't  murder  ? 

Claud.  No. 

Lucio.  Lechery? 

Claud.  Call  it  so. 

Prov.  Away,  sir  I  you  must  go. 

Claud.  One  word,  good  friend.     Lucio,  a  word  with  you. 

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  :  150 

You  know  the  lady  ;  she  is  fast  my  wife, 
Save  that  we  do  the  denunciation  lack 
Of  outward  order  :  this  we  cnme  not  to 
Only  for  propagation  of  a  dower 
Remaining  in  the  coffer  of  her  friends. 
From  whom  we  thought  it  meet  to  hide  our  love 
Till  time  had  made  them  for  us.    But  it  chances 


BCENE  m.]       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  187 

Tlie  stealth  of  onr  most  mutual  entertainment 
With  character  too  gross  is  writ  on  Juliet. 

Lucio.  With  child,  perhaps  ? 

Claud.  Unhappily,  even  so.        160 

And  flie  new  deputy  now  for  the  duke— 
Whether  it  be  the  fault  and  fi^limpse  of  newne.S8, 
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  170 

Which  have,  like  unscour'd  armour,  hung  by  the  wall 
'  So  long  that  nineteen  zodiacs  have  gone  round 
And  none  of  them  been  worn  ;  and,  for  a  name. 
Now  puts  the  drowsy  and  neglected  act 
Freshly  on  me .  'tis  surely  for  a  name. 

Lucw,  I  warrant  it  is  :  and  thy  head  stands  so  tickle  on 
thy  shoulders  that  a  milkmaid,  if  she  be  in  love,  may  sigh 
it  off.     Send  after  the  duke  and  appeal  to  him. 

Claud.  I  have  done  so,  but  he's  not  to  be  found.  180 

I  prithee,  Lucio,  do  me  this  kind  service  : 
This  day  my  sister  should  tlie  cloister  enter 
And  there  receive  her  approbation  : 
Acquaint  her  with  the  danger  of  my  state  : 
Implore  her,  in  my  voice,  that  she  make  friends 
To  the  strict  deputy  ;  bid  herself  assay  him  : 
I  have  great  hope  in  that ;  for  in  her  youth 
There  is  a  prone  and  speechless  dialect, 
Such  as  move  men  ;  b^ide,  she  hath  prosperous  art 
When  she  will  play  with  reason  and  discourse,  190 

And  well  she  can  persuade. 

Lucio.  I  pray  she  may  ;  as  well  for  the  encouragement  of 
the  like,  which  else  would  stand  under  grievous  imposition, 
as  for  the  enjoying  of  thy  life,  who  I  would  be  sorry 
should  be  thus  foolishly  lo^t  at  a  game  o  f  t:ck-tack.  Ill  to  her. 

Claud.  I  thank  you,  good  friend  Lucio. 

Lucio.  Within  two  hours. 

Claud.  Come,  officer,  away  I   [Exeunt. 

Scene  III.    A  mona>atery. 

Enter  Duke  and  Friar  Thomas. 

fDuke.  No,  holy  father  ;  throw  away  that  thought ; 
Believe  not  that  the  dribbling  dart  of  love 


« 


• 


188  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  [act  r. 

Can  pierce  a  complete  bosom.     Wlijr  I  desire  tbee 
To  give  me  secret  harbour,  hath  a  purpose 
More  grave  and  wrinkled  than  the  aims  and  ends 
Of  burning  youth. 

Fn.  T,  May  your  grate  speak  of  it : 

Duke.  My  he]y  sir,  none  b^ter  knows  than  yoa 
How  I  have  ever  loved  the  life  removed 
And  held  in  idle  price  to  haunt  assemblies 
Where  youth,  and  cost,  and  witless  bravery  keeps.  10 

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  travelled  to  Poland ; 
For  so  I  have  strew'd  it  in  the  common  ear. 
And  so  it  is  received.     Now,  pious  sir, 
Tou  will  demand  of  me  why  I  do  this? 

Fri.  T,  Gladly,  my  lord. 

Duke.  We  have  strict  statutes  and  most  biting  laws. 
The  needful  bits  and  curbs  to  headstrong  weeds,  20 

Which  for  this  nineteen  years  we  have  let  slip  ; 
Even  like  an  o'erg^wn  lion  in  a  cave, 
That  goes  not  out  to  prey.     Now,  as  fond  fathers. 
Having  bound  up  the  threatening  twigs  of  birch, 
Only  to  stick  it  in  tlieir  children's  sight 
For  terror,  not  to  use,  in  time  the  rod 
Becomes  more  mock'd  than  fear'd  ;  so  our  decrees. 
Dead  to  infliction,  to  themselves  are  dead ; 
And  liberty  plucks  justice  by  the  nose ; 
The  baby  beats  the  nurse,  and  quit«  athwart  80 

Goes  all  decorum. 

Fri.  T,  It  rested  in  your  grace 

To  unloose  this  tied-up  justice  when  you  pleased : 
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  fatlier, 
I  have  on  Angelo  im|X)sed  the  office  ;  40 

Who  may,  in  the  ambush  of  ray  name,  strike  home, 
f  And  yet  my  nature  never  in  the  sight 
To  do  it  slander.     And  to  behold  his  sway, 
I  will,  as  'twere  a  brother  of  your  order, 
Visit  both  prince  and  people  :  therefore,  I  prithee, 
Supply  me  with  the  habit  and  instruct  me 


BCBKKIY.]       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  188 

How  I  maj  fonnally  in  person  bear  me 

Like  a  true  friar.     More  reasons  for  this  action 

At  our  more  leisure  sliali  I  render  you.; 

Only,  this  one  :  Lord  Angelo  is  precise ;  SO 

Stands  at  a  guard  with  envy  ;  scarce  confesses 

That  his  bl(X)d  flows,  or  that  his  appetite 

Is  more  to  bread  than  stone  :  hence  sliall  we  see, 

If  power  change  purpose,  what  oar  seemers  be.      [Exeunt. 

Scene  IV.    A  nunnery. 

Enter  Isabella  and  Francisca. 

1Mb.  And  have  vou  nuns  no  farther  privileges  ? 

Fran.  Are  not  these  large  enough  ? 

Isab.  Tes,  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  I    Peace  be  in  this  place  I 

Inab.  Who's  that  which  calls? 

Fran.  It  is  a  man's  voice.     Gentle  Isabella, 
Turn  you  the  key,  and  know  his  business  of  him  ; 
You  may,  I  may  not ;  you  are  yet  unsworn. 
When  you  have  vow'd,  you  must  not  speak  with  men       10 
But  in  the  presence  of  the  prioress : 
Then,  if  you  speak,  you  must  not  show  your  face. 
Or,  if  you  show  vour  face,  you  must  not  speak. 
He  calls  again  ;  i  pray  you,  answer  hbn.  [ExU. 

Iwb.  Peace  and  prosperity  !    Who  is't  that  calls  7 

Enter  Lucio. 

Lucio,  Hail,  virgin,  if  you  be,  as  those  cheek  roaes 
Proclaim  you  are  no  less  I    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?  SK> 

Isdb.  Why  "  her  unhappy  brother  "  ?  let  me  aak. 
The  rather  for  I  now  most  make  you  know 
I  am  that  Isabella  and  his  sister. 

Lucio.  Qentle  and  fair,  your  brother  kindly  greets  you  : 
Kot  to  be  weary  with  you,  he's  in  prison. 

I»ab.  Woe  me !  for  what  ? 

Lueio.  For  that  which,  if  myself  might  be  his  judge. 
He  should  receive  his  punishment  in  thanks : 
He  hath  got  his  friend  with  child. 

lidb.  Sir,  make  me  not  your  story. 

Lucio.  It  is  true.  dO 

I  would  not — though  'Us  my  familiar  sin 


190  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  [act  L 

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

Isab.  You  do  blaspheme  the  good  in  mocking  me. 

Lucio,  Do  not  believe  it.     Fewness  and  truth,  'tis  thus : 
Tour  brother  and  his  lover  have  embraced  :  40 

As  those  that  feed  grow  full,  as  blossoming  time 
That  from  the  seedness  the  bare  fallow  bring.s 
To  teeming  foison  even  so  her  plenteous  womb 
Expresseth  his  full  tilth  and  husbandry'.  , 

Isab.  Some  one  with  child  by  him  ?    My  cousin  Juliet f 

LiLcio.  Is  she  your  cousin  f 

Isab.  Adoptedly  ;  as  scliool-maids  change  their  names 
By  vain  though  apt  affection.  • 

Lucio,  She  it  is. 

Isab.  O,  let  him  marry  her. 

Lucio.  This  is  the  point. 

The  duke  is  very  strangely  gone  from  hence ;  60 

Bore  many  gentlemen,  myself  being  one. 
In  hand  and  hope  of  action  :  but  we  do  learn 
By  those  that  know  the  very  ner^'e8  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-brotli ;  one  who  never  feels 
The  wanton  stings  and  motions  of  the  sense. 
But  doth  rebate  and  blunt  his  natural  edge  00 

With  profits  of  the  mind,  study  and  fast. 
He— to  give  fear  to  use  and  lilirty, 
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  soft(>n  Angelo :  and  that's  my  pith  of  business  70 

'Twixt  you  and  your  poor  brother. 

Isab.  Doth  he  so  seek  his  life? 

Lucio.  Has  censured  him 

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

Isab.  Alas  I  what  poor  ability's  in  me 


8CSKEI.]         MEASURE  FOR  MEASURR  191 

To  do  him  good? 

Lueio.  Assay  the  power  you  have. 

Jsab.  My  power  ?    Alaa,  I  doubt — 

Ltt4yio,  Our  doubts  are  traitors 

And  make  us  lose  the  good  we  oft  might  win 
By  fearing  to  attempt.     Go  to  Lord-Angelo, 
And  let  lum  learn  to  know,  when  maidens  sue,  80 

Men  give  like  gods ;  but  when  they  weep  and  kneel. 
All  their  petitions  are  as  freely  theirs 
As  they  themselves  would  owe  them. 

Isab.  I'll  see  what  I  can  do. 

LtiHo,  But  speedily. 

Mb,  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 
ril  send  him  certain  word  of  my  success. 

Lueio,  I  take  my  leave  of  you. 

Jtab.  Good  sir,  adieu.  90 

^  lExeurU, 

ACT  IL 

ScEKB  I.    A  hdUin  Anoelo'b  hauM, 

Enter  Ano£LO»  Escalub,  and  a  Justice,  Provost,  Officers, 
and  otfier  Attendants,  behind. 

Ang.  We  must  not  make  a  scarecrow  of  the  law. 
Setting  it  up  to  fear  tlie  birds  of  prey, 
And  let  it  keep  one  shape,  till  custom  make  it 
Their  perch  and  not  their  terror. 

Escal.  Ay,  but  yet 

Let  us  be  keen,  and  rather  cut  a  little, 
Than  fall,  and  bruise  to  death.     Alas,  this  gentleman. 
Whom  I  would  save,  had  a  most  noble  father  I 
I>et  but  your  honour  know. 
Whom  I  l)elieve  to  bo  most  strait  in  virtue. 
That,  in  the  working  of  your  own  affections,  10 

Had  time  cohered  with  place,  or  place  with  wishing. 
Or  that  of  the  resolute  acting  of  your  blood 
Could  have  attain'd  the  effect  of  your  own  purpose. 
Whether  you  had  not  sometime  in  your  life 
Err'd  in  this  point  which  now  you  censure  liim. 
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,  < 


li»  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  [act  n. 

Maj  in  the  sworn  twelve  have  a  tliief  or  two  20 

Guiltier  than  him  they  try.     What's  open  made  to  justice, 

f  That  justice  seizes  :  what  know  the  laws 

That  thieves  do  pass  on  thieves  ?    'Tis  very  pregnant. 

The  jewel  that  we  find,  we  stoop  and  tak't 

Be€ause  we  see  it  ;  but  what  we  do  not  see 

We  tread  upon,  and  never  think  of  it. 

You  may  not  so  extenuate  his  offence 

For  I  have  had  such  faults  ;  but  rather  tell  me. 

When  I,  that  censure  him,  do  so  offend. 

Let  mine  own  judgement  pattern  out  my  death,' 

■And  nothing  come  in  paitial.     Sir,  he  must  die. 

Escal,  Be  it  as  your  wisdom  will. 

Ang,  Where  is  the  provost  ? 

Proio.  Here,  if  it  like  yonr  honour. 

A7i{f,  See  that  Claudio 

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

Escal.  [Aside]  Well,  heaven  forgive  him  !  and  forgive  us 
all! 
Some  rise  by  sin,  and  some  by  virtue  fall : 
f  Some  run  from  brakes  of  vice,  and  answer  none  : 
And  some  condemned,  for  a  fault  alone.  40 

Enter  Elbow,  and  Officers  tcitJi  Froth  and  Pompky. 

EU),  Come,  bring  them  away  :  if  these  be  good  people  in 
a  commonweal  that  do  nothinc;  but  use  their  abuses  in  com- 
mon houses,  I  know  no  law  :  bring  them  away. 

Ang,  How  now,  sir  I  What's  your  name  ?  and  what's 
the  matter? 

Elb,  If  it  please  your  honour,  I  am  the  poor  duke's  con- 
stable, and  my  name  is  Elbow  :  I  do  lean  upon  justice,  sir, 
and  do  bring  in  here  before  your  good  honour  two  notorious 
benefactors.  50 

Ang.  Benefactors?  M''ell ;  what  benefactors  are  they? 
are  they  not  malefactors? 

Elb.  If  it  please  your  honour,  I  know  not  well  what  they 
are :  but  precise  villains  they  are,  that  1  «m  sure  of  ;  and 
void  of  all  profanation  in  the  world  that  good  Christians 
ouglit  to  have. 

EsccU.  This  comes  off  well  ;  here's  a  wise  officer. 

Ang.  Go  to  :  what  quality  are  they  of?  Elbow  is  your 
name  ?  why  dost  thou  not  speak.  Elbow  ?  60 

Pom.  He  cannot,  sir  ;  he's  out  at  elbow. 

Ang.  What  are  you,  sir  ? 

Elb.  He,  sir!  a  tapster,  sir;  parcel-bawd;  one  that  serrai 


■CSSTEI.]         MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  108 

a  bad  woman ;  whose  bouse,  sir,  wajB,  as  tliej  say,  plucked 
down  in  the  suburbs  ;  and  now  she  professes  a  hot-house, 
which,  I  think,  is  a  very  ill  house  too.  -^ 

Eseal,  How  know  yoa  that  ? 

Elb.  My  wife,  sir,  whom  I  detest  before  heaven  and  your 
honour, —  70 

Eseal.  How?  thy  wife? 

EG}.  Aj,  sir;  whom,  I  thank  heaven,  is  an  honest 
woman, — 

JStcal.  Dost  thou  detest  her  therefore  ? 

Bib.  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. 

JBtcal.  How  dost  thou  know  that,  constable  ? 

EUt,  Marry,  sir,  by  my  wife;  who,  if  she  had  been  a 
woman  cardinally  given,  might  have  been  accused  in  forni- 
cation, adultery,  and  all  uncleanliness  there. 

E»caL  By  the  woman's  means  ? 

Elb.  Ay,  sir,  by  Mistress  Overdone's  means :  but  a&  she 
spit  in  his  face,  so  she  defied  him. 

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

Elb.  Prove  it  before  those  varlets  here,  thou  honourable 
man ;  prove  it. 

Eseal.  Do  you  hear  how  he  misplaces  ?  90 

Pom.  Sir,  she  came  in  great  with  child;  and  longing, 
saving  your  honour's  reverence,  for  stewed  prunes  :  sir,  we 
had  but  two  in  the  house,  which  at  that  very  distant  time 
stood,  as  it  were,  in  a  fruit-dish,  a  dish  of  some  three-pence  ; 
your  honours  have  seen  such  dishes ;  they  are  not  China 
dishes,  but  very  good  dishes, — 

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

Pom.  No,  indeed,  sir,  not  of  a  pin ;  you  are  therein  in  the 
right :  but  to  the  point.  As  I  say,  this  Mistress  Elbow,  \^- 
ing,  as  I  say,  with  child,  and  being  great- bellied,  and  long- 
ing, as  I  aaXd,  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  1  say,  paying  for  them  very  hon- 
estly ;  for,  as  you  know,  Master  Froth,  I  could  not  give  you 
three-pence  again. 

Froth.  No,  indeed. 

Pom.  Very  well ;  you  being  then,  if  you  be  remembered, 
cracking  the  stones  of  the  foresaid  prunes, —  111 

Froth.  Ay,  so  I  did  indeed. 

Pom,  Why,  very  well ;  I  telling  you  then,  if  you  be  re- 
membered, 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, — 

SHAK.   I. — 7 


194  MEASURE  FOR  MEASUBK  [actii. 

Froth.  All  this  is  true. 

Pom.  Why,  very  well,  thcn,^ 

Escal.  Come,  jou  are  a  tedious  fool :  to  the  purpose. 
What  was  done  to  EUbow's  wife,  that  he  hath  cause  to  com- 
plain of?    Come  me  to  what  was  done  to  her. 

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

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

Pom.  Sir,  hut  you  shall  come  to  it,  by  your  honour's  leave. 
And,  1  beseech  you,  look  into  Master  Froth  here,  sir  ;  a  mnn 
of  fourscore  pound  a  year  ;  whose  father  died  at  Hallowmas  : 
was't  not  at  Hallowmas,  Master  Froth  ¥ 

Froth.  AU-hallond  evo.  130 

Pom.  Why,  very  well ;  I  hope  here  be  truths.  He,  sir, 
sitting,  as  I  say,  in  a  lower  chair,  sir  ;  'twas  in  the  Buncli  f>f 
Grapes,  where  indeed  you  have  a  delight  to  sit,  have  yon  noi  ? 

Froth.  I  have  so ;  because  it  is  an  open  room  aud  {;ooii 
for  winter. 

Pom.  Wliy,  very  well,  then  ;  I  hope  here  be  truths. 

Ang.  Tliis  will  last  out  a  night  in  Russia, 
When  nights  are  longest  there  :  I'll  take  my  leave,  140 

And  leave  you  to  the  hearing  of  the  cause  ; 
Hoping  you'll  find  good  cause  to  whip  them  all. 

Ewal.  I  think  no  less.     Good  morrow  to  your  lordship. 

[ExitAnytlo. 
Now,  sir,  c  •••»  on  :  what  was  done  to  Elbow  s  wife,  oiico 
more? 

Pom,  Once,  sir?  there  was  nothing  done  to  her  once. 

EU).  I  beseech  you,  sir,  ask  him  what  this  man  did  to  my  ji 

wife. 

Pom.  I  beseech  your  honour,  ask  me.  150  ] 

Escal,  Well,  sir  ;  what  diil  this  gentleman  to  her?  I 

Pom.  I  beseech  you,  sir,  look  in  this  gentlemaofs  face.  j 

Qood  Master  Froth,  look  upon  his  honour ;  'tis  for  a  good  j 

purpose.     Doth  your  honour  mark  his  face  ?  i 

JKetcU.  Ay,  sir,  very  well.  i 

Pom.  Nay,  I  beseech  you,  mark  It  well.  i 

Escal.  Well,  I  do  so.  j 

Pom.  Doth  your  honour  see  any  harm  in  his  face.       160  jl 

Eseal.  Why,  no.  H 

Pom,  I'll  be  supposed  upon  a  book,  his  face  is  the  worst  ^ 

thing  about  him.  Good,  then ;  if  his  face  be  the  worst 
thing  about  him,  how  could  Master  Froth  do  the  constable's 
wife  any  harm  ?    I  would  know  that  of  your  honour. 

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

Mb.  First,  an  it  like  you,  the  house  is  a  respected  house  ; 
next,  this  is  a  respected  fellow ;  and  his  mistress  is  a  re- 
spected woman. 


I 


J 


8CEHEL]         MEASURE  FOB  MEASURE.  IdS 

Pom.  By  this  band,  sir,  bis  wife  Is  a  mote  respected  per- 
son  than  any  of  as  alL 

JSlb.  Yarlet,  tkoa  iiest ;  tboa  liest,  wicked  Tarlet !  the 
time  is  yet  to  oome  that  she  was  erer  respected  with  man, 
woman,  or  child. 

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

JS^eal.  Which  is  the  wiser  here  ?  Justice  or  Iniqaltr  ? 
Is  this  true?  181 

Elb,  O  thon  caitiff!  O  thon  rariet  I  O  tboa  wicked 
Hannibal !  I  respected  with  her  before  I  was  married  to 
her  I  If  ever  I  was  respected  with  her«  or  she  with  me,  let 
Bot  your  worship  thhik  me  the  poor  dake*s  officer.  Prove 
this,  thou  wicked  Hannibal,  or  I'll  have  mine  action  of  bat 
tery  on  thee. 

iS$eal.  If  he  took  yon  a  box  o'  the  ear,  yon  might  have 
▼oar  action  of  slander  too.  100 

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

Bscal.  Truly,  officer,  because  he  hath  some  offences  in 
him  that  thou  wouldst  discover  if  thou  eouldst,  let  him  con- 
tinue in  his  course's  till  thou  knowest  what  they  are. 

JSlb.  Marry.  I  thank  your  worship  for  it.  Thou  seest, 
tboa  wicked  varlet,  now,  what's  come  upon  tl»<>e  :  thou  art  to 
<x>ntinue  now,  thou  varlet ;  thou  art  to  con<     jsl  .  201 

EmoI.   Where  were  you  bom,  friend  ? 

Proth.  Here  in  Vienna,  sir.  • 

JS^eal.  Are  you  of  fourscore  pounds  a  yeart 

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

EkoI.  So.  What  trade  are  you  of,  sir  ? 

Pom.  A  tapster ;  a  poor  widow's  tapster. 

S»cal.  Your  mistress'  name  ? 

Pom.  Mistress  Overdone.  AlO 

E9cal.  Have  she  had  any  more  than  one  husband  ? 

Pom.  Nine,  sir ;  Overdone  by  the  last. 

Eseal.  Nine!  Come  hither  to  me, Master  Froth.  Master 
Froth,  I  would  not  have  you  acquainted  with  tapsters  :  they 
will  draw  you.  Master  Froth,  and  you  will  hang  them.  Get 
you  gone,  and  let  me  hear  no  more  of  you. 

Froth.  I  thank  your  worship.  For  mine  own  part  I  never 
come  into  any  room  in  a  taphouse,  but  I  am  drawn  in.     230 

Sseal.  Well,  no  more  of  it.  Master  Froth:  farewell. 
[BiU  Froih.  ]  Come  you  hither  to  me.  Master  tapster. 
What's  your  name.  Master  tapster  ? 

Pan^.  Pompey. 

E&oal,  What  else  t 
Pam,  3um,  sir. 


196  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  [act  ii. 

E8eal,  Troth,  and  your  bum  is  the  greatest  thini^  about  7011 ; 
so  that  in  the  beastliest  sense  you  are  Pompey  the  Great. 
Pomppy,  you  are  partly  a  bawd,  Pompey,  howsoever  you 
colour  it  in  being  a  tapster,  are  you  not  ?  come,  tell  me  true  : 
it  shall  be  the  better  for  you. 

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

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

Pom,  If  the  law  would  allow  it,  sir. 

Escdl,  But  the  law  will  not  allow  it,  Pompey ;  nor  it  shall 
not  be  allowed  in  Vienna.  241 

Pom,  Does  your  worship  mean  to  geld  and  splay  all  the 
youth  of  the  city  ? 

EsccU.  No,  Pompey. 

Pom,  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. 

Ew^.  There  are  pretty  orderii  beginning,  I  can  tell  you  : 
it  is  but  heading  and  hanging.  250 

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

Escal,  Thank  you,  good  Pompey  ;  and,  in  requital  of  your 
prophecy,  bark  you  :  1  advise  you,  let  me  not  find  you  bo- 
fore  me  again  upon  any  complaint  whatsoever ;  no,  not  for 
dwelling  where  you  do  :  if  1  do,  Pompey,  I  shall  beat  you 
to  your  tent,  and  prove  a  shrewd  Cssar  to  you  ;  in  plain 
dealing,  Pompey,  I  shall  have  you  whipt :  so,  for  this  time, 
Pompey,  fare  you  well. 

Pom.  I  thank  your  worship  for  your  cood  counsel : 
r^Mc^]  but  I  shall  follow  it  as  the  tlesh  and  fortune  shall 
better  determine. 

Whip  me?    No,  no  ;  let  carman  whip  his  jade  : 
The  valiant  heart  is  not  whipt  out  of  his  trade.  [Exit.     270 

Escal.  Come  hither  to  me.  Master  Elbow ;  come  hither. 
Master  constable.  How  long  have  you  been  in  this  place  of 
constable  ? 

Elh.  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  ? 

E^.  And  a  half,  sir. 

Eacal.  Alas,  it  hath  been  great  pains  to  you.  Tliey  do 
you  wrong  to  put  you  so  oft  upon't :  are  there  not  men  in 
your  ward  sufficient  to  serve  it  ? 


8CENE 11.]  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  197 

Elb.  Faith,  sir,  few  of  any  Avit  in  such  matters  :  as  they 
are  chosen,  they  are  glad  to  choose  rae  for  them  ;  I  do  it  for 
some  piece  of  money,  and  ffy  through  with  all. 

E^cal.  Look  you  bring  mo  in  the  names  of  some  six  or 
seven,  the  most  sufficient  of  your  parish. 

JSZ&.  To  your  worship's  house,  sir? 

Escal,  To  my  house.     Fare  you  well.  [Exit  EUxno. 

What's  o'clock,  think  you  ?  280 

Ju9t.  Eleven,  sir. 

Eiccd.  I  pray  you  home  to  dinner  with  me. 

Just.  I  humbly  thank  you. 

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

JiL9t.  Lord  Angelo  is  severe. 

Eical.  It  is  but  needful : 

Mercy  is  not  itself,  that  oft  looks  so  ; 
Pardon  is  still  the  nurse  of  second  woe : 
But  yet, — poor  Claudio  I    There  is  no  remedy. 
Come,  sir.  [Exeunt,        290 

ScENB  II.    Another  room  in  the  same. 

Enter  Provost  and  a  Servant. 

8erv.  He's  hearing  of  a  cause  ;  he  will  come  straight : 
I'll  tell  him  of  you. 
Prov,  Pray  you,  do.  [Exit  Sereant, 

I'll  know 
His  pleasure  ;  may  be  he  will  relent.     Alas, 
He  luith  but  as  offended  in  a  dream  I 
All  sects,  all  ages  smack  of  this  vice  ;  and  he 
To  die  for  't  I 

JS!n^  Anoklo. 

Ang.  Now,  what's  the  matter,  provost  ? 

Prov,  Is  it  your  will  Claudio  shall  die  to-morrow? 

Ang,  Did  not  I  tell  thee  yea  ?  hadst  thou  not  order? 
Wliy  dost  thou  ask  again  ? 

Prov.  Lest  I  might  be  too  rash  : 

Under  your  good  correction,  I  have  seen,  10 

When,  after  execution,  judgement  haih 
Repented  o'er  his  doom. 

Ang.  Go  to  ;  let  that  be  mine  : 

Do  you  your  office,  or  give  up  your  placQ, 
And  you  shall  well  be  spared. 

Prov.  I  crave  your  honour's  pardon. 

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


198  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  |actii. 

Ang.  Dispose  of  lier 

To  some  more  fitter  place,  and  that  with  speed. 

Be-cnter  Servant. 

8erv,  Here  is  the  sister  of  the  man  condemn'd 
Desires  access  to  you. 

Aug,  Hath  he  a  sister? 

Prov.  Ay,  my  good  lord  ;  a  very  virtuous  maid^  20 

And  to  l>e  shortly  of  a  sisterhood. 
If  not  already. 

Ang.  Well,  let  her  be  admitted.         [ExU  Servant, 

See  vou  the  fornicatress  he  removed  : 
Let  her  have  needful,  but  not  lavish,  means ; 
There  shall  be  order  for  't. 

JEnter  Isabella  and  Lncio. 

Pr<n>,  God  save  your  honour  I 

Ang.  Stay  a  little  while.     [To  Isab.]   You're  welcome  : 
what's  your  will  ? 

laab.  I  am  a  woeful  suitor  to  your  honour. 
Please  but  your  honour  hear  me. 

Ang.  Well ;  what's  your  suit  ? 

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

Afig.  Well ;  the  matter  ? 

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

Prav.        [Aside]  Heaven  give  theo  moving  graces  I 

Ang.  Condemn  the  fault,  and  not  the  actor  of  it  ? 
Why,  every  fault 's  condemn'd  ere  it  be  done  : 
Mine  were  the  very  cipher  of  a  function. 
To  fine  the  faults  whose  fine  stands  in  record,  40 

And  let  go  by  the  actor. 

Isab.  O  just  but  severe  law  I 

I  had  a  brother,  then.     Heaven  keep  your  honour  ! 

Lueio.  [Aside  to  Isab.]  Give  't  not  o'er  so  :  to  him  again, 
entreat  him ; 
Kneel  down  before  him,  hang  upon  his  gown  : 
You  are  too  cold  :  if  yqu  should  need  a  pin. 
You  could  not  with  more  tame  a  tongue  desire  it : 
To  him,  I  say  I 

Isab.  Must  he  needs  die  ? 

Ang.  Maiden,  no  remedy. 


BCBNSn.]        MEASURE  FOB  MEASUBE.  199 

Iwib.  Tes  ;  I  do  think  that  yoa  might  pardon  him. 
And  neither  heayen  nor  man  grieve  at  the  mercy. 

Ang,  I  will  not  do 't.  50 

Isab.  But  can  von,  if  yoa  would? 

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

laab.  But  might  you  do  't,  and  do  the  world  no  wrong. 
If  80  your  heart  were  touched  with  that  remorse 
As  mine  is  to  him  ? 

Ang,  He's  sentenced  ;  'tis  too  late. 

Ludo.  [Aiide  to  /m&.]  You  are  too  cold. 

Isab.  Too  late  ?  why,  no  ;  I,  that  do  speak  a  word. 
May  call  it  back  again.     Well,  believe  this, 
No  ceremony  that  to  great  ones  'longs. 
Not  the  king's  crown,  nor  the  deputed  sword,  >  00 

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  vou  and  you  as  he, 
You  would  have  slipt  like  him ;  bat  he,  like  yoa. 
Would  not  have  been  so  stem. 

Ang,  Pray  you,  be  gone. 

Isoi.  I  would  to  heaven  I  had  your  xx>tency. 
And  you  were  Isabel !  should  it  then  be  thus  t 
No  ;  I  would  tell  what  'twere  to  be  a  Judge, 
And  what  a  prisoner. 

Lucio.  [Aside  to  TsdbJ]  Ay,  touch  him  ;   there's  the  vein. 

Ang,  Your  brother  is  a  forfeit  of  the  law,  71 

And  you  but  waste  your  words. 

I9ab.  Alas,  alas ! 

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

Ang,  Be  you  content,  fair  maid ; 

It  is  the  law,  not  I  condemn  your  brother  :  80 

Were  he  my  kinsman,  brother,  or  my  son, 
It  should  be  thus  with  him  :  he  must  die  to-morrow. 

hnb.  To-morrow  !    O,  that's  sudden  !    Spare  him,  spare 
him ! 
He's  not  prepared  for  death.     Even  for  our  kitchens 
We  kill  the  fowl  of  season  :  sliall  we  serve  heaven 
With  less  respect  than  we  do  minister 
To  our  gross  selves  ?    Good,  good  my  lord,  bethink  yoa ; 
Who  is  it  that  hath  died  for  this  offence  ? 


200  MKABURE  FOR  MEASURE.  [act  ii 

There's  many  have  committed  it. 

Lueio.  [Ande  to  Isab.]  Ay,  well  BsAd. 

Ang,  The  law  hath  not  beeu  dead,  though  it  hath  slept: 
Those  many  had  not  dared  to  do  that  evil,  01 

If  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,  that  shows  what  future  evils. 
Either  new,  or  by  remissness  new-conceived. 
And  so  in  progress  to  be  hatch'd  and  bom. 
Are  now  to  have  no  successive  degrees, 
But,  ere  they  live,  to  end. 

liab.  Yet  show  some  pity. 

Ang.  I  show  it  most  of  all  when  I  show  justice  ;  100 

For  then  I  pity  those  I  do  not  know, 
Wliich  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. 

I9ab.  So  you  must  be  the  first  that  gives  this  sentence. 
And  he,  that  suffers.     O,  it  is  excellent 
To  have  a  giant's  strength  ;  but  it  is  tyrannous 
To  use  it  like  a  ^ant. 

Lucio,  [Aside  to  hahJ]  That's  well  said. 

luab.  Could  great  men  thunder  110 

As  Jove  himself  does,  Jove  would  ne'er  be  quiet, 
For  every  i>elting,  petty  officer 
Would  use  his  heaven  for  thunder  ; 
Nothing  but  thunder  1    Merciful  Heaven, 
Thou  rather  with  thy  sharp  and  sulphurous  bolt 
Split'st  the  unwedgeable  and  gnarled  oak 
Than  the  soft  myrtle  :  but  man,  proud  man, 
Drest  in  a  little  brief  authority. 
Most  ignorant  of  what  he's  most  assured, 
His  glassy  essence,  like  an  angry  ape,  120 

Plays  such  fantastic  tricks  before  high  heaven 
As  make  the  angels  weep  ;  who,  witii  our  spleens. 
Would  all  themselves  laugh  mortal. 

Lucio,  [Aside  to  Iscib,^  0,  to  him,  to  him,  wcncli !  he  will 
relent ; 
He's  coming ;  I  perceive  't. 

Pro^,  [Aside]  Pray  heaven  she  win  him  1 

Isab,  We  cannot  weigh  our  brother  with  ourself  : 
Great  men  may  jest  with  saints  ;  'tis  wit  in  them. 
But  in  the  less  foul  profanation. 

Lucio,  Thou'rt  i'  the  right,  girl ;  more  o*  that. 

liab.  That  in  the  captain's  but  a  choleric  word,  180 


scBNBm.l       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  201 

Which  in  the  soldier  is  flat  blasphemy. 

Lueio.  [AHde  to  hob  J]  Art  avised  o'  that?  more  on  't. 

Ang,  Why  do  you  put  these  sayings  upon  me? 

Isab.  Because  authority,  though  it  err  like  others. 
Hath  yet  a  kind  of  medicine  in  itself. 
That  skins  the  vice  o'  the  top.     Go  to  your  bosom  ; 
Knock  there,  and  ask  your  heart  what  it  doth  know 
That's  like  m}'  brother's  fault :  if  it  confess 
A  natural  guiltiness  such  as  is  his, 

Let  it  not  sound  a  thought  upon  your  tongue  140 

Against  my  brother's  life. 

Ang,  [Aside]  She  speaks,  and  'tis 

Such  sense,  that  my  sense  breeds  with  it.     Fare  you  well. 

Isdb.  Gentle  my  lord,  turn  back. 

Ana.  I  will  bethink  me  :  come  again  to-morrow. 

lad.  Hark  how  I'll  bribe  you  :  good  my  lord,  turn  back. 

Ana.  How  1  bribe  me  ? 

Isd.  Ay,  with  such  gifts  that  heaven  shall  share  with 
you. 

Lueio.  [AHde  to  luab.']  Tou  had  marr'd  all  else. 

Isab.  Not  with  fond  shekels  of  the  tested  gold, 
Or  stones  whose  ratea  are  either  rich  or  poor  150 

As  fancy  values  them  ;  but  with  true  prayers 
That  shall  be  up  at  heaven  and  enter  there 
Ere  sun-rise,  prayers  from  preserved  souls. 
From  fasting  maids  whose  minds  are  dedicate 
To  nothing  temporal. 

Ang.  Well ;  come  to  me  to-morrow. 

Lueio.  [Aiide  to  Isab.]  Go  to  ;  'tis  well ;  away  I 

Isab.  Heaven  keep  your  honour  safe ! 

Aug.  [Aside.]  Amen : 

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

Isab.  At  what  hour  to-morrow 

Shall  I  attend  your  lordship  ? 

Ana.  At  any  time  'fore  noon.     160 

^cA.  'Save  your  honour  I 

[Exeunt  Isabella,  Lueio,  and  Frowst. 

Ang.  From  thee,  even  from  thy  virtue  I 

What's  this,  what's  this  ?  Is  this  her  fault  or  mine  ? 
The  tempter  or  the  tempted,  who  sins  most  ? 
Hal 

Not  she  ;  nor  doth  she  tempt :  but  it  is  I 
That,  Iving  by  the  violet  in  the  sun, 
Do  as  tne  carrion  does,  not  as  the  flower, 
Corl'upt  with  virtuous  season.     Can  it  be 
That  modesty  may  mere  betray  our  sense 


302  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  [ACTn. 

Tlian  woman's  lightness?  Having  waste  ground  enough,  170 

Shall  we  desire  to  raze  the  sanctuary 

And  pitch  oar  evils  there  ?  O,  fie,  fie,  fie  ! 

Wliat  dost  thou,  or  what  art  thou,  Angelo? 

Dost  thou  desire  her  foully  for  those  things 

That  make  her  good?    O,  let  her  brother  live : 

Thieves  for  their  robbery  have  authority 

When  judges  steal  themselves.     What,  do  I  love  her 

That  I  desire  to  hear  her  speak  again, 

And  feast  upon  her  eyes?  What  is't  I  dream  on? 

0  cunning  enemy,  that,  to  catch  a  saint,  180 
With  saints  dost  bait  thy  hook  !    Most  dangerous 

Is  that  temptation  that  doth  goad  us  on 

To  sin  in  loving  virtue  :  never  tould  the  strumpet. 

With  all  her  doable  vigour,  art  and  nature. 

Once  stir  my  temper ;  but  this  virtuous  maid 

Subdues  me  quite.     Ever  till  now. 

When  men  were  fond,  I  smiled  and  wonder'd  how.     [Exit, 

ScENB  III.    A  room  in  a  prison. 

Enter,  teveraUy,  Duke  dUgvUed  as  a  friar,  and  Proyobt. 

Duke,  Hail  to  you,  provost  I  so  I  think  you  are. 

Pr(ro.  I  am  the  provost.     What's  your  will,  good  friar? 

Duke.  Bound  by  my  charity  and  my  blest  order, 

1  come  to  visit  the  afflicted  spirits 

Here  in  the  prison.     Do  me  the  common  right 
To  let  me  see  them  and  to  make  me  know 
The  nature  of  thbir  crimes,  that  I  may  minister 
To  them  accordingly. 
Pr<yo,  I  would  do  more  than  that,  if  more  were  needf  al. 

■ 

Enter  Juliet. 

l/ook,  here  comes  one  :  a  gentlewoman  of  mine,  10 

W^ho,  falling  in  the  flaws  of  her  own  youth. 

Hath  blister'd  her  report :  she  is  with  child  ; 

And  he  that  got  it,  sentenced  :  a  young  man 

More  fit  to  do  another  such  offence 

Than  die  for  this. 

Duke.  When  must  he  die  ? 

ProD.  As  I  do  think,  to-morrow. 

I  have  provided  for  you  :  stay  awhile,  [To  Juliet. 

And  you  shall  be  conducted. 

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

Jul.  I  do  ;  and  b«kr  the  shame  most  patiently.  20 

DxUce.  I'll  teach  you  how  you  shall  arraign  your,  con- 
Bcienoe, 


SCXNBIV.]       MEASURE  FOB  MEASURE.  d08 

And  try  your  penitence,  if  it  be  sound, 
Or  holk)wly  put  on. 

Jul.  Vn  gladly  learn. 

Duke.  Love  YOU  the  man  tliat  wrong'd  you? 

Jul.  Yes,  as  I  love  the  woman  that  wrong*d  him. 

Duke.  So  then  it  seems  your  most  oSencefnl  act 
Was  matnally  committed  7 

Jul.  Mutually. 

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

Jul.  'I  do  confess  it,  and  repent  it,  father. 

Duke.  'Tis  meet  so,  daughter  :  but  lest  you  do  repent,  80 
As  that  the  sin  hath  brougut  you  to  this  shame, 
Wliich  sorrow  is  always  towards  ourselves,  not  heaven. 
Showing  we  would  not  spare  heaven  as  we  love  it, 
But  as  we  stand  in  fear, — 

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

Dfike.  There  rest; 

Tour  partner,  as  I  hear,  must  die  to-morrow. 
And  I  am  going  with  instruction  to  him. 
Grace  go  with  you,  Benedicite  I  [Bitii. 

Jul.  Must  die  to-morrow  !  O  injurious  love,  40 

That  respites  me  a  life,  whose  very  comfort 
Is  still  a  dying  horror  I 

Prov.  Tis  pity  of  him.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  IV.    A  room  in  Akoelo's  hauie. 

Enter  Angelo. 

Ang.  When  I  wonld  pray  and  think,  I  think  and  pray 
To  several  subjects.     Heaven  hath  my  empty  words  ; 
Whilst  my  invention,  hearing  not  my  tongue. 
Anchors  on  Isabel :  Heaven  in  my  mouth. 
As  if  I  did  but  onlv  chew  his  name  ; 
And  in  my  heart  the  strong  and  swelling  evil 
Of  my  conception.    The  state,  whereon  I  studied. 
Is  like  a  gooa  thing,  being  often  read, 
Grown  fear'd  and  tedious  ;  yea,  my  gravity. 
Wherein — let  no  man  hear  me — I  take  pride,  10 

Could  I  with  boot  cliange  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  tny  false  seeming  I  Blood,  thou  art  blood  : 
Let's  write  good  angel  on  the  devil's  horn  ; 
'TIS  not  ths.  devil's  crat. 


204  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  lACTU. 

Enter  a  Servant. 

Hotr  now  !  wlio's  there  ? 

Serv,  One  Isabel,  a  sister,  desires  access  to  you. 

-471^.  Teach  her  the  way.     [Eacii  ServA    O  heavens  I 
Why  does  my  blood  thus  muster  to  my  heart,  20 

Making  both  it  unable  for  itself, 
And  dispossessing. all  my  other  parts 
Of  necessary  fitness  ? 

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

Enter  Isabella. 

How  now,  fair  maid  ?    80 

Isab.  I  am  come  to  know  your  pleasure. 

Ang.  That  you  might  know  it,  would  much  better  please 
me 
Than  to  demand  what  His.     Your  brother  cannot  live. 

Isdb.  Even  so.     Heaven  keep  your  honour  1 

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

Isab.  Under  your  sentence  ? 

Anff.  Yea. 

Teab.  When,  I  beseech  you  ?  that  in  his  reprieve, 
Longer  or  shorter,  he  may  be  so  fitted  40 

That  his  soul  sicken  not. 

Anff.  Ha  I  fie,  these  filthy  vices  !  It  were  as  good 
To  pardon  him  that  hath  from  nature  stolen 
A  man  already  made,  as  to  remit 
Their  saucy  sweetness  that  do  coin  heaven's  image 
In  stamps  that  are  forbid  ;  'tis  all  as  easy 
Falsely  to  take  away  a  life  true  made 
As  to  put  metal  in  restrained  means 
To  make  a  false  one. 

Isdb.  'Tis  set  down  so  in  heaven,  but  not  in  earth.         60 

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

Isab.  Sir,  believe  this, 

I  had  rather  give  my  body  than  my  soul. 

Anff.  I  talk  not  of  your  aool :  our  oompell'd  sins 


8CENBIV.]        MEASURE  FOK  MEASURE.  Sm 

Stand  more  for  number  tban  for  accompt. 

Isab.  How  say  you? 

Ang.  Nay,  I'll  not  warrant  that ;  for  I  can  speak 
Against  Uie  thing  I  say.     Answer  to  this  :  60 

I,  now  the  voice  of  the  recorded  law, 
Pronounce  a  sentence  on  your  brother's  life : 
Might  there  not  be  a  cliarity  in  sin 
To  save  this  brother's  life  ? 

Isab,  Please  you  to  do*t, 

I'll  take  it  as  a  peril  to  my  soul. 
It  is  no  sin  at  all,  but  charity. 

Ang.  Please  you  to  do't  at  peril  of  your  soul. 
Were  equal  poise  of  sin  and  cliarity. 

Isab.  That  I  do  beg  his  life,  if  it  be  sin. 
Heaven  let  me  bear  it !  you  granting  of  my  suit,  70 

If  that  be  sin,  I'll  make  it  my  mom  prayer 
To  have  it  added  to  the  faults  of  mine. 
And  nothing  of  your  answer. 

Ang.  Nay,  but  hear  me. 

Your  sense  pursues  not  mine  :  either  you  are  ignorant, 
Or  seem  so  craftily  ;  and  tliat's  not  good. 

Uab.  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  beautv  ten  times  louder  80 

Than  beauty  could,  display'd.     But  mark  me  ; 
To  be  received  plain,  I'll  speak  more  gross : 
Tour  brother  is  to  die. 

liab.  So. 

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

I9ab.  True. 

Ang.  Admit  no  other  way  to  save  his  life, — 
As  I  subscribe  not  that,  nor  any  other. 
But  in  the  loss  of  question, — ^that  you,  his  sister,  90 

Finding  yourself  desired  of  such  a  person. 
Whose  credit  with  the  judge,  or  own  great  place. 
Could  fetch  your  brother  from  the  manacles 
Of  the  all-building  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  supposed,  or  else  to  let  him  suffer  ; 
What  would  you  do  ? 

Isab.  As  much  for  my  poor  brother  as  myself  : 
That  is,  were  I  under  the  terms  of  death,  100 

The  impression  of  keen  whips  I'ld  wear  as  rubies. 


206  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURK  [^cru. 

And  strip  mjself  to  death,  as  to  a  bed 

That  longing  have  been  sick  for,  ere  Fid  yield 

Mj  body  np  to  shame. 

Ana.  Tlien  mast  jour  brother  die. 

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

Ang.  Were  not  yon  then  as  cniel  as  the  sentence 
That  you  have  slander'd  so?  110 

Isab.  Ignomy  in  ransom  and  free  pardon 
Are  of  two  houses  :  biwful  mercy 
Is  nothing  kin  to  foul  redemption. 

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

Isab,  0,  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.  120 

Ang.  We  are  all  frail. 

Imb.  Else  let  my  brother  die. 

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

Ang.  Nay,  women  are  frail  too. 

Isab.  Ay,  as  the  glasses  where  they  view  themselves  ; 
Which  are  as  easy  broke  as  they  make  forms. 
Women  I  Help  Heaven  !  men  their  creation  mar 
In  profiting  by  them.     Navj  en  11  us  ten  times  f  rail. 
For  we  are  soft  as  our  complexions  are, 
And  credulous  to  false  prints. 

Ang.  I  think  it  well :  130 

And  from  this  testimony  of  your  own  sox, — 
Since  I  suppose  we  are  made  to  be  no  stronger 
Tlian  faults  may  shake  our  frames, — let  me  be  bold  ; 
I  do  arrest  your  words.     Be  that  you  are. 
That  is,  a  woman  ;  if  you  be  more,  you're  none  ; 
If  you  be  one,  as  you  are  well  expressed 
By  all  external  warrants,  show  it  now. 
By  putting  on  the  destined  lively. 

Isab.  I  have  no  tongne  but  one  :  gentle  my  lord. 
Let  me  entreat  you  speak  the  former  language.  140 

Ang.  Plainly  conceive,  I  love  you. 

Is<w.  My  brother  did  love  Jaliet, 
And  you  tell  me  that  he  shall  die  for  it. 

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

lad,  I  know  your  virtue  hath  a  license  in't, 


8CBNSIY.]       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  207 

Which  seems  a  little  f oaler  than  it  is. 
To  pluck  on  others. 

Ang,  Believe  mc  on  mine  honour. 

My  words  express  my  purpose. 

hob.  Ha  !  little  honour  to  be  much  believed. 
And  most  pernicious  purpose  !    Seeming,  seeming  I         150 
I  will  proclaim  thee,  Augelo  ;  look  for't : 
Sign  me  a  present  jmrdon  for  my  brother. 
Or  with  an  outstretched  throat  f  11  tell  the  world  aloud 
What  man  thou  art. 

Ang.  Who  will  believe  thee,  Isabel? 

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  sliall  stifle  in  your  own  report 
And  smell  of  calumny.     I  have  begun. 
And  now  I  give  my  sensual  race  the  rein  :  160 

Fit  thy  consent  to  my  sharp  appetite  ; 
Lay  by  all  nicety  ana  prolixious  blushes. 
That  banish  what  they  sue  for  ;  redeem  thy  brother 
By  yielding  up  thy  bcJdy  to  my  will ; 
Or  else  he  must  not  only  die  the  death, 
But  thy  unkind n ess  shall  his  death  draw  out 
To  lingering  sufferance.     Answer  me  to-morrow, 
Or,  by  tht<  affection  that  now  guides  me  most, 
rU  prove  a  tyrant  to  him.     As  for  you. 
Say  what  you  can,  my  false  o'erweighs'your  true.  [Exit,  170 

Isab.  To  whom  should  1  complain  ?    Did  I  tell  this. 
Who  would  believe  me  ?    O  perilous  mouths. 
That  bear  in  them  one  and  the  self -same  tongue, 
Either  of  condemnation  or  approof  ; 
Bidding  the  law  make  court'sy  to  their  will ; 
Hooking  both  right  and  wrong  to  the  appetite, 
To  follow  as  it  draws  I    I'll  to  my  brother  : 
Though  he  hath  fall'n  by  prompture  of  the  blood, 
Yet  Imth  he  in  him  such  a  mind  of  honour, 
That,  had  he  twenty  heads  to  tender  down  180  ' 

On  twenty  bloody  blocks,  he'ld  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, 
ril  tell  him  yet  of  Angelo's  request. 
And  fit  his  mind  to  death,  for  his  soul's  rest.  \ExU. 


206  BIEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  [ACTm. 

ACT  III. 

Scene  I.    A  room  in  the  prt&on. 

Enter  Dxtke  disguised  as  before,  Claudio,  and  Provost. 

Ihike.  So  then  you  hope  of  pardon  from  Lord  Angelo  ? 

Claud.  The  miserable  have  no  other  medicine 
But  only  hope : 
I*ve  hope  to  live,  and  am  prepared  to  die. 

Diike.  Be  absolute  for  deatli ;  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  :  a  breath  thou  art, 
Servile  to  all  the  skyey  influences, 

That  dost  this  habitation,  where  thou  keep'st,  10  ^ 

Hourly  afflict :  merely,  thou  art  death's  fool ; 
For  him  thou  labourist  by  thy  flight  to  shun 
And  yet  runn'st  toward  him  still.     Thou  art  not  noble ; 
For  all  the  accommodations  that  thou  bear'st 
Are  nursed  by  baseness.     Thou'rt  by  no  means  valiant ; 
For  thou  dost  fear  the  soft  and  tender  fork 
Of  a  poor  worm.     Thy  best  of  rest  is  sleep, 
And  that  thou  oft  provokest ;  yet  grossly  fear'st 
Thy  death,  which  is  no  more.     Thou  art  not  thyself  ; 
For  thou  exist'st  on  many  a  thousand  grains  20 

That  issue  out  of  dust.     Happy  thou  art  not ; 
For  what  thou  hast  not,  still  thou  strivest  to  get. 
And  what  thou  hast,  forget'st.     Thou  art  not  certain  ; 
For  thy  complexion  shifts  to  strange  effects. 
After  the  moon.     If  thou  art  rich,  thou'rt  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,  80 

Do  curse  the  gout,  serpigo,  and  the  rheum. 
For  ending  thee  no  sooner.     Thou  hast  nor  youth  nor  age, 
But,  as  it  were,  an  after-dinner's  sleep. 
Dreaming  on  both  ;  for  all  thy  blessed  youth 
Becomes  as  aged,  and  doth  beg  the  alms 
Of  palsied  eld  ;  and  when  thou  art  old  and  rich, 
Thou  hast  neither  heat,  affection,  limb,  nor  beauty. 
To  make  thy  riches  pleasant.     What's  vet  in  this 
That  bears  the  name  of  life  ?    Yet  in  this  life 
Lie  hid  moe  thousand  deaths  :  yet  death  we  fear,  40 

That  makes  these  odds  all  eve^ 


SCENE  I.]  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  909 

Clmtd,  I  hamblj  thank  you. 

To  sue  to  live,  I  find  I  seek  to  die  ; 
And,  seeking  death,  find  life  :  let  it  come  on. 
Isab.  [  WUMti\  Wliat,  ho  I    Peace  here  ;  grace  and  good 

company ! 
Frov.  W  ho's  there  ?  come  in :  the  wise  deserves  a  wel- 
come. 
Duke.  Dear  sir,  ere  long  I'll  visit  you  again. 
Claud,  Most  holy  sir,  I  thank  you. 

Enter  Isabella. 

Isab.  My  business  is  a  word  or  two  with  Claudio. 

ProD.  And  very  welcome.     Look,  signior,  here's  your 
sister. 

Duke.  Provost,  a  word  with  you.  60 

Prat.  As  many  as  you  please. 

Duke.  Bring  me  to  hear  them  speak,  where  I  may  be 
concealed.  [Exeunt  Duke  and  Provoit. 

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

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  leiger  : 
Therefore  your  best  appointment  make  with  speed ;  60 

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  devllsh  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, 
Tliough  all  the  world's  vastidlty  you  had. 
To  a  determined  scope. 

Claud.  But  in  what  nature  ?  70 

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

Claud.  Let  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 
Than  a  perpetual  honour.     Barest  thou  die  ? 


210  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  [act  in. 

Tlie  sense  of  death  is  most  in  apprehension  ; 

And  the  poor  beetle,  that  we  tread  upon, 

In  corpond  sufferance  finds  a  pang  as  great  80 

As  when  a  giant  dies. 

Claud,  Why  give  you  me  this  shame  ? 

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

Isab.  There  spake  my  brother ;  there  my  father's  grave 
Did  utter  forth  a  voice.     Yes,  thou  must  aie  : 
Thou  art  too  noble  to  conserve  a  life 
In  base  appliances.     This  outward-sainted  deputy, 
Whose  settled  visage  and  deliberate  word  90 

Nips  youth  i'  the  head  and  follies  doth  emmew 
As  falcon  doth  the  fowl,  is  vet  a  devil ; 
His  filth  within  being  cast,  ne  would  appear 
A  pond  as  deep  as  hell. 

ulaud.  The  prenzie  Angelo  1 

Isab.  O,  'tis  the  cunning  livery  of  hell. 
The  damned'st  l)ody  to  invest  and  cover 
In  prenzie  guards  !     Dost  thou  think,  Claudio  ?. 
If  I  would  yield  him  my  virginity, 
Thou  mightst  be  freed. 

Claud.  O  heavens  t  it  cannot  be. 

Isab.  Yes.  he  would  give't  thee  from  this  rank  offence, 
So  to  offend  him  still.     This  night's  the  time  101 

That  I  should  do  what  I  abhor  to  name. 
Or  else  thou  diest  to-morrow. 

Claud.         '  Thou  Shalt  not  do't. 

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

Claud.  Thanks,  dear  Isabel. 

Isab.  Be  ready,  Claudio.  for  your  death  to-morrow. 

Claud.  Yes.     Has  he  affections  in  him, 
Tliat  thus  can  make  him  bite  the  law  by  the  nose, 
When  he  would  force  it  ?    Sure,  it  is  no  sin ;  110 

Or  of  the  deadly  seven  it  is  the  least. 

laab.  Wliich  is  the  least  ? 

Claud.  If  it  were  damnable,  he  being  so  wise, 
Why  would  he  for  the  momentary  trick 
Be  perdurably  fined  ?    O  Isabel  1 

Isab.  What  says  my  brother? 

Claud,  Death  is  a  fearful  thing. 

Jsab.  And  shamed  life  a  hateful. 

Claud.  Ay,  but  to  die,  and  go  we  know  not  where ; 


BCBNEI.]         MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  211 

To  lie  in  cold  obstmction  and  to  rot ; 

This  sensible  warm  motion  to  become  120 

A  kneaded  clod  ;  and  the  delighted  spirit 

To  bathe  in  fiery  floods,  or  to  reside 

In  thrilling  region  of  thick-ribbed  ice  ; 

To  be  imprisoned  in  the  viewless  winds. 

And  blown  with  restless  violence  round  abont 

The  pendent  world  ;  or  to  be  worse  than  worst 

Of  those  that  lawless  and  incertain  thought 

Imagine  howling  :  'tis  too  horrible  ! 

The  weariest  and  most  loathed  worldly  life 

That  age,  ache,  penury  and  imprisonment  180 

Can  lay  on  nature  is  a  paradise 

To  what  we  fear  of  death. 

Imib,  Alas,  alas  I 

Claud,  Sweet  sister,  let  me  live : 

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

l9ab.  O  yon  beast  t 

O  faithless  coward  I  O  dishonest  wretch  I 
Wilt  thou  be  made  a  man  out  of  my  vice  ? 
Is't  not  a  kibd  of  incest,  to  take  life 

From  thine  own  sister's  shame  ?    What  should  I  think  7  140 
Heaven  shield  my  mother  play'd  my  father  fair  I 
For  such  a  warped  slip  of  wilderness 
Ne'er  issued  from  his  blood.     Take  mj  defiance  J 
Die,  perish  t    Might  but  my  bending  down 
Reprieve  thee  from  thy  fate,  it  should  proceed  : 
ru  pray  a  thousand  prayers  for  thy  death. 
No  word  to  sare  thee. 

Claud.  Nay,  hear  me,  IsabeL 

Itab.  O,  fie,  fie,  fie  I 

Thy  sin's  not  accidental,  but  a  trade. 

Mercy  to  thee  would  prove  itself  a  bawd  :  166 

'Tis  best  that  thou  diest  quickly. 

Claud,  O  hear  me,  Isabella  I 

Re-enter  Dukb. 

Duke.  Vouchsafe  a  word,  young  sister,  bat  one  word. 

Isab.  What  is  your  will  ? 

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

Inb.  I  have  no  superfinous  leisure;  my  stay  must  be 
stolen  out  of  other  affairs ;  but  I  will  attend  you  awhile. 

[Walks  apart. 


^i2  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  [actiu. 

Duke.  Son,  I  hnve  overheard  what  hath  passed  between 
you  and  yonr  sister.  Angelo  had  never  the  purpose  to  cor- 
rupt her ;  only  he  hath  made  an  assay  of  her  virtue  to 
practice  his  judgement  with  the  disposition  of  natures :  she, 
having  the  truth  of  honour  in  her,  hath  made  liim  that 
gracious  denial  which  he  is  most  glad  to  receive.  I  am  con- 
fessor to  Angelo,  and  I  know  this  to  be  true ;  therefore  pre- 
|>are  yourseS  to  death  :  do  not  satisfy  your  resolution  with 
hopes  that  are  fallible  :  to-morrow  you  must  die ;  go  to  your 
knees  and  make  ready. 

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

Duke.  Hold  you  there :  farewell.  [EsbU  Clatidio,]  Pro- 
vost, a  word  with  you  I 

Re-enter  Pbovost. 

Pr<yti.  What's  your  will,  father? 

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

Pro^.  In  good  time. 

[Exit  Provoat.    Isabella  comes  forward. 

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

Isab.  I  am  now  going  to  resolve  him  :  T  had  rather  my 
brother  die  by  the  law  tlian  my  son  should  be  unlawfully 
born.  But,  O,  how  much  is  the  good  duke  deceived  in  An- 
gelo !  If  ever  he  return  and  I  can  speak  to  him,  I  will  open 
my  lips  in  vain,  or  discover  his  government. 

Duke.  That  shall  not  be  much  amiss  :  yet«  as  the  matter 
now  stands,  he  will  avoid  your  accmtation  ;  lie  made  trial  of 
you  only.  Therefore  fasten  your  ear  on  my  cdvisings  :  to 
the  love  I  have  in  doing  good  a  remedy  presents  itself.  I 
do  make  myself  believe  that  you  may  most  uprighteously  do 
a  poor  wronged  lady  a  merited  benefit ;  redeem  your  brother 
from  the  ang^y  law ;  do  no  stain  to  your  own  gracious  per- 
son ;  and  much  please  the  absent  duke,  if  perad venture  he 
shall  ever  return  to  have  hearing  of  this  business.  211 

Isab.  Let  me  hear  you  speak  farther.  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 


6CBNBI.J  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  218 

you  not  beard  speak  of  Mariana,  the  sister  of  Frederick  tlie 
great  soldier  who  miscarried  at  sea  ? 

Isab.  I  have  lieard  of  the  ladv,  and  good  words  went  with 
her  name.  220 

Dxike. '  She  sliould  this  Angelo  have  married  ;  was  af- 
fianced to  lier  by  oath,  and  the  nuptial  appointed  :  between 
which  time  of  the  contract  and  limit  of  tiie  solemnity,  her 
brother  Frederick  was  wrecked  at  sea,  havhig  in  that  per- 
ished vessel  the  dowry  of  his  sister.  Hat  mark  how  heavily 
this  befell  to  the  pKX)r  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 
husband,  this  well-seeming  Angelo. 

Isab.  Can  this  be  so?  did  Angelo  so  leave  her? 

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,  bestowed  her  on  her  own 
lamentation,  which  she  yet  wears  for  his  sake;  and  he,  a 
marble  to  her  tears,  is  washed  with  them,  but  relents  not. 

hab.  What  a  merit  were  it  in  death  to  take  this  poor  maid 
from  the  world !  What  corruption  in  this  Irfe,  that  it  will 
let  the  man  live !     But  how  out  of  this  can  she  avail  ? 

Diike.  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  continu- 
ance of  her  first  affection  :  his  unjust  unkindness,  that  in 
all  reason  should  have  quenched  her  love,  hatb,  like  an  im- 
pediment in  the  current,  made  it  more  violent  and  unruly. 
Gk)  you  to  Angelo  ;  answer  his  requiring  with  a  plausible  obe- 
dience ;  agree  with  his  demands  to  the  point ;  only  refer  your- 
self.to  this  advantage,  first,  that  your  stay  with  him  may 
not  be  long ;  that  the  time  may  have  all  shadow  and  silenco 
in  it ;  and  the  place  answer  to 'Convenience.  This  being 
granted  in  course, — and  now  follows  all, — we  shall  advise 
this  wronged  maid  to  stead  up  your  appointment,  go  in  your 
place  ;  if  the  encounter  acknowledge  itself  heareafter,  it  may 
compel  him  to  her  recompense  :  and  here,  by  this,  is  your 
brother  saved,  your  honour  untainted,  the  poor  Mariana  ad- 
vantaged, and  the  corrupt  deputy  scaled.  The  maid  will  I 
frame  and  make  fit  for  his  attempt.  If  you  think  well  to 
carry  this  as  you  may,  the  doubleness  of  the  benefit  defends 
the  deceit  from  reproof.     What  think  you  of  it  ? 

I»ab.  The  image  of  it  gives  me  content  already  ;  and  I 
trust  it  will  grow  to  a  most  prosperous  perfection. 


2U  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  [acthl 

JDuke.  It  lies  mach  in  your  holding  ap.  Haste  yon  speed- 
ily to  Angelo  :  if  for  this  night  he  entreat  you  to  his  bed, 
EWe  him  promise  of  satisfaction.  I  will  presently  to  Saint 
uke's :  tnere  at  the  moated  grange,  resides  this  dejected 
Mariana.  At  that  place  call  upon  me  ;  and  dispatch  with 
Angelo,  that  it  may  be  quickly. 

&ab.  I  thank  yon  for  this  comfort.  Fare  yon  well,  good 
father.  [Exeunt  severally.    281 

ScRNB  II.     The  street  before  tlie  prison. 

Enter,  on  one  tide,  Duk£  diegvUed  as  before ;  on  the  other, 
Elbow,  and  Officers  tcith  Pompet. 

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

Dvke,  O  heavens  !  what  stuff  is  here  ? 

Pom.  'Twas  never  merry  world  since,  of  two  usuries,  the 
merriest  was  put  down,  and  the  worser  allowed  by  order  of. 
law  a  furred  gown  to  keep  him  warm  ;  and  furred  with  fox 
and  lamb-skins  too,  to  signify,  that  craft,  being  richer  than 
innocency,  stands  for  the  facing.  11 

Elb.  Come  your  way,  sir.    'Bless  you,  grod  father  friar. 

Dvke.  And  you,  good  brother  father.  What  offence  hath 
this  man  made  you.  sir? 

Elb.  Marrv,  sir,  lie  hath  offended  the  law  :  and,  sir,  we 
take  him  to  be  a  thief  too,  sir ;  for  we  have  found  upon  him, 
sir,  a  strange  picklock,  which  we  have  sent  to  the  deputy. 

Duke.  Fie,  sirrah  I  a  bawd,  a  wicked  bawd  I  20 

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  ?    Go  mend,  go  mend. 

Pom.  Indeed,  it  does  stink  in  some  sort,  sir ;  but  yet,  sir, 
I  would  prove —  30 

Dtike.  Nay,  if  the  devil  liave  given  thee  proofs  for  sin. 
Thou  wilt  prove  his.     Take  him  to  prison,  officer : 
Correction  and  instruction  must  both  work 
Ere  this  rude  beast  will  profit. 

EU).  He  must  before  the  deputy,  sir ;  he  has  given  him 
warning  :  the  deputy  cannot  abide  a  whoremaster  :.if  he  be 
a  whoremonger,  and  comes  before  him,  he  were  as  good  go 
a  mile  on  his  errand. 


BCBNBIL]         MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  dl5 

Duke,  That  we  were  all,  as  some  would  seem  to  be,  40 
Free  from  our  faults,  as  from  faults  seeming  free  1 

Elb.  His  neck  will  come  to  TOur  waist, — ^a  cord,  sir. 

P<mi,  I  spy  comfort ;  I  cry  bail  Here's  a  gentleman  and 
a  friend  of  mine. 

Enter  Ltrcia 

Lucio,  How  now,  noble  Pompey  !  What,  at  the  wheels 
of  Caesar?  art  thou  led  in  triumph?  What,  is  there  none 
of  Pygmalion's  images,  newly  made  woman,  to  be  had  now, 
for  putting  the  hand  in  the  pocket  and  extracting  it  clutched? 
What  reply,  ha?  What  sayest  thou  to  this  tune,  matter 
and  method?  Is't  not  drowned  i'  the  last  rain,  ha?  What 
sayest  thou.  Trot  ?  Is  the  world  as  it  was,  man  ?  Which 
is  the  way  ?  Is  it  sad,  and  few  words  ?  or  how  ?  The  trick 
of  it? 

Diike.    Still  thus,  and  thus ;  still  worse  1 

Lucio.  How  doth  my  dear  morsel,  thy  mistress?  Procures 
she  still,  ha? 

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

LtLcio.  Why,  'tis  good ;  it  is  the  right  of  it ;  it  must  be 
so  :  ever  your  fresh  whore  and  your  powdered  bawd  :  an 
unshunned  consequence ;  it  must  be  so.  Art  going  to 
prison,  Pompey? 

Pom,  Yes,  faith,  sir. 

Ludo.  Why,  'tis  not  amiss,  Pompey.  Farewell :  go,  say 
I  sent  thee  thither.     For  debt,  Pompey?  or  how? 

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

Lucio.  Well,  then,  imprison  him  :  if  imprisoment  be  the 
due  of  a  bawd,  why,  'tis  his  right :  bawd  is  he  doubtless, 
and  of  antiquity  too ;  bawd-bom.  Farewell,  good  Pompey. 
Conunend  me  to  the  prison,  Pompey :  you  will  turn  good 
husband  now,  Pompey ;  you  will  keep  the  house. 

Pom.  I  hope,  sir,  your  good  worship  will  be  mjr  bail. 

iMdo.  No,  indeed,  will  I  not,  Pompey  ;  it  is  not  the 
wear.  I  will  pray,  Pompey,  to  increase  your  bondage  :  if 
you  take  it  not  patiently,  why,  your  mettle  is  the  more. 
Adieu,  trusty  Pompey.     &less  you,  friar.  81 

Duke.  And  you. 

Lucio.  Does  Bridget  paint  still,  Pompey,  ha  ? 

Elb.  Come  your  wavs,  sir ;  come. 

Pom.  You  will  not  bail  me,  then,  sir?* 

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

Elb.  Come  your  ways,  sir ;  come. 


2ie  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  [ACTm 

LiiHo.  Go  to  kennel,  Pompey ;  go.  [Exeunt  Elbow,  Potn- 
pey  and  Officers.]  What  news,  friar,  or  the  duke?  91 

Duke.  I  know  none.     Can  you  tell  me  of  any  ? 

LucM.  Some  say  he  is  with  the  Emperor  of  Russia  ;  other 
some,  he  is  in  Rome  :  but  where  is  he,  think  you? 

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

Lucio.  It  was  a  mad  fantastical  trick  of  him  to  steal 
from  the  state,  and  usurp  the  beggary  he  wfis  never  born  to. 
Lord  Angelo  dukes  it  well  in  his  absence ;  he  puts  trans- 
gression to 't.  101 

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. 

Dfike.  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  this  downright  way 
of  creation  :  is  it  true,  think  you  ? 

Duke.  How  should  lie  be  made,  then  ? 

Lucio.  Some  report  a  sea-maid  spawned  him  ;  some,  that 
he  was  begot  between  two  stock-fishes.  But  it  is  certain 
tliat  when  he  makes  water  his  urine  is  congealed  ice  ;  that 
I  know  to  be  true  :  f  and  he  is  a  motion  generative  ;  that's 
infallible. 

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

Ludo.  Why,  what  a  ruthless  thing  is  this  in  him,  for 
the  rebellion  of  a  codpiece  to  take  away  the  life  of  a  man  ! 
Would  the  duke  that  is  absent  have  done  this  ?  Ere  he 
would  have  banged  a  man  for  the  getting  a  hundred  bas- 
tards, he  would  luive  paid  for  the  nursing  a  thousand  :  ho 
had  some  feeling  of  the  sport ;  he  knew  the  service,  and 
that  instructed  him  to  mercy. 

Duke.  I  never  heard  the  absent  duke  much  detected  for 
women  ;  he  was  not  inclined  that  way.  130 

Lucio.  O,  sir,  you  are  deceived. 

Duke.  'Tis  not  possible. 

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

Duke.  You  do  him  wrong,  surely, 

Lucio.  Sir,  I  was  an  inward  of  his.  A  shy  fellow  was 
the  duke :  and  I  believe  I  know  the  cause  of  his  with- 
drawing. 140 

Duke.  What,  I  prithee,  might  be  the  cause  ? 


SCKNKn.]         MEASUHE  FOR  MEASURE.  217 

Ludo,  No»  pardon ;  'tis  a  secret  must  be  locked  within 
tbe  teeth  and  the  lips  :  but  this  I  can  let  you  understand, 
the  greater  file  of  the  subject  held  the  duke  to  be  wise. 

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

Ludo.  A  very  superficial,  ignorant,  unweighing  fellow. 

Duke.  Either  this  is  envy  in  you,  folly,  or  mistaking : 
the  very  stf6am  of  his  lifu  and  the  business  ho  hath  helmed 
must  upon  a  warranted  need  give  him  a  better  proclama- 
tion. Let  him  be  but  testimonied  in  his  own  bringlugs- 
forth,  and  he  shall  appear  to  the  envious  a  scholar,  a  states- 
man and  a  soldier.  Therefore  you  speak  unskilfully  ;  or  if 
your  knowledge  be  more  it  is  much  darkened  in  your  malice. 

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

Duke  Love  talks  with  better  knowledge,  and  knowledge 
with  dearer  love.  160 

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 :  I  am  bound  to  call  upon  you ;  and,  I  pray 
you,  your  name  ? 

Ludo.  Sir,  my  name  is  Lucio  ;  well  known  to  the  duke. 

Duke.  He  sliall  know  you  better,  ^ir,  if  I  may  live  to  re- 
port you. 

Ludo.  I  fear  you  not. 

Duke.  O,  you  hope  the  duke  will  return  no  more  ;  or  you 
imagine  me  too  unhurtful  an  opposite.  But  indeed  I  can 
do  yon  little  harm  ;  you'll  forswear  this  again. 

Ludo.  I'll  be  hanged  first :  thou  art  deceived  in  me,  friar. 
But  no  more  of  this.  Canst  thou  tell  if  Claudio  die  to- 
morrow or  no  ?  180 

Duke.  Why  should  he  die.  sir? 

Ludo.  Why?  For  filling  a  bottle  with  a  tundish.  I 
would  the  duke  we  talk  of  were  returned  again  :  tliis  un* 
gcnitured  agent  will  unpeople  the  province  with  continen- 
cy ;  sparrows  must  not  build  in  his  house-eaves,  because 
thev  are  lecherous.  The  duke  yet  would  have  dark  deeds 
darkly  answered  ;  he  would  never  bring  them  to  light : 
would  he  were  returned  I  Marry,  this  Claudio  is  condemned 
for  untrussing.  Farewell,  good  friar  :  I  prithee,  pray  for 
me.  The  duke,  I  say  to  thee  again,  would  eat  mutton  on 
Fridays.  He's  not  past  it  yet,  and  I  say  to  thee,  he  would 
mouth  with  a  beggar,  though  she  smelt  brown  bread  and 
garlic  :  say  that  I  said  so.     Farewell.  [ExU, 

Duke.  No  might  nor  greatness  in  mortality 
Can  censure  'scape  ;  back- wounding  calumny 


218  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  [Acrm. 

The  whitest  virtue  strikes.     What  king  so  strong 

Can  tie  the  gall  up  in  the  slanderous  tongue  ? 

But  who  comes  here  7  200 

JSnter  Escalub,  Provost,  amZ  Officers  trifA  Mistress  Over- 
done. 

JSkoI.  Go  ;  away  with  her  to  prison  I 

Mrs.  Ov.  Good  raj  lord,  be  good  to  me  ;  your  honour  is 
accounted  a  merciful  man  ;  good  my  lord. 

Eecdt.  Double  and  treble  admonition,  and  still  forfeit  in 
the  same  kind  !  This  would  make  mercy  swear  and  play 
the  tyrant. 

Pri>z,  A  bawd  of  eleven  years'  continuance,  may  it  please 
your  honour. 

Mrs,  Of).  My  lord,  this  is  one  Lucio*s  information 
affainst  me.  Mistress  Kate  Keepdown  was  with  child  by 
him  in  the  duke's  time  ;  he  promised  her  marriage :  his 
child  is  a  year  and  a  quarter  old,  come  Philip  and  Jacob :  I 
have  kept  it  myself ;  and  see  how  he  goes  about  to  abase 
me  1 

Eseal.  That  fellow  is  a  fellow  of  much  license :  let  him 
be  called  before  us.  Away  with  her  to  prison  I  Go  to  ;  no 
more  words.  [Exeunt  Officers  wUh  Mrs.  Ot.'\  Provost,* uiy 
brother  Angelo  will  not  be  altered ;  Claudio  must  die  to- 
morrow :  let  him  be  furnished  with  divines,  end  have  all 
charitable  preparation.  If  my  brother  wrought  by  my 
pity,  it  should  not  be  so  with  him. 

Prov,  So  please  you,  this  friar  liath  been  with  him,  and 
advised  him  for  the  entertainment  of  death. 

Escal.  Good  even,  good  father. 

Ihike.  Bliss  and  goodness  on  you  ! 

Esecd.  Of  whence  are  you  ? 

Duke,  Not  of  this  country,  though  my  chance  is  now 
To  use  it  for  my  timn  :  I  am  a  brother  231 

Of  gracious  order,  late  come  from  the  See 
In  special  business  from  his  holiness. 

lical.  What  news  abroad  i'  the  world  ? 

Duke.  None,  but  that  there  is  so  g^eat  a  fever  on  good- 
ness, that  the  dissolution  of  it  must  cure  it :  novelty  is  only 
in  request ;  and  it  is  as  dangerous  to  be  nged  in  any  kiud 
of  course,  as  it  is  virtuous  to  be  constant  in  any  under- 
taking. There  i&  scarce  truth  enougli  alive  to  make  socie- 
ties secure  ;  but  security  enough  to  make  fellowsliips  ac- 
curst :  much  upon  this  riddle  runs  the  wisdom  of  the  world. 
This  news  is  old  enough,  yet  it  is  everv  day's  news.  I  pray 
you,  sir,  of  what  disposition  was  the  duke  T 


scBifBn.J        MEA^'RE  FOR  MEASURE.  219 

Escal,  One  that,  above  all  other  strifes,  contended  es- 
pecially to  know  himself. 

I>uke,  What  pleasure  was  he  given  to  ? 

Egeal.  Rather  rejoicing  to  see  another  merry,  than  merry 
at  any  thing  which  professed  to  make  him  rejoice  :  a  gentle- 
man of  all  temnerance.  But  leave  we  him  to  his  events, 
with  a  prayer  tney  may  prove  prosperous  ;  and  let  me  de- 
sire to  know  how  you  find  Glaudio  prepared.  I  am  made  to 
understand  that  you  liave  lent  him  visitation. 

Duke.  He  professes  to  have  received  no  sinister  measure 
from  his  judge,  but  most  willingly  humbles  himself  to  the 
determination  of  justice  ;  yet  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  resolved  to  die. 

Escal.  You  have  paid  the  heavens  your  function,  and  the 
prisoner  the  very  debt  of  your  calling.  I  have  laboured  for 
the  poor  gentleman  to  the  extremest  shore  of  my  modesty  : 
but  my  brotlier  justice  have  I  found  so  severe,  that  he  hath 
forced  me  to  tell  him  he  is  indeed  Justice. 

Ihike.  If  his  own  life  answer  the  straitness  of  his  pro- 
ceeding, it  shall  become  him  well ;  wherein  if  he  chance  to 
fail,  he  hath  sentenced  himself. 

Bseal.  I  am  going  to  visit  the  prisoner.     Fare  you  well. 

Duke,  Peace  be  with  you  I    [6xeunt  Escalvs  and  Provoet. 
He  who  the  sword  of  heaven  will  bear 
Should  be  as  holy  as  severe  ; 
Pattern  in  himself  to  know, 

t Grace  to  stand,  and  virtue  go ; 
lore  nor  less  to  others  paying 

Than  by  self-oifences  weighing.  280 

Shame  to  him  whose  cruel  struLing 
Kills  for  faults  of  his  own  liking ! 
Twice  treble  shame  on  Angelo, 
To  weed  my  vice  and  let  hi%grow  1 
O,  what  may  man  within  him  hide. 
Though  angel  on  the  outward  side  J 
f  How  may  likeness  wade  in  crimes. 
Making  practice  on  the  times. 
To  draw  with  idle  spiders'  strings 

Most  ponderous  and  substantial  thingB  I  290 

Craft  against  vice  I  must  apply  : 
With  Angelo  to-night  shall  lie 
His  old  betrothed  but  despised  ; 
f  So  disguise  shall,  by  tV  disguised. 
Pay  with  falsehood  false  exactiog, 
And  perform  an  old  contracting.  \Exit, 


dSO  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  [aotzy^ 

ACT  IV. 
ScSNE  1.     The  moated  grange  at  St.  Luke's, 

Enter  Mariaita  and  a  Bot. 

«  Bot  eing». 

Take,  O,  take  those  lipe  away. 

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

Lights  that  do  mislead  the  mom ; 
Bat  my  kisses  bring  again,  bring  again  ; 
Seals  of  lore,  but  sealed  in  yain,  sealed  in  Tain. 

Mdri.  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  Bay, 

Enter  Duke  disguised  as  before. 

T  cry  you  mercy,  sir ;  and  well  could  wish  10 

You  had  not  found  me  here  so  musical : 

Let  me  excuse  me,  and  believe  uie  so. 

My  mirth  it  much  displeased,  but  pleased  my  woe. 

Duke.  'Tis  good  ;  tliough  music  oft  hath  such  a  charm 
To  make  bad  good,  and  good  provoke  to  harm. 
I  pray  you,  tell  me,  hath  any  body  inquired  for  me  here 
to-day  ?  much  upon  this  time  have  I  promised  here  to  meet. 

Mari.  You  have  not  been  inquired  after  :  I  have  sat  here 
all  day.  20 

*  ElVter  ISABBIiLA. 

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

Mari.  I  am  always  bound  to  you.  [Exit. 

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

Isab.  He  hath  a  garden  circummured  with  brick. 
Whose  western  side  is  with  a  vineyard  back'd ; 
And  to  tiiat  vineyard  is  a  planched  grate,  30 

That  makes  his  opening  with  this  bigger  key : 
This  other  doth  command  a  little  door 
Which  from  the  vineyard  to  the  garden  leads ; 
There  have  I  made  my  promise 
Upon  the  heavy  middle  of  the  night 
To  call  upon  him. 


SCENE  Ll  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  831 

Duke.  But  shall  you  on  your  knowledge  find  this  way  ? 

Isab.  I  have  ta'en  a  due  and  wary  note  npon  't  : 
With  whispering  and  most  guilty  diligence. 
In  action  all  of  precept,  he  did  show  me  40 

The  way  twice  o'er. 

Duke.  Are  there  no  other  tokens 

Between  you  'greed  concerning  her  observance  ? 

Isftb.  No,  none,  but  only  a  repair  i'  the  dark  ; 
And  that  I  have  possess'd  him  my  most  stay 
Can  be  but  brief  ;  for  I  have  made  him  know 
I  have  a  servant  comes  with  me  along. 
That  stays  npon  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  I  within  1  come  forth  I  50 

Be-erUer  Mariana. 

I  pray  you,  be  acquainted  with  this  maid  ; 
She  comes  to  do  yon  good. 

Isab.  I  do  desire  the  like. 

Duke.  Do  you  persflade  yourself  that  I  respect  you  ? 

Mari.  Good  friar,  I  know  you  do,  and  have  found  it. 

Duke.  Take,  then,  this  your  companion  by  the  hand, 
Who  hath  a  story  ready  for  your  ear. 
I  shall  attend  your  leisure  :  but  make  haste  ; 
The  vaporous  night  approaches. 

Mari.  Wiirt  please  you  walk  aside  ? 

{Exeunt  Mariana  and  Isabella. 

Duke.  O  place  and  greatness  1  millions  of  false  eyes     60 
Are  stuck  upon  thee :  volumes  of  report 
Run  with  these  false  and  most  contrarious  quests 
Upon  thy  doings  :  thousand  escapes  of  wit 
Make  thee  the  father  of  their  idle  dreams 
And  rack  thoe  in  their  fancies. 

Be-enter  Mabiana  and  Isabella. 

Welcome,  how  agreed  ? 

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

Duke.  It  is  not  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." 

Mari.  Fear  me  not.  70 

Duke.  Nor,  gentle  daughter,  fear  you  not  at  all. 


323  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  [acttiy 

He  is  jojii  iLiisband  on  a  pre-contnot : 

To  bring  you  tbus  together,  'tis  no  sin, 

Sitli  tliat  the  justice  of  your  title  to  him 

I>oth  flourish  the  deceit.     Come,  let  ns  go  : 

Our  corn's  to  reap,  for  yet  our  tithe's  to  sow.  [Stteunt, 

.  Scene  II.    A  room  in  the  prison. 

Enter  Pbovost  and  Poitpey. 

Prov.  Come  hither,  sirrah.    Can  you  cut  off  a  man's  head  T 

Pom.  If  the  man  be  a  bachelor,  sir,  I  can  ;  but  if  he  be  a 
married  man,  he's  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  de- 
liverance with  an  nnpitied  whipping,  for  you  have  been  a 
notorious  bawd.  • 

Pom.  Sir,  I  have  been  an  unlawful  bawd  time  out  of  mind  ; 
but  yet  I  will  be  content  to  be  a  lawful  hangman.  I  would 
be  glad  to  receive  some  instruction  from  my  fellow  partner. 

Prov.  What,  ho  I  Abhorson  1    Where's  Abhorson,  there  ? 

Enter  Abhobson. 

Abhor.  Do  yon  call,  sir  ? 

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

Abhor.  A  bawd,  sir?  fie  ui>on  him  I  he  will  discredit  our 
mystery.  80 

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

Pom.  Pray,  sir,  by  your  cood  favour, — for  surely,  sir,  a 

rd  favour  you  have,  but  that  you  have  a  hangiug'look, — 
you  call,  sir,  your  occupation  a  mystery? 
Abhor.  Ay,  sir  ;  a  mystery. 

Pom.  Painting,  sir,  I  have  heard  say,  is  a  mystery ;  and 
your  whores,  sir,  being  members  of  my  occupation,  using 
painting,  do  prove  my  occupation  a  mystery :  but  what 
mystery  there  should  be  in  hanging,  .if  I  should  be  hanged, 
I  cannot  imagine. 


fiCEiTEn.]        MEASURE  FOB  MEASURE.  JddS 

Aohor»  Sir,  it  is  a  mystery. 

Pom.  Proof? 

Abhor,  Every  true  man's  apparel  fits  your  thief  :  if  it  be 
too  little  for  yuur  thief,  your  true  man  thinks  it  bigenougli ; 
if  it  be  too  big  for  your  thief,  your  tliief  thinks  it  littlo 
enough  :  so  every  true  man's  apparel  fits  your  thief.  50 

Re-enter  Pkovost. 

Prat,  Are  you  agreed  ? 

Pom,  Sir,  I  will  serve  him ;  for  I  do  find  your  hangman 
is  a  more  penitent  trade  than  your  bawd ;  he  doth  oftener 
ask  forgiveness. 

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

Abhor,  Come  on,  bavW  ;  I  will  Instract  thee  in  my  trade  ; 
follow. 

Pom,  I  do  desire  to  learn,  sir :  and  1  hope,  if  you  have 
occasion  to  use  me  for  your  own  turn,  you  shall  find  me 
yare  ;  for  truly,  sir,  for  your  kindness  .1  owe  you  a  good 
turn. 

Prov.  Call  hither  Bamardine  and  Claudio  : 

[Exeunt  Ponipey  and  Abhor  ton. 
The  one  has  rxij  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  midnis^ht,  and  by  eight  to-morrow 
Thou  must  be  made  immortal.     Wliere's  Bamardine  ? 

Claud,  As  fast  locked  up  in  sleep  as  guiltless  labour 
When  it  lies  starkly  in  the  traveller's  bones  :  TO 

He  will  not  wake. 

Prov.  Who  can  do  good  on  him  ? 

Well,  go,  prepare  yourself.  [Knocking  trithin. 

But,  hark,  what  noise  ? 
Heaven  give  your  spirits  comfort  I  [Exit  Claudio, 

By  and  by. 
I  hope  it  is  some  pardon  or  reprieve 
For  the  most  gentle  Claudio. 

Enter  Duke  disguiaed  as  before. 

Welcome^  father. 
Duke,  The  best  and  wholesome  sprits  of  the  night 
Envelope  you,  good  Provost  I  Wlio  call'd  here  of  late? 
Pror>,  None,  since  the  curfew  rung. 
Duke,  Not  Isabel? 
Prov,  No. 


224  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  [actiy. 

Duke.  Thev  wUl,  then,  ere't  be  long. 

Prof).  What  comfort  is  for  Claudio  ?  80 

Duke.  There's  some  in  hope. 

ProiD.  It  is  a  bitter  deputy. 

Duke.  Not  so,  not  so  ;  his  life  is  parallel'd 
Even  with  the  stroke  and  line  of  his  great  justice  : 
He  doth  with  holy  abstinence  subdue 
That  in  himself  which  he  spurs  on  his  power 
To  qualify  in  others  :  were  he  meal'd  with  that 
Which  he  corrects,  then  were  he  tyrannous  ; 
But  this  being  so,  he's  just.  [Knocking  wUhin. 

Now  are  they  come. 

[ExU  Frowst. 
This  is  a  gentle  provost :  seldom  when 
The  steel^  gaoler  is  the  friend  of  men. 

[Knocking  toUMn.  90 
How  now  1  what  noise  !  That  spirit's  possessed  with  haste 
That  wounds  the  unsistlng  poetem  with  these  strokes. 

Re-enter  Provost. 

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

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

Prov.  None,  sir,  none. 

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

Prov.  Happily 

Tou  something  know  ;  yet  I  behve  there  comes 
No  countermand  ;  no  such  example  have  we  :  100 

Besides,  upon  the  very  siege  of  justice 
Lord  Angelo  hath  to  the  public  ear 
Profess'd  the  contrary. 

Enter  a  Messenoeb. 

This  is  his  lordship's  man. 

Duke.  And  here  comes  Gaudio's  pardon. 

Men.  [Oinng  a  paper.]  My  lord  hath  sent  you  this  note  ; 
and  by  me  this  furtlier  charge,  that  you  swerve  not  from 
the  smallest  article  of  it,  neiiher  in  time,  matter,  or  other 
circumstance.  Good  morrow  ;  for,  as  I  take  it,  it  is  almost 
dav. 

Prov.  I  shall  obey  him.  [Firit  Messenger, 

Duke.  [Aside]  This  is  his  pardon,  purchased  by  such  sin 
For  which  the  pardoner  himself  is  in, 
Hence  hath  offence  his  quick  celerity. 
When  it  is  borne  in  high  authority  : 


BCENBH.]        MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  2M» 

Wlien  vice  makes  mercy,  mercy's  so  extended, 
That  for  the  fault's  love  is  the  offender  friended, 
^ow,  sir,  what  news  ? 

Prov,  I  told  you.  Lord  Angelo,  belike  thinking  me  remiss 
in  mine  office,  awakens  me  with  this  unwonted  putting-on  ; 
methinks  strangely,  for  he  hath  not  used  it  before.  121 

Duke,  Pray  you,  let's  hear. 

Prov,  [Rtadsl 

**  Whatsoever  you  may  hear  to  the  contrary,  let  Claudio 
be  executed  by  four  of  the  clock  ;  and  in  the  afternoon  Bar- 
nardine :  for  my  better  satisfaction,  let  me  have  Claudio'g 
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."  180 

What  say  you  to  this,  sir? 

Duke.  What  is  that  Bamardine  who  is  to  be  executed  in 
the  afternoon  ? 

Prov,  A  Bohemian  bom,  but  here  nursed  up  and  bred;  one 
that  is  a  prisoner  nine  years  old. 

Duke.  How  came  it  that  the  absent  duke  had  not  either  de- 
livered him  to  his  liberty  or  executed  him  ?  I  have  heard  it 
was  ever  his  manner  to  do  so. 

Prod.  His  friends  still  wrought  reprieves  for  him:  and,  in- 
deed, his  fact,  till  now  in  the  government  of  Lord  Angelo, 
came  not  to  an  undoubtful  proof. 

Duke.  It  is  now  apparent? 

Prov.  Most  manifest,  and  not  denied  by  himself. 

Duke.  Hath  he  Immo  himself  penitently  in  prison  ?  how 
seems  he  to  be  touched  ¥ 

Prav.  A  man  that  apprehends  death  no  more  dreadfnll}' 
but  as  a  drunken  sleep ;  careless,  reckless,  and  fearless  of 
what's  past,  present,  or  to  come  ;  insensible  of  mortality,  and 
desperately  mortal. 

Duke.  He  wants  advice. 

Prov.  He  will  hear  none  :  he  hath  evermore  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  of t  awaked  him,  as  if  to  carry  him  to  execu- 
tion, and  showed  him  a  seeming  warrant  for  it :  it  hath  not 
moved  him  at  all.  IGl 

Duke.  More  of  him  anon.  There  is  written  in  your  brow, 
provost,  honesty  and  constancy  :  if  I  read  it  not  truly,  my  an- 
cient skill  beguiles  me  ;  but,  in  the  boldness  of  my  cunning,  I 
will  lay  myself  in  hazard.  Clandio,  whom  here  you  have 
warrant  to  execute,  is  no  greater  forfeit  to  the  law  than  An-, 
gelo  who  hath  sentenced  him.  To  make  you  understand  this 
dHAK.   I.  — 8 


226  MEASURE  FOB  MEASURE.  [act  nr. 

in  a  manifested  effect,  I  craye  but  font  days*  respite  ;  for  the 
which  you  are  to  do  me  both  a  present  and  a  dangerous  cour- 
tesy. 

Pr&v.  Pray,  sir,  in  what? 

Duke.  In  the  delaying  death. 

Prov.  Alack,  how  may  I  do  it,  having  the  hour  limited, 
and  an  express  command,  under  penalty,  to  deliver  his  head 
in  the  view  of  Angelo  ?  1  may  make  my  case  as  Claudio's,  to 
cross  this  in  the  smallest. 

Duke.  By  the  vow  of  mine  order  I  warrant  yon,  if  my  in- 
structions may  be  your  guide.  Let  this  Barnardine  be' this 
morning  executed,  and  his  head  borne  to  Angelo. 

Prov.  Angelo  hath  seen  them  both,  and  will  discover  tho 
favour. 

Duke.  O,  death's  a  great  disguiser  ;  and  you  may  add  to  it. 
Shave  the  head,  and  tic  the  beard  ;  and  say  it  was  the  d<  sii(» 
of  the  penitent  to  be  so  bared  before  liis  death:  you  know  tlie 
course  is  common.  If  any  thing  fall  to  you  upon  this,  more 
than  thanks  and  good  fortune,  by  the  saint  whom  I  profess,  I 
will  plead  against  it  with  my  life. 

Proo.  Pardon  me,  good  father;  it  is  against  my  oath. 

Duke.  Were  you  sworn  to  the  dnke^or  to  the  deputy  t 

Prav.  To  him,  and  to  his  substitutes. 

Duke.  You  will  think  you  have  made  no  offence,  if  the 
duke  avouch  the  justice  of  your  dealing  ?  201 

Prov.  But  what  likelihood  is  in  that  ? 

Duke.  Not  a  resemblance,  but  a  certainty.  Yet  since  I  see 
you  fearful,  that  neither  my  coat,  integrity,  nor  persuasion 
can  with  case  attempt  you,  I  will  go  further  than  I  meant,  to 
pluck  all  fears  out  of  you.  Look  you,  sir,  here  is  the  hand 
and  seal  of  the  duke  :  you  know  the  character.  I  doubt  not ; 
and  the  sig^net  is  not  strange  to  yon. 

PriTD.  I  know  them  both.  210 

Duke.  The  contents  of  this  is  tho  return  of  the  duke,  you 
shall  anon  over-read  it  at  your  pleasure ;  where  you  shall 
find,  within  these  two  days  he  will  be  here.  This  is  a  thing 
that  Angelo  knows  not;  for  he  this  vciy  day  receives  letters 
of  strange  tenour;  perchance  of  the  duke's  death;  perchance 
entering  into  some  monastery;  but,  by  chance,  nothing  of 
what  is  writ.  Look,  the  unfolding  star  calls  up  the  shep> 
herd.  Put  not  yourself  into  amazement  how  these  things 
should  be:  all  difficulties  are  but  easy  when  they  are  known. 
Call  your  executioner,  and  off  with  Barnardine's  head :  I  will 
give  him  a  present  shrift  and  advise  him  for  a  better  place. 
Yet  you  are  amazed;  but  this  shall  absolutely  resolve  yoa. 
Ck>me  away;  it  is  almost  clear  dawn.  [Exeuvi, 


8CEKEIII.]       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  287 

ScENB  III.    Arujther  room  in  the  same. 

Enter  Pompet. 

Pom.  I  am  as  well  acquainted  liere  as  I  was  in  our  house  of 
profession :  one  would  think  it  were  Mistress  Overdone's 
own  house,  for  here  be  many  of  her  old  customers.  First, 
here's  young  Master  Rash  ;  he's  in  for  a  commodity  of  brown 
paper  and  old  ginger,  nine-score  and  seyenteen  pounds  ;  of 
which  he  made  five  marks,  ready  money  :  marry  then  gin- 
ger was  not  much  in  request,  for  the  old  women  were  all 
dead.  Then  is  there  here  one  Master  Caper,  at  the  suit  of 
Master  Three-pile  the  mercer,  for  some  four  suits  of  peach- 
coloured  satin,  which  now  peaches  him  a  beg^r.  Then 
haye  we  here  young  Dizy,  and  young  Master  I>eep-vow 
and  Ma.ster  Copperspur,  and  Master  Stanre-lackey  the  rapier 
and  dagger  man,  and  young  Drop-heir  that  killed  lusty 
Pudding,  and  Master  Forthlight  the  tilter,  and  brave  Master 
Shooty  the  great  traveller,  and  wild  Half-can  that  stabbed 
Pots,  and,  f  think,  forty  more ;  all  great  doers  in  our  trade, 
and  are  now  '*  for  the  Lord's  sake."  21 

Enter  Abhorson. 

Abhor.  Sirrah,  bring  Bamardine  hither. 

Pom.  Master  Bamardine  !  you  must  rise  and  be  hanged, 
Master  Bamardine  I 

Abhor.  What,  ho,  Bamardine  I 

Bar.  [  Withiit]  A  pox  o'  your  throats  I  Who  makes  that 
noise  there  ?     What  are  you  ? 

Pom.  Tour  friends,  sir  ;  Uie  hangman.  You  must  be  so 
good,  sir,  to  rise  and  be  put  to  death.  80 

Bar    [WitlUn']  Away,  you  rague,  away  !  I  am  sleepy. 

Ablwr.     Tell  him  he  must  awake,  and  that  quickly  too. 

Pom.  Pray,  Master  Bamardine,  awake  till  you  are  ex- 
ecuted, and  sleep  afterwards. 

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

Pom.  He  is  coming,  sir,  he  is  coming ;  I  hear  his  straw 
rustle. 

Abhor.  Is  the  axe  upon  the  block,  sirrah  7 

Pom.  Very  ready,  sir.  40 

Enter  Barnabdinil  ^ 

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

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

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

Pom.  0,  the  better,  sir ;  for  he  that  drinks  all  night  and 


228  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  [activ. 

is  lianged  betimes  in  the  morning,  may  sleep  the  soundpr  all 
the  next  day.  50 

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

Efnier  Duke  disguised  ai  before. 

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

Bar.  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. 

ihike.  O,  sir,  you  must :  and  therefore  I  beseech  yon  60 
Look  forward  on  the  journey  you  shall  go. 

Bar,  I  swear  I  will  not  die  to-day  for  any  man's  per- 
suasion. 

Duke.  But  hear  you. 

Bar.  Not  a  word :  if  you  have  anything  to  say  to  me, 
come  to  my  ward  ;  for  thence  will  not  I  today.  [Exit, 

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

[Exeunt  Ahhor»on  and  Pompey, 

Be-ent^  Provost. 

Prov.  Now,  sir,  how  do  yon  find  the  prisoner?  70 

Duke.  A  creature  unprepared,  unmeet  for  death 
And  to  transport  him  in  the  mind  he  is 
Were  damnable. 

Prov.  Here  in  the  prison,  father. 

There  died  this  morning  of  a  cruel  fever 
One  Ragozine,  a  most  notorious  pirate, 
A  man  of  Claudio's  years  ;  his  beard  and  head 
Just  of  his  colour.     What  if  we  do  omit 
This  reprobate  till  he  were  well  inclined  ; 
And  satisfy  the  deputy  with  the  visage 
Of  Ragozine,  more  like  to  Claudio  ?  80 

Duke.  O,  'tis  an  accident  that  heaven  provides  I 
Dispatch  it  presently  ;  the  hour  draws  on 
Prefix'd  by  An^clo  :  see  this  be  done, 
And  sent  according  to  command  ;  whiles  I 
Persuade  this  rude  wretch  willingly  to  die. 

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


SCENE  III.]       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  220 

Ihike.  Let 'tills  be  done.  90 

Put  them  in  secret  holds,  both  Barnardlne  and  Clandio  : 
Ere  twice  the  sun  hath  made  his  journal  greeting 
To  the  under  generation,  you  shall  find 
Tour  safety  manifested. 

Prov,  I  am  your  free  dependant. 

I>uke.  Quick,  dispatch  and  send  the  head  to  Angelo. 

[ExU  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  100 

To  ent^r  publicly ;  him  I'll  desire 
To  meet  me  at  tne  consecrated  fount 
A  league  below  the  city  ;  and  from  thence^ 
By  cold  gradation  and  well-balanced  form. 
We  shall  proceed  with  Angelo. 

Re-enter  Pkovost. 

Prov.  Here  is  the  head  ;  I'll  carry  it  myself. 
DvJce.  Convenient  is  it.     Make  a  swift  return ; 

For  I  would  commune  with  you  of  such  things 

That  want  no  ear  but  yours. 
Prov.  .    V\\  make  all  speed.  [Edt, 

Isab.  [Within]  Peace,  ho.  be  here !  110 

Duke.  The  tongue  of  Isabel.     She's  come  to  know 

If  yet  her  brothers  pardon  be  come  hither  : 

But  I  will  keep  her  ignorant  of  her  good. 

To  make  her  heavenly  comforts  of  despair. 

When  it  is  least  expected. 

Enter  Isabella. 

Jsab,  Ho,  by  your  leave  ! 

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

Iitab.  The  better,  given  me  by  so  holy  a  man. 
Hath  yet  the  deputy  sent  my  brother's  pardon  ? 

Duke.  He  hath  released  him,  Isabel,  from  the  world  : 
His  head  is  off  and  sent  to  Angelo.  120 

Isab.  Nay,  but  it  is  not  so. 

Duke.  It  is  no  other :  show  your  wisdom,  daughter. 
In  your  close  patience. 

Imb.  O,  I  will  to  him  and  pluck  out  his  eyes  1 

Duke.  You  shall  not  be  admitted  to  his  sight. 

leab.  Unhappy  Clandio  I  wretched  Isabel  I 
Injurious  world  I  most  damned  Angelo  I 

Dtike.  This  nor  hurts  him  nor  profits  you  a  jot ; 
Forbear  it  therefore ;  give  your  cause  to  heaven. 


280  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  [actiy. 

Mark  what  I  say,  which  you  shall  find  180 

By  every  syllable  a  faithful  verity  : 

The  duke  comes  home  to-morrow  ;  nay,  dry  your  eyes ; 

One  of  our  coven t,  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  wis- 

*      dom 
In  that  good  path  that  I  would  wish  it  go. 
And  you  shall  have  your  bosom  on  this  wretch, 
Grace  of  the  duke,  levenges  t«  your  heart,  140 

And  general  honour. 
*  liSb,  I  am  directed  by  vou. 

Dvke.  This  letter,  then,  to  Friar  I^eter  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 
ril  perfect  him  withal,  and  he  shall  bring  you 
Before  the  duke,  and  to  the  head  of  Angelo 
Accuse  him  home  and  home.     For  my  poor  self, 
I  am  combined  by  a  sacred  vow 
And  shall  be  absent.     Wend  you  with  this  letter  : 
Command  these  fretting  waters  from  your  eyes 
With  a  light  heart ;  trust  not  my  holy  order 
If  I  pervert  your  course.     Who's  here  ? 

EnUr  Lucio. 

Lucio,  Good  even,     Friar,  where's  the  provost  ? 

Duke.  Not  within,  sir. 

Lucio.  O  pretty  Isabella,  I  am  pale  at  mine  heart  to  see 
thine  eyes  so  red  :  thou  must  be  patient.  I  am  fain  to  dine 
and  sup  with  water  and  bran  ;  1  dare  not  for  my  liead  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  loved  thy  brother :  if  the  old  fantastical  duke  of  dark  cor- 
ners liad  been  at  home  he  had  lived.  [Exit  iMbeUa, 

Dyke.  Sir,  the  duke  is  marvellous  little  beholding  to  your 
reports ;  but  the  best  is,  he  lives  not  in  them. 

Lucio.  Friar,  thou  knowest  not  the  duke  so  well  as  I  do : 
he's  a  better  woodman  than  thou  takest  him  for.  171 

Duke.  Well,  you'll  answer  this  one  day.     Fare  ye  well. 

Lucio.  Nay,  tarry  ;  I'll  go  along  with  thee  :  I  can  tell  thee 
pretty  tales  of  the  duke. 

Duke.  You  have  told  me  too  many  of  him  already  sir,  if 
they  be  true ;  if  not  true,  none  were  enough. 


QOENBIV.]       MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  3S1 

Ludo.  I  was  once  before  him  for  getting  a  wencli  with 
child.  180 

Duk6.  Did  yoiv such  a  things? 

Lncio.  Yes,  marry,  did  I :  but  I  was  fain  to  forswear  it ; 
they  would  else  have  married  me  to  the  rotten  medlar. 

Duke,  Sir,  your  company  is  fairer  than  honest.  Rest  yon 
well. 

Lncio.  By  my  troth,  I'll  go  with  thee  to  the  lane's  end  : 
if  bawdy  talk  offend  you,  we'll  have  very  little  of  it.  Nay, 
friar,  I  am  a  kind  of  burr  ;  I  shall  stick.         [Exeunt,     190 

Scene  IY.    A  room  in  Anoelo*8  house. 

Enter  Angeix)  and  Escalus. 

EebfU.  Every  letter  he  hath  writ  hath  disvouched  other. 

Anff.  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  redeliver 
our  authorities  there  ? 

JSaeal.  I  guess  not. 

Aug.  And  why  should  we  proclaim  it  in  an  hour  before 
his  entering,  that  if  any  crave  redress  of  injustice,  they 
should  exhibit  their  petitions  in  the  street  ? 

Eeccd.  He  shows  his  reason  for  that :  to  have  a  dispatch 
of  complaints,  and  to  deliver  us  from  devices  hereafter,, 
which  shall  then  have  no  power  to  stand  against  us. 

Ang.  Well,  I  beseech  you,  let  it  be  proclaimed  betimes  i' 
the  mom  ;  I'll  call  you  at  your  house :  give  jootioe  to  sudi 
men  of  sort  and  suit  as  are  to  meet  him.  20 

Etcal.  I  shall,  sir.     Fare  you  well. 

Ang.  Good  night.  [ExU  E9oalu». 

This  deed  unshapes  me  quite,  makes  me  unpregnant 
And  dull  to  all  proceedings.     A  deflowr'd  maid  I 
And  by  an  eminent  body  that  enforced 
The  law  against  it  1    But  that  her  tender  shame 
Will  not  proclaim  against  her  maiden  loss, 
How  might  she  tongue  me  I    Tet  reason  dares  her  no  ; 
For  my  authority  bears  of  a  credent  bulk. 
That  no  particular  scandal  once  can  touch  80 

But  it  confounds  the  breather.     He  should  have  lived. 
Save  that  his  riotous  youth,  with  dangerous  sense, 
Might  in  the  time  to  come  have  ta'en  revenge, 
By  so  receiving  a  dishonoured  life 
Witli  ransom  of  such  shame.     Would  yet  ho  liad  lived ! 
Alack,  when  once  our  grace  we  have  forgot, 
Nothing  goes  right ;  we  would,  and  wo  would  not.      [Exit^ 


288  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  [act  nr. 

Scene  V.    Fields  wUhovt  tJie  town. 

Enter  Duke  in  hii  own  habit,  and  Friab  Peter. 

Duke,  These  letters  at  fit  time  deliver  me  : 

[Givinff  letters. 
The  provost  knows  our  purpose  and  our  plot. 
The  matter  being  afoot,  keep  your  instruction, 
And  hold  you  ever  to  our  special  drift ; 
Though  sometimes  you  do  blench  from  this  to  that. 
As  cause  doth  minister.     Go  call  at  Flavins'  house,  ' 

And  tell  him  where  1  stay  :  give  the  like  notice 
To  Valentinus,  Rowland,  and  to  Crassus, 
And  bid  them  bring  the  trumpets  to  the  gate  ; 
But  send  me  Flavins  first. 

JFH.  P,  It  sliall  be  speeded  well.  [Exit.  10 

Enter  Varrius. 

Duke,    I  thank  thee,  Varrius ;  thou    hast  made  good 
haste : 
Come,  we  will  walk.     There's  other  of  our  friends 
"Will  meet  us  here  anon,  my  gentle  Varrius.  [Exeunt 

Scene  VI.     Street  near  tlic  city  gate. 

Enter  Isabella  and  Mariana. 

Isdb,  To  speak  so  indirectly  I  am  loath  : 
I  would  say  the  truth  ;  but  to  accuse  him  fo, 
That  is  your  part :  yet  I  am  advised  to  do  it ; 
He  says,  to  veil  full  purpose. 

Mari.  Be  ruled  by  him. 

Isah.  Besides,  he  tells  me  that,  if  peradventure 
He  speak  against  me  on  the  adverse  side ; 
I  should  not  think  it  strange  ;  for  'tis  a  physic 
That's  bitter  to  sweet  end. 

Mari,  I  would  Friar  Peter — 

Isdb,  O,  peace  I  the  friar  is  come. 

Enter  Frl^r  Peter. 

jFW.  p.  Come,  I  have  found  you  at  a  stand  most  fit,      10 
Where  you  may  have  such  vantage  on  the  duke, 
He  shall  not  pass  you.     Twice  have  the  trumpets  sounded  ; 
The  generous  and  gravest  citizens 
Have  hent  the  gate8,  and  very  near  upon 
The  duke  is  entering :  therefore,  hence,  away  !        [Exeunt 


8CBN1BI.]         MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  288 

ACT  V. 

Scene  I.     TJie  city  gate. 

Mariana  veUedy  Isabella,  and  Friar  Peter,  at  their 
stand.  Enter  Duke,  Varrius,  Lords,  Angelo,  Escal- 
U8,  Lucio,  Provost,  Officers,  and  Citizens,  at  several 
doors, 

Duke,  My  very  wortliy  cousin,  fairly  met  I 
Our  old  and  faithful  friend,  we  are  glad  to  see  yoT^ 

^^l  [  Happy  return  be  to  your  royal  grace ! 

Dvke,  Many  and  hearty  thankings  to  you  both. 
We  have  made  inquiry  of  you  ;  and  we  hear 
Such  goodness  of  your  justice,  that  our  soul 
Cannot  but  yield  you  forth  to  public  thanks, 
Forerunning  more  requital. 

Ang.  You  make  my  bonds  still  greater. 

Duke,  O,  your  desert  speaks  loud  ;  and  I  should  wrong 

it. 
To  lock  it  in  the  wards  of  covert  boAom,  10 

When  it  deserves,  with  characters  of  brass, 
A  forted  residence  'gainst  the  tooth  of  time 
And  razure  of  oblivion.     Give  me  your  liand, 
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, 

Fri.  P.  Now  is  your  time  ;  speak  loud  and  kneel  before 
him. 

Isab,  Justice,  O  royal  duke  I    Vail  your  regard  20 

Upon  a  wrong'd,  I  would  fain  liave  said,  a  maid  I 
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  1 

Duke.  Relate  your  wrongs;    in  what?  by  whom?   bo 
brief. 
IJere  is  Lord  Angelo  shall  g^ve  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  80 


234  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  [act  v. 

Mast  either  punish  me,  not  heing  believed, 

Or  wring  redress  from  jou.     Hear  me,  O  hear  me,  hear  ! 

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, — 

Igab,  By  course  of  justice  ! 

Ana,  And  she  will  speak  most  bitterly  and  strange. 

Isci.  Most  strange,  but  yet  most  truly,  will  I  sp^Jc : 
That  Angelo's  forsworn  ;  is  it  not  strange  t  \ 

That  Angelo's  a  murderer  ;  is't  not  strange  7 
Tliat  Augelo  is  an  adulterous  thief,  4# 

An  hypocrite,  a  virgin-violator  ; 
Is  it  not  strange  and  strange  ? 

IhUce.  Kay,  it  is  ten  times  straxige. 

iBcib.  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  inrfirmity  of  sense. 

Iscib,  O  prince,  I  conjure  thee,  as  thou  believcst 
There  is  another  comfort  than  this  world. 
That  thou  neglect  me  not,  with  that  opinion  50 

That  I  am  touch'd  with  madness  I    Make  not  imposrible 
That  which  but  seems  unlike  :  'tis  not  impossible 
But  one,  the  wicked'st  catiff  on  the  ground, 
May  seem  as  shy,  as  grave,  as  just,  as  absolute 
As  Augelo  ;  even  so  may  Angelo, 
In  all  his  dressings,  characts,  titles,  forms. 
Be  an  arch-villain  ;  believe  it,  royal  prince : 
If  he  be  less,  he's  nothing  ;  but  he's  more, 
Had  I  more  name  for  badness. 

Duke.  By  mine  honesty. 

If  she  be  mad, — as  I  believe  no  other, —  60 

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  duko, 

Harp  not  on  that,  nor  do  not  banish  reason 
For  inequality  ;  but  let  your  reason  serve 
To  make  the  truth  appear  where  it  seems  hid. 
And  hide  the  false  seems  true. 

Duke.  Many  that  are  not  mad 

Have,  sure,  more  lack  of  reason.     What  would  yon  say? 

IkU).  1  am  the  sister  of  one  Claudio, 
Gondemn'd  upon  the  act  of  fornication  70 

To  lose  his  head ;  oondemn'd  by  Angelo  : 


«cnBi.]         MEASUBE  FOB  MEAStTRfi.  i85 

I,  in  probation  of  a  sisterhood, 

Was  sent  to  by  my  brother  ;  one  Ludo 

As  then  the  messenger, — 

Lucio,  That's  I,  an't  like  your  grace : 

1  came  to  her  from  Claudio,  and  desired  her 
To  try  her  gracioos  fortane  with  Lord  Angelo 
For  her  poor  brother's  pardcm. 

1Mb.  That's  he  indeed. 

Duke.  Ton  were  sot  bid  to  speak. 

Idtdo,  No,  my  good  lord  ; 

Nor  wish'd  to  hold  my  peace. 

Duke.  I  wish  yon  now,  then  ; 

Pray  you,  take  note  of  it :  aad  when  yon  haye  80 

A  business  for  yourself,  pray  heaven  yon  then 
Be  perfect. 

Lueio.  I  warrant  yonr  hononr. 

Duke.  The  warrant's  for  yourself ;  take  heed  to*t. 

Itdb.  This  gentleman  told  somewhat  of  my  tale, — 

Jjucio.  Rigat. 

Duke.  It  may  be  right :  but  yon  are  i'the  wrtrng 
to  speak  before  your  time.    Proceed. 

Isah.  I  went 

To  this  pemieions  catiff  deputy, — 

Duke,  That's  somewhat  madly  spoken. 

luib.  Pardon  it ; 

The  phrase  is  to  the  matter.  90 

Duke.  Mended  agMn.    The  matter  ;  proceed. 

Isaib.  In  brief  to  set  the  needless  process  by 
How  I  persuaded,  how  I  pray'd  and  kneel'd. 
How  he  refelV  me,  and  how  I  replied, — 
For  this  was  of  much  length, — the  Yile  oondusioii 
I  now  begin  with  grief  and  shame  to  utter : 
He  would  not,  but  by  gift  of  my  chaste  body 
To  his  concupiscible  intemperate  Inst, 
Release  my  brother  ;  and,  after  much  debatement, 
My  sisterly  remorse  confutes  mine  honour,  100 

And  I  did  yield  to  him  :  but  the  next  morning  betimes, 
His  purpose  surfeiting,  he  sends  a  warrant 
For  my  poor  brother's  head. 

Duke.  This  is  most  likely  t 

ledb,  O,  that  it  were  as  like  as  it  is  true  I 

Duke.  By  heaven,  fond  wretdi,  thou  know'st  not  what 
thou  speak'st. 
Or  else  thou  art  snbom'd  against  his  honour 
In  hateful  practice.    First,  his  integrity 
Stands  without  blemish.    Next,  it  imports  no  reason 
That  withsnch  vehemeocy  he  should  pursue 


386  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  [act  r. 

Faults  proper  to  himRelf :  if  he  had  so  offended, 
He  would  have  weiffh'd  thy  brother  by  Imnself 
And  not  have  cut  him  off.     Some  one  hath  set  you  on  : 
Confess  the  truth,  and  say  by  whose  advice 
Thou  earnest  hereto  complain. 

i«z&.  And  is  this  all  f 

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  I    Heaven  shield  your  grace  from  woe. 
As  I,  thus  wrong'd,  hence  unbelieved  go  ! 

Duke.  I  know  you'ld  fain  be  gone.    An  officer  !  120 

To  prison  with  her  I    Shall  we  thus  permit 
A  blasting  and  a  scandalous  breath  to  fall 
On  him  so  near  us  ?    This  needs  must  be  a  practice. 
Who  knew  of  your  intent  and  coming  hither? 

hob.  One  that  I  would  were  here,  Friar  Lodowick. 

Duke.  A  ghostly  father,  belike.    Who  knows  that  Lodo- 
wick ? 

Lucio.  My  lord,  I  know  him ;  'tis  a  meddling  friar  t 
I  do  not  like  the  man  :  had  he  been  lay,  my  loni. 
For  certain  words  he  spake  against  your  grace 
In  your  retirement,  I  had  swinged  him  soundly.  190 

Duke.  Words  Bgainst  me  I  this  is  a  good  friar,  belike  t 
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. 

FH.  P.   Blessed  be  your  royal  grace  1 
I  have  stood  by,  my  lord,  and  I  have  heard 
Your  royal  ear  abused.     First  hnth  this  woman 
Most  wrongfully  accused  your  substitute,  140 

Who  is  as  tree  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  ? 

jPW.  p.  I  know  him  for  a  man  divine  and  holy  ; 
Not  scurvy,  nor  a  temporary  meddler,  -* 

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. 

Fri.  P.  Well,  he  in  time  may  come  to  clear  himself  j  150 
But  at  this  instant  he  is  sick,  my  lord. 
Of  a  strange  fever.     Upon  his  mere  request. 
Being  come  to  knowledge  that  there  was  comphunt  ^ 


SCENE  l]  MEASITRE  for  measure,  3B87 

Intended  'gainst  Loid  Angelo,  came  I  hither, 
To  speak,  as  from  his  mouth,  vrhat  he  doth  know 
Is  true  and  false ;  and  what  he  with  his  oath 
And  all  probation  will  make  up  full  clear, 
Whensoever  he's  convented.     First,  for  this  woman, 
To  justify  this  worthy  nobleman, 

So  vulgarly  and  personally  accused,  160 

Her  shall  you  hear  disproved  to  her  eyes. 
Till  she  herself  confess  it. 
.    Duke,  Good  friar,  let's  hear  It. 

[Mbella  is  carried  off  guarded  ;  and 
Mariana  comes  forward. 
Do  you  not  smile  at  this,  Lord  Angelo  ? 

0  heaven,  the  vanity  of  wretched  fools  ! 
Give  us  some  seats.     Come,  cousin  Angelo ; 
In  this  rU  be  impartial ;  be  you  judge 

Of  your  own  cause.     Is  this  the  witness,  friar  7 
First,  let  her  show  her  face,  and  after  speak. 

Mari.  Pardon,  my  lord  ;  I  will  not  show  my  face 
Until  my  husband  bid  mo.  170 

Duke,  What,  are  you  married  ? 

Mari.  No,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Are  you  a  maid  ? 

Mari.  No,  my  lord. 

Duke.  A  widow,  then  ? 

Mari.  Neither,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Why,  you  are  nothing  then :  neither  maid,  widow, 
nor  wife  ? 

Lucio.  yij  lord,  she  may  be  a  punk  ;  for  many  of  them 
are  neither  maid,  widow,  nor  wife.  180 

Duke.  Silence  that  fellow  :  I  woald  he  had  some  cause 
To  prattle  for  himself. 

Lucio.  Well,  my  lord. 

MarL  Well,  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. 

Duke.  For  the  benefit  of  silence,  would  thou  wert  so  too ! 

Lucio.  Well,  my  lord. 

Duke.  This  is  no  witness  for  Lord  Angelo. 

Mari.  Now  I  come  to't,  my  lord : 
She  that  accuses  him  of  fornication. 
In  self-same  manner  doth  accuse  my  husband, 
And  charfi;e3  him,  my  lord,  with  such  a  time 
When  ril  depose  I  had  him  in  mine  arms 
With  all  the  effect  of  love. 


238f  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  [actt. 

Ang.  Charges  she  more  than  me? 

Mori.  Not  that  I  know.      200 

Duke,  No  ?  you  say  yonr  hnsband. 

Mari,  Why,  just,  my  lord,  and  that  is  Angelo, 
Who  thinks  he  knows  that  he  ne'er  knew  my  hody. 
But  knows  lie  thinks  that  he  knows  Isabel's. 

Ang.  This  is  a  strange  abuse.     Let's  see  thy  face. 

Mari,  My  husband  bids  me  ;  now  I  will  unmask. 

[  Unveiling, 
This  is  that  face,  thou  cruel  Angclo, 

Which  once  thou  sworest  was  worth  the  looking  on  ;  * 

This  is  the  hand  which,  with  a  vow'd  contract. 
Was  fast  belock'd  in  thine ;  this  is  the  body  210 

That  took  away  the  match  from  Isabel, 
And  did  supply  thee  at  thy  garden-house 
In  her  imagined  person. 

Duke.  Know  you  this  woman  ? 

Lttcio.  Carnally,  she  says. 

Duke.  Sirrah,  no  more  1 

Lucio.  Enough,  my  lord. 

Ang.  My  lot5,  I  must  confess  I  know  this  woman  : 
And  five  years  since  there  was  some  speech  of  marriage 
Betwixt  myself  and  her  ;  which  was  broke  off. 
Partly  for  that  her  promised  proportions 
Came  short  of  composition,  but  in  chief  220 

For  that  her  reputation  was  disvalued 
In  levity :  since  which  time  of  five  years 
1  never  spake  with  iier,  saw  her,  nor  heard  from  her. 
Upon  my  faith  and  honour. 

Mari.  Noble  prince, 

As  there  comfs  light  from  heaven  and  words  from  breath. 
As  th«re  is  sense  in  truth  and  truth  in  virtue, 
I  am  affianced  this  man's  wife  as  strongly 
As  words  could  make  up  vows  :  and,  my  good  lord. 
But  Tuesday  night  last  gone  in's  garden-house 
He  knew  me  as  a  wife.     As  this  fi  true,  280 

I^t  me  in  safety  raise  me  from  my  knees  ; 
Or  else  for  ever  be  confixed  here, 
A  marble  monument  I 

Ang.  I  did  but  smile  till  now  : 

Now,  good  my  lord,  give  me  the  scope  of  justice  ; 
My  patience  here  is  touch'd.     I  do  perceive 
These  poor  informal  women  are  no  more 
But  instruments  of  some  more  mightier  member 
That  sets  them  on  :  let  me  have  way,  my  lord. 
To  fini  this  practice  out. 

Jhtke,  Ay,  with  my  heart ; 


BCEKBI.]         MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  280 

And  panish  them  to  your  heiglit  of  pleasure.  240  ^ 

Thou  foolish  friar,  and  thou  pernicious  woman, 

€k)mpact  with  her  tliat's  gone,  think'st  thou  thy  oaths. 

Though  they  would  swear  down  each  particular  saint. 

Were  testimonies  against  his  worth  and  credit 

That's  seal'd  in  approbation  ?    You,  Lord  Escalos, 

Sit  with  my  cousin  ;  lend  him  your  kind  pains 

To  find  out  this  abuse,  whence  'tis  derivoL 

There  is  another  friar  that  set  them  on ; 

Let  him  be  sent  for. 

F)iar  P.  Would  he  were  here,  my  lord  I  for  he  Indeed 
Hath  set  the  women  on  to  this  complaint :  251 

Your  provost  knows  the  place  where  he  abides 
And  he  may  fetch  him. 

Duke.  Go  do  it  instantly.       [EasU  Provost, 

And  you,  my  noble  and  well-  warranted  cousin, 
Whom  it  concerns  to  hear  this  matter  forth. 
Do  with  your  injuries  as  seems  you  best, 
In  any  chastisement :  I  for  a  while  will  leave  you ; 
But  stir  not  you  till  you  have  well  determined 
Upon  these  slanderers. 

Esccd.  My  lord,  we'll  do  it  throughly.  [Esit  Duke,  260 
Siguier  Lucio,  did  not  you  say  you  knew  that  Friar  Lodo- 
wick  to  be  a  dislionest  person  ? 

Lucio.  "  Oucullus  non  facit  monachum  : "  honest  in  noth- 
ing but  in  his  clothes  ;  and  one  that  hath  spoke  most  vil- 
lanous  speeches  of  the  duke. 

EkoI.  We  sliall  entreat  you  to  abide  here  till  he  come 
and  enforce  them  against  him :  we  shall  find  this  friar  a 
notable  fellow. 

Lueio.  As  any  in  Vienna,  on  my  word. 

Eacal.  Call  that  same  Isabel  here  once  again  :  I  would 
speak  with  her.  [ExU  an  Attendant,^  Pray  you,  my  lord, 
give  me  leave  to  question  ;  you  shall  see  how  I'll  handle 
her. 

Lueio.  Not  better  than  he,  by  her  own  report. 

Eical,  Say  you  ? 

Ludo.  Marry,  sir,  I  think,  if  you  handled  her  privately, 
she  would  sooner  confess :  perchance,  publicly,  she'll  be 
ashamed. 

Escal.  I  will  go  darkly  to  work  with  her.  280 

Lueio.  That's  the  way ;  for  women  are  light  at  midnight. 

Bs-enUr  Officers  with  Isabella  ;  and  Provost  wUh  th4 

"DvKK  in  his  friar's  habU. 

Eseal,  Come  on,  mistress :  here's  a  gentlewoman  denSett 
all  that  you  have  said. 


240  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  [act  v. 

Lueio.  My  lord,  here  comes  the  rascal  I  spoke  of ;  here 
with  the  provost. 

E»cal,  In  very'good  time  ;  speak  not  you  to  him  till  we 
call  upon  you. 

Lueio   Mum. 

Escal.  Come,  sir  :  did  you  set  these  women  on  to  slander 
Lord  An  gel  o?  they  have  confessed  you  did.  291 

Duke.  'Tis  false. 

JSseal.  How  I  know  you  where  you  are  ? 

Duke.  Respect  to  your  great  place !  and  let  the  devil 
Be  sometime  honour'd  for  iiis  burning  throne  I 
Where  is  the  duke  ?  'tis  he  should  hear  me  speak. 

Escal.  The  duke's  in  us ;  and  we  will  hear  you  speak  : 
Look  you  speak  justly. 

Duke,  Boldly,  at  least.     But,  O,  poor  souls. 
Come  you  to  seek  the  lamb  hero  of  the  fox?  800 

Good  night  to  your  redress  I    Is  the  duke  gone  ? 
Then  is  your  cause  gone  too.     The  duke's  unjust. 
Thus  to  retort  your  manifest  appeal, 
And  put  your  trial  in  the  villain's  mouth 
Which  here  you  come  to  accuse. 

Lueio.  This  is  the  rascal ;  this  is  he  I  spoke  of. 

Eaeal.  Why,  thou  imreverend  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  ]>roper  ear,  810 

To  call  him  villain  ?  and  then  to  glance  from  him 
To  the  duke  himself,  to  tax  him  with  injustice  ? 
Take  liim  hence  ;  to  the  rack  with  him  I    We'll  touse  you 
Joint  by  joint,  but  we  will  know  his  purpose. 
What,  "unjust"! 

Duke.  Be  not  so  hot ;  the  duke 

Dare  no  more  stretch  this  finger  of  mine  than  ke 
Dare  rack  his  own  :  his  subject  am  I  not. 
Nor  here  provincial.     My  business  in  this  state 
Made  mc  a  looker  on  here  in  Vienna, 

Where  I  have  seen  corruption  boil  and  bubble  820 

Till  it  o'er-run  the  stew ;  laws  for  all  faults, 
But  faults  so  countenanced,  that  the  strong  statutes 
Stand  like  the  forfeits  in  a  barber's  shop. 
As  much  in  mock  as  mark. 
IStcal,  Slander  to  the  state  I    Away  with  him  to  prison  1 
Ang.  What  can  you  vouch  against  him,  Signior  Lueio  ? 
Is  this  the  man  that  you  did  tefl  us  of  ? 

Ludo.  'Tis  he,  my  lord.     Come  hither,  goodman  bal(f- 
pate :  do  you  know  me  ? 


BCBNE  I.]  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  241 

Duke.  I  remember  you,  sir,  by  the  sound  of  your  voice : 
I  met  you  at  the  prison',  in  the  absence  of  the  duke. 

Lucio.  0,  did  you  so  ?  And  do  you  remember  what  you 
said  of  the  duke  If 

Duke.  Most  notedly,  sir. 

Lmio.  Do  you  so,  sir  ?  And  was  the  duke  a  fleshmonger, 
a  fool,  and  a  coward,  as  you  then  reported  him  to  be  ? 

Duke.  You  must,  sir.  change  persons  with  me,  ore  you 
make  tliat  my  report  :  you,  indeed,  spoke  so  of  him  ;  and 
much  more,  mucli  worse.  341 

Lucio.  O  thou  damnable  fellow  I  Did  not  I  pluck  thee 
by  the  nose  for  thy  speeches  ? 

Duke,  I  protest  I  love  the  duke  as  I  love  myself. 

Ang.  Hark,  how  the  villain  would  close  now,  after  his 
treasonable  abuses ! 

Escal.  Such  a  fellow  is  not  to  be  talked  withal.  Awar 
with  him  to  prison  !  Where  is  the  provost  ?  Away  with 
him  to  prison  !  lay  bolts  enough  upon  him  :  let  him  speak 
no  more.  Away  with  those  giglots  too,  and  with  the  other 
confederate  companion  I 

Duke.  r7b  Provost]  Stay,  sir  ;  stay  awhile. 

Aug.  What,  resists  he  ?    Help  him,  Lucio. 

Lucio.  Come,  sir ;  come,  sir ;  come,  sir  ;  foh,  sir  I  Wliy, 
you  bald-pated,  lying  rascal,  you  must  be  hooded,  must 
you  ?  Show  your  knave's  visage,  with  a  pox  to  you  !  show 
your  sheep-biting  face,  and  be  luinged  an  hour  I  Will't 
not  off?  860 

[Pt^  offtlufriafs  liood,  and  diacovers  the  Duke. 

Duke.  Thou  art  the  nrst  knave  that  e'er  modest  a  duke. 
First,  provost,  let  me  bail  these  gentle  three. 
\To  Lueio]  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  Eeealue]  What  you  have  spoke  I  pardon :  sit 
you  down  : 
We'll  borrow  place  of  him.     [To  Angelo]   Sir,  by  your 

leave. 
Hast  thou  or  word,  or  wit.  or  impudence. 
That  yet  can  do  thee  office  ?    If  thou  hast. 
Rely  upon.it  till  my  tale  be  heard,  870 

And  hold  no  longer  out. 

Ang.  O  my  dread  lord, 

I  should  be  guiltier  than  my  guiltiness. 
To  think  I  can  bj  undiscemime, 
Wlien  I  perceive  your  grace,  like  power  divine. 
Hath  look'd  upon  my  passes.     Then,  good  prince. 
No  longer  aeasioa  hold  upon  my  i^me, 


242  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  .  [act  y. 

But  let  mj  trial  be  mine  own  confession  : 
Immediate  sentence  tken  and  sequent  death 
Is  all  the  gxace  1  beg. 

Dtike.  Come  hither,  Mariana. 

Say,  wast  thou  e*er  contracted  to  this  woman  ?  880 

Ang,  I  was,  my  lord. 

DuJce,  Qo  take  her  hence,  and  marry  her  instantly. 
Do  you  the  office,  friar ;  which  consummate. 
Return  him  here  again.     Go  with  him,  provost. 

[Exeunt  Angdo,  Mariana,  Friar  jPeter,  and  Proeoat, 

Eaeal,  My  lord,  I  am  more  amazed  at  his  dishonour 
Tiian  at  the  strangeness  of  it. 

Duke,  Come  hither,  Isabel. 

Your  friar  is  now  your  prince :  as  I  was  then 
Advertising  and  holy  to  your  business. 
Not  changmg  heart  with  habit,  I  am  still 
Attomey'd  at  your  service. 

Isdff,  O,  give  me  pardon »  800 

Tluit  I,  your  vassal,  have  employed  and  pain'd 
Your  ui^Luown  sovereignty ! 

Duke,  You  are  pardon'd,  Isabel 

And  now,  dear  maid,  be  you  as  free  to  us. 
Your  brother's  death,  I  know,  sits  at  your  heart ; 
And  you  may  marvel  why  I  obscured  myself. 
Labouring  to  save  his  life,  and  would  not  rather 
Make  rash  remonstrance  of  my  hidden  power 
Than  let  him  so  be  lost.     O  most  kind  maid, 
It  was  the  swift  celerity  of  his  death, 
Which  I  did  think  with  slower  foot  came  on,  400 

That  brain'd  my  purpose.     But,  peace  be  with  him  ! 
That  life  is  better  life,  past  fearing  death, 
Than  that  which  lives  to  fear  :  make  it  your  comfort, 
So  liappy  is  your  brother. 

Jmb,  I  do,  my  lord. 

Se-eiUer  Anorlo,  Mariana,  Friar  Peter,  and  Provost. 

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  adjudged  your  brother, — 
Being  criminal,  in  double  violation 

Of  sacred  chastity  and  of  promise^breach  410 

Thereon  dependent,  for  your  brother's  life, — 
The  very  mercy  of  the  law  cries  out 
Most  audible,  even  from  his  proper  tongue, 
'*  An  Anffelo  for  Claudio,  death  for  death  T 
Haste  stiU  pays  haste,  and  leisure  answers  leisure ; 


iCXNici.]         MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  248 

Like  doth  quit  like,  and  mbabttre  still  for  mbasurb. 

Then,  Angelo,  tlij  fault's  thus  manifested  ; 

Which,  though  thou  wouldst  deny,  denies  thee  vantage. 

We  do  condemn  thee  to  the  very  block 

Where  Claudio  stoop'd  to  death,  and  with  like  haste.      420 

Away  with  him  1 

.    Mart.  O  my  most  gracious  lord, 

I  hope  you  will  not  mock  me  with  a  husband. 

Duke.  It  is  your  husband  mock'd  you  witli  a  husband. 
Consenting  to  the  safeguard  of  your  honour, 
I  thought  your  marriage  fit ;  else  imputation, 
For  that  he  knew  you,  might  reproach  your  life 
And  choke  your  good  to  come  :  for  his  possessions. 
Although  by  confiscation  they  are  ouis. 
We  do  instate  and  widow  you  withal, 
To  buy  you  a  better  husband. 

Man,  O  my  dear  lord,  480 

I  crave  no  other,  nor  no  better  man. 

Duke.  Never  crave  him  ;  we  are  definitive. 

Mari.  Gentle  my  liege, —  [Kneeling, 

Duke,        ^  You  do  but  lose  your  labour. 

Away  with  Kim  to  death  I    [To  Lueio]  Now,  sir,  to  yon. 

Mari.  O  my  good  lord  I  Sweet  Isabel,  take  my  part ; 
Lend  me  your  knees,  and  all  my  life  to  come 
I'll  lend  you  all  my  life  to  do  you  service. 

Duke.  Against  all  sense  you  do  importune  her : 
Should  she  kneel  down  in  mercy  of  tnis  fact, 
Her  brother's  ghost  his  paved  bed  would  break. 
And  take  her  hence  in  horror.  440 

Mari.  Isabel, 

Sweet  Isabel,  do  yet  but  kneel  by  me  ;  « 

Hold  up  your  hands,  say  nothing  ;  I'll  speak  alL 
They  say,  best  men  are  moulded  out  of  faults  ; 
And,  for  the  most,  become  much  more  the  better 
For  being  a  little  bad  :  so  may  my  husband. 
O  Isabel,  will  you  not  lend  a  knee  ? 

Duke,  He  dies  for  Claudio's  death. 

Mb.  Most  bounteous  sir,    [KneeUnff. 

Look,  if  it  please  you,  on  this  man  condemn'd, 
As  if  my  brother  lived  :  I  partly  think  450 

A  due  sincerity  govem'd  his  deeds,  * 
Till  he  did  look  on  me :  since  it  is  so. 
Let  him  not  die.     My  brother  had  but  justice. 
In  that  he  did  the  tlung  for  which  he  died : 
For  Angelo, 

His  act  did  not  o'ertake  his  bad  intent. 
And  must  be  buried  bat  as  an  intent 


244  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  [act  Y. 

That  perisli'd  by  the  way  :  thongbts  are  no  subjects ; 
Intents  but  merely  thoughts. 

Mari,  Merely,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Your  salt's  unprofitable  ;  stand  up,  I  say.         460 
I  have  bethoaght  me  of  another  fault. 
Provost,  how  came  it  Claudio  was  beheaded 
At  an  unusual  hour? 

Prov.  It  was  commanded  so. 

Duke.  Had  you  a  special  warrant  for  the  deed  ? 

Pr<n.  No,  my  good  lord  ;  it  was  by  private  message. 

Duke,  For  which  I  do  discharge  you  of  your  office : 
Give  up  your  keys. 

Prov.  Pardon  me,  noble  lord  : 

I  thoufl^ht  it  was  a  fault,  but  knew  it  not ; 
Yet  did  repent  me,  after  more  advice  : 
For  testlmonv  whereof,  one  in  the  prison,  470 

That  should  by  private  order  else  have  died, 
I  have  reserved  alive. 

Duke.  What's  he? 

Prot.  His  'name  is  Baniardine. 

Duke.  I  would  thou  hadst  done  so  by  Claudio. 
Go  fetch  him  hither  ;  let  me  look  upon  him.  \^xU  Pronott. 

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  judgement  afterward. 

Ang.  I  am  sorry  that  such  sorrow  I  procure  : 
And  so  deep  sticks  it  in  my  penitent  heart  480 

That  I  crave  death  more  willingly  than  mercy  ; 
'Tis  my  deserving,  and  I  do  entreat  it. 

Reenter  Provost,  mth  Barnabdine,  Claudio  muffled, 

and  JuLiST. 

Duke.  Wliichis  that  Barnardine? 

Prov.  This,  my  lord. 

Duke,  There  was  a  friar  told  me  of  this  man. 
Sirrah,  thou  art  said  to  have  a  stublxxn  soul, 
That  apprehends  no  further  than  this  world, 
And  squarest  thy  life  acoordlng.     Thou'rt  condemned : 
But,  for  those  earthly  faults,  I  quit  them  all ; 
An(Lpray  thee  take  this  mercy  to  provide 
For  better  times  to  come.     Friar,  advise  him  ;  490 

I  leave  him  to  your  hand.     What  muffled  fellow  's  that  ? 

Pror.  This  is  another  prisoner  that  I  saved, 
Wlio  should  have  died  wlien  Claudio  lost  his  head  ; 
As  like  almost  to  Claudio  as  himself.     [  Unmvfflc9  Claudio. 


BCENEI.1         MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  24d 

Duke,  [To  habeUa]  If  he  be  like  your  brother,  for  his 
sake 
Is  he  pardon'd ;  and,  for  yoar  loTelf  sake, 
Qive  me  jour  hand  and  saj  jou  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.  500 

Well,  Angelo,  your  evU  quits  you  well : 
Look  that  you  love  your  wife  ;  her  worth  worth  yours. 
I  find  an  apt  remission  in  myself ; 
And  yet  here's  one  in  place  I  cannot  pardon. 
[To  Lucio]  You,  sirrah,  that  knew  me  for  a  fool,  a  coward. 
One  all  of  luxury,  an  ass,  a  madman  ; 
Wherein  have  I  so  deserved  of  you, 
That  yon  extol  me  thus? 

Lucio.  'Fwth,  my  lord,  I  spoke  it  but  according  to  the 
trick.  If  you  will  hang  me  for  it,  you  may ;  but  I  had 
rather  it  would  please  you  I  might  be  wliipt. 

Duke.  Wliipt  first,  sir,  and  hanged  after. 
Proclaim  it,  provost,  round  about  the  city, 
Is  any  woman  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  whipt  and  hang'd. 

Lueio.  I  beseech  your  highness,  do  not  marry  me  to  a 
whore.  Your  highness  said  even  now,  I  made  you  a  duke: 
good  my  lord,  do  not  recompense  me  in  making  me  a 
cuckold. 

Duke.  Upon  mine  honour,  thou  shalt  marry  her. 
Thy  slanders  I  forgive  ;  and  therewithal 
Remit  thy  other  forfeits.     Take  him  to  prison  ; 
And  see  our  pleasure  herein  executed. 

Lucio.  Marrying  a  punk,  my  lord,  is  pressing  to  death, 
whipping,  and  hanging. 

Duke.  Slandering  a  prince  deserves  it.  580 

[Exeunt  Officers  unth  Lucio, 
She,  daudio,  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  goodness : 
There's  more  behind  that  is  more  gratulate. 
Thanks,  provost,  for  thy  care  and  secrecy : 
We  shall  employ  thee  in  a  worthier  place. 
Forgive  him,  Angelo,  that  brought  you  home 
The  head  of  Ragozine  for  Claudio's  : 
The  offence  pardons  itself.    Dear  Isabel,  540 


t46  MEASURE  FOB  MEASURE.  [act  v. 

I  have  a  motion  xnach  imports  yoar  good  ; 
Whereto  if  you'll  a  willing  ear  incline, 
What* B  mine  is  yonre  and  what  is  joars  is  mine. 
So,  bring  us  to  our  palace  ;  where  we'll  show 
What's  yet  behind,  that's  meet  you  all  should  know. 

[Eaeunt 


THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS 

SouxTTS,  dnke  of  Bpheiiis.  Second  Merdunt,  to  whom  Angdo 

JSamov^  ft  meieliBXit  of  Synciue.  to  ft  debtor. 

^™^'Ji»)  twin  brother.,  .nd    Pwch,  ft  achooliiiftater. 

Antifholus  f  ■***^  *x5Si?*  .fimLiA,  wife  to  ^geon,an kbbeae 

of  8yraaiie. )  -fimUIft,  ^^  Bpheme. 

of  sirSSSe.  i  ^'^^^  AntipholuieB.      tSclTiS^t  toAdriaiift. 
Balthaxab,  a  merchant.  .  A  CoortesftiL 

Anoblo,  ftsoldsmith. 

First  Merchftnt,  friend  to  Ant^ho*    Gtoler,  Officers,  and  other  Attend* 
loft  of  Syraeaie.  aatt. 

ScEKs:  Bphe$xu, 

ACT  I. 

Enter  Duks,  .Sobon,   Qaoler,    Officers,    arid  oiher  At- 
tendants. 

.^Ige,  Proceed,  Solinns,  to  procure  my  fall 
And  by  the  doom  of  death  end  woes  and  all. 

DtilU,  Merchant  of  Syracasa,  plead  no  mdre ; 
I  am  not  partial  to  infringe  our  laws  : 
The  enmity  and  discord  which  of  late 
Sprung  from  the  rancorous  outrage  of  your  duke 
To  merchants,  our  well-dealing  countrymen, 
Who  wanting  guilders  to  redeem  their  lives 
Have  seal'd  his  rigorous  statutes  with  their  bloodii, 
Excludes  all  pity  from  our  threatening  looks.  10 

For,  since  the  mortal  and  intestine  jars 
"Twixt  thy  seditions  countrymen  and  us, 
It  hath  in  solemn  synods  heian  decreed, 
Both  by  the  Syracusians  and  ourselves, 
To  admit  no  traffic  to  our  adverse  towns : 

(947) 


248  THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.  [acti. 

Nay,  more. 

If  any  bom  at  Ephesus  be  seen 

At  any  Syracusian  marts  and  fairs  ; 

Afi^in  :  if  any  Syracusian  bom 

Come  to  the  bay  of  Ephesus,  he  dies,      *  20 

His  goods  confiscate  to  the  duke's  dispose. 

Unless  a  thousand  marks  be  levied, 

To  quit  the  jienalty  and  to  ransom  him. 

Thy  substance,  yal'ied  at  the  highest  rate, 

Cannot  amount,  unto  a  hundred  marks  ; 

Therefore  by  law  thou  art  condemned  to  die. 

^Ige.  Yet  this  my  comfort :  when  your  words  are  done. 
My  woes  end  likewise  with  the  evening  sun. 

Thiht.  Well,  Syracusian,  say  in  brief  the  cause 
Why  thou  departed*st  from  thy  native  home  80 

And  for  what  cause  thou  camest  to  Ephesus. 

JSge.  A  heavier  task  could  not  have  been  imposed 
Than  I  to  speak  my  griefs  unspeakable  : 
Yet,  that  the  world  may  witness  that  my  end 
Was  wrought  by  nature,  not  by  vile  offence, 
I'll  utter  what  my  sorrow  gives  me  leave. 
In  Syracusa  was  I  born,  and  wed 
Unto  a  woman,  happy  but  for  me. 
And  by  me,  had  not  our  hap  been  bad. 
\Viih  her  I  lived  in  joy ;  our  wealth  increased  40 

By  prosperous  voyages  I  often  made 
To  Epidamnum  ;  till  my  factor's  death 
And  the  great  care  of  goods  at  random  left 
Drew  me  from  kind  embracements  of  my  spouse  : 
From  whom  my  absence  was  not  six  months  old 
Before  herself,  almost  at  fainting  under 
The  pleasing  punishment  that  women  bear. 
Had  made  provision  for  her  following  me 
And  soon  and  safe  arrived  where  I  was. 
There  had  she^iot  been  long  but  she  became  50 

A  joyful  mother  of  two  goodly  sons ; 
And,  which  was  strange,  the  one  so  like  the  other 
As  could  not  be  distinguish'd  but  by  names. 
That  very  hour  and  in  the  self-same  inn 
A  meaner  woman  was  delivered 
Of  such  a  burden,  male  twins,  both  alike  : 
Those,  for  their  parents  were  exc(*eding  poor, 
I  bought  and  brought  up  to  attend  my  sons. 
My  wife,  not  meanly  proud  of  two  such  boys, 
Made  daily  motions  for  our  home  return  :  60 

Unwilling  I  agreed  ;  alas  I  too  soon 
We  came  aboard. 


BCBNEI.]       THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.  '249 

A  league  from  Epidamnum  had  wo  saii'd. 

Before  tlie  always  wind-obeying  deep 

Gave  any  tragic  instance  of  our  harm  : 

But  longer  did  we  not  retain  much  hope ; 

For  what  obscured  light  the  heavens  did  grant 

Did  but  convey  unto  our  fearful  minds 

A  doubtful  warrant  of  immediate  death  ; 

Which  though  myself  would  gladly  have  embraced,         70 

Yet  the  incessant  weepings  of  my  wife, 

Weeping  before  for  what  she  saw  must  come, 

And  piteous  plainings  of  the  pretty  babes. 

That  monrn'd  for  fashion,  ignorant  what  to  fear, 

Forced  me  to  seek  delays  for  them  and  me. 

And  this  it  was,  for  other  means  was  none  : 

The  sailors  sought  for  safety  by  our  boat. 

And  left  the  ship,  then  sinking- ripe,  to  us  : 

My  wife,  more  careful  for  the  latter-born. 

Had  fasten'd  him  uuto  a  small  spare  mast,  80 

Such  as  sea-faring  men  provide  for  storms ; 

To  liim  one  of  the  other  twins  was  bound, 

Whilst  I  had  been  like  heedful  of  the  other  : 

The  children  thus  disposed,  my  wife  and  I, 

Fixing  our  eyes  on  whom  our  care  was  fix'd, 

Fasten'd  ourselves  at  either  end  the  nuist ; 

And  floating  straight,  obedient  to  the  stream. 

Was  carried  towards  Corinth,  as  we  thought. 

At  length  the  sun,  gazing  upcm  the  earth. 

Dispersed  those  vapours  that  offended  us  ;  90 

And,  by  the  benefit  of  his  wished  light, 

The  seas  wax'd  calm,  and  we  discovered 

Two  ships  from  far  making  amain  to  us. 

Of  Corinth  that,  of  Epidaurus  this  : 

But  ere  they  came, — O,  let  me  say  no  more  I 

Gather  the  sequel  by  that  went  before. 

I>uke,  Nay,  forward,  old  man  ;  do  not  break  off  so ; 
For  we  may  pity,  thouflfh  not  pardon  thee. 

.^Ejge,  O,  had  the  goSs  done  so,  I  had  not  now 
Worthily  term'd  them  merciless  to  us  !  100 

For,  ere  the  ships  could  meet  by  twice  five  leagues, 
We  were  encounter'd  by  a  mighty  rock  ; 
Which  being  violently  borne  upon. 
Oar  helpful  ship  was  splitted  in  the  midst ; 
So  that,  in  this  unjust  divorce  of  us. 
Fortune  had  left  to  both  of  us  alike 
What  to  deliglit  in,  what  to  sorrow  for. 
Her  part,  poor  soul  I  seeming  as  burdened 
With  lesser  weight  but  not  with  leaser  woe. 


SSO  THE  COMEDT  OF  ERRORS.  [acti. 

Was  carried  with  more  dpeed  before  the  wind  ;  110 

And  in  oar  sight  they  three  were  taken  up 

By  fisliermen  of  Corinth,  as  we  thought. 

At  lengtli,  aootlier  sliip  had  seized  on  us ; 

And,  knowing  whom  it  was  their  hap  to  saTO, 

Gave  healthful  welcome  to  their  shipwreck'd  guests ; 

And  would  have  reft  the  fishers  of  their  prey. 

Had  not  their  bark  l)een  very  slow  of  sail ; 

And  therefore  homeward  did  they  bend  their  course. 

Thus  have  you  heard  me  sever'd  from  my  bliss, 

That  by  misfortunes  was  my  life  prolonged,  IdO 

To  tell  sad  stories  of  my  own  mishaps. 

Duke,  And,  for  the  sake  of  them  thou  sonowest  for. 
Do  me  the  favour  to  dilate  at  full 
What  hath  befall'n  of  them  and  thee  till  now. 

JEge,  My  youngest  boy,  and  yet  my  eldest  caro. 
At  eighteen  years  became  inquisitive 
After  his  brother  :  and  importuned  me 
That  his  attendant — so  his  case  was  like. 
Reft  of  his  brother,  but  retain'd  his  name — 
Might  bear  him  company  in  the  quest  of  him  :  180 

Whom  whilst  I  labour'd  of  a  love  to  see, 
I  hazarded  the  loss  of  whom  I  loved. 
Five  summers  have  I  spent  in  furthest  Greece, 
Roaming  clean  through  the  bounds  of  Asia, 
And,  coasting  homeward,  came  to  Epheeus  ; 
Hopeless  to  find,  yet  loath  to  leave  unsought 
Or  that  or  any  place  that  harbours  men. 
But  here  must  end  the  story  of  my  life ; 
And  happy  were  I  in  my  timely  death. 
Could  all  my  travels  warrant  me  they  live.  140 

Duke,  Hapless  .^Sgeon,  whom  the  fates  have  mark'd 
To  bear  the  extremity  of  dire  mishap  ! 
Now,  trust  me,  were  it  not  against  our  laws, 
Afainst  my  crown,  my  oath,  my  dignity, 
Which  princes,  would  they,  may  not  disannul. 
My  soul  should  sue  as  advocate  for  thee. 
But,  though  thou  art  adjudged  to  the  death 
And  passed  sentence  may  not  be  recall'd 
But  to  our  honour's  great  disparagement. 
Yet  I  will  favour  thee  in  what  I  can.  190 

Therefore,  merchant.  Til  limit  thee  this  day 
To  seek  thy  life  by  beneficial  help  : 
Try  all  the  friends  thou  hast  in  Ephesus  ; 
Beg  thou,  or  borrow,  to  make  up  the  sum. 
And  live  ;  if  no,  then  thou  «rt  doom'd  to  die. 
Gaoler,  take  him  to  thy  custody. 


SCKNBIl]       the  comedy  OF  ERRORS.  351 

Gad.  I  will,  my  lord. 

.^6.  Hopeless  and  helpless  doth  JSgeon  wend. 
But  to  procrastinate  his  lifeless  end.  [Exeunt. 

ScBKB  II.     The  Mart. 

Enter  AjmPHOLUS  of  Syracase,  Dbomio  of  Syracuse,  and 

First  Merchant. 

Firet  Mer.  Therefore  give  oat  yon  are  of  Epidamnum, 
Lest  that  your  goods  too  soon  be  confiscate. 
This  very  day  a  Syracasian  merchant 
Is  apprehended  for  arrival  here  ; 
And  not  being  able  to  buy  oat  his  life 
According  to  the  statute  of  the  town 
Dies  ere  the  weary  son  set  in  the  west. 
There  is  your  money  that  I  liad  to  keep. 

Ant.  8.  Go  bear  it  to  the  Centaur,  where  we  host. 
And  stay  there,  Dromio,  till  I  come  to  thee.  10 

Witliin  this  hour  it  will  be  dinner-time : 
Till  that,  rU  Yiew  the  manners  of  the  town. 
Peruse  the  traders,  gaze  upon  the  buildings,     * 
And  then  retnm  and  sleep  within  miue  inn. 
For  with  long  travel  I  am  8ti£E  and  weary. 
Get  thee  away. 

Dro.  8.  Many  a  nuun  would  take  you  at  your  word, 
And  go  indeed,  having  so  good  a  mean.  [Exit. 

Ant.  8.  A  trusty  villain,  sir,  that  very  oft, 
When  I  am  dull  with  care  and  melancholy,  20 

Lightens  my  humour  with  his  merry  jests. 
What,  will  you  walk  with  me  about  the  town, 
And  then  go  to  my  inn  and  dine  with  me? 

Mret  Mer.  1  am  invited,  sir,  to  certain  merohanta, 
Of  whom  I  hope  to  make  much  benefit ; 
I  crave  your  pardon.     Soon  at  five  o'clock. 
Please  you.  Til  meet  with  you  upon  the  mart 
And  afterward  consort  you  till  bed-time  : 
My  present  business  calls  me  from  you  now. 

Ant.  8.  Farewell  till  then  :  I  will  go  lose  myself  90 

And  wander  up  and  down  to  view  the  city. 

First  Mer.  Sir,  I  commend  you  to  your  own  content. 

[ExU. 
Ant.  8.  He  that  commends  me  to  mine  own  content 
Commends  me  to  the  thing  I  cannot  get. 
I  to  the  world  am  like  a  drop  of  water 
That  in  the  ocean  seeks  another  drop, 
Who,  falling  there  to  find  his  fellow  forth,  > 

Unseen,  inquintive,  ooofounds  himself  : 


252  THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.  [actl 

So  I,  to  find  a  motlier  and  a  brother, 

In  quest  of  them,  unhappy,  lose  myself.  40 

Enter  Dromio  of  Ephesus. 

Here  comes  the  almanac  of  my  true  date. 

What  now?  how  chance  thou  art  retum'd  so  soon? 

Dro,  E.  Retum'd  so  soon  1  rather  approach'd  too  late  : 
The  capon  bums,  the  pig  falls  from  the  spit. 
The  clock  hath  strucken  twelve  upon  the  bell ; 
My  mistress  made  it  one  upon  my  cheek  : 
She  is  so  hot  because  the  meat  is  cold  ; 
The  meat  is  cold  because  you  come  not  home  ; 
You  come  not  home  because  you  have  no  stomach  ; 
You  have  no  stomach  having  broke  your  fast ;  50 

But  we  that  know  what  'tis  to  fast  and  pray 
Are  penitent  for  your  default  to-day. 

Ard,  8.  Stop  in  your  wind,  sir :  tell  me  this,  I  pray : 
Where  have  you  left  the  money  that  I  gave  you? 

J>r<?.  E.  0, — sixpence,  that  I  had  o'  Wednesday  last 
To  pay  the  saddler  for  my  mistress'  cropper  ? 
The  saddlei^had  it,  sir  ;  I  kept  it  not. 

Ant.  8.  I  am  not  in  a  sportive  humour  now  : 
Tell  me,  and  dally  not,  where  is  the  money? 
We  being  strangers  here,  how  darest  thou  trust  00 

So  great  a  charge  from  thine  own  custody? 

Dvo.  E,  I  pray  you,  jest,  sir,  as  you  sit  at  dinner : 
I  from  my  mistress  come  to  you  in  post ; 
If  I  return,  I  shall  be  post  indeed, 
For  she  will  score  your  fault  upon  my  pate. 
Methluks  your  maw,  like  mine,  should  be  your  clock 
And  strike  you  home  without  a  messenger. 

Ant.  8.  Come,  Dromio,  come,  these  jests  are  out  of  sea- 
son; 
Reserve  them  till  a  merrier  hour  than  this. 
Where  is  the  gold  I  gave  in  charge  to  thee  ?  70 

J}ro.  E.  To  me,  sir?  why,  you  gave  no  gold  to  me. 

Ant.  8.  Come  on,  sir  knave,  have  done  your  foolishness 
And  tell  me  how  thou  hast  disposed  thy  charge. 

Dro.  E.  My  charge  was  but  to -fetch  you  from  the  mart 
Home  to  your  house,  the  Phoenix,  sir,  to  dinner : 
My  mistress  and  her  sister  stays  for  you. 

Ant.  8.  Now,  as  I  am  a  Christian,  answer  me 
In  what  safe  place  you  have  bestow'd  my  money. 
Or  I  shall  break  that  merry  sconce  of  yours 
That  stands  on  tricks  when  I  am  undisposed :  80 

Where  is  the  thousand  marks  thou  hadst  of  me  ? 

Dro.  E.  I  have  some  marks  of  yours  ui>on  my  pate. 


flCKNEL]        THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.  258 

Borne  of  my  mistress'  marks  upon  my  slioalders. 
Bat  not  a  tlioasand  marks  Ijctween  you  both. 
If  I  should  pay  your  worship  those  again. 
Perchance  you  will  not  bear  them  patiently. 

Ant,  S.  Thy  mistress'  marks  ?  what  mistress,  slare,  hast 
thou? 

Dro.  E,  Your  worship's  wife,  my  mistress  at  the  Phoenix  ; 
She  that  doth  fast  till  you  como  home  to  dinner 
And  prays  that  you  will  hie  you  home  to  dinner.  90 

Ant,  8.  What,  wilt  thou  flout  me  thus  unto  my  face. 
Being  forbid?    Tliere,  take  yon  that,  sir  knave. 

Dro.  E.  What  mean  you,  sir?  for  God's  sake,  hold  your 
hands  I 
Nay,  an  you  will  not,  sir,  I'll  take  my  heels.  \ExiJt, 

Ant.  8.  Upon  my  life,  by  some  device  or  other 
The  villam  is  o'er-raught  of  all  my  money. 
They  say  this  town  is  full  of  cozenage, 
As,  nimble  jugglers  that  deceive  the  eye, 
Dark- working  sorcerers  that  change  the  mind. 
Soul-killing  witches  that  deform  the  body,  100 

Disguised  cheaters,  prating  mountebanks. 
And  many  such-like  liberties  of  s!n  : 
If  it  prove  so,  I  will  be  gone  the  sooner. 
I'll  to  the  Centaur,  to  go  seek  this  slave  • 
I  greatly  fear  my  money  is  not  safe.  [Ehrii 


ACT  II. 

ScENB  I.     The  lunue  of  Antipholus  of  Ephesas. 

Enter  Adriana  and  Luciana. 

Adr,  Neither  my  husband  nor  tbe  slave  retum'd, 
That  in  such  haste  I  sent  to  seek  his  master  1 
Sure,  Luciana,  it  is  two  o'clock. 

Luc,  Perhaps  some  merchant  hath  invited  him 
And  from  the  mart  he's  somewhere  gone  to  dinner 
Good  sister,  let  us  dino  and  never  fret  : 
A  man  is  master  of  his  liberty  : 
Time  is  their  master,  and  when  they  see  time 
They'll  go  or  come  :  if  so,  bo  patient,  sister.  • 

J^dr,  Why  should  their  liberty  than  ours  be  more  ?       10 

Ltic,  Because  their  business  srill  lies  out  o'  door. 

Adr,  Look,  when  I  serve  him  so,  he  takes  it  ill. 

Luc,  O,  know  he  is  the  bridle  of  your  will. 

Adr.  There's  none  but  asses  will  be  bridled  so. 

Luc  Why,  headstrong  liberty  is  lash'd  with  woe. 


254  THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.  [act  u. 

There's  notliing  situate  under  heaven's  eye 

But  hath  his  bound,  in  earth,  in  sea,  in  sky  : 

The  beasts,  the  fishes  and  the  winged  fowls 

Are  their  males'  subjects  and  at  their  controls : 

Men,  more  divine,  the  masters  of  all  these,  20 

Lords  of  the  wide  world  and  wild  watery  seas. 

Indued  with  intellectual  sense  and  souls. 

Of  more  pre-eminence  than  fish  and  fowls. 

Are  masters  to  their  females,  and  their  lords  : 

Then  let  your  will  attend  on  their  accords. 

Adr.  This  servitude  makes  you  to  keep  unwed. 

Lae.  Not  this,  but  troubles  of  the  marriage-bed. 

Adr,  But,  were  you  wedded,  you  would  bear  some  swh^ . 

Ltic,  Ere  I  learn  love.  Til  practise  to  obey. 

Adr.  How  if  your  husband  start  some  other  where?     80 

Lue.  Till  he  come  home  again,  I  would  forbear. 

Adr.  Patience  unmoved  1  no  marvel  though  she  pause  ; 
They  can  be  meek  that  have  no  otlier  cause. 
A  wretched  soul,  bruised  with  adversity. 
We  bid  be  quiet  i^hen  we  hear  it  cry  ; 
But  were  we  burden'd  with  like  weight  of  pain. 
As  much  or  more  we  should  ourselves  complain  : 
8o  thou,  that  hast  no  unkind  mate  to  grieve  thee. 
With  uteing  helpless  patience  wouldst  relieve  me  ; 
But,  if  thou  live  to  see  like  right  bereft,  40 

This  fool-begg'd  patience  in  thee  will  be  left. 

Luc.  Well,  I  will  marry  one  day,  but  to  try. 
Here  comes  your  man  ;  now  is  your  husband  nigh. 

Bnier  Drohio  of  Ephesus. 

Adr.  Bay,  is  your  tardy  master  now  at  hand  t 

Dro.  E.  Nay,  he's  at  two  hands  with  me,  and  that  my 
two  ears  can  witness. 

Adr.  Say,  didst  thou  speak  with  him  7  know'st  thou  his 
mind? 

Dro,  E.  Ay,  ay,  he  told  his  mind  upon  mine  ear  : 
Beshrew  his  hand,  I  scarce  could  understand  it. 

Lite,  t^iike  he  so  doubtfully,  thou  couldst  not  feel  liis 
meaning  ?  61 

1)ro.  K  Nay,  he  struck  so  plainly,  I  could  too  well  feel 
his  blows ;  and  withal  so  doubtfully  that  I  could  scarce 
imderstand  them. 

Adr.  But  say,  I  prithee,  is  he  coming  homo  ? 
It  seems  he  hath  great  care  to  please  his  wife. 

Dro,  E.  Why,  mistress,  sure  my  master  is  horn-mad. 

Adr.  Horn -mad,  thou  villain  i 


■CBNBi.]        THE  CX)MEDY  OF  ERRORS.  255 

Dro.  K  I  mean  not  cackold-nukd  ; 

Bat,  sure,  lie  is  stark  mad. 

When  I  desired  him  to  come  home  to  dinner,  60 

He  ask'd  me  for  a  thousand  marks  in  gold  : 
"  'Tis  dinner-time,"  quoth  I ;  **  My  gold  I "  quoth  he  : 
**  Your  meat  doth  bum,"  quoth  I ;  "  My  gold  ! "  quoth  he  : 
"  Will  you  come  home ? "  quoth  I ;  "My  gold  I "  quoth  he. 
"  Where  is  the  thousand  marks  I  gave  thee,  villain  ?" 
"  The  pig,"  quoth  I,  *•  is  burn'd  ; "  "  My  gold  I "  quoth  he 
"  My  mistress,  sir,"  quoth  I ;  "  Hang  up  thy  mistress  1 
I  know  not  thy  mistress ;  out  on  thy  mistress  1 " 

Lue.  Quoth  who  ? 

Drff,  K  Quoth  my  master :  70 

*'  I  know,"  quoth  he,  "  no  house,  no  wife,  no  mistress." 
So  that  my  errand,  due  unto  my  tongue, 
I  thank  him,  I  bare  home  upon  my  slioulders.; 
For,  in  conclusion,  he  did  beat  me  there. 

Adr,  Go  back  again,  thou  slave,  and  fetch  him  home. 

Dro,  B,  Go  back  again,  and  be  new  beaten  home  1 
For  God's  sake,  send  some  other  messenger. 

Adr.  Back,  slave,  or  I  will  break  thy  pate  across 

Dro.  E.  And  he  will  bless  that  cross  with  other  beating  : 
Between  you  I  shall  have  a  holy  head.  80 

Adr.  Hence,  prating  peasant  I  fetch  thy  master  home 

Dro,  E,  Am  I  so  round  with  you  as  you  with  me. 
That  like  a  football  you  do  spurn  me  thus  t 
You  spurn  me  hence,  and  he  will  spurn  me  liither : 
If  I  last  in  this  service,  you  must  case  me  in  leather.  [Exit, 

Luc,  Fie,  how  imi>Atience  loureth  in  your  face  ! 

Adr,  His  company  must  do  his  minions  grace. 
Whilst  I  at  home  star^'e  for  a  merry  look. 
Hath  homely  age  the  alluring  beauty  took 
From  my  poor  cheek  ?  then  he  hath  wasted  it :  90 

Are  my  discourses  dull  V  barren  my  wit  ? 
If  voluble  and  sharp  disoonrso  be  marr'd, 
Unkindncss  blunts  it  more  than  marble  liard : 
Do  their  gay  vestments  his  nffoctions  bait  ? 
That's  not  my  fault :  he's  master  of  my  state  : 
What  ruins  are  in  me  thnt  can  be  found, 
By  him  not  ruin'd?  then  is  ho  the  ground 
Of  my  defeatures.     My  decayed  fair 
A  sunny  look  of  his  would  soon  repair : 
But,  too  unruly  deer,  he  breaks  the  pale  100 

And  feeds  from  home  ;  poor  I  am  but  his  stale. 

Ijtie.  8e1f -harming  lealousy  I  ^e,  beat  it  hence  1 

Adr,  Unfeeling  fools  can  with  such  wrongs  dispense. 
I  know  his  eye  doth  homage  otherwhere ; 


266  THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.  [Acrn* 

Or  else  wliat  lets  it  but  he  woutd  be  here? 
Sister,  you  know  he  promised  me  a  cliain  ; 
Would  that  alone,  alone  he  would  detain. 
So  he  would  keep  fair  quarter  with  his  bed  I 
I  see  the  jewel  best  enamelled 

Will  lose  his  beauty  ;  yet  the  gold  bides  still,  110 

That  others  touch,  and  often  touching  will 
f  Wear  gold  :  and  so  no  man  that  hatli  a  name. 
By  falsehood  and  corruption  doth  it  shame. 
Since  that  my  beauty  cannot  please  his  eye, 
I'll  weep  what's  left  away,  and  weeping  die. 
Luc.  How  many  fond  fools  serve  mad  jealousy !  [Exeunt, 

Scene  II.     A  public  plate. 

Enter  Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 

Ant.  8.  The  gold  I  gave  to  Dromio  is  laid  up 
Safe  at  the  Centaur ;  and  the  heedful  slave 
Is  wander'd  forth,  in  care  to  seek  me  out 
By  computation  and  mine  host's  report. 
I  could  not  speak  with  Dromio  since  at  first 
I  sent  him  from  the  mart.     See,  here  he  comes. 

Enter  Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

How  now,  sir !  is  your  merry  humour  alter'd  ? 

As  you  love  strokes,  so  jest  with  me  again. 

You  know  no  Centaur  ?  you  received  no  gold  ? 

Your  mistress  sent  to  have  me  home  to  dinner  ?  10 

My  house  was  at  the  Phoenix?    Wast  thou  mad, 

That  thus  so  madly  thou  didst  answer  me  ? 

Dro.  S.  What  answer,  sir?  when  spake  I  such  a  word  ? 

Ant.  8.  Even  now,  even  here,  not  half  an  hour  since. 

Dro.  8.  I  did  not  see  you  since  you  sent  nie  hence, 
Home  to  the  Centaur,  with  the  gold  you  gave  me. 

Ant.  8.  Villain,  thou  didst  deny  the  gold's  receipt 
And  told'st  me  of  a  mistress  and  a  dinner  ; 
For  which,  I  hope,  thou  felt'st  I  was  displeased. 

Dro.  8.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  in  this  merry  vein  :  20 

Wluit  means  this  jest  ?    I  pray  you.  master,  tell  me. 

Ant.  8.  Yea,  dost  thou  jeer  and  flout  me  in  the  teeth  ? 
Think'st  thou  I  jest  ?    Hold,  take  thou  that,  and  that. 

[Beating  him. 

jyro.  8.  Hold,  sir,  for  God's  sake  !  now  your  jest  is  earn- 
est : 
Upon  what  bargain  do  you  give  it  me  ? 

Ant.  8.  Because  that  I  familiarly  sometimes 
Do  use  you  for  my  fool  and  chat  with  you, 


SCENE  II.]       THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.  {B57 

Your  saaciness  will  jest  upon  my  love 

And  make  a  common  of  my  serious  hours. 

When  the  suu  shines  let  foolish  gnats  make  sport,  ,80 

But  creep  in  crannies  when  he  liides  his  beams. 

If  you  will  jest  with  me,  know  my  aspect 

And  fashion  your  demeanour  to  my  looks, 

Or  I  will  beat  this  method  in  your  sconce. 

Dro.  S.  Sconce  call  you  it?  so  you  would  leave  battering, 
I  had  rather  have  it  a  nead  :  an  you  use  these  blows  long,  I 
must  get  a  sconce  for  my  head  and  insconce  it  too  ;  or  else  [ 
shall  seek  my  wit  in  my  shoulde*:a  But,  I  pray,  sir,  why 
am  I  beaten  ?  40 

Ant.  S.  Dost  thou  not  know  ? 

JDro.  S.  Nothing,  sir,  but  that  I  am  beaten. 

Ant,  8.  Shall  I  tell  you  why  ? 

JDro.  8.  Ay,  sir,  and  wherefore ;  for  they  say  every  why 
hath  a  wherefore. 

Ant.  8.  Why,  first, — for  flouting  me ;  and  then,  where- 
fore,— 
For  urging  it  the  second  time  to  me. 

Dro.  8.  Was  there  ever  any  man  thus  beaten  out  of  sea- 
son, 
When  in  the  why  and  the  wherefore  is  neither  rhyme  nor 

reason? 
Well,  sir,  I  tliank  you.  50 

Ant.  8.  Thank  me,  sir?  for  what? 

JDro.  8.  Marry,  sir,  for  this  something  that  you  gave  me 
for  nothing. 

Ant.  8.  ru  make  you  amends  next,  to  give  you  nothing 
for  something.     But  say,  sir,  is  it  dinner-time? 

Dro.  8.  No,  sir  :  I  think  the  meat  wants  that  I  have.     . 

Ant.  8.  In  good  time,  sir  ;  what's  that  ? 

Dro.  8.  Basting. 

Ant.  8.  Well,  sir,  then  'twill  be  dry.  60 

Dro.  8.  If  it  be,  sir,  I  pray  you,  eat  none  of  it. 

Ant.  8.  Your  reason? 

Dro.  8.  Lest  it  make  you  choleric  and  purchase  me 
another  dry  basting. 

Ant.  8.  Well,  sir,  learn  to  jest  in  good  time  :  there*s  a 
time  for  all  things. 

Dro.  8.  1  durst  have  denied  that,  before  you  were  so 
choleric. 

Ant.  8.  By  what  rule,  sir  ? 

Dro.  8.  Aiarry,  sir,  by  a  rule  as  plain  as  the  plain  bald 
pate  of  father  Time  himself.  71 

Ant.  &  Let's  hear  it. 

8HAK.   I. — 9 


B58'  THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.  [actii. 

Dto.  8.  There's  no  time  for  a  man  to  recover  his  hair  that 
grows  bald  by  nature. 

Ant.  8.  May  he  not  do  it  by  fine  and  recovery  ? 

Dro.  8.  Yes,  to  pay  a  fine  for  a  periwig  and  recover  the 
lost  hair  of  another  man. 

Ant  8.  Wliy  is  Time  such  a  niggard  of  hair,  being,  as  it 
is,  so  plentiful  an  excrement  ?  79 

Dro.  8.  Because  it  is  a  blessing  that  he  bestows  on  bensts  : 
and  what  he  hath  scanted  men  in  hair  he  hath  given  them 
in  wit. 

AnL  8,  Why,  bat  there's  many  a  man  hath  more  hair 
than  wit. 

Dro.  8.  Not  a  man  of  those  but  he  hath  the  wit  to  lose  his 
hair. 

Ant.  8.  Why,  thoa  didst  conclude  hairy  men  plain  de«I- 
ere  without  wit. 

Dro.  8.  The  plainer  dealer,  the  sooner  lost :  yet  he  looseth 
it  in  a  kmd  of  jollity.  90 

Ant.  8.  For  what  reason  ? 

Dro.  8.  For  two  ;  and  sound  ones  too. 

Ant.  8.  Nay,  not  sound,  I  pray  you. 

Dro.  8.  Sure  ones  then. 

Ant.  8.  Nay,  not  sure,  in  a  thing  falsing. 

Dro.  8.  Certain  ones  then. 

Ant.  8.  Name  them. 

Dro.  8.  Tlie  one,  to  save  thn  money  that  he  spends  in 
trimming  ;  the  other,  that  at  dinner  they  should  not  drop  in 
his  porridge.  100 

Ant.  8.  You  would  all  this  time  have  proved  there  is  no 
time  for  all  tilings. 

Dro.  8.  Marry,  and  did,  sir ;  namely,  no  time  to  recover 
hair  lost  by  nature. 

Ant.  8.  But  your  reason  was  not  substantial,  why  there 
is  no  time  to  recover. 

Dro.  8.  Thus  I  mend  it :  Time  himself  is  bald  and  iher»> 
fore  to  the  world's  end  will  have  bald  followers. 

A7it.  8.  1  knew  'twould  be  a  bald  conclusion : 
But,  soft  I  who  wafts  us  yonder?  Ill 

Enter  Adriana  and  Ltjciana. 

Adr.  Ay,  ay,  Antipholus,  look  strange  and  from : 
Some  other  mistress  hath  thy  sweet  aspects  ; 
I  am  not  Adriana  nor  thy  wife. 
Tlie  time  was  once  when  thou  unurged  wouldst  vow 
That  never  words  were  music  to  thine  ear, 
That  never  object  pleasing  in  thine  eye, 
That  never  touch  well  welcome  to  thy  hand. 


SCENE  n.]       THE  CX)MEDY  OF  EBBORS.  259 

That  never  meat  sweet-savour'd  in  thy  taste, 

Unless  I  spake,  or  look'd,  or  touch'd,  or  carved  to  thee.  IdO 

How  comes  it  now,  thy  husband,  0,  how  comes  it, 

That  thou  art  thus  estranged  from  thyself? 

Thyself,  I  call  it,  being  strange  to  me, 

That,  undividable,  incorporate. 

Am  better  than  thy  dear  self's  better  part. 

Ah,  do  not  tear  away  thyself  from  me  I 

For  know,  my  love,  as  easy  may'st  thou  fall 

A  drop  of  water  in  the  breaking  gulf 

And  take  un mingled  thence  that  drop  again. 

Without  addition  or  diminishing,  180 

As  take  from  me  thyself  and  not  me  too. 

How  dearl V  would  it  touch  thee  to  the  quick, 

Shouldst  thou  but  hear  I  were  licentious 

And  that  this  body,  consecrate  to  thee, 

By  ruffian  lust  should  be  contaminate  1 

Wouldst  thou  not  spit  at  me  and  spurn  at  me 

And  hurl  the  name  of  husband  in  my  face 

And  tear  the  stain'd  skin  oft  my  harlot-brow 

And  from  my  false  liand  cut  the  wedding-ring 

And  break  it  with  a  deep-divorcing  vow?  140 

I  know  thou  canst ;  and  therefore  see  thou  do  it. 

I  am  possess'd  with  an  adulterate  blot ; 

My  blood  is  mingled  with  the  crime  of  lust : 

For  if  we  two  be  one  and  thou  play  false, 

I  do  digest  tlio  poison  of  thy  flesh, 

Being  strumpeted  by  thy  contagion.  ' 

Keep  then  fair  league  and  truce  with  thy  true  bed ;     '^ 

I  live  unstain'd.  thou  undishonoured. 

Aitt.  8   Plead  you  to  me,  fail  dame?  I  know  you  nort : 
In  Ephesus  I  am  but  two  hours  old,  ^  150 

As  strange  unto  your  town  as  to  your  talk  ; 
Who,  every  word  by  all  my  wit  being  scann'd, 
Want  wit  in  all  one  word  to  understand. 

Luc.  Fie,  brother !  how  the  world  is  changed  with  you  I 
When  were  you  wont  to  use  my  sister  thus  ? 
She  sent  for  you  by  Dromio  home  to  dinner. 

Ant.  S.  By  Dromio  ? 

Dro,  8.  By  me? 

Adr.  By  thee  ;  and  this  thou  didst  return  from  him, 
That  he  did  buffet  thee  and  in  his  blows  160 

Denied  my  house  for  his,  me  for  his  wife. 

AtU.  8,  Did  you  converse,  sir,  with  this  gentlewoman  ? 
What  is  the  course  and  drift  of  your  compact  ? 

Dro  8  I,  sir?  I  never  saw  her  till  this  time. 

Ant,  8.  Villain,  thou  liest ;  for  even  her  very  words 


260  THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.  [act  n. 

Didst  thou  deliver  to  me  on  the  mart. 

Dro,  S.  I  never  spake  with  her  in  all  my  life. 

Ant.  S,  How  can  she  thus  then  call  us  hy  our  names. 
Unless  it  be  by  inspiration. 

Adr,  How  ill  agrees  it  with  your  gravity  170 

To  counterfeit  thus  grossly  with  your  slave, 
Abetting  him  to  thwart  me  in  my  mood  1 
'  Be  it  my  wrong  you  are  from  me  exempt, 
But  wrong  not  that  wrong  with  a  more  contempt 
Come,  I  will  fasten  on  this  sleeve  of  thine : 
Thou  art  an  elm,  my  husband,  I  a  vine, 
Whose  weakness  married  to  thy  stronger  state 
Makes  me  with  thy  strength  to  communicate  : 
If  aught  possess  thee  from  me,  it  is  dross. 
Usurping  ivy,  brier,  or  idle  moss  ;  160 

Who,  all  for  want  of  pruning,  with  intrurion 
Infect  thy  sap  and  live  on  thy  confusion. 

Ant.  S.  To  me  she  speaks ;  she  moves  me  for  her  theme : 
What,  was  I  married  to  her  in  my  dream  t 
Or  sleep  I  now  and  think  I  hear  all  this  ? 
What  error  drives  our  eyes  and  ears  amiss? 
Until  I  know  this  sure  uncertainty, 
I'll  entertain  the  offer'd  fallacy. 

Lite.  Dromio,  go  bid  the  servants  spread  for  dinner. 

Dro.  8.  O.  for  my  beads  !  I  cross  me  for  a  sinner.        190 
This  is  the  fairy  land  :  0  spite  of  spites  ! 
We  talk  witli  goblins,  owls  and  sprites  : 
If  we  obey  them  not,  this  will  ensue. 
They'll  suck  our  breath  or  pinch  us  black  and  blue. 

Luc.  Why  pratest  thou  to  thyself  and  answer'st  not? 
Dromio,  thou  drone,  thou  snail,  thou  slug,  thou  sot  I 

Dro.  S.  I  am  transformed,  master,  am  1  not? 

AtU.  S.  I  think  thou  art  in  mind,  and  so  am  I. 

Dro.  S.  Nay,  master,  both  in  mind  and  in  my  shape. 

Ant.  8.  Thou  hast  thine  own  form. 

Dro.  8.  No,  I  am  an  ape.  200 

Lae.  If  thou  art  changed  to  aught,  'tis  to  an  ass. 
'    Dro.  S.  'Tistrue  ;  she  rides  me  and  I  long  for  grass. 
'Tis  so,  I  am  an  ass  ;  else  it  could  never  bo 
But  I  should  know  her  as  well  as  she  knows  me. 

Adr,  Come,  come,  no  longer  will  I  be  a  fool. 
To  put  the  finger  in  the  eye  and'  weep, 
Whilst  man  and  master  laugh  my  woes  to  scorxL 
Come,  sir,  to  dinner.     Dromio,  keep  the  gate. 
Husband,  Til  dine  above  with  you  to-day 
And  shrive  you  of  a  thousand  idle  pranks.  210 

Sirrah,  if  any  ask  you  for  your  master. 


SCENE  I.]        THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.  861 

Bay  lie  dines  forth  and  let  no  creature  enter. 
Come,  sister.     Dromio,  play  the  porter  well. 

Ant  8.  Ani  I  in  eartli,  in  heaven,  or  in  hell? 
Sleeping  or  waking  ?  mad  or  well-advised  ? 
Known  unto  these,  and  to  myself  disguised  I 
rU  say  as  they  say  and  perse ver  so 
And  in  this  mist  at  all  adventures  go. 

Dro,  8.  Master,  shall  I  he  porter  at  the  gate? 

Adr,  Ay  ;  and  let  none  enter,  lest  I  hreak  your  pate.  "220 

Luc,  Come,  come,  Antipholus,  we  dine  too  late.  {Exeunt. 


ACT  III. 

ScsKE  I.    Before  the  hotue  of  Anttpholus  of  Ephesus. 

JEnter  Aktipholus  of  Ephesus,  Dromio  of  Ephesus,  Au- 

GELO,  and  Balthazar. 

Ant.  E.  Good  Signior  Angelo,  you  must  excuse  us  all ; 
My  wife  is  shrewish  when  I  keep  not  hours  : 
Say  that  I  lingered  with  you  at  your  shop 
To  see  the  mfu{:lng  of  her  carcanet 
And  that  to-morrow  you  will  bring  it  home. 
Bat  here's  a  villain  that  would  face  me  down 
He  met  me  on  the  mart  and  that  I  heat  him 
And  charged  him  with  a  thousand  marks  in  gold 
And  that  I  did  deny  my  wife  and  house. 
Thou  drunkard,  thou,  what  didst  thou  mean  by  this  ?       10 

Dro.  E.  Say  what  yon  will,  sir,  but  I  know  what  I  know  ; 
That  you  beat  me  at  the  man,  I  have  your  hand  to  show  : 
If  the  skinwere  parchment  and  the  blows  you  gave  were 

ink, 
Tour  own  handwriting  would  tell  you  what  I  think. 

Ard.E.  I  think  thou  art  an  ass. 

Bro.  E.  Marry,  so  it  doth  appear 

By  tho  wrongs  I  suifer  and  the  blows  I  l)ear. 
1  should  kick,  being  kick'd  ;  and,  being  at  that  pass, 
You  would  keep  from  my  heels  and  beware  of  an  ass. 

Ard.  E.  You're  sad,   Signior  Balthazar :    pray  God  our 
cheer 
May  answer  my  good  will  and  your  good  welcome  here.    20 

BaL.  I  hold  your  dainties  cheap,  sir,  and  your  welcome 
dear» 

Ant.  E.  O,  Signior  Balthazar,  either  at  flesh  or  fish, 
A  table  full  of  welcome  makes  scarce  one  dainty  dish. 

Bat.  Good  meat,  sir,  is  common ;  that  every  churl  affords. 


de3  THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.  [act  in. 

Ant,  E.  And  welcome  more  common  ;  for  tbat's  nothing 

but  words. 
BcU.  Smrll  cheer  and  great  welcomo  makes  a  merry  feast. 
Ant.  E.  Ay  to  a  niggardly  host  and  more  sparing  guest : 
But  though  my  cates  be  mean,  take  tliem  in  good  part ; 
Better  cheer  may  you  have,  but  not  witli  better  heart. 
But,  soft  I  my  door  is  lock'd.     Go,  bid  them  let  us  in.      80 
Dro.  E.  Maud,  Bridget,  Marian,  Cicely,  Gillian,  Glnn  ! 
Dro.  8.  [Within'l   Mome,  malt- horse,  capon,  coxcomb, 
idiot,  patch  1 
Either  get  thee  from  the  door  or  sit  down  at  the  hatch. 
DoBt  thou  conjure  for  wenches,  that  thou  call'st  for  such 

store, 
Wlien  one  is  one  too  many  ?    Go  get  thee  from  the  door. 
Dro,  E,  What  patch  is  made  our  porter?    My  master 

stays  in  the  street. 
Dro.  8.  [  WWiinl  Let  him  walk  from  whence  he  came, 

lest  he  cat<;h  cold  on's  feet. 
Ant,  E.  Who  talks  within  there  ?  ho,  open  the  door  ! 
Dro,  8.  [  Within]  Right,  sir ;  I'll  tell  you  when,  an  you'll 

tell  me  wherefore. 
Ant.  E.  ■  Wherefore  ¥  for  my  dinner  :  1  have  not  dined  to- 
dav.  40 

Dro.  A  [Within]  Nor  to-day  here  you  must  not;  come 

again  when  you  may. 
Ant.  jS.  What  art  thou  that  keepest  me  out  from  the 

house  I  owo  ? 
Dro.  8.  [  Within]  The  porter  for  this  time,  sir,  and  my 

name  is  Dromio. 
Dro.  E.  O  villain  1  thou  hast  stolen  both  mine  office  and 
my  name. 
The  one  ne'er  got  me  credit,  the  other  mickle  blame. 
If  thou  hadst  been  Dromio  to-day  in  my  place. 
Thou  wouldst  have  changed  thy  face  for  a  name  or  thy 
name  for  an  ass. 
Lu^e,  [WWiin]  What  a  coil  is   there,  Dromio?  who  are 

those  at  the  gate  ? 
Dro.  E.  Let  my  master  in,  Luce. 
Luee  [  Within]  Faith,  no ;  he  comes  too  late  ; 
And  so  tell  your  master. 
'  Dro.  E.  O  Lord,  I  must  laugh  I 

Have  at  you  with  a  proverb — Shall  I  set  in  my  staff  Y 
Luce.  [WitJiin]  Have  at    you   with   another;    that's — 

When?  can  you  tell  ? 
Dro.  8.  [Within]  If  thy  name  be  call'd  Luce, — ^Luce,  then 
hast  answer^  him  well. 


BCBNBL]        THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.  268 

Ant.  S.  Do  yoa  liear,  you  minion?  you'll  let  us  in,  I 

hope? 
Luce,  t  WitMn]  1  thought  to  have  ask'd  you. 
Dro.  JS.  [  Within]  And  you  said  no. 

Dro.  E.  So.  come,  help :   well  struck  I  there  was  blow 

for  blow. 
Ant,  E.  Thou  baggage,  let  mo  in. 
Luce.  [Within]  Can  you  tell  for  whose  sake ? 
Dro.  E,  Master,  knock  the  door  hard. 
Luce.  [  Within]  Let  him  knock  till  it  ache. 

Ant.  E.  You'll  cry  lor  tliis,  minion,  if  I  beat  the  door 

down. 
Luce.  [  WUhin]  What  needs  all  that,  and  a  pair  of  stocks 

in  the  town  ?  60 

Adr.  [  Within]  Who  is  that  at  the  door  that  keeps  all  this 

noise  ? 
Dro.  8.  [WUJUn]  By  my  troth,  your  town  is  troubled 

with  unruly  boys. 
Ant.  E.  Are  you  there,  wife?  you  might  have  come  be- 
fore. 
Adr.  [  Within]  Your  wife,  sir  knave  I  go  get  you  from 

the  door. 
Dro.  E  It  you  went  in  pain,   master,   this  "knave" 

would  go  sore. 
Ang.  Here  is  neither  cheer,  sir,  nor  welcomt/ :  we  would 

fain  have  either. 
Bal.  In  debating  which  was  best,  we  shall  part  with 

neither. 
Dro.  E.  Thev  stand  at  the  door,  master ;  bid  them  wel- 
come hitlier. 
Ant.  E.  Tliere  is  something  in  the  wind,  that  we  cannot 

get  in. 
Dro.  E.  You  would  say  so,  master,  if  your  garments 

were  thin.  70 

Tour  cake  there  is  warm  within ;  you  stand  here  in  the 

cold  : 
It  would  make  a  man  mad  as  a  buck,  t^  be  so  bought  and 

sold. 
Ant.  E.  Go  fetch  me  something :  V\\  break  open  the 

gate. 
Dro.  S.  [  Within]  Break  any  breaking  here,  and  I'll  break 

your  knave's  pate. 
Dro.  E.  A  man  may  break  a  word  with  you,  sir,  and 

words  are  but  wind.   . 
Ay,  and  break  it  in  your  face,  so  he  break  it  not  behind. 
Dro.  8.  [  WiMn^  It  seems  thou  want'st  breaking :  out 

upon  thee,  hmd ! 


204  THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.         [actiii. 

Dro,  E,  Here's  too  much  "  out  upon  thee  !"  I  pray  thee, 
let  me  in. 

Dro.  8,  r  WUMn\  Ay,  when  fowls  have  no  feathers  and 
fish  IiBve  no  fin. 

Ant  E.  Well,  PU  break  in  :  go  borrow  me  a  crow.       80 

Dro.  E.  A  crow  without  feather?    Master,  mean  you  so? 
For  a  fish  without  a  fin,  there's  a  fowl  without  a  feather  : 
If  a  crow  help  us  in,  sirrah,  we'll  phick  a  crow  together. 

Ant.  E.  Go  get  thee  gone  ;  fetch  me  an  iron  crow. 

Bal.  Have  patience,  sir ;  O,  let  it  not  be  so  I 
Herein  you  war  against  your  reputation 
And  draw  within  the  compass  of  suspect 
The  unviolated  honour  of  your  wife. 
Once  this, — ^your  long  experience  of  her  wisdom, 
Her  sober  virtue,  years  and  modesty,  90 

Plead  on  her  part  some  cause  to  you  unknown  ; 
And  doubt  not,  sir,  but  she  will  well  excuse 
Why  at  this  time  the  doors  are  made  against  you. 
Be  ruled  by  me :  depart  in  patience, 
And  let  us  to  the  Tiger  all  to  dinner, 
And  about  evening  come  yourself  alone 
To  know  the  reason  of  this  strange  restraint. 
If  by  strong  hand  you  offer  to  br^k  in 
Now  in  the  stirring  passage  of  the  day, 
A  vulgar  comment  will  be  made  of  it,  100 

And  that  supposed  by  the  common  rout 
Against  your  yet  nngalled  estimation 
That  may  with  foul  intrusion  enter  in 
And  dwell  upon  your  grave  when  you  are  dead ; 
For  slander  lives  upon  succession, 
For  ever  housed  where  it  gets  possession. 

Ant.  E.  You  have  prevailed  :  I  will  depart  in  quiet, 
And,  in  despite  of  mirth,  mean  to  be  merry. 
I  know  a  wench  of  excellent  discourse, 
Pretty  and  witty,  wild  and  yet,  too,  gentle :  110 

There  will  we  dine.     This  woman  that  I  mean. 
My  wife — but,  I  protest,  without  desert —  / 

Hath  oftentimes  upbraided  me  withal : 
To  her  will  we  to  dinner.     \To  Ang.^  Get  you  home 
And  fetch  the  chain  ;  by  this  I  know  'tis  made : 
Bring  it,  I  pray  you,  to  the  Porpentine  ; 
For  there's  the  house  :  that  chain  will  I  bestow — 
Bo  it  for  nothing  but  to  spite  my  wife— 
Upon  mine  hostess  there  :  good  sir,  make  haste 
Since  mine  own  doors  refuse  to  entertain  me,  120 

111  knock  elsewhere,  to  see  if  they'll  disdain  me. 

Ang.  I'll  meet  you  at  thatplace  some  hour  henoe. 


8CKNEII.]       THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.  265 

Ant.  E.  Do  80.     This  jest  shall  cost  me  some  expense. 

[Exeunt. 
Scene  II.     Ihe  same. 

Enter  Luciana  and  Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 

Lvr,  And  may  it  he  that  yoii  have  quite  forgot 

A  husband's  office  ?  shall,  Antipholus. 
Even  in  the  spring  of  love,  thy  love-springs  rot  ? 

Sliall  love,  in  building,  grow  so  ruinous  ? 
If  you  did  wed  my  sister  for  her  wealth, 

Then  for  her  wealth's  sake  use  her  with  more  kindness  : 
Or  if  you  like  elsewhere,  do  it  by  st^lth  ; 

Muffle  your  false  love  with  some  show  of  blindness  : 
Let  not  my  sister  read  it  in  your  eye ; 

Be  not  thy  tongue  thy  own  sliame's  orator ;  10 

Look  sweet,  speak  fair,  become  disloyalty  ; 

Apparel  vice  like  virtue's  harbinger  ; 
Bear  a  fair  presence,  though  your  heart  be  tainted ; 

Teach  sin  the  carriage  of  a  holy  saint ; 
Be  secret-false  :  what  need  she  be  acquainted  ? 

What  simple  thief  brags  of  his  own  attaint  ? 
Tis  double  wrong,  to  truant  with  your  bed 

And  let  her  read  it  in  thy  looks  at  board  :  - 
Shame  hath  a  bastard  fame,  well  managed  ; 

111  deeds  are  doubled  with  an  evil  word.  20 

Alas,  poor  women  1  make  us  but  believe. 

Being  compact  of  crcxiit,  that  you  love  us  ; 
Though  others  have  the  arm,  show  us  the  sleeve ; 

We  in  your  motion  turn  and  you  iQay  move  us. 
Then,  gentle  brother,  get  you  in  again  ; 

Comfort  my  sister,  cheer  her,  call  her  wife  : 
Tis  holy  sport  to  be  a  little  vain, 

When  the  sweet  breath  of  flattery  conquers  strife. 

Ant.  8.  Sweet  mistress, — what  your  name  is  else,  I  know 
not. 

Nor  by  what  wonder  you  do  hit  of  mine, —  80 

Less  in  your  knowledge  and  your  grace  you  show  not 

Than  our  earth's  wonder,  more  than  earth  divine. 
Teach  me,  dear  creature,  how  to  think  and  speak ; 

Lay  open  to  my  earthy-gross  conceit, 
Smother'd  in  errors,  feeble,  shallow,  weak. 

The  folded  meaning  of  your  words'  deceit. 
Against  my  soul's  pure  truth  why  labour  yoa 

To  make  it  wander  in  an  unknown  field  ? 
Are  you  a  god?  would  you  create  me  new ? 

Transform  me  then,  and  to  your  power  I'll  yield.  40 

Bat  if  that  I  am  I,  then  well  I  know 


266  THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS  [actiii. 

Your  weeping  sister  is  no  wife  of  mine. 
Nor  to  her  bed  no  liomage  do  I  owe  : 

Far  more,  far  more  to  you  do  I  decline. 
0,  train  me  not,  sweet  mermaid,  with  thy  note. 

To  drown  me  in  thy  sister's  flood  of  tears  : 
Sing,  siren,  for  thyself  and  I  will  dote : 

Spread  o'er  the  silver  waves  thy  golden  hairs. 
And  as  a  bed  I'll  take  them  and  there  lie. 

And  in  that  glorious  supposition  think  50 

lie  gains  by  death  tliat  liath  such  means  to  die  : 

Ijet  Love,  being  light,  be  drowned  if  she  sink  I 

Xttt".  What,  are  you  mad,  that  you  do  reason  so? 

Ant.  8,  Not  mad,  but  mated;  how,  I  do  not  know. 

Lue.  It  is  a  fault  that  springeth  from  your  eye. 

Ant.  8.  For  gazing  on  your  beams,  fair  sun,  being  by. 

Lue,  Gaze  Avhere  you  should,  and  that  will  clear  your 
sight. 

Ant.  8.  As  good  to  wink,  sweet  love,  as  look  on  night. 

Lue.  \Vliy  call  you  me  love  ?  call  my  sister  so. 

Ant.  8.  Thy  sister's  sister. 

Lue.  That's  my  sister. 

Ant.  8.  No ;  60 

It  is  thyself,  mine  own  self  s  better  part. 
Mine  eye's  clear  eye,  my  dear  heai-t's  dearer  heart, 
My  food,  my  fortune  and  my  sweet  hope's  aim, 
My  sole  earth's  heaven  and  my  heaven's  claim. 

Lue.  All  this  my  sister  is,  or  else  should  be. 

Ant.  8.  Call  thyself  sister,  sweet,  for  I  am  thee. 
Thee  will  I  love  and  with  thee  lead  my  life  : 
Thou  hast  no  husband  yet  nor  I  no  wife. 
Give  me  thy  hand. 

Lue.  O,  soft,  sir !  hold  you  still : 

I'll  fetch  my  sister,  to  get  her  good  will.  [Bxit,  70 

JSnter  Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

Ant.  8.  Why,  how  now,  Dromio  I  where  run'st  thou  so 
fast? 

Bro.  8.  Do  you  know  me,  sir?  am  I  Dromio?  am  I  your 
man  ?  am  I  myself  ? 

Ant.  8.  Thou  art  Dromio,  thou  art  my  man,  thou  art 
thyself. 

D-ro.  8.  I  am  an  ass,  I  am  a  woman's  man  and  besides 
myself. 

Ant  8.  What  woman's  man  ?  and  how  besides  thyself  ? 

Dro.  8.  Marry,  sir,  besides  myself,  I  am  due  to  a  woman  ; 
one  that  claims  me,  one  that  haunts  me,  one  that  will  have 
me. 


80BMSII.]      THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.  267 

AfU.  8.  What  claim  lays  she  to  thee  ? 

Dro,  S,  Marry,  sir,  such  claim  as  yoa  would  lay  to  your 
horse ;  and  she  would  have  me  as  a  heast :  not  that,  I  being 
a  beast,  she  would  have  me ;  but  that  she,  being  a  very 
beastly  creature,  lays  claim  to  me. 

Ant,  3.  What  is  slie?  00 

Dro,  8,  A  very  reverent  body  ;  ay,  such  a  one  as  a  man 
may  not  speak  of  without  he  say  "  Slr-Teverence."  I  have 
but  lean  luck  in  the  match,  and  yet  is  she  a  wondrous  fat 
marriage. 

Ant.  8.  How  dost  thou  mean  a  fat  marriage  ? 

Dro.  8.  Marry,  sir,  she's  the  kitchen  wench  and  all 
grease  ;  and  I  kiiow  not  what  use  to  put  her  to  but  to  make 
a  lamp  of  her  and  run  from  her  by  her  own  light.  I  war- 
rant, ner  rags  and  the  tallow  in  them  will  bum  a  Poland 
winter :  if  she  lives  till  doomsday,  she'll  bum  a  week 
longer  than  the  whole  world. 

Ant.  8.  Wliat  complexion  is  she  of? 

Dro.  8.  Swart,  like  my  shoe,  but  her  face  nothing  like  so 
clean  kept :  for  why,  she  sweats  ;  a  man  may  go  overshoes 
in  the  grime  of  it. 
>  Ant.  8.  That's  a  fault  that  water  will  mend. 

Dro.  8.  No,  sir,  'tis  in  grain  ;  Noah's  flood  could  not  doit. 

Ant.  8.  What's  her  name?  110 

Dro.  8,  Nell,  sir  :  but  her  name  and  three  quarters,  that's 
an  ell  and  three  quarters,  will  not  measure  her  from  hip  to  hip. 

Ant.  8.  Then  she  bears  some  breadth  Y 

Dro.  &  No  lon^r  from  head  to  foot  than  from  hip  to  hip : 
she  is  spherical,  like  a  globe ;  I  could  find  out  countries  in 
her. 

Ant.  8.  In  what  part  of  her  body  stands  Ireland  ? 

Dro.  8.  Marry,  sir,  in  her  buttocks :  I  found  it  out  by  the 
bogs.  121 

Ant.  8.  Where  Scotland? 

Dro.  8.  I  found  it  by  the  barrenness  ;  hard  in  the  palm 
of  the  hand. 

Ant.  8.  Where  France  ? 

Dro.  8.  In  her  forehead  ;  armed  and  reverted,  making 
war  against  her  heir.  , 

Ant.  8.  Where  England  ? 

Dro.  8.  I  looked  for  the  chalky  cliffs,  but  I  could  find  no 
whiteness  in  them  ;  but  I  guess  it  stood  in  her  chin,  by  the 
salt  rheum  that  ran  between  France  and  it. 

Ant.  8.  Where  Spain  ? 

Dro,  8.  Faith,  I  saw  it  not ;  but  I  felt  it  hot  in  her  breath. 

AjU.  8.  Where  America,  the  Indies  ? 

Dro.  8,  Oh  sir,  upon  her  note,  til  o'er  embellished  with 


268  THE  CX)MEDY  OP  ERRORS.         [act  in. 

rabies,  carfoancles,  sapphires,  declining  their  rich  aspect  to 
the  hot  breath  of  Spain  ;  who  sent  whole  annadoes  of  car- 
acks  to  be  ballast  at  her  nose.  14t 

Ant.  8.  Where  stood  Belgia,  the  Netherlands  ? 

Dro.  S.  Oh,  sir,  I  did  not  look  so  low.  To  conclude,  this 
drudge,  or  diviner,  laid  claim  to  me  ;  called  me  Dromio ; 
swore  I  was  assured  to  her  ;  told  me  what  privy  marks  I 
had  about  me,  as,  the  mark  of  my  shoulder,  the  mole  in  my 
neck,  the  great  wart  on  my  left  arm,  that  I  amazed  ran 
from  her  as  a  witch  : 

And,  I  think,  if  my  breast  had  not  been  made  of  faith  and 
my  heart  of  steel,  150 

She  had  transform' d  mo  to  a  cortal  dog  and  made  me  turn  I' 
the  wheel. 

Ant.  S.  Go  hie  thee  presently,  post  to  the  road  : 
An  if  the  wind  blow  any  way  from  shore, 
I  will  not  harbour  in  this  town  to-night : 
If  any  bark  put  forth  come  to  the  mart. 
Where  I  will  walk  till  thou  return  to  me. 
If  every  one  knows  us  and  we  know  none, 
'Tis  time,  I  think,  to  trudge,  pack  and  be  gone, 

Dro.  8.  As  from  a  bear  a  man  would  run  for  life. 
So  fly  I  from  her  that  would  be  my  wife.  [Exit, 

Ant,  8.  There's  none  but  witches  do  inhabit  here ;       161 
And  therefore  'tis  high  time  that  1  were  hence. 
She  that  doth  call  me  husband,  even  my  soul 
Doth  for  a  wife  abhor.     But  her  fair  sister, 
Posjiess'd  with  such  a  gen  tie  sovereign  grace. 
Of  such  enchanting  presence  and  discourse. 
Hath  almost  made  me  traitor  to  myself  : 
But,  lest  myself  be  guilty  to  self-wronff, 
I'll  stop  mme  ears  against  the  mermaid's  song. 

Enter  Anoelo  toith  the  chain, 

Anff,  Master  Antipholus, — 

Ant.  S.  Ay,  that's  my  name.  170 

An^.  I  know  it  well,  sir  :  lo,  here  is  the  chain. 
I  thought  to  have  ta'en  you  at  the  Porpentine  : 
Tlie  chain  unfinish'd  made  me  star  thus  long. 

Ant.  8.  Wliat  is  your  will  that'l  shall  do  with  this  ? 

Ang.  What  please  yourself,  sir  :  I  have  made  it  for  you. 

Ant.  8.  Made  It  for  me,  sir !  I  bespoke  it  not. 

Ang.  Not  once,  nor  twice,  but  twenty  time^you  have. 
Go  home  with  it  and  please  your  wife  withal ; 
And  soon  at  supper-time  111  visit  you 
And  then  receive  my  money  for  the  chain.  180 

Atvt.  8.  I  pray  you,  sir,  receive  the  money  now. 


bcknel]        the  comedy  OF  ERRORS.  969 

For  fear  you  ne'er  see  clialn  nor  monej  more. 
Ang,  You  are  a  merry  man,  sir  :  fare  you  well.        [Exit, 
Ant.  if.  What  I  should  think  of  this,  I  cannot  tell : 

But  this  I  think,  there's  no  man  is  so  vain 

That  would  refuse  so  fair  an  offered  chain. 

I  see  a  man  here  needs  not  live  by  shifts, 

When  in  the  streets  he  meets  such  golden  gifts. 

Ill  to  the  mart  and  there  for  Dromio  stay  : 

If  any  ship  put  out,  then  straight  away.  [Esdt. 


ACT  IV. 

Scene  I.    A  pubUc  place. 

Enter  Second  Merchant,  Anoelo,  and  an  Officer. 

Sec.  Mer.  You  know  since  Pentecost  the  sum  is  due, 
And  since  I  have  not  much  importuned  you  ; 
Kor  now  I  had  not,  but  that  I  am  bound 
To  Persia  and  want  guilders  for  my  voyage  : 
Therefore  make  present  satisfaction, 
Or  I'll  attach  you  by  this  officer. 

Ajiff.  Evenjust  the  sum  that  I  do  owe  to  yoa 
Is  growing  to  me  by  Antipholus, 
And  in  the  instant  that  I  met  with  you 
He  had  of  me  a  cliain  :  at  five  o'clock  10 

I  shall  receive  the  money  for  the  same. 
Pleaseth  you  walk  with  me  down  to  iiis  house, 
I  will  discharge  luy  bond  and  thank  you  too. 


Enter  Antipholus  of  Ephesus  a?id  Dromio  of  Ephesus 

//w/i  the  courtezan's. 

Off.  That  labour  may  you  save  :  see  where  lie  comes. 

Ant.  E.  While  I  go  to  the  goldsmith's  house,  go  thou 
And  buy  a  rope's  end  :  that  will  I  bestow 
Among  my  wife  and  her  confederates, 
For  locking  me  out  of  my  doors  by  day. 
But,  soft  I  I  see  the  goldsmith.     Get  thee  gone ; 
Buy  thou  a  roi>e  and  bring  it  home  to  me.  20 

jbro.  E,  I  buy  a  thousand  pound  a  year :  I  buy  a  rope. 

lExU, 

Ant.  E.  A  man  is  well  holp  up  that  trusts  to  you  : 
I  promised  your  presence  and  the  chain  ; 
But  neither  chain  nor  goldsmith  came  to  me. 
Belike  you  thought  our  love  would  last  too  long. 
If  it  were  chain'd  together,  and  therefore  came  not. 

^471^.  Saving  your  merry  humour,  here's  the  note 


270  THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.  [activ. 

How  much  your  chain  weighs  to  the  utmost  carat, 

The  fineness  of  the  gold  and  chargeful  fashion, 

Which  doth  amount  to  three  odd  ducats  more  80 

Tlian  I  stand  debted  to  this  gentleman  : 

I  pray  you,  see  him  presently  discharged. 

For  lie  is  bound  to  sea  and  stays  but  for  it. 

Ant.  E,  I  am  not  furnish'd  with  the  pi^esent  money  ; 
Besides,  I  have  some  business  in  the  town. 
<9ood  signior,  take  the  stranger  to  my  house 
And  with  you  take  the  chain  and  bid  my  wife 
Disburse  the  sum  on  the  receipt  thereof  : 
Perchance  I  will  bo  there  as  soon  as  you. 

Ang.  Then  you  will  bring  the  chain  to  her  yourself  ? 

Ant.  E.  No  ;  bear  it  with  you,  lest  I  comn  not  time  enough. 

Ang,  Well,  sir,  1  will.     Have  you  the  chain  about  you  ? 

Ant.  E.  An  if  I  have  not,  sir,  I  ho]^  you  have  ; 
Or  else  you  may  return  without  your  money. 

Ang.  Nay,  come,  I  pray  you,  sir,  give  me  the  chain  : 
Both  wind  and  tide  stavs  for  this  gentleman. 
And  I,  to  blame,  have  held  him  here  too  long. 

Ant.  E.  Good  Lord  !  you  use  this  dalliance  to  excuse 
Your  breach  of  promise  to  the  Porpentine. 
I  should  have  chid  you  for  not  bringing  it,  50 

But,  like  a  shrew,  you  first  begin  to  brawl. 

Sec.  Mer.  The  hour  steals  on  ;  I  pray  you,  sir,  dispatch. 

Ang.  You  hear  how  he  im])ortunes  me  ; — ^the  chain  I 

Ant.  E.  Why,  give  it  to  my  wife  and  fetch  your  money. 

Ang.  Come,  come,  you  know  I  gave  it  you  even  now. 
Either  send  the  chain  or  send  me  by  some  token. 

Ant.  E.  Fie,  now  you  run  this  humor  out  of  breath. 
Come,  Where's  the  clialn  ?    I  pray  you,  let  me  sec  it. 

Sec.  Mer.  My  business  cannot  brook  this  dalliance. 
Good  sir,  say  whether  you'll  answer  me  or  no  ;  CO 

If  not,  I'll  leave  him  to  the  officer. 

Ant.  E.  I  answer  you  !  what  should  I  answer  you  ? 

Ang.  The  money  that  you  owe  me  for  the  chain. 

Ant.  E.  I  owe  you  none  till  I  receive  the  chain. 

Ang.  You  know  I  gave  it  you  half  an  hour  since. 

Ant.  E.  You  gave  me  none  :  you  wrong  me  much  to  say  so. 

Ang.  You  wrong  me  more,  sir,  in  denying  it : 
Consider  how  it  stands  upon  my  credit. 

Sec.  Mer,  Well,  officer,  arrest  him  at  my  suit. 

Off.  I  do  ;  and  charge  you  in  the  duke's  name  to  obey  me> 

Ang,  This  touches  mo  in  reputation. 
Either  consent  to  pay  this  sum  for  me 
Or  I  attach  you  by  this  officer. 

Ant,  E.  Consent  to  pay  thee  ihat  I  never  had  ! 


SCENE  II.]       THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.  271 

Arrest  ine,  foolish  fellow,  if  tliou  darest. 

Ang.  Here  is  thy  fee  ;  arrest  him,  officer. 
I  would  not  spare  my  brother  in  this  case. 
If  he  should  scorn  ine  so  api^rently. 

Off.  I  do  arrest  you,  sir  :  you  hear  the  suit. 

Ant,  E.  I  do  obey  tliee  till  I  give  thee  bail.  80 

But,  sirrah,  you  shall  buy  this  sport  as  dear 
As  all  the  metal  in  your  shop  will  answer. 

Ang.  Sir,  sir,  I  shall  have  law  in  Epliesns, 
To  your  notorious  shame  ;  I  doubt  it  not. 

Enter  Dromio  of  Syracuse,  from  ike  hay. 

Dro.  8.  Master,  there  is  a  bark  of  Epldamnum 
That  stays  but  till  her  owner  comes  aboard 
And  then,  sir,  she  bears  away.     Our  fraughtage,  sir, 
I  have  oonvey'd  aboard  and  1  have  bought 
The  oil,  the  balsamum  and  aqua-vitae. 
The  ship  is  in  her  trim  ;  the  merry  wind  90 

Blows  fair  from  land  :  they  stay  for  naught  at  all 
But  for  their  owner,  master,  and  yourself. 

Ant.  E.  How  now!  madman  I    Why,  thou  peevish  sheep, 
Wliat  ship  of  Epidamnum  stays  for  me  ? 
.   Dro.  S,  A  ship  you  sent  me  to,  to  hire  waftage. 

Ant.  E.  Thou  drunken  slave,  I  sent  thee  for  a  rope 
Aud  told  thee  to  what  ptirpose  and  what  end. 

Dro.  8.  You  sent  me  for  a  rope's  end  a^  soon  : 
You  sent  me  to  the  bay,  sir,  for  a  bark. 

Ant.  E.  I  will  debate  this  matter  at  more  leisure         100 
And  teach  your  ears  to  list  me  with  more  heed. 
To  Adriana,  villain,  hie  thee  straight : 
Give  her  this  key,  and  tell  her.  in  the  desk 
That's  covered  o'er  with  Turkish  tapestry  • 

There  is  a  purse  of  ducats  ;  let  her  send  it : 
Tell  her  I  am  arrested  in  the  street 
And  that  shall  bail  me  :  hie  thee,  slave,  begone  ! 
On,  officer,  to  prisoa  till  it  come. 

[Eeeunt  See.  Merchant,  AngdOf  Officer,  and  Ant.  E. 

Dro.  a.  To  Adriana  ?  that  is  where  we  dined. 
Where  Dowsabel  did  claim  me  for  her  husband  :  110 

She  is  too  big,  I  hope,  for  me  to  compass. 
Thither  I  must,  although  against  my  will. 
For  servants  must  their  masters*  minds  fulfil.  [Exit, 

Scene  IL     T/m  hotue  of  ANTipnoLus  of  Ephesoa. 

Enter  Adriana  and  Luciana. 
Adr.  All,  Lnciana,  did  he  tempt  thee  so  ? 


272  THE  COMEDY  OP  ERRORS.         [activ. 

Miglitst  thou  perceive  ansterelj  in  his  eye 
That  lie  did  plead  in  earnest?  yea  or  no  ? 

Look'd  lie  or  red  or  pale,  or  sad  or  merrily  ? 
What  observation  madest  thou  in  this  case 
Of  his  heart's  meteors  tilting  in  his  face  ? 

Lite.  First  he  denied  you liad  in  him  no  right. 

Adr.  He  meant  he  did  me  none ;  the  more  my  spite. 

Lue.  Then  swore  he  that  he  was  a  stranger  here. 

Adr.  And  true  he  swore,  though  yet  forsworn  he  were. 

Luc.  Then  pleaded  I  for  you.  11 

Adr,  And  what  said  he  ? 

Lue.  That  love  I  begg'd  for  you  he  begg'd  of  me. 

Adr.  With  what  persuasion  did  he  tempt  thy  love  ? 

Ltic.  With  words  that  in  an  honest  suit  might  move. 
First  he  did  praise  my  beauty,  then  my  speech. 

Adr.  Didst  speak  him  fair? 

Luc.  Have  patience,  I  beseech. 

Adr.  I  cannot,  nor  I  will  not,  hold  me  still  ; 
My  tongue,  though  not  my  heart,  shall  have  his  will. 
He  is  deformed,  crooked,  old  and  sere. 
Ill-faced,  worse  bodied,  shapeless  everywhere ;  20 

Vicious,  ungentle,  foolish,  blunt,  unlcind, 
Stigmatical  in  making,  worse  in  mind. 

Lvc.  Who  would  be  jealous  then  of  such  a  one? 
No  evil  lost  is  wail'd  when  it  is  gone. 

Adr.  Ah,  but  I  think  him  better  than  I  say. 

And  yet  would  herein  others*  eyes  were  worse. 
Far  from  her  nest  the  lapwing  cries  away  : 

My  heart  prays  for  him,  though  my  tongue  do  curse. 

Bnter  Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

Ih'O.  8.  Here  I  go ;   the  desk,  the  purse  I   sweet,  now, 
make  haste. 

Luc.  How  hast  thou  lost  thy  breath  ? 

Dro.  8.  By  running  fast.      80 

Adr.  Where  is  thy  master,  Dromio?  is  he  well  ? 

Dro.  8.  No,  he's  in  Tartar  limbo,  worse  than  hell. 

f  A  devil  in  an  everlasting  garment  hath  him  ; 
One  whose  hard  heart  is  button'd  up  with  steel ; 
A  fiend,  a  fury,  pitiless  and  rough  ; 
A  wolf,  nay,  worse,  a  fellow  all  in  buff ; 
A  back-friend,  a  shoulder-clapper,  one  that  countermands 
The  passage  of  alleys,  creeks  and  narrow  lands  ; 
A  hound  that  runs  counter  and  yet  draws  dry-foot  well ; 
One  that  before  the  judgement  carries  poor  souls  to  hell.  40 

Adr.  Why,  man,  what  is  the  matter  ? 


flCBNKiii.J     THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.  273 

Dro,  8.  I  do  not  know  the  matter :  he  is  'rested  on  the 
case. 

Adr,  What,  is  he  arrested?    Tell  me  at  whose  suit. 

Dro.  8.  I  know  not  at  whose  suit  he  is  arrested  well ; 
But  he's  in  a  suit  of  buff  which  'rested  him,  that  can  I  tell. 
Will  you  send  him,  mistress,  redemption,  the  money  in  his 
desk? 

Adr.  Go  fetch  it,  sister.  [Exit  Lucia  na. 

This  I  wonder  at. 
That  he,  unknown  to  me,  should  be  in  debt. 
Tell  me,'  was  he  arrested  on  a  band  ? 

Dro.  8  Not  on  a  band,  but  on  a  stronger  thing ;  60 

A  chain,  a  chain  I     Do  you  not  hear  it  ring  ? 

Adr,  What,  the  chain  ? 

Dro.  8.  No,  no,  the  bell :  'tis  time  that  I  were  gone  : 
It  was  two  ere  I  left  him,  and  now  the  clock  strikes  one. 

Adr.  The  hours  come  back  1  that  did  I  never  hear. 

Dro.  8.  O,  yes ;  if  any  hour  meet  a  sergeant,  a'  turns 
back  for  very  fear. 

Adr.  As  if  Time  were  in  debt !  how  fondly  dost  thou 
reason  I 

Dro.  8.  Time  is  a  very  bankrupt  and  owes'  more  than 
he's  worth  to  season. 
Nay,  he's  a  thief  too  :  have  you  not  heard  men  say. 
That  Time  comes  stealing  on  by  night  and  day  ?  60 

If  Time  be  in  debt  and  theft,  and  a  sergeant  in  the  ^vay. 
Hath  he  not  reason  to  tarn  back  an  hour  in  a  day  t 

Be-enter  Luciaka  tcith  a  purse. 

Adr.  Go,  Dromio  ;  there's  the  money,  bear  it  straight, 
And  bring  thy  master  home  immediately. 
Come,  sister  :  I  am  pressed  down  with  conceit — 
Conceit,  my  comfort  and  my  injury.  [Exeunt. 

ScBNB  III.    A  public  place. 

Enter  Antipholxjs  of  Syracuse. 

Ant.  8.  There's  not  a  man  I  meet  but  doth  salute  mo 
As  if  I  were  their  well-acquainted  friend  ; 
And  every  one  doth  call  me  by  my  name. 
Some  tender  money  to  me  ;  some  invite  me  ; 
Some  other  give  me  thanks  for  kindnesses  ; 
Some  offer  me  commodities  to  buy  : 
Even  now  a  tailor  call'd  me  in  his  shop 
And  show'd  me  silks  that  he  had  bought  for  me 
And  therewithal  took  measure  of  my  body. 
Sure,  these  are  but  imaginary  wiles  10 


274  THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.         [activ. 

And  Lapland  sorcerers  inhabit  here. 

Enter  Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

Dro,  S.  Master,  liere's  the  gold  you  sent  me  for.  What, 
have  you  got  the  picture  of  old  Adam  new-apparelled  ? 

Ant.  S.  What  gold  is  this?  what  Adam  dost  thou  mean  ? 

Dro.  8.  Not  that  Adam  that  kept  the  Paradise,  but  that 
Adam  that  keeps  the  prison  :  he  that  goes  in  the  cal/'s  skin 
that  was  killed  for  the  Prodigal ;  he  that  came  behind  you, 
sir,  like  an  evil  angel,  and  bid  you  forsake  your  lil)erty.    2Q 

-471^.  8.  I  understand  thee  not.  * 

Dro.  8.  No?  why,  'tis  a  plain  case  :  he  that  went,  like  a 
bass-viol,  in  a  case  of  leather ;  the  man,  sir;  that  when 
gentlemen  are  tired^  gives  them  a  sob  and  'rests  them  ;  he. 
sir,  that  takes  pity  on  decayed  men  and  gives  them  suits  of 
durance ;  he  that  sets  up  his  rest  to  do  more  exploits  with 
his  mace  tlian  a  morris- pike. 

Ant.  8.  What,  thou  meanest  an  officer  ? 

Dro.  8.  Ay,  sir,  the  sergeant  of  the  band  ;  he  that  bring?* 
any  man  to  answer  it  that  breaks  his  band  ;  one  that 
thinks  a  man  always  going  to  bed  and  says  "God  g^ve  you 
good  rest  I " 

Ant.  8.  Well,  sir,  there  rest  in  your  foolery.  Is  there 
any  ship  puts  forth  to-night  ?  may  we  he  gone  ? 

Dro.  8.  Why,  sir,  I  brought  you  word  an  howr  since 
that  the  bark  Expedition  put  forth  to-night ;  and  then  were 
you  hindered  by  the  sergeant,  to  tarry  for  the  hoy  Delay. 
Here  are  the  angels  that  you  sent  for  to  deliver  you. 

Ant,  8.  The  fellow  is  distract,  and  so  am  I ; 
And  here  we  wander  in  illusions  : 
Some  blessed  power  deliver  us  from  hence  ! 

Enier  a  Courtezan. 

Cour.  Well  met,  well  met,  Master  Antipholus. 
I  see  sir,  you  have  found  the  goldsmith  now  : 
Is  that  the  chain  you  promised  me  to-day  ? 

Ant.  8.  Satan,  avoid  1  I  charge  thee,  tempt  me  not. 

Dro.  8.  Master,  is  this  Mistress  Satan  ¥ 

Ant.  8.  It  is  the  devil.  60 

Dro.  8.  Nay,  she  is  worse,  she  is  the  devil's  dam  ;  and 
liere  she  comes  in  the  habit  of  a  light  wench  :  and  thereof 
comes  that  the  wenches  say  **  God  damn  me ;"  that's  as 
much  to  say  •*  God  make  me  a  light  wench."  It  is  written, 
they  appear  to  men  like  angels  of  li^ht :  light  is  an  effect 
of  fire,  and  fire  will  bum  ;  ergo,  light  wenches  will  burn. 
Cone  not  near  her. 

