A = A^ = — o = J3 n = = 3) ^^^ m H = = L_) 8 M THE DRAMATIC WORKS OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE WITH VIGNETTES ENGRAVED ON WOOD BY JOHN THOMPSON FROM DRAWINGS BY STOTHARD IN TEN VOLUMES VOL. III. As You Like It Taming of the Shrew All's Well that Ends Well Twelfth Night; or, What You Will . THE DRAMATIC WORKS OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE TEXT CAREFULLY REVISED WITH NOTES BY SAMUEL WELLER SINGER F.S.A. THE LIFE OF THE POET AND CRITICAL ESSAYS ON THE PLAYS BY WILLIAM WATIvISS LLOYD M.R.S.L. ETC. ETC. All's Well tlidl R.ids Well. Act i». Sc i.i. LONDON DALDY FLEET STREET > J J i 3 ' J J J ' J > > ■» > ) 3 i i i:- 3 i > > J ' i • , • J ' > ) ) » 5 J J > J > i ) i 4 1 J > > > > ^ 3 3 3 > 3 3 C 1 * » t t t <, t t *. cc ct<.t«-*-t«* «. V «^ 434039 AS YOU LIKE IT. PEELIMINARY EEMARKS. R. GREY and Mr. Upton asserted that this Play was certainly horroived from the Coke's Tale of GamehTi, printed in Uny's Chaucer, but it is hardly likely that Shakespeare saw that in manuscript, and there is a more obvious source from whence he derived his plot, viz. the pastoral romance of Rosalynde, or Euphues' Golden Legacy, by Thomas Lodge, first printed in 1 590. From this he has sketched his principal characters, and constructed his plot ; but those ad- mirable beings, the melancholy Jaques, the witty Touchstone, and his Audrey, are of the poet's o\vn creation. Lodge's novel is one of those tiresome (I had almost said unnatural) pastoral romances, of which the Euphues of Lyly and the Arcadia of Sidney were also popular examples : it has, however, the redeemmg merit of some very beautiful verses interspersed *, and the circumstance of its having led to the formation of this exquisite pastoral drama, is enough to make us withhold our assent to Steevens's splenetic censure of it as " worthless." Touched by the magic wand of the enchanter, the dull and end- less prosing of the novelist is transfomied into an interesting and lively drama ; the forest of Arden converted into a real Arcadia of the golden age. " The highly sketched figures pass along in the most diversified succession ; we see always the shady dark- green landscape in the back ground, and breathe in imagination the fresh air of the forest. The hoiu-s are here measured by no clocks, no regulated recmTcnce of duty or toil ; they flow on un- numbered in voluntary occupation or fanciful idleness. — One throws himself down ' imder the shade of melancholy boughs ' and indulges in reflections on the changes of fortune, the false- hood of the world, and the self-created torments of social Ufe : others make the woods resound with social and festive songs, to the accompaniment of their horns. Selfishness, envy, and ambi- * The following beautiful Stanzas are part of what is called III. B 2 AS YOU LIKE IT. tion, have been left in the city behind them ; of all the human passions, love alone has found an entrance into this silvan scene, where it dictates the same language to the simple shepherd, and the chivalrous youth, who hangs his love-ditty to a tree." * And this their life, exempt from public haunts. Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sennons in stones, and good in every thing. How exquisitely is the character of Eosalind conceived, what liveliness and sportive gaiety, combined with the most natviral and alfeetionate tenderness, the reader is as much in love with her as Orlando, and wonders not at Phebe's sudden passion for her when disguised as Ganj-mede ; or Celia's constant friendship. Touch- stone is indeed a " rare fellow : he uses his folly as a stalking- horse, and under the presentation of that, he shoots his wit : " Lis courtship of Audrey, his lectiu-e to Conn, his defence of cuck- iilds, and his bm-lesque upon the " duello " of the age, are all most " exquisite fooling." It has been remarked, that there are few of Shakespeare's plays which contain so many passages that are quoted and remembered, and phrases that have become in a manner proverbial. To enumerate them would be to mention every scene in the play. And I must no longer detain the reader from this most delightfid of Shakespeare's comedies. Maloue places the composition of this play in 1599. There is no edition known previous to that in the folio of 1623. But it appears among the miscellaneous entries of prohibited pieces in the Stationers' books, without any certain date. Rosalynd's Madrigal, and are not unworthy of a place even in a page devoted to Shakespeare : Love in my bosom like a bee Doth suck his sweet : Now with his wings he plays with me, Now ■with his feet. Within mine eyes he makes his nest, Ilis bed amidst my tender breast. My kisses are his daily feast. And yet he robs me of my rest. Ah, wanton, will ye ? And if I sleep, then percheth he With pretty flight ; And makes a pillow of my knee The livelong night. Strike I my lute, he tunes the string. He music plays, if so I sing. He lends me every lovely thing ; Yet cruel he my heart duth sting Whist, wanton, still ye ? * Schlegel. PERSONS REPRESENTED.* Duke, living in exile. Frederick, Brother to the Duke, and Usurper of his Dominions. Amiens, ) Lords attending upon the Duke in his Jaques, ) banishment. Le Beau, a Courtier attending upon Frederick. Charles, his Wrestler. Oliver, 'i Jaques, > Sons o/" Sir Rowland de Bois. Orlando, ) Adam, ) Dennis, ) Servants to Oliver. Touchstone, a Claim. Sir Oliver Mar-text, a Vicar. William, a country Fellow, in love icith Audrey. A Person repiesenting Hymen. Rosalind, Daughter to the banished Duke. Celia, Daughter to Frederick. Phebe, a Shepherdess. Audrey, a country IVench. Lords belonging to the two Dukes; Pages, Foresters, and other Attendants. The SCENE lies, first, near Oliver's House; after- wards, partly in the Usurper's Court, and partly in the Foi-est of Arden. * This list of the Dramatis Personae is not in the old copies, it was added by Eowe. AS YOU LIKE IT. ACT I. Scene I. An Orcfmrd, near Oliver's House. Enter Oklando and Adam. Orlando. S I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion^ bequeathed me by will but a poor thousand crowns ; and, as thou say'st, charged my brother, on his blessing, to breed me well : and there begins my sadness. JMv brother Jaques he keeps at school, and report speaks goldenly of his profit : for my part, he keeps me rus- tically at home, or, to speak more properly, sties" me here at home unkept : For call you that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that differs not from the stalling of an ox ? His horses are bred better ; for, besides that they are fair with their feeding, they are taught their manage, and to that end riders • Malone inserted He here, at the instance of Sir W. Blackstone ; the absence of the pronoun, which had passed off" long before, helps to mark the speech as the continuation of a conference, not the commencement of a set statement. * The old orthography stales was an easy corruption of sties ; which I think with Warburton the true reading. So Caliban says : " And here you sty me In this hard rock." B 2 6 AS YOU LIKE IT. ACT i. dearly hired : but I, his brother, gain nothing under him but growth : for the which his animals on his dung-hills are as much bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that hp so plentifully gives me, the some- thing that ni;ture gave me, his countenance seems to take from me : he lets me feed with his hinds, bars n.° the pl.ice of & brother, and, as much as in him lies, mines my gentility with my education. This is it, Adam, that grieves me ; and the spirit of my father, which I think is within me, begins to mutiny against this ser\'itude : I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it. Adam. Yonder comes my master, your brother. Orl. Go apart, Adam, and thou shait hear how he will shake me up. Enter Oliver. OU. Now, sir ! what make you here^? Orl. Nothing : I am not taught to make any thing. on. What mar you then, sir ? Orl. ]\Iarry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, Avith idleness. OU. IMarry, sir, be better employed, and be naught awhile*. ' What make you here ? i. e. what do you here ? See note in Love's Labom-'s Lost, Act iv. Sc. 3. * Be naught awhile. Mr. Giflford has shoivn, bv very numerous quotations, that Warburton was right in his explanation of this phrase. See Jonson's Bartholomew Fair, vol. iv. p. 421: "Be naught," saj's Jlr. Xares, " or go and be naught, was formerly a petty execration of common usage between anger and contempt, which has been supplanted by others that are worse, as, he hanged, be curst, &c. ; awhile, or the while, was frequently added merely to round the phrase." So in The Story of King Darius, 1565 : " Come away, and he naught a tchyle." And in Swetnam, a comedy, 1620 : — " get j'ou both in, and be naught awhile." See Love's Labour's Lost, Act v. Sc. i. note 29. sc. I. AS YOU LIKE IT. 7 Orl Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with them ? What prodigal portion have I spent, that I should come to such penury ? on. Know you where you are, sir ? Orl O, sir, very well : here in your orchard. Oil. Know you before whom, sir ? Orl. Ay, better than he ^ I am before knows me. I know, you are my eldest brother; and, in the gentle condition of blood, you should so know me : The courtesy of nations allows you my better, in that you are the first-born ; but the same tradition takes not away my blood, were there twenty brothers betwixt us : I have as much of my father in me, as you ; al- beit, I confess, your coming before me is nearer to his reverence^ Oli. What, boy ! Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this. Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain. Orl. I am no villain^ : I am the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Bois ; he was my father ; and he is thrice a villain, that says, such a father begot villains : Wert thou not my brother, I would not take this hand from thy throat, till this other had pulled out thy tongue for saying so : thou hast railed on thyself. Adam. Sweet masters, be patient ; for your father's remembrance, be at accord. OIL Let me go, I say. * The first folio reads him, tlie second he more correctly. 8 Nearer to his reverence, i. e. nearer to his age, as appears by what follows. So in Much Ado aboiit Nothing : " Knavery can- not, sure, hide itself in such reverence." ' Villain is used in a double sense : by Oliver, for a worthless fellow ; and bv Orlando, for a man of base extraction. Coleridge remarks that,'" There is a beauty here. The word hoy naturally provokes and awakes in Orlando the sense of his n\auly powers ; and with the retort of elder brother, he grasps him with both hands and makes him feel that he is no boy." 8 AS YOU LIKE IT. act i. Orl. I \vill not, till I please : you shall hear me. My father charged you in his will to give me good education : you have trained me like a peasant, ob- scuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like qua- lities : the spirit of my father grows strong in me, and I will no longer endure it : therefore allow me such exercises as may become a gentleman, or give me the poor allottery my father left me by testament : ^vith that I will go buy my fortunes. Oli. And what wilt thou do ? beg, when that is spent ? Well, sir, get you in : I wiU not long be troubled with you : you shaU have some part of your will : I pray you, leave me. Orl. I will uo further offend you than becomes me for my good. on. Get you with him, you old dog. Adam. Is old dog my reward ? Most true, I have lost my teeth in yoiu* service. — God be with my old . master ! he would not have spoke such a word. \_Exeunt Orlando and Adam. Oli. Is it even so ? begin you to grow upon me ? I will physick your rankness, and yet give no thou- sand crowns neither. Hola, Dennis ! Enter Dennis. Den. Calls your worship ? Oli. Was not Charles, the Duke's ^vrestler, here to speak with me ? Den. So please you, he is here at the door, and im- portunes access to you. Oli. Call him in. \_Exit De7inis.~\ — 'Twill be a good way; and to-morrow the ^vrestling is. Enter Charles. Cha. Good morrow to your worship. Oli. Good monsieur Charles ! — what's the new news at the new court ! sc. I. AS YOU LIKE IT. 9 Cha. There's no news at the court, sir, but the old news ; that is, the old duke is banished by his younger brother the new duke ; and three or four loving lords have put themselves into voluntary exile with him, whose lands and revenues enrich the new duke; there- fore he gives them good leave '^ to wander. Oli. Can you tell, if Rosalind, the duke's daughter, be banished with her father. Cha. O, no ; for the duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves her, — being ever from their cradles bred to- gether, — that she would have followed her exile, or have died to stay behind her. She is at the coiirt, and no less beloved of her uncle than his own daughter; and never two ladies loved as they do. Oli. Where will the old duke live ? Cha. They say, he is already in the forest of Ar- dent, and a many merry men with him ; and there they live like the old Robin Hood of England : they say, many young gentlemen flock to him every day ; and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world. Oli. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new duke ? Cha. Marry, do I, sir ; and I came to acquaint you with a matter, I am given, sir, secretly to understand, that your younger brother, Orlando, hath a disposition to come in disguis'd against me to try a fall : To- morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit ; and he that es- capes me without some broken limb, shall acquit him ' He gives them good leave. As often as this phrase occurs, it means a i-eadi/ assent. So in K. Jolm : — " Bush. James Guniey, wilt thou give us leave awhile? Gur. Good leave, good Philip." ^ Ardenne is a forest of considerable extent in French Flanders, Ij'ing near the river Meuse, and between Charlemont and Rocroy. Spenser, in his Colin Clout, mentions it : — " So wide a forest, and so waste as this, Not famous Ardeyn, nor foul Arlo was." Shakespeare took the scene of his play from Lodge's Rosalynd. 10 AS YOU LIKE IT. act i. well. Your brother is but young, and tender ; and, for your love, I would be loath to foil him, as I must, for my own honour, if he come in : therefore out of my love to you, I came hither to acquaint you withal ; that either you might stay him from his intendment, or brook such disgrace well as he shall run into ; in that it is a thing of his own search, and altogether against my will. Oh'. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which thou shalt find I wiU most kindly requite. I had my- self notice of my brother's purpose herein, and have by underhand means laboured to dissuade him from it ; but he is resolute. I'U tell thee, Charles, — it is the stubbornest young fellow of France : full of am- bition, an envious emulator of every man's good parts, a secret and villainous contriver against me his natural brother ; therefore use thy discretion ; I had as lief thou didst break his neck as his finger : and thou wert best look to't ; for if thou dost him any slight disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will practise against thee by poison, entrap thee by some treacherous device, and never leave thee till he hath ta'en thy life by some indirect means or other : for, I assure thee, and almost with tears I speak it, there is not one so young and so villainous this day living. I speak but brotherly of him ; but should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep, and thou must look pale and wonder. Cka. I am heartily glad I came hither to you : If he come to-morrow, I'll give him his payment: If ever he go alone again, I'll never wrestle for prize more : And so, God keep your worship ! \^Exit. OIL Farewell, good Charles. — Now will I stir this gamester ^° : I hope, I shall see an end of him : for my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing more than '" GatMstei; i. e. frolicksome fellow. So in K. Henry VIII. " You are a merry gamester, my lord Sands." sc. I. AS YOU LIKE IT. 11 he. Yet he's gentle; never school'd, and yet learned; full of noble device; of all sorts" enchantingly be- loved ; and, indeed, so much in the heart of the world, and especially of my own people, who best know him, that I am altogether misprised ; but it shall not be so long ; this wrestler shall clear all : nothing remains, but that I kindle ^^ the boy thither, which now I'll go about. l^Bxit. Scene II. A Lawn before the Duke's Palace. Enter Rosalind and Celia. Cel. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry. Bos. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mis- tress of; and would you yet I^ were merrier ? Unless you could teach me to forget a banished father, you must not learn me how to remember any extraordi- nary pleasure. Cel. Herein, I see, thou lovest me not with the full weight that I love thee : if my uncle, thy banished father, had banished thy uncle, the duke my father, so thou hadst been still with me, I could have taught my love to take thy father for mine ; so would' st thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously tem- per'd as mine is to thee. Ros. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to rejoice in yours. Cel. You know, my father hath no child but I, nor none is like to have ; and, truly, when he dies, thou shalt be his heir : for what he hath taken away from " Sorts, i. e. of all ranks. '2 But that I kindle the boy thither. He means, " that I excite the boy to it." So in Macbeth, when Banquo means to say, " such a prophecy, if believed, might stimulate you to seek the crown," he thus expresses it : " That, trusted home, Might yet enkindle you unto the crown." ' I, which is necessary to the sense, was added by Pope, it is omitted by accident in the old copy. 12 AS YOU LIKE IT, act i. thy father perforce, I will render thee again in affec- tion ; by mine honour, I will ; and when I break that oath, let me turn monster : therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry. Ros. From henceforth I ^vill, coz, and devise sports : let me see ; What think you of falling in love ? Cel. ]\Iarry, I pr'vthee, do, to make sport withal : but love no man in good earnest ; nor no further in sport neither, than with safety of a pure blush thou may' St in honour come off again. Ros. What shall be our sport then ? Cel. Let us sit and mock the good housewife, For- tune, from her wheel", that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally. Ros. I would, we could do so ; for her benefits are mightily misplaced : and the bountiful blind woman doth most mistake in her gifts to women. Cel. 'Tis true : for those, that she makes fair, she scarce makes honest ; and those, that she makes ho- nest, she makes very ill-favouredly, Ros. Nay, now thou goest from fortune's oflBce to nature's : fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of nature. Enter Touchstonk, Cel. No? When nature hath made a fair creature, may she not bv fortune fall into the fire ? — Though nature hath given us ^vit to flout at fortune, hath not fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument ? Ros. Indeed, fortune^ is there too hard for nature ; when fortune makes nature's natural the cutter off of nature's wit. - So in Antony and Cleopatra, Act ii. Se. 12, " Let me rail so high, That the false housewife Fortune break her wheel." ' The first and second folios transpose these words, and read " Indeed, there is fortune." It is corrected in the third folio. SC. II. AS YOU LIKE IT, 13 Cel. Perad venture, this is not fortune's work neither, but nature's ; who perceiving* our natural wits too dull to reason of such goddesses, hath sent this na- tural for our whetstone : for always the dulness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits. — How now, wit? whither wander you ? Touch. Mistress, you must come away to your fa- ther. Cel. Were you made the messenger? Touch. No, by mine honour ; but I was bid to come for you. Ros. Where learned you that oath, fool ? Touch. Of a certain knight, that swore by his ho- nour they were good pancakes, and swore by his ho- nour the mustard was naught : now, I'll stand to it, the pancakes were naught, and the mustard was good ; and yet was not the knight forsworn. Cel. How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowledge ? Ros. Ay, marry ; now unmuzzle your wisdom. Touch. Stand you both forth now : stroke your chins, and swear by your beards that I am a knave. Cel. By our beards, if we had them, thou art. Touch. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were : but if you swear by that that is not, you are not for- sworn : no more was this knight, swearing by his ho- nour, for he never had any; or if he had, he had sworn it away, before ever he saw those pancakes, or that mustard. Cel. Pr'ythee, who is't that thou mean'st ! Touch. One that old Frederick, your father, loves. Cel.^ My father's love is enough to honour him * The first folio reads perceiveth. The folio, 1 632, reads per- ceiving. * This reply to the Clown, in the old copies, is given to Rosa- lind. Frederic was however the name of Celia's father, and it is therefore most probable the reply should be hers. III. C 14 AS YOU LIKE IT. act i. enough : Speak no more of him ; you'll be whipp'tl for taxation^, one of these days. Touch. The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely, what wise men do fooHshly. Cd. By my troth, thou say'st true : for since the little wit, that fools have, was silenced, the little foolery, that wise men have, makes a great show. Here comes Monsieur Le Beau. Enter Le Beau. Ros. With his mouth full of news. Cel. Which he ^v-ill put on us, as pigeons feed their young. Ros. Then shall we be news-cramm'd. Cel. All the better ; Ave shall be the more market- able. Bon jour, ^Monsieur Le Beau : What's the news? Le Beau. Fair princess, you have lost much good sport. Cel. Sport ? Of what colour ? Le Beau. What colour, madam ? how shall I an- swer you ? Ros. As Avit and fortune will. Touch. Or as the destinies decree. Cel. Well said : that was laid on with a trowel^. Touch. Nay, if I keep not my rank, Ros. Thou losest thy old smell. Le Beau. You amaze me, ladies : I would have told vou of good \\TestLing, which you have lost the sight of. ® Youll he tcJiipp'dfo'- taxation. This was the disciplme usually inflicted upon fools. Brantome says that Legar, fool to Elizabeth of France, having offended her wth some indelicate speech, "fut bien fiiuette a la cuisine pour ces pai-oies." Taxation is censure, satire. ^ Laid on with a trowel. This is a proverbial phrase not yet quite disused. It is, says Mason, to do any thing strongly, and Tfithout delicacy. If a man flatters grossly, it is a common ex- pression to say, that he lays it on with a trowel SC. II. AS YOU LIKE IT. ' 15 Eos. Yet tell us the manner of the -wrestling, Le Beau. I will tell you the beginning, and, if it please your ladyships, you may see the end ; for the best is yet to do ; and here, where you are, they are coming to perform it. Cel. Well, — the beginning, that is dead and buried. Le Beau. There comes an old man, and his three sons, Cel. I could match this beginning with an old tale. Le Beau. Three proper young men, of excellent growth and presence ; Ros. With bills on their necks, — Be it known unto all men hij these presents^., Le Beau. The eldest of the three wTestled with Charles, the duke's ^vrestler ; which Charles in a mo- ment threw him, and broke three of his ribs, that there is little hope of life in him : so he served the second, and so the third : Yonder they lie ; the poor old man, their father, making such pitiful dole over them, that all the beholders take his part with weeping. Bos. Alas! Touch. But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies have lost ? Le Beau. Why, this that I speak of. Touch. Thus men may grow wiser every day ! it is the first time that ever I heard, breaking of ribs was sport for ladies. ^ The quibble between hills for halberds, and for legal instru- ments, occurs in Much Ado about Nothing : " We are likely to prove gootllj' commodities, being taken up of these men's bills." So in the play of Woman's a Weathercock, 1612 : — " Good morrow, taylor, I abhor bills in a morning, But thou may'st watcli at night with bill in hand." It was the very probable conjecture of Dr. Farmer that " With bills on their necks " should be the conclusion of Le Beau's speech. A soldier was anciently said to carry his bill or weapon on his neck, not on his shoulder. It is the double meaning of bill that leads to the second quibble between presence and pnsents. )6 AS YOU LIKE IT. ACT I. Gel. Or I, I promise thee. Ros. But is there any else longs to see^ this broken musick in his sides ? is there yet another dotes upon rib-breaking ? — Shall we see this \vrestling, cousin ? Le Beau. You must, if you stay here : for here is the place appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to perform it. Cel. Yonder, sure, they are coming : Let us now stay and see it. Flourish. Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, Or- lando, Charles, and Attendants. Duke F. Come on ; since the youth will not be en- treated, his own peril on his forwardness. Ros. Is yonder the man ? Le Beau. Even he, madam. Cel. Alas, he is too young : yet he looks successfully. Duke F. How now, daughter and cousin ! are you crept hither to see the WTestling ? Ros. Ay, my liege : so please you give us leave. Duke F. You will take little delight in it, I can tell you, there is such odds in the men 9 : In pity of the challenger's youth, I would fain dissuade him, but he will not be entreated : Speak to him, ladies ; see if you can move him. Cel. Call him hither, good IMonsieur Le Beau. Duke F. Do so ; I'll not be by. [^Duke goes apart. Le Beau. Monsieur the challenger, the princesses^" call for you. Orl. I attend them, with all respect and duty. ^ Should we not read " set this broken musick in his sides ? " set being a musical term. ^ The old copies read "man." The alteration was made by Hanmer. '" The old copy has "princess." Theobald made the correction which the reply of Orlando shows to be called for. sc. II. AS YOU LIKE IT. 17 Ros. Young man, have you challenged Charles the wrestler'^? Orl. No, fair princess ; he is the general challenger : I come but in, as others do, to try with him the strength of my youth. Cel. Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your years : You have seen cruel proof of this man's strength: if you saw yourself with your eyes^^, or knew yourself with your judgment, the fear of your adventure would counsel you to a more equal enter- prise. We pray you, for your own sake, to embrace your own safety, and give over this attempt. Ros. Do, young sir; your reputation shall not there- fore be misprised : we will make it our suit to the duke, that the Avrestling might not go forward. Orl. I beseech you, punish me not ^vith your hard thoughts; wherein ^^ I confess me much guilty, to deny so fair and excellent ladies any thing. But let your fair eyes and gentle wishes go with me to my trial : wherein, if I be foiled, there is but one shamed that was never gracious^*; if killed, but one dead that is willing to be so; I shall do my friends no wrong, for I have none to lament me ; the world no injury, for ' ' This -wrestling match is minutely described in Lodge's novel. '^ Coleridge says, " Surely it should be ''our eyes' and 'our judgment' " But there seems to be no necessity for change. The meaning is obNnously if he took a just measure of his powers he would avoid the contest with this strong man and seek a more equal enterprise. '^ Johnson thought we should read " therein." Mason proposed to read herein. Malone satisfactorily explains the passage thus : "punish me not with your lutrd thoughts, which, however, I confess J deserve to incur, for denying such fair ladies any request." '* Gracious was anciently used in the sense of the Italian gra- tiato, i. e. graced, favoured, countenanced ; as well as for graceful, comely, well favoured, in which sense Shakespeare uses it in other places.— Vide Florio's Italian Diet. Ed. 1 598, and The Two Gentle- men of Verona, Act iii. Sc. 1, vol. i. p. 160, note 29. 18 AS YOU LIKE IT. act i. in it I have nothing ; only in the world I fill up a place, which may be better supplied when I have made it empty. Eos. The little strength that I have, I would it were with you. Cel. And mine, to eke out hers. Eos. Fare you well. Pray heaven, I be deceived in you ! Cel. Your heart's desires be with you. Cka. Come, where is this young gallant, that is so desirous to lie with his mother earth ? Orl. Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more mo- dest working. Duke F. You shall try but one fall. Cka. No, I warrant your grace ; you shall not en- treat him to a second, that have so mightily persuaded him from a first. 07-1. You mean to mock me after; you should not have mocked me before : but come your ways. Eos. Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man ! Cel. I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow by the leg. |^Cha. and Orl. wrestle. Eos. O excellent young man ! Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who should down. QCharles is thrown. Shout. Duke F. No more, no more. Orl. Yes, I beseech your grace ; I am not yet well breathed. Duke F. How dost thou, Charles ? Le Beau. He cannot speak, my lord. Duke F. Bear him away. [Charles is borne out.~\ What is thy name, young man ? Orl. Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Bois. Duke F. I would, thou hadst been son to some man else. sc. II. AS YOU LIKE IT. 19 The world esteem'd thy father honourable, But I did find him still mine enemy : Thou shouldst have better pleas'd me with this deed, Hadst thou descended from another house. But fare thee well ; thou art a gallant youth ; I would, thou hadst told me of another father. \_Exeunt Duke Fred. Train, and Le Beau. Cel. Were I my father, coz, would I do this ? Orl. I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's son, His youngest son ; — and would not change that call- ing ^5, To be adopted heir to Frederick. Ros. My father lov'd Sir Rowland as his soul, And all the world was of my father's mind : Had I before knoAvn this young man his son, I should have given him tears unto entreaties. Ere he should thus have ventur'd. Cel. Gentle cousin, Let us go thank him, and encourage him : My father's rough and envious disposition Sticks me at heart. — Sir, you have well deserv'd : If you do keep your promises in love But justly, as you have exceeded all promise, Vour mistress shall be happy. Bos. Gentleman, \_Giving him a Chain from her neck. Wear this for me ; one out of suits with fortune ^^ ; Thatcould give more, but that her hand lacksmeans. — Shall we go, coz ? Cel. Ay : — Fare you well, fair gentleman. Orl. Can I not say, I thank you? ]\Iy better parts Are all thrown doAvn ; and that which here stands up, Is but a quintain ^^, a mere lifeless block. '* Calling here means appellation, a very unusual use of the word. "^ Out of suits, i. e. out of favour, discarded by fortune. '^ His better parts, i. e. his spirits or se/ises. A quintain was a 20 AS YOU LIKE IT. act i. Jios. He calls us back : my pride feU with my for- tunes : I'll ask liim what he would : — Did you call, sir ? — Sir, you have -wrestled well, and overthrown More than your enemies. Cel. Will you go, coz? Mos. Have with you : — Fare you well. \_Exeiint Rosalind and Celia. Orl. What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue ? I cannot speak to her, yet she urg'd conference. Re-enter Le Beau. O poor Orlando ! thou art overthrown ; Or Charles, or something weaker, masters thee. Le Beau. Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you To leave this place : Albeit you have deserv'd High commendation, true applause, and love ; Yet such is now the duke's condition ^^, That he misconstrues all that you have done. figure set up for tilters to run at in mock resemblance of a tour- nament. The first and simplest form was a tree or post with a shield or some object aflixed to it : afterwards a cross-bar was fixed to tlie top of the post turning upon a pivot, having a broad board at the one end, and a bag full of sand suspended at the other. Sometimes it was made in resemblance of a hirnian figure holding in the one hand a shield and in the other a bag of sand. In the sport, if the figure was struck on the shield the quintain turned on its pivot and hit the assailant -with the sand-bag. The skill consisted in striking the quintain dexterously so as to avoid the blow. Figures of several kinds and ample descriptions are to be found in Mr. Donee's Illustrations of Shakespeare, in the Variorum editions, and in Mr. Knight's. The sport of the quin- tain is humorously described in Laneham's Letter from Killing- worth Castle, which the notice of the admirable author of Kenil- worth has made every reader acquainted with. '^ The dukes condition, i.e. temper, disposition. Antonio in the Merchant of Venice is called by his friend " the best condition'd man." Humorous is capricious. See Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act iii. Sc. 1, p. 156, note 20. SC. II. AS YOU LIKE IT. 21 The duke is humorous ; what he is, indeed, More suits you to conceive^ than me to speak of. Orl. I thank you, sir : and, pray you, tell me this ; Which of the two was daughter of the duke. That here was at the wrestling ? Le Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge by man- ners; But yet, indeed, the smaller'9 js his daughter: The other is daughter to the banish'd duke, And here detain'd by her usurping uncle. To keep his daughter company ; whose loves Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters. But I can tell you, that of late this duke Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece ; Grounded upon no other argument. But that the people praise her for her virtues, And pity her for her good father's sake ; And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady Will suddenly break forth. — Sir, fare you well ; Hereafter, in a better world than this, I shall desire more love and knowledge of you. Orl. I rest much bounden to you : fare you well ! \^Exit Le Beau. Thus must I from the smoke into the smother ; From tyrant duke, unto a tyrant brother : — But heavenly Rosalind ! [_£Jxit. Scene III. A Terrace in front of the Palace. Enter Celia and Rosalind. Cel. Why, cousin ; why, Rosalind ; — Cupid have mercy ! — Not a word ? Ros. Not one to throw at a dog. '^ The old copy reads taller, which, from what is said in other places, is evidently wrong. Pope altered it to shorter. The pre- sent reading is Malone's. 22 AS YOU LIKE IT. act i. Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon curs, throw some of them at me ; come, lame me with reasons. Ros. Then there were two cousins laid up ; when the one should be lamed with reasons, and the other mad without any. Cel. But is all this for your father? Ros. No, some of it for my child's father ^ O, how fuU of briars is this working-day world ! Cel. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday foolery ; if we walk not in the trodden paths, our very petticoats ^vill catch them. Ros. I could shake them off my coat ; these burs are in my heart. Cel. Hem them away. Ros. I would try : if I could cry hem, and have him. Cel. Come, come, "\\Testle with thy affections. Ros. O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself. Cel. O, a good ■wish upon you ! you ■wall try In time, in despite of a fall. — But, turning these jests out of service, let us talk in good earnest : Is it possible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so strong a liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest son ? Ros. The duke mv father lov'd his father dearly. Cel. Doth it therefore ensue, that you should love his son dearly ? By this kind of chase, I should hate liim, for my father hated his father dearly^; yet I hate not Orlando. ' Thus the old copies. Rowe transposed the phrase to " mii father's child" and Coleridge says, " who can doubt that (the old reading) was a mistake for " my father's child," meaning her- self. I do not ventiu'e, however, to alter the text, having regard to other speeches of Rosalind, which render this as it stands any- thing but an impossibility. Rosalind playfully means no more than my future husband. * Shakespeare's use of dear in a double sense has been already illustrated. See note on Twelfth Night, Act v. Sc. i. SC. III. AS YOU LIKE IT. 23 Jios. No 'faith, hate him not, for my sake. Cel. Why should I not ? doth he not deserve well ? Bos. Let me love him for that ; and do you love him, because I do : — Look, here comes the duke. Cel. With his eyes full of anger. JEnter Duke Frederick, wit/t Lords. Duke F. INIistress, dispatch you with your safest •^ haste. And get you from our court. Bos. iMe, uncle ? Diike F. You, cousin ; Within these ten days if that thou be'st found So near our public court as twenty miles, Thou diest for it. Bos. I do beseech your grace. Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me : If with myself I hold intelligence, Or have acquaintance with mine own desires ; If that I do not dream, or be not frantic, (As I do trust I am not,) then, dear uncle, Never, so much as in a thought unborn. Did I offend your highness. Duke F. Thus do all traitors ; If their purgation did consist in words, They are as innocent as grace itself : — Let it suffice thee, that I trust thee not. Bos. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor : Tell me, whereon the likelihood depends. Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter, there's enough. Ros. So was I, when your highness took his duke- dom ; So was I, when your highness banish'd him : ^ Safest, probably a misprint for swiftest. 24 AS YOU LIKE IT. act I. Treason is not inherited, my lord ; Or, if we did derive it from our friends. What's that to me ? my father was no traitor : Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much, To think my poverty is treacherous. Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me speak. Duke F. Ay, Celia ; we stay'd her for your sake, Else had she with her father rang'd along. Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay. It was your pleasure, and your own remorse*; I was too young that time to value her, But now I know her ; if she be a traitor. Why so am I ; we still have slept together, Hose at an instant, learn' d, play'd, eat together ; And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans, Still we went coupled, and inseparable. Duke F. She is too subtle for thee; and her smooth- ness. Her very silence, and her patience, Speak to the people, and they pity her. Thou art a fool : she robs thee of thy name ; And thou wilt show more bright, and seem more vir- tuous. When she is gone : then open not thy lips ; Firm and irrevocable is my doom Which I have pass'd upon her ; she is banish'd. Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege : I cannot live out of her company. Duke F. You are a fool : — You, niece, provide yourself ; If you out-stay the time, upon mine honour. And in the greatness of my word, you die. \_Exeu7it Duke Fkederick and Lords. * Remorse, i. e. pity, compassion. So in Macbeth : — " Stop the access and passage to remorse," sc. lit. AS YOU LIKE IT. 25 Cel. O my poor Rosalind ! whither wilt thou go ? Wilt thou change fathers ? I will give thee mine. I charge thee, be not thou more griev'd than I am. Bos. I have more cause. Cel. Thou hast not, cousin ; Pr'ythee, be cheerful : know'st thou not, the duke Hath banish'd me, his daughter ? Bos. That he hath not. Cel. No hath not ? Rosalind ! lacks then the love Which teacheth thee^ that thou and I am one : Shall we be sunder'd ? shall we part, sweet girl ? No ; let my father seek another heir. Therefore, devise with me, how we may fly, Whither to go, and what to bear with us : And do not seek to take the charge^ upon you, To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out ; For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale, Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee. Bos. Why, whither shall we go ? Cel. To seek my uncle in the forest of Arden. Bos. Alas, what danger will it be to us, Maids as we are, to travel forth so far ! Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. Cel. I'll put myself-in poor and mean attire, And \vith a kind of umber^ smirch my face ; The like do you ; so shall we pass along, * Warbiirton would read me instead of thee, but there is no doubt that the old text is right. " No hath not ? " is an idiom -which has been ably and amply illustrated by the Eev. Mr. Arrowsmith in Notes and Queries, vol. vii. p. 520. See note on K. John, Act \\\ Sc. 2, where Hubert uses a similar phrase, " No had, my Lord ? " Perhaps we should read thou and I are one ; am and are, in old \mting, are easily mistaken for each other. ' The first folio reads, " And do not seek to take your change upon you." The second folio rightly corrects change to charge. Whoever glances at the passage must see that the printer has here again mistaken y^ charge of the MS. for y^ change. ^ " A kind of umber," a dusky yellow-coloured earth, brought III. D 26 AS YOU LIKE IT, act I. And never stir assailants. Bos. Were it not better, Because that I am more than common tall, That I did suit me all points like a man ? A gallant curtle-axe^ upon my thigh, A boar-spear in my hand ; and (in my heart Lie there what hidden woman's fear there ^vill), We'll have a swashing ^° and a martial outside ; As many other mannish cowards have, That do outface it with their semblances. Cel. What shall I call thee, when thou art a man ? Has. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's omti page, And therefore look you call me Ganj-mede. But what will you be caU'd ? Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state; No longer Celia, but Alieua. Eos. But, cousin, what if we essay'd to steal The clownish fool out of your father's court ? Would he not be a comfort to our travel ? Cel. He'll go along o'er the wide world with me ; Leave me alone to woo him : Let's away. And get our jewels and our wealth together ; Devise the fittest time, and safest way To hide us from pursuit that ^vill be made After my flight. Now go we in content. To liberty, and not to banishment. [_Exeunt. from Umbria in Italj'-, -well known to artists. In the chorus to King Henry V. we have : — " The battle's umber'd face." ® This was one of the old words for a cutlass, a short crooked sword, coutelas, French. It was variously spelled courtlas, court- lax, curtlax. So in Fairefaxe's Tasso, b. ix. st. 82 : — " His curtlax on his thigh, short crooked fine."' '" Stcashing here means swaggering, see Cotgrave in v. " Ma- heustre," as we now saj', dashing. To swash is interpreted by Torriano, " Strepitar con I'arme." Hence, " a swash buckler was a swaggerer, a bragging toss-blade," a Captain Slash, according to the sa)ne authority. sc. I. AS YOU LIKE IT. ACT II. Scene I. TJie Forest of Arden. Enter Duke senior, Amiens, and other Lords, in the dress of Foresters. Duke S. i,OW, my co-mates, and brothers in exile. Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp ? Are not these woods INIore free from peril than the en^dous court ? Here feel we but^ the penalty of Adam, The seasons' difference ; as, the icy fang. And churlish chiding of the winter's wind. Which when it bites and blows upon my body. Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, — This is no flattery ; these are counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am. Sweet are the uses of adversity ; Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous. Wears yet a precious jewel in his head^; ' The old copies read " not the penalty," Theobald proposed to read bid. The words not and hit are elsewhere misprinted for each other. The Duke observes that the inconveniences they might sufFer from being exposed to " the seasons' difference," were to be regarded only as salutary counsellors, teaching them that they were but men. In the last scene he refers to " the shrewd daya and nights endured" in the forest ; and this also is the theme of the song, " Blow, blow thou winter wind." ^ It was cuiTently believed in the time of Shakespeare that the toad had a stone contained in its head, which was endued with singular virtues. This was called the toad-stone. Fenton, in his Secrete Wonders of Nature, 1 569, says : — " There is founde in the heades of olde and great toades, a stone, which they call borax or stelon : it is most commonly found in the head of an hee toad, of power to repulse poysons, and that it is a most sovereigne me- dicine for the stone." Lupton, in his One Thousand Notable Things, and other writers mention it. 28 AS YOU LIKE IT. act ir. And this our life, exempt from publick haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in every thing. Ami. I would not change it : Happy is your grace, That can translate the stubbornness of fortune Into so quiet and so sweet a style. Duke S. Come, shall we go and kill us venison ? And yet it irks^ me, the poor dappled fools, — Being native burghers of this desert city, — Should in their own confines, Avith forked heads'* Have their round haunches gor'd. 1 Lo)-d. Indeed, my lord. The melancholy Jaques grieves at that ; And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you To-day, my lord of Amiens, and myself, Did steal behind him, as he lay along Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out Upon the brook that brawls along this wood^: To the which place a poor sequester'd stag. That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, Did come to languish ; and, indeed, my lord, The ■wretched animal heav'd forth such groans. That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat Almost to bursting ; and the big round tears Cours'd one another down his innocent nose^ ' It irks me, i. e. it gives me pain, " Mi rincresce, mi fa male." — Torriano's Diet. Irksome is still in iise, but this impersonal use of the old verb, to irk, has long been obsolete. ■• Forked-heads, i. e. the antlers of the native burghers. * Gray, in his Elegj', has availed himself of this passage : — " There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That ■wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by." ® " Saucius at quadrupes nota intra tecta refugit Successitque gemens stabulis ; questuque cruentus Atque imploranti similis, tectum omne replevit." Virg So Drayton, in the 13th Song of his Polyolbion : — 30. I. AS YOU LIKE IT. 20 In piteous chase ; and thus the hairy fool, Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook, Augmenting it wth tears. Duke S. But what said Jaques ? Did he not moralize this spectacle ? 1 Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similes. First, for his weeping in^ the needless^ stream ; Poor deei\ quoth he, thou maJc'st a testament As worldlings do^ giving thy sum of more To that wh ich hath too much 9 ; Then, being there alone, Left and abandon'd of his velvet friend ; 'Tis rigltt^ quoth he; thus misery doth paH The flux of company : Anon, a careless herd. Full of the pasture, jumps along by him. And never stays to greet him ; Ay^ quoth Jaques, Sweep) on, you fat and greasy citizens; 'Tis just the fashion: Wherefore do you look Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there ? Thus most invectively he pierceth through The body of the'° country, city, court. Yea, and of this our life ; swearing, that we " He who the mourner was to his own dying corse, Upon the ruthless earth his precious tears let fall." In a note on the passage it is said : — " The harte weepeth at his dying : his tears are held to be precious in medicine." '' The old copy has into, e\'idently caught fi-om the preceding line, and which spoils the metre. * Needless stream, i. e. the stream that needed not such a Stipjily of moisture. * So in Shakespeare's Lover's Complaint : — " In a river, Upon whose weeping margin she was set Like usmy applj-ing wet to wet." Again in King Henry VI. Part ill. Act v. Sc. 4 : — " With tearfill eyes add water to the sea. And give more strength to that which hath too vmch." The old copy prints had for hath, which the last extract shows to have been the poet's word. '" The is here inserted from the second folio. u 2 .50 AS YOU LIKE IT. act ii. Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse, To fright the animals, and to kill them up. In their assign'd and native dwelling-place. Duke S. And did you leave him in this contem- plation ? 2 Lm-d. We did, my lord, weeping and commenting Upon the sobbing deer. Duke S. Show me the place ; I love to cope^^ him in these sullen fits, For then he's full of matter. 2 Lwd. I'll bring you to him straight. \_Exeunt. Scene II. A Room in the Palace. Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, and Attendants. Duke P. Can it be possible that no man saw them ? It cannot be : some villains of my court Are of consent and sufferance in this. 1 Lord. I cannot hear of any that did see her. The ladies, her attendants of her chamber. Saw her a-bed ; and, in the morning early. They found the bed untreasur'd of their mistress. 2 Lord. ]\Iy lord, the roynish ^ cloAvn, at whom so oft Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing. Hesperia, the princess' gentlewoman. Confesses, that she secretly o'er-heard Your daughter and her cousin much commend The parts and graces of the wrestler That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles ; And she believes, wherever they are gone. That youth is surely in their company. " To cope him, i. e. to encounter him. Thus in K. Henrj' VIII. Act i. Sc. 2 :— " Cope malicious censurers." ' The roynish clown, i. e. mangy or scurvy, from roigneux, French. The word is used by Chaucer. sc. II. AS YOU LIKE IT. 31 Duhe F. Send to his brother ; fetch that gallant hither ; If he be absent, bring his brother to me, I'll make him find him. Do this suddenly ; And let not search and inquisition quail - To bring again these foolish run-aways. \_Exeunt. Scene III. Before Oliver's House. Enter Orlando and Adam, meeting. Orl. Who's there ? Adam. What ! my young master ? — O, my gentle master, O, my sweet master, O you memory^ Of old Sir Rowland ! why, what make you here ? Why are you virtuous ? Why do people love you ? And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant ? Why would you be so fond^ to overcome The bony priser"^ of the humorous duke ? Your praise is come too swiftly home before you. Know you not, master, to some kind of men Their graces serve them but as enemies ? No more do yours ; your virtues, gentle master, Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. ^ And let not search and inquisition qnail, i. e. fail or slacken. " To quaile, fade, faile" are among the interpretations Cotgrave gives of the word Alachir. So in Tancred and Gismunda: — " For as the world wore on and waxed old, So virtue quaird, and vice began to grow." • Shakespeare uses memory for memorial. So in Lear, Act iv. Sc. 7 :— " Those weeds are memories of those worser hours." And in The Atheist's Tragedy, by C. Turner, 1611 : — " And with his body place that memory Of noble Charlemont." ' Fond, i. e. rash, foolish. 3 The bony priser, spelt bonny in the folios. I suspect that a jiriser was the term for a ivrestler, a prise was a term in that sport for a grappling or hold taken. 32 AS YOU LIKE IT. act il. O, what a world is tins, when what is comely Envenoms him that bears it ! Orl. Why, what's the matter ? Adam. O unhappy youth, Come not within these doors ; within this roof The enemy of all your graces lives : Your brother — (no, no brother : yet the son — Yet not the son ; — I will not call him son Of him I was about to call his father), — Hath heard your praises ; and this night he means To burn the lodging where you use to lie. And you within it : if he fail of that, \ He will have other means to cut you off : I overheard him, and his practices'*. This is no place ^ ; this house is but a butchery ; Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it. Orl. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go? Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here. Orl. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food? Or, \vith a base and boisterous sword, enforce A thievish liAnng on the common road ? This I must do, or know not what to do : Yet this I will not do, do how I can ; I rather \vill subject me to the malice Of a diverted blood ^, and bloody brother. Adam. But do not so : I have five hundred crowTis, The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father, Which I did store, to be my foster-nurse. When service should in my old limbs lie lame, And unregarded age in corners thro^^^l ; Take that : and He that doth the ravens feed, ■• Practices, i. e. treacherous devices. * Place here signifies a seat, a mansion, a residence : it is not yet obsolete in this sense. ® i. e. blood turned out of a course of nature. Affections alienated. sc. III. AS YOU LIKE IT. 30 Yea, providently caters for the sparrow^, Be comfort to my age ! Here is the gold ; All this I give you : Let me be youx servant ; Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty : For in my youth I never did apply Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood ; Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo The means of weakness and debility ; Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, Frosty, but kindly : let me go with you ; I'll do the service of a younger man In all your business and necessities. Orl. O good old man ; how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, not for meed ! Thou art not for the fashion of these times, Where none will sweat, but for promotion ; And having that, do choke their service up Even with the having^ : it is not so with thee. But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree, That cannot so much as a blossom yield. In lieu of 9 all thy pains and husbandry : But come thy ways, we'll go along together ; And ere we have thy youthful wages spent, We'll light upon some settled low content. Adam. Master, go on, and I will follow thee, To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty. — From seventeen '° years till now almost fourscore Here lived I, but now live here no more. At seventeen ^° years many their fortunes seek; '' See St. Luke, xii. 6 and 24. * Do choke their service up even with the having. Even with the promotion gained by service is service extinguished. ^ In lieu of, i. e. in return for. See note on The Two Gentle- men of Verona, Act ii. Sc. 7. '" The old copies read seventy, an ob\4ous en'or. Rowe made the necessary corrections. m AS YOU LIKE IT. ACT il. But at fourscore, it is too late a week : Yet fortune cannot recompense me better, Than to die well, and not my master's debtor. £^Exeunt. Scene IV. T//e Forest o/" Arden. Enter RosALiNo/or Ganymede, Celia ^>• Aliena, and Clown, alias Touchstone. Ros. O Jupiter ! how weary ^ are my spirits ! Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary. Ros. I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's apparel, and to cry like a woman : but I must com- fort the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat: therefore, courage, good Aliena. Cel. I pray you, bear with me ; I can - go no further. Touch. For my part, I had rather bear A\ith you, than bear you; yet I shoidd bear no cross^, if I did bear you ; for, I think, you have no money in your piu-se. Bos. Well, this is the forest of Arden. Touch. Ay, now am I in Arden : the more fool I : when I was at home, I was in a better place ; but tra- vellers must be content. Ros. Ay, be so, good Touchstone : — Look you, who comes here ; a young man, and an old, in solemn talk. Enter CoRiN aiid Silvius. Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you still. Sil. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her! Car. I partly guess ; for I have lov'd ere now. • The old copy reads merry, an easy mistake for weary, -which the context shows to be the word required. Theobald corrected it. ^ The first folio has cannot, it was corrected in the second folio. ' A cross was a piece of money stamped \vith a cross ; on this Sliakespeme often makes his comic characters quibble. SC. IV. AS YOU LIKE IT. 35 Sil. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess ; Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow : But if thy love were ever like to mine, (As sure I think did never man love so), How many actions most ridiculous Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy ? Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten. Sil. O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily : If thou remember' St not the slightest folly That ever love did make thee run into. Thou hast not lov'd : Or if thou hast not sat as I do now. Wearing"* thy hearer in thy mistress' praise, Thou hast not lov'd : Or if thou hast not broke from company. Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, Thou hast not lov'd : Phebe, Phebe, Phebe ! llJxit Silvius. Eos. Alas, poor shepherd ! searching of thy wound ^, 1 have by hard adventure found mine own. Touch. And I mine : I remember, when I was in love, I broke my sword upon a stone, and bid him take that for coming anight to Jane Smile : and I remem- ber the kissing of her batlet*^, and the cow's dugs that her pretty chopp'd hands had milk'd : and I remem- ber the wooing of a peascod^ instead of her ; from whom I took two cods, and giving her them again, said, with weeping tears. Wear these for mij sake. We, that are true lovers, run into strange capers : but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal** in folly. ■* Thus the second folio ; the first has wearying. ^ The first folio prints they would; the second, thmr wound. ^ Batlet, the instrument with which washers beat clothes. ' A peascod. This was the ancient term for peas growing or gathereil, the cod being what we now call the pod. 8 In the middle counties they use mortal as a particle of am- Sfi AS YOU LIKE IT, act ir. Itos. Thou speak' st wiser than thou art 'ware of.^ Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be 'ware of mine own wit, till I break my shins against it. Ros, Jove ! Jove ! this shepherd's passion Is much upon my fashion. Touch. And mine ; but it grows something stale ^\'ith me. Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond man, If he for gold will give us any food ; I faint almost to death. Touch. Holla ; you, clown ! Ros. Peace, fool : he's not thy kinsman. Cm: WhocaUs? Touch. Your betters, sir. Cor. Else are they very wretched. Ros. Peace, I say : — Good even to you, friend. C(yr. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. Ros. I pr'ythee, shepherd, if that love, or gold. Can in this desert place buy entertainment. Bring us where we may rest ourselves, and feed. Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd, And faints for succour. Cor. Fair sir, I pity her. And wish for her sake, more than for mine own, My fortunes were more able to relieve her : But I am shepherd to another man. And do not shear the fleeces that I graze ; IMy master is of churlish disposition, And little recks ^° to find the way to heaven plification, as mortal tall, mortal little. So the meaning here may 1)6, " so is all nature in love, abounding in folly." An equivoque is intended. ^ Perhaps Eosalind takes the Clo-mi's equivoque seriously, and lias in her mind that possession is the grave of love, which ex- pires in its own folly. '" Liith recks, i. e. little heeds, or cares for. So in Hamlet : — " And recks not his own rode." SC. IV. AS YOU LIKE IT. 37 By doing deeds of hospitality. Besides, his cote'^, his flocks, and bounds of feed. Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now, By reason of his absence, there is nothing That you will feed on : but what is, come see. And in my voice ^- most welcome shall you be. Hos. What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture? Cor. That young swain that you saw here but ere- while. That little cares for buying any thing. Eos. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock, And thou shalt have to pay for it of us. Cel. And we will mend thy wages. I like this place. And willingly could waste my time in it. Cor. Assuredly, the thing is to be sold : Go with me : if you like, upon report. The soil, the profit, and this kind of life, I will your very faithful feeder be. And buy it with your gold right suddenly, \_Exeunt. Scene V. The same. Enter Amiens, Jaques, and others. Song. Ami. Under the greenwood tree, W/w loves to lie with me. And turn'^ his merry note Unto the sweet bird's tJiroat, " Cote, i.e. cot or cottage; the word is still used in its com- pound form, as sheepcote in the next line. '^ Jn my voice, i. e. as far as I have a voice, as far as I have the power to bid you welcome. *^And turne his merry note, Pope altered unnecessarily to tune, the reading of all the modern editions. That the old copy was right appears from the following line in Hall's Satires, B. vi. S. 1 : — " While threadbare Martial turns his merry note." iir. E /ao/gnflQ 38 AS YOU LIKE IT. act ii. Come hither^ come /lit/ier, come hither: Here shall he see No enemy ^ But winter and rough weather. Jaq. More, more, I pr'ythee, more. Ami. It Avill make you melancholy, monsieur Jaques. Jaq. I thank it. JMore, I pr'ythee, more. I can suck melancholy out of a song, as a weazel sucks eggs : More ! I pr'ythee, more. Ami. My voice is ragged 2; I know, I cannot please you. Jaq. I do not desire you to please me, I do desire you to sing : Come, more ; another stanza : Call you them stanzas? Ami. What you will, monsieur Jaques. Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names; they OAve me nothing^ : Will you sing? Ami. JVIore at your request, than to please myself. Jaq. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you : hut that they call compliment is like the en- counter of two dog-apes ; and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks, I have given him a penny, and he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will not, hold your tongues. Ami. Well, I'll end the song. — Sirs, cover the while ; the duke will drink under this tree ! — he hath been all this day to look you. Jaq. And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is too disputable* for my company : I think of as "^ Ragged and rugged, or rough, had formerly the same meaning. So in Nashe's Apology of Pierce Penuilesse, 1 593. " I would trot a false gallop throiigh the rest of his ragged verses." ^ Nay, I care not for their names; they oice me nothing. Mr. Caldecott supposed that there -was an allusion intended to the words nomina facere, a legal term of the Roman Law. ^ Disputable, i. e. disputatious. The active form for the passive - was also sometimes in use. sc. V. AS YOU LIKE IT. .39 many matters as he ; but I give heaven thanks, and make no boast of them. Come, warble, come. Song. W/w doth ambition shun, QAll together here. And loves to live i' the sun, Seeking the food he eats, And pleas' d with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither ; Here shall he see No enemy. But winter and rough weather. Jaq. I'll give you a Averse to this note, that I made yesterday in despite of my invention. Ami. And I'll sing it. Jaq. Thus it goes : If it do come to pass. That any man turn ass. Leaving his wealth and ease, A stuhbm-n will to please, Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame^ ; Here shall he see. Gross fools as lie. An if he will come to me. Ami. What's that (/Mco'^me ? Jaq. 