! Q E- Pk 4161 B52S5 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. A COMEDY, Kii ifibe acts. CHRISTOPHER BROOKE BRADSHAW. LONDON: PRINTlil) rOR THIi; AUTHOR. SOLD BY CHARLES FOX. 67. PATERiNOSTEll-ROVv 1845. [ENTIinl-.D AT STATIONKBS' IIAI.lI LONDON: I'AI.MER AND CLAYTON, rRlNXERS Ciano Court, Fleet Street. SANTA BAEBAUA The following scenes — a labour of love, dedicated to the genius of one who, in his day, did so much to enliven and elevate the best feelings of " Merry England " — are, I confess, much below the standard of excellence which should shadow forth the character of William Shakspere, Poet and Dramatist; yet have I some faith in devotion, and doubt not that what I want of art or learning will find excuse in my sincerity. THE AUTHOR. Upper HoUoway, Middlesex. PERSONS OF THE DRAMA. > Noble?nen of the Court. Earl of Essex Earl of Southampton Sir Henry Lee — A gallant old Coui-tier. William Shakspere — The Dramatist. WiNTERBORNE — His Friend. Simeon De Castro — A rich Portuguese Jew. Sir Valentine Venture — A London Merchant. Lord Gilbert Glitter — A Fop. CoMBE-^yi Miser. Servants, Chorus, iSc. Elizabeth — Queen of England. Eleanor ^ Susanna > Assumed Sisters of Sliaksperc. Katharine j Maids of Honour, S;c. Scene — London. Period — The latter end of the Sixteenth Century, SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. ACT I. Scene I. — The Forecourt of the Palace. Enter two Servants. 1st Serv. Will her Majesty ride forth to-dav? 2nd Serv. Ask me whence the wind will blow o' th' morrow — whether it wdll rain or shine on this day se'nnight, for an I tell you these, expect from me an answer to your query. Will her Majesty ride forth to-day? Marry, will she ! i' chance her horse shall carry her ! 1st Serv. Every ass knows this. 2nd Serv. Then the ass knows more than the horse's master. To school, and take lesson of 't, for he's not born shall tell you when next her horse shall carry her. Yet have I my shrewd guess on 't. 1st Serv. Ha! when? 2nd Serv. When next she wills to mount him. Now, this same will of hers, that makes her horse to go — perchance against his will, albeit a willing creature — is the one thing I never yet could reckon on. If it hath likeness, 'tis in the steed unbridled ; walk with it, trot with it, gallop with it, 'tis odds against us we keep up with it. 1st Serv. Hush! our mistress' will being all her own, is not for us to question. But, for her humours 2nd Serv. Don't hint at them. A very woman in her love and hate : she'll do you more kindness in half an hour than a whole lifetime can requite ; but, once ruffle her vanity, and — God save her grace ! she's out of humour with us all ; herself into the bargain ! 1st Serv. Then her whims and fancies, though not for mc to speak of. She'll wear her mantua inside-out to-day, and upsy-down to-morrow ; the next day has her tailor to new |{ 2 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act i. fashion it, yet after all ne'er puts it on her back again, so way- ward is she grown. 2nd Skrv. Why, this very morning, if I may name it, not half an hour since, she starts up suddenly from out her bed and vows she'll be diverted from her melancholy. " I'll have a play; go, see the thing be done. Bring hither Master Shakspere !" 1st Serv. What, he that played the ghost the other night at the Round O, Bankside — the ghost in what dy'e call the play ? 2nd Serv. Amblit, Prince o' Dunkirk. 1st Serv. You're right. One would think, to see him act his part, he'd served an apprenticeship in a country chuixhyard, he ghosted it so gravely. 2nd Serv. At any rate he proved a fair acquaintance with the gravemaker. No 'prentice matter either, 'tis the work of a master-hand as long as nature shall be nature, and the gravedigger true to his calling. 1st Serv. I warrant you. 2nd Serv. See ! here he comes ! the man we speak of! 1st Serv. For certain, and no other. You'll know him ever by his brisk step — his cheerful brow — his kind word for everybody. Enter Shakspere. Shaks. My brave, good fellows, wherefore stand ye idle, with one at hand so needing your kind services ? Here's half-a-crown for him who shall conduct me to his mistress. A trifle, truly, but not I hope inadequate ; since the fair Queen herself — though she give all she hath — can make it but a crown. 1st Serv. A crown paid doAvn for hire does barely weigh against a free-gift two-and-sixpence. 2nd Serv. I'll prove it so in my experience. Shaks. Five shillings Avorth of logic at half price. A^^ouldst know my name, and thou canst read fair writing, you'll find it in that royal superscription. (Showing a letter.) 2nd Serv. Master William Shakspere. SCENE II.] A COMEDY. 3 Shaks. Better known as Will Shakspere ; a fellow, plays a-days, works a-nights, and gives his life to jovial company. 2nd Serv. He that put old Jack Oldcastle in love to make our mistress merry. And merry was she, wondrous merry; six days for Sunday, six months afterwards. This way, brave Master Shakspere ; be sure you are right welcome at the palace. This way — this way — I never shall forget that merry time. [Exeunt. Scene II. — An Apartment in the Palace. Queen Elizabeth and Lady Mary Blount discovered. Queen. True, I forget ; then, there's the chase at Canon- bury. Enter a Lord in Waiting. Lord. My sovereign lady, the look'd-for player 's come. Queen. We'll see him here, and now. [Exit Lord.] He comes like a foretold eclipse, true to his time, and throws all other bodies into shade. Enter Shakspere. Shaks. Hail ! gracious Queen of England ! Queen. My Bard of Stratford, welcome to us. Now, first of all, how wears the day with you ? Shaks. As one affected by continual change, in that same change cheats life of half its dulness ; so, by this sudden and unlooked-for call, my day of stand-still and of dull resolve breaks out in sunny incident and summer promises. Queen. Ha ! now you feel you speak before a throne, and, therefore, you take up a form of flattery. Shaks. Nay, I can prove it otherwise ; your flatterer speaks on some quality as existing before him which truth disdains to recognise ; whilst I, now looking on your Ma- jesty's pretensions, see wit and worth and gracious magnani- mity, but have no words to measure their full excellences. Queen. Well, have your say, and we'll not call it flattery, though you should praise us to the blushing point. A player B 2 4 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act i- hath more license than another, and what we would not grant he takes forsooth ; and stands well with us too. Shaks. Would the players stood as well with all the world as with your Majesty : but there are some, — alas! that it should be so ! — who not only refuse to them their meed of approbation, but who scruple not to withhold from them their right of civil quality — their charter of humanity. Queen. If there be such, they are the few who never read our Shakspere's plays, nor saw them acted ; who never wept, as I have done, o'er Juliet's fate, or Desdemona's fall : nor laughed, as I was ever wont to do till my sides ached with stitches, at quaint Malvolio's wit — at fat Oldcastle's vagaries : a fund of humour in a thriftless knight, but somewhat per- sonal. You must alter his cognomen. Shaks. I'll leave his humours where they are, and place his sins upon another's shoulders. Queen. A brave conceit. But this is not the wherefore wliy I called you hither. I have of late grown out of humour with myself and everything around ; my state affairs are fairly gone beyond me ; my favourites are no longer in my favour. A Queen, and no Queen. Take me at the best, you shall not find a thing more spleened and choleric. Kow, it doth appear to us, in this sick-mind disease, thou'lt prove more use than all our 'pothecaries in ordinary ; and state physicians, too, backed with their nauseous nostrums. A play 's the thing! I'll have a play — this very night I'll have a play enacted here, at court. And you shall bring your players down to strut before her Majesty. Let it be done. A stirring comedy, and one shall drive these meagrims fairly out o' me. Shaks. A play to-night ! most royal lady, I am grieved to say, there's not a player left this day in town of any estima- tion. Tarleton is sick in bed ; Burbidge and all his fellows down at York. 'Twill take a week at least to bring him post haste back. What's to be done ? Queen. I'll tell you what — to have the play to-night despite o' them. Shaks. Prithee, tell me how '^ SCENE II.] A COMEDY. 5 Queen. Look you through your manuscripts — find some fitting theme, and what's to hinder us? I've said, I'll have ; nor will I rest till you have sent me to my pillow a far — far happier creature than I am. Shaks. It is your pleasure to command ; my duty to obey : yet, believe me, your Majesty has imposed on me a task of difficulty. Queen. In other hands it might be ; but with you — you who have ta'en the universe for your theatre, and mankind for your actors, nothing should seem impossible. Shaks. Then, being possible in your opinion, I am bold to make the attempt. Queen. I knew you would ; I had that presage of you. Shaks. Honoured in this gracious preference, I'll struggle with the Fates but I will see fair England's Queen herself again ! Free as the air and joyous as her meanest subject — the bright-eyed gipsy girl; that heedless one, who revels through a summer day with heart of floating gossamer, who sinks at length to rest 'neath her rude tilt, or tissue screen, to balk the peeping stars, without a thought for the morrow. Queen. Then with the wish make me so happy, you who have the power. O ! I do almost envy thee thy art, by which to raise us so much 'bove ourselves ! Shaks. Since 'tis your pleasure to have a play forthwith enacted here — however ill prepared to do it justice — I'll tack together a few fragment scenes that I have oft repeated to my sisters, and they shall help me through this night's dilemma. These, with half-a-dozen amateur friends of my parlour, not altogether ignorant of my writings, shall make a corjis dra- matique. Then, at a pinch, I'll take my humble j^art : not that your poet makes the best of players ; and this I take to be the reason : the player at the best knows his great points, a sensible fiction merely, and 'tis his art to master the passions ; the poet feels his highest flights reality, and, do his best, the passions master him. Queen. I have noted such. Well, do your best, and we will be contented. Ay, rather than the scene should halt for want of preparation and digestion, vvp'II seize upon some 6 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act i. passing thought, some trite occasion, some current field of action, and carry out the entertainment. And this we'll do even though the Queen herself should step out of herself and bear her part therein : for 'tis good hap to see oneself a living portraiture within a truthful mirror. Shaks. O, wondrous condescension! I take the hint: I'll go to work upon 't. With such a star to guide us through this night's adventures, Shakspere and Company against the world. You'll find us waiting on yom' pleasure. Farewell, fair lady ; farewell, my royal mistress ; farewell, illustrious princess. [Exit. Queen, That man's the happiest fellow living; none can mistake him ; he carries ever in his outward mien the index of a heart at ease within. When he was quicken'd sure 'twas summer time — a universal holiday — when all were met in common heart, in common ecstasy. And such a scene might the Great Causer move, to pluck its soul of fire from every breast, and plant the whole in one capacious bosom, that all the world might say — " This is a happy man." [Exeunt. Scene III. — A Parlour in Shakspere's House, London. Enter Eleanor and Susanna. Elea. I tell you, Susan, you are much to blame in this. A man hath many ways to better his fortune ; a woman hath but one — her chance in matrimony. And, believe me, it rests much upon herself whether she makes or mars her fortune : for this depend on, if she be the first to disparage her own pretensions, if she be always busying herself in menial offices, if she be too much at home, alone, or shut out from the world : in any and in a]l such cases she steps between her fortune and herself to do a willing injury. Sus. But should she think too highly of herself, and over- rate her beauty and her worth — there are such cases — what shall we say of such a one ? Not that she steps between her fortune and herself to do a willing injury, but that she sets up SCENE III.] A COMEDY. 7 her plaster image on a giddy height, not more for admiration than for the first rude gale to sport with and demolish. Elea. That's all very fine : a row of beautiful Venuses, white as snow, pure as alabaster, put up and knocked down to the first bidder. The way to raise the wind, if not to win a husband. But let me tell you, Sue, if you would wed — and that you would I've warrant in myself — if you would wed and make a life of matrimony, wear your looks upward, bear yourself thus — as though you felt some amorous prince were dangling after. Then, for your wardrobe, change it altogether. Your plain- cut country bodice won't do here ; your low- crowned rustic bonnet won't do now ; you must have things of fashion, flounced and trimmed, both silk and satin, and rich velvet too. Remember you're in London, near the court; then let your style and bearing both bear out the gaiety you move amongst. Sus. A lesson for a maid of fortune, not for a yeoman's daughter. Now, this it is, Nell : one shall make matrimony a matter of love, another a matter of speculation, whilst a third — our mad-cap sister Kate, if you will — laughs matrimony down, and vows by all the stars in heaven she'll never, never wed. Elea. So every maid vows, every day of her life, till she gets a sweetheart ; then, heigh ho ! her minds begins to change, she thinks better of it : another sigh, then comes the soft consent, and she falls desperately sick in love. Her mother did the same before her — that reconciles the novel state of being. Well, where is Kate — the giddy, romping Kate — Kate that vows she will not have a husband ? When I don't hear the light-hearted girl singing through the house, 1 fancy her unwell; when I know not where she is, I fancy every minute she'll leap upon my shoulders ; when I know not what she's doing, I fancy her doing mischief. So works fancy in Kate's absence ; in her presence whim works much the same, ibr, morning, noon, and night, our Kate is ever freakish. Sus. See, where she comes ! Her heart a floating bubble, lighter than air, more radiant than the rainbow ! Enter Kaik, singivg. Le ra, le ra, la ; le ra, le ra, la ; le ra, le ra, Ic ra, le ra, la, la. 8 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act i. Elba. "Sister, where hast been?" Ka.te. " Killing swine." Elba. Nay, nay. Kate. Indeed : dancing a fandango 'cross the yard, a luck- less guineapig ran under foot, and, squeaky squeaky, breathless lies; no more. Elea. Notwithstanding you're merry as an ape. Kate. Very sorry, and all that; but I knew 'twas a pound to a shilling he'd ne'er again be living guineapig ; so I finished my jig with a fal, lal, lal, la. — {Figuring about.) I say, Sue, Susey, Susanna, love, what's in that huge hamper just within the pantry ? Tell me, dear. Sus. O! a present from Highgate Park ; I forgot to name my Lord Southampton had sent Will a haunch of venison of his own running. Kate. The dear fellow ! A haunch of venison ! Sus. And it shall go hard with me but I find time to make our loving brother a pasty, with a few of his favourite tea- cakes into the bargain. Elea. There she's again in her glory, up to the ears in the flour-tub. Well, Kate, have you thought of the handsome fellow — the lad of lads — the gay young nobleman we saw at church yesterday ? Kate. In sooth, not I. Elea. I wager my last new tucker to a yard of inkle, you dreamt of him last night. Kate. A lost bet, Nell. I dream of him! not I, indeed. What should a girl of seventeen — scarce laid aside her doll — what should she do with a sweetheart ? It's all very well for an old woman like you, some half-a-dozen years my senior, to think of sweethearts, and to have one too ; but such a wild- brain thing as I, not cut a wisdom tooth yet, what should she do with a husband — what should she do with a baby ? Why, toss it backward and forward, and up to the sky, and break its pretty little neck in coming down again. No, 'tis time enough yet. {Singing.) Time enough yet ; time enough yet ; And btill she lejihecl — 'tis time enough yet. SCENE III.] A COMEDY. 