Cour,  Your  man  and  you  are  marvellous  merry,  sir. 


8CBNBIV.]     THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.     .  (2I£l! 

Will  you  go  with  me?    Well  mend  oar  dinner  here  ?        00 

Dro.  8.  Master,  if  yon  do,  expect  spoonmeat ;  or  bespeak 
a  long  spoon. 

Ant.  8.  Why,  Dromio? 

Dro.  8.  Marry,  he  must  have  a  long  spoon  that  must  eat 
with  the  devil. 

Ant.  8.  Avoid  then,  fiend  !  what  telFst  thou  mo  of  sup- 
-ping? 
Thou  art,  as  you  are  all,  a  sorceress  : 
I  conjure  thee  to  leave  me  and  be  gone. 

Cour.  Give  me  tlie  ring  of  mine  you  had  at  dinner. 
Or,  for  my  diamond,  the  chain  you  promised,  7G 

And  I'll  be  gone,  sir,  and  not  trouble  you. 

Dro.  8.  Some  devils  ask  but  the  parings  of  one's  nail, 
A  rush,  a  liair,  a  drop  of  blood,  a  pin, 
A  nut,  a  cherry-stone  ; 
But  she,  more  covetous,  would  have  a  chain. 
Master,  be  wise  :  an  if  you  give  it  her, 
The  devil  will  shake  her  chain  and  fright  us  with  it. 

Cour,  I  pray  you,  sir,  my  ring,  or  else  the  chain  : 
I  hope  you  do  not  mean  to  cheat  me  so. 

Ant.  8.  A  vaunt,  thou  witch  I    Come,  Dromio,  let  as  go. 

Dro.  8.  **  Fly  pride,"  says  the  peacock  :  mistress,  that 
you  know. 

[Exeunt  Ant.  8.  and  Dro.  8, 

Cour.  Now,  out  of  doubt  Antipholus  is  mad. 
Else  would  he  never  so  demean  himself. 
A  ring  he  hath  of  mine  worth  forty  ducats,  « 

And  for  the  same  he  promised  me  a  chain  : 
Both  one  and  other  he  denies  me  now. 
The  reason  that  I  gather  he  is  mad. 
Besides  this  present  instance  of  his  rage, 
Is  a  mad  tale  he  told  to-day  at  dinner, 
Of  liisown  doors  being  shut  against  his  entran  90 

Belike  his  wife,  acquainted  with  his  fits. 
On  purpose  shut  the  doors  against  his  way. 
My  way  is  now  to  hie  home  to  his  house, 
And  tell  his  wife  that,  being  lunatic, 
He  rushed  into  my  house  and  took  perforce 
My  ring  away.     This  course  I  fittest  choose ; 
For  forty  ducats  is  too  much  to  lose. 

Scene  IV.    A  street. 

Enter  Antipholus  of  Ephesus  aad  thtt  Officer. 

Ant.  E.  Fear  me  not,  man  ;  I  will  not  break  away  : 
I'll  give  thee,  ere  I  leave  thee,  so  much  money. 


276  THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.         [activ* 

To  warrant  thee,  as  I  am  'rested  for. 
My  ^vife  is  in  a  wayward  mood  to-day » 
And  will  not  liglitly  trust  tlie  messenger. 
That  I  should  be  attach'd  in  Ephesus, 
I  tell  you,  'twill  sound  harshly  in  her  ears. 

BrUer  Drohio  of  Ephesus  wUh  a  rope^s-end. 

Here  comes  my  man  ;  I  think  he  brings  the  money.      ' 
How  now,  sir  I  have  you  that  I  sent  you  for  ? 

Drn,  E,  Here's  that,  I  warrant  you,  will  pay  them  alL  10 

A  nt.  B.  But  Where's  the  money  ? 

Dro.  B.  Why,  sir,  I  cave  the  money  for  a  rope  ? 

Ant.  B.  Five  hundred  ducats,  villain,  for  a  rope? 

Dro.  E.  I'll  serve  you,  sir,  five  hundred  at  the  rate. 

Ant,  B.  To  what  end  did  I  bid  thee  hie  thee  home  ? 

Dro.  B.  To  a  rope's-end,  sir  :  and  to  that  end  am  I  re- 
turned. 

AtU.  B.  And  to  that  end,  sir,  I  will  welcome  you. 

[Beating  him. 

Off.  Good  sir,  be  patient.  20 

Dro.  B.  Nay,  'tis  for  me  to  be  patient ;  I  am  in  adversity. 

Off.  Good,  now,  hold  thy  tongue. 

Dro.  B.  Nay,  rather  persuade  him  to  hold  his  hands. 

Ant.  B.  Thou  whoreson,  senseless  villain  I 

Dro.  B.  I  would  I  were  senseless,  sir,  that  I  might  not 
feel  your  blows. 

Ant.  B.  Thou  art  sensible  in  nothing  but  blows,  and  so 
is  an  ass. 

Dro.  B.  I  am  an  ass,  indeed  ;  you  may  prove  it  by  my 
lone  ears.  I  have  served  him  from  the  hour  of  my  nativity 
to  this  instant,  and  have  nothing  at  his  hands  for  my  ser- 
vice but  blows.  When  I  am  cold,  he  heats  me  with  beat- 
ing ;  when  I  am-  warm,  he  cools  me  with  beating :  I  am 
waked  with  it  when  I  sleep  ;  raised  with  it  when  I  sit ; 
driven  out  of  doors  with  it  when  I  go  from  home  ;  wel- 
comed home  with  it  when  I  return  :  nay,  I  bear  it  on  my 
shoulders,  as  a  beggar  wont  her  brat ;  nnd,  I  think,  when 
he  hath  lamed  me,  I  shall  beg  with  it  from  door  to  door 

A7U.  B.  Come,  go  along  ;  my  wife  is  coming  yonder. 

Bnter  AoRtANA,  Luciana,  tlie  Courtezan,  and  Pinch. 

Dro,  E,  Mistress,  *'  respice  finem,"  respect  your  end  ;  or 
rather,  f  to  prophecy  like  the  parrot,  '  *  beware  the  rope's- 
end." 

Ant.  B.  Wilt  thou  still  talk  ?  [Beating  him. 

Cour.  How  say  you  now?  is  not  your  husband  mad? 

Adr.  His  inciviUty  confinus  no  less. 


! 


BCENBIY.       THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.  277 

Good  Doctor  Pinch,  you  are  a  conjurer  ,  60 

Establish  him  in  his  tnie  sense  again, 

And  I  will  please  you  what  vou  will  demand. 

Luc,  Alas,  how  fiery  and  now  sharp  he  looks  ! 

CouT,  Mark  how  he  trembles  in  his  ecstasy  ! 

Pinch.  Qive  me  your  hand  and  let  me  feel  yonr  pulse. 
•     Ant,  E.  There  is  my  hand,  and  let  it  feel  your  ear. 

[Stiiking  Mm, 

Pinch,  I  charge  thee,  Satan,  housed  within  this  man. 
To  yield  possession  to  my  holy  prayers 
And  to  thy  state  of  darkness  hie  thee  straight : 
I  conjure  thee  by  all  the  saints  in  heaven  !  60 

Ant.  E,  Peace,  doting  wizard,  peace  !    I  am  not  mad. 

Adr,  O,  that  thun  wert  not,  poor  distressed  soul  I 

Ant.  E.  Yon  minion,  you,  are  these  your  customers? 
Did  this  companion  with  the  saffron  face 
Revel  and  feast  it  at  my  house  to-day. 
Whilst  upon  me  the  guilty  doors  were  shut 
And  I  denied  to  enter  in  my  house  ? 

Adr.  O  husband,  God  doth  know  you  dined  at  home  ; 
Where  would  you  liad  remain'd  until  this  time. 
Free  from  these  slanders  and  this  open  jhanie  ! 

Ant.  E.    Dined  at  home  I     Thou  villain,  what  sayest 
thou  ?  71 

Dro.  E.  Sir,  sooth  to  say,  you  did  not  dine  at  home. 

Ant,  E,  Were  not  my  doors lock'd  up  and  I  shut  out? 

Dro,  E.  Perdie,  your  doors  were  locli'd  and  you  shut  out. 

Ant.  E.  And  did  not  she  herself  revile  me  there  ? 

Dro,  E.  Sans  fable,  she  herself  reviled  you  there. 

Ant.  E.  Did  not  her  kitchen-maid  rail,  taunt  and  scorn 
me? 

Dro,  E,  Certes,  she  did  ;  the  kitchen -vestal  soom'd  yon. 

Ant.  E.  And  did  not  I  in  rage  depart  from  thence? 

Dro.  E.  In  verity  you  did  ;  my  bones  bear  witness,       80 
That  since  have  felt  the  vigour  of  his  rage. 

Adr.  Is*t  good  to  soothe  him  in  these  contraries? 

Pinch.  It  is  no  shame  :  the  fellow  finds  his  vein 
And  yielding  to  him  humours  well  his  frenzy. 

Ant.  E.  Thou  hast  subom'd  the  goldsmith  to  arrest  mo. 

Adr,  Alas,  I  sent  you  money  to  redeem  you, 
By  Dromio  here,  who  came  in  haste  for  it. 

Dro,  E,  Money  by  me  I  heart  and  good  will  you  might ; 
But  surely,  master,  not  a  rag  of  money. 

Ant,  E.  Went'st  not  thon  to  her  for  a  purse  of  ducats? 

Adr,  He  came  to  me  and  I  deliver'd  it.  91 

Lue,  And  I  am  witness  with  her  that  she  did. 
Dro,  E,  God  and  the  rope-maker  bear  me  witness 


278  THE  CX>MEDY  OF  ERRORS.  [activ. 

That  I  was  sent  for  nothing  but  a  rope  ! 

Pinch.  Mistress,  both  man  and  master  is  possess'd  ; 
I  know  it  by  their  pale  and  deadly  looks  : 
They  must  be  bound  and  laid  in  some  dark  room. 

Ant,  E,  Say,  wherefore  didst  thou  lock  me  forth  to- day  ?  . 
And  why  dost  thou  deny  the  bag  of  gold  ? 

Adr,  I  did  not,  gentle  husband,  lock  thee  forth.  100 

Dro,  E,  And,  gentle  master,  I  received  no  gold ;  i 

But  I  confess,  sir,  that  we  were  lock'd  out. 

Adr.  Dissembling  villain,  thou  speak'st  false  in  both. 

Ant.  E.  Dissemming  harlot,  thou  art  false  in  all 
And  art  confederate  with  a  damned  pack 
To  make  a  loathsome  abject  scorn  of  me  : 
But  with  these  nails  Til  pluck  out  these  false  eyes 
That  would  behold  in  me  this  shameful  sport. 

Enter  three  or  four ^  and  offer  to  bind  him.    He  strives. 

Adr.  O,  bind  him,  bind  him  I  let  him  not  come  near  me. 

Pinch.  More  company  I    The  fiend  is  strong  within  him. 

Ltic.  Ay  me,  poor  man,  how  pale  and  wan  he  looks  I  111 

Ant.  E.    What,   will  you   murder  me?     Thou  gaoler, 
thou, 
I  am  thy  prisoner  :  wilt  thou  suffer  them 
To  make  a  rescue? 

Off.  Masters,  let  bim  go  : 

He  is  my  prisoner,  and  you  shall  not  have  him. 

Pinch.  Go  bind  this  man,  for  be  is  frantic  too. 

[  Tlicy  offer  to  hind  Dro.  E, 

Adr.  What  wilt  thou  do,  thou  peevish  officer  ? 
Hast  thou  delight  to  see  a  wretched  man 
Do  outrage  and  displeasure  to  himself  ? 

Off.  He  is  ray  prisoner  :  if  I  let  him  go,  120 

The  debt  lie  owes  will  be  required  of  me. 

Adr.  I  will  discharge  thee  ere  I  go  from  thee  : 
Bear  me  forthwith  unto  his  creditor 
And,  knowing  how  the  debt  grows,  I  will  pay  it. 
Good  master  doctor,  see  him  safe  convey'd 
Home  to  my  house.     O  most  unhappy  day  I 

Ant.  E.  O  most  unhappy  strumpet  1 

Dro.  E.  Master,  I  am  here  entered  in  bond  for  you. 

Ant.  E.  Out  on  thee,  villain  1  wherefore  dost  thou  mad 
me? 

Dro.  E.  Will  you  be  bound  for  nothing  ?  be  mad,  good 
master  :  cry  **  the  devil  I "  131 

Lwi.  God  help,  poor  souls,  how  idly  do  they  talk  ! 

Adr.  Go  bear  him  hence.     Sister,  po  you  with  me. 
\^Exeunt  all  but  Adriana,  Luciana,  Officer  and  Couiiezan."] 


flCKKBi.]        THE  COMEDY  OP  ERRORS.  279 

Say  now,  whose  suit  is  he  arrested  at  Y 

Off.  One  Angelo,  a  goldsmith  :  do  you  know  him  ? 

Adr,  I  know  the  man.     What  is  the  sum  he  owes? 

Off.  Two  hundred  ducats. 
*    Adv.  Say,  how  grows  it  due  ? 

Off.  Due  for  a  chain  your  husband  had  of  him. 

Adr.  He  did  hespeak  a  chain  for  me,  but  had  it  not. 

QoxLT.  When  as  your  husband  all  in  rage  to-day  140 

Came  to  my  house  and  took  away  my  ring — 
The  ring  I  saw  upon  his  linger  now — 
Straight  after  did  I  meet  him  with  a  chain. 

Aar.  It  may  be  so,  but  I  did  never  see  it. 
Come,  gaoler,  bring  me  where  the  cfoldsmith  is : 
I  long  to  know  the  truth  hereof  at  large. 

EnUr  Antdpholus  of  Syracuse  vnlh  his  rapier  drawn,  and 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

Lite.  God,  for  thy  mercy  I  they  are  loose  again, 

Adr,  And  come  with  naked  swords. 
Let's  call  more  help  to  have  them  bound  again. 

Off.  Away  !  they'll  kill  us.  160 

[Exeunt  all  hut  Ant,  8.  and  Dro  8. 

Ant.  8.  I  see  th^e  witches  are  afraid  of  swords. 

Dro.  8.  She  that  would  be  your  wife  now  ran  from  you. 

Ant.   8.    Come  to  the  Centaur ;    fetch  our  stuff  from 
thence : 
I  long  that  we  were  safe  and  sound  aboard. 

Dro.  8.  Faith,  stay  here  this  night ;  they  will  surely  do 
us  no  harm  :  you  saw  they  speak  us  fair,  give  us  gold  :  me- 
thinks  they  are  such  a  gentle  nation  that,  but  for  the 
mountain  of  mad  flesh  that  claims  marriage  of  me,  I  could 
find  in  my  heart  to  stay  here  still  and  turn  witch.  160 

AtU.  8.  I  will  not  stay  to-night  for  all  the  town  ; 
Therefore  away,  to  get  our  stuff  aboard.  [Exeunt 


ACT  V. 

ScENB  I.    A  Street  before  a  Priory, 

Enter  Second  Merchant  and  Angelo. 

Ana,  I  am  sorry,  sir,  that  I  have  hlnder'd  you ; 
But,  I  protest,  he  had  the  chain  of  me, 
Though  most  dishonestly  he  doth  deny  it. 

8ec.  Her.  How  is  the  man  esteemed  here  in  the  city  T 

Ang.  Of  very  reverend  reputation,  sir. 
Of  credit  infinite,  highly  beloved. 


280  THE  COMEDY'  OF  ERRORS.  [act  v. 

Second  to  none  that  lives  liere  in  the  citj  : 
His  word  might  bear  my  Avealth  at  any  time. 
8ec.  Mer.  Speak  softly  :  yonder,  as  I  think,  he  walks. 

Enter  Antipholus  of  Syracuse  and  Dromio  of  Syracuse.   « 

Ana.  'Tis  so  ;  and  that  self  cliain  about  Ids  neck  10 

Which  he  forswore  most  monstrously  to  have. 
Good  sir,  draw  near  to  me,  I'll  speak  to  him. 
Signior  Antipholus,  I  wonder  much 
That  yon  would  put  me  to  this  shame  and  trouble ; 
And  not  without  some  scandal  to  yourself. 
With  circumstance  and  oatlis  so  to  deny 
This  chain  which  now  you  wear  so  openly  : 
Besides  the  charge,  the  shame,  imprisonment, 
You  have  done  wrong  to  this  my  honest  friend. 
Who,  but  for  staying  on  our  controversy,  30 

Had  lioistod  sail  and  put  to  sea  to-day  : 
This  chain  you  had  of  me  ;  can  you  deny  it  ? 

Ant.  8.  1  think  I  had  ;  I  never  did  deny  it. 

Sec.  Mer.  Yes,  that  you  did,  sir,  and  forswore  it  too. 

Ant.  8.  Who  heard  me  to  deny  it  or  forswear  it? 

Sec.  Mer.  These  ears  of  mine,  thou  know'st,  did  hear 
thee. 
Fie  on  thee,  wretch  I  'tis  pity  that  tbou  livest 
To  walk  where  any  honest  men  resort. 

Ant.  8.  Thou  art  a  villain  to  impeach  me  thus  : 
I'll  prove  mine  honour  and  mine  honesty  80 

Against  thee  presently,  if  thou  dnrest  stand. 

Sec.  Mer.  I  dare,  and  do  defy  thte  for  a  villain. 

[They  draw. 

Enter  Adriana,  Luciana,  the  Courtezan,  and  others. 

Adr.  Hold,  hurt  him  not,  for  Qod's  sake  I  he  is  mad. 
Some  get  within  him,  take  his  sword  away  : 
Bind  Dromio  too,  and  bear  them  to  my  house. 

Dro,  8.  Run,  master,  run  ;  f<yr  God's  sake,  take  a  house  I 
This  is  some  priory-     In,  or  we  are  spoil'd  ! 

[Bkeunt  Ant.  8.  and  Dro.  8.  to  t?ie  Priory 

Enter  the  Lady  Abbess. 

^66.  Be  quiet,  people.     Wherefore  throng  you  hither? 

Adr.  To  fetch  ray  poor  distracted  husband  hence. 
Let  us  come  in,  that  we  may  bind  him  fast  40 

And  bear  him  home  for  his  recovery. 

Arkg.  I  know  he  was  not  in  his  perfect  wits. 

Sec.  Mer.  I  am  sorry  now  that  I  did  draw  on  him. 

Ahb,  How  long  hath  this  possession  held  the  man  ? 


BCKNEi.]       THE  COMEDY  OP  ERRORS.  281 

Adr,  This  week  he  hath  heen  heavy,  sour,  sad. 
And  much  different  from  the  man  he  was ; 
But  till  this  afternoon  his  passion 
Ne'er  brake  into  extremity  of  ragfe. 

Ahb.  Hath  he  not  lost  much  wealth  by  wreck  of  sea? 
*  Buried  some  dear  friend?    Hath  not  else  his  eye  50 

Stray'd  his  affection  in  unlawful  love? 
A  sin  prevailing  much  in  youthful  men, 
Wlio  give  their  eyes  the  liberty  of  gazing. 
Which  of  these  sorrows  is  he  subject  to  ? 

Adr.  To  none  of  these,  except  it  be  the  Inst ; 
Namely,  some  love  that  drew  him  oft  from  home. 

Abb,  Tou  should  for  that  have  reprehended  him. 

Adr.  Why,  so  I  did. 

Alb.  Ay,  but  not  rough  enough. 

Adr.  As  roughly  as  my  modesty  would  let  me. 

Abb.  Haply,  in  private. 

Adr.  And  in  assemblies  too.  60 

Abb.  Ay,  but  not  enough. 

Adr,  It  was  the  copy  of  our  conference  : 
In  bed  he  slept  not  for  my  urging  it : 
At  board  he  fed  not  for  my  urging  it ; 
Alone,  it  was  the  subject  of  my  theme ; 
In  company  I  often  glanced  it ; 
Still  did  I  tell  him  it  was  vile  and  bad. 

Abb.  And  therefore  came  it  that  the  man  was  mad : 
The  venom  clamours  of  a  jealous  woman 
Poisons  more  deadly  than  a  mad  dog's  tooth.  70 

It  seems  his  sleeps  were  hinder'd  by  thy  railing. 
And  thereof  comes  it  that  his  head  is  light. 
Thou  say'st  his  meat  was  sauced  with  thy  upbraidings  : 
Unquiet  meals  make  ill  digestions ; 
Thereof  the  raging  fire  of  fever  bred  ;    . 
And  what's  a  fever  but  a  fit  of  madness? 
Thou  say'st  his  sports  were  hinder'd  by  thy  brawls : 
Sweet  recreation  barr'd,  what  doth  ensue 
But  moody  and  dull  melancholy, 

Kinsman  to  grim  and  comfortless  despair,  80 

And  at  her  heels  a  huge  infectious  troop 
Of  pale  distemperatures  and  foes  to  life?        t 
In  food,  in  sport  and  life-preserving  rest 
To  be  disturb'd,  would  mad  or  man  or  beast : 
The  consequence  is  then  thy  jealous  fits 
Have  scared  thy  husband  from  the  use  of  wits. 

Luc.  She  never  reprehended  him  but  mildly. 
When  he  demean'd  himself  rough,  rude  and  wildly. 
Why  bear  you  these  rebukes  and  answer  not? 


382  THE  C50MEDY  OF  ERRORS  >  [act  v. 

Adr,  She  did  betray  me  to  my  own  reproof.  00 

Good  people,  enter  and  lay  hold  on  liim. 

Ahh.  No,  not  a  creature  enters  in  my  liouse. 

Adr.  Then  let  your  servants  bring  my  husband  forth. 

Abb.  Neither  :  he  took  this  place  for  sanctuary. 
And  it  shall  privilege  him  from  your  hands 
Till  I  have  brought  him  to  his  v?lts  again,         ' 
Or  lose  my  labour  in  assaying  it. 

Adr.  I  will  attend  my  husband,  be  his  nurse. 
Diet  his  sickness,  for.it  is  my  office, 

And  will  have  no  attorney  but  myself  ;  100 

And  therefore  let  mo  have  him  homo  with  me. 

AVb.  Be. patient ;  for  I  will  not  let  him  stir 
Till  I  have  used  the  approved  means  I  have. 
With  wholesome  syrups,  drugs  and  holy  prayers. 
To  make  of  him  a  formal  man  again  : 
It  is  a  branch  and  parcel  of  mine  oath, 
A  charitable  duty  of  my  order. 
Therefore  depart  and  leave  him  here  with  me. 

Adr.  I  will  not  hence  and  leave  my  husband  here  : 
And  ill  it  doth  beseem  your  holiness  110 

To  separate  the  husband  and  the  wife. 

Ahb,  Bo  quiet  and  depart :  thou  shalt  not  have  him.   \KxiU 

Luc.  Complain  unto  the  duke  of  this  indignity.  . 

Adr,  Come,  go  :  I  will  fall  prostrate  at  his  feet 
And  never  rise  until  my  tears  and  prayers 
Have  won  his  grace  to  come  in  person  hither 
And  take  perforce  my  husband  from  the  abbess. 

Sec,  Mer.  By  this,  I  think,  the  dial  points  at  five 
Anon,  Tm  sure,  the  duke  himself  in  person 
Comes  this  way  to  the  melancholy  vale,  120 

The  place  of  death  and  sorry  execution. 
Behind  the  ditches  of  the  abbey  here. 

Ang.  Upon  what  cause  ? 

Sec.  Mer.  To  see  a  rt'verend  Syracusian  merchant. 
Who  put  unluckily  into  this  bay 
Against  the  laws  and  statutes  of  this  town. 
Beheaded  publicly  for  his  offence. 

Ang.  See  where  they  come  •.  we  will  behold  his  death. 

LiLC.  Kneel  po  the  duke  before  he  pass  the  abbey. 

Enter  Duke,  attended;  -S)geon  hareJuaded  ;  with  thi  Heads 

man  and  other  Officers. 

Duke.  Yet  once  again  proclaim  it  publicly,  130 

If  any  friend  will  pay  the  sum  for  him, 
He  shall  not  die  ;  so  much  we  tender  him. 

Adr.  Justice,  most  sacred  duke,  against  the  abbess  I 


SCENE  I.]        THE  CX>MEDY  OF  ERRORS.  288 

Duke.  She  is  a  virtaous  and  a  reverend  lady : 
It  cannot  be  that  she  hath  done  thee  wron^. 

Adr.  May  it  please  yonr  grace,  Antipholus  my  hasband. 
Whom  I  made  lord  of  me  and  all  I  had, 
At  joar  important  letters, — ^this  ill  day 
A  most  outrageous  fit  of  madness  took  him  ; 
That  desperately  he  hurried  through  the  street, —  140 

With  him  his  bondman,  all  as  mad  as  he» — 
Doing  displeasure  to  the  citizens 
Py  rushing  in  their  houses,  bearing  thence 
Rings,  jewels,  any  thing  his  rage  did  like. 
Once  did  I  get  him  bound  and  sent  him  home. 
Whilst  to  take  order  for  the  wrongs  I  went 
That  here  and  there  his  fury  had  committed. 
Anon,  I  wot  not  by  what  strong  escape, 
He  broke  from  those  that  had  the  ^ard  of  him  ; 
And  with  his  mad  attendant  and  himself,  150 

Each  one  with  ireful  passion,  with  drawn  swords. 
Met  us  again  and  madly  bent  on  us, 
Cliased  us  away,  till  raising  of  more  aid 
We  came,  again  to  bind  them.     Then  they  fled 
Into  this  abbey,  whither  we  pursued  them  : 
And  here  the  abbess  shuts  the  gates  on  us 
And  will  not  suffer  us  to  fetch  him  out, 
Nor  send  him  forth  that  we  may  bear  him  henoe. 
Therefore,  most  gracious  duke,  with  thy  command 
Let  him  be  brought  forth  and  borne  hence  for  help.        100 

Jbuke.  Long  since  thy  husband  served  me  in  my  wars, 
And  I  to  thee  engaged  a  prince's  word. 
When  thou  did'st  make  him  master  of  thy  bed. 
To  do  him  all  the  grace  and  good  I  could. 
Qo,  some  of  you,  knock  at  the  abbey -gate 
And  bid  the  lady  abbess  come  to  me. 
I  will  determine  this  I  before  I  stir. 

Enter  a  Servant. 

8erv.  O  mistress,  mistress,  shift  and  save  yourself ! 
My  master  and  his  man  are  both  broke  loose, 
Beaten  the  maids  a-row  and  bound  the  doctor,  170 

Wlios^beard  they  have  singed  off  with  brands  of  fire  ; 
And  ever,  as  it  blazed,  they  threw  on  him 
Great  pails  of  puddled  mire  to  quench  the  hair  : 
My  master  preaches  patience  to  him  and  the  while 
His  man  with  scissors  nicks  him  like  a  fool. 
And  sure,  unless  you  send  present  help. 
Between  them  they  will  kill  tlie  conjurer. 

Adr.  Peace,  fool  I  thy  master  and  his  man  are  here. 


284  THE  COMEDY  OP  ERRORS.  [aoty. 

And  that  is  false  thou  dost  report  to  as. 

Serv.  Mistress,  apon  my  life,  I  tell  you  truei;  180 

I  have  not  breathed  almost  since  I  did  see  it. 
He  cries  for  you  and  vows,  if  he  can  take  you. 
To  scorch  your  face  and  to  disfigure  you.  [C'Hf  ^^tin. 

Hark,  liark  1  I  hear  liim,  mistress  :  fly,  be  gone  ! 

Duke.  Ck>me,  stand  by  me ;  fear  nothing.     Guard  with 
halberds  I 

Adr.  Ay  me,  it  is  my  husband !    Witness  you, 
That  he  is  borne  about  invisible : 
Even  ndw  we  housed  him  in  the  abbey  here  ; 
And  now  he's  there,  past  thought  of  human  reason. 

Snter  Antipholus  of  Ephesus  and  Dromio  of  Ephesus. 

Ant.  E.  Justice,  most  gracious  duke,  O,  grant  me  justice  I 
Even  for  the  service  that  long  since  I  did  thee,  191 

When  I  bestrid  thee  in  the  wars  and  took 
Deep  scars  to  save  thy  life ;  even  for  the  blood 
That  then  I  lost  for  thee,  now  grant  me  justice. 

uEge.  Unless  the  fear  of  death  doth  make  me  dote, 
I  see  my  son  Antipliolus  and  Dromio. 

'     Ant.  E.  Justice,  sweet  prince,  against  that  woman  there ! 
She  whom  thou  gavest  to  me  to  be  my  wife. 
That  hath  abused  and  dishonoured  me 
Even  in  the  strength  and  height  of  injury  1  200 

Beyond  imagination  is  the  wrong 
Th%t  she  tins  day  hath  shameless  thrown  on  me.         v    . 

Duke.  Discover  how,  and  thou  slialt  find  me  just.       ) 

AtU.  E.  This  day,  great  duke,  she  shut  the  doors  upon 
me. 
While  she  with  harlots  feasted  in  my  house. 

Duke.  A  grievous  fault  1    Say,  woman,  didst  thou  so? 

Adr.  No,  my  good  lord :  myself,  lie  and  my  sister 
To-day  did  dine  together.     So  befal  my  soul 
As  this  is  false  he' burdens  me  withal  I 

Luc.  Ne'er  may  I  look  on  day,  nor  sleep  on  night,        210 
But  she  tells  to  your  highness  simple  truth  ! 

Ang.     O  perjured  woman  1     They  are  both  forsworn : 
In  this  the  madman  justly  chargeth  them. 

Aiit.  E.  My  liege,  I  am  advised  what  I  say. 
Neither  disturbed  with  the  effect  of  wine, 
Nor  heady-rash,  prov^ed  with  raging  ire. 
Albeit  my  wrongs  might  make  one  wiser  mad. 
This  woman  lock'd  me  out  this  day  from  dinner : 
That  goldsmith  there,  were  he  not  pack'd  with  her, 
Could  witness  it,  for  he  was  with. me  then  ;  220 

Who  parted  with  me  to  go  fetch  a  chain. 


SCENE  I.]        THE  COMEDY  OP  ERRORS.  385 

Promising  to  bring  it  to  tlio  Porpentine, 
Wliere  Baltliazar  and  I  did  dine  together. 
Our  dinner  done,  and  he  not  coming  thither, 
I  went  to  seek  liim  :  in  the  street  I  met  him 
And  in  his  company  tliat  gentleman. 
There  did  tliis  perjured  goldsmith  swear  me  down 
Tliat  I  this  day  of  him  received  the  cliain, 
Which,  God  he  knows,  I  saw  not :  for  the  which 
He  did  arrest  me  with  an  officer.  280 

I  did  obey,  and  sent  my  peasant  home 
For  certain  ducats  :  he  with  none  retum'd.  * 

Then  fairly  I  bespoke  the  officer 
To  go  in  person  with  me  to  my  house. 
By  the  way  we  met 
'  "iiiy  wife,  her  sister,  and  a  rabble  more 
Oi  vile  confederates.     Along  with  them 
They  brought  one  Pinch,  a  hungry  lean- faced  villain, 
A  mere  anatomy,  a  mountebank, 
A  threadbare  juggler  and  a  fortune-teller, 
A  needy,  hollow-eyed,  sharp-looking  wretch,  240 

A  living-dead  man  :  this  pernicious  slave. 
Forsooth,  took  on  him  as  a  conjurer. 
And  gazing  in  mine  eyes,  feeling  my  pulse. 
And  with  no  face,  as  'twere,  outfacing  me. 
Cries  out,  I  was  possessed.     Then  all  together 
They  fell  upon  me,  bound  me,  bore  me  thence 
And  in  a  dark  and  dankish  vault  at  home 
There  left  me  and  my  man,  both  bound  together ; 
Till',rgnawing  with  my  teeth  my  bonds  in  sunder, 
I  gain'd  my  freedom  and  immediately  250 

Ran  hither  to  your  grace  ;  whom  I  beseech 
To  give  me  ample  satisfaction 
For  these  deep  shames  and  great  indignities. 

Ang.  My  lord,  in  truth,  tlius  far  I  witness  with  him. 
That  he  dined  not  at  home,  but  was  locked  out. 

Duke.  But  had  he  such  a  chain  of  thee  or  no  ? 

Ang.  He  had,  my  lord  :  and  when  he  ran  in  here, 
Tliese  people  saw  the  chain  about  his  neck. 

See.  Mer.  Besides,  I  will  be  sworn  tliese ;ears  of  mine 
Heard  you  confess  you  had  the  chain  of  mm  260 

After  you  first  forswore  it  on  the  martri 
'And  thereupon  I  drew  my  sword  on  y%Ji ;      , 
And  then  you  fled  into  this  abbey  here,' 
•From  whence,  I  think,  you  are  come  by  miracle. 

Ant.  E.  I  never  came  within  tliese  abbey- walls. 
Nor  ever  didst  thou  draw  thy  sword  on  me  : 
I  never  saW  the  chain,  so  help  me  Heaven  I 


J 


286  THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.  [act  r. 

And  this  Is  false  yon  burden  mo  withal. 

Duke,  Why.  what  p.n  intricate  impeach  is  this  1 
I  think  you  all  have  drunk  of  Circe's  cup.  270 

If  here  you  housed  him,  here  he  would  have  been  ; 
If  he  were  mad,  he  would  not  plead  so  coldly  : 
Tou  say  he  dined  at  home  ;  the  goldsmith  here 
Denies  that  saying.     Sirrah,  wliat  say  you  ? 

Dro.  E.  Sir,  he  dined  with  her  there,  at  the  Porpentine. 

Ccur.  He  did,  and  from  my  finger  snatch'd  that  ring. 

AtU^  K  'Tis  true,  my  liege ;  this  ring  I  had  of  her. 

Duke.  Saw*6t  thou  him  enter  at  the  abl  ey  h(;re  ? 

Cour.  As  sure,  my  liege,  as  I  do  see  your  grace. 

Duke.  Why,  this  is  strange.     Go  call  the  abbess  hither. 
I  think  you  are  all  mated  or  stark  mad.     [Ejrit  one  to  the  Abbess. 

.^!ge.  Most  mighty  duke,  vouchsafe  me  speak  a  word  : 
Haply  I  see  a  friend  will  save  my  life 
And  pay  the  sum  that  may  deliver  me. 

Duke.  Speak  freely,  Syracusian,  what  thou  wilt. 

JEge.  Is  not  your  name,  sir,  call'd  Antipholus? 
And  Is  not  that  your  i2<)ndman,  Dromio? 

Dro.  E.  Within  this  hour  I  was  his  lx>ndman,  sir. 
But  he,  I  thank  him,  gnaw'd  in  two  my  cords  : 
Now  am  I  Dromio  and  his  man  unbound.  290 

.^}ge.  I  am  sure  you  both  of  you  remember  me. 

Dro.  E.  Ourselves  we  do  remember,  sir,  by  you  ; 
For  lately  we  were  bound,  as  you  are  now. 
You  are  not  Pinch's  patient,  are  you,  sir? 

^ge.  Why  look  you  strange  on  nie?  you  know  me  well. 

Ant,  E.  I  never  saw  vou.iu  my  life  till  row. 

./^e.  O,  grief  hath  changed  me  since  you  saw  me  last, 
And  careful  hours  with  time's  deformed  hand 
Have  written  strange  defeatures  in  my  face  : 
But  tell  me  yet,  dost  thou  not  know  my  voice?  300 

Ant.  E.  Neither. 

^ge.  Dromio,  nor  thou  ? 

Dro.  E.  No,  trust  me,  sir,  nor  I. 

uEge.  I  am  sure  thou  dost. 

Dro.  E.   Ay,  sir,  but  I  am  sure  I  do  not  ;    and  whatso- 
ever a  man  denies,  you  are  now  bound  to  believe  him. 

jEge.  Not  know  my  voice  !  O  time's  extremity. 
Hast  thou  so  crack'd  and  splitted  my  poor  tongue 
In  seven  short  years,  that  here  my  only  son 
Knows  not  my  feeble  key  of  untuned  cares  ?  SIO 

Though  now  this  grained  face  of  mine  be  hid 
In  sap-consuming  winter's  drizzled  snow 
And  all  the  conduits  of  my  blood  froze  up. 
Yet  liath  my  night  of  light  some  memory. 


POBKBI.]        THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.  287 

My  wasting  lamps  some  fading  glimmer  left. 
My  dull  deaf  ears  a  little  use  to  hear : 
AJl  these  old  witnesses — I  cannot' err  — 
Tell  me  thou  art  my  son  Antipholns. 

Ant.  E.  I  never  saw  my  father  In  my  life. 

.^e.  But  seven  years  since,  in  Syracusa,  boy,  320 

Thou  know'st  we  parted  :  but  perhaps,  my  son. 
Thou  shamest  to  acknowledge  me  in  misery. 

AtU,  E.  The  duke  and  all  that  know  me  in  tlie  city 
Can  witness  with  me  tliat  it  is  not  so  : 
I  ne'er  saw  Syracusa  in  my  life. 

Dvke,  I  tell  thee,  Syracusian,  twenty  years 
Have  I  been  patron  to  Antipholus, 
During  which  time  he  ne'er  saw  Syracusa : 
I  see  tuy  age  and  dangers  make  thee  dote. 

He-enter  Abbess,  toith  Aktiphoi^us  of  Syracuse  and  Dromic 

of  Syracuse. 

Abb.  Most  mighty  duke,  behold  a  man  much  wrong'd. 

[All  gather  to  ace  them.    330 

Adr.  I  see  two  husbands,  or  mine  eyes  deceive  me. 

Duke.  One  of  these  men  is  Genius  to  the  other ; 
And  so  of  these.     Which  is  the  natural  man. 
And  which  tlie  spirit?  who  deciphers  them? 

Dro.  8.  I,  sir,  am  Dromio  :  command  him  away. 

Dro.  E.  I,  sir,  am  Dromio  :  pray,  let  me  stay. 

Ant.  S.  .^eon  art  thou  not?  or  else  his  ghost  ? 

Dro.  8.  O,  my  old  master  I  who  hath  bound  him  liere? 

Abb.  Whoever  bound  him,  I  will  lose  his  bonds 
And  gain  a  husband  by  his  liberty.  340 

Speak,  old  ^geon,  if  thou  be'st  the  man 
That  hadst  a  wife  once  called  JErailia 
That  bore  thee  at  a  burden  two  fair  sons : 
O,  if  thovL  be'st  the  same  JGgeon,  speak. 
And  speak  unto  the  s&me  iGmllia  ! 

.^Effe.  If  I  dream  not,  thou  art  Emilia : 
If  thou  art  she,  tell  me  where  is  that  son 
Thdt  floated  with  thee  on  the  fatal  raft? 

Abb.  By  men  of  Epidamnum  he  and  I 
And  the  twin  Dromio  all  were  taken  up  ;  •  ^0 

But  by  and  by  rude  fishermen  of  Corinth 
By  force  took  Dromio  and  my  son  from  them 
And  me  tliey  left  with  those  of  Epidamnum. 
Wliat  then  became  of  them  I  cannot  tell ; 
I  to  this  fortune  that  you  see  me  in. 

Duke.  Wliy,  here  begins  his  morning  story  right* 
These  two  Antipholuses,  tliese  two  so  ake, 


288  THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.  [act  v. 

And  these  two  Dromios,  one  in  semblance, — 

Besides  her  urging  of  her  wreck  at  sea, — 

These  are  the  parents  to  these  children,  ,     860 

Which  accidentia  are  met  together. 

Antipholus,  thou  earnest  from  Corinth  first  ? 

Ant.  8,  No,  sir,  not  I ;  I  came  from  Syracuse. 

Duke.  Stay,  stand  apart ;  I  know  not  which  is  which. 

Ant.  E.  I  came  from  Corinth,  my  most  gracious  lord, — 

Dto,  E.  And  I  with  him. 

ArU.  E.  Brought  to  this  town  by  that  most  famous  war- 
rior, 
Duke  Menaphon,  your  most  renowned  uncle. 

Adr.  Which  of  you  two  did  dine  with  me  to-day? 

Ant.  S.  I,  gentle  mistress. 

Adr.  And  are  not  you  my  husband  ? 

Ant  E.  No  ;  I  say  nay  to  that.  871 

Ant.  S.  And  so  do  I ;  yet  did  she  call  me  so  : 
And  this  fair  gentlewoman,  her  sister  here. 
Did  call  me  brother.     [To  Lttc]  What  I  told  you  then, 
I  hope  I  shall  have  leisure  to  make  good  ; 
If  this  be  not  a  dream  I  see  and  hear. 

Ang.  That  is  the  chain,  sir,  which  you  had  of  me. 

Ant.  S.  I  think  it  be,  sir  ;  I  deny  it  not. 

Ant.  E.  And  you,  sir,  for  this  chain  arrested  me.  880 

Ang.  I  think  I  did,  sir  ;  I  deny  it  not. 

Adr,  I  sent  you  money,  sir,  to  be  your  bail, 
By  Dromio  :  but  I  think  he  brought  it  not. 

Dro.  E.  No,  none  by  me. 

Ant.  8.  This  purse  of  ducats  I  received  from  you 
And  Dromio  my  man  did  bring  them  me. 
I  see  we  still  did  meet  each  other's  man. 
And  I  was  ta'en  for  him,  and  he  for  me. 
And  thereupon  these  errors  are  arose. 

Ant.  E.  These  ducats  pawn  I  for  my  father  here. 

Duke,  It  shall  not  need  ;  thy  father  hath  his  life.        890 

Cour.  Sir,  I  must  have  that  diamond  from  you. 

Ant.  E.  There,  take  it ;  and  much  thanks  for  my  ^food 
cheer. 

Abb.  Renowned  duke,  vouchsafe  to  take  the  pains 
To  go  with  us  into  the  abbey  here 
And  hear  at  large  discoursed  all  our  fortunes  : 
And  all  that  are  assembled  in  this  place, 
That  by  this  sympathized  one  day's  error 
Have  suffer'd  wi-ohg,  go  keep  us  company, 
And  we  shall  make  full  satisfaction. 

Thirty-three  years  have  I  but  gone  in  travail  400 

Of  you,  my  sons ;  and  till  this  present  hour 


8CKNEI.]        THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.  289 

My  heavy  Ijurthen  ne'er  delivered. 
The  duke,  my  hasband  and  my  children  both. 
And  you  the  calt-ndars  of  their  nativity, 
Qo  to  a  gos^;ii)s'  feast,  and  go  witli  me  ; 
After  so  long  grief,  such  festivity  ! 

Duke.  With  all  my  heart,  I'll  gossip  nt  this  feast. 

[Exeunt  all  but  Ant.  8.,  Ant.  B.,  Dro.  S.,  and  Dro.  E. 

Dro.  JS.  Master,  shall  I  fetch  }oiir  stuff  from  shipboard? 

Ant.  E.  Dromio,  what  stuff  of  mine  hast  thou  embark'dt 

Dro.  S.  Your  goods  that  lay  at  host,  sir,  in  the  Centaur. 

Ant.  8.  He  spealis  to  me.     I  am  your  master,  Dromio  ; 
Come,  go  with  us  ;  we'll  look  to  that  anon  : 
Embrace  thy  brother  there ;  rejoice  with  him. 

[Exeunt  Ant.  8.  and  Ant.  E. 

Dro.  8.  There  is  a  fat  friend  at  your  master's  house, 
That  kitchen'd  me  for  you  to-day  at  dinner  : 
She  now  shall  be  my  sister,  not  my  wife, 

Dro.  E,  Metiimks  you  are  my  glass,  and  not  my  brother : 
I  see  by  you  I  am  a  sweet- faced  youth. 
Will  you  walk  in  to  see  their  gossiping? 

Dro.  8.  Not  I.  sir ;  you  are  my  elder.  430 

Dro.  E.  That's  a  question  :  how  sliall  we  try  it? 

Dro.  8.  We'll  draw  cuta  for  tlie  senior:   till   then  lead 
thou  first. 

Dro.  E.  Nay,  then,  thus  : 
We  came  into  the  world  like  brother  and  brother  ; 
And  now  let's  go  hand  in  hand,  not  one  before  another. 

[ExcujU, 


K. 

t 


8HAK.    I. — 10 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


DRAMATIS  PERSON.^. 

Don  Pevbo,  prince  of  Arragon.  VKBoca  q  beadbofongb. 

Don  John,  hia  bastard  brother.  A  sextoo. 

Claudio,  a  young  lord  of  Florence.  A  Boy. 
Bbnkdick,  a  joang  lord  of  Padaa. 

Lkonato,  j^ovcmor  of  MeBsina.^, — Hbko.  dangbter  to  Leooato. 

Antonio,  his  brother.  Beatrice,  niece  to  Lconato. 

Balthabar,   attendant    on    Don  Haboaret,  I  gentlewomen  at- 

Pei>ro.  UfisutA,       f  tendioig  on  Hero 

Hm^hks  f 'oUowersofDonJohn. 

VkxAR  KkANdS.  Mcasengcrs,    Watch,  Attendants, 

DoQSEBBT,  a  constable.  &c. 

BcENS :  Meuina, 

ACT  I. 

ScENB  I.    Before  Leokato'b  Iionee. 

Enter  Leonato,  Hero,  and  Beatrice,  mth  a  Messenger. 

Lc^n,  I  learn  in  tliis  letter  tliat  Don  Peter  of  Arragon 
comes  this  night  to  Messina. 

Mes».  He  is  very  near  by  this  :  he  was  not  three  ieagnes 
off  when  I  left  him. 

Ia'oii.  How  many  gpntlemen  have  you  lost  in  this  action  ? 

McHB.  But  few  of  any  soit,  and  none  of  nhnie. 

Leon.  A  victory  is  twice  itself  when  the  achiever  brings 
home  full  mini bei-s.  1  find  here- that  Don  Peter  hath  be- 
stowed much  honour  on  a  young  Florentine  called  Clnudio. 

Mess.  Much  deserv(;d  ou  his  part  and  equally  remembered 
by  Don  Pedro  :  he  hath  Iwrne  himself  beyond  the  promise 
of  his  age,  doing,  in  the  figure  of  a  lamb,  the  feats  of  a 
lion  :  he  hath  indeed  better  bettered  expectation  than  you 
must  expect  of  me  to  tell  you  how. 

Leon.  He  hath  an  uncle  here  in  Messina  will  be  very 
much  glad  of  it. 

Mes»,  I  have  already  delivered  him  letters,  and  there  ap- 

<390) 


i^ 


BCENBL]       MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  291 

pears  mocli  joy  in  him  ;  even  so  mnch  that  joy  could  not 
show  itself  modest  enough  without  a  badge  of  bitterness. 

Ijeon.  Did  he  break  out  into  tears  ? 

Mess*  In  great  measure. 

Lean.  A  kind  overflow  of  kindness :  there  are  no  faces 
truer  than  those  that  are  so  washed.  How  much  better  is 
it  to  weep  at  joy  than  to  joy  at  weeping  I 

Beat.  I  pray  you,  is  Signior  Mountanto  returned  from  the 
wars  or  no  ¥  '  31 

Mess.  I  know  none  of  that  name,  lady  :  there  was  none 
such  in  the  army  of  any  sort. 

Letm.  What  is  he  that  you  ask  for,  niece  T 

Hero.  My  cousin  means  Signior  Benedick  of  Padua. 

Mess.  O,  he's  returned  ;  and  as  pleasant  as  ever  he  was. 

Beat.  He  set  up  his  bills  here  in  Messina  and  challenged 
Cupid  at  the  flight ;  and  my  uncle's  fool,  reading  the  chal- 
]en£^,  subscribed  for  Cupid,  and  challenged  him  at  the 
bird- bolt.  I  pray  you,  how  many  haUi  he  killed  and  eaten 
in  these  wars?  but  how  many  hath  he  killed?  for  indeed 
I  promised  to  eat  nil  of  hia  killing. 

Lson.  Faith,  niece,  you  tax  Signior  Benedick  too  much ; 
but  he'll  be  meet  with  you,  I  doubt  it  not. 

Mess.  He  hatli  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  '  n  excellent 
stomach. 

Mes».  And  a  good  soldier  too,  lady. 

Beat.  And  a  good  soldier  to  a  lady  :  but  what  is  he  to  a 
lord  ? 

Mess.  A  lord  to  a  lord,  a  man  to  a  man  ;  stuffed  with  all 
honourable  virtues. 

Beat.  It  is  so,  indeed ;  he  is  no  less  than  a  stuffed  man  : 
but  for  the  stufRng, — well,  we  are  mort^nl.  60 

Leon.  You  must  not,  sir,  mistake  my  niece.  There  is  a 
kind  of  merry  war  betwixt  Signior  Benedick  and  her :  they 
never  meet  but  there's  a  skirmish  of  wit  betwcrn  them. 

Beat.  Alas !  he  gets  nothing  by  that.  In  our  last  con- 
flict four  of  his  five  wits  went  halting  off,  and  now  is  the 
whole  man  governed  with  one :  so  that  if  he  have  wit 
enough  to  keep  himself  warm,  let  him  bear  it  for  a  differ- 
ence between  himself  and  his  horse  ;  for  it  is  all  the  wealth 
that  he  hath  left,  to  be  known  a  reasonable  creature.  Who 
is  his  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. 


V 


2«3  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.         [act  i. 

Men%.  I  seo,  lady,  tlie  gentleman  is  not  in  your  lx>ok8. 

BeoA,  No;  an  he  were,  I  would  bum  my' study'.  But  I 
pray  you,  who  is  his  companion  ?  Is  there  no  young  squar- 
cr  now  that  will  make  a  voyage  with  him  to  the  devil  ? 

Me%9.  He  is  most  in  tlie  '  company  of  tlie  right  noble 
Claudio. 

BtaJt.  O  I^rd,  he  will  hang  upon  him  like  a  disease  :  he 
is  sooner  caught  than  the  pestilence,  and  the  taker  runs 
presently  mad.  God  help  the  noble  Claudio  !  if  lie  have 
caught  the  Benedick,  it  will  cost  him  a  thousand  pound  ere 
a'  be  cured.  90 

Me%s.  I  will  hold  friends  with  yon,  lady. 

Beat,  Do,  good  friend. 

Leon    You  will  never  run  mad,  niece. 

Btat.  No,  not  till  a  hot  January, 

3feM.  Don  Pedro  is  approached. 

Enter  Don  Pedro,  Don  John,  Claudio,  Benedick,  and 

Balthabar. 

D.  Pedro.  Good  Signior  Ijeonato,  you  are  oome  to  meet 
your  trouble :  the  fashion  of  the  world  is  to  avoid  cost,  and 
you  encounter  it. 

Leon.  Never  came  trouble  to  my  house  in  tlie  likeness  of 
your  grace  :  for  trouble  being  gone,  comfort  should  remain  ; 
but  when  you  depart  from  me,  sorrow  abides'and  happiness 
takes  liis  leave. 

I).  Pedro.  You  enibrace  your  charge  too  willingly.  I 
think  this  is  your  dat^ter. 

Leon,  Her'mother  hath  many  times  told  me  so.  • 

Bene.  Were  yoii  in  doubt,  sir,  that  you  asked  her? 

Leon.  Signior  Benedick,  no  ;  for  then  were  vou  a  child. 

J9.  Pedro.  You  have  it  full,  Bene4ick  :  we  may  guess  by 
this  wliat  you  are,  being  a  man.  Truly,  tlie  lady  fathers 
herself.  Be  happy,  lady  ;  for  you  are  like  an  honourable 
father. 

Bene.  If  Signior  Leonato  be  her  father,  she  would  not 
have  his  head  on  her  shoulders  for  all  Messina,  as  like  him 
as  she  is. 

licat.  I  wonder  that  you  will  still  be  talking,  Signior 
Benedick  ;  nolnxiy  marks  you. 

Bene.  What,  my  dear  Lady  Disdain  !  are  you  yet  living? 

Beat.  Is  it  ixiesible  disdain  should  die  while  she  hath 
such  meet  food  to  feed  it  as  Signior  Benedick  ?  Courtesy 
itself  must  convert  to  disdain,  if  you  come  in  her  presence. 

Befie.  Then  is  coui-tesy  a  turncoat.  But  it  is  certain  I 
am  loved  of  all  ladies,  only  you  excepted :  and  I  would  I 


I 


SCKHEi.]        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  293 

conld  find  in  my  lieart  tliat  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  h^imour  for  that :  I  had  rather 
hear  my  dog  bark  at  a  crow  than  a  man  swear  he  loves  me. 

Bene.  God  keep  your  ladyship  still  in  that  mind  I  so 
some  gentleman  or  other  shall  'scape  a  predestinate 
scratched  face. 

■  BecU,  Scratching  could  not  make  it  worse,  an  'twere  such 
a  face  as  yours  were. 

BeTie.  Well,  you  are  a  rare  jmrrot-teacher.  140 

Beat.  A  bird  of  my  tongue  is  better  than  a  beast  of  yours. 

Bene.  I  would  my  horse  had  the  speed  of  your  tongue, 
and  so  good  a  continuer.  But  keep  your  way,  i'  God's 
name  ;  I  have  done. 

Beat.  You  always  end  with  a  jade's  trick  :  I  know  you 
of  old. 

D.  Pedro.  That  is  the  sum  of  all,  Leonato.  Signior 
Claudio  and  Signior  Benedick,  my  dear  friend  Leonato  hath 
invited  you  all.  I  tell  him  we  shall  stay  here  at  the  least 
a  month  ;  and  he  heartily  prays  some  occasion  may  detain 
us  longer.  I  dare  swear  lie  is  no  hypocrite,  but  prays  from 
his  heart. 

Leon.  If  vou  swear,  my  lord,  you  shall  not  be  forsworn. 
[lb  Don  Johi]  Let  me  bid  you  welcome,,  my  lord  :  being 
reconciled  to  the  prince  your  brother,  I  owe  you  all  duty. 

2>.  John.  I  thank  you  :  I  am  not  of  many  words,  but  I 
thank  you.  ^ 

Le<m.  Please  it  your  grace  lead  on  ?  160 

J).  Pedro.  Your  hand,  Leonato  ;  we  will  go  together, 

[Exeunt  all  except  Benedick  a}id  Claudio. 

Claud.  Benedick,  didst  thou  note  the  daughter  of  Signior 
Leonato  ? 

Bene.  I  noted  her  not ;  but  I  looked  on  her. 

Claud.  Is  she  not  a  modest  young  lady  ? 
^     Bene.  Do  you  question  me,  as  an  honest  man  should  do, 
for  my  simple  true  judgement ;  or  would  you  have  me  speak 
aft«r  my  custom,  as  bemg  a  professed  tyrant  to  their  sex  v 

Claud.  No  ;  I  pray  thee  speak  in  sober  judgement.       171 

Bene.  Why,  i'  faith,  me  thinks  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  thinkest  I  am  in  sport :  I  pray  thee  tell  mo 
traly  how  thou  likest  her.  180 


-^  , 


294  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.         [acti. 

Bnne.  Would  you  buy  her,  that  yon  inquire  after  her  ? 

<^'au(l.  Can  the  world  buy  such  a  jewel  ? 

licne.  Yea,  and  a  case  to  put  it  into.  But  speak  you  this 
witli  a  sad  brow  ?  or  do  you  play  the  flouting  Jack,  to  tell 
us  Cupid  is  a  good  iiare-finder  and  Vulcan  a  rare  carpenter? 
Come,  in  what  key  shall  a  man  tako  you,  to  go  in  the 
souff  Y 

Claud,  In  mine  eye  she  is  the  sweetest  lady  that  ever  I 
looked  on.  190 

Bene.  I  can  see  yet  without  spectacles  and  I  see  no  such 
matter  :  there's  her  cousin,  an  she  were  not  possessed  with 
a  fary,  exceeds  lier  as  much  in  beauty  as  the  first  of  May 
does  the  last  of  December.  But  I  hope  you  have  no  intent 
to  turn  husband,  have  you? 

Claud.  I  would  scarce  trust  myself,  though  I  had  sworn 
the  contrary,  if  Hero  would  be  my  wife. 

Btne,  Is't  come  to  this?  In  faith,  hath  not  the  world 
one  nuin  but  he  will  wear  his  cap  with  suspicion  ?  Shall  I 
never  see  a  bachelor  of  three  score  again  ?  Oo  to,  i'  faith  ; 
an  thou  wilt  needs  thrust  thy  neck  into  a  yoke,  wear  the 
print  of  it  and  sigh  away  Sundays.  Look  ;  Don  Pedro  Is 
returned  to  seek  you. 

Re- Enter  Don  Pedko. 

D.  Pedro.  Wliat  secret  hath  held  you  here,  that  you  fol- 
lowed not  to  Leonato's  ? 

Bene.  I  would  your  grace  would  constrain  me  to  tell. 

2>.  Pedrd.  I  <;harge  thee  on  thy  allegiance. 

Bene,  You  hear.  Count  Claudio  :  I  can  be  secret  as  a 
dumb  man  ;  I  would  liave  you  think  so  ;  but,  on  my  alle^ 
giance,  mark  you  this,  on  my  allegiance.  He  is  in  love. 
vVith  who?  now  that  is  your  grace's  part.  Mark  how 
short  his  answer  is  ; — With  Hero,  Leonato's  short  daughter. 

Claud.  If  this  were  so,  so  wore  it  uttered. 

Bene.  Like  the  old  tale,  my  lord  :  "  it  is  not  so,  nor  'twas 
not  so,  but,  indeed,  God  forbid  it  should  be  so."  220 

Claud.  If  my  passion  change  not  shortly,  God  forbid  it 
should  be  otherwise. 

I).  Pedro.  Amen,  if  you  love  her ;  for  the  lady  is  very 
well  worthy. 

Claud.  You  speak  this  to  fetch  me  in,  my  lord. 

I).  Pedro.  By  my  troth,  I  speak  my  thought. 

Clavd.  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.*  280 

2>.  Pedro,  That  she  is  wortliy,  I  know. 


BCENEi.]        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  295 

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  wilF  die  in  it  at  the  stake. 

J).  Pedro.  Thou  wast  ever  an  obstinate  lieretic  in  the  de- 
spite of  beauty. 

Clavd.  And  never  conld  maintain  his  part  but  In  the 
force  of  his  will. 

Berts.  Tliat  a  woman  conceived  me,  I  thnnk  her ;  that 
she  brought  me  up,  I  likewise  give  her  most  humljle  thanks  : 
but  that  I  will  have  arecheat  winded  in  my  fofehend,  or  hang 
my  bugle  in  an  invisible  bald  rick,  all  women  shall  pnrdou 
me.  Secause  I  will  not  do  them  tlie  wrong  to  mistrust  ar.y, 
I  will  do  myself  the  right  to  trust  none ;  and  the  fine  is,  for 
the  which  I  may  go  the  finer,  I  will  live  a  bat-helor. 

B.  Pedro.  I  shall  see  thee,  ere  I  die,  look  pale  with  love. 

Bene.  With  anger,  with  sickness,  or  with  hunger,  mv 
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. 

B.  Pedro.  Well,  if  ever  thou  dost  fall  from  this  faith, 
thou  wilt  prove  a  notable  argument. 

Bene.  If  I  do,  hang  me  in  a  bottle  like  a  cat  and  shoot  at 
me  ;  and  he  that  hits  me,  let  him  be  clapped  on  the  shoul- 
der, and  called  Adam.  261 

B.  Pedro.  Well,  as  time  shall  try  : 
"  In  time  the  savage  bull  doth  bear  the  joke." 

Bene.  The  savage  bull  may  ;  but  if  ever  the  sensible 
.Benedick  bear  it,  pluck  off  the  bull's  horns  and  set  them 
in  my  forehead  :  and  let  me  be  vilely  painted,  and  in  such 
great  letters  as  they  write  '*  Here  is  good  horse  to  hire,"  let 
tlkem  signify  under  my  sign  *'  Here  you  may  see  Benedick 
the  married  man."  270 

Claud.  If  this  should  ever  happen,  thou  wouldst  be  horn- 
mad. 

B.  Pedro.  Nay,  if  Cupid  have  not  spent  all  liis  quiver  in 
Venice,  thou  wilt  quake  for  this  shortly. 

Bene.  I  look  for  an  earthquake  too,  then. 

B,  Pedro.  Well,  you  will  temporize  with  the  hours.  In 
the  meantime,  good  Siguier  Benedick,  repair  to  Leonato's  : 
commend  me  to  him  and  tell  him  I  will  not  fail  him  at  sup- 
per ;  lor  i4id«>ed  he  hath  made  great  preparation.  280 

Bene.  I  have  almost  matter  enough  in  me  for  such  an 
embass«age  ;  and  so  I  commit  you — 

Claud,  To  the  tuition  of  Qod  :    From  my  house,  if  I  had 

it,~ 
B,  Pedro,  Thesixthof  July:  Your lovingirieud,  Benedick. 


296  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [acti. 

Bene.  NajTj'tnock  not,  mock  not.  The  body  of  your  dis- 
coarse  is  sometime  guarded  with  fragments,  and  the  c^aards 
are  but  slightly  basted  on  nether :  ere  you  iiout  old  ends 
any  further,  examine  your  conscience :  and  so  1  leave  vou. 

[ExU'    291 

Claud,  My  liege,  your  highness  now  may  do  me  good. 

2>.  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  ? 

2>.  Pedro.  No  child  but  Hero  ;  she's  his  only  heir. 
Dost  thou  affect  her,  Claudio? 

Clavd,  O,  my  lord, 

When  YOU  went  onward  on  this  ended  action, 
I  look'd  upon  her  with  a  soldier's  eye,  800 

That  liked,  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^l  her  ere  I  went  to  wars. 

J).  Pedro.  Thou  wilt  be  like  a  lover  presently 
And  tire  the  hearer  with  a  book  of  words. 
If  thou  dost  love  fair  Hero,  clierish  it,  810 

And  I  will  break  with  lier  and  with  her  father 
And  thou  shalt  iiave  her.     Was't  not  to  this  end 
That  thou  began'st  to  twist  so  fine  a  story  ? 

C^aud.  How  sweetly  you  do  minister  to  love. 
That  know  love's  grief  by  his  complexion  I 
But  lest  my  liking  might  too  sudden  seem, 
I  would  have  salved  it  with  a  longer  treatise. 

2>.  Pedro.  What  need  the  bridge  much  broader  than  the 
flood? 
The  fairest  grant  is  the  necessity. 

Look,  what  will  serve  is  fit :  'tis  once,  thou  lovcst,  830 

And  1  will  fit  thee  with  the  remedy. 
I  know  we  shall  have  revelling  to-night : 
I  will  assume  thy  part  in  some  disguise 
And  tell  fair  Hero  I  am  Claudio, 
And  in  her  bo.som  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  sluill  be  tliine^ 
In  practice  let  ub  put  it  presently.  [ExeutU,      830 


SCENE  III.]     MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  207 

Scene  II.    A  room  in  Leonato's  Jwust, 

Enter  Leonato  and  Antonio,  meeting, 

Leon.  How  now,  brother  I  Where  is  my  cousin,  your 
son  ?  hath  he  provided  this  music  ? 

AnL  He  is  verv  busy  about  it.  But,  brother,  I  can  tell 
you  strange  news  that  you  yet  dreamt  not  of. 

Leon.  Are  they  good  ? 

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  mine  orchard, 
were  thus  much  overheard  by  a  man  of  mine  :  the  prince 
discovered  to  Claadio  thai  he  loved  mv  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.  Haih  the  fellow  any  wit  that  told  you  this  ? 

Ant.  A  good  sharp  fellow :  I  will  send  for  him  ;  and 
question  him  yourself.  20 

Leon.  No,  no  ;  we  will  hold  it  as  a  dream  till  it  appear 
itself  :  but  I  will  acquaint  my  daughter  withal,  tliat  she 
may  be  the  better  prepared  for  an  answer,  if  perad venture 
this  be  true.  Go  you  and  tell  her  of  it.  [  Enter  Attendants. ] 
Cousins,  you  know  what  you  have  to  do.  O,  I  cry  you 
mercy,  friend  ;  go  you  with  me,  and  I  will  use  your  skill. 
Good  cousin,  have  a  care  this  busy  time.  [Exeunt. 

Scene.  III.     Ths  same. 

Enter  Don  John  and  Conrade. 

Con.  What  the  good-year,  my  lord !  why  p.*x"  you  thus 
out  of  measure  sad  ? 

D  John.  There  is  no  measure  in  the  occasion  *.hi>^  breeds  ; 
therefore  the  sadness  is  without  limit. 

Con.  You  should  hear  reason. 

D.  John.  And  when  I  have  heard  it,  what  blrnsing  brings 
it? 

Con.  If  not  a  present  remedy,  at  least  a  patien''.  sufferance. 

D.  John.  I  wonder  that  thou,  being,  as  thou  sayest  thou 
art,  born  under  Saturn,  goest  about  to  apply  a  moral  medi- 
cine to  a  mortifying  mischief.  I  cannot  hide  what  I  am  :  I 
must  be  sad  when  I  have  cause  and  smile  at  no  man's  jests, 
eat  when  I  have  stomach  and  wait  for  no  man's  leisure, 
sleep  when  I  am  drowsy  and  tend  on  no  man's  business, 
laugh  when  I  am  merry  and  claw  no  man  in  his  humour. 

Qm,    Yea,  bat  you  mast  not  make  the  full  show  of  this 


298  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT   NOTHING.  [act  i. 

till  j'ou  may  do  it  witliout  controlment.  You  hare  of  late 
stood  out  against  your  brother,  and  ho  hatli  ta'en  j'ou  newly 
into  his  grace  ;  wliero  it  is  impossible  you  sliould  take  true 
root  but  by  the  fair  weather  that  you  make  yourself ;  it  is 
needful  that  you  frame  the  season  for  your  own  harvest. 

D.  John.  I  had  rather  be  a  canker  in  a  hedge  than  a  rose 
in  his  grace,  and  it  better  fits  myl51ood  to  be  disdained  of  all 
than  to  fashion  a  carnage  to  rob  love  from  any  :  in  this, 
though  I  cannot  be  said  to  lie  n  flattering  honest  man,  it  must 
not  be  denied  but  I  am  a  plain-dealing  villain.  I  am  trusted 
with  a  muzzle  and  enfranchised  with  a  clog ;  therefore  I 
have  decreed  not  to  sing  in  my  cage.  If  I  had  my  mouth, 
I  would  bite  ;  if  I  had  my  liberty,  1  would  do  my  liking  :  in 
the  meantime  let  me  be  that  I  am  and  seek  not  to  fdter  me. 
Con,  Can  you  make  no  use  of  your  discontent  ?  40 

D,  John,  I  make  all  use  of  it,  for  I  use  it  only. 
Who  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Bokachio. 

What  news,  Borachio  ? 

Bora,  I  came  yonder  from  a  great  supper :  the  prince 
your  brother  is  royally  entertain^  by  Leonato  ;  and  I  can 
give  you  intelligence  of  an  intended  marriage. 

D.  John.  Will  it  serve  for  any  model  to  build  mischief 
on  ?  Wliat  is  he  for  a  fool  that  betroths  himself  to  unquiet- 
ness  ?  50 

Bora.  Marry,  it  is  your  brother's  right  hand. 

D,  John.  Who  ?  the  most  exquisite  Claudio? 

Bora.  Even  he. 

D.  John.  A  proper  squire!  And  who,  and  who?  which 
way  looks  he  ? 

Bora.  Marry,  on  Hero,  the  daughter  and  heir  of  Leonato. 

D.  John.  A  very  forward  March-chick  1  How  came  you 
to  this? 

Bora,  Being  entertained  for  a  perfumer,  as  I  was  smok- 
ing a  musty  room,  comes  me  the  prince  and  Claudio,  hand 
in  hand,  in  sad  conference  :  I  whipt  me  behind  the  arras  ; 
and  there  heard  it  agreed  upon  that  the  prince  should  woo 
^Hero  for  himself,  and  having  obtained  her,  give  her  to 
Count  Claudio. 

D.  John,  Come,  come,  let  us  thither :  this  may  prove 
food  to  my  displeasure.  That  young  start-up  hath  all  the 
glory  of  my  overthrow  :  if  I  can  cross  him  any  way,  I  bless 
myself  every  way.     You  are  both  sure,  and  will  assist  me  ? 

Con,  To  the  death,  my  lord. 

D,  John,  Let  us  to  the  great  supper :  their  cheer  is  the 


flCENBiiL]     MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  299 

greater  that  I  am  subdaed.     Wonld  tlie  cook  were  of  my 
mind  I    Shall  we  go  prove  what's  to  be  done  7 
Bora,  We'll  wait  upon  your  lordship.  [Exeunt 


ACT  II. 

Scene  I.    A  haU  in  Leonato'b  hmue. 

ErUer  Leonato,  Antonio,  Hero,  Beatrice,  and  others. 

Leon.  Was  not  Count  John  here  at  supper  7 

Ant.  I  saw  him  not. 

Beat.  How  tartly  that  gentleman  looks  t  I  never  can  see 
him  but  I  am  heart-bum^  an  hour  after. 

Hero.  He  is  of  a  very  melancholy  disposition. 

Beat.  He  were  an  excellent  man  that  were  made  just  in 
the  midway  between  him  and  Benedick  :  the  one  is  too  like 
an  image  and  says  nothing,  and  the  other  too  like  my  lady's 
eldest  son,  evermore  tattling.  11 

Leon.  Then  half  Siguier  Benedick's  tongue  in  Count  John's 
mouth,  and  half  Count  John's  melancholy  in  Signior  Bene- 
dick's face, — 

Beat.  With  a  good  leg  and  a  good  foot,  uncle,  and  money 
enough  in  his  pnrae,  such  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  hns- 
band,  if  thou  be  so  shrewd  of  thy  tongue.  21 

Ant.  In  faith,  she's  too  curst. 

Beat.  Too  curst  is  more  than  curst :  I  shall  lessen  God's 
sending  that  way ;  lor  it  is  said,  ''God  sends  a  curst  cow 
short  lioms  ; "  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  which 
blessing  1  am  at  him  upon  my  knees  every  morning  and 
evening.  Lord,  I  could  not  endure  a  husband  with  a  beard 
on  his  face  ;  I  had  rather  lie  in  the  woolen. 

Leon.  You  may  light  on  a  husband  that  hath  no  beard. 

Beat.  What  should  I  do  with  him  ?  dress  him  in  my  ap- 
parel and  make  him  my  waiting-gentle- woman  7  He  that 
liatha  beard  is  more  than  a  vouth,  and  he  that  hath  no  1)eard 
is  less  than  a  man  :  nnd  he  that  is  more  than  a  youth  is  not 
for  me,  and  he  that  Is  lests  than  a  man,  I  am  not  for  liim  : 
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  7 

Beat.  No,  but  to  the  gate  ;  and  there  will  the  devil  meet 
me^  like  an  old  cuckgld,  with  horns  on  his  head,  and  say, 


300  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [act  IL 

"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  bach- 
elors sit,  and  there  live  we  as  merry  as  the  day  is  lonp. 

Ant.  \To  Hero]  Well,  niece,  I  trust  you  will  be  ruled  by 
your  father. 

Beat.  Yes,  faith  ;  it  is  my  cousin's  duty  to  make  cnrfsy 
and  say  '*  Father,  as  it  please  you."  But  yet  for  all  that, 
cousin,  let  him  be  a  liandsome  fellow,  or  else  make  another 
curtsy  and  say  "  Father,  as  it  please  me." 

Leon.  Well,  niece,  I  hope  to  see  you  one  day  fitted  with  a 
husband.  61 

Beat.  Not  till  God  make  men  of  some  other  metal  than 
earth.  Would  it  not  grieve  ^  woman  to  be  overmastered 
with  a  piece  of  valiant  dust?  to  make  an  account  of  her 
life  to  a  clod  of  wayward  marl?  No,  uncle.  Til  none: 
Adam's  sous  are  my  brethren  ;  and,  truly,  I  hold  it  a  siu  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.  71 

Beat.  The  fault  will  be  in  the  music,  cousin,  if  you  he  not 
wooed  in  good  time  :  if  the  prince  be  too  important,  tell  him 
there  is  measure  in  every  thing  and  so  dance  out  the  an- 
swer. For,  hear  me,  Hero  :  wooing,  wedding,  and  repent- 
ing, is  as  a  Scotch  jig,  a  measure,  and  a  cinque  pace  :  the 
first  suit  is  hot  and  hasty,  like  a  Scotch  jig,  and  full  as  fan- 
tastical ;  the  wedding,  mannerly-modest,  as  a  measure,  full 
of  state  and  ancientry  ;  and  then  comes  repentance  and, 
with  his  bad  legs,  falls  into  the  cinque  pace  faster  and  faster, 
till  he  sink  into  his  grave. 

Lextn.  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.  [A  Uput  on  tJieir  masks. 

Enter  Dow  Pedro,  Clatjdio,  Benedick,  Balthasar,  Don 
John,  Borachio,  Margaret,  Ursula,  and  otiurs, 
masked. 

D.  Pedro.  Lady,  "Will  you  walk  about  with  your  friend  ? 

Hero.  So  you  walk  softly  and  look  sweetly  and  say  noth- 
ing, I  am  yours  for  the  walk  ;  and  especially  when  I  walk 
away. 

i).  Pedro.  With  me  in  your  company? 

Hero.  I  may  say  so,  when  I  please. 

D.  Pedro.  And  when  please  you  to  say  so  ? 


BCBNBI.]        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  801 

HtTO,  When  I  like  your  favour  ;  for  God  defend  the  lute 
should  be  like  tlie  case  1 

i>.  Pedro.  My  visor  is  Philemon's  roof ;  within  the  house 
is  Jove.  100 

Hero,  Wikj,  then,  your  visor  should  be  tliatched. 

-D.  Pedro,  Speak  low,  if  you  speak  love. 

[I>ramng  her  aside, 

BaUh.  Well,  I  would  you  did  like  me. 

Marg.  So  would  not  I,  for  your  own  sake ;  for  I  have 
many  ill  qualities. 

BaUh,  Which  is  one  ? 

Marg.  I  say  my  prayers  aloud. 

BaUh.  I  love  you  the  better  :  the  hearers  may  cry,  Amen. 

Marg.  God  match  me  with  a  good  dancer  1  111 

BaUh.  Amen. 

Marg.  And  God  keep  him  oat  of  my  sight  when  the  dance 
is  done  I  Answer,  clerk. 

BaUh.  No  more  words  *  the  clerk  is  answered. 

Un,  I  know  you  well  enough ;  you  are  Signior  Antonio. 

Ant.  At  a  word,  I  am  not. 

Urs,  L  know  yoa  by  the  waggling  of  your  head.  120 

Ant.  To  tell  you  true,  I  counterfeit  him. 

Ur9,  You  could  never  do  him  so  ill- well,  unless  you  were 
the  very  man.  Here's  his  dry  hand  up  and  down  :  you  are 
he,  you  are  he. 

Ant.  At  a  word,  I  am  not. 

Ure.  Come,  come,  do  you  tliink  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  mo  who  told  you  so  ?  130 

Bene.  No,  you  ishall  pardon  me. 

Beai.  Nor  will  you  not  tell  me  who  you  are  ? 

Bene.  Not  now. 

Beat.  That  I  was  disdainful,  and  that  I  had  my  good  wit 
out  of  the  ' '  Hundred  Merry  Tales  : " — ^well,  this  was  Signior 
Benedick  that  said  sa 

Bene.  What's  he? 

Beat.  I  am  sure  you  know  him  well  enough. 

Bene.  Not  I,  believe  me. 

Beat.  Did  he  never  make  you  laugh  ?  IfO 

Bene.  Ipray  y<Mi»  what  is  ne  ? 

Beat.  Wny,  he  is  the  prince's  jester  :  a  very  dull  fool ; 
only  hia  gift  is  in  devising  impossible  slanders  :  none  but 
libertines  deliglit  in  him  ;  and  the  commendation  is  not  in 
his  wit,  but  in  his  villany ;  for  he  both  pleases  men  and 
(ingeis  them,  and  then  they  laugh  at  him  and  beat  him.  X 
am  sure  he  is  in  the  fleet :  I  would  he  had  boarded  me. 


809  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [actii. 

Bene.  When  I  know  the  gentleman,  I'll  tell  liim  what 
you  say.  151 

Beat.  Do,  do  :  hell  hat  break  a  comparison  or  two  on 
me ;  whicii,  perad venture  not  marked  or  not  laughed  at, 
strikes  him  into  melancholy  ;  and  then  there's  a  partridge 
wing  saved,  for  the  fool  will  eat  no  supper  that  night. 
[Muifie.]    We  must  follow  the  leaders. 

Bene.  In  every  e;ood  thing. 

Beat.  Nay,  if  they  lead  to  any  ill,  I  will  leave  them  at 
the  next  turmng.  100 

[Dance.     Then  exeunt  all  except  Don  John 

Borackio,  and  Clatidio. 

D.  John.  Sure  my  brother  is  amorous  ou  Hero  and  hath 
withdrawn  her  father  to  break  with  liim  about  it.  The 
ladies  follow  her  and  but  one  visor  remains. 

Bora.  And  that  is  Claudio  :  I  know  him  by  his  bearing. 

D.  John.  Are  not  you  Signior  Benedick  ? 

Claud.  You  know  me  well ;  I  am  he. 

D.  John.  Signior,  you  are  very  near  my  brother  in  his 
love  :  he  is  enamoured  on  Hero  ;  I  pray  you,  dissuade  him 
from  her  :  she  is  no  equal  for  Ids  birth  :  you  may  do  the 
part  of  an  honest  man  in  it. 

Claud.  How  know  you  he  loves  lier  ? 

D.  John.  I  heard  him  swear  his  aifection. 

Bora.  So  did  I  too  ;  and  he  swore  he  would  marry  her  to- 
night. 

D.  John.  Come,  let  us  to  the  banquet, 

[Exeunt  Don  John  and  BoraeJno. 

Gland.  Thus  answer  I  in  name  of  Benedick, 
But  hear  these  ill  news  with  the  eare  of  Claudio.  ISO 

'Tis  certain  so  ;  the  prince  wooes  for  himself. 
Friendship  is  constant  in  all  other  things 
Save  in  the  office  and  aifnira  of  love  : 
Therefore  all  hearts  in  love  use  their  own  tongues ; 
Let  every  eye  negotiate  for  itself 
And  trust  no  agent ;  for  beauty  is  a  witch 
Against  whose  charms  faith  melteth  into  blood. 
This  is  an  accident  of  hourly  proof. 
Which  I  mistrusted  not.     Farewell,  therefore.  Hero  I 

Re-enter  Benedick. 

Beiie.  Count  Claudio?  190 

Claud.  Yea,  the  same. 
Bene.  Come,  will  vou  go  with  me  ? 
Claud.  Whither?' 

Bene.  Even  to  the  next  willow,  about  your  own  business, 
county.     What  fashion  will  you  wear  the  garland  of  ?  about 


SCENE  I.]        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  808 

your  neck,  like  an  usurer's  chain  ?  or  under  your  arm,  like 
a  lieutenant's  scarf  ?  You  must  wear  it  one  way,  for  the 
prince  hath  got  your  Hero. 

Clnnd,  I  wish  him  joy  of  her.  200 

Bene.  Why,  that's  spoken  like  an  honest  drovier:  so 
they  sell  bullocks.  But  did  you  think  the  prince  would 
have  served  you  thus  ? 

Claud.  I  prny  you,  leave  me. 

Bern.  Ho  !  now  you  strike  like  the  blind  man  :  'twas  the 
boy  that  stole  your  meat,  and  you'll  beat  the  post. 

Claud.  If  it  >\ill  not  be,  I'll  leave  you.  [JEait. 

Bene.  Alas,  poor  hurt  fowl !  now  will  he  creep  into 
sedges.  But  that  my  liady  Beatrice  should  know  me,  and 
not  know  me  !  The  prince's  fool  1  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.  Well,  TU  be  revenged 
as  I  may. 

Re-enter  Don  Pedro. 

D.  Pedro,  Now,  signior,  where's  the  oonnt?  did  you  see 
hhn? 

Bene.  Troth,  my  lord,  I  have  played  the  part  of  Lady 
Fame.  I  found  him  here  as  melancholy  as  a  lodge  in  a 
warren  :  I  told  him,  and  I  thiuk  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  whipped. 

D.  Pedro.  To  be  whipped  I    \Vhat's  his  fault? 

Bene.  The  flat  transgression  of  a  school -boy,  who,  being 
overjoyed  with  finding  a  bird's  nest,  shows  it  his  compan- 
ion, and  he  steals  it.  280 

D.  Pedro.  Wilt  thou  make  a  trust  a  transgression  f  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  stolen  h^s  birds'  nest. 

D.  Pedro.  I  will  but  teach  them  to  sing,  and  restore  them 
to  the  owner.  240 

Bene.  If  their  singing  answer  your  saying,  by  my  faith, 
yon  say  honestly. 

D.  Pedro.  The  Lady  Beatrice  hath  a  quarrel  to  you  :  the 
gentleman  that  danced  with  her  told  her  she  is  much 
wronged  by  you. 


304  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [act  ii. 

Bene.  O,  she  misused  mc  past  the  endurance  of  a  block  ! 
an  oak  but  with  one  green  leaf  on  it  would  have  answered 
her  ;  my  very  visor  be^an  to  assume  life  and  scold  with  her. 
She  told  me,  not  thinking  I  had  been  myself,  that  I  was  tlio 
prince's  jester,  that  I  was  duller  than  a  great  thaw  ;  hud- 
dling jest  upon  jest  with  such  impossible  convt^yance  upon 
me  that  I  stood  like  a  man  at  a  mark,  with  a  whole  army 
shooting  at  me.  She  speaks  poniards,  and  every  word  stabs  : 
if  her  breath  were  as  terrible  as  her  terminations,  there 
were  no  living  near  her  ;  she  would  infect  to  the  north  star. 
I  would  not  marry  her,  though  she  were  endowed  with  all 
that  Adam  had  left  him  before  he  transgressed  :  she  would 
liave  made  Hercules  have  turned  spit,  yea,  and'  have  cleft 
his  club  to  make  the  fire  too.  Come,  talk  not  of  her  :  you 
shall  find  her  the  infernal  Ate  in  good  apparel.  I  would  to 
Ood  sonie  scholar  would  conjure  her  ;  for  certainly,  while 
she  is  here,  a  man  may  live  as  quiet  in  hell  as  in  a  sanctu- 
ary ;  and  people  sin  upon  purpose,  because  they  would  go 
thither  ;  so,  indeed,  all  disquiet,  horror  and  perturbation  fol- 
lows her. 

D.  Pedro,  Look,  here  she  comes.  270 

Enter  Claudio,  Beatrice,  Hero,  and  Leonato. 

Bene.  Will  your  grace  command  me  any  service  to  the 
world's  end  ?  I  will  go  on  the  slightest  errand  now  to  the 
Antipodes  that  you  can  devise  to  send  mc  on  ;  I  will  fetch 
you  a  tooth-picker  now  from  the  furthest  inch  of  Asia,  bring 
vou  the  length  of  Prester  John's  foot,  fetch  you  a  hair  off 
the  great  Cham's  beard,  do  you  any  embnssago  to  the  Pig- 
mies, rather  than  hold  three  word's  conference  with  tliis 
harpy.     You  have  no  employment  for  mo  ?  280 

B.  Pedro.  None,  but  to  desire  your  good  company. 

Bene.  O  God,  sir,  here's  a  dish  I  love  not :  I  cannot  en- 
dure 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  awhile  ;  and  I  gave 
him  use  for  it,  a  double  heart  for  his  single  one  :  marry, 
once  before  he  won  it  of  me  with  false  dice,  therefore  your 
grace  may  well  say  I  have  lost  it.  291 

B.  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  I -wherefore  are  you  sad? 

Claud,  Not  sad,  my  lord.  300 


SCENE  I.J        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  805 

D.  Pedro,  How  then  ?  sick? 

Claud,  Neither,  my  lord. 

Beat.  The  count  is  neither  sad,  nor  Bick,  nor  merry,  nor 
i^ell ;  but  civil  count,  civil  as  an  orange,  and  something'  of 
tliat  jealous  complexion. 

D.  Pedro.  V  faith,  lady,  I  think  your  blazon  to  be  trnc ; 
though,  I'll  be  sworn,  if  he  be  so,  his  conceit  is  false.  Here, 
Claud io,  I  have  wooed  in  thy  name,  and  fair  Hero  is  won  : 
I  have  broke  with  her  father,  and  his  good  will  obtained : 
name  the  day  of  marriage,  and  God  give  thee  joy  I    - 

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. 

BecBt,  Speak,  ooont,  '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.  320 

Beat,  Speak,  cousin ;  or,  if  you  cannot,  stop  his  mouth 
with  a  kiss,  and  let  not  him  speak  neither. 

D.  Pedro.  In  faith,  lady,  you  have  a  merry  heart. 

BeeU.  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  I  Thus  goes  every  one  to 
the  world  but  I,  and  I  am  sun-burnt ;  I  may  sit  in  a  comer 
and  cry  heigh-ho  for  a  husband  ! 

2>.  Pedro.  Lady  Beatrice,  Lwill  get  you  one. 

BecU.  I  would  rather  have  one  of  your  father's  getting. 
Hath  your  grac9  ne'er  a  brother  like  you  f  Your  father  got 
excellent  husbands,  if  a  maid  could  come  by  them. 

2>.  Pedro.  Will  you  have  me,  lady? 

Beat,  No,  my  lord,  unless  I  might  have  another  for  work- 
ing-days :  your  grace  is  too  costly  to  wear  every  day.  But, 
I  beseech  your  grace,  pardon  me  :  I  was  bom  to  speak  all 
mirth  and  no  matter. 

D.  Pedro.  Your  silenoe  most  offends  me,  and  to  he  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  danced,  and  under  that  I  was  bom.  Cousins,  God 

give  you  joy  I  350 

fc^,-Zei».  Niece,  will  you  look  to  those  things  I  told  you  of? 

Beat,  I  cry  you  mercy,  uncle.     By  your  grace's  pardon. 

[Exit. 

D,  Pedro.  By  my  troth,  a  pleasant-spirited  hidy. 


300  MUCH  ADO. ABOUT  NOTHING.         [act  n, 

Leon,  Tliere's  little  of  the  me]anchol7  element  in  her, 
my  lord  :  she  la  never  sad  but  when  she  sleeps,  and  not  ever 
sad  then  ;  for  I  have  heard  my  daughter  say,  slie  hath  often 
dreamed  of  unhappiness  and  waited  herself  with  laughing. 

J).  Pedro.  She  cannot  endure  to  hear  tell  of  a  husliand. 

Leon.  O,  hy  no  means  :  she  mocks  all  her  wooers  out  of 
suit. 

Z>.  Pedro.  She  were  an  excellent  wife  for  Benedick. 

Leon.  O  Lord,  my  lord,  if  they  were  but  a  week  married, 
they  would  talk  themselves  mad. 

i).  Pedro.  County  Claudio,  when  mean  you  to  go  to 
church?  871 

Claud.  To-morrow,  my  lord :  time  goes  on  crutches  till 
love  have  all  his  rites. 

Leon.  Not  till  Monday,  my  dear  son,  which  is  hence  a  just 
seven-night ;  and  a  time  too  brief,  too,  to  have  all  things 
answer  my  mind. 

D.  Pedro.  Come,  you  shake  the  head  at  so  long  a  breath- 
ing :  but,  I  warrant  thee,  Claudio,  the  time  shall  not  go 
dully  by  us.  I  will  in  the  interim  undertake  one  of  Her- 
cules' labours  ;  which  is,  to  bring  Signior  Benedick  and  tho 
Lady  Beatrice  into  a  mountain  of  affection  the  one  with  the 
other.  I  would  fain  have  it  a  match,  and  I  doubt  not  but 
to  fashion  it,  if  you  three  will  but  minister  such  assistance 
OS  I  shall  give  you  direction. 

Leon.  My  lord,  I  am  for  you,  though  it  cost  me  ten  nights' 
watchings. 

Claud.  And  I,  my  lord. 

B.  Pedro.  And  you  too,  gentle  Hero  ? 

Hero.  I  will  do  any  modest  office,  my  lord,  to  help  my 
cousin  to  a  good  husband.  891 

I>.  Pedro.  And  Benedick  is  not  tho  unhopef  ullest  husband 
that  I  know.  Thus  far  can  I  praise  him  ;  he  is  of  a  noblo 
strain,  of  approved  valour  and  confirmed  honesty.  I  will 
teach  you  how  to  humour  your  cousin,  that  she  shall  fall  in 
love  w^ith  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  love  with  Beatrice.  If 
we  can  do  this,  Cupid  is  no  longer  an  archer  :  his  glory  shall 
be  ours,  for  we  are  the  only  love-gods.  Go  in  with  me,  and 
I  will  tell  you  my  drift.  [Exeunt, 

Scene  II.     TFie  same. 

Enter  Don  John  and  Borachio. 

D.  John.  It  is  so  ;  the  Count  Claudio  shall  marry  the 
daughter  of  Leonato.  


BCKNEU.        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  807 

Bora.  Tea,  my  lord ;  but  I  can  cross  it. 

D.  John  Any  bar,  any  crosa,  any  impediment  will  be  mo- 
dicinable  to  me  :  I  am  sick  in  displeasure  to  liim,  and  what- 
soever comes  athwart  his  affection  ranges  evenly  with  mine. 
How  canst  thoa  cross  this  marriae^e  ? 

Dora.  Not  honestly,  my  lord  ;  but  so  covertly  that  nodis- 
honestv  shall  appear  in  me.  10 

D.  John.  Show  me  briefly  how. 

Bora.  I  think  I  told  your  lordship  a  year  since,  how  much 
I  am  in  the  favour  of  Margaret,  the  waiting  gentlewoman 
to  Hero. 

D.  John.  I  remember. 

Bora.  I  can,  at  any  unseasonable  instant  of  the  night,  ap- 
point her  to  look  out  at  her  hidy's  chamber  window. 

D.  John.  What  lift)  is  in  that,  to  be  the  death  of  thitmar- 
riaffe?  20 

Bora.  The  poison  of  that  lies  in  you  to  temper.  Go  you 
to  the  prince  your  brother ;  spare  not  to  tell  him  that  he 
hath  wronged  his  honour  in  marrying  the  renowned  Claudio 
— whose  estimation  do  you  mightily  Jiold  up— to  a  contam- 
inated stale,  such  a  one  as  Hero. 

D.  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?  30 

D.  John.  Only  to  despite  them,  I  will  endeavour  any  things 

Bora.  Go,  then  ;  find  me  a  meet  hour  to  draw  Don  Pedro 
and  the  Count  Claudio  alone :  tell  them  that  you  know  that 
Hero  loves  me ;  intend  a  kind  of  zeal  both  to  the  prince 
and  Claudio,  as. — in  love  of  your  brother's  honour,  who  hath 
made  this  match,  and  his  friend's  reputation,  who  is  thus 
like  to  be  cozened  with  the  semblance  of  a  maid, — that  you 
have  discovered  thus.  They  will  scarcely  believe  tliis 
without  trial :  offer  them  instances  ;  which  shall  Ix^ar  no 
less  likelihood  than  to  see  me  at  her  chamber- window,  hear 
me  f call  Margaret,  Hero,  hear  Margaret  term  nic  Claudio  ; 
and  bring  them  to  see  this  the  very  night  before  the  in- 
tended wedding, — for  in  the  meantime  I  will  so  fashion  the 
matter  that  Hero  shall  be  absent, — and  there  shall  appear 
such  seeming  truth  of  Hero's  disloyalty  that  jealousy  shall 
be  called  assurance  and  all  the  preparation  overthrown.    51 

D.  John.  Grow  this  to  what  adverse  issue  it  can,  I  will 
put  it  in  practice.  Be  cunning  in  the  working  this,  and  thy 
fee  is  a  thousand  ducats. 

Bora.  Be  you  constant  in  the  accusation,  and  my  cun- 
sing  shall  not  shame  me. 

jD.  John,  I  will  presently  go  learn  their  day  of  marriage. 

[Exeunt. 


808  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.        [actil 

Scene  HI.    Lbonato'b  oreliarcL 

Enter  Benedick. 
Bene.  Boy  I 

Enter  B03'. 

Boy.  Signior? 

Bene.  In  my  chamber- window  lies  a  book  :  bring  it  hither 
to  me  in  tlie  orchard. 

Boy.  I  am  here  already,  sir. 

Bene.  I  know  that ;  but  I  would  havo  theo  lience,  and 
here  again.  [Ehat  Boy.\  I  do  much  wonder  that  one  man, 
6eeing  liow  much  another  man  is  a  fool  when  he  dedicates 
his  liehaviours  to  love,  will,  after  he  liath  laughed  at  such 
shallow  follies  in  others,  become  the  argument  of  his  own 
scorn  by  falling  in  love :  and  such  a  man  is  Claudio.  I 
have  known  when  there  was  no  music  with  him  but  the 
drum  and  the  fife  ;  and  now  had  he  rather  hear  the  tabor 
and  the  pipe  :  I  have  known  when  he  would  have  walked 
ten  mile  a-foot  to  see  a  good  armour  ;  and  now  will  he  lie 
ten  nights  awake,  carving  the  fashion  of  a  new  doublet. 
He  was  .wont  to  speak  plain  and  to  the  purpose,  like  an 
honest  man  and  a  soldier ;  and  now  is  he  turned  orthog- 
raphy ;  his  words  are  a  very  fantastical  banquet,  just  so  many 
strange  dishes.  May  I  be  so  converted  and  see  with  these 
^yes?  I  cannot  tell ;  I  think  not :  I  will  not  be  sworn  but 
love  may  transform  me  to  an  oyster  ;  but  Til  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  ;  yirtuous,  or  I'll  never  cheapen  her  ;  fair,  or  1*11  never 
look  on  her ;  mild,  or  come  not  near  me  ;  noble,  or  not  I  for 
an  anffel ;  of  gr)od  discourse,  an  excellent  musician,  and  her 
hair  shall  be  of  what  colour  it  please  God.  Ha  !  the  prince 
and  Monsieur  Love  1  I  will  hide  me  in  the  arbour. 

[  WUhdram, 

Enter  Don  Pedro,  Claudio,  and  Leonato. 

2>.  Pedro.  Come,  shall  we  hear  this  music  ? 

Claud,  Yea,  my  good  lord.     How  still  the  evening  is,    40 
As  hush'd  on  purpose  to  grace  hannony  1 
.   D.  Pedro.  See  you  where  Benedick  hath  hid  himself? 

Claud.  O,  vc^ry  well,  my  lord  :  the  music  ended. 
We'll  fit  the  kid- fox  with  a  pennyworth. 


SCENE  III.]     MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  809 

Enter  Balthasar  mtk  Music. 

D,  Pedro.  Come,  Balthasar,  we'll  hear  that  song  again. 

Baith.  O,  good  luy  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. 
I  pray  thee,  sing,  and  let  me  woo  no  more.  50 

Balth.  Because  you  talk  of  wooing,  I  will  sing ; 
Since  many  a  wooer  doth  commence  his  suit 
To  her  he  thinks  not  worthy,  yet  he  wooes. 
Yet  will  he  swear  he  loves. 

D.  Pedro.  Now,  pray  thee,  come ; 

Or,  if  thou  wilt  hold  longer  argument. 
Do  it  in  notes. 

Balth.  Note  this  before  my  notes  ; 

Tlieru's  not  a  note  of  mine  that's  worth  the  noting. 

I).  Pedro.  Why,  these  are  very  crotchets  that  he  speaks  ; 
Note,  notes,  forsooth,  and  nothing.  [Air. 

Bene.  Now,  divine  air  t  now  is  his  soul  ravished !  Is  it 
not  stranj^e  that  sheeps'  guts  should  hale  souls  out  of  men's 
bodies?  Well,  a  horn  for  my  money,  when  all's  done. 

The  Song. 

Balth.  Si^h  no  more,  ladies,  sigh  no  more, 

Hen  were  deceivers  ever, 
One  foot  in  sea  and  one  on  shore. 

To  one  thing  constant  never  : 
Then  sigh  not  so,  but  let  them  go, 

And  1^  you  blithe  and  bonny. 
Converting  all  your  sounds  of  woe  .  70 

Into  Hey  nonny,  nonny. 

Sing  no  more  ditties,  sin^^  no  moe, 

Of  dumps  so  dull  and  heavy  ; 
The  fraud  of  men  was  ever  so, 

Since  summer  first  was  leafy  : 
Then  sigh  not  so,  &c. 

B.  Pedro,  By  my  troth,  a  good  song. 

BaUh.  And  an  ill  singer,  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.  Ha,  no,  no,  faith ;  thou  singest  well  enough 
for  a  shift.  *  80 

Bene.  An  he  had  been  a  dog  that  should  have  howled 
thus,  they  would  have  hanged  him :  and  I  prav  God  liis 
bad  voice  bode  no  mischief.  I  had  as  lief  have  heard  the 
night- raven,  come  what  plague  could  have  come  after  it. 

X>.  Pedro,  Yea,  marry,  dost  thou  hear,  Balthasar?  I  pray 


310  MUCJH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHINa.  [act  ii. 

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.  M 

D.  Pedro.  Do  so  :  farewell.  [Exit  Balihami: 

Come  hither,  Leonato.  What  was  it  you  told  me  of  to-day. 
that  your  niece  Beatrice  was  in  love  with  Signior  Benedick  ? 

Claud.  O,  ay  .  stallc  on,  stalk  on ;  the  fowl  sits.  I  diil 
never  think  that  lady  would  have  loved  any  man. 

Leon.  No,  nor  I  neither ;  but  most  wonderful  that  slie 
should  so  dote  on  Signior  Benedick,  whom  she  hath  in  all 
outward  behaviours  seemed  ever  to  abhor.  101 

Bene.  Is't  possible  ?    Sits  the  wind  in  that  comer  ? 

Leon.  By  my  troth,  my  lord,  I  cannot  tell  what  to  think 
of  it  but  that  she  loves  him  with  an  enraged  affection  :  it  is 
past  the  infinite  of  thought. 

2>.  Pedro.  May  be  she  doth  but  counterfeit. 

Claud.  Faith,  like  enough. 

Leon.  O  God,  counterfeit  I  There  was  never  counter- 
feit of  passion  came  so  near  the  life  of  passion  as  she  dis. 
covers  it.  Ill 

D.  Pedro,  Why,  what  effects  of  passion  shows  she? 

Claud.  Bait  tlfc  hook  well ;  this  fi.sh  will  bite. 

Leon.  What  effects,  my  lord  I  She  will  sit  you,  you 
heard  my  daughter  tell  you  how. 

Claud.  She  did,  indeed. 

B.  Pedro.  How,  how,  I  pray  you  ?  You  amaze  mo  •  I 
would  have  thought  her  spirit  had  been  invincible  against 
all  assaults  of  affection.  120 

'  Leon.  I  would  have  sworn  it  had,  my  lord ;  csptHiially 
against  .Benedick. 

Bene.  I  should  think  this  a  gull,  but  that  the  white- 
bearded  fellow  speaks  it  .  knavery  cannot,  sure,  hide  him- 
self  in  such  reverence. 

Claud.  He  hath  ta'en  the  infection  :  hold  it  up. 

B.  Pedro.  Hath  she  made  lier  affection  known  to  Benedick  ? 

Leon.  No ;  and  swears  she  never  will  :  that's  her  tor- 
ment. 130 

Claud.  Tis  true,  indeed  ;  so  your  daughter  says :  '*  Shall 
I,"  says  she,  **that  have  so  often  encountered  him  with 
scorn,  write  to  him  tbat  I  love  him?" 

Leon.  This  says  she  n^w  when  she  is  beginning  to  writ© 
to  him  ;  for  shell  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  remember  a 
pretty  jest  your  daughter  told  us  of. 

Leon.  O,  when  she  bad  writ  it  and  was  reading  !t  over, 
she  found  Benedick  and  Beatrice  between  the  sheet  ? 


flCENKlii.]     MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  811 

(Mud.  Tliat. 

Leon.  O,  she  tore  the  letter  into  a  thoasand  halfpence ; 
railed  at  herself,  that  she  should  be  so  immodest  to  write  to 
one  tliat  she  knew  would  flout  her;  "I  measure  him," 
says  she,  "  by  my  own  spirit ;  for  I  should  flout  him,  if  he 
writ  to  me  ;  yea,  though  I  love  him.  I  should."  151 

Claud.  Then  down  upon  her  knees  she  falls,  weeps,  sobs, 
beats  her  heart,  tears  her  hair,  prays,  curses :  "  O  sweet 
Benedick  !    God  give  me  patience  !" 

Leon,  She  doth  indeed  ;  my  daughter  says  so  :  and  the 
ecstasy  hath  so  much  overborne  her  that  my  daughter  is 
sometime  afeard  she  will  do  a  desperate  outrage  to  herself  : 
it  is  very  true. 

2>.  Pedro.  It  were  good  that  Benedick  knew  of  it  by  some 
other,  if  she  will  not  discover  it.  161 

Claud.  To  what  end  ?  He  would  make  but  a  sport  of  it 
and  torment  the  poor  lady  worse. 

D.  Pedro.  An  he  should,  it  were  an  alms  to  hang  him. 
She's  an  excellent  sweet  lady  ;  and,  out  of  all  suspicion,  she 
is  virtuous. 

Claud.  And  she  is  exceeding  wise. 

D.  Pedro.  In  everything  but  in  loving  Benedick. 

Leon,  O,  my  lord,  wisdom  and  blood  combatinc^  in  so  ten- 
der  a  body,  we  have  ten  proofs  to  one  that  blood  hath  the 
victory.  I  am  sorry  for  her,  as  I  have  just  cau.se,  being 
her  uncle  and  her  giukrdlan. 

D.  Pedro.  I  would  she  had  bestowed  this  dotage  on  me : 
I  would  have  daifed  all  other  respects  and  made  her  lialf  my- 
self. I  pray  you ,  tell  Benedick  of  it,  and  hear  what  a'  will  say. 

Leon.  Were  it  good,  think  you  ? 

Claud,  Hero  tlunks  surely  she  will  die ;  for  she  says  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  happiness.  191 

Claud.  Before  God  I  and,  in  my  mind,  verv  wise. 

2>.  Pedro.  He  doth  indeed  show  some  sparks  that  are  like 
wit. 

Claud.  And  I  take  him  to  be  valiant. 

D.  Pedro,  As  Hector,  I  assure  you  :  and  in  the  manag- 
ing of  quarrels  you  may  say  he  is  wise  ;  for  either  he  avoids 
them  with  great  discretion,  or  undertakes  them  with  a  most 
Christian-like  fear.  200 


812  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [ACTn.* 

Leon.  If  be  do  fear  God,  a*  must  necessarily  keep  peace  : 
if  he  break  the  peace,  he  ought  to  enter  into  a  quarrel  with 
fear  and  trembling. 

J9.  Pedro.  And  so  will  he  do  :  for  the  man  doth  fear  God. 
howsoever  it  seems  not  in  him  by  some  larpe  j(*sts  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.  210 

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  so  good  a  lady. 

Leon.  My  lord,  will  you  walk  ?  dinner  is  ready. 

Claud.  If  he  do  not  dote  on  her  upon  this,  I  will  never 
trust  my  expectation.  220 

D.  Pedro.  Let  there  be  the  same  net  spread  for  her ;  and 
that  must  your  daughter  and  her  gentlewomen  carry.  The 
sport  will  be,  Avhen  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,  Claudia,  and  Leon ato. 

Bene.  [Coming  forward]  This  can  be  no  trick  :  the  con- 
ference was  sadlv  borne.  Thov  have  the  truth  of  this  from 
Hero.  They  S€»em  to  pity  the  lady  :  it  seems  her  affections, 
have  their  full  bent.  Love  me  !  why.  it  must  be  requited. 
1  hear  how  I  am  censured :  they  say  I  will  bear  myself 
proudly,  if  I  perceive  the  love  come  from  her ;  they  say  too 
that  she  will  rather  die  than  gfive  any  sign  of  affection.  I 
did  never  think  to  marry  :  I  must  not  seem  proud  :  happy 
are  they  that  hear  their  detractions  and  can  put  them  to 
mending.  They  say  the  lady  is  fair;  'tis  a  truth.  I  can 
bear  them  witness  ;  and  virtuous  ;  'tis  so,  1  cannot  reprove 
it ;  and  wise,  but  for  loving  me  ;  by  my  troth,  it  is  no  ad- 
dition to  her  wit,  nor  no  great  argument  of  her  foUy,  for  I 
will  be  horribly  in  love  with  her.  I  mny  chance  have  some 
odd  quirks  and  remnants  of  wit  broken  on  me,  because  I 
have  railed  so  long  against  marriage  :  but  doth  not  the  ap- 
petite alter?  a  man  loves  the  meat  in  his  youth  that  he  can- 
not endure  in  his  nge.  Shall  quips  and  sentences  and  these 
paper  bullets  of  the  brain  awe  a  man  from  the  career  of  his 
humour  ?  No,  the  world  must  be  peopled.  When  I  said  I 
would  die  a  bachelor,  I  did  not  think  I  should  live  until  I 


SCKNEI.]        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHINa.  313 

were  married.     Here  comes  Beatrice.     By  this  day  I  slie's  a 
fair  lady  :  I  do  spy  some  marks  of  lovo  in  her. 

Enter  Beatrice. 

Beat.  Against  my  will  I  am  sent  to  bid  you  come  in  to 
duiner. 

Bene,  Fair  Beatrice,  I  thank  yon  for  your  pains. 

Beat,  I  took  no  more  pains  for  those  thanks  than  yon 
lake  pains  to  thank  mo  :  if  it  had  been  painful,  I  would  not 
have  come.  261 

Bene,  You  take  pleasure  then  in  the  message  ? 

Beat,  Y^a,  just  so  much  as  you  may  take  upon  a  knife's 
point  and  choke  a  daw  withal.  You  have  no  stomach,  sig- 
nior  :  fare  you  well.  [ExU. 

Ben^,  Ha  !  "Against  my  will  I  am  sent  to  bid  you  come 
in  to  dinner  ;"  there's  a  double  meaning  in  that.  **  I  took 
no  more  pains  for  those  thanks  than  you  t^ok  pains  to 
thank  me;"  that's  as  much  as  to  say,  Any  pains  that  I  tako 
for  you  is  as  easy  as  thanks.  If  I  do  not  take  pity  of  her,  I 
am  a  villain  ;  if  I  do  not  lovo  heri  I  am  a  Jew.  I  will  ^ 
get  her  picture.  [Exit, 

ACT   III. 

Scene  I.      Leovato* a  garden. 

Enter  Hero,  Margaret,  ajid  Urbuia 

Hero,  Good  Margaret,  run  thee  to  the  parlor  ; 

There  shalt  thou  find  my  cousin  Beatrice 

Pi\>posing  with  the  prince  and  Claudio 

Whisper  her  ear  and  tell  her,  I  and  Ursula 

VValk  in  the  orchard  and  our  whole  discourse 

Is  all  of  her  ,  say  that  thou  overlieard'st  us  ; 

And  bid  her  steal  into  the  pleached  bower. 

Where  honeysuckles,  lipen'd  by  the  sun, 

Porbid  the  sun  to  enter,  like  favourites, 

Made  proud  by  princes,  that  advance  their  pride  10 

Against  that  power  that  bred  it :  there  will  she  hide  her, 

To  listen  our  purpose.     This  is  thy  office  ; 

Bear  thee  well  in  it  and  leave  us  alone. 
Marg.  I'll  make  her  come,  I  warrant  you,  presently.  [EjbU, 
Uero.  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  20 


814  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [Acrm. 

Is  sick  in  lore  witli  Beatrice.     Of  this  matter 
Is  little  Cupid's  crafty  arrow  made, 
That  only  wounds  by  hearsay. 


Enter  Beatrice,  behind. 


Now  begin 


For  look  where  Beatrice,  like  n  lapwing,  runs 
Close  by  the  ground,  to  hear  our  conference. 

Urs.  Tlie  pleasant'st  angling  is  to  see  the  fish 
Cue  with  her  golden  oars  tlie  silver  stream, 
And  greedily  devour  the  treacherous  bait : 
So  angle  we  for  Beatrice  ;  who  even  now 
Is  couched  in  the  woodbine  coverture.  30 

Fear  you  not  my  part  of  the  dialogue. 

Hero.  Then  go  we  near  her,  that  her  ear  lose  nothing 
Of  the  false  sweet  l>ait  that  we  lay  for  it. 

lApjrroaelUng  the  bower. 
No,  truly,  Ursula,  she  is  too  disdainful  ; 
I  know  her  spirits  are  as  coy  and  wild 
As  haggerds  of  the  rock. 

Urs.  But  are  you  sure 

That  Benedick  loves  Beatrice  so  entirely  ? 

Hero.  So  says  the  prince  and  my  new-trothed  lord. 

Urs,  And  did  they  bid  you  tell  her  of  it,  madam  ? 

Hero.  They  did  entreat  me  to  acquaint  her  of  it ;  40 

But  I  persuaded  them,  if  they  loved  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  framed  a  woman's  heart 
Of  prouder  stuff  than  that  of  Beatrice  ;  50 

Disdain  and  scorn  ride  B]>arkliiig  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  therefoTO  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  featured,  60 

But  she  would  spell  him  backward  :  if  fair-facetl. 


BCENEi.]        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHIXQ.  815 

She  woald  swear  the  gentleman  should  be  her  sister  ; 

If  black,  why,  Nature,  drawing  of  an  antique. 

Made  a  foul  blot ;  if  tall,  a  lance  ill-headed  ; 

If  low,  an  agate  very  vilely  cut ; 

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.  70 

Urs,  Sure,  sure,  such  carping  is  not  commendable. 

Hero.  No,  not  to  be  so  odd  and  from  all  fashions 
As  Beatrice  is,  cancot  be  commendable 
But  who  dare  tell  her  so?    If  I  should  spenk. 
She  would  mock  me  into  air  ;  O,  she  would  laugh  me 
Out  of  myself,  press  me  to  death  with  wit. 
Therefore  let  Benedick,  like  covered  fire, 
Cbnsume  away  in  sighs,  waste  inwardly  : 
It  were  a  better  death  than  die  with  mocks. 
Which  is  as  bad  as  die  with  tickling.  80 

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.  Til  devise  sonie  honest  slanders 
To  stain  my  cousin  with  :  one  duth  not  know 
How  much  an  ill  word  may  empoison  liking. 

Urs,  0,  do  not  do  your  cousin  such  a  wrong. 
She  cannot  be  so  much  without  true  judgemeni— 
Having  so  swift  and  excellent  a  wit 

As  she  is  prized  to  have — as  to  refuse  "         90 

So  rare  a  gentleman  as  Siguier  Benedick. 

Hero.  He  is  the  only  man  of  Italy, 
Always  excepted  my  dear  Claudio. 

Urtt.  I  pray  you,  be  not  angry  with  me,  madam. 
Speaking  my  fancy  :  Siguier  Benedick, 
For  shape,  for  bearing,  argument  and  valour. 
Goes  foremost  in  report  thraugli  Italy. 

Hero.  Indeed,  he  hath  an  excellent  good  name. 

Urs.  His  excellence  did  earn  it,  ere  he  had  it.     When  are 
you  married,  madam  ?  100 

Hero.  Why,  every  day,  to-morrow.     Come,  go  in : 
I'll  show  thee  some  attires,  and  liave  thy  counsel 
Which  is  the  best  to  furnish  me  to-morrow. 

Ur».  She's  limed,  I  warrant  you     we  have  caught  her, 
madam. 

Hero.  If  it  proves  so,  then  loving  goes  by  haps  : 
Some  capid  kUls  with  arrows,  some  with  traps. 

[Exeunt  Hero  and  Ursula. 


816  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [act  nr. 

Beat.  [Coming  forward]  Wliat  fire  is  in  mine  ears  ?    Can 
tins  be  true  ? 

Stand  I  condemned  for  pride  and  scom  so  much  ? 
Contempt,  farewell !  and  maiden  pride,  adieu  I 

No  gloiy  lives  behind  the  back  of  such.  110 

And,  Benedick,  love  on  ;  I  will  requite  thee, 

Taming  my  wild  heart  to  thy  loving  hand  : 
If  thou  dost  love,  my  kindness  shall  incite  thee 

To  bind  our  loves  up  in  a  holy  band  ; 
For  others  say  thou  dost  deserve,  and  I 
Believe  it  better  than  reportingly.  [Erit. 

Scene  II.    A  room  in  Leonato's  h/mse. 

Enter  Don  Pedro,  Claudio,  Benedick,  and  Leonato. 

D.  Pedro.  I  do  but  stay  till  your  marriage  be  consum- 
mate, and  then  go  I  toward  Arragon. 

Claud.  I'll  bring  you  thither,  my  lord,  if  you'll  vouch- 
safe me. 

D.  Pedro,  Nay,  that  would  bo  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  dure  not 
shoot  at  him ;  he  hath  a  heart  as  sound  as  a  \hA\  and  his 
tongue  is  the  clapper,  for  what  his  heart  thinks  his  tongue 
speaks.  ^ 

Ben-e'  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  I  there's  no  true  drop  of 
blood  in  him,  to  ^  truly  touched  with  love :  if  he  be  sad, 
he  wants  money.  20 

Bene.  I  have  the  toothache. 

D.  Pedro.  Draw  it. 

Bene.  Hang  it ! 

Clavd.  You  must  han^  it  first,  and  draw  it  afterwards. 

J).  Pedro.  What  I  sigh  for  the  tootliache? 

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.  80 

i>.  Pedro.  There  is  no  appearance  of  fancy  in  him,  unless 
it  be  a  fancy  that  he  hath  to  strange  disguises  ;  as,  to .  be  a 
Dutchman  to-day,  a  Frenchman  to-morrow,  or  in  the  shape 
of  two  countries  at  once,  as,  a  German  from  the  waist 


SCENE  II.  j       MUCH   ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  317 

downward,  all  slops,  and  a  Spaniard  from  the  hip  upward, 
no  doublet.  Unless  he  have  a  fancy  to  this  foolery  as  it  ap- 
pears ho  hath,  he  is  no  fool  for  fancy,  as  you  would  have  it 
appear  he  is. 

Claud.  If  he  be  not  in  love  with  some  woman,  there  is  no 
believing  old  signs  :  a'  brushes  his  bat  o'  mornings  ;  what 
Bbould  that  bode?  42 

i>.  Pedro.  Hath  any  man  seen  him  at  the  barber's  ? 

Claud.  No,  but  the  barber's  man  hath  been  seen  with 
him,  and  the  old  ornament  of  his  cheek  hath  already  stufEed 
tennis-balls. 

Leon.  Indeed,  he  looks  younger  than  he  did,  by  the  loss 
of  a  beard. 

D.  Pedro.  Nay,  a'  rubs  himself  with  civet :  can  you 
smell  him  out  by  that  ?  51 

Claud.  That's  as  much  as  to  say,  the  sweet  youth's  in 
love. 

D.  Pedro.  Tlie  greatest  note  of  it  is  his  melancholy. 

Claud.  And  when  was  he  wont  to  wash  his  face? 

D.  Pedro.  Yea,  or  to  paint  himself?  for  the  which,  I 
hear  what  they  say  of  him. 

Claud.  Nay,  but  his  jesting  spirit ;  which  is  now  crept 
into  a  lufe-string  and  now  governed  by  stops. 

D.  Pedro.  Indeed,  that  tells  a  heavy  tale  for  him :  con- 
clude, conclude  he  is  in  love. 

Claud.  Nay,  but  I  know  who  loves  him. 

D.  Pedro.  'That  would  I  know  too  :  I  warrant,  one  that 
knows  him  not. 

Claud.  Yes,  and  his  ill  conditions;  and,  in  despite  of 
all,  dies  for  him.  71 

I).  Pedro.  She  shall  bo  buried  with  her  face  upwards. 

Bene.  Yet  is  this  no  charm  for  the  toothache.  Old  sig- 
nior,  walk  asido  with  me  :  I  have  studied  eight  or  nine 
wise  words  to  speak  to  you,  which  these  hobby-horses  must 
not  hear.  [Exeunt  Benedick  and  Lconato. 

D.  Pedro.  For  my  life,  to  orealc  with  him  about  Beatrice. 

Claud.  'Tis  even  so.  Hero  and  Margaret  have  by  tliis 
played  their  parts  with  Beatrice  ;  and  then  the  two  bfora 
will  not  bite  one  another  when  they  meet.  81 

Enter  Don  John. 

D.  John.  My  lord  and  brother,  God  save  you  I 
D.  Pedro.  Good  den,  brother. 

2>.  John.  If  your  leisure  served,  I  would  sx>eak  with  you. 
D.  Pedro.  In  private? 

2>.  John.  If  it  please  you  :  yet  Count  Claudio  may  hear ; 
for  what.  I  would  speak  of  concerns  him. 


818  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [actiii. 

D.  Pedro,  \Vliat*s  the  matter?  00 

2>.  John.  [I'o  Claudia]  Means  your  lordship  to  he  mar- 
ried to-morrow  ? 

D.  Pedro,  You  know  he  does. 

D.  John.  I  know  not  that,  when  he  knows  what  I  know. 

Claud.  If  there  beany  impediment,  1  pray  you  discover  it. 

I).  John.  You  may  think  I  love  you  not  :  Jet  tlmt  api)ear 
hereafter,  and  aim  l)etter  at  me  by  that  I  now  will  mani- 
fest. For  my  brother,  I  think  he  holds  you  well,  and  in 
dearness  of  heart  hath  holp  to  effect  your  ensuing  mar- 
riage ; — surely  suit  ill  spent  and  lalxiur  ill  bestowed. 

3.  l^edro.   vVhy ,  what's  the  matter  ? 

D.  John.  I  came  hither  to  tell  you  ;  and,  circumstances 
shortened,  for  she  has  been  too  long  n  talking  of >  the  lady 
is  disloyal. 

Claud.  Who,  Hero  ? 

D.  John.  Even  she  ;  Leonato's  Hero,  your  Hero,  every 
man's  Hero.  110 

Claud.  Disloyal? 

D.  John.  The  word  is  too  good  to  paint  out  her  wicked- 
ness ;  I  could  say  she  were  woi-se  :  think  you  of  a  worse 
tiile,  and  I  will  fit  her  to  it.  Wonder  not  till  further  war- 
rant :  go  but  with  me  to-night,  you  shall  see  her  chamber- 
window  entered,  even  the  night  before  her  wedding-day :  if 
you  love  her  tlien,  to-morrow  wed  her  ;  but  it  would  better 
fit  your  honour  to  change  your  mind. 

Claud.  May  this  be  so?  120 

D.  Pedro.  I  will  not  think  it. 

D.  John.  If  you  dare  not  trust  that  you  see.  confess  not 
that  you  know  :  if  you  will  follow  me,  I  will  show  yoti 
enough';  and  when  you  liave  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  wil  1 1  sliame  her. 

D.  Pedro.  And,  as  I  wooed  for  thee  to  obtain  her,  I  will 
join  with  thee  to  disgrace  her.  130 

D.  John.  I  will  disparage  her  no  farther  till  you  are  my 
witnesses :  bear  it  coldly  but  till  midnight,  and  let  the 
issue  show  itself. 

D.  Pedro.  O  day  untowardly  turned  ! 

Claud.  O  mischief  strangely  thwarting  1 

D.  John.  O  plague  right  well  prevented  I  so  will  you  say 
when  you  have  seen  the  sequel. 

[ExeunU 


f 


flCENBm.]     MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  319 

Scene  III.    A  itreet. 

Enter  Pogberrt  and  Veroes  toith  the  Watch. 

Dog.  Are  you  good  men  and  tnie  ? 

Verg.  Yea,  or  else  it  were  pity  but  they  should  suffer 
salvation,  body  and  sonl. 

Dog.  Nay,  tliat  were  a  punishment  too  pood  for  them,  if 
they  should  have  any  allegiance  in  them,  being  chosen  for 
the  prince's  watch. 

Verg.  Well,  give  them  their  charge,  neighbour  Dogljerry. 

Dog.  First,  who  think  you  the  most  desartless  man  to  bo 
constable?  10 

First  Watch.  Hugh  Otecake,  sir,  or  George  Seacole ;  for 
they  can  write  and  read. 

Dog.  Come  hither,  neighbour  S»»acole.  God  hath  blessed 
you  with  a  good  name  :  to  be  a  well-favoured  man  is  the 
gift  of  fortune  ;  but  to  write  and  read  comes  by  nature. 

Sec.  Watch.  Both  which,  master  constable, — 

Dog.  Yon  have  :  I  knew  it  would  be  your  answer.  Well, 
for  your  favour,  sir,  why,  give  God  thanks,  and  mako  no 
boast  of  it ;  and  for  your  writing  and  reading,  let  that  ap- 
pear when  there  is  no  need  of  such  vanity.  You  are 
thought  here  to  be  the  most  senseless  and  lit  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. 

Sec.  Watch.  How  if  a'  will  not  stand? 

Dog.  Why,  then,  take  no  note  of  him,  but  let  him  go ; 
and  presently  call  the  rest  of  the  watch  together  and  thank 
God  you  are  rid  of  a  knave. 

Verg.  If  he  will  not  stand  when  he  is  bidden,  he  is  none 
of  the  prince's  subjects. 

Dog.  True,  and  they  are  to  meddle  with  none  but  the 
prince's  subjects.  You  sluiU  'also  make  no  noise  in  the 
streets  ;  for  for  the  watch  to  babble  and  to  talk  is  most  toi  ■ 
erablo  and  not  to  be  endured. 

Watch.  We  will  rather  sleep  than  talk  :  we  know  what 
belongs  to  a  watch.  40 

Dog.  Why,  you  spenk  like  an  ancient  and  most  quiet 
watchman  ;  for  I  cannot  seo  how  sleeping  should  offend  : 
only,  Imve  a  care  that  your  bills  bo  not  stolen.  Well,  you 
are  to  call  at  all  the  ale-houses,  and  bid  those  that  are  drunk 
get  them  to  bed. 

Watch.  How  if  they  will  not? 

Dog.  Why,  then,  let  them  alone  till  they  arc  sober  :  if 
they  mako  you  not  then  the  better  answer,  you  may  say 
they  are  not  the  men  you  took  them  for.  51 


SaO  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [act  ni. 

Watch.  Well,  sir. 

Dog.  If  you  meet  a  thief,  you  may  suspect  liim,  by  vir- 
tue of  your  office,  to  be  no  true  man  ;  and,  for  such  kind  of 
nien,  tlie  less  you  meddle  or  make  with  them,  why,  the 
more  is  for  your  honesty. 

Watch.  If  we  know  him  to  be  a  thief,  shall  we  not  lay 
hands  on  him  ? 

Dog.  Truly,  by  your  office,  you  may ;  but  I  tliuik  they 
that  touch  pitch  will  be  defiled  :  the  most  peaceable  way  for 
vou,  if  you  do  take  a  thief,  is  to  let  him  show  himself  what 
he  is  and  steal  out  of  your  company. 

Verg.  You  liave  been  always  called  a  merciful  man, 
partner. 

Dog.  Truly,  I  would  not  hang  a  dog  by  my  will,  much 
more  a  man  who  hath  any  honesty  in  him. 

Verg.  If  you  hear  a  child  cry  in  the  night,  you  must 
call  to  the  nurse  and  bid  her  still  it.  70 

Watch.  How  if  the  nurse  be  asleep  and  will  not  hear  us  ? 

Dog.  Why,  then,  depart  in  peace,  and  let  the  child  wake 
her  with  crying  ;  for  the  ewe  that  will  not  hear  her  lamb 
when  it  baes  will  never  answer  a  calf  when  he  bleats. 

Vefi'g.  'Tis  verv  true. 

Dog.  This  is  the  end  of  the  charge  : — ^you,  constable,  are 
to  present  the  prince's  own  person  :  if  you  meet  the  prince 
in  the  night,  you  may  stay  him.  81 

Verg.  Nay,  by'r  our  lady,  that  I  think  a*  cannot. 

Dog.  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. 

Dog.  Ha,  ha,  ha  1  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. 

Watch.  Well,  masters,  we  hear  our  chnrge :  let  us  go 
sit  here  upon  the  church- bench  till  two,  and  then  all  to  bed. 

Dog.  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  :  bo 
visrilant.  I  beseech  you.    [Exeunt  Dogben-y  and  Verges.   101 

Enter  Borachio  and  Conrade. 

Bora.  What,  Conrade ! 

Watch.  [Aitide]  Peace !  stir  not. 

Bora.  Conrade,  I  say  ! 

Von.  Here,  man  ;  1  am  at  thy  elbow. 


*    4 


BCENEin.J      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHJNG.         821 

Bora.  Mass,  and  mj  elbow  itched  ;  I  thouglit  there  would 
a  scab  follow. 

Gon.  1  will  owe  thee  an  answer  for  that :  and  now  for- 
I  ward  with  thy  tale. 

X  Bora.  Stand  thee  close,  then,  under  this  pent-house,  for 

it  drizales  rain  ;  and  I  will,  like  a  true  drunkard,  utter  all 
^  to  thee. 

WateJuTAMe]  Some  treason,  masters  :  yet  stand  close. 
^  Bora.  Tiiererore  know  I   have   earned  of    Don  John  a 

thousand  ducats. 
{  Con,  Is  it  possible  that  any  villany  should  be  so  dear  ? 

Bora,  Thou  shoaldst  rather  ask  if  it  were  possible  any 
▼illany  should  be  so  rich  ;  for  when  rich  villains  have 
need  of  poor  ones,  poor  ones  may  make  what  price  they  will. 

Con,  I  wonder  at  it. 

Bora.  That  shows  thou  art  unconfirmed.  Thou  knowest 
that  the  fashion  of  a  doublet,  or  a  hat,  or  a  cloak,  Ib 
nothing  to  a  man. 

Gon.  Yes,  it  is  apparel. 

Bora.  I  mean,  the  fashion. 

Gjn,  Yes,  the  fashion  is  the  fashion. 

Bora.  Tush  !  I  may  as  well  say  the  fool's  the  fool.  But 
secst  thou  not  what  a  deformed  thief  this  fashion  is  ? 

Watch.  [Affide]  I  know  that  Deformed ;  a'  has  been  a 
vile  thief  tliis  seven  year  ;  a'  goes  up  and  down  like  a  gen- 
tleman :  I  remember  his  name. 

Bora.  Didst  thou  not  hear  somebody  t 

Con.  No  ;  'twas  the  vane  on  the  house. 

Bora.  Heest  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- thirty?  sometimes  fashion- 
ing them  like  Pharoh's  soldiers  in  the  reeky  paiuting,  some- 
time like  god  Bel's  priests  in  the  old  church- window,  some- 
time like  the  shaven  Hercules  in  the  smirch  worm-eaten 
tapestry,  where  his  codpiece  seems  as  massy  as  his  club  ? 

Con.  All  this  I  see  ;  and  I  see  that  the  fashion  wears  out 
more  apparel  than  the  man.  But  art  not  thou  tliyself 
giddy  wit li  the  fashion  too,  that  thou  hast  shifted  out  of 
thy  tale  into  telling  me  of  the  fiishion  ? 

Bora.  Not  so,  neither :  but  know  that  I  have  to-night 
wooed  Margaret,  the  Lady  Hero's  gentlewoman,  by  the 
name  of  Hero  :  she  leans  me  out  at  her  mistress'  chamber- 
wiudow,  bids  me  a  thousand  times  good  night, — I  tell  this 
tale  vilely  ; — I  should  first  tell  thee  now  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.  161 

SHAK.   I.  — 11 


822  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [act  HI. 

♦  Con.  And  thonght  they  Margaret  was  Hero  ? 

Bora.  Two  of  tliem  did,  the  prince  and  Claudio  ;  but  the 
devil  my  master  knew  she  was  Margaret ;  and  partly  by 
his  oaths,  which  first  possessed  them,  partly  by  the  dark 
night,  which  did  deceive  them,  but  chiefly  by  \\\y  villany, 
winch  did  confirm  any  slander  that  Don  John  had  made, 
away  went  Claudio  enraged  ;  swore  ho  would  meet  her,  as 
he  was  appointed,  next  morning  at  the  temple,  and  theie, 
before  th«  whole  congregation,  shame  her  with  what  he 
saw  o'er  night  and  send  her  home  again  without  a  husband. 

First  Waich.  We  charge  you,  in  tlic  prince's  name,  stand  ! 

See.  Watch.  Call  up  the  right  master  constable.  We 
have  here  recovered  the  most  dangerous  piece  of  lechery 
that  ever  was  known  in  the  commonwealth.  l^i 

Firgt  Watch.  And  one  Deformed  is  one  of  them  :  I  know 
*^nm  ;  a'  wears  a  lock. 

Con.  Masters,  masters, — 

Sec.  Watch.  You'll  be  made  bring  Deformed  forth,  I 
warrant  vou. 

Con.  Masters, — 

First  Waich.  Never  speak :  we  charge  you  let  us  obey 
you  to  go  with  us. 

Bora.  We  are  like  to  prove  a  goodly  commodity,  bring 
tak-^n  up  of  these  men's  bills.  191 

ton.  A  commodity  in  question,  I  warrant  you.  Come, 
we'll  obey  you.  [ExcunL 

Scene  IV.    Hero's  apartment 

Enter  Hebo,  Makoabet,  and  Ursui.a. 

Ilero.  Good  Ursula,  wake  my  cousin  Beatrice,  and  de< 
sire  her  to  ri^  e. 

Urs.  I  will,  lady. 

Jld'o.  And  bid  her  come  hither. 

Urs.  Well.  [Exit, 

Mnrg.  Troth,  I  think  your  other  rabato  were  better. 

Hero.  No,  pray  thee,  good  Meg,  I'll  wear  thia 

Mnrg.  By  my  troth,  's  not  so  good  ;  and  I  warrant  your 
cousin  will  say  so.  10 

Hero.  My  cousin's  a  fool,  and  thou  art  another  :  HI  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. 


scEXEiv.]     MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTIIIXa.  823 

Marg.  By  my  troth,  's  but  a  night-g^own  in  respect  of 
yours :  clom  o'  gold,  and  cuts,  and  laced  with  silver,  s^t 
with  pearls,  down  sleeves,  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. 

Hero,  God  give  me  joy  to  wear  ii  I  for  my  heart  is  ex- 
ceeding heavy. 

Marg,  Twill  be  heavier  soon  by  the  weight  of  a  man. 

Hero.  Fie  upon  thee !  art  not  ashamed  ? 

Marg.  Of  what,  lady  ?  of  speaking  honourably  ?  Is  not 
marriage  honourable  in  a  beggar?  Is  not  your  lord  hon- 
ourable without  marriage?  I  think  you  would  have  me 
say,  **  saving  your  leverenoe,  a  husband  :"  an  bad  thinking 
do  not  wrest  true  speaking,  1*11  offend  nobody  :  is  there 
any  harm  in  "the  heavier  for  a  husband "?  None,  I  think, 
an  it  be  the  right  husband  and  the  right  wife ;  otherwise 
'tis  light,  and  not  heavy :  aak  my  Lady  Beatrice  else ;  hc^ 
she  comes. 

Enter  Beatrice. 

Hero.  Good  morrow,  coz. 

Beat.  Good  morrow,  sweet  Hero.  40 

Hero.  Why,  how  now  ?  do  you  speak  in  the  sick  tune.? 

Beat.  I  am  out  of  all  other  tune,  methinks.  , 

Marg.  Clap's  into  "  Light  o'  love  ;"  that  goes  without  a 
bunlen  :  do  you  sing  it,  and  I'll  dance  it. 

Beat.  Ye  light  o*  love,  with  your  heels !  then,  if  your 
husband  have  stables  enough,  you'll  see  he  shall  lack  no 
barns. 

Marg.  O  illegitimate  construction  1  I  acorn  that  with  my 
heels.  51 

Beat.  'Tis  almost  five  o'clock,  cousin ;  'tis  time  you  were 
ready.     By  my  troth,  I  am  exceeding  ill  :  heigh-ho  I 

Marg.  For  a  hawk,  a  horse,  or  a  husband  ? 

Beat.  For  the  letter  that  begins  them  all,  H. 

Marg.  Well,  an  you  be  not  turned  Turk,  there's  no  more 
sailing  by  the  star. 

Bent.  What  means  the  fool,  trow? 

Marg.  Nothing  I ;  but  God  send  every  one  their  heart's 
desire !  61 

Hero.  These  gloves  the  count  sent  me ;  they  are  an  ex- 
cellent perfume. 

Beat.  I  am  stuffed,  cousin  ;  I  cannot  smell. 

Marg.  A  maid,  and  stuffed !  there's  goodly  catching  of 
cold. 

Beat.  O,  God  help  me  I  God  help  me  I  how  long  have 
you  professed  apprehension  ? 


t" 


334         MUCH  -jgpgS^BOUT  NOTHING  [act  iii. 

Marg.  Even  ^ince  you  left  it.     Doth  not  my  wit  become 

•^Bsmf^^^  not  seen  enongli,  you  should  wear  it  in  your 
cap.'   Hy'my  trotli,  I  am  sick. 

Marg.  Get  you  some  of  this  distilled  Cardnus  Benedictus, 
and  lay  it  to  your  heart :  it  is  the  only  thing  for  a  qualm. 

Hero,  There  thou  prickest  her  with  a  thistle. 

Beat.  Benedictus  !  why  Behedictus  ?  you  -  have  some 
moral  in  this  Benedictus. 

Marg.  Moral !  no,  by  my  troth,  I  have  no  moral  mean- 
ing ;  1  meant,  plain  holy-thistle.  You  may  think  perchance 
that  I  think  you  are  in  love  :  nay,  bv'r  lady,  I  am  not  such 
a  fool  to  think  what  I  list,  nor  I  list  not  to  think  what  I 
can,  nor  indeed  I  cannot  think,  if  I  would  think  my  heart 
out  of  thinking,  that  you  are  in  love  or  that  you  will  be  in 
love  or  that  you  can  be  in  love.  Yet  Benedick  was  such 
another,  and  now  is  he  become  a  man  :  he  swore  he  would 
never  marry,  and  yet  now,  in  despite  of  his  heart,  he  eats 
his  meat  without  grudging  :  and  how  you  may  be  converted 
I  know  not,  but  methinks  you  look  with  your  eyes  as  other 
women  do. 

Beat.  What  pace  is  this  that  thy  tongue  keeps? 

Marg,  Kot  a  false  gallop. 

Re-enter  Ubsuia. 

Urs.  Madam,  withdraw :  the  prince,  the  count,  Signior 
Benedick,  Don  John,  and  all  the  gallants  of  the  town,  are 
come  to  fetch  you  to  church. 

Hero.  Help  to  dress  me,  good  coz,  good  Meg,  good  Ursula. 

[Ex&mU, 

Scene  V,    AnotJier  room  in  Leonato's  ?iottse. 

Enter  Leonato,  icith  Dogberry  and  Verges. 

Leon.  What  would  you  with  me,  honest  neighbour  ? 

Dog,  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. 

Bog.  Marry,  this  it  is,  sir. 

Verg,  Yes,  in  truth  it  is,  sir.  ♦ 

Leon    What  is  it,  my  good  friends? 

Bog.  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. 


SCENE  v.]      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  iJOTHING.  825 

Verg.  Yes,  I  thank  God  I  am  as  honest  ai  any  man  living 
that  is  an  old  man  and  no  honester  than  I. 

Dog,  Comparisons  are  odorous :  palabras,  neighbour 
Verges. 

Leon.  Neighbours,  you  are  tedious.  20 

Dog,  It  pleases  your  worship  to  say  so,'but  we  are  the 
poor  duke's  oflBcers  ;  but  trulv,  for  mine  own  part,  if  I  were 
as  tedious  as  a  king,  I  could  find  it  in  my  heart  to  bestow  it 
all  of  your  worship. 

Leon.  All  thy  tedionsness  on  me,  ah  ? 

Dog.  Yea,  and  'twere  a  thousand  pound  more  than  'tis ; 
for  1  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.  80 

Verg.  And  so  am  I. 

Leon.  I  would  fain  know  what  you  have  to  say. 

Verg.  Mairy,  sir,  our  watch  to-night,  excepting  your 
worship's  presence,  ha'  ta'en  a  couple  of  as  arrant  Kn&ves 
as  any  in  Messina. 

Dog.  A  good  old  man,  sir ;  he  will  bo  talking :  as  they 
say,  When  the  age  is  in,  the  wit  is  out :  God  help  us  !  it  is 
a  world  to  see.  Well  said,  i'  faith,  neighbour  Verges  :  well, 
God's  a  good  man  ;  an  two  men  ride  of  a  horse,  one  must 
ride  behind.  An  honest  soul,  i'  faith,  sir  ;  by  my  truth  he 
is,  as  ever  broke  bread  ;  but  God  is  to  be  worshipped  ;  all 
men  are  not  alike ;  alas,  good  neighbour  ! 

Leon.  Indeed,  neighbour,  he  comes  too  short  of  you. 

Dog.  Gifts  that  God  gives. 

Leon.  I  must  leave  you. 

Dog.  One  word,  sir  :  our  watch,  sir,  have  indeed  compre- 
hended 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. 

Dog.  It  shall  be  sufBgance. 

Leon.  Drink  some  wine  ere  you  go  :  fare  you  >¥t;ll. 

Snter  a  Messenger. 

Me»$.  My  lord,  they  stay  for  you  to  give  your  daughter 
to  her  husband.  CO 

Leon.  I'll  wait  upon  them  :  I  am  ready. 

•  [Exeunt  Leonato  and  Messenger. 

Dog.  Go,  good  partner,  go,  get  you  to  Francis  Seacole  ; 
bid  him  bring  his  pen  and  inkhom  to  the  gaol :  we  are  now 
to  examination  these  men. 

Verg.  And  we  must  do  it  wisely. 

Dog.  We  will  spare  fur  no  wit,  I  warrant  you ;  hero's 


326  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHIXG.         [act  nr. 

tliat  shall  drive  some  of  them  to  a  non-come  :  onlj  get  the 
learned  writer  to  set  down  our  excommunication  and  meet 
me  at  the  gaol.  [Exeunt, 

ACT  rv. 

Scene  I.    A  church. 

Enter  Don  Pedro,  Don  John,  Leonato,  Friar  Francis, 
Cl AUDIO,  Benedick,  Hero,  Beatrice,  and  aUend- 
anU. 

Leon.  Come,  Friar  Francis,  be  brief ;  only  to  the  plain 
form  of  marriage,  and  you  shall  recount  their  particular  du- 
ties afterwards. 

Friar.  You  come  hither,  my  lord,  to  marry  this  lady. 

Claud,  No. 

Leon,  To  be  married  to  her :  friar,  you  come  to  marry 
her. 

Friar,  Lady,  you  come  hither  to  be  married  to  this  count. 

Hero.  I  do.  11 

Friar,  If  either  of  you  know  any  inward  impediment 
why  you  should  not  be  conjoined,  I  charge  you,  on  your 
souls,  to  utter  it. 

Claud.  Know  you  any,  Hero  ? 

Hero.  None,  my  lord. 

Friar.  Know  you  any,  count  ? 

Leon,  I  dare  make  his  answer,  none. 

Claud,  O.  what  men  dare  do  1  what  men  may  do  I  what 
men  daily  do,  not  knowing  what  they  do  !  21 

Bene,  How  now  !  interjections?  Why,  then,  some  be  of 
laughing,  as,  ah,  ha,  he  I 

Claud.  Stand  thee  by,  friar.     Father,  by  your  leave  : 
Will  you  with  free  and  uncoiistrained  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  ricli  and  precious  g^ft? 

Jj,  Pedro.  Nothing,  unless  you  render  her  again.  80 

Claud.  Sweet  prince,  you  learn  me  noble  thankfulness. 
There,  Leonato,  take  her  back  again  : 
Give  not  thU  rotten  orange  to  your  friend  ; 
She's  but  the  sign  and  semblance  of  her  honour. 
Behold  how  like  a  maid  she  blushes  here  I 
O,  what  authority  and  show  of  truth 
Can  cunning  sin  cover  itself  withal  1 
Comes  not  tiiat  blood  as  modest  evidence 
To  witness  simple  virtue  ?    Would  you  not  swear. 


SCENE  I.]        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  827 

All  70a  that  see  her,  that  she  were  a  maid,  40 

By  these  exterior  shows  I    But  she  fs  norxp : 
She  knows  tlie  heat  of  a  luxurious  bed  ; 
Her  blush  is  guiltiness,  not  uiodestj. 

Leon.  What  do  you  mean,  my  lord  ? 

Claud,  Not  to  be  married. 

Not  to  knit  my  soul  to  an  approved  wanton. 

Le^m.  Dear  my  lord,  if  you,  in  your  own  proof, 
Have  vanquished  the  resistance  of  her  youth. 
And  made  defeat  of  her  virginity, — 

Claud.  I  know  what  you  would  say  :  if  I  have  known  her, 
You  will  say  she  did  embrace  me  as  a  husband,  50 

And  so  extenuate  the  'forehand  sin  : 
No,  Leonato, 

I  never  tempted  her  with  word  too  large ; 
But,  as  a  brother  to  his  sister,  showed 
Bashful  sincerity  and  comely  love. 

Hero.  And  seem'd  I  ever  otherwise  to  you  ? 

Claud,  Out  on  thee  !  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  80 

Than  Venus,  or  those  pamper'd  animals 
That  rage  in  savage  sensuality. 

Hero,  Is  my  lonl  well,  that  he  doth  speak  so  wide? 

Le&n.  Sweet  prince,  why  speak  not  vou  ? 

D,  Pedro.  What  should  I  speak  ? 

I  stand  dishonoured,  that  have  gone  about 
To  link  my  dear  friend  to  a  common  stale. 

Leon.  Are  these  things  spoken,  or  do  I  but  dream? 

2>.  John.  Sir,  they  are  spoken,  and  these  things  are  true. 

Bene,  This  looks  not  liko  a  nuptial. 

Hero.  True  1  O  God  1 

Claud.  Leonato,  stand  I  here  ?  70 

Is  this  the  prince  ?  is  this  the  prince's  brother? 
Is  this  face  Hero's  ?  are  our  eyes  our  own  ? 

Leon,  All  this  is  so  :  but  what  of  this,  my  lord  ? 

Claud.  I^et  me  but  move  one  question  to  your  daughter ; 
And,  by  that  fatherly  and  kindly  power 
That  you  liave  in  her,  bid  her  answer  truly. 

Leon.  I  charge  thee  do  so,  as  thou  art  my  child. 

Hero.  O,  God  defend  me  1  how  am  I  beset  I 
What  kind  of  catechising  call  you  this? 

Claud.  To  make  you  answer  trulv  to  your  name.  80 

Hero.  Is  it  not  Hero?    Wlu>  can  mot  that  name 
Willi  any  just  reproach? 

Claud.  Marry,  that  can  Hero ; 


828  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.         [activ. 

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  tliis. 

Hero.  I  talk'd  with  no  man  at  that  hour,  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.  Why,  then  are  you  no  maiden.     Leonato, 
I  am  sorry  you  must  hear  :  upon  mine  honour. 
Myself,  my  brother  and  this  grieved  count  90 

Did  see  lier,  hear  her,  at  that  hour  last  night 
Talk  with  a  ruffian  at  her  chamber- window  ; 
Who  hath  indeed,  most  like  a  liberal  villain, 
Confess'd  the  vile  encounters  they  have  had 
A  thousand  times  in  secret. 

D.  John.  Fie,  fie  !  they  are  not  to  be  named,  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  niisgovernment.  100 

Claud.  O  Hero,  what  a  Hero  hadst  thou  been. 
If  half  thy  outward  graces  had  been  placed 
About  thy  thoughts  aLd  counsels  of  thy  heart ! 
But  fare  thee  well,  most  foul,  most  fair  !  farewell. 
Thou  pure  impiety  and  impious  purity  1 
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  ? 

[Mtro  swoons.    110 

Beat  Why,  how  now,  cousin  !  wherefore  sink  tou  down  ? 

D.  John.  Come,  let  us  go.     These  things,  come  thus  to 
light. 
Smother  her  spirits  up. 

\Exeu7U  Don  Pedro,  Don  John,  and  Claudio. 

Bens.  How  doth  the  lady  ? 

Beat.  Dead,  I  think.     Help,  uncle  1 

Hero  1  why,  Hero  !  Uncle  !  Signior  Benedick  I  Friar  1 

Le^m.  O  Fate  I  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  I 

Friar.  Have  comfort,  lady. 

Leon.  Dost  tbou  look  up  ?  120 

IViar.  Yea,  wherefore  should  she  not  ? 

Leon.  Wherefore  I  why,  doth  not  every  earthly  thing 
Cry  shame  upon  her?    Could  she 'here  deny 
The  story  that  is  printed  in  her  blood  ? 


BCKNEi.]         MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  829 

Do  not  live,  Hero ;  do  not  ope  tliine  eyes : 

For,  did  I  tliink  thou  wouldst  not  quickly  die, 

Tlioufflit  I  tliy  spirits  were  stronger  than  thy  shames. 

Myself  would,  on  the  rearward  of  reproaches, 

Strike  at  thy  life.     Grieved  I,  I  had  but  onet 

Chid  I  for  that  at  frugal  nature's  frame?  130 

O,  one  V>o  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  sniirch'd  thus  and  mired  with  infamy, 

I  might  liave  said  "  No  part  of  it  is  mine ; 

This  shame  derives  itself  from  unknown  loins  "  ? 

But  mine  and  mine  I  loved  and  mine  I  praised 

And  mine  that  I  was  proud  on,  mine  so  much 

That  I  myself  was  to  myself  not  mine,  140 

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-t^lnted  flesh  ! 

Bene.  Sir,  sir,  be  patient. 

For  my  part,  I  am  so  attired  in  wonder, 
I  know  not  what  1o  say. 

BeaL  O,  on  my  soul,  my  cousin  is  belied  ! 

Bene.  Lady,  were  you  her  bedfellow  last  night  ? 

Beat.  No,  truly  not ;  although,  until  last  night,  150 

I  have  this  twelvemonth  been  her  bedfellow. 

Leon.  Confirm'd,  confirmed  !  O,  that  is  stronger  made 
Which  was  before  barr'd  up  with  rilis  of  iron  ? 
Would  the  two  princes  lie,  and  Claudio  lie, 
Who  loved  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  silent  been  so  long. 
And  given  way  unto  this  course  of  fortune. 
By  noting  of  the  lady  ;  I  have  mark'd  100 

A  thousand  blushing  apparitions  start 
Into  her  face  ;  a  tliousand  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  fpol  ; 
Trust  not  my  reading  nor  my  observaticfiis, 
Which  with  experimental  seal  doth  warrant 
The  tenour  of  my  book  ;  trust  not  my  age. 
My  reverence,  calling,  nor  divinity,  170 


880  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [activ. 

If  tills  sweet  ladj  lie  not  guiltless  here 
Under  some  biting  error. 

Leon.  Friar,  it  connot  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  proi)er  nakedness  ?  • 

Frifir.  Lady,  what  man  is  he  you  are  accused  of  ? 

Hero.  They  know  that  do  accuse  me  ;  I  know  none  : 
If  I  know  more  of  any  man  alive  180 

Than  that  which  maiden  modesty  doth  warrant, 
Ijet  all  my  sins  lack  mercy  !     O  my  father. 
Prove  you  that  any  man  with  me  conversed 
At  hours  unmeet,  or  tbat  I  yesternight 
Maintained  the  change  of  words  with  any  creature. 
Refuse  me,  hate  me,  torture  me  to  death  I 

Friar.  There  is  some  strange  misprision  in  the  princes. 

Bene.  Two  of  them  have  tlie  very  bent  of  honour  ; 
And  if  their  wisdoms  be  misled  in  this, 
The  practice  of  it  lives  in  John  the  bastard,  190 

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  her  honour. 
The  proudest  of  them  shall  well  hear  of  it. 
Time  hath  not  yet  so  dried  this  blood  of  mine. 
Nor  ago  so  eat  up  my  invention, 
Nor  fortune  made  such  havoc  of  my  means, 
Nor  my  bad  life  reft  me  so  much  of  f  i  lends. 
But  they  shall  find,  awaked  in  such  a  kind, 
Both  strength  of  limb  and  policy  of  mind,  200 

Ability  in  means  and  choice  of  friends, 
To  quit  me  of  them  thoroughly. 

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. 
And  publish  it  that  she  is  dead  indeed ; 
Maintain  a  mourning  ostentation 
And  on  your  family's  old  monument 
Hang  mournful  epitaphs  and  do  all  rites 
That  appertain  unto  a  burial.  210 

Leon.  What  shall  become  of  this  ?  what  will  this  do? 

Fhriar.  Marry,  this  well  carried  shall  on  her  belml* 
Change  slander  to  remorse  ;  that  is  some  good  - 
Bat  not  for  that  dream  I  on  this  strange  coarse. 
But  on  this  travail  look  for  greater  birth. 


BCKNKi.]       MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTfflNG.  831 

She  dying,  as  it  mnst  be  so  maintain'd. 

Upon  the  instant  that  she  was  accused, 

Bliall  be  lamented,  pitied  and  excused 

Of  everv"  hearer :  for  it  so  falls  out 

That  what  we  have  we  prize  not  to  the  worth  220 

Whiles  we  enjoy  it,  but  being  h&ck'd  and  lost. 

Why,  then  we  rack  the  value,  then  we  find 

Tlie  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,  230 

Into  the  eye  and  prospect  of  his  soul, 

Than«when  she  lived  indeed  ;  then  shall  he  mourn. 

If  ever  love  had  interest  in  his  liver. 

And  wish  he  had  not  so  accused  her, 

No,  though  he  thought  his  accusation  true 

Let  this  be  so,  and  doul)t  not  but  success 

Will  fashion  the  event  in  better  shape 

Than  I  can  lay  it  down  in  likelihood. 

But  if  all  aim  but  this  be  levell'd  false. 

The  sapposition  of  the  lady's  death  240 

Will  quench  the  wonder  of  her  infamy  : 

And  if  it  sort  not  well,  you  may  conceal  her. 

As  best  befits  her  wounded  reputation. 

In  some  reclusive  and  religious  life. 

Out  of  all  eyes,  tongues,  minds  and  injuries. 

Bene,  Signior  Leonato,  let  the  friar  advise  you  : 
And  though  you  know  my  inwardness  and  love 
Is  very  much  unto  the  prince  and  Clandlo, 
Yet,  by  mine  honour,  I  will  deal  in  this 
As  secretly  and  justly  as  your  soul  250 

Should  with  your  body.  ^ 

Leon*  Being  that  I  flow  In  grief. 

The  smallest  twine  may  lead  me. 

Friar,  'Tis  well  consented  :  presently  away  ; 

For  to  strange  sores  strangely  they  strain  the  cure. 
Come,  lady,  die  to  live  :  this  wedding-day 

Perhaps  is  but  prolong'd  :  have  patience  and  endure. 

[Neurit  all  hut  Benedick  and  Beatrice. 

Bene.  I^ady  Beatrice,  have  you  wept  all  this  while  t 

Beat.  Yea,  and  I  will  weep  a  while  longer. 

Bens.  I  will  not  desire  that. 

Beat,  You  have  no  reason  ;  I  do  it  freely.  860 


•  ■• 


633  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [act  iy. 

Bene.  Surely  I  do  believe  your  fair  cousin  is  wronged. 

BeaL  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  sudi  friend. 

Be?is.  May  a  man  do  it  ? 

BecU,  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  ?  270 

Beat.  As  strange  as  the  thing  I  know  not.  It  were  as 
possible  for  me  to  say  I  loved  nothing  so  well  as  you  :  but 
believe  me  not ;  and  yet  I  lie  not ;  I  confess  nothing,  nor  I 
deny  nothing.     I  am  sorry  for  my  cousin. 

Bene.  By  my  sword,  Beatrice,  thou  lovest  me. 

Beat.  Do  not  swear,  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  ?  280 

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  mo  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  anything  for  thee.  290 

Beat.  KillClaudio. 

Bene.  Ila  1  not  for  the  wide  world. 

Beat.  Tou  kill  me  to  deny  it.     Farewell. 

Be7ie.  Tarry,  sweet  Beatrice. 

Beat.  I  am  gone,  though  I  am  here  :  there  is  no  love  in 
you  :  nay,  I  pray  you,  let  me  go. 

Ben€.  Beatrice, — 

Beat.  In  faith,  I  will  go. 

Bene.  We'll  be  friends  first. 

Beat.  You  dare  easier  l>e  friends  with  me  than  fight  with 
mine  enemy.  801 

Betie.  Is  Claudio  thine  enemy  t 

Beat.  Is  he  not  approved  in  the  height  a  villain,  that 
hath  slandered,  scorned,  dishonoured  my  kinswoman  ?  O 
•that  I  were  a  man  1  What,  bear  her  in  hand  uptil  they 
come  to  take  hands  ;  and  then,  with  public  accusntion,  un- 
covered slander,  unmitigated  rancour, — O  God,  that  1  were 
a  man  1    I  would  eat  his  heart  in  the  market  place. 

Bene,  Hear  me,  Beatrice, —  810 


SCENE  II.]       MUCH  ADO  ABOUT   NOTHING  383 

Beat,  Talk  witb  a  man  out  at  a  window  1  A  proper  say- 
ing I 

Bene.  Nay,  but,  Beatrice, — 

Be€U.  Sweet  Hero  !  She  is  wronged,  slie  is  slandered, 
she  is  undone. 

Bene.  Beat — 

Beat.  Princes  and  counties  I  Surely,  a  princely  testimony, 
a  goodly  count  Count  Comfect ;  a  sweet  prallant,  surely  I 
O  that  I  were  a  nian  for  his  sake  1  or  that  I  had  any  friend 
would  be  a  mau  for  my  sake  I  But  manhood  is  melted  into 
courtesies,  valour  into  compliment,  and  men  are  only  turned 
into  tongue,  and  trim  ones  too  :  he  is  now  as  valiant  as 
Hercules  that  only  tells  a  lie  and  swears  it.  I  cannot  be  a 
man  with  wishing,  therefore  1  will  die  a  woman  with  griev- 
ing. 

^ene.  Tarry,  good  Beatrice.     By  this  band,  I  love  thee. 

Beat.  Use  it  for  my  love  some  other  way  than  swearing 
by  it.  830 

Bene.  Think  you  in  your  soul  the  Count  Claudio  hath 
wronged  Hero? 

Beat.  Yea,  as  sure  as  I  have  a  thought  or  a  soul. 

Bene.  Enough,  I  am  engaged  ;  I  will  challenge  him.  I 
will  kiss  your  hand,  and  so  I  leave  you.  By  this  hand, 
Claudio  shall  render  me  a  dear  account.  As  you  hear  of  me, 
BO  think  of  me.  Go,  comfort  your  cousin  :  I  must  say  she 
is  dead :  and  so,  farewelL  [Exeunt.     840 

Scene  II.    A  prison. 

Enter  Dogberry,  Verges,  and  Sexton,  in  gowns;  and 
Vie  Watch,  trt^ACoKRADE  and  Borachio. 

Dog.  Is  our  whole  dissembly  appeared  ? 

Verg.  O,  a  stool  and  a  cushion  for  the  &ext')n. 

Sex.  Which  be  the  malefactors  ? 

l)og.  Marry,  that  am  I  and  my  partner. 

Verg.  Nay,  that's  certain  ;  we  havo  the  exhibition  to  ex- 
amine. 

Sex.  But  which  are  the  offenders  that  are  to  be  examined  ? 
let  them  come  before  master  constable. 

Dog.  Yea,  marry,  let  them  come  before  mc.  What  is 
your  name,  friend  f  11 

Bora.  Borachio. 

Dog.  Pray,  write  down,  Borachio.     Yours,  sirrali  ? 

Con.  I  am  a  gentleman,  sir,  and  my  name  is  Conrade. 

Dog.  Write  down,  master  gentleman  Conrade.  Ma.sters, 
do  vou  servo  God  ? 


884  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING         [act  iv. 

Bora.}  ^^>  "''  ^® ^°P^- 

Doff.  Write  down,  tLat  tliey  hope  they  serve  God  :  and 
write  God  first ;  for  God  defend  but  God  should  go  be- 
fore such  vrllahis  1  Masters,  it  is  proved  already  that  you 
are  little  better  than  false  knaves ;  and  it  will  go  near  to  bo 
thought  so  shortly.     How  answer  you  for  yourselves  ? 

Con.  Marry,  sir,  we  say  we  are  none. 

I)og.  A  marvellous  witty  fellow,  I  assure  you  ;  but  I  will 
go  about  with  him.  Come  you  hither,  sirrah  ;  a  woixi  in 
your  ear  :  sir,  I  say  to  you,  it  is  thougbt  you  are  false 
knaves.  80 

Boi'a.  Sir,  I  say  to  you  we  are  none. 

Bog.  Well,  stand  aside.  'Fore  God,  they  are  both  in  a 
tale.     Have  you  writ  down,  that  they  arc  none  ? 

Srx.  Master  consuible,  you  go  not  the  way  to  examine  ; 
you  must  call  forth  the  watch  that  are  their  accusers. 

Boff.  Yea,  marry,  that's  the  eftest  way.  Let  the  watch 
come  forth.  Ma.sters,  1  charge  you,  in  the  prince's  name, 
accuse  these  men.  40 

First.  Watch.  Tliis  man  said,  sir,  that  Don  John,  the 
prince's  brother,  was  a  villain. 

Bog.  Write  do^n  Prince  John  a  villain.  Why,  this  is 
flat  perjury,  to  call  a  prince's  brother  villain. 

Bora.  Master  constable, — 

Bog.  Pray  thee,  fellow,  peace  :  I  do  not  like  thy  look,  I 
promise  thee. 

Sex.  What  heard  you  him  say  else  ? 

Sec.  Watch.  Marry,  that  heliad  received  a  thousand  ducats 
of  Don  John  for  accusing  the  lady  Hero  wrongfully.  51 

Bog.  Flat  burglary  as  ever  was  committed. 

Verg.  Yea,  by  mass,  that  it  is. 

Sex.  What  else,  fellow  ? 

JH\rst.  Watch.  And  that  Count  Claudio  did  mean,  upon  his 
words,  to  disgrace  Hero  before  the  whole  assembly,  and  not 
marry  her. 

Bog.  O  villain  !  thou  wilt  be  condemned  into  everlasting 
redemption  for  this. 

Sex.  What  else?  60 

Watch.  This  is  all. 

Sex.  And  this  is  more,  masters,  than  you  can  deny.  Prince 
John  is  this  morning  secretly  stolen  away  ;  Hero  was  in  this 
Aianner  accused,  in  this  very  manner  refused,  and  upon  the 
grief  of  this  suddenly  died.  Master  constable,  let  these  men 
be  bound,  and  brought  to  Leonato's:  I  will  go  before  and 
show  him  their  examination.  [ExiL 

Bog.  Come,  let  them  be  opinioned. 


X 


SCENE  I.]         MUCH   ADO  ABOUT   NOTHIXe^.  88d 

Verg,  fLe*  them  be  in  tlie  hands —  70 

Coiu  Off,  coxcomb  I 

Dog.  God's  my  life,  where's  the  sexton  ?  let  him  write 
do^yn  the  prince's  officer  coxcomb.  Come,  bind  them.  Thou 
naughty  varlet ! 

Con.  Away  !  you  are  an  ass,  you  are  an  ass. 

Dog.  Dost  thou  not  suspect  my  place  ?  dost  thou  not  sus- 
pect my  years  ?  O  that  he  were  here  to  write  me  down  an 
ass  I  But,  masters,  remember  that  I  am  an  ass  ;  though  it 
be  not  written  down,  yet*  forget  not  that  I  am  an  ass.  No, 
thou  villain,  than  art  full  of  piety,  as  shall  be  proved  upon 
thee  by  good  witness.  I  am  a  wise  fellow,  and,  which  is 
more,  an  officer,  and,  which  is  more,  a  householder,  and, 
which  is  moi-e,  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  liad  losses,  and  one  that  hath 
two  gowns  and  everything  handsome  about  him.  Bring  him 
away.     0  that  I  had  been  writ  down  an  ass  1    [Exeunt.    90 


ACT  V. 

Scene  I.    Before  Leonato's  houAe, 

Enter  Lbonato  and  Antonio. 

Ant.  If  you  go  on  thus,  you  will  kill  yourself ; 
And  'tis  not  wisdom  thus  to  second  grief 
Against  yourself. 

Leijn.  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  loved  his  child. 
Whose  joy  of  her  is  overwhelm'd  like  mine. 
And  bid  him  speak  of  patience  ;  10 

Measure  his  woe  the  length  and  breadth  of  mine 
And  let  it  answer  every  strain  for  strain. 
As  thus  for  thus  and  such  a  gnef  for  such. 
In  every  lineament,  branch,  sliape,  and  form  : 
If  such  a  one  will  smile  and  stroke  his  beard, 
f  Bid  sorrow  wag,  cry  *'  hem  "  when  he  should  groan, 
Patch  grief  with  proverbs,  make  misfortune  drunk 
With  candle- wasters  ;  bring  him  yet  to  me. 
And  I  of  him  will  gather  patience. 

But  there  is  no  su<m  man :  for,  brother,  men  20 

Can  counsel  and  speak  comfort  to  that  grief 


336  MUCH   ADO   ABOUT   NOTHING.  [act  v. 

Which  they  themselves  not  feel  ;  but,  tasting  it, 

Their  counsel  turns  to  passion,  which  before 

Would  give  preceptial  medicine  lo  rage. 

Fetter  strong  madness  in  a  silken  thread, 

Cliarm  ache  with  air  and  agony  witli  words  : 

No,  no  ;  'tis  ail  men's  oliice  to  speak  patience 

To  thoso  tlmt  ring  under  the  load  of  sorrow, 

Btit  no  man's  virtue  nor  sufficiency 

To  be  so  moral  when  he  shall  endure  90 

The  like  himself.     Therefore  give  me  no  counsel : 

My  griefs  cry  louder  than  advertisements. 

Ant.  Therein  do  men  from  children  nothing  differ. 

Lean.  I  pray  thee,  peace.     I  will  be  flesh  and  blood  ; 
For  there  was  never  yet  pliilosopher 
That  could  endure  the  toothache  patiently. 
However  they  have  writ  the  style  of  gods 
And  made  a  push  at  chance  and  sufferance. 

AtU.  Yet  bend  not  ail  the  harm  upon  yourself  ; 
Make  those  tliat  do  offend  you  suffer  too.  40 

Leon.  Tliere  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. 

Ant.  Here  comes  the  prince  and  Claudio  hastily. 

Enter  Don  Pedro  and  Claudio. 

B.  Pedro.  Good  den,  good  den. 

(  kind.  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. 

D.  Pedro.  Nay,  do  not  quarrel  with  us,  good  old  man.  50 

Ant,  If  he  could  right  himself  with  quarreling. 
Some  of  us  would  lie  low. 

Claud,  Who  wrongs  him  ? 

Lean.  Marry,  thou  dost  wrong   mo;   thou   dissembler, 
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.  Ti^sh,  tush,  man  ;  never  fleer  and  jest  at  me  : 
I  speak  not  like  a  dotard  nor  a  fool. 
As  under  privilege  of  age  to  brag  60 


SCENE  I.]        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  887 

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  forced  to  lay  my  reverence  by 

And,  with  grey  hairs  and  bruise  of  many  days, 

Do  cliallenge  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,  70 

Save  this  of  hers,  framed  by  thy  villany  I 

Claud.  My  villany  ? 

Leon.  Thine,  Claudio  ;  tliine,  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  lustihood. 

Claud.  Away  I  I  will  not  have  to  do  with  you. 

Leon.   Canst  thou  so  daff  me?     Thou  hast  kiU'd  my 
child  : 
If  thou  kill'st  me,  boy,  thou  shalt  kill  a  man. 

Ant.  He  shall  kill  two  of  us,  and  men  indeed  :  80 

But  that's  no  matter ;  let  him  kill  one  first ; 
Win  me  and  wear  me  ;  lot  him  answer  me. 
Come,  follow  me,  boy  ;  come,  sir  boj,  come,  follow  me  : 
Sir  boy,  FU  whip  you  from  your  foining  fence ; 
Nay,  as  I  am  a  gentleman,  I  will. 

Leon.  Brother, — 

Ant.  Content  yourself.     God  knows  I  loved  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  :  90 

Boys,  apes,  braggarts.  Jacks,  milksops  I 

t^on.  Brother  Antony, — 

Ant.  Hold  you  content.      What,  man  1   I  know  them, 
yea. 
And  what  they  weigh,  even  to  the  utmost  scruple, — 
Scambling,  out- facing,  fashion-monging  boys, 
Tliat  lie  and  cog  and  flout,  deprave  and  slander. 
Go  anticly,  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, — 

AtU.  Come,  'tis  no  matter  :  100 

Do  not  you  meddle  ;  let  me  deal  in  this. 


i 


388  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [act  T. 

B,  Ped/ro.  Gentlemen  botli,  we  will  not  wake  your  pa- 
tience. 
My  lieart  is  sorry  for  your  daughter's  death  : 
But,  on  my  honour,  she  was  charged  with  nothing 
But  what  was  true  and  very  full  of  proof. 
Leon,  My  lord,  my  lord, — 
D.  Pedro.  I  will  not  hear  you. 
Leon.  No  ?    Come,  brother  ;  away  !  I  will  be  heard. 
Ant.  And  shall,  or  some  of  us  will  smart  for  it. 

[Exeunt  Leonato  and  Antonio. 

D.  Pedro.  See,  see ;  here  comes  the   man  wo  went  to 

seek.  110 

Enter  Benedick. 

Claud.  Now,  signior,  what  news? 

Bene.  Good  day,  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.  Welcome,  signior :  you  are  almost  come  to 
part  almost  a  fray. 

Claud.  We  had  like  to  have  had  our  two  noses  snapped 
off  with  two  old  men  without  teeth. 

D.  Pedro.  Leonato  and  his  brother.  What  thinkest 
thou  ?  Had  we  fought,  I  doubt  we  sliould  have  been  too 
young  for  them. 

Bene.  In  a  false  quarrel  there  is  no  true  valour.  I  came 
to  seek  you  botli.  121 

Claud.  Wo  have  been  up  and  down  to  seek  thee  ;  for  wo 
are  high  proof  melancholy  and  would  fain  have  it  beaten 
away.   .Wilt  thou  use  thy  wit? 

Bene.  It  is  in  my  scabbard  :  sliall  I  draw  it? 

D.  Pedro.  Dost  thou  wear  thy  wit  by  thy  side  ? 

Claud.  Never  any  did  go,  though  very  many  have  been 
beside  their  wit.  I  will  bid  thee  draw,  as  we  do  the  min- 
strels ;  draw,  to  pleasure  us. 

D.  Pedro,  As  I  am  an  honest  man,  he  looks  pale.  Art 
thou  sick  or  angry  ?  181 

Claud.  What,  courage,  man  1  What  though  care  killed 
a  cat,  thou  hast  mettle  enough  in  thee  to  kill  care. 

Bene.  Sir,  I  shall  meet  your  wit  in  the  career,  as  you 
charge  it  against  me.     I  pray  you  choose  another  subject. 

C&ud.  Nay,  then,  give  him  another  stuff  :  this  last  was 
broke  cross. 

D.  Pedro.  By  this  light,  he  changes  more  and  more  :  I 
think  he  be  angry  indeed.  141 

Claud.  If  he  be,  he  knows  how  to  turn  his  girdle. 

Bene.  Shall  I  speak  a  word  in  your  ear  ? 

Claud.  God  bless  me  from  a  challenge  ! 

Bene.  [AHde  to  Claudio]  You  are  a  villain  ;  I  jest  not : 


flCENEL]        MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  839 

I  will  make  it  good  how  tou  dare,  with  what  you  dare,  and 
when  you  dare  Do  me  right,  or  I  will  protest'your  coward- 
ice, xou  have  killed  a  sweet  lady,  and  her  death  shall  fall 
heavy  on  you.     Let  mo  hear  from  you.  151 

Claud.  Well,  1  will  meet  yon,  so  I  may  have  good  cheer. 

D.  Pedro.  What,  a  feast,  a  feast  ? 

Claud.  V  faith,  I  thank  him  ;  lie  hath  bid  to  mo  a  calfs 
head  and  a  capon ;  the  which  i  f  I  do  not  carve  most  curious- 
Iv,  Bay  my  knife's  naught.  Shall  I  not  find  a  woodcock 
too? 

Bene.  Sir,  your  wit  ambles  well ;  it  goes  easily. 

D.  Pedro.  I'll  tell  thee  how  Beatrice  praised  thy  wit  the 
other  day.  I  said,  thou  hadstafine  wit :  **  True," 'said  she, 
•*  a  fine  little  one."  "  No,"  said  I,  "a  great  wit :"  "Right," 
says  she,  "a  great  gross  one."  "  Nav,"  said  I,  "aVood 
wif"  "Just,"  said  she,  "it  hurts 'nolxxly."  "Nay" 
said  I,  "the  goiitleman  is  wise  :"  "  Certain," said  she,  *a 
wise  gentleman."  "  Nav,"  said  I,  "  he  hath  tho  tongues  •" 
"  That  I  believe,"  said  slie,  "  for  he  swore  a  thing  to  me 
on  Monday  night,  which  he  forswore  on  Tuesday  mominft ; 
there's  a  double  tongue  ;  there's  two  tongues."  Thus  did 
she,  an  hour  together,  trans-shape  thy  particular  virtue 4 : 
yet  at  last  she  concluded  with  a  sigh,  thou  wast  the  proper- 
est  man  in  Italy. 

Claud  For  the  which  she  wept  heartily  and  said  she 
cared  not. 

J).  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.  180 

Claud.  All.  all ;  and,  moreover,  God  saw  him  when  he 
was  hid  ii  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  Bene 
dick  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, 
nurt  not.  My  lord,  for  your  many  courtesies  I  thank  you  : 
I  must  discontinue  your  company  ;  your  brother  the  bastard 
is  fled  from  Messina :  you  have  among  you  killed  a  sweet 
and  innocent  lady.  For  my  lord  l^ackbeard  there,  he  and  I 
shall  meet ;  and,  till  then,  peace  be  with  him.  [Sjtit. 

D.  Pedro.  He  is  in  earnest. 

Claud,  In  most  profound  earnest ;  and,  I'll  warrant  you, 
for  the  love  of  Beatrice. 

D.  Pedro.  And  hath  challenged  thee.  200 


840  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [ACT  V. 

.Claxid.  Most  sincerely. 

D,  Pedro.  What  a  pretty  thing  man  is  when  he  goes  in 
his  donblet  and  hose  and  leaves  off  his  wit  I 

Claud.  He  is  then  a  giant  to  an  ape  ;  bat  then  is  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  fied  ? 

Enter  Dogberry,  Verges,  and  the  Watch,  vnth  Conradb 

and  BoRACHio. 

Dog.  Come  you,  sir :  if  justice  cannot  tame  you,  she  shall 
ne'er  weigh  more  reasons  in  her  balance  :  nay,  and  you  be 
a  cursing  liypocrite  once,  you  must  be  looked  to. 

D.  Pedro.  How  now  ?  two  of  my  brother's  men  bound  I 
Borachio  one  ! 

Claud.  Hearken  after  their  offence,  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.  Officers,  what  offence  have  these  men  done? 

Dog.  Marry,  sir,  they  have  committed  false  report ; 
moreover,  they  have  spoken  untruths  ;  secondarily,  they 
are  slanders ;  sixth  and  lastly,  they  have  belied  a  lady ; 
thirdly  they  have  verified  unjust  things  ;  and,  to  concluae, 
they  are  lying  knaves. 

D.  Pedro.  First,  I  ask  thee  what  they  have  done  ;  thirdly, 
I  ask  thee  what's  their  offence  ;  sixth  and  lastly,  why  they 
are  committed  ;  and,  to  conclude,  what  you  lay  to  their 
charge. 

C&ud.  Rightly  reasoned,  and  in  his  own  division ;  and, 
by  my  troth,  there's  one  meaning  well  suited.  231 

D.'  Pedro.  Who  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  t 

Bora.  Sweet  prince,  let  me  go  no  fartlier  to  mine  answer : 
do  you  hear  me,  and  let  this  count  kill  me.  I  have  de- 
ceived even  your  very  eyes  :  what  your  wisdoms  could  not 
discover,  these  shallow  fools  have  brought  to  light ;  who  in 
the  night  overheard  me  confessing  to  this  man  how  Don 
John  your  brother  incensed  me  to  slander  the  Lady  Hero, 
how  you  were  brought  into  the  orchard  and  saw  me  court 
Margaret  in  Hero's  garments,  how  you  disgraced  her,  when 
you  should  marry  her  :  my  villany'tliey  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  re- 
ward of  a  villain. 

D.  Pedro.  Runs  not  this  speech  like  iron  through  your 
blood  ? 

Quud.  I  have  drunk  poison  whiles  he  utter'd  it 


8CKNEI.]       MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  S41 

D.  Pedro,  But  did  my  brother  set  tliee  onto  this? 

Bora.  Yea.  and  paid  me  richly  for  the  practice  of  it. 

D.  Pedro.  He  is  composed  and  framed  of  treachery  : 
And  fled  he  is  apon  this  villany. 

Claud.  Sweet  Hero  !  now  thy  image  doth  appear  . 
In  the  mre  semblance  that  I  loved  it  first.  260 

Dog.  Come,  liring  away  the  plaintiffs  :  by  this  time  our 
sexton  hath  reformed  Signior  Leonato  of  the  matter  :  and, 
masters,  do  not  forget  to  specify,  when  time  and  place  shall 
serve,  that  I  am  an  ass. 

Verg.  Here,  here  comes  master  Signior  Leonato,  and  the 
sexton  too. 

Re-erUer  Leonato  and  AirroKio,  icWh  the  Sexton. 

Lfon.  Which  is  the  villain  ?  let  me  see  his  eyes, 
That,  when  I  note  another  man  like  him,  270 

I  may  avoid  him  :  which  of  these  is  he  ? 

Bora.  If  yon  would  know  your  wronger,  look  on  me. 

Ij€on.  Art  thou  the  slave  that  wit  a  thy^breath  hast  kill'd 
Mine  innocent  child  ? 

Bora.  Yea,  even  I  alone. 

]je4m.  No,  not  so,  villain ;  thou  beliest  thyself 
Here  stand  a  pair  of  honourable  men  ; 
A  third  is  lied,  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. 

Qaud.  I  know  not  how  to  pray  your  patience  ; 
Yet  I  must  speak.     CHioose  your  revenge  yourself ; 
Impose  me  to  what  penance  your  invention 
Can  lay  upon  my  sin  :  yet  sinn'd  I  not 
But  in  mistaking. 

D.  Pedro.  Bv  my  soul,  nor  I : 

And  yet,  to  satisfy  tills  good  old  man, 
I  would  bend  under  any  heavy  weight 
That  he'll  enjoin  me  to. 

Leon.  I  cannot  bid  you  bid  my  daughter  live ; 
That  were  impossible  :  but,  I  pray  you  both. 
Possess  the  people  In  Messina  here 
How  innocent  she  died  ;  and  if  your  love 
(^an  labour  ought  in  sad  invention. 
Hang  her  an  epitaph  upon  her  tomb 
And  sing  it  to  her  bones,  sing  it  to-niffht : 
To-morrow  morning  come  you  to  my  house. 
And  since  you  could  not  be  my  son- in-law. 
Be  yet  my  nephew  :  my  brotl^r  hath  a  daughter. 
Almost  the  copy  of  my  child  tliat's  dead. 


843  MITCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [actt. 

And  slie  alone  is  heir  to  both  of  ns  : 

Give  her  the  right  you  should  have  given  her  cousin,      800 

And  so  dies  my  revenge. 

Claud,  O  noble  sir, 

Your  over-kindness  doth  wring  tears  from  mo  I 
I  do  embrace  vour  offer  ;  and  dispose 
For  lieDceforth  of  poor  Claud io. 

Leon.  To-morrow  then  I  will  expect  your  coming ; 
To-night  I  take  my  leave.     This  naughty  man 
Sliall  face  to  face  be  brought  to  Margaret, 
"Who  I  believe  was  pack'd  in  all  this  wrong. 
Hired  to  it  by  your  brother. 

Bora,  No,  by  my  soul,  she  was  not, 

Nor  knew  not  what  she  did  when  she  spoke  to  me,  810 

But  always  hath  been  just  and  virtuous 
In  any  thing  that  I  do  know  by  her. 

Dog,  Moreover,  sir,  which  indeed-  is  not  under  whit« 
and  black,  this  plaintiff  here,  the  offender,  did  call  me 
ass  :  I  beseecb  you,  let  it  be  remembered  in  his  punisliment. 
And  also,  the  watch  heard  tliem  talk  of  one  Defonned : 
they  say  he  wears  a  key  in  his  ear  and  a  lock  hang'.ng  by  it, 
and  borrows  money  in  God's  name,  the  which  he  hatli  used 
so  long  and  never  paid  that  now  men  grow  hard-hearted  and 
will  lend  notliing  for  God's  sake :  pray  you,  examine  him 
upon  that  point. 

Leon,  1  thank  theo  for  tby  care  and  honest  pains. 

Dog,  Your  worship  spt  aks  lilco  a  most  thankful  and  rev- 
erend youth  ;  and  I  praise  God  for  you. 

Leon.  There's  for  thy  pains. 

Dog„  God  save  the  foundation  I 

Leon,  Go,  I  discharge  tlieo  of  thy  prisoner,  and  I  thnnk 
thee. 

Dog.  I  leave  an  arrant  knave  with  your  worship  ;  which 
I  beseech  your  worship  to  correct  yourself  for  tlie  example 
of  others.  God  keep  your  worship  I  I  wish  your  woralnp 
well ;  God  restore  you  to  health  I  I  humbly  give  you  leavo 
to  depart ;  and  if  a  merry  meeting  may  bo  wished,  (iod  pro- 
hibit it  1    Come,  neighbour. 

[Rxermt  Dogberry  and  Verges, 

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. 

Leon.  \To  tJie  WateJi]  Bring  you  these  fellows  on.    We'll 
talk  with  Margaret,  8i0 

How  her  acquaintance  grew  jvith  this  lewd  fellow, 

[Ehxunt,  scDeraUy, 


flCKKBH.]       MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING;  84d 

ScEWB  II.    Leonato^s  garden. 

Enter  Benedick  and  Maroabet,  meeting. 

Bene.  Pray  tliee,  sweet  Mistress  Margaret,  deserve  well 
at  nw  hands  by  helping  mo  to  the  speec£  of  Beatrice. 

Marg.  Will  you  then  write  me  a  sonnet  in  praise  of  my 
beauty  ?        • 

Bene.  In  so  high  a  style,  Margaret,  that  no  man  living 
shall  come  over  it ;  for,  in  most  comely  truth,  thou  deservest 
it. 

Marg.  To  have  no  man  come  over  me  I  why,  shall  I  al- 
ways keep  below  stairs? 

Beru.  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,  Marcaret ;  it  will  not  hurt  a 
woman  :  and  so,  I  pray  thee,  call  Tteatrice* :  I  give  thee  the 
bucklers. 

Marg.  Give  us  the  swords ;  we  have  bucklers  of  our  own. 

Bene.  If  yon  uso  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. 

Bene,  And  therefore  will  come.  [Exit  Margaret 

[Sings}  The  god  of  love. 

That  sits  above. 
And  knows  me,  and  knows  me, 
How  pitiful  I  deserve, — 

I  mean  in  singing ;  but  in  loving,  Leander  the  good  swim- 
mer, Tiollus  the  first  employer  of  panders,  and  a  whole 
bookful  of  these  quondam  carpet-mongers,  whose  names 
yet  run  smoothly  in  the  even  road  of  a  blank  xerse,  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  bom  under  a  rhyming  planet,  nor  I  cannot  woo  in 
festival  terms.  41 

Enter  Beatrice. 

Sweet  Beatrice,  wouldst  thou  come  when  I  called  thee  ? 
Beat,  Yea,  signior,  and  depart  when  you  bid  me. 


844  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [act  v. 

Bene,  O,  stay  but  till  then  I 

Beat.  "Then"  is  spoken  ;  faro  you  well  now  :  and  yet, 
ere  I  go,  let  me  go  with  that  I  came  ;  which  is,  with  know- 
ing what  hath  passed  between  you  and  Claudio.  50 

Bene.  Only  foul  words  :  and  thereupon  I  will  kiss  thcc. 

Bent.  Foul  words  is  but  foul  wind,  and  foul  wind  is  but 
foul  breath,  and  foul  breath  is  noisome  ;  therefore  I  will  de- 
part unklssed. 

Bene.  Thou  hast  frighted  the  word  out  of  his  right  sense, 
so  forcible  is  thy  wit.  But  I  must  tell  thee  plainly,  Claudio 
undergoes  my  challenge  ;  and  either  I  must  shortly  hear 
from  him,  or  I  will  subscribe  him  a  coward.  And,  I  pray 
thee  now,  tell  me  for  which  of  my  bad  parts  didst  thou  first 
fall  in  love  with  me  ?  61 

Beat.  For  them  all  together  ;  which  maintained  so  politic 
a  state  of  evil  that  they  will  not  admit  any  good  part  to  in- 
termingle with  them.  But  for  which  of  my  good  parts  did 
you  first  suffer  love  for  me  ? 

Bene.  Suffer  love  !  a  good  ephithet  I  I  do  suffer  love  in- 
deed, for  I  love  thee  against  my  will. 

Beat.  In  spite  of  your  heart,  I  think  ;  alas,  poor  heart  1 
If  you  spite  it  for  my  sake,  I  will  spite  it  for  you  is  ;  for  I 
wiil  never  love  that  which  my  friend  hates. 

Be7ie.  Thou  and  I  are  too  wise  to  woo  peaceably. 

Beat.  It  appears  not  in  this  confession  :  there's  not  one 
wise  man  among  twenty  that  will  praise  himself. 

Bene.  An  old,  an  old  instance,  Beatrice,  that  lived  in  the 
time  of  good  neighbours.  If  a  man  do  not  erect  in  this  age 
his  own  tomb  ere  he  dies,  he  shall  live  no  longer  in  monu- 
ment than  the  bell  rings  and  the  widow  weeps. 

Beat.  And  how  long  is  that,  think  you  ? 

Bene.  Question  :  why,  an  hour  in  clamour  and  a  quarter 
in  rheum :  therefore  is  it  most  expedient  for  the  wise,  if 
Don  Worm,  his  conscience,  find  no  impediment  to  the  con- 
trary, to  be  the  trumpet  of  his  own  virtues,  as  I  am  to  myself. 
So  much  for  praising  myself,  who,  I  myself  will  bear  witness, 
is  praiseworthy  :  and  now  tell  me,  how  doth  your  cousin  ? 

Beat.  Very  ill. 

Bene.  And  how  do  you  ? 

Beat.  Very  ill  too. 

Ben-e.  Serve  God,  love  mo  and  mend.  There  will  I  leave 
you  too,  for  hero  comes  one  in  haste. 

Enter  Ursula. 

Urs.  Madam,  you  must  come  to  your  uncle.  Yonder's 
old  coil  at  home :  it  is  proved  my  Lady  Hero  hath  been 
falsely  accused,  the  prince  and  Claudio  mightily  abused ; 


BCENBin.]      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  345 

and  Don  Jolin  is  the  anthor  of  all,  who  is  fled  and  gone. 
Will  70a  come  presently? 

Beat.  Will  70U  go  hear  this  news»  signior? 

Bene,  I  will  live  in  thy  heart,  die  in  thy  lap  and  be  buried 
in  thy  eyes ;  and  moreover  I  will  go  with  thee  to  thy  uncle's. 

[Exmnt. 

Scene  HI.    A  elmreh. 

Enter  Don  Pedro,  Claudiq,  and  three  or  four  with  tapers. 

Claud.  Is  this  the  monument  of  Leonato  ? 

A  Lord.  It  is,  my  lord. 

Claud,  [Beading  out  o/a  scroll.] 

Done  to  death  by  slanderous  tongues 

Was  the  Hero  that  here  lies  : 
Death,  in  guerdon  of  her  wrongs. 

Gives  lier  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.  10 

Now,  music,  sound,  and  sing  your  solemn  hymn. 

Song. 

Pardon,  goddess  of  the  night, 
Those  that  slew  thv  virgin  knight ; 
For  the  which,  with  songs  of  woe. 
Round  her  tomb  they  go. 

Midnight,  assist  our  moan  ; 

Help  us  to  sigh  and  groan, 
Heavily,  heavily  : 

Graves,  yawn  and  vield  your  dead. 

Till  death  be  uttered,  20 

Heavily,  heavily. 

Claud.  Now,  unto  thy  bones  good  night  I 

Yearly  will  I  do  this  nte. 
D.  Pedro.  Good  morrow,  masters  ;  put  your  torches  out : 
The  wolves  have  prey'd  ;  and  look,  the  gentle  day. 
Before  the  wheels  of  Phcebus,  round  about 

Dapples  the  drowsy  east  with  spots  ol  grey. 
Thanks  to  you  all,  and  leave  us :  fare  you  well 

Claud.  Good  morrow,  masters :  each  his  several  way, 
D.  Pedro.  Come,  let  us  hence,  and  put  on  other  weeds  ; 
And  then  to  Leonato's  we  will  go.  81 


846  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  [act  T 

Claud,  And  HTmen  now  witli  luckier  issue  speed's 
Than  tliis  for  whom  we  rendered  up  this  woe.         [Exeunt, 

Scene  IV.    A  room  in  Leokato's  hatue. 

Enter  Leonato,  Antonio,  Benedick,  Beatrice,  Mabga- 
RET,  Ursula,  Friar  Francis,  and  Hero. 

FViar.  Did  I  not  tell  you  she  was  innocent  ? 

Leon,  So  are  the  prince  and  Clandio,  who  accused  her 
Upon  the  error  that  you  heard  debated  : 
But  Margaret  was  in  some  fault  for  this» 
Although  against  her  will,  as  it  appears 
In  the  true  course  oT  all  the  question. 

Ant.  Well,  I  am  glad  that  all  things  sort  so  well. 

Bene.  And  so  am  I,  being  else  by  faith  enforced 
To  call  young  Clandlo  to  a  reclconing  for  it.. 

Leon.  Well,  daughter,  and  you  gentlewomen  all,  10 

Withdraw  into  a  chamber  by  yourselves. 
And  when  I  send  for  you,  come  hither  mask'd. 

[Exeunt  Ladies, 
The  prince  and  Claudio  promised  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. 

Am.  Which  I  will  do  with  confirmed  countenance. 

Bene,  Friar,  I  must  entreat  your  pains,  I  think. 

Eriar,  To  do  what,  signior  ? 

Bene,  To  bind  me,  or  undo  me  ;  one  of  them.  20 

Signior  Leonato,  truth  it  is,  good  signior. 
Your  niece  regards  me  with  an  eye  of  favour. 

Leim,  That  eye  my  daughter  lent  her  :  'tis  most  true. 

Bene.  And  I  do  with  an  eye  of  love  requite  her. 

Leon.  The  sight  whereof  I  think  you  had  from  me. 
From  Clandio  and  the  prince :  but  what's  your  will? 

Bene.  Your  answer,  sir,  is  enigmatical : 
But,  for  my  will,  my  will  is  your  good  will 
May  stand  with  oure,  this  day  to  be  conjoined 
In  the  state  of  honourable  marriage  :  80 

In  which,  good  friar,  I  shall  desire  your  help. 

I^on.  Aiy  heart  is  with  your  liking. 

Friar.  And  my  help. 

Here  comes  the  prince  and  Claudio. 

^nter  Don  Pedro  and  Claudio,  and  two  or  three  others, 
D.  Pedro.  Good  morrow  to  tliis  fair  assemblv. 
Leon,  Good  morrow,  prince  ;  good  morrow,  (Jlaudio  : 
We  here  attend  you.    Are  you  yet  determined 


8CENRIV.J      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  347 

To-day  to  marry  with  my  brother's  daugliter  ? 

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's  the 
matter,  40 

That  you  have  such- a  February  face, 
So  full  of  frost,  of  storm  and  doudiness? 

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  50 

Much  like  to  you,  for  you  liave  just  his  bleat. 

Claud.  For  this  I  owe  you  :  here  comes  other  reckonings. 

Re-enter  Antonio,  toith  tlie  Ladies  marked. 

Which  is  the  lady  I  must  seize  upon  ? 

Ant.  This  same  is  she,  and  I  do  give  yon  her. 

Claud.  Why,  then  she's  mine.     Sweet,  let  me  see  your 
face. 

Leon.  No,  that  you  shall  not,  till  you  take  her  hand 
Before  this  friar  and  swear  to  marry^  her. 

Claud.  Give  me  your  hand  :  before  this  holy  friar, 
I  am  your  husband,  if  you  like  of  me. 

Hero.  And  w^en  I  lived,  I  was  your  other  wife  :  60 

[Unmasking. 
And  when  you  loved,  you  were  my  other  husband. 

Claud.  Another  Hero ! 

Hero.  Nothing  certainer : 

One  Hero  died  defiled,  bat  1  do  live, 
And  surely  as  I  live,  I  am  a  maid. 

2>.  Pedro.  The  former  Hero  I    Hero  that  is  dead  1 

Leon.  She  died,  my  lord,  but  whiles  her  slander  lived. 

Friar.  All  this  amazement  can  I  qualify ; 
When  after  that  the  holy  rites  are  ended, 
ru  tell  you  largely  of  fair  Hero's  death  : 
Meantime  let  wonder  seem  familiar,  70 

And  to  the  chapel  let  us  present! v. 

Bene.  Soft  and  fair,  friar.     Which  is  Beatrice  ? 

Beai.  [Unmasking]  1  answer  to  that  name.     What  is 
your  will  ? 

Bene.  Do  not  you  love  me? 

Beat,  Why,  no ;  no  more  than  reason. 


848  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHINO.  [act  v. 

Bene.  Wliy,  then  jour  nnde  and  the  prince  End  Claud io 
Have  been  deceived  ;  they  swore  you  did. 

Beat.  Do  not  you  love  me  ? 

Bene.  Troth,  no ;  no  more  than  reason. 

Beat.  Why,  then  my  cousin  Margaret  and  Ursula 
Are  much  deceived  ;  for  they  did  swear  you  did. 

Bene.  They  swore  that  you  were^almost  sick  for  me.    80 

Beat.  They  swore  that  you  were  well-nigh  dead  for  me. 

Bene.  'Tis.  no  such  matter.     Then  you  do  not  love  me  ? 

Beat.  No,  truly,  but  in  friendly  recompense. 

Leon.  Come,  cousin,  I  am  sure  you  love  the  gentleman. 

Claud.  And  I'll  be  sworn  upon't  that  he  loves  her ; 
For  here's  a  paper  written  in  Ills  own  hand, 
A  halting  sonnet  of  his  own  pure  brain, 
Fashion'd  to  Beatrice. 

Hero.  And  here's  another 

Writ  in  my  cousin's  hand,  stolen  from  her  pocket, 
Containing  her  affection  unto  Benedick.  90 

Bene.  A  miracle  1  here's  our  own  hands  against  our 
hearts.  Come,  I  will  have  thee  ;  but,  by  this  light,  I  take 
thee  for  pity. 

BecU.  I  would  not  deny  you ;  but,  by  this  good  day,  I 
yield  upon  great  persuasion  ;  and  partly  to  save  your  life, 
for  I  was  told  you  were  in  a  consumption. 

Bene.  Peace  I  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  ilout  me  out  of  my  humour.  Dost  thou  think  I  care 
for  a  satire  or  an  epigram?  No:  if  a  man  will  be  beaten 
with  brains,  a'  shall  wear  nothing  handsome  about  him.  In 
brief,  since  I  do  purpose  to  marry,  I  will  think  nothing  to 
any  purpose  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  conclusion.  For  thy 
part,  Claudio,  I  did  think  to  have  bcAten  thee ;  but  in  that 
thou  art  like  to  be  my  kinsman,  live  unbruiaed  and  love  my 
cousin. 

Claud.  I  had  well  hoped  thou  wpnldst  have  denied  Beat- 
rice, that  I  might  have  cudgelled  thee  out  of  thy  single  life; 
to  make  thee  a  double-dealer  ;  which,  out  of  question,  thou 
wilt  be,  if  my  cousin  do  not  look  exceeding  narrowly  to 
thee. 

Bene.  Come,  come,  we  are  friends  .  let's  have  a  dance  ere 
we  are  married,  that  we  may  lighten  our  own  hearts  and 
our  wives*  heels.  ,  121 

Leon,  We'll  have  dancing  afterward. 

Bene,  First,  of  my  word ;  therefore  play,  music.    Prince, 


BCKNEiv.]      MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  849 

thou  art  sad ;  get  thee  a  wife,  get  thee  a  wife  :  there  is  no 
staff  more  reverend  than  one  tipped  with  horn. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Me».  M7  lord,  your  brother  John  is  ta'en  in  flight, 
And  brought  with  armed  men  back  to  Messina. 

Bene.  Think  not  on  him  till  to-morrow  :  I'll  devise  thee 
brave  punishments  for  him.     Strike  up,  pipers.  180 

[Dance,    Exeunt. 


lOYE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


DRAMATIS  PERSON-aS. 

PkriAnaxd,  king  of  NtTarre.  Costabd,  a  down. 

BzBfON,  i  1  ^      ««    ^«  Moth,  pa^e  to  Atmada 

LoNOATiLUS,  PordB  attending  on  ^  ForUter. 

DiniAiN,       f    the  King. 

BoTETt       i  lords  attending;  on  the  The  Paincess  of  France. 

Mebcadb,  i     Prlnceu  of  France.  B<ie aline,     ) ,  ,.        ^^     ,. 

Dow  AoiUANO  DB  Arm  ADO,  a  fan-  Maria,  P*°*!?  attending  on 

tastical  Spaniard-  Katharinb,  )        the  Princess. 

8iB  Nathaniel,  a  curate.  Ja^sitkkktta,  a  country  wench. 
HoLOFERNEs,  a  BchooliiiaBter. 
Dull,  a  constable.  Iiorda,  Attendants,  Ac 

Scene  :  Natarre, 

ACT  I. 

Scene  I.     TJu  king  of  Natarre^s  pari', 

Enter  Febdinand,  kingfof  Navarre,  Biron,  Lonoavillb. 

and  Du&LAiK.     . 

King.  Let  fame,  tlmt  all  hunt  after  in  tlieir  lives, 
Live  register'd  upon  our  brazen  tombs 
And  then  grar*«  us  in  the  disgrace  of  death  ; 
When,  spite  of  cormorant  devouring  Time, 
The  endeavour  of  this  present  breath  may  buy 
That  honour  which  shall  bate  his  scythe's  keen  edge 
And  make  us  heirs  of  all  eternity. 
Therefore,  bravo  conquemrs, — for  so  you  are. 
That  war  against  your  own  affections 

And  the  huge  army  of  the  world's  desires, —  10 

Our  late  edict  shall  strongly  stand  in  force  ; 
Navarre  shall  be  the  wonder  of  the  world  j 
Our  court  shall  be  a  little  Academe, 
Still  and  contemplative  in  living  art. 
You  three,  Biron,  Dumain,  and  Longaville, 
Have  sworn  for  three  years'  term  to  live  with  me 
My  fellow-scholars  and  to  keep  those  statutes 

(  860  ) 


BCBNB  l]  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  851 

That  are  recorded  in  this  schedale  here  : 

Your  oaths  are  pass'd  ;  and  now  subscribe  yonr  names, 

That  his  own  hand  may  sti-ike  his  honour  down  20 

Tliat  violates  the  smallest  branch  herein  : 

If  you  are  arm'd  to  do  as  sworn  to  do, 

Subscribe  to  your  deep  oaths,  and  keep  it  too. 

Long.  I  am  resolved  ;  '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 :  80 

To  k)ve,  to  wealth,  to  pomp,  I  pine  and  die  ; 
With  all  these  living  in  philosophy. 

Biron.  I  can  but  say  their'  protestation  over ; 
So  much,  dear  liege,  I  have  already  sworn, 
That  is,  to  live  and  study  here  three  years. 
But  there  are  other  strict  ob  ervances  ; 
As,  not  to  see  a  woman  in  that  term. 
Which  I  hope  wpU  is  not  enrolled  there  ; 
And  one  day  in  a  week  to  touch  no  food 
And  but  one  meal  on  every  day  beside,  40 

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  hann  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  %o  se » ladies,  study,  fast,  not  sleep  I  * 

King.  Your  oath  is  pass'd  to  pass  away  from  these 

Biron.  Let  me  say  no,  my  liege,  an  if  you  please  :  50 

I  only  swore  to  study  with  your  grace 
And  stay  here  in  your  court  for  three  years'  spnco. 

Long.  You  swore  to  that,  Biron,  and  to  the  rest. 

Biron.  By  yea  and  nay,  sir,  then  I  swore  in  jest. 
What  is  the  end  of  study  ?  let  me  know. 

King.  W!iy ,  that  to  know,  which  else  weshould  not  know. 

Biron.  Things  hid  and  barr'd,  you  mean,  from  common 
sense? 

King.  Ay,  that  is  study's  god -like  recompense. 

Biron.  <>)me  on,  then  ;  I  will  swear  to  study  so, 
To  know  the  thing  I  am  forbid  to  know  :  60 

As  thus, — V>  study  where  I  well  may  dine. 

When  I  to  feast  expressly  am  forbid  ; 
Or  study  where  to  meet  some  mistress  fine. 


353  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  fACTl. 

• 

When  mistresses  from  common  sense  are  liid ; 
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  70 

And  train  our  intellects  to  vain  delight. 

Biron,  Why,  all  delights  are  vain  ;  but  that  most  vain, 
Which  with  pain  purchased  doth  inlierit  pain  : 
As,  painfully  to  pore  upon  a  book 

To  seek  the  light  of  truth  ;  while  truth  the  while 
Doth  falsely  blind  the  eyesight  of  his  look  : 

Light  seeking  light  doth  light  of  light  beguile  : 
So,  ere  you  find  where  light  in  darkness  lies. 
Your  light  grows  dark  by  losing  of  your  eyes 
Study  me  how  to  please  the  eye  indeed  SO 

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 
Study  is  like  the  heaven's  glorious  sun 

That  will  not  be  deep-search'd  with  sauty  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  90 

Than  those  that  walk  and  wot  not  what  they  are. 
Too  much  to  know  is  to  know  nought  but  fame  ; 
And  everv  godfather  can  give  a  name. 

King.  How  well  he's  read,  to  reason  against  reading  I 

Dum.  Proceeded  well,  to  stop  all  good  proceeding 

Long.  He  weeds  tlie  com  and  still  lets  grow  the  weeding. 

Biron.  The  spring  is  near  when  green  geese  are  a-breed- 
ing. 

Dum.  How  follows  that? 

Biron.  Fit  in  his  place  and  time 

Dum.  In  reason  nothing. 

Biron,  Something  then  in  rhyme. 

King.  Biron  is  like  an  envious  sueapin&f  fi-ost   "  100 

That  bites  the  first  bom  infants  of  the  spring. 

Biron.  Well,  say  I  am  ;  why  should  proud  summer  boast 
Before  tlie  birds  have  any  cause  to  sing  t 
Why  should  I  joy  in  any  abortive  birth  ? 
At  Christmas  I  no  niore  desire  a  rose 
Than  wish  a  snow  in  May's  new-fangled  mirth'; 
But  like  of  each  thing  that  in  season  grows. 


8CENEI.]  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  858 

So  you  •to  study  now  it  is  too  late,. 

Climb  o'er  the  bouse  to  unlock  the  little  gate. 

King.  Well,  sit  you  out :  go  home,  Biron  :  adieu.         110 

Biroii.  No.  my  good  lord  ;  I  have  sworn  to  stay  with  you: 
And  though  I  have  for  barbarism  spoke  more 

Tlian  for  that  angel  knowledge  you  can  say, 
Yet  confident  Til  keep  what  I  have  swore 

And  bide  the  penance  of  each  thi'ee  years'  day. 
Give  me  the  paper  ;  let  mo  read  the  same  ; 
And  to  the  strict'st  decrees  I'll  write  my  name. 

King,  How  well  this  yielding  rescues  thee  from  shame  ! 

Btron.  [reads]  "  Item,  That  no  woman  shall  come  within 
a  mile  of  my  conrt :"  ILs^th  this  been  proclaimed  t  121 

Long.  Four  days  ago. 

Biron.  Let's  soe  the  penalty.     \Read9]  "  On  pain  of  los- 
ing her  tongue."     Who  devised  this  jienalty  ? 

Long.  Marry,  that  did  I. 

Biron.  Sweet  lord,  and  why? 

Long.  To  fright  them  hence  with  that  dread  penalty. 

Biron.  A  dangerous  law  against  gentility  I 

[Readfi]  **  Item,  If  any  man  be  seen  to  talk  with  a  woman 
within  the  term  of  three  years,  lie  shall  endure  snch  public 
shame  as  the  rest  of  the  court  can  possibly  devise." 
This  article,  my  liege,  yourself  must  break ; 

For  well  you  know  here  conies  in  embassy 
The  French  king  s  daughter  with  yourself  to  speak — 

A  maid  of  grace  and  complete  majesty — 
About  surrender  up  of  Aquitaine 

To  her  decrepit,  sick  and  bedrid  father  : 
Therefore  this  article  is  raado  in  vain,  140 

Or  vainly  comers  the  admiretl  princess  hither. 

King.  What  say  you,  lords  ?  why,  this  was  quite  foigot. 

Biron.  So  study  eveimoro  is  overshot : 
While  it  doth  study  to  have  what  it  would 
It  doth  forget  to  do  the  thing  it  should, 
And  when  it  hath  the  thing  it  hunteth  most, 
'Tis  won  as  towns  with  fire,  so  won,  so  lost. 

King.  We  must  of  force  dispense  with  this  decree  ; 
She  must  lie  here  on  mere  necessity. 

Biron.  Necessity  will  make  us  all  forsworn  150 

Three  thousand  times  within  this  three  years'. space  ; 
For  every  man  with  his  affects  is  bom. 

Not  by  might  master'd  but  by  special  gmce  : 
If  I  break  faith,  this  word  shall  speak  for  me  ; 
I  am  forsworn  on  **  mere  necessity." 
80  to  the  laws  at  larg^  I  write  my  name  .  [8tiba^ribes» 

And  he  that  breaks  them  in  the  least  degree 
8HAK.   I. — 12 


854  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  [act  i.     - 

Stands  in  attainder  of  eternal  sliame  : 

Suggestions  are  to  other  as  to  me  ; 
But  I  believe,  although  I  seem  so  loath »  160 

I  am  the  last  that  will  last  keep  his  oath. 
But  is  there  no  quick  recreation  granted? 

King.  Ay,  that  there  is.  Our  court,  you  know,  is  haunted 

With  a  refined  traveller  of  Spain  ; 
A  man  in  all  the  world's  new  fashion  planted, 

Tliat  hath  a  mint  of  phrases  in  his  brain  ; 
One  whom  the  music  of  his  own  vnin  tongue 

Doth  ravish  like  enchanting  harmony  ; 
A  man  of  complements,  whom  right  and  wrong 

Have  chose  as  umpire  of  their  mutiny  :  170 

This  child  of  fancy  that  Armado  hight 

For  interim  to  oar  studies  shall  relate 
In  high-born  words  the  woAh  of  many  a  knight 

From  tawny  Spain  lost  in  the  world's  debate. 
How  vou  delight,  my  lords,  I  know  not,  I ; 
But,  i  protest,  I  love  to  hear  him  lie 
And  I  will  use  him  for  my  minstrelsy. 

Biron.  Armado  is  a  most  illustrious  wight, 
A  man  of  fire-now  words,  fashion  s  own  knight. 

Long.  Costard  the  swain  and  he  shall  be  our  sport ;  180 
And  so  to  study,  three  years  is  but  short. 

EiUer  Dull  tcUh  a  letter,  and  Costard. 

I>iiU.  Which  is  the  duke's  own  person  ? 

Biron,  This,  fellow ;  what  wouldst  ? 

DuU,  I  myself  reprehend  his  own  person,  for  I  am  his 
grace's  tharborough :  but  I  would  see  his  own  person  in 
nesli  and  blood. 

Biron.  This  is  he. 

DuU.  Signior  Arm© — Arme— commends  you.  There's  vil- 
lany  abroad  :  this  letter  will  tell  you  more.  190 

CW.  Sir,  the  contempts  thereof  are  as  touching  me. 

King.   A  letter  from  the  magnificent  Armado. 

Biron.  How  low  soever  the  matter,  1  hope  in  God  for 
high  words. 

Long.  A  high  hope  for  a  low  heaven  :  God  grant  us  pa- 
tience I 

Biron.  To  hear  ?  or  forbear  laughing  ? 

Long.  To  hear  meekly,  sir,  and  to  laugh  moderately  ;  or 
to  forbear  both.  200 

Biron.  Well,  sir,  be  it  as  the  style  shall  give  us  cause  to 
climb  in  the  merriness. 

Go9t.  The  matter  is  to  me,  air,  as  concerning  Jaquenetta. 
The  manner  of  It  is,  I  was  taken  with  the  manner. 


scjfiNEL]  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  355 

Biron.  In  what  manner? 

Casi.  In  manner  and  form  following,  sir ;  all  those  three  ' 
I  was  seen  with  her  in  the  manor-house,  sitting  with  her 
I  upon  the  form,  and  taken  following  her  into  the  park  ; 
whicli,  put  together,  is  in  manner  and  form  following. 
Now,  sir,  for  the  manner, — it  is  the  manner  of  a  man  to 
speak  to  a  woman  :  for  the  form, — In  seme  form. 

Biron,  For  the  following,  sir  ? 

Cott.  As  it  shall  follow  in  my  correction  :  and  God  defend 
the  right  1 

King.  Will  you  hear  this  letter  with  attention? 

Biron.  As  we  would  hear  an  oracle. 

Gott.  Such  is  the  simplicity  of  man  to  hearken  after  the 
flesh.  220 

ICinff  [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. 

Xing  [reads].  '*  So  it  is, — 

Cosi.  It  may  be  so  :  but  if  he  say  it  is  so,  he  is,  in  tilling 
true,  but  so. 

King.  Peace! 

Cost.  Be  to  me  and  every  man  that  dares  not  fight  1     230 

King.  No  words  I 

Cost.  Of  other  men's  secrets,  I  beseech  you. 

King  [reads].  "  So  it  is,  besieged  with  sable-ooloured 
melancholy,  I  did  commend  the  black-oppressing  humour 
to  the  most  wholesome  physic  of  tliy  health-giving  air;  and, 
as  I  am  a  gentleman,  betook  myself  to  walk.  The  time 
when.  AlMut  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  thy  park.  Then  for  the  place  where ;  where, 
I  mean,  I  did  encounter  that  obscene  and  most  preposter 
ous  event,  that  dravveth  from  my  snow,  white  pen  the  ebon- 
coloured  ink,  which  here  thou  vie  west,  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 :  there  did  I  see  that  low-spirited  swain, 
that  base  minnow  of  thv  mirth," —  251 

Cost.  Me? 

King  [reads].  "  that  |inletterp4  small-knowing  soul," — 

Cost.     Me  ? 

King  [reads].     "  that  shallow  vassal," — 

Cost.  Still  me? 

Kiin^  [r£ads].     **  which,  as  I  remember,  hight  Costard,— 


356  LOVE'S  LABOrirS  liOST.  f  act  i. 

Cost.  O,  me  !  260 

Kvig  \read4i\.  "sorted  and  consorted,  contrary  to  thy  es- 
tablislica  proclaimed  edict  and  continent  canon,  wiiicli 
with,— O,  with — but  with  this  I  passion  to  say  where- 
with."— • 

Ctt^.  With  a  wench. 

King  [reads].  '*  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,  Anthony  Dull ;  a  man  of  good  repute,  car- 
TXSLgQy  bearing,  and  estimation." 

l>uU.  Me,  an  't  shall  please  you  ;  I  am  Anthony  Dull. 

King  \reads\.  **  For  Jaquenetta. — ^so  is  the  weidter  vessel 
called  which  1  apprehended  with  the  aforesaid  swain, — I 
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  Adrian  o  de  Arm  ado." 

Biroti,  This  is  not  so  well  as  I  looked  for,  but  the  best 
that  ever  I  heard. 

King.  Ay,  the  best  for  the  worst.  But,  sirrah,  what  say 
you  to  this? 

Cogt.  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  wrench.  290 

Cost.  I  was  taken  with  none,  sir  :  I  was  taken  with  a 
damsel. 

King.   Well,  it  was  proclaimed  "damsel." 

Cost.  This  was  no  damsel  neither,  sir  ;  she  was  a  virgin. 

King,  It  is  so  varied  too  ;  for  it  was  proclaimed  *'  virgin." 

Cost.  If  it  were,  I  deny  her  virginity  :  I  was  taken  with  a 
maid. 

King.  This  maid  will  not  servo  your  turn,  sir.  800 

Cost.  This  maid  will  serve  my  turn,  sir. 

King.  Sir,  I  will  pronounce  your  sentence ;  you  shall 
fast  a  week  with  bran  and  water. 

Cost.  I  had  rather  pray  a  month  with  mutton  and  por- 
ridge. • 

King.  And  Don  Armado  shall  be  your  keeper. 
My  Lord  Biron,  see  him  deliver'd  o'er  : 
And  go  we,  lords,  to  put  in  practice  that 

Which  each  to  other  hath  so  strongly  sworn. 

\JBiJDeunt  King,  LongaviUe,  and  Dumain. 


SCENE  II.]  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  857 

Biron.  ^I'll  lay  my  head  to  any  pood  man's  hat, 
These  oaths  and  laws  will  prove  an  idle  scorn. 
Sirrah,  come  on. 

Co^.  I  suffer  for  the  truth,  sir ;  for  true  it  is,  I  was 
taken  with  Jaquenetta,  and  Jaquenetta  is  a  true  girl ;  and 
therefore  welcome  the  sour  cup  of  prosperity !  Affliction 
may  one  day  smile  again ;  and  till  then,  sit  thee  down, 
sorrow  I  [Exeunt. 

Scene  II.     Ih^  same. 

Enter  Arhado  and  Moth. 

Arm.  Boy,  what  sign  is  it  when  a  man  of  great  spirit 
grows  melancholy  ?  •     * 

Moth.  Afi^reat  sign,  sir,  that  he  will  look  sad. 

Arm.  Why,  sadness  is  one  and  the  self-same  thing,  dear 
imp. 

Moth.  No,  no ;  O  Lord,  sir,  no. 

Arm.  How  canst  thou  part  sadness  and  melancholy,  my 
tender  juvenal  ? 

Moth.  By  a  familiar  demonstration  of  the  working,  my 
tough  senior.  10 

Arm.  Why  tough  senior  ?  why  tough  senior  ? 

Moth.  Why  tender  juvenal  ?  why  tender  juvenal  ? 

Arm.  I  spoke  it,  tender  juvenal,  as  a  congruent  epitheton 
appertaining  to  thy  young  days,  which  we  may  nominate 
tender. 

Moth.  And  I,  tough  senior,  as  an  appertinent  title  to  your 
old  time,  which  we  may  name  tough. 

Arm.  Pretty  and  apt. 

Moth.  How  mean  you,  sir  ?  I  pretty,  and  my  saying  apt  ? 
or  I  apt,  and  my  saying  pretty  ? 

Arm.  Thou  pretty,  because  little. 

Moth.  Little  pretty,  l)ecanse  little.     Wherefore  apt  ? 

Arm.  And  therefore  apt,  because  quick. 

Moih.  Speak  yon  this  in  my  praise,  master  ? 
"     Arm.  In  thy  condign  praise. 

Math.  I  will  praise  an  eel  with  the  same  praise. 

Arm.  What,  that  an  eel  is  ingenious? 

Moth.  That  an  eel  is  quick.  80 

Arm.  I  do  say  thoa  art  quick  in  answers  :  thou  heateet 
my  blood. 

Moth.  I  am  answered,  sir. 

Arm.  I  love  not  to  be  crossed. 

Moth.  [Aeide^  He  speaks  the  mere  contrary  ;  crosses  love 
not  him. 

Arm.  I  have  promised  to  study  three  years  with  the  duke. 


85d  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  [actl 

Moth.  Ton  may  do  it  in  an  hour,  sir. 

Arm.  Impossible.  40 

Moth.  IIow  manv  is  one  thrice  told  ? 

Arm.  I  am  ill  at  reckoning  ;  it  fitteth  the  spirit  of  a  tap- 
ster. 

Moth,  Tou  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  do  call  three. 

Arm,  True. 

Moth.  Why,  sir,  is  this  such"  a  piece  of  study  ?  Now  here 
is  tliree  studied,  ere  ye'U  thrice  wink  :  and  how  easy  it  is  to 
put  *'  years  "  to  the  word  **  three,"  and  study  three  years  in 
two  words,  the  dancing  horse  will  tell  you. 

Arm.  A  most  fine  figure  ! 

Motk,  To  prove  you  a  cipher.  59 

Arm.  I  will  hereupon  confess  I  am  in  lovt^ :  and  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 
aifection  would  deliver  me  from  the  reprobate  thought  of 
it,  I  would  take  Desire  prisoner,  and  ransom  him  to  any 
Firench  courtier  for  a  new-devised  courtesy.  1  think 
scorn  to  sigh  :  methinks  I  should  outs  wear  Cupid.  Com- 
fort me,  boy:  what  great  men  have  been  in  love? 

Moth.  Hercules,  master. 

Arm.  Most  sweet  Hercules !  More  authority,  dear  boy, 
name  more ;  and,  sweet  my  child,  let  them  be  men  of 
good  repute  and  carriage. 

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  he  Was  in  love. 

Arm.  O  well-knit  Samson  I  strong-jointed  Samson  !  I  do 
excel  thee  in  my  rapier  as  much  as  thou  didst  me  in 
carrying  gates.  I  am  in  Icrve  too.  Who  was  Samson's 
love,  my  dear  Moth?  80 

Moth.  A  woman,  master. 

Arm.  Of  what  complexion? 

Moth.  Of  all  the  four,  or  the  three,  or  the  two,  or  one 
of  the  four. 

Arm.  Tell  me  precisely  of  what  complexion? 

Moth.  Of  the  sea- water  green,  sir. 

Arm.  Is  that  one  of  the  four  complexions? 

Moth.  As  I  have  read,  sir ;  and  the  best  of  them  tooi 

Arm,  Green  indeed  is  the  color  of  lovers ;  bat  to  hara 


SCENE  XI.]         LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOS'r,  SSO 

a  love  of  that  colour,  methinks  Samson  had  small  reason 
for  it.     He  surely  affected  her  for  her  wit. 

Moth.  It  was  so,  sir ;  for  she  had  a  green  wit. 

A  rm.  My  love  is  most  immaculate  white  and  red 

Moth.  Most  maculate  thoughts,  master,  are  masked  under 
such  colours. 

Arm.  Define,  define,  well-educated  infant. 

Moth.  My  father's  wit  and  my  mother's  tongue,  assist 
me !  101 

Artn.  Sweet  invocation  of  a  child  ;  most  pretty  and  pa- 
thetical  !* 

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  yoQ  shall  not  know. 
For  still  her  cheeks  possess  the  same 
Which  native  she  doth  owe.  Ill 

A  dangerous  rhyme,  master,  against  the  reason  of  wlilte  and 
red. 

Arm.  Is  there  not  a  ballad,  boy,  of  the  King  and  the 
Beggar  ? 

Sfath.  The  world  was  very  guilty  of  such  a  ballad  some 
three  ages  since  :  but  I  think  now  'tis  not  to  be  found  ;  or, 
if  It  were,  it  would  neither  serve  for  the  writing  nor  the 
tune. 

Arm.  I  will  liave  that  subject  newly  wril^o'er,  that  I  may 
example  my  digression  by  some  mighty  precedent.  Boy,  I 
do  k>ve  that  country  girl  that  I  took  in  the  park  with  the 
rational  hind  Costard  :  she  deserves  well. 

Moth.  [Aside]  To  be  wliipped  ;  and  yet  a  better  love  than 
my  master. 

A  rm.  Sing,  boy  ;  my  spirit  grows  heavy  in  love. 

Moth.  And  that's  great  mar^'el,  loving  a  light  wench. 

Arm.  I  say,  sing.  190 

Moth.  Forbear  till  this  company  be  past. 

Enter  Dull,  Ck>STAiu>,  and  Jaquenetta. 

DuU.  Sir,  the  duke's  pleasure  is,  that  you  keep  Costard 
safe :  and  you  must  suifer  him  to  take  no  delight  nor  no 
penance ;  but  a'  must  fast  three  days  a  week.  For  this 
damsel,  1  must  keep  her  at  the  park  :  she  is  allowed  for  the 
day- woman.     Fare  you  well. 

Arm.  I  do  betray  myself  with  blushing.    Maid  ! 

c/o^.  Man? 

Arm.  1  will  visit  thee  at  the  lodge.  14.0 


860  IiOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  [actl 

Jaq,  That's  hereby. 

Arm,  I  know  where  it  is  sitaote. 

Jaq,  Lord,  how  wise  you  are  I 

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  i 

Dull.  Come,  Jaquenetta,  away  !  150 

[Exeunt  Dull  and  Jaqu^netta. 

Arm.  Villain,  thou  shalt  fast  for  thy  offences  ere  thou  be 
pardoned. 

Cod,  Well,  sir,  I  hope,  when  I  do  it,  I  shall  do  it  on  a 
full  stomach. 

Arm.  Thou  slialt  be  heavily  punished. 

Cost.  I  am  more  bound  to  you  than  your  fellows,  for  they 
are  but  lightly  rewarded. 

Arm,  Take  awny  this  villain  ;  shut  him  up. 

Moth,  Come,  you  transgressing  slave  ;  away  !  100 

Cost.  Let  me  not  be  pent  up,  sir  :  I  will  fast,  bein^ loose. 

Motfu  No,  sir ;  that  were  fast  and  loose :  thou  shalt  to 
prison. 

Cost.  Well,  if  ever  I  do  see  the  merry  days  of  desolation 
that  I  have  seen,  some  shall  see. 

Moth.  What  shall  some  see  ? 

Cost.  Nay,  nothing.  Master  Moth,  btit  what  they  look 
npon.  It  is  not  for  prisoners  to  be  too  silent  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. 

[Ejteunt  Moth  and  Costard. 

Arm.  I  do  affect  the  very  ground,  which  is  base,  whore 
her  shoe,  which  is  baser,  guided  by  her  foot,  which  is  basest, 
doth  tread.  I  shall  be  forsworn,  which  is  a  great  argument 
of  falsehood,  if  I  love.  And  how  can  that  be  true  love 
which  is  falsely  attempted?  Love  is  a  familiar  ;  Love  is  a 
devil ;  there  is  no  evil  angel  but  Love.  Yet  was  Samson 
so  tempted,  and  he  had  an  excellent  strength  ;  yet  was  Solo- 
mon so  seduced,  and  he  had  a  very  good  wit.  Cnpid's  butt- 
shaft  is  too  hard  for  Hercules'  club  ;  and  therefore  too  much 
odds  for  a  Spaniard's  rapier.  The  first  and  second  cause 
will  not  serve  my  turn ;  the  passado  he  respects  not,  the 
duello  he  regards  not :  his  disgrace  is  to  be  called  boy  ;  liut 
his  glory  is  to  subdue  men.  Adieu,  valour  I  ru8t,  i-apier  I 
be  still,  drum  !  for  your  manager  is  in  love  ;  ye*,  he  loveth. 
Assist  me,  some  extemporal  god  of  rhyme,  for  I  am  sure  I 
shall  tarn  sonnet.  Devise,  wit ;  write,  pen  \  for  I  am  for 
whole  volumes  in  folio.  [ExU, 


BCBNBI.]  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.         .  861 

ACT  IL 

Scene  I.    The  same. 

Enter  the  Princess  of  France,  Bosaline,  Maria,  Eatha- 
KINE,  BOYET,  Lords,  and  other  Attendants. 

Boyet.  Now,  madam,  summon  up  your  dearest  spirits  : 
Consider  who  the  king  your  fatlier  sends, 
To  wliom  he  sends,  and  what's  his  embassy  : 
Yourself,  held  precious  in  the  world's  esteem. 
To  parley  with  the  sole  inheritor 
Of  all  perfections  tliat  a  man  may  owe. 
Matchless  Navarre  ;  the  plea  of  no  less  weight 
Than  Aquitaine,  a  dowry  for  a  queen. 
Be  now  as  prodigal  of  all  dear  grace 

As  Nature  was  in  making  graces  dear  10 

When  she  did  starve  the  general  world  beside 
And  prodigally  gave  them  all  to  yon. 

Piiii.  (iood  I^rd  Boyet,  my  beauty,  though  but  mean. 
Needs  not  the  painted  flourish  of  your  praise  : 
Beauty  is  lM>ugnt  by  judgement  of  the  eye. 
Not  ntter'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,  20 

You  are  not  ignorant,  all-telling  fame 
Doth  noise  abroad,  Navarre  hatli  made  a  vt>w, 
Till  painful  study  shall  outwear  three  years, 
No  woman  may  approach  his  silent  court : 
Therefore  to 's  seemeth  it  a  needful  course. 
Before  we  enter  his  forbidden  gates. 
To  know  his  pleasure  ;  and  in  that  behalf, 
Bold  of  your  worthiness,  we  single  you 
As  our  best- moving  fair  solicitor, 
'  Tell  him,  the  daughter  of  the  King  of  France,  80 

On  serious  business,  craving  quick  dispatch. 
Importunes  personal  conference  with  his  grace  : 
Haste,  signify  so  mudi  ;  while  we  attend. 
Like  humble-visaged  suitors,  his  high  will. 