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle. I'll go sleep if I can ; if I cannot, I'll rail against all the first-born of Egypt ^. ^ Sir Thomas Hanmer reads due ad me, i. e. hrivg him to me. There have been other attempts to explain it as a crj' of a country dame to call her ducks ; but it is evidently the burden of an old song, and answers to the " come hither " of the preceding stanza. It must for the rhyme be read, Ducdkmd Wr. Halliwell has discovered it in the Rawlinson MS. of The Vision of Piers Plouhman, v. Shakespeare Society's Papers, Vil. i. p. 109. * The firstborn of Egypt, a proverbial expression for hiijhhorn persons. 40 AS YOU LIKE IT. ACT ii. Ami. And I'll go seek the duke ; his banquet is prepaid. [_£Jxeunt severally/. Scene VI. The same. Enter Orlando and Adam. Adam. Dear master, I can go no further : O, I die for food ! Here lie I down, and measure out my grave ^. Farewell, kind master. Orl. Why, how now, Adam ! no greater heart in thee ? Live a little ; comfort a little ; cheer thyself a little : If this uncouth forest yield any thing savage, I will either be food for it, or bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers. For my sake, be comfortable ; hold death awhile at the arm's end : I will here be with thee presently ; and if I bring thee not something to eat, I'U give thee leave to die : but if thou diest before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said '^! thou look'st cheerly : and I'll be with thee quickly. — Yet thou liest in the bleak air : Come, I will bear thee to some shelter ; and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live any thing in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam ! \_Exeunt. Scene VII. The same. A Table set out. Enter Duke senior^ Amiens, Lords, and others. Duke S. I think he be transform'd into a beast ; For I can no where find him like a man. 1 Lord. My lord, he is but even now gone hence : Here was he merry, hearing of a song. ' So in Romeo and Juliet : — " Fall upon the ground, as I do now, Taking the measure of an unmade grave," "^ Well said ! a cuiTent old idiom for well done. sc. VII. AS YOU LIKE IT. 41 Duke S. If he, compact of jars \ grow musical, We shall have shortly discord in the spheres. — Go, seek him ; tell him, I would speak with him. Bnter Jaques. 1 Lard. He saves my labour by his own approach. Duke S. Why, how now, monsieur ! what a life is this, That your poor friends must woo your company ! What ! you look merrily. Jaq. A fool, a fool ! 1 met a fool i' the forest, A motley fool ; — a miserable world ! As I do live by food, I met a fool ; Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun, And rail'd on lady Fortune in good terms. In good set terms, — and yet a motley fool. Good-morroip, fool, quoth I : No, sir, quoth he, Call me not fool, till heaven hath sent me fortune^: And then he drew a dial from his poke ; And looking on it with lack-lustre eye. Says, very wisely. It is ten o'clock : Thus we may see, quoth he, how the world wags : 'Tis but an hour ago, since it was nine ; And after one hour more, 'twill be eleven ; And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe. And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot. And thereby hangs a tale. When I did hear The motley fool thus moral on the time, My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, That fools should be so deep-contemplative ; And I did laugh, sans intermission, An hour by his dial. — O noble fool ! A worthy fool ! Motley's the only wear^. ' Compact of jars, i. e. made tip of discords. In the Comedy of Errors we have " compact of credit," for, made up of credulity. * Alluding to the proverb, Furtuna favet fatuis, "Fools have fortune." 3 3Iotley; the fool was anciently di-essed in a. party-cohurcd coat. 42 AS YOU LIKE IT. ACT II. Duke S. What fool is this ? Jag. O worthy fool ! — One that hath been a cour- tier ; And says, if ladies be but young, and fair, They have the gift to know it : and in his brain, — Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit* After a voyage, — he hath strange places cramm'd With observation, the which he vents In mangled forms : — O, that I were a fool ! I am ambitious for a motley coat. Duke S. Thou shalt have one. Jaq. It is my only suit^; Provided, that you weed your better judgments Of all opinion that grows rank in them, That I am wise. I must have liberty Withal, as large a charter as the wind^, To blow on whom I please ; for so fools have : And they that are most galled with my folly, They most must laugh : And why, sir, must they so ? The itky is plain as way to parish church : He, that a fool doth very wisely hit. Doth very foolishly, although he smart, 7 Not to seem senseless of the bob : if not, * So in Ben Jonson's Every Man out of his Humour: — " And now and then breaks a dry biscuit jest, Which, that it may more easily be chew'd. He steeps in his owti laughter." * 3Ii/ only suit, a quibble between petition and dress is here in- tended. So in Act V. " Not out of your apparel, but out of your suit." ^ In Henry V. we have : — " The wind, that charter'd libertine, is still." '' The old copies read only, seem senseless, Sec. not to were sup- plied by Theobald. I am not quite satisfied with this reading. The clashing of. not to at the beginning, and if not at the end of the line, rather makes against it. Mr. Whiter thought the old reading might stand, if thus pointed : — " He that a fool doth very wisely hit Doth, very foolishlj' although he smart, Seem senseless of the bob." sc. VII. AS YOU LIKE IT. 43 The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd Even by the squand'ring glances of the fool. Invest me in my motley ; give me leave To speak my mind, and I will through and through Cleanse the foul body of the infected AvorhP, If they will patiently receive my medicine. Duke S. Fye on thee ! I can tell what thou wouldst do. Jaq. What, for a counter^, would I do, but good ? Duke S. ]\Iost mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin : For thou thyself hast been a libertine. As sensual as the brutish sting ^° itself; And all the embossed sores, and headed evils. That thou with license of free foot hast caught, Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world. Jaq. Why, who cries out on pride, That can therein tax any private party ? Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea, Till that the wearer's very means do ebb ' ' ? * So in Macbeth : — " Cleanse the stufTd bosom of that perilous stuff." ^ About the time when this play was written, the French counters, i. e. (pieces of false money used as a means of reckoning) were brought into use in England. They are again mentioned in Troilus and Cressida, and in The Winter's Tale. '" So in Spenser's Faerie Queene, b. i. c. xii. — " A herd of bulls whom kindly rage doth sting." Again, b. ii. c. xii. — " As if that hunger's point or Venus' sting Had them enrag'd." And in Othello : — " Our carnal stings, our unbitted lusts." ' ' Till that the wearer's very means do ebb. The old copies have : — " Till that the wearie verie meanes do ebbe." Pope altered it to " very very means do ebb ; " a reading which though sufficiently flat has been pretty generally adopted. There can be no doubt that the compositor's eye caught the tennination ie instead of er's from the succeeding Avord verie. The context relating to costly finery manifests that this was the poet's word. And this passage I trust -will not be again obscured by the sense- less weary or the substituted very of Fope. 44 AS YOU LIKE IT. ACT il. What woman in the city do I name, When that I say, The city-woman bears The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders ? Who can come in, and say, that I mean her, When such a one as she, such is her neighbour ? Or what is he of basest function, That says, his bra\'eryi^ is not on my cost, (Thinking that I mean him), but therein suits His folly to the mettle of my speech ? There then'^, how then, what then? Let me see wherein IMv tongue hath uTong'd him : if it do him right. Then he hath WTong'd himself ; if he be free, Why then, my taxing like a Avild goose flies, Unclaim'd of any man. — But who comes here ? Enter Orlando, vsitli his sword drawn. Orl. Forbear, and eat no more. Jaq. Why, I have eat none yet. Orl. Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv'd. Jaq. Of what kind should this cock come of ? Duke S. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy dis- tress ; Or else a rude despiser of good manners. That in civility thou seem'st so empty ? Orl. You touch'd my vein at first ; the thorny point Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show Of smooth civility : yet am I inland bred, '^ And know some nurture : But forbear, I say ; He dies, that touches any of this fruit, '* Bravery, i.e. finerij. '^ I think -Nvith Malone that we should read, WJiere then, in- stead of There then. So in Othello : — " What then ? How then ? JlHtere's satisfaction ? " ^* Inland here, and elsewhere in this play, is the opposite to outland or upland. Thus in Tales and Quicke Answeres, Tale xii. " An uplandysshe man, nourysshed in the woodes, came on a tyrae to the citie." He is afterwards called " a ninill man," and " a villayne." Orlando means to say that he had nut been bred among SC. VII. AS YOU LIKE IT, 46 Till I and my affairs are answered. Jaq. An you will not be answered with reason, I must die. Duke S. What would you have ? Your gentleness shall force, More than your force move us to gentleness. Orl. I almost die for food, and let me have it. Duke S. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table. Or/. Speak you so gently ? Pardon me, I pray you : I thought, that all things had been savage here ; And therefore put I on the countenance Of stern commandment : But whate'er you are, That in this desert inaccessible '^, Under the shade of melancholy boughs, Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time ; If ever you have look'd on better days. If ever been where bells have knoU'd to church ; If ever sat at any good man's feast ; If ever from your eye-lids wip'd a tear. And know what 'tis to pity, and be pitied ; Let gentleness my strong enforcement be : In the which hope, I blush, and hide my sword. Duke S. True is it that we have seen better days ; And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church : And sat at good men's feasts ; and wip'd our eyes Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd : And therefore sit you down in gentleness, And take upon command ^^ what help we have, clowns. Nurture is education, breeding, manners. " It is a point of nouriour or good innnners to salute them that you meete." Ur- banitas est salulare ohvios." Buret's Alvearie, 1573. And again : " She is a jnaner/y maide and well nourtured." Ibid, in voce maner. '* This desert inaccessible. So in The Adventures of Simonides, l>3' Bamabe Riche, 1580: " and onely acquainted himself"? with this unaccessible desert." '* And take upon command, i. e. at rjour command. Orlando had before said, " And therefore put I ou the couutenauce of stern commandment." 46 AS YOU LIKE IT. act ii. That to your wanting may be ministered. Orl. Then, but forbear your food a little while, Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn, And give it food^^. There is an old poor man, Who after me hath many a weary step Limp'd in pure love : till he be first suffic'd, — Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger, — I will not touch a bit. Duke S. Go find him out. And we will nothing waste till you return. Orl. I thank ye ; and be bless'd for your good com- fort ! \_Exit. Duhe S. Thou seest, we are not all alone unhappy : This wide and universal theatre Presents more woful pageants than the scene Wherein we play in^*^. Jaq. All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players : They have their exits, and their entrances ; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages ^9. At first, the infant, " So in Venus and Adonis : — " Like a milch resently distill' d Helens cheek, but not her ^^ heai-t ; Cleopatra's majesty ; '^ The word a is not in the old copy, it was added by Pope. Tyi-whitt proposed, and Steevens reads : — " Why should this desert silent be ? " observing that tlie hanging of tongues on every tree would not make it less a desert ? '* Civil here means grave, moral sentences. This desert shall not appear unpeopled, for every tree shall teach the maxims or incidents of social life. '5 In little, i. e. ire miniature. So in Hamlet : " a hundred ducats apiece for his picture in little. '* The hint is probably taken from the picture of Apelles, or the Pandora of the Ancients. '^ The folios absurdly print "his heart," and in a futme srone as absurdly her for his. These errors have evidently arisen from mistaking the wi-iting of the MS. sc. II. AS YOU LIKE IT. 57 A talantas better part ' ^ ; Sad Liicretia's modesti/. Thus Rosalind of many parts By heavenly synod was devis'd j Of many /aces, eyes, and hearts. To have the touches dearest priz'd. Heaven would that she these gifts should have. And I to live and die her slave. Ros. O most gentle Jupiter ! — what tedious homily of love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cry'd, Have patience, good people ! Cel. How now ! back, friends; — Shepherd, go off a little : — Go with him, sirrah. Touch. Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat ; though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage^^. [^Exeunt Corin and Touchstone. Cel. Didst thou hear these verses ? Ros. O, yes, I heard them all, and more too ; for some of them had in them more feet than the verses would bear. '^ There is a great diversity of opinion among the commenta- tors about what is meant by the better part of Atalanta. It was her grace and beauty and agility, without her infamy. Helen's cheek without her unfaithful heart ; Cleopatra's majesty without her intrigues ; Lucretia's modesty, not her sadness and ill-fortune. There is a veiy ingenious disquisitiou on this passage in Mr. Whiter's Specimen of a Commentary on Shakespeare, in which he concludes thus, " Such then are the wishes of the lover in the formation of his mistress, that the ripe and brilliant beauties of Helen should be united with the elegant symmetrj' and virgin graces of Atalanta ; and that this imion of charms should be still dignifled and ennobled by the majestic mien of Cleopatra, and the matron majesty of Lucretia." VVhalley thinks the following old Epitaph may have suggested it : — " She who is dead and sleepeth in this tomb Had Kachel's comely face, and Leah's fruitful womb, Sarah's obedience, Lydia's open heart, And jVIartha's care, and Mary's better part." '^ Scrip, i. e. a small sack for scraps. 68 AS YOU LIKE IT. ACT in. Cel. That's no matter; the feet might bear the verses. Bos. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear themselves without the verse, and therefore stood lamely in the verse. Cel. But didst thou hear, without wondering how thy name should be hang'dand carv'd upon these trees? Bos. I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder, before you came ; for look here what I found on a palm-tree -° : I was never so be-rhymed since Pytha- goras' time, that I was an Irish rat-*, which I can hardly remember. Cel. Trow you, who hath done this ? Bos. Is it a man ? Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck : Change you colour ? Bos. I pr'ythee, who ? Cel. O lord, lord ! it is a hard matter for friends to meet ; but mountains may be removed with earth- quakes, and so encounter^-. Bos. Nay, but who is it ? Cel. Is it possible ? Bos. Naj', I pr'ythee now, with most petitionary vehemence, tell me Avho it is. ^ Steevens remarks that a palm tree in the forest of Arden is as much out of its place as the lioness in a subsequent scene. ^' / was never so he-rhijmed since Pythagoras' time, that I was an Jri^h rat. This fanciful idea probably arose from some metrical charm or incantation used in Ireland for ridding houses of rats. We find it mentioned by Ben Jonson, Randolph, and Marmion. Thus in the Poetaster : — " Rhime them to death, as they do Irish rats In drumming tunes." ^- Alluding ironically to the proverb: — " Friends may meet, but mountains never greet." In Holland's translation of Pliny, Shakespeare found that " Two hills (removed by an earthquake) encountered together, charging as it were and vnih violence assaulting one another, and retjTing again with a most mighty noise." sc. n. AS YOU LIKE IT. 59 C'el. O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful ! and yet again wonderful, and after that out of all whooping"-' ! Ros. Good my complexion "* ! dost thou think, though I am caparison'd like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my disposition ? One inch of delay more is a South-sea of discovery ^^. I pr'ythee, tell me, who is it ? quickly, and speak apace : I would thou couldst stammer, that thou might'st pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow- mouth'd bottle ; either too much at once, or none at all. I pr'ythee take the cork out of thy mouth, that I may drink thy tidings. Cel. So you may put a man in your belly. Ros. Is he of God's making? What manner of man ? Is his head Avorth a hat, or his chin worth a beard ? Cel. Nay, he hath but a little beard. Ros. Why, God will send more, if the man will be thankful : let me stay the growth of his beard, if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin. Cel. It is young Orlando ; that tripp'd up the wrestler's heels, and your heart, both in an instant. ^•' To irhoop or hoop is to cry out, to exclaim with astonishment. So in K. Henry V. Act ii. Sc. 2 :— " That admiration did not whoop at them." Out of all cry seems to have been a similar plirase for the ex- pression of vehement admiration. ^^ Good my complexion ! This singular phrase was probably only a little unmeaning exclamation similar to Goodness me ! good heart ! or good now ! but her exclamation implies that this delay did not suit that female impatience which belonged to her sex and disposition. '" A. South-sen of discovery, i.e. a discovery as comprehensive as the South Sea, which being the largest in the world, gives room for conjecture as extensive, or it may be as tedious as such a voyage of discovery would be. Warburton's conjectm-e that we should read " a South-sea off discoveiy," deserves attention ; a discovery as far off as if it were to be made in the South Soa, where great discoveries were then looked for. 60 AS YOU LIKE IT. act in, Ros. Nay, but the devil take mocking ; speak sad brow, and true maid-^. Cd. I'faitli, coz, 'tis he. Ros, Orlando ? Cel, Orlando. Ros. Alas the day ! what shall I do with my doublet and hose? — What did he, when thou saw'st him? What said he? How look'd he ? Wherein went he ^^ ? What makes he here ? Did he ask for me ? Where remains he ? How parted he with thee ? and when shalt thou see him again ? Answer me in one word. Cel. You must borrow me Garagantua's-*^ mouth first : 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this age's size : To say, ay, and no, to these particulars, is more than to answer in a catechism. Ros. But doth he know that I am in this forest, and in man's apparel ? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he "\\Testled ? Cel. It is as easy to count atomies ^9, as to resolve the propositions of a lover : — but take a taste of my finding him, and relish it with good observance. I found him under a tree, like a dropp'd acorn. Ros. It may Avell be call'd Jove's tree, when it drops such fruit ^ Cel. Give me audience, good madam. Ros. Proceed. Cel. There lay he, stretch'd along, like a ^^•ounded knight. '""' Speak sad brow, and true maid. Speak senmisly and honestly ; or iu other words, " speak -with a serious countenauce, and as irHli/ as thou art a virgin." -' Wherein went he, i. e. how was he dressed? '* Garagantua. The giant of Rabelais, who swallowed five pilgrims, their staves and all in a salad. ^ jin atomie is a mote flying in the sunne. Any thing so small that it cannot be made lesse. Bidlokar's English Expositor, 1616. ^ The first folio has " drops /brt/i fruit." The second adds the word such, but it is most probable that forth was a misprint for that word. SC. Ti. AS YOU LIKE IT. Gl Bos. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes the ground. Cel. Cry, holla ^° ! to thy tongue, I pr'ythee ; it cur- vets unseasonably. He was furnish'd like a hunter. Hos. O ominous ! he comes to kill my heart ^^ Cel. I would sing my song without a burden : thou bring'st me out of tune. Ros. Do you not know I am a woman ? when I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on. Enter Ohlando and Jaques. Cel. You bring me out : — Soft ! comes he not here? Ros. 'Tis he ; slink by, and note him. [^Celia and Rosalind retire. Jaq. I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as lief have been myself alone. Orl. And so had I ; but yet, for fashion's sake, I thank you too for your society. Jaq. God be with you ; let's meet as little as we can. Orl. I do desire we may be better strangers. Jaq. I pray you, mar no more trees with writing love-songs in their barks. Orl. I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading them ill-favouredly. Jaq. Rosalind is your love's name ? Orl. Yes, just. Jaq. I do not like her name. Or/. There was no thought of pleasing you, when she was christen'd. Jaq. What stature is she of? ^^ Holla ! This was a term of the manage, by ^vhic■h the rider restrained and stopped his horse. So in Venus and Adonis : — " What recketh he his rider's angry stir His flattering holla, or his stand I say," And in Cotton's Wonders of the Peak : — " But I must give my muse the holla theie." The folios misprint " the tongue," instead of thy. ^' A quibble between hart and heart, then sjielt the same. III. G G2 AS YOU LIKE IT. act hi. Orl. Just as high as my heart. Jnq. You are full of pretty answers : Have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths' \vives, and coun'd them out of rings ? Orl. Not so ; but I answer you right painted cloth 3", from whence you have studied your questions. Jaq. You have a nimble ^vit ; I think it was made of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me ? and we two will rail against our mistress the world, and all our misery. Orl. I vnM chide no breather in the world, but my- self ; against whom I know most faults. Jaq. The worst fault you have, is to be in love. Orl. 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best vir- tue. I am weary of you. Jaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool, when I found you. Orl. He is drown'd in the brook ; look but in, and you shall see him. '- To answer right painted doth, is to answer sententiously. We slill say she talks right Billingsgate. Painted doth was a species of hangings for the walls of rooms, which has generally been supposed and explained to mean tapestry; but was really doth or canvass painted ^\•ith various devices and mottos. The verses, mottos, and proverbial sentences on such cloths are often made the subject of allusion in our old writers. " Mayster Thomas More, in hys youth, de\-j-sed in hys father's house in London, a goodly han"g}-ng oi fyne'paynted dothe, -vvith njTie pageauntes, and verses over every of these pageauntes." These verses I incoqw- rated with the Appendix to the last edition of Roper's Life of More, 1822. So in the old comedy, A Match at Midnight, 1633 : — " There's a witty posy for you. Xo, no, ni have one shall savoiur of a saw. — Why then it will smell of the painted doth." Shakespeare again mentions it in Tarquin and Lucrece : — " \\Tio fears a sentence or an old man's saw Shall by a painted doth be kept in awe." The old Council House at St. ]Mary"s Hall in Coventry, exhibited, till 1812, a very perfect specimen of these painted doth hangings, of the reign of Elizabeth ; being much decayed they were then removed, but aie still preserved. EC. II. AS YOU LIKE IT. 63 Jaq. There I shall see mine own figure. Orl. Which I take to be either a fool, or a cipher. Jaq. I'll tarry no longer with you : farewell, good signior love. Orl. I am glad of your departure ; adieu, good mon- sieur melancholy. \_Exit Jaq. — Cbl. and Ros. come forward. Ros. \jiside to Cel.~\ I will speak to him like a saucy lacquey, and under that habit play the knave wth him. — \_To him.~\ Do you hear, forester ? Orl. Very well ; what would you ? Ros. I pray you, what is't o'clock ? Orl. You should ask me, what time o'day ; there's no clock in the forest. Ros. Then there is no true lover in the forest ; else sighing every minute, and groaning every hour, would detect the lazy foot of time, as well as a clock. Orl. And why not the swift foot of time ? had not that been as proper ? Ros. By no means, sir : Time travels in divers paces with divers persons : I'll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time trots withal, who time gallops with- al, and who he stands still withal. Orl. I pr'ythee, who doth he trot withal ? Ros. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid, be- tween the contract of her marriage, and the day it is solemnized : if the interim be but a sennight, time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven years. Oii. Who ambles Time withal ? Ros. With a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich man that hath not the gout ; for the one sleeps easily, be- cause he cannot study ; and the other lives merrily, because he feels no pain : the one lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning ; the other knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury : These Time ambles withal. G4 AS YOU LIKE IT. ACT III. Orl, Who doth he gallop withal ? Ros. With a thief to the gallows : for though he go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there. Orl. Who stays it still withal ? Ros. With lawyers in the vacation : for they sleep between term and term, and then they perceive not how time moves. Orl. Where dAvell you, pretty youth ? Ros. With this shepherdess, my sister ; here in the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat. Orl. Are you native of this place ? Ros. As the coney that you see dwell where she is kindled. Orl. Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in so removed a dwelling ^^. Ros. I have been told so of many : but, indeed, an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an in-land^* man ; one that knew courtship ^^ too well, for there he fell in love. I have heard him read many lectures against it, and I thank God, I am not a woman, to be touch'd with so many giddy offences as he hath generally tax'd their whole sex withal. Orl. Can you remember any of the principal evils that he laid to the charge of women ? Ros. There were none principal ; they ^vere all like one another, as half-pence are ; every one fault seem- ing monstrous, till his fellow fault came to match it. Orl. I pr'ythee, recount some of them. Ros. No ; I will not cast away my physick, but on ■''' Than you could purchase in so removed a dwelling, i. e. than you could acquire in such a sequestered place. ^' In-land, i. e. civilized. See note on Act ii. Sc. 7. ^^ Courtship is here used for courtly behaviour, courtlership. See Romeo and Juliet, Act iii. Sc. 3. The context shows that this is the sense : — " for there he fell in love : " i. e. at court. so. ir. AS YOU LIKE IT. Go those that are sick. There is a man haunts the forest, that abuses our young plants with carving Rosalind on their barks ; hangs odes upon hawthorns, and ele- gies on brambles ; all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind : if I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him. Orl. I am he that is so love-shaked ; I pray you, tell me your remedy. Ros. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you : he taught me how to know a man in love ; in which cage of rushes, I am sure, you are not prisoner. Orl. What were his marks ? Ros. A lean cheek ; which you have not : a bluj eye^^, and sunken ; which you have not : an unques- tionable spirit ^^ ; which you have not : a beard neg- lected ; which you have not ; — but I pardon you for that ; for, simply, your having''^ in beard is a younger brother's revenue. — Then your hose should be un- garter'd, your bonnet unhanded, your sleeve unbut- toned, your shoe untied, and every thing about you demonstrating a careless desolation^. But you are ^® A blue eye and sunken, i. e. a hlueneis about the eyes, an evi- dence of anxiety and dejection. ^"^ An unquestionable spirit, i. e. a spirit averse to conversation. Shakespeare often uses question for discourse, conversation, as in the next scene : " I met the duke yesterday, and had mucli question with him." ■"' Having is possession, fortune. As in Macbeth — " Of noble havir.y and of royal hope." ^^ These seem to have been the established and characteristical marks of a lover in Shakespeare's time. So in a Pleasant Comedy how to choose a Good Wife from a Bad, 1602 :— " I was ouce like thee A sigher, melancholy humorist. Grosser of anns, a goer without garters, A hat-band hater, and a busk point wearer." The same marks of "careless desolation" are specified in The Fair Maid of the Exchange, by Ileywood. G 2 G6 AS YOU LIKE IT. ACT in. no sucli man ; you are rather point-device *° in your accoutrements ; as loving yourself, than seeming the lover of any other. Orl. Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love. Bos. INIe believe it ! you may as soon make her that you love believe it ; which, I warrant, she is apter to do, than to confess she does : that is one of the points in the which women still give the lie to their consci- ences. But, in good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind is so admired? Orl. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he. Ros. But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak ? Orl. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much. Ros. Love is merely a madness ; and, I tell you, de- serves as well a dark house and a whip, as madmen do : and the reason why they are not so punished and cured, is, that the lunacy is so ordinary, that the whip- pers are in love too : Yet I profess curing it by counsel. Orl. Did you ever cure any so ? Ros. Yes, one ; and in this manner. He was to imagine me his love, his mistress ; and I set him every day to woo me : At which time woidd I, being but a moonish*^ youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing, and liking ; proud, fantastical, apish, shal- low, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles ; for every passion something, and for no passion truly any thing, as boys and women are for the most part cattle of this colour : would now like him, now loathe him ; then entertain him, then forswear him ; now weep for '"' Point-device, i. e. precise, exact ; drest with ^finical nicety. See Twelfth Night, Act ii. So. 5. *' Moonish, that is, as changeable as the vioon. sc. II. AS YOU LIKE IT. G7 him, then spit at him ; that I drave my suitor from his mad humour of love, to a living humour of mad- ness*^ ; which was, to forswear the full stream of the world, and to live in a nook merely monastick : And thus I cured him ; and this way will I take upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep's heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in't. Orl. I would not be cured, youth. Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind, and come every day to my cote, and woo me. Orl. Now, by the faith of my love, I will : tell me where it is. Ros. Go with me to it, and I'll show it you : and, by the way, you shall tell me where in the forest you live : Will you go ? Orl. With all my heart, good youth. Ros. Nay, you must call me Rosalind : — Come, sister, will you go ? \_Exeunt. Scene III. Enter Touchstone and Audrey^; Jaques at a distance, observing them. Touch. Come apace, good Audrey ; I will fetch up your goats, Audrey : And how, Audrey, am I the man yet ? Doth my simple feature content you ? Aud. Your features ! Lord warrant us ! what fea- tures 2? *• Thus the old copy. Johnson proposed to read " a loving humour of madness," i. e. from a madness that was love, to a love. that was madness. But by a living we must understand a lasting or permanent humour of madness, " to forswear the world and live in a nook," &c. ' Audrey is a corruption of Etheldreda. The saint of that name is so styled in ancient calendars. 2 What features ! Mr. Nares's explanation of this passage is, that " the word feature is too leai-ned for the com prehension of 08 AS YOU LIKE IT. ACT iir. Touch. I am here \\'Ith thee and thy goats, as the most capricious^ poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths. Jaq. O knowledge ill-inhabited^! worse than Jove in a thatch'd house ! \_Aside. Touch. When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a man's good wit seconded with the forward child, understanding, it strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a little room^ : — Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical. Aud. I do not know what poetical is : Is it honest in deed, and word ? Is it a true thing ? Touch. No, truly ; for the truest poetry is the most feigning ; and lovers are given to poetry ; and what they swear in poetry, may be said, as lovers, they do feign. Aud. Do you wish then, that the gods had made me poetical ? Touch. I do, truly : for thou swear' st to me thou art honest ; now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope thou didst feign. Aud. Would you not have me honest? Audrey," aud she reiterates it with simple wonder. Feature and features were then used indiscriminately for the proportion and figure of the whole body. Vide Two Gentlemen of Verona,p. 135. ■' Shakespeare remembered that caper was Latin fur a goaf, and thence chose this epithet. There is also a quibble between goafs and goths. ■* Ill-inhnh'ited, i. e. ill-lodged. The allusion is to the storj- of Baucis aud Philemon. See Much Ado about Nothing, Act ii. So. l * A great reckoning in a little room. Warburton with his usual ingenuity, has found out a reference to the saying of Rabelais, that " there was only one quarter of an hour in human life passed ill, and that was between the calling for a reckoning and the paying it." Tavern jollity is interrupted by the coming in of a great reckoning, and there seems a sly insinuation that it could not be escaped from in a little room. There is much humoiur in comparing the blank countenance of a disappointed poet or wit, whose effusions have not been comprehended, to that of the re- veller who has to pay largely for his carousing. SC. III. AS YOU LIKE IT. 69 Touch. No truly, unless thou wert hard favour'd : for honesty coupled to beauty, is to have honey a sauce to sugar, Jaq. A material fool^! \_Aside. Aud. Well, I am not fair ; and therefore I pray the gods make me honest ! Touch. Tridy, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut, were to put good meat into an unclean dish. Aud. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul^. Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness ! sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may be, I will marry thee : and to that end, I have been with Sir Oliver Mar-text, the vicar of the next vil- lage ; who hath promised to meet me in this place of the forest, and to couple us. Jaq. I would fain see this meeting. [_Aside. Aud. Well, the gods give us joy ! Touch. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fear- ful heart, stagger in this attempt ; for here we have no temple but the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. But what though ? Courage ! As horns are odious, they are necessary. It is said, — JMany a man knows no end of his goods : right ; many a man has good horns, and knows no end of them. Well, that is the dowry of his wife ; 'tis none of his o%vn getting. Horns ! never for poor men alone ? No^, no ; the * A material fool, is a fool will) matter in him. ^ / thank the gods I am foul. The humour of this passage has, I think, been missed by the commentators. Audrey, in the sim- plicity of her heart here " thanks the gods amiss ;" mistaking foulness for some notable virtue, or commendable quality. But indeed foul was anciently used in opposition to fair, the one sig- nifying homely, the other handsome. Audrey may therefore only mean to say that she is not a slut, though she thanks the gods she is homely. See Wilbraham's Cheshire Glossarj', v. foul. ^ The old copy reads, " Homes, euen so poore men alone," which former editors have attempted to make intelligible by strange li- 70 AS YOU LIKE IT. ACT iii. noblest deer hath them as huge as the rascal 9. Is the single man therefore blessed ? No : as a waU'd town is more worthier than a village, so is the fore- head of a married man more honourable than the bare brow of a bachelor: and by how much defence ^° is better than no skill, by so much is a horn more pre- cious than to want. Enter Sir" Oliver Mar-text. Here comes Sir Oliver : — Sir Oliver IMar-text, you are well met : WiU you dispatch us here under this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel ? Sir on. Is there none here to give the woman ? Touch. I will not take her on gift of any man. Sir Oli. Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful. Jaq. \_Discoveritig himself. ~\ Proceed, proceed ; I'll give her. Touch. Good even, good master What ye caU't . How do you, sir ? You are very Avell met : God'ild you ^^ for your last company : I am very glad to see you : — Even a toy in hand here, sir : — Nay ; pray, be cover'd. Jaq. Will you be married, Motley ? Touch. As the ox hath his bow'-^, sir, the horse his berties -with capitals and pointing, thus " Horns ? Even so : — Poor men alone ? — No, no." I prefer, as a less violent innovation, to read, instead of euen Jo, never for ; which makes the passage intelligible and less incoherent. 1851 ^ Lean deer are called rascal deer. '" Defence, i. e. the art of fencing, called the noble art of defence. ' ' Sir Oliver. This title, it has been already observed, was formerly applied to priests and curates in general. See notes on Merry Wives of Windsor, Act i. Sc. 1. '^ God'ild you, i.e. God yield you, God reward you. '^ i. e. his yoke, which, in ancient time, resembled a bow or branching horns. See note on Jlerry Wives of Windsor, Act v. Sc. 5, vol. L p. 303. sc. III. AS YOU LIKE IT. 71 curb, and the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires ; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nibbling. Jaq. And will you, being a man of your breeding, be married under a bush, like a beggar ? Get you to church, and have a good priest that can tell you what marriage is : this fellow will but join you together as they join wainscot ; then one of you will prove a shrunk panel, and, like green timber, warp, warp. Touch. I am not in the mind but I were better to be married of him than of another : for he is not like to marry me well ; and not being well married, it will be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave my wife. \_Aside. Jaq. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee. Touch. Come, sweet Audrey ; We must be married, or we must live in bawdry. Farewell, good master Oliver ! Not — O sweet Oliver, O brave Oliver, ^ Leave me not behind thee : But — wend away,^* Begone, I say, I will not to wedding with thee. [_Exeu7it Jaq. Touch, and Audrey. Sir Oil. 'Tis no matter ; ne'er a fantastical knave of them all shall flout me out of my calling. \_Exit. Scene IV. The same. Before a Cottage. Enter Rosalind and Celia. Ros. Never talk to me, I will weep. '^ The ballad of " sweete Olj-ver, leave me not behind thee," and the answer to it, are entered on the Stationers' books in 1584 and 1586. Touchstone implies that he will sing — not that part of the ballad which says — " Leave me not behind thee ;" but that which says — " Begone, I say," probably part of the answer. The old copies have " wind away," 72 AS YOU LIKE IT. ACT iii. Gel. Do, I pr'ythee ; but yet have the grace to con- sider, that tears do not become a man. Bos. But have I not cause to weep ? Cd. As good cause as one would desire ; therefore weep. Ros. His very hair is of the dissembling colour. Cel. Something browner than Judas's^; marry, his kisses are Judas's own children. Ros. I'faith, his hair is of a good colour. Gel. An excellent colour : your chestnut was ever the only colour. Ros. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of holy bread ^. Cel. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana : a nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religi- ously ; the very ice of chastity is in them^. Ros. But why did he swear he would come this morning, and comes not ? Cel. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him. Ros. Do you think so ? Cel. Yes: I think he is not a pick-purse, nor a horse-stealer : but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as a cover'd goblef*, or a worm-eaten nut. Ros. Not true in love ? Cel. Yes, when he is in ; but, I think he is not in. • It has been already observed, in a note on The MeiTy Wives of Windsor, that Judas was constantly represented in old paint- ings and tapestry -svith red hair and beard. So in The Insatiate Countess : — " I ever thought by his red heard he would prove a Judas." 2 The allusion appears to be to kissing the pax, containing the holy bread or wafer. ^ There is humour in the expression cast lips; which Theo- bald rightly explained left off, as we still say cast clothes. The nun of wiiiter's sisterhood with the very ice of chastity in her lips, needs no explanation. •• This implies that a goblet is covered whe;i empty ; when not so, it is naturally uncovered to drink out of. SC. IV. AS YOU LIKE IT. 73 Eos. You have heard him swear downright, he was. Cel. Was is not is : besides the oath of a lover is no stronger than tlie word of a tapster ; they are both the confirmer of false reckonings : He attends here in the forest on the duke your father. Bos. I met the duke yesterday, and had much ques- tion^ with him. He asked me of what parentage I was; I told him, of as good as he; so he laugh'd, and let me go. But what talk we of fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando ? Cel. O, that's a brave man ! he writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart^ the heart of his lover^; as a puny tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a notable goose ^: but all's brave, that youth mounts, and folly guides : — • Who comes here ? Enter Corin. Cor. INIistress, and master, you have oft inquired After the shepherd that complain'd of love ; Who you saw sitting by me on the turf, Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess ^ Question is conversation. ^ When the tilter by unsteadiness or awkwardness suffered his spear to be turned out of its direction, and to be broken across the body of his adversary, instead of by the push of the point, it was held very disgraceful. Sir Philip Sidney alludes to this in the mock combat of Clinias and Damtetas in the Arcadia ; and in the following verses, " One said he brake across, full well it might so be — " the lover and the tilter are compared ; as the one breaks staves, the other breaks oaths. See Much Ado about Nothing, Act v. Sc. 1. ' Lover, i. e. mistress. So in Measure for Measure : — " Your brother and his lover have embraced." ' The old copies have " like a jioble goose." Sir Thomas Ilan- mer proposed to read " nose-quilled goose," which received some support from Farmer and Steevens. I do not hesitate to read notable instead of noble. The epithet is often used by the poet. III. H 74 AS YOU LIKE IT. act hi. That was his mistress. Cel. Well, and what of him ? Cor. If you will see a pageant truly play'd, Between the pale complexion of true love And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain, Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you, If you wiU mark it. Ros. O, come, let us remove ; The sight of lovers feedeth those in love : — Bring us to this sight, and you shall say I'll prove a busy actor in their play. \_Exeimt. Scene V. Another part of the Forest. Enter Silvius and Phebe. Sil. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me ; do not, Phebe : Say, that you love me not ; but say not so In bitterness. The common executioner. Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard. Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck, But first begs pardon ; Will you sterner be Than he that dies and lives ^ by bloody drops ? Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Corin, at a distance. Phe. I woidd not be thy executioner : I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. Thou teU'st me, there is murder in mine eye : 'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable. That eyes, — that are the frail'st and softest things. Who shut their coward gates on atomies, — ' Steevens thought a quibble was intended, hut I adopt Mus- fcrave's explanation, " To dk and live by a thing, is to be constant to it to the end. Lives does not here signify is maintained, but the two verbs taken together mean — who is all his life conversant with bloody drops ;" " whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard." So in the second Scene of Act v. of this play : — " live and die a shepherd." SC. V. AS YOU LIKE IT. 75 Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers ! Now I do frown on thee with all my heart ; And, if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee ; Now counterfeit to swoon ; why now fall down ; Or, if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame, Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers. Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee : Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains Some scar of it ; lean but upon a rush, The cicatrice and palpable" impressure Thy palm some moment keeps : but now mine eyes. Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not ; Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eves That can do hurt. Sil. O dear Phebe, If ever, (as that ever may be near,) You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy ^, Then shall you know the wounds invisible That love's keen arrows make. P/ie. But, till that time. Come not thou near me : and, when that time comes, Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not ; As, till that time, I shall not pity thee. Hos. And why, I pray you ? [^Advancir>f/r\ Who might be your mother. That you insult, exult, and rail at once"*, * The cicatrice and palpable impressure. The old copy reads " capable impressure." I think it is evident we should read pal- pable. For no one can surely be satisfied with the strained ex- planations offered by Johnson and Malone. Cicatrice is used for skin mark, which is in fact a scar, though not an indelible one. Mr. Knight explains capable by " able to receive." ^ Fancy, i. e. love. * The old copies have, " That you insult, exult, and all at once." It has been asked, " What all at once can possibly mean here ?" It would not be easy to give a satisfactory answer. It is cer- tainly a misprint, and we confidently read with Warburtou : — " That you insult, exult, and rail at once, over the wretched." We have to rail on, and rail vpon, in other places. 76 AS YOU LIKE IT. ACT in. Over the ^vretched ? What though ? you have no beauty^ ! (As, by my faith, I see no more in you Than \\athout candle may go dark to bed,) Must you be therefore proud and pitiless ? Why, what means this? Why do you look on me? I see no more in you, than in the ordinary Of nature's sale-work : — Od's my little life ! I think she means to tangle my eyes too : — No, 'faith, proud mistress, hope not after it ; 'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk-hair, Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheek of cream, That can entame my spirits to your worship. — You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you foUow her, Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain ? You are a thousand times a properer man. Than she a woman : 'Tis such fools as you, That make the world full of ill-favour'd children : 'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her ; And out of you she sees herself more proper, Than anyof her lineaments can show her. — But, mistress, know yourself; down on your knees, And thank heaven fasting, for a good man's love : For I must tell you friendly in your ear, — SeU when you can ; you are not for all markets. Cry the man mercy ; love him ; take his offer ; Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. So take her to thee, shepherd : — Fare you well. 5 TFhat though ? you have no beauty ! This is the reading of the old copy, which Malone thought erroneous, and proposed to read mo' beautj' ; Steeveiis adopted his suggestion, and reads more. This is certainly wrong ; the whole of Rosalind's bantering ad- dress to Phebe tends to the disparagement of her beauty, and whoever reads it with attention will conclude with me that the old copy is right. The negative particle was not intended to be literally taken. TVJiat thoiu/h ? is an elliptical interrogation, and is again used in A Midsummer-Night's Dream : — " What though he love your Heruiia ? Lord, what though ?" sc. V. AS YOU LIKE IT. 77 Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year together ; I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo. Ros. He's fallen in love with your foulness. — \_To Silmusr\ — And she'll fall in love vn\h my anger : I it be so, as fast as she answers thee with fro\vning looks, I'll sauce her with bitter words. — \_To Pheher\ Why look you so upon me ? Phe. For no iU wiU I bear you. Bos. I pray you, do not faU in love with me. For I am falser than vows made in wine : Besides, I like you not : If you will know my house, 'Tis at the tuft of olives, here hard by. — Will you go, sister ? — Shepherd, ply her hard : — Come, sister : — Shepherdess, look on him better. And be not proud : though all the world could see. None could be so abus'd in sight as he^. Come, to our flock. \_Exeunt Rosalind, Celia, and Corin. Phe. Dead shepherd ! now I find thy saw of might ; Who ever lov'd., that lovd not at first sight' ? Sil. Sweet Phebe, — Phe. Ha J what say'st thou, Silvius ? ^ If all men could see you, none could be so deceived as to think you beautiful but he. ' This line is from Marlowe's beautiful poem of Hero and Lcaii- der, left unfinished at his death in 1592, and first publislied in 1598, when it became very popular. It was continued and com- pleted by George Chapman, and again printed in 1600. It was reprinted in 1821, at the Chiswick Press. It is evident that Shakespeare had the whole passage in his mind : — " It lies not in our power to love or hate, For will in us is over-ruled by fate. When two are stripp'd, long ere the course begin. We wish that one should lose, the other win : And one especially we do affect, Of two gold ingots like in each respect, The reason no man knows : let it suffice. What we behold is censur'd by our eyes. Where both deliberate, the love is slight : Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight!" H 2 78 AS YOU LIKE IT. act hi. Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me. Phe. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius. Sil. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be ; If you do sorrow at my grief in love, By giving love, your sorrow and my grief Were both extermin'd. P/ie. Thou hast my love ; is not that neighbourly ? *S'//. I would have you. P/ie. Why, that were covetousness. Silvius, the time was, that I hated thee ; And yet it is not, that I bear thee love ; But since that thou canst talk of love so well, Thy company, which erst was irksome to me, I Avill endure ; and I'll employ thee too : But do not look for further recompense, Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd. S/'L So holy, and so perfect is my love, And I in such a poverty of grace, That I shall think it a most plenteous crop To slean the broken ears after the man That the main harvest reaps : loose now and then A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon. Pke. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me ere while ? *SV/. Not very well, but I have met him oft : And he hath bought the cottage, and the bounds, That the old carlot ^ once was master of. P/ie. Think not I love him, though I ask foe him ; 'Tis but a peevish 9 boy : — yet he talks well ; — But what care I for words ? yet words do well. When he that speaks them pleases those that hear. It is a pretty youth : — not very pretty : — * Carlot. This is printed in Italics as a proper name in the old edition. It is, however, apparently formed from cark, a peasant. ^ Petvish, i. e. weak, silly. sc. V. AS YOU LIKE IT. 79 But, sure, he's proud ; and yet his pride becomes him : He'll make a proper man : The best thing in him Is his complexion ; and faster than his tongue Did make offence, his eye did heal it up. He is not very tall ; yet for his years he's tall : His leg is but so so ; and yet 'tis well : There was a pretty redness in his lip ; A little riper and more lusty red Than that mix'd in his cheek ; 'twas just the difference Betwixt the constant red, and mingled damask. There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him In parcels as I did, would have gone near To fall in love with him : but, for my part, I love him not, nor hate him not ; and yet I have more cause to hate him than to love him : For what had he to do to chide at me ? He said, mine eyes were black, and my hair black ; And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me : I marvel, why I answer'd not again ; But that's all one ; omittance i* no quittance. I'll write to him a very taunting letter, And thou shalt bear it ; Wilt thou, Silvius ? /Sil. Phebe, with aU my heart. Phe. I'll write it straight ; The matter's in my head, and in my heart : I will be bitter with him, and passing short : Go with me, Silvius. {Exeunt. 80 AS YOU LIKE IT. act iv. ACT IV. Scene I. The same. Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Jaques. Jaques. PR'YTHEE, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee. Ros. They say, you are a melancholy feUow. I am so ; I do love it better than laughing. Those that are in extremity of either, are abo- minable fellows ; and betray themselves to every mo- dern^ censure, worse than drunkards. Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. Ros. Why then, 'tis good to be a post. Jaq. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation ; nor the musician's, which is fantastical ; nor the courtier's, which is proud ; nor the soldier's, which is ambitious ; nor the lawyer's, which is poli- tick ; nor the lady's, -which is nice ; nor the lover's, which is all these : but it is a melancholy of mine OAvn, compounded of many simples, extracted from many ob- jects ; and, indeed, the sundry contemplation of my travels ; which, by often rumination, wraps me in a most humorous sadness^. Ros. A traveller ! By my faith, you have great rea- son to be sad : I fear, you have sold your owti lands, to see other men's ; then, to have seen much, and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands. Jaq. Yes, I have gained my experience. ' Modern, i. e. common, trifling. * The old copy reads and points thus : — " and indeed the sun- dry contemplation of my travels, in which by often rumination, wraps me in a most humorous sainess." The emendation is Malone's. The second folio substituus my for by. SC. I. AS YOU LIKE IT. 81 Enter Orlando. Bos. And your experience makes you sad : I had rather have a fool to make me merry, than experience to make me sad ; and to travel for it too. Orl. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind ! Jaq. Nay then, God be wi' you, an you talk in blank verse. \_Exit. Bos. Farewell, monsieur traveller : Look, you lisp, and wear strange suits ; disable^ all the benefits of your own country ; be out of love Avith your nativity, and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are ; or I will scarce think you have swam in a gon- dola^. — Why, how now, Orlando ! where have you been all this while ? You a lover ? — An you serve me such another trick, never come in my sight more. Orl. ]My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise. Bos. Break an hour's promise in love ? He that will divide a minute into a thousand parts, and break but a part of the thousandth part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said of him, that Cupid hath clapp'd him o' the shoulder, but I'll warrant him heart-whole. Orl. Pardon me, dear Rosalind. Bos. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight : I had as lief be woo'd of a snail. Orl Of a snail ? Bos. Ay, of a snail ; for though he comes slowly, he carries his house on his head : a better jointure, I think, than you make a woman : Besides, he brings his destiny with him. ^ Disable, i. e. undervalue, detract from. * Swam in a gondola, i. e. been at Venice ; then the resort of all travellers, as Paris now. Shakespeare's coteinporaries also point tlieir shafts at the coiTuption of our youth by travel. Bishop Hall wrote his little book Quo Vadis ? to stem the fashion. 02 AS YOU LIKE IT. ACT IV. Orl. What's that ? Bos. Why, horns ; which such as you are fain to be beholden to your wives for : but he comes armed in his fortune, and prevents the slander of his w^fe. Orl. Virtue is no horn-maker ; and my Rosalind is virtuous. Eos. And I am your Rosalind. Cel. It pleases him to call you so ; but he hath a Rosalind of a better leer^ than you. Ros. Come, woo me, woo me ; for now I am in a holiday humour, and like enough to consent : What would you say to me now, an I were your very very Rosalind ? Orl. I would kiss, before I spoke. Bos. Nay, you were better speak first ; and when you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they vnW spit ; and for lovers, lacking (God warn us ! ) matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss. Orl. How if the kiss be denied ? Bos. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there be- gins new matter. Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress ? Bos. Blarry, that should you, if I were your mistress ; or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit. Orl. What, of my suit ? Bos. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. Am not I your Rosalind ? Orl. I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking of her. Bos. Well, in her person, I say — I will not have you. * A better leer, i. e. look, complexion, colour, countenance, from the Saxon hleafie, fades. In Titus Andronicus, Act iv. Sc. 2 : — " Here's a young lad framed of another leer." It is of frequent occurrence in the okl metrical romances. SC. I. AS YOU LIKE IT. 83 Orl. Then, in mine own person, I die. Ros. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his o^vn person, videlicet, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains dashed out with a Grecian club ; yet he did what he could to die be- fore ; and he is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he would have lived many a fair year, though Hero had turned nun, if it had not been for a hot midsum- mer night : for, good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont, and, being taken with the cramp, was drowned; and the foolish coroners^ of that ase found it was — Hero of Sestos. But these are all lies; men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love, 0)i. I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind ; for, I protest, her frown might kill me. Ros. By this hand, it will not kill a fly : But come, now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on dis- position ; and ask me what you Avill, I will grant it. Orl. Then love me, Rosalind. Ros. Yes, faith will I, Fridays, and Saturdays, and all. Orl. And wilt thou have me ? Ros. Ay, and twenty such. Orl. What say'st thou ? Ros. Are you not good ? Orl. I hope so. Ros. Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing? — Come, sister, you shall be the priest, and marry us. — Give me your hand, Orlando : — What do you say, sister ? * The old copy has, " The foolish chroniclers." Sir Thomas Hanmer made the correction, which the context seems to war- rant and even requires. Shakespeare means to designate a coro- ner's inquest, as is evident from the technical word found. i>i AS YOU LIKE IT. act iv. 0)-l. Pray thee, marry us. Cel. I cannot say the words. Bos. You must begin, Will ^ou, Orlando, — Cel. Go to : Will you, Orlando, have to Avife this Rosalind ? Orl. I wiU. Jios. Ay, but when ? Orl. Why now ; as fast as she can marry us. Bos. Then you must say, — / take thee, Bosalind,for wife. Orl. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. Bos. I might ask you for your commission ; but, — I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband : There's a girl goes before the priest^ ; and, certainly, a woman's thought runs before her actions. Orl. So do all thoughts ; they are winged. Bos. Now tell me, how long you would have her, after you have possessed her. Orl. For ever and a day. Bos. Say a day, without the ever : No, no, Orlando ; men are April when they woo : December when they wed : maids are ]\Iay when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives. I will be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen ; more clamorous than a parrot against rain ; more new- fangled than an ape ; more giddy in my desires than a monkey : I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain^; and I will do that when you are disposed '' That is, anticipates what Celia, who plays the part of the priest, ought to have said. * Figures, and particularly that of Diana, with water conveyed through them, were anciently a frequent ornament of fountains. So in The City Match : — " Now could I cry Like any image in a fountain, which Runs lamentations." Such an image of Diana, " with water prilling from her naked breasts," was set up at the cross in Cheapside in 1596. Accord- sc. I. AS YOU LIKE IT. 85 to be merry : I will laugh like a hyen^, and that when thou art inclined to sleep. Orl. But will my Rosalind do so V Ros. By my life, she will do as I do. Orl. O, but she is wise. Bos. Or else she could not have the %vit to do this : the wiser, the waywarder : ]Make the doors ^° upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the casement ; shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole ; stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney. Orl. A man that had a wife with such a ^vit, he might say, — Wit, u-hither tcilt^^? Bos. Nay, you might keep that check for it, till you met your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed. Orl. And what wit could wit have to excuse that ? Bos. Marry, to say, — she came to seek you there. You shall never take her without her answer i^, unless you take her without her tongue. O, that woman that cannot make her fault her husband's accusation ^^, let her never nurse her child herself, for she will breed it like a fool. Orl. For these two hours, Rosalind, I wiU leave thee. ing to Stowe, Torriano defines " Figura in Fontana che butti acqua, as au antike image, from whose teats water trilleth." One of these fountains is represented in the Hypuerotomachia, printed by Aldus, 1499. See a note on K. Henry VI. Part ii. Act iv. Sc. 5. ^ The bark of the hy»na was thought to resemble a loud laugh. '" 3Iake, i. e. bur the doors, make them fast. " Wit, whither wilt? This was a kind of proverbial phrase, the origin of which has not been traced. It seems to be used chiefly to express a want of coinniand over the fancy or inventive faculty. It occurs in many writers of Shakespeare's time. '- This bit of Satire is also to be found in Chaucer's Marchantes Tale, where Proserpine says of women on like occasion : — " For lacke of answere none of us shall dien." '^ The old copy has " her husband's occasion." This might mean " occasioned by her husband ; " but Hanmer's reading of accusation is, I think, warranted by what precedes. III. I 8G AS YOU LIKE IT. act iv. Eos. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. Orl. I must attend the duke at dinner; by two o'clock I A\all be A\-ith thee again. Ros. Ay, go your ways, go your ways ; — I knew Avhat vou would prove ; my friends told me as much, and I thought no less : — that flattering tongue of yours won me : — 'tis but one cast away, and so, — come, death ! — Two o'clock is your hour ? Orl. Ay, sweet Rosalind. Ros. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dan- gerous, if you break one jot of your promise, or come one minute behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical ^* break promise, and the most hollow lover, and the most unworthy of her you call Rosa- lind, that may be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful : therefore beware my censure, and keep your promise. Orl. With no less religion, than if thou wert in- deed my Rosalind : So, adieu. Ros. Well, time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let time try : Adieu ! [^Ex/t Orlando. Cel. You have simply misus'd our sex in your love- prate : we must have your doublet and hose pluck'd over your head, and show the world what the bird hath done to her own nest^^. Ros. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in love ! But it cannot be sounded ; my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the bay of Portugal. '* Pathetical and passinnafe were used in the same sense in Shakespeare's time. WTiether Rosalind has any more meaning than Costard in the use of the word when he calls Armado's boy " a most pathetical nit," I leave the reader to judge. '* This is borrowed from Lodge's Rosalynd. sc. I. AS YOU LIKE IT, 87 Cel. Or rather, bottomless ; that as fast as you pour affection in, it runs out. ^05. No, that same wicked bastard of Venus, that was begot of thought, conceived of spleen, and born of madness ; that blind rascally boy, that abuses every one's eyes, because his own are out, let him be judge, how deep I am in love : — I'll tell thee, Aliena, I can- not be out of the sight of Orlando : I'll go find a shadow ^^, and sigh till he come. Cel. And I'll sleep. \_Exeunt. Scene II. Another part of the Forest. Enter Jaques and Lords, in the habit of Foresters. Jaq. Which is he that kill'd the deer ? 1 Lord. Sir, it was I. Jaq. Let's present him to the duke, like a Roman conqueror ; and it would do well to set the deer's horns upon his head, for a branch of victory : — Have you no song, forester, for this purpose ? 2 Lord. Yes, sir. Jaq. Sing it ; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise enough. Song. What shall he have that kill'd the deer? His leather skin, and horns to wear. Then sing him home. Take thou no scorn, to wear the horn; \ rpjjg j.ggj. gj^^j It was a crest ere thou wast born; >-bear this bur- Thi/ father- s father wore it; J '^®"- And thy father bore it: '* So in Macbeth : — " Let us seek out some desolate xhade, and there Weep our sad bosoms empty." 88 AS YOU LIKE IT. ACT iv. The horn, the horn, the lusty hm-n. Is not a thing to laugh to scorn^'^. \\Exeunt. Scene III. The Forest. Enter Rosalind and Celia. Bos. How say you now ? Is it not past two o'clock ? and here much Orlando ^ ! Cel I warrant you, \v\t\v pure love, and troubled brain, he hath ta'en his bow and arrows, and is gone forth — to sleep : Look, who comes here. Enter Silvius. Sil. My errand is to you, fair youth : — My gentle Phebe, bid me give you this -.^ [Giving a letter. I know not the contents ; but as I guess, By the stern brow, and waspish action Which she did use as she was writing of it, It bears an angry tenour : pardon me, I am but as a guiltless messenger. Ros. Patience herself would startle at this letter, And play the swaggerer ; bear this, bear all : She says, I am not fair ; that I lack manners ; " In Playford's Musical Companion, 1673, where this song is set to music by John Hilton, the -words " Then sing him home" are omitted, the line wants a con-esponding one to rh\nne -with it, which may have been lost, and hence the omission of this by the musical composer. It should be remarked, however, that, in the old copy, these words, and those which have been regarded by the editors as a stage direction, are given in one line, and may, in fact, be part of it. ' And here much Orlando, i. e. here is no Orlando. Much was a common ironical expression of doubt or suspicion, still used by the vulgar in the same sense ; as, " much of that ! " ^ This is the reading of the second folio. The first has " did bid me," to the injurj' of the verse. SC. III. AS YOU LIKE IT 89 She calls me proud ; and, that she could not love me Were man as rare as phcenix : Od's my will ! Her love is not the hare that I do hunt : Why writes she so to me ? — Well, shepherd, well, This is a letter of your own device. Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents ; Phebe did write it^. — Jios. Come, come, you are a fool. And turn'd into the extremity of love. I saw her hand : she has a leathern hand, A freestone-colour'd hand ; I verily did think That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands ; She has a huswife's hand : but that's no matter : I say, she never did invent this letter ; This is a man's invention, and his hand. Sil. Sure, it is hers. Jios. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style, A style for challengers : why, she defies me. Like Turk to Christian. Woman's gentle brain Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention, Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effect Than in their countenance. — Will you hear the letter? Sil. So please you, for I never heard it yet ; Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty. Bos. She Phebes me : Mark how the tyrant writes. Art thou fjod to shepherd turn'd, \_Reads. That a maiden's heart hath bum'd ? Can a woman rail thus ? Sil. Call you this railing ? Ros. Wh?/, thy godhead laid apart, Warr'st tJwu with a woman's heart ? ^ Mason thinks that part of Silvius's speech is lost, and that we should read — " Phebe did write it with her own fair hand." and then Eosaliiid's reply follows more naturally. I 2 90 AS YOU LIKE IT. act iv. Did you ever hear such railing ? — Whiles the eye of man did woo me. That could do no vengeance''' to me — Meaning me a beast. — If the scorn of your bright eyne Have power to raise such love in mine. Alack, in me what strange effect Woidd they work in mild aspect ? Whiles you chid me, I did love ; How then might your prayers move ? He, that brings this love to thee. Little knows this love in me : And by him seal up thy mind ; Whether that thy youth and kind^ Will the faithful offer take Of me, and all that I can make , Or else by him my love deny, A nd then I'll study how to die. Sil. Call you this chiding ? Cel. Alas, poor shepherd ! Ros. Do you pity him? no, he deserves no pity. — Wilt thou love such a woman ? — What, to make thee an instrument, and play false strains upon thee ! not to be endured ! — Well, go your way to her, (for I see, love hath made thee a tame snake,) and say this to her ; — That if she love me, I charge her to love thee : if she v>\\\ not, I will never have her, unless thou en- treat for her. — If you be a true lover, hence, and not a word ; for here comes more company. \_Exit SiLVius. * Vengeance, i. e. mischief. * Kind, for nature, or natural affections. See The Merchant of Venice, Act i. Sc. 3. sc. III. AS YOU LIKE IT. 91 Enter Oliver. OIL Good-morrow, fair ones: Pray you, if you know Where, in the purlieus of this forest, stands A sheep-cote, fenc'd about with olive-trees ? Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom. The rank of osiers, by the murmuring stream, Left on your right hand, brings you to the place : But at this hour the house doth keep itself, There's none within. OU. If that an eye may profit by a tongue, Then should I know you by description ; Such garments, and such years : The boy is fair ^ Of female favour, and bestows^ himself Like a ripe sister : but the woman low^ And browner than her brother"^. Are not you The o'wner of the house I did inquire for ? Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say, we are. on. Orlando doth commend him to you both ; And to that youth, he calls his Rosalind, lie sends this bloody napkin^; Are you he? Bos. I am : What must we understand by this ? on. Some of my shame ; if you wil2 know of me What man I am, and how, and why, and where This handkerchief was staiu'd. Cel. I pray you, tell it. on. When last the young Orlando parted from you, ® Bestows himself, i. e. acts, or behaves himself like, See. Of this quaint phraseology there is another example in King Henry IV. Part II. Act ii. Sc. 2 : — " How might we see Falstaff bestow him- self in his true colours ? " See note there. ' Celia, in the first act, said she would " with a kind of umber smirch her face,"' and we have here the effect. ^ A napkin and handkerchief vitre. the same thing in Shake- speare's time, as we gather from the dictionaries of Baret and Hutton in their explanations of the word Ccesitium and Sudarium. Kapkin, for handkerchief, is still in use in the north. 02 AS YOU LIKE IT. ACT iv. He left a promise to return again Within an hour ; and, pacing through the forest, Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy 9, Lo, what befell ! he threw his eye aside, And, mark, what object did present itself ! Under an old oak, whose boughs were moss'd Avith age, And high top bald with dry antiquity, A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair, Lay sleeping on his back : about his neck A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself, Who wth her head, nimble in threats, approach'd The opening of his mouth ; but suddenly. Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself, And with indented glides did slip away Into a bush : under which bush's shade A lioness, with udders aU drawn dry. Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch, When that the sleeping man should stir ; for 'tis The royal disposition of that beast. To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead : This seen, Orlando did approach the man, And found it was his brother, his elder brother, Cel. O, I have heard him speak of that same bro- ther ; And he did render '° him the most unnatural That liv'd 'mongst men. OIL And well he might so do, For well I know he was unnatural. Ros. But, to Orlando ; — Did he leave him there, Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness ? Oli. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos'd so : But kindness, nobler ever than revenge, 5 Fancy, i. e. love, which is always thus described by our old poets as composed of contraries. '" Bender, i. e. represent or render this account of him. So in Cymbeline : — " May drive us to a render where we have lived." sc. III. AS YOU LIKE IT. 93 And nature, stronger than his just occasion, Made him give battle to the lioness, Who quickly fell before him ; in which hurtling^' From miserable slumber I awak'd. Cel. Are you his brother ? Ros. Was't you he rescu'd ? Cel. Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him ? OH. 'Twas I ; but 'tis not I : I do not shame To tell you what I was, since my conversion So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. Ros. But, for the bloody napkin ? — OIL By and by. When from the first to last, betwixt us two, Tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd ; As, how I came into that desert place ; In brief he led me to the gentle duke, Who gave me fresh array and entertainment, Committing me unto my brother's love ; Who led me instantly unto his cave. There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm The lioness had torn some flesh away, Which all this while had bled ; and now he fainted, And cry'd, in fainting, upon Rosalind. Brief, I recover'd him ; bound up his wound ; And, after some small space, being strong at heart. He sent me hither, stranger as I am, To tell this story, that you might excuse His broken promise, and to give this napkin, '' Hurtling, i. e. jostling or clashing, encounter. In Julius Cassar we have — " The noise of battle JmrtUd in the air." The word has been explained to piish, to clash, to skirmish. Its true etjTiiology has not been clearly ascertained. The old low Latin word ortare, from whence the Italian urtare, and the French heurter are derived, has the best claim. In the old French, hurt, and he^irt, signified the action of striking, or justling, skirmishing or combating. But I find in Cotgrave also " hurtdkr, to trample on with the feet." 04 AS YOU LIKE IT, act iv. Dy'd in his blood, unto the shepherd youth That he in sport doth call his Rosalind, Cd. Why, how now, Ganymede? sweet Gany- mede ! [^osxi.i'SM faints. on. Many will swoon when they do look on blood. Cel. There is more in it : — Cousin ! — Ganymede ! on. Look, he recovers. Bos. I would, I were at home. Cel. We'll lead you thither : — I pray you, will you take him by the arm ? Oli. Be of good cheer, youth : — You a man ? — You lack a man's heart. Ros. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, a body would think this was well counterfeited : I pray you, teU your brother how well I counterfeited. — Heigh ho ! — OIL This was not counterfeit ; there is too great testimony in your complexion, that it was a passion of earnest. Ros. Counterfeit, I assure you. Oli. Well then, take a good heart, and counterfeit to be a man. Ros. So I do : but, i'faith, I should have been a woman by right. Cel. Come, you look paler and paler; pray you, draw homewards : — Good sir, go with us. Oli. That will I, for I must bear answer back How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. Ros. I shall devise something : But, I pray you, commend my counterfeiting to him : — Will you go ? ^Exeunt. sc. r. AS YOU LIKE IT. 96 ACT V. Scene I. The same. Enter Touchstone and AudreY; Touchstone. E shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle Audrey. And. 'Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old gentleman's saying. Touch. A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile Mar-text. But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the forest lays claim to you. Aud. Ay, I know who 'tis ; he hath no interest in me in the world : here comes the man you mean. Enter William. Touch. It is meat and drink to me to see a clown : By my troth, we that have good wits, have much to answer for ; we shall be flouting ; we cannot hold. Will. Good even, Audrey. Aiid. God ye good even, William. Will, And good even to you, sir. Touch. Good even, gentle friend : Cover thy head, cover thy head ; nay, pr'ythee, be covered. How old are you, friend ? Will. Five-and-twenty, sir. Touch. A ripe age : Is thy name William ? Will. William, sir. Touch. A fair name : Wast born i' the forest here? Will. Ay, sir, I thank God. Touch. Thank God; — a good answer: Art rich? Will. 'Faith, sir, so, so. Touch. So, so, is good, very good, very excellent 96 AS YOU LIKE IT. act v. good : — and yet it is not ; it is but so so. Art thou %vise? Will. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit. Touch. Why, thou say'st well. I do now remember a saying ; The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool. The heathen philo- sopher, when he had a desire to eat a grape, would open his lips when he put it into his mouth ; meaning thereby, that grapes were made to eat, and lips to open^. You do love this maid? Will. I do, sir. Touch. Give me your hand : Art thou learned ? Will. No, sir. Touch. Then learn this of me : To have, is to have : For it is a figure in rhetorick, that drink, being poured out of a cup into a glass, by filling the one doth empty the other : for all your writers do consent, that ipse is he ; now you are not ipse, for I am he. Will. Which he, sir ? Touch. He, sir, that must marry this woman : There- fore, you clo\\Ti, abandon, — which is in the A'ulgar, leave, — the society, — which in the boorish is, com- pany, — of this female, — which in the common is, — woman, which together is, abandon the society of this female ; or, clo^\^^, thou perishest ; or, to thy better understanding, diest; or, to wit, I kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life into death, thy liberty into bondage : I ^vill deal in poison wnth thee, or in bas- tinado, or in steel ; I will bandy with thee in faction; I will o'errun thee with policy ; I \v\]l kill thee a hun- dred and fifty ways : therefore tremble, and depart. Aud. Do, good William. Will. God rest you merry, sir. \_Exit. ' Warburton thinks this a sneer at the insignificant sa>-ings and actions recorded of the ancient philosophers by the writers of their lives. sc. I. AS YOU LIKE IT. 97 Enter Corin. Cor. Our master and mistress seek you ; come, away, away. Touch. Trip, Audrey, trip, Audrey ; — I attend, I attend. ■[_Exeu?it. Scene II. T/ie same. Enter Orlando and Oliver. Orl. Is't possible, that on so little acquaintance you should like her ? that but seeing, you should love her? and, loving, woo? and, wooing, she should grant? and will you persever to enjoy her^ ? OU. Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my sudden wooing, nor her sudden consenting ; but say with me, 1 love Aliena ; say with her, that she loves me ; con- sent with both, that we may enjoy each other : it shall be to your good ; for my father's house, and all the revenue that was old Sir Rowland's, will I estate upon you, and here live and die a shepherd. Enter Rosalind. Orl. You have my consent. Let your wedding be to-morrow : thither will I invite the duke, and all his contented followers : Go you, and prepare Aliena ; for, look you, here comes my Rosalind. Rps. God save you, brother. on. And you, fair sister-. [_Exit. ' Shakespeare, by putting this question into the mouth of Or- lando, seems to have been aware of the inipmbabilitv in his plot caused by deserting his original. In Lodge's novel the elder brother is instnimental in saving Aliena from a band of ruffians ; without this circumstance the passion of Aliena appears to be veiy hasty indeed. * Oliver must be supposed to speak to her in the character she 111. K 98 AS YOU LIKE IT. ACT v. Hos. O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee wear thy heart in a scarf. Orl. It is my arm. Eos. I thought thy heart had been wounded with. the claws of a lion. Orl. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady. Eos. Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to swoon, when he showed me your handkerchief? Orl. Ay, and greater wonders than that. Eos. O, I know where you are : — Nay, 'tis true : there was never any thing so sudden, but the fight of two rams, and Caesar's thrasonical brag of — / came, saw, and overcame: For your brother and my sister no sooner met, but they looked ; no sooner looked, but they loved ; no sooner loved, but they sighed ; no sooner sighed, but they asked one another the reason ; no sooner knew the reason, but they sought the re- medy : and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to marriage, which they will climb incontinent^, or else be incontinent before marriage : they are in the very Avrath of love, and they will together ; clubs can- not part them*. Orl. They shall be married to-morrow ; and I will bid the duke to the nuptial. But, O, how bitter a bad assumed of a -w oman courted by his brother Orlando, for there is no evidence that be knew she was one. " Incontinent here signifies immediatdy, without any stay or de- lay, out of hand; so Baret explains it. But it had also its now usual signification, and Shakespeare delights in the equivoque. ■* It was a common custom in Shakespeare's time, on the break- ing out of a fiay, to call out, " Clubs, clubs," to part the comba- tants. So in Titus Andronicus : — " Clubs, clubs ; these lovers wUl not keep the peace." It was the popular cry to call forth the London apprentices. So in the Renegado, Act i. Sc. 2 : — " if he were In London among the clubs, up went his heels For striking of a prentice." See Mr. Gilford's note on this passage, Massinger, vol. i. p. 142. II SC. II. AS YOU LIKE IT. 99 thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes ! By so much the more shall I to-morrow be at the height of heart-heaviness, by how much I shall think my brother happy, in having what he wishes for. Ros. Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn for Rosalind ? Orl. I can live no longer by thinking. Bos. I will weary you then no longer with idle talk- ing. Know of me then, (for now I speak to some purpose,) that I know you are a gentleman of good conceit^ : I speak not this, that you should bear a good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch, I say, I know you are; neither do I labour for a greater esteem than may in some little measure draw a belief from you, to do yourself good, and not to grace me. Believe then, if you please, that I can do strange things : I have, since I was three years old, conversed with a ma- gician, most profound in his art, and yet not dam- nable. If you do love Rosalind so near the heart as your gesture cries it out, when your brother marries Aliena, shall you marry her : I know into what straits of fortune she is driven ; and it is not impossible to me, if it appear not inconvenient to you, to set her be- fore your eyes to-morrow; human as she is^, and with- out any danger. Orl. Speak' St thou in sober meanings ? Bos. By my life, I do; which I tender dearly, though I say I am a magician^ : Therefore put you in ^ Conceit in the language of Shakespeare's age signified wit ; or conception, and imagination. ^ Human as she is, that is, not a phantom, hut the real Rosalind, without any of the danger generally conceived to attend upon the rites of incantation. ' I say I am a magician. She alludes to the danger in which her avowal of practising magic, had it been a serious one, would have involved her. The poet refers to his own time, when it would have brought her life in danger. 100 AS YOU LIKE IT. act v. your best array, bid your friends ; for if you will be married to-morrow, you shall ; and to Rosalind, if you wiU. Enter Silvius and Phebe. Look, here comes a lover of mine, and a lover of hers. Phe. Youth, you have done me much ungentleness. To show the letter that I writ to you. Ros. I care not, if I have : it is my study, To seem despiteful and ungentle to you : You are there foUow'd by a faithful shepherd ; Look upon him, love him ; he worships you. Phe. Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love. Sil. It is to be all made of sighs and tears ; — And so am I for Phebe. Phe. And I for Ganymede. Od. And I for Rosalind. Bos. And I for no woman. Sil. It is to be all made of faith and service : — And so am I for Phebe. Phe. And I for Ganymede. Orl. And I for Rosalind. Ros. And I for no woman. Sil. It is to be all made of fantasy. All made of passion, and all made of wishes ; All adoration, duty, and observance. All humbleness, all patience, and impatience, All purity, aU trial, all endurance^ ; — And so am I for Phebe. Phe. And so am I for Ganymede. Orl. And so am I for Rosalind. Ros. And so am I for no woman. * Endurance. The old copy reads observance here, as well as in the line above, but it is very unlikely that word should have been set down by Shakespeare twice so close to each other. The word endurance accords better with all purity, all trial. sc. II. AS YOU LIKE IT. 101 Phe. If this be so, why blame you me to love you ? \_To Rosalind. Sil. If this be so, why blame y<)u nic to love yiu ? {To Phebe. Orl. If this be so, why blame you me to love yoli,?: Ros. Whom do you speak to^, u.Iit^ blame you iintto love you ? Orl. To her, that is not here ; nor doth not hear. Ros. Pray you, no more of this ; 'tis like the howl- ing of Irish wolves against the moon. — I will help you, \To SiLVius] if I can. — I would love you, \_To Phebe]] if I could. — To-morrow meet me all to- gether. — I -wall marry you, \_To Phebe] if ever I marry woman, and I'll be married to-morroAv; — I Avill satisfy you, \To Orlando] if ever I satisfied man, and you shall be married to-morrow : — I will content you, \To SiLvius] if what pleases you contents you, and you shall be married to-morrow. — As you \_To Orlando] love Rosalind, meet; — as you \To Sil- vius] love Phebe, meet: And as I love no woman, I'll meet. — So, fare you well ; I have left you com- mands. Sil. I'll not fail, if I live. Phe. Nor I. Orl. Nor I. \_Exeunt. Scene III. The same. Enter Touchstone and Audrey. Touch. To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey ; to- morrow will we be married. Aud. I do desire it with all my heart ; and I hope ^ The folios have " Why do you speak ^o." The answer of Oriando manifests that we should read \Vliom, and i 2 TAMING OF THE SHREW. PEELIMINARY REMAEKS. HERE is an old anonymous play extant with the same title, tirst printed in 1594, which (as in the case of King John and Henry V.) Shakespeare re- wrote, " adopting the order of the scenes, and inserting little more than a few lines which he thought worth presei-ving, or was in too much haste to alter." Malone, with great pro- bability, suspects the old play to have been the production of George Peele or Robert Greene. Pope ascribed it to Shakespeare, and his opinion was cun-ent for many years, until a more exact examination of the original piece (which is of extreme rarity) * undeceived those who were better versed in the literature of the time of Elizabeth than the poet. It is remarkable that the In- duction, as it is called, has not been continued by Shakespeare so as to complete the story of Sly, or at least it has not come dowTi to us ; and Pope therefore supplied the deficiencies in this play from the elder performance ; they have been degraded from their station in the text, as in sonic places incompatible with the fable and Dramatis Persona of Shakespeare ; the reader will, however, be pleased to find them subjoined to the notes. The origin of this amusing fiction may probably be traced to the sleeper awakened of the Ai-abian Nights ; but similar stories are told of Philip the good Duke of Burgundy, and of the Emperor Charles the Fifth. The Spaniard Jo. Lud. Vives relates it in a letter to the Due de Beiar, printed in a rare and interesting volume of his letters published at Antwerp in 1556, which con- tains also some cm-ious particulars relating to the divorce of Queen Katherine by King Henry VIII, Marco Polo relates some- thing similar of the Ismaelian Prince Alo-eddin, or chief of the mountainous region, whom he calls, in common with other writers * There was a second edition of the anonymous play in 1596, and a third in 1607 ; the curious reader may consult it, in " Six old Plays upon which Shakespeare founded, &c." published by Steevens in 1779. 120 TAMING OF THE SHREW. of his time, " the old man of the mountain." Warton refers to a collection of short comic stories in prose, set forth by maister Richard Edwards, master of her majesties revels in 1570 (which he had seen in the collection of Collins the poet), for the imme- diate source of the fable of the old drama. The incidents related by Heuterus in his Benim Burgund. lib. iv. are also to be found in Goulart's Admirable and Memorable Histories, translated by E. Grimeston, 4to. 1607. The story of Charles V. is related by Sir Richard Barckley, in A Discourse on the Felicitie of Man, printed in 1598 ; but the frolic, as Mr. Holt White observes, seems better .suited to the gaiety of the gallant Francis, or the revelry of our own boisterous Heniy. Of the story of the Taming of the Shrew no immediate English source has been pointed out. Mr. Douce has referred to a novel in the Piacevoli Notti of Straparola, notte 8, fav. 2, and to El Conde Lucanor, by Don Juan Manuel, Prince of Castile, who died in 1-362, as containing similar stories. He observes that the character of Petnichio bears some resemblance to that of Pisardo in Straparola's novel, notte 8, fav. 7. Schlegel remarks that this play " has the air of an Italian co- medy ;" and indeed the love intrigue of Lucentio is derived from the Suppo.^iti of Aiiosto, through the translation of George Gas- coigne. Johnson has observed the skilful combination of the two plots, by -which such a variety and succession of comic incident is ensured ■without running into perplexity. Petnichio is a bold and happy sketch of a humorist, in which Schlegel thinks the character and peculiarities of an Englishman are visible. It affords another example of Shakespeare's deep insight into human character, that in the last scene the meek and mild Bianca shows she is not without a spice of self will. The play inculcates a fine moral lesson, which is not always taken as it should be. Every one, who has a true relish for genuine humour, must regret that we are deprived of Shakespeare's continuation of this Interlude of Sly, " who is indeed of kin to Sancho Panza." We think -with a late elegaut ■v^'xiter, " the character of Sh', and the remarks with which he accompanies the play, as good as the plaj' itself." It appears to have been one of Shakespeare's early productions, and is supposed by Malone to have been produced in 1 594 ; but from the silence of Meres, in his enumeration of Shakespeare's dramas, in 1598, it was probably not wTitten before that year. It was first printed in the folio of 1623. CHARACTERS IN THE INDUCTION To the Original Play of The Tatnins: of a Shrew, en- tered on the Stationers' books in 1591, and printed in quarto in 1607. A Lord, &c. Sly. A Tapster. Page, Players, Huntsmen, &c. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Alphonst's, a Merchant of Athens. Jerobel, Duke of Cestus. AURELILS, AJS iSo?l, ") „ ., , ,, n i, /- a i X-, f Suitors to the Daughters of Al- Ferando, > , o J T, i phonsus. POLIDOR, J ' Valeria, Servant to Aurelius. Sander, Servant to Ferando. Phylotls, a Merchant icho personates the Duke. Kate, "i Emei.ia, |- Daughters to Alphonsus. Phylema, J Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants to Ferando and Al- phonsus. SCENE, Athens ; and somethnes Ferando's Country House. PERSONS REPRESENTED. 1 A Lord. Ch!US1opher Sly, a drunken Tinker. ( Person's in the Hostess, Phro, Players, Huntsmen, and i Inductinn. other Servants attending on the Lord. ' Baptista, fl rich Gentleman 0/ Padua. ViNCENTio, an old Gentleman q/"Pisa. LucENTio, Son to Vincentio, in love with Bianca. Petruchio, a Gentleman <;/" Verona, « Suitor to Katliarina. HORTENSIO, S Tranio, I Servants to Lucentio. BlONDELLO, S Grumio, I Servants to Petruchio. Curtis, S Pedant an old fellow set up to personate Vincentio. Katharina, the Shrew, } o,„,g.,,<,„ to Baptista. Bianca, her Sister, J Widow. Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants atteTiding on Bap- tista and Petruchio. HCE^E, somrfimes in Padua; and sojnetimes in Petru- chio's House in the Country. AJ>' TAMING OF THE SHREW. INDUCTION. Scene I. Before an Alehouse on a Heath. Enter Hostess and Sly. %. ..'LL pheese^ you, in faith. ii|| Host. A pair of stocks, you rogue ! :<^jm Sli/. Y'are a baggage ; the Slys are no rogues : Look in the chronicles, we came in with Richard Conqueror. Therefore, paucas pal- labris- ; let the world slide : Sessa^! ' So again in Troilus and Cressida, Ajax says of Achilles : — " I'll pheese his pride." And in Ben Jonson's Alchemist : — " Come, will you quarrel ? I'll feize you, sin-ah." Mr. GifFord says, " This word does not mean to drive, but to heat, to chastise, to humble, &c. in which sense (in the west of England) it may be heard every daj'." This is conformable to Skinner's intei-pretation of " Fease or Feag, Virgis csedere, Flagellare." It appears formerly to have sometimes been used in the sense of to drive away, as in Stanyhurst's Translation of Virgil : — " Feaze away the drone bees." And again : — " We are toused, and from Italy feazed." Thus in Baret's Alvearie, 1573 : — " Afeese, or race ; Procursus." I find it in Ray's Proverbs, ed. 1737, p. 269, as commuiiieated to him by a Somersetshire man : — " /'// vease thee, that is, hu7it, drive thee." ' Pocas palabras, Span, yeu.' words. ' Cessa, Ital. be quiet. 132 TAMING OF inuuc. Host. You will not pay for the glasses you have burst ? Sly. No, not a denier : Go by, S. Jeronimy ; — Go to thy cold bed, and warm thee*. Host. I know my remedy, I must go fetch the head- borough ^. [_Exit. Sly. Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll answer him by law : I'll not budge an inch, boy; let him come, and kindly. \_Lies down on the ground, and falls asleep. Wind Horns. Enter a IjorAfrom Hunting, with Huntsmen and Servants. Lord. Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds : Trash JMerriman, — the poor cur is emboss'd^. And couple Clo^^'der with the deep-mouth'd brach^. * Tliis line and the scrap of Spanish is used in burlesque from an old play called Hieron}'mo, or the Spanish Tragedy. Mr. Dyce has adduced many similar passages, where " Go by, Jerouimo," occurs in ridicule of the old play ; there is additional humour in Sly making a saint of Jeronimo. * The mention of head-horough brings third-borough into Sly's mind, an officer, whose authority equals that of a constable. ® " Embossed," says Philips in his World of Words, " is a term in hunting, when a deer is so hard chased that she foams at the mouth ; it comes from the Spanish Uesembocar, and is metapho- ricallj' used for any kind of iveariness." Tlie etj-mology is er- roneous. Skinner has pointed out its most probable derivation from the Italian word Ambascia or Ambastia, which signifies "difficulty of breathing coming from excessive fatigue ;" and which is also used metaphorically, like the English word, for weariness. Emhoss^d is used in both these senses by Shakespeare and Spenser, as well as in the more common and still usual one of swelling with protuberances. Thus an emboss'd stag is a distressed stag foaming and panting for breath, like the brach or hound Merriman in the text. ' Brach originally signified a particular species of dog used for the chase. It was a long eared dog, hunting by the scent. The etymolog}' of the word has not been clearly pointed out ; it is from the Gothic racke, hence the Saxon reec, and the English rache or ratche. In the Book of St. Alban's, among " the names of dy- vers manere houndes," we have " raches ; " and among " the com- sc. I. THE SHREW. 133 Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good At the hedge corner, in the coldest fault ? I would not lose the dog for twenty pound. 1 Hunt. Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord ; He cried upon it at the merest loss, And twice to-day pick'd out the dullest scent : Trust me, I take him for the better dog. Lo7-d. Thou art a fool ; if Echo were as fleet, I would esteem him worth a dozen such. But sup them well, and look unto them all ; To-morrow I intend to hunt again. 1 Hunt. I will, my lord. Lord. What's here ? one dead, or drunk ? See, doth he breathe ? 2 Hunt. He breathes, my lord : Were he not warm'd with ale. This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly. Lord. O monstrous beast ! how like a swine he lies ! Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image ! Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man. What think you, if he were convey'd to bed, Wrapp'd in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers, A most delicious banquet by his bed, And brave attendants near him when he wakes ; panyes of bestj-s," &c. " a kenel of rachi/s." And again : — " all other bestes that huiityd shall be. Shall be sought and found with ratches so free." Skelton also, in his Interlude of Magnificence, printed in the reign of Henry VHI.— " Here is a leyshe of ratches for to renne a hare." Hence brache and brack. A sunilar name for a hound is found in most European languages. It came at length to be used in England for a bitch, probably from similarity of sound, and this was a very general acceptation of the word in Shakespeare's time, as appears from Baret's Dictionary : — " a brache or biche, Cani- cula ; Petite Chienne." The reason is assigned in The Gentle- man's Recreation, 8vo. p. 27 : — " A brach is a mannerbj name for all hound bitches" Ihe old copy has Brach Merriman, by error for Trash, i.e. keep him back. III. TS 134 TAMING OF induc. Would not the beggar then forget himself? 1 Hunt. Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose. 2 Hunt. It would seem strange unto him when he wak'd. Lord. Even as a flattering dream, or worthless fancy. Then take him up, and manage well the jest : — Carry him gently to my fairest chamber. And hang it round with all my wanton pictures : Balm his foul head in warm distilled waters, And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet : Procure me musick ready when he wakes. To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound : And if he chance to speak, be ready straight. And, with a low submissive reverence. Say, — What is it your honour will command ? Let one attend him with a silver bason, Fidl of rose-water, and bestrew'd with flowers ; Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper ; And say, — Will't please your Lordship cool your hands ? Some one be ready with a costly suit, And ask him what apparel he will wear ; Another tell him of his hounds and horse. And that his lady mourns at his disease : Persuade him that he hath been lunatick ; And when he says he is, say that he dreams, For he is nothing but a mighty lord. This do, and do it kindly ^ gentle sirs; It Avill be pastime passing excellent. If it be husbanded with modesty. 1 Hunt. My lord, I warrant you, we will play our part, As he shall think, by our true diligence. He is no less than what we say he is. Lord. Take him up gently, and to bed with him ; And each one to his office when he wakes. — {Some bear out Sly. A trumpet sounds. * Kindly, i. e. naturulbj. SC. I. THE SHREW. 135 Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds : — \_Exit Servant. Belike, some noble gentleman, that means. Travelling some journey, to repose him here. Re-enter a Servant. How now, who is it ? Serv. An it please your honour, Players that offer service to your lordship. Lwd. Bid them come near : — Enter Players. Now, fellows, you are welcome. 1 Play. We thank your honour. Lord. Do you intend to stay with me to-night ? 2 Plat/. So please your lordship to accept our duty^ ? Lord. With all my heart. — This fellow I remember, Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son ; — 'Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman so well : I have forgot your name ; but, sure, that part Was aptly fitted, and naturally perform'd. 1 Play. I think 'twas Soto that your honour means '". Lord. 'Tis very true ; — thou didst it excellent. — Well, you are come to me in happy time ; The rather for I have some sport in hand. Wherein your cunning can assist me much. There is a lord will hear you play to-night : But I am doubtful of your modesties ; Lest, over-eying of his odd behaviour, (For yet his honour never heard a play,) You break into some merry passion, ' It was in old times customary for players to travel in com- panies, and offer their service at great houses. '" The old copy prefixes the name of Sincklo to this line, who was an actor in the same company with Shakespeare. Soto is a character in Beaumont and Fletcher's Woman Pleased ; he is a farmer's eldest son, but he does not woo any gentlewoman. 136 TAMING OF induc. And so offend him : for I tell you, sirs, If you should smile, he grows impatient. 1 Play. Fear not, my lord; we can contain ourselves, Were he the veriest antick in the world '^ Lord. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery '2, And give them friendly welcome every one : Let them want nothing that my house affords. — \_Excunt Servant and Players. Sirrah, go you to Bartholomew my page [[7b a Servant. And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady : That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber, And call him — madam, do him obeisance. Tell him from me (as he will win my love), He bear himself with honourable action. Such as he hath observ'd in noble ladies Unto their lords by them accomplish'd : Such duty to the drunkard let him do. With soft low tongue, and lowly courtesy : And say, — What is't your honour will command, Wherein your lady and your humble wife. May show her duty, and make known her love ? And then — with kind embracements, tempting kisses, And with declining head into his bosom, — Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy'd " In the old play the dialogue is thus continued : — " San. [To the other.] Go get a dishclout to make clejiie your shooes, and He speak for the properties. \_Exit Phiyer.'] My lord, we must have a shoulder of mutton for a property, and a little vinegre to make our divell roar." Upon which Steevens remarks, " The shoulder of mutton might indeed be necessary for the dinner of Petruchio, but there is no devil in this piece, or in the original on which Shakespeare formed it ; neither was it yet determined what comedy should be repre- sented." '■' Pope, to indulge his pique against actors, remarks, in his Preface to Shakespeare, that " the top of the profession were then mere players, not gentlemen of the stage ; the}' were led into the butterij, not placed at the lord's table, or the lady's toilette." sc. I. THE SHREW. 137 To see her noble lord restored to health, Who, for this seven years, hath esteemed him^^ No better than a poor and loathsome beggar : And if the boy have not a woman's gift, To rain a shower of commanded tears, An onion wiU do well for such a shift : Which in a napkin being close convey'd. Shall in despite enforce a watery eye. See this despatch'd with all the haste thou canst ; Anon I'll give thee more instructions. \_Exit Servant. I know the boy will well usurp the grace, Voice, gait, and action of a gentlewoman : I long to hear him call the drunkard husband ; And how my men will stay themselves from laughter, When they do homage to this simple peasant ! I'll in to counsel them : haply, my presence May well abate the over-merry spleen, Which otherwise would grow into extremes. \_Exeii)it Scene II. A Bedchamber- in the Lord's House. Sly is discovered in a rich night gown^ with Attendants; some with apparel^ others with bason, ewer, and other appurtenances. Enter Lord, dressed like a Servant ^ . Sit/. For God's sake, a pot of small ale. 1 Serv. Will't please your lordship drink a cup of sack? 2 Serv. Will't please your honour taste of these con- serves ? '3 Him is used for himself, as in Chapman's Banquet of Sense, 1595:— " The sense wherewith he feels him deified." ' From the original stage-direction in the first folio, " Enter aloft the drunkard with attendants," &c. it appears that Sly and the other persons mentioned in the Induction were intended to be exhibited here, and during the representation of the comedy, in a balcony above the stage. N 2 138 TAMING OF INDUC. 3 *SIer». What raiment will your lionourwear to-day? Sly. I am Christophero Sly; call not me — honour, nor lordship : I ne'er drank sack in my life ; and if you give me any conserves, give me conserves of beef. Ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear : for I have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet ; nay, sometimes, more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the over leather. Lord. Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour ! O, that a mighty man of such descent, Of such possessions, and so high esteem, Should be infused with so foul a spirit ! Sli/. What, would you make me mad ? Am not I Christopher Sly, old Sly's son of Burton-heath ; by birth a pedler, by education a card-maker, by trans- mutation a bear-herd, and now by present profession a tinker ? Ask IMarian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot*^, if she know me not : if she say I am not fourteen pence on the score for sheer ale ^, score me up for the lyingest knave in Christendom. What, I am not bestraught* : Here's 1 Serv. O, this it is that makes your lady mourn. ' Wilnecotte, is a village in Warwickshire, near Stratford, with which Shakespeare was doubtless well acquainted. There is a village also called Barton on the heath iu Warwickshire. ^ Sheer-ale has puzzled the commentators ; and as none of the conjectures offered appear to me satisfactory, I shall add one of my own. Maundy Thursday, the day preceding Good-Friday, was anciently called -SAeer-Thursday, and as it was a day of great comfort to the poor from the doles or distribution of clothes, meat, and drink, made by the rich, so SAeer-ale may have been a)e which the tinker had drunk on that day, at his own charge, or rather at that of his landlady, in addition to the portion he had received as alms. But after all sheer-ale may mean nothing more than ale unmixed, mere-ale or pure ale. The word sheer is still used for tnere, pure. We have " stark beer " for stout and strong beer, in Beaumont and Fletcher's Beggar's Bush, Act iii. Sc. 1. * i. e. distraught, distracted. sc. II. THE SHREW. 139 2 Serv. O, this it is^ that makes your servants droop. Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred shuns your house, As beaten hence by your strange lunacy. O, noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth ; Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment, And banish hence these abject lowly dreams : Look how thy servants do attend on thee. Each in his office ready at thy beck. Wilt thou have musick ? hark ! Apollo plays, \_Musick. And twenty caged nightingales do sing : Or wilt thou sleep ? we'll have thee to a couch, Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis. Say, thou wilt walk ; we will bestrew the ground : Or wilt thou ride ? thy horses shall be trapp'd. Their harness studded all with gold and pearl. Dost thou love hawking ? thou hast hawks will soar Above the morning lark : Or wilt thou hunt ? Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them, And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth. 1 Serv. Say, thou wilt course ; thy greyhounds are as swift As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe. 2 Serv. Dost thou love pictures ? we will fetch thee straight Adonis, painted by a running brook ; And Cytherea all in sedges hid ; Which seem to move and wanton with her breath, Even as the waving sedges play with wind. Lord. We'll show thee lo, as she was a maid ; And how she was beguiled and surpris'd. As lively painted as the deed was done. 3 Serv. Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood : * The folio transposes it is, and reads is it. Shuns in the next line has been altered to shun, but kindred is used by Shakespeare as a collective noun. 140 TAMING OF INDUC. Scratching her legs that one shall swear she bleeds : And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep, So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn. Lord. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord : Thou hast a lady far more beautiful Than any woman in this waning age, 1 Serv. And, till the tears that she hath shed for thee, Like envious floods, o'er-ran her lovely face, She was the fairest creature in the world ; And yet she is inferior to none. SIi/. Am I a lord ; and have I such a lady ; Or do I dream ? or have I dream'd till now ? I do not sleep ; I see, I hear, I speak ; I smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things : — Upon my life, I am a lord, indeed ; And not a tinker, nor Christophero Sly. — Well, bring our lady hither to our sight ; And once again, a pot o'the smallest ale. 2 Serv. Will't please your mightiness to wash your hands ; [^Servants present a ewer, bason, and napkin. O, how we joy to see your wit restor'd ! O, that once more you knew but what you are ! These fifteen years you have been in a dream ; Or, when you wak'd, so wak'd as if you slept. Sly. These fifteen years ! by my fay^, a goodly nap. But did I never speak of all that time ? 1 Serv. O, yes, my lord ; but very idle words : — For though you lay here in this goodly chamber. Yet would you say, ye were beaten out of door ; And rail upon the hostess of the house ; And say, you would present her at the leet^, * According to some old authorities, Sly here uses a verj' lady- like imprecation. " Eiastor," says Cooper, " by my fay, used only of women." It is merely a contraction oi hy my faith." ' Tliat is, at the Court Lett, where it was usual to present such sc. II. THE SHREW. 141 Because she brought stone jugs and no seal'd quarts : Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket. Sly. Ay, the woman's maid of the house. 3 Serv. Why, sir, you know no house, nor no such maid, Nor no such men as you have reckon'd up, — As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece^, And Peter Turf, and Henry Pimpemell; And twenty more such names and men as these, Which never were, nor no man ever saw. Sli/. Now, Lord be thanked for my good amends ! All. Amen. Slif. I thank thee ; thou shalt not lose by it. Enter the Page, as a Ladi/, icith Attendants. Page. How fares my noble lord ? Sli/. Marry, I fare well ? for here is cheer enough. Where is my wife ? Page. Here, noble lord ; What is thy will with her? Sli/. Are you my wife, and will not call me — hus- band ? My men should call me — lord ; I am your goodman. Page. My husband and my lord, my lord and hus- band ; I am your wife in all obedience. Slf/. I know it well : — What must I call her ? Lord. Madam. Sly. Al'ce madam, or Joan madam ? Lord. Madam, and nothing else : so lords call ladies. Sly. Madam \vife, they say that I have dream'd, And slept about 9 some fifteen year or more. matters, as appears from Kitchen on Courts : — " Also if tiplers sell bv cups and dishes, or vieasures sealed or vot sealed, is inquirable." ' * Blackstone proposes to read, " old John Naps o' the Green." The addition seems to have been a common one. In Henrj- IV. Part II. we have Pefer Bullcalf of the Green, and Clement Perkes o' the Hill. ^ The folio reads, " Abnue some fifteens yeare or more." Re- cent editions change or to and. 142 TAMINO OF induc. Page. Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me ; Being all this time abandon'd from your bed. Sli/. 'Tis much ; Servants, leave me and her alone. Madam, undress you, and come now to bed. Page. Thrice noble lord, let me entreat of you To pardon me yet for a night or two ; Or, if not so, until the sun be set : For your physicians have expressly charg'd, In peril to incur your former malady. That I should yet absent me from your bed : I hope this reason stands for my excuse. Sit/. Ay, it stands so, that I may hardly tarry so long. But I would be loath to fiill into my dreams again; I will therefore tarry, in despite of the flesh and the blood. Enter a Servant. Sen. Your honour's players, hearing your amend- ment. Are come to play a pleasant comedy. For so your doctors hold it very meet ; Seeing too much sadness hath congeal'd your blood. And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy, Therefore they thought it good you hear a play, And frame your mind to mirth and merriment. Which bars a thousand harms, and lengthens life. Sly. Marry, I will let them play it : Is not a com- monty a Christmas gambol, or a tumbling trick ? Page. No, my good lord ; it is more pleasing stuff. Sly. What, household stuff? Page. It is a kind of history. Slg. Well, we'll see't : Come, madam \\dfe, sit by my side, and let the world slip ; we shall ne'er be younger. \_Thei/ sit down. sc. I. THE SHREW. 143 ACT I. Scene I. Padua. A ptiblic Place. Flourish. Enter Lucentio and Tranio. Lucentio. PRANIO, since — for the great desire I had To see fair Padua, nursery of arts, — I am arriv'd for fruitful Lombardy, The pleasant garden of great Italy ; And, by my father's love and leave, am arm'd With his good will, and thy good company, My trusty servant, well approv'd in all ; Here let us breathe, and haply institute A course of learning, and ingenious^ studies. Pisa, renowned for grave citizens. Gave me my being ; and my father first, A merchant of great traffic through the world, Vincentio^ come of the Bentivolii. Vincentio's son, brought up in Florence, It shall become, to serve all hopes conceiv'd', To deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds : And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study, Virtue, and that part of philosophy Will I apply*, that treats of happiness By virtue 'specially to be achiev'd. TeU me thy mind : for I have Pisa left, And am to Padua come : as he that leaves ' Ingenious aud ingenuous were very commonly confounded by old writers. * The old copy has Vincentw'' s come, &c. ^ To serve all hopes conceiv'tl, i. e. to fulfil the expectations of his friends. * -Apply {or ply is frequently used by old writers. Thus Baret : — " With diligent endeavour to applie their studies." And in Tur- berville's Tragic Tales : — " How she her wheele applyde." 144 TAMING OF act i. A shallow plash ^, to plunge him in the deep, And with satiety seeks to quench his thirst. Tra. Mi perdonate^^ gentle master mine, I am in all affected as yourself. Glad that you thus continue your resolve, To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy. Only, good master, while we do admire This virtue, and this moral discipline. Let's be no stoicks, nor no stocks, I pray ; Or so devote to Aristotle's ethicks'^. As Ovid be an outcast quite abjur'd : Balke^ logic with acquaintance that you have, And practise rhetorick in your common talk : Musick and poesy use to quicken you ; The mathematicks, and the metaphysicks. Fall to them as you find your stomach serves you : No profit grows where is no pleasure ta'en : — In brief, sir, study what you most affect. Luc. Gramercies, Tranio, well dost thou advise. If, Biondello, thou wert come ashore, ^ Small piece of wafer. ® Pardon me. ' The old copy reads " Aristotle's checks." Blackstone sug- gests that we should read ethicks, and the sense seems to require it, I have therefore admitted it into the text. I leave this note as it was printed in my former edition in 1826. An ingenious defence of the old reading is given by a correspondent in Notes and Queries, Yol. vii. p. 496. 8 Balke loffic. Thus the old copy ; all recent editions, except Mr. Knight's, have TalA, which was substituted by Kowe -tvith- out necessity. Spenser uses balke in the same sense in the F. Q. b. iii. c. 2, St. 12: — " But to occasion him no further talke. To feed her humour wth his pleasing style, Her list in stryfuU termes icith him to balke." Bishop Cooper, in his Latin Dictionary, renders the versus ructari of Horace, by — " To bealke verses." The recurrence of talk at the end of the next line, renders it im- probable that the poet wrote Talk logic. The word possibly here signifies what was more recently meant by to chop logic. sc. I. THE SHREW. 146 We could at once put us in readiness ; And take a lodging fit to entertain Such friends as time in Padua shall beget. But stay awhile : What company is this ? Tra. IVIaster, some show, to welcome us to to^vn. Enter Baptista, Katharina, Bianca, Gremio, and HoRTENSio. Lucentio and Tranio stand aside. Bap. Gentlemen, importune me no further, For how I firmly am resoh^'d you know ; That is — not to bestow my youngest daughter, Before I have a husband for the elder : If either of you both love Katharina, Because I know you well, and love you well. Leave shall you have to court her at your pleasure. Gre. To cart her rather : She's too rough for me : — There, there, Hortensio, will you any wife ? Katli. I pray you, sir, \_To Bap.]] is it your will To make a staled of me amongst these mates? Hor. Mates, maid ! how mean you that ? no mates for you. Unless you were of gentler, milder mould. Kath. I 'faith, sir, you shall never need to fear ; I wis, it is not half way to her heart : But if it were, doubt not her care should be To comb your noddle with a three-legg'd stool. And paint your face, and use you like a fool. Hor. From all such devils, good Lord, deliver us ! She means, " Do you intend to make a mockery of me among these companions?" A stale was a stalking-horse, i.e. the mock figure of a horse used in stalking game. But the exjiression seems to have a quibbling alhision to the chess term of stale-male. So in Bacon's Twelfth Essay : — " They stand like a stale at chess, where it is no mate, but yet the game cannot stir." Shakespeare sometimes uses stale for a decoy, as in the second scene of the third act of this play. " Make me not your stale," occurs in the same sense in The Comedy of Errors, i. e, " make me not a mock or laughing stock." III. O 146 TAMING OF act i. Gre. And me too, good Lord ! Tra. Hush, master ! here is some good pastime toward ; That wench is stark mad, or wonderful froward. Luc. But in the other's silence do I see JMaid's mild behaviour and sobriety. Peace, Tranio. Tra. Well said, master; mum! and gaze your fill. Bap. Gentlemen, that I may soon make good What I have said, — Bianca, get you in : And let it not displease thee, good Bianca ; For I will love thee ne'er the less, my girl, Kath. A pretty peat^"! 'tis best Put finger in the eye, — an she knew why. Bian. Sister, content you in my discontent. — Sir, to yoiu" pleasure humbly I subscribe : My books and instruments shall be my company ; On them to look, and practise by myself. Luc. Hark, Tranio ! thou may'st hear Minerva speak. [Aside. Hor. Signior Baptista, will you be so strange'^? Sorry am I that our good will effects Bianca's grief. Gre. Why, will you mew^- her up, Signior Baptista, for this fiend of hell, And make her bear the penance of her tongue ? Bajh Gentlemen, content ye ; I am resolv'd : — Go in, Bianca. - [Exit Bianca. And for I know, she taketh most delight In musick, instruments, and poetry, Schoolmasters will I keep within my house. Fit to instruct her youth. — If you, Hortensio, '" Peat, i. e. pet, probably from petite, Fr. " So strange, i. e. so ocUl, so different from others in your conduct. '^ To mew itp, was to confine, or sintt tip close, as it was the cus- tom to eoufine hawks while they mew'd or moulted. V. note on K. Richard III. Act i. Sc. 1. sc. I. THE SHREW. 147 Or signior Gremio, you, — know any such, Prefer ^^ them hither ; for to cunning ^* men I will be very kind, and liberal To mine own children in good bringing up ; And so farewell. Katharina, you may stay : For I have more to commune with Bianca. \_Exit. Kath. Why, and I trust, I may go too ; may I not ? What ! shall I be appointed hours ; as though, belike, I knew not what to take and what to leave ? Ha ! \_Exit. Crre. You may go to the devil's dam : your gifts'^ are so good, here's none will hold you. Their '^ love is not so great, Hortensio, but we may blow our nails together, and fast it fairly out ; our cake's dough on both sides. Farewell. — Yet, for the love I bear my sweet Bianca, if I can by any means light on a fit man to teach her that wherein she delights, I will wish ^'' him to her father. Hor. So will I, signior Gremio : but a word, I pray. Though the nature of our quarrel yet never brook'd parle, know now, upon advice ^'*, it toucheth us both, — that we may yet again have access to our fair mistress, and be happy rivals in Bianca's love, — to labour and effect one thing 'specially. Gre. What's that, I pray ? Hor. Marry, sir, to get a husoand for her sister. G7-e. A husband ! a devil. Hor. I say, a husband. '^ Prefer, i. e. recommend. In the second scene of this act Gre- mio saj's, " And wish thee to a shrewd ill-favour'd wife." '* Cunning has not yet lost the original signification of hwicinq, karned, that it bears in the translation of the Bible. '* Gifts, i. e. endowments. '® It seems that we should read — Yo7tr love, y'; in old wri- ting stood either for their or your. If their love be right, it must mean — the goodwill of Baptista and Bianca towards us. '^ I will wish him, i. e. / will recommend him. '^ Advice here signifies consideration, reflection. 143 TAMING OF act i. Gre. I say, a devil : Think'st thou, Hortensio, though her father be very rich, any man is so very a fool to be married to hell ? Hor. Tush, Gremio, though it pass yonr patience, and mine, to endure her loud alarums, why, man, there be good fellows in the world, an a man coidd light on them, would take her with all faults, and money enough. Gre. I cannot tell; but I had as lief take her dowry Avith this condition, — to be whipped at the high-cross every morning. Hor. 'Faith, as you say, there's small choice in rotten apples. But, come ; since this bar in law makes us friends, it shall be so far forth friendly maintained, — till by helping Baptista's eldest daughter to a husband, we set his youngest free for a husband, and then have to't afresh. — Sweet Bianca ! — Happy man be his dole ^9! He that runs fastest, gets the ring -°. How say you, signior Gremio ? Gre. I am agreed : and 'would I had given him the best horse in Padua to begin his wooing, that would thoroughly woo her, wed her, and bed her, and rid the house of her. Come on. \_Exeunt Gremio and Hortensio. Tra. {Adoancing.