9 Sus. Hey ! Here comes brother Will. Kate. The willing fellow ! I'll hide behind the screen, leap his broad shoulders, and frighten his good-natured soul from out its loving body. {Hiding,) Enter Shakspere. Shaks. "Where's that gay kitten, that sun-hearted elf, that joyous thing of paradise, Kate of a thousand fancies! I could have sworn I heard her singing here ; her sweet notes caught i' the distance, sweeter grown, like music falling from a seraph's lips. — {Kate twitches his skirts from, behind the screen.) — Plague o' the antic elf, e'en now I feel her twitching at my skirts ; and yet, for certain, she is nowhere present ; nay, I beg pardon, Kate is ever present ; she's in imagination i^y g(:)^i[ng pleasure, the thought for ever uppermost. — {Kate, leaning over from behind the screen, tickles his ear loith a peacock'' s feather.) — Again she's at her vagaries, dancing light-vaulting measures on my ear. 'Tis something more than mere imagination ; I'll hunt it out. O, ho ! I've found my clew ! there's mischief hidden t'other side the screen ; methinks I see her splicing spider-threads to twirk lads' noses as they fall asleep. I'll start thee from thy covert, tiny imp. — {He steps cautiously to the back of the screen, meamchile Kate crosses in front and makes her exit unobserved by him.) — Nor there, nor here • well, then, I give thee up : thou'st proved thyself too agile for my touch. To-morrow I will look for thee within the circuit of an alderman's ring, and catch thee nodding there in fairied self-security. Elea. What ! not a word for us ! no word of greeting? Shaks. O, yes, ten thousand! had I time to use them. Where, think you, I have been ? Elea. Nay, I know not. Shaks. Nor would ever guess; nor do ye yet surmise what honours do await you. I ween ye have not come to town for nought. Hold up your heads, be ladies or be nothing ; for now or never are your fortunes made. Elea. Fortunes made ! Shaks. A maid's fortune is the matter in question, no 10 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act i. matter how you question it ; for this is certain, you shall go to court, and there shall you be courted. Elea. Courted, say you ? Say you, then, by whom ? Shaks. One in a rich suit, thenceforth your suitor. Elea. Nay, you dally with me ; I must know more. Already you have said enough to raise a woman's curiosity, to fire her ambition; and, rest assured, she will not let you rest till you have satisfied her vague conjectures. Shaks. Satisfy a woman's vague conjectures! no easy matter for a man. Well, having raised your expectations somewhat sportively, I'm bound to gratify your desii*e. Thus, then, it is : our gracious Queen Enter Katb, with a hop, skip, and a jump. Kate. God bless her for a noble-minded lady ! Who knows but she may some day take a fancy to me and make a lady of me — Lady Katharine Shakspere! — a very lady-like and courtly-sounding title. Shaks. A fortune in itself, Kate; shall bring a dozen wooing lords upon their knees at once, to praise your beauty and extol your worth. Kate. A dozen, and at once ; why, I shall have a lord or two to spare for Nell and Sue : a lucky chance, to make them ladies too. Sus. Lord help thee, Kate, thou art e'en as mad as Will and Nell ; whose air-brain rattle goes for current truth with thee. Kate. Sue, you've no fancy; be it all a joke, I love to humour it. Sure half the fun of life is idle badinage ; and they who wait for a real hap to turn their wit upon are very like to lose their wit in the keeping. Shaks. Well, then, we'll have it all a joke — a right royal joke — a joke shall make the palace ring again with merri- ment; for the Queen herself is super-jocular grown, and means to laugh away this night with us and our gay comedy. Kate. You. tiresome Will, to sport thus with a maiden's feelings; am I to be a lady but in joke? Elea. There's something more than joke runs tickling SCENE III.] A COMEDY. U through my ears. " Hold up your heads ; be ladies or be nothing ; for now or never are your fortunes made." Kate. Sue, there's another candidate for a strait waist- coat : note her sayings. Elba. " For this is certain, you shall go to court, and there shall you be courted." Kate. By a dozen lords at once, all down upon their knees : the thought of it alone has turned our sister's brain. Elba. Then, the climax : " The Queen herself is super- jocular grown, and means to laugh away this night with us and our gay comedy." Kate. Brother William Shakspere, you've heard our sister's courtly wanderings ; look me full in the face, and tell me truly, whether she be sane or insane ; whether the matter she speaks be fabricated joke, or truthful earnest? Shab:s. Sister Katharine Shakspere, I've listened to your appeal, touching our Nelly's wanderings, and I declare, upon my honour, the maid is sane and sound — that what she speaks is nothing fabricate, but all a truth — a verity. Kate. Then Avill the Queen have a play to-night ? Elba. A sterling comedy shall make the palace ring again with merriment ; for Will has said so. Sus. A thing altogether improbable — impossible, seeing the players all are playing in the provinces. Shaks. So said I; to which her Majesty replied — I answered — she rejoined, and in the end determined her own case — to have a play enacted, and to-night. Sus. But, for the players — where to look for them ? Shaks. At home ; we need not look much farther. There's I and you, Kate and Nell, and half a dozen visitants shall make a company. Sus. Not I. Kate. Nor Kate, believe me. Elba. Nor Nell, if Nell knows aught of her ownself. Shaks. Yet shall you all three play your parts to-night ; within the palace and before the court. Sus. I could not raise my voice before the throne. Kate. I should look less at my words than at the Queen. 12 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act l. Elka. I should lack subject, matter, words, and utterance to play before her Majesty. Shaks. 'Tis a mistake, a common error, to think there's aught within the verge of majesty forbidding or repulsive : I've found it otherwise. There does not live in all the land a lady of more ease and affability than our enthroned Queen. Ever gracious and dignified with her courtiers; but with those who seek her ne'er beyond herself — a gentle-hearted woman. Elea. Herein you'd seem to stimulate our courage. Kate. Still, to have us players, you must first make players of us. Shaks. In ray experience I've found players ready made ; your workers must be trained to it. Would you be players, then, observe but this plain rule : to take man for your prompt- book, nature for your studio. Kate. And our mother's son for acting manager. He who creates and writes, and makes us familiar wdth, a world of his own creatures ; recognised beings of thought and action that live for ever with us — friends and old acquaintance. Enter one with a letter, hands it to Eleanor. Elea. A letter, and for me ! Sus. My life to nothing, a letter from Sir Valentine, to say he is coming home. Kate. {Peeping over Eleanor^s shoulder.) Not quite right, not far wrong. For coming home, read — he is come home ; you'll have it — to the very letter. Shaks. What's this, Nell ? Sir Valentine returned. The rich merchant ashore again. Then throw away the distaff and the wheel ; no more we'll have thee spinster. Elea. So sudden is 't, I scarce can think it so. Read for yourself. — (Giving the letter to Shakspere.) Shaks. To stock three heads at once, I read aloud : — " Beloved Eleanor, — Again in England, I but remain behind to change my dress; this done, no moment lost, I throw myself at your devoted feet, to claim your treasured promise. " Valentine." SCENE III.] A COMEDY, 13 Kate. My clear sister, the man will be here and claim your hand before you've changed your dishabille. Put wings upon your speed, and straightway place that lovely form of yours before the toilet. Elea. The billet and the news, at once so unexpected. Come, Sue, this matter will not be put off; attend me to my closet. [Exit Eleanor and Susanna. Shaks. How little know we as we rise from bed what des- tiny the day will do Avith us ! Kate. Was it not said, or rather promised, the day Sir Valentine should return — happen whene'er it might — that day should be our sister's wedding-day ? Shaks. It was the very gist and spice of the contract ; on which they kissed and parted. Kate. Would it not be a special piece of fun to balk this anxious lover of his interview, and personate my sister ? Shaks. No doubt. Kate. 'Tis time to hide my face, then; for yonder see him coming. (She veils herself.) Shaks. Who sends a love-letter before him, travels two steps to one against the carrier. Enter Sir Valentine Venture. Sir V. Shakspere, my dear fellow, if I gripe your hand without mercy, prithee pardon me, since 'tis the first to wel- come my return to England. Shaks. If my heart were in your hand, its strongest pulse would welcome, not rebuke, such friendly contact. Sir V. Your sister, is it not ? Shaks. O yes ; I thought you did not see her. Sir V. Not see her ! 'Tis the vision has been before my eyes e'er since we parted. Fair Eleanor, I kiss your hand, an earnest of good faith betwixt us. Since last we met, has not the time seemed immeasurably long ? Kate. No, indeed. SirV. No! Kate. Time never went so quickly. Sir V, Nay, nay ; with me, not months but years make up 14 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act i. the interval. Then, I've been as melancholy as a chained bear. Kate. I, all the while, mischievous as a pet monkey. Sir V. Indeed ! so full of frolic ? Kate. Yes, sung and danced the day through. Sir V. Sung and danced ! O heavens ! Kate. What's the matter ? Sir V. With my head and heart? just now they were dis- tracted. Kate. On my life, I pity you. Sir V. Would you be soothing ? O teach your pity some true tale of love to rouse our sympathies. For here I venture to suggest a doubt — you have not thought of me as I of you. Kate. Not quite as much. Sir V. With what cool breath 'tis uttered. Is this the same high-minded girl I wooed before ? Shaks. Candidly, not ; to speak the truth, she's gone off with another. Sir V. Another ! gone off with another ? Shaks. Yes, another sister of mine. Kate. And much more like her than myself, though you won't know us apart. ( Throiving aside her veil.) Sir V. Kate, the romp — the schoolgirl ; that used to play blindman's buff and puss i' th' corner with me ! Was ever man so far deceived ? I've neither eyes nor ears : I give you leave to laugh at me. (Shakspere and Kate Join in a hearty laugh.) You little madcap, to serve me thus on my first visit ; I scarce can forgive you. Kate. O yes, you will, on such a day as this ; the day of all the rest to pardon folly and forgive offence. (Going.) Sir V. Stay ; where art going, Kate ? Kate. To Avhisper Eleanor her suitor's waiting. Sir V. Then I'll not detain you. [Exit Kate.] That ever I should be so duped, to take green seventeen for ripened five-and-twenty. Shaks. A harmless mistake on this side matrimony ; for, as I remember, this should be your wedding-day. Sir V. Even so : I've horses ready at the door, the priest SCENE III.] A COMEDY. 15 appointed, and only lack the generous man should give away the bride. Shaks. Generous, egad ! To give away that one hath no claim to keep ! But, since 'tis so, I take upon me to perform the act. Sir V. Twice am I bound to you, who both in one enact — the sire and brother. Shaks. See ! where my sister comes ! Not Elizabeth her- self — for all her beauty and bewitching grace — o'ertops such loveliness. "With what an air of conscious dignity she threads the gallery. Juno ne'er looked down from heaven in greater pride than she now looks upon that marble pavement. Sir Valentine, adieu ; third parties present ever spoil love- meetings. Exit Shakspere O. P. Enter Eleanor P. S. Sir V. 'Tis she, herself; ten thousand welcomes in this first embrace ! Now, let the wind roar, rain pelt, and foamy billows chafe the tossing bark till seas and skies meet midway ! Here dawns a friendly haven ! 'Tis she, herself ! O ! now to spike Time's rolling wheels and stop him here for ever ! Blessed moment ! To find myself again with her I love, and clasp her in my folding arms again ! Elea. So absolute content; why then, methinks, I should be happy too. Sir V. A sin to pent up such huge happiness in two small bosoms only ; we'll have a house of joy, a neighbourhood of rejoicing. Elea. But not to-day. Sir V. Why not, my love, to-day. To put off such a con- summation but for an hour only, were treachery 'gainst our natures. Elea. Say then, we wed ; the town will say, so soon was much too huiiied. Sir V. Let them say, think, report whate'cr they may ; have I not your word and promise for 't ? — an obligation of such worth and confidence, as is a rich man's bond with twenty solvent signatures besides, and testing seals impending. 16 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act i. Ei-EA. A hasty promise hastily fulfilled, if so it must be. Sir V. Must be, ay ! and shall be ! The hour at length is come; it cannot be put back again. All things are ready, if the bride be willing. Ei.EA. Willing she is ; for why hold back her hand since you have got her heart. Sir V. O, bless'd consent ! Let's seal it with a kiss ; Consenting kisses are love's truest bliss. [Exeunt. Scene IV. — The Wedding Banquet. Tables set out, several parties assembled variously engaged. Enter a Fool, meeting the Master of the Revels. Master. Fool, who invited thee ? Fool. The Fool's brother ; he who throws open his doors, furnishes his tables, treats every one, and pays the piper. The man who does this, invites all the fools in the town to bear him out in his folly. Master. Where, then, to look for your wise men ? Fool. Travelling the East, in quest of honest women to make wives of. A fool need not take that trouble; he can get a wife any day and hour of the year, by holding up his finger. Master. You thus convert your fool into a finger-post, to point the road to matrimony. Fool. What the necessity for a finger-post? Marry, master, the necessity lies in this : whene'er there are more doubtful ways than one, a man may chance go astray ; now, though a finger-post says nothing — therein the emblem of Avisdom ; yet it tells a great deal — therein the emblem of folly : thus your ancient director of our ways is at once the emblem of wisdom and folly: wisdom, on the one hand, to him learned in letters ; folly, on the other, to him that cannot tell his letters. And, therefore, do we point it with a finger, post and finger being synonymous with foolery. Master. The fool shall give the blind fiddler a lesson on't. Fool. A caution it shall be ; not to run's head 'gainst a SCENE IV.] A COMEDY. 