Boyet,  Proud  of  employment,  willingly  I  go. 

Prin.  All  pride  is  willing  pride,  and  yours  is  so. 

{Exit  Boyet. 
Who  are  the  votaries,  my  loving  lords. 
That  are  vow-fellows  with  this  virtuous  duke  ? 

Firti  Lord.  Lord  Longaville  is  oce. 


869  -        LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  [actii. 

Prin.  Know  yon  the  man  ? 

Ma7\  I  know  liim,  madam  :  at  a  manias e-feast,  40 

Between  Lord  Perigort  and  the  beauteous  heir 
Of  Jaques  Falconbridge,  solemnized 
In  Normandy,  saw  I  Uiis  Lonpiville  : 
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  malch'd  with  too  blunt  a  will ; 
Whose  edge  hath  power  to  cat,  wliose  will  still  wiUa        50 
It  should  none  spare  that  come  within  his  power. 

Prin,  Some  merry  mocking  lord,  belike  ;  is  't  so? 

Mar.  Thev  say  so  most  that  most  his  humours  know. 

Prin.  Such  short-lived  wits  do  wither  as  they  grow. 
Wlio  are  the  rest  ? 

Kath.  The  young  Dumain,  a  well-accomplished  youth. 
Of  all  that  virtue  love  for  virtue  loved  : 
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  ha^  no  wit.  00 

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  wortliiness. 

Has.  Another  of  these  students  at  that  time 
Was  there  with  him,  if  I  have  heard  a  truth. 
Biron,  they  call  him  ;  but  a  merrier  man. 
Within  the  limit  of  becoming  mirth, 
I  never  spent  an  hour's  talk  withal  : 
His  eye  begets  occasion  for  his  wit ; 

For  every  object  that  the  one  doth  catch  70 

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.  Qod  bless  my  ladies  !  are  they  all  in  love, 
Tliat  every  one  her  own  hath  garnisheid 
With  such  bedecking  ornaments  of  praise  ? 

Firti  Lard,  Here  comes  Boyet 

Re-enter  Boyet. 

Prin,  Now,  what  admittance,  lord  ?  80 

Boyet,  Navarre  had  notice  of  your  fair  approach  ; 
And  ne  and  his  competitors  in  oath 


■CJBNBL]  LOVETS  LABOUB'S  LOST.  863 

Were  all  address'd  to  meet  joa,  gentle  lady. 
Before  I  came.    Marry,  thus  mach  I  have  learnt : 
He  rather  means  to  lodge  you  in  tlie  field, 
Like  one  that  comes  here  to  braiege  his  court, 
Than  seek  a  dispensation  for  his  oath, 
To  let  you  enter  his  unpeopled  house. 
Here  comes  Navarre. 

£hUer  King,  Longayille,  Dumaut,  Bibok,  and  Attendants. 

JSing.  Fair  princess,  welcome  to  the  court  of  Navarre.  90 

Prin,  "Fair"  I  give  you  back  again  ;  and  **  welcome'* 
I  have  not  yet :  the  roof  of  this  court  is  too  high  to  he 
yours  ;  and  welcome  to  the  wide 'fields  too  base  to  be  mine. 

King,  You  shall  be  wekx>me,  madam,  to  my  court. 

Frin.  I  will  be  welcome,  then  :  conduct  me  thither. 

King.  Hear  me,  dear  lady  ;  I  liave  sworn  an  oath. 

PHti,  Our  Lady  help  mv  lord  !  he'll  be  forsworn. 

King.  Not  for  the  world,  fair  madam,  by  my  will 

Prin.  Why,  will  shall  break  it ;  wiil  and  nothing  else. 

King.  Your  ladyship  is  ignorant  wliat  it  is.  101 

Prin.  Were  my  lord  so,  his  ignorance  were  wise, 
Where  now  his  knowledge  must  prove  ignorance. 
I  hear  youT  grace  hatli  sworn  out  house-keeping  : 
'Tis  deadly  sin  to  keep  that  oath,  my  lord. 
And  sin  to  break  it. 
But  pardon  me,  I  am  too  sudden-bold : 
To  teach  a  teacher  ill  beseemeth  me. 
Vouchsafe  to  read  the  purpose  of  my  coming, 
And  suddenly  resolve  me  in  my  suit.  110 

King.  Madam,  I  will,  if  suddenly  I  may. 

Prin.  You  will  the  sooner,  that  I  were  away  ; 
For  you'll  prove  perjured  if  you  make  me  stay. 

Biron.  Did  not  1  dance  with  you  in  Brabant  once  t 

Bob.  Did  not  I  dance  with  you  in  Brabant  once  ? 

Biron.  I  know  you  did. 

Bos.  How  needless  was  it  then  to  ask  the  question  I 

Biron.  You  must  not  be  so  quick. 

Bob.  Tis  long  of  you  that  spur  me  with  such  questions. 

Biron.  Your  wit's  too  hot,  it  speeds  Coo  fast,  'twill  tire. 

Bos.  Not  till  it  leave  the  rider  in  the  mire.  121 

Biron,  What  time  o'  day  ? 

Bob.  The  hour  that  fools  should  ask. 

Biron.  Now  fair  befall  your  mask  I 

Bob.  Fair  fall  the  face  it  covers  ! 

Biron.  And  send  you  many  lovers  I 

Bob,  Amen,  so  you  be  none. 

Biron,  Nay,  then  will  I  be  gone. 


364  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  [actil 

King.  Madam,  your  father  here  doth  intimate 
Tlie  payment  of  a  hundred  thousand  crowns  ;  130 

Being  but  the  one  lialf  of  an  entire  dum 
Disbursed  by  my  fatlier  in  his  wars. 
But  say  tliat  lie  or  we,  as  neither  have. 
Received  tliat  sum,  yet  there  remains  unpaid 
A  hundred  thousand  more  ;  in  surety  of  the  which. 
One  part  of  Aquitaine  is  l>onnd  to  us, 
Altliough  not  valued  to  the  money's  worth. 
If  then  the  king  your  father  will  restore 
But  that  one  h^f  which  is  unsatisfied, 
We  will  give  up  our  right  in  Aquitaine,  140 

And  hold  fair  friendship  with  his  majesty. 
But  that,  it  seems,  he  little  purposeth, 
For  here  lie  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  Aquitaine  ; 
Which  we  much  rather  had  depart  withal 
And  have  the  money  by  our  father  lent 
Than  Aquitaine  so  gelded  as  it  is. 

Dear  princess,  were  not  his  requests  so  far  150 

From  reason's  yielding,  your  fair  self  should  make 
A  yielding  'gainst  some  reason  in  my  breast 
And  go  well  satisfied  to  France  again. 

Prin.  You  do  the  king  my  father  too  much  wrong 
And  wrong  the  reputation  of  your  name. 
In  so  unseeming  to  confess  receipt 
Of  that  which  hath  so  faithfully  been  paid. 

King.  I  do  protest  I  never  heard  of  it ; 
And  if  you  prove  it,  I'll  repay  it  back 
Or  yield  up  Aquitaine. 

Prin.  We  arrest  your  word.  160 

Boyet,  you  can  produce  acquittances 
For  such  a  sum  from  special  officers 
Of  Charles  his  father. 

Kiiig.  Satisfy  me  so. 

Boyet.  So  please  your  grace,  the  packet  is  not  como 
Where  that  and  other  specialties  are  bound  : 
To-  morrow  you  shall  have  a  sight  of  them. 

King.  It  shall  suffice  mo  :  at  which  interview 
All  liberal  reason  I  will  yield  unto. 
Meantime  receive  such  welcome  at  my  hand 
As  honour  without  breach  of  honour  may  170 

Make  tender  of  to  thy  true  worthiness  : 
You  may  not  come,  fair  princess,  in  my  gates ; 
But  hero  %vithout  you  shallbe  so  received 


SCENE  I.]  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  865 

As  yon  shall  deem  yourself  lodged  in  my  heart. 
Though  so  denied  fair  harbour  in  my  house. 
.Your  own  good  thoughts  excuse  me,  and  farewell : 
To-morrow  sliall  we  visit  you  again. 

Prin.  Sweet  health  and  fair  desires  consort  your  grace  I 

King.  Thy  own  wi^h  wish  I  thee  in  every  place  I     [Exit. 

Birotu  Lady,  I  will  commend  you  to  mine  own  heart  180 

Ras.  Pray  yon,  do  my  oommendatioos  ;  I  would  be  glad 
to  see  it. 

Biron,  I  would  yon  heard  it  groan. 

Ro8,  Is  the  fool  sick  ? 

Biron.  Sick  at  tlie  heart 

Ro8.  Alack,  let  it  blood. 

Biron.  Would  that  do  it  good  ? 

Ros.  My  physic  says  **  ay." 

Biron.  Will  you  prick't'with  your  eyet 

Ro9.  No  point,  with  my  knife.  100 

Biron.  Now,  God  save  thv  life  ! 

Ros.  And  yours  from  long  living  ! 

Biron.  I  cannot  stay  thanksgiving.  [Betirift^f. 

Bum.  Sir,  I  pray  you,  a  woS  :  what  lady  is  tlmt  same? 

Bot/ct.  The  heir  of  Alen(;on,  Katharine  her  name. 

Bum.  A  gallant  lady.     Monsieur,  fare  you  well.      [Erit, 

Long.  I  beseech  you  a  word  :  what  is  she  in  the  white  ? 

Bot/H.  A  woman  sometimes,  an  you  saw  her  in  the  light 

Long.  Perchance  light  in  the  light     I  desire  her  name. 

BoyeL  She  hath  but  one  for  herself ;  to  desire  that  were 
a  shame.  200 

Long.  Vtvlj  you,  sir,  whose  daughter! 

Boyet.  Her  mother's,  I  have  beard. 

Long.  God's  blessing  on  your  beard  1 

Boyet.  Good  sir.  be  not  offended. 
She  is  an  heir  of  Falconbrtdge. 

Long.  Nay,  ray  choler  is  ended. 
She  is  a  most  sweet  lady. 

Boyet.  Not  unlike,  sir,  that  may  be.  [Exit  Long, 

Biron,  What's  her  name  in  the  cap  t 

BoyH.  Rosaline,  by  good  hap.  210 

Biron.  Is  she  wedded  or  no  ? 

Boyet.  To  lier  will,  sir,  or  so. 

Biron.  You  are  welcome,  sir :  adieu. 

Boyet.  Farewell  to  me,  sir,  and  welcome  to  you. 

[Ejrit  Biron^ 

Mar.  That  last  is  Biron,  the  merry  mad-cap  lord  : 
Not  a  word  with  him  but  a  jest 

Boyet.  And  every  jest  but  a  word. 

Prin.  It  was  well  done  of  you  to  take  him  at  his  word. 


LOVETS  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


[actil 


B<fyet.  I  was  as  willing  to  grapple  as  lie  was  to  board. 

Mar.  Two  hot  sheeps,  marry. 

^oyet.  And  wlieppfore  not  ships  ?    . 

No  sheep,  sweet  lamb,  unless  we  feed  on  yonr  lips,         220 

Mar.  You  sheep,  and  I  pasture  :  shall  that  finish  the  jest  ? 

Boyet.  So  you  grant  pasture  for  mc.  [Offering  to  kiss  her. 

Mar.  Not  so,  gentle  beast : 

My  lips  are  no  common,  though  several  they  be. 

Boyet.  Belonging  to  whom  ? 

Mar.  To  my  fortunes  and  me. 

Prin.  Good  wits  will  be  jangling  ;  but,  gentles,  agree  : 
This  civil  war  of  wits  were  much  better  usetl 
On  Navarre  and  his  book-men  ;  for  here  His  nbused. 

Boyet.  If  my  observation,  which  very  seldom  lies. 
By  the  heart's  still  rhetoric  disclosed  with  eyes. 
Deceive  me  not  now,  Navarre  is  infected.  2C0 

Prin.  With  what  ? 

Boyet.  With  that  which  we  lovers  entitle  affected. 

Prin.  Your  reason  ? 

Boyet,  Wliy,  all  his  behaviours  did  make  their  retire 
To  tlie  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. 
Bid  stumble  with  haste  in  his  eyesight  to  be  ; 
All  senses  to  that  sense  did  malce  their  repair,  240 

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,  tendering  their  own  worth  from  where  they  were 

glass'd. 
Did  ]X)int  you  to  buy  them,  along  as  yon  pass'd  : 
His  face's  own  margont  did  quote  such  amazes 
That  all  eyes  saw  his  eyes  enchanted  with  gazes. 
I'll  give  you  Aquitaine  and  all  that  is  his, 
An  you  give  him  for  my  sake  but  one  loving  kis^. 

Prin.  Come  to  our  pavilion  :  Boyet  is  disposeiU 

Boyet.  But  to  spealc  that  in  words  which  his  eye  hath  dis< 
closed.  250 

I  only  have  made  a  mouth  of  his  eye. 
By  adding  a  tongue  which  1  know  will  not  lie. 

Bos.  Thou  art  an  old  love-monger  and  Ri)eako3t  skilfully. 

Mar.  He  is  C'upid's  grandfather  and  learns  news  of  liini. 

Bos.  Then  was  Venus  like  her  mother,  fur  her  father  is 
but  grim, 

Boyet.  Do  you  hear,  my  mad  wenches  ? 

Mar.  No. 


•CBKBi.]  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  867 

B&ifei.  Wlmt  tUcn,  do  yon  see? 

JR&8,  Ay,  our  way  to  be  gone. 

Boyet  You  are  too  liaxd  for  me. 

[Exeunt, 

ACT  III, 

Scene  I,     Tits  same. 

Enter  Armado  arid  Moth. 

Arm,  Warble,  child ;  make  passionate  my  sense  of  hear- 
ing. 
MotJu  Concolinel.  [Singinff, 

Arm.  Sweet  air !    Go,  tenderness  of  years ;  take  this  key, 

five  enlargement  to  the  swain,  bring  him  festinately  hither  : 
must  employ  him  in  a  letter  to  my  loye. 

Moth,  Master,  will  you  win  your  love  with  a  French 
brawl? 

Arm,  How  meanest  thou  ?  brawling  in  French  ? 

Moth,  No,  my  complete  master  :  but  to  jig  off  a  tone  at 
the  tongue's  end,  canary  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  noee,  as  if  you  snuffed 
up  love  by  smelling  love ;  with  your  hat  pentliouse-like  o'er 
the  shop  of  your  eyes ;  with  your  arms  crossed  on  yourthin- 
lielly  doublet  like  a  rabbit  on  a  spit ;  or  your  hands  in  your 
pocket  like  a  man  after  the  old  painting ;  and  keep  not  to# 
long  in  one  tune,  but  a  snip  and  away.  These  are  comple- 
ments, these  are  humours  ;  these  betray  nice  wenches,  tnat 
would  be  betrayed  without  tliese  ;  ana  make  them  men  of 
note-— do  you  note  me? — that  most  are  affected  to  these. 

Arm.  How  hast  thou  purchased  this  experience  ? 

Moth.  By  my  penny  of  observation. 

Arm,  ButO,— butO,— 

Moth,  "  The  hobby  .horse  is  forgot."  80 

Arm.  Callest  thou  my  love  **  hobby-horse  **? 

Moth,  No,  master ;  the  hobby-horse  is  but  a  colt,  and 
TOur  love  perhaps  a  hackney.  But  have  you  forgot  your 
love  ? 

Arm.  Almost  I  had. 

Moth.  Negligent  student !  learn  her  by  heart. 

Arm,  ByTisart  and  in  heart,  boy. 

MM,  And  out  of  heart,  master  :  all  those  three  I  will 
prove. 

Arm.  What  wilt  thou  prove?  40 

Moth.  A  man,  if  I  live ;  and  this,  by,  in,  and  without, 


368  LOVES  LABOUR'S  LOST  [ACTin. 

upon  the  instant :  by  heart  j'ou  love  her,  because  your  heart 
cannot  come  by  her ;  in  heart  you  love  her,  because  your 
lieart  is  in  love  with  her  ;  and  out  of  Iieart  you  love  her, 
being  out  of  heurt  that  you  cannot  enjoy  her. 

Arm.  I  am  all  these  three. 

Moth,  And  three  times  as  much  more,  and  yet  nothing  at 
all.  50 

Arm,  Fetch  liither  the  swnin  :  he  must  carry  me  a  letter. 

Moth,  A  message  well  sympathized ;  a  horse  to  be  am- 
bassador for  an  ass. 

Arm,  Ha,  ha  !  what  sayest  thou? 

Moth.  Marry,  sir,  you  must  send  the  ass  upon  the  horse, 
for  he  is  very  slow-gaited.     But  I  go. 

Arm,  The  way  is  but  short :  away  I 

Moth,  As  swift  as  lead,  sir. 

Arm,  The  meaning,  pretty  ingenious? 
Is  not  lead  a  metal  heavy,  dull,  and  slow  ?  60 

Moth,  Minime,  honest  master  ;  or  rather,  master,  no. 

Arm,  I  say  lead  is  slow. 

Moth,  You  are  too  swift,  sir,  to  say  so  : 

Is  that  lead  slow  which  is  fired  from  a  gun  ? 

Arm,  Sweet  smoke  of  rhetoric  ! 
He  reputes  me  a  cannon  ;  and  the  bullet,  that's  ho  : 
I  sboot  thee  at  the  swain. 

Moth.  Thump  then  and  I  flee.         {EtU. 

Ann.  A  most  acute  juvenal  ;  volable  and  free  of  grace  I 
By  thy  favour,  sweet  welkin,  I  must  sigh  in  thy  face  . 
Most  rude  melancholy,  valour  gives  thee  place. 
My  herald  is  returned.  70 

Re-enter  Moth  wUh  Costard. 

Math.  A  wonder,  master !  here's  a  costard  broken  in  a  shin 

Arm.  Some  enigma,  some  riddle :   come,  thy  Tenvoy : 
be^n. 

Cost.  >io  egma,  no  riddle,  no  I'envoy ;  no  salve  fin  the 
mail,  sir  :  O,  sir,  plantain,  a  plain  plantain  I  no  Tenvoy,  no 
I'envoy  ;  no  salve,  sir,  but  a  plantain  I 

Arm.  By  virtue,  thou  enforcest  laughter ;  thy  silly 
thought  my  spleen  ;  the  heaving  of  my  lungs  provokes  me 
to  ridiculous  smiling.  0,  pardon  me,  my  stars  I  Both  the 
inconsiderate  tali^e  salve  for  I'envoy,  and  the  word  I'envoy 
for  a  salve  ?  80 

Moth.  Do  the  wise  think  them  other  ?  is  not  Tenvoy  a 
salve  ? 

Atm.  No,  page  .-  it  is  an  epilogue  or  discourse,  to  make 
plain 
Some  obscure  precedence  that  hath  tofore  been  sain. 


aCENBi.]  IX)VErS  LABOUR'S  LOST.  369 

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  Teiivoy. 
Moth.  I  will  add  the  I'envoy.     Say  the  moral  again. 
Arm,  The  fox,  the  ape,  the  humble-bee,  00 

Were  still  at  odds,  being  but  three. 
Moth,  Until  the  goose  came  out  of  door, 

And  dtay'd  the  odds  hj  adding  four. 
Now  will  I  begin  your  moral  j  and  do  you  follow  with  my 
renvoy. 

The  fox,  the  ape  and  the  humble-bee. 
Were  still  at  odds,  being  but  three. 
Arm,  Until  the  gooee  came  out  of  door. 
Staying  the  odds  by  adding  four. 
Moth,  A  good  Tenvoy,  ending  in  the  goose  :  would  you 
desire  more  ?  101 

Catt,  The  boy  hath  sold  him  a  bargain,  a  goose,  that's 
flat. 
Sir,  yoar  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  Tenyoy  ;  ay,  that's  a  fat  goose. 
Arm,  Come  hither,  come  hither.     How  did  this  argument 

begin? 
Moth,  ay  saving  that  a  costard  was  broken  in  a  shin. 
Then  call'd  you  for  the  Tenvoy. 
Cott.  True,  and  I  for  a  plantain  :  thus  came  your  argu- 
ment in ; 
Then  the  boy's  fat  I'envoy,  the  goose  tliat  you  bought ;    110 
And  he  ended  the  market. 

Ann,  Bat  tell  me  ;  how  was  there  a  costard  broken  in  a 
shin? 
Moth,  I  will  tell  you  sensibly. 

(Jost,  Thou  hast  no  feeling  of  it,  Moth  :  I  will  speak  that 
Tenvoy  : 
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. 
Co9t.  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  Tenvoy, 
some  goose,  in  this. 

Arm.  By  my  sweet  soul,  I  mean  setting  thee  at  liberty, 
enfreedoming  thy  person  :  thou  wert  immured,  restrained, 
captivated,  bound. 

CkM.  True,  true  ;  and  now  yoa  will  be  my  purgation  and 
let  me  loose. 


370  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S   LOST.  [act  ill. 

ATtn.  I  g^ve  thoe  thy  liberty,  set  thee  from  durance  ;  and, 
in  lieu  thereof,  impose  on  thee  nothing  but  this  ;  bear  this 
significant  [giving  a  letter]  to  the  country  maid  Jaquenetta  : 
there  is  remuneration  ;  for  the  best  ward  of  mine  honour  is 
rewnrdinjjf  ray  dependents.     Moth,  follow.  [Exit. 

Moth.  Like  the  sequel,  I.     Si^nior  Costard,  adieu. 

Coift.  My  sweet  ounce  of  man'.<3  fiesli  I  my  inconv  Jew  ! 

[Erit  Moth.  • 
Now  will  I  look  to  his  remuneration.  Bemuneration .!  O. 
that's  the  Latin  word  for  thi*ee  farthings  :  three  fartltingn 
— remuneration. — "  What's  the  price  of  this  inkle  ?" — **  One 
penny." — "No,  I'll  give  you  a  remuneration:"  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. 

Biron.  O,  my  good  knave  Costard  !  exceedingly  well  met. 

Cost.  Pray  you,  sir,  how  much  carnation  ribbon  may  a 
man  buy  for  a  remuneration  ? 

Biroii,  What  is  a  remuneration  ? 

Cod.  Marry,  sir,  lialfpenny  farthing. 

Biron.  Why,  then,  three- farthing  worth  of  silk,  150 

Cont.  I  thank  your  worship :  God  be?  wi'  you  ! 

Biron.  Stay,  slave  ;  I  must  employ  thee  : 
As  thou  wilt  win  my  favour,  g«od  my  knave. 
Do  one  thing  for  me  that  I  shall  entreat. 

Co9t.  When  would  you  have  it  done,  sir? 

Biron.  This  afternoon. 

Co»t.  Well,  I  will  do  it,  sir  :  fare  you  well. 

Biron.  Thou  knowest  not  what  it  is. 

C^.  I  shall  know,  sir,  when  I  have  done  it. 

Biron,  Why,  villain,  thou  must  know  first.  160 

Om^.  I  will  come  to  vour  worship  to-morrow  morning. 

Biron,  It  must  be  done  this  afternoon.  Hark,  slave,  it 
is  but  this : 

The  princess  comes  to  hunt  here  in  the  park, 
And  in  her  train  there  is  a  gentle  lady  ; 
When  tongues  speak  sweetly,  then  they  name  her  name. 
And  Rosahne  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.  170 

[Giving  him  a  mUling. 

Cost.  Gardon,  O  sweet  gardon  I  better  than  remunera- 
tion, a'  leven -pence  farthing  better  :  most  sweet  gardon  !  I 
will  do  it,  sir,  in  print.     Gardon  I    Remuneratioix  I     [Exit, 

Biron,  And  I,  forsootk,  in  love  I  1,  that  Iulvo  been  love's 
whip ; 


flcravEi.]  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  871 

A  very  beadle  to  a  hamoroos  sigh  ; 

A  critic,  nay,  a  nigUt- watch  ooDstable  ; 

A  domineering  pedant  o'er  the  boy  ; 

Than  whom  no  mortal  so  magnificent  !    '  180 

This  whimpled,  whining,  purblind,  wayward  boy  ; 

This  senior- junior,  giant-dwarf,  Dan  Cupid ; 

Regent  of  love-rhymes,  lord  of  folded  arras. 

The  anointed  sovereign  of  siglis  and  g^roaos, 

Liege  of  all  loiterers  and  malcontent^}, 

Ih-ead  prince  of  plackets,  king  of  oodpiecesy 

Sole  im})erator  and  great  general 

Of  trotting  'paritore  : — O  my  little  heart  I— 

And  I  to  £«  a  corporal  of  his  field, 

And  wear  his  colours  like  a  tumbler's  hoop  1  190 

Wliat,  1  I  I  loye  !  I  sue  !  I  seek  a  wife  I 

A  woman,  tliai  is  like  a  German  clock. 

Still  a-repairing,  ever  out  of  frame. 

And  never  going  aright,  being  a  watch. 

But  being  watch'd  that  it  may  still  go  right  I 

Nay,  to  b3  perjured,  which  Is  worst  of  au  ; 

And,  among  three,  to  love  the  worst  of  all ; 

A  wightly  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  200 

Though  Argus  were  her  eunuch  and  her  guard  : 

And  I  to  sigh  for  her  I  to  watch  for  her  ! 

To  pray  for  her  !    Qo  to  ;  it  is  a  plague 

That  Cupid  will  impose  for  my  neglect 

Of  his  almighty  dr^ulful  little  might. 

Well,  I  will  love,  write,  sigh,  pray,  sue  and  groan  : 

Some  men  must  love  my  lady  and  some  Joan.  [ExU. 


ACT   IV. 

Scene  I.    Tfu  iame. 

Enter  the  Princess,  and  her  train,  a  Forester,  Botet,  Rosa- 
line, Makia,  aivd  Katuabine. 

Prin.  Was  that  the  king,  that  spurred  his  horse  so  hard 
Against  the  steep  uprising  of  the  hill  ? 

Boyet,  I  know  not ;  but  I  think  it  was  not  he. 

Prin,  Whoe'er  a'  was,  a'  show'd  a  mounting  mind. 
Well,  lords,  to-day  we  shall  liave  our  dispatch  : 
On  Saturday  we  will  return  to  France. 
Then,  forester,  my  friend,  where  is  the  bush 
That  we  must  stand  and  play  the  murderer  in  ? 


372  LOVES  LABOUR'S  LOST.  [AOTIV. 

For.  Hereby,  upon  the  edge  of  yonder  coppice  ; 
A  stand  where  you  may  make  the  fairest  shoot.  10 

Prin,  I  thank  my  beauty,  I  am  fair  that  shoot, 
And  thereupon  thou  speak'st  the  fairest  slioot. 

Far.  Pardon  me,  madam,  for  I  meant  not  BOf 

Prin.  What,  wliat  ?  first  praise  me  and  again  say  no  ? 
O  short-lived  pride  I    Not  fair  ?  ahick  for  woe  I 

For.  Yes,  madam,  fair. 

Prin.  Nay,  never  paint  me  now : 

Where  fair  is  not,  praise  cannot  mend  tlie  brow. 
Here,  good  my  glass,  take  tliis  for  telling  true : 
Fair  payment  for  foul  words  is  more  tlian  due. 

For.  Nothing  but  fair  is  that  which  you  inherit,  20 

Prin.  See,  see,  my  beauty  will  be  saved  by  merit  1 
O  heresy  in  fair,  fit  for  these  days  I 
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  my  credit  in  the  shoot : 
Not  wounding,  pity  would  not  let  me  do't ; 
If  wounding,  then  it  was  to  show  my  skill, 
That  more  for  praise  than  purpose  meant  to  kill. 
And  out  of  question  so  it  is  sometimes,  80 

Glory  grows  guilty  of  detested  crimes. 
When,  for  fame's  sake,  for  praise,  an  outward  part, 
We  bend  to  that  the  working  of  the  heart ; 
As  I  for  praise  alone  now  seek  to  spill 
The  ))oor  deer's  blood,  that  my  heart  means  no  ill. 

Boyet.  Do  not  curst  wives  hold  that  self-sovereignty 
Only  for  praise  sake,  when  they  strive  to  be 
Lords  o'er  their  lords  ? 

Prin.  Only  for  praise  :  and  praise  we  may  afford  ^ 
To  any  lady  that  subdues  &  lord.  40 

Boyet.  Here  comes  a  member  of  the  commonwealth 

Enter  Costard. 

Cost.  God  dig-you-den  all  I    Pray  you,  which  is  the  head 
ladv? 

Prin.  Thou  slialt  know  her,  fellow,  by  the  rest  that  have 
no  iieads. 

Ct)^.   Which  is  the  greatest  lady,  the  highest  ? 

Pnn.  The  thickest  and  the  tallest. 

Cost.  The  thickest  and  the  tallest  I   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  ho  fit.     50 
Are  not  you  the  chief  woman  ?  you  are  the  thickest  here. 


BCEKKi.]  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  878 

Prin,  What's  your  will,  sir?  what's  your  will  ? 

Cost,  I  have  a  letter  from  Monsieur  Biron  to  one  Lady 
Kosaline. 

Prin.  O,  thy  letter,  thy  letter !  lie's  a  good  friend  of  mine  : 
Stand  aside,  good  bearer.     Boy«t,  you  can  carve  ; 
Break  up  this  capon. 

Boyet.  I  am  bound  to  serve. 

This  letter  is  mistook,  it  importeth  none  here  ; 
It  is  writ  to  Jaquenetta. 

Prin.  We  will  read  it,  I  swear. 

Break  the  neck  of  the  wax,  and  every  one  give  ear.  59 

Boyet  [reads],  **By  heaven,  that  thou  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 
Cophetua  set  eye  upon  the  pernicious  and  indubitate  beggar 
Zeiielophon  ;  and  he  it  was  that  migbt  rightly  say,  Veiii, 
vidi,  vici ;  which  to  annothanize  in  the  vulgar, — O  base 
and  obscure  vulgar ! — videlicet.  He  came,  saw,  and  over- 
came :  he  came,  one ;  saw,  two ;  overcame,  three.  Who 
came  ?  the  king :  wliy  did  he  come  ?  to  see :  why  did  he 
see  ?  to  overcome  :  to  whom  came  he  ?  to  the  beggar  :  what 
saw  he?  the  beggar  :  who  overcame  he?  the  beggar.  The 
conclusion  is  victory:  on  wlwjse  side?  the  king's.  The 
captive  is  enriched  :  on  whose  side  ?  the  beggar's.  The 
catastrophe  is  a  nuptial :  on  whose  side  ?  the  king's  :  no,  on 
both  in  one,  or  one  in  both.  I  am  the  king  ;  for  so  stands 
the  comparison :  thou  the  beggar ;  for  so  witncsseth  thy 
lowliness.  Shall  I  command  thv  love  ?  I  mnv  :  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?  m%.  Thus,  expecting  thy  re- 
ply, I  profame  my  lips  on  thy  foot,  my  eyes  on  thy  picture, 
and  my  heart  on  thy  every  part.  Thine,  in  the  dearest  de- 
sign of  industry,  Don  Adriano  dk  Armado." 
Thus  dost  thou  hear  the  Ncmean  lion  roar  ■    90 

'Gainst  thee,  thou  lamb,  that  standest  as  his  prey. 
Submissive  fall  his  princely  feet  before, 

And  he  froni  forage  will  incline  to  play  : 
But  if  thou  strive,  poor  soul,  whart  art  thou  then  ? 
Food  for  his  rage,  repasture  for  his  den. 

Prin.  What  plume  of  feathers  is  ho  that  indited  this 
letter? 
Wliat  vane  ?  what  weathercock  ?  did  yon  ever  hear  better? 

Boyct.  I  am  much  deceived  but  I  remember  the  style. 

Frin,  Else  your  memory  is  bad,  going  o'er  it  erewhile. 


874  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  [act  iv. 

Bayet.  Thi9  Armado  is  a  Spaniard,  that  keeps  here  in 
court ;  100 

A  pliatasime,  a  Monarclio,  and  one  that  makes  sport 
To  the  prince  and  his  hookmates. 

Prin.  Thou  fellow,  a  word  : 

Who  gave  thee  this  letter  ? 

Co8t,  I  told  you  ;  my  lord. 

Prin,  To  whom  shouldst  thou  ffive  it  ? 

Cost.  From  my  lord  to  my  lady. 

Prin.  From  which  lord  to  which  lady  ? 

Cott.  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. 

[To  Roft.'\  Here,  sweet,  put  up  this  :  'twill  be  thine  another 

day.  [Exeunt  Princess  and  train. 

Bayet.  Who  is  the  suitor?  who  is  the  suitor? 

Bos.  Shall  I  teach  you  to  know  ?    110 

Boyet.  Ay,  my  continent  of  beauty. 

Bos.  Why,  she  that  bears  the  bow. 

Finely  put  off  I 

Boyet.  My  lady  goes  to  kill  horns  ;  but,  if  thou  marry. 
Hang  mc  by  the  uedc,  if  horns  that  year  miscarry. 
Finely  put  on  I 

Bos.  Well,  then,  I  am  the  shooter. 

Boyet.  And  who  is  your  deer  ? 

Bos.  If  wo  choose  by  the  horns,  yourself  come  not  near. 
Finely  put  on,  indexed  I 

Mar.  You  still  wrangle  with  her,  Boyet,  and  she  strikes 
at  the  brow. 

Boyet.  But  she  herself  is  hit  lower  :  have  I  hit  her  now  ? 

Bos.  Shall  I  come  upon  thee  with  an  old  saying,  that  was 
a  man  when  King  Pepin  of  France  was  a  little  boy,  as 
touching  the  hit  it  ? 

Boyet.  So  I  may  answer  thee  with  one  as  old,  that  was  a 
woman  when  Queen  Guinover  of  Britain  was  a  little  wench, 
as  touching  the  hit  it. 

Bos.     Thou  canst  not  hit  it,  hit  it,  hit  it, 
Thou  canst  not  hit  it,  my  good  man. 

Boyet.  An  I  cannot,  cannot,  cannot, 

An  I  cannot,  another  can.  ISO 

[Exeunt  Bos,  and  Kath, 

Cost.  By  my  troth,  most  pleasant :  how  both  did  fit  it ! 

Mar.  A  mark  marvellous  well  shot,  for  they  both  did 
hit  it. 

Boyet.  A  mark  I    O,  mark  but  that  mark  !    A  mark,  uays 
mj  lady  1 
Let  the  mark  have  a  prick  in't,  to  meet  at,  if  it  may  be. 


BCRNEn.]        LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  375 

Mar,  Wide  o'  the  botv  liand  I  i'  faith,  roiir  hand  is  out. 
Cost.  Indeed,  a'  must  shoot  nearer,  or  he'll  ne'er  hit  the 

clout. 
B&yei.  An  if  my  hand  be  out,  then  belike  your  hand  is  in 
Co^,  Then  will  she  get  the  upshoot  by  cleaving  the  pin. 
Mar.  Come,  come,  you  talk  greasily  ;  your  lips  grow  foul. 
CoU.  She's  too  hard  for  you  at  pricks,  sir  :  challenge  her 
to  bowl.  140 

Bo}fet.  I  fear  too  much  rubbing.     Good  night,  my  good 
owl.  [Exeunt  Bayet  and  Maria, 

Cost,  By  my  soul,  a  swaiin  !  a  most  simple  clown  ! 
Lord,  Lord,  how  the  ladies  and  I  have  put  him  down  I 
0'  my  troth,  most  sweet  jests  !  most  incony  vulgar  wit ! 
When  it  comes  so  smoothly  off,  so  obscenely,  as  it  were,  so 

fit. 
Armado  o'  th'  one  side, — O,  a  most  dainty  man  ! 
To  see  him  walk  before  a  lady  and  to  bear  her  fan  1 
To  see  him  kiss  his  hand  I  and  how  most  sweetly  a'  will 

swear  I 
And  his  page  o'  t'  other  side,  that  handful  of  wit  I 
Ah,  heavens,  it  is  a  most  pathetical  nit  1  150 

Sola,  sola !  [3k<mt  within. 

[Exit  Costard,  running. 

ScENS  IL     The  same. 

Enter  Holofernes,  Sir  Nathaniel,  and  Dull 

yath.  Very  reverend  sport,  truly  ;  and  done  in  the  testi- 
mony of  a  good  conscience. 

Hoi.  The  deer  was,  as  you  know,  sanguis,  in  blood  ;  ripe 
as  the  ponewater,  who  now  hangeth  like  a  jewel  in  the  ear 
of  caelo,  the  sky,  the  welkin,  the  heaven  ;  and  anon  falleth 
like  a  crab  on  the  face  of  terra,  the  soil,  the  land,  the  earth. 

I^ath.  Truly,  Master  Holofernes,  the  epithets  are  sweetly 
varied,  like  a  scholar  at  the  least :  but,  sir,  I  assure  ye,  it 
was  a  back  of  the  first  head.  10 

Hoi.  Sir  Nathaniel,  hand  credo. 

BuU,  'Twas  not  a  hand  credo  ;  'twas  a  pricket. 

Hoi.  Most  barbarous  intimation  I  yet  a  kind  of  insinuation, 
as  it  were,  in  via,  in  way,  of  explication ;  facere,  as  it  were, 
replication,  or  rather,  ostentare,  to  show,  as  it  were,  his  in- 
clination, after  his  undressed,  unpolished,  uneducated,  un- 
pruiied,  untrained,  or  rather,  unlettered,  or  ratherest,  un- 
confirmed fashion,  to  insert  again  my  baud  credo  for  a  deer. 

Dull.  I  said  the  deer  was  not  a  baud  credo ;  'twu  a 
pricket. 

Hoi,  Twice-sod  simplicity,  his  coctus  t 


876  LOVE'S  LABOUK'S  LOST.  [act  iv. 

O  thou  monster  Ignorance,  how  deformed  dost  thou  look  I 
Nath,  Sir,  lie  hath  never  fed  of  the  dainties  that  are  bred 
in  a  book  ; 
he  hath  not  eat  paper,  as  it  were  ;  he.  hath  not  drunk  ink  : 
his  intellect  is  not  replenished  ;  he  is  only  an  animal,  only 
sensible  in  the  duller  parts  : 
And  such  barren  plants  are  set  before  us,  that  we  thankful 

should  be. 
Which  we  of  taste  and  feelmg  are,  for  those  parts  that  do 
fructify  in  us  more  than  lie,  80 

For  as  it  would  ill  become  me  to  be  vain,  indiscreet,  or  a 

fool, 
So  were  there  a  patch  set  on  learning,  to  see  him  in  a  school : 
But  omne  bene,  say  I ;  being  of  an  old  father's  mind. 
Many  can  brook  the  weather  that  love  not  the  wind. 

DuU.  You  two  are  book-men  :  can  you  tell  me  by  your  wit 
What  was  a  month  old  at  Cain's  birth,  that's  not  five  weeks 
old  as  vet  ? 
Hoi.  Dictvnna,  goodman  Dull ;  Dictvnna,  goodman  Dull. 
Dull  WhatisDictynna? 
Nath.  A  title  to  Phoebe,  to  Luna,  to  the  moon. 
Hd,  The  moon  was  a  month  old  when  Adam  was  no 
moi-e,  40 

And  raught  not  to  five  weeks  when  he  came  to  five-score. 
The  allusion  holds  in  the  exchange. 
DuU.  'Tis  true  indeed  ;   the  collusion  holds  in  the  ex- 
change. 
Hot.  God  comfort  thy  capacity  1  I  say,  the  allusion  holds 
in  the  exchange. 

DuU,  And  I  say,  the  poUusion  holds  in  the  exchange  ; 
for  the  moon  is  never  but  a  month  old  :  and  I  say  besido 
that,  'twas  a  pricket  that  the  princess  killed. 

IIol.  Sir  Nathaniel,  will  you  hear  an  extemporal  epitaph 
on  the  death  of  the  deer  ?  And,  to  humour  the  ignorant, 
call  I  the  deer  the  princess  killed  a  pricket. 

Nath.  Perge,  gooQ  Master  Holof ernes,  perge  ;  so  it  shall 
please  you  to  abrogate  scurrility. 

Hd.  I  will  something,  affect  the  letter,  for  it  argues 
facility. 

The  preyf  ul  princess  pierced  and  pi  ick'd  a  pretty  pleasing 
pricket ; 
Some  say  a  sore  ;  but  not  a  sore,  till  now  made  sore  with 
shooting. 
The  dogs  did  yell :  put  L  to  sore,  then  sorel  jumps  from 
thicket ;  60 

Or  pricket  sore,  or  else  sorcl ;  the  people  fall  a-hooting. 
If  sore  be  sore,  then  L  to  sore  makes  fifty  sores  one  sorel. 


SCENE  II.]  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  877 

Of  oncysore  I  an  hundred  make  by  adding  but  one  more  L. 

Nath,  A  rare  talent  I 

DuU.  \Agidc\  If  a  talent  be  a  claw,  look  how  lie  claws  him 
with  a  talent.  « 

Hoi.  This  is  a  gift  that  I  have,  simple,  simple  ;  a  foolish 
extravagant  spirit,  full  of  forms,  figures,  shapes,  objects, 
ideas,  apprehensions,  motions,,  revolutions  :  these  are  begot 
in  the  ventricle  of  memory,  nourished  in  the  womb  of  pia 
mater,  and  delivered  upon  the  mellowing  of  occasion.  But 
the  gift  is  good  in  those  in  whom  it  is  acute,  and  I  am  thank- 
ful for  it. 

Nath.  Sir,  I  praise  the  Lord  for  you :  and  so  may  my 
parishioners ;  for  their  sons  are  well  tutored  by  you,  and 
their  daughters  profit  very  greatly  under  you  :  "you  are  a 
good  member  of  the  commonwealth. 

IIol.  Mehercle,  if  their  sons  be  ingenuous,  they  shall 
want  no  instruction  ;  if  their  daughters  be  capable,  I  will 
put  it  to  them :  but  vir  sapit  qui  pauca  loquitur ;  a  soul 
feminine  saluteth  us. 

Enter  Jaquenetta  and  Costakd. 

Jaq.  God  give  you  good  morrow,  master  Parson. 

llol.  Master  Parson,  quasi  pers-on.  An  if  one  should  be 
pierced,  which  is  the  one  t 

Cost.  'M.&TTj,  master  schoolmaster,  he  that  is  likest  to  a 
hogshead. 

ITol.  Piercing  a  hogshead  1  a  good  lustre  of  conceit  in  a 
tuft  of  earth ;  fire  enough  for  a  flint,  pearl  enough  for  a 
swine :  'tis  pretty  ;  it  is  well. 

Jaq.  Good  master  parson,  bo  so  good  as  read  me  this  let- 
ter :  it  was  given  me  by  Costard,  and  sent  me  from  Don 
Armado  :  I  beseech  yon,  read  it. 

Hoi.  Fauste,  precor  gelida  quando  pccus  omnc  sub  umbra 
Ruminat, — and  so  forth.  Ah,  good  old  Mantuan  !  I  may 
speak  of  thee  as  the  traveler  doth  of  Venice  ; 

Venetia,  Venetia, 

Chi  non  ti  vede  non  ti  pretia.  100 

Old  Mantuan,  old  Mantuan  !  who  understandeth  thee  not, 
loves  thee  not.  Ut,  re,  sol,  la,  mi,  fa.  Under  pardon,  sir; 
what  are  the  contents  ?  or  rather,  as  Horace  says  in  his — 
Wliat,  my  soul,  verses? 

Nath.  Ay,  sir,  and  very  learned. 

Hoi.  Let  me  hear  a  staff,  a  stanze,  a  verse  ;  lege,  domino. 
Nath.  [reads] 
If  love  make  me  forsworn,  how  shall  I  swear  to  love  ? 

Ah,  never  faith  could  hold,  if  not  to  beauty  vovv'd  1  110 
Though  to  myself  forsworn,  to  thee  I'll  faithful  prove ; 


878  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  [act  iv. 

Those  thoughts  to  me  were  oaks,  to  thee  like  osiers  bow'd. 
Study  his  bias  leaves  and  makes  his  book  thine  eyet. 

Where  all  those  pleasures  live  that  art  would  compre- 
hend :  ^ 
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  thc^e  without  wonder ; 

Which  is  to  me  some  praise  that  I  thy  parts  admiro  : 
Thy  eye  Jove's  lightning  bears,  thy  voice  his  dreadful 
thunder, 

Which,  not  to  auger  bent,  is  music  and  sweet  fire.        120 
Celestial  as  thou  art,  O,  pardon  love  this  wrong. 
That  sings  heaven's  praise  with  such  an  earthly  tongue. 

Uol,  You  find  not  the  apostrophas,  and  so  miss  the  accent : 
let  me  supervise  the  cansonet.  Here  are  only  nnmbcrs 
ratified  ;  but,  for  tlie  elegancy,  facility,  and  golden  cadence 
of  poesy,  caret.  Ovidius  Naso  was  the  man  :  and  why,  in- 
deed, Naso,  but  for  smelling  out  the  odoriferous  flowers  of 
fancy,  the  jerks  of  invention  ?  Imitari  is  nothing  :  fo  doth 
the  hound  his  master,  the  ape  his  keeper,  the  tired  horse 
his  rider.     But,  damosclla  virgin,  was  this  direct*^!  to  you  ? 

Jaq.  Ay,  sir,  from  one  Monsieur  Biron,  one  of  the  strange 
queen's  lords. 

IIol.  I  will  overglance  the  superscript :  "  To  the  snow- 
white  hand  of  the  most  beauteous  Lady  Rosaiine."  I  will 
look  again  on  the  intellect  of  the  letter,  for  tlie  nomination 
of  the  party  writing  to  the  person  written  unto:  "Your 
ladyship's  in  all  desired  employment,  Biron."  Sir  Na- 
thaniel, 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  Land  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  1 

Coift.  Have  with  thee,  my  girl.  [Exeunt  Cost,  and  Jaq. 
I  Kath.  Sir,  you  have  done  this  in  the  fear  of  God,  very 
jeligiously  ;  and,  cs  a  certain  father  saitli, — 

llol.  Sir,  tell  not  mo  of  the  father ;  I  do  ft'ar  colourable 
colours.  But  to  return  to  the  verses  ;  did  tlicy  please  you, 
Sir  Nathaniel  ? 

Nath.  Marvellous  well  for  the  pen. 

llol.  I  do  dine  to-day  at  the  father's  of  a  certain  pupil  cf 
mine  ;  where,  if,  before  repast,  it  shall  please  you  to  gratify 
the  table  with  a  grace,  I  will,  on  my  privelege  I  have  with 
tho  parents  of  the  foresaid  child  or  pupil,  undertake  your 


BCENEiii.]         LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  879 

ben  venato  ;  where  I  will  prove  those  rersps  to  he  vciy  nn- 
learncd,  neither  savouring  of  iwotry,  wit,  nor  invention  :  I 
beseech  your  society. 

Naih.  And  thank  you  too  ;  for  society,  saith  the  text,  is 
the  happiness  oflife. 

IIol.  And,  certes,  the  text  most  infallibly  concludes  it. 
[To  Dull]  Sir,  I  do  inviie  you  too  ;  you  shall  not  say  me 
nay  :  pauca  verba.  Away  I  the  gentles  are  at  their  game, 
and  we  "will  to  our  recreation.  [Exeunt, 

Scene  III.     TfU  same. 

Enter  Biron,  teith  a  paper, 

Biron,  The  king  he  is  hunting  the  deer  ;  T  am  coursing 
myself :  they  have  pitched  a  toil ;  I  am  toiling  in  a  pitch, — 
pitch  that  defiles  :  defile  I  a  foul  word.  Well,  set  thee 
down,  sorrow  I  for  so  they  say  the  fool  said,  and  so  say  I,  and 
I  the  fool :  well  proved,  wit  I  By  the  Lord,  this  love  is  as 
mad  as  Ajax  :  it  kills  sheep ;  it  kills  me,  I  a  sheep  :  well 
proved  again  o*  my  side  I  I  will  not  love  :  if  I  do,  hang  me  ; 
i*  faith,  I  will  not.  O,  but  her  eye, — by  tiiis  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  i  liy me  and  to 
be  melancholy ;  and  here  is  part  of  my  rhyme,  and  hero  my 
melancholy.  Well,  she  hath  one  o'  my  sonnets  already  :  the 
clown  bore  it,  the  fool  sent  it,  and  the  lady  hath  it :  sweet 
clown,  sweeter  fool,  sweetest  lady  !  By  the  world,  I  would 
not  care  a  pin,  if  the  other  three  were  in.  Here  comes  one 
with  a  paper :  God  give  him  grace  to  groan  I    [Stands  aMde. 

Enter  the  King,  with  a  paper. 

King,  Ay  me  ! 

Biron.  [Aside]  Shot,  by  heaven  !  Proceed,  sweet  Cupid  : 
thou  bast  thumped  him  with  thy  bird-bolt  under  the  left 
pap.     In  faith,  secrets  I 

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  80 

Through  the  transparent  bosom  of  the  deep. 
As  doth  thy  face  through  tears  of  mine  give  light  * 

Thou  shin  est  in  every  tear  that  I  do  weep  : 
No  drop  but  as  a  coach  doth  carry  thee  ; 

So  ridest  thou  triumphing  in  my  woe. 


1 


880  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  [aotiy. 

Do  but  behold  tbc  tears  that  swell  in  me. 

And  they  thy  glory  through  my  grief  will  show  : 
But  do  not  love  uiyself  ;  then  thou  wilt  keep 
My  tears  for  glasses,  and  still  make  me  weep.  40 

O  queen  of  queens  I  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? 

[Stepi  aside 
What,  Longaville  I  and  reading  1  listen,  ear. 

Biron.  Now,  in  thy  likeness,  one  more  fool  appear ! 

Enter  LoNQAViLLE,  with  a  paper, 

Lang.  Ay  me,  I  am  forsworn  I 

Biron.  Why,  he  comes  in  like  a  perjure,  wearing  papers. 

King.  In  love,  I  liope  :  sweet  fellowship  in  shame  I 

Biron,  One  drunkard  loves  another  of  the  name.  50 

jA)ng.  Am  I  the  first  that  have  been  perjured  so? 

Biron.  I  could  put  thee  in  confort.    Not  by  two  that  I 
know: 
Thou  malcest  the  triumviry,  the  corner-cap  of  society, 
The  shape  of  Love's  Tyburn  that  hangs  up  simplicity. 

Long.  I  fear  these  stubborn  lines  lack  power  to  move. 
O  sweet  Maria,  empress  of  my  love  I 
These  numbers  will  I  tear,  and  write  in  prose. 

Biron.  O,  rhymes  are  guards  on  wanton  Cupid's  hose  : 
Disfigure  not  his  slop. 

Long.  This  same  shall  go.  [Reads, 

Did  not  tlie  heavenly  rhetoric  of  thine  eye,  60 

'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  in  me. 
Vows  are  but  breath,  and  breath  a  vapour  is  : 

Then  tbou,  fair  sun,  which  on  my  earth  dost  shine, 
Exhalest  this  vapour-vow  ;  in  thee  it  is :  70 

If  broken  then,  it  is  no  fault  of  mine : 
If  by  me  broke,  what  fool  is  not  so  wise 
To  lose  an  oatli  to  win  a  paradise? 

Biron.  This  is  the  liver-vein,  which  makes  flesh  a  ^elty, 
A  green  goose  a  goddess  :  pure,  pure  idolatry. 
G(xl  amend  us,  God  amend  I  we  are  much  out  o'  the  way. 

Long.  By  whom  shall  I  send  this  ? — Company  !  stay. ' 

[Step*  aside. 


SCENE  m.]       LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  881 

Biron.  All  bid,  all  hid  ;  an  old  infant  play. 
Like  a  demigod  here  sit  I  in  tlio  sky, 

And  wretcliod  fools'  secrets  lieedfully  o'cr-cye.  80 

More  sacks  to  the  mill !  O  heavens,  I  have  my  wish  1 

Enter  Dumain,  with  a  paper. 

Dumain  transfonn'd  !  four  woodcocks  in  a  dish  1 
Dum.  O  most  divine  Kate  I 
Biron,  O  most  profane  coxcomb  I     - 
Dum,  By  heaven,  the  wonder  in  a  mortal  eye  I 
Biron,  By  earth,  she  is  not,  corporal,  there  you  lie. 
Dum.  Her  amber  hair  for  foul  hath  aml)er  quoted. 
Biron,  An  amber-colour'd  raven  was  well  noted. 

Dum,  As  upright  as  the  cedar.  I 

Biron,  Stoop,  I  say  ; 

Her  shoulder  is  with  child. 
Dum,  As  fair  as  day.  00  i 

Biron.  Ay,  as  some  days  ;  but  then  no  sun  must  shine. 
Dum.  O  that  I  had  my  wish  !  I 

lA>ng.  And  I  had  mine  I 

King.  And  I  mine  too,  good  Lord  I 
Biron.  Amen,  so  I  liad  mine  :  is  not  that  a  good  word  ? 
Dum.  I  would  forget  her  ;  but  a  fever  she 
Reigns  in  my  blood  and  will  remember'd  bo. 

Biron.  A  fever  in  your  blood  !  why,  then  incision 
Would  let  her  out  in  saucers  :  sweet  misprision  I 
Dum.  Once  more  Til  read  the  ode  that  I  have  writ. 
Biron.  Once  more  111  mark  how  lovo  can  vary  wit.     lOO 
Dum,  \reads\ 

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  tho  wind. 

All  unseen,  can  passage  find  ; 

That  the  lover,  sick  to  death. 

Wish  himself  the  heaven's  breath. 

Air,  quoth  he,  thy  cheeks  may  blow  ; 

Air,  would  I  mip^'ht  triumph  so  I  110 

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  I 

Do  not  call  it  sin  in  me, 

That  I  am  forsworn  for  thee  ; 

Thou  for  whom  Jove  would  swear 

Juno  but  an  Ethiope  were ; 


883  LOVE'S  LABOtJB'S  LOST.         '   [Art  IT. 

And  deny  himself  for  Jore, 
Turning  mortal  for  thy  love.  120 

This  will  I  send  and  something  else  more  plain. 
That  shall  express  my  true  love's  fasting  pain. 
O,  would  the  king,  Biron,  and  Lono:avi]le, 
Wore  lovers  too  I  III,  to  example  ill. 
Would  from  mv  forehead  wipi  a  i^trjured  not© ; 
For  none  offend  where  all  alike  do  dote. 

Long.  ladvancing\,  Dnmain,  thy  love  is  far  from  charity, 
That  in  love's  grief  desirest  society  : 
You  may  look  pale,  but  I  should  blush,  I  know, 
To  be  o'erheard  and  taken  napping  so.  180 

King  [adwineing'].   Come,  sir,  you  blush ;  as  his  your 
case  is  such ; 
You  chide  at  him,  offending  twice  as  much ; 
You  do  not  love  Maria ;  Longaville 
Did  never  sonnet  for  her  sake  compile, 
Norftever  lay  his  wreathed  arms  athwart 
His  loving  bosom  to  keep  douni  his  hearts 
I  have  been  closely  shrouded  in  this  bush 
And  mark'd  you  both  and  for  you  both  did  blnsh : 
I  heard  your  guilty  rhymes,  observed  your  fashion. 
Saw  sighs  reek  from  you,  noted  well  vour  passion  :         140 
Ay  me  !  says  one  ;  O  Jove  I  the  other  cries  ; 
One,  her  hairs  were  gold,  crystal  the  other's  eyes  : 
[7b  Lojig.]  You  would  for  paradise  break  faith  and  troth  ; 
[To  DumA  And  Jove,  for  your  love,  would  infringe  an  oath. 
What  will  Biron  say  when  that  he  shnll  hear 
Faith  so  infringed,  which  such  zeal  did  swear? 
How  will  he  scorn  I  how  will  he  spend  his  wit ! 
How  will  he  triumph,  leap  and  laugh  at  it  1 
For  all  the  wealth  that  ever  I  did  see, 
I  would  not  have  him  know  so  much  by  me.  150 

Biron,  Now  step  1  forth  to  whip  hypocrisy.  [Advancing. 
Ah,  good  my  liege,  I  pray  Ihee,  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  ;  in  your  tears 
There  is  no  certain  princess  that  appears ; 
You'll  not  bo  perjured,  'tis  a  hateful  thing ; 
Tush,  none  but  minstrels  like  of  sonneting  I 
But  are  you  not  ashamed  ?  nay,  are  you  not,  ^ 

All  three  of  yon,  to  be  thus  much  o'ershot?  160 

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  have  I  seen. 
Of  sighs,  of  groans,  of  sorrow  and  of  teen  I 


BCENBin.]       LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  888 

0  me,  "With  vrhat  strict  patience  liavo  I  sat. 
To  see  a  king  transformed  to  a  gnat ! 

To  see  great  Hercules  whipping  a  gig. 

And  profound  Solomon  to  tunc  a  ji^, 

And  Nestor  play  at  push-pin  with  tlio  boys, 

And  critic  Timon  laugh  at  idle  toys  I  170 

Where  lies  thy  grief,  O,  toll  nu\  good  Duraain? 

And,  gentle  Longaville,  wlicrc  lies  thy  pain? 

And  where  my  liege's?  all  about  the  breast : 

A  caudle,  ho  1 

Kiilff.  Too  bitter  is  thy  jest. 

Are  we  betray'd  thus  to  thy  over- view  ? 

Biron.  Not  you  to  me,  but  I  betray'd  by  you  : 
I,  that  am  honest ;  I,  that  hold  it  sin 
To  break  the  vow  I  am  engaged  in  ; 

1  am  betray'd,  by  keeping  com]iany 

fWith  men  like  yon,  men  of  inconstancy.  180 

When  shall  yoa  see  me  write  a  thing  in  rhyme? 
Or  groan  for  love?  or  spend  a  minute's  time 
In  pruning  me?    When  shall  you  hear  that  I 
Will  praise  a  hand,  a  f(X)t,  a  face,  an  eve, 
.  A  gait,  a  state,  a  brow,  n  breast,  a  waist, 
A  leg,  a  limb? 

King.  Soft !  whither  away  so  fast  ? 

A  true  man  or  a  tliief  that  gallops  so  ? 

Biron.  I  ix)st  from  lovo  :  good  lover,  let  me  go. 

Enter  Jaquenetta  and  Costakd. 

• 

Jaq.  Qod  bless  the  king  ! 

Kinff.  W^hat  present  hast  thou  there  ? 

Cost:  Some  certain  treason. 

King,  What  moltes  treason  here?    190 

Cost.  Nay,  it  makes  nothing,  sir. 

King.  If  it  mar  nothing  neither. 

The  treason  and  yon  go  in  peace  away  together. 

Jaq.  I  beseech  your  grace,  let  this  letter  be  read : 
Our  parson  miiidoubts  it ;  'twas  treason,  he  said. 

King.  Biron,  read  it  over.  [Cfiving  him  tlie  paper. 

Where  hadst  thou  it? 

Jaq.  Ofa)stard. 

King.  Where  hadst  then  it? 

C^.  Of  Dun  Adramadio,  Dun  Adramadio. 

[Biron  tears  tJie  letter. 

King,  How  now  I  what  is  in  you  ?  why  dost  thou  t*arit? 

Biron,  A  toy,  my  liege,  a  toy  :  your  grace  needs  not  fear 
it. 


384  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  [act  iv. 

Long.  It  did  move  him  to  passion,  f\nd  therefore  let's 
near  it. 

Dum,  It  is  Biron*s  writing,  and  liere  is  hifl  name. 

[Gailienng  up  the  pieces. 

Biraiu  [To  Costard]  AL,  you  whoreson  loggerhead  !  you 
were  born  to  do  me  sliame. 
Guilt V,  my  lord,  guilty  I  I  confess,  I  confess. 

JCihff.  What? 

Biron.  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. 

Dnm.  Now  the  number  is  even. 

Biron,  True,  true  ;  we  are  four. 

Will  tliese  turtles  he  gone? 

King,  Hence,  sirs  :  away  1 

Cost.  Walk  aside  the  true  folk,  and  let  the  traitors  stay. 

[Exeunt  Costard  and  Jaguenetta, 

Biron.  Sweet  lords,  sweet  lovers,  O,  let  us  embrace  1 

As  true  we  are  as  flesh  and  blood  can  be : 
Tlie  sea  will  el)b  and  flow,  heaven  show  his  face  ; 

Young  blood  dotli  not  obey  an  old  decree  : 
We  cannot  cross  the  cause  why  we  were  born  : 
Therefore  of  all  hands  must  we  be  forsworn. 

King.  What,  did  these  rent   lines  show  some   love  of 
thine?  220 

Biron.  Did  they,  quoth  you?    WTio  sees  the  heavenly 
Rosaline, 
That,  like  a  rude  and  savage  man  of  Inde, 

At  the  first  opening  of  the  gorgeous  east, 
Bows  not  his  vassal  head  and  struck  en  blind 

Kisses  the  base  ground  with  obedient  brtast? 
What  peremptory  engle-sighted  eye 

Dai-es  look  upon  the  heaven  of  her  brow, 
That  is  not  blinded  by  her  majesty  ? 

King,  What  zeal,  what  fury  hath  inspired  thee  now? 
My  love,  her  mistress,  is  a  gracious  moon  ;  280 

She  an  attending  star,  scarce  seen  a  light. 
Biron,  My  eyes  are  then  no  eyes,  nor  I  Biron  : 

O,  hut  for  my  love,  day  would  turn  to  night  I 
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. 
Lenrl  me  the  flourish  of  all  gentle  tongues,— 

Fie,  painted  rhetoric  !  O,  she  aeeds  it  not : 


SCENE  III.]         LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  385 

To  things  of  sale  a  seller's  praise  belongs,  240 

She  passes  praise  ;  then  praise  too  short  doth  blot. 
A  wither'd  hermit,  five-score  winters  worn, 

Might  shako  off  fifty,  lool^ing  in  her  eye : 
Beaat7  doth  varnish  ago,  as  if  new-born. 

And  ffives  the  crutch  tlio  cradle's  infan9y  : 
O,  'tis  the  sun  tliat  maketh  all  things  shine. 

King.  By  heaven,  thy  love  is  black  as  ebony 
Biron,  Is  ebony  like  her  ?    O  wood  divine  ! 

A  wife  of  such  wood  were  felicity 
O,  wlio  can  give  an  oath  ?  where  is  a  book  ?  250 

That  I  may  swear  beauty  doth  beauty  lack. 
If  that  she  learn  not  of  her  eve  to  look  : 

No  face  is  fair  that  is  not  full  so  black. 
£Ang.  O  paradox  I     Black  is  the  badge  of  hell. 

The  hue  of  dungeons  and  the  suit  of  night ; 
And  beauty's  crest  becomes  the  heavens  well. 

Biron.  Devils  soonest  tempt,  resembling  spirits  of  light. 
O,  if  in  black  my  lady's  brows  be  deck'd. 

It  mourns  that  painting  and  usurping  hair 
Should  ravish  doters  with  a  false  a.sp  'ct ;  200 

And  therefore  is  she  born  to  make  l)lac]i  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  lier  brow. 
Bum.  To  look  like  her  are  chimney-sweepers  black. 

Long.  And  since  her  time  are  colliers  counted  bright, 
Kijhg.  An(i  Ethiopes  of  their  sweet  complexion  cracK. 

Bum.  Dark  needs  no  candles  now,  for  dark  is  light. 
Birou.  Your  mistresses  dare  never  come  in  rain. 

For  fear  their  colours  should  be  washe'd  away. 
King.  'Twere  good,  yours  did  ;  for,  sir,  to  tell  you  plain, 

I'll  find  a  fairer  face  not  wash'd  to-day. 
Biron.  I'll  prove  her  fair,  or  talk  till  doomsday  here. 

King.  No  devil  will  fright  thee  then  so  much  as  she. 
Bum.  I  never  knew  manliold  vile  stuff  so  dear. 

Long.  Ijook,  here's  thy  love  :  my  foot  and  her  face  see. 
Biron.  0,  if  tlxe  streets  were  paved  with  thiue  eyes, 

Her  feet  were  much  too  dainty  for  such  tread  I 
Bum^  0  vile  !  then,  as  she  goes  what  apward  lies  280 

The  street  should  see  as  she  walk'd  overhead. 
King.  But  what  of  this?  are  we  noc  all  in  love? 

Birov.  Nothing  so  sure  ;  and  thereby  all  forsworn. 
King.  Then  leave  this  chat ;  and,  good  Biron,  now  prove 

Our  loving  lawful,  and  our  faith  not  torn. 
Bum.  Ay,  marry,  there  ;  some  flattery  for  this  eviL 

5HAK.   I.— 18 


886  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  [activ. 

Lang,  O,  some  authority  liow  to  proceed  ; 
Pome  tricks,  some  quillets,  liow  to  cheat  tbe  devil. 

Dum.  Some  slave  for  perjury. 

Biron,  Tis  more  tlian  need. 

Have  at  you,  then,  affections  men  at  arms.  290 

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  tliat  each  of  you  have  forsworn  his  1xx)k, 
Can  yoa  still  dream  and  pore  and  thereon  look  ? 
For  when  would  you,  my  lord,  or  you,  or  you. 
Have  found  the  ground  of  study's  excellence  800 

Without  the  beauty  of  a  woman's  face  ? 
[From  women's  eyes  this  doctrine  I  derive  ; 
They  are  the  ground,  the  books,  the  academes 
From  whence  doth  spring  the  true  PronM^thcan  fire.  J 
Why,  universal  plodding  poisons  up 
The  nimble  spirits  in  the  arteries, 
As  motion  and  long- during  action  tires 
The  sinewy  vigour  of  the  traveller. 
No'  ,  for  not  looking  on  a  woman's  face,       • 
You  have  in  that  forsworn  the  use  of  eyes  810 

And  study  too,  the  causer  of  your  vow ; 
For  where  is  any  author  in  the  world 
Teaches  such  beauty  as  a  woman's  eye  ? 
Learning  is  but  an  adjunct  to  ourself 
And  where  we  are  our  learning  likewise  is  : 
Then  when  ourselves  we  see  in  Indies'  eyes. 
Do  we  not  likewise  see  our  learning  there  ? 
O,  we  have  made  a  vow  to  study,  lords, 
And  in  that  vow  we  have  forsworn  our  books. 
For  when  would  you,  my  liege,  or  you,  oc  you,  820 

In  leaden  contemplation  have  found  out 

Such  fiery  numbers  as  the  prompting  eyes  j 

Of  beauty's  tutors  have  enrich'd  you  with  ?  1 

Other  slow  arts  entirely  keep  the  brain  ;  1 

And  therefore,  finding  barren  practisers, 
Si'arce  show  a  han'est  of  their  heavy  toil : 
Bht  love,  first  learned  in  a  lady's  eyes. 
Lives  not  alone  inmmrcd  in  the  brain  ; 
But,  with  the  motion  of  all  elements. 
Courses  as  swift  as  thought  in  every  power,  880 

And  gives  to  every  power  a  double  power. 
Above  their  functions  and  their  offices. 


SCENE  IIT.I     LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  887 

It  adds  a  precious  seeing  to  the  eye ; 

A  lover's  eyes  Avill  gaze  an  eagle  blind  ; 

A  lover's  ear  will  hear  the  lowest  sound, 

When  the  suspicious  head  of  theft  is  stopp'd : 

Love's  feeling  is  more  soft  and  sensible  j 

Than  are  the  tender  horns  of  cockled  snails  ; 

Love's  tongue  proves  dainty  Bacchus  gross  in  taste  : 

For  valour,  is  not  Love  a  Hercules,  840 

Still  climbing  trees  in  the  Ilesperides  ? 

Subtle  as  Sphinx  ;  as  sweet  and  musical 

As  bright  Apollo'^  lute,  strung  with  his  hair  : 

And  when  Love  spealcs,  the  voice  of  all  the  gods 

Make  heaven  drowsy  with  the  harmony. 

Never  durst  poet  touch  a  pea  to  write 

Until  his  ink  were  temper'd  with  Love's  sighs  ; 

O,  then  his  lines  would  ravish  savage  ears 

And  plant  in  tyrants  mild  humility. 

From  women's  eyes  this  doctrine  I  derive :  850 

They  sparkle  still  the  right  Promethean  fire ; 

They  are  the  books,  the  arts,  the  academes, 

That  show,  contain  and  nourisli  all  the  world  :  ^* 

Else  none  at  all  in  ought  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,  860 

Let  us  once  lose  our  oaths  to  find  ourselves, 

Or  else  we  lose  ourselves  to  keep  our  oaths. 

It  is  religion  to  be  thus  forsworn, 

For  chanty  itself  fulfils  the  law. 

And  who  can  sever  love  from  charity  ? 

King,  Saint  Cupid,  then  I  and,  soldiers,  to  the  field  I 

Biron.  Advance  your  standards,  and  upon  them,  lords  ; 
Pell-mell,  down  with  them  !  but  be  first  advised. 
In  oonfilct  that  you  get  the  sun  of  them. 

Long.  Now  to  plain  dealing  ;  lay  these  glozes  by  : 
Shall  we  resolve  to  woo  these  girls  of  France? 

King.  And  win  them  too  :  therefore  let  us  devise 
Some  entertainment  for  them  in  their  tents. 

Biron.  First,  from  tlie  park  let  us  conduct  them  thitl^er, 
Then  homeward  every  man  attach  the  hand 
Of  his  fair  mistress  :  in  the  afternoon 
We  will  with  some  strange  pistime  solnce  them, 
Such  as  the  shortness  of  the  time  can  shape  ; 
For  revels,  dances,  mfuiks  and  merry  hours 


tm  LOVETS  LABOUR'S   IX)ST.  [act  v. 

Forernn  fair  Ijove,  strewing  lier  way  with  flowers. 

Kinff.  Away,  away  !  no  time  shall  be  omitted 
That  will  betime.  and  may  by  us  be  fitted. 
Biron..  A  lions  !  allons !     Sow'd  cockle  reap'd  no  com  ; 

A,pd  justice  always  whirls  in  equal  measure  : 
Light  wenches  may  prove  plagues  to  men  forsworn  ; 
If  Bo,  our  copper  buys  no  bietter  treasure.  [Exeunt, 

ACT  V. 
ScEinB  I.     The  same. 

Enter  noix>FERNEs,  Sm  Nathaniel,  and  Dull. 

Hoi.  Satis  quod  snfficit. 

Hat^L  I  praise  God  for  yon,  sir :  your  reasons  at  dinner 
have  been  sharp  and  sententious ;  pleasant  without  scur- 
rility, witty  witlKMit  affection,  audacious  without  impu- 
dency,  learned  without  opinion,  and  strange  without  heresy. 
I  did  converse  this  quondam  day  with  a  companion  of  the 
king's,  who  is  intituled,  nominated,  or  called,  Don  Adriano 
de  Armada 

JM.  Novi  bominem  tanquam  te :  his  humour  is  lofty, 
his  discourse  peremptory,  his  tongue  filed,  his  eye  ambi- 
tious, his  gait  majestical,  and  his  general  behaviour  vain,  • 
ridiculous,  and  thrasonical.  He  is  too  picked,  too  spruce, 
too  affected,  too  odd,  as  it  were,  too  peregrinate,  as  I  may 
call  it. 

Nat/i.  A  most  singular  and  choice  epithet. 

\Draiea  out  kit  talte-hook. 

Hoi.  He  draweth  out  the  thread  of  his  verbosity  finer 
than  the  staple  of  his  argument.  I  abhor  such  fanatical 
phantasimes,  such  insociable  and  point-devise  companions  ; 
such  rackers  of  orthography,  as  to  speak  dout,  fine  when 
he  should  say  doubt ;  det,  when  he  bIkmiM  pronounce  debt, 
— d,  e.  b,  t,  not  d,  e,  t :  he  clepeth  a  calf,  cauf ,  half,  hauf ; 
neighbour  vocatur  nebour ;  neigh  abbreviated  ne.  This  is 
abhominable, — which  he  would  call  abboniinable  :  it  in- 
sinuatethf  one  of  ineanire  ;  ne  inteUigis,  dominef  to  wax 
frantic,  lunatic. 

NfUh.  Laus  Deo,  bene  intelliga.  80 

HU.  Bon,  bon,  fort  bon,  Priscian  I  a  little  scratched, 
'twill  serve. 

Kath.  Videsne  quis  venit  ? 

Htd.  Video,  et  gaudeo. 

Enter  Abmado,  Moth,  and  Costard. 
Arm,  Chinahl  [To  Moth> 


8CSCTI.]  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  880 

Hci,  Quare  cliirnli,  not  sirrah  ? 

Arm.  Men  of  peace,  well  encountered. 

Uol,  Most  military  sir,  salutation. 

Moth,  [Aiide  to  Costard]  They  liave  been  at  a  great 
feast  of  languages,  and  stolen  the  soraps. 

Cost.  O,  they  have  lived  long  on  the  alms-basket  of  words. 
I  marvel  thy  master  hath  not  eaten  thee  for  a  word ;  for 
thou  art  not  so  long  by  the  head  as  honorificabilitudinitati- 
bus  :  thou  art  easier  swallowed  than  a  flap-dragon. 

Moth,  Peace  1    thepeal  begins. 

Arm,  rid  IIol,\    Monsiear,  are  you  not  lettered? 

Moth,  Ves,  yes  ;  he  teaches  bovs  the  horn-book.  What 
is  a,  b,  spelt  backward,  with  the  liorn  on  his  head?  51 

Mol,  Ba,  pueritia,  with  a  horn  added. 

Moth,  fis,  most  silly  sheep  with  a  horn.  Yon  hear  his 
learning. 

Hoi,  Quis,  quis,  thou  consonant? 

Moth.  The  third  of  the  five  vowels,  if  you  repeat  them ; 
or  the  fifth,  if  L 

ffol.  I  will  repeat  them, — a,  o,  1, — 

Moth,  The  sheep  :  the  other  two  concludes  it,^K),  u.     60 

Arm,  Now,  by  the  salt  wave  of  the  Mediterraneum,  a 
sweet  touch,  a  quick  venue  of  wit  I  snip,  snap,  quick  and 
home  1  it  rejoiceth  my  intellect :  true  wit  I 

Moth,  Offered  by  a  child  to  an  old  man ;  which  is  wit- 
old. 

Hot.  Wliat  is  the  figure?  what  is  the  figure? 

Moth.  Horns. 

Hoi.  Thou  disputest  like  an  infant :  go,  whip  thy  gig.  70 

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  gfingerbread  :  liold,  there  is  the  very  remu- 
neration I  had  of  thy  master,  thou  half -penny  purse  of  wit^ 
thou  pigeon-egg  of  discretion.  O,  an  the  heavens  were  so 
pleased  that  thou  wert  but  my  bastard,  what  a  joyful  father 
wouldst  thou  make  mo  I  Uto  too  ;  thou  hast  it  ad  dunghill, 
at  the  fingers'  ends,  as  they  say. 

I£ol,  O,  I  smell  false  Latin  ;  dunghill  for  unguom. 

Arm.  Arts-man,  preambulate,  wo  will  be  singulod  from 
the  barbarous.  Do  you  not  educate  youth  at  the  charge- 
house  on  the  top  of  the  mountain  ? 

JIol.  Or  mens,  the  hill. 

Arm,  At  your  sweet  pleasure,  for  the  mountain.  90 

Mol.  I  do,  sans  question. 

Arm.  Sir,  it  is  the  king's  most  sweet  pleasure  and  affc<;- 
tion  to  congratulate  the  princess  at  her  pavilion  in  the  pos- 


8Q0  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  [act  v. 

teriora  of  this  day,  which  the  rude  multitude  call  the  after- 
noon. 

HoL  The  posterior  of  the  day,  most  generous  sir,  ifl 
liable,  congrueat  and  measurable  for  the  afternoon :  tlie 
word  is  well  culled,  choee,  vweet  and  apt,  I  do  assure  you, 
sir,  I  do  assure. 

Arm.  Sir,  the  king  is  a  noble  gentleman,  and  my  familiar, 
I  do  assure  ye,  very  good  friend  :  for  what  is  inward  be- 
tween us,  let  it  pass.  I  do  beseech  thee,  remember  thy 
courtesy ;  I  beseech  thee,  apparel  thy  head :  and  among 
other  important  and  most  serious  designs,  and  of  ffreRt  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,  with  my  mustachio ;  but,  sweet  heart, 
let  that  pass.  By  the  world,  I  recount  no  fable :  some  cer- 
tain special  nonours  it  pleaseth  his  greatness  to  impart  to 
Armado,  a  soldier,  a  man  of  travel,  that  liath  seen  the  world ; 
but  let  that  pass.  The  very  all  of  all  is, — but  sweet  heart, 
I  do  implore  secrecy,— ^tliat  the  king  would  have  me  present 
the  princess,  sweet  chuck,  with  some  delightful  ostentation, 
or  show,  or  pageant,  or  antique,  or  firework.  Now,  under- 
standing that  the  curate  and  your  sweet  self  are  goqd  at 
such  eruptions  and  sudden  breaking  out  of  mirth,  as  it  were, 
I  liave  acquainted  you  withal,  to  the  end  to  crave  your  as- 
sistance. 

lid.  Sir,  you  shall  present  before  her  the  Nine  Worthies. 
Sir,  as  concerning  some  entertainment  of  time,  some  show 
in  the  posterior  of  this  day,  to  be  rendered  by  our  assistants, 
at  the  king's  command,  and  this  most  gallant,  illustrate, 
and  learned  gentleman,  before  tiie  princess ;  I  say  none  so 
fit  as  to  present  the  Nine  Worthies.  130 

Nath,  Where  will  you  find  men  worthy  enough  to  present 
them  ? 

IIol,  f  Joshua,  yourself ;  myself  or  this  gallant  gentle- 
man, Judas  Maccabseus ;  this  swain,  because  of  his  great 
limb  or  joint,  shall  pass  Pompey  the  Qreat ;  the  page, 
Hercules, — 

Arm.  Pardon,  sir ;  error :  he  is  not  quantity  enough  for 
that  Worthy's  thumb :  he  is  not  so  big  as  the  end  of  his  club. 

Hoi.  Shall  I  have  audience?  he  shall  present  Hercules 
in  minority :  his  enter  and  exit  shall  be  strungUng  a  snake ; 
and  I  will  liave  an  apology  for  that  purpose. 

Moth.  An  excellent  devise  1  so,  if  any  of  the  audience 
hiss,  you  may  cry  '*  Well  done,  Hercules  I  now  thou  crush 
est  the  snake  I "  that  is  the  wav  to  make  on  offence  gracious, 
though  few  have  the  grace  to  do  it. 


8CEKBU.]         LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  mi 

Arm,  For  the  rest  of  tlio  Wortliies?— 

Hd,     I  will  play  three  myself.  150 

Moth.  Thrice- worthy  gentleman  I 

Arm.  Shall  I  toll  joa  a  thing? 

JIo!,  Wo  attend. 

Arm.  We  will  have,  if  tliis  fadge  not,  an  antique.     I  be- 
seech you,  follow. 

IIol.  Via,  good  man  Dull  I  thou  hast  spoken  no  word  all 
this  while. 

Dull.  Nor  understand  none  neither,  sir. 

Ilol.  Aliens  !  we  will  employ  thee. 

Dull,  ril  make  one  in  a  dance,  or  so ;  or  I  will  play     IGO 
On  the  tabor  to  the  Wortliies,  and  let  them  dance  the  hay. 

Hoi.  Most  dull,  honest  Dull  1    To  our  sport,  away  I. 

[Exeunt. 
ScEiTB  IL     The  same. 

Enter  the  Princess,  Kathabinb,  Rosaline,  and  Maria. 

Prin.  Sweet  hearts,  we  shall  be  rich  ere  we  depart. 
If  falrlings  come  thus  plentifully  in  . 
A  lady  wall'd  about  with  diamonds  I 
Vook  you  what  I  have  from  the  loving  king. 

Roe.  Madame,  came  nothing  else  along  with  that? 

Prin.  Nothing  but  this  I  yes,  as  much  love  In  rhyme 
As  would  be  cramm'd  up  in  a  sheet  of  paper. 
Writ  o'  both  sides  the  leaf,  margent  and  all. 
That  he  was  fain  to  seal  on  Cupid*s  name. 

Boa.  That  was  the  way  to  make  his  godhead  wax,  10 

For  he  hath  been  five  thousand  years  a  boy. 

Kath.  Ay,  and  a  shrewd  unhappy  gallows  too. 

Bos.  You'll  ne'er  be  friends  with  liim;   a'  kill'd  your 
sister. 

Kath.  He  made  her  melancholy,  sad,  and  heavy  ; 
And  so  she  died  :  had  she  been  light,  like  you, 
Of  such  a  merry,  nimble,  stirring  spirit, 
She  might  ha'  been  a  grandam  ere  she  died : 
And  so  may  you  ;  for  a  light  heart  lives  long. 

Has.   What's  your  dark  meaning,  mouse,  of  this  light 
word? 

Kath.  A  light  condition  in  a  beauty  dark.  20 

lioe.  Wo  need  more  light  to  find  your  meaning  out. 

Kath.  You'll  mar  the  light  by  taking  it  in  sm^ ; 
Therefore  I'll  darkly  end  the  argument. 

Bos.  Look,  what  you  do,  you  do  it  still  i'  the  dark. 

Kath.  So  do  not  you,  for  you  are  a  light  wench. 

Kae.     Indeed  I  weigh  not  you,  and  therefore  liglit. 

Kath.  You  weigh  me  not  ?    O,  that's  you  care  not  for  me. 


a02  LOVETS  LABOUR'S  LOST.  [act  v. 

Bos.  Great  reason  ;  for  '*  past  cure  is  still  past  care." 

JPrin.  Well  bandied  both  ;  a  set  of  wit  well  play'd. 
But,  Rosaline,  jou  have  a  favour  too  :  80 

Who  sent  it?  and  what  is  it? 

Iio8.  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 :  ' 

I  am  compared  to  twenty  thousand  fairs. 
O,  he  liath  drawn  my  picture  in  his  letter  I 

Prin.  Any  thing  like  ? 

Mas,    Much  in  the  letters  ;  nothing  in  the  praise,  40 

Prin.  Beauteous  as  ink  ;  a  good  conclusion. 

Kath.  Fair  as  a  text  B  in  a  copy-book. 

Has,  'Ware  pencils,  ho  1  let  me  not  die  your  debtor, 
My  red  dominical,  my  golden  letter  : 
O  that  your  face  were  not  no  full  of  O's ! 

Kath.  A  pox  of  that  jest !  aud  I  beshrew  all  shrews. 

Prin.  But,  Katharine,  what  was  sent  to  you  from  fair 
Duma  in  ? 

Kath.  Madam,  this  glove. 

Prin.  Did  he  not  send  you  twain  ? 

Kath.  Yes,  madam,  and  moreover 
Some  thousand  verses  of  a  faithful  lover,  60 

A  huge  translation  of  hypocrisy. 
Vilely  compiled,  profound  simplicty. 

Mar.  This  and  these  pearls  to  me  sent  Longaville : 
The  letter  is  too  lonff  by  half  a  mile. 

PHa.  I  think  no  less.     Dost  thou  not  wish  in  heart 
The  cliain  were  longer  and  the  letter  short  7 

Mar.  Ay,  or  I  would  these  hands  might  never  part. 

Prin,  Wo  are  wise  girls  to  mock  our  lovers  so. 

JHos.  They  are  worse  fools  to  purchase  mocking  S3. 
That  same  Biron  I'll  torture  ere  i  go  :  60 

O  that  I  knew  he  were  but  in  by  the  week  I 
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  bests 
And  make  him  proud  to  make  me  proud  that  jests  ! 

iSo  portent-like  would  I  o'ersway  his  state 
'hat  he  should  be  my  fool  and  I  his  fate. 
Prin,  None  are  so  surely  caught,  when  tliey  are  catch'd. 
As  wit  tum'd  fool :  folly,  in  wisdom  hatched,  70 

Hath  wisdom's  warrant  and  the  help  of  school 


BCBNEn.]  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  8»3 

And  wit's  own  grace  to  grace  a  learned  fool. 

Ros.  The  blood  of  youth  baras  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. 

Prin.  Here  conies  Boyet,  and  mirth  is  in  his  face. 

Enter  Boyet. 

Boyet.  Oh,  I  am  stabb*d  with  laughter  I    Where's  her 
grace?  80 

Prin.  Thy  news,  Boyet  ? 

Boyet.  Prepare,  madam,  prepare  I 

Arm,  wenches,  arm  I  encounters  mounted  are 
Against  your  peace  :  Love  doth  approach  disguised, 
Armed  in  arguments  ;  you'll  be  surprised  : 
Muster  your  wit^s ;  stand  in  your  own  defence  ; 
Or  hide  your  heads  like  cowards,  and  fly  hence. 

Prin.  Saint  Denis  to  Saint  Cupid !     Wliat  are  they 
That  charge  their  breath  against  us  ?  say,  scout,  say. 

Boyet.  Under  the  cool  shade  of  a  sysamore 
I  thought  to  close  mine  eyes  some  lialf.  an  hoar ;  90 

When,  lo  !  to  interrupt  my  pur(>o8ed  rest, 
Toward  that  shade  I  might  behold  addrest 
The  king  and  his  companions  :  warily 
I  stole  into  a  neighbour  thicket  by, 
And  overheard  what  you  shall  overhear ; 
That,  by  and  by,  disguised  they  will  be  here. 
Their  herald  is  a  pretty  knavish  page, 
That  well  by  heart  hath  oonn'd  his  embassage  : 
Action  and  accent  did  they  teach  him  there  ; 
"  Thus  must  thou  speak,"  and  "thus  thy  body  bear  : "    100 
And  ever  and  anon  they  made  a  doubt 
Presence  majestical  would  put  him  out ; 
**  For,"  quoth  the  king,  '*  an  angel  shalt  thou  see  ; 
Yet  fear  not  thou,  but  speak  audaciously." 
The  boy  replied,  "  An  augel  is  not  evil  ; 
I  should  have  fear'd  her  had  she  been  a  devil." 
With  that,  all  laugh'd  and  clapp'd  him  on  the  shoulder. 
Making  the  bold  wag  by  their  praises  Ixilder  : 
One  rubb'd  his  elbow  thus,  ana  fleer'd  and  swore 
A  better  speech  was  never  spoke  before  ;  110 

Another,  with  his  finger  and  his  thumb. 
Cried,  '*  Via  !  we  will  do't,  come  what  will  come ; 
The  third  he  caper'd,  and  cried,  "  All  goes  well ; 


n 


394  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  [act  v. 

The  fourth  tum'd  on  the  toe,  and  down  he  fell. 
With  that,  thej  all  did  tumble  on  the  ground, 
With  such  a  zealous  laughter,  so  profound, 
That  in  this  spleen  ridiculous  appears, 
To  check  their  follv,  passion's  solemn  tears. 

Prin.  But  what,  but  what,  come  they  to  visit  us  ? 

Boyet.  They  do,  they  do  ;  and  are  apparell'd  thus,        120 
Like  Muscovites  or  Russians,  as  I  guess. 
Their  purpose  is  to  parle,  to  court  and  dance ; 
And  every  one  his  love- feat  will  advance  i 

Unto  his  several  mistress,  which  they'll  know 
By  favours  several  which  they  did  bestow. 

Prin.  And  will  they  so?  the  gallants  shall  be  task'd  ; 
For,  ladies,  we  will  every  one  be  mask'd  ; 
And  not  a  man  of  them  shall  have  the  grace. 
Despite  of  suit,  to  see  a  lady's  face. 

Hold,  Rosaline,  this  favour  thou  shalt  wear,  130 

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,  deceived  by  these  removes. 

JRo8.  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  int(*nt.  140 

Their  several  counsels  they  unbosom  sliall 
To  loves  mistook,  and  so  be  mock'd  withal 
Upon  the  next  occasion  that  we  meet. 
With  visages  disylay'd,  to  talk  and  greet. 

lios.  Bat  shall  we  dance,  if  they  desire  ps  to't  ? 

Prin.  No,  to  the  death,  we  will  not  move  a  foot ; 
Nor  to  their  penn'd  speech  render  we  no  grace, 
But  while  'tis  spoke  each  turn  away  her  face. 

Boyd.  Why,  that  contempt  will  kill  the  speaker's  heart, 
And  quite  divorce  his  memory  from  his  part.  150 

Prin.  Therefore  I  do  it ;  and  I  make  no  doubt 
The  rest  will  ne'er  come  in,  if  he  be  out. 
There's  no  such  sport  as  sport  by  sport  o'erthrown. 
To  make  theirs  ours  and  ours  none  but  our  own  : 
So  shall  we  stay,  mocking  intended  game, 
And  they,  well  mock'd,  depart  away  with  shame. 

[TrumpetB  9ound  within. 

Boyet.   Tho  trumpet  sounds :   be  maslc'd ;  the  maskers  * 
come.  \2he  Ladies  mask. 


SCENE  II.]        LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  805 

Enter  Blaekamoori  toUh  mtine ;  Moth  ;  the  King,  BmoN, 
LoNGAYiLLB,  and  DuMAiN,  in  Rustian  habits,  ana  masked. 

Jfoth,  All  liail  the  richest  beauties  on  the  earth  t  — 

Boyet.  Beauties  no  richer  than  rich  taffeta. 

Moth.  A  holy  parcel  of  the  fairest  dames.  160 

\The  Ladies  turn  their  hacks  to  him. 
That  ever  tum'd  their — -oacks — to  mortal  views  I 

Biron,  [Aside  to  Moth'\  Th^ir  eyes,  villain,  their  eyes. 

Mot?L  That  ever  torn'd  their  eyes  to  mortal  views  ! — 
Out— 

Boyet.  True  ;  out  indeed. 

Moth.  Out  of  your  favours,  heavenly  spirits,  vouchsafe 
Not  to  behold — 
'    Biron.  [Aside  to  Moth]  Once  to  behold,  rogue. 

Moth.  Once  to  behold  with  your  sun-beamed  eyes, 
with  your  sun-beamed  eyes — 

Boyet.  They  will  not  answer  to  that  epithet ;  170 

You  were  best  call  it  *'  daughter-beamed  eyes." 

Moth.  They  do  not  mark  me,  and  that  brings  me  out. 

Biron.  Is  this  your  perfectness  ?  be  gone,  vou  rogue  I 

[Ent  Moth. 

Bos.  What  would  these  strangers?  know  their  minds, 
Boyet : 
If  they  do  speak  our  lang^ge,  'tis  our  will 
That  some  plain  man  recount  their  purposes : 
Know  wliat  they  would. 

Boyet.  What  would  you  with  the  princess  ? 

Biron.  Nothing  but  peace  and  gentle  visitation. 

Bos.  What  would  they,  say  they?  180 

Boyet.  Nothing  but  peace  and  gentle  visitation. 

Bos.  Why,  that  they  have ;  and  bid  them  so  be  gone. 

Boyet.  She  savs,  you  have  it,  and  you  may  be  gone. 

King.  Say  to  her,  we  have  measured  many  miles 
To  tread  a  measure  with  her  on  this  grass. 

Boyet.  They  say,  that  they  have  measured  many  a  mile 
To  tread  a  measure  with  you  on  this  grass. 

Bos.  It  is  not  so.     Ask  them  how  many  inches 
Is  in  one  mile  :  if  they  have  measured  many. 
The  measure  then  of  one  is  easily  told.  190 

Boyet.  If  to  come  hither  you  have  measured  miles. 
And  many  miles,  the  princess  bids  you  tell 
How  many  inches  doth  fill  up  one  mile. 

Biron.  Tell  her,  we  measure  them  by  weary  steps. 

Boyet,  She  hears  herself. 

Bos.  How  many  weary  steps, 

Of  many  weary  miles  you  have  o'ergone. 


U96  LOVETS  LABOUR'S  LOST.  [act  v. 

Are  nnmber'd  in  the  travel  of  one  mile  ? 

Biron.  We  number  nothing  tliat  we  spend  for  jou : 
Our  duty  is  so  rich,  so  infinite. 

That  we  may  do  it  still  without  acoompt.  200 

Vouchsafe  to  show  the  sunshine  of  your  face, 
That  we,  like  savages,  may  worship  it. 

Ro$.  My  facA  is  but  a  moon,  and  clouded  too. 

King,  Blessed  are  clouds,  to  do  as  such  clouds  do  ! 
Vouchsafe,  bright  moon,  and  these  thy  stars,  to  shine, 
Those  clouds  removed,  upon  our  watery  eync, 

Ito8.  O  vain  petitioner  I  beg  a  greater  matter  ; 
Thou  now  request'st  but  moonshine  in  the  water. 

King.  Then,  in  our  measure  do  but  vouciisafe  one  change. 
Thou  bid'st  me  beg  :  this  begging  is  not  strange.  210 

Hon,  Play,  music,  then !    I^ay,  you  must  do  it  soon. 

[Music  jilays. 
Not  yet !  no  dance  !    Tlius  change  I  like  the  moon. 

King,  Will    you    not  dance?    How  come  you  thus  es- 
tranged ? 

Ron.  You  took  the  moon  at  full,  but  now  she's  changed. 

King.  Yet  still  she  is  the  moon,  and  I  the  man. 
The  music  plays  ;  vouchsafe  some  motion  to  it. 

Rob.  Our  ears  vouchsafe  it. 

King.  But  your  legs  should  do  it. 

Ro8.  Since  you  are  strangers  and  come liere  by  chance. 
We'll  not  l)e  nice  :  take  liands.     We  will  not  dance. 

King.  Why  take  we  hands,  then  ? 

Ro8.  Only  to  part  friends :  220 

Curtsy,  sweet  hearts ;  and  so  tlie  measure  ends. 

King,  More  measure  of  this  measure  ;  bw  not  nice. 

Ros.  We  can  afford  no  more  at  such  a  price. 

King,  Prize  you  yourselves :  what  buj-s  your  company? 

Ros.  Your  absence  only. 

King.  That  can  never  be. 

Ro8.  Then  cannot  we  be  bought ;  and  so,  adieu  ; 
Twice  to  your  visor,  and  half  once  to  you. 

King.  If  you  denv  to  dance,  let's  hold  more  chat. 

Ros,  In  private,  then. 

King.  I  am  best  pleased  with  that. 

[TJiey  converse  apart. 

Biron.  White-banded   mistress,    one  sweet    word  with 
thee.  280 

Prin.  Honey,  and  milk,  and  sugar ;  there  is  three. 

Biron.  Nay  then,  two  treys,  ana  if  you  grow  so  nice, 
Metheglin,  wort,  and  malmsey ;  well  run,  dice  ! 
There's  half-a-dozen  sweets. 

Priti,  Seventh  sweet,  adieu  : 


r 


BCHHKii.]         LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  397 

Since  7011  can  cog,  I'll  plaj  no  more  witli  you. 

Biron.  One  word  in  secret. 

Priru  Let  it  not  be  sweet. 

Birvfu  Tlioa  grievest  mj  gall. 

Prin,  Gall  1  bitter. 

Biron.  Therefore  meet. 

[They  converse  apart. 

Dum,  Will  you  Touclisafe  with  me  to  change  a  word  ? 

Mar.  Name  it. 

Dum.  Fair  lady, — 

Mar.  Say  you  so?    Fair  lord, — 

Take  that  for  yonr  fair  lady. 

Bum.  Please  it  yon,  240 

As  much  in  private,  and  I'll  bid  adieu. 

[Thejf  converse  apart. 

K(Uh.  What,  was  your  vizard  made  without  a  tongue? 

LoHff.  I  know  the  reason,  lady,  why  you  ask. 

Kaih.  O  for  your  reason  1  quickly,  sir ;  I  long. 

Long.  You  liave  a  double  tongue  within  your  mask. 
And  would  afford  my  speechless  vizard  half. 

Kath.  Veal,   quoth    the  Dutchman.     Is  not   "vual"  a 
calf? 

Long.  A  calf,  fair  lady  I 

Kath.  No,  a  fair  lord  calf. 

Long.  Let's  part  the  word. 

Kat/L  No,  I'll  not  be  your  half  : 

Take  all,  and  wean  it ;  it  may  prove  an  ox.  250 

Lojig.  Look,   how  you    butt    yourself   in  these  sharp 
mocks  I 
Will  you  give  horns,  chaste  lady  ?  do  not  so. 

Kath.  Ihen  die  a  calf,  before  your  horns  do  grow. 

Long.  One  word  in  private  with  you,  ere  I  die. 

Kath.  Bleat  softly  tnen ;  the  butcher  hears  you  cry. 

[Theg  conaet^ee  apart. 

Boyet.  The  tongues  of  mocking  wenches  are  as  keen 

As  is  the  razor's  edge  invisible. 
Cutting  a  smaller  hair  than  may  be  seen, 

Al)ove  the  sen-se  of  sense  ;  so  sensible 
Seenietli  their  conference ;  their  conceits  have  wings      200 
Fleeter  than  arrows,  bullets,  wind,  thought,  swifter  things. 

J{(te.  Not  one  word  more,  my  maids  ;  break  off,  break  oR. 

Biron.  By  heaven,  all  dry-beaten  with  pure  scoff  I 

King.  Farewell,  mad  wenches ;  yon  have  simple  wits. 

Pri/i.  Twenty  adieus,  my  frozen' Muscovits. 

[Exeunt  King,  Lords,  and  Blackamoors. 
Are  these  tlie  breed  of  wits  so  wonder'd  at  ? 

Boyet.  Tapers  they  are,  with  your  sweet  breaths  puff 'd  out. 


808  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  [act  v. 

Bo$.  Well-liking  wits  they  have ;  gross,  gross ;  fat,  fat. 

Prin.  O  poverty  in  wit,  kingly-poor  flout ! 
"Will  they  not,  think  you,  hang  themselves  to-night  ?      270 

Or  ever,  but  in  vizards,  show  their  faces  ? 
This  pert  Biron  was  out  of  countenance  quite. 

Has.  O,  they  were  all  in  lainentablo  cases  I 
The  king  was  weeping- ripe  for  a  good  word. 

Prin.  Biron  did  swear  himself  out  of  all  suit. 

Mar.  Dumain  was  at  my  service,  and  his  sword  : 
No  point,  quoth  I ;  my  servant  straight  was  mute. 

Kath,  Lord  Longaville  said,  I  came  o'er  his  heart ; 
And  trow  you  what  he  called  me  ? 

Prin.  Qualm,  j^rhaps. 

Kath.  Yes,  in  good  faith.  i 

Prin,  Go,  sickness  as  thou  art !        280  ! 

Bos.  Well,  better  wits  have  worn  plain  statute-caps.  *  ! 

But  will  you  hear?  the  king  is  my  love  sworn. 

Prin.  And  quick  Biron  hath  plighted  faith  to  me. 

Kath.  And  Longaville  was  for  my  service  born. 

Mar.  Dumain  is  mine,  as  sure  as  bark  on  tree. 

Boyet.  Madam,  and  pretty  mistresses,  give  ear  : 
Immediate  they  will  again  be  here. 
In  their  own  shapes  ;  for  it  cnn  never  be 
They  will  digest  this  harsh  indignity.  i 

Prin.  Will  they  return  V 

Boyet.  7'hey  will,  they  will,  God  knows.  290 

And  leap  for  joy,  though  they  .are  lame  with  blows  : 
Therefore  change  favours  ;  and,  when  they  repair, " 
Blow  like  sweet  roses  in  this  summer  air. 

Prin.  How  blow  ?  how  blow  ?  speak  to  be  understood. 

Boyet.  Fair  ladies  masked  are  roses  in  their  bud  ; 
Dismask'd,  their  damask  sweet  commixture  shown, 
f  Are  angels  vailing  clouds,  or  roses  blown. 

PHn.  Avaunt,  perplexity  !    What  shall  we  do. 
If  they  return  in  their  own  shapes  to  woo? 

Bos.  Good  madam,  if  by  me  you'll  be  advised. 
Let's  mock  them  still,  as  well-known  as  disguised  : 
Let  us  complain  to  them  what  fools  were  here. 
Disguised  like  Muscovites,  in  shapeless  gear  ; 
And  wonder  what  they  were  and  to  what  end 
Their  shallow  shows  and  prologue  vilely  penn'd 

And  tlifcir  rough  carriage  so  ridiculous,  i 

Should  be  presented  at  our  tent  to  us. 

Boyet.  Ladies,  withdraw  :  the  gallants  are  at  hand.  i 

Prin,  Whip  to  our  tents,  as  rocs  run  o'er  land.  ! 

[Exeunt  Princess,  Bosaline,  Katharine,  and  Maria, 


8CENKII.]         LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  889 

Be-cnter  tJve  King,  BmoN,  Lonqavtlle,  and  DuMA£tsr,  in 

their  proper  JtabiU. 

King.  Fair  sir,  God  save  you  I    Where's  tlio  princete? 

Boyei.  Gone  to  lier  tent.    Pleuse  it  your  majesty  311 

Coinmand  me  any  service  to  lier  tliitlier  ? 

King.  Tliat  slie  vouchsafe  me  audience  for  one  word. 

Boyet.  I  will ;  and  so  will  she,  I  know,  my  lord.     [Exit. 

Biron.  This  fellow  pecks  up  wit  as  pigeons  x>ease. 
And  utten  it  again  when  God  doth  please  : 
He  is  wit's  pedler,  and  retails  liis  wares 
At  wakes  and  wassails,  meetings,  markets,  fairs  ; 
And  we  tliat  sell  by  gross,  the  Lord  doth  know, 
Have  not  the  grace  to  grace  it  with  such  show.  830 

This  gallant  pins  the  wenches  on  his  sleeve  ; 
Had  he  been  Adam,  he  had  tempted  Eve  ; 
A'  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  playes  at  tables,  chides  the  dice 
In  honourable  terms    nay,  he  can  sing 
A  mean  most  meanly  ;  and  in  ushering 
Mend  him  who  can  :  the  ladies  call  him  sweet ; 
The  stairs,  as  he  treads  on  them,  kiss  his  feet :  880 

This  is  the  flower  that  smiles  on  every  one, 
To  show  his  teeth  as  white  as  whale's  bone  ; 
And  consciences,  that  will  not  die  in  debt, 
Pav  him  the  due  of  boney-tong^ed  Boyet. 

king.  A  blister  on  his  sweet  tongue,  with  my  heart. 
That  put  Armado's  page  out  of  his  part ! 

Biran.   See  where  it  comes  I    Behaviour,  what  wert  thou 
Till  this  madman  show'd  thee  ?  and  what  art  thou  now? 

Re-enter  the  Princess,  ushered  hy  Botet  ;  Hosaline,  Mabia, 

and  Katharine. 

King,  All  hail,  sweet  madam,  and  fair  time  of  day  I 
PHn.  "  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,  delights  in  perjured  men. 
King.  Rebuke  me  not  for  that  which  you  provoke  : 

The  virtue  of  your  eye  must  break  my  oath. 
Prin.  Tou  nickname  virtue ;  vice  you  should  have  spoke  , 

For  virtue's  office  never  breaks  men's  troth.  850 

Now,  by  my  maiden  honour,  yet  as  pure 


400*  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  [act  V. 

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  lived  in  desolation  here, 

Unseen,  un visited,  much  to  our  shame. 
PHn,  Not  so,  my  lord  ;  it  is  not  so,  I  swear  ; 

We  have  had  pastimes  here  and  pleasant  game  :  800 

A  mess  of  Russians  left  us  but  of  late. 

King.  How,  madam  !     Russians  I 

Prin.  Ay,  in  truth,  my  IcrJ  ; 

Trim  gallants,  full  of  courtship  and  of  state. 

Ro8.  Madam,  speak  true;     It  is  not  so,  my  lord  : 
My  lady,  to  the  manner  of  tlie  days. 
In  courtesy  gives  undeserving  praise. 
We  four  indeed  confronted  were  with  four 
In  Russian  habit  :  here  tliey  stay'd  an  hour, 
And  talk'd  apace  ;  and  in  that  hour,  my  lord, 
They  did  not  bless  us  with  one  happy  word.  870 

I  dare  not  call  them  fools  ;  but  this  1  think. 
When  they  are  thirsty,  fools  would  fain  have  drink. 

Biron.  This  jest  is  dry  to  me.     Fair  gentle  sweet, 
Your  wit  makes  wise  things  foolish  :  wheu  we  greet, 
With  eye's  best  seeing,  heaven's  iiery  eye. 
By  light  we  lose  light  :  your  capacity 
Is  of  that  nature  that  to  your  huge  store 
Wise  things  seem  foolish  and  rich  things  but  poor. 

Ros.  This  proves  you  wise  and  rich,  for  in  my  eye, — 

Biron.  I  am  a  fool,  and  full  of  poverty.  880 

Ros.  But  that  you  take  what  doth  to  you  belongs 
It  were  a  fault  to  snatch  words  from  my  tongue. 

Biron.  O,  I  am  yours,  and  all  that  I  possess  ! 

Ros.  All  the  fool  mine  ? 

Biron.  I  cannot  give  you  less. 

Ros.  Which  of  the  vizards  was  it  that  you  wore  ? 

Biron.  Where  ?  when  ?  what  vizard  ?  why  demand  you 
this  ? 

Bos.  There,  then,  that  vizard  ;  that  superfluous  case 
That  hid  the  worse  and  show'd  the  better  face. 

King.  We  are  descried  ;  they'll  mock  us  now  downright. 

Bum.  Let  us  confess  and  turn  it  to  a  jest.  890 

Prin.  Amazed,  my  lordt  why  looks  your  highness  sad? 

Roa.  Help,  hold  his  brows  I  he'll  swoon  !    Why  look  you 

gale?  .  ^ 

,  I  think,  coming  from  Muscovy. 
Biron.  Thus  pour  the  stars  down  plagues  for  perjury 


SCENE  11.]         LOVE'S  LABOUR'S   LOST.  401 

Can  any  face  of  brass  hold  lonj^er  out  t 
Here  stand  I :  lady,  dart  thy  skill  at  me ;  ^ 

Bruise  me  with  scorn,  confound  me  with  a  flout ; 
Thrust  thy  sharp  wit  auite  through  my  ignorance  ; 

Cut  me  to  pieces  witii  thy  keen  conceit ; 
And  I  will  wish  thee  never  more  to  dance,  400 

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  vizard  to  my  friend. 

Nor  woo  in  rhyme,  like  a  blind  harper's  song  I 
Taffetta  phrases,  sill^en  terms  precise, 

Tliree-piled  hyperboles,  spruce  affectation, 
Fifi^ures  pedantical ;  these  summer -liies 

Have  blown  me  full  of  maggot  ostentation  : 
I  do  forswear  them  ;  and  I  here  protest,  410 

By  this  white  glove, — ^how  white  the  hand,  God  knows  I — 
Henceforth  my  wooing  mind  shall  be  express'd 

In  russet  yeas  and  honest  kersey  noes  : 
And,  to  beg^n,  wench,— so  God  help  me,  la ! — 
My  love  to  thee  is  sound,  sans  crack  or  flaw. 

Bos.  Sans  sans,  I  pray  you. 

Biron,  Yet  I  have  a  trick 

Of  the  old  rage  :  bear  with  me,  I  am  sick  ; 
I'll  leave  it  by  degrees.     Soft,  let  us  see  : 
Write,  "  Lord  have  mercy  on  us"  on  those  three  ; 
They  are  infected  ;  in  their  hearts  it  lies  ;  420 

They  have  the  plague,  and  caught  it  of  your  eyes  ; 
These  lords  are  visited  ;  you  are  not  free. 
For  the  Lord's  tokens  on  you  do  I  see. 

Prin,  No,  they  are  free  that  gave  these  tokens  to  us. 

Biron.  Our  states  are  forfeit :  seek  not  to  undo  us. 

Bos.  It  is  not  so  ;  for  how  can  this  be  true. 
That  you  stand  forfeit,  being  those  that  sue  ? 

Biron.  Peace  !  for  I  will  not  have  to  do  with  you. 

Bo9.  Nor  shall  not,  If  I  do  as  I  intend. 

Biron.  Speak  for  yourselves  ;  my  wit  is  at  an  end.      430 

Kirm.  Teach  us,  sweet  madam,  for  our  rude  transgres- 
sion 
Some  fair  excuse. 

Prin.  Tlie  fairest  is  confession. 

Were  not  you  here  but  even  now  disguised  ? 

King.  Madam,  I  was. 

Prin.  And  were  you  well  advised  ? 

King.  I  was,  fair  madam. 

Prin.  When  you  then  were  here. 

What  did  yon  whisper  in  your  lady's  ear  % 


40a  LOVE'S   LABOUR'S   LOST.  [act  v. 

King.  Tliat  more  than  all  the  world  I  did  respect  her. 

Prill,  When  she  shall  challenge  this,  you  will  reject  her. 

King.  Upon  mine  honour,  no. 

Prin,  Peace,  peace  I  forbear  : 

Your  oath  once  broke,  you  force  not  to  forswear.  440 

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  ? 

Itog.  Madam,  he  swore  that  ho  did  hold  me  dear 
As  ])recious  eyesight,  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  1  the  noble  lord 
Most  honourably  doth  uphold  his  word. 

King,  What  mean  you,  madam?  by  my  life,  my  troth, 
I  never  swore  this  lady  such  an  oath.  451 

Ro».  By  heaven,  you  did  ;  and  to  confirm  it  plain. 
You  gave  me  this :  but  take  it,  ^ir,  again. 

King.  My  faith. and  this  the  princess  I  did  give  : 
I  knew  her  by  this  jewel  on  her  sleeve. 

Priti.  Pardon  me,  sir,  this  jewel  did  she  wear  ; 
And  Lord  Biron,  I  thank  him,  is  my  dear. 
What,  will  you  have  mc,  or  your  pearl  again  ? 

Biron.     Neither  of  either ;'  I  remit  both  twain. 
I  see  the  trick  on't :  here  was  a  consent,  460 

Knowing  aforehand  of  our  merriment. 
To  dash  it  like  a  Christmas  comedy  : 
Some  carry-tale,  some  pi  ease-man,  some  slight  zany. 
Some  mumblc-ncws,  some  trencher- knight,  some  Dick, 
That  smiles  his  cheek  in  years  and  knows  the  trick 
To  make  my  lady  laugh  when  she's  disposed, 
Told  our  intents  before  ;  which  once  disclosed. 
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,  470 

We  are  again  forsworn,  in  will  and  error. 
Much  upon  this  it  is  :  and  might  not  you  [To  Boyet, 

Forestall  our  sport,  to  make  us  thus  untrue  ? 
Do  not  you  know  my  lady's  foot  by  the  squier. 

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  480 

Wounds  like  a  leaden  sword. 

Boyet.  Full  merrily 


SCENE  II.]         LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  408 

Hath  this  brare  manage,  this  career,  been  run. 
Biron,  Lo,  he  is  tilting  straight  I    Peace  !  I  have  done. 

Enter  Costard. 

Welcome,  pare  wit  I  thou  partest  a  fair  fray. 

Cost.  O  Lord,  sir,  they  would  know 
Whether  the  three  Worthies  shall  come  in  or  no. 

Biron,  What,  are  there  but  three  ? 

Cost,  No,  sir  ;  but  it  is  vara  fine, 

For  every  one  pursents  three. 

Biron,  And  three  times  thrice  is  nine. 

Cod,  Not  so,  sir ;  under  correction,  sir ;  I  hope  it  is  not 
so. 
You  cannot  bej^  us,  sir,  I  can  assure  you,  sir ;  we  know 
what  we  know :  *  490 

I  hope,  sir,  three  timfts  thrice,  sir, — 

Biron.  Is  not  nine. 

Cost.  Under  correction,  sir,  we  know  whereantll  it  doth 
amount. 

Biron.  By  Jove,  I  always  took  three  threes  for  nine. 

Cost.  O  Lord,  sir,  it  were  pity  you  should  get  your  liv- 
ing by  reckoning,  sir. 

Biron.  How  much  is  it  ? 

Cost.  O  Lord,  sir,  the  parties  themselves,  the  actors,  sir, 
will  show  whereuntil  it  doth  amount :  for  mine  own  p»rt, 
I  am,  as  they  say,  but  to  parfect  one  man  in  one  poor  man, 
Pompion  the  Qreat,  sir. 

Biron.  Art  thou  one  of  the  Worthies  ? 

Cost.  It  pleased  them  to  think  me  worthy  of  Pompion  tho 
Great :  for  mine  own  part,  I  know  not  the  degree  of  the 
Worthy,  but  I  am  to  stand  for  him. 

Biron.  Go,  bid  them  prepare.  510 

Cost,  We  will  turn  it  finely  off,  sir ;  we  vdW  take  some 
care.  [Exit. 

King.  Biron,  they  will  shame  us  :  let  them  not  approach. 

Biron.  We  are  shame- proof,  my  lord :    and   'tis  some 
policy 
To  have  one  show  worse  than  the  king's  and  his  company. 

King.  I  say  they  shall  not  come. 

Pria.  Nay,  my  good  lord  let  me  o'errule  you  now  • 
That  sport  best  pleases  that  doth  least  know  how  : 
f Where  zeal  strives  to  content,  and  the  contents 
Dies  in  the  zeal  of  that  which  it  presents 
Their  form  confoundeil  makes  most  fonu  in  mirth. 
When  great  things  labouring  perish  in  their  birth. 

Biron,  A  right  description  of  our  sport,  my  lord. 


404  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  [act  r 

Enter  Arhado. 

Arm.  Anointed,  I  implore  so 'much  expense  of  tlij  royal 
sweet  breath  as  will  utter  a  brace  of  words. 

[Co7wer8es  apart  tnth  the  King,  and 
deliver  a  him  a  paper. 

Prim.  Doth  this  man  serve  God  ? 

Biron,  Why  ask  you  ? 

PHn  He  speaks  not  like  a  man  of  God's  making. 

Arm.  That  is  all  one,  my  fair,  sweet,  honey  monarch ; 
for,  I  protest,  the  schoolmaster  is  exceeding  fantastical ;  too 
too  vain,  too  tot)  vain  :  but  we  will  put  it,  as  they  say,  to 
fortuna  de  la  guerra.  I  wish  you  the  peace  of  mind,  most 
royal  couplement!  [Exit. 

King.  Here  is  like  to  be  a  good  presence  of  Worthies.  He 
presents  Hector  of  Troy  ;  the  swain,  Pompev  the  Great ; 
the  parish  curate,  Alexander  ;  Annado*s  page,  flercules ;  the 
pedant,  Judas  MaccabsRus  :  540 

And  if  these  four  Worthies  in  their  first  show  thrive. 
These  four  will  change  habits,  and  present  the  other  five. 

Biron.  There  is  five  v\  the  first  show. 

Kin/f.  You  are  deceived  ;  'tis  not  so. 

Biron.  The  pedant,  the  braggart,  the  hedge  priest,  the 
fool  and  the  boy  : — 

f  Abate  throw  at  novum,  and  the  whole  world  again 
Cannot  pick  out  five  such,  take  each  one  in  his  vein. 

Kifig.  The  ship  is  under  sail,  and  here  she  comes  amain. 

Enter  CJostakd,  for  Pompey. 

Cost.  I  Pompey  am, — 

Boyet.  You  lie,  you  are  not  he.  550 

CoiA.  I  Pompey  am, — 

Boyet.  W^ith  libbard's  head  on  knee. 

Biron.  Well  said,  old  mocker :  I  must  needs  be  friends 

with  thee. 
Cost.  I  Pompey  am,  Pompey  samamed  the  Big, — 
Bum.  The  Great. 

Cost.  It  is,  **  Great."  sir  :—  ^ 

Pompey  surnamed  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  lass  of 

France. 
If  your  ladysliip  would  say,  **  Thanks,  Pompey,"  I  had 

done. 


BCEKBH.]         LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  405 

Prin.  Great  thanks,  great  Pompey.  560 

Cost,  Tie  not  so  much  worth ;  but  I  hope  I  was  perfect : 

I  made  a  little  fault  in  ''Great." 
Biron.  My  hat  to  a  half -penny,  Pompey  proves  the  best 

Worthy. 

Enter  Sm  NATnAKiKL,/or  Alexander. 

Nath,  When  in  the  world  I  lived,  I  was  the  world's  com- 
mander ; 
By  east,  west,  north  and  south,  I  spread  my  conquering 

miffht : 
My  scutcheon  plain  declares  that  I  am  Alisander, — 
'Boyet.  Your  nose  says  no,  you  are  not ;   for  it  stands  too 

right. 
Biron.  Your  nose  smells  "no"  in  this,  most  tender- 
smelling  knight. 
Prin.  The  conqueror  is  dismay 'd.     Proceed,  good  Alex- 

ander.  570^ 

Na;th.  When  in  the  world  I  lived,  I  was  the  world's  com- 
mander,— 
Boyet,  Most  true,  'tis  right ;  you  were  so,  Alisander. 
Biron,  Pompey  the  Great, — 
Co9t,  Your  servant,  and  Costard. 
Biron.  Take  away  the  conqueror,  take  away  Alisander. 
Co8t,  [To  Sir  Nath.]  O,  sir,  you  have  overthrown    Ali- 
sander tlie  conqueror  I    You   will  be  scraped  out  of   the 
painted  cloth  for  this :  your  lion,  that  holds  his  poll-axe 
sitting  on  a  dose-stool,  will  be  given  to  Ajaz  :  he  will  be 
the  ninth  Worthy.     A  conqueror,  and  afeanl  to  speak  1  run 
away  for  shame,  Alisander.     [Nath.  retires.]    Tnere,  an't 
shall  please  yon  ;  a  foolish  mild  man  ;  an  honest  num,  look 
you,  and  soon  dashed.    He  is  a  marvellous  good  neighbour, 
faith,  and  a  very  good  bowler :  but,  for  Alisander, — alas, 
you  see  how  'tis, — ^a  little  o'erparted.     But  there  are  Wor* 
thies  a-coraing  will  speak  their  mind  in  some  other  sort.    590 
Prin,  Stand  aside,  good  Pompey. 

Enter  UoLOWKSESy  forJudaa;  and  Moth,  for  Hercules. 

Sol.  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  manus. 

Qnoniam  he  seemeth  in  minority. 

Ergo  I  come  with  this  apology. 
Keep  some  state  in  thy  exit,  and  vanish.  [J/bCA  retires. 

Judas  I  am, — 

Dum.  A  Judas  !  000 


1 


400  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST,  [acty. 

Sol.  Not  Iscariot,  sir. 

Judas  I  am,  ycliped  Maecabseus. 
Ihtm.  Judas  Macc'absus  dipt  is  plain  Judas. 
Biron.  A  kissing  traitor.     Uow  art  thou  proved  Judas? 
Hot.  Judas  I  am, — 

Dum,  The  more  shame  for  jou,  Judas. 
Hnl.  What  mean  you,  sir? 
Boyet,  To  make  Judas  hang  himself. 
Uol,  Begin,  sir ;  you  are  my  elder. 
Biron,  Well  followed  :  Judas  was  hanged  on  an  elder. 
IIol,  I  will  not  be  put  out  of  countenance.  611 

Biron,  Because  thou  hast  no  face. 
Hoi.  What  is  this? 
Boyet,  A  cittern-head. 
Dum.  The  head  of  a  bodkin. 
Biron.  A  Death's  face  in  a  ring. 
Long,  The  face  of  an  old  Roman  coin,  scarce  seen. 
•    Boyet,  The  pommel  of  Caesar's  falchion. 
Ihim,  Tlie  carved-bone  face  on  a  flask. 
Biron,  Saint  George's  half-oheek  in  a  brooch.  620 

Bum.  Ay,  and  in  a  brooch  of  lead. 
Biron.  Ay,  and  worn  in  tlie  cap  of  a  tooth-drawer. 
And  now  forward ;  for  we  have  put  thee  in  countenance. 
Hoi.  You  have  put  me  out  of  countenance 
Biron.  False  ;  we  have  given  thee  faces 
Hnl,  But  you  have  out-faced  tbem  all. 
Biron.  An  thou  wert  a  lion,  we  would  do  so. 
Boyet.  Therefore,  as  he  is  an  ass,  let  him  go. 
And  so  adieu,  sweet  Jude  !  nay,  why  dost  thy  stay? 
Dum.  YoT  tbe  latter  end  of  his  name.  630 

Biron.  For  the  ass  to  the  Jude ;  give  it  him  : — Jud-as, 

away ! 
Hoi.  This  is  not  generous,  not  gentle,  not  humble. 
Boyet.  A  light  for  Monsieur  Judas  I  it  grows  dark,  he 

may  stumble.  [Hd.  retires. 

Prin.  Alas,  poor  Maccabseus,  how  luith  he  been  baited  ! 

JShiter  Akmado,  for  Hector. 

Biron.  Hide  thy  head,  Achilles  :  here  comes  Hector  in 

arms. 
Bum.  Though  my  mocks  come  liome  by  me,  I  will  now 

be  merry. 
Jving.  Hector  was  but  a  Troyan  in  respect  of  this.       640 
Boyet.  But  is  this  Hector  ? 
King.  I  think  Hector  was  not  so  clean*timbcrcd. 
Long.  His  leg  is  too  big  for  Hector's. 
Bum.  Moro  calf,  certain. 


SCENE  IL]        LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  407 

Boyet.  No  ;  be  is  best  indued  in  tbe  small. 

Biron.  This  cannot  be  Hector. 

Dum,  He's  a  god  or  a  painter  ;  for  be  makes  faces. 

Arm,  Tbe  armipotent  Mars,  of  lances  tbe  almigbtj,  650 
Gave  Hector  a  gift, — 

Dam,  A  gilt  nutmeg. 

Biron.  A  lemon. 

Long,  Stuck  M^itb  cloves. 

Dum.  "No,  cloven. 

Arm.  Peace ! — 
Tbe  armipotent  Mars,  of  lances  tbe  almigbty, 
•    Gave  Hector  a  gift,  tbe  beir  of  Illon  ; 
A  man  so  breatbed,  that  certain  be  would  fi^bt ;  jea 

From  mom  till  nigbt,  out  of  bis  pavilion.  660 

I  am  tliat  flower, — 

Dum.  Tbat  mint. 

Lcng.  Tbat  columbine. 

Arm.  Sweet  Lord  Longaville,  rein  tby  tongue. 

Long.  I  must  rather  give  it  the  rein,  for  it  runs  against 
Hector. 

Dum.  Ay,  and  Hector's  a  greyhound. 

Arm.  The  sweet  war-man  is  dead  and  rotten  ;  sweet 
chucks,  beat  not  tbe  bones  of  tbe  buried :  when  be  breathed, 
be  was  a  man.  ^But  I  will  forward  with  my  device.  [To 
the  Princ6S8\  Sweet  royalty,  bestow  on  me  tbe  sense  of 
bearing.  670 

Prin,  Speak,  brave  Hector  :  we  are  much  delighted. 

Arm.  I  do  adore  tby  sweet  grace's  slipper. 

Boyet.  [Aside  to  Dum.\  Loves  her  bv  tne  foot. 

Dum.  yAmde  to  Boyet]  He  may  not  by  the  yard. 

Arm.  This  Hector  far  surmounted  Hannibal, — 

Cost.  Tbe  party  is  gone,  fellow  Hector,  she  is  gone ;  she 
Is  two  months  on  her  wav. 

Arm.  What  meanest  thou  ?  680 

Cost.  Faith,  unless  you  play  the  honest  Troyan,  tbe  poor 
wench  is  cast  away :  she's  quick ;  tbe  child  brags  in  her 
belly  already :  'tis  yours. 

Arm.  Dost  thou  Infamoniase  me  among  potentates?  thou 
sbalt  di& 

Cost.  Then  shall  Hector  be  whipped  for  Jaquenetta  tbat 
is  quick  by  him  and  banged  for  Pompey  that  is  dead  by 
bim. 

Ihim.  Most  rare  Pompey  t 

Boyet.  Renowned  Pompey  !  690 

Biron,  Greater  than  great,  great,  great,  great  Pompey  I 
Pompey  tbe  Huge  I 

Dum.  Hector  trembles. 


406  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  [act  r. 

Biron,  Pompey  is  moved.  More  Ates,  more  Ates  I  stir 
them  on  I  stir  them  on  1 

Dum,  Hector  will  challenge  him. 

Biron,  At,  if  a'  have  no  more  man's  blood  in  *^  belly  than 
will  sup  a  flea. 

AiTn.  By  the  north  pole,  I  do  challenge  thee. 

Cast.  I  w*ill  not  fight  with  a  pole,  like  a  northern  man : 
111  slash  ;  V\\  do  it  by  the  sword.  I  bepray  yon,  let  me 
borrow  my  arms  again. 

Dum,  Room  for  the  incensed  Worthies  I 

Ooft,  rU  do  it  in  my  shirt. 

Bum.  Most  resolute  Pompey  I 

Moth,  Master,  let  me  take  you  a  bntton-hole  lower.  Do 
you  not  see  Pompey  is  uncasing  for  the  combat  ?  What 
mean  you  ?    You  will  lose  your  reputation. 

Arm.  Gentlemen  and  soldiers,  pardon  me  ;  I  will  not 
combat  in  my  shirt.  711 

Bum,  You  nuiy  not  deny  it :  Pompey  hath  made  the 
challenge. 

Arm,  Sweet  bloods,  I  both  may  and  will. 

Biron,  What  reason  have  you  for*t  ? 

Ann,  The  naked  truth  of  it  is,  I  have  no  shirt ;  I  go 
woolward  for  penance. 

Boyet,  True,  and  it  was  enjoined  him  in  Rome  for  want 
of  linen  :  since  when,  TU  be  sworn,  he  wore  none  but  a 
dishclout  of  Jaquenetta's,  and  that  a'  wears  next  hia  heart 
for  a  favour. 

Enter  Mbrcadb. 

Mer,  God  save  you,  madam  I 

Prin,  Welcome,  Mercade ; 
But  that  thou  interrupt'st  our  merriment. 

Mer.  I  am  sorry,  madam  ;  for  the  news  I  bring 
Is  heavy  in  my  tongue.     The  king  your  father — 

Prin,  Dead,  for  my  life  I 

Mer.  Even  so ;  my  tale  is  told.  780 

Biron,  Worthies,  away  !  the  scene  begins  to  cloud. 

Arm.  For  mine  own  part,  I  breathe  free  breatli.  I  have 
seen  the  day  of  wrong  through  the  little  hole  of  discretion, 
and  I  will  right  myself  like  a  soldier.        [Exeunt  Worthier, 

King,  How  fares  your  majesty  ? 

Prin,  Boyet,  prepare  ;  I  will  away  to-night. 

King,  Madam,  not  so  ;  I  do  beseech  you,  stay. 

Prin,  Prepare,  I  say.     I  thank  you,  gracious  lords. 
For  all  your  fair  endeavours  ;  and' entreat,  740 

Out  of  a  new-sad  soul,  that  you  vouchsafe 
In  your  rich  wisdom  to  excuse  or  hide 


tCEKEii.]         LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  400 

Tlie  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  I 
A  heavy  heart  bears  not  a  nimble  tongue  • 
Excuse  me  so,  coming  too  short  of  thanks 
For  my  great  suit  so  easily  obtain'd. 

Einff»  t  The  extreme  part  of  time  extremely  forms      750 
AH  causes  to  the  purpose  of  his  speed. 
And  often  at  his  very  loose  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, 
Yet,  since  love's  argument  was  first  on  foot, 
Lot  not  the  cloud  of  sorrow  justle  it 
From  what  it  purposed  ;  since,  to  wail  friends  lost 
Is  not  by  much  so  wholesome-profitable  760 

As  to  rejoice  at  friends  but  newly  found. 

Prin,  I  understand  you  not :  my  grief.;  are  double. 

Biron.  Honest  plain  words  best  pierce  the  ear  of  grief  ; 
And  by  these  badges  understand  the  king. 
For  your  fair  sakes  have  we  neglected  time, 
Play'd  foul  play  with  our  oaths  :  your  beauty,  ladies. 
Hath  much  deform'd  us,  fashioning  our  humours 
Even  to  the  opposed  end  of  our  intents  : 
And  what  in  us  hath  seem'd  ridiculous, — 
As  love  is  full  of  unbefitting  strains,  770 

All  wanton  as  a  cliild,  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  obiect  in  his  glance : 
Which  i>arti-coated  presence  of  loose  love 
Put  on  by  us,  if,  in  your  heavenly  eyes. 
Have  misbeooraed  our  oaths  imd  graviti(*s. 
Those  heavenly  eyes,  that  look  into  these  faults. 
Suggested  us  to  make.     Therefore,  ladies,  780 

Our  love  being  yours,  the  error  that  love  makes 
Is  likewise  yours :  we  to  ourselves  prove  false. 
By  being  once  false  for  ever  to  be  true 
To  those  that  make  us  both, — fair  ladies,  you  : 
And  even  that  falsehood,  in  itself  a  sin. 
Thus  purifies  itself  and  turns  to  grace. 

Prin.  We  have  received  your  letters  full  of  love ; 
Your  favoura,  tlie  ambassadors  of  love  ; 
And,  in  our  maiden  council,  rated  them 


410  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  [act  v. 

At  ooartship,  pleasant  jest  and  courtesy,  790 

As  bombast  and  as  lining  to  the  time  : 
But  more  devout  than  this  in  our  respects 
Have  we  not  been  ;  and  therefore  met  your  loves 
In  their  own  fashion,  like  a  merriment. 

Bum.  Our  letters,  madam,  show'd  much  more  than  jest. 

Long.  So  did  our  loolcs. 

Bos,  We  did  not  quote  them  so. 

King,  Now,  at  the  latest  minute  of  the  hour. 
Grant  us  your  loves. 

Prin,  A  time,  methinks,  too  short 

To  make  a  world- without-end  bar^in  in. 
No,  no,  my  lord,  your  grace  is  perjured  much,  5900 

Full  of  dear  guiltiness  ;  and  therefore  this : 
If  for  my  love,  as  there  is  no  such  cause, 
You  will  do  aught,  this  shall  yon  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  siffns 
Have  brought  about  the  annual  reckonmg. 
If  this  austere  insociable  life 
Cliange  not  your  offer  made  in  heat  of  blood  ; 
If  frosts  and  fasts,  hard  lodging  and  thin  weeds 
tNip  not  the  gaudv  blossoms  of  your  love. 
But  that  it  bear  this  trial  and  last  love  ; 
Then,  at  the  expiration  of  the  year, 
Come  challenge  me,  challenge  me  by  these  deserts. 
And,  by  this  virgin  palm  now  kissing  thine, 
I  will  be  thine  ;  and  till  that  instant  shut 
My  woeful  self  up  in  a  mourning  house. 
Raining  the  tears  of  lamentation 

For  the  remembrance  of  my  father's  death.  81^ 

If  this  thou  do  deny,  let  our  hands  part. 
Neither  intitled  in  the  other's  heart. 
King.  If  this,  or  more  than  tliis,  I  would  deny. 

To  flatter  up  these  powers  of  mine  with  rest, 
The  sudden  hand  of  death  close  up  mine  eye  ! 
Hence  ever  then  my  heart  is  in  thy  breast. 

[Biron.  And  what  to  me,  my  love?  and  what  to  me? 

lios.  You  must  be  pureed  too,  your  sins  are  rack'd, 
You  are  attaint  with  faults  and  perjury  : 
Therefore  if  you  my  favour  mean  to  get,  880 

A  twelvemonth  shall  you  spend,  and  never  rest 
But  seek  the  weary  beds  of  people  sick.] 

Bum,  But  what  to  mo,  my  love  ?  but  what  to  me? 
A  wife? 


BCKNEil.]        LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  411 

Kath,  A  beard,  fair  health,  and  honesty  ; 
With  three- fold  love  I  wish  you  all  these  three." 

Xhtrn.  O,  shall  I  say,  I  thank  you,  gentle  wife  ? 

Kath.  Not  so,  my  lord  ;  a  twelvemonth  and  a  day 
I'll  mark  no  words  that  smooth-faced  wooers  say  : 
Come  when  the  king  doth  to  my  lady  come  ; 
Then,  if  I  have  much  love,  I'll  give  you  some.  840 

Dum,  ril  serve  thee  true  and  faithfully  till  then. 

Kath,  Yet  swear  not,  lest  ye  be  forsworn  again. 

Long,  What  says  Maria  ? 

Mar.  At  the  twelvemonth's  end 

rU  change  mj  black  gown  for  a  faithful  friend. 

Long.  I'll  stay  with  patience  ;  but  the  time  is  long. 

Mar.  The  liker  you  ;  few  taller  are  so  young. 

Biron.  Studies  my  lady  ?  mistress^  look  on  me ; 
Behold  the  window  of  my  heart,  mine  eye. 
What  humble  suit  attends  thy  answer  there  : 
Impose  some  service  on  me  for  thy  love.  850 

lios.  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, 
Wliich  you  on  all  estates  will  execute 
That  lie  within  the  mercy  of  your  wit. 
To  weed  this  wormwood  from  your  fruitful  brain, 
And  therewithal  to  win  me,  if  you  please, 
Without  the  which  I  am  not  to  be  won, 
You  shall  this  twelvemonth  term  from  day  to  day  860 

VLsit  the  speechless  sick  and  still  converse 
With  groaning  wretches  ;  and  your  task  shall  be. 
With  all  the  fierce  endeavour  of  your  wit 
To  enforce  the  pained  impotent  to  smile. 

Biron.  To  move  wild  laughter  in  the  throat  of  death  ? 
It  cannot  be  ;  it  is  impossible  : 
Mirth  cannot  move  a  soul  in  agony. 

Ro».  Why,  that's  the  way  to  choke  a  gibing  spirit, 
Whose  infliiehce  is  begot  of  that  loose  grace 
Wliich  shallow  laughing  hearers  give  to  fools :  870 

A  jest's  prosperity  aes  in  the  ear 
Of  him  that  hears  it,  never  in  the  tongue 
Of  him  tjiat  makes  it :  then,  if  sickly  ears, 
Deaf'd  with  the  clamours  of  their  own  dear  groans. 
Will  hear  your  idle  scorns,  continue  then, 
And  I  will  have  you  and  that  fault  withal ; 
But  if  they  will  not,  throw  away  that  spirit. 
And  I  shall  find  you  empty  of  that  fault. 
Bight  joyful  of  your  reformation. 


412  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  [act  T. 

Bircn,  A  twelvemonth  !  well ;  befall  ^what  will  befall, 
riljest  a  twelvemonth  in  an  hospital.  88t 

Prin.  [To  the  King]  Ay,  sweet  my  lord ;  and  so  I  take 
my  leave. 

JKing.  No,  madam ;  we  will  bring  you  on  your  way. 

Birofi.  Oar  wooinf  doth  not  end  like  an  old  play  ; 
Jack  hath  not  Jill :  tliese  ladies'  coartesy 
Might  well  have  made  oar  sport  a  comedy. 

Sing.  Come,  sir,  it  wants  a  twelvemonth  and  a  day. 
And  then  'twill  end. 

Biron,  That's  too  long  for  a  play 

Be-enter  Armaxx). 

Arm,  Sweet  majesty,  vouchsafe  me, — 

Prin,  Was  not  that  Hector? 

Dum,  The  worthy  knight  of  Troy.  890 

Arm,  I  will  kiss  thy  royal  finger,  and  take  leave.  I  am 
a  votary  ;  I  have  vowed  to  Jaquenetta  to  hold  the  plow  for 
her  sweet  love  three  years.  But,  most  esteemed  greatness, 
will  you  hear  the  dialogue  that  the  two  learned  men  have 
compiled  in  praise  of  the  owl  and  the  cuckoo  ?  it  should 
have  followed  in  the  end  of  our  show. 

King,  Call  them  forth  quickly  ;  we  will  do  so. 

Arm.  Holla  I  approach.  900 

Bs-enter  Holofernes,  Nathaniel,  Moth,  Costard,  and 

otfiers. 

This  side  is  Hiems,  Winter,  this  Ver,  the  Spring ;  the  one 
maintained  by  the  owl,  the  other  by  the  cuckoo.  Y er,  begin. 

The  Song. 

Sprino. 

When  daisies  pied  and  violets  blue 

And  lady-smocks  all  silver- white 
And  cuckoo-buds  of  yellow  hue 

Do  paint  the  meadows  with  delight, 
The  cuckoo  then,  on  every  tree. 
Mocks  nuirried  men  ;  for  thus  sings  he. 

Cuckoo ;  910 

Cuckoo,  cuckoo  :  O  word  of  fear, 
Un  pleasing  to  a  married  ear  1 

When  shepherds  pipe  on  oaten  strpws 
And  merry  larks  are  ploughmen's  clocks. 

When  turtles  tread,  and  rooks,  and  daws. 
And  maidens  bleach  their  summer  smocks, 


SCENKil.]         LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST.  418 

The  cuckoo  then,  on  every  tree, 
Mocks  married  men  ;  for  thus  Bings  he, 

Cuckoo ; 
Cuckoo,  cuckoo :  O  word  of  fear,  990 

Unpleasuig  to  a  married  ear  ! 

WiNTKB. 

Wlien  icicles  han/^  by  the  wall 
And  Dick  the  shepherd  blows  his  nail 

And  Tom  bears  logs  into  the  hall 
And  milk  comes  frozen  liome  in  pail. 

When  blood  is  nipp'd  and  ways  be  foul. 

Then  nightlysings  the  staring  owl. 

Tu-whit ; 

Ttt-who,  a  merry  note. 

While  greasy  Joan  doth  keel  the  pot.  060 

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  crabn  hiss  in  the  bow]. 

Then  iViHutlr  singa  tht  i^tarinj  r»I, 

Tu-whit; 

Tu-who,  a  merry  note. 

While  greasy  Joan  doth  keel  the  pot. 

Arm,  The  words  of  Mercury  are  liarsh  after  the  songs  of 
Apollo.    Yott  that  way ;  we  this  way,  [Exeunt 


A  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


Thspbttb.  Dnke  of  Athena. 
EaKUs,  father  to  Hennia. 

FscLosTBATE,  masterDf  the  revda 

to  Theaens. 
QuTNCK,  a  carpenter. 
Snug,  a  Joiner. 
Bottom,  a  weaver.  * 
Flutis,  a  bellows-mender. 
Snout,  a  tinker. 
Stabtjblim  o,  a  tailor. 

HoppoLrTA,  qneen  of  the   Aioa- 
jBona,  betrothed  to  Thesena. 


HsBunA,  daughter  to  ^lena.   In 

love  with  Lysander. 
Helbna,  in  love  with  Demetrina. 

Obsron,  king  of  the  f  airiea. 
TXTANiA,  qneen,  of  the  fairies. 
Puck,  or  liobln  Goodf  ellow. 
Pbaseblossox,^ 

Cobweb,  IfaiHea 

Moth.  Kairiea. 

•Mustabzweed,  J 

other  fairies  attending  iheir  Kin^ 
and  d^aeen.  Atten£uita  on  The- 
aeas  and  Hippolyta. 


Scene:  Athens,  and  a  wood  near  it. 
ACT  L 

ScEKE  I.    AtJiens.     Tlie  palace  of  Theseus. 

Enter  Theseus,  Hippolyta,  Piiilostrate,  and  Attend- 
ants.. 

The.  Now,  fair  Hippolyta,  our  nuptial  hoar 
Draws  on  apace  ;  foar  happy  days  bring  in 
Another  moon  :  but,  O,  methln^s,  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  thenisulves  in  uight ; 
Four  nights  will  quickly  dream  away  the  time  ; 
And  then  the  moon,  like  to  a  silver  bow  10 

New-bent  in  heaven,  shall  behold  the  night 
Of  our  solemnities. 

T/ie.  Go,  Philostrate, 

Stir  up  the  Athenian  youth  to  merriments  ; 
Awake  the  pert  and  nimble  spirit  of  mirth : 

(414) 


BCENB  I.]     MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.  415 

Tarn  melancholy  forth  to  funerals  ; 

The  pale  companion  is  not  for  our  pomp.  [ExU  PhUottrate, 

Hippolyta,  1  woo*d  thee  with  my  sword, 

A.nd  won  thy  love,  doing  thee  injuries ;  a 

But  I  will  wed  thee  in  another  key,  Y 

With  pomp,  with  triumph  and  with  revelling.  / 

Enter  Eoeus,  Hermia,  Ltbander,  and  DEMETRnrs. 

J^e.  Happy  be  Theseus,  our  renowned  duke  I 

The.  Thanks,  good  Egeus  *  what's  the  news  with  thee? 

Ege.  Full  of  vexation  come  I,  with  complaint 
Against  my  child,  my  daugliter  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  t]ie  bosom  of  my  child  : 
Thou,  thou,  Lysander,  thou  hast  given  her  rhymes 
And  interchanged  love-tokens  with  my  child  : 
Thou  hast  by  moonliglit  at  her  window  sung  80 

With  feigning  voice  verses  of  feigning  love, 
And  stolen  the  impression  of  her  fantasy 
With  bracelets  of  tiiy  hair,  rings,  gawds,  conceits, 
Knacks,  trifles,  nosegays,  sweetmeats,  messengers 
Of  strong  prevailment  in  unliarden'd  youth  : 
With  cunning  hast  thou  filch'd  my  daughter's  heart* 
Tum'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^  4€ 

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  advised,  fair  maid  : 
To  yon  your  father  should  be  as  a  god ; 
One  that  composed  your  l)eauties,  yea,  and  one 
Vo  whom  yon  are  but  as  a  form  in  wax 
By  him  imprinted  and  within  his  power  50 

To  leave  the  figure  or  disfigure  it, 
Demetrius  is  a  worthy  gentleman. 

Her,  So  is  Lysander. 

Die,  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  most  with  his  judgement  look. 


41%  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.         [act  I. 

Her.  I  do  entreat  ^rour  grace  to  pardon  me. 
I  know  not  bj  what  power  I  am  made  bold, 
Nor  how  it  may  concern  my  modesty,  00 

In  such  a  presence  here  to  plead  my  thoughts ; 
But  I  beseech  your  grace  that  I  may  know 
The  worst  that  may  befall  me  in  this  case. 
If  I  refuse  to  wed  Demetrius. 

Tfie.  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  ehoioe, 
You  can  endure  the  livery  of  a  nun,  70 

For  aye  to  be  in  shady  cloister  mew'd. 
To  live  a  barren  sister  all  your  life, 
Clianting  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  tliat  which  withering  on  the  virgin  thorn 
Grows,  lives  and  dies  in  single  blessedness. 

Her,  So  will  I  grow,  so  live,  so  die,  my  lord, 
Ere  I  will  yield  my  virgin  patent  up  80  i 

Unto  his  lordship,  whose  unwished  yoke 
My  soul  consents  not  to  give  sovereignty. 

The.  Take  time  to  pause  ;  and,  by  the  next  new  moon — 
Tlie  sealing-day  betwixt  my  love  and  me, 
For  everlasting  bond  of  fellowship — 
Upon  that  day  cither  prepare  to  die 
For  disobedience  to  your  father's  will. 
Or  else  to  wed  Demetrius,  as  he  would  ; 
Or  on  Diana's  altar  to  protest 
For  aye  austerity  and  single  life.  90 

Dem.  Relent,  sweet  Hermia :  and,  Lysander,  yield 
Thy  cra7ied  title  to  my  certain  right. 

JbyM.  You  have  her  father's  love,  Demetrius  ; 
Let  me  have  Hermia's  ;  do  you  marry  him. 

Bge,  Scornful  Ly&ander  !  true,  he  liath  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. 

Xy#.  I  em,  my  lord,  as  well  derived  as  he,  , 

As  well  ixxsse^ss'd  ;  my  love  is  more  than  his ;  100  I 

My  fortunes  every  way  a.s  fairly  rank'd. 
If  not  with  vantage,  as  Demetrius' ; 
And,  wliich  is  more  than  all  these  boasts  can  be, 
i  am  beloved  of  beauteous  Hermia  ; 


0CKNE  I.]     MIDSUMMER  NIGHTS  DREAM.  417 

Wliy  slioald  not  I  tben  proeecuto  my  right? 

Demetrius,  1*11  avoucli  it  to  his  head. 

Made  love  to  Nedar's  daughter,  Helena, 

And  woo  her  soul  ;  and  she,  sweet  lady,  dotes. 

Devoutly  dotes,  dotes  in  idolatry. 

Upon  this  spotted  nnd  inconstant  man.  110 

The.  I  must  confess  that  I  have  heard  so  much. 
And  witli  Demetrius  thought  to  have  spoke  thereof  ; 
But,  being  over-full  of  selfafTairs, 
My  mind  did  lose  it.     But,  Demetrius,  come  ; 
And  come.  Egeus  ;  you  sliall  go  with  me, 
I  have  some  private  schooling  for  you  both. 
For  you,  fair  Herniia,  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 —  120 

To  death,  or  to  a  vow  of  single  life. 
Come,  my  Hippolyta  :  what  cheer,  my  loveT 
Dem^rius  and  E2geus,  go  along  r 
I  must  employ  Vou  in  some  buslne^ 
Against  our  nuptial  and  ctmfer  with  yon 
Of  something  nearly  that  concerns  yourselves. 

j^e.  With  duty  and  desire  we  follow  you. 

[Eareujit  aU  bttt  Lymnd^r  and  Hermia. 

Lyn,  How  now,  my  love  !  why  is  your  check  so  pale  ? 
How  chance  the  roses  there  do  fade  so  fast  ? 

Her.  Belike  for  want  of  rain,  which  I  could  well  130 

Beteem  them  from  the  tempest  of  my  eyes. 

Ly».  Ay  me !  for  auglit  tuat  I  could  ever  read. 
Could  ever  hear  by  tale  or  historv, 
Tlie  course  of  true  love  never  did  run  smooth  ; 
fiut,  either  it  was  different  in  blood, — 

Her.  O  cross  I  too  high  to  be  enthrall'd  to  low, 

Lys,  Or  else  misgraff  ed  in  respect  of  years, —  V 

Her.  O  spite  !  too  old  to  be  engaged  to  voung. 

Ly9.  Or  elso  it  stood  upon  the  choice  of  friends, — 

iter,  O  hell !  to  choose  love  by  another's  eyea. 

Ly9,  Or,  if  there  were  a  sym|)atby  in  choice. 
War,  death,  or  sickness  did  lay  siege  to  it^ 
Making  it  momentany  as  a  sound, 
Swift  as  a  shadow,  short  ns  any  dream  ; 
Bnef  as  the  lightning  ir  the  coll  led  night. 
That,  in  a  spleen,  unfolds  both  heaven  and  earth. 
And  ere  a  man  hath  power  to  say  "  Behold  1" 
TJie  jaws  of  darkness  do  devour  it  up  : 
So  quick  bright  thinjifR  oome  to  confusion. 

Mer,  If  then  true  lovers  have  been  ever  crossed,  150 

BHAK.    I. — 14 


418  MIDSUMMER  NIGHrS  DREAM.         [act  i. 

It  stands  as  an  edict  in  destiny : 

Then  let  us  teach  our  trial  patience. 

Because  it  is  a  customarr  cross, 

As  due  to  lore  as  thoughts  and  dreams  and  sighs, 

Wishes  and  tears,  poor  fancy's  followers. 

Lys.  A  good  persuasion  :  therefore,  hear  roe,  Hermia* 
I  have  a  widow  aunt,  a  dowager 
Of  great  revenue,  and  she  liaih  no  child  : 
From  Athens  is  her  house  remote  seven  league  ; 
And  she  respects  me  as  her  only  son.  160 

There,  gentle  Hermia,  may  I  marry  thoe  ; 
And  to  that  place  the  sharp  Athenian  law 
Cannot  pursue  us.     If  thou  lovcst  me  then. 
Steal  forth  t)iy  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  mom  of  May, 
T\ere  will  I  stay  for  thee. 

Her.  My  good  Lysander^I 

I  swear  to  thee,  by  Cupfd's  strongest  bow. 
By  his  best  arrow  with  the  golden  head,  170 

By  the  simplicity  of  Venus*  doves, 
By  that  which  knitteth  souls  and  prospers  loves. 
And  by  that  fire  which  buni'd  the  Carthage  queen, 
Wiien  the  false  Troyan  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  tnily  will  I  meet  with  thee. 

Lys,  Keep  promise,  love.     Look,  hero  comes  Heleua. 

Enter  Helena. 

Her.  God  speed  fair  Helena  !  whither  away  ? 

Ilel.  Call  you  me  fair?  that  fair  again  unsay. 
Demetrius  loves  your  fair :    O  happy  fair  ! 
Your  eyes  are  lode-stars  ;  and  your  tongue's  sweet  air 
More  tuneable  than  lark  to  shepherd's  ear, 
Wlien  wheat  is  green,  when  ha\vthom  buds  appear. 
Sickness  is  catching  :  O.  were  favour  so, 
Yours  would  I  catch,  fair  Hermia,  ere  I  go  ; 
My  ear  should  catch  your  voico,  my  eye  your  eye, 
My  tongue  should  catch  your  tongue's  sweet  melody. 
Were  the  world  mine,  Demetrius  being  batctl,  190 

The  rest  I'ld  give  to  be  to  you  translated. 
O,  teadi  me  how  you  look,  and  with  wliat  art 
You  sway  the  motion  of  Demetrius'  heart. 

i2br.  I  frown  upon  him,  yet  he  loves  me  still. 


\ 


SCENE  I.]     MIDSUMMER  NIGHTS  DREAM.  419 

Hd.  O  that  your  frowns  would  teach  my  smiles  such 
skill ! 

Her,  I  give  him  curses,  yet  he  gives  me  love. 

lid.  O  that  vny  prayers  could  such  affection  move  I 

Her.  The  more  I  hate,  the  more  he  follows  me. 

Hd.  The  more  I  love,  the  more  he  hateth  me. 

Uer,  His  folly,  Helena,  is  no  fault  of  mine. 

HcL  None,  but  your  beauty  :  would  that  fault  were  mine  I 

Uer.  Take  comfort :  he  no  more  shall  see  my  face  ; 
Lysander  and  myself  will  fly  this  place. 
Before  the  time  I  did  Lysander  see, 
Seem'd  Athens  as  a  paradise  to  me  : 
O,  then,  what  graces  in  my  love  do  dwell. 
That  he  hath  tum'd  a  heaven  unto  a  hell  I 

Lys.  Helen,  to  you  our  minds  we  will  unfold  « 
To-morrow  night,  when  Phcebe  doth  behold 
Her  silver  visage  in  the  watery  glass,  **  210 

Decking  with  liquid  pearl  the  bladed  grass, 
A  time  that  lovers'  flights  doth  still  conceal. 
Through  Athens'  gates  have  we  devised  to  steal.  -   ' 

Her,  And  in  the  wood,  where  off  ten  you  and  I 
Upon  faint  primrose-l>eds  were  wont  to  lie, 
Emptying  our  bosoms  of  their  counsel  sweet, 
There  my  Lysander  and  myself  shall  meet ; 
And  thence  from  Athens  turn  away  our  eyes, 
To  seek  new  friends  and  stranger  companies. 
Farewell,  sweet  playfellow  :  pray  thou  f«>r  us ;  220 

And  good  luck  grant  thee  thy  Demetrius  I 
Keep  word,  Lysander  :  we  must  starve  our  sight 
From  lovers'  food  till  morrow  deep  midnight. 

Lys.  I  will,  my  Hermia.  [EjcU  Herm. 

Helena,  adieu : 
As  you  on  him,  Demetrius  dote  on  you  I  [Exit. 

HeL  How  happy  some  o'er  other  some  can  he 
Through  Athens  I  am  thought  as  fair  as  she. 
But  what  of  that  ?    Demetrius  thinks  not  so  ; 
He  will  not  know  what  all  but  he  do  know  : 
And  as  he  errs,  doting  on  Hemiia's  eyes,  230 

So  I,  admiring  of  his  qualities  . 
Things  base  and  vile,  holding  no  quantity. 
Love  can  transpose  to  form  and  dignity : 
Love  looks  not  with  the  eyes,  but  with  the  mind  ; 
And  therefore  is  wing'd  Cupid  ]>ainted  blind  : 
Nor  hath  Love's  mind  of  any  judgement  taste  ; 
Wings  and  no  eyes  figure  unheedy  haste  : 
And  therefore  is  Love  said  to  be  a  child. 
Because  in  choice  he  is  so  oft  beguiled. 


420  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.         [act  i. 

As  waggisli  bojs  in  game  tliemselves  forswear,  240 

So  the  boy  Love  !s  perjured  every  where  : 

For  ere  Demetrios  look'd  on  Hermia's  evne. 

He  liail'd  down  oatlis  tliat  lie  was  only  mine  ; 

And  when  this  hail  some  heat  from  Hermia  felt. 

So  he  dissolved,  and  showers  of  oaths  did  melt 

I  will  go  te]l  him  of  fair  Hermia's  flight : 

Then  to  the  wood  will  he  to-morrow  night 

Pursue  her ;  and  for  this  intelligence 

If  I  have  thanks,  it  is  a  dear  expense  : 

But  herein  mean  I  to  enrich  my  pain,  250 

To  have  his  sight  thither  and  back  again.  [£^i«. 

Scene  II.    AtJuns.    Quince's  house. 

EiUer  Quince,  Snug,  Bottom,  Flute,  Snout,  and  Star- 
veling. 

Quin.  Is  all  our  company  here  ? 

hot.  You  were  best  to  call  them  generally,  man  by  man, 
according  to  the  scrip. 

Qiiiii.  Here  is  the  scroll  of  every  man's  name,  which  13 
thought  fit»  through  all  Athens,  to  play  in  our  interlude  be- 
fore the  duke  and  the  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.  10 

Qiiiti.  Marry,  our  play  is.  The  most  lamentable  comedy, 
and  most  cruel  death  of  Pyramus  and  Thisby. 

Bot,  A  very  good  piece  of  work,  I  assure  you,  and  a  merry. 
Now,  good  Peter  Quince,  call  forth  your  actors  by  the  scroll. 
Masters,  spread  yourselves. 

Quiti.  Answer  as  1  call  you.     Nick  Bottom,  the  weaver. 

Bot.  Ready.     Name  what  part  I  am  for,  and  proceed.    21 

Quin,  You,  Nick  Bottom,  are  set  down  for  Pyramus. 

Bot.  What  is  Pyramus  ?  a  lover,  or  a  tyrant  ? 
'     Quin,  A  lover,  that  killsv himself  most  gallant  for  love. 

Bot.  That  will  ask  some  tears  in  the  true  perfonning  of 
it :  if  I  do  it,  let  the  audience  look  to  their  eyes ;  1  will 
move  storms,  I  will  condole  in  some  measure.  To  the  rest: 
yet  my  chief  humour  is  for  a  tyrant :  I  could  play  Erdes 
rarely,  or  a  part  to  tear  a  cat  in,  to  make  all  split 

The  raging  rocks 
And  shiverinfi^  shocks 
Shall  break  the  locks 
Of  prison  gates ; 
And  Phibbus'  car 


SCENE  II.J     MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.  421 

Shall  shine  from  far 
And  make  and  ui&r 

The  foolish  Fates.  40 

This  was  lofty  I  Now  name  the  rest  of  the  players.  This 
is  Ercles'  vein,  a  tyrant's  vein  ;  a  lover  is  more  condoling. 

Quin.  Francis  Flute,  the  hellows-mender.  ' 

JVu.  Here,  Petier  Quince. 

Quin,  Flute,  you  must  take  Thisby  on  you. 

Fltu  What  is' Thisby?  a  wandering  knight? 

Quin.  It  is  the  lady  that  Py ramus  must  love. 

jku.  Nay,  faith,  let  not  me  play  a  woman  ;  I  have  a  beard 
coming.  50 

Quin.  That's  all  one :  yon  shall  play  it  in  a  mask,  and 
you  may  speak  as  small  as  you  will. 

Bat.  An  I  may  hide  my  face,  let  me  play  Thisby  too,  I'll 
speak  in  a  monstrous  little  voice,  "  Thisne,  Thisne ;"  "  Ah 
Pyramus,  my  lover  dear  I  thy  Thisby  dear,  and  ladv  dear  !" 

Quin.  No,  no ;  you  must  play  Pyramus  :  and.  Flute,  you 
Thisby. 
•  Bat.  Well,  proceed. 

Quin.  Robin  Starveling,  the  tailor.  60 

Star.  Here,  Peter  Quince. 

Quin.  Robin  Starveling,  you  must  play  Thisby's  mother. 
Tom  Snout,  the  tinker". 

Snout.  Here,  Peter  Quince. 

Quin.  You,  Pyramus'  father:  myself,  Thisbj^'s  father. 
Snug,  the  joiner ;  you,  the  lion's  part :  and,  I  \xo\iQ,  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.  71 

•  Bat.  Let  me  play  the  lion  too  :  I  will  roar,  that  I  will  do 
any  man's  heart  good  to  hear  me  ;  I  will  roar,  that  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  shriek ;  and  that 
were  enough  to  hang  us  all. 

AU.  That  would  hang  us,  every  mother's  son. 

Bot.  I  grant  you,  friends,  if  that  you  should  fright  the 
ladies  out  of  their  wits,  they  would  have  no  more  discretion, 
but  to  hang  us :  but  I  will  aggravate  my  voice  so  that  I  will! 
roar  you  as  gently  as  any  sucking  dove ;  I  will  roar  you  an 
'twere  anv  nightingale. 

Quin.  "You  can  play  no  part  but  Pyramus  ;  for  Pyramus 
is  a  sweet-faced  man ;  a  proper  man,  as  one  shall  see  in  a 


422  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.       L^cr  u. 

summer's  day ;  a  most  lovely  gentleman -like  roan :  there- 
fore you  must  needs  play  Pyramus.  91 

Bot.  Well,  I  will  undertidce  it.  Wliat  beared  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  beird,  your  purple -iri-grain  beard,  or 
your  Frencli-crown- colour  beard,  your  perfect  yellow. 

Ouin.  Some  of  your  French  crowns  have  no  hair  at  all, 
and  then  you  will  play  barefaced.  But,  masters,  here  are 
your  parte  :  and  I  am  to  entreat  you,  request  you  and  desire 
you,  to  con  them  by  to-morrow  night ;  and  meet  me  in  the 
palace  wood,  a  mile  without  the  town,  by  moon -light ;  there 
will  we  rehearse,  for  if  we  meet  in  the  city,  we  shall  be 
dogged  with  company,  and  our  devices  known.  In  the 
meantime  I  will  draw  a  bill  of  properties,  such  as  our  play 
wants.     I  pray  you,  fail  me  not. 

Bot  We  will  meet ;  and  there  we  may  rehearse  most  ob- 
Bcenely  and  courageously.     Take  pains ;  be  perfect :  adieu. 
im.  At  the  duke's  oak  we  meet. 
)ot.  Enough  ;  hold  or  cut  bow-BtringS|^  [Exeunt. 


ACT  IL 

Scene  I.    A  toood  near  Athens. 

Enter,  from  opposite  sides,  a  Fairy,  and  Puck. 

Piu^.  How  now,  spirit !  whither  wander  you  ? 
Fai.      Over  hill,  over  dale. 

Thorough  bush,  thorough  brier^ 
Over  park,  over  pale. 

Thorough  flood,  thorough  fire, 
I  do  wander  every  where, 
Swifter  than  the  moon's  sphere ; 
And  I  serve  the  fairy  queen, 
To  dew  her  orbs  upon  the  green. 
The  cowslip^  tall  her  pensioners  be  :  10 

In  their  gold  coats  spote  you  see  ; 
Those  be  rubies,  fairy  favours. 
In  those  freckles  live  their  savours  : 
I  must  go  seek  some  dewdrops  here 
And  hang  a  pearl  in  every  cowslip's  ear. 
Farewell,  thou  lob  of  spirits ;  Vl\  be  gone : 
Our  queen  and  all  her  elves  come  here  anon. 

Ptiek.  The  king  doth  keep  his  revels  here  to-night : 
Take  heed  the  queen  come  not  within  his  sight ; 


SCENE  I.]     MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.  %38 

For  Oberon  is  passizig  fell  and  wrath,  20 

Because  that  she  as  ner  attendant  hath 
A  lovely  boy,  stolen  from  an  Indian  king ; 
She  never  had  so  sweet  a  cliangeling  ; 
And  jealous  Oberon  would  have  the  child 
Knight  of  his  train,  to  trace  the  forests  wild ; 
But  she  perforce  withholds  the  loved  boy, 
•.Crowns  him  with  flowers  and  makes  him  all  her  joy : 
And  now  th^y  never  meet  in  grove  or  green, 
By  fountain  dear,  or  spangled  starlight  sheen. 
But  they  do  square,  that  all  their  elves  for  fear  80 

Creep  into  acorn-cups  and  hide  them  there.  ' 

Fhi.  Either  I  mistake  your  shape  and  making  quite, 
Or  else  you  are  that  shrewd  and  knavish  sprite 
Caird  Robin  Goodfellow :  are  not  you  he 
That  frights  the  maidens  of  the  villagcry ; 
Skim  milk,  and  sometimes  labour  in  tlie  (]juem 
And  bootless  make  the  breathless  housewife  chum ; 
And  sometime  make  the  drink  to  bear  no  barm ; 
Mislead  night-wanderers,  laughing  at  their  harm  ? 
Those  that  Hobg^oblin  call  you  and  sweet  Puck, 
You  do  their  work,  and  they  shall  have  good  luck : 
Are  not  you  he? 

Puck,  Thou  speak'st  aright ; 

I  am  that  merry  wanderer  of  the  night. 
I  jest  to  Oberon  and  make  him  smile 
When  I  a  fat  and  bean- fed  horse  beguile^ 
Neighing  in  likeness  of  a  filly  foal : 
And  sometime  lurk  I  in  a  gossip's  bowl. 
In  very  likeness  of  a  roasted  crab, 
And  when  she  drinks,  against  her  lips  I  bob 
And  on  her  wither'd  dewlap  pour  the  ale.  00 

The  wisest  aunt,  telling  the  saddest  tale, 
Sometime  for  three-foot  stool  mistaketh  me  ; 
Then  slip  I  from  her  bum,  down  topples  she, 
And  **  tailor"  cries,  and  falls  into  a  cough  ; 
And  then  the  whole  quire  hold  their  hips  and  laugh 
And  waxen  in  their  mirth  and  sneeze  and  swear 
A  merrier  hour  was  never  wasted  there. 
But,  room,  fairy  I  here  comes  Oberon. 

I\iu  And  here  my  mistress.     Would  that  he  were  gone  I 

Enter,  from  one  side,  Obehon,  tpilh  his  train;  from  ihe 

otlier,  Tn'ANiA,  vith  hers. 

Obe.  ni  met  by  moonlight,  prond  Titania.  60 

l^Ua.  What,  jealous  Oberon  1    Fairies,  skip  hence : 
I  have  forsworn  his  bed  and  company. 


424  MIDSUMMER  NIQHT'S  DREAM.       [act  n. 

Obe.  Tarry,  rasli  wanton  :  am  not  I  thy  lordT 

7¥to.  Then  I  mast  be  tliy  lady  :  but  I  know 
When  thou  hast  stolen  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  steppe  of  India  ? 
But  tliat,  forsooth,  the  bouncing  Amazon,  70 

Your  buskin'd  mistress  and  your  warrior  love. 
To  Theseus  must  be  wedded,  and  you  come 
To  give  their  bed  joy  and  prosperity. 

(M)e.  How  canst  thou  thus  for  shame,  Titania, 
Glance  at  my  credit  with  Hipyolyta, 
Knowing  I  know  thv  love  to  Theseus  ? 
Didst  thou  not  lead  him  through  tlie  glimmering  night 
From  Perigenia,  whom  he  ravished  ? 
And  make  him  with  fair  JEg\e  break  his  faith. 
With  Ariadne  and  Antiopa  ?  80 

TUa.  These  are  the  forgeries  of  jealousy  : 
And  never,  since  the  middle  summer's  spring. 
Met  we  on  hill,  in  dale,  forest  or  mead. 
By  paved  fountain  or  by  rushy  brook. 
Or  in  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  snck'd  up  from  the  sea 
Contagious  fogs  ;  which  falling  in  the  land  90 

Have  every  pelting  river  made  so  proud 
That  thoy  have  overborne  their  continents  . 
The  ox  hath  therefore  stretch'd  his  yoke  in  vain, 
The  ploughman  lost  his  sweat,  and  the  green  com 
Hath  rotted  ere  his  youth  attuin'd  a  beard  ; 
The  fold  stands  empty  in  the  drowned  field,  • 
And  crows  are  fatted  with  the  murrion  flock  ; 
The  nine  men's  morris  is  fill'd  up  with  mud, 
And  the  quaint  mazes  in  the  wanton  green 
For  lack  of  tread  are  undistinguishable  :  100 

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, 
^hat  rheumatic  diseases  do  abound  : 
And  thorough  this  disteraperature  we  see 
The  seasons  alter :  hoary-headed  frosts 
Fall  in  the  fresh  lap  of  the  crimson  rose,  • 

And  on  old  Heims'  thin  and  icy  crown  '^ 


BCEXE  I.J     MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.  425 

An  odorous  chaplet  of  sweet  Bammer  bnds  110 

Is,  as  in  mockery,  set :  the  spring,  the  snmmer, 

The  childing  aatuum,  Rn«rry  winter,  change 

Their  wontSi  liveries,  and  tlie  mazed  wond, 

Bv  their  increase,  now  knows  not  which  is  which  : 

And  tliia  same  progeny  of  evils  comes 

From  our  debate,  from  our  dissension  ; 

We  are  their  ]!>arents  and  original. 

Obe,  Do  you  amend  it  then  ;  it  lies  in  you  : 
Why  should  Titania  cross  her  Oberon  Y 
I  do  but  beg  a  little  changeling  boy »  120 

To  be  my  henchman. 

IHta,  Set  your  heart  at  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  ^ossip'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, — 
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  do  I  rear  up  her  boy. 
And  for  her  sake  I  will  not  part  with  him. 

Obe,  How  long  within  tliis  wood  intend  you  stay  ? 

TUa.  Perchance  till  after  Theseus'  wedding-day. 
If  you  will  patiently  dance  in  our  round  140 

And  see  our  moonlight  revels,  go  with  us  ; 
If  not,  shun  me,  and  I  will  spare  your  haunts. 

Obe,  Give  me  that  boy,  and  I  will  go  with  thee. 

Tita,  Not  for  thy  fairy  kingdom.     Fairies,  away  ! 
•We  shall  chide  downright,  if  1  longer  stay. 

[Exit  Titania  tcith  her  train. 

Obe.  Well,  go  thy  way  :  thou  shalt  not  from  this  grove 
Till  I  torment  thee  for  this  injury. 
My  gentle  Puck,  come  hither.     Thou  rememberest 
Since  once  I  sat  upon  a  promontory. 

And  heard  a  mermaid  on  a  dolphin's  back  150 

Uttering  such  dulcet  and  harmonious  breath 
That  the  rudt  sea  Gprew  civil  at  her  song 
And  certain  stars  shot  madly  from  their  spheres, 
To  hear  the  searmaid's  music. 


426  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.        [act  ii. 

Pvck,  I  remember. 

Obe.  Tliat  very  time  I  saw,  but  thou  couldst  not, 
Flyiug  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  loosed  his  love-shaft  smartly  from  his  bow. 
As  it  should  pierce  a  hundred  thousand  hearts  ;  160 

But  I  might  see  young  Cupid's  fiery  shaft 
Quench'd  in  the  chaste  beams  of  the  watery  moon,  . 

And  the  imperial  votaress  passed  on, 
In  maiden  meditation,  fancy-free. 
Yet  mark'd  I  where  the  bolt  of  Cupid  fell : 
It  fell  upon  a  little  western  flower. 
Before  milk-white,  now  purple  with  love's  wound. 
And  maidens  call  it  love-in-idleness. 
Fetch  me  that  flower ;  the  herb  I  shew'd  thee  once : 
The  juice  of  it  on  sleeping  eye-lids  laid  170 

Will  make  or  man  or  woman  madly  dote 
Upon  the  next  live  creaure  that  it  sees. 
Fetch  me  this  herb  ;  and  be  thou  here  again 
Ere  the  leviathan  can  swim  a  league. 

Puck,  ris  put  a  girdle  round  alx>ut  the  earth 
In  forty  minutes.  [Exit. 

Obe.  Haviug  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,  180 

On  meddling  monkey,  or  on  busy  ape. 
She  shall  pursue  it  with  the  soul  of  love  : 
And  ere  I  take  this  charm  from  off  her  sight. 
As  I  can  take  it  with  another  herb, 
I'll  make  her  render  up  her  page  to  me. 
But  who  comes  here  ?    I  am  invisible  ; 
And  I  will  overhear  their  conference. 

Snler  Demetrius,  UKhESAfollomng  him. 

Dem.  I  k)ve  thee  not,  therefore  pursue  me  not. 
Where  is  Lysander  and  fair  Hermia  ¥ 

The  one  I'll  slay,  the  other  slayeth  me.  100 

Thou  told'st  me  they  were  stolen  unto  this  wood ; 
And  here  am  I,  and  wode  within  this  wood, 
Because  I  cannot  meet  my  Hermia. 
Hence,  get  thee  gone,  and  follow  me  no  more. 

Hd.   zou  draw  me,  you  hard-hearted  adamant ; 
But  yet  you  draw  not  iron,  for  my  heart 
Is  true  as  steel :  leave  you  your  power  to  draw. 


SGEKB  I.J     MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.  427 

And  I  shall  have  no  power  to  follow  jou. 

Bern,  Do  I  entice  you  ?  do  I  speak  yon  fair  Y 
Or,  rather,  do  I  not  in  plainest  truth  200 

Tell  you,  I  do  not,  nor  I  cannot  love  you  ? 

Hel.  And  even  for  that  do  I  love  you  :he  more. 
I  am  your  spaniel ;  and,  Demetrius; 
The  more  you  beat  me,  I  will  fawn  on  you  : 
Use  me  but  as  your  spaniel,  spurn  me,  strike  me, 
Neglect  me,  lose  me  ;  only  give  me  leave, 
Unworthy  as  I  am,  to  follow  you. 
What  worser  place  can  I  beg  in  your  love, — 
And  yet  a  place  of  high  respect  with  me, — 
Than  to  be  used  as  you  use  vour  dog?  210 

Dem,  Tempt  not  too  much  the  liatred  of  my  spirit, 
For  I  am  sick  when  I  do  look  on  tliee. 

Hel,  And  I  am  sick  when  I  look  not  on  you. 

Dem,  You  do  impeach  your  modesty  too  much, 
To  leave  the  city  and  commit  yourself 
Into  the  hands  of  one  that  loves  you  not ; 
To  trust  the  opportunity  of  night 
And  the  ill  counsel  of  a  desert  place 
With  the  rich  worth  of  your  virginity. 

Hd.  Your  virtue  is  my  privilege  :  for  that  220 

It  is  not  night  when  I  do  see  your  face. 
Therefore  1  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  Ikb  said  I  am  alone. 
When  all  the  world  is  here  to  look  on  me  Y 

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  changed  :  230 

Apollo  flies,  and  Daphne  holds  the  chase ; 
The  dove  pursues  the  mffin  ;  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. 

llel.  Ay,  in  the  temple,  in  the  town,  in  the  field. 
You  do  me  mischief.     Fie,  Demetrius  I 
Your  wrongs  do  set  a  scandal  on  my  sex :  240 

We  cannot  fight  for  love,  as  men  may  do ; 
We  should  be  woo'd  and  were  not  made  to  woo. 

[ExU  Dem. 
Ill  follow  thee  and  make  a  heaven  of  hell. 


428  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.        [act  n. 

To  die  upon  the  hand  I  love  so  well.  [ExU. 

Obe.  Fare  thee  well,  nymph  :  ere  he  do  leave  this  grove, 
Thou  shalt  fly  hiui  and  he  shall  seek  thy  love. 

Re-enter  Puck. 

Hast  thou  the  flower  there  ?    Welcome,  wanderer. 

Ptmk.  Ay,  there  it  is. 

Obe.  I  pray  thee,  give  it  nie. 

I  know  a  bank  where  the  wild  thyme  blows, 
Wliere  oxlips  and  the  nodding  violet  grows,  250 

f  Quite  over-canopied  with  luscious  woodbine, 
With  sweet  musk-roses  and  with  eglantine  : 
There  sleeps  Titania  sometime  of  the  night, 
Lulled  in  these  flowers  with  dances  and  delight ; 
And  there  the  snake  throws  her  enaniell'd  skin, 
Weed  wide  enough  to  wrap  a  fairy  in  : 
And  wltli  the  juice  of  this  I'll  streak  her  eyes, 
And  make  her  full  of  hateful  fantasies. 
Take  thou  some  of  it,  and  seek  through  the  grove  : 
A  sweet  Athenian  lady  is  in  love  200 

With  a  disdainful  youth  :  anoint  his  eyes  ; 
But  do  it  when  the  next  thine  he  espies 
May  be  the  lady  :  thou  shalt  know  the  man 
By  the  Athenian  garments  he  hath  on. 
Effect  it  with  some  care  that  he  may  prove 
More  fond  on  her  than  she  unon  her  love  : 
And  look  thou  meet  me  ere  the  first  cock  crow. 

Puck,  Fear  not,  my  lord,  your  servant  shall  do  so. 

lExeu?U. 

Scene  II.    A  nother  part  of  the  iMod. 

Enter  Titania  with  7ur  train. 

Tita.  Come,  now  a  roundel  and  a  fairy  song  ; 
Then,  for  the  third  part  of  a  minute,  hence  ; 
Some  to  kill  cankers  in  the  musk-rose  buds. 
Some  war  with  rere-mioe  for  their  leathern  wings. 
To  make  my  small  elve  coats,  and  some  keep  back 
Tne  clamourous  uwl  that  nightly  hoots  and  wonders. 
At  our  quaint  spirits.     Sing  me  now  asleep  ; 
Then  to  your  offices  and  let  me  rest. 

The  Fairies  sing. 

You  spotted  snakes  with  double  tongue. 
Thorny  hedgehogs,  be  not  seen ;  10 

Newts  and  Mind- worms,  do  no  wrong. 
Come  not  near  our  fairy  queen. 


BCBNB  IT.]      MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.  420 

Pliiloroel,  with  melody 
Sing  in  our  sweet  lullaby  ; 
Lulla,  lulla,  lullaby,  lulla,  luUa,  lullaby : 
Never  lianii, 
Nor  spell  nor  charm, 
Come  our  lovely  lady  nigh  ; 
So,  f^ood  night,  with  lullaby. 
Weaving  spiders,  come  not  here  ;  20 

Hence,  you  long-legg'd  spinners,  himce  I 
Beetles  black,  approach  not  near  ; 
Worm  nor  snail,  do  no  offence. 
Philomel,  with  melody,  &c 

A  Fhiry,   Hence,  away  !  now  all  is  well : 
One  aloof  stand  sentinel. 

[Exeunt  Fairies.    TUania  deep$, 

Bhnter  Obbrok,  and  squeezes  tlicflotccr  on  Titania*s  eyelids, 

Obe,  What  thou  seest  when  thou  dost  wake. 
Do  it  for  thy  true-love  take. 
Love  and  languish  for  his  sake : 
Be  it  ounce,  or  cat,  or  boar,  80 

Pard,  or  boar  with  bristled  hair. 
In  thy  eye  that  shall  appear 
When  thou  wakest,  it  is  thy  dear  : 
Wake  when  some  vile  thing  is  near.  {Exit, 

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,  Ilermla,  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.  40 

Lys,  One  turf  shall  servo  as  pillow  for  ns  both  ; 
One  heart,  one  bed,  two  bosoms  and  one  troth. 

Her,  Nay,  good  Jjysander  ;  for  my  sake,  my  dear. 
Lie  further  off  yet,  do  not  lie  so  near. 

LyB.  O,  take  the  sense,  sweet,  of  my  innocence  I 
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.  60 

Then  by  your  side  no  bed-room  mo  deny  ; 
For  lying  so,  Hermia,  I  do  not  lie. 


430  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.        [act  il.     * 

Her,  Lysander  riddles  very  prettily  : 
Now  much  beshrew  ray  manners  and  my  pride. 
If  Hennia  meant  to  say  Lysander  lied. 
But,  i^entle  friend,  for  love  and  courtesy 
Lie  further  off  ;  in  human  modesty, 
Such  separation  ns  may  well  be  said 
Becomes  a  virtuous  bachelor  and  a  maid. 
So  far  be  distant ;  and,  fjpood  night,  sweet  friend  :  60 

Thy  love  ne'er  alter  till  thy  sweet  life  end  I 

Lys.  Amen,  amen,  to  that  fair  prayer,  say  I ; 
And  then  end  life  when  I  end  loyalty  ! 
Here  is  my  bed  :  sleep  give  thee  all  his  rest  I 

Her.  With  half  that  wish  the  wisher's  eyes  be  prcss'd  ! 

[Thqf  deep. 

Enter  Puck. 

Pttck.  Through  the  forest  have  I  gone, 
But  Atiienian  found  I  none, 
On  whose  eyes  I  might  approve 
This  flower's  force  in  stirring  love. 
Night  and  silence. — Who  is  here?  70 

Weeds  of  Athens  he  doth  wear : 
This  is  ho.  my  master  said, 
Despised  the  Athenian  maid  ; 
And  here  the  maiden,  sleeping  soand, 
On  the  dank  and  dirty  ground. 
Pretty  soul !  she  durst  not  lie 
Near  this  lack-love,  this  kill-courtesy. 
Churl,  upon  thy  eyes  I  throw 
All  the  power  this  charm  doth  owe. 
When  tliou  wakest,  let  love  forbid  80 

Sleep  his  seat  on  thy  eyelid  : 
So  awake  when  I  am  gone  ; 
For  I  must  now  to  Olj^ron.  [ExU. 

Enter  Demetrius  and  Helena,  running. 

Hel.  Stay,  though  thou  kill  me,  sweet  Demetrius. 

Dem.  I  charge  thee,  hence,  and  not  haunt  me  thus. 

Hel.  O,  wilt  thou  darkling  leave  me  ?    Do  not  so. 

Dem.  Stay,  on  thy  peril :  I  aione  will  go.  [EtU. 

Hel.  O,  I  am  out  of  breath  in  this  fond  chase  I 
Tlie  more  my  prayer,  the  lesser  is  my  grace. 
Happv  is  Hermia,  wheresoe'er  she  lies  ;  00 

For  sne  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  ; 


SCKNiB  n.]     MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.  431 

For  beasts  that  meet  me  run  away  for  fear  : 
Therefore  no  marvel  though  Demetrius 
Do,  as  a  monster,  fly  my  presence  thus. 
What  wicked  and  dissembling  glass  of  mine 
Made  me  compare  with  Hermia's  sphery  eyne? 
But  who  is  here  ?  Lysander  !  on  the  ground  1  100 

Dead?  or  asleep  ?    I  see  no  blood,  no  wound. 
Lysander,  if  you  live,  good  sir,  awake. 
' Ly%,    \Awaking\   And  run  through  fire  1  will  for  thy 
sweet  salce. 
Transparent  Helena  !    Nature  shows  art, 
That  through  thy  bosom  makes  me  see  thy  heart. 
Where  is  I^metrius  ?    O,  how  fit  a  word 
Is  that  Tile  name  to  perish  on  my  sword  1 

Hd,  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.  110 

Ijy9,  Content  with  Ucnnia  I    No ;  I  do  repent 
The  tedious  minutes  I  with  her  have  spent. 
Not  Hermia  but  Helena  I  love  : 
Who  will  not  chancre  a  raven  for  a  dove  ? 
The  will  of  man  is  by  his  reason  sway'd ; 
And  reason  says  you  are  the  worthier  maid. 
Things  growing  are  not  ripe  until  their  season  : 
So  I,  being  young,  till  now  ripe  not  to  reason  ; 
And  touching  now  the  point  of  human  skill. 
Reason  becomes  the  marshal  to  my  will  120 

And  leads  me  to  your  eyes,  where  I  o'erlook 
Love's  stories  written  in  love's  richest  book. 

Hd,  Wherefors  was  I  to  this  keen  mockery  bom? 
When  at  your  hands  did  I  deserve  this  scorn? 
Is't  not  enough,  is't  not  enough,  young  man. 
That  I  did  never,  no,  nor  never  can, 
Deserve  a  sweet  look  from  Demetrius'  eye. 
But  you  must  flout  my  insufficiency  ? 
Good  troth,  you  do  me  wrong,  gooNd  sooth,  you  do, 
In  such  disdainful  manner  me  to  woo.  130 

But  fare  you  well :  perforce  I  must  confess 
I  thought  you  lord  of  more  true  gentleness. 
O,  that  a  lady,  of  one  man  refused. 
Should  of  another  therefore  be  abused  I  \E7ni. 

Ly».  She  sees  not  Hermia.     Hermia,  sleep  thou  there : 
And  never  mayst  thou  come  Lysander  near  1 
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^  140 


439  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.       [act  hi. 

So  thou,  my  surfeit  and  my  heresy. 
Of  all  be  hated,  but  the  most  of  me  ! 
And,  all  my  pow^ers,  address  your  love  and  might 
To  honour  Helen  and  to  be  her  knight !  [Erit. 

Her.  [Auxtkin^]  Help  mo,  Lysander,  help  me  I  do  thy  best 
To  pluck  this  crawling  serpent  from  my  breast  1 
Ay  me,  for  pity  !  what  a  dream  was  here  ! 
Lysander,  look  how  I  do  quake  with  fear : 
Methought  a  serpent  eat  my  heart  away. 
And  you  sat  smiling  at  his  cruel  prey.  150 

Lysander  I  what,  removed  ?  Lysander  I  lord  I 
What,  out  of  hearing?  gone?  no  sound,  no  word? 
Alack,  where  are  you  ?  speak,  an  if  you  hear  ; 
Spesdc:,  of  all  loves  !    I  swoon  almost  with  fear. 
No  ?  then  I  well  perceive  you  are  not  nigh  : 
Either  death  or  you  Til  find  immediately.  [Ekrit 

ACT  HI. 

Scene  L     The  wood.     Titania  lying  asleep. 
Bnter  Quince,  Snto,  Bottom.  Flute,  Snout,  aiid  Star 

VELINO. 

BoL  Are  we  all  met  ? 

Quin.    Pat,   pat ;    and  here's  a  marvellous  convenient 
place  for  our  rehearsal.    This  green  plot  shall  be  our  stage, 
this  hawthorn-brake  our  tiring-house ;  and  we  will  do  it  in 
action  as  we  will  do  it  before  the  duke. 
'     Bot.  Peter  Quince, — 

Quin.  What  sayestthou,  bully  Bottom? 
•  iot.  Tliere  are  things  in  this  comedy  of  Pyramus  and 
Thisby  that  will  never  please.      First,  Py ramus  must  draw 
a  sword  to  kill  himself ;  which  the  ladies  cannot  abide. 
How  answer  you  that  ? 

SnotU.  By'r  lakin,  a  parlous  fear. 

Star.  I  believe  we  must  leave  the  killing  out,  when  all  is 
done. 

Bot.  Not  a  whit :  I  have  a  device  to  make  all  well. 
Write  me  a  prologue  ;  and  let  the  prologue  seem  to  say, 
we  will  do  no  harm  with  our  swords  and  that  Pyramus  is 
not  killed  indeed ;  and,  for  the  more  better  assurance,  tell 
them  that  I  Pyramus  am  not  Pyramus,  but  Bottom  the 
weaver :  this  will  put  them  out  of  fear. 

Quin.  Well,  we  will  have  such  a  prologue  ;  and  it  shall 
be  written  in  eight  and  six. 

Bot.  No,  make  it  two  more ;  let  it  be  written  in  eight 
and  eight. 


SCENE  I.]     MIDStTMMER  NIOHTS  DREAM.  438 

Snout.  Will  not  the  ladies  be  nfeard  of  the  lion  ? 

Star,  I  fear  it,  I  promise  you. 

Bat.  Masters,  you  ought  to  consider  with  yourselves  :  to 
bring  in — God  shield  us ! — a  lion  among  ladies,  is  a  inost 
dreadful  thing ;  for  there  is  not  a  more  fearful  wild-fowl 
than  your  lion  living  ;  and  we  ought  to  look  to  't. 

S/wut.  Therefore  another  prologue  must  tell  he  is  not  a 
lion. 

\  Boi.  Nay,  you  mnst  name  his  name,  and  half  his  face 
niust  be  seen  through  the  lion's  neck  :  and  he  himself  must 
speak  through,  saying  thus,  or  to  the  same  defect, — **  I^a- 
pies,"— or  "Fair  ladies, — I  woulc^  wish  you," — or  "  I  would 
request  you," — or  **  I  would  entreat  you, — not  to  fear,  not 
ko  tremble  :  my  life  for  yours.  If  you  tlrink  I  come  hither 
bs  a  lion,  it  were  pity  of  my  life :  no,  I  am  no  such  thinfir ;  I 
jam  a  man  as  other  men  are ; "  and  thero  indeed  let  Turn 
pame  his  name,  and  tell  them  plainly  he  is  Snug  the  joiner. 

Qtiin,  Well,  it  sliall  be  so.  But  there  is  two  hard 
things ;  that  is,  to  bring  the  moonlight  into  a  chamber  ; 
for,  you  know,  Pyramus  and  Thisby  meet  by  moonlight.  51 

Snout.  Doth  the  moon  shine  tliat  night  we  play  our  play? 

Bot.  A  calendar,  a  calendar  t  look  in  the  almanac ;  find 
out  moonshine,  find  out  moonshine. 

Quin.  Yes,  it  doth  shine  that  night. 

BoL  Why,  then  may  you  leave  a  casement  of  the  great 
ehaml>er  window,  where  we  play,  open,  and  the  moon  may 
shine  in  at  the  casement. 

Quin.  Ay  ;  or  else  one  mnst  come  in  with  a  bilbsh  of 
thorns  and  a  lanthorn,  and  say  he  comes  to  disfigure,  or  to 
present,  the  person  of  Moonshine.  Then,  there  is  another 
thing  :  we  must  have  a  wall  in  the  great  chamber  ;  for 
Pyramus  and  Thisby,  says  the  story,  did  talk  through  the 
chink  of  a  wall. 

Snout.  You  can  never  bring  in  a  wall.  What  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 ;  and  let  him  hold  his  fingers  thus,  and 
through  that  cranny  shall  Pyramus  and  Thisby  whisper. 

Qunn.  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  be  fund. 

Puck,  What  hempen  home-spuss  have  we  swaggering 
here« 


434  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM,      [act  ni. 

So  near  the  cradle  of  the  fairy  queen  ?  80 

What,  a  play  toward  !    I'll  be  an  auditor  ; 
An  actor  too  perhaps,  if  I  see  cause. 

Qjiin,  Speak,  Pyramua.     Thisby,  stand  forth. 

Bot.  Thisby,  the  flowers  of  odious  savours  sweet, — 

Quin.  Odours,  odours. 

Bot.  — — odours  savours  sweet : 

So  hMth  thy  breath,  my  dearest  Thisby  dear. 
But  hark,  a  voice  I  stay  thou  but  here  awhile, 

And  by  and  by  I  will  to  thee  appear.  [Exit, 

Puck,  A  stranger  Pyramus  than  e'er  played  here.    [Rdt. 

Flu,  Must  I  speak  now  Y  91 

(^in.  Ay,  marry,  must  you ;  for  vou  must  understand 
he  goes  but  to  see  a  noise  that  he  heard,  and  is  to  come 
again. 
Flu.  Most  radiant  Pyramus,  most  lily-white  of  hue. 

Of  colour  like  the  red  rose  on  triumphant  brier. 
Most  brisky  juvenal  and  eke  most  lovely  Jew, 

As  true  as  truest  horse  that  yet  would  never  tire, 
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  and  all.  Pyramus  enter  :  your  cue  U 
past ;  it  is,  "never  tire.' 

Ftu,  O, — ^As  true  as  truest  horse,  that  yet  would  never 
tire. 

Be-erUer  Puck,  and  Bottoh  tcith  an  ass*8  head. 

Bet.  If  I  were  fair,  Thisby,  I  were  only  thine. 

Quin.  O  monstrous  I  O  strange  I  we  are  haunted.  Pray, 
masters  !  fly,  masters  I    Help  I 

[ExeurU  Quince,  Snug,  Flute,  Snout,  and  Starveling, 
Puek,  I'll  follow  you,  I'll  lead  you  about  a  round. 

Through  bog,   through  bush,  through  brake,  tlirough 
brier :  110 

Sometime  a  horse  I'll  be,  sometime  a  hound, 

A  hog,  a  headless  bear,  sometime  a  fire  ; 
And  neigh,  and  bark,  and  g^runt,  and  roar,  and  burn. 
Like  horse,  hound,  hog,  b^r,  fire,  at  every  turn.         [Exit. 

Bot,  Why  do  they  run  away  7  this  is  a  knavery  of  them 
to  make  me  afeard. 

Be-€7iter  Snout. 

Snout,  O  Bottom,  thou  art  clianged  1  what  do  I  see  on 
thee? 

Bot,  What  do  you  see  ?  you  see  an  ass-head  of  your  own, 
do  you  ?  [Exit  Snout,    120 


SCENE  L]     MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.  435 

Re-enter  Quince. 

Qyin.  Bless  tliee,  Bottom  I  bless  thco  I  tlioa  art  trans- 
lated. [Exit. 

BoL  I  see  their  knaverv  :  this  is  to  make  an  nss  oi  me  ; 
to  fright  me,  if  they  could.  But  I  will  not  stir  from  this 
place,  do  what  they  can  :  I  will  walk  np  and  down  here, 
and  I  will  sing,  that  they  shall  hear  I  am  not  afraid. 

[Sings, 
The  onsel  cock  so  black  of  hue, 

With  orange- tawny  bill, 
The  throstle  with  his  note  so  true,  180 

The  wren  with  little  quill, — 

TUa.  [Awaking]  What  angel  wakes  me  from  my  flowery 
bed? 

Bot.  [Sings] 

llie  nncli,  tlie  sparrow  and  the  lark. 
The  plain-song  cuckoo  gray, 

Whose  note  full  many  a  man  doth  mark. 
And  dares  not  answer  nay  ; — 
for,  indeed,  who  would  set  his  wit  to  so  foolish  a  bird?  who 
who  would  give  a  bird  the  lie,  though  he  cry  ** cuckoo" 
never  so  ? 

TUa,  1  pray  thee,  gfentle  mortal,  sing  again  : 
Mine  ear  is  much  enamour'd  of  thy  note  ;  141 

So  is  mine  eye  enthralled  to  thy  shape  ; 
And  thy  fair  virtue's  force  perforce  aoth  move  me 
On  the  first  view  to  say,  to  swear,  I  love  thee. 

Bot.  Methinks,  mistress,  you  should  have  little  reason 
for  that :  and  yet,  to  say  the  truth,  reason  and  love  keep 
little  company  together  now-a-days  ;  the  more  the  pity  that 
some  honest  neighbours  will  not  make  them  friends.  Kar. 
I  can  gleek  upon  occasion.  160 

THta,  Thou  art  as  wise  as  thou  art  beautiful. 

Bot,  Not  so,  neither  :  but  if  I  had  wit  enough  to  get  out 
of  this  wood,  I  have  enough  to  serve  mine  own  turn. 

TUa,  Out  of  this  wood  do  not  desire  to  go : 
Thou  shalt  remain  here,  whether  thou  wilt  or  no. 
I  am  a  spirit  of  no  common  rate  : 
The  summer  still  doth  tend  upon  my  state ; 
And  I  do  love  thee  :  therefore,  go  with  me  ; 
I'll  give  thee  fairies  to  attend  on  thee,  160 

And  they  shall  fetch  thee  jewels  from  the  deep. 
And  sing  while  thou  on  pressed  flowera  dost  sleep  : 
And  I  will  purge  thy  mortal  grossness  so 
That  thou  siialt  like  an  airy  spirit  go. 
Peaseblossom  I  Ck)bweb  I  Moth  I  and  Mustard-seed  I 


436  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM,      (act  lit 

Enter  Peabeblossom,  Cobweb,  Moth,  and  Mubtardseed. 

Peas,  Ready. 

Ckjib.  And  I. 

Moth,  And  I. 

Mus.  And  I. 

AU,  Where  shall  we  go? 

l\ta.  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  fi^s,  and  mulberries  r 
The  honey-bags  steal  from  the  humble-bees,  171 

And  for  night-tapers  crop  their  waxen  thighs 
And  light  ttiem  at  the  fiery  glow-worm's  eyea 
To  have  my  love  to  bed  and  to  arise  ; 
And  pluck  the  wings  from  painted  butterflies 
To  fan  tiie  moonbeams  from  his  sleeping  eyes : 
Nod  to  him,  elves,  and  do  him  courtesies. 

Pea*.  Hail,  mortal  I 

Cob,  Hail! 

Moth.  Hail!  180 

Muti.  Hail  1 

Bot.  I  cry  your  worships  mercy,  heartily :  I  beseech  your 
worship's  name. 

Ccb.  Cobweb. 

Bot.  I  shall  desire  you  of  more  acquaintance,  good  Master 
Cobweb :  if  I  cut  my  finger,  I  shall  make  bold  with  you. 
Your  name,  honest  gentleman  ? 

Pea^.  Peaseblossom. 

Bot.  I  pray  you,  commend  me  to  Mistress  Squash,  your 
mother,  and  to  Master  Peascod,  your  father.  Good  Master 
Peaseblossom,  I  shall  desire  you  of  more  acquaintance  too. 
Your  name,  I  beseech  you,  sir? 

Mus.  Mustardseed. 

Bot.  Good  Master  Mustardseed,  I  know  your  patience 
well :  that  same  cowardly,  ffiant-like  ox  beef  hath  devoured 
many  a  gentleman  of  your  house  :  I  promise  you  your  kin- 
dred ham  made  my  eyes  water  ere  now.  I  desire  your 
more  acquaintance,  good  Master  Mustardseed.  201 

Tita.  Come,  wait  u^n  him  ;  lead  him  to  my  bower. 

The  moon  methinks  looks  with  a  watery  eye  ; 
And  when  she  wcjeps,  weeps  every  little  flower, 

Lamenting  some  enforced  chastity. 

Tie  up  my  love's  tongue,  bring  him  silently.        [Exeunt 


BCBNEn.]     MIDSUMMER  ^^IQHT'S  DREAM.  437 

Scene  II.  Another  part  of  the  wood. 

Enter  Oberok. 

Gbe,  I  wonder  if  Titania  bo  awaked  ; 
Then,  what  it  was  that  next  came  in  her  eye, 
Wliich  slie  mast  dote  on  in  extremity. 

Enter  Puck. 

Here  come6  my  messenger. 

How  now,  mad  spirit  I 
What  ni^t-mle  now  about  this  liaunted  grove  T 

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  patclies,  rude  mechanicals, 
That  work  for  bread  upon  Athenian  stalls,  10 

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  tlieir  sport 
Forsook  his  scene  and  cnter'd  in  a  brake  : 
When  I  did  him  at  this  advantage  take. 
An  EHs's  nole  I  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,  20 

Or  russet-nated  choughs,  many  in  sort. 
Rising  and  cawing  at  the  gun's  report, 
Sever  themselves  and  madly  sweep  the  sky, 
So,  at  his  sight,  away  his  fellows  fly  ; 
And,  at  our  stamp,  here  o'er  and  o'er  one  falls  ; 
He  murder  cries  and  health  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.  SO 
I  led  them  on  in  this  distracted  fear, 
And  left  sweet  Pyramus  translated  there  : 
When  in  that  moment,  so  it  came  to  pass, 
Titania  waked  and  straightway  loved  an  ass. 

Obe,  This  falls  out  better  than  I  could  devise. 
But  h&st  thou  yet  latch'd  the  Athenian's  eyes 
With  the  love-juice,  as  I  did  bid  thee  do  ? 

Puck,  I  took  him  sleeping, — ^that  is  finish'd  too, — 
And  the  Athenian  woman  by  his  side  ; 
That,  when  he  waked,  of  forco  she  must  be  eyed.  40 


488  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM,      [act  m. 

Enter  Hermia  and  Dbmetrius. 

Obe.  Stand  close  :  Uiis  is  the  same  Athenian. 

Puck.  Tills  is  the  woman,  but  not  this  the  man. 

Dem.  O  why  rebuke  you  him  that  loves  you  so  ? 
I^y  breath  so  bitter  on  your  bitter  foe. 

iler.  Now  I  but  chide  ;  but  I  should  use  thee  worse. 
For  thou,  I  fear,  hast  given  mo  cause  to  curse. 
If  thou  hast  slain  Lysander  in  his  sleep, 
Beinff  o'er  shoes  in  blood,  plunge  in  the  deep, 
And  kill  me  too. 

The  sun  was  not  so  true  unto  the  day  50 

As  he  to  me :  would  he  have  stolen  away 
From  sleeping  Hermia  ?    Fll  believe  as  soon 
This  whole  earth  may  be  bored  and  that  the  moon  * 
May  through  the  centre  creep  and  so  displease 
Her  brother's  noontide  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, 
Pierced  through  the  heart  with  yonr  stem  cruelty  : 
Yet  you,  the  murderer,  look  ns  bright,  as  clear,  00 

As  yonder  Venus  in  her  glimmering  sphere. 

^Iler.  What's  this  to  my  Lysander?  where  is  he? 
Ah,  good  Demetrius,  wilt  thou  g^ve  him  me  ? 

Dem.  I  had  rather  give  his  carcass  to  my  hounds. 

Her.  Out,   dog  I   out,    cur  1  thou    drivest  me    past  the 
bounds 
Of  maiden's  patience.     Hast  thou  slain  him,  then? 
Henceforth  be  never  number'd  among  men  1 
O,  once  tell  true,  tell  true,  even  for  my  sake  I 
Durst  thou  have  look'd  u])on  htm  being  awake. 
And  hast  thou  kill'd  him  sleeping  ?    O  brave  touch  !         70 
Could  not  a  worm,  an  adder,  do  so  much? 
An  adder  did  it ;  for  with  doubler  tongue 
Than  thine,  thou  serpent,  never  adder  stung. 

Dem.  You  spend  your  passion  on  a  mit<prised  mood : 
I  am  not  guilty  of  Lysander's  blood  ; 
Nor  is  he  dead,  for  ought  that  I  can  tell. 

Her.  I  pray  thee,  tell  me  then  that  he  is  well. 

Dem.  And  if  I  could,  what  should  I  get  therefore? 

Iler.  A  privilege  never  to  see  me  more. 
And  from  thy  hated  presence  part  I  so  :  80 

See  me  no  more,  whether  he  be  dead  or  no.  [Exit. 

Dem.  TUare  is  no  following  her  in  this  fierce  vein : 
Here  therefore  for  a  while  I  will  remain. 
So  sorrow's  heaviness  doth  heavier  grow 


eCENB  n.]     MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.  430 

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  dawn  and  tUepi. 
Obe.  What  hast  thou  done  ?  thou  liast  mistaken  quite 
And  laid  the  love- juice  on  some  true-love's  sight : 
Of  thy  misprision  must  perforce  ensue  90 

Some  true  love  tum'd  and  not  a  false  tum'd  true. 

Puck.  Then  fate  o'er-rules,  that,  one  man  holding  troth, 
A  million  fail,  confounding  oath  on  oath. 

O&a.  About  the  wood  go  swifter  than  the  wind. 
And  Helena  of  Athens  look  thou  find  : 
All  fancy-sick  she  is  and  pale  of  cheer, 
With  sighs  of  love,  that  costs  the  fresh  blood  dear  : 
By  some  illusion  see  thou  bring  her  here : 
ril  charm  his  eyes  against  she  do  appear. 

Puek.  I  go,  I  go  ;  look  how  I  go,  100 

Swifter  tlum  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  wakest,  if  she  be  by. 
Beg  of  her  for  remedy. 

Re-enter  Puck. 

Puek,  Captain  of  our  fairy  band,  110 

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  1 
Obe.  Stand  aside  :  the  noise  they  make 

Will  cause  Demetrius  to  awal^. 
Puek.  Then  will  two  at  once  woo  one ;    . 

That  must  needs  be  sport  alone  ; 

And  those  things  do  best  please  me  120 

That  befall  preposterously. 

Enter  Lysander  and  Helena. 

Lye.  Why  should  you  think  that  I  should  woo  in  soom  ? 

Scorn  and  derision  never  come  in  tears  : 
Look,  when  I  vow,  I  weep :  and  vows  oo  bom. 

In  their  nativity  all  truth  appears. 
How  can  these  things  in  me  seem  scorn  to  you. 


440  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM,      [act  m. 

Bearinff  the  badgfe  of  faith,  to  prove  "them  true? 
Hd.  Yoa  do  advance  your  cunning  more  and  more. 

When  truth  kills  truth,  O  Devilish-holy  fray  ! 
These  vows  are  Hermia's  :  will  you  g-ive  her  o'er?  180 

Weigh  oath  with  oath,  and  you  will  nothing  weigh  : 
Your  vows  to  her  and  me,  put  in  two  scales, 
Will  even  weigh,  and  lx)th  as  light  as  tales. 

Ly9.  I  had  no  judgement  when  to  her  I  swore. 

Hd.  Nor  none,  in  my  mind,  now  you  give  her  o'er. 

Lffi.  Demetrius  loves  her,  and  he  loves  not  you. 

Dem.  [Awaking'\    O    Helen,    goddess,    nymph,  i>erfect, 
divine  1 
To  what,  my  love,  shall  I  compare  thine  eyne  ? 
Crystal  is  muddy.     O,  how  ripe  in  show 
Thy  lips,  those  kissing  cherries,  tempting  grow  .  140 

That  pure  congealed  white,  high  Taurus'  snow, 
Fann'd  with  the  eastern  wind,  turns  to  a  crow 
When  thou  hold'st  up  tliy  hand  :  0,  let  me  kiss 
This  princess  of  pure  white,  this  seal  of  bliss  I 

Hel.  O  spite  I    O  hell !    I  see  you  all  are  bent 
To  set  against  me  for  vour  merriment : 
If  vou  were  civil  and  Knew  couriesv, 
You  would  not  do  me  thus  much  injury. 
Can  you  not  hate  me,  as  I  know  you  do, 
But  you  must  join  in  souls  to  mock  me  too?  150 

If  you  were  men,  as  men  you  are  in  show. 
You  would  not  use  a  gentle  lady  so  ; 
To  vow,  and  swear,  and  superpraise  my  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  100 

A  poor  soul's^tience,  all  to  make  you  sport. 

Ly8.  You  are  unkind,  Demetrius  ;  be  not  so  ; 
For  you  love  Hermia  ;  this  you  know  I  know  : 
And  here,  with  all  good  will,  with  all  my  heart. 
In  Hermia's  love  I  yield  you  up  my  part ; 
And  yours  of  Helena  to  me  bequeath, 
Wliom  I  do  love  and  will  do  till  my  death. 

Hel.  Never  did  mockers  waste  more  idle  breatlu 

Dem.  Lysander,  keep  thy  Hermia ;  I  will  none : 
If  e'er  I  loved  her,  all  tliat  love  is  gone.  170 

My  heart  to  her  but  as  finest- wise  sojoum'd, 
And  now  to  Helen  is  it  home  return'd, 


flCBNB  n.J   MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.  441 

•■ 

There  to  remain. 

Lys,  Helen,  it  is  not  so. 

Dem.  Disparage  not  tbe  faith  thou  Jost  not  know. 
Lest,  to  thy  peril,  thou  aby  it  dear. 
Look,  whore  thj  love  comes  ;  yonder  is  thy  dear. 

Re-enter  Hermia. 

Her.  Dark  night,  that  from  the  eye  his  function  takes. 
The  ear  more  quick  of  apprehension  make;i ; 
Wherein  it  doth  impair  the  seeing  sense, 
It  pays  the  hearing  double  recompense.  180 

Thou  art  not  by  mine  eye,  Lysander,  found  ; 
Mine  ear,  I  thank  it,  brouglit  me  to  thy  sound. 
But  why  unkindly  didst  thou  leave  me  soY 

Lys.  Why  should  he  stay,  whom  love  doth  press  to  go? 

Hei\  What  love  could  press  Lysander  from  my  side? 

Lys.  Ly.sander's  love,  that  would  not  let  him  bide. 
Fair  Helena,  who  more  engilds  the  night 
Than  all  yon  fiery  oes  and  eyes  of  light. 
Why  seek'st  thou  me  ?  could  not  this  make  thee  know. 
The  hate  I  beer  thee  made  me  leave  thee  so  ?  190 

Her.  You  speak  not  as  vou  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  I  most  ungrateful  maid  1 
Have  you  conspired,  have  you  with  tliese  contrived 
To  bait  me  with  this  foul  derision  ? 
Is  all  the  counsel  that  we  two  have  shared. 
The  sisters'  vows,  the  hours  that  we  bave  spent, 
When  we  have  chid  the  hasty- footed  time  200 

For  partying  us,^^,  is  it  all  forgot? 
All  school-days'  friendship,  childhood  innocence? 
We,  Hermia,  like  two  artificial  gods, 
Have  with  our  needles  created  both  one  flower, 
Both  on  one  sampler,  sitting  on  one  cushion. 
Both  warbling  of  one  song,  ooth'in  one  key, 
As  if  our  hands,  our  sides,  voices  and  minds. 
Had  been  incorporate.     So  we  grew  together. 
Like  to  a  double  cherry,  seeming  parted. 
But  yet  an  union  in  partition  ;  210 

Two  lovely  berries  moulded  on  one  stem  ; 
So,  with  two  seeming  bodies,  but  one  heart ; 
Two  of  the  first,  like  coats  in  heraldry. 
Due  but  to  one  and  crowned  with  one  crest. 
And  will  you  rent  our  ancient  love  asunder. 
To  join  with  men  in  scorning  your  poor  friend? 


442  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM,      [act  m. 

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.  220 

I  scorn  you  not :  it  seems  that  you  scorn  me. 

Hel.  Have  you  not  set  Lysander,  as  in  scorn. 
To  follow  me  and  praise  my  eyes  and  face? 
And  made  your  other  love,  Demetrius, 
Who  even  but  now  did  spurn  me  with  his  foot, 
To  call  me  goddess,  nymph,  divine  and  rare, 
Precious,  celestial  ?     Wherefore  speaks  he  this 
To  her  he  hates  ?  and  wherefore  doth  Lysander 
Deny  your  love,  so  rich  withirt  his  soul. 
And  tender  me,  forsooth,  affection,  2S0 

But  by  your  setting  on,  by  your  consent  ? 
What  though  I  be  not  so  in  grace  as  you, 
So  hung  upon  with  love,  so  fortunate. 
But  miserable  most,  to  love  unloved  ? 
This  you  should  pity  rather  than  despise. 

Her,  I  understand  not  what  you  mean  by  this. 

Hel.  Ay,  do,  perse ver,  counterfeit  sad  looks. 
Make  mouths  upon  me  when  I  turn  my  back  ; 
Wink  each  at  otlier ;  hold  the  sweet  jest  up  : 
This  sport,  well  carried,  shall  be  chronicled  240 

If  you  have  any  pity,  grace,  or  manners, 
You  would  not  make  me  such  an  argument. 
But  fare  ye  well ;  'tis  partly  my  own  fault ; 
Which  death  or  absence  soon  shall  remedy. 

Ly9,  Stay,  gentle  Helena  ;  hear  my  excuse : 
My  love,  my  life,  my  soul,  fair  Helena  1 

Hel.  O  excellent  I 

Her.  Sweet,  do  not  scorn  her  so. 

Dem.  If  she  cannot  entreat,  I  can  compel. 

Lys.  Thou  canst  com^^l  no  more  than  she  entreat : 
Thy  threats  have  no  more  strength  than  her  weak  prayers. 
Helen,  I  love  thee  ;  by  my  life,  I  do  :  '  251 

I  swear  by  that  which  I  wHl  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  Etliiop  1 

Dem.  t^o,  no  ;  sir  : — 

Seem  to  break  loose ;  take  on  as  you  would  follow. 
But  yet  come  not :  you  are  a  tame  man,  go  I 

Lyg,  Hang  off,  thou  cat,  thou  burr  !  vile  thing,  let  loose. 


SCENE  n.]    MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.  448 

Op  I  will  shake  thee  from  me  like  n  serppnt  I  261 

Hei'.  Why  are  you  grown  so  rudo  ?  what  change  is  this  ' 
Sweet  love, — 

Lya.  Thy  love  !  out,  tawny  Tartar,  out  1 

Out,  loatlied  medicine  !  hated  potion,  hence  I 

Her.  Do  you  not  jest? 

Hd,  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  liate  her,  I'll  not  harm  her  so.  270 

Her.  What,  can  you  do  me  greater  harm  than  hate  ? 
Hate  me  1  wherefore  ?  O  me  1  what  news,  my  love  ! 
Am  not  I  Hermia  ?  are  not  you  Lysander  ? 
I  am  as  fair  now  as  I  was  erewhile. 
Since  night  you  loved  me  ;  yet  since  night  you  left  me  : 
Why,  then  you  left  me — O,  the  gods  forbid  1 — 
In  earnest,  shall  I  say  ? 

Lys.  Ay,  by  my  life ; 

And  never  did  desire  to  see  thee  more. 
Therefore  be  out  of  hope,  of  question,  of  doubt ; 
Be  certain,  nothing  truer  ;  'tis  no  jest  280 

That  I  do  hate  thee  and  love  Helena. 

Her.  O  me  !  you  juggler  I  you  canker-blossom  ! 
You  thief  of  love  I  what,  have  you  come  by  night 
And  stolen  my  love's  heart  from  him  ? 

Hel.  Fine,  i'  faith  ! 

Have  you  no  modesty,  no  maiden  shame, 
No  touch  of  bashf ulness  ?    What,  will  you  tear 
Impatient  answers  from  my  gentle  tongue  ? 
Fie,  fie  I  you  counterfeit,  you  puppet,  you  I 

Her.  Puppet  ?  why  so  ?  ay,  that  way  goes  the  game. 
Now  I  perceive  that  she  hath  made  compare  290 

Between  our  statures  ;  she  hath  urged  her  height ; 
And  with  her  personage,  her  tall  personage, 
Her  height,  forsooth,  she  liath  prevail'd  with  him. 
And  are  you  grown  so  high  in  his  esteem. 
Because  I  am  so  dwarfish  and  so  low  ? 
How  low  am  I,  thou  {minted  maypole  ?  spealc  ; 
How  low  am  I  ?  I  am  not  yet  so  low 
But  that  my  nails  can  reach  unto  thine  eyes. 

Hel.  I  pray  you,  though  you  mock  me,  gentlemen. 
Let  her  not  nurt  me  :  I  was  never  curst ;  800 

I  have  no  gift  at  all  in  shrewishness  ; 
I  am  a  right  maid  for  mv  cowardice  : 
Let  her  not  strike  me.     You  perhaps  may  think. 


444  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.      [actTtil 

Because  she  is  something  lower  tlian  mjself,  i 

That  I  can  match  her. 

Ilcr,  Lower !  hark,  again. 

Hel.  Good  Hennia,  do  not  be  so  bitter  with  me. 
I  evermore  did  love  you,  Hermia, 
Did  ever  keep  your  counsels,  never  wrong*d  you ; 
Have  that,  in  love  unto  Demetrius, 

I  told  him  of  your  stealth  unto  this  wood.  816 

He  follow'd  you  ;  for  love  I  foUow'd  him  ; 
But  he  hath  chid  me  hence  and  tlireaten'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  foUy  back 
And  follow  you  no  further  :  let  me  go  : 
You  see  how  simple  and  how  fond  I  am. 

Her.  Why,  get  you  gone :  who  is't  that  hinders  you  ? 

Hel.  A  foolish  heart,  that  I  leave  here  behind. 

Her.  What,  with  Lvsander? 

Hel.  '  With  Demetrius.  820 

LifS.  Be  not  afraid  ;  she  sliall  not  harm  thee,  Helena. 

Dem.  No,  sir,  she  shall  not.  though  you  take  her  part. 

Hel.  O,  when  she's  angry,  she  is  keen  and  shrewd  ! 
She  was  a  vixen  when  she  went  to  school ; 
And  though  she  be  but  little,  she  is  fierce. 

ff;r.  'Little"  a^ain  !  nothing  but  "low"  and  "little"! 
Why  will  you  suffer  her  to  flout  mo  thus? 
Let  me  couic  to  her. 

Zy*.  Get  you  gone,  you  dwarf  ; 

You  minimus,  of  hindering'  knot-grass  made  ; 
You  bead,  you  acorn. 

Dem.  You  are  too  ofHclous  830 

In  her  behalf  that  scorns  your  services. 
Let  her  alone  :  speak  not  uf  Helena  ; 
Take  not  her  part ;  for,  if  thou  dost  intend 
Never  so  little  show  of  love  to  her, 
Thou  shalt  nby  it. 

Lys.  N^w  she  holds  me  not ; 

Now  follow,  if  thou  darest,  to  try  whose  right. 
Of  thine  or  mine,  is  most  in  Helena. 

Dem.  Follow  I  nay,  I'll  go  witli  thee,  cheek  by  jole. 

[Exeunt  Li/mnder  and  Demetrius, 

Her.  You,  mistress,  all  this  coil  is  'long  of  you  : 
Kav,  go  not.  back. 

Jkel.  I  will  not  trust  you,  I,  840 

Nor  longer  stay  in  your  cur.:>t  company. 
Your  himds  than  mine  are  quicker  for  a  fray. 
My  legs  are  longer  though,  to  run  away.  [Exit, 


8CBNB  n«]     MIDSITMMER  NIQHTS  DREAM.  445 

Htr.  I  am  amazed,  and  know  not  what  to  say.         [ExU, 

Obe.  This  is  thy  negligence  :  still  thou  mistakest, 
Or  else  connnitt'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,  350 

That  I  have  'nointed  an  Athenian's  eyes  ; 
And  so  far  am  1  glad  it  so  did  sort 
As  this  their  jangling  I  esteem  a  sport. 

Obe.  Thou  see'at  these  lovers  seek  a  place  to  fight : 
Hie  therafore,  Robin,  overcast  the  night ; 
The  starry  welkin  cover  thou  anon 
With  drooping  fog  as  black  as  Acheron,  v^ 
And  lead  tliese  testy  rivals  so  astray 
As  one  come  not  within  another's  way. 
Like  to  Lysander  sometime  frame  thy  tongue,   .  860 

Then  stir  Demetrius  up  with  bitter  wrong ; 
And  sometime  rail  thou  like  DemetriAs  ; 
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  Lysandei''s  eye ; 
Whose  liquor  hath  this  virtuous  property. 
To  take  from  thence  all  error  with  his  might, 
And  make  his  eyeballs  roll  with  wonted  sight. 
When  they  next  %vake,  all  this  derision  870 

Shall  seem  a  dream  and  fruitless  vision, 
And  back  to  Athens  shall  the  lovers  wend. 
With  league  whose  date  till  death  sliall  never  end. 
Whiles  I  in  this  affair  do  thee  employ, 
I'll  to  my  queen  and  beg  her  Indian  boy  ; 
And  then  I  will  her  charmed  eye  release 
From  monster's  view,  and  all  things  shall  be  peace. 

Puek.  My  fairy  lord,  this  must  be  done  with  haste. 
For  night's  swift  dragons  cut  the  clouds  full  fast. 
And  yonder  shines  Aurom's  harbinger  ;  880 

At  whose  approach,  ghosts,  wandering  here  and  there. 
Troop  home  to  churchyards  :  danmed  spirits  all. 
That  in  cross  ways  and  fioods  have  buriul, 
Already  to  their  wormy  beds  are  gone  ; 
For  fear  lest  day  should  look  their  shames  upon. 
They  wilfully  themselves  exile  from  light 
And  must  for  aye  consort  with  black-brow'd  night. 

Obe.  But  we  are  spirits  of  another  sort : 
I  with  the  morning's  love  have  oft  made  sport. 
And,  like  a  forester,  the  grovea  may  tread,  880 


446  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.      [act  hi. 

Even  till  the  eastern  gate,  all  fiery-red. 
Opening  on  Neptune  with  fair  blessed  beanjs/ 
Turns  into  yellow  gold  his  salt  green  streams.  »^ 
But,  notwithstanding,  haste  ;  make  no  delay : 
We  may  effect  this  business  yet  ere  day.  {EzU, 

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  iown. 
Here  comes  one.  400 

Jte-eiiter  Lysandeh. 

Lyg.  Where  art  thou,  proud  Demetrius  ?  speak  thou  now. 
I'uck,  Here,  villain  ;  drawn  and  ready.    Whese  art  thou? 
Lys.  I  will  be  with  thee  straight. 
Puck.  Follow  me,  then. 

To  plainer  ground.      [Exit  Lysandcr,  cls  following  the  voice. 

Reenter  Demetrius. 

Dem,  Lysander  1  speak  again  : 

Tliou  runaway,  thou  coward,  art  thou  fled? 
Speak  1    In  some  bush  ?    Where  dost  tlu>u  hide  thy  head? 

Puck.  Tbou  coward,  art  thou  bragging  to  the  stars. 
Telling  the  bushes  tbat  thou  look'st  for  wars. 
And  wilt  not  come?    Come,  recreant ;  come,  thou  cliild  ; 
rU  whip  thee  with  a  rod  :  he  is  defiled  410 

That  draws  a  sword  on  thee. 

Dem.  Yea,  art  thou  there  ? 

Puck.  Follow  my  voice  :  we'll  try  no  manhood  here. 

[Exeunt. 

Be-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.     [Lie9  down.'\    Come,  thou  gentle 

day  1 
For  if  but  once  thou  show  mo  thy  grey  light, 
I'll  find  Demetrius  and  revenge  this  spite.  [Sleeps. 

Re-enter  Puck  and  Demetrius. 

Puck.  Ho,  ho,  ho  !    Coward,  why  comest  thou  not  ?   421 
Dem.  Abide  me,  if  thou  darest ;  for  well  I  wot  • 
Thou  run'st  before  me,  shifting -every  place, 
And  darest  not  stand,  nor  look  me  in  the  face. 


iCBNB  n.]     MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.  447 

Where  art  tliou  now  t 
Puck.  Come  liither  :  I  am  liere. 

Dem.  Nay,  then,  thou  mock'st  me.     Thou  shalt  buy  this 
dear, 
If  ever  I  thy  face  by  daylight  see  : 
Now,  go  thy  way.     Faintness  constraineth  me 
To  measure  out  my  length  on  this  cold  bed. 
By  day's  approach  look  to  be  visited.  430 

[Lies  down  and  de^ps. 

Re-enter  Helena. 

Hel.  O  weary  night,  O  long  and  tedious  night, 

Abate  thy  hours  !    Shine  comforts  from  the  east^ 
That  I  may  back  to  Athens  by  daylight. 

From  these  that  my  poor  company  detest : 
And  sleep,  that  sometimes  shuts  up  sorrow's  eye. 
Steal  me  awhile  from  mine  own  company. 

[Lies  down  and  deepi. 
Pack..     Yet  but  three  ?    Come  one  more  ; 
Tw«  of  both  kinds  makes  up  four. 
Here  she  comes,  curst  and  sad  : 
Cupid  is  a  knavish  lad,  440 

Thus  to  make  poor  females  mad. 

Re-enter  Hermia. 

Her.  Never  so  weary,  never  so  in  woe, 

Bedabbled  with  the  dew  and  torn  with  briers, 
I  can  no  further  crawl,  no  further  go  ; 

My  legs  can  keep  no  pace  with  my  desires. 
Here  will  I  rest  me  till  the  break  of  day. 
Heavens  shield  Lysander,  if  they  mean  a  fray ! 

[Lies  down  and  sleeps. 
Puck,  On  the  ground 

Sleep  sound  : 

ril  apply       ,  450 

To  your  eye,' 
Gentle  lover,  remedy. 

[Sqeezing  t/ie  juice  an  Lysandei's  eyes, 
Wiien  thbu  wakest. 
Thou  takest 
True  delight 
In  the  sight 
Of  thy  former  lady's  eye  : 
And  the  country  proverb  known. 
That  every  man  shoald  talce  his  own. 
In  your  waking  shall  be  shown :  460 


448  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.      [act  iv. 

Jack  sliall  have  Jill ; 
Nought  shall  go  ill ; 
The  man  shall  have  lus  mare  again,  and  all  shall  be  well. 

[Exit. 

ACT  IV. 

ScEKB  I.     2'Jie  same.    Lysander,  DsafETRius,  Helena, 

and  Hermia  lying  asleep. 

Enter  Titania  and  Bottom  ;  Peaseblossom,  Cobweb, 
Moth,  Mustarrdseed,  and  other  Faii-ies  attending; 
Oberon  behind  unseen. 

TOa.  Come,  sit  thee  down  upon  this  flowery  bed, 

While  I  thy  amiable  cheeks  do  coy. 
And  stick  musk-roses  in  thy  sleek  smooth  head. 
And  kiss  thy  fair  large  ears,  my  gentle  joy. 

Bot.  Where's  Peaseblossom  ? 

Peas.  Ready. 

Bot.  Scratch  my  head,  Peaseblossom.  Where's  Monnsiear 
Cobweb  ?  * 

Cob.  Ready. 