~\ I pray, sir, tell me, — Is it pos- sible That love should of a sudden take such hold ? Luc. O Tranio, till I found it to be true, I never thought it possible, or likely ; '^ Happy man be his dole. A proverbial expression. Dole is lot, portion. The phrase is of very common occurrence. We have a similar expression in Beaumont and Fletcher's Cupid's Revenge : — " Then happy man be hia fortune ! " '^^ In The Coke's Tale of Gamelyn, the prizes of a wrestling match are a }-am and also a ring. A ring, therefore, appears to have been a usual prize in manly sports ; like the champion's belt of our pugilists. SC. I. THE SHREW. 149 But see ! while idly I stood looking on, I found the effect of love in idleness : And now in plainness do confess to thee, — That art to me as secret, and as dear, As Anna to the queen of Carthage was, — Tranio, I burn, I pine, I perish, Tranio, If I achieve not this young modest girl : Counsel me, Tranio, for I know thou canst ; Assist me, Tranio, for I know thou wilt. Tra. Master, it is no time to chide you \\vi\\ ; Affection is not rated '^^ from the heart : If love have touch'd you, nought remains but so, — Redime te captum quam queas minhno"". Luc. Gramercies, lad ; go forward : this contents ; The rest will comfort, for thy counsel's sound. Tra. Master, you look'd so longly"^ on the maid. Perhaps you mark'd not what's the pith of all. Luc. O yes, I saw sweet beauty in her face. Such as the daughter ^^ of Agenor had. That made great Jove to humble him to her hand. When with his knees he kiss'd the Cretan strand. Tra. Saw you no more ? mark'd you not, how her .sister Began to scold ; and raise up such a storm. That mortal ears might hardly endure the din ? Luc. Tranio, I saw her coral lips to move, And with her breath she did perfume the air ; Sacred, and sweet, was all I saw in her. Tra. Nay, then, 'tis time to stir him from his trance, — I pray, awake, sir ; If you lov« the maid, ^' Is not rated, i. e. is not driven out by chiding, °^ This line is quoted as it appears in Lilly's Grammar, and not as it is in Terence. See Farmer's Essay on the Learning of Shakespeare. -^ Longhj, i. e. longingly. ^* Daughter of Agenor, i. e. Europa. o 2 150 TAMING OF act i. Bend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus it stands : Her elder sister is so curst and shreAvd, That, till the father rid his hands of her, IMaster, your love must live a maid at home : And therefore has he closely mew'd her up, Because he"^ will not be annoy'd with suitors. Luc. Ah, Tranio, what a cruel father's he ! But art thou not advis'd, he took some care To get her cunning schoolmasters to instruct her ? Tra. Ay, marry, am I, sir ; and now 'tis plotted. Luc. I have it, Tranio. Tra. IMaster, for my hand, Both our inventions meet and jump in one. Luc. Tell me thine first. Tra. You will be schoolmaster, And undertake the teaching of the maid : That's your device. Luc. It is : May it be done? Tra. Not possible : For who shall bear your part. And be in Padua here Vincentio's son ? Keep house, and ply his book; welcome his friends; Visit his countrymen, and banquet them ? Luc. Basta*^; content thee, for I have it full. We have not yet been seen in any house ; Nor can we be distinguish'd by our faces. For man, or master : then it follows thus : — Thou shalt be master, Tranio, in my stead. Keep house, and port"^, and servants, as I should : ^' The old copy reads " she. wiU not." Rowe altered it to " she sluill not," which reading has been since followed. The father secludes Bianca until he has disposed of Katharina, because he will not be annoj-ed by suitors for Bianca's hand. Will could hardly be a mistake for shall; but he and she are easily and often confounded. ''^ Basta, i. e. it is enough, Ital. -' Port is figure, show, appearance. sc. I. THE SHREW. 151 I will some other be; some Florentine, Some Neapolitan, or meaner man of Pisa. 'Tis hatch'd, and shaU be so : — Tranio, at once Uncase thee ; take my colour'd hat and cloak : When BiondeUo comes, he waits on thee ; But I will charm him first to keep his tongue. Tra. So had you need. \_They exchange habits. In brief, sir, sith it your pleasure is. And I am tied to be obedient ; (For so your father charg'd me at our parting ; Be serviceable to my son, quoth he ; Although, I think, 'twas in another sense ;) I am content to be Lucentio, Because so weU I love Lucentio. Luc. Tranio, be so, because Lucentio loves. And let me be a slave, t'achieve that maid Whose sudden sight hath thraU'd my wounded eye. Enter Biondello. Here comes the rogue. — Sirrah, where have you been ? Bion. Where have I been ? Nay, how now, where are you? Master, has my fellow Tranio stol'n your clothes ? Or you stol'n his ? or both ? pray what's the news ? Luc. Sirrah, come hither ; 'tis no time to jest, And therefore frame your manners to the time. Your fellow Tranio here, to save my life. Puts my apparel and my countenance on, And I for my escape have put on his ; For in a quarrel, since I came ashore, I kiU'd a man, and fear I was descried : Wait you on him, I charge you, as becomes, While I make way from hence to save my life : You understand me ? Bion. I, sir, ne'er a whit. Luc. And not a jot of Tranio in your mouth ; Tranio is chang'd into Lucentio. 152 TA3IING OF act i. Bion. The better for him : 'Would, I were so too ! Tra. So would 2" I, faith, boy, to have the next ^vish after, — That Lucentio indeed had Baptista's youngest daughter. But, sirrah, — not for my sake, but your master's — I advise You use your manners discreetly in all kind of com- panies : When I am alone, why then I am Tranio ; But in all places else, your master Lucentio. Lite. Tranio, let's go : — One thing more rests, that thyself execute : — To make one among these wooers : If thou ask me why,— Sufficeth, my reasons are both good and weighty. 1 Serv. Mi/ Im'd, you nod; you do not mind the play. Sly. Fes, by Samt A nne, do I. A good matter ^ surely : Comes there any more of it ? Page. My loixl, 'tis but begun. Sly. 'Tis a very excellent piece qfwork^ madam lady: ' Wotdd, 'twere done! [They sit and mark. Scene II. The same. Before Hortensio's H&use. Enter Petruchio and Grumio. Pet. Verona, for a while I take my leave. To see my friends in Padua ; but, of all, ]My best beloved and approved friend, '* The old copy has could. ^ Here in the old copy -we have, " The presenters above speak;" meaning Sly, &c. who were placed in a balcony raised at the back of the stage. After the words " would 'twere done," the marginal direction is They sit and mark. sc. II. THE SHREW. 153 Hortensio ; and, I trow, this is his house : — Here, sirrah Grumio ; knock, I say. Gru. Knock, sir ! whom should I knock ? is there any man has rebused your worship ? Pet. Villain, I say, knock me here soundly. Gru. Knock you here, sir ? why, sir, what am I, sir, that I should knock you here, sir ^ ? Pet. Villain, I say, knock me at this gate, And rap me well, or I'll knock your knave's pate. Gru. IMy master is grown quarrelsome : I should knock you first. And then I know after who comes by the worst. Pet. Will it not be ? 'Faith, sirrah, an you'll not knock, I'll wring it ; I'll try how you can sol-fa, and sing it. [^Ile wrings Grumio bi/ the ears. Gru. Help, masters % help ! my master is mad. Pet. Now, knock when I bid you : sirrah, villain ! Enter Hortensio. Hor. How now? what's the matter? — IVIy old friend Grumio ! and my good friend Petruchio ! — How do you all at Verona? Pet. Signior Hortensio, come you to part the fray? Con tutto il cuore hen trovato, may I say. * Malone remarks that Grumio's pretensions to wit have a strong resemblance to Uromio's, in The Comedy of Errors ; and the two plays were probably written at no great distance of time from each other. I have elsewhere had occasion to observe that the idiom, " Knock me here," is familiar to the French language. Thus Molifere, in The Tartuffe, Act iii. Sc. 2 : — " Ah ! mon dieu ! je vous prie, Avant que de parler, preuez-z/ioi ce mouchoir." Dumarsais, in his Principes de Grammaire, p. 388, thinks the same expletive form of speech is to be found in The Heautonti- morumenos of Terence, Act i. Sc. 4 ; — " Fac me ut sciam." » The old copies have mistris. The word having been probably contractedly vvritten M. 154 TAMING OF act i. Hor. Alia nostra casa ben venuto^ molto honor ato^ signer mio Petruchio^. Rise, Grumio, rise ; we will compound this quarrel. Gru. Nay, 'tis no matter, sir, what he 'leges ^ in Latin. — If this be not a lawful cause for me to leave his service, look you, sir : He bid me knock him, and rap him soundly, sir : Well, was it fit for a servant to use his master so ; being, perhaps, (for aught I see,) two and thirty, — a pip ouf* ? Whom, 'would to God, I had well knock'd at first, Then had not Grumio come by the worst. Pet. A senseless villain — Good Hortensio, I bade the rascal knock upon your gate, And could not get him for my heart to do it. Q)'u. Knock at the gate ? — O heavens ! Spake you not these words plain, — Sirrah^ knock me here, Rap me here, knock me well, and knock me soundly ? And come you now with — knocking at the gate ? ^ Gascoigne in his Supposes has spelt this name correctly Pe- trucio, but Shakespeare wrote it as it appears in the text, in order to teach the actors how to pronounce it. So Decker writes In- fd'tche for Infelice. ^ Grumio mistakes the Italian spoken for LMtin. TjTw^hitt sug- gested that we should read " what be leges in Latin ;" " 'Tis no matter what is law if this be not a lawful cause," &c. It has been objected that as Grumio's native language was Italian, he could not possibly mistake it for Latin. This is time, but it is not certain that Shakespeare's attention was awake to the circum- stance, as his Italians speak English throughout the play, with the exception of a few colloquial phrases. ■* Tu'o and thirty, — a pip out. The allusion is to the old game of Bone-ace or nne-and-thirty. A pip is a spot upon a card. The old copy has it peepe. The same allusion is found in Massinger's Fatal Dowry, Act ii. Sc. 2 : — " You think, because you served my lady's mother [you] are thirty -two years old, which is a pip out, you know." There is a secondary allusion (in which the joke Ues) to a popular mode of inflicting punishment upon certain of- fenders. For a curious illuhtration of which the reader may con- sult Florio's Ital. Diet, in v. Trcniuno. sc. II. THE SHREW. 156 Pet. Sirrah, be gone, or talk not, I advise you. Han, to crouch, signified a base low wretch : it is applied to Katharina for the coarseness of her behaviour. * Lead apes in hell. The origin of this very old proverbial phrase is not kno'svn. Steevens suggests that it might have been considered an act of posthumous retribution for women who re- fused to bear children, to be condemned to the care of apes in leading strings after death. IGG TAMING OF act ii. Pet. And you, good sir ! Pray, have you not a daughter Call'd Katharina, fair and virtuous ? Bap. I have a daughter, sir, call'd Katharina. Gre. You are too blunt, go to it orderly. Pet. You wrong me, Signior Gremio : give me leave. — I am a gentleman of Verona, sir, That, — hearing of her beauty and her vi^it, Her affability, and bashful modesty. Her wondrous qualities, and mild behaviour, — Am bold to show myself a forward guest Within your house, to make mine eye the witness Of that report which I so oft have heard. And, for an entrance to my entertainment, I do present you ^vith a man of mine, ^Presenting Hortensio. Cunning in musick, and the mathematicks, To instruct her fully in those sciences. Whereof, I know, she is not ignorant : Accept of him, or else you do me wrong ; His name is Licio, born in Mantua. Bap. You're welcome, sir ; and he, for your good sake : But for my daughter Katharine, — this I know, She is not for your turn, the more my grief. Pet. I see you do not mean to part with her ; Or else you like not of my company. Bap. Mistake me not, I speak but as I find. Whence are you, sir ? what may I call your name ? Pet. Petruchio is my name ; Antonio's son, A man well known throughout aU Italy. Bap. I know him well * : you are welcome for his sake. ' Perhaps we should read, " I knew him well," but Baptista ma}' be supposed not to know that Petruchio's father is dead. See note on p. 168. SC. I. THE SHREW. 167 Gi-e. Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray, Let us, that are poor petitioners, speak too : Backare^! you are marvellous forward. Pet. O, pardon me, Signior Gremio ; I would fain be doing. Gre. I doubt it not, sir ; but you will curse your woomg.- Neighbour, this is a gift very grateful, I am sure of it. To express the like kindness myself, tha,t have been more kindly beholding to you than any, I** freely give unto you this young scholar \_prese)iting Lucentio], that hath been long studying at Rheims ; as cunning in Greek, Latin, and other languages, as the other in musick and mathematicks : his name is Cambio; pray, accept his service. Bap. A thousand thanks, Signior Gremio : welcome, good Cambio. — But, gentle sir QtoTRANio], methinks you walk like a stranger ; May I be so bold to know the cause of your coming ? Tra. Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own ; That, being a stranger in this city here. Do make myself a suitor to your daughter, Unto Bianca, fair and virtuous. Nor is your firm resolve unknown to me. In the preferment of the eldest sister : This liberty is all that I request, — That, upon knowledge of my parentage, I may have welcome 'mongst the rest that woo. And free access and favour as the rest. And toward the education of your daughters, I here bestow a simple instrument, ^ Backare, a cant word meaning go hack, in allusion to a pro- verbial saying, " Backare, quoth Mortimer to his sow." Probably made in ridicule of some ignorant fellow who affected a know- ledge of Latin without having it, and produced his Latinized English instead. * The folio omits /, and just above has iieighbours instead of neigltbour. 168 TAMING OF act ii. And this small packet of Greek and Latin books ^ : If you accept them, then their worth is great. Bap. Lucentio is your name ? of whence, I pray ? Tra. Of Pisa, sir ; son to Vincentio. Bap. A mighty man of Pisa, by report I know him well'' : you are very welcome, sir. — Take you [Jo Hor.] the lute, and you [Jo Luc] the set of books, You shall go see your pupils presently. Holla, within ! Enter a Servant. Sirrah, lead These gentlemen to my daughters : and tell them both, These are their tutors ; bid them use them well. [Exit Servant, mith Hortensio, Lucentio, and BiONDELLo. We \\dll go walk a little in the orchard. And then to dinner : You are passing welcome. And so I pray you all to think yourselves. Pet. Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste. And every day I cannot come to woo. You knew my father well ; and in him, me, Left solely heir to all his lands and goods. Which I have better'd rather than decreas'd ; Tlien tell me, if I get your daughter's love. What douTy shall I have with her to wife ? Bap. After my death, the one half of my lands : And, in possession, twenty thousand crowns. Pet. And for that dowry, I'll assure her of " In the reign of Elizabeth the young ladies of quality were usually instructed in the learned languages, if any pains were bestowed upon their minds at all. The queen herself, Lady Jaue Grey, and her sisters, &c. are trite instances. ^ This must be understood as meaning, I know well wlio he is. So, before, Baptista says the same of Petruchio's father, who is supposed to have died before the commencement of the play. sc. I. THE SHREW. 169 Her \vidowliood^, — be it that she survive me, — In all my lands and leases whatsoever : Let specialties be therefore drawn between us, That covenants may be kept on either hand. Bap. Ay, when the special thing is well obtain'd, That is, — her love ; for that is all in all. Pet. Why, that is nothing : for I tell you, father, I am as peremptory as she proud-minded ; And where two raging fires meet together, They do consume the thing that feeds their fury : Though little fire grows great with little wind, Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all : So I to her, and so she yields to me ; For I am rough, and woo not like a babe. Bap. Well mayst thou woo, and happy be thy speed ! But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words. Pet. Ay, to the proof ; as mountains are for winds. That shake not, though they blow perpetually. Re-enter Hortensio, with his head broken. Bap. How now ! my friend, why dost thou look so pale? Hw. For fear, I promise you, if I look pale. Bap. What, will my daughter prove a good musician ? Hw. I think, she'll sooner prove a soldier ; Iron may hold with her, but never lutes. Bap. Why then thou canst not break her to the lute ? Hor. Why, no ; for she hath broke the lute to me. I did but teU her, she mistook her frets 9, And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering ; When, with a most impatient devilish spirit. Frets., call you these? quoth she : Til fume icith them: And, with that word, she struck me on the head, And through the instrument my pate made way ; * i. e. Her provision or jointure as a widow. ® Frets are the points at which a string is to be stopped, fomerly marked on the neck of such instruments as the hite or guitar. III. Q 170 TAMING OF act ii. And there I stood amazed for a while, As on a pillory, looking through the lute : While she did call me, — rascal fiddler, And twangling Jack ; with twenty such vile terms. As she had studied to misuse me so. Pet. Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench ! I love her ten times more than e'er I did : O, how I long to have some chat with her ! Bap. Well, go with me, and be not so discomfited : Proceed in practice with my younger daughter ; She's apt to learn, and thankful for good turns. — Signior Petruchio, will you go with us ; Or, shall I send my daughter Kate to you ? Pet. I pray you do ; I will attend her here, — ■ \_Exeunt Baptista, Gremio, Tranio, and HORTENSIO. And woo her with some spirit when she comes. Say, that she rail ; Why, then I'll tell her plain. She sings as sweetly as a nightingale : Say, that she frown ; I'll say, she looks as clear As morning roses newly wash'd with dew^° : Say, she be mute, and will not speak a word; Then I'll commend her volubility, And say — she uttereth piercing eloquence : If she do bid me pack, I'll give her thanks, As though she bid me stay by her a week : If she deny to wed, I'll crave the day When I shall ask the banns, and when be married : But here she comes ; and now, Petruchio, speak. Enter Katharina. Good-morrow, Kate ; for that's your name, I hear. '" So Milton in L' Allegro : — " There on beds of Anolets blue, And fresh blown roses wash'd in dew." It is from the old play of the Taming of a Shrew : — " As glorious as the morning waaht with dew.^' sc. I. THE SHREW. 171 Kath. Well have you heard, but something hard'^ of hearing ; They call me — Katharine, that do talk of me. Pet. You lie, in faith ; for you are call'd plain Kate, And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst ; But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom, Kate of Kate-Hall, my super-dainty Kate, For dainties are all cates^^ : and therefore, Kate, Take this of me, Kate of my consolation ; — Hearing thy mildness prais'd in every town, Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded, (Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs,) Myself am mov'd to woo thee for my wife. Kath. Mov'd ! in good time : let him that mov'd you hither, Remove you hence : I knew you at the first, You were a moveable. Pet. Why, what's a moveable ? Kath. A joint-stool'^. Pet. Thou hast hit it : come, sit on me. Kath. Asses are made to bear, and so are you. Pet. Women are made to bear, and so are you. Kath. No such load '■*, sir, as you, if me you mean. Pet. Alas, good Kate, I will not burden thee : For knowing thee to be but young and light, — Kath. Too light for such a swain as you to catch ; And yet as heavy as my weight should be. Pet. Shoidd be ? should buz. ' ' This is a quibble upon heard, which was then pronounced hard. '■■' Cates are provisions in general, but especially daintj- food. " A joint stool, a proverbial expression occurring in Ruy's Proverbs, and in Lyly's Mother Bombie ; it is also used by the fool in King Lear : — " Cry your mercy ; I took you for a. joint stool." '* The old copy reads lade instead of hade. Petruchio's an swer shows the word load is the true reading. The word sir is from the second folio. 172 TAMING OF ACT ii. Kath. Well ta'eii, and like a buzzard. Pet. O, slow-wing'd turtle ! shall a buzzard take thee? Kath. Ay, for a turtle ; as he takes a buzzard ^^. Pet. Come, come, you wasp ; i' faith, you are too angry. Kath. If I be waspish, best beware my sting. Pet. ]My remedy is then, to pluck it out. Kath. Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies. Pet. Who knows not where a wasp doth wear his sting ? In his tail. Kath. In his tongue. Pet. Whose tongue ? Kath. Yours, if you talk of tails ; and so farewell. Pet. What with my tongue in your tail ? nay, come again. Good Kate ; I am a gentleman. Kath. That I'll try. \_Str iking him. Pet. I swear I'll cufF you, if you strike again. Kath. So may you lose your arms : If you strike me, you are no gentleman ; And if no gentleman, why, then no arms. Pet. A herald, Kate ? O, put me in thy books. Kath. What is your crest ? a coxcomb ? Pet. A combless cock, so Kate wAW be my hen. Kath. No cock of mine, you crow too like a craven i^. Pet. Nay, come, Kate, come ; you must not look so sour. Kath. It is my fashion when I see a crab. '* As he takes a buzzard, this kind of expression seems also to have been proverbial. So in The Three Lords of London, 1590 : — " Ilast no more skill " Than take a falcon for a buzzard." '* A. craven, i. e. a cowardly degenerate cock. SC. I. THE SHREW. 173 Pet. Why here's no crab ; and therefore look not sour. Kath. There is, there is. Pet. Then show it me. Kath. Had I a glass, I would. Pet. What, you mean my face ? Kath. Well aim'd of such a young one. Pet. Now, by Saint George, I am too young for you. Kath. Yet you are wither'd. Pet. 'Tis with cares. Kath. I care not. Pet. Nay, hear you, Kate : in sooth you 'scape not so. Kath. I chafe you, if I tarry ; let me go. Pet. No, not a whit ; I find you passing gentle. 'Twas told me, you were rough, and coy, and sullen. And now 1 find report a very liar ; For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous ; But slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers : Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance, Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will ; Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk But thou with mildness entertain'st thy wooers, With gentle conference, soft and affable. Why does the world report, that Kate doth limp ? O slanderous world ! Kate, like the hazel-twig, Is straight, and slender ; and as broAvn in hue As hazel nuts, and sweeter than the kernels. O, let me see thee walk : thou dost not halt. Kath. Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st, command. Pet. Did ever Dian so become a grove. As Kate this chamber with her princely gait ? O, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate ; And then let Kate be chaste, and Dian sportful ! Kath. Where did you study all this goodly speech ? Pet. It is extempore, from my mother-wit. Kath. A witty mother ! witless else her son. q2 174 TAMING OF act ii. Pet. Am I not wise ? Kath. Yes ; keep you warm ^^. Pet. Marry, so I mean, sweet Katharine, in thy bed : And therefore, setting all this chat aside. Thus in plain terms : — Your father hath consented That you shall be my \v\ie ; your do^\Ty 'greed on ; And, will you, nill you, I will marry you. Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn ; For, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty, (Thy beauty, that doth make me like thee well), Thou must be married to no man but me : For I am he, am born to tame you, Kate : And bring vou from a wild Kate to a Kate^^ Conformable, as other household Kates. Here comes your father ; never make denial, I must and will have Katharine to my ^vife. Re-enter Baptista, Gremio, and Tranio. Bap. Now, Signior Petruchio : How speed you with ]My daughter ? Pet. How but well, sir ? how but well ? It were impossible I should speed amiss. Bap. Why, how now, daughter Katharine ; in your dumps ? Kath. Call you me daughter ? now I promise you. You have show'd a tender fatherly regard, To wish me wed to one half lunatick ; A mad-cap ruffian, and a swearing Jack, That thinks with oaths to face the matter out. '■^ Keep you warm. This appears to allude to a proverb. So in Much Ado about Nothing: — " That if he has wit enough to keep himself warm." An allusion of the same kind is in Beaumont and Fletcher's Scornful Lady. The proverbial phrase appears to have been, " If vou are wise, keep yourself warm." "' Thus the first folio. The second folio reads :— " a wild Kat to a Kate." The modem editors, " a wild cat;" but the pun is obvious enough, and more amusing when less coarsely mai-ked. sc. I. THE SHREW. 175 Pet. Father, 'tis thus : — yourself and all the world, That talk'd of her, have talk'd amiss of her ; If she be curst, it is for policy : For she's not froward, but modest as the dove ; She is not hot, but temperate as the morn ; For patience she will prove a second GrisseP^ ; And Roman Lucrece for her chastity : And to conclude, — we have 'greed so well together, That upon Sunday is the wedding-day. Kath. I'll see thee hang'd on Sunday first. Gre. Hark, Petruchio ! she says she'll see thee hang'd first. Tra. Is this your speeding ? nay, then, good night our part ! Pet. Be patient, gentlemen ; I choose her for myself; If she and I be pleas'd, Avhat's that to you ? 'Tis bargain'd 'twixt us twain, being alone. That she shall still be curst in company. I tell you, 'tis incredible to believe How much she loves me : O, the kindest Kate ! — She hung about my neck ; and kiss on kiss She vied^° so fast, protesting oath on oath. That in a twink she won me to her love. O, you are novices ! 'tis a world to see*^*, " The story of Griselda, so beautifully related by Chaucer, was taken liy him from Boccaccio. It is thought to be okler than the time of the Florentine, as it is to be found among the old fMiaux. The old Comedy had no doubt made the story very popular. *" She vied. So in the old play: — " Redoublimj kiss on kiss upon my cheeks." To vie was a term in the old vocabulary of gaming, for to u-tu/er the goodness of one hand against another. There was also to revie and other variations. Mr. Giftbrd has clearly explained the terms in a note on Every Man in his Humour, Act iv. Sc. 1. Pe- truchio here appears to mean that Katharine played as for a wager with her kisses, vicing or stnhinrj kiss on kiss with liim. *' 'Tis a world to see. This phrase, which frequently occurs in old writers, is equivalent to, it is worth a world, or a matter of admiration to see. 176 TAMING OF ACT ii. How tame, when men and women are alone, A meacock"- Avretch can make the curstest shrew. — Give me thy hand, Kate : I will unto Venice, To buy apparel 'gainst the wedding-day : — Pro\'ide the feast, father, and bid the guests ; I will be sure, my Katharine shall be fine. Bap. I know not what to say : but give me your hands ; God send you joy, Petruchio ! 'tis a match. Gre. Tra. Amen, say we ; we will be witnesses. Pet. Father, and ^A^fe, and gentlemen, adieu ; I will to Venice, Sunday comes apace : We Avill have rings, and things, and fine array ; And kiss me, Kate, we \vill be married o' Sunday. \_Exeunt Pet. and Kath. severally. Gre. Was ever match clapp'd up so suddenly ? Bap. Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant's part, And venture madly on a desperate mart. Tra. 'Twas a commodity lay fretting by you : 'Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas. Bap. The gain I seek is — quiet in-^ the match. Gre. No doubt, but he hath got a quiet catch. But now, Baptista, to your younger daughter ; — Now is the day we long have looked for ; I am your neighbour, and was suitor first. Tra. And I am one, that love Bianca more Than words can vdtness, or your thoughts can guess. Gre. Youngling ! thou canst not love so dear as I. Tra. Grey-beard ! thy love doth freeze. Gre. But thine doth fry. Skipper, stand back ; 'tis age that nourisheth. -^ A meacock, i. e. a tame dastardly creature, particularl}' an over- mild husband. " A mecocke or pezzant, that hath his head under his wives girdle, or that lets his wfe be his niaister." — Junius's Nomenclator, hy Fleming, 1585, p. 532. -' The old copy has me for in. sc. I. THE SHREW. 177 Bap. Content you, gentlemen ; I'll compound this strife : 'Tis deeds must win the prize ; and he, of both, That can assure my daughter greatest dower, Shall have my Bianca's love — Say, Signior Gremio, what can you assure her ? Gre. First, as you know, my house within the city Is richly furnished with plate and gold ; Basons, and ewers, to lave her dainty hands ; My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry : In ivory coffers I have stuff'd my crowns ; In cypress chests my arras, counterpoints"*, Costly apparel, tents "^, and canopies. Fine linen, Turkey cushions boss'd with pearl, Valance of Venice gold in needle-work, Pewter^*' and brass, and all things that belong To house, or housekeeping : then, at ray farm, I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail, Six score fat oxen standing in my stalls. And all things answerable to this portion. Myself am struck in years, I must confess ; And, if I die to-morrow, this is hers. If, whilst I live, she -will be only mine. Tra. That, only, came well in. Sir, list to me : I am my father's heir, and only son : ^^ Counterpoints, i. e. coverings for beds ; now called counterpanes. Anciently composed of patch-work, and so contrived that everj' pane or partition of them was contrasted with a different colour. Hence the change of the last syllable to pane. From Baret it appears that both terms were then in use. ^ Tents were fiangings, tentes, French ; probably, so named from the tenters upon which they were hung, tenture fie tapisserie signi- fied a suit of hangings. The following passage shows that a canopy was sometimes a tester, " a canopy properly that hangeth aboute beddes to keepe away gnattes, sometimes a tent or pavilion, some have used it for a testome to hange over a bed." — Baret in voce. ^^ Pewter was considered as such costly furniture, that we find in the Northumberland household book vessels of pewter were hired by the year. 178 TAMING OF ACT II. I am my father's heir, and only son : If I may have your daughter to my wife, I'll leave her houses three or four as good, Within rich Pisa walls, as any one Old Signior Gremio has in Padua ; Besides two thousand ducats by the year, Of fruitful land, all which shall be her jointure. — What, have I pinch'd you, Signior Gremio ? Gre. Two thousand ducats by the year, of land ! My land amounts not to so much in all : That she shall have ; besides an argosy ^^, That now is lying in INIarseilles' -^ road : What, have I chok'd you with an argosy ? Tra. Gremio, 'tis knowTi, my father hath no less Than three great argosies; besides two galliasses-9, And twelve tight galleys : these I will assure her, And twice as much, whate'er thou offer' st next. Gre. Nay, I have ofFer'd all, I have no more ; And she can have no more than all I have ; — If you like me, she shall have me and mine. 2V«. Why, then the maid is mine from all the world, By your firm promise ; Gremio is out-vied^*'. Baj). I must confess, your offer is the best ; And, let your father make her the assurance. She is your own ; else, you must pardon me : If you should die before him, where's her dower ? Tra. That's but a cavil ; he is old, I young. Gre. And may not young men die, as well as old ? Bap. Well, gentlemen, I am thus resolv'd : — On Sunday next, you know, " Argnsi/, i. e. a large vessel either for merchandise or war. *^ It is spelt Marcelius in the old copy, and must be pronounced as a trisyllable. ^ A galiass, galeazza, Ital. was a great or donWe galley. The masts were three, and the number of seats for rowers thirty-two. ^ Outvied. The origin of this term is also from gaming. When one man vied upon another, he was said to be outvied. sc. I. THE SHREW. 179 My daughter Katharine is to be married : Now, on the Sunday following, shall Bianca Be bride to you, if you make this assurance ; If not, to Signior Gremio : And so I take my leave, and thank you both. \_Exit. Gre. Adieu, good neighbour. — Now I fear thee not; Sirrah, young gamester, your father were a fool To give thee all, and, in his waning age, Set foot under thy table : Tut ! a toy ! An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy. [_Exit. Tra. A vengeance on your crafty wither'd hide ! Yet I have faced it with a card of ten 3^. 'Tis in my head to do my master good : — I see no reason, but suppos'd Lucentio Must get a father, call'd — suppos'd Vincentio; And that's a wonder : fathers, commonly, Do get their children ; but, in this case of wooing, A child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cunning. lExit^": '' Faced it with a card of ten. This phrase, which often occurs in old writers, was most probably derived from some game at cards, wherein the standing boldly upon a ten was often success- ful. To face it meant, as it still does, to bully, to attack by im- pudence of face. Whether a card of ten was properly a cooling card has not yet been ascertained, but they are united in the following passage from Lyly's Euphues. " And all lovers, he only excepted, are cooled with a card of ten." ^^ After this Mr. Pope introduced the following speeches of the presenters as they are called ; from the old play : — Slie. When will the fool come again? Sim. Anon, my lord. Slie. Give's some more drink here ; where's the tapster ? Here, Sim, eat some of these things. Sim. I do, my lord. Slie. Here, Sim, I drink to thee. 180 TAMING OF ACT III. ACT III. Scene I. A Room m Baptista's House. Enter Lucentio, Hortensio, and Bianca, Liicentio. \ IDDLER, forbear ; you grow too forward, sir : Have you so soon forgot the entertainment Her sister Katharine welcom'd you withal ? Hor. But, wrangling pedant, this is The patroness of heavenly harmony : Then give me leave to have prerogative ; And when in musick we have spent an hoiu", Your lecture shall have leisure for as much. Luc. Preposterous ass ! that never read so far To know the cause why musick was ordain'd ! Was it not to refresh the mind of man, After his studies, or his usual pain ? Then give me leave to read philosophy, And, while I pause, serve in your harmony. Hor. Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine. Bian. Why, gentlemen, you do me double A\Tong, To strive for that which resteth in my choice : I am no breeching scholar in the schools ; I'U not be tied to hours, nor 'pointed times, But learn my lessons as I please myself. And, to cut off all strife, here sit we doAvn : — Take you your instrument, play you the whiles ; His lecture will be done ere you have tun'd. Hor. You'll leave his lecture when I am in tune ? \_To Bianca. — Hortensio retires. Luc. That -win be never ! — tune your instrument. Bian. Where left we last ? Luc. Here, madam : sc. T. THE SHREW. 181 Hac ibat Simois; hie est Sigeia fellns; Hie steterat Priami regia celsa senis^. Bian. Construe them. Luc. Hac ibat, as I told you before^, — Simois, I am Lucentio, — hie est, son unto Vincentio of Pisa, — Sigeia tellus, disguised thus to get your love ; — Hie steterat, and that Lucentio that comes a wooing, — Priami, is my man Tranio, — regia, bearing my port, — celsa senis, that we might beguile the old pantaloon. Hor. Madam, my instrument's in tune. \_Returning. Bian. Let's hear. — [^Hortensio jofo^s. fye ! the treble jars. Luc. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again. Bian. Now let me see if I can construe it : Hac ibat Simois, I know you not ; — kic est Sigeia tellus, I trust you not ; — Hie steterat Priami, take heed he hear us not ; — regia, presume not ; — celsa senis, despair not. Hor. Madam, 'tis now in tune. Luc. All but the base. Hor. The base is right ; 'tis the base knave that jars. How fiery and forward our pedant is^ ! Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love : Pedascule, I'll watch you better yet. Bian. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust. Luc. IMistrust it not ; for, sure, ^acides Was Ajax*, — call'd so from his grandfather. Bian. I must believe my master; else, I promise you, 1 should be arguing still upon that doubt : ' Ovid. Epist. Penelope Ulyssi, v. 33. - This species of humour, in which Latin is translated into English of a perfectly different meaning, is to be found in two plays of Middleton, The Witch, and The Chaste Maid of Cheap- side ; and in other writers. ^ There is some confusion in the appropriation of the speeches in the old copy. This and the two following lines are erroneously given to Lucentio. '' This is only said to deceive Hortensio, who is supposed to be listening. The pedigree of Ajax, however, is properly made out. III. R 182 TAMING OF act iir. But let it rest. — Now, Licio, to you : — Good masters, take it not unkindly, pray. That I have been thus pleasant with you both. Hor. You may go walk [to Lucentio], and give me leave awhile ; My lessons make no musick in three parts. Luc. Are you so formal, sir ? well, I must wait, And watch withal ; for, but I be deceiv'd, Our fine musician groweth amorous. \_Aside. Hor. IMadam, before you touch the instrument, To learn the order of my fingering, I must besrin -with rudiments of art : To teach you gamut in a briefer sort. More pleasant, pithy, and efiectual. Than hath been taught by any of my trade : And there it is in writing, fairly drawn. Bian. Why, I am past my gamut long ago. Hor. Yet read the gamut of Hortensio. Bian. \_Reads.'\ Gavavit I am,the ground of all accord. A re, to plead Hortensio s passion ; B mi, Bianca, take him for thy Im'd, C faut, that loves with all affection; D sol re, one diff^ two notes have I; E la mi, show pity^ or I die. Call you this — gamut ? tut ! I like it not : Old fashions please me best ; I am not so nice^, To change true rules for odd inventions^. * The equivocal use of the word nice by our ancestors has caused some confusion among the commentators ; from Baret it appears to have been synonymous with tender, delicate, effeminate. Others explain it whimsical, fantastic." Tooke thought that Nice, and JVesh (soft) were both from the A. S. hnepc. Chaucer's use of Nice seems to point at the old Fr. Nice. Niais, silli/, weak, simple, which suits the sense here and in the following passages : — " The letter was not nice, but full of charge, Of dear import," &c. — Bom. and Jul. Act v. Se. 2. Again : — " Bid him bethink how nice the quarrel was." * The first folio reads charge instead of change, and odd instead SC. I. THE SHREW. 183 Enter a Servant. Serv'^. IVIistress, your father prays you leave your books, And help to dress your sister's chamber up ; You know, to-morrow is the wedding-day. Biayi. Farewell, sweet masters both ; I must be gone. [_Exeimt Bianca and Servant. Luc. 'Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay. \_Exit. Hot. But I have cause to pry into this pedant ; IMethinks, he looks as though he were in love : — Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble, To cast thy wand' ring eyes on every stale ^, Seize thee that list : If once I find thee ranging, Hortensio will be quit with thee by changing. [_ExU. Scene II. The same. Before Baptista's House. Enter Baptista, Gremio, Tranio, Katharina, Bianca, Lucentio, and Attendants. Bap. Signior Lucentio, \_to Tranio,] this is the 'pointed day That Katharine and Petruchio should be married. And yet we hear not of our sourin-law : What will be said ? what mockery wiU it be. To want the bridegroom, when the priest attends To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage ? What says Lucentio to this shame of ours ? Kath. No shame but mine : I must, forsooth, be forc'd of old. The first was corrected in the second folio, and the last by Theobald. "^ The yjrefix is Nicke in the old copies, probably designating,' Nicholas Tooley the player. " Stale here may mean every common object, as stale was ap- plied to common women. See note on Act i. Sc. 1, p. 145. 184 TAMING OF ACT in. To give my hand, oppos'd against my heart, Unto a mad-brain rudesby, full of spleen ^ ; Who woo'd in haste, and means to wed at leisure. I told you, I, he was a frantick fool, Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour : And, to be noted for a merry man, He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage. Make friends invite, yes^, and proclaim the banns; Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd. Now must the world point at poor Katharine, And say, — Lo, there is mad Petruchids wife^ If it would please him come and marry her. Tra. Patience, good Katharine, and Baptista too ; Upon my life, Petruchio means but well, Whatever fortune stays him from his word : Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise ; Though he be merry, yet withal he's honest. Kath. 'Would Katharine had never seen him though ! \_Exit, 'weeping, followed hy Bianca and others. Bap. Go, girl ; I cannot blame thee now to weep ; For such an injury would vex a very saint. Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour. Enter Biondello. Bio. Master, master! news, old news^ and such news as you never heard of! Bap. Is it new and old too ? how may that be ? Bion. Why, is it not news to hear of Petruchio's Bap. Is he come ? coming ' Spleen, i. e. humour, caprice, inconstancy. - The word yes is from the second folio. Malone inserted them. ^ The words old news were added by liowe, and necessarily, as appears by the reply of Baptista. Old, in its hyperbolical sense, as " old turning the key," &c. oceiu-s elsewhere iu Shakespeare. sc. II. THE SHREW. 18.5 Bion. Why, no, sir. Bap. What then ? Bion. He is coming. Bap. When Avill he be here ? Bion. When he stands where I am, and sees you there. Tra, But, say, what to thine old news. Bion. Why, Petruchio is coming, in a new hat and an old jerkin ; a pair of old breeches, thrice turned ; a pair of boots that have been candle-cases, one buckled, another laced ; an old rusty sword ta'en out of the town armory, with a broken hilt and chapeless ; with two broken points* : His horse hipped A\'ith an old mothy saddle, and stirrups of no kindred : besides, possessed with the glanders, and like to mose in the chine ; troubled with the lampas, infected with the fashions^, full of wind-galls, sped with spavins, raied with the yellows, past cure of the fives^, stark spoiled with the staggers, begnawn with the bots ; swayed in the back, and shoulder-shotten ; ne'er legged before ; and with a half-cheeked bit, and a head-stall of sheep's leather ; which, being restrained to keep him from stumbling, hath been often burst, and now repaired with knots : one girth six times pieced, and a woman's crupper of * Chapeless; with tivn broken points. Chapekss is yviihout a. chnpe, i. e. a catch or honk to the scabljarJ. Points were tagged laces used in fastening different parts of the dress : two broken points would therefore add to the slovenly appearance of Petruchio. Shakespeare puns upon the word in K. Henry IV. P. I. — " Fals. Their points being broken — Pr. Down fell their hose." And again in Twelfth Night, Act i. Sc. 5. * The fashions, i. e. the farcy ; called fashions in the west of England. ^ Fives, i.e. vives; a distemper in horses, little differing from the strangles. Below we have waid instead of sivayed, in the old copies. Mose in the chine appears from Mai-kham to be the glan- ders, or a consequence of it. K 2 18G TAMING OF ACT ill. velure'^, which hath two letters for her name, fairly set down in studs, and here and there pieced with pack- thread. Bap. Who conies with him ? Bion. O, sir, his lackey, for all the world caparisoned like the horse ; with a linen stock*' on one leg, and a kersey boot-hose on the other, gartered with a red and blue list ; an old hat, and The humour of fm-ty fancies^ pricked in't for a feather : a monster, a very monster in apparel ; and not like a christian footboy, or a gen- tleman's lackey. Tra. 'Tis some odd humour pricks him to this fashion ! — Yet oftentimes he goes but mean apparell'd. Bap. I am glad he is come, howsoever he comes. Bion. Why, sir, he comes not. Bap. Didst thou not say, he comes ? Bion. Who ? that Petruchio came ? Bap. Ay, that Petruchio came. Bion. No, sir ; I say, his horse comes vnth. him on his back. Bap. Why, that's all one. Bion. Nay, by Saint Jamy, I hold you a penny, A horse and a man Is more than one. And yet not many'°. ' Vdvet. * Stocking. ^ Warburton's supposition, that Shakespeare ridicules some po- pular chap book of this title, by making Petruchio prick it up in his footboy's hat instead of a feather, has been well supported by Steevens ; he observes that " a pennj^ book, containing forty short poems, would, properly managed, furnish no unapt plume of feathers for the hat of a humorist's sei-\-ant." '" This is most probably a scrao of some ballad. SC. li. THE SHREM^ 187 Enter Petruchio and Grumio. Pet. Come, where be these gallants? who's at home? Bap. You are welcome, sir. Pet. And yet I come not well. Bap. And yet you halt not. Tra. Not so well apparell'd As I wish you were. Pet. Were it better, I should rush in thus. But where is Kate ? where is my lovely bride ? — How does my father ? — Gentles, methinks you frown : And wherefore gaze this goodly company. As if they saw some wondrous monument, Some comet, or unusual prodigy ? Bap. Why, sir, you know, this is your wedding-day : First were we sad, fearing you would not come ; Now sadder, that you come so unprovided. Fye ! doff this habit, shame to your estate. An eye-sore to our solemn festival. Tra. And tell us, what occasion of import Hath all so long detain'd you from your wife. And sent you hither so unlike yourself? Pet. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear : Sufficeth, I am come to keep my word. Though in some part enforced to digress" ; Which, at more leisure, I will so excuse As you shall well be satisfied withal. But, where is Kate ? I stay too long from her ; The morning wears, 'tis time we were at church. Tra. See not your bride in these unreverent robes ; Go to my chamber, put on clothes of mine. Pet. Not I, believe me ; thus I'll visit her. Bap. But thus, I trust, you will not marry her. Pet. Good sooth, even thus ; therefore have done with words ; " i. e. to deviate from my promise. 188 TAMING OF ACT in. To me she's married, not unto my clothes : Could I repair what she will wear in me, As I can change these poor accoutrements, 'Twere well for Kate, and better for myself. But what a fool am 1 to chat with you, When I should bid good-morrow to my bride, And seal the title Avith a lovely kiss ! [_Exeunt Pet. Gru. and Bion. Tra. He hath some meaning in his mad attire : We will persuade him, be it possible, To put on better ere he go to church. Bap. I'll after him, and see the event of this. \_Exit. Tra. But, sir, to her^" love concerneth us to add Her father's liking : which to bring to pass, As I before imparted to your worship, I am to get a man, — whate'er he be. It skills ^^ not much ; we'll fit him to our turn, — And he shall be Vincentio of Pisa ; And make assurance, here in Padua, Of greater sums than I have promised. So shall you quietly enjoy your hope. And marry sweet Bianca with consent. Luc. Were it not that my fellow schoolmaster Doth watch Bianca's steps so narrowly, 'Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage ; Which once perform'd, let all the world say — no, I'll keep mine own, despite of all the world. Tra. That by degrees we mean to look into, '■^ The old copy reads, " But, sir, love concerneth us to add Her father's liking." The emendation is Mr. Tyrwhitt's. Jt, the nominative case to the verb concerneth, is here understood. '^ It skills not, i. e. it matters not much, it is of no importance. Thus in the old phrase book, Hormanni Vulgaria, 1519, — "It maketh little matter, or it skilleth not whether thou come or not." Shakespeare has the phrase again in Twelfth Night, Act v. Se. 1, p. 39 1 : — " It skills not much where they are delivered." See also K. Henry YI. Part ii. Act iii. So. 1. sc. II. THE SHREW. 189 And watch our vantage in this business : We'll overreach the greybeard, Gremio, The narrow-prying father, Minola The quaint ^"^ musician, amorous Licio ; AU for my master's sake, Lucentio. — Re-enter Gremio. Signior Gremio ! came you from the church ? Gre. As willingly as e'er I came from school. Tra. And is the bride and bridegroom coming home ? Gre. A bridegroom, say you ? 'tis a groom, indeed, A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find. Tra. Curster than she ? why, 'tis impossible. Gre. Why, he's a devil, a de^dl, a very fiend. Tra. Why, she's a devil, a devil, the devil's dam. ' G^-e. Tut ! she's a lamb, a dove, a fool to him. I'll tell you. Sir Lucentio : When the priest Should ask — if Katharine should be his wife, At/., hy gogs-wouns^ quoth he ; and swore so loud, That, all amaz'd, the priest let fall the book : And, as he stoop'd again to take it up. The mad-brain'd bridegroom took him such a cuff. That down fell priest and book, and book and priest : Now take them up., quoth he, if any list. Tra. What said the wench, when he arose again ? Gre. Trembled and shook ; for why, he stamp'd and swore, As if the vicar meant to cozen him. But after many ceremonies done, ''' Quaint had formerly a more favourable meaning than strange, awkward, fantastical, and was used in commendation, as neat, ele- gant, dainty, dexterous. Thus in the third scene of the fourth act of this play : — " I never saw a better fashioned goyrn. More quaint, more pleasing, nor more commendable." Where it seems to mean spruce, trim, neat, like the French cointe. We have "quaint spirits" in the Midsummer-Night's Dream. And Prospero calls Ariel, " my quaint Ariel." 190 TAMING OF ACT iil. He calls for ^vine : — A health, quoth he ; as if He had been aboard, carousing to his mates After a storm : — QuafF'd off the muscadel '^, And threw the sops all in the sexton's face ; Having no other reason, — But that his beard grew thin and hungerly, And seem'd to ask him sops as he was drinking. This done, he took the bride about the neck ; And kiss'd her lips with such a clamorous smack, That, at the parting, all the church did echo. I, seeing this, came thence for very shame ; And after me, I know, the rout is coming : Such a mad marriage never was before ; Hark, hark ! I hear the minstrels play'^. [_Musick. Enter Petruchio, Katharina, Bianca, Bap- TisTA, HoRTENsio, Grumio, and Train. Pet. Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for your pains : I know you think to dine with me to-day, And have prepared great store of wedding cheer ; But so it is, my haste doth call me hence. And therefore here I mean to take my leave. '^ The custom of having wine and sops distributed immediately after the marriage ceremony in the church is very ancient. It existed even among our Gothic ancestors, and is mentioned in the ordinances of the household of Henry VII. " For the Mar- riage of a Princess :" — " Then pottes of Ipocrice to be ready, and to bee put into cupps with soppe, and to be borne to the estates ; and to take a soppe and drinke." It was also practised at the marriage of Philip and Mary, in Winchester Cathedral ; and at the marriage of the Elector Palatine to the daughter of James I. in 1612-13. It appears to have been the custom at all marriages, la Jonson's Magnetic Lady it is called a knitting cup : In Middle- ton's No Wit like a Woman's, the contracting cup. The kiss was also part of the ancient marriage ceremony, as appears from a rubric in one of the Salisbuiy Missals. '^ This speech is printed as prose in the first folio, and reduced to irregular verse in the second. SC. 11. THE SHREW. 101 Bap. Is't possible, you will away to-night ? Pet. I must away to-day, before night come : — Make it no wonder ; if you knew my business, Y^w would entreat me rather go than stay. And, honest company, I thank you all. That have beheld me give away myself To this most patient, sweet, and virtuous wife: Dine with my father, drink a health to me ; For I must hence, and farewell to you all. Tra. Let us entreat you stay till after dinner. Pet. It may not be. Gre. Let me entreat you. Pet. It cannot be. Kath. Let me entreat you. Pet. I am content. Kath. Are you content to stay ? Pet. I am content you shall entreat me stay, But yet not stay, entreat me how you can. Kath. Now, if you love me, stay. Pet. Grumio, my horse I Gru. Ay, sir, they be ready ; the oats have eaten the horses. Kath. Nay, then. Do what thou canst, I will not go to-day ; No, nor to-morrow, not till I please myself. The door is open, sir, there lies your way. You may be jogging whiles your boots are green '^ ; For me, I'll not be gone, till I please myself; — 'Tis like you'll prove a jolly surly groom. That take it on you at the first so roundly. Pet. O, Kate, content thee ; pr'ythee, be not angry. Kath. I will be angry. What hast thou to do ? — Father, be quiet ; he shall stay my leisure. G)-e. Ay, marry, sir ; now it begins to work. ''' There is a familiar phrase of the same kind still in use, " Be off while your shoes are good." 192 TAMING OF act hi. Kath. Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner : — I see a woman may be made a fool, If she had not a spirit to resist. Pet. They shall go forward, Kate, at thy comman^ : Obey the bride, you that attend on her : Go to the feast, revel and domineer '**, Carouse full measure to her maidenhead, Be mad and merry, or go hang yourselves ; But for my bonny Kate, she must \vith me. Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret ; I will be master of what is mine own. She is my goods, my chattels ; she is my house, iVIy household-stuff, my field, my barn, Mv horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing ; And here she stands, touch her whoever dare ; I'll bring mine action on the proudest he That stops my way in Padua. Grumio, Draw forth thy weapon, we're beset with thieves ; Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man. — Fear not, sweet wench, they shall not touch thee, Kate ; I'll buckler thee against a million. \_Exeunt Pet. Kath. and Gru. Bap. Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones ! Gre. Went they not quickly, I should die with laughing. Tra. Of all mad matches, never was the like ! Luc. Mistress, what's your opinion of your sister ? Bian. That, being mad herself, she's madly mated. Ch-e. I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated. Bap. Neighbours and friends, though bride and bridegroom wants For to supply the places at the table, '* Domineer, i. e. bluster or swagger. So in Tarleton's Jests : " T. haviug been domineering very late at night with two of his friends.'' sc. II. THE SHREW. 193 You know there wants no junkets ^9 at the feast. — Lucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom's place, And let Bianca take her sister's room, Tra. Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it? Bajo. She shall, Lucentio. — Come, Gentlemen, let's go. [_Exeimt. ACT IV. Scene I. A Hall in Petruchio's Country House. Enter Gkumio. Grumio. ! YE, fye on all tired jades! on all mad mas- ters ! and aU foul ways ! Was ever man so beaten ? was ever man so rayed ^ ? was ever man so weary ? I am sent before to make a fire, and they are coming after to warm them. Now, were not I a little pot, and soon hot^, my very lips might freeze to my teeth, my tongue to the roof of my mouth, my heart in my belly, ere I should come by a fire to thaw me : — But I, with bloAving the fire, shall warm my- self; for, considering the weather, a taller man than I will take cold. Holla ! hoa ! Curtis ! Enter Curtis. Curt. Who is that calls so coldly ? Qru. A piece of ice : If thou doubt it, thoxi may'st slide from my shoulder to my heel, with no greater a run but my head and my neck. A fire, good Curtis. Curt. Is my master and his wife coming, Grumio ? '^ Junkets, i. c. cklicacies. ' RwjfJ, i. e. heicrai/e/l, dirty. ^ A little pot soon hot is a common proverb. III. S 194 TAMING OF act iv. Gru. O, ay, Curtis, ay : and therefore fire, fire ; cast on no water ^. Curt. Is she so hot a shrew as she's reported ? Gru. She was, good Curtis, before this frost : but, thou know' St, winter tames man, woman, and beast ; for it hath tamed my old master, and my new mis- tress, and myself'*, fellow Curtis. Curt. Away, you three-inch fool ! I am no beast. Gru. Am I but three inches ? why, thy horn is a foot ; and so long am I ^, at the least. But wilt thou make a fire, or shall I complain on thee to our mistress, whose hand (she being now at hand) thou shalt soon feel, to thy cold comfort, for being slow in thy hot office. Curt. I pr'ythee, good Grumio, tell me, How goes the world ? G)-u. A cold world, Curtis, in every office but thine ; and, therefore, fire : Do thy duty, and have thy duty; for my master and mistress are almost frozen to death. Curt. There's fire ready : And, therefore, good Grumio, the news ? Crru. Why, Jack boy ! ho boy^ ! and as much news as thou Avilt. Curt. Come, you are so full of conycatching^: — GrTU. Why, therefore, fire ; for I have caught ex- ' There is an old popular catch of three parts in these words : — " Scotland bunieth, Scotland bumeth, Fire, fire ; Fire, fire, Cast on some more water." ■* Grumio calls himself a beast, and Curtis one also by inference in calling him fellow : this would not have been noticed but that one of the commentators once thought it necessary to alter myself in Grumio's speech to thyself. Grumio's sentence is proverbial : — " Wedding, and ill -wintering tame both man and beast." ^ Curtis contemptuously alludes to Grumio's diminutive size ; and he in return calls Curtis a cuckold. ® This is the beginning of an old round in three parts, the mu- sic is given in the Variorum Shakespeare. ^ Conycatching, i. e. cheating or deceiving. I sc. I. THE SHREW. 195 treme cold. Where's the cook ? is supper ready, the house trimmed, rushes strewed, cobwebs swept ; the serving-men in their new fustian, their white stock- ings, and every officer his wedding garment on ? Be the Jacks fair within, the Jills^ fair without, the car- pets laid 9, and every thing in order ? Curt. All ready; And therefore, I pray thee, news. Gru. First, know, my horse is tired ; my master and mistress fallen out. Cart. How? Gru. Out of their saddles into the dirt ; and there- by hangs a tale. Curt. Let's ha't, good Grumio. Gru. Lend thine ear. Curt. Here. Gru. There. '[Striking him. Curt. This 'tis to feel a tale, not to hear a tale. Gru. And therefore 'tis called a sensible tale : and this cufF was but to knock at your ear, and beseech listening. Now I begin : In}]»-imis^ we came Aown a foul hill, my master riding behind my mistress : — Curt. Both of one horse ? Gru. What's that to thee ? Curt. Why, a horse. Gru. Tell thou the tale : But hadst thou not crossed me, thou should'st have heard how her horse fell, and she under her horse ; thou should'st have heard, in how miry a place : how she was bemoiled ^'^ ; how he left her with the horse upon her ; how he beat me because her horse stumbled ; how she waded through the dirt to pluck him off me ; how he swore ; how she prayed — that never prayed before ; how I * A quibble was no doubt iutended. Jack and jill signify two drinking vessels, as well as 7nen and maid-servants. ' The carpets were laid over the tables. The floors, as appears from the present passage and others, were strewed with rushes. '" Bemoiled, i. e. bedraggled, bemired. 196 TAMING OF act iv. cried ; how the horses ran away, how her bridle was burst"; how I lost my crupper; — with many things of worthy memory ; which now shall die in oblivion, and thou return unexperienced to thy grave. Curt. By this reckoning, he is more shrew than she 12. Gru. Ay ; and that thou and the proudest of you all shall find, when he comes home. But what talk I of this ? — call forth Nathaniel, Joseph, Nicholas, Philip, Walter, Sugarsop, and the rest; let their heads be sleekly combed, their blue coats ^^ brushed, and their garters of an indifferent i"* knit: let them curtsey with their left legs ; and not presume to touch a hair of my master's horse-tail, till they kiss their hands. Are they all ready ? Cu7-t. They are. Gru. Call them forth. Curt. Do you hear, ho ! you must meet my mas- ter, to countenance my mistress. Gru. Why, she hath a face of her o^vn. Curt. Who knows not that ? Gru. Thou, it seems ; that callest for company to countenance her. Curt. I call them forth to credit her. Gru. Why, she comes to borrow nothing of them. " Burst, i.e. broken. '2 The term shrew was anciently applied to either sex, as appears from Chaucer's Testamen. of Love, fo. 300, Ed. Speght. 1598. •' Blue coats were the usual habits of servants. Hence a blue- bottle was sometimes used as a term of reproach for a servant. A ser%nng-man in Jonson's Case is Altered says—" Ever since I was of the bhie order." '< Of an indifferent knit is tolerably knit, pretty good in quality. Hamlet says—" I am myself indifferent honest," i. e. tolerably honest. The reader, who Vill be at the pains to refer to the Va- riorum Shakespeare, may be amused with the discordant blunders of the most eminent commentators about this simple expression. SC. I. THE SHREW. 197 Enter several Servants. Natk. Welcome home, Grumio ! Phil. How now, Grumio ! Jos. What, Grumio ! Nich. Fellow Grumio ! Natk. How now, old lad ! Gvii. Welcome, you ; — how now, you ; what, you ; — fellow, you ; — and thus much for greeting. Now, my spruce companions, is all ready, and all things neat? Natk. All things is ready '^: How near is our mas- ter? Gru. E'en at hand, alighted by this ; and there- fore be not Cock's passion, silence ! 1 hear my master. Enter Petruchio and Katharina. Pet. Where be these knaves ? What, no man at door. To hold my stirrup, nor to take my horse ! Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip ? All Serv. Here, here, sir ; here, sir. Pet. Here, sir ! here, sir ! here, sir ! here, sir ! — You logger-headed and unpolish'd grooms ! What, no attendance ? no regard ? no duty ? — Where is the foolish knave I sent before ? Gru. Here, sir ; as foolish as I was before. Pet. You peasant swain ! you whoreson malt-horse drudge ! Did I not bid thee meet me in the park, And bring along these rascal knaves with thee ? Gru. Nathaniel's coat, sir, was not fully made, And Gabriel's pumps were all unpink'd i'the heel ; '* AU things is ready. The false concord here was no doubt in- tentional, it suits well with the character. s2 198 TAMING OF act iv. There was no link '^ to colour Peter's hat, And Walter's dagger was not come from sheathing : There were none fine, but Adam, Ralph, and Gregory; The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly ; Yet, as they are, here are they come to meet you. Pet. Go, rascals, go, and fetch my supper in. — [_Exeunt some of the Servants. Where is the life that late 1 led — '^ \_Sings. Where are those ? Sit do^vn, Kate, and welcome. Soud, soud, soud, soud ^^ ! Re-enter Servants, with supper. Why, when, I say? — Nay, good sweet Kate, be merry. Off with my boots, you rogues, you villains; When? It K-as the friar of orders grey'^^^ [Sings. As he forth walked on his wag : — Out, you rogue ! you pluck my foot a'wry : Take that, and mend the plucking off the other. — [Strikes him. Be merry, Kate : — Some water, here ; what, ho ! Enter Servant with water. Where's my spaniel Troilus ? — Sirrah, get you hence, And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither : — [Exit Servant. '^ Greene, in his MiMl Mumchance, says — " This cozenage is used likewse in selling old hats found upon dunghills, instead of newe, blackt over ^-ith the smoake of an olde link." " This ballad was well suited to Petruchio, as appears by the answer in a Handeful of Pleasant Delites, 1584; which is called " Dame Beautie's replie to the lover late at libertie, and now com- plaineth him to be her captive," intituled " Where is the life that late lied?" '^ Soud. A word coined bj- Shakespeare to express the noise made by a person heated and fatigued. '* Dr. Percy has constructed his beautiful ballad, " The Friar of Orders Gray," from the various fragments and hints dispersed through Shakespeare's plays, with a few supplemental stanzas. sc. I. THE SHREW. 199 One, Kate, that you must kiss, and be acquainted with, — Where are my slippers ? — Shall I have some water ! [^A bason is presented to him. Come, Kate, and wash'^", and welcome heartily. — \_To the Servant. You whoreson villain ! will you let it fall ? \_Strikes him. Kath. Patience, I pray you ; 'twas a fault unwil- ling. Pet. A whoreson, beetleheaded, flap-ear'd knave ! Come, Kate, sit down ; I know you have a stomach. Will you give thanks, sweet Kate ; or else shall I ? — What's this ? Mutton ? 1 Serv. Ay. Pet. Who brought it ? 1 Serv. I. Pet. 'Tis burnt ; and so is all the meat : What doffs are these ! — Where is the rascal cook ? How durst you, villains, bring it from the dresser. And serve it thus to me that love it not ? There, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all : \_Throws the meat., S^-c. about the stage. You heedless joltheads, and unmanner'd slaves ! What, do you grumble ? I'll be Avith you straight. Kath. I pray you, husband, be not so disquiet ; The meat was well, if you were so contented. Pet. I tell thee, Kate, 'twas burnt and dried away ; And I expressly am forbid to touch it. For it engenders choler, planteth anger ; And better 'twere that both of us did fast, — Since, of ourselves, ourselves are cholerick, — "^^ It was the custom in ancient times to wash the hands imme- diately before dinner and supj)er, and afterwards. As our ances- tors eat with their fingers, we cannot wonder at such repeated ablutions. 200 TAMING OF act iv. Than feed it with such over-roasted flesh. Be patient ; to-morrow 't shall be mended, And, for this night, we'll fast for company : — Come, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber. \_Exeunt Pet. Kath. and Curt. Nath. \_Advancing.~\ Peter, didst ever see the like ? Peter. He kills her in her own humour. Ee-enter Curtis. Gru. Where is he ? Curt. In her chamber, Making a sermon of continency to her : And rails, and swears, and rates ; that she, poor soul. Knows not which way to stand, to look, to speak ; And sits as one new-risen from a dream. Away, away ! for he is coming hither. [^Exeunt. Ee-enter Petruchio. Pet. Thus have I politickly begun my reign. And 'tis my hope to end successfully : My falcon now is sharp, and passing empty ; And, till she stoop, she must not be full-gorg'd^i, For then she never looks upon her lure. Another way I have to man my haggard "2, To make her come, and know her keeper's call, That is, — to watch her, as we watch these kites That bate 23, and beat, and wU not be obedient. ^' Shakespeare delights in allusions to Falconry, the following allegory comprises most of its terms. A hawk full fed was un- tractable, and refused the lure. In Watson's Sonnets, 47 : — " No lure will cause her stoop, she bears fill gorge." The lure was a thing stuffed to look like the game the hawk was to pursue ; its use was to tempt him back after he had flown. '•^^ A haggard is a wild hawk, to man her is to tame her. To watch or tvake a hawk was one part of the process of taming. *3 To bate is to flutter the wings as preparing for flight ; batter Vale, Italian. ) sc. I. THE SHREW. 201 She eat no meat to-day, nor none shall eat ; Last night she slept not, nor to-night she shall not ; As with the meat, some undeserved fault I'U find about the making of the bed ; And here I'll fling the pillow, there the bolster, This way the coverlet, another way the sheets : — Ay, and amid this hurly, I intend-* That all is done in reverend care of her ; And, in conclusion, she shall watch aU night : And, if she chance to nod, I'll rail and brawl, And with the clamour keep her still awake. This is a way to kill a wife with kindness ^^ ; And thus I'U curb her mad and headstrong humour. He that knows better how to tame a shrew. Now let him speak ; 'tis charity to shew. \_Exit. Scene II. Padua. Before Baptista's House. Enter Tranio and Hortensio. Tra. Is't possible, friend Licio, that Mistress Bianca Doth fancy any other but Lucentio ? I teU you, sir, she bears me fair in hand. Hor. Sir, to satisfy you in what I have said, Stand by, and mark the manner of his teaching. \_They stand aside. Enter Bianca and Lucentio. Luc. Now, mistress, profit you in what you read ? Bian. What, master, read you? first resolve me that. Luc. I read that I profess the Art to Love. *♦ Intend is used for pretend. As again in K. Richai'd III. — " Intending deep suspicion." ^ A play by Thomas Heywood, entitled, A Woman Killed with Kindness, is mentioned in Henslowe's Diarj', under the date of February 1602-3. It was printed in 1607. 202 TAMING OF act iv. Bian. And may you prove, sir, master of your art ! Luc. While you, sweet dear, prove mistress of my heart. {They retire. Hvith dew. Within whose e^'es she takes her dawniing beams, And golden summer sleeps upon thy cheeks. Wrap up thy radiations in some cloud. Lest that thy beauty make this stately town Inhabitable, like the burning zone. With sweet reflections of thy lovely face." ^ First folio and quarto have whither ; second and third folio ?i)//erc. * This is from the fourth book of Ovid's Metamorphoses, by Golding, 1586, p. 56. Ovid borrowed his ideas from the sixth book of the Odyssey, 154, &c. 220 TAMING OF ACT IV. And not a maiden, as thou say'st he is. Kath. Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes, That have been so bedazzled with the sun^, That every thing I look on seemeth green ^: Now I perceive, thou art a reverend father ; Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking. Pet. Do, good old grandsire ; and, withal, make known Which way thou travellest : if along ^vith us, We shall be joyful of thy company. Vin. Fair sir, — and you, my merry mistress, — That with your strange encounter much amaz'd me; My name is call'd — Vincentio ; my dwelling — Pisa ; And bound I am to Padua ; there to visit A son of mine, which long I have not seen. Pet. What is his name ? Vin. Lucentio, gentle sir. Pet. Happily met ; the happier for thy son. And now by law as well as reverend age, I may entitle thee — my loving father ; The sister to my wife, this gentlewoman. Thy son by this hath married : Wonder not, Nor be not griev'd ; she is of good esteem, Her dowry wealthy, and of worthy birth ; Beside, so qualified as may beseem The spouse of any noble gentleman. Let me embrace with old Vincentio : And wander we to see thy honest son. Who will of thy arrival be full joyous. Vin. But is this true ? or is it else your pleasure, * It may be a genuine stage tradition that the actress, in de- livering this line, is wont to cast a look of enquiry towards Pe- truchio, as hesitating whether to say sun or moon. ^ Another proof of Shakespeare's accurate observation of na- tural phanomena. When one has been long in the sunshine, the surroimding objects will often appear tinged with green. The reason is assigned by writers apon optics. sc. V. THE SHREW. 221 Like pleasant travellers to break a jest Upon the company you overtake ? Hor. I do assure thee, father, so it is. Pet. Come, go along, and see the truth hereof ; For our first merriment hath made thee jealous. \_Exeimt Pet. Kath. and Vin. Hor. Well, Petruchio, this has put me in heart. Have to my widow ; and if she be froward. Then hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward. {_Exit. ACT V. Scene I. Padua. Before Lucentio's House. Enter on one side Biondello, Lucentio, and Bi- ANCA ; Gremio walking on the other side. Biondello. 'OFTLY and swiftly, sir; for the priest is ready. Luc. I fly, Biondello : but they may chance to need thee at home, therefore leave us. Bion. Nay, faith, I'll see the church o' your back ; and then come back to my master^ as soon as I can. \_Exeimt Luc. Bian. and Bion. Gre. I marvel Cambio comes not all this while. Enter Petruchio, Katharina, Vincentio, and Attendants. Pet. Sir, here's the door, this is Lucentio's house, IVIy father's bears more toward the market-place ; Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir. • The old editions read mistress. The emendation is Tlieo- bald's, who rightly obsei-\'es that, by master, Biondello means his pretended master, Tranio. u2 222 TAMING OF act v. Vi7i. You shall not choose, but drink before you go ; I think, I shall command your welcome here, And, by aU likelihood, some cheer is toward. [_Knocks. Gre. They're busy Avithin, you were best knock louder. Enter Pedant above at a window. Ped. What's he, that knocks as he would beat down the gate ? Vin. Is Signior Lucentio within, sir ? Ped. He's within, sir, but not to be spoken withal. Vin. What if a man bring him a hundred pound or two, to make merry withal ? Ped. Keep your hundred pounds to youiself ; he shall need none, so long as I live. Pet. Nay, I told you, your son was well beloved in Padua. — Do you hear, sir? — to leave frivolous circum- stances, — I pray you, tell Signior Lucentio, that his father is come from Pisa, and is here at the door to speak Avith him. Ped. Thou liest ; his father is come from Pisa-, and here looking out at the window. Vin. Art thou his father ? Ped. Ay, sir ; so his mother says, if I may believe her. Pet. Why, how now, gentleman ! \_To Vincen.] why, this is flat knavery, to take upon you another man's name. Ped. Lay hands on the villain ; I believe 'a means to cozen somebody in this city under my countenance. He-enter Biondello. Bion. I have seen them in the church together : God send 'em good shipping! — But who is here? ^ Tlie old copy reads from Padua. Tyrwhitt suggested the necessary correction. sc. I. THE SHREW. 223 mine old master, Vincentio ? now we are undone, and brought to nothing. Vin. Come hither, crack -hemp. \_Seeing Biondello. Bion. I hope, I may choose, sir. Vin. Come hither, you rogue : What, have you for- got me ? Bion. Forgot you ? no, sir : I could not forget you, for I never saw you before in all my life. Vin. What, you notorious villain, didst thou never see thy master's father, Vincentio ? Bion. What, my old worshipful old master ? yes, marry, sir ; see where he looks out of the window. Vin. Is't so, indeed ? [^5eff/s Biondello. Bion. Help, help, help ! here's a madman will mur- der me. \_Exit. Fed. Help, son ! help, Signior Baptista ! \_Exit., from the window. Pet. Pr'ythee, Kate, let's stand aside, and see the end of this controversy. \They retire. Re-enter Pedant helow ; Baptista, Tkanio, awrf Servants. Tra. Sir, what are you that offer to beat my ser- vant? Vin. What am I, sir? nay, what are you, sir? — O immortal gods ! O fine villain ! A silken doublet ! a velvet hose ! a scarlet cloak ! and a copatain hat' ! — O, I am undone ! I am undone ! while I play the ' A copatain hat, i. e. a sugar-loaf hat, a coppid-tanke hat ; ga- lerus accuminatus. — Junius Nomendator, 1585. This kind of hat is twice mentioned by Gascoigne. Vide Hearbes, p. 1 54 : — " A coptankt hat made on a Flemish block." Again in his epilogue, p. 216 : — " With high-copt hats and feathers flaunt-a flaunt." " Upon their heads they ware felt hats copple-tanked a quarter of an ell high or more." — Comines, by Danet. Mr. Collier says, " It is not known what kind of hat was intended ! " Surely it is suf- ficiently obvious. 224 TAMING OF act v. good husband at home, my son and my servant spend all at the university. Tra. How now ! what's the matter ? Bap. What, is the man lunatick ? Tra. Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman by your habit, but your words show you a madman : Why, sir, what concerns* it you, if I wear pearl and gold? I thank my good father, I am able to maintain it. Vin. Thy father ? O, villain ! he is a sail-maker in Bergamo. Bap. You mistake, sir ; you mistake, sir : Pray, what do you think is his name ? Fm. His name? as if I knew not his name : I have brought him up ever since he was three years old, and his name is — Tranio. Ped. Away, away, mad ass ! his name is Lucentio ; and he is mine only son, and heir to the lands of me, Signior Vincentio. Vin. Lucentio ! O, he hath murdered his master ! — Lay hold on him, I charge you, in the duke's name : — O, my son, my son ! — teU me, thou villain, where is my son Lucentio? Tra. Call forth an officer ^ : \_Enter one with an Offi- cer^ carry this mad knave to the gaol : — Father Bap- tista, I charge you see that he be forthcoming. Vin. Carry me to the gaol ! ■* The first folio has cei-nes. Concerns is the reading of the se- cond folio. * Here, in the original play, the Tinker speaks again : — " SUe. I say, weele have no sending to prison. Lord. My lord, this is but the play ; they're but in jest. SUe. I tell thee, Sim, weele have no sending To prison, that's flat ; why, Sim, am I not Don Christo Van ? Therefore, I say, they shall not goe to prison. Lord. No more they shall not, nij- lord : They be runne away. SUe. Are they run away, Sim ? that's well : Then gi's some more drinke, and let them play againe. Lord. Here, my lord." SC. I. THE SHREW. 225 Gre. Stay, officer ; he shall not go to prison. Bap. Talk not, Signior Gremio ; I say, he shall go to prison. Che. Take heed, Signior Baptista, lest you be co- ney-catched^ in this business; I dare swear, this is the right Vincentio. Ped. Swear, if thou darest. Grre. Nay, I dare not swear it. Tra. Then thou wert best say, that I am not Lu- centio. Gre. Yes, I know thee to be Signior Lucentio. Bap. Away mth the dotard ; to the gaol with him. Vin. Thus strangers may be haled and abused : — O monstrous villain ! Re-enter Biondello, with Lucentio, and Bianca. Bion. O, we are spoiled, and — Yonder he is ; deny him, forswear him, or else we are all undone. Luc. Pardon, sweet father. \_Kneeling. Vin. Lives my sweet son ? [^Biondello, Tranio, and Pedant run out. Bian. Pardon, dear father. \_Kneeling. Bap. How hast thou offended ? Where is Lucentio ? Luc. Here's Lucentio, Right son to the right Vincentio ; That have by marriage made thy daughter mine, While counterfeit supposes blear'd thine eyne^. ^ Coney -catched, i. e. deceived, cheated. '' This is probably an allusion to Gascoigne's comedy, entitled Supposes, from which several of the incidents are borrowed. Gas- coigne's original was Ariosto's / Suppositi. The word supposes was often used, as it is in the text, by Shakespeare's cotempo- raries ; one instance, from Drayton's epistle of King John to Matilda, may suffice : — " And tell me those are shadows and supposes." To blear the eye anciently signified to deceive, to cheat. The reader 226 TAMING OF act v, Gre. Here's packing^, with a witness, to deceive us aU! Vin. Where is that damned villain, Tranio, That fac'd and brav'd me in this matter so ? Bap. Why, tell me, is not this my Cambio ? Bian. Cambio is chang'd into Lucentio. Luc. Love wrought these miracles. Bianca's love Made me exchange my state with Tranio, While he did bear my countenance in the towii ; And happily I have arriv'd at the last Unto the wished haven of my bliss : — What Tranio did, myself enforc'd him to ; Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake. Vin. I'll slit the villain's nose, that would have sent me to the gaol. Bap. But do you hear, sir ? [_To Lucentio.] Have you married my daughter vdthout asking my good- wiU? Vin. Fear not, Baptista ; we will content you, go to : But I will in, to be revenged for this villainy. ^Exit. Bap. And I, to sound the depth of this knavery. [Exit. Luc. Look not pale, Bianca ; thy father wiU not fro^vn. \_Exeunt Luc. and Bian. Ch'e. My cake is dough 9 : But I'll in among the res.t : Out of hope of all, — but ifty share of the feast. \_Exit. will remember Milton's " Spells Of power to cheat the eye with hlear illusion." ^ Packing, i. e. plottings, underfiand contrivances. * 3Ii/ cake is dough. An obsolete proverb, repeated on the loss of hope or expectation. A cake which comes out of the oven in the state of dough disappoints by being a failure and uneatable. Gremio had before said, Act i. Sc. 2 : — " Our calie is dough on both sides," which refers to the ancient baking of cakes at the embers, when it may have been only ordinarj' iU luck to have a cake burnt on one side and dough on the other. sc. T. THE SHREW. 227 Petruchio and Katharina advance. Kath. Husband, let's follow, to see the end of this ado. Pet. First kiss me, Kate, and we \vill. Kath. What, in the midst of the street ? Pet. What, art thou ashamed of me ? Kath. No, sir ; God forbid : — but ashamed to kiss. Pet. Why, then let's home again : — Come, sirrah, let's away. Kath, Nay, I will give thee a kiss : now pray thee, love, stay. Pet. Is not this well ? — Come, my sweet Kate ; Better once than never, for never too late. \_Exeunt. Scene II. A Room in Lucentio's House. A Banquet set out. Enter Baptista, Vincentio, Gremio, the Pedant, LUCENTIO, BlANCA, PeTRUCHIO, KaTHARINA, HoRTENSio, «nrf Widow. Tranio, Biondello, Grumio, and others^ attending. Luc. At last, though long, our jarring notes agree: And time it is, when raging war is done\ To smile at 'scapes and perils overblown. — My fair Bianca, bid my father welcome. While I with selfsame kindness welcome thine : — Brother Petruchio, — sister Katharina, — And thou, Hortensio, ^vith thy loving widow, — Feast with the best, and welcome to my house ; My banquet^ is to close our stomachs up. After our great good cheer : Pray you, sit down ; ' The old copy reads come, the emendation is Rowe's. Mr. Collier and the corrector of his second folio suggest gone. ^ The banquet here, as in other places of Shakespeare, was a refection similar to our modern dessert, consisting of cakes, sweet- meats, fruits, &c. According to Baret, " banketting dishes brought at the end of mealcs, were junkettes, tartes, marchpanes." Yet 228 TAMING OF act v. For now we sit to chat, as well as eat. \They sit at table. Pet. Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat ! Bap. Padua affords this kindness, son Petruchio. Pet. Padua affords nothing but what is kind. Har. For both our sakes, I would that word were true. Pet. Now, for my life, Hortensio fears his widow. Wid. Then never trust me if I be afeard^. Pet. You are very sensible, and yet you miss my sense ; I mean, Hortensio is afeard of you. Wid. He that is giddy, thinks the world turns round. Pet. Roundly replied. Kath. Mistress, how mean you that ? Wid. Thus I conceive by him. Pet. Conceives by me ! — How likes Hortensio that ? Hor. My widow says, thus she conceives her tale. Pet. Very well mended : Kiss him for that, good widow. Kath. He that is giddy, thinks the world turns round : I pray you, teU me what you meant by that. Wid. Your husband, being troubled ^vith a shrew. Measures my husband's sorrow by his woe*: And now you know my meaning. Kath. A very mean meaning. Wid. Right, I mean you. Kath. And I am mean indeed, respecting you. Pet. To her, Kate ! Hor. To her, widow ! from the same authority it appears that a banquet and a feast were also then synonymous, and the word is often used by Shakespeare in that sense also. ^ We have here an instance of the use of fear in its active and passive sense. ■* As this was meant for a rhyminpf couplet, it should be ob- served that shrew was pronounced shrow. See also the finale, where it rhvnnes to so. sc. II. THE SHREW. 229 Pet. A hundred marks, my Kate does put her down. Hot. That's my office. Pet. Spoke like an officer : — Ha' to thee, lad. ]^Drinks to Hortensio. Bap. How likes Gremio these quick-\vitted folks ? Gre. Believe me, sir, they butt together well. Bian. Head, and butt ? a hasty witted body Would say, your head and butt were head and horn. Vin. Ay, mistress bride, hath that awaken'd you ? Bian. Ay, but not frighted me ; therefore I'll sleep again. Pet. Nay, that you shall not ; since you have begun, Have at you for a bitter^ jest or two. Bian. Am I your bird ? I mean to shift my bush. And then pursue me as you draw your bow : — You are welcome aU. \_Exeunt BiANCA, Katharina, and Widow. Pet. She hath prevented me. — Here, Signior Tranio, This bird you aim'd at, though you hit her not; Therefore, a health to all that shot and miss'd. Tra. O, sir, Lucentio slipp'd me like his greyhound. Which runs himself, and catches for his master. Pet. A good swift^ simile, but something currish. Tra. 'Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself; 'Tis thought, your deer does hold you at a bay. Bap. O ho, Petruchio, Tranio hits you now. Luc. I thank thee for that gird^, good Tranio. H(/r. Confess, confess, hath he not hit you here ? Pet. 'A has a little gall'd me, I confess ; And, as the jest did glance away from me, 'Tis ten to one it maim'd you two outright. * The old copy reads better. The emendation is Capcll's. * A good swift simile. Besides the original sense of speedy in motion, swift signified witty, quick witted. So in Ai5 You Like It, the Duke says of the clown, " He is very swift and sententious." ' A gird is a cut, a sarcastn, a stroke of satire. III. X 230 TAMING OF act v. Bap. Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio, I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all. Pet. Well, I say — no ; and therefore, for assurance. Let's each one send unto his wife ; And he, whose wife is most obedient To come at first when he doth send for her. Shall win the wager which we wiU propose. Hot. Content : What is the wager ? Luc. Twenty crowns. Pet. Twenty crowns ! I'U venture so much of my hawk, or hound, But twenty times so much upon my ^vife. Luc. A hundred then. Ho)-. Content. Pet. A match ; 'tis done. Ho7\ Who shall begin ? Luc. That will I. Go, Biondello, bid your mistress come to me. Bion^ I go, \JExit. Bap. Son, I will be your half, Bianca comes. Luc. I'll have no halves ; I'll bear it all myself. Re-enter Biondello. How now ! what news ? Bion. Sir, my mistress sends you word That she is busy, and she cannot come. Pet. How ! she is busy, and she cannot come ! Is that an answer ? Gre. Ay, and a kind one too : Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse. Pet. I hope, better. Uor. Sirrah Biondello, go, and entreat my vAi^ To come to me forthwith. \_Exit Biondello. Pet. O, ho ! entreat her ! Nay, then she must needs come. Hor. I am afraid, sir, Do what you can, yours will not be entreated. sc. ir. THE SHREW. 231 Re-enter Biondello. Now where's my wife ? Bion. She says, you have some goodly jest in hand ; She will not come ; she bids you come to her. Pet. Worse and worse ; she will not come ! O vile, Intolerable, not to be endur'd ! Sirrah Grumio, go to your mistress ; Say, I command her come to me. [_Exit Grumio. Hor. I know her answer. Pet. What ? Hor. She will not. Pet. The fouler fortune mine, and there an end. • Enter Katharina. Bap. Now, by my holidam^, here comes Katharina ! Kath. What is your will, sir, that you send for me ? Pet. Where is your sister, and Hortensio's wife ? Kath. They sit conferring by the parlour fire. Pet. Go fetch them hither ; if they deny to come, Swinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands • Away, I say, and bring them hither straight. \_Exit Katharina. Lite. Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder. Hor. And so it is ; I wonder what it bodes. Pet. Marry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet life. An awful rule, and right supremacy ; And, to be short, what not, that's sweet and happy. Bap. Now fair befall thee, good Petruchio ! The wager thou hast won ; and I will add Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns ; Another do\vry to another daughter. For she is chang'd, as she had never been. Pet. Nay, I will win my wager better yet ; And show more sign of her obedience, Her new-built virtue and obedience. " Halij'tiOTn A. S. a snrred oath, probably signifying by my holiness or honesty. 232 TAMING OF act v. Re-enter Katharina, with Bianca, and Widow. See, where she comes ; and brings your froward wives As prisoners to her womanly persuasion. — Katharine, that cap of yours becomes you not ; Oft* mth that bauble, throw it under foot. \_KxTiix-Ritix j>idls off her cap, and throvrs it down. Wid. Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh, Till I be brought to such a silly pass ! Bian. Fye ! what a foolish duty call you this ? Luc. I would, your duty were as foolish too : The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca, Hath cost me a hundred croA\Tis9 since supper-time. Bian. The more fool you for laying on my duty. Pet. Katharine, I charge thee, tell these headstrong women What duty they do owe their lords and husbands. Wid. Come, come, you're mocking ; we will have no telling. Pet. Come on, I say ; and first begin with her. Wid. She shall not. Pet. I say, she shall ; — and first begin with her. Kath. Fye, fye ! unknit that threat'ning unkind brow ; And dart not scornful glances from those eyes, To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor : It blots thy beauty, as frosts do bite the meads ; Confounds thy fame, as whirhvinds shake fair buds ; And in no sense is meet or amiable. A woman mov d, is like a fountain troubled. Muddy, ill seeming, thick, bereft of beauty ; And, while it is so, none so dry or thirsty Will deign to sip, or touch one drop of it. Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, ® The old copies have hath cost me five hundred. Pope cor- rected it to a hundred. SC. II. THE SHREW. 233 Thy head, thy sovereign ; one that cares for thee, And for thy maintenance : commits his body To painful labour, both by sea and land ; To watch the night in storms, the day in cold, Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe ; And craves no other tribute at thy hands, But love, fair looks, and true obedience ; — Too little payment for so great a debt. Such duty as the subject owes the prince. Even such a woman oweth to her husband : And, when she's froward, peevish, sullen, sour. And, not obedient to his honest will. What is she, but a foul contending rebel, And graceless traitor to her loving lord ? — I am asham'd, that women are so simple To offer war, where they should kneel for peace ; Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway. When they are bound to serve, love, and obey. Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth, Unapt to toil and trouble in the world ; But that our soft conditions '"^ and our hearts. Should well agree with our external parts ? Come, come, you froward and unable worms ! My mind hath been as big as one of yours, My heart as great ; my reason, haply, more. To bandy word for word, and frown for frown : But now, I see, our lances are but straws ; Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare, — That seeming to be most, which we indeed least are. Then vail your stomachs ^\ for it is no boot ; And place your hands below your husband's foot : In token of which duty, if he please, '" Soft conditions, that is, the gentle qualities of our minds. " Vail your stomachs, abate your pride, your spirit; it is no hoot, i. e. it is profitless, it is no advantage. Tlius in King Richard \l. Act i. Sc. 1 :— " Norfolk, throw down ; we bid ; there is no boot." X 2 234 TAMING OF THE SHREW. act v. My hand is ready, may it do him ease. Pet. Why, there's a wench ! — Come on, and kiss me, Kate. Lkc. Well, go thy ways, old lad ; for thou shalt ha't. Vin. 'Tis a good hearing, when children are toward. Luc. But a harsh hearing when women are froward. Pet. Come, Kate, we'll to bed : We three are married, but you two are sped'^. 'Twas I won the wager, though you hit the white ^^ ; \_To LUCENTIO. And, being a winner, God give you good night ! \_Exeimt Petruchio and Kath. Ho)\ Now go thy ways, thou hast tam'd a curst shrew. Ltic. 'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be tam'd so. \_Exeitnt^^. '* You two are sped, i. e. the fate of t/ou both is decided; for you both have vnves who exhibit early proofs of disobedience. '^ The white was the central part of the mark or butt in archery. Here is also a play upon the name of Bianca, which is white in Italian. '* The old play continues thus : — " Enter two servants, bearing Slie in his own apparel, and leaving him on the stage. Then enter a Tapster. Tapster. Now that the darksome night is overpast, And dawning day appeares in christall skie, Now must I haste abroade : but softe ! who's this ? What, Slie ? O wondrous ? hath he laine heere all night ! He wake him ; I thinke he's star\'ed by this, But that his belly was so stufTt with ale : What now, Slie ? awake for shame. Slie. [Awaking.] Sim, give's more wine. — What, all the players gone ? — Am I not a lord ? Tap. A lord, with a murrain?— Come, art thou drunk still? Slie. Who's this? Tapster! — Oh I have had the bravest dream that ever thou heard'st in all thy life. Tap. Yea, marry, but thou hadst best get thee home, for your wife will curse you for dreaming here all night. Slie. Will she ? I know how to tame a shrew. I dreamt upon it all this night, and thou hast wak'd me out of the best dream that ever I had ; but I'll to my wife, and tame her too, if she anger me." CRITICAL ESSAY ON THE TA3IING OF THE SHREW. ' contemporary notice of this play has been recovered and no impression of it anterior to the first folio. The omission of it in the enumeration of Francis Meres proves that that list was incomplete, for it contains the titles of plays that we may be certain on critical grounds were written after this. The play occupies a very subordinate position among the co- medies of Shakespeare, but there are points of great interest connected with it, chiefly dependent on the curious relation it bears to a comedy still extant, the work of another hand. The first edition of this, under the title of The pleasant conceited History called the Taming of a Shrew, was printed in 1594, and there were two later in 1596 and 1607. The entries in the Sta- tioners' books furnish no groimd for supposing that any edition of Shakespeare's work was ever printed, although in the entry for the folio of 1 623 it is not recited in the list of those " not for- merly entered to other men." The connection between this play and Shakespeare's is of the closest kind, and there is not the slightest ground for supposing that any intermediate modification had taken place. This is important, because the comedy of Shake- speare abounds in verses of the doggrel measure which are not borrowed from the play that he worked upon, and in this case therefore, as in others — as for instance in the Comedy of Errors, we are precluded from ascribing the doggrel portions to another author as a matter of course, and must accept them as even cha- racteristics of the poet's manner at a certain period. This doubt- less, from the plays to which the remark applies, was an early period and to that we must assign The Taming of the Shrew. The fact, however, of the play as it now stands having been in the main an eai-ly production would not preclude the possibility that it may bear the traces of revision at a much later date. Indeed, considering what we know so absolutelj- of the successive corrections to which Shakespeare subjected his dramas, I have sometimes thought that when his first editors speak of having 236 TAMING OF THE SHREW. received his papers without a blot, they must be referring to re- vised copies preparing by the author himself for the publication which his friends and fellows regret that he did not live to super- intend. In the present instance however this conjecture applies less than in some others, and I suspect that we have the play much as it was first brought forward. The date of the earliest edition of the old play does not give us a fixed limit for the ri/acimento, as it is impossible to say how much earlier it may not have been played and in the hands of the players. Shakespeare's own productions are examples how long a play may have been popular on the stage before it was printed, and hundreds were never printed at all. In the mean- time there is proof that at one period the same play was not, at least in many cases, confined to a single company, and also that nothing was more frequent than to bring out old plays with recent changes and additions veiy frequently by other hands than those of the original author. Mr. Knight has advanced the opinion that the original Taming of a Shrew was the work of Eobert Greene and the passages adduced in comparison of style give strong confirmation. Six of Greene's dramas, one of them wi-itten in connexion with Lodge, have been identified and collected. He died in poverty in 1592, and in a posthumous pamphlet published by a fellow author, Chettle, he reflected on Shakespeare in terms that have been construed as a charge of literary plagiarism, and that are at least interesting illustrations of the position and character of the poet at this time, which could not be very far from the production of The Taming of the Shrew. As Greene's pamphlet and death date in 1592 and the first edition of his supposed play two years later, the adaptation of it by Shakespeare, if alluded to in the passage to be quoted, would imply that it came to his hands as hinted above by some channel independent of the press. In the Groat's worth of Wit bought with a Million of Repen- tance then, Greene thus addresses his brother dramatists, Mar- lowe, Peele and Lodge. *' Base minded men all three of ye, if by my misery you be not warned ; for unto none of you like me sought those burs to cleave ; those puppets, I mean, that speak from our mouths ; those antics garnished in our colours. Is it not strange that I to whom they have all been beholding — is it not like that you to whom they have all been beholding — shall (were ye in that case I am now) be both of them at once forsaken? Yes, trust them not ; for there is an upstart crow beautified with our feathers, that with his ti(/er''s heart, wrapt in a player's hide supposes he is as well able to bombast out a blank verse as the best of j-ou ; and being an absolute Johannes Factotum, is in his own conceit, the only Shake-scene in a country. Oh that I might intreat yom- rare wits to be emploj'ed in more profitable courses ; and let these apes imitate your past excellence and never more CRITICAL ESSAY. 237 acquaint them with your admired inventions. I know the best husband of you all will never prove an usurer, and the kindness of them all will never prove a kind nurse ; yet whilst you may seek you better masters : for it is pity men of such rare wits should be subject to the pleasures of such rude grooms." Much of this complaint is of the staple of all authors, dramatic or others, dissatisfied with the division of the profits of combined exertion between themselves and speculative managers or book- sellers ; somewhat more is expressive of jealousy at the success of a rival who by rapid advancement and untiring versatility has secured both player's profit and poet's glory, and has thus re- duced the usual suppliers of the stage to still more galling de- pendence ; but there is even more in it, and it is impossible not to perceive that the assumption of stolen plumes is brought into such connexion with the poetical displays of the actor author as to imply piratical encroachment. This is the impression they conveyed to the author of Greene's Funerals, 1 594, who seems to have this very passage in his mind in the lines : — " Nay more, the men that so eclipsed his fame Purloined his plumes, can they deny the same ? " Sooth to say, it is no impossibility that Shakespeare in the full exercise of his talents for business as well as poetry, may have had no more consideration for those by whose very deficiencies he rose than men usually have who are engrossed in the successful pur- suit of fortune ; still the general spirit of this pamphlet is so bad — a scald trivial lying pamphlet it was called by Nashe, a friend of the writer, that we may disregard the base charges and be simply thankful to learn that at this date Shakespeare was on a par at least with the most renowned playwriters of the day, while Mar- lowe was still living, as well as an actor of repute, and that with no lack of self-reliance and originality he had made extensive use of the productions of others not necessarily illicitly, but with a success that provoked some irritation. Other testimony that indeed is pleasanter and perhaps as im- portant is given in the apology of Chettle which followed the imputation within three months in Kind-heart's Dream. We gather from this, without difiiculty, that Shakespeare felt natixral offence, and appears to have taken the frankest means of assert- ing his self-respect by personal communication. " With neither of them," says Chettle, " that take offence was I acquainted ; and with one of them [this appears to be Marlowe] I care not if I never be ; the other whom at that time I did not so much spare, as since I wish I had, for that as I have moderated the heat of lining writers, and might have used my own discretion (especially in such a case, the author being dead) that I did not I am as soiTy as if the original fault had been my fault, because myself have seen his demeanour no less civil, than he excellent in the quality [that is of an actor] he professes; besides divers of wor- 238 TAMING OF THE SHREW. ship have reported his uprightness of dealing, which argues his honesty, and his facetious grace in writing, that approves his art." In 1592 Shakespeare was 28, but already three years earlier he was a sharer in the Blackfriar's company ; in the following j'ear he dedicated his poem of Venus and Adonis to Lord South- ampton in terms that are sufficient to evince his acceptance with " divers of worship," and in the year preceding a passage is found in a poem of Spenser, The Tears of the Muses, that will suit none but Shakespeare and show plainly what proofs he had at that time given of his poetic and creative power ; he is : — " The man whom nature's self hath made To mock herself and truth to imitate — With kindly counter under mimic shade. Our pleasant WiUy." He is, — " That same gentle spirit from whose pen Large streams of honey and sweet nectar flow." On all these grounds I entertain little doubt that The Taming of the Shrew dates at least before the year 1592. It is observable that if The Taming of a Shrew were really Greene's he was himself not quite clear from the transgression he imputes, for his play contains a number of passages evidently taken from Marlowe's Faustus and Tamburlaine, and these minor borrowings are much more of the natm-e of stealing than an avowed adaptation on a large scale where there can be no pre- tence of disavowing or concealing an obligation. Shakespeare then took up the earlier play, captivated appa- rently by the excellence of a fundamental idea, and rewrote it from beginning to end. As regards the story and conduct of the piece he retained and expanded the Induction ; in the play proper he followed the scenes and incidents in the course of Katharina and Petrachio very exactly ; but in the wooings of Bianca he made very extensive changes for which he derived the motives from The Supposes, a play translated from the Suppositi of Ariosto, by Gascoigne, and acted at Gray's Inn in 1566. From this source he also took the names of Petruchio and Licio. With respect to the execution of the play, so entirely is it re- cast that even in the scenes of which the matter is closest to the original there are but few lines transferred literally. Still we must do justice to the earlier writer and incomparably superior as the adapted scenes undoubtedly are in every respect, the best scenes of the new play are pi-ecisely those that correspond most closely with the older production, and manifestly owe their ex- cellence largely if not to its example to its inspiration. We lose Sly at the end of the first scene of the play, and it has been doubted whether the rest of the character has not been lost, but there was an inherent weakness in the attachment of the part, and it seems most probable that Shakespeare felt this and was CRITICAL ESSAY. 239 content to let it drop ofF, though not to spare it altogether. The story of a drunkard bewildered out of his identitj' is found among the Tales of the Thousand and One Arabian Nights', however it came there. Nearer at hand in time and place it is told as a freak of Philip the Good, Duke of Burgimdy, in Goulart's Ad- mirable and memorable Histories translated by E. Grimestone in 1607, but said to have appeared in English as early as 1570, a collection of stories by Richard Edwards, and likely enough to have been transfen-ed "to the stage many times no longer to be traced. The remarkable point in this version is that as part of the routine of a ducal day and verging to its conclusion, they play before the artisan, a pleasant comedy. It is after this that a banquet with store of precious wine sends him soon back into his drunken sleep. There certainly was something witty and inge- nious in the notion of bringing the drunkard on the stage, re- presenting him as deceived in his own person by Lords turned players, and then as the spectator of a play which again was contrived not without reference to his position and made him look on at an intrigue like that of which he was the subject, to laugh and be amused at a plot to outftice a bidly and persuade a lady out of her own nature and character, and at a scheme to personate a Duke that breaks down by the accidental confronting of the false and the real. But the primary play will not bear the weight of the secondary; new wine is put into old bottles too weak to retain it, and thus the entire perspective of the piece is taken in reverse, foreground and background change places and •when this has occurred the less important cannot be too soon covered up and forgotten. That this was Shakespeare's intention appears I think from the last words addressed and given to Sly ; after a single scene he is already as might be expected falling asleep; he " nods and does not mind the play" — 'tis a very ex- cellent piece of work he says, " would 'twere done." This seems notice early and plain enough that he was not to burden the stage to the end, and that literature and not " Ipocras" was to be guilty of his second deep sleep. The absence of stage direction for his ultimate removal is no difficulty, for it would be still more requisite if he remained to the last. The end of his existence has been already fully attained when he has been passed through all the stages of astonishment, perplexity and hesitation, until he rests fully at ease in his new conviction, a perfected coun- terfoil to the converted Katharina. The players themselves do not escape a touch of satire in the old play ; the stage direction on their apjiearance bespeaks the narrow appliances of a company travelling ; " Enter two of the players with packs at their backs and a boy " — and the low comedian has an earnest purpose when he puts in the word : — " And I'll speak for the properties : My Lord, we must Have a shoulder of mutton for a property." 240 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Audiences such as they were when the groundling element that Shakespeare contemned predominated, have also their mirror set before them. Sly's anxiety when the play is proposed, is to enquire " Is there not a fool in the play ? " and it is evidently with relief that he exclaims in the progress of the play, " Look, Sim, the fool is come again now." There is indeed much ap- pearance in the construction of these old plays, that the alterna- tion of scenes of strongly contrasted style was partly a necessity in order to gratify the various tastes of a mixed audience in turn, before Shakespeare found the w^ay to blend them with such re- fined art that the alteration was an enhancement of effect and enjoyment to the most refined. There is much himiour again in the indignation of -Sly and the difficulty with which he is pacified, when at a crisis of the play two of the characters are in peril of prison : — " Sly. I say, we'll have no sending to prison. Lord. My lord, this is but the play, they're but in jest. Sly. I tell thee, Sim, we'll have no sending To prison, that's flat ; why, Sim, am not I Don Christo Van ? Therefore, I say, they shall not go to prison. Lord. No more they shall not, my lord, they be run away. Sly. Are they run away, Sim ? that's well Then gi's some more drink, and let them play again." Spoken like one whose ancles had been erewhUe sore with the stocks. Sly's transformation in belief which is developed so naturally by Shakespeare, is very inartificially managed in the old Induc- tion, where he believes that he is a Lord at once on the strength of a single assurance and his fine apparel. The versified portion of Shakespeare's Induction has great merit ; but it is, neverthe- less, unequal and betrays at times a weakness and imcertainty of hand unknown in his better works. There are lines that get their complement of syllables, or regular accentuation, by charitable indulgence ; " Prose strained to verse, verse loitering into prose." Thus " It would seem strange unto him when he waked " — and " Balm his foul head with warm distilled waters " — and " Full of rose-water and bestrewed with flowers." The best passages of the Induction however stand for and go far to attain the rhythm of the Two Gentlemen of Verona. In the following quotation the lively spirit and the tremulous faltering are in immediate oppo- sition : " 2 Servt. Dost thou love pictures ? we will fetch thee straight Adonis painted by a running brook And Cytherea all in sedges hid. Which seem to move and wanton with the breath Even as the waving sedges play wiih wind. Lord. We'll show thee lo, as she was a maid, And how she was beguiled and surprised. As lively painted as the deed was done." CRITICAL ESSAY 241 Tlie scene of the old play is at Athens ; but Shakespeare, in adapting an Italian play for the underplot, transfeiTed the scene to an Italian seat of learning, Padua, with which the entire action is in far better harmony. The accuracy with which he has caught and transferred the local manners was, probably, simply due to the intuition -with which, in so many other cases, a few true character- istics enabled him to follow forth all their conditions and conse- quences. In the decrepit lover Gremio, he has reproduced the proper pantaloon of the Italian stage, and the very term is once applied to him, while Grumio is a representation of the more boisterous buffoon. Looking over the play at large it must be thought that the leading subject is scarcely of a calibre to correspond with the length of it, and, as in the Comedy of Errors, not only is blank verse bestowed on matter scarcely worthy, but the theme (at least as it is treated) seems more akin to farce than comedy. Part of this weakness is no doubt due to the comparative tameness and disparity of the underplot. This, the wooing of Bianca by lovers in disguise and masquerading servants, is a chai-acterless tale of intrigue, and however successfully its incidents may be interwoven with those of Petruchio's enterprise, this does not overcome the essential discordance in tone and spirit. The tale of Katharine and Petruchio stands in unsupported isolation, bold spirited, lively and exciting in itself, and requiring doubtless some more sober relief, but a relief not dependent on tameness or mere difference of incident, but with contrasted geniality of cha- racterization that would not only relieve but refresh. A master- piece of such combination is the Comedy of Much Ado about Nothing, but for this the time was not yet. The contrast of the passive Hero with the vivacious Beatrice is set forth in a manner to interest as well as amuse us ; but there is something more of the epigrammatic than the comic in the smartly invented antithesis of the termagant Katharina, who accepts pretty readily the husband provided for her and becomes a submissive wife, and the meek submissive Bianca, who with all her tranquillity of spirit helps herself to the husband that suits her own fanc_y, and has her own will when she is man-iod. There is also something uncomfortable and ungallant in the direction of the chief current of ridicule upon the weakness of the sex. The realm of Comedy, to be agreeable, must be ruled by the milder laws of the drawing-room, and be subject to the same constitu- tional allowances, with whatever irony tempered, of the infalli- bility of the fair. Apart, however, from considerations of plan and principle, no- thing can be better in its way than the execution of the whole stoiy of the Taming. The general outline and also the tone of execution are in the old play; but it is after all but an arid channel compared with the overwhelming flow of humour and III. Y 242 TAMING OF THE SHREW. language that breaks along iu a perfect outburst of exuberant invention. When the play commences, Katharina appears in- stated in the character of a shrew, rough, peevish, petulant, irritable, and therefore, however she obtained the character, in a false position which aggravates itself. Her younger and milder mannered sister is beset -svith suitors, and upon her she vents her petulance in terms which show how far her continued single state reacts upon the testiness that already deprives her of suitors, and the mischief reproduces itself. To such a state of things Petruchio was born to put an end ; there is thus much sympathy between the two at starting, that well provided married state is their common object vnth. secondary interest in the individual to be chosen. The simple difficult}' to be apprehended of cross purposes, and repulsion at first encounter, is happily ob\'iated by positive detenniuation to take and admit of nothing other than as desired ; and accordingly, after a scene of the strangest pertinacity, in which Petruchio mingles a fair proportion of flattery -with banter and defiance, he makes such progress that my lady takes refuge in the sulks, and with protesting grumblings and compliant gestures she gives her hand when he asks it for the ceremonious betrothal, nay without protesting or resisting so far gives a parting kiss when he asks it that he takes it ivithout ceremony and then she withdraws silent, but by that very token not ill satisfied. ^Ve may guess how far the pair are suited when we find her still more disappointed than piqued when he is unheard of on the day fixed for mai-riage. He arrives at last, and rough as he is and rudely accoutred she marries him notwithstanding, and no declared and obstinate opposition do we hear of until they are surely tied. Then for the first time resistance openly appears ; she ^vill stay for the bridal dinner will he or not, and now the true conflict and the taming begins. The moral of the contest ]>roves merely this, that with equal spirit and determination on cither side, the balance of physical power, of muscular strength, I 'f capability of watching, of fasting, of enduring fatigue, so far pre- ]iouderate on the side of the husband that the weaker sex has no chance in a protracted opposition and must ultimatelj' be wearied ami tired out. The matter however does not rest there; if we might apply the moral of the tale generally, Shakespeare would be an authority to back the adage : — " A spaniel, a woman, and walnut tree. The more you beat them the better they be." Katharina at last does not remain in mere compelled obedience ; her very spirit is subdued to the quality of natural subordination. With spaniel-like subser^dence she now turns on Hortensio's widow, when she hints that Petnichio is not absolute, and at last delivers a homily with no hint of insincerity, on the law of nature as illustrative of feminine subjugation : — CRITICAL ESSAY. 243 " Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth Unapt to toil and trouble in the world, But that our soft conditions and our hearts Should well agree with our external parts." If this be the truth one may venture to ask whether it be quite the whole truth ; whether in the terms of the treaty by which the matrimonial conflict gives place to capitulation and alliance, the weaker sex does not come less favourably off than nature would sanction, in consequence of unfair advantage of law and custom. Be this however as it may, there is still more to be said, and with- out it the history of Katharina and Petruchio is as incomplete as the anamorphosis of Christopher Sly. In that particular phase of the battle of life, the married state, there are other powers and influences employed than can be met by any power of fasting, watching, and fatigue. The play furnishes no hint or adumbra- tion of the process and result in which the weaker character tells upon the stronger in the wedded state, the complying upon the obstinate, the mild upon the self-willed, the submissive upon the self-confident or, let it be whispered, the teazing upon the terrify- ing, until, as frequently for good as for ill, tastes and habits, associations and even most definite purposes are modified and re- volutionized, and now the hour of dinner, and now religious belief or at least religious behaviour take new adjustments ; until the minds and manners of the partners are as palpably blended in themselves with variable balance either way, as in their off- spring. Thus the exhibition in this play of the rights and the powers of man remains onesided, and therefore unsatisfiictorj- — an anecdote and not a proper action, not to be completed however on such a scheme as Fletcher's Tamer Tamed, by marrying Petru- chio to a second wife who could wield his own weapons. It is just possible that the confession and consciousness of the require- ment of a sequel may be contained in the last lines of the un- balanced composition we have considered : — " Hortensio. Now go thy ways, thou hast tamed a curst shrew. Lucentio. 'Tis a wonder by your leave she will be tamed so." At any rate Sir John Hamngton, Queen Elizabeth's " mtty god-son," with the old play before him in 1 596, was not convinced that the tale was at an end when he noted in his Metamorphosis of Ajax :— " Read the book of Taming a Shrew, which hath made a number of us so perfect that now every one can nde a shrew in our country, save he that hath her." W. W. LI. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. PRELIMINARY REMARKS. ^HE fable of All's Well that Ends Well is derived from the story of Gilletta of Narbonne in the Decamerone of Boccaccio. It came to Shakespeare through the me- dium of Painter's Palace of Pleasure : and is to be found in the first volume, which was printed as early as 1566. The comic parts of the plot, and the characters of the Countess, Lafeu, &c. are of the poet's own creation, and in the conduct of the fable he has found it expedient to depart from his original more than it is his usual custom to do. The character of Helena is beauti- fully drawn ; she is an heroic and patient sufferer of adverse fortune like Griselda, and placed in circumstances of almost equal difficulty. Her romantic passion for Bertram, with whom she had been brought up as a sister ; her grief at his departure for the court, which she expresses in some exquisitely impassioned lines, and the retiring anxious modesty with which she confides her passion to the Countess, are in the poet's sweetest style of •writing. Nor are the succeeding parts of her conduct touched with a less delicate and masterly hand. Placed in extraordinaiy and embarrassing circumstances there is a propriety and delicacy in all her actions, which is consistent with the guileless innocence of her heart. The King is properly made an instrument in the denouement of the plot of the pla}', and this is a most striking and judicious deviation from the novel : his gratitude and esteem for Helen are consistent and honouiable to him as a man and a monarch. Johnson has expressed his dislike of the character of Bertram, and most fair readers have manifested their abhon-ence of him, and have thought with Johnson that he ought not to have gone unpunished, for the sake not only of poetical but of 7«ora/ justice. Schlegel has remarked that " Shakespeare never attempts to mi- tigate the impression of his unfeeling pride and giddy dissipation. Y 2 24G ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. He intended merely to give us a military portrait ; and paints the true way of the world, according to which the injustice of men towards women is not considered in a very serious light, if they only maintain what is called the lionour of the family." The fact is, that the construction of his plot prevented him. Helen was to be rewarded for her heroic and persevering affection, and any more serious punishment than the temporary shame and re- morse that awaits Bertram would have been inconsistent with comedy. It should also be remembered that he was constrained to marry Helen against his will. Shakespeare was a good-na- tured moralist ; and, like his own creation old Lafeu, though he •was delighted to strip off the mask of pretension, he thought that punishment might be carried too far. Who that has been di- verted with the truly comic scenes in which ParoUes is made to appear in his true character could have wished him to have been otherwise dismissed ? — " Though you are a fool and a knave, you shall eat." It has been remarked that " the style of the whole play is more conspicuous for sententiousness than imagery :" and that " the glowing colours of fancy covUd not have been introduced into such a subject." May not the period of life at which it was produced have something to do with this ? Malone places the date of its composition in 1606, and observes that a beautiful speech of the gick king has much the air of that moral and judiciuus reflection that accompanies an advanced period of life : — " Let me not live After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses All but new things disdain : whose judgments are Mere fathers of their garments ; whose constancies Expire before their fashions." It appears probable that the original title of this play was Love's Labours Wonne : at least a piece imder that title is men- tioned by Meres in his Wits Treasurie, 1598 ; but if this was the play referred to, what becomes of Malone's hypothesis relating to the date of its composition ? It was first printed in the folio of 1 623. PERSONS REPRESENTED. King of France. Duke of Florence. Bertram, Count of Rousillon. Lafeu *, an old Lord. Parolles *, a follower of Bertram. Several young French Lords, that serve with Ber- tram in the Florentine war. Steward, | g^,.^.a,its to the Countess of Rousillon, Clown, S A Page. Countess of Rousillon, Mother to Bertram. Helena, a Gctdlewoman protected by the Countess. An old Widow of Florence. Diana, Daughter to the Widow. VioLENTA, I Jsfgjg}^|JgJ^J.g and Friends to the Widow. Mariana, j Lords, attending on the King;; Officers, Soldiers, ^c. French and Florentine. SCENE, partly in France, and partly in Tuscany. Steevens says that we should •write Lefeu and Paroles. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. ACT I. Scene I. Rousillon. A Boom in the Countess's Palace. Enter Bertram, the Countess of Rousillon, Helena, and Lafeu, all in black, Coimtess. ; N delivering my son from me, I bury a se- cond husband. Ber. And I, in going, madam, weep o'er my father's death anew : but I must attend his majesty's command, to whom I am now in ward^, evermore in subjection. Laf. You shall find of the king a husband, madam ; — you, sir, a father : He that so generally is at aU times good, must of necessity hold his virtue to you ; whose worthiness would stir it up where it wanted, ra- ther than lack it where there is such abundance. Count. What hope is there of his majesty's amend- ment? Laf. He hath abandoned his physicians, madam ; ' The heirs of great fortunes were formerly the king's wards. This prerogative was a branch of the feudal law. The custom, it seems, prevailed in Normandy, but not in the part of France where the scene is laid. 250 ALL'S WELL act i. under whose practices he hath persecuted time with hope ; and finds no other advantage in the process but only the losing of hope by time. Count. This young gentlewoman had a father (O, that hadl how sad a passage^ 'tis !) whose skill was almost as great as his honesty ; had it stretched so far, 'twould^ have made nature immortal, and death should have play for lack of work. 'Would, for the king's sake, he were living ! I think it would be the death of the king's disease. Laf. How called you the man you speak of, madam? Count. He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was his great right to be so : Gerard de Narbon. Laf. He was excellent, indeed, madam ; the king very lately spoke of him, admiringly, and mourningly : he was skilful enough to have lived still, if knowledge could be set up against mortality. Ber. What is it, my good lord, the king languishes of? Laf. A fistula, my lord*. Ber. I heard not of it before. Laf. I would, it were not notorious. — Was this gen- tlewoman the daughter of Gerard de Narbon ? 2 III the Heautontimoramenos of Terence, which had been trans- lated in Shakespeare's time, is the following passage : — " Filium unicum adolescentulum Habeo. Ah quid dixi Habere me ? imo habni, Chreme, Nunc habeam incertum est." In Wily Beguiled, a comedy, 1606 : — " She is not mine, I have no daughter now. That I should say / had thence comes the grief." The countess remembers her own loss, and hence her sympathy. Passage is occurrence, circumstance. ^ The old copy by mistake omits the H before would, although there is space for it. I insert it, for othei-wise we have no nomi- native to the verb. » In Painters Novel the King's malady is said to be " a swell- ing upon his breast, which, by reason of ill cure, was grown to be a fistula." sc. I. THAT ENDS WELL. 251 Count. His sole child, my lord ; and bequeathed to my overlooking. I have those hopes of her good, that her education promises : her dispositions she inherits, which make fair gifts fairer ; for where an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities*, there commendations go Avith pity, they are virtues and traitors too ; in her they are the better for their simpleness ; she derives her honesty, and achieves her goodness. Laf. Your commendations, madam, get from her tears. Count. 