17 post, as the old hanks did, who knew not till then he wore horns. Can you tell me why a married woman wears a ring ? Master. Not I. Fool. To make work for the jeweller, and encourage no one else. Then, there's a simple notion, why the father gives away the bride. Master. What is't ? Fool. Because he can keep her no longer, says the fool's catechism. Then, for the fool's potion — his sops and spiced ale. O, here it is ! First, to myself I drink ; since he who has not self-respect betrays the first law of nature. — (Drinks.) Next, a health to my prospective fooless ; in toast and ale I toast her. Would all the town had but one throat, to quaff here and to pledge me! — (Drinks and sings.) O, I loved a fair maid, Went a wooing to she ; She turn'd out a jade, Turn'd her back upon me. Would you find out her jjlea, To the finger-post go ; It is not for me To tell all that I know. Now, Master Revels, may we have a jig ? Master. Anon, anon: when I have satisfied those longing eyes that beam their lustre to a common point — the silver salver, with its nuptial store. Fair maidens, not longer to withhold from you your meed of custom, here are — what think ye ? Fool. Wrapt in blanched paper, and perfumed with odours. Master. What think ye such chaste packets should con- tain ? Fool. Look at them, lasses ; tied round with silken thread, in true-love's knots. Master. They seem as mortal finger ne'er had touched them. Within each tiny parcel lies concealed a charm of wondrous might. Not one, amongst the many, but lias thrice threaded through the wedding hoop its silent, mystic round. Each maid hath claim on them ; so pray make free. c 18 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act i. Fool. And pray reserve one to take home with you. Master. And then, at night, as you unrobe for bed, be sure to put it underneath your pillow. Fool. Then presently fall asleep, and leave the rest to fortune. Master. Here ends your lesson. Fool. Learn it off by art, and heigh ho for pleasant dreams. Master. Nay, an ye stand so tardily about, I'll hand them round to you .... Yes, this I promise : you all in turn shall have your Avedding feast. Fool. And christenings, too, if fool may hint as much. Master. Hark ! that gay music ! Fool. Bespeaks the bride's arrival: now the married woman. Master. See yonder ! she approaches ! Fool. And see, her maids strew flowers in her path. Master. And all a-tiptoe, trip right merrily. Enter Brtde and Bridegroom, Shakspere, Bridemaids, and others. Fair lady, welcome ! Welcome home, fair lady ! Sir V. A general welcome it must be to all assembled here. Pray keep your scats, and presently I'll pledge ye. ISIean- while, my young and nimble friends, go merrily about, and make a dance of it. A dunce, at the end of which Shakspere rises. Shaks. One word, kind friends, and I must leave you: for custom is a sort of second law, ne'er to be disregarded ; and custom has estabhshed as a rule, in all such festive cases, to have a merry scene or two. A farce — a droll — a comedy. But, ere I go to do a willing duty, fill bumpers, all ! Fool. I prithee, Willy, find a part for me in your new comedy. Shaks. Sew your mouth up; you shall play Dumb Boy. I drink, brave sirs, Sir Valentine and lady ! May all their years be made of days like this — And all their lives one consummated bliss ! All. Sir Valentine and lady ! end of thk first act. SCENE I.] A COMEDY. 19 ACT II. Scene I. — The Hall of State. Queen Elizabeth surrounded by her Nobles. Enter Shakspere. Shaks. Pride, in rags, has still its robes — its sceptre — its dominions. So, my proud sister's soul, prefiguring the idea, and being acted on by outward agencies, transmutes her brazen idol to a golden deity. E'en now her brain's at work, building up its temple of pleasure : its base is folly, and its apex f)ride. Why, this same merchant's wife, her foot within the palace, has grown a head and shoulders taller for 't ; and, thus enlarged, her giant fancy looks on common things as all inadequate. On my life, she'll presently be Queen of all us here, and think her Majesty the city madam! Queen. And if she should, we'll humour the conceit ; we'll turn it to account ; we'll have our fun in it. Shaks. Strange though it seems, wine does not more in- toxicate than pride. While the puifed heart, as the sick brain, losing its distinctness, the real and the fictitious are the same with it. No dreamer feels more sure that all is what they deem it ; yet is it sheer deception. A thought comes here ; upon this odd delusion one might speculate. It were no difficult task, methinks, with spirits so affected, to dub a cobbler, lord; a fishwife, lady; and make them easily believe their change. Lo ! where my sister comes! So now, to try its efficacy, I'll hail her as the Queen; and you {to the JVbbles) must be submissive. Enter Eleanor. Hail, beauteous princess ! Albion's island Queen, all hail ! All. All hail our royal mistress ! {Fall'mg on their knees.) Elea. 'Tis well, and yet not M'ell. In such good company are there no more loyal knees ? Queen. I know at least two more would drop o' th' instant, low as humility itself, but for a qualmish rheumatism hath fixed them into stubbornness. c 2 20 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act h. Elea. Poor soul, I pity her! But for that pity, which gives up a seat on claim of aching bones, I had surmised she had usurped my place. 'Now, where's my fool ; my merry, merry fool ? (She salutes the JVobles, and speaks apart to them.) Queen. INIy Swan of Avon ! thou who sing'st me living ; did I not tell thee lately, rather than the scene should lack its apt occasion or its source of humour, I myself would step out of myself and take the actress' part ? So here I am, then ; prithee be gentle with me. Shaks. Gentle as may be, seeing our gentlewomen o' late are so prone to be rough'd.* Enter Fool. Elea. My fool, canst thou look sad ? Fool. Yes, when mistress walks i' th' bleak north-east uncloaked, and so rebels against the constitution. Thou shalt be sick anon, and want a wiser one to nurse and physic thee. Elea. Are not these sick times ? Fool. Query : where to look for the doctor ? Elea. You shall be state doctor. Doctor Fool — fool-doctor. Fool. I wist more knaves than fools will fall to me in my new avocation. Elea. INIy courteous Willy, and my courtly kinsman, they tell us we are sick ; then must not we believe them? We are sick, sadly sick. What's to be done ? Shaks. Get better, Elea. Bad, better. 'Tis for the best we mend. Now tell us, what's o'clock ? Shaks. Being passed meridian, why, then it goes for mid- night. Elea. Ha, ha, ha ! Midnight ! A dark pun is't. Shaks. A midnight jest ; the antithesis to a midday dolour. Elea. Ay ! rather call it midday ! It is noon ; that orb's a sun resplendent ; and we have breakfasted on brave beefsteak so long since, we almost fancy dinner hastens on. * Ruflfd. An allusion to the then prevailing fashion of wearing rufls. SCENE I.] A COMEDY. 21 Fool. Would it did ! I'd rather feast on viands than on words ; on full substantial than on empty logic. Shaks. Thou reason'st like a fool ; for where the mind's unfed the appetite is gorged, not feasted. Elba. My brain hath caught the fever. My chamber is my palace, my patient fool is my prime minister. Alas ! alas ! To dream and find no rest ! So, so, so, so ! Fool. Very so, so, indeed. Patient the first, marked down for Doctor Folly. I shall grow rich, for I must have my fee, like any empiric. For what's a doctor without a fee ? A dumb man, an empty purse ; a bankrupt skeleton, prepared and dry, for his shrewd spouse to lecture on. Fe, fo, fi, fum ! I smell the blood Elea. Blood! Fool. Blood of the grape, 'ycleped, by some, brave wine. A health, I pray ye, to our virtuous Queen ! Shaks. Not in half cups, but honest wholesale metre. — (Takes up a goblet.) — May she find life all a pleasure, and be long preserved to us. — (Drinks.) Queen. Shall I sit still — be mute ? Elea. Why move, why prate, when her afilictions bind her to a seat and warn her to be quiet. Besides, how strange to speak one's speech by deputy. Be mute, then, whilst we, proud England's Queen, make known to all our loving sub- jects round, that health and life and every tender tie are all as nothing to the mighty bond which binds us to their welfare and prosperity. Fool. Very pertinent, and cunningly devised. A fool might learn his lesson in that primer. Elea. Cousins, carouse, and let the cheer go round. I fain would tarry here in such brave company ; but great ones have great taxes on their time, and I must leave you. Being about to retire, a Lord in Waiting enters. Lord in Wait. Sir Thomas Gresham, waiting, doth entreat an audience with your Majesty. Elka. All I/ondon hath not such anotlier man. You'll 22 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act ii. know his sign, in Lombard-street — a golden grasshopper, a perfect type of such a one, merchant and banker. That ever- active creature, the grassy summer-fly, still wends her way with a perpetual song : now vaulting onward, onward and again, her green and glossy sides give back their sunbeams to the gorgeous skies, and change all things to gold. Fool. Would her Midastic touch could find its way within my breeches pocket, and finger a few remnant coppers there. Elka. Sir Thomas Gresham, anon, and I am with you. [Exit. Fool. Was ever wight so stark ! Shaks. See where the proud wife goes ! Ne'er doubting her assumption ! None other in her wild conceit than oiu* enthroned vestal — the peerless Queen of England. Queen. A rival for the throne ! My lords, 'tis time we do bestir ourselves. Go not to sleep to-night ; or if, perchance, you catch your senses napping, dream of some terrible scheme of vengeance to circumvent this danger. 1st Noble. He's a dull boy would sleep upon his post. I'll i^lant a sentinel, right eye and left, to twitch me at my nodding. 2nd Noble. I will not nod a nod ; I'll fortify my temples' citadel with guns shall pop out minutely. I'll do an active duty through the night shall make surprise impossible. Shaks. Now, then, 'tis arms for arms. Already is the enemy discomfited, whilst gallant Gresham lies hard by in ambush to cut ofl" her retreat. Huzza for the adventure ! Queen. The miner, skilful in his craft, digs on through all impediment, full certain, in the end, of the rich ore deep buried underneath ; so works the dramatist on hunirn clay, till, i' th' sequel, he brings us out — the mind's crude thoughts and passions — the mental ore far hidden in our natures. Shaks. A word on our procedure. This undigested plot should need its prologue : a little part to play, though much Avill oft depend on't. And now, upon the wing of supposition, that travels swifter than the fleetest steed, would I transport you to another scene. Anon, as with the thought, we will suppose ourselves on Margret's Hill. Ay ! at that ancient SCENE 11.] A COMEDY. 23 hostelrie, the far-famed Tabard! Woidd I could introduce you to Old Chaucer, the prince of song ! but, in default, accept my modicum of wit and right good-fellowship. [Exit. Queen. Now for a brief interval. My pretty page, bear my fan onward. My Lord Essex, I can't so soon forget my sudden rheumatism ; would'st be her staff to lean upon, give thy halt Queen an arm. I know thee for a man of gallantry, so, in my good need, make use of thee. Essex. When sumptuous Cleopatra, the world's great Queen and idol, fell sw^ooning on the breast of gallant Antony, then had he such another freight of worth and beauty pendent on him. QuEEX. How easily we digest these flatteries, being brought up to them ; else were they fulsome quite. Essex. Can the truth flatter ? Queen. Spoken for show, not love of it, it can. But, since 'tis not your custom, for this once I acquit you. Essex. Her Majesty's afoot. My lord, precede us to the royal stall, where we will see the play out. [Exeu7it. Scene H. — Gateway of the Tabard Lm, Southwark. Enter Shakspere, Winterborne, Cheerly, aiid Frost. WiNT. Is it your purpose, then, to rob the miser ? Shaks. Marry, is't ; we'll rob the fellow for the fun of it, while you and all the town besides applaud the daring. Why, hark'ee, Ned ; if there's a thing on earth I hate, it is your money-man, you^r love-gold, your usurer ; the crawling miser is my thing of sport ; he keeps my satire keen ; he works my fancy, gives me a poor idea when nothing else can move me. WiNT. But is not this Jack Combe your friend and tow^ns- man ? Shaks. For certain my fellow townsman; but who can call himself the miser's friend ? Had he a friend, a wife, a child, I'd say it was his gold ; gold that swallows up his friendship, love, affection, and leaves him in his little world alone. WiNT. Ili^ little world ! Tut, man, he'll rlalm tliis huge metropolis ! 24 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act ii. SiiAKS. He goes the way for't. Yes, London is the usurer's mart and market, his field of cunning enterprise : the very name of London smells to him of money ; he scents it there, even as the hound his game, the crow his carrion. AYiXT. But will not this affair expose us to some risk of danger ? SiiAKS. Not i' th' least; leave the upshot to me, I'll prove it all a joke — a pleasant pastime. WiNT. I am reconciled. Now, what's your plan. Will ? Shaks. E'en this. Whilst you and I engage the caitiff in some common talk, Frost and Cheerly shall slip out of room and steal their way up stairs, and thence along the gallery, to the very end, where, in a nook and corner, all blocked up with corn-sacks, they shall find the miser's chamber. Frost. I know the spot. Cheerly. And I the very room ; 'tis lighted by a pane of glass only, and that within the roof, clean looking upwards, as though it prayed the skies for better daylight. Shaks. But, grant the prayer, the lodger's sure to quit ; for daylight is to him as darkness to the child — he fears to face it. AVell, being within the room, my lads, be sure you look out for the miser's pillow. Frost. His pillow ! Shaks. Ay, his tough old leathern wallet, stuffed with chaff, whereon he lays his head a-nights, but rests not. Bring me that wallet, or rather, having got possession of 't, carry it off at once beneath your cloaks, and leave it at my lodging close on Click-street. Frost. I pledge me for the doing. Cheerly. You may reckon on't as done. Shaks. In two such men I'm more than twice assured. Enter a Waiter. Now, Tramp, what urgent business, wherefore hurriest ? Tramp. I go at call o' house, brave INIaster Shakspere. Shaks. Are there many horses in ? What company have you tarrying ? Ti;ami'. Horses, a fairit;h sprinkle came to yard to-day; SCENE iii.J A COMEDY. 25 then, for company, a score at least, with some half-dozen you have met before. Shaks. Hah ! Who are they ? Tramp. The hook-nosed Kentish Chapman for one ; then the One-eyed Miller of Sussex ; the Sea Captain brings silks from Genoa ; and the Big Brazier of Fish street-hill ; besides these, there's Maltster Meadowcroft, from outyoui' parts; and, nearer still, your townsman, up from Stratford — tit, tit, tit, tit ! what's his name ? Shaks. Is't Combe ? Tramp. You have it pat — the man ; you'll find him e'en now within doors, carousing. [Exit. Shaks. All, then, as I would have it. Let us enter. [Exeunt. Scene III. — Parlour of the Tabard. Several assembled, drinking. Enter Shakspere, Winterborne, Cheerly, and Frost. Shaks. My boon companions, now are we well met. Capt. We wanted four such men to make us merry. Miller. Pray join our company. Shaks. We do most gladly. — (Thetj seat themselves). Chapman. You grow fine roses here in Southwark. — (7b Shakspere.) Shaks. A rare rose, but not of Southwark growth ; I stole it but now from Ben Jonson's button-hole, who had it, as he said, from Hatton-garden, Holborn — a passing pleasant spot, right open to the morning sun, and sloping to the river. The flower, forsooth — akin to him who grew it — is full of grace and beauty ; a present for a beau, a posy for a courtier. My Lord of Ely hath a contract with the lawyer for some bushels annually, they grow so freely. Capt. A Stratford man, Sir ; prithee pledge him. Shaks. Hah! fellow townsman! wealthy Jack! my man of weight and metal! Why, what art doing here ? Com HE. I^oing here — very little. I may say, nothing. Shaks. Doing nothing; a questionable idleness. What! 26 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act ii. Is not London full of ruined fortunes ! Are there no bor- rowers ? And have they nought to pledge ? Combe. No business to be done shall give a living profit. Shaks. That's strange : I thought to have found you up to your ears in bills and bonds, and books and debts and credits. Combe. Not I : I hve by spending, not by making money. So it is. I've full five hundred marks now lying idle, and not a man of substance to be found to rid me of a fraction, bearing interest. Shaks. Yes, I know of one. Combe. You do ? Shaks. A very honest fellow — but he's poor. Combe. Hah. SiiAKS. Lives up to his income — sometimes lives beyond it ; but for all that a right good fellow. Combe. Yes. Shaks. I'd take his word for fifty thousand crowns any day. Combe. You would ! I wouldn't. You say the man's poor^in want of money ; and you know him ; may I ask his name ? Shaks. WiU Shakspere. Combe. No ! Shaks. Yes. I tell you I've a present, pressing want; some twenty marks that must be found ere night. You'll lend me twenty marks for twenty days. Combe. Not for a day — an hour. Shaks. No ! Combe. I'm a poor man ; I have it not to lend. Shaks. Very strange ! Have you not five hundred marks now lying idle ? Combe. I — Did I say it was my own ? Shaks. I will not swear it ; but, if you have it lying by, I've a shi-ewd guess you have the powder to lend it. Combe. Upon good and sufficient security only. Now, your player, as I take it, is rather loose seciu-ity. I must have another in the bond with him ; perhaps, then, I could find the money. SCENE III. J A COMEDY. 