Bot.  Mounsieur  Cobweb,  good  mounsienr,  get  you  your 
weapons  in  your  hand,  and  kill  me  a  red-hipped  humble- 
bee  on  the  top  of  a  thistle  ;  and,  good  mounsieur,  bring  me 
the  honey-bag.  Do  not  fret  yourself  too  much  in  the  ac- 
tion, mounsieur ;  and,  good  mounsieur,  have  a  care  the 
honey-1)ag  break  not ;  I  would  be  loath  to  have  you  over- 
flown with  a  lioney-ba^,  signior.  Where's  Mounsieur  Mua- 
tardseed  ? 

Mu8.  Ready. 

Bot.  Give  me  your  neaf,  Mounsieur  Mustardseed.  Pray 
vou,  leave  your  courtesy,  good  mounsieur. 

Mils.  What's  your  will? 

Bot.  Nothing,  good  mounsienr,  but  to  help  Cavalery  Cob- 
web  to  scratch.  I  must  to  the  barber's,  mounsieur;  for 
methinks  I  am  marvel lo'us  hairy  about  the  face  ;  und  I  am 
such  a  tender  ass,  if  my  hair  do  but  tickle  me,  I  must 
scratch. 

Tita.  W^hat,  wilt  thon  hear  some  music,  my  sweet  love? 

Bot.  I  have  a  i-easonable  good  ear  in  mitsic.  Let's  have 
the  tongs  and  the  bones. 

Tita.  Or  say,  sweet  love,  what  thou  desirest  to  eat. 

But.  Truly,  a  peck  of  provender :  1  could  munch  your 
good  dry  oats.  Methinks  I  have  a  great  desire  to  a  bottle 
of  hay  :  good  hay,  sw«»et  hay,  hath  no  fellow. 

Tita,  I  have  a  venturous  fairy  that  shall  seek 


8CBV1B  I.]     MIDSUMMER  NIGHTS  DREAM.  440 

The  squirrers  hoard,  and  fetch  thee  new  nnts.  40 

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. 

TUcL.  Sleep  thou,  and  I  will  wind  thee  in  my  arms. 

Furies,  be  gone,  and  be  all  ways  away.        [Exeunt  fairies. 

So  doth  the  woodbine  the  sweet  honeysuckle 

Gently  entwist ;  the  female  ivy  so 

EnringB  the  barky  fingers  of  the  elm. 

O,  how  I  love  thee  1  how  I  dote  on  thae  I     [They  deep,    50 

Enter  Puck. 

06tf.  [Admmeing\  Welcome,    good   Robin.    See*8t  thou 
tuis  sweet  sight  ? 
Her  dotage  now  I  oo  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  due,  which  sometime  on  the  buds 
Was  wont  to  swell  like  round  and  orient  pearls. 
Stood  now  within  the  pretty  flowerets'  eyes  60 

Like  tears  that  did  their  own  disgrace  bewaiL 
When  I  liad  at  my  pleasure  taunted  her 
And  she  in  mild  terms  begg'd  my  patience, 
I  then  did  ask  of  )ier  her  changeiing  child ; 
Wiiieh  straight  slie  gave  me,  and  her  faiiy  sent 
To  bear  him  to  mv  1x>wer  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  ;  70 

That,  he  awaking  when  the  other  do, 
May  all  to  ^Mhens  back  again  repair 
And  think  no  more  of  this  night's  accidents 
But  as  the  fierce  vexation  of  a  dream. 
But  first  I  will  release  the  fairy  queen. 

Be  as  thou  wast  wont  to  be  ; 

See  as  thou  wast  wont  to  see : 

Dian's  bud  o'er  Cupid's  flower 

Hath  such  force  and  blessed  power. 
Now,  my  Titania  ;  wake  you,  my  sweet  queen. 
TUa,  My  Oberon  !  what  visions  have  I  seen  I 
Methought  I  was  enamour'd  of  an  ass. 
Ohe,  There  lies  your  love. 

TUa.  How  cajne  these  things  to  pass  ? 

ABAK.  L. — 15 


450  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.      [act  it. 

O,  liow  mine  eyes  do  loathe  his  Tisage  now  I 

Obe,  Silence  awhile.     Robin,  take  oif  this  head. 
Titania,  music  call  ;  and  strike  more  dead 
Than  common  sleep  of  all  these  five  the  sense. 
Tita.  Music,  ho  !  music,  such  as  charmeth  sleep  . 

[Mutic,  siill. 
Puck.  Now,  when  thou  wakest,  with  thine  own  fool's 

eyes  peep. 
Obe.  Sound  music  !    Come,  my  queen,  take  hands  with 
me,  CO 

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  prosperity  : 
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. 
O&e.  Then,  my  queen,  in  silence  sad,  100 

Trip  we  after  the  night's  shade  : 
We  the  globe  can  compass  soon. 
Swifter  than  the  wandering  moon. 
IXia.         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. 

[Horn*  toinded  mUiin. 

Miter  Theseus,  Hippolyta,  Eqeus,  and  train. 

The.  Go,  one  of  you,  find  out  the  forester  ; 
For  now  our  observation  is  perfomi'd  ; 
And  since  we  have  the  vaward  of  the  day,  110 

My  love  shall  hear  the  music  of  my  hounds. 
Uncouple  in  the  western  valley  ;  let  them  goT 
Dispatch,  I  say,  and  find  the  forester.     [Exit  an  Attendant 
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  Cadmns  once, 
Wlien  in  a  wood  of  Crete  they  bay'd  the  bear 
With  hounds  of  Sparta  :  never  did  I  hear 
Such  gallant  chiding  ;  for,  ba-ides  the  groves,  120 

The  skies,  the  fountains,  every  region  near 
Seem'd  all  one  mutual  cry :  I  never  heard 
So  musical  a  discord,  such  sweet  thunder. 

Tlie,  My  hounds  are  bred  out  of  the  Spartan  kind. 


8CKNB  T.]     MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.  451 

So  flew'd,  so  sanded,  and  their  heads  are  hung 

Witli  ears  that  sweep  away  the  morning  dew  ; 

Crook-knee'd,  and  dew-lapped  like  Thessalian  balls ; 

Slow  in  pursuit,  but  matched  in  mouth  like  bells,  130 

Each  under  each.     A  cry  more  tuneable 

Was  never  holla'd  to,  nor  cheer'd  with  horn. 

In  Crete,  in  Sparta,  nor  in  Thessaly  : 

Judge  when  you  hear.     But,  soft !  what  nymphs  are  these? 

^e.  My  lord,  this  is  my  daughter  here  asleep ; 
And  this,  Lysander  ;  this  Demetrius  is ; 
This  Helena,  old  Nedar's  Helena : 
I  wonder  of  their  being  here  together. 

The.  No  doubt  they  rose  up  early  to  observe 
The  rite  of  May,  and,  hearing  our  intent,  140 

Came  here  in  grace  of  our  solemnity. 
But  speak,  Egeus  ;  is  not  this  the  day 
That  Hermia  should  give  answer  of  ner  choice? 

J^e,  It  is,  my  lord. 

The.  Qor,  bid  the  huntsman  wake  them  with  their  horns. 
{Horns  and  shout  tcithin.    Lys.,  Dem.,  ffel.,  and  Her., 

wake  and  start  up. 
Good  morrow,  friends.     Saint  Valentine  is  past : 
Begin  these  wood-birds  but  to  couple  now  ? 

Lps.  Pardon,  my  lord. 

T/ie.  I  pray  you  all,  stand  up. 

I  know  you  two  are  rival  enemies  ; 

How  comes  this  gentle  concord  in  the  world,  150 

That  hatred  is  so  far  from  jealousy, 
To  sleep  by  hate,  and  fear  no  enmity  ? 

Lffs.  My  lord,  I  shall  reply  amazedly, 
Half  sleep,  half  waking :  but  as  yet,  I  swear, 
I  cannot  truly  say  how  I  came  here ;  • 

But,  as  I  thinks— 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.  160 

Ege.  Enough,  enough,  my  lord  ;  you  have  enough  : 
I  beg  the  law,  the  law,  upon  his  head. 
They  would  have  stolen  away ;  they  would,  Demetrios, 
Thereby  to  have  defeated  you  and  me. 
You  of  your  wife  and  me  of  ray  consent. 
Of  my  consent  that  she  should  l>e  your  wife. 

Hem.  My  lord,  fair  Helen  told  me  of  their  stealth. 
Of  this  their  purpose  hither  to  this  wood ; 
And  1  in  fury  hither  followed  them, 
Vnir  Helena  in  fancy  following  me.  170 


4S9  MIDSUMMER  mOHTS  DREAM.       [activ. 

But,  mj  good  lord,  I  wot  not  by  what  power, — 

Bat  by  some  power  it  10, — mj  love  to  Hermia, 

Melted  as  the  snow,  seems  to  me  now 

As  the  remembrance  of  an  idle  gaad 

Wliich  in  my  childhood  I  did  dote  upon  ; 

And  all  the  faith,  the  virtue  of  my  heart. 

The  object  and  the  pleasure  of  mine  eye, 

fe  only  Helena.     To  her,  my  lord. 

Was  I  betrothed  ere  I  saw  Hermia  : 

But,  like  in  sickness,  did  I  loathe  this  food ;  ISO 

But,  as  in  health,  come  to  my  natural  taste. 

Now  I  do  wish  it,  love  it,  long  for  it. 

And  will  for  evermore  be  true  to  it. 

I7ie.  Fair  lovers,  you  are  fortunately  met : 
Of  this  discourse  we  more  will  hear  anon. 
Egeus,  I  will  overbear  your  will ; 
For  in  the  temple,  by  and  by,  with  us 
These  couples  shall  eternally  be  knit : 
And,  for  the  morning  now  is  something  worn. 
Our  purposed  hunting  shall  be  set  aside.  190 

Away  with  us  to  Athens ;  three  and  tliree. 
We'll  hold  a  feast  in  great  solemnity. 
Come,  Hippolyta.  [Exeunt  T/is.,  Hip.,  j^.,  mid  train, 

JDem.  These  things  seem  small  and  undistinguishable. 
Like  far-ofi  mountains  turned  into  clouds. 

Her.  Methinks  I  see  these  things  with  parted  eye. 
When  every  thing  seems  double. 

Hd.  So  methinks : 

And  I  have  found  Demetrius  like  a  jewel. 
Mine  own,  and  not  mine  own. 

Dem.  Are  you  sura 

That  we  ure  awake?    It  seems  to  me  •  200 

That  yet  we  sleep,  we  dream.     Do  not  yon  think 
Tlie  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.  [Avioking]  When  my  cue  comes,  call  me,  and  I  will 
answer:  my  next  is,  "Most  fair  Py ramus."  Heigh-ho  i 
Peter  Quince  I  Flute,  the  bellows-mender  1  Suout.  tho 
tinker  I  Starveling  1  God's  ray  life,  stolen  hence,  and  left 
uie  asleep  I  I  have  had  a  most  rare  vision.  I  have  had  a 
dream,  past  the  wit  of  man  to  say  what  dream  it  was :  man 
is  but  an  ass,  if  he  go  about  to  expound  this  dream.  Me- 
thought  1  was — ^there  is  no  man  can  tell  what.    Methought 


BCBSrsn.]     MIDSX7MMER  NIGRl^'S  DUEAM.  458 

I  was, — and  raethoaglit  I  had, — ^but  man  is  bat  a  patohed 
fool,  if  he  will  oifer  to  say  wliat  methought  I  had.  The  eye 
of  man  hath  not  heard,  the  ear  of  man  hath  not  seen, 
man's  hand  is  not  able  to  taste,  his  tongue  to  conceive,  nor 
his  heart  to  report,  what  my  dream  was.  I  will  get  Peter 
Quince  to  write  a  ballad  of  this  dream :  it  shall  be  called 
Bottom's  Dream,  because  it  hath  no  bottom  ;  and  I  will  sing 
it  in  the  latter  end  of  a  play,  before  the  duke  :  peradven- 
tare,  to  make  it  the  more  gnicioas,f  I  shall  sing  it  at  her 
death.  [meiL 

Scene  II.    Athms.    Quince's  house. 
Enter  Quince,  Flute,  Snout,  and  Staryelino. 

Quin.  Have  you  sent  to  Bottom's  house  ?  is  he  come  home 
yet? 

Star,  He  cannot  be  heard  of.  Out  of  doubt  he  is  trans- 
ported. 

Itu,  If  he  come  not,  then  the  pUy  is  marred :  it  goes  not 
forward,  doth  it  ? 

Quin.  It  is  not  possible  you  have  not  a  man  in  all 
Athens  able  to  discharge  Pyramus  but  he. 

Flu,  No,  he  hath  shnpiy  the  best  wit  of  any  handicraft 
man  in  Athens.  10 

Quin.  Yea,  and  the  best  person  too ;  and  he  is  a  very 
paramour  for  a  sweet  voice. 

Ftu.  You  must  say  "  paragon :"  a  paramour  is,  God  bless 
US,  a  thing  of  naught. 

Enter  Snug. 

Snuff.  Masters,  the  duke  is  coming  from  the  temple,  and 
there  is  two  or  three  lords  and  ladies  more  married  :  if  our 
Bport  had  gone  forward,  we  had  all  been  made  men. 

JPlu.  O  sweet  bully  Bottom  1  Thus  hath  he  lost  sixpence 
A  day  duriufi^  his  life  ;  he  could  not  have  'scaped  sixpence  a 
day :  and  the  duke  had  not  given  him  sixpence  a  day  for 
playing  Pyramus,  I'll  be  hanged ;  he  would  have  deserved 
H  :  sixpence  a  day  in  Pyramus,  or  nothing. 

Enter  Bottom. 

Bot,  Wliere  are  these  lads ?  where  are  these  hearts? 

Quin,  Bottom  I  O  most  courageous  day  I  O  most  bappy 
hour  I 

Bot.  Masters,  I  am  to  discourse  wonders :  but  ask  ma 
not  what ;  for  if  I  tell  you,  I  am  no  true  Athenian.  I  will 
t^l  you  every  thing,  right  as  it  fell  out. 

Oidn.  Let  us  hear,  sweet  Bottom. 

Bot,  Not  a  word  of  me.    All  that  I  will  tell  you  is,  tliat 


454  MIDSUMMER  NIGHTS  DREAM.        [act  t. 

the  dnke  liatli  dined.  Get  your  apparel  tog^etlier,  good 
strings  to  your  beards,  new  ribbons  to  your  pumps ;  meet 
presently  at  the  palace  ;  every  man  look  o'er  liis  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  pinys 
the  lion  pare  his  nails,  for  they  shall  hang  out  for  tlie  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  I  go,  away  !  [Exeunt 

ACT  V. 

Scene  I.    Atliem,     The  palace  of  Theseus. 

Enter   Theseus,   Uippolyta,  Pniix)8TRATE,  Lords,  and 

Attendants. 

nip,  'Tis  strange,  my  Theseus,  that  these  lovers  speak  of. 

TJu.  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,  10 

Sees  Helen's  beauty  in  a  brow  of  Eg}'pt : 
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  sha|)es  and  gives  to  airy  nothing 
A  local  habitation  and  a  name. 
Such  tricks  hath  strong  imagination. 
That,  if  it  would  but  apprehend  some  joy. 
It  compi^hends  some  bringer  of  that  joy ;  20 

Or  in  the  night,  imagining  some  fear. 
How  easy  is  a  bush  supposed  a  bear  1 

Hip.  But  all  the  story  of  the  night  told  over. 
And  all  their  minds  transfigured  so  together. 
More  witnesseth  than  fancy's  images 
And  grows  to  something  of  great  constancy  ; 
But,  howsoever,  strange  and  admirable. 

TJie,  Here  come  the  lovers,  full  of  joy  and  mirth. 

Enter  Lysander,  Dembthiub,  Hbbmia,  and  Helena. 
Joy,  gentle  friends  !  joy  and  fresh  days  of  love 


Bcmrjsi.]     MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.  455 

Accompany  your  Ixearts  1 ' 

Lys,  More  than  to  ns  30 

"Wait  in  your  royal  walks,  your  board,  your  bed  ! 

2he,  Come  now ;  what  masques,  what  dances  shall  we 
have, 
To  wear  away  this  long  age  of  three  hours 
Between  our  after'Sup]>er  and  bed-time? 
Where  is  our  usual  manager  of  mirtli? 
What  revels  are  in  hand  ?    Is  there  no  play, 
To  ease  the  anguish  of  a  torturing  hour? 
Call  Philostrate. 

PkU,  Here,  mighty  Theseus. 

TJu,  Say,  what  abridgement  have  you  for  this  evening  ? 
What  masque  ?  what  music  ?  How  shall  wo  beguile  40 
The  lazy  time,  if  not  with  some  delight? 

PhU»  There  is  a  brief  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  glorv  of  my  kinsman  Hercules. 
XReads]  '*  The  riot  of  the  tipsy  Bacchanals, 
Tearing  the  Thracian  singer  in  their  rage." 
That  is  an  old  device  ;  and  it  was  play'd  50 

When  I  from  Thel>es  came  last  a  conqueror. 
\Readti\  "  The  thrice  three  Muses  mourning  for  the  death 
Of  Learning,  late  deceased  in  beggary." 
That  is  some  satire,  keen  and  critical. 
Not  sorting  with  a  nuptial  ceremony. 
[Reads]  **  A  tedious  brief  scene  of  young  Pyramus 
And  his  love  Thisbe ;  very  tragical  mirth." 
Merry  and  tra^cal  I  tedious  and  brief  ! 
fThat  is,  hot  ice  and  wondrous  strange  snow. 
How  shall  we  find  the  concord  of  this  discord  ?  60 

Phil.  A  play  there  is,  my  lord,  some  ton  words  long, 
Wliich  is  as  brief  as  I  have  known  a  play  ; 
But  by  ten  words,  my  lord,  it  is  too  long, 
Which  makes  it  tedious ;  for  in  all  the  play 
There  is  not  one  word  apt,  one  player  fitted  : 
And  tragical,  my  noble  lord,  it  is ; 
For  Pyramus  therein  doth  kill  himself. 
Which,  wlion  I  saw  rehearseil,  I  must  confess. 
Made  mine  eyes  water  ;  but  more  merry  tears 
The  passion  of  loud  laughter  never  shed.  70 

The.  What  are  they  that  do  play  it? 

Phil.  Hard-handed  men  that  work  in  Athens  here. 


456  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.        [ACT  Y. 

Wlilcli  never  laboured  in  their  minds  till  now, 
And  now  have  toiVd  their  unbreatlied  memories 
With  this  same  play,  against  your  nuptial. 

The.  And  we  will  hear  it. 

PkU.  No,  mv  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,  80 

To  do  you  seivice. 

T/ie,  1  will  hear  that  play ; 

For  never  anything  can  be  amiss. 
When  simpleness  and  duty  tender  it. 
Go,  bring  them  in  :  and  take  your  places,  ladies. 

[ExU  PhilostratM. 

Hip.  I  love  not  to  see  wretchedness  o'ercharged 
And  duty  in  his  service  i^rishing. 

2^e.  Why,  gentle  sweet,  you  shall  see  no  such  thing. 

JKp.  He  says  they  can  do  nothing  in  this  kind. 

7 he.  The  kinder  we,  to  give  them  thanks  for  nothing. 
Our  sport  shall  be  to  take  what  they  mistake  :  90 

And  what  poor  duty  cannot  do, 
f  Noble  respect  takes  it  in  might,  not  merit. 
Where  I  have  come,  great  clerks  have  purposed 
To  greet  me  with  premeditated  welcomes  ; 
Wliere  I  have  seen  them  shiver  and  look  pale. 
Make  periods  in  the  midst  of  sentences. 
Throttle  their  practised  accent  in  their  fears 
And  in  conclusion  dumbly  havo  broke  off. 
Not  paying  me  a  welcome.     Trust  me,  sweet 
Out  of  this  silence  yet  I  pick'd  a  welcome  ;  100 

And  in  the  modesty  of  fearful  duty 
I  read  as  much  as  from  the  rattling  tong^ie 
Of  saucy  and  audacious  eloquence. 
Love,  therefore,  and  tongue-tied  simplicity 
In  least  speak  most,  to  my  capacity. 

Re-enter  Philostratk. 

Phil.  So  please  your  grace,  the  Prologue  is  addressed. 
ThA.  Let  liim  approach.  [FtotirWi  of  trumpeU. 

Enter  Quince  far  tJie  Prologue. 

Pro    If  wo  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,  110 

That  is  the  true  beginning  of  our  end. 
Consider  then  we  come  but  in  despite. 


8CENE  I.]     MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM,  457 

We  do  not  come  as  minding  to  content  you, 
Our  truo  intent  is.     All  for  your  delight 

We  nre  not  here.     That  you  should  here  repent  you. 
The  actors  are  at  hand  and  hy  their  show 
Yon  shall  know  all  that  you  are  like  to  know. 

Tilt.  This  fellow  doth  not  stand  upon  points. 

Ly%,  He  hath  rid  his  prologue  like  a  rough  colt ;  he  knows 
not  the  stop.  A  good  moral,  my  lord  :  it  is  not  enough  to 
speak,  but  to  speak  true. 

llip.  Indeed  he  hath  played  on  his  prologue  like  a  child 
on  a  recorder  ;  a  sound,  but  not  in  govern  msnt. 

Tht.  His  speech  was  like  a  tangled  chain ;  nothing  im- 
paired, but  all  disordered.     Who  is  next  ? 

Enter  Ptbahus  and  Thisbe,  WAiiL,  Moonshike,  and 

Lion. 

Pro,     Gentles,  perchance  you  wonder  at  this  show  ; 

But  wonder  on,  till  truth  make  all  things  plain. 
This  man  is  Pyramns,  if  you  would  know ;  130 

This  beauteous  lady  Thisby  is  certain. 
This  man,  with  lime  and  rough-cast,  doth  present 

Wall,  tliat  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  Ian  thorn,  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  by  name,  140 

The  trusty  Thisby,  coming  first  by  night, 
Did  scare  away,  or  rather  did  affright ; 
And,  as  she  fled,  her  mantle  she  did  fall. 

Which  Lion  vile  with  bloody  mouth  did  stain. 
Anon  comes  Pyranus,  sweet  youth  and  tall. 

And  finds  his  trusty  Thisby 's  mantle  slaiu  : 
Whereat,  with  blade,  with  bloody  blameful  blade. 

He  bravely  broached  his  boiling  bloody  breast ; 
And  Thisby^  tarrying  in  mulberry  shade. 

His  dagger  drew,  and  died.     For  all  the  rest,  150 

Let  Lion,  Moonshine,  Wall,  and  lovers  twain 
At  large  discourse,  v/hile  here  they  do  remain. 

[Exeunt  Prologue,  Thufbe,  Lion,  and  Mooiuthine. 

The.  I  wonder  if  the  lion  be  to  speak. 

Dem,  No  wonder,  my  lord :  one  lion  may,  when  many 
asses  do.  f 

Wall,  In  this  same  interlude  It  doth  befall 
That  I,  one  Snout  by  name^  present  a  wall ; 


458  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.        [act  v. 

And  such  a  wall,  as  I  would  havo  you  think, 

That  had  in  it  a  crannied  hole  or  chink, 

Through  wliich  the  lovers,  Pyramus  and  Thisby,  160 

Did  whisper  often  very  secretly. 

This  loam,  this  rough-cast  and  this  stone  doth  show 

That  I  am  that  same  wall ;  the  truth  is  so  : 

And  this  the  cranny  is,  right  and  sinister, 

Through  which  the  fearful  lovers  are  to  whisper. 

The.  Would  you  desire  lime  and  hair  to  speak  better? 

Dem.  It  is  the  witiest  partition  that  ever  I  heard  discourse, 
my  lord. 

Enter  Pyramus. 

Hie,  Pyramus  draws  near  the  wall :  silence  I  170 

Pyr.  O  grim-look'd  hight !    O  night  with  hue  so  black  I 

0  night,  which  ever  art  wlien  day  is  not  1 
O  nie^ht,  O  night !  alack,  alack,  alack, 

1  fear  my  Thisby's  promise  is  forgot  1 
And  thou,  O  wall,  O  sweet,  O  lovely  wall, 

Tbat  stand'st  between  her  father's  ground  and  mine  I 
Tliou  wall,  O  wall,  O  sweet  and  lovely  wall, 

Show  me  thy  chink,  to  blink  through  witli  mine  eyne  I 

[  \VaU  holds  vp  hisfingen. 
Thanks,  courteous  wall :  Jove  shield  thee  well  for  this  I 

But  what  see  I  ?    No  Thisby  do  I  see.  180 

O  wicked  wall,  through  whom  I  see  no  bliss  t 

Cursed  be  thy  stones  for  thus  deceiving  me  1 

The.  The  wall,  methinks,  being  sensible,  should  curso 
again. 

Pyr.  No,  in  truth,  sir,  he  should  not.  **  Deceiving  me" 
is  Thisby 's  cue  :  she  is  to  enter  now,  and  I  am  to  spy  her 
through  the  wall.  You  shall  see,  it  will  fall  pat  as  1  told 
you.     Yonder  she  comes. 

Enter  Thisbe. 

Ihis.  O  wall,  fall  often  hast  thou  heard  my  moans,         190 

For  parting  my  fair  Pyramus  and  me? 
My  cherry  lips  havo  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. 
Tliisby  ! 

This.  My  love  thou  art,  my  love  I  think. 

Pyr.  Think  what  thou  wilt,  I  am  thy  lover's  grace ; 
And,  like  Limander,  am  I  trusty  still. 

IhU.  And  I  like  Helen,  till  the  Fktes  me  kill 

Pyr,  No  Shaf alus  to  Procrua  was  so  true. 


f 


BCBNS  I.]     MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.  459 

77iM.  As  Shafalas  to  Procrus,  I  to  jovl. 

Pyr   O,  kiss  me  throufrk  the  hole  of  this  vile  wall  I 

ThU.  I  kiss  the  wall's  hole,  not  your  lips  at  all. 

Pyr.  Wilt  thou  at  Ninny's  tomb  meet  me  straightway? 

Trds,  'Tide  life,  'tide  death,  I  come  without  delay. 

[Exeunt  Pyramus  and  Thube. 

WaU.  Thus  have  I,  Wall,  my  part  discharged  so  ; 
And,  being  done,  thus  Wall  away  doth  go.  [Exit, 

The,  Now  is  the  mural  down  between  the  two  neigh- 
bours. 

Dem.  No  remedy,  my  lord,  when  walls  are  so  wilful  to 
hear  without  warning.  211 

Hip,  This  is  the  silliest  stuff  that  ever  I  heard. 

T/ie,  The  best  in  tliis  kind  are  but  shadows  ;  aud  the  worst 
are  no  worse,  if  imagination  amend  them. 

inp.  It  must  be  your  imagination  then,  and  not  theirs. 

Tht.  If  we  imagine  no  worse  of  them  than  they  of  them- 
selves, they  may  pass  for  excellent  men.  Here  come  two 
noble  beasts  iu,  a  man  and  a  lion.  221 

Enter  Lion  and  Moonshine. 

Lion,  Ton,  ladies,  you,  whoso  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  tluit  I,  one  Snug  the  joiner,  am 
A  lion-fell,  nor  else  no  lion's  dam  ; 
For,  if  I  should  as  lion  come  in  strife 
Into  this  place,  'twere  pity  on  my  life.  .  230 

T/ie.  A  very  gentle  beast,  andof  a  good  conscience. 

Dem,  The  very  best  at  a  beast,  my  lord,  that  e*er  I  saw. 

Lvs,  This  lion  is  a  very  fox  for  his  valour. 

2m.  True  ;  and  a  goose  for  his  discretion. 

Dem.  Not  so,  my  lord ;  for  his  valour  cannot  carry  his 
discretion  ;  and  the  fox  carries  the  goose.- 

T/ie.  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  Ian  thorn  doth  the  horned  moon  present ; — 

Dem.  He  should  have  woni  the  horns  on  his  head. 

The.  He.  is  no  (Crescent,  and  his  horns  are  invisible  within 
the  circumference. 

Moon.  This  lanthom  doth  the  homed  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  laathom.  How  is  it  else  the  man  i' 
the  moon? 


460  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.        [act  v. 

Dem,  He  dares  not  come  there  for  tlie  candle ;  for,  you 

see,  it  is  already  in  snuff. 
Hip.  I  am  aweary  of  this  moon :  would  lie  would  change  I 
Tlie,  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.  2(50 

Moon.  All  that  I  have  to  say,  is,  to  tell  you  that  the  Ian- 

^hom  is  the  moon  ;  I,  the  man  in  the  moon  ;  this  thorn-bush, 

my  thorn-hush  ;  and  this  dog,  my  dog. 
Dem,  Why,  all  these  should  be  in  the  lanthorn  ;  for  all 

these  are  in  the  moon.     But,  silence  I  here  comes  Thisbe. 

Evier  Thisbe. 

37<M.  This  is  old  Ninny's  tomb.     Where  is  my  lore? 

Lion.  \ Roaring]  Oh [Thi^c  runs  off. 

Dem.  Well  roared,  Lion.  270 

The.  Well  run,  Thisbe. 

Hip.  Well  shone.  Moon.  Truly,  the  moon  shines  with  a 
good  grace.  [llie  Lion  shakes  Thitbe^e  mantle,  and  exit. 

2 he.  Well  moused,  Lion. 
Lys,  And  so  the  lion  vanished. 
Dem.  And  then  came  Pyramus. 

Enter  Pyramus. 

Pyr.  Sweet  Moon,  I  thank  thcj  for  thy  sunny  beams ; 

I  thank  thee.  Moon,  for  shining  now  so  bright ; 
For,  by  thy  gracious,  golden,  glittering  gleams, 
I  trust  to  take  of  truest  Thisby  sight.  280 

But  stay,  O  spite  ! 
But  mark,  poor  knight, 
Wliat  dreadful  dole  is  here  I 
Eyes,  do  you  see  ? 
How  can  it  be  ? 
O  dainty  duck  !    O  dear  ! 
Tliy  mantle  good, 
What,  stain'd  with  blood  I 
Approach,  ye  Furies  fell ! 
O  Fates,  come,  come,  290 

Cut  thread  and  thrum  ; 
Quail,  crush,  conclude,  and  quell  I 
T?ie.  This  passion,  and  the  death  of  a  dear  friend,  would 
go  near  to  make  a  man  look  sad. 

Hip.  Beshrew  my  heart,  but  I  pity  the  man. 
Pyr.  0  wherefore,  Nature,  didst  thou  lions  frame? 

Since  lion  vile  hath  here  deflower'd  my  dear  : 
Which  is — no,  no — which  was  the  fairest  dame 


8CBNB  L]     MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.  461 

That  lived,  that  loved»  that  liked,  that  look'd  with  cheer. 

Gome,-  tears,  cont'oand ;  800 

Out,  sword,  and  wound 
The  pap  of  Pyramus ; 
Ay,  that  left  pap, 

Where  heart  doth  hop :         [Staba  himself. 
Thus  die  I,  thus,  thus,  thus. 
Now  am  I  deaid. 
Now  am  I  fled  ; 
My  soul  is  in  the  sky : 
Tongue,  lose  thy  lif ht ; 
Moon,  take  thy  flight :     [EjbU  Moorwhine. 
Now  die,  die,  die,  die,  die.  [i>M& 

Dem.  No  die,  but  an  ace,  for  him  ;  for  he  is  but  one. 
Lya,  Less  than  an  ace,  man  ;  for  he  is  dead  ;  he  is  nothing. 
The,  With  the  help  of  a  surgeon  he  might  yet  recover, 
and  prove  an  ass. 

Hip,  How  chance  Moonshine  is  gone  before  Thisbe  comes 
back  and  finds  her  lover? 

The,  She  will  find  him  by  starlight.  Here  she  comes ; 
and  her  passion  ends  the  play.  821 

Ee-enter  Thisbx. 

JBip.  Methinks  she  should  not  use  a  long  one  for  such  a 
Pyramus  :  I  hope  she  will  be  brief.^ 

Den^  A  mote  will  turn  the  balance,  which  Pyramus, 
which  Thisbe,  is  the  better ;  he  for  a  man,  God  warrant  us  ; 
she  for  a  woman,  God  bless  us. 

Lyt,  She  hath  spied  him  already  with  those  sweet  eyes. 
Dem.  And  thus  she  means,  videlicet : —  330 

Tim.  Asleep,  my  love  ? 

What,  dead,  my  dove  ? 
O  Pyramus,  arise  I 
Speak,  speak.     Quite  dumb  ? 
Dead,  dead  ?    A  tomb 
Must  cover  thy  sweet  eyes. 
These  lily  lips. 
This  cherry  nose, 
These  yellow  cowslip  cheeks. 
Are  gone,  are  gone  :  840 

Lovers,  make  moan : 
His  eyes  were  green  as  leeks. 
O  Sisters  Three, 
Gome,  come  to  me. 
With  hands  as  pale  as  milk  ; 
Lay  them  in  gore, 
i  Since  you  have  shore 


461^  .  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM,        [act  T. 

With  shears  Ixis  thread  of  silk. 
Tongue,  not  a  word  : 

Gome,  trusty  sword  ;  860 

Come,  blade,  my  breast  imbrue  : 

[Staba  herself. 
And,  farewell,  friends ; 
Thus  Thisbe  ends  : 
Adieu,  adieu,  adieu.  [Diei. 

Ihe.  Moonshine  and  Lion  are  left  to  bury  the  dead. 
Dem.  Ay,  and  Wall  too. 

BjL  [Springing  up\  No,  I  assure  you  ;  the  wall  is  down 
that  parted  their  fathers.  Will  it  please  you  to  see  the  epi- 
logue, or  to  hear  a  Bergomask  dance  between  two  of  our 
coiupany  ?  861 

The,  No  epilogue,  I  pray  you  ;  for  your  play  needs  no  ex- 
cuse. Never  excuse  ;  for  when  the  players  are  all  dead, 
there  need  none  to  be  blamed.  Marry,  if  he  tliat  writ  it  had 
played  P^' ram  us  and  hanged  himself  in  Thisbe's  garter,  it 
would  have  been  a  fine  tragedy  :  aud  so  it  is,  truly  ;  and 
very  notably  discharged.  But,  come,  your  Bergomask  :  let 
your  epilogue  alone.  \A  dance. 

The  iron  tongue  of  midnight  hath  told  twelve  :  870 

Lovers,  to  bed  ;  'tis  almost  fairy  time. 
I  fear  we  shall  out-sleep  the  coming  mom 
As  much  as  we  this  night  have  overwatch'd. 
This  palpable-gross  play  hath  well  beguiled 
The  heavy  gait  of  night.     Sweet  friends,  to  bed. 
A  fortnight  hold  we  this  solemnity. 
In  nightly  revels  and  new  jollity.  [Exeunt 

Enter  Puck. 

Puck,  Now  the  hungry  lion  roars. 

And  the  wolf  behowls  the  moon  ; 
Whilst  the  heavy  ploughman  snores,  880 

All  with  weary  tasks  fordone. 
Now  the  wasted  brands  do  glow. 

Whilst  the  screech-owl,  screeching  load. 
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  890 

By  the  triple  Hecate's  team, 
From  the  presence  of  the  sun. 

Following  darkness  like  a  dream. 


SCKNS  I.]     MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.  468 

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. 

Enter  Oberon  and  Titania  trith  their  train, 

Obe,        Through  tlie  house  give  glimmering  light, 
By  the  dead  and  drowsy  fire  : 

Every  elf  and  fairy  sprite  400 

Hop  as  light  as  bird  from  brier  ; 

And  this  ditty,  after  me. 

Sing,  and  dance  it  trippingly. 
TUa.  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.    [Song  and  dance. 
Obe.  Now,  until  the  break  of  day. 

Through  this  house  each  fairy  stray. 

To  the  best  bride-bed  will  we,  410 

Which  by  us  shall  blessed  be  ; 

And  the  issue  there  create 

Ever  shall  be  fortunate. 

So  shall  all  the  couples  three 

Ever  true  in  loving  be  ; 

And  the  blots  of  Nature's  hand 

Shall  not  in  their  issues  stand  ;  * 

Never  mole,  hare  lip,  nor  scar, 

Nor  mark  prodigious,  such  as  are 

Despised  in  nati  vity,  420 

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  shall  in  safety  rest. 

Trip  away  ;  make  no  stay  ; 

Meet  me  all  by  break  of  day. 

[Exeunt  Oberon,  TUania,  and  train. 
Puck,  If  we  shadows  have  offended,  430 

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. 

Qentles,  do  not  reprehend  : 

If  you  pardon,  we  will  mend  : 


404  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.        [ACT  V. 

.  And,  as  I  am  an  honest  Pack, 
If  we  have  unearned  luck 

Now  to  'scape  the  serpent's  tongue,  440 

We  will  make  amends  ere  long ; 
Else  the  Puck  a  liar  call  : 
So,  good  night  unto  jou  all. 
Give  me  your  hands,  if  we  be  friends^ 
And  Robin  shall  restore  amends.  [ExU. 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VEMCE. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONiE. 
The  DnxB  of  Venicb.  Launcelot  Gobbo, 

Tiic  FBWOB  OF  ABaAooM,  ^  p^^j^j^  LEONARDO,  Servant  to  Basaanlo. 

Antonio,  a  merchant  of  Venice.  Baltbasab,  {  .<»«».*•  4^  nr«.*f . 

Bawanio,  his  friend,  suitor  like-  Stkphamo.    f  ser^wts  to  l^MrtU. 

wise  to  Portia. 

Salanxo,   1  Portia,  a  rich  heiress. 

SAfJLRiNO,    friends  to  Antonio  Nerissa,  her  waiting-maid. 

Obatiano»  '             and  Bassanio.  Jessica,  dan^^hter  to  Shylock. 

Salbbio,    J  Masnulcoes  of  Venice,  Officers  of 

LoRENio,  in  love  with  Jessica.  the  Court  of  Justice,  Gaoler, 

Rhtlock.  a  rich  Jew.  Servants  to  Portia,  and  other 

Tubal,  his  friend.  Attendants. 

Scene  :  Partly  at  Venice^  and  partly  at  BdmoTit,  the  9eat 

of  Partia,  an  the  Continent. 

ACT  I. 

Scene  I.     Venice,    A  street. 

Enter  Antonio,  Salabino  and  Saianio. 

Ant.  In  sooth,  I  know  not  why  I  am  so  sad  : 
It  wearies  me  ;  von  say  it  wearies  yoa  ; 
Bat  how  I  caught  it,  found  it,  or  came  by  it, 
What  staff  'tis  made  of,  whereof  it  is  bom, 
I  am  to  learn  ; 

And  such  a  want- wit  sadness  makes  of  me, 
That  I  have  mnch  ado  to  know  myself. 

Solar.  Yoar  mind  is  tossing  on  the  ocean  ; 
There,  where  your  argosies  with  portly  sail. 
Like  signiors  and  rich  burghers  on  the  flood,  10 

Or,  as  it  were,  the  pageants  of  the  sea, 
Do  overpeer  the  petty  traffickers, 
That  curtsy  to  them,  do  them  reverence. 
As  they  fly  by  them  with  their  woven  wings. 

Solan.  Believe  me,  sir,  had  I  such  venture  forth. 
The  better  part  of  my  affections  would 

(4A5) 


460  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  [act  i. 

Be  with  my  hopes  abroad.     I  should  be  still 

Plucking  the  gra.ss,  to  know  where  sits  the  wind. 

Peering  in  maps  for  porUs  and  piers  and  roads  ; 

An<]  every  object  tliat  might  make  me  fear  20 

Misfortaue  to  my  ventures,  out  of  doubt 

AVould  make  me  sad. 

Solar,  My  wind  cooling  my  broth 

Would  blow  me  to  an  ague,  when  I  thought 
What  harm  a  wind  too  great  at  sea  might  do. 
I  should  not  see  the  sandy  hour-glass  run, 
But  I  should  think  of  shallows  and  of  flats, 
And  see  my  wealthy  Andrew  dockM  in  sand. 
Vailing  her  high-top  lower  than  her  ribs 
To  kiss  her  burial.     Should  I  go  to  church 
And  see  the  holy  edifice  of  stone,  80 

And  not  bethink  me  straight  of  dangerous  rocks. 
Which  touching  but  my  gentle  vessel's  side, 
Would  scatter  all  her  spices  on  the  stream. 
Enrobe  the  roaring  waters  with  my  silks, 
And,  in  a  word,  but  even  now  worth  this, 
And  now  worth  nothing  ?    Shall  1  have  the  thought 
To  think  on  this,  and  sliall  I  lack  the  thought 
That  such  a  thing  bechanced  would  make  me  sad  ? 
But  tell  not  me  ;  I  know,  Antonio 
Is  sad  to  think  upon  his  merchandise.  40 

Ant,  Believe  me,  no :  1  thank  my  fortune  for  it. 
My  ventures  are  not  in  one  bottom  trusted. 
Nor  to  one  place  ;  nor  is  my  whole  estate 
Upon  the  fortune  of  this  present  year  : 
Therefore  my  merchandise  makes  me  not  sad. 

Sular,  Why,  then,  you  are  in  love. 

Ant  Fie,  fie  ! 

Salar.  Not  in  love  neither?    Then  let  us  say  you  are  sad, 
Because  you  are  not  merry  :  and  'twere  as  easy 
For  you  to  laugh  and  leap  and  say  you  are  merry. 
Because  you  are  not  sad.     Now,  by  two-headed  Janus,     53 
Nature  hath  framed  strange  fellows  in  her  time : 
Some  that  will  evermore  peep  through  their  eyes 
And  laugh  like  parrots  at  a  Img-piper, 
And  other  of  such  vinegar  aspect 
Q^lat  they'll  not  show  their  teeth  in  way  of  smile. 
Though  Nestor  swear  the  jest  be  laughable. 

EfUer  Bassanio,  Lokunzo,  and  Qr.\tiano. 

Solan,  Here  comes  Bassanio,  your  most  noble  kinsman, 
Gratiano  and  Lorenzo.     Fare  ye  well : 
We  leave  you  now  with  better  company. 


i 

i 


8CENB  I.]  MERCHANT  OF  VENICJS.  '467 

Solar.  I  would  liave  stayed  till  I  had  xnado  yoa  merry,  60 
If  worthier  friends  had  no4  prevented  me. 

Ant.  Your  worth  is  very  dear  in  my  regard. 
I  take  it.  your  own  business  calls  on  you 
And  you  eiiibracB  the  occasion  to  depart. 

ScUar.  Good  morrow,  my  good  lords. 

Biua.  Good  signiors,  both,  when  shall  we  laugh  ?  say,  when  ? 
You  ^row  exceeding  strange  :  must  it  be  so  V 

SoSar.  We'll  make  our  leisures  to  attend  on  yours. 

[Exeunt  Salarino  and  SaUtnio. 

Lor.  My  Tjord  Bassanio,  since  you  have  found  Antonio, 
We  two  will  leave  you  :  but  at  dinner-time,  70 

I  pray  you,  have  in  mind  where  we  must  meet. 

Bass.  I  will  not  fail  you. 

Ora.  You  look  not  well,  Slgnior  Antonio  ; 
You  liave  too  much  respect  upon  the  world  : 
Tliey  lose  it  that  do  buy  it  with  much  care  : 
Believe  me,  you  are  marvellously  changed. 

Ant,  I  hold  the  world  but  as  the  world,  QraUano  ; 
A  stage  where  every  man  must  play  a  part. 
And  mine  a  sad  one. 

Ora.  Let  me  play  the  fool : 

With  mirth  and  laughter  let  old  wrinkles  come»  80 

And  let  my  liver  raUier  heat  with  wine 
Than  my  heart  cool  with  mortifying  groans. 
Why  should  a  man,  whose  blood  is  warm  within. 
Sit  like  his  ^randsire  cut  in  alabaster  ? 
Sleep  when  he  wakes  and  creep  into  the  jaundice 
By  being  peevish  ?     I  tell  thee  what,  Antonio— 
I  love  •thee,  and  it  is  my  love  that  s^^eaks — 
There  are  a  soit  of  men  whose  visages 
I>o  cream  and  mantle  like  a  standing  pond. 
And  do  a  wilful  stillness  entertain,  -90 

With  purpose  to  be  dress'd  in  an  opinion 
Of  wisdom,  fi^ravity,  profound  conceit, 
As  who  should  say  "  I  am  Sir  Oracle, 
And  when  I  ope  my  lips  let  no  dog  bark  i" 
O  my  Antonio,  I  do  know  of  these 
Tht^t  therefore  only  are  reputed  wise 
For  saying  nothing,  when,  I  am  very  sure, 
If  they  should  spt^ak,  would  almost  damn  those  ears 
Which,  hearing  them,  would  call  their  brothers  fools. 
I'll  toll  thee  more  of  this  another  timp  :  100 

Bii   fish  not,  with  this  melancholy  bait. 
For  this  fool  gudgeon,  this  opinion. 
Come,  good  Lorenzo.     Fare  ye  well  awhile : 
I'll  end  my  exhortation  after  dinner. 


468  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  [act  JL 

Lor.  Well,  we  will  leave  you  then,  till  dinner-time : 
1  must  be  one  of  these  same  duAib  wise  men. 
For  Oratiano  never  lets  me  speak. 

Qra.  Well,  keep  me  company  l)ut  two  years  more. 
Thou  shalt  not  ktiow  the  sound  of  thine  own  tongue. 

Ant  Farewell :  I'll  grow  a  talker  for  this  gear. 

Ora,  Thanks,  i'  faith,  for  silence  is  only  oommendablc 
In  a  neat's  tongue  dried  and  a  maid  not  vendible. 

[Exeunt  Oratiano  and  Lorenzo. 

Ant.  Is  that  any  thing  now? 

Bnu.  Gratiano  speaks  an  infinite  deal  of  nothing,  more 
than  any  man  in  all  Venice.  His  reasons  are  as  two  grains 
of  wheat  hid  in  two  bushels  of  chaff  :  you  shall  seek  all 
day  ere  you  find  them,  and  when  you  have  them,  they  are 
not  worth  the  search. 

Ant.  Well,  tell  me  now  what  lady  is  the  same 
To  whom  you  swore  a  secret  pilgrimage,     *  120 

That  you  to-day  promised  to  tell  mo  of? 

Bom.  'Tis  not  unknown  to  you,  Antonio, 
How  much  I  have  disabled  mine  estate. 
By  something  showing  a  more  swelling  port 
Than  my  faint  means  would  grant  continuance  : 
Nor  do  I  now  make  moan  to  be  abridged 
From  such  a  noble  rate  :  but  my  chief  care 
L^  to  come  fairly  off  from  the  great  debts 
Wherein  my  time  something  too  prodigal 
Ilath  left  mo  ga^ed.     To  you,  Antonio,  ISO 

I  owe  the  most,  in  money  and  in  love. 
And  from  your  love  1  have  a  warranty 
To  unburden  all  my  plots  and  purposes 
How  to  got  clear  of  all  the  debts  I  owe. 

Ant.  I  pray  you,  good  Bassanio,  let  mc  know  it ; 
And  if  it  stand,  as  yourself  still  do. 
Within  the  eye  of  honour,  be  assured, 
My  purse,  my  person,  my  extremest  means. 
Lie  all  unlocked  to  your  occasions.  ^ 

Bom.  In  my  school-days,  when  I  had  lost  one  shaft,  140 
I  shot  his  fellow  of  the  self-same  flight  ' 

The  self-same  way  with  more  advisSi  watch. 
To  find  the  other  forth,  and  by  a<lventunng  both 
I  oft  found  both  :  I  urge  this  childhood  proof. 
Because  what  follows  is  pura  innocence. 
I  owe  you  much,  and,  like  a  wilful  youth. 
That  which  I  owe  is  lost ;  but  if  you  please 
To  shoot  another  arrow  that  self  way 
Which  you  did  shoot  the  first,  I  do  not  doubt, 
As  I  will  watch  tho  aim»  or  to  find  both  .-  <  160 


6CENE II.]         MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  469 

Or  bring  your  latter  hazard  back  again 
And  tUankf ally  rest  debtor  for  the  first. 

A7it.  You  know  me  well,  and  lierein  spend  but  time 
To  wind  about  my  love  with  circumstance  ; 
And  out  of  doubt  you  do  me  now  more  wrong 
In  making  question  of  my  nttermost 
Than  if  you  had  made  waste  of  all  I  have : 
Then  do*  but  say  to  me  what  I  should  do 
That  in  your  knowledge  may  by  me  be  done. 
And  I  am  prest  unto  it :  therefore,  speak.  160 

Boss,  In  Belmont  is  a  ladv  richly  left ; 
And  she  is  fair  and,  fairer  tiian  that  word. 
Of  wondrous  virtues  :  sometimes  from  her  eyes 
I  did  receive  fair  speechless  messages  : 
Her  name  is  Portia,  nothing  nndervalaed 
To  Cato's  daughter,  Brutus*  Portia  : 
Nor  is  the  wide  world  ignorant  of  her  worth. 
For  the  four  winds  blow  in  from  every  coast 
Renowned  suitors,  and  her  sunny  locks 
Hang  on  her  temples  like  a  golden  fleece ;  170 

Which  makes  her  seat  of  Belmont  Colchos'  strand. 
And  many  Jasons  come  in  quest  of  her. 

0  my  Antonio,  had  I  but  the  means 
To  hold  a  rival  place  with  one  of  them, 

1  have  a  mind  presages  me  such  thrift. 
That  I  should  questionless  be  fortunate  f 

AiU.  Thou  know'st  that  all  my  fortunes  are  at  sea  ; 
Neither  have  I  money  nor  commodity 
To  raise  a  present  sum  •  therefore  go  forth  ; 
Try  what  my  credit  can  in  Venice  do  :  180 

nint  shall  be  rack'd,  even  to  the  nttermost. 
To  furnish  thee  to  Belmont,  to  fair  Portia. 
Go,  presently  inquire,  and  so  will  I, 
"Where  money  is,  and  I  no  question  make 
To  have  it  of'my  trust  or  for  my  sake.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  II.    Belmont,    A  room  in  Portia's  house. 

Enter  Portia  and  Nbrissa. 

Por,  By  my  troth,  Norissa,  my  little  body  is  aweary  of 
this  great  world. 

Ner.  You  would  be,  sweet  madam,  if  your  miseries  were 
in  the  same  abundance  as  your  good  fortunes  are  :  and  yet, 
for  aught  I  see,  they  are  as  sick  that  surfeit  with  too  much 
as  they  that  starve  with  nothing.  It  is  no  mean  happiness 
therefore,  to  be  seated  in  the  mean  :  superfluity  comes 
sooner  by  white  hairs,  but  competency  lives  longer.  10 


470  MERCHANT  OP  VENICE.  fACT  i. 

Por,  Good  sentences  and  well  pronounced. 

Ner,  Tiiej  would  be  better,  if  well  followed. 

Par,  If  to  do  were  a3  easy  as  to  know  what  were  good 
to  do,  chapels  bad  been  churches  and  poor  men's  cottages 
princes'  palaces.  It  is  a  good  divine  that  follows  his  own 
instructions  :  I  can  easier  teach  twenty  wliat  were  good  to 
be  done,  than  be  one  of  the  twenty  to  follow  miuo  own 
teaching.  The  brain  may  devise  laws  for  the  blood,  but  a 
hot  temper  leaps  o'er  a  cold  decree  :  such  a  hare  is  madness 
the  youth,  to  skip  o'er  the  meshes  of  good  counsel  the  crip- 
ple. But  this  reasoning  is  not  in  the  fashion  to  choose  me 
a  husband.  O  me,  the  word  "choose  I"  I  may  neither 
choose  whom  I  would  nor  refuse  whom  I  dislike  ;  so  is  the 
will  of  a  living  daughter  curbed  by  the  will  of  a  dead 
father.  Is  it  not  hara,  Nerissa,  that  I  cannot  choose  one 
nor  refuse  none  ?  29 

Ner.  Your  father  was  ever  virtuous ;  and  holy  men  at 
their  death  have  good  inspirations  :  therefore  the  lotter}% 
that  he  hath  devised  in  these  three  chests  of  gold,  silver 
and  lead,  whereof  who  chooses  his  meaning  chooses  you, 
will,  no  doubt,  never  be  chosen  by  any  rightly  but  one  who 
shall  rightly  love.  But  what  warmth  is  there  in  your  af- 
fection towards  any  of  these  princely  suitors  that  are  al- 
ready come  ? 

Por,  I  pray  thee,  over-name  them  ;  and  as  thou  namest 
them,  I  will  describe  them  ;  and,  according  to  my  descrip- 
tion, level  at  my  affection. 

Ner.  First,  there  is  the  Neapolitan  prince. 

Por.  Ay,  that's  a  colt  indeed,  for  he  doth  nothing  but 
talk  of  his  horse  ;  and  he  malces  it  a  great  appropriation  to 
his  own  good  parts,  that'  he  can  shoe  him  Iiimsvlf.  I  am 
much  afeard  my  lady  his  mother  played  false  with  a  smith. 

Ner.  Then  there  is  the  County  Palatine. 

Por.  He  doth  nothing  but  frown,  as  who  should  say  *'lf 
you  will  not  have  mo,  choose  : "  he  hears  merry  talcs  and 
smiles  not :  I  fear  he  will  prove  the  wec[)ing  philosopher 
when  he  grows  old,  being  so  full  of  unmannerly  sadness  in 
his  youth.  I  had  rather  bo  married  to  a  death's-head  with 
a  bone  in  his  mouth  than  to  either  of  these.  God  defend 
me  from  these  two  I 

Net.  How  say  you  by  the  French  lord,  Monsieur  Le  Bon  ? 

Por.  God  made  him,  and  therefore  let  him  pass  for  a 
man.  In  truths  1  know  it  is  a  sin  to  be  a  mocker  :  but.  he  ! 
why,  he  hath  a  horse  better  than  the  Neaj)olitan's,  a  better 
bad  habit  of  frowning  than  the  Count  Palatine  ;  he  is  every 
man  in  no  man  ;  if  a  throstle  sing,  he  fulls  straight  a  caper- 
ing :  he  will  fence  with  his  own  shadow  :  if  I  should  many 


BCENB II.]         MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  471 

him,  I  slioald  marry  twenty  husbands.  If  he  would  de- 
spise me,  I  would  forgive  liim,  for  if  he  love  me  to  madness, 
I  sliall  never  requite  liim.  70 

Ner,  What  say  you,  then,  to  Faloonbridge,  the  young 
baron  of  England  ? 

Par.  You  know  I  say  nothing  to  htm,  for  he  understands 
not  me,  nor  I  him :  he  hath  neither  Latin,  French,  nor 
Italian,  and  you  will  come  into  the  court  and  swear  that  I 
have  a  poor  pennyworth  in  the  English.  He  is  a  propter 
man's  picture,  but,  alas,  who  can  converse  with  a  dumb- 
show  t  How  oddly  he  is  suited  I  I  think  he  bought  his 
doublet  in  Italy,  his  round  hose  in  France,  his  bo/met  in 
Germany  and  his  behaviour  every-where. 

Ner,  What  think  you  of  the  Scottish  lord,  his  neighbour  ? 

Por,  That  he  hath  a  neighbourlv  charity  in  him,  for  he 
borrowed  a  box  of  the  ear  of  the  £fnglishman  and  swore  he 
would  pay  him  again  when  he  was  able  :  I  think  the  French- 
man became  his  surety  and  sealed  under  for  another. 

Ner.  How  like  you  the  young  German,  the  Duke  of  Saxo- 
ny's nephew  ?  91 

Par,  Very  vilely  in  the  morning,  when  he  is  sober,  and 
most  vilely  in  the  afternoon,  when  he  is  drunk  :  when  he  is 
best,  he  is  a  little  worse  than  a  man,  and  when  he  is  worst, 
he  is  little  better  than  a  beast :  in  the  worst  fall  that  ever 
fell,  I  hope  I  shall  make  shift  to  go  without  him. 

Ner.  If  he  should  offer  to  choose,  and  choose  the  right 
casket,  you  should  refuse  to  perform  your  father's  will,  if 
yon  should  refuse  to  accept  him. 

Por.  Therefore,  for  fear  of  the  worst,  I  pray  thee,  set  a 
deep  glass  of  rhenish  wine  on  the  contrary  casket,  for  if 
the  devil  be  within  and  tliat  temptation  without,  I  know  he 
will  choose  it.  I  will  do  any  thing,  Nerissa,  ere  I'll  be 
married  to  a  sponge. 

Ner.  You  need  not  fear,  lady,  the  having  any  of  these 
lords  :  they  have  acquainted  me  with  their  determinations  ; 
which  is,  indeed,  to  return  to  their  home  and  to  trouble 
you  with  no  more  suit,  unless  you  may  be  won  by  some 
other  sort  than  your  father's  imposition  depending  on  the 
caskets. 

Pot.  If  I  live  to  be  as  old  as  Sibylla,  I  will  die  as  chaste 
as  Diana,  unless  I  be  obtained  by  the  manner  of  my  father's 
will.  I  am  glad  this  parcel  of  wooers  are  so  reasonable, 
for  there  is  not  one  among  them  but  I  dote  on  his  very  ab- 
sence, and  I  pray  God  grant  them  a  fair  departure. 

Ner.  Do  you  not  remember,  lady,  in  your  father's  time, 
a  Venetian,  a  scholar  and  a  soldier,  that  came  hither  in  com- 
pany of  the  Marquis  of  Montferrat  ? 


472  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  .    [act  i. 

Per.  Y«6,  yes,  it  was  Baasanio ;  as  I  think,  he  was  so 
called. 

Ne/r,  True,  madam  :  he,  of  all  the  men  that  ever  my 
foolish  eyes  looked  apon,  was  the  l)est  deserving  a  fair  lady. 

Pot,  I  remember  him  well,  and  I  remember  nim  worthy 
of  thy  praise. 

Enier  a  Serving-man. 

How  now  1  what  news  ? 

8ero.  The  four  strangers  seek  fonr  you,  madam,  to  take 
their  leave :  and  there  is  a  forerunner  come  from  a  fifth, 
the  Prijice  of  Morocco,  who  brings  wprd  the  prince  his 
master  will  be  here  to-night.  139 

Pot.  If  I  could  bid  the  fifth  welcome  with  so  good  a 
heart  as  I  can  bid  the  other  four  farewell,  I  should  1^  glad 
of  his  approach :  if  he  liave  the  condition  of  a  saint  and 
the  complexion  of  a  devil.  I  had  rather  he  should  shrive  me 
than  wive  me. 

Come,  Nerissa.     Sirrah,  go  before. 

Whiles  we  shut  the  gates  upon  one  wooer,  another  knocks 
at  the  door.  \Ex€Uid, 

Scene  III.     Yeniu,    A  public  place. 

Enter  Bassanio  and  ShVlock. 

Shy,  Three  thousand  ducats  ;  well. 

Bass.  Ay,  sir,  for  three  months. 

Shy,  For  three  montlis  ;  well. 

Bass.  For  the  which,  as  I  told  you,  Antonio  shall  be 
bound. 

Shy.  Antonio  shall  become  liound  ;  well. 

Bass,  May  you  stead  me  ?  will  you  pleasure  me  ?  shall  I 
know  your  answer  ? 

Shy.  Three  thousand  ducats  for  three  months  and  An- 
tonio bound.  10 

Bass.  Your  answer  to  that. 

Shy.  Antonio  is  a  good  man. 

Bass.  Have  you  heard  any  imputation  to  the  oontraiy  1 

Shy.  Oh,  no,  no,  no,  no :  my  meaning  in  saying  he  is  a 
good  man  is  to  have  you  understand  me  that  he  is  sufficient. 
Yet  his  means  are  in  supposition  :  he  hath  an  argosy  bound 
to  Tripolis,  another  to  the  Indies  ;  1  understand,  moreover, 
upon  the  Riaito,  he  hath  a  third  at  Mexico,  a  fourth  for 
England,  and  other  ventures  he  hath,  squandered  abroad. 
But  ships  are  but  boards,  sailors  but  men  :  there  be  land- 
rats  and  watttr-rats,  water-thieves  and  land-thieves,  I  mean 
pirates,  and  then  there  is  the  peril  of  waters,  winds  and 


BCKNK  III.]        MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  478 

rocks.  The  man  is,  notwithstanding,  sufficient.  Three 
thousand  ducats ;  I  think  I  may  take  his  bond. 

B<U8,  Be  assured  you  may. 

/S7tv-  I  will  be  assured  I  may  ;  and,  that  I  may  be  assured, 
I  will  bethink  me.     May  I  speak  witli  Antonio? 

Boss.  If  it  please  yon  to  dine  with  us. 

JShy.  Yes,  to  smell  pork ;  to  eat  of  the  habitation  which 
your  prophet  the  Nazarite  conjured  the  devil  into.,  I  will 
buy  with  you,  sell  with  you,  talk  with  you,  walk  with  you, 
and  so  following,  but  I  will  not  eat  with  you,  drink  with 
you,  nor  pray  with  you.  What  news  on  the  Rial  to  ?  Who 
is  he  comes  here  7  40 

Enter  Antonio. 

Bass.  Tills  is  Signior  Antonio. 

Shy.  [Aside]  How  like  a  fawning  publican  he  looks  I 
I  hate  him  for  he  is  a  Christian, 
But  more  for  that  in  low  simplicity 
He  lends  out  money  gratis  and  brings  down 
The  rate  of  usance  here  with  us  in  Venice. 
If  I  can  catch  him  once  upon  the  hip, 
I  will  feed  fat  the  ancient  grudge  I  bear  him. 
He  hates  our  sacred  nation,  and  he  rails, 
Even  there  where  merchants  most  do  congregate,  60 

On  me,  my  bargains  and  my  well-won  thrift, 
Which  he  calls  interest.     Cursed  be  my  tribe. 
If  I  forgive  him  ! 

Bdss.  Shylock,  do  you  hear? 

8fiy.  I  am  debating  of  my  present  store, 
And,  by  the  near  guess  of  my  memory, 
I  caanot  instantly  raise  up  the  gross 
Of  full  three  thousand  ducats.     What  of  that  ? 
Tubal,  a  wealthy  Hebrew  of  my  tribe, 
Will  furnish  me.     But  soft  I  how  many  months 
Do  you  desire  ?  [To  Ant.]  Rest  you  fair,  good  signior  ;     60 
Tour  worship  was  the  la^jt  man  in  our  mouths. 

Ant.  Shylock,  although  I  neither  lend  nor  borrow 
By  taking  nor  by  giving  of  excess, 
Yet,  to  supply  the  ripe  wants  of  my  friend, 
I'll  break  a  custom.     Is  he  yet  possess'd 
How  much  ye  would  ? 

Shy.  Ay,  ay,  three  thousand  ducats. 

Ant.  And  for  three  months. 

S^iy.  1  had  forgot ;  three  months  ;  you  told  me  so. 
Well  then,  your  bond  ;  and  let  me  see  ;  but  hear  you  ; 
Methought  you  said  you  neither  lend  nor  borrow  70 

Upon  advantage. 


474  MERCHANT  OF  VENICK  [ACT  I. 

Ant.  I  do  never  use  it. 

Shy.  Wlien  Jacob  fi^razed  liis  uncle  Laban's  sheep— 
This  Jacob  from  our  Tioly  Abram  was. 
As  his  wise  mother  wrought  in  his  belialf, 
The  third  possessor  ;  ay,  he  was  tlie  third — 

Ant.  And  what  of  him?  did  he  take  interest? 

S/iy.  No,  not  take  interest,  not,  as  vou  would  bbj. 
Directly  interest :  mark  wliat  Jacob  did. 
Wlien  Labon  and  himself  were  compromised 
That  all  the  eanlings  which  were  streak'd  and  pied 
Should  fall  as  Jacob's  hire,  the  ewes,  being  rank. 
In  the  end  of  autumn  turned  to  the  rams, 
And,  when  the  work  of  generation  was 
Between  these  woolly  breeders  in  the  act, 
The  skilful  shepherd  peel'd  me  certain  wands 
And,  in  tlie  doing  of  tne  deed  of  kind, 
He  stuck  them  up  before  the  fulsome  ewes. 
Who  then  conceiving  did  in  eaning  time 
Fall  parti-colour'd  lambs,  and  those  were  Jacob's. 
This  was  a  way  to  tiirive,  and  he  was  blest :  90 

And  thrift  is  blessing,  if  men  steal  it  not. 

Ant.  This  was  a  venture,  sir,  that  Jacob  served  for  ; 
A  thing  not  in  liis  power  to  bring  to  pass. 
But  sway'd  and  fashion'd  by  the  liand  of  heaven. 
Was  this  inserted  to  make  interest  good  ? 
Or  is  your  gold  and  silver  ewes  and  rams? 

Shy.  I  cannot  tell ;  I  make  it  breed  as  fast : 
But  note  me,  signior. 

Ant.  Mark  you  this,  Bassanio, 

The  devil  can  cite  Scripture  for  his  purpose. 
An  evil  soul  producing  holy  witness  100 

Is  like  a  villain  with  a  smiling  cheek, 
A  goodly  apple  rotten  at  the  heart : 
O,  what  a  goodly  outside  falsehood  hath  I 

8/ip.  Three  thousand  ducats  ;  'tis  a  good  round  sum. 
Three  months  from  twelve  ;  then,  let  me  see  ;  the  rate — 

Ant.  Well,  Shylock,  shall  we  be  beholding  to  you  ? 

Shy.  Signior  Antonio,  many  a  time  and  oft 
In  the  Hialto  you  have  rated  me 
About  my  moneys  and  my  usances : 

Still  have  I  borne  it  with  a  patient  shrug,  110 

For  sufferance  is  the  badge  of  all  our  tribe. 
You  csill  me  misbeliever,  cut-throat  dog. 
And  spit  upon  my  Jewish  gaberdine. 
And  all  for  use  of  that  which  is  mine  own. 
Well  then,  it  now  appears  you  need  my  help : 
Go  to,  then  ;  you  come  to  me,  and  you  say 


BCENEiii.]        MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  475 

*'  Sliylock,  we  wonld  have  moneys  :"  roii  saj  so  ; 

You.  that  did  void  your  rlieuni  upon  my  beard 

And  foot  me  as  you  spurn  a  stranger  cur 

Over  your  threshold  :  moneys  is  your  suit.  120 

What  sliould  I  say  to  you?    Sliould  I  not  say 

**  Hath  a  dog  money?  is  it  possible 

A  rur  can  lend  three  thousand  ducats?"  Or 

Shall  I  bend  low  and  in  a  bondman's  key, 

AV  ith  bated  breath  and  whisperin^j  humbleness. 

Say  this ; 

**  Fair  sir,  you  spit  on  moon  Wednesday  last ; 

You  spurn*d  me  such  a  day  ;  another  time 

You  call'd  mo  dog  ;  and  for  tliese  courtesies 

I'll  lend  you  thus  much  moneys  **  ?  130 ' 

Ant,  I  am  as  like  to  call  thee  so  again. 
To  spit  on  thee  again,  to  spurn  thee  too. 
If  thou  wilt  lend  this  money,  lend  it  not 
As  to  thy  friends  ;  for  when  did  friendship  take 
A  breed  for  barren  metal  of  his  friend  ? 
Butjend  it  rather  to  thine  enemy. 
Who,  if  he  break,  thou  mayst  with  better  face 
Exact  the  penalty. 

Sliy.  Why,  look  you,  how  you  storm  I 

I  would  be  friends  with  you  and  have  your  love. 
Forget  the  shames  that  you  have  stain'd  me  with. 
Supply  your  present  wants  and  take  no  doit  141 

Of  usance  for  my  moneys,  and  you'll  not  hear  me  : 
This  is  kind  I  offer. 

Bom.  This  were  kindness. 

Shj/,  This  kindness  will  I  show. 

Go  with  me  to  a  notary,  seal  mo  there 
Your  single  bond  ;  and,  in  a  merry  sport. 
If  you  repay  me  not  on  such  a  day, 
In  such  a  place,  such  sum  or  sums  as  are 
Expressed  in  the  condition,  let  tho  forfeit 
Be  nominated  for  an  equal  pound  150 

Of  your  fair  flesh,  to  be  cut  off  and  taken 
In  what  part  of  your  body  pleaseth  me. 

Ant.  Content,  i*  faith  :  1*11  seal  to  such  a  bond 
And  say  there  is  much  kindness  in  the  Jew. 

Bass'.  You  shall  not  seal  to  such  a  bond  for  mo  : 
I'll  rather  dwell  in  my  necessity. 

Ant.  Why,  fear  not,  man  ;  1  will  not  forfeit  it : 
Within  these  two  months,  that's  a  month  before 
This  bond  expires,  I  do  expect  return  160 

Of  thrica  three  times  the  value  of  this  bond. 

8hff.  O  father  Abram,  what  these  Christians  are. 


476  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  [act  il 

V 

Whose  own  bard  dealings  teaches  them  suspect 

The  thoughts  of  others !     Pray  you,  tell  me  this  ; 

If  he  should  break  his  day.  what  should  I  gain 

By  the  exaction  of  the  forfeiture) 

A  pound  of  man's  flesh  taken  from  a  man 

Is  not  so  estimable,  profitable  neither. 

As  flesh  of  muttons,  beefs,  or  goats.     I  say^ 

To  buy  his  favour,  I  extend  this  friendship : 

If  he  will  take  it,  so  ;  if  not,  adieu  ;  J 70 

And,  for  my  love,  I  pray  you  wrong  me  not. 

Ant,  Yes,  Sbylock,  I  will  seal  unto  this  bond* 

S/iy.  Then  meet  me  forthwith  at  the  notary's ; 
Give  him  direction  for  this  merry  bond. 
And  I  will  go  and  purse  the  ducats  straight. 
Bee  to  my  house,  left  in  the  fearful  guard 
Of  an  unthrifty  knave,  and  presently 
I  will  be  with  you. 

Ant.  Hie  thee,  gentle  Jew.  ^BxU  Shyloek. 

The  Hebrew  will  turn  Christian  :  he  grows  kiud. 

Bom,  I  like  not  fair  terms  and  a  viUain's  mind. 

Afit  Come  on  :  in  this  there  cau  be  no  dismay  ; 
My  ships  oome  home  a  month  before  the  day.         [Exeunt. 


ACT  II. 

ScEKE  1.    Bdmont,    A  room  in  Pobtia's  hoxue. 

Ftcuri^h  of  cornets.    Enter  the  Prince  op  Morocco  and 
At  train;  Portia,  Nerissa,  and  others  attending.  f 

Mor.  Mislike  me  not  for  my  complexion. 
The  shadow'd  livery  of  the  burnish'd  sun. 
To  whom  I  am  a  neighbour  and  near  bred. 
Bring  me  the  fairest  creature  northward  bom. 
Where  Phoebus*  fire  scarce  thaws  the  icicles. 
And  let  us  make  incision  for  your  love. 
To  prove  whose  blood  is  reddest,  his  or  mine. 
I  tell  thee,  lady,  this  aspect  of  mine 
Hath  f  ear'd  the  valiant  :  by  my  love,  I  swear 
The  best  regarded  virgins  of  our  clime  10 

Have  loved  it  too  :  I  would  not  change  this  hue. 
Except  to  steal  your  thoughts,  my  gentle  queen. 

Por.  In  terms  of  choice  I  am  not  solely  led 
By  nice  direction  of  a  maiden's  eyes ; 
Besides,  the  lottery  of  my  destiny 
Bars  me  the  right  of  voluntary  choosing  : 
But  if  my  father  had  not  scanted  me  •   .         ^ 


flCENB  11.]         MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  ifJ 

And  hedged  me  by  his  wit,  to  yiehl  myself 
His  wife  who  wins  me  by  tliat  means  I  told  yoa. 
Yourself,  renowned  prince,  then  stood  as  fair  20 

As  any  comer  I  have  look'd  on  yet 
For  my  affection. 

Mor.  Even  for  that  I  thank  you  : 

Therefore,  I  pray  you  lead  me  to  the  cuskets 
To  try  my  fortune.     By  this  scimitnr 
That  slew  the  Sophy  and  a  persian  Prince 
That  won  three  fields  of  Sultan  Solyman, 
I  would  outstare  the  steniest  eyes  that  look. 
Outbrave  the  heart  most  daring  on  the  earth. 
Pluck  the  young  sucking  cubs  from  the  she-bear. 
Yea,  mock  the  lion  when  he  roars  for  prey,  80 

To  win  thee,  lady.     But,  alas  the  while  I 
If  Hercules  and  Lichas  play  at  dice 
Which  is  the  better  man,  the  greater  throw 
May  tarn  by  fortune  from  the  weaker  hand  : 
So  is  Alcides  beaten  by  his  page  ; 
And  so  may  I,  blind  fortune  leading  me. 
Miss  that  which  one  unworthier  may  attain. 
And  die  with  grieving. 

Par,  You  must  take  your  chance, 

And  either  not  attempt  to  choose  at  all 
Or  swear  before  you  choose,  if  you  choose  wrong  40 

Never  to  speak  to  lady  afterward 
In  way  of  marriage  :  therefore  be  advised. 

Mor.  Nor  will  not.     Come,  bring  me  unto  my  chance. 

Par.  First,  forward  to  the  temple  :  after  dinner  *"• 
Your  hazatd  shall  be  made.  '^ 

Mor,  Good  fortune  then  I 

To  make  me  blest  or  cursed'st  among  men. 

[CoTJieU,  and  eoseunt. 

ScBNB  II.     Venice.    A  street. 

Enter  Launcelot. 

Laun.  Certainly  my  conscienco  will  serve  me  to  run  from 
this  Jew  my  master.  The  fiend  is  at  mine  elbow  and 
tempts  me,  saying  to  me  "Gobbo,  Launcelot  Gobbo,  good 
Launcelot,  "  or  "good  Goblx),"  or  ** good  Launcelot  (iobbo, 
use  your  legs,  take  the  start,  run  away."  My  conscienco 
says  **  No;  take  heed,  honest  Launcelot ;  take  heed,  honest 
Gobbo,"  or,  as  aforesaid,  ''honest  Liauncelot  Gobbo;  do 
not  run  ;  scorn  running  with  thy  heels."  Well,  the  most 
courageous  fiend  bids  me  pack  :  "  Via  ! "  says  the  fiend  ; 
"away I"  says  the  fiend;  "for  the  heavens,  rouse  up  a 


478  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  [act  n. 

brave  mind,"  says  the  fiend,  "and  run."  Well,  my  con- 
science, hanging  about  the  neck  of  nij  heart,  says  very 
wisely  to  me  *'  My  honest  friend  Lanncelot,  being  an  honest 
man's  son,"  or  rather  an  honest  woman's  son  ;  for,  indeed, 
my  father  did  something  sniaclv,  something  grow  t-o,  ho 
had  a  kind  of  taste ;  well,  my  conscience  says  •*  Launcclot, 
budge  not."  "Budge,"  says  the  fiend.  "Budge  not," 
says  my  conscience.  "Conscience,"  say  I,  "you  counsel 
well ;"  "Fiend,"  say  I,  "you  counsel  well :"  to  be  ruled 
by  ray  conscience,  1  should  stay  witli  the  Jew  my  master, 
who,  God  bless  the  mark,  is  a  kind  of  deril  ;  and,  to  run 
away  from  the  Jew,  I  should  be  ruhd  by  the  fiend,  who, 
saving  your  reverence,  is  tiic  devil  himself.  Certainly  the 
Jew  is  the  very  devil  incamal ;  and,  in  my  conscience,  my 
conscience  is  but  a  kind  of  hard  conscience,  to  offer  to 
counsel  me  to  stay  with  the  Jew.  The  fiend  gives  the 
more  friendly  counsel :  I  will  run,  fiend ;  my  heels  are  at 
your  command  ;  I  will  run. 

Enter  Old  Gobbo,  tcith  a  basJcet. 

Gob.  Master  young  man,  you,  I  pray  you,  which  is  the 
wav  to  master  Jew's  ? 

Latin.  [Aside]  O  heavens,  this  is  my  true-begotten  father ! 
who,  being  more  than  sand-blind,  higli-gravel  blind,  knows 
me  not :  I  will  try  confusions  with  him. 

Oob.  Master  young  gentleman,  I  pray  you,  which  is  the 
way  to  master  Jew's  ?  41 

Laun.  Turn  upon  your  right  hand  at  the  next  turning, 
but,  at  the  next  turning  of  all,  on  your  left ;  marry,  at  the 
very  next  turning,  turn  of  no  hand,  but  turn  down  indi- 
rectly to  the  Jew's  house. 

Gob.  By  God's  son  ties,  'twill  be  a  hard  way  to  hit.  Can 
you  tell  me  whether  one  Launcelot,  that  dwells  with  him, 
dwell  with  him  or  no  ? 

Laun.  Talk  you  of  young  Master  Launcelot?  [Aside] 
Mark  me  now  ;  now  will  I  raise  the  waters.  Talk  you  of 
young  Master  Launcelot  ? 

G(w.  No  master,  sir,  but  a  poor  man's  son  :  his  father, 
though  I  say  it,  is  an  honest  exceeding  poor  man  and,  God 
be  thanked,  well  to  live. 

Laun.  Well,  let  his  father  be  what  a'  will,  we  talk  of 
young  Master  Launcelot. 

Gob.  Your  worship's  friend  and  Launcelot,  sir. 

Laun.  But  I  pray  you,  ergo,  old  man,  ergo,  I  beseech 
^ou,  talk  you  of  young  Master  Launcelot  ? 

Gob.  Of  Launcelot,  an't  please  your  mastership. 

Laun,  Ergo,  Master   Launcelot.    Talk   not  of   Master 


BCBiraiL]  MERCHANT  OP  VENICK  479 

Lanncelot,  father ;  for  the  Toong  gentleman,  acoordins  to 
Fates  and  Destinies  and  such  odd  sayings,  the  Sisters  Three 
and  such  branches  of  learning,  is  indeed  deceased,  or,  as 
you  would  say  in  plain  terms,  gone  to  heaven. 

Oob.  Marry,  God  forbid  1  the  boy  was  the  very  stafi  of 
niy  age,   my  very  prop.  70 

Laun.  IX>  I  look  like  a  cudgel  or  a  hovel-post,  a  staff  or 
a  prop  ?    Do  yon  know  me,  father  ? 

Oob.  Alack  the  day,  I  know  you  not,  young  gentleman  : 
but,  I  pray  you,  teU  me,  is  my  boy,  God  rest  his  soul,  alive 
or  dead? 

Zaun.  Do  you  not  know  me,  father  ?     * 

Chb.  Alack,  sir,  I  am  sand-blind  ;  I  know  you  not. 

Lawn.  Nay,  indeed,  if  you  had  your  eyes,  you  might  fail 
of  the  knowing  me  :  it  is  a  wise  father  that  knows  liis  own 
child.  Well,  old  man,  I  will  tell  yo»i  news  of  your  son  : 
give  me  your  blessing  :  truth  will  come  to  light ;  murder 
cannot  be  hid  long  ;  a  man's  son  may,  but  at  the  length 
truth  will  out, 

Oob.  Pray  you,  sir,  stand  up :  I  am  sure  you  are  not 
Launcelot,  my  boy. 

Laun.  Pray  you,  let's  have  no  more  fooling  about  it,  but 
give  me  your  blessing :  I  am  Launcelot,  your  boy  that  was, 
your  sonthat  is,  your  child  that  shall  be.  91 

Oob.  I  cannot  think  you  are  my  son. 

Laun.  I  know  not  what  I  shall  think  of  that :  hnt  I  am 
Launcelot,  the  Jew's  man,  and  I  am  sure  Margery  your 
wife  is  my  mother. 

Oob.  Her  name  is  Margery,  indeed  :  I'll  be  sworn,  if  thnn 
De  Launcelot,  thou  art  mine  own  flesh  and  blood.  Lord 
woi-shipped  inle^ht  he  be  !  what  a  beard  hast  thou  got  I  thou 
hast  got  more  hair  on  thy  chin  than  Dobbin  my  fill- horse 
has  on  his  tail.  101 

Laun.  It  should  seem,  then,  that  Dobbin's  tail  grows 
backward  :  I  am  sure  he  had  more  hair  of  his  tail  tiinu  I 
have  of  my  face  when  I  last  saw  him. 

Oob.  Lord,  how  art  thou  changed  1  How  dost  thou  and 
thy  master  ag^ree  ?  I  have  brought  him  a  present.  How 
'gree  you  now  ? 

Laun.  Well,  well :  but,  for  mine  own  part,  as  I  have 
set  up  my  rest  to  run  away,  so  I  will  not  rest  till  I  liavo  nm 
some  ground.  My  master's  a  very  Jew  :  give  him  a  pres- 
ent !  give  him  a  halter :  I  am  famished  in  his  service ;  you 
may  tell  every  finger  I  have  with  my  ribs.  Father,  I 
am  glad  you  are  come :  give  me  your  present  to  one  Master 
Bassanio,  who,  indeed,  gives  rare  new  liveries :  if  I  serve 
not  him,  I  will  run  as  for  as  God  has  any  ground.    0  rare 


480  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  [act  n. 

fortune  !  here  comes  tlie  man  :  to  liim,  father ;  for  I  am  a 
Jew,  if  I  serve  the  Jew  any  longer.  120 

Enter  Bassanio,  loitJi  Leonardo  and  otJicr  foUateers. 

Bass,  You  may  do  so  ;  but  let  it  be  so  liasted  that  sup- 
per be  ready  at  tlie  farthest  by  five  of  the  clock.  See  these 
letters  delivered  ;  put  the  liveries  to  making,  and  desire 
GratiaDO  to  come  anon  to  my  lodging.  [Exit  a  servant. 

Laun.  To  him.  father. 

Gob.  Qod  bless  your  worship  I 

Bom,  Gramercy  I  wouldst  thou  ought  with  me  ? 

Oob.  Here's  Ifty  son,  sir,  a  poor  boy, — 

Laun.  Not  a  poor  boy,  sir,  but  the  rich  Jew's  man  ;  that 
would,  sir,  as  my  father  shall  specify — 

Ocb.  He  hath  a  great  infection,  sir,  as  one  would  say,  to 
serve, — 

Laun.  Indeed,  the  short  and  the  long  is,  I  serve  the  Jew, 
and  have  a  desire,  as  my  father  shall  specify — 

Oob.  His  master  and  he,  saving  your  worship's  rever- 
ence, are  scarce  cater-cousins — 

Laun.  To  be  brief,  the  very  truth  is  that  the  Jew,  having 
done  me  wrong,  doth  cause  me,  as  my  father,  being,  I  hope, 
on  old  man,  shall  frutify  unto  you — 

Oob.  I  have  here  a  dish  of  doves  that  I  would  bestow 
npon  your  worship,  and  my  suit  is — 

Laun.  In  very  brief,  the  suit  is  impertinent  to  myself,  as 
your  worship  shall  know  by  this  honest  old  man ;  and, 
though  I  say  it,  though  old  man,  yet  poor  man,  my  father. 

Bass.  One  speak  for  both.     What  would  you  ? 

Laun.  Serve  you,  sir.  151 

Oob.  That  is  the  very  defect  of  the  matter,  sir. 

Bass.  I  know  theo  well ;  thou  hast  obtain'd  thy  suit : 
Shylock  thy  master  spoke  with  me  this  day, 
And  hath  preferr'd  thee,  if  it  be  preferment 
To  leave  a  rich  Jew's  service,  to  become 
The  follower  of  so  poor  a  gentleman. 

Laun.  The  old  proverb  is  very  well  parted  between  mv 
master  Shylock  and  you,  sir  :  you  have  the  grace  of  GcJ, 
sir,  and  he  hath  enough. 

Bass.  Thou  speak'Ht  it  well.     Go,  father,  with  thy  son. 
Take  leave  of  thy  old  master  and  inquire 
My  lodging  out.     Give  him  a  livery 
More  guai^ed  than  his  fellows' :  see  it  done. 

Laun.  Father,  in.  I  cannot  get  a  service,  no  ;  I  have 
ne'er  a  tongue  in  my  head.  Well,  if  any  man  in  Italy  have 
f  a  fairer  table,  which  doth  offer  to  swear  upon  a  book,  I 
shall  have  good  fortune.     Go  to,  here's  a  simple  lino  of  life  : 


BCENBii.]        MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  481 

here's  a  small  trifle  of  wives  :  alas,  fifteen  wives  is  nothing  I 
eleven  widows  and  nine  maids  is  a  simple  coming-in  for 
one  man  :  and  then  to  'scape  drowning  thrice,  and  to  be  in 
peril  of  my  life  with  the  edge  of  a  feather-bed  ;  here,  are 
simple  scapes.  Well,  if  Fortune  be  a  woman,  she's  a  good 
wench  for  this  gear.  Father,  come  ]  Til  take  my  leave  of 
the  Jew  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye. 

[Exeunt  Launeelot  and  Old  Oolbo. 

Bass,  I  pray  thee,  good  Leonardo,  think  on  this  : 
These  things  being  bought  and  orderly  bestow'd, 
Return  in  haste,  for  I  do  feast  to-night  180 

My  beat-esteem'd  acanaintance  :  hie  thee,  go. 

Leon,  My  best  endeavours  shall  be  done  herein. 

Enter  Gratiano. 

Chra.  Where  is  your  master  ? 

Leon.  Yonder,  sir,  he  walks.  [ExU. 

Ora.  8ignlor  Bassanio  1 

Bass,  Gratiano  ! 

€hra.  I  have  a  suit  to  you. 

Bass,  Yon  have  obtained  it. 

Ora,  You  must  not  deny  me :  I  must  go  with  you  to 
Belmont. 

Bom,  Wliy,  then  you  mast.     But  hear  tliee,  Gratiano  ; 
Thou  art  too  wild,  too  rude  and  bold  of  voice  ;  190 

Parts  that  l)eoome  tliee  happily  enough 
And  in  such  eyes  as  ours  appear  not  faults  ; 
But  where  thou  art  not  known,  why,  there  they  show 
Something  too  liberal.     Pray  thee,  take  pain 
To  allay  with  some  cold  drops  of  modesty 
Thy  skipping  spirit,  lest  through  thy  wild  behaviour 
I  be  misconstrued  in  the  place  I  go  to 
And  lose  my  hopes. 

Qra,  Signior  Bassanio,  hear  me  : 

If  I  do  not  put  on  a  sober  habit, 

Talk  with  respect  and  swear  but  now  and  then,  200 

Wear  prayer-books  in  my  pocket,  look  demurely. 
Nay  more,  while  grace  is  saying,  h(X}d  mine  eyes 
Thus  witli  my  hat,  and  sigh  and  say,  "  amen," 
Use  all  the  observance  of  civility. 
Like  one  well  studied  in  a  sad  ostent 
To  please  his  grandam,  never  trust  me  more. 

Bass.  Well,  we  shall  see  your  bearing. 

Gra.  Nay,  but  I  bar  to-night :  you  shall  not  gauge  me 
By  what  we  do  to-night. 

Bass,  No,  that  were  pity  : 

I  would  entreat  you  rather  to  put  on  210 

SHAK.   I. — 16 


488  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  [actii. 

Tour  boldest  snit  of  mirth,  for  we  have  friends 
That  purpose  merriment.     But  fare  you  well : 
I  have  some  business. 

Ghra.  And  I  must  to  Lorenzo  and  the  rest 
But  we  will  visit  you  at  supper-time.  [Exeuf^ 

ScEKE  III.     The  same.    A  room  in  Shtlock'b  houee. 

Enter  Jessica  and  Laukcelot. 

Je8.  I  am  sorry  thou  wilt  leave  my  father  Jo  • 
Our  house  is  hell,  and  thou  a  merry  devil. 
Didst  rob  It  of  some  taste  of  tediousness. 
But  faro  thee  well,  there  is  a  ducat  for  thee: 
And,  Launcelot,  soon  at  supper  shalt  thou  see 
Jjorenzo,  who  is  thy  new  master's  guest : 
Give  him  this  letter ;  do  it  secretly  ; 
And  BO  farewell :  I  would  not  have  mj  father 
See  me  in  talk  with  thee.  9 

Laun.  Adieu  I  tears  exhibit  my  tongue.  Most  beautiful 
pagau,  most  sweet  Jew  I  if  a  Christian  did  not  play  the 
knave  and  get  thee,  I  am  much  deceived.  But,  adieu  :  these 
foolish  drops  do  something  drown  my  manly  spirit :  adieu. 

Jes.  Farewell,  good  Launcelot.  [£kat  Launeelot, 

Alflck,  what  heinous  sin  is  it  in  me 
To  be  ashamed  to  be  my  father's  child  1 
But  though  I  am  a  daughter  to  his  blood, 
I  am  not  to  his  manners. .  O  Lorenzo, 
If  thou  keep  promise,  I  shall  en^  this  strife,  90 

Become  a  Christian  aud  thy  loving  wife.  [ExU, 

Scene  IV.    The  tame.    A  street, 

MUer  Qratiano,  Lorenzo,  Salartno,  and  Salakio. 

Lor.  Nay,  we  will  slink  away  in  supper- time. 
Disguise  us  at  my  lodging  and  return,  ' 

All  in  an  hour. 

Ora.  We  have  not  made  good  preparation. 

Solar.  We  have  not  spoke  us  yet  of  torch-bearers. 

JSalan.  'Tis  vile,  unless  it  may  be  quaintly  order'd. 
And  better  in  my  mind  not  undertook. 

Lor.  'Tis  now  but  four  o'clock ;  We  have  two  hours 
To  furnish  us. 

JSnter  Launcelot  v>ith  a  letter. 

Friend  Launcelot,  what's  the  news? 
Laun,  An  it  shall  please  you  to  break  up  this,  it  shall 
seem  to  signify.  11 


■CJENBV.]         MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  483 

Lor,  I  know  tlie  hand  ;  in  faith,  'tis' a  fair  hand  ; 
And  wliiter  than  the  paper  it  writ  on 
la  the  fair  hand  that  writ. 

Gm,  Love-news,  in  faith. 

Laun,  By  your  leave,  sir. 

Lor.  Whither  goest  thou  ? 

Laun.  Marry,  sir,  to  bid  my  old  master  the  Jew  to  sup 
to-night  with  uiy  new  master  the  Christian. 

Lor,  Hold  here,  take  this  :  tell  gentle  Jessica  20 

I  will  not  fail  her  ;  speak  it  privately. 
Go,  gentlemen,  [Exit  Launcsiol. 

Will  you  prepare  you  for  this  masque  to-night? 
I  am  provided  of  a  torch-bearer. 

Solar,  Ay,  marry,  I'll  be  gone  about  it  stralgl^t. 

Solan,  And  so  will  I. 

Lor.  Meet  me  and  GratUmo 

At  Gratiano*s  lodging  some  hour  hence. 

Silar,  'Tis  good  we  do  so.        [Exsunt  Solar,  and  Solan. 

Ora,  Was  not  that  letter  from  fair  Jessica? 

Lor,  I  must  needs  tell  thee  all.     She  hath  directed       80 
How  I  shall  take  her  from  h(T  father's  house* 
What  gold  and  jewels  she  is  furnished  with. 
What  page's  suit  she  hath  in  readiness. 
If  e'er  the  Jew  her  father  come  to  heaven. 
It  will  be  for  his  gentle  daughter's  sake  : 
And  never  dare  misfortune  cross  her  foot. 
Unless  she  do  it  under  this  excuse, 
That  she  is  issue  to  a  faithless  Jew. 
Come,  go  with  me  ;  peruse  this  as  thou  goest : 
Fair  Jessica  shall  be  my  torch-bearer.  [JSitetint, 

ScBKB  v.     T/te  same.    Be/ore  Shylock's  hotue. 

Enter  Shtlock  and  Launcxlot. 

Sfhy.  Well,  thou  shalt  see,  thy  eyes  sliall  be  thy  judge. 
The  difference  of  old  Sliylock  and  Bassanio : — 
What,  Jessica  ! — thou  shalt  not  gonuandise. 
As  thou  hast  done  with  me  : — What,  Jessica  I — 
And  sleep  and  snore,  and  rend  apparel  out ; — 
Why,  Jessica,  I  say  I 

Loun.  Why,  Jessica  1 

8hi/.  Who  bids  thee  call  ?    I  do  not  bid  thee  call. 

Laun.  Your  worship  was  wont  to  tell  me  that  I  could 
do  nothing  without  bidding. 

Enter  Jessica. 
Jes.  Call  you  ?  what  is  your  will?  10 


48 i  MERCHANT   OF  VENICE.  [actil 

Shy.  I  am  bid  fortli  to  supper,  Jessica  : 
There  are  my  keys.     But  wherefore  should  I  go  Y 
I  am  not  bid  for  love  ;  they  flatter  me  : 
But  yet  I!ll  go  in  hate,  to  feed  upon 
Tlie  prodigal  Christian.     Jessica,  my  girl. 
Look  to  my  house.     I  am  right  loth  to  go  : 
There  is  some  ill  a- brewing  towards  my  rest, 
f  For  1  did  dream  of  money-bags  to-night. 
'      Lann.  I  beseech   you,  sir,  go ;   my  young  master  doth 
expect  your  reprofich.  20 

Shy,  So  do  I  his. 

Laun.  An  they  have  conspired  together,  I  will  not  say 
you  shall  see  a  masque  ;  but  if  you  do,  then  it  was  not  for 
nothing  that  my  nose  fell  a-bleeding  on  Black-Monday  last 
nt  six  o'clock  i'  the  morning,  falling  out  that  year  on  Ash- 
Wednesday  was  four  years,  in  the  afternoon. 

Sliy.   what,  are  there  masques  ?  Hear  you  me,  Jessica  : 
Lock  up  my  doors  ;  and  when  you  hear  the  drum 
And  the  vile  squealing  of  the  wry-neck'd  fife,  30 

Clamber  not  you  up  to  the  casements  then, 

Nor  thrust  your  head  into  tlie  public  street  i 

To  gaze  on  Christian  fools  with  varnished  faces. 
But  stop  my  house's  cars,  I  mean  my  casements  : 
Let  not  the  sound  of  shallow  foppery  enter 
My  sober  house.     By  Jacob's  staff,  I  swear, 
I  have  no  mind  of  feasting  forth  to-night : 
But  I  will  go.     Go  you  before  me,  sirrah  ; 
Say  I  will  come. 

Laun.  I  will  go  before,  sir.     Mistress,  look  out  at  win- 
dow, for  all  this  ;  41 
There  will  come  a  Christian  by. 
Will  be  worth  a  Jewess'  eye.                                [Exit, 

Shy,  What  says  tliat  fool  of  Hagar's  offspring,  ha?  ' 

Jes,  His  words  were  "Farewell  mistress  ;"  nothing  else.  i 

Shy.  Tbe  patch  is 'kind  enough,  but  a  huge  feeder  ; 
Snail-slow  in  profit,  and  he  sleeps  by  day 

More  than  the  wild-cat  :  drones  hive  not  with  me  ; 

Therefore  I  part  with  him,  and  part  wi:h  him 
To  one  that  I  would  have  liini  help  to  waste  60 

His  borrow'd  purse.     Well,  Je^^sica,  go  in  : 
Perhaps  I  will  return  immediately  : 
Do  as  I  bid  you  ;  shut  doors  after  you  : 
Fast  bind,  fast  find  ; 
A  proverb  never  stale  in  thrifty  mind.  [Exit, 

Jes.  Farewell ;  and  if  my  fortune  be  not  croBt, 
I  have  a  father,  you  a  daughter,  lost.  [Exit. 


BCKNKViJ       MERCHANT  OP  VENICE.  485 

ScEKE  VI.    The  wme, 

Enter  Qratiano  and  Salarino,  masqued. 

Gfra.  This  is  tlie  pent-house  under  which  Lorenzo 
Desired  us  to  make  stand. 

Solar.  His  hour  is  almost  past. 

Gra,  And  it  is  marvel  he  out-dwells  his  hour, 
For  lovers  ever  run  before  the  clock. 

Saktr.  O,  tvn  times  faster  Venus'  pigeons  flj 
To  seal  love's  bonds  new-made,  than  they  are  wont 
To  keep  oblig^  faith  un  forfeited  I         •    ' 

Ora.  That  ever  holds  :  who  riseth  from  a  feast 
With  that  keen  appetite  that  he  sits  down? 
Where  is  the  horse  that  doth  untread  again  10 

His  tedious  measures  with  the  unbated  fire 
That  he  did  pace  them  first?   i^ll  things  that  are, 
Are  with  more  spirit  chased  than  enjoy'd. 
How  like  a  jounker  or  a  prodigal 
The  scarfed  bark  puts  from  her  native  bay, 
Hugg'd  and  embraced  by  the  strumpet  wind  I 
How  like  the  prodigal  doth  she  return, 
With  over-weather'd  ribs  and  ragged  sails, 
Lean,  rent  and  beggar'd  by  the  strumpet  wind  t 

S^r,  Here  comes  Lorenzo  :  more  of  this  hereafter.      20 

Enter  Lorenzo. 

Lor.  Sweet  friends,  your  patience  for  my  long  abode  ; 
Not  I.  but  my  affairs,  have  made  you  wait : 
When  you  shall  please  to  play  the  thieves  for  wives, 
111  watch  as  long  for  you  then.     Approach  ; 
Here  dwells  my  father  Jew.     Ho  !  who's  within  ? 

Enter  Jessica,  above,  in  hoy*»  clothes. 

Jes.  Wlio  are  you  ?    Tell  me,  for  more  certainty. 
Albeit  I'll  swear  that  I  do  know  your  tongue. 

Lor.  Lorenzo,  and  thy  love. 

Je4.  Lorenzo,  certain,  and  my  love  indeed, 
For  who  love  I  so  much?    And  now  who  knows  80 

But  you,  Lorenzo,  whether  I  am  yours  V 

Lor.  Heaven  and  thy  thoughts  are  witness  that  thou  art. 

Jes,  Here,  catch  this  casket ;  it  is  worth  the  pains. 
I  am  glad  'tis  night,  you  do  not  look  on  me, 
For  I  am  much  ashamed  of  my  exchange  : 
But  love  is  blind  and  lovers  cannot  see 
The  pretty  follies  that  themselves  commit ; 
For  if  they  could,  Cupid  himself  would  blush 
To  see  me  thus  transformed  to  a  boy. 


486  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  [actii. 

Lor.  Descend,  for  yoa  must  be  my  torch-bearer.  40 

Je9.  Wliat,  must  I  hold  a  candle  to  my  shames? 
They  in  themselves,  good  sooth,  are  too  too  light. 
Why,  'tis  an  office  of  discovery,  love  ; 
And  I  should  be  obscured. 

Lor,  So  are  you,  sweet. 

Even  in  the  lovely  garnish  of  a  boy. 
But  come  at  once  ; 

For  the  dose  night  doth  play  the  runaway. 
And  we  are  stay'd  for  at  Bassanio's  feast. 

Jes,  I  will  make  fast  the  doors,  and  gild  myself 
With  some  more  ducats,  and  be  with  you  straight. 

[Ex%t  above,      GO 

Ora.  Now,  by  my  hood,  a  Gentile  and  no  Jew. 

Lor.  Beshrew  me  but  I  love  her  heartily ; 
For  she  is  wise,  if  I  can  judge  of  her. 
And  fair  she  is,  if  that  mine  eyes  be  true, 
And  true  she  is,  as  she  hath  proved  herself. 
And  therefore,  like  herself,  wise,  fair  and  true. 
Shall  she  be  placed  in  my  constant  soul. 

Bnter  Jessica,  betow. 

What,  art  thou  come?    On,  gentlemen  ;  away  I 
Our  masquing  mates  by  this  time  for  us  stay. 

[Exit  witli  Jessica  and  Saiarino. 

Enter  AirroNio. 

Ant.  Who's  there?  60 

Ora,  Siguier  Antonio  t 

Ant.  Fie,  fie,  Gratiano  I  where  are  all  the  rest? 
'Tis  nine  o'clock  :  our  friends  all  stay  for  you. 
No  masque  to-night  :  the  wind  is  come  about ; 
Bassanio  presently  will  go  aboard  : 
I  have  sent  twenty  out  to  seek  for  you. 

Ora.  I  am  glad  on*t :  I  desire  no  more  delight 
Than  to  be  under  sail  and  gone  to-night.  [ESuunt. 

ScENB  VII.    Behnont.    A  room  in  Portia's  house. 

Flouruh  of  comets.    Enter  Portia,  irftA  the  Prince  of 

Morocco,  and  their  trains. 

Por.  Go  draw  aside  the  curtains  and  discover 
The  several  caskets  to  this  noble  prince. 
Now  make  your  choice. 

Mor.  The  first,  of  gold,  who  this  Inscription  bears, 
"  Who  chooseth  me  shall  gain  what  many  men  desire  ;** 
The  second,  silver,  which  this  promise  carries, 


raarariL]      MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  487 

"  Wlio  chooseth  me  shall  get  as  much  as  he  deserves ;" 
This  third,  dull  lead,  with  warning  all  as  blunt, 
"Who  choosetli  rae  must  give  and  hazard  all  he  hath." 
fiow  shall  I  know  if  I  do  choose  the  right  ?  10 

Por,  The  one  of  them  contains  my  picture,  prince  : 
If  vou  choose  that,  then  I  am  yours  withal. 

"^or.  Some  fi^od  direct  my  judgement !    Let  me  see ; 
I  will  survey  tlie  inscriptions  back  again. 
What  savs  this  leaden  casket  ? 

"  Wlio  chooseth  me  must  give  and  hazard  nil  he  hath." 
Must  give  :  for  what  ?  for  lead  ?  hazard  for  lead  ? 
This  casket  threatens.     Men  that  liazard  all 
Do  it  in  hope  of  fair  advantages  : 

A  golden  mind  stoops  not  to  shows  of  dross  ;  20 

I'll  then  nor  give  nor  hazard  aught  for  lead. 
What  savs  the  silver  with  her  virgin  hue  ? 
"  Who  chooseth  me  sliall  get  as  much  as  he  deserves." 
As  much  as  he  deserves  1    Pause  there,  Morocco, 
And  weigh  thy  value  with  an  even  hand  : 
If  thou  bo'st  rated  by  thy  estimation, 
Thou  dost  deserve  enough  ;  and  yet  enough 
May  not  extend  so  far  as  to  the  lady  : 
And  yet  to  be  afeard  of  my  deserving 
Were  but  a  weak  disabling  of  myself.  80 

As  much  as  I  deserve  I    Why,  that's  the  lady : 
I  do  in  birth  deserve  her,  and  in  fortunes, 
In  graces  and  in  qualities  of  breeding ; 
But  more  than  these,  in  love  I  do  deserve. 
Wliat  if  I  stray 'd  no  further,  but  chose  here? 
Let's  see  once  more  this  saying  graved  in  gold  ; 
"  Who  chooseth  me  shall  gain  what  many  men  desire." 
Why,  that's  the  lady  ;  all  the  world  desires  her ; 
From  the  four  corners  of  the  earth  they  come. 
To  kiss  this  shrine,  this  mortal-breathing  saint :  40 

The  Hyrcanian  deserts  and  the  vasty  wilds 
Of  wide  Arabia  are  as  throughfares  now 
For  princes  to  come  view  fair  Portia : 
The  watery  kingdom,  whose  ambitious  head 
Spits  in  the  face  of  heaven,  is  no  bar 
To  stop  the  foreign  spirits,  but  they  oome. 
As  o'er  a  brook,  to  see  fair  Portia. 
One  of  these  three  contains  her  heavenly  picture. 
Is't  like  that  lead  contains  her  ?    'Twere  damnation* 
To  think  so  base  a  thought :  it  were  too  grots  50 

To  rib  her  cerecloth  in  the  obscure  grave. 
Or  shall  I  think  in  silver  she's  Immured, 
Being  ten  times  undervalued  to  tried  gold  ? 


488  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  [actil 

O  sinful  thought  I    Never  so  rich  a  gem 

Was  set  in  worse  than  gold.     They  nave  in  England 

A  coin  that  bears  the  figure  of  an  angel  * 

Stamped  in  gold,  but  that's  insculp'd  upon  ; 

But  here  an  angel  in  a  golden  bed 

Lies  all  within.     Deliver  mo  the  key  : 

Here  do  I  choose,  and  thrive  I  as  I  may  I  60 

Por.  There,  take  it,  prince  ;  and  if  my  form  lie  there, 
Then  I  am  yours.  [He  unlocks  t?ie  golden  casket. 

Mar.  O  hell  I  what  have  we  here  ? 

A  carrion  Death,  within  whoje  empty  eye 
There  is  a  written  scroll  1     I'll  read  the  writing. 
[Etads]       All  that  glisters  is  not  gold  ; 

Often  have  you  heard  that  told  : 
Many  a  man  his  life  hath  sold 
But  my  outside  to  behold  : 
Gilded  tombs  do  wonns  infold. 
Had  you  been  as  y/ine  as  l)old,  70 

Young  in  limbs,  in  judgement  old. 
Your  answer  had  not  been  inscroU'd  : 
Fare  you  well  ;  your  suit  is  cold. 
Cold,  indeed  ;  and  labour  lost : 
Then,  farewell,  heat,  and  welcome,  frost  I 
Portia,  adieu.     I  have  too  grieved  a  heart 
To  take  a  tedious  leave  :  thus  losers  part. 

[EHt  with  his  train.     Flourish  ofeortiets. 
Por,  A  gentle  riddance.     Draw  the  curtains,  go. 
Let  all  of  his  complexion  choose  me  so.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  VIII.     Venice,    A  street. 

Enter  Salarino  and  Salanio. 

Solar.  Why,  man,  I  saw  Bassanio  under  sail : 
With  him  is  Qratiano  gone  along  : 
And  in  their  ship  I  am  sure  Lorenzo  is  not. 

Solan.  The  villain  Jew  with  outcries  raised  the  duke, 
Who  went  with  him  to  search  Bassanio's  ship. 

Solar.  He  came  too  late,  the  ship  was  under  sail : 
But  there  the  duke  was  given  to  understand 
That  in  a  gondola  were  seen  together 
Lorenzo  and  his  amorous  Jessica : 

Besides,  Antonio  certified  the  duke  10 

They  were  not  with  Bassanio  in  his  ship. 

Solan.  I  never  heard  a  passion  so  confused. 
So  strange,  outrageous,  and  so  variable. 
As  the  dog  Jtnv  did  utter  in  the  streets  : 
"My  daughter !  0  my  ducats  I  O  my  daughter  1 


SCENE  IX.]         MERCHANT  OP  VENICE.  488 

Fled  with  a  Christian  !  O  my  Cliristian  ducats  ! 

Justice  I  the  law  !  my  ducats,  and  my  daughter  I 

A  sealed  bag,  two  sealed  bags  of  ducats. 

Of  double  ducats,  stolen  from  me  by  my  daughter  I 

And  jewels,  two  stones,  two  rich  and  precious  stones,        20 

Stolen  by  my  daughter  I  Justice  !  find  the  girl  ; 

She  hath  the  stones  upon  her,  and  the  ducats." 

Salar.  Why,  all  the  boys  in  Venice  follow  liim, 
Crying,  his  stones,  his  daughter,  and  his  ducats. 

Sola?!.  Let  good  Antonio  look  he  keep  his  day. 
Or  he  shall  pay  for  this. 

Salar.  Marry,  well  remember'd. 

I  reason'd  with  a  Frenchman  yesterday, 
Who  told  me.  in  the  narrow  seas  that  part 
Tlie  French  and  English,  there  miscarried 
A  vessel  of  our  country  richly  fraught :  80 

I  thought  upon  Antonio  when  he  told  me  ; 
And  wish'd  in  silence  that  it  were  not  his. 

Solan.  You  were  best  to  tell  Antonio  what  you  hear 
Yet  do  not  suddenly,  for  it  may  grieve  him. 

Solar.  A  kinder  gentleman  treads  not  the  earth. 
I  saw  Bassanio  and  Antonio  part : 
Bassanto  told  him  he  would  make  some  speed 
Of  his  return  :  he  answer'd,  *'  Do  not  so  ; 
Slubber  not  business  for  my  sake,  Bassanio, 
But  stay  the  very  riping  of  the  time  ;  40 

And  for  the  Jew's  bond  which  he  hath  of  me, 
fLet  it  not  enter  in  your  mind  of  love  : 
Be  merry,  and  employ  your  chiefest  thoughts 
To  courtship  and  such  fair  ostents  of  love 
As  shall  conveniently  become  you  there  : " 
And  even  there,  his  eye  bein^  big  with  tears, 
Turning  his  face,  he  put  his  hand  behind  hun, 
And  with  affection  wondrous  sensible 
He  wrung  Bassanio's  hand  ;  and  so  they  parted. 

Solan.  I  think  he  only  loves  the  world  for  him.  50 

I  pray  thee,  let  us  go  and  find  him  out 
And  quicken  his  embraced  heaviness 
With  some  delight  or  other. 

Solar,  Do  we  so.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  IX.    Belmont.    A  room  in  Portia's  house. 

EnUr  Nebissa  with  a  Servitor. 

Ner.  Quick,  quick,  I  pray  thee  ;  draw  the  curtain  straight: 
The  Prince  of  Arragon  liath  ta'en  his  oath. 
And  comes  to  his  election  presently. 


490  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  [Acrn. 

Flourish  ofc(ymd8.    Enter  tfie  Prince  of  Arraoon,  Por- 
tia, and  their  trains. 

Por.  Behold,  there  stand  the  caskets,  noble  prince  : 
If  you  choose  that  wherein  I  um  contained. 
Straight  shall  our  nuptial  rites  be  solemnized  : 
But  if  you  fail,  without  more  speech,  my  lord, 
You  must  be  gone  from  hence  immediately. 

Ar.  I  am  enjoin'd  by  oath  to  observe  three  things  : 
First,  never  to  unfold  to  any  one  10 

Which  casket  'twas  I  chose  ;  next,  if  I  fail 
Of  the  right  casket,  never  in  my  life 
To  woo  a  maid  in  way  of  marriage  : 
Lastly, 

If  I  do  fail  in  fortune  of  my  choice. 
Immediately  to  leave  you  and  be  gone. 

Por.  To  these  injunctions  every  one  doth  swear 
That  comes  to  hazard  for  my  worthless  self. 

Ar,  And  so  have  I  addressed  me.     Fortune  now 
To  my  heart's  hope  !  (iold  ;  silver  ;  and  base  lead.  30 

"  Who  chooseth  me  must  give  and  hazard  all  he  hath." 
Tou  shall  look  fairer,  ere  I  give  or  bazard. 
Wiiat  savs  the  golden  chest  ?  ha  1  let  me  see  : 
"  Who  cliooseth  me  shall  gain  what  many  men  desire." 
What  many  men  desire  !  that  "  many  "  may  be  meant 
By  the  fool  multitude,  that  choose  by  show. 
Not  learning  more  tlian  the  fond  eye  doth  teach  ; 
Which  pries  not  to  the  interior,  but,  like  the  martlet. 
Builds  in  the  weather  on  the  outward  wall. 
Even  in  the  force  and  road  of  casualty.  80 

I  will  not  choose  what  many  men  desire, 
Because  I  will  not  jump  with  common  spirits 
And  rank  me  with  the  barbarous  multitudes. 
Why,  then  to  thee,  thou  silver  treasure-house  ; 
Tell  me  once  more  what  title  thou  dost  bear  : 
"  Who  chooseth  me  shall  get  as  much  as  he  deserves  : " 
And  well  said  too ;  for  who  shall  go  about 
To  cozen  fortune  and  be  honourable 
Without  the  stamp  of  merit  ?    Let  none  presume 
To  wear  an  undeserved  dignity.  40 

O.  that  estates,  degrees  and  offices 
Were  not  derived  corruptly,  and  that  clear  honour 
Were  purchased  by  the  merit  of  the  wearer  1 
How  many  then  should  cover  that  stand  bare  I 
How  manv  be  commanded  that  command  1 
How  much  low  peasantry  would  then  be  glean'd 
From  the  true  seed  of  honour  I  and  how  much  honour 
Pick'd  from  the  chaff  and  ruin  of  the  times 


fiCBZCSix.]       MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  491 

To  be  new  varnisli'd  I    WeD  but  to  my  clioioe  : 

"  Who  choosetU  me  shall  get  as  much  as  lie  deserves."     50 

I  will  assume  desert.     Give  me  a  key  for  this. 

And  instantly  unlock  my  fortunes  liere. 

[He  opens  tlie  sUver  eaeket. 

Par,  Too  long  a  pause  for  tliat  which  you  find  there. 

Ar.  Wliat's  here  ?  the  portrait  of  a  blinking  idiot, 
Presenting  me  a  schedule  I    I  will  read  it. 
Mow  much  unlike  art  thou  to  Portia  I 
How  much  unlike  my  hopes  and  my  deservings  ! 
"  Who  chooseth  me  shall  liave  as  much  as  he  deserves." 
Did  I  deserve  no  more  than  a  fool's  head  ? 
Is  that  my  prize  ?  are  my  deserts  no  better?  00 

Par,  To  offend,  and  judge,  are  dlAinct  offices 
And  of  opposed  natures. 

Ar,  What  is  here  ? 

[Beadi]       -The  fire  seven  times  tried  this  : 

Seven  times  tried  that  judgement  is, 

That  did  never  choose  amiss. 

Some  there  be  that  sluidows  kiss  ; 

Such  have  but  a  shadow's  bliss  : 

There  be  fools  alive,  I  wis, 

Silver'd  o'er ;  and  so  was  this. 

Take  what  wife  you  will  to  bed,  70 

I  will  ever  be  your  head : 

So  be  gone  :  yon  are  sped. 

Still  more  fool  I  shall  appear 

By  the  time  I  linger  here  : 

With  one  fool's  head  I  came  to  woo, 

But  I  go  away  with  two. 

Sweet,  adieu.     I'll  keep  my  oath. 

Patiently  to  bear  my  wroth. 

[Exeunt  Arragcn  and  train. 
Pot.  Thus  hath  the  candle  singed  the  moth. 
O,  these  deliberate  fools  !  when  they  do  choose, 
Tliey  have  the  wisdom  by  their  wit  to  lose.  81 

Ner.  The  ancient  saying  is  no  heresy, 
Hanging  and  wiving  goes  by  destiny. 
Pot,  Come,  draw  the  curtain,  Nerrissa. 

Enter  a  Servant. 

8eTV,  Where  is  my  lady  ? 
Pot.  Here :  what  would  my  lord  t 

Sere.  Madam,  there  is  alighted  at  your  gate 
A  young  Venetian,  one  that  comss  before 


492  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  [act  in. 

To  signify  the  approaching  of  liis  lord ; 

From  whom  he  bringeth  sensible  regreets, 

To  wit,  besides  commends  and  courteous  breath, 

Gifts  of  rich  value.     Yet  I  have  not  seen  91 

So  likely  an  ambassador  of  love : 

A  dav  in  April  never  came  so  sweet. 

To  show  how  costly  summer  was  at  hand, 

As  this  fore-spurrer  comes  before  his  lord. 

Por.  No  more,  I  pray  thee  ;  I  am  half  afeard 
Thou  wilt  say  anon  lie  is  some  kin  to  tliee, 
Thou  spend'st  such  high-day  wit  in  praising  him. 
Come,  come,  Nerrissa ;  for  1  long  to  see 
Quick  Cupid's  post  that  oomes  so  mannerly.  100 

Ner,  Bassanio,  lordTLove,  if  thy  will  it  be  I  [Exeunt, 


ACT  III. 

ScEKB  I.    Venice,     A  street. 

Enter  Salanio  and  Salariko. 

Balan,  Now,  what  news  on  the  Kialto  ? 

ScUar.  Why,  yet  it  lives  there  unchecked  that  Antonio 
hath  a  ship  of  rich  lading  wrecked  on  the  narrow  seas  ;  the 
Goodwinsu  I  think  thev  call  the  place ;  a  very  dangerous 
flat  and  fatal,  where  the  carcases  of  many  a  tall  ship  lie 
buried,  as  they  say,  if  my  gossip  Report  be  an  honest  woman 
of  her  word. 

Sedan.  I  would  she  were  as  lying  a  gossip  in  that  as  ever 
knapped  gijiger  or  made  her  neighbours  believe  slie  wept 
for  the  death  of  a  third  husband.  But  it  is  true,  without 
any  slips  of  prolixity  or  crossing  the  plain  highway  of  talk, 
that  the  good  Antonio,  the  honest  Antonio, — --0  that  I  had 
a  title  good  enough  to  keep  his  name  company ! — 

Saiar,  Come,  the  full  stop. 

Solan.  Ha  I  what  sayest  thou?  Why,  the  end  is,  he  hath 
lost  a  ship.  20 

Solar.  I  would  it  might  prove  the  end  of  his  losses. 

Solan.  Let  me  say  *'anien"  betimes,  lest  the  devil  cross 
my  prayer,  for  here  he  comes  in  the  likeness  of  a  Jew. 

Enter  Shyt.ock. 

How  now.  Shy  lock  I  what  news  among  the  merchants? 

Shy.  You  knew,  none  so  well,  none  so  well  as  you,  of  my 
daughter's  flight. 

^lar.  That's  certain :  I,  for  my  pait,  knew  the  tailor 
that  made  the  wings  she  flew  withid.  90 


SCENE  I.]  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  498 

ScUaiu  And  Shjlock,  for  his  own  part,  knew  the  bird  was 
fledged  ;  and  then  it  is  the  complexion  of  them  all  to  leave 
the  dam. 

S/iy.  She  is  damned  for  it. 

Solar,  That's  certain,  if  the  devil  may  bo  her  judge. 

S/iv,  My  own  fles«h  and  blood  to  rebel  I 

Scuan,  Out  upon  it,  old  carrion  1  rebels  it  at  these  years  ? 

iS^v.  I  say,  my  daughter  is  my  flesh  and  blood.  40 

Scuar.  There  is  more  difference  between  thy  flesh  and 
hers  than  between  jet  and  ivory ;  more  between  your  bloods 
than  there  is  between  rod  wine  and  rhenish.  But  teU  us, 
do  you  hear  whether  Antonio  have  liad  any  loss  at  sea  or  no  ? 

Shy.  There  I  have  another  bad  match  :  a  bankrupt,  a 
prodigal,  who  dare  scai'ce  show  his  head  on  the  Hialto ;  a 
P^ggiir,  that  was  used  to  come  so  smug  upou  the  mart ;  let 
him  look  to  his  bond  :  he  was  wont  to  call  me  usurer  ;  let  him 
look  to  his  bond  :  ho  wtis  wont  to  lend  money  for  a  Christian 
courtesy  ;  let  him  look  to  his  bond. 

Solar,  Why,  I  am  sure,  if  ho  forfeit,  thou  wilt  not  take 
his  flesh  :  what's  that  good  for  ? 

Shy,  To  bait  fish  withal :  if  it  will  feed  nothing  else,  it 
will  feed  my  revenge,  lie  hath  disgraced  me,  and  nindered 
me  half  a  million ;  laughed  at  my  losses,  mocked  at 
my  gains,  scorned  my  nation,  thwarted  my  bargains, 
cooled  my  friends,  heated  mine  enemies ;  and  what's  his 
reason  7  I  am  a  Jew.  Hath  not  a  Jew  eyes  ?  hath  not 
a  Jew  hands,  organs,  dimensions,  senses,  affections,  pas* 
Bions?  fed  with  the  same  food,  hurt  with  the  same 
weapons,  subject  to  the  samo  diseases,  healed  by  the  samo 
means,  warmed  and  cooled  by  the  same  wint^  and  summer, 
as  a  Christian  is  ?  If  you  prick  us,  do  we  not  bleed  ?  if  yoa 
tickle  us,  do  we  not  lan^h?  if  you  poifton  us,  do  we  not  die? 
and  i  f  you  wrong  us,  shall  we  not  revenge  ?  If  we  are  like  you 
in  the  rest,  we  will  resemble  you  in  that.  If  a  Jew  wrong 
n  Christian,  what  is  his  Immility  ?  Revenge.  If  a  Christisn 
wrong  a  Jew,  what  should  his  sufferance  be  by  Cliristian 
example  ?  Why,  revenge.  The  villany  you  teach  me,  I  wUl 
execute,  and  it  shall  go  hard  but  I  will  better  the  instruction. 

j^n^r  a  Servant. 

Sem,  Gentlemen,  my  master  Antonio  is  at  his  house  and 
desires  to  speak  with  you  lx)th. 
Solar,  We  hare  been  up  and  down  to  seek  him. 

Enter  Tubau 

Solan,  Here  comes  another  of  the  tribe :  a  third  cannot 
be  matched,  unless  the  devil  himself  turn  Jew. 

[Exeunt  Solan,,  Salar,,  and  ScrtanL 


4H  MERCHANT  OF  VENICK  [act  m. 

8hff.  How  now,  Tuball  what  news  from  G^noft?  hast 
thoa  found  my  daughter? 

Tub.  I  often  came  where  I  did  hear  of  her,  but  cannot 
find  her. 

Shy.  Why,  there,  there,  there,  there !  a  diamond  gone, 
cost  me  two  thousand  ducats  in  Frankfort !  The  curse  never 
fell  upon  our  nation  till  now  ;  I  never  felt  it  till  now  :  two 
thousand  ducats  in  that ;  and  other  precious,  precious  jewels. 
I  would  my  daughter  were  dead  at  my  foot,  and  the  jewels 
in  her  ear  {  would  she  were  hearsed  at  my  foot,  and  the 
ducats  in  her  coffin  !  No  news  of  them  ?  Why,  so :  and  I 
know  not  w^hat's  spent  in  the  search  :  why,  tLou  loss  n]xm 
loss  !  the  thief  gone  with  so  much,  and  so  much  to  find  the 
thief ;  and  no  satisfaction,  no  revenge :  nor  no  ill  luck  stirr- 
ing hut  what  lights  on  my  shoulders  ;  no  sighs  hvA  at  my 
breathing  ;  no  tears  but  of  my  shedding.  1(U. 

Titb,  I  es,  other  men  have  ill  luck  too  :  Antonio,  as  I  heard 
in  Qenoa, — 

JShif.  What,  what,  what  ?  ill  luck,  ill  luck  ? 

7'td>.  Hath  an  argosv  cast  away,  coming  from  Tripolis. 

S/iy.  I  thank  God,  I  thank  God.     Is't  true,  is't  true? 

Tub.  I  6poko  with  some  of  the  sailors  that  escaped  the 
wreck.  110 

SJty.  I  thank  theo,  good  Tubal :  good  news,  good  news  ! 
ha,  ha!  where?  in  Genoa? 

Tub.  Your  daughter  spent  in  Genoa,  as  I  heard,  in  one 
night  fourscore  ducats. 

Shy.  Thou  stickest  a  dagger  in  me :  I  shall  never  see  my 
gold  again  :  fourecore  ducats  at  a  sitting  !  fourscore  ducats  ! 

Tub.  There*  came  divers  of  Antonio's  creditors  in  my  com- 
pany to  Venice,  that  swear  he  cannot  choose  but  break.    120 

Shy.  I  am  very  glad  of  it :  I'll  plague  him  ;  I'll  'torture 
him  :  I  am  glad  of  it. 

Tub.  One  of  them  showed  me  a  ring  that  he  had  of  youi 
daufi^hter  for  a  monkey. 

my.  Out  upon  her  1  Tliou  torturest  me,  Tubal :  it  Avaf 
my  turquoise  ;  I  had  it  of  Lieah  when  I  was  a  bachelor  :  I 
would  not  have  given  it  for  a  wilderness  of  monkeys. 

Jhb.  But  Antonio  is  certainly  undone. 

S^ty.  Nay,  that's  true,  that's  very  true.  Go,  Tubal,  fee 
me  an  officer ;  bespeak  him  a  fortnight  before.  I  will 
have  the  heart  of  him,  if  he  forfeit ;  for,  were  he  out  of 
Venice,  I  can  make  what  merchandise  I  will.  Go,  go,  Tubal, 
and  meet  me  at  our  synagogue ;  go,  good  Tubal ;  at  our 
synagogue,  Tubal,  [Exeunt. 


I 


fici:xi2n.]         MERCHANT  OP  VENICE.  405 

ScBKE  II.    Bdmmt    A  room  in  PoRTiA'a  house. 

Enter  Bassakio,  Portia,  Gratiai70,  Nbrrissa  and 

Attendants. 

Par.  I  pray  you,  tarry  :  pause  a  day  or  two 
Before  you  liazard  ;  for,  in  choosing  wrong, 
I  lose  your  company  :  therefore  forlxjar  a  while. 
There's  something  tells  me,  but  it  is  not  love, 
I  would  not  loose  you  ;  and  you  know  yourself. 
Hate  counsels  not  in  such  a  quality. 
But  lest  you  should  not  understand  me  well, —     * 
And  yet  a  maiden  hath  no  tongue  but  thought,—- 
I  would  detain  you  here  some  month  or  two 
Before  you  venture  for  me.     I  could  teach  you. 
How  to  choose  right,  but  I  am  then  forsworn  ;  11 

So  will  I  never  be  :  8o  may  you  miss  me ; 
But  if  you  do,  you'll  make  me  wish  a  s!^. 
That  I  had  been  forsworn.     Beshrew  your  eyes. 
They  have  o'erlook'd  me  and  divided  me  ; 
One  half  of  me  is  yours,  the  other  half  yours. 
Mine  own,  I  would  say  ;  but  if  mine,  then  yours, 
And  so  all  yours.     O,  these  naughty  times 
Put  bars  between  the  owners  and  their  rights  1 
And  so,  though  yours,  not  yours.    Prove  it  so. 
Let  fortune  go  to  hell  for  it,  not  I.  21 

I  speak  too  long  ;  but  'tis  to  peize  the  time. 
To  eke  it  and  to  draw  it  out  in  length, 
To  stay  you  from  election. 

Bass.  Let  me  choose  ; 

For  as  I  am,  I  live  upon  the  rack. 

For.  Upon  the  rack,  Bassanio !  then  confess 
What  treason  there  is  mingled  with  your  love. 

Bass.  None  but  that  ugly  treason  of  mistrust. 
Which  makes  me  fear  the  enjoying  of  my  love  : 
There  may  as  well  be  amity  and  life  80 

'Tween  snow  and  fire,  as  treason  and  my  love. 

Por,  Ay,  but  I  fear  you  speak  upon  the  raek» 
Where  men  enforced  do  speak  anything. 

Bom,  Promise  me  life,  and  I'll  confess  the  truth. 

Por.  Well  then,  confess  and  live. 

Bass.  "  Confess  "  and  "  love  " 

Had  been  the  very  sum  of  my  confession  : 
O  happy  torment,  when  my  torturer 
Doth  teach  me  answers  for  deliverance  I 
But  let  me  to  my  fortune  and  the  cachets. 

Por,  Away,  then  1    I  am  lock'd  in  one  of  them  :  40. 

If  you  do  love  me,  you  will  find  me  out. 


496  MERCHANT  OF  VENICB.  [act  iii. 

Nerissa  and  tlie  rest,  stand  all  aloof. 

Let  masic  sound  while  he  doth  make  his  choice ; 

Tlien,  if  he  lose,  he  makes  a  swan-like  end. 

Fading  in  music  :  that  the  comparison 

May  stand  more  proper,  my  eye  shall  be  tlie  stream 

And  watery  death -bed  for  him.     He  may*  win  ; 

And  what  is  music  then  ?    Then  music  is 

Even  as  the  flourish  when  true  subjects  bow 

To  a  new- crowned  monarch  :  such  it  is  60 

As  are  those  dulcet  sounds  in  break  of  day 

That  creep  into  the  dreaming  bridegroom's  ear 

And  summon  him  to  marriage.     Now  he  goes, 

With  no  less  presence,  but  with  much  more  love. 

Than  young  Alcides,  when  he  did  redeem 

The  Yirgin  tribute  paid  by  howling  Troy 

To  the  sea-monster :  I  stand  for  sacrifice  ; 

The  rest  aloof  are  the  Dardanian  wives. 

With  bleared  visages,  come  forth  to  view 

The  issue  of  the  exploit.     Go,  Hercules  1  60 

Live  thou,  I  live  :  with  much  much  Inore  dismay 

I  view  the  fight  than  thou  that  makest  the  fray. 

Music,  uhUst  Babbanio  comments  on  the  caskets  to  hinueff. 

'  «  SONQ. 

Tell  me  where  is  fancy  bred. 
Or  in  tho  heart  or  in  the  head  ? 
How  begot,  how  nourished  ? 

Reply,  reply. 
It  is  engender'd  in  tho  eyes. 
With  gazing  fed  ;  and  fancy  dies 
In  the  cradle  where  it  lies. 

Let  us  all  ring  fancy's  knell :  70 

ril  begin  it, — Ding,  dong,  bell. 
AU.    Ding,  dong,  bell. 

Bass.  So  may  the  outward  shows  be  least  themaelves : 
The  world  is  still  deceived  with  ornament. 
In  law,  what  plea  so  tainted  and  corrupt 
But,  l)eing  seasoned  with  n  gracious  voice, 
Obscures  the  show  of  evil  ?    In  religion, 
What  damned  error,  but  some  sober  brow 
Will  bless  it  and  approve  it  with  a  text. 
Hiding  the  grossness  with  fair  ornament?  80 

There  is  no  vice  so  simple  but  assumes 
Some  mark  of  virtue  on  his  outward  parts  : 
How  many  cowards,  whoso  hearts  are  all  as  falae 
As  stairs  of  sand,  wear  yet  upon  their  chiiui 


BCENEH.]        MERCHANT  OP  VENICE.  4^ 

The  beards  of  Ilercales  and  frowning  Mars, 

Who,  inward  search'd,  have  livers  white  as  milk  ; 

And  these  assume  but  valour's  excrement 

To  render  them  redoubled  !     Look  on  beauty. 

And  you  shall  see  'lis  purchased  by  the  weight ; 

Which  therein  wo  As  a  miracle  in  nature,  90 

Making  them  lightest  that  wear  most  of  it : 

So  are  those  crisped  snaky  golden  locks 

Which  make  such  wanton  gambols  with  the  wind. 

Upon  supposed  fairness,  often  known 

To  be  the  dowry  of  a  second  head, 

The  skull  that  bred  them  in  the  sepulchre. 

Thus  ornament  \a  but  the  guiled  shore 

To  a  most  dangerous  sea  ;  the  beauteous  scarf 

f  Veiling  an  Indian  beauty  ;  in  a  word, 

The  seeming  truth  which  cunning  times  put  on  100 

To  entrap  the  wisest.     Therefore,  thou  gaudy  gold. 

Hard  food  for  Midas,  I  will  none  of  thee  ; 

Nor  none  of  thee,  thou  pale  and  common  drudge 

'Tween  man  and  man  :  but  thou,  thou  meagre  lead, 

Which  rather  threatenest  than  dost  promise  aught. 

Thy  paleness  moves  me  more  than  eloquence  ; 

And  here  choose  I :  joy  be  the  consequence  ! 

Por,  [Aside]  How  all  the  other  passions  fleet  to  air, 
As  doubtful  thoughts,  and  rash-embraced  despair, 
And  shuddering  TexT,  and  green-eyed  jealousy  !  110 

0  love. 

Be  moderate  ;  allay  thy  ecstasy  ; 

In  measure  rein  thy  joy  ;  scant  this  excess. 

1  feel  too  much  thy  blessing  :  make  it  less. 
For  fear  I  surfeit. 

Bass.  What  find  I  here  ? 

[Opening  the  leaden  casket. 
Fair  Portia's  counterfeit !    What  demigod 
Hath  come  so  near  creatiop  ?    Move  these  eyes  ? 
Or  whether,  riding  on  the  balls  of  mine. 
Seem  they  in  motion  ?    Here  are  sever'd  lips, 
Parted  with  sugar  breath  :  so  sweet  a  bar 
Should  sunder  such  sweet  friends.     Here  in  her  hain     120 
The  paint«r  plays  the  spider  and  hath  woven 
A  golden  mesh  to  entrap  the  hearts  of  men 
Faster  than  gnats  iu  cobwebs  :  but  her  eyes, — 
How  could  he  see  to  do  them  ?  having  made  one, 
Methinks  it  should  have  power  to  steal  both  his 
And  leave  itself  unf umisli'd.     Tet  look,  how  far 
The  substance  of  my  praise  doth  wrong  this  shadow 
hk  underprizing  it,  so  far  this  shadow 


498  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  f.vci' in. 

Doth  limp  beliind  the  substance.     Here's  the  scroll,        ICO 
The  continent  and  snmuiarj  of  my  fortune. 

[Reads]  Yon  that  choose  not  by  the  view. 

Chance  as  fair  and  choose  as  true  1 

Since  this  fortune  fulls  to  vou. 

Be  content  and  seek  no  new^ 

If  you  be  well  pleased  with  this 

And  hold  your  fortune  for  your  bliss. 

Turn  you  where  your  lady  is 

And  claim  her  with  a  loving  hiss. 
A  gentle  scroll.     Fair  lady,  by  your  leave  ;  140 

I  come  by  note,  to  give  and  to  receive. 
Like  one  of  two  contending  in  a  prize, 
That  thinks  he  hath  done  well  in  people's  eyes. 
Hearing  applause  and  universal  shout. 
Giddy  in  spirit,  still  gazing  in  a  doubt 
Whether  tliose  peals  of  praise  be  his  or  no  ; 
So,  thrice-fair  lady,  stand  I,  even  so  ; 
As  doubtful  whether  what  I  see  be  true. 
Until  confirm'd,  sign'd,  ratified  by  you. 

Por.  You  see  me,  Lord  Bassanio,  where  I  stand,  1^0 

Sach  as  I  am  :  though  for  myself  alone 
I  would  not  be  ambitious  in  my  wish. 
To  wish  myself  much  better  ;  yet,  for  you 
I  would  be  trebled  twenty  times  myself  ; 
A  thousand  times  more  fair,  ten  thousand  times 
More  rich ; 

That  only  to  stand  high  in  your  account, 
I  might  in  virtues,  beauties,  livings,  friends, 
Exceed  account ;  but  the  full  sum  of  me 
Is  sum  of  nothing,  which,  to  term  in  gross,  IGO 

s  an  unlesson'd  girl,  unscliool'd,  unpractised  ; 
Happy  in  this,  she  is  not  yet  so  old 
But  she  may  learn  ;  then  liappier  in  this, 
She  is  not  bred  so  dull  l>at  she  can  learn  ; 
Happiest  of  all  is  that  her  g*^ntle  spirit 
Commits  itself  to  yours  to  be  directed, 
As  from  her  lord,  her  governor,  her  king. 
Myself  and  what  is  mine  to  you  and  yours 
Is  now  converted  :  but  now  I  was  the  lord 
Of  this  fair  mansion,  master  of  my  servants,  ITO 

Queen  o'er  myself  ;  and  even  now,  but  now. 
This  house,  these  servants  and  this  same  myself 
Are  yours,  my  lord  :  I  give  them  with  this  ring ; 
Which  when  you  part  from,  lose,  or  give  away. 
Let  it  presage  the  ruin  of  your  love 
And  be  my  vantage  to  exclaim  on  you. 


1 


t 


SCENE  II.]        MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  499 

Bas$.  Madlim,  yoa  have  bereft  me  of  all  words, 
Only  my  blood  speaks  to  you  in  my  veins  ; 
And  there  is  sucii  confusion  in  my  powers, 
As,  after  some  oration  fairly  spoke  180 

By  a  beloved  prince. ^here  dotU  appear 
Among  the  buzzing  pleased  multitade ; 
Where  every  something,  being  blent  together, 
Tunis  to  a  wild  of  nothiug,  save  of  joy, 
Expressed  and  not  expressed.     But  when  this  ring 
Parts  from  this  finger,  then  parts  life  from  hence  : 
O,  then  be  bold  to<say  Bassanio's  dead  ! 

yer.  My  lord  and  lady,  it  is  now  our  time, 
Tliat  have  sto'>d  by  and  seen  our  wishes  prosp€JT, 
To  cry,  goo  I  joy  :  good  joy,  my  lord  and  lady  I 

Ora.  My  lord  Bussanio  and  my  gentle  lady, 
I  wish  you  all  the  joy  that  you  can  wish  ; 
For  I  am  sure  you  can  wish  none  from  me  : 
And  when  your  honours  mean  to  solemnize 
The  bargain  of  your  faith,  I  do  beseech  you, 
Even  at  that  time  I  may  be  married  too. 

Bass.  With  all  my  heart,  so  thou  canst  get  a  wife. 

Ora.  I  thank  your  lordship,  you  have  got  me  one. 
My  eyes,  my  lord,  can  look  as  swift  as  yours  : 
You  saw  the  mistress,  I  beheld  the  maid  ;  200 

Yo-i  loved,  I  loved  for  intermission. 
No  more  pertains  to  mo,  my  lord,  than  yon. 
Your  fortune  stood  upon  the  casket  there. 
And  so  did  mine  too,  as  the  matter  falls  ; 
For  wooing  here  until  I  sweat  a^ain. 
And  swearing  till  my  very  roof  was  dry 
With  oaths  of  love,  at  last,  if  promise  last, 
I  got  a  promise  of  this  fair  one  here 
To  have  her  love,  provided  that  your  fortune 
Achieved  her  mistress. 

Por.  Is  this  true,  Nerissa?  210 

lier.  Madam,  it  is,  so  you  stand  pleased  withal. 

Bass.  And  do  vou,  Gratiano,  mean  good  faith  ? 

Gra.  Yes,  faith,  my  lord. 

Bass.  Our  feast  shall  be  much  honoured  in  your  marriage. 

Ora.  We'll  play  with  them  the  first  boy  for  a  thousand 
ducats. 

iVig/'.  What,  and  stake  down  ? 

Ora.  No  ;   we  shall  ne'er  win  at  that  sport,  and   stake 
down.  22U 

But  who  comes  here  ?    Lorenzo  and  his  infidel  * 
What,  and  my  old  Venetian  friend,  Salerio  ? 


500  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  [actiii. 

Enter  Lorenzo,  Jessica,  and  Salerio,  a  Messen^^r 

from  Venice. 

Bass.  Lorenzo  and  Salerio,  '\veIcome  hither ; 
If  that  tlie  youth  of  my  new  interest  hero 
Have  power  to  bid  you  welcome.     By  your  leave 
I  bid  my  very  friends  and  countrymen, 
Sweet  Portia,  welcome. 

Por,  So  do  I,  my  lord  : 

They  are  entirely  welcome. 

Lor,  1  tlmnk  your  honour.     For  my  i>art,  my  lord. 
My  purpose  was  not  to  have  seen  you  here  ;  i^oO 

But  meeting  with  Salerio  by  the  way. 
He  did  in  treat  me,  past  all  saying  nay. 
To  come  with  liim  along. 

ikUer.  I  did,  my  lord  ; 

And  I  have  reason  for  it.     Signer  Antonio 
Commends  liim  to  you.  {Oioes  Bassanio  a  letter. 

Bass,  Ere  I  opo  his  letter, 

I  pray  you,  tell  mo  how  mv  good  friend  doth. 

Baler,  Not  sick,  my  lora,  unless  it  bo  in  mind  ; 
Nor  well,  unless  iu  mind  :  his  letter  there 
Will  show  you  his  estate. 

Ora,  Nerissa,  cheer  yon  stranger ;  bid  her  welcome.    240 
Your  hand,  Salerio :  wliat's  the  news  from  Venice  ? 
How  doth  that  royal  merchant,  good  Antonio  ? 
I  know  he  will  bo  glad  of  our  success  ; 
We  are  the  Jasons.  we  have  won  the  fleece. 

Salei',  I  would  you  had  won  the  fleece  that  he  hath  lost. 

For,  There  are  some  shrewd  contents  in  yon  same  paper, 
That  steals  the  colour  from  Bassanio's  cheek  : 
Some  dear  friend  dead  ;  else  nothing  in  the  world 
Could  turn  so  much  the  constitution 

Of  any  constant  man.     Wliat,  worso  and  worse  I  250 

With  leave,  Bassanio  ;  I  am  half  yourself. 
And  I  must  freely  have  the  half  of  anything 
That  this  same  paper  brings  you. 

Bom,  O  sweet  Portia, 

Here  are  a  few  of  the  unplensant'st  words 
That  ever  blotted  jmper  I    Gentle  lady. 
When  I  did  first  impart  my  love  to  you, 
I  freely  told  you,  all  the  wealth  I  had 
Ban  in  my  veins,  I  was  a  gentleman  ; 
And  then  I  told  you  true  :  and  yet,  dear  lady. 
Rating  myself  at  nothing,  you  shall  see 
How  mucli  I  was  a  braggart.     When  I  told  you 
My  btate  was  nothing,  I  should  then  havo  told  you 


BCKNBii.]        MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  501 

That  I  was  worse  tlian  nothing ;  for,  indeed, 

I  have  engaged  myself  to  a  dear  friend. 

Engaged  my  friend  to  his  mere  enemy, 

To  feed  my  means.     Here  is  a  letter,  lady  ; 

The  paper  as  the  body  of  my  friend. 

And  every  word  in"  it  a  gaping  wound, 

Issuing  life-blood;     But  is  it  true,  Salerio  ? 

Have  all  his  ventures  fail'd  ?    What,  not  one  hit  ?  270 

From  Tripolis,  from  Mexico  and  England, 

From  Lisbon,  Barbary  and  India? 

And  not  one  vessel  'scape  the  dreadful  touch 

Of  merchant-marring  rocks? 

Solar.  Not  one,  my  lord.      * 

Besides,  it  should  appear,  that  if  he  had 
The  present  money  to  discharge  the  Jew, 
He  would  not  take  it.     Never  did  I  know 
A  creature,  that  did  bear  the  shape  of  man. 
So  keen  and  greedy  to  confound  a  man  : 
He  plies  the  duke  at  morning  and  at  night. 
And  doth  impeach  the  freedom  of  the  state,  280 

If  they  deny  him  justice  :  twenty  merchants. 
The  duke  himself,  and  the  magnifiooes 
Of  greatest  port,  have  all  persuaded  with  him ; 
But  none  can  drive  him  from  the  envious  plea 
Of  forfeiture,  of  justice  and  his  bond. 

Jes.  When  I  was  with  him  I  have  heard  him  swear 
To  Tubal  and  to  Chns,  his  countrymen^ 
That  he  would  rather  have  Antonio's  flesh 
Tlian  twenty  times  the  value  of  the  sum 
That  he  did  owe  him  :  and  I  know,  my  lord,  290 

If  law,  authority  and  power  deny  not, 
It  will  go  hard  witli  poor  Antonio. 

Por,  Is  it  your  dear  friend  that  is  thus  in  trouble  ? 

Ba98.  The  dearest  friend  to  me,  the  kindest  man, 
The  b^t-condition'd  and  unwearied  spirit 
In  doing  courtesies,  and  one  in  whom 
The  ancient  Roman  honour  more  appears 
Than  any  that  draws  breath  in  Italy. 

Por.  What  sum  owes  he  the  Jew  ? 

Bom.  For  me  three  thousand  ducats. 

Por.  What,  no  more?    800 

Pay  him  six  thousand,  and  deface  the  bond 
Double  six  thousand,  and  then  treble  thnt. 
Before  a  friend  of  this  description 
Shall  lose  a  hair  through^Bassanio's  fault. 
First  fi;o  with  me  to  church  and  call  me  ^vife, 
And  tnea  away  ta  Venice  to  your  friend  ;  ■  -  ' 


90d  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  [act  in. 

For  never  shall  you.  He  hy  Portla^s  side 

With  an  unquiet  soul.     You  sliall  hare  gold 

To  pay  the  pettj  debt  twenty  times  over  : 

When  it  is  {niid,  bring  your  true  friend  along.  310 

My  maid  Nerissa  and  myself  meantime 

Will  live  as  maids  and  widows.     Come,  away  1 

For  you  shall  hence  upon  your  wedding-day : 

Bid  your  friends  welcome,  show  a  merry  cneer : 

Since  you  are  dear  bought,  I  will  love  you  dear. 

But  let  me  hear  the  letter  of  your  friend. 

Bom,  [Recuts]  Sweet  Bassanio.  my  ships  have  all  mis- 
carried, my  creditors  grow  cruel,  my  estate  is  very  low, 
my  bond  to  the  Jow  is  forfeit ;  and  smcc  in  paying  it,  it  is 
Impos'^ible  I  should  live,  all  debts  are  cleared  lietween  you 
and  I,  if  I  might  but  see  you  at  my  death.     Notwithstand- 
ing, use  your  pleasure  :  if  your  love  do  not  persuade  you  to 
come,  let  not  my  letter. 
Por.  O  love,  dispatch  all  business,  and  be  gone  1 
Bass.  Since  I  have  your  good  leave  to  go  away, 
I  will  make  haste :  but,  till  I  come  again. 
No  bed  shall  e'er  be  gailty  of  my  stay, 
No  rest  be  interposer  'twixt  us  twain.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  III.     Venice.    A  itreet. 

JShUer  Shylock,  Salarino,  Antonio,  and  Gaoler. 

Shy,  Qaoler,  look  to  him  :  tell  not  me  of  mercy ; 
Tills  is  the  fool  that  lent  out  money  gratis  : 
Gaoler,  look  to  him. 

AjU.  Hear  me  yet,  good  Shylock. 

Shy.  1*11  have  my  bond  ;  si^eak  not  against  my  bond  : 
I  have  sworn  an  oath  that  I  will  have  my  bond. 
Thou  call'dst  me  dog  before  thou  hadst  a  cause  ; 
But,  since  I  am  a  dog,  beware  my  fangs  : 
The  duke  shall  grant  me  Justice.     I  do  wonder. 
Thou  naughty  gaoler,  that  thou  art  so  fond 
To  come  abroad  with  him  at  his  request.  10 

Ant.  I  pray  thee,  hear  me  speak. 

Shy.  ril  have  my  bond  ;  I  will  not  hear  thee  speak  : 
ril  have  my  bond  ;  and  therefore  speak  no  more, 
ru  not  be  made  a  soft  and  dull-eyed  fool. 
To  shake  the  head,  relent,  and  sigh,  and  yield 
To  Christian  intercessors.     Follow  not ; 
ril  have  no  speaking  :    I  will  have  my  bond.  [E^xiL 

Solar.  It  is  the  most  im|)eneti«ble  cur 
That  ever  kept  with  men. 

Aat,  Let  liim  alone  : 


BCENBiv.]        MERCHANT  OP  VENICE.  608 

ril  follow  him  no  more  with  bootless  prayera.    ~  20 

He  seeks  my  life  ;  his  reason  well  I  know : 

I  oft  delivered  from  his  forfeitures 

Many  tliat  have  at  times  made  moan  to  me  ; 

Therefore  he  hates  me. 

Salar.  I  am  snre  the  dnke 

Will  never  grant  this  forfeiture  to  hold.  ^ 

Ant,  The  dnke  cannot  deny  the  course  of  law : 
For  the  commodity  that  strangers  have 
With  us  in  Venice,  if  it  be  denied, 
Will  much  impeach  the  justice  of  his  state  ; 
Since  that  the  trade  and  )>rofit  of  the  city  80 

Consisteth  of  all  nations.     Therefore,  go  : 
These  griefs  and  losses  have  so  bated  me, 
Tliat  I  shall  hai-dly  spare  a  pound  of  flesh 
To-morrow  to  my  bloody  creditor. 
Well,  gaoler,  on.     Pray  God,  Bassanio  come 
To  see  me  pay  his  debt,  and  then  I  care  not !  [Exeunt, 

Scene  IV.    Belmont.    A  roam  in  Portia's  hatue. 
Enter  Portla,  Neriasa,  Ix>rbnzo,  Jessica,  and  Bal- 

THASAR. 

I/n'.  Madam,  althongh  I  speak  it  in  your  presence, 
Tou  have  a  noble  and  a  true  conceit 
Of  godlike  amity  ;  which  appears  most  strongly 
In  bearing  thus  the  absence  of  your  lord. 
But  if  you  knew  to  whom  you  show  this  honour 
How  true  a  gentleman  you  send  relief. 
How  dear  a  lover  of  my  lord  your  husband, 
I  know  you  would  be  prouder  of  the  work 
Than  customary  bounty  can  enforce  you. 

Par,  I  never  did  repent  for  doing  good,  10 

Nor  shall  not  now :  for  in  companions 
That  do  converse  and  waste  the  time  together. 
Whose  souls  do  bear  an  equal  yoke  of  love. 
There  must  be  needs  a  like  proportion 
Of  lineaments,  of  manners  and  of  spirit ; 
Which  makes  me  tliink  that  this  Antonio, 
Being  the  bosom  lover  of  my  lord, 
Must  needs  be  like  my  lord.     If  it  be  so, 
How  little  is  the  cost  I  have  bestow'd 
In  purchasing  the  semblance  of  my  soul  20 

From  out  the  state  of  hellish  misery  1 
This  comes  too  near  the  praising  of  mvself ; 
Therefore  no  more  of  it :  hear  other  tilings. 
Lorenzo,  I  commit  into  your  hands 


504  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  [act  m. 

The  IiusbandrT  and  manage  of  my  house 

Until  my  lord  s  return  :  for  mine  own  part, 

I  have  toward  heaven  breathed  a  secret  vow 

To  live  in  prayer  and  contemplation, 

Only  attended  by  Nerissa  here, 

Until  her  husband  and  my  lord's  return  :  80 

There  is  a  monastery  two  miles  off  ; 

And  there  will  we  abide.     I  do  desire  you 

Not  to  deny  this  imposition  ; 

Tlie  which  my  love  and  some  necessity 

Now  lays  upon  you. 

Lor.  Madam,  with  all  my  heart ; 

I  shall  obey  you  in  all  fair  commands. 

Par,  My  people  do  already  know  my  mind. 
And  will  acknowledge  you  and  J^-ssica 
In  place  of  Lord  Bassanio  and  myself. 
And  so  farewell,  till  we  shall  meet  again.  40 

Lor.  Fair  thoughts  and  happy  hours  attend  on  you  1 

Jes.  I  wish  your  ladyship  all  heart's  content. 

P<n\  I  thank  you  for  your  wish,  and  am  well  pleased 
To  wish  it  back  on  you  :  fare  you  well,  Jessica. 

[Exeunt  Jessica  and  Lorenzo, 
Now,  Balthasar, 

As  I  have  ever  found  thee  honest-true. 
So  let  me  find  thee  still.     Take  this  same  letter. 
And  use  thou  all  the  endeavour  of  a  man 
In  speed  to  Padua  :  see  thou  render  this 
Into  my  cousin's  hand,  Doctor  Ballario  ;  50 

And,  look,  what  notes  and  garments  he  doth  give  thee. 
Bring  them,  I  pray  thee,  with  imogined  speed 
Unto  the  tranect,  to  the  common  ferry 
Which  trades  to  Venice.     Waste  no  time  in  words. 
But  get  thee  gone  :  I  shall  be  there  before  thee. 

BaUh.  Madam,  I  go  witii  all  convenient  speed.         [Exit. 

Par.  Come  on,  Nerissa  ;  I  have  work  in  hand 
That  you  yet  know  not  of :  we'll  see  our  husbands 
Before  they  think  of  us. 

Ner.  Shall  they  see  us  ? 

Pot.  They  shall,  Nerissa  ;  but  in  such  a  habit,  60 

That  they  shall  think  we  are  accomplished 
With  that  we  lack.     I'll  hold  thee  any  wager. 
When  we  are  both  accoutred  like  young  men, 
I'll  prove  the  prettier  fellow  of  the  two, 
And  wear  my  dagger  with  the  braver  grace. 
And  speak  between  the  change  of  man  and  boy 
With  a  reed  voice,  and  turn  two  mincing  steps 
Into  a  manly  stride,  and  speak  of  frays 


■CENBV.]        MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  505 

Like  a  fine  bragging  youtli,  and  tell  quaint  lies, 

Hovr  honourable  ladies  sought  my  love,  70 

Which  I  denying,  they  fell  sick  and  died  ; 

I  could  not  do  withal ;  then  1*11  repent, 

And  wish,  for  all  that,  that  I  had  not  kill'd  them  ; 

And  twenty  of  these  puny  lies  I'll  tell, 

That  men  shall  swear  I  have  discontinued  school 

Above  a  twelvemonth.     I  have  within  my  mind 

A  thousand  raw  tricks  of  these  bragging  Jacks, 

Which  I  will  practise. 

Ner.  Why,  shall  we  turn  to  men  ? 

Por.  Fie,  what  a  question's  that, 
If  thou  wei-t  near  a  lewd  interpreter  I  80 

But  come,  I'll  teU  thee  all  my  whole  device 
When  I  am  in  my  coach,  which  stays  for  us 
At  the  park  gate  ;  and  therefore  haste  away. 
For  we  must  measure  twenty  miles  to-day.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  V.     The  same.    A  garden. 

Enter  Launcblot  and  Jessica. 

Laun,  Yes,  truly ;  for,  look  you,  the  sins  of  the  father 
are  to  be  laid  upon  the  children  :  therefore,  I  promise  ye,  I 
fear  you.  I  was  always  plain  with  you,  and  so  now  I  speak 
my  agitation  of  the  matter  :  therefore  be  of  good  cheer,  for 
truly  I  think  you  are  damned.  There  is  but  one  hope  in  it 
than  can  do  you  any  good  ;  and  that  is  but  a  kind  of  bastard 
hope  neither. 

Jee.  And  what  hope  is  that,  I  pray  thee  ?  10 

Laun.  'bla.TTj,  you  may  partly  hope  that  your  father  got 
you  not,  that  you  are  not  the  Jew's  daughter. 

Jes.  That  were  a  kind  of  bastard  hope,  indeed :  so  the 
Bins  of  my  mother  should  be  visited  upon  me. 

Laun.  Truly  then  I  fear  you  are  damned  both  by  father  and 
mother:  thus  when  I  shun  Scylla,  your  father,  I  fall  into 
Chary bdis,  your  mother  :  well,  you  are  gone  both  ways.  20 

Jes.  I  shall  be  saved  by  my  husband  ;  he*  hath  made  me 
a  Cliristian. 

Laun.  Truly,  the  more  to  blame  he  :  we  were  Christians 
enow  before  ;  e'en  as  many  as  could  well  live,  one  by  an- 
other. This  making  of  Christians  will  raise  the  price  of 
hogs  :  if  we  grow  all  to  be  pork-eaters,  we  shall  not  shortly 
have  a  rasher  on  the  coals  for  money. 

Enter  Lorenzo. 

Jes.  I'll  tell  my  husband,  Lanncelot,  what  you  say  :  here 
he  comes.  80 


506  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  [actiii. 

Lot,  I  shall  grow  jealous  of  you  shortly,  Lanncelot,  if 
you  thus  get  my  wife  into  comers. 

Je%.  Nay,  you  need  not  fear  us,  Lorenzo  :  Launoeloi  and 
I  are  out.  Uo  tells  me  flatly,  there  is  no  mercy  for  me  in 
heaven,  because  1  am  a  Jew's  daughter  :  and  he  says,  you 
are  no  good  member  of  the  commonwealth,  for  in  oonrert- 
ing  Jews  to  Christians,  you  raise  the  price  of  pork.  S9 

Lot,  I  shall  answer  that  better  to  the  commonwealth  than 
you  can  the  getting  up  of  the  negro's  belly  :  .the  Moor  is 
with  child  by  you,  Launcelot. 

Laun,  It  is  much  that  the  Moor  should  be  more  than 
reason  :  but  if  she  be  less  than  an  honest  woman,  she  is 
indeed  more  than  I  took  her  for. 

Lor,  How  every  fool  can  play  upon  the  word  1  I  think 
the  best  grace  of  wit  will  shortly  turn  into  silence,  and  dis- 
course grow  commendable  m  none  only  but  parrots.  Qo 
in,  sirndi ;  bid  them  prepare  for  dinner. 

Laun,  That  is  done,  sir  ;  they  have  all  stomachs. 

Lot,  Qoodly  Lord,  what  a  wit-snapper  are  you  !  then  bid 
them  prepare  dinner. 

Laun,  That  is  done  too,  sir  ;  only  ** cover"  is  the  word. 

Lot,  Will  you  cover  then,  sir  t 

Laun,  Not  so,  sir,  neither ;  I  know  my  duty. 

Lor,  Yet  more  quarrelling  with  occasion  1  Wilt  thou 
show  the  whole  wealth  of  thy  wit  in  an  instant  ?  I  pray 
thee,  understand  a  ploin  man  in  his  plain  meanincf  :  go  to 
thy  fellows  ;  bid  them  cover  the  table,  serve  in  the  meat, 
and  we  will  come  in  to  dinner. 

Laun,  For  the  table,  sir,  it  shall  be  served  in ;  for  the 
meat,  sir,  it  shall  be  covered  ;  for  your  coming  in  to  dinner, 
sir,  why,  let  it  be  as  humours  and  conceits  shall  govern. 

[Etit., 

Lot.  O  dear  discretion,  how  Itis  words  are  suited  I         70 
The  fool  hath  planted  in  his  memory 
An  army  of  good  words  ;  and  I  do  know 
A  manv  fools,  that  stand  in  better  place, 
Oarnish'd  like  Kim,  that  for  a  tricksy  word 
Defy  the  matter.     How  cheer'st  thou,  Jessica  ? 
And  now,  good  sweet,  say  thy  opinion, 
How  dost  thou  like  the  Lord  Bassanio's  wife  t 

Jes.  Past  all  expressing.     It  is  very  meet 
The  Lord  Bassanio  live  an  upright  life ; 
For,  having  such  a  blessing  in  his  lady,  80 

He  finds  the  joys  of  heaven  here  on  earth  ; 

J  And  if  on  eaith  he  do  not  mean  it,  then 
n  reason  he  should  never  come  to  heaven. 
Why,  if  two  gods  should  play  some  heavenly  match 


SCBWBI.]         MERCHANT  OP  VENICE.  507 

And  on  the  wager  lay  two  earthly  women, 
And  Portia  one,  there  must  be  something  else 
Pawn'd  with  the  other,  for  the  poor  rude  world 
Hath  not  her  fellow. 

Lor,  Even  such  a  husband 

Hast  thon  of  me  as  she  is  for  a  wife. 

Jet.  Nay,  but  ask  my  opinion  too  of  that.  00 

Lor,  I  will  anon :  first,  let  us  go  to  dinner. 

Jes.  Nay,  let  me  praise  you  while  I  have  a  stomach. 

Lor,  No,  pray  thee,  let  it  serve  for  table-talk  ; 
Then,  howsoe'er  thou  speak'st,'m<mg  other  things 
I  shall  digest  it. 

Jet,  Well,  I'll  set  you  forth.  [EhDeunt. 


ACT   IV. 

ScENB  I.     Venice,    A  court  ofjiutice. 

Enter    the  Dukb,    the  Magnificoes,  Antonio,  Bassakio, 
Ukatiano,  Salerio,  and  otlurs, 

Duke.  What,  is  Antonio  here  ? 

AtU,  Ready,  so  please  your  grace. 

Duke.  I  am  sorry  for  thee  :  thou  art  come  to  answer 
A  stony  adversary,  an  inhuman  wretch 
Uncapable  of  pity,  void  and  empty 
From  any  dram  of  mercy. 

Ant.  I  have  heard 

Your  grace  liath  ta'en  great  pains  to  qualify 
His  rigorous  course ;  but  since  he  stands  obdurate 
And  that  no  lawful  means  can  carry  ma 
Out  of  his  envy's  reach,  I  do  oppose  10 

My  patience  to  his  fury,  and  am  arm'd 
To  suffer,  with  a  quietness  of  spirit. 
The  very  tyranny  and  rage  of  his. 

Duke.  Go  one,  and  call  the  Jew  into  court. 

Seder.  He  is  ready  at  the  door :  he  comes,  my  lord. 

EnUr  Shylock. 

Dvke.  Make  room,  and  let  him  stand  before  our  face. 
Shylock,  the  worid  thinks,  and  I  think  so  too. 
That. thou  but  lead'st  this  fashion  of  thy  malice 
To  the  last  hour  of  act ;  and  then  'tis  thought 
Thou'lt  show  thy  mercy  and  remorse  more  strange  ^ 

Than  is  thy  strange  apparent  cruelty  ; 
And  where  thou  now  exaet'st  the  penalty. 
Which  is  a  pound  of  this  poor  merchant  s  flesh. 


($08  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  [ACt  IT. 

• 

Tliou  wilt  not  only  loose  tlie  forfeiture, 

But,  touch'd  with  human  gentlene&s  and  love. 

Forgive  a  moiety  of  the  principal ; 

Glancing  an  eye  of  pity  on  his  losses. 

That  have  of  late  so  huddled  on  his  back, 

Enow  to  press  a  royal  merchant  down 

And  pluck  commiseration  of  his  state  80 

From  brassy  bosoms  and  rough  hearts  of  flint. 

From  stubborn  Turks  and  Tartars,  never  train'd  * 

To  offices  of  tender  courtesy. 

We  all  expect  a  gentle  answer,  Jew. 

8hy,  I  have  possess'd  your  grace  of  what  I  purpose  ; 
And  uy  our  holy  Sabbath  have  I  sworn 
To  have  the  due  and  forfeit  of  my  bond  : 
If  you  deny  it,  let  the  danger  light 
Upon  your  charter  and  your  city's  freedom. 
You'll  ask  me,  why  I  rather  choose  to  have  40 

A  weight  of  carrion  flesh  than  to  receive 
Three  thousand  ducats  :  I'll  not  answer  that . 
But,  say,  it  is  my  humour :  is  it  answer'd  ? 
What  if  my  house  be  troubled  with  a  rat 
And  I  be  pleased  to  give  ten  thousand  ducats 
To  have  it  baned  ?    What,  are  you  answer'd  yet  ? 
Some  men  there  are  love  not  a  gaping  pig  ; 
Some,  that  are  mad  if  they  behold  a  cat ; 
And  others,  when  the  bagpipe  sings  i'  the  nose. 
Cannot  contain  their  urine  :  for  affection,  60 

Mistress  of  passion,  sways  it  to  the  mood 
Of  wliat  it  likes  or  loathes.     Now,  for  your  answer : 
As  there  is  no  firm  reason  to  be  render'd. 
Why  he  cannot  abide  a  gaping  pig ; 
Why  he,  a  harmless  necessary  cat ; 

J  Why  he,  a  boUen  bag-pipe, — but  of  force 
fust  yield  to  such  inevitable  shame 
As  to  offend,  himself  being  offended  ; 
So  can  I  give  no  reason,  nor  I  will  not, 
More  than  a  lodged  hate  and  a  certain  loathing  60 

I  bear  Antonio,  that  I  follow  thus 
A  losing  suit  against  him.     Are  you  answer'd  ? 
Bass.  Tills  is  no  answer,  thou  unfeeling  man, 
To  excuse  the  current  of  thy  cruelty. 
Shy.  I  am  not  bound  to  please  thee  with  my  answers. 
Bass.  Do  all  men  kill  the  things  they  do  not  love? 
Shy.  Hates  any  man  the  thing  he  would  not  kill  ? 
Bass.  Every  offence  is  not  a  hate  at  first. 

.   What,   wouldst  thou  have  a  serpent  sting  thee 
twice  ? 


BCENBI.]  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  509 

ArU,  I  pray  you,  think  you  question  with  the  Jew  :      70 
Ton  may  as  well  go  stand  upon  the  beach 
And  bid  tlie  main  flood  bate  It  is  usual  height  ; 
You  may  as  well  use  question  with  the  wolf 
Why  he  liath  made  the  ewe  bleat  for  the  Iamb ; 
You  may  as  well  forbid  the  mountain  pines 
To  wag  their  high  tops  and  to  make  no  noise, 
When  they  are  fretten  with  the  gusts  of  heaven  ; 
You  may  ns  well  do  any  thing  most  bard, 
As  seek  to  soften  that— than  which  what's  harder? — 
His  Jewish  heart  :  therefore,  I  do  beseech  yoo.  80 

Make  no  more  offers,  use  no  farther  means. 
But  with  all  brief  and  plain  conventency 
Let  me  have  judgement  and  the  Jew  his  will. 

Ban.  For  thy  three  thousand  ducats  here  is  six. 

Shy.  If  every  ducat  in  six  thousand  ducats 
Were  in  six  parts  and  every  part  a  ducat, 
I  would  not  draw  them  ;  I  would  have  my  bond. 

Dvke.  How  shalt  thou  hope  for  mercy,  rendering  none  ? 

Sfvu.  What  judgement  shall  I  dread,  doing  no  wyong? 
You  nave  among  you  many  a'pnrchased  slave,  90 

Which,  like  your  asses  and  your  dogs  and  mules. 
You  use  in  abject  and  in  slavish  parts, 
Because  you  bought  them  :  shall  I  say  to  you, 
Ijet  them  be  free,  marry  them  to  your  heirs  ? 
Why  sweat  they  under  burthens?  let  their  beds 
Be  made  as  soft  as  yours  and  let  their  palates 
Be  seasonal  with  such  viands  ?    You  will  answer 
**  The  slaves  are  ours  :"  so  do  I  answer  you  : 
The  pound  of  flesh,  which  I  demand  of  him. 
Is  dearly  bought ;  'tis  mine  and  I  will  have  it.  100 

If  you  deny  me,  fie  upon  your  law  I 
There  is  no  force  in  the  decrees  of  Venice. 
I  stand  for  judgement :  answer ;  shall  I  have  it  ? 

Duke.  Upon  my  power  I  may  dismiss  this  ooort, 
Unless  Bellario,  a  learned  doctor, 
Wliom  I  have  sent  for  to  determine  this, 
Come  here  to-day. 

Baler.  My  lord,  here  stays  without 

A  messenger  with  letters  from  the  doctor, 
New  come  from  Padua. 

Dvke.  Bring  ns  the  letters  ;  call  the  messenger.  Ill 

Bas^.  Good  cheer,  Antonio !    What,  man,  courage  yet  I 
The  Jew  shall  have  my  flesh,  blood,  bones  and  all, 
Ere  thou  shalt  lose  for  me  one  drop  of  blood. 

Ant.  I  am  a  tainted  wether  of  the  flock. 
Meetest  for  death :  the  weakest  kind  of  fruit 


510  MERCHANT  OP  VENICR  [activ. 

Drops  earliest  to  tlie  ground  ;  and  so  let  mo : 

You  cannot  better  be  employ'd,  Bassanio, 
Than  to  live  still  and  write  mine  epitaph. 

Enter  Nerissa,  dressed  like  a  laity er*s  clerk, 

Duke.  Came  jou  from  Padua,  from  Bellario  ? 

J\r<?r.  From  both,  my  lord.     Bellario  greets  your  grace. 

[  PreserUing  a  letter,     1 30 

Bass,  Why  dost  thou  whet  thy  knife  so  earnestly  ? 

Shy.  To  cut  the  forfeiture  from  that  bankrupt  there. 

Ora.  Not  on  tiiy  sole,  but  on  thy  soul,  harsh  Jew, 
Thou  makest  thy  Icnife  keen  ;  but  no  metal  can. 
No,  not  the  hangman's  axe,  bear  half  the  keenness 
Of  thy  sharp  envy.     Can  no  prayers  pierce  thee  ? 

Shy.  No,  none  that  thou  has  wit  enough  to  make. 

Gra.  O,  be  thou  damn'd,  inexecrable  dog  I 
And  for  thy  life  let  justice  be  accused. 
Thou  almost  nuikest  me  waver  in  my  faith  130 

To  hold  opinion  with  Pythagoras, 
That  souls  of  animals  infuse  themselves 
Into  the  trunks  of  men  :  thy  currish  spirit 
Govern'd  a  wolf,  who,  hang'd  for  human  slaughter. 
Even  from  the  gallows  did  his  fell  soul  fleet,  . 
And,  whilst  thou  lay'st  in  thy  uuhallow'd  dam. 
Infused  itself  in  thee  ;  for  thy  desires 
Are  woolfish,  bloody,  starved  and  ravenous. 

Shy.  Till  thou  cant  rail  the  seal  from  off  my  bond, 
Thou  but  offond*st  thy  lungs  to  speak  so  loud  :  14.0 

Repair  thy  wit,  good  youth,  or  it  will  fall 
To  cureless  ruin.     I  stand  here  for  law. 

Duke,  This  letter  from  Bellario  doth  commend 
A  young  and  learned  doctor  to  our  court. 
Where  is  he? 

Ner.  He  attendeth  here  hard  by. 

To  know  your  answer,  whether  you'll  admit  him, 

Duke.  With  all  my  heart.     Some  three  or  four  of  you 
Go  give  him  courteous  conduct  to  this  place. 
Meantime  the  court  shall  hear  Bellario's  letter. 

Clerk,  [Reads]  Your  grace  shall  understand  that  at  tho 
receipt  of  your  letter  I  am  very  sick :  but  in  the  instant 
that  your  messenger  came,  in  loving  visitation  was  with  mo 
a  young  doctor  of  Rorue ;  his  name  is  Balthasar.  I  ac- 
quainted him  with  the  cause  in  controversy  between  the 
Jew  and  Antonio  the  merchant :  we  turned  o'er  many  books 
together  :  he  is  furnished  with  my  opinion ;  which,  bet> 
terod  with  his  own  learning,  the  greatness  whereof  I  can* 
not  enough  commend,  comei  with  iiim,  at  my  importunity. 


bcenbl]  merchant  OF  VENICE.  fill 

to  fill  up  your  grace's  request  in  my  stead.  1  beseecli  you, 
let  liis  lack  of  years  be  no  impediment  to  let  liim  lack  a 
reverend  estimation  ;  for  I  never  knew  so  young  a  body 
ivitli  so  old  a  bead.  I  leave  liim  to  your  gracious  accept- 
ance, wliose  trial  sball  bettor  publish  bis  commendation. 
Duke,  You  bear  the  learned  Bellario,  what  he  writes  : 
And  here,  I  take  it,  is  the  doctor  come. 

Enter  Portia,  dressed  like  a  doctor  of  laics, 

Give  me  your  hand.     Come  you  from  old  IBellario  ? 

Por.  I  did,  my  lord. 

Duke,  You  are  welcome  :  take  your  place. 

Are  you  acquainted  with  the  difference  171 

That  holds  this  present  question  in  the  court  ? 

Por.  I  am  informed  throughly  of  the  cause. 
Which  is  the  merchant  here,  and  which  the  Jew  ? 

Duke.  Antonio  and  old  Shylock,  both  stand  forth. 

Por.    Is  your  name  Sliylock  ? 

Shy,  Shylock  is  my  name. 

Por.  Of  a  strange  nature  is  the  suit  you  follow  ; 
Yet  in  such  rule  that  the  Venetian  law 
Cannot  impugn  you  ns  you  do  proceed. 
You  stand  within  his  danger,  do  you  not  ?  180 

Ant.  Ay,  so  he  says. 

Por.  '  Do  you  confess  the  bond  ? 

Ant.  I  do. 

Por,  Then  must  the  Jew  be  merciful. 

S/iy.  On  what  compulsion  must  I?  tell  me  that. 

Por.  The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strain'd, 
It  droppeth  as  the  gentle  rain  from  heaven 
Upon  the  place  beneath  :  it  is  twice  blest ; 
It  blesseth  him  that  gives  and  him  that  takes  : 
'Tis  mightiest  in  the  mightiest :  it  becomes 
The  throned  monarch  better  than  his  crown  ; 
His  sceptre  shows  the  force  of  temporal  power,  190 

Tlie  attribute  to  awe  and  majesty, 
Wherein  doth  sit  the  dread  and  fear  of  kings  ; 
But  mercy  is  above  this  sceptred  sway ; 
I  It  is  enthroned  in  the  hearts  of  kings. 
It  is  an  attribute  to  God  himself ; 
And  earthly  power  doth  then  show  likest  God's 
When  mercy  seasons  justice.     Therefore,   Jew, 
Though  justice  be  thy  plea,  consider  this, 
That,  in  the  course  of  justice,  none  of  us 
Should  see  salvation  :  we  do  pray  for  mercy  ;  dQO 

And  that  same  prayer  doth  teach  us  all  to  render 
The  deeds  of  mercy.     I  have  si)oke  thus  much 


612  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  [act  iv. 

To  mitigate  the  justice  of  thj'  plea ; 

Wliicli  if  tliou  follow,  this  strict  coart  of  Venice 

Must  needs  give  sentence  'gainst  the  mereliant  there. 

Shy,  My  deeds  upon  my  head  I  I  crave  the  law. 
The  penalty  and  the  forfeit  of  my  bond. 

Par.  Is  he  not  able  to  discharge  the  money  ? 

D(M9,  Yes,  hero  I  tender  it  for  him  in  the  court ; 
Tea,  twice  the  sum  :  if  that  will  not  suffice,  210 

I  will  be  bound  to  pay  it  ten  times  o'er, 
On  forfeit  of  my  liands,  my  head,  my  heart ; 
If  this  will  not  suffice,  it  must  appear 
That  malace  bears  down  truth.     And  I  beseech  you,  I 

Wrest  once  the  law  to  your  authority  :  i 

To  do  a  great  right,  do  a  little  wrong,  ' 

And  curb  this  cruel  devil  of  his  will. 

Por.  It  must  not  be  ;  tbere  is  no  power  in  Venice 
Can  alter  a  decree  established  : 

'Twill  be  recorded  for  a  precedent,  220 

And  many  an  error  by  the  same  example 
Will  rusli  into  the  state  :  it  cannot  be. 

Shy,  A  Daniel  come  to  judgement !  yea,  a  Daniel ! 
O  wise  young  judge,  how  I  do  honour  thee ! 

Por.  I  pray  you,  let  me  look  ujwn  the  bond. 

Shy.     Hero  'tis,  most  reverend  doctor,  here  it  is. 

Par.  Shylock,  there's  thrice  thy  money  offer' d  thee. 

S/iy.  An  oath,  an  oaih,  I  have  an  oath  in  heaven  : 
Shall  I  lay  perjury  upon  my  soul? 
No,  not  for  Venice. 

Por.  Why,  this  bond  is  forfeit ;  230 

And  lawfully  by  this  the  Jew  may  claim 
A  pound  of  flesh,  to  be  by  him  cut  off  ' 

Nearest  the  merchant's  heart.     Be  merciful : 
Take  thrice  thy  money  ;  bid  me  tear  the  bond. 

Shy.  When  it  is  paid  according  to  the  tenour. 
It  doth  appear  you  are  a  worthy  judge  ; 
You  know  the  law,  yonr  exposition 
Hath  been  most  sound  :  I  charge  you  by  the  law, 
Whereof  you  are  a  well-deQ^rving  pillar, 
Proceed  to  judgement :  by  my  soul  I  swear  240 

There  is  no  power  in  the  tongue  of  man 
To  alter  me  :  I  stay  here  on  my  bond. 

Ant  Most  heartily  I  do  beseech  the  court 
To  give  the  judgement. 

Por.  Why  then,  thus  it  is : 

Yon  must  prepare  your  bosom  for  his  knife. 

Shy.  O  noble  judge  !    O  excellent  young  man  ! 

Por.  For  the  intent  and  i>urpoi>c  of  the  law 


8CEKBI.]  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  [J13 

Hatli  full  relation  to  tLe  penalty, 
Whicli  here  appeareth  due  upon  the  bond. 

8hy,  'Tis  very  true  :  0  wise  and  upright  judge  1  250 

How  much  more  elder  art  thou  than  thy  looks ! 

Por.  Therefore  lay  bare  your  bosom. 

8fiy.  Ay.  his  breast : 

So  says  the  Iwnd  :  doth  it  not,  noble  judge  ? 
"  Nearest  his  lieart :  "  those  are  the  very  words. 

Par,  It  is  so.     Are  there  balance  here  to  weigh 
The  flesh?  J 

Shy.  I  have  them  ready. 

Por.  Have  by  some  surgeon,  Shvlock,  on  your  charge. 
To  stop  his  wounds,  lest  he  do  bleed  to  death. 

Shy.  Is  it  so  nominated  in  the  bond? 

Por,  It  is  not  so  express'd  :  but  what  of  tliat  ?  260 

'Twere  good  you  do  so  much  for  cliarity. 

Shy.  I  cannot  find  it  ;  'tis  not  in  the  bond. 

Por.  You,  merchant,  have  you  any  tiling  to  say? 

Ant.  But  little  :  I  am  ami'd  and  well  prepared. 
Give  me  your  liand,  Bassanio  :  fare  you  well  1 
Grieve  not  that  I  nm  fallen  to  this  for  you  ; 
For  herein  Fortune  sliows  herself  more  kind 
Than  is  her  custom  :  it  is  still  her  use 
To  let  the  wretched  man  outlive  his  wealth, 
To  view  with  liollow  eye  and  wrinkled  brow  270 

An  age  of  poverty  ;  from  which  lingering  penance 
Of  such  mi.sery  doth  she  cut  me  off. 
Commend  me  to  your  honourable  wife  : 
Tell  her  the  process  of  Antonio's  end  ; 
Say  how  I  loved  you,  speak  me  fair  in  death  ; 
And,  when  the  tale  is  told,  bid  her  be  judge 
Whether  Bassanio  had  not  once  a  love. 
Repent  but  you  that  yon  sliall  iose  your  friend, 
And  ho  repents  not  that  he  pays  your  debt ; 
For  \i  the  Jew  do  cut  but  deep  enough,  280 

ril  pay  it  presently  witli  all  my  heart. 

Ba98.  Antonio,  I  am  married  to  a  wife 
Which  is  as  dear  to  me  as  life  itself  ; 
But  life  itself,  my  wife,  and  all  the  world, 
Are  not  with  me  esteem'd  above  thy  life  : 
I  would  lose  all,  ay,  sacriflce  them  all 
Here  to  this  devil,  to  deliver  you. 

Por.  Your  wife  would  give  you  little  thanks  for  that. 
If  she  were  by,  to  hear  you  make  the  offer. 

Gra.  I  have  a  wife,  whom,  I  protest,  I  love  :  290 

I  would  she  were  in  heaven,  so  she  could 
Entreat  some  power  to  change  this  currish  Jew, 
0HAK.   I. — 17 


614  MERCHANT  OP  VENICE.  [act  iv. 

Ner.  Tis  well  tou  offer  it  belimd  her  back  ; 
The  w]3h  would  make  else  an  unquiet  house. 

8hy,  These  be  tbe  Ciiristian  liosbands.     I  haye  a  daugh- 
ter ; 
Would  anv  of  the  stock  of  Barrabas 

Had  been  lier  husband  rather  than  a  Ciiristian  !         [Aaide. 
We  trifle  time  :  I  pray  thee,  pursue  sentence. 

Por.  A  pound  of  that  same  merchant's  flesh  is  thine  : 
Tlie  court  awards  it,  and  the  law  doth  give  it.  800 

Shy.  Most  rightful  judge  1 

Por.  And  you  must  cut  this  flesh  from  off  his  breast : 
The  law  allows  it,  and  the  court  awards  it. 

Shy.  Most  learned  judge  !    A  sentence  !   Come,  prepare  I 

Por.  Tarry  a  little  ;  there  is  something  else. 
Tliis  bond  doth  give  thee  here  no  jot  of  blood  ; 
The  words  expressly  are  "  a  pound  of  flesh  : " 
Take  then  thy  bond,  take  thou  thy  pound  of  flesli ; 
But,  in  the  cutting  it,  if  thou  dost  shed 
One  drop  of  Christian  blood,  thy  lands  and  goods  810 

Are,  by  the  laws  of  Venice,  confiscate 
Unto  the  state  of  Venice. 

Ora.  O  upright  judge  !  Mark,  Jew  :  0  learned  judge  I 

Shy.  Is  that  the  law  ? 

Por.  Thyself  shnlt  see  the  act  : 

For,  as  thou  urgest  justice,  be  assured 
Thou  slialt  have  justice,  more  than  thou  desircst. 

Ora.  O  learned  judge  !  Mark,  Jew  :  a  learned  judge  I 

8Iiy.  I  take  this  offer,  then  ;  pay  the  bond  thrice 
And  let  the  Christian  go. 

Bass.  Here  is  the  money. 

Por.  Soft  I  ^  320 

The  Jew  shall  have  all  justice  ;    soft !  no'haste  : 
He  shall  have  nothing  but  the  penalty. 

Ora.  O  Jew  I  an  upright  judge,  a  learned  judge  ! 

Por.  Therefore  prepare  thee  to  cut  off  thp  flesn.     • 
Shed  thou  no  blood,  nor  cut  thou  less  nor  more 
But  just  a  pound  of  flesh  :  if  thou  cut'st  more 
Or  less  than  a  just  pound,  be  it  but  so  much 
As  makes  it  light  or  heavy  in  the  substance. 
Or  the  division  of  tlio  twentieth  part 

Of  ono  poor  scruple,  nay,  if  the  scale  do  turn  830 

But  in  the  estimation  of  a  hair. 
Thou  diest  and  all  thy  goods  are  confiscate. 

Gra.  A  second  Daniel,  a  Daniel,  Jew  ! 
Now,  infidel,  I  have  you  on  the  hip. 

Por,  Why  doth  the  Jew  pause  ?  take  thy  forfeiture. 

8hy.  Give  me  my  principal,  and  let  me  go. 


SCENE  I.]  MERCHANT  OP  VENICE.  515 

B<iM.  I  have  it  ready  for  tliee  ;  here  it  is. 
'  Por.  He  Lath  refused  it  in  the  open  court : 
He  shall  have  merely  justice  and  his  bond. 

Ora.  A  Daniel,  still  say  1.  a  second  Daniel  1  840 

I  thank  thee.  Jew,  for  teaching  me  that  word. 

Shy,  Shall  I  not  have  barely  my  principal  ? 

Por.  Thou  shalt  have  nothing  out  the  forfeiture. 
To  1>e  so  taken  at  thy  peril,  Jew. 

8Iiy.  Why,  then,  the  devil  give  him  good  of  it ! 
I'll  stay  no  longer  question. 

Por.  Tarry,  Jew : 

The  law  hath  yet  another  hold  on  you. 
It  is  enacted  in  the  laws  of  Venice, 
If  it  be  proved  against  an  alien  ' 

That  by  direct  or  indirect  attempts  850 

He  seek  the  life  of  any  citizen, 
Tlie  party  'gainst  the  which  he  doth  contrive 
Shall  seize  one-half  his  goods  ;  the  other  half 
Comes  to  the  privy  coffer  of  the  state : 
And  the  offender's  life  lies  in  the  mercy. 
Of  the  duke  only,  'gainst  all  other  voice. 
In  which  predicament,  I  say,  thou  stand'st ; 
For  it  appears,  by  manifest  proceeding. 
That  indirectly  and  directly  too 

Thou  hast  contrived  against  the  very  life  860 

Of  the  defendant ;  and  thou  hast  incurr'd 
The  danger  fonnerly  by  me  rehearsed. 
Down  therefore  and  beg  mercy  of  the  duke. 

Ora,  Beg  tliat  thou  niayst  have  leave  to  hang  thyself : 
And  yet,  thy  wealth  being  forfeit  to  the  state, 
Thou  hast  not  left  the  value  of  a  cord ; 
Therefore  thou  must  be  hang'd  at  the  state's  charge. 

Duke,  That  thou  shalt  see  the  difference  of  our  spirits, 
I  pardon  thee  thy  life  before  thou  ask  it : 
For  half  thy  wealth,  it  is  Antonio's  ;      *  870 

The  other  half  comes  to  the  general  state. 
Which  humbleness  may  drive  unto  a  fine. 

Por.  Ay,  for  the  state,  not  for  Antonio. 

Shy.  Nay,  take  my  life  and  all ;  pardon  not  that : 
You  take  my  house  when  you  do  take  the  prop 
That  doth  sustain  my  lioiise  ;  yoi  take  my  life 
When  you  do  take  the  means  whereby  I  live. 

Por.  What  mercy  can  you  render  him,  Antonio  ? 

Ora.  A  lialter  gratis  ;  nothing  else,  for  God's  sake. 

Ant.  So  please  my  lord  the  duke  and  all  the  court       880 
To  quit  the  fine  for  one  half  of  his  goods, 
I  am  content ;  so  he  will  let  me  liave 


516  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  [activ. 

Tlie  other  lialf  in  use,  to  render  it, 
Upou  liis  dcatli,  unto  tlie  gentleman 
That  lately  stole  liis  daughter  : 
Two  things  provided  more,  that,  for  this  favour. 
He  presently  become  a  Christian  ; 
The  other,  that  he  do  record  a  gift, 
Here  in  the  court,  of  all  he  dies  possess'd, 
{ Unto  his  son  Lorenzo  and  Lis  daughter.  .  800 

Duke.  He  shall  do  this,  or  else  I  do  recant- 
The  pardon  that  I  late  pronounced  here. 

Por.  Art  thou  contented,  Jew  ?  what  dost  thou  say? 

Shy,  I  am  content. 

Por,  Clerk,  draw  a  deed  of  gift. 

'*8Jiy,  I  pray  you,  give  me  leave  to  go  from  henco  ; 
I  am  not  well :  send  the  deed  after  me, 
And  I  will  sign  it. 

Duke,  Get  thee  gone,  but  do  it. 

Ova.  In  christening  shalt  thou  have  two  godfathers  : 
Had  I  been  judge,  thou  shouldst  have  had  ten  more. 
To  bring  thee  to  the  gallows,  not  the  font.  400 

[ExU  Shylock. 

Duke.  Sir,  I  entreat  you  home  with  me  to  dinner. 

Por.  I  humbly  do  desire  your  grace  of  pardon  : 
I  must  away  this  night  toward  Padua, 
Aiid  it  is  meet  I  presently  set  forth. 

Duke.  1  am  sorry  that  your  leisure  serves  you  not. 
Antonio,  gratify  this  gentleman. 
For,  in  my  mind,  you  are  much  boimd  to  him. 

[Exeunt  Duke  and  hit  train. 

Bass.  Most  worthy  gentleman,  1  and  my  friend 
Have  by  your  wisdom  been  this  day  acquitted 
Of  grievous  penalties  ;  in  lieu  thereof,  410 

Tliree  thousand  ducats,  due  unto  the  Jew, 
We  freely  cope  your  courteous  pains  withal. 

Ant,  And  stand  indebted,  over  and  above. 
In  love  and  service  to  you  evennore. 

Por,  He  is  well  paid  that  is  well  satisfied  ; 
And  I,  delivering  you,  am  satisfied 
And  therein  do  account  myself  well  paid : 
My  mind  was  never  vet  more  mercenary, 
I  pray  you,  know  me  when  we  meet  again; 
I  wusli  you  well,  and  so  I  tako  my  leave.  420 

Doss.  Dear  sir,  of  force  I  must  attempt  you  further : 
Take  some  remembrance  of  us,  as  a  tribute. 
Not  as  a  fee  :  grant  me  two  things,  I  pray  you. 
Not  to  deny  me,  and  to  pardon  me. 

Por.  You  press  me  far,  and  therefore  I  will  yield. 


BCEfEH.]        MERCHANT  OP  VENICE.  «17 


y 


\To  Ant.]  Give  me  your  gloves,  111  wear  them  for  your 

salce; 
To  Bass.]  And,  for  your  love,  I'll  take  tliia  ring  from  you  •. 

o  not  draw  back  your  hand  ;  I'll  take  no  more  ; 
And  you  in  love  shall  not  deny  me  this. 

Bass.  This  ring,  good  sir,  alas,  it  is  a  trifle !  480 

I  will  not  shame  myself  to  give  you  this. 

Por,  I  will  have  nothing  else  but  only  this  ; 
And  now  raethiuks  I  have  a  mind  to  it. 

Bass.  There's  more  depends  on  this  than  on  the  value. 
Tlie  dearest  ring  in  Venice  will  I  give  you. 
And  find  it  out  by  proclamation  : 
Onlv  for  this,  I  pray  you,  pardon  me. 

Por.  I  see,  sir,  you  are  liberal  in  offers  : 
You  taught  me  first  to  beg ;  and  now  methinks 
You  teach  me  how  a  beggar  should  be  answer'd.  440 

Bass.  Good  sir,  this  ring  was  given  mo  by  my  wife  ; 
And  when  she  put  it  on,  she  made  roe  vow 
That  I  should  neither  sell  nor  give  nor  lose  it. 

Por.  That  'scuse  serves  many  men  to  save  their  gifts. 
An  if  your  wife  be  not  a  mad- woman. 
And  know  how  well  I  have  deserved  the  ring, 
She  would  not  hold  out  enemv  for  ever, 
For  giving  it  to  me.     Well,  peace  be  with  you  ! 

[Exeunt  Portia  and  Nerissa, 

Ant.  My  Lord  Basaanio,  let  him  have  the  ring : 
Let  his  deservings  and  my  love  withal  460 

Be  valued  'gainst  your  wife's  commandment. 

Bcus.  Go,  Gratiano,  run  and  overtake  him  ; 
Give  him  the  ring,  and  bring  him,  if  thou  canst. 
Unto  Antonio's  house :  away  t  make  haste.  [Exit  Qratiano. 
Come,  you  and  I  will  thither  presently  ; 
And  in  the  morning  early  will  we  lK>tJi 
Fly  toward  Belmont :  come,  Antonio.  [Exeunt, 

Scene  IL     The  same,    A  street. 

Enter  Portia  and  Neribsa. 

Por.  Inquire  the  Jew's  house  out,  give  him  this  deed 
Ani  let  him  sign  it :  we'll  away  to-night 
And  be  a  day  before  our  husbands  home  : 
Tills  deed  will  be  well  welcome  to  Lorenaso. 

ETiter  Gratiano. 

Ora.  Fair  sir,  you  are  well  o'erta'en : 
My  Lord  Bassanio  upon  more  advice 
Hath  sent  you  here  this  ring,  and  doth  entreat 


618  MERCHANT  OP  VENICE.  [actt. 

Your  company  at  dinner. 

Por.  TliRt  cannot  be  : 

His  ring  I  do  accept  moat  thankfully  : 
And  so,  I  pray  yon,  tell  liim  :  farthermore,  10 

I  prav  you,  show  my  youth  old  Bhylock's  house. 

Gra,  That  I  will  do. 

Ner,  Sir,  I  would  speak  with  you. 

{Aside  to  Por.l  Til  see  if  I  can  get  my  husband's  ring, 
NVhich  I  did  make  him  swear  to  keep  for  ever. 

Pot.  [AHde  to  Ner  J]  Thou  mayst,  I  warrant.    We  shall 
have  old  swearing 
That  they  did  give  the  rings  away  to  men  ; 
But  we'll  outface  them,  and  ontswear  them  too. 
[Aloud\  Away  !   make  haste :   thou  know'st  where  I  will 
tarry. 

Ner,  Come,  good  sir,  will  yon  show  me  to  this  house? 

[Eaamnt. 

ACT  V. 

Scene  I.    Belmont.    Avenue  to  Portia's  house. 

Enter  Lorenzo  and  Jessica. 

Lor,  The  moon  shines  bright :  in  such  a  night  as  this, 
When  the  sweet  wind  did  gently  kiss  the  trees 
And  they  did  make  no  noise,  in  sneh  a  night 
Troilus  methinks  mounted  the  Troyan  wiJIs 
And  sigh'd  his  soul  toward  the  Grecian  tents, 
Where  Cressid  lay  that  night. 

Jes.  In  snch  a  night 

Did  Thisbe  fearfully  o'eitrip  the  dew 
And  saw  the  lion's  shadow  ere  himself 
And  ran  dismay'd  away. 

Lor,  In  snch  a  night 

Stood  Dido  with  a  willow  in  her  hand  10 

Upon  the  wild  sea  banks  and  waft  her  love 
To  come  again  to  Carthage. 

Jes.  In  such  a  night 

Medea  gather'd  the  enclianted  herbs 
That  did  renew  old  JEaon. 

Lor,  In  such  a  night 

Did  Jessica  steal  from  the  wealthy  Jew 
And  with  an  unthrift  love  did  run  from  Venioa 
As  far  as  Belmont. 

Jes,  In  snch  a  night 

Did  young  Lorenzo  swear  he  loved  her  well, 
Stealing  her  soul  with  many  vows  of  faith 


BCEHBL]  MERCHANT  OF  VENICR  519 

And  ne'er  a  tme  one. 

Lor,  In  snch  a  night  dO 

Did  pretty  Jessica,  like  a  little  shrew, 
Slander  her  love,  and  lie  foi^'^  it  her. 

Je9,  I  would  out-night  you,  did  no  body  oome  ; 
But,  hark,  I  hear  tUe  footing  of  a  man. 

Enter  Stephano. 

Lot,  Wlio  comes  so  fust  in  silence  of  the  night  ? 

Bteph,  A  friend. 

Lot,  a  friend  1    what  friend  ?   yonr  name,  I  pray  yon, 
friend  ? 

8Uph.  Stephano  is  my  name  ;  and  I  bring  word 
My  mistress  will  before  the  break  of  day 
Be  here  at  Belmont :  she  doth  stray  about  80 

By  holy  crosses,  where  she  kneels  and  prays 
For  happy  wedlock  hoars. 

Lor,  Who  comes  with  her  ? 

8teph,  None  but  a  holy  hermit  and  her  maid. 
I  pray  you,  is  my  master  yet  retam'd  ? 

Lor.  He  is  not,  nor  we  have  not  heard  from  him. 
But  go  we  in,  I  pray  thee,  Jessica, 
And  ceremoniously  let  us  prepare 
Some  welcome  for  the  mistress  of  the  house. 

Enter  Launcklot. 

Laun,  Sola,  sola  !  wo  ha,  ho  !  sola,  sola  1 

Lor,  Who  calls?  40 

La%in.  Sola  I  did  you  see  Master  Lorenso?  Master  Loren- 
zo, sola,  sola  ! 

Lor,     I^eave  hollaing,  man  :  here. 

Laun,  Sola  I  where  ?  where  ? 

Lor.  Here. 

Laun.  Tell  him  there's  a  x^ostoome  from  my  master,  with 
his  horn  full  of  good  news  t  my  master  will  be  here  ere 
morning.  [EasU, 

Lor.  Sweet  soul,  let's  in,  and  there  expect  thdr  coming. 
And  yet  no  matter :  why  shonld  we  go  in  ?  50 

Mv  friend  Stephano,  signify,  I  pray  you, 
Witbin  the  house,  your  mistress  is  at  hand  ; 
And  bring  your  music  forth  into  the  air.       [ExU  Stephana, 
How  sweet  the  moonlight  sleeps  upon  this  bank  I 
Here  will  we  sit  and  let  the  sounds  of  music 
Creep  in  our  ears  :  soft  stillness jind  the  nig^t 
Become  the  touches  of  sweet  harmony. 
Sit,  Jessica.     Look  how  the  floor  of  heaven 
Is  thick  inlaid  with  patines  of  bright  gold  : 


520  3IERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  [act  v. 

There's  not  the  smallest  orb  which  thou  behold'st  80 

But  in  his  motion  like  an  angel  sings, 

Still  quiring  to  the  young-eyed  cherublns ; 

Sucli  harmony  is  in  immortal  souls  ; 

But  whilst  this  muddy  vesture  of  decay 

Doth  grossly  close  it  In,  we  cannot  hear  it. 

Enter  Musicians. 

Come,  ho  I  and  wake  Diana  with  a  h3rmn  : 

With  sweetest  touches  pierce  your  mistress'  ear 

And  draw  her  home  with  music.  [Music. 

Jes.  I  am  never  merry  when  I  hear  sweet  music 

Lor.  The  reason  is,  your  spirits  are  attentive  :  70 

For  do  but  note  a  wild  and  wanton  herd. 
Or  race  of  youthful  and  unhandled  colts. 

Fetching  mad  lx>nnds,  bellowing  and  neighing  loud,  I 

Which  is  the  hot  condition  of  their  blood  ; 
If  they  but  hear  percliance  a  trumpet  sound. 

Or  any  air  of  music  touch  their  ears,  i 

You  shall  perceive  them  make  a  mutual  stand, 
Their  savage  eyes  tum'd  to  a  modest  gaze 
By  the  sweet  power  of  music  :  therefore  ^he  poet 
Did  feign  that  Orpheus  drew  trees,  stoues  and  floods  ;       80 
Since  nouglit  so  stockish,  hard  and  full  of  rage, 
But  music  for  the  time  doth  change  his  nature. 
The  man  that  hath  no  music  in  himself, 
Nor  is  not  moved  with  concord  of  sweet  sounds. 
Is  fit  for  treasons,  stratagems  and  spoils  ; 
The  motions  of  liia  spirit  are  dull  as  night 
And  his  affections  dark  as  Erebus  : 
Let  no  such  man  be  trusted.    Mark  the  music. 

Enter  Portia  and  Nerissa. 

P&r.  That  light  we  see  is  burning  in  my  hall. 
How  far  that  little  candle  throws  liis  beams  1  90 

So  shines  a  good  deed  in  a  naughty  world. 

Ner.  When  the  moon  shone,  we  did  not  see  the  candle. 

Por.  So  doth  the  greater  glory  dim  the  less  : 
A  substitute  shines  brightly  as  a  king 
Until  a  king  be  by,  and  then  his  state 
Empties  Itself,  as  doth  an  inland  brook 
Into  the  main  of  waters.     Music  !  hark  I 

Ker.  It  is  your  music,  madam,  of  the  house. 

Por.  Nothing  is  good,  I  see,  without  respect : 
Methinks  it  sounds  much  sweeter  than  by  day. 

Ner.  Silence  bestows  that  virtue  on  it,  madam. 

Por.  The  crow  doth  sing  as  sweetly  as  the  lark 


SCENE  I.]  MERCHANT  OP  VENICE;  521 

When  neither  is  attended,  and  I  think 

The  nightingale,  if  she  should  sing  by  day, 

Wlien  every  goose  is  cackling,  would  be  thought 

No  better  a  musician  than  the  wren. 

How  many  things  by  season  seasonal  are 

To  their  right  praise  and  true  perfection  ! 

Peace,  ho  1  the  moon  sleeps  with  Endymion 

And  would  not  be  awaked.  [Miuie  ceases. 

Lor.  That  is  the  voice,  110 

Or  I  am  much  deceived,  of  Portia. 

Por.  He  knows  me  as  the  blind  man  knows  the  cuckoo. 
By  the  bad  voice. 

Lor,  Dear  lady,  welcome  home. 

Por.  We  liave  been  praying  for  our  husbands'  healths. 
Which  speed,  we  hope,  the  better  for  our  words. 
Are  they  retum'd  ? 

Lor.  Madam,  they  are  not  yet ; 

But  there  is  come  a  messenger  before, 
To  signify  their  coming. 

Por.  Go  in,  Neiissa ; 

Qlve  order  to  my  servants  that  thev  take 
No  note  at  all  of  our  being  absent  hence  J  l!^ 

Nor  you,  Lorenzo  ;  Jessica,  nor  you.  [A  tucket  sounds. 

Lor,  Your  husband  is  at  hand  ;  I  hear  his  trumpet : 
We  are  no  tell-tales,  madam  ;  fear  you  not. 

Por.  This  night  irf^hinks  is  but  the  daylight  sick  ; 
It  looks  a  little  paler :  'tis  a  day. 
Such  as  the  day  is  when  the  sun  is  hid. 

Enter  Bassanio,  Antonio,  Gratiano,  and  Hidr  followers. 

Bass.  We  should  hold  day  with  the  Antipodes, 
If  Tou  would  walk  in  absence  of  the  sun. 

Por.  Let  me  give  light,  but  let  me  not  be  light ; 
For  a  light  wife  doth  make  a  heavy  husband,  180 

And  never  be  Bassanio  so  for  me  : 
But  God  .sort  all  I    You  are  welcome  home,  my  lord. 

Bass.  I  thank  you,  madam.     Give  welcome  to  my  friend. 
This  is  the  man,  this  is  Antonio, 
To  whom  1  am  so  infinitely  bound. 

Por.  You  should  in  all  sense  be  much  bound  to  him. 
For,  as  I  hear,  he  was  much  bound  for  you. 

Ant.  No  more  than  I  am  well  acquitted  of. 

Par.  Sir,  you  are  very  welcome  to  our  house  : 
It  must  appear  in  other  ways  than  words,  140 

Therefore  I  scant  this  breathing  courtesy. 

Ora.  [To  Ner.]  By  yonder  moon  I  swear  you  do  me 
wrong; 


522  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  [act  V. 

In  faitli,  I  gave  it  to  the  jadee'a  clerk : 
Would  he  were  gelt  that  had  it,  for  my  part, 
Since  you  do  take  it,  love,  8o  much  at  neart. 

Por.  A  quarrel,  ho,  already  I  what's  the  matter? 

Ora.  About  a  hoop  of  gold,  a  paltry  ring 
That  she  did  give  me,  whose  posy  was 
For  all  the  world  like  cutler's  poetry 
Upon  a  knife,  "  Love  me,  and  leave  me  not"  150 

Ner.  What  talk  you  of  the  posy  or  the  value? 
You  swore  to  me,  when  I  did  give  it  you. 
That  you  would  wear  it  till  your  hour  of  death 
And  that  it  should  lie  with  you  in  your  grave : 
Though  not  for  me,  yet  for  your  veliement  oaths. 
You  should  have  been  respective  and  have  kept  it. 
Gave  it  a  judge's  clerk  !  no,  God's  my  judge. 
The  clerk  will  ne'er  wear  hair  on  's  face  that  had  it. 

Gra.  He  will,  and  if  he  live  to  be  a  man. 

Ner,  Aye,  if  a  woman  live  to  be  a  man.  160 

Ora,  Now,  by  this  hand,  I  gave  it  to  a  youth, 
A  kind  of  boy,  a  little  scrubbed  boy, 
No  higher  than  thyself,  the  judge's  clerki 
A  prating  boy,  that  begg'd  it  as  a  fee  : 
I  could  not  for  my  heart  deny  it  him. 

Por,  You  were  to  blame,  I  mnst  be  plain  with  you. 
To  part  so  slightly  with  your  wife's  first  gift ; 
A  thing  stuck  on  with  oaths  upon  your  finger 
And  80  riveted  with  faith  unto  your  flesh. 
I  gave  my  love  a  ring  and  made  liim  swear  170 

Never  to  part  with  it ;  and  liere  he  stands  ; 
I  dare  be  sworn  for  him  he  would  not  leave  it 
Nor  pluck  it  from  his  finger,  for  the  wealth 
That  the  world  masters.     Now,  in  faith,  Gratiaao, 
You  give  your  wife  too  unkind  a  cause  of  grief  : 
An  'twere  to  me,  I  should  be  mad  at  it. 

Bom,  [Asidel  Why,  I  were  best  to  cut  my  left  hand  off 
And  swear  I  lost  the  ring  defending  it. 

Gra.  Mv  Lord  Bassiano  gave  his  ring  away 
Unto  the  judge  that  begg'd  it  and  indeed  180 

Deserved  it  too  ;  and  then  the  boy,  his  clerk, 
That  took  some  pains  in  writing,  he  begg'd  mine , 
And  neither  man  nor  master  would  take  aught 
But  the  two  rings. 

Por,  Wliat  ring  gave  you,  my  lord  ? 

Not  that,  I  hope,  which  you  received  of  me. 

Bctia,  If  I  could  add  a  lie  unto  a  fault, 
I  would  deny  it ;  but  you  see  my  finger 
Hath  not  the  ring  upon  it ;  it  is  gone. 


BCSNKi..  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  838 

"Pot,  Even  so  void  is  your  falue  lieart  of  trath. 
By  heaven,  I  will  ne'er  come  in  youi  bed  190 

UntU  I  see  the  ring. 

Her,  Nor  I  in  yours 

Till  I  again  see  mine. 

Bom,  Sweet  Portiay 

If  you  did  know  to  whom  I  gave  the  ring, 
If  yon  did  know  for  whom  I  gave  the  ring 
And  woald  conceive  for  what  I  gave  the  ring 
And  how  unwiUinglv  I  left  the  ring, 
When  nought  would  be  accepted  but  the  ring. 
You  would  abate  the  strength  of  your  displeasure. 

Pot,  If  you  had  known  the  virtue  of  the  ring. 
Or  half  her  worthiness  that  gave  the  ring,  200 

Or  your  own  honour  to  contain  tlie  ring, 
You  would  not  then  have  parted  with  tlie  ring. 
What  man  is  there  so  mucli  unreasonable, 
If  you  liad  pleased  to  have  defended  it 
With  any  tenns  of  zeal,  wanted  the  modesty 
To  urge  the  thing  held  as  a  ceremony  ? 
Neris^  teaches  me  what  to  believe  r 
I'll  die  for't  but  some  woman  had  the  ring. 

Bom,  No,  by  my  honour,  madam,  by  my  sonl, 
No  woman  had  it,  but  a  civil  doctor,  210 

Which  did  refuse  three  thousand  ducats  of  me 
And  begg'd  the  ring ;  the  which  I  did  deny  him 
And  suSer'd  him  to  eo  displeased  away ; 
Even  he  that  did  uphold  tue  very  life 
Of  my  dear  friend.     What  should  I  say,  sweet  lady? 
I  was  enforced  to  send  it  after  him ; 
I  was  beset  with  shame  and  courtesy  ; 
My  honour  would  not  let  ingratitude 
6o  much  besmear  it.     Pardon  me,  good  lady  ; 
For,  by  these  blessed  candles  of  the  night,  220 

Had  you  been  th^re,  I  think  you  would  have  begg'd 
The  rinff  of  me  to  give  the  worthy  doctor. 

Pot,  Let  not  that  doctor  e'er  come  near  my  house : 
Since  he  hath  got  the  Jewel  that  I  loved. 
And  that  whicli  you  did  swear  to  keep  for  me, 
I  will  become  as  liberal  as  you  ; 
I'll  not  deny  him  any  thing  I  have. 
No,  not  my  body  nor  my  husband's  bed  : 
Know  liim  I  shall,  I  am  well  sure  of  it : 
Lie  not  a  night  from  home  ;  watch  me  like  Argus  .  230 

If  you  do  not,  if  I  be  left  alone, 
Now,  by  mine  honour,  which  is  yet  mine  own, 
I'll  have  that  doctor  for  my  bedfellow. 


624  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  [act  V. 

Ner,  And  I  Iiis  clerk  ;  therefore  be  well  advised 
How  70U  do  leave  me  to  mine  own  protection. 

Chra,  Well,  do  you  so  :  let  not  me  take  liim,  tlien  ; 
For  if  I  do,  Til  mar  tlie  young  clerk's  pen. 

Ant,  \  am  the  unliappy  subject  of  these  quarrels. 

Por,  Sir,  grieve  not  you  ;  you  are  welcome  notwithstand- 
ing. 

Bom,  Portia,  forgive  me  this  enforcpd  wrong ;  240 

And,  in  the  hearing  of  these  many  friends, 
I  swear  to  thee,  even  by  tliine  own  fair  eyes. 
Wherein  I  see  myself — 

Por,  Mark  you  but  that ! 

In  both  my  eyes  he  doubly  sees  himself  ; 
In  each  eye,  one  :  swear  by  your  double  self, 
And  there's  an  oath  of  credit. 

Boss,  Nay,  but  hear  me : 

Pardon  this  fault,  and  by  my  soul  I  swear 
I  never  more  will  break  an  oath  with  thee. 

Ant.  1  once  did  lend  my  body  for  his  wealth  ; 
Which,  but  for  him  that  had  your  husband's  ring. 
Had  quite  miscarried  :  I  dare  be  bound  again, 
My  soul  upon  the  forfeit,  that  your  lord 
Will  never  more  break  faith  advisedly. 

Por.  Then  you  shall  be  his  surety.     Give  him  this 
And  bid  him  keep  it*better  than  the  other. 

Atit.  Here,  Lord  Bassanio  ;  swear  to  keep  this  ring. 

Ba9S.  By  heaven,  it  Is  the  same  I  gave  the  doctor  1 

Pot.  I  had  it  of  him  :  pardon  me,  Bassanio ; 
For,  by  this  ring,  the  doctor  lay  with  me. 

Ner.  And  pardon  me,  my  gentle  Gratiano  ;  260 

For  that  same  scrubbed  boy,  the  doctor's  clerk, 
In  lieu  of  this  last  night  did  lie  with  me. 

Chra,  Why,  this  is  like  the  mending  of  highways 
In  summer,  where  the  ways  are  fair  enough  : 
What,  are  we  cuckolds  ere  we  have  deserved  It  ? 

Por.  Speak  not  so  grossly.     You  are  all  amazed  : 
Here  is  a  letter  ;  read  it  at  your  leisure ; 
It  comes  from  Padua,  from  Bellario  : 
Tliere  you  shall  find  that  Portia  was  the  doctor, 
Nerissa  there  her  clerk  :  Ix>renzo  here  270 

Shall  witness  I  set  forth  as  soon  as  you 
And  even  but  now  return'd  ;  I  have  not  yet 
Enter'd  my  house.     Antonio,  you  are  welcome ; 
And  I  have  better  news  in  store  for  you 
Than  you  expect :  unseal  this  letter  soon  : 
There  you  shall  find  three  of  your  argosies 
Are  richly  come  to  harbour  suddenly  : 


8CENBI.]  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  535 

You  shall  not  know  by  what  strange  accident 
I  chanced  on  this  letter. 

Ant,  I  am  dumb. 

B(U9.  Were  you  the  doctor  and  I  knew  you  not  ?         280 

OrcL  Were  you  the  clerk  that  is  to  make  me  cuckold  ? 

Ner.  Ay,  but  the  clerk  that  never  means  to  do  it. 
Unless  he  live  until  he  be  a  man. 

Bass.  Sweet  doctor,  you  shall  be  my  bedfellow : 
When  I  am  alisent,  then  lie  with  my  wife. 

Ani.  Sweet  lady,  you  have  given  me  life  and  living ; 
For  here  I  read  for  certain  that  my  ships 
Are  safely  come  to  road. 

Par.  How  now,  Lorenxo  I 

My  clerk  hath  some  good  comforts  too  for  you. 

Her,  Ay,  and  I'll  give  them  lum  without  a  fee.  290 

There  do  I  give  to  you  and  Jessica, 
From  the  rich  Jew,  a  special  deed  of  gift, 
After  his  death,  of  all  he  dies  possees'd  of. 

Lor.  Fair  ladies,  you  drop  manna  in  the  way 
Of  starved  people. 

Par.  It  is  almost  morning. 

And  yet  I  am  sure  you  are  not  satisfied 
Of  these  events  at  full.     Let  us  go  in ; 
And  charge  us  there  upon  In te rogatories. 
And  we  will  answer  all  things  faithfully. 

Gra.  Let  it  be  so  :  the  first  inter'gatory  800 

Tliat  my  Nerissa  sliall  be  sworn  on  is, 
Whether  till  the  next  night  she  had  rather  stay. 
Or  go  to  bed  now,  being  two  hours  to-day  : 
But  were  the  day  come,  I  should  wish  it  dark. 
That  I  were  couching  with  the  doctor's  clerk. 
Well,  while  I  live  I'll  fear  no  other  thing 
So  sore  as  keeping  safe  Nerissa's  ring.  [Exeunt 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 

DtTKB ,  Hying  la  banishment.  Sm  Oliyeb  Habtszt,  a  ricar. 

Fbedbbics,     hla    brother,     and  Comw,    tah«nherda 

nsnrper  of  his  dominions.  SiLvms,  f  «»"«P"»"*'»» 

AmKNB,  ( lords  attending  on  the  Wixj^lax,  a  countiy  fellow  In  love 

Jaques,  f    banished  dake.  with  Audrey, 

Lb  Bait,  a  courtier  attending  upon  A  person  representing  Hjmen. 

Frederick. 
CuARLBs,  wrestler  to  Frederick.     /  RoeALiKD,danghter  to  the  banished 

Ja^SS^  !''*'?«  ^^«*'  ^'^^"^^  CEui^daugbter  to  Frederick. 

OrlakdoJ     o«^»oj''  Phbbe,  a  sbepherdess. 

^^l9,  \  "^«^'«  *°  <^"^«-  AUDBET,  a  country  wench. 

Touchstone,  a  clown.  Lords,  pages,  and  attendants,  Ac 

Scene;  Olitefs  house ;  Duke  Frederick's  court;  ctnd  the 

Forest  of  Arden. 

ACT.  I. 

Scene  I.    OrcJiard  of  Oliver's  Iiousc. 

Enter  Orlando  and  Adam. 

Orl.  fAs  I  remember,  Adam,  it  was  upon  this  fashion  he 
l)eqiieatned  me  by  will  but  poor  a  thousand  crowns,  and,  ns 
thou  saj'est,  charged  my  brother,  on  his  blessing,  to  breed 
me  well :  and  there  bei^ins  my  Badness.  My  brother  Jaques 
he  keeps  at  school,  and  report  speaks  goldenlj'  of  his  profit : 
for  my  part,  he  keeps  mo  rustically  at  home,  or,  to  ajwak 
more  properly,  stays  me  hero  at  homo  unkupt ;  for  call  you 
that  keeping  for  a  gentleman  of  my  birth,  that  difFera  not 
from  the  stalling  of  an  ox  ?  His  horsc»s  are  bred  better  ;  for, 
besides  that  they  are  fair  with  their  feeding,  they  are 
taujcht  their  manage,  and  to  that  end  riders  dearly  hirf'd : 
but  I,  his  brother,  gain  nothing  under  him  but  growth  ;  for 
tiie  which  his  animals  on  liis  dunghills  arc  as  much  bound 
to  him  as  I.  Besides  this  nothing  that  ho  so  plentifully 
gives  me,  the  something  that  nature  gave  me  his  counte- 

(526) 


SCENE  I.]  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  527 

nance  seems  to  ifiiko  from  me :  lie  lets  mo  feed  with  his 
hinds,  bars  me  the  place  of  ahiother,  and,  as  much  as  in 
him  lies,  mines  my  gentility  with  my  edncation.  This  is  it, 
Adam,  that  grieves  me  ;  and  the  spirit  of  my  father,  which 
I  think  is  within  me,  begins  to  mutiny  against  this  servf- 
tude :  I  will  no  longer  endure  it,  though  yet  I  know  no  wise 
remedy  how  to  avoid  it. 

Adam,  Yonder  comes  my  master,  your  brother. 

OrL  Go  apart,  Adam,  and  thou  shalt  hear  how  he  will 
shake  me  up.  80 

/  Enter  Olivkh. 

Oli,  Now,  sir  1  what  make  you  here  ? 

OrL  Nothing :  I  am  not  taught  to  make  any  thing. 

Oli.  Wliat  mar  you  then,  sir? 

Orl,  Marry,  sir,  I  am  helping  you  to  mar  that  which  Qod 
made,  a  poor  unworthy  brother  of  yours,  with  idleness. 

Oli,  Marry,  sir,  be  better  employed,  and  be  naught  awhile. 

OrL  Shall  I  keep  your  hogs  and  eat  husks  with  them  ? 
What  prodigal  portion  have  I  spent,  that  I  should  come  to 
such  penury  ? 

Oli.  Know  you  where  you  are,  sir? 

OrL  O,  sir,  very  well ;  here  in  your  orchard. 

OIL  Know  you  before  whom,  sir? 

OrL  Ay,  better  tlian  him  I  am  before  knows  me.  I  know 
you  are  my  eldest  brother ;  and,  in  the  gentle  condition  of 
blood,  you  should  so  know  me.  The  courtesy  of  nations 
allows  you  my  better,  in  that  you  are  the  first<bom  ;  but 
the  same  tradition  takes  not  away  my  blood,  were  there 
twenty  brothers  betwixt  us  :  I  have  as  much  of  my  father 
in  me  as  you  ;  albeit,  I  confess,  your  coming  before  me  is 
nearer  to  his  reverence. 

OIL  What,  boy ! 

Orl.  Come,  come,  elder  brother,  you  are  too  young  in 
this. 

OIL  Wilt  thou  lay  hands  on  me,  villain  ? 

OrL  I  am  no  villain  ;  I  am  the  voungest  son  of  Sir  Row- 
land de  Boys ;  he  was  my  father,  and  he  is  thrice  a 
villain  that  says  such  a  father  begot  villains.  Wert  thou 
not  ray  brother,  I  would  not  take  this  hand  from  thy  throat 
till  this  other  had  pulled  out  thy  tongue  for  saying  so :  thou 
hast  railed  on  thyself. 

Adam.  Sweet  masters,  be  patient :  for  your  father's  re- 
membrance, be  at  accord. 

OIL  Let  me  go,  I  say. 

OrL  I  will  not,  till  I  please :  you  shall  hear  me.  My 
father  charged  you  in  his  will  to  give  me  good  education : 


528  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  [acti. 

you  have  trained  me  like  a  peasant,  obscnring  and  hiding 
from  me  all  gentleman-like  qualities.  The  spirit  of  my 
father  grows  strong  in  me,  and  I  will  no  longer  endure  it : 
therefore  allow  me  such  exercises  as  may  become  a  gentle- 
ifian,  or  give  me  the  poor  allottery  my  father  left  me  by 
testament ;  with  that  I  will  go  buy  my  fortunes. 

OH.  And  what  wilt  thou  do?  beg,  when  that  is  spent? 
Weil,  sir,  get  you  in  :  I  will  not  long  be  troubled  with  you  ; 
you  shall  have  some  part  of  your  will :  I  pray  you,  leave  me. 

OrL  1  will  no  further  offend  you  than  becomes  me  for  my 
good. 

OIL  Get  you  with  him,  you  old  dog. 

Adam,  Is  "  old  dog"  my  reward?  Most  true,  I  have  lost 
my  teeth  in  your  service.  God  be  with  my  old  master  I  he 
would  not  have  spoke  such  a  word. 

[Exeunt  Orlando  and  Adam. 

on.  Is  it  even  so?  begin  you  to  grow  upon  mo?  I  will 
physic  your  rankness,  and  yet  give  no  thousand  crowns 
neither.     Holla,  Dennis ! 

Enter  Dennis. 

Den.  Calls  your  worship  ? 

Oli.  Was  not  Charles,  the  duke's  wrestler,  here  to  speak 
with  me  ? 

Den.  So  please  you,  he  is  here  at  the  door  and  importunes 
access  to  you. 

Oli,  Call  him  in.  [Exit  Dennis,]  'Twill  be  a  good  way  ; 
and  to-morrow  the  wrestling  is.- 

Enter  Charles. 

Clia.  Good  morrow  to  your  worship.  100 

Oli.  Good  Monsieur  Charles,  what's  the  new  news  at  the 
new  court  ? 

C/ta,  There's  no  news  at  the  court,  sir,  but  the  old  news  : 
that  is,  the  old  duke  is  banishttd  by  his  younger  brother  the 
new  duke  ;  and  three  or  four  loving  lords  have  put  them- 
selves into  voluntary  exile  with  him,  whose  lands  and 
levenues  enrich  the  new  duke  ;  therefore  he  gives  them  good 
leave  to  wander. 

Oli.  Can  you  tell  if  Rosalind,  the  duke's  daughter,  be 
banished  with  her  father?  '  111 

Oia.  O,  no  ;  for  the  duke's  daughter,  her  cousin,  so  loves 
her,  being  ever  from  their  cradles  bred  together,  that  she 
would  have  followed  her  exile,  or  have  died  to  stay  behind 
her.  She  is  at  the  court,  and  no  less  beloved  of  her  uncle 
than  his  own  daughter  ;  and  never  two  ladies  loved  as  they 
do. 


SCENE  I.]  AS  YOr  LIKE  IT.  629 

OH.  Wliere  will  the  oM  duko  live? 

C/ia.  They  say  he  is  already  in  the  forest  of  Arden,  and 
a  many  merry  men  with  him  ;  and  there  they  live  like  the 
old  Robin  Hood  of  England  :  they  say  many  young  gentlemen 
flock  to  him  every  day,  and  fleet  the  time  careiessTy,  as  they 
did  in  the  golden  world. 

OIL  What,  you  wrestle  to-morrow  before  the  new  duke  ? 

C/ut.  Marry,  do  I,  sir ;  and  I  came  to  acquaint  you  with 
a  matter.  I  am  given,  sir,  secretly  to  understand  that  your 
younger  brother  Orlando  hath  a  dis]K>sition  to  come  in  dis- 
guised against  me  to  try  a  fall.  To-morrow,  sir,  I  wrestle 
for  my  credit ;  and  he  that  escapes  me  without  some  brol^en 
limb  shall  acquit  him  well.  Your  brother  is  but  young  and 
tender  ;  and,  for  your  love,  I  would  be  lontli  to  foil  him,  as 
I  must,  for  my  own  hotiour,  if  he  came  in  :  therefore,  out 
of  my  love  to  you,  I  came  liither  to  acquaint  you  withal,  that 
either  you  might  stay  him  from  his  intendment  or  brook 
such  disgrace  well  as  he  shall  run  into,  in  that  it  is  a  thing 
of  his  own  search  and  altogether  against  my  will. 

OH.  Cliarles,  I  thank  thee  for  thy  love  to  me,  which  thou 
shalt  find  I  will  most  kindly  requite.  I  had  myself  notice 
of  my  brother's  purpose  lierein  and  have  by  underhand 
means  laboured  to  dissumlo  him  from  it,  but  he  is  resolute. 
I'll  tell  thee,  Charles  :  it  is  the  stubbornest  young  fellow  of 
France,  full  of  ambition,  an  envious  emulator  of  eveiy 
man's  good  part*),  a  secret  and  villanous  contriver  against 
me  his  natural  brother :  therefore  use  thy  discretion  ;  I  had 
as  lief  thou  didst  break  his  neck  as  his  flnger.  And  thou 
wert  best  look  to*t ;  for  if  thou  dost  him  any  slight  disgrace 
or  if  he  do  not  mightily  grace  himself  on  thee,  he  will  prac- 
tise against  thee  by  poison,  entrap  thee  by  some  treacherou.s 
device  and  never  leave  thee  till  he  hath  ta'en  thy  life  by 
some  indirect  means  or  other  ;  for,  I  assure  thee,  and  almost 
with  tears  I  speak  it,  there  is  not  one  so  young  and  so  vil- 
lanous this  day  living.  I  speak  but  brotherly  of  him  ;  but 
should  I  anatomize  him  to  thee  fts  he  is,  I  must  blush  and 
weep  and  thou  must  look  pale  and  wonder. 