'Tis the best brine a maiden can season^ her praise in. The remembrance of her father never approaches her heart, but the tyranny of her sorrows takes all livelihood^ from her cheek. No more of this, Helena, go to, no more ; lest it be rather thought you affect a sorrow, than to have^. Hel. I do affect a sorrow, indeed, but I have it too^. Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living. Hel. If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon mortal 9. Ber. jMadam, I desire your holy wishes. * We feel regret even in commending such qualities, joined with an evil disposition ; they are traitors, because they give the pos- sessors power over others ; who, admiring such estimable qualities, are often betrayed by the malevolence of the possessors. Helena's virtues are the better because they are artless and open. * So in Chapman's version of the third Iliad : — " Season'd her tears her joj's to see," &c. ® Takes all livelihood from her cheek, i. e. all appearance of life. '' This kind of phraseology was not peculiar to Shakespeare, though it appears uncouth to us: it is plain that he meant — " lest it be rather thought you affect a sorrow than have it." ^ Helena's affected sorrow was for the death of her father; her real grief related to Bertram and his departure. ^ This speech is given to the Countess in the folio. It evi- dently belongs to Helen, as Tieck suggested. Like her last it is enigmatical, and the next words of Lafeu, " How understand we that ? " refer to it, and could not have gone unanswered if ad- dressed to the Countess. 252 ALL'S WELL act i. La/. How understand we that ? Count. Be thou blest, Bertram ! and succeed thy father In manners, as in shape ! thy blood, and virtue. Contend for empire in thee ; and thy goodness Share with thy birth-right ! Love all, trust a few, Do wrong to none : be able for thine enemy Rather in power, than use ; and keep thy friend Under thy own life's key : be check'd for silence. But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will, That thee may furnish ^°, and my prayers pluck down. Fall on thy head ! Farewell. — My lord, 'Tis an unseason'd courtier ; good my lord^ Advise him. La/. He cannot want the best That shall attend his love. Count. Heaven bless him ! — Farewell, Bertram. \_Exit Countess. Ber. The best wishes, that can be forged in your thoughts \_To Helena]], be servants to you" ! Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her. La/. Farewell, pretty lady : You must hold the credit of your father. \_Exeunt Bertram and Lafeu. Hel. O, were that all ! — I think not on my father ; And these great tears '^ grace his remembrance more Than those I shed for him. What was he like ? '" Tliat thee may furnish, i. e. that may help thee with more and better qualijications. " i.e. may you be mistress of your u-ishes, and have power to bring them to effect. "^ That is, Helen's oivn tears, which were caused in reality by the departure of Bertram, though attributed by Lafeu and the Countess to the loss of her father, and which, from this misappre- hension of theirs, graced his memory more than those she actually shed for him. sc. I. THAT ENDS WELL. 263 I have forgot him : my imagination Carries no favour in't, but Bertram's. I am undone ; there is no living, none, If Bertram be away. It were all one, That I should love a bright particular star, And think to wed it, he is so above me : In his bright radiance and collateral light Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. The ambition in my love thus plagues itself: The hind, that would be mated by the lion, IMust die for love. 'Twas pretty, though a plague. To see him every hour ; to sit and draw His arched brows>, his hawking eye, his curls. In our heart's table ^^ ; heart, too capable Of every line and trick of his sweet favour ^^ : But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy Must sanctify his relicks. Who comes here ? Enter Parol les. One that goes with him : I love him for his sake ; And yet I know him a notorious liar, Think him a great way fool, solely ^^ a coward ; Yet these fix'd evils sit so fit in him, That they take place, when virtue's steely bones Look bleak i'the cold wind : withal, full oft we see Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly ^^. Par. Save you, fair queen. Hel. And you, monarch ^7. '^ Helena considers her heart as the tabht on which his resem- blance was portrayed. '■• Trick, &c. i. e. every line and trace of his sweet countenance. '^ Sokhj, i. e. altogether, without any admixture of the opposite quality. A similar phrase occiu'S in Cupid's Revenge, by Beau mont and Fletcher: — " She being only wicked." '® Cold for naked, as superfluous for overclothed. This makes the propriety of the antithesis. ■'' Perhaps there is an allusion here to the fantastic Monarcho mentioned in a note on Love's Labour's Lost, Act i. Sc. 1. III. Z 264 ALL'S WELL ACT I. Par. No. Hel. And no. Par. Are you meditating on virginity ? Hel. Ay. You have some stain ^^ of soldier in you : let me ask you a question : INIan is enemy to virginity ; how may we barricado it against him ? Par. Keep him out. Hel. But he assails ; and our virginity, though va- liant in the defence, yet is weak : unfold to us some warlike resistance. Par. There is none ; man, sitting down before you, will undermine you, and blow you up. Hel. Bless our poor virginity from undenniners, and blowers up ! — Is there no military policy, how virgins might blow up men ? Par. Virginity, being blown do^vn, man mil quick- lier be blown up : marry, in blowing him doAMi again, ■\^'ith the breach yourselves made, you lose your city. It is not politick in the commonwealth of nature, to preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational in- crease ; and there was never virgin got, till virginity was first lost. That, you were made of, is metal to make virgins. Virginity, by being once lost, may be ten times found : by being ever kept, it is ever lost : 'tis too cold a companion ; away with't. Hel. I will stand for't a Little, though therefore I die a virgin. Par. There's little can be said in't ; 'tis against the rule of nature. To speak on the part of \arginity, is to accuse your mothers ; which is most infallible dis- obedience. He that hangs himself is a virgin : vir- ginity murders itself ^9; and should be buried in " Some stain of soldier, that is, some tincture, some little of the hue or colour of a soldier ; as much as to say, i/ou that are a bit of a soldier. " He that hangs himself, and a virgin, are in this circumstance alike, they are both self-destroyers. sc. I. THAT ENDS WELL. 255 highways, out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate offendress against nature. Virginity breeds mites, much like a cheese ; consumes itself to the very par- ing, and so dies with feeding his own stomach. Be- sides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made of self- love, which is the most inhibited ^° sin in the canon. Keep it not : you cannot choose but lose by't. Out with't : within ten months it will make itself two^^, which is a goodly increase, and the principal itself not much the worse : Away with't. Hel. How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own liking ? Par. Let me see : Marry, ill, to like him that ne'er it likes 2-. 'Tis a commodity will lose the gloss with lying ; the longer kept, the less worth : off with't, while 'tis vendible : answer the time of request. Vir- ginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out of fashion ; richly suited, but unsuitable : just like the brooch and the toothpick, which wear"^ not now: Your date^* is better in your pie and your porridge, than in your cheek : And your virginity, your old virginity, is like ^ Forbidden. Inhibited is elsewhere used by Shakespeare in the same sense. =' The old copy reads, " within ten yeare it will make itselfe two." A correction in my second folio reads, "within ten months it will make itself two," which is coimtenanced by what follows, " and the principal itself not much the worse." Hanmer's read- ing " within ten years it will make itself ten" has been hitherto adopted. Steevens proposed to read, within two years it will make itself two. Out with it is used equivocally. Applied to virginity, it means give it awai/ ; part with it: considered in ano- ther light, it signifies put it out to interest, it will produce you two for one. ^^ Parolles plays upon the word Uhinci, and says. She must do ill for virginity to be so lost, must like him that likes not virginity. ^' The old copy reads were, Rowe coiTected it. Shakespeare here, as in other places, uses the active for the passive. My cor- rected folio reads, " they wear not now." ^* A quibble on date, which means age, and the well known can- died fruit then much used in pies. The same quibble occui-s in Troiius and Cressida, Act i. Sc. 2. 25G ALL'S WELL ACT I. one of our French -withered pears ; it looks ill, it eats dryly ; marry, 'tis a withered pear ; it was formerly better ; marry, yet, 'tis a withered pear : Will you any thing with it ? Hel. Not my virginity yet^^. There shall your master have a thousand loves, A mother, and a mistress, and a friend, A phoenix, captain, and an enemy, A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign, A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear ; His humble ambition, proud humility, His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet,^ His faith, his sweet disaster : with a world Of pretty, fond, adoptions Christendoms-^, That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he- I know not what he shall : — God send him well ! — The court's a learning-place : — and he is one Par. What one, i'faith ? Hel. That I wish well. — 'Tis pity Par. What's pity ? Hel. That wishing well had not a body in't. Which might be felt : that we, the poorer born, ^ Not my virginity yet. The sequence of ideas in Helena's mind appears to be, my virginity is not ytt old and withered; so far from it, that there shall your master have, &c. The obscurity of the connection in her speech may simply express, that though she caimot quite control her feelings, she does not make ParoUes a confidant, or speak so clearly as to make him one. Hanmer and Johnson suggest that some such clause as You're for the court, has been omitted. Malone conjectured that the omission is in Parolles's speech, and that he may have said, / am now bound for the court, and that something of the kind appears to be neces- sary to connect Helena's rhapsodical speech. 25 Pfgffy^ fond, adoptions Christendoms, i. e. a number of pretty, fond, adopted appellations or Christian names, to which blind Cupid stands godfather. It is often used for baptism by old writers. See K. John, Act iv. Sc. 1 : — " By my Christendom, Were I out of prison, and kept sheep, I should be meiTy as the day is long." sc. I. THAT ENDS WELL. 257 Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes, IMight with eflects of them follow our friends, And show what we alone must think ^^ ; which never Returns us thanks. Enter a Page. Page. Monsieur ParoUes, my lord calls for you. \_Exit Page. Par, Little Helen, farewell : if I can remember thee, I will think of thee at court. Hel. Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable star. Par. Under IMars, I. Hel. I especially think, under IMars. Par. Why under Mars ? Hel. The wars have so kept you under, that you must needs be born under Mars. Par. When he was predominant. Hel. When he was retrograde, I think, rather. Par. Why think you so ? Hel. You go so much backward, when you fight. Par. That's for advantage. Hel. So is running away, when fear proposes the safety ; But the composition, that your valour and fear makes in you, is a virtue of a good wing"^, and I like the wear well. Par. I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer thee acutely : I will return perfect courtier ; in the which, my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee, so ''^ And show what we ninne must think, i. e. and show by realkks what ice now must only think. ^* This is a metaphor from Shakespeare's favourite source, Fal- conry. A bird of good winy was a bird of swift and strong flight. " If your valour will suffer you to go backward for advantage, and your fear, for the same reason, will make you run away, the com- position is a virtue that will fly far and swiftly." Mason thinks we should read — is like to wear well. Z 2 258 ALL'S WELL ACT i. thou wilt be capable-^ of a courtier's counsel, and un- derstand what ad\Hice shall thrust upon thee ; else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes thee away : farewell. When thou hast leisure, say thy prayers ; when thou hast none, remember thy friends : get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee : so farewell. \_Exit. Hel. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie. Which we ascribe to heaven : the fated sky Gives us free scope ; only, doth backward pull Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull. What power is it which mounts my love so high ; That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye''° ? The mightiest space in fortune nature brings To join like likes, and kiss like native things ^^. Impossible be strange attempts, to those That weigh their pains in sense ; and do suppose. What hath been cannot be : Who ever strove To show her merit, that did miss her love ? The king's disease — my project may deceive me, But my intents are fix'd, and wiW. not leave me. \_Exit. ^ Capable and susceptible were sjTion^Tnous in Shakespeare's time, as appears by the dictionaries. Helen says before : — " Heart too capable Of every line and trick of his sweet favour." '" She means, why am I made to discern excellence, and left to long after it tcithout the food of hope. ■" The mightiest space in fortune here stands for persons the most widely separated by fortune ; whom natzire (i. e. natural affection) brings to join like likes (i. e. equals), and kiss like native things (i. e. and imite like things formed by nature for each other). Or in other words, " Nature often unites those whom fortune or in- equality of rank has separated." sc. II. THAT ENDS WELL. 259 Scene II. Paris. A Boom in the King's Palace. Flourish of Cornets. Enter the King of France, with Letters ; Lords and others attending. King. The Florentines and Senoys^ are by th' ears; Have fought with equal fortune, and continue A braving war. 1 Lord. So 'tis reported, sir. King. Nay, 'tis most credible ; we here receive it A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, With caution, that the Florentine will move us For speedy aid ; wherein our dearest friend Prejudicates the business, and would seem To have us make denial. 1 L(yrd. His love and -wisdom, Approv'd so to your majesty, may plead For amplest credence. King. He hath arm'd our answer. And Florence is denied before he comes : Yet, for our gentlemen, that mean to see The Tuscan service, freely have they leave To stand on either part. 2 Lard. It well may serve A nursery to our gentry, who are sick For breathing and exploit. King. What's he comes here ? Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles. 1 Lord. It is the count RousiUon, my good lord. Young Bertram. King. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face; Frank nature, rather curious than in haste, Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral parts ' The citizens of the small republic of which Sienna was the capital. The Sanesi, as Boccaccio calls them, which Painter translates Senois, after the French method. 260 ALL'S WELL ACT i. May' St thou inherit too ! Welcome to Paris. Ber. My thanks and duty are your majesty's. King. I woukl I had that corporal soundness now, As when thy father, and myself, in friendship First tried our soldiership ! He did look far Into the service of the time, and was Discipled of the bravest : he lasted long ; But on us both did haggish age steal on. And wore us out of act. It much repairs- me To talk of your good father : In his youth He had the wit, which I can well observe To-day in our young lords ; but they ma^ jest, Till their own scorn return to them unnoted. Ere they can hide their levity in honour^ So like a courtier : contempt nor bitterness Were in his pride or sharpness : if they were, His equal had awak'd them*; and his honour. Clock to itself, knew the true minute when Exception bid him speak, and, at this time. His tongue obey'd his hand. Who were below him He us'd as creatures of another place ; And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks. Making them proud of his humility. In their poor praise he humbled^ : Such a man '■^ To repair in Shakespeare generally signifies to renovate. ' Thus, in Cj-mbeline : — " O disloyal thing That should'st repair my youth." ' That is, " cover petty faults with great merit :" honour does not stand for dignity of rank or birth, but acquired reputation. " This is an excellent observation," says Johnson, "jocose follies, and slight offences, are only allowed by mankind in him that overpowers them by great qualities." •* Nor was sometimes used without reduplication. " He was so like a courtier, that there was in his dignity of manner no- thing contemptuous, and in his keenness of ynt nothing bitter. If bitterness or contemptuousness ever appeared, they had been uwakeried by some injury, not of man below him, but of his equal." * We must understand with Malone, " he being humbled," or " he humbled himself.'' sc. ir. THAT ENDS WELL, 261 Might be a copy to these younger times ; Which, follow'd well, Avould demonstrate them now But goers backward. Ber. His good remembrance, sir. Lies richer in your thoughts, than on his tomb ; So in approof^ lives not his epitaph, As in your royal speech. King. 'Would, I were with him ! He would always say, (Methinks I hear him now ; his plausive words He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them. To grow there, and to bear) — Let me not lice, — This his good melancholy oft began. On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, When it was out, — let me not live, quoth he. After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses All but new things disdain ; whose judgments are Mere fathers of their garynents"^ ; whose constancies Expire before their fashions : This he wish'd : I, after him, do after him wish too. Since I nor wax, nor honey, can bring home, I quickly were dissolved from my hive, To give some labourers room. 2 Lord. You are lov'd, sir ; They, that least lend it you, shall lack you first. King. I fill a place, I know't. — How long is't, count, Since the physician at your father's died ? He was much fam'd. Ber. Some six months since, my lord. King, If he were living, I would try him yet ; — Lend me an arm ; — the rest have worn me out " So in approof lives not his epitaph, i. e. the approbation of his worth lives not so much in his epitaph as in your royal speech. ' Mere fathers of their garments, i. e. who have no other use of their faculties than to invent new modes of dress. 262 ALL'S WELL act I. With several applications : — nature and sickness Debate it at their leisure^. Welcome, count ; My son's no dearer. Ber. Thank your majesty. [_Exeunt. Flourish. Scene III. Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's Palace. , Enter Countess, Steward, and Clown ^. Count. I will now hear : what say you of this gen- tlewoman ? Stew. iMadam, the care I have had to even your content-, I wish might be found in the calendar of my past endeavours ; for then we wound our modesty, and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them. Count. What does this knave here ? Get you gone, sirrah : The complaints, I have heard of you, I do not all believe ; 'tis my slouoiess, that I do not : for, I know, you lack not folly to commit them, and have abilitv enoush to make such knaveries yours. Clo. 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow. Count. Well, sir. ' So in Macbeth : — " Death and nature do contend about them." ' The Clown in this comedy is & domestic fool of ih& same kind as Touchstone. Such fools were, in the poet's time, maintained in all great families to keep up merriment in the house. Cart- ■s\Tight, in his verses prefixed to the works of Beaumont and Fletcher, censures such dialogues as this, and that between Olivia and the Clo-ivn in Twelfth Night : — " Shakespeare to thee was dull, whose best jest lies I'th' lady's questions, and the /ooZ's replies, Old fashion'd wit, which walk'd from to\\Ti to town In trunk-hose, which our fathers called the clown." ' To even your content, i. e. to act up to your desires. so iir. THAT ENDS WELL. 263 Clo. No, madam, 'tis not so well, that I am poor ; though many of the rich are damned : But, if I may have your ladyship's good will to go to the world ^, Isbel the woman and I will do as we may. Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar ? Clo. I do beg your good will in this case. Count. In what case ? Clo. In Isbel's case, and mine own. Service is no heritage : and, I think, I shall never have the bless- ing of God, till I have issue of my body ; for, they say, beams are blessings. Count. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry. Clo. My poor body, madam, requires it : I am driven on by the flesh ; and he must needs go, that the devil drives. Count. Is this all your worship's reason ? Clo. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, such as they are. Count. May the world know them ? Clo.- I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and all flesh and blood are ; and, indeed, I do marry, that I may repent. Count. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness Clo. I am out o' friends, madam ; and I hope to have friends for my wife's sake. Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. Clo. Y ' are shallow, madam ; e'en great friends ; for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am a-weary of. He, that ears my land, spares my team, and gives me leave to inn the crop : if I be his cuck- old, he's my drudge : He, that comforts my wife, is the cherisher of my flesh and blood ; he, that cherishes my flesh and blood, loves my flesh and blood ; he, that loves my flesh and blood, is my friend : ergo^ he ' To qo to the world, i. o. to he married. 264 ALL'S WELL ACT I. that kisses my wife, is my friend. If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage : for young Charbon the puritan, and old Poysam* the papist, howsome'er their hearts are se- vered in religion, their heads are both one, they may joU horns together, like any deer i'the herd. Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calum- nious knave ? Clo. A prophet I, madam ; and I speak the truth the next way ^ : For I the ballad will repeat. Which men full trite shall find ; Your marriage comes hy destiny. Your cuckoo sings by kind^. Count. Get you gone, sir ; I'll talk wth you more anon. Stew. May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to you ; of her I am to speak. Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman, I would speak with her; Helen I mean. Clo. \Singing7\ Was this fair face the cause, quoth she. Why the Grecians sacked Troy ? Fond done'', doyie fond. Was this king Priam's joy^. With that she sighed as she stood, * Malone conjectui'es that we should read, Poisson the papist, alhiding to the custom of eating fish on fast days : as Charbon the puritan alludes to the fiery zeal of that sect. It is Shake- speare's custom to use significant names. ^ The next way, i. e. the readiest way. ® Kind, i. e. nature. ' Fond done, i. e. foolishly done. " The name of Helen brings to the Clown's memory this frag- ment of an old ballad ; something has escaped him, it appears, for Paris " was king Priam's only joy," as Helen was Sir Paris's. According to two fragments quoted by the commentators. sc. III. THAT ENDS WELL. 265 With tJiat she sighed as she stood. And gave this setitcnce then ; Among nine bad if one be good. Among nine bad if one be good. There's yet one good in ten. Count. What, one good in ten ; you corrupt the song, sirrah. Clo. One good woman in ten, madam ; which is a purifying o' the song : 'Would, God would serve the world so all the year ! we'd find no fault with the tithe- woman, if I were the parson : One in ten, quoth a' ! an we might have a good woman born, but on 9 every blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery well ; a man may draw his heart out, ere a' pluck one. Count. You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I com- mand you ? Clo. That man should be at woman's command, and yet no hurt done ! — Though honesty be no puritan, yet it vnW. do no hurt ; it will wear the surplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart ^°. — I am going, forsooth : the business is for Helen to come hither. {E.xit Clown. Count. Well, now. ^ The old copy reads ore. Malone substituted or. Mr. Collier's folio substitutes one. '" The clown answers, with the licentious petulance allowed to the character, that " if a man does as a woman commands, it is likely he vnW do amiss ; " that he does not amiss, he makes the effect not of his lady's goodness, but of his own honeafy, which, though not very nice or puritanical, will do no hurt, but, unlike the puritans, will comply wth the injunctions of superiors ; and wear the " surplice of humility over the black gown of a big- heart ; " will oiaey commands, though not much pleased with a state of subjection. The surplice was a special abomination to the Puritans, whose preachers adopted the black gown — the Ge- neva Cassock. The ordinary costume of the Established Church represents a compromise. See Hooker's Eccles. Polity. III. A A 206 ALL'S WELL act i. Stew. I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely. Count. Faith, I do : her father bequeathed her to me ; and she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully make title to as much love as she finds : there is more owing her, than is paid ; and more shall be paid her, than she'U demand. Stew. ]VIadam, I was very late more near her than, I think, she wished me ! alone she was, and did com- municate to herself, her own words to her own ears ; she thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son : Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put such difference betwixt their two estates ; Love, no god, that would not extend his might, only where qualities were level ; Diana ^^ no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight surprised, without rescue, in the first assault, or ransome aftenvard : This she de- livered in the most bitter touch of sorrow, that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in : which I held my duty, speedily to acquaint you withal ; sithence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns you something to know it. Count. You have discharged this honestly ; keep it to yourself : many likelihoods informed me of this be- fore, which hung so tottering in the balance, that I could neither believe, nor misdoubt ; Pray you, leave me : stall this in your bosom, and I thank you for your honest care : I will speak with you further anon. [Exit Steward. Even so it ^vas with me, when I was young : If ever we are nature's, these are ours ; this thorn " The old copies omit Diana, and no. Theobald inserted the words ; he also added to he in the next line. Mr. Dyce has shown, from several instances of similar phraseology in cotemporary writers, that it was a superfluous addition. Thus in the Mirror for Magistrates, p. 188, ed. 1610: — " If I in this his regall royall raigne Without repulse should suffer him remaine." sc. III. THAT ENDS WELL. 267 Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong ; Our blood to us, this to our blood is born ; It is the show and seal of nature's truth, Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth : By our remembrances of days foregone, Such were our faults ; — oh^^, then we thought them none. Enter Helena. Her eye is sick on't ; I observe her now. Hel. What is your pleasure, madam ? Count. You know, Helen, I am a mother to you. Hel. Mine honourable mistress. Count. Nay, a mother ; Why not a mother ? 'When I said, a mother, Methought you saw a serpent : What's in mother, That you start at it ? I say, I am your mother ; And put you in the catalogue of those That were enwombed mine : 'Tis often seen, Adoption strives with nature : and choice breeds A native slip to us from foreign seeds : You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan. Yet I express to you a mother's care : — God's mercy, maiden ! does it curd thy blood, To say, I am thy mother ? What's the matter, That this distemper'd messenger of wet. The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye*^? Why ? that you are my daughter ? Hel. That I am not. Count. I say, I am your mother. '^ The old copy has " or then we thought them none." The emendation is Warburton's. " There is something exquisitely poetical in this expression. The poet has described the same appearance in his Kape of Lu- crece : — " And round about her tear-distained eye Blue circles stream'd like rainbows in the sky." 2G3 ALL'S WELL ACT I. Hel. Pardon, madam ; The count Rousillon cannot be my brother : I am from humble, he from honour'd name ; No note upon my parents, his all noble : ]My master, my dear lord he is ; and I His servant live, and will his vassal die : He must not be my brother. Count. Nor I your mother ? Hel. You are my mother, madam ; 'Would, you were (So that my lord, your son, were not my brother,) Indeed, my mother ! — or were you both our mothers, I care no more for^\ than I do for heaven. So I were not his sister : Can't no other ^% But, I your daughter, he must be my brother ? Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in- law; God shield, you mean it not ! daughter, and mother. So strive upon your pulse : What, pale again ? IMy fear hath catch'd your fondness : Now I see The mystery of your loneliness ^^, and find Your salt tears' head. Now to all sense 'tis gross, You love my son ; invention is asham'd. Against the proclamation of thy passion. To say, thou dost not : therefore tell me true : But tell me then, 'tis so : — for, look, thy cheeks Confess it, th' one to th' other" : and thine eyes See it so grossly shown in thy behaviours, That in their kind ^^ they speak it : only sin And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue, '■* I care no more for. There is a designed ambiguity, L e. / care as much for : J wish it equally. '^ Can't no other, i. c. can it be no other way, hut if I be your daugh- ter, he mtist be my brother ? '^ The old copy reads loveliness. The emendation is Theobald's. It has been proposed to read lowliness. =■ The folio has " 'ton tooth to th' other." " That in their kind, i. e. in their language, according to their nature. sc. III. THAT ENDS WELL. 260 That truth should be suspected : Speak, is't so ? If it be so, you have wound a goodly clue ; If it be not, forswear't : howe'er, I charge thee, As heaven shall work in me for thine avail. To tell me truly. Hel. Good madam, pardon me ! Count. Do you love my son ? Hel. Your pardon, noble mistress ! Count. Love you my son ? Hel. Do not you love him, madam ? Count. Go not about ; my love hath in't a bond, Whereof the world takes note : come, come, disclose The state of your affection ; for your passions Have to the full appeach'd. Hel. Then, I confess. Here on my knee, before high heaven and you, That before you, and next unto high heaven, I love your son : — ]My friends were poor, but honest ; so's my love : Be not offended ; for it hurts not him. That he is lov'd of me : I follow him not By any token of presumptuous suit ; Nor would I have him, till I do deserve him ; Yet never know how that desert should be. I know I love in vain, strive against hope ; Yet, in this captious and intenible sieve, I still pour in the waters of my love. And lack not to lose still'": thus, Indian-like, " Yet, in this captious and intenible sieve, I still pour in the waters of my love. And lack not to lose still. Johnson knew not what to make of the word captious in this passage, and was inclined to substitute carious. F.arnier supposed captious to be a contraction of capacious. Malone believed that captious meant recipient, capable of receiving, and Mr. Collier, who sees no difficulty in the word, adopts his opinion. T cannot think it possible that " the great master of English," as he has A A 2 270 ALL'S WELL ACT i. Religious in mine error, I adore The sun, that looks upon his worshipper, But knows of him no more. My dearest madam, Let not your hate encounter with my love, For loving where you do : but, if yourself, Whose aged honour cites a virtuous vouth, Did ever, in so true a flame of liking. Wish chastly, and love dearly, that your Dian Was both herself and love '9; O then, give pity To her, whose state is such, that cannot choose But lend and give, where she is sure to lose ; That seeks not to find that her search implies, But, riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies. Count. Had you not lately an intent, speak truly. To go to Paris ? Hel Madam, I had. Count. Wherefore ? tell true. Hel. I will tell truth ; by grace itself, I swear. You know, my father left me some prescriptions Of rare and proved effects, such as his reading. And manifest experience, had collected For general sovereignty ; and that he Avill'd me Jn heedfull'st reservation to bestow them, been justly termed, would have used the word captious, applied figuratively to a sieve, for capable of taking or receiving. I have no doubt that Shakespeare used it in the sense of the Latin captiosus for deceitful, fallacious. Helen says, " I know I love in vain, strive against hope ; yet in this deceitful and unholditiy sieve, I still pour in the waters of my love, yet lack not (a supply) to lose still." The allusion is to Bertram, upon whom she pours out the stream of her atfections, and who certainly does not receive the love she bestows upon him. The poet had in his mmd the storj' of the Danaides, which has been thus moralized. " These virgins, who in the flower of their age pour water into pierced vessels which they can never fill, what is it but to be always bestowing om- love on the ungrateful ?" '^ Helena does not mean to speak of the Countess as wishing " that Dian was also goddess of love," but she supposes that the Countess once so blended chasteness and love in her wishes, that her Dian was actually identified v/ith the goddess of her love. sc. in. THAT ENDS WELL. 271 As notes, whose faculties inclusive were, ^lore than they were in note-°: amongst the rest, There is a remedy, approv'd, set down. To cure the desperate languishings, whereof The king is render'd lost. Count. This was your motive For Paris, was it ? speak. Hel. IMy lord your sou made me to think of this ; Else Paris, and the medicine, and the king. Had, from the conversation of my thoughts. Haply, been absent then. Count. But think you, Helen, If you should tender your supposed aid. He would receive it ? He and his physicians Are of a mind ; he, that they cannot help him ; They, that they cannot help : How shall they credit A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off The danger to itself ? Hel. There's something hints ^', More than my father's skill, which was the great'st Of his profession, that his good receipt Shall, for my legacy, be sanctified By the luckiest stars in heaven : and, would your ho- nour But give me leave to try success, I'd venture The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure, By such a day, and hour. Count. Dost thou believe't ? Hel. Ay, madam, knowingly. Count. Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave, and love, Means, and attendants, and my loving greetings To those of mine in court. I'll stay at home, ^^ Receipts in which greater virtues were enclosed than appeared to observation. ^' The old copy reads, in't. The emendation is Planmer's. 272 ALL'S WELL act i. And pray God's blessing into*^^ thy attempt : Be gone to-morrow ; and be sure of this, What I can help thee to, thou shalt not miss. [_Exeunt. ACT II. Scene I. Paris. A Boom in the King's Palace. Flourish. Enter King, with young Lords taking leave for the Florentine war ; Bertram, Parolles, and At- tendants. King. [ARE WELL, young lord^, these warlike principles Do not throw from you : — and you, my lords, farewell : — Share the advice betwixt you : if both gain, all The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis receiv'd. And is enough for both. 1 Lord. It is our hope, sir, After well enter'd soldiers, to return And find your grace in health. King. No, no, it cannot be ; and yet my heart Will not confess he owes'^ the malady That doth my life besiege^. Farewell, young lords ; ^'- Into for unto. A common form of expression vdih old \yn- ters. See Troilus and Cressida, Act iii. Sc. 3. The thii-d folio reads unto. ' In this line the old copies have lords. The King refers to his advice to the young lord Bertram, to retain his warlike principles to a future time, and to the lords, for their conduct in their expedi- tion ; both refers to two parties, not to two persons only. ^ Owes, i. e. possesses. * i. e. as the common phrase runs, / am still heart-whole ; my spirits, by not sinking under my distemper, do not acknowledge its influence. sc. I. THAT ENDS WELL. 273 Whether I live or die, be you the sons Of worthy Frenchmen : let higher Italy (Those 'bated, that inherit but the fall Of the last monarchy^) see, that you come Not to woo honour, but to wed it ; when The bravest questant^ shrinks, find what you seek, That fame may cry you loud. I say, farewell. 2 Lwd. Health, at your bidding, serve your majesty ! King. Those girls of Italy, take heed of them ; They say, our French lack language to deny, If they demand : beware of being captives. Before you serve. Both. Our hearts receive your warnings. King. Farewell. — Come hither to me. \Tlie King retires to a Couch. 1 Lord. O my sweet lord, that you will stay behind us ! Par. 'Tis not his fault ; the spark 2 Lord. O, 'tis brave wars ! Par. Most admirable : I have seen those wars. Ber. I am commanded here, and kept a coil^ with ; Too young, and the next year., and 'tis too early. Par. An thy mind stand to it, boy, steal away bravely. Ber. I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock, Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry. Till honour be bought up, and no sword worn, ^ I prefer Johnson's explanation of tliis passage to any that has been offered. " Let upper Italy, where you are to e.vurcise your valour, see that you come to gain honour, to the abatement, that is, the overthrow of those who inherit but the fall of the last monarchj-, or the Eoman Empire." The King excepts to the unworthy Italians who inherit not the true " ancient Roman honour," but the degenerate spirit of the decline and fall, and are unlit um- pires of worth and valoiu-. 'Bated and abated are used elsewhere by Shakespeare in a kindred sense. ^ Questant, i. e. seeker, inquirer. ^ To be kept a coil, is to be vexed or troubled with a stir or 7wise. 274 ALL'S WELL act ii. But one to dance with '^ ! By heaven, I'll steal away. 1 Lord. There's honour in the theft. Par. Commit it, count 2 Lord. I am your accessary ; and so farewell. Ber. I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured body^. 1 Lord. Farewell, captain. 2 Lcrrd. Sweet monsieur ParoUes! Par. Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. Good sparks and lustrous, a word, good metals : — You shall find in the regiment of the Spinii, one captain Spurio, his cicatrice, with an emblem of war, here on his sinister cheek ; it was this very sword entrenched it : say to him, I live ; and observe his reports for me. 2 L(yrd. We shall, noble captain. Par. IMars dote on you for his novices ! ^Exeunt Lords.] What will you do ? Ber. Stay ; the king \_Seeing him rise. Par. Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble lords : you have restrained yourself within the list of too cold an adieu : be more expressive to them ; for they wear themselves in the cap of the time 9, there do muster true gait^°; eat, speak, and move imder the influence of the most received star ; and though the devil lead the measure ^^, such are to be followed : ^ In Shakespeare's time it was usual for gentlemen to dance with swords on. They were light swords, made rather for show than use. Among the ornaments of a pistol of the reign of Eliza- beth, in the Meyrick collection, is a figure dancing wth such a sword by his side. * / grow to you, and our parting is as it were to dissever or tor- ture a body. * They are the foremost in the fashion. '" It s'eems to me that this passage has been wrongly pointed and improperly explained, there do muster true gait; if addressed to Bertram, it means there exercise yourself in the gait of fashion ; eat, &c. But perhaps we should read they instead of there, or else insert they after gait; either of these slight emendations would render this obscm-e passage perfectly intelligible. " The dunce. SC. I. THAT ENDS WELL. 275 after them, and take a more dilated farewell. Ber. And I will do so. Par. Worthy fellows ; and like to prove most sinew)' sword-men. \_Exeunt Bertram and Parolles, Enter Lafeu. Laf. Pardon, my lord, \_Kneeli7igr\ for me and for my tidings. King. I'U fee^- thee to stand up. Laf. Then here's a man stands, that has brought his pardon. I would, you had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me mercy ; And that, at my bidding, you could so stand up. King. I would, I had ; so I had broke thy pate, And ask'd thee mercy fort. Laf. Goodfaith, across'^ : But, my good lord, 'tis thus; Will you be cur'd of your infirmity ? King. No. Laf O, will you eat no grapes, my royal fox ? Yes, but you will, my noble grapes, an if JMy royal fox could reach them. I have seen A medicine'*, that's able to breathe life into a stone ; Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary ^^, With spritely fire and motion ; whose simple touch Is powerful to araise king Pepin, nay. To give great Charlemain a pen in's hand. And write to her a love-line'^. "^ The old copy reads see, which cannot be right. In the Mer- chant of Venice the folio has printed /ee for /te. " Across. This word, which is taken from breaking a spear across in chivalric exercises, is used elsewhere by Shakespeare where a pass of wit miscarries. See As You Like It, Act iii. Sc 4, note 6. '*' Medicine is here used by Lafeu ambiguously for a female physician. '^ It has been before observ^ed tliat the canary was a kind of lively dance. '® Malone thinks something has been omitted here : to coin- 276 ALL'S WELL act ii. King. What her is this ? Laf. Why, doctor she : My lord, there's one arriv'd, If you will see her, — now, by my faith and honour. If seriously I may convey my thoughts In this my light deliverance, I have spoke With one, that, in her sex, her years, profession ''^, Wisdom, and constancy, hath amaz'd me more Than I dare blame my weakness'^ : Will you see her, (For that is her demand,) and know her business? "That done, laugh well at me. King. Now, good Lafeu, Bring in the admiration ; that we with thee IVIay spend our wonder too, or take oft" thine, By wond'ring how thou took'st it. Laf. Nay, I'U fit you, And not be all day neither. \_Exit Lafeu. King. Thus he his special nothing ever prologues. Re-enter Lafeu, with Helena. Laf. Nay, come your ways. King. This haste hath wings indeed. Laf. Nay, come your ways : This is his majesty, say your mind to him : A traitor you do look like ; but such traitors His majesty seldom fears. I am Cressid's uncle '9, That dare leave two together ; fare you well. \_Exit. King. Now, fair one, does your business follow us ? Hel. Ay, my good lord. Gerard de Narbon was My father; in what he did profess, well found -°. plete the sense the line should read : — " And cause him write to her a love line." ''' By profession is meant her declaration of the object of her coming. "^ " To acknowledge how much she has astonished me, would be to acknowledge more weakness than I am willing to do." '* / am like Pandarus. See Troilus and Cressida. ^'' Of known and acknowledged excellence. sc. r. THAT ENDS WELL. 277 King. I knew him. Hel. The rather will I spare my praises towards him; Knowing him is enough, On's bed of death IMany receipts he gave me ; chiefly one, Which, as the dearest issue of his practice, And of his old experience the only darling, He bade me store up, as a triple eye'^^. Safer than mine own two : more dear I have so : And, hearing your high majesty is touch'd With that malignant cause wherein the honour Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power, I come to tender it, and my appliance, With all bound humbleness. King. We thank you, maiden ; But may not be so credulous of cure, — When our most learned doctors leave us ; and The congregated college have concluded That labouring art can never ransom nature From her inaidable estate, — I say we must not So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope, To prostitute our past-cure malady To empiricks ; or to dissever so Our great self and our credit, to esteem A senseless help, when help past sense we deem. Hel. My duty then shall pay me for my pains : I will no more enforce mine office on you ; Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts A modest one, to bear me back again. King. I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful : Thou thought' st to help me ; and such thanks I give, As one near death to those that wish him live ; But, what at full I know, thou know'st no part ; I knowing all my peril, thou no art. Hel. What I can do, can do no hurt to try, " A. triple eye, i. e. a third eye. III. B B 278 ALL'S WELL act ii. Since you set up your rest-- 'gainst remedy : He that of greatest works is finisher, Oft does them by the weakest minister : So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown, When judges have been babes^^. Great floods have flown From simple sources-*; and great seas have dried, When miracles have by the greatest been denied-^. Oft expectation fails, and most oft there Where most it promises ; and oft it hits, Where hope is coldest, and despair most fits-^ King. I must not hear thee ; fare thee well, kind maid ; Thy pains, not us'd, must by thyself be paid : Proffers, not took, reap thanks for their reward. Hel. Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd: It is not so with him that all things knows. As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows : But most it is presumption in us, when The help of heaven we count the act of men. Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent ; Of heaven, not me, make an experiment, *' Since you set up your rest, i. e. since you have determined or made up your mind that there is no remedy. Set up your rest is a metaphorical expression derived from the game of Primero, at whicli it seems to have meant to sta7id upon tlie cards one held in his hand. It furnished many other proverbial expressions among the Italians, as may be seen under the word resto in the dictionaries. Fknio is worth quoting : " Restare, to rest, &c. Also to set up one's rest, to make a rest, or play upon one's rest at Primero." In Spanish too " Echar el resto," to set or lay up 07ie's rest, has the same origin and figurative meaning; to adventure all, to be determined. ^^ An allusion to Daniel judging the two Elders. ^* i. e. when Moses smote the rock in Horeb. °^ This must refer to the children of Israel passing the Red Sea, when miracles had been denied by Pharaoh. ^^ The old copy has shifts, evidently an error. The emendation is made on the authority of an old MS. note found in Lord Elles- mere's copy of the first folio by Mr. Collier. I sc. I. THAT ENDS WELL. 279 I am not an impostor, that proclaim Myself against the level of mine aim^^ ; But know I think, and think I kno^v most sure, My art is not past power, nor you past cure. King. Art thou so confident ? Within what space Hop'st thou my cure ? Hel. The great'st grace lending grace -^, Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring Their fiery torch er his diurnal ring ; Ere twice in murk and occidental damp Moist Hesperus hath quench'd his sleepy lamp ; Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass ; What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly, Health shall live free, and sickness freely die. King. Upon thy certainty and confidence. What dar'st thou venture ? Hel. Tax of impudence, — A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame, — Traduc'd by odious ballads ; my maiden's name Sear'd otherwise ; nay ^9, worse of worst extended, With vilest torture let my life be ended •''°. King. Methinks, in thee some blessed spirit doth speak ; His powerful sound, within an organ weak : And what impossibility would slay In common sense, sense saves another way. ^' I am not an impostor that proclaim one thing and design another, that proclaim a cure and aim at a fraud. I think what I speak. ^' i. e. the divi7ie grace, lending me grace or power to accomplish it. So in Macbeth ; at the conclusion we have the gi-ace of grace. ^ The old copy has ne, which Mr. Knight changes to no. Nay seems to me required to give sense and emphasis to the passage. ^^ Let me be stigmatized as a strumpet, and, in addition (although that would not be worse, or a more extended evil than what I have mentioned, the loss nf my honour, which is the worst that could happen), let me die with torture. 280 ALL'S WELL act ii. Thy life is dear ; for all, that life can rate Worth name of life, in thee hath estimate ^^ : Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, virtue ^^, all That happiness and prime ^^ can happy call : Thou this to hazard, needs must intimate Skill infinite, or monstrous desperate. Sweet practiser, thy physick I will try ; That ministers thine own death, if I die. Hel. If I break time, or flinch in property ^^ Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die ; And Avell deserved : Not helping, death's my fee ; But, if I help, what do you promise me ? King. Make thy demand. Hel. But will you make it even ? King. Ay, by my sceptre, and my hopes of heaven ^^. Hel. Then shalt thou give me, with thy kingly hand, What husband in thy power I will command : Exempted be from me the arrogance To choose from forth the royal blood of France ; I\Iy low and humble name to propagate With any branch or impage of thy state ^^: ^' Hath estimate, i. e. may he counted among the gifts enjoyed by thee. ^' Virtue is not in the old copy, it was supplied by Warburton. ■'^ Prime here signifies tliat sprightly vigour which usually ac- companies us in the prime of life ; which old Montaigne calls, cet estatplein de verdeur et de feste, and which Florio translates, " that state, full of lust, of prime, and mirth." So in Hamlet : — " A violet in the youth of primy nature." •** Property seems to be used here for performance or achieve- ment, singular as it may seem. So in Hamlet, Horatio says of the Grave-digger: — " Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness." ^^ The old copy reads " hopes of help." The emendation is Thirlby's. '■'^ The old copy reads " image of thy state." Warburton pro- posed impage, which Steevens rejects, saying unadvisedly " there is no such word." It is evident that Shalsespeare formed it from " an impe, a scion, or young slip of a tree." To impe and imping were also in use, as was the whole verb among our ancestors. II sc. I. THAT ENDS WELL. 281 But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow. King. Here is my hand ; the premises observe!, Thy will by my performance shall be serv'd ; So make the choice of thy own time ; for I, Thy resolv'd patient, on thee still rely. More should I question tliee, and more I must ; Though, more to know, could not be more to trust ; From whence thou cam'st, how tended on, — But rest Unquestion'd welcome, and undoubted blest. — Give me some help here, ho ! — If thou proceed As high as word, my deed shall match thy deed. [^Flourish. Exeunt. Scene II. Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's Palace. Enter Countess and Clown. Count. Come on, sir ; I shall now put you to the height of your breeding. Clo. I will show myself highly fed, and lowly taught: I know my business is but to the court. Count. To the court ! why, what place make you special, when you put off that with such contempt ? But to the court ! Clo. Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any The context evidently requires a word of this import. To say nothing of the incongi-uity of conjoining branch and image, the ■word propagate, in its old sense of increasing by grafting cuttings from an old stock, would never have been so incongruously fol- lowed as by that word. Shakespeare beautifully alludes to this art in the following passage of the Winter's Tale : — " You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock ; And make conceive a bai-k of baser kind By bud of nobler race." B B 2 282 ALL'S WELL act h. manners, he may easily put it off at court : he that cannot make a leg^, put ofF's cap, kiss his hand, and say nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap ; and, indeed, such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the court : but for me, I have an answer will serve all men. Count. Marry, that's a bountiful answer, that fits all questions. Clo. It is like a barber's chair, that fits all buttocks; the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the brawn-but- tock, or any buttock. Count. Will your answer serve fit to all questions ? Clo. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attor- ney, as your French crown for your tafFata punk, as Tib's rush for Tom's fore-finger^, as a pancake for Shrove-tuesday, a morris for May-day, as the nail to his hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding quean to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the friar's mouth ; nay, as the pudding to his skin. Count. Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness for all questions ? Clo. From below your duke, to beneath your con- stable, it will fit any question. Count. It must be an answer of most monstrous size, that must fit all demands. Clo. But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned should speak truth of it : here it is, and all that belongs to't : Ask me, if I am a courtier ; it shall do you no harm to learn. ' To make a leg was the old phrase for making a how, and hence for formal manners generally. ^ Tom and Tibb were api)arently common names for a lad and lass ; the rush ring seems to have been a kind of love token, for plighting of troth among rustic lovers. In Greene's Menaphon the custom is alluded to, " Well, 'twas a goodly worlde when such simplicitie was used, sayes the olde women of our time, when a ring of rush would tie as much love together as a ginimon {gimmal) of golde." sc. II. THAT ENDS WELL. 283 Count. To be young again, if we could : I will be a fool in question, hoping to be the wiser by your an- swer. I pray you, sir, are you a courtier? Clo. O Lord, sir 3, There's a simple putting off; — more, more, a hundred of them. Count. Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you. Clo. O Lord, sir, — Thick, thick, spare not me. Count. I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely meat. Clo. O Lord, sir, — Nay, put me to't, I warrant you. Count. You were lately whipped, sir, as I think. Clo. O Lord, sir, — Spare not me. Count. Do you cry, Lord, sir, at your whipping, and sjjare not me? Indeed, your Lord, sir, is very sequent ■* to your whipping; you would answer very well to a whipping, if you were but bound to't. Clo. I ne'er had worse luck in my life, in my — Lord, sir : I see, things may serve long, but not serve ever. Count. I play the noble housewife with the time. To entertain it so merrily with a fool. Clo. O Lord, sir, — Why, there't serves well again. Count. An end, sir : to your business. Give Helen this, And urge her to a present answer back : Commend me to my kinsmen, and my son ; This is not much. Clo. Not much commendation to them. Count. Not much employment for you : You un- derstand me ? ^ A ridicule on this silly expletive of speech, then in vogue at court. Thus Clove and Orange, in Every Man in his Humour: " You conceive me, sir? — O Lord, sir ! " Cleveland in one of his Bongs makes his Gentleman — " Answer, O Lord, sir ! and talk play book oaths." * Properly follows. 284 ALL'S WELL act ii. Clo. IVIost fruitfully ; I am there before my legs. Count. Haste you again. \_Exeunt severally. Scene III. Paris. A Room in the King's Palace. Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles. Laf. They say, miracles are past ; and we have our philosophical persons, to make modern and fami- liar things supernatural and causeless.^ Hence is it, that we make trifles of terrors ; ensconcing ^ ourselves into seeming knowledge, when we should submit our- selves to an unknown fear^. Par. Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder, that hath shot out in our latter times. Ber. And so 'tis. Laf. To be relinquish'd of the artists, Par. So I say ; both of Galen and Paracelsus. Laf. Of all the learned and authentick* fellows, — Par. Right, so I say. Laf. That gave him out incurable, — Par. Why, there 'tis ; so say I too. Laf. Not to be helped, — Par. Right : as 'twere, a man assured of a — Laf. Uncertain life, and sure death. Par. Just, you say well ; so would I have said. ' " Shakespeare inspired, as it might seem with all knowledge, here uses the word causeless in its strict philosophical sense ; — cause being truly predicable only of phenomena, that is, things natural, and not noumena, or things supernatural." — Coleridge, Lit. Rem. ii. 121. Modern, is often used by the poet and his co- temporaries for common, ordinary, 5 Sconce being a term in fortification for a chief fortress. To ensconce literally signifies to secure as in a fort. So in The Merry Wives of Windsor : — " I will ensconce me behind the arras." Into is used for in. ^ Fear means here an object of fear. * Authentick is allowed, approved; and seems to have been the proper epithet for a physician regularly bred or licensed. The diploma of a licentiate still has authentice licentiatus. SC. III. THAT ENDS WELL. 285 Laf. I may truly say, it is a novelty to the world. Par. It is, indeed : if you will have it in showing, you shall read it in What do you call there ? — Laf. A showing of a heavenly effect in an earthly actor. Pat: That's it ; I would have said the very same. La/. Why, your dolphin^ is not lustier : 'fore me I speak in respect Par. Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange, that is the brief and the tedious of it ; and he is of a most facinorous^ spirit, that will not acknowledge it to be the Lay. Very hand of heaven. Par. Ay, so I say. Laf. In a most weak Par. And debile minister, great power, great tran- scendence : which should, indeed, give us a further use to be made, than alone the recovery of the king, as to be^ La/i Generally thankful. Enter King, Helena, and Attendants. Par. I would have said it ; you say well : Here comes the king. Laf. Lustick^, as the Dutchman says : I'll like a * The Dauphin was formerly so written, but it is doubtful whether Lafeu means to allude to the Prince or the fish. The old orthography is therefore continued. It should be remembered that lusty in its old acceptation meant sprightly, quick, active, lively, as well as strong. "The lustiness of youth" is a common expres- sion in old ^vTiters. We have also in Baret " the lustiest and most busie time for husbandmen," i. e. the 7nost active. ® Facinoroiis, i. e. wicked. ' Dr. Johnson thought this and some preceding speeches in the scene were erroneous!}' given to Parolles instead of to Lafeu. This seems very probable, for the humour of the scene consists in Parolles's pretensions to knowledge and sentiments which he has not. * Lustigh is the Dutch for active, pleasant, play ful, sportive. The coranto was a lively dance. 286 ALL'S WELL act ii. maid the better, whilst I have a tooth in my head : Why, he's able to lead her a coranto. Par. MoH da vinaigre ! is not this Helen ? Laf. 'Fore God, I think so. King. Go, call before me all the lords in court. — [_Exit an Attendant. Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side ; And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd sense Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive The confirmation of my promis'd gift, Which but attends thy naming. Enter several Lords. Fair maid, send forth thine eye : this youthful parcel Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing. O'er whom both sovereign power and father's voiced I have to use : thy frank election make ; Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsake. Hel. To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress Fall, Avhen love please ! — marry, to each, but one ^° ! Laf. I'd give bay CurtaP^, and his furniture, I\Iy mouth no more were broken than these boys', And writ as little beard. King. Peruse them well : Not one of those, but had a noble father. Hel. Gentlemen, Heaven hath, through me, restor'd the king to health. All. We understand it, and thank heaven for you. Hel. I am a simple maid ; and therein wealthiest. That, I protest, I simply am a maid : Please it your majesty, I have done already : ^ They were wards as well as subjects. '" i. 8. except one, I wish a mistress to each of you with one exception, meaning Bertram : but in the sense of be-out. " A curtal was the common phrase for a docked horse ; i. e. Fd give my bay horse, &c. that my age were not greater than these boys' ; " a broken mouth is a mouth which has lost part of its teeth. SC. III. THAT ENDS WELL. 287 The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me, We blush, that thou shouldst choose ; but, be refusd. Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever ; We'll ne'er come there again^"^. King. Make choice ; and, see, Who shuns thy love, shuns all his love in me. Hel. Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly ; And to imperial Love, that god most high. Do my sighs stream. — Sir, will you hear my suit ? 1 Lord. And grant it. Hel. Thanks, sir, all the rest is mute^^. Laf. I had rather be in this choice, than throw ames-ace^* for my life. Hel. The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes^^. Before I speak, too threateningly replies : Love make your fortunes twenty times above Her that so wishes, and her humble love ! 