27 Shaks. I'm glad of that. Combe. I say, perhaps ; for I assure you there's great scarcity of the precious metal just now. The Lombards run short — nothing to be done under ten or twelve per cent. That's a fine diamond on your finger, Will ? Shaks. A gift of friendship from my Lord Southampton. Combe. Might not that go in part security ? Then, you've a friend with you ; he can sign and seal ; and so to make up matters. Shaks. Methinks, John Combe, thou'rt somewhat hard upon me. Combe. Well, don't have it then — I didn't force it upon you. Shaks. No, no; I acquit you of that. Well, hand the money over ; I must be content. Combe. And you, Winterborne? WiNT. Content, content. Combe. I dare say, on an emergency, I can find the money. But first, to fill the bond — (Pulling it from his pocket). — The day and date's already here ; then for the sum, twenty marks. 'Tis done. Now for the cash, and then sign, seal, and -witness. — (Going.) — Twenty marks, a large sum to lend a man in difficulties; but I dare say I can find the money. I fancy I can put my hand upon it. [Exit. Shaks. I am much mistaken if you can. My brave com- panions, we have put a trick upon the miser ; and you shall join us in the laugh against him. His money has gone out of house before him — carried off by Frost and Cheerly. But not a word of that — remember, you are in the secret ; mum, mum, mum ! Now, Winterborne, our scheme is at its issue ; the old fellow poking his rigid nose in every dirty corner, till not a cobweb hangcth where it did. WiNT. Then will he go in miser ; come out masker. Shaks. Gad! How he'll tumble o'er his musty wardrobe ! Capt. And, growling vengeance, curse the Chamberlain. Chapman. And, groping on his knees amongst the corn- sacks, change habits with the miller. Capt. Hark, hark ! He calls ! 28 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act ii. Shaks. Cracks, flashes, thunders — rather. WiNT. Pray for the house ; his stormy strides set the stout oak-beams rocking ! SiiAKs. Tut! little pother ! Hark, the one great rage ! Re-enter Combe, followed by Hostess, INIaids, and Waiters. Combe. Shame, shame ! I'll raze the house — I'll have jus- tice done — I'll have you all before the magistrate ! Hostess. You'll have justice done ! you'll have us all before the magistrate ! Combe. Peace, M'oman ; hold your tongue. Hostess. Not I, from now to Martlemass. Shall I, an honest woman, hear myself and household slander 'd, and put no word in ? SiiAKS. How now ! Pray, what's the matter ! Combe. Don't ask the matter ; call the constable. Give me a warrant — apprehend the thieves ! Shaks. Thieves? Combe. My wallet ! Shaks. Thieves ? Combe. My gold! Shaks. Say you, thieves ? Combe. My cash ; my bonds ; my jewels ; my papers ! All — at the least, five hundred marks. Shaks. Stolen ? Combe. Stolen from out the house. Hostess. That's doubtful. Combe. Doubtful ! Hostess. Yes, Frank says, he don't remember seeing it, when he brought in your luggage. Combe. The lying varlet I I'll have him in the pillory — nail his ears, till both eyes serve him truly! Give me my wallet — give me, I say, my wallet I Hostess. That's impossible. Combe. Impossible! impossible! SCENE III.] A COMEDY. 29 Hostess. Yes, vre must first find it, if it be really lost. Combe. It is lost ; I swear 'tis lost. I'll have the bellman — advertise the theft. I'll caution all the town from entering here, where no man's goods are safe if out of sight of him. SiiAKS. Wilt advertise the theft? then tell us your reward. Combe. A tempting bit it shall be ; a silver crown — five shillings, down at once. Shaks. a sixty-penny bait to catch five hundred marks ; you do not know the craft. Make it two hundred shillings for the hope — three hundred for the chance — you get it back again. Combe. Three hundred shillings! Shall I then rob myself? Pick my own pocket ? And that to bribe base rogues they give me back my own again ? Destruction ! Take my life ! Shaks. Nay, this is desperate, and adds loss to loss. Leave it to me, I'd make a better bargain. Combe. Bargain ! what is 't ? Shaks. A cheap resource. Combe. Cheap ! yes ; but is it certain ? Shaks. Certain as most things ; he who'd win must test it. Combe. I would win back my wealth ; what shall I do ? Shaks. Not potter here and give rogues time to dissipate their booty ; but go forthwith with me, where I shall lead you, even to the cunning man. He, without doubt, will point you out the miscreants, and get you back again your stolen goods. Combe. I live again ! Shaks. Come one and all across the way with us, to witness what you know — to clear you from suspicion. Several. We will! we will! I'm innocent — I falsely accused. Hostess. A pretty business, this ; I, who've kept roof over my head these twenty years, and ne'er lost pinsworth. Shaks. If this same cunning man don't find out all, my name's not Shakspere. Combe. Dogs I I'll have vengeance on ye ! [E.C€U//f. 30 SHAKSPERE AM) COMPANY. [act ii. Scene IV. — Jlstrolcger's Garret. Enter Characters as be/ore. Shaks. Here tarry awhile, whilst I seek out my man, and send him to you. [Exit. Miller. Odds me ! a strange place this to be left alone in. Chap. There's much to see, but little to understand. Capt. And yet such signs, Avhen understood, are full of cunning wisdom. Why, look ye ! I've seen such things at sea you'd never dream of. Seahorses, whirlpools, waterspouts, and witches ! — a fish so large he'd swallow up a mountain ! — a beautiful damsel, head and shoulders bare, with all beneath mere fishy ; and she would lure men, like your nightingale. Then, that portentous thing with numerous teeth, which tracks the bark, day after day, Avhen any's sick or dying. And that, again, your stormy swimmer, roll's i' th' billows till his scaly sides reflect all colours of the rainbow. I've seen red men and women, and others black as ebony ; and others, still, have worn their heads beneath their arms — some say for fashion's sake ; whilst I surmise, their shoulders had grown weary of such noddles. Re-enter Shakspere, tvith Winterborne disguised. Shaks. Hah ! ha ! what's here ado ? There's mischief i' th' skies : Mars changes colour. And his fiery cheeks grow silver pale ; Whilst blue-vein'd Venus blushes up to crimson. These signs point out a finger-work. Hold out your palms, while I do read your destinies ; Stand all apart, that I may cast nativities. Rams, bulls, and goats, but ne'er a Virgin ; Non Virgo, Libra, Gemini, et Aquarius ; Then Leo, Cancer, Scorpio, Sagittarius. By these opposed aspects there are crosses here : Conjunction shaking hands with Opposition ; Yet can I make all quartile. SCENE IV.] A COMEDY. 31 Let him that has more than he should have, And less than he would have, stand forth. {Combe comes forward.) Brother, thou hast lost a scrip — a wallet ; Now, tell us what was in it. Combe. Cash, bonds, and mortgages ; a full five hundred marks in current gold, with sundry plate and trinkets ; a bill be- longing to a noble heir ; a deed, should now be lock'd i* th' city chamber ; then, a rich pair of bracelets ; virgin or — a silver cross, and gold enamelled gorget : all these were in it, besides three dozen pap-spoons and a gross of wedding-rings. Shaks. By sun and moon ! I know not which the greater rogue ! — he who lost, or he who stole such Avealth ! All these, upon youi- oath. Here, Professor Humhimdoff {to Winter- borne), let him be sworn upon the book — my Vox Stellarum. WiNT. You swear, by Jupiter and little ones, that all you say you swear ; and all you swear you'll stand by — kiss the book. Combe. I'd rather kiss a certain — I know who. Chambermaid. Before so many ? O fie, for shame ! Shaks. Now let the world peep in. Behold your wallet ! ( Cheerly and Frost hold up the tvallet.) But, ere you hand it over, see that all be safe in it. Cheerly. Call you it a wallet? rather call 't a saddlebag. First, for the chaff — the stuff will ne'er abide with those who'd raise the wind. Then, hints for horseflesh, a pennyworth of whipcord ; consolation for the stomach, a farthing loaf; the rats have ate the cheese ; a pair of fair maid's garters, bought i' th' fair, and fairly out of place, being twisted here. Frost. What's this ? Tables of rates and interest, well thumb'd at ten per cent. Cheerly. A padlock, out of use. Frost. A bunch of keys. Cheerly. An inkhorn. Frost. A red nightcap, somewhat darned. Cheerly. A cloak. Frost. And doublet : Shaks. As 2;ood as two cloaks. Well, go on. 32 SHAKSPERE AND COMPAxNY. [act. ii. Frost. Not I, i' faith ; we're fairly at the bottom. Shaks. No, no ; dip again, let us see all. Cheerly. Who finds further doit here may swallow it with safety. Shaks. What ! ne'er a money bag ? No deeds ! no jewels ! Then Mercury's eclipsed by Saturn. 'Tis time to laugh out- right. Hah ! ha, ha, ha ! Hah ! ha, ha, ha ! — ( Throwiyig off his disguise.) — Hah ! ha, ha, ha ! — {All join in the laugh.) Combe {to Shakspere). Well, have you done? Shaks. Not quite. Hah ! ha, ha, ha ! That ever you should leave a wool country and come to London to be fleeced. That ever you should travel ninety miles to bring a booty to the freebooter. Hah ! ha, ha, ha ! Combe. Who wins, may laugh. Shall I not laugh my turn ? Hah ! ha, ha, ha ! Hah ! ha, ha, ha ! Hah ! ha, ha, ha ! You thought to have your joke at my expense. How stands the account betwixt us ? After all, who's duped ? Hah ! ha, ha, ha ! Shaks. I say, Jack, a pair of bracelets, virgin or ! Combe. Hark'ee, Will ; what's here ado ? There's mis- chief in the skies ! Shaks. Cash, bonds, and deeds ! Combe. Eams, bulls, and goats ! Shaks. A silver cross and gold enamelled gorget ! Combe. Non Virgo, Libra, Gemini, et cetera ! Shaks, Contra deficiens, by three dozen pap-spoons ! Combe. Conjunction shaking hands with Opposition ! Shaks. A whole gross of wedding-rings : mark that, Jack ! Combe. Still, you have not answered me this. Will. Who's the dupe ? Hah ! ha, ha, ha, ha ! All. Hah, ha, ha, ha, ha ! \Exeunt. end of the second act. SCENE I.] A COMEDY, ACT III. 33 Scene I. — The Pantry in the Merchant's House. Trusty sleeping. Enter Sampsox. Samp. Fast asleep, Trusty; and all thy master's plate about. Marry, thou art not trusty, since thou sleep'st so sound ! A very rogue might safely enter here ; rob, steal, and pillage to his heart's content, whilst thou art nodding and know'st nought of it. What, hoa ! Trusty ! Was ever man so sound ? A scolding wife, alone, could wake thee. Why, this is strange ! that all the household should be sunk in sleep, so overcome upon their posts of duty ! But now I came across the house-girl, when she, sweet soul ! duster and broom in hand, lay dozing on her mistress' silken couch : a piece of still beauty, tempting men's lips to win maid's kissing-gloves. Then sped I from parlour to kitchen, where sat the cook before his roasting fire, dozing and dreaming he was hard at work ; meanwhile the turnspit slept, the spit stood still, the meat was scorched to cinders. From the cook I sought the sculKons : these had grown weary too ; stretched on their benches all along they lie, snoring like pigs in straw, or beggars on a barn-floor. Retreating from the scullery I crossed two gaping lackeys, and, civilly enough, cried out, " Good morrow, friends ;" but, ere good manners made up their reply, each sunk within his corner, fast and sound : giving a silent passport to the pantry; need I tell who there I found a- napping ? Hark ! he wakes ! Not he, indeed. Hoa! Trusty, hoa! wake, wake up, lad! there's rogues and rapine hard upon thy pillow ! Tkusty. Ha ! what ! rogues, rapine, pillow ! Where am I ] Heigh, heigh, hi, ho ! Who's there ? Samp. A rogue by nature, taught to be right honest ; or he had filled his pockets at your cost. Trusty. Sampson. Samp. A piece of him, slipped in another's skin. D 34 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act hi. Trusty. What do you here ? Samp. Quite as much as he who does nothing, and gets pay into the bargain. Trusty. Verily, I fell upon sleep. Samp. Truly, sleep fell upon you ; and, finding one so soft, made him her resting pillow. Trusty. A pleasant bedfellow, I promise you. Samp. Why, how is this, that you and all the household are so given to slumber ? Trusty. Know you not our master's married — that he has brought home a mistress ? Samp, And this should make you stirring, not sluggish. Trusty. Stirring we are, both morning, noon, and night ; she'll keep us up to that. Those that are sluggish, fail not of her knowledge. Verily, I think the woman's bewitched. Samp. Possessed ! How ? Trusty. With devils. Samp. Black or blue ? Trusty. I wist not of their hue ; but this I know, they've changed her nature quite, or all the house was much deceived in her. Samp. And your fair mistress is so foully altered ? Trusty. So changed in outward manners and behaviour, her mother would not know her for the same. Samp. Heaven mend her for the best, say I ! and pre- serve to me my bachelorship ! So give this letter to your master straight. 'Tis from the Jew — the rich, young Por- tuguese — who comes upon my heels to congratulate Sir Valentine on his happy marriage — his right pleasant honey- moon. Farewell ! I've staid too long already. [Exit. Trusty. Happy marriage ! Right pleasant honeymoon ! If to be kept awake all night — to be kept in a fever all day — be pleasure and happiness, then is Sir Valentine Venture the man of all others to be envied. [Exit. SCENE II.] A COMEDY. 35 Scene II. — An Apartment in the Merchant's House. Enter Sir Valentine cmd De Castro. Sir V. Your messenger was somewhat tardy, or we had run on forward to receive you. De Castro. My letter and I, then, arrive together ; an unlooked-for chance, which pray you pardon. Sir V. My dear fellow, pray pardon, on your side, our un- prepared reception ; and make this house your home. In all the world there is not one more welcome. De Castro. I know the value of the words you utter ; so doff my cap and feel at once at home. — {Seating hitnself.) — Well, how's that fair, that amiable dame ; the so accomplished and high-minded lady, your new-made bride; she, whose worth and beauty brings such wholesale envy down upon you ? On my life, your house is every man's house, if but to covet were but wish and have : your fortune every man's fortune, if the desire, merely, were the crowned realization ! Allow me, then, to wish you lasting joy of this new life of love, of honour, and obedience. Sir V. This is too much. De Castro. Deficient altogether ; I have not words at will to picture a state of such perfect felicity. Sir V. Perfect felicity. (Aside.) De Castro. Such high domestic bliss shall set all men a- marrying. Sir V. God forbid ! (Aside.) De Castro. Already do I feel me half a husband. With a little of your assistance, may be wholly blessed. Sir V. Excuse me. De Castro. No! not for your friend Dc Castro? The man has travelled night and day, through rough and smooth, these twenty days, to be in time with his congratulations. Sir V. In modesty, I must say you've ta'cn more pains than the occasion deserved. De Castro. In sincerity, I protest I've done too little — nothing worth a thought — when here I see you wed and happy. D 2 36 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act hi. Sir V. Wed De Castro. And happy : out with the reluctant confession ! I see you don't like to let the world know your excessive hap- piness, but put us off from it, like one inheriting a great estate, who walks about in darned hose to take men from his riches. Really you must be a very happy fellow ! Sir V. Very happy. De Castro. The woman of your heart — the creature of a thousand. Sir V. One in a thousand, and that one, one too many. (Aside.) De Castro. I burn with impatience for my interview. O! when shall I see the doating husband's most exemplary wife ! May I hope, soon ? at farthest, presently ? Sir V. Presently, I would say ; but, should my lady sleep, or, being awake, be indisposed for company ? De Castro. Why, then we'll wake her up; we'll call her from seclusion — we'll have our way for once. Sir V. I doubt it. (Aside.) Enter Kate at the back of the stage. Hey ! my little pet ! Permit me, sir, to introduce you to De Castro. Your wife. I save you farther trouble; for he must be blind, indeed, who cannot read in that fair front the index to my Lady Venture. Kate. (Bends to De Castro.) I'll humour his mistake. (Apart to Sir Valentine.) Sir V. My wife ! (Ironically, and half suppressed.) De Castro. Beautiful, for certain ! A woman to be proud of. May I take her hand, Valentine ? Sir V. You may touch it merely with the tip of your little finger ; but that only in my presence. De Castro. To touch so soft and fair a thing, even so restricted, is liberty enough for us lone bachelors. A thrill of joy — a panting ecstasy ! Sir V. Surely he's not about to fall in love with — my wife. De Castro. As your Avife, my friend's wife, I am bound to admire her. Then, fairest lady, by your fair white hand SCENE II.] A COMEDY. 