CJia,  I  am  heartily  glad  I  came  hither  to  you.  If  hecomo 
to-morrow,  I'll  give  him  his  payment :  if  ever  he  go  alone 
again,  I'll  never  wrestle  for  prize  more  :  and  so  God  keep 
your  worship  ! 

OH.  Farewell,  good  Charles.  [Erit  Charles.]  Xow  will 
I  stir  this  gamester':  I  hope  I  shall  see  an  end  of  him; 
for  my  soul,  yet  I  know  not  why,  hates  nothing  more  than 
he.  Yet  he's  gentle,  never  schooled  and  vet  Teamed,  full 
of  -noble  device,  of  all  sorts  enchantingly  beloved,  and  in- 
deed so  much  in  the  heart  of   the  world,  and  especially 


530  AS  YOU   LIKE  IT.  Iact  r. 

of  my  own  people,  who  best  know  liim,  that  I  am  altogether 
misprised:  but  it  shall  not  be  so  long  ;  this  wrestler  shall  clear 
all :  nothing  remains  but  that  I  kindle  the  boy  thither  ; 
which  now  I'll  go  about.  [JSxU.    180 

Scene  II.    Laton  htfore  the  Duke^s  palace. 

Enter  Celia  and  Rosalind. 

Cd.  I  pray  thee,  Rosalind,  sweet  my  coz,  be  merry. 

Jioa.  "DeAT  C«lia,  I  show  more  mirth  than  I  am  mistress 
of ;  and  would  you  yet  I  were  merrier?  Unless  you  could 
teach  me  to  forget  a  banished  father,  you  must  not  leai  n  me 
how  to  remember  any  extraordinaiy  pleasure. 

Cel.  Herein  I  see  thou  loyest  me  not  with  the  full  weight  that 
I  love  thee.  If  my  uncle,  thy  banished  father,  had  banished 
thy  uncle,  the  duke  my  father,  so  thou  hadst  been  tstill  with 
me,  I  could  have  taught  my  love  to  take  thy  father  for 
mine  :  so  wouldst  thou,  if  the  truth  of  thy  love  to  me  were 
so  righteously  tempered  as  mine  is  to  thee. 

Bos.  Well,  I  will  forget  the  condition  of  my  estate,  to  re- 
joice in  TOurs. 

Cel.  You  know  my  father  hath  no  child  but  I,  nor  none  is 
like  to  have :  and,  truly,  when  he  dies,  thou  shalt  be  hia 
heir,  for  what  he  hatli  taken  away  from  thy  father  perforce, 
I  will  render  thee  again  in  afEection ;  by  mine  honour,  I 
will ;  and  when  I  break  that  oath,  let  me  tura  monster  : 
therefore,  my  sweet  Rose,  my  dear  Rose,  be  merry. 

Eos,  From  hence foith  I  will,  cogs,  aud  devise  sports.  Let 
me  see  ;  what  think  you  of  falling  in  love  ? 

Cel.  Marry,  I  prithee,  do,  to  make  sport  withal :  but  love 
no  man  in  good  earnest ;  nor  no  further  in  sport  neither 
tlian  with  safety  of  a  pure  blush  thou  mayst  in  honour 
come  off  again. 

Bos.  What  shall  be  our  sporty  then  ?  • 

Cel,  Let  us  sit  and  mock  the  good  housewife  Fortune 
from  her  wheel,  that  her  gifts  may  henceforth  be  bestowed 
equally. 

Bos.  I  would  we  could  do  so,  for  her  benefits  are  mightily 
misplaced,  and  the  bountiful  blind  woman  doth  most  mis- 
take in  lier  gifts  to  women. 

Cel.  Tis  true  ;  for  those  that  she  makes  fair  she  scarce 
makes  lionest,  and  those  that  she  makes  honest  she  makes 
very  ill-favou redly. 

Bos,  Nay-,  now  thou  goest  from  Fortune's  office  to  Na- 
ture's :  Fortune  reigns  in  gifts  of  the  world,  not  in  the 
lineaments  uf  Nature. 


SCKlrtiL]  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  531 

JSnter  Touchstone. 

Gel.  No?  when  Nature  hatU  made  a  fair  creatnre,  may 
she  not  by  fortune  fall  into  tlie  fire?  Though  Nature  hath 
^iven  ns  wit  to  flout  at  Fortune,  hath  not  Fortune  sent  in 
this  fool  to  cat  of  the  argument  ?  50 

Bog.  Indeed,  there  is  Fortune  too  hard  for  Nature,  wlieu 
Fortune  makes  Nature's  natural  tlie  cutter-off  of  Nature's  wit. 

Cel.  Peradventure  this  is  not  Fortune's  work  neither,  but 
Nature's ;  who  peroeiveth  our  natural  wits  too  dull  to  reason 
of  such  goddesses  and  hath  sent  this  natural  for  our  whet- 
stone ;  for  aiwa}rs  the  dulness  of  the  fool  is  the  whetstone 
of  the  wits.     How  now,  wit  I  whither  wander  you  ?  6  J 

Touch.  Mistress,  you  must  come  away  to  your  father. 

Cel.  Were  yoa  made  the  messenger  ? 

Tottch.  No,  by  mine  honour,  but  I  waa  bid  to  come  for 
you. 

Hoi.  Where  learned  you  that  oath,  fool  ? 

Touch,  Of  a  certain  knight  that  swore  by  his  honour  they 
were  good  pancakes  and  swore  by  his  honour  the  mustiird 
was  naught :  now  I'll  stand  to  it,  the  pancakes  were  naught 
and  the  mustard  was  good,  and  yet  was  not  the  knight  f<)r- 
Bwom.  71 

Cel.  How  prove  you  that,  in  the  great  heap  of  your 
knowledge  ? 

Itoa.  Ay,  marry,  now  unmuzzle  your  wisdom. 

Touch.  Stand  you  both  forth  now  :  stroke  your  chins, 
and  swear  by  your  beards  that  I  am  a  knave. 

Cei.  By  our  beards,  if  we  had  them,  thou  art. 

Tou4:h.  By  my  knavery,  if  I  had  it,  then  I  were  ;  but  if 
you  swear  by  that  that  is  not,  you  are  not  forsworn :  no 
more  was  this  knight,  swearing  by  his  honour,  for  he  never 
had  any  ;  or  if  he  had,  he  had  sworn  it  away  before  over 
he  saw  those  pancakes  or  that  mustard. 

Cel.  Prithee,  who  is't  that  thou  meanest  ? 

Touch.  One  that  old  Frederick,  your  father,  loves. 

Cel.  My  father's  love  is  enough  to  honour  him  :  enough  I 
speak  no  more  of  him  ;  you'll  be  whipped  for  taxation  one 
of  these  days.  91 

Touch.  The  more  pity,  that  fools  may  not  speak  wisely 
what  wise  men  do  foolishly. 

Cel.  By  my  troth,  thou  sayest  true  ;  for  since  the  little 
wit  that  fools  have  was  sUenced,  the  little  foolery  that  wi^e 
men  have  makes  a  great  show.  Here  comes  Monsieur  Le 
Beau. 

Hos.  With  his  mouth  full  of  news. 

Cel.  Which  he  will  put  on  u;,  as  pigeons  feed  their 
young.  100 


532  AS  YOU   LIKE  IT.  [act  L 

JRos.  Tben  shall  wo  be  news- crammed. 

Cel.  All  the  better  ;  we  shall  be  the  mor^  marketable. 

Enter  Le  Beau. 

Bon  jour,  Monsieur  Le  Bean  :  what's  the  news  ? 

Le  Beau.  Fair  princess,  you  have  lost  much  good  sport. 

Cd,  Sport !  of  wliat  colour  ? 

Le  Beau.  Wbat  colour,  madam  I  how  shall  I  answer  you  ? 

lios.  As  wit  and  fortune  will.  110 

Touch.  Or  as  the  Destinies  decree. 

Cel,  Well  said  :  that  was  laid  on  with  a  trowel. 

ToucJi.  Nay,  if  I  keep  not  my  rank, — 

Rm.  Thou  losest  thy  old  smell. 

Le  Beau.  You  amaze  me,  ladies  :  I  would  have  told  you 
of  ffood  wrestling,  wliich  you  have  lost  tho  sight  of. 

Jioe.  Yet  tell  us  the  manner  of  the  wrf«tling. 

Le  Beau.  I  will  tell  you  the  beginning  ;  and,  if  it  please 
your  ladyships,  you  may  see  the  end  ;  for  the  best  is  yet  to 
do  ;  and  here,  where  you  are,  they  are  coming  to  perform  it. 

Cel.  Well,  the  beginning,  that  is  dead  and  buried. 

Le  Beau,  There  comes  an  old  man  and  his  three  sons, — 

Cel.  I  could  match  this  beginning  with  an  old  tale. 

Le  Beau.  Tliree  proper  young  meu,  of  excellent  growth 
and  presence.  180 

Roe,  With  bills  on  their  necks,  "Be  it  known  unto  all 
men  by  these  presents." 

Le  Beau.  The  eldest  of  the  three  wrestled  with  Charles, 
the  duke's  wrestler ;  which  Charles  in  a  moment  threw 
him  and  broke  three  of  his  ribs,  that  there  is  little  hope  of 
life  in  him :  so  he  served  the  second,  and  8o  the  third. 
Yonder  they  lie ;  the  poor  old  man,  their  father,  making 
such  pitiful  dole  over  them  that  all  the  beholders  take  his 
part  with  weeping.  1^ 

Roe.  Alas ! 

ToucJi.  But  what  is  the  sport,  monsieur,  that  the  ladies 
have  lost  ? 

Le  Beau.  Why,  this  that  I  speak  of. 

louch.  Thus  men  may  grow  wiser  every  day  :  it  is  the  , 
first  time  that  ever  I  heard  breaking  of  ribs  was  sport  for 
ladies. 

Cel.  Or  I,  I  promise  thee. 

Roe,  But  is  there  any  else  longs  to  see  this  broken  music 
in  his  sides?  is  there  yet  another  dotes  upon  rib-breaking? 
Shall  we  see  this  wrestling,  cousin? 

Le  Beau.  You  must,  if  you  stay  here  ;  for  here  is  the 
place  appointed  for  the  wrestling,  and  they  are  ready  to 
perform  it. 


SCENE  II.]  AS  YOU   LIKE  IT.  533 

Cei.  Yonder,  sure,  tliey  are  coming :  let  us  now  stay  and 
see  it. 

MourisJi.     Enter   Duke    Frederick,    Lords,   Orlanix}, 

Charles,  and  Attendants. 

Duke  F.  Come  on  :  since  the  youth  will  not  bo  entreated, 
his  own  peril  on  his  forwardness. 

Ro9,  Is  yonder  the  man  ?  160 

Le  Beau.  Even  he,  madam. 

Cd.  Alas,  he  is  too  young  I  yet  be  looks  successfully. 

Duke  F,  How  now,  dauguter  and  cousin  !  are  you  crept 
hither  to  see  the  wrestling? 

Ro3.  Ay,  ray  liege,  so  please  you  give  us  leave. 

Duke  F  You  will  take  little  delight  in  it,  I  can  tell  you  ; 
there  \>y  sach  odds  in  the  man.  In  pity  of  the  challenger's 
youth  I  would  fain  dissuade  him,  but  he  will  not  be  en- 
treated.    Speak  to  hitn,  ladies  ;  see  if  yon  can  move  him. 

Cel.  Call  him  hither,  good  Monsieur  Le  Beau. 

Duke  F  Do  so  :  I'll  not  be  by. 

Le  Beau.  Monsieur  the  challenger,  the  princesses  call 
for  you.  ^ 

Orl,  I  attend  them  with  all  respect  and  duty. 

Roe.  Young  man,  have  you  challenged  Charles  the  wrest- 
ler? 179 

Orl.  No,  fair  princess ;  he  is  the  general  challenger :  I 
come  but  in,  as  others  do,  to  try  with  him  the  strength  of 
my  youth. 

Cil.  Young  gentleman,  your  spirits  are  too  bold  for  your 
years.  You  have  seen  cruel  proof  of  this  man's  strength  : 
if  you  saw  yourself  with  your  eyes,  or  knew  yourself  with 
your  judgement,  the  fear  of  your  adventure  would  counsel 
you  to  a  more  equal  enterprise.  We  pray  yon,  for  your 
own  sake,  to  embrace  your  own  safety  and  give  over  this 
attouipt.  190 

R&8.  Do,  young  sir ;  your  reputation  shall  not  therefore 
bo  misprised  :  we  will  make  it  our  suit  to  the  duke  that  the 
wrestling  might  not  go  forward. 

Orl.  1  beseech  you,  punish  me  not  with  your  hard 
thoughts  ;  wherein  I  confess  me  mncli  guilty,  to  deny  so 
fair  and  excellent  ladies  any  thiug.  But  let  your  fair  eyes 
and  gentle  wishes  go  with  me  to  my  trial :  wherein  if  I  bo 
foiled,  there  is  but  one  shamed  that  was  never  gracious  ;  if 
killed,  but  one  dead  that  is  willing  to  be  so  :  I  shall  do  my 
friends  no  wrong,  for  I  have  none  to  lament  me,  the  world 
no  injury,  for  in  it  I  have  nothing :  only  in  the  world  I  fill 
up  a  place,  which  may  be  better  supplied  when  I  have 
uude  it  empty. 


SG4  AS  YOU  UKE  IT.  [act  i 

JRo».  The  little  strengtli  that  I  h&ve,  I  would  it  were 
with  you. 

Cel,  And  mine,  to  eke  out  hers. 

Has.  Fare  you  well  :  pray  heaven  I  be  deceived  in  you  ! 

Cel.  Your  heart's  desires  be  with  you  I  21 1 

Cha.  Ck)me,  where  is  tliis  young  gallant  that  is  so  de- 
sirous to  lie  with  his  mother  earth  ? 

OrL  Ready,  sir ;  but  his  will  hath  in  it  a  more  modest 
working. 

Duke  F.  You  shall  try  but  one  fall. 

Cha,  No,  I  warrant  your  grace,  you  shall  not  entreat  him 
to  a  second,  that  have  so  mightily  persuaded  him  from  a 
first.  219 

Orl,  An  you  mean  to  mock  me  after,  you  should  not 
have  mocked  me  before  :  but  come  your  ways. 

i2<>«.  Now  Hercules  be  thy  speed,  young  man  I 

Cd.  I  would  I  were  invisible,  to  catch  the  strong  fellow 
by  the  leg.  [They  uresUe. 

llo9.  O  excellent  young  man  1 

Ccl.  If  I  had  a  thunderbolt  in  mine  eye,  I  can  tell  who 
should  down.  [Shaut.    Charles  is  thrown. 

Duke  P,  No  more,  no  more. 

Oi'l,  Yes,  I  beseech  your  grace  :  I  am  not  yet  well 
brenthed.  230 

Duke  F.  How  dost  thou,  Cliarles  ? 

Le  Beau.  He  cannot  speak,  my  lord. 

Diike  F.  Bear  him  away.     What  is  thy  name,  young 
man? 

Orl,  Orlando,  my  liege  ;  the  youngest  son  of  Sir  Rowland 
de  Boys. 

Duke  F,  I  would  thou  hadst  been  son  to  some  man  else  : 
The  world  esteem'd  thy  father  honourable. 
But  I  did  find  him  still  mine  enemy  : 

Thou  shouldst  have  better  pleased  me  with  this  deed,    240 
Hadst  thou  descended  from  another  house. 
But  fare  thee  well  ;  thou  art  a  gallant  youth  : 
I  would  thou  hadst  told  me  of  another  father. 

[Exeunt  Duke  Fred.,  train,  and  Le  Beau, 

Cel,  Were  I  my  father,  coz,  would  I  do  this  ? 

Orl,  I  am  more  proud  to  be  Sir  Rowland's  son, 
His  youngest  son  ;  and  would  not  change  that  calling. 
To  be  adopted  heir  to  Frederick. 

Bos,  My  father  loved  Sir  Rowland  as  his  soul, 
And  all  the  world  was  pf  my  father's  miud  : 
Had  I  before  known  this  young  man  his  son, 
I  should  have  given  him  tears  nnto  cutreatieBy  26(r 

Ere  he  should  thus  have  ventured. 


MTENBii.]  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  685 

Cd.  Gentle  ooasin, 

Let  us  go  thank  him  and  enoouTage  him  : 
My  father's  rough  and  eniriouB  dispoisition 
Sticks  mo  at  heart.     Sir,  you  have  well  deserved  : 
If  you  do  keep  your  promises  in  love 
But  justly,  as  you  have  exceeded  all  promise. 
Your  mistress  shall  bo  happy. 

R09.  Gentleman, 

[Oiving  him  a  diainfroin  her  neck. 
Wear  this  for  mo,  one  out  of  suits  with  fortune, 
That  could  give  more,  bat  that  her  hand  lacks  means. 
Shall  we  go,  cox  ? 

Cel,  Ay.    Fare  you  well,  fair  gentleman.      260 

Orl.  Can  I  not  say,  I  thank  you?  My  better  parts 
Are  all  thrown  down,  and  that  which  here  stands  up 
Is  b^t  a  quintain,  a  mere  lifeless  block. 

Roi,  He  calls  us  back  :  my  pride  fell  with  my  fortunes  ; 
ril  ask  him  wliat  he  would.     Did  you  call,  sir  7 
Sir,  you  have  wrestled  well  and  overthrown 
More  tlian  your  enemies. 

Cel.  Will  you  go,  coz  ? 

Boa.  Have  with  you.     Fare  yon  well. 

[Exeunt  Baaalind  and  Celia. 

OH.  What  passion  hangs  these  weights  upon  my  tongue  7 
I  cannot  speak  to  her,  yet  she  urged  conference.  270 

O  poor  Orlando,  thou  art  overthrown  I 
Or  Charles  or  something  weaker  masters  thee. 

Be-^fUer  Lb  Beau. 

Le  Beau,  Good  sir,  I  do  in  friendship  counsel  you 
To  leave  this  place.     Albeit  you  have  deserved 
High  commendation,  true  applause  and  love, 
Yet  such  is  now  the  duke's  condition 
That  he  misconstrues  all  that  you  have  done. 
The  duke  is  humorous :  what  he  is  indeed, 
More  suits  you  to  conceive  than  I  to  speak  of. 

OH.  I  thank  you,  sir  :  and,  pray  you,  tell  me  this ;      280 
Which  of  the  two  was  daughter' of  the  duke 
That  here  was  at  the  wrestling? 

Le  Beau.  19 either  his  daughter,  if  we  judge  by  manners ; 
But  yet  indeed  the  lesser  is  his  daughter : 
The  other  is  daughter  to  the  banish  d  duke, 
And  here  detain'd  by  her  usurping  uncle. 
To  keep  his  daughter  company ;  whose  lov^ 
Are  dearer  than  the  natural  bond  of  sisters. 
Bat  I  can  tell  you  that  of  late  this  duke 
Hath  ta'en  displeamire  'against  his  gentle  nieee,  290 


536  AS  YOU   LIKE  IT.  [ACT  L 

Grounded  upon  no  other  argument 
But  tliat  the  people  praise  her  for  her  virtues 
And  pity  her  for  her  good  father's  take  ; 
And,  on  my  life,  liis  malice  'jrainst  the  lady 
^Yill  suddenly  break  forth.     Sir,  fai-e  you  well : 
Hereafter,  in  a  better  world  than  this, 
I  shall  desire  more  love  and  knowledp^e  of  you. 
Orl.  I  rest  much  bounden  to  you  :  fare  you  well. 

[Exit  Le  Beau, 
Thus  must  I  from  the  smoke  into  the  smother ; 
From  tyrant  duke  unto  a  tyrant  brother :  800 

But  heavenly  Rosalind  1  [ExU. 

Scene  III.    A  room  in  the  palace. 

Enter  Celt  a  and  Uosalind. 

Cel.  Why,  cousin  1  why,  Rosalind  1  Cupid  have  mercy  ! 
not  a  word  ? 

Iio8.  Not  one  to  throw  at  a  dog. 

Cel.  No,  thy  words  are  too  precious  to  be  cast  away  upon 
curs ;  throw  some  of  them  at  mo  ;  come,  lame  me  with 
reasons. 

Eos.  Then  there  were  two  cousins  laid  up ;  when  the  one 
should  be  lamed  with  reasons  and  the  other  mad  without 
any. 

Cel.  But  is  all  this  for  your  father  ?  10 

Bos,  No,  some  of  it  is  for  my  child's  father. 
O,  how  full  of  britirs  is  this  working-day  world  I 

Cel.  They  are  but  burs,  cousin,  thrown  upon  thee  in  holi- 
day foolery  :  if  we  walk  not  in  the  trodden  paths,  our  very 
petticoats  will  catch  them. 

Ros.  I  could  shake  them  off  my  coat :  these  burs  are  in 
my  heart. 

Cel.  Hem  them  away. 

Bos.  I  would  try,  if  I  could  cry  "hem  "  and  have  him.   20 

Cel.  Come,  come,  wrestle  with  thy  aifoctions. 

Bos.  0,  tiiey  take  the  part  of  a  better  wrestler  than  myself ! 

Cel.  O,  a  good  wish  ujwn  you  I  you  will  try  in  time,  in 
despite  of  a  fall.  But,  turning  these  jests  out  of  service, 
let  us  talk  in  good  earnest :  is  it  possible,  on  such  a  sudden, 
vou  should  fall  into  so  strong  a  liking  with  old  Sir  Row- 
land's youngest  son  ?  ,  30 

Bos.  The  duke  my  father  loved  his  father  dearly. 

Cel.  Doth  it  therefore  ensue  that  you  should  love  his  son 
dearly  ?  By  this  kind  of  chase,  I  should  hate  him,  for  my 
father  hated  his  father  dearly  ;  yet  I  liate  not  Orlando. 

Bob,  No,  fidth»  hate  him  not,  for  my  sake. 


' 


acKNiEin.]  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  587 

Cel.  Why  sliould  I  not  ?  dotli  he  not  desorre  well  ? 
llo9.  Let  me  love  him  for  that,  and  do  you  love  him  be- 
cause I  do.     Look,  here  comes  the  duke.  41 
Cd,  With  his  eyes  full  of  anger. 

Enter  Duke  Frederick  tnth  I^rds. 

Duke  F.  Mistress,  dispatch  you  with  youi  safest  haste. 
And  get  you  from  our  court. 

Ros.  Me,  uncle  ? 

Duk6  F.  Yon,  cousin  : 

Within  these  ten  days  if  that  thou  be'st  found 
So  near  our  public  court  as  twenty  miles. 
Thou  diest  for  it. 

Iia$.  I  do  beseech  your  grace, 

Let  me  the  knowledge  of  my  fault  bear  with  me  : 
If  wiUi  myself  I  hold  intelligence 

Or  have  acquaintance  with  mine  own  desires,  50 

If  that  I  do  not  dream  or  be  not  frantic, — 
As  I  do  trust  I  am  not — ^then,  dear  uncle, 
Never  so  much  as  in  a  thought  unborn 
Did  1  offend  your  highness. 

Duke  F.  Thus  do  all  traitors : 

If  tlieir  purgation  did  consist  in  words. 
They  are  as  innocent  as  grace  itself  . 
Let  it  suffice  thee  that  I  trust  thee  not. 

Jlo9.  Yet  your  mistrust  cannot  make  me  a  traitor  : 
Tell  me  whereon  the  likelihood  depends. 

Duke  F.  Thou  an  thy  father's  diinghter :  there's  enough. 

Hos.  So  was  I  when  your  highness  took  his  dukedom  ; 
So  was  I  when  your  highness  banish'd  him  : 
Treason  is  not  inherited,  my  lord  ; 
Or,  if  we  did  derive  it  from  our  friends. 
What's  that  to  me  ?  my  father  was  no  traitor  : 
Then,  good  my  liege,  mistake  me  not  so  much 
To  think  my  poverty  is  treacherous. 

Cel.  Dear  sovereign,  hear  me  speak. 

Duke  F,  Ay,  Celia  ;  we  stay'd  her  for  your  sake, 
BHse  had  she  with  her  father  ranged  along.  70 

Cel.  I  did  not  then  entreat  to  liave  her  stay  ; 
It  was  your  pleasure  and  your  own  remorse  : 
I  was  too  young  that  time  to  value  her ; 
But  now  I  know  her :  if  she  be  a  traitor. 
Why  80  am  I ;  we  still  have  slept  together, 
Rose  at  an  instant,  leam'd,  play'd,  eat  together. 
And  wheresoe'er  we  went,  like  Juno's  swans. 
Still  we  went  coupled  and  inseparable. 

Duke  F.  She  is  too  subtle  for  thee  ;  and  her  smoothneBS, 


688  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  [ACTt 

Her  very  silence  and  her  patience  80 

Speak  to  the  people,  and  they  pity  her. 

Thou  art  a  fool :  she  robs  thee  of  thy  name ; 

And  thou  wilt  show  more  bright  and  seem  more  Tiituous 

When  she  is  gone.     Then  open  not  tliy  lips : 

Firm  and  irrevocable  is  my  doom 

Which  I  have  pass'd  upon  her  ;  she  is  banish'd. 

Cel.  Pronounce  that  sentence  then  on  me,  my  liege  : 
I  cannot  live  out  of  her  company. 

Duke  F,  Yqu  are  a  fool.     You,  niece,  provide  yourself  : 
If  you  outstay'  the  time,  upon  mine  honour,  90 

And  in  the  greatness  of  my  word,  you  die. 

^Exeunt  Duke  Frederick  and  Lords. 

Cel.  O  my  poor  Bosahnd,  whither  wilt  thou  go  ? 
Wilt  thou  change  fathers  ?  I  will  give  thee  mine. 
I  charge  thee,  1^  not  thou  more  grieved  than  I  am. 

Bos.  1  have  more  cause. 

Cel.  Tliou  hast  not,  cousin  ; 

Prithee,  be  cheerful :  know'st  thou  not,  the  duke 
Hath  banish'd  me,. his  daughter? 

Bos.  That  he  hath  not. 

Cel.  No,  hath  not  ?    Rosalind  lacks  then  the  love 
Which  teacheth  thee  that  thou  and  I  am  one : 
Shall  we  be  sunder'd  ?  shall  we  part,  sweet  girl  ?  100 

No  ;  let  my  father  seek  another  heir. 
Therefore  devise  with  me  how  we  may  fly, 
Whither  to  go,  and  what  to  bear  with  us  ; 
And  do  not  seek  to  take  your  change  upon  you. 
To  bear  your  griefs  yourself  and  leave  me  out ; 
For,  by  this  heaven,  now  at  our  sorrows  pale. 
Say  what  thou  canst.  Til  go  along  with  thee. 

Bo8.  Why,  whither  shall  we  go? 

Cel.  To  seek  my  uncle  in  the  forest  of  Ardeiu 

Bos.  Alas,  what  danger  will  it  be  to  us,  110 

Maids  as  we  are,  to  travel  forth  so  far ! 
Beauty  provoketh  thieves  sooner  than  gold. 

Cel.  rU  put  myself  in  poor  and  mean  attire 
And  with  a  kind  of  umber  smirch  my  face ; 
The  like  do  you  :  so  shall  we  pass  along 
And  never  stir  assailants. 

Bos.  Were  it  not  better, 

Because  that  I  am  more  than  common  tall. 
That  I  did  suit  me  all  points  like  a  man  ? 
A  gallant  curtle-axe  upon  my  thigh, 

A  boar-spear  in  my  hand  ;  and— ^n  my  heart  120 

Lie  there  what  hidden  woman's  fear  there  will — 
We'll  have  a  swashing  and  a  martial  outside. 


BCBinsi.]  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  539 

As  many  other  niannisli  cowards  bave 
That  do  outface  it  with  their  semblances. 

Cel.  What  shall  I  call  thee  when  thou  art  a  man  ? 

Ros.  ril  have  no  worse  a  name  than  Jove's  own  page  ; 
And  therefore  look  you  call  me  Ganymede. 
But  what  will  you  be  call'd  ? 

Cel.  Something  that  hath  a  reference  to  my  state  ; 
No  longer  Celia,  but  Alien  a.  130 

lioi.  But,  cousin,  what  if  we  assay'd  to  steal 
The  clownish  fool  out  of  your  father's  court  ? 
Would  he  not  be  a  comfort  to  our  travel  ? 

Cel,  He'll  go  along  o'er  the  wide  world  with  me ; 
Leave  me  alope  to  woo  him.    Let's  away, 
And  get  our  jewels  and  our  wealth  together. 
Devise  the  fittest  time  and  safest  way 
To  hide  us  from  pursuit  that  will  be  made 
After  my  flight.     Now  go  we  in  content 
To  liberty  and  not  to  bayuishment.  [£keunt.  140 


ACT  II. 

Scene  I.     17ie  Forest  of  Anlen, 

Enter  Duke  senior,  Amiens,  and  tico  or  three  Lords,  like 

foresters. 

Duke  8.  Now,  my  co-mates  and  brothers  in  exile. 
Hath  not  old  custom  made  this  life  more  sweet 
Than  that  of  painted  pomp  ¥   Are  not  these  woods 
More  free  from  peril  than  the  envious  court  7 
Here  feel  we  but  the  penalty  of  Adam, 
The  seasons*  difference,  as  the  icy  fang 
And  churlish  chiding  of  tlie  winter's  wind. 
Which,  when  it  bites  and  blows  upon  my  body. 
Even  till  I  shrink  with  cold,  I  smile  and  say 
**  This  is  no  flattery  :  these  are  counsellors  10 

That  feelingly  persuade  me  what  I  am." 
Bweet  are  the  uses  of  adversity, 
Wliich,  like  the  toad,  ugly  ana  venomous. 
Wears  yet  a  precious  jewel  in  his  liead  ; 
And  this  our  life  exempt  from  public  haunt 
I^nds  tonguc's  in  trees,  books  in  the  running  brooks. 
Sermons  in  stones  and  good  in  every  thing. 
I  would  not  change  it 

Ami.  Happy  is  your  grace, 

Tlian  can  translate  the  stubbornness  of  fortune 
Into  so  quiet  and  so  sweet  a  style.  90 


•I 
i 


540  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  [actii. 

DvJce  S.  Come,  shall  we  go  and  kill  ns  venison  ? 
And  yet  it  irks  me  the  poor  dappled  fools, 
Being  native  burgliers  of  this  desert  city. 
Should  in  their  own  confines  with  forked  heads 
Have  their  round  haunches  gored. 

Mrgt  Lord,  Indeed,  my  lord. 

The  melancholy  Jaques  grieves  at  that, 
And,  in  that  kind,  swears  you  do  more  usurp 
Than  doth  your  brother  that  hath  banish'd  you. 
To  day  my  Lord  of  Amiens  and  myself 
Did  steal  behind  him  as  he  lay  along  dO 

Under  an  oak  whose  antique  root  peeps  out 
Upon  the  brook  that  brawls  along  tlus  wood  : 
To  the  which  place  a  poor  sequester'd  stag, 
That  from  the  hunter's  aim  had  ta'en  a  hurt. 
Did  come  to  lan^ish,  and  indeed,  my  lord. 
The  wretched  animal  heaved  forth  such  groans 
That  their  discharge  did  stretch  his  leatliem  coat 
Almost  to  bursting,  and  the  big  round  tears 
Coursed  one  another  down  his  innocent  noso 
In  piteous  chase  ;  and  thus  »he  hairy  fool,  40 

Much  marked  of  the  melancholy  Jaques, 
Stood  on  the  extremest  verge  of  the  swift  brook. 
Augmenting  it  with  tears. 

i)uke  8.  But  what  said  Jaques  T 

Did  he  not  moralize  this  spectacle  ? 

Mrst  Lord,  O,  yes,  into  a  thousand  similes. 
First,  for  his  weeping  into  the  needless  stream  ; 
**  Poor  deer,"  quoth  he  "  thou  mokest  a  testamcmt 
As  worldlings  do,  giving  thy  sum  of  more 
To  that  which  had  too  much  : "  then,  being  there  alone. 
Left  and  abandoned  of  his  velvet  friends,  50 

"  'Tis  right:  "  quoth  he  "  thus  misery  doth  part 
The  flux  of  company  : "  anon  a  careless  herd. 
Full  of  the  pasture,  jumps  along  by  him 
And  never  stays  to  greet  him  ;  *'Ay,"  quoth  Jaques, 
'*  Sweep  on,  you  fat  and  greasy  citizens ; 
'Tis  just  the  fashion  :  wherefore  do  you  look 
Upon  that  y>oot  and  broken  bankrupt  there  ?  " 
Thus  most  invectively  he  pierceth  through 
The  body  of  the  country,  city,  court, 

Yea,  and  of  this  our  life,  swearing  that  we  60 

Are  mere  usurpers,  tyrants  and  what's  worse, 
To  fright  the  animals  and  to  kill  them  up 
In  their  assign'd  and  native  dwelling-place. 

Duke  8.  And  did  you  leave  liim  in  this  contemplatk>n  ? 

See,  Lord,  We  did,  my  lord,  weeping  and  commenting 


flCENElil.]  AS   YOU   LIKE   IT.  641 

Upon  the  sobbing  deer. 

Duke  S.  Show  me  the  place  : 

I  love  to  cope  him  in  these  suilen  fits. 
For  then  he's  full  of  matter. 

First  Lord.  I'll  bring  yoa  to  him  straight.  [ExetmU 

ScENS  II.     .1  room  in  the  palace. 

Enter  Dukb  Frbdsrick,  vnVi  Lords. 

Duke  F.  Can  it  be  possible  that  no  man  saw  them  ? 
It  cannot  be  :  some  villains  of  my  oourt 
An*  of  consent  and  snfferanee  in  this. 

F%r9t  Lord.  I  cnnnot  hear  of  any  that  did  see  her. 
The  ladies,  her  attendants  of  her  chamber. 
Saw  her  a-bed,  and  in  the  morning  early 
They  found  the  bed  untreasnred  of  their  mistress. 

Sec,  Lord,  My  lord,  the  roynish  clown,  at  whom  so  oft 
Your  grace  was  wont  to  laugh,  is  also  missing. 
Hisperia,  the  princess'  gentlewoman,  10 

Confesses  that  she  secretly  o'erheard 
Your  daughter  and  her  cousin  much  commend 
The  parts  and  graces  of  the  wrestler 
That  did  but  lately  foil  the  sinewy  Charles  ; 
And  she  belieyes,  wherever  they  are  gone. 
The  youth  is  surely  in  their  company. 

Duke.  F.  Send  to  his  brother  ;  fetch  that  gallant  hither ; 
If  he  be  absent,  bring  his  brother  to  me  ; 
I'll  make  him  find  him  :  do  this  suddenly. 
And  let  not  search  and  inquisition  quail  20 

To  bring  again  these  foolish  runaways.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  III.    Before  Olivkr'b  houMO. 

Enter  Orlakdo  and  Adam,  meetinff. 

Ovi.  Who's  there? 

Adam.  What,  my  young  master  ?    O  my  gentle  master  I 
O  my  sweet  master  !    O  yon  memory 
Of  old  Sir  Rowland  1  why,  what  make  you  here  ? 
Why  are  you  virtuous  ?  M-hy  do  people  love  you  ? 
And  wherefore  are  yon  gentle*  strong  and  valiant  ? 
Why  would  you  be  so  fond  to  overcome 
The  bonny  priser  of  the  humorous  duke  ? 
Your  praise  is  come  too  swiftly  home  before  you. 
Know  you  not,  master,  to  some  kind  of  men  10 

Their  graces  serve  them  but  as  enemies  ? 
No  more  do  youis  :  your  virtues,  gentle  master. 
Are  sanctified  and  holy  traitors  to  you. 


542  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  [actii. 

O,  wliat  a  TTorld  is  tliis,  when  what  is  comely 
Envenoms  him  that  boars  it ! 

Grl.  Why,  what's  the  matter? 

Adam.  O  unhappy  youtli  I 

Come  not  within  these  doors  ;  within  this  roof 
Tlie  enemy  of  all  your  graces  lives  : 
Your  brother — no,  no  brother ;  yei  the  son — 
Yet  not  the  son,  I  will  not  call  him  son  20 

Of  him  I  was  about  to  call  his  father — 
Hath  heard  your  praises  and  this  night  he  means 
To  bum  the  lodging  where  you  use  to  lie 
And  you  within  it :  if  he  fail  of  that. 
He  will  haye  other  means  to  cut  you  off. 
I  overheard  him  and  his  practices. 
This  is  no  place  ;  this  house  is  but  a  butchery  : 
Abhor  it,  fear  it,  do  not  enter  it. 

Orl.  Why,  whither,  Adam,  wouldst  thou  have  me  goT 

Adam.  No  matter  whither,  so  you  come  not  here.  80 

Orl.  What,  wouldst  thou  have  me  go  and  beg  my  food  ? 
Or  with  a  base  and  boisterous  sword  enforce 
A  thievish  living  on  the  common  road  ? 
This  I  must  do  or  know  not  what  to  do : 
Yet  this  I  will  not  do,  do  how  I  can  ; 
I  rather  will  subject  me  to  the  malice 
Of  a  diverted  blood  and  bloody  brother. 

Adaftk  But  do  not  so.     I  have  five  huadi«d  crowns, 
The  thrifty  hire  I  saved  under  your  father. 
Which  I  did  store  to  be  my  foster-nurse  40 

Wlien  service  should  in  my  old  limbs  lie  lame 
And  unregarded  age  in  corners  thrown : 
Take  that,  and  He  that  doth  the  ravens  feed. 
Yea,  providently  caters  for  the  sparrow, 
Be  comfort  to  my  age  !    Hero  is  the  gold  ; 
All  this  I  give  you.     Let  me  be  your  servant : 
Though  I  look  old,  yet  I  am  strong  and  lusty  ; 
For  in  my  youth  I  never  did  apply 
Hot  and  rebellious  liquors  in  my  blood. 
Nor  did  not  with  unbashful  forehead  woo  60 

Tlie  means  of  weakness  and  debility  ; 
Therefore  my  age  is  as  a  lusty  winter. 
Frosty,  but  kindly  :  let  me  go  with  you  ; 
Til  do  the  service  of  a  younger  man 
In  all  jour  business  and  necessities. 

Ovl.  O  good  old  man,  how  well  in  thee  appears 
The  constant  service  of  the  antique  world. 
When  service  sweat  for  duty,  not  for  meed  1 
Thou  art  not  for  the  fashion  of  these  times. 


BCENBiv.]  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  543 

Where  none  will  sweat  but  for  promotion,  60 

And  haying  that,  do  choke  their  service  up 

Even  with  the  having :  it  is  not  so  with  thee. 

Bat,  poor  old  man,  thou  pranest  a  rotten  tree, 

That  cannot  so  much  as  a  blossom  yield 

In  lieu  of  all  thy  pains  and  husbandry. 

But  come  thy  ways  ;  we'll  go  along  together. 

And  ere  we  have  thy  youthful  wa^res  spent. 

We'll  light  upon  some  settled  low  content. 

Adam.  Master,  go  on,  and  I  will  follow  thee, 
To  the  last  gasp,  with  truth  and  loyalty.  70 

From  seventeen  years  till  now  almost  fourscore 
Here  lived  I,  but  now  live  hero  no  more. 
At  seventeen  years  many  their  fortunes  seek  ; 
But  at  fourscore  it  is  too  late  a  week  : 
Yet  fortune  cannot  recompense  me  better 
Than  to  die  well  and  not  my  master's  debtor.  [Exeunt 

Scene  IV.     Thsfm^egtofArden, 

Enter  Rosalind /or  Ganymede,  Celia/ot  Alibna, 

and  Touchstone. 

Bo8.  O  Jupiter,  how  weary  are  my  spirits  ! 

Touch,  1  care  not  for  my  spirits,  if  my  legs  were  not 
weary. 

Bos.  I  ooald  find  in  my  heart  to  disgrace  my  man's  ap- 
parel and  to  cry  like  a  woman ;  but  I  must  comfort  the 
weaker  vessel,  as  doublet  and  hose  ought  to  show  itself 
courageous  to  petticoat :  therefore  courage,  good  Aliena  ! 

Cel.  I  pray  you,  hear  with  me  ;  I  ctvpnot  go  no  further. 

To7ieh,  For  my  part,  I  had  rather  bear  with  you  than  boar 
you  ;  yet  I  should  bear  no  cross  if  I  did  bear  you,  for  I  think 
you  liave  no  money  in  your  purse. 

Hos.  Well,  this  is  the  forest  of  Arden. 

l^oueh.  Ay,  now  am  I  in  Arden  ;  the  moro  fool  I ;  when 
I  was  at  home,  I  was  in  a  better  place  :  but  travellers  must 
be  content. 

Hos.  Ay,  be  so,  good  Touchstone. 

Enter  Ck)RiN  and  Silyius. 

Look  yon,  who  comes  here ;  a  young  man  and  an  old  in 
fiolemn  talk.  21 

Cor.  That  is  the  way  to  make  her  scorn  you  still. 

SU.  O  Corin,  that  thou  kneVst  how  I  do  love  her  I 

Cor,  I  partly  guess  ;  for  I  have  loved  ere  now. 

8U.  No,  Corin,  being  old,  thou  canst  not  guess. 
Though  in  thy  youth  tliou  wast  as  true  a  lover 


544  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  [actii. 

As  ever  sigh'd  upon  a  midnight  pillow  : 

But  if  thy  love  were  ever  like  to  mine — 

As  sure  I  think  did  never  man  love  so — 

How  many  actions  most  ridiculous  80 

Hast  thou  been  drawn  to  by  tliy  fantasy  ? 

Cot.  Into  a  thousand  that  I  have  forgotten. 

&X,  O,  thou  didst  then  ne'er  love  so  heartily  ! 
If  thou  remember 'st  not  the  slightest  folly 
\  That  ever  love  did  make  thee  run  into. 
Thou  hast  not  loved  : 
Or  if  thou  hast  not  sat  as  I  do  now, 
Wearying  thy  hearer  in  thy  mistress'  praise. 
Thou  hast  not  loved  : 

Or  if  thou  hast  not  broke  from  company  40 

Abrubtly,  as  my  passion  now«makes  me. 
Thou  hast  not  loved. 

0  Phebc,  Phelje.  Phebe  !  [JKrft. 
i?<?.f.  Alas,  poor  shepherd  !  searching  of  thy  wound, 

1  have  by  hai-d  adventure  found  mine  own. 

TaucJi.  And  1  mine.  I  remember,  when  I  was  in  love  I 
broke  my  sword  upon  a  stone  and  bid  him  take  that  for 
coming  a-night  to  June  Smile  ;  and  I  remember  the  kissing 
of  her  batlet  and  the  cow's  dugs  that  her  pretty  chopt  hands 
had  milked  ;  and  I  remember  the  wooing  of  a  pcnscod  In- 
stead of  her,  from  whom  I  took  two  cods  and,  giving  her 
them  again,  said  with  weeping  tears  •*  Wear  tliese  for  my 
sake."  We  that  are  true  lovers  run  into  strange  capers'; 
but  as  all  is  mortal  in  nature,  so  is  all  nature  in  lovo  mortal 
in  folly. 

lio9.  Thou  speakest  wiser  than  thou  art  ware  of. 

lowli.  Nay,  I  shall  ne'er  be  ware  of  mine  own  wit  till  I 
break  my  shins  against  it.  60 

Roi,  Jove,  Jove  !  this  shepherd's  passion 

Is  much  u{)on  my  fashion. 

Toxieli.  And  mine  ;  but  it  grows  something  stale  with  me. 

Cd.  1  pray  you,  one  of  you  question  yond  man 
If  he  for  gold  will  give  us  any  food  : 
I  faint  almost  to  death. 

'J  ouch.  Holla,  you  clown  I 

lios.  Peace,  fool :  he's  not  thy  kinsman. 

Cor.  \\nio  calls  ? 

2 ouch.  Your  betters,  sir. 

Cor.  Else  are  they  very  wretched. 

hos.  Peace,  I  say.     Good  even  to  you,  friend. 

Cor.  And  to  you,  gentle  sir,  and  to  you  all. 

Ro8.  1  prithee,  shcplierd,  if  that  love  or  gold 
("an  in  this  desert  place  buy  entertainment, 


BCKNBV.]  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  545 

Bring  us  where  we  may  rest  ourselyes  and  feed : 
Here  s  a  jonng  maid  with  travel  much  oppress'd 
And  faints  for  succour. 

Cor.  Fair  sir,  I  pity  her 

And  wish,  for  her  sake  more  tlian  for  mine  own, 
My  fortunes  were  more  able  to  relieve  her  ; 
But  I  am  shepherd  to  another  man 
And  do  not  shear  the  fleeces  tlmt  I  graze  : 
My  master  is  of  churlish  disiX)sitioa  80 

And  little  recks  to  find  the  way  to  heaven 
Hy  doing  deeds  of  hospitality  : 
Besides,  his  cote,  his  flocks  and  bounds  of  feed 
Are  now  on  sale,  and  at  our  sheepcote  now, 
By  reason  of  lib  absence,  there  is  nothing 
That  you  will  feed  on  ;   but  what  is,  come  see, 
And  in  my  voice  mo -it  welcome  shall  you  be. 

Jios.  What  is  he  that  shall  buy  his  flock  and  pasture  ? 

Cor.  That  young  swain  that  you  saw  here  but  ere  while, 
That  little  cares  for  huying  any  thing.  90 

Roa.  I  pray  thee,  if  it  stand  with  honesty, 
Buy  thou  the  cottage,  pasture  and  the  flock, 
And  thou  shalt  have  to  pay  for  it  of  us. 

Cel.  And  we  will  mend  thy  wages.     I  like  this  place. 
And  willingly  could  waste  my  time  in  it. 

Cor.  Assuredly  the  thing  is  to  be  sold  : 

00  with  me  :  if  you  like  upon  report 
The  soil,  the  profit  and  this  kind  of  life,  • 

1  will  your  very  faithful  feeder  be 

And  buy  it  with  your  gold  right  suddenly.  [Exeunt, 


Scene  V.     T/ie  forest. 
Enter  Amiens,  Jaques,  a7id  others, 

SONO. 

Ami,  Under  the  greenwood  tree 

Who  loves  to  lie  with  me. 

And  turn  his  merry  note 

Unto  the  sweet  bird's  throat, 
Ck>me  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither : 

Here  shall  he  see 

No  enemy 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 

Jaq.  More,  more,  I  prithee,  more.  10 

Ami.  It  will  maice  you  melancholy,  Monsieur  Jaques. 
8HAK.   i. — 18 


540  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  [act  ii- 

Jciq.  I  tbank  it.  More,  I  prithee,  more.  I  can  snck 
melancholy  oat  of  a  song,  as  a  weasel  sacks  eggs.  More,  I 
prithee,  more. 

Ami,  Mj  voice  is  ragged  :  I  know  I  cannot  please  yoa. 

Jaq.  I  do  not  desire  you  to  please  me  ;  I  do  desire  j'ou  to 
sing.      Come,  more  ;  another  stanzo  :  call  you  'em  stonzos  ? 

Ami,  What  you  will.  Monsieur  Jaques.  20 

Jaq.  Nay,  I  care  not  for  their  names  ;  they  owe  me  noth- 
ing.    Will  you  sing  ? 

Ami,  More  at  your  request  than  to  please  myself. 

Jaa,  Well  then,  if  ever  I  thank  any  man.  Til  thank  you  ; 
but  tnat  they  call  compliment  is  like  the  encounter  of  two 
dog-apes,  and  when  a  man  thanks  me  heartily,  inethinks  I 
have  given  him  a  penny  and  he  renders  me  the  lx*ggnr]y 
thanks.  Come,  sing ;  and  you  that  will  not,  hold  your 
tongues. 

Ami,  Well,  Fll  end  the  song.  Sirs,  cover  the  while  ; 
the  duke  will  drink  under  this  tree.  He  hath  been  all  this 
day  to  look  you. 

Jaq, '  And  I  have  been  all  this  day  to  avoid  him.  He  is 
too  disputable  for  my  company :  I  think  of  as  many  matters 
fts  he,  but  I  give  heaven  thanks  and  make  no  boast  of 
them.'    Come,  warble,  come. 

Song. 

"Wlio  doth  ambition  shun      \AU  ioffctlier  Itere. 

And  loves  to  live  i'  the  sun,  41 

Seeking  the  food  he  eats 

And  pleased  with  what  he  gets. 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither  : 

Here  shall  he  see 

No  enemy 
Bat  winter  and  rough  weather. 

Jaq,  I'll  give  you  a  verse  to  this  note  that  I  made  yes 
terday  in  despite  of  my  invention. 
Ami.  And  I'll  sing  it.  50 

Jaq,  Thus  it  goes  : — 

If  it  do  come  to  pass 
That  any  man  turn  ass, 
Leaving  his  wealth  and  ease^ 
A  stubborn  will  to  please, 
Ducdame,  ducdame,  ducdame : 
Here  shall  he  see. 
Gross  fools  as  he, 
An  if  he  will  come  to  me. 


BCENBvn.J  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  647 

A  mi.  What's  that  * '  ducdame  "  ?  00 

Jaq.  'Tis  a  Greek  invocation,  to  call  fools  into  a  circle, 
ril  go  sleep;  if  I  can  ;  if  I  cannot,  1*11  rail  against  all  the 
first-bom  of  E^-pt. 

Ami.  And  111  go  seek  the  dake  :  his  banquet  is  pre- 
pared. [Exeunt  severally, 

iSbENE  VI.     The  forest. 

Enter  Orlando  and  Adah. 

Adam,  Dear  master,  I  can  go  no  farther :  O,  I  die  for 
food  !  Here  lie  I  down,  and  meaflure  out  my  grave.  Fare- 
well, kind  master. 

Orl.  Why,  how  now,  Adam  1  no  greater  heart  in  thee  ? 
Live  a  little  ;  comfort  a  little ;  cheer  thyself  a  little.  If 
this  uncouth  forest  yield  any  thing  savage,  I  will  either  be 
food  for  it  or  bring  it  for  food  to  thee.  Thy  conceit  is 
nearer  death  than  thy  powers.  For  my  sake  be  com  rortabTe; 
hold  death  awhile  at  the  arm's  end :  I  will  here  be  with 
thee  presently  ;  and  if  I  bring  thee  not  something  to  eat, 
I  will  fipve  tnee  leave  to  die :  but  if  thou  diest  oefore  I 
come,  thou  art  a  mocker  of  my  labour.  Well  said !  thou 
]ookest  cheerly,  and  Til  be  with  thee  quickly.  Yet  thou 
liest  in  the  bleak  air  :  cume,  I  will  bear  thee  to  some  shel- 
ter :  and  thou  shalt  not  die  for  lack  of  a  dinner,  if  there 
live  any  thing  in  this  desert.     Cheerly,  good  Adam  ! 

[Exeunt, 

Scene  VIL     The  fvretA, 

A  table  set  out.    Enter  Duke  senior,  Amiens,  and  Lords 

like  outlaws. 

Duke  3,  I  think  he  be  transformed  into  a  beast ; 
For  I  can  no  where  fiod  him  like  a  man. 

First  Lord,  My  lord,  he  is  but  even  now  gone  hence  : 
Here  was  he  merry,  hearing  of  a  song. 

Duke  8.  If  he,  compact  of  jars,  grow  musical. 
We  sluill  have  sliortly  discord  in  the  spheres. 
Go,  seek  him  :  tell  him  I  would  speak  with  him. 

Enter  Jaques. 

First  Lord.  He  saves  my  labour  by  his  own  approach. 

Duke,  8.  Why,  how  now,  monsieur  I  what  a  life  is  this. 
Tliat  your  poor  friends  must  woo  your  company  ?  10 

What,  you  look  merrily  I 

Jaq.  A  fool,  a  fool  I  I  met  a  fool  1'  the  forest, 
A  motley  fool ;  a  miserable  world  ! 


548  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  [actil 

As  T  do  live  by  food,  I  met  a  fool  ; 

Who  laid  him  down  and  bask'd  him  in  the  sun. 

And  rail'd  on  Lady  Fortune  in  good  terms, 

In  good  set  terms  and  yet  a  motley  fool. 

"  Good  morrow,  fool,"  qnotli  I.     *'  No,  sir,"  quoth  he, 

"  Call  me  not  fool  till  heaven  hath  sent  me  fortune  : " 

And  then  he  drew  a  dial  from  his  poke,  2D 

And,  looking  on  it  with  lack-lustre  eye. 

Says  very  wisely,  **  It  is  ten  o'clock  : 

Thus  wo  may  see,"  quoth  he,  "  how  the  \Yorld  wags  : 

Tis  but  an  hour  ago  since  it  was  nine. 

And  after  one  hour  more  'twill  be  eleven  ; 

And  so,  from  hour  to  hour,  we  ripe  and  ripe, 

And  then,  from  hour  to  hour,  we  rot  and  rot ; 

And  thereby  hangs  a  tale."    When  I  did  hear 

The  motley  fool  thus  moral  on  the  time, 

My  1  ungs  began  to  crow  like  chanticleer,  SO 

That  fools  should  be  so  deep-contemplative. 

And  I  did  laugh  sans  intermission 

An  hour  by  his  dial.     O  noble  fool  1 

A  worthy  fool  1    Motley's  the  only  wear. 

Duke  S.  What  fool  is  this? 

Ja^.  O  worthy  fool !    One  that  hath  been  a  courtier. 
And  iays,  if  ladies  be  but  young  and  fair, 
They  have  the  gift  to  know  it :  and  in  his  brain. 
Which  is  as  dry  as  the  remainder  biscuit 
After  a  voyage,  he  hath  strange  places  cramm'd  40 

With  observation,  the  which  lie  vents 
In  mangled  forms,     O  that  I  were  a  fool ! 
I  am  ambitions  for  a  motley  coat. 

J>uke  S.  Thou  shalt  have  one. 

Jaq.  It  is  mv  only  suit ; 

Provided  that  you  weed  your  better  jndgements 
Of  all  opinion  that  grows  rank  in  them 
That  I  am  wise.     I  mnst  have  liberty 
"Withal,  as  large  a  charter  as  the  wind, 
To  blow  on  whom  I  please  ;  for  so  fools  have ; 
And  they  that  are  most  galled  with  my  folly,  50 

They  most  must  laugh.     And  why,  sir,  must  they  so? 
The  •*  why  "  is  plain  as  way  to  ])arish  church  : 
He  that  a  fool  doth  very  wisely  hit" 
Doth  very  foolishly,  although  he  smart. 
Not  to  seem  sensele«s  of  the  bob  :  if  not. 
The  wise  man's  folly  is  anatomized 
Even  by  the  squandering  glances  of  the  fool. 
Invest  me  in  my  motley ;  give  me  leave 
To  speak  my  mind,  and  I  will  through  and  through 


8CJCNBVII.]  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  040 

Cleanse  the  foni  body  of  the  infected  world,  00 

If  they  will  patiently  receive  my  medicine. 

Diike  S.  Fie  on  thee  !  I  can  tell  what  thoa  wouldst  do. 

Jaq.  Wliat,  for  a  counter,  would  I  do  but  rood  ? 
I  Duke  8.  Most  mischievous  foul  sin,  in  chiding  sin  : 

For  thou  thyself  hast  been  a  libertine, 
As  sensual  as  the  brutish  sting  it8(>lf  ; 
And  all  the  embossed  sores  and  headed  evils. 
That  thou  with  license  of  free  foot  hast  caught, 
Wouldst  thou  disgorge  into  the  general  world. 

Jaq.  Why,  who  cries  out  on  pride,  70 

That  can  therein  tax  any  private  party  ? 
Doth  it  not  flow  as  hugely  as  tlie  sea, 
fTill  that  the  weary  very  means  do  ebb? 
What  woman  in  the  city  do  I  name. 
When  that  I  say  the  city- woman  bears 
The  cost  of  princes  on  unworthy  shoulders  ? 
Who  can  come  in  and  say  tliat  I  mean  her. 
When  such  a  one  as  she  such  is  her  neighbour? 
Or  what  is  he  of  basest  function 

That  says  his  bravery  is  not  on  my  cost,  80 

Thinking  that  I  mean  him,  but  therein  suits 
His  folly  to  the  mettle  of  my  speech  ? 
'  There  then  ;  how  then  ?  what  then?    I^et  me  see  wherein 
My  tongue  liath  wrong'd  him  :  if  it  do  him  right, 
Then  he  hath  wrong'd  himself  ;  if  he  be  free, 
Whv  then  my  taxing  like  a  wild-goose  flies, 
Unelaim'd  of  any  man.     But  who  comes  here  ? 

BrUer  Orlando,  toU/i  hU  $0ard  drawn. 

Orh  Forbear,  and  eat  no  more. 

Jaq,  Why,  I  have  eat  none  yet. 

On.  Nor  shalt  not,  till  necessity  be  served. 

Jaq.  Of  what  kind  should  this  cock  come  of  ?  00 

DxUce  8.  AH  thou  thus  bolden'd.  man,  by  thy  distress. 
Or  else  a  rude  despiser  of  good  manners, 
That  in  civility  thou  seem'st  so  empty  ? 
j  Orl.  You  touch'd  my  rein  at  first :  the  thorny  point 

Of  bare  distress  hath  ta'en  from  me  the  show 
Of  smooth  civility  :  yet  am  I  inland  bred 
And  know  some  nurture.     But  forI)ear,  I  say  : 
He  dies  that  touches  any  of  this  fruit 
Till  I  and  my  affairs  are  answered. 

Jaq,  An  you  will  not  be  answered  with  reason,  I  mnst 
die.  101 

Duke  8.  What  would  yon  hare?    Your  gentleness  shall 
force. 


650  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  [actil 

More  tlian  your  force  inove  us  to  gentleness. 

Orl.  I  almost  die  for  food  ;  and  let  me  have  it. 

Duke  8.  Sit  down  and  feed,  »nd  welcome  to  oar  table. 

Orl.  Speak  you  so  gently  T    Pardon  me,  I  pray  you  : 
I  thnuglit  that  all  things  had  been  savage  here ; 
And  therefore  put  I  on  the  countenance 
Of  stern  commandment.     But  whatever  you  are 
Tliat  in  this  desert  iuacressible,  110 

Under  the  shade  of  melancholv  boughs, 
Lose  and  neglect  the  creeping  liours  of  time ; 
If  ever  you  have  look'd  on  better  days. 
If  ever  been  where  bells  have  knoll'd  to  church. 
If  ever  sat  at  any  good  man's  feast, 
If  ever  from  your  eyelids  wiped  a  tear 
And  know  what  'tis  to  pity  and  be  pitied. 
Let  gentleness  my  strong  enforcement  be  : 
In  the  which  hope  I  blush,  ar.d  hide  my  sword. 

Duke  8,  True  is  it  that  we  have  seen  better  days,        120 
And  have  with  holy  bell  been  knoll'd  to  church 
And  sat  at  good  men's  feasts  and  wiped  our  eyes 
Of  drops  that  sacred  pity  hath  engender'd  : 
And  therefore  sit  you  down  in  gentleness 
And  take  upxin  command  what  help  we  have 
That  to  your  wanting  may  be  minister'd 

Orl.  Then  but  forbear  your  food  a  little  while. 
Whiles,  like  a  doe,  I  go  to  find  my  fawn 
And  give  it  food.     There  is  an  old  poor  man. 
Who  after  me  hath  many  a  weary  step  180 

Limp'd  in  pure  love  :  till  he  be  first  sufficed 
Oppress'd  with  two  weak  evils,  age  and  hunger, 
I  will  not  touch  a  bit. 

Duke  8.  Go  find  him  out, 

And  we  will  nothing  waste  till  you  return. 

Orlf  I  thank  ye ;  and  be  blest  for  your  good  comfort  I 

[JSxU, 

Duke  8.  Thou  seest  we  are  not  all  alone  unhappy  : 
Tliis  wide  and  universal  theatre 
Presents  more  woeful  pageants  than  the  scene 
Wherein  we  play  in. 

Jaq.  All  the  world's  a  stage. 

And  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players :  140 

They  have  their  exits  and  their  entrances  ; 
And  one  man  in  his  time  plays  many  parts, 
His  acts  being  seven  ages.     At  first  the  infant. 
Mewling  and  puking  in  the  nurse's  arms. 
And  then  the  whining  school-boy,  with  his  satchel 
And  shining  morning  face,  creeping  like  snail 


/ 

SCENE  VII.]  AS  YOU  LIKE  XT.  551 

Unwillingly  to  scliool.     And  then  the  lover, 

Sighing  liice  furnace,  with  a  woef al  ballad 

Made  to  bi3  mistresV  eyebrow.     Then  a  soldier. 

Full  of  strange  oaths  and  bearded  like  the  pard.  150 

Jealous  in  honour,  sudden  and  quick  in  quarrel. 

Seeking  tlie  bubble  reputation 

Even  in  the  cannon's  mouth.     And  then  the  justice. 

In  fair  round  belly  with  good  capon  lined, 

With  eyes  severe  and  beard  of  formal  cut, 

Full  of  wise  saws  and  modern  instances  ; 

And  so  he  plays  hU  part.     The  sixth  age  shifts 

Into  the  lean  and  slippered  pantaloon, 

With  spectacles  on  nose  and  pouch  on  side. 

His  youthful  hose,  well  saved,  a  world  too  wide  100 

For  his  shrunk  shank  ;  and  his  big  manly  voice. 

Turning  again  toward  childish  treble,  pipes 

And  whistles  in  his  sound.     Last  scene  of  all. 

That  ends  this  strange  eventful  history. 

Is  second  childishness  and  mere  oblivion. 

Sans  teeth,  sans  eyes,  sans  taste,  sans  every  thing. 

Re-enter  Orlando,  with  Adam. 

Duke  8.  Welcome.     Set  down  your  'venerable  burthen, 
And  let  him  feed. 

Orl.  I  thank  you  most  for  him. 

Adam.  So  liad  you  need  : 

I  scarce  can  speak  to  thank  yon  for  myself.  170 

Dtike  8.  Welcome  ;  fall  to  :  I  will  not  trouble  you 
As  yet,  to  question  you  about  your  fortunes. 
Qive  us  some  music  ;  and,  good  cousin  sing. 

Bono. 

Ami.  Blow,  blow,  thou  winter  wind, 

Thou  art  not  so  unkind 
As  man's  ingratitude ; 
Thy  tooth  is  not  so  keen, 
Because  thou  art  not  seen. 
Although  thy  breath  be  rude. 
Heigh-ho  I  sing,  heigh-ho  !  unto  the  green  holly  :    180 
Most  friendship  is  feigning,  most  loving  mere  folly  : 
Then,  heigh-ho,  the  holly  I 
This  life  is  most  jolly. 

Freeze,  freeze,  thou  bitter  sky, 
That  dost  not  bite  so  nigh 
As  benefits  forgot : 


058  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  [act  HI. 

Thoagh  thoa  the  waters  warp. 
Thy  sting  is  not  so  sharp 
As  friend  remember'd  not. 
Heigh-ho !  sing,  &c.  100 

Duke  8.  If  that  yon  were  the  good  Sir  Rowland's  son. 
As  yon  hare  whisper*d  faithfully  you  were. 
And  as  mine  eye  doth  his  effigies  witness 
Most  truly  limn'd  and  living  n\  your  face. 
Be  truly  welcome  hitlier  :  I  am  the  duke 
That  ]oved  your  father  :  the  residue  of  your  fortune. 
Go  to  my  cave  and  tell  me.     Good  old  man. 
Thou  art  right  welcome  as  thy  master  is. 
Support  him  by  the  arm.     Give  me  your  hand, 
And  let  mo  all  your  fortunes  understand.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  III. 

ScBNB  I.    A  room  in  the  palace. 

Enter  Duke  Frederick,  Lords,  and  Oliyee. 

Duke  F,  Not  see  him  since  ?    Sir,  sir,  that  cannot  be : 
But  were  I  not  the  better  part  made  mf^rcy, 
I  sliould  not  seek  an  absent  argument 
Of  my  revenge,  thou  present.     But  look  to  it : 
Find  out  thy  brother,  wheresoe'er  he  is ; 
Seek  him  with  candle  ;  bring  him  dead  or  living 
Within  this  twelvemonth,  or  turn  thou  no  more 
To  seek  a  living  in  our  territory. 
Thy  lands  and  all  things  that  thou  dost  call  thine 
Worth  seizure  do  we  seize  into  our  hands,  10 

Till  thou  canst  qtiit  thee  by  thy  brother's  mouth 
Of  what  we  think  against  thee. 

(Hi,  O  that  your  highness  knew  my  heart  in  this  ! 
I  never  loved  my  brother  in  my  life. 

Duke  F.  More  villain    thou.     Well,    push  him  out   c€ 
doors; 
And  let  my  officers  of  such  a  nature 
Make  an  extent  upon  his  housa  and  lands : 
Do  this  expediently  and  turn  him  going.  [ExeunL 

Scene  IL     Thefore^. 

EtUer  Orlando,  taUh  a  paper. 

Orl.  Hang  there,  my  verse,  in  witness  of  my  love : 
And  thou,  thrice-crowned  queen  of  night,  survey 


flCBi^fiti.]  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  598 

With  thy  cliAste  eye,  from  thy  pale  sphere  above, 
Thy  huntress'  name  that  my  full  life  doth  sway. 

O  llosaliud  !  these  trees  shall  be  my  books 
And  in  their  barlcs  my  thoughts  Fll  character  ; 

That  every  eye  which  in  this  fbrest  looks 
Shall  see  thy  virtue  witness'd  every  where. 

Ran,  run,  Orlando  ;  carve  on  every  tree 

The  fair,  the  chaste  and  unexpressive  she.  [Exit. 

Enter  Ck>RiK  and  Touchstonb. 

Cor.  And  how  like  you  this  shepherd's  life,  Master  Touch* 
stone? 

IoucIl  Truly,  shepherd,  in  respect  of  itself,  it  is  a  good 
life ;  but  in  respect  that  it  is  a  shepherd's  life,  it  Is  naught. 
In  respect  that  it  is  solitary,  I  like  it  very  well ;  but  in  re- 
spect that  it  Is  private,  it  is  a  very  vile  life.  Now,  in  re- 
spect it  is  in  the  fields,  it  pleaseth  me  well ;  but  in  respect 
it  is  not  in  the  court,  it  is  tedious.  As  it  is  a  spare  life,  look 
vou,  it  fits  my  humour  well ;  but  as  there  is  no  more  plenty 
in  it,  it  goes  much  against  my  stomach.  Hast  any  philoso- 
phy in  thee,  shepherel  ? 

Cor,  No  more  but  that  I  know  the  more  one  sickens  the 
worse  at  ease  he  is  ;  and  that  he  that  wants  money,  means 
and  content  is  without  three  good  friends ;  that  the  property 
of  rain  is  to  wet  and  fire  to  bum  ;  that  good  pasture  makes 
fat  sheep,  and  that  a  great  cause  of  the  night  is  lack  of  the 
sun  ;  that  he  that  hath  learned  no  wit  by  nature  nor  art  mav 
complain  of  good  breeding  or  comes  of  a  very  dull  kindred. 

Touch.  Such  a  one  is  a  natural  philosopher.  .  Wast  evor 
in  court,  shepherd? 

Cor.  No,  truly. 

Touch.  Then  thou  art  damned. 

Cor.  Nay,  I  hope. 

Touch.  Truly,  thou  art  damned  like  an  ill-roasted  egg,  all 
on  one  side. 

Cor.  For  not  being  at  court?    Your  reason.  40 

Touch.  Why,  if  thou  never  wast  at  court,  thou  never 
sawest  good  manners  ;  if  thou  never  sawest  g^ood  manners, 
then  thy  manners  must  be  wicked  ;  and  wickedness  is  sin, 
and  sin  is  damnation.  Thou  art  in  a  parlous  state,  shep- 
herd. 

Cor.  Not  a  whit.  Touchstone :  those  that  are  good  man- 
ners at  the  court  are  as  ridiculous  in  the  country  as  the  be- 
haviour of  the  country  Is  most  mockable  at  the  court.  You 
told  me  you  salute  not  at  tlie  court,  but  you  kiss  your  hands  : 
that  courtesy  would  be  uncleanly,  if  courtiers  w^ro  shep* 
herds. 


554  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  [act  m. 

Touch.  Instance,  briefly ;  come,  instance. 

Car.  Why,  we  are  still  handling  oar  ewes,  and  their  fells, 
you  know,  are  greasy. 

loach.  Why,  do  not  your  coartier's  hands  sweat  ?  and  Is 
not  the  grease  of  a  mutton  as  wholesome  as  the  sweat  of  a 
luan  ?    Sliallow,  shallow.     A  better  instance,  I  say ;  come. 

Cor.  Besides,  our  hands  are  hard.  60 

ToucJi.  Yoiir  lips  will  feel  them  the  sooner.  Shallow 
again.     A  more  sounder  instance,  come. 

Cor.  And  they  are  often  tarred  over  with  the  surgery  of 
our  sheep ;  and  would  you  have  us  kiss  tar?  The  courtier's 
hands  are  perfumed  with  civet. 

Touch.  Most  shallow  man !  thou  worms-meat,  in  respect 
of  a  good  piece  of  flesh  indeed  I  Learn  of  the  wise,  and 
perpend :  civet  is  of  a  baser  birth  than  tar,  the  very  un- 
cleanly flux  of  a  cat.     Mend  the  instance,  shepherd.         71 

Cor.  You  have  too  courtly  a  wit  for  me  :  I'll  rest. 

Touch.  Wilt  thou  rest  damned  ?  Qod  help  thee,  shallow 
man  !    Qod  make  incision  in  thee  !  thou  art  raw. 

Cor.  Sir,  I  am  a  true  labourer  :  I  earn  that  I  eat,  get  tliat 
I  wear,  owe  no  man  hate,  envy  no  man's  happiness,  glad  of 
other  men's  good,  content  with  my  harm,  and  the  greatest 
of  my  pride  is  to  see  my  ewes  graze  and  my  lambs  suck. 

Toudi.  That  is  another  simple  sin  in  you,  to  bring  the 
ewes  and  the  rams  together  and  to  offer  to  get  your  living 
by  the  copulation  of  cattle  ;  to  be  bawd  to  a  bell- weather, 
and  to  l>etray  a  she-lamb  of  a  twelvemonth  to  a  crooked- 
pated,  old,  cuckoidly  ram,  out  of  all  reaM)nable  match.  If 
thou  beest  not  damned  for  this,  the  devil  himself  will  have 
no  shepherds ;  I  cannot  see  else  how  thou  shouldst  'scape. 

Cor.  Hare  comes  young  Master  Qanymede,  my  new  mis- 
tress's brother. 

Enter  Rosalind,  wtli  a  paper,  reading. 

Ros.  From  the  east  to  western  Ind, 

No  jewel  is  like  Rosalind. 

Her  worth,  being  mounted  on  the  wind. 

Through  all  the  world  bears  Rosalind. 

All  the  pictures  fairest  lined 

Are  but  black  to  Rosalind. 

Let  no  fair  be  kept  in  mind 

But  the  fair  of  Rosalind.  100 

Touch.  I'll  rhyme  you  so  eight  years  together,  dinners 
and  suppers  and.  sleeping-hours  excepted :   it  is  the  right 
butter- women's  rank  to  market. 
Bos.  Out,  fool  I 
loueh.  For  a  taste: 


8CENBII.]  AS  TOU  LIKE  IT.  556 

If  a  liart  do  lack  a  hind. 
Let  him  seek  out  RoBalind. 
If  the  cat  will  after  kind. 
So  be  surf  will  Rosalind.  110 

Winter  garments  must  be  lined, 
So  must  slender  Rosalind. 
They  that  reap  must  sheaf  and  bind  ; 
Then  to  cart  with  Rosalind. 
Sweetest  nut  hath  sourest  rind, 
Such  a  nut  is  Rosalind. 
He  that  sweetest  rose  will  find 
Must  find  love's  prick  and  Rosalind. 
This  is  the  very  false  gallop  of  verses :  why  do  you  infect 
yourself  with  them  ?  190 

Bo».  Peace,  you  dull  fool  I  I  found  them  on  a  tree. 
Touch.  Truly,  tlie  tree  yields  bad  fruit. 
Ros.  rU  graff  it  with  you,  and  then  I  shall  graff  it  with  a 
medlar  :  then  it  will  be  the  earliest  fruit  i'  the  country  ;  for 
you'll  bo  rotten  ere  you  be  half  ripe,  and  that's  the  right 
virtue  of  the  medlar. 

Touch.  You  have  said ;  but  whether  wisely  or  no,  let  the 
forest  judge.  180 

Enter  Celia,  teith  a  tmUng, 
Ros.  Peace  I 
Here  comes  my  sister,  reading :  stand  aside. 
Ca.  [Beads} 

Wjiy  should  tills  a  desert  be  7 
For  it  is  unpeopled  ?    No  ; 
Tongues  Fll  hsuxg  on  every  tree, 
That  shall  civil  sayings  show : 
Some,  how  brief  the  life  of  man 

Runs  his  erring  pilfi^rimage. 
That  the  stretching  of  a  span 

Buckles  in  his  sum  of  age ;  140 

Some,  of  violated  vows 

*Twixt  the  souls  of  friend  and  friend : 
But  upon  the  fairest  boughs. 

Or  at  every  sentence  end. 
Will  I  Rosalinda  write, 

Teaching  all  that  read  to  know 
The  quintessence  of  every  sprite 

Heaven  would  in  little  show. 
Therefore  Heaven  Nature  charged 

That  one  body  should  be  fill'd  150 

With  all  graces  wide-enlarged  : 

Nature  presently  distUl'd 
Helen's  cheek,  bat  not  her  heart. 


5SB  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  [actiil 

Cleopatra  s  majeetf, 
Atalanta's  better  part, 

Sad  Lucretia's  luodesty. 
Thus  Rosalind  of  many  parts 

By  heavenly  synod  was  devised, 
Of  many  faces,  eyes  and  hearts, 
To  have  the  touches  dearest  prized.  160 

Heaven  would  that  she  these  gifts  sliould  have, 
And  I  to  live  and  die  her  slave. 

Jlo9.  O  most  gentle  palpiter !  what  tedious  homily  of 
love  have  you  wearied  your  parishioaera  withal,  and  never 
cried  "  Have  patience,  good  people  "  1 

del.  How  now  !  back,  friends  I  Shepherd,  go  off  a  little. 
Qo  with  him,  sirrah. 

Toiieh.  Gome,  shepherd,  let  us  make  an  honourable  re- 
treat ;  though  not  with  bag  and  baggage,  vet  with  scrip  and 
scrippage.  [Exeunt  Corin  and  Touchatane.         171 

Gel.  &idst  thou  hear  these  verses  ? 

Roe,  O,  yes,  I  heard  them  all,  and  more  too  ;  for  somo  of 
them  had  in  tliem  more  feet  than  the  verses  would  bear. 

Cel.  That's  no  matter :  the  feet  might  l)ear  the  verses. 

Bos.  Ay,  but  the  feet  were  lame  and  could  not  bear  them- 
selves without  the  verse  and  therefore  stood  lamely  in  the 
verse.  180 

Cel,  But  didst  then  hear  without  wondering  how  thy 
name  should  be  hanged  and  carved  upon  these  trees  ? 

Rag,  I  waji  seven  of  the  nine  days  out  of  the  wonder  be- 
fore you  came  ;  for  look  here  what  I  found  on  a  palm -tree. 
I  was  never  so  berhymed  since  Pythagoras*  time,  that  I  was 
an  Irish  rat,  which  I  can  hardly  remember. 

Cel.  Trow  you  who  hath  done  this  ? 

]ioa.  Is  it  a  man?  190 

Cel.  And  a  chain,  that  you  once  wore,  about  his  neck* 
Change  you  colour  ? 

lio9.  I  prithee,  who? 

Cel.  O  Lord,  Lord  I  it  is  a  hard  matter  for  friends  to 
meet ;  but  mountains  may  be  removed  with  earthquakes 
and  so  encounter. 

Roe.  Nay,  but  who  is  it? 

Cel.  Is  it  possible  ? 

Has.  Nay,  I  prithee  now  with  most  petitionary  vehemence, 
tell  me  who  it  is.  200 

Cei.  O  wonderful,  wonderful,  and  most  wonderful  won- 
derful !  and  yet  again  wonderful,  and  after  that,  out  of  all 
hooping  I 

Jioa.  Good  my  complexion  !  dost  thou  think,  though  I  am 
eapaxisoned  like  a  inan,  I  have  a  doublet  and  hose  in  my 


BCENEii.]  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  ;657 

disposition  ?  One  inch  of  delay  aiore  is  a  South-sea  of  dis- 
covery ;  I  prithee,  telJ  me  who  is  it  quickly,  and  speak 
apace.  I  would  thou  couldst  stammer,  that  thou  luightst 
pour  this  concealed  man  out  of  thy  mouth,  ns  wine  comes 
out  of  a  narrow-mouthed  bottle,  eitner  too  much  at  once,  or 
none  at  all.  I  prithee,  take  the  cork  out  of  thy  mouth  that 
I  may  drink  thy  tidings. 

Cel.  So  you  may  put  a  man  in  your  belly. 

Ron.  Is  he  of  God's  making?  What  manner  of  man  ?  Is 
Lis  head  worth  a  hat,  or  his  chin  worth  a  beard? 

Cel.  Nay,  he  hath  but  a  littje  beard. 

lios.  Why,  God  will  send  more,  if  the  man  will  be  thank- 
ful :  let  me  stay  the  growth  of  his  beard,  if  thou  delay  me 
not  the  knowl^ge  of  his  chin. 

Cei.  It  is  young  Orlando,  that  tripped  up  the  wrestler's 
heels  and  your  heart  both  in  an  instant. 

lios.  Nay,  but  the  devil  take  mocking  :  sx)eak,  sad  brow 
and  true  maid. 

Cel.  r  faith,  coz,  'tis  he. 

Jto8.  Orlando? 

Cel.  Orlando.  230 

lios.  Alas  the  day  !  what  shall  I  do  with  my  doublet  and 
hose  ?  What  did  he  when  thou  sawest  him  ?  What  siaid 
he  ?  IIo%V  l(x>ked  he  ?  Wherein  went  he  ?  What  makes  he 
here?  Did  he  ask  for  me?  Where  remains  he?  How 
parted  he  with  thee  ?  and  when  shalt  thou  see  him  again  ? 
Answer  me  in  one  word. 

Cel.  You  must  borrow  mo  Qargnntua's  mouth  firet :  'tis  a 
word  too  great  for  any  mouth  of  this  age's  size.  To  say  oy 
and  no  to  these  particulars  is  more  than  to  answer  in  a 
catechism.  241 

lias.  But  doth  he  know  that  I  am  in  this  forest  and  in 
man's  apparel  Y  Looks  he  as  freshly  as  he  did  the  day  he 
wrestled  ? 

Cel.  It  is  &s  ea.sy  to  count  atomics  as  to  resolve  the  propo- 
sitions of  a  lover  ;  but  toko  a  taste  of  my  finding  him,  and 
relish  it  with  good  observance.  1  found  him  under  a  tree, 
like  a  dropi)ea  aconi. 

Jios.  It  may  well  be  called  Jove's  tree,  when  it  drops 
forth  such  fruit.  250 

Cel.  Give  me  audience,  good  madam. 

liofi.  Proceed. 

Cel.  There  lay  he,  stretched  along,  like  a  wounded  knight. 

Mas.  Though  it  be  pity  to  see  such  a  sight,  it  well  bo- " 
comes  the  ground. 

Cel.  Cry  •* holla"  to  thy  tongue,  I  prithee  ;  it  curvets  un- 
seasonably.     He  was  furnished  like  a  hunter. 


558  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  [act  in. 

■ 

Bos.  O,  ominous  I  he  comes  to  kill  my  heart.  2W) 

Cd.  I  would  sing  my  song  ivithout  a  burden :  thou 
bringest  me  out  of  tune. 

Has.  Do  you  not  know  I  am  a  woman  ?  when  I  think,  I 
must  speak.     Sweet,  say  on. 

Cel.  You  bring  me  out.     Soft !  comes  he  not  here  ? 

Enter  Orlando  and  Jaques. 

Bos.  'Tis  he  :  slink  by,  and  note  him. 

Jaq.  I  thank  you  for  your  company ;  but,  good  faith,  I 
had  as  lief  have  been  myself  alone.  270 

OrL  And  so  had  I ;  but  yet,  for  fashion  sake,  I  thank  you 
too  for  your  society. 

Jaq.  God  be  wi'  you  :  let's  meet  as  litile  as  we  can. 

On.  I  do  desire  we  may  be  better  strangers. 

Jaq.  I  pray  you,  mar  no  more  trees  with  writing  love- 
songs  in  tiieir  barks. 

Orl.  I  pray  you,  mar  no  more  of  my  verses  with  reading 
them  ill-favouredly. 

Jaq.  Rosalind  is  your  love's  name?  280 

Ore.  Yes,  just. 

Jaq.  I  do  not  like  her  name. 

On.  There  was  no  thought  of  pleasing  yon  when  she 
was  christened. 

Jaq.  What  stature  is  she  of? 

Orl.  Just  as  high  as  my  heart. 

Jaq.  You  are  full  of  pretty  answers.  Have  you  not  been 
acquainted  with  goldsmiths'  wives,  and  conned  them  out 
of  rings?  289 

Orl.  Not  so  ;  but  I  answer  you  right  painted  cloth,  from 
whence  you  have  studied  your  questions. 

Jaq.  You  have  a  nimble  wit :  I  think  'twas  made  of  Ata- 
lanta's  heels.  Will  you  sit  down  with  me?  and  we  two  will 
rail  agaiijst  our  mistress  the  world  and  all  our  misery. 

Orl.  I  will  chide  no  breather  in  the  world  but  myself, 
again.st  whom  I  know  most  faults. 

Jaq.  The  worst  fault  you  have  is  to  be  in  love.  300 

Orl.  'Tis  a  fault  I  will  not  change  for  your  best  virtue. 
I  am  weary  of  you. 

Jaq.  By  my  troth,  I  was  seeking  for  a  fool  when  I  found 
you. 

Orl.  He  is  drowned  in  the  brook :  look  but  in,  and  you 
shall  see  him. 

Jaq.  There  I  shall  see  mine  own  figure. 

Orl.  Which  I  take  to  be  either  a  f(x>l  or  a  cipher. 

Jaq.  I'll  tarry  no  longer  with  you  :  farewell,  good  Signior 
Love.  810 


BCENRii.]  AS  YOU   LIKE  IT.  659 

Orl.  I  am  glad  of  yoar  departure  :  adiea,  good  Monsieur 
Melancholy.  lEnt  Jaques, 

Ros.  [Adde  to  Celia]  I  will  speak  to  him  like  a  saucy 
lackey  and  under  that liabit  play  the  kuave  with  him.  Do 
you  hear,  forester  ? 

Oii.  Very  well :  what  would  you  ? 

Ron,  I  pray  you,  what  is't  o'clock? 

Orl.  You  should  ask  me  what  time  o'day :  there's  no 
clock  in  the  forest.  319 

Ros,  Tlien  there  is  no  true  lover  in  the  forest ;  else  sigh- 
ing every  minute  and  groaning  every  hour  would  detect  the 
lazy  foot  of  Time  as  well  as  a  clock. 

Orl,  And  why  not  the  swift  foot  Of  Time  ?  had  not  that 
been  as  proper? 

Ro$.  By  no  means,  sir  :  Time  travels  in  divers  paces  with 
divers  persons.  Til  tell  you  who  Time  ambles  withal,  who 
Time  trots  withal,  who  Time  gallops  withal  and  who  he 
stands  still  withal. 

Orl.  I  prithee,  who  doth  he  trot  withal  ? 

Ros.  Marry,  he  trots  liard  with  a  young  maid  between 
the  contract  of  her  marriage  and  the  day  it  is  solemnized  : 
if  the  interim  be  but  a  se'nnight.  Time*s  pace  is  so  hard 
that  it  seems  the  length  of  seven  year. 

Orl.  Who  ambles  Time  withal  ? 

Ro8.  With  a  priest  that  lacks  Latin  and  a  rich  man  that 
hath  not  the  gout,  for  the  one  sleeps  easily  because  he  can- 
not study  and  the  other  lives  merrily  because  he  feels  no 
pain,  the  one  lacking  the  burden  of  lean  and  wasteful 
learning,  the  other  knowing  no  burden  of  heavy  tedious 
penury  ;  these  Time  ambles  withal. 

Orl.  Who  doth  he  gallop  withal. 

Ro9.  With  a  thief  to  the  gallows,  for  though  he  go  aa 
softly  as  foot  can  fall,  he  thinks  himself  too  soon  there. 

Orl.  Who  stays  it  still  withal? 

Ro$.  With  lawyers  in  the  vacation  ;  for  they  sleep 
between  term  and  term*  and  then  they  perceive  not  how 
Time  moves.  851 

Orl.  Where  dwell  you,  pretty  youth  ? 

Ro9.  With  this  shepherdess,  my  sister  ;  here  in  the  skirts 
of  the  forest,  like  fringe  upon  a  petticoat 

Orl.  Are  you  native  of  this  place  ? 

Ros.  As  the  cony  that  you  see  dwell  where  she  is  kindled. 

Orl.  Your  accent  is  sometliing  finer  than  you  could  pur- 
chase in  so  removed  a  dwelling.  8C0 

Ro8.  I  have  been  told  so  of  many  :  but  indeed  an  old  re- 
ligious uncle  of  mine  taught  me  to  speak,  who  was  in  Ids 
youth  an  inland  man ;  one  that  knew  courtship  too  well, 


560  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  [act  III. 

for  there  he  fell  in  love,  I  have  heard  him  read  many  lec- 
tures a£;itinst  it,  and  I  thank  God  I  am  not  a  woman,  to  be 
toucljed  with  so  many  giddy  offences  as  he  hath  generally 
taxed  their  whole  sex  withal. 

Orl.  Can  you  rememl)er  any  of  the  principal  evils  that 
he  laid  to  the  charge  of  women  ?  870 

Hos.  Tliere  were  none  principal ;  they  were  all  like  one 
another  as  half -pence  are,  every  one  fault  seeming  mon- 
strous till  his  fellow-fault  came  to  match  it. 

Orl.  I  prithee,  recount  some  of  them. 

Bos.  No,  I  will  not  cast  away  my  physic  but  on  those 
that  are  sick.  There  is. a  man  haunts  the  forest,  that  abuses 
our  young  plants  with  carving  "  Rosalind"  on  their^ barks  ; 
hangs  odes  upon  hawthorns  and  elegies  on  brambles,  all, 
forsooth,  deifying  the  name  of  Rosalind  :  if  I  could  meet 
that  fancy-monger,  I  would  give  him  some  good  counsel,  for 
he  seems  to  have  the  quotidian  of  love  upon  him. 

Orl.  I  am  he  that  is  so  love-shaked  :  1  pray  you,  tell  me 
your  remedy. 

.  Ros.  There  is  none  of  my  uncle's  marks  upon  you  :  he 
taught  me  how  to  know  a  man  in  love  ;  in  which  cage  of 
rushes  1  am  sure  you  are  not  prisoner.  390 

Orl.  What  were  his  marks  ? 

Ros.  A  lean  cheek,  which  you  have  not,  a  blue  eye  and 
sunken,  which  you  have  not,  an  unquestionable  spirit, 
which  you  have  not,  a  beard  neglected,  which  you  have  not; 
but  I  pardon  you  for  that,  for  simply  your  having  in  beard 
is  a  younger  brother's  revenue  :  then  your  hose  should  be 
ungartered,  your  bonnet  unhanded,  your  sleeve  unbuttoned, 
your  shoe  untied  and  every  thing  alx>ut  you  demonstrating 
a  careless  desolation  ;  but  you  are  no  such  man  ;  you  are 
rather  point-device  in  your  accoutrements  as  loving  yourself 
than  seeming  the  lover  of  any  other. 

Orl.  Fair  youth,  I  would  I  could  make  thee  believe  I  love. 

Ros.  Me  believe  it !  you  may  as  «oon  malce  her  that  you 
love  believe  it ;  which,  I  warrant,  she  is  apter  1o  do  than  to 
confess  she  does  :  that  is  one  of  the  points  in  the  which 
women  still  give  the  lie  to  their  consciences.  But,  in  good 
Rooth,  are  you  ho  that  hangs  the  verses  on  the  trees,  wherein 
Rosalind  is  so  admired? 

Orl.  I  swear  to  thee,  youth,  by  the  white  hand  of  Rosa- 
lind, I  am  that  he,  that  unfortunate  he. 

Ros.  But  are  you  so  much  in  love  as  your  rhymes  speak  ? 

Orl.  Neither  rhyme  nor  reason  can  express  how  much. 
^    Ros.  Love  is  merely  a  madness,  and,  I  tell  you,  deserves 
as  well  a  dark  house  and  a  whip  as  madmen  do  :  and  the 
reason  why  they  are  not  so  punished  and  cured  is,  that  tiie 


BCBJCEiii.]  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  561 

lunacy  is  so  ordinary  that  the  whippers  are  in  love  too. 
Yet  1  profess  curing  it  by  counsel. 

Orl.  Did  you  ever  cure  any  so  ? 

JR08.  Yes,  one,  and  in  tliis  manner.  He  was  to  imagine 
me  liis  love,  his  mistress  ;  and  I  set  him  every  day  to  woo 
me :  at  which  time  would  I,  being  but  a  moonish  youth, 
grieve,  be  effeminate,  changeable,  longing  and  liking,  proud, 
fantastical,  apish,  shallow,  inconstant,  full  of  tears,  full  of 
smiles,  for  every  passion  something  and  for  no  passion 
truly  any  thing,  as  boys  and  women  are  for  the  most  part 
cattle  of  this  colour  ;  would  now  like  him,  now  loathe  him; 
then  entertain  him,  then  forswear  him  ;  now  weep  for  him, 
then  spit  at  him ;  that  I  drave  my  suitor  from  his  mad 
humour  of  love  to  a  living  humour  of  madness ;  which 
was,  to  forswear  the  full  stream  of  the  world  and  to  live  in 
a  nook  merely  monastic.  And  thus  I  cured  him  ;  and  this 
way  will  I  take  upon  me  to  wash  your  liver  as  clean  as  a 
sound  sheep's  heart,  that  there  shall  not  be  one  spot  of  love 
in't. 

Orl.  I  would  not  be  cured,  youth. 

Bos.  1  would  cure  you,  if  you  would  but  call  me  Rosa- 
lind and  come  every  day  to  my  cote  and  woo  me. 

Orl.  Now,  by  the  faith  of  my  love,  I  will :  tell  me  where 
it  is.  450 

Bos.  Go  with  me  to  it  and  Til  show  it  you  :  and  by  the 
way  you  sliall  tell  me  where  in  the  forest  you  live.  Will 
you  go? 

OH.  With  all  my  heart,  good  youth. 

R08.  Nay,  you  must  call  me  Rosalind.  Come^  sister,  will 
you  go  ?  [Exeunt. 

BcBNic  III.     The  forett. 

Enter  Touchstone  and  Audrbt  ;  Jaqubs  behind. 

Touch.  Come  apace,  good  Audrey  :  I  will  fetch  up  your 

goats,  Audrey.  And  how,  Audrey?  am  I  the  man  yet? 
oth  my  simple  feature  content  you  ? 

Attd.  Your  features  !  Lord  warrant  us  !  what  features  ? 

laueh.  I  am  here  with  thee  and  thy  goats,  as  the  most 
capricious  poet,  honest  Ovid,  was  amon^  the  Qoths. 

Jaq.  [Akde]  O  knowledge  ill-habited,  worse  than  Jove  in 
a  thatched  house  I  11 

Touch.  When  a  man's  verses  cannot  be  understood,  nor  a 
man's  good  wit  seconded  with  the  forward  child  Under- 
standing, it  strikes  a  man  more  dead  than  a  great  reckoning 
in  a  little  room.  Trtily,  I  would  the  gods  had  made  thee 
poeticaL 


6e2  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  [actiii. 

Aud,  I  do  not  know  what  "  poetical "  is :  is  it  honest  in 
deed  and  word  ?  is  it  a  true  thing? 

Toud^.  No,  truly  ;  for  the  truest  poetry  is  the  most  feign- 
ing ;  and  lovers  are  given  to  poetry,  and  what  they  swear 
in  poetry  may  be  said  as  lovers  they  do  feign. 

Aud.  Do  you  wish  then  that  the  gods  had  made  me 
poetical? 

ToucJi.  I  do,  truly  ;  for  thou  swearest  to  me  thou  art  hon- 
est :  now,  if  thou  wert  a  poet,  I  might  have  some  hope  thou 
didst  feif  n. 

Aud.  Would  you  not  have  me  honest  ? 

l^oudi.  No,  truly,  unless  thou  wert  liard-favoured  ;  for 
honesty  coupled  to  beauty  is  to  have  honey  a  sauce  to  sugar. 

Jaq.  [Amke\  A  material  fool ! 

Aud,  Well,  1  am  not  fair  ;  and  therefore  I  pray  the  gods 
make  me  honest. 

Touch.  Truly,  and  to  cast  away  honesty  upon  a  foul  slut 
were  to  put  good  meat  into  an  unclean  dish. 

Aud.  I  am  not  a  slut,  though  I  thank  the  gods  I  am  foul. 

Touch.,  Well,  praised  be  the  gods  for  thy  foulness  I  slut- 
tishness  may  come  hereafter.  But  be  it  as  it  may  be,  I  will 
marry  thee,  and  to  that  end  I  have  been  witli  Sir  Oliver 
Martext,  the  vicar  of  the  nest  village,  who  hath  y^romised 
to  meet  me  in  this  place  of  the  forest  and  to  couple  us. 

Jaq.  [Aside]  I  would  fain  see  this  meeting. 

Aud.  Well,  the  gods  give  us  joy  ! 

Touch.  Amen.  A  man  may,  if  he  were  of  a  fearful 
heart,  stagger  in  this  attempt ;  for  here  we  have  no  temple 
but  the  wood,  no  assembly  but  horn-beasts.  But  what 
though  ?  Courage  !  As  horns  are  odious,  they  are  neces- 
sary. It  is  said,  "  many  a  man  knows  no  end  of  his  goods  : " 
right ;  many  a  man  has  good  horns,  and  knows  no  end  of 
them.  Well,  that  is  the  dowry  of  his  wife  ;  His  none  of  his 
own  getting.  Horns?  Even  so.  Poor  men  alone ?  No,  no; 
the  noblest  deer  hath  them  as  huffe  as  the  rascal.  Is  the 
single  man  therefore  blessed  ?  No :  as  a  walled  town  is 
more  worthier  than  a  village,  so  is  the  forehead  of  a  married 
man  more  honourable  than  the  bare  brow  of  a  l)achelor  ; 
aud  by  how  much  defence  is  better  than  no  skill,  by  so 
much  is  a  horn  more  precious  than  to  want.  Here  comes 
Sir  Oliver. 

Enter  Sra  Oliver  Martext. 

Sir  Oliver  Martext,  you  are  well  met :  will  you  dispatch  us 
here  under  this  tree,  or  shall  we  go  with  you  to  your  chapel  ? 

Sir.  OH.  Is  there  none  here  to  sive  the  woman  ? 

Touch.  I  will  not  take  her  on  gift  of  any  man. 


1 


fiCBNBiv.]  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  563 


T 
ji 


Sir.  OU,  Traly,  she  must  be  given,  or  the  marriage  is  not 
Uwful.  71 

Jaq,  [Advaneing]  Proceed,  proceed  :  I'll  give  her. 
Touch,  Good  even,  good  Master  What-ye-call't :   how  do 
on,  sir?    Yon  are  very  well  met :   God  'ild  you  for  your 
ast  company  :   I  am  very  glad  to  see  you  :   even  a  toy  in 
hand  here,  sir :  nay,  pray  be  covered. 
Jaq.  Will  you  be  married,  motley?  79 

T<mch.  As  the  ox  hath  his  bow,  sir,  the  horse  his  curb 
and  the  falcon  her  bells,  so  man  hath  his  desires  ;  and  as 
pigeons  bill,  so  wedlock  would  be  nibbling. 

Jaq.  And  will  you,  being  a  man  of  your  breeding,  be 
married  under  a  bush  like  a  beggar?  Get  you  to  church, 
and  have  a  good  priest  that  can  tell  you  what  marriage  is  : 
this  fellow  will  but  join  you  together  as  they  join  wainscot ; 
then  one  of  you  wUl  prove  a  shrunk  panel  and,  like  green 
timber,  warp,  warp.  90 

Touch.  \ Aside]  I  am  not  in  the  mind  but  I  were  better  to 
be  married  of  him  than  of  another :  for  he  is  not  like  to 
marry  me  well ;  and  not  being  well  married,  it  will  be  a  good 
excuse  for  me  hereafter  to  leave  my  wife. 
Jaq.  Go  thou  with  me,  and  let  me  counsel  thee. 
Touch.  Come,  sweet  Audrey : 
We  must  be  married,  or  we  must  live  in  bawdry. 
IWewell,  god  master  Oliver  :  not, —  100 

O  sweet  Oliver, 
O  brave  Oliver, 
Leave  me  not  behind  thee  : 
but,— 

Wind  away. 
Begone,  I  say, 
I  will  not  to  wedding  with  thee. 

[Exeunt  Jaques,  ToiichMone  and  Audrey. 

Sir  (Hi.  'Tis  no  matter  :  ne'er  a  fantastical  knave  of  them 

all  shall  flout  me  out  of  my  calling.  [Exit.  109 

ScKNB  IV.     The  forest. 

Enter  Rosalii^d  and  Celia. 

Bos.  Never  talk  to  me ;  I  will  weep. 

Cel.  Do,  I  prithee ;  but  yet  have  tlie  grace  to  consider  that 
tears  do  not  become  a  man. 

Mos.  But  have  I  not  cause  to  weep  ? 

Cel.  As  good  cause  as  one  would  desire  ;  therefore  weep. 

Bos.  His  very  hair  is  of  the  dissembling  colour. 

Cel.  Something  browner  than  Judaa's :  marry,  his  kisses 
are  Jadas's  own  children.  10 


6W  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  [act  lu. 

Baa.  V  faith,  his  hair  is  of  a  good  colour. 

Cel.  An  excellent  colour :  your  chestnut  was  ever  the 
only  colour. 

Iio9.  And  his  kissing  is  as  full  of  sanctity  as  the  touch  of 
holy  bread. 

Uel.  He  liath  bought  a  pair  of  cast  lips  of  Diana :  a  nun 
of  winter's  sisterhocNd  kisses  not  more  religiously  ;  the  very 
ice  of  chastity  is  in  them. 

Bf/g.  But  wliy  did  he  swear  he  would  come  this  morning, 
and  comes  not  ?  Si 

Cel.  Nay,  certainly,  there  is  oo  truth  in  him. 

Iio8.  Do  you  think  so? 

Cd.  Yes  ;  I  think  lie  is  not  a  pick-purse  nor  a  horse-stealer, 
but  for  his  verity  in  love,  1  do  think  him  as  concave  as  a 
covered  goblet  or  a  worm-eaten  nut 

lios.  Not  true  in  love  ? 

Cel.  Yes,  when  he  is  in  ;  but  I  think  he  is  not  in.  80 

Hos.  You  have  heard  him  swear  downright  he  was. 

Cei.  **  Was  "  is  not  "  is :"  besides,  the  oath  of  a  lover  is  no 
stronger  than  the  word  of  a  tapster  ;  they  are  both  the  con- 
finuer  of  false  reckonings.  He  attends  here  in  the  forest  on 
tlie  duke  your  father. 

Bm.  I  met  the  duke  yesterday  and  had  much  question 
with  him :  he  asked  mo  of  wliat  parentage  X  waA ;  I  told 
him,  of  as  good  as  he  ;  so  he  laughed  and  let  me  go.  But 
what  talk  we  of  fathers,  when  there  is  such  a  man  as 
Orlando  ? 

Cel.  0,  that's  a  brave  man  !  he  writes  brave  verses,  speaks 
brave  words,  swears  brave  oaths  and  breaks  them  bravely, 
quite  traverse,  athwart  the  heart  of  his  lover  ;  as  a'  puisny 
tiiter.  that  spurs  his  horse  but  on  one  side,  breaks  hisstaff  like 
a  noble  goose;  but  all's  brave  that  youtli  mounts  and  folly 
guides.     Who  comes  here? 

Enter  Ck)RiN. 

Cor,  Mistress  and  master,  yon  have  oft  inquired  50 

After  the  shepherd  that  oomplain'd  of  love, 
Who  you  saw  sitting  by  me  on  the  turf,  , 
Praising  the  proud  disdainful  shepherdess 
That  was  his  mistress. 

Cel.  Well,  and  what  of  him? 

Cor.  If  you  will  see  a  pageant  truly  play'd. 
Between  the  pale  complexion  of  true  love 
And  the  red  glow  of  scorn  and  proud  disdain, 
Go  hence  a  little  and  I  shall  conduct  you, 
If  you  will  mark  it. 

Jxc^.  O,  come,  let  us  remove  : 


SCENE  v.]  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  565 

Tlie  sight  of  loyers  feedeth  those  in  love.  60 

Bring  us  to  this  sight,  and  70a  shall  saj 

I'll  prove  a  busy  actor  in  their  play.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  V.    Another  part  of  the  foretA. 

Enter  Silvius  and  Phebb. 

Sm.  Sweet  Phebe,  do  not  scorn  me ;  do  not,  Phebe ; 
Say  that  you  love  me  not.  but  say  not  so 
In  bitterness.     The  common  executioner, 
Whose  heart  the  accustomed  sight  of  death  makes  hard, 
Falls  not  the  axe  upon  the  humbled  neck 
But  first  begs  pardon  :  will  yon  sterner  be 
f  Than  h^  that  dies  and  lives  by  bloody  drops  ? 

Enter  Rosalind,  Celia,  and  Corin,  hthind, 

Phe.  I  would  not  be  thy  executioner  : 
I  fly  thee,  for  I  would  not  injure  thee. 
Thou  tell'st  me  there  is  murder  in  mine  eye  :  10 

*Tis  pretty,  sure,  and  very  probable. 
That  eyes,  that  are  the  fniil'st  and  softest  things, 
Wlio  shut  their  coward  gates  on  atomies, 
ShoQld  be  call'd  tyrants,  butchers,  murderers  I 
Now  I  do  frown  on  thee  with  all  my  heart ; 
And  if  mine  eyes  can  wound,  now  let  them  kill  thee : 
Now  counterfeit  to  swoon  ;  why  now  fall  down  ; 
Or  if  thou  canst  not,  O,  for  shame,  for  shame. 
Lie  not,  to  say  mine  eyes  are  murderers  ! 
Now  show  the  wound  mine  eye  hath  made  In  thee :  dO 

Scratch  thee  but  with  a  pin,  and  there  remains 
Some  scar  of  it ;  lean  but  upon  a  rush. 
The  cicatrice  and  capable  impressure 
Tliy  palm  some  moment  keeps  ;  but  now  mine  eyeB, 
Which  I  have  darted  at  thee,  hurt  thee  not. 
Nor,  I  am  sure,  there  is  no  force  in  eyes. 
That  can  do  hurt. 

m,  O  dear  Phebe, 

If  ever, — as  that  ever  may  be  near, — 
Yon  meet  in  some  fresh  cheek  the  power  of  fancy. 
Then  shall  you  know  the  wounds  invisible  80 

Tliat  love's  keen  arrows  make. 

Phe.  But  till  that  time 

Come  not  thoa  near  me :  and  wh^n  that  time  comes, 
Afflict  me  with  thy  mocks,  pity  me  not ; 
As  till  that  time  I  shall  not  pity  thee. 

JJm.  And  why,  I  pray  you  ?    Wlio  might  be  your  mother. 
That  you  insult,  exult,  and  all  at  once. 
Over  the  wretched  ?  What  though  you  have  no  beauty, — 


566  AS  YOU   LIKfi  IT.  [actui. 

As,  by  my  faith,  I  see  no  more  in  you 

Than  without  candle  may  go  dark  to  bed — 

Must  you  be  therefore  proud  and  pitiless  7  40 

Why,  what  means  this?    Why  do  you  look  on  me? 

I  see  no  more  in  you  than  in  the  ordinary 

Of  nature's  sale- work.     *Od's  my  little  life, 

I  think  she  means  to  tangle  my  eyes  too  I 

No,  faith,  proud  mistress,  hope  not  after  it : 

'Tis  not  your  inky  brows,  your  black  silk  hair. 

Your  bugle  eyeballs,  nor  your  cheek  of  cream. 

That  can  entame  my  spirits  to  your  worship. 

You  foolish  shepherd,  wherefore  do  you  follow  her. 

Like  foggy  south  puffing  with  wind  and  rain  ?  60 

You  are  a  thousand  times  a  properer  man 

Than  she  a  woman  :  'tis  such  fools  as  you 

That  makes  the  world  full  of  ill-favour'd  children : 

Tis  not  her  glass,  but  you,  that  flatters  her ; 

And  out  of  you  she  sees  herself  more  proper 

Than  any  of  her  lineaments  can  show  her. 

But,  mistress,  know  yourself  :  down  on  your  knees. 

And  thank  heaven,  fasting,  for  a  good  man's  love : 

For  I  must  tell  you  friendly  in  your  ear, 

Sell  when  you  can :  you  are  not  for  all  markets  :  60 

Cry  the  man  mercy  ;  love  him  ;  take  his  offer  : 

Foul  is  most  foul,  being  foul  to  be  a  scoffer. 

So  take  her  to  thee,  shepherd  ;  fare  you  well. 

PJie.  Sweet  youth,  I  pray  you,  chide  a  year  together : 
I  had  rather  hear  you  chide  than  this  man  woo. 

Ro8.  He's  fallen  in  love  with  your  foulness  and  she*ll  fall 
in  love  with  my  anger.  If  it  be  so,  as  fast  as  she  answers 
thee  with  frowning  looks.  Til  sauce  her  with  bitter  words. 
Why  look  you  so  upon  me?  70 

Phe,  For  no  ill  will  I  bear  you. 

Ro8.  I  pray  you,  do  not  fall  in  love  with  me. 
For  I  am  falser  than  vows  made  in  wine  : 
Besides,  I  like  you  not.     If  you  will  know  my  house, 
'Tis  as  the  tuft  of  olives  here  hard  by. 
Will  you  go,  sister?    Shepherd,  ply' her  hard. 
Come,  sister.     Shepherdess,  look  on  him  better, 
And  be  not  proud  :  though  all  the  world  could  see, 
None  could  be  so  abused  in  sight  as  he.  80 

Come,  to  our  flock.  {Exeunt  Rosalind,  Celia  and  Carin. 

Phe,  Dead  shepherd,  now  I  find  thy  saw  of  might, 
**  Who  ever  loved  that  loved  not  at  first  sight?" 

SU.  Sweet  Phebe, — 

Pfie.  Ha,  what  say'st  thou,  SilTiust 

SU.  Sweet  Fhebe,  pity  me. 


SCENE  v.]  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  667 

Pile,  Wliy,  I  am  sorry  for  thee,  gentle  Silvias. 

SU,  Wherever  sorrow  is,  relief  would  be : 
If  you  do  sorrow  at  my  grief  in  love, 
By  giving  love  your  sorrow  and  my  grief 
Were  both  extermined. 

Phe.  Thou  hast  my  love  :  is  not  that  neighl)Ourly  ?        90 

Sit.  I  would  have  you. 

Pfie,  Why,  that  were  covet^usness. 

Silvius,  the  time  was  that  I  hated  thee, 
And  yet  it  is  not  that  I  bear  thee  love  ; 
But  since  that  thou  canst  talk  of  love  so  well, 
Thy  company,  which  erst  was  irksome  to  me, 
I  will  endure,  and  I'll  employ  thee  too  : 
But  do  not  look  for  further  recompense 
Than  thine  own  gladness  that  thoii  art  employ'd. 

SU.  So  holy  and  so  perfect  is  my  love, 
And  I  in  such  a  poverty  of  grace,  100 

That  I  shall  think  it  a  most  plenteous  crop 
To  glean  the  broken  ears  after  the  man 
That  the  main  harvest  reaps  :  loose  now  and  then 
A  scattered  smile,  and  that  I'll  live  upon. 

Pfie,  Know'st  thou  the  youth  that  spoke  to  me  erewhile? 

^.  Not  very  well,  but  I  have  met  him  oft ; 
And  he  hath  bought  the  cottage  and  the  bounds 
That  the  old  carlot  once  was  master  of. 

Pfie.  T^ii>^  not  I  love  him,  though  I  ask  for  him  ; 
'Tis  but  a  peevish  boy  ;  yet  he  talks  well  ;  110 

But  what  care  I  for  words  ?  yet  words  do  well 
When  he  that  speaks  them  pleases  those  that  hear. 
It  is  a  pretty  youth  :  not  very  pretty  : 
But,  sure,  he*8  proud,  and  yet  his  pride  becomes  him  : 
He'll  make  a  proper  man  :  the  best  thing  in  him 
Is  his  complexion  ;  and  faster  than  his  tongue 
Did  make  o£Fence  his  eye  did  heal  it  up. 
He  is  not  very  tall ;  yet  for  his  years  he's  tall : 
His  leg  is  but  so  so ;  and  yet  'tis  well  : 
There  was  a  pretty  redness  in  his  lip,  120 

A  little  riper  and  more  lusty  red 
Tlum  that  mlx'd  in  his  chedc  ;  'twas  lust  the  difference 
Betwixt  the  constant  red  and  mingled  damask. 
There  be  some  women,  Silvius,  had  they  mark'd  him 
In  parcels  as  I  did,  would  have  gone  near 
To  fall  in  love  with  him  ;  but,  for  my  part, 
I  love  him  not  nor  hate  him'  not ;  and  yet 
I  have  more  cause  to  hate  him  than  to  love  him : 
For  what  had  he  to  do  to  chide  at  me  ? 
He  said  mine  eyes  wer«  black  and  my  hair  black ;  190 


568  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  [actit. 

And,  now  I  am  remembered,  sconi'd  at  me  : 
I  marvel  why  1  answer'd  not  again  : 
But  that'8  all  one  ;  omittance  is  no  quittance, 
ril  write  to  him  a  very  taunting  letter, 
And  thou  shalt  bear  it :  wilt  thou,  Silvius  ? 

SU.  Phebe,  with  all  my  heart. 

Phe.  I'll  write  it  straight ; 

The  matter'^  in  my  head  and  in  my  heart  : 
I  will  be  bitter  with  him  and  passing  short. 
Qo  with  me,  Silvius.  [Exeunt, 

ACT  IV. 
Scene  I.     The  forest. 

Enter  Rosalind,  Celia,  and  Jaques. 

Jaq.  I  prithee,  pretty  youth,  let  me  be  better  acquainted 
with  thee. 

Bos.  They  say  you  are  a  melancholy  fellow. 

J(iq.  I  nm  so  ;  I  do  love  it  better  than  laughing. 

Jias.  Those  that  are  in  extremity  of  either  are  abominable 
fellows  and  betray  themselves  to  every  modem  censure 
worse  than  drunkards. 

Jaq.  Wliy,  'tis  good  to  be  sad  and  say  nothing. 

Jio8.  Why  then,  'tis  good  to  be  a  post,  9 

Jaq.  I  have  neither  the  scholar's  melancholy,  which  is 
emulation,  nor  the  musician's,  which  is  fantastical,  nor  the 
courtier's,  which  is  proud,  nor  the  soldier's,  which  is  ambi- 
tious, nor  tbe  lawyer's,  wLich  is  p<^Ktic,  nor  the  lady's, 
which  is  nice,  nor  the  lover's,  which  is  all  these  :  but  it  is  a 
melancholy  of  mine  own,  compounded  of  many  simples, 
extracted  from  many  objects,  and  indeed  the  sundry  con- 
templation of  my  travels,  in  which  my  often  rumination 
wraps  me  in  a  most  humorous  sadness.  20 

JRos.  A  traveller  I  By  my  faith,  you  have  creat  reason  to 
be  sad  :  I  fear  you  have  sold  your  own  lands  to  see  other 
men's  ;  then,  to  have  seeu  muchund  to  havo  nothing,  is  to 
have  rich  eyes  and  poor  hands. 

Jaq.  Yes,  I  have  gained  my  experience. 

Bos.  And  your  exjwrience  makes  you  sad :  I  had  rather 
have  a  fool  to  make  me  merry  than  experience  to  make  me 
sad  ;  and  to  travel  for  it  too  I 

Enter  Orlando. 

Orl.  Good  day  and  happiness,  dear  Rosalind  I 

Jaq.  Nay,  then,  God  be  wi'  yon,  and  you  talk  in  blank 

verse.  [Eat. 

.  Bo$.  Farewell,  Monsiear  Traveller :  look  you  lisp  and 


SCENBI.]  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  549 

wear  strange  suits,  disable  all  the  benefits  of  jour  own 
country,  l>e  out  of  love  with  your  nativity  and  almost  cliide 
Qod  for  making  you  that  countenance  you  are,  or  I  will 
scarce  think  you  have  swam  in  a  gondola.  Why,  how  now, 
Orlando !  where  have  you  been  all  this  while  ?  You  a 
lover  !  An  you  serve  me  such  another  trick,  never  come  in 
my  sight  more.  41 

OH.  My  fair  Rosalind,  I  come  within  an  hour  of  my  pro- 
mise. 

Roi.  Break  an  hour's  promise  in  love  I  He  that  will  di- 
vide a  minute  into  a  thousand  parts  and  break  but  a  part  of 
the  thousandth  part  of  a  minute  in  the  aifairs  of  love,  it 
may  be  said  of  him  that  Cupid  hath  clapp'd  him  o'  the 
shoulder,  but  I'll  warrant  him  heart-whole. 

OH,  Pardon  me,  dear  Rosalind.  50 

J{o8.  Nay,  an  you  be  so  tardy,  come  no  more  in  my  sight : 
I  had  as  lief  be  wooed  of  a  snail. 

Orl.  Of  a  snail? 

lios.  Ay,  of  a  snail ;  for  though  he  comes  slowly,  he  car- 
ries his  house  on  his  head  ;  a  better  jointure,  I  think,  than 
you  make  a  woman  :  besides,  he  brings  his  destiny  with  him. 

Orl,  Whafsthat? 

Bos.  Why,  horns,  which  such  as  you  are  fain  to  be  behold- 
ing to  your  wives  for  :  but  he  comes  armed  in  his  fortune 
and  prevents  the  slander  of  his  wife. 

OH.  Virtue  is  no  horn-maker;  and  my  Rosalind  is  vir- 
tuous. 

Bos,  And  I  am  your  Rosalind. 

Cel.  It  pleases  him  to  call  you  so  ;  but  he  hath  a  Rosalind 
of  a  better  leer  than  you. 

Bos.  Come,  woo  me,  woo  me,  for  now  I  am  in  a  holiday 
liumour  and  like  enough  to  consent.  What  would  you  say 
to  me  now,  and  I  were  your  very  very  Rosalind  ?  71 

OH.  I  would  kiss  before  I  spoke. 

Bos.  Nay,  you  were  better  speak  first,  and  when  you 
were  gravelled  for  lack  of  matter,  you  might  take  occasion 
to  kiss.  Very  good  orators,  when  they  are  out,  they  will 
spit ;  and  for  lovers  lackiog — Qod  warn  us  1 — matter,  the 
cleanliest  shift  is  to  kiss. 

OH.  How  if  the  kiss  be  denied? 

Bos.  Then  she  puts  you  to  entreaty,  and  there  begins  new 
matter.  81 

OH.  Who  could  be  out,  being  before  his  beloved  mistress? 

Bos.  Marry,  that  should  you,  if  I  were  your  mistreaSi  or 
I  should  think  my  honesty  ranker  than  my  wit. 

Orl.  What,  of  my  suit  ? 


570  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT  [activ. 

Ro9.  Not  out  of  your  apparel,  and  yet  out  of  your  suit. 
Am  not  I  your  Rosalind  ? 

OH.  I  take  some  joy  to  say  you  are,  because  I  would  b& 
talking  of  her.  91 

Mos.  Well  in  her  person  I  say  I  will  not  have  you. 

Orl,  Then  in  mine  own  person  I  die. 

Mo8.  No,  faith,  die  by  attorney.  The  poor  world  is  almost 
sis  thousand  years  old,  and  in  all  this  time  there  was  not 
any  man  died  in  his  own  person,  videlicit,  in  a  love-cause. 
Troilus  had  his  brains  dashed  out  with  a  Grecian  club  ;  yet 
he  did  what  he  could  to  die  before,  and  he  is  one  of  the 
patterns  of  love.  Leander,  he  would  have  lived  many  a 
fair  year,  though  Hero  had  turned  nun,  if  it  had  not  been 
for  a  hot  midsummer  night ;  for,  good  youth,  lie  went  but 
forth  to  wash  him  in  the  Hellespont  and  being  taken  with  the 
cramp  was  drowned  :  and  the  foolish  coroners  of  that  ago 
found  it  was  "Hero  of  Bestos.''  But  these  are  all  lies: 
men  have  died  from  time  to  time  and  worms  have  e^ten 
them,  but  not  for  love. 

Orl.  I  would  not  have  my  ri^ht  Rosalind  of  this  mind, 
for,  I  protest,  her  frown  might  Kill  me. 

Iio8.  "By  tills  hand,  it  will  not  kill  a  fly.  But  come,  now 
I  will  be  your  Rosalind  in  a  more  coming-on  disposition, 
and  ask  me  what  you  will,  I  will  grant  it. 

07'1.  Then  love  me,  Rosalind. 

Hoi.  Tea,  faith,  will  I,  Fridays  and  Saturdays  and  alL 

Orl.  And  wilt  thou  have  me  ? 

Iia9.  Ay,  and  twenty  such. 

Ori.  What  sayest  thou  ?  120 

Mos.  Are  you  not  good  ? 

Orl.  I  hope  so. 

Eos.  Why  then,  can  one  desire  too  much  of  a  good  thing  ? 
Come,  sister,  you  shall  be  the  priest  and  marry  us.  Give 
me  your  hand,  Orlando.     What  do  you  say,  sister? 

Orl.  Pray  thee,  marry  us. 

Cel.  I  cannot  say  the  words. 

Hos.  You  must  begin,  "  Will  you,  Orlando—"  180 

Cel.  Goto.    Will  you,  Orlando,  have  to  wife  this  Rosalind? 

OH.  I  will. 

Bos.  Ay,  but  when  ? 

Orl.  Why  now ;  as  fast  as  she  can  marry  ns, 

Ros.  Then  you  must  say  "  I  take  thee,  Rosalind,  for  wife." 

OH.     I  take  thee,  Rosalind,  for  wife. 

Eos.  I  miff ht  ask  you  for  your  commission  ;  but  I  do  take 
thee,  Orlanax>,  for  my  husband  :  there's  a  girl  goes  before 
the  priest  ;  and  certainly  a  woman's  thought  runs  before 
her  actions.  141 


BCENEL]  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  57i 

OH.  So  do  all  thoughts  ;  they  are  winded. 

Boe.  Now  tell  me  how  long  jou  woula  have  her  after  you 
have  possessed  her. 

Orl.  Forever  and  a  day. 

Has.  Say  ** a  day,"  without  the  "ever."  No,  no,  Orlando ; 
men  are  April  when  they  woo,  December  when  they  wed  : 
maids  are  May  when  they  are  maids,  but  the  sky  changes 
wlien  they  are  wives.  I  will  be  more  jealous  of  tliee  tlian 
a  Barbary  cock-pigeon  over  his  hen,  more  clamorous  than  a 
parrot  against  rain,  more  new-fangled  than  an  ape,  more 
giddy  in  my  desires  than  a  monkey  :  I  will  weep  for  noth- 
ing, like  Diana  in  the  fountain,  and  I  will  do  that  when  you 
are  disposed  to  be  merry ;  I  will  laugh  like  a  hyena,  and 
that  when  thou  art  inclined  to  sleep. 

Orl,  But  will  my  Rosalind  do  so? 

Mm.  By  my  life,  she  will  do  as  I  do. 

Orl.  O,  but  she  is  wise.  160 

Bos.  Or  else  she  could  not  have  the  wit  to  do  this  :  the 
wiser,  the  waywarder  :  make  the  doors  upon  a  woman's 
wit  and  it  will  out  at  the  casement ;  shut  that  and  'twill 
out  at  the  key-hole  ;  stop  that,  'twill  fly  with  the  smoke  out 
at  the  chimney. 

Orl.  A  man  that  had  a  wife  with  such  a  wit,  he  might 
say  "Wit,  whither  wilt?" 

Bos.  Nay,  you  might  keep  that  check  for  it  till  yon  met 
your  wife's  wit  going  to  your  neighbour's  bed.  171 

Orl.  And  what  wit  could  wit  have  to  excuse  that  ? 

Bos.  Marry,  to  say  she  came  to  seek  you  there.  You 
shall  never  take  her  without  her  answer,  unless  you  take 
her  without  her  tongue.  O,  that  woman  that  cannot  make  her 
fault  her  husband's  occasion,  let  her  never  nurse  her  child 
herself,  for  she  will  breed  it  like  a  fool !  180 

Orl.  For  tliese  two  hours,  Rosalind,  I  will  leave  thee. 

Bos.  Alas  !  dear  love,  I  cannot  lack  thee  two  hours. 

Orl.  I  must  attend  the  duke  at  dinner  :  by  two  o'clock  I 
will  be  with  thee  again. 

Bos.  Ay,  go  your  ways,  go  your  ways  ;  I  knew  what  you 
would  prove  :  my  friends  told'  me  as  much,  and  I  thought 
DO  less  :  that  flattering  tongue  of  yours  won  me  :  'tis  but 
one  cast  away,  and  so,  come,  death  I  Two  o'clock  is  your 
hour?  190 

Orl.  Ay,  sweet  Rosalind. 

Bos.  By  my  troth,  and  in  good  earnest,  and  so  Qod  mend 
me,  and  by  all  pretty  oaths  that  are  not  dangerous,  if  you 
break  one  jot  of  your  promise  or  come  one  minute  behind 
your  hour,  I  will  think  you  the  most  pathetical  break- 
promise  and  the  most  hollow  lover  and  the  most  unworthy 


572  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  [act  IV. 

of  lier  70a  call  Rosalind  that  Tna7  be  chosen  oat  of  the  gross 
band  of  the  unfaithful :  therefore  beware  ray  censure  and 
keep  your  promise.  300 

Orl.  With  no  less  religion  than  if  thou  wert  indeed  my 
Rosalind :  so  adieu. 

Ras.  Well,  Time  is  the  old  justice  that  examines  all  such 
offenders,  and  let  Time  try  :  adieu.  [Exit  Orlando. 

Cel.  You  have  simply  misused  our  sex  in  your  loye-prate  : 
we  must  have  your  doublet  and  hose  plucked  over  your 
head,  and  show  the  world  what  the  bird  hath  done  to'  her 
own  nest. 

Bos.  O  coz,  coz,  coz,  my  pretty  little  coz,  that  thon  didst 
know  how  many  fathom  deep  I  am  in  love !  But  it  cannot 
be  sounded :.  my  affection  hath  an  unknown  bottom,  like 
the  bay  of  Portugal. 

Cd.  Or  rather,  bottomless,  that  as  fast  as  you  pour  affec- 
tion in,  it  runs  out. 

R08.  No,  that  same  wicked  bastard  of  Venus  that  was 
begot  of  thought,  conceived  of  spleen  and  bom  of  madness, 
that  blind  rascally  boy  that  abuses  every  one's  eyes  because 
his  own  are  out;  let  him  be  judge  how  deep  I  am  in  love. 
I'll  tell  thee,  Aliena,  I  cannot  be  out  of  the  sight  of  Orlan- 
do :  I'll  go  find  a  shadow  and  sigh  till  he  oomo. 

Cel.  And  III  sleep.  [MseufU. 

Scene  II.     The  fored. 

Enter  Jaques,  Lords,  and  Foresters. 

Jaq.  Which  is  he  that  killed  the  deer  ?  • 

A  Lord.  Sir,  it  was  I. 

Jaq.  Let's  present  him  to  the  duke,  like  a  Roman  con- 
queror ;  and  it  would  do  well  to  set  the  deer's  horns  upon 
his  head,  for  a  branch  of  victory.  Have  you  no  song, 
forester,  for  this  purpose? 

For,  Yes,  sir. 

Jaq.  Sing  it :  'tis  no  matter  how  it  be  m  tune,  so  it  make 
noise  enough.  10 

Song. 

For.    What  shall  he  have  that  kill'd  the  deer  ? 
His  leather  skin  and  horns  to  wear. 

Then  sing  him  home  ; 

\2'he  rest  ithaU  bear  thia  burden. 
Take  tlu>a  no  scorn  to  wear  the  horn ; 
It  was  a  crest  ere  thou  wast  bom  : 

Thy  father's  father  wore  it, 

And  thy  father  bore  it : 
The  hom,  the  horn,  the  lusty  horn 
Is  not  a  thing  to  laugh  to  scorn.  [Exeunt 


8CENEIII.]  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  573 

ScSNB  III.     The  forest. 

Enter  Rosalind  and  Celia. 

Bos.  How  say  you  now  ?  Is  it  not  jMist  two  o'clock  ?  and 
here  much  Orlando  I 

Cd.  I  warrant  you,  with  pure  love  and  troubled  brain,  he 
hath  ta'en  his  bow  and  arrows  and  is  gone  forth  to  sleep. 
Look,  who  oomes  here. 

Enter  Silvius. 

8U.  My  errand  Is  to  yon,  fair  yonth  ; 
My  gentle  Phebe  bid  me  give  you  this  : 
I  know  not  the  contents  ;  but,'as  I  guess 
By  the  stern  brow  and  waspish  action 
Which  she  did  use  when  she  was  writing  of  it,  10 

It  bears  an  angry  tenonr  :  pardon  me ; 
I  am  but  as  a  guiltless  messenger. 

Bos.  Patience  herself  would  startle  at  this  letter 
And  play  the  swaggerer  ;  bear  this,  bear  all : 
She  says  I  am  not  fair,  that  I  lack  manners  ; 
She  cahs  me  proud,  and  that  she  could  not  love  me. 
Were  man  as  rare  as  phoenix.     'Od's  my  will  I 
Her  love  i^  not  the  hare  that  I  do  hunt : 
Why  writes  she  so  to  me  ?    Well,  shepherd,  well. 
This  is  a  letter  of  your  own  device.  20 

8il.  No,  I  protest,  I  know  not  the  contents  : 
Phebe  did  write  it. 

Has.  Come,  come,  your  are  a  fool 

And  tnm'd  into  the  extremity  of  love. 
I  saw  her  hand  :  she  has  a  leutliem  hand, 
A  freestone-coloured  liand  ;  I  verily  did  think 
Tliat  her  old  gloves  were  on,  but  'twas  her  hands  : 
She  has  a  huswife's  hand  ;  but  that's  no  matter : 
1  say  she  never  did  invent  this  letter  ; 
This  is  a  man's  invention  and  his  hand. 

jS^.  Sure,  it  is  hers.  80 

Ron,  Why,  'tis  a  boisterous  and  a  cruel  style, 
A  stylo  for  challengers  ;  why,  she  defies  me. 
Like  Turk  to  Oliristian  :  women's  gentle  brain 
Could  not  drop  forth  such  giant-rude  invention. 
Such  Bthiope  words,  blacker  in  their  effect 
Than  in  their  countenance.     Will  you  hear  the  letter? 

SU.  So  pleaae  you,  for  I  never  heard  it  yet ; 
Yet  heard  too  much  of  Phebe's  cruelty. 

Boi,  She  Phebes  me  :  mark  how  the  tyrant  writes. 

iRead9, 


574  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  [activ. 

Art  thoa  god  to  shepherd  tum'd,  40 

That  a  maiden's  heart  hath  bum'd? 
Can  a  woman  rail  thus  ? 
SU.  Call  you  this  railing  1 
Eos,  [Beads] 

Why,  thy  godhead  laid  apart, 

Wariest  thou  with  a  woman's  heart  ? 
Did  you  ever  hear  such  railing  ? 

Whiles  the  eye  of  man  did  woo  me, 

That. could  do  no  vengeance  to  me. 
Meaning  me  a  beast. 

If  the  scorn  of  your  bright  eyne  CO 

Have  power  to  raise  sudi  love  in  mine. 

Alack,  in  me  what  strange  effect 

Would  they  work  in  mild  aspect ! 

Whiles  you  chid  me,  I  did  love  ; 

How  then  might  your  prayers  move  ! 

He  that  brings  tills  love  to  thee 

Little  knows  this  love  in  me : 

And  by  him  seal  up  thy  mind  ; 

Whether  that  tliy  youth  and  kind 

Will  the  faithful  offer  take  60 

Of  me  and  all  that  I  can  make  ; 

Or  else  by  him  my  love  deny, 

And  then  I'll  study  how  to  die. 
8U,  Call  you  this  chiding  ? 
Cd.  Alas,  poor  shepherd  1 

Hos.  Do  you  pity  him?  no,  he  deserves  no  pity.  Wilt 
thou  love  such  a  woman  ?  Wluit,  to  make  thee  an  instru- 
ment and  play  false  strains  upon  thee  I  not  to  be  endured  ! 
Well,  go  your  way  to  her,  for  I  see  love  hath  made  thee  a 
tame  snake,  and  sav  this  to  her  :  that  if  she  love  me,  I 
charge  her  to  love  thee  ;  if  she  will  not,  I  will  never  have 
her  unless  thou  entreat  for  her.  If  you  be  a  true  lover, 
hence,  and  not  a  word  ;  for  here  comes  more  company. 

[Eodt  SUdus, 

Enter  Oliver. 

OK.  Good  morrow,  fair  ones  :  pray  you,  if  you  know, 
Where  in  the  purlieus  of  this  forest  stands 
A  sheep-cote  fenced  about  with  olive  trees  ? 

Gel,   West  of  this  place,  down  in  the  neighbour  bottom  : 
The  rank  of  osiers  by  the  murmuring  stream  SO 

Left  on  vour  right  liand  brings  you  to  the  place 
But  at  this  hour  the  house  doth  keep  itself  ; 
There's  none  within. 

0(>i.  If  that  an  eye  may  profit  by  a  tongue. 


SCENE  III.]  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  575 

Tlien  should  I  know  you  by  description  ; 

Such  garments  and  such  years  :  "  The  boy  is  fair, 

Of  female  favour,  and  bestows  himself 

f  liike  a  ripe  sister  :  but  the  woman  low 

And  browner  than  her  brother."    Are  not  you 

The  owner  of  the  house  I  did  inquire  for  ?  90 

Cel,  It  is  no  boast,  being  ask'd,  to  say  wo  are. 

Oli.  Orlando  doth  commend  him  to  you  both. 
And  to  that  youth  he  calls  his  Rosalind. 
He  sends  this  bloody  napkin.     Are  you  he  ? 

Ro8.  I  am  :  what  must  we  understand  by  this  ? 

Oli.  Some  of  my  shame  ;  if  you  will  know  of  mo 
What  man  I  am,  and  how,  and  why,  and  where 
Tills  handkercher  was  stain'd. 

Cd.  I  pray  you,  tell  it. 

(Hi,  Wlien  la^t  the  young  Orlando  parted  from  you 
He  left  a  promise  to  return  again  100 

Within  an  hour,  and  pacing  tlirongh  the  forest. 
Chewing  the  food  of  sweet  and  bitter  fancy, 
Lo,  what  l>efel  1  he  threw  his  eye  aside. 
And  mark  what  object  did  present  itself  : 
Under  an  oak,  whoss  boughs  were  moss'd  with  ag6 
And  high  top  bald  with  dry  antiquity, 
A  wretched  ragged  man,  o'ergrown  with  hair. 
Lay  sleepine^  on  his  back  :  about  his  neck 
A  green  and  gilded  snake  had  wreathed  itself. 
Who  with  her  head  nimble  in  threats  approach'd  IIQ 

Tlie  opening  of  his  mouth  :  but  suddenly. 
Seeing  Orlando,  it  unliuk'd  itself. 
And  with  indented  glides  did  slip  away  . 
Into  a  bush  :  under  wliicli  bush*s  siiade 
A  lioness,  with  udders  all  drawn  dry, 
Lay  coaching,  head  on  ground,  with  catlike  watch. 
When  that  the  sleeping  man  should  stir ;  for  'tis 
The  ruyal  disposition  of  that  beast 
To  prey  on  nothing  that  doth  seem  as  dead  : 
This  seen,  Orlando  did  approach  the  man  120 

And  found  it  was  his  brotlier,  his  elder  brother. 

Cd.  O,  I  have  heard  him  spnik  of  that  same  brother ; 
And  he  did  render  him  the  most  unnatural 
That  lived  amongst  men. 

Oli.  And  well  ho  might  so  do. 

For  well  I  know  he  was  unnatural. 

Ros.  But,  to  Orlando :  did  he  leave  him  there 
Food  to  the  suck'd  and  hungry  lioness  ? 

Oli.  Twice  did  he  turn  his  bock  and  purposed  so  ; 
But  kindness,  nobler  ever  than  revenge, 


67Q  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  [act  iv. 

And  nature,  stronger  tlian  his  jnst  occasion,  180 

Made  him  rive  battle  to  the  lioness. 

Who  quickly  fell  before  him  :  in  which  hurtling 

From  miserable  slumber  I  awaked. 

Cel,  Are  you  his  brother  ? 

Ro8,  Was't  you  he  rescued  ? 

Cd.  Was't  Tou  that  did  so  oft  contrive  to  kill  him? 

OIL  'Twas  i  ;  but  'tis  not  I :  I  do  not  shame 
To  tell  you  what  I  was,  since  my  conversion 
So  sweetly  tastes,  being-  the  thing  I  am. 

Ros,  But  for  the  bloody  napkin  7 

OIL  By  and  by. 

When  from  the  fii^t  to  last  betwixt  us  two  140 

Tears  our  recountmenU  had  most  kindly  bathed, 
As  how  I  came  into  that  desert  place  : — 
In  brief,  he  led  me  to  the  gentle  duke. 
Who  gave  me  fresh  array  and  entertainment. 
Committing  me  unto  my  brother's  love  ; 
Who  led  me  instantly  into  his  cave. 
There  stripped  himself,  and  here  uiwn  his  arm 
The  lioness  had  torn  sonic  fiesh  away, 
Which  all  this  while  had  bled  ;  and  now  he  fainted 
And  cried,  in  fainting,  upon  Rosalind.  150 

Brief,  I  rccover'd  him,  bound  up  his  wound  ; 
And,  after  some  small  space,  being  strong  at  heart. 
He  sent  me  hither,  stranger  as  I  am, 
To  tell  this  story,  that  you  might  excuse 
His  broken  promise,  and  to  give  this  napkin 
Dved  in  his  blood  unto  the  siiepherd  youth 
That  he  in  sport  doth  call  his  liosalind.      [Rosalind  Bwooiis, 

Cel.  Why,  how\iow,  Ganymede  !  sweet  Ganymede  ! 

OH,  Many  will  swoon  when  they  do  look  on  blood. 

CeL  There  is  more  in  it.     Cousin  Ganymede  !  100 

OH.  Look,  ho  recovers. 

Ros,  I  would  I  were  at  home. 

Cel.  We'll  lead  you  thither, 

I  pray  vou,  will  you  take  liim  by  the  arm  ? 

OU.  be  of  good  cheer,  youth  :  you  a  man  !  you  lack  a  man's 
hearr. 

R:}S.  I  do  so,  I  confess  it.  Ah,  sirrah,  a  body  would 
think  this  was  well  counterfeited  I  I  pray  you,  tell  your 
brother  how  well  I  counterfeited.     Heigh-ho  !  1G9 

OU.  This  is  not  counterfeit :  there  is  too  great  testimony 
in  vour  complexion  tliat  it  was  a  passion  of  earnest. 

iios.  Counterfeit,  I  assure  you. 

OIL  Well  then,  take  a  good  heart  and  counterfeit  to  be  a 
ipan. 


BCBNBi.]  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  577 

Rob,  So  I  do  :  but,  i'falth,  I  should  have  been  a  woman 
by  right. 

Cel.  Come,  you  look  paler  and  paler  :  pray  you,  draw 
homewards.     Good  sir,  go  with  us. 

(Hi,  That  will  1,  for  I  must  bear  answer  back  180 

How  you  excuse  my  brother,.  Rosalind. 

Eos.  I  shall  devise  something  ;  but,  I  pray  you,  commend 
my  conterfeiting  to  him.     Will  you  go  ?         '         [^eunL 


ACT  V. 

Scene  I.     TIi^  forest. 

Enter  Touchstone  and  Audrey. 

Touch.  We  shall  find  a  time,  Audrey  ;  patience,  gentle 
Audrey. 

Aud.  Faith,  the  priest  was  good  enough,  for  all  the  old 
gentleman's  saying. 

Touch.  A  most  wicked  Sir  Oliver,  Audrey,  a  most  vile^ 
Martoxt.  But,  Audrey,  there  is  a  youth  here  in  the  forest 
lays  claim  to  you. 

Aud.  Ay,  I  know  who  'tis  ;  ho  hath  no  interest  in  mo  in 
the  world  :  hero  comes  the  man  you  mean.  10 

loueh.  It  is  meat  and  drink  to  me  to  see  a  clown  :  by  my 
troth,  we  that  have  good  wits  have  much  to  answer  for  ; 
we  shall  be  flouting  ;  we  cannot  hold. 

Enter  William. 

WiU.  Good  even,  Audrey. 

Aud.  God  ye  good  even,  William. 

WiU.  And  gocni  oven  to  you,  sir. 

Touc/i.  Good  even,  gentle  friend.  Cover  thy  head,  cover 
thy  head ;  nay,  prithee,  be  covered.  How  old  are  you, 
friend  ?  20 

WiU.  Five  and  twentv,  sir. 

Touch.  A  ripe  age.     Is  thy  name  William  ? 

WUl.  William,  sir. 

Touc^i.  A  fair  name.     Wast  bom  1'  the  forest  here  t 

WiU.  Ay,  sir,  I  thank  God. 

7 ouch.  **  Thank  God ;"  a  good  answer.     Art  rich? 

W^Ul.  Faith,  s<r,  so  so. 

Touch.  *•  So  so  "  is  good,  veiy  good,  very  excellent  good  ; 
and  vet  it  is  not ;  it  is  but  so  so.     Art  thou  wise  ?  31 

W\U.  Ay,  sir,  I  have  a  pretty  wit. 

Touch.  Why,  thou  sayest  well.  I  do  now  remember  a 
saying,  **  The  fool  doth  think  he  is  wise,  but  the  wise  man 
SHAK.   I. — 10 


678  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  [actt. 

knows  himself  to  be  a  fool."  Tlie  heathen  philosopher, 
when  he  had  a  desire  to  eat  a  grape,  would  open  his  lips 
when  he  put  it  into  his  moutli ;  meaning  thereby  that 
grapes  were  made  to  eat  and  lips  to  open.  You  do  love 
this  maid  ?  40 

WUl.  I  do,  sir. 

Touch.  Give  me  your  hand.     Art  thou  learned  ? 

WUl.  No,  sir. 

Toucli.  Then  learn  this  of  me  ;  to  have,  is  to  have  ;  for  it 
is  a  figure  in  rhetoric  that  drink,  being  poured  out  of  a  cup 
into  a  glass,  by  filling  the  one  doth  empty  the  other ;  for 
all  your  writers  do  consent  that  ipse  is  he :  now  you  are 
not  ipse,  for  I  am  he. 

WUl  Which  he,  sir?  5^ 

Touch.  He,  sir,  that  must  marry  this  woman.  There- 
fore, you  clown,  abandon, — which  is  in  the  vulgar  leave, — 
the  society, — which  in  the  boorish  is  company, — of  tliis 
female, — which  in  the  common  is  woman  ;  which  tc>gcthcr 
is,  abandon  the  society  of  this  female,  or,  clown,  thou 
perishest ;  or,  to  thy  better  understanding,  diest :  or,  to 
wit,  I  kill  thee,  make  thee  away,  translate  thy  life  into 
death,  thy  liberty  into  bondage  :  1  will  deal  in  poison  with 
thee,  or  in  bastinado,  or  in  steel  ;  I  will  bandy  with  thee  in 
faction  :  I  will  o'errun  thee  with  policy  ;  I  will  kill  thoe  a 
hundred  and  fifty  ways  :  therefore  tremble,  and  depart. 

Aud.  Do.  gooa  Williain. 

WiU.  God  rest  you  merry,  sir.  [Exit. 

Enter  Corin. 

Cor.  Our  master  and  mistress  seeks  you  ;  come,  away, 
nway  ! 

l^ouch.  Trip,  Audrey  !  trip,  Audrey  I  I  attend,  I  attend. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  II.     TIte  fwea. 

Enter  Orlando  and  Oliver. 

Orl.  Is't  possible  that  on  so  little  acquaintance  you  should 
7ike  her?  that  but  seeing  you  should  love  her?  and  loving 
woo?  and,  wooing,  she  should  grant?  and  will  you  per- 
sever  to  enjoy  her? 

OH.  Neither  call  the  giddiness  of  it  >in  question,  the 
■poverty  of  her,  the  small  acquaintance,  my  sudden  wooing, 
nor  her  sudden  consenting  :  but  say  with  me,  I  love  Aliena ; 
say  with  her  that  she  loves  me  ;  consent  with  both  that  we 
may  enjoy  each  other :  it  shall  be  to  your  good  ;  for  my 
father's  house  and  all  the  revenue  that  was  old  Sir  Bow^ 


8CENBII.]  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT,  679 

land's  will  I  estate  upon  you,  and  here  live  and  die  a  shep- 
herd. 

Orl.  You  have  my  consent.  Let  your  wedding  be  to- 
morrow :  thither  will  I  invite  the  duke  and  all's  contented 
followers.  Go  you  and  prepare  Aliena ;  for  look  you,  here 
comes  my  Rosalind. 

Enter  Rosalind. 

Bos.  God  save  you,  brother.  20 

Oli.  And  you,  fair  sister.  [Exit. 

Has.  Of  my  dear  Orlando,  how  it  grieyes  me  to  see  thee 
wear  thr  heart  in  a  scarf  ! 

Orl.  It  is  ray  arm. 

Bos.  1  thought  thy  heart  had  been  wounded  with  the 
claws  of  a  lion. 

Orl.  Wounded  it  is,  but  with  the  eyes  of  a  lady. 

Bos.  Did  your  brother  tell  you  how  I  counterfeited  to 
swoon  when  he  showed  me  vour  handkercher  ?  30 

Orl.  Ay,  and  greater  wonders  than  that. 

Bos.  O,  I  know  where  you  are  :  nay,  'lis  true  :  there  was 
never  any  thing  so  sudden  but  the  fight  of  two  rams  and 
Caesar's  thrasonical  brag  of  "  I  came,  saw,  and  overcauie  : " 
for  your  brother  and  my  sister  no  sooner  met  but  they 
looked,  no  sooner  looked  but  they  loved,  no  sooner  loved 
but  they  sighed,  no  sooner  sighed  but  they  asked  one  another 
the  reason,  no  sooner  knew  me  reason  but  they  sought  the 
remedy ;  and  in  these  degrees  have  they  made  a  pair  of 
stairs  to  marriage  wliich  they  will  climb  incontinent,  or  else 
be  incontinent  before  marriage  :  they  are  in  the  very  wrath 
of  love  and  the  will  together  ;  clubs  cannot  part  them. 

Orl.  They  shall  be  married  to-morrow,  and  I  will  bid  th« 
duke  to  the  nuptial.  But,  O,  how  bitter  a  thing  it  is  to  look 
into  happiness  through  another  man's  eves  !  By  so  much 
the  more  shall  I  to- morrow  be  at  the  heiglit  of  heart-heavi- 
ness, by  how  much  I  shall  think  my  brother  happy  in  hav- 
ing what  he  wishes  for. 

lios.  Why  then,  to-morrow  I  cannot  serve  your  turn  for 
Rosalind? 

Orl.  I  can  live  no  longer  by  thinking. 

Bos.  I  will  weary  you  then  no  longer  with  idle  talking. 
Know  of  me  then,  for  now  I  speak  to  some  purpose,  that 
I  know  you  are  a  gentleman  of  good  conceit :  I  speak  not 
this  that  you  should  bear  a  good  opinion  of  my  knowledge, 
insomuch  I  say  I  know  yon  are  ;  neither  do  I  labour  for  a 
greater  esteem  tlian  may  in  some  little  measure  draw  a  be- 
lief from  you,  to  do  yourself  good  and  not  to  grace  me.  Be- 
lieve then,  if  you  please,  that  I  can  do  strange  things :  I 


580  AS  YOU   LIKE  IT.  [act  v. 

have,  since  I  was  three  year  old,  conversed  with  a  magi- 
cian, mo3t  profound  in  his  art  and  yet  not  damnable.  If  you 
do  love  Rosalind  so  near  the  heart  as  your  gesture  cries  it 
out,  when  your  brother  marries  Aiiena,  shall  you  marry 
her  :  I  kuow  into  wliat  straits  of  fortune  she  is  driven  ;  and 
it  is  not  impossible  to  me,  if  it  appear  not  inconvenient  to 
you.  to  set  her  before  your  eyes  to-morrow  human  as  she  is 
and  without  any  danger. 

Orl.  Speakest  thou  In  sober  meanings  ? 

Has,  By  my  life,  I  do  ;  which  I  tender  dearly,  though  I 
say  I  am  a*magician.  Therefore,  put  you  in  your  best  ar- 
ray ;  bid  your  friends  ;  for  if  you  will  be  married  to-mor* 
row,  you  shall,  and  to  Rosalind,  if  you  will.  81 

Entei*  SiL\nus  and  Phebe. 

Jjook,  here  comes  a  lover  of  mine  and  a  lover  of  hers. 

Pile.  Youth,  you  have  done  me  much  ungentleness. 
To  show  the  letter  that  I  writ  to  you. 

Jio8.  I  care  not  if  I  have  :  it  is  my  study 
To  seem  despiteful  and  ungentle  to  you  : 
You  are  there  followed  by  a  faithful  shepherd  ; 
Look  upon  him,  love  him  ;  he  worships  vou. 

P/14:.  Good  sliepherd,  tell  this  youth  what  'tis  to  love 

SU,  It  is  to  be  all  made  of  signs  and  tears ; 
And  so  am  I  for  Phebe.  91 

Phe,  And  I  for  Ganymede. 

Orl.  And  I  for  Rosalind. 

Ros.  And  I  for  no  woman. 

ini.  It  is  to  l)c  all  made  of  faith  and  service; 
And  so  ^m  I  for  Phebe. 

P/ie,  And  I  for  Ganymede. 

Orl.  And  I  for  Rosalind. 

Uos.  And  I  for  no  woman. 

SU.  It  is  to  be  all  made  of  fantasy,  100 

All  made  of  passion  and  all  made  of  wishes. 
All  adoration,  duty,  and  observance. 
All  humbleness,  all  patience  and  impatience, 
f  All  purity,  all  trial,  all  observance  ; 
And  so  am  I  for  Phebe. 

Phe,  Ahd  so  am  I  for  Ganymede. 

Oi'l.  And  so  am  I  for  Rosalind. 

Bos.  And  so  am  I  for  no  woman. 

Phe.  If  this  be  so,  why  blame  you  me  to  love  you         110 

SU.  If  this  be  so,  why  blame  you  me  to  love  you  ? 

OrL  If  this  be  so,  why  blame  you  me  to  love  you  ? 

Bos.  Why  do  you  speak  to,  **  Why  blame  you  me  to  love 
you  ?  " 


flCBNSlii.]  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  581 

Ori,  To  her  that  is  not  here,  nor  doth  not  hear. 

Ros.  Pray  you,  no  more  of  this  ;  'tis  like  the  howling  of 
Irish  wolves  against  the  moon.  [To  SU.]  I  will  help  you,  if 
I  can  :  [To  P?ie.]  I  would  love  you,  if  I  could.  To-morrow 
meet  me  all  together.  [To  Phe.]  I  will  marry  you,  if  ever 
I  marry  woman,  and  Tit  be  married  to-morrow  :  [To  OH.]  I 
will  satisfy  you,  if  ever  I  satisfied  roan,  and  yon  shall  he 
married  to-morrow :  [To  8il.]  I  will  content  you,  if  what 
pleases  you  contents  you,  and  you  shall  be  married  to-mor- 
row. [To  Orl.]  As  you  love  Rosalind,  meet :  [To  SU,]  as 
you  love  Phebe,  meet :  and  as  I  love  no  woman,  Til  meet. 
So  fare  yoa  well :  I  have  left  you  commands.  131 

m.  I'll  not  fail,  if  I  Uve. 

Phe.  Nor  I. 

OrL  Nor  I.  [Exeunt, 

ScENB  III.     Theforett. 

Enter  Touchstone  and  Aixdret. 

Touch.  To-morrow  is  the  joyful  day,  Audrey  ;  to-morrow 
will  we  be  married. 

Aud.  I  do  desire  it  with  all  my  heart ;  and  I  hope  it  is  no 
dishonest  desire  to  desire  to  be  a  woman  of  the  world.  Here 
come  two  of  :he  banished  duke's  pages. 

Enter  tioo  Pages. 

Ftret  Pog^  Well  met,  honest  gentleman. 

Touch.  By  my  troth,  well  met.     Come,  sit,  sit,  and  a  song. 

Bee.  Page..  We  are  for  you :  sit  i'  the  middle.  10 

F%ret  Page.  Shall  we  clap  into  't  roundly,  without  hawk- 
ing or  spitting  or  saying  we  are  hoarse,  which  are  the  only 
prologues  to  a  bad  voice  ? 

Sec.  Page.  I'faith,  i'faith ;  and  both  in  a  tune,  like  two 
gipsies  on  a  horse. 

Song. 

It  was  a  lover  and  his  lass. 

With  a  hey,  and  a  ho,  and  a  hey  nonino, 
That  o'er  the  green  corn-field  did  pass 

In  the  spring  time,  the  only  pretty  ring  time,       30 
When  biros  do  sing,  hey  ding  a  ding,  ding  : 

Sweet  lovers  love  the  spring. 

Between  the  acres  of  the  rye. 
With  a  hey,  and  a  ho,  and  a  liey  nonino, 

These  pretty  country  folks  would  lie. 
In  spring  time,  &c. 


882  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  [actt. 

This  carol  they  becfan  tliat  hour, 

Witli  a  lipy,  and  a  bo,  and  a  Iiej  nonino, 

How  that  a  life  was  but  a  flower 

In  spring  time,  &c.  80 

And  therefore  take  the  present  time, 
With  a  bej,  and  a  bo,  and  a  bey  nonino  ; 

For  love  is  crowned  with  the  prime 
In  spring  time,  &c. 

Touch.  Truly,  young  gentlemen,  though  there  was  no 
g^eat  matter  in  the  ditty,  yet  the  note  was  very  untuneable. 

First  Page,  You  are  deceived,  sir :  we  ke^t  time,  we  lost 
not  our  time. 

•  Touch.  By  my  troth,  yes  ;  I  count  it  but  time  lost  to  hear 
such  a  foolish  song.  God  be  wi'  you ;  and  God  mend  your 
voices  1    Come,  Audrey.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  IV.     The  forest. 

Enter  Duke  senior,  Amiens,  Jaques,  Oblando,  Oliveb, 

and  Celia. 

Duke  S.  Dost  tliou  believe,  Orlando,  that  the  boy 
Can  do  all  this  that  he  hath  promised  ? 

Orl.  I  sometimes  do  believe,  and  sometimes  do  not 
f  As  those  that  fear  they  hope,  and  know  they  fear. 

Evier  Rosalind,  Silvius,  and  Phebe. 

Roe,  Patience  once  more,  whiles  our  compact  is  urged  : 
You  say,  if  I  bring  in  your  Rosalind, 
You  will  bestow  her  on  Orlando  here  ? 

Duke  S.  That  would  I,  had  I  kingdoms  to  give  with  her. 

Roe.  And  you  say,  you  will  have  her,  when  I  bring  her? 

Orl.  That  would  I,  were  I  of  all  kingdoms  king.  10 

Bos.  You  say,  you'll  marry  me,  if  I  be  willing? 

r/ie.  That  will  I,  should  t  die  the  hour  after. 

Bos.  But  if  you  do  refuse  to  marry  me. 
You'll  give  yourself  to  this  most  faithful  shepherd? 

Phe.  So  is  the  bargain. 

Bos.  You  say,  that  you'll  have  Phebe,  if  she  vnW  ? 

J^.  Though  to  have  her  and  death  were  both  one  thing. 

Bos.  I  have  promised  to  make  all  this  matter  even. 
Keep  you  your  word,  O  duke,  to  give  your  daughter ; 
You  yours,  Orlando,  to  receive  his  daughter  :  20 

Keep  your  word,  Phebe,  that  you'll  marry  me. 
Or  else  refusing  me,  to  wed  this  shepherd  : 
Keep  your  worn,  Silvius,  that  you'll  marry  her. 


8CBNBIY.J  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  588 

If  she  ref ase  me  :  and  from  lienoe  I  go, 

To  make  these  doubts  all  even.  [Exeunt  BosaUnd  and  Cdia. 

Duike  8,  I  do  remember  in  thin  shepherd  boy 
Some  lively  touches  of  my  dau^;] iter's  favour. 

(h^.  My  Iord»  the  first  time  th»t  I  ever  saw  him 
Methought  he  was  a  brother  to  your  daughter . 
But,  my  good  lord,  this  boy  is  forest-born,  80 

^  And  hath  been  tutor'd  in  the  rudiments 
Of  manv  desperate  studies  by  his  ancle, 
Whom  he  reports  to  be  a  great  magician. 
Obscured  in  the  circle  of  this  forest. 

IlhUer  ToucHSTONB  and  Audret. 

Jaq.  There  is,  sure,  another  flood  toward,  and  these 
oonpies  are  coming  to  the  ark.  Here  comes  a  pair  of  very 
strange  beasts,  which  in  all  tongues  are  called  fools. 

Touch.  Salutation  and  greeting  to  you  all ! 

Jaq.  Good  my  lord,  bid  him  welcome  :  this  is  the  motley- 
minded  gentleman  that  I  have  so  often  met  in  the  forest : 
he  hath  been  a  courtier,  he  swears. 

Touch,  If  any  man  doubt  that,  let  him  put  me  to  my 

furgation.  I  have  trod  a  measure ;  I  have  flattered  a  lady  ; 
have  been  politic  with  my  friend,  smooth  with  mine  ene- 
my ;  I  have  undone  three  tailors  ;  I  have  had  four  quarrels, 
and  like  to  have  fought  one. 

Jaq.  And  how  was  tliat  ta'en  up?  50 

Touch.  Faith,  we  met,  and  found  the  quarrel  was  upon 
the  seventh  cause. 

Jaq.  How  seventh  cause  ?  Good  my  lord,  like  this  fel- 
low. 

Duke  S.  I  like  him  very  well. 

Touch.  God  'ild  you,  sir ;  I  desire  you  of  the  like.  I  press 
in  here,  sir,  amongst  the  rest  of  the  country  copulatives,  to 
swear  and  to  forswear  ;  according  as  marriage  binds  and 
blood  breaks  :  a  poor  virgin,  sir,  an  ill-favoured  thing,  sir, 
but  mine  own ;  a  poor  humour  of  mine,  sir,  to  take  that 
tlukt  no  man  else  will :  rich  honesty  dwells  like  a  miser, 
air,  in  a  poor  house  ;  as  your  pearl  in  your  foul  oyster. 

Duke  8.  By  my  faith,  he  is  very  swift  and  sententious. 

Ihuch.  According  to  the  fool's  bolt,  sir,  and  such  dulcet 
diseases. 

Jaq.  But,  for  the  seventh  cause ;  how  did  you  find  the 
quarrel  on  the  seventh  cam^e  ?  70 

7'ouch.  Upon  a  lie  seven  times  removed  : — ^bear  your 
body  more  seeming,  Audrey  : — ^as  thus,  sir.  I  did  dislike 
the  cut  of  a  certain  courtier's  beard  :  he  sent  me  word,  if  I 
said  his  beard  was  not  cat  weli,  he  was  in  the  mind  it  ^vas : 


584  AS  TOP  LIKE  IT.  [ACT  v. 

tills  is  called  the  Retort  Courteous.  If  I  sent  Llm  word 
again  "  it  was  not  well  cnt,"  he  wonld  send  me  word,  he 
cut  it  to  please  himself :  this  is  called  the  Quip  Modest. 
If  again  "it  was  not  well  cut,"  he  disabled  my  judgement : 
this  :s  called  the  Reply  Churlish.  If  again  "  it  was  not 
well  cut/'  he  would  answer,  I  spake  not  true  :  this  is  called 
the  Reproof  Valiant.  If  again  "  it  was  not  well  cut,"  he 
would  say,  I  lied  :  this  is  called  the  Countercheck  Quarrel- 
some :  and  so  to  the  Lie  Circumstantial  and  the  Lie  Direct. 

Jaq,  And  how  oft  did  you  say  his  beard  was  not  well 
cut? 

Tonch.  I  durst  go  no  farther  than  the  Lie  Circumstantial, 
nor  lie  durst  not  give  me  the  Lie  Direct ;  and  so  we  mea- 
sured swords  and  parted. 

Jaq,  Can  you' nominate  in  order  now  the  degrees  of  the 
•Jie? 

ToMck.  O  sir,  we  quarrel  in  print,  by  the  book  ;  as  you 
have  1x)oks  for  good  manners  :  I  will  name  you  the  degrees. 
The  first,  the  Retort  Courteous ;  the  ^cond,  the  Quip 
Modest ;  the  third,  the  Reply  Cliurlish  ;  the  fourth,  the 
Reproof  Valiant ;  the  fifth,  the  Countercheck  Quarrelsome; 
the  sixth,  the  Lie  with  Circumstance  ;  the  seventh,  the  Lie 
Direct.  All  these  you  may  avoid  but  the  Lie  Direct ;  and 
you  may  avoid  that  too,  with  an  if.  I  knew  when  seven 
justices  could  n^t  take  up  a  quarrel,  but  when  the  parties 
were  met  themselves,  one  of  them  thought  but  of  an  If,  as, 
"If  you  said  so,  then  I  said  so;"  and  they  shook  hands 
and  swore  brothers.  Your  If  is  the  only  peace-maker  ; 
much  virtue  in  If. 

Jdjq.  Is  not  this  a  rare  fellow,  my  lord )  he's  as  good  at . 
any  thing  and  yet  a  fool.  110 

Duke  S.  He  uses  his  folly  like  a  stalking-horse  and  un- 
der the  presentation  of  that  he  shoots  his  wit. 

Enter  Hthek,  Robalikd,  and  Cslia. 

Sm  Jfnnc 

Hym,  Then  is  there  mirth  in  heaven, 

When  earthly  things  made  even 

Atone  together. 
Good  duke,  receive  thy  daughter  : 
Hymen  from  heaven  brought  her. 

Yea,  brought  her  hither, 
Tliat  thou  mightst  join  her  hand  with  his 
Whose  heart  within  his  bosom  is.  121 

Bos.  [To  Duke]  To  you  I  give  myself,  for  I  am  yours. 
[To  Orl.]  To  you  I  give  myself,  for  I  am  yours. 


BCBNEiv.]  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  585 

Duke  8.  If  there  be  trutli  in  sight,  you  are  my  daughter. 
OH.  If  there  be  truth  in  sight,  jou  are  my  Kosalina. 
Phe.  If  sight  and  shape  be  true. 
Why  then,  my  love  adieu  I 

i£>«.  ril  have  no  father,  if  you  be  not  he : 
ril  have  no  husband,  if  you  be  not  he  : 
Nor  ne'er  wed  woman,  if  you  be  not  she.  180 

Bjfm,  Peace,  ho  I  I  bar  confusion  : 

'Tis  I  must  make  conclusion 

Of  these  most  strange  events  : 
Here's  eight  that  must  take  hands 
To  join  in  Hymen's  bauds, 

If  truth  holds  true  contents. 
You  and  you  no  cross  slmll  part : 
You  and  you  are  heart  in  heart : 
'     You  to  this  love  must  accord. 

Or  have  a  woman  to  your  lord :  140 

You  and  you  are  sure  together, 
As  the  winter  to  foul  weather. 
Whiles  a  wedlock -hymn  we  sing, 
Feed  yourselves  with  questioning  ; 
That  reason  wonder  may  diminish, 
How  thus  we  met,  and  these  things  finish. 

SONO. 

Wedding  is  great  Juno's  crown  : 
O  blessed  bond  of  board  and  bed  1 

'TIS  Hymen  peoples  every  town  ; 
High  wedlock  then  be  honoured  :  150 

Honour,  high  honour  and  renown, 
To  Hymen,  God  of  ever/  town  I 

Duke  8,  O  my  dear  niece,  welcome  thou  art  to  me ! 
Even  daughter,  welcome,  in  no  less  degree. 

P/ie.  I  will  not  eat  my  word,  now  thou  art  mine  ; 
Thy  faith  my  fancy  to  thee  doth  combine. 

Enter  Jaques  de  Boys. 

Jaq  de  B.  Let  me  have  audience  for  a  word  or  two : 
I  am  the  second  son  of  old  Sir  Rowland, 
That  bring^  these  tidings  to  this  fair  assembly. 
Duke  Frederick,  hearing  how  that  every  day  160 

Men  of  great  worth  resorted  to  this  forest, 
Address'd  a  mighty  power ;  which  were  on  foot, 
In  his  own  condact,  purposely  to  take 
His  brother  here  and  put  him  to  the  sword  : 
And  to  the  skirts  of  this  wild  wood  he  came ; 


566  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  [act  v. 

Where  meeting  with  an  old  religious  man, 

After  some  question  with  him,  was  converted 

Both  from  liis  enterprise  and  from  the  world. 

His  crown  bequeatliing  to  his  banish 'd  brother. 

And  all  their  lands  restored  to  them  again  170 

That  were  with  him  exiled.     This  to  be  true, 

I  do  engage  mj  life. 

Duke  8,  Welcome,  young  man  ; 

Thou  offer'st  fairly  to  thy  brother's  wedding  : 
To  one  his  lands  withheld,  and  to  the  other 
A  land  itself  at  large,  a  potent  dukedom. 
First,  in  this  forest  let  us  do  those  ends 
That  liere  were  well  begun  and  well  begot : 
And  after,  every  of  this  happy  number 
That  liave  endured  shrewd  days  and  nights  with  us 
Shall  share  the  good  of  our  returned  fortune^  180 

According  to  the  measure  of  their  states. 
Meantime,  forget  this  new-falFn  dignity 
,  And  fall  into  our  rustic  revelry. 
Play,  music  !    And  you,  brides  and  bridegrooms  all, 
With  measure  heap'd  in  joy,  to  the  measures  fall. 

Jaq.  Sir,  by  your  patience.     If  I  heard  you  rightly. 
The  duke  hath  put  on  a  religions  life 
And  thrown  into  neglect  the  pompous  court? 

Jaq.  de  B.  He  hath. 

Jaq.  To  him  will  I :  out  of  these  convertites  190 

There  is  much  matter  to  be  heard  and  leam'd. 
[7o  duke]  You  to  your  former  honour  I  bequeath  ; 
lour  patience  and  your  virtue  well  deserves  it : 
To  Orl.]  You  to  a  love  that  your  true  faith  doth  merit : 
To  OU.j  You  to  your  land  and  love  and  great  allies  : 
To  SU.j  You  to  a  long  and  well -deserved  bed  : 
To  Toueli,.]  And  you  to  wrangling ;  for  thy  loving  voyage 
s  but  for  two  months  victualled.     So,  to  your  pleasures  : 
I  am  for  other  than  for  dancing  measures. 

Duke  8.  Stay,  Jaques,  stay.  200 

Jaq.  To  see  no  pastime  I :  what  you  would  have 
1*11  stay  to  know  at  your  abandoned  cave.  [ExU. 

Duke  8,  Proceed,  proceed  :  we  will  begin  tliese  rites, 
As  we  do  trust  they'll  end,  in  true  delights.  [A  dauM 

Epilogue. 

Roe.  It  is  not  the  fashion  to  see  the  lady  the  epilogue  ; 
but  it  is  no  more  unhandsome  than  to  see  the  lord  the  pro- 
logue. If  it  be  true  that  good  wine  needs  no  bush,  'tis  true 
tliAt  a  good  nlay  needs  no  epilogue ;  yet  to  good  wine  they 
do  use  good  bushes,  and  good  plays  prove  the  better  by  the 


fiCKNKiv.]  AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  587 

help  of  good  epilogaes.  What  a  case  am  I  in  then,  that 
am  neituer  a  good  epilogue  nor  cannot  insinaate  with  jou 
in  the  behalf  of  a  good  play  I  I  am  not  furnished  like  a 
beggar,  therefore  to  beff  will  not  become  me  :  my  way  is  to 
conjure  you  ;  and  Til  oegin  with  the  women.  I  charge 
you,  O  women,  for  tbe  love  you  bear  to  men,  to  like  as 
much  of  this  pjay  as  please  you  :  and  I  charge  you,  O  men, 
for  the  love  you  bear  to  women— >as  I  perceive  by  your 
simpering,  none  of  you  hates  them — that  between  you  and 
the  women  the  play  nuiy  please.  If  I  were  a  woman  I 
would  kiss  as  many  of  you  as  liad  beards  that  pleased  me, 
complexions  that  liked  me  and  breaths  that  I  defied  not : 
and,  I  am  sure,  as  many  as  have  ^ood  beards  or  good  faces 
or  sweet  breaths  will,  for  my  kind  offer,  when  I  make 
curtay,  bid  me  farewelL  [Exeunt, 


THE  TAimG  OF  THE  SHREW. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONiB. 


A  Lord. 

Chbistophbb  Slt, 
a  UnkCT. 

Ho8tes8^agc,PlAy- 
ers.  Huntsmen, 
and  Servants. 


Persons  in 

the 
Induction. 


Baftista.   a  rich  gentleman   of 

Padua. 
VzNOBNTic,  an  old  gentleman  of 

Pisa. 
LvcwcTTo,  son  to  Vincentio,  in 

love  with  Bianca. 
Pbtbuohio,  a  eentleman  of  Ver- 

ona,  a  snUor  to  Katharina. 


HoBnNBio,  }  »nitors  to  Bianca. 
Tbanzo,        (  servants   to  Looen" 
BiOKDSLLo,  r  tio. 

CuBTis,  i  Bci^tuits  to  Pelmchio. 
A  Pedant. 

Kathabcta,  )  daughters  to  Bap- 
the  shrew,   V       *     ygta. 
Bianca,        ) 
Widow. 
Tailor,  Haberdasher,  and  Seiraats. 

attending  on  Baptists  and  Pe> 

tmchio. 


Scene  :  Padua  and  Petntc?iio'8  country  Iwuse. 

INDUCTIOX. 

Scene  I.    Before  an,  dU  house  on  a  heath. 

Enter  Hostess  and  Sly. 

Sly.  ril  pheeze  you,  in  faith. 

Host.  A  pair  of  stocks,  you  rogue  1 

Sly.  Ye  are  a  baggage :  the  Slys  are  no  rogues  ;  look  in 
the  chronicles  ;  we  came  in  with  Richard  Conqueror.  There- 
fore paucus  i>allabris  ;  let  the  world  slide  :  sessa  ! 

Host.  You  will  not  pay  for  the  glasses  you  have  burst? 

Sly.  No,  not  a  denier.  Go  by,  Jeronimy  :  go  to  thy  cold 
bed,  and  warm  thee.  10 

Host.  I  know  my  remedy ;  I  must  go  fetch  the  tliird- 
borough.  \ExU. 

Sly.  Third,  or  fourth^  or  fifth  borough,  I'll  answer  him  by 
law  :  ril  not  budge  an  inch,  boy  :  let  him  come,  and  kindly. 

[FaUs  asleep. 

Horns  winded.    Entejr  a  Lord  from  hunting ^  ^oUh  Ms  train. 
Lord,  Huntsman^  I  charge  thee,  tender  well  my  hounds : 

(588) 


BCE!«B  I.]         TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  580 

t  Trash  Merriman,  the  poor  cur  is  emboss'd ; 

And  couple  Clowder  with  the  deep-moath'd  brach. 

Saw'st  thou  not,  boy,  how  Silver  made  it  good 

At  the  hedge-comer,  in  tlie  coldest  fault  ?  20 

I  would  not  lose  the  dog  for  twenty  pound. 

FKrtt  Hun.  Why,  Bel  man  is  as  good  as  he,  my  lord ; 
He  cried  upon  it  at  the  merest  loss 
And  twice  to-day  pick'd  out  the  dullest  scent : 
Tnist  me,  I  take  him  for  the  better  dog. 

Lard,  Thou  art  a  fool :  if  Echo  were  as  fleet, 
I  would  esteem  him  worth  a  dozen  such. 
But  sup  them  well  and  look  unto  them  all  *: 
To-morrow  I  intend  to  hunt  again. 

First  ITun.  1  will,  my  lord.  80 

Lord.  What's  here?  one  dead,  or  drunk?'  See,  doth  he 
breathe? 

Sec.  Hun.  He  breathes,  my  lord.     Were  he  not  warm'd 
with  ale. 
Tills  were  a  bed  but  cold  to  sleep  so  soundly. 

Lord,  O  monstrous  beast  I  how  like  a  swine  he.  lies  1 
Grim  death,  how  foul  and  loathsome  is  thine  image  1 
Sirs,  I  wilt  practise  on  this  drunken  man. 
Wliat  think  you,  if  he  were  convey'd  to  bed, 
W'rapp'd  in  sweet  clothes,  rings  put  upon  his  fingers, 
A  most  delicious  banquet  by  his  bed, 

And  brave  attendants  near  nim  when  he  wakes,  40 

Wouhi  not  the  beggar  then  forget  himself? 

First  Hun.  Believe  me,  lord,  I  think  he  cannot  choose. 

Sec.  Hnn.  It  would  seem   strange    unto  him    when   he 
waked. 

Lord.  Even  as  a  flattering  dream  or  worthless  fancy. 
Then  take  him  up  and  manage  well  the  jest : 
Carry  him  gently  to  my  fairest  chamber 
And  hang  it  round  with  all  my  wanton  pictures : 
Balm  his  foul  head  in  warm  distilled  waters 
And  bum  sweet  wood  to  make  the  lodging  sweet : 
Procure  me  music  ready  when  he  wakes,  50 

To  make  a  dulci't  and  a  heavenly  sound ; 
And  if  he  chance  to  speak,  be  ready  straight 
And  with  a  low  submissive  reverence 
Say  **  What  is  it  your  honour  will  command  ?  " 
Let  one  attend  him  with  a  silver  basin 
Fall  of  rose-water  and  bestrew'd  with  flowers  ; 
Another  bear  the  ewer,  the  third  a  diaper, 
And  say  **  Will't  please  your  lordship  cool  your  hands? 
Some  one  be  ready  with  a  costly  suit 
And  ask  him  what  apparel  he  will  wear  ;  60 


59a  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.     [rrauoTiON. 

Another  tell  Lim  of  his  hounds  and  horse. 
And  that  his  lady  mourns  at  his  disease  : 
Persuade  him  that  he  hath  been  lunatic  ; 
f  And  when  he  says  he  is — say  that  he  dreams. 
For  he  is  nothing  but  a  mighty  lord. 
This  do  and  do  it  kindly,  gentle  sirs  : 
It  will  be  pastime  passing  excellent. 
If  he  be  husbanded  with  modesty. 

First  Hun,  My  lord,  I  warrant  you  we  will  play  our  part. 
As  he  shall  think  by  our  true  diligence  70 

He  is  no  less  than  what  we  say  he  i^. 

Lord.  Take  him  up  gently  and  to  bed  with  him  ; 
And  each  one  to  his  office  when  he  wakes. 

[Some  bear  out  Sly,    A  trumpet  sounds. 
Sirrah,  go  see  what  trumpet  'tis  tliat  sounds  : 

[Exit  Servingman, 
Belike,  some  noble  gentleman  that  means, 
Travelling  some  journey,  to  repose  him  liere. 

JRe-entcr  Servingman. 

How  now  !  who  is  it  ? 

Serv.  An*t  please  your  honour,  players 

That  oifor  service  to  your  lordship. 

Lord,  Bid  them  come  near. 

Enter  Players. 

Now,  fellows,  you  are  welcome. 

Players.  We  thank  your  honour.  80 

Lord.  Do  you  intend  to  stay  witk^me  to-night  ? 

A  Player.  So  please  your  lordship  to  accept  our  duty. 

Lord,   With  all  my  heart.     This  fellow  1  remember. 
Since  once  he  play'd  a  farmer's  eldest;  son  : 
'Twas  where  you  woo'd  the  gentlewoman  so  well : 
I  have  forgot  your  name  ;  but,  sure,  that  part 
Was  aptly  fitted  and  naturally  perform'd. 

A  Player.  I  think  'twas  Soto  that  your  honour  means. 

Lard.  'Tis  very  true  :  thou  didst  it  excellent. 
W'ell,  you  are  come  to  me  in  happy  time ;  90 

Tlie  rather  for  I  have  some  sport  in  hand 
Wherein  your  cunning  can  assist  me  much. 
There  is  a  lord  will  hear  you  play  to-night : 
But  I  am  doubtful  of  your  modesties  ; 
Lest  over-eyeing  ot  his  odd  behaviour, — 
For  yet  his  honour  never  heard  a  play — 
You  break  into  some  merry  passion 
And  so  offend  him  ;  for  I  tell  you,  sirs,  ^ 

If  you  should  smile  he  grows  impatient.  | 


SCENE  IL]        TAMING  OP  THE  SHREW.  5W 

A  Player.  Fear  not,  mj  lord :  we  can  contain  oanelves, 
Were  he  tlie  veriest  antic  in  the  world.  101 

Lord.  Go«  sirrah,  take  them  to  the  buttery, 
And  give  them  friendly  welcome  every  one  : 
Let  them  want  nothing  that  my  house  affords. 

\ExU  one  teUh  the  Playere, 
Sirrah,  go  yon  to  Barthol'mew  my  page; 
And  see  him  dress'd  in  all  suits  like  a  lady  : 
Tliat  done,  conduct  him  to  the  drunkard's  chamber ; 
And  call  him  **  madam,"  do  him  obeisance. 
Tell  him  from  me,  as  he  will  win  my  love. 
He  bear  himself  with  honourable  action,  110 

Such  as  he  hath  observed  in  noble  ladies 
Unto  their  lords,  by  them  accomplished : 
Such  duty  to  the  drunkard  let  him  do 
With  soft  low  tongue  and  lowly  courtesy,  ^ 
And  say  "  What  is't  your  honour  will  command, 
Wherein  your  lady  and  your  humble  wife 
May  show  her  duty  and  make  known  her  love?" 
And  then  with  kind  embracements,  tempting  kiases, 
And  with  declining  head  into  Ids  boeom. 
Bid  him  shed  tears,  as  being  overjoy 'd  IdO 

To  see  her  noble  lord  restored  to  health. 
Wlio  for  this  seven  years  hath  esteemed  him 
No  better  than  a  poor  and  loathsome  beggar : 
And  if  the  hoy  have  not  a  woman's  gift 
To  rain  a  shower  of  commanded  tears, 
An  onion  will  do  well  for  such  a  shift, 
Which  in  a  napkin  being  close  convey'd 
Shall  in  despite  enforce  a  waterv  eye. 
See  this  dispatch'd  with  all  the  haste  thou  canst : 
Anon  I'll  give  thee  more  instructions.    [Exit  a  Servingman 
I  know  the  boy  will  well  usurp  the  grace. 
Voice,  gait  and  action  of  a  gentlewoman  : 
I  long  to  hear  him  call  the  drunkard  husband, 
And  now  my  men  will  stay  themselves  from  laughter 
When  they  do  homage  to  this  simple  peasant 
ril  in  to  counsel  them  ;  haply  my  presence 
May  well  abate  the  over-merry  spleen 
Which  otherwise  would  grow  into  extremes.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  II.    A  bedchamber  in  the  Lord's  hauee. 

Enter  aloft  Slt,  ieith  Attendants ;  eome  toiih  apparel,  others 
tnth  boiiin  and  eteer  and  other  appurtenaneee ;  and  Lord. 

Sy,  For  God's  sake,  a  pot  of  small  ale. 

Ffrtt  Serv,  Will't  please  your  lordship  drink  a  cup  of  sack  ? 


592  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.     fiNDUCTiOK. 

Sec.  Sere.  Wiirt  please  your  honour  taste  of  these  con- 
serves ? 

Third  Serv.  What  raiment  will  your  honour  wear  to-day? 

Sl^.  I  am  Cliristophero  Sly  ;  call  not  me  "honour"  nor 
"  lordship  : "  I  ne'er  drank  sack  in  my  life ;  and  if  you 
give  me  any  conserves,  give  me  conserves  gf  beef  ;  ne'er  ask 
me  what  raiment  I'll  wear ;  for  I  have  no  more  doublets 
than  backs,  no  more  stockings  tlian  legs,  nor  no  more  shoes 
than  feet ;  nay,  sometime  more  feet  than  shoes,  or  such 
shoes  as  my  toes  look  through  the  overleather. 

Lord.  Heaven  cease  this  idle  humour  in  your  honour  I 
O,  that  a  mighty  man  of  such  descent. 
Of  such  possessions  and  so  high  dsteem, 
Should  be  infused  with  so  foul  a  spirit  I 

Sly,  What,  would  you  make  me  mad  1  Am  not  I  Chris- 
toplier  Sly,  old  Slyls  son  of  Burtonheath,  by  birth  a  pedlar, 
by  education  a  card-maker,  by  transmutation  a  bear-herd, 
and  now  by  present  profession  a  tinker?  Ask  Marian 
Hacket,  the  fat  ale-wife  of  Wincot,  if  she  know  me  not :  if 
she  say  I  am  not  fourteen  pence  on  the  score  for  sheer  ale, 
score  me  up  for  the  lyingest  knave  in  Christendom.  What ! 
I  am  not  bestraught :  here's — 

IJdrd  Sei^.  O,  this  it  is  that  makes  your  lady  mourn  1 

Sec.  Sere.  0.  this  is  it  that  makes  your  servants  droop  I 

Lord.  Hence  comes    it  that  your  kindred  shuns  your 
house,  80 

As  beaten  hence  by  your  stranc^e  lunacy. 
O  noble  lord,  bethink  thee  of  thy  birth, 
Call  home  thy  ancient  thoughts  from  banishment 
And  banish  hence  these  abject  lowly  dreams. 
Look  how  thy  servants  do  attend  on  thee. 
Each  in  his  office  ready  at  thy  beck. 

\y ilt  thou  have  music  ?  hark  !  Apollo  plays  [Muiie, 

And  twenty  caged  nighingales  do  sing : 
Or  wilt  thou  sleep  ?  we'll  have  thee  to  a  couch 
Softer  and  sweeter  than  the  lustful  bed  40 

On  purpose  trimm'd  up  for  Semiramis. 
Say  thou  wilt  walk  ;  we  will  bestrew  the  ground :  * 
Or  wilt  thou  ride  ?  thy  horses  shall  be  trapp'd, 
Their  harness  studded  all  with  gold  and  pearl. 
Dost  thou  love  hawking  ?  thou  hast  hawks  will  soar 
Above  the  morning  lark  :  or  wilt  thou  hunt? 
Tliy  hounds  shall  make  the  welkin  answer  them 
And  fetch  shrill  echoes  from  the  hollow  earth. 

F%r$t  Sei'V.  Say  thou  wilt  course  ;  thy  grey-hounds  are  as 
swift 
As  breathed  stags,  ay,  fleeter  than  the  roe.  50 


80BNB II.]        TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  5Ja 

See,  8erv.  Dost  tlioa  love  pictures?  we  will  fetch  tliee' 
straight 
Adonis  painted  by  a  ranninsf  brook. 
And  Cytherea  all  in  sedges  nid, 
Whicli  seem  to  move  and  wanton  with  lier  breath. 
Even  as  the  waving  sedges  play  with  wind.  i 

Lord.  We'll  show  thee  lo  as  she  was  a  maid, 
And  how  she  was  beguiled  and  surprised, 
As  lively  painted  as  the  deed  was  done. 

Third  aerv.  Or  Daphne  roaming  through  a  thorny  wood, 
Scratching  her  legs  that  one  shall  swear  slie  bleeds,  60 

And  at  that  sight  shall  sad  Apollo  weepi 
So  workmanly  the  blood  and  tears  are  drawn. 

Lord.  Thou  art  a  lord  and  nothing  but  a  lord  : 
Thou  hast  a  lady  far  more  beautiful 
Than  any  woman  in  this  waning  age. 

First  Sere,  And  till  the  tears  that  she  liaih  shed  for  thee 
Like  envious  floods  o'er-run  her  lovely  face, 
She  was  the  fairest  creature  in  the  world  ; 
And  yet  she  is  inferior  to  none. 

Siy.  Am  I  a  lord  ?  and  have  I  such  a  lady  ?  70 

Or  do  I  dream  ?  or  have  I  dream 'd  till  now  ? 
I  do  not  sleep  :  I  see,  I  hear,  I  speak  ; 
I  smell  sweet  savours  and  I  feel  soft  things  : 
Upon  my  life,  I  am  a  lord  indeed 
And  not  a  tinker  nor  Christophero  Sly. 
Well,  bring  our  lady  hither  to  our  sight ; 
And  once  again,  a  pot  o'  the  smallest  ale. 

See.  Serv.  Will 't  please  your  mightiness  to  wash  your 
hands? 
O,  how  we  joy  to  see  your  wit  restored  ! 
O,  that  once  more  you  knew  but  what  you  are  !  80 

These  fifteen  years  you  have  been  in  a  dream  ; 
Or  when  you  waked,  so  waked  as  if  you  slept. 

Sly.  Tnese  fifteen  years  !  bv  my  fay,  a  goodly  nap. 
But  did  I. never  speak  of  all  that  time? 

First  Serv.  O,  yes,  my  lord,  but  very  idle  words  : 
For  though  you  lay  here  in  this  goodly  chamber. 
Yet  would  you  say  ye  were  beaten  out  of  door ; 
And  rail  upon  the  hostess  of  the  house  ; 
And  say  you  wonld  present  at  her  at  the  leet, 
Because  she  brought  stone  jugs  and  no  seal'd  quarts  :        90 
Sometimes  you  would  call  out  for  Cicely  Hacket. 

Sly.  Ay,  the  woman's  maid  of  the  house. 

Tnird  Serv,  Why,  sir,  you  know  no  boose  nor  no  such 
maid. 
Nor  no  sucli  men  as  you  have  reckon'd  up, 


f 


684  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.     [iKDUcriON. 

As  Steplien  Sly  and  old  John  Naps  of  Greece 

And  Peter  Turph  and  Henry  Pimpernell.  ♦" 

And  twenty  more  such  names  and  men  as  these 

Which  never  were  nor  no  man  over  saw. 
Sly.  Now  Lord  be  thankful  for  my  good  amends  I 
AU,  Amen.  100 

8ly.  I  thank  thee  :  thou  shalt  not  lose  by  it. 

Enter  the  Page  as  a  lady^  with  attendants^ 

Page.  How  fares  my  noble  lord  ? 

Sly.  Marry,  I  fare  well ;  for  here  is  cheer  enoogh. 
Where  is  my  wife  ? 

Pctge,  Here,  noble  lord  :  what  is  thy  will  with  her? 

Sly.  Are  you  my  wife  and  will  not  call  me  husband  ? 
My  men  should  call  me  "  lord  : "  I  am  your  goodman. 

Page.  My  husband  and  my  lord,  my  lord  and  husband  ; 
I  am  your  wife  in  all  obedience. 

Sly.  I  know  it  welh    What  must  I  call  her?  110 

L^d.  Madam. 

Sly.  Al'ce  madam,  or  Joan  madam? 

Lord.  "  Madam/'  and  nothing  else  :  so  lords  call  ladles. 

Sly.  Madam  wife,  they  say  that  I  liave  dream'd 
And  slept  above  some  fifteen  year  or  n^re. 

Page,  ky^  and  the  time  seems  thirty  unto  me, 
Being  a]l  this  time  abandoned  from  your  bed. 

Sly.  Tis  much.     Servants,  leave  me  and  her  alone 
Madam,  undress  you  and  come  now  to  bed. 

Page.  Thrice-noble  lord,  let  me  entreat  of  you  120 

To  pardon  me  yet  for  a  night  or  two. 
Or,  if  not  so,  until  the  sun  be  set : 
For  your  physicians  have  expressly  charged, 
In  peril  to  incur  your  former  malady, 
Tlmt  1  should  yet  absent  me  from  your  bed  : 
I  hope  this  reason  stands  for  my  excusa 

Sly.  Ay,  it  stands  so  that  I  nuiy  hardly  tarry  so  long. 
But  1  would  be  loath  to  fall  into  my  dreams  a?ain  :  I  will 
therefore  tarry  in  despite  of  the  flesh  and  tho  blood.        130  « 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  Your  honour's  players,  hearing  your  amendment. 
Are  come  to  play  a  pleasant  comedy  ; 
For  so  your  doctors  hold  it  very  meet. 
Seeing  too  much  sadness  hath  congeal'd  your  blood. 

And  melancholy  is  the  nurse  of  frenzy  :  y 

Therefore  they  thought  it  good  you  hear  a  play  1 

And  frame  your  mind  to  mirth  and  merriment,  J 

Which  bars  a  thousand  harms  and  lengthens  life.  4 


6CBNB 1.]         TAMINQ  OF  THE  SHREW.  S9S 

EHy,  Mairy,  I  will,  let  them  play  it.  Is  not  a  oomonty 
a  Ghristnjfeganibold  or  a  tambling  trick?  141 

Page.  No,  vaj  good  lord  ;  it  is  more  pleasing  staff. 

Sly.  What,  hooseliold  stuff  ? 

Page,  It  is  a  kind  of  history. 

Sly,  Well,  we'll  see't.  Cknne,  madam  wife,  sit  by  my 
side  and  let  the  world  slip  :  we  shall  ne'er  be  younger. 

Flourith. 


ACT  I. 

ScENS  I.    Padua,    A  public  place. 

Enter  hvc^NTio  and  hU  man  TRAi^ia 

Luc,  Tranio,  since  for  the  great  desire  I  had 
To  see  fair  Padua,  nursenr  of  arts, 
I  am  arrived  for  fruitful  Lombardy, 
The  pleasant  garden  of  great  Italy  ; 
And  bv  my  father's  love  and  leave  am  ann'd 
With  his  good  will  and  thy  good  company. 
My  trusty  servant,  well  approved  in  all 
Here  let  us  breathe  and  haply  institute 
A  course  of  learning  and  ingenious  studies. 
Pisa  renown'd  for  grave  citizens  10 

Gave  me  my  being  and  my  father  firBt, 
A  merchant  of  great  traffic  through  the  world, 
Vincentio,  come  of  the  Bentivolii. 
Vincentio's  son  brought  up  in  Florence 
It  shall  become  to  serve  all  hopes  conceived. 
To  deck  his  fortune  with  his  virtuous  deeds  : 
And  therefore,  Tranio,  for  tho  time  1  study. 
Virtue  and  that  part  of  philosophy 
Will  I  apply  that  treats  of  happiness 

Bv  virtue  specially  to  be  achieved.  20 

Tell  me  thy  mind  ;  for  I  have  Pisa  left 
And  am  to  Padua  come,  as  he  that  leaves  • 
A  shallow  plash  to  plunge  him  in  the  deep 
And  with  satiety  seeks  to  quench  liis  thirst, 

TVo.  Mi  perdonato,  gentle  master  mine, 
I  am  in  aU  affected  as  yourself  ; 
Glad  that  you  thus  continue  your  resolve 
To  suck  the  sweets  of  sweet  philosophy. 
Only,  good  master,  while  we  do  admire 
This  viitue  and  tiiis  moral  discipline,  30 

Let's  be  no  stoics  nor  no  stocks,  I  pray  ; 


I 

» 


596  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  [act  i. 

Or  so  devote  to  Aristotle's  checks 

As  Ovid  be  an  outcast  quite  abjured  : 

Dalk  log^c  with  acquaintance  that  you  have 

And  practise  rlietoric  in  your  common  talk ; 

Music  and  poesj'  use  to  quicken  you  ; 

The  mathematics  and  the  metaphysics, 

Fall  to  them  as  you  find  your  stomach  serves  you  ; 

No  profit  grows  where  is  no  pleasure  ta*en  : 

In  brief,  sir,  study  what  you  most  affect.  40 

Lue.  Gramercies,  Tranio,  well  dost  thou  advise. 
If.  Biondello,  thou  wert  come  ashore. 
We  could  at  once  put  us  in  readiness. 
And  take  a  lodging  fit  to  entertain 
Such  friends  as  time  in  Padua  shall  beget. 
But  stay  a  while  :  what  company  is  this  ? 

Tra.  Master,  some  show  to  welcome  us  to  town. 

Enter  Baptista,  Katharina,  Biakca,  Gremio,  and  Hob 
TENsio.    LucENTio  oiid  TiiANio  utand  by^ 

Bap.  Gentlemen,  importune  me  no  farther. 
For  how  I  firmly  am  resolved  to  know  ; 
That  is,  not  to  bestow  my  youngest  daughter  60 

Before  I  have  a  husband  for  the  elder  : 
If  either  of  you  both  love  Katliarina, 
Because  I  know  vou  well  and  love  you  well. 
Leave  shall  you  Iiave  to  court  her  at  your  pleasure, 

Gre.  [AmdeA  To  cart  her  rather  :  she's  too  rough  for  me. 
There,  there,  Hortensio,  will  you  any  wife? 

Kath,  I  pray  you,  sir,  it  is  your  will 
To  make  a  stale  of  me  amongst  these  mates  ? 

Hor,  Mates,  maid  I    how  mean  you  that  ?  no  mates  for 
you. 
Unless  you  were  of  gentler,  milder  mould.  60 

Kath.  Y  faith,  sir,  you  shall  never  need  to  fear  : 
I  wis  it  is  not  half  way  to  her  heart ; 
But  if  it  were,  doubt  not  her  care  should  be 
To  omb  your  noddle  with  a  three-legg'd  stool 
And  paint  your  ftu^  and  use  you  like  a  fool. 

Hot.  From  all  such  devils,  good  Lord  deliver  .us  I 

Chre,  And  me  too,  good  Lord  1 

Tra,  Hush,  master  !  here's  some  good  pastime  toward : 
That  wench  is  stark  mad  or  wonderful  froward. 

Luc.  But  in  the  other's  silence  do  I  sec  76 

Maid's  mild  behaviour  and  sobriety. 
Pence,  Tranio  !  ^ 

Tra.  Well  said,  master  ;  mum  1  and  gaze  your  fill.  / 

Bap,  Gentlemen,  that  I  may  soon  make  good  i 


8CENB  I.]         TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  697 

What  I  have  said,  Bianca,  get  you  in : 
And  let  it  n^t  displease  thee,  f^d  Bianca, 
For  I  will  love  thee  ne'er  the  less,  my  girL 

Kath.  A  pretty  peat  I  it  is  best 
Put  finger  in  the  eye,  an  she  knew  why. 

Bian.  Sister,  content  yoa  in  my  discontent.  80 

Sir,  to  your  pleasure  humbly  I  subscribe : 
My  books  and  instruments  shall  be  my  company. 
On  them  to  look,  and  practise  by  myself. 

Lue,  Hark,  Tranio  I  thou  may'st  hear  Minerva  speak. 

Bar,  Siffnior  Baptista.  will  you  be  so  strange? 
Sorry  am  I  that  our  good  will  effects 
Bianca's  grief. 

&re.  Why  will  you  mew  her  up, 

Signior  Baptista,  for  this  fiend  of  hell. 
And  make  her  bear  the  penance  of  her  tongue  ? 

Bap.  Gentlemen,  content  ye  ;  I  am  resolved  :  90 

Go  in.  Bianca :  [£hnt  Bianea, 

And  for  I  know  she  taketh  most  delight 
In  music,  instruments  and  poetry. 
Schoolmasters  will  I  keep  within  my  house. 
Fit  to  instruct  her  youth.     If  you,  Hortensio 
Or  Signior  Gremio,  you,  know  any  such, 
Prefer  them  hither  ;  for  to  cunning  men 
I  will  be  very  kind,  and  liberal 
To  mine  own  children  in  good  bringing  up  : 
And  so  farewell.     Kathanna,  you  may  stay  ;  100 

For  I  have  more  to  commune  with  Bianca.  [EbcU, 

Kath.  Why,  and  I  trust  I  may  go  too,  may  I  not  ?  What, 
shall  I  be  appointed  hours  ;  as  though,  belike,  I  knew  not 
what  to  take,  and  what  to  leave,  ha  Y  [Exit. 

&re.  You  may  go  to  the  devil's  dam  :  your  gifts  are  so 
good,  here's  none  wiil  hold  you.  Their  love  is  not  so  great, 
Hortensio,  but  we  may  blow  our  nails  together,  and  fast  it 
fairlv  out :  our  cake's  dough  on  both  sides.  Farewell :  yet, 
for  tlie  love  I  bear  my  sweet  Bianca,  if  I  can  by  any  means 
light  on  a  fit  man  to  teach  her  that  wherein  she  delights,  I 
will  wish  him  to  her  father. 

Uor.  So  will  I,  Signior  Gremio:  but  a  word,  I  pray. 
Tliough  the  nature  of  our  quarrel  yet  never  brooked  parle, 
know  now,  upon  advice,  it  toucheth  us  both,  that  we  may 
yet  again  have  access  to  our  fair  mistress  and  bo  happy 
rivals  in  Bianca's  love,  to  labour  and  effect  one  thing  spe- 
cUlly.  121 

Gre,  What's  that,  I  pray  ? 

Hafi  Marry,  sir,  to  get  a  husband  for  her  sisfer. 

Ore,  A  husband !  a  devil. 


598  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  [act  i. 

JSar.  I  say,  a  husband. 

Gre.  I  say,  a  devil.  Thmkest  tlioa»  Hortensio,  though 
her  father  be  very  rich,  any  man  is  so  very  a  fool  to  be  mar- 
ried to  hell?  129 

Ilor,  Tush,  Gremio,  though  it  pass  your  patience  nnd 
mine  to  endure  her  loud  alarums,  why,  ncton,  there  be  good 
fellows  in  the  world,  an  a  man  could  light  on  tliem,  would 
take  her  with  all  faults,  and  money  enough. 

Ore.  I  cannot  tell ;  but  I  had  as  lief  take  her  dowry  with 
this  condition,  to  be  whipped  at  the  high  cross  eveiy  morn- 
ing. 

ITor,  Faith,  as  you  say,  there's  small  choice  in  rotten  ap< 
pies.  But  come  ;  since  this  bar  in  law  makes  us  friends,  it 
sliall  be  so  far  forth  friendly  maintained  till  by  helping  Rap- 
tista's  eldest  daughter  to  a  husband  we  set  his  youngest 
free  for  a  husband,  and  then  have  to't  afresh..  Sweet  Bi- 
nnca  I  Happy  man  be  his  dole !  He  that  runs  fastest  gets 
the  ring.     How  say  you,  Signior  Gremio? 

Chre.  I  am  agreed ;  and  would  I  had  given  him  the  best 
horse  in  Padua  to  begin  his  wooing  that  would  thoroughly 
woo  her,  wed  her  and  bed  her  and  rid  the  house  of  her  I 
Come  on.  [Exeunt  Oremio  and  HorUMio,        150 

Ih'a.  I  pray,  sir,  tell  me,  is  it  possible 
That  love  should  of  a  sudden  take  such  hold? 

Luc.  O  Tranio,  till  I  found  it  to  be  true, 
I  never  thought  it  possible  or  likely  ; 
But  see,  while  idly  I  stood  looking  on, 
I  found  the  effect  of  love  in  idleness  : 
And  now  in  plainness  do  confess  to  thee, 
That  art  to  me  as  secret  and  as  dear 
As  Anna  to  the  queen  of  Cartilage  was, 
Tranio,  I  bum,  I  pine,  I  perish,  Tmnio,  160 

If  I  achieve  not  this  young  modest  girl. 
Counsel  me,  Tranio.  for  I  know  thou  canst ; 
.  Assist  me,  Tranio,  for  I  know  thou  wilt. 

Tra.  Master,  it  is  no  time  to  chide  you  now ; 
Affection  is  not  rated  from  the  heart : 
If  love  have  touch'd  you,  nought  remains  but  so, 
**  Redime  te  captum  quam  queas  minimo." 

Luc,  Gramercies,  lad,  go  forward  ;  this  contents : 
The  rest  will  comfort,  for  thy  counsel's  sound. 

Tra.  Master,  you  look'd  so  longly  on  the  maid,  170 

Perliaps  you  mark'd  not  what's  the  pith  of  all. 

Luc.  O  yes,  I  saw  sweet  beauty  in  her  face. 
Such  as  the  daughter  of  Agenor  had, 
That  made  great  Jove  to  humble  him  to  her  hand. 
When  with  Ills  knees  he  kiss'd  tlie  Cretan  strand. 


SCBKE  I.J         TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  609 

TVa,  Saw  you  no  more?  mark'd  70a  not  how  lie/  sister 
Began  to  tcold  and  raise  up  such  a  storm 
That  mortal  ears  might  hardly  endure  the  din  T 

Liie.  Tranio,  I  saw  her  coral  lips  to  move 
And  with  her  breach  she  did  perfume  the  air :  180 

Sacred  and  sweet  was  all  I  saw  in  her. 

Tra.  Nay,  then,  'tis  time  to  stir  him  from  his  trance. 
I  pray,  awake,  sir  :  if  you  love  the  maid. 
Bend  thoughts  and  wits  to  achieve  her.-    Thas  it  stands  : 
Her  eldest  sister  is  so  carst  and  shrewd 
That  till  the  father  rid  his  hands  of  her. 
Master,  your  love  must  live  a  maid  at  home ; 
And  therefore  lias  he  closely  mew'd  her  up, 
Because  she  will  not  be  annoy'd  with  suitors. 

Lttc.  Ah,  Tranio.  wliat  a  cmel  father's  he  1  190 

But  art  thou  not  advised,  he  took  some  care 
Toeet  her  cunning  schoolmasters  to  instinct  her? 

Tra,  Ay,  marry,  am  I,  sir ;  and  now  'tis  plotted. 

Lue.  I  have  it,  Tranio. 

Tra.  Master,  for  my  hand, 

Both  our  inventions  meet  and  jump  in  one. 

Luc,  Tell  me  thine  first. 

IVa,  You  will  be  schoolmaster 

And  undertake  the  teaching  of  the  maid  : 
That's  your  device. 

Lue,  It  is  :  may  it  be  done  ? 

TVa,  Not  possible ;  for  who  shall  bear  your  part. 
And  be  in  Padua  here  Vincentio's  son,  200 

Keep  house  and  ply  his  book,  welcome  his  friends. 
Visit  his  countrymen  and  banquet  them? 

Lue.  Basta ;  content  thee,  for  I  have  it  full. 
We  have  not  yet  been  seen  in  any  house, 
Nor  can  we  be  distinguish'd  by  our  faces 
For  man  or  master ;  then  it  follows  thus ; 
Thou  shalt  be  master,  Tranio,  in  my  stead. 
Keep  house  and  port  and  servants,  as  I  should  : 
I  will  some  other  be,  some  Florentine, 
Some  Neapolitan,  or  meaner  man  of  Pisa.  210 

'Tis  hatch'd  and  shall  be  so :  Tranio,  at  once 
Uncase  thee ;  take  my  colon  r'd  hat  and  cloak  : 
When  Biondello  comes,  he  waits  on  thee  ; 
But  I  will  chann  him  first  to  keep  his  tongue. 

Tra.  So  had  vou  need. 
In  brief,  sir,  sith  It  your  pleasure  is, 
And  I  am  tied  to  be  obedient ; 
For  so  your  father  charged  me  at  our  parting, 
"  Be  servioeable  to  my  son,"  quoth  he. 


600  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  [act  i. 

Although  I  think  'twas  in  another  sense  ;  3^0 

I  am  content  to  be  Lucentio, 
Because  so  well  I  love  Lucentio. 

Liic.  Tranio,  be  so,  because  Lucentio  loves  : 
And  let  me  be  a  slave,  to  achieve  that  maid 
Whose  sudden  sight  hath  thvaU'd  my  wounded  eye. 
Here  comes  the  rogue. 

.Enter  Biondello. 

Sirrah,  where  hare  you  been  ? 

Bion,  Where  have  I  been?  Nay,  how  now  !  where  are 
you?  Master,  has  my  fellow  Tranio  stolen  your  clothes? 
Or  you  stolen  his?  or  both?  pray,  what's  the  news?        230 

Luc.  Sirrah,  come  hither  :  'tis  no  time  to  jest. 
And  therefore  frame  your  manners  to  the  time. 
Your  fellow  Tranio  here,  to  save  my  life, 
Puts  my  apparel  and  my  countenance  on. 
And  I  for  my  escape  have  put  on  his  ; 
For  in  a  quarrel  sinc3  I  came  ashore 
I  kill'd  a  man  and  fear  I  was  descried  : 
Wait  you  on  him,  I  charge  you,  as  becomes. 
While  I  ihake  way  from lieuce  to  save  my  life  : 
You  understand  me? 

Bion.  I,  sir  I  ne'er  a  whit.  240 

Luc:  And  not  a  jot  of  Tranio  in  your  mouth : 
Tranio  is  changed  into  Lucentio. 

Bion.  The  better  for 'him  :  would  I  were  so  too  ! 

Tra.  So  could  I,  faith,  boy,  to  have  the  next  wish  after. 
That  Lucentio  indeed  had  Baptista's  youngest  daughter. 
But,  sirrah,  not  for  my  sake,  but  your  master's,  I  advise 
You  use  your  manners  discreetly  in  all  kind  of  companies : 
When  I  am  alone,  why,  then  I  am  Tranio  ; 
But  in  all  places  else  your  master  Lucentio.  249 

Luc.  Tranio,  let's  go  :  one  thing  more  rests,  that  thyself 
execute,  to  make  one  among  these  wooers  :  if  thou  ask  me 
why,  sufflceth,  my  reasons  are  both  good  and  weighty. 

[Exeunt 

The  presenters  ahote  speak. 

First  Serv.  My  lord,  you  nod  ;  you  do  not  mind  the 
play. 

Sly.  Yes,  by  Saint  Anne,  do  I.  A  good  matter,  surely  : 
comes  there  any  more  of  it  ? 

Page.  My  lord,  'tis  but  begun. 

8lif.  'Tis  a  very  excellent  piece  of  work,  madam  lady  : 
would  'twere  done  !  [They  sit  and  mark.        259 


BCBiTB  n.]       TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  60i 

Scene  IL    Padua,    Btfore  Hortensio'b  hatue. 

Enier  Pebtruchio  and  his  man,  Grumio. 

Pet,  Verona,  for.  a  while  I  take  my  leave, 
To  see  my  friends  in  Padua,  but  of  all 
My  best  beloved  and  approved  friend, 
Hortensio  ;  and  I  trow  this  is  his  house. 
Here,  sirrah  Grumio  ;  knock,  I  say. 

Oru.  Knock,  sir  !  whom  should  I  knock?  is  there  any 
man  has  rebused  your  worship  ? 

Pet,  Villain,  I  say,  knock  me  here  soundly. 

€hru.  Knock  you  here,  sir  I  why,  sir,  what  am  I,  sir,  that 
I  should  knock  you  here,  sir  ?  10 

Pet.  Villain,  1  say,  knock  me  at  this  gate 
And  rap  me  well,  or  Til  knock  your  knave's  pate. 

Qru,  My  master  is  grown  quarrelsome.     I  should  knock 
you  first. 
And  then  I  know  after  who  comes  by  the  worst. 

Pet,  Will  it  not  be? 
Faith,  sirrah,  an  you'll  not  knock,  Fll  ring  it ; 
I'll  try  how  you  can  sol,  fa,  and  sing  it. 

[He  wrings  Mm  by  the  ears. 

Oru.  Help,  masters,  help  I  my  master  is  macf. 

Pet,  Now,  knock  when  I  bid  you,  sirrah  villain  !  20 

Enter  Hortensio. 

Hot,  How  now  I  what's  the  matter  ?  My  old  friend  Gru- 
mio 1  and  my  good  friend  Petruchio  I  How  do  you  all  at 
Verwia? 

Pet,  Siguier  Hortensio,  come  you  to  part  the  fray  ? 
"  Con  tutto  il  cuore,  ben  trovato,"  may  I  say. 

Hot,  ''Alia  nostra  casa  ben  venuto,  molto  honorato  si- 

Sior  mio  Petruchio." 
ise,  Grumio,  rise :  we  will  compound  this  quarrel. 

Qru  Nay,  'tis  no  matter,  sir,  what  he  'leges  in  Latin.  If 
this  be  not  a  lawful  cause  for  me  to  leave  his  service,  look 
you,  sir,  he  bid  me  knock  him  and  rap  him  soundly,  sir : 
well,  was  it  fit  for  a  servant  to  nse  his  master  so,  being  per- 
haps, for  aught  I  see,  twq  and  thirty,  a  pip  out?  80 
Wliom  would  to  God  I  Ixad  well  knocked  at  first, 
Then  had  not  Grumio  come  by  the  worst. 

Pet,  A  senseles^}  villain  I    Good  Hortensio, 
I  bade  the  rascal  knock  upon  your  gate 
And  could  not  get  him  for  my  heart  to  do  it. 

Oru,  Knock  at  the  gate  !  O  heavens  1  Spake  you  not 
these  words  plain,  "  Sirrah,  knock  me  here,  rap  me  here, 


602  TAMING  OF  THE  SHRBW.  [act  i. 

knock  we  well,  and  knock  me  soundly  "  ?    And  ocmie  yon 

now  witb,  "  knocking  at  the  sate ''  ?  * 

Pet.  Sirrah,  be  gone,  or  talk  not,  I  advise  yon. 

Hot.  Petrucliio,  patience  ;  I  am  Grumio's  pledge . 
Why,  tliis's  a  heavy  chance  'twixt  him  and  you, 
YouV  ancient,  trusty,  pleasant  servant  Grnmio. 

And  tell  me  now,  sweet  friend,  what  happy  gale  . 

Blows  you  to  Padua  here  from  old  Vemna  ?  I 

Pet.  Such  wind  as  scatters  young  men  through  the  world  ' 

To  seek  their  fortunes  farther  than  at  home  51 

Where  small  experience  grows.     But  in  a  few, 
Signior  Hortensio,  thus  it  stands  with  me : 
Antonio,  my  father,  is  deceased ; 
And  I  have  thrust  myself  into  this  maze. 
Haply  to  wive  and  thrive  as  best  I  may  : 
Crowns  in  my  purse  I  have  and  goods  at  home, 
And  so  am  come  abroad  to  see  the  world. 

JSbr.  Petrucliio,  shall  I  then  come  roundly  to  thee 
And  wish  thee  to  a  shrewd  ill-favour'd  wife  ?  60 

Thou'ldst  thank  me  but  a  little  for  my  counsel : 
And  yet  I'll  promise  thee  she  shall  be  rich 
And  very  rich  :  but  thou'rt  too  much  my  friend, 
And  ril  not  wish  thee  to  her. 

Pet.  Signior  Hortensio,  Hwixt  such  friends  as  we  ^ 

Few  words  suffice ;  and  tiierefore,  if  thou  know 
One  rich  enough  to  be  Petruchio's  wife, 
As  wealth  is  burden  of  my  wooing  dance, 
Be  she  os  foul  as  was  Florentius'  love. 
As  old  as  Sibyl  and  as  curst  and  shrewd  70 

As  Socrates'  Xanthippe,  or  a  worse. 
She  moves  me  not,  or  not  removes,  at  least. 
Affection's  edge  in  me,  were  she  as  rough 
As  are  the  swelling  Adriatic  seas : 
I  come  to  wive  it  wealthily  in  Padua; 
If  wealthily,  then  happily  in  Padua. 

Orii.  Nay,  look  you,  sir,  he  tells  you  flatly  what  his  mind 
is :  why,  give  him  gold  enough  and  marry  fiim  to  a  puppet  | 

or  an  aglet-baby  ;  or  an  old  trot  with  ne'er  a  tooth  in  her 
head,  though  she  have  as  many  diseases  as  two  and  iiCty  i 

horses :  why,  nothing  oomes  amiss,  so  money  oouies  withaL 

Har.  Petrucliio,  since  we  are  stepp*?l  thus  far  in, 
I  will  continue  that  I  broach'd  in  jest, 
I  can,  Petrucliio,  help  thee  to  a  wife 
With  wealth  enough  and  young  and  beauteous. 
Brought  up  as  best  becomes  a  gentlewoman  : 

Her  only  fault,  and  that  is  faults  enough,  ] 

Is  that  she  is  intolerable  cutst 


flCENB  n.         TAMINQ  OF  THE  SHREW.  003 

And  shrewd  and  froward.  so  beyond  all  measure  CO 

That,  were  znj  state  far  worser  than  it  is, 
I  would  not  wed  her  for  a  mine  of  gold. 

Pet.  Hortensio,  peace  !  thou  know'st  not  gold's  effect : 
Tell  me  her  father^s  name  and  'tis  enough ; 
For  I  will  board  her,  tlioagh  slie  chide  as  loud 
As  thunder  when  the  clouds  in  autunm  crack. 

Ilor.  Her  father  is  Baptista  Minola, 
An  affable  and  courteous  gentleman  : 
Her  name  is  Katharina  Minola, 
Henown'd  in  Padua  for  her  scolding  tongue.  100 

Pet,  I  know  her  father,  though  I  know  not  her ; 
And  he  knew  my  deceased  father  well. 
I  will  not  sleep,  Hortensio,  till  I  see  her ; 
And  therefore  let  me  be  thus  bold  with  ^ou 
To  give  YOU  over  at  this  Arst  encounter. 
Unless  you  will  accompany  me  thither. 

Gru.  I  pray  you,  sir,  let  him  go  while  the  humour  last<(. 
O'  my  word,  an  she  knew  him  as  %vell  as  I  do,  she  would 
think  scolding  would  do  little  good  upon  him :  she  may 
perhaps  call  film  half  score  of  knaves  or  so  :  why,  that's 
nothing  ;  an  he  begin  once,  he'll  rail  in  his  rope-tricks.  I'll 
tell  you  what,  sir.  an  she  stand  him  but  a  little,  he  will 
throw  a  figure  in  her  face  and  so  disfigure  her  with  it  that 
she  shall  have  no  more  eyes  to  see  withal  than  a  cat.  You 
know  him  not,  sir. 

Hor.  Tarry,  Petmchio,  I  must  go  with  thee, 
For  in  Baptista's  keep  my  treasure  is  : 
He  hath  the  jewel  of  my  life  iu  hold. 

His  youngest  daughter,  beautiful  Bianca,  120 

And  her  witholds  frDm  me  and  other  more. 
Suitors  to  her  and  rivals  in  my  love, 
Supposing  it  a  thtnff  impossible. 
For  those  defects  I  have  before  rehearsed, 
That  ever  Katharina  will  be  woo'd ; 
Therefore  this  order  hath  Baptista  ta'en. 
That  none  shall  have  access  unto  Bianca 
Till  Katharine  the  curst  have  got  a  husband. 

Ghru,  Katharine  the  curat  I 
A  title  for  a  maid  of  all  titles  the  worst.  130 

Ear,  Now  shall  i^y  friend  Petmchio  do  me  gne». 
And  offer  me  disguised  in  sober  rob€» 
To  old  Baptista  as  a  schoolmaster 
Well  seen  in  music,  to  instruct  Bianca ; 
That  so  I  may,  by  this  device,  at  least 
Have  leave  and  leisure  to  make  love  to  her 
And  unsuspected  court  her  by  herself. 


604  TAMING  OP  THE  SHBEW.  [act  r. 

Oru,  Here's  no  knavery  !    See,  to  beguile  the  old  folks, 
bow  tbe  young  folks  lay  their  heads  together  I  140 

Enter  Gremio,  and  Lucbntio  dUguued, 

Master,  master,  look  about  yon :  who  goes  there,  ha? 

Uor,  Peace,  Grumio  I  it  is  the  rival  of  my  love. 
Petrachio,  stand  by  a  while. 

Ghu,  A  proper  stripling  and  an  amorous  I 

Gre.  O,  very  well ;  I  have  perused  the  note. 
Hark  you,  sir ;  I'll  have  them  very  fairly  bound : 
All  books  of  love,  see  tliat  at  any  hand  ; 
And  see  you  read  no  other  lectures  to  her : 
You  understand  me  :  over  and  beside 
Signior  Baptista's  liberality,  160 

I'll  mend  it  with  a  largess.     Take  your  paper  too. 
And  let  me  have  them  very  well  perfumed : 
For  she  is  sweeter  than  perfume  itself 
To  whom  they  go  to.     What  will  you  read  to  her  ? 

Luc  Whate'er  I  read  to  her,  I'll  plead  for  you 
As  for  my  patron,  stand  you  so  assured. 
As  firmly  as  yourself  were  stiil  in  place : 
Yea,  and  perhaps  with  more  successful  worda 
Than  you,  unless  you  were  a  scholar,  sir.  , 

Qre.  O  this  learning,  what  a  thing  it  is  I  160  ^ 

Qru,  O  this  woodcock,  what  an  ass  it  is  1 

Pet.  Peace,  sirrah  ! 

Hor.  Grumio,  mum  I    God  save  you,  Signior  Gremia 

Che,  And  you  are  well  met,  Signior  Hortensio. 
Trow  you  whither  I  am  going?    To  Baptista  Minola. 
I  promised  to  inquire  carefully 
About  a  schoolmaster  for  the  fair  Bianca : 
And  by  good  fortune  I  have  lighted  well 
On  this  young  man,  for  learning  and  behaviour 
Fit  for  her  turn,  well  read  in  poetry  170 

And  other  books,  good  ones,  I  warrant  ye. 

Hot,  'Tis  well ;  and  I  have  met  a  gentleman 
Hath  promised  me  to  help  me  to  another,  | 

A  fine  musician  to  instruct  our  mistress  ; 
So  shall  I  no  whit  be  behind  in  duty 
To  fair  Bianca,  so  beloved  of  me. 

Ore,  Beloved  of  me ;  and  that  my  d^bds  shall  prove.  i 

Gtu.  And  that  his  bags  shall  prove. 

Hor,  Gremio,  'tis  now  time  to  vent  our  love : 
Listen  to  me,  and  if  you  speak  me  fair,  180 

I'll  tell  you  news  IndifEerent  good  for  either. 

Here  is  a  gentleman  whom  by  chance  I  met,  j 

Upon  agreement  from  \m  to  hia  liking,  ^ 


SCENE  II.]        TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  605 

Will  undertake  to  woo  curst  Katharine, 
Tea.  and  to  marry  her,  if  her  dowry  please. 

Ore.  So  said,  so  done,  is  well. 
Hortenslo,  have  you  told  him  all  her  faults  ? 

Pet.  I  know  she  is  an  irksome  brawling  scold : 
If  tliat  be  all,  masters,  I  hear  no  harm. 

Ore.  No,  say'st  mo  so,  friend  ?    What  countryman  ?    190 

Pet.  Bom  in  Verona,  old  Antonio's  son  ; 
My  father  dead,  my  fortune  lives  for  mo  ; 
And  I  do  hope  good  days  and  long"  to  see. 

Ore.  O  sir,  such  a  life,  with  sucli  a  wife,  were  strange  I 
But  if  yon  have  a  stomach,  to 't  1'  God's  name  : 
You  shall  have  me  assisting  you  in  all. 
But  will  vou  woo  this  wild-cat  ? 

Pet  W^ill  I  live? 

Oru,  Will  he  woo  her?  ay,  or  TU  hang  her. 

Pet.  Why  came  I  hither  but  to  that  intent? 
Think  you  a  little  din  can  daunt  mine  ears  ?  200 

Have  I  not  in  my  time  heard  lions  roar  ? 
Have  I  not  heard  the  sea  puff  d  up  with  winds 
Rage  like  an  angry  boar  chafed  with  sweat  ? 
Have  I  not  heard  great  ordnance  in  the  field. 
And  heaven's  artillery  thunder  in  the  skies  ? 
Have  I  not  in  a  pitched  battle  heard 
Loud  'larums,  neighing  steeds,  and  trumpets'  clang? 
And  do  you  tell  me  of  a  woman's  tongue. 
That  gives  not  half  so  great  a  blow  to  hear 
As  will  a  chestnut  in  a  farmer's  fire?  210 

Tush,  tush  1  fear  boys  with  bugs. 

Oru,  For  ho  fears  none. 

Ore.  Hortensio,  hark  : 
Tliis  gentleman  is  happily  arrived. 
My  mind  presumes,  for  his  own  good  and  ours. 

Hot.  I  promised  we  would  be  contributors 
And  bear  liis  charge  of  wooing,  wliatsoe'er. 

€hre.  And  so  we  will,  provided  that  he  win  her. 

Qtu,  I  would  I  were  as  sure  of  a  good  dinner. 

Enter  Tranio  hrave,  and  Biondello. 

Tra.  Gentlemen,  God  save  you.    If  I  may  be  bold. 
Tell  me,  I  beseech  yo*b*,  which  is  the  readiest  way  220 

To  the  house  of  Signior  Baptista  Minola  ? 

Bion.  He  that  lias  the  two  fair  daughters:  is*t  he  you  mean? 

Tra.  Even  he,  Biondello. 

Ore,  Hark  you,  sir ;  you  mean  not  her  to 

Tra.  Perhaps,  him  and  her,  sir  :  what  have  you  to  do  ? 

Pet.  Not  her  that  chides,  sir,  at  any  hand,  I  pray. 


600  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  [act  i. 

Tra.  I  love  no  cliiders,  sir.     Biondello,  let's  away. 

Luc.  Well  began,  Tranio. 

JTor.  Sir,  a  word  ere  you  go ; 

Are  you  a  suitor  to  the  inaid  you  talk  of,  yea  or  no  ?        2S0 

Tra.  And  if  I  be.  sir,  is  it  any  offence  ? 

Ore.  No ;  if  without  more  words  you  will  get  you  hence. 

TVa.  Why,  sir,  I  pray,  are  not  the  streets  as  free 
For  me  as  for  you  ? 

Ore.  But  so  is  not  she. 

Tra.  For  what  reason,  I  beseech  you  ? 

Ore,  For  this  reason,  if  you'll  know. 

That  she's  the  choice  love  of  Signior  Gremio. 

ITor.  That  she's  the  chosen  of  Signior  Hortensio. 

lYa.  Softly,  my  masters  !  if  you  be  gentlemen. 
Do  me  this  right ;  hear  me  with  patience. 
Baptista  is  a  noble  gentleman,  840 

To  whom  my  father  is  not  all  unknown  ; 
And  were  his  daughter  fairer  than  she  is. 
She  may  more  suitors  have  and  me  for  one. 
Fair  Leda's  dnnghter  had  a  thousand  wooers  ; 
Then  well  one  more  may  fair  Bianca  have  : 
And  so  she  shall ;  LucejQtin  shall  make  one, 
Though  Paris  came  in  hope  to  speed  alone. 

Ore.  Wlmt !  this  gentleman  will  out-talk  us  all. 

Lue.  Sir,  give  him  head  :  I  know  lie'll  prove  a  jade. 

Pet.  Hortensio,  to  what  end  are  all  these  words?         250 

Hot'.  Sir,  let  me  be  so  bold  as  ask  you, 
Did  you  yet  ever  see  Bapilsta's  daughter  ? 

Tra.  No,  sir ;  but  hear  I  do  that  he  hath  two. 
The  one  as  famous  for  a  scolding  tongue 
As  is  the  other  for  beauteous  modesty. 

Pet.  Sir,  sir,  the  first's  for  me  ;  let  her  go  by. 

Ore.  Yea,  leave  that  labour  to  great  Hercules ; 
And  let  it  be  more  than  Alcide's  twelve. 

Pet.  Sir,  understand  you  this  of  me  In  sooth  : 
The  youngest  daughter  whom  you  hearken  for  860 

Her  father  keeps  from  all  access  of  suitors. 
And  will  not  promise  her  to  anf  man 
Until  the  elder  sister  first  bo  wed  : 
The  younger  then  is  free  and  not  before. 

Tra.  If  it  be  so,  sir,  that  you  are  the  man 
Must  stead  us  all  and  me  amongst  the  rest, 
And  if  you  break  the  ire  and  do  this  feat, 
Achieve  the  elder,  set  the  younger  free 
For  our  access,  whose  hap' shall  be  to  have  her 
Will  not  so  graceless  be  to  be  ingrate.  870 

Har.  Sir,  yoo  say  well  and  well  you  do  conoelve ; 


«cmm  I.]         TAMIKG  OF  THE  SHREW.  Wl 

And  since  you  do  profess  to  be  a  suitor. 
You  must,  as  we  do,  gratify  this  gentleman, 
To  whom  we  all  rest  generally  beholding. 