2 Lord. No better, if you please. Hel. My wish receive, Which great love grant ! and so I take my leave. Laf. Do all they deny her^^? An they were sons of mine, I'd have them whipped ; or I would send them to the Turk, to make eunuchs of. '* " My blushes," says Helen, " thus whisper me — We blush that thou shouldst have the nomination of thy husband. However, choose him at thy peril ; but if thou be refused, let thy cheeks be for ever pale ; we will never revisit them again." Be refused means the same as thou being refused; or, be thou refused. The white death is the paleness of death. '^ All the rest is mute, i. e. / have no more to sai/ to you. So Hamlet, the rest is silence. '■* Ames-ace, i. e. the lowest chance of the dice. '5 Milton probably recollected this line when in his Arcades the Genius says : — " Stay gentle swains, for though in this disguise, I see bright honour sparkle through your eyes." '^ The scene'must be so regulated that Lafeu and Parolles talk at a distance, v/here they may see what passes between Helena and Ihe Lords, but not hear it, so that they know not by whom the refusal is made. 288 ALL'S WELL act ir. Hel. Be not afraid \To 3 LordJ that I your hand should take ; I'll never do you wrong for your own sake : Blessing upon your vows ! and in your bed Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed ! Laf. These boys are boys of ice, they'll none have her : sure, they are bastards to the English ; the French ne'er got them, Hel. You are too young, too happy, and too good, To make yourself a son out of my blood. 4 Lord. Fair one, I think not so. Laf. There's one grape yet, — I am sure, thy father drank wine. — But if thou be'st not an ass, I am a youth of fourteen ; I have known thee already. Hel. I dare not say, I take you ; \_To Bertraju]] but I give Me, and my service, ever whilst I live. Into your guiding power. — This is the man. King. Why then, young Bertram, take her, she's thy Avife. Ber. My wife, my liege ? I shall beseech your highness, In such a business give me leave to use The help of mine own eyes. King. Know'st thou not, Bertram, What she has done for me ? Ber. Yes, my good lord ; But never hope to know why I should marrv her. King. Thou know'st she has rais'd me from my sickly bed, Ber. But follows it, my lord, to bring me down IMust answer for your raising ? I know her well ; She had her breeding at my father's charge : A poor physician's daughter my wife ! — Disdain Rather corrupt me ever ! SC. lir, THAT ENDS WELL. 289 King. 'Tis only title ^^ thou disdain'st in her, the wliich I can build up. Strange is it, that our bloods, Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together, Would quite confound distinction, yet stand oft' In differences so mighty : If she be AU that is virtuous (save what thou dislik'st, A poor physician's daughter), thou dislik'st Of virtue for the name : but do not so : From lowest place when virtuous things proceed. The place is dignified by the doer's deed : Where great additions '^ swell, and virtue none, It is a dropsied honour : good alone Is good, without a name ; vileness is so '": The property by what it is should go, Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair ; In these to nature she's immediate heir ; And these breed honour ; that is honour's scorn, Which challenges itself as honour's born"". And is not like the sire : Honours best thrive -', When rather from our acts we them derive Than our fore-goers : the mere word's a slave, Debosh'd on every tomb, on every grave ; A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb. Where dust and damn'd oblivion is the tomb Of honour'd bones indeed. What should be said ? If thou canst like this creature as a maid, I can create the rest : virtue, and she Is her own dower : honour and wealth, from me. Ber. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't. '^ i. e. the want of title. '* Additions, i. e. titles. The old copy has swells, and two lines above whence for when. '^ Good is good, independent of any worldly distinction ; and so vileness is ever vile, under any circumstances. '" Honour^ s horn, i. e. the child of honour. °' The first folio omits lest ; the second folio supplies it. Til. C C 290 ALL'S WELL act li. King. Thou \vrong'st thyself, if thou shouldst strive to choose. Hel. That you are well restor'd, my lord, I am glad; Let the rest go. King. My honour's at the stake ; which to defeat ^^ I must produce my power. Here, take her hand. Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift ; That dost in vile misprision shackle up My love, and her desert ; that canst not dream, We, poizing us in her defective scale. Shall weigh thee to the beam : that ^vilt not know. It is in us to plant thine honour, where We please to have it grow. Check thy contempt : Obey our Avill, Avhich travails in thy good : Believe not thy disdain, but presently Do thine own fortunes that obedient right Which both thy duty owes, and our power claims ; Or I Avill throw thee from my care for ever Into the staggers ^^ and the careless lapse Of youth and ignorance ; both my revenge and hate, Loosing upon thee in the name of justice. Without all terms of pity : Speak ; thine ansAver. Ber. Pardon, my gracious lord ; for I submit ^ The old copy has defeat, which was changed to defend by The- obald ; but Dr. Farmer well defends the old reading, and says : — " The implication or chiuse of the sentence (as the grammarians say) here serves for the antecedent, ' which danger to defeat.' " So in Othello : — " She dying gave it me, And bid me when my fate would have me wive To give it her." i. e. to my wife, though not mentioned before but by implication. *^ The commentators here kindly inform us that the staggers is a violent disease in horses ; but the word in the text has no re- lation, even metaphorically, to it. TTie reeling and unsteady course of a drunken or sick man is meant. Shakesi)eare has the same expression in Cymbeline, where Posthuraus says : — " \\Tience come these staggers on me ? " SC. III. THAT ENDS WELL, 291 My fancy to your eyes : Wlien I consider, What great creation, and what dole"* of honour. Flies where you bid it, I find, that she, which late Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now The praised of the king ; who, so ennobled, Is, as 'twere, born so. King. Take her by the hand. And tell her, she is thine : to whom I promise A counterpoize ; if not to thy estate, A balance more replete. Ber. I take her hand. King. Good fortune, and the favour of the king. Smile upon this contract : whose ceremony Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief, And be perform'd to-night-^: the solemn feast Shall more attend upon the coming space. Expecting absent friends. As thou lov'st her, Thy love's to me religious ; else, does err. [_Exeunt King, Bertram, Helena, Lords, and Attendants'^. Lof. Do you hear, monsieur ? a word with you. Par. Your pleasure, sir ? Laf. Your lord and master did weU to make his recantation. ^* Dole, i. e. portion. ^ Stiull seem expedient on the now-horn brief, Ajid be perform'd to-night. Shakespeare uses expedient and expediently in the sense of expe- ditiously : and brief in the sense of a short note or intimation con- cerning any business, and sometimes without tlie idea of ^\Titing. So in the last act of this play, " She told nie in a sweet verbal brief," &c. The meaning therefore appears to be : " The cere- monial part of this contract, shall immediately pass, — shall follow close upon the troth now briefly plighted between the parties, and be performed this night ; the solemn feast shall be delayed to a future time. '* The old copies have the following additional stage-direc- tion ; " Parolles and Lafeu stay behind commenting of this wed- ding." 202 ALL'S WELL act ii. Par. Recantation ? My lord ? my master ? Laf. Ay : Is it not a language I speak ? Par. A most harsh one ; and not to be understood without bloody succeeding. My master ? Laf. Are you companion to the count Rousillon ? Par. To any count ; to all counts ; to what is man. Laf. To what is count's man : count's master is of another style. Par. You are too old, sir; let it satisfy you, you are too old. Laf. I must tell thee, sirrah, I Avrite man ; to which title age cannot bring thee. Par. What I dare too well do, I dare not do. Laf. I did think thee, for two ordinaries"^, to be a pretty A\ase fellow ; thou didst make tolerable vent of thy travel ; it might pass : yet the scarfs, and the bannerets, about thee, did manifoldly dissuade me from believing thee a vessel of too great a burden. I have now found thee ; when I lose thee again, I care not : yet art thou good for nothing but taking up "^ ; and that thou art scarce worth. Par. Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon thee, Laf. Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou hasten thy trial ; which if — Lord have mercy on thee for a hen ! So, my good window of lattice, fare thee well ; thy casement I need not open, for I look through thee. Give me thy hand. Par. My lord, you give me most egregious indig- nity. Laf. Ay, with all my heart ; and thou art worthy of it. Par. I have not, my lord, deserved it. ^ For two ordinaries, i. e. while I sate twice with thee at dinner. '* To take up is to contradict, to call to account; as well as to pick off the ground. sc. III. THAT ENDS WELL. 293 Laf. Yes, good faith, every dram of it ; and I will not bate thee a scruple. Par. Well, I shall be wiser. Laf. E'en as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to puU at a smack o' the contrary. If ever thou be'st bound in thy scarf, and beaten, thou shalt find what it is to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to hold my acquaintance with thee, or rather my know- ledge ; that I may say, in the default ^9, he is a man I know. Par. My lord, you do me most insupportable vex- ation. Laf. I would it Avere hell-pains for thy sake, and my poor doing eternal : for doing I am past ; as I will by thee, in what motion age will give me leave ^'^. {_Exit. Par. Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace off me; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord ! — Well, I must be patient ; there is no fettering of authority. I'll beat him by my life, if I can meet him with any con- venience, an he were double and double a lord. I'll have no more pity of his age, than I would have of — I'll beat him, an if I could but meet him again. Re-enter Lafeu. Laf Sirrah, your lord and master's married, there's news for you ; you have a new mistress. Par. I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to make some reservation of your Avrongs : He is my good lord : whom I serve above, is my master, Laf Who? God? "^ In the default, i. e. at a need. ^^ There is a conceit here hardly worth explaining, but that some of the commentators have misunderstood it : — Doing I am past, says Lafeu, as I will hy thee, in what motion age will give me leave ; " i. e. as I will pass by thee as fast as I am able : and he im- mediately goes out. c c 2 294 ALL'S WELL ACT ii. Pa7\ Ay, sir. Laf. The devil it is, that's thy master. Why dost thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion ? dost make hose of thy sleeves ? do other servants so ? Thou wert best set thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine honour, if I were but two hoiu-s younger, I'd beat thee : methinks, thou art a general offence, and every man should beat thee. I think, thou wast cre- ated for men to breathe ^^ themselves upon thee. Par. This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord. Laf. Go to, sir ; you were beaten in Italy for pick- ing a kernel out of a pomegranate ; you are a vaga- bond, and no true traveller. You are more saucy with lords, and honourable personages, than the heraldry of your birth and virtue gives you commissions^. You are not worth another word, else I'd call you knave. I leave you. [JExit. Enter Bertram. Par. Good, very good ; it is so then. — Good, very good ; let it be conceal'd a while. Ber. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever ! Par. What's the matter, sweet heart ? Ber. Although before the solemn priest I have sworn, I •\\dU not bed her. Par. What ? what, sweet heart ? Ber. O my Parolles, they have married me ! — I'll to the Tuscan wars, and nev^er bed her. Par. France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits The tread of a man's foot. To the wars ! Ber. There's letters from my mother ; what the import is, " To breathe, i. e. exercise. ^' In the old copies heraldry and commission are transposed. sc. III. THAT ENDS WELL. 295 I know not yet. Par. Ay, that would be known : To the wars, ray boy, to the wars ! He wears his honour in a box unseen, That hugs his kickie-\\ackie ^^ here at home ; Spending his manly marrow in her arms. Which should sustain the bound and high curvet Of INIars's fiery steed : To other regions ! France is a stable : we, that dwell in't, jades ; Therefore, to the war ! Ber. It shall be so ; I'U send her to my house, Acquaint my mother with my hate to her, And wherefore I am fled ; write to the king That which I durst not speak. His present gift ShaU furnish me to those Italian fields, Where noble fellows strike. War is no strife To the dark house ^^, and the detested wife. Par. WiU this capricio hold in thee, art sure ? Ber. Go with me to my chamber, and advise me. I'll send her straight away : To-morrow I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow. Par. Why, these balls bound ; there's noise in it. — ^"Tis hard ; A young man, married, is a man that's marr'd : Therefore away, and leave her bravely ; go : ^^ Thus the old copy. Taylor the water poet has Mckste-winsie in the title to one of his poems implying his determination to kick and wince at his debtors. Alexander Brome, in one of his plays, uses it for an unruly jade, and hence probably its ludicrous appli- cation to signify a icife. •'■' The dark house is a house made gloomy by discontent. In Henry IV. Part i. we have : — " He's as tedious As is a tired horse, a railing wife; Worse than a smoky house." The Spaniards have a similar proverb of very high antiquity ; — " Tres cosas hechan un homljre de su casa. El huma, la gotera, y la inuger bocinglera." The old copy has detected ■wife. Rowe corrected it. 296 ALL'S "WELL ACT ii. The king has done vou wrong ; but, hush ! 'tis so, \_Exeunt. Scene IV. The same. Another Room in the same. Enter Helena and Clown. Hel. IMy mother greets me kindly : Is she well ? Clo. She is not weU ; but yet she has her health ; she's very merry ; but yet she is not well : but thanks be given, she's very well, and wants nothing i' the world ; but yet she is not well. Hel. If she be very well, what does she ail, that she's not very weU ? Clo. Truly, she's very well, indeed, but for two things. Hel. What two things ? Clo. One, that she's not in heaven, whither God send her quickly ! the other, that she's in earth, from whence God send her quickly ! Enter Parolles. Par. Bless you, my fortunate lady ! Hel. I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine own good fortunes^. Par. You had my prayers to lead them on : and to keep them on, have them still. — O, my knave ! How does my old lady ? Clo. So that you had her wrinkles, and I her money, I would she did as you say. Par. Why, I say nothing. Clo. Marry, you are the wiser man ; for many a man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing. To say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to have ' The old copies haxe fortune ; but the answer of Parolles in- dicates that it should be fortunes. SC. IV. THAT ENDS WELL. 297 nothing, is to be a great part of your title ; which is within a very little of nothing. Par. Away, thou'rt a knave. Clo. You should have said, sir, before a knave thou art a knave ; that is, before me thou art a knave : this had been truth, sir. Par. Go to, thou art a witty fool, I have found thee. Clo. Did you find me in yourself, sir ? or were you taught to find me ? The search, sir, was profitable ; and much fool may you find in you, even to the world's pleasure, and the increase of laughter 2. Par. A good knave, i'faith, and well fed ^. — Madam, my lord will go away to-night ; A very serious business calls on him. The great prerogative and rite of love. Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknow- ledge ; But puts it off by ^ a compell'd restraint ; Whose want, and whose delay, is strewed with sweets, Which they distil now in the curbed time. To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy^, And pleasure drown the brim. Hel. What's his will else ? Par. That you mil take your instant leave 0' the king, And make this haste as your o^vn good proceeding, Strengthen'd with what apology you think * In the old copy this is divided into two speeches, and the Clown made to speak twice running. * Perhaps the old saying, " Better fed than taught," is alluded to here as in a preceding scene, where the Clown says, " I will show myself highly fed and lowly taught." * The old copy reads, " to a compelled restraint." * The meaning appears to be, that the delay of the joys, and the expectation of them, would make them more delightful when they come. The curbed time means the time of restraint, whose want means the want of which. \. 298 ALL'S WELL act ii. IMay make it probable need^. Hel. What more commands he ? Pm-. That, having this obtain'd, you presently Attend his further pleasure. Hel. In every thing I wait upon his will. Par. I shall report it so. Hel. I pray you. — Come, sirrah. \_Exeunt. Scene V. Another Boom in the same. Enter Lafeu and Bertram, Laf. But, I hope, your lordship thinks not him a soldier. Ber. Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof. Laf. You have it from his OAvn deliverance. Ber. And by other warranted testimony. Laf. Then my dial goes not true. I took this lark for a bunting ^ Ber. I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in knowledge, and accordingly valiant. Laf. I have then sinned against his experience, and transgressed against his valour ; and my state that way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my heart to repent. Here he comes. I pray you, make us friends, I will pursue the amity. Enter Parol les. Par. \^To Ber.] These things shall be done, sir. Laf. Pray you, sir, who's his tailor ? Par. Sir? Laf. O, I know him well. Ay, sir ; he, sir, is a good workman, a very good tailor. ^ May make it probable need, i. e. a specious appearance of ne- cessity. ' The bunting nearly resembles the sky-lark ; but has little or no song, which gives estimation to the sky-lark. sc. V. THAT ENDS WELL. 299 Ber. \_Aside to Par.] Is she gone to the king ? Par. She is. Ber. Will she away to-night ? Par. As you'll have her. Ber. I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure, Given order for our horses ; and to-night, When I should take possession of the bride, — End^, ere I do begin. Laf. A good traveller is something at the latter end of a dinner ; but one that lies three-thirds, and uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should be once heard, and thrice beaten. — God save you, captain. Ber. Is there any unkindness between my lord and you, monsieur? Par. I know not how I have deserved to run into my lord's displeasure. La/. You have made shift to run into't, boots and spurs and all, like him that leaped into the custard ^ ; and out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer ques- tion for your residence. Ber. It may be, you have mistaken him, my lord. La/. And shall do so ever, though I took him at his prayers. Fare you well, my lord ; and believe this of me. There can be no kernel in this light nut ; the soul of this man is his clothes : trust him not in matter of heavy consequence ; I have kept of them tame, and know their natures. — Farewell, monsieur : I have * The old copies read And. Mr. Collier derived the emenda- tion from Lord Ellesraere's folio. ^ It was a piece of fooleiy practised at city entertainments, when an allowed fool or jester was in fashion, for him to jump into a large deep custard set for the puqjose, to cause laughter among the " barren spectators." Ben Jonson mentions it as occurring " in tail of a sheriff's dinner." Devil is an Ass, Act i. Sc. 1 : — " And take his Almain leap into a custard, Shall make my lady mayoress and her sisters Laugh all their hoods over their sho\dders." 300 ALL'S WELL act ii. spoken better of you, than you have or will* deserve at my hand ; but we must do good against e'vil. \_Exit. Par. An idle lord, I swear. Ber. I think not so. Par. Why, do you know him ?^ Ber. Yes, I do know him well ; and common speech Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes roy clog. Enter Helena. Hel. I have, sir, as I was commanded from you, Spoke ^vith the king, and have procur'd his leave For present parting : only, he desires Some private speech \vith you. Ber. I shall obey his will. You must not marvel, Helen, at my course, Which holds not colour with the time, nor does The ministration and required office On my particular : prepar'd I was not For such a business ; therefore am I found So much unsettled : This drives me to entreat you. That presently you take your way for home ; And rather muse^, than ask, why I entreat you : For my respects are better than they seem ; And my appointments have in them a need, Greater than shows itself at the first \'iew. To you that know them not. This to my mother : ^Giving a letter. 'Twall be two days ere I shall see you ; so I leave you to your msdom. Hel. Sir, I can nothing say, * The first folio reads, " than you have or will to deserve." — Perhaps the word u-it was omitted ; the second folio omits to. 5 The old copy reads, " / think so," and " Why, do you not know him ? " But from the context it is evident that the word not was misplaced by accident at press. ^ To muse is to wonder. SC. V. THAT ENDS WELL. 301 But that I am your most obedient servant. Ber. Come, come, no more of that. Hel. And ever shall With true observance seek to eke out that, Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd To equal my great fortune. Ber. Let that go : My haste is very great : Farewell ; hie home. Hel. Pray, sir, your pardon. Ber. Well, what would you say ? Hel. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe^; Nor dare I say, 'tis mine ; and yet it is ; But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal What law does vouch mine o^vn. Ber. What would you have ? Hel. Something ; and scarce so much : — nothing, indeed. — I would not tell you what I would : my lord — ^"faith, yes ; — Strangers and foes, do sunder, and not kiss. Ber. I pray you stay not, but in haste to horse. Hel. I shall not break your bidding, good my lord. Ber. Where are my other men ? ^ Hel. Monsieur, farewell. \_Exit Helena. Ber. Go thou toward home ; where I will never come, Whilst I can shake my sword, or hear the drum : — Away, and for our flight. Par. Bravely, coragio ! \_Exeunt. ' I owe, i. e. / own or possess. '^ The words " Where are my other men ? " form part of Helen's speech in the old copies, but they evidently belong to Bertram. III. DD 302 ALL'S WELL act hi. ACT III. Scene I. Florence. A Room in the Duke's Palace. Flourish. Enter the Duke o/" Florence, attended ; two French Lords, and others. Duke. jO that, from point to point, now have you heard The fundamental reasons of this war ; Whose great decision hath much blood let forth, And more thirsts after. 1 Lord. Holy seems the quarrel Upon your grace's part ; black and fearful On the opposer. Duke. Therefore we marvel much, our cousin France Would, in so just a business, shut his bosom Against our borrowing prayers. 2 Lord. Good my lord, The reasons of our state I cannot yield ^, But like a common and an outward man 2, That the great figure of a council frames By self-unable motion^: therefore dare not Say what I think of it ; since I have found Myself in my uncertain grounds to fail As often as I guess'd. Duke. Be it his pleasure. ' / camiot yield, i. e. / cannot inform you of the reasons. " An outward man, i. e. owe not in the secret of affairs : so Iti- ward in a contrary sense. ^ By self-unable motion. Warburton and Upton are of opinion that we sliould read, " By self-unable notion," and the context seems to favour this correction. SC. I. THAT ENDS WELL. 303 2 Lord. But I am sure, the younger of our nature*, That surfeit on their ease, will, day by day. Come here for physick. Duke. Welcome shall they be ; And all the honours, that can fly from us. Shall on them settle. You know your places well ; When better fall, for your avails they fell. To-morrow to the field. \_Flourish. Exeunt. Scene II. Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's Palace. Enter Countess and Clown. Count. It hath happened all as I would have had it, save, that he comes not along with her. Clo. By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very melancholy man. Count. By what observance, I pray you ? Clo. Why, he wiU look upon his boot, and sing; mend the rufF^, and sing ; ask questions, and sing ; pick his teeth, and sing : I know a man that had this trick of melancholy, sold ^ a goodly manor for a song. Count. Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come. \_Opening a Letter. Clo. I have no mind to Isbel, since I was at court ; our old ling and our Isbels o'the country are nothing like your old ling and your Isbels o'the court : the brains of my Cupid's knocked out ; and I begin to love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach. Count. What have we here ? ■* The younger of our nature. This may mean, as we say at pre- sent, our young fellows ; but it is most probably a misprint for nation. ' The tops of the boots in Shakespeare's time tm-ned down, and hung loosely over the leg. The folding part or top was the ruff. It was of softer leather than the boot, and often fringed. ' The old copy has hold. This is the reading of the third folio. 304 ALL'S WELL act hi. Clo. E'en that you have there. [JExit. Count. QReads.] I have sent you a daughter-in-law : she hath recovered the king., and undone me. I have wedded her., not bedded her ; and sworn to make the not eternal. You shall hear., I am run away; know it., be- fore the report come. If there be breadth enough in the world., I will hold a long distance. My duty to you. Your unfortunate son, Bektram. This is not well ; rash and unbridled boy, To fly the favours of so good a king ; To pluck his indignation on thy head, By the misprizing of a maid too virtuous For the contempt of empire ! Re-enter Clo^vn. Clo. O madam, yonder is heavy news within, be- tween two soldiers and my young lady. Count. What is the matter ? Clo. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some comfort; your son will not be killed so soon as I thought he would. Count. Why should he be killed ? Clo. So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does : the danger is in standing to't ; that's the loss of men, though it be the getting of children. Here they come, will tell you more : for my part, I only hear, your son was run away. \_Exit Clown. Enter Helena and two Gentlemen. 1 Gent. Save you, good madam. Hel. IMadam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. 2 Gent. Do not say so. Count. Think upon patience. — ^"Pray you, gentle- men, — sc. II. THAT ENDS WELL. 305 I have felt so many quirks of joy, and grief, That the first face of neither, on the start, Can woman 3 me unto't : — Where is my son, I pray you? 2 Gent. Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of Flo- rence : We met him thitherward ; for, thence we came, And, after some despatch in hand at court, Thither we bend again. Hel. Look on his letter, madam ; here's my passport. [^Reads.] When thou canst get the ring upo7i my fin- ger^., which never shall come off., and show me a child begotten of thy body., that I am father to, then call me husband: but in such a then / write a never. This is a dreadful sentence ! Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen ? 1 Gent. Ay, madam ; And, for the contents' sake, are sorry for our pains. Count. I pr'ythee, lady, have a better cheer ; If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine"*, Thou robb'st me of a moiety : He was my son ; But I do wash his name out of my blood, And thou art all my child. — Towards Florence is he? 2 Gent. Ay, madam. Count. And to be a soldier ? 2 Gent. Such is his noble purpose : and, believe' t, The duke ^^^ll lay upon him all the honour That good convenience claims. Count. Return you thither ? 1 Gent. Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed. Hel. j^Reads.] Till I have no wife., I have nothing in France. 3 Can woman me, i. e. affect me suddenly and deeply, as our sex are usually affected. * i, e. obtain or get the ring which is upon my finger. ■' All the griefs are thine, i. e. if thou keepest all thy sorrows to thy- self: an elliptical expression for " all the griefs that are thiue." D D 2 306 ALL'S WELL act hi. 'Tis bitter ! Count. Find you that there ? Hel. Ay, madam. 1 Gent. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, which His heart was not consenting to. Count. Nothing in France, until he have no wife ! There's nothing here, that is too good for him, But only she ; and she deserves a lord. That twenty such rude boys might tend upon. And call her hourly, mistress. Who was with him ? 1 Gent. A servant only, and a gentleman Which I have some time known. Count. ParoUes, was't not ? 1 Gent. Ay, my good lady, he. Count. A very tainted fellow, and fuU of wickedness. ]My son corrupts a well-derived nature With his inducement. 1 Gent. Indeed, good lady. The feUow has a deal of that, too much, Which holds him much to have^. Count. Y'are welcome, gentlemen, I will entreat you, when you see my son. To tell him that his sword can never win The honour that he loses : more I'll entreat you Written to bear along. 2 Gent. We serve you, madam. In that and all your worthiest affairs. Count. Not so, but as we change our courtesies^. * This passage as it stands is very obscm-e; perhaps some- thing is omitted after much. Warbm-ton interprets it, " That his vices stand him in stead of virtues." And Heath thought the meaning was : — " This fellow hath a deal too much of that which alone can AoZe? or judge that he has much in him;" i.e. folly and ignorance. But possibly we should read : — " Which soils him much to have." ® In reply to the gentlemen's declaration that they are her servants, the Countess answers — no othenvise than as she returns the same offices of civility. SC. II. THAT ENDS WELL. 307 Will you draw near ? \_Exeunt Countess and Gentlemen. Hel. Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France. Nothing in France, until he has no wife ! Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France, Then hast thou all again. Poor lord ! is't I That chase thee from thy country, and expose Those tender limbs of thine to the event Of the none-sparing war ? and is it I That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark Of smoky muskets ? O you leaden messengers. That ride upon the violent speed of fire. Fly with false aim ; move the still-piecing ^ air, That sings with piercing, do not touch my lord ! Whoever shoots at him, I set him there ; Whoever charges on his forward breast, I am the caitiff, that do hold him to it ; And, though I kill him not, I am the cause His death was so effected ; better 'twere, I met the ravin ^ lion when he roar'd With sharp constraint of hunger ; better 'twere That all the miseries, which nature owes, Were mine at once : No, come thou home, RousiUon, Whence honour but of danger wins a scar. As oft it loses all'^. I will be gone : ' The old copy reads, still-peering. The emendation move the still-piecing was proposed by Steevens and adopted by Malone : peecing is the old orthography of the word. Shakespeare has elsewhere violent swiftness and violent motion. * The ravin lion, i. e. the ravenous, or ravening Hon. So in Mac- beth we have : — " The ravinhl salt sea shark." And in Beaumont and Fletcher's Maid of the Mill : — " Amaranta Was seiz'd on by a fierce and hungry bear ; She was the ravins prey." * The sense is, " From that place, where all the advantages 308 ALL'S WELL act hi. My being here it is, that holds thee hence : Shall I stay here to do't ? no, no, although The air of paradise did fan the house, And angels offic'd all : I will be gone ; That pitiful rumour may report my flight. To consolate thine ear. Come, night ; end, day ! For, with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away. \_Exit. Scene III. Florence, Before the Duke's Palace. Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, Parolles, Lords, Officers, Soldiers, and others. Duke. The general of our horse thou art ; and we, Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence. Upon thy promising fortune. Ber. Sir, it is A charge too heavy for my strength ; but yet We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake. To the extreme edge of hazard ^. Duke. Then go thou forth ; And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm 2, As thy auspicious mistress ! Ber. This very day, Great INIars, I put myself into thy file : IMake me but like my thoughts ; and I shall prove A lover of thy drum, hater of love. \_Exeunt. that honour usually reaps from the danger it rushes upon, is only a scar in testimony of its bravery, as, on the other hand, it often is the cause of losing all, even life itself." ' So in Shakespeare's 116th Sonnet: — " But bears it out even to the edge of doom." And Milton's Par. Reg. b. 1 : — " You see our danger on the utmost edge Oflmzard." * In K. Richard III. we have : — " Fortune and victory sit on thy helm." m SC. IV. THAT ENDS WELL. 309 Scene IV. Rousillon. A Boom in the Countess's Palace. Enter Countess and Steward. Count. Alas ! and would you take the letter of her ? Might you not know, she would do as she has done, By sending me a letter ? Read it again. Stew. I am Saint Jaques ^ pilgrim, thither gone; Ambitious love hath so in me offended. That hare-foot _plod I the cold ground upon. With sainted vow vfiy faults to have amended. Write, write, that from the bloody course of war. My dearest master, your dear son, may hie; Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far. His name with zealous fervour sanctify. His taken labours bid him me forgive ; I, his despiteful Juno", sent him forth From courtly friends, with camping foes to live. Where death and danger dog the heels of leorth : He is too good and fair for death and me; Whom I myself embrace, to set him free. Count. Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words ! Rinaldo, you did never lack advice^ so much. As letting her pass so ; had I spoke with her, I could have weU diverted her intents, Which thus she hath prevented. Stew. Pardon me, madam : If I had given you this at over-night. She might have been o'erta'en ; and yet she Avrites, ' At Orleans was a church dedicated to St. Jaques, to which pilgrims fonnerly used to resort to adore a part of the cross pre- tended to be found there. See Heylm's France Painted to the Life, 1656, p. 270—6. * Alluding to the story of Hercules. •* Advice, i. e. discretion, or thought. 310 ALL'S WELL act hi. Pursuit would be but vain. Count. What angel shall Bless this unworthy husband ? he cannot thrive, Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear, And loves to grant, reprieve him from the \vrath Of greatest justice. — Write, write, Rinaldo, To this unworthy husband of his \vife ; Let every word weigh heavy of her worth, That he does weigh * too light : my greatest grief, Though little he do feel it, set doAvn sharply. Despatch the most convenient messenger : — When, haply, he shaU hear that she is gone, He will return ; and hope I may, that she. Hearing so much, will speed her foot again. Led hither by pure love. Which of them both Is dearest to me, I have no skill in sense To make distinction. — Provide this messenger : — ]My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak ; Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak. \_Exeunt. Scene V. Without the Walls of Florence. A Tucket^ afar off. Enter an o/o? Widow of Florence, Diana, Violenta, ]Mariana, and other Citizens. Wid. Nay, come ; for if they do approach the city, we shall lose all the sight. Dia. They say, the French count has done most honourable ser\nce. Wid. It is reported that he has taken their great'st commander ; and that with his own hand he slew the ■• Weigh here means to value or esteem. So in Love's La- bour's Lost : — " You weigh me not, — O, that's you care not for me." ' A tucket was the sound of a trumpet. sc. V. THAT ENDS WELL. 311 duke's brother. We have lost our labour ; they are gone a contrary way : hark ! you may know by their trumpets. Mar. Come, let's return again, and suffice ourselves with the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed of this French earl : the honour of a maid is her name ; and no legacy is so rich as honesty. Wid. I have told my neighbour, how you have been solicited by a gentleman his companion. Mar. I know that knave ; hang him ! one Parolles : a filthy officer he is in those suggestions^ for the young earl. — Beware of them, Diana ; their promises, entice- ments, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are not the things they go under ^ : many a maid hath been seduced by them ; and the misery is, example, that so terrible shows in the wrack of maidenhood, cannot for aU that dissuade succession, but that they are limed with the twigs that threaten them. I hope, I need not to advise you further ; but, I hope, your own grace \vill keep you where you are, though there were no fur- ther danger known, but the modesty which is so lost. Dia. You shall not need to fear me. Enter Helena, in the dress of a Pilgrim. Wid. I hope so. Look, here comes a pilgrim ; I know she will lie at my house : thither they send one another : I'll question her. — God save you, pilgrim ! Whither are you bound ? Hel. To St. Jaques le grand. Where do the palmers^ lodge, I do beseech you? "^ Suggestions are temptations. Thus in Love's Laboui-'s Lost : — " Suggestions are to others as to me." •* They are not the things for mhich their iiames wouhi make them pass. To go under the name of so and so is a common expression. ■• Pilgrims ; so called from a staff or bough of palm they were wont to carry, especially such as had visited the holj"^ place sat Jerusalem. Johnson has given Stavely's account of the difference between a palmer and a pilgrim in his Dictionary. 312 ALL'S WELL act hi. Wid. At the saint Francis here, beside the port. Ilel. Is this the way ? Wid. Ay, marry, is't. — Hark you ; \^A march afar off. They come this way : — If you will tarry, holy pilgrim, But tiU the troops come by, I wiU conduct you where you shall be lodg'd ; The rather, for, I think, I know your hostess As ample as myself. Hel. Is it yourself? Wid. If you shall please so, pilgrim. Hel. I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure. Wid. You came, I think, from France ? Hel. I did so. Wid. Here you shall see a countryman of yours. That has done worthy service. Hel. His name, I pray you. Dia. The count RousiUon ; Know you such a one ? Hel. But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him ; His face I know not^. Dia. Whatsoe'er he is. He's bravely taken here. He stole from France, As 'tis reported, for^ the king had married him Against his liking : Think you it is so ? Hel. Ay, surely, mere the truth 7; I know his lady. Dia. There is a gentleman, that serves the count, Reports but coarsely of her. * " Shall we say here that Shakespeare has vmnecessarily made his loveliest character utter a lie ? Or shall we dare think that, where to deceive was necessary, he thought a pretended verbal verity a double crime, equally with the other a lie to the hearer, and at the same time an attempt to lie to one's o^m conscience." — Coleridge Lit. Rem. ii. 121. '' For, here and in other places, signifies cause, which Tooke saj's is always its signification. See EIIEA IITEPOENTA, vol. i. p. 364, &c. ' Mere the truth, i. e. the mere truth, or merely the truth. Mere was used in the sense of simple, absolute, decided. SC. V. THAT ENDS WELL. 813 Hel. What's his name ? Dia. IVIonsieur Parolles. Hel. O ! I believe with him, In argument of praise, or to the worth Of the great count himself, she is too mean To have her name repeated ; all her deserving Is a reserved honesty, and that I have not heard examin'd ^. Dia. Alas, poor lady ! 'Tis a hard bondage, to become the wife Of a detesting lord. Wid. Ay, right; good creature, wheresoe'er she is 9, Her heart weighs sadly : this young maid might do her A shrewd turn, if she pleas'd. Hel. How do you mean ? May be, the amorous count solicits her In the unlawful purpose. Wid. He does, indeed ; And brokes^*' with all that can in such a suit Corrupt the tender honour of a maid : But she is arm'd for him, and keeps her guard In honestest defence. Enter., with Drum and Colours, a party of the Floren- tine Army^^, Bertram, and Parolles. Mar. The gods forbid else ! Wid. So, now they come : — That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son ; * Examined, that is, questioned, doubted. ^ The first folio reads : — " / write good creature, wheresoe'er she is." I follow the reading of the second folio. / was always written for Ay, and right is easily corrupted to write. This is therefore the true reading. " / write good creature," would only be admis- sible on the supposition that the widow was describing herself, as Lafeu says, " / write man," &c. '" Brakes, i. e. deals with, panders. " The old stage-direction is " and the whole anny." III. E E 314 ALL'S WELL ACT in. That, Escalus. Hel. Which is the Frenchman ? Dia. He ; That with the plume : 'tis a most gallant fellow ; I would, he lov'd his \v\ie. If he were honester, He were much goodlier : — is't not a handsome gen- tleman ? Hel. I like him well. Dia. 'Tis pity, he is not honest. Yond's that same knave, That leads him to these places ^^ ; were I his lady, I would poison that vile rascal. Hel. Which is he ? Dia. That jack-an-apes with scarfs. Why is he melancholy ? Hel. Perchance he's hurt i'the battle. Par. Lose our drum ! well. Mar. He's shrewdly vexed at something : Look, he has spied us. Wid. IMarry, hang you ! Mar. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier ! \_Exeunt Bertram, Parolles, Officers, and Soldiers. Wid. The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I will bring you Where you shall host : of injoin'd penitents There's four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound. Already at my house. Hel. I humbly thank you. Please it this matron, and this gentle maid, To eat -with us to-night, the charge, and thanking, Shall be for me ; and, to requite you further, I \v\]l bestow some precepts of ^^ this \nrgin, '^ Theobald thought that we should read paces; but we may suppose the places to be the houses of pimps and panders. '^ Thus the first folio. The second folio has " on this virgin ;" but we have several other instances where of is used in like man- ner for on. SC. V. THAT ENDS WELL. 315 Worthy the note. Both. We'll take your offer kindly. [^Exeunt. Scene VI. Camp before Florence. Enter Bertram, and the two French Lords ^ 1 Lord. Nay, good my lord, put him to't : let him have his way. 2 Lord. If your lordship find him not a hilding^, hold me no more in your respect. 1 Lorxl. On my life, my lord, a bubble. Ber. Do you think, I am so far deceived in him? 1 Lm-d. Believe it, my lord : in mine own direct knowledge, without any malice, but to speak of him, as my kinsman, he's a most notable coward, an infi- nite and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, the owner of no one good quality worthy your lordship's entertainment. 2 Lm-d. It were fit you knew him ; lest, reposing too far in his virtue, which he hath not, he might, at some great and trusty business, in a main danger, fail you. Ber. I would, I knew in what particular action to try him. 2 Lord. None better than to let him fetch ofF his drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake to do. 1 Lord. I, with a troop of Florentines, will sudden- ly surprise him ; such I will have, whom, I am sure, he knows not from the enemy. We will bind and hoodwink him so, that he shall suppose no other but ' It appears, from a subsequent scene, that they were brothers, both named Duraaine. ■■' A hUding, is a bane low wretch. So in K. Henry V. Act iv. — " To purge the field from such a hilding foe." See note on Taming the Shrew, Act ii. Sc. 1. 316 ALL'S WELL ACT in, that he is carried into the leaguer^ of the adversaries, when we bring him to our own tents. Be but your lordship present at his examination ; if he do not, for the promise of liis life, and in the highest compulsion of base fear, offer to betray you, and deliver aU the intelligence in his power against you, and that with the divine forfeit of his soul upon oath, never trust my judgment in any thing. 2 Lord. O ! for the love of laughter, let him fetch his drum ; he says, he has a stratagem fort. When your lordship sees the bottom of his ** success in't, and to what metal this counterfeit lump of ore^ will be melted, if you give him not John Drum's entertain- ment^, your inclining cannot be removed. Here he comes. Enter PAROLiiES. 1 Lord. O ! for the love of laughter, hinder not the humour^ of his design ; let him fetch off his drum in any hand^. Ber. How now, monsieur ? this drum sticks sorely in your disposition. 2 Lord. A pox on't, let it go ; 'tis but a drum. Par. But a drum ! Is't but a drum ? A drum so ^ The leaguer, i. e. the camp. It seems to have been a new fangled term at this time, introduced from the Low Countries. * The old copies have this, by mistake for his. * Ore. The old copy reads ours. The emendation is Theobald's. ® John Drum's entertainment. This was a common phrase for ill treatment. There is an old motley interlude called Jack Drum's Eiitertaiiunent ; or, The Comedy of Pasquil and Catherine, 1601. In this Jack Drum is a ser\'ant of intrigue, who is ever aiming at projects, and always foiled, and given the drop. Holinshed has " Tom Drum his Entertainment, which is to hale a man in by the heade, and to thrust him out by the shoulders." And, in Manners and Customs of all Nations, by Ed. Aston, 1611, p. 280 : " Some others on the contrarie part give them John Drum's enter- taiinnent, reviling and beating them away from their houses," &c. ' The old copies have honour. * In any hand, a phrase for at any rate. Sometimes, " at any hand." sc. VI. THAT ENDS WELL. 317 lost ! — There was excellent command ! to charge in with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend our own soldiers. 2 Lm-d. That was not to be blamed in the command of the service ; it was a disaster of war that Caesar himself could not have prevented, if he had been there to command. Ber. Well, we cannot greatly condemn our success : some dishonour we had in the loss of that drum ; but it is not to be recovered. Par. It might have been recovered. Ber. It might, but it is not now. Par. It is to be recovered : but that the merit of service is seldom attributed to the true and exact per- former, I would have that drum or another, or Idcjacet^. Ber. Why, if you have a stomach, to't, monsieur ; if you think your mystery in stratagem can bring this instrument of honour again into his native quarter, be magnanimous in the enterprise, and go on ; I will grace the attempt for a worthy exploit : if you speed well in it, the duke shall both speak of it, and extend to you what further becomes his greatness, even to the utmost syllable of your worthiness. Par. By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it. Ber. But you must not now slumber in it. Par. I'll about it this evening : and I will presently pen down my dilemmas ^'', encourage myself in my certainty, put myself into my mortal preparation, and, by midnight, look to hear farther from me. ® / would recover the lost drum or another, or die in the attempt. An epitaph then usually began hie jacet. '" The dilemnuis of Parolles have nothing to do -vvith those of the schoolmen. His dilemmas are particulars of his scheme in various forms, according to various possible exigencies. He affects to speak of his enterprize as requiring all the system that we find in professional plans of attack, and instractions for storming parties in a great siege, which are regularly drawn out on paper in ac- tive service. £ £ 2 318 ALL'S WELL act hi. Ber. May I be bold to acquaint his grace, you are gone about it ? Par. I know not what the success will be, my lord ; but the attempt I vow. Ber. I know, thou art valiant ; and, to the possi- bility of thy soldiership, wiU subscribe for thee ^^ Farewell. Par. I love not many words. \_Exit. 1 Lord. No more than a fish loves water. — Is not this a strange fellow, my lord ? that so confidently seems to undertake this business, which he knows is not to be done ; damns himself to do, and dares better be damned than to do't. 2 Lord. You do not know him, my lord, as we do : certain it is, that he wiU steal himself into a man's favour, and, for a week, escape a great deal of disco- veries ; but when you find him out, you have him ever after. Ber. Why, do you think, he wiU make no deed at all of this, that so seriously he does addrtss himself unto? 1 Lord. None in the world ; but return with an in- vention, and clap upon you two or three probable lies. But we have almost embossed him ^2, you shall see his fall to-night ; for, indeed, he is not for your lordship's respect. 2 Lord. We'll make you some sport with the fox, ere we case him ^^. He was first smoked by the old lord Lafeu : when his disguise and he is parted, teU " Steevens has mistaken this passage ; Malone is right. Ber- tram's meaning is, that he will vouch for his doing alhthat it is possible for soldiership to effect. He was not yet certain of his cowardice. •^ Almost embossed him, that is, almost run him down. An em- boss'd stag is one so hard chased that it foams at the mouth. Vide note on The Induction to the Taming "of the Shrew. The fall of the deer is also a huntsman's phrase. '^ Ere we case him, i. e. before we strip him, or unmask him. sc. VI. THAT ENDS WELL. 319 me what a sprat you shall find him ; which you shall see this very night. 1 Lord. I must go look my twigs; he shall be caught. Ber. Your brother, he shall go along with me. 2 Lord. As't please your lordship. 1 Lord. I'll leave you^*. \_Exit. Ber. Now will I lead you to the house, and show you The lass I spoke of. 2 Lord. But, you say, she's honest. Ber. That's all the fault. I spoke with her but once. And found her wondrous cold ; but I sent to her. By this same coxcomb that we have i'the wind^^. Tokens and letters which she did re-send ; And this is all I have done. She's a fair creature : Will you go see her ? 2 Lord. With all my heart, my lord. \_Exeunt. Scene VII. Florence. A Room in the Widow's House. Enter Helena and Widow. Hel. If you misdoubt me that I am not she, I know not how I shall assure you farther, But I shall lose the grounds I work upon'. Wid. Though my estate be fallen, I was well born. Nothing acquainted with these businesses ; And would not put my reputation now In any staining act. '* These words fonn part of the speech of the 2cl Lord [Capt. G.] in the folio, but they evidently are spoken by the 1st Lord [Capt. E.], who goes out to lay the trap for Parolles. '* This proverbial phrase is noted by Ray, p. 216, ed. 1737. It is thus explained by old Cotgrave : " Estre sur vent. To be in the wind, or to have the wind of. To yet the wind, advantage, upper hand of; to have a man under his lee." ' i. e. tvithout losing, &e. she means by discovering herself to the count. 320 ALL'S WELL act hi. Hel. Nor would I wish you. First, give me trust, the count he is my husband ; And, what to your sworn counsel I have spoken, Is so, from word to word ; and then you cannot. By the good aid that I of you shall borrow. Err in bestowing it. Wid. I should believe you ; For you have show'd me that, which well approves You are great in fortune. Hel. Take this piu-se of gold. And let me buy your friendly help thus far, Which I will overpay, and pay again. When I have found it. The count he wooes your daughter. Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty, Resolves to carry her ; let her, in fine, consent, As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it. Now his important^ blood will nought deny That she'll demand : A ring the county^ wears That downward hath succeeded in his house. From son to son, some four or five descents Since the first father wore it : this ring he holds In most rich choice ; yet, in his idle fire. To buy his %vill, it would not seem too dear, Howe'er repented after. Wid. Now I see The bottom of your purpose. Hel. You see it lawful then. It is no more, But that your daughter, ere she seems as won. Desires this ring ; appoints him an encounter ; In fine, delivers me to fill the time, Herself most chastely absent. After this*, * Important, here and in other places, is used for importunate. Mr. Tyrwhitt says, that important may be from the French em- portant. ^ The County, i. e. the Count. So in Baret's Alvearie, a Countie or an Erie, Comes : Un Comte. * The word this is from the second folio, it is omitted in the first. J sc. VII. THAT ENDS WELL. 321 To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns To what is past already. Wid. I have yielded : Instruct my daughter how she shall persever, That time and place, with this deceit so lawful, May prove coherent. Every night he comes With musicks of all sorts, and songs compos'd To her unworthiness : it nothing steads us, To chide him from our eaves, for he persists, As if his life lay on't. Hel. Why then, to-night Let us assay our plot ; which, if it speed. Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed. And lawful meaning in a lawful act ; Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact^ : But let's about it. \_Exeunt. ACT IV. Scene I. Without the Florentine Camp. Enter first Lord, with Hve or six Soldiers in ambush. 1 Lord. I E can come no other way but by this hedge' corner. When you sally upon him, speak what terrible language you waU ; though you understand it not yourselves, no matter : for we must not seem to understand him, unless some one among us, whom we must produce for an interpreter. 1 Sold. Good captain, let me be the interpreter. 1 Lord. Art not acquainted with him ? knows he not thy voice ? * This jingling nVW/e may be thus briefly explained. Bertram's is a wicked intention, though the act he commits is lawful. Helen's is both a lawful intention and a lauful deed. The fact as re- lates to Bertram was sinful, because he intended to commit adul- tery ; yet neither he nor Helena actually sinned. 322 ALL'S WELL ACT iv. 1 Sold. No, sir, I warrant you. 1 Lord. But what linsy-woolsy hast thou to speak to us again ? 1 Sold. E'en such as you speak to me. 1 Lord. He must think us some band of strangers i'the adversary's entertainment ^. Nowhe hath a smack of all neighbouring languages ; therefore we must every one be a man of his own fancy ; not to know what we speak one to another, so we seem to know, is to know straight our purpose" : chough's^ language, gabble enough and good enough. As for you, inter- preter, you must seem very politick. But couch, ho ! here he comes ; to beguile two hours in a sleep, and then to return and swear the lies he forges. Enter Parolles. Par. Ten o'clock : within these three hours 'tAvill be time enough to go home. What shall I say I have done ? It must be a very plausive invention that car- ries it. They begin to smoke me ; and disgraces have of late knocked too often at my door. I find my tongue is too fool-hardy ; but my heart hath the fear of Mars before it, and of his creatures, not daring the reports of my tongue. 1 Lord. This is the first truth that e'er thine own tongue Avas guilty of. \_Aside. Par. What the devil should move me to undertake the recovery of this drum ; being not ignorant of the impossibility, and knowing I had no such purpose ? I must give myself some hurts, and say, I got them in exploit. Yet slight ones will not carry it : they \vill ' Some hand of strangers, i. e. foreign troops in the enenit/'s pay. ^ The sense of this obscure passage appears, from the context, to be : " we must each fancy a jargon for himself, ■n'ithout aim- ing to be understood by each other ; for, provided we appeal" to understand, that will be sufficient." ■* ChoiKjIi's language, i. e. language of a bird of the jack-daw kind. SC. I. THAT ENDS WELL. 323 say, " Came you ofF with so little ?" and great ones I dare not give. Wherefore? what's the instance"*? Tongue, I must put you into a butter-woman's mouth, and buy myself 'another of Bajazet's mute^, if you prattle me into these perils. 1 Lord. Is it possible, he should know what he is, and be that he is ? \_Aside. Par. I would the cutting of my garments would serve the turn ; or the breaking of my Spanish sword. 1 Lord. We cannot afford you so. \_Aside. Par. Or the baring^ of my beard ; and to say, it was in stratagem. 1 Lord. 'Twould not do. \\Aside. Par. Or to drown my clothes, and say, I was stripped. 1 Lo7-d. Hardly serve. [Aside. Par. Though I swore I leapt from the window of the citadel 1 Lm-d. How deep ? \_Aside. Par. Thirty fathom. 1 Lord. Three great oaths would scarce make that be believed. {Aside. Par. I would, I had any drum of the enemy's ; I would swear, I recovered it. 1 Lo7-d. You shall hear one anon. [Aside. Par. A drum now of the enemy's ! [Alarum within. 1 Lord. Throca movotisus, cargo, cargo, cargo. All. Cargo, cargo, cargo, villianda par corho, cargo. Pa/r. O ! ransom, ransom ! — Do not hide mine eyes. [They seize him and blindfold him. •• TFIiafs the instance, i. e. the motive. ^ The old copy reads mule. The emendation was made hy War- bm-ton. Bajazet may have been attended by a mute on the stage in some old drama. 6 The baring, i. e. the shaving of my beard. To hare anciently signified to shave. So in Measm-e for Measure, Act iv. So. 2. " It was the desire of the penitent to be so bared." 324 ALL'S WELL act iv. 1 Sold. Boskos thromuldo boskos. Par. I know you are the Muskos' regiment ; And I shall lose my life for want of language. If there be here German, or Dane, Low Dutch, Italian, or French, let him speak to me, I will discover that which shaU undo The Florentine. 1 Sold. Boskos vauvado: I understand thee, and can speak thy tongue : Kerdyhonto : Sir, Betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards Are at thy bosom. Par. O ! 1 Sold. O ! pray, pray, pray. Manka revania dulche. 1 Lord. Oscorbi dulchos volivorco. 1 Sold. The general is content to spare thee yet ; And, hood^\^nk'd as thou art, will lead thee on To gather from thee : haply, thou may'st inform Something to save thy life. Par. O, let me live. And all the secrets of our camp I'll show. Their force, their purposes : nay, I'll speak that Which vou will wonder at. 1 Sold. But wilt thou faithfully ? Par. If I do not, damn me. 1 Sold. Acordo llnta. Come on, thou art granted space. [_Exit^ with PAKOhL-ES guarded''. 1 Lord. Go, tell the count Rousillon, and my bro- ther. We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him muffled. Till we do hear from them. 2 Sold. Captain, I will. '' The folios have " a short alarum within." SC. I. THAT ENDS WELL. 325 1 Lord. He will betray us all unto ourselves ; — Inform 'em^ that. 2 Sold. So I will, sir. 1 Lord. Till then, I'll keep him dark, and safely lock'd. \_Exeunt. Scene II. Florence. A Boom in the Widow's House. Enter Bertram and Diana. Ber. They told me, that your name was Fontibell. Dia. No, my good lord, Diana. Ber. Titled goddess ; And worth it, \vith addition ! But, fair soul. In your fine frame hath love no quality ? If the quick fire of youth light not your mind. You are no maiden, but a monument : When you are dead, you should be such a one As you are now, for you are cold and stern ^; And now you should be as your mother was. When your sweet self was got. Dia. She then was honest. Ber. So should you be. Dia. No : My mother did but duty ; such, my lord. As you owe to your wife* Ber. No more of that ! I pr'ythee, do not strive against my vows^ : I was compell'd to her ; but I love thee By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever Do thee all rights of service. Dia. Ay, so you serve us, * Old copy, " Inform on that." ' The comparison in this line is not, as some have supposed, to a monument but to a corpse. ' i. e. against his determined resolution never to cohabit with Helena. 111. F F 32G ALL'S WELL act iv. Till we serve you : but when you have our roses, You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves, And mock us with our bareness. Ber. How have I sworn ? Dia. 'Tis not the many oaths, that make the truth ; But the plain single vow, that is vow'd true. What is not holy, that we swear not by. But take the Highest to witness : Then, pray you, tell me, If I should swear by Jove's great attributes, I lov'd you dearly, would you believe my oaths, When I did love you ill ? This has no holding. To swear by him, when^ I protest to Love, That I will work against him. Therefore, your oaths Are words, and poor conditions ; but unseal' d. At least, in my opinion. Ber. Change it, change it ; Be not so holy-cruel : love is holy ; And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts That you do charge men %vith. Stand no more off, " ' The old copies read whom. This passage has baffled all the commentators. The slight change I have made of when for whom, gives ns a clear sense. Diana refers to Bertram's double vow, his marriage vow, and the subsequent vow, or protest, he had made not to keep it. " If I should swear by Jove I love you dearly, woidd you believe my oath when I loved you iU ? " This has no consistency, to swear by him (i. e. Jove) when secretly I protest to Love that I will work against him (i. e. against the oath I have taken to Jove). Bertram's previous speech — " Do not strive against my vows, I was compeird to her ; but I love thee B}' Love's own sweet constraint, — clearly indicate that this must be the true sense of the passage. Mr. Collier makes a vain eudeavour to extract a meaning fi-om the old reading, and it is erased in his corrected second folio. Mr. Knight passes it over without notice! In The Passionate Pilgrim we have almost Bertram's argument : — " If Love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love ? O never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd." Tlie reader may also compare the poet's 152nd Sonnet. SC. II. THAT ENDS WELL. 327 But give thyself unto my sick desires, Who then recover : say, thou art mine, and ever My love, as it begins, shall so perse ver. Dia. I see, that men make hopes, in such a scarre*, That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring. Ber. I'll lend it thee, my dear, but have no power To give it from me. Dia. Will you not, my lord ? Ber. It is an honour 'longing to our house, Bequeathed down from many ancestors ; Which were the greatest obloquy i'the world In me to lose. Dia. Mine honour's such a ring : My chastity's the jewel of our house, Bequeathed down from many ancestors ; Which were the greatest obloquy i'the world In me to lose : Thus your own proper wisdom Brings in the champion honour on my part. Against your vain assault. Ber. Here, take my ring : My house, mine honour, yea, my life be thine, ■• The old copy reads, " make ropes in such a scarre," which Rowe altered to, " make hojies in such affairs ; " and Malone to, " make hopes in such a scene." Mr. &nght, and Mr. Collier, in retaining the reading of the old copies, each make a vain essay- to give it a meaning. I think there can be no doubt that ropes is a misprint for hopes, which is necessary to the context — " That we'll forsake ourselves." It then remains only to show what is meant by " such a scarre," the latter word having been errone- ously thought to signify a rock or cliff, with which it has nothing to do in this passage. A scarre here signifies any suqirise or alarm ; what we should now write a scare. Shakespeare has used the same orthography of the participle scarr'd for scared in Coriolanus, and in Winter's Tale. In Palsgrave both the noun and verb are wTitten scarre, and Minsheu, in his Guide to the Tongues, 1611, has "to scarre G. Ahurir." There can be no doubt that the word scare had then the broad sound it still re- tains in the North. Objections have been made to the exjiression "make hopes." Surely there is nothing extraordinary in it, any more than in the French faire des esperances. 