37 accept the gratulations of a friend, one bound to you not more by friendship than by those fair graces — those seductive airs that so distinguish you above all others. I am free to detain your hand, madam, whilst here I offer you my warmest wishes for your future health and haj^piness ; and yet, another moment ; whilst, I assure you, that all you dare command of one standing in such, near relation to you, command of me at all times, and I will deem it honour past desert therein to serve you. Sir V. A pretty fair beginning ! Bound to admire his friend's wife — compliments her fair graces, her seductive airs — locks up her hand in his — and, in conclusion, bids her command his services at all times. (Aside.) Kate. I do not speak in this my own heart only ; I assure you 'tis Sir Valentine's desire. You have especial welcome to all his house affords. Enter Eleanor. Sir V. My wife De Castro. No ; she must be the qualified exception. Her sister I would sue for special welcome, since opportunely she steps in upon us. Fair Kate — (to Eleanor), — good morrow, girl; nor think I make too free with you. My Lady Venture, your charming sister, has given me but now such bosom-warm assurance of respect, that all that follows falls familiar to me. Indeed you have a pleasant house here ; rather say, mansion; a residence for a prince ! I suspect, too, you've spacious pleasure-grounds ? Whilst my friend there settles matrimonial affairs with his new bride, I hope to have your arm in mine and tete-a-tete it through the parterre. Kate. Does he mean that for my sister ? (Aside.) Elea. I'll work this blunder. — (Aside.) Sir Val(>ntine, do you consent to this — this tete-a-teting through the parterre? Kate. O yes, he docs, for I may answer for him. He is liberal beyond precedent: five minutes since he gave De Castro leave to touch — what think you ? — Nay, I'll out with it — the tip end of my little finger. Sir V. In my presence only. 38 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act hi. Kate. Of course ; your absence was not even hinted at. Elea. Then, having Sir Valentine's consent, I at once aver the pleasure it will afford me, sir, to take your arm and tete-a- tete it through the parterre. De Castro. Frank-hearted girl ! She has won me over already. At your service, Kate. Adieu, Sir Valentine, adieu ! If you should think us loitering, don't feel uneasy at it. Sir V. I ? no, no. If you've your pleasant party, so have I. [Exeunt Eleanor and De Castro, arm-in-arm. So, Kate, my wife, we pass on him our passing trick. Fancy him saying all manner of sweet things to his delectable girl, and thinking himself the happiest fellow living to catch her ear so soon — so soon to be left alone with her — ne'er dreaming all the while, by his own foregone conclusion, he has given away the maid to make love to the matron. What peals of after-dinner laughter we shall have at his expense ! Kate. 'Tis a fair mark; and, since he set it up himself, we'll let our shafts fly freely at this butt. Sir V. I'll tease him, quiz him, banter him on all sides ; not forgetting, in conclusion, to remind him — " he must be blind indeed who cannot read, in that fair front, the index to my Lady Venture." Hah, ha, ha, ha ! Re-enter De Castro. De Castro. Hah, ha, ha, ha! Hah, ha, ha, ha! Hah, ha, ha, ha ! " Honi soit qui mal y pense." I've not picked up a garter, but a ring ! Sir V. and Kate. A ring ? De Castro. A marriage ring. Perhaps, sir, you've some knowledge of it ? No sooner had we reached the corridor than my gay spinster draws her arm from mine — a sudden impulse was 't? — down drops the ring, rolls on the floor. What matters ! Phizz ! like a rocket, she at once flies out, and falls a-rating all her maids together. Go here, go there ! do this, do that ! and see you do it smartly ! Then did some dozen press them forward on her — tradesmen that wait her orders : patient souls ! you'll learn more of them presently, since here they come. SCENE II.] A COMEDY. 39 Re-enter Eleanor. Elba. Let them come — all ! My tailor, my hatter, my mil- liner; with those the table dress, as these the back; my butcher, poulterer, and fishmonger. Enter several Tradesmen. Sir V. More tradesmen at my purse-sti-ings ! Prithee, wife, bid these men hence; to-morrow we will speak to them. Elea. To-morrow! Nay; to-day — this hour, this very minute. 'Tis my appointment; shall I not keep it with them?. Sir V. For your word's sake, you should. Elea. For my honour's sake, I will. De Castro. A little positive. {Aside.") The Hatter advances; hands her hat. Elea. So, this is all the fashion ! Whence comes it, and what call you it ? Hatter. 'Tis newly from the Continent. We call it Peak o' Tenerifie. Elea. A peak ! a chimney- shaft, a thrice-piled country steeple ! Take it which way you will, a thing extreme, extra- vagantly monstrous. But, then, it is all the ton ; that reconciles me to it. {Puts it on.) Kate. So it would, no doubt, were it ten times more ridiculous. {Aside.) The Shoemaker, advancing, hands her shoes. Elea. Club-footed Vulcan has he measured here ! These neither sock nor buskin, nor anything hath likeness 'neath the sun. Go, sirrah, learn thy trade, or ere I cuff thee. — ( Throwing back the shoes at him.) Know'st thou not, from top to toe, we must be peaked and pointed ? Anon, we shall turn square-toes, every one of us, when men like thee will thrive and get their honest livelihood. De Castro. Poor soul! she waxeth warm with him. {Aside.) Elea. Now, how goes fish today? {To the Fishinonger.) 40 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act hi. Fishmonger. Nothing to be had at the Gate, save a few stale lampreys your ladyship wouldn't put to mouth. Elba, No fish at market — company to dine ! Can I have none? Fishmonger. Nor salmon, cod, nor lobster : I've a fine fresh turbot, packed in ice, cost twelve crowns first hand ; an' you like that, I will but put a living profit on it. Elea. The turbot is the thing ! Fly hence and see no other party has it. [Exit Fishmonger. De Castro. That man knows his customer. {Aside.) Sir V. "Would I could manage her as easily ! {Aside.) Elea. The fish precedes the fowl ; your turn comes next. — ( To the Poulterer^ How runs the trade in poultry ? Poulterer. Brisk demand ; advanced prices ; Leadenhall cleared out by six this morning. Who dines on capon to- day must make up his mind to pay for 't. Elea. The knave has ta'en his lesson of the fishmonger. Fellow, be gone ! When fowls are cheap and plentiful no doubt you'll ring your bell and cry it though the town, from one end to the other. So all the rest may budge ; I know you all — birds of a feather ^vith the honest poulterer. Whoop ! how I'll flutter you ! {Beating them off.) Sir V. All this, so new and strange, I almost fear my wife hath lost her wits. Kate. And do you wonder at it? But yesterday the bride might do, and say, and have whate'er her humour fancied, till nothing seemed preposterous. Think you the wife of to-day so soon prepared to give up her high privileges ? Sir V. There it is ! We turn a woman's brain with flattery, then turn aside and wonder she goes wild on't. De Castro. The folly and the fault must rest together. Kate. A truly matrimonial condition. Sir V. Then, dearest Nell — plain Nell, I like the bluntness better — hang on this arm of mine, that we may show De Castro through the grounds, and give him a keen stomach for our meat. Elea. I blush to think a woman's whims and humours so long have kept him waiting on her pleasure. scKNK III.] A COMEDY. 41 De Castro. Don't mention it ; like the wary merchant, I've only waited till the exchange is in my favour. Then, Kate the true, the true and rightful Kitty, give me your hand. Kate. Five times too much you ask ; an act of usury. This little finger-tip is all your due. [Exit. Scene III. — A Colonnade. Enter Lord Gilbert Glitter. Lord G. To see a handsome woman is to love her ; or nature works in vain in beauty's mysteries. I know not whether my optics are governed by the common law of others, or are single and alone in this, — that I have seen more charming creatures in a short experience than old heads reckon on, on their side eighty. Creatures of flesh and blood — of life — of animation — called into being for love and doating on. E'en such a one is Kate ; Katharine the Fair ; who snares men's hearts at sight, and thenceforth makes their lonely pillow restless. Am I in love, then ? For the twen- tieth time — heart, soul, and body — head and ears in love ; smitten past cure, an' Kitty prove unkind. Here comes my fellow ! Enter Smerk. What says my fair one ? Will she meet me ? Will she wed me ? Smerk. It may be both ; but neither hath she said. Lord G. What, then, said she ? Smerk. A volume of loving words — to her parrot. Lord G. But her answer ? Smerk. 'Twas dictated by her bird, if answered she at all. Lord G. Tell me, what said her bird ? Smerk. Nothing, till the lass spake Polly ; then Lord G. Why, then, it answered. Smerk. Not so ; for then was it humoured to be mute, grave, sullen, ne'er answering a syllabic ; and still she called the dolt her pretty, pretty Poll. LoLD G. She did ? Smerk. Ay, more! did coax it in the softest words to be 42 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act hi. but civil to her ! " Come, shake a hand — scratch a poll — sing me a little song, Poll." Then gave it cake and sweetmeats ; whilst her sweet lips, twin cherries pouting from their ivory vase, sued Poll with mimic kisses ; at which the comfortable thing of down shook her feathers — strake her beak — and stretched her out full length, like that same spreading image of the sculptor ; but still refused the kiss of recognition. Lord G. So petted and so loved ; for envy could I wring the parrot's neck. Smerk. Poll, Poll at length came out; the merry maid thereon showed her your billet-doux — bade her to read it, and without her spec's ; since he who wrote it was more bhnd than she, if poets sketch him truly. Lord G. Talked she so flippantly ? Was she not moved to read my letter through ? Smerk. Miss Parrot read it for her, through and through ; and, not being satisfied with its contents, threw it out o' cage in fifty fragment pieces. Lord G. What ! all my tropes and figures, hearts and darts, at once torn up and whistled to the winds ! Let me not think of 't! Smerk. So said the chuckling girl : Let rae not think of 't ! Thereupon she hugged the favourite closer to her bosom, and put close questions to her. " Tell me, my bird, shall I be wooed or not?" ''Not," rolled out gutturally from Polly's throat. " Tell me, my pet, shall I be wed or not 'i " " Not, not," more sternly cried the grave preceptor. On hearing which the laughing lass turned round, observing, her bird of eyes and ears had wisely cautioned her 'gainst wooing now and wedding presently ; which, by-the-by, may serve for answer to the billet. So, prithee, my industrious fellow, pick you up the scattered pieces, and bear them safely back again to him who sent you. So closed my errand. Lord G. I am stung to madness ! Fooled and laughed at ! Let it not be named in Blackfriars. O ! to forget it ! Then must I also forget her ! Impossible. Smerk. Smerk. My lord. Lord G. Do I look like a disappointed man ? SCENE in.] A COMEDY. 43 Smerk. Bating a certain fixedness o' th' eyes, that some might think a questionable quality, your lordship hath a mien right gallant. Lord G. Stiffen up your back, then ; and straight away to Lady Flora's lodgings, down at Castle Baynard. There arrived, whisper her maid — Your master's coming presently. [Exit Smerk. What, if the girl be fair ? she hath nor family nor fortune, whilst I am rich in both; though neither hath its winning charm for her. Then, am I not a very proper man — straight, tall, and comely; and, withal, of a ripe age, now rising five- and-twenty? and all to court refusal. Had I been born a plebeian, bred a cripple, stunted in stature, "ugly to look upon, my cause had proved successful. For, such is the perversity of woman, her love grows hottest where 'tis coolest fed. Have I no hope, then ? Yes, a glimpse : as yet she has denied my messenger, not me; a chance remains in this. I'll try it, persevere in't, since perseverance conquers stubborn natures. Enter Katharine. So, pretty rosebud, you will not have me for a husband ? Kate. My Lord, I do not love you. Lord G» But you will Kate. Never. Is love a rapture to be schooled and learned? My mother loved not my dear father so. I've heard her say love was an inborn passion of the ^oul — comes into being with us, and not a transport raised on rules of art or moral training. Lord G. And still she loved. Kate. Even as she did hate, by sympathy of soul. O ! it was pleasant, at a parent's knee, to hear her tell her love's first enterprise ! 'Twas at her native village, on a May-day morning, when merry faces met upon the green — both lads and lasses. Here, then, came one she ne'er had seen till now. A modest youth was he, both fliir and comely. And now she felt as she ne'er felt before. But when the stranger took maid Marrien by the hand and swung her round i'th' dance, then, O! then, her heart was all a flame of jealousy! Presently came her turn ; the youth advanced — their eyes 44 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act hi. met — their hearts throbbed — their speech faltered, and INIary Arden and John Shakspere were from that hour one. Here was a love to wed on ! Lord G. If, then, you will not love me, since I'm not altogether disagreeable in your eyes, perchance you'll bear with me ? Kate. A short time since, I purchased a brocade, all rich in flowered embroidery. I bought it, though I liked it not ; for there was neither taste nor modesty in the design ; still the mercer praised it — pressed it upon me — said it would im- prove upon acquaintance. Well, the stuff was purchased — made up — not worn, and presently thrown aside ; a thing indifferent to me. So first impressions deal with us ; and those who go about to modify them do but seek to cheat their honest natui-es. Lord G. In that conclusion I'm a banished man. May I not sometimes see you ? Kate. O ! yes, at a mile's distance, an' yoiu* sight be good ! But should I, also, see you coming, I do not promise to keep on my way. Lord G. A heartless girl ! Wilt bid me, then, farewell, that with the sentence of my banishment I carry hence one little word of kindness ? Kate. Farewell — a word of all the rest, the heart's pure coinage. Brothers and sisters, parents and children, husbands and wives, with faltering breath, have made it blessed and hallowed. Lord G. Therefore, I would treasure it. Kate. You'll buy it cheaply i' th' next street, of those grown tiled of you. Lord G. Have I deserved this ? If to love you constitute offence, then I plead guilty. Kate. My lord, my sister's waiting ; and waiting maids kept to long silence grow impatient on't. [Exit. Lord G. She hath a heart of adamant, and breathes as cold as monumental efRgy ! Then, to be firm — forget her and be gay. So noAv for Lady Flora. [Exit. SCENE IV.] A COMEDY. 