TVa.  Sir,  I  shall  not  be  slack  :  in  sign  whereof, 
Please  ye  we  may  contrive  this  afternoon, 
And  qaoif  carouses  to  our  mistress'  health, 
And  do  as  adversaries  do  in  law, 
Strive  mightily,  but  eat  and  drink  as  friends. 

Otu.  Bion,  O  excellent  motion  I    Fellows,  let's  begone. 

Hot.  The  motion's  good  indeed  and  be  it  so,  281 

Petruchio,  I  shall  be  your  ben  venuto.  \Exeu,nit. 

ACT  II. 

Scene  I.    Padua.    A  room  in  Baptista's  ?iouse. 

Enter  Katharina  and  Bianca. 

Bian.  Good  sister,  wrong  me  not,  nor  wrong  yourself. 
To  make  a  bondmaid  and  a  slave  of  me  ; 
That  I  disdain  :  but  for  thrae  other  gawds. 
Unbind  my  hands,  Tli  pull  them  off  myself. 
Yea,  all  my  raiment,  to  my  petticoat ; 
Or  what  you  will  command  me  will  I  do. 
So  well  I  know  my  duty  to  my  elders. 

Kath.  Of  all  thy  suitors,  here  I  chaige  thee,  tell 
Whom  thou  lovest  best :  see  thou  dissemble  not. 

Bian.  Believe  me,  sister,  of  all  the  men  idive  10 

I  never  yet  beheld  that  special  face 
Which  I  couhi  fancy  more  than  any  other. 

Kath.  Mionion.  thou  liest.     Is't  not  Hortensio  ? 

Bian.  If  you  affect  him,  sister,  here  I  swear 
I'll  plead  for  you  myself,  but  you  shall  have  him. 

Kath.  O  then,  belike,  you  fancy  riches  more  : 
You  will  have  Qremio  to  keep  you  fair. 

Bian.  Is  it  for  him  you  do  envy  me  so  ? 
Nay  then  you  jest,  and  now  I  well  perceive 
You  have  but  j'.'sted  with  me  all  this  while  :  dO 

1  prithee,  sister  Kate,  untie  uiy  hands. 

KcU/i.  If  that  be  jest,  then  all  the  rest  was  so. 

[Striken  7ier, 
Enter  Baptista. 

Bap.  Whv,  how  now,  dame !  whence  grows  this  insolence  ? 
Bianca,  stand  aside.     Poor  girl !  she  weeps. 
Go  ply  thy  needle  :  meddle  not  with  her. 
For  shame,  thou  hilding  of  a  develish  spirit, 
WHiy  dost  thou  wrong  her  tliat  did  ne'er  wrong  thee? 
When  did  she  cross  thee  with  a  bitter  word  ? 


eOB  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW,  [act  bl 

Kath.  Her  silence  flouts  me,  and  111  be  revenged. 

{Fliea  at  Bianca, 

Bap,  What,  in  my  sight?    Bianca,  get  tnee  in. 

[ExU.  Bianca.    80 

KaZh.  What,  will  you  not  suffer  me?    x^ay,  now  I  see 
81ie  is  your  treasure,  she  must  have  a  husband  ; 
I  must  dance  bare-foot  on  her  wedding  day 
And  for  your  love  to  her  lead  apes  in  hell. 
Talk  not' to  me  :  I  will  go  sit  and  weep 
Till  I  can  Hud  occasion  of  revenge.  [EqdU, 

Bap.  Was  ever  gentleman  thus  grieved  as  I  ?    But  wlio 
comes  here? 

Enter  Gremio,  Lucentio  in  the  habit  of  a  mean  nwn  ;  Pb- 
TiiucHio,  uith  HoRTENSio  08  a  niy^cian  ;  and  Tranio, 
tcith  BiONDELLO  beanng  a  lute  and  books. 

Ore.  Good  morrow,  ncighliour  Baptista. 

Bap.  Good  morrow,  neighbour  Gremio.     God  save  you, 
gentlemen  1  41 

Pet.  And  you,  good  sir  !     Prny,  have  you  not  a  daughter 
Caird  Katbarinn,  fair  and  'irtuous? 

Bap.  1  have  a  daughter,  sir,  called  EathariDa. 

Gre.  You  a  e  too  blunt :  go  to  it  orderly. 

Pet.  You  wrong  mo,  Signior  Gremio  :  give  me  leave. 
I  am  a  gentleman  of  Verona,  sir. 
That,  hearing  of  her  1)eauty  and  her  wit. 
Her  affability  and  Imshful  modest v, 

Her  wondrous  qualitie:)  and  mild  Whavionr,  50 

Am  bold  to  show  myself  a  forward  guest 
Within  your  house,  to  make  mine  eye  the  witness 
Of  that  report  which  I  so  oft  have  heard. 
And,  for  an  entrance  to  my  entertainment, 
I  do  present  you  with  a  man  of  mine, 

[Presenting  Ilortmiio. 
Cunning  in  music  and  the  mathematics, 
To  instruct  her  fully  in  those  sciences. 
Whereof  I  know  she  is  not  ignorant  : 
Accept  of  him,  or  else  you  do  me  wrong : 
His  name  is  Licio,  born  in  Mantua.  60 

Bap.  You're  welcome,  sir  ;  and  he,  for  your  good  sake. 
But  for  my  daughter  Katharine,  this  I  know. 
She  Is  not  for  your  turn,  the  more  my  grief. 

Pet.  I  see  you  do  not  mean  to  part  with  her. 
Or  else  you  like  not  of  my  company. 

Bap.  Mlstuke  me  not ;  I  speak  but  as  I  find. 
Whence  are  you,  sir?  what  may  I  call  your  name? 

Pei.  Petruchio  is  my  name ;  Antonio's  son. 


BCEHB  I.]         TAMING  OP  THE  SHREW.  009 

A  man  well  known  tliroughont  all  Italy. 

Bap.  I  know  him  well :  vou  are  welcome  for  his  sake.  70 

Ore.  Saving  your  tal«,  Petruchio,  I  pray, 
I^et  us,  that  are  poor  petitioners,  speak  too  : 
Baccare  !  you  are  marvel  Ions  forward. 

Pet  O,  pardon  me,  Signior  Qremio ;   I  wonld  fain  be 
doing. 

Ore.  I  doubt  it  not,  sir  ;  bnt  you  will  curse  your  wooing. 
Neighbour,  tliis  is  a  gift  very  grateful,  I  am  sure  of  it.  To 
express  the  like  kindness,  myself,  that  have  been  more 
kindly  beholding  to  you  than  any,  freely  give  unto  you  this 
young  scholar  [presenting  lAieenliti],  that  hath  been  long 
studying  at  Rheim's  ;  as  cunning  in  (ireek,  Latin,  and  other 
languages,  as  the  other  in  music  and  mathematics :  his 
name  is  Cambio  ;  pray,  accept  his  service. 

Bap.  A  tho'isind  thanks,  Signior  Qremio.  Welcome, 
good  Cambio.  [To  Tranio]  But,  gen  tie  sir,  methinks  you 
walk  like  a  stranger :  may  1  be  so  bold  to  know  the  cause 
of  vour  coming? 

jhm.  Pardon  me,  sir,  the  boldness  is  mine  own. 
That,  being  a  stranger  in  this  city  here,  90 

Do  make  myself  a  suitor  to  your  daughter, 
Unto  Bianca.  fair  and  virtuous. 
Nor  is  your  firm  resolve  unknown  to  mo, 
In  the  preferment  of  the  eldest  sister. 
Tills  liberty  is  all  that  I  request. 
That,  upon  knowledge  of  my  parentage, 
I  may  have  welcome  'mongst  the  rest  that  woo 
And  free  access  and  favour  as  the  rest : 
And,  toward  the  education  of  your  daughters, 
I  here  bestow  a  simp!e  instrument,  100 

And  this  small  packet  of  Qreek  and  Latin  books  : 
If  you  accept  them,  then  their  worth  is  great. 

Bnp.  Lncentio  is  your  name  ;  of  wlience,  I  pray? 

Tra.  Of  Pisa,  sir ;  son  to  Vincentio. 

Bap,  A  mighty  man  of  PLsa  $  by  report 
I  know  him  well :  you  are  very  welcome,  sir. 
Take  you  the  lute,  and  you  the  set  of  books  ; 
You  shall  go  see  your  pupils  presently. 
Holla,  within? 

Enter  a  Servant. 

Sirrah,  lead  these  gentlemen 
To  my  daughters ;  and  tell  them  both,  110 

These  are  their  tutors  :  bid  them  use  them  well. 

[Exit  Servant,  vith  LucenHo  atvd  Horientio, 

BiondeUo  foUomng, 

BBAK.    I.— 20 


610  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  [act  ii. 

We  will  go  walk  a  little  in  the  orcbard, 

And  tlien  to  dinner.    Yon  are  passing  welcome, 

And  so  I  pray  you  all  to  think  yourselves. 

Pet,  Signior  Baptista,  my  business  asketh  haste. 
And  every  day  I  cannot  come  to  woo. 
Yon  knew  my  father  well,  and  in  him  me, 
I^ft  solely  heir  to  all  his  lands  and  goods, 
Which  I  have  better'd  rather  than  decreased  ; 
Then  tell  me,  if  I  get  your  daughter's  love,  120 

What  dowry  shall  I  have  with  her  to  wife  ? 

Bap.  After  my  death  the  one  half  of  my  lands. 
And  in  possession  twenty  thousand  crowns. 

Pet.  And  for  that  dowry.  Til  assure  her  of 
Her  widowhood,  be  it  that  .she  survive  me. 
In  all  my  lands  and  leases  whatsoever. 
Let  specialties  be  therefore  drawn  between  xm. 
That  covenants  may  be  kept  on  either  hand. 

Bcvp.  Ay,  when  the  special  tiling  is  well  obtained, 
That  is,  her  love  ;  for  that  is  all  in  all.  180 

Pet.  Why,  that  is  nothing ;  for  I  tell  you,  father, 
I  am  as  peremptory  as  she  proud-minded  ; 
And  where  two  raging  fires  meet  together 
They  do  consume  the  thing  that  feeds  their  fury  : 

Though  little  fire  grows  great  with  little  wind,  i 

Yet  extreme  gusts  will  blow  out  fire  and  all : 
So  I  to  her  and  so  she  yields  to  me  ; 
For  I  am  rough  and  woo  not  like  a  babe. 

Bap.  Well  mayst  thou  woo,  and  happy  be  thy  speed  ! 
But  be  thou  arm'd  for  some  unhappy  words.  140 

PeL  Ay,  to  the  proof  ;  as  mountains  are  for  winds, 
That  shake  not,  though  they  blow  perpetually. 

Re-enter  Hortensio,  with  his  head  broke. 

Bap.  How  now,  my  friend !  why  dost  thou  look  so  pale  ? 

JBor.  For  fear,  I  promise  you,  if  I  look  pale. 

Bap.  W^hat,  wjU  my  daughter  prove  a  good  mtimcian  1 

lIoi\  I  think  she'll  sooner  prove  a  soldier :  . 

Iron  may  hold  with  her,  but  never  lutes.  1 

Bap.  Why,  then  thou  canst  not  break  her  to  the  lute?  ^ 

H(/r.  Why,  no  ;  for  she  hath  broke  the  lute  to  me. 
I  did  but  tell  her  she  mistook  her  freis,  150 

And  bow*d  her  hand  to  teach  her  fingering  ;  ] 

When,  with  a  most  impatient  devilish  spirit, 
"Frets,  call  you   these?"  quotli  she;  "I'll   fame  with 

them : " 
And,  with  that  word,  she  struck  me  ou  the  head,  i 

And  through  the  instrument  my  pate  made  way  ;  4 


8CBHE  I.]         TAMING  OF  THE  HHREW.  611 

And  there  I  stood  amazed  for  a  wliile, 

As  on  a  pillory,  looking  through  the  late ; 

While  slie  did  call  me  rascal  fiddler 

And  twangling  Jack  ;  with  twenty  such  vile  termi^ 

As  had  she  studied  to  misuse  me  so.  1(X) 

Pet.  Now,  by  the  world,  it  is  a  losty  wench ; 
I  lo^e  her  ten  times  more  than  e'er  I  did  : 
O,  how  I  long  to  have  some  chat  with  her  1 

Bap.  Well,  go  with  me  and  be  not  so  discomfited  : 
Proceed  in  practice  with  my  yoanger  daughter; 
She's  apt  to  learn  and  thankful  for  good  turns. 
Signior  Petruchio,  will  you  go  with  as, 
Or  shall  I  send  my  daughter  Kate  to  you  I 

Pet,  I  pray  you  do.    [ExeurU  all  but  Peiruehio.]    I  will 
attend  her  here, 
And  woo  her  with  some  spirit  when  she  comes.  170 

Say  that  she  rail ;  why  then  FIl  tell  her  plain 
She  sings  as  sweetly  as  a  nightingale  : 
Say  that  she  frown ;  I'll  say  she  looks  as  clear 
As  morning  roses  newly  wash'd  with  dew  : 
Say  she  be  mute  and  will  not  speak  a  word ; 
Then  I'll  commend  her  volubility. 
And  sav  she  uttereth  piercing  eloquence  : 
If  she  do  bid  me  pack,  I'll  give  her  thanks. 
As  though  she  bid  me  stay  by  her  a  week : 
If  she  deny  to  wed,  I'll  crave  the  day  180 

When  I  shall  ask  the  banns  and  when  be  married. 
But  here  she  comes ;  and  now,  Petruchio,  speak. 

ETiter  Eatharina. 

uKkkI  morrow,  Kate ;  for  that's  your  name,  I  hear. 

Kath,  Well  have  you  heard,  but  something  hard  of  hear- 
ins: 
'L'hey  call  me  Katharine  that  do  talk  of  me. 

Pet.  You  lie,  in  faith  ;  for  you  are.  call'd  plain  Kate^ 
And  bonny  Kate  and  sometimes  Kate  the  curst ; 
But  Kate,  tiie  prettiest  Kate  in  Christendom, 
Kate  of  Kate  Hall,  my  super-dainty  Kate, 
For  dainties  are  all  Kates,  and  therefore,  Kate,  190 

Take  this  of  me,  Kate  of  my  consolation  ; 
Hearing  thy  mildness  praised  in  every  town. 
Thy  virtues  spoke  of,  and  thv  beauty  sounded. 
Yet  not  so  deeply  as  to  thee  belongs. 
Myself  am  moved  to  woo  thee  for  my  wife. 

KcU/l  Moved  1   In  good  time :  let  him  that  moved  you 
hither 
Remove  you  hence  :  I  knew  you  at  tlie  first 


6!2  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  [act  n. 

You  were  a  moveablo. 

Pet.  Why,  \vliat*s  a  moveable  ? 

Kath.  A  join'd  stool.  200 

Pet.  Thou  Last  hit  it :  come,  sit  on  me. 

Kath.  Asses  are  made  to  bear,  and  so  are  70a. 

Pet.  Women  are  made  to  bear,  and  so  are  you, 

KatJi.  No  such  jade  as  you,  if  me  you  mean. 

Pet.  Alas !  good  Kate,  \  will  not  burden  thee ; 
For.  knowing  thee  to  be  but  young  and  light — 

Kaih,  Too  light  for  such  a  swain  as  you  to  catch  ; 
And  yet  as  heavy  as  my  weight  should  be. 

^2.  Should  be  !  should — buzz  ! 

Kiuh.  Well  ta'en,  and  like  a  buzzard. 

Pet.  O  slow-wing'd  turtle  1  shall  a  buzzard  take  thee  ? 

KatK  Ay,  for  a  turtle,  as  he  takes  a  buzzard. 

Pet.  Come,  come,  you  wasp ;  i* faith,  you  are  too  angry. 

Kath.  If  I  be  waspish,  best  beware  my  sting. 

Pet.  My  remedy  is  then,  to  pluck  it  out. 

Kath.  Ay,  if  the  fool  could  find  it  where  it  lies. 

Pet.  Who  knows  not  where  a  wasp  does  wear  his  sting? 
In  his  tail. 

Kath.  In  his  tongue. 

Pet.  Whose  tongue  ? 

Kath.  Yours,  if  you  talk  of  tails  :  and  so  farewell. 

Pet.  What,  with  my  tongue  in   your  tail?   nay,  come 
again, 
Good  Kate ;  I  am  a  gentleman. 

Kath.  That  Til  try.  [6he  ttrikei  him.    220 

Pet.  I  swear  I'll  cuff  you,  if  you  strike  again. 

Kath  So  may  you  lose  your  arms  : 
If  you  striice  me,  you  are  no  gentleman  ; 
And  if  no  gentleman,  why  then  no  arms. 

Pet.  A  herald,  Kate  Y    O,  put  me  in  thy  books  ! 

KatiL  What  is  your  crest  ?  a  coxcomb  ? 

Pet.  A  combless  cock,  so  Kate  will  be  my  hen. 

Kath.  No  cock  of  mine  ;  you  crow  too  like  a  craven. 

Pet.  Nay,  come,  Kate,  come  ;  vou  must  not  look  so  sour. 

Kalh.  It  is  my  fashion,  when  I  see  a  crab.  230 

Pet.  Why,  here's  no  crab  ;  and  therefore  look  not  sour. 

Kalh.  There  is,  there  is. 

Pti.  Tlien  show  it  mo. 

Kath.  Had  I  a  gloss,  I  would. 

Pet.  What,  you  mean  my  face  ? 

Kath.  Well  aim'd  of  such  a  young  one. 

Pet.  Now,  by  Saint  George,  I  am  too  young  for  you. 

Kath.  Yet  you  are  withe?d. 

Pet.  Tis  with  cares.  S^ 


I 


CBNB  I.]  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  913 

Kath.  I  care  not. 

Pet.  Nay,  hear  70a,  Kate :  in.  sootli  70a  scape  not  fla 

Kath.  I  chafe  you,  if  I  tarry  :  let  me  go. 

Pet,  No,  not  a  whit :  I  find  you  passing  gentle. 
*TwB3  told  me  you  were  roagh  and  coy  and  sullen, 
And  now  I  find  report  a  very  liar  ; 
For  thou  art  pleasant,  gamesome,  passing  courteous. 
But  slow  in  speech,  yet  sweet  as  spring-time  flowers  : 
Thou  canst  not  frown,  thou  canst  not  look  askance. 
Nor  bite  the  lip,  as  angry  wenches  will,  250 

Nor  hast  thou  pleasure  to  be  cross  in  talk. 
But  thou  with  mildness  entertain'st  thy  wooers. 
With  gentle  conference,  soft  and  affable. 
Wliy  does  the  world  report  that  Kate  doth  limp  ? 

0  slanderous  world  I  Kate  like  the  hazel -twig 
Is  straight  and  slender  and  as  brown  in  hue 
As  hazel  nuts  and  sweeter  than  the  kernels. 
O,  let  me  see  thee  walk  :  thou  dost  not  halt. 

Kath.  Go,  fool,  and  whom  thou  kecp'st  command. 

Pet.  Did  ever  Dian  so  become  a  grove  260 

As  Kate  tliis  chamber  with  her  princely  gait  ? 
O,  be  thou  Dian,  and  let  her  be  Kate ; 
And  then  let  Kate  be  chaste  and  Dian  sportful  ! 

Kath.  Where  did  you  study  all  this  goodly  speech  ? 

Pet.  It  is  extempore,  from  my  mother- wit. 

Kath.  A  witty  mother  !  witless  else  her  son. 

Pet.  Am  I  not  wise  ? 

Kath.  Yes ;  keep  you  warm. 

Pet.  Marry,  so  I  mean,  sweet  Katharine,  in  thy  bed  : 
And  therefore,  setting  all  this  chat  aside,  270 

Tims  in  plain  terms  :  your  father  liath  consented 
That  you  shall  be  my  wife  ;  your  dowry  'greed  on ; 
And,  will  you,  nlU  you,  I  will  marry  you. 
Now,  Kate,  I  am  a  husband  for  your  turn  ; 
For,  by  this  light,  whereby  I  see  thy  beauty, 
Thy  beauty,  that  doth  make  me  like  thee  well. 
Thou  must  be  married  to  no  man  but  me  ; 
For  I  am  he  am  born  to  tame  vou  Kate, 
And  bring  you  from  a  wild  Kate  to  a  Kate 
Comfortable  as  other  household  Kates.  280 

Here  comes  your  father  :  never  make  denial ; 

1  must  and  will  have  Katharine  to  my  wife. 

Re-enter  Baptista,Gremio,  and  Trakio. 

Bap,  Now,  Signior  Petruchio,  how  speed  you  with  my 
daughter  ? 
Pet,  How  bat  wel]«  sir  ?  how  but  well  ? 


614  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  [act  n. 

It  irere  impossible  I  should  speed  amiss. 

Bap.  Wliy,  how    dow,    daughter    Katharine  I  in  jovlt 
dumps? 

Kath.  Call  Tou  me  daughter  ?  now,  I  promise  you 
You  have  show'd  a  tender  fatherly  regard. 
To  wish  me  wed  to  one  half  lunatic  ; 
A  mad-cap  rufBan  and  a  swearing  Jack,  290 

That  thinks  with  oaths  to  face  the  matter  out. 

Pet  Father,  'tis  thus  :  yourself  and  all  the  world. 
That  talk'd  of  her,  have  talk'd  amiss  of  her : 
If  she  be  curst,  it  is  for  policy. 
For  she's  not  fro  ward,  but  modest  as  the  doTe  ; 
She  is  not  hot,  but  temperate  as  the  mom  ; 
For  patience  she  will  prove  a  second  Grissel, 
And  Roman  Lucrece  for  her  chastity  : 
And  to  conclude,  we  have  'greed  so  well  together. 
That  upon  Sunday  is  the  wedding-day.  800 

Kat^i.  I'll  see  thee  hang'd  on  Sunday  first. 

Ore,  Hark,  Petruchio  ;  she  says  she'll  see  the  hang'd  first. 

Tra.  Is  this  your  speeding  ?  nay,  then,  good  night  our 
part! 

Pet  Be  patient,  gentlemen  ;  I  choose  her  for  myself  : 
If  she  and  I  be  pleased,  what's  that  to  you? 
'Tis  bargained  'twizt  us  twain,  being  alone. 
That  she  shall  still  be  curst  in  company. 
I  tell  you,  'tis  incredible  to  believe 
How  much  she  loves  me  :  O,  the  kindest  Kate  I 
She  hung  about  my  neck  ;  and  kiss  on  kiss  810 

She  vied  so  fast,  protestiug  oath  on  oath. 
That  in  a  twink  she  won  me  to  her  love. 
O,  you  are  novices  I  'tis  a  world  to  see, 
How  tame,  when  men  and  women  are  alone, 
A  meacock  wretch  can  make  the  curstest  shrew. 
Give  me  thy  hand,  Kate  :  I  will  unto  Venice, 
To  buy  apparel  'gainst  the  wedding-day. 
Provide  the  feast,  father,  and  bid  the  guests  ; 
I  will  be  sure  my  Katharine  shall  be  fine. 

Bap,  I  know  not  what  to  say  :  but  give  me  your  hands ; 
God  send  you  joy,  Petruchio  !  'tis  a  match. 

Ore,  TVa.  Amen,  say  we  :  we  will  be  witnesses. 

Pet.  Father,  and  wife,  and  gentlemen,  adieu  : 
I  will  to  Venice  ;  Sunday  comes  apace  : 
We  will  have  rings  and  things  and  fine  array  ; 
And  kiss  me,  Kate,  we  will  be  married  o'  Sunday. 

[Exeunt  Petruchio  and  KathaHna  ieteraHy, 

Ore,  Was  ever  match  clapp'd  up  so  suddenly  ? 

Bap.  Faith,  gentlemen,  now  I  play  a  merchant's  part^ 


SCENE  I.]         TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  615 

And  venture  madly  on  a  desperate  mart. 

Tra,  'Twas  a  commodity  lay  fretting  by  you  :  880 

'Twill  bring  you  gaiii^  or  perish  on  the  seas. 

Bap.  The  gain  I  seek  is,  quiet  in  the  match. 

Ore.  No  doubt  but  he  hath  got  a  ouiet  catch. 
But  now,  Baptista,  to  your  younger  daughter  • 
Now  is  tlie  day  we  long  have  looked  for  : 
I  am  your  neighbour,  and  was  suitor  first. 

Tra.  And  I  am  one  that  love  Bianca  more 
Than  words  can  witness,  or  your  thoughts  can  guess. 

Ore.  Youngling,  thou  canst  not  love  so  dear  as  L 

2ra.  Qreybeard,  thy  love  doth  freeze. 

Ore.  But  thine  doth  fry.     840 

Skipper,  stand  bock  :  'tis  age  that  nourisheth. 

2ra.  But  youth  in  ladies'  eyes  that  flourisheth. 

Bap.    Content  you,  gentlemen :  I  will   compouad  this 
strife  : 
'Tis  deeds  must  win  the  prize  ;  and  he  of  both 
That  can  assure  my  daughter  greatest  dower 
Shall  have  my  Bianca's  love. 
Say,  Signior  Gremio,  what  can  you  assure  her? 

Cfre.  First,  as  you  know,  my  house  within  the  city 
Is  richly  furnished  with  plate  and  gold ; 
Basins  and  ewers  to  lave  iier  dainty  hands ;  850 

My  hanging  all  of  Tyrian  tapestry ; 
In  ivory  coffers  I  liave  stuff'd  my  crowns ; 
In  cypress  chests  my  arras  counterpoints, 
Costly  apparel,  tents,  and  canopies. 
Fine  linen,  Turkey  cushions  bcxss'd  with  pearl. 
Valance  of  Venice  gold  in  needlework. 
Pewter  and  brass  and  all  tilings  that  belong 
To  house  or  housekeeping  :  then,  at  my  farm 
I  Imve  a  hundred  milch-klne  to  the  p:;il, 
Sixscore  fat  oxen  standing  in  my  stalls,  860 

And  all  things  answerable  to  this  portion. 
Myself  am  struck  in  years,  I  mi\st  confess  ; 
And  if  I  die  to-morrow,  this  is  hers. 
If  whilst  I  live  she  will  be  only  mine. 

Tra.  That  "only  '•came  well  in.     Sir,  list  to  me  : 
I  am  my  father's  heir  and  only  son  : 
If  I  may  have  your  daughter  to  my  wife, 
I'll  leave  her  houses  three  or  four  as  good, 
Witliin  rich  Pisa  walls,  as  any  one 

Old  Signior  Gremo  has  in  Padua ;  870 

Besides  two  thousand  ducats  by  the  year 
Of  fruitful  land,  all  which  shall  Ixs  her  jointure. 
What,  have  I  pinch'd  you,  Signior  Gremio  ? 


616  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  [act  il 

Ore,  Ttto  thoasand  ducats  by  the  year  of- land  I 
My  land  nmoants  not  to  so  mach  in  all : 
That  she  shall  have  ;  besides  an  argosy 
That  now  is  lying  in  Marseilles*  road. 
What,  have  1  choked  you  with  an  argosy  ? 

Tra,  Gremio,  'tis  known  my  father  hath  no  less 
Than  three  great  argosies  ;  beside  j  two  gal  liases,  880 

And  twelve  tight  galleys  :  these  I  will  assure  her. 
And  twice  as  much,  whate'er  thou  offer'st  next. 

Ore.  Nay,  I  have  offer'd  all,  I  liave  no  more  ; 
And  she  can  have  no  more  than  all  I  have  : 
If  you  like  me,  she  shall  have  me  and  mine. 

Tra.  Why,  then  the  maid  is  mine  from  all  the  world. 
By  your  firm  promise  :  Gremio  is  out- vied. 

Bap.  I  must  confess  your  offer  is  the  best ; 
And,  let  your  father  make  her  the  assurance. 
She  is  your  own  ;  else,  you  must  pardou  me,  890 

If  you  should  die  before  him,  where's  her  dower  ? 

TVa.  That's  but  a  cavil :  he  is  old,  I  young. 

Ore.  And  may  not  young  men  die,  as  well  as  old  ? 

Bap.  Well,  gentlemen, 
I  am  thus  resolved  :  on  Sunday  next  you  know 
My  daughter  Katharine  is  to  be  married  : 
Now,  on  the  Sunday  following,  shall  Bianca 
Be  bride  to  you,  if  you  make  this  assurance  ; 
If  not,  to  Signior  Gremio  : 
And  so,  I  take  my  leave,  and  thank  you  both. 

Chre.  Adieu,  good  neighbour.         '  [Exit  Baplitta. 

Now  I  fear  thee  not :       401 
Sirrah  young  gamester,  your  father  were  a  fool 
To  give  thee  all,  and  in  his  waning  age 
Set  foot  under  thy  table  :  tut,  a  toy  ! 
An  old  Italian  fox  is  not  so  kind,  my  boy.  [Exit. 

Tra.  A  vengeance  on  your  crafty  witlier'd  hide  1 
Yet  I  liave  faced  it  with  a  card  of  ten. 
'Tis  in  my  head  to  do  my  master  good  : 
I  see  no  reason  but  supposed  Lucentio 
Must  get  a  father,  call'd  **  supposed  Vincentio  ;"  410 

And  that's  a  wonder  :  fathers  commonTy 
Do  get  their  children  ;  but  in  this  case  of  wooing, 
A  child  shall  get  a  sire,  if  I  fail  not  of  my  cunning.     [Exit 


flCENB  I.]         TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  617 

ACT  ni. 

Scene  I.    Padua,    Baptista's  Ttoiiie, 

Enter  Lucentio,  Hortensio,  and  Bianca. 

Lug.  Fiddler,  forbear  :  you  grow  too  forward,  sir  : 
Have  yoa  so  soon  forgot  the  entertainment 
Her  sister  Katharine  welcomed  you  withal  ? 

Hot,  But,  wrangling  pedant,  this  is  y» 

The  patroness  of  heavenly  harmony : 
Then  ^ive  me  leave  to  have  prerogative  ; 
And  when  in  music  we  have  spent  an  hour. 
Your  lecture  shall  have  leisure  for  as  much. 

Luc.  Perposterous  ass,  that  never  read  so  far 
To  know  the  cause  whv  music  was  ordain'd  1  10 

Was  it  not  to  refresh  the  mind  of  man 
After  his  studies  or  his  usual  pain  ? 
Then  give  me  leave  to  read  philosophy, 
And  while  I  pause,  serve  in  your  harmony. 

Hor.  Sirrah,  I  will  not  bear  these  braves  of  thine. 

Bian.  Why,  gentlemen,  you  do  me  double  wrong. 
To  strive  for  that  which  resteth  in  my  choice  : 
I  am  no  breeching  scholar  in  the  schools  ; 
I'll  not  be  tied  to  hours  nor  'pointed  times. 
But  learn  my  lessons  as  I  please  myself.  20 

And,  to  cut  off  all  strife,  here  sit  we  down  : 
Take  you  your  instrument,  play  you  the  whiles  ; 
His  lecture  will  be  done  ere  you  Iiave  tuned. 

Hor.  You'll  leave  his  lecture  when  I  am  in  tune  ? 

Luc.  That  will  be  never :  tune  your  instrument. 

Bian,  Where  left  we  last? 

Luc.  Here,  madam: 

**  Hie  ibat  Simois  ;  hie  est  Sigeia  tell  us  ; 
Hie  steterat  Priami  regia  celsa  senis." 

Bian.  Construe  them.  80 

Xmc.  "  Hie  ibat,"  as  I  told  you  liefore,  "  Simois,"  I  am 
Lucentio,  "hie  est,"  son  unto  Vincentio  of  Pisa,  "Sigeia 
tellus,"  disguised  thus  to  g^t  your  love;  "  Hie  steterat," 
and  that  Lucentio  that  comes  a- wooing,  "  Priami,"  is  my 
man  Tranio,  "  regia,"  bearing  my  port,  "  celsa  seuis,"  that 
we  might  beguile  the  old  pantaloon. 

H(yi\  Madam,  my  instrument's  in  tune. 

Bian.  Let's  hear.     O  fie  I  the  treble  jars. 

Luc.  Spit  in  the  hole,  man,  and  tune  again.  40 

Bian.  Now  let  me  see  if  I  can  construe  it : 
"Hie  ibat  Simois/'  I  know  you  not,  "  hie  est  Sigeia  tellus," 


618  TAMING  OF  THE  SHHEW.  [act  iri. 

I  trust  you  not ;  "  Hie  steterat  Priami,"  tako  lieed  lie  hear 
us  not,  *'  reffia,^'  presume  not,  "  oelsa  senis,"  despair  not. 

Hor,  Madam,  'tis  now  in  tone. 

Luc.  All  but  the  base. 

llor.  Tlie  base  is  right :  'tis  the  base  knave  that  jars 
[/Iwci^]  How  fiery  and  forward  our  pedant  is  1 
Now,  for  my  life,  the  knave  doth  court  my  love  : 
Pedascule,  Til  watch  you  better  yet.  60 

Bian.  In  time  I  may  believe,  yet  I  mistrust. 

Luc.  Mistrust  it  not ;  for,  sure,  .^Sacides 
Was  Ajaz,  call'd  so  from  his  grandfather 

Bian.  I  must  believe  my  master ;  else,  I  promise  you, 
I  should  be  arguing  still  upon  that  doubt : 
But  let  it  rest.     Now,  Licio,  to  you  : 
Qood  masters,  take  it  not  unkindly,  pray. 
Tliat  I  have  been  thus  pleasant  with  you  lx>th. 

Uor.  You  may  go  walk,  and  give  me  leave  a  while  . 
My  lessons  make  no  music  in  three  parts.  60 

Lue.  Are  you  so  formal,  sir?  well,  I  must  wait, 
[A*irf<j]  And  watch  withal ;  for,  but  1  be  deceived. 
Our  fine  musician  groweth  amorous. 

Hor.  Madam,  before  you  touch  the  instrument. 
To  learn  the  order  of  my  fingering, 
I  must  begin  with  rudiments  of  art ; 
To  teach  you  gamut  in  a  briefer  sort, 
More  pleasant,  pithy  and  effectual, 
Tlian  hath  been  taught  by  any  of  my  trade  : 
And  there  it  is  in  writing,  fairly  drawn.  70 

Bian,  Why,  I  am  past  my  gamut  long  ago. 

Hor.  Yet  read  the  gamut  of  Hortenslo. 

Bian.  [Read9\  **  'Gumut '  I  am,  the  ground  of  all  accord, 
'  A  re,'  to  plead  Hortensio's  passion  ; 
'B  mi,*  Bianca,  take  him  for  thy  lord, 
'  C  fa  ut/  that  loves  with  all  affection  : 

*  D  sol  re,'  one  clef,  two  notes  have  I : 

•  E  la  mi,'  show  pity,  or  I  die." 
Gall  you  this  gamut  ?  tut,  I  like  it  not : 

Old  fashions  please  me  best ;  I  am  not  so  nice,  80 

To  change  true  rules  for  old  inventions. 

Enter  a  Servant. 

Sero.  Mistress,  your  father  prays  you  leave  your  books 
And  help  to  dre8.<i  your  sister's  chamber  up  : 
You  know  to-morrow  is  the  wedding-day. 

Bian,  Farewell,  sweet  masters  both  ;  I  must  bc^ne. 

[Exeunt  Bianea  ana  Servant 

Luc.  Faith,  mistress,  then  I  iiave  no  cause  to  stay.  [Ent 


BCElfB  IL]        TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  610 

Hot.  But  I  have  cause  to  pry  into  this  pedant : 
Methinkfl  lie  looks  as  though  he  were  in  lore  : 
Yet  if  thy  thoughts,  Bianca,  be  so  liumble 
To  cast  tliy  wandering  ejes  on  every  stale,  90 

Seize  thee  that  list :  if  once  I  find  tliee  ranging, 
Hortensio  will  be  quit  with  thee  by  changing.  [ExU, 

Scene  II.    Padua,    Before  Baftista's  liouu, 

Bnier  Baftibta,  Qremio,  Tranio,  Eatharina,  Biakga, 
LucENTio,  end  others,  attendants. 

Bap.  [To  Tranio]  Signior  Lucentio,  tliis  is  the  'pointed 
day. 
That  Katharine  and  Petruchio  should  be  married. 
And  yet  we  hear  not  of  our  son-in-law. 
What  will  be  said  ?  what  mockery  will  it  be. 
To  want  the  bridegroom  when  the  priest  attends 
To  spoBik  the  ceremonial  rites  of  marriage  I 
What  says  Luontio  to  this  shame  of  ours  ? 

Kaih.  No  shame  but  mine  :  I  must,  forsooth,  be  forced 
To  give  my  hand  opposed  against  my  heart 
Unto  a  UHLd-brain  rudesby  full  of  spleen  ;  10 

Who  woo*d  in  haste  and  means  to  wed  at  leinire. 
I  told  you,  I,  he  was  a  frantic  fool, 
Hiding  his  bitter  jests  in  blunt  behaviour : 
And,  to  be  noted  for  a  merry  man, 
He'll  woo  a  thousand,  'point  the  day  of  marriage. 
Make  feasts,  invite  friends,  and  proclaim  the  banns ; 
Yet  never  means  to  wed  where  he  hath  woo'd. 
Now  must  the  world  point  at  poor  Katharine, 
And  say,  ''  Lo,  there  is  mad  Petruchio's  wife, 
If  it  would  please  him  come  and  marry  her  V*  20 

Tra.  Patience,  good  Katharine,  and  Baptista  toa 
Upon  my  life,  Petruchio  means  but  w^l. 
Whatever  fortune  stays  him  from  his  word ; 
Though  he  be  blunt,  I  know  him  passing  wise  ; 
Though  he  be  merry,  yet  withal  he's  honest 

KcSh,  Would  Katharine  liad  never  seen  him  though  I 

[ISxtt  weepino,  foUotoed  6^  Bianca  aria  others. 

Bap.  Go,  girl ;  I  cannot  blame  thee  now  to  weep  ; 
For  such  an  injury  would  vex  a  very  saint, 
Much  more  a  shrew  of  thy  impatient  humour. 

Enter  Biondello. 

Bion,  Master,  master !  news,  old  news,  and  such  news  as 
you  never  heard  of !  -81 

Bap,  Is  it  new  and  old  too  ?  how  may  that  be  7 


620  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  [act  hi. 

Bion,  Wliy,  is  it  not  news,  to  hear  of  Petrucliio's  coming! 

Bap.  Is  he  come  ? 

Biofi.  Why,  no,  sir. 

Bap.  What  then? 

Bioii.  He  is  coming. 

Bap.  When  will  he  be  here? 

Bion.  When  he  stands  where  I  am  and  sees  yon  there. 

Tra.  Bat  say,  what  to  thine  old  news  ? 

Bion,  Why,  Petrachio  is  coming  in  a  new  hat  and  an  old 
jerkin,  a  pair  of  old  breeches  thrice  turned,  a  pair  of  boots 
that  have  been  candle-cases,  one  buckled,  another  laced,  an 
old  rusty  sword  ta'en  out  of  the  town  armoury,  with  a 
broken  hilt,  and  chapeless  ;  with  two  broken  |X)ints  .  his 
horse  hipped  with  an  old  mothy  saddle  and  stirrups  of  no 
kindred  ;  besides,  possessed  with  the  glanders  nnd  like  to 
mose  in  the  chine ;  troubled  with  the  lampsss,  infected 
with  the  fashions,  full  of  windgalls.  sped  with  spavins, 
rayed  with  the  yellows,  past  cure  of  the  nves,  stark  spoiled 
with  the  staggers,  begnawn  with  the  hots,  swayed  in  the 
back  and  shoulder- shotten  ;  near-legged  before  and  with  a 
half-checked  bit  and  a  head-stall  of  sheep's  leather  which, 
being  restrained  to  keep  him  from  stumbling,  hath  been 
often  burst  and  now  repaired  with  knots ;  one  girth  six 
times  pieced  and  a  woman's  crupper  of  velure,  which  hath 
two  letters  for  her  name  fairly  set  down  in  studs,  and  here 
and  there  pieced  with  packthread. 

Bap.  Who  comes  with  him  ? 

Bion.  O,  sir,  liLs  lackey,  for  all  the  world  caparisoned 
like  the  horse  ;  with  a  linen  stock  on  one  leg  and  a  kersey 
boot-hose  on  the  other,  gartered  with  a  red  and  blue  list ; 
an  old  hat  and  "the  humour  of  forty  fancies "  pricked  in  't 
for  a  feather :  a  monster,  a  very  monster  in  apparel,  and 
not  like  a  Christian  footboy  or  a  gentleman's  lackey. 

Tra.  'Tis  some  odd  humoar  pricks  him  to  this  fashion  ; 
Yet  oftentimes  he  eoes  but  mean  apparell'd. 

Bap.  I  am  glad  he's  come,  howsoe'er  he  comes. 

Bioti,  Why,  sir,  he  comes  not 

Bap,  Didst  thou  not  say  he  comes  t 

Biofi.  Who  ?  that  Petruchio  came  ? 

Bap.  Av,  that  Petruchio  came.  80 

Bion.  1^0,  sir ;  I  say  his  horse  oomes,  with  him  on  his 
back. 

Bap.  Why,  that's  all  one. 

Bion.  Nay,  by  Saint  Jamy, 
I  hold  yon  a  penny, 
A  horse  and  a  man 
Is  more  than  one. 
And  yet  not  many. 


8CBNK II.]        TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  «31 

Enter  Petruchio  and  Grumio. 

Pet.  Come,  where  bo  these  gallants  ?  who's  at  home  ? 

Bap.  You  are  welcome,  sir. 

P&t.  And  yet  I  come  not  weU.     90 

Bap.  And  yet  you  halt  not. 

Tra.  Not  so  well  apparell'd 

As  I  wish  you  were. 

Pet.  Were  it  better,  I  should  rush  in  thus. 
But  where  is  Katt*?  where  is  my  lovely  bride? 
How  does  my  father?  (ientles,  methinks  you  frown  : 
And  wherefore  gaze  this  goodly  company, 
As  if  they  saw  some  wondrous  monument, 
Some  comet  or  unusual  prodigy  ? 

Bap.  Why,  sir,  you  know  this  is  your  wedding-day  : 
First  were  we  sa  I,  fearing  you  would  not  come  ;  100 

Now  sadder,  tliac  you  come  so  unprovided. 
Fie,  doif  this  habit,  shame  to  your  estate^ 
An  eye-sore  to  our  solemn  festival ! 

7Va.  And  tell  us,  what  occasion  of  import 
Hath  all  so  long  detain'd  you  from  your  wifa 
And  sent  you  hither  so  unlike  yourself  ? 

Pet,  Tedious  it  were  to  tell,  and  harsh  to 
Sufllceth,  I  am  come  to  keep  my  word, 
'i'houffh  in  some  part  enforced  to  digress  ; 
Which,  at  more  leisure,  I  will  so  excuse  110 

As  you  shall  well  be  satisfied  withal. 
But  where  is  Kate  ?  I  stay  too  long  from  her  : 
The  morning  wears,  'tis  time  we  were  at  church. 

Tra.  See  not  your  bride  in  these  unreverent  robes  : 
Go  to  my  chamber  ;  put  on  clothes  of  mine. 

Pet.  Not  I,  believe  me  ;  thus  I'll  visit  her. 

Bap.  But  ihus,  I  trust,  you  will  not  marry  her. 

Pet.  Good  sooth,  even  thus;    therefore  ha'  done  with 
words : 

To  me  she's  married,  not  unto  my  clothes : 
Could  I  repair  wliat  she  will  wear  in  me,  120 

As  I  can  change  these  poor  accoutrements, 
'Twere  well  for  Kate  and  better  for  myself. 
But  what  a  fool  am  I  to  chat  with  you. 
When  I  sliould  bid  good  morrow  to  my  bride. 
And  seal  the  title  with  a  lovely  kiss  I 

[Exeunt  Petruchio  and  Grumio, 

Tra.  He  hath  some  xneanmg  in  his  mad  attire : 
We  will  persuade  him,  be  it  possible. 
To  put  on  better  ere  he  go  to  church. 

Bap.  ril  after  him,  and  see  the  event  of  thiis. 

[Exeunt  BaptUta,  Oretnio,  and  attendants. 


620  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW,  [act  ui. 

Tra.  But  to  her  love  concerneth  ns  to  add  180 

Her  father's  liking  :  which  to  bring  to  jMiSS, 
As  I  before  imparted  to  yoar  worship, 
I  am  to  get  a  man, — whatever  he  be, 
It  skills  not  much,  we'll  fit  him  to  our  tarn, — 
And  he  sliall  be  Vincentio  of  Pisa ; 
And  make  assurance  here  in  Padua 
Of  greater  sums  than  I  liave  promised. 
So  shall  you  quietly  enjoy  your  hope, 
And  marry  sweet  Bianca  with  consent. 

Luc.  Were  it  not  that  my  fellow-schoolmaster  140 

Doth  watch  Bianca's  steps  so  narrowly, 
'Twcre  good,  methinks,  to  steal  oar  marriage  ; 
Which  once  performed,  let  all  the  world  say  no, 
I'll  keep  mine  own,  despite  of  all  the  world. 

7Va.  That  by  degrees  ^ve  mean  to  look  into. 
And  watch  our  vantage  in  this  business  : 
We'll  over-reach  the  greybeard,  Oremio, 
The  narrow-prying  father,  Minola, 
The  quaint  musician,  amoroas  Licio  ; 
All  for  my  master's  sake,  Lucentio.  150 

lie- enter  Gr£Mio. 

Signior  Qremio,  came  you  from  the  charch? 

Ore.  As  willingly  as  e'er  I  came  from  school. 

7ra.  And  is  the  bride  and  bridegrooip  C4>ming  home? 

Ghe.  A  bridegroom  say  you?  'tis  a  groom  indeed, 
A  grumbling  groom,  and  that  the  girl  shall  find. 

Tra.  Ciirster  than  she  ?  why,  'tis  impossible. 

Ore.  Why,  he's  a  devil,  a  devil,  a  very  fiend. 

Tra.  Why,  she's  a  devil,  a  devil,  the  devil's  dam. 

Gre.  Tut,  she's  a  lamb,  a  dove,  a  fool  to  him  ! 
I'll  tell  you,  Sir  Lucentio  :  when  the  prif^t  160 

Should  ask,  if  Katharine  should  be  his  wife, 
•'Ay,  by  gogs-wouns,"  quoth  he  ;  and  swore  so  loud. 
That,  all-amazed,  the  priest  let  fall  the  book  ; 
And,  as  he  stoop'd  again  to  take  it  up, 
The  mad-brain'd  bridogrooui  took  him  such  a  caff 
That  down  fell  priest  and  book  and  book  and  priest : 
**  Now  take  them  up,"  quoth  he,  **  if  any  list." 

Ti'a.  What  said  the  wench  when  he  rose  again  ? 

Ore.  Trembled  and  shook  ;   for  why,  he  stamp'd  and 
swore. 
As  if  the  vicar  meant  to  cozen  him.  170 

But  after  many  ceremonies  done. 
He  calls  for  wine  :  **A  health  !  "  ouoth  he,  as  if 
He  had -been  aboard,  carousing  to  his  mates 


SCENE  11.]        TAMINa  OF  THE  SHREW.  623 

After  a  storm  ;  quafTd  off  the  moscadel 

And  threw  the  sops  all  in  the  sexton's  face  ; 

Hnving  no  other  reason 

But  that  his  beard  grew  thin  and  huhgerlj 

And  seem'd  to  ask  him  sops  as  he  was  drinking. 

Til  is  done,  he  took  the  bride  aboat  the  neck 

^d  kiss'd  her  lips  with  such  a  clamorous  smack  180 

That  at  the  parting  all  the  church  did  echo  : 

And  I  seeing  this  came  thence  for  very  shame  ; 

And  after  me,  I  know,  the  rout  is  coming. 

Such  a  mad  marriage  never  was  before  : 

Hark,  hark  !  I  hear  the  minstrels  plaj.  [Ifusic. 

Be-enier  Petruchio,  Katharina,  Bianca,  Baptista, 
HoRTENsio,  QuuMio,  ajid  IVain, 

Pet,  Gentlemen  and  friends,  I  ihank  you  for  your  pains  : 
I  know  you  think  to  dine  with  me  to-day. 
And  have  prepared  great  store  of  wedding  cheer  ; 
But  so  it  is.  my  haste  doth  call  me  hence. 
And  therefore  here  I  mean  to  take  my  leave.  190 

Bap.  Is  *t  possible  you  will  away  to-night? 

Pet.  I  must  away  to-day,  before  night  come : 
Make  it  no  wonder  ;  if  you  knew  my  Dusiness, 
You  would  entreat  me  rather  go  than  stay. 
And,  honest  company,  I  thank  you. all. 
That  have  beheld  mo  give  away  myself 
To  this  most  patient,  sweet  and  virtuous  wife : 
Dine  with  my  father,  drink  a  health  to  me  ; 
For  I  tenst  hence  ;  and  farewell  to  you  all. 

Tra.  Let  us  entreat  you  stay  till  after  dinner. 

Pet.  It  may  not  be. 

Gre.  Let  me  entreat  you. 

Pet.  It  cannot  be.  200 

Kath.  Let  me  entreat  you. 

Pet.  I  am  content. 

Kath.  Are  you  content  to  stay  ? 

Pet.  1  am  content  you  shall  entreat  me  stay  ; 
But  yet  not  stay,  entreat  me  how  you  can. 

Kath,  Now,  if  you  love  me,  stay. 

Pet.  Qrumio,  my  horse. 

Oru,  Ay,  sir,  they  be  ready;  the  oats  have  eaten  the 
horses. 

KfUli.  Nay,  then. 
Do  what  thou  canst,  I  will  not  go  to-day  ;  210 

No,  nor  to-morrow,  not  till  I  please  myself. 
.The  door  is  open,  sir  ;  there  lies  your  way  ; 
Ton  may  h9  jogging  whiles  your  boots  are  green  ; 


624  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  [act  m. 


For  me,  Til  not  bo  gone  till  I  please  myself : 
*Tia  like  you'll  prove  a  jolly  surly  groom, 
That  take  it  on  you  at  tlie  first  so  roundly. 

Pet.  O  Kate,  content  tliee  ;  prithee,  be  not  ang^. 

KcUh.  I  will  be  angry  :  what  hast  thou  to  do  ? 
Father,  be  quiet :  he  shall  stay  my  leisure. 

Ore.  Ay,  marry,  sir,  now  it  begins  to  work.  220 

Kath,  Gentlemen,  forward  to  the  bridal  dinner : 
I  see  a  woman  may  be  made  a  fool. 
If  she  had  not  a  spirit  to  resist. 

Pet.  They  shall  go  forward,  Kate,  at  thy  conmiand 
Obey  the  bride,  you  that  attend  on  her  ; 
Go  to  the  feast,  revel  and  domineer, 
Carouse  full  measure  to  her  maidenhead. 
Be  mad  and  merry,  or  go  hang  yourselves : 
But  for  my  bonny  Kate,  she  umst  with  me. 
Nay,  look  not  big,  nor  stamp,  nor  stare,  nor  fret ;  230 

I  will  be  master  of  what  is  mine  own  : 
She  is  my  goods,  my  chatties  ;  she  is  my  house. 
My  household  stuff,  my  field,  my  barn, 
My  horse,  my  ox,  my  ass,  my  any  thing  ; 
And  here  she  stands,  touch  her  whoever  dare  ; 
ru  bring  mine  action  on  the  proudest  he 
That  stops  my  way  in  Padua.     Grumio 
Draw  forth  thy  weapon,  we  ore  beset  with  thieves  ; 
Rescue  thy  mistress,  if  thou  be  a  man. 
Fear  not,  sweet  wench,  they  shall  not  touch  thee,  Kate  : 
ru  buckler  thee  against  a  million.  ,     941 

[ExeufU  Petrtuihio,  Katharina,  and  Qruimo. 

Bap.  Nay,  let  them  go,  a  couple  of  quiet  ones. 

Ore,  Went  they  not  quickly,  I  should  die  with  laughing. 

Tra.  Of  all  maid  matches  never  was  the  like. 

Luc.  Mistress,  what's  your  opinion  of  your  sister? 

Bian.  That,  being  mad  herself,  she's  xnadly  mated. 

Gre,  I  warrant  him,  Petruchio  is  Kated. 

Bap.  Neighbours  and  friends,  though  bride  and  bride> 
groom  wants 
For  to  supply  the  places  at  the  table, 

You  know  there  wants  no  junkets  at  the  feast.  260 

Lucentio,  you  shall  supply  the  bridcigroom's  place  ; 
And  let  Bianca  take  her  sister's  room. 

Tra.  Shall  sweet  Bianca  practise  how  to  bride  it  ? 

Bap,  She  shall,  Lucentio. 
Come,  gentlemen,  let's  go.  [EkBeunlL 


SCBSNK  I.]         TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  625 

ACT   IV. 

Scene  L    Petruchio's  country  house. 

Enter  Qrumio. 

Orii.  Fie»  fie  on  all  tired  jades,  on  all  mad  masters,  and 
all  foul  ways  I  Was  ever  man  so  beaten  ?  was  ever  man  so 
rayed?  was  ever  man  so  weary  ?  I  am  sent  before  to  make 
a  fire,  and  they  are  coming  after  to  warm  them.  Now, 
were  not  I  a  little  pot  and  soon  hot,  my  very  lips  might 
freeze  to  my  teeth,  my  tongue  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth,  my 
heart  in  my  belly,  ere  I  should  come  by  a  fire  to  thaw  me : 
but  I,  with  blowing  the  fire,  shall  wanu  myself ;  for,  con- 
sidering the  weather,  a  taller  man  than  I  will  take  cold. 
Holla,  no  I  Curtis. 

Enter  Cubtis. 

Curt.  Who  is  that  calls  so  coldly  ? 

Gru.  A  piece  of  ice :  if  thou  doubt  it,  thou  mayst  slide 
from  my  shoulder  to  my  heel  with  no  greater  a  fun  but  my 
hcAd  and  my  neck.     A  fire,  good  Curtis. 

Curt.  Is  my  master  and  his  wife  coming,  Grnmio? 

Oru.  O,  ay,  Curtis,  ay  :  and  therefore,  fire,  fire  ;  cast  on 
no  water.  21 

Cart.  Is  she  so  hot  a  shrew  as  she's  reported  ? 

Oru.  She  was,  good  Curtis,  before  this  frost :  but,  thou 
knowest,  winter  tames  man,  woman  and  beast ;  for  it  hath 
tamed  my  old  master  and  my  new  mistress  and  myself,  fel- 
low Curtis. 

Curt.  Away,  you  three- inch  fool  1    I  am  no  beast. 

Oru.  Am  I  but  three  inches?  why,  thy  horn  is  a  foot ; 
and  so  long  am  I  at  the  least.  But  wilt  thou  make  a  fire, 
or  shall  I  complain  on  thee  to  our  mistress,  whose  hand, 
she  being  now  at  hand,  thou  shalt  soon  feel,  to  thy  cold 
comfort,  for  being  slow  in  thy  hot  oflice  ? 

Curt.  I  prithee,  good  Grumio,  tell  me,  how  goes  the 
world  ? 

Oru.  A  cold  world,  Curtis,  in  every  office  but  thine ;  and 
therefore  fire  :  do  thy  duty,  and  have  thy  duty ;  for  my 
master  and  mistress  are  almost  frozen  to  death.  40 

Curt.  There's  fire  ready ;  and  therefore,  good  Qrumio, 
the  news. 

Oru.  Why,  **  Jack,  boy  I  ho !  boy  1 ''  and  as  much  news 
as  will  thaw. 

Curt.  Come,  yon  are  so  full  of  cony- catching  I 

Oru.  Why,  therefore  fire ;  for  I  have  caught  extreme 


026  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  [act  iv. 

cold.  Where's  the  cook?  is  supper  ready,  the  house 
trimmed,  rushes  strewed,  cobwebs  swept ;  the  serving-men 
in  their  new  fustian,  their  white  stockings,  and  every 
officer  his  wedding-garment  on  ?  Be  the  jacks  fair  within, 
the  Jills  fair  without,  the  carpets  laid,  and  every  thing  in 
order  ? 

CuH,  All  ready  ;  and  therefore,  I  pray  thee,  news. 

Gru.  First,  know,  my  horse  is  tired;  my  master  and 
mistress  fallen  out. 

Curt.  How? 

Oru.  Out  of  their  saddles  into  the  dirt ;  and  thercbv 
hangs  a  tale.  60 

Curt.  Let's  ha't,  good  Grumio. 

Oru.  Lend  thine  ear. 

Curt.  Here. 

Oru.  There.  [Strikes  him. 

Curt.  This  is  to  feel  a  tale,  not  to  hear  a  tale. 

Oru.  And  therefore  'tis  called  a  sensible  tale  :  and  this 
cuff  was  but  to  knock  at  your  ear,  and  beseech  listening! 
Now  I  begin  :  Imprimis,  we  came  down  a  foul  hill,  my 
master  riding  behind  my  mistress, —  70 

Curt.  Both  of  one  horse? 

Oru.  What's  that  to  thee? 

Cui't.  Why,  a  horse. 

Oru.  Tell  thou  the  tale  :  but  hadst  thou  not  crossed  me, 
thou  shouldst  have  heard  how  her  horse  fell  and  she  under 
her  horse  ;  thou  shouldst  have  heard  in  how  miry  a  place, 
how  she  was  bemoiled,  how  he  left  her  with  the  horse  upon 
her,  how  he  beat  me  because  her  horse  stumbled,  how  she 
waded  through  tiie  dirt  to  pluck  him  off  uie,  how  he  swore, 
liovv  she  prayed,  that  never  prayed  before,  how  I  cried,  how 
the  horses  ran  away,  how  her  bridle  was  burst,  how  I  lost 
my  crupper,  with  many  things  of  worthy  memory,  which 
now  shall  die  in  oblivion  and  thou  return  unexperienced  to 
thy  grave. 

Curt.  By  this  reckoning  he  is  more  shrew  than  she. 

Oru.  Ay ;  and  that  thou  and  the  proudest  of  you  all 
shall  find  when  he  comes  home.  But  what  talk  I  of  this? 
Call  forth  Natlianiel,  Joseph,  Nicholas,-  Philip,  Walter, 
Sugarsop  and  the  rest :  let  their  heads  be  sleekly  combed, 
their  blue  coats  brushed  and  their  garters  of  an  indiffer. 
ent  knit :  let  them  curtsy  with  their  left  legs  and  not  pre- 
sume to  touch  a  hair  of  my  master's  horse-tall  till  they  kiss 
their  hands.     Are  they  all  ready? 

Curt.  They  are. 

Oru,  Call  them  forth. 


acKNB  I.]         TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  627 

Ourt.  Do  70U  hear,  ho?  70a  must  meet  my  master  to 
countenance  my  mistress.  101 

Gru,  Why,  she  hath  a  face  of  her  own. 

Curt.  Who  knows  not  that  ? 

Orni,  Thou,  it  seems,  that  caUs  for  company  to  counte- 
nance her. 

Curt.  I  call  them  forth  to  credit  her. 

Oru,  Why,  she  comes  to  borrow  nothing  of  them. 

Enter  four  or  five  Serving-men. 

Jffath,  Welcome  home,  Grumio  ! 

P?Ul,  How  now,  Qrumio  1  110 

Joa.  Wliat,  Grumio  I 

HielL  Fellow  Grumio  ! 

Hath.  How  now,  old  lad  f 

Gru.  Welcome,  you  ; — ^how  now,  you  ; — what,  you  ; — 
fellow,  you  ; — and  thus  much  for  greeting.  Now,  my 
spruce  companions,  is  all  ready,  and  all  things  neat  ? 

Nath.  All  things  is  ready.     How  near  is  our  master?  119 

Oru.  E'en  at  hand,  alighted  by  this ;  and  therefore  be 
not — Cock's  passion,  silence  I  I  hear  my  master. 

Enter  Petruchio  and  Eatharina. 

Pet.    Where    be  these    knaves?     What,   no  man    at 
door 
To  hold  my  stirrup  nor  to  take  my  liorse  I 
Where  is  Natlianiel,  Gre^ry,  Phillip? 

AU  Sen.  Here,  here,  sir  ;  here,  sir. 

Pet.  Here,  sir  1  here,  sir  I  here,  sir  I  here,  sir  I 
Tou  k)gger-headed  and  unpolished  grooms  I 
What,  no  attendance  ?  no  recanl  ?  no  duty  ? 
Where  is  the  foolish  knave  I  sent  before  ?  130 

Qru.  Here,  sir  ;  as  foolish  as  I  was  before. 

Pet.   You   peasant     swain  I     you  whoreson  malt-horse 
drudge  I 
Did  I  not  bid  thee  meet  me  in  the  park, 
And  bring  along  these  rascal  knaves  with  thee  ? 

Oru.  Nathaniel's  coat,  sir,  was  not  fully  made. 
And  Gabriel's  pumps  were  all  unpink'd  i'  the  heel ; 
There  was  no  link  to  colour  Peter's  hat. 
And  Walter's  dagger  was  not  come  from  sheathing  : 
There  were  none  fine  but  Adam,  Ralph,  and  Gregory ; 
The  rest  were  ragged,  old,  and  beggarly  ;  140 

Yet,  as  they  are,  nere  are  they  come  to  meet  you. 

Pet.  Go,  rascals,  go,  and  fetch  my  supper  in. 

[Ejc&wit  Servants, 


628  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  [act  lY. 


Wl' 


Singing]  Wliere  i-i  the  life  tlint  late  I  led— 
lere  are  tliose — Sit  down,  Kate,  and  welcome. — 
Soud,  aoud,  soud,  soud  ! 


Re-Enter  Servants  with  supper. 

Why,  when,  1  say  ?  Nay,  good  sweet  Kate,  be  merry. 
Off  with  my  boots,  you  rogues  1  you  villains,  when  ? 
[^ngs\  It  was  the  friar  of  oixlera  grey, 

As  he  forth  walked  on  his  way  : —  i 

Out,  you  rogue  !  you  pluck  my  foot  awry  :  190 

Take  that,  aud'mend  the  plucking  off  the  other. 

[^Strikes  him. 
Be  merry,  Juite.     Some  water,  hero  ;  what,  ho  ! 
Whert**s  my  spaniel  Troilus?    Sirrali,  get  you  hence, 
And  bid  my  cousin  Ferdinand  conio  hither : 
One.  Kate,  that  you  must  kiss,  and  be  acquainted  wiih. 
Where  are  my  Uippers  ?    Shall  I  have  some  water? 

Enter  one  tcith  ttater. 

Come,  Kate,  and  wash,  and  welcome  heartily. 

You  whoreson  villain  1  will  you  l-jt  it  fall  ?       [Strikes  hiriu 

KatJi,  Patience,  I  pray  you  ;  'twas  a  fault  unwilling. 

Pet.  A  whoreson,  beetle-headed,  ilap-car'd  knave! 
Come,  Kate,  sit  down  ;  I  know  you  have  a  stomacK 
Will  you  give  thanks,  sweet  Kate ;  or  else  shall  I  ? 
What's  this?  mutton? 

First  Serv.  Ay. 

Pet.  Who  brought  it  ? 

Peter.  L 

Pet.  *Tis  burnt ;  and  bo  is  all  the  meat. 
W^hat  dogs  are  these  I    Where  is  the  rascal  cook? 
How  durst  you,  villains,  bring  it  from  the  dresser. 
And  servo  it  thus  to  me  that  love  it  not  ? 
There,  take  it  to  you,  trenchers,  cups,  and  all : 

[Thraics  tJie  meat,  dx,  about  the  stage. 
You  heedless  joltheads  and  unmanner'd  slaves  I 
What,  do  you  grumble?  Til  be  with  you  straight.  179 

Kath.  I  pray  you,  husband,  be  not  so  disquiet : 
The  meat  was  well,  if  you  were  so  contented. 

Pet.  1  tell  thee,  Kate,  'twas  burnt  and  dried  away  ; 
And  I  expressly  am  forbid  to  touch  it, 
For  it  engenders  clioler,  planteth  angor  ; 
And  better  'twer*  that  both  of  u.s  did  fa»t. 
Since,  of  ourselves,  ourselves  are  choleric. 
Than  feed  it  with  sudi  over- roasted  flesh. 
Be  iMitieut ;  to-morrow  't  shall  be  mended. 


flCENB  n.]        TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  629 

And,  for  this  night,  we'll  fast  for  oomnanj :  180 

Come,  I  will  bring  thee  to  thy  bridal  cnamber.        [Exeunt, 

Be-enter  Servants  severally. 

JTath,  Peter,  didst  ever  see  the  like? 
Peter,  He  kills  her  in  her  own  humoar. 

Be-enUr  Curtis. 

Orti.  Wliereishe? 

Curt,  In  her  chamber,  making  a  sermon  of  continency  to 
her  ; 

And  rails,  and  swears,  and  rates,  that  she.  poor  soul, 
Knows  not  which  way  to  stand,  to  look,  to  speak, 
And  sits  as  one  new- risen  from  a  dream.  189 

Away,  away  !  for  he  is  coming  hither.  [BkeuiU, 

Re  enter  Petruchio. 

Pet.  Tlins  hare  I  politicly  begun  my  reign. 
And  'tis  my  hope  to  end  successfully. 
My  falcon  now  is  sharp  and  passing  empty  ; 
And  till  she  stoop  she  must  not  be  fall  gorg'd, 
For  then  she  never  looks  upon  her  lure. 
Another  way  I  have  to  man  my  haggard, 
To  make  her  come  and  know  her  keeper's  call, 
Tliat  is,  to  watch  her,  as  we  watch  these  kites 
That  Iwte  and  beat  and  will  not  be  obedient. 
She  eat  no  meat  to-day,  nor  none  shall  eat ;  200 

Last  nlglit  she  slept  not,  nor  to-night  she  shall  not ; 
As  with  the  meat,  some  undeserved  fault 
I'll  find  about  the  making  of  the  bed  ; 
And  here  I'll  fiing  the  pillow,  there  the  bolster. 
This  way  the  coverlet,  another  way  the  sheets  : 
Ay,  and  amid  this  hurly  I  intend 
That  all  is  done  in  reverend  care  of  her ; 
And  in  conclusion  she  shall  watch  all  night : 
And  if  she  chance  to  nod  I'll  rail  and  brawl 
And  with  the  clamour  keep  her  still  awake.  210 

This  is  a  way  to  kill  a  wife  with  kindness  ; 
And  thus  I'll  curb  her  mad  and  headstrong  humour. 
He  tliat  knows  better  how  to  tame  a  shrew. 
Now  let  him  speak  :  'tis  charity  to  show.  [Exit, 

Scene  II.    Padua,    Before  Baptibta's  hauee. 

Enter  Tranio  and  IIortensio. 

Tra.  Is't  possible,  friend  Licio,  that  Mistress  Bianca 
Doth  fancy  any  other  but  Lucentio  ? 


J 


(J80  TAMING  OP  THE  SHREW.  [act  it. 

I  tell  you,  sir,  she  bears  me  fair  in  hand. 

ffor.  Sir,  to  satisfy  yoa  in  what  I  have  said, 
Stand  by  and  mark  tlie  manner  of  his  teaching. 

Enter  Bianca  and  Lucentio. 

Ltte.  Now,  mistress,  profit  you  in  wliat  you  read  ? 

Bian.  What,  master,  read  you  ?  first  resolve  me  that. 

Lvc.  I  read  tliat  I  profess,  tlie  Art  to  Love. 

Bian,  And  may  you  prove,  sir,  master  of  your  art  I 

Luc.  While  you,  sweet  dear,  prove  mistress  of  my  heart ! 

Hot.  Quick  proceeders,  marry  !    Now,  tell  me,  I  pray,  11 
You  that  durst  swear  that  your  mistress  Bianca 
Loved  none  in  the  world  so  well  as  Luoentio. 

Tra.  O  despiteful  love  I  unconstant  womankind  I 
I  tell  thee.  Licio,  this  is  wonderful. 

Hor,  Mistake  no  more  :  I  am  not  Licio, 
Nor  a  musician,  as  I  5eem  to  be  ; 
But  one  that  scorn  to  live  in  this  disguise, 
For  sucli  a  one  as  leaves  a  gentleman. 
And  makes  a  god  of  such  a  cull  ion  :  20 

Know,  sir,  that  I  am  call'd  Hortensio. 

Tra.  Signior  Hortensio,  I  have  often  heard 
Of  your  entire  affection  to  Bianca  ; 
And  since  mine  eyes  are  witness  of  her  lightness, 
I  will  with  you,  if  you  be  so  contented. 
Forswear  Bianca  and  her  love  for  ever. 

Hor.  See,  how  they  kiss  and  court !     Signior  Luoentio. 
Here  is  my  hand,  and  here  I  firmly  vow 
Never  to  woo  her  more,  but  do  forswear  her. 
As  one  unworthy  all  the  former  favours  80 

That  I  have  fondly  flatter'd  her  witlial. 

Tra.  And  here  I  take  the  lil^e  unfeigned  oath, 
Never  to  marry  with  her  though  she  would  entreat : 
Fie  on  her  I  see,  how  beastly  she  doth  court  him  1 

Hor.  Would  all  the  world  but  he  had  quite  forsworn  ! 
For  me,  that  I  may  surely  keep  mine  oath, 
I  will  be  married  to  a  wealthy  widow, 
Ere  three  days  pass,  which  hath  as  long  loved  me 
As  I  have  loved  this  proud  disdainfnl  haggard. 
And  so  farewell,  Sig^nior  Lucentio.  40 

Kindness  in  women,  not  their  beauteous  looks. 
Shall  win  my  love  :  and  so  I  take  my  leave. 
In  resolution  as  I  swore  before.  [£x%t. 

Tra.  Mistress  Bianca,  bless  you  with  such  grace 
As  'longeth  to  a  lover's  blessed  case  1 
Nay,  I  have  ta'en  yoa  napping,  gentle  love. 
And  I  have  forsworn  you  with  Hortensio. 


SCENE  n.]        TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  «81 

Bian.  Tninio,  youiest :  but  Lave  you  both  forswofn  me? 

Tra,  Mistress,  we  Lave. 

Luc.  Then  we  are  rid  of  Licio.  • 

Ti'a,  V  faith,  he'll  have  a  lusty  widow  now,  60 

That  shall  be  woo'd  and  wedded  in  a  day. 

JJian.  God  give  him  joy  ! 

Tra.  Ay,  and  he'll  tame  her. 

Ijian,  He  says  so,  Tronio. 

Tra,  Faith,  he  is  gone  into  the  taming-school. 

Bian.  The  taming-school  1  what,  is  there  such  a  place  ? 

2h-a.  Ay,  mistress,  and  Petruchio  is  the  master ; 
Tliat  teacheth  tricks  eleven  and  twenty  long, 
To  tame  a  shrew  and  charm  her  chattering  tongue. 

Enter  Biondello. 

Bion.  O  master,  master,  I  have  watch'd  so  long 
That  I  am  dog-weary  :  but  at  last  I  spied  60 

f  An  ancient  angel  coming  down  the  hill. 
Will  serve  the  turn. 

Tra.  What  is  he,  Biondello  ? 

Bion.  Master,  a  mercatante,  or  a  pedant, 
I  know  not  what ;  but  formal  in  apparel. 
In  ffait  and  countenance  surely  like  a  father. 

Lne.  And  what  of  him,  Tranio  ? 

Tra.  If  he  be  credulous  and  trust  my  tale, 
I'll  make  him  glad  to  seem  Vincentio, 
And  five  assurance  to  Baptista  Minola, 
As  if  lie  were  the  right  Vincentio.  70 

Take  in  your  love,  and  then  let  me  alone.. 

[Exeunt  LueenUo  and  Bianea, 

Enter  a  Pedant. 

Ped.  God  save  you,  sir  I 

Tra,  And  you,  sir  I  you  are  welcome. 

Travel  you  far  on,  or  are  you  at  the  farthest  ? 

Ped,  Sir,  at  the  farthest  for  a  week  or  two  : 
But  then  up  farther,  and  as  far  as  Rome ; 
And  so  to  Tripoli,  if  God  lend  me  life. 

2Va.  What  countryman,  I  pray  ? 

Ped.  Of  Mantua. 

JVa.  Of  Mantua,  sir  ?  marry,  God  forbid  I 
And  come  to  Padua,  careless  of  your  life? 

Ped.  M V  life,  sir  1  how,  I  pray  ?  for  that  goes  hard.      80 

IVa,  'Ti8  death  for  any  one  in  Mantua 
To  come  to  Padua.     Know  you  not  the  cause  ? 
Tour  shipB  are  stayed  at  Venice,  and  the  duke. 
For  private  qoaml  'twixt  yoar  duke  and  him, 


682  TAMIXa  OF  THE  SHREW.  [act  iv. 

Hatli  published  and  proclaimed  it  openlj : 
'Tis  marvel,  but  that  you  are  but  newly  come, 
You  might  liavo  heard  it  else  proclaim'd  about 

Pcd,  AI&s  1  sir,  it  is  worse  for  me  than  so  ; 
For  I  have  bills  for  money  by  exchange 
Fwm  Florence  and  must  here  deliver  them.  90 

Tra.  Well,  sir,  to  do  you  courtesy, 
This  will  I  do,  and  this  I  will  advise  von  : 
First,  tell  me,  have  you  ever  been  at  Pisa  T 

Pal.  Ay,  sir,  in  Pisa  have  I  often  been, 
VXiifL  renowned  for  grave  citizens. 

Tra.  Among  them  know  you  one  Vincentio  ? 

Pcd.  I  know  him  not,  but  I  have  heard  of  him  ; 
A  i!ierchant  of  incomparable  wealth. 

2ra.  He  is  my  father,  sir  ;  and,  sooth  to  say. 
In  countenance  somewhat  doth  resemble  you.  100 

Bion,  [Aitide]  As  much  as  an  apple  doth  an  oyster,  and 
all  one. 

TVa.  To  save  your  life  in  this  extremity. 
This  favour  will  I  do  you  for  his  sake  ; 
And  think  it  not  the  worst  of  all  your  fortunes 
That  you  are  like  to  Sir  Vincentio. 
His  name  and  credit  shall  you  undertake, 
And  in  my  house  you  shall  be  friendly  lodged  *     ' 
Look  tliat  you  take  u])on  you  as  you  should  ; 
You  understand  me,  sir  :  so  shall  you  stay 
Till  you  have  done  your  business  in  the  city  :  110 

If  this  be  courtesy,  sir,  accept  of  it. 

Ped.  O  sir.  I  do  ;  and  will  repute  you  ever 
The  patron  of  my  life  and  liberty. 

Tra.  Then  go  with  me  to  make  the  matter  good. 
This,  by  the  way,  I  let  you  understand  ; 
My  father  is  here  loo'k  for  every  day. 
To  pass  assurance  of  a  dower  in  marriage 
'Twixt  me  and  one  Baptista's  daughter  here  : 
In  all  these  circumstances  Til  instruct  you  : 
Go  with  me  to  clothe  you  as  becomes  you.  [Exeunt, 

Scene  III.    A  room  in  Petruchio's  house. 

Enter  Kathakina  and  Grumio. 

Gru.  No,  no,  forsooth  ;  I  dare  not  for  my  life. 

Eath.  The  more  my  wrong,  the  more  his  spite  appears  : 
What,  did  he  marry  me  to  famish  me  ? 
Beggars,  that  oome  unto  my  father's  door. 
Upon  entreaty  have  a  present  alms  ; 
If  not,  elsewhere  they  meet  with  charity : 


SCENE  III.  J       TAMING  OF  THE  SHREWr  633 

But  I,  who  never  knew  li*w  to  entreat, 

Nor  never  needed  tliat  I  shonld  entreat, 

Am  starved  for  meat,  giddy  for  lack  of  sleep. 

With  oaths  kept  waking  and  with  brawling  fed  :  10 

And  that  which  spites  me  more  than  all  these  wants, 

He  does  it  under  name  of  pefect  love  ; 

As  who  should  say,  if  I  should  sleep  or  eat, 

'Twere  deadly  sickness  or  else  present  death. 

I  prithee  go  and  get  me  some  repast : 

I  care  not  what,  so  it  be  wholesome  food. 

Oru,  What  say  you  to  a  neat's  foot  ? 

KiUh.  Tis  passing  good  :  I  prithee  let  me  have  it. 

Qrw.  I  fear  it  is  too  choleric  a  meat. 
How  say  you  to  a  fat  tripe  finely  broil'd  ?  20 

Kath.  I  like  it  well :  good  Grumio,  fetch  it  me. 

Oru.  I  cannot  tell  ;  I  fear  tis  choleric. 
What  say  you  to  a  piece  of  beef  and  mustard? 

Kath,  A  dish  that  I  do  love  to  feed  upon. 

Qru.  Ay,  but  the  mustard  is  too  hot  a  little. 

Kath.  Why  then,  the  beef,  and  let  the  mustard  rest. 

Qrur,  Nay  then,  I  will  not :  you  shall  have  the  mustard, 
Or  else  you  get  no  beef  of  Qrumio. 

Kath,  Then  both,  or  one,  or  anything  thou  wilt. 

Qru.  Why  then,  the  mustard  without  the  i>eef. 

Kath,  Go,  get  thee  gone,  thou  false  deluding  slave, 

[Beats  Itim, 
That  feed'st  me  with  the  very  name  of  meat : 
Sorrow  on  thee  and  all  the  pock  of  you. 
That  triumph  thus  upon  my  misery  1 
Go,  get  thee  gone,  I  say. 

Enter  Petruchio  and  Horteksio  toUA  meat. 

Pet.  How  fares  my  Kate  ?    What,  sweeting,  all  amort  ? 

Hor,  Mistress,  what  cheer  ? 

Kath.  Faith,  as  cold  as  can  be. 

Pet.  Pluck  up  thy  spirits  ;  look  cheerfully  upon  me. 
Here,  love  ;  thou  see'st  how  diligent  I  am 
To  dress  thy  meat  myself  and  bring  it  thee  :  40 

I  am  sure,  sweet  Kate,  this  kindness  merits  thanks. 
Wliat,  not  a  word  ?    Nay,  then  thou  lovest  it  not ; 
And  all  my  pains  is  sorted  to  no  proof. 
Here,  take  away  this  dish, 

Kath.  I  pray  you,  let  it  stand. 

Pet.  The  poorest  service  is  repaid  with  thanks  ; 
And  so  shall  mine,  before  you  touch  the  meat. 

Kath.  I  thank  you,  sir. 

Hor.  Signior  Petruchio,  fie  I  you  are  to  blame. 


I 

J 


634  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  [act  iv. 

Come,  Mistress  Kate,  I'll  bear  70a  company. 

Pet.  [Aside]  Eat  it  op  all,  Horteusio,  if  thou  lovest  me. 
Mach  good  do  it  unto  tny  gentle  heart !  51 

Kate,  eat  apace  :  and  now,  my  honey  love. 
Will  we  return  unto  thy  father's  house 
And  revel  it  as  bravely  as  the  best, 
With  silken  coats  and  caps  and  golden  rings, 
With  ruffs  and  cuifs  and  fardingales  and  things  ; 
With  scarfs  and  fans  and  double  change  of  bravery, 
With  amber  bracelets,  beads  and  all  this  knavery'. 
What,  hast  thou  dined  1    Tlie  tailor  stays  thy  leisure. 
To  deck  thy  body  with  his  ruffling  treasure  60 

Enter  Tailor. 

Come,  tailor,  let  us  see  these  ornaments  ; 
Lay  forth  the  gown. 

Enter  Haberdasher. 

What  news  with  you,  sir  ? 

ffab.  Here  is  the  cap  your  worship  did  besi^^ak 

Pet.  Why,  this  was  moulded  on  a  porringer ; 
A  velvet  dish  :  fie,  fie  !  'tis  lewd  and  filthy  : 
Why,  tis  a  cockle  or  a  walnut  shell, 
A  knack,  a  toy,  a  trick,  a  baby's  cap  : 
Away  with  it !  come,  let  me  have  a  bigger. 

Kath,  I'll  have  no  bigger  :  this  doth  fit  the  time. 
And  gentlewomen  w^ear  such  caps  as  these.  70 

Pet.  When  you  are  gentle,  you  shall  have  one  too. 
And  not  till  then. 

Hot.  [Aside]  That  will  not  be  in  haste. 

Kath.  Why,  sir,  I  trust  I  may  have  leave  to  speak ; 
And  speak  I  will ;  I  am  no  child,  no  babe  : 
Your  betters  have  endured  me  say  my  mind,       >« 
And  if  you  cannot,  best  you  stop  your  ears. 
My  tongue  will  tell  the  anger  of  my  heart. 
Or  else  my  heart  concealing  it  will  break. 
And  rather  than  it  shall  I  will  be  free 
Even  to  the  uttermost,  as  I  please,  in  words.  80 

Pet,  Wliy,  tliou  say'st  true ;  it  is  a  paltry  cap, 
A  custard-coffin,  a  bauble,  a  silken  pie  : 
I  love  thee  well,  in  that  thou  likest  it  not. 

ICcUh.  Love  me  or  love  me  not,  I  like  the  cap  ; 
And  it  I  will  have,  or  I  will  have  none.    [Exit  Haberdashsr. 

Pet.  Thv  gown "?  why,  ay  :  come,  tailor,  let  us  see't. 
O  mercy,  6od  1  what  masquing  stuff  is  here  ? 
What's  this  ?  a  sleeve  ?  'tis  like  a  demi-cannon  : 
What,  up  and  down,  carved  like  an  applc-tart? 


BCEKE  m.]      TAMING  OP  THE  SHREW.  635 

Here's  snip  and  nip  and  cn^t  and  slisli  and  slasli,  90 

Like  to  a  censer  in  a  barber's  shop  : 

Wliy,  wliat,  i*  devil's  name,  tailor,  call'st  thou  this?  . 

Ilor.  [Aside]  I  see  she's  like  to  have  neither  cap  nor 
gown. 

Tai,  You  bid  me  make  it  orderly  and  well. 
According  to  the  ftisliion  and  tlie  time. 

Pet.  Marry,  and  did  ;  but  if  you  l>e  remember'd, 
I  did  not  bid  you  mar  it  to  tlie  time. 
Go,  hop  me  over  eyery  kennel  home. 
For  you  sliall  liop  without  my  custom,  sir  : 
I'll  none  of  it ;  hence  I  make  your  best  of  it.  100 

Kaih.  I  never  saw  a  better- fashion'd  gown. 
More  quaint,  more  pleasing,  nor  more  commendable  : 
Belike  you  mean  to  make  a  puppet  of  me. 

Pel.  Why,  true  ;  he  means  tp  midce  a  puppet  of  thee. 

Ted.  She  says  your  worship  means  to  make  a  puppet  of 
her. 

Pet.  O  monstrous  arrogance !  Thou  liest,  thou  thread, 
thou  thimble, 

Thou  yard,  three-quarters,  half-yard,  quarter,  nail  I 
Thou  flea,  thou  nit,  thou  winter-cricket  thou  I 
Brayed  in  mine  own  house  with  a  skein  of  thread  ? 
Away,  thou  rag,  thou  quantity,  thou  remnant ; 
Or  I  shall  so  be-mete  thee  with  thy  yard 
As  thou  shalt  think  on  prating  whilst  thou  livest  I 
I  tell  thee,  I,  that  thou  hast  marr'd  her  gown. 

Tai.  Your  worship  is  deceived  ;  the  gown  is  made 
Just  as  my  master  had  direction  : 
Grumio  save  order  how  it  should  be  done. 

&ru.  1  gave  him  no  order;  I  gave  him  the  stuff. 

Tai.  But  how  did  you  desire  it  should  be  made  ?  120 

&ru.  Marry,  sir,  with  needle  and  thread. 

Tai.  But  did  you  not  request  to  have  it  cut? 

Gru.  Thou  hast  faced  many  things. 

Tai.  I  have. 

Gni.  Face  not  me :  thou  hast  braved  many  men  ;  brave 
not  me ;  I  will  neither  be  faced  nor  braved.  I  say  unto 
thee,  I  bid  thy  master  cut  out  the  gown  ;  but  I  did  not  bid 
him  cut  it  to  pieces  :  ergo,  thou  liest.  130 

Tai.  Why,  here  is  the  note  of  the  fashion  to  testify.   . 

Pet.  Read  it. 

Gru.  The  note  lies  in  's  throat,  if  he  say  I  said  so. 

Tai.  [  Reads]  **  Imprimis,  a  loose- bodied  gown  : " 

Gru.  Master,  if  ever  I  said  loose-bodied  gown,  sew  me  in 
the  skirts  of  it,  and  beat  me  to  death  with  a  bottom  of 
brown  thread  :  I  siud  a  gown. 


636  TAMING  OP  THE  SHREW.  [act  iv. 

Pgt    Proceed 

TaL  [Reads]  "  Witli  a  small  compassed  cape : "  40 

Chru,  I  confess  the  cape. 

I'ai,  [Read9\  *•  With  a  trunk  sleeve:" 

Qru.  I  confess  t^o'sleeves. 

Tax.  [Reads]  "  The  sleeves  curiously  cut." 

Pet.  Ay,  there's  the  villany. 

Om.  Error  i'  the  bill,  sir ;  error  i'  the  hill.  I  command- 
ed the  sleeves  should  be  cut  out  and  sewed  up  again  ;  and 
that  ril  prove  upon  thee,  though  thy  little  finger  be  armed 
in  a  thimble. 

Tai.  This  is  true  that  I  say  :  an  I  had  thee  in  place 
where,  thou  shouldst  know  it.  151 

Qru.  I  am  for  thee  straight :  take  thou  the  bill,  give  mo 
thy  mete-yard,  and  spare  not  me. 

H(yr.  God-a-mercy,  Grumio  I  then  he  shall  have  no  odds. 

Pet,  Well,  sir,  in  brief,  the  gown  is  not  for  me. 

Qru.  You  are  i'  the  right,  sir :  'tis  for  my  mistress. 

Pet.  Go,  take  it  up  unto  thy  master's  use. 

am.  Villain,  not  for  thy  life  :  take  up  my  mistress' gown 
for  thy  master's  use  I  1"^ 

Pet,  Why,  sir,  what's  your  conceit  in  that  ? 

Orv,  O,  sir,  the  conceit  is  deeper  than  you  think  for ; 
Take  up  my  mistress'  gown  to  his  master's  use ! 
O,  fie,  ne,  fie  I 

Pet.  [Aside]  Hortensio,  say  thou  wilt  see  the  tailor  paid- 
Go  take  it  hence  ;  be  gone,  and  say  no  more. 

Ilcyr.  Tailor,  I'll  pay  thee  for  thy  gown  to-morrow  : 

Take  no  unkindness  of  his  hasty  words  : 

Away  I  I  say :  commend  me  to  thy  master.  170 

^  ^  '  •"  [Es^  TaUor. 

Pet.  Well,  come,  my  Kate ;  we  will  unto  your  father's 
Even  in  these  honest  mean  habiliments  : 
Our  purses  shall  be  proud,  our  garments  poor ; 
For  'tis  the  mind  that  makes  the  body  rich  ; 
And  as  the  sun  breaks  through  the  darkest  clouds. 
So  honour  peereth  in  the  meanest  habit. 
What  is  the  jay  more  precious  than  the  lark. 
Because  his  feathers  are  more  beautiful  ? 
Or  is  the  adder  better  than  the  eel. 

Because  his  painted  skin  contents  the  eye?  180 

O,  no,  good  Kate  ;  neither  art  thou  the  worse 
For  this  poor  furniture  and  mean  array. 
If  thou  account'st  it  shame,  lay  it  on  me  ; 
And  therefore  frolic :  we  will  hence  forthwith. 
To  feast  and  sport  us  at  thy  father's  house. 
Go,  call  my  men,  and  let  us  straight  to  him ; 


8CENE IV.]       TAMING  OP  THE  SHREW.  887 

And  bring  our  liorses  unto  liOng-lane  end  ; 

There  \yiil  we  mount,  and  thither  walk  on  foot. 

Let's  see  ;  I  tlitnk  'tis  now  some  seven  o'clock. 

And  well  we  may  come  there  by  dinner-time.  190 

Kath.  I  dare  assure  you,  sir,  'tis  almost  two ; 
And  'twill  be  supper-time  ere  you  come  there. 

Pet.  It  sliall  be  seven  ere  I  go  to  horse  : 
Look,  what  I  speak,  or  do,  or  think  to  do. 
You  are  still  crossing  it.     Sirs,  let 't  aloue  : 
I  will  not  go  to-day ;  and  ere  I  do, 
It  shall  be  what  o'clock  I  say  It  is. 

Hor.  [Atide]  Why,  so  this  gallant  will  command  the  sun. 

[Exeunt, 

S:ene  IV.    Padua.    Before  Baptista's  house. 

Enter  Tranio  and  the  Pedant  dressed  like  VacEsmo. 

Tra.  Sir,  this  is  the  house  ;  please  it  yon  that  I  call? 

Ped,  Ay,  what  else  ?  and  but  I  be  deceived 
Signior  Bjptista  may  remember  me. 
Near  twenty  years  ago,  in  Genoa, 
Where  we  were  lodgers  at  the  Pegasus. 

Tra,  'Tis  well ;  and  hold  your  own,  in  any  case^ 
With  such  austerity  as  'longeth  to  a  father. 

Ped.  I  warrant  you. 

Enter  Biondello. 

But,  sir,  here  comes  your  boy  ; 
Twere  ffood  he  were  school'd. 

Tj-a.  Fear  you  not  him.     Sirrah  Biondello,  10 

Now  do  your  duty  thoroughly,  I  advise  you  : 
Imagine  'twere  the  right  V  incentio. 

Bion.  Tut,  fear  not  me. 

Tra.  But  hast  thou  done  thy  errand  to  Baptista  ? 

Bion.  I  told  him  that  your  father  was  nt  Venice, 
And  tliatyou  looked  for  him  this  dav  in  Padua. 

Tra.  Thon'rt  a  tall  fellow  :  hold  thee  that  to  drink. 
Here  comes  Baptista  :  set  your  countenance,  sir. 

Enter  Baptista  and  LuccNTia 

Signior  Baptista,  you  are  happily  met. 

[To  t/ie  Pedant]  Sir,  this  is  the  gentleman  I  told  you  of :  20 

i  pray  you,  stand  good  father  to  me  now. 

Give  me  Bianca  for  my  patrimony. 

Ped.  Soft,  son  t 
Sir,  by  your  leave  :  having  come  to  Padua 


638  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  [act  iv. 

To  fi;atlier  in  some  debts,  mv  son  Lucentio 

Made  one  acquainted  witli  a  weighty  cause 

Of  love  between  your  daughter  and  himself  : 

And,  for  the  good  report  I  hear  of  you 

And  for  the  love  he  beareth  to  your  daughter 

And  she  to  him,  to  stay  liim  not  too  long,  80 

I  am  content,  in  a  good  father's  care, 

To  have  him  match'd  ;  and  if  you  please  to  lik« 

No  worse  than  I,  upon  some  agreement 

Me  shall  you  find  ready  and  willing 

With  one  consent  to  have  her  so  bestow'd  ; . 

For  curious  I  cannot  be  with  you, 

8ignior  Baptista,  of  whom  I  hear  so  well. 

Bap.  Sir,  pardon  me  in  what  I  have  to  say  : 
Your  plainness  and  your  shortness  please  me  well 
Hight  true  it  is,  your  eon  Lucentio  here  40 

Doth  love  my  diaughter  and  she  loveth  him. 
Or  both  dissemble  deeply  their  affections : 
And  therefore,  if  you  say  no  more  than  this. 
That  like  a  father  you  will  deal  with  him 
And  pass  my  daughter  a  sufficient  dower. 
The  match  is  made,  and  all  is  done  : 
Your  son  shall  have  my  daughter  with  consent. 

2Va.  I  thank  vou,  sir.     Where  then  do  you  know  best 
We  be  affied  and  such  assurance  ta'en 
As  shall  with  either  part's  agreement  stand?  50 

Bap,  Not  in  my  house,  Lucentio  ;  for,  you  know 
Pitchers  have  ears,  and  I  have  many  servants : 
Besides,  old  Gremio  is  hearkening  still ; 
And  happily  we  might  be  interrupted. 

Tra.  Then  at  my  lodging,  an  it  like  you  : 
There  doth  my  father  lie ;  and  there,  this  night. 
We'll  pass  the  business  privately  and  well. 
Send  for  your  daughterly  your  servant  here  ; 
My  boy  shall  fetch  the  scrivener  presently. 
The  worst  is  this,  that,  at  so  slender  warning,  60 

You  are  like  to  have  a  thin  and  slender  pittance. 

Bap.  It  likes  me  well.     Biondello,  hie  you  home. 
And  bid  Bianca  make  her  ready  straight ; 
And,  if  you  will,  tell  what  hath  happened, 
Lucentio's  father  is  arrived  in  Padua, 
And  how  she's  like  to  be  Lucentio's  wife. 

Bion,  I  pray  the  gods  she  may  with  all  my  heart  I 

2Va.  Dally  not  with  the  gods,  but  get  thee  gone. 

[Wait  Bion. 
Siguier  Baptista,  shall  I  lead  the  way  t 
Welcome  I  one  mess  is  like  to  be  your  cheer  :  70 


•caaiit  v.]        TAMING  OP  THE  SHREW.  089 

Come,  sir  ;  we  will  better  it  in  Pisa. 
Bap,  I  follow  you.  [Exeunt  Tranio,  Pedant,  and  Baptista, 

Be-enter  Biondello. 

Bion,  Canibio  1 

Luc.  Wliat  sayest  thou,  Biondello  ? 

Bion.  You  saw  my  master  wink  and  laugli  upon  yon  ? 

Luc.  Biondello,  what  of  that? 

Bion.  Faith,  nothing ;  but  has  left  me  here  behind,  to 
expound  the  meaning  or  moral  of  his  signs  and  tokens.     80 

Luc,  I  pray  thee,  moralize  them. 

Bion,  Then  thus.  Baptista  is  safe,  talking  with  the 
deceiving  father  of  a  deceitful  son. 

Luc.  And  what  of  him  ? 

Bion.  His  daugliter  is  to  be  brought  by  you  to  the  supper. 

Lite,  And  then  ? 

Bion.  The  old  priest  of  Saint  Luke's  church  is  at  your 
command  at  all  hours. 

Luc.  And  what  of  all  this?  90 

Bion.  I  cannot  tell  ;  except  they  are  busied  about  a  coun- 
terfeit assurance  :  take  you  assurance  of  her,  **  cum  privi- 
legio  ad  imprimendum  solum  : "  to  the  church  ;  take  the 

friest,  clerk,  and  some  sufficient  honest  witnesses  : 
f  this  l>e  not  that  you  look  for,  I  have  no  more  to  say, 
But  bid  Bianca  forever  and  a  day. 
Luc.  Nearest  thou,  Biondello? 

Bion.  I  cannot  tarry :  I  knew  a  wench  married  in  an 
afternoon  as  she  went  to  the  garden  for  parsley  to  stuff  n 
rabbit :  and  so  may  you,  sir  :  and  so,  adieu,  sir.  My  master 
hath  appointed  me  to  go  to  Saint  Luke's,  to  bid  the  priest 
be  ready  to  come  against  you  come  with  your  appendix. 

[Exit, 
Luc.  I  may,  and  will,  if  she  be  so  contented  : 
She  will  be  pleased  ;  then  wherefore  should  I  doubt  ? 
Hap  what  hap  may,  FIl  roundly  go  about  her  : 
It  shall  go  hard  if  Cambio  go  without  her.  [Exit, 

Scene  V.    A  public  road. 

Enter  Petruchio,  KATnARiNA,  Hortensio,  and  Servants. 

Pet.  Come  on,  i*  God*s  name ;  once  more  toward  our 
father's. 
Good  Lord,  how  bright  and  goodly  shines  the  moon  1 
Xath,  TJ^e  nioon  I  the  sun  :  it  is  not  moonlight  now. 
Pet,  1  say  it  is  the  moon  that  shines  so  bright. 
Kath,  I  know  it  is  the  sun  that  shines  so  bright. 
Pet,  Now,  by  my  mother's  son,  and  that's  myself. 


640  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  f^cr  iv. 

It  sliall  be  moon,  or  star,  or  what  I  list, 
Or  ere  I  journey  to  your  father's  house. 
Go  on,  and  fetch  our  horses  back  again. 
Evermore  cross'd  and  cross'd  ;  nothing  bnt  cross  d  I  10 

Hor.  Say  as  he  says;  or  we  sliall  never  go, 

Kctth.  Forward,  I  pray,  since  we  have  come  so  far. 
And  be  it  moon,  or  sun,  or  what  you  please  : 
An  if  yon  please  to  call  it  a  rush-candle 
Henceforth  I  vow  it  slmll  be  so  for  me. 

Pet.  I  say  it  is  the  moon. 

Kath,  I  know  it  is  the  moon. 

Pet.  Nay,  then  you  lie  :  it  is  the  blessed  sun. 

Kaih.  Then,  God  be  bless'd,  it  is  the  blessed  sun  : 
But  sun  it  is  not,  when  you  say  it  is  not ; 
And  the  moon  changes  even  as  your  mind.  20 

What  you  will  have  it  named,  even  that  it  is  ; 
And  so  it  shall  be  so  for  Katliarine. 

Ilor,  Petruchio,  go  thy  ways  ;  the  field  is  won. 

Pet.  Well,  forward,  forward  I  thus  the  bowl  should  run. 
And  not  unluckily  agaiust  the  bios. 
But,  soft  1  company  is  coming  here. 

Enter  Vinckntio. 

VTo  ViTuentio.'\  Good  morrow,  gentle  mistress :  where  away? 

Tell  me,  sweet  Kate,  and  tell  me  truly  too, 

Hast  thou  beheld  a  fresher  gentlewoman  ? 

Such  war  of  white  and  red  within  her  cheeks  I  80 

What  stars  do  spangle  heaven  with  such  beauty, 

As  those  two  eyes  become  that  heavenly  face  ? 

Fair  lovely  maid,  once  more  ^ood  day  to  thee. 

Sweet  Kate,  embrace  her  for lier  beauty*s  sake. 

Hor.  A'  will  make  the  man  mad,  to  make  a  woman  of 
him. 

Kath.  Young  budding  virgin,  fair  and  fresh  and  sweet. 
Whither  away,  or  where  is  thy  abode  ? 
Happy  the  parents  of  so  fair  a  child ; 

Happier  the  man,  whom  favourable  stars  40 

Allot  thee  for  his  lovely  bed-fellow  I 

Pet.  Why,  how  now,  Kate  I  1  hope  thou  art  not  mad  : 
This  is  a  man,  old,  wrinkled,  faded,  wither'd, 
And  not  a  maiden,  as  thou  say'st  ho  is. 

Kath.  Pardon,  old  father,  my  mistaking  eyes, 
That  have  been  so  bedazzled  with  the  sun 
That  everything  I  look  on  seemeth  green  :   - 
Now  I  perceive  thou  art  a  reverend  father  ;         • 
Pardon,  I  pray  thee,  for  my  mad  mistaking. 

PcL  Do,  g(K>d  old  grandsire  ;  and  withal  make  known 


BCEJOTB  I.]  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  641 

Wliicli  way  tlioa  travellest :  if  along  witli  us,  51 

We  shall  be  joyful  of  thy  company. 

Vin.  Fair  sir,  and  you  my  merry  mistress. 
That  with  your  strange  encounter  much  amazed  me. 
My  name  is  call'd  Vincentio  ;  my  dwelling  Pisa  ; 
And  bound  I  am  to  Padua  ;  there  to  visit 
A  son  of  mine,  which  long  I  have  not  seen. 

Pet.  What  is  his  name  ? 

Vin,  Lucentio.  gentle  sir. 

Pet.  Happily  met ;  the  happier  for  thy  son. 
And  now  by  law,  as  well  as  reverend  age,  60 

I  may  entitle  thee  my  loving  father : 
The  sister  to  my  wife,  this  gentlewoman, 
Thy  son  by  this  hath  married.     Wonder  not, 
Nor  be  not  grievccf :  she  is  of  good  esteem. 
Her  dowry  wealthy,  and  of  worthy  birth  ; 
Beside,  so  qualified  as  may  beseem 
The  spouse  of  any  noble  gentleman. 
Let  me  embrace  with  old  Vincentio, 
And  wander  we  to  see  thy  honest  son. 
Who  will  of  thy  arrival  be  full  joyous.  70 

Vin.  But  is  this  true?  or  is  it  else  your  pleasure. 
Like  pleasant  travellers,  to  break  a  jest 
Upon  the  company  you  overtake  ? 

Hor.  I  do  assure  thee,  father,  so  it  is 

Pet.  Come,  go  along,  and  see  the  truth  hereof  ; 
For  our  first  merriment  hath  made  thee  jealous. 

[Exeunt  all  bttt  Sortenno. 

Hor.  Well,  Petruchio,  this  has  put  me  in  heart. 
Have  to  my  widow  !  and  if  she  be  fro  ward, 
Then  hast  thou  taught  Hortensio  to  be  untoward.        [Exit, 


ACT  V. 

ScBKE  L    Padua,    Before  Lucentio'b  house. 

Grbmio  discawred.    Enter  behind  Bioin>ELLO   Lucbntio, 

and  BiANCA. 

Bum.  Softl V  and  swiftly,  sir  ;  for  the  priest  is  ready. 

Lue.  I  fiy,  Biondello  :  but  they  may  chance  to  need  thee 
at  home  ;  therefore  leave  us. 

Bion,  Nay,  faith,  I'll  see  the  church  o'  your  back ;  and 
then  come  back  to  my  master's  as  soon  as  I  can. 

[ExeunJt  Lucentio,  Bianco,  and  Biondello, 

Ore.  I  marvel  Cambio  comes  not  ^11  this  while. 

8HAK.    1,-21 


642  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  [act  t. 

^iter  Petruchio,  Katharina,  ViKCKimo,  Grumio,  neUh 

Attendants.^ 

Pet,  Sir,  here's  tlie  door,  this  is  Lncentio's  house : 
My  father's  bears  more  toward  the  market-place  ;  10 

Thitlier  must  I.  and  here  I  leave  you,  sir. 

Vui.  You  shall  not  choose  but  drink  before  you  go  : 
I  think  I  shall  command  your  welcome  here, 
And,  by  all  likelihood,  some  che<»r  is  toward.  [Knoekg. 

Gre, '  They're  busy  within  ;  you  were  best  knock  louder. 

Pedant  laoJu  out  of  the  tcindotc. 

Pcd.  What's  he  that  knocks  as  he  would  beat  dowii  the 
gate? 

Vin,  Is  Signior  Lucentio  within,  sirt*  CO 

Ped.  He's  within,  sir,  but  not  to  be  spoken  withal. 

Vin.  Wha^  if  a  man^bring  him  a  hundred  pound  or  two, 
to  make  merry  withal  ? 

Ped.  Keep  your  hundred  pounds  to  yourself :  he  shall 
need  none,  so  long  as  I  live. 

Pet.  Nay,  I  told  you  your  son  was  well  beloved  in  Padua. 
Do  you  hear,  sir  ?  To  leave  frivolous  circumstances,  I  pray 
you,  tell  Signior  Lucentio  that  his  father  is  come' from  Pisa 
and  is  here  at  the  door  to  speak  with  him.  30 

Pcd.  Thou  liest :  his  father  is  come  from  Padua  and  here 
looking  out  at  the  window. 

Vm.  Art  thou  his  father? 

Ped.  Ay,  sir  ;  .so  his  mother  says,  if  I  may  believe  her. 
^   Pet.  \To  Vincentio]  Why,  how  now,  gentleman  I  why, 
this  is  flat  knavery,  to  take  upon  you  anoUier  man's  name. 

Ped.  Lay  hand's  on  the  villain :  I  believe  a'  means  to 
cozen  somebody  in  this  city  under  my  countenance.  41 

Re-enter  Biondello. 

Bion.  I  have  seen  them  in  the  church  together :  God 
8€!iui  'em  good  shipping  !  But  who  is  here  ?  mine  old  master 
Vincentio  !  now  we  are  undone  and  brought  to  nothing. 

Via.  [Seeing  BiondeUo\  Come  hither,  crack-hemp. 

Pivm.  I  hope  I  may  choose,  sir. 

Vin.  Come  hither,  you  rogue.  What,  have  you  forgot 
me  ?  50 

Bion.  Forget  you  !  no,  sir  :  I  could  not  fofget  you,  for  I 
never  saw  you  before  in  all  my  life. 

Vin.  Wliat,  you  notorious  villain,  didst  thou  never  see 
thy  master's  father,  Vincentio? 

Bion.  What,  my  old  worshipful  old  master  ?  yes,  marry, 
sir  :  see  where  he  looks  out  of  the  window. 


SCENE  I.]         TAMING  OP  THE  SHREW.  643 

T7».  Is't  so,  indeed  ?  [Beats  BiondtUo. 

Bian,  Help,  lielp,  help  !  here's  a  madman  will  murder 
me.  [Ejnt.    61 

Fed.  Help,  son  !  help,  Signior  Baptista  ! 

[Exit  from  above. 

Pet.  Prithee,  Kate,  let's  stand  aside  and  see  the  end  of 
this  controversy.  [They  retire. 

Reenter  Pedant  behto;  Trasio,  Baptista,  aiid  Servants- 

TVa.  Sir,  what  are  you  thal^ offer  to  beat  my  servant  ? 

Vin.  What  am  I,  sir !  nay,  what  are  you,  sir?  O  im- 
mortal gods  !  O  fine  villa*' n  !  A  silken  doablet !  a  velvet 
hose  !  a  scarlet  cloak  I  and  a  copataih  hat  I  O,  lam  undone  I 
I  am  undooo  I  while  I  play  the  good  husband  at  home, 
my  son  and  niy  servant  spend  all  at  the  university. 

TVa.  How  now  !  what's  the  matter  ? 

Bap.  What,  is  the  man  lunatic  ? 

Tra.  Sir,  you  seem  a  sober  ancient  gentleman  by  your 
habit,  but  your  words  show  yon  a  madman.  Why,  sir, 
wlitit  'cems  it  yoa  if  I  were  pearl  and  gold?  I  thank  my 
good  father,  I  am  able  to  maintain  it.  79 

Vin.  Thy  father !  O  villfdn  1  he  is  a  sail-maker  in  Berga- 
mo. 

Bap.  Tou  mistake,  sir,  you  mistake,  At.  Pray,  wliat  do 
you  think  is  his  name? 

Vin.  His  name  !  as  if  I  knew  not  his  name:  I  have 
brought  him  up  ever  since  he  was  three  years  old,  and  his 
name  is  Tranio. 

Ped.  Away,  away,  mad  ass  !  his  name  is  Lncentio  ;  and 
lie  is  mine  only  son,  and  heir  to  the  lands  of  me,  Signior 
Vincentio.  89 

Vin.  Lucentio  !  O,  he  hath  murdered  his  master !  Lay 
hold  on  him,  I  charge  you,  in  the  duke's  name.  O,  my 
son,  my  son !  Tell  me,  thou  villaia,  where  is  my  son  Lu- 
centio ? 

Tra,  Call  torth  an  officer. 

Enter  one  uUh  an  Officer, 

Carry  this  mad  knave  to  tlie  gaol.  Father  Baptista,  I 
chance  you  see  that  he  be  forthcoming. 

Vin.  Carry  me  to  the  gnol ! 

Ore.  Stay,  officer :  he  shall  not  go  to  prison. 

Bap.  Talk  not,  Signior  Gremio :  I  say  he  shall  go  to 
prison.  100 

€hre.  Take  heed,  Signior  Baptista,  lest  xpu  be  oony-catched 
In  this  business :  I  dare  swear  this  is  the  right  Vincentio. 

Ped,  Swear,  if  thou  darest. 


044  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  [act  v. 

Ore.  Nay,  I  dare  not  swear  it. 

Tra,  Then  thou  wert  best  say  that  I  am  not  Lacentio. 
Ore,  Yes,  I  know  thee  to  be  Signior  Lucentio.  109 

Bap.  Away  with  the  dotard  !  to  the  gaol  with  liim  ! 
Vin.  Thus  strangers  way  be  haled  and  abused  : 

0  monstrous  villain  ! 

Re-enter  Biondello.  vith  Lucentio  and  Bianca. 

Bion.  O  !  we  are  spoiled  and — ^yonder  he  is  :  deny  him, 
forswear  him,  or  else  we  are ^11  undone. 

Lue.  [Kneelvig]  Pardon,  sweet  father. 

Vin.  Lives  my  sweet  sou  ? 

[Exeunt  BiondeUo,  Tranio,  and  Pedant,  as  font  as 

may  be. 

Bian.  Paidon,  dear  father. 

Bap.  How  hast  thou  offended  t 

Where  is  Lucentio  ? 

Lue.  Here's  Lucentio, 

Right  son  to  the  right  Vincentio ; 
That  have  by  marriage  made  thy  daughter  mine, 
While  counterfeit  supposes  bleu^d  thine  eyne. 

Ore.  Here's  packing,  with  a  witness,  to  deceive  us  all  I 

Vin.  Where  is  that  damned  villain  Tranio, 
That  faced  and  braved  me  in  this  matter  so  ? 

Bap.  Why,  tell  me,  is  not  this  my  Cambio  ? 

Bian.  Cambio  is  changed  into  Lucentio. 

Luc.  Love  wrought  these  miracles.     Bianca's  love 
Made  me  exchange  my  state  with  Tranio, 
While  he  did  bear  my  countenance  in  the  town  ; 
And  happily  I  have  ariived  at  the  last  130 

Unto  the  wished  haven  of  my  bliss. 
What  Tranio  did,  myself  enforced  him  to  ; 
Then  pardon  him,  sweet  father,  for  my  sake. 

Vin.  I'll  slit  the  villain's  nose,  that  would  have  sent  me 
to  the  gaol. 

Bap.  But  do  you  hear,  sir  ?  have  you  married  my  daughter 
without  Asking  my  good  will  ? 

Vin.  Fear  not,  Baptista ;  we  will  content  you,  co  to  :  but 

1  will  in.  to  be  revenged  for  this  villany.  [Exit.     140 

Bap.  And  I,  to  sound  the  depth  of  this  kuavery.      [Exit. 
Lue.  Look  not  pale,  Bianca :  thy  father  will  not  frown. 

[  Exeunt  Lucentio  an d  Bianca. 
Ore.  My  cake  is  dough  ;  but  I'll  in  among  the  rest. 
Out  of  hope  of  all,  but  my  share  of  the  feast  [Exit. 

Kath.  Husband,  let's  follow,  to  see  the  end  of  this  ado. 
Pet.  First  kiss  nie,  Kate,  and  we  will. 
KaUt,  What,  in  the  midst  of  the  street  t 


8CKNS  n.]        T AMINO  OF  THE  SHREW.  645 

Pet  What,  art  thou  ashamed  of  me?  150 

KcUh,  No,  sir,  God  forbid  ;  but  ashamed  to  kiss. 
Pet.  Why,  then  let's  home  again.  Gome,  sirrah,  let's  away. 
ICath.  Nay,  I  will  give  thee  a  kiss :  now  pray  thee,  love, 

stay. 
Pet.  Is  not  this  well  ?    Come,  my  sweet  Kate : 
Better  once  than  never,  for  never  too  late.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  II.    Padua^    Lucentio'b  Iiouse. 

Enter  Baptista,  Vincentio,  Grehio,  the  Pedant,  Lucen- 
Tio,  BiAifCA,  Petruchio,  Katharina,  Hortensio,  and 
Widow,  Tranio,  Biondello,  and  Grumio  :  the  Serving- 
men  toith  Tranio  bringing  in  a  banquet. 

Luc.  At  last,  though  long,  our  jarring  notes  agree : 
And  time  it  is,  when  raging  war  is  done. 
To  smile  at  scapes  and  perfls  overblown. 
My  fair  Bianca,  bid  my  father  welcome. 
While  I  with  self-same  kindness  welcome  thine. 
Brother  Petrachk>,  sister  Katharina, 
And  thou,  Hortensio,  with  thy  loving  widow. 
Feast  with  the  best,  and  welcome  to  my  house : 
My  banquet  is  to  dose  onr  stomaelis  up. 
After  our  great  good  cheer.     Pray  you,  nit  down  ;  10 

For  now  we  sit  to  chat  as  well  as  eat 

Pet,  Nothing  but  sit  and  sit,  and  eat  and  eat ! 

Bap.  Padua  affords  this  kindness,  son  Petruchia 

Pet.  Padua  affords  nothing  but  what  is  kind. 

Hor.  For  both  our  sakes,  I  would  tliat  word  were  true. 

Ph.  Now,  for  my  life,  Hortensio  fears  his  widow. 

Wid.  llien  never  trust  me,  if  I  be  afeard. 

Pet.  You  are  very  sensible,  and  yet  you  miss  my  sense : 
I  mean,  Hortensio  is  afeard  of  you. 

Wid.  He  that  is  giddy  thinks  the  world  turns  round.    20 

Pet.  Roundly  replied. 

Kath.  Mistress,  how  mean  you  that? 

Wid.  Tlius  I  conceive  by  him. 

Pet.  Conceives  by  me  I    How  likes  Hortensio  that  ? 
I   Hot.  My  widow  says,  thus  she  conceives  her  tale. 

Pet.  Very  well  mended.   Kiss  him  for  that,  good  widow. 

Kath.  ' '  He  that  is  giddy  thinks  the  world  turns  round  :" 
I  pray  you,  tell  me  what  you  meant  by  that. 

wid.  Your  husband,  being  troubled  with  a  shrew. 
Measures  my  husband's  sorrow  by  his  woe : 
And  now  you  know  my  meaning.  80 

Kath.  A  very  mean  meaning. 

Wid*  Bight,  I  mean  you. 


(Ma  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  [act  v. 

Kath.  And  I  am  mean  indeed,  respecting  you. 
,    Pet.  To  her,  Kate  1 

Hor.  To  her,  widow  I 

Pet.  A  hundred  marks,  mj  Kate  does  put  her  down. 

JIar.  That's  my  office. 

Pet.  Spoke  like  an  officer :  ha'  to  thee,  lad  I 

[Drinks  to  Hortetmo, 

Bap.  How  likes  Gremio  these  qnick-witted  folks? 

Gre.  Believe  me,  sir,  thej  batt  together  well. 

Biaa.  Head,  and  butt !  and  hasty-witted  body 
Would  say  your  head  and  butt  were  head  and  horn. 

Vin.  Ay,  mistress  bride,  hath  that  awaken'd  you  ? 

Bian.  Ay,  but  not  frighted  me  ;  therefore  Til  sleep  again. 

Pet.  Nay,  that  you  shall  not :  since  you  have  begun. 
Have  at  you  for  &  bitter  jest  or  two  ! 

Bian.  Am  I  your  bird?  I  mean  to  shift  my  bush ; 
And  then  pursue  me  as  you  draw  your  bow. 
You  are  welcome  all. 

[Exeunt  BiaTtea,  Katharina,  and  Widow. 

Pet.  She  hath  prevented  me.     Here,  Signior  Tranio, 
This  bird  you  aim'd  at,  though  you  hit  her  not ;  60 

Therefore  a  health  to  all  that  shot  and  miss'd. 

TVa.  O,  sir,  Lucentio  slipp'd  me  like  his  greyhound. 
Which  runs  himself  and  catches  for  his  master. 

Pet.  A  good  swift  simile,  but  something  currish 

TVa.  'Tis  well,  sir,  that  you  hunted  for  yourself 
'Tis  thought  your  deer  holds  you  at  a  bay. 

Bap.  0  ho,  Petruchio  I    Trania  hits  vou  now. 

Luc,  I  thank  thee  for  that  gird,  good  Tranio. 

ffor.  Confess,  confess,  hath  he  not  hit  yen  here? 

Pet.  A'  has  a  little  gall'd  nie,  I  confess ;  60 

And,  as  the  jest  did  glance  away  from  me, 
'Tis  ten  to  one  it  maim'd  you  two  outright. 

Bap,  Now,  in  good  sadness,  son  Petruchio, 
I  think  thou  hast  the  veriest  shrew  of  all. 

Pet.  Well,  I  say  no :  and  therefoore  for  assurance 
Let's  each  one  send  unto  his  wife ; 
And  he  whose  wife  is  most  obedient 
To  come  at  first  when  he  doth  send  for  her, 
Shall  win  the  wager  which  we  will  propose. 

Hor.  Content.    What  is  the  wager? 

Luc.  Twe&kty  crowns.        70 

Pet.  Twenty  crowns  I 
ril  venture  so  much  of  my  hawk  ot  hound. 
But  twenty  times  so  much  upon  my  wife. 

Luc.  A  hundred  then. 

Hor.  Content. 


BCENB II.]        TAMINQ  OF  THE  SHREW.  M7 

Pet.  Ainatdil  'tis  done. 

Hor.  Whosballbegta? 
Luc.  That  will  I. 

Go,  Biondello,  bid  jonr  mistress  oome  to  me. 
Biotu  I  go.  {ExU, 

Dap,  Sou,  ril  be  roar  half,  Biaoca  comes. 
Luc,  I'll  have  no  \ialves  ;  Til  bear  it  all  myself. 

Re-enter  Bio:sdello. 

How  now  I  wliat  news  ? 

Bian.  Sir,  mj  mistress  sends  yon  word  80 

That  she  is  busy  and  she  cannot  oome. 

Pet,  How  I  she  is  busy  and  she  cannot  come  I 
Is  that  an  answer? 

Ore,  Ay,  and  a  kind  one  too : 

Pray  Qod,  sir,  your  wife  send  you  not  a  worse. 

Pet.  I  hope,  better. 

Hor.  Sirrah  Biondello,  go  and  entreat  my  wife 
To  come  to  me  forthwith.  [ExU  Bum, 

Pet.  O,  ho  I  entreat  her  I 

Nay,  then  she  must  needs  come. 

Hor.  I  am  afraid,  sir,  do  what  you  can,  yours  will  not  be 
entreated. 

Re-enter  Biain>BLLO. 

Now,  wliew's  my  wife  ?  90 

Bion.  She  says  you  have  some  goodly  jest  in  hand  : 
She  will  not  come ;  she  bids  yon  oome  to  her. 

Pet.  Worse  and  woTse ;  she  wUl  not  oome  I    O  yile. 
Intolerable,  not  to  be  endured  I 
Sirrah  Grumio,  go  to  yonr  mistress ; 
Say,  I  command  her  oome  to  me.  [BbU  Orumio. 

Har,  I  know  her  answer. 

Pet.  What? 

Jlor.  She  will  not 

Pet.  The  fouler  fortune  mine,  and  there  an  end. 

Bap.  Now,  by  my  holidame,  here  comes  Katharina  I 

Re-enter  Katharina. 

KcUh.  What  is  yoor  will,  sir,  tltat  yon  send  for  me  ? 

Pet.  Where  is  your  sister,  and  Hortensio's  wife  ?  101 

Kath.  They  sitconferring  by  the  parlour  fire. 

Pet.  Go,  fetch  them  hitler :  if  they  deny  to  come. 
Swinge  me  them  soundly  forth  unto  their  husbands : 
Away,  I  say,  and  bring  them  hither  straight. 

[Exit  Katharina* 

Luc,  Here  is  a  wonder,  if  yon  talk  of  a  wonder. 

Hot.  And  so  it  is :  I  wonder  what  it  bodes. 


648  TAMING  OP  THE  SHRHW.  [act  r. 

Pet.  Marrv,  peace  it  bodes,  and  love  and  qaiet  life, 
And  awful  rale  and  right  supremacj ; 
And,  to  be  sliort,  wbat  not,  that's  sweet  and  liapp^?       110 

Bap.  Now,  fair  befal  tUee,  good  Petracbio  I 
The  wager  tbou  bast  won  ;  and  I  will  add 
Unto  their  losses  twenty  thousand  crowns ; 
Another  dowry  to  another  daughter, 
For  she  is  changed,  as  she  bad  never  been. 

Pet.  Nay,  I  will  win  my  wager  better  yet 
And  show  more  sign  of  her  obedience, 
Her  new-built  virtue  and  obedience. 
See  where  she  comes  and  brings  your  froward  wives 
As  prisoners  to  her  womanly  persuasion.  120 

Re-enter  Kathakina,  wUh  Bianca  and  Widow. 

Katharine,  that  cap  of  yours  becomes  you  not : 
Oif  with  that  bauble,  throw  it  under  foot. 

Wid.  Lord,  let  me  never  have  a  cause  to  sigh. 
Till  I  be  brought  to  such  a  silly  pass  I 

Bian.  Fie  I  what  a  foolish  duty  call  you  this  ? 

Lue.  I  would  your  duty  were  as  foolish  too : 
The  wisdom  of  your  duty,  fair  Btanca, 
Hath  cost  me  an  hundred  crowns  since  supper-time. 

Bian.  The  more  fool  vou,  for  laying  ray  duty. 

Pet.    Katharine,    I   charge  thee,  tell  these  headstrong 
women  180 

A\1iat  duty  they  do  owe  their  lords  and  husbands. 

Wid.  Come,  come,   you're  mocking:   we  will  have  no 
telling. 

Pet.  tk)me  on,  I  say ;  and  first  b^in  with  her. 

Wid.  She  shall  not. 

Pet.  I  say  she  shall :  and  first  begin  with  her. 

Kath.  Fie,  fie  1  unlcnit  that  threatening  unkind  brow, 
And  dart  not  scornful  glances  from  those  eyes, 
To  wound  thy  lord,  thy  king,  thy  governor : 
It  blots  thy  beauty  as  frosts  do  bite  the  meads. 
Confounds  thy  fame  as  whirlwinds  shake  fair  buds,         140 
And  in  no  sense  is  meet  or  amiable. 
A  woman  moved  is  like  a  fountain  troubled, 
Muddy,  ill-seeming,  thick,  bereft  of  beauty ; 
And  while  it  is  so,  none  so  dry  or  thirsty 
Will  deign  to  sip  or  touch  one  drop  of  it. 
Thy  husband  is  thy  lord,  thy  life,  thy  keeper. 
Thy  head,  thy  sovereign  ;  one  that  cares  for  thee. 
And  for  thy  maintenance  commits  his  body 
To  painful  labour  both  by  sea  and  land. 
To  watch  the  night  in  storms,  the  day  in  cold,  160 


8CRNB II.]        TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  649 

Whilst  tliou  liest  warm  at  liome,  secure  and  safe ; 

And  craves  no  other  tribute  at  thy  hands 

But  love,  fair  looks  and  true  obedience ; 

Too  little  payment  for  so  great  a  debt. 

Such  duty  as  the  subject  owes  the  prince 

Even  sucii  a  woman  oweth  to  her  husband ; 

And  when  she  is  froward,  peevish,  sullen,  soar. 

And  not  obedient  to  his  honest  will, 

What  is  she  but  a  foul  contending  rebel 

And  graceless  traitor  to  her  loving  lord?  160 

I  am  ashamed  tliat  women  are  so  simple  •  * 

To  offer  war  where  they  sliould  kneel  for  peace. 

Or  seek  for  rule,  sapremacy  and  sway, 

When  they  are  bound  to  serve,  love  and  obey. 

Why  are  our  bodies  soft,  weak  and  smooth. 

Unapt  to  toil  and  trouble  in  the  world. 

But  that  our  soft  conditions  and  our  hearts 

Should  well  agree  with  our  external  parts? 

Gome,  come,  you  f reward  and  unable  worms  I 

My  mind  hath  been  as  big  as  one  of  yours,  170 

My  heart  as  great,  my  reason  haply  more. 

To  bandy  word  for  word  and  frown  for  frown  ; 

But  now  I  see  our  lances  are  but  straws. 

Our  strength  as  weak,  our  weakness  past  compare. 

That  seeming  to  be  most  which  we  indeed  least  are 

Then  vail  your  stomaclis,  for  it  is  no  boot. 

And  place  your  hands  below  your  husband's  foot : 

In  token  of  which  duty,  if  he  please. 

My  hand  is  ready  ;  may  it  do  him  ease. 

Pet.  Why,  there's  a  wench  I     Come  on,  and  Wiaa  me, 
Kate.  180 

Liie,  Well,  go  thy  ways,  old  lad  ;  for  thou  shalt  ha't. 

Vifi»  'Tis  a  food  hearing  when  children  are  toward. 

Luc.  But  a  harsh  hearing  when  women  are  froward. 

Pei.  Coifte,  Kate,  we'll  to  bed. 
We  three  are  married,  but  you  two  are  sped. 
[To  Luc.]  'Twas  I  won   the  wager,  though  you  hit    the 

white ; 
And,  being  a  winner,  Qod  give  you  good  night  I 

[JSuutU  Petrueliio  and  Katliarina, 

Hor.  Now,  go    thy  ways ;    thou   hast  tamed    a    curst 
shrew. 

Lug,  'Tis  a  wonder^  bj  jour  leave,  she  will  be  tamed  so. 

[BkeufU, 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 

Knra  of  Fbancb.  Hklbta,  a  gentlewonun  protected 

DvKs  or  Fxx>aENCs.  by  the  Coaatew. 

Bbbtram,  Connt  of  BoiuQlon.  An  old  Widow  of  Florence. 

Lapbu,  an  old  lord.  DiANiL.  daajg:hter  to  the  Widow. 

Parollbb,  a  follower  of  Bertvam.  Violbnta  ,  \  nefghbooifl  and 

Steward,  \  serrante  to  the  Coaatfaaa  Mabuna,  l  friends  to  the  Widow. 
Clown,     f         of  BooaiUon. 

-^^'■K®-  Lords,     Officers,    Soldiers,    etc, 

CoimTBBs  or  RousiLXiON,  mother  Jnench  and  Florentine, 

to  Bertram. 

Scene  :  MotuiUan;  Paris;  Florence :  JfarseiUsg. 

ACT  I. 

Scene  I.    RousiUon,    Tlis  Count's  palace. 

Enter  Bertram,  the  Countess  of  Eousillon,  IIkle^jl, 

and  Lafeu,  aU  in  Hack. 

Caunfi  In  delivering  my  son  from  me,  I  bury  a  second 
linsband. 

Ber,  And  I  in  going,  roadsm,  weep  o'er  my  fatlier's  death 
anew  :  bat  I  mast  attend  his  majesty's  command,  to  whom 
I  am  now  in  ward,  evermore  in  subjection. 

Laf.  You  shall  find  of  the  king  a  hasband,  madam  ;  you, 
sir,  a  father :  he  that  so  generally  is  at  all  times  good  must 
of  necessity  hold  his  virtue  to  you  ;  whose  worthiness 
would  stir  it  up  where  it  wanted  rather  than  lack  it  where 
there  is  such  abundance. 

Count  What  hope  is  there  of  his  majesty's  amendment  ? 

Laf.  He  hath  abieuidoned  his  physicians,  medom ;  under 
whose  practices  he  hath  persecuted  time  with  hope,  and 
finds  no  other  advantage  in  the  proeeas  but  only  Uie  losing 
of  hope  by  time. 

Count.  This  young  gentlewoman  had  a  father, — ^0,  that 
''had"  I  how  sad  a  passage  'tis  I — whose  skill  was  almost 
as  great  as  his  honesty ;  had  it  stretched  so  far,  would  hav« 

(650) 


SCBNB  I.J       ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        651 

made  nature  immortal,  and  death  sliould  hare  play  for  lack 
of  work.  Would,  for  the  kinff^  sake,  he  were  living  I  I 
think  it  would  be  the  death  of  the  king's  disease. 

Laf,  How  called  ^-on  the  man  you  speak  of,  madam  ? 

(j€unt.  He  was  famous,  sir,  in  his  profession,  and  it  was 
his  great  right  to  I)e  so  :  Gerard  de  Narbon.  81 

Laf,  He  was  excellent  indeed,  madam :  the  king  very 
lately  spoke  of  him  admiringly  and  mourn ingly :  he  was 
skilful  enough  to  have  lived  still,  if  knowledge  could  beset 
up  against  mortality. 

Btr.  What  is  it,  my  good  lord,  the  king  languishes  of? 

Laf,  A  fistula,  my  lord. 

Ber,  I  heard  not  of  it  before.  40 

Laf,  I  would  it  were  not  notorious.  Was  this  gentle- 
woman the  daughter  of  Gerard  de  Narbon  ? 

Cownt.  His  sole  child,  my  lord,  and  bequeathed  to  my 
overlooking.  I  have  those  hopes  of  her  good  that  her  edu- 
cation promises  ;  her  dispositions  she  inherits,  which  makes 
fair  gifts  fairer  ;  for  where  an  unclean  mind  carries  virtu- 
ous qualities,  there  commendations  go  with  pity  ;  they  are 
virtues  and  traitors  too  :  in  her  they  are  the  better  for'their 
simpleness  ;  slie  derives  her  honesty  and  achieves  her  good- 
ness. 

Laf.  Tour  commendations,  madam,  get  from  her  tears. 

Count.  Tis  the  best  brine  a  maiden  can  season  her  praise 
in.  The  remembrance  of  her  father  never  approaches  her 
heart  but  tiie  tyranny  of  her  sorrows  takes  all  livelihood 
from  her  cheek.  No  more  of  this,  Helena ;  go  to,  no  more; 
lest  it  be  rather  thought  you  affect  a  sorrow  tlian  have  it. 

Hd.  I  do  affect  a  sorrow  indeed,  but  I  have  it  too. 

Laf,  Moderate  lamentation  is  the  right  of  the  dead,  ex- 
cessive grief  the  enemy  to  the  living. 

Count.  If  the  living  be  enemy  to  the  grief,  the  excess 
makes  it  soon  mortal. 

Ber.  Madam,  I  desire  your  holy  wishes. 

Laf.  How  understand  we  tliat  ? 

Count.  Be  thou  blest,  Bertram,  and  succeed  thy  father 
In  manners,  as  in  ahape  I  thy  blood  and  virtue  71 

Contend  for  empire  in  thee,  and  thy  goodness 
Share  with  thy  birthright  I    Love  all,  trust  a  ferw. 
Do  wrong  to  none  :  be  able  for  thine  enemy 
Rather  in  power  than  use,  and  keep  thy  friend 
Under  thy  own  life's  key  :  Idmb  checked  for  silence. 
But  never  tax'd  for  speech.     What  heaven  more  will. 
That  thee  may  furnish  and  my  prayers  pluck  down, 
Fall  on  thy  head  1  Farewell,  my  lord ; 
Tis  an  unseason'd  courtier ;  good  my  lozd,  80 


052         ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL,  [act  i. 

Advise  him. 

'Laf^  He  cannot  want  the  best 

That  sliall  attend  his  love.  ^ 

Count.  Heaven  bless  him  I  Farewell,  Bertram.         [Exit. 

Der.  [To  Helena]  The  best  wishes  tlint  can  be  forged  in  ' 

your  tlioughts  l>e  servants  to  you  I    Be  comfortable  to  my 
mother,  your  mistress,  and  make  mnch  of  her. 

I^af.  Farewell,  pretty  lady  :  yon  must  hold  the  credit  of 
your  father.  [Exeunt  Bertram  and  Lafeu, 

Ilel.  O,  were  that  all  I    I  thmk  not  on  my  father ;         90 
And  these  great  tears  grace  his  remembrance  more 
Than  those  I  shed  for  liim.     What  was  he  like? 
I  have  forgot  him  :  my  imagination 
Carries  no  favour  in't  but  mrtram's. 
I  nm  undone  :  there  is  no  living,  none, 
If  Bertram  l»e  away.     'Twere  all  ono 
That  I  should  love  a  bright  particular  star 
And  think  to  wed  it.  he  is  so  abovo  me  : 
In  his  bright  radiance  and  collateral  light 
Must  I  be  comfortefl,  not  in  his  sphere.  100 

Tlie  ambition  in  my  love  thus  plag^ues  itself: 
The  hind  that  would  be  mated  by  the  Hon 
Must  die  for  love.     'Twas  pretty,  though  a  plague, 
To  see  him  every  hour  ;  to  sit  and  draw 
His  arched  brows,  his  hawking  eyes,  his  curls, 
In  our  heart's  table  ;  heart  too  ca]>ab]o 
Of  every  line  and  trick  of  his  sweet  favour  : 
But  now  he's  gone,  and  my  idolatrous  fancy 
Must  sanctify liis  reliques.     Who  comes  here? 

Enter  Pabollbs. 

[AHdel  One  that  goes  with  him  :  I  love  him  for  his  soke  . 

And  yet  I  know  him  a  notorious  liar,  111 

Tliink  him  a  great  way  fool,  solely  a  coward  ; 

Yet  these  fix'd  evils  sit  so  fit  in  him, 

That  they  take  place,  when  virtue's  steely  l)one8 

f Look  bleak  'i  the  cold  wind  :  withul,  full  oft  we  see 

Cold  wisdom  waiting  on  superfluous  folly. 

Par.  Save  you,  fair  queen  I 

Hel.  And  you,  monarch  ! 

Par.  No. 

Hel.  And  no.  120 

Par.  Are  you  meditating  on  virginity? 

Hel  Ay.  Yon  have  some  stain  of  soldier  in  you  :  let  mo 
ask  you  a  q motion.  Man  is  enemy  to  virginity ;  how  may 
wo  liarric^ido  it  against  him  ? 

Par.  Keep  him  out. 


SCENE  I.]       ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        653 

Jffel.  But  ho  assails ;  and  our  virginity,  thoogli  valiant, 
in  tlie  defence  yet  is  weak :  unfold  to  us  some  warlike  re- 
sistance. 

Par,  There  is  none  :  man,  sitting  down  before  you,  will 
undermine  you  and  blow  you  up.  1^0 

Hel.  Bless  our  poor  virginities  from  underminers  and 
blowers  up  1  Is  there  no  military  policy,  how  virgins  might 
blow  up  men  ? 

Par.  Virginity  hi  ing  blown  down,  man  will  quicklier  be 
blown  up :  marry,  iu  blowing  hini  down  again,  witli  the 
breach  yourselves  made,  you  lose  your  city.  It  is  not  poli- 
tic in  the  commonwealth  of  nature  to  preserve  virginity. 
Loss  of  virginity  is  rational  increase  and  there  was  never 
virgin  got  till  virginity  was  first  lost.  That  you  were  made 
of  is  metal  to  make  virgins.  Virginity  by  being  once  lost 
may  be  ten  times  found  ;  by  being  ever  kept,  it  is  ever  lost : 
'lis  too  cold  a  companion  ;  away  with  H  I 

I£tl.  I  will  stand  for  't  a  little,  though  therefore  I  die  a 
virgin 

Par.  Tliere's  little  can  be  said  in 't ;  'tis  against  the  rule 
of  natnie.  To  speak  on  the  part  of  virginity,  is  to  accuse 
your  mothers ;  which  is  most  infallible  disobedience.  He 
that  hangs  himself  is  a  virgin :  virginity  murders  itself  ; 
and  shomd  be  buried  in  highways  out  of  all  sanctified 
limit,  as  a  desperate  offendress  against  nature.  Virginity 
breeds  mites,  much  like  a  cheese ;  consumes  itself  to  the 
very  paring,  and  so  dies  with  feeding  his  own  stomach. 
Besides,  virginity  is  peevish,  proud,  idle,  made  of  self-love, 
w^hich  is  the  most  inhibited  sin  in  the  canon.  Keep  it  not ; 
you  cannot  choose  but  lose  by  't :  out  with  't  I  within  ten 
year  it  will  make  Itself  ten,  which  is  a  goodly  increase ; 
and  the  principal  itself  not  much  the  worse  :  away  with  't ! 

Jlel.  How  might  one  do,  sir,  to  lose  it  to  her  own  liking? 

Par,  Let  me  see  :  marry,  ill,  to  like  him  that  ne'er  it 
likes.  'TIS  a  commodity  will  lose  the  gloss  with  lying  ;  the 
longer  kept,  the  less  worth  :  off  with  't  while  'tis  vendiblo  ; 
answer  the  time  of  request.  Virginity,  like  an  old  courtier, 
wears  her  cap  out  of  fashion  :  liclily  suited,  but  unsuitable  : 
just  like  the  brooch  and  the  tooth-pick,  which  wear  not  now. 
Your  date  is  better  in  your  pie  and  your  porridge  than  in 
your  cheek  :  and  your  virginity,  your  old  virginity,  is  like 
one  of  our  French  withered  p«*ar8,  it  looks  ill,  it  eats  drily  ; 
marry,  'tis  a  withered  pear  ;  it  was  formerly  better  ;  marry, 
yet  'tis  a  withered  pear  :  will  you  anything  with  it  t 

Hd.  JNot  my  virginity  yet. 
There  sliall  your  master  have  a  thousand  loves,  ISO 

A  mother  and  a  mistress  and  a  friend. 


054         ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.  [act  L 

A  plioenix,  captain  and  an  enemy, 
A  guide,  a  goddess,  and  a  sovereign, 
A  counsellor,  a  traitress,  and  a  dear  ; 
His  humble  ambition,  prond  humility, 
His  jarring  concord,  and  his  discord  dulcet. 
His  faith,  his  sweet  disaster  ;  with  a  world 
Of  pretty,  fond,  adoptious  Christendoms, 
That  blinking  Cupid  gossips.     Now  shall  he — 
I  know  not  what  he  shall.     Qod  send  him  well  I  190 

The  court's  a  learning  place,  and  he  ix  one — 
Par.  What  one  i*  faith? 
Hel.  That  I  wish  well.    Tis  pity- 
Par.  What's  pity? 

HeL  That  wishing  well  had  not  a  body  in't. 
Which  might  be  felt ;  that  we,  the  poorer  bom. 
Whose  baser  stars  do  shut  us  up  in  wishes. 
Might  with  effects  of  them  follow  our  friends, 
And  show  what  we  alone  must  think,  which  never 
Returns  us  thanks.  200 

Ejiier  Page. 

Page,  'Mounsieur  ParoUes,  my  lord  calls*  for  you.     [Exit, 

Par.  Little  Helen,  farewell :  if  I  can  remember  thee,  I 
will  think  of  thee  at  court. 

Hel.  Mounsieur  ParoUes,  you  were  born  under  a  chari- 
table star. 

Par.  Under  Mars,  I. 

Hd.  I  especially  think,  under  Mars. 

Par.  Why  under  Mars  ? 

Hel.  The  wars  have  so  kept  you  under  that  you  must 
needs  be  born  under  Mars.  210 

Par,  When  he  was  predominant. 

Hel.  When  he  was  retrograde,  I  think,  rather. 

Par.  Why  think  you  so  ? 

Hd.  You  go  so  much  backward  when  you  fight. 

Par,  That's  for  advantage. 

Hel.  So  is  running  away,  when  fear  proposes  the  safety  : 
but  the  composition  that  your  valour  and  fear  makes  in  you 
is  a  virtue  of  a  good  wing,  and  I  like  the  w(;ar  well.        219 

Par.  I  am  so  full  of  businesses,  I  cannot  answer  thee 
acutely.  I  will  return  perfect  courtier ;  in  the  which,  my 
instruction  shall  serve  to  naturalise  thee,  so  thou  wilt  be 
capable  of  a  courtier's  counsel  and  understand  what  advice 
shall  thrust  upon  thee  ;  else  thou  diest  in  thine  unthank- 
ful ness,  and  thltie  ignorance  makes  thee  away  :  farewell. 
When  thou  hast  leisure,  say  thy  prayers  ;  when  thou  hast 


8CBKB II.]     ALL'S  WELL  THAT  £NDS  WELL.        655 

none,  remeni1)er  thy  f rionda :  get  thee  a  gooi.  liusbond,  and 
use  biiu  as  he  uses  thee  :  so,  farewell.  [EjbU,     230 

Ilel,  Oar  remedies  oft  in  ourselves  do  lie, 
AVhich  we  ascribe  to  heaven  :  the  fated  skj 
Gives  as  free  scope,  only  doth  backward  pull 
Onr  slow  designs  when  we  ourselves  are  dull, 
What  iK)wer  is  It  which  mounts  iny  love  so  high. 
That  makes  me  see,  and  cannot  feed  mine  eye? 
f  The  mightiest  space  in  fortnne  nature  brings 
To  join  like  likes  and  kiss  like  native  things. 
Im))ossible  be  strange  attempts  to  those 
That  weigh  their  pains  in  sense  and  do  suppose  240 

f  What  liath  been  cannot  be  :  who  ever  strove 
To  show  her  merit,  tl>at  did  miss  her  love  ? 
The  King's  disease — my  project  may  deeeive  me, 
But  my  intents  are  fiz'd  and  will  not  leave  me.  \^EItU, 

ScENB  IL    ParU,     llie  Kino's  palaee. 

Flaurisit,  of  cornets.     Enter  the  King  op  France,  wth 
letters,  and  divers  Attendants, 

King.  The  Florentines  and  Scnoys  are  by  the  ears  ; 
Have  fought  with  equal  fortune  and  continue 
A  braving  war. 

First  Lord.  So  'tis  report«l,  sir. 

King.  Nay,  tis  most  credible  ;  we  here  receive  It 
A  certainty,  vouch'd  from  our  cousin  Austria, 
With  caution  that  the  Florentine  will  move  us 
For  speedy  aid  ;  wherein  our  dearest  friend 
Preiudlcates  the  business  and  would  seem 
To  have  us  make  denial. 

First  Lord,  His  love  and  wisdom. 

Approved  so  to  yonr  majesty,  may  plead  10 

For  amplest  credence. 

King.  He  hath  arm*d  our  answer. 

And  Florence  is  denied  before  he  comes  : 
Yet,  for  our  gentlemen  that  mean  to  see 
The  Tuscan  service,  freely  have  they  leave 
To  stand  on  either  part. 

Bee.  Lord,  •       It  well  may  serve 

A  nursery  to  oar  sentry,  who  are  sick 
For  breathing  and  exploit. 

King.  Wliat's  he  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Bertram,  Lafsu,  and  Parolles. 

F^st  Lord,  It  is  the  Count  Bonaillon,  my  good  lord. 
Young  Bertram. 


656        ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.  [act  i. 

King.  Yoatb,  thou  bear'st  thy  father'B  face  ; 
Frank  nature,  rather  curious  than  in  haste,  20 

Ilnth  well  composed  thee.     Thy  father's  moral  parts 
May.st  thou  inherit  too  !    Welcome  to  Paris. 

Ber,  My  thanks  and  duty  are  your  majesty's.  ^ 

King.  I  would  I  had  that  corporal  soundness  now. 
As  when  thy  father  and  myself  in  friendship 
Fii-st  tried  our  soldiership  !    He  did  look  far 
Into  the  service  of  the  time  and  was 
Discipled  of  the  bravest :  he  lasted  long ; 
But  on  us  both  did  haggish  age  steal  on 
And  wore  us  out  of  act.     It  much  repairs  me  30 

To  talk  of  your  good  fat}ier.     In  his  youth 
He  had  the  wit  which  I  can  well  observe 
To-day  in  our  young  lords  ;  but  they  may  jest 
Till  their  own  scorn  return  to  them  unnoted 
Ere  they  can  hide  their  levity  in  honour : 
f  So  like  a  courtier  :  contempt  nor  bittemesB 
Were  in  his  pride  or  sharpness  ;  if  they  were. 
His  equal  had  awaked  them,  and  his  honour. 
Clock  to  itself,  knew  the  true  minute  when 
Exception  bid  him  speak,  and  at  this  time  40 

His  tongue  obey'd  his  hand  :  who  were  below  him 
He  used  as  creatures  of  another  place 
And  bow*d  his  eminent  top  to  their  low  ranks, 
Making  them  proud  of  his  humility, 
fin  their  poor  praise  he  humbled.     Such  a  man 
Might  be  a  copy  to  these  younger  times  ; 
Which,  followed  well,  would  demonstrate  them  now 
But  goers  backward. 

Ber.  His  good  remembrance,  sir. 

Lies  richer  in  your  thoughts  than  on  his  tomb ;' 
So  in  approof  lives  not  his  epitaph  50 

As  in  your  royal  speech. 

King.  Would  I  were  with  him  !    He  would  always  say — 
Methinks  I  hear  him  now  ;  his  plausive  words 
He  scattered  not  in  ears,  but  grafted  them, 
To  grow  there  and  to  bear, — **  Let  me  not  live," — 
This  his  good  melancholy  oft  began. 
On  the  catastrophe  and  heel  of  pastime, 
When  it  was  out, — *•  Let  me  not  live,"  quoth  he 
"  After  my  flame  lacks  oil,  to  be  the  snuff 
Of  younger  spirits,  whose  apprehensive  senses  00 

All  but  new  thin^  disdain  ;  whose  judgements  are 
Mere  fathers  of  their  garments ;  whose  constanciea 
Expire  before  their  fashions."      This  he  wish'd ; 
I  after  him  do  after  liim  wish  too, 


SCENE  in.]    ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        657 

Since  I  nor  wax  nor  honey  can  brin|^  home, 
I  quickly  were  dissolved  from  my  hive, 
To  fi:ive  some  labourers  room. 

See.  Lord,  You  are  loved,  sir  ; 

They  that  IPA-t  lend  it  you  shall  lack  you  first. 

Kinff.  I  fill  a  place,  I  know't.     How  long  is't,  count, 
Since  tlie  physician  at  your  father's  died  ?  70 

He  was  much  famed. 

Ber.  Some  six  months  since,  my  lord. 

Kinff.  If  he  were  living,  I  would  try  him  yet. 
Lend  me  an  arm  ;  the  rest  have  worn  me  out 
With  several  applications  :  nature  and  sickness 
Debate  it  at  their  leisure.     Welcome,  count ; 
My  son's  no  dearer. 

Ber.  Thank  your  majesty. 

[Exeunt.    Flourith, 

Scene  in.    RoutiOon.    The  Count's  palace. 

JSrUer  CJountess,  Steward,  and  Clown. 

Count,  I  will  now  hear ;  what  say  you  of  this  gentle- 
woman? 

Btew,  Madam,  the  care  I  have  had  to  even  your  content, 
I  wish  might  be  found  in  the  calendar  of  my  past  endea- 
vours ;  for  then  we  wouncl  our  modesty  and  make  foul  the 
clearness  of  our  deservings,  when  of  ourselves  we  publish 
them. 

Count.  What  does  this  knave  here  ?  Get  you  gone,  sirrah : 
the  complaints  I  have  heard  of  you  I  do  not  all  believe  :  'tis 
my  slowness  that  1  do  not ;  for  I  know  you  lack  not  follv 
to  commit  them,  and  have  ability  enough  to  make  such 
knaveries  yours. 

C^.  'Tis  not  unknown  to  you,  madam,  I  am  a  poor  fel- 
low. 

Count   Well,  sir. 

Clo.  No,  madam,  'tis  not  so  well  that  I  am  poor,  though 
many  of  the  rich  are  damned  :  but,  if  I  may  have  your 
ladyship's  good  will  to  go  to  the  world,  Isbel  ihe  woman 
and  I  will  <k>  as  we  may.  21 

Count.  Wilt  thou  needs  be  a  beggar  T 

Clo.  I  do  beg  your  good  will  in  this  case. 

Count.  In  what  case? 

Clo.  In  Isbel's  case  and  mine  own.  Service  is  no  heri. 
taffe  :  and  I  think  I  shall  never  have  the  blessing  of  God 
till  I  hatre  issue  o'  my  body  ;  for  they  say  bamet  are  bless- 

wii.  Tell  m«  thy  reason  why  thou  wilt  marry. 


*X 


058         ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.  [act  i. 

Clo.  Mj  poor  bodr,  madam,  reqaires  it :  I  am  driven  on 
by  the  flesU  ;  and  he  must  needs  go  that  the  devil  drives. 
Couiit.  Is  tliis  all  yoar  worship's  reason  ? 
Clo.  Faith,  madam,  I  have  other  holy  reasons,  such  as 
thev  a're. 

Vount.  May  the  world  know  them  ? 
Clo.  I  have  been,  madam,  a  wicked  creature,  as  you  and 
all  flesh  and  blood  are  ;  and,  indeed,  I  do  marry  that  I  may 
repent.  40 

Count.  Thy  marriage,  sooner  than  thy  wickedness. 
Clo,  I  am  out  o'  friends,  madam  ;  and  I  hope  to  havo 
friends  for  ray  wife's  sake. 
Count.  Sucli  friends  are  thine  enemies,  knave. 
Clo.  You're  shallow,  madam,  in  great  friends  ;  for  the 
knaves  come  to  do  that  for  me  which  I  am  aweary  of.  lie 
tliat  ears  my  land  spares  my  team  and  gives  me  leave  to 
in  the  crop  ;  if  I  be  his  cuckold,  he's  my  drudge  :  he  that 
comforts  my  wife  is  the  cherisher  of  my  flesh  and  blotxl  ; 
he  that  cherishes  my  flesh  and  blood  loves  my  flesh  and 
blood  ;  he  that  loves  my  flesh  and  blood  is  my  friend  :  ergo, 
he  that  kisses  my  wife  is  my  friend.  If  men  could  be  con- 
tented to  be  what  they  are,  there  were  no  fear  in  marriage  \ 
for  young  Charbon  the  puritan  and  old  Poysam  the  papist, 
howsome'er  their  hearts  are  several  in  religion  their  heads 
are  l)oth  one  ;  they  may  joul  horns  together,  like  any  deer 
i'  the  herd. 

Count.  Wilt  thou  ever  be  a  foul-mouthed  and  calumni- 
ous knave  ?  ^61 
do.  A  prophet  I,  madam  ;   and  I  speak  the  truth  the 
next  way  : 

For  I  the  ballad  will  repeat, 

Which  men  full  true  shall  And  ; 
Your  marriage  comes  by  destiny. 
Your  cuckoo  sings  by  kind. 
Count.  Get  you  gone,  sir  ;  I'll  talk  with  you  more  anon. 
8tew.  May  it  please  you,  madam,  that  he  bid  Helen  oome 
to  you  :  of  her  I  am  to  speak.  71 

Count,  Sirrah,  tell  my  gentlewoman  I  would  speak  with 
her  ;  Helen  I  mean. 
Clo.        Was  his  fair  face  the  cause,  quoth  she, 
Why  the  Grecians  sacked  Troy? 
Fond  done,  done  fond. 

Was  this  King  Priam's  joy? 
With  that  she  sighed  as  siie  stood. 
With  tiiat  she  sighed  as  she  stood. 

And  gave  this  sentence  then ;  60 

Among  nine  bad  if  one  be  g 


tOSNB  III.]    ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        659 

Among  nine  bad  if  one  be  good, 
There's  yet  one  good  in  ten. 

Count,  What,  one  good  in  ten?  jou  corrupt  the  song, 
sirrah. 

Clo.  One  good  woman  in  ten,  madam  ;  which  is  a  purify- 
ing o'  the  song  :  would  God  would  serve  the  world  so  all 
the  year !  i>'e'ld  find  no  fault  with  the  tithe-woman,  if  I 
were  the  parson.  One  in  ten,  quoth  a'  I  An  we  might 
have  a  good  woman  born  but  one  every  blaadng  star,  or  at  au 
earthquake,  'twould  mend  the  lottery  well :  a  man  may 
draw  his  heart  out,  ere  a'  pluck  one. 

Count.  You'll  be  gone,  sir  knave,  and  do  as  I  command 
you. 

Clo.  Tliat  man  should  be  at  woman's  command,  and  yet 
no  hurt  done  !  Though  honesty  be  no  puritan,  yet  it  will 
do  no  hurt  ;  it  will  wear  the  surplice  of  humility  over  the 
black  gown  of  a  big  heart.  I  am  going,  forsooth:  the 
business  is  for  Helen  to  oome  hither.  [EbeU,    101 

Count.  Well,  now. 

Stew.  1  know,  madam,  you  love  your  gentlewoman  en- 
tirely. 

Count.  Faith,  I  do :  her  father  bequeathed  her  to  me ; 
and  she  herself,  without  other  advantage,  may  lawfully 
make  title  to  as  much  love  as  she  finds :  there  is  more 
owing  her  than  is  paid  ;  and  more  shall  bft  paid  her  tlian 
she'll  demand. 

Stew.  Madam,  I  was  very  late  more  near  her  than  I  think 
she  wished  me :  alone  she  was,  and  did  communicate  to 
herself  her  own  words  to  her  own  ears ;  she  thought,  I 
dare  vow  for  her,  they  touched  no!;  any  stranger  sense. 
Her  matter  was,  she  loved  your  son :  Fortune,  she  said, 
was  no  goddess,  that  liad  put  such  difference  betwixt 
their  two  estates  ;  Love  no  god,  that  would  not  extend  his 
might,  only  where  qualities  were  level ;  Dian  no  queen  of 
virgins,  that  would  suffer  her  poor  knight  surprised,  with- 
out rescue  in  the  first  assault  or  ransom  afterward.  This 
she  delivered  in  the  most  bitter  touch  of  sorrow  that  e'er  I 
heard  virgin  exclaim  in  :  which  I  lield  my  duty  speedily  to 
acquaint  you  withal ;  slthence,  in  the  loss  that  may  happen, 
it  concerns  you  something  to  know  it. 

Count.  You  have  discharged  this  honestly ;  keep  it  to 
yourself  :  many  likelihoods  informed  mc  of  this  before, 
which  hung  so  tottering  in  the  balance  tliat  I  could  neitlier 
believe  nor  misdoubt.  Pray  you,  leave  me  :  stall  this  in 
your  bosom  ;  and  I  thank  you  for  your  honest  care  :  I  will 
speak  with  yoa  further  anon.  [Exit  Steward. 


660         ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.  [ACT  t 

ErUer  HBiiBNA 

Even  so  it  was  with  me  when  I  was  ycmng  : 

If  ever  we  are  nature's,  these  are  ours  ;  this  thorn 
Doth  to  our  rose  of  ^routh  riglitly  belong ; 

Our  blood  to  us,  this  to  our  blood  is  torn  ; 
It  is  the  show  and  seal  of  nature's  truth, 
W^here  love's  strong  passion  is  impress'd  in  youth  : 
By  our  remembrances  of  days  foregone,  140 

fSuoh  were  our  faults,  though  then  we  thought  them  none.  * 
Her  eye  is  sick  on't :  I  observe  her  now. 

Hel^  What  is  your  pleasure,  madam? 

Count,  You  know,  Helen, 

I  am  a  mother  to  yon. 

lid.  Mine  honourable  mistress. 

Count.  Nay,  a  mother  : 

Why  not  a  mother ?    When  I  said  "a  mother," 
Methonght  you  saw  a  serpent :  what's  in  "  mother," 
That  you  start  at  it?    I  say,  I  am  your  mother ; 
Aud  put  you  in  the  catalogue  of  those 
That  were  enwombed  mine  :  'tis  often  seen   .  150 

Adoption  strives  with  nature  and  choice  breeds 
A  native  slip  to  us  from  foreign  seeds  : 
You  ne'er  oppress'd  me  with  a  mother's  groan. 
Yet  I  express  to  you  a  mother's  care  : 
God's  mercy,  maiden  !  does  it  curd  thy  blood 
To  say  I  am  thy  mother  ?    What's  the  matter, 
That  this  distemper'd  messenger  of  wet. 
The  many- coloured  Iris,  rounds  thine  eye? 
Why  ?  that  you  are  my  daughter? 

ffd.  That  I  am  not. 

Count.  I  say,  I  am  your  mother. 

lid.  Pardon,  madam ;        160 

The  Count  Rousillon  cannot  be  my  brother  : 
I  am  from  humble,  he  from  honour'd  name  ; 
No  note  upon  my  parents,  his  all  noble  : 
My  master,  my  dear  lord  he  is  ;  and  I 
Hi-i  servant  live,  and  will  his  vassal  die : 
Ho  must  not  bo  my  brother. 

Count.  Nor  I  your  mother? 

Hd,  You  are  my  mother,  madam  ;  would  you  were,— 
So  tliat  my  lord  your  son  wero  not  my  brother, — 
Indeed  my  mother  1  or  were  you  both  our  mothers, 
I  care  no  more  for  tlian  I  do  for  hea  -en,  170 

So  I  wero  not  his  sister.     Can't  no  other, 
But,  I  your  daughter,  he  must  be  my  brother? 

Count.  Yes,  lleleu,  you  might  be  my  daughter-in-law  : 


BCENK  ni.]    ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELU        061 

God  shield  70a  mean  it  not  I  daagliter  and  mother 

So  strive  upon  your  pulse.     What,  pale  again  ? 

My  fear  hath  catch'd  your  fondness  :  now  I  see 

The  mystery  of  your  loneliness,  and  find 

Your  salt  tears'  head  :  now  to  all  sense  'tis  gross 

You  love  my  son  ;  invention  is  ashamed, 

Against  the  proclamation  of  thy  passion,  180 

To  say  thou  do3t  not :  therefore  tell  me  true  ; 

But  tell  me  then,  'tis  so ;  for,  look,  thy  cheeks 

Confess  it,  th'  one  to  th'  other  ;  and  thine  eyes 

See  it  so  grossly  shown  in  thy  behaviours 

That  in  theic  kind  they  speak  it :  only  sin 

And  hellish  obstinacy  tie  thy  tongue, 

That  truth  should  be  suspected.     Speak,  is't  so? 

If  it  be  so,  you  have  wound  a  goodly  clew  ; 

If  it  be  not  forswear't :  howe'er,  I  charge  thee. 

As  heaven  shall  work  in  me  for  thine  avail,  100 

To  tell  mo  truly. 

Uel,  Good  madam,  pardon  me  1 

Count.  Do  you  love  my  son  ? 

Hel.  Your  pardon,  noble  mistress  I 

Count.  Love  you  my  son  ? 

Hel.  Do  not  yuu  love  liim,  madam  ? 

Count.  Go  not  about ;  my  love  hath  in't  a  bond. 
Whereof  the  world  takes  note  :  come,  come,  disclose 
The  state  of  your  affection  ;  for  your  passions 
Have  to  the  full  appeach'd. 

Hel.  Then  I  confess, 

Here  on  my  knee,  before  high  heaven  and  you. 
That  before  you,  and  next  unto  high  heaven, 
I  love  your  son.  200 

My  friends  were  poor,  but  honest ;  so's  my  love  : 
Bh  not  offended  ;  for  it  hurts  not  him 
That  he  is  loved  of  me  :  I  follow  him  not 
By  any  token  of  presumptuous  suit ; 
Nor  would  I  have  him  till  I  do  deserve  him ; 
Yet  never  know  how  that  desert  should  be. 
I  know  I  love  in  vain,  strive  against  ho()o  ; 
Yet  in  this  captious  and  intenible  sieve 
I  still  pour  in  the  waters  of  my  love 
And  lack  not  to  lose  still :  tha%  Indian-like»  210 

Religious  in  mine  error,  I  adore 
The  sun,  that  looks  upon  his  worshipper. 
But  knows  of  him  no  more.     My  dearest  madam. 
Let  not  your  hate  encounter  with  my  love 
For  loving  where  you  do  :  but  if  yourself. 
Whose  aged  honour  dtes  a  yirtuoos  yoath. 


063         ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.         [act  i. 

Did  CTer  in  so  true  a  flame  of  liking 

Wish  cli&stely  and  love  dearly,  tliat  yonr  Di«n 

Was  botli  herself  and  love  ;  O,  then,  give  pity 

To  her,  wlioee  state  is  such  that  cannot  choose  220 

Bat  lend  and  give  where  she  is  snre  to  lose  ; 

That  seeks  not  to  find  that  her  search  implies. 

But  riddle-like  lives  sweetly  where  she  dies  ! 

Count,  Had  you  not  lately  an  intent, — speak  truly, — 
To  goto  Paris? 

Hel.  Madam,  I  had. 

Count.  Wherefore  ?  tell  trne. 

Ilel.  I  will  tell  truth  ;  by  grace  itself  I  swear. 
You  know  my  father  loft  me  some  prescriptions 
Of  rare  and  proved  effects,  such  as  his  reading 
And  manifest  experience  had  collected 
For  general  sovereignty  ;  and  that4ie  will'd  me  dSO 

In  heedf  ull's^  reservation  to  bestow  them, 
As  notes  whose  faculties  inclusive  were 
More  than  they  were  in  note :  amongst  the  rest 
There  id  a  remedy,  approved,  set  down, 
To  cure  the  desperate  languishings  whereof 
The  king  is  rendei-'d  lost. 

Count,  This  was  your  motive 

For  Paris,  was  it  ?  speak. 

Hel.  My  lord  vonr  son  made  mo  to  think  of  this  ; 
Else  Paris  and  tlie  medicine  and  the  king 
Had  from  the  conversation  of  my  thoughts  ^40 

Haply  been  absent  then. 

Count.  But  think  yon,  Helen. 

If  you  should  tender  yoar  sunposed  aid. 
He  would  receive  it  ?  lie  and  liis  physicians 
Are  of  a  mind  ;  he,  that  they  cannot  help  him. 
They,  that  they  cannot  help  :  how  shall  they  credit 
A  poor  unlearned  virgin,  when  the  schools, 
Emboweird  of  their  doctrine,  have  left  off 
The  danger  to  itself? 

Hcl.  There's  something  in*t, 

More  than  my  fathei-'s  skill,  w^hich  was  the  greatest 
Of  his  profession,  that  his  good  receipt  SaO 

Shall  for  ray  legacy  be  sanctified 

By  the  luckiest  stars  in  heaven  :  and,  would  yom  Jioaour 
But  give  me  leave  to  try  success,  I  'Id  venture 
Tlio  welMost  life  of  mine  on  his  grace's  cure 
By  such  a  day  and  hour. 

Count,  Dost  thou  believe  't? 

Hel.  Ay,  madam,  knowingly. 

Count,  Why,  Helen,  thou  shalt  liave  my  leare  and  \ov9. 


BCSNE  T.]       ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        668 

Means  and  attendants  and  raj  loving  greetings 

To  those  of  mine  in  court :  Fll  stay  at  home 

And  praj  God's  blessing  into  thy  attempt :  260 

Be  gone  to-morrow  ;  and  be  snre  of  this, 

What  I  can  help  thee  to  thou^halt  not  miss.  [Sxeunt, 


ACT  II. 

ScENB  I.    PaHs.     Tlie  King's  paiace. 

FlourUk  of  cornets.  Enter  the  King,  attended  with  diven 
young  Lords  taking  leave  for  the  Ffarentine  loar;  Bbr- 
TBAM,  and  Parollbs. 

King.  Farewell,  young  lords ;  these  warlike  principles 
Do  not  throw  from  you  :  and  you,  my  lords,  farewell : 
Share  the  advice  betwixt  you  ;  if  both  gain,  all 
The  gift  doth  stretch  itself  as  'tis  received. 
And  Is  enough  for  both. 

First  Lord,  Tis  our  hope,  sir, 

After  well  enter  d  soldiers,  to  return 
And  find  your  grace  in  health. 

King.  No,  no,  it  cannot  be  ;  and  yet  my  heart 
Will  not  confess  he  owes  the  malady 

That  doth  my  life  b^iege.    Farewell,  young  lords  ;  10 

Whether  I  live  or  die,  be  you  the  sons 
Of  worthy  Frenchmen  :  let  higher  Italy, — 
fThose  bated  that  inherit  but  the  fall 
Of  the  last  monarchy, — see  that  you  come 
Not  to  woo  honour,  but  to  wed  it ;  when 
The  bravest  questant  shrinks,  find  what  you  seek. 
That  fame  may  cry  you  loud  :  I  say,  farewell. 

See.  Lord.  Health,  at  your  bidding,  serve  your  majesty  I 

King.  Those  girls  of  Italy)  take  heed  of  them  : 
They  say,  our  French  lack  lan^^uage  to  deny,  20 

If  they  demand  :  beware  of  bemg  captives, 
Before  you  serve. 

Both.  Our  hearts  receive  your  warnings. 

King.  Farewell.     Come  hither  to  me.        [BxU,  attended. 

First  Lord.  O  mj  sweet  lord,  that  you  will  stay  behind 
us ! 

Par.  'Tis  not  his  fault,  tlie  spark. 

8eo.  Lord.  O,  'tis  bravo  wan ! 

Par.  Most  admirable  :  I  have  seen  those  wars. 

Ber.  I  am  commanded  here,  and  kept  a  coil  with 
••  Too  young  "  and  "  the  next  year"  and  •*  'tis  too  early. " 

Par.  An  thy  mind  sta&d  to%  boy,  steal  away  bravely. 


604        ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  \VELL.         [act  it. 

Ber,  I  shall  staj  here  the  forehorse  to  a  smock,  80 

Creaking  my  shoes  on  the  plain  masonry. 
Till  honour  be  bought  up  and  no  sword  worn 
But  one  to  dance  with  !     By  hcaveu,  I'll  steal  away. 

Fir$t  Lord.  There's  honour  in  tho  thef  c. 

Par.  (/ommii  it,  count. 

8c^.  Lord.  I  am  your  accessory  ;  and  so,  farewell. 

Bcr.  I  grow  to  you,  and  our  parting  is  a  tortured  body. 

First  J^rd.  Farewell,  captain. 

Sec.  Lord.  Sweet  Monsieur  Parolles  ! 

Par.  Noble  heroes,  my  sword  and  yours  are  kin.  Qood 
sparks  and  lustrous,  a  word,  good  metals  :  you  shall  find  in 
the  regiment  of  the  Spinii  one  Captain  Spurio,  with  his 
cicatrice,  an  emblem  of  war,  here  on  his  sinister  cheek ;  it 
was  this  very  sword  entrenched  it :  say  to  him,  I  live  ;  and  ^ 
observe  his  reports  for  me. 

Fir^A  Lord.  We  shall,  noble  captain.  \Exeuid  Lords, 

Par.  Mars  dote  on  you  for  his  novices  !  what  will  ye  do  f 

Ber,  Stay  :  the  king.  60 

Be-enUr  Kino.    Bertram  and  Parollbs  retire. 

Par.  [To  Ber.]  Use  a  more  spacious  ceremony  to  the 
noble  lords  ;  you  nave  restrained  yourself  within  the  list  of 
too  cold  an  adieu  :  be  more  expressive  to  them  :  for  they 
wear  themselves  in  the  cap  of  the  time,  there  do  muster 
true  gait,  eat,  speak,  and  move  under  the  influence  of  the 
most  received  star ;  and  though  the  devil  lead  the  measure, 
such  are  to  be  followed :  after  them,  and  take  a  more  di- 
lated farewell. 
Ber,  And  I  will  do  so.  60 

Par.  Worthy  fellows ;   and  like  to  prove  most  sinewy 
sword-men.  [ExeurU  Bertram  and  Parolles, 

/      Enter  Lapku. 

Laf.  {Kneeling.]  Pardon,  my  lord,  for  me  and  for  my 
tidings. 

King.  I'lT  fee  theo  to  stand  up. 

Laf.  Then  here's  a  man  stands,  that  has  brought  his  iMir- 
don. 
I  woald  you  had  kneel'd,  my  lord,  to  ask  me  mercy, 
And  that  at  my  bidding  you  could  so  stand  up. 

King.  I  would  I  had  ;  so  I  had  broke  thy  ptie. 
And  ask'd  thee  mercy  for*t. 

Laf.  Good  faith,  across :  but,  my  good  lord,  'tis  thus ;  70 
Will  you  be  cored  of  your  infirmity  ? 

King.  No. 

L(tf,  O,  will  you  eat  no  grapes,  my  royal  fox? 


flCBinB  I.]      ALL'H  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        665 

Tes,  bat  yon  will  mj  noble  gmpes,  an  if 

My  royal  fox  ooald  reach  them  :  I  have  seen  a  medicine 

That's  able  to  breathe  life  into  a  stone, 

Quicken  a  rock,  and  make  ybu  dance  canary 

With  spritely  fire  and  motion  :  whose  simple  touch 

Is  powerful  to  araise  King  Pepin,  nay, 

To  ^ve  great  Cliarlemain  a  pen  in's  hand  80 

And  write  to  her  a  love-line. 

King.  What  '  *  her  "  is  this  T 

Laf.  Why,  Doctor  She  :  my  lord,  there's  one  arrived, 
If  yon  will  see  her  :  now,  by  my  faith  and  bonoar, 
If  seriously  I  may  convey  my  thonghts 
In  this  my  light  deliverance,  I  liave  spoke 
With  one  tliat,  in  her  sex,  her  years,  profession, 
Wisdom  and  constancy,  hath  amaxed  me  more 
Than  I  dare  blame  my  weakness  :  will  yon  see  her. 
For  that  is  her  demand,  and  know  her  business  Y 
That  done,  laugh  well  at  me. 

King.  Now,  good  Lafeu,  90 

Bring  in  the  admiration  ;  tliat  we  witli  thee 
May  spend  our  wonder  too,  or  take  off  thine 
By  wondering  how  thou  took'st  it. 

L(tf.  Nay,  I'll  fit  you. 

And  not  be  all  day  neither.  {EasU, 

King.  Thus  he  his  special  nothing  ever  prologues. 

Re-enter  Lafeu,  with  Hslena. 

Laf.  Nay,  come  your  ways. 

King.  This  haste  hath  wings  indeed. 

Laf,  Nay,  oome  your  ways  ; 
This  is  his  majesty ;  say  yonr  mind  to  him  : 
A  traitor  you  do  look  like  ;  but  such  traitors 
His  majesty  seldom  fears :  I  am  Cressid's  unde,  100 

That  dare  leave  two  together ;  fare  you  well.        [Eaeit. 

King.  Now,  fair  one,  does  your  business  follow  usY 

Hel.  Ay,  my  good  lord. 
Gerard  de  Narlx>n  was  my  father ; 
In  what  he  did  profess,  well  found. 

King.  I  knew  him. 

Jlel.  The  rather  will  I  spare  my  praises  towards  him ; 
Knowing  him  is  enough.     On*s  bed  of  death 
Many  receipts  he  gave  me  ;  chiefly  one, 
Which,  as  the  dearest  issue  of  his  practiee. 
And  of  his  old  experience  the  only  darling,  110 

He  bade  me  store  up,  as  a  triple  eye, 
Safer  than  mine  own  two,  more  dear  ;  I  have  so  ; 
And,  hearing  your  high  majesty  is  touch*d 


iM        ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.         [act  n. 

With  that  malignant  cause  wherein  the  hotioar 
Of  lAy  dear  father's  gift  stands  chief  in  power, 
I  come  to  tender  it  and  my  appliance 
With  all  bound  humbleness. 

King,  We  thank  you,  maiden ; 

But  way  not  be  so  credulous  of  cure. 
When  our  most  learned  doctors  leave  us  and 
The  congregated  college  have  concluded  190 

That  labouring  art  can  never  ransom  nature 
From  her  inaidible  estate  ;  I  say  we  must  not 
So  stain  our  judgement,  or  corrupt  our  hope, 
To  prostitute  our  past-cure  malady 
To  empirics,  or  to  dissever  so 
Our  great  self  and  our  credit,  to  esteem 
A  senseless  help  when  help  past  sense  we  deem. 

Hd,  My  duty  then  shall  pay  me  for  my  pains : 
I  will  no  more  enforce  mine  office  on  you  ; 
Humbly  entreating  from  your  royal  thoughts  190 

A  modest  one,  to  bear  me  back  again. 

King.  I  cannot  give  thee  less,  to  be  calVd  grateful : 
Thou  thought'st  to  held  me ;  and  such  thanks  I  give 
As  one  near  death  to  those  that  wish  him  live : 
But  what  at  fall  I  know,  thou  know'st  no  part, 
I  knowing  all  my  peril,  thou  no  art. 

Hel.  What  I  can  do  can  do  no  hurt  to  try. 
Since  you  set  up  your  rest  'gainst  remedy. 
He  that  of  greatest  works  is  finisher 

Oft  does  them  by  the  weakest  minister:  140 

So  holy  writ  in  babes  hath  judgement  shown, 
When  judges  have  l)een  babes  ;  great  floods  have  flown 
From  simple  sources,  and  great  seas  have  dried 
When  miracles  have  by  the  greatest  been  denied. 
Oft  expectation  fails  and  most  oft  there 
Where  most  it  promises,  and  oft  it  hits 
Wliere  hope  is  coldest  and  despair  most  fits. 

King,  I  must  not  hear  thee  ;  fare  thee  well,  kind  maid  ; 
Thy  pains  not  used  must  by  tlij'self  be  paid  : 
Proffers  not  took  reap  thanks  for  their  rewftrd.  150 

Hel.  Inspired  merit  so  by  breath  is  barr'd  : 
It  is  not  so  with  Him  that  all  things  knows 
As  'tis  with  us  that  square  our  guess  by  shows ; 
But  most  it  is  presumption  in  us  when 
The  help  of  heaven  we  count  the  act  of  men. 
Dear  sir,  to  my  endeavours  give. consent ; 
Of  heaven,  not  me,  make  an  experiment. 
I  am  not  an  impostor  that  proclaim 
Myself  against  the  level  of  mine  aim  ; 


BCBKB  I.]      ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        667 

Bat  know  I  tbink  and  think  I  know  most  sure  160 

My  art  is  not  past  power  nor  yon  past  cure. 

King.  Art  thoa  so  confident  ?  within  what  space 
Hopesst  thoa  my  care  ? 

Hd.  The  great'st  firrace  lending  grace. 

Ere  twice  the  horses  of  the  sun  shall  bring 
Their  fiery  toreher  his  diurnal  ring. 
Ere  twice  in  murk  and  occidental  damp 
Moist  Hesperus  hath  quench'd  his  sleepy  lamp. 
Or  four  and  twenty  times  the  pilot's  glass 
Hath  told  the  thieyish  minutes  how  Uiey  pass, 
Wliat  is  infirm  from  your  sound  parts  shall  fly,  170 

Health  shall  live  free  and  sickness  freely  die. 

King.  Upon  thy  certainty  and  confidence 
Wliat  darest  thou  venture  f 

Hel,  Tax  of  impudence, 

A  strumpet's  boldness,  a  divulged  shame 
Traduced  by  odious  ballads :  my  maiden's  name 
Sear*d  otherwise  ;  nay,  worse — if  worse— extended  - 
With  vilest  torture  let  my  life  be  ended. 

King.  Methinks  in  thee  some  b' eased  spirit  doth  speak 
His  powerful  sound  within  an  organ  weak  : 
And  wliat  impossibility  would  slay  180 

In  common  sense,  sense  saves  another  way. 
Thy  life  is  dear ;  for  all  that  life  can  rate 
Worth  name  of  life  in  thee  hath  estimate. 
Youth,  beauty,  wisdom,  courage,  all 
That  happiness  and  prime  can  happy  call : 
Thou  this  to  hazard  needs  must  intimate 
Skill  infinite  or  monstrous  desperate. 
Sweet  practiser,  thy  physic  1  will  try, 
That  minister's  thine  own  death  if  I  die. 

Hd.  If  I  break  time,  or  flinch  in  property  100 

Of  what  I  spoke,  unpitied  let  me  die. 
And  well  deserved  :  not  helping,  death's  my  fee  ; 
But.  if  I  help,  what  do  you  promise  me? 

King.  Make  thy  demand. 

Jlel.  But  will  you  make  it  event 

King.  Ay,  by  my  sceptre  and  my  hopes  of  heaven. 

Hel.  Then  shalt  thou  give  me  with  thy  kingly  hand 
What  husband  in  thy  power  I  will  command  : 
Exempted  be  from  m**  the  arrogance 
To  choose  from  forth  the  royal  bl(x>d  of  France, 
My  low  and  humble  name  to  propagate  200 

With  any  branch  or  image  of  thy  state  ; 
But  such  a  one,  thy  vassal,  whom  I  know 
Is  free  for  me  to  aak«  thee  t.o  bestow. 


C«8        ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.         [act  il 

King,  Here  is  my  hand  ;  the  premises  obfieryed. 
Thy  will  by  my  performance  shall  be  served  ; 
So  make  the  choice  of  thy  own  time,  for  I, 
Thy  resolved  patient,  on  thee  still  rely. 
More  should  I  question  thee,  and  more  I  must, 
Though  more  to  know  could  not  be  more  to  trust, 
From  whence  thou  earnest,  how  tended  on :  but  rest       210 
Unquestion'd  welcome  and  undoubted  blest. 
Give  me  some  help  here,  ho  !    If  thou  proceed 
As  high  as  word,  my  deed  shall  match  thy  meed. 

[Jptaurish,    Uteunt, 

ScENB  II.    BoutiUon.    The  Count's  palace. 

Enter  Ck)nNTE8B  and  Clown. 

Count,  Come  on,  sir ;  I  shall  now  put  you  to  the  height 
of  your  breeding. 

Vh,  I  will  show  myself  highly  fed  and  lowly  taught :  I 
know  my  business  is  but  to  the  court. 

Count.  To  the  court !  why,  what  place  make  you  special, 
when  you  put  off  that  with  such  contempt  ?  But  to  the 
court  I 

Clo,  Truly,  madam,  if  God  have  lent  a  man  any  manners, 
he  may  easily  put  it  off  at  court :  he  that  cannot  make  a 
leg,  put  off's  cap,  kiss  his  hand  and  say  notliinir»  lias  neither 
leg,  hands,  lip,  nor  cap ;  and  indeed  such  a  fell-iw,  to  say 
precisely,  were  not  for  the-  court ;  but  for  me,  I  have  an 
answer  will  serve  all  men. 

Count,  Marry,  tliat's  a  bountiful  answer  that  fits  all  ques- 
tions. 

C^.  It  is  like  a  barber's  chair  that  fits  all  buttocks,  the 
pin-buttock,  the  quatch-bnttock,  the  brawn  buttock,  or  any 
buttock.  20 

Count.  Will  your  answer  serve  fit  to  all  questions  t 

Clo.  As  fit  as  ten  groats  is  for  the  hand  of  an  attorney,  as 
your  French  crown  for  your  taffeta  punk,  as  Tib*s  rush  for 
Tom's  forefinger,  as  a  pancalco  for  Slirove  Tuesday,  a  mor- 
ris for  May-£y,  as  the  nail  to  his  hole,  the  cuckold  to  his 
horn,  as  a  scolding  quean  to  a  wrangling  knave,  as  tlie 
nun's  lip  to  the  friar's  mouth,  nay,  as  the  pudding  to  his 
skin. 

Count.  Have  you,  I  say,  an  answer  of  such  fitness  for  all 
questions  ?  31 

Clo.  From  below  your  duke  to  beneath  your  constable,  it 
will  fit  any  question. 

Count.  It  must  be  an  answer  of  moot  monstrous  size  that 
must  fit  all  demands.  ^ 


fiCENB  III.]    ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELU        609 

Clo.  Bat  A  trifle  neither,  in  £^ood  faith,  if  the  learned 
should  speak  triitli  of  it :  here  it  is,  and  all  that  belongs 
to't.  Ask  me  if  I  am  a  courtier  :  it  shall  do  you  ng  harm 
to  learn.  89 

Count,  To  be  young  again,  if  we  could  :  I  will  be  a  fool 
in  question,  hoping  to  be  the  wiser  by  your  answer.  I  pray 
yon,  sir,  are  you  a  courtier? 

(Ho.  O  I^rd,  sir  t  There's  a  simple  putting  ofL  More, 
more,  a  hundred  ^f  them. 

Count  Sir,  I  am  a  poor  friend  of  yours,  tliat  loves  yon. 

Clo,  O  Lord,  sir  !    Tliick,  thick,  spare  not  me. 

Count.  I  think,  sir,  you  can  eat  none  of  this  homely  meat. 

Clo.  O  Lord,  sir  \    Nay,  put  me  to't,  I  warrant  yoii.      51 

Count.  Yon  were  lately  whipped,  sir,  as  I  think. 

Clo.  O  Lord,  sir  I  spare  not  me. 

CoutU.  Do  you  cry,  *•  O  Lord,  sir  ! "  at  your  whipping,  and 
*•  spare  not  me?"  Indeed  your  "O  Lord,  sir  I"  is  very  se- 
quent to  your  whipping :  you  would  answer  very  wellto  a 
whipping,  if  you  were  but  bound  to't. 

Ch.  I  ne'er  had  worse  luck  in  my  life  in  my  *'  O  Lord, 
sir  r'    I  see  things  may  serve  long,  but  not  serve  ever.    CI 

Count.  I  play  tlie  noble  housewife  with  the  time. 
To  entertain't  so  merrily  with  a  fool. 

Qo.  O  Lord,  sir  i  why,  there't  serves  well  again. 

Count.  An  end,  ?!" ;  to  your  business.     Give  Helen  this. 
And  urge  her  to  a  present  answer  back  : 
Commend  me  to  mv  kinsmen  and  my  son  : 
This  is  not  much. 

Clo.  Not  much  commendation  to  them.  70 

Count.  Not  much  employment  for  you  :  you  understand 
me? 

(Uo.  Moat  fruitfnllv :  I  am  thAm  before  my  legs. 

Count,  Haste  jou  affain.  [Exeunt  severally. 

ScBN»"T      »-->     T^' HiLRQt^  paiaee. 

Enter  Bertram,  Lafeu,  and  Parollss. 

Laf.  They  say  miracles  are  past ;  and  we  have  our  philo- 
sophical persons,  to  make  modern  and  familiar,  things 
supernatural  and  causeless.  Hence  is  it  that  we  make  trifles 
of  terrors,  ensconcing  ourselves  into  seeming  knowledge, 
when  we  should  sui)mit  ourselves  to  an  unknown  fear. 

Par.  Why,  'tis  the  rarest  argument  of  wonder  that  hath 
shot  out  in  our  latter  times. 

Ber.  And  so  'tis. 

Laf.  To  be  relinqniahad  of  the  artists,—  10 

Par,  Solsa* 


ft7(>       ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.         [act  ri 

Lnf.  Both  of  Galen  and  Paracelsus. 

Par.  So  I  sav. 

Laf.  Of  all  tiie  learned  and  authentic  fellows, — 

Par.  Right ;  so  I  say. 

Laf.  That  gave  him  out  incurable, — 

Par.  Why,  there  'tis  ;  so  say  I  too. 

Laf.  Not  to  be  helped, — 

Par.  liiglit ;  as  'twere,  a  man  assured  of  a — 

Laf  Uncertain  life,  and  sure  death.  20 

Par.  Just,  you  say  well ;  so  would  I  hare  said. 

Laf  I  may  truly  say,  it  is  a  novelty  to  the  world. 

Par.  It  is,  indeed  :  if  you  will  have  it  iu  showing,  you 
shall  read  it  in — wliat  do  ye  call  there? 

Laf.  A  showing  of  a  heavenly  effect  in  an  earthly  actor. 

Par.  That's  it ;  I  would  have  said  the  very  same.  80 

Laf  Why,  your  dolphin  is  not  lustier :  'fore  me,  I  speak 
in  respect — 

Par.  Nay,  'tis  strange,  'tis  very  strange,  that  is  the  brief 
and  the  tedious  of  it ;  and  he*s  of  a  most  facinerious  spirit 
that  will  not  acknowledge  it  to  be  the — 

I^f  Very  hand  of  heaven. 

Par.  Ay,  so  I  say. 

Laf.  In  a  most  weak — \^udng\  and  debile  minister, 
great  power,  great  transcendence  :  which  should,  indeed, 
give  us  a  further  use  to  be  made  than  alone  the  recovery  of 
the  king,  as  to  be — \pauting\  generally  thankful. 

Par.  I  would  have  said  it ;  you  say  well.  Here  comes 
the  king. 

Enter  King,  Helena,  and  Attendants. 
Lafbu  and  Parollss  vetirt. 

Laf.  Lustig,  as  the  Dutchman  savs  :  I'll  like  a  maid  the 
better,  whilst  I  have  a  tooth  in  my  head  :  why,  he's  able  to 
lead  her  a  coranto. 

Par.  Mort  du  vinnigre  I  is  not  this  Helen  ?  5G 

Lnf.  'Fore  God,  I  think  so. 

Kin^.  Go,  call  before  me  all  the  lords  in  court. 
Sit,  my  preserver,  by  thy  patient's  side ; 
And  with  this  healthful  hand,  whose  banish'd  sense 
Tliou  hast  repeal'd,  a  second  time  receive 
The  confirmation  of  my  promised  gift, 
Which  but  attends  thy  naming. 

EnJUr  three  or  four  Lords. 

Fair  maid,  send  forth  thine  eye  :  this  youthful  parcel 

Of  noble  bachelors  stand  at  my  bestowing, 

O'er  whom  both  sovereign  power  and  father's  voies  00 


fiCKiTB  nr,]   ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.       €71 

I  have  to  nse :  thy  f  nnk  election  make ; 

Tbon  hast  power  to  choose,  and  thej  none  to  forsake. 

ITel.  To  each  of  you.  one  fair  and  virtaons  mistress 
Fall,  when  Love  please  I  marry,  to  each,  bat  one  1 

L(tf,  rid  give  baj  Cartal  and  his  fumitare. 
My  mouth  no  more  were  broken  than  these  bojs'. 
And  writ  as  little  beard. 

King.  Pemae  them  well : 

Not  one  of  those  but  had  a  noble  father. 

Hel,  Gentlemen, 
Heaven  hath  through  me  restored  the  king  to  health.       7t 

All.  We  understand  it,  and  thank  heaven  for  70a. 

Hd.  I  am  a  simple  maid,  and  therein  wealthiest. 
That  I  protest  1  simply  am  a  maid. 
Pieaae  it  your  majesty,  I  have  done  already  : 
The  blushes  in  my  cheeks  thus  wliisper  me, 
"  We  blush  that  thon  shouldst  choose  ;  but,  be  refused, 
Let  the  white  death  sit  on  thy  cheek  for  ever ; 
We'll  ne'er  oome  there  again." 

King.  Make  choice  :  and,  see. 

Who  shuns  thy  love  shuns  all  his  love  in  me.. 

Hd.  Now,  Dian,  from  thy  altar  do  I  fly.  80 

And  to  imperial  Love,  that  God  most  liigh, 
Do  my  sighs  stream.     Sir,  will  you  hear  my  suit? 

First  Lord.  And  grant  it 

Ilel.  Thanks,  sir ;  all  the  rest  is  mute. 

Laf.  I  had  rather  be  in  this  choice  than  throw  ames-ace 
for  my  life. 

Hd.  The  hononr.  sir,  that  flames  in  your  fair  eyes. 
Before  I  speak,  too  threateningly  replies  : 
Love  make  your  fortunes  twenty  times  above 
Her  that  so  wishes  and  her  humble  love  ! 

Sec.  Lord.  No  better,  if  you  ple&se. 

Jlel.  My  wish  receive,  90 

Which  great  Love  grant !  and  so,  I  take  my  leave. 

Laf.  Do  all  they  deny  her?  An  tliey  were  sons  of  mine, 
I'd  have,  them  whipped  ;  or  I  would  send  them  to  the  Turk, 
to  make  eunuchs  of. 

Hd.  Be  not  afraid  that  I  your  hand  should  take ; 
I'll  never  do  yon  wrong  for  your  own  sake  : 
Blessing  upon  your  vows  !  and  in  your  bed 
Find  fairer  fortune,  if  yon  ever  wed  ! 

Laf.  These  lx>ys  are  boys  of  ice,  they'll  none  have  her  : 
sure,  they  are  bastards  to  the  English  ;  the  French  ne'er 
got  'em.  101 

Hel.  You  are  too  young,  too  happy,  and  too  good. 
To  make  yourself  a  son  out  of  my  blood. 


672       ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.  [act  n. 

F^rth  Lard.  Fair  one,  I  think  not  so. 

L<tf,  There's  one  g^pe  jet ;  I  am  sare  thy  father  dmnk 
wine  :  bat  if  thou  l^'st  not  an  ass,  I  am  a  youth  of  four- 
teen ;  I  have  known  th(^e  already. 

Hel,  [To  Bertram]  I  dare  not  say  I  take  you ;  but  I  give 
Me  and  my  service,  ever  whilst  I  live,  110 

Into  your  guiding  power.     This  is  the  man. 

King.  Why,  then,  young  Bertram,  take  her ;   she's  thy 
wife. 

Ber.  My  wife,  my  liege  !  I  shall  beseech  your  highness. 
In  such  a  business  give  me  leave  to  use 
The  help  of  mine  own  eyes. 

King.  Know'st  thou  not,  Bertram, 

What  she  has  done  for  me  ? 

Ber.  Yes,  my  good  lord ; 

But  never  hope  to  know  why  I  should  marry  her. 

King.  Thou  know'st  she  has  raised  me  from  my  sickly 
bed. 

Ber.  But  follows  it,  my  lord,  to  bring  me  down 
Must  answer  for  your  raising  1  I  know  her  well :  120 

She  had  her  breeding  at  my  father's  charge. 
A  poor  physician's  daughter  my  wife  I    I^sdain 
Rather  corrupt  me  ever  1 

King.  'Tls  only  title  thou  disdain'st  in  her,  the  wliich 
I  can  build  up.     Strance  is  it  tliat  our  bloods. 
Of  colour,  weight,  and  lieat,  pour'd  all  together. 
Would  quite  confound  distinction,  yet  stand  off 
In  differences  so  mighty.     If  she  be 
All  that  is  virtuous,  save  what  thou  dislikest, 
A  poor  physician's  daughter,  thou  dislikest  180 

Of  virtue  for  the  name  :  but  do  not  so  : 
From  lowest  place  when  virtuous  things  proceed. 
The  place  is  dignified  by  the  doer's  deed : 
Where  great  additions  swell 's,  and  virtue  none. 
It  is  a  dropsied  honour.    Good  alone 
Is  good  without  a  name.     Vileness  is  so : 
The  property  by  what  it  is  should  go, 
Not  by  the  title.     She  is  younp ,  wise,  fidr ; 
In  these  to  nature  she's  immecliate  heir, 
And  these  breed  honour :  that  is  honour's  scorn,  140 

Which  dial If^nges  itself  as  honour's  born 
And  is  not  like  the  sire  :  honours  thrive. 
When  rather  from  our  acts  we  them  derive 
Tlian  our  foreg^ers  :  the  mere  word 's  a  slave 
DeboshM  on  every  tomb,  on  every  grave 
A  lying  trophy,  and  as  oft  is  dumb 
Where  dust  and  damn'd  oblivion  is  the  tomb 


fiCENB  m.]    ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        D73 

Of  hononr'd  bones  indeed.    Wliat  shonld  be  said  ? 

If  thou  canst  like  this  creature  as  a  maid, 

I  can  create  the  rest :  virtue  and  sbo  150 

Is  her  own  dower  ;  honour  and  wealth  from  me. 

Ber.  I  cannot  love  her,  nor  will  strive  to  do  't. 

King.  Thou  wrongest  thyself,  if  thou  sboi^ldst  strive  to 
choose. 

ITel.  That  you  are  well  restored,  my  lord,  I'm  glad  ; 
Let  the  rest  go. 

Eing.  My  lionour's  at  the  stake  ;  which  to  defeat, 
I  must  produce  my  power.     Here,  take  her  hand, 
Proud  scornful  boy,  unworthy  this  good  gift ; 
That  dost  in  vile  misprision  shackle  up 
Mv  love  and  her  desert ;  thou  canst  not  dream,  160 

We,  poising  us  in  her  defective  scale, 
Shall  weigh  thee  to  the  beam  ;  that  wilt  not  know, 
It  is  in  us  to  plant  thine  honour  where 
We  please  to  have  it  grow.     Check  thy  contempt : 
Obey  our  will,  which  travails  in  thy  good  : 
Believe  not  thy  disdain,  but  presently 
Do  thine  own  fortunes  that  obedient  right 
Which  both  tliy  duty  owes  and  our  power  claims  : 
Or  I  will  throw  thee  from  my  care  for  ever 
Into  the  staggers  and  the  careless  lapse  170 

Of  youth  and  ignorance  ;  both  my  revenge  and  hate 
Loosing  upon  thee,  in  the  name  of  justice, 
Without  all  terms  of  pity.     Speak  ;  thine  answer. 

Ber.  Pardon,  my  gracious  lord  ;  for  I  submit 
My  fancy  to  your  eyes  :  when  I  consider 
What  ^reat  creation  and  what  dole  of  honour 
Flies  wliere  you  bid  it,  I  find  tliat  she,  which  late , 
Was  in  my  nobler  thoughts  most  base,  is  now 
The  praised  of  the  king  ;  who,  so  ennobled. 
Is  as  'twere  bom  so. 

King.  Take  her  by  the  hand,  180 

And  tell  her  she  is  thine  :  to  whom  I  promise 
A  counterpoise,  if  not  to  thy  estate 
A  balance  more  replete. 

Ber,  I  take  her  hand. 

King.  Good  fortune  and  the  favour  of  the  king 
Smile  upon  this  contract ;  whose  ceremony 
Shall  seem  expedient  on  the  new-bom  brief. 
And  be  performed  to-night :  the  solemn  feast 
Shall  more  attend  upon  the  coming  space. 
Expecting  absent  friends.     As  thou  lovest  her. 
Thy  love^  to  me  religious  ;  else,  does  err.  190 

[Exeunt  all  hut  Lafeu  and  Parolics, 

flHAK.    I.— 22 


•74        ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL,  [act  ii. 

Laf.  \adwmcing\  Do  yoa  hear,  monsieur?  a  word  with 
you. 

Par.  Your  pleasure,  sir  ? 

Laf.  Your  lord  and  master  did  well  to  make  his  lecanta^ 
tion. 

Par.  Kecaqtation  I  mj  lord  !  inj  master  ! 

Laf.  Ay  ;  is  it  not  a  language  I  speak  ? 

Par.  A  most  harsh  one,  and  not  to  be  understood  without 
bloody  succeeding.     My  master  !  200 

Laf  Are  you  companion  to  the  Count  Rousillon? 

Par.  To  any  count,  to  all  counts,  to  what  is  man. 

Laf.  To  what  is  count's  man  :  count's  master  is  of  anoth- 
er style. 

Par.  You  are  too  old,  sir  ;  let  it  satisfy  you,  you  are  too 
old. 

Laf.  I  must  tell  thee,  sirrah,  I  write  man ;  to  which  title 
age  cannot  bring  thee. 

Par.  What  1  dare  too  well  do,  I  dare  not  do.  210 

Laf.  I  did  think  thee,  for  two  ordinaries,  to  be  a  pretty 
wise  fellow  ;  thou  didst  make  tolerable  Tent  of  thy  trayel ; 
it  might  pass :  yet  the  scarfs  and  :he  bannerets  about  thee 
did  manifoldly  dissuade  me  from  believing  thee  a  vessel  of 
too  great  a  burtlien.  I  have  now  found  thee  ;  when  I  lose 
thee  again,  I  care  not :  yet  art  thou  good  for  nothing  but 
taking  up ;  and  that  thou'rt  scarce  worths 

Par.  Uadst  thou  not  the  privilege  of  antiquity  upon 
thee,—  221 

Laf.  Do  not  plunge  thyself  too  far  in  anger,  lest  tbou 
hasten  thy  trial ;  which  if — Lord  have  mercy  on  thee  for  a 
hen  !  So,  my  good  window  of  lattice,  fare  thee  well :  thy 
casemeni  I  need  not  open,  for  I  look  through  thee.  Give 
me  thy  hand. 

Par.  My  lord,  you  give  me  most  egregious  indignity.  230 

Laf  Ay,  with  all  my  heart ;  and  thou  art  worthy  of  it. 

Par.  I  liave  not,  my  lord,  deserved  it. 

Laf  Yes,  good  faith,  every  dram  of  it ;  and  I  will  not 
bate  thee  a  scruple. 

Par.  Well,  I  shall  be  wiser. 

Laf.  Even  as  soon  as  thou  canst,  for  thou  hast  to  pull  at 
a  smack  o'  the  contrary.  If  ever  thou  be'st  bound  in  thy 
scarf  and  beaten,  thou  shalt  find  what  it  is  to  be  proud  of 
thy  bondage.  I  have  a  desire  to  hold  my  acquaintance  with 
thee,  or  rather  my  knowledge,  that  I  may  say  in  the  default, 
he  is  a  man  I  know. 

Par.  My  lord,  you  do  me  most  insupportable  vesation. 

Laf.  I  would  it  were  hell-pains  for  thy  sake,  and  my  poor 


J 


BCKNR  nr.]    ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        675 

doing  eternal :  for  d<^ng  I  am  past :  as  I  will  hy  thee,  in 
what  motion  age  will  give  me  leave.  [Exit, 

Par.  Well,  thou  host  a  son  shall  take  this  disgrace  off 
me ;  scurvj,  old,  filthy,  scurvy  lord  !  Well,  I  must  bo 
patient ;  there  is  no  fettering  of  authority.  I'll  beat  him, 
by  my  life,  if  I  can  meet  him  with  any  convenience,  an  he 
were  double  and  double  a  lord.  Til  have  no  more  pity  of 
his  age  than  I  would  have  of —  I'll  beat  him,  an  if  I  could 
but  meet  him  again. 

Re-enter  Lafbxj. 

I/tf.  Sirrah,  your  lord  and  master's  married  ;  there's  news 
for  you  :  you  have  a  new  mistress. 

Par,  I  most  unfelgnedly  beseech  your  lordship  to  make 
soiue  reservation  of  your  wrongs :  he  is  my  good  lord : 
whom  I  serve  above  is  my  master. 

Laf,  Wiio?   aod? 

Par.  Ay,  sir. 

Laf.  The  devil  it  is  that's  thy  master.  Why  dost  thou 
garter  up  thy  arms  o'  this  fashion  ?  dost  make  hose  of  thy 
sleeves?  do  other  servants  so?  Thou  wert  best  set  thy 
lower  part  where  thy  nose  stands.  By  mine  honour,  if  I 
were  but  two  hours  younger,  I'd  beat  thee  :  methinks,  thou 
art  a  general  offence,  and  every  man  should  beat  thee  :  I 
think  thou  wast  created  for  men  to  breathe  themselves  upon 
thee. 

Par.  This  is  hard  and  undeserved  measure,  my  lord. 

Laf.  Qo  to,  sir ;  you  were  beaten  in  Italy  for  picking  a 
kernel  out  of  a  pomegranate  ;  you  are  a  vagabond  and  no 
true  traveller  :  you  are  more  saucy  with  lords  and  honour- 
able personages  than  the  commission  of  your  birth  and  vir- 
tue gives  you  heraldy.  You  are  not  worth  another  word, 
else  I'ld  call  you  knave.    I  leave  you.  [ExU,    281 

Par.  Good,  very  good ;  it  is  so  then :  good,  very  good ; 
let  it  be  concealed  awhile. 

Be-erUer  Bebtram. 

Ber.  Undone,  and  forfeited  to  cares  for  ever  I 

Par.  What's  the  matter,  sweet-heart  ? 

Ber.  Although  before  the  solemn  priest  I  have  sworn, 
I  will  not  bed  her. 

Par.  \^'Tiat,  what,  sweet-heart  1 

Ber.  O  my  Parolles,  they  have  married  me  1 
I'll  to  the  Tuscan  wars,  and  never  bed  her.  290 

Par.  France  is  a  dog-hole,  and  it  no  more  merits 
The  tread  of  a  man's  foot :  to  the  wars  1 


676        ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.       •  [act  il. 

Ber.  There 's  letters  from  mj  motlier :  what  the  import 
is,  I  know  not  yet. 

Par.  Ay,  that  would  be  known.     To  the  wars,  my  boy, 
to  the  wars  1 
He  wears  his  honour  in  a  box  unseen. 
That  hugs  his  kicky-wicky  here  at  home. 
Spending  his  manly  marrow  in  her  arms, 
\Vhich  should  sustain  the  bound  and  high  curvet 
Of  Mars's  fiery  steed.     To  other  regions  800 

France  is  a  stable  ;  we  that  dwell  in  't  jades  ; 
TJierefore,  to  the  war  I 

Ber.  It  shall  be  so  :  FU  send  her  to  my  house. 
Acquaint  my  mother  with  my  hate  to  her. 
And  wherefore  I  am  fled  ;  write  to  the  king 
That  which  I  durst  not  speak  :  his  present  gift 
Shall  famish  me  to  those  Italian  fields, 
Where  noble  fellows  strike  :  war  is  no  strife 
To  the  dark  house  and  tho  detested  wife. 

Par.  Will  this  capriccio  hold  in  thee ?  art  sure?  810 

Ber.  Go  with  me  to  my  chamber,  and  advise  me. 
I'll  send  her  straight  away  :  to-morrow 
I'll  to  the  wars,  slie  to  her  single  sorrow. 

Par.  Why,  these  balls  bound  ;  there's  noise  in  it.     'Tia 
hard  : 
A  young  man  married  is  a  man  that's  marr'd  : 
Tlierefore  away,  and  leave  her  bravely  ;  go  : 
The  king  has  done  you  wrong :  but,  hush,  'tis  so.   [Exeunt 

Scene  IV.    Paris.     TJie  King's  palace. 

Enter  Helena  and  Clown. 

Hel.  My  mother  greets  me  kindly  :  is  she  well  ? 

Clo.  She  is  not  well  ;  but  yet  she  has  her  health  :  she's- 
very  merry  ;  but  yet  she  is  not  well :  but  thanks  be  given, 
she's  very  well  and  wants  nothing  1'  the  world  ;  but  yet 
shn  is  not  well. 

Jlel.  If  she  be  very  well,  what  does  she  ail,  that  she's  not 
verv  well  ? 

Clo.  Truly,  she's  very  well  indeed,  but  for  two  things. 

Ilel.  What  two  things  ?  10 

Clo.  One,  that  she's  not  in  heaven,  whither  God  send  her 
quickly  1  the  other,  that  she's  in  earth,  from  whence  God 
send  her  quickly  1 

Enter  Pabollbs. 
Par,  Bless  you,  my  fortunate  lady  1 


BCSNE  IV.}    ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        677 

Hd.  I  hope,  sir,  I  hare  joar  good  will  to  Uave  mine  own 
good  fortunes. 

Pai\  You  liad  my*  prayers  to  lead  tUem  on  ;  and  to  keep 
them  on,  have  them  still.  O,  my  knave,  how  does  my  old 
lady? 

(Jlo.  So  that  you  had  her  wrinkles  and  I  her  money,  I 
would  she  did  as  you  say.  21 

Par.  Why,  I  say  nothing. 

Clo.  Marry,  you  are  the  wiser  man ;  for  many  a  man's 
tongue  shakes  out  his  master's  undoing  :  to  say  nothing,  to 
do  uothiug,  to  know  nothing,  and  to  Imve  nothing,  is  to  bo 
a  great  part  of  your  title ;  which  is  witliin  a  very  little  of 
nothing. 

Par.  Away  I  thou'rt  a  knave. 

Clo,  Yon  should  have  said,  sir,  before  a  knave  thou'rt  a 
knave ;  that's,  before  me  thou'rt  a  knave :  this  had  been 
truth,  sir.  81 

Par.  Go  to,  thou  art  a  witty  fool ;  I  have  found  thee. 

Clo.  Did  you  find  me  in  yourself,  sir  ?  or  were  you  taught 
to  find  me  Y  The  search,  sir,  was  profitable ;  and  much 
fool  may  you  fiud  in  you,  even  to  the  world's  pleasure  and 
the  increase  of  laughter. 

Par.  A  good  knave,  i'  faith,  and  well  fed. 
Madam,  my  lord  will  go  away  to-night ;  40 

A  very  serious  business  calls  on  him. 
The  great  prerogative  and  rite  of  love. 
Which,  as  your  due,  time  claims,  he  does  acknowledge ; 
But  puts  it  off  to  a  compell'd  restraint ; 
Whose  want,  and  whose  delay,  is  strew'd  with  sweets. 
Which  they  distil  now  in  the  curbed  time. 
To  make  the  coming  hour  o'erflow  with  joy 
And  pleasure  drown  the  brim. 

Hd.  What's  his  will  else  ? 

Par.  That  you  will  take  your  instant  leave  o'  the  king, 
And  make  this  liaste  as  your  own  good  proceeding,  50 

Strengthen'd  with  what  apology  you  think 
May  make  it  probable  need. 

Hel,  What  more  commands  he  t 

Par.  That,  having  this  obtain'd,  you  presently 
Attend  his  further  pleasure. 

Hd.  In  every  thing  I  wait  upon  his  will. 

Par,  I  shall  report  it  so. 

Bel.  I  pray  yoo.  [Exit  ParoUe*. 

Come,  sirrah.  [ExeutU. 


•78       AJjVB  well  that  ENDS  WELL.  [act  n. 

ScsNK  v.    Paris,     The  KiNe'»  palace. 

Enter  Lafsu  and  Bebtram. 

Lof,  Bat  I  hope  yoar  lordaliip  thinks  not  him  a  soldier. 

Ber,  Yes,  vaj  lord,  and  of  very  valiant  approof. 

Laf,  Yoa  have  it  from  his  own  deliverance. 

Ber,  And  by  otlier  warranted  testimony. 

Laf.  Then  my  dial  goes  not  true  :  I  took  this  lark  for  a 
banting. 

Ber.  I  do  assure  yoa,  my  lord,  he  is  very  great  in  knowl- 
edge and  accordingly  valiant. 

Laf.  I  have  then  sinned  against  his  experience  and  trans- 
gressed against  his  valour  ;  and  my  state  that  way  is  dan- 
gerons,  since  I  cannot  yet  find  in  my  heart  to  repent.  Here 
e  comes :  I  pray  you,  make  us  friends  ;  I  will  parsoio  the 
amity. 

Enier  Pabolles. 

Par,  \To  Bertram]  Tliese  things  shall  be  done,  sir. 

Laf.  Fray  you,  sir,  who's  his  tailor? 

Par.  Sir? 

Laf,  O,  I  know  him  well,  I,  sir  ;  he.  sir,  's  a  good  work- 
man, a  very  good  tailor.  21 

Ber.  [Aside  to  Par,]  Is  she  gone  to  the  king  ? 

Par.  She  is. 

Ber.  Will  she  away  to-night  ? 

Par,  As  you'll  have  her. 

Ber.  I  have  writ  my  letters,  casketed  my  treasure. 
Given  order  for  our  horses ;  and  to-night, 
When  I  should  take  possession  of  the  bride, 
End  ere  I  do  begin.  ^ 

Laf.  A  good  traveller  is  something  at  the  latter  end  of  a 
dinner ;  but  one  that  lies  three  thirds  and  uses  a  known 
truth  to  pass  a  thousand  nothings  with,  should  be  once 
heard  and  thrice  beaten.    Gk)d  save  you,  captain. 

Ber.  Is  there  any  uukindness  between  my  lord  and  you, 
monsieur  ? 

Par.  I  know  not  how  I  have  deserved  to  run  into  my 
lord's  displeasure. 

Laf.  You  have  made  shift  to  run  into't,  boots  and  spurs 
and  all,  like  him  that  leaped  into  the  custard  ;  and  out  of  it 
you'll  run  again,  rather  than  suffer  question  for  your  resi- 
dence. 

Ber.  It  may  be  you  have  mistaken  him,  my  lord. 

Ijof.  And  shall  do  so  ever,  though  I  took  him  at 's  pray- 
ers. Fare  you  well,  my  lord  ;  and  believe  this  of  me,  there 
can  be  no  kernel  in  this  light  nut ;  the  soul  of  this  man  is 


BCEZTB  y.]     ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        679 

his  clothes.  Trust  him  not  in  matter  of  heavy  oonsequence; 
I  liAve  kept  of  them  tam^  aod  know  their  natures.  Fare- 
Avell,  monsieur  :  I  have  spoken  better  of  you  f  than  you  liave 
or  will  to  deserve  at  my  hand ;  bnt  we  must  do  good  against 
evil.  [mnt. 

Par.  An  idle  lord,  I  swear. 

Ber.  I  think  so. 

Par.  Why,  do  voa  not  know  him? 

Ber.  Tes,  I  do  know  him  well,  and  common  speech 
Gives  lam  a  worthy  pass.     Here  eomes  my  dog. 

Enter  Hkleka. 

Hd.  I  have,  sir,  as  I  was  eommanded  from  you. 
Spoke  with  the  king  and  have  procured  his  leave  60 

For  present  parting  ;  only  he  desires 
Some  private  speecn  with  you. 

Ber.  I  shall  obey  his  wilL 

You  must  not  marvel,  Helen,  at  my  course, 
Which  holds  not  colour  with  the  time,  nor  does 
The  ministration  and  required  oflloe 
On  my  particular.     Prepared  I  was  not 
For  such  a  business  ;  therefore  am  I  found 
So  much  unsettled  :  this  drives  me  to  entreat  you 
That  presently  you  take  vour  way  for  home  ; 
And  rather  muse  than  ask  why  1  entreat  you,  70 

For  my  respects  are  better  than  they  seem 
And  my  appoiutments  have  in  them  a  need 
Greater  than  shows  itself  at  the  first  view 
To  you  that  know  them  not.     This  to  my  mother  : 

[Oifdng  a  Utter, 
'Twill  be  two  days  ere  I  shall  see  you,  so 
I  leave  you  to  your  wisdom. 

Bel.  Sir,  I  can  nothing  say, 

But  that  I  am  your  most  obedient  servant. 

Ber.  Come,  come,  no  more  of  that. 

Hel.  And  ever  shall 

With  true  observance  seek  to  eke  out  that 
Wherein  toward  me  my  homely  stars  have  fail'd 
To  equal  my  great  fortune.  80 

Ber,  Let  that  go : 

My  huste  is  very  great :  farewell ;  hie  home. 

Hd.  Pray,  sir,  your  pardon. 

Ber.  Well,  what  would  you  say? 

Ilel.  I  am  not  worth  of  the  wealth  I  owe, 
Nor  dare  I  say  'tis  mine,  and  yet  it  is  ; 
But,  like  a  timorous  thief,  most  fain  would  steal 
What  law  does  vouch  mine  own. 


680       ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        [act  in. 

Ber.  What  would  you  lia^e  ? 

ITd,  Something ;  and  scarce  so  much :  notliing,  indeed. 
I  would  not  tell  you  what  I  would,  my  lord  : 
Faith,  yes ;  90 

Strangers  and  foes  do  sunder,  and  not  kiss. 

Ber,  I  pray  you,  stay  not,  but  in  haste  to  horse. 

Hel.  I  shall  not  break  your  bidding,  good  my  lord. 

Ber.  Where  are  my  other  men,  monsieur  ?    Farewell. 

[KxU  Helena. 
Go  thou  toward  home  ;  where  I  will  never  come 
Whilst  I  can  shake  my  sword  or  hear  the  drum. 
Away,  and  for  our  flight. 

Par,  Bravely,  coragio !  [^Exeunt. 

ACT  III. 

SCBITB  L    Florence.     The  Duke's  palace 

Flourish.    Enter  tJu  Duke  of  Florence,  attended;  the  tu» 
Frenchmen,  with  a  troop  of  eoldiere. 

Duke.  So  that  from  point  to  point  now  have  you  heard 
The  fundamental  reasons  of  this  war, 
Whose  great  decision  hath  much  blood  let  forth 
And  more  thirsts  after. 

Mret  Loi'd.  '  Holy  seems  tlje  quarrel 

Upon  your  grace's  part ;  black  and  fearful 
On  the  opposer. 

Duke.  Therefore  we  marvel  much  our  cousin  France 

Would  in  so  just  a  business  shut  his  bosom 
Against  our  borrowing  prayers. 

See.  Lord.  Good  my  lord. 

The  reasons  of  our  state  I  cannot  yield,  10 

But  like  a  common  and  an  outward  man. 
That  the  great  figure  of  a  council  frames 
By  self-unable  motion  :  therefore  dare  not 
Say  what  I  think  of  it,  since  I  have  found 
Myself  in  my  incertain  grounds  to  fail 
As  often  as  I  guess'd. 

Duke.  Be  it  his  pleasure. 

First  Lord.  But  I  am  sure  the  younger  of  our  nature. 
That  surfeit  on  their  ease,  will  day  by  day 
Come  here  for  physic. 

Duke.  Welcome  shall  they  be  ; 

And  all  the  honours,  that  can  fly  from  us  20 

Shall  on  them  settle.     You  know  vour  places  well ; 
When  better  fall,  for  your  avails  they  fell : 
To-morrow  to  the  field.  [Flourish.    ExeunL 


SCBHB II.]     ALL'S  WELL  THAT  END9  WKLL.        681 
Scene  II.    BousUhfi,    The  Court's  paiace. 

Enter  Countess  and  Clown. 

Count,  It  hath  liappened  all  as  I  would  liave  had  it,  save 
that  he  comes  not  along  with  her. 

Olo.  By  my  troth,  I  take  my  young  lord  to  be  a  veiy  mel- 
ancholy man. 

Count.  By  what  observance,  I  pray  you  ? 

Clo.  Why,  he  will  look  upon  his  bKX)t  and  sing  ;  mend  the 
ruff  and  sing ;  ask  questions  and  sing ;  pick  his  teeth  and 
sing.  I  know  a  man  that  had  this  trick  of  melancholy  sold 
a  goodly  manor  for  a  song.  10 

Count,  Let  me  see  what  he  writes,  and  when  he  means  to 
come.  [Opening  a  letter, 

Clo,  I  have  no  mind  to  Isbel  since  I  was  at  court :  our  old 
ling  and  our  labels  o'  the  country  are  nothing  like  your  old 
ling  and  your  Isbels  o'  the  court :  the  brains  of  my  Cupid's 
knocked  oat,  and  I  begin  to  love,  as  an  old  man  loves 
money,  with  no  stomach. 

Count.  What  have  we  here? 

C^.  E'en  that  you  have  there.  [Exit.        20 

Count.  [Reads]  I  have  sent  you  a  daughter- m -law  :  she 
hath  recovered  the  king,  and  undone  me.  I  have  wedded 
her,  not  bedded  her  ;  and  sworn  to  make  the  "not "  eternal. 
You  shall  hear  I  am  run  away  :  know  it  before  the  report 
come.  If  there  be  breadth  enough  in  the  world,  I  will 
hold  a  long  distance.     My  duty  to  you. 

Your  unfortunate  son, 

Bertbam. 
This  is  not  well,  rash  and  unbridled  boy,  80 

To  flv  the  favours  of  so  good  a  king ; 
To  pluck  his  indignation  on  thy  head 
By  the  misprising  of  a  maid  too  virtuous 
For  the  contempt  of  empire. 

Re-enter  Clown. 

C2<>.  O  madam,  yonder  is  heavy  news  within  between  two 
soldiers  and  my  voung  lady  I 

Count.  What  is  the  matter? 

Clo.  Nay,  there  is  some  comfort  in  the  news,  some  com- 
fort ;  your  son  will  not  be  killed  so  soon  as  I  thought  he 
would.  40 

Count,  Why  should  he  be  killed  ? 

Clo.  So  say  I,  madam,  if  he  nm  away,  as  I  hear  he  does  : 
the  danger  Is  in  standing  to't;  that's  the  loss  of  men, 
thongh  it  be  the  getting  of  children.    Here  they  come  will 


68S       ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        [act  itl 

tell  you  mote  :  for  my  pftrt,  I  only  bBftr  joar  son  was  ran 
away.  [^cit. 

Enter  Helena  and  ttoo  Gentlemen. 

Firnt  Gent.  Save  you,  good  madam. 

Hd,  Madam,  my  lord  is  gone,  for  ever  gone. 

Sec-  Gent,  Do  not  say  so. 

Count.  Think  upon  patience.     Pray  yon,  gentlemen,     50 
I  have  felt  so  many  quirks  of  joy  and  ^rief, 
That  the  first  face  of  neither,  on  the  start, 
Can  woman  me  unto 't :  where  Is  my  son,  I  pray  you? 

Sec.  Gent.  Madam,  he's  gone  to  serve  the  duke  of  Flor- 
ence : 
We  met  him  thitherward  ;  for  thence  we  came. 
And,  after  some  dispatch  in  band  at  court, 
Tliither  we  bend  again. 

Ilel.  Look  on  his  letter,  madam  ;  here's  my  passport. 
\Read$\  When  thou  canst  get   the   ring  upon  my  finger 
which  never  shall  come  off,  and  show  me  a  child  begotten 
of  thy  body  that  I  am  father  to,  then  call  me  husband  :  but 
in  such  a  **  then  "  I  write  a  **  never." 
This  is  a  dreadful  sentence. 

Count.  Brought  you  this  letter,  gentlemen? 

Firit  Gent.  Ay,  madam : 

And  for  the  contents'  sake  are  sorry  for  our  pains. 

Count.  I  prithee,  lady,  have  a  better  cheer  ; 
If  thou  engrossest  all  the  griefs  are  thine. 
Thou  robb'st  me  of  a  moiety  :  he  was  my  son  ; 
But  I  do  wash  his  name  out  of  my  blood,  70 

And  thou  art  all  my  child.     Towards  Florence  is  he  ? 

Sec.  Gent.  Ay,  madam. 

Count.  And  to  be  a  soldier  t 

Sec.  Gent.  Such  is  his  noble  purpose  ;  and,  believe 't. 
The  duke  will  lay  upon  him  all  the  honour 
That  good  convenience  claims. 

Count.  Return  you  thither? 

Fir$t  Gent.  Ay,  madam,  with  the  swiftest  wing  of  speed. 

Hel.\Read»\  Till   I.  have  no  wife,  I  have  nothing  in 
France. 
'Tis  bitter. 

Count.    Find  you  that  there? 

Hel.  Ay,  madam. 

Firt^  Gent.  'Tis  but  the   boldness  of  his  hand,   haply, 
which  his  heart  was  not  consenting  to.  bU 

Count.  Nothing  in  France,  until  he  have  no  wife  1 
There's  nothing  here  that  is  too  good  for  him 
But  only  she  ;  and  sliQ  deserves  a  lord 


BCEKS  n.]     ALL'S  AVBLL  THAT  ENDS  WELL,        688 

Tliat  twenty  sach  rude  boys  nufflit  teftd  upon 

And  call  her  hourly  mistress.     Who  was  with  him  ? 

First  OefU.  A  servant  only,  and  a  gentleman 
Which  I  have  sometime  known. 

Count.  ParoUes,  was  it  not  ? 

First  Gent.  Ay,  my  good  lady,  he. 

Count.  A  very  tainted  fellow,  and  faU  of  wicikedji^ess. 
^(y  son  corrupts  a  well-derived  nature  90 

With  his  inducement. 

First  Gent.  Indeed,  good  lady. 

The  fellow  has  a  deal  of  that  too  mnch. 
Which  holds  him  much  to  have. 

Count.  You're  welcome,  gentlemen. 
I  will  entreat  you,  when  yon  see  my  son, 
To  tell  him  that  his  swoitl  can  never  win 
The  honour  that  be  loses  :  more  I'll  entreat  yoa 
Written  to  bear  along. 

See.  Gent.  We  serve  you,  madam, 

In  that  and  all  your  worthiest  affairs. 

Count.  Not  so,  but  as  we  change  our  courtesies.  100 

Will  you  draw  near?         [Exeunt  Counter  and  Gentlemen, 

Ilel.  **  Till  I  have  no  wife,  I  liave  nothing  in  France." 
Nothing  in  France,  until  he  has  no  wife  1 
Thou  snalt  have  none,  Kousillon,  none  in  France  ; 
Then  liast  thou  all  agun.     Poor  lord  !  is  't  I 
That  cliase  thee  from  thy  country  and  expose 
Those  tender  limbs  of  tliine  to  the  event 
Of  the  none-sparing  war  t  and  is  it  I 
Tlmt  drive  thee  from  the  sportive  ooort,  where  thou 
Wast  shot  at  with  fair  eyes,  to  be  the  mark  110 

Of  smoky  muskets  ?    O  you  leaden  messengers. 
That  ride  upon  the  violent  speed  of  iire, 
f  Fly  with  false  aim  ;  move  the  still -piecing  air. 
That  sings  with  piercing  ;  do  not  touch  my  knrd. 
Whoever  shoots  at  him,  I  set  him  there ; 
Whoever  chaiges  on  his  forward  breast, 
I  am  the  catiif  that  do  hold  hfan  to*t ; 
And.  though  I  kill  him  not,  I  am  the  cause 
His  death  was  so  effected :  better  'twere 
I  met  the  ravin  lion  when  he  roar'd  120 

With  sharp  constraint  of  hunger ;  better  'twere 
That  all  the  miseries  which  nature  owes 
Were  mine  at  once.     No,  come  thou  home,  BouMlloi^ 
Whence  honour  bat  of  danger  wins  a  scar. 
As  oft  it  loses  all :  I  will  be  gone  ; 
My  being  here  it  is  that  holds  thee  hence : 
Shall  I  irtay  hen  to  do"^?  fto,  no,  although 


684   .   ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        [act  hi. 

Tlie  air  of  paradiao  did  fan  the  house 

And  angels  officed  all :  I  will  be  gone, 

Tliat  pitiful  rnniour  may  report  my  flight,  190 

To  consolate  thine  ear.     Come,  night ;  end^  daj  1 

For  with  the  dark,  poor  thief,  I'll  steal  away.  [ExU, 

Scene  IIL    Florence.    Before  the  Buke'b  paiace. 

Flourish.    Enter  the  Duke  of  Florence,  Bertram,  Parol- 
LES,  Soldiers,  Drum,  and  Trumpets. 

Duke.  The  general  of  our  horse  thou  art :  and  we. 
Great  in  our  hope,  lay  our  best  love  and  credence 
Upon  thy  promising  fortune. 

Ber.  Sir,  it  is 

A  charge  too  heavy  for  my  strength,  but  yet    ^ 
We'll  strive  to  bear  it  for  your  worthy  sake 
To  the  extreme  edge  of  hazard. 