328 ALL'S WELL act iv. And I'll be bid by thee. Dia. When midnight comes, knock at my chamber window ; I'll order take, my mother shall not hear. Now will I charge you in the band of truth. When you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed, Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me ; jMy reasons are most strong; and you shall know them, When back again this ring shall be deliver'd : And on your finger, in the night, I'll put Another ring ; that, what in time proceeds, May token to the future our past deeds. Adieu, till then ; then, fail not ; You have won A wife of me, though there my hope be done. Ber. A heaven on earth I have won, by wooing thee. \_Exit. Dia. For which live long to thank both heaven and me ! You may so in the end. My mother told me just how he would woo. As if she sate in his heart ; she says, all men Have the like oaths. He had sworn to marry me, When his wife's dead ; therefore I'll lie with him, When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid ^, Marry that will, I live and die a maid : * Braid, i. e. false, deceitful, tricking, beguiling, from the A. S. bfieB"©, bfiae^d, fraus astus. (This word must not be confounded with a braid, often used by Chaucer and the older poets for any sudden motion, which is from abpffi'ttan, to arouse, to awake, to snatch, seize, or strike with violence) ; — " Jak's brother had he slayn, the Waleis that is said, The more Jak was fajTi, to do William that braid. Selcouthly he endeth ; the man that is fals. If he tJ-est on frendes, thei begile him als, Bcgikd is William.'''' ITeanie's Langtoft, p. 329. In his confused Glossarj', Hearne has explained this word various ways, but deceit, guile, are among his meanings. In the Curious Carol for St. Stephen's Day, printed by Ritson from a MS. of the reign of Henry VI. Herod says to the saint who is vaticinating about the birth of the Saviour: — sc. II. THAT ENDS WELL. 329 Only in this disguise, I think't no sin, To cozen him, that would unjustly win, \_Exit. Scene III. The Florentine Camp. Enter the two French Lords, and two or three Soldiers. 1 Lord. You have not given him his mother's letter? 2 Loi'd. I have delivered it an hour since : there is something in't that stings his nature ; for, on the read- ing it, he changed almost into another man, 1 Lord. He has much worthy blame laid upon him, for shaking off so good a wife, and so sweet a lady. 2 Lord. Especially he hath incurred the everlasting displeasure of the king, who had even tuned his bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you a thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly Avith you. 1 Lord. When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and I am the grave of it. 2 Lord. He hath perverted a young gentlewoman here in Florence, of a most chaste renown ; and this night he fleshes his will in the spoil of her honour ; he hath given her his monumental ring, and thinks him- self made in the unchaste composition. 1 Lord. Now, God delay ^ our rebellion ; as we are ourselves, what things are we ! 2 Lord. Merely our own traitors. And as in the common course of all treasons, we still see them re- veal themselves, till they attain to their abhorred ends " ; " What eyleth the, Stevyn, art tliou wood ? or thou gyniiist to breile?" (i.e. to beguile.^ Thus also iu Greene's Never too Late, 1 6 1 6, as cited by Steeveiis : " Dian rose with all her maids. Blushing thus at Love his braids." Braided wares, were false, deceitful, damaged wares, and this ex- plains unbraided wares in The Winter's Tale, Act iv. Sc. 3. See note there. ' Delay is here used in the sense ofdiluere, to dilute, temper, allay. ^ This may mean, " they are perpetually talking about the F F 2 330 ALL'S WELL act iv. so he that in this action contrives against his own no- bility, in his proper stream o'erflows himself^. 1 Lord. Is it not most^ damnable in us to be trum- peters of our unlaAvful intents ? We shall not then have his company to-night. 2 Lord. Not till after midnight ; for he is dieted to his hour. 1 Lord. That approaches apace ; I Avould gladly have him see his company* anatomized; that he might take a measure of his own judgments, wherein so cu- riously he had set this counterfeit^. 2 Lord. We will not meddle with him till he come ; for his presence must be the whip of the other. 1 Lwd. In the mean time, what hear you of these wars ? 2 Lord. I hear, there is an overture of peace. 1 Lord. Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded. 2 Lord. What will count Rousillon do then ? will he travel higher, or return again into France ? 1 Lord. I perceive, by this demand, you are not altogether of his council. 2 Lord. Let it be forbid, sir ! so should I be a great deal of his act. 1 Lord. Sir, his wife, some two months since, fled from his house ; her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint Jaques le grand ; which holy undertaking, ^vith most austere sanctimony, she accomplished ; and, there re- mischief they intend to do, till they have obtained an opportu- nity of doing it." '■^ i. e. betrays his own secrets in his own talk. ^ The old copy misprints meant for most. Malone siiggested the correction, although he aftenvards abandoned it. ■• Company for companion. We have companies for companions again in K. Henry V. * Counterfeit, besides its ordinary signification of a person pre- tending to be what he is not, also meant a picture, the word set shows that the word is used in both senses here. The reference is to Parolles, as the next speech and the ensuing scene show. I sc. iir. THAT ENDS WELL. 331 siding, the tenderness of her nature became as a prey to her grief ; in fine, made a groan of her last breath, and now she sings in heaven. 2 Lord. How is this justified ? 1 Lord. The stronger part of it by her own letters ; which makes her story true, even to the point of her death : her death itself ^ which could not be her office to say is come, was faithfully confirmed by the rector of the place. 2 Lord. Hath the count all this intelligence ? 1 Lord. Ay, and the particvdar confirmations, point from point, to the full arming of the verity. 2 Lord. I am heartily sorry, that he'll be glad of this. 1 Lord. How mightily, sometimes, we make us com- forts of our losses ! 2 Lord. And how mightily, some other times, we drown our gain in tears ! The great dignity, that his valour hath here acquired for him, shall at home be encountered with a shame as ample. 1 Lord. The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together : our virtues would be proud, if our faults whipped them not ; and our crimes would despair, if they were not cherish'd by our virtues. — Enter a Servant. How now ! where's your master ? Serv. He met the duke in the street, sir, of whom he hath taken a solemn leave ; his lordship will next morning for France. The duke hath offered him let- ters of commendations to the king. 2 Lord. They shall be no more than needful there, if they were more than they can commend. Enter Bertram. 1 Lord. They cannot be too sweet for the king's tart- * The old copy misprints selfe for itself. 332 ALL'S WELL act iv. ness. Here's his lordship now. How now, my lord, is't not after midnight ? Ber. I have to-night despatched sixteen businesses, a month's length a-piece, by an abstract of success : I have conge'd with the duke, done my adieu with his nearest ; buried a \vife, mourned for her ; writ to my lady mother I am returning ; entertained my convoy ; and, between these main parcels of despatch, effected many nicer needs ; the last was the greatest, but that I have not ended yet. 2 Lord. If the business be of any difficulty, and this morning your departure hence, it requires haste of your lordship. Ber. I mean, the business is not ended, as fearing to hear of it hereafter. But shall we have this dialogue between the fool and the soldier? Come, bring forth this counterfeit module^ ; he has deceived me, like a double-meaning prophecier. 2 Lord. Bring him forth : [Exeunt Soldiers.] he has sat in the stocks all night, poor gallant knave. Ber. No matter ; his heels have deserved it, in usurping his spurs ^ so long. How does he carry him- self? \Lord. I have told your lordship already; the stocks carry him. But, to answer you as you would be un- derstood ; he weeps like a wench that had shed her milk. He hath confessed himself to IM organ, whom he supposes to be a friar, from the time of his remem- brance, to this very instant disaster of his setting i'the stocks : And what think you he hath confessed ? Ber. Nothing of me, has he ? 2 Lord. His confession is taken, and it shall be read ' Module, and model are the same word. The meaning is, hring forth this counterfeit representation of a soldier. ' An allusion to the degradation of a knight l)y hacking off his spurs. SC. III. THAT ENDS WELL. 333 to his face : if your lordship be in't, as I believe you are, you must have the patience to hear it. Re-enter Soldiers, with Parolles. Ber. A plague upon him ! muffled ! he can say no- thing of me ; hush ! hush ! 1 Lord. Hoodman9 comes ! — Porto tartarossa. 1 Sold. He calls for the tortures ; What will you say without 'em ? Par. I wiU confess what I know without constraint ; if ye pinch me like a pasty, I can say no more. 1 Sold. Bosko chimurcho. 2 Lord. Boblibindo chicurmurco. 1 Sold. You are a merciful general : — Our gene- ral bids you answer to what I shall ask you out of a note. Par. And truly, as I hope to live. 1 Sold. First demand of him how many horse the duke is strong? What say you to that ? Par. Five or six thousand ; but very weak and un- serviceable : the troops are all scattered, and the com- manders very poor rogues, upon my reputation and credit, and as I hope to live. 1 Sold. Shall I set down your answer so ? Par. Do ; I'll take the sacrament out, how and which way you will. Ber. All's one to him. What a past-saving slave is this 10! 1 Loo-d. You are deceived, my lord ; this is mon- sieur Parolles, the gallant militarist (that was his own phrase), that had the whole theorick of war in the knot of his scarf, and the practice in the chape '^ of his dagger. ' The game at blind man's buff was formerly called Hoodman blind. '" In the old copy these words are given by mistake to Parolles. " The chape is the catch ov fastcnbuj of the sheath of his dagger. 334 ALL'S WELL ACT iv. 2 Lord. I will never trust a man again for keeping his sword clean ; nor believe he can have every thing in him, by wearing his apparel neatly. 1 Sold. Well, that's set down. Par. Five or six thousand horse, I said, — I will say true, — or thereabouts, set down, — for I'll speak truth. 1 Lord. He's very near the truth in this. Ber. But I con him no thanks ^'^ for't, in the nature he delivers it. Par. Poor rogues, I pray you, say. 1 Sold. Well, that's set down. Par. I humbly thank you, sir : a truth's a truth, the rogues are marvellous poor. 1 Sold. Demand of him., of what strength they are a-foot. What say you to that ? Par. By my troth, sir, if I were to live this present hour'^, I will tell true. Let me see : Spurio a hun- dred and fifty, Sebastian so many, Corambus so many, Jaques so many; Guiltian, Cosmo, LodoAvick, and Gratii, two hundred fifty each : mine own company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, tAVO hundred fifty each : so that the muster-file, rotten and sound, upon my life, amounts not to fifteen thousand poll ; half of the which dare not shake the snow from off their cassocks'*, lest they shake themselves to pieces. Ber. What shall be done to him ? 1 Lord. Nothing, but let him have thanks. De- '^ I con him no thanks, i. e. I am not beholden to him for it, &c. To (lore thanks exactly answers to the French sgavoir gr£. Chaucer has con hem thank, and con hem maugre ; which last is equiva- lent to sgavoir malgre. It is found in several ^vriters of Shake- speare's time. To con and to ken are from the Saxon cunnan, to know, to may or can, to be able. '^ Perhaps we should read, " if I u-ere but to live this present hour ;" unless the blunder is meant to show the fright of Parolles. '■* Cassocks, i. e. soldiers^ cloaks or upper garments. Casaque, Fr. Sometimes also called Hoquetons de guerre. A very curious de- SC. III. THAT ENDS WELL. 335 mand of him my condition'^, and what credit I have with the duke. 1 Sold. Well, that's set do-wTi. You shall demand of him, whether one captain Dumain be i'the camp, a Frenchman; what his reputation is with the duke, what his valour, honesty, and expertness in wars; or whether he thinks, it were not possible, with well-weighing sums of gold, to cm-rupt him to a revolt. What say you to this ? What do you know of it ? Par. I beseech you, let me answer to the particular of the intergatories : Demand them singly. 1 Sold. Do you know this captain Dumain ? Par. I know him : he was a botcher's 'prentice in Paris, from whence he was whipt for getting the she- riff's fooP^ with child : a dumb innocent, that could not say him, nay. QDuMAiN lifts vp his hand in anger. Ber. Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though I know, his brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls'^. 1 Sold. Well, is this captain in the duke of Flo- rence's camp ? Par. Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy. 1 Lord. Nay, look not so upon me ; we shall hear of your lordship anon. 1 Sold. What is his reputation with the duke ? scription of this gannent may be found in that valuable work, Thresor de la Laiigue Fran^oise, par Nicot, ed. 1606, under the word Casaque. There was a plebeian cassock, or gaberdine, worn by country people, which is carefully distinguished from this by Nicot and his follower Cotgrave. '* Condition, i. e. disposition and character. '^ Probably an idiot, or natural fool, assigned to the custody of the sherijf'. '^ In Whitney's Emblems there is a storj' of three women who threw dice to ascertain which of them should die first. She who lost affected to laugh at the decrees of fate, when a tile suddenly falling put an end to her existence. This book was certainly known to Shakespeare. The passages in Lucian and Plutarch may also have met the poet's eye. S36 ALL'S WELL act iv. Par. The duke knows him for no other but a poor officer of mine ; and writ to me this other day, to turn him out o' the band : I think, I have his letter in my pocket. 1 Sold. ]\Iarry, we'll search. Par. In good sadness, I do not know ; either it is there, or it is upon a file, Avith the duke's other letters, in my tent. 1 Sold. Here 'tis ; here's a paper. Shall I read it to you ? Par. I do not know if it be it, or no. Ber. Our interpreter does it well. 1 Lord. Excellently. 1 Sold. Dian^ The count's a fool, and fuU of gold, — Par. That is not the duke's letter, sir ; that is an advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one Diana, to take heed of the allurement of one count Rousillon, a foolish idle boy, but for aU that, very ruttish : I pray you, sir, put it up again. 1 Sold. l>!aj, I'll read it first, by your favour. Par. My meaning in't, I protest, was very honest in the behalf of the maid : for I knew the yoimg count to be a dangerous and lascivious boy ; who is a whale to virginity, and devours up aU the fry it finds. Ber. Damnable, both-sides rogue ! 1 Sold. When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold, and take it ; After he scores, he never pays the score : Half won, is match well made; match, and well make it: He ne'er pays after debts, take it before ; And say, a soldier, Dian, told thee this. Men are to melP^ with, boys are not to kiss : '* The meaning of the word mell from meter, French, is obvious. It is not yet obsolete in lowland Scotch. Spenser uses it, and Drayton, in his 39th Sonnet — " My manhood dares not with foul Ate melL" sc. III. THAT ENDS WELL. 337 For count of this, the count's a fool, I know it, Who pays befcrre, but not when he does owe it. Thine, as he vow'd to thee in thine ear, Parolles. Ber. He shall be whipped through the army with this rhyme in his forehead. 2 Lord. This is your devoted friend, sir, the mani- fold linguist, and the armipotent soldier, Ber. I could endure any thing before but a cat, and now he's a cat to me. 1 Sold. I perceive, sir, by our ^9 general's looks, we shall be fain to hang you. Par. My life, sir, in any case ! not that I am afraid to die ; but that, my offences being many, I would repent out the remainder of nature ; let me live, sir, in a dungeon, i'the stocks, or any where, so I may live. 1 Sold. We'll see what may be done, so you confess freely ; therefore, once more to this captain Dumain : You have answered to his reputation with the duke, and to his valour : What is his honesty ? Par. He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister^"; for rapes and ravishments he parallels Nessus^^ He professes not keeping of oaths; in breaking them, he is stronger than Hercules. He will lie, sir, with such volubility, that you would think truth were a fool : drunkenness is his best virtue ; for he will be " To mefl," says Ruddiman, " to fight, contend, meddle, or have to do with." So in The Corpus Christi Play, acted at Coventry, Cott. MSS. Vesp. viii. p. 122 :— " And fayre young qwene herby doth dwelle. Both fresh and gay upon to loke. And a tall man with her doth melle. The way into her chawmer ryght evyn he toke." The argument of the piece is " The woman taken in adulterj-." '^ The old copies have your, a misprint for our. '" He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister, i. e. he will steal any thing, however trifling, from any place^ however holy. '•" Nessus, i. e. the Centaur killed by Jlercules, for his attempt on Dei'anira. III. G G 388 ALL'S WELL act iv. swine-drunk ; and in his sleep he does little harm, save to his bed-clothes about him ; but they know his conditions, and lay him in straw. I have but little more to say, sir, of his honesty : he has every thing that an honest man should not have ; what an honest man should have, he has nothing. 1 Lord. I begin to love him for this. Ber. For this description of thine honesty ? A pox upon him for me, he is more and more a cat. 1 Sold. What say you to his expertness in war ? Par. Faith, sir, he has led the drum before the English tragedians 2", — to belie him, I will not, — and more of his soldiership I know not ; except in that country, he had the honour to be the officer at a place there caU'd ]\Iile End-^, to instruct for the doubling of files : I would do the man what honour I can, but of this I am not certain. 1 Lord. He hath out-villain'd villainy so far, that the rarity redeems him. Ber. A pox on him ! he's a cat still. 1 Sold. His qualities being at this poor price, I need not to ask you, if gold will corrupt him to revolt. Par. Sir, for a quart d'ecu'^* he will seU the fee- simple of his salvation, the inheritance of it : and cut the entail from aU remainders, and a perpetual suc- cession for it perpetually 1 Sold. What's his brother, the other captain Du- main ? 2 Lord. Why does he ask him of me ? 1 Sold. What's he ? '^ Itinerant players in their progresses through country towns ■were often preceded by a drum, as it appears by many cotem- porary notices. ^•' Mile End Green ivas the place for public sports and exercises. See K. Heniy IV. P. ii. Act iii. Sc. 2. ^^ Quart d'ecu, i. e. the fourth part of the smaller French crown, about eightpence. sc. III. THAT ENDS WELL. 339 Par. E'en a crow of the same nest ; not altogether so great as the first in goodness, but greater a great deal in evil. He excels his brother for a coward, yet his brother is reputed one of the best that is : In a retreat he outruns any lackey ; marry, in coming on he has the cramp. 1 Sold. If your life be sav'd, ^vill you undertake to betray the Florentine ? Par. Ay, and the captain of his horse, count Rou- sillon. 1 Sold. I'll whisper \vith the general, and know his pleasure. Par. I'll no more drumming; a plague of all drums ! Only to seem to deserve well, and to beguile the sup- position^^ of that lascivious young boy the count, have I run into this danger : Yet, who would have sus- pected an ambush where I was taken ? \_Aside. 1 Sold. There is no remedy, sir, but you must die : the general says, you, that have so traitorously dis- covered the secrets of your army, and made such pes- tiferous reports of men very nobly held, can serve the world for no honest use ; therefore you must die. Come, headsman, off with his head. Par. O Lord, sir ; let me live, or let me see my death ! 1 Sold. That shall you, and take your leave of all your friends, {Unnniffling him. So, look about you ; Know you any here ? Ber. Good morrow, noble captain. 2 Lord. God bless you, captain Parolles. 1 Lord. God save you, noble captain. 2 Lord. Captain, what greeting will you to my lord Lafeu ? I am for France. 1 Lord. Good captain, will you give me a copy of '* To beguile the supposition, i. e. to deceive the opinion. 340 ALL'S WELL ACT iv. the sonnet you writ to Diana in behalf of the count Rousillon ? an I were not a very coward, I'd compel it of you ; but fare you well. ^^Exeioit Bertram, Lords, S,r. 1 Sold. You are undone, captain : all but your scarf, that has a knot on't yet. Par. Who cannot be crush'd ^vith a plot ? 1 Sold. If you could find out a country where but women were that had received so much shame, you might begin an impudent nation. Fare you well, sir ; I am for France too ; we shall speak of you there. lExit. Par. Yet am I thankful : if my heart were great, 'T would burst at this : Captain I'll be no more ; But I will eat and drink, and sleep as soft As captain shall : simply the thing I am Shall make me live. Who knows himself a braggart, Let him fear this ; for it will come to pass. That every braggart shall be found an ass. Rust, sword ! cool, blushes ! and, Parolles, live Safest in shame ! being fool'd, by foolery thrive ! There's place, and means, for every man alive. I'll after them. [IJxit. Scene IV. Florence. A Room in the Widow's ffouse. Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana. Hel. That you may well perceive I have not wrong' d you. One of the greatest in the Christian world Shall be my surety ; 'fore whose throne, 'tis needful Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel : Time was, I did him a desired office. Dear almost as his life ; which gratitude sc. IV. THAT ENDS WELL. 34t Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth, And answer, thanks. I duly am inform'd, His grace is at Marseilles^ ; to which place We have convenient convoy. You must know, I am supposed dead : the army breaking, My husband hies him home ; where, heaven aiding, And by the leave of my good lord the king, We'll be, before our welcome. Wid. Gentle madam, You never had a servant, to whose trust Your business was more welcome. IleL Nor you, mistress, Ever a friend, whose thoughts more truly labour To recompense your love : doubt not, but heaven Hath brought me up to be your daughter's dower. As it hath fated her to be my motive^ And helper to a husband. But, O strange men ! That can such sweet use make of what they hate. When saucy ^ trusting of the cozen'd thoughts Defiles the pitchy night ! so lust doth play With what it loathes, for that which is away. But more of this hereafter. You, Diana, Under my poor instructions yet must suffer Something in my behalf. Dia. Let death and honesty Go with your impositions, I am yours* Upon your will to sufter. Hel. Yet, I fray you^ ' It appears that Marseilles was pronounced as a word of three syllables. In the old copies it is written Marcellae, Marsellis, and Marcellus. ^ To be my motive, i. e. to he my mover. ^ Saucy was used in the sense of wanton. We have it witli the same meaning in Measure for Measure. * i. e. let death accompanied by honesty, go with the task you im- pose, still I am yours, &c. ■^ The old copy has pray. The present obvious, necess.ary and elegant correction was suggested by Sir \V. Blackstone ; the GG 2 342 ALL'S WELL act iv. But with the word ; the time will bring on summer, When briars shall have leaves as well as thorns, And be as sweet as sharp. We must away ; Our waggon is prepar'd, and time revies us^ : All's well that ends well : still the fine's the crown^; Whate'er the course, the end is the renown. [_Exeunt. Scene V. Rousillon. A Boom in the Countess's Palace. Enter Countess, Lafeu, and CloAvn, La/. No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt- taffata fellow there; whose villainous saffron^ would have made all the unbaked and doughy youth of a nation in his colour : your daughter-in-law had been alive at this hour ; and your son here at home, more advanced by the king, than by that red-tailed^ hum- ble-bee I speak of. Count. I would, I had not known him ! it was the sense will then be " I only frighten you with mentioning the word suffer ; for a short time will bring on the season of happi- ness and delight." * The old copy reads, " and time revives us." I adopt the sug- gested correction of Warburton, " time revnes us," that is, chal- lenges us. To vie and to re\ie were terms used at various games for, to challenge. See GifFord's Ben Jonson, vol. i. p. 106. Steevens suggested reviles, but this is not so pertinent a phrase ; and Shakespeare elsewhere uses to vie for to challenge. ' A translation of the common Latin proverb, Finis coronat opus : the origin of which has been pointed out by Mr. Douce, in his Illustrations, vol. i. p. 323. ' It has been thought that there is an allusion here to the fashion of yellmv starch for bands and ruffs, which was long preva- lent : and also to the custom of colouring paste with saflfron. The plain meaning seems to be — that ParoUes's vices were of such a colourable quality as to be sufficient to corrupt the inexperienced youth of a nation, and make them take the same hue. ^ A red-tailed humble-bee. The allusion is probably to the scarfs. &c. of the dressy braggart. sc. V. THAT ENDS WELL. S43 death of the most virtuous gentlewoman, that ever na- ture had praise for creating : if she had partaken of my flesh, and cost me the dearest groans of a mother, I could not have owed her a more rooted love. Laf. 'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady : we may pick a thousand salads, ere we light on such an- other herb. Clo. Indeed, sir, she was the sweet-marjoram of the salad, or rather the herb of grace ^. Laf. They are not salad-herbs, you knave, they are nose-herbs. Clo. I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir, I have not much skill in grass ^. Laf. Whether dost thou profess thyself; a knave, or a fool ? Clo. A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a knave at a man's. Laf. Your distinction ? Clo. I would cozen the man of his wife, and do his service. Laf. So you were a knave at his service, indeed. Clo. And I would give his wife my bauble^, sir, to do her service. Laf. I Avill subscribe for thee ; thou art both knave and fool. ^ i. e. rue. * The old copy reads grace. The emendation is Rowe's : who also supplied the word salad in the preceding speech. The Clown quibbles on grass and grace. It should be remembered that grass was written and pronounced gresse in the poet's time. Thus in Withall's Dictionarie for Children, 1586, " Grasse or Gresse, Gramen." * The fool's bauble was " a short stick ornamented at the end with the figure of a fool's head, or sometimes with that of a doll or puppet. To this instrument there was frequently annexed an inflated bladder, with which the fool belaboured those who offended him, or with whom he was inclined to make sport. The French call a bauble marotte, from Marionette.'" The representation of several forms of it may be seen in Mr. Douce's Illustrations of Shakespeare. 344 ALL'S WELL act iv. Clo. At your service. Laf. No, no, no. Clo. Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as great a prince as you are. Laf. Who's that ? a Frenchman ? Clo. Faith, sir, he has an English name^ ; but his phisnomy is more hotter^ in France, than there. Laf. What prince is that ? Clo. Tlie black prince, sir, alias the prince of dark- ness; alias the devil. Laf. Hold thee, there's my purse : I give thee not this to suggest^ thee from thy master thou talkest of; serve him stiU. Clo. I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved a great fire ; and the master I speak of, ever keeps a good fire. But, sure 9, he is the prince of the world, let his nobility remain in his court. I am for the house with the narrow gate, which I take to be too little for pomp to enter : some, that humble themselves, may ; but the many will be too chill and tender; and they'll be for the flowery way, that leads to the broad gate, and the great fire. Laf. Go thy ways, I begin to be a-weary of thee ; and I tell thee so before, because I would not fall out with thee. Go thy ways; let my horses be well looked to, without any tricks. Clo. If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall be jades' tricks ; which are their own right by the law of nature. ^Exit. Laf. A shrewd knave, and an unhappy "'. * Name. The old copy reads maine. The correction is by Rowe. ' The Clown's allusion is double. To Edward the black prince, and to the prince of darkness. The presence of Edward was in- deed hot in France : the other allusion is obvious. * Suggest, i.e. to tempt. ^ Steevens thinks with Sir T. Hanmer, that we should read since. '" Unhappy, i. e. mischievous, waggish, uuhtcki/. SC. V. THAT ENDS WELL. 345 Count. So he is. My lord, that's gone, made him- self much sport out of him : by his authority he re- mains here, which he thinks is a patent for his sauci- ness; and, indeed, he has no pace*^, but runs where he will. Laf. I like him well ; 'tis not amiss : and I was about to tell you, since I heard of the good lady's death, and that my lord your son was upon his return home, I moved the king my master, to speak in the behalf of my daughter; which, in the minority of them both, his majesty, out of a self-gracious remembrance, did first propose. His highness hath promised me to do it : and, to stop up the displeasure he hath con- ceived against your son, there is no fitter matter. How does your ladyship like it ? Count. With very much content, my lord, and I wish it happily effected. Laf. His highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able body as when he numbered thirty ; he will be here to-morrow, or I am deceived by him that in such intelligence hath seldom failed. Count. It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him ere I die. I have letters that my son will be here to- night : I shall beseech your lordship, to remain with me till they meet together. Laf. Madam, I was thinking, with what manners I might safely be admitted. Count. You need but plead your honourable privi- lege. Laf. Lady, of that I have made a bold charter ; but, I thank my God, it holds yet. Re-enter Clown. Clo. O madam, yonder's my lord your son with a " No pace, i.e. no prescribed course; he has the unbridled li- berty of a fool. 346 ALL'S WELL act iv. patch of velvet on's face : whether there be a scar un- der it, or no, the velvet knows ; but 'tis a goodly patch of velvet : his left cheek is a cheek of two pile and a half ^% but his right cheek is worn bare. Laf. A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good livery of honour ; so, belike, is that. Clo. But it is your carbonadoed*^ face. Laf. Let us go see your son, I pray you ; I long to talk with the young noble soldier. Clo. 'Faith, there's a dozen of 'em, -ndth delicate fine hats, and most courteous feathers, which bow the head, and nod at every man. \_Exeunt. ACT V. Scene I. Blarseilles. A Street. Enter Helena, Widow, ayid Diana, with two Attendants. Helena. •UT this exceeding posting, day and night, IMust wear your spirits low : we cannot help it ; But, since you have made the days and nights as one. To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs, Be bold, you do so grow in my requital. As nothing can unroot you. In happy time ; Enter a gentle Astringer^. This man may help me to his majesty's ear. If he would spend his power. — God save you, sir. '* Velvet was esteemed according to its pile. '^ Carbonadoed is " slashed over the face in a manner that fetched the flesh with it," metaphorically from a carbonado or col- lop of meat. ' A gentle Astringer, i. e. a gentleman falconer, called in Juliana sc. r. THAT ENDS WELL. 347 Gent. And you. Hel. Sir, I haA'e seen you in the court of France. Gent. I have been sometimes there. Hel. I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen From the report that goes upon your goodness ; And therefore, goaded ^vith most sharp occasions. Which lay nice manners by, I put you to The use of your own virtues, for the which I shall continue thankful. Gent. What's your will ? Hel. That it will please you To give this poor petition to the king ; And aid me with that store of power you have, To come into his presence. Gent. The king's not here. Hel. Not here, sir ? Gent. Not, indeed : He hence remov'd last night, and w\\h more haste Than is his use. Wid. Lord, how we lose our pains ! Hel. All's well that ends well., yet ; Though time seem so adverse, and means unfit. — I do beseech you, whither is he gone ? Gent. Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon ; Whither I am going. Hel. I do beseech you, sir, Since you are like to see the king before me, Commend the paper to his gracious hand ; Barnes's Book of Huntyng, &c. Ostreger. See also Latham's Fal- conry, passim. The term is applied particularly to those that keep goshawks. Cowel, in his Law Dictionary, says that we usually call a falconer who keeps that kind of hawk an austringer. Ni- cot tells us that in the Salique Law the goshawk is called acceptor, from whence by contraction astor. Astringer is autrucier, and auturisier, in old French, and the goshawk is called austour and autour ; in Italian astorre. In our old records asturcus, austur- cus, osturcus, hostricus, and estricus. 348 ALL'S WELL act v. Which, I presume, shall render you no blame, But rather make you thank your pains for it. I will come after you, with what good speed Our means will make us means. Gent. This I'll do for you. Hel. And you shall find yourself to be well thank'd, Whate'er falls more. — We must to horse again ; — Go, go, provide. \_Exeunt. Scene II. Rousillon. The inner CouH of the Countess's Palace. Enter Clown and Parolles. Par. Good JMonsieur Lavatch, give my Lord Lafeu this letter : I have ere now, sir, been better known to you, when I have held familiarity with fresher clothes ; but I am now, sir, muddied in fortune's mood^, and smell somewhat strong of her strong displeasure. Clo. Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if it smell so strongly as thou speak'st of : I will hence- forth eat no fish of fortune's buttering. Pr'ythee, al- low the wind. Par. Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir ; I spake but by a metaphor. Clo. Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink", I will stop ' Warburton changed mood, the reading of the old copy, to moat, and was followed and defended by Steevens; but though the emendation was ingenious and well supported, it appears unne- cessary. Fortune^ s mood is several times used hy Shakespeare for the whimsical caprice of fortune. There is an evident jingle be- tween mood and mtid. ^ Warburton observes, "that Shakespeare throughout his wi-i- tings, if we except a passage in Hamlet, has scarce a metaphor that can offend the most squeamish reader." To this Steevens, in one of those splenetic fits to which in the decline of life he was subject, replies that " the poet's offensive metaphors and allusions are more frequent than those of all his dramatic predecessors or contemporaries." Those best acquainted with his dramatic con- temporaries and predecessors will acknowledge the falsehood of this unjust accusation. sc. II. THAT ENDS WELL. 349 my nose ; or against any man's metaphor, Pr'ythee, set thee farther. Par. Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. Clo. Foh, pr'ythee, stand away ; A paper from for- tune's close-stool to give to a nobleman ! Look, here he comes himself. Enter Lafeu. Here is a purr of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's cat, (but not a musk-cat,) that has fallen into the unclean fish- pond of her displeasure, and, as he says, is muddied withal : Pray you, sir, use the carp as you may ; for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, ras- cally knave. I do pity his distress in my smiles^ of comfort, and leave him to your lordship. \_Exit Clown. Par. My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly scratched. Laf. And what would you have me to do ? 'tis too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you played the knave with fortune, that she should scratch you, who of herself is a good lady, and would not have knaves thrive long under her ? There's a quart d'ecu for you : Let the justices make you and fortune friends ; I am for other business. Par. I beseech your honour, to hear me one single word. Laf. You beg a single penny more : come, you shall ha't : save your word. Par. My name, my good lord, is ParoUes. Laf. You beg more than one^word then^. — Cox'mv passion ! give me your hand : — How does your drum ? ^ I think with Warburton, we should read " similes of comfort," such as calling him fortune's cat, carp, &c. ■* One is wanting in the first and second folios, but was added in the third. Tlie quibble is evident. ^ A quibble is intended on the word ParoUes, which in French signifies words. III. H n 360 ALL'S WELL act v. Par. O my good lord, you were the first that found me. Laf. Was I, in sooth ? and I was the first that lost thee. Par. It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some grace, for you did bring me out. Laf. Out upon thee, knave ! dost thou put upon me at once both the office of God and the devil? one brings thee in grace, and the other brings thee out. \_Trumjpets soundr\ The king's coming, I know by his trumpets. — Sirrah, inquire further after me ; I had talk of you last night : though you are a fool and a knave, you shall eat ; go to, follow^. Par. I praise God for you. \_Exeuni. Scene III. The same. A Room in the Countess's Palace. Flourish. Enter King, Countess, Lafeu, Lords, Gentlemen, Guards, S^x. King. We lost a jewel of her ; and our esteem ^ Was made much poorer by it : but your son, As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know Her estimation home*. Count. 'Tis past, my liege : And I beseech your majesty to make it Natural rebellion, done i' the blaze ^ of youth : When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force, O'erbears it, and burns on. * Johnson justly observes that " Parolles has many of the li- neaments of Jf alstatf, and seems to be a character that Shakespeare delighted to draw, a fellow that had more wit than virtue. Though justice required that he should be detected and exposed, yet his vices sit so fit in him that he is not at last suffered to starve." ' i. e. in losing her we lost a large portion of our esteem, which she possessed. ^ Home, i. e. completelg, in its full extent. ^ Blaze. The old copy has blade. Theobald proposed the pre- sent reading, and the context shows the necessity of the correction. sc. iir. THAT ENDS WELL. 351 King. My honour'd lady, I have forgiven and forgotten all ; Though my revenges were high bent upon him, And watch'd the time to shoot. Laf. This I must say, But first I beg my pardon, — The young lord Did to his majesty, his mother, and his lady. Offence of mighty note ; but to himself The greatest wrong of all : he lost a wife, Whose beauty did astonish the survey Of richest eyes*; whose words all ears took captive ; Whose dear perfection, hearts that scorn'd to serve. Humbly call'd mistress. King. Praising what is lost, Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him hither ; We are reconcil'd, and the first view shall kill All repetition^: — Let him not ask our pardon ; The nature of his great offence is dead, And deeper than oblivion do we bury The incensing relicks of it : let him approach, A stranger, no offender ; and inform him. So 'tis our will he should. Gent. I shall, my liege. \_Exit Gentleman. King. What says he to your daughter ? have you spoke ? Laf. All that he is hath reference to your highness. King. Then shall we have a match. I have letters sent me. That set him high in fame. * Of richest eyes. So in As You Like It : — to have " seen much and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands." Those who having seen the greatest number of fair women might be said to be the richest in ideas of beauty. * Kill all repetition, i. e. the first interview shall put an end to all recrimination. In this sense the word is used in K. John, Act ii. Sc. 1. — " /// timed repetitious.''' 352 ALL'S WELL ACT v. Enter Bertram. Laf. He looks well on't. King. I am not a day of season^, For thou mayst see a sun-shine and a hail In me at once : But to the brightest beams Distracted clouds give way ; so stand thou forth, The time is fair again. Ber. My high-repented blames^, Dear sovereign, pardon to me. King. All is whole ; Not one word more of the consumed time. Let's take the instant by the forward top ; For we are old, and on our quick' st decrees The inaudible and noiseless foot of time Steals ere we can effect them : You remember The daughter of this lord ? Ber. Admiringly, my liege : at first I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue : Where the impression of mine eye infixing, Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me. Which warp'd the line of every other favour ; Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stol'n ; Extended or contracted all proportions. To a most hideous object : Thence it came, That she, whom all men prais'd, and whom myself, Since I have lost, have lov'd, was in mine eye The dust that did offend it. King. Well excus'd : That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away From the great compt : But love, that comes too late, Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried, To the great sender turns a sour offence, * A day of season, i. e. a seasonable day ; a mixture of sunshine and hail, of ^\'inter and summer, is unseasonable. '' 3Iy high-repented blames, i. e. faults repented of to the utmost. 8C. III. THAT ENDS WELL. 353 Crying, that's good that's gone. Our rash faults Make trivial price of serious things we have, Not knowing them, until we know their grave : Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust, Destroy our friends, and after weep their dust : Our own love waking cries to see what's done, While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon **. Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her. Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin : The main consents are had ; and here we'll stay To see our widower's second marriage-day. Count. Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless ! Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cesse" ! Laf. Come on, my son, in whom my house's name ]\Iust be digested, give a favour from you. To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter, That she may quickly come. — By my old beard. And every hair that's on't, Helen, that's dead, Was a sweet creature ; such a ring as this, The last that e'er I took her leave at court 9, I saw upon her finger. Ber. Hers it ^^'as not. King. Now, pray you, let me see it ; for mine eye, While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to't. — This ring was mine : and, when I gave it Helen, I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood * This obscui'e couplet seems to mean that " Our love awaking to the worth of the lost object too late laments: our shameful hate or dislike having slept out the period -svhen our fault was remediable." Mason proposed to read old for mvn. ' This couplet forms part of the King's speech in the old co- pies ; Theobald assigned it to the Countess, to whom it evidently belongs. The first folio prints the concluding word cesse ; Mr. Collier and others alter it to cease, to the destruction of the rhyme. ^ " The last that e'er / took her leave at court." That is, " the last time that ever I took leave of her at court." The expression is by no means unusually elliptical. H H 2 354 ALL'S WELL act v. Necessitied to help, that by this token '^ I would relieve her : Had you that craft to reave her Of what should stead her most ? Ber. ]My gracious sovereign, Howe'er it pleases you to take it so, The ring was never hers. Count. Son, on my life, I have seen her wear it ; and she reckon'd it At her life's rate. Laf. I am sure, I saw her wear it. Ber. You are deceiv'd, my lord, she never saw it : In Florence was it from a casement thro^vn me^^ Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name. Of her that threw it. Noble she was, and thought I stood ingag'd'-: but when I had subscrib'd^^ To mine own fortune, and inform'd her fully, I could not answer in that course of honour As she had made the overture, she ceas'd, In hea\'y satisfaction, and would never Receive the ring again. King. Plutus himself. That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine'*, Hath not in nature's mystery more science, '" Malone quarrels with the construction of this passage : — " I bade her, &c. — that by this token," &c. but Shakespeare frequently uses bade for told. So in Othello, Act i. Sc. 3 : — " And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her." " Johnson remarks that Bertram still continues to have too little \-irtue to deserve Helen. He did not know it was Helen's ring, but he knew that he had it not from a window. "^ Ingag'd, i. e. pledged to her, having received her pledge. John- son reads engaged, and explains it — " When she saw me receive the ring, she thought me engaged to her." I cannot think, with Malone, that unengaged is intended, we have no instance of the use of i/igaged in that sense. '^ Subscribed, i.e. submitted. SeeTroilus 8iadCressida,Actii. Sc.3. '* i. e. The philosopher's stone. Plutus, the great alchymist, who knows the secrets of the elia^ir and philosopher's stone, by which the alchjTnists pretended that base metals might be transmuted into gold. sc. III. THAT ENDS WELL. 355 Than I have in this ring : 'twas mine, 'twas Helen's, Whoever gave it you. Then if you know That you are well acquainted with yourself ^^^ Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement You got it from her. She call'd the saints to surety, That she would never put it from her finger, Unless she gave it to yourself in bed, (Where you have never come), or sent it us Upon her great disaster. Ber. She never saw it. King. Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine ho- nour ; And mak'st conjectural fears to come into me, Which I would fain shut out. If it should prove That thou art so inhuman, — 'twill not prove so ; — And yet I know not : — thou didst hate her deadly. And she is dead ; which nothing, but to close Her eyes myself, could win me to believe, More than to see this ring. — Take him away. — [[Guards seize Bertkam. My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall, Shall tax my fears of little vanity. Having vainly fear'd too little i<^. — Away with him ! — We'll sift this matter farther. Ber. If you shall prove This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence, Where yet she never was. \_Exit Bertram, guarded. Enter a Gentleman ^^. King. I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings. '* Then if you have the proper consciousness of your own ac- tions, confess, &c. '^ The proofs tchich I have already had are sufficient to show- that my fears were not vain and irrational. I have unreasonably feared too little. ''' This is the gentle Astringer Helena pre%aously met. 356 ALL'S WELL act v. Gent. Gracious sovereign, Whether I have been to blame, or no, I know not ; Here's a petition from a Florentine, Who hath, for four or five removes '^, come short To tender it herself. I undertook it, Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech Of the poor suppliant, who by this, I know. Is here attending : her business looks in her With an importing visage ; and she told me. In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern Your highness with herself. King. j^Reads.] Upon his many protestations to marry me., when his wife was dead., I hlush to say it, he won me. Now is the Count Rousillon a widower ; his vows are forfeited to me, and my honours paid to him. He stole from Florence., taking no leave, and I follow him to his country for justice. Grant it me, king ; in you it best lies ; otherwise a seducer flourishes, and a poor maid is undone. Diana Capulet. Laf I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll^^ for this ; I'll none of him. King. The heavens have thought well on thee, Lafeu, To bring forth this discovery. — Seek these suitors : — Go, speedily, and bring again the count. \_Exeu7it Gentleman, and some Attendants. I am afeard, the life of Helen, lady. Was foully snatch'd. '^ Removes axe journeys, or post-stages ; she had not been able to overtake the king on the road. '^ This is the reading of the first folio. The allusion is to the custom of paying toll for the liberty of selling in a fair ; it means, " 1 will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and sell this one ; pay toll for the liberty of selling hiui." So in Hudibras : — " A roan gelding. Where, when, by whom, and what ye were sold for, And in the public market toll'd for." There were two statutes to regulate the tolling of horses in fairs. sc. III. THAT ENDS WELL. 357 Count. Now, justice on the doers ! Re-enter Bertram, guarded. King. I wonder, sir, since wives are monsters to you 2°, And that you fly them as you swear them lordship. Yet you desire to marry. — What woman's that ? Re-enter Gentleman, with Widow, and Diana. Dia. I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine, Derived from the ancient Capulet : My suit, as I do understand, you know, And therefore know how far I may be pitied. Wid. I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour Both suffer under this complaint we bring ; And both shall cease -^, without your remedy. King. Come hither, count ; Do you know these women ? Ber. JMy lord, I neither can, nor will deny But that I know them. Do they charge me further? Dia. Why do you look so strange upon your wife ? Ber. She's none of mine, my lord. Dia. If you shall marry, You give away this hand, and that is mine ; You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine ; You give away myself, which is known mine ; For I by vow am so embodied yours. That she, which marries you, must marry me, Either both, or none. Laf. Your reputation \_To Bertram] comes too short for my daughter ; you are no husband for her. '^° The first folio reads : — " I wonder, sir, sir; wives, &c." The emendation is Mr. Tyrwhitt's. As in the succeeding line means as soon as. The second folio reads, " I wonder, sir, wives are such monsters to you," &e. ^' Cease, i. e. end, will die dishonoured. 358 ALL'S WELL ACT v. Ber. My lord, this is a fond and desperate creature, Whom sometime I have laugh'd with. Let your high- ness Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour. Than for to think that I would sink it here. King. Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to friend, Till your deeds gain them : Fairer prove your honour, Than in my thought it lies ! Dia. Good my lord, Ask him upon his oath, if he does think He had not my virginity. King. What say'st thou to her ? Ber. She's impudent, my lord ; And was a common gamester to the camp—. Dia. He does me wrong, my lord ; if I were so, He might have bought me at a common price : Do not believe him : O ! behold this ring, Whose high respect, and rich validity -^ Did lack a parallel ; yet, for all that, He gave it to a commoner o'the camp, If I be one. Count. He blushes, and 'tis his "* : °^ The following passage from The False One of Beaumont and Fletcher •w-ill sufficiently elucidate this term when applied to a female ; — " 'Tis a catalogue Of all the gamesters in the court and city, Which lord lies with that lady, and what gallant Sports with that merchant's wife." '■^ Validity, i. e. value. •* He hluslies, and 'tis his. The old copies have, " He blushes, and 'tis hit." Pope made the correction. Malone remarks that in many of our old chronicles he had found hit printed uistead of it. It is not in our old chronicles alone, but in all om- old writers that the word may be found in this form. The acute author of the Diversions of Parley has sho^vni the reason at p. 53 of his se- cond volume. Tooke treats Malone with sarcastic commiseration for taking the old orthography for a mistake of the printer. sc. III. THAT ENDS WELL. 350 Of six preceding ancestors, that gem Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue, Hath it been ow'd and worn. This is his wife : That ring's a thousand proofs. King. Methought, you said, You saw one here in court could witness it. Dia. I did, my lord, but loath am to produce So bad an instrument ; his name's ParoUes. Laf. I saw the man to-day, if man he be. King. Find him, and bring him hither. Ber. What of him ? He's quoted*^ for a most perfidious slave, With all the spots o' the world tax'd and debosh'd"^: Whose nature sickens, but to speak a truth : Am I or that, or this, for what he'll utter, That will speak any thing ? King. She hath that ring of yours. Ber. I think she has : certain it is, I lik'd her, And boarded her i' the wanton v:aj of youth : She knew her distance, and did angle for me, Madding my eagerness with her restraint, As all impediments in fancy's course Are motives of more fancy ; and, in fine. Her infinite cunning with her modern grace ^^^ 25 Noted. 2* The old orthography of dchaucKd. ^ The first folio has " inluite comming," evidently a printer's error for infinite cunning. This happy emendation was suggested by the late Mr. Sidney Walker. In Troilus and Cressida, Act ii. Sc. 2, the old copies have, by a similar printer's error, " comming in dmnbness," instead of cunning. " Every thing that obstructs love is an occasion by which love is heightened, and to conclude, her cunning concuiTing with her common or ordinary grace she got the ring." It may be remarked that Shakespeare and some of his contemporaries use the word modern for trivial, common, ordinary ; the reason of this has not yet been satisfactorily explained. " 3Iodernaglie," says Florio, " moderne things; also taken for young iven'cJies." Modern may therefore mean youthful in this instance. 360 ALL'S WELL ACT V. Subdued me to her rate : she got the ring ; And I had that, which any inferior might At market-price have bought. Dia. I must be patient ; You that have tum'd ofF a first so noble vvdfe"^, May justly diet me. I pray you yet, (Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband), Send for your ring, I will return it home, And give me mine again. Ber I have it not. King. What ring was yours, I pray you ? Dia. Sir, much like The same upon your finger. King. Know you this ring ? this ring was his of late. Dia. And this was it I gave him, being a-bed. King. The story then goes false : you threw it hira Out of a casement. Dia. I have spoke the truth. Enter Parol les. Ber. ]My lord, I do confess the ring was hers. Ki7ig. You boggle shrewdly, every feather starts you. Is this the man you speak of ? Dia. Ay, my lord. King. Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I charge you. Not fearing the displeasure of your master (Which, on your just proceeding, I'U keep ofi"), By him, and by this woman here, what know you ? Par. So please your majesty, my master hath been an honourable gentleman ; tricks he hath had in him, which gentlemen have. King. Come, come, to the purpose : Did he love this woman ? "^^ You that diet me, i. e. make me fast, by depriving me of mar- riage rites. sc. iiT. THAT ENDS WELL. 3G1 Par. 'Faith, sir, he did love her; But how? King. How, I pray you ? Par. He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a woman. King. How is that ? Par, He loved her, sir, and loved her not. King. As thou art a knave, and no knave : — What an equivocal companion is this ? Par. I am a poor man, and at your majesty's com- mand. Laf. He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty orator. Dia. Do you know, he promis'd me marriage ? Par. 'Faith, I know more than I'll speak. King. But wdlt thou not speak all thou know'st ? Par. Yes, so please your majesty: I did go between them, as I said ; but more than that, he loved her, — for, indeed, he was mad for her, and talk'd of Satan, and of limbo, and of furies, and I know not what : yet I was in that credit with them at that time, that I knew of their going to bed ; and of other motions, as promising her marriage, and things which would de- rive me ill will to speak of; therefore I will not speak what I know. King. Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou canst say they are married : But thou art too fine-^ in thy evidence ; therefore stand aside. — This ring, you say, was yours ? Dia. Ay, my good lord. King. Where did you buy it ? or who gave it you ? Dia. It was not given me, nor I did not buy it. King. Who lent it you ? Dia. It was not lent me neither. King. Where did you find it then ? '^ In the French sense trop fine. So in Bacon's Apophthegms, 1625, p. 252 : — " Your majesty was too fine for my lord Burleigh." III. I 1 362 ALL'S WELL act v. Dia. I found it not. King. If it were yours by none of all these ways, How could you give it him ? Dia. I never gave it him. Laf. This woman's an easy glove, my lord ; she goes off and on at pleasure. King. This ring was mine, I gave it his first wife. Dia. It might be yours, or hers, for aught I know. King. Take her away, I do not like her now ; To prison with her : and away with him. — Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadst this ring. Thou diest within this hour. Dia. I'U never tell you. King. Take her away. Dia. I'll put in bail, my liege. King. I think thee now some common customer ^°. Dia. By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas you. King. Wherefore hast thou accused him all this while ? Dia. Because he's guilty, and he is not guilty ; He knows I am no maid, and he'll swear to't : I'll swear I am a maid, and he knows not. Great King, I am no strumpet, by my life ; I am either maid, or else this old man's wife. [^Pointing to Lafeu. King. She does abuse our ears ; to prison with her ! ^ Dia. Good mother, fetch my bail. — [JSxit Widow. Stay, royal sir ; The jeweller that owes^^ the ring is sent for, And he shall surety me. But for this lord. Who hath abus'd me, as he knows himself. Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him. He knows himself my bed he hath defil'd ; ^^ Some common customer, i. e. common woman, with whom any oue may be familiar. ^' Owes, i. e. owns. sc. 111. THAT ENDS WELL. 363 And at that time he got his wife with child : Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick ; So there's my riddle, One, that's dead, is quick : And now behold the meaning. Re-enter Widow, with Helena. King. Is there no exorcists- Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes ? Is't real that I see ? Hel. No, my good lord ; 'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see, The name, and not the thing. Ber. Both, both : O, pardon ! Hel. O ! my good lord, when I was like this maid, I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring. And, look you, here's your letter : This it says, When from my finger you can get this ring^ And are by me with child, &c. — This is done : Will you be mine, now you are doubly won ? Ber. If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly, I'll love her dearly ; ever, ever dearly. Hel. If it appear not plain, and prove untrue, Deadly divorce step between me and you ! — O, my dear mother, do I see you living ? Laf. Mine eyes smell onions, I shall weep anon. — Good Tom Drum, \_To Parol les], lend me a ^^ Thus, in Julius Caesar, Ligarius says : — " Thou like an exorcist hast conjur'd up My mortified spirit." Exorcist and conjurer were synonymous in Shakespeare's time. The great poet has heen accused of using this word erroneously in a sense peculiar to himself, but the dictionaries of his time show that it was the universal acceptation of the word. Thus Florio in his Italian Dictionary, ed. 1598. " Essorcista, a con- jurer, an exorcist." — " Essorcismi, exorcismes, conjurations, in- cantations, spels ;" and so throughout : this detinition is not pe- culiar to Florio, all the dictionaries have it. 364 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL, act v. handkerchief; so, I thank thee. Wait on me home, I'll make sport with thee : Let thy courtesies alone, they are scurvy ones. King. Let us from point to point this story know. To make the even truth in pleasure flow : — \To Diana.] If thou be'st yet a fresh uncropped flower, Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dower ; For I can guess, that, by thy honest aid. Thou kept'st a wife herself, thyself a maid. — Of that, and all the progress, more and less, Resolvedly more leisure shall express ; AH yet seems well ; and, if it end so meet, The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. \_Fl