45 Scene IV. — A Garden. Susanna discovered encased on Needlework. Enter Winterborne. WiNT, Ever at work ; you cultivate an intimate acquaint- ance 'twixt needles and fingers^ even to the taking them out an airing with you. Think you our rising men appreciate such industry ? Sus. It may not be they do; still, one thing is certain: were there no darners of caps and hose, how many a decent family would go bare ! WiNT. An old-fashioned notion, now quite put aside. I' th' present day our girls are trained for anything rather than for housewives. Sus. And men pay dearly for such training : first, i' th' pocket; after, in their lives. Would you have good and virtuous women at home, teach them, above all things, habitual industry. "VViNT. You shall be grand preceptress ; teach them to make a pudding, shake a bed, to pickle cabbage, and preserve ripe apricots ; and, having taught them how to do such things, teach them their proper value and abuse. Sus. My mother, but a yeoman's daughter, had a porter's load for a dowry — the product of her fingers; whilst I, the simple child of her instruction, should hold it little better than a sin to stock a husband's home with sheets and table- cloths of others' spinning. WiNT. Who have we coming ? Sus. The most affable lady in the land — the Queen herself. WiNT. And the gallant old courtier, the Queen's champion. Sir Henry Lee — an old buck on t'other side seventy; yet, see him in a galliard, a pavin, a coranto, or even the exciting French brawl, he'll foot it to the tune of five-and-twenty. Enter the Queen and Sir Henry Lee. Queen. Nay, stay, and do not quit the grounds. We walk 46 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act iv. here but for pastime, and are most pleased when others share our pleasures >vith us. Heard you the cuckoo? and have you loitered in our paths of roses ? Sus. A minute, and no more 'tis, since we enter'd. Sir H. Talk ye of rose-paths? talk ye rather of rosy lips, of violet breath, that I might pay due compliment to Majesty. Queen. Sir, how old are you ? Sir H. Almost I do forget; yet should I be, methinks, o' th' shady side of sixty. Queen. And talk'st so of rosy lips, of violet breath, and hang'st about the court as thou wert five-and-twenty. Sir H. No more in spirits ; all the rest in years. Queen. There is a time of life the sober truth becomes men's lips much more than idle flattery. Sir H. The philosopher's, not the courtier's. Yet have I spoken truly, if truth and nature fell not out by the way, as I will verify. Queen. I'll spare you, sir, the trouble ; I accept your com- pliment as one of many — many I'm doom'd to listen to — as I take physic, much against my will. Sir H. Physic we take to do us good; your Majesty, being already good, needs no physic. Queen. Now, "Winterborne, tell me your story— the story of your life : I would know more of you. WiNT. Your Highness cannot, though I told it all. Queen. No ! WiNT. The story of my life hath less than common in- terest. Most men can tell their birth and lineage, and have some yearnings of parental love ; whilst I look back upon an empty blank, Avith nothing to fill up with. The story of my life ? In Winterborne you see the image of neglect — one, cast upon the world to seek his fortune without friend or aid — one, having common sympathy with men, yet wanting kin and kind to own his common stock — one, of the universal many, standing alone : a thing despised, unheeded, and neglected. Queen. Yet, being so desolate, found a friend in need, even amongst the players. SCENE IV.] A COMEDY. 47 WiNT. That desolation was the passport to a Shakspere's heart; he, the first to recognise my humanity — to call me friend — to love me. Queen. I warrant me his sympathy is universal : he who dies of gold's plethora, or he who dies of pining want, finds alike in our bard the common friend to earth him up for ever — to sing sweet requiems for his soul's rest. Sir H. Hey ! what are these ? (A group of gardeners appears in the distance.^ WiNT. Sons of Adam — the first dresser of gardens. Sus. Or those that personate them, which you will. Sir H. a band of merry men. Sus. Come to make the garden vocal with their voices ; for so my brother whispered privily. (Chorus come forward.) Queen. Now for your chorus, since I love fair music. (Seats herself in an arbour.) Sir H. My pretty partner (to Susanna), whilst these men tune their pipes, we'll practise the last new jig — " The Brawl rran9aise." AIR AND CHORUS. Come, rove in a garden, a garden of sweets ; Come, see what fine posies we get : A sprig for the dandy that lounges the streets, And a pink for the gay coquette. For widows, the nightshade ; bluebells for old maids ; For old beaux, the spruce evergreen : With rosebuds for lovers ; and heartsease for brides ; The white rose for the vestal Queen ! The white rose for the vestal Queen ! The white rose for the vestal Queen ! Every day strew her way With a floral bouquet ; The white rose for the vestal Queen ! END OF THE THIRD ACT. 48 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act iv. ACT IV. Scene I. — The Miser'' s Room or Office. Sleek turning over Papers Sleek. Damp and musty, damp and musty; no fault of mine either. A score years and upwards since last fire glowed i' til' chimney ; and then by sheer accident. The old miser must needs snuff candle with 's fingers, when, not liking to throw away anything, held it so long, he first burnt 's paw, and afterwards his papers. Then, for a duster ; many a long time since I saw duster here. The old boy treasures up his few old worn-out hose, and makes them serve for money-bags. Pah! the stench of these old deeds ! I Avonder master doesn't make dried mildew serve him for pepper ; and so he would, an' he ate meat at 's own table. Here he comes coughing, coughing* coughing ! Enter Combe in his Gown and Nightcap. Combe. Can't sleep ; hav'n't closed eyes to night. Rats, rats, rats, rats ! All night long gnawing, rummaging ; up and down, up and down, up and down. Sleek. Starvation mutiny ; a struggle for a stocking. (Aside.) Combe. How fat the fellow gets ! Sleek, I fancy rats would eat poison. Sleek. Our rats would, no doubt, if mixed with a little grease. Combe. Grease ! A rush and grease together make a candle. I'll think more of it. A candle ! I shall no more want candle. "VVhy sit out twilight when there's so little business doing. I am losing daily, hourly ; and every loss another step towards the workhouse. Sleek, you've been with me a long while. I should be sorry to reduce your wages ; and yet, as things go — what is 't I pay you ? — a large sum I know. Sleek. A premium to get fat on: three pounds a year; board myself. SCENE I.] A COMEDY. 49 Combe. But, then. I took you from the workhouse — taught you to read and write, and cast accounts; a fortune to you. Sleek. It might have been, had the good seed fallen on other than flinty ground. Combe. What's that ? Sleek. That — a tear upon my cheek. You upbraid me with the workhouse ; was it a fault of mine that I was bred a pauper ? Combe. No, no, no, no ! I didn't say it! I didn't say it, lad! He touches me to the quick. Sleek. Now, there's a tear trickling down master's cheek. Combe. A sorrowful tear; to think how soon we shall all be parish paupers. Enter Sir Henry Lee. Sir pi. Good morrow, Master Combe ; I come upon you early : for why, I come to borrow. Combe. Hah, ha, ha, ha ! Hah, ha, ha, ha ! Hah, ha, ha, ha! Sir H. At what do you laugh ? Combe. At your mistake — to think I'd lend to you. Hav'n't you pledged your last — houses, lands, expectancies ? What more have you to draw on ? Sir H. My means, indeed, grow short, as do my days ; yet would I live a little longer — cheating the world, myself into the bargain, with the notion of my riches. Truly, I am a poor man ; but never yet could bring my mind to seem so. To my shame I speak it, I have squandered thousands, and all to keep up false appearances. Combe. A frank confession's physic for sick souls. What can I do for you ? Sir H. Lend me five hundred marks. Combe. On what ? Sir H. My last valuable, my dress sword. Combe, You cannot part with it ; you'll want it, sir, to- morrow : ay, to-day — this hour ; the court is at your elbow. Sir H. I know it ; I admit it ; still it must go. Lland me over the cash, when presently I'll purchase at the Jew's a splendid imitation for a tithe of this one's value. E 50 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act iv. Combe. Let me see 't. — (Si7- Henry hayids the sivord.) There's a flaw ; a serious flaw in one of the brilliants. Sir H. I laugh at the idea; there are twenty faultless others in its neighbourhood : the one i' th' centre, set around with amethysts, is itself worth twice the sum I ask of you. Combe. I don't dispute it. At the old interest Sir H. Yes, fifteen per centum. Combe. This must be twenty — and I don't care to do it at that, other than to oblige a friend. Sir H. At all events, I must be a borrower. Combe. Sleek, make out the indenture. Sir H. With this stipulation, Sleek, to have my pledge returned on payment of loan and interest. Combe. Yes, yes ; you shall have it back whenever you've the money to redeem it. — (Going.) Five hundred marks will make a great hole in a stocking, [Exit. Sir H. I am mad ! I am in my dotage ! One, or both ! Twenty per cent. ! Yes, twenty ; rapacious hunks ! No matter ; a man at seventy can't reckon on another three score years and ten. Then, whilst I live, I'll keep my pleasant com- pany ; and in the end — having an angel left — will leave 't to opera dancers and French songsters, to drink a cup to my memory. Re-enter Combe. Combe. A lucky chance — I shall not disappoint you ! One "Without. "Where is he — where's my man o' trust — my liberal friend — my prince of money-lenders ? Combe. Some one coming ; take the money — put 't in pocket — don't let 't be seen ! Enter Shakspere. Shaks. Bon jour. Sir Harry; and good day, John Combe. Sir H, You come upon us at the close of book. Combe. Yes, it's all over. Shaks. All over with you ! Why, what's a matter. Jack ? You look pale — passing pale. A skin so stuffed with gold, SCENE I.J A COMEDY. 51 yet showing nought but silver. — {Combe drops into his chair.) You are not well — you fast too long, I fear. I vow, you have not had your breakfast yet ! Combe (in reverie). I dreamt I breakfasted on chicken — a delicious bit ! My tender chicken turned out to be tough ; after all, I've only bit an old gamecock. Shaks. An old gamecock ! Bit an old gamecock ! Do you understand this, sir ? Poor Jack ! thy wits are turned. Bit, bite ; see ! his jaws grind one another for want of better employment. A crust ! a crust ! a crust ! Sleek. A crust ! I'm tempted from my duty, and leave off. Shaks. How is this, Sleek, thy master should be faint ? Sleek. I don't know ; 'tis common to him of late. Shaks. Indeed! Sleek. He growls nervous. Shaks. Ha! Sleek. Fancies all manner o' things ; things that are not — that cannot come to pass. Shaks. He never fancies himself poor, does he ? Sleek. O yes ! Shaks. He does ? Sleek. Yes ; lives in constant dread of poverty, and fancies he shall end 's days in the jjoorhouse. Shaks. The perversity of man's nature ! Dick Whittington, leaving London with nought but his little bundle, was a rich fellow ; when, afterwards, he had thousands, did he fancy him- self such ? Combe. Brain! brain! brain! 'Tis here ! Shaks. What's the matter there ? Combe. I know not ; but 'twill take me to my grave. Shaks. So sick, Johnny; why not have a doctor? Combe. I can't afford it. Would thou couldst cure me, Willy ! Shaks. So I can. Combe. You ! you cure me ? Shaks. Even I. Doubt or believe me, 1 know the nature of your sickness, and have my cure for't. Combe. Tell me, then, what I shall do ? E 2 52 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act iv SiTAKS. Throw all you have mto the sea; and be a man again. Combe. Hell and perdition ! "What a blow was there ! J he earth rocks under me ! The mountains totter ! There's no sure footing in this nether world ! Shaks. Isiy medicine has got hold of him : even now it rummages his hollow chest, in hope to find a lieart there. Sir H. a kill or cure remedy. Combe. William Shakspere, I fear myself mad ; for certain thou art madder. Throw all I have into the sea ! Herein thou bidst me to destroy mj^self, since all I have's a nothing — my life, everything. Shaks. Take my prescription, and preserve thy life. Some twenty years hence thou'lt thank me fo)' this frankness. Combe. By heavens ! I think thou art an honest fellow. Will ! Already I feel better ; my head lighter ; my eyes clearer. O excellent physician ! Almost I am tempted to pay down thy fee. Shaks. And, if thou shouldst, I'll give it to the poor, to buy them Siuiday bread for ever. Sir Harry, I detain you. Farewell, Jack ; I've other patients I must see to-day ; to- morrow I'll look in, and find you well again. {Bebig about to exit ivith Sir H., he exclaims), Sir! sir! you leave yoim- sword behind ! Sir H. I do. No matter ; I'll call again for't : 'tis in safe keeping. Shaks. The clinched hand of Death grips not more sure : ay, o' th.' two, would part with it the rather ! \Exeimt Shakspere ajid Sir H. Combe. Sleek, I've grown generous ; I'll give you a treat. Sleek. A what? Combe. A treat, lad ; go with me to the pump i' th' next street. Sleek. The pump ? Combe. In the next street; where, having bought a farthing loaf by the way, we'll have a pure and wholesome breakfast. Sleek. I take you at your word, master ; for half a far- thing loaf at the pump is better fare than nibbling the pump ladle. SCENE 11.] A COMEDY. 53 Combe. This haste ! you go before your errand. The scales and weights, Lad, that we may test the baker's honesty. [Exeu/ff. Scene IT. — A Garde?!. Enter De Castho. De Castro. Flowers, vases, arbours, statues, fountains. Green laAvns, and marble terraces, — what are these When look'd on with a cold indifference ? The lover's partial eye sees little here : Why walk I, then, in these sequester'd grounds. If art and nature have no charm for me ? No charm ; yes, one — a solitary charm, For I have seen the charming Katharine here. Here hath she laugh'd and romp'd and danc'd and sung ; Here, with fantastic garlands wreath'd her brow ; Here, on a bed of violets, hath she couched. Screening her beauty from a mid-day sun ; Here, strew'd fair crumbs for favourite wood-pigeons. Or talk'd fond music with the nightingale. Enter Katharine, 07i the Terrace. Kate. The balmy air with kisses woos me forth. De Castro. That silver tone : O, most delicious sound ! Kate. What ! am not I alone ? De Castro. Her slender form — her listening attitude Makes Venus a cold statue. Kate. Methinks ere now I've heard the selfsame voice. De Castro. Heard it thou hast ; but ne'er didst listen to't. Kate. De Castro. De Castro. No, not De Castro, since his suit is vain. Speak but thy true-love's title, that I'll be, And in his name will sue thee for my bride. Kate. I cannot trust myself to speak his name. Then, if you'd woo me, let De Castro woo. And I'll ne'er blush to tell my heart to him. De Castro. O, cruel chance! that with mine own true breatli 54 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act iv I urge another's suit ! Then, fairest Kate, To woo to win, I use De Castro's tongue. And with his speech make known thy true-love's tale. How night and day his soul hath been with thee ; How he was grieved, fell sick, and pined away, To find his home so far from her's he loved ; How he was tempted by a flattering dream To leave friends, home, and country for her sake ; How he was won to brave the dang'rous seas ; Was shipwreck'd — cast iipon a foreign shore. There left for dead amidst a drowning crew ; And how the wreckers found him, stripp'd and robb'd him. Still, still his heart was w'arm — his hope was strong — His fond anticipation help'd him onward. Then, when at length he met the maid he loved, O! worse than all! how^ even she look'd cool, And turn'd away from him. Kate. He'd ne'er forgive her that. De Castro. O ! yes he did ! with all his heart and soul ! For she, as yet, knew nothing of his passion. But soon he met her, on a sunny morn, Alone, within a garden : there it was He seized the happy moment, told his tale. And dropping on his knee, as I do now. In honour's name, he ask'd her hand and heart. Kate. And she consented to be his for ever — Was not this the sequel ? De Castro. No, indeed ; she put him off" till the morrow. Kate. A cold and heartless wench ! I know a maiden, were she prone to wed. And she had been so followed and so woo'd. Could love and pity such a man as tliis. First, for himself alone ; but most of all For that which he had suffer'd for her sake. De Castro. Those last few words — A treasure-store for hope to banquet on. O! tell me them again, lest I forget. Kate. Nay, now I wish I had not told so much ; SCENE II.] A COMEDY, 55 Yet, if I could, would not recal it back ; So weak, so inconsistent am I grown. What's this new life I feel ? Or joy or woe, I wist not. Then, the qualm : How soon a present pleasure turns to pain ; This garden, which was Pleasure's seat but now. Now grown too sweet, I faint and sicken on. Farewell, De Castro — Simeon, I would say ; And yet not Simeon, either — sir, farewell. (Going.) De Castro. O ! go not yet ! O ! stay a moment more ! I've much to say, wouldst thou but listen to't. Kate. I fain would tarry here — I fain would go. One word, no more ; or I may stay too long. De Castro. One word, no more, with thousands on my lips; What should that one word be, if not adieu ? Kate. Adieu, it must be ! Then, once more, Adieu. [Exit, by the Terrace. De Castro. A cruel word, to kill with seeming kindness. Now, may I hope — and does the maiden love me ! Enter Lord Gilbert Glitter, humming the end of a song. Dark or fair, short or tall, of whatever degree. Still, a maid with blue eyes is the maiden for me. De Castro. You carry a light heart, sir. Lord G. At thought of yonder damsel she. Who left but now. Is she not passing fair ? De Castro. For certain, fair. Lord G. Nay, beautiful ! De Castro. Yes, beautiful. I have not seen her like In England. Lord G. Not in the world ! Dr Castro. Ay, not in the world — so far as I have seen ! Lord G. She hath her eye of azure from the skies ! She hath her tinted cheek from summer fruits! She hath her flowing locks from standing corn. As the light breeze plays o'er it ! De Castro. All this she hath; and, then, she hath a form 56 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act iv. To teach the world in art for evermore : The mould of grace, the rule of symmetry, Are copies after it! Lord G. Both face and form she hath, with youth besides ; Then, add to these a brisk and lively fancy, And still the charmer is but badly painted. De Castro. Her picture is not of the hand of earth ; Its touch is in the heavens ! To look on it Alone is admiration ! Lord G. To dwell on it is love ! De Castro. To love, a trifle ; to be loved, A consummation of all sorts of bliss ! Lord G. Who lives so favour'd stands in Fortune's graces. De Castro. Then have I hope ; my fortune may be favour'd. Lord G. Thy fortune favour'd ? De Castro. Mine. Lord G. 