Duke.  Tlien  go  thou  forth ; 

And  fortune  play  upon  thy  prosperous  helm. 
As  thy  auspicious  mistress  1 

Ber.  This  vexy  day, 

Great  Mars,  I  put  myself  into  thy  file : 
Make  nic  bat  like  my  thoughts,  and  I  shall  prove  10 

A  lover  of  thy  drum,  hater  of  love.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  IY.    Rounlloti.     The  Count's  palace. 

Enter  CotrNTSss  and  Steward. 

Count.  Alas  I  and  would  you  take  the  letter  of  hert 
Might  you  not  know  she  would  do  as  she  has  done. 
By  sending  me  a  letter  ?    Read  it  again. 

Stew.  [lieads] 
I  am  Saint  Jaques'  pilgrim,  thither  gone  : 

Ambitious  love  bath  so  in  me  offended, 
That  barefoot  plod  I  the  cold  ground  upon. 

With  sainted  vow  my  faults  to  have  amended. 
Write,  write,  that  from  the  bloody  course  of  war 

My  dearest  master,  your  dear  son,  may  hie : 
Bless  him  at  home  in  peace,  wliilst  I  from  far       .  10 

His  name  with  zealous  fervour  sanctify : 
His  taken  labours  bid  him  me  forgive ; 

I,  his  despiteful  Juno,  sent  him  forth 
From  courtly  friends,  with  camping  foes  to  live, 

Where  death  and  danger  dogs  the  heels  of  worth  : 
He  is  too  good  and  fair  for  death  and  mc  ; 

Whom  I  myself  embrace,  to  set  him  free. 

GnuU,  Ah,  what  sharp  stings  are  in  her  mildest  words  t 


1 


SCENE  v.]      ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL?        685 

Rinaldo,  you  did  never  lack  advice  so  mncli, 

As  letting  her  pass  so  :  had  I  spoke  with  her,  20 

I  could  have  well  diverted  her  intents, 

Wlilch  thus  she  liath  prevented. 

Stetc.  Pardon  me,  madam : 

If  I  had  given  you  this  at  over-night, 
She  might  Imvc  been  o'erta'en  ;  and  yet  she  writes. 
Pursuit  would  be  hut  vain. 

Count.  Wliat  angel  shall 

Bless  this  unworthy  husband  ?  he  cannot  thrive. 
Unless  her  prayers,  whom  heaven  delights  to  hear 
And  loves  to  grant,  reprieve  him  from  the  wrath 
Of  greatest  justice.     Write,  write,  Rinaldo, 
To  this  unworthy  liusband  of  his  wife  ;  80 

Lf't  every  word  weigh  heavy  of  her  worth 
That  he  docs  weigh  too  light :  my  greatest  grief. 
Though  little  he  do  feel  it,  set  down  sharply. 
Dispatch  the  most  convenient  messenger : 
When  haply  ho  shall  hear  that  she  is  gone, 
He  will  return  ;  and  hope  I  mny  that  siie, 
Hearing  so  much,  will  speed  her  foot  again, 
Led  hitlier  by  pure  love  :  which  of  them  both 
Is  dearest  to  me,  I  have  no  skill  in  sense 
To  make  distinction  :  provide  this  messenger :  40 

My  heart  is  heavy  and  mine  age  is  weak  ; 
Grief  would  have  tears,  and  sorrow  bids  me  speak. 

[Exeunt 

Scene  V.     Florence.    Wttltout  tlie  waUs.    A  tucket  afar  off. 

Enter  an  old  Widow  of  Florence,  Diana,  Violenta,  and 
Makiaka,  iri^i  other  Citizenn. 

Wid.  Nay,  come ;  for  if  they  do  approach  the  city,  we 
shall  lose  all  the  si^ht. 

Din.  They  say  the  French  count  has  done  most  honour- 
able service. 

Wid.  It  is  reported  tliat  he  has  taken  their  g^atest  com- 
mander ;  and  that  with  his  owh  hand  he  slew  the  duke's 
brother.  [Tucket"]  We  have  lost"  our  labour;  they  are 
gone  a  contrary  way :  hark  !  you  may  know  by  tlieir  truui- 
pets.  9 

Mar.  Come,  let's  return  again,  and  suffice  ourselves  with 
the  report  of  it.  Well,  Diana,  take  heed  of  this  Frendi 
earl :  the  Uonour  of  a  maid  is  her  name  ;  and  no  legacy  is 
so  rich  as  honesty. 

Wid.  I  have  told  my  neighbour  how  you  liave  been  so- 
licited by  a  gentleman  his  companion. 


686       ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        \Acr  iii. 

Mar,  I 'know  that  knave  ;  hang'  him  I  one  Parolles :  a 
filthy  officer  he  is  in  those  suggestions  for  the  young  earl. 
Beware  of  them,  Diana;  their  promises, enticements, oaths, 
tokens,  and  all  tliese  engines  of  lust,  are  not  tho  things 
tliey  go  under :  many  a  maid  hath  been  seduced  by  them  ; 
and*  tlie  misery  is,  example,  that  so  terrible  shows  in  the 
wreck  of  maidenhood,  cannot  for  all  that  dissuade  succes- 
sion, but  that  they  are  limed  with  tho  twigs  that  threaten 
them.  I  hope  I  need  not  advise  you  further  ;  but  I  hopo 
your  own  grace  will  keep  you  where  you  are,  though  there 
were  no  further  danger  known  but  the  modesty  which  is  so 
lost.  30 

IHa.  Yon  shall  not  need  to  fear  me. 

Wid.  I  hope  so. 

JEiUei'  Helena,  disguised  like  a  Pilgrim. 

Look,  here  comes  a  pilgrim  :  I  know  she  will  lie  at  my 
house  ;  thither  they  send  one  another :  I'll  question  her. 
God  save  you,  pilgrim  I  whither  are  you  bound  ? 

Hel»  To  Saint  Jaques  le  Grand. 
Where  do  the  palmers  lodge,  I  do  beseech  you  ? 

Wid.  At  the  Saint  Francis  here  beside  the  port. 

Ilel.  Is  this  the  way?  40 

Wid.  Ay,  marry,  is't.     [A  march  afar.^    Hark  you  I  they 
come  this  way. 
If  you  will  tarry,  holy  pilgrim. 
But  till  the  troops  come  by, 
I  will  conduct  you  where  you  shall  be  lodged  ; 
The  rather,  for  I  think  I  know  your  hostess 
As  ample  as  myself. "  » 

Ilel.  Is  i  t  yonrsel  f  ? 

Wid.  If  you  .shall  please  so,  pilgrim. 

Hel.  I  thank  you,  and  will  stay  upon  your  leisure. 

Wid.  You  came,  I  think,  from  France  ? 

UcL  I  did  so. 

Wid.  Here  you  shall  see  a  countryman  of  yours  50 

That  has  done  worthy  service. 

Jlel.  ^     His  name,  I  pray  you. 

Dia.  The  Count  Rousillon  :  know  you  such  a  one  ? 

Hel.  But  by  the  ear,  that  hears  most  nobly  of  him  : 
His  face  I  know  not. 

IHa.  Whatsome'er  he  la. 

He's  bravely  taken  here.     He  stole  from  France, 
As  'tis  reported,  for  the  king  had  married  him 
Against  his  liking  :  think  you  it  is  so? 

Hel.  Ay,  surely,  mere  the  truth :  I  know  his  lady. 

Dia.  There  is  a  gentleman  that  serves  the  count 


8CENK  v.]      ALL'S  WELL  THAT  EXDS  WELL.        687 

Reports  bat  coarsely  of  her. 

Hel,  WliaVs  his  name  T  60 

Dia.  MoQueur  Pa*olles. 

Hd.  0,  I  believe  with  him, 

In  argument  of  praise,  or  to  the  worth 
Of  the  great  count  himself,  she  is  too  mean 
To  have  her  name  repeated :  all  her  deserving 
Is  A  reserved  honesty,  and  that 
I  have  not  heard  examined. 

ZHa.  Alas,  poor  lady  1 

'Tis  a  hard  bondage  to  become  the  wife 
Of  a  detesting  loi^ 

Wid.  I  warrant,  good  creature,  wheresoever  she  is, 
Her  lieart  weighs  sadly  :  this  young  maid  might  do  her   70 
A  shfewd  turn,  if  she  pleased. 

Hel.  How  do  you  mean  T 

May  be  the  amorous  count  solicits  her 
In  the  unlawful  purpose. 

\Vid.  He  does  indeed ; 

And  brokes  with  all  that  can  in  such  a  suit 
Ck>rrupt  the  tender  honour  of  a  maid : 
But  she  is  arm'd  for  him  and  keeps  her  guard 
In  honestest  defence. 

Mar.  The  gods  forbid  else  1 

WuL  So,  now  fhey  come  : 

Drum  and  Coloun, 

JEfnter^KBTRAM,  Parolleb,  and  the  whole  armp. 

That  is  Antonio,  the  duke's  eldest  son ; 
That.  Escalus. 

Hel,  Which  is  the  Frenchman  ? 

Dia,  He ;  80 

That  with  the  plume :  His  a  most  gallant  fellow. 
I  would  he  loved  his  wife :  if  he  were  honester 
He  were  much  goodlier  :  is't  not  a  handsome  gentleman  t 

ITcl.  I  like  him  well. 

Dia.  Tis  pity  he  is  not  honest :  yond's  that  same  knave  . 
That  leads  him  to  these  places :  were  I  his  lady, 
I  would  poison  that  vile  rascal. 

Hel.  Which  is  he? 

Dia.  That  Jack-an-apes  with  scarfs:  why  is  he  melan- 
choly? 

Md.  Perchance  he's  hurt  i' the  battle.  90 

Par.  Lose  our  drum  1  well. 

Mar,  He's  shrewdly  vexed  at  something :  look,  he  has 
qiiedat. 


n 


688        ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        [acv  hi. 

Wid,  Marry,  hang  you  I 

Mar.  And  your  courtesy,  for  a  ring-carrier  I 

[Exeunt  Bertram.,  ParoUes,  and  army, 

Wid.  Tlie  troop  is  past.     Come,  pilgrim,  I  will  bring 
you 
Where  you  shall  host :  of  cn1oin*d  penitents 
There's  four  or  five,  to  great  Saint  Jaques  bound. 
Already  at  my  house. 

Ilel.  I  humbly  thank  you  : 

Please  it  this  matron  and  this  gentle  maid  100 

To  eat  with  us  to-night,  the  charge  and  thanking 
Shall  be  for  me ;  and,  to  require  you  further, 
I  will  bestow  some  precepts  of  this  virgin 
Worthy  the  note. 

Both.  We'll  take  your  offer  kindly.      [Exeunt, 

Scene  VI.     Camp  before  Florence. 

Enter  Bertram  and  the  two  French  Lords. 

flee.  Lord.  Nay,  good  my  lord,  put  him  to't;  let  him 
have  his  way. 

First  Lord,  If  your  lordship  find  him  not  a  hilding,  hold 
me  no  more  in  your  respect. 

See.  Lord.  On  my  life,  my  lord,  a  bubble. 

Ber.  Do  yon  think  I  am  so  far  deceived  in  him  ? 

See.  Lord.  Believe  it,  my  lord,  in  mine  own  direct  knowl- 
edge, without  any  malice,  but  to  speak  of  him  %s  my  kins- 
man, he's  a  most  notable  coward,  an  infinite  and  endless 
liar,  an  hourly  promise- breaker,  the  owner  of  no  ono  good 
quality  worthy  your  lordship's  entertainment. 

First  Lord.  It  wera  fit  yoa  knew  him ;  lest,  reposing  too 
far  in  his  virtue,  which  he  hath  not,  he  might  at  some  great 
and  trusty  business  in  a  main  danger  fail  you. 

Ber.  I  would  I  knew  in  what  particular  oction  to  trr 
him.  9 

First  Lord.  None  better  tl^au  to  let  him  fetch  off  his 
drum,  which  you  hear  him  so  confidently  undertake  t  >  Jo. 

Sec.  Lord.  1,  with  a  troop  of  Florentines,  will  suddenly 
surprise  him  ;  such  as  I  will  have,  whom  I  am  sure  he 
knows  not  from  the  enemy  :  we  will  bind  and  hoodwink 
him  so,  that  he  shall  suppose  no  other  but  that  he  is  carried 
into  the  leaguer  of  the  adversaries,  when  we  bring  him  to 
our  own  tents.  Be  but  your  lordship  present  at  his  exami- 
nation :  if  he  do  not,  for  the  promise  of  his  life  and  in  the 
highest  compulsion  of  base  fear,  offer  to  betray  you  and 
deTivor  all  tue  intelligence  in  his  power  against  you,  and 


BCBKE  VI.  j    ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        689 

timt  with  the  divine  forfeit  of  his  seal  upon  oath,  never 
trust  my  judgement  in  any  thing. 

First  Lord.  O.  for  the  love  of  laughter,  let  him  fetch  his 
drum  ;  he  says  he  has  a  stratagem  for*t :  when  your  lord- 
Khip  sees  the  bottom  of  his  success  in  't,  and  to  what  metal 
this  counterfeit  lump  of  ore  will  be  melted,  if  you  give  him 
not  John  Drum's  entertainment,  your  inclining  cannot  be 
removed.    Here  he  comes. 

Enter  Pakolles. 

Sec.  Lard.  [Aside  to  Ber.]  O,  for  the  love  of  laughter, 
hinder  not  the  honour  of  his  design  :  let  him  fetch  off  his 
drum  in  any  hand. 

Ber.  How  now,  monsieur  I  this  drum  sticks  sorely  in  your 
disposition. 

Fir^  Lord,  A  pox  on't,  let  it  go ;  'tis  but  a  dram. 

Par.  "But  a  drum"  I  is't  "but  a  drum"?  A  dram  so 
lost  1  There  was  excellent  command, — ^to  charge  in  with 
our  horse  upon  our  own  wings,  and  to  rend  our  own  sol- 
diers ! 

Mrst  Lord.  That  was  not  to  be  blamed  in  the  command 
of  the  service  :  it  was  a  disaster  of  war  that  Ciesar  himself 
could  not  have  prevented,  if  he  had  been  there  to  com- 
mand. 

Ber,  Well,  we  cannot  greatly  condemn  our  success  :  some 
dishonour  we  had  in  the  loss  of  that  dram  ;  but  it  is  not  to 
be  recovered.  60 

Par.  It  might  have  been  recovered. 

Ber.  It  toi^t ;  but  it  is  not  now. 

Par,  It  is  to  be  recovered  :  but  that  the  merit  of  service 
is  seldom  attributed  to  the  true  and  exact  performer,  I 
would  have  that  drum  or  another,  or  "  hie  jacet." 

Ber.  Why,  if  you  liave  a  stomach,  to't,  mounsieur ;  if 
you  think  your  mystery  in  stratagem  can  bring  this  instru- 
ment of  honour  again  into  his  native  quarter,  be  magnani- 
mous in  the  enterprise  and  go  on  ;  I  will  grace  the  attempt 
for  a  worthy  exploit :  if  you  speed  well  in  it,  the  duke  shall 
both  speak  of  it,  and  extend  to  you  what  further  becomes 
his  greatness,  even  to  the  utmost  syllable  of  your  worthi- 
ness. 

Par.  By  the  hand  of  a  soldier,  I  will  undertake  it. 

Ber,  But  you  must  not  now  slumber  in  it. 

Par.  ril  about  it  this  evening  :  and  I  will  presently  pen 
down  my  dilemmas,  encourage  myself  in  my  certainty,  put 
myself  into  my  mortal  preparation  ;  and  by  midnight  look 
to' hear  farther  from  me. 


600       ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        [act  in. 

Jitr.  May  I  be  bold  to  aoqaaint  bis  grace  tou  are  gone 
al)out  it  ? 

Par.  I  know  not  what  tbe  success  will  be,  my  lord  ;  bat 
the  attempt  I  vow. 

Ber.  I  know  thon'rt  valiant ;  and,  to  the  possibility  of 
thy  soldiership,  will  subscribe  for  thee.     Farewell.        '   90 

Par.  I  love  not  many  words.  \Erit. 

Sec.  Lard.  No  more  than  a  fish  loves  water.  Is  not  this 
a  stranee  fellow,  my  lord,  that  so  confidently  undertakes  to 
do  this  Dusiness,  which  he  knows  is  not  to  be  done  ;  damns 
himself  to  do  and  dares  better  be  damned  than  to  do't  ? 

Firit  Lord,  You  do  not  know  him,  my  lord,  as  we  do  : 
certjun  it  is,  that  he  will  steal  himself  into  a  man's  favour 
and  for  a  week  escape  a  great  deal  of  discoveries  ;  but  when 
you  find  him  out,  you  have  him  ever  after.  101 

Ber.  Why,  do  you  think  he  will  make  no  deed  at  all  of 
this  that  so  seriously  he  does  address  himself  unto? 

Sec.  Lord,  None  in  the  world  ;  but  retumwith  an  inven- 
tion and  clap  upon  you  two  or  three  probable  lies  :  but  we 
liave almost  embossed  him  ;  you  shall  see  his  fall  to-night ; 
for  indeed  he  is  not  for  your  lordship's  respect.  100 

Vir9t  Lord.  We'll  make  some  sport  with  the  fox  ere  wo 
case  him.  He  was  first  smoked  by  the  old  lord  I^afeu  :  when 
his  disguise  and  he  are  parted,  tell  me  what  a  sprat  you 
shall  find  him  ;  which  you  shall  see  this  very  night. 

Stc,  Lf^rd.  I  must  go  look  my  twigs  :  he  shall  be  caught. 

her.  Your  brother  be  sliall  go  along  with  me. 

Se)C.  Lord.  As't  please  your  lordship :  I'll  leave  you. 

[ExU. 

Ber.  Now  I  will  lead  you  to  the  house,  and  show  you 
The  lass  I  spoke  of. 

Firtt  Lord.  But  you  say  she's  honest. 

Ber.  That's  all  the  fault :  I  spoke  with  her  but  once  120 
And  found  her  wondrous  cold  ;  but  I  sent  to  her, 
By  this  same  coxcomb  that  we  have  i'  the  wind, 
Tokens  and  letters  which  she  did  re-send  ; 
And  this  is  all  I  have  done.     She's  a  fair  creature 
Will  you  go  see  her  ? 

First  Lord,  With  all  my  heart,  my  lord.  [Exeunt 

Scene  VII.     Florence.     The  Widow's  Tiouse, 

Enter  Helena  and  Widow. 

nd.  If  you  misdoubt  me  that  I  am  not  she, 
I  know  not  how  I  shall  assure  you  further. 
But  I  shall  lose  the  grounds  I  work  upon. 

Wid.  Though  my  estate  be  fallen^  I  was  well  bon^ 


vl 


iCENB  VII.]  ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        691 

Nothing  acquainted  with  these  businesses  ; 
And  would  not  put  my  reputation  now 
.In  any  staining  act.  ^^ 

Ilel,  Nop  would  I  wish  yon. 

First,  give  me  trust,  the  count  he  is  my  husband. 
And  what  to  your  sworn  counsel  I  have  spoken 
Is  so  from  word  to  word ;  and  then  you  cannot,  10 

By  the  gt:>od  aid  that  I  of  you  shall  borrow. 
Err  in  bestowing  it. 

Wid.  I  should  believe  you  ; 

For  you  have  show'd  me  that  which  well  approves 
You're  great  in  fortune. 

JTel.  Take  this  purso  of  gold. 

And  let  me  buy  your  friendly  help  thus  far. 
Which  I  will  over- pay  and  pay  again 
When  I  have  found  it.     The  count  he  wooes  your  daughtor. 
Lays  down  his  wanton  siege  before  her  beauty, 
Kesolved  to  carry  her  :  let  her  in  fine  consent. 
As  we'll  direct  her  how  'tis  best  to  bear  it.  20 

Now  his  important  blood  will  nought  deny 
Tliat  she'll  demand  :  a  ring  the  county  weaiB, 
That  downward  hath  succeeded  in  his  house 
From  son  to  son,  some  four  or  five  descents 
Since  the  first  father  wore  it :  this  ring  he  holds 
In  most  rich  choice ;  yet  in  his  idle  fire. 
To  buy  his  will,  it  would  not  seem  too  dear, 
Howe'er  repented  after. 

Wid.  Now  I  see 

The  bottom  of  your  purpose. 

Hel.  You  see  it  lawful,  then  :  it  is  no  more,  30 

But  that  your  daughter,  ere  she  seems  as  won. 
Desires  this  ring  ;  appoints  him  an  encounter ; 
In  fine,  delivers  me  to  fill  the  time. 
Herself  most  chastely  absent :  after  this. 
To  marry  her,  I'll  add  three  thousand  crowns 
To  what  is  post  already. 

Wid.  I  have  yielded  : 

Instruct  my  daughter  how  she  shall  persever. 
That  time  and  place  with  this  deceit  so  lawful 
May  prove  coherent.     Every  night  he  come* 
With  musics  of  all  sorts  and  sougs  composed  40 

To  lier  unworthiness  :  it  nothing  steads  us 
To  chide  him  from  our  eaves  ;  for  he  persists 
As  if  his  life  lay  on't. 

HeL  Wliy  then  to-night 

Let  us  assay  our  plot ;  which,  if  it  speed. 
Is  wicked  meaning  in  a  lawful  deed 


C92        ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        [act  iv. 

And  lawful  meaning  in  a  lawful  act. 

Where  both  not  sin,  and  yet  a  sinful  fact : 

But  let's  about  it.  [EsDCUnL 

ACT  IV. 

ScEioc  I.     WitAaut  tha  Itarentine  eamp. 

Enter  Second  French  Lord,  with  five  or  dx  other  Soldiers 

in  ambush.  « 

See,  Lord,  He  can  come  no  other  way  bat  by  this  hedge- 
comer.  When  you  sally  upon  him,  speak  what  terrible 
language  you  will :  though  you  understand  it  not  your- 
selves, no  matter ;  for  you  must  not  seem  to  understand 
him,  unities  some  one  among  us  whom  we  must  produce 
for  an  interpret'er. 

First  Sold.  Good  captain,  let  me  be  the  interpreter. 

Sec.  Lord.  Art  not  acquainted  with  him  ?  knows  he  not 
thy  voice?  11 

Firut  Sold.  Xo,  sir,  I  warrant  you. 

Sec.  Lord.  But  what  linsey-woolsey  hast  thou  to  speak 
to  us  Again  ? 

First  Sold.  E'en  such  as  you  speak  to  me. 

S'c.  Lord.  He  must  think  us  some  band  of  strangers  i' 
the  adversary's  entertainment.  Now  he  hath  a  smack  of 
all  neighbouring  languages  ;  tlierefore  we  must  every  one 
1)6  a  man  of  his  own  fancy,  not  to  know  what  we  speak  one 
to  another  ;  so  we  seem  to  know,  is  to  know  straight  our 
purpose  :  choughs'  language,  gabble  enough,  and  good 
enough.  As  for  you,  interpreter,  you  must  seem  very  poli- 
tic. But  couch,  ho  1  here  he  comes,  to  beguile  two  hours 
in  a  sleep,  and  then  to  return  and  swear  the  lies  he  forges. 

• 

Enter  Pabollbs. 

Par.  Ten  o'clock  :  within  these  three  hours  'twill  be  time 
enough  to  go  home.  What  shall  I  say  I  have  done  T  It 
must  be  a  very  plausive  invention  that  carries  it :  they  be- 
gin to  smoke  me  ;  and  disgraces  have  of  late  knocke<l  too 
often  at  my  door.  I  find  my  tongue  is  too  foolhardy  ;  but 
my  heart  hath  the  fear  of  Mars  before  it  and  of  his  crea- 
tures, not  daring  the  reports  of  my  tongue. 

Sec.  Lord.  This  is  tiie  first  truth  that  e'er  thine  own 
tonffue  was  guilty  of. 

Par.  What  the  devil  should  move  me  to  undertake  the 
recovery  of  this  drum,  being  not  ignorant  of  the  impossi- 
bility, and  knowing  I  had  no  sucli  purpose  T  I  must  give 
myself  some  hurts,  and  say  I  got  them  in  exploit :  yet 


BCE5K  I.]       ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        693 

slight  ones  will  not  carry  it ;  they  will  say,  **  Came  you  off 
witii  so  little?"  and  great  ones  I  dare  not  give.  Where- 
fore,  what's  th«)  instance  ?  Tongue,  I  mast  put  you  into  a 
butter- woman's  mouth  and  buy  myself  another  of  Bajazet's 
mule,  if  you  prattle  me  into  these  perils. 

See.  Lord,  It  is  possible  he  should  know  what  he  is,  and 
be  that  he  is  ?  40 

Par.  I  would  the  cutting  of  my  ^rments  would  serve 
the  turn,  or  the  breaking  of  mv  Spanish  sword. 

Sec.  Lord.  We  cannot  afford  you  so. 

Par.  Or  the  baring  of  my  beard ;  and  to  say  it  was  in 
stratagem. 

Sec.  Lord.  T  would  not  do. 

Par.  Or  to  drown  my  clothes,  and  say  I  was  stripped. 

Sec.  Lord.  Hardly  serve. 

Par.  Though  I  swore  I  leaped  from  the  window  of  the 
citadel —  61 

Sec.  Lord.  How  deep? 

Par.  Thirty  fathom. 

Sec.  Lord.  Three  great  oaths  would  scarce  make  that  be 
believed. 

Par.  I  would  I  had  any  drum  of  the  enemy's :  I  would 
swear  I  recovered  it. 

Sec.  Lord.  You  shall  hear  one  anon. 

Par.  A  drum  now  of  the  enemy's, —        [Alarum  wit^n. 

Sec.  Lord.  ITiroca  movonsus,  cargo,  cargo,  cargo.  71 

All.  Cargo,  cargo,  cargo,  villianda  par  corbo,  cargo. 

Par.  O,  ransom,  ransom  I  do  not  hide  mine  eyes. 


[They  sieze  and  blindfold  Mm. 
ld< 


Fir$t  Sold.  Boskos  thromuldo  boskos. 

Par.  I  know  you  are  the  Muskos'  regiment : 
And  I  shall  lose  my  life  for  want  of  language  : 
If  there  be  here  German,  or  Dane,  low  DAtch, 
Italian,  or  French,  let  him  speak  to  me ;  I'll 
Discover  that  which  shall  undo  the  Florentine.  80 

Firnt  Sold.  Boskos  vauvado  :  I  understand  thee,  and  can 
speak  thy  tongue.  Kerelybonto,  sir,  betake  thee  to  thy 
faith,  for  seventeen  poniards  are  at  thy  bosom. 

Par.  01 

Firti  Sold.  O,  pray,  pray,  pray  !    Manka  revania  dulche. 

See.  Lord.  Osoorbidulchos  volivorco. 

First  Sold.  The  general  is  content  to  spare  thee  yet ; 
And,  hoodwlnk'd  as  thou  art,  will  lead  thee  on  (0 

To  gather  from  thee  :  haply  thou  mayst  inform 
Something  to  save  thy  life. 

Par.  O,  let  rae  live  I 

And  all  the  secrets  of  oar  camp  I'll  show. 


094       ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL         [act  iv. 

Thdr  force,  their  purposes ;  nay,  Fll  speak  tbat 
Which  you  will  wonder  at. 

Fxrgt  Sold,  But  wilt  thou  faithfully  7 

Par   If  I  do  not,  damn  me. 

First  Sold.  Acordo  linta. 
Come  on  ;  thou  art  granted  space. 

[Kijnt,  with  Parolles  guarded.    A  short  alarum  mthin. 

See.  Lord.  Go,  tell  the  Count  Rousillon,  and  my  brother. 
We  have  caught  the  woodcock,  and  will  keep  him  muffled 
Till  we  do  hear  from  them. 

See.  Sold.  Captain,  I  will. 

See.  Lord.  A*  will  betray  us  all  unto  ourselves  : 
Inform  on  that. 

See.  Sold.        So  I  will,  sir. 

See.  Lord.  Till  then  I'll  keep  him  dark  and  safely  lock'd. 

[Ezeunt. 

Scene  n.    Florence.     The  Widow's  house. 

Enter  Bbbtram  and  Diana. 

Ber.  They  told  me  that  rour  name  was  Fontibell. 

Dia.  No,  my  good  lord,  biana. 

Ber.  Titled  goddess ; 

And  worth  it,  with  addition  I    But,  fair  soul. 
Indoor  fine  frame  hath  love  no  quality  ? 
If  the  quick  fire  of  youth  light  not  your  mind. 
You  are  no  maiden,  but  a  monument : 
When  you  are  dead,  you  should  be  such  a  one 
As  yon  are  now,  for  you  are  cold  and  stem  ; 
And  now  you  should  be  as  your  mother  was 
When  your  sweet  self  wos  got.  10 

IHa.  She  then  was  honest. 

Ber.  So  should  you  be. 

JDia.  No: 

My  mother  did  but  duty  ;  such,  my  lord. 
As  you  owe  to  your  wife. 

Ber.  No  more  o'  that ; 

I  prithee,  do  not  strive  against  uiy  vows  : 
I  was  compeird  to  her ;  but  I  love  thee 
By  love's  own  sweet  constraint,  and  will  for  ever 
Do  thee  all  rights  of  service. 

Dia.  Ay,  so  you  serve  us 

Till  we  serve  you  ;  but  when  you  liavo  our  roses, 
You  barely  leave  our  thorns  to  prick  ourselves 
And  mock  us  with  our  bareness. 

Ber.  How  have  I  sworn  !         20 

JHa.  'Tis  not  the  many  oaths  that  noAkcs  the  truth. 


BCKKB  II.]     ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        605 

But  tbe  plain  single  vow  that  is  voVd  true. 

What  is  not  holj,  tliat  we  swear  not  by, 

But  tako  tlie  High'st  to  witness  :  then,  pray  yon,  tell  nie» 

If  I  should  swear  by  God's  great  attributes, 

I  loved  yon  dearly,  would  you  believe  my  oaths, 

When  I  did  love  you  ill  ?    I'his  has  no  holding, 

To  swear  by  him  whom  I  protest  to  love. 

That  I  will  work  against  mm :  therefore  your  oaths 

Are  words  and  poor  conditions,  but  unseal 'd,  80 

At  least  in  my  opinion. 

Ber.  Change  it,  change  it ; 

Be  not  so  holy-cruel :  love  is  holy  ; 
And  my  integrity  ne'er  knew  the  crafts 
That  you  do  charge  men  with.     Stand  no  more  off. 
But  give  thyself  unto  my  sick  desires. 
Who  then  recover :  say  then  art  mine,  and  ever 
My  love  as  it  begins  shall  so  persever. 

Dia.  f  I  see  thot  men  make  ropes  in  such  a  scarre 
That  we'll  forsalce  ourselves.     Give  me  that  ring. 

Ber,  ril  lend  it  thee,  my  dear ;  but  have  no  power        40 
To  give  it  from  me. 

Dia.  Will  you  not,  my  lord  ? 

Ber,  It  is  an  honour  'longing  to  our  house. 
Bequeathed  down  from  many  ancestors  ; 
Which  were  the  greatest  obloquy  i*  the  world 
In  me  to  lose. 

Dia,  Mine  honour 's  such  a  ring  ; 

My  chastity 's  the  jewel  of  our  house. 
Bequeathed  down  from  many  ancestors ; 
Whidi  were  the  greatest  obliquy  i'  the  world 
In  me  to  lose :  thus  your  own  proper  wisdom 
Brings  in  the  champion  Honour  on  my  part,  IM> 

Against  your  vain  assault. 

Ber,  Here,  take  my  ring : 

My  house,  mine  honour,  yea,  my  life,  be  thine, 
And  I'll  be  bid  by  thee. 

Dia.  When   midnight   comes,  knock   at  my  chamber* 
window : 
111  order  take  my  mother  shall  not  hear. 
Now  will  I  charge  you  in  the  band  of  truth, 
When  you  have  oonquer'd  my  yet  maiden  bed. 
Remain  there  but  an  hour,  nor  speak  to  me : 
My  reasons  are  most  strong ;  and  ;ou  shall  know  them 
When  back  acain  tliis  ring  shall  be  deliver'd :  dO 

And  on  your  finger  in  the  night  I'll  put 
Aaothttr  ring,  that  what  in  time  proeeeds 
May  token  to  the  future  our  past  deeds. 


096        ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WEH*.         [act  j\\ 

Adien,  till  then  ;  then,  fail  not.     You  havo  won 
A  wife  of  nie.  though  there  my  hope  be  done. 

Ber.  A  heaycn  on  earth  I  have  won  by  wooing  thee. 

[Exit. 

Din.  For  which  live  long  to  thank  both  heaven  and  me  I 
You  may  so  in  the  end. 

My  mother  told  me  jnst  how  he  would  woo«  • 
As  if  she  sat  in 's  heart ;  she  says  all  men  70 

Have  the  like  oaths  :  ho  had  sworn  to  marry  me 
Wlten  his  wife 's  dead  ;  therefore  I'll  lie  with  him 
Whoii  I  am  buried.     Since  Frenchmen  are  so  braid. 
Marry  that  will,  I  live  and  die  a  maid : 
Only  in  this  disguise  I  thmk  't  no  sin 
To  cozen  him  that  would  unjustly  win.  [Exit. 

Scene  HI.     T?ie  Florentine  camp. 

Enter  tlie  two  French  Lords  and  sotne  tioo  or  three  Soldiers. 

Mrit  Lord.  You  liave  not  given  him  his  mother's  letter? 

See.  Lord,  I  liave  delivered  it  an  hour  since  :  there  is 
something  in  't  that  stings  his  nature ;  for  on  the  reading  it 
he  changed  ahnast  into  another  man. 

First  Lord.  He  has  much  worthy  blame  laid  upon  him 
for  shaking  oif  so  good  a  wife  and  so  sweet  a  lady.  9 

'  Sec.  Lord.  Especially  he  hath  incurred  the  everlasting 
displeasure  of  the  kiug,  who  had  even  tuned  his  bounty  to 
sing  happiness  to  him.  I  will  tell  you  a  thing,  but  you 
shall  let  it  dwell  darkly  with  you. 

First  Lord.  When  you  have  spoken  it,  'tis  dead,  and  I  am 
the  grave  of  it. 

Sec.  Lord.  He  hath  perverted  a  young  gentlewoman  here 
in  Florence,  of  a  most  chaste  renown ;  and  this  night  he 
fleshes  his  will  in  the  spoil  of  her  honour :  he  hath  given 
her  his  monumental  ring,  and  thinks  himself  made  in  the 
unchaste  composition. 

First  Lord.  Now,  God  delay  our  rcbeHion  I  as  we  are  our- 
selves, what  things  are  we  1 

Sec  Lord.  Merely  our  own  traitors.  And  as  in  the  com- 
mon cause  of  all  treasons,  we  still  see  them  reveal  them- 
selves, till  they  attain  to  their  abhorred  ends,  so  he  that  in 
his  action  contrives  against  his  own  nobility,  in  his  proper 
stream  o'erflows  himself.  80 

First  Lord.  Is  it  not  meant  damnable  in  us,  to  be  truin> 
peters  of  our  unlawful  intents  ?  We  shall  not  then  have 
his  company  to-night  ? 

8u.  Lord.'  Not  till  after  midnight ;  for  he  is  dieted  to  his 
hour. 


BCENK  m.]     ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        697 

Mnt  Lord,  That  approaches  apaoo  ;  I  would  gladly  have 
him  8oe  his  company  anatomized,  that  he  might  tidce  a  mea- 
sure of  his  own  judgements,  wherein  so  curiously  he  had 
set  this  counterfeit.  40 

See,  Lord.  We  will  not  meddle  with  him  till  he  come ; 
for  his  presence  must  be  the  whip  of  the  other. 

First  Lord.  lu  the  mean  time,  what  hear  you  of  these 
wars? 

Bee.  Lord.  I  hear  there  is  an  overture  of  peace. 

Firit  Lord,  Nay,  I  assure  you,  a  peace  concluded. 

See.  Lord.  What  will  Count  Rousillon  do  then  ?  will  he 
travel  higher,  or  return  again  into  France?  51 

Fir$t  Lord*  I  perceive,  by  this  demand,  you  are  not  alto- 
gether of  Ills  council. 

Sec.  Lord.  Let  it  be  forbid,  sir  ;  so  should  I  bo  a  great 
deal  of  his  act. 

First  Lord.  Sir,  his  wife  some  two  months  since  fled  from 
his  house :  her  pretence  is  a  pilgrimage  to  Saint  Jaques  le 
Grand ;  which  holy  undertaking  with  most  austere  sancti- 
mony she  accomplished  ;  and,  there  residing,  the  tenderness 
of  her  nature  became  as  a  prey  to  her  grief  ;  in  flne,  made  a 
groan  of  her  last  breath,  and  now  she  sings  in  heaven. 

See.  Lord.  How  is  this  justified  ? 

First  Lord,  The  stronger  part  of  it  by  her  own  letters, 
which  makes  her  story  true,  even  to  the  point  of  her  death: 
her  death  itself,  which  could  not  be  her  office  to  say  is  come, 
was  faith f ally  confirmed  by  the  rector  of  the  place. 

See.  Lord.  Hath  the  count  all  this  intelligenco?  70 

First  Lord,  Ay,  and  the  particular  confirmations,  point 
from  point,  to  the  full  arming  of  the  verity. 

See.  Lord.  I  am  heartily  sorry  that  he'H'be  glad  of  this. 

First  Lord.  How  mightily  sometimes  we  make  us  com- 
forts of  our  losses  1 

See,  Lord.  And  how  mightily  some  other  times  we  drown 
our  gain  in  tears  I  The  great  dignity  that  his  valour  hath 
here  acquired  for  him  shall  at  home  be  encountered  with  a 
sliame  as  ample. 

First  Lord.  The  web  of  our  life  is  of  a  mingled  yarn, 
good  and  ill  together  :  our  virtues  would  be  proud,  if  our 
faults  whipped  them  not ;  and  our  crimes  would  despair, 
if  they  were  not  cherished  by  our  virtues. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

How  now  !  Where's  your  master  ? 

Serv.  He  met  the  duke  in  the  street,  sir,  of  whom  he  hath 
taken  a  solemn  leave  :  his  lordship  will  next  morning  for. 


098        ALLS  WELL  THAT  BIirDS  WELL.         [act it. 

France.  The  dake  liatli  offered  him  letters  of  eommenda* 
tions  to  the  king. 

See,  Lord,  They  shall  he  no  more  than  needful  there,  if 
they  were  more  than  they  can  commend. 

Mrat  Lord,  They  cannot  be  too  sweet  for  the  king's  tart- 
ness.    Here's  his  lordsliip  now. 

Enter  Bebtbah. 

How  now,  my  lord  I  is 't  not  after  midnight  T 

Ber.  I  have  to-night  dispatched  sixteen  businesseSp  a 
month's  lengtli  a-piece,  by  an  abstract  of  saccess :  I  have 
eongied  with  the  duke,  done  my  adiea  with  his  nearest ; 
buried  a  wife,  mourned  for  her ;  writ  to  my  lady  mother  I 
am  returning ;  entertained  my  convoy ;  and  between  these 
main  parcels  of  dispatch  effected  many  nicer  needs :  tlie 
last  was  the  greatest,  but  that  1  have  not  ended  yet. 

See,  Lord,  If  the  business  be  of  any  difficulty,  and  this 
morning  your  departure  hence,  it  requires  haste  of  your 
lordship.  109 

Ber.  1  mean,  the  business  is  not  ended,  as  fearing  to  hear 
of  it  hereafter.  But  sliall  we  have  this  dialogue  between 
the  fool  and  tUe  soldier  ?  Come,  bring  forth  this  counterfeit 
module,  has  deceived  me,  like  a  double-meaning  prophesier. 

See,  Lord.  Bring  him  forth  :  has  sat  i'  the  stocks  all  night, 
poor  gallant  knave^ 

Bei\  No  matter ;  his  heels  luive  deserved  it,  in  usurping 
his  spurs  so  long.     How  does  he  carrv  himself?  120 

Sec,  Lord,  I  have  told  your  lordsliip  already,  the  stocks 
carry  him.  But  to  answer  you  as  you  would  bo  understood ; 
he  weeps  like  a  wench  that  liad  shed  her  milk :  he  hath 
confessed  himself  to  Morgan,  whom  he  supposes  to  bo  a 
friar,  from  the  time  of  his  remembrance  to  this  very  in- 
stant disaster  of  his  setting  i'  the  stocks :  and  what  think 
you  he  hath  confessed  ? 

Ber.  Nothing  of  me,  has  a' ?  *  1C9 

See.  Lord,  His  confes-sion  is  taken,  and  it  shall  be  read  to 
his  face  :  if  your  lordship  bo  in 't,  as  I  believe  you  are,  you 
must  have  the  patience  to  hear  it. 

Enter  Paiiolles  guarded,  and  First  Soldieiv 

Ber,  A  plague  upon  him  I  muffled  t  he  can  say  nothing 
of  me  :  hush,  hush  ! 

Mrst  Lord,  Hoodman  comes  I    Portotartarosa. 

First  Sold,  He  calls  for  the  tortures  :  what  will  you  say 
without  'em? 

Par,  I  will  confess  what  I  know  without  constraint :  if 
ye  pinch  me  like  a  pasty,  I  can  say  no  more.  141 


SCENE  m.]    ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        ^0 

First  Sold.  Bosko  cliimiircho. 

FHrat  Lord.  Boblibindo  chicnrmurco. 

Mrgt  Sold.  Ton  are  a  merciful  general.  Onr  general  bids 
you  answer  to  wliat  I  shall  ask  you  out  of  a  note. 

Far.  And  truly,  as  I  hope  to  live. 

Mrsi  Sold.  [Reads]  "First  demand  of  him  how  many 
horse  the  duke  is  strong."    What  say  yon  to  that  ?  150 

Par.  Five  or  six  tlioasand ;  but  very  weak  and  nnser- 
viceable :  the  troops' are  all  scattered,  and  the  commanders 
very  poor  rogues,  upon  my  repataticm  and  credit  and  as.  I 
hoM  to  live. 

First  Sold,  Shall  I  set  dowB  yoar  answer  so  ? 

Par»  Do :  I'll  take  the  sacnment  en%  how  and  which 
way  yon  will. 

Ber,  Airs  (me  to  him.     What  a  past-savinGf  slave  is  this  I 

First  Lord.  You're  deceived,  my  lord :  this  is  Monsieur 
ParoUes,  the  gallant  militarist, — ^that  was  his  own  plirase, — 
that  had  the  whole  theoric  of  war  in  the  knot  of  his  scarf, 
and  the  practice  in  the  chape  of  his  dagger. 

Sec.  Lard.  I  will  never  tmst  a  man  again  for  keeping  his 
sword  clean,  nor  believe  he  can  have  every  thing  in  him  by 
wearing  his  apparel  neatly. 

First  Sold.  Well,  tliat's  set  down.  169 

Par.  Five  or  six  thousand  horse,  I  said, — I  will  say  true, 
—or  thereabouts,  set  down,  for  I'll  speak  truth. 

First  Lord,  He's  very  near  the  truth  in  this. 

Ber.  But  I  eon  him  no  thanks  for't,  in  the  nature  he  de- 
livers it. 

Par.  Poor  rogues,  I  pray  yon,  say. 

First  Sold.  Well,  that's  set  down. 

Par.  I  humbly  thank  you,  sir  :  a  truth's  a  truth,  the 
rogues  are  marvellous  po>r.  179 

First  Sold.  [BMds]  **  Demand  of  him,  of  what  strength 
they  are  afoot."    What  say  you  to  that? 

Par.  By  my  troth,  sir,  if  1  were  to  livfe  this  present  hour, 
I  will  tell  true.  Let  me  see  :  Spurio,  a  hundred  and  fifty  ; 
Sebastian,  so  many  ;  Commbus,  so  many  ;  Jaques,  so  many  ; 
Guiltian,  Cosmo,  Lodowick.  and  Gratii,  two  hundred  and 
fifty  each ;  mine  own  company,  Chitoplier,  Vanmond, 
Bentii,  4wo  hundred  and  fifty  eaoli :  so  that  the  muster  file, 
rotten  and  sound,  npon  my  life,  amounts  not  to  fifteen  thou- 
sand poll ;  half  of  tlie  which  dare  not  shake  the  snow  from 
off  their  cassocks,  lest  they  shake  themselves  to  pieces. 

Ber.  What  shall  be  done  to  him? 

F%rst  Lord.  Nothing,  but  let  him  have  thanks.  Demand 
of  him  my  condition,  and  what  credit  I  have  with  the  duke. 

First  Sold.  Well,  that's  mit  down.    [Reads]  "You  shall 


700       ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.         [act  iv. 

demand  of  liiiiK  %vlietUer  one  Captain  Diimain  bo  i'  tlie 
cainp,  a  Fri'ncliiuan  ;  wliat  his  reputation  is  with  the  duke  ; 
what  his  valour,  honesty,  and  expertness  in  wars;  or 
whether  he  thinks  it  were  not  possible,  with  well- weighing 
sums  of  gold,  to  cormpt  him  to  a  revolt."  What  say  you 
to  this  ?  what  do  you  inovr  of  it? 

Par.  I  beseech  you,  let  me  answer  to  the  particular  of 
the  inter'gatories :  demand  them  singly. 

Mrd  Sold.  l>o  you  know  this  Captain  Dumain  ?  210 

,PaY.  I  know  him  :  a'  was  a  botcher's  'prentice  in  Paris, 

from  whence  he  was  whipped  for  getting  the  shrieve's  fool 

with  child.—a  dumb  innocent,  thac  could  not  say  him  nay. 

Ber.  Nay,  by  your  leave,  hold  your  hands  ;  vhough  I 
know  his  brains  are  forfeit  to  the  next  tile  that  falls. 

Fir$t  SM.  W^ell,  is  this  captain  in  the  duke  of  Florence's 
camp?  ^ 

Par,  Upon  my  knowledge,  he  is,  and  lousy.  220 

FirH  Lt»rd.  Nay,  look  not  so  upon  me  ;  we  shall  hear  of 
your  lordship  anon. 

First  JSM.  What  is  his  reputation  with  the  duke  ? 

Par.  The  duke  knows  him  for  no  other  but  a  poor  officer 
of  mine  ;  and  writ  to  me  this  other  day  to  turn  iiim  out  o' 
the  band :  I  think  I  have  his  letter  in  my  pocket 

First  Sold.  Marry,  we'll  search.  229 

Par.  In  good  sadness,  I  do  not  know  ;  either  it  is  there, 
or  it  is  upon  a  file  with  the  duke's  other  letters  in  my  tent.. 

Fir^  Sold.  Here  'tis ;  here's  a  paper :  shall  1  read  it  to 
you? 

Par.  I  do  not  know  if  it  be  it  or  no. 

Ber.  Our  interpreter  does  it  well. 

Fir9t  Lord.  Excellently. 

First  Sold.  [Beads}  '*  Dian,  the  count's  a  fool»  and  full  of 
gold,"~ 

Par.  That  is  not  the  duke's  letter,  sir  ;  that  is  an  adver- 
tisement to  a  proper  maid  in  Florence,  one  Diana,  to  take 
heed  of  tlie  allurement  of  one  Count  BousUlon,  a  foolish 
idle  boy,  but  for  all  that  very  ruttish  :  I  pray  you,  sir,  put 
it  up  again. 

Mrst  Sold.  Nay,  I'll  read  it  first,  by  your  favour. 

Par.  My  meaning  in't,  I  protest,  was  very  honest  in  the 
behalf  of  the  maid ;  for  1  knew  the  young  count  to  be  a 
dangerous  and  lascivious  boy,  who  is  a  wlude  to  virginity 
and  devours  up  all  the  fry  it  finds.  250 

Ber.  Damnable  both-sldes  rogue  1 

Mrst  Sold.  [Beads]  "  Wlien  he  swears  oaths,  Ud  him 
drop  gold,  and  take  it ; 
After  he  scores,  he  never  pays  the  score  : 


8CENE  ni.]    ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        701 

Half  won  is  matcli  well  made  ;  match,  and  well  make  it ; 
He  ne*er  pars  after-debts,  take  it  before  ; 

And  saj  a  soldier,  Dian,  told  thee  this. 

Men  are  to  mell  with,  boy^  are  no*  to  kiss : 

For  count  of  this,  the  count's  a  fool,  I  know  it. 

Who  pays  before,  bat  not  when  he  does  owe  it. 

Thine,  as  he  vowed  to  tliee  in  thine  ear,  280 

Parolijrs." 

Ber.  He  shall  be  whipped  through  the  army  with  this 
rhyme  in's  forehead. 

8ec.  Lord,  This  is  yoar  devoted  friend,  sir,  the  manifold 
linguist  and  the  nrmipotent  soldier. 

Ber,  I  could  endure  anything  before  but  a  cat,  and  now 
he's  a  cat  to  me. 

FvrH  tiM,  I  perceive,  sir,  by  the  general's  looks,  we 
shall  be  fain  to  hang  you.  269 

Par,  My  life,  sir,  in  any  case :  not  that  I  am  afraid  to 
die ;  but  that,  my  o£Eences  being  many,  I  would  repent  out 
the  remainder  of  nature  :  let  me  live,  sir,  in  a  dungeon,  i' 
the  stocks,  or  any  where,  so  I  may  live. 

tH/nt  Sold.  We'll  see  what  may  be  done,  so  you  confess 
freely ;  therefore,  once  more  to  this  Captain  Dumain :  you 
luive' answered  to  his  reputation  with  the  duke  and  to  his 
valour  :  what  is  his  honesty  ?  279 

Par.  He  will  steal,  sir, an  egg  out  of  a  cloister :  for  rapes 
and  ravishments  he  parallels  Nessus  :  he  professes  not 
keeping  of  oatlis  ;  in  breaking  'eui  he  is  stronger  than  Her- 
cules :  he  will  lie,  sir,  with  such  volubility,  that  you  would 
think  truth  were  a  fool :  drunkenness  is  his  best  virtn<>, 
for  he  will  be  swine  drunk ;  and  in  his  sleep  he  does  little 
harm  save  to  his  bed-clothes  about  him  ;  but  they  know  his 
conditions  and  lay  him  in  straw.  I  have  but  little  more  t<j 
say,  sir,  of  his  honesty  :  he  has  every  thing  that  an  honest 
man  should  not  have  ;  what  an  honest  man  should  have,  ho 
has  nothing. 

Firit  Lord.  I  begin  to  love  him  for  this. 

Ber,  For  this  description  of  thine  honesty? 
A  pox  upon  him  for  me,  he's  more  and  more  a  cat. 

Mrtt  Sold.  What  say  you  to  his  expertness  in  war  ? 

Par.  Faith,  sir,  has  led  the  drum  before  the  English  tra. 
gedians  ;  to  belie  him,  I  will  not,  and  more  of  Ins  soldier- 
ship I  know  not ;  except,  in  that  country  he  had  the  honour 
to  be  the  officer  at  a  place  there  called  Mile -end,  to  instnicb 
for  the  doubling  of  files  :  I  would  do  the  man  what  honour 
I  can,  but  of  this  I  am  not  certain. 

Firit  Lard,  He  hath  out-villained  villany  so  far,  that  tho 
rarity  redeems  him. 


702       ALL'fl  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        [act  it. 

Ber.  A  pox  on  liim,  he's  a  cat  still. 

First  SM.  His  qualities  being  at  this  poor  price,  I  need 
not  to  ask  you  if  gold  nil!  corrupt  liim  to  revolt.  310 

Par.  Sir,  for  a  quart  d'ecu  he  will  sell  the  fee-simple  of 

liis  salvation,  the  inheritance  of  it ;  and  cut  tlie  entail  from 

all  remainders,  and  a  perpetual  succession  for  it  perpetually. 

.  First  SM.  Wiiat'sliis  brother,  the  other  Captain  Dumain? 

Sec.  Lord.  Why  does  he  ask  him  of  me  ? 

First  Sold.  Wliat'she? 

Par.  E*en  a  crow  o'  the  same  ne&t ;  not  altogether  sn 
great  as  the  first  in  goodness,  but  greater  a  preat  deal  in 
evil :  he  excels  his  brother  for  a  coward,  yet  his  brother  is 
reputed  one  of  the  best  that  is  :  in  a  retreat  )te  outruns  any 
lackey  ;  marry,  in  coming  on  he  has  the  cramp. 

Firit  Sold.  If  your  life  be  saved,  will  you  undertake  to 
betray  the  Florentine  f 

Par.  Ay,  and  the  captaiir  of  his  horse,  Coant  Bousillon. 

FLrd  Sold.  Ill  whisper  with  the  general,  and  know  his 
pleasure.  830 

Par.  [Aside]  I'll  no  more  dramming ;  a  plague  of  all 
drums  !  Only  to  /seem  to  deserve  well,  and  to  l^guile  the 
supposition  of  tliat  lascivious  young  boy  the  count,  have  I 
run  into  this  danger.  Yet  who  would  have  suspected  an 
ambush  where  I  was  taken  ? 

First  Sold.  There  is  no  remedy,  sir,  but  you  must  die  : 
the  general  says,  you  that  have  so  traitorously  discovered 
the  secrets  of  your  army  and  made  such  pestiferous  reports 
of  men  very  nobly  held,  can  serve  the  world  for  no  honest 
use  ;  therefore  you  must  die.  Come,  headsman,  off  with 
his  head. 

Par.  O  Lord,  sir,  let  me  live,  or  let  me  see  ray  death  ! 

First  Sold.  That  shall  you,  and  take  your  leave  of  all  your 
friends.  [  UMinding  lUm. 

So,  look  about  you  :  know  you  any  here  ? 

Ber.  Good  morrow,  noble  captain. 

See.  Lord.  God  bless  you.  Captain  ParoUes.  850 

First  Lord.  God  saveVou,  noble  captain. 

See.  Lord.  Captain,  wliat  greeting  will  you  to  my  Lord 
Laf eu  ?    I  am  for  France. 

Mrst  Lord.  Good  captain,  will  you  givo  mo  a  copy  of  tho 
sonnet  you  writ  to  Diana  in  behalf  of  the  Count  llouslUon  ? 
an  I  were  not  a  very  coward,  I'ld  compel  it  of  you  :  but  fare 
yon  well.  [ExeutU  Bertram  and  Lords. 

First  Sold.  You  are  undone,  captain,  all  but  your  scarf  ; 
that  lias  a  knot  on't  yet. 

Par.  Who  cannot  be  crashed  with  a  plot  I  860 

First  Sold.  If  you  could  find  out  a  country  where  bat 


BCEKB  IV.]     ALL'S  "WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        708 

women  were  that  had  received  so  much  shame,  yon 
might  begin  an  impudent  nation.  Fare  ye  well,  sir  ;  I  am 
for  France  too  :  we  shall  speak  of  you  there. 

[Exity  with  soldien. 
Par.  Yet  am  I  thankful :  if  mv  heart  were  great, 
Twouid  burst  at  this.     Captain,  rJl  be  no  more  ; 
Bat  I  will  eat  and  drink,  and  sleep  as  soft 
As  captain  shall  :  simply  the  thing  I  am 
Shall  make  me  live.     Who  knows  himself  a  braggart,    370 
Let  him  fear  this,  for  it  will  come  to  pass 
That  every  braggart  shall  be  found  an  ass. 
Rust,  sword  !  cool,  blushes  !  and,  Parolles,  live 
Safest  in  shame  I  being  fool'd,  by  foolery  thrive  I 
There's  place  and  means  for  every  man  alive. 
111  after  them.  [Exit. 

BCEKE  IV.    Florence.'    TJie  Widow's  hoxiM. 

Enter  Helena,  Widow,  and  Diana. 

Hel.  That  you  may  well  perceive  I  have  not  wrong'd  you. 
One  of  the  greatest  in  the  Cliristian  worM 
Shall  be  my  surety  ;  'fore  whose  throne  'tis  needful. 
Ere  I  can  perfect  mine  intents,  to  kneel  "i 
Time  was,  I  did  him  a  desired  office. 
Dear  almost  as  his  life ;  which  gratitude 
Tlirougli  flinty  Tartar's  bosom  would  peep  forth. 
And  answer,  thanks  :  I  duly  am  inform'd 
His  fi^race  is  at  Marseilles  :  to  which  place 
We  have  convenient  convoy.     You  must  know,  10 

I  am  supposed  dead :  the  army  breaking, 
My  husband  hies  him  home  ;  where,  heaven  aiding. 
And  by  the  leave  of  my  good  lord  the  king. 
We'll  be  before  our  welcome. 

Wid.  Gentle  madam. 

You  never  had  a  servant  to  whose  trust 
Your  business  was  more  welcome. 

Ilel.  Nor  you,  mistress. 

Ever  a  friend  whose  thoughts  more  truly  labour 
To  recompense  your  love  :  doubt  not  but  heaven 
Uath  brought  me  up  to  be  your  daughter's  dower. 
As  it  hatli  fated  her  to  be  my  motive  20 

And  helper  to  a  husband.     But,  O  strange  men  I 
That  can  such  sweet  use  make  of  what  tliey  hate. 
When  saucy  trusting  of  the  cozen'd  thoughts 
Defiles  the  pitchy  night :  so  lust  doth  play 
With  wliat  it  loathes  for  that  which  is  away. 
But  more  of  this  hereafter.    You,  Diana, 


704       ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.         [act  it. 

Under  my  poor  instructions  yet  most  suffer 
Something  in  mj  belialf. 

J}ia.    •  Let  death  and  honesty 

Go  with  your  impositions,  I  am  3'ours 
Upon  your  will  to  suffer. 

Hcl.  Yet,  I  pray  you  :  80 

But  with  the  word  the  time  will  bring  on  summer, 
Wlien  briers  shall  have  leaves  as  well  as  thorns, 
And  bo  as  sweet  as  sharp.     We  must  away  ; 
Our  waggon  is  prepared,  and  time  revives  us  : 
All's  well  that  ends  well  :  siill  t!;e  fine's  the  crown  ; 
Whatever  the  course,  the  end  is  the  renown.  [ExeunL 

Scene  V.    RoutiUon.     The  Count's  palate. 

Enter  Countess,  Lapeu,  and  Clown. 

Ijof.  No,  no,  no,  your  son  was  misled  with  a  snipt-taffeta 
fellow  there,  whose  villanous  saffron  would  have  made  all 
the  unbaked  and  doughy  youth  of  a  nation  in  his  colour : 
your  daughter-in-law  had  been  alive  at  this  hour,  and  your 
son  here  at  home,  more  advanced  by  the  king  than  by  that 
red-tailed  liumble-bee  I  speak  of. 

Count.  I  would  I  had  not  known  him  ;  it  was  the  death 
of  the  most  virtuous  gentlewoman  that  ever  nature  liad 
praise  for  creating.  If  she  had  partaken  of  my  flesh,  and 
cost  me  the  dearest  groans  of  a  mother,  I  could  not  have 
owed  her  a  more  rooted  love. 

Laf.  'Twas  a  good  lady,  'twas  a  good  lady  :  we  may  jAck 
a  thousand  salads  ere  we  light  on  such  another  herb. 

Clo.  Indeed,  sir,  she  was  the  sweet  marjoram  of  the  salad, 
or  rather,  the  herb  of  grace. 

Laf,  They  are  not  herbs,  you  knave ;  they  are  nose-herbs. 

Glo.  .Fm  no  great  Nebuchadnezzar,  sir  ;  I  have  not  much 
skill  in  ^rass. 

Laf.  Whether  dost  thou  profess  thysel  f ,  a  knave  or  a  fool  ? 

Clo.  A  fool,  sir,  at  a  woman's  service,  and  a  knave  at  a 
man's. 

Laf.  Your  distinction  ? 

Clo^  I  would  cozen  the  man  of  his  wife  and  do  his  service. 

Laf.  So  you  were  a  knave  at  his  service,  indeed.  81 

Clo.  And  I  would  give  his  wife  my  bauble,  sir,  to  do  her 
service. 

Laf.  I  will  subscribe  for  thee,  thou  art  both  knave  and 
fool. 

Clo.  At  your  service. 

JjOf,  No,  no,  no. 


SCBNR  v.]     ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        705 

Clo.  Wliy,  gir,  If  I  cannot  serve  you,  I  can  serve  as  great 
a  prince  as  yon  arc. 

Xa/.  Wlio's  that?  a  Frenchman?  40 

Clo,  Faith,  sir,  a'  has  an  English  name ;  but  his  llsnomy 
is  more  hotter  in  France  than  there. 

Laf.  What  prince  is  that? 

Clo,  The  black  prince,  sir  ;  alias,  the  prince  of  darkness  ; 
alias,  the  devil. 

Laf.  Hold  thee,  there's  my  purse  :  I  give  thee  not  this  to 
suggest  thee  from  thy  master  thou  talkest  of  ;  serve  him 
still. 

Clo.  I  am  a  woodland  fellow,  sir,  that  always  loved  a 
^reat  fire  ;  and  the  master  I  speak  of  ever  keeps  a  good  fire. 
Sut,  sure,  be  is  the  prince  of  the  world  ;  let  his  nobility  re- 
main in's  court.  I  am  for  the  house  with  the  narrow  gate, 
whicli  I  tiJce  to  be  too  little  for  pomp  to  enter  :  some  that 
humble  themselves  may  ;  but  the  many  will  be  too  chill  and 
tender,  and  they'll  be  for  the  flowery  way  that  leads  to  the 
broad  gate  and  the  great  fire. 

Laf.  Go  thy  ways,  I  begin  to  be  aweary  of  thee  ;  and  I 
tell  thee  so  before,  because  I  wbuld  not  fall  out  with  Chee. 
Go  thy  ways  :  let  my  horses  be  well  looked  to,  without  any 
tricks. 

Clo.  If  I  put  any  tricks  upon  'em,  sir,  they  shall  be  jades' 
tricks  ;  which  are  their  own  right  by  the  law  of  nature. 

[ExU, 

Laf.  A  shrewd  knave  and  an  unhappy. 

Count.  So  he  is.  My  lord  tliat's  gone  made  himself  much 
sport  out  of  him  :  by  his  authority  he  remains  here,  which 
he  thinks  is  a  patent  for  his  sauciness  ;  and,  indeed,  he  has 
no  pace,  but  runs  where  he  will.  71 

Laf  I  like  him  well  ;  'tis  not  amiss.  And  I  was  about 
to  tell  you,  since  I  heard  of  the  good  lady's  death  and  that 
my  lord  your  son  was  upon  his  return  home,  I  moved  the 
king  my  master  to  speak  in  tbe  behalf  of  my  daughter ; 
which,  in  the  minority  of  them  both,  his  majesty,  out  of  a 
self -gracious  remembrance,  did  first  propose:  his  highness 
hath  promised  me  to  do  it  :  and,  to  stop  up  the  displeasure 
he  hath  conceived  against  yonr  son,  there  is  no  fitter  mat- 
ter.    How  does  your  ladyship  like  it  ? 

Count.  With  very  much  content,  my  lord  ;  and  I  %vish  it 
happily  effected. 

Laf.  His  highness  comes  post  from  Marseilles,  of  as  able 
body  as  when  he  numbered  thirty  :  he  will  be  here  to-mor- 
row, or  I  am  deceived  by  him  that  in  such  intelligence  hath 
eeldom  failed. 

CcufU.  It  rejoices  me,  that  I  hope  I  shall  see  him  ere  I 
BHAX«  I. — 28 


■00 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.  [act  v. 


dio.  I  liavo  letters  tlmt  my  son  will  Ix)  here  to-ni^lit :  I 
shall  beseech  your  lordship  to  remain  with  me  till  they 
meet  together. 

Laf.  Madam,  I  was  thinking  with  wliat  manners  I  might 
safely  bo  admitted. 

Count.  You  need  but  plead  your  honourable  privilege. 
'    Laf.  Lady,  of  that  I  have  made  a  bold  charter ;  but  I 
^  thank  my  God  it  holds  yet. 

^  Re-enter  Clown. 

Clo.  0  madam,  yonder's  my  lord  your  sou  with  a  patch  of 
velvet  on's  face  :  whether  there  be  a  scar  under't  or  no,  the 
velvet  knows ;  but  'tis  a  goodly  patch  of  velvet :  his  left 
cheek  is  a  cheek  of  two  pile  and  a  half,  but  his  right  cheek 
is  worn  bare. 

Laf.  A  scar  nobly  got,  or  a  noble  scar,  is  a  good  livery  of 
honour  ;  so  belike  is  that. 

Clo.  But  it  is  your  carbonadoed  face. 

Laf.  Let  us  go  see  your  son,  I  pray  you  :  I  long  to  talk 
with  the  young  noble  soldier.  109 

Clo.  Faith,  tliere's  a  dozen  of  'em,  with  delicate  fine  hats 
and  most  courteous  feathers,  which  bow  the  head  and  nod 
at  every  man.  [Exeunt, 

ACT  V. 

Scene  L    MaruiUeM.    A  stre^. 

Enter  Helena,  Widow,  and  Diana,  v>Uh  ttoo  Attendants. 

Ilel.  But  this  exceeding  posting  day  and  night 
Must  wear  your  spirits  low  ;  we  cannot  help  it : 
But  since  you  have  made  the  days  and  nights  as  one. 
To  wear  your  gentle  limbs  in  my  affairs, 
Be  bold  you  do  so  grow  in  my  requital 
As  nothing  can  unroot  you.     In  happy  time ; 

Enter  a  Gentleman. 

This  nuin  may  help  me  to  his  majesty's  ear. 

If  he  would  spend  his  i)ower.     God  save  you,  sir. 

Oent.  And  you. 

IM.  Sir,  I  have  seen  you  in  the  court  of  France.  10 

Oent.  I  have  been  sometimes  tliere. 

Ilel.  I  do  presume,  sir,  that  you  are  not  fallen 
From  the  report  that  goes  upon  your  goodness ; 
And  therefore,  goaded  with  most  sharp  occasioiis, 
W^hich  lay  nice  manners  by,  I  put  you  to 
The  use  of  your  own  virtues,  for  the  which 


BCKKB  n.]     ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        707 

I  shall  continae  thankf  al. 

Oent,  What's  your  will  ? 

Ilel.  That  it  will  please  you 
To  give  this  poor  petiflon  to  the  king, 
And  aid  me  with  that  store  of  power  you  have  20 

To  come  into  his  presence. 

OerU.  The  king's  not  here. 

ffel.  Not  here,  sir  ! 

Gent  Not,  indeed : 

lie  hence  removed  last  night  and  with  more  haste 
Than  is  his  use. 

Wid.  Lord,  how  we  lose  our  pains  I 

Hel,  All's  well  that  ends  well  yet, 
Though  time  seem  so  adverse  and  means  unfit. 
I  do  beseech  you,  whither  is  he  f^one  t 

Gent.  Marry,  as  I  take  it,  to  Rousillon  ; 
Whither  I  am  going. 

HeL  I  do  beseech  yon,  sir. 

Since  you  are  like  to  see  the  king  before  me,  80 

Commend  the  paper  to  his  gracious  hand. 
Which  I  presume  shall  renoer  you  no  blame 
But  rather  make  you  thank  your  pains  for  it. 
I  will  come  after  you  with  what  good  speed 
Our  means  will  make  us  means. 

GetU.  Tliis  I'll  do  for  you. 

Hel.  And  you  sholl  find  yourself  to  be  well  thank'd, 
Whate'er  falls  more.     We  must  to  horse  again. 
^Oi  go»  provide.  [Exeu7iL 

Scene  II.    liounllon.    Before  ilie  Count's  palace. 

Enter  Clown,  and  Parolles,  following. 

Par.  Good  Monsieur  Lavache,  give  my  Lord  Lafeu  tliis 
letter  :  I  have  ere  now,  sir,  been  better  kiioWn  to  you,  when 
I  have*held  familiarity  with  fresher  clothes  ;  but  I  am  now, 
sir,  muddied  in  fortune's  mood,  and  smell  somewhat  strong 
of  her  strong  displeasure. 

Clo,  Truly,  fortune's  displeasure  is  but  sluttish,  if  it  smell 
80  strongly  as  thou  speakest  of :  I  will  henceforth  eat  no 
fish  of  fortune's  buttering.     Prithee,  allow  the  wind. 

Par.  Nay,  you  need  not  td  stop  your  nose,  sir  ;  I  spoke 
but  by  a  metaphor. 

Clo,  Indeed,  sir,  if  your  metaphor  stink,  I  will  stop  my 
nose  ;  or  against  any  man's  metaphor.  Prithee,  get  thee 
further. 

Par.  Pray  you,  sir,  deliver  me  this  paper. 


708        ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.  [act  t. 

Clo.  Foil  I  prithee,  stand  away  r  a  paper  from  foitnne's 
e1o3G-stool  to  give  to  a  nobleman  I  Look,  here  he  comes 
himself.  19 

Enter  Lafeu. 

Here  is  a  purr  of  fortune's,  sir,  or  of  fortune's  cat, — ^but  not 
a  musk-cat, — that  has  fallen  into  the  unclean  fishpond  of 
her  displeasure,  and,  as  he  sajs,  is  muddied  withal :  pray 
jon,  sir,  use  the  carp  as  you  may  ;  for  he  looks  liketi  poor, 
decayed,  ingenious,  foolish,  rascally  knave.  I  do  pity  liis 
distress  in  my  similes  of  comfort  and  leave  him  to  your 
lordship.  [Exit, 

Par.  My  lord,  I  am  a  man  whom  fortune  hath  cruelly 
scratched.  29 

Laf,  And  what  would  you  have  me  to  do  ?  Tis  too  la  e 
to  pare  her  nails  now.  Wherein  have  you  played  the  knavo 
with  fortune,  that  she  should  scratch  you,  who  of  herself 
is  a  good  lady  and  would  not  have  knaves  thrive  long  under 
her?  There's  a  quart  d'  ecu  for  you  :  let  the  justices  make 
you  and  fortune  friends  :  I  am  for  other  businese. 

Par.  I  beseech  your  honour  to  hear  me  one  single  word. 

Laf,  You  beg  a  single  penny  more  :  come^  you  shall  ha*t ; 
save  your  word.  40 

Par.  My  name,  my  good  lord,  is  Parolles. 

Laf.  You  beg  more  than  **word,"  then.  Cox  my  pas- 
sion !  give  me  your  hand.     How  does  your  drum? 

Par.  O  my  good  lord,  yon  were  the  first  that  found  me  ! 

Laf.  Was  I,  in  sooth  ?  and  I  was  the  first  that  lost  thee. 

Par.  It  lies  in  you,  my  lord,  to  bring  me  in  some  grace, 
for  you  did  bring  me  out.  50 

L(tf.  Out  upon  thee,  knave  I  dost  thou  put  upon  me  at 
once  both  the  office  of  God  and  the  devil  ?  One  brings  theo 
in  grace  and  the  other  brings  thee  out.  [TYumpets  sound.] 
Tlie  king's  coming  ;  I  know  by  his  trumpets.  Sirrah,  in- 
quire further  after  me  ;  I  had  talk  of  you  last  night :  though 
you  are  a  fool  and  a  knave,  yon  shall  eat ;  go  to>  follow. 

Par.  I  praise  Qod  for  you.  [JBxeunt. 

ScEaTE  III.    EonsilUm.     The  Count's  pdlaee. 

tlouruJi.    Enter  King,  Countess,  Lafeu,  tlie  ttoo  French 

Lords,  xoUh  Attendants. 

King.  Wo  lost  a  jewel  of  her  ;  and  our  esteem 
Was  made  mucli  poorer  by  it  :  but  your  son^ 
As  mad  in  folly,  lack'd  the  sense  to  know 
Her  estimation  home. 

Count.  'Tis  past,  my  liege ; 


SCBSTfi  III.1    AhVQ  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        709 

And  I  beseech  your  majesty  to  make  it 
Natural  rebellion,  done  i'  the  blaze  of  youth  ; 
When  oil  and  iire,  too  strong  for  reason's  force, 
O'erbears  it  and  burns  on. 

Kinff.  My  honoured  lady, 

I  have  forgiven  and  forgotten  all ; 
Though  my  revenges  were  high  bent  upon  him, 
And  watch'd  the  time  to  shoot.  10 

Laf.  This  I  must  say. 

But  first  I  beg  my  pardon,  the  youne  lord 
Did  to  his  majesty,  his  mother  and  his  lady 
Offence  of  mighty  note  ;  but  to  himself 
The  greatest  wrong  of  all.     He  lost  a  wife 
Wliose  beauty  did  astonish  the  survey 
Of  richest  eyes,  whose  words  all  ears  took  captive, 
Whose  dear  perfection  hearts  that  scom'd  to  serve 
Humbly  caird  mistress. 

Kin(/.  Praising  what  is  lost    . 

Makes  the  remembrance  dear.     Well,  call  him  hither ;     20 
We  are  reconciled,  and  the  first  riew  shall  kill 
All  repetition :  let  him  not  ask  our  pardon ; 
The  nature  of  his  great  offence  is  dead. 
And  deeper  than  oblivion  we  do  bury 
The  incensing  relics  of  it :  let  him  approadK, 
A  stranger,  no  offender ;  and  inform  him 
So  'tis  our  will  he  should. 

Gent.  I  shall,  my  liege.  [Bat, 

King.  What  says  he  to  your  daughter  ?  have  vou  spoke  ? 

Laf.  All  that  he  is  hath  reference  to  your  highness. 

King.  Then  shall  we  have  a  match.   I  have  letters  sent  me 
That  set  him  high  in  fame. 

Enter  Bertram. 

Laf.  He  looks  well  onH. 

King.  I  am  not  a  day  of  season, 
For  thou  mayst  see  a  sunshine  and  a  haSl 
In  me  at  once :  but  to  the  brightest  beams 
Distracted  clouds  give  way  ;  so  stand  thou  forth  ; 
The  time  is  fair  again. 

Bcr.  My  high-repented  blames» 

Dear  sovereign,  pardon  to  me. 

King.  All  is  whole ; 

Not  one  word  more  of  the  consumed  time. 
Let's  take  the  instant  by  the  forward  top  ; 
For  wo  are  old,  and  on  our  quick'st  degrees  40 

The  inaudible  and  noiseless  foot  of  Time 
Steals  ere  wo  can  affect  them.     You  remember 


710       ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.;         [act  t. 

Tlie  daughter  of  this  lord  ? 

Ber,  Admiringly,  my  liege,  at  first 
I  stuck  my  choice  upon  her,  ere  my  heart 
Durst  make  too  bold  a  herald  of  my  tongue 
Where  the  impression  of  mine  eye  infixing, 
Contempt  his  scornful  perspective  did  lend  me. 
Which  warp*d  the  line  of  every  other  favour ; 
Scom'd  a  fair  colour  or  expressed  it  stolen  ;  50 

Extended  or  contracted  all  proportions 
To  a  most  hideous  object :  thence  it  came      ^ 
That  she  whom  all  men  praised  and  whom  myself. 
Since  I  have  lost,  have  loved,  was  in  mine  eye 
The  dust  that  did  offend  it. 

King.  Well  excused : 

That  thou  didst  love  her,  strikes  some  scores  away 
From  the  great  compt :  but  love  that  comes  too  late, 
Like  a  remorseful  pardon  slowly  carried. 
To  the  great  sender  turns  a  sour  offence, 
Crying,  "  That's  good  that's  gone."    Our  rash  faults         60 
Make  trivial  price  of  serious  things  we  have. 
Not  knowing  them  until  we  know  their  grave  : 
Oft  our  displeasures,  to  ourselves  unjust, 
Destroy  our  friends  and  after  weep  their  dust : 
fOiir  own  love  waking  cries  to  see  what's  done. 
While  shame  full  late  sleeps  out  the  afternoon. 
Be  this  sweet  Helen's  knell,  and  now  forget  her. 
Send  forth  your  amorous  token  for  fair  Maudlin  : 
The  main  consents  are  had  ;  and  here  we'll  stay 
To  see  our  widower's  second  marriage-day.  70 

Count.  Which  better  than  the  first,  O  dear  heaven  bless  ! 
Or,  ere  they  meeet,  in  me,  O  nature,  cesse  I 

Laf.  Come  on,  my  son,  in  whom  my  house's  name 
Must  be  digested,  give  a  favour  from  you 
To  sparkle  in  the  spirits  of  my  daughter, 
That  she  may  quiAly  come.     [Bttram  gives  a  ring.]    By 

my  old  beard. 
And  every  hair  that's  on't,  Helen,  that's  dead. 
Was  a  sweet  creature  :  such  a  ring  as  this, 
The  last  that  e'er  I  took  her  leave  at  court, 
I  saw  upon  her  finger. 

Ber.  Hera  it  was  not.  80 

King.  Now,  pray  you,  let  me  see  it ;  for  mine  eye. 
While  I  was  speaking,  oft  was-  fasten'd  to't 
This  ring  was  mine  ;  and,  when  I  gave  it  Helen, 
I  bade  her,  if  her  fortunes  ever  st<XKl 
Necessitied  to  help,  that  by  this  token 
I  would  relieve  her.     Had  you  that  craft,  to  reave  her 


flCfEOT  in.]    ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        711 

Of  wliat  should  stead  lier  most  ? 

Bcr,  My  gracious  sovereign, 

However  it  pleases  you  to  take  it  so, 
Tlie  ring  was  never  hers. 

Count,  Son.  on  my  life, 

I  have  seen  her  wear  it ;  and  she  reckoned  it  90 

At  her  life's  rate. 

Laf.  I  am  sure  1  saw  her  wear  it. 

Ber.  You  are  deceived,  my  lord  ;  she  never  saw  it : 
In  Florence  was  it  from  a  casement  thrown  me, 
Wrapp'd  in  a  paper,  which  contained  the  name 
Of  her  that  threw  it :  noble  she  was,  and  thought 
I  stood  engaged  :  hut  when  I  had  subscribed 
'J'o  mine  own  fortune  and  informed  her  fully 
I  could  not  answer  in  that  course  of  honour 
As  she  had  made  the  overture,  slie  ceased  100 

In  heavy  satisfaction  and  would  never 
Receive  the  ring  again. 

King.  Plutus  himself. 

That  knows  the  tinct  and  multiplying  meQicine, 
Hath  not  in  nature's  mystery  more  science 
Than  I  have  in  this  ring  :  'twas  mine,  Hwas  Helen's^ 
Whoever  gave  it  you.     Then,  if  you  know 
That  you  are  well  acquainted  with  yourself. 
Confess  'twas  hers,  and  by  what  rough  enforcement 
You  got  it  from  her  :  she  call'd  the  saints  to  surety 
That  she  would  never  put  it  from  her  finger. 
Unless  she  gave  it  to  yourself  in  bed,  110 

Where  you  liave  never  come,  or  sent  it  us 
Upon  her  great  disaster. 

Ber.  She  never  saw  it. 

King.  Thou  speak'st  it 'falsely,  as  I  love  mine  honour ; 
And  makest  conjectural  fears  to  come  into  me, 
Which  I  would  fain  shut  out.     If  it  should  provo 
Tliat  thou  art  so  inhuman, — 'twill  not  prove  so  ; — 
And  yet  I  know  not :  thou  didst  hate  her  deadly, 
And  she  is  dead  ;  which  nothing,  but  to  close 
Her  eyes  myself,  could  win  me  to  believe. 
More  than  to  see  this  ring.     Take  him  away.  120 

[Guards  seize  Bertram, 
My  fore-past  proofs,  howe'er  the  matter  fall. 
Shall  tax  my  fears  of  little  vanity. 
Having  vainly  feor'd  too  little.     Away  with  him  1 
We'll  sift  this  matter  further. 

Ber.  If  you  shall  provo 

This  ring  was  ever  hers,  you  shall  as  easy 
Prove  that  I  husbanded  her  bed  in  Florence, 
Where  yet  she  never  was.  [Exit  guarded. 


713        ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.  [act  t. 

King,  I  am  wrapped  in  dismal  tliinkiiigsi. 

Enter  a  Gentleman. 

Oent  Gracious  sovereign, 

Whether  I  have  been  to  blame  or  no,  I  know  not : 
Here's  a  petition  from  a  Florentine,  130 

Who  hath  for  four  or  five  removes  come  short 
To  tender  it  herself.     I  undertook  it. 
Vanquish 'd  thereto  by  the  fair  grace  and  speech 
Of  the  poor  suppliant,  who  by  this  I  know 
Is  here  attending  :  her  business  looks  in  her 
With  an  importing  visage  ;  and  she  told  me, 
In  a  sweet  verbal  brief,  it  did  concern 
Your  highness  with  herself. 

Kina,  [Readit\  Upon  his  many  protestations  to  marrv  me 
when  his  wife  was  dead,  I  blush  to  say  it,  he  won  me.  Now 
is  the  Count  Bousillon  a  widower  :  his  vows  are  forfeited 
to  me,  and  my  honour's  paid  to  him.  He  stole  from  Flor- 
ence, taking  no  leave,  and  I  follow  him  to  his  country  for 
justice  :  grant  it  me,  0  king  1  in  you  it  best  lies  ;  otherwise 
a  seducer  flourishes,  and  a  poor  maid  is  undone. 

Diana  Capilet. 

Laf.  I  will  buy  me  a  son-in-law  in  a  fair,  and  toll  for 
this  :  I'll  none  of  him. 

King.  The  heavens  have  thought  well  on  thee,  Lafeu, 
To  bring  forth  this  discovery.     Seek  these  suitors  :         151 
Go  speedily  and  bring  again  the  count. 
I  am  afeard  the  life  of  Helen,  lady, 
Was  foully  snatch'd. 

Count,  Now,  justice  on  the  doers  I 

He-enter  Bebtbak,  guarded. 

King,  I  wonder,  sir,  sith  wives  are  monsters  to  you. 
And  that  you  fly  them  as  you  swear  them  lordship. 
Yet  you  desire  to  marry. 

Enter  Widow  and  Diana. 

What  woman's  that? 

Dia,  I  am,  my  lord,  a  wretched  Florentine, 
Derived  from  the  ancient  Capilet : 

My  suit,  as  I  do  understand,  you  know,  160 

And  therefore  know  how  far  I  may  be  pitied. 

Wid.  I  am  her  mother,  sir,  whose  age  and  honour 
Botli  suffer  under  this  complaint  we  bruiff. 
And  both  shall  cease,  without  your  remedy. 

King,  Come  hither,  count ;  do  you  know  these  women  Y 

Ber.  My  lord,  I  neither  can  nor  will  deny 
But  that  I  know  them :  do  tliey  charge  me  farther  ? 


8CENB  in.]    ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        713 

Dia.  Why  do  70U  look  so  strange  upon  your  wife  ? 

Ber.  She's  none  of  mine,  my  lord. 

IHa,  If  you  sliall  marry, 

You  give  away  this  hand,  and  that  is  mine  ;  170 

You  give  away  heaven'^  vows,  and  those  are  mine ; 
You  give  away  myself,  which  is  known  mine  ; 
For  I  by  vow  am  so  embodied  yours, 
That  she  which  marrien  yon  must  marry  me, 
Either  both  or  none. 

Laf.  Your  reputation  comes  too  sho^  for  my  daoghter ; 
you  are  no  husband  for  her. 

Ber.  My  lord,  this  is  a  fond  and  desperate  creature, 
Wliom  sometime  I  have  laugh'd  with  :  let  your  highness 
Lay  a  more  noble  thought  upon  mine  honour  180 

Than  for  to  think  that  I  would  sink  it  here. 

King,  Sir,  for  my  thoughts,  you  have  them  ill  to  friend 
Till  your  deeds  gain  them  :  fairer  prove  your  honour 
Than  in  my  thought  it  lies. 

Dia.  Good  my  lord. 

Ask  liim  upon  his  oath,  if  he  do6s  tliink 
Ho  liad  not  my  virginitv. 

King.  What  sayest  thou  to  her  ? 

Ber,  She's  impudent,  my  lord, 

And  was  a  common  gamester  to  the  camp. 

Dia.  He  does  me  wrong,  my  lord ;  if  I  were  so, 
Hb  might  have  bought  me  at  a  common  price  : 
Do  not  believe  him.     O,  behold  this  ring. 
Whose  Iiigh  respect  and  rich  validity 
Did  lack  a  parallel ;  yet  for  all  that 
He  gave  it  to  a  commoner  o'  the  camp. 
If  1  be  one. 

Count,  He  blushes,  and  'tis  it : 
Of  sis  preceding  ancestors,  that  gem, 
Conferr'd  by  testament  to  the  sequent  issue. 
Hath  it  been  owed  and  worn.     This  is  his  wife  ; 
Til  at  ring^s  a  thousand  proofs. 

King.  Methought  you  said 

You  saw  one  here  in  court  could  witness  it.  dOO 

Din.  I  did,  my  lord,  but  loath  am  to  produce 
So  bad  an  instrument :  his  name's  Parolles. 

Laf,  I  saw  the  man  to-day,  if  man  he  be. 

King,  Find  him,  and  bring  hiin  hither. 

[Exit  an  Attendant, 

Ber.  What  of  him  ? 

He's  quoted  for  a  most  perfidious  slave. 
With  all  the  spots  o'  the  world  tax'd  and  debofrh'd; 
Whose  nature  sickens  but  to  speak  a  truth. 


714       ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.  [act  t. 

Am  I  or  tliat  or  this  for  wliat  he'll  utter. 
That  will  speak  anj  thing  7 

King.  She  hath  that  rinfi"  of  jours. 

Ber,  I  think  she  has  :  certain  it  is  I  liked  her,  210 

And  hoarded  her  i"  the  wanton  wa/  of  youth  : 
She  knew  her  distance  and  did  angle  for  me. 
Madding  my  eagerness  with  her  restraint. 
As  all  impediments  in  fancy's  course 
Are  motives  of  more  fancy  ;  and,  in  fine, 
Her  infinite  cunning,  with  her  modem  grace. 
Subdued  me  to  her  rate  :  she  got  the  ring ; 
And  1  had  that  which  any  inferior  might 
At  market-price  have  bought. 

Dia.  I  must  be  patient  * 

You,  that  liave  tum'd  off  a  first  so  noble  wife,  220 

May  justly  diet  me.     I  pray  you  yet ; 
Since  you  lack  virtue,  I  will  lose  a  husband  ; 
Send  for  your  ring,  I  will  return  it  home. 
And  give  me  mine  again. 

Ber.  I  have  it  not. 

King.  What  ring  was  yours,  I  pray  you  ? 

Dia.  '      Sir,  much  like 

The  same  upon  your  finger. 

King.  Know  you  this  ring  ?  this  ring  was  his  of  late. 

Dia,  And  this  was  it  1  gave  him,  bemg  abed. 

King.  The  story  then  goes  false,  you  threw  it  him 
Out  of  a  casement. 

Dia.  I  have  spoken  the  truth.  280 

£hUer  Parolles. 

Ber.  My  lord,  I  do  confess  the  ring  was  hers. 

King.  You  boggle  shrewdly,  every  feather  starts  you. 
Is  this  the  man  you  speak  of  ? 

Dia.  Ay,  my  lord. 

King.  Tell  me,  sirrah,  but  tell  me  true,  I  charge  you, 
Not  fearing  the  displeasure  of  your  master, 
Which  on  your  just  proceeding  I'll  keep  off. 
By  him  and  by  this  woman  here  what  know  you  ? 

Par.  So  please  your  majesty,  my  master  hath  been  an 
honourable  gentleman  :  tricks  he  hath  had  in  him,  which 
gentlemen  have.  240 

King.  Come,  come  to  the  purpose :  did  he  love  this  wo- 
man? 

Par.  Faith,  sir,  lie  did  love  her ;  but  how  ? 

King.  How,  I  prav  you  ? 

Par.  He  did  love  her,  sir,  as  a  gentleman  loves  a  woman. 

King.  How  is  that  ? 


SCENE  III.]    ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        715 

Par.  He  loved  her,  sir,  and  loved  lier^not. 

King.  As  thou  art  a  knave,  and  no  knave.  What  an 
equivocal  companion  is  this  I  250 

Par.  I  am  a  poor  man.  and  at  your  majesty's  command. 

Laf.  He's  a  ffood  drum,  my  lord,  but  a  naughty  orator. 

Dia.  Do  you  Know  he  promised  me  marringe  i 

Par.  Faith,  I  know  more  tlian  Fll  speak. 

King.  But  wilt  thou  not  speak  all  thou  knnwest  ? 

Par.  Yes,  so  please  your  majesty.  I  did  go  between 
them,  as  I  said  ;  but  more  than  that,  he  loved  her :  for  in- 
deed he  was  mad  for  her,  and  talked  of  Satan  and  of  Limbo 
and  of  Furies  and  I  know  not  what :  yet  I  was  in  that  credit 
with  them  at  that  time  that  I  knew  of  their  going  to  bed, 
and  of  other  motions,  as  promising  her  marriage,  and  things 
which  would  derive  mo  ill  will  to  speak  of ;  therefore  I 
will  not  speak  what  I  know. 

Kiiig.  Thou  hast  spoken  all  already,  nnless  thou  canst 
say  they  are  married  :  but  thou  art  too  fine  In  thy  evidetice; 
therefore  stand  aside.  270 

This  ring,  you  say,  was  yours? 

Dia.       '  Ay,  my  good  lord. 

King.  Wliere  did  you  buy  it  ?  or  who  gave  it  you  ? 

Dia.  It  was  not  given  me,  nor  I  dil  not  buy  it. 

King.  Who  lent  it  you? 

Dia.  It  was  not  lent  me  neither. 

King.  Where  did  you  find  it,  then  ? 

Dia.  I  found  it  not. 

Kii\g.  If  it  were  yours  by  none  of  all  these  ways, 
How  could  you  g^ve  it  him  ? 

Dia.  I  never  gave  it  him. 

Laf.  This  woman's  an  easy  glove,  my  lord  ;  she  goes  off 
and  on  at  pleasure. 

King.  This  ring  was  mine ;  I  gave  it  his  first  wife.      880 

Dia.  It  miglit  be  yours  or  hers,  for  aught  I  know. 

King.  Take  her  away  ;  I  do  not  like  her  now  ; 
To  prison  with  her :  and  away  with  him. 
Unless  thou  tell'st  me  where  thou  hadst  this  ring. 
Thou  diest  within  this  hour. 

Dia.  Fll  never  tell  you. 

King.  Take  her  away. 

Dia,  I'll  put  in  bail,  my  liege. 

King    I  think  thee  now  some  common  customer. 

Dia.  By  Jove,  if  ever  I  knew  man,  'twas  you. 

King.  Wherefore  hast  thou  accused  him  all  this  while? 

Dia.  Because  he's  guilty,  and  he  is  not  guilty  :  290 

He  knows  I  am  no  maid,  and  he'll  swear  to't ; 
I'll  swear  I  am  a  maid,  and  he  knows  not. 


716        ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.  [act  v. 

Great  king,  I  am  no  strumpet,  by  mj  lire  ; 
I  am  either  maid,  or  else  this  old  man's  wife. 

King.  She  does  abuse  our  ears  :  to  prison  with  her. 

Dia.  Good  mother,  fetch  my  bail.     Stay,  royal  sir : 

[ExU  Widow. 
The  ieweller  that  owes  the  ring  is  sent  for, 
And  he  shall  surety  me.     But  for  this  lord. 
Who  hath  abused  me,  as  he  knows  himself, 
Tliough  yet  he  never  harm'd  me,  here  I  quit  him  :  800 

He  knows  himself  my  bed  lie  hath  defiled  ; 
And  at  that  time  he  got  his  wife  with  chijd  : 
Dead  though  she  be,  she  feels  her  young  one  kick  : 
So  there's  ray  riddle  :  one  that's  dead  is  quick  : 
And  now  behold  the  meaning. 

Be-enter  Widow,  with  Helena. 

King,  Is  there  no  exorcist 

Beguiles  the  truer  office  of  mine  eyes  ? 
Is't  real  that  I  see  ? 

Hd.  No,  my  good  lord  ; 

Tis  but  the  shadow  of  a  wife  you  see, 
The  name  and  not  the  thing. 

Ber,  Both,  both.     O,  pardon  1 

Hd.  O  my  good  lord,  when  I  was  like  this  maid,         810 
I  found  you  wondrous  kind.    There  is  your  ring ; 
And,  look  you,  here's  your  letter  ;  tliis  it  says  : 
**  When  from  my  finger  you  can  get  this  ring 
And  are  by  me  with  child,"  &e.     This  is  done  : 
Will  you  be  mine,  now  you  are  doubly  won  ? 

Ber.  If  she,  my  liege,  can  make  me  know  this  clearly, 
ril  love  her  dearly,  ever,  ever  dearly. 

ffd.  If  it  appear  not  plain  and  prove  untrue, 
Deadly  divorce  step  between  me  and  you  ! 
0  my  dear  mother,  do  I  see  you  living  ?  8d0 

Laf.  Mine  eyes  smell  onions  ;  I  shall  weep  anon  : 
To  ParoUes]  Good  Tom  Drum,  lend  me  ahandkercher  :  so, 

thank  thee :  wait  on  me  home,  PI  I  make  s]x>rt  with  thee  : 
Let  thy  courtesies  alone,  they  are  scui'vy  ones. 

King,  Let  us  from  point  to  point  this  story  know, 
To  make  the  oven  truth  in  pleasure  flow. 
[To  JDiana]  If  thou  be'st  yet  a  fresh  uncropped  flower. 
Choose  thou  thy  husband,  and  Til  pay  thy  dower  ; 
For  I  can  guess' that  by  thy  honest  aid 
Thou  kept*st  a  wife  herself,  thyself  a  maid.  880 

Of  that  and  all  the  progress,  more  or  less. 
Resolvedly  more  leisure  shall  express  : 
All  yet  seems  well  ;  and  if  it  end  so  meet, 
Tlie  bitter  past,  more  welcome  is  the  sweet.  [Ffinirish. 


[ 


8C-ENE  III.]    ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        717 

EPILOGUE. 

King.  The  lung's  a  beggar,  now  the  play  is  done : 
All  is  well  ended,  if  this  suit  be  won. 
That  you  express  content ;  which  we  will  pay, 
With  strife  lo  please  you,  day  exceeding  day : 
Ours  be  your  patience  then,  and  yours  our  parts  ; 
Your  gentle  hands  lend  us,  and  take  our  hearts.      {Exeunt 


TWELFTH  NIGHT; 

OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 

Obsino,  Duke  of  lUyria.  Maltouo,  steward  to  OllTiA. 

Sebabtian,  brother  to  Viola.  Fabiaw  I      aeryanta  to 

^"^^^^J^  «»  captatn.  friend  to  p^^j^  ;  do^  \        oiivia. 

Sebastian.  ^        ' 

A  Sea  Captain.  Wend  lo  Viola.  Olivia. 

Valsmtinb,  t  gentlemen  attending  l/*^;  ^„  .  ,       

CuBxo,         f      on  the  Duke.  Mama,  Olivia's  woman. 

Sir  Tobt  Bxlob,  nncle  to  Olivia.       Lords,  Priests,  Sailors,    Officers, 
Sm  Andrsw  AftUXCHEKK.  Hnsidans,  and  other  Attendants. 

Scene  :  A  city  in  lUyria,  and  the  ica-eocut  near  it. 

ACT  L 

Scene  I.     T?ie  Duke*8  palace. 

Enter  Duke,  Curio,  and  oilier  Lords ;  Musicians,  a<<«A<f4n^. 

Duke.  If  music  be  the  food  of  love,  play  on  : 
Give  me  excess  of  it,  that,  surfeiting, 
The  appetite  may  sicken,  und  so  die.    - 
That  strain! again  ij  it  hadja  dyl^ig  fall  i 
O,  it  came  o'er  my 'ear  likp  the-^weet  aoond, 
Tliat  breathes  upon  a  bank  of  violets,  -   v 
Stealing  and  giving  odour  1    Enough  ;  no  more  :  "  ^ 
'Tis  not  so  sweet  now  as  it  was  before. 
O  spirit  of  love  !  how  quick  and  fresh  art  thou, 
That,  notwithstanding  thy  capacity  10 

Kecei  veth  as  the  sea.  nought  enters  there, 
Of  what  validity  and  pitch  soe'er. 
But  falls  into  abatement  and  low  price. 
Even  in  a  minute  :  so  full  of  .shapes. is  fancy 
That  it  alone  is  high  fantastical. 

Cur.  Will  you  go  hunt,  my  lord  ? 

Duke.  What,  Curio  ? 

(718) 


SCENE  II.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  .     719 

Cur.  Tlieliart. 

Duke,  Why,  so  I  do,  the  noblest  that  I  have  : 
O,  when  mine  eyes  did  see  Olivia  first, 
Methoaght  she  purged  the  air  of  pestilence  I  20 

That  instant  was  I  tum'd  into  a  hart ; 
A'nd  my  desires,  like  fell  and  cruel  hounds. 
E'er  since  pursue  me. 

Enter  Valentine. 

How  now  I  what  news  from  her? 

Vol.  So  please  my  lord,  I  might  not  be  admitted  ; 
But  from  her  handmaid  do  return  this  answer  ' 
The  element  itself,  till  seven  years*  heat, 
Sliall  not  behold  iier  face  at  ample  view  ; 
But,  like  a  cloistress,  slie  will  veiled  widk 
And  water  once  a  day  her  cliamber  round 
With  eye-offending  brine  :  all  this  to  season  30 

A  brother's  dead  love,  which  she  would  keep  fresh 
And  lasting  in  her  sad  remembrance. 

Duke,  O,  she  that  hath  a  heart  of  that  fine  frame 
To  pay  this  debt  of  love  but  to  a  brother, 
How  will  she  love,  when  the  rich  golden  shaft 
Hath  kill'd  the  flock  of  all  affections  else 
That  live  in  her ;  when  liver,  brain  and  heart. 
These  sovereign  thrones,  are  all  supnlied,  and  fiU'd 
Her  sweet  perfections  with  one  self  king  1 
Away  before  me  to  sweet  beds  of  flowers  :  40 

Love-thoughts  lie  rich  when  canopied  with  bowers.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  IT.     TTie  eea-eoast. 

Enter  Viola,  a  Captain,  afid  Sailors. 

Vio.  What  country,  friends,  is  this? 

Cap,  This  is  Illyria,  ladv. 

Vio.  And  what  should  I  do  in  Hlyria? 
My  brother  he  is  in  Elysium. 
Ferchance  he  is  not  drown'd  :  what  think  you,  sailors? 

Cap.  It  is  perchance  that  you  yourself  were  saved. 

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

Cap.  True,  madam  :  and,  to  comfort  you  with  chance, 
Assure  yourself,  after  our  ship  did  split. 
When  you  and  those  poor  number  saved  with  you  10 

Hung  on  our  driving  ooat,  I  saw  yonr  brother, 
Most  provident  in  peril,  bind  himself. 
Courage  and  hope  both  teaching  him  the  practice. 
To  a  strong  mast  that  lived  upon  the  sea  ; 
Where,  like  Arion  on  the  dolphin's  back, 


TW  TWELFTH  NIGHT ;  [act  i. 

I  saw  him  liold  acqaaintance  with  the  wares 
So  long  as  I  coald  see. 

Vio.  For  saying  so,  there's  gold  : 
?<Iine  own  escape  unfoldeth  to  my  hope. 
Whereto  thy  speech  serves  for  authority,  20 

The  like  of  him.     Know'st  thou  this  country  ? 

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

Vio.  Who  ffovems  here  ? 

Cap.  A  noble  duke,  in  nature  as  in  name. 

Vio.  What  is  his  name  1 

Cap.  Orsino. 

Vio.  Orsino  !    I  have  heard  my  father  name  him  : 
Ho  was  a  baclielor  then. 

Cap.  And  so  is  now,  or  was  so  very  late ;  ZQ 

For  but  a  month  ago  I  went  from  hence 
And  then  'twas  fresh  in  murmur, — ^as,  you  know, 
Wiiat  great  ones  do  the  less  will  prattle  of, — 
That  he  did  seek  the  love  of  fair  Olivia. 

Vio.  What's  shot 

Cap.  A  virtuous  maid,  the  daughter  of  a  count 
That  died  some  twelvemonth  since,  then  leaving  her 
In  the  protection  of  his  son,  her  brother. 
Who  shortly  also  died  :  for  whose  dear  love. 
They  say,  she  hath  abjured  the  company  40 

And  sigiit  of  men. 

Vio.  0  that  I  served  that  lady 

And  might  not  be  delivered  to  the  world. 
Till  I  had  made  mine  own  occasion  mellow, 
What  my  estate  is  ! 

Cap.  That  were  hard  to  compass  ; 

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

Vio.  There  is  a  fair  behaviour  in  thee,  captain  ; 
And  though  that  nature  with  a  beauteous  wall 
Doth  oft  close  in  pollution,  yet  of  thee 
I  will  believe  thou  hast  a  mind  that  suits  90 

With  this  thy  fair  and  outward  character. 
I  prithee,  and  I'll  pay  thee  bounteou.sly. 
Conceal  mo  what  I  am,  and  be  mv  aid 
For  such  disguise  as  haply  shall  become 
The  form  of  my  intent.     I'll  serve  this  duke  : 
Thou  shalt  present  me  as  an  eunuch  to  him  : 
It  may  be  worth  thy  pains  ;  for  I  can  sing 
And  speak  to  him  in  many  sorts  of  music 
That  will  allow  me  very  worth  his  service. 
What  else  may  hap  to  time  I  will  commit ;  60 


BCFOTSiii.]        OB,   WHAT  YOU  WILL.  721 

Only  shape  thou  thy  silence  to  mj  wit. 

dap.  Be  yoa  his  eunuch,  and  your  mate  V\l  be  : 
Wlien  my  ton^ae  blal)s,  then  let  mine  eyes  not  see. 

Vio,  I  thank  thee  :  lead  me  on.  [Exeunt, 

Scene  III.    Oliyia'b  luntse. 

Enter  Sir  Toby  Belch  and  Maria. 

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

Mar.  By  my  troth.  Sir  Toby,  you  must  come  in  earlier  o' 
niglits :  your  cousin,  my  lady,  takes  great  exceptions  to  your 
ill  hours. 

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

Afar.  Ay,  but  yoa  most  confine  yourself  within  the  mod- 
est limits  of  order.  9 

Sir  7o.  Confine  I  111  confine  myself  no  finer  than  I  am  : 
the.se  clothes  are  good  enough  to  drink  in  ;  and  so  be  these 
boots  too:  an  they  be  not,  let  them  hang  themselves  in 
their  own  straps. 

Mar.  That  quaffing  and  drinking  will  undo  you  :  I  heard 
my  lady  talk  of  it  yesterday  ;  and  of  a  foolish  knight  that 
you  brought  in  one  nig-ht  here  to  be  her  wooer. 

Sir  To.  Who,  Sir  Andrew  AguecheekY 

Mar.  Ay,  he. 

Sir  To.  He's  as  tall  a  man  as  any's  in  Illjrria.  20 

Mar.  Wliat's  that  to  the  purpose  ? 

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

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

Sir  To.  Fie,  that  you'll  say  so  I  he  plays  o*  the  viol-de- 
gamboys,  and  speaks  three  or  four  languages  word  for  word 
without  book,  and  hath  all  the  good  gifts  of  nature.         29 

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

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

Mar.  Tliey  that  add,  moreover,  he's  drunk  nightly  in 
your  company.  39 

Sir  To.  With  drinking  healtlis  to  my  niece  :  I'll  drink  to 
her  as  long  as  there  is  a  passage  in  my  throat  and  drink  in 
Illyria :  he's  a  coward  and  a  ooystrill  that  will  not  drink  to 
my  niece  till  his  brains  turn  o'  the  toe  like  a  parish-top. 


T23  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  [actl 

What,  wench  !    Castiliano  vulgo  I  for  here  comes  Sir  An- 
drew Agueface. 

JEnter  Sik  Andrew  Aoubchkek. 

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

tSir  To.  Sweet  Sir  Andrew  1 

Sir  And.  Bless  you,  fair  shrew.  50 

Mdr.  And  you  too,  sir. 

Sir  To.  Accost,  Sir  Andrew,  accost. 

Sir  And.  What's  that?  ^ 

Sir  To.  Mv  niece's  chambermaid. 

■ 

Sir  And.  Qood  Mistress  Accost,  I  desire  better  acquaint- 
ance. 

Mar.  My  name  is  Mary,  sir. 

Sir  And.  Good  Mistress  Mary  Accost, — 

Sir  To.  You  mistake,  knight:  "accost"  is  front  hep, 
board  her,  woo  her,  assail  her.  00 

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

Mar.  Fare  you  well,  gentlemen. 

Sir  To.  An  thou  let  part  so,  Sir  Andrew,  would  thou 
mi^htst  never  draw  sword  again. 

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

Mar.  Sir,  I  have  not  you  by  the  hand.  70 

jSi>  A^^'  Marry,  but  you  shall  have ;  and  here's  my 
hand. 

Mar.  Now,  sir,  ''thought  is  free;"  I  pray  you,  bring 
your  hand  to  the  buttery-bar  and  let  it  drink. 

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

Mar.  It's  dry,  sir. 

Sir  And.  Why,  I  think  so  :  I  am  not  such  an  ass  but  I 
can  keep  my  hand  dry.     But  what's  your  jest  ?  80 

Mar.  k  dry  jest,  sir. 
.  Sir  And,  Are  you  full  of  them  ? 

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

Sir  To.  O  knight,  thou  lackest  a  cup  of  canary  :  when 
did  I  see  thee  so  put  down  ? 

Sir  And^  Never  in  your  life,  I  think ;  unless  you  see 
Cflnary  put  me  down.  Methlnks  sometimes  I  have  no  more 
wit  than  a  Christian  or  an  ordinary  man  has  :  but  I  am  a 
great  eater  of  beef  and  I  believe  that  does  hann  to  my 
wit.  91 

Sir  To*  No  questioa. 


BCKNEiii.]  OR,    WHAT   YOU   WILL.  728 

8ir  And.  An  I  thouglit  that,  I  'Id  forswear  it.  Til  ride 
home  to-morrow,  Sir  Toby. 

Sir  To,  Poiirqaoi,  my  dear  knight? 

Sir  And.  What  is  **  poarquoi "  ?  do  or  not  do  ?  I  would  I 
had  bestowed  that  time  in  the  tongues  that  I  have  in  fenc- 
ing, dancing  and  bear-bating :  O,  had  I  but  fcUowed  the 
arts!  100 

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

Sir  Ai}d.  Wliy,  would  that  have  mended  my  hair? 

Sir  2^0,  Past  question  ;  for  thou  seest  it  will  not  curl  by 
nature. 

Sir  And,  But  it  becomes  mo  well  enough,  does't  not  ? 

Sir  To,  Excellent ;  it  hangs  like  flax  on  a  distaff  ;  and  I 
hope  to  see  a  housewife  take  thee  between  her  legs  ai^ 
spin  it  off.  110 

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

Sir  To,  She'll  none  o'  the  count :  she'll  not  match  above 
her  degree,  neither  in  estate,  years,  nor  wit ;  I  have  heard 
her  swear't.     Tut,  there's  life  in't,  man. 

Sir  And.  I'll  stay  a  month  longer.  I  am  a  fellow  o'  the 
strangest  mind  i'  the  world ;  I  delight  in  masques  and 
revels  sometimes  altogether.  121 

Sir  To.  Art  thou  good  at  these  kickshawses,  knight  ? 

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

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

Sir  And.  Faith,  I  can  cut  a  caper. 

Sir  To.  And  I  can  cut  the  mutton  to 't.  130 

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

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

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

Sir  To.  Wliat  shall  we  do  else  ?  were  we  not  bom  under 
Taurus? 

Sir  And.  Taurus  1    That's  sides  and  heart. 

Sir  To,  No,  sir ;  it  is  legs  and  thighs.  Let  me  see  theo 
caper  :  ha  I  higher  ;  ha,  ha  I  excellent !  [Ex/nint.    151 


724  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  [act  L 

Scene  IV.     Ihe  Dukb's  palace. 

Enter  Valentine,  and  Viola  in  marCe  attire. 

Vol.  If  the  duke  continue  these  favours  towards  vou, 
Cesano,  you  are  like  to  be  much  advanced  :  he  hath  knowu 
you  but  three  days,  and  already  you  are  no  stranger. 

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

Vnl.  No,  believe  me. 

Vio.  I  thank  you.    Here  comes  the  count. 

Enter  Duke,  Curio,  and  Attendants. 

Duke.  Who  saw  Cesario,  ho  ?  10 

Vio.  On  your  attendance,  my  lord  ;  here 

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

Vio.  Sure,  my  noble  lord, 

If  she  be  so  abandoned  to  her  sorrow 
As  it  is  spoke,  she  never  will  admit  me.  90 

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

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

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

Vio.  1  think  not  so,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Dear  lad,  believe  it ; 

For  they  shall  yet  beUe  thy  happy  years,  80 

That  say  thou  art  a  man  :  Diana's  lip 
Is  not  more  smooth  and  rubious  ;  thy  small  pipe 
Is  as  the  maiden's  organ,  shrill  and  sound. 
And  all  is  seniblative  a  woman's  pan. 
I  know  thy  constellation  is  right  apt 
For  this  affair.     Some  four  or  five  attend  him  ; 
All,  if  you  will ;  for  I  myself  am  best 
When  least  in  company.    Prosper  well  in  this, 
And  thou  shalt  live  as  freely  as  thy  lord, 
To  call  his  fortunes  thine. 


SCENE  v.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL.  725 

Vio.  ru  do  mj  best  40 

To  woo  your  lady  :  [A»ids]  yet,  a  barful  strife  ! 
Whoe'er  I  woo,  myself  would  be  his  wife.  [IkeutU. 

ScsNS  y.    Oliyia'e  Junue. 

Enter  Maria  and  Clown. 

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

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

Mar.  Make  that  good. 

Clo,  He  shall  see  none  to  fear. 

Mar,  A  good  lenten  answer  :  I  can  tell  thee  where  that 
saying  was  born,  of  *'  I  fear  no  colours."  10 

Clo.   Where,  good  Mistress  Mary  ? 

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

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

Mar,  Yet  you  will  be  hanged  for  being  so  long  absent ; 
or,  to  be  turned  away,  is  not  that  as  good  aa  a  hanging  to 
you  ?  10 

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

Mar,  You  are  resolute,  then  ? 

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

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

Clo,  Apt,  in  jjood  faith  ;  very  apt.  Well,  go  thy  way ;  if 
Sir  Toby  would  leave  drinking,  thou  wert  as  witty  a  piece 
of  Eve's  flesh  as  any  in  Illyria.  81 

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

Clo,  Wit,  an't  be  thy  will,  put  me  into  good  fooling ! 
Those  wits,  that  think  they  have  thee,  do  very  oft  prove 
fools  ;  and  I,  that  am  sure  I  lack  thee,  may  pass  for  a  wise 
man :  for  what  says  Quinapalus  ?  "  Better  a  witty  fool 
than  a  foolish  wit.'^  40 

Enter  Lady  Olivia  with  Malyouo. 

God  bless  thee,  lady  1 

(Hi.  Take  the  fool  away. 

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

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


726  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  [acti. 

Clo.  Two  faults,  madonna,  that  drink  and  good  counsel 
will  amend :  for  give  the  dry  fool  drink,  then  is  the  fool 
not  dry  :  bid  the  dishonest  man  mend  himself  ;  if  he  mend, 
he  is  no  longer  dishonest ;  if  he  cannot,  let  the  botcher 
mend  him.  Any  thing  that's  mended  is  but  patched  *  vii  tuo 
that  transgresses  is  but  patched  with  sin  ;  and  sin  that 
amends  is  but  patched  with  virtue.  If  that  this  simple 
syllogism  will  serve,  so  ;  if  it  will  not,  what  remedy  ?  As 
tliere  is  no  true  cuckold  but  calamity,  so  beauty's  a  flower. 
The  lady  bode  take  away  the  fool ;  therefore,  I  say  again, 
take  her  away. 

OH.  Sir,  I  bade  them  take  away  you.  (>0 

Clo.  Misprision  in  the  highest  degree !  Lady,  cucuUus 
nou  facit  monachnm  ;  that's  as  much  to  say  as  I  wear  not 
motley  in  my  brain.  Good  madonna,  give  me  leave  to  prove 
you  a  fool. 

on.  Can  vou  do  it? 

Clo.  Dexteriously,  good  madonna. 

Oli.  Make  your  proof. 

Clo.  I  must  catechize  you  for  it,  madonna :  good  my 
mouse  of  virtue,  answer  me. 

OH.  Well,  sir,  for  want  of  other  idleness,  I'll  bide  your 
proof.  .  '    71 

Clo.  Good  madonna,  why  mournest  thou  ? 

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

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

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

do.  The  more  fool,  madonna,  to  mourn  for  your  brother's 
Boul  bein^  in  heaven.     Take  away  the  fool,  gentlemen. 

Oli.  What  think  you  of  this  fool,  Malvolio  ?  doth  he  not 
mend?  80 

Mai.  Tes,  and  shall  do  till  the  pangs  of  death  shake 
him  :  infirmity,  that  decays  the  wise,  doth  ever  make  tho 
better  fool. 

Clo.  God  send  you,  sir.  a  speedy  infirmity,  for  the  better 
increasing  your  folly  I  Sir  Toby  will  be  sworn  that  I  am  no 
fox  ;  but  he  will  not  pass  his  word  for  twopence  that  yoa 
are  no  fool. 

OH.  How  say  you  to  that,  Malvolio  ? 

Mai.  I  marvel  your  lordship  takes  delight  in  such  a  bar- 
ren rascal :  I  saw  him  put  down  the  other  day  with  an  or- 
dinary fool  that  iias  no  more  brain  than  a  stone.  Look  you 
now,  he's  out  of  his  guard  already  ;  unless  you  laugh  and 
minister  occasion  to  him,  he  is  gagged.  I  protest,  I  tako 
these  wise  men,  that  crow  so  at  these  set  kind  of  fools,  no 
better  than  the  fools'  zanies. 

OIL  O,  you  are  sick  of  selMove,  Malvolio,  and  taste  with 


BCBNEV.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL.  727 

a  distempered  appetite.  To  be  generous,  gniltless  and  of 
free  dispNQsition,  is  to  take  those  tilings  for  bird-bolts  that 
you  deem  cannon-bullets  :  there  is  no  slander  in  an  allowed 
fool,  though  he  do  nothing  but  rail  ;  nor  no  railing  in  a 
known  discreet  man,  thon^  he  do  nothing  but  reprove. 

Clo.  Now  Mercury  endue  thee  with  leasing,  for  thou 
speakest  well  of  fools  I 

Re- enter  Mabia. 

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

OU.  From  the  Count  Orsino,  is  it  ? 

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

OH.  Who  of  my  people  hold  him  in  delay  ? 

Mar.  Sir  Toby,  madam,  your  kinsman. 

(Hi.  Fetch  him  off,  I  pray  you  ;  he  speaks  nothing  but 
madman  ;  lie  on  him  !  yEini  Maria.'\  Go,  you,  Malvolio  * 
if  it  be  a  suit  from  the  count,  I  am  sick,  or  not  at  home  ; 
what  you  will,  to  dismiss  it.  [Exit  Malvolio.']  Now  you 
see.  sir,  how  your  fooling  grows  old,  and  people  dislike  it. 

Clo.  Thou  hast  spoke  for  us,  madonna,  as  if  thy  eldest 
son  should  be  a  fool ;  whose  skull  Jove  cram  with  brains  1 
for, — here  he  comes, — one  of  thy  kin  has  a  most  weak  pia 
mater. 

Enter  Sir  Tobt. 

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

Sir  To.  A  gentleman. 

Oli.  A  gentleman  I  what  gentleman  ? 

Sir  To.  'Tis  a  gentleman  here— a  plague  o*  these  pickle- 
herring  1    How  now,  sot  1 

Clo,  (iood  Sir  Toby  I  130 

Oli.  C'ousiu,  cousin,  how  have  you  come  so  early  by  this 
letliargv  ? 

Sir  io.  Lechery  I  I  defy  lechery.  There's  one  at  the 
gate. 

Oli.  Ay,  marry,  what  is  he  ? 

Sir  To.  Let  liim  be  the  devil,  an  he  will,  I  care  not :  give 
me  faith,  say  I.     Well,  it's  all  one.  \Eac^. 

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

Clo.  Like  a  drowned  man.  a  fool  and  a  mad  man  :  one 
draught  above  heat  makes  him  a  fool ;  the  second  mads 
him  ;  and  a  third  drowns  him. 

OIL  Go  thou  and  seek  the  ciowner,  and  let  him  sit  o'  my 


728  TWELFTH  NIGHT;  [ACTi. 

coz  ;  for  lie's  in  the  third  degree  of  drink,  he's  diowned  : 
go,  look  after  him. 

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

Re-enter  Malvouo. 

Mai.  Madam,  yond  Toung  fellow  swears  he  will  speak 
with  you.  I  told  hun  yon  were  sick  ;  he  takes  on  him  to 
understand  so  much,  and  therefore  comes  to  8p>eak  with 
YOU.  I  told  him  you  were  asleep  ;  he  seems  to  have  a  fore- 
knowledge of  that  too,  and  therefore  conies  to  speak  with 
you.  Wliat  is  to  be  said  to  him,  lady  ?  he's  fortified  against 
any  denial. 

OIL  Tell  him  he  shall  not  speak  with  me. 

Mai.  Has  been  told  so  ;  and  he  says,  he'll  stand  at  your 
door  like  a  sheriff's  post,  and  be  the  supporter  to  a  bench, 
but  he'll  speak  with  yon. 

OU.  What  kind  o'  man  is  he  ? 

Mai.  Why,  of  mankind.  160 

Oli.  What  manner  of  man  ? 

Mai.  Of  very  ill  manner ;  he'll  speak  with  you,  will  you 
or  na 

OU.  Of  what  personage  and  years  is  he  ? 

Mai.  Not  yet  old  enough  for  a  man,  nor  young  enough 
for  a  boy  ;  as  a  squash  is  before  'tis  a  peascod,  or  a  codling 
when  'tis  almost  an  apple  :  'tis  with  him  iu  standing  water, 
between  boy  and  man.  He  is  very  well-favoured  and  bo- 
speaks  very  shrewishly ;  one  would  think  his  mother's  milk 
were  scarce  out  of  him.  171 

OU.  Let  him  approach  :  call  In  my  gentlewoman. 

Mai,  Gentlewoman,  my  lady  calls.  [Exit. 

Re-enter  Makia. 

OU.  Give  me  my  veil  :  come,  throw  it  o'er  my  face. 
We'll  once  more  hear  Orsino's  embassy. 

Enter  Viola,  and  Attendants. 

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

OU.  Si">eak  to  me ;  I  .shall  answer  for  her.     Your  will  ?     • 

Vio.  Most  radiant,  exquisite  and  unmatchable  beauty, — I 

pray  you,  tell  me  if  this  be  the  lady  of  the  house,  for  I 

never  saw  her  :  I  would  be  loath  to  cast  away  my  speech, 

for  besides  that  it  is  excellently  well  penned,  I  have  taken 

great  pains  to  con  it.      Good  beauties,  let  me  sustain  no 

scorn  ;  I  am  very  comptible,  even  to  the  least  sinister  usage. 

OU.  Whence  came  you,  sir?  180 

Vio,  I  can  say  little  more  than  I  have  otadied,  and  that 


flCBNEV.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL.  72» 

question's  out  of  my  part.  Good  gentle  one,  give  me  mod- 
est assurance  if  you  be  the  lady  of  the  house,  tliat  I  may- 
proceed  in  my  s^^eech. 

OH.  Are  you  a  comedian  ? 

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

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

Vio.  Most  certain,  if  you  are  she,  yon  do  usurp  yourself ; 
for  what  is  yours  to  bestow  is  not  yours  to  reserve.  But 
this  is  from  my  commission  :  I  will  on  witli  my  speech  iu 
your  praise,  and  then  sliow  you  tho  heart  of  my  message. 

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

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

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

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

Vio.  No,  jffood  swabber  ;  I  am  to  hull  liero  a  little  longer. 
Some  moUincation  for  your  giant,  sweet  lady.  Tell  me 
your  mind :  I  am  a  messenger.  .  320 

01%.  Sure,  you  have  some  hideous  matter  to  deliver,  when 
the  courtesy  of  it  is  so  fearful.     Speak  your  office. 

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

(Hi.  Yet  you  began  rudely.  What  are  you  ?  what  would 
you?  329 

Vio.  The  rudeness  that  liath  appeared  in  me  have  I 
learned  from  my  entertainment.  What  I  am,  and  what  I 
would,  are  as  secret  as  maidenhead  ;  to  your  ears,  divinity, 
to  any  otiier's.  profanation. 

OU.  Give  us  the  place  alone  :  we  will  hear  this  divinity. 
[Exeunt  Maria  and  Attendants.]  Now,  sir,  what  is  your 
text? 

Vio.  Most  sweet  ladv, — 

OH.  A  comforti^ble  doctrine,  and  much  may  be  said  of  it. 
Wliere  lies  your  text  ?  240 

Vio.  In  Oraino's  bosom. 

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

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

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


7aO  TWELFTH  NIGHT  ;  [act  i. 

Vio,  Good  madam,  let  me  see  your  face. 

on.  Have  you  any  commission  from  your  lord  to  nego- 
tiate with  my  face?  You  are  now  out  of  your  text :  but 
we  will  draw  the  curtain  and  show  you  the  picture.  Look 
you,  sir,  such  a  one  I  was  this  present :  is't  not  well  done  ? 

[  Unveiling. 

Vio.  Excellently  done,  if  God  did  all. 

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

Vio.    Tis  beauty  truly  blent,  whose  red  and  white 
Nature's  own  sweet  and  cunning  hand  laid  on  : 
Lady,  you  are  the  cruell'sfc  she  alive, 

If  you  will  lead  these  graces  to  the  grave  260 

And  leave  tlie  world  no  copy. 

OH.  O,  sir,  I  will  not  be  so  hard-hearted  ;  I  will  five  out 
divers  schedules  of  my  beauty  :  it  shall  be  inyentoried,  and 
every  particle  and  utensil  lal^elled  to  my  will :  as,  item, 
two  lips,  indifferent  red  ;  item,  two  grey  eyes,  with  lidB  to 
them  ;  item,  one  neck,  one  chin,  and  so  forth.  Were  you 
sent  hither  to  praise  me  ? 

Vio.  I  see  you  what  you  are,  you  are  too  proud ; 
But,  if  you  were  the  devil,  you  are  fair.  270 

My  lord  and  master  loves  you  :  O,  such  love 
Could  be  but  recompensed,  though  you  were  crown'd 
The  nonpareil  of  beauty  I 

OH.  ^  IIow  does  he  love  me  ? 

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

OIL  Your  lord  does  know  my  mind  ;  I  cannot  love  him  : 
Yet  I  suppose  him  virtuous,  know  him  noble. 
Of  great  estate,  of  fresh  and  stainless  youth  ; 
In  voices  well  divulged,  free,  learn'd  and  valiant ; 
And  in  dimension  and  the  shape  of  nature  289 

A  gracious  person  :  but  yet  I  cannot  love  him  ; 
He  might  have  took  his  answer  long  ago. 

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

OH.  Why,  what  would  you  ? 

Vio.  Make  me  a  willow  cabin  at  your  gate. 
And  call  upon  my  soul  within  the  house  ;^ 
Write  loyal  cantons  of  contemned  love 
And  sing  them  loud  even  in  the  dead  of  night ;  290 

Halloo  your  name  to  the  reverberate  hills 
And  make  the  babbling  gossip  of  the  air 
Cry  out  "  Olivia  I "    O,  vou  slioald  not  rest 
Between  the  elements  of  air  and  earth. 


sciafEV.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL.  731 

But  jou. should  pity  me  I 

OU.  Tou  might  do  much. 

Wliat  is  your  parentage  ? 

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

OU.  Get  you  to  your  lord  ; 

I  cannot  love  him  :  let  him  send  no  more  ; 
Unless,  perchance,  you  come  to  me  again,  800 

To  tell  nie  how  he  takes  it.     Fare  you  well : 
I  thank  you  for  your  pains  :  spend  this  for  me. 

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

on.  ' '  What  is  your  parentage  ?  " 
**  Above  my  fortunes,  yet  wtf  state  Is  well : 
I  am  a  gentleman."     I'll  be  sworn  thou  art ;  810 

Thy  tongue,  thy  face,  thy  limbs,  actions  and  spirit. 
Do  give  thee  five-fold  blazon  :  not  too  fast :  soft,  soft  1 
Unless  the  master  were  the  man.     How  now  I 
Even  so  quickly  may  one  catch  the  plague  ? 
Methinks  I  feel  this  youth's  perfections 
With  an  invisible  and  subtle  stealth 
To  creep  in  at  mine  eyes.     WeU,  let  it  be. 
What  ho,  Malvolio  1 

JEU-enter  Malvolio. 

Mai,  Here,  madam,  at  your  service. 

Oii.  Run  after  that  same  peevish  messenger, 
The  county's  man  :  he  left  this  ring  behind  him,  820 

Would  I  or  not :  tell  him  I'll  none  of  it. 
Desire  him  not  to  flatter  with  his  .lord, 
Nor  hold  him  up  with  hopes ;  I  am  not  for  him 
If  that  the  youth  will  come  this  way  to-morrow, 
I'll  give  him  reasons  for't :  hie  thee,  Malvolio. 

Mai.  Madam,  I  will.  [Eni. 

Oli.  I  do  I  know  not  what,  and  fear  to  find 
Mine  eye  too  great  a  flatterer  for  my  mind. 
Fate,  show  thy  force  :  ourselves  we  do  not  owe  ; 
What  is  decreed  must  be,  and  be  this  so.  [ExU, 


783  TWELFTH  NI0HT ;  [actil 

ACT  IL 

ScEKE  I.     The  ua-cocai 

Enter  Antonio  a-nd  Sebastian. 

Ani,  Will  you  stay  no  longer  ?  nor  will  yon  not  that  I  go 
with  you  ? 

8^.  By  your  patience,  no.  My  stars  shine  darkly  oTer 
me  :  the  malignancy  of  my  fate  might  perhaps  distemper 
youra  ;  therefore  I  shall  crave  of  you  your  leave  that  I  may 
bear  my  evils  alone  :  it  were  a  bad  recompense  for  your  love, 
to  lay  any  of  them  on  you. 

ArU.  Let  me  yet  know  of  you  whither  you  are  bound.  10 

i8e6.  No,  sooth,  sir :  my  determiuate  voyage  is  mere  ex- 
travagancy. But  I  perceive  iik  you  so  excellent  a  touch  of 
modesty  that  you  will  not  extort  from  me  what  I  am  will- 
ing to  keep  in  ;  therefore  it  charges  me  in  manners  tho 
rather  to  express  myself.  You  must  know  of  me  then,  An- 
tonio, my  name  is  Sebastian,  which  I  called  Roderigo.  My 
father  was  that  Sebastian  of  Mcssaline,  whom  I  know  you 
have  heard  of.  He  left  behind  him  myself  and  a  sister,  both 
born  in  an  hour '.  if  the  heavens  had  been  pleased,  would 
we  had  so  ended  I  but  you,  sir,  altered  that ;  for  some  hour 
before  you  took  me  from  the  breach  of  the  sea  was  my  sis- 
ter drowned. 

AnX.  Alas  the  day  1 

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

Ant.  Pardon  me,  sir,  your  bad  entertainment. 

8^,  O  good  Antonio,  forgive  me  your  trouble. 

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

iS^^.  If  you  will  not  undo  what  you  have  done,  that  is, 
kill  him  whom  you  have  recovered,  desire  it  not  Fare  ye 
well  at  once  :  my  bosom  is  full  of  kindness,  and  I  am  yet 
so  near  the  manners  of  my  mother,  that  upon  the  least  oc- 
casion more  mine  eyes  will  tell  tales  of  me.  I  am  bound  to 
the  Count  Orsino's  court :  farewell.  \Ex\t* 

Ant.  The  gentleness  of  all  the  gods  go  with  thee  ! 
I  have  many  enemies  in  Orsino's  court. 


BCEiraii.]  OR,  WHAT  TOtJ  WILL.  788 

Elee  would  I  very  shortly  see  tbee  there. 
But,  come  what  may,  I  do  adore  thee  so, 
That  daoger  shall  seem  sport,  and  I  will  go.  [Exit.    49 

ScBNB  II.    A  street 

Enter  Viola,  "MiAi/vohio  foUomng, 

Mai,  Were  not  you  even  now  with  the  Countess  Olivia  ? 

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

Mai.  She  returns  this  ring  to  you,  sir  :  you  might  have 
saved  me  my  pains,  to  have  taken  it  away  yourself.  She 
adds,  moreover,  that  you  should  put  your  lord  into  a  des- 
perate assurance  she  will  none  of  iiim  :  and  one  thing  more, 
that  yon  be  never  so  hardy  to  come  again  in  his  aifairs,  un- 
less it  be  to  report  your  lord's  taking  of  this.  Receive  it 
so. 

Vio.  Shf»  took  the  ring  of  me  :  I'll  none  of  it. 

MrU.  Come,  sir,  you  peevishly  threw  it  to  her  ;  and  her 
will  is,  it  should  be  so  returned  :  if  it  be  worth  stooping  for, 
there  it  lies  in  your  eve  ;    if  not,  be  it  his  that  finds  it. 

[Exit. 

Vio.  I  left  no  ring  with  her  :  what  means  this  lady  ? 
Fortune  forbid  my  outside  have  not  charm'd  her  1 
She  made  good  view  of  me  ;  indeed,  so  maeh,       '  30 

Tliat  sure  methought  her  eyes  had  lost  her  tongue. 
For  she  did  speak  in  starts  distractedly. 
She  loves  me,  sure  ;  the  cunning  of  her  passion 
Invites  me  in  this  churlish  messenger. 
None  of  my  lord's  ring  !  why,  he  sent  her  none. 
I  am  the  man  :  if  it  be  so,  as  'tis, 
Poor  lady,  she  were  better  love  a  dream. 
Disi^uise,  I  see,  thou  art  a  wickedness. 
Wherein  the  pregnant  enemy  does  much. 
How  easy  is  it  for  the  pi*oper-false  80 

In  women's  waxen  hearts  to  set  their  forms ! 
Alas,  our  frailty  is  the  cause,  not  we  1 
For  such  as  we  are  made  of,  such  we  be. 
How  will  this  fadge  ?  my  master  loves  her  dearly ; 
And  I,  poor  monster,  fond  as  much  on  him  ; 
And  she,  mistaken,  seems  to  dote  on  me. 
What  will  become  of  this?    As  I  am  man. 
My  state  is  desperate  for  my  master's  love  ; 
As  I  am  woman, — now  alas  the  day  ! — 
What  thriftless  sighs  shall  poor  Olivia  breathe  1  40 

O  time  1  thou  must  untangle  this,  not  I ; 
It  is  too  hard  a  knot  for  me  to  untie  1  [Exit. 


784  TWELFTH  NIGHT;  [act n. 

ScEiTE  IIL    Olivia's  houm. 

Enter  Sir  Tobt  and  Sm  Andreiv. 

Sir  To,  Approach,  Sir  Andrew  :  not  to  be  a-bed  after 
mid-nigbt  is  to  be  up  betimes;  and  "diluculo  surgere," 
tbou  know'st, — 

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

Sir  To.  A  false  conclusion  :  I  hate  it  as  an  unfilled  can. 
To  be  up  after  intdniglit  and  to  go  to  bed  then,  is  early  :  so 
that  to  go  to  bed  after  midnight  is  to  go  to  bed  betimes. 
Does  not  our  life  consist  of  the  four  elements?  10 

S'T  And.  Faith,  so  they  say ;  but  I  think  it  rather  con- 
sists of  eating  and  drinking. 

Sir  To.  Thoii'rt  a  scholar ;  let  us  therefore  eat  and  drink. 
Marian,  I  say  !  a  stoup  of  wine  ! 

Enter  Clown. 

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

Clo.  How  now,  my  liearts  !  did  you  never  see  the  picture 
of  "we  three?" 

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

Sir  And.  Bv  mv  troth,  the  fool  has  an  excellent  breast.  I 
had  rather  than  forty  shillings  I  had  such  a  leg,  and  so 
sweet  a  breath  to  sing,  as  the  fool  has.  In  sooth,  Uiou  wast 
in  very  gracious  fooling  last  night,  when  thou  sjwkest  of 
Pigrogroraitua,  of  the  Vapians  passing  the  equinoctial  of 
Queubus  :  'twas  very  good,  i'  faith.  I  sent  thee  sixpence 
for  thy  leman  :  hadst  it  ? 

Clo.  I  did  impetioos  thy  gratillity  ;  for  Malvolio's  nose  is 
no  whipstock  :  my  lady  has  a  white  hand,  and  the  Myrmi- 
dons are  no  bottle-ale  houses. 

Sir  And.  Excellent  I  why,  this  is  the  best  fooling,  when 
all  is  done.     Now,  a  song.  81 

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

Sir  And.  There's  a  tcstril  of  me  too :  if  one  knight  give 
a — 

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

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

Sir  And.  Av,  ay  :  1  care  not  for  good  life. 

Clo.  [Singfi] 

O  mistress  mine,  where  are  you  roaming  ?         40 
O,  stay  and  hear  ;  your  true* love's  coming. 

That  can  sing  both  high  and  low  : 
Trip  no  further,  pretty  sweeting ; 
Journeys  end  in  lovers  meeting, 
E  very  wise  man's  son  dotli  know. 


BCENBiii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL.  786 

Sir  And.  Excellent  good,  i'  faith. 
Sir  To.  Good,  good. 
Clo.  [Sing$] 

Wiiat  is  love  ?  'tis  not  hereafter  ; 
Present  mirth  hath  present  laughter ; 

What's  to  come  is  still  unsure  :  50 

In  delay  tliere  lies  no  plenty  ; 
Then  come  kiss  me,  sweet  and  twenty. 
Youth's  a  stuff  will  not  endure. 
Sir  And.  A  mellifluous  voice,  as  I  am  true  knight. 
Sir  To.  A  contagious  breath. 
Sir  And.  Very  sweet  and  conta^ous,  i'  faith. 
Sir  To.  To  hear  by  the  nose,  it  is  dulcet  in  contagion. 
But  shall  we  make  the  welkin  dance  indeed  ?  shall  we  rouse 
the  night-owl  in  a  catch  that  will  draw  three  souls  out  of 
one  weaver?  shall  we  do  that? 

Sir  And.  An  you  love  me,  let's  do't :  I  am  dog  at  a  catch. 
C^.  By'r  lady,  sir,  and  some  dogs  will  catch  well. 
Sir  And.  Most  certain.   Let  our  catch  be,  *'Thou  knave." 
do.  *<Holdthy  peace,  thou  knave,"  knight?  I  shall  be 
constrained  in't  to  call  thee  knave,  knight.  70 

Sir  And.  Tis  not  the  first  time  I  have  constrained  one  to 
call  me  knave.     Begin,  fool :  it  begins  **  Hold  thy  peace. '* 
Clo.  I  shall  never  begin  if  I  hold  my  peace. 
Sir  And.  Good,  1'  faith.     Come,  begin.  [Catch  sung. 

Enter  Maria. 

Mar.  What  a  caterwauling  do  yon  keep  here  I  If  my 
lady  have  not  called  up  her  steward  Malvolio  and  bid  him 
turn  you  out  of  doors,  never  trust  me.  79 

Sir  To.  My  lady's  a  Catalan,  we  are  politicians,  Malvalio's 
a  Peg-a-Ramsey,  and  "  Three  merry  men  be  we."  Am  not 
I  consanguineous  ?  am  I  not  of  her  blood  ?  Tillyvally. 
Ladv  I  iSi)igs]  "There  dwelt  a  man  in  Babylon,  ladv, 
lady  I" 

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

Sir  And.  Ay,  he  does  well  enough  if  ho  be  disposed,  and 
so  do  I  too :  he  does  it  with  a  better  grace,  but  I  do  it  moro 
natural.  90 

Sir  To.  [Sings]  "O,  the  twelfth  day  of  December,—" 

Jfar.  For  the  love  o'  God,  peace  I 

Enter  Malvolio. 

Mai.  My  masters,  are  you  mad  ?  or  what  are  yon  ?  Have 
yon  no  wit.  manners,  nor  honesty,  but  to  gabble  like 
tinkers  at  this  time  of  night  ?  Do  ye  make  an  alehouse  of 
my  lady's  house,  that  ye  squeak  out  your  cozier's  catches 


78a  TWELFTH  NIGHT;  [ACTn. 

without  any  mitigation  or  remorse  of  Toice  ?  Is  there  no  re- 
spect of  place,  persons,  nor  time  in  you  ? 

Sir  I'o.  We  did  keep  time,  sir,  in  our  catches.  Sneck 
up  !  101 

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

Sir  To.  "Farewell,  dear  heart  since  I  must  needs  be 
gone."  110 

Mar.  Nay,  good  Sir  Toby. 

Clo.  *'  His  eyes  do  show  his  days  are  almost  done." 

Mai.  Is't  even  so  ? 

Sir  To.  "  But  I  will  never  die." 

Clo.  Sir  Toby,  there  you  lie. 

Mai.  This  is  much  credit  to  you. 

Sir  To.  "  Shall  I  bid  liim  go?  " 

Clo.  "  What  an  if  you  do?" 

Sir  To,  "  Shall  I  bid  him  qo,  and  spare  not?**  120 

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

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

Clo.  Yes,  by  Saint  Anne,  and  ginger  slmll  be  hot  1'  the 
mouth  too. 

Sir  To.  Thou'rt  i'  the  right.  Go,  sir,  rub  your  chain 
with  crums.     A  stoup  of  wine,  Maria  1 

Mai.  Mistress  Mary,  if  you  prized  my  lady's  favour  at 
any  thing  more  than  contempt,  you  woiild  not  give  means 
for  this  uncivil  rule  :  she  shall  know  of  it  by  this  haud^ 

Mar.  Go  shake  your  ears. 

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

Sir  To.  Do't.  knight :  I'll  write  tl  a  challenge  ;  or  I'll 
deliver  thy  indignation  to  him  by  woixl  of  'liouth.  141 

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

Sir  To.  Possess  xlb,  possess  us ;  tell  us  something  of 
him.  150 


iCKWEm.]  OR,  WHAT  YOTT  WILL.  737 

Mar,  Mftny,  sir,  sometimes  he  is  a  kind  of  pnritan. 

SirAiuL  0,  if  I  thoaght  that,  I*ld  beat  him  like  a 
dog! 

Bir  To.  Wliat,  for  being  a  puritan  ?  thy  ozqaisite  reason, 
dear  knight  ? 

Sir  A  fid.  I  liave  no  exquisite  reason  for't,  but  I  have  rea- 
son good  enough. 

2fir.  The  devil  a  puritan  that  he  is,  or  any  thing  con- 
stantly, but  a  time-pleaser  ;  an  affectioned  ass,  that  cons 
state  without  Ikx>1c  and  utters  it  by  great  swartlis  :  tlie  l^est 
persuaded  of  hi:nself,  so  crammed,  as  lie  thinks,  with  excel- 
lencies, that  it  is  his  grounds  of  faith  that  all  that  look  on 
him  love  him ;  and  on  that  vice  in  him  will  my  revenge 
find  notable  cause  to  work. 

Sir  To.  What  wilt  thou  do  ? 

Mar.  I  will  drop  in  his  way  some  obscure  epistles  of 
love  ;  wherein,  by  the  colour  of  his  beanl,  the  shape  of  his 
leg,  the  manner  of  his  gait,  the  expressure  of  his  eye,  fore- 
head, and  complexion,  he  shall  find  himself  most  feelingly 
personated.  I  can  write  very  like  my  lady  your  niece  :  on 
a  forgotten  matter  we  can  hardly  make  distinction  of  our 
hands. 

Sir  To.  Excellent  I   I  smell  a  device. 

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

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

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

Sir  And.  And  your  liorac  now  would  make  him  an  ass. 

Mar.  Ass,  I  doubt  not. 

Sir  And.  O,  'twill  be  admirable  1 

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

Sir  To.  Good  night!  "*'-nthesilea. 

Sir  And.  Before  me\  b.'ife's  a  good  wench. 

Sir  To.  She's  a  beagle,  true-bred,  and  one  that  adores  me: 
wbato'  that? 

Sir  And.  I  was  adored  once  too. 

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

Sir  And.  If  I  cannot  recover  your  niece,  I  am  a  foul  way 
out.  201 

Sir  To.  Send  for  money,  knight :  if  thon  hast  her  not  1' 
the  end,  call  me  cut. 

8HAK.   I. — 24 


788  TWELFTH  NIGHT;  [ACTH. 

Sir  And,  If  I  do  not,  nerer  trust  me,  take  it  how  jon 
will. 

Sir  To.  Come,  come,  ni  go  bum  some  sack  ;  'tis  too  late 
to  go  to  bed  now  :  come,  knight ;  ,come,  knight.      [Bxeunt, 

Scene  IV.     Tfie  Duke's  palace. 

Enter  Duke,  Viola,  Curio,  and  otheri. 

Dtike.  Give    me    some    music.      Now,   good   morioWy 
friends. 
Now,  good  C«sario,  bat  that  piece  of  song, 
That  old  and  antique  song  we  heard  last  night : 
Methoaght  it  did  relieve  mj  passion  much. 
More  than  light  airs  and  recollected  terms 
Of  these  most  brisk  and  giddy -paced  times : 
Come,  bnt  one  verse. 

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

3vke.  Who  was  it?  10 

Gitr.  Feste,  the  jester,  my  lord  ;  a  fool  that  the  lady  Oli- 
via's father  took  much  delight  in.     He  is  about  the  house. 

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

\Exit  Curio.    Mutic  plays. 
Come  hither,  boy  :  if  ever  thoa  shalt  love. 
In  the  sweet  pangs  of  it  remember  me ; 
For  such  as  I  am  all  true  lovers  are, 
Unstaid  and  skittish  in  all  motions  else. 
Save  in  the  constant  image  of  the  creature 
That  is  beloved.     How  dost  thou  like  this  tone  ?  90 

Vio,  It  gives  a  very  echo  to  the  seat 
Where  Love  is  throned. 

Duke.  Thou  dost  speak  masterly  : 
My  life  upon't,  young  though  thou  art,  thine  ^e 
Iiath  stayed  upon  some  favour  that  it  loves : 
Hath  it  not,  boy  ? 

Vio.  A  little,  by  your  favour. 

Duke.  Wliat  kind  of  woman  is't  ? 

Vio.  Of  your  complexion. 

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

Vio.  About  your  years,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Too  old,  by  heaven  :  let  still  the  woman  take      80 
An  elder  than  herself  ;  so  wears  she  to  him. 
So  sways  she  level  in  her  husband's  heart : 
For,  boy,  however  we  do  praise  ourselves. 
Our  fancies  are  more  giddy  and  unfirm, 
More  longing,  wavering,  sooner  lost  and  worn, 
Than  women's  are. 


flCKNElv.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL.  789 

Vio.  I  think  it  well,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Then  let  thy  love  be  younger  than  thyself. 
Or  thy  affection  cannot  hold  the  bent ; 
For  women  are  as  roses,  whose  fair  flower 
Beinfr  once  display'd,  doth  fall  that  very  honr.  40 

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

Re-enter  Curio  and  Clowjt. 
Duke.  0,  fellow,  come,  the  song  we  had  last  night. 

Mark  it,  Cesario,  it  is  old  and  plain  ; 

The  spinsters  and  the  knitters  In  the  sun 

And  the  free  maids  that  weave  their  thread  with  bones 

Do  use  to  chant  it :  it  is  silly  sooth. 

And  dallies  with  the  innocence  of  love. 

Like  the  old  age. 
C2!f>.  Are  you  ready,  sir  ?  50 

Duke.  Ay  ;  prithee,  sing.  [iftMu;. 

SONO. 

*  C^.  Come  away,  come  away,  death, 

And  in  rad  cypress  let  me  be  laid ; 
Fly  away,  fly  away,  breath  ; 

I  am  slain  by  a  fair  emel  nudd. 
My  shroud  of  white,  stuck  all  with  yew, 

O,  prepare  it  I 
My  part  of  death,  no  one  so  tme 
Did  share  it. 

Not  a  flower,  not  a  flower  sweet,  00 

On  my  black  coffin  let  there  be  strewn  ; 
Not  a  friend,  not  a  friend  greet  « 

My  poor  corpse,  where  my  bones  shall  be  thrown  : 
A  thousand  thousand  sighs  to  save, 

Lay  me,  O,  where 
Sad  true  lover  never  find  my  grave. 
To  weep  there  ! 

Duke.  There's  for  thy  pains. 

do.  No  pains,  sir ;  I  take  pleasure  in  singing,  sir.         70 

Duke.  I'll  pay  thy  pleasure  then. 

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

Duke.  Give  me  now  leave  to  leave  thee. 

Qo.  Now,  the  melancholy  god  protect  thee ;  and  the 
tailor  make  thy  doublet  of  ciiangeable  taffeta,  for  thy  mind 
is  a  very  opaL    I  wonld  have  men  of  such  constancy  put  to 


740  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  [act  n. 

sea,  that  their  business  might  be  every  thing  and  their  m. 
tent  every  where  ;  for  that's  it  that  always  makes  a  good 
vovage  of  nothing.     Farewell.  lExit.     81 

Duke.  Let  all  tlie  rest  give  place. 

[Curio  and  Attendants  retire. 
Once  more,  Cesaiio, 
Get  theo  to  yond  same  sovereign  cruelty  : 
Tell  her,  my  love,  more  noble  than  the  world. 
Prizes  not  quantity  of  dirty  lands  ; 
The  parts  that  fortune  hath  bestow'd  upon  her. 
Tell  lier,  I  hold  as  giddily  as  fortune ; 
But  'tis  that  miracle  and  queen  of  gems 
That  nature  pranks  her  in  attracts  my  soul. 

Vio.  But  if  she  cannot  love  you,  sir  ?  90 

Duke,  I  cannot  be  so  answered. 

Vio.  Sooth,  but  you  most. 

Say  that  some  lady,  as  perhaps  there  is. 
Hath  for  your  love  as  great  a  pang  of  heart 
As  you  have  for  Olivia  :  you  cannot  lovo  her ; 
You  tell  her  so ;  must  she  not  then  be  answer'd  7 

Duke.  There  is  no  woman's  sides 
Can  hide  the  beating  of  so  strong  a  passion 
As  love  doth  give  my  heart ;  no  woman's  heart 
So  big,  to  hold  so  much  ;  they  lack  retention. 
Alas,  their  love  may  be  calVd  appetite,  100 

No  motion  of  the  liver,  but  the  palate, 
That  suffer  surfeit,  cloyment  and  revolt ; 
But  mine  is  all  as  hungry  as  the  sea. 
And  can  digest  as  much :  make  no  compare 
Between  that  love  a  woman  can  bear  me 
And  that  I  owe  Olivia. 

Vio.  Ay,  but  I  know — 

D*ike.  '\\Tiat  dost  thou  know  ? 

Vio.  Too  well  what  love  women  to  men  may  owe  : 
In  faith,  they  are  as  true  of  heart  as  we. 
My  father  had  a  daughter  loved  a  man,  110 

As  it  might  be.  perhaps,  were  I  a  woman, 
I  should  your  lordship. 

Duke.  And  what's  her  history  ? 

Vio.  A  blank,  my  lord.     Slie  never  told  her  love. 
But  let  concealment,  like  a  worm  i'  the  bud. 
Feed  on  her  damask  cheek  :  she  pine-d  in  thought. 
And  with  a  green  and  yellow  melancholy 
She  sat  like  patience  on  a  monument. 
Smiling  at  grief.     Was  not  this  love  indeed  7 
We  men  may  say  more,  s%vear  more  :  but  indeed 
Our  shows  are  more  than  will ;  for  still  wo  prove 


flCEWKV.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL.  741 

Much  In  our  tows,  but  little  in  our  love.  131 

Duke.  But  died  thy  sister  of  her  love,  mj  boy  ? 
Vio.  I  am  all  the  daughters  of  my  father's  house. 

And  all  the  brother's  too  :  and  yet  I  know  not. 

Sir,  shall  I  to  this  lady  ? 
Duke.  Ay,  that's  the  theme. 

To  her  in  haste  ;  give  her  this  jewel ;  say, 

My  love  can  give  no  place,  bide  no  denay.  [ExeurU, 

ScBNB  v.    Olivia's  garden. 

Enter  Sm  Tobt,  Sib  Andrew,  arid  FAbian. 

Sir  To.  Come  thy  ways,  Siguior  Fabian. 

Fiib.  Nay,  I'll  come :  if  I  lose  a  scruple  of  this  sport,  let 
me  be  boiled  to  death  with  melancholy. 

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

Fab.  I  would  exult,  man  :  you  know,  he  brought  me  out 
o'  favour  with  my  lady  about  a  bear-baiting  here.  10 

Sir  To.  To  anger  him  we'll  have  the  bear  again  ;  and  we 
will  fool  him  black  and  blue  :  shall  we  not.  Sir  Andrew? 

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

Sir  To.  Here  comes  the  little  villain. 

Enter  Maria. 

How  now,  my  metal  of  India  ! 

Mar.  Get  ye  all  three  into  the  box -tree  :  Malvolio's  com- 
ing down  tills  walk  :  he  has  been  yonder  i'  the  sun  practis- 
ing behaviour  to  his  own  shadow  this  half  hour  :  observe 
him,  for  the  love  of  mockery  ;  for  I  know  this  letter  xvill 
make  a  contemplative  idiot  of  him.  Close,  in  the  name  of 
Jesting !  Lie  thou  there  [throwe  daton  a  letter\  ;  for  here 
comes  the  trout  that  must  be  caught  with  tickling.      [Exit. 

Enter  Malyolio. 

I(al.  'Tis  but  fortune ;  all  is  fortune.  Maria  once  told 
me  she  did  affect  me  :  and  I  have  heard  herself  como  Urns 
near,  that,  should  she  fancy,  it  should  be  one  of  luy  com- 
plexion. Besiiles,  she  uses  me  with  a  more  exalted  rrs])ect 
than  any  one  else  that  follows  her.  What  should  I  think 
on't? 

Sir  To.  Here's  an  overweening  rogue  I 

Fab.  0,  peace  I  Contemplation  makes  a  rare  turkey-cock 
of  him  :  how  he  jets  under  his  advanced  plumes  I 

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

Sir  To.  Peace,  I  say. 


743  TWELFTH  NIGHT;  [act  n. 

Mai.  To  be  Count  Malvolio  !  40 

Sir  To.  All,  rot^ue  ! 

t^ir  And.  Pistol  blm,  pistol  him. 

Sir  To.  Peace,  peace  ! 

Mai.  There  is  example  for't ;  the  lady  of  the  Strachy  mar- 
ried the  yeoman  of  the  wardrobe. 

Sir  And.  Fie  on  him,  Jezebel ! 

Fab.  O,  peace !  now  he's  deeply  in  :  look  how  imagina- 
tion blows  him. 

Mai.  Having  been  three  m<mths  married  to  her,  sitting  in 
mj  state, —  50 

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

Mai.  Calling  my  offioera  about  me,  in  my  branched  velvet 

g[>wn ;   having  come  from  a  day-bed,  where  I  have  left 
livia  sleeping, — 

Sir  To.  Fire  and  brimstone  I 

Fab.  O,  peace,  peace  I 

Mai.  And  then  to  have  the  humonr  of  state  ;  and  after  a 
demure  travel  of  re^rd,  telling  tliem  I  know  my  place  as  I 
would  they  should  do  theirs,  to  aak  for  my  kinsman  Toby, — 

Sir  To.  Bolts  and  shackles  I 

Fab.  O  ]>eace,  peace,  peace  I  now,  now. 

Mai.  Seven  of  mj  people,  with  an  obedient  start,  make 
out  for  him :  I  frown  the  while ;  and  perchance  wind  up 
my  watch,  or  play  with  my — some  rich  jewel.  Toby  ap- 
proaches ;  courtesies  there  to  me,-— 

Sir  To.  Shall  this  fellow  live? 

Fab.  Though  our  silence  be  drawn  from  us  with  cars,  jefr 
peace.  71 

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

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

Mai.  Saying,  "  Cousin  Toby,  my  fortunes  having  cast  me 
on  your  neice  give  mo  this  prerogative  of  speech," — 

Sir  lo.  What,  what  ?  80 

Mai.  **  You  must  amend  your  drunkenness." 

Sir  To.  Out,  scab  1 

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

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

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

Mai.  "  One  Sir  Andrew,"— 

Sir  And.  I  knew  'twas  I ;  for  many  do  call  me  fool.      90 

Mai.  What  employment  have  we  here  ? 

[Taldtig  up  ths  letter. 

Fab.  Now  is  the  woodcock  near  the  gin. 


iewsBV.]  OB,  WHAT  YOU  WILL.  748 

Sir  To.  0»  peace !  and  the  spirit  of  humours  inimiate 
readying  aloud  to  him  ! 

Mai,  "By  my  life,  this  is  my  ]ad3r*s  liand  ;  these  be  her 
very  C's,  her  U's  and  her  T's  ;  and  thus  makes  she  her  great 
P's.     It  is,  in  contempt  of  questiou,  her  liand. 

JSir  And.  Her  C's,  lier  U's  and  lier  T's  :  why  that  ? 

MiU.  [Reads]  **  To  the  unknown  beloved,  this,  and  my 
good  wishes  : " — her  very  phrases  I  By  vour  leave,  wax. 
Soft  I  and  the  impressure  her  Lucrece,  with  which  she  uses 
to  seal :  'tis  my  lady.     To  whom  should  this  be  ? 

Fab.  This  wins  Mm,  liver  and  all. 

Mai.  [Beads} 

Jove  knows  I  love : 

But  who  1 
Lips,  do  not  move  ; 

No  man  must  know.  110 

**  No  man  must  know."  What  follows?  the  numbers  al- 
tered I  *'  No  man  must  know  : "  if  this  should  be  thee, 
Malvolio  ? 

Sir  To.  Marry,  hang  thee,  brock  I 

Mai.  [Beads] 

I  may  command  where  I  adore ; 

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

Fab.  A  fustian  riddle  ! 

Sir  To.  Excellent  wench,  say  I.  120 

Mai.  "  M,  O,  A,  J,  doth  sway  my  life."  Nay,  but  first, 
let  me  see,  let  me  see,  let  me  see. 

Fab.  What  dish  o'  poison  has  she  dressed  him  ! 

Sir  To,  And  with  what  wing  the  stauiel  checks  at  it ! 

Mai.  "  I  may  command  where  I  adore."  Why,  she  may 
command  me  *  I  serve  her  ;  she  is  my  lady.  \\^hy,  this  is 
evident  to  any  formal  capacity  ;  there  is  no  obstruction  in 
this  :  and  the  end, — what  should  that  alphabetical  position 
portend  ?  If  I  could  make  that  resemble  something  in  me, — 
Softly  I  M,  O,  A,  I,— 

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

Fab.  Sowter  will  cry  npon't  for  all  this,  though  it  be  as 
rank  as  a  fox. 

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

f'ftb.  Did  not  I  say  he  would  work  it  out  ?  the'  cur  is  ex- 
cellent at  faults.  140 

McU.  M, — but  then  there  is  no  consonancy  in  the  sequel ; 
that  suffers  under  probation  :  A  should  follow,  but  O  does. 

F(A.  And  O  shall  end,  I  hope. 

Sir  To.  Ay,  or  VU  cudgel  him,  and  make  him  cry  0  I 


744  TWELFTH  NIGHT;  [actii. 

Mai.  And  tben  I  comes  behind. 

Fab.  Ay,  an  you  had  any  eye  behind  you,  you  might  Bee 
more  detraction  at  your  heels  than  fortunes  before  you.  150 

Mai.  M,  O,  A,  I ;  this  simulation  is  not  as  the  former : 
and  yet,  to  crush  this  a  little,  it  would  bow  to  me,  for  every 
one  of  tliese  letters  are  in  my  name.  Soft  I  here  follows 
prose. 

fi2/;«rf«]  "If  this  fall  into  thy  hand,  revolve.  In  my  stars 
1  am  above  thee  ;  but  be  not  afraid  of  greatness  .  some  aro 
born  great,  some  achieve  greatness  and  some  have  great- 
ness thrust  upon  'em.  Thy  Fates  open  their  hands ;  let 
thy  blood  and  spirit  embrace  them  ;  and,  to  inure  thyself 
to  what  thou  art  like  to  be,  cast  thy  humble  slough  and  ap- 
pear fresh.  Be  opposite  with  a  kinsman,  surly  with  ser- 
vants ;  let  thy  tongue  tang  arguments  of  state  ;  put  thyself 
into  the  trick  of  singularity ;  she  thus  advises  thee 
that  sighs  for  thee.  Remember  who  commended  thy  yel- 
low stockings,  and  wished  to  see  thee  ever  cross-gartered  : 
I  say,  remember.  Go  to,  thou  art  mnde,  if  thou  desirest  to 
be  so  ;  if  not,  let  me  see  thee  a  steward  still,  the  fellow  of 
servants  and  not  worthy  to  touch  Fortune's  fingers.  Fare- 
well.    She  that  would  alter  services  with  thee. 

The  Fortunate-Unhapfy." 
Daylight  and  champain  discovers  not  more  :  this  is  open. 
I  will  be  proud,  I  will  read  politic  authors,  I  will  baffle  Sir 
Toby,  I  will  wash  off  gross  acquaintance,  I  will  be  ))oint- 
devise  the  very  man.  I  do  not  now  fool  myself,  to  let  ima- 
gination jade  me  ;  for  every  reason  excites  to  this,  that  my 
lady  loves  me.  She  did  commend  my  yellow  .stockings  of 
late,  she  did  praise  my  leg  being  cross  gartered  ;  and  in  this 
she  manifests  herself  to  my  love,  and  with  a  kind  of  in- 
junction drives  me  to  these  habits  of  her  liking.  1  tliank 
my  stars  I  am  happy.  I  will  be  strange,  stout,  in  yellow 
stockings,  and  cross -gartered,  even  with  the  swiftness  of 
putting  on.  Jove  and  my  stars  be  praised  1  Here  is  yet 
a  postscript. 

[Beads]  "  Thou  canst  not  choose  but  know  who  I  am.  If 
thou  entertainest  my  love,  let  it  appear  in  thy  smiling  ;  thy 
smiles  become  theo'  well ;  therefore  in  my  presence  still 
smile,  dear  my  sweet,  I  prithee." 

Jove,  I  thank  thee :  I  will  smile  ;  I  will  do  everything 
that  thou  wilt  have  me.  '[&it. 

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

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

^>  And.  So  could  I  too.  200 


8CEHBV.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL.  745 

Sir  To.  And  ask  no  other  dowry  with  her  bat  such 
another  jest. 

Sir  And,  Nor  I  neither. 

Fab,  Here  comes  my  noble  g^iill -catcher. 

Re-enter  Maria. 

^>  To.  Wilt  thou  set  thy  foot  o'  my  neck? 

Sir  And.  Or  o'  mine  either? 

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

Sir  And.  V  faith,  or  I  either?  300 

Sir  To.  Why,  thou  liast  put  him  in  such  a  dream,  that 
when  the  imaf  e  of  it  leaves  him  he  mast  run  mad. 

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

Sir  To.  Like  aqua-vitso  with  a  midwife. 

Mar.  If  you  will  then  see  the  fruits  of  the  sport,  mark  his 
first  approach  before  my  ladv :  he  will  come  to  her  in  yellow 
stockings,  and  'tis  a  colour  she  abhors,  and  cross-gartered, 
a  fashion  she  detests  ;  and  he  will  smile  upon  her,  which 
will  now  be  so  unsuitable  to  her  disposition,  being  ad- 
dicted to  a  melancholy  as  she  is,  that  it  cannot  but  turn 
him  into  a  notable  contempt.     If  you  will  see  it,  follow  mo. 

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

Sir  And,  Til  make  one  too.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  m. 

ScsNfli  I.    OiiiTiA's  garden. 

Enter  Viola,  and  Clown  with  a  tabor. 

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

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

Vio.  Art  thou  a  churchman  ? 

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

Vio.  So  thoa  mayst  say,  the  king,  lies  by  a  beggar,  if  a 
beggar  dwell  near  him  ;  or,  the  church  stands  by  thy  tabor, 
if  thy  tabor  stand  by  the  church.  11 

Cio.  You  have  said,  sir.  To  see  this  age  I  A  sentence  is 
but  a  cheveril  glove  to  a  good  wit :  how  quickly  the  wrong 
side  may  be  turned  oatwiuxl  I 

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


746  TWELFTH  XIGHT;  fACTiir. 

Clo.  I  would,  therefor©,  my  sister  had  liad  no  name,  sir. 

Vio.  Why,  man? 

Clo,  Wliy,  sir,  her  name's  a  word  ;  and  to  dally  with  that 
w">ril  might  make  my  sister  wanton.  Bat  indeed  words  arc 
ve  V  rascals  since  bonds  disgraced  them. 

Vi>.  Thy  reason,  man? 

Clo.  Troth,  sir,  I  can  yield  yon  none  without  words ;  and 
words  are  grown  so  false,  I  am  loath  to  prove  reasoa  wit!i 
them. 

Vio.  I  warrant  thou  art  a  merry  fellow  and  caiest  for 
nothing.  81 

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

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

do.  No,  indeed,  sir ;  the  Lady  Olivia  lias  no  folly  :  she 
will  keep  no  fool,  sir,  till  she  bo  married ;  and  fools  are  as 
like  husbands  as  pilchards  are  to  herrings  ;  the  husband's 
tlie  bigger :  I  am  indeed  not  her  fool,  but  her  corrupter  of 
words. 

Vio.  I  saw  thee  late  at  the  Count  Orsina's. 

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

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

Clo.  Now  Jove,  in  his  next  commodity  of  hair,  send  thee 
a  beard  1  51 

Vio.  By  my  troth,  FU  tell  tliec,  I  am  almost  sick  for  one  ; 
[A9ide\  though  I  would  not  have  it  grow  on  my^  chin.  Is 
thy  lady  within  ? 

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

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

Clo.  I  would  play  Lord  Pandanis  of  Phrygia,  sir,  to  bring 
a  Cressida  to  this  'Froilus. 

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

Clo,  The  matter,  I  hope,  Is  not  great,  sir,  beggiuf  but  ft 
beggar :  Cressida  was  a  beggar.  My  lady  is  within,  sir. 
I  will  construe  to  them  whence  you  come ;  who  you  are  and 
wluit  you  would  are  out  of  my  welkin,  I  might  say  "  ele- 
ment," but  the  word  is  over- worn.  [EiU. 

Vio,  This  fellow  Ls  wise  enough  to  play  the  fool ; 
And  to  do  that  well  craves  a  kind  of  wit : 
He  must  observe  their  mood  on  whom  lie  jests. 
The  quality  of  persons,  and  the  time,  79 

And,  like  the  kaggavd,  oheck  at  every  f  eaiher 


flCENBL]  OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL.  74T 

That  comes  before  his  eye.    This  is  a  practice 

As  fall  of  labour  as  a  wise  man's  art : 

For  folly  that  he  wisel  r  sliows  is  fit : 

Bat  wise  men,  foUj  fairn  quite  taint  their  wit. 

Enter  Sib  Tobt,  and  Sir  Andrew. 

Sir  To.  Save  you^  gentleman. 

Via,  And  yoa,>sir. 
"^  Sir  And.  Dieu  vous  garde,  monsieur. 

Via.  Et  Tous  aussi ;  votre  serviteur.  80 

Sir  And.  1  hope,  sir,  you  are ;  and  I  am  yours. 

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

Vio.  I  am  bound  to  your  niece,  sir  ;  I  mean,  she  is  the 
list  of  my  voyage. 

Sir  I'o.  Taste  your  legs,  sir  ;  put  tliem  to  motion. 

Vio.  My  legs  do  better  understand  me,  sir,  tiian  I  under- 
stand what  you  mean  by  bidding  me  taste  my  legs.  91 

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

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

BiUer  Olivia  and  Maria. 

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

Sir  And,  That  youth's  a  rare  courtier  :  "  Bain  odours ; " 
well. 

Vio,  My  matter  hath  no  voice,  lady,  but  to  your  own  most 
pregnant  and  vouchsafed  ear.  100 

Sir  And.  "  Odours,"  "  pregnant "  and  "  vouchsafed  : " 
I'll  g:et  'em  all  three  all  ready. 

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

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

Oli.  What  is  your  name  ? 

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

01%,  My  servant,  sir  I    'Twas  never  merry  world 
Since  lowly  feigning  was  call'd  compliment :  110 

You're  servant  to  the  Count  Orsino,  yoath. 

Vio.  And  he  is  yours,  and  his  musrueeds  be  yours  : 
Your  servant's  servant  is  your  servant,  madam. 

(Hi,  For  him,  I  think  not  on  him  :  for  his  thoughts. 
Would  they  were  blanlcs,  cather  than  fill'd  with  me  1 

Vio.  Madam»  I  come  to  whet  your  gentle  thoughts 
On  his  behalf. 

CfH.  0,  by  y«r  l«awi  T  piay  jao^ 


748  TWELFTH  NIGHT;  [acthi, 

I  bade  you  never  speak  again  of  him : 

But,  would  you  undertake  anotlier  suit, 

I  had  ratlier  hear  you  to  solicit  that  130 

Than  music  from  the  spheres. 

Vio.  Dear  lady,— 

OH.  Give  me  leave,  bespech  you.     I  did  send. 
After  the  last  enchantment  you  did  here, 
A  ring  in  chase  of  you  :  so  did  I  abuse 
Myself,  my  servant  and,  I  fear  me,  yon  : 
Under  your  hard  constniction  must  I  sit, 
To  force  that  on  you,  in  a  shameful  cuuninff, 
Wliich  you  knew  none  of  yours  ;  -what  might  you  tliink? 
Have  you  not  set  mine  honour  at  the  stake 
And  baited  it  with  all  the  unmuzzled  thoughts  .    130 

That  tvrannous  heart  can  think?     To  one  of  your  receiving 
Enough  is  shown  :  a  cypress,  not  a  bosom, 
Hideth  my  heart.     So  let  me  hear  you  speak. 
Vio.  I  pity  you. 

Oli.  Tliat's  a  degree  to  love. 

Vio.  No,  not  a  grize  ;  for  'tis  a  vulgar  proof, 
Tliat  very  oft  we  pity  enemies. 

(Hi.  Why,  then,  methinks  His  time  to  smile  again. 

0  world,  how  apt  the  poor  are  to  be  proud  I 
If  one  should  be  a  prey,  how  much  the  better 

To  fall  before  the  lion  than  the  wolf  I     (Clock  ttriket.     140 

The  clock  upbraids  Aie  with  the  waste  of  time. 

Be  not  afraid,  good  youth,  I  will  not  have  you  : 

And  yet,  when  wit  and  youth  is  come  to  harvest. 

Your  wife  if  like  to  reap  a  proper  man  : 

There  lies  your  way  due  west. 

Vio.  Then  westward-ho  !    Grace  and  good  disposition 
Attend  your  ladyship  1 
You'll  nothing,  madam,  to  my  lord  by  me  ? 

(Hi.  Stay: 

1  pritht*e,  tell  me  what  thou  thlnk'st  of  me.  150 

Vw.  That  you  do  think  you  are  not  what  you  are. 

(Hi.  If  I  think  so,  I  think  t^e  same  of  you. 

Vio.  Theu  think  you  right :  I  am  not  what  I  am. 

Oli.  I  would  you  were  as  I  would  have  you  be  1 

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

(Hi.  0,  what  a  deal  of  scorn  looks  beautiful 
In  the  contempt  and  anger  of  his  lip  ! 
A  murderous  guilt  shows  not  itself  more  soon 
Than  love  that  would  seem  hid  :  love's  night  is  noon.     160 
Cesario,  by  the  roses  of  the  spring. 
By  maidhood,  honour,  truth  and  every  thing. 


fiCBNKii]  OB,   WHAT  YOU  WILL.  749 

I  lovb  th<?e  BO,  tliat,  maugre  all  tliy  pride. 

Nor  wit  nor  reason  can  in^  passion  bide. 

Do  not  extort  thy  reasons  from  this  clause. 

For  that  I  woo,  thoa  therefore  hast  no  cause  ; 

But  rather  reason  thus  with  reason  fetter. 

Love  sought  is  good,  but  given  unsought  is  better. 

Vio.  By  innocence  I  swear,  and  by  my  youth, 
I  have  one  heart,  one  bosom  and  one  truth,  170 

And  that  no  woman  has  ;  nor  never  none 
Shall  mistress  be  of  it,  save  I  alone.    • 
And  so  adieu,  good  madam  :  never  more 
Will  I  my  master's  tears  to  you  deplore. 

OU,  Yet  come  again  ;  for  thou  perhaps  mayst  move 
That  heart,  which  now  abhors,  to  like  his  love.       [JSxcujU. 

Scene  IL    Olivia's  /iouse. 

Enter  Sm  Toby,  Sir  Aitorew,  and  Fabian. 

Sir  And.  No,  faith,  1*11  not  stay  a  jot  longer. 

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

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

Sir  And.  Marry,  I  saw  your  niece  do  more  favours  lo  the 
count's  serving-man  than  ever  she  bestowed  upon  me ;  I 
saw  *t  i'  the  orchard. 

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

Sir  And.  As  plain  as  I  see  you  now.  11 

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

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

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

Sir  To.  And  they  have  been  grand -jurymen  since  before 
Noah  was  a  sailor. 

Fab.  She  did  show  favour  to  the  vouth  in  your  sight  only 
to  exasperate  you,  to  awake  your  dormouse  valour,  to  put 
fire  in  your  hejirt,  and  brimstone  in  your  liver.  You  should 
then  have  accosted  her  ;  and  with  some  excellent  jests,  fire- 
new  from  the  mint,  you  should  have  banged  the  youth  into 
dumbness.  This  was  looked  for  at  your  hand,  and  this  was 
balked  :  the  double  gilt  of  this  opix)rtunity  you  let  time 
wash  off,  and  you  are  now  sailed  into  the  north  of  my  lady's 
opinion  ;  where  you  will  hang  like  an  icicle  on  a  Dutch- 
man's beard,  unless  you  do  redeem  it  by  some  laudable 
attempt  either  of  valour  or  policy.  81 

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

Sir  lo.  Why,  then,  build  me  thy  fortunes  upon  the  basis 


TSa  TWELFTH  XldHT;  fACTiii. 

of  valour.  Challen^  me  the  coant's  youtli  to  figlxt  irith 
him  ;  hurt  him  in  eleven  places :  mj  niece  shall  take  note 
of  it;  and  assare  thyself,  there  is  no  Idve-hroker  in  the 
world  con  more  prevail  in  man's  commendation  with  woman 
than  report  of  valoar.  41 

Fab.  There  is  no  way  hut  this.  Sir  Andrew. 

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

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

Sir  And.  Where  shall  1  find  yout 

Sir  2b.  We'll  call  thee  at  the  cubiculo :  go. 

[Exit  Sir  Andrew, 

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

Sir  To.  I  have  been  dear  to  him,  lad,  some  t\YO  thousand 
Btron£^,  or  so. 

Fab.  We  shall  have  a  rare  letter  from  him  :  but  you'll 
not  deliver't?  61 

Sir  T'o.  Never  trust  me,  then  ;  and  by  all  means  stir  on 
the  youth  to  an  answer.  I  think  oxen  and  wainropes  can- 
not htle  them  together.  For  Andrew,  if  he  were  opened, 
and  you  find  so  umch  blood  in  his  liver  as  will  clog  the  foot 
of  a  flea.  Til  eat  the  rest  of  the  ig^atomy. 

Fab.  And  his  opposite,  the>youth,  bears  in  his  visa^  no 
great  presage  of  cruelty.  70 

Enter  Maria. 

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

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

Sir  To.  And  cross-gartered?  79 

Mar.  Most  villanously  ;  like  a  pedant  that  keens  a  school 
i*  the  churcli.  I  have  dogge.i  him,  like  his  muroerer.  He 
does  obey  every  point  of  the  letter  that  I  dro])ped  to  betray 
him  :  he  does  smile  his  face  into  more  lines  than  is  in  the 
new  map  with  the  augmentation  of  the  Indies  :  you  have 
not  seen  such  a  thing  as  'tis.     I  can  hardly  forbear  hurling 


/     ^ 


«CEKEni.J  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL.  751 

tilings  at  bim.    I  know  mj  lady  will  strike  him :  if  slie  do, 
he'll  smile  and  take't  for  a  p^reat  favour. 
Sir  To.  Come,  bring  us,  bring  us  where  he  is. 

[Exeunt.    90 
ScEinc  IIL    A  street. 

Enter  Sebastian  and  Aktonto. 

8eb.  I  would  not  by  my  will  have  troubled  you  ; 
But,  since  you  make  your  pleasure  of  your  pains, 
I  will  no  further  chide  yon. 

Ant.  I  could  not  stay  behind  you  :  my  desire. 
More  sharp  than  filed  steel,  did  spur  me  forth'  ; 
And  not  all  love  to  see  you,  though  so  much 
As  might  have  drawn  one  to  a  longer  voyage. 
But  jealousy  what  might  befall  your  travel, 
Being  skilless  in  these  parts  ;  which  to  a  stranger, 
Unguided  and  unfriended,  often  prove  10 

Bough  and  unhospitable :  my  willing  love, 
The  rather  by  these  arguments  of  fear, 
Set  forth  in  your  pursuit. 

8eb.  My  kind  Antonio, 

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

AtU.  To-morrow,  sir  :  bt*6t  first  go  see  your  lodging.     20 

8eb.  I  am  not  weary,  and  'tis  long  to  night  : 
I  pray  vou,  let  us  satisfy  our  eyes 
With  the  memorials  and  the  things  of  fame 
That  do  renown  this  city. 

Ant.  Would  yoa'ld  pardon  me ; 

I  do  not  without  danger  walk  these  streets  : 
Once,  in  a  sea-fight,  'gainst  the  count  his  galleys 
I  did  some  service  ;  of  such  note  indeed, 
That  were  I  ta'en  here  it  would  scarce  be  answer'd. 

/9eb.  Belike  you  slew  great  number  of  his  people. 

Ant.  The  offence  is  not  of  such  a  bloody  nature ;  SO 

Albeit  the  quality  of  the  time  and  quarrel 
Might  well  nave  given  us  bloody  argument. 
It  might  have  since  been  answer'd  in  repaying 
What  we  took  from  them  ;  which,  for  traffic^  sake. 
Most  of  our  city  did  :  only  myself  stood  out ; 
For  which,  if  I  be  lapsed  in  this  place, 
I  shall  pay  dear. 

BA.  Do  not  then  walk  too  open. 


752  TWELFTH   NIGHT;  [ACTm. 

Ani,  It  doth  not  fit  me.     Hold,  sir,  here's  mj  purse. 
In  the  soath  suburbs,  at  the  Elephant,  ^ 

Is  best  to  lodge  :  I  will  bespeak  our  diet,  40 

Whiles  you  beguile  the  time  and  feed  your  knowledge 
With  viewing  of  the  town  :  there  shall  you  have  me. 

Seb.  \V  by  1  your  purse  ? 

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

Seb.  1*11  be  your  purse-bearer  and  leave  yoa 
For  an  hour. 

Aiit.  To  the  Elephant. 

Seb.  I  do  remember.  [Ex&urtL 

Scene  IV.    Olivia's  garden. 
Enter  Oli\ia  and  Maria. 

Oli.  I  have  sent  after  him  :  he  says  hell  come ; 
How  shall  I  feast  him  ?  what  bestow  of  him  ? 
For  youth  is  bought  more  oft  than  begg'd  or  borrowed, 
I  speak  too  loud. 

Where  is  Malvolio?  he  is  sad  and  civil. 
And  suits  well  for  a  servant  with. my  fortunes  : 
Where  is  Malvolio  ? 

Mar.  He's  coming,  madam  ;  but  in  very  strange  manner. 
He  is,  sure,  possessed,  madam. 

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

Mar.  No,  madam,  he  does  nothing  but  smile  :  yoar  lady- 
ship were  best  to  have  some  guard  about  you,  if  he  come  ; 
for,  sure,  the  man  is  tainted  in's  wits. 

on.  Go  call  him  hither.     [Exit  Maria.]    I  am  as  mad  as 
he. 
If  sad  and  merry  madness  equal  be. 

Beenter  Maria,  icith  Malvolio. 

How  now,  Malvolio  I 

MfU.  Sweet  lady,  ho,  ho. 

OH.  Smilest  thon  ? 
I  sent  for  thee  upon  a  sad  occasion.  20 

Mai.  Sad,  lady  !  I  could  be  sad  :  this  does  make  some 
obstruction  in  the  blood,  this  cross-gartering  ;  but  what  of 
that  ?  if  it  please  the  eye  of  one,  it  is  with  me  as  the  very 
true  sonnet  is,  "  Please  one,  and  please  all." 

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

Mai.  Not  black  in  my  mmd,  though  yellow  in  my  legs. 


SCENE  IV.]        ,  OR,   WHAT  YOU   WILL.  753 

It  did  come  to  his  liands,  and  commands  shall  he  executed  ; 
I  think  we  do  know  the  sweet  Roman  hand.  81 

on,  Wat  thgu  go  to  bed,  Malvolio? 

IffU.  To  bed  !  ay,  sweet-heart,  and  Til  come  to  thee. 

OIL  God  comfort  thee  !  Why  dost  thou  smile  so  and  kiss 
thy  hand  so  oft  ? 

Mnr.  How  do  you,  Malvolio  ? 

Jfal,  At  vour  request  I  yes  ;  nightingules  answer  daws. 

Mar.  Why  appear  you  with  this  ridiculous  boldness  be- 
fore my  lady  ?        *  41 

Mai.  *  *  Be  not  afraid  of  greatness  : "  'twas  well  writ. 

(Hi.  What  meanest  thou  by  tliat,  Malvolio  ? 

Mai.  **  Some  are  born  great," — 

m.  Ha  ! 

Mai.  **  Some^achieve  greatness," — 

Oli.  What  sayest  thou  ? 

Mai.  "And  some  have  greatness  thrust  upon  them."  *  50 

(Hu  Heaven  restore  thee  ! 

Mai.  "Rememi)er  who  commended  thy  yellow  stock- 
ings."- 

Oli.  Thy  yellow  stockings  ! 

Mai,  "Apd  wished  to  see  thee  cross-gartered." 

Oli.  Cross  gartered  I 

Mai.  ''  Go  to,  thou  art  made,  if  thou  deairest  to  be  so ;  '* — 

Oli.  Am  I  made  ? 

Mai.  **  If  not,  let  me  see  thee  a  servant  still."  60 

Oli.  Why,  this  is  very  midsummer  madness. 

Enter  Servant. 

8eT.  Madam,  the  young  gentleman  of  the  Count  Orsino's 
Is  returned :  I  could  hardly  entreat  him  back :  he  attends 
your  ladyship's  pleasure. 

Oli.  I'll  come  to  him.  [Exit  Servant.^  Good  Maria,  let 
this  fellow  be  looked  to.  Where's  my  cousin  Toby?  Let 
some  of  my  people  have  a  special  care  of  him  :  I  would  not 
have  him  miscarry  for  the  half  of  my  dowry.  70 

[Exeunt  Olivia  arid  Maria, 

Mai.  0,  ho  I  do  you  come  near  me  now?  no  worse 
man  than  Sir  Toby  to  look  to  me  !  This  concurs  directly 
with  the  letter  :  she  sends  him  on  purpose,  that  I  may  ap- 
pear stubborn  to  him ;  for  she  incites  me  to  that  in  the  let- 
ter. *'  Cast  thy  humble  slough,"  says  she  ;  *'  be  opposite 
with  a  kinsman,  surly  with  servants  ;  let  thy  tongue  tang 
with  arguments  of  state  ;  put  thyself  into  the  trick  of  singu- 
larity ; '  ai>d  consequently  sets  down  the  manner  how  ;  as, 
a  sad  face,  a  reverend  carriage,  a  slow  tongue,  in  the  habit 
of  some  sir  of  note,  and  so  forth.    I  have  Umed  her ;  but  it 


754  TWELFTH  NIGHT;  [ACTiri. 

is  Jove's  doing,  and  Jove  make  me  thankfnl  t  And  wlien 
she  went  away  now,  "  Let  this  fellow  be  looked  to  : "  fellow  I 
not  Malvolio,  nor  after  my  degree,  but  fellow.  Why,  every 
thing  adheres  together,  that  no  dram  of  a  scruple,  lio  scru- 
ple of  a  scruple,  no  obstacle,  no  incredulous  or  unsafe  cir- 
cumstance— What  can  be  said?  Nothing  that  can  be  can 
come  between  me  and  the  full  prospect  of  my  hopes.  \Vell, 
Jove,  not  I,  is  the  doer  of  this,  and  he  is  to  be  thanked. 

Reenter  Maria,  with  Sir  Toby  and  Fabian. 

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

Fab.  Here  he  is,  here  he  is.  Howis't  with  you,  sir?  how 
is't  with  you,  man  ?  • 

Mai'  Go  off ;  I  discard  you  :  let  me  enjoy  my  private :  go 
off.  100 

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

Mai.  Ah,  lia  !  does  she  so  ? 

Sir  To.  Go  to,  go  to  ;  peace,  peace  ;  we  must  deal  gently 
with  him  :  let  me  alone.  How  do  you,  Malvolio?  how  is't 
with  you  ?  What,  man  !  defy  the  devil :  consider,  he's  an 
enemy  to  mankind. 

Mai.  Do  you  know  what  you  say  ?  1 10 

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

Fab.  Carry  his  water  to  the  wise  woman. 

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

MaZ.  How  now,  mistress  I 

Mar.  OLord!  120 

Sir  To.  Prithee,  hold  thy  peace  ;  this  is  not  the  way  :  do 
you  not  see  you  move  him  ?  let  me  alone  with  him. 

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

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

Mai.  Sir! 

Sir  To.  Ay,  Biddy,  come  with  me.  What,  man  !  'tis  not 
for  gravity  to  play  at  cherry-pit  with  Satan  :  hang  him,  foul 
collier  I  180 

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

Mai.  lAj  prayers,  minx  i 


.  My 
-.  No. 


Mar,  No,  I  warrant  you,  he  will  not  heur  of  godlkiefls. 


flCBHKiT.]  OB,  WHAT  YOU   WILL.  755 

MaH,  Go,  Iiang  joanelves  all !  you  are  idle  shallow 
things  :  I  am  not  of  your  element :  you  shall  *know  more 
hereafter.  \EaeU. 

Sir  To.  Is't  possible  ? 

Fab.  if  this  were  played  upon  a  stage  now,  I  could  con 
demn  it  as  an  improbable  fiction.  141 

i>ir  2h.  His  very  genius  hath  taken  the  infection  of  the 
device,  man. 

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

Fab.  Why,  we  shall  make  him  mad  indeed. 

Mar,  The  house  will  be  the  quieter. 

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

Enter  Sir  Aia>REW. 

Fhb.  More  matter  for  a  May  morning. 

Sir  And,  Here's  the  challenge,  read  it :  I  warrant  there's 
▼inegar  and  pepper  in  't. 

Fab.  Is't  so  saucy?  160 

Sir  And.  Ay,  is't,  I  warrant  him  :  do  but  read. 

Sir  To.  Give  me.  [Rettdti]  "Youth,  whatsoever  thou 
art,  thou  art  but  a  scurvy  fellow." 

Fab.  Good,  and  valiant. 

Sir  To.  [Eeadu]  **  Wonder  not,  nor  admire  not  in  thy 
mind,  why  I  do  call  thee  so,  for  I  will  show  thee  no  reason 
for't." 

Fab,  A  good  note  ;  that  keeps  you  from  the  blow  of  the 
law.  169 

Sir  To,  \Be€Kb.]  **  Thou  comest  to  the  lady  Olivia,  and  in 
my  sight  she  uses  thee  kindly  -  but  thou  liest  in  thy  throat ; 
that  is  not  the  matter  I  challenge  thee  for." 

Fab.  Very  brief,  and  to  exce^ing  good  sense — ^less. 

Sir  To.  \ Reads]  "  I  will  waylay  t^oo  goiug  home  ;  where 
if  it  be  thy  chance  to  kill  me,"— » 

Fab.  Good. 

Sir  To.  [Beads]  '*  Thou  killest  me  like  a  rogue  and  a  vil- 
lain." 180 

Fab.  Still  you  keep  o'  the  windy  side  oi  the  law  :  good. 

Sir  To.  [Reads]  **Fare  thee  well ;  and  God  have  mercy 
upon  one  of  our  souls  I  He  may  have  mercy  upon  mine  ; 
but  my  hope  is  better,  and  so  look  to  thyself.  Tuy  friend, 
as  thou  usest  him,  and  thy  sworn  enemy, 

Al7DB£W  AOUEGHKEK." 


756.  TWELFTH  NIGHT;  [actiii. 

If  this  letter  move  liim  not,  his  legs  cannot :  V\l  give 't 
him. 

Mar.  Yon  may  have  very  fit  occasion  for*t  •  lie  is  now 
in  some  commerce  with  my  lady,  and  will  by  and  by  de- 
part. 

Sir  To.  Go,  Sir  Andrew  ;  scont  me  for  him  at  the  comer 
of  the  orchard  like  a  bum-baily  .  so  soon  as  ever  thou  seest 
him,  draw;  and,  as  thoa  drawest.  swear  horrible;  for  it 
comes  to  pass  oft  that  a  terrible  oath,  with  a  swaggering  ac- 
cent sharply  twanged  off,  gives  manhood  more  approbation* 
than  ever  proof  itself  would  have  earned  him.     Away  ! 

Sir  And.  Nay,  let  me  alone  for  swearing.  [Erii, 

Sir  2b.  Now  will  not  I  deliver  his  letter  :  for  the  be- 
haviour of  tlio  yonng  gentleman  gives  him  out  to  be  of 
good  capacity  and  br^ding  ;  his  employment  between  his 
lord  and  my  niece  confirms  no  less :  therefore  this  letter, 
being  so  excellently  ignorant,  will  breed  no  terror  in  the 
youth  :  he  will  find  it  comes  from  a  clodpole.  But,  sir,  I 
will  deliver  his  challenge  by  word  of  month ;  set  upon 
Aguecheek  a  notable  rei)ort  of  valour  ;  and  drive  the  gen- 
tleman, as  1  know  his  youth  will  aptly  i-ecei ve  it,  into  a  most 
hideous  opinion  of  his  rage,  skill,  fury  and  impetuosity. 
This  will  so  fright  them  both  that  they  will  kill  one  another 
by  the  look,  like  cockatrices. 

Re-enter  OLivi.i,  viih  Viola. 

Fah.  Here  he  comes  with  your  niece  ;  give  them  way  till 
he  take  leave,  and  presentlv  after  him. 

Sir  To.  I  will  meditate  the  while  upon  some  horrid  mes- 
sage for  a  challenge.  2IM 

{^veurd  Sir  Toby,  Fabian,  and  Maria. 

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

Vio.  With  the  same  'haviour  that  your  passion  bears 
Goes  on  my  master's  grief. 

OU.  Here,  wear  this  jewel  for  me,  Mis  my  picture ; 
Bef  use  it  not ;  it  hath  no  tongue  to  vox  you  ; 
And  I  beseech  you  come  again  to-morrow.  290 

What  shall  you  ask  of  me  that  Til  deny, 
Thajb  honour  savecl  may  upon  asking  give? 

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

OU.  How  with  mine  honour  may  I  give  Uim  that 
Which  I  have  given  to  you  ? 

Vio.  I  will  acquit  you. 


SCENE  IV.]  OB,  WHAT  YOU  WILL.  757 

OU.  Well,  come  again  to-morrow  :  fare  thee  we'l : 
A  fiend  like  thee  might  bear  mj  soul  to  hell.  [l&tU. 

Re-enter  Sir  Toby  and  Fabian. 

Sir  To,  Gentleman,  God  save  thee. 

Via.  And  you,  air.  239 

Sir  To.  That  defence  thoa  hast,  betake  thee  to 't :  of 
what  ^nature  the  wrongs  are  thoa  hast  done  him.  I  know 
not ;  bat  thy  Interceptor,  full  of  despite,  bloody  as  the  hunt- 
er, attends  thee  at  the  orchard-end  :  dismount  thy  tuck,  be 
ymre  in  thy  preparation,  for  thy  assailant  is  quick,  skilful' 
and  deadly. 

Vio.  You  mistake,  sir  :  I  am  sure  no  man  hath  any  quar- 
rel to  me  :  my  remembrance  is  very  free  and  clear  from  any 
image  of  offence  done  to  any  man.  250 

Sir  7o.  You'll  find  it  otherwise,  I  assnre  you  :  therefore, 
if  you  hold  your  life  at  any  price.  l>etake  you  to  your  guard; 
for  your  opposite  hath  in  nim  what  youth,  strength,  skill 
and  wrath  can  furnish  man  withal. 

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

Sir  To.  He  is  knight,  dubbed  with  unhatched  rapier  and 
on  carpet  consideration  ;  but  he  is  a  devil  in  private  brawl  : 
souls  and  bodies  hath  he  divorced  thr^e  ;  and  his  inoenso- 
ment  at  this  moment  is  so  implacable,  that  satisfaction  can 
be  none  but  by  pangs  of  death  and  sepulchre.  Hob,  nob,  is 
his  word  ;  give 't  or  take 't. 

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

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

Vio.  This  is  as  uncivil  a.s  strange.  I  beseech  yon,  do  me 
this  courteous  office,  as  to  know  of  the  knight  what  my  of- 
fence to  him  is  :  it  is  something  of  my  negligence,  nothing 
of  my  purpose. 

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

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

Fbb.  I  know  the  knight  is  incensed  acrainst  tqu,  even  to 
a  mortal  arbitrement ;  bat  nothing  of  tlio  circamslanoe 
more. 


758  TWELFTH  NIGHT;  [act  lu. 

Vio.  I  beseech  70a,  what  manner  of  man  is  he?  289 

F(ti>,  Nothing  of  that  wonderful  promise,  to  read  him  by 
his  form,  as  you  are  like  to  find  him  in  the  proof  of  hia 
valour.  He  is,  indeed,  sir,  the  most  skilfol,  bloodj  and 
fatal  opposite  that  you  could  possibly  have  found  in  any 
part  of  Ulyria.  Will  you  walk  towards  him  ?  I  will  make 
your  peace  with  him  if  I  can. 

Vio.  I  shall  be  much  bound  to  you  for't :  I  am  one  that 
had  rather  go  with  sir  priest  than  sir  knight :  I  care  not 

who  knowB  so  much  of  my  mettle.  [Exeunt.    300 

• 

lU- enter  Sir  Toby,  toith  Sir  Andrew. 

Sir  To,  Why,  man,  he's  a  very  devil ;  I  have  not  seen 
such  a  firago.  I  had  a  pass  with  him,  rapier,  scabbard  and 
all,  and  he  gives  me  the  stuck  in  with  such  a  mortal  mo- 
tion, that  it  is  inevitable  ;  and  on  the  answer,  he  pays  yon 
as  surely  as  your  feet  hit  the  ground  they  step  on.  Tliey 
say  he  has  been  fencer  to  the  Sophy. 

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

Sir  To.  Ay,  but  he  will  not  now  be  pacified  :  Fabian  can 
scarce  hold  him  yonder.  310 

Sir  And.  Plague  on  *t,  an  I  thought  he  had  been  valiant 
and  so  cunning  in  fence,  Tld  have  seen  him  damned  ere  I'ld 
have  challenged  him.  Let  him  let  the  matter  slip,  and  I'll 
give  him  my  horse,  grey  Capilet. 

Sir  To.  I'll  make  the  motion  .  stand  here,  make  a  good 
show  on't :  this  sball  end  without  the  perdition  of  souls. 
[AMe]  Marry,  I'll  ride  your  horse  as  well  as  I  ride  you. 

He-enter  Fabian  and  Viola. 

[To  Fab.'\  I  have  his  horse  to  take  up  the  quarrel :  I  have 
persuaded  him  the  youth 's  a  devil. 

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

Sir  To.  [To  Vio.]  There's  no  remedy,  sir;  he  will  fight 
with  you  for 's  oath  sake  :  marry,  he  hath  better  bethought 
him  of  his  quarrel,  and  he  finds  that  now  scarce  to  be  worth 
talking  of  :  therefore  draw,  for  the  supportance  of  his  vow  ; 
he  protests  he  will  not  hurt  you.  330 

Vio.  [Aside.  \  Pmy  Qod  defend  me  I  A  little  thing  would 
make  me  tell  them  how  much  I  lack  of  a  man. 

Fab.  Give*  ground,  if  you  see  him  furious. 

Sir  To.  Come,  Sir  Andrew,  there's  no  remedy  ;  the  gentle- 
man will,  for  his  honour's  sake,  have  one  bout  with 
you  ;  he  qinnot  by  the  duello  avoid  it :  but  he  has  promised 
me,  as  he  is  a  gentleman  and  a  soldier,  he  will  ^ot  hurt 
you.     Come  on  ;  to't.  3iO 


8CENEIV.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL.  750 

Sir  And.  Pray  Ocni,  he  keep  liis  oath  I 

Vio,  I  do  assure  you,  'tis  against  my  will.      [TJuy  draw. 

Enter  Antonio. 

.'1/i/.  Put  np  your  sword.     If  this  young  gentleman 
Have  done  offence,  I  take  the  fault  on  me  : 
If  3*ou  offend  him,  I  for  him  defy  yon. 
Sir  To,  Yon,  sir  I  wliy,  what  are  you  ? 
Ant,  One,  sir,  tliat  for  his  love  dares  yet  do  more  \ 

Than  you  have  heard  him  brag  to  you  he  will. 
Sir  To,  Nay,  if  you  be  an  undertaker,  I  am  for  you. 

[They  draw.    850 
EhUer  Officers. 

Fab.  O  good  Sir  Toby,  hold  ?  here  come  the  officers. 

Sir  To.  I'll  be  with  you  anon. 

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

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

Fird  Off.  This  is  the  man  ;  do  thy  office. 

Sec.  Off.  Antonio,  I  arrest  thee  at  the  suit  of  Count  Or- 
sine.  861 

Ant.  You  do  mistake  me,  sir. 

Firit  Off.  No,  sir,  no  jot ;  1  know  your  favour  well, 
Though  now  you  have  no  sea- cap  on  your  head. 
Takeuim  away :  he  knows  I  know  him  well. 

Ant.  I  must  obey.     [2o  Vio.^  This  comes  with  seeking 
you : 
But  there's  no  remedy  ;  I  shall  answer  it. 
What  will  you  do,  now  my  necessity 
Makes  me  to  ask  you  for  my  purse  t    It  grieves  me 
Much  more  for  what  I  cannot  do  for  you  870 

Than  wliat  befalls  myself.     You  stand  amazed  ; 
But  be  of  comfort. 

Sec  Off.  Ck>me,  sir,  away. 

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

Vio.  What  money,  sir? 
For  the  fair  kindness  you  have  show'd  me  here. 
And,  part,  being  prompted  by  your  present  trouble. 
Out  of  my  lean  and  low  ability 
rU  lend  you  something  :  my  having  is  not  much  ; 
I'll  make  division  of  my  present  wuh  you ;  880 

Hold,  there's  half  my  coffer. 

Ant.  Will  you  deny  me  now  ? 

Is't  possible  that  my  deserts  to  you 
Can  lack  persuasion  ?    Do  not  tempt  my  misery. 
Lest  that  it  make  me  so  nnsonnd  a  man 


760  TWELFTH   NIUUT ;  [act  iii. 

As  to  npbraid  you  Avitli  those  kindnesses 
That  I  have  done  for  you. 

Via.  I  know  of  none  ; 

Nor  know  I  you  by  voice  or  any  feature  : 
I  hate  ingnttitiide  more  in  a  man 
Than  lying",  vainness,  babbling,  drunkenness. 
Or  any  taint  of  vice  whose  strong  corruption  890 

Inhabits  our  frail  blood. 
Ant  O  heavens  themselves  ! 

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

Ant.  Let  me  speak  a  little.     This  youth  that  you  see  hero 
I  snatch'd  one  half  out  of  the  jaws  of  death. 
Relieved  him  with  such  sanctity  of  love. 
And  to  his  image,  which  methought  did  promise 
Most  venerable  worth,  did  I  devotion. 
Mrtt  Off.   What's  tliat  to  us  ?    The  time  goes  by  .  away  ! 
Ant,  But  O  how  vile  an  idol  proves  this  god  I 
Thou  hast,  Sebastian,  dor.e  good  feature  shune.  400 

In  nature  there's  no  blemish  but  the  mind  ; 
None  can  be  caU'd  deform'd  but  the  unkind  : 
Virtue  is  beauty,  but  the  beauteous  evil 
Are  empty  trunks  o'erflourish'd  by  the  devil. 
First  Off.  The  man  grows  mad  :  away  with  him  1    Come, 

comiB,  sir. 
Ant.  Lead  nie  on.  [Exit  tcith  OffUers. 

Vio.  Methinks  his  words  do  from  such  passion  fly, 
That  he  believes  himself  :  so  do  not  I. 
Prove  true,  imagination,  O,  prove  true. 
That  I,  dear  brother,  be  now  ta'en  for  vou  I  410 

Sir  To.  Come  hither,  knight ;  come  hither,  Fabian  :  we'll 
whisper  o'er  a  couplet  or  two  of  most  sage  saws. 
Vio.  He  named  Sebastian  :  I  my  brother  know 
Yet  living  in  my  glass  ;  even  such  and  so 
In  favour  was  my  brother,  and  he  went 
Still  in  this  fashion,  colour,  ornament. 
For  him  I  imitate  :    O.  if  it  prove, 

Tempests  are  kind  and  salt  waves*  fresh  in  love.  [Erii. 

Sir  To,  A  very  dishonest  paltry  boy,  and  more  a  coward 
than  a  hare :  Ins  dishonesty  appears  in  leaving  his  friend 
here  in  necessity  and  denying  him ;  and  for  iiis  coward- 
ship,  ask  Fabian. 
F(tb.  A  coward,  a  most  devoat  coward,  religious  in  it. 
Sir  And,  'Slid.  I'll  after  him  afaln  and  beat  him. 
Sir  7b.  Do  ;  cuff  him  soundly,  out  never  draw  thv  sword. 
Sir  And,  An  I  do  not,—  [^cit.    430 

Fhb,  Come,  lets  see  the  event. 
Sir  To.  I  dare  lay  any  money  'twill  be  nothing  yet 

\Mtetint 


BCBNEI.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL.  761 

ACT  IV. 

Scene  I.    Btfore  Olivia's  ?iouss. 

Enter  Sebastian  and  Clown. 

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

Seb,  Go  to,  go  to,  tlioa  art  a  foolish  fellow  : 
Let  me  be  clear  of  tliee. 

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

8d).  I  prithee,  vent  thy  folly,  somewhere  else  ;  10 
Thou  know'st  not  me. 

Clo.  Vent  my  folly  I  he  has  hoard  that  word  of  some 
ffreat  man  and  now  applies  it  to  a  fool.  Vent  my  folly  !  I 
fam  afraid  this  great  lubl)er,  the  world,  will  prove  a  cock- 
ney. I  prithee  now,  nngird  thy  strangeness  and  tell  me 
what  I  shall  vent  to  my  lady  :  shall  I  vent  to  her  that  thou 
art  coming  ? 

8d>,  I  prithee,  foolish  Greek,  depart  from  me 
There's  money  for  thee  :  if  you  tany  longer,  20 

I  shall  give  worse  pa3rment. 

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

JShUer  Sir  Andrew,  Sir  Tobt,  and  Fabian. 

Sir  And.  Now,  sir,  have  I  met  you  again  ?  there's  for 
you. 

M.  Why,  there's  for  thee,  and  there,  and  there. 
Are  all  thepeople  mad? 

Sir  To,  Hold,  sir,  or  I'll  throw  your  dagger  o'er  the 
bouse.  81 

Clo.  This  will  I  tell  my  lady  straight :  I  would  not  be  in 
some  of  your  coats  for  two  pence.  [Exit, 

■  Sir  To.  Come  on,  sir ;  hold. 

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

Seb.  Let  go  thy  hand.  40 

Sir  To.  (>>me,  sir,  I  will  not  let  you  go.  Come,  my 
young  soldier,  pat  up  your  iron :  you  are  well  fleshed  ; 
oomeon. 


762  TWELFTH  IslQBT  ;  [act  iv. 

8eb.  I  will  be  free  from  tliee.  Wliat  woaldst  tliou  now  ? 
If  thou  dareJit  tempt  me  further,  draw  thy  sword. 

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

Enter  Olivia. 

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

Sir  To.  Madam  1  50 

Oli.  Will  it  be  ever  thus  t    Ungracious  wretch. 
Fit  for  the  mountains  and  the  barbarous  caves. 
Where  manners  ne'er  were  pi-each'd  I  out  of  my  sight  I 
Be  net  offended,  dear  Cesario. 
Rudesby,  be  gone ! 

[Exeunt  Sir  Toby,  Sir  Andrew,  and  Fabian. 
I  prithee,  gentle  friend, 
Let  thy  fair  wisdom,  not  "thy  passion,  sway 
In  this  uncivil  and  unjust  extent 
Against  tliy  peace.     Go  with  mc  to  my  house. 
And  hear  thou  there  how  many  fruitless  pranks 
This  ruffian  hath  botched  up,  that  thou  thereby  60 

Mayest  smile  at  tliis  :  thou  slmlt  not  choose  but  go  : 
Bo  not  deny.     Beshrew  his  soul  for  me. 
He  started  one  poor  heart  of  mine  in  thee. 

Sdf,  What  relish  is  in  this  ?  how  runs  the  stream  ? 
Or  I  am  mad,  or  else  this  is  a  dream  : 
Let  fancy  still  my  sense  in  Lethe  steep ; 
If  it  be  thus  to  dream,  still  let  mo  sleep  ! 

OH.  Nay,  come,  I  prithee  ;  would  thou  Idst  be  ruled  by  me  I 

Seb.  Madam,  I  will. 

OIL  0,  say  so,  and  so  be !  [Exeunt. 

Scene  II.    Olivia's  hoiue. 

Enter  Maria  and  Clown. 

Mar.  Nay,  I  prithee,  put  on  this  gown  and  this  beard  ; 
make  him  believe  thou  art  Sir  Topns  the  curate :  do  it 
quickly  :  I'll  call  Sir  Toby  the  whilst,  [Exit. 

Ch.  Well,  I'll  put  it  on,  and  I  will  dissemble  myself  in'c ; 
and  I  would  I  were  the  first  that  ever  dissembled  in  such  a 
gown.  I  am  not  tall  enough  to  become  the  function  well, 
nor  lean  enough  to  be  thought  a  good  student ;  but  to  be 
said  an  iMnest  man  and  a  good  housekeeper  goes  as  fairly 
as  to  say  a  careful  man  and  a  great  scholar.  The  competi- 
tors enter. 

Enter  Sib  Toby  and  Maria. 
Sir  To,  Jovo  bless  thee,  master  Parson. 


fiCKNEii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL.  768 

tlo.  Bonos  dies,   Sir  ^oby  :  for,  as  the  old  hermit  of 

Prague,  that  never  saw  pen  and  ink,  very  wittily  said  to  a 

niece  of  King  Gorixxiuc,  "That  that  is  is;"  so  I,  being 

'master  Parson, am  master  Parson  ;  for,  what  is  **  that"  but 

"that,"  and  "is"  but  "is"? 

SiLjh.  To  him,  Sir  Topas.  20 

CdFWhat,  ho,  I  say  !  peace  in  this  prison  ! 

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

Mai.  [WUhin.]  Who  calls  there? 

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

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

Clo.  Out,  hyperbolical  fiend  I  how  vexest  thou  this  man  f 
talkest  thou  nothing  but  of  ladies  ?  80 

Sir  To,  Well  said,  master  Parson. 

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

Clo  Fie,  thou  dishonest  Satan  !  I  call  thee  by  the  most 
modest  terms  ;  for  I  am  one  of  those  gentle  ones  that  will 
use  the  devil  himself  with  courtesy :  sayest  thou  that  house 
is  dark  ? 

Mai.  As  hell.  Sir  Topas.  89 

Clo.  Why,  it  hath  bay  windows  transparent  as  barrica- 
does,  and  the  clearstores  toward  the  south  north  are  as  lus- 
trous as  ebony  ;  and  yet  complainest  tliou  of  obstruction  ? 

Mai.  1  am  not  uiacU,  Sir  Topas  :  I  say  to  you  this  house  is 
dark. 

Clo.  Madman,  thou  errest  :  I  say  there  is  no  darkness  but 
ignorance  ;  in  which  thou  art  more  puzzled  than  the  Egyp- . 
tlans  in  their  fog. 

Mai.  I  say,  this  house  is  as  dark  as  ignorance,  though  ig- 
norance were  as  dark  as  hell  ;  and  I  say,  there  was  never 
man  thus  abused.  I  ain  no  more  mad  than  you  are  ;  make 
the  trial  of  it  in  any  constant  question. 

Clo.  Wliat  is  the  opinion  of  Pythagoras  concerning  wild 
fowl  ? 

Mai.  That  the  soul  of  our  grandam  might  haply  Inhabit 
a  bird. 

Clo.  What  thinkost  thou  of  his  opinion  ? 

Mai.  I  think  nobly  of  the  soul,  and  no  way  approve  his 
opinion.  60 

Clo.  Pare  thee  well.  Remain '  thou  still  in  darkness  : 
thou  Shalt  hold  the  opinion  of  Pvthagoras  ere  l  will  allow 
of  thy  wits,  and  fear  to  kill  a  woodcock,  lest  thou  dispossess 
the  soul  of  thy  grandam.    Fare  thee  weU. 

Mai,  Sir  Topas,  Sir  Topas  I  ^ 


764    ■  TWELFTH  NMHT  ;  [act  IV. 

Sir  To.  My  most  exquisite  Sir  Topas  ! 

Clo.  Nay,  I  am  for  all  waters. 

Mar.  Tbou  mightdt  liave  done  this  withoat  thy  beard  and 
gown  :  he  sees  thee  not.  70 

Sir  To.  To  him  in  thine  own  voice,  and  bring  me  word 
how  tliou  findest  him  ;  I  would  we  were  well  rid  of  this 
knavery.  If  lie  may  be  conveniently  delivered,  I  ^^^cL  li« 
were,  for  I  am  now  so  far  in  offence  with  my  niece^iat  I 
cannot  pursue  with  any  safety  this  sport  to  the  ui^shot. 
Come  by  and  by  to  my  chamber. 

[Exeunt  Sir  Toby  and  Maria, 

Clo.  [Singing]  **  Hey,  Robin,  jolly  Hobin, 

TeU  me  how  thy  lady  does." 

Mai.  Fool  !  80 

Clo.  "  Mv  lady  is  unkind,  perdy." 

Ma2.  Fool  ! 

Clo.  "  Alas,  why  is  she  so?" 

Mai.  Fool,  I  say  ! 

Clo.  "  She  loves  another"— Who  calls,  ha? 

Mai.  Good  fool,  as  ever  thou  wilt  deserve  well  at  my 
liand,  help  me  to  a  candle,  and  pen,  ink  and  paper :  us 
I  am  a  gentleman.  I  will  live  to  be  thankful  to  thee  for't. 

Clo.  Master  Malvolio  ?  90 

Mai.  Ay,  good  fool. 

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

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

Clo.  But  as  well?  then  you  are  mad  indeed,  if  you  be  no 
better  iu  your  wits  than  a  fool. 

Mai.  They  have  here  propertied  me ;  keep  me  in  dark- 
ness,  send  ministera  to  me,  asses,  and  do  all  they  can  to  face 
me  out  of  my  wits.  101 

Clo.  Advise  you  what  you  say ;  the  minister  is  hero.  Mal- 
volio, Malvolio,  thy  wits  the  heavens  restore  I  endeavour 
thyself  to  sleep,  and  leave  thy  vain  bibble  babble. 

Mai.  Sir  Topas  I 

Ch.  Maintain  no  words  with  him,  good  fellow.  Wlio,  I, 
sir?  not  I,  sir.  God  be  wi*  you,  good  Sir  Topas.  Marry, 
amen.     I  will,  sir,  I  will. 

Mai.  Fool,  fool,  fool,  I  say  !  110 

Clo.  Alas,  sir,  be  patient.  Wliat  say  you,  sir?  I  amsheut 
for  speaking  to  you. 

MiU'  Good  fool,  help  me  to  some  light  and  some  paper: 
I  tell  thee,"!  am  as  well  in  my  wits  as  any  man  in  Illyria. 

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

Mai.  By  this  hand,  I  am.  Good  fool,  some  ink,  paper 
and  light ;  and  convey  what  I  will  set  down  to  my  lady  :  it 


seBNEni.]  OR,    WHAT  YOU   WILL.  765 

shall  advantage  tliee  more  than  ever  tlia  bearing  of  letter 
did.  12J 

(Jlo,  I  will  help  you  lo't.     But  tell  me  true,  are  you  not 
mad  indeed  ?  or  do  you  but  counterfeit  ? 
Mai.  Believe  me,  I  am  not ;  I  tell  theo  true. 
Clo,  Nav,  ril  ne'er  believe  a  madman  till  I  see  Ids  brains. 
I  will  fetcu  you  light  and  paper  and  ink. 

Mai,  Fool,  ril  requite  it  in  the  highest  degree :  I  prithee, 
be  gone. 
Clo,  [9inffing\      I  am  gone,  sir.  180 

And  anon,  sir, 
rU  bo  with  you  again. 
In  a  trice. 

Like  to  the  old  Vice, 
Yonr  need  to  sustain  ; 

'  Who,  with  dagger  of  lath. 

In  his  rage  and  his  wrath. 

Cries,  ah,  ha  !  to  the  devil : 
Like  a  mad  lad. 
Pare  thy  nails,  dad  ;  140 

f  Adieu,  good  man  devil.  \Exit. 

Scene  III.    Olivia's  garden, 

EnUr  Sebastian. 

8eb.  This  is  the  air ;  that  is  the  glorious  son  ; 
This  pearl  she  gave  mo,  I  do  feel't  and  see't ; 
And  though  'tis  wonder  tliat  enwraps  me  thus. 
Yet  'tis  not  madness.     Wlic^re's  Antonio,  then  ? 
I  could  not  find  him  at  the  Elephant : 
Yet  there  he  was ;  and  there  1  found  this  credit. 
That  he  did  range  the  town  to  seek  me  out. 
His  counsel  now  might  do  me  golden  service  ; 
For  though  my  soul  disputes  well  with  my  sense, 
Tlu&t  this  may  be  some  error,  but  no  madness,  10 

Yet  doth  this  accident  and  Hood  of  fortune 
So  far  exceed  all  instance,  all  discourse, 
That  I  am  ready  to  distrust  mine  eyes 
And  wrangle  with  my  reason  that  persuades  me 
To  any  q^her  trust  but  tliat  I  am  mad 
Or  else  the  lady's  mad  ;  yet,  if  'twere  so. 
She  could  not  sway  her  house,  command  her  followera. 
Take  and  give  back  affairs  and  their  dispatch 
With  such  a  smooth,  discreet  and  stable  bearing 
As  I  perceive  she  does  :  there's  something  in't  20 

That  is  deoeivable.     But  here  the  lady  comes. 


766  TWELFTH  NIGHT;  [act V. 

Bnier  Olivia  and  Priest. 

OH.  Blame  not  tliis  haste  of  mine.     If  you  mean  well 
Now  go  with  me  and  with  this  holy  man 
Into  tlie  chantry  by  :  there,  befoi*e  him. 
And  underneath  that  consecrated  roof. 
Plight  me  the  full  assarance  of  your  faith  ; 
That  my  most  jealous  and  too  doubtful  soul 
May  live  at  peace.*    He  shall  conceal  it 
Whiles  you  are  willing  it  shall  come  to  note» 
Wliat  time  we  will  our  celebration  keep  80 

According  to  my  birth.     Wliat  do  you  say? 

JSeb.  I'll  follow  this  good  man,  and  go  with  you ; 
And,  Iiavlng  sworn  truth,  ever  will  be  true. 

OH.  Then  lead  the  way,  good  father  ;   and  heavens   so 
shine, 
That  they  may  fairly  note  thia  act  oi  mine  1  [Exeunt, 

ACT  V. 

ScBiini  I.    Before  Oliyta's  Tumee. 

Enter  Clowk  and  Fabian. 

Fab.  Now,  as  thou  lovest  me,  let  me  see  his  letter. 
Clo.  Good  Master  Fabian,  grant  me  another  request. 
Fab.  Anything, 

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

Enter  Duke,  Viola,  Curio,  and  Lords. 

Duke.  Belong  you  to  the  Lady  Olivia,  friends  ? 

Clo.  Ay,  sir  ;  we  are  some  of  her  trappings.  10 

Duke.  1  know  thee  well :  how  dost  thou,  my  good  fel- 
low? . 

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

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

Clo.  No,  sir,  the  worse. 

Duke.  How  can  that  be  ? 

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


flCKNBL]  OK.  WHAT  YOU  WILL.  767 

Duke,  Wliy,  tlils  is  excellent. 

Olo.  Br  my  troth,  sir,  no  ;  though  it  please  jou  to  be  one 
of  my  friends.  30 

Duke.  Tlioa  shalt  not  be  the  worse  for  me :  there's  gold. 

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

Duke.  O,  you  give  me  ill  counsel. 

Clo.  Put  your  grace  in  your  pocket,  sir,  for  this  once,  and 
let  your  flesh  and  blood  obey  it. 

Duke,  Well,  I  will  be  so  much  a  sinner,  to  be  a  double- 
dealer  :  there's  another. 

CZo.  Primo,  secundo,  tertio,  is  a  good  play ;  and  the  old 
saying  is,  the  third  pays  for  all :  the  triplex,  sir,  is  a  good 
tripping  measure ;  or  the  bells  of  Saint  Bennet,  sir,  may  put 
you  in  mind ;  one,  two,  three. 

Duke.  You  can  fool  no  more  money  out  of  me  at  this 
throw :  if  you  will  let  your  lady  know  I  am  here  to  speak 
with  her,  and  bring  her  along  with  you,  it  may  awake  my 
bounty  further. 

Clo.  Marry,  sir,  lullaby  to  your  bounty  till  I  oome  again. 
I  go,  sir ;  but  I  would  not  have  you  to  think  that  my  desire 
of  having  is  the  sin  of  covetousness :  but,  as  you  say,  sir, 
let  your  bounty  take  a  nap,  I  will  awake  it  anon.         [i2^. 

Vio.  Here  comes  the  man,  sir,  that  did  rescue  me. 

Enter  Aktonio  and  Officers. 

P^ke.  That  face  of  his  I  do  remember  well ; 
Yet,  \.  tien  I  saw  it  last,  it  was  besmear'd 
As  black  as  Vulcan  in  the  smoke  of  war  : 
A  bawbling  vessel  was  he  captain  of. 
For  shallow  draught  and  bulk  unprizable  ; 
With  which  such  scathful  grapple  did  he  make 
Witii  the  most  noble  bottom  oi  our  fleet,  00 

That  very  envy  and  the  tongue  of  loss 
Cried  fame  and  honour  on  hiui.     What*s  the  matter? 

First  Off,  Orsino,  this  is  that  Antonio 
That  took  the  Phoenix  and  her  fraught  from  Candy ; 
And  this  is  he  that  did  the  Tiger  board. 
Wlien  your  young  nephew  Titus  lost  his  leg  : 
Here  in  the  streeto,  desperate  of  shame  and  state. 
In  private  brabble  did  we  apprehend  him. 

Vio.  He  did  me  kindness,  sir,  drew  on  my  side  ; 
But  in  conclusion  put  strange  speech  upon  me  :  70 

I  know  not  what  *twas  but  distraction. 

Duke,  Notable  pirate  !  thou  salt-water  thief  I 
Wliat  foolish  boldness  brought  thee  to  their  mercies, 
Whom  thott«  in  terms  so  blcody  and  so  dear. 


768  TWELFTH  NIGHT;  [aott. 

Hast  made  thine  enemies  ? 

Ant.  Orsino,  noble  sir. 

Be  pleased  that  I  shake  oft  these  names  you  give  me  : 
Autonio  never  yet  was  thief  or  pirate, 
Tliough  I  confess,  on  base  and  ground  enough, 
Orsino's  enemy.     A  witchcraft  drew  me  hither : 
That  most  in^mteful  l)oy  there  by  your  side,  80 

From  the  rude  sea's  enraged  and  foamy  mouth 
i)id  I  redeem  ;  a  wreck  past  liope  lie  was : 
His  life  I  gave  him  and  did  thereto  add 
My  lovo,  without  retention  or  restraint. 
All  his  in  dedication  ;  for  his  sake 
Did  I  expose  myself,  pure  for  his  love. 
Into  the  danger  of  this  adverse  town  ; 
Drew  to  defend  him  when  he  was  beset : 
Where  being  ax>prehended,  his  false  cunning, 
Not  meaning  to  partake  with  me  in  danger,  90 

Taught  him  to  face  me  out  of  his  acquaintance, 
And  grew  a  twenty  yr^rs  removed  thing 
While  one  would  wink ;  denied  me  mine  own  poiaei. 
Which  I  had  recommended  to  his  use 
Not  half  an  hour  before. 

Vio.  How  can  this  be  ? 

Duke,  Wlien  came  he  to  this  town  ? 

Ant.  To-day,  my  lord  ;  and  for  three  months  before. 
No  interim,  not  a  minute's  vacancy. 
Both  day  and  night  did  we  keep  company. 

ErOer  OXiiviA  and  Attendants. 

Duke.  Here  comes  the  countess :  now  heaven  walks  on 
earth.  100 

But  for  thee,  fellow  ;  fellow,  thy  words  are  madness : 
Three  months  this  youth  hath  tended  npon  me ; 
But  more  of  that  anon.     Take  him  aside. 

Oli.  What  would  my  lord,  but  that  he  may  not  have. 
Wherein  Olivi  i  may  seem  serviceable? 
Cesario,  you  do  not  keep  promise  with  me. 

Vio.  Madam  I 

Dnke.  Gracious  Olivia, —  110 

Oli.  What  do  you  say,  Cesario  ?    Good  my  lord, — 

Vio.  Mv  lord  would  si)eak  :  my  duty  hushes  me. 

(Hi.  If  It  be  aught  to  the  old  tune,  my  lord. 
It  is  as  fat  and  f aisome  to  mine  ear 
As  howling  after  music. 

Duke.  Still  so  cruel? 

(Hi.  Still  so  constant,  lord. 

Dvke.   What,  to  perverseness?  you  uncivil  lady, 


SCENE  1.1  OB,  WHAT  YOU  WILL.  780 

To  wboRe  ingrate  and  annuspicious  altara 

My  soul  the  falthfall'st  offerings  hath  breathed  out 

That  e*er  devotion  tender'd  !     What  shall  I  do? 

OH.  Even  what  it  please  my  lord,  that  shall  become  him. 

Duke.  Why  should  I  not,  had  I  the  heart  to  do  it,       120 
Like  to  the  Egyptian  thief  at  point  6f  death, 
Kill  wliat  I  love  ? — a  savage  jealousy 
Tliat  sometime  savours  nobly.     But  hear  me  this  : 
Since  you  to  non-regardance  cast  my  faith. 
And  that  I  partly  know  the  instrument 
Tliat  screws  mo  from  my  true  place  in  your  favour. 
Live  you  the  marble -breasted  tyrant  still  : 
But  this  your  minion,  whom  I  know  you  love. 
And  whom,  by  heaven  I  swear,  I  tender  dearly. 
Him  will  I  tear  out  of  that  cruel  eye,  130 

Where  he  sits  crowned  in  his  master's  spite. 
Come,  boy,  with  me  ;  my  thoughts  are  ripe  in  mischief : 
I'll  sacrifice  the  lamb  that  I  do  love. 
To  spite  a  raven's  heart  within  a  dove. 

Vio.  And  I,  most  jocund,  apt  and  willingly. 
To  do  you  rest,  a  thousand  deatlis  would  die. 

(Hi.  Where  goes  Cesario  ? 

Vio.  After  him  I  love 

More  than  I  love  these  eyes,  more  than  my  life. 
More,  by  all  mores,  than  e'er  I  shall  love  wife. 
If  I  do  feign,  yuu  witnesses  above  140 

Punish  my  life  for  tainting  of  my  love  ! 

Oli,  Ay  me,  detested  ?  how  am  I  beguiled  ? 

Vio,  Who  does  beguile  you  ?  who  does  do  you  wrong  ? 

OK.  Hast  thou  forgot  tliyself  ?  is  it  so  long? 
Call  forth  the  holy  father. 

Duke.  Come,  away  I 

Oii,  Whither,  my  lord  ?  Cesario,  husband,  stay. 

Diike,  Hosband ! 

Oil,  Ay,  husband  :  can  he  that  deny  ? 

Duke.  Her  husband,  sirrah  I 

Vio.  No,  my  lord,  not  L 

Oli.  Alas,  it  Is  the  baseness  of  thy  fear 
That  makes  thee  strangle  thy  propriety  :  15Q 

Fear  not,  Cesario  ;  take  thy  fortunes  up  ; 
Be  that  thou  know'st  thou  art,  and  then  thoa  art 
As  great  as  that  thoa  f  ear'st. 

Enter  Priest.  • 

O,  welcome,  father  I 
Father,  I  charge  thee,  by  thy  reverence, 
Here  to  unfold,  though  lately  we  intended 

SHAK.    I« — 25 


770  TWELFTH  NIGHT;  [act  V. 

To  keep  in  darkness  what  occasion  now 
Reveals  before  'lis  ripe,  what  thou  dost  know 
Hath  newly  pass'd  between  this  youth  and  me. 

Priest.  A  contract  of  eternal  bond  of  love, 
Confinu'd  by  mutual  joinder  of  your  hands,  1§0 

Attested  by  the  holy  close  of  lips. 
Strengthened  by  interchangement  of  your  rings  ; 
And  all  the  ceremony  of  this  compact 
Seal'd  in  my  function,  by  my  testimony  : 
Since  when,  my  watch  hath  told  me,  toward  my  grave 
I  have  traveird  but  two  hours. 

Dtike.  O  thou  dissembling  cub  !  what  wilt  thou  be 
When  time  hath  sow*d  a  grizzle  on  thy  case? 
Or  will  not  else  thy  craft  so  quickly  grow, 
That  thine  own  trip  shall  be  thine  overthrow  ?  170 

Farewell,  and  take  her  ;  but  direct  thy  feet 
Where  thou  and  I  henceforth  may  never  meet. 

Vio.  My  lord,  I  do  protest — 

Oil.  O,  do  not  swear  I 

Hold  little  faith,  though  thou  hast  too  much  fear. 

Enter  Sm  Andrew. 

Sir  And.  For  the  Jove  of  God,  a  surgeon  t  Seod  one 
presently  to  Sir  Toby. 

OH.  What's  the  matter  ? 

Sir  And.  He  has  broke  my  head  across  and  has  given  Sir 
7'oby  a  bloody  coxcomb  too  :  for  the  love  of  God,  your  help  I 
I  had  rather  than  forty  pound  I  were  at  home.  181 

OIL  Who  has  done  this.  Sir  Andrew  ? 

Sir  And.  The  count's  gentleman,  one  Cesario :  we  took 
him  for  a  coward,  but  he's  the  very  devil  incardinate. 

Duke.  My  gentleman,  Cesario  ? 

Sir  And,  'Od'a  lifelings,  here  he  is  !  You  broke  my  head 
for  nothing  ;  and  that  that  I  did,  I  was  set  on  to  do't  oy  Sir 
Toby. 

Vio.  Why  do  you  speak  to  me  ?    I  never  hurt  you :     190 
You  drrw  your  sword  upon  me  without  cause  ; 
But  1  bespake  you  fair,  and  hurt  you  not. 

Sir  And.  If  a  bloody  coxcomb  be  a  hurt,  yon  have  hurt 
me  r  I  think  you  set  nothing  by  a  bloody  oozounb. 

Enter  Sir  Toby  and  Clown. 

Here  comes  Sir  fohy  halting ;  yon  shall  hear  more :  but  if 
ho  had  not  been  in  drink,  he  would  have  tickled  you  other- 
gates  than  he  did. 
Dukt,  How  now,  gentlemen  I  how  is't  with  you?        900 


SCENE  l]  or,   what  you  will.  771 

Sir  To.  That's  all  one  :  lias  hurt  me,  and  tbere*s  tbc  end 
on't.     Sot,  didst  see  Dick  surgeon,  sot  ? 

Clo.  Oh,  he*s  drank,  Sir  Toby,  an  hour  agone  ;  bis  eyes 
were  set  at  eight  i'  the  morning. 

Sir  To.  Then  he's  a  rogue,  f  and  a  passy  measures  pavin  : 
I  hate  a  drunken  rogue. 

OU.  Away  with  him  1    Who  hath  made  this  havoc  with 
them  ? 

Sir  And.  Til  help  you,  Sir  Toby,  because  we'll  be  dressed 
together.  311 

Sir  To.  Will  you  help  ?  an  ass-head  and  a  coxcomb  and  a 
knave,  a  thin- faced  knave,  a  gull ! 

Olu  Get  him  to  bed,  and  let  his  hurt  be  look'd  to. 

[Exeunt  Clowns  Fbbiaji,  Sir  Toby,  and  Sir  Andrew. 

Enter  Sebastiak. 

Beb.  I  am  sorry,  madam,  I  have  hurt  vour  kinsman  ; 
But,  had  it  been  the  brother  of  my  blood, 
I  must  have  done  no  less  with  wit  and  safety. 
You  throw  a  strange  regrard  upon  me,  and  by  that 
1  do  perceive  it  hatli  onended  yon  :  2d0 

Pardon  me,  sweet  one,  even  for  the  vows 
We  made  each  other  but  so  late  aeo. 

Duke.  One  face,  one  voice,  one  nabit,  and  two  persons, 
A  natural  perspective,  that  is  and  is  not  1 

Bd).  Antonio,  O  my  dear  Antonio  ! 
How  have  the  hours  rack'd  and  tortured  me. 
Since  I  have  lost  thee  I 

Ant.  Sebastian  are  you  ? 

Seb.  Fear'st  thou  that,  Antonio? 

Ant.  How  have  you  made  division  of  yourself  ? 
An  apple,  cleft  in  two,  is  not  more  twin  280 

Than  these  two  creatures.     Which  is  Sebastian  ? 

OH.  Most  wonderful ! 

Seb.  Do  I  stand  there  ?    I  never  had  a  brother  ; 
Nor  can  there  be  that  deity  in  my  nature, 
Of  here  and  every  where.     I  had  a  sister. 
Whom  the  blind  waves  and  surges  have  devonr'd. 
Of  charity,  what  kin  are  you  to  me? 
Wliat  countryman  ?  what  name  ?  what  parentage  ? 

Vio.  Of  Messaline  :  Sebastian  was  my  father  ; 
Such  a  Sebastian  was  my  brother  too,  240 

So  went  he  suited  to  his  watery  tomb  : 
If  spirits  can  assume  both  form  and  suit 
You  come  to  fright  us. 

8^.  A  spirit  I  am  indeed ; 

But  am  in  that  dimension  grossly  clad 


7?2  TWELFTH   NIGHT;  [act  v. 

Which  from  the  womb  I  did  participate. 
Were  you  a  woman,  as  the  rest  goes  even, 
I  shouVd  my  tears  let  fall  u^wn  your  cheek, 
And  say  *'  Thrice- welcome,  drowned  Viola  !" 

Via.  My  father  had  a  mole  upon  his  brow. 

Seb.  And  so  had  mine.  260 

Vio.  And  died  that  day  when  Viola  from  her  birth 
Had  number'd  thirteen  years. 

Seb,  O,  that  record  is  lively  in  my  soul  I 
He  finished  indeed  his  mortal  act 
That  day  that  made  my  sister  thirteen  years. 

Vio.  If  nothing  lets  to  make  us  happy  both 
But  this  my  masculine  usurp'd  attire. 
Do  not  embrace  me  till  each  circumstance 
Of  place,  time,  fortune,  do  cohere  and  jump 
That  I  am  Viola  :  which  to  confirm,  260 

I'll  brin^  you  to  a  captain  in  this  town. 
Where  lie  niy  maiden  weeds ;  by  whose  gentle  help 
I  was  preserved  to  serve  this  noble  count. 
All  the  occurrence  of  my  fortune  since 
Hath  lieen  between  this  lady  and  this  lord. 

Seb.  [To  Olivia]  So  comes  it,  lady,  you  have  been  mistook  : 
But  nature  to  her  bias  drew  in  that. 
Tou  would  have  been  contracted  to  a  maid  ; 
Nor  are  you  therein,  by  my  life,  deceived. 
You  are  betroth'd  both  to  a  maid  and  man.  270 

Duke.  Be  not  amazed  ;  right  noble  is  liis  blood. 
If  this  be  so,  as  yet  the  glass  seems  true, 
I  shall  have  share  in  this  most  happy  wreck. 
[To  Viola]  Boy,  thou  hast  said  to  me  a  thousand  times 
Thou  never  shouldst  love  woman  like  to  me. 

Vio.  And  all  those  saying  will  I  over-swear ; 
And  all  tliose  swearings  keep  as  true  in  soul 
As  doth  tliat  orbed  continent  the  fire 
That  severs  day  from  night. 

Duke.  Give  me  thy  hand; 

'And  let  me  see  thee  in  thy  woman's  weeds.  280 

Vio.  The  captain  that  did  bring  me  first  on  shore 
Hatli  my  maid's  garments  :  he  upon  some  action 
Is  now  in  durance,  at  Malvolio's  suit, 
A  gentleman,  and  follower  of  my  lady's. 

Oli.  He  shall  enlarge  him  :  fetch  Malvolio  hither : 
And  yet,  alas,  now  I  remember  me. 
They  say,  poor  gentleman,  he's  much  distract 

Be-enter  Clown  ii>ith  a  letter,  and  Fasuk. 
A  most  extracting  frenzy  of  mine  own 


BCENBI.]  OR,  WHAt  YOU  WILL.  773 

From  my  remembrance  clearly  banish'd  his. 

How  does  he,  sirrah  ?  290 

Clo,  Truly,  madain,  he  holds  Belzebub  at  the  stave's  end 
as  well  as  a  man  in  his  case  may  do :  has  .here  writ  a  letter 
to  you  :  I  should  have  givep  't  you  to-day  morning,  but  as  a 
madman's  epistles  are  no  gospels,  so  it  skills  not  much  when 
they  are  delivered. 

Oli.  Open  't,  and  read  it. 

Clo.  Look  then  to  he  well  edified  when  the  fool  delivers 
the  madman.     [Reads]  **  By  the  lord,  madam,"—  800 

Oli,  How  now  !  art  thou  mad  ¥ 

Clo.  No,  madam,  I  do  but  read  madness :  an  your  lady- 
ship will  have  it  as  it  ought  to  be,  you  must  allow  Vox. 

6U.  Prithee,  read  i'  thy  right  %vits. 

Clo,  So  I  do,  madonna  ;  but  to  read  his  right  wits  Is  to 
read  thus  ;  therefore  perpend,  my  princess,  and  give  ear. 

(Mi.  Read  it  you,  sirrah.  [To  Fabian. 

Fab.  [ReadA  **  By  the  Lord,  madam,  you  wrong  me,  and 
the  world  shall  know  it :  though  you  have  put  me  into  dark- 
ness and  given  your  drunken  consin  rule  over  me,  yet  have 
I  the  benefit  of  my  senses  as  well  as  your  ladyship.  I  have 
your  own  letter  that  induced  me  to  the  semblance  I  put  on  ; 
with  the  which  I  doubt  not  but  to  do  myself  mucu  right, 
or  you  much  shame.  Think  of  me  as  you  please.  I  leave 
my  duty  a  little  unthought  of  and  speak  out  of  my  injury. 

THB  MADLY-X78ED  MaLYOLIO." 

OU.  Did  he  write  this?  830 

CU>,  Ay,  madam. 

Duke.  This  savours  not  much  of  distraction. 

OU.  See  him  delivered,  Fabian  ;  bring  him  hither. 

[Exit  Fabian. 
My  k>rd,   so  please  you,  these  things  further  tiiought  ou. 
To  think  me  as  well  a  sister  as  a  wife. 
One  day  shall  crown  the  alliance  on't,  so  please  you. 
Here  at  my  house  and  at  my  proper  cost. 

Duke.  Madam.  I  am  most  apt  to  embrace  your  offer. 
\To  Violal  Your  master  quits  you ;  and  for  your  service  done 

him. 
So  much  against  the  metal  of  your  sex. 
So  far  lieneath  your  soft  and  tender  breeding* 
And  since  you  call'd  me  master  for  so  long. 
Here  is  my  hand  :  you  shall  from  this  time  be 
Your  master's  mistress. 

OU,  A  sist^  I  you  are  she. 

Be-^nier  Fabian  10!^  MALYOLia 
Duke.  Jb  this  the  madman  ? 


774  TWELFTH  NIGHT;  [actv. 

OH.  Ay,  my  lord,  this  same. 

How  now,  Malvolio  I 

Mai.  Madam,  yoa  hare  done  me  wrong, 

Notorious  wrong. 

OH.  Have  I,  Malvolio?  no. 

Jfal.  Lady,  yoa  have,    pray  you,  penise  that  letter. 
You  must  not  now  deny  it  is  vour  hand  : 
Write  from  it,  if  you  can,  in  iiand  or  phrase  840 

Or  say  'tis  not  your  seal,  not  your  invention  : 
Tou  can  say  none  of  this  :  well,  grant  it  then 
And  tell  me  in  the  modesty  of  honour, 
Why  you  have  given  me  such  clear  lights  of  favour. 
Bade  me  come  smiling  ond  cross- garter'd  to  yoiiy 
To  put  on  yellow  stockings  and  to  frown 
Upon  Sir  Toby  and  the  lighter  people  ; 
And,  acting  this  in  an  ob^ient  nope. 
Why  have  you  suffer'd  me  to  be  imprison'd, 
Kept  in  a  dark  house,  visited  by  the  priest,  850 

And  made  the  most  notorious  geek  and  ^11 
That  e'er  invention  play*d  on  ?  tell  me  wny. 

OH.  Alas,  Malvolio,  this  is  not  my  writing, 
Tliough  I  confess  much  like  the  character  : 
But  out  of  question  'tis  Maria's  hand. 
And  now  I  do  bethink  me,  it  was  she 
first  told  me  thou  %vast  mad ;  tiien  earnest  in  smiling. 
And  in  such  forms  which  here  were  presupposed 
Upon  thee  in  the  letter.     Prithee,  be  content : 
This  practice  hath  most  shrewdly  pass'd  upon  thee  ;       880 
But  when  we  know  the  grounds  and  authors  of  it, 
Thou  shalt  be  both  the  plaintiff  and  the  Judge 
Of  thine  own  cause. 

Fab,  Good  madam,  hear  me  speak. 

And  let  no  quarrel  nor  no  brawl  to  come 
Taint  the  condition  of  this  present  hour, 
Which  I  have  wonder'd  at.     In  hope  it  shall  not» 
Most  freely  I  confess,  myself  and  'tohy 
Set  this  devise  against  Malvolio  here. 
Upon  some  stubborn  and  uncourteous  parts. 
We  had  conceived  against  him  :  Maria  writ  370 

,The  letter  at  Sir  Toby's  f  reat  importance  ; 
In  recompense  whereof  he  hath  married  her. 
How  with  a  sportful  malace  it  was  followed, 
Mav  rather  pluck  on  laughter  than  revenge  ; 
If  tWt  the  injuries  be  justly  weigh'd 
That  have  on  both  sides  pass'd. 

OH.  Alas,  poor  fool,  how  have  they  baffled  thee  t 

Clo.  Why,  "  some  are  bora  great,  some  achieve  great- 


scbhbl]  or,   what  you  WILL.  775 

nes8,  and  some  have  fireatness  thrown  upon  them."    I  was 
one,  sir,  in  this  interlude  ;  one  Sir  Topas,  Bir ;  but  that's 
all  one.     "  By  the  Lord,  fool,  I  am  not  mad."    Bat  do  yon 
remember  ?  ' '  Madam,  wliy  laugh  von  at  such  a  barren  ras- 
cal ?  an  you  smile  not,  he's  gaggrd  : "  and  thus  the  whirli- 
gig of  time  brings  in  his  revenges. 
Mai.  ril  he  revenged  on  the  whole  pack  of  you.       [Exit, 
CHu  He  hatli  been  most  notoriously  abused. 
Duke.  Pursue  him,  and  entreat  him  to  a  peace  : 
He  hath  not  told  ns  of  the  captain  yet :  890 

When  tliat  is  known  and  ^Iden  time  convents, 
A  solemn  combination  shall  be  made 
Of  our  dear  souls.     Meantime,  sweet  sister, 
We  will  not  part  from  hence.     Cesario,  come ; 
For  so  you  shall  be,  while  you  are  a  man  ; 
But  when  in  other  habits  you  are  seen, 
Orsino's  mistress  and  his  fancy's  queen. 

[Exeunt  aU,  except  Clown. 
Ck>.  [Singsl 

when  that  I  was  and  a  little  tiny  boy. 
With  hey,  ho,  the  wind  and  the  rain, 
A  foolish  thing  was  but  a  toy,  400 

For  the  rain  it  raineth  every  day. 

But  when  I  came  to  man's  estate. 

With  hey,  ho,  &c. 
'Gainst  knaves  and  thieves  men  sb>)'  their  gate, 

For  the  rain,  &c. 

But  when  I  came,  alas  !  to  wive, 

With  hey,  ho,  &c. 
By  swaffgerhig  could  I  never  thrive. 

For  the  rain,  &c. 

But  when  I  came  unto  my  beds,  410 

With  hey,  ho,  &c. 
With  toss- pots  still  had  drunken  head% 

For  the  rain,  &c. 

A  Rreat  while  ago  the  world  begun. 

With  hey,  ho,  Ac    • 
But  that's  all  one,  our  play  is  done, 

And  we'll  stave  to  please  yon  every  day. 

[JExU. 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONiE. 

LxoKTM,  kine:  of  Sicilia.  A  Mariner. 

Mavillxus,  young  prince  of  Sici-  A  Gaoler. 

UA.  Hebxionx,  qneeti  tb  Leontes. 

Cauxllo,            1  Pcia>iTA,dangliter  toLeontesand 

AifTiooNus,          Four    lords    of  Hermlone. 

Clbomknbs,                 Sicilia.  .^Pauliiia,  wife  to  Antlgonns.' 

Dton,                 J  aUlli,  a  fau!y  atUsndlng  on  Her- 

PoLizvNEfi,  king  of  Bohemia.  mlone. 

Flobizel,  prfnce  of  Bohemia.  Mopsa,   I.  qk««i,-»i.wi^«*.» 

Archidamub.  a  lord  of  Bohemia.  DoncAi,  f  Shepherdesses. 

Old  Shepherd,    repnted  fatber  of  Other  Lords  and  Oen  Clemen  J^adfea, 

Perdlta.  Officers,    and    Serrants,    Shep- 

Clown,  his  son.  herds  and  Shepherdesses. 

AUTOLTcrrs,  a  rogae.  Time,  as  Chonia. 

Scene  :  Sisilia,  and  Bohemia, 

ACT  L 

PccNE  I.    AivUchamber  in  Leotttes'  palaee. 

Enter  Camtllo  and  Archidamub. 

Arfih'  If  70U  shall  chance,  Camillo,  to  visit  Bohemia,  on 
the  like  occasion  whereon  mj  services  are  now  on  foot,  you 
shall  see,  as  I  have  said,  great  difference  hetwixt  our  Bohe- 
mia and  your  Sicilia. 

Cam.  I  think,  this  coming  summer,  the  King  of  Sicilia 
means  to  pay  Bohemia  the  visitation  which  he  justly  owes 
him. 

Arch.  Wlierein  our  entertainment  shall  shame  us  we  will 
he  justified  in  our  loves  ;  for  indeed —  10 

Cam.  Beseech  you, — 

Arch.  Verily,  I  speak  i|  in  the  freedom  of  my  knowledge  : 
we  cannot  with  such  magnificence — in  so  rare — I  know  not 
what  to  say.  We  will  give  you  sleepy  drinks,  that  your 
senses,  unintelligent  of  our  insufilcience,  may,  though  they 
cannot  praise  us,  as  little  accuse  us. 

Cam.  You  pay  a  great  deal  too  dear  for  what's  given 
freely.  19 

f  776) 


8CRNK1I.]  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  777 

Are7i.  Believe  me,  I  speak  as  my  understandiug  instracts 
me  and  ns  mine  lionestj  pu's  it  to  utterance. 

Cam,  Sieilia  cannot  sliow  himself  over-kind  to  Bohemia. 
They  were  trained  together  in  their  childhoods  :  and  there 
rooted  hetwixt  them  then  such  an  affection,  which  cannot 
choo.se  hut  hranch  now.  Since  their  more  mature  dignities 
and  royal  necessities  made  seimration  of  their  society,  their 
encounters,  though  not  personal,  have  hecn  royally  attor- 
neyed  with  interchange  of  gifts,  letters,  loving  emhossics  ; 
that  they  have  seemed  to  be  together,  though  absent,  shook 
hands,  as  over  a  vast,  and  embraced,  as  it  were,  from  tho 
ends  of  opposed  winds.     The  heavens  continue  their  loves  1 

Arch,  I  think  there  is  not  in  the  world  either  malice  or 
matter  to  alter  it.  You  have  an  unspeakable  comfort  of 
your  young  prince  Mamillius  :  it  is  a  gentleman  of  the 
greatest  promise  that  ever  came  into  my  note.  40 

Cam.  I  very  well  agree  with  you  in  the  hopes  of  him  :  it 
is  a  gallant  child  ;  one  that  indeed  physics  the  subject, 
makes  old  hearts  fresh  :  they  that  went  on  crutches  ere  he 
was  born  desire  yet  their  life  to  see  him  a  man. 

Arch,  Would  they  else  be  content  to  die  T 

Cam.  Yes  ;  if  there  were  no  other  excuse  why  they 
should  desire  to  live. 

AreA.  If  the  king  had  no  son,  they  would  desire  to  live 
on  crutches  till  he  had  one.  [Exeujit,    50 

ScBKH  II.    A  roam  of  state  in  the  tame. 

Enter  Lbontbs,  Hbrmione,  Mamillius,  Polixenes,  Cam- 

ILLO,  and  Attendants, 

Pel.  Nine  changes  of  the  watery  star  liath  been 
Tlie  shepherd's  note  since  we  have  left  our  throne 
Without  a  burthen  :  time  as  long  again 
Would  be  fill'd  up,  my  brother,  with  oar  thanks  ; 
And  yet  we  should,  for  perpetuity, 
Qo  hence  in  debt :  and  therefore,  like  a  cipher, 
Yet  standing  in  rich  place,  I  multiply 
With  one  '*  We  thank  you"  many  thousands  moe 
That  go  before  it. 

Leon,  Stay  your  thanks  a  while ; 

And  pay  them  when  you  part. 

Pol.  Sir,  that's  to  morrow.  10 

I  am  questioned  by  my  fears,  of  wliat  may  chance 
Or  breed  upon  our  absence  ;  that  may  blow 
No  sneaping  winds  at  liome,  to  make  us  say 
*'  This  is  put  forth  too  tmly  : "  besides,  I  lu^ve  stay'd 
To  tlr©  your  royalty. 


778  .THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  [acti. 

Leon,  We  are  touglier,  brother^ 

Than  you  can  pat  us  to't. 

Pol.  No  longer  stay. 

Leon,  One  seven-niglit  longer. 

Pol.  Very  sootli,  to-morrow. 

Leon.  We'll  part  the  time  between  's  then  ;  and  in  that 
I'll  no  gainsaying. 

Pd,  Press  me  not,  beseech  you,  so. 

There  is  no  tongue  that  moves,  none,  none  i'  the  world 
So  soon  as  yours  could  win  me  :  so  it  should  now. 
Were  there  necessity  in  your  request,  although 
'Twere  needful  I  denied  it.    My  affairs 
Do  even  drag  me  homeward  :  which  to  hinder 
Were  in  your  love  a  whip  to  me ;  my  stay 
To  you  a  charge  and  trouble  :  to  save  both. 
Farewell,  our  brother. 

Leon.  Tongue-tied  our  queen  ?  speak  you. 

Her.  I  had  thought,  sir,  to  have  held  my  peace  until 
You  had  drawn  oaths  from  him  not  to  stay.    You  sir. 
Charge  him  too  coldly.     Tell  him,  you  are  sure  80 

All  in  Bohemia 's  well ;  this  satisfaction 
The  by-gone  dav  proclaim'd :  say  this  to  him. 
He's  beat  from  his  best  ward. 

Leon.  Well  said,  Hermione. 

Her.  To  tell,  he  longs  to  see  his  sou,  were  strong : 
But  let  him  say  so  then,  and  let  him  go ; 
But  let  him  swear  so,  and  he  shall  not  stay. 
We'll  thwack  him  hence  with  distaffs. 
Yet  of  your  royal  presence  I'll  adventure 
The  borrow  of  a  week.     When  at  Bohemia 
You  take  my  lord,  I'll  give  him  my  commission  40 

To  let  him  theie  a  month  behind  the  gest 
Prefix'd  for 's  parting  :  yet,  good  deed,  Leontes, 
I  love  thee  not  a  jar  o'  the  clock  behind 
What  lady-she  her  lord.     You'll  stay  ? 

Pol.  No,  madam 

Her.  l^Q-y,  but  you  will  ? 

Pol,  I  may  not,  verily. 

Her,  Verily  ! 
You  put  me  off  with  limber  vows  ;  but  I, 
Though  you  would  seek  to  unsphere  the  stars  with  oaths. 
Should  yet  say  "  Sir,  no  going."    Verily, 
You  shall  not  go  :  a  lady's  "Verily"  *s  50 

As  potent  as  a  lord's.     Will  you  go  yet  t 
Force  me  to  keep  you  as  a  pxisoner. 
Not  like  a  guest ;  go  you  shall  pay  your  fees 
When  you  depart,  and  save  your  thanks.    JSCow  say  you? 


BCENKH.]  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  779 

My  prisoner?  or  my  eaest  I  by  your  dread  "Verily," 
One  of  them  you  maSl  be. 

Pd,  Your  gnest,  then,  madam : 

To  be  yoor  prisoner  sUonld  import  offending  ; 
Which  is  for  me  less  easy  to  commit 
Than  you  to  punish. 

Her.  Not  your  gaoler,  then. 

But  your  kind  hostess.     Come,  TU  question  you  00 

Of  my  lord's  tricks  and  yours  when  you  were  boys  : 
You  were  pretty  lordings  then  7 

Pol.  We  were,  fair  queen, 

Two  lads  that  thought  there  was  no  more  behind 
But  such  a  day  to-morrow  as  to-day, 
And  to  be  boy  eternal. 

Her.  Was  not  my  lord 

The  verier  wag  o*  the  two  ? 

*  Pol.  We  were  as  twinn'd  lambs  that  did  frisk  1'  the  sun. 
And  bleat  the  one  at  the  other :  what  we  changed 
Was  innocence  for  innocence  ;  we  knew  not 
The  doctrine  of  ill-doing,  nor  dream'd  70 

That  any  did.     Had  we  pursued  that  life, 
And  our  weak  spirits  ne'er  been  higher  rear'd 
With  stronger  blood,  we  should  have  answer'd  heaven 
Boldly  "not  guilty  ;"  the  imposition  clear'd 
Hereditary  ours. 

Her.  By  this  we  gather 

You  have  tripp'd  since. 

Pol.  O  my  most  sacred  lady  I 

Temptations  have  since  then  been  bom  to 's ;  for 
In  those  unfledged  days  was  my  wife  a  girl ; 
Your  precious  self  had  then  not  cross'd  the  eyes 
Of  my  young  play-fellow. 

Her.  Qrace  to  boot !  80 

Of  this  make  no  conclusion,  lest  you  say 
Your  Queen  and  I  are  devils :  yet  go  on  ; 
The  offences  we  have  made  you  do  we'll  answer, 
If  you  first  sinn'd  with  us  and  that  with  us 
You  did  continue  fault  and  that  you  slipp'd  not 
With  any  but  with  us. 

X«w.  Is  he  won  yet  ? 

Her,  He'll  stay,  my  lord.. 

Leon.  At  my  request  he  would  not. 

Hermione,  my  dearest,  thou  never  spokest 
To  better  purpose. 

Her,  Never? 

Leon,  Never,  bat  once. 

MffT.  What  I  havel  twice  said  well  ?  when  wast 't  beforo  ? 


•  > 


780  THE  WINTER'S  TALK  [actl 

I  prithee  tell  me  ;  cram 's  with  pmise,  and  make 's  91 

As  fat  as  tame  things  :  one  good  deed  djing  tongneleas 

Slaughters  a  thousand  waiting  upon  that. 

Our  praises  are  our  wages  :  you  may  ride 's 

Witli  one  soft  kiss  a  tliousand  furlong  ere 

With  spur  we  lieat  an  acre. '   But  to  tiie  goal : 

My  last  good  deed  was  to  entreat  his  stay  : 

What  was  my  first  ?  it  has  an  elder  sister, 

Or  I  mistake  you  :  O,  Would  lier  name  were  Grace  ! 

But  once  before  I  spoke  to  the  purpose  :  when  ? 

Nay,  let  me  have 't ;  I  long.  100 

Leon.  ^!^y,  that  was  when 

Three  crabbed  months  had  sour'd  themselves  to  death. 
Ere  I  could  make  thee  open  thy  white  hand 
And  clap  thyself  my  love :  then  didst  thou  utter 
**  I  am  yours  for  ever." 

Her.  'Tis  grace  indeed. 

Why,  lo  you  now,  I  have  spoke  to  the  purpose  twice  : 
The  one  for  ever  earn'd  a  royal  husband  ; 
The  other  for  some  while  a  friend. 

Leon.  lAnde]  Too  hot,  too  hot  I 

To  mingle  friendship  far  is  mingling  bloods. 
I  have  tremor  cordis  on  me  :  my  heart  dances  ;  110 

But  not  for  joy  ;  not  joy.     This  entertainment 
May  a  free  face  put  on,  derive  a  liberty 
From  heartiness,  from  bounty,  fertile  bosom, 
And  well  become  the  agent ;  't  mav,  I  grant ; 
But  to  be  paddling  palms  and  plncliing  lingersi 
As  now  they  are,  and  making  practised  smiles, 
As  in  a  looking-glass,  and  then  to  sigh,  as  'twere 
The  mort  o*  the  deer  ;  O,  that  is  enU*rtainment 
My  bosom  likes  not,  nor  my  brows  !  Mamillios, 
Art  thou  my  boy  ? 

Mam.  Ay,  my  good  lord. 

Leon.  V  fecks  I  120 

Why,  that's  my  bawcock.     Wliat,  hast  smutch'd  thy  nose  t 
They  say  it  is  a  copy  out  of  mine.     Come,  captain. 
We  must  be  neat ;  not  neat,  but  cleanly,  captain  : 
And  yet  the  steer,  the  heifer  and  the  calf 
Are  all  call'd  neat. — Still  virginalling 
Upon  his  palm  ! — How  now,  you  wanton  calf  I 
Art  thou  my  calf? 

Mam.  Yes,  if  you  will,  my  lord. 

Leon.  Thou  want'st  a  rough  pash  and  the  shoots  that  I 
have. 
To  be  full  like  me :  yet  they  say  we  are 
Almost  as  like  as  eggs  ;  women  say  so,  IdO 


SCBNKii.]  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  781 

That  will  say  any  thing  :  but  were  they  false 

As  o*er-dyed  blacks,  as  wind,  as  waters,  false 

As  dice  are  to  he  wish'd  l)y  one  that  tixes 

No  bourn  Hwixt  his  and  mine,  yet  were  it  true 

To  say  this  boy  were  like  me.     Come,  sir  pa^e, 

Look  on  me  with  your  welkin  eve  :  sweet  villain  !  • 

Most  dear'st !  my  coUop  !  Can  tfiy  dam  ? — ^may *t  be  ? — 

Affection  !  thy  intention  stabs  the  centre  : 

Thou  dost  make  possible  things  not  so  held, 

Commanicatest  with  dreams ; — how  can  this  be? —  140 

With  what's  unreal  thou  coactive  art, 

And  fellow'st  nothing  :  then  'tis  very  credent 

Thou  may'st  co-join  with  something  ;  and  thou  dost. 

And  that  beyond  commission,  and  I  find  it, 

And  that  to  the  infection  of  my  brains 

And  hardening  of  my  brows. 

Pol.  What  means  Sicllia  t 

Her,  He  something  seems  unsettled. 

Pol.  How,  my  lord  ! 

What  cheer?  how  is't  with  you,  best  brother? 

Her.  You  look 

As  if  you  held  a  brow  of  much  distraction  : 
Are  you  moved,  my  lord  ? 

Leon.  No,  in  good  earnest.  150 

How  sometimes  nature  will  betray  its  folly. 
Its  tenderness,  and  make  itself  a  pastime 
To  liarder  bosoms  I    Looking  on  the  lines 
Of  my  boy's  face,  methoughts  I  did  recoil 
Twenty- three  years,  and  saw  myself  unbreech'd. 
In  my  green  velvet  coat,  my  dagcer  muzzled. 
Lest  it  should  bite  its  master,  and  so  prove. 
As  ornaments  oft  do,  too  dangerous  : 
How  like,  methoiight,  I  then  was  to  this  kernel. 
This  squash,  this  gentleman.     Mine  honest  friend,  160 

Will  you  take  eggs  for  money? 

Majn.  No,  my  lord,  I'll  fight. 

Leon,  You  will  1  why.  happy  man  be 's  dole  !   My  brother. 
Are  you  so  fond  of  your  young  prince  as  we 
Do  seem  to  be  of  oui-s  ? 

Pol.  If  at  home,  sir. 

He's  all  my  exercise,  my  mirth,  my  matter,  • 
Now  my  sworn  friend  and  then  min^  enemy, 
My  parasite,  my  soldier,  statesman,  all : 
He  makes  a  July's  day  short  as  December, 
And  with  his  varying  childness  cures  in  me  170 

Thoughts  that  woula  thick  my  blood. 

Leon.  So  stands  this  squire 


782  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  [actl 

Officed  iritli  me :  we  two  will  walk,  my  lord, 
And  leave  you  to  your  graver  steps.     Herniione, 
How  thou  lovest  us,  show  in  our  brother's  welcome; 
Let  what  is  dear  in  Sicily  be  cheap  : 
Next  to  thyself  and  my  young  rover,  he's 
Apparent  to  my  heart. 

Her.  If  you  would  seek  us. 

We  are  yours  i*  the  garden  :  shall's  attend  you  there? 

Leon.  To  your  own  bents  dispose  you  :  youll  be  found. 
Be  you  beneath  the  sky.     [A(tid4i\  I  am  angling  now,      180 
Though  you  perceive  me  not  how  I  give  line. 
Go  to,  go  to  ! 

How  she  holds  up  the  neb.  the  bill  to  him  I 
And  arms  her  with  the  boldness  of  a  wife 
To  her  allowing  husband  I 

\Exeunt  Polixcnes,  Uermione,  and  Attendants, 
Gone  already  I 
Inch-thick,  knee-deep,  o'er  head  and  ears  a  fork'd  one  1 
Go,  play,  boy,  play  :  thy  mother  plays,  and  I 
Play  too,  but  so  disgraced  a  part,  whoso  issue 
Will  hiss  me  to  my  gravo  :  contempt  and  clamour 
Will  be  my  knell.     Go,  play,  loy,  play.     There  liave  been. 
Or  I  am  much  deceived,  cuckolds  ere  now  ;  101 

And  many  a  man  there  is,  oven  at  this  present. 
Now  while  I  speak  this,  holds  his  wife  by  the  arm, 
That  little  thinks  she  has  been  sluiced  in's  absence 
And  his  pond  iish'd  by  his  next  neighbour,  by 
Sir  Smile,  his  neighbour  :  nay,  there's  comfort  in't 
Whiles  other  men  have  gates  and  those  gates  open'd. 
As  mine,  against  their  will.     Should  all  despair 
That  have  revolted  wives,  the  tenth  of  mankind 
Would  hang  themselves.     Physic  for't  there  is  none  ;     200 
It  is  a  bawdy  planet,  that  will  strike 
Where  'tis  predominant ;  and  'tis  powerful,  think  it, 
From  east,  west,  north  and  south  :  Ije  it  concluded, 
No  barricado  for  a  belly  ;  know't ; 
It  will  let  in  and  out  the  enemy 
With  bag  and  baggage  :  many  thousand  on's 
Have  the  disease,  arid  feel't  not.     How  now,  boy  I 

MajJi.  I  am  like  you,  they  say. 

Leon.  Why,  that's  some  comfort. 

Wliat,Camillo  there? 

Cam.  Ay,  my  good  lord.  210 

JjCOti,  do  play,  Mamiliius :  thou'rt  an  honest  man. 

[ExU  MamiRim. 
Camillo,  this  great  sir  will  yet  stay  longer. 

Cam.  You  had  nmch  ado  to  make  his  anchor  hold  : 


BCENEii.]  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  788 

When  yovL  cast  oiit,  it  still  came  home. 

Leon.  Didst  note  it? 

Cam,  He  would  not  stay  at  jour  petitions ;  made 
His  business  more  material. 

Leon.  Didst  perceive  it  T 

[AHde]  They're  here  with  me  already,  whispering,  round  • 

ing 
"  Sicilia  is  a  so-fortli : "  'tis  far  gone, 
When  I  shall  gust  it  last.     How  came't,  Camillo, 
That  he  did  stay? 

Cam.  At  the  good  queen's  entreaty.  220 

Leon.  At  the  queen's  Wt :  '*good"  should  be  pertinent ; 
But,  so  it  is,  it  is  not.     Was  this  taken 
By  any  understanding  pate  but  thine  ? 
For  thy  conceit  is  soaking,  will  draw  in 
More  than  the  common  blocks  :  not  noted,  is't. 
But  of  the  finer  natures  ?  by  some  severals 
Of  head- piece  extraordinary?  lower  messes 
Perchance  are  to  this  business  purblind?  say. 

Cam.  Business,  my  lord  1  I  think  most  understand 
Bohemia  stays  here  longer. 

Leon,  Ha ! 

Cam.  Stays  here  longer.  2S0 

Leon.  Ay,  but  why  ? 

Cam.  To  satisfy  your  highness  and  the  entreaties 
Of  our  most  gracious  mistress. 

Leon.  Satisfy  I 

The  entreaties  of  your  mistress  I  satisfy  I 
Let  that  suffice.     I  have  trusted  thee,  Camillo^ 
With  all  the  nearest  things  to  my  heart,  as  well 
My  chamber-councils,  wherein,  priest-like,  thou 
Has  cleansed  my  bosom,  I  from  thee  departed 
Thy  penitent  reformed  :  but  we  have  been 
Deceived  in  thy  integrity,  deceived  240 

In  that  which  seems  so. 

Cam,  Be  it  forbid,  my  lord  I 

Leon.  To  bide  upon't,  thou  art  not  honest,  or, 
If  thou  inclinest  that  wav,  thou  art  a  coward. 
Which  boxes  honesty  benind,  restraining 
From  course  required  ;  or  else  thou  must  be  counted 
A  servant  grafted  in  my  serious  trust 
And  therein  negligent ;  or  else  a  fool 
That  seest  a  game  play'd  home,  the  rich  stake  diawi^ 
And  takest  it  all  for  jest. 

Cam.  My  gracious  lord, 

I  may  be  negligent,  foolish  and  fearful ;  250^ 

In  every  one  of  these  no  man  is  free. 


784  THE   WIXTEH'S  TALE.  [acy  i. 

But  that  his  xyegligence,  his  follj,  fear, 

Amon^the  infinite  doin^  of  the  world. 

Sometime  puts  forth,     m  your  afiairs,  my  lord. 

If  ever  I  were  wilful-negligent, 

It  was  my  folly  ;  if  industriously 

I  play'd  the  fool,  it  was  my  negligence. 

Not  weighing  well  the  end  ;  if  ever  fearful 

To  do  a  thing,  where  I  the  issue  doubted, 

Whereof  the  execution  did  cry  out  260 

Against  the  nou-perfonnance,  'twas  a  fear 

\Vhich  oft  infecta  the  wisest .  these,  my  lord. 

Are  such  allowed  infirmities  that  honesty 

Is  never  free  of.     But,  beseech  your  gn^ce, 

Be  plainer  with  me  ;  let  me  know  my  trespaas 

By  its  own  visage  :  if  I  then  deny  it, 

'Tis  none  of  mine. 

Leon,  Ha*  not  you  seen,  Camillo, — 

But  that's  past  doubt,  you  have,  or  your  eye-glass 
Is  thicker  than  a  cuckold's  horn,— or  heard, — 
For  to  a  vision  so  apparent  rumour  970 

Cannot  be  mute, — or  thought, — for  cogitation 
Resides  not  in  that  man  that  does  not  tliink,^ 
My  wife  is  slippery  ?    If  thou  w^ilt  confess. 
Or  else  be  impudently  negative, 
To  hare  nor  eyes  nor  ears  nor  thought,  then  say. 
My  wife's  a  hobby  horse,  deserves  a  name 
As  rank  as  any  flax -wench  that  puts  to 
Before  her  troth -plight  :  say't  and  justify 't. 

Gam,  I  would  not  be  a  stander-by  to  hear 
My  sovereign  mistress  clouded  so,  without  880 

My  present  vengeance  taken  ;  'shrew  my  heart. 
You  never  spoke  what  did  become  you  less 
Than  this  ;  which  to  reiterate  were  sin 
As  deep  as  that,  though  true. 

Lto)U  Is  whispering  nothing! 

Is  leaning  cheek  to  cheek  ?  is  meeting  noses  ? 
Kissing  with  inside  lip  ?  stopping  the  career 
Of  laughing  with  a  sigh  ? — a  note  infallible 
Of  brealdng  honesty — horsing  foot  on  foot  ? 
Sl^ulking  in  comers  ?  wishiuff  clocks  more  swift  ? 
Hours,  minutes  ?  noon,  midnight  ?  and  all  eyes 
Blind  with  the  pin  and  web  but  theirs,  theirs  only. 
That  would  unseen  be  wicked  ?  is  this  nothing  ? 
Why,  then  the  world  and  all  that's  in't  is  nothing ; 
The  covering  sky  is  nothing  ;  Bohemia  notliing  ; 
My  wife  is  nothing  ;  nor  nothing  have  these  nothingnii. 
If  this  be  nothing. 


SCENE  11.]  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  785 

Cam.  Good  my  lord,  be  cured 

Of  this  diseased  opinion,  and  betimes  ; 
For  'tis  most  dangerous. 

Leon.  Say  it  be,  'tis  true. 

Cam.  No,  no,  my  lord. 

Le^n.  It  is ;  vou  lie,  you  lie  : 

I  say  thou  liest,  Camlllo,  and  I  hate  tliee,  800 

Pronounce  thee  a  gross  lout,  a  mindless  slave. 
Or  else  a  hovering  temporizer,  that 
Canst  with  thine  eyes  at  once  see  good  and  evil, 
Inclining  to  them  both  :  were  my  wife's  liver 
Infected  as  her  life,  she  would  not  live 
The  running  of  one  glass. 

Cam.  Who  does  infect  h^r  ? 

Leon.  Why,  he  that  wears  her  like  her  medal,  hanging  . 
About  his  neck,  Bohemia  :  who,  if  I 
Had  servants  true  about  me,  that  bare  eyes 
To  see  alike  mine  honour,  as  their  profits,  810 

Their  own  particular  thrifts,  they  would  do  that 
Which  should  undo  more  doing :  ay,  and  thou. 
His  ciip-l>earer, — whom  I  from  meaner  form 
Have  bench'd  and  rear'd  to  worship,  who  may'st  seo 
Plainly  as  heaven  sees  earth  and  earth  sees  heaven. 
How  I  am  galled. — mightst  bespice  a  cup. 
To  give  mine  enemy  a  lasting  wink  ; 
Which  draught  to  me  were  cordial. 

Cam.  Sir,  my  lord, 

I  could  do  this,  and  that  with  no  rash  potion. 
But  with  a  lingering  dram  that  should  not  work  8^ 

Maliciously  like  poison  :  but  I  cannot 
Believe  this  crack  to  be  in  my  dread  mistress,   . 
So  sovereignly  being  honourable. 
I  have  loved  thee, — 

Leon,  -f  Make  that  thy  question,  and  go  rot  I 
Dost  think  I  am  so  muddy,  so  unsettled. 
To  appoint  myself  in  this  vexation,  sully 
The  purity  and  whiteness  of  my  slieets. 
Which  to  preserve  is  sleep,  which  being  spotted 
Is  goads,  thorns,  nettles,  tails  of  wasps, 
Give  scandal  to  the  blood  o'  the  prince  my  son,  880 

Who  I  do  think  is  mine,  and  love  as  mine. 
Without  ripe  moving  to't?    Would  I  do  this? 
Could  man  so  blench  ? 

Cam.  I  must  believe  you,  sir  : 

I  do  ;  and  will  fetch  off  Bohemia  fof^t ; 
Provided  that,  when  he's  removed,  your  highness 
WiU  take  again  yoor  qae«n  as  yours  at  fint» 


786  THE  WINTERS  TALE.  [acti. 

Even  for  yonr  son's  sake  ;  and  thereby  for  sealing 
The  injury  of  tongoes  in  courts  and  kingdoms 
Known  and  allied  to  yours. 

Leon.  Thou  dost  advise  me 

Even  so  as  I  mine  own  course  have  set  down  :  d40 

ril  give  no  blemisli  to  her  honour,  none. 

Cam,  My  lord, 
Go  tiien  ;  and  with  a  count-enance  as  clear 
As  friendship  wears  at  feastff,  keep  with  Bohemia 
And  with  your  queen.     I  am  his  cupbearer  • 
If  from  me  he  have  wholesome  beverage, 
Account  me  not  your  servant. 

Le<m.  This  ia  all : 

Dot  and  thou  hast  the  one  half  of  my  heart ; 
Do't  not,  thou  split'st  thine  own. 

Cam.  Fll  do*t,  my  lora. 

Leon,  I  will  seem  friendly,  as  thou  hast  advised  me. 

[BkU,    850 

Cam,  O  miserable  lady  !    But,  for  me, 
What  case  stand  I  in  ?    I  must  be  the  poisoner 
Of  good  Polixenes  ;  and  my  ground  to  do't 
Is  the  obedience  to  a  master,  one 
Who  in  rebellion  with  himself  will  have 
All  that  are  his  so  too.     To  do  this  deed. 
Promotion  follows.     If  I  could  find  example 
Of  thousands  that  had  struck  anointed  kings 
And  flourished  after,  Fid  not  do'i ;  but  since 
Nor  brass  nor  stone  nor  parchment  bears  not  one,  860 

Let  villany  itself  forswear't.     I  must 
Forsake  the  court ;  to  doH,  or  no,  is  certain 
To  me  a  break-neck.     Happy  star  reign  now  t 
Here  comes  Bohemia. 

Re^ctUer  Polixsioes. 

Pol,  This  is  8tran|fe  :  methinks 

My  favour  here  begins  to  warp.     Not  speak? 
Good  day,  Camillo. 

Cam.  Hail,  most  royal  sir  ! 

Pd.  What  is  the  news  i*  the  court  ? 

Cam.  None  rare,  my  lord. 

Pol.  The  king  hath  on  him  such  a  countenance 
As  he  had  lost  some  province  and  a  region 
Loved  as  he  loves  himself  :  even  now  I  met  him  870 

With  customary  compliment ;  when  he. 
Wafting  his  eyes  to  tlie  contrary  and  falling 
A  lip  of  much  contempt,  sneeds  from  me  and 
So  leaves  me  to  consider  wuat  is  breeding 


BCBinsn.]  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.    -  787 

That  changetli  thas  his  manners. 

Cam.  I  dare  not  know,  mj  lord. 

Pd,  How  1  dare  not  I  do  not.     Do  jou  know,  and  dare 
not? 
Be  intelligent  to  me  :  'tis  thereabouts  ; 
For,  to  yourself,  what  you  do  know,  you  mast. 
And  cannot  say,  you  dare  not.     Qo'hI  Camillo,  880 

Your  changed  complexions  are  to  mo  a  mirror 
Which  shows  me  mine  changed  too  ;  for  I  must  be 
A  party  in  this  alteration,  finding 
Myself  thus  alter'd  with't. 

Cam.  Tliere  is  a  sickness 

Which  puts  some  of  us  in  distemper,  but 
I  cannot  name  the  disease  ;  and  it  is  caught 
Of  yon  that  yet  are  welL 

Pol.  How  I  canght  of  me  I 

Make  me  not  sighted  like  the  basilisk : 
I  have  look'd  on  thousands,  who  have  sped  the  better 
By  my  regard,  but  kiU'd  none  so.     Camillo, —  890 

As  you  are  certunly  a  gentleman,  thereto 
Clerk-like  experienced,  which  no  less  adorns 
Our  gentry  than  our  parents'  noble  names. 
In  whose  success  we  are  gentle, — I  beseech  you. 
If  yon  know  aught  which  does  behove  my  knowledge 
Thereof  to  be  inform'd,  uuprison't  not 
In  ignorant  concealment 

Cam.  I  may  not  answer. 

Pci.  A  sickness  caught  of  me,  and  yet  I  well  I 
I  must  be  answer'd.     I>ost  thou  hear,  Camillo, 
I  conjure  thee,  by  all  the  parts  of  man  400 

Which  honour  does  acknowledge,  whereof  the  least 
Is  not  this  suit  of  mine,  that  thou  declare 
What  incidency  thou  dost  guess  of  harm 
Is  creeping  toward  me  ;  how  far  off,  how  near ; 
Wliich  way  to  be  prevented,  if  to  be  ; 
If  not,  how  best  to  bear  it. 

Cam.  Sir,  I  will  tell  you ; 

Since  I  am  charged  in  honour  and  by  him 
That  I  think  honourable  :  therefore  mark  my  counsel. 
Which  must  be  even  as  swiftly  foUow'd  as 
I  mean  to  utter  it,  or  both  yourself  and  me  410 

Cry  lost,  and  so  good  night ! 

Pd.  On,  good  Camillo. 

Cam,  I  am  appointed  him  to  murder  you. 

Pol.  By  whom,  Camillo? 

Cam.  By  the  king. 

Poi.  For  what? 


788  THE  WINTER'S  TALK  [acti. 

Cam.  He  thinks,  nay,  with  all  confidence  he  swears. 
As  lie  had  seen't  or  been  an  instrument 
To  vice  you  to*t,  that  you  have  touched  his  queen 
Forbiddenly. 

Pol.  O,  then  my  l)cst  blood  turn 

To  an  infected  jelly  and  my  name 
Be  yoked  with  his  that  did  betray  the  Best  I 
Turn  then  my  freshest  reputation  to  420 

A  savour  that  may  strike  the  dullest  nostril 
Where  I  arrive,  and  my  approach  be  shunn'd. 
Nay,  hated  too,  worse  than  the  greatest  infection 
That  e  er  was  heard  or  read  ! 

Cam.  Swear  his  thought  over 

By  each  particular  star  in  heaven  and 
By  all  their  influences,  you  may  as  well 
Forbid  the  sea  for  to  obey  the  moon 
As  or  by  oath  remove  or  counsel  shake 
The  fabric  of  his  fi>lly,  whose  foundation 
Is  piled  upon  his  faith  and  will  continue  430 

The  standing  of  his  body. 

Pol.  How  should  this" grow? 

Cam,  I  know  not  :  but  I  am  sure  'tis  safer  to 
Avoid  what's  grown  than  question  how  'tis  bom. 
If  therefore  you  dare  trust  my  honesty. 
That  lies  enclosed  in  this  tnink  which  you 
Shall  bear  along  impawn'd,  away  tonight ! 
Your  followers  I  will  whisper  to  the  business. 
And  will  by  twos  and  threes  at  several  posterns 
(Hear  them  o*  the  city.     For  myself,  1*11  put 
My  fortunes  to  your  service,  which  are  here  440 

By  this  discovery  lost.     Be  not  uncertain  ; 
For,  by  the  honour  of  m7  parents,  I 
Have  utter'd  truth  :  which  if  you  seek  to  prove, 
I  dare  not  stand  by ;  nor  shall  you  be  safer 
Than  one  condemned  by  the  king's  own  month,  thereon 
His  execution  sworn. 

Pol.  I  do  believe  thee  : 

I  saw  his  heart  ln*s  face.     Give  me  thy  hand : 
Be  pilot  to  me  and  thy  places  shkll 
Still  neighbour  mine.     My  ships  are  ready  and 
My  people  did  expect  my  hence  depailure  450 

Two  days  ago.     This  jealousy 
Is  for  a  precious  creature  :  as  she's  rare, 
Must  it  be  great,  and  as  his  person's  mighty. 
Must  it  be  violent,  and  as  he  does  conceive 
He  is  dishonour'd  by  a  man  which  ever 
Profess'd  to  him,  why,  his  revenges  must 


BCfiXE  lJ  the  WINTER'S  TALE.  789 

In  that  be  made  more  bitter.     Fear  o'erehades  me  : 
Good  expedition  be  my  friend,  and  comfort 
fTlie  gracious  queen,  part  of  his  theme,  bat  nothing 
Of  his  ill-ta'en  suspicion  !    Come,  Camillo  ;  400 

I  will  respect  thee  as  a  father  if 
Thou  bear'st  my  life  off  hence  :  let  us  aroid. 
Cam.  It  is  in  mine  authority  to  command 
The  keys  of  all  the  posterns  :  please  your  highness 
To  take  the  argent  hour.    Come,  sir,  away.  [Exeunt, 


ACT  II. 

8cEXE  I.    A  room  in  Leontks'  pdkuse. 

Enter  Hbrxione,  Mamillius,  and  Ladies. 

Ser.  Take  tlie  boy  to  you  :  he  so  troubles  me, 
'Tis  past  enduring. 

Mrst  Lady.  Come,  my  gracious  lord, 

Shall  I  be  your  playfellow  ? 

Mam.  No,  Fll  none  of  you. 

Firet  Lady.  Wl»y,  my  sweet  lord  ? 

Mam.  You'll  kiss  me  hard  and  speak  to  me  as  if 
I  were  a  baby  still.     I  love  you  better. 

Sec.  Lady.  And  why  so,  my  lord  ? 

Mam.  Not  for  because 

Your  brows  are  blacker  ;  yet  black  brows,  they  say. 
Become  some  women  best,  so  that  there  be  not 
Too  much  hair  tliere,  but  in  a  semicircle,  10 

Or  a  Iialf-moon  made  with  a  pen. 

Sec.  Lady.  Who  taught  yon  this? 

Mam.  I  learnt  it  out  of  women's  faces.     Pray  now 
What  colour  are  your  eyebrows  ? 

First  Lady.  Blue,  my  lord. 

Mam.  Nay,  that's  a  mock  :  I  have  seen  a  lady's  nose 
That  has  been  blue,  but  not  her  eyebrows. 

Fir4  Lady.  Hark  ye  ; 

Tlie  queen  your  mother  rounds  apace  :  we  shall 
Present  our  services  to  a  fine  new  prince  > 

One  of  these  days  ;  and  then  you  'Id  wanton  with  aa 
If  we  would  have  you. 

Sec,  Lady.  She  is  spread  of  late 

Into  a  goodly  bulk  :  good  time  encounter  her  1  90 

Her.  What  wisdom  stirs  amongst  you  ?    Come,  sir,  now 
I  am  for  you  again  :  pray  you,  sit  by  as, 
And  tell'a  a  tale. 

Mam,  Merry  or  sad  shall't  bet 


790  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  f  act  n. 

Her,  As  merrry  as  you  will. 

Mam.  A  sad  tale's  best  for  winter  :  iliave  one 
Of  sprites  and  goblins. 

Jfer.  Let's  liave  that,  good  sir. 

Come  on,  sit  down  :  come  on,  and  do  your  best 
To  fright  me  with  your  sprites  ;  you're  powerful  at  it. 

Mam.  There  was  a  man — 

Her.  Nay,  come,  sit  down  ;  then  on. 

Mam.  Dwelt  by  a  churchyard  :  I  will  tell  it  softly ;       SO 
Yond  crickets  shall  not  hear  it. 

Her.  Come  on,  then, 

And  give't  me  in  mine  ear. 

^nter  Leontes,  tnth  AKTiooNtrs,  Lords,  and  others. 

Leon.  Was  he  met  there  ?  his  train  ?  Camillo  with  him  T 

First  Lord.  Behind  the  tuft  of  pines  I  met  them  ;  never 
Saw  I  men  scour  so  on  their  way  :  I  eyed  them 
Even  to  their  ships. 

Leon.  How  blest  am  I 

In  my  just  censure,  in  my  true  opinion  I 
Alack,  for  lesser  knowledge  t  how  accursed 
In  beiug  so  blest  1    Tliere  may  be  in  the  cup 
A  spider  steep'd,  and  one  may  drink,  depart,  40 

And  yet  partake  no  venom,  for  his  knowledge 
Is  not  infected  :  but  if  one  present 
The  abhorr'd  ingredient  to  his  eye,  make  known 
How  he  hath  drunk,  he  cracks  his  gorge,  his  sides. 
With  violent  hefts.     I  have  drunk,  and  seen  the  spider. 
Camillo  was  liLs  help  in  this,  his  pander  : 
There  is  a  plot  against  my  life,  my  crown  ; 
All's  true  that  is  mistrusted  :  that  false  villain 
Whom  I  employ'd  wag  pre-employ'.d  by  him : 
He  has  discover'd  my  design,  and  I  50 

Ilemain  a  pinch'd  thing  ;  yea,  a  very  trick 
For  them  to  play  at  wilL     How  came  the  postirns 
So  easily  open  ? 

FXrst  Lord.  By  his  great  authority  ; 
Which  often  hath  no  less  prevail'd  than  so 
On  your  command. 

Leon.  I  know't  too  well. 

Qive  me  the  boy  :  I  am  glad  you  did  not  nurse  him: 
Though  he  does  bear  some  signs  of  me,  yet  you 
Have  too  much  blood  in  him. 

Het\  What  is  this  ?  sport  ? 

Leon.  Bear  the  boy  hence  ;  he  shall  not  oome  about  her  ; 
Away  with  him  I  and  let  her  sport  herself  00 

With  that  she's  big  with  ;  for  'tis  Polixenes 


SCENE  I.]  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  791 

lias  made  tbee  swell  thas. 

Her.  But  I  'Id  say  he  had  not. 

And  I'll  be  sworn  you  would  believe  my  saying, 
Ilowe'er  you  lean  to  the  nayward. 

Leotu  You,  my  lords. 

Look  on  her,  mark  her  well ;  be  but  about 
To  say  '•  she  is  a  goodly  lady,"  and 
The  justice  of  your  hearts  will  thereto  add 
•• '  Tis  pity  she's  not  lionest,  honourable  :" 
Praise  her  but  for  this  her  without-door  form, 
Which  on  my  faith  deserves  high  speech,  and  straight     70 
The  shrug»  the  hum  or  lin,  these  petty  brands 
That  calumny  doth  use— O,  I  am  out — 
That  mercy  does,  for  calumny  will  sear 
Virtue  itself:  these  shrugs,  these  hums  and  ha's, 
Wlien  you  have  siud  *' she's  goodly,"  come  between 
Ere  you  can  say  "  she's  honest :"  but  be't  known, 
From  him  that  hath  most  cause  to  grieve  it  should  be^ 
She's  an  adulteress. 

Uer.  Should  a  villain  say  so, 

Tlie  most  replenish'd  villain  in  the  world, 
He  were  as  much  more  villain  :  yon,  my  lord,  80 

Bo  but  mistake. 

Leon.  You  have  mistook,  my  loAj, 

Polixenes  for  Leontes  :    O  thou  thing ! 
Which  ril  not  call  a  creature  of  thy  place. 
Lest  barbarism,  making  me  the  precedent. 
Should  a  like  language  use  to  all  degrees 
And  mannerly  distinguishment  leave  out 
Betwixt  the  prince  and  beggar  :  I  have  said 
She's  an  adulteress  ;  I  have  said  with  whom  : 
More,  she's  a  traitor  and  Caniillo  is 

A  federary  with  her,  and  one  that  knows  90 

What  she  should  shame  to  know  herself 
But  with  her  most  vile  principal,  that  she's 
A  bed-swerver,  even  as  bad  as  those 
Tliat  vulgars  give  bold'st  titles,  ay,  and  privy 
To  this  their  late  escape. 

Her  No,  by  my  life,  x 

Privy  to  none  of  this.     How  will  this  grieve  you. 
When  yon  shall  come  to  clearer  knowledge,  that 
You  thus  have  publish'd  me  I    Gentle  my  lord. 
You  scarce  can  right  me  throughly  then  to  say 
You  did  mistake. 

Lean.  No ;  ifl  mistake  100 

In  those  fonndations  which  I  build  upon. 
The  centre  is  not  big  enough  to  bear 


792  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  [Acrn. 

A  school-boy's  top.     Away  with  her  !  to  prison  I 
He  who  shail  speak  for  her  is  afar  off  guilty 
Bat  that  he  spealcs. 

Her.  There's  some  ill  planet  reigns  : 

I  mast  be  patieut  till  the  heavens  look 
With  an  aspect  more  favourable.     Good  my  lords, 
I  am  not  prone  to  weeping,  as  our  sex 
Commonly  are  ;  the  want  of  which  vain  dew 
Perchance  shall  dry  your  pities  :  but  I  have  110 

Thnt  honourable  grief  lodged  here  which  bums 
Worse  than  tears  drown  ;  beseech  you  all,  my  lordfi. 
With  thoughts  so  qnalified  as  your  chanties 
Shall  best  instruct  you,  measure  me  ;  and  so 
The  king's  will  be  performed  I 

Leon.  Shall  I  be  heard? 

Her.  Wlio  is't  that  goes  with  me  ?    Beseech  your  high 
ness. 
My  women  may  be  with  me  :  for  you  see 
My  plight  requires  it.     Do  not  weep,  good  fools  ; 
There  is  no  cause  :  when  you  shall  know  your  mistress 
Has  deserved  prison,  then  abound  in  tears  ISO 

As  I  come  out :  this  action  I  now  go  on 
Is  for  my  better  grace.     Adieu,  my  loixi 
I  never  wish'd  to  see  you  sorry  ;  now 
I  trust  I  shall.     My  women,  come  ;  you  have  leave. 

Leon.  Go,  do  our  bidding  ;  hence  I 

[&it  Queen,  guarded;  toith  Ladies. 

FKrst  Lord.  Beseech  your  highness,  call  .the  queen  again. 

Ant.  Be  certain  wliat  you  do,  sir,  lest  your  justice 
Prove  violence  ;  in  the  which  three  great  ones  suffer^ 
Yourself,  your  queen,  your  son 

First  Lard.  For  her,  my  lord, 

I  dare  my  life  lay  down  and  will  do't,  sir,  180 

Please  you  to  accept  it,  tliat  the  que«n  is  spotless 
I'  the  eyes  of  heaven  and  to  you  ;  I  mean 
In  this  which  you  accuse  her. 

Ant.  If  it  prove 

f  She's  otherwise,  I'll  keep  my  stables  where 
1  lodge  my  wife  ;  I'll  go  m  couples  with  her ; 
Than  when  I  feel  and  see  her  no  farther  trust  her  ; 
For  every  inch  of  woman  in  the  world, 
Ay,  every  dram  of  woman's  flesh  is  false, 
If  she  be. 

Leon,  Hold  your  peaces. 

First  Lord.  Good  my  lord. — 

Ant  It  is  for  you  we  speak,  not  fo^  otawelm :  140 

Toa  are  abased  and  by  some  patter-en 


SGfimL]  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  798 

That  will  be  damn'd  fofi  ;  wonld  I  knew  the  Tfllaln, 
f  I  would  land-damn  hku.     Be  she  hononr-flaw'd, 
I  liave  three  daufhters  ;  the  eldest  is  eleven  ; 
Tlie  second  and  tlie  third,  nine,  and  some  five  ; 
If  this  prove  true,  thej*!!  pay  for't :  by  mine  honour, 
I'll  geld  'em  all  ;  fourteen  they  shall  not  see. 
To  bring  false  generations  :  they  are  co-heiia ; 
And  I  had  rather  glib  myself  than  they 
Should  not  produce  fair  issue. 

Leon.  Cease ;  no  more.  150 

You  smell  this  business  with  a  sense  as  cold 
As  is  a  dead  man's  nose  :  but  I  do  see't  and  feel't. 
As  }x>u  feel  doing  thus  ;  and  see  withal 
The  instruments  that  feel 

Ant.  If  it  be  so, 

We  need  no  grave  to  bury  honesty  : 
There's  not  a  flnrain  of  it  the  face  to  sweeten 
Of  the  whole  dungy  earth. 

Leon,  What  I  lack  I  credit? 

Jp%rst  Lard.  I  had  rather  you  did  lack  than  I,  my  lord, 
Upon  this  ground  ;  and  more  it  wonld  content  me 
To  have  her  honour  true  than  your  suspicion,  160 

Be  blamed  for't  how  you  might. 

Leon.  Why,  what  need  we 

Commune  with  you  of  this,  but  rather  follow 
Our  forceful  instigation  ?    Our  prerogative 
Calls  not  vour  counsels,  but  our  natural  goodneito 
Imparts  tuis  ;  which  if  yon,  or  stupefied 
Or  seeming  so  in  skill,  cannot  or  will  not 
Relish  a  truth  like  us,  inform  yourselves 
We  need  no  more  of  your  advice  :  the  matter. 
The  loss,  the  gain,  the  ordering  bn't,  is  all 
Properly  ours. 

Ant.  And  I  wish,  my  liege,  170 

You  had  only  in  your  silent  judgment  tried  it, 
Witliout  more  overture. 

Leon.  How  could  that  be  ? 

Either  thou  art  most  ignorant  by  age. 
Or  tluu  werl  born  a  fool.     Camillo's  flight. 
Added  to  their  familiarity, 
Which  was  as  gross  as  ever  touch'd  conjecture. 
That  lack'd  sight  only,  nought  for  approbation 
But  only  seeing,  all  other  circnmstances 
Made  up  to  the  deed,  doth  push  on  this  proceeding : 
Yet,  for  a  greater  confirmation,  180 

For  in  an  act  of  this  importance  'twere 
Most  piteous  to  be  wild,  I  have  dispatched  in  post 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  [act  a. 

To  sacred  Belplioe.  to  Apollo's  temple, 
Cleomenes  and  Dion,  whom  yon  know 
Of  stuff'd  sufficiency  :  now  from  the  oracle 
Thej  will  bring  all ;  whose  spiritual  counsel  had, 
Shall  stop  or  spur  m'e.     Have  I  done  well? 

F%rst  Lord.  Well  done,  my  lord. 

Leon.  Though  I  am  satisfied  and  need  no  moze 
Than  what  I  know,  yet  shall  the  oracle  190 

Give  rest  to  the  minds  of  others,  such  as  he 
Wliose  ignorant  credulity  will  not 
Come  up  to  the  truth.     So  have  we  thought  it  good 
From  our  free  person  she  should  be  confined, 
Lest  tliat  the  treachery  of  the  two  fled  hence 
^.  left  her  to  perform.     Come,  follow  us  ; 
We  are  to  speak  in  public  ;  for  this  business 
Will  raise  us  all. 

Ant  [AHde]  To  laughter,  as  I  take  it. 
If  the  good  truth  were  known.  [Exeunt, 

Scene  II.    A  prison. 

Enter  Paulina,  a  Gentleman,  and  Attendants. 

Paul.  The  keeper  of  the  prison,  call  to  him  ; 
Let  him  have  knowledge  who  I  am.  [Exit  Gent. 

Good  lady. 
No  court  in  Europe  is  too  eood  for  thee ; 
What  dost  thou  then  in  prison? 

Be-eTiter  Gentleman,  u^h  the  Gaoler. 

Now,  good  sir, 
Tou  know  me,  do  you  not  ? 

Oa4)l,  For  a  worthy  lady 

And  one  whom  much  I  honour. 

Paul.  Pray  you  then. 

Conduct  me  to  the  queen. 

Oaol.  I  may  not,  madam  : 

To  the  contrary  I  have  express  commandment. 

Paul.  Here's  ado, 
To  lock  up  honesty  and  honour  from  10 

The  access  of  gentle  visitors  !    Is 't  lawful,  pray  you. 
To  see  her  women  ?  any  of  them  ?  Emilia? 

Oaol.  So  please  you,  madam, 
To  put  apart  these  your  attendants,  I 
Shall  bring  Emilia  forth. 

Paul.  1  pray  now,  call  her. 

Withdraw  yourselves.  [Exeunt  Oentleman  and  Attendants, 

Oad.  And,  madam. 


SCENE  n.]  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  795 

I  mast  be  present  at  your  conference. 

PatU.  Well,  be't  so,  prithee.  [£^  Gaoler. 

Here's  such  ado  to  make  no  stain  a  stain 
As  passes  colouring. 

Re-enter  Gaoler,  with  E>riLi.\« 

Dear  gentlewoman,  90 

How  fares  our  gracious  Imly  ? 

Ehnil,  As  well  as  one  so  great  and  so  forlorn 
May  hold  together  :  on  her  frights  and  griefs. 
Which  never  tender  lady  hath  borne  greater, 
8he  is  something  before*  her  time  delivered. 

Paul  A  boy? 

Emil.  A  daughter,  and  a  goodly  babe. 

Lusty  and  like  to  live  :  the  oueen  receives 
Much  comfort  in't ;  says  "  My  poor  prisoner, 
I  am  innocent  as  you." 

Paid.  I  dare  be  sworn  : 

These  dangerous  unsafe  lunes  i'  the  king,  beshrew  them  I 
He  must  }^  told  on't,  and  he  shall :  the  office 
Becomes  a  woman  best  ;  I'll  take 't  upon  me  ; 
If  I  prove  honey- mouth'd,  let  my  tongue  blister 
And  never  to  my  red-look'd  auger  be 
The  trumpet  any  more.     Pray  you,  Emilia, 
Commend  my  best  oI)edience  to  the  queen  : 
If  she  dares  trust  me  with  her  little  babe, 
TU  show't  the  king  and  undertake  to  be 
Her  advocate  to  the  loud'st.     We  do  not  know 
How  he  may  soften  at  the  sight  o'  the  child  :  40 

The  silence  often  of  pure  innocence 
Persuades  when  speaking-  fails. 

Emil,  Most  worthy  madam,  . 

Tour  honour  and  your  goodness  is  so  evident 
That  your  free  undertaking  cannot  miss 
A  thriving  issue  :  there  is  no  lady  living 
So  meet  for  this  great  errand.     Please  your  ladyship 
To  visit  the  next  room,  I'll  presently 
Acquaint  the  queen  with  your  most  noble  offer ; 
Who  but  to-day  hammer'd  of  this  design. 
But  durst  not  tempt  a  minister  of  honour,  60 

Lest  she  should  be  denied. 

Paul,  Tell  her,  Emilia. 

I'll  use  that  tongue  I  have  :  if  wit  flow  f rom't 
As  boldness  from  my  bosom,  let 't  not  be  doubted 
I  shall  do  good. 

Emil,  Now  be  you  blest  for  it  I 

111  to  the  queen  :  please  you,  come  something  nearer. 


796  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  [actil 

Oaol,  Madam,  ift  please  the  queen  to  send  the  habe, 
I  know  not  what  I  shall  incur  to.  pass  it, 
Havinff  no  warrant. 

Paid.  Toa  need  not  fear  it,  sir : 

Tliis  child  was  prisoner  to  the  womb  and  is 
By  law  and  process  of  o-reat  nature  thenoe  80 

Freed  and  en  f  ranch isea,  not  a  party  to 
The  anger  of  the  king  nor  guilty  of, 
If  any  be,  the  trespass  of  the  queen. 

Oaol.  I  do  believe  it.       * 

PaiU,  Do' not  you  fear  :  upon  mina  honour,  I 
Will  stand  betwixt  you  and  danger.  [Exeunt. 

» 
Scene  III.    A  room  in  Lboktes'  pdlaee, 

*ErUer  Leontes,  Antioonub,  Lords,  and  Servants. 

Leon.  Nor  night  nor  day  no  rest :  it  is  but  weakness 
To  bear  the  matter  thus  ;  mere  weakness.     If 
The  cause  were  not  in  being, — part  o*  the  cause. 
She  the  adulteress  ;  for  the  harlot  kins 
Is  quite  beyond  mine  arm,  out  of  the  blank 
And  level  of  my  brain,  plot-proof  ;  but  she 
I  can  hook  to  me  :  say  tiiat  she  were  gone. 
Given  to  the  fire,  a  moiety  of  my  rest 
Might  come  to  me  again.     Who's  there? 

nrstServ.  Myloard? 

I^eon,  How  does  the  boy  ? 

First  Serv.  He  took  good  rest  to-night ;  10 

'TIS  hoped  his  sickness  is  discliarged. 

Leon.  To  see  his  nobleness  I 
Conceiving  the  dishonor  of  his  mother, 
He  straight  declined,  droop*d,  took  it  deeply, 
Fast^n'd  and  fix'd  the  shame  on  't  in  himself. 
Threw  off  his  spirit,  his  appetite,  his  sleep, 
And  downsight  languished.     Leave  me  solelv  :  go, 
See  how  he  fares.  [Exit  Sere.]  Fie,  fie  !  notlioughtof  him  : 
The  very  thought  of  my  revenges  that  way 
Recoil  upon  me  :  in  himself  too  mighty,  20 

And  in  his  parties  his  alliance  ;  jet  him  be 
Until  a  time  may  serve  :  for  present  vengeance, 
Take  it  on  her.     Camillo  and  PoUxenes 
Laugh  at  me,  make  their  pastiuLe  at  my  sorrow. 
They  should  not  laugh  if  I  could  reach  them,  nor 
Shall  she  within  my  power. 

Enter  Paulina,  with  a  chUd. 
Mrit  Lord,  Tou  ^lust  not  enter. 


sciorRiii.]  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  W7 

Pmd.  Nay,  ratlios^  good  mv  lords,  be  second  to  me : 
Fenr  }*oii  his  tfrannotis  passion  more,  alas, 
TliPii  the  queen's  life?  a  crracions  innocent  soul. 
More  free  than  ho  is  jealous. 

AtU.  That's  enough.  80 

*Sef.  Sen).  Madam,    he  liath   not    slept   tonight;    com- 
manded 
None  should  come  at  him. 

Pmd.  Not  so  hot,  good  sir : 

I  oome  to  bring  him  sleep.     'Tis^uch  as  you. 
That  creep  like  shadows  by  him  and  do  sigh 
At  each  his  needless  heavings,  snch  as  you 
Nourish  the  cause  of  his  awaking :  I 
Do  come  with  words  as  medicinal  as  true, 
Honest  as  either,  to  purge  him  of  that  humour  ^ 

That  presses  him  from  sleep. 

Le<m.  What  noise  there,  ho? 

Paul.  No  noise,  my  lord  ;  bnt  needful  conference  40 

About  some  gossips  for  your  highness. 

Leon.  How ! 

Away  with  that  aadacions  lady  I    Antigonns, 
I  charged  thee  tliat  she  should  not  come  about  me  : 
I  knew  she  would. 

Ajit  I  told  her  so,  my  lord. 

On  your  displ'^asure's  peril  and  on  mine, 
Slie  should  not  visit  you. 

Leon.  What,  canst  not  rule  her  ? ' 

Paul.  From  all  dishonesty  he  can  :  in  this. 
Unless  he  take  the  course  that  yon  have  done. 
Commit  me  for  committing  honour,  trust  it. 
He  sliall  not  rule  me. 

Ant.  La  you  now,  you  hear :  50 

When  she  will  take  the  rein  I  let  her  run  :  ' 

But  she'll  stumble. 

Paul,  Good  my  liege,  I  come ; 

And,  I  beseech  you,  hear  me,  who  profess 
Myself  your  loyal  servant,  your  physician. 
Your  most  obedient  counselor,  yet  that  daire 
Less  appear  so  in  comforting  your  evils, 
Til  an  such  as  most  seem  yours  :  I  say,  I  oome 
From  your  good  queen. 

Leon.  Good  qaeen  ! 

Paid.  Good  queen,  my  lord. 

Good  queen  ;  I  say  gfood  queen  ; 

And  would  by  coralmt  make  her  good,  so  were  I  60 

A  man,  the  worst  about  you. 

Leon,  Force  her  hence. 


798  THE  WINTERS  TALE.  [actil 

Paul.  Let  him  tliat  makes  but  trifles  of  liis  eyes 
First  hand  me  :  on  mine  own  accord  I'll  off ; 
But  first  I'll  do  my  c-rrand.     The  good  queen, 
For  she  is  good,  hatU  brought  you  forth  a  daughter ; 
Here  'tis  ;  commends  it  to  your  blessing. 

[Laping  dovm  the  chiid. 

Leon,  Out ! 

A  mankind  witch  I    Hence  with  her,  out  o'  door  : 
A  most  intelligencing  bawd  ! 

Paid.  Not.  so : 

I  am  as  ignorant  in  tliat  as  you 

In  so  entitling  me/ and  no  less  honest  70 

Tlinn  you  are  mad  ;  wliich  is  enough,  111  warrant. 
As  this  world  goes,  to  pass  for  honest. 

Leon.  Traitors  I 

Will  you  not  push  her  out?    Give  her  the  bastard. 
Thou  dotard  1  thou  art  woman-tired,  unroosted 
By  thy  dame  Partlet  here.     Take  up  the  bastard  ; 
Take 't  up,  I  say  ;  give 't  to  thy  crone. 

Paul,  For  ever 

Unvenerable  be  thy  hands,  if  thou 
Takest  up  the  princess  by  tliat  forced  baseness 
Which  he  has  put  upon't  I 

Leon,  He  dreads  his  wife. 

Paul,  So  I  would  you  did  ;  then  'twere  past  all  doubt   80 
You'ld  call  your  children  yours. 

Leon,  A  nest  of  traitors  I  - 

Ant,  I  am  none,  by  this  good  light. 

Paul.  Nor  I,  nor  any 

But  one  that's  here,  and  that's  himself,  for  he 
The  sacred  honour  of  himself,  his  queen's. 
His  hopeful  son's,  his  babe's,  betrays  to  slander, 
Whose  sting  is  sharper  than  the  sword's  ;  and  will  not — 
For,  as  the  case  now  stands,  it  is  a  curse 
He  cannot  be  compell'd  to't — once  remove 
The  root  of  his  opinion,  which  ip  rotten 
As  ever  oak  or  stone  was  sound. 

Leon.  A  cnllat  £0 

Of  boundless  tongue,  who  late  hath  beat  her  husband 
And  now  baits  me  I    This  brat  is  none  of  mine  ; 
It  is  the  issue  of  Polixenes  : 
Hence  with  it,  and  together  with  the  dam 
Commit  them  to  the  fire  I 

Paul.  It  is  yours  ; 

And,  might  we  lay  the  old  proverb  to  your  charge. 
So  like  you,  'tis  the  worse.     Behold,  my  lords. 
Although  the  print  be  little,  the  whole  matter 


BCBNKra.]         THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  799 

And  copy  of  t£(B  father,  eye,  noee,  lip. 

The  trick  of s  frown,  his  forhead,  nav,  the  valley,  100 

The  pretty  dimples  of  his  chin  and  cheek. 

His  smiles, 

The  very  mould  and  frame  of  hand,  nnil,  finger  : 

And  thou,  good  goddess  Natare,  whicli  hast  made  it 

80  like  to  liim  tliat  got  it,  if  thon  hast 

Tiie  ordering  of  tlie  mind  too,  'mongst  all  colours 

No  yellow  in't,  lest  she  suspect,  as  he  does. 

Her  children  not  her  husband's  ! 

Leon,  A  gross  hag  I 

And,  lozel,  thou  art  worthy  to  be  hang'd, 
That  wilt  not  stay  her  tongue. 

Ant  Hang  all  the  husbands      110 

Tliat  cannot  do  that  feat,  you'll  leave  yourself 
Hardly  one  subject. 

Leon,  Once  more,  take  her  hence. 

Paul,  A  most  unworthy  and  unnatural  lord 
Can  do  no  more. 

Leon,  I'll  ha'  thee  burnt. 

Paid,  I  care  not : 

It  is  an  heretic  tliat  makes  the  fire, 
Not  she  which  bum  s  in't.     I'll  not  call  you  tyrant ; 
But  this  most  cruel  usage  of  your  queen, 
Not  able  to  produce  more  accusation 
Than  your  own  weak-hinged  fancy,  something  savours 
Of  tyranny  and  will  ignoble  make  you,  120 

Yea,  scandalous  to  the  world. 

Leon.  On  your  allegiance. 

Out  of  the  chamber  with  her  !     Were  I  a  tyrant. 
Where  were  her  life?  she  durst  not  call  me  so. 
If  she  did  know  me  one.     Away  with  her  ! 

Paul,  I  prny  you,  do  not  push  me  ;  I'll  be  gone. 
Look  to  your  babe,  my  lord  ;  'tis  yours  :  Jove  send  her 
A  better  guiding  spirit  I     What  needs  these  hands  ? 
You,  that  are  thus  so  tender  o'er  his  follies. 
Will  never  do  him  good,  not  one  of  you. 
t^o,  so  :  farewell ;  we  are  gone.  [EicU,     180 

Leon,  Thou,  traitor,  hast  set  on  thy  wife  to  this. 
My  cliild?  away  with't !    Even  thou,  that  hast 
A  heart  so  tender  o'er  it,  take  it  hence 
And  see  it  instantly  consumed  with  fire  ; 
Even  thou  and  none  but  thou.     Take  it  up  straight : 
Within  this  hour  bring  me  word  'tis  done. 
And  by  good  testimony,  or  I'll  seize  thy  life. 
With  what  thou  else  call'st  thine.  •  If  thou  refuse 
And  wilt  encounter  with  my  wrath,  say  so ; 


800  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  [act  ii 

The  bajBtard  brains  witli  these  mj  proper  hands 

Sliall  I  dash  out.     Go,  take  it  to  the  fire ;  140 

For  thou  set'st  on  thy  wife. 

Afit.  I  did  not,  sir : 

Tliese  lords,  my  noble  fellows,  if  they  please. 
Can  clear  me  in*t. 

L&rds  Wc  can :  my  royal  liege,  ' 

He  is  not  guilty  of  her  coming  hither. 

Leon.  You're  liars  all. 

First  Lord.  Beseech  your  highness,  give  us  better  credit . 
We  have  always  truly  served  you,  and  beseech  you 
So' to  esteem  of  us,  and  on  our  knees  we  beg, 
As  recompense  of  our  dear  services  150 

Past  and  to  come,  that  you  do  change  this  purpose. 
Which  being  so  horrible,  so  bloody,  niast 
Lead  on  to  some  foul  issue  :  we  all  kneel. 

Leon.  I  am  a  feather  for  each  wind  that  blows : 
Shall  I  live  on  to  see  this  bastard  kneel 
And  call  me  father?  better  bum  it  now 
Than  curse  it  then.     But  be  it ;  let  it  live. 
It  shall  not  neither.     You,  sir,  come  you  hither ; 
You  that  have  been  so  tenderly  officious 
With  Lady  Margery,  your  midwife  there,  100 

To  save  tliis  bastard's  life — for  'tis  a  bastard, 
So  sure  as  this  beard's  grey, — what  will  you  adventure 
To  save  this  brat's  life  Y 

Ant.  Anything,  my  lord. 

That  my  ability  may  undergo  j 

And  nobleness  impose  :  at  least  thus  much  : 
I'll  pawn  the  little  blood  which  I  have  left 
To  save  the  innocent :  any  thing  possible. 

Leon.  It  shall  be  possilJIe.     Swear  by  this  sword 
Thou  wilt  perfonn  my  bidding. 

Ant.  I  will,  my  lord. 

Leon.  Mark  and  perform  it,  see'st  thou  :  for  the  taXi   170 
Of  any  point  in't  shall  not  only  be 
Death  to  thyself  but  to  thy  lewd-tongued  wife, 
Whom  for  this  time  we  pardon.     We  enjoin  thee. 
As  thou  art  liego-man  to  us,  that  thou  carry 
This  female  bastard  hence  and  that  thou  bear  it 
To  some  remote  and  desert  place  quite  out 
Of  our  dominions,  and  that  there  thou  leave  it. 
Without  more  mercy,  to  its  own  protection 
And  favour  of  the  climate.     As  by  strange  fortune 
It  came  to  us,  I  do  in  justice  charge  thee,  180 

On  thy  soul's  peril  and  thy  body's  torture,  , 

That  thou  commend  it  strangely  to  somo  place 


BCENKi.]  WnE  WINTER'S  TALK  801 

Wliere  chance  may  nurse  or  end  it.     Take  it  up. 

Ant.  I  swear  to  do  this,  though  a  present  death 
Had  been  more  mercif  ol.     Come  on,  poor  ba1>e  : 
Some  powerful  spirit  instruct  tlie  kites  and  raTens 
To  be  tliy  nurses  I    Wolves  and  l)ears,  tliey  say. 
Casting  their  savageness  aside  have  done 
Like  offices  of  pitj.     Sir,  be  prosperous 
In  more  than  this  deed  does  require  ]    And  blessing        190 
Against  tins  cruelty  figlit  on  thy  side, 
Poor  thing,-  condenin'd  to  loss  I  {Shcit  tdth  the  child. 

Leon.  No,  Til  not  rear 

Another's  issue. 

EnUr  a  Servant. 

Serv.  Please  your  highness,  posts 

From  those  you  Bent  to  the  oracle  are  come 
An  hour  since  :  Cleomenes  and  Dion, 
Being  well  arrived  from  Delphos,  are  both  landed. 
Hasting  to  the  court. 

FirH  Lord,  So  please  you,  sir,  their  speed 

Hath  been  beyond  account. 

Leon.  Twenty  three  days 

Tliey  have  been  absent :  'tis  good  speed ;  foretells 
The  great  Apollo  suddenly  will  have  200 

The  truth  of  this  appear.    Prepare  you,  lords  ; 
Summon  a  aieasion,  tliat  we  may  arnLign 
Our  most  disloyal  lady,  for,  as 'she  hath 
Been  publicly  accused,  so  shall  she  have 
A  Just  and  open  trial.     While  she  lives 
My  heart  will  be  a  burthen  to  me.     Leave  me. 
And  think  upon  my  bidding.  [ExeunJL 

ACT  HL 
ScsNE  L     A  sea-port  in  SieUicL 

Enter  Cleo^ienes  and  Dion. 

Cleo.  Tlie  climate's  delicate,  the  air  most  sweet. 
Fertile  the  isle,  the  temple  much  surpassing 
The  common  praise  it  bears. 

Dion,  I  shall  report. 

For  most  it  caught  me,  the  celestial  liabits, 
Methinks  I  so  should  term  them,  and  the  reverence 
Of  the  grave  wearers.     0,  the  sacrifice  ! 
How  ceremonious,  solemn  and  unearthly 
It  waa  r  the  offering  ! 

Cleo.  But  of  all,  the  burst 

And  the  ear-deafening  voice  o'  the  oracle, 
SHAK.  I.  — 26 


809  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.'  [actih. 

Kin  to  Jove's  thunder,  so  surprised  my  sense,  10' 

That  I  was  nothing. 

Dion.  If  the  event  o'  the  journey 

Prove  as  successful  to  the  queen, — O  be*t  so  I-— 
As  it  hath  been  to  us  rare,  pleasant,  apeedy. 
The  time  is  worth  the  use  on't. 

CUo.  Great  Apollo 

Turn  all  to  the  best !    These  proclamations. 
So  forcing  faults  upon  Hermione, 
I  little  like. 

Dion.  The  violent  carriage  of  it 
Will  clear  or  end  the  business  :  when  the  oracle. 
Thus  by  Apollo's  great  divine  seal'd  up. 
Shall  the  contents  discover,  something  rare  20 

Even  then  will  rush  to  knowledge.     Go  :  fresh  horses  I 
And  gracious  be  the  issue  !  [EauunU 

ScEifE  II.    A  Court  of  Justice, 

Enter  LEoin^s,  Lords,  and  Officers. 

Leon.  This  sessions,  to  our  great  grief  we  pronounce 
Even  puslies  'gainst  our  heart :  the  party  tried 
The  daughter  of  a  kin^,  our  wife,  and  one 
Of  us  too  much  beloved.     Let  us  be  clear'd 
Of  being  tyrannous,  since  we  so  openly 
Proceed  in  justice,  which  shall  have  due  coarBe, 
Even  lo  the  guilt  or  the  purgation. 
Produce  the  prisoner. 

Off.  It  is  his  highness'  pleasure  that  the  queen 
Appear  in  person  here  in  court.     Silence  \  10 

Enter  Hermione  g^iarded;  Paulika  and  Ladies  attending, 

Leon.  Read  the  indictment. 

Off.  [lleads]  Hermione,  queen  to  the  worthy  Leontes, 
king  of  Sicilia,  thou  art  here  accused  and  arraigned  of  high 
treason,  in  committing  adultery  with  Polixenes,  king  of  Bo- 
hemia, and  conspiring  with  Camillo  to  take  away  the  life 
of  our  sovereign  lord  the  king,  thy  royal  husband  ;  the  pre- 
tense whereof  being  by  circumstances  partly  laid  open,  thou, 
hermione,  contrary  to  the  faith  and  allegiance  of  a  true 
subject,  didst  counsel  and  aid  them,  for  their  better  safety, 
to  tiy  away  by  night. 

l/er.  Since  what  I  am  to  say  must  be  bat  that 
Which  contradicts  my  accusation  and 
The  testimony  on  my  part  no  other 
But  what  comes  from  myself,  it  shall  scarce  boot  me 
To  say  "not  guilty  : "  mine  integrity 
Being  counted  falsehood,  shall,  as  I  express  it. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  808 

Be  90  received.     Bat  thus :  if  powers  divine 

Behold  our  human  fictions,  as  they  do,  30 

I  doubt  not  then  but  innocence  shall  make 

False  accusation  blush  and  tyranny 

Tremble  at  patience.     You,  my  lord,  best  know^ 

Who  least  will  seem  to  do  so,  my  past  life 

Hath  been  as  continent,  as  chaste,  as  true. 

As  I  am  now  unhappy  ;   wliich  is  more 

Than  history  can  pattern,  though  devised 

And  play'd  to  take  spectators.     For  behold  me 

A  fellow  of  the  royal  bed,  which  owe 

A  moiety  of  the  throne,  a  great  king's  daughter,  40 

The  mother  to  a  hopeful  prince,  here  standing 

To  prate  and  talk  for  life  and  honour  'fore 

Who  please  to  come  and  hear.     For  life,  I  prize  it 

As  I  weigh  grief,  which  I  would  spare  :  for  honour^ 

'Tis  a  derivative  from  me  to  mine. 

And  only  that  I  stand  for.     I  appeal 

To  your  own  conscience,  sir,  before  Polixenes 

Came  to  your  court,  how  I  was  in  your  grace, 

Uow  merited  to  be  so  ;  since  he  came, 

With 'what  encounter  so  uncurrent  I  50 

Have  straiu'd  to  appear  thus  :  if  one  jot  beyond 

The  bound  of  honour,  or  in  act  or  will 

That  way  inclining,  hardened  be  the  hearts 

Of  all  that  hear  mn,  and  my  near'st  of  kin 

Cry  fie  upon  my  grave  1 

Leon,  I  ne*er  heard  yet 

That  any  of  these  bolder  vices  wanted 
Lrss  impudence  to  gainsay  what  they  did 
Thau  to  perform  it  first. 

Her.  That's  true  enough ; 

Though  'tis  a  saying,  sir.  not  due  to  me. 

Leon.  You  will  not  own  it. 

Her.  f  More  than  mistress  of  00 

Which  comes  to  me  in  name  of  fault,  I  must  not 
At  all  acknowledge.     For  Polixenes, 
With  whom  I  am  accused,  I  do  confess 
I  loved  him  as  in  honour  he  required, 
Witli  such  a  kind  of  love  as  might  become 
A  lady  like  me,  with  a  love  even  such, 
So  and  no  other,  as  yourself  commanded  : 
Which  not  to  have  done  I  think  liad  been  in  me 
Both  disobedience  and  ingratitude 

To  ywi  and  toward  your  friend,  whose  love  had  spoke,    70 
Even  since  it  could  speak,  from  an  infant,  freely 
That  it  was  yours.     Now,  for  conspiracy, 


804  THE  WINTER'S  TALE;  [act  hi. 

I  know  not  bow  !t  tastes  :  tliougli  it  be  disb'd 

For  me  to  try  bow  :  all  I  know  of  it 

Is  that  Camlllo  wits  an  bonest  man  ; 

And  why  be  left  yonr  coart,  the  gods  themselves. 

Wotting  no  more  than  I,  are  ignorant. 

Leon.  You  knew  of  bis  departure,  as  you  know 
What  you  have  undertaken  to  do  in's  absence. 

Her.  Sir,  80 

You  speak  a  language  that  I  understand  not : 
My  life  stands  in  the  level  of  your  dreams, 
Which  I'll  lay  down. 

Leon.  Your  actions  are  my  dream  ; 

You  had  a  bastard  by  Polixenes, 
And  1  but  dream'd  it.     As  you  were  past  all  sbanie, 
Those  of  your  fact  are  «o— -«o  past  all  truth :  • 

Which  to*  deny  concerns  more  than  avails ;  for  as 

Thy  brat  bath  been  cast  out,  like  to  itself,  . 

No  father  owning  it, — which  is,  indeed,  i 

More  criminal  in  thee  than  it, — so  thou  90 

Slialt  feel  our  justice,  in  whose  easiest  passage 
Look  for  no  less  than  death. 

Her.  Sir,  spare  your  threats  : 

The  bug  which  you  would  fright  me  with  I  seek. 
To  me  can  life  be  no  commoditv  : 
The  crown  and  comfort  of  my  life,  your  favour, 
I  do  give  lost ;  for  I  do  feel  it  gone. 
But  know  not  how  it  went.    My  second  joy 
And  first-fruits  of  my  body,  from  his  presence 
I  am  barr'd,  like  one  infections.     My  third  comfort, 
Starr'd  most  unluckily,  is  from  my  breast,  100 

The  innocent  milk  in  it  most  innocent  mouth, 
Haled  out  to  murder  :  myself  on  every  Dost 
Proclaim'd  a  strumpet :  witli  immodest  hatred 
The  cbild-bed  privilege  denied,  which  'longs 
To  woman  of  all  fashion  ;  lastly,  hurried 
Here  to  this  place,  i'  the  open  air,  before 
I  have  got  strength  of  limit.    Now,  my  liege. 
Tell  me  what  blessings  I  have  here  alive. 
That  I  should  fear  to  die?    Therefore  proceed. 
But  yet  hear  this  ;  mistake  me  not ;  no  life,  110 

I  prize  it  not  a  straw,  but  for  mine  honour. 
Which  I  would  free,  if  I  shall  be  condenm'd 
Upon  surmises,  all  proofs  sleeping  else 
But  what  your  jealousies  awake,  I  tell  yoa 
*Ti3  rigour  and  not  law.    Your  honooTB  all, 
I  do  refer  me  to  the  oracle : 
Apollo  be  my  judge  I 


flCSKBH.]  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  885 

F%r»t  Lord,  This  your  request 

Is  altogether  just :  therefore  bring  forth, 
And  in  Apollo's  name,  his  oracle.     [Exeunt  certain  Offieen, 

Her,  The  Emperor  of  Russia  was  my  father :  IdO 

0  that  he  were  iXlve,  and  here  beholding 
His  daughter's  trial  I  that  he  did  but  see 
The  flatness  of  my  misery,  yet  with  eyes 
Of  pity,  not  revenge  1 

Be  enter  Officers^  with  Clbombubb  arid  Dioir. 

Off,  YoH  here  shall  swear  upon  this  sword  of  Justice, 
That  YOU,  Cleomenes  and  Dion,  have 
Been  Doth  at  Delphos,  and  from  thence  lutve  teought 
This  seal'd-up  oracle,  by  the  hand  deliver'd 
Of  great  Apollo's  priest  and  that  since  then 
Tou  have  not  dared  to  break  tiie  holy  seal  180 

Nor  read  the  secrets  in't. 

deo.  JXan,  All  this  we  swear. 

Leon,  Break  up  the  seals  and  read. 

Off,  [Reada]  Hermione  is  chaste ;  PoHxenes  blameless ; 
Camillo  a  true  subject ;  Leontes  a  jealous  tvrant ;  his  inno- 
cent babe  truly  begotten  ;  and  the  king  shall  live  without 
an  heir,  if  that  which  is  lost  be  not  found. 

Lords,  Now  blessed  be  the  great  Apollo  1 

Her.  Praised  I 

Leon.  Hast  thou  read  truth? 

Off.  Ay,  my  lord ;  even  06 

As  it  is  here  set  down.  140 

Leon.  There  is  no  truth  at  all  i'  the  oracle  : 
The  sessions  shall  proceed  :  this  is  mere  fialsehood. 

Enter  Servant. 

8erv.  My  lord  the  king,  the  king  I 

Leon,  What  is  the  business  ? 

8erv.  O  sir,  I  shall  be  hated  to  report  it  I 
The  prince  your  son,  with  mere  conceit  and  fear 
Of  the  queen's  speed,  is  gone. 

Leon,  How  I  gone  I 

JServ.  Is  dead. 

^  Leon.  Apollo's  angry  ;  and  the  heavens  themselves 
Do  strike  at  my  injustice.    [Hermione  meoons.^    How  now 
tiiere  1 

Paid,  Tills  news  is  mortal  to  the  queen  :  look  down 
And  see  what  death  is  doing. 

Leon.  Take  her  hence :  190 

Her  heart  is  but  o'ercharved ;  she  will  recover : 

1  have  too  much  believed  mine  own  suspicion : 


806  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  [actih. 

Beseech  yon.  tenderly  apply  to  her 
Some  remedies  for  life. 

[Exeunt  Paulina  and  Ladies,  wiHi  Hermuine. 
Apollo,  pardon 
My  great  profaneness  V^^inst  thine  oracle  I 
ril  reconcile  me  to  Polixenes, 
New  ivoo  my  queen,  recall  the  good  Camillo, 
Whom  I  proclaim  a  man  of  truth,  of  mercy  ; 
For,  being  transported  by  my  jealousies 
To  bloody  thoughts  and  to  revenge,  I  chose  1(M) 

Camillo  for  the  minister  to  poison 
My  friend  Polizenes  :  which  liad  been  done. 
But  that  the  good  mind  of  Camillo  tardied 
My  swift  command,  though  I  with  death  and  with 
Reward  did  threaten  and  encourage  him. 
Not  doing't  and  being  done :  he,  most  humane 
And  fiird  with  honour,  to  my  kingly  guest 
Unclasp'd  my  practice,  quit  his  fortunes  here. 
Which  you  knew  great,  and  to  the  hazard 
Of  all  incertainties  himself  commended,  170 

No  richer  than  his  honour :  how  he  glisters 
Thorough  my  rust  I  and  how  his  piety 
Does  my  deeds  make  the  blacker  I 

Reenter  Paulina. 

Paul,  Woe  the  while ! 

O,  cut  my  lace,  lest  my  heart,  cracking  it, 
Break  too  I 

Mrd  Lvrd.  What  fit  is  this,  good  lady? 

Paul.  What  studied  torments,  tyrant,  hast  for  me  ? 
What  wheels?,  racks?  fires?  what  flaying?  boiling? 
In  leads  or  oils  ?  what  old  or  newer  torture 
Must  I  receive,  whose  every  word  deserves 
To  taste  of  thy  most  worst  ?    Thy  tyranny  160 

Together  working  witU  thy  jealousies. 
Fancies  too  weak  for  boys,  too  green  and  idle 
For  girls  of  nine,  0,  think  what  they  have  done 
And  then  run  mad  indeed,  stark  mad  !  for  all 
Thy  by- gone  fooleries  were  but  spices  of  it. 
That  thou  betray'dst  Polixenes,  'twas  notliing ; 
That  did  but  show  thee,  of  «i  fool,  inconstant 
And  damnable  ingrateful :  nor  was't  much. 
Thou  wouldst  have  poison'd  good  Ca!hiillo's  hoAOor, 
To  have  him  kill  a  king  ;  poor  trespasses,  190 

More  monstrous  standing  by  :  whereof  I  reckon 
The  casting  forth  to  crows  thy  baby -daughter 
To  be  or  none  or  little  ;  though  a  devil 


bcbotil]  the  WINTER'S  TALK  807 

Would  have  shed  water  out  of  fire  ere  done't : 

Nor  is*t  directly  laid  to  thee,  the  death 

Of  the  young  prince,  whose  honourable  thoughts, 

Thoughts  high  for  one  so  tender,  cleft  the  heart 

That  could  conceive  a  gross  and  foolish  sire 

Bleniish'd  Ids  gracious  dam  :  this  is  not,  no, 

Laid  to  thy  answer :  but  the  last, — O  lords,  200 

When  I  have  said,  cry  *'  woe  I  " — the  queen,  the  queen. 

The  sweetest,  dear'st  creature's  dead,  and  vengeance  for't 

Not  dropp'd  down  yet. 

Firtt  Lard.  The  higher  powers  forbid  ! 

Paul,  I  say  she's  dead ;  I'll  swear't.     If  word  nor  oath 
Prevail  not,  go  and  see :  if  you  can  bring 
Tincture  or  lustre  in  her  lip,  her  eye, 
Heat  outwardly  or  breath  within,  I'll  serve  you 
As  I  would  do  the  gods.     But,  O  thon  tyrant ! 
Do  not  repent  these  things,  for  they  are  heavier 
Than  all  thy  woes  can  stir  :  therefore  betake  thee  210 

To  nothing  but  despair.     A  tliousand  knees 
Ten  thousand  years  together,  naked,  fasting, 
Upon  a  barren  mountain,  and  still  winter 
In  storm  perpetual,  could  not  move  the  gods 
To  look  tliat  way  thou  wert. 

Leon.  Go  on,  go  on  : 

Thou  canst  not  speak  too  much  ;  I  have  deserved 
All  tongues  to  talk  their  bitterest. 

F%rit  Lord.  Say  no  more  : 

Howe'er  the  business  goes,  you  have  made  fault 
r  the  boldness  of  your  speech. 

Paul.  I  am  sorry  for't : 

All  faults  I  make,  when  I  shall  come  to  know  them,       320 
I  do  repent.     Alas  I  I  have  show'd  too  much 
The  rashness  of  a  woman  :  he  is  touch'd 
To  tlie  noble  heart.     What's  gone  and  what's  past  help 
Should  be  past  grief  :  do  not  receive  affliction 
At  my  petition ;  I  beseech  you,  rather 
Let  me  be  punish'd,  that  have  minded  you 
Of  what  you  should  forget.     Now,  good  my  liege 
Sir,  royal  sir,  forgive  a  foolish  woman  : 
The  love  I  bore  your  queen — lo,  fool  again  I — 
I'll  speak  of  her  no  more,  nor  of  your  children ;  290 

I'll  not  remember  you  of  my  own  lord. 
Who  is  lost  too  :  take  your  patience  to  you. 
And  I'll  say  nothing. 

Leon.  Tliou  didst  speak  but  well 

When  most  the  truth  ;  which  I  receive  much  better 
Than  to  be  pitied  of  thee.    Prithee,  bring  me 


80»  THE  WINTER'S  TALK.  [act  iil 

To  tbe  dead  bodies  of  my  qaeen  and  son  : 

One  grave  shall  be  for  both  :  upon  them  shall 

The  causes  of  their  death  appear,  unto 

Our  shame  perpetual     Once  a  day  Til  visit 

The  chapel  where  they  lie,  and  tears  shed  there  240 

Sliall  be  my  recreation  :  so  long  as  nature 

Will  bear  up  with  this  exercise,  so  long 

I  daily  vow  to  use  it.     Gome  and  lead  me 

Unto  these  sorrows.  [EteunL 

Scene  III.    Bohemia.    A  detert  country  near  the  eea. 

Enter  AimooKUS  vaUh  a  Child,  and  a  Mazhter. 

Ant.    Tliou  art  perfect  then,  our  ship  hath  touch'd  upon 
The  deserts  of  Bohemia  ? 

Mar.  Ay,  my  lord  ;  and  fear 

We  have  landed  in  ill  time  :  the  skies  look  grimly 
And  threaten  present  blusters.     In  my  conscience. 
The  lieavens  with  that  we  have  in  hand  are  angry 
And  frown  upon  's. 

Ant.  Their  sacred  wills  be  done  I    Go,  get  aboard  * 
Look  to  thy  bark  :  Til  not  be  long  before 
I  call  upon  thee. 

Mar,  Make  your  best  haste,  and  go  not  10 

Too  far  i'  the  land  :  'tis  like  to  be  loud  weather ; 
Besides,  this  place  is  famous  for  the  creatures 
Of  prey  that  keep  upon't. 

Ant.  Go  thou  away : 

I'll  follow  instantly. 

Mir,  I  am  glad  at  heart 

To  be  so  rid  o'  the  business.  [Exit. 

Ant,  Come,  poor  babe  : 

I  have  heard,  but  not  believed,  the  spirits  o'  the  dead 
May  walk  again  :  if  such  thing  be,  thy  mother 
Appeared  to  me  last  night,  for  ne'er  was  dream 
So  like  a  waking.     To  me  comes  a  creatnre, 
Sometimes  her  head  on  one  side,  some  another ;  SO 

I  never  saw  a  vessel  of  like  sorrow,  • 

So  fill'd  and  so  becoming  :  in  pure  white  robes^ 
Like  very  sanctity,  she  did  approach 
My  cabin  where  I  lay  ;  thrice  bow'd  before  me 
And  gasping  to  begin  some  speech,  her  eyes 
Became  two  spouts :  the  fury  spent,  anon 
Did  this  break  from  her ;  "  Good  Antigonns, 
Since  fate,  against  thy  better  disposition. 
Hath  made  thy  poison  for  the  thrower-out 


srRNE  in.]  THE  WINTER'S  TALB.  809 

Of  my  poor  babe,  according  to  thine  oath,  9^ 

Places  remote  enough  are  in  Bohemia, 

Tliere  weep  and  leave  it  crying  ;  and,  for  the  babe 

Is  counted  lost  for  ever,  Perdita, 

I  prithee,  call't.     For  tliis  ungentle  business. 

Put  on  tliee  by  my  lord,  thou  ne'er  shalt  see 

Thy  wife  Paulina  more."    And  so,  with  shrieks, 

Sh*)  melted  into  air.     Affrighted  much, 

I  did  in  time  collect  myself  and  thought 

Tills  was  so  and  no  slumber.     Dreams  are  toys : 

Yet  for  ihis  once,  yea,  superstitiously,  40 

I  will  lie  squared  by  this.     I  do  beliere 

Hennione  hath  suffer'd  death,  and  that 

Apollo  would,  this  beine^  indeed  the  issue 

Of  Kina^  Polixenes,  it  suonld  here  be  laid, 

Either  for  life  or  death,  upon  the  earth 

Of  its  right  father.     Blossom,  speed  thee  well ! 

There  lie,  and  there  thy  character :  there  these ; 

Which  may,  if  fortune  please,  both  breed  thee,  pretty. 

And  still  rest  thine.     The  storm  begins :  poor  wretch. 

That  for  thy  mother's  fault  art  thus  expos^  60 

To  loss  and  what  may  follow  I    Weep  I  cannot, 

But  my  heart  bleeds ;  and  most  acenrsed  am  I 

To  be  by  oath  enjoin'd  to  this.     Farewell  I 

The  day  frowns  more  and  more  :  thon'rt  like  to  have 

A  lullaby  too  rough  :  I  never  saw 

The  heavens  so  dim  by  day.     A  savage  clamour  I 

Well  may  I  get  aboard  I    This  is  the  chase  : 

I  am  gone  for  ever.  [  Ekcit,  purautd  hy  a  hear. 

Enter  a  Sheplierd. 

8h^.  I  would  there  were  no  age  between  sixteen  and 
three-and- twenty,  or  that  yonth  would  sleep  out  the  rest ; 
for  there  is  nothing  in  the  between  but  gettins'  wenches 
with  child,  wronging  the  ancientry,  stealing,  iightmg — Hark 
you  now  I  Would  any  but  these  boiled  brains  of  nineteen 
and  two-and-twenty  hunt  this  weather  ?  They  have  scared 
away  two  of  my  best  sheep,  which  I  fear  the  wolf  will 
sooner  find  tiiau  the  master :  if  any  where  I  have  them,  'tis 
by  the  sea-side,  browsing  of  ivy.  '  Good  Inck,  an't  be  thy 
will  I  what  have  we  here  ?  Mercy  on's,  a  barne ;  a  very 
pretty  barne  I  A  boy  or  a  child.  I  wonder?  A  pretty  one  ; 
a  very  pret^  one :  snre,  some  'scape :  though  I  am  not 
bookish,  yet  I  can  read  waiting-gentlewoman  in  the  'scape. 
This  lias  been  some  stair- work,  some  trunk- work,  some  be- 
bind-door-work :  thev  were  wanner  that  got  this  than  the 
poor  thing  is  here,    rll  take  it  up  for  pity  :  yet  I'll  lany 


810  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  [act  in. 

till  my  son  oome ;  he  hallooed  but  even  now.     Whoa,  ho, 

hoa  I 

.Enter  Clown, 

Clo.  Hilloa,loa!  80 

S/iep.  What,  art  so  near?  If  thou'lt  see  a  thing  to  talk 
on  when  thou  art  dead  and  rotten,  come  hither.  WLat  ailest 
thou,  man? 

Clo.  I  have  seen  two  such  sights,  by  sea  and  by  land  !  but 
I  am  not  to  say,  it  is  a  sea,  for  it  is  now  the  sky  :  betwixt 
the  firmament  and  it  yon  cannot  thrust  a  bodkin's  poiot. 

8/iep,  Why,  boy,  how  is  it? 

Clo.  I  would  you  did  but  see  how  it  chafes,  how  it  rages, 
how  it  takes  up  the  shore  I  but  that's  not  to  the  point.  O. 
the  most  piteous  cry  of  the  poor  souls !  sometimes  to  see 
'em,  and  not  to  see  em  ;  now  the  ship  boring  the  moon  with 
her  main-mast,  and  anon  swallowed  with  jest  and  froth,  as 
you'ld  thrust  a  cork  into  a  hogs-head.  And  then  for  the 
land-service,  to  see  how  the  bear  tore  out  his  shoulder- 
bone  ;  how  he  cried  to  me  for  help  and  said  his  name  was 
Antigonus,  a  nobleman.  But  to  make  an  end  of  the  ship, 
to  see  how  the  tea,  flap-dragoned  it :  but,  first,  how  the  poor 
souls  roared,  and  the  sea  mocked  them  ;  and  how  the  poor 
gentleman  roared  and  the  bear  mocked  him,  both  roaring 
louder  than  the  sea  or  weather. 

8/i^.  Name  of  mercy,  when  was  this,  boy? 

Clo,  Now,  now  :  I  have  not  winked  since  I  saw  these 
sights  :  the  men  are  not  yet  cold  under  water,  nor  the  bear 
half  dined  on  the  gentleman  :  he's  at  it  now. 

Sfiep.  Would  I  had  been  by,  to  have  helped  the  old  man  I 

Ch.  I  would  you  had  been  by  the  ship  side,  to  have 
helped  her  :  there  your  charity  would  have  lacked  footing. 

Ja/iep.  Heavy  matters  !  heavy  matters  I  but  look  thee 
here,  boy.  Now  bless  thyself  :  thou  mettest  witli  things 
dying,  I  with  things  new-bom.  Here's  a  sight  for  thee ; 
look  thee,  a  bearing- cloth  for  a  squire's  child  !  look  thee  here; 
take  up,  take  up,  boy  ;  open't.  -So,  let's  see  :  it  was  told  me 
I  should  be  ricn  by  the  fairies.  This  is  some  changeling  : 
open't.     What's  within,  boy? 

Clo.  You're  a  made  old  man  :  if  the  sins  of  your  youth 
are  forgiven  you,  you're  well  to  live.     Gold  I  all  gold  ! 

S/iep.  This  is  fairy  gold,  boy,  and  'twill  prove  so  :  up 
with't,  keep  it  close  :  home,  home,  the  next  way.  We  are 
lucky,  boy  ;  and  to  l)e  so  still  requires  nothing  but  secrecy. 
Let  my  sheep  go  :  come,  good  boy,  the  next  way  home. 

Clo.  Go  you  the  next  way  with  your  findings.  I'll  go  see 
if  the  bear  be  gone  from  the  gentleman  and  how  much  he 


BCENBL]  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  811 

liatb  eaten  :  they  are  never  curst  but  wlien  tliey  are  hungry: 
if  there  bo  anv  of  him  left  Til  bury  it. 

Sfiep.  That  8  a  good  deed.  If  thou  may  est  discern  by 
that  which  is  left  of  him  what  he  is.  fetch  me  to  the  sight 
of  him. 

Clo.  Marry,  will  I ;  and  you  shall  help  to  put  him  i'  the 
ground.  *    141 

Shep,  'Tis  a  lucky  day,  boy,  and  we'll  do  good  deeds  on't. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT  rv.    Scene  l 

Enter  Time,  the  Chorus. 

Time.  I,  that  please  some,  try  all,  both  joy  and  terror 
Of  good  and  bad,  that  makes  and  unfolds  error. 
Now  take  upon  me,  in  the  name  of  Time, 
To  use  my  wings.     Impute  it  not  a  crime 
To  me  or  my  swift  passage,  that  I  slide 
O'er  sixteen  years  and  leave  the  growth  untried 
Of  that  wide  gap,  since  it  is  in  my  power 
To  o'ertlirow  law  and  in  one  self -born  hour 
To  plant  and  o'erwhelm  custom.     Let  me  pass 
llie  same  I  am,  ere  ancient's  order  was  10 

Or  what  is  now  received  :  1  witness  to 
The  times  that  brought  them  in  ;  so  shall  I  do 
To  the  freshest  things  now  reigning  and  make  stale 
The  glistering  of  jhis  present,  as  my  tale 
Now  seems  to  it.     iTour  patience  this  allowing, 
I  turn  my  glass  and  give  my  scene  such  growing 
As  you  have  slept  between  :  Leontes  leaving, 
The  effects  of  bis  fond  jealousies  so  grieving 
Tliat  he  shuts  up  himself,  imagine  me. 
Gentle  spectators,  that  I  now  may  be  20 

lu  fair  Bohemia  ;  and  remember  well, 
I  mentioned  a  son  o'  the  king's,  which  Florizel 
I  now  name  to  you  ;  and  with  speed  so  pace 
To  speak  of  Perdlta,  now  grown  in  grace 
Equal  with  wondering  :  wliat  of  her  ensues 
1  list  not  prophesy  ;  but  let  Time's  news 
Be  known  when  'tis  brought  forth.     A  shepherd's  daughter, 
And  what  to  her  adheres,  which  follows  after, 
Is  the  argument  of  Time.     Of  this  allow. 
If  ever  you  have  spent  time  worse  ere  now  ;  80 

If  never,  yet  that  Time  himself  doth  say 
He  wishes  earnestly  you  never  may.  [SkU. 


ei8  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  [act  it. 

ScsNB  IL .  Bohanm,     The  paiace  of  Poi^ixsnbs. 

JEnter  Polixeneb  and  Camillo. 

Pd.  I  pray  thee,  good  CAmillo,  be  no  moro  importunate  : 
'tis  a  sickness  denying  thee  anything  ;  a  death  to  grant 
tbi3. 

Cam.  It  is  fifteen  years  since  I  saw  my  country  :  thoogh 
I  have  for  the  most  part  been  aired  abroad,  I  desire  to  lay 
my  bones  there.  Besides,  tlie  penitent  king,  my  master, 
hath  sent  for  me  ;  to  wliose  feeling  sorrows  I  might  be  some 
allay,  or  I  o'erween  to  think  sq,  which  is  another  spur  to 
my  departure.  10 

Pol.  As  thou  lovest  me,  Camillo,  wipe  not  out  the  rest  of 
thy  services  by  leaving  me  now  :  the  need  I  have  of  thee 
tiiiue  own  goodness  haik  made  ;  better  not  to  have  had  thee 
than  thus  to  want  thee  :  thou,  having  made  me  biLsinessen 
which  none  without  thee  can  sufficiently  manage,  must 
eitlier  stay  to  execute  them  thyself  or  take  away  with  thee 
the  very  services  thou  hast  done ;  which  if  I  liave  not 
enougli  cSnsideoed,  as  too  much  I  cannot,  to  be  more  thank- 
ful to  thee  shall  be  mv  study,  and  my  profit  therein  the 
heaping  friendships.  Of  that  fatal  country.  Sicilia,  prithee 
speak  no  more  ;  whoec  very  naming  punishes  me  with  the 
remembrance  of  that  penitent,  as  thou  callest  him,  and 
reconciled  king,  my  brother  ;  whose  loss  of  his  most  pre- 
cious queen  and  children  are  even  now  to  be  afresh  lamented. 
Say  to  me,  when  sawest  thou  the  Prince  Florizel,  my  son  ? 
Kings  are  no  less  unhappy,  their  issue  not  being  gracious, 
than  they  are  in  losing  them  when  tliey  Iflhre  approved  their 
virtues. 

Cam.  Sir,  it  is  three  days  since  I  saw  the  prince.  What 
his  happier  affairs  may  be,  are  to  me  unknown  :  but  I  have 
missingly  noted,  he  is  of  late  much  retired  from  court  and 
is  less  frequent  to  his  princely  exercises  than  formerly  he 
hath  appeared. 

Pol,  1  have  considered  so  much,  Camillo,  and  with  some 
care  ;  so  far  that  I  have  eyes  under  my  service  which  look 
upon  his  removedness ;  from  whom  I  have  this  intelligence, 
that  he  is  seldom  from  the  house  of  a  most  homely  shep- 
herd ;  a  man,  they  say,  that  from  very  nothing,  and  beyond 
the  imi^ination  of  his  neighbours,  is  grown  into  an  un- 
speakable estate. 

Cam.  I  have  heard,  sir,  of  such  a  man,  who  hath  a  daugh- 
ter of  most  rare  note  :  the  report  of  her  is  extended  more 
than  can  be  thought  to  begin  from  such  a  cottage.  00 

Pol.  That's  likewise  part  of  my  iatelUgeape  ;  but,  I  fear, 
the  angel  tliat  plucks  our  son  thither.    Thou  shalt  acoom- 


SCENBIIL]  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  S13 

pany  us  to  the  place  ;  where  we  will,  not  appearing  what 
we  are,  have  some  question  with  the  shepherd  ;  from  whose 
simplicity  I  think  it  not  uneasj  to  get  tlie  cause  of  my  son's 
resort  tliither.  Pritliee,  be  my  present  partner  in  this  busi- 
ness, and  lay  aside  the  tliouglits  of  Sicilia. 

Cant,  I  willingly  oliey  your  command. 

PaL  My  beat  Camillo  I    We  must  disguise  ourselves. 

[Exeunt, 

ScEKB  III.     A  road  near  the  Shepherd's  cottage. 

Enter  Autolyctjs,  singing. 

When  daffodils  begin  to  peer, 

With  heigh  I  the  doxy  over  the  dale. 

Why,  then  comes  in  the  sweet  o'  the  year  ; 
For  the  red  blood  reigns  in  the  winter's  pale. 

The  white  sheet  bleaching  on  the  hedge. 
With  heigh  I  the  sweet  birds,  O,  how  they  sing  I 

Doth  set  my  pac'ging  tooth  on  edge  ;  ^ 
For  a  quart  of  ale  is  a  dish  for  a  king. 

The  lark,  that  tirra-lvra  chants, 

With  heigh  I  with  heigh  I  the  thrush  and  thejay. 
Are  summer  songs  for  me  and  my  aunts,  *   11 

While  we  lie  tumbling  in  the  hay. 

I  have  served  Prince  Florixel  and  In  my  time  wore  three- 
pile  ;  but  now  1  am  out  of  service : 

But  shall  I  go  mourn  for  that,  my  dear  ? 

The  pale  moon  shines  by  night : 
And  wlien  1  wander  here  and  there, 

I  then  do  most  go  righe. 

If  tinkers  may  have  leave  to  live. 

And  bear  the  sow-skin  budget,  20 

Tlien  my  account  I  well  may  give. 

And  in  the  stocks  avouch  it. 

My  traffic  is  sheets ;  when  the  kite  builds*  look  to  lesser 
linen.  My  father  named  me  Autolycus  :  who  being,  as  I  am, 
littered  under  Mercury,  was  likewise  a  snapper  up /of  un- 
considered trifles.  With  die  and  drab  I  purcliased  this  ca- 
parison, and  my  revenue  is  the  silly  cheat.  Gallows  and 
knock  are  too  powerful  on  the  highway  :  l>eating  and 
hanging  are  terrors  tome  :  for  the  life  to  come,  I  sleep  out 
the  thought  of  it.    A  prize  I   a  prize  1 


814  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  [activ. 

MUer  Clown. 

do.  Let  me  see :  every  'leven  wether  tods ;  every  tod 
yields  pound  and  odd  shilling  ;  fifteen  hundred  shorn,  what 
comes  the  wool  to  ? 

Aid.  [Aside]  If  the  springe  hold,  the  cock's  mine. 

Clo.  1  cannot  do't  without  counters.  Let  me  see ;  what 
am  I  to  buy  for  our  sheep-shearing  feast  ?  Three  pound  of 
sugar,  five  pound  of  currants,  rice, — what  will  this  sister  of 
mine  do  with  rice  ?  But  my  father  hath  made  her  mistrcs; 
of  the  feast,  and  she  lays  it  on.  She  hath  made  me  fear 
and  twenty  nosegays  for  the  shearers,  three-man -song-men 
all,  and  very  good  ones  ;  but  they  are  most  of  them  lueans 
and  bases  ;  but  one  puritan  amongst  them,  and  he  sings 
psalms  to  hornpipes.  I  must  have  saffron  to  colour  the 
warden  pies  ;  mace  ;  dates  ? — none,  that's  out  of  my  note  ; 
nutmegs,  seven  ;  a  race  or  two  of  ginger,  but  that  I  may 
beg  ;  four  pound  of  prunes,  and  as  many  of  raisins  o'  the  sun. 

Aut.  O  that  ever  I  was  bom  I    [QruveUing  on  the  ground, 

Clo.  V  t^e  name  of  me — 

Aut.  O,  help  me,  help  me  I  pluck  but  off  these  rags ;  and 
then,  death,  death  I 

Clo.  Alack,  poor  sonl !  thou  hast  need  of  more  rags  to 
lay  on  thee,  rather  than  have  these  off. 

Aut.  O  sir,  the  loathsomeness  of  them  offends  me  more 
than  the  stripes  I  have  received,  whicli  are  mighty  ones  an^ 
millions.  61 

Clo.  Alas,  poor  man  I  a  million  of  beating  may  come  to  a 
great  matter. 

Aut.  I  am  robbed,  sir,  and  beaten  ;  my  money  and  ap- 
parel ta'en  from  me,  and  these  detestable* things  put  upon 
me. 

Cio.  What,  by  a  horseman,  or  a  foot  man? 

Aut,  A  footman,  sweet  sir,  a  footman. 

Clo.  Indeed,  he  should  be  a  footman  by  the  garments  he 
has  left  with  thee  :  if  this  be  a  horseman's  coat,  it  hath 
seen  very  hot  service.  Lend  me  thy  hand,  I'll  help  thee  : 
come,  lend  me  thy  liand. 

Ant.  O,  good  sir,  tenderly,  0  I 

Clo.  Alas,  poor  soul  I 

Avt.  O,  good  sir,  softly,  good  sir  I  I  fear,  sir,  my  sliool- 
der-blado  is  out.  . 

Clo.  How  now  !  canst  stand  ? 

Aut.  \PirMng  his  pocket]  Softly,  dear  sir ;  good  sir,  soft- 
ly.    You  ha'  d(me  mo  a  charitable  office.  81 

Clo.  Dost  lack  any  money?  I  have  a  little  money  for  thee. 

Aut.  No,  good  sweet  sir ;  no,  I  beseech  you,  sir  :  I  have 
a  kinsman  not  past  three  quarters  of  a  mile  hence,  unto 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  816 

whom  I  was  going  ;  I  shall  there  have  money,  or  anything 
I  want :  offer  me  no  money,  I  pray  you  ;  that  kills  my 
heart. 

Clo.  What  manner  of  fellow  was  he  that  robbed  you  ? 

Aui.  A  fellow,  sir,  that  I  have  known  to  go  about  with 
troU-my -dames  :  I  knew  him  once  a  servant  of  the  prince  : 
I  cannot  tell,  good  sir,  for  which  of  his  virtues  it  was,  but 
he  was  certainly  whip])ed  out  of  the  court 

CW.  His  vices,  you  would  say  ;  there's  no  virtue  whipped 
out  of  the  court :  they  cherish  it  to  make  it  stay  there  ;  and 
yet  it  will  no  more  but  abide.  90 

Aut.  Vices,  I  would  say,  sir.  I  know  this  man  well:  he 
liath  been  since  an  npe-bearer  ;  then  a  process-server,  a 
bailiff ;  then  he  compassed  a  motion  of  the  Prodigal  Son,  and 
married  a  tinker's  wife  within  a  mile  where  my  land  and 
living  lies  ;  and,  having  flown  over  many  knavish  profes- 
sions, he  settled  only  in  rogue :  some  call  him  Autolycns. 

Ch.  Out  upon  him  !  prig,  for  my  life,  prig :  he  haunts 
wakes,  fairs  and  bear-baitings. 

Avt.  Very  true,  sir ;  he,  sir,  he ;  that's  the  rogue  that 
put  me  into  this  apparel.  •         111 

Clo.  Not  a  more  cowardly  rogue  in  all  Bohemia :  if  you 
had  but  looked  big  and  spit  at  him,  he'ld  have  run. 

Aut.  I  must  conTess  to  you,  sir,  I  am  no  fighter :  I  am 
false  of  heart  that  way  ;  and  tliat  he  knew,  I  warrant  him. 

Clo.  How  do  you  now  ? 

Aut.  Sweet  sir,  much  better  tlian  I  was ;  I  can  stand  and 
wa!k :  I  will  even  take  my  leave  of  you,  and  pace  softly 
towards  my  kinsman's. 

Clo.  Shall  I  bring  thee  on  the  way  ? 

Aut.  No,  good- faced  sir  ;  no,  sweet  sir. 

CU).  Then  fare  thee  well :  I  must  go  buy  spices  for  our 
shesp-shearing. 

Aut.  Prosper  you,  sweet  sir  f  \ExU  Clown.']  Your  purse  is 
not  hot  enough  to  purchase  your  spice.  I'll  be  with  you  at 
your  sheep-shearing  too  :  if  I  make  not  this  cheat  bring  out 
another  and  the  shearers  prove  sheep,  let  me  be  unrolled 
and  my  name  put  in  the  book  of  virtue !  181 

[8ing9\        Jog  on,  jog  on,  the  foot-path  way. 
And  merrily  hent  the  stile-a  : 
A  merry  heart  goes  all  the  day. 
Your  sad  tires  in  a  mile-a.  [EieU. 

Scene  IV.     The  Shepherd's  cottage. 

Enter  Flobizel  and  Peedfta. 

Flo,  These  your  unsual  weeds  to  each  part  of  yon 
Do  give  a  life ;  no  shephAidess,  but  Flora 


818  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  [act  iv. 

Peering  in  April's  front.    This  your  slieep-sliearing 
Is  as  a  meeting  of  the  pettj  gods. 
And  you  the  queen  on't. 

Per.  Sir,  my  gracious  lord, 

To  chide  at  your  extremes  it  not  becomes  me : 
O,  pardon,  that  I  name  them  I    Tour  high  self, 
The  gracious  mark  o'  tlie  laud,  you  have  obscured 
With  a  swHin'«  wearinc^,  and  me,  poor  lowly  maid. 
Most  goddess-like  prank'd  up  :  but  that  our  feasts  JO 

In  every  mess  haye  folly  and  the  feeders 
Digest  it  with  a  custom,  I  should  blush 
To  see  you  so  attired,  sworn,  I  think. 
To  show  myself  a  glass. 

Flo,  I  bless  the  time 

When  my  good  falcon  made  her  flight  across 
Thy  fathei^  ground. 

Per,  Now  Jove  afford  you  cause  I 

To  me  the  difference  forges  dread  ;  your  greatness 
Hath  not  been  used  to  fear.     Even  now  I  tremlde 
To  thinly  your  father,  by  some  accident. 
Should  pass  this  way  as  you  did  :  O,  the  Fates  I  20 

How  would  he  look,  to  see  his  work  so  noble 
Vilely  bound  up?    What  would  he  say?    Or  how 
Should  I,  in  these  my  lx>rrow'd  flaunts, behold 
The  sternness  of  his  presence? 

Flo.  Apprehend 

Nothing  but  jollity.     The  gods  themselves. 
Humbling  their  deities  to  love,  have  taken 
The  shapes  of  beasts  upon  them  :  Jupiter 
Became  a  bull,  and  bellow'd  ;  the  green  Neptune 
A  ram,  and  bleated  ;  and  the  fire-robed  god, 
Qolden  Apollo,  a  poor  humble  swain,  80 

As  I  seem  now.     Their  transformations 
Were  never  for  a  piece  of  beauty  rarer. 
Nor  in  a  way  so  chaste,  since  my  desires 
Run  not  before  mine  honour,  nor  my  lusts 
Burn  hotter  than  my  faith. 

Per,  0,  but,  sir. 

Your  resolution  cannot  hold,  wlien  'tis 
Opposed,  as  it  must  be,  by  the  power  of  the  king : 
One  of  these  two  must  be  necessities. 
Which  then  will  speak,  that  you  must  change  this  purpose. 
Or  I  my  life. 

Flo.  Thou  dearest  Perdita,  40 

With  these  forced  thoughts,  I  prithee,  darken  not 
The  mirth  o'  the  feast.     Or  I'll  be  thine,  my  fair. 
Or  not  my  father's.     For  I  cannot  be 


I 
J 


flCKNEiv.]  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  8t7 

Mine  own,  nor  &ny  thing  to  any,  if 

I  be  not  thine.     To  this  I  am  most  constant, 

ThoQgli  destiny  say  no.     Be  merry,  gentle ; 

Strangle  audi  thoughts  as  these  with  any  thing 

That  you  behold  the  while.     Your  guests  are  coming : 

Lift  up  your  countenance,  as  it  were  the  day 

Of  celebration  of  that  nuptial  which  SO 

We  two  have  sworn  shall  come.  * 

Per,  O  lady  Fortune, 

Stand  yon  auspicious  I 

Fh,  See,  your  guests  approach : 

Address  yourself  to  entertain  them  sprightly, 
And  let's  be  red  with  mirth. 

Enter  Shepherd.  Clown,  Mopba,  Dorcas,  and  cthere,  ioith 
PoLixBHEa  and  Camillo  di^fumd, 

8hep.  Fie,  daugliter  I  when  my  old  wife  lived,  upon 
This  day  she  was  both  pantler,  butler,  cook. 
Both  dame  and  servant ;  welcomed  all,  served  all ; 
Would  sing  her  song  and  dance  her  turn  ;  now  here, 
At  upper  end  o'  the  table,  now  i'  the  middle ; 
On  his  shoulder,  and  his  ;  her  face  o*  fire  (N) 

With  labour  and  the  thing  she  toolc  to  quench  it. 
She  would  to  each  one  sip.     You  are  retired. 
As  if  you  were  a  feasted  one  and  not 
The  hostess  of  the  meeting  :  pray  you,  bid* 
These  unknown  friends  to's  welcome  ;  for  it  is 
A  way  to  make  us  l>etter  friends,  more  known. 
G)me,  ouench  your  blushes  and  present  yourself 
That  which  you  are,  mistress  o'  the  feast :  come  6n, 
And  bid  us  welcome  to  vour  Qheep-shearing, 
As  your  good  flock  shall  prosper. 

Per.  [To  Pol,]  Sir,  welcome :  70 

It  is  my  father's  will  I  should  take  on  me 
The  hostess-ship  o'  the  day.     [To  Cam.]  You're  weloome, 

sir. 
Give  me  those  flowers  there,  Dorcas.    Reverend  sirg, 
For  you  there's  rosemary  and  rue ;  these  keep 
Seeming  and  savour  all  the  winter  long  : 
Grace  and  remembrance  be  to  you  both, 
And  welcome  to  our  sheafing  I 

PoC.  Shepherdess, — 

A  fair  one  are  you — well  you  fit  our  ages 
With  flowers  of  winter. 

Per.  Sir,  the  year  growing  ancient. 

Not  yet  on  summer's  death,  nor  on  the  birth  80 


818  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  [actit. 

Of  trembling  winter,  the  fairest  flowers  o'  the  season 
Are  oiir  carnations  and  streaked  gillyvors. 
Which  some  call  nature's  bastards  :  of  that  kind* 
Oar  rustic  garden's  barren ;  and  I  care  not 
To  get  slips  of  them. 

Pol.  Wherefore,  gentle  maiden,* 

Do  you  neglect  them  ? 

Per.  m  For  I  have  heard  it  said 

There  is  an  art  which  in  their  piedness  shares 
With  great  creating  nature. 

Pol.  Say  there  be  ; 

Yet  nature  is  made  better  by  no  mean 
But  nature  makes  that  mean  :  so,  over  that  art  90 

Which  you  say  adds  to  nature,  is  an  art 
That  nature  makes.     You  see,  sweet  mjoid,  we  marry 
A  gentler  scion  to  the  wildest  stock, 
And  make  conceive  a  bark  of  baser  kind 
By  bud  of  nobler  race  :  this  is^an  art 
Which  does  mend  nature,  change  it  rather,  but 
The  art  itself  is  nature. 

Per.  So  it  is. 

Pol.  Tlien  make  your  garden  rich  in  gillyvora. 
And  do  not  call  them  bastards. 

Per.  I'll  not  put 

The  dibble  in  earth  to  set  one  slip  of  them  ;  100 

No  more  than  were  I  painted  I  would  wish 
This  youth  should  say  'twere  well  and  only  therefore 
Desire  to  breed  by  me.     Here's  flowers  for  you ; 
Hot  lavender,  mints,  savory,  marjoram  ; 
The  marigold,  that  goes  to  bed  wi'  the  sun 
And  with  him  rises  weeping  :  these  are  flowers 
Of  middle  summer,  and  I  think  they  are  given 
To  men  of  middle  age.     You're  very  welcome. 

Carn.  1  should  leave  grazing,  were  I  of  your  flock. 
And  only  live  by  gazing. 

Per.  Out,  alas !  110 

You'ld  be  so  lean,  that  blasts  of  January 
Would  blow  you  through  and  through.     Now,  my  fair'st 

friend, 
I  would  I  had  some  flowers  o'  the  spring  that  might 
Become  your  time  of  day  ;  and  yours,  and  yours, 
Tlkat  wear  upon  your  virgin  branches  yet 
Your  maidenheads  growing  :  O  Proserpina^ 
For  the  flowers  now,  that  frighted  thou  let'st  fall 
From  Dis's  waggon  !  daffodils, 
That  come  before  the  swallow  dares,  and  take 
The  winds  of  March  with  beauty  ;  violets  dim,  120 


r 

f 


8CEKEIV.]  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  819 

But  sweeter  than  the  lids  of  Jano's  eyes 
Or  Cytherea's  breath  ;  pale  primroses, 
Tliat  die  unmarried,  ere  they  can  behold 
Bright  Plicebus  in  his  strengtii — a  malady 
Most  incident  to  maids  ;  bold  oxiips  and 
The  crown  imperial  ;  lilies  of  all  kinds, 
The  flower-de-luce  being  one  f    O,  these  I  lack| 
To  make  tou  garlands  of,  and  my  sweet  friend. 
To  strew  him  o'er  and  o'er  ! 

Ho.  Wliat,  like  a  corse  ? 

Per.  No,  like  a  bank  for  love  to  lie  and  play  on  ;  180 

Not  like  a  corse ;  or  if,  not  to  be  buried, 
But  quick  and  in  mine  arms.     Come,  take  your  flowers : 
Methinks  I  ploy  as  I  have  seen  them  do 
In  Whitsun  pastorals :  sure  this  robe  of  mine 
Does  change  my  disposition. 

Iflo.  What  you  do 

Still  betters  what  is  done.     When  you  speak,  sweet, 
rid  have  you  do  it  ever  :  when  you  sing, 
I'ld  have  yon  buy  and  sell  so,  so  give  alms, 
Pray  so ;  and,  for  the  ordering  your  affairs. 
To  sing  them  too :  when  yon  do  dance,  I  wish  yea  140 

A  wave  o'  the  sea,  that  yon  might  ever  do 
Nothing  but  that ;  move  still,  still  so, 
And  own  no  other  function  :  each  your  doing. 
So  singular  in  each  particular. 
Crowns  what  you  are  doing  in  the  present  deed. 
That  all  your  acts  are  queens. 

Per.  O  Doriclcs, 

Your  praises  are  too  large  :  but  that  your  youth. 
And  the  true  blood  which  peepeth  fairly  through't, 
Do  plainly  give  you  out  an  unstain'd  shepherd, 
With  wisdom  I  might  fear,  my  Doricles,  160 

You  woo*d  me  the  false  way. 

Fh.  I  think  you  liave 

As  littlu  skill  to  fear  as  I  have  purpose 
To  put  you  to't.     But  come  ;  our  dance,  I  pray  : 
Your  hand,  my  Perdita  :  so  turtles  pair, 
Tliat  never  mean  to  part. 

Per.  I'll  swear  for  'em. 

Pd.  This  is  the  prettiest  low-bom  lass  that  ever 
Ran  on  the  green-sward  :  nothing  she  does  or  seems 
But  smacks  of  something  greater  than  herself, 
Too  noble  for  this  place. 

Cam.  He  tells  her  something 

That  makes  her  blood  look  out :  good  sooth,  she  is  160 

The  queen  of  curds  and  cream. 


SaO  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  {altiv, 

Clo.  Come  pn,  strike  up  I 

Dor.  Mopsa  must  bo  your  mistress  :  marry,  garlic. 
To  mend  her  kissing  with  I 

Mifp.  Now,  in  good  time  I 

(Jlo,  Not  a  word,  a  word  ;  we  stand  upon  our  maimerB. 
Come,  strike  up  I 

\Mudc,    Her6  a  dance  of  Shepherda  and  Sliepkerdeaau. 

Pol.  Pray,  good  shepherd,  what  fair  swain  is  this 
Which  dances  with  your  daughter? 

f?hep.  They  call  him  Doricles  ;  and  boasts  himself  ^ 

To  have  a  worthy  feeding :  but  1  have  it 
Upon  his  own  report  and  I  believe  it ;  170 

He  looks  like  sooth.     He  says  he  loves  my  daughter  : 
I  think  so  too  ;  for  never  gazed  the  moon 
Upon  the  water  as  hell  stand  and  read 
As  'twere  my  daughter's  eyes  :  and,  to  be  plain, 
I  think  there  is  not  lialf  a  kiss  to  choose 
Who  loves  another  best. 

Pol.  She  dances  featly. 

Sfiep.  So  she  does  any  thing ;  though  I  report  it, 
Tliat  should  be  silent :  if  young  Doricles 
Do  light  upon  her,  she  shall  bring  LJai  that 
Which  he  not  dreams  of.  180 

Enter  Servant. 

8ero.  0  master,  if  you  did  but  hear  the  pedlar  at  the  door, 
you  wouhi  never  dance  again  after  a  tabor  and  pip>e  ;  no, 
the  bagpipe  could  not  move  you :  he  sings  several  tunes 
faster  than  you'll  tell  money ;  he  utters  them  as  he  had 
<$aten  ballads  and  all  men's  ears  grew  to  his  tun«fS. 

Cio.  He  could  never  come  better ;  he  shall  come  in.  I 
love  a  ballad  but  even  too  well,  if  it  be  doleful  matter  mer- 
rily set  down,  or  a  very  pleasant  thing  indeed  and  sung 
lamentably.  190 

Scrv.  He  luith  songs  for  man  or  woman,  of  all  sizes  ;  no 
milliner  can  so  fit  his  customers  with  gloves  *  he  has  tho 
prettiest  love-songs  for  maids  ;  so  without  bawdiy,  which 
is  strange;  with  such  delicate  burthens  of  dildos  and 
fadings,  "jump  her  and  thump  her;"  and  where  some'" 
stretch-mouthed  rascal  would,  as  it  were,  mean  mischief 
and  break  a  foul  gap  into  the  matter,  he  makes  the  maid  to 
answer  *  *  Whoop,  do  me  no  harm,  good  man* ; "  puts  him 
off,  slightjs  him,  with,  **  Whoop,  do  me  no  harm,  good 
man."  201 

Pol.  This  is  a  brave  fellow. 

Llo.  Believe  me,  thou  talkest  of  an  admirable  conceited 
fellow.     Has  he  any  unbraided  wares  ? 


SCENE  IT.]  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  821 

8erv,  He  Lath  ribbons  of  all  the  colours  i'  the  rainbow ; 

Eoints  more  than  all  the  lawyers  in  Bohemia  can  learnedly 
andle,  though  they  come  to  him  by  the  gross  :  inkles, 
caddisses,  cambrics,  lawns  :  why,  he  ^ings  'em  over  as  they 
were  g^s  or  goddesses ;  you  would  think  a  smock  were  a 
she  angel,  he  so  chants  to  the  sleeve-hand  and  the  work 
about  the  square  on't. 

Clo.  Prithee  bring  him  in ;  and  let  him  approach  sing- 

IPer  Forewarn  him  that  he  use  no  scurrilous  words  in's 
tunes.  [Exit  Servant. 

Clo.  You  have  of  these  pedlars,  that  have  more  in  them 
than  you'ld  think,  sister. 

Per,  Ay,  good  brother,  or  go  about  to  think. 

Enter  Autoltcus,  nnging. 

Lawn  as  white  as  driven  snow  ;  220 

Cyprus  black  as  e'er  was  crow  ; 
Gloves  as  sweet  as  damask  roses ; 
Masks  for  faces  and  for  noses  ; 
Bugle  bracelet,  necklace  amber, 
Perfume  for  a  lady's  chamber ; 
Golden  quoifs  and  stomachers. 
For  my  lads  to  give  their  dears : 
Pins  and  poking- sticks  of  steel. 
What  maids  lack  from  head  to  heel  : 
Come  buy  of  me,  come  ;  come  buy,  come  buy ;      ^80 
Buy,  lads,  or  else  your  lasses  cry  : 
Come  buy. 
Clo.  If  I  were  not  in  love  with  Mopsa,  thou  fihouldst  take 
no  money  of  me  ;  but  bein^  enthralled  as  I  am,  it  will  also 
be  the  bondage  of  certain  nbbons  and  gloves. 

Map.  I  was  promised  them  against  the  feast ;  but  they 
come  not  too  late  now. 

Dor.  He  hath  promised  you  more  than  that,  or  there  be 
liars.  240 

M&p.  He  hath  paid  you  all  he  promised  yon :  may  be,  he 
has  paid  you  more,  which  will  sliame  you  to  give  him  again. 
Clo.  Is  there  no  manners  left  among  maids  ?  will  they 
wear  their  plackets  where  they  should  bear  their  faces  ? 
Is  there  not  mil  king- time,  when  you  are  going  to  bed,  or 
kiln-hole,  to  whistle  oif  these  secrets,  but  you  must  be 
tittle-tattling  before  all  our  guests  ?  'tis  well  they  are  whis- 
pering :  clamour  your  tongues,  and  not  a  word  more.  261 
Mop.  I  have  done.  Come,  you  promised  me  a  tawdry- 
lace  and  a  pair  of  sweet  gloves. 

•  Clo.  Have*  I  not  told  thee  how  I  was  cozened  by  the  way 
and  lost  all  my  money  ? 


823  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  [activ. 

Aut.  And  indeed,  sir,  there  are  cozeners  abroad  ;  there- 
fore it  behoves  men  to  be  wary. 

Clo.  Fear  not  thou,  man,  thou  shalt  lose  nothing  here. 

Aut.  I  hope  so,  sir  ;  for  I  have  about  me  manj  parcels  of 
charge.  261 

Clo.  What  hast  here?  ballads? 

Mop.  Pray  now,  buy  some :  I  love  a  ballad  in  print  o' 
life,  for  then  we  are  sure  they  are  true. 

Aut.  Here's  one  to  a  very  doleful  tune,  how  a  usurer's 
wife  was  brought  to  bed  of  twenty  money-bags  at  a  burthen 
and  how  she  longed  to  eat  adders'  heads  and  toads  carbo- 
nadoed. 

Mop.  Is  it  true,  think  you  ? 

Aut.  Very  true,  and  but  a  month  old.  270 

Dor.  Bless  me  from  marrying  a  usurer  I 

Aut.  Hen'*s  the  midwife's  name  to't,  one  Mistress  Tale- 
porter,  and  five  or  six  honest  wives  that  were  present. 
Why  should  I  carry  lies  abroad? 

Mop.  Pray  you  now,  buy  it. 

Clo.  Come  on.  lay  it  by  :  and  let's  first  see  moo  ballads  ; 
we'll  buy  the  other  things  anon. 

Aut.  here's  another  ballad  of  a  fish,  that  appeared  upon 
the  coast  on  Wednesday  the  four-score  of  April,  forty 
thousand  fathom  above  water,  and  sung  this  ballad  against 
the  hard  hearts  of  maids  :  it  was  thought  she  was  a  woman 
and  was  turned  into  a  cold  fish  for  she  would  not  exchange 
flesh  with  one  that  loved  her  :  the  l)allad  is  very  pitiful  and 
as  true. 

Dor.  Is  it  true  too,  think  you  ? 

Attt.  Five  justices'  hands  at  it,  and  witnesses  more  thaa 
my  pack  will  hold. 

Clo.  Lay  it  by  too  :  another.  290 

Aut.  This  is  a  merry  ballad,  but  a  very  pretty  one.   • 

Mop.  Let's  have  some  merry  ones. 

Aut.  Why,  this  is  a  passing  merry  one  and  goes  to  the 
tune  of  **  Two  maids  wooing  a  man  : "  there's  scarce  a  maid 
vestward  but  she  sings  it ;  ^is  in  request,  I  can  tell  you. 

Mop.  We  can  both  sing  it :  if  thou'lt  bear  a  part,  thou 
shalt  hear  ;  'tis  in  three  parts. 

Dor,  We  had  the  tune  on't  a  month  ago.  800 

Aut.  I  can  bear  my  part ;  you  must  know  'tis  my  occupa- 
tion ;  have  at  it  with  you. 

Song. 

A.    Get  you  hence,  for  I  must  go 

Where  it  fits  not  you  to  know. 
D.         Whither?    Jf.  O,  whither?    D.  Whither? 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  WINTER'S  TALK  838 

JbT.   It  becomes  tliy  oath  full  well. 
Thou  to  me  thy  secrets  tell. 

J).       Me  too,  let  me  co  tliither. 

M.    Or  thou  goest  to  tbe  grange  or  milL 

D,    If  to  eitlier,  thoa  dost  ill.  810 

A,        Neither.     D.  What,  neither?    M.  Neither. 

D.    Thou  hast  sworn  my  love  to  be. 

M,   Thoa  hast  sworn  it  more  to  me  : 
Then  whither  foest?  say,  whither? 

Clo.  We'll  have  this  song  out  anon  by  ourselves  :  my 
father  and  the  gentlemen  are  in  sad  talk,  and  we'll  not 
trouble  them.  Come,  bring  away  thy  pack  after  me. 
Wenches,  Fll  buy  for  you  both.  Pedlar,  lets  have  the  first 
choice.    Follow  me.  girls.       [£!xit  ttith  Dorcas  arid  Mopsa. 

AtU,  And  you  shall  pay  well  for  'em.       [FoUatoa  tinging. 

Will  you  buy  any  tape. 

Or  lace  for  your  cape, 
My  dainty  duck,  my  dear-a 

Any  silk,  any  thread. 

Any  toys  for  your  head. 
Of  the  new'st  and  finest,  finest  wear-a? 

Come  to  the  pedlar ; 

Money's  a  medler, 
That  doth  utter  all  men's  ware-a.      [Einl.  880 

Be-enter  Servant. 

Serv.  Master,  there  is  three  carters,  three  shepherds, 
three  neat-herds,  three  swine-herds,  that  have  made  them- 
selves all  men  of  hair,  they  call  themselves  Saltiers,  and 
they  have  a  dance  which  the  wenches  say  is  a  gallimaufry 
of  gambols,  because  they  are  not  in't  ;  but  they  themselves 
are  o'  the  mind,  if  it  be  not  too  rough  for  some  that  know 
little  but  bowling,  it  will  please  plentifully. 

Shtp,  Away  I  we'll  none  on't :  here  has  been  too  much 
homely  foolery  already.    I  know,  sir,  we  weary  you.       841 

Pol.  Ton  weary  those  that  refresh  us :  pray,  let's  see 
these  four  threes  of  herdsmen. 

JServ.  One  three  of  them,  by  their  own  report,  sir,  hath 
danced  before  the  kins^ ;  and  not  the  worst  of  the  three  but 
jumps  twelve  foot  and  a  half  by  the  squier. 

8hep.  Leave  your  prating :  since  these  good  men  are 
pleased,  let  them  come  in  i  but  quickly  now.  851 

Serv.  Why,  they  stay  at  door,  sir.  [Exit, 

Her€  a  dance  of  ttoslve  Satyri, 
Poi.  O,  father,  you'll  know  more  of  that  hereafter. 


8^  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  [act  iv. 

[To  Cam.]  Is  it  not  tcx^far  gone?    'Tis  time  to  part  thenu 
He's  simple  and  tells  much.     [To  FlorJ]  How  now,  fair 

shepherd  I 
Yoar  lieart  is  full  of  sometliing  that  does  take 
Your  mind  from  feasting.     Sooth,  when  I  was  young 
And  handed  love  as  vou  do,  I  was  wont 
To  load  my  she  with  knacks  :  I  would  have  ransack'd     860 
The  pedlar's  silken  treasury  and  have  poar*d  it 
To  her  acceptance  ;  you  liave  let  him  go 
And  nothing  marted  with  him.     If  your  lass 
Interpretation  should  ahuse  and  call  this 
Your  lack  of  love  or  l)ounty,  you  were  straited 
For  a  reply,  at  least  if  you  make  a  care 
Of  happy  holding  her. 

Fto.  Old  sir,  I  know 

She  prizes  not  such  trifles  as  these  are  : 
The  gifts  she  looks  from  me  are  pack'd  and  lock'd 
Up  in  my  heart ;  which  I  have  given  already,  870 

But  not  delivered.     0,  hear  me  breathe  my  Jifb 
Before  this  ancient  8ir»  who,  it  should  seem, 
Hath  sometime  loved  !  I  take  thy  hand,  this  hand. 
As  soft  as  dove's  down  and  as  white  as  it. 
Or  Ethiopian's  tooth,  or  the  fann'd  snow  that's  bolted 
By  the  northern  blasts  twice  o'er. 

Pol,  WliAt  tollows  this  ? 

How  prettily  the  young  swain  seems  to  wash 
The  hand  was  fair  before  I    I  have  put  you  out : 
But  to  your  protestation  ;  let  me  hear 
What  you  profess. 

Flo.  Do,  and  be  witness  to  't.  880 

Pol.  And  this  my  neighbour  too  ? 

Flo.  And  he,  and  more 

Than  he,  and  men,  the  earth,  the  heavens,  and  all : 
That,  were  I  crown'd  the  most  imperial  monarch. 

Thereof  most  worthy,  were  I  the  fairest  youth  j 

'lliat  ever  made  eye  swerve,  had  force  and  knowledge  I 

More  than  was  ever  man's,  I  would  not  prise  them 
Without  her  love  ;  for  her  employ  them  iril ; 
Commend  them  and  condemn  them  to  her  service 
Or  to  their  own  perdition.  u 

Pd.  Fairly  offer'd.  " 

Cam.  This  shows  a  sound  aJfection. 

/8/iep.  Bat,  my  dAughter, 

Say  you  the  like  to  him  ? 

Per.  I  cannot  speak 

So  well,  nothing  so  well ;  no,  nor  mean  better : 
By  the  pattern  of  mine  own  thoughts  I  cut  out 


r 


I 


iCKKKiv.]  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  »$ 

The  purity  of  liis.  ♦ 

Shep,  Toko  Lands,  a  bargain  ! 

And,  friends  unknown,  you  shall  bear  witness  to'i  : 
I  give  my  daughter  to  hiin,  and  will  make 
Her  portion  equul  his. 

FU),  O,  that  must  be 

I'  the  virtue  of  your  daughter  :  one  being  dead, 
I  shall  have  more  than  yon  can  dream  of  yet ; 
Enough  then  for  your  wonder.     But,  come  on,  400 

Contract  us  'fore  these  witnesses. 

&iep.  Come,  your  hand  ; 

And,  daughter,  yours. 

Pol,  Soft,  swain,  awhile,  beseech  you  ; 

Have  you  a  father  ? 

Flo.  I  liave  :  but  what  of  him  ? 

Pol,  Knows  he  of  this  ? 

Flo,  He  neither  does  nor  shall. 

Poi.  Methinks  a  father 
Is  at  the  nuptial  of  his  son  a  guest 
That  best  becomes  the  table.     Pray  you  once  more. 
Is  not  your  father  grown  incapable 
Of  reasonable  affairs  ?  xa  he  not  stupid 
With  age  and  altering  rheums  ?  can  ho  speak  ?  hear  ?     410 
Know  man  from  man  ?  dispute  his  own  estate  ? 
Lies  he  not  bed- rid  ?  and  again  does  nothing 
But  whut  he  did  being  childish  ? 

Flo.  No,  good  sir ; 

He  has  his  health  and  ampler  strength  indeed 
Than  most  have  of  his  age. 

Pol.  By  my  white  beard. 

You  offer  him,  if  this  be  so,  a  wrong 
Something  unfilial :  reason  my  son 
Should  choose  himself  a  wife,  but  ns  good  reason 
The  father,  all  who!>e  joy  is  nothing  else 
But  fair  posterity,  should  hold  some  counsel  420 

In  such  a  business. 

Flo.  I  yield  all  this  ; 

But  for  some  other  reasons,  my  gravo  sir, 
Which  'tis  not  fit  you  know,  I  not  acquaint 
My  father  of  this  business. 

Pol.  Let  him  know't. 

Flo.  He  shall  not. 

Pol.  Prithee,  let  him. 

tlo.  No,  he  must  not. 

Shep.  Let  him,  my  son  :  ho  sliall  not  need  to  grieve 
At  knowing  of  thy  choice. 

Fh,  Come,  come,  he  must  not. 


»M  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  [actit. 

Mark  our  contract.        * 

Pol,  Mark  your  divorce,  young  sir, 

[IHse&oering  Jiinudf. 
Whom  son  I  dare  not  call ;  thou  art  too  base 
To  be  acknowledged  :  thou  a  sceptre's  heir,  430 

That  thus  affect'st  a  sheep- hook  1    Thou  old  traitor, 
I  am  sorry  that  by  hanging  thee  I  can 
But  shorten  thy  life  one  week.     And  thou,  fresh  piece 
Of  excellent  witchcraft,  who  of  force  must  knoW 
The  royal  fool  thou  copest  with, — 

S/iep.  O,  my  heart  ! 

Pol.  I'll  have  thy  beauty  scratched  with  briars,  and  made 
More  homely  than  thy  state.     For  thee,  fond  boy. 
If  I  may  ever  know  thou  dost  but  sigh 
That  tliou  no  more  shalt  see  this  knack,  as  never 
I  mean  thou  shalt,  we'll  bar  thee  from  succession  ;  440 

Not  hold  thee  of  oar  blood,  no,  not  our  kin. 
Far  from  Dencalion  off  :  mark  thou  my  words  : 
Follow  us  to  the  court.     Thou  churl,  for  this  time, 
Tliough  full  of  our  displeasure,  yet  we  free  thee 
From  the  dead  blow  of  it.     And  you,  enchantment, — 
Worthy  enough  a  herdsman  ;  yea,  him  too. 
That  makes  himself,  but  for  our  honour  therein. 
Unworthy  thee, — if  ever  henceforth  thou 
These  rural  latches  to  his  entrance  open. 
Or  koop  his  body  more  with  thy  embraces,  450 

I  will  devise  a  death  as  cruel  for  thee 
As  thou  art  tender  to't.  [EaeU. 

Per.  Even  here  undone  I 

I  was  not  much  afeard  ;  for  once  or  twice 
I  was  about  to  speak  and  tell  him  plainly. 
The  selfsame  sun  that  shines  upon  his  court 
Hides  not  his  visaee  from  our  cottage  but 
Looks  on  alike.     Will't  please  you,  sir,  be  gone  ? 
I  told  you  what  would  come  of  this  :  beseech  you. 
Of  your  own  state  take  care  :  this  dream  of  mine, — 
Being  now  awake,  I'll  queen  it  no  inch  farther,  460 

But  milk  my  ewes  and  weep. 

Cam.  Why,  how  now,  father  I 

Speak  ere  thou  diest. 

SJiep.  I  cannot  speak,  nor  think. 

Nor  dare  to  know  that  which  I  know.     O  sir  ! 
You  have  undone  a  man  of  fourscore  three. 
That  thought  to  fill  his  grave  in  quiet,  yea. 
To  die  upon  the  bed  my  father  died. 
To  lie  close  by  his  honest  bones  :  but  now 
Some  hangman  must  put  on  my  shroud  and  lay  me 


] 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  827 

Where  no  priest  shovels  in  dust.   jO  cursed  wretch, 
That  knew'st  this  was  the  prince,  and  wouldst  adventure 
To  mingle  faitli  with  him  I     Undone  !  undone  !  471 

If  1  might  die  witliin  this  hour,  I  have  lived 
To  die  when  I  desire.  [Exit. 

Flo.  Why  look  you  so  upon  me  ? 

I  am  hut  sorry,  not  afeard  ;  delayM 
But  nothing  alt  'r'd  :  what  I  was,  1  am  ; 
More  straining  on  for  plucking  back,  not  following 
My  leash  unwillingly. 

Cam,  Gracious  my  lord. 

You  know  your  father's  torn  par  :  at  this  lime 
He  will  allow  no  speech,  which  I  do  guess 
You  do  not  purpose  to  him  ;  and  as  hardly  480 

Will  he  endure  your  sight  as  yet,  I  fear ; 
Then,  till  the  fury  of  his 'highness  settle. 
Come  not  before  him. 

¥U>.  I  not  purpose  it. 

I  think,  Camillo? 

Cam,  Even  he,  my  lord. 

Per,  How  often  have  1  told  you  'twould  be  thus  1 
How  often  said,  my  dignity  would  last 
But  till  'twere  known  1 

Flo.  It  cannot  fail  but  by 

The  violation  of  my  fnith  ;  and  then 
Let  nature  crush  the  sides  o'  the  earth  together 
And  mar  the  seeds  within  1    Lift  up  thy  looks  :  490 

From  my  succession  wipe  me,  father ;  I 
Am  heir  to  my  affection. 

C-am,  Be  advised. 

Flo.  I  am,  and  by  my  fancy :  if  my  reason 
Will  thereto  be  obedient,  I  have  reason  ; 
If  not,  my  senses,  better  pleased  with  madness. 
Do  bid'  it  welcome. 

Cam.  This  is  desperate,  sir. 

Flo.  So  call  it :  but  it  does  lulfill  my  vow  ; 
I  needs  must  think  it  honesty.     Camillo, 
Not  for  Bohemia,  nor  the  pomp  that  may 
Be  thereat  glean'd,  for  all  the  sun  sees  or  500 

The  close  earth  wombs  or  the  profound  sea  hides 
In  unknown  fathoms,  will  I  break  my  oath 
To  this  my  fair  beloved  :  therefore,  l  pray  you. 
As  you  have  ever  been  my  father's  honour'd  friend. 
When  he  shall  miss  me, — as,  in  faith,  I  mean  not 
To  see  him  any  mora, — cast  your  good  counsels 
Upon  his  passion  ;  let  myself  and  fortune 
Tug  for  the  time  to  come.    This  you  may  know 


69B  THE  AVINTER'S  TALE.  [ACTir. 

And  so  deliver,  I  am  ptrt  to  sea 

With  her  whom  here  1  cannot  hold  on  shore  ;  510 

And  most  opportune  to  our  need  I  have 

A  vessel  riaes  fast  by,  bitt  not  prepared 

For  this  design.     What  course  I  mean  to  hold 

Shall  nothing  benefit  your  knowledge,  nor 

Concern  me  the  reporting. 

Cam.  0  my  lord  I 

I  would  your  spirit  were  easier  for  advice. 
Or  stronger  for  your  need. 

Fto.  Hark,  Perdlta.  [Drawing  her  atide. 

I'll  hear  you  by  and  by. 

Cam.  He's  irremoveable. 

Resolved  for  flight.     Now  were  I  happy,  if 
His  going  I  could  frame  to  serve  my  turn,  530 

Save  him  from  danger,  do  liim  love  and  honour, 
Purchase  the  sight  again  of  dear  Sicilia 
And  that  unhappy  king,  my  master,  whom 
I  so  much  thirst  to  see. 

Ito.  Now,  good  Camillo ; 

I  am  so  fraught  with  curious  business  that 

I  leave  out  ceremony. 
Gam.  Sir,  I  think 

You  have  heard  of  my  x>oor  services,  i'  the  love 

That  I  have  borne  your  father? 
Flo.  Very  nobly 

Have  you  deserved  :  it  is  my  father's  music 

To  speak  vour  deeds,  not  little  of  Iiis  caro  530 

To  liave  them  recompensed  as  thought  on. 
Cam,  Well,  my  lord. 

If  you  may  please  to  think  I  love  the  king 

And  through  him  what  is  nearest  to  him,  which  is  I 

Your  gracious  self,  embrace  but  my  direction  : 

If  your  more  ponderous  and  settled  project 

May  suffer  alteration,  on  mine  honour, 

I'll  point  you  where  you  shall  have  such  receiving  {^ 

As  shall  become  your  highness  ;  ^vtiere  you  may  M 

Enjoy  your  mistress,  from  the  whom,  I  see, 

There's  no  disjunction  to  be  made,  but  by —  640 

As  heavens  forfend  I — your  ruin  ;  marry  her,  | 

And,  with  my  best  endeavours  in  your  absence, 

Your  discontenting  father  strive  to  qualify 

And  bring  him  up  to  liking. 
Flo.  How,  Camillo, 

May  this,  almost  a  miracle,  be  done  ? 

That  I  may  call  thee  something  more  than  man  i 

And  after  that  trust  to  thee.  I 

1^ 


8CKNKIV.]  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  8B9 

Ctun,  Have  you  tlioaglit  on 

A  place  whereto  yoa*!!  go  ? 

Flo.  Not  any  yet : 

But  as  the  untkoug^it-oh  occtcieut  is  guilty 
To  wiiat  we  wildly  do^  so  we  profess  fifiO 

Ourselves  to  be  the  slaves  of  chaace  and  flies 
Of  every  wind  that  blows. 

Cam.  Then  list  to  me  : 

This  follows,  if  you  will  not  cliauge  your  purpose 
But  undergo  this  flight,  make  for  Sicilia, 
And  there  present  yourself  und  your  fair  prineett. 
For  so  I  see  she  must  be,  'fore  Leontes : 
She  shall  be  habited  as  it  becomes 
The  partner  of  your  bed.     Methinks  I  see 
Leontes  opening  his  free  arms  and  weeping 
His  welcomes  forth  ;  asks  thee  the  son  forgiveness,         5(X) 
As  'twere  i'  the  father's  person  ;  kisses  the  hands 
Of  your  fresh  princeas  ;  o'er  and  o'er  divides  him 
'Twist  his  unkinduess  and  his  kindness  ;  the  one 
He  chides  to  hell  and  bids  the  other  grow 
Faster  than  thought  or  time. 

Flo.  Worthy  Camillo, 

Wliat  colour  for  my  visitation  shall  I 
Hold  up  Ijefore  him  ? 

Cam,  Sent  by  the  king  your  father 

To  greet  him  and  to  give  him  comforts.     Sir, 
The  manner  of  your  bearing  towards  liim,  with 
What  you  as  from  your  father  shall  deliver,  670 

Things  known  betwixt  us  three,  I'll  write  you  down  : 
The  which  sliall  point  you  forth  at  every  sitting 
Wliat  you  must  say  ;  that  he  sliall  not  perceive 
But  that  you  have  your  father^s  bosom  there 
And  speak  his  very  heart. 

JFlo,  I  am  bound  to  you : 

Tliere  is  some  sap  in  this. 

Gam.  A  cause  more  promising 

Than  a  wild  dedication  of  yourselves 
To  unpath'd  waters,  undream'd  shores,  most  certain 
To  miseries  enough  ;  no  hope  to  help  you. 
But  as  you  shake  o^  one  to  take  another  ;  5S0 

Nothing  so  certain  as  your  anchors,  who 
Do  their  best  office,  if  they  can  but  stay  yon 
Where  you'll  be  loth  to  be  :  besides  you  know 
Prosperity's  the  very  bond  of  love. 
Whose  fresh  complexi<m  and  whose  heart  together 
Affliction  alters. 

PtT.  One  of  these  is  true  : 


I 

830  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  [act  IV.  ) 

I  think  affliction  may  subdue  the  cheek. 
But  not  take  in  the  miud. 

Gam.  Yea,  say  you  so  ? 

There  shall  not  at  your  father's  house  these  seyen  years 
Be  born  another  such. 

Flo.  My  good  Camillo,  590 

She  is  as  forward  of  her  breeding  as 
f  She  is  i'  the  rear  'our  birth. 

Cam.  I  cannot  say  'tis  pity 

She  lacks  instructions,  for  she  sterns  a  mistress 
To  most  that  teach. 

Per.  Your  pardon,  sir  ;  for  this 

1*11  blush  you  thanks. 

Flo.  My  prettiest  Perdita  I 

But  O,  the  thorns  we  stand  upon  1  Camillo, 
Preserver  of  my  father,  now  of  me. 
The  medicine  of  our  house,  how  shall  we  do? 
We  are  not  furnish 'd  like  Bohemia's  sou. 
Nor  shall  appear  in  Sicilla. 

Cam.  My  lord,  600 

Fear  none  of  this  :  I  think  you  know  my  fortunes 
Do  all  lie  there  :  it  shall  be  so  my  care 
To  have  you  royally  appointed  as  if 
The  scene  you  play  were  mine.     For  instance,  sir. 
That  you  may  know  you  shall  not  want,  one  word. 

[T/iey  talk  add^. 

Re-enter  Autolycus. 

.  Aut.  Ha,  ha  I  what  a  fool  Honesty  is !  and  Trust,  his 
sworn  brother,  a  very  simple  gentleman  1  I  have  sold  all 
my  trumpery  ;  not  a  counterfeit  stone,  not  a  ribbon,  gloss, 
pomander,  brooch,  table-book,  ballad,  knife,  tape,  glove, 
shoe-tie,  bracelet,  horn-ring,  to  keep  my  pack  from  fasting  ; 
they  throng  who  should  buy  first,  as  if  my  trinkets  had  been 
hallowed  and  brought  a  benediction  to  the  buyer  :  by  which 
means  I  saw  whose  purse  was  best  in  picture  ;  and  what  I 
saw,  to  my  good  use  I  remembered.  My  clown,  who  wants 
but  something  to  be  a  reasonable  man,  grew  so  in  love  wWi 
the  wenches'  song^  that  he  would  not  stir  his  pettit4)es  till 
ho  had  both  tune  and  words  ;  which  so  drew  the  rest  of  the 
herd  to  me  that  all  their  other  senses  stuck  in  ears  :  you 
might  have  pinched  a  placket,  it  was  senseless  ;  'twas  noth- 
ing to  geld  a  codpiece  of  a  purse  ;  I  could  have  filed  keys 
off  that  hung  in  chains :  no  hearing,  no  feeling,  but  my 
sir's  song,  and  admiriug  the  nothing  of  it.  So  that  in  this 
time  of  lethargy  I  picked  and  cut  most  of  their  festival 
purses  ;  and  had  not  the  old  man  come  in  with  a  whoo-bub 


BCHNKiv.]  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  831 

against  his  daughter  and  the  king's  son  and  scared  my 
choughs  from  the  chaif,  I  had  not  left  a  purse  alive  in  the 
whole  anny.     [CamiUo,  Florizd,  and  PerdUa  come  forvoard. 

Cam.  Nay,  but  my  letters,  by  this  means  being  there 
So  soon  as  you  arrive,  shall  clear  that  doubt. 

Flo.  And  those  that  you'll  procure  from  King  Leontes — 

Cam.  Shall  satisfy  your  father. 

Per.  Happy  be  you  I 

All  that  you  speak  shows  fair. 

Cam,  Who  luive  we  here  I 

[Seeing  AutdyeuM 
We'll  make  an  instrument  of  this,  omit 
Nothing  may  give  us  aid. 

Avi.  If  they  have  overheard  me  now,  why,  hanging. 

Cam,  How  now,  good  fellow  !  why  shakest  thou  so  ? 
Fear  not,  man  ;  here's  no  harm  intended  to  thee. 

Aut,  I  am  a  poor  fellow,  sir. 

Cam.  Why,  bo  so  still  ;  here's  nobody  will  steal  that 
from  thee ;  yet  for  the  outsido  of  thy  poverty  we  must 
make  an  exchange  ;  therefore  disease  tliee  instantly, — ^thou 
must  think  there's  a  necessity  in  't, — ^and  change  garments 
with  this  gentleman  :  though  the  penny-worth  on  his  side 
be  the  worst,  yet  hold  thee,  there's  some  boot. 

AiU.  I  am  a  poor  fellow,  sir.  [^l«i(i<;]  I  know  ye  well 
enough. 

Cam.  Nay,  prithee,  dispatch :  the  gentleman  is  lialf 
flayed  already. 

Aut.  Are  you  in  earnest,  sir  ?  [Aside]  I  smell  the  trick 
on't, 

Flo.  Dispatch,  I  prithee. 

Aut.  Indeed,  I  have  had  earnest ;  but  I  cannot  with  con- 
acionco  take  it.  C60 

Cam.  Unbuckle,  unbuckle. 

[Morizel  and  Antolycxis  excliange  garments. 
Fortunate  mistress, — ^let  my  prophecy 
Come  home  to  ye  I — you  must  retire  yourself  ' 
Into  some  covert :  take  your  sweetheart's  hat 
And  pluck  it  o'er  your  brows,  muffle  your  face. 
Dismantle  you,  and,  as  you  can,  disliken 
The  truth  of  your  own  seeming  ;  that  you  may—- 
For  I  do  fear  "eyes  over — to  shipboard 
Get  undescried. 

Per.  I  see  the  play  so  lies 

That  I  must  bear  a  part. 

Cam,  No  remedy.  C70 

Have  you  done  there? 

Flo,  Should  I  now  meet  my  father. 


8«l  THE  WINTEB'S  TALE.  [actiy. 

He  would  not  call  me  son. 

Cam,  Nay,  you  shall  liare  no  liat. 

[Oiving  it  to  PerdUa. 
Come,  lady,  come.     Farewell,  my  friend. 

'AtU.  Adieu,  sir. 

Flo.  O  Perdita,  wliat  have  we  twain  forgot  I 
Prav  you,  a  word. 

dam.  [AMe]  What  I  do  next,  shall  be  to  tell  the  king 
Of  this  escape  and  whither  they  are  bound  ; 
Wherein  my  hope  is  I  shall  so  prevail 
To  force  hini  after  :  in  whose  company 
I  shall  review  Sieilia,  for  whose  sight  680 

I  have  a  womVi's  longing. 

Flo,  Fortune  speed  us  1 

Thus  we  set  on,  Camillo,  to  the  sea-side. 

Cam.  The  swifter  speed  the  better. 

[Exeunt  Florizel,  PcrdUa  and  CamiUo, 

Aut.  I  understand  the  business,  1  hear  it :  to  have  an 
open  ear,  a  quick  eye,  and  a  nimble  hand,  is  necessary  for 
a  cut-purse  ;  a  good  nose  is  requisite  also,  to  smell  out  work 
for  the  othvr  senses.  I  see  this  is  the  time  that  the  unjust 
man  doth  thrive.  What  an  exchange  had  this  been  without 
boot  I  What  a  boot  is  here  with  this  exchange !  Sure 
the  gods  do  this  year  connive  at  us,  and  we  may  do  any 
thing  extempore.  The  prince  himself  is  about  a  piece  of 
iniquity,  stealing  away  from  his  father  with  his  clog  at  his 
heels  :  if  I  thought  it  were  a  piece  of  honesty  to  acquaint 
the  king  withal,  I  would  not  do*t .  I  hold  it  the  more 
knavery  to  conceal  it ;  and  therein  am  I  constant  to  my  pro- 
fession. 

He-enter  Clown  and  Shepherd. 

Aside,  aside  ;  here  is  more  matter  for  a  hot  brain :  every 
lane's  end,  every  shop,  church,  session,  han<png,  yields  a 
careful  man  work.  701 

Clo.  See,  see ;  what  a  man  you  are  now  I  There  is  no 
other  way  but  to  tell  the  king  she*s  a  cliangeliug  and  none 
of  vour  flesh  and  blood. 

S/iep.  Nay,  but  hear  me. 

do.  Nav,  but  hear  me. 

tihep.  do  to,  then.  703 

Clo.  She  being  none  of  your  flesh  and  blood,  your  flesh 
and  blood  has  not  offended  tlie  king  ;  and  so  your  flesh  and 
blood  is  not  to  be  punished  by  him.  Show  those  things  you 
found  about  her,  those  secret  things,  all  but  what  she  has 
wiih  her  :  this  being  done,  let  the  law  go  whistle :  I  war- 
rant you. 


fiCBNKlT.]  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  808 

Shep,  I  will  tell  the  king  all,  every. word,  yea,  and  his 
eon's  pranks  too  ;  who,  I  may  say,  is  no  honest  man,  neither 
to  hiii  father  nor  to  me,  to  go  about  to  mako  me  the  king's 
brother-in-law.  721 

Clo,  Indeed,  brother-in-law  was  the  farthest  off  vou  could 
have  been  to  him  and  then  your  blood  had  been  the  dearer 
by  I  know  how  much  an  ounce. 

Ant.  [AMc\  Very  wisely,  puppies  ! 

Shep.  Well,  let  us  to  the  king :  there  is  that  in  this  far- 
del will  make  him  scratch  his  beard. 

Ant.  [Atdde]  I  know  not  what  impediment  this 'complaint 
may  be  to  the  flight  of  my  tnastcr.  730 

dlo.  Pray  heartily  he  be  at  palace.  • 

Avt,  [AKide\  Though  I  am  not  naturally  honest.  I  am  so 
fsometimes  by  chance  :  let  me  pocket  up  my  pedlar's  excre- 
ment. [Takes  ojf  his  fal8:i  heard.]  How  now,  rustics!  whith- 
er are  yon  bound  ? 

Shep.  To  the  palace,  an  it  like  your  worship. 

Ant.  Your  affairs  there,  what,  with  whom,  the  condition 
of  that  fardel,  the  place  of  your  dwelling,  your  names,  your 
ages,  of  what  having,  breeding,  and  any  thing  that  is  fitting 
to  be  known,  discover.  740 

Clo.  We  are  but  plain  fellows,  sir. 

Aut.  A  lie  ;  you  are  rough  and  liairy.  Let  me  have  no 
lying :  it  becomes  none  but  tradesmen,*  and  they  often  give 
us  soldiors  the  lie  :  but  we  pay  them  for  it  with  stamped 
coin,  not  stabbing  steel ;  therefore  they  do  not  give  as  the 
lie. 

Clo.  Tour  worship  had  like  to  have  given  us  one,  if  you 
had  not  taken  yourself  with  the  manner. 

Shep.  Are  you  a  courtier,  an't  like  you,  sir? 

Aut.  Whether  it  like  me  or  no,  I  «m  a  courtier.  Secst 
thou  not  the  air  of  the  court  in  these  enfoldings?  hath  not 
my  gait  in  it  the  measure  of  the  court  ?  receives  not  thy 
nose  court  odour  from  me?  reflect  I  not  on  thy  baseness 
couirt  contempt  ?    Thinkest  thou,  for  that  I  insinuate,  or 

Jtoaze  from  thee  thy  business,  I  am  therefore  no  courtier? 
am  courtier  cap-a-pe  ;  and  one  thot  will  either  push  on  or 
pluck  back  tliy  business  thero  :  whereupon  I  commnnd  thee 
to  open  thv  affair.  700 

&iep.  My  business,  sir,  is  to  the  king. 
Aut.  What  advocate  hast  thou  to  him? 
Shep.  I  know  not,  an't  like  you. 

Clo.  Advocate's  the  court- word  for  a  pheasant :  say  you 
bave  none. 

Shep.  None,  sir  ;  I  luive  no  pheasant,  cock  nor  hen. 
Aut.  How  blessed  are  we  that  arc  not  simple  men  !      770 
SHAK.  I.— 27 


834*  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  [activ. 

Yet  nature  miglit  have  made  me  as  these  are. 
Therefore  I  will  not  disdain. 

Clo.  This  cannot  be  but  a  great  courtier. 

Shcp.  His  garments  are  rich,  but  he  wears  them  not 
handsomely. 

Clo.  He  seems  to  be  more  noble  in  being  fantastical :  a 
great  man,  Til  warrant  ;  I  know  bv  the  picking  on's  teeth. 

Aut  The  fardel  there  ?  wliat's  i*  the  fardel  ?  781 

Wlierefore  that  box  ? 

Shep.  Sir,  there  lies  such  secrets  in  this  fardel  and  lx)x, 
which  none  must  know  but  the  king ;  and  which  he  shall 
know  within  this  hour,  if  I  may  come  to  the  speech  of  him. 

Aut.  Age,  tiiou  hast  lost  thv  labour. 

Shep.  Whv,  sir? 

Avi.  The  king  is  not  the  palace  ;  he  is  gone  aboard  anew 
ship  to  purge  melancholy  and  air  himself  :  for,  if  thou 
beest  capable  of  things  serious,  thou  must  know  the  king  is 
full  of  grief.  793 

Sliep.  So  'tis  said,  sir  ;  about  his  son,  that  should  have 
married  a  shepherd's  daughter. 

A'ut.  If  that  shepherd  be  not  in  hand- fast,  let  him  fly  : 
the  curses  he  shall  have,  the  tortures  he  shall  feel,  will 
break  the  back  of  man,  the  heart  of  monster. 

Clo.  Think  you  so,  sir  ?  791 

Aut.  Not  he  alone  shall  suffer  what  wit  can  make  heavy 
and  vengeance  bitter  ;  but  those  that  are  gennane  to  him, 
though  removed  fifty  times,  shall  all  come  under  the  hang- 
man :  w^hich  though  it  bo  great  pity,  yet  it  is  necessary. 
An  old  sheep- whistling  rogue,  a  ram -tender,  to  offer  to  have 
his  daughter  come  into  grace  !  Some  say  he  shall  bs 
stoned  ;  but  that  death  is  too  soft  for  him,  siiy  I :  draw  our 
throne  into  a  sheep-cote  !  all  deatlxs  are  too  few,  the  sharp- 
est too  easy. 

Clo.  Has  the  old  man  e*er  a  son,,  sir,  do  you  hear,  au't  like 
you,  sir?  811 

Aut.  Ho  lias  a  son,  who  shall  be  flayed  alive  ;  then  'noint- 
,ed  over  with  honey,  set  on  the  head  of  a  wasp's  nest  ;  then 
stand  till  he  be  three  quarters  and  a  dram  dead  ;  then 
recovered  again  with  aqua-vit®  or  some  other  hot  infusion  ; 
then,  raw  as  he  is,  and  in  the  hottest  day  prognostication 
proclaims,  shall  he  be  set  against  a  brickwall,  the  sun  look- 
ing with  a  southward  eye  upon  him,  where  ho  is  to  behuld 
him  with  flios  blown  to  death.  But  what  talk  we  of  these 
traitorly  I'ascals,  whose  miseries  are  to  l>e  smiled  at,  their 
offences  being  so  capital?  Tell  me,  for  you  seem  to  be 
honest  plain  men,  what  you  have  to  the  king  :  l>eing  some- 
thing gently  considered,  I'll  bring  you  where  he  is  aboard. 


8CTOBIV.]         THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  835 

tender  your  persons  to  his  presence,  wliiapcr  him  in  your 
belialfs  ;  and  if  it  be  in  man  besides  tlie  king  to  effect  your 
suits,  liere  is  man  shall  do  it.  829 

Clo.  He  seems  to  be  of  creat  authority  :  close  with  him, 
give  liim  gold  ;  and  thouglt  authority  be  a  stubborn  bear, 
yet  he  is  oft  led  by  tlie  nose  with  gold  :  show  tlie  inside  of 
your  purse  to  the  outside  of  his  hand,  and  no  more  ado. 
Kemeniber  •* stoned,"  and  *■  flayed  alive." 

Shep.  An't  please  you,  sir,  to  undertake  the  business  for 
us,  here  is  that  gold  I  liave  :  Til  make  it  as  much  more  and 
leave  this  young  man  in  pawn  till  I  bring  it  you. 

Aut.  After  I  have  done  what  I  promised?  ^  840 

Shep.  Ay,  sir. 

AuL  Well,  give  me  the  moiety.  Are  you  a  party  in  this 
business  ? 

Clo,  In  some  sort,  sir :  but  though  my  case  be  a  pitiful 
one,  I  hope  I  shall  not  be  flayed  out  of  it. 

Aut.  O,  that's  the  case  of  the  shepherd's  son  :  hang  him, 
he'll  be  made  an  example. 

Clo.  Comfort,  good  comfort  I  We  must  to  the  king  and 
r.how  our  strange  sights  :  he  must  know  'tis  none  of  your 
daughter  nor  my  sister  ;  we  are  gone  else.  Sir,  I  will  give 
you  as  much  as  this  old  man  does  when  the  business  is  per- 
formed, and  remain,  as  he  says,  your  pawn  till  it  be  brought 
you. 

Aut.  I  will  trust  vou.  Walk  before  toward  the  sea- 
side ;  go  on  the  right  hand :  I  will  but  look  upon  the  hedge 
and  follow  you. 

Clo.  We  are  blest  in  this  man,  as  I  may  say,  even  blest. 

&iep.  Let's  before  as  he  bids  us  :  he  was  provided  to  do 
us  good.  86 1 

[JSieunt  S/t^pherd  and  Clown. 

Aut.  If  I  had  a  mind  to  be  nonest,  I  see  Fortune  would 
not  suffer  me:  she  drops  booties  in  my  mouth.  I  am 
courted  now  with  a  doable  occasion,  gold  and  a  means  to  do 
the  prince  my  master  good  ;.  which  who  knows  how  that 
may  turn  back  to  my  advancement?  I  will  bring  these  two 
moles,  these  blind  ones,  aboard  him  :  if  he  think  it  fit  to 
shore  them  again  and  that  the  complaint  they  have  to  the 
king  concerns  him  nothing,  let  him  call  me  rogue  for  being 
so  far  officious  ;  for  I  am  proof  against  that  title  nnd  what 
shame  else  belongs  to't.  To  him  will  I  present  them  : 
there  may  be  matter  in  it  {Exit. 


830  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  [act  ▼. 

ACT  V. 

Scene  I.    A  roam  in  Lbotttes*  palace. 

Enter  Lbontes,  Cleomenks,  Dion,  Paulina,  and  BtnxuiU, 

Oleo,  Sir,  you  have  done  enongli,  and  liavo  perfonn'd 
A  saint-like  sorrow  :  uo  fault  could  you  make, 
Which  you  have  mt  redeetn'd  ;  indeed,  ]>aid  down 
More  i>euitence  than  done  trespass  :  at  the  last, 
Do  AS  tlie  heavens  have  done,  forget  your  evil ; 
With  them  forgive  yourself. 

Leon,  Whilst  I  remember . 

Her  and  her  virtues,  I  cannot  forget 
My  blemishes  in  them,  and  so  still  think  of 
The  wrong  Tdid  nivsfelf  ;  which  was  so  much, 
That  heirleas  it  liath  made  my  kingdom  and  10 

Destroy'd  the  sweet'st  companion  that  e'er  man 
Bred  his  hopes  out  of. 

Paul.  True,  too  true,  my  lord  : 

If,  one  by  one,  you  wedded  all  the  world. 
Or  from  the  all  that  are  took  something  good. 
To  moke  a  perfect  woman,  she  you  kill' d 
Would  be  unparallerd. 

Leon,  I  think  so.     Kill'd  I 

Sh«  I  kiird  !  I  did  so  :  but  thou  strikest  me 
Son  ly,  to  say  1  did  ;  H  is  os  bitter 
Uix>n  thy  tongue  aa  in  my  thought :  now,  good  now, 
S»^so  but  seldom. 

CUo.  Not  at  all,  good  lady  :  20 

You  might  have  spoken  a  tlioummd  things  that  would 
Have  done  the  time  more  benefit  and  graced 
Your  kindness  better. 

Paul,  You  are  one  of  those 

Would  have  Inm  wed  again. 

IHaiu  If  you  would  not  so^ 

You  pity  not  the  state,  nor  the,  remembmnoa 
Of  his  most  sovereign  name  ;  consider  little 
What  dangers,  by  his  highness'  fail  of  issue. 
May  drop  upon  his  kingdom  and  devour 
Incertain  lookers  on.     What  were  more  holy 
Than  to  rejoice  the  former  queen  is  well?  80 

What  holier  than,  for  royalty's  repair, 
For  present  comfort  and  for  future  good, 
'J'o  bless  the  l>ed  of  majesty  again 
With  a  sweet  fellow  to'tV* 

Paul.  There  is  none  worthy, 

Kespecting  her  that's  gone.     Besides,  the  gods 


flOENEi.]  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  887 

Will  liaye  fulfiU'd  tlunr  secret  parposes  ; 

For  has  not  the  diviue  Apollo  said, 

Is*t  not  the  tenoar  of  his  oracle, 

Tliat  King  Leontes  shall  not  have  an  heii 

Till  his  lost  child  ho  foand  ?  which  that  it  shall,  40 

Is  all  as  monstrous  to  our  human  reason 

As  my  Anti^nus  to  break  his  grave 

And  come  again  to  me  ;  who,  on  mvlife, 

Did  perish  with  the  infant.     'Tis  your  counsel 

My  lord  should  to  the  lieavens  be  contrary, 

Oppose  against  their  will.  [To  Leontes.]  Care  not  for  Issiie; 

The  crown  will  find  an  heir  :  great  Alexander 

Left  his  to  the  worthiest ;  so  his  successor 

Was  like  to  be  the  best. 

Lean,  Good  Paulina. 

Who  hast  the  memory  of  Hermione,  60 

I  know,  in  honour,  O,  that  ever  I 
Had  squared  me  to  thy  counsel  I  then,  ey«i  now, 
I  might  have  look'd  upon  my  aneen's  full  eyes, 
Have  taken  treasure  from  her  lips — 

Paul.  And  left  them 

More  rich  for  what  they  yielded. 

Leon.  Thou  speak'st  truth. 

No  more  such  wives  ;  therefore,  no  wife  :  one  worse. 
And  better  used,  would  make  he*  sainted  spirit 
Again  possess  her  corpse,  and  on  this  stage. 
Where  we're  offenders  now,  appear  soul-vex'd, 
tAnd  begin,  "  Why  to  me?" 

Paul.  Had  she  such  power,  00 

Sho  had  just  cause. 

Leon.  She  had  ;  and  would  Incense  me 

Tu  murder  her  I  married. 

Paul.  I  should  so. 

Were  I  the  ghost  that  walk'd,  Fid  bid  you  marie 
Her  eye,  and  tell  me  for  what  dull  part  in't 
You  chose  her ;  then  Tld  shriek,  that  even  your  ears 
Should  rift  Ut  hear  me  ;  and  tlie  words  that  foUow'd 
Should  be  "  Remember  mine." 

Leon.  Stars,  stars. 

And  all  eyes  else  dead  coals  !   Fear  thou  no  wife  ; 
I'll  have  no  wife.  Paulina. 

Paul.  Will  you  swear 

Never  to  marry  bat  by  my  free  leave?  7€ 

Leon,  Never,  Paulina ;  so  be  bleat  my  spirit  f 

Paul.  Then,  good  my  lords,  bear  witness  to  his  oath. 

Cleo,  You  tempt  him  over-much. 

Paul^  Unless  another. 


888  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  [ACTiE. 

As  like  Hermione  as  is  licr  picture. 
Affront  his  eye. 

Cleo.  Good  inadam,-7 

Paul.  I  have  done. 

Yet,  if  my  lord  will  marry, — if  you  will,  sir. 
No  remedy,  but  you  will, — ^give  me  the  office 
To  choose  you  a  queen  :  she  shall  not  be  so  young 
As  was  your  former  :  but  she  shall  be  such 
As,  walk'd  your  first  queen's  ghost,  it  should  take  joy      80 
To  see  her  in  your  arms. 

Leon.  My  true  Paulina, 

We  shall  not  marry  till  thou  bids't  us. 

Paul.  That 

Shall  be  when  your  first  queen's  ogain  in  breath ; 
Never  till  then. 

ErUer  a  Gentleman, 

Oent.  One  that  g^ves  out  himself  Prince  Florizel, 
Son  of  Polixenes,  with  his  princess,  she 
The  fairest  I  have  yet  beheld,  desires  access 
To  your  high  presence. 

Leon.  What  with  him  ?  h&comee  not 

Like  to  his  father's  greatness  :  his  approach, 
So  out  of  circumstance  and  sudden,  tells  us  90 

*Tis  not  a  visitation  framed,  but  forced 
By  need  and  accident.     What  train  ? 

Oent.  But  few. 

And  those  but  mean. 

Leon.  His  princess,  say  you,  with  him  ? 

Gent.  Ay,  the  most  peerless  piece  of  earth,  I  tliink. 
That  e'er  the  sun  shone  bright  on. 

Pavl.  O  Hermione, 

As  every  present  time  doth  boast  itself 
Above  a  better  gone,  so  must  thy  grave 
(^ive  way  to  what's  seen  now  !    Sir,  you  yourself 
Have  said  and  writ  so,  but  your  writing  now 
Is  colder  than  that  theme,  "  She  had  not  been,  100 

Nor  wns  not  to  \>o  cquall'd  ;  ^* — thus  your  verae 
Flow'd  with  her  beauty  once :  'tis  shrewdly  ebb'd. 
To  say  you  havx*  set  n  a  better. 

Gent.  Pardon,  madam : 

The  one  I  have  almost  forgot, — ^your  pardon, — 
The  other,  when  she  has  obtain'd  your  eye. 
Will  have  your  tongue  too.     This  is  a  creature. 
Would  she  begin  a  sect,  might  quench  the  zeal 
Of  all  professors  else,  make  proselytes 
Of  who  she  but  bid  follow. 


I 


SCENE  I.]  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  830 

Paul.  How  !  not  women  ? 

OenL  Women  will  love  her,  that  she  is  a  woman        110 
More  worth  t.ii  \  i  any  inaa  ;  men,  that  she  is 
The  rarest  of  all  women. 

Leon.  Go,  Cleoniencs  ; 

Yourself,  assisted  with  your  honoar'd  friends. 
Bring  them  to  oar  embracement.     Still  'tis  strange 

[Exeunt  ClewneiieM  and  oVier\ 
He  thus  should  steal  upon  us. 

Paul.  Had  our  prince, 

Jewel  of  children,  seen  this  hour,  he  had  pair'd 
Well  with  this  lord  :  there  was  not  full  a  month 
Between  their  births. 

Leon,  Prithee,  no  more  ;  cease ;  then  know'st 
He  dies  to  me  again  when  talk'd  of :  sure,  130 

When  I  shall  see  this  gentleman,  thy  speeches 
Will  bring  me  to  consider  that  which  may 
Unfurnisn  me  of  reason.     They  are  come. 

Re-enter  Cleomenes  and  otlurs  with  Florizel  and  Peedita. 

Your  mother  was  most  true  to  wedlock,  prince  ; 
For  she  did  print  your  royal  father  off. 
Conceiving  you  :  were  I  but  twenty  one. 
Your  father^s  image  is  so  hit  in  you, 
!His  very  air,  that  I  should  call  you  brother. 
As  I  did  him,  and  speak  of  something  wildly 
By  us  performed  before.     Most  dearly  welcome  I  130 

And  your  fair  4)rincess, — goddess ! — O.  alas  1 
I  lost  a  couple,  that  'twixt  heaven  and  earth 
Might  thus  have  stood  l)egetting  wonder  as 
You,  gracious  couple,  do  :  and  then  I  loBt— 
All  mine  own  Jolly — the  society. 
Amity  too,  of  your  brave  father,  whom. 
Though  Ixiaring  misery,  I  desire  my  life 
Once  more  to  look  on  him. 

Flo.  By  his  command 

Have  I  here  touch'd  Sicilla  and  from  him 
Give  you  all  greetings  that  a  king,  at  friend^  140 

Can  send  his  brother  :  and,  but  infirmity 
V/iiich  waits  upon  worn  times  hath  something  seized 
His  wish'd  ability,  he  had  himself 
The  lands  and  waters  'twixt  your  throne  and  his 
Measured  to  look  upon  you  ;  whom  he  loves — 
He  bade  me  say  so — ^more  than  all  the  sceptres 
And  those  that  bear  them  living. 

Leon,  O  my  brother, 

Good  gentleman  1  the  wrongs  I  have  done  thee  stir 


840  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  [act  T. 

Afresh  within  me,  an<]  these  thy  oflBces, 

So  rarely  kinri,  arc  as  interpreters  150 

Of  ray  behind- band  slackness.     Welcome  hithet. 

As  is  the  spring  to  the  eartli.     And  hath  he  too 

Eicposed  tliis  parngtm  to  tlie  fenrfnl  usage, 

At  least  ungentle,  of  the  dreadful  Neptune, 

To  greet  a  man  not  worth  her  pains,  much  less 

l^he  adventure  of  her  person  ? 

Flo.  Good  my  lord, 

She  come  from  Libya. 

Leon,  Where  the  warlike  Smalns,        ^ 

That  noble  honour'd  lord,  is  fear'd  ani  loved? 

Flo.  Most  royal  sir,  from  thence  ;  from  him  whose  daughter 
His  tears  proclaimed  his,  parting  with  her  :  tlience,         160 
A  prosperous  soutli-wind  friendly,  we  have  croBs'd, 
To  execute  the  charge  xa^  father  gave  me 
For  visiting  your  highne&s  :  my  best  traia 
I  have  from  your  Sicilian  shores  dismiss'd  ; 
Who  for  Bohemia  bend,  to  signify 
Not  only  my  success  in  Libya,  sir, 
But  my  arrival  and  my  wife's  in  safety 
Here  where  avo  are. 

Leon.  The  blessed  gods 

Purge  all  infection  from  our  air  whilst  you 
Do  climate  here  !    You  have  a  holy  father,  ITt) 

A  graceful  gentleman  ;  against  whose  person. 
So  sacied  as  it  is,  I  have  done  sin  : 
For  wiiich  the  heavens,  taking  angry  note,  • 
Have  left  me  issueless  ;  and  your  father's  blest^ 
As  he  from  heaven  merits  it,  with  you 
Worthy  his  goodness.     What  misrht  I  have  been,  / 

Might  I  a  sou  and  daughter  now  have  look*^  on. 
Such  goodly  things  as  yon  I 

EnJUr  a  Lord. 

Lord.  Most  noble  sir. 

That  which  I  shall  report  will  bear  no  credit, 
Were  not  the  proof  so  nigh.     Please  you,  great  air,         180 
Bohemia  greets  you  from  hims^'If  by  me  ; 
Desires  you  to  attach  his  son,  who  has — 
His  diguity  and  duty  both  cast  off — 
Fled  from  liis  father,  from  his  hopes,  and  with 
A  shepherd's  daughter. 

Leon.  Wliere's  Bohemia  ?  speak. 

Lord.  Here  in  your  city  ;  I  now  came  from  him 
I  speak  amazedly  ;  and  it  becomes 
My  marvel  and  my  message.    To  your  ooort  • 


SCENE  I.]  THE  WIXTER'S  TALE.  «41 

Whiles  he  was  hastening,- in  the  chase,  it  seems, 

Of  this  fair  couple,  me«ts  he  on  the  way  IIK) 

Tlift  father  of  this  seemingr  lady  and 

Her  hrother,  having"  both  their  country  quitted 

With  tbis  young  prince. 

F^o.        '  Camillo  has  betray'd  mo 

WhcMo  honour  and  whosj  honesty  till  now 
Endurwl  all  weathers. 

Iiord.  Lav't  so  to  his  charge  : 

IIe*s  with  the  king  your  fatlier. 

Leon.  Who?    Caraillo? 

L(frd.  Camillo  sir  ;  I  spake  with  him  ;  who  now 
H«s  these  \yoor  men  in  question.     Never  saw  I 
Wretches  so  quake  :  they  kneel,  they  kiss  the  earth  ; 
Forswear  themselves  as  often  as  they  speak  :  200 

Bohemia  stops  his  ears,  and  threatens  tliem 
With  divers  deaths  in  death. 

Per.  O  my  poor  father  ! 

The  heaven  sets  spies  upon  us,  will  not  have 
Our  contract  celebrated. 

Ijcon.  You  are  married? 

Flo.  We  are  not.  sir,  nor  are  we  like  to  be ; 
Tlie  stars,  I  see,  will  kiss  the  valleys  first : 
The  odds  for  high  and  low's  alike. 

Leon.  My  lord. 

Is  this  the  daughter  of  akiug? 

Vio.  She  is. 

When  once  sli©  is  my  irife. 

Leon.  Tliat  *'  once,"  I  see  by  your  good  father's  speed. 
Will  come  on  very  slowly.     1  am  sorry. 
Most  sorry,  you  have  broken  from  his  liking 
Wliere  you  were  tied  in  duty,  and  as  wrry. 
Your  choice  is  not  so  rich  in  worth  as  beauty. 
That  you  might  well  enjoy  her. 

Fto.  Dear,  look  up : 

lliougli  Fortune,  visible  an  eneniy. 
Should  chnse  us  with  my  father,  power  no  jot 
Hath  siie  to  change  our  loves.     Beseech  you,  sir, 
Hemember  since  you  owed  no  more  to  time 
Than  I  do  now :  witli  thought  of  such  affections,  230 

Step  forth  mine  advocate ;  at  your  request 
My  father  will  grant  precious  things  as  trifles. 

Leon.  Would  he  do  so,  i'ld  beg  your  predoos  mistress, 
Wliich  he  counts  but  a  trifle. 

Paid.  Sir,  my  liege. 

Your  eye  hath  too  much  youth  in't :  not  a  month 
'Fore  your  queen  did,  she  was  more  worth  such  gassea 


842  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  [act  v. 

Than  what  you  look  on  now. 

Leoti.  I  thoiipfht  of  her. 

Even  in  these  looks  I  mndo.  [To  Floru^.]  But  your  petition 
Is  yet  unanswer'd.     1  will  to  your  father  : 
Your  honour  not  o'erthrown  by  your  desires,  230 

I  am  friend  to  them  and  you  :  uix)n  which  errand 
I  now  go  toward  him  ;  therefore  follow  me 
And  mark  what  way  I  make :  come,  good  my  lord. 

[Exeunt. 
Scene  II.     Before  Leoktes'  pahite. 

Enter  Autolycus  and  a  Oentleman. 

Aut,  Beseech  you,  sir,  were  you  present  at  this  relation  ? 

Firtt  GsfU.  I  was  by  at  the  opening  of  the  farde],  lieani 
the  old  shepherd  deliver  the  manner  how  he  found  it: 
whereupon,  after  a  little  nmazedness,  we  were  all  com- 
manded out  of  the  chamber  ;  only  this  methought  I  heaid. 
the  shepherd  say,  he  found  the  cliild. 

AiU.  I  would  most  gladly  know  the  issue  of  it. 

Firat  Geivt.  I  make  a  broken  delivery  of  the  business  ; 
but  the  changes  I  perceived  in  the  king  and  Camillo  were  very 
notes  of  admiration  :  they  seemed  ulmoKt,  with  staring  on 
one  another,  to  tear  the  cases  of  their  eyos  ;  there  was  speech 
in  their  dumbness,  language  In  their  very  gesture ;  they 
looked  as  they  had  heard  of  a  world  ninsomed,  or  one  de- 
stroyed :  a  notable  passion  of  wonder  appeared  in  them  ; 
but  the  wisest  beholder,  that  knew  no  more  but  seeing, 
could  not  say  if  the  importance  were  joy  or  sorrow  ;  but  in 
the  extremity  of  the  one,  it  mast  needs  be. 

Enter  another  Gentleman. 

Here  comes  a  gentleman  that  haply  k no  w?  more.  The  news , 
Eogero? 

hec  Gent.  Nothing  but  bonfires  :  the  oracle  is  fulfilled  ; 
the  king's  daughter  is  found  :  such  a  deal  of  wonder  is 
broken  out  within  this  hour  that  ballad-makei^  cannot  bo 
able  to  express  it. 

Enter  a  third  Gentleman. 

Here  comes  the  Ladv  Paulina's  steward  :  he  can  deliver  von 
more.  How  goes  it  now,  sir?  this  news  which  is  called 
true  is  so  like  an  old  tale,  that  the  verity  of  it  is  in  strong 
suspicion  :  has  the  king  found  his  heir? 

Third  Gent.  Most  true,  if  ever  truth  were  pregnant  by  cir- 
cumstance :  that  which  you  hear  you'll  swear  you  see,  thcro 
is  such  unity  in  the  proofs.  The  mantle  of  Queen  Henni- 
one's,  her  jewel  about  the  neck  of  it,  the  letters  of  Antigo- 


SCENE  n.l  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  848 

nus  foand  with  it  which  they  know  to  be  his  character,  the 
majesty  of  the  creature  in  resemblance  of  the  mother,  the 
affection  of  nobleness  which  nature  shows  above  her  breed- 
ing, and  many  other  evidences  proclaim  her  witli  all  cer- 
tainty to  be  the  king's  daughter.  Did  you  see  the  meeting 
of  the  two  kin^  ! 

Sec.  Gent.  No. 

Third  Gent.  Then  liave  yon  lost  a  sight,  which  was  to  be 
seen,  cannot  be  spoken  of.  There  might  yon  have  beheld 
one  joy  crown  anotlier,  so  and  in  such  manner  that  it  seemed 
sorrow  wept  to  take  leave  of  them,  for  their  joy  waded  in 
tears.  There  was  casting  up  of  eyes,  holding  up  of  hands, 
with  countenances  of  such  distraction  that  they  were  to  be 
known  by  garment,  not  by  favour.  Oar  king,  being  ready 
to  leap  out  of  himself  for  joy  of  his  found  daughter,  as  if 
that  joy  were  now  become  a  loss,  cries  "  O,  thy  mother  thy 
mother!"  then  asks  Bohemia  forgiveness  ;  then  embraces 
his  son-in-law  ;  then  again  worries  he  his  daugliter  with  clip- 
ping her  ;  now  he  tlianks  the  old  shepherd,  which  stands  by 
like  a  weather-bitten  conduit  of  many  king's  reigns.  I 
never  heard  of  such  another  encounter,  which  lames  report 
to  follow  it  and  nndoes  description  to  do  it. 

Sec.  Gent.  What,  pray  you,  became  of  Antigonus,  that 
carried  hence  the  child  ? 

Third  Gent.  Like  an  old  tale  still,  which  will  have  matter 
to  rehearse,  though  credit  be  asleep  and  not  an  ear  open. 
He  was  torn  to  pieces  with  a  bear :  this  avouches  the  shep- 
herd's sou  ;  who  has  not  only  his^  innocence,  which  seems 
much,  to  justify  him,  but  a  handkerchief  and  rings  of  his 
that  Paulina  knows. 

First  Gent.  What  became  of  his  bark  and  hi^  followers  ? 

Third  Gent.  Wrecked  the  same  instant  of  their  master's 
death  and  in  the  view  of  the  shepherd  :  so  that  all  the  in- 
struments which  aided  to  expose  the  child  were  even  then 
lost  when  it  was  found.  But  O,  the  noble  combat  that 
*twixt  joy  and  sorrow  was  fought  in  Paulina  !  She  had  one 
eye  declined  for  the  loss  of  her  husband,  another  elevated 
that  the  oracle  was  fulfilled  :  she  lifted  the  princess  from 
the  earth,  and  so  locks  her  in  embracing,  as  if  she  would 
piu  her  to  her  heart  that  she  might  no  more  be  in  danger  of 
losing. 

Fimt  Gent.  The  dignity  of  this  act  was  worth  the  audi- 
ence of  kings  and  princes  ;    for  by  such  was  it  acted. 

llUrd  Gent.  One  of  the  prettiest  touches  of  all  and  that 
which  angled  for  mine  eyes,  caught  the  water  though  not 
the  fish,  was  when,  at  the  relation  of  the  queen's  death, 
with  the  manner  how  she  came  to't  bravely  confessed  and 


844  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  [act  r. 

lamented  by  the  king,  how  aftt-ntivenc^BS  wonnded  his 
dftuirhter  ;  till,  from  one  sign  of  dolour  to  nnother,  she  did, 
with  ftn  "  Alas,"  I  would  fain  say,  bleed  trare,  for  I  ani  sure 
in,y  heart  wept  blood.  VTho  was  mofjt  marble  there  cliangni 
colour  ;  some  swooned,  nil  sorrowed  :  if  all  the  world  Cfmld 
Lave  seen't,  the  woe  had  been  universal.  100 

Firift  Gcut.   Are  thev  returned  to  the  court? 

9 

Third  Oent.  No :  the  princess  hearing  of  her  mother's 
stiitue,  which  is  in  the  keeping  of  Paulina, — a  piece  many 
years  in  doing  and  now  newly  performed  by  that  rare  Italian 
master,  Julio  Romano,  who,  had  he  himself  eternity  ard 
could  put  breath  into  hLs  work,  would  beguile  Nature  of 
her  custom,  so  perfectly  he  is  her  ape  :  he  is  so  near  to 
Hermione  hath  done  Hermione  that  tliey  say  onu  would 
sneak  to  her  and  stand  in  hope  of  answer :  thither  wiih 
all  greediness  of  affection  are  they  gone,  and  there  they  in- 
tend to  sup. 

See.  Gent.  I  thought  she  had  some  great  matter  tliere  in 
hand ;  for  she  hath  privately  twice  or  thrice  a  day,  ever 
since  the  death  of  Hermione,  visited  that  removed  house. 
Shall  we  tliitlier  and  with  our  company  piece  the!  ejoicing? 

First  QeiU.  Wlio  '^vould  be  thence  that  has  the  benefit  of 
rcc€»ss?  every  wink  of  an  eye  some  new  grace  will  be  l)oni : 
our  absence  makes  us  unthrifty  to  our  knowlwlge.  Let's 
along.  [Exfvut  GehUe^nen,    121 

Ant.  Now,  had  I  not  the  da.sh  of  my  former  life  in  me. 
Avould  proferment  di*op  on  my  head.  I  brought  the  old 
nwn  and  his  soii  alward  the  prince  ;  told  him  1  heard  them 
talk  of  a  fardel  and  I  know  not  what :  but  he  at  that  time, 
overfond  of  the  shephei-d's  daughter,  .so  he  then  took  her 
to  l)e,  who  began  to  bo  much  sea-sick,  and  himself  little 
better,  extremity  of  weather  continuing,  this  mvstery  re- 
mainwl  undiscovered.  But  'tis  all  one  to  me ;  for  had  I 
been  the  finder  out  of  this  secret,  it  would  not  have  relished 
among  my  other  discredits. 

^;i^r  Shepherd  and  Clown. 
Here  come  those  I  have  done  good  to  against  my  will,  aid 
already  appearing  in  the  blossoms  of  their  fortune. 

Sfup.  Come,  boy  ;  I  am  past  moe  children,  but  thy  sons 
and  daughters  will  1)0  all  gentlemen  V)om. 

Clo.  Yon  are  well  met,  sir.  You  denied  to  fight  with  me 
thi.s  other  day,  because  I  was  no  gentleman  l>om.  See  you 
these  clothes  ?  say  yon  see  them  not  and  think  me  still  no 
gentleman  bom  :*you  were  best  say  these  robes  ore  not  gen- 
tlemen bom :  give  me  the  lie,  do,  and  try  whether  I  am 
not  now  a  gentleman  bom« 


SCENE  II.]  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  845 

Aut,  I  know  vou  are  now,  sir,  a  gentleman  born. 

Clo.  Ay,  and  liave  lieen  so  any  time  these  four  hours. 

Sfiep.  And  so  have  I,  boy.  '  149 

Clo.  So  you  have  :  but  I  was  a  gentleman  born  l)efore  my 
father  ;  for  the  king  s  sou  took  nie  by  the  hand,  and  chilled 
me  brother ;  and  th«»n  the  two  khigs  called  nly  father 
brother  :  and  then  the  prince  my  brother  and  the  pvinress 
my  sister  called  my  fatiier  father ;  and  so  we  wept,  and 
there  was  the  first  gentleman-like  tears  that  ever  we  shed. 

iih^p.  We  may  live,  son,  to  shed  many  more. 

Clo.  Ay  ;  or  else  'twere  hard  luck,  being  in  so  preposter- 
ous estate  as  we  are.  159 

AiU.  1  huuibly.l)eseech  you  sir,  to  panlon  me  all  the  faults 
I  have  committed  to  your  worship  and  to  give  me  your  good 
report  to  tlie  prince  my  master. 

S/irp.  Prithee,  son,  do  ;  for  we  must  be  gentle,  now  we 
are  gentlemen. 

Cio.  Thou  wilt  amend  thy  life? 

Aut.  Ay,  an  it  like  your  good  worship. 

Cio.  Give  me  tliy  hand  :  1  will  swear  to  the  prince  thou 
art  as  honest  a  true  fellow  as  any  is  in  Bohemia.  170 

3/ifp.  You  may  say  it  but  not  swear  it.       ^ 

Cl<f.  Not  swear  it,  now  I  am  a  gentleman  ?  Let  boors  and 
franklins  say  it,  I'll  swear  it. 

8,'t^p.  How  if  it  be  false,  son  ? 

Clff.  If  it  be  ne'er  so  false,  a  true  gentleman  may  swear 
it  in  the  behalf  of  his  friend  :  and  I'll  swear  to  the  prince 
thou  art  a  tall  fellow  of  thy  hands  and  that  thou  wilt  not  bo 
drunk  ;  but  I  know  thou  art  no  tall  fellow  of  thy  hands  and 
that  thou  wilt  be  drunk  but  Til  swear  it,  and  1  would  thou 
wouldst  be  a  tidl  fellow  of  thy  hands. 

Aut.  I  will  prove  so,  sir,  to  my  power. 

Clo.  Ay,  by  any  means  prove  a  tall  fellow  *  if  I  do  not 
wonder  how  thou  darest  venture  to  be  drunk,  not  being  a  tall 
felk>w,  trust  me  not.  Hark  !  the  kings  and  the  princes,  our 
kindred,  are  going  to  see  the  queen's  pictufe.  Come,  follow 
us  :  we'll  be  thy  good  masters.  [Exeunt. 

ScEKE  IIL    A  chapd  in  Pattlika'b  house. 

Enter  Leontes.  Polixkne8,  Flohizel,  Perdita,  Oamil- 
LO,  Paulina,  Lords  and  Att  udants. 

Leon.  O  grave  and  good  Paulina,  the  great  comfort 
That  I  liave  had  of  thee  I 

Paul.  What,  sovereign  sir, 

I  did  not  well  I  meant  well.    All  my  services 


846  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  [act  v. 

You  have  paid  home  :  but  that  you  have  vouchsafed, 
With  your  crown'd  brother  and  these  your  contracted 
Heirs  of  your  kingclonis,  my  poor  house  to  visit, 
It  is  a  surplus  of  your  grace,  which  never 
My  life  may  last  to  answer. 

Leon.  O  Paulina, 

We  honour  vou  with  trouble  :  but  we  cnme 
To  see  the  stntue  of  our  queen  :  your  gallery  10 

Have  we  pass'd  through,  not  without  much  content 
In  many  singularities  ;  but  we  saw  not 
That  which  my  daughter  came  to  look  upon, 
The  statue  of  her  mother. 

Paul.  As  she  lived  peerless. 

So  her  dead  likeness,  I  do  well  believe, 
Excels  whatever  yet  yon  look'd  upon 
Or  hand  of  man  hath  done  ;  therefore  I  keep  it 
Lonely,  apait.     But  here  it  is  :  prepare 
To  see  the  life  as  lively  mock'd  ns  ever 
Still  sleep  mock'd  death  :  behold,  and  say  'tis  well.  20 

[Pmdiiio  draws  a  curtnin,  and  duvovevB 
Ilei'mianc  fita tiding  like  a  daiue. 
I  like  \our  silence,  it  the  more  shows  off     * 
Your  wonder  :  but  yet  speak  ;  first,  you,  my  liege. 
Comes  it  not  something  near  *?  \ 

Leon,  Her  natural  posture  I 

Chide  me,  dear  stone,  that  I  may  say  indeed 
Thou  art  Hermione  ;  or  rather,  thou  art  she 
In  thy  not  chiding,  for  she  was  as  tender 
As  in  fancy  and  grace.     But  yet,  Paulina, 
Hermione  was  not  so  much  wrinkled,  nothing 
So  aged  as  this  seems! 

Pol.  O,  not  by  much. 

Paid.  So  much  the  more  our  car^^er's  excellence^  80 

Which  lets  go  by  some  sixteen  years  und  makes  her 
As  she  lived  now. 

Leon.  As  now  she  might  have  done. 

So  much  to  my  good  comfort,  as  it  is 
Kow  piercing  to  my  soul.     0,  thus  she  stood. 
Even  with  such  life  of  majesty,  warm  life, 
As, now  it  coldly  stands,  when  first  I  woo'd  her  ! 
1  am  aslinmed  :  does  not  the  stone  rebuke  me 
For  Ijeing  nu)re  stone  than  it  !    O  royal  piece, 
There's  magic  in  thy  majesty,  which  has 
My  t'vils  conjured  to  remembrance  and  40 

From  thy  admiring  daughter  took  the  spirits. 
Standing  like  stone  with  thee. 

Per,  And  give  me  Icavo, 


SCENE  II.]  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  847 

And  do  not  say  'tis  superstition,  that 
1  kneel  and  then  implore  her  blessing.     Lady, 
Dear  queen,  that  ended  when  I  but  began. 
Give  me  that  liand  of  yours  to  kiss. 

Paul.  O,  patience  ! 

The  statue  is  but  newly  fix'd,  the  colours 
Not  dry. 

Cam.  My  lord,  your  sorrow  was  too  sore  laid  on, 
Wliicli  sixteen  winters  cannot  blow  away,  60 

Bo  many  summers  dry  :  scarce  any  joy 
Did  ever  so  long  live  ;  no  sorrov 
But  kiird  itself  much  sooner. 

Pol.  Dear  my  brotber. 

Let  him  that  was  the  cause  of  this  have  power 
To  take  off  so  much  grief  from  you  as  he 
Will  piece  up  in  himself. 

Paul.  Indeed,  my  lord, 

If  I  bad  thought  the  sight  of  my  poor  image 
Would  thus  have  wrought  you, — for  the  stone  is  mine — 
rid  not  have  show'd  it. 

Leon.  Do  not  draw  the  curtail^ 

I^aiU.  No  longer  shall  you  gaze  on't,  lest  you  fancy       60 
May  think  anon  it  moves. 

Leotu  Let  lx%  let  be. 

Would  I  were  dead,  but  that,  methinks,  already — 
What  was  he  that  did  make  it?    See,  uiy  lord, 
Would  you  not  deem  it  breathed  ?  and  that  thoBe  veins 
Did  verily  bear  blood  ? 

Pd.  Masterly  done : 

The  very  life  seems  warm  upon  her  lip. 

Leon.  The  fixture  of  her  eye  has  motion  in't. 
As  we  are  mock'd  with  art. 

Paul.  ni  draw  the  curtain 

My  lord's  almost  so  far  trans]x>rtcd  that 
He'll  think  anon  it  lives. 

Leon.  0  sweet  Paulina,  70 

Make  me  to  think  so  twenty  years  together  ! 
No  settled  sensess  of  th^  world  can  match 
The  pleasure  of  that  madness.     Left  alone. 

Paul.  I  am  sorry,  sir,  I  have  thus  far  stirr'd  you  :  but 
I  oould  afflict  you  farther. 

Leon.  Do,  Paulina ; 

For  this  affliction  has  a  tasto  as  sweet 
As  any  cordial  comfort.     Still,  methinks, 
There  is  an  air  comes  from  her  :  what  fine  chisel 
(k>uld  ever  yet  cut  breath  ?    Let  no  man  mock  me. 
For  I  will  kiss  her. 


848  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  [act  v. 

Paul.  Good  my  lord,  forbear  :  80 

The  raddiness  upon  lier  lip  is  wet ; 
You'll  mar  It  if  you  kiss  it,  staiu  your  own 
With  oily  painting.     Shall  I  draw  the  curtain  Y 

Leon,  No,  not  these  twenty  years. 

Per.  So  long  could  I 

Stand  by,  a  looker  on. 

Paul.  Either  forli^^ar, 

Quit  presently  the  chapel,  or  resolve  you 
For  more  amaascment.     If  yoa  can  behold  it, 
ru  make  the  statue  move  indeed,  descend 
And  take  you  by  the  hand  ?  but  then  you41  think — 
Wliich  I  protest  against — I  am  assisted  90 

By  wicked  powers. 

Leon.  What  you  can  make  her  do, 

I  am  content  to  look  on  :  what  to  speak, 
I  am  content  to  hear  ;  for  'tis  as  easy 
To  make  her  speak  as  move. 

Paul.  It  is  required 

You  do  awake  your  faith.     Then  all  stand  still ; 
On  :  those  that  think  it  is  unlawful  business 
I  am  about,  let  them  depart. 

Leon,  Proceed : 

Ko  foot  shall  stir. 

Paul.  Music,  awake  her ;  strike !  {JlvHc-. 

Tis  time  ;  descend  ;  be  stone  no  more  ;  approach  ; 
Strike  all  that  l(x>k  upon  witli  marvel.     Gome,  100 

I'll  fill  your  grave  up  :  stir,  nay,  come  away, 
Bequeath  to  death  your  numbness,  for  from  him 
Dear  life  redeems  you.     You  perceive  she  stirs : 

[Hermianc  eome$  down. 
Start  not ;  her  actions  shall  he  holy  as 
You  hear  my  spell  is  lawful :  do  not  shun  her 
Until  you  see  her  die  agaiu  ;  for  then 
You  kill  her  double.     Nay,  present  your  hand : 
AVlicn  she  was  young  you  wod'd  her ;  now  in  age 
Is  she  become  the  suitor? 

Leon.  O,  she's  ufann  1 

If  this  be  magic,  let  it  be  an  art        ""  110 

Lawful  as  eating. 

Pol.  She  embraces  him. 

Cam.  She  hangs  about  his  neck  : 
If  she  pertain  to  life  let  her  speak  too. 

Pol.  Ay,  and  make't  manifest  where  she  has  lived. 
Or  how  stolen  from  the  dead. 

Paid.  That  she  is  living. 

Were  it  but  told  you,  should  bo  hooted  at 


BCBilsii.]  THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  849 

Like  an  old  tale  :  bat  It  appears  sLe  lires. 

Though  yet  she  speak  not.     Mark  a  little  while. 

Please  you  to  interpose,  fair  madam  :  kneel 

And  pray  your  mother's  blessing.     Tujm,  good  lady  ;       120 

Our  Perdita  is  found. 

Her.  You  gods,  look  down 

And  from  your  sacred  vials  po*ir  your  graces 
Upon  my  daughter's  head  !     Tell  me,  mine  own, 
where  hast  thou  been  preserved  ?  where  lived?  how  found 
Thy  father's  court  ?  for  thou  shalt  hear  that  I, 
Knowing  by  Paulina  that  the  oracle 
Gave  hope  that  thou  wast  in  being,  have  preserved 
Myself  to  see  the  issue. 

Paul.  There's  time  enough  for  that ; 

Lest  they  desire  upon  this  push  to  trouble 
Your  joys  with  like  relation.     Go  together,  130 

You  precious  winners  all ;  your  exultation 
Partake  to  every  one.     I,  an  old  turtle, 
Will  wing  me  to  some  withered  bough  and  there 
My  mate,  that's  never  to  be  found  again. 
Lament  till  I  am  lost. 

Leon.  O,  peace,  Paulina  ! 

Thou  shouldst  a  husband  take  by  my  consent. 
As  I  by  thine  a  wife  :  this  is  a  match, 
And  made  between's  by  a'ows.     Thou  h&st  found  mine  ; 
But  how,  is  to  be  question'd  :  for  I  saw  her, 
As  I  thought,  dead,  and  havw  in  vain  said  many  140 

A  prayer  upon  her  grave.     Til  not  seek  far — 
For  him,  I  partly  know  his  mind — to  find  thee 
An  honourable  husband.     Come,  Camillo  , 
And  take  her  by  the  hand,  whose  worth  and  lionesty 
Is  richly  noted  and  here  justified 
By  us,  a  pair  of  kings.     Let's  from  this  place. 
What  I  look  upon  my  brother  :  both  your  pardons, 
That  e'er  I  put  between  your  holy  looks 
My  ill  suspicion.     Tliis  is  your  son-in-law 
And  son  unto  the  king,  wlio,  heavens  directing,  150 

Is  troth-plight  to  your  daugliter.     Good  Paulina, 
Lead  us  from  hence,  where  we  may  leisurely 
Each  one  demand  and  answei*  to  his  part 
Perform'd  in  this  wide  gap  of  time  since  first 
We  were  dissever  d  :  hastily  lead  away.  [Ektnnt 


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