'Pon my honour, no small share of vanity! No, not a chance for Simeon De Castro : Although his merchandise were ail in gems. And ev'ry gem a diamond ! Who can think So fair a creature will be won to wed No better fortune than a Jew and jewels ? O I pardon me ! I know the lady's bent — She'll smile on wealth, but likes a title better. De Castro. And when I see her wedded to my lord, — I\Iy lord of titles and of mortgage deeds, — I'll swear thou knowest her better than myself. And wish thee joy to wear the thing thou'st purchased. But not till then will I mistrust the truth. Or libel nature with so foul a taint : For she hath eyes and ears, and wit, and will ; Will ne'er play false to show a slavish heart. O ! pardon me ! I know the lady's bent — She'll wed for love, or she'll not wed at all. Lord G. A rash prediction ; she'll not wed the Jew. De Castro. A wild conclusion ; she'll not wed the Christian. SCENE II.] A COMEDY. 57 Lord G. I take you on the assumption ; 'tis a bet. I wager you my fav'rite Barb'ry steed 'Gainst any odds you will, his lordship has her. De Castro. My jewel casket 'gainst your Barb'ry steed, He has her not ; I stake it on the chance. Then, sir, shake hands, we'll have no envy-grudge : Whichever wins is sure of a rich prize. Enter Trusty. Lord G. Now, Trusty, tell us, how's thy lady mistress ? Trusty. How is my lady mistress ? 'Twill take a graver man than Trusty to answer you that. Lord G. Who is he ? Trusty. Her physician. Lord G. Think you he can solve the query? Trusty. Judging from his reputation, ay; from what he accomplishes, nay. Lord G. Whence this discrepancy ? Trusty. Discrepancy ! — the name of her complaint ; this is more than we've yet got from the doctor. He looks, indeed, much, but says little ; from Avhich I infer one of two things — either he knows more than is convenient to tell, or he is altogether ignorant of his subject. Lord G. A padlock on your tongue. Trusty. The great Doctor Dee ignorant! Beware you are not brought to the stake for heresy. There's not an old woman in Mortlake, nor ten miles round, but will vouch for his divination. Did he not cure a mother's son with a sign only ? Did he not cure a widow's maid with a breath of vulgar Latin merely ? Did he not cure a parson's wife with a touch simply — nought other than the tickling of her palm ? Then, hath he not look'd the blind to sight ? whisper'd the deaf to hearing ? and, with a word, made dumb mutes speak their thanks to him I Then, again — and mark this well, Trusty — hath he not the countenance of wise and learned, from one end of the kingdom to the other — ay ! royalty itself to patronise him ? Beware, man, how you slander a great name — an honourable avocation. Trusty. His great name and honouiable calling can live 58 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act iv. but in the truth ; and truth "svill out. He hath not cured my mistress. Lord G. Not as yet. Perhaps she has no faith in him ? Trusty. Judge for yourself, if this be faith or not. No sooner does the grave doctor approach her than he begins to feel her pulse, while she, resisting, boxes both his ears. Anon, he looks her full i' th' face and bids her put her tongue out; whereon she does him such contempt as I'll not mention here. When presently, again, the sage man talks of physic, my mis- tress now cries out, " A drink of water ! O ! give me, sir, a little tiny sip!" "No, not one drop!" rejoins the man of drugs; "no drop can I allow!" "Then take it all yourself!" and, at the word, dash goes a brimful ewer over him. If this be faith, doubt not the doctor's certain of his cure. De Castro. An odd compound — a mixture of fun and physic. Lord G. A forced dose — a copious saturation. Trusty. They say it runs in the family. Lord G. What does ? Trusty. Discrepancy ; but madness I call it. Lord G. The devil it does ! De Castro. Have a care, my lord Lord G. Of how I enter a family so affected. I'll chance it, however. But beware you to be cautious ; no doubt 'tis hereditary. Enter Sir Valentine. Sir V. This night and day annoyance ! This everlasting pother! De Castro. What is it, sir ? Sir V. A cure for love. De Castro. A fortune to the discoverer. Lord G. Marry is 't; the search for such alone hathcrack'd more brains than even that notorious cracker — the philosopher's stone. De Castro. Your remedy, su' — your antidote. Sir V. 'Tis very simple. De Castro. We'll both take it — make it compound. Lord G. Then, tell us what 's to do. SCENE II.] A COMEDY. 9 Sir V. Nothing but this, and nothing can be easier : come, one or both of you, domesticate yourselves within my domicile a week or so — I ask no more — and at the end I promise you to send you forth both sane and sound ; ne'er, to life's end, to sigh for love again. Lord G. De Castro, go you, try it. De Castro. Nay, your lordship takes precedence. Lord G. I wave the honour. De Castro. I, the profit. Lord G. And this is matrimony ! De Castro. One phase of 't only ; the fairer yet to come. Sir V. (Lookwg out.) There's that strange woman cutting down my tulips ! — whole rows at once, as with a mower's scythe. De Castro. What is 't he says ? Lord G. Something he knows not what: talks of a mower's scythe. I fear the jade hath bit him. De Castro. 'Tis indeed doubtful. Sir V. (Still looking out.) Who 's he approaches her — his air so free, his gait so light, as suits man less than angel ? Lord G. So, his mind wanders ! Sir V. {Still locking out.) No, sure! yes! Now she takes his Avilling palm — falls on his neck — kisses him ! This is too much ! De Castro. Far gone, I fear. Lord G. A fit of budding jealousy. De Castro. A fume made up of nothing. Lord G. Nothing, indeed ! Look there ! His words are more substantial than we thought them. Sir V. My wife ! Must I, then, call her wife ? Lord G. You must, indeed ; and keep her into the bargain. De Castro. I know no remedy for it. Sir V. No remedy! Then is the law partial — a lame law, a snuinting, a one-sided law ! Or ere I lead this life, I'll hang or drown. De Castro. Nay, not to-day ; to-morrow, or the next day : or, if you can, live out the week, rather. Sir V. A week more of 't! I'm all in a perspiration. Ye gods, give me but fortitude ! 60 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act iv. Enter Eleanor, exclaiming, Bid some h.alf-dozen of my lord's smart fellows await me 'neath the portico. ]\Iy loving husband ! O ! I have searched the garden through and through for you ! Sir V. For me ? Elea. For you. Sir V. Nay, not for me. Elea. Yes, indeed ; who else should I be looking for ? Sir V. I know not that, since divers parties walk here. Elea. Saving my sister Kate, I have not met a soul in all the grounds. Sir V. No ! Elea. Not I. Sir V. Art sure of that ? Elea . Very sure. Sir V. No smart young fellow with a dashing air ? Elea. No, none whatever. Sir Valentine, what mean you ? I am ashamed to be so questioned. Sir V. Let shame light where it may : I have no sin to answer for. Elea. Sin ! Of what am I suspected ? Can it be ? My fond, fond husband, do not you grow jealous ; Tell me at once, who dares to slander me? Sir V. When what we do we shame to look upon. Our very deeds do slander us. Believe me, Nell, I am not given to jealousy. Nor prone to listen to unworthy tales ; Yet have I eyes; and have some little trust i' them. Elea. I do not understand you. Sir V. It may be, I'm too sensible of wrong, And fancy harm in circumstances harmless ; Yet, surely, kissing in a public walk Is not a duty of a married woman ? Elea. Upon my life ! — But why do I protest ] I'm sure you will believe me on my word. Believe me I am innocent of guilt. Or thought of guilty tendency. SCENE III.] A COMEDY. 61 Sir V. I do believe it, Since you grow so earnest. And do rather doubt My own imperfect vision, tlian tliy virtue. Elea. What strange things have possessed you? Sir V. I coukl have sworn I saw you — ere we met — Alone, within an alley. That, being there. How presently there came a sprightly youth Who gave his hand to you, which you held fast. And, falling on his neck, exchanged Avith kisses. Elea. Ay, so I did ! For, now you speak plain language, I can answer it. The youth I met and kissed A¥as no more bred a youth than I myself. Or she, my sister Kate, who there address'd me, Clad in a youth's attire, I must admit, And bent upon a gay and harmless frolic. Sir V. Kate ! your sister Kate ! Kate in breeches ? What an ass I have made of myself. De Castro. Hah, ha, ha, ha ! Not to know lad from maid. Lord G. Nor maid from lad ; jealous of 's wife's sister ! Sir V. I laugh in earnest — laugh at my own folly. Hah, ha, ha, ha ! Hah, ha, ha, ha ! Forgive me, Nell, this little first offence ; And here I promise it shall be the last. [Exeunt. Scene lll.—Pmd's Walk. Enter Shakspere a7id Katharine. The latter disguised as a Page. Shaks. Yes, here we stay; here loiter up and down. Till presently we meet the man I look for — My noble friend, Southampton. Kate. I'll step aside, and rest at yonder pillar ; That, when you seek me, still you find me there. Shaks. Well, be it so. (Katharine retires.) This is the centre spot of all the earth : The spot most active ; most intelligent. That busy hum proclaims all speech and countries : The merchant, the captain, and the citizen ; 62 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act iv. The knight, the gallant, and the nobleman ; The student, and the lawyer, and the scholar ; The clown and idiot ; beggar and ruffian ; All sorts and all conditions jostle here In harmonized confusion. Here, Jews make bargains, usurers seek their gains ; Here, bankrupts speculate on things to come ; Here, Justice tells its victims in the idle. Whilst doctors count their patients in the dissolute ; Here, briefless barristers wile out their hours, And dine on hope with good Duke Humphrey, For lack of other host. The painter here views man in groups and masses ; And here the poet, through his mental ken. Takes in the past and present : The lofty nave ; Long aisles; rich tracery ; painted windows ; The choir with its gilt altar — its sweet voices That fall now on the ear, and then depart So soft and motionless. Now melts his soul, As now on winged sighs the breathy incense Mounts up heavenward ! What forms are these ? Forms not of earth ; or, being such, beatific ! The pure and holy virgin at her prayers; The downcast penitent in his tears ; The white-robed priest with hands uplift in blessing. Hark ! the burst ! the swelling organ ! Stand aside ; Make room for coronation pageantry, Eoyal thanksgivings, and princely marriages : O ! that one pomp ! that gorgeous piece of state ! When Arthur took to bride fair Katharine ! The same high-minded woman was deposed. Both bed and crown, to make room for a rival. Are such things worth a pause ? So wild's a poet's eye in its abstraction : And so he piles his nothings for Parnassus. Entej- Lord Southampton. My lord, I'm waiting for you ; here's my hand. SCENE III.] A COMEDY. 63 Lord S. Should I answer, it is an honest one. Here, looking on this scene of cunning craft, 'Twere no ill compliment. Katharine comes forward. Shaks. My lord, my sister Kate. — {^Introducing her.) Lord S. Tut man ! your brother Edmund ! and no other. You think I have not known him from his birth ; He should be sixteen years your junior, And reckons yet upon a beard to come. Shaks. Well, look again, and, if you see not Edmund, You look upon young Edmund's prototype : One, cast i' th' same mould, with higher finish. Lord S. Two peas, two pins, two pennies, though so like. Have little likeness still, if these be by : I would not sware I knew the one from t'other. But why put off the woman, to assume the man? Shaks. Kate hath a longing eye to see ev'rything, So here she came, to see the world in little ; But that's not it — I do but trifle with you. The truth lies here : the girl hath fall'n in love. And this is but a stratagem to prove Her lover's passion. Since, not to be known Is to be thought absent ; and absence binds The heart still closer, or loosens it entirely. Lord S. I see. On my life, a pretty lad ! I'll have him down with me, at Highgate-house : There, teach him archery and rural sports. To bowl, to angle, and to chase the deer ; Then, he shall have his horse out, on the heath, And give my hawks an airing. What say you to a visit, on the hill? Kate. Indeed, my lord, it is a charming spot. All rich in hill and dale, and woody scenery I have passed hours there, never tiring. There is a height, commanding a wide plain Extending eastward far as eyes can reach. Where Claude hath surely been — and profited. 64 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act iv. So vast, so graud, so simple, and withal So calm — so peaceful. Here gazing, I have thought The Avorld was all my own — that nought moved in't : No, not I myself; When presently the sun broke o' the distance, Showing the white sails of some mighty ship Slow-winding through the ever-busy Thames, And broke up the delusion. Of all I've seen Of simple nature, those heights show fairest — Except, indeed, a favourite spot or two On my own Avon's banks, which I must give The preference. Lord S. A Warwickshire lad, ev'ry inch of him ! Shaks. Hark ! That sudden movement! Lord S. The throng press outward ; it is six o'clock. Shaks. Is it so much ? 'Tis later than I thought. We. too, must seek the portal. Lord S. Eemember, Edmund — Edmund it must be — ]My invitation's not mere compliment : I shall expect you with my valued friend. Shaks. I will not say how great an honour 'waits me. But sure am I, that great ones have been proud To share your house and hospitality. Then reckon, sir, at no far distant date. We both will come and spend a day with you. Lord S. A day ; a week : if you can spare so much For such dull company. [Exeunt. END OF THE FOURTH ACT. SCENE i] A COMEDY. C5 ACT V. Scene I. — A Cloister. Enter Shakspere. Shaks. This is the place of meditation: A place within the ever- busy town, But still obscure, and quite cut off from it. Here, no soft breezes, no bright sunbeams enter ; Here, dubious twilight holds the day's dominion. Whilst tongueless silence reigns for evermore ! Men need not whisper here, with none to fear ; Where thoughts of evil — of black machination — Fall back upon the heart ere words find ears ; And holy moods and pious resolutions Gro\v cold within the narrow sphere they're bred in. No, none walks here but he who has no fellow — The man o' th' world, who stands for aye alone ; Who holds communion with no other thing — Living or dead — quite shut vip in himself. Hark ! what was it, then ? No footstep, sure — Two human beings at once, both meeting here ; 'Tis more than chance — 'tis supernatural. A ghost, perhaps ; or one who walks in 's sleep. Enter Combe. What are you ? Combe. A worm — crawhng to a grave. Shaks. Such abject thoughts are parcel of the place. You fly, man, from the world in coming here ; And yet, I trow, the world hath need of thee. Since thou hast pelf, and poor men are abundant. Combe. If I could trust my ears, or my dim sight in this deep shade, I'd say I knew thee. Shaks. John Combe ! Combe. Will Shakspere ! F 66 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act v. Shaks. Wherefore come you here? Combe. Wherefore ? having first made my "will, I came here but to die ; and, being dead, 'tis you should write my epitaph. Shaks. I? Combe. What will you say of me ? Shaks. Ten to one more than you deserve — the measure of most epitaphs. Something like this, Jack : — " Ten in the hundred Ues here engraved ; 'Tis a hundred to ten his soul is not saved. If any man ask, who lies in this tomb ? ' Oh ho !' quoth the devil, ' 'tis my John-a-Combe.' " Combe. You never wrote as harshly of the living; the dead have nought to fear from you. They call me miser, hug- gold, usurer. Well, be it so ! Some spend, some hoard ; whilst he, the hoarder, has this poor merit at least — has some- thing for the poor-box : that rusty and neglected thing, mute- fixed in yonder corner, — an old acquaintance of mine ; no day has passed, since I was five-and-twenty, but we've shook hands together. I, Jack Gripe the miser, tell you so. Old Starve-all has a long account, for or against him, standing over, there. Shaks. Forgive me, John, if inadvertently I hurt your feelings. Combe. Your hurt being skilful, like the surgeon's knife, cuts but to heal — not fester. Shaks. An honest nature. S'death! I could bite my tongue for very shame ! Combe. Since I've confessed so much, there's one thing more — I have kept it far too long ; but there's yet time to tell it. You may remember, Will, that pretty one of Shottery ? Shaks. I guess the lass you mean ; she was the pride of the hamlet, and died of broken heart ere I was in my teens. Combe. Poor Susan Winterborne ! thy tale as brief as sad ! There was a little love between us, Will ; in short, we were betrothed — we looked forward to be wedded ; but, in the interim, the poor girl giving birth to an infant, she dropt into her grave. Shaks. Susan Winterborne ! SCENE I.J A COMEDY. 07 Combe. From that moment I abjured the world — fell back upon myself, and lived a life of thrift and penury i scarce ever daring to look back upon the mighty mischief perpe- trated. Shaks. Susan Winterborne ! Combe. At length the hour of retribution came ; when, throwing off a false shame, nature prevailed. O ! that last struggle 'gainst an act of duty ! Enough ! This simple docu- ment tells all the rest. Take it — have a care of 't. Shaks. The last will and testament — Combe. Makes known the fact — proclaims my son, my heir ! I give him all ; and all too little to cancel the accumu- lated wrong I have dealt him. Shaks. This is as it should be. Repentance, though long deferred, ne'er comes too late. Combe. Another word. When I'm no more, as soon I shall be, this thing I beg of you — to place my bones in that lone grave at Shottery. Farewell, Will ; I know you'll do me this last favour. [Exit. Shaks. Ay, that I will, 'gainst every interposing difficulty ! There's nothing so made up of evil but has some good in it. Farewell, John Combe. Thou hast a better nature far, 'neath that false semblance, than thou takest credit for ; hadst thou assumed thy proper part, mankind had loved, not hated, thee. Now, to turn my back on this sobriety, where nothing but long faces, sour visages, find meet response. The merry mood, the lighted eye, or chuckling heart, were as much out of place here, as — as — what shall I say ?— as that fair form that comes so unexpectedly. Enter Katharine, at the hack of the scene. Those measured steps ! There's something in this atmosphere will make us all philosophers. Those sober looks, too ! AVhy, Kate, I say, where are your cups and balls — your hoops and cords — your whoops and halloos ? Kate. Ay, where ? You'll ask mc why I come here ; a fair question — one I should be glad to answer — but, in sooth, I know not why I came, nor what I do here. f2 68 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act v. Shaks. This moody strain ! Why, girl, thou art in love. Kate. In love I am ; but that is not the worst. Shaks. What, then, has happened ? Kate. O, most untoward dilemma ! — to me the worst of evils ! To own I love, and feel that love a crime ! Better wer't we had not eyes nor ears ; thoughts, feelings, nor pro- pensities ; nor any true perceptions, than having these, should use them 'gainst our natures. And is it criminal in one so young — just broke upon the world in her unschooled affec- tions — to look on manly beauty, honour, worth, fah prospects, and a fine estate — to look on these, and then to say, I love them ? " O yes, it is ! " the Christian maiden answers, as the young Israelite implores her hand ! Shaks. Mankind have ever something to reform ; and this should be amended. Kate. Strange, that that should be a crime in me, which in a daughter of Judea seems so amiable ! In vain they teach me to despise the man for what in him was accident. Then, being bred up therein, I can no more despise a fearless rec- titude, than flatter servile sycophancy. Shaks. I like the tone ; there is earnest in her reasoning. Kate. To wed is honourable, but not to wed a Jew. If so, then why not Nature put her brand on these — making them crooked and ugly, loathsome to look upon — that with the bane we have the antidote, and hate right heartily, as is the law's command? Shaks. Such laws are of the head, not of the heart; and show that woman had no hand in them. Kate. 'Tis a stern law, would have us look, and love, and hate alike indifferently. If marriages are ordained in heaven, — as some aver, and I myself believe, — how comes this dis- agreement ? Shaks. Think not, dear sister, love is a theme of creeds, of casts, of countries. O no ! the universal passion holds the world's empire, and binds the wide antipodes. The fair Circassian maid might wed the deep-dyed Ethiopian, or Afric's sooty daughter mate with the blanched Albino, and Heaven look on and ratify the covenant. SCENE II.] A COMEDY. 69 Kate. My heart responds to that broad sentiment. O ! now I breathe the breath of life again ! 1 have been swim- ming all night long in tears, and sobbed in vain for such a counsellor. 'Tis time to dry mine eyes. Shaks. Kate bathed in tears ! Then all the world's in cloud, and threatens a new deluge. Kate. Now could I diet upon air — feed upon hope — live upon love ! Ay, on such meagre fare grow plump and com- fortable. Shaks. 'Tis April merely. How the sun pops out, huffing the transient shower, which, as it falls, grows fair again. Then, dearest Kate, this present grief dispelled, I've pleasure yet in store for thee to share in. Kate. A store of pleasure for my sharing ? What is it ? where is it ? and when shall I com-e up with it ? Shaks. 'Tis even now at hand. Anon, thou'lt come upon 't; for this it is. Within the throne-room already is prepared a special entertainment; a revelry our gracious Queen de- lighteth in ; a masked ball, or masquerade — in which all sorts and all conditions mingle, and have their several parts identified to raise a common merriment. Kate. A masked ball ! Delightful ! I will but change this habit for a domino, and presently be with you in the throne- room. Shaks. A girl of my own heart ; no sooner thought than said, no sooner said than done. And so we separate, but to meet again. [Exemit O.P. and P.S. Scene II. — TTie Throne-room. Sundry living Groups and Statues, representing SJiakspere^s Dramatic Characters, iKiriously disposed. Etiter SiK Henry Lee, ofi crutches. Sir H. Not I ; I'll not creep into my grave an hour before my time, for all the doctors in Christendom. Well, here I am despite o' them — -determined that what I want in youth shall be made up in ardour. Stay at home to-night ! Not I, not I. 70 SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act v. Fools! would ye thaw my blood? What so exciting as a masquerade ! The throng of visitants, the trill of rapid music, the stirring movement of the dance — the care-dispelling dance ! O, come light-footed Spindleoni, and with thy magic steps inspire my limbs to throw away these splinters ! Curse that twinge ! This gout will spoil me for ever — make an old man of me. Now could I put my toes into my pocket, lest any tread upon them. These sticks shall make my seat, and woe to him who makes my stick a staff! — {Several figuranti cross the stage.) — My soul's in Eden with those pretty feet. Enter the Queen and Nobles. Queen. My Lord Chamberlain's servants, or rather those who so well represent them, have made a busy preparation. Sir H. These heat-drops — Queen. Do change the old man to a Crutched Friar. Sir Harry, you run risk here. Sir H. I do indeed, surrounded by so many virgin hearts ; but your Majesty is gracious — will have some pity on me. Queen. And these are old acquaintance, ev'ry one. First in my view the ardent Romeo, Twined into one with his loved Capulet. Then comes the noble Dane — nor sane, nor mad — Looking both grief and love on wild Ophelia. Here sleeps encouched the constant Imogen, Watched in her dreams by sly lachimo. Empillowed there, the guiltless Desdemona, Mourned o'er in death by him who lov'd and kill'd her — The jealous -hearted Moor. lago stands alone. The crook-back Tyrant ; the ambitious Thane ; Then Brutus, Caius Cassius, and Mark Antony, Confederated over Ca;sar's body. Who have we next ? The stern Coriolanus, Embracing in one fold, wife, child, and mother — A mother worthy of her daring son. And still another must not be passed by : The old fond King who gave all to his daughters ; SCENE II.] A COMEDY. 71 Rest to thy soul ! Here find, at length, a home ; Here dig thy grave beside the cold Cordelia. Beautiful creations ! A.lmost ye tempt me to commit a sin — A worship of idolatry. — {Ascends the throne.') TJie groups break icp arid mingle ivith the maskers. Enter the Lord Chamberlain and Shakspere. Shaks. The trick of tricks ! Lord Chamberlain. The wit himself outwitted ! Shaks. May I not play my cards in my own way ? May I not build my house in my own fashion ? Out on your inter- ference ! Queen. What is amiss ? Shaks. I may not call 't amiss, the style of 't being so masterly ; yet hath your meddler laid me open to the charge of being a most vainglorious fellow. Queen. Of what do you complain ? Shaks. Do I complain ? If so, I am grown too rigid. I merely meant to glance at a loose fact, that one about the Court — meaning, no doubt, therein to compliment me — should have surreptitiously introduced to you a certain field of imagery, tending to illustrate my humble genius. I here denounce the same a trick, a smart contrivance got up and put upon us by my friend the Poet Laureat, whose pageants are familiar to your Majesty. To his honour do I name it, and not to his detraction. Queen. Ben Jonson at the bottom of 't ! Be it his worst ofience, we do forgive him heartily. Sir H. Would my offences were as soon got over ! Enter Katharine and Susanna in domino. Shaks. First, girls, I turn to greet ye ; then make known to you that, out of a desire for your welfare, I have devised a scheme to test ye with your suitors. Now, should it so turn out, as I suspect it may, that in the motley bevy gathered hero your true-loves loiter ; why, then, such the subtlety of maiden's 72 SIIAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act v. .soul, her heart is sure to intimate her future husband, though nevcrsomuch disguised or metamorphosed. Now, each receive my lesson. Go forthwith carefully throughout the throng, omitting no one in your curious search, until at length your true perception halts upon a point before some unknown per- sonage. Pause there a little, and drop to hirn your kerchief, which, if he stoops to pick up ere no others see it, confirms a mutual and enduring passion. As by this test you'll prove your lover faithful, so by this drift he'll know his suit decided. Sus. A rare expedient. Kate. An approved method. My heart is all in a flutter ! Sus. Don't be uneasy, Kate ; I'm sure there are no Jewish suitors here. Kate. Nor do I perceive. Sue, a single Winterborne in all the Christians present. Enter Lord Glitter, disguised as a Jeiv Pedler. Lord G. By this disguise, since she prefers a Hebrew, I make sure of her. — {Joins the throng.) Enter De Castro, disguised as a Blind Beggar, led. De Castro. By this disguise will I arrest her pity ; and pity is a near ally of love. — {Joins the throng.) Enter Winterborne, whispers Shakspere. Shaks. So peaceful was his end. Then, do I not only pro- claim to you a father, but a fortune. Wint. The miser my father ? Heaven forbid ! Shaks. Hush ! how many a man may own a baser parent- age ! Take this, and read it over at your leisure : if it does not reconcile you to your position, I've done with prophecy. — {Hands the will.) Wint. John Combe my father ! Shaks. Not so loud, Ned ; you'll let all the town know your secret. Come this way ; let iis seek for partners. A general Promenade. Sir H. This tormenting fixedness ! Tantalus, up to his chin in the lake, was a farce to it : for, though he could not drink SCENE 11.] A COMEDY. 73 the water, his feet might dabble in 't; whilst I've no foot to sport with my Nereides. De Castro and Loud Glitter come forward. Lord G. Nay, sir, I do believe the kerchief mine. Hath it not my crest on 't ? De Castro. If, by a little stretch of fancy, I convert the piquant K i' th' corner into the Barb'ry steed, I confess, sir, your crest is clearly laid on it. Lord G. Tut, tut ; forbear ! You've fairly won of me ; my horse is yours : no more I'll mount it : for, from this hour, I vow no other man than you so fit to ride it. Shall I send it with the snaffle bridle on ? De Castro. I'll try it first with a leading rein. Lord G. What, another pick-up ! The ladies' favours fall profusely here. A query, sir {to Winterborne), touching that fair cambric ; have you any objection to part with it to another l WiNT. 0' my life, a great objection ! Till it shall have been first packed in lavender and worn out in the foldings ; nay, even then the chance is, I'll prize the shreds the more, sir. Come, then, my pink and pattern of a housewife, shake hands and make it a bargain. Dk Castro. My fair incognito must also ratify. Know you this kerchief — whose is it, think you ? Kate. Might I venture a conjecture, a dear friend's of mine — one taught in her school-days, that Love is blind ; and, thinking to put her lesson to the proof, she smiled on the Blind Beggar. * De Castro. O, more than generous ! He ask'd but alms, whilst thou bestow'st thy hand. Lord G. An opportunity to do business ; buy a ring, a gold ring, a wedding ring — the ring that's better than new ! All gold, pure gold ; and, what's better still, has never been worn on finger : that I swear ; for he that bought it and paid for it changed his mind at the church-door, and chopped his ring for a mouse-trap. Buy, buy ! I'll sell you it cheap — a great barcrain. 74 . SHAKSPERE AND COMPANY. [act v. Shaks. Hark ! the clock ! Its strike must end our day ; since with the stroke of time that sun goes down, beneath whose glowing influence both poet-grub and player-butterfly warmed into being, to live their little hour on the stage midst summer flowers, bright blue skies, and glorious sunshine. Then honour to our Sovereign Lady ! I know she hath your hearts ; now give to me your voices : The Queen ! God save the Queen ! Long live the Queen of England ! Curtain falls THE END. London ;— Palmer and Clayton, Printers, Craiic-court, Fleet-street. 3 1205 02041 8941 ho THE LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA Santa Barbara THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW.