Ex Libris C. K. OGDEN PICTORIAL EDITION SHAKSPEKE, EDITED BY CHARLES KNIGHT. THE SECOND EDITION, REVISED. DOUBTFUL PLAYS, LONDON : VIRTUE & CO., CITY ROAD AND IVY LANE. 5012351 CONTENTS. TITUS ANDRONICUS 1 PERICLES t C\ THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN HI PLAYS ASCRIBED TO SHAKSPERE. LOCRINE ... 11 SIR JOHN OLDCASTLE, PART I 207 THE LIFE AND DEATH OF THOMAS LORD CROMWELL 217 THE LONDON PRODIGAL 225 THE PURITAN 238 A YORKSHIRE TRAGEDY 239 NOTICE ON THE AUTHORSHIP OF A YORKSHIRE TRAGEDY 253 ARDEN OF FEVERSHAM 257 THE REIGN OF KING EDWARD III 277 GEORGE-A-GREENE 297 FAIR EM 301 MUCEDORUS 308 THE BIRTH OF MERLIN 311 THE MERRY DEVIL OF EDMONTON 315 APPENDIX- DEDICATION, ADDRESS, AND COMMENDATORY VERSES, PREFIXED TO THE EDITIONS OF 1623 AND 1632 327 A HISTORY OF OPINION ON THE WRITINGS OF SHAKSPEBE 331 SHAKSPERE IN GERMANY , . 401 SHAKSPERE IN FRANCE .435 INDEX 437 INDEX TO THE CHARACTERS OF THE PLAYS . 493 ILLUSTRATIONS THE SUPPLEMENTAL VOLU&1L. TITLE-PAGE TO VOLUME. KHOM A DESIGN BY \V. HARVEY. TITUS ANDRONICUS. FROM DESIGNS BI W. HARVEY. TITLE. ACT IV., SCENE IV S INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. PONTINE MARSHES, HOME f> DRAMATIS PERSOXJE. HUMAN SYMBOLS 8 ACT I. HEAD. SCENE I t TAIL. SCENE II I* A.CT II. HEAD. SCEXK II *< TAIL. BCKKZ III * a ACT III. HEAP. SCENE L TAH.. SCENE II. ACT IV HEAD. SCENE I SO TAIL. SCENE III. ... J/ ACT V. HEAD. SCENE I. NOTICE. UKAU TAIL 4T 59 ILLUSTRATIONS TO SUPPLEMENTAL VOLUME. PERICLES. FROM DESIGNS BY W. HARVKY. TITLE. ACT III., SCENE I., AND CHORUS . . FAOX . fil ACT III. . 85 INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. . . W . 68 DRAMATIS PERSONA. ACT IV. . . . 92 PORTRAIT OF GOWER, ETC . 64 too ACT I. . 65 ACT V. 72 . . 102 TAIL. ANTIOCH , , ...... . . 108 ACT II. . TS SUPPLEMENTARY NOTICE. TAIL. TYRE . ....... 83 MONUMENT OF GOWEB . . Ill THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN FROM DESIGNS BY W. HARVEY. TITLE. PALAMON AND ARCITK ..... 121 INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. GRECIAN HORSEMEN FROM ELGIN MAEBLES . 123 DRAMATIS PERSONS ACROPOLIS, ETC 124 ACT I. PROCESSION OF HYMEN, ETC 125 THE THREE QUEENS 132 ACT II. PALAMON AND ARCITK'S FIRST VIEW OF EMILIA 133 EMILIA AND HER MAID ........ HI ACT III. MEETING OF PALAMON AND AHCITE IN THE WOOD 142 THESEUS INTERRUPTING THE COMBAT BETWEEN PALAMON AND ARCITE ......... 152 GAOLER'S DAUGHTER AT THE LAKE .... 153 GAOLER'S DAUGHTER ESCAPING TO THE CITY . 159 ACT V. ARCITE ON HORSEBACK ......... 160 DEATH OF ARCITE ...... ..... 168 THE ASCRIBED PLAYS. FROM DESIGNS BY W. HARVEY. TITLE. WITH PORTRAIT OF 8HAKSPERE . . . 189 HEAD-PIECE TO ' LOCRINE ' 193 TAIL-PIECE TO DITTO 205 HEAD-PIECE TO ' SIB JOHN OLDCASTLE ' ... 209 HEAD-PIECE TO 'THOMAS LORD CROMWELL* . 219 HEAD-PIECE TO 'THE LONDON PHODIGAi ' . . 227 HEAD-PIECE TO 'THE PURITAN* 235 HEAD-PIECE TO 'A YORKSHIRE TRAGEDY* . . 243 TAIL-PIECE TO DITTO 252 ABBE* OT FEVERSHAM 259 Tl TAIL-PIECE TO ' ARBEIT 01 FEVERSHAM' . . . 276 EDWARD III 279 TAIL-PIECE. EDWARD THE BLACK PRINCE . . 293 THE PINNER OF WAKEFIELD 297 FAIR EM 301 MUCEDORUS 306 BIRTH OF MERLIN .... 311 MERRY DEVIL OF EDMONTON 81* TAIL PIECE. UNVEILING 8HAKSPEBE . . . . J23 ILLUSTRATIONS TO SUPPLEMENTAL A/OLUME. THE HISTORY OF OPINION. OK BEN JON80N 3.16 HILTON 340 CHARLES 1 341 PRYNNK 343 BAVENANT 346 DHYDEN 354 DENXIS 360 BOWK 361 POPE 363 WARBURTON ........ 3(6 GARKICK . 3fi7 PORTRAIT OF DR. JOHNSON S78 VOLTAIRE 582 MRS. MONTAGU S84 ,, CAPELL SSC FARM Ell 387 ,, 8TEETEN8 388 ,, MALONE 3S3 STRATFORD JUBILEE, FROM A DRAWING BY THE LATE MR. PYNE 895 PORTRAIT OF COLEP-ID^E . 399 SHAKSPERIC IN GERMANY. PORTRAIT OF GOETHE 417 | PORTRAIT OF TIECK 422 TITUS ANDRONICUS, AND PEfUCLES; WITH NOTICES OF THEIR AUTHENTICITY. SUP. VOL. B ) [Pontine Marshes, Rome.] INTEODUCTOEY NOTICE. RESERVING the consideration of the external and internal evidence of the authorship of this tragedy, we here supply the facts connected with its publication, and the supposed period of its original production. The earliest edition, of which any copy is at present known, of Titus Andronicus, appeared in quarto, in 1600, under the following title : ' The most lamentable Romaine Tragedie of Titus Andronicus. As it hath sundry times been playde by the Right Honourable the Earle of Pembroke, the Earle of Darbie, the Earle of Sussex, and the Lorde Chamberlaine, theyr Servants. At London, printed by J. R. for Edward White, 1600.' The next edition appeared in 1611, under the following title: 'The mo&t lamentable Tragedie of Titus Andronicus. As it hath sundry times beene plaide by the Kings Maiesties Servants. London, printed for Edward White, 1611.' In the folio collection of 1623 it appears under the title of 'The lamentable Tragedy of Titus Andronicus.' It follows Coriolanus ; and precedes Romeo and Juliet. The copy of the quarto edition of 1600, belonging to Lord Francis Egerton, was collated by Mr. Todd, previous to the publication of the variorum edition of 1803 ; and the differences between the first and second quartos are inserted by Steevens in that edition. They are very trifling. The variations, on the other hand, between both the quartos, and the folio of 1623, are more important. The second scene of the third act, containing about eighty lines, is only found in the folio, and there are one or two other changes which are evidently the work of an INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. and not of an editor or printer. We have, of course, noticed them in our foot-notes. In the quartos, also, we have no division into acts, as in the folio. The stage directions, in each copy are nearly alike; and these we have copied with scarcely any variation. But, with these excep- tions, we may say that the folio of 1623 is printed from the quarto of 1611, as that was probably printed from the quarto of 1600. The accuracy of all the copies is very remarkable. But Gerard Langbaine, in his 'Account of the English Dramatick Poets,' 1691, says of Titus Andronicus, " This play was first printed 4to, Lond. 1 594, and acted by the Earls of Derby, Pem- broke, and Essex, their Servanta." This circumstantiality would show that Langbaine had seen such, an edition ; and his account is confirmed by an entry in the Stationers' Registers, under date of Feb. 6, 1593: "John Banter. A booke entitled a noble Roman Historye of Tytus Androni- cus." This entry is accompanied by the following : " Entered also unto him, by warrant from Mr. Woodcock, the ballad thereof." The ballad hare entered was most probably that printed by Percy, in his ' Reliques of Ancient English Poetry,' and which we here insert : " You noble minds, and famous martiall wights, That in defence of native country fights, Give eare to me, that ten yeeres fought for Eome, Yet reapt disgrace at my returning home. In Rome I lived in fame fulle threescore yeeres, My name beloved was of all my peeres ; Full five and twenty valiant sonnes I had, Whose forwarde vertues made their father glad. For when Rome's foes their warlike forces bent, Against them stille my sonnes and I were sent ; Against the Goths full ten yeeres weary warre We spent, receiving many a bloudy scarre. Just two and twenty of my soanes were slaine Before we did return to Rome againe; Of five and twenty sonnes I brought but three Alive, the stately towers of Rome to see. When wars were done, I conquest home did bring, And did present my prisoners to the king, The queene of Goths, her sons, and eke a Moore, Which did such murders, like was nere before. The emperour did make this queene his wife, Which bred in Rome debate and deadlie strife; The Moore, with her two sonnes, did growe soe proud That none like them in Rome might bee allowd. The Moore so pleas'd this new-made empress' eie, That she consented to him secretlye For to abuse her husband's marriage-bed, And soe in time a blackamore she bred. Then she, whose thoughts to murder were inclinde, Consented with the Moor of bloody minde Against myselfe, my kin, and all my friendes, In cruell sort to bring them to their endes. Soe when in age I thought to live in peace, Both care and griefe began then to increase: Amongst my sonnes I had one daughter bright Which joy'd and pleased best my aged sight ; My deare Lavinia was betrothed then To Caesar's sonne, a young and noble man : Who in a hunting, by the emperour's wife And her two sonnes, bereaved was of life. He, being slain, was cast in cruel wise Into a darksome den from light of skies : The cruel Moore did come that way as then With my three sonnes, who fell into the den. The Moore then fetcht the emperour with speed For to accuse them of the murderous deed; And when my sonnes within the den were found, In wrongfull prison they were cast and bound. 6 But nowe, behold ! what wounded most my mind, The empresse's two sonnes of savage kind My daughter ravished without remorse, And took away her honour, quite perforce. When they had tasted of soe sweet a flowre, Fearing this sweete should shortly turn to sowre, They cutt her tongue, whereby she could not tell How that dishonoure unto her befell. Then both her hands they basely cutt off quite, Whereby their wickednesse she could not write, Nor with her needle on her sampler sowe The bloudye workers of her direfull woe. My brother Marcus found her in the wood. Staining the grassie ground with purple bloud, That trickled from her stumpes and bloudlesse armes Noe tongue at all she had to tell her harmes. But when I sawe her in that woefull case, With teares of bloud I wet mine aged face. For my Lavinia I lamented more Then for my two and twenty sonnes before. When as I sawe she could not write nor speake, With grief mine aged heart began to breake ; We spred an heape of sand upon the ground, Whereby those bloudy tyrants out we found. For with a staffe, without the helpe of hand, She writt these wordes upon the plat of sand : 'The lustfull sonnes of the proud emperesse Are doers of this hateful wickednesse.' I tore the milk-white hairs from off mine head, 1 curst the houre wherein I first was bred j I wisht this hand, that fought for countrie's fame. In cradle rockt had first been stroken lame. The Moore, delighting still in villainy. Did say, to sett my sonnes from prison free, I should unto the king my right hand give, And then my three imprisoned sonnes should Hvt. The Moore I caus'd to strike it off with speede, Whereat I grieved not to see it bleed, But for my sonnes would willingly impart. And for their ransome send my bleeding heart. But as my life did linger thus in paine, They sent to me my bootless hand againe, And therewithal the heades of my three sonnes. Which filled my dying heart with fresher moane*. Then past reliefe I upp and downe did goe, And with my tears writ in the dust my woe: I shot my arrowes towards heaven hie, And for revenge to hell did often crye. TITUS ANDRONICUS. The empresse then, thinking that I was mad, Like furies she and both her sonnes were clad, (She nam'd Revenge, and Rape and Murder they,) To undermine and heare what I would say. I fed their foolish veinesa a certaine space, Untill my friendes did find a secret place, Where both her sonnes unto a post were bound, And just revenge in cruell sort was found. I cut their throates, my daughter held the pan Betwixt her stumpes, wherein the bloud it ran: And then I ground their bones to powder small, And made a paste for pyes straight therewithall. Then with their fleshe I made two mighty pyes, And at a banquet, served in stately wise, Before the empresse set this loathsome meat ; So of her sonnes own flesh she well did eat. Myselfe bereav'd my daughter then of life, The empresse then I slewe with bloudy knife, And stabb'd the emperour immediatelie, And then myself : even soe did Titus die. Then this revenge against the Moore was found, Alive they sett him halfe into the ground, Whereas he stood untill such time he starv'd. And soe God send all murderers may be serv'd." Percy has pointed out the variations between this ballad and the tragedy ; and inclines to the opinion that the ballad preceded the tragedy, for the reason that it " differs from the play in several particulars ; which a simple ballad-writer would be less likely to alter than an inventive tragedian." The terms of the entry of the ballad in the Stationers' Registers if the ballad printed by Percy be one and the same would appear to show that the ballad had been in existence longer than the tragedy, for it is assigned by a previous publisher to John Danter, who enters the "booke," or play. "We have unquestionable authority, however, that the tragedy was popular as an acted play before 1593, as the ballad may also have had an earlier popularity. Ben Jonson, in the Induc- tion to 'Bartholomew Fair,' first produced in 1614, has a passage which carries the date of Titus Andronicus further back than twenty years from that period : " He that will swear, Jeronimo, or Andronicus, are the best plays yet, shall pass unexcepted at here, as a man whose judgment shows it is constant, and hath stood still these five-and-twenty or thirty years." We know that Kyd's ' Jeronimo ' belongs to the earliest period of our regular drama. It was acted by " the Lord Strange's men" in 1591. Twenty-five years earlier than 1614 would give us the date of 1589 for both plays; the medium of twenty-five or thirty years would give us the date of 1586-7. * Vcine humours. PERSONS REPRESENTED SAtURNINDo, son to the late Kaijifur of Scmia. BASSIANUS, brother to Saturninus. TITUS ASDKOXUTS, a noble Human MARCUS ANDRONICUS, brother to Titus. Lucius, ftuiNius, MARTIUS, MUTIUS, Young Lucius, a boy, ton to Lucius. PUBLIUS, ton to Marcus, the tribune. ^MILIUS, a noble Roman . sons to Titus Ambon ic us. ALARBUS, "J CHIRON, > so DEMETRIUS, 3 ni to Tamora. AARON, a Moor. A Captain, Tribune, Messenaer, and Clown Goths and Romans. T A. MORA, Queen of the Goths. LAVINI A, daughter to Titus Andronicus A Nurse, and a black Child. Kinsmer of Titus, Senators, Tribunes, Officer! Soldiers, and Attendants ACT I. SCENE I. Some. Flourish. Enter the Tribunes and Senators, aloft: and then enter SATURNINUS and his Followers at one door, and BASSIANUS and his Followers at the other, with drum and colours. Sat. Noble patricians, patrons of my right, Defend the justice of my cause with arms ; And, countrymen, my loving followers, Plead my successive title with your swords : I am his* first-born son, that was the last That wore b the imperial diadem of Rome : Then let my father's honours live in me, Nor wrong mine age c with this indignity. Bass. Romans, friends, followers, favourers of my right, If ever Bassianus, Caesar's son, Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome, Keep then this passage to the Capitol ; And suffer not dishonour to approach Th' imperial seat ; to virtue consecrate, To justice, continence, and nobility : Am hit. The folio, wai the. t> Wore. The quarto, ware. c Age seniority. But let desert in pure election shine ; And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice. Enter MARCUS ANDRONICUS, aloft, with the crown. Marc. Princes, that strive by factions and by friends Ambitiously for rule and empery, Know that the people of Rome, for whom we stand A special party, have by common voice, In election for the Roman empery, Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius, For many good and great deserts to Rome : A nobler man, a braver warrior, Lives not this day within the city walls. He by the senate is accited home, From weary wars against the barbarous Goths, That with his sons, a terror to our foes, Hath yok'd a nation strong, train'd up in arms. Ten years are spent, since first he undertook This cause of Rome, and chastised with anns Our enemies' pride : five times he hath returu'd Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons In coffins from the field ; Act I.] TITUS ANDRONICTTS ( Scene II And now at last, laden with honour's spoils, Returns the good Andronicus to Rome, Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms. Let us entreat, by honour of his name, Whom worthily you would have now succeed, And in the Capitol and senate's right, Whom you pretend to honour and adore, That you withdraw you, and abate your strength; Dismiss your followers, and, as suitors should, Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness. Sat. How fair the tribune speaks to calm my thoughts ! Bass. Marcus Andronicus, so I do affy In thy uprightness and integrity, And so I love and honour thee and thine, Thy noble brother Titus and his sons, And her to whom my thoughts are humbled all, Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament, That I will here dismiss my loving friends ; And to my fortunes and the people's favour Commit my cause in balance to be weigh' d. [Exeunt Followers of BASSIAXTJS. Sat. Friends, that have been thus forward in my right, 1 thank you all, and here dismiss you all ; And to the love and favour of my country Commit myself, my person, and the cause. [Exeunt Followers of SATURXIXUS. Rome, be as just and gracious unto me, As I am confident and kind to thee. Open the gates and let me in. Bass. Tribunes, and me, a poor competitor. [Flourish. They go up into the Senate-house. SCENE II. The same. Enter a Captain, and others. Cap. Romans, make way: the good Andromcus, Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion, Successful in the battles that he fights, With honour and with fortune is return'd, From where he circumscribed with his sword, And brought to yoke, the enemies of Rome. [Sound drums and trumpets, amd then enter two of TITUS' Sons. After them two Men bearing a coffin covered with black: then two other Sons. After them TITUS AXDROXICUS ; and then TAMORA, the queen of Goths, and her iwo Sons, CHIRON and DEMETRIUS, with AARON the Moor, and others, as many as can be. They set down the coffin, and TITUS speaks. Tit. Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds! 10 Lo, as the bark that hath discharg'd her fraught, Returns with precious lading to the bay From whence at first she weigh'd her anchorage, Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs, To re-salute his country with his tears, Tears of true joy for his return to Rome. Thou great defender of this Capitol, Stand gracious to the rites that we intend ! Romans, of five-and-twenty valiant sons, Half of the number that king Priam had, Behold the poor remains, alive, and dead ! These that survive let Rome reward with love : These that I bring unto their latest home, With burial amongst their ancestors. Here Goths have given me leave to sheath my sword. Titus, unkind, and careless of thine own, Why suffer 5 st thou thy sons, unburied yet, To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx ? Make way to lay them by their brethren. [They open the tomb. There greet in silence, as the dead are wont, And sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars : O sacred receptacle of my joys, Sweet cell of virtue and nobility, How many sons of mine hast thou in store, That thou wilt never render to me more ! Luc. Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths, That we may hew his limbs, and on a pile, Ad manes fratrum, sacrifice his flesh, Before this earthy* prison of their bones; That so the shadows be not unappeas'd, Nor we disturb 'd with prodigies on earth. Tit. I give him you, the noblest that survives, The eldest son of this b distressed queen. Tarn. Stay, Roman brethren, gracious con- queror, Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed, A mother's tears in passion for her son : And if thy sons were ever dear to thee, O think my son to be as dear to me. Sufiiceth not, that we are brought to Rome To beautify thy triumphs, and return Captive to thee, and to thy Roman yoke ; But must my sons be slaughter'd in the streets, For valiant doings in their country's cause ? O, if to fight for king and commonweal Were piety in thine, it is in these. Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood, Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods ? Draw near them then in being merciful : Earthy, in both quartos. The folio, earthly. b Thi,, in the folio. The.quarto, hit. ACT I.] TITUS A.NDRONICUS. [SCEKK II. Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge. Thrice-noble Titus, spare iny first-born son. Tit. Patient* yourself, madam, and pardon me. These are the b brethren, whom you Goths beheld Alive and dead, and for their brethren slain Religiously they ask a sacrifice : To this your son is mark'd, and die he must, T' appease their groaning shadows that are gone. Luc. Away with him, and make a fire straight ; And with our swords, upon a pile of wood, Let 's hew Ids limbs till they be clean consum'd. [Exeunt TITUS' Sons with ALARBUS. Tarn. cruel, irreligious piety ! Chi. Was ever Scythia half so barbarous ? Dcmet, Oppose not' Scythia to ambitious Rome. Alarbus goes to rest, and we survive To tremble under Titus' threat'ning look. Then, madam, stand resolv'd ; but hope withal. The self-same gods that arm'd the queen of Troy With opportunity of sharp revenge Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent, May favour Tamora, the queen of Goths, (When Goths were Goths, and Tamora was queen,) To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes. Enter the Sons of ANDRONICUS again. Luc. See, lord and father, how we havfi per- form'd Our Roman rites : Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd, And entrails feed the sacrificing fire, Whose smoke, like incense, doth perfume the sky. Remaineth nought, but to inter our brethren, And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome. Tit. Let it be so, and let Andronicus Make this his latest farewell to their souls. [Flourish. Sound trumjiets, and they lay the coffin in the tomb. In peace and honour rest you here, my sons ; Rome's readiest champions, repose you here in rest, Secure from worldly chances and mishaps : Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells, Here grow no damned grudges ; here are no storms, No noise, but silence and eternal sleep. In peace and honour rest you here, my sons. a Patient as a verb. *> The, in the folio. The quarto, lltfir. 'Not. So the quaito. The folio, me. Eater LAVINIA. Lav. In peace and honour live lord Titus long; My noble lord and father, live in fame ! Lo, at this tomb my tributary tears I render for my brethren's obsequies : And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy Shed on the earth for thy return to Rome. O bless me here with thy victorious hand, Whose fortunes" Rome's best citizens applaud. Tit. Kind Rome, thou hast thus lovingly re- serv'd The cordial of mine age to glad my heart ! Lavinia, live ; outlive thy father's days, And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise. Enter MARCUS ANDRONICUS, SATURNINUS, BASSIANUS, and others. Marc. Long live lord Titus, my beloved brother, Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome ! Tit. Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother Marcus. Marc. And welcome, nephews, from successful wars, You that survive, and you that sleep in fame : Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in alL, b That in your country's service drew your swords. But safer triumph is this funeral pomp, That hath aspired to Solon's happiness, And triumphs o\er chance in honour's bed. Titus Andronieus, the people of Rome, Whose friend in justice thou hast ever beer., Send thee by me, their tribune and their trust, This palliament c of white and spotless hue, And name thee in election for the empire, With these our late deceased emperor's sous : Be candidatus then, and put it on, And help to set a head on headless Rome. Tit. A better head her glorious body fits, Than his that shakes for age and feebleness. What ! should I don this rota, and trouble you ? Be chosen with proclamations to-day, To-morrow yield up rule, resign my life, And set abroad new business for you all ? Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years, And led my country's strength successfully, And buried one-and-twenty valiant sons, Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms, In right and service of their noble country ; Give me a staff of honour for mine age, Fortu.net, in the quarto. The folio, fortune. *> The folio has, " all alike in all." c PalliamcntTobe. 11 ACT I.] TITUS ANDRONICUS. [SCCIIE II. But not a sceptre to control the world ! Upright he held it, lords, that held it last. Marc. Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the empery. Sat. Proud and ambitious tribune, canst thou tell? Tit. Patience, prince Saturninus. Sat. Romans, do me right. Patricians, draw your swords, and sheath them not Till Saturninus be Rome's emperor : Androuicus, would thou wert shipp'd to hell, Rather than rob me of the people's hearts. Luc. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good That noble-minded Titus means to thee ! Tit. Content thee, prince, I will restore to thee The people's hearts, and wean them from them- selves. Bass. Andronicus, I do not flatter thee, But honour thee, and will do till I die : My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends, I will most thankful be, and thanks to men Of noble minds is honourable meed. Tit. People of Rome, and people's* tribunes here, I ask your voices and your suffrages ; Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus ? Tribunes. To gratify the good Andronicus, And gratulate his safe return to Rome, The people will accept whom he admits. Tit. Tribunes, I thank you: and this suit I make, That you create your emperor's eldest son, Lord Saturnine, whose virtues will, I hope, Reflect on Rome as Titan's rays on earth, And ripen justice in this commonweal : Then, if you will elect by my advice, Crown him, and say, ' Long live our emperor ! ' Marc. With voices and applause of every sort, Patricians, and plebeians, we create Lord Saturninus Rome's great emperor ; And say, ' Long live our emperor, Saturnine ! ' \_A long flourish, till they come down. Sat. Titus Andronicus, for thy favours done To us in our election this day, I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts, And will with deeds requite thy gentleness : And for an onset, Titus, to advance Thy name, and honourable family, Lavinia will I make my empress, Rome's royal mistress, mistress of my heart, And in the sacred Pantheon b her espouse : People'}, in the quarto. The folio, noble. b Pantheon, in the second folio. All the earlier copiea Panlhan. 12 Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please thee? Tit. It doth, my worthy lord; and in this match I hold me higldy honoured of your grace, And here, in sight of Rome, to Saturnine, King and commander of our common-weal, The wide world's emperor, do I consecrate My sword, my chariot, and my prisoners, Presents well worthy Rome's imperial lord : Receive them then, the tribute that I owe, Mine honour's ensigns humbled at thy feet. Sat. Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life ! How proud I am of thee, and of thy gifts, Rome shall record ; and when I do forget The least of these unspeakable deserts, Romans, forget your fealty to me. Tit. Now, madam, are you prisoner to an emperor ; [To TAMORA, To him that, for your honour and your state, Will use you nobly, and your followers. Sat. A goodly lady, trust me, of the hue That I would choose, were I to choose anew : Clear up, fair queen, that cloudy countenance : Though chance of war hath wrought this change of cheer, Thou com'st not to be made a scorn in Rome : Princely shall be thy usage every way. Rest on my word, and let not discontent Daunt all your hopes : madam, he comforts you, Can make you greater than the queen of Goths , Lavinia, you are not displeas'd with this ? Lav. Not I, my lord, sith true nobility Warrants these words in princely courtesy. Sat. Thanks, sweet Laviuia. Romans, let us go . Ransomless here we set our prisoners free. Proclaim our honours, lords, with trump and drum. Bass. Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine. [Seizing LAVINIA. Tit. How, sir? are you in earnest then, my lord? Bass. Ay, noble Titus, and resolv'd withal To do myself this reason and this right. Marc. Suum cuique is our Roman justice ; This prince in justice seizeth but his own. Luc. And that he will and shall, if Lucius live. Tit. Traitors, avaunt ! where is the emperor's guard? Treason, my lord ! Lavinia is surpris'd. Sat. Surpris'd ? by whom ? Bass. By him that justly may Bear his betroth'd from all the world away. [Sratxt MARCUS and BASSIANUS, with LAV ix i A. ACT I.) TITUS ANDRONICUS. [SCBJJK II Mut. Brothers, help to convey her hence away, And with my sword I '11 keep this door safe. [Exeunt Lucius, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS. Tit. Follow, my lord, and I '11 soon bring her back. Mut. My lord, you pass not here. Tit. What ! villain boy, barr'st me my way in Rome ? Mut. Help, Lucius, help ! [TiTUS kills him. Re-enter Lucius. JMC. My lord, you are unjust, and more than so; In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son. Tit. Nor thou, nor he, are any sons of mine : My sons would never so dishonour me. Traitor, restore Lavinia to the emperor. Luc. Dead, if you will, but not to be his wife, That is another's lawful promis'd love. [Exit. Enter aloft the EMPEROR, with TAMORA and her two Sons, and AARON the Moor. Sat. No, Titus, no : the emperor needs her not. Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock : I '11 trust, by leisure, him that mocks me once ; Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons, Confederates all, thus to dishonour me. Was none in Rome to make a stale but Satur- nine?' Full well, Andronicus, Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine, That saidst, I begg'd the empire at thy hands. Tit. O monstrous ! what reproachful words are these ? Sat. But go thy ways ; go, give that changing piece To him that flourish'd for her with his sword : A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy ; One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons, To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome. Tit. These words are razors to my wounded heart. Sat. And therefore, lovely Tamora, queen of Goths, That, like the stately Phoebe 'mongst her nymphs, Dost overshine the gallant'st dames of Rome, If thou be pleas'd with this my sudden choice, Behold I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride, And will create thee empress of Rome. Speak, queen of Goths; dost thou applaud my choice ? The second folio has " Was there none else in Rome, to make a stale, But Saturnin;?" And here I swear by all the Roman gods, Sith priest and holy water are so near, And tapers burn so bright, and everything In readiness for Hymeneus stand, I will not re-salute the streets of Rome, Or climb my palace, till from forth this place I lead espous'd my bride along with me. Tarn. And here, in sight of heaven, to Rome I swear, If Saturnine advance the queen of Goths, She will a handmaid be to his desires, A. loving nurse, a mother to his youth. Sat. Ascend, fair queen, Pantheon: Lords, accompany Your noble emperor and his lovely bride, Sent by the heavens for prince Saturnine, Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered : There shall we consummate our spousal rites. \_Exeunt SAT. and his Followers ; TAMOKA, and her Sons ; AARON, and Goths. Tit. I am not bid to wait upon this bride ; Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone, Dishonour'd thus, and challenged of wrongs P Re-enter MARCUS, Lucius, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS. Mare. O Titus, see ! see what thou hast done ! In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son. Tit. No, foolish tribune, no : no son of mine, Nor thou, nor these, confederates in the deed That hath dishonour'd all our family ; Unworthy brother, and unworthy sons ! Luc. But let us give him burial as becomes : Give Mutius burial with our brethren. Tit. Traitors, away ! he rests not in this tomb : This monument five hundred years hath stood, Which I have sumptuously re-edified : Here none but soldiers, and Rome's servitors, Repose in fame, none basely slain in brawls : Bury him where you can ; he comes not here. Marc. My lord, this is impiety in you : My nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for him : He must be buried with his brethren. Quint., Mart. And shall, or him we will ac- company. Tit. And shall! What villain was it spake that word P Quint. He that would vouch it in any place but here. Tit. What! would you bury him in my despite ? Marc. No, noble Titus ; but entreat of thee To pardon Mutius, and to bury him. 13 ACT I.] TITUS ANDRONICUS. [SCENE fl. Tit. Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my crest, And with these boys mine honour thou hast wounded : My foes I do repute you every one. So trouble me no more, but get you gone. Mart. He is not with himself ; a let ua with- draw. Quint. Not I, till Mutius' bones be buried. [The Brother and the Sons kneel. Mare. Brother, for in that name doth nature plead. Quint. Father, and in that name doth nature Tit. Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed. Marc. Renowned Titus, more than half my soul! Luc. Dear father! soul and substance of us all! Marc. Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter His noble nephew here in virtue's nest, That died in honour and Lavinia's cause. Thou art a Roman, be not barbarous : The Greeks, upon advice, did bury Ajax, That slew himself : and wise Laertes' son Did graciously plead for his funerals : Let not young Mutius then, that was thy joy, Be barr'd his entrance here. Tit. Rise, Marcus, rise ! The dismall'st day is this that e'er I saw, To be dishonour'd by my sons in Rome : Well, bury him, and bury me the next. [They put MUTIUS in the tomb. Luc. There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thy friends, Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb. [They all kneel and say, No man shed tears for noble Mutius ; He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause. [Exeunt all but MARCUS and TITUS. Marc. My lord, to step out of these sudden b dumps, How comes it that the subtle queen of Goths Is of a sudden thus advanc'd in Rome ? Tit. I know not, Marcus : but I know it is ; Whether by device, or no, the heavens can tell ; Is she not then beholding to the man That brought her for this high good turn so far? Yes ; and will nobly him remunerate.' With himself, in the quarto. The folio omits with. b Sudden, in the folio. The quarto, dreary. c This line, found in the folio, is wanting in the quarto. It was, probably, not intended to be spoken by Titus, and lome recent editors give it to Marcus. 14 Enter the EMPEROR, TAMORA and her two Sons, with the Moor, at one side ; enter at the other side, BASSIANUS and LAVINIA, with others. Sat. So, Bassianus, you have play'd your prize! God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride ! Bass. And you of yours, my lord. I say no more, Nor wish no less ; and so I take my leave. Sat. Traitor, if Rome have law, or we have power, Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape. Bass. Rape call you it, my lord, to seize my own, My true betrothed love, and now my wife ? But let the laws of Rome determine all ; Meanwhile I am possess'd of that is mine. Sat. 'Tis good, sir; you are very short with us; But, if we live, we '11 be as sharp with you. Bass. My lord, what I have done, as best I may Answer I must, and shall do with my life. Only thus much I give your grace to know : By all the duties that I owe to Rome, This noble gentleman, lord Titus here, Is in opinion and in honour wrong' d, That, in the rescue of Lavinia, With his own hand did slay his youngest son, In zeal to you, and highly mov'd to wrath To be controll'd in that he frankly gave. Receive him, then, to favour, Saturnine, That hath express'd himself, in all his deeds, A father and a friend to thee and Rome. Tit. Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds : 'Tis thou, and those, that have dishonour'd me. Rome, and the righteous heavens, be my judge, How I have lov'd and honour'd Saturnine. Tarn. My worthy lord, if ever Tamora Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine, Then hear me speak, indifferently for all : And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past. Sat. What, madam ! be dishonour'd openly, And basely put it up without revenge ? Tarn. Not so, my lord ; the gods of Rome forfend I should be author to dishonour you. But on mine honour, dare I undertake For good lord Titus' innocence in all ; Whose fury not dissembled speaks his griefs j Then, at my suit, look graciously on him : Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose ; Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart. My lord, be rul'd by me, be won at last , ACT I.] TITUS ANDRONICUS. [SCENE II Dissemble all your griefs and discontents : You are but newly planted in your throne ; Lest then the people, and patricians too, Upon a just survey take Titus' part, And so supplant us for ingratitude, Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin, Yield at entreats, and then let me alone : I '11 find a day to massacre them all ; And raze their faction and their family, The cruel father, and his traitorous sons, To whom I sued for my dear son's life ; And make them know, what 't is to let a queen Kneel in the streets, and beg for grace in vain. [The preceding fourteen lines are spoken aside. Come, come, sweet emperor ; come, Andronicus ; Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart That dies in tempest of thy angry frown. Xing. Rise, Titus, rise; my empress hath prevail'd. Tit. I thank your majesty, and her, my lord. These words, these looks, infuse new life in me. Tarn. Titus, I am incorporate in Rome, A Roman now adopted happily, And must advise the emperor for his good. This day all quarrels die, Andronicus ; And let it be mine honour, good my lord, That I have reconcil'd your friends and you. For you, prince Bassianus, I have pass'd My word and promise to the emperor, That you will be more mild and tractable : And fear not, lords : and you, Lavinia, Vs. So the folio. Recent editors print you; but Tamora in her own royal condition associates herself with the fortunes of the Emperor. Her proposed revenges as Be immediately see, are those of "a queen." By my advice, all humbled on your knees, You shall ask pardon of his majesty. Luc. We do ; and vow to heaven, and to his highness, That what we did was mildly, as we might, Tend'ring our sister's honour and our own. Marc. That on mine honour here I do pro- test. Sat. Away, and talk not ; trouble us no rrore. Tarn. Nay, nay, sweet emperor, we must all be friends : The tribune and his nephews kneel for grace ; I will not be denied. Sweet heart, look back. Sat. Marcus, for thy sake, and thy brother's here, And at my lovely Tamora' s entreats, I do remit these young men's heinous faults. Stand up. Lavinia, though you left me like a churl, I found a friend : and sure as death I sware,* I would not part a bachelor from the priest. Come, if the emperor's court can feast two brides, You are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends : This day shall be a love-day, Tamora. Tit. To-morrow, an it please your majesty To hunt the panther and the hart with me, With horn and hound, we'll give your grace bon-jour. Sat. Be it so, Titus, and gramercy too. [Rrennt * Sware, in the folio. The quarto, iu-orc. '.','' ACT II. SCENE I. Rome. Before the Palace. Enter AARON. Aaron. Now climbeth Tamora Olympus' top, Safe out of Fortune's shot ; and sits aloft, Secure of thunder's crack or lightning flash, Advanc'd above pale envy's threat'ning reach : As when the golden sun salutes the morn, And, having gilt the ocean with his beams, Gallops the zodiac in his glistering coach, And overlooks the highest peering hills ; So Tamora. Upon her wit doth earthly honour wait, And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown. Then, Aaron, arm thy heart, and fit thy thoughts, To mount aloft with thy imperial mistress, And mount her pitch, whom thou in triumph long Hast prisoner held, fetter'd in amorous chains, And faster bound to Aaron's charming eyes Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus. 16 Away with slavish weeds and servile* thoughts I will be bright, and shine in pearl and gold, To wait upon this new-made empress. To wait, said I ? to wanton with this queen, This goddess, this Semiramis, this nymph, b This syren, that will charm Rome's Saturnine, And see his shipwrack, and his commonweal's. Hollo ! what storm is this ? Enter CHIRON and DEMETRIUS, braving. Demet. Chiron, thy years want wit, thy wit wants edge, And manners, to intrude where I am grac'd ; And may, for aught thou know'st, affected be. Chi. Demetrius, thou dost overween in all ; And so in this, to bear me down with braves. 'T is not the difference of a year or two Makes me less gracious, or thee more fortunate : a Servile, in the quarto of 1600; the folio, idle, and so the quarto of 1611. b Nymph, in the quarto of 1600; the folio and the quarto of 1611, queen. Ac-rll.] TITUS ANDRONICUS. SCENE I. I am as able, and as fit, as thou, To serve, and to deserve ray mistress's grace ; And that my sword upon thee shall approve, And plead my passions for Lavinia's love. Aaron. Clubs, clubs ! these lovers will not keep the peace. Demet. Why, boy, although our mother, un- advis'd, Gave you a dancing rapier by your side, Are you so desperate grown to threat your friends ? Go to ; have your lath glued within your sheath, Till you know better how to handle it. Chi. Meanwhile, sir, with the little skill I have, Full well shalt thou perceive how much I dare. Demet. Ay, boy, grow ye so brave ? [They draw. Aaron. Why, how now, lords ? So near the emperor's palace dare you draw, And maintain such a quarrel openly ? Full well I wot the ground of all this grudge ; I would not for a million of gold The cause were known to them it most concerns. Nor would your noble mother, for much more, Be so dishonour'd in the court of Rome. For shame, put up. Demet. Not I, till I have sheath'd My rapier in his l-osom, and, withal, Thrust those reproachful speeches down his throat, That he hath breath'd in my dishonour here. Chi. For that I am prepar'd, and full resolv'd, Foul-spoken coward, that thund'rest with thy tongue, And with thy weapon nothing dar'st perform. Aaron. Away, I say ! Now, by the gods that warlike Goths adore, This petty brabble will undo us all ! Why, lords, and think you not how dan- gerous It is to jet upon a prince's right ? What, is Lavinia then become so loose, Or Bassianus so degenerate, That for her love such quarrels may be broach' d, Without controlment, justice, or revenge P Young lords, beware; and should the empress know This discord's ground, the music would not please. Chi. I care not, I, knew she, and all the world, 1 love Lavinia more than all the world. Demet. Youngling, learn thou to make some meaner choice : Lavinia is thine elder brother's hope. SUP. VOL. C Aaron. Why, are ye mad P 01 know ye not in Rome, How furious and impatient they be, And cannot brook competitors in love ? I tell you, lords, you do but plot your deaths By this device. Chi. Aaron, a thousand deaths would I pro- pose, To achieve her whom I love. Aaron. To achieve her, how F Demet. Why mak'st thou it so strange ? She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd ; She is a woman, therefore may be won ; She is Lavinia, therefore must be lov'd. What, man ! more water glideth by the mill Than wots the miller of ; and easy it is Of a cut loaf to steal a shive, we know : Though Bassianus be the emperor's brother, Better than he have worn Vulcan's badge. Aaron. Ay, and as good as Saturniuus may. Demet. Then why should he despair that knows to court it With words, fair looks, and liberality ? What, hast not thou full often struck a doe, And borne her cleanly by the keeper's nose ? Aaron. Why, then, it seems, some cert ait snatch or so Would serve your turns. Chi. Ay, so the turn were serv'd, Demet. Aaron, thou hast hit it. Aaron. Would you had hit it too, Then should not we be tir'd with tlu's ado. Why, hark ye, hark ye, and are you such fools To square for this ? would it offend you then That both should speed ! < Bootlrts is omitted in modern editions. As loft u-ax. So the folio : the quartos, "soft as wax.'' 4 Knble The common reading is ajeii. Tit. Will it consume me ? Let me see it, then. Marc. This was thy daughter. Tit. Why, Marcus, so she is. Luc. Ah me ! this object kills me. Tit. Faint-hearted boy, arise and look upoii her: Speak, Lavinia, what accursed hand Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight P What fool hath added water to the sea ? Or brought a fagot to bright -burning Troy ? My grief was at the height before thou cam'st,. And now, like Nilus, it disdaineth bounds : Give me a sword, I '11 chop off my hands too ; For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain ; And they have nurs'd this woe, in feeding life ; In bootless prayer have they been held up, And they have serVd me to effectless use. Now all the service I require of them Is that the one will help to cut the other. 'T is well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands ; For hands, to do Rome service, are but vain. Luc. Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee? Marc. Oh, that delightful engine of her thoughts, That blabb'd them with such pleasing elo- quence, Is toni from forth that pretty hollow cage, Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear. Luc. Oh, say thou for her, who hath done this deed ? Marc. Oh, thus I found her, straying in the park, Seeking to hide herself, as doth the deer That hath receiv'd some unrecuring wound. Tit. It was my deer ; and he that wounded her Hath hurt me more than had he kill'd me dead : For now I stand as one upon a rock, Environ'd with a wilderness of sea, Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave. Expecting ever when some envious surge Will in his brinish bowels swallow him. This way to death my wretched sons are gone ; Here stands my other son, a banish'd man ; And here, my brother, weeping at my woes : But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul. Had I but seen thy picture in this plight It would have madded me : what shall I do Now I behold thy lively body so ? Thou hast no hands to wipe away thy tears, Nor tongue to tell me who hath martyr'd thee : Thy husband he is dead, and for his death Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by t.-iis 26 ACT III.] TITUS ANDRONICUS. [SfEXZ L Look, Marcus ! ah, son Lucius, look on her ! When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey-dew Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd. Marc. Perchance, she weeps because they kill'd her husband : Perchance, because she knows them innocent. Tit. If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful, Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. No, no, they would not do so foul a deed ; Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips, Or make some sign how I may do thee ease : Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain, Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks How they are stain'd like" meadows yet not dry With miry slime left on them by a flood ? And in the fountain shall we gaze so long Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears ? Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine ? Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows Pass the remainder of our hateful days ? Wliat shall we do ? let us that have our tongues Plot some device of further misery To make us wonder'd at in time to come. Luc. Sweet father, cease your tears ; for at your grief See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. Marc. Patience, dear niece; good Titus, dry thine eyes. Tit. Ah, Marcus, Marcus ! brother, well I wote Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, For thou, poor man, hast drown' d it with thine own. Luc. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. Tit. Mark, Marcus, mark ! I understand her Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say That to her brother which I said to thee. His napkin, with his true tears all feewet, Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. Oh, what a sympathy of woe is this ; As far from help as limbo is from bliss ! Enter AARON. Aaron. Titus Andronicus, my lord the em- peror Sends thee this word, that if thou love thy sons, Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, Like. The old copies have in. Rowe made the change. 26 Or any one of you, chop off your hand, And send it to the king : he, for the same, Will send thee hither both thy sons alive, And that shall be the ransom for their fault. Tit. Oh, gracious emperor ! oh, gentle Aaron! Did ever raven sing so like a lark, That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise ? With all my heart, I '11 send the emperor my hand: Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? Luc. Stay, father; for that noble hand of thine, That hath thrown down so many enemies, Shall not be sent : my hand will serve the turn : My youth can better spare my blood than you, And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. Marc. Which of your hands hath not de- fended Rome, And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, Writing destruction on the enemy's castle?* Oh, none of both but are of high desert : My hand hath been but idle : let it serve To ransom my two nephews from their death, Then have I kept it to a worthy end. Aaron. Nay, come, agree whose hand shaL go along, For fear they die before their pardon come. Marc. My hand shall go. Luc. By heaven, it shall not go ! Tit. Sirs, strive no more ; such wither'd herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. IMC. Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, Let me redeem my brothers both from death. Marc. And for our father's sake, and mother's care, Now let me show a brother's love to thee. Tit. Agree between you; I will spare my hand. Luc. Then I '11 go fetch an axe. Marc. But I will use the axe. [Exeunt Lucius and MARCUS. Tit. Come hither, Aaron ; I '11 deceive them both: Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. Aaron. If that be called deceit, I will be honest, And never, whilst I live, deceive men so : But I '11 deceive you in another sort, And that you'll say, ere half an hour pass. [Aside. [He aits off TITUS'S hand. Cattle. Theobald changed this to caique. It is pro- bably put for stronghold, power. ACT III.] TITUS ANDRONICUS. [SCENI I Entei Lucius and MARCUS. Tit. Now, stay your strife; what shall be is despatch'd : Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand; Tell him, it was a hand that warded him from thousand dangers : bid him bury it : More hath it merited, that let it have. As for my sons, say I account of them As jewels purchas'd at an easy price ; And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. Aaron. I go, Andronicus ; and, for thy hand, Look by-and-by to have thy sons with thee. Their heads I mean : oh, how this villainy {Aside. Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it ! Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace, Aaron will have his soul black like his face. [Exit. Tit. Oh, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, And bow this feeble ruin to the earth : If any power pities wretched tears, To that I call: What, wilt* thou kneel with me ? [To LAVINIA. Do, tnen, dear heart, for heaven shall hear our prayers, Or with our sighs we '11 breathe the welkin dim, And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds, When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. Marc. Oh, brother, speak with possibilities b And do not break into these deep extremes. Tit. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom ? Then be my passions bottomless with them. Marc. But yet let reason govern thy lament. Tit. If there were reason for these miseries, Then into limits could I bind my woes : When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow ? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threat'ning the welkin with his big-swoll'n face? And wilt thou have a reason for this coil ? I am the sea. Hark how her sighs do blow : c She is the weeping welkin, I the earth : Then must my sea be moved with her sighs ; Then must my earth with her continual tears Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd : For why, my bowels cannot. hide her woes, But like a drunkard must I vomit them. Then give me leave, for losers will have leave To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. * Wilt, in the folio ; the quartos, would b Possibilitiet, in the folio, and quarto of 1611. That of ;600, pottibility. s Blow, in the lecond folio. The earlier copi3,y?otr. Enter a Messenger with two heads and a hand. Messen. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou re- paid For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor : Here are the heads of thy two noble sons, And here 's thy hand in scorn to thee sent back: Thy griefs their sports : thy resolution mock'd : That woe is me to think upon thy woes, More than remembrance of my father's death. [Exit. Marc. Now let hot ^Etna cool in Sicily, And be my heart an ever-burning hell : These miseries are more than may be borne. To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal; But sorrow flouted at is double death. Luc. Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound, And yet detested life not shrink thereat ! That ever death should let life bear his name, Where life hath no more interest but to breathe ! [LAVINIA kisses TITUS. Marc. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfort- less, As frozen water to a starved snake. Tit. When will this fearful slumber have an end? Marc. Now farewell flattery : Die, Androni- cus; Thou dost not slumber : see thy two sons' heads, Thy warlike hand; thy mangled daughter here; Thy other banish'd son with this dear sight Struck pale and bloodless ; and thy brother, I, Even like a stony image, cold and numb. Ah, now no more will I control my" griefs : Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight The closing up of our most wretched eyes : Now is a time to storm ; why art thou still P Tit. Ha, ha, ha ! Marc. Why dost thou laugh ? it fits not with this hour. Tit. Why, I have not another tear to shed : Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, And would usurp upon my watery eyes, And make them blind with tributary tears. Then, which way shall I find revenge's cave ? For these two heads do seem to speak to me, And threat me, 1 shall never come to bliss, Till all these mischiefs be return'd again, Even in their throats that have committed them. My, in all the early copies. Theobald changed it to thy. We see no necessity for the change. 27 ACT III.] TITUS ANDRONICUS SCKNE U. Come, let me see what task I have to do. You heavy people, circle me about, That I may turn me to each one of you, And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head, And in this hand the other will I bear. And, Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd in these things/ Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth : As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight ; Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay : Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there ; And if you love me, as I think you do, Let 's kiss and part, for we have much to do. [Exeunt TITUS, MARCUS, and LAVINIA. Luc. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father ; The wofull'st man that ever hVd in Rome : farewell, proud Rome, till Lucius come again : He leaves' 3 his pledges, dearer than his life. Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister ; 0, would thou wert as thou tofore hast been ! But now, nor Lucius, nor Lavinia, lives But in oblivion and hateful griefs : If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs, And make proud Saturnine and his empress Beg at the gates like Tarquin and his queen. Now will I to the Goths, and raise a power, To be reveug'd on Rome and Saturnine. [Exit Lucius. SCENE H. A Room in Titus's House. A Enter TITUS, MARCUS, LAVINIA, and Young Lucius, a boy. Tit. So, so ; now sit : and look you eat no more Than will preserve just so much strength in us As will revenge these bitter woes of ours. Marcus, unknit that sorrow- wreathen knot ; Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands, And cannot passionate our tenfold grief With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine is left to tyrannize upon my breast ; And d when my heart, all mad with misery, Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh, Then thus I thump it down. a Things in the folio. The quartos, arms. b Leaves. The old copies have loves. Rowe made the change, which appears judicious. c This scene is only found in the folio of 1623. Johnson says it " does not contribute anything to the action " The poet no doubt felt that after such tumultuous action repose was wanting. <" And. The original has tcho. 23 Thou map of woe, ftiat thus dost talk in signs ! [To LAVINIA. When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating, Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still. Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans ; Or get some little knife between thy teeth, And just against thy heart make thou a hole ; That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall May run into that sink, and, soaking in, Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears. Marc. Fie, brother, fie! teach her not thus to lay Such violent hands upon her tender life. Tit. How now! has sorrow made thee dote already ? Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I. What violent hands can she lay on her life ? Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands; To bid jEneas tell the tale twice o'er, How Troy was burnt, and he made miserable ? O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands ; Lest we remember still that we have none. Fie, fie, how franticlv \ square my talk ! As if we should forget we had no hands, If Marcus did not name the word of hands ! Come let's fall to; and, gentle girl, eat this : Here is no drink ! Hark, Marcus, what she says; I can interpret all her martyr'd signs ; She says, she drinks no other drink but tears, Brew'd with her sorrows, mesh'd upon her cheeks : Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought ; In thy dumb action will I be as perfect As begging hermits in their holy prayers : Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven, Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign, But I, of these, will wrest an alphabet, And, by still practice, learn to know thy mean- ing. Boy. Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep laments : Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale. Marc. Alas, the tender boy, in passion mov'd, Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness. Tit. Peace, tender sapling; thou art made of tears, And tears will quickly melt thy life away. [MARCUS strikes the dish with a knife. What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knil'e Marc. At that that I hav? kill'd, my lord ; fly. ACT III. TITUS ANDRONICUS. [SCENZ If Tit. Out on thee, murtherer ! tliou kill'st my heart; Mine eyes are " cloy'd with view of tyranny : A deed of death, done on the innocent, Becomes not Titus' brother : Get thee gone ; I see thou art not for my company. Marc. Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly. Tit. But how, if that fly had a father and mother ? How would he hang his slender gilded wings, And buzz lamenting doings in the air ! Poor harmless fly ! That, with his pretty buzzing melody, Came here to make us merry; and thou hast kill'd him. Marc. Pardon me, sir; 'twas a black, ill- favour'd fly, Like to the empress' Moor; therefore I kill'd him. a Are is omitted in the original. Tit. 0, 0, 0, Then pardon me for reprehending thee, For thou hast done a charitable deed. Give me thy knife, I will insult on him ; Flattering myself, as if it were the Moor, Come hither purposely to poison me. There 's for thyself, and that 's for Tamora. Ah, sifrah ! Yet, I think we are not brought so low, But that, between us, we can kill a fly, That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor. Marc. Alas, poor man ! grief has so wrought on him, He takes false shadows for true substances. Tit. Come, take away. Lavinia, go with me : I '11 to thy closet ; and go read with thee Sad stories, chanced in the times of old. Come, boy, and go with me ; thy sight is young, And thou shalt read, when mine begins to dazzle \Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE I. Before Titus's House. Enter TITUS and MARCUS ; then Young Lucius, and LAVTNIA running after Mm, the boy flying from her with his books under his arm. Boy. Help, grandsire, help ! my aunt Lavinia Follows me everywhere, I know not why. Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes ! Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean. Marc. Stand by me, Lucius ; do not fear thy aunt. Tit. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm. Boy. Ay, when my father was in Rome she did. Marc. What means my niece Lavinia by these signs ? Tit. Fear her not, Lucius: somewhat doth she mean. See, Lucius, see, how much she makes of thee : Somewhither would she have thee go with her. Ay, boy, Cornelia never with more care R^ad to her son than she hath read to thee, 30 Sweet poetry, and Tully's Orator : Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus? Boy. My lord, I know not, I, nor can I guess, Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her : For I have heard my grandsire say full oft, Extremity of griefs would make men mad ; And I have read that Hecuba of Troy Ran mad through sorrow: That made me to fear; Although, my lord, I know my noble aunt Loves me as dear as e'er my mother did, And would not, but in fury, fright my youth : Which made me down to throw my books, and fly. Causeless, perhaps : but pardon me, sweet aunt . And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go, I will most willingly attend your ladyship. Marc. Lucius, I will. [LAVINIA turns over the books which Lucius has letfaL. Tit. How now, Lavinia ? Marcus, what means this? ACT IV.] TITUS ANDRONICUS. [gCEKB. 1. Some book there is that she desires to see : Which is it, girl, of these ? open them, boy. But thou art deeper read, and better skill'd : Come, and take choice of all my library ; And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens Reveal the damn'd contriver of this deed. What book?' Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus ? Marc. I think she means that there was more than one Confederate in the fact ; ay, more there was : Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge. Tit. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so ? Boy. Grandsire, 't is Ovid's Metamorphoses ; My mother gave it me. Marc. For love of her that 's gone, Perhaps, she cull'd it from among the rest. Tit. Soft ! How b busily she turns the leaves ! Help her : what would she find ? Lavinia, shall I read ? This is the tragic tale of Philomel, And treats of Tereus' treason and his rape ; And rape, I fear, was root of thine annoy. Marc. See, brother, see ; note how she quotes the leaves. Tit. Lavinia, wert thou thus surpris'd, sweet girl Ravish'd and wrong' d as Philomela was, Forc'd in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods ? See, see ! Ay, such a place there is where we did hunt, (0 had we never, never hunted there !) Pattern' d by that the poet here describes, By nature made for murthers and for rapes. Marc. O, why should nature build so foul a den, Unless the gods delight in tragedies ? Tit. Give signs, sweet girl, for here are none but friends, What Roman lord it was durst do the deed ? Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst, That left the camp to sin in Lucrece' bed ? Marc. Sit down, sweet niece; brother, sit down by me. Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury, Inspire me that I may this treason find. My lord, look here ; look here, LavinJa. [He writes his name with his staff", and guides it with feet and mouth. This sandy plot is plain ; guide, if thou canst, This hemistich is found only in the folio, and is omitted In some modern editions. * How. The early copies read to. The modern reading I*. 'See how. The pause after Soft is a metrical beauty. Quotes observes, searches through. This, after me. I have wrii, my name,* Without the help of any hand at all. Curs'd be that heart that forc'd us to this shift 1 Write thou, good niece, and here display at last, What God will have discover'd for revenge. Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain, That we may know the traitors and the truth ! [She takes the staff in her mouth, and guides it with her stumps, and writes. Tit. Oh, do ye read, my lord, what she hath writ? ' Stuprum, Chiron, Demetrius.' Marc. What, what ! the lustful sons of Ta- mora, Performers of this heinous, bloody deed ? Tit. Magni Dominator poli, Tarn lentits audis scelera ? tarn lentus tides ? . Marc. Oh, calm thee, gentle bid; although I know There is enough written upon this earth To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts, And arm the minds of infants to exclaims. My lord, kneel down with me ; Lavinia, kneel ; And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hector's hope: And swear with me, as with the woful fere, b And father of that chaste dishonour'd dame, Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece' rape, That we will prosecute, by good advice, Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths, And see their blood, or die with this reproach. Tit. 'T is sure enough, an you knew how ; But if you hunt these bear-whelps, then beware: The dam will wake, and if she wind you once, She 's with the lion deeply still in league, And lulls him whilst she playeth on her back, And when he sleeps will she do what she list. You are a young huntsman, Marcus; let it alone; And, come, I will go get a leaf of brass, And with a gad of steel will write these words, And lay it by : the angry northern wind Will blow these sands like Sibyls' leaves abroad, And where 's your lesson then ? Boy, what say you? Boy. I say, my lord, that if I were a man, Their mother's bed-chamber should not be safe, For these bad bondmen to the yoke of Rome. Marc. Ay, that 's my boy ; thy father hath full oft For his ungrateful country done the b'ke. Some modern editors read " This after me, when I have writ my name." The Cambridge editors print as above, inserting a lUge direction. b Fere a companion, and here a husband. (Seelllustra lions of Henry IV., Part I., Art i.) Acr IV.] TITUS ANDRONICUS. [SCIWE II Boy. And, uncle, so will I, an if 1 live. Tit. Coine, go with me into mine armoury ; Lucius, I '11 fit thee ; and withal, my boy Suall carry from me to the empress' sons Presents that I intend to send them both : Come, come, thoii 'It do thy message, wilt thou not? Boy. Ay, with my dagger in their bosoms, grandsire. Tit. No, boy, not so ; I '11 teach thee another course. Lavinia, come ; Marcus, look to my house ; Lucius and I '11 go brave it at the court : Ay, marry will we, sir ; and we '11 be waited on. [Exeunt TITUS, LAVINIA, and Boy. Marc. heavens ! can you hear a good man groan, And not relent, or not compassion him ? Marcus, attend him in his extasy, That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart, Than foemen's marks upon his batter 5 d shield ; But yet so just, that he will not revenge : Revenge, ye heavens, for old Andronicus. [Exit. SCENE II. A Room in the Palace. Enter AARON, CHIRON, and DEMETRIUS at one door ; at anotlier door Young Lucius and Attendant, with a bundle of weapons, and verses written upon them. Chi. Demetrius, here 's the son of Lucius ; He hath some message to deliver us. Aaron. Ay, some mad message from his mad grandfather. Boy. My lords, with all the humbleness I may, I greet your honours from Andronicus ; And pray the Roman gods confound you both. [Aside. Demet. Gramercy, lovely Lucius, what 's the news? Boy. That you are both decipher 5 d, that's the news, For villains mark'd with rape [Aside"]. May it please you, My grandsire, well advis'd, hath sent by ine The goodliest weapons of his armoury, To gratify your honourable youth, The hope of Rome ; for so he bad me say : And so I do, and with his gifts present Your lordships, that, whenever you have need, This line is omitted in the folio ; a typographical error, wttich has arisen through the preceding Tine ending with the same word. 32 You may be armed and appointed well, And so I leave you both: [Aside] like bloody villains. [Exeunt Boy and Attendant. Demet. What 's here ? a scroll ; and written round about ? Let 's see : ' Integer vita, scelerisque purut, Non eget Mauri jaculis, nee arcu.' CM. O 't is a verse in Horace; I know it well: I read it in the grammar long ago. Aaron. Ay, just a verse in Horace;* right, you have it. Now, what a thing it is to be an ass ! Here 's no sound jest ! the old man hath found their guilt, And sends the weapons wrapp'd about with lines, That wound, beyond their feeling, to the quick : But were our witty empress well a-foot, She would applaud Andronicus' conceit. But let her rest in her unrest awhile. [The preceding seven lines are spoken aside. And now, young lords, was 't not a happy star Led us to Rome, strangers, and more than so, Captives, to be advanced to this height ? It did me good, before the palace gate, To brave the tribune in his brother's hearing. Demet. But me more good, to see so great a lord Basely insinuate, and send us gifts. Aaron. Had he not reason, lord Demetrius ? Did you not use his daughter very friendly ? Demet. I would we had a thousand Roman dames At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust. Chi. A charitable wish, and full of love. Aaron. Here lacks but for your mother for to say Amen. Chi. And that would she for twenty thousand more. Demet. Come, let us go, and pray to all the gods, For our beloved mother in her pains. Aaron. Pray to the devils ; the gods have given us over. [Aside. Trumpets sound. Demet. Why do the emperor's trumpets flou- rish thus ? Chi. Belike, for joy the emperor hath a son. Demet. Soft ; who comes here ? Enter Nurse, with a blackamoor child. Nurse. Good morrow, lords ; 0, tell me, did you see Aaron, the Moor ? Ay, jutt a verse in Horace merely a verse in Home* The common punctuation is, " Ay, just ! A verse," &rc. ACT IV.] TITUS ANDRONICUS. [SCEtt* II Aaron. Well, more, or less, or ne'er a whit at all, Here Aaron is ; and what with Aaron now ? Nurse. O gentle Aaron, we are all undone ! Now help, or woe betide thee evermore ! Aaron. Why, what a caterwauling dost thou keep! What dost thou wrap and fumble in thine ams ? Nurse. O, that which I would hide from heaven's eye, Our empress 3 shame, and stately Rome's dis- grace; She is deliver' d, lords, she is deliver'd. Aaron. To whom ? Nurse. I mean she is brought a-bed. Aaron. Well, God give her good rest ! What hath he sent her ? Nurse. A devil. Aaron. Why, then she is the devil's dam; a joyful issue. Nurse. A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrow- ful issue : Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad, Amongst the fairest breeders of our clime. The empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal, And bids thee christen it with thy dagger's point. Aaron. Out, you 8 whore ! is black so base a hue? Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom sure. Demet. Villain, what hast thou done ? Aaron. That which thou canst not undo. Chi. Thou hast undone our mother. Aaron. Villain, I have done thy mother. Demet. And therein, hellish dog, thou hast undone. Woe to her chance, and damn'd her loathed choice ! Accurs'd the offspring of so foul a fiend. Chi. It shall not live. Aaron. It shall not die. Nurse. Aaron, it must ; the mother wills it so. Aaron. What ! must it, nurse ? Then let no man but I Do execution on my flesh and blood. Demet. I '11 broach the tadpole on my rapier's point: Nurse, give it me ; my sword shall soon despatch it. Aaron. Sooner this sword shall plough thy bowels up. [Takes the Child from the Nurse. Out, you is the reading of the folio. The quartos, Zounds, ye. SUP. VOL. D Stay, murtherous villains, will jou kill your bro- ther? Now, by the burning tapers of the sky, That shone so brightly when this boy was got, He dies upon my scimitar's sharp point That touches this my first-born son and heir. I tell you, younglings, not Enceladus, With all his threat'ning band of Typhon's brood, Nor great Alcides, nor the god of war, Shall seize this prey out of his father's hands. What, what! ye sanguine, shallow -nearted i Ye white-Jim'd walls ! ye ale-house painted signs ! Coal-black is better than another hue, In that it scorns to bear another hue : For all the water in the ocean Can never turn the swan's black legs to white, Although she lave them hourly in the flood : Tell the empress from me, I am of age To keep mine own, excuse it how she can. Demet. Wilt thou betray thy noble mistress thus? Aaron. My mistress is my mistress ; this, my- self; The vigour, and the picture of my youth : This before all the world do I prefer ; This, maugre all the world, will I keep safe, Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome. Demet. By this our mother is for ever sham'd. Chi. Rome will despise her for this foul escape. Nurse. The emperor, in his rage, will doom her death. Chi. I blush to think upon this ignominy.* Aaron. Why, there 's the privilege your beauty bears : Fie, treacherous hue, that will betray with blushing The close enacts and counsels of the heart : Here 's a young lad fram'd of another leer. b Look, how the black slave smiles upon the father, As who should say, ' Old lad, I am thine own.' He is your brother, lords, sensibly fed Of that self-blood that first gave life to you ; And from that womb, where you imprison'd were, He is enfranchised and come to light : Nay, he is your brother by the surer side, Although my seal be stamped in his face. Nurse. Aaron, what shall I say unto the em- press ? Demet. Advise thee, Aaron, what is to be done, Ignominy, in the folio ; the quartos, ipnomy. >> Leer complexion, hu. 83 ACT IV. i TITUS ANDRONICUS. [SCEKR FIT. And we will all subscribe to thy advice : Save thou the child, so we may all be safe. Aaron. Then sit we down, and let us all con- sult. My son and I will have the wind of you : Keep there ; now talk at pleasure of your safety. Demet. How many women saw this child of his ? Aaron, Why, so brave lords: When we* join in league I am a lamb ; but if you brave the Moor, The chafed b boar, the mountain lioness, The ocean swells not so as Aaron storms : But say again, how many saw the child ? Nurse. Cornelia the midwife, and myself, And no one else but the deliver'd empress. Aaron. The empress, the midwife, and your- self: Two may keep counsel when the third 's away : Go to the empress, tell her this I said : \_He kills her. Weke, weke so cries a pig prepar'd to the spit. Demet. What mean'st thou, Aaron? where- fore didst thou this ? Aaron. Oh, lord, sir, 't is a deed of policy ; Shall she live to betray this guilt of ours ? A long-tongued babbling gossip ! No, lords, no : And now be it known to you my full intent. Not far, one Muliteus lives, c my countryman ; His wife but yesternight was brought to bed ; His child is like to her, fair as you are : Go pack d with him, and give the mother gold, And tell them both the circumstance of all, And how by this their child shall be advanc'd, And be received for the emperor's heir, And substituted in the place of mine, To calm this tempest whirling in the court ; And let the emperor dandle him for his own. Hark ye, lords ; ye see I have given her physic, [Pointing to the Nurse. And you must needs bestow her funeral ; The fields are near, and you are gallant grooms : This done, see that you take no longer days, But send the midwife presently to me. The midwife and the nurse well made away, Then let the ladies tattle what they please. Chi. Aaron, I see thou wilt not trust the air with secrets. Demet. Tor this care of Tamora, Herself and hers are highly bound to thee. [Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, bearing off the Nurse. * The ordinary reading was, " alljnin.' b Chafed, in the old copies ; the variorum reading, chased. c Lives, which is not in the old copies, was inserted by Bowe. 1 Pack contrive, arrange. 34 Aaron. Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow flies; There to dispose this treasure in mine arms, And secretly to greet the empress' friends : Come on, you thick-lipp'd slave, I'll bear you hence ; For it is you that puts us to our shifts : I '11 make you feed on berries, and on roots, And feed on curds and whey, and suck the goat, And cabin in a cave, and bring you up To be a warrior, and command a camp. [Exit. SCENE III. A public Place in Rome. Enter TITUS, MARCUS, Young Lucius, and other Gentlemen, with bows, and TITUS bears the arrows with letters on them. Tit. Come, Marcus; come, kinsmen; this is the way : Sir boy," let me see your archery ; Look ye draw home enough, and 't is there straight. Terras Astreea reliquit, be you remember'd, Marcus. She 's gone, she 's fled. Sirs, take you to your tools ; You, cousins, shall go sound the ocean, And cast your nets. Happily, you may find l her in the sea ; Yet there 's as little justice as at land :' No ; Publius and Sempronius, you must do it ; 'T is you must dig with mattock and with spade. And pierce the inmost centre of the earth ; Then, when you come to Pluto's region, I pray you, deliver him this petition ; Tell him it is for justice and for aid, And that it comes from old Andronicus, Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome. Ah, Rome ! well, well, I made thee miserable What time I threw the people's suffrages On him that thus doth tyrannize o'er me. Go, get you gone, and pray be careful all, And leave you not a man-of-war unsearch'd : This wicked emperor may have shipp'd her hence ; And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice. Marc. O, Publius, is not this a heavy case, To see thy noble uncle thus distract ? Pub. Therefore, my lords, it highly us con- cerns, By day and night t' attend him carefully ; a The reading of the second folio is, Sir boy, now. b Find. So the folio, and quarto of 1611 j that of 1600 catch. ACT TV.] TITUS ANDRONICUS. [SCEME ill. And feed his humour kindly as we may, Till time beget some careful remedy. Marc. Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy. Join with the Goths, and with revengeful war Take wreak on Rome for his ingratitude, And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine. Tit. Publius, how now ? how now, my mas- ters? What, have you met with her ? Pub. No, my good lord ; but Pluto sends you word, If you will have revenge from hell you shall : Marry, for Justice she is so employed, He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else, So that perforce you must needs stay a time. Tit. He doth me wrong to feed me with delays. I '11 dive into the burning lake below, And pull her out of Acheron by the heels. Marcus, we are but shrubs ; no cedars we, No big-bon'd men, fram'd of the Cyclops' size ; But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back, Yet wrung with wrongs more than our backs can bear : And sith there is no justice in earth nor hell, We will solicit heaven, and move the gods, To send down justice for to wreak our wrongs. Come to this gear ; you are a good archer, Mar- cus. [He gives them the arrows. Ad Jovem, that 's for you ; here, ad Apoliinem : Ad Martent, that 's for myself; Here, boy, to Pallas ; here, to Mercury : To Saturn, Caius, not to Saturnine/ You were as good to shoot against the wind. To it, boy : Marcus, loose when I bid : Of my word, I have written to effect, There 's not a god left unsolicited. Marc. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court : We will afflict the emperor in his pride. Tit. Now, masters, draw. Oh, well said, Lucius ! [.They shoot. Good boy, in Virgo's lap; give it Pallas Marc. My lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon; Your letter is with Jupiter by this. Tit. Ha, ha ! Publius, Publius, what hast thou done? See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus' horns. Marc. This was the sport, my lord : when Publius shot, The old copies read "To Saturnine, to Caius, not to Saturnine." Rowe corrected the passage. D2 The Bull, being gall'd, gave Aries sucn a knock, That down fell both the Ram's horns in the court, And who should find them but the empress villain: She laugh'd, and told the Moor he should not choose But give them to his master for a present. Tit. Why, there it goes : God give your lord- ship joy. Enter Clown, with a basket, and two pigeons in it. Tit. News, news from heaven! Marcus, the post is come. Sirrah, what tidings ? have you any letters ? Shall I have justice ? what says Jupiter ? Clown. Ho! the gibbet-maker? he says that he hath taken them down again, for the man must not be hanged till the next week. Tit. But what says Jupiter, I ask thee ? Clown. Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter : I never drank with him in all my life. Tit. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier ? Clown. Ay, of my pigeons, sir; nothing else. Tit. Why, didst thou not come from heaven ? Clown. From heaven ? alas, sir, I never came there. God forbid I should be so bold to press to heaven in my young days ! Why, I am going with my pigeons to the tribunal Plebs, to take up a matter of brawl betwixt my uncle and one of the imperial's men. Marc. Why, sir, that is as fit as can be to serve for your oration ; and let him deliver the pigeons to the emperor from you. Tit. Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the emperor with a grace ? Clown. Nay, truly, sir; I could never say grace in all my life. Tit. Surah, come hither ; make no more ado, But give your pigeons to the emperor : By me thou shalt have justice at his hands. Hold, hold; meanwhile, here's money for thv charges. Give me pen and ink. Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver a supplies. tion? Clown. Ay, sir. Tit. Then here is a supplication for you. And when you come to him, at the first approach you must kneel ; then kiss his foot ; then deliver up your pigeons ; and then look for your reward. I '11 be at hand, sir ; see you do it bravely. * The quarto of 1601, "kit lordship." That of 1611 omit- the line, which -we print as in the folio. 35 ACT IV.] TITUS ANDRONICUS. [SCENE l\ Clown. I warrant you, sir, let me alone. Tit. Sirrah, hast thou a knife ? Come, let me see it. Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration, For thou hast made it like an humble suppliant. And when thou hast given it the emperor, Knock at my door, and tell me what he says. Clown. God be with you, sir ; I will. [Exit. Tit. Come, Marcus, let us go ; Publius, follow me. [Exeunt. SCENE TV. Before the Palace. Enter SATURNINUS, TAMORA, CHIRON, DEME- TRIUS, Lords,' and others. The Emperor brings the arrows in his hand that TITUS shot at him. Sat. Why, lords, what wrongs are these ? was ever seen An emperor in Rome thus overborne, Troubled, confronted thus ; and, for the extent Of egal justice, used in such contempt? My lords, you know, as do a the mightful gods, However these disturbers of our peace Buzz in the people's ears, there nought hath pass'd, But even with law, against the wilful sons Of old Andronicus. And what an if His sorrows have so overwhelm'd his wits ; Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks, His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness ? And now, he writes to heaven for his redress ; See, here's to Jove, and this to Mercury, This to Apollo, this to the god of war : Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome ! What's this, but libelling against the senate, And blazoning our unjustice everywhere? A goodly humour, is it not, my lords ? As who would say, in Rome no justice were : Bat if I live, his feigned ecstasies Shall be no shelter to these outrages ; But he and his shall know that Justice lives In Saturnmus' health, whom, if he b sleep, He'll so awake, as he in fury shall Cut off the proud' st conspirator that lives. Tarn. My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine, Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts, Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus' age, Th' effects of sorrow for his valiant sons, Whose loss hath pierc'd him deep, and scarr'd his heart ; And rather comfort his distressed plight, Ax do. These words were inserted by Ro\vf. * He. So thte original copies. The antecedent being con- sidered Justice, the modern reading is the. The Cambridge editors have retained the original he. 36 Than prosecute the meanest or the best For these contempts : Why, thus it shall become High-witted Tamora to glose with all : But, Titus, I have touch' d thee to the quick, Thy life-blood out : if Aaron now be wise, Then is all safe, the anchor 's in the port. [Aside, Enter Clown. How now, good fellow, wouldst thou speak with us ? Clown. Yea, forsooth, an your mistership be imperial. Tarn. Empress I am, but yonder sits the emperor. Clown. 'T is he. God and saint Stephen give you good den ; I have brought you a letter and a couple of pigeons here. [SATURNINUS reads the letter. Sat. Go, take him away, and hang him pre- sently. Clown. How much money must I have ? Tarn. Come, sirrah, you must be hang'd. Clown. Hang'd! by'r lady, then I have brought up a neck to a fair end. [Exit, guarded. Sat. Despiteful and intolerable wrongs ! Shall I endure this monstrous villainy ? I know from whence this same device proceeds, . May this be borne, as if his traitorous sons, That died by law for murther of our brother, Have by my means been butcher'd wrongfully ? Go, drag the villain hither by the hair ; Nor age, nor honour, shall shape privilege : For this proud mock I '11 be thy slaughter-man ; Sly frantic wretch, that holpst to make me great, In hope thyself should govern Rome and me. Sat. What news with thee, ^Emilius ? JEmil. Arm, my lord ; Rome never had more cause ! The Goths have gather'd head, and with a power Of high-resolved men, bent to the spoil, They hither march amain, under conduct Of Lucius, son to old Andronicus ; Who threats in course of this revenge to do As much as ever Coriolanus did. Sat. Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths ? These tidings nip me ; and I hang the head As flowers with frost, or grass beat down with storms : Ay, now begin our sorrows to approach : 'T is he the common people love so much ! ACT IT.] TITUS ANDRONICUS. Myself hath often heard them say, (When I have walked like a private man,) That Lucius' banishment was wrongfully, And they have wish'd that Lucius were their emperor. Tarn. Why should you fear ? is not your city strong ? Sat. Ay, but the citizens favour Lucius, And will revolt from me, to succour him. Tarn. King, be thy thoughts imperious, like thy name. Is the sun dimm'd, that gnats do fly in it P The eagle suffers little birds to sing, And is not careful what they mean thereby, Knowing that with the shadow of his wing' He can at pleasure stint their melody. Even so mayst thou the giddy men of Home ! Then cheer thy spirit : for know, thou emperor, I will enchant the old Andronicus, With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous Than baits to fish, or honey-stalks to sheep ; When as the one is wounded with the bait, The other rotted with delicious feed. Wing. The originals, wingt. But the line! are meant tc rhymf alternately. Sat. But he will not entreat his son for us. Tarn. If Tamora entreat him, then he will ; For I can smooth and fill his aged ear With golden promises, that, were his heart Almost impregnable, his old ears deaf, Yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue. Go thou before to be our embassador ; [To JEMILIUS. Say that the emperor requests a parley Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting, Even at his father's house, the old Andronicus.' Sat. ^Emilius, do this message honourably : And if he stand on hostage for his safety, Bid him demand what pledge will please him best. JEmil. Your bidding shall I do effectually. [Exit JSniLius. Tarn. Now will I to that old Andronicus ; And temper him, with all the art I have, To pluck proud Lucius from the warlike Goths. And now, sweet emperor, be blithe again, And bury all thy fear in my devices. Sat. Then go successantly, and plead to him. [Exeunt This line is not in the folio, but in the earlier quarto* ACT V. SCENE I. Plains near Rome. flourish. Enter Lucius, with an, army of Goths, with drum. Luc. Approved warriors, and my faithful friends, I have received letters from great Rome, Which signify what hate they bear their em- peror, And how desirous of our sight they are. Therefore, great lords, be, as your titles witness, Imperious and impatient of your wrongs ; And wherein Rome hath done you any scathe, Let him make treble satisfaction. Goth. Brave slip, sprung from the great An- dronicus, Whose name was once our terror, now our com- fort , Whose high exploits, and honourable deeds, Ingrateful Rome requites with foul contempt, Be bold in us ; we '11 follow where thou lead'st. Like stinging bees in hottest summer's day, Led by their master to the flower' d fields, And be aveng'd on cursed Tamora : And, as he saith, so say we all with him. Luc. I humbly thank him, and I thank you all But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth P Enter a Goth, leading AAKON with his child in his arms. Goth. Renowned Lucius, from our troops I stray'd, To gaze upon a ruinous monastery, And as I earnestly did fix mine eye Upon the wasted building, suddenly I heard a child cry underneath a wall : I made unto the noise, when soon I heard ACT V.] TITUS ANDRONICUS. [SCBNK I. The crying bube control!' d with this discourse : ' Peace, tawny slave, half me, and half thy dam ! Did not thy hue bewray whose brat thou art, Had nature lent thee but thy mother's look, Villain, thou mightst have been an emperor. But where the bull and cow are both milk-white, They never do beget a coal-black calf : Peace, villain, peace ! ' even thus he rates the babe, ' For I must bear thee to a trusty Goth, Who, when he knows thou art the empress' babe, Will hold thee dearly for thy mother's sake.' With this, my weapon drawn, I rush'd upon him, Surpris'd him suddenly, and brought him hither To use as you think needful of the man. Luc. Oh worthy Goth, this is the incarnate devil That robb'd Andronicus of his good hand : This is the pearl that pleas'd your empress' eye ; And here 's the base fruit of his burning lust. Say, wall-eyed slave, whither wouldst thou convey This growing image of thy fieudlike face ? Why dost not speak? what, deaf?" not a word? A halter, soldiers ; hang him on this tree, And by his side his fruit of bastardy. Aaron. Touch not the boy, he is of royal blood. Luc. Too like the sire for ever being good. First hang the child that he may see it sprawl, A sight to vex the father's soul withal. Aaron. Get me a ladder! 11 Lucius, save the child, And bear it from me to the empress : If thou do this, I '11 show thee wond'rous things, That highly may advantage thee to hear ; If thou wilt not, befall what may befall, I '11 speak no more, but vengeance rot you all. Luc. Say on, and if it please me which thou speak' st, Thy child shall live, and I will see it nourish'd. Aaron. An if it please tnee? why, assure thee, Lucius, 'T will vex thy soul to hear what I shall speak : For I must talk of murthers, rapes, and mas- sacres, Acts of black night, abominable deeds, Complots of mischief, treason, villainies Ruthful to hear, yet piteously perform'd ; And this shall all be buried by my death, Unless thou swear to me my child shall live. * The second folio here inserts no, Get me a ladder. These words belong to the Moor in all the editions. He may mean, Execute me, but save the child ! In modern copies, Lucius is made to call for U> ladder. Luc. Tell on thy mind ; I say thy child shall live. Aaron. Swear that he shall, and then I will begin. Luc. Who should I swear by ? thou believ'st no God; That granted, how canst thou believe an oath ? Aaron. What if I do not, as indeed I do not : Yet, for I know thou art religious, And hast a thing within thee called conscience, With twenty popish tricks and ceremonies, Which I have seen thee careful to observe, Therefore I urge thy oath ; for that I know An idiot holds this bauble for a God, And keeps the oath which by that God he swears ; To that I '11 urge him : therefore thou shalt vow By that same God, what God soe'er it be, That thou ador'st, and hast in reverence, To save my boy, to nourish, and bring him up ; Or else I will discover nought to thee. Luc. Even by my God I swear to thee I will. Aaron. First know thou, I begot him on the empress. Luc. Oh most insatiate, luxurious woman ! Aaron. Tut, Lucius, tlu's was but a deed ol charity, To that which thou shalt hear of me anon. 'T was her two sons that murther'd Bassianus ; They cut thy sister's tongue, and ravish'd her, And cut her hands off, and trimm'd her as thou sawest. Luc. Oh, detestable villain! call'st thou that trimming ? Aaron. Why, she was wash'd, and cut, and trimm'd, .Vnd 'twas trim sport for them that had the doing of it. Luc. Oh, barbarous, beastly villains, like thy- self! Aaron. Indeed, I was their tutor to instruct them : That codding spirit had they from their mother, As sure a card as ever won the set : That bloody mind I think they learn'd of me, As true a dog as ever fought at head : Well, let my deeds be witness of my worth. I train'd thy brethren to that guileful hole, Where the dead corpse of Bassianus lay : I wrote the letter that thy father found, And hid the gold within, the letter mention'd ; Confederate with the queen and her two sons. And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue, Wherein I had no stroke of mischief in it P I play'd the cheater for thy father's hand ; JM ACT V.] TITUS ANDRONICUS. [SCEKE II And, when I had it, drew myself apart, And almost broke my heart with extreme laughter. I pry'd me through the crevice of a wall, IVhen, for his band, he had his two sons' heads ; Beheld his tears, and laugh'd so heartily, That both mine eyes were rainy like to his : And when I told the empress of this sport, She swounded almost at my pleasing tale, And for my tidings gave me twenty kisses. Goth. What, canst thou say all this, and never blush? Aaron. Ay, like a black dog, as the saying is. Luc. Art thou not sorry for these heinous deeds ? Aaron. Ay, that I had not dene a thousand more. Even now I curse the day, and yet I think Few come within the compass of my curse, Wherein I did not some notorious ill : As kill a man, or else devise his death ; Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it ; Accuse some innocent, and forswear mjself ; Set deadly enmity between two friends ; Make poor men's cattle break their necks ; Set fire on barns and haystacks in the night, And bid the owners queneh them with their tears : Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves, And set them upright at their dear friends' doors, Even when their sorrows almost were forgot ; And on their skins, as on the bark of trees, Have with my knife carved in Roman letters, ' Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.' Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things As willingly as one would kill a fly ; And nothing grieves me heartily indeed, But that I cannot do ten thousand more. Luc. Bring down the devil for he must not die So sweet a death as hanging presently. Aaron. If there be devils, would I were a devil. To live and burn in everlasting fire, So I might have your company in hell, But to tonnent you with my bitter tongue ! Luc. Sirs, stop his mouth, and let him speak no more. Enter a Goth. Goth. My lord, there is a messenger from Rome Desires to be admitted to your presence. Luc. Let him come near, 40 Welcome, JEmilius : What 's the news from Rome? jflmil. Lord Lucius, and your princes of the Goths, The Roman emperor greets you all by me ; And, for he understands you are in arms, He craves a parley at your father's house, Willing you to demand your hostages, And they shall be immediately deliver' d. Goth. What says our general ? Luc. JEmilius, let the emperor give his pledge Unto my father, and my uncle Marcus, And we will come : march away. \Flourlsh. Exeunt. SCENE II. Before TITUS'* House. Enter TAMORA, CHIRON, and DEMETRIUS, dixrjuised. Tarn. Thus in this strange and sad habiliment I will encounter with Andronicus, And say I am Revenge, sent from below, To join with him and right his heinous wrongs Knock at his study, where they say he keeps, To ruminate strange plots of dire revenge : Tell him Revenge is come to join with him, And work confusion on his enemies. [They knock, and TITUS opens his Study door. Tit. Who doth molest my contemplation P Is it your trick to make me ope the door, That so my sad decrees may fly away, And all my study be to no effect ? You are deceiv'd, for what I mean to do See here in bloody lines I have set down ; And what is written shall be executed. Tarn. Titus, I am come to talk with thee. Tit. No, not a word : how can I grace my talk, Wanting a hand to give it action ? Thou hast the odds of me ; therefore no more. Tarn. If thou didst know me, thou wouldst talk with me. Tit. I am not mad ; I know thee well enough. Witness this wretched stump, witness these crim- son lines, Witness these trenches made by grief and eare, Witness the tiring day and heavy night, Witness all sorrow, that I know thee well .For our proud empress, mighty Tamonu Is not thy coming for my other hand ? Tarn. Know thou, sad man I am not Ta- mora; It action. So the folio. The quartoj, tHat accord. JcrV.] TITUS ANDRONICUS. [SCENE II. She is thy enemy, and I thy friend. I am Revenge, sent from the infernal kingdom, To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind, By working wreakful vengeance on thy foes : Come down, and welcome me to this world's light} Confer with me of murther and of death. There 's not a hollow cave or lurking-place, No vast obscurity or misty vale, Where bloody Murther, or detested Rape, Can couch for fear, but I will find them out ; And in their ears tell them my dreadful name Revenge which makes the foul offenders quake. Tit. Art thou Revenge ? and art thou sent to me To be a torment to mine enemies ? Tarn. I am; therefore come down, and wel- come me. Tit. Do me some service, ere I come to thee. Lo, by thy side where Rape, and Murther, stands ! Now give some 'surance that thou art Revenge ; Stab them, or tear them on thy chariot-wheels ; And then I '11 come and be thy waggoner, And whirl along with thee about the globes. Provide thee two proper palfreys, as black as jet, a To hale thy vengeful waggon swift away, And find out murtherers b in their guilty caves. And when thy car is loaden with their heads, I will dismount, and by the waggon-wheel Trot like a servile footman all day long, Even from Hyperion's rising in the east Until his very downfall in the sea. And, day by day, I'll do this heavy task, So thou destroy Rapine and Murther there. Tarn. These are my ministers, and come with me. Tit. Are they thy ministers ? what are they call'd? Tarn. Rape and Murther ; therefore called so, 'Cause they take vengeance of such kind of men. Tit. Good lord, how like the empress' sons they are, And you the empress ! but worldly men Have miserable, mad, mistaking eyes. Oh, sweet Revenge, now do I come to thee, And, if one arm's embracement will content thee, I will embrace thee in it by-and-by. [TiTUS closes his door. Tarn. This closing with him fits his lunacy. Whate'er I forge to feed his brain-sick fits, Do you uphold, and maintain in your speeches ; Some editors write the line, " Provide thee proper palfreys, black as jet." l> Miinheri-rs. The early copies, murther. For now he firmly takes me for Revenge, And, being credulous in this mad thought, I '11 make him send for Lucius, his son ; And, whilst I at a banquet hold him sure, I '11 find some cunning practice out of hand To scatter and disperse the giddy Goths, Or, at the least, make them his enemies : See, here he comes, and I must ply my theme. Enter TITTJS. Tit. Long have I been forlorn, and all for thee. Welcome, dread fury, to my woful house ; Rapine, and Murther, you are welcome too. How like the empress and her sons you are ! Well you are fitted, had you but a Moor ! Could not all hell afford you such a devil P For well I wot the empress never wags But in her company there is a Moor ; And, would you represent our queen aright, It were convenient you had such a devil : But welcome as you are : What shall we do ? Tarn. What wouldst thou have us do, Andro- nicus? Demet. Show me a murtherer : I '11 deal with him. Chi. Show me a villian that hath done a rape, And I am sent to be reveng'd on him. Tarn. Show me a thousand, that have done thee wrong, And I will be revenged on them all. Tit. Look round about the wicked streets of Rome, And when thou find'st a man that 's like thyself, Good Murther, stab him ; he 's a murtherer. Go thou with him ; and when it is thy hap To find another that is like to thee, Good Rapine, stab him ; he is a ravisher. Go thou with them ; and in the emperor's court There is a queen attended by a Moor ; Well mayst thou know her by thy own propor- tion, For up and down she doth resemble thee. I pray thee do on them some violent death : They have been violent to me and mine. Tarn. Well hast thou lesson'd us; this shall we do. But would it please thee, good Andronicus, To send for Lucius, thy thrice-valiant son, Who leads towards Rome a band of warlike Goths, And bid him come and banquet at thy house : When he is here, even at thy solemn feast, I will bring in the empress and her sous, The emperor himself, and all thy foes ; 41 AcrV.] TITUS ANDRONICLS. k SCESII- And at thy mercy shall they stoop and kneel ; And on them shalt thou ease thy angry heart. What says Andronicus to this device ? Enter MARCUS. Tit. Marcus, my brother, 't is sad Titus calls. Go, gentle Marcus, to thy nephew Lucius : Thou shalt inquire him out among the Goths. Bid him repair to me, and bring with him Some of the chiefest princes of the Goths ; Bid him encamp his soldiers where they are. Tell him the emperor, and the empress too, Feast at my house, and he shall feast with them. This do thou for my love ; and so let him, As he regards liis aged father's life. Mure. This will I do, and soon return again. [Exit. Tarn. Now will I hence about my business, And take my ministers along with me. Tit. Nay, nay; let Rape and Murther stay with me. Or else I '11 call my brother back again, And cleave to no revenge but Lucius. Tarn. What say you, boys? will you bide with him, Whiles I go tell my lord the emperor, How I have govern'd our determin'd jest ? Yield to his humour, smooth and speak him fair, And tarry with him till I turn again. [Aside. Tit. I know them all, though they suppose me mad, And will o'erreach them in their own devices : A pair of curbed hell-hounds, and their dam. [Aside. Der.iet. Madam, depart at pleasure : leave us here. Tarn. Farewell, Andronicus; Revenge now goes To lay a complot to betray thy foes. [Exit TAM. Tit. I know thou dost ; and, sweet Revenge, farewell. Chi. Tell us, old man, how shall we be ern- ploy'd ? Tit. Tut ! I have work enough for you to do. Publius, come hither, Caius, and Valentine. Enter PUBLIUS and others. Pub. What is your will ? Tit. Know you these two ? Pub. The empress' sons, I take them, Chiron, Demetrius. Tit. Fie, Publius, fie ; thou art too much de- ceit d : The one is Murther, Rape is the other's name ; And therefore bind them, gentle Publkis : 42 I Caius, and Valentine, lay hands on them. Oft have you heard me wish for such an nour, And now I find it ; therefore bind them sure, And stop their mouths if they begin to cry.* [Exit TITUS. PUBLIUS, Sfc., lay hold on CHIRON and DEMETRIUS. Chi. Villains, forbear! we are the empress' sons. Pub. And therefore do we what we are com- manded. Stop close their mouths ; let them not speak a word; Is he sure bound? look that you bind them fast. 1 * Enter TITUS ASDRONICUS with a knife, and LAVIXIA icith a lasin. Tit. Come, come, Lavinia ; look, thy foes are bound : Sirs, stop their mouths; let them not speak to me, But let them hear what fearful words I utter. Oh, villains, Chiron and Demetrius ! Here stands the spring whom you have stain'd with mud; This goodly summer with your winter mix'd. You kill'd her husband ; and for that vild fault T\vo of her brothers were condemn' d to death, My hand cut off, and made a merry jest ; Both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that more dear Than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity, Inhuman traitors, you constrain'd and forc'd. What would you say if I should let you speak ? Villains, for shame you could not beg for grace. Hark, wretches, how I mean to martyr you. This one hand yet is left to cut your throats, Whilst that Lavinia 'tween her stumps doth hold The basin that receives yonr guilty blood. You know your mother means to feast with me ; And calls herself Revenge, and thinks me mad. Hark, villains ! I will grind your bones to dust, And with your blood and it I '11 make a paste, And of the paste a coffin I will rear, And make two pasties of your shameful heads, And bid that strumpet, your unhallow'd dam, Like to the earth, swallow her own d increase. This is the feast that I have bid her to, And this the banquet she shall surfeit on : For worse than Philomel you used my daughter; And worse than Progne I will be reveng'd. And now prepare your throats : Lavinia, come, a This line is omitted in the folio. b There is a stage-direction here Exeunt. They perhapi go within the curtain of the secondary stage, so that the bloody scene may be veiled. c Coffin the crust of a raised pie. d The folio omits own. A.CT V.] TITUS ANDRONICUS. [SCIXK III Receive the blood ; and when that they are dead, Let me go grind their bones to powder small, And with this hateful liquor temper it, And in that paste let their vild heads be bak'd. Come, come, be every one officious To make this banquet, which I wish may prove More stern and bloody than the centaur's feast. [lie cuts their throats. So ; now bring them in, for I J ll play the cook, And see them ready against their mother comes. [Exeunt. SCENE III. Titus'* House. A Pavilion. Enter Lucius, MARCUS, and the Goths, with AARON. Luc. Uncle Marcus, since 't is my father's mind That I repair to Rome, I am content. Goth. And ours, with thine ; befall what fortune will. Luc. Good uncle, take you in this barbarous Moor, This ravenous tiger, this accursed devil ; Let him receive no sustenance, fetter him, Till he be brought unto the empress' * face, For testimony of her foul proceedings : And see the ambush of our friends be strong : I fear the emperor means no good to us. Aaron. Some devil whisper curses in mine ear, And prompt me that my tongue may utter forth The venomous malice of my swelling heart ! Luc. Away, inhuman dog, unhallow'd slave ! Sirs, help our uncle to convey him in. The trumpets show the emperor is at hand. [Flourish. Sound trumpets. Enter SATURNINUS and TAMORA, with Tribunes and others. Sat. What, hath the firmament more suns than one ? Luc. What boots it thee to call thyself a sun ? Marc. Rome's emperor, and nephew, break the parle ! b These quarrels must be quietly debated. The feast is ready, which the careful Titus Hath ordained to an honourable end ; For peace, for love, for league, and good to Rome: Please you, therefore, draw nigh, and taKe your places. Sat. Marcus, we will. {Hautboys. Empress', in the quarts of 1600. The quarto ofl 6 11, and the folio, ea'peror't. *> Begin the parley. Enter TITUS, like a cook, placing the meat on the table ; LAVINIA, with a veil over her face , Young Lucius, and others. Tit. Welcome, my gracious lord; welcome, dread queen ; Welcome, ye warlike Goths ; welcome, Lucius ; And welcome, all ; although the cheer be poor, 'T will fill your stomachs ; please you eat of it. Sat. Why art thou thus attir'd, Andronicus ? Tit. Because I would be sure to have allweil, To entertain your highness and your empress. Tarn. We are beholding to you, good Andro nicus. Tit. An if your highness knew my heart, you were : My lord the emperor, resolve me this : Was it well done of rash Virginius, To slay his daughter with his own right hand, Because she was enforc'd, stain'd, and de- flour'd? Sat. It was, Andronicus. Tit. Your reason, mighty lord ! Sat. Because the girl should not survive her shame, And by her presence still renew his sorrows. Tit. A reason mighty, strong, and effectual ; A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant, For me, most wretched, to perform the like. Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee, And with thy shame thy father's sorrow die. [He kills her. Sat. What hast thou done, unnatural and unkind ? Tit. Kill'd her, for whom my tears have made me blind. I am as woful as Virginius was, And have a thousand times more cause than he To do this outrage ; and it is now done." Sat. What, was she ravish'd? tell, who did the deed ? Tit. Will 't please you eat, will 't please your highness feed ? Tarn. Why hast thou slain thine only daugh- ter? Tit. Not I ; 't was Chiron and Demetrius. They ravish'd her, and cut away her tongue, And they, 'twas they, that did her all this wrong. Sat. Go fetch them hither to us presently. Tit. Why, there they are both, baked in that pie, Whereof their mother daintily hath fed, Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred. * This line ii omitted in the folio. ACT V.] TITUS ANDRONICUS. "i 1 is true, 't is true, witness nninr, F [SCKMX IIL point. o my knife's sharp [He stabs TAMOBA. Sat. Die, frantic wretch, for this accursed deed ! [He kills TITUS. Luc. Can the son's eye Dehold his father bleed? There 's meed for meed ; death for a deadly deed. [He Mils SATUKNINUS. The people disperse in terror. Marc. You sad-fac'd men, people and sons of Rome, By uproars sever' d, like a flight of fowl Scatter'd by winds and high tempestuous gusts, Oh, let me teach you how to knit again This scatter' d corn into one mutual sheaf, These broken limbs again into one body; Lest* Rome herself be bane unto herself; Aud she whom mighty kingdoms curtsy to, Like a forlorn and desperate castaway, l)o shameful execution on herself. But if my frosty signs and chaps of age, Grave witnesses of true experience, Cannot induce you to attend my words, Speak, Rome's dear friend, [To Lucius] as erst our ancestor, When with his solemn tongue he did discourse To love-sick Dido's sad attending ear, The story of that baleful burning night, When subtle Greeks surpris'd king Priam's Troy. Tell us what Sinon hath bewitch'd our ears, Or who hatli brought the fatal engine in That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil wound. My heart is not compact of flint nor steel, Nor can I utter all our bitter grief; But floods of tears will drown my oratory, And break my very utterance, even in the time When it should move you to attend me most, Lending your kind commiseration. Here is a captain ; let him tell the tale ; Your hearts will throb and weep to hear him speak. Luc. Then, noble auditory, be it known to you, That cursed Chiron and Demetrius Were they that murthered our emperor's brother, And they it was that ravished our sister ; For their fell faults our brothers were beheaded ; Our father's tears despis'd, and basely cozen'd Of that true hand that fought Rome's quarrel out, And sent her enemies unto the grave : Lastly, myself, unkindly banished ; The gates shut on me, and turn'd weeping out, To beg relief amongst Rome's enemies, a Lest. The originals, let. Who drown' d their enmity in my true tears, And op'd their arms to embrace me as a friend; And I am the turn'd forth, be it known to you, That have preserv'd her welfare in my blood, And from her bosom took the enemy's point, Sheathing the steel in my advent'rous body. Alas, you know I am no vaunter, I ; My scars can witness, dumb although they are, That my report is just and full of truth. But soft, methinks I do digress too much, Citing my worthless praise. Oh, pardon me, For, when no friends are by, men praise them- selves. Marc. Now is my turn to speak : behold this child; Of this was Tamora delivered, The issue of an irreligious Moor, Chief architect and plotter of these woes. The villain is alive in Titus' house, Damn'd a as he is, to witness this is true. Now judge what cause b had Titus to revenge These wrongs, unspeakable past patience, Or more than any living man could bear. Now you have heard the truth, what say you, Romans p Have we done aught amiss ? show us wherein, And, from the place where you behold us now, The poor remainder of Andronici Will hand in hand all headlong cast us down, And on the ragged stones beat forth our brains, And make a mutual closure of our house : Speak, Romans, speak ; and if you say we shall, Lo, hand in hand, Lucius and I will fall. j&rail. Come, come, thou reverend man of Rome, And bring our emperor gently in thy hand, Lucius, our emperor ; for well I know, The common voice do cry it shall be so. Marc. Lucius, all hail, Rome's royal em- peror ! c Go, go, into old Titus' sorrowful house, And hither hale that misbelieving Moor, To be adjudg'd some direful slaughtering death, As punishment for his most wicked life. [To Attendants. Lucius, all hail to Rome's gracious governor ! Luc. Thanks, gentle Romans ! May I govern so, To heal Rome's harms, and wipe away her woe ; Damn'd. The old copies, And. b Cause. The earliest copies, course. The fourth folio gave the correction. c This line, and the concluding line of Marcus' speech, are given to the people "Romans" byall themodern editors, against the authority of all the original copies. Marcus is the tribune of the people, and speaks authoritatively what " the common voice " has required. ACT V.] TITUS ANDRONICUS. [SCENE I II. But, gentle people, give me aim awhile, For nature puts me to a heavy task ! Stand all aloof ; but, uncle, draw you near, To shed obsequious tears upon this trunk. Oh, take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips, [Kisses TITTJS. These sorrowful drops upon thy blood-stain'd face, The last true duties of thy noble son. Mare. Tear for tear, and loving kiss for kiss, Thy brother Marcus tenders on thy lips. Oh, were the sum of these that I should pay Countless and infinite, yet would I pay them. Luc. Come hither, boy; come, come, and learn of us To melt in showers. Thy grandsire lov'd thee well; Many a time he danc'd thee on his knee, Suog thee asleep, his loving breast thy pillow ; Many a matter hath he told to thee, Meet and agreeing with thine infancy ; In that respect, then, like a loving child, Shed yet some small drops from thy tender spring, Because kind nature doth require it so : Friends should associate friends in grief and woe. Bid him farewell, commit him to the grave, Do him that kindness and take leave of him. Boy. 0, grandsire, grandsire, even with all my heart Would I were dead, so you did live again ! 0, Lord, I cannot speak to him for weeping ; My tears will choke me if I ope my mouth. Enter Attendants with AARON. Roman. You sad Andronici, have done with woes! Give sentence on this execrable wretch, That hath been breeder of these dire events. Luc. Set him breast deep in earth, and famish him : There let him stand, and rave, and cry for food : If any one relieves or pities him, For the offence he dies ; this is our doom. Some stay to see him fasten'd in the earth. Aaron. Ah ! why should wrath be mute, and fury dumb ? I am no baby, I, that with base prayers I should repent the evils I have done : Ten thousand worse than ever yet I did Would I perform, if I might have my will : If one good deed in all my life I did, I do repent it from my very soul. Luc. Some loving friends convey the emperor hence, And give him burial in his father's grave. My father and Lavinia shall forthwith Be closed in our household's monument : As for that heinous tiger, Tamora, No fun'ral rite, nor man in mournful weeds, No mournful bell shall ring her burial ; But throw her forth to beasts and birds of* prey : Her life was beastly b and devoid of pity, And, being so, shall have like want of pity. See justice done ou c Aaron, that damn'd Moor, By whom our heavy haps had their beginning : Then, afterwards, to order well the state, That like events may ne'er it ruinate. [Exeunt, a Of, in the folio. The quartos, to. b Beatt-like, in the folio. The quaitot, beattly. On, in the quartos. The folio, to. NOTICE THE external evidence that bears upon the authorship of Titus Adronicus is of two kinds : 1. The testimony which assigns the play to Shakspere, wholly, or in part. 2. The testimony which fixes the period of its original production. The direct testimony of the first kind is unimpeachable : Francis Meres, a contemporary, and probably a friend of Shakspere a man intimately acquainted with the literary history of his day not writing even in the later period of Shakspere's life, but as early as 1598, compares, for tragedy, the excellence of Shakspere among the English, with Seneca among the Latins, and says, witness, "for tragedy, his Richard II., Richard III., Henry IV., King John, Titus Audronicus, and his Romeo and Juliet," The indirect testimony is nearly as important. The play is printed in the first folio edition of the poet's collected works an edition published within seven years after his death by his intimate friends and " fellows :" and that edition contains an entire scene not found in either of the previous quarto editions which have come down to us. That edition does not contain a single other play upon which a doubt of the authorship has been raised ; for even those who deny the entire authorship of Henry VI. to Shakspere, have no doubt as to the partial authorship. NOTICE ON THE AUTHENTICITY OF TITUS ANDRONICUS. Against this testimony of the editors of the first folio, that Shakspere was the author of Titus Andronicus, there is only one fact to be opposed that his name is not on the title- page of either of the quarto editions, although those editions show us that it was acted by the company to which Shakspere belonged. But neither was the name of Shakspere affixed to the first editions of Richard II., Richard III., and Henry IV., Parti.; nor to the first three editions of Romeo and Juliet ; nor to Henry V. These similar facts, therefore, leave the testimony of Hemings and Condell unimpeached. But the evidence of Meres that Shakspere was the author of Titus Andronicus, in the game sense in which he assigns him the authorship of Romeo and Juliet that of being the sole author is supposed to be shaken by the testimony of a writer who came nearly a century after Meres. Malone says " On what principle the editors of the first complete edition of our poet's plays admitted this into their volume cannot now be ascertained. The most probable reason that can be assigned is, that he wrote a few lines in it, or gave some assistance to the author in revising it, or in some other way aided him in bringing it for- ward on the stage. The tradition mentioned by Ravenscroft in the time of King James II. warrants us in making one or other of these suppositions. ' I have been told ' (says he in his preface to an alteration of this play published in 1687), ' by some anciently conversant with the stage, that it was not originally his [Shakspere's], but brought by a private author io be acted, and he only gave some master-touches to one or two of the principal charac- ters.' " A few lines further on Malone quotes Langbaiue, who refers to this tradition ; and he therefore ought to have told us what Langbaine says with regard to Ravenscroft's asser- tion, We will supply the deficiency. Langbaine first notices an early edition of Titus Andronicus, now lost, printed in 1594 ; he adds "'Twas about the time of the Popish Plot revived and altered by Mr. Ravenscroft." Ravenscroft was a living author when Langbaine published his 'Account of the English Dramatic Poets,' in 1691 ; and the writer of that account says, with a freedom that is seldom now adopted except in anonymous criticism " Though he would be thought to imitate the silk-worm, that spins its web from its own bowels ; yet I shall make him appear like the leech, that lives upon the blood of men." This is introductory to an account of those plays which Ravenscroft claimed as his own. But, under the head of Shakspere. Langbaine says that Ravenscroft boasts, in his preface to Titus, " That he thinks it a greater theft to rob the dead of their praise than the living of their money;" and Langbaine goes on to show that Ravenscroft's practice "agrees not with his protestation," by quoting some remarks of Shadwell upon plagiaries, who insinuates that Ravenscroft got up the story that Shakspere only gave some master-touches to Titus Andronicus, to exalt his own merit in having altered it. The play was revived "about the time of the Popish Plot," 1678. It was first printed in 1687, with this Preface. But Ravenscroft then suppresses the original Prologue ; and Langbaine, with a quiet sarcasm, says " I will here furnish him with part of his Prologue, which he has lost ; and, if he desire it, send him the whole : ' To-day the poet does not fear your rage, Shalcespear, by him reviv'd, now treads the stage : Under his sacred laurels he sits down, Safe from the blast of any critic's frown. Like other poets, he '11 not proudly scorn To own that he but winnow'd Shakegpear's corn ; So far he was from robbing him of 'B treasure, That he did add his own to make full measure.' " Malone, we think, was bound to have given us all this if the subject, of which he affects to make light, was worth the production of any evidence. We believe that, with this 47 NOTICE ON THE AUTHENTICITY OF commentary, the tradition of Edward Ravenscroft will not outweigh the living testimony of Francis Meres. We now come to the second point the testimony which fixes the date of the original production of Titus Andronicus. There are two modes of viewiag this portion of the evidence ; and we first present it with the interpretation which deduces from it that the tragedy was not written by Shakspere. We have mentioned in our Introductory Notice to this play but it is necessary to repeat it that Ben Jonson, in the Induction to his 'Bartholomew Fair,' first acted in 1614, gays " He that will swear Jeronimo, or Andronicus, are the best plays yet, shall pass unexcepted at here, as a man whose judgment shows it is constant, and hath stood still these five-and-twenty or thirty years. Though it be an ignorance, it is a virtuous and staid ignorance ; and, next to truth, a confirmed error does well." Percy offers the following comment upon this passage, in his 'Reliques of Ancient Poetry :' " There is reason to conclude that this play was rather improved by Shakespeare with a few fine touches of his pen, than originally written by him ; for, not to mention that the style is less figurative than his others generally are, this tragedy is mentioned with discredit in the Induction to Ben Jonson's ' Bartholomew Fair,' in 1614, as one that had been then exhibited ' five-and- twenty or thirty years ;' which, if we take the lowest number, throws it back to the year 1589, at which time Shakespeare was but 25 : an earlier date than can be found for any other of his pieces." It is scarcely necessary to point out, that with the views we have uniformly entertained as to the commencement of Shakspere's career as a dramatic author, the proof against his authorship of Titus Andronicus thus brought forward by Percy is to us amongst the most convincing reasons for not hastily adopting the opinion that he was not its author. The external evidence of the authorship^ and the external evidence of the date of the authorship, entirely coincide : each supports the other. The continuation of the argument derived from the early date of the play naturally runs into the internal evidence of its authenticity. The fact of its early date is indisputable ; and here, for the present, we leave it. We can scarcely subscribe to Mr. Hallam's strong opinion, given with reference to this question of the authorship of Titus Andronicus, that, " in criticism of all kinds, we must acquire a dogged habit of resisting testimony, when res ipsa per se vociferatur to the con- trary."* The res ipsa may be looked upon through very different media by different minds : testimony, when it is clear, and free from the suspicion of an interested bias, althoiigh it appear to militate against conclusions that, however strong, are not infallible, because they depend upon very nice analysis and comparison, must be received, more or less, and cannot be doggedly resisted. Mr. Hallam says, " Titus Andronicus is now, by common consent, denied to be, in any sense, a production of Shakspeare." Who are the interpreters of the "common consent?" Theobald, Jonson, Farmer, Steevens, Malone, M. Mason. These critics are wholly of one school ; and we admit that they represent the "common consent" of their own school of English literature upon this point till within a few years the only school. But there is another school of criticism, which maintains that Titus Andronicus is, in every sense, a production of Shakspere. The German critics, from W. Schlegel to Ulrici, agree to reject the "common consent" of the English critics. The subject, therefore, cannot be hastily dismissed ; the external testimony cannot be dog- gedly resisted. But, in entering upon the examination of this question with the best care we Can bestow, we consider that it possesses an importance much higher than belongs to the proof, or disproof, from the internal evidence, that this painful tragedy was written by Shakspore. " ' Literature of Europe, ol. ii. p. 385. 48 TITUS ANDRONICUS. The question is not an isolated one. It requires to be treated with a constant reference to the state of the early English drama, the probable tendencies of the poet's own mind at the period of his first dramatic productions, the circumstances amidst which he was placed with reference to his audiences, the struggle which he must have undergone to reconcile the contending principles of the practical and the ideal, the popular and the true, the tentative process by which he must have advanced to his immeasurable supe- riority over every contemporary. It is easy to place Titus Andronicns by the side of Hamlet, and to say, the one is a low work of art, the other a work of the highest art. It is easy to say that the versification of Titus Andronicus is not the versification of A Midsummer Night's Dream. It is easy to say that Titus raves and denounces without moving terror or pity ; but that Lear tears up the whole heart, and lays bare all the hidden springs of thought and passion that elevate madness into sublimity. But this, we venture to think, is not just criticism. We may be tempted, perhaps, to refine too much in rejecting all such sweeping comparisons ; but what we have first to trace is relation, and not likeness ; if we find likeness in a single " trick and line," we may indeed add it to the evidence of relation. But relation may be established even out of dissimilarity. No one who has deeply contemplated the progress of the great intellects of the world, and has traced the doubts, and fears, and throes, and desperate plunges of genius, can hesitate to believe that excellence in art is to be attained by the same process through which we may hope to reach excellence in morals, by contest, and purification, until habitual confidence and repose succeed to convulsive exertions and distracting aims. He that would rank amongst the heroes must have fought the good fight. Energy of all kinds has to work out its own subjection to principles, without which it can never become power. In the course of this struggle what it produces may be essentially unlike to the fruits of its after- peacefulness : for the good has to be reached through the evil the true through the false the universal through the partial. The passage we subjoin is from Franz Horn : and we think that it demands a respectful consideration : " A mediocre, poor, and tame nature finds itself easily. It soon arrives, when it endeavours earnestly, at a knowledge of what it can accomplish, and what it cannot. Its poetical tones are single and gentle spring-breathings ; with which we are well pleased, but which pass over us almost trackless. A very different combat has the higher and richer nature to maintain with itself; and the more splendid the peace, and the brighter the clearness, which it reaches through this combat, the more monstrous the fight which must have been incessantly maintained. " Let us consider the richest and most powerful poetic nature that the world has ever yet seen ; let us consider Shakspere, as boy and youth, in his circumscribed external situation, without one discriminating friend, without a patron, without a teacher, with- out the possession of ancient or modern languages, in his loneliness at Stratford, following an uncongenial employment ; and then, in the strange whirl of the so-called great world of London, contending for long years with unfavourable circumstances, in wearisome intercourse with this great world, which is, however, often found to be little ; but also with nature, with himself, and with God : What materials for the deepest contemplation ! This rich nature, thus circumstanced, desires to explain the enigma of the human being and the surrounding world. But it is not yet disclosed to himself. Ought he to wait for this ripe time before he ventures to dramatise 1 Let us not demand anything super- human : for, through the expression of error in song, will he find what accelerates the truth ; and well for him that he has no other sins to answer for than poetical ones, which later in life he has atoned for by the most glorious excellences ! " The elegiac tone of his juvenile poems allows us to imagine very deep passions in the SUP. VOL. K 49 NOTICE ON THE AUTHENTICITY OF youthful Shakspere. But this single tone was not long sufficient for him. He soon desired, from that stage ' which signifies the world ' (an expression that Schiller might pro- perly have invented for Shakspere), to speak aloud what the world seemed to him, to him, the youth who was not yet able thoroughly to penetrate this seeming. Can there be here a want of colossal errors ? Not merely single errors. No : we should have a whole drama which is diseased at its very root, which rests upon one single monstrous error. Such a drama is this Titus. The poet had here nothing less in his mind than to give us a grand Doomsday-drama. But what, as a man, was possible to him in Lear, the youth could not accomplish. He gives us a torn-to-pieces world, about which Fate wanders like a bloodthirsty lion, or as a more refined and more cruel tiger, tearing mankind, good and evil alike, and blindly treading down every flower of joy. Nevertheless a better feeling reminds him that some repose must be given ; but he is not sufficiently confident of this, and what he does in this regard is of little power. The personages of the piece are not merely heathens, but most of them embittered and blind in their heathenism ; and only some single aspirations of something better can arise from a few of the best among them ; aspirations which are breathed so gently as scarcely to be heard amidst the cries of desperation from the bloody waves that roar almost deafeningly." The eloquent critic adds, in a note, " Is it not as if there sounded through the whole piece a comfortless complaint of the incomprehensible and hard lot of all earthly ? Is it not as if we heard the poet speaking with Faust ' All the miseries of mankind seize upon me?' Or, with his own Hamlet, ' How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable Seem to me all the uses of this world ! Fie on 't ! 0, fie ! 't is an un weeded garden That grows to seed ; things rank and gross in nature Possess it merely.' And now, let us bethink ourselves, in opposition to this terrible feeling, of the sweet blessed peacefulness which speaks from out all the poet's more matured dramas ; for instance, from the inexhaustibly joyful-minded ' As You lake It.' Such a contest followed by such a victory !" It is scarcely necessary to point out that this argument of the German critic is founded upon the simple and intelligible belief that Shakspere is, in every sense of the word, the author of Titus Andronicus. Here is no attempt to compromise the question, by the common English babble that " Shakspeare may have written a few lines in this play, or given some assistance to the author in revising it." This is Malone's opinion, founded upon Ravenscroft's idle tradition ; and in his posthumous edition, by Boswell, " those passages in which he supposed the hand of Shakspeare may be traced are marked with inverted commas." This was the system which Malone pursued with Henry VI. ; and, as we there endeavoured to show, it was founded upon a most egregious fallacy. The drama belongs to the province of the very highest poetical art, because a play which fully realizes the objects of a scenic exhibition requires a nicer combination of excellences, and involves higher difficulties, than belong to any other species of poetry. Taking the qiialities of invention, power of language, versification, to be equal in two men, one devoting himself to dramatic poetry, and the other to narrative poetry, the dramatic poet has chances of failure which the narrative poet may entirely avoid. The dialogue, and especially the imagery, of the dramatic poet are secondary to the invention of the plot, the management of the action, and the conception of the characters. Language is but the drapery of the beings that the dramatic poet's imagination has created. They must be placed by the poet's power of combination in the various relations which they must maintain through a long and sometimes complicated actiou ; he must see the whole of that action vividly, 60 TITUS ANDRONICUS. with reference to its capacity of manifesting itself distinctly to an audience, so that even the deaf should partially comprehend : the pantomime must be acted over and over again in his mind, before the wand of the magician gives the agents voice. When all this ia done, all contradictions reconciled, all obscurities made clear, the interest prolonged and heightened, and the catastrophe naturally evolved and matured, the poet, to use the terms of a sister-art, has completed that design which colour and expression are to make manifest to others, with something like the distinctness with which he himself has seen it. We have no hesitation in believing that one of the main causes of Shakspere's immeasurable superiority to other dramatists is that all-penetrating power of combination by which the action of his dramas is constantly sustained ; whilst in the best pieces of his contemporaries, with rare exceptions, it flags or breaks down into description, or is carried off by imagery, or the force of conception in one character overpowers the management of the other instruments cases equally evidencing that the poet has not attained the most difficult art of controlling his own conceptions. And thus it is that we so often hear Christopher Marlowe, or Philip Massinger, to name the very best of them, speaking themselves out of the mouths of their puppets, whilst the characterization is lost, and the action is forgotten. But when do we ever hear the individual voice of the man William Shakspere ? When does he come forward to bow to the audience, as it were, between the scenes 1 Never is there any pause with him, that we may see the complacent author whispering to his auditory This is not exactly what I meant ; my inspiration carried me away ; but is it not fine ? The great dramatic poet sits out of mortal ken. He rolls away the clouds and exhibits his world. There is calm and storm, and light and darkness ; and the material scene becomes alive ; and we see a higher life than that of our ordinary nature ; and the whole soul is elevated j and man and his actions are presented under aspects more real than reality, and our control over tears or laughter is taken away from us ; and, if the poet be a philosopher, and without philosophy he cannot be a poet, deep truths, before dimly seen, enter into our minds and abide there. Why do we state all this ? Utterly to reject the belief that Shakspere was a line-maker ; that, like Gray, for example, he was a manufacturer of mosaic poetry ; that he made verses to order; and that his verses could be produced by some other process than an entire conception of, and power over, the design of a drama. It is this mistake which lies at the bottom of all that has been written and believed about the two Parts of ' The Contention of the Houses of York and Lancaster ' being polished by Shakspere into the Second and Third Parts of Henry VI. The elder plays which the English antiquarian critics persist in ascribing to Marlowe, or Greene, or Peele, or all of them contain all the action, even to the exact succession of the scenes, all the characterization, a very great deal of the dialogue, including the most vigorous thoughts : and then Shakspere was to take the matter in hand, and add a thousand lines or two up and down, correct an epithet here and there, and do all this without the slightest exercise of invention, either in movement or charac- terization ; producing fine lines without passing through that process of inspiration by which lines having dramatic beauty and propriety can alone be produced. We say this, after much deliberation, not only with reference to the Henry VI. and to the play before us, but with regard to the general belief that Shakspere, in the outset of his career, was a mender of the plays of other men ; or that, in any part of his career, he was associated with other men in writing plays. We know that this is a hazardous assertion, which militates against many received notions, some of which have been very ably set forth ; but we, nevertheless, make it upon conviction. Timon, according to our belief, is the only exception ; and we regard that not as an exception to the principle, because there the characterization of Timon himself is the Shaksperian creation ; and that depends E 2 61 NOTICE ON THE AUTHENTICITY OF extremely little upon the general action, which, to a large extent, is episodical. We say. then, that we hold Malone's principle of marking with inverted commas those passages in which he supposed the hand of Shakspere may be traced in this play of Titus Andro- nicus to be based upon a vital error. It is not with us a question whether the passages which Maloiie has marked exhibit, or not, the critic's poetical taste : we say that the passages could not have been written except by the man, whoever he be, who conceived the action and the characterization. Take the single example of the character of Tamora. She is the presiding genius of the piece ; and in her we see, as we believe, the outbreak of that wonderful conception of the union of powerful intellect and moral depravity which Shakspere was afterwards to make manifest with such consummate wisdom. Strong passions, ready wit, perfect self-possession, and a sort of oriental imagination, take Tamora out of the class of ordinary women. It is in her mouth that we find, for the most part, what readers of Malone's school would call the poetical language of the play. We will select a few specimens (Act n., Scene in.) : " The birds chant melody on every bush ; The snake lies rolled in the cheerful sun ; The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind, And make a chequer'd shadow on the ground : Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit, And whilst the babbling echo mocks the hounds, Replying shrilly to the well-tun'd horns, As if a double hunt were heard at once, Let us sit down." Again, in the same scene : " A barren detested vale, you see, it is : The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean, O'ercome with moss and baleful ruisseltoe. Here never shines the sun ; here nothing breeds, Unless the nightly owl, or fatal raven. And, when they show'd me this abhorred pit, They told me, here, at dead time of the night, A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes, Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins, Would make such fearful and confused cries, As any mortal body, hearing it, Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly." In Act iv., Scene iv. : " King, be thy thoughts imperious, like thy name. Is the sun dimm'd, that gnats do fly in it ? The eagle suffers little birds to sing, And is not careful what they mean thereby ; Knowing that, with the shadow of his wing, He can at pleasure stint their melody." And, lastly, where the lines are associated with the high imaginative conception of the speaker, that she was to personate Revenge : " Know thou, sad man, I am not Tamora ; She is thy enemy, and I thy friend : I am Revenge ; sent from the infernal kingdom, To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind, By working wreakful vengeance on thy foes. Come down, and welcome me to this world's light." The first two of these passages are marked by Malone as the additions of Shakspere to the work of an inferior poet. If we had adopted Malone's theory we should have marked the 52 TITUS ANDRONICUS. two other passages ; and have gone even further in our selection of the poetical lines spoken by Tamora. But we hold that the lines could not have been produced, according to Malone's theory, even by Shakspere. Poetry, and especially dramatic poetry, is not to be regarded as a bit of joiner's work, or, if you please, as an affair of jewelling and ena- melling. The lines which we have quoted may not be amongst Shakspere's highest things ; but they could not have been produced except under the excitement of the full swing of his dramatic power bright touches dashed in at the very hour when the whole design was growing into shape upon the canvass, and the form of Tamora was becoming alive with colour and expression. To imagine that the great passages of a drama are produced like " a copy of verses," under any other influence than the large and general inspiration which creates the whole drama, is, we believe, utterly to mistake the essential nature of dramatic poetry. It would be equally just to say that the nice but well-defined traits of character, which stand out from the physical horrors of this play, when it is carefully studied, were super-added by Shakspere to the coarser delineations of some other man. Aaron, the Moor, in his general conception is an unmitigated villain something alien from humanity a fiend, and therefore only to be detested. But Shakspere, by that insight which, however imperfectly developed, must have distinguished his earliest efforts, brings Aaron into the circle of humanity ; and then he is a thing which moves us, and his punishment is poetical justice. One touch does this his affection for his child : " Come on, you thick-lipp'd slave, I '11 bear you hence ; For it is you that puts us to our shifts : I '11 make you feed on berries, and on roots, And feed on curds and whey, and suck the goat, And cabin in a cave ; and bring you up To be a warrior, and command a camp." Did Shakspere put in these lines, and the previous ones which evolve the same feeling, under the system of a cool editorial mending of a second man's work ? The system may do for an article ; but a play is another thing. Did Shakspere put these lines into the mouth of Lucius, when he calls to his son to weep over the body of Titus 1 " Come hither, boy ; come, come, and learn of us To melt in showers : Thy grandsire lov'd thee well :] Many a time he danc'd thee on his knee, Sung thee asleep, his loving breast thy pillow ; Many a matter hath he told to thee, Meet and agreeing with thine infancy ; In that respect then, like a loving child, Shed yet some small drops from thy tender spring, Because kind nature doth require it so." Malone has not marked these ; they are too simple to be included in his poetical gems. But are they not full to overflowing of those deep thoughts of human love which the great poet of the affections has sent into so many welcoming hearts ? Malone marks with his commas the address to the tribunes at the beginning of the third act. The lines are lofty and rhetorical ; and a poet who had undertaken to make set speeches to another man's characters might perhaps have added these. Dryden and Tate did this service for Shakspere himself. But Malone does not mark one line which has no rhetoric in it, and does not look like poetry. The old man has given his hand to the treacherous Aaron, that he may save the lives of his sons : but the messenger brings him the heads of those sons. It is for Marcus and Lucius to burst into passion. The father, for some space, speaks not ; and then he speaks but one line : " When will this fearful slumber have an end t " 53 NOTICE ON THE AUTHENTICITY OF Did Shakspere make this line to order ? The poet who wrote the line conceived the whole situation, and he could not have conceived the situation unless the whole dramatic movement had equally been his conception. Such things must be wrought out of the red-heat of the whole material not filled up out of cold fragments. Accepting Titus as a play produced somewhere about the middle of the ninth decade of the sixteenth century, it possesses other peculiarities than such as we have noticed, which, upon the system of Malone's inverted commas, would take away a very considerable number from the supposed original fabricator of the drama, and bestow them upon the reviser. We must extract a passage from Malone before we proreed to point out these other pecu- liarities : " To enter into a long disquisition to prove this piece not to have been written by Shakspeare would be an idle waste of time. To those who are not conversant with his writings, if particular passages were examined, more words would be necessary than the subject is worth ; those who are well acquainted with his works cannot entertain a doubt on the question. I will, however, mention one mode by which it may be easily ascer- tained. Let the reader only peruse a few lines of ' Appius and Virginia,' ' Taucred and Gismund,' 'The Battle of Alcazar,' 'Jeronimo,' 'Selimus, Emperor of the Turks,' ' The Wounds of Civil War,' ' The Wars of Cyrus,' ' Locrine,' ' Arden of Feversham,' ' King Edward I.,' ' The Spanish Tragedy,' ' Solyman and Perseda,' ' King Leir,' the old ' King John ' or any other of the pieces that were exhibited before the time of Shak- speare, and he will at once perceive that Titus Andronicus was coined in the same mint." What Malone requests to be perused is limited to " a few lines " of these old plays ; if he could have bestowed many words upon the subject he would have examined " parti- cular passages." Such an examination has of course reference only to the versification. It is scarcely necessary to say that we do not agree with the assumption that the pieces Malone has mentioned were exhibited " before the time of Shakspeare." It is difficult, if not impossible, to settle the exact time of many of these ; but we do know that one of the plays here mentioned belongs to the same epoch as Titus Andronicus. " He that will swear Jeronimo, or Andronicus, are the best plays yet, shall pass unexcepted at here, as a man whose judgment shows it is constant, and hath stood still these five-and- twenty or thirty years." We shall confine, therefore, any comparison of the versification of Titus Andronicus entirely to that of ' Jeronimo.' Titus Andronicus contains very few couplets, a remarkable thing in so early a play. Of ' Jeronimo ' one half is rhyme. Of the blank verse of ' Jerouimo ' we will quote a passage which is, perhaps, the least monotonous of that tragedy, and which Mr. Collier has quoted in his ' History of Dramatic Poetry,' pointing out that " Here we see trochees used at the ends of the lines, and the pauses are even artfully managed ; while redundant syllables are inserted, and lines left defective, still farther to add to the variety." " Come, valiant spirits; * you peers of Portugal, That owe your lives, your faiths, and services, To set you free from base captivity : let our fathers' scandal ne'er be seen As a base blush upon our free-born cheeks : Let all the tribute that proud Spain receiv'd, Of those all captive Portugales deceas'd, Turn into chafe, and choke their insolence. Methinks no moiety, not one little thought Of them whose servile acts live in their graves, But should raise spleens big as a cannon-bullet Within your bosoms : for honour, Your country's reputation, your lives' freedom, Ordinarily pronounced in early dramatic poetry as a monosyllable. TITUS ANDRONICUS. Indeed your all that may be term'd revenge, Now let your bloods be liberal as the sea ; And all those wounds that you receive of Spain, Let theirs be equal to quit yours again. Speak, Portugales : are you resolv'd as I, To live like captives, or as free-born die ? " We have no hesitation in saying (in opposition to Malone's opinion) that the freedom of versification which is discovered in Titus Andronicus is carried a great deal further than even this specimen of ' Jeronimo ; ' and we cannot have a better proof of our assertion than this that Steevens anxiously desired, and indeed succeeded, in reducing several of the lines to the exact dimensions of his ten-syllable measuring-tape. We will give a few parallel examples of the original, and of what Steevens did, and what he wished to do : QUARTOS AND FOLIO. " Rome's readiest champions, repose you here in rest. " A barren detested vale, you see, it is." "Therefore away with her, and use her as you will." " Aaron is gone, and my compassionate heart." " And make the silken strings delight to kiss them." " For these, tribunes, in the dust I write." " Soft ! How busily she turns the leaves ! " " Why dost not speak? What, deaf? Not a word? '' " Titus, I am come to talk with thee." " Witness this wretched stump, witness these crimson lines." STEEVENS. " Rome's readiest champions, repose you here." " A bare detested vale, you see, it is." ("As the versification of this play is by no means inharmonious, I am willing to suppose the author wrote, A bare, &c." STEEVENS.) " Therefore away, and use her as you will." [Untouched, by marvellous forbearance.] [Also untouched.] " For these, good tribunes, in the dust I write." " Soft ! See how busily she turns the leaves ! " " Why dost not speak ? What, deaf ? No : not a word ? " " Titus, I 'm come to talk with thee awhile." " Witness this wretched stump, these crimson lines." We think that we have done enough, even in these instances, to establish that the Shak- sperian versification is sufficiently marked in Titus, even to the point of offending the critic who did not understand it. But the truth of the matter is, that the comparison of the versification of Titus with the old plays mentioned by Maloue is altogether a fallacy. Like the Henry VI. it wants, for the most part, the " Linked sweetness long drawn out " of the later plays, and so do The Two Gentlemen of Verona, and The Comedy of Errors. But to compare the play, as a whole, even with ' Jeronimo ' and Kyd, in free- dom and variety of rhythm, whatever he may want in majesty, is superior to Marlowe argues, we think, an incompetent knowledge of the things compared. To compare it with the old ' King Lear,' and the greater number of the plays in Malone's list, is to compare the movement of the hunter with that of the horse in the mill. The truth is, that, after the first Bcene of Andronicus, in which the author sets out with the stately pace of his time, we are very soon carried away, by the power of the language, the variety of the pause, and the especial freedom with which trochees are used at the ends of lines, to forget that the versification is not altogether upon the best Shaksperian model. There is the same instrument, but the performer has yet not thoroughly learnt its scope and its power. Horn has a very just remark on the language of Titus Andronicus : " Foremost we may recognise with praise the almost never-wearying power of the language, wherein no shift is ever used. We know too well how often, in many French and German tragedies, the princes and princesses satisfy themselves to silence with a necessary Helas ! Oh Oiel I Schicksal ! (0 Fate !) and similar cheap outcries ; but Shtvkspere is quite another man, 65 NOTICE ON THE AUTHENTICITY OF who, for every degree of pain, knew how to give the right tone and the right colour. In the bloody sea of this drama, in which men can scarely keep themselves afloat, this, without doubt, must have been peculiarly difficult." We regard this decided language, thia absence of stage conventionalities, as one of the results of the power which the poet possessed of distinctly conceiving his situations with reference to his characters. The Ohs 1 and Ahs I and Heavens I of the English stage, as well as the Oiel t of the French, are a consequence of feebleness, exhibiting itself in commonplaces. The greater number of the old English dramatists, to do them justice, had the same power as the author of Titus Andronicus of grappling with words which they thought fitting to the situations. But their besetting sin was in the constant use of that " huffing, braggart, puft " language, which Shakspere never employs in the dramas which all agree to call his, and of which there is a very sparing portion even in Titus Andronicus. The temptation to employ it must have been great indeed ; for when, in every scene, the fearful energies of the action " On horror's head horrors accumulate," it must have required no common forbearance, and therefore no common power, to prescribe that the words of the actors should not " Outface the brow of bragging horror." The son of Tamora is to be killed ; as he is led away she exclaims " Oh ! cruel, irreligious piety ! " Titus kills Mutius : the young man's brother earnestly says " My lord, you are unjust." When Tamora prescribes their terrible wickedness to her sons, Lavinia remonstrates " ! Tamora, thou bear'st a woman's face." When Marcus encounters his mutilated niece there is much poetry, but no raving. When woe upon woe is heaped upon Titus we have no imprecations : " For now I stand as one upon a rock, Environ'd with a wilderness of sea ; Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, Expecting ever when some envious surge Will in his brinish bowels swallow him." In one situation after Titus has lost his hand, Marcus says " Oh ! brother, speak with possibilities, And do not break into these deep extremes." What are the deep extremes ? The unhappy man has scarcely risen into metaphor, much less into braggardism : " 0, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, And bow this feeble ruin to the earth : If any power pities wretched tears, To that I call : What, wilt thou kneel with me ? [To LAVI.MA . Do then, dear heart ; for heaven shall hear our prayers ; Or with our sighs we '11 breathe the welkin dim, And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds, When they do hug him in their melting bosoms." And in his very crowning agony we hear only " Why, I have not another tear to Bhod." TITUS ANDRONICUS. It has been said, " There is not a shade of difference between the two Moors, Eleazar and Aaron." * Eleazar is a character in ' Lust's Dominion,' incorrectly attributed to Marlowe. Trace the cool, determined, sarcastic, remorseless villain, Aaron, through these blood-spilling scenes, and see if he speaks in " King Cambyses' vein," as Eleazar speaks in the following lines : " Now, Tragedy, thou minion of the night, Rhainnusia's pew-fellow, to thee I '11 sing Upon an harp made of dead Spanish bones The proudest instrument the world affords ; When thou in crimson jollity shall bathe Thy limbs, as black as mine, in springs of blood Still gushing from the conduit-head of Spain. To thee that never blushest, though thy cheeks Are full of blood, Saint Revenge, to thee I consecrate my murders, all my stabs, My bloody labours, tortures, stratagems, The volume of all wounds that wound from me,- - . Mine is the Stage, thine the Tragedy." But enough of this. It appears to us manifest that, although the author of Titua Androni- cus did choose in common with the best and the most popular of those who wrote for the early stage, but contrary to his after-practice a subject which should present to his comparatively rude audiences the excitement of a succession of physical horrors, he was so far under the control of his higher judgment, that, avoiding their practice, he steadily abstained from making his " verses jet on the stages in tragical buskins ; every word filling the mouth like the faburden of Bow bell, daring God out of heaven with that atheist Tamburlaine, or blaspheming with the mad priest of the sun." t It is easy to understand how Shakspere, at the period when he first entered upon those labours which were to build up a glorious fabric out of materials that had been previously used for the basest purposes, without models, at first, perhaps, not voluntarily choosing his task, but taking the business that lay before him so as to command popular success, ignorant, to a great degree, of the height and depth of his own intellectual resources, not seeing, or dimly seeing, how poetry and philosophy were to elevate and purify the common staple of the coarse drama about him, it is easy to conceive how a story of fearful bloodshed should force itself upon him as a thing that he could work into something better than the dumb show and fiery words of his predecessors and contemporaries. It was in after-years that he had to create the tragedy of passion. Lamb has beautifully described Webster, as almost alone having the power "to move a horror skilfully, to touch a soul to the quick, to lay upon fear as much as it can bear, to wean and weary a life till it is ready to drop, and then step in with mortal instruments to take its last forfeit." Lamb adds, " writers of inferior genius mistake quantity for quality." The remark is quite true ; when examples of the higher tragedy are accessible, and when the people have learnt better than to require the grosser stimulant. Before Webster had written ' The Duchess of Malfi ' and ' Vittoria Corombona,' Shakspere had produced Lear and Othello. But there were writers, not of inferior genius, who had committed the same mistake as the author of Titus Andronicus who use blood as they would " the paint of the property man in the theatre." Need we mention other names than Marlowe and Kyd ? The " old Jeronimo," as Ben Jonson calls it, perhaps the most popular play of the early stage, and in many respects, a work of great power, thus concludes, with a sort of Chorus spoken by a ghost : " C. A. Brown's ' Autobiographical Poems of Shakspere.' t Greene, 1588. 57 NOTICE ON THE AUTHENTICITY OF " Ay, now my hopes have end in their effects, When blood and sorrow finish my desires. Horatio murder'd in his father's bower ; Vile Serberine by Pedringano slain ; False Pedringano hang'd by quaint device ; Fair Isabella by herself misdone ; Prince Balthazar by Belimperia stabb'd ; The duke of Castille, and his wicked son, Both done to death by old Hieronimo, By Belimperia fallen, as Dido fell ; And good Hieronimo slain by himself : Ay, these were spectacles to please my soul." Here is murder enough to match even Andronicus. This slaughtering work was accom- panied with another peculiarity of the unformed drama the dumb show. Words were sometimes scarcely necessary for the exposition of the story ; and when they were, no great care was taken that they should be very appropriate or beautiful in themselves. Thomas Hey wood, himself a prodigious manufacturer of plays in a more advanced period, writing as late as 1612, seems to look upon these semi-pageants, full of what the actors call "bustle," as the wonderful things of the modern stage: "To see, as I have seen, Hercules, in his own shape, hunting the boar, knocking down the bull, taming the hart, fighting with Hydra, murdering Geryon, slaughtering Diomed, wounding the Stynipha- lides, killing the Centaurs, pashing the lion, squeezing the dragon, dragging Cerberus in chains, and, lastly, on his high pyramides writing Nil ultra Oh, these were sights to make an Alexander."* With a stage that presented attractions like these to the multi- tude, is it wonderful that the boy Shakspere should have written a Tragedy of Horrors ? But Shakspere, it is maintained, has given us no other tragedy constructed upon the principle of Titus Audronicus. Are we quite sure ? Do we know what the first Hamlet was t We have one sketch, which may be most instructively compared with the finished performance ; but it has been conjectured, and we think with perfect propriety, that the Hamlet which was on the stage in 1589, and then sneered at by Nash, "has perished, and that the quarto of 1603 gives us the work in an intermediate state between the rude youthful sketch and the perfected Hamlet, which was pub- lished in 1604." t When we compare the quarto of 1603 with the perfected play, we have the rare opportunity, as we have formerly stated, " of studying the growth not only of our great poet's command over language not only of his dramatical skill but of the higher qualities of his intellect, his profound philosophy, his wonderful penetration into what is most hidden and obscure in men's characters and motives." | All the action of the perfect Hamlet is to be found in the sketch published in 1603 ; but the profundity of the character is not all there, very far from it. We have little of the thoughtful philosophy, of the morbid feelings, of Hamlet. But let us imagine an earlier sketch, where that wonderful creation of Hamlet's character may have been still more unformed ; where the poet may have simply proposed to exhibit in the young man a desire for revenge, combined with irresolution perhaps even actual madness. Make Hamlet a common dramatic character, instead of one of the subtilest of metaphysical problems, and what is the tragedy 1 ? A tragedy of blood. It offends us not now, softened as it is, and almost hidden, in the atmosphere of poetry and philosophy which surrounds it. But look at it merely with reference to the action ; and of what materials is it made ? A ghost described ; a ghost appearing ; the play within a play, and that a play of murder ; Polonius killed ; the ghost * ' An Apology for Actors." t ' Edinburgh Review,' vol. Ixxi. p. 475. I Introductory Notice to Hamlet. 58 TITUS ANDRONICUS. again ; Ophelia mad and self-destroyed ; the struggle at the grave between Hamlet and Laertes ; the queen poisoned ; Laertes killed with a poisoned rapier ; the king killed by Hamlet ; and, last of all, Hamlet's death. No wonder Fortinbras exclaims " This quarry cries on havoc." Again, take another early tragedy, of which \ve may well believe that there was an earlier sketch than that published in 1597 Romeo and Juliet. We may say of the deli- cious poetry, as Romeo says of Juliet's beauty, that it makes the charnel-house " a feast- ing presence full of light." But imagine a Romeo and Juliet conceived in the immaturity of the young Shakspere's power a tale of love, but surrounded with horror. There is enough for the excitement of an uninstructed audience : the contest between the houses ; Mercutio killed ; Tybalt killed ; the apparent death of Juliet ; Paris killed in the church- yard ; Romeo swallowing poison ; Juliet stabbing herself. The marvel is, that the sur- passing power of the poet should make us forget that Romeo and Juliet can present such an aspect. All the changes which we know Shakspere made in Hamlet, and Romeo and Juliet, were to work out the peculiar theory of his mature judgment that the terrible should be held, as it were, in solution by the beautiful, so as to produce a tragic con- sistent with pleasurable emotion. Herein he goes far beyond Webster. His art is a higher art. INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. THE first eJition of Pericles appeared in 1609, under the following title : ' The late and much admired play, called Pericles, Prince of Tyre. With the true relation of the whole historic, adven- tures, and fortunes of the said prince : As also the no lesse strange and worthy accidents, in the birth and life of his daughter Mariana. As it hath been divers and sundry times acted [by] his Maiesties Seruants at the Globe on the Bank-side. By William Shakespeare. Imprinted at London for Henry Gosson, and are to be sold at the sign of the Sunne in Paternoster-row, &c. 1609.' In the British Museum there are two copies bearing this date ; and we mention this to state that there are minute differences in these copies, such as present themselves to a printer's eye, and show that the types were what is technically called kept standing, to meet a constant demand. Other quarto editions appeared in 1611, in 1619, in 1630, and in 1635. The variations in these from the text of 1609 are very slight. In 1664 Pericles first appeared in the folio collection of Shakspere's works, being introduced into the third edition, whose title-page states " Unto this impression is added seven plays never before printed in folio." This folio edition varies very slightly indeed from the quarto of 1635; and that varies, as we have said, very slightly from the original quarto. It is probable that the first edition was printed, without authority, from a very imperfect copy. It was produced, as we see upon the title-page, at Shakspere's theatre, and it bore his name ; but his fellow-shareholders in that theatre did not re-publish it after his death. Had it been re-published in the folio of 1623, we should, most probably, have had a copy very dif- ferent from that upon which the text must now be founded. All the copies have been carefully collated for the purposes of our own edition ; but we have been able to add little to what Malone's careful editorship effected in 1778. The text manufactured by Steevens is the received text of modern editions. He went upon his ordinary principle of adjusting the versification to a syllabic regularity, and especially the lines spoken by Gower. These he has reduced to octo-syllabic verse, by the most merciless excision of " superfluous " words ; and, whilst we lament the perverseness of the man, we cannot but admire the ingenuity with which he has cut his cloth to the exact dimen- sions, and sewn it together again with surprising neatness. The manipulation of Steevens has been carried so far in this play, that it would have been waste of time to have called attention to it in our foot-notes. The Illustrations to each act contain very full extracts from Gower's ' Confessio Amantis,' upon which the author of ' Pericles ' founded his legendary drama. The chronology of the play belongs to the question of its authenticity. 65 GOWER PERSONS REPRESENTED. ANTIOCHUS, King of Antioch. PERICLES, Prince of Tyre. HELICANUS, > ESCANES, } tW L T SIMONIDES, King of Pentapolis. CLEON, Governor of Tharsus. LYSIMACHUS, Governor of Mitylene. CERIMON, a Lord of Ephesus. TiiALiARD, tervant to Antiochus. LEONINE, tervant to Dionyza. Marshal. A pander and hit wife. BOOLT, their servant. GOWER, at chorus. The daughter of Antiochus. DIONYZA, wife to Cleon. THAISA, daughter to Simonides. MARINA, daughter to Pericles and Thaisa. LYCHORIDA, nurte to Marina. DIANA. ACT I. Enter GOWER. Before the Palace ofAntioch. To sing a song of* old was sung, From ashes ancient Qower is come ; Assuming man's infirmities, To glad your ear, and please your eyes. It hath been sung, at festivals, On ember -eves, and holy-ales ; b And lords and ladies, in c their lives, Have read it for restoratives. The purchase d is to make men glorious ; Of. The early editions, that. b The early copies, holy-days. Farmer suggested holy-alei. c In their iivei, in all the copies. During their lives. d Purchase. So the original. The primary meaning of purchase is to obtain: a purchase is a thing obtained. Steevens altered the word to purpose. This alteration was annecesary, for, however obscure the sense, we may accept the word as it is used by Chaucer : " To wind and weather Almighty God gives purchase;" SOP. VOL. P Et bonum, quo antiquius, eo rncliua. If you, born in these latter times, When wit 's more ripe, accept my rhymes, And that to hear an old man sing May to your wishes pleasure bring, I life would wish, and that I might Waste it for you, like taper-light. This Antioch then, Antiochus the Great Built up, this city, for his chiefest seat ; The fairest in all Syria ; (I tell you what mine authors say :) The king unto him took a pheere,' Who died and left a female heir, So buxom, blythe, and full of face, As Heaven had lent her all his grace : that is, Almighty God provides : what is provided by tho poet is to " make men glorious." Pheen. In the originals, peer. Pheere, or f ert, is a mate. See Titus Andronicus, Act IT. Sc. I. 65 ACT I.] PERICLES. [SCENE I, With whom the father liking took, And her to incest did provoke ; Bad child, worse father ! to entice his own To evil, should be done by none. By* custom, what they did begin Was with long use account no sin The beauty of this sinful dame Made many princes thither frame, To seek her as a bedfellow, In marriage-pleasures playfellow : Which to prevent, he made a law, (To keep her still, and men in awe,) That whoso ask'd her for his wife, His riddle told not, lost his life : So for her many a wight did die, As yon grim looks do testify. What ensues, to the judgment of your eye I give, my cause who best can justify. [Exit. % SCENE I. The Palace o/Antioch. Enter ANTIOCHUS, PERICLES, and Attendants. Ant. Young prince of Tyre, you have at large recei^d The danger of the task you undertake. Per. I have, Antiochus, and with a soul Embolden'd with the glory of her praise, Think death no hazard, in this enterwise. [Miuie. Ant. Bring in our daughter, clothed like a bride, b For the embracements, even of Jove himself; At whose conception (till Lucina reign' d) Nature this dowry gave, to glad her presence ; The senate-house of planets all did sit, To knit in her their best perfections. Enter the Daughter of ANTIOCHUS. Per. See where she comes, apparel' d like the spring, Graces her subjects, and her thoughts the king Of every virtue gives renown to men ! Her face the book of praises, where is read Nothing but curious pleasures, as from thence Sorrow were ever 'ras'd, c and testy wrath Could never be her mild companion. By. The originals, tut. b The old copies read, " Musick, bring in our daughter clothed like a bride. 1 Musick was evidently a marginal direction. * 'Rae'd. The first quarto reads racte the subsequent copies, rackt. The verb raze, or eraie, was formerly written race, and racte was the past participle. B6 Ye gods that made me man, and sway in love, That have inflam'd desire in my breast To taste the fruit of yon celestial tree, Or die in the adventure, be my helps, As I am son and servant to your will, To compass such a boundless happiness ! Ant. Prince Pericles Per. That would be son to great Antiochus. Ant. Before thee stands this fair Hesperides, With golden fruit, but dangerous to be touch'd ; For death-like dragons here affright thee hard : Her face, like heav'n, enticeth thee to view Her countless glory, which desert must gain : And which, without desert, because thine eye Presumes to reach, all thy whole heap must die. Yon sometime famous princes, like thyself, Drawn by report, adventurous by desire, Tell thee with speechless tongues, and semblance pale, That, without covering save yon field of stars, Here they stand martyrs, slain in Cupid's wars ; And with dead cheeks advise thee to desist For going on Death's net, whom none resist. Per. Antiochus, I thank thee, who hast taught My frail mortality to know itself, And by those fearful objects to prepare This body, like to them, to what I must : For death remember" d should be like a mirror, Who tells us, life 's but breath, to trust it error. I '11 make my will then ; and, as sick men do Who know the world, see heav'n, but feeling woe, Gripe not at earthly joys, as erst they did ; So I bequeath a happy peace to you And all good men, as every prince should do ; My riches to the earth from whence they came ; But my unspotted fire of love to you. [To the Daughter O/'ANTIOCHTJS. Thus ready for the way of life or death, I wait the sharpest blow. Ant. Scorning advice; read the conclusion then;" Wliich read and not expounded, 't is decreed, As these before, so thou thyself shalt bleed. Laugh. Of all 'say'd yet, mayst thou prove prosperous ! Of all 'say'd yet, I wish thee happiness ? b > The early editions give these lines confusedly : " I wait the sharpest blow, (Antiochus,) Scorning advice; read the conclusion then." The name of the character was evidently mistaken for a pait of the dialogue. b OJ all taya yit is the ancient reading, which Percy sug- gested meant ol all who have essay'd yet. 4.CT I.] PERICLES. (SCENE I Per. Like a bold champion I assume tke lists, Nor ask advice of any other thought, But faithfulness, and courage. THE RIDDLE. " I am no viper, yet I feed On mother's flesh which did me breed : I sought a husband, in which labour, I found that kindness in a father. He 'a father, son, and husband mild, I mother, wife, and yet his child. How they may be, and yet in two, As you will live, resolve it you." Sharp physic is the last : but 0, ye powers ! That give heav'n countless eyes to view men's acts, Why cloud they not their sights perpetually, If this be true, which makes me pale to read it ? Fair glass of light, I lov'd you, and could still, [Takes hold of the hand of the Princess. Were not this glorious casket stored with ill : But I must tell you, now, my thoughts revolt ; For he 's no man on whom perfections wait, That, knowing sin within, will touch the gate. You 're a fair viol, and your sense the strings ; Who, finger'd to make man his lawful music, Would draw heav'n down, and all the gods to hearken ; But being pla/d upon before your time, Hell only danceth at so harsh a chime : Good sooth, I care not for you. Ant. Prince Pericles, touch not, upon thy life, For that 's an article within our law, As dangerous as the rest. Your time 's ex- pirM; Either expound now, or receive your sentence. Per. Great king, Few love to hear the sins they love to act ; 'Twould 'braid yourself too near for me to tell it. Who hath a book of all that monarchs do, He 's more secure to keep it shut, than shown : For vice repeated is like the wand'ring wind, Blows dust in others' eyes, to spread itself : And yet the end of all is bought thus dear, The breath is gone, and the sore eyes see clear To stop the air would hurt them. The blind mole casts Copp'd hills toward heaven, to tell, the earth is throng'd * By man's oppression ; and the poor worm dotb die for 't. Steevens reads icrong'd. F 2 Kings are earth's gods : in vice their law 's their will; And if Jove stray, who dares say Jove doth ill ? It is enough you know ; and it is fit, What being more known grows worse, to smo- ther it. All love the womb that their first being bred, Then give my tongue like leave to love my head. Ant. Heaven that I had thy head! he has found the meaning ! But I will gloze with him. \Aside^\ Young prince of Tyre, Though by the tenor of our strict edict, Your exposition misinterpreting, We might proceed to cancel of your days , Yet hope, succeeding from so fair a tree As your fair self, doth tune us otherwise : Forty days longer we do respite you, If by which time our secret be undone, This mercy shows we '11 joy in such a son : And, until then, your entertain shall be, As doth befit our honour, and your worth. {Exeunt ANT., his Daughter, and Attendants. Per. How courtesy would seem to cover sin ! When what is done is like an hypocrite, The which is good in nothing but in sight. If it be true that I interpret false, Then were it certain, you were not so bad As with foul incest to abuse your soul ; Where now you 're both a father and a son, By your untimely claspings with your child (Which pleasure fits a husband, not a father) ; And she an eater of her mother's flesh, By the defiling of her parent's bed; And both like serpents are, who though they feed On sweetest flowers, yet they poison breed. Antioch, farewell ! for wisdom sees, those men Blush not in actions blacker than the night, Will shun b no course to keep them from the light. One sin, I know, another doth provoke ; Murder 's as near to lust, as flame to smoke. Poison and treason are the hands of sin, Ay, and the targets, to put off the shame : Then, lest my life be cropp'd to keep you clear, By flight I '11 shun the danger which I fear. [Exit. Re-enter ANTIOCHUS. Ant. He hath found the meaning, for the which we mean To have his head ; The quartos, counsel of; the folio (Ifi64\ cancel off Shun. The original copies, t'^w. VI ACT I.] PERICLES. [SCENE II. He must not live to trumpet forta my infamy, Nor tell the world, Antiochus doth sin In such a loathed manner : And therefore instantly this prince must die ; For by his fall my honour must keep high. Who attends us there ? Enter TKALTAIID. Thai. Doth your highness call ? Ant. Thaliard, you're of our chamber, and our mind Partakes her private actions to your secrecy ; And for your faithfulness we will advance you. Thaliard, behold here 's poison, and here 's gold ; We hate the prince of Tyre, and thou must kill him; It fits thee not to ask the reason why, Because we bid it. Say, is it done ? Thai. My lord, 'tis done. Enter a Messenger. Ant. Eaough. Let your breath cool yourself, telling your haste. Mes. My lord, prince Pericles is fled. Ant. As thou Wilt live, fly after ; and like an arrow, shot From a well experienc'd archer, hits the mark His eye doth level at, so do thou ne'er return, Unless thou say'st, prince Pericles is dead. Thai. My lord, if I can get him within my pistol's length, I '11 make him sure enough : so farewell to your highness. [Exit. Ant. Thaliard, adieu ! till Pericles be dead, My heart can lend no succour to my head. [Exit. SCENE II. Tyre. Enter PERICLES, HELICANUS, and other Lords. Per. Let none disturb us : why should this charge of thoughts, The sad companion, dull-ey'd Melancholy, By me so us'd a guest, as not an hour, In the day's glorious walk or peaceful night, (The tomb where grief should sleep), can breec me quiet?* In the first line of this speech in the original the word now printed charge is chage. Douce thinks the reading c thange maybe supported: "Let none disturb us; wh should this change of thoughts [disturb us] ! " Charge ap- pears to be the likeliest word, in the sense of burthen. Bu we do not make the sentence end at charge of thoughts, a is usually done. The tad companion is that charge. Th passage h& been printed thus : " Let none disturb us : Why this charge of thoughts The sad companion, dull-ey'd melancholy, By me so us'd a guest it, not an hour," &c. M alone reads 68 lere pleasures court mine eyes, and mines eyes shun them, And danger which I feared, is at Antioch, IVhose arm seems far too short to hit me here ; Yet neither pleasure's art can joy my spirits, Slor yet the other's distance comfort me : Then it is thus ; the passions of the mind, That have their first conception by mis-dread, Save after-nourishment and life by care ; And what was first but fear what might be done, Grows elder now, and cares it be not done. And so with me ; the great Antiochus (' Gainst whom I am too little to contend, Since he 's so great, can make his will his act) Will think me speaking, though I swear to silence ; Nor boots it me to say I honour him, 1 If he suspect I may dishonour him ; And what may make him blush in being known, He '11 stop the course by which it might be known; With hostile forces he '11 o'erspread the land, And with the stint of war will look so huge, k Amazement shall drive courage from the state ; Our men be vanquish' d, ere they do resist, And subjects punish' d, that ne'er thought offence : Which care of them, not pity of myself, (Who am c no more but as the tops of trees, Which fence the roots they grow by, and defend them,) Makes both my body pine, and soul to languish, And punish that before that he would punish. 1 Lord. Joy and all comfort in your sacred breast ! 2 Lord. And keep your mind, till you return to us, Peaceful and comfortable ! Hel. Peace, peace, and give experience tongue : They do abuse the king that flatter him, For flattery is the bellows blows up sin ; The thing the which is flatter 5 d, but a spark, " By me s so us'd a guest, as not an hour." In following the original we must understand the verb be: " Why should, &c. By me [be] so us'd a guest at not an hour." Him was added by Rowe. b Stint, "which is the reading of all the copies, has here no meaning," according to Malone. Ostent is therefore adopted. But what has been said just before? " He'll ttop the course by which it might be known ; " He will stop it, by the stint of mar. Stint is synonymous with ttop, in the pl_d writers. Am. The original has ou-e. Farmer suggested an. ACT I.] PERICLES To which that blast* gives heat .and stronger glowing; Whereas reproof, obedient, and in order, Fits kings as they are men, for they may err. When signior Sooth here doth proclaim a peace, He flatters yon, makes war upon your life : Prince, pardon me, or strike me if you please, I cannot be much lower than my knees. Per. All leave us else ; but let your cares o'erlook What shipping, and what lading 's in our haven, And then return to us. Helicanus, thou Hast moved us : what seest thou in our looks ? Hel. An angry brow, dread lord. Per. If there be such a dart in princes' frowns, How durst thy tongue move anger to our face? Hel. How dare the plants look up to heaven, from whence They have their nourishment ? Per. Thou know'st I have power to take thy life from thee. Hel. I have ground the axe myself; do but you strike the blow. Per. Rise, prithee rise ; sit down, thou art no flatterer ; 1 thank thee for it ; and heaven forbid, That kings should let their ears hear their faults chid!" Fit counsellor, and servant for a prince, Who by thy wisdom mak'st a prince thy servant, What wouldst thou have me do ? Hel. To bear with patience Such griefs as you yourself do lay upon your- self. Per. Thou speak'st like a physician, Heli- canus; That minister'st a potion unto me, That thou wouldst tremble to receive thyself. Attend me then ; I went to Antioch, Wliereas, c thou know'st, against the face of death, I sought the purchase of a glorious beauty, From whence an issue I might propagate ; Are arms d to princes, and bring joys to subjects. Her face was to mine eye beyond all wonder ; The rest (hark in thine ear) as black as incest ; Which by my knowledge found, the sinful father, Seem'd not to strike, but smooth: 8 but thou know'st this, T is time to fear, when tyrants seem to kiss. * Blast in the original spark. b Chid. The originals have hid. Mr. Dyce suggested the correction, explaining that let means hinder. c Whereat, in the sense of where. * Which are armt, Sic., it here understood. * To tmooth signifies to flatter. Which fear so grew in me, I hither fled, Under the covering of a careful night, Who seem'd my good protector: and, being here, Bethought me what was past, what might suc- ceed; I knew him tyrannous, and tyrants' fears Decrease not, but grow faster than the years : And should he doubt it, (as no doubt he doth,) That I should open to the listening air, How many worthy princes' bloods were shed, To keep his bed of blackness unlaid ope, To lop that doubt, he '11 fill this land with arms, And make pretence of wrong that I have done him; When all, for mine, if I may call 't offence, Must feel war's blow, who spares not inno- cence : Which love to all (of which thyself art one, Who now reprov'st me for it) Hel. Alas, sir! Per. Drew sleep out of mine eyes, blood from my cheeks, Musings into my mind, with thousand doubts How I might stop this tempest ere it came ; And finding little comfort to relieve them , I thought it princely charity to grieve them. Hel. Well, my lord, since you have given me leave to speak, Freely will I speak. Antiochus you fear, And justly too, I think ; you fear the tyrant, Who either by public war, or private treason, Will take away your life. Therefore, my lord, go travel for a while, Till that his rage and anger be forgot ; Or till the Destinies do cut his thread of life : Your rule direct to any ; if to me, Day serves not light more faithful than I '11 be. Per. I do not doubt thy faith ; But should he wrong my liberties in my ab- sence Hel. We '11 mingle our bloods together in the earth, From whence we had our being and our birth. Per. Tyre, I now look from thee then, and to Tharsus Intend my travel, where I '11 hear from thee ; And by whose letters I '11 dispose myself. The care I had and have of subjects' good, On thee I lay, whose wisdom's strength can bear it. I '11 take thy word for faith, not ask thine oath : Who shuns not to break one, will sure crack both: ACT I.] PERICLES. [SCENES III., IV. But in our orbs we '11 live so round and safe, That time of both this truth shall ne'er con- vince," Thou show'dst a subject's shine, I a true prince. [Exeunt. SCENE III. Enter THALIAK.D. Thai. So, this is Tyre, and this the court. Here must I kill king Pericles; and if I do it not, I am sure to be hanged at home : 't is dan- gerous. Well, I perceive, he was a wise fellow, and had good discretion, that, being bid to ask what lie would of the king, desired he might know none of his secrets. Now do I see he had some reason for it : for if a king bid a man be a villain, he is bound by the indenture of his oath to be one. Hush, here come the lords of Tyre. Enter HELICAJJTJS, ESCANES, and other Lords of Tyre. Hel. You shall not need, my fellow-peers of Tyre, Further to question me of your king's departure. His seal'd commission, left in trust with me, Doth speak sufficiently he 's gone to travel. Thai. How ! the king gone ! \_Aside. Hel. If further yet you will be satisfied, Why, as it were unlicens'd of your loves He would depart, 1 '11 give some light unto you. Being at Antioch Thai. What from Antioch ? [Aside. Hel. Royal Antiochus (on what cause I know not) Took some displeasure at him, at least he judg'd so: And doubting lest he had err'd or sinn'd, To show his sorrow, he 'd correct himself ; So puts himself unto the shipman's toil, With whom each minute threatens life or death. Thai. Well, I perceive I shall not be hang'd now, although I would ; But since he 's gone, the king sure must please b He 'scap'd the land, to perish at the sea. I '11 present myself. Peace to the lords of Tyre. Convince, in the sense of overcome. b The original copies have " But since he 's gone, the king't seas must please ." We adopt the principle of Steevens'g alteration, who re .1 " But sine, 'Q s gone, the king it sure must please." 70 Hel. Lord Thaliard from Antiochus is wel- come. Thai. From him I come With message unto princely Pericles ; But since my lauding I have understood Your lord hath betook himself to unknown travels ; My message must return from whence it came. Hel. We have no reason to desire it, Commended to our master, not to us : Yet ere you shall depart, this we desire, As friends to Antioch, we may feast in Tyre. {Exeunt. SCENE IV. Tharsus. Enter CLEON, DIONYZA, and others. Cle. My Dionyza, shall we rest us here, And, by relating tales of others' griefs, See if 't will teach us to forget our own ? Dio. That were to blow at fire in hope to quench it ; For who digs hills, because they do aspire, Throws down one mountain to cast up a higher. my distressed lord, ev"n such our griefs are ; Here they 're but felt, and seen* with mischief's eyes, But like to groves, being topp'd, they higher rise. Cle. O Dionyza, Who wanteth food, and will not say he wants if, Or can conceal his hunger till he famish ? Our tongues and sorrows do sound deep our woes Into the air; our eyes do weep, till tongues" Fetch breath that may proclaim them louder, that If heaven slumber, while their creatures want, They may awake their helpers to comfort them. 1 '11 then discourse our woes felt several years, And, wanting breath to speak, help me with tears. Dio. I '11 do my best, sir. Cle. This Tharsus, over which I have the government, And seen. Thus in the original copies. Malone pro- posed unseen ; but Dionyza means to say that here their griefs are but felt and seen with mischief's eyes eyes of discontent and suffering ; but if topp'd with other tales that is, cut down by the comparison like groves they will rise higher, be more unbearable. b Tonguef, in all the early editions. Steevens changed the word to lung*. c Helpers, in the original. The modern reading is helps PERICLES. [SCENl IV. A city, on whom Plenty held full hand, For riches strew'd herself even in the streets ; Whose towers bore heads so high they kiss'd the clouds. And strangers ne'er beheld but wonder'd at ; Whose men and dames so jetted and adorn'd, Like one another's glass to trim them by : Their tables were stor'd full, to glad the sight, And not so much to feed on, as delight ; All poverty was scorn' d, and pride so great, The name of help grew odious to repeat, Dio. Oh, 't is too true. Cle. But see what heaven can do ! By this our change, These mouths, whom but of late, earth, sea, and air, Were all too little to content and please, Although they gave their creatures in abun- dance, As houses are defil'd for want of use, They are now starved for want of exercise ; Those palates, who, not us'd to hunger's sa- vour,' Must have inventions to delight the taste, Would now be glad of bread, and beg for it ; Those mothers who, to nouzle up their babes, Thought nought too curious, are ready now To eat those little darlings whom they lov'd ; So sharp are hunger's teeth, that man and wife Draw lots who first shall die to lengthen life : Here stands a lord, and there a lady weeping ; Here many sink, yet those which see them fall Have scarce strength left to give them burial. Is not this true ? Dio. Our cheeks and hollow eyes do witness it. Cle. let those cities that of Plenty's cup And her prosperities so largely taste, With their superfluous riots, hear these tears ! The misery of Tharsus may be theirs. Enter a Lord. Lord. Where 's the lord governor P Cle. Here. Speak out thy sorrows, which thou bring'st in haste, For comfort is too far for us to expect. Lord. We have descried, upon our neighbour- ing shore, A. portly sail of ships make hitherward. This is Malsne's reading. AH the early copies have "Those pallats, who, not jret too savers youngei." Cle. I thought as much. One sorrow never comes but brings an heir, That may succeed as his inheritor ; And so in ours : some neighbouring nation, Taking advantage of our misery, Hath 1 stuff 'd these hollow vessels with their power, To beat us down, the which are down already ; And make a conquest of unhappy me, Whereas no glory 's got to overcome. Lord. That 's the least fear ; for, by the sem blance Of their white flags display'd, they bring Ub peace, And come to us as favourers, not as foes. Cle. Thou speak' st like him 's untutor'd to repeat, Who makes the fairest show, means most de- ceit. But bring they what they will, and what they can, What need we fear P The ground's the lowest, and we are half way there : Go tell their general, we attend him here, To know for what he comes, and whence he comes, And what he craves. Lord. I go, my lord. Cle. Welcome is peace, if he on peace con- sist ; b If wars, we are unable to resist. Enter PERICLES with Attendants. Per. Lord governor, for so we hear you are, Let not our ships, and number of our men, Be, like a beacon nVd, to amaze your eyes. We have heard your miseries as far as Tyre, And seen the desolation of your streets ; Nor come we to add sorrow to your tears, But to relieve them of their heavy load ; And these our ships (you happily may think Are, like the Trojan horse, war-stuff'd c within, With bloody views expecting overthrow) Are stor'd with corn to make your needy bread, And give them life, whom hunger starVd half dead. Omnes. The gods of Greece protect you ! And we will pray for you. Per. Arise, I pray you, rise ; Hath. The original copies, that. b Comist stands on. e War-stufd, This is Stcevens's ingcniout emendation ol uvw stuflM. 71 ACT I] PERICLES. [SrE IV. We do not look for reverence, but for love, And narbourage for oorseif, our ships, and men. Cle. The which when any shall not gratify, Or pay you with unthankftuness in thought, Be it our wives, our children, or ourselves, The curse of heaven and men succeed their evils! Till when (the which, I hope, shall ne'er be seen), Your grace is welcome to our town and us. Per. Which welcome we '11 accept ; feast here a while, Until our stars, that frown, lend us a smile. [Exeunt. ILLUSTRATIONS OP ACT I. To enable the reader to judge how closely the author of Pericles has followed the course of the narrative in Gower's ' Confessio Amantis," we shall make some considerable extracts from that poem ; following the exact order of the poem, so as to include the events of each Act. It will be un- necessary for us to trace the association by reference to particular scenes and passages. We have modern- ized the orthography, so that the comparison may be pursued with more facility; and we give an interpretation of some obsolete words : " The father, when he understood That they his daughter thus besought, With all his wit he cast and sought How that he might find a let ; And thus a statute then he set, And in this wise his law he taxeth That what man that his daughter axeth, But if he couth* his question Assoil.b upon suggestion Of certain things that befell, The which he would unto him tell, He should in certain lose his head. And thus there were many dead, Their heads standing on the gate, Till at last, long and late, For lack of answer in the wise," The remnant, that weren wise, Eschewden to make essay." * * * * " The king declaretl Aim the case With stern look, and sturdy cheer. To him, and said in this manner . With felony I am up bore, I eat, and have it nought forbore, My mother's flesh, whose husband My father for to seek I fonde.d Which is the son of my wife. Hereof I am Inquisitive, And who that can my tale save, All quite e he shall my daughter have Of his answer; and if he fail He shall be dead without fail. For thee, my son, quoth the king Be well advised of this thing Which hath thy life in jeopardy." * * * " This young prince forth he went, And understood well what he meant, Within his heart, as he was lered j ' That for to make him afferedg The king his time hath so delayed. Whereof he dradde.h and was amayed i Couth was able. In the wise in the manner. Quite free. g A fared afraid. b A noil antwer. d Fonde try. t Lered taught, h Dradde dreaded. I Amayed dismayed. Of treason that he die should, For he the king his soth a told: And suddenly the night's tide, That more would he not abide, All privily his barge he hentb And home again to Tyre he went. And in his own wit he said, For dread if he the king bewray'd,* He knew so well the king's heart, That death ne should he not asterte.d The king him would so pursue. But he that would his death eschew, And knew all this to fore the hand Forsake he thought his own land, That there would he not abide ; For well he knew that on some side This tyrant, of his felony, By some manner of treachery To grieve his body would not leave." " Antiochus, the great sire. Which full ol laucour and of ire His heart beareth so, as ye heard, Of that this prince of Tyre answer'd. He had a fellow-bachelor, Which was the privy councillor, And Taliart by name he hight, The king a strong poison dight Within a box, and gold thereto, In all haste, and had him go Straight unto Tyre, and for no cost Ne spare, till he had lost The prince, which he would spill. And when the king hath said his will, This Taliart in a galley With all haste he took his way. The wind was good, and saileth blive,* Till he took land upon the rive ' Of Tyre, and forthwith all anon Into the burgh he 'gan to gon, And took his inn, and bode a throw,! But for he would not be know, Disguised then he goeth him out, He saw the weeping all about, And axeth what the cause was. And they him tolden all the case, How suddenly the prince is go. And when he saw that it was so, And .that his labour was in vain, Anon he turneth home again : And to the king when he came nigh, He told of that he heard and sihe, h How that the prince of Tyre is fled, So was he come again unsped. Sof/i-truth. f Bewrny'd discovered. Blive quick. * Throw -time. b ffent took to. * Atterievicvp* t Rive coast, h SihrSimt. 78 ILLUSTRATIONS OF ACT I. The king was sorry for a while, But when he saw, that with no wile He might achieve his cruelty, He stint his wrath, and let him he." ' But over this now for to tell Of adventures, that befell Unto this prince of whom ytold : He hath his right course forth hold By stem and needle,a till he came To Tharse, and there his land he name. A burgess rich of gold and fee Was thilke time in that city, Which cleped was Stranguilio , His wife was Dionise also. This young prince, as saith the book, With him his herbergage t> took ; And it befell that city so, By fore time and then also, Stern and needle stars and compass, *> Herbergage lodging. Thurh strong famine, which them lad, 6 Was none that any wheat had. Appollinus, when that he heard The mischief how the city ferde.c All freely of his own gift, His wheat among them for to shift, The which by ship he had brought, He gave, and took of them right nought. But sithen first the world began Was never yet to such a man More joy made, than they him made; For they were all of him so glad, That they for ever in remembrance Made a figure in resemblance Of him, and in common place They set it up ; so that his face Might every manner man behold, So that the city was behold. It was of laton d over-gilt ; Thus hath he not his gift spilt." Thurh through, c Ferde terrified. Lad lead. d Laton mix"d inetai ACT II. Enter GOWEB. Gow. Here Lave you seen a mighty king Ills chiJd, I wis, to incest bring : A better prince and benign lord, That will prove awful both in deed and word. Be quiet then, as men should be, Till he hath past necessity. I '11 show you those in trouble's reign, Losing a mite, a mountain gain. The good, in conversation (To whom I give my benizon) Is still at Tharsus, where each man Thinks all is writ he spoken can The meaning of this obscure line probably is thinks all ecan speak is as holy writ. And, to remember what he doea. Build his statue * to make Mm glorious : But tidings to the contrary Are brought to your eyes ; what need speak I P Dumb show. Enter at one door PBKICLES talking with CLEOS ; Build hit statue. All the old copies read build; but the word has by some been changed to gild, because in the Confessio Amantis ' we find, with regard to this statue " It was of laton over-gilt." But before the statue was gilt it was erected, according to tin same authority : " For they were all of him so glad, That they for ever in remembrance Made a figure in resemblance Of him, and in a common place They set it up." Why not then build as well as gildf 75 ACT II.] PERICLES. all the Train with them. Enter at another door a Gentleman, with a letter to PERICLES ; PERICLES shows the letter to CLEON ; PERICLES gives the Messenger a reward, and knights him. [Exit PERICLES at one door, and CLEON at another.* Good Helicane hath b stay'd at home, Not to eat honey, like a drone, From others' labours ; for though he strive To killen bad, keeps good alive ; And, to fulfil his prince' desire, Sends word c of all that haps in Tyre : How Thaliard came full bent with sin, And had intent to murder him ; And that in Tharsus 't was not best Longer for him to make his rest : He, knowing so, d put forth to seas, Wliere when men bin, there 's seldom ease ; For now the wind begins to blow ; Thunder above, and deeps below, Make such unquiet, that the ship Should house him safe, is wrack'd and split ; And he, good prince, having all lost, By waves from coast to coast is toss'd : All perishen of man, of pelf, Ne aught escapenbut himself; Till fortune, tir'd with doing bad, Threw him ashore to give him glad : And here he comes ; what shall be next, Pardon old Gower ; this 'longs the text. 6 [JMH SCENE I. Pentapolis. Enter PERICLES, wet. Per. Yet cease your ire, ye angry stars of heaven ! Wind, rain, and thunder, remember, earthly man Is but a substance, that must yield to you ; A.nd I, as fits my nature, do obey you. Alas, the sea hath cast me on the rocks, Wash'd me from shore to shore, and left me breath, Notliing to think on, but ensuing death : Let it suffice the greatness of your powers, To have bereft a prince of all his fortunes ; * We give this dumb show literally, as in the original. b Hath. In the old copies, that. c Sends word. In the old copies, sav'd one. d In the old copies, he doing to. < Douce explains this clearly : " ' This 'longs the text 'is, in Gower's elliptical construction, this belongt te the text ; \ need not comment upon it ; you will see it." 76 And having thrown him from your wat'ry grave, Here to have death in peace, is all he '11 crave. Enter three Fishermen. 1 Fish. What, ho, Pilche ! a 2 Fish. Ha, come, and bring away the nets. 1 Fish. What, Patch-breech, I say ! 3 Fish. What say you, master ? 1 Fish. Look how thou stirrest now: come away, or I '11 fetch thee with a wannion. 3 Fish. 'Faith, master, I am thinking of the poor men that were cast away before us even now. 1 Fish. Alas, poor souls ! it griev'd my heart to hear what pitiful cries they made to us to help them, when, well-a-day, we could scarce help ourselves. 3 Fish. Nay, master, said not I as much> when I saw the porpus how he bounced and tumbled? they say, they are half fish, half flesh; a plague on them ! they ne'er come but I look to be wash'd. Master, I marvel how the fishes live in the sea. 1 Fish. Why, as men do a-land; the great ones eat up the little ones : I can compare our rich misers to nothing so fitly as to a whale ; 'a plays and tumbles, driving the poor fry before him, and at last devours them all at a mouthful. Such whales have I heard on o' the land, who never leave gaping, till they've swallowed the whole parish, church, steeple, bells and all. Per. A pretty moral. 3 Fish. But, master, if I had been the sexton, I would have been that day in the belfry. 2 Fish. Why, man ? 3 Fish. Because he should have swallow'd me too : and when I had been in his belly, I would have kept such a jangling of the bells, that he should never have left, till he cast bells, steeple, church, and parish, up again. But if the good king Simonides were of my mind Per. Simonides ? 3 Fish. We would purge the land of these drones, that rob the bee of her honey. Per. How from the finny subject b of the sea These fishers tell the infirmities of men ; And from their watery empire recollect All that may men approve, or men detect ! Peace be at your labour, honest fishermen. a Pilche is most probahly a name ; as we have afterward* Patch-breech. The old copies have " What to pelch f " b Finny subject. The original has fenny. Subject must b taken as a plural noun. ACT II. 1 PERICLES. SCENE I. 2 Fish. Honest, good fellow, what 's that ? If it be a day fits you, search out of the calendar, and nobody look after it." Per. You may see, the sea hath cast me on your coast. b 2 Fish. What a drunken knave was the sea, to cast thee in our way ! Per. A. man whom both the waters and the wind, In that vast tennis-court, hath made the ball For them to play upon, entreats you pity him; He asks of you, that never us'd to beg. 1 Fish. No, friend, cannot you beg ? here 's them in our country of Greece gets more with begging, than we can do with working. 2 Fish. Canst thou catch any fishes then ? Per. I never practis'd it. 2 Fish. Nay, then thou wilt starve sure ; for here's nothing to be got now-a-days, unless thou canst fish for 't. Per. What I have been, I have forgot to know; But what I am, want teaches me to think on ; A man throng'd up with cold; my veins are chill, And have no more of life than may suffice To give my tongue that heat to ask your help : Which if you shall refuse, when I am dead, For that I am a man, pray see me buried. 1 Fish. Die, quoth-a ? Now gods forbid ! I kave a gown here ; come, put it on, keep thee warm. Now, afore me, a handsome fellow ! Come, thou shalt go home, and we '11 have flesh for holidays, fish for fasting days, and moreo'er puddings and flap-jacks; and thou shalt be welcome. Per. I thank you, sir. 2 Fish. Hark you, ray friend, you said you could not beg. Per. I did but crave. 2 Fish. But crave ? then I '11 turn craver too, and so I shall 'scape whipping. Per. Why, are all your beggars whipp'd then ? 2 Fish. O, not all, my friend, not all ; for if This is the reading of the original, and has occasioned some discussion. Does it not mean that the fisherman, laughing at the rarity of being honest, remarks, If it be a day (i.e. a saint's or red-letter day) fits you, search out of (not in) the calendar, and nobody look after it (there, as it would be useless)? Steevens supposes that the dialogue originally ran thus : " Per. Peace be at your labour, honest fishermen ; The day it rough and thwarts your occupation. 2 Pith. Honest ! good fellow, what 's that f If it be not a day fits you, icratch it out of the calendar, and nobody will look after it." >> This is the reading of the folio. c The old copies hare al all your beggars were whipped, I would wish no better office than to be a beadle. But, master, I '11 go draw up the net. [Exeunt two of the Fishermen. Per. How well this honest mirth becomes their labour ! 1 Fish. Hark you, sir, do you know where you are ? Per. Not well. 1 Fish. Why, I '11 tell you; this is called Pentapolis, and our king, the good Simonides. Per. The good king Simonides, do you call him? 1 Fish. Ay, sir, and he deserves so to be called, for his peaceable reign, and good govern- ment. Per. He is a happy king, since he gains from his subjects the name of good by his govern- ment. How far is his court distant from this shore ? 1 Fish. Marry, sir, half a day's journey ; and I '11 tell you, he hath a fair daughter, and to- morrow is her birthday; and there are princes and knights come from all parts of the world to just and tourney for her love. Per. Were my fortunes equal to my desires, I could wish to make one there. 1 Fish. 0, sir, things must be as they may ; and what a man cannot get, he may lawfully deal for his wife's soul.* Re-enter the two Fishermen, drawing up a net. 2 Fish. Help, master, help ; here 's a fish hangs in the net, like a poor man's right in the law ; 't will hardly come out. Ha ! bots on 't, 't is come at last, and 't is turn'd to a rusty armour ! Per. An armour, friends ! I pray you, let me see it. Thanks, Fortune, yet, that after all my crosses, Thou gi^st me somewhat to repair myself; And, though it was mine own, part of mine heritage Which my dead father did bequeath to me, With this strict charge (even as he left his life), ' Keep it, my Pericles, it hath been a shield 'Twixt me and death (and pointed to this brace) ; For that it sav'd me, keep it ; in like necessity, The which the gods protect thee from ! 't may defend thee.' b We cannot attempt to explain this. There we more riddles in this play than that of Antiochus. t> The old copies read " The which the gods protect thee, fame may defend thee." 77 ACT II.] PERICLES. [SCENE II. It kept where I kept, I so dearly lov'd it ; Till the rough seas, that spare not any man, Took it in rage, though calm'd they've given it again : I thank thee for it ; my shipwrack now 's no ill, Since I have here my father's gift in his will 1 Fish. What mean you, sir ? Per. To beg of you, kind friends, this coat of worth, For it was some time target to a king ; I know it by this mark; he lov'd me dearly, And for his sake, I wish the having of it ; And that you'd guide me to your sovereign's court, Where with it I may appear a gentleman ; And if that ever my low fortune 's better, I'll pay your bounties; till then, rest your debtor. 1 Fish. Why, wilt thou tourney for the lady? Per. I'll show the virtue I have borne in arms. 1 Fish. Why, d' ye take it, and the gods give thee good on't. 2 Fish. Ay, but hark you, my friend ; 't was we that made up this garment through the rough seams of the water : there are certain condole- ments, certain vails. I hope, sir, if you thrive, you '11 remember from whence you had it. Per. Believe it, I will ; By your furtherance I am cloth' d in steel ; And spite of all the rupture of the sea, This jewel holds his biding" on my arm ; Unto thy value I will mount myself Upon a courser, whose delightful steps Shall make the gazer joy to see him tread. Only, my friend, I yet am unprovided Of a pair of bases. b 2 Fish. We '11 sure provide : thou shalt have my best gown to make thee a pair; and I'll bring thee to the court myself. Per. Then honour be but a goal to my will, This day I '11 rise, or else add ill to ill. [Exeunt. SCENE n. A public Way or Platform, lead- ing to the Lists. A Pavilion by the side of it, for the reception of the King and Princess. Enter SIMONIDES, THAISA, Lords, and Attend- ants. Sim. Are the knights ready to begin the triumph ? Biding. The old copies, buylding. b Covering for the legs. c This description of the scene is modern. 78 1 Lord. They are, my liege ; And stay your coming, to present themselves. Sim. Return them, we are ready ; and our daughter, In honour of whose birth these triumphs are, Sits here, like beauty's child, whom Nature gat For men to see, and seeing wonder at. [Exit a Lord. Thai. It pleaseth you, my royal father, to express My commendations great, whose merit 's less. Sim. 'T is fit it should be so ; for princes are A model which heaven makes like to itself: As jewels lose their glory, if neglected, So princes their renown, if not respected. 'T is now your honour, daughter, to explain* The labour of each knight, in his device Thai. Which, to preserve mine honour, I 'U perform. [Enter a Knight ; he passes over the staje, and his Squire presents his shield to the Princess. Sim. Who is the first that doth prefer him- self? Thai. A knight of Sparta, my renowned father ; And the device he bears upon his shield Is a black jEthiop reaching at the sun ; The word, Lux tua vita mihi. Sim. He loves you well, that holds his life of you. {The second Knight passes. Who is the second that presents himself ? Thai. A prince of Macedon, my royal father ; And the device he bears upon his shield Is an arm'd knight, that 's conquered by a lady : The motto thus, in Spanish, Piu per dulcura que perfuerca.* 1 [The third Knight passes. Sim. And what 's the third ? Thai. The third of Antioch ; and his device, A wreath of chivalry: the word, Me pompae provexit apex. [The fourth Knight passes. Sim. What is the fourth ? Thai. A burning torch that 's turned upside down; The word, Quod me alit, me extinguit. Sim. Which shows that beauty hath his power and will, Which can as well inflame, as it can kilL [The fifth Knight passes. Thai. The fifth, an hand environed with clouds, Explain. The old copies re-d entertain. b We do not alter the original, in which Spaniih an<] Italian are mingled. ACT II.l PERICLES. [SCBMB III. Holding out gold, that's by the touchstone tried: The motto thus, Sic spectanda fides. [The sixth Knight passes. Sim. And what 's the sixth and last, the which the knight himself With such a graceful courtesy deliver'd ? Thai. He seems to be a stranger; but his present Is a wither'd branch, that 's only green at top : The motto, In hac spe vivo. Sim. A pretty moral ; From the dejected state wherein he is, He hopes by you his fortunes yet may flourish. 1 Lord. He had need mean better than his outward show Can any way speak in his just commend : For, by his rusty outside, he appears To have practis'd more the whipstock than the lance. 2 Lord. He well may be a stranger, for he comes To an honour'd triumph, strangely furnish'd. 3 Lord. And on set purpose let his armour rust Until this day, to scour it in the dust, Sim. Opinion 's but a fool, that makes us scan The outward habit by the inward man. But stay, the knights are coming ; we '11 with- draw Into the gallery. [Exeunt. [Great shouts, and all cry, The mean Knight ! SCENE III A Hall of State. A Banquet prepared. Enter SIMONIDES, THAISA, Lords, Attendants, and the Knights from tilting. Sim. Knights, To say you are welcome, were superfluous. To place upon the volume of your deeds, As in a title-page, your worth in arms, Were more than you expect, or more than 's fit, Since every worth in show commends itself. Prepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast : You are princes, and my guests. Thai. But you, my knight and guest ; To whom this wreath of victory I give, And crown you king of this day's happiness. Per. 'T is more by fortune, lady, than by merit. Sim. Call it by what you will, the day is yours; And here, I hope, is none that envies it. j In framing an artist, art hath thus decreed, To make some good, but others to exceed ; And you 're her labour'd scholar. Come, queen o' the feast, (For, daughter, so you are,) here take your place: Marshal the rest, as they deserve their grace. Knights. We are honour'd much by good Simonides. Sim. Your presence glads our days; honour we love, For who hates honour, hates the gods abore. Marshal. Sir, yonder is your place. Per. Some other is more fit. 1 Knight. Contend not, sir; for we are gen- tlemen, That neither in our hearts, nor outward eyes, Envy the great, nor do the low despise. Per. You are right courteous knights. Sim. Sit, sir, sit, By Jove, I wonder, that is king of thoughts, These cates resist me, he not thought upon.* Thai. By Juno, that is queen of marriage, All viands that I eat do seem unsavoury, Wishing him my meat : sure he 's a gallant gen- tleman. Sim. He 's but a country gentleman ; has done no more Than other knights have done; has broken a staff, Or so ; so let it pass. Thai. To me he seems like diamond to glass. Per. Yon king 's to me, like to my father's picture, Which tells me, in that glory once he was ; Had princes sit like stars about his throne, And he the sun, for them to reverence. None that beheld him, but, like lesser lights, Did vail their crowns to his supremacy ; Where b now his son 's like a glow-worm in the night, The which hath fire in darkness, none in light ; This speech is usually assigned to Pericles : and in the second line under this arrangement, we read, "the not thought upon." But throughout the remainder of the scene Pericles gives no intimation of a sudden attachment to the Princess. The King, on the contrary, is evidently moved to treat him with marked attenhen, and to bestow his thoughts upon him almost as exclusively as his daughter If we leave the old reading, and the old indication of the speaker, Simonides wonders that he cannot eat "these cates resist me" a though he (Pericles) is "not thought upon." This is an attempt to disguise the cause of his soli- citude even to himself. It must be obseived that the suc- ceeding speeches of Simonides, Thaisa, and Pericles, are all to be received as soliloquies. In the second speech Sinion- ide continues the idea of "he not thought upon," by at- tempting to depreciate Pericles "He's but a country gen- tleman." b Whert whereon. 78 ACT II.] PERICLES. [SCENE III. Whereby I see that Time 's the king of men, For he 's their parent, and he is their grave, And gives them what he will, not what they crave. Sim. What, are you merry, knights ? 1 Knight. Who can be other in this royal pre- sence? Sim. Here, with a cup that 's stored" unto the brim, (As you do love, fill to your mistress' lips,) We drink this health to you. Knights. We thank your grace. Sim. Yet pause a while ; yon knight doth sit too melancholy, As if the entertainment in our court Had not a show might countervail his worth. Note it not you, Thaisa ? Thai. What is 't to me, my father ? Sim. O, attend, my daughter;. Princes, in this, should live like gods above, Who freely give to every one that comes To honour them : And princes, not doing so, are like to gnats, Which make a sound, but kill'd are wonder'd at. Therefore to make his entrance more sweet, Here say, we drink this standing bowl of wine to him. Thai. Alas, my father, it befits not me Unto a stranger knight to be so bold ; He may my proffer take for an offence, Since men take women's gifts for impudence. Sim. How ! do as I bid you, or you '11 move me else. Thai. Now, by the gods, he could not please me better. [Aside. Sim. And further tell him, we desire to know of him, Of whence he is, his name and parentage. Thai. The king my father, sir, hath drunk to you. Per. I thank him. Thai. Wishing it so much blood unto your life. Per. I thank both him and you, and pledge him freely. Thai. And further he desires to know of you, Of whence you are, your name and parentage. Per. A gentleman of Tyre (my name Peri- cles; My education has been in arts and arms ;) Styr'd. The first quartohas iturd; the subsequent copies iltrr'd each the same word. 80 Who, looking for adventures in the world, Was by the rough seas reft of ships and men, And, after ship wrack, driven upon this shore. Thai. He thanks your grace; names himself Pericles, A gentleman of Tyre, who only by Misfortune of the sea has been bereft Of ships and men, and cast upon this shore.* Sim. Now, by the gods, I pity his misfor- tune, And will awake him from his melancholy. Come, gentlemen, we sit too long on trifles, And waste the time, which looks for other revels. Even in your armours, as you are address'd, Will very well become a soldier's dance : b I will not have excuse, with saying, this Loud music is too harsh for ladies' heads ; Since they love men in arms, as well as beds. {The Knights dance. So, this was well ask'd ; 't was so well per- form'd. Come, sir ; here is a lady that wants breathing too: And I have often heard, you knights of Tyre Are excellent in making ladies trip ; And that their measures are as excellent. Per. In those that practise them, they are, my lord. Sim. Oh, that 's as much as you would be denied {The Knights and Ladies dance. Of your fair courtesy. Unclasp, unclasp ; Thanks, gentlemen, to all; all have done well, But you the best. {To PERICLES.] Pages and lights, to conduct These knights unto their several lodgings : Yours, sir, We have given order to be next our own. Per. I am at your grace's pleasure. Sim. Princes, it is too late to talk of love, For that 's the mark I know you level at : Therefore each one betake him to his rest ; To-morrow, all for speeding do their best. {Exeunt. In the old editions there is a want of coherence in some parts of this speech. Mr. White thinks a line has been omitted. We give the passage as it stands in the variorum editions. 1> Malone says, " The dance here introduced is thus ae scribed in an ancient ' Dialogue against the Abuse of Danc- ing ' (black letter, no date) : " There is a dance call'd Choria, Which joy doth testify; Another called Pyrricke, Which -warlike feats doth try. For men in armour gestures made, And leap'd, that so they might, When need requires, be more prompt In public weal to fight." ACT II.l PERICLES. [Seems IV.. T SCENE IV. Tyre. Enter HELICANTJS and ESCAPES. Hel. No, Escanes, know this of me, Aiitiochus from incest liv'd not free ; For which, the most high gods not minding longer To withhold the vengeance that they had in store, Due to this heinous capital offence ; Even in the height and pride of all his glory, When he was seated in a chariot of An inestimable value, and his daughter With him, a ike from heaven came and shrivell'd up Those bodies, even to loathing; for they so stunk, That all those eyes ador'd them" ere their fall, Scorn now their hand should give them burial. Esca. 'T was very strange. Hel. And yet but justice ; for though This king were great, his greatness was no guard To bar heav'n's shaft, but sin had his reward. Esca. 'T is very true. Enter three Lords. 1 Lord. See, not a man in private confer- ence, Or council, hath respect with him but he. 2 Lord. It shall no longer grieve without re- proof. 3 Lord. And curs'd be he that will not second it. 1 Lord. Follow me then : lord Helicane, a word. Hel. With me ? and welcome : happy day, my lords. 1 Lord. Know that our griefs are risen to the top, And now at length they overflow their banks. Hel. Your griefs, for what ? wrong not your prince you love. 1 Lord. Wrong not yourself then, noble Heli- caue; But if the prince do live, let us salute him, Or know what ground's made happy by his breath. If in the world he live, we '11 seek him out ; If in his grave he rest, we '11 find him there ; * An elliptical construction all those eyes which adorM them. Sup. VOL. Q And be resolv*d, he lives to govern us, Or dead, gives cause to mourn his funeral, And leaves us to our free election. 2 Lord. Whose death 's, indeed, the strongest in our censure : And knowing this kingdom is without a head, (Like goodly buildings left without a roof Soon fall to ruin,) your noble self, That best know'st how to rule, and how to reign, We thus submit unto, our sovereign. Omnes. Live, noble Helicane. Hel. For honour's cause, b forbear your suf- frages : If that you love prince Pericles, forbear. Take I your wish, I leap into the seas, c Where 's hourly trouble, for a minute's ease. A twelvemonth longer, let me entreat you To forbear the absence of your king ; If in which time expir'd, he not return, I shall with aged patience bear your yoke. But if I cannot win you to this love, Go search like nobles, like noble subjects, And in your search spend your adventurous worth; Whom if you find, and win unto return, You shall like diamonds sit about his crown. 1 Lord. To wisdom he 's a fool that will not yield; And since lord Helicane enjoineth us, We with our travels will endeavour it. d Hel. Then you love us, we you, and we '11 clasp hands ; When peers thus knit, a kingdom ever stands. [Exeunt. SCENE V. Pentapolis. Enter SIMONIDES reading a Letter ; the Knights meet him. 1 Knight. Good morrow to the good Simon- ides. Sim. Knights, from my daughter this I let you know, That for this twelvemonth she will not under. take A married life : Her reason to herself is only known, Which from herself by no means can I get. Censure opinion. We believe, says the speaker, that the probability of the death of Pericles is the strongest He then proceeds to assume that the kingdom it without a head. So the ancient readings, which we follow. b For the original has try. Mr. Dyce proposed this de- cided amendment, they are exhorted to forbear for "honour's cause." c Seat. Malone proposed to read teal. d // has been added to the old reading. 81 ACT II.] PERICLES. [SCENE V. 2 Knight. May we not get access to her, my lord? Sim. 'Faith, by no means ; she hath so strictly tied her To her chamber, that it is impossible. One twelve moons more she '11 wear Diana's livery ; This by the eye of Cynthia hath she vow'd, And on her virgin honour will not break. 3 Knight. Loth to bid farewell, we take our leaves. [Exeunt. Sim. So, They 're well despatched ; now to my daughter's letter : She tells me here, she '11 wed the stranger knight, Or never more to view nor day nor light. 'T is well, mistress, your choice agrees with mine; I like that well : nay, how absolute she 's in 't, Not minding whether I dislike or no ! Well, I do commend her choice, And will no longer have it be delay'd : Soft, here he comes ; I must dissemble it. Enter PERICLES. Per. All fortune to the good Simonides ! Sim. To you as much ! Sir, I am beholden to yo, For your sweet music this last night : I do Protest, my ears were never better fed With such delightful pleasing harmony. Per. It is your grace's pleasure to com- mend; Not my desert. Sim. Sir, you are music's master. Per. The worst of all her scholars, my good lord. Sim. Let me ask yon one tiling. What do you think Of my daughter, sir ? Per. A most virtuous princess. Sim. And she is fair too, is she not P Per. As a fair day in summer; wond'rous fair. Sim. My daughter, sir, thinks very well of you; Ay, so well, that you must be her master, And she will be your shcolar; therefore look to it. Per. I am unworthy for her schoolmaster. Sim. She thinks not so ; peruse this writing else. Per. What's here? 82 A letter, that she loves the knight of Tyre ? 'T is the king's subtilty to have my life. [Aside. Oh, seek not to entrap me, gracious lord, A stranger and distressed gentleman, That never aim'd so high to love your daughter, But bent all offices to honour her. Sim. Thou hast bewitch' d my daughter, and thou art A villain. Per. By the gods I have not ; Never did thought of mine levy offence ; Nor never did my actions yet commence A deed might gain her love, or your displeasure. Sim. Traitor, thou liest. Per. Traitor ! Sim. Ay, traitor. Per. Even in his throat (unless it be a king), That calls me traitor, I return the lie. Sim. Now, by the gods, I do applaud his courage. [Aside. Per. My actions are as noble as my thoughts, That never relish'd of a base descent. I came unto your court for honour's cause, And not to be a rebel to her state ; And he that otherwise accounts of me, This sword shall prove, he 's honour's enemy. Sim. No ! Here comes my daughter, she can witness it. Enter THAISA. Per. Then, as you are as virtuous as fair, Resolve your angry father, if my tongue Did e'er solicit, or my hand subscribe To any syllable that made love to you ? Thai. Why, sir, say if you had, who takes offence At that would make me glad ? Sim. Yea, mistress, are you so peremptory ? I am glad of it with all my heart. [Aside. I '11 tame you ; I '11 bring you in subjection. Will you, not having my consent, bestow Your love, and your affections upon a stranger ? (Who, for aught I know, May be, nor can I think the contrary, As great in blood as I myself.) [Aside. Therefore, hear you, mistress ; either frame Your will to mine and you, sir, hear you, Either be rul'd by me, or I will make you- Man and wife ; Nay, come, your hands and lips must seal it too: And, being join'd, I '11 thus your hopes destroy; And for a further grief, God give you joy ! What, are you both pleas'd P ACT II.] PERICLES. [SCBMK V. Thai. Yes, if you love me, sir. Per. Even as my life, or" blood that fosters it. m Or, in the old copies. Malone reads " Even as my life my blood," &c. Even as my life loves my blood. The original answer is clear enough I love you, even as my life, or as my blood that fosters my life. Sim. What, are you both agreed ? Both. Yes, if it please your majesty. Sim. It pleaseth me so well, that I '11 see you wed : Then, with what haste you can, get you to bed. [Exeunt. [Tyre.l ILLUSTRATIONS OF ACT II. Extracts from Gower's ' Confessio Amantis,' continued. " WHEN him thought all grace away, There came a fisher in the way, And saw a man there naked stond, And when that he hath understand The cause, he hath of him great ruth, And only of his poor truth, Of such clothes as he had With great pity this lord he clad, And he him thanketh, as he should, And saith him that it shall he gold, If ever he get his state again ; And pray'd that he would him seyn b If nigh were any town for him? He said, Yea, Pentapolim, Where both king and queen dweller*. When he this tale heard tellen He gladdeth him, and gan heseech That he the way him would teach ; And he him taught, and forth he went, And prayed God with good intent To send him joy after his sorrow. It was not yet passed mid-morrow." " Then thitherward his way he name, Where soon upon the noon he came. He eat such as he might get, And forth anon, when he had eat, He goeth to see the town ahout ; And came there as he found a rout Of young lusty men withal; And as it should then hefall, That day was set of such assise, That they should in the land's guise, As he heard of the people say, The common game then play : And cried was, that they should come Unto the game, all and some Of them that ben* v you in your coffer." 2 Sail. Sir, we have a chest beneath the hatches, caulk'd and bitumed ready. Per. I thank thee. Mariner, say what coast is this ? 2 Sail. We are near Tharsus. Per. Thither, gentle mariner ; Alter thy course for Tyre." When canst thou reach it ? 2 Sail. By break of day, if the wind cease. Per. O make for Tharsus. There will I visit Cleon, for the babe Cannot hold out to Tyrus ; there I '11 leave it At careful nursing. Go thy ways, good ma- riner; I '11 bring the body presently. [Exeunt. SCENE II. Ephesus. A room in Cerimon's house. Enter CERIMON, a Servant, and some persons who have been shipwrecked. Cer. Philemon, ho! Enter PHILEMON. Phil. Doth my lord call ? Cer. Get fire and meat for these poor men; It hath been a turbulent and stormy night. Ser. I have been in many ; but such a night as this, Till now, I ne'er endur*d. Cer. Your master will be dead ere you re- turn; There 's nothing can be minister'd to nature, That can recover him. Give this to the 'pothe- cary, And tell me how it works. [To PHILEMON Enter two Gentlemen. 1 Gent. Good morrow. 2 Gent. Good morrow to your lordship. Cer. Gentlemen, why do you stir so early ? 1 Gent. Sir, our lodgings, standing bleak upon the sea, Shook as the earth did quake ; The very principals 6 did seem to rend, And all to topple : pure surprise and fear Made me to leave the house. 2 Gent. That is the cause we trouble you so early; T is not our husbandry. Pursue not the course for Tyre. Principals. The strongest timber* of a building 87 An III.] PERICLES. [SCFMC II. Cer. O you say well. 1 Gent But I much marvel that your lord- ship, having Rich tire about you, should at these early hours Shake off the golden slumber of repose : It is most strange, Nature should be so conversant with pain, Being thereto not compell'd. Cer. I held it ever, Virtue and cunning* were endowments greater Than nobleness and riches : careless heirs May the two latter darken and expend ; But immortality attends the former, Making a man a god. 'T is known, I ever Have studied physic, through which secret art, By turning o'er authorities, I have (Together with my practice) made familiar To me and to my aid, the bless'd infusions That dwell in vegetives, in metals, stones ; And I can speak of the disturbances That nature works, and of her cures ; which gives me A more content in course of true delight Than to be thirsty after tottering honour, Or tie my pleasure up in silken bags, To please the fool and death. b 2 Gent. Your honour hath through Ephesus pour'd forth Your charity, and hundreds call themselves Your creatures, who by you have been restor'd : And not your knowledge, your personal pain, but even Your purse, still open, hath built lord Cerimon Such strong renown as never shall decay. Enter two Servants with a Chest. Ser. So ; lift there. Cer. What's that? Ser. Sir, Even now did the sea toss upon our shore This chest ; 't is of some wrack. Cer. Set it down, let 's look upon it. 2 Gent. 'T is like a coffin, sir. Cer. Whate 'er it be, 'T is wondrous heavy. Wrench it open straight; If the sea's stomach be o'ercharg'd with gold, It is a good constraint of Fortune it belches upon us. Cunning knowledge. *> So, in Measure for Measure " Merely thou art death' t fool, For him thou labour's! by thy flight to shun, And yet runn'st toward him still." 88 2 Gent. It is so, my lord, Cer. How close 't is caulk'd and bitum'd ! Did the sea cast it up ? Ser. I never saw so huge a billow, sir, As toss'd it upon shore. Cer. Wrench it open ; Soft it smells most sweetly in my sense. 2 Gent. A delicate odour. Cer. As ever hit my nostril ; so, up with it. Oh you most potent gods ! what's here ? a corse! 1 Gent. Most strange ! Cer. Shrouded in cloth of state ! Balm'd and entreasur'd with full bags of spiers ! A passport too ! Apollo, perfect me In the characters ! [He reads out of a scroll. " Here I give to understand (If e'er this coffin drive a-land), I, king Pericles, have lost This queen, worth all our mundane cost. Who finds her, give her burying, She was the daughter of a king : Besides this treasure for a fee. The gods requite his charity ! " If thou liv'st, Pericles, thou hast a heart That even cracks for woe ! This chanc'd to- night. 2 Gent. Most likely, sir. Cer. Nay, certainly to-night ; For look how fresh she looks ! They were too rough That threw her in the sea. Make a fire within ; Fetch hither all my boxes in my closet. Death may usurp on nature many hours, And yet the fire of life kindle again The o'erpress'd spirits. I have heard of an Egyptian That had nine hours lien dead, Who was by good appliance recovered. Enter a Servant with napkins andfre. Well said, well said ; the fire and cloths. The rough and woeful music that we have, Cause it to sound, 'beseech you. The viol* once more ; How thou stirr'st, thou block! The music there. I pray you, give her air ; Gentlemen, this queen will live : Nature awakes ; a warmth breathes out of her ; She hath not been entranc'd above five hours. See how she 'gins to blow into life's flower again! 1 Gent. The heavens, through you, increase our wonder, And set up your fame for ever. The viol. So the first quarto. The second and subse- quent editions, the vial. ACTill,] PERICLES. [SCENES III., IV. Cer. She is alive ; behold, Her eyelids, cases to those heavenly jewels Which Pericles hath lost, Begin to part their fringes of bright gold ; The diamonds of a most praised water Do appear, to make the world twice rich. O live, And make us weep to hear your fate, fair crea- ture, Rare as you seem to be ! [She moves. Thai. dear Diana, Where am I ? Where 's my lord ? What world is this ? 2 Gent. Is not this strange ? 1 Gent. Most rare. Cer. Hush, my gentle neighbours ; Lend me your hands : to the next chamber bear her. Get linen ; now this matter must be look'd to, For her relapse is mortal. Come, come, And Esculapius guide us ! [Exeunt, carrying her away. SCENE III. Tharsus. A Room in Cleon's House. Enter PEKICLES, CLEON, DIONTZA, LYCHORIDA, and MABINA. Per. Most honour'd Cleon, I must needs be gone; My twelve months are expir'd, and Tyrus stands In a litigious peace. You and your lady Take from my heart all thankfulness ! The gods Make up the rest upon you ! Cle. Your shafts of fortune, though they hurt you mortally, Yet glance full wond'ringly on us.* Dion. your sweet queen ! That the strict fates had pleas' d you had brought her hither, To have bless'd mine eyes with her ! Per. We cannot but obey The powers above us. Could I rage and roar As doth the sea she lies in, yet the end Must be as 't is. My gentle babe, Marina, (Whom, for she was born at sea, I have nam'd so,) Here I charge your charity withal, Leaving her the infant of your care, beseeching you This is Steevens's reading. The originals have thakes (not shafts), and haul (not hurt). The use of glance decides the value of the correction. Some would read wand'ringly. To give her princely training, that she may be Manner'd as she is born. Cle. Fear not, my lord ; but think, Your grace, that fed my country with your corn, (For which the people's prayers still fall upon you,) Must in your child be thought on. If neglection Should therein make me vile, the common body, By you reliev'd, would force me to my duty : But if to that my nature need a spur, The gods revenge it upon me and mine, To the end of generation ! Per. I believe you ; Your honour and your goodness teach me to it, Without your vows. Till she be married, madam. By bright Diana, whom we honour all, Unscissar'd shall this hair of mine remain, Though I show will in 't. a So I take my leave : Good madam, make me blessed in your care In bringing up my child. Dion. I have one myself, Who shall not be more dear to my respect, Than yours, my lord. Per. Madam, my thanks and prayers. Cle. We '11 bring your grace even to the edge o' the shore ; Then give you up to the mask'd Neptune, and The gentlest winds of heaven. Per. I will embrace Your offer. Come, dearest madam. O, no tears, Lychorida, no tears : Look to your little mistress, on whose grace You may depend hereafter. Come, my lord. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Ephesus. A Room in Cerimon'* House. Enter CERIMON and THAISA. Cer. Madam, this letter, and some certain jewels, Lay with you in your coffer ; which are now At your command. Know you the character ? Thai. It is my lord's. That I was shipp'd at sea I well remember, even on my yearning time ; But whether there delivered or no, u The original has " unsister'd shall this heir." He will not marry; she shall be unsister'd. But when Pericles In the fifth act discovers his daughter, he will "clip to form" what makes him " look so dismal; " and beautify what for "fourteen years no razor touched." Steevens ha the merit of this construction of the passage. Malone explains to thoio will is to show wilfulness ; Mr. Dyce reads to jhbic ill in U, that he looks uncomely in it. 89 ACT III.] PERICLES. [SCEM* IV. By the holy gods, I cannot rightly say ; But since king Pericles, my wedded lord, I ne'er shall see again, a vestal livery Will I take me to, and never more have joy. Cer. Madam, if this you purpose as you Diana's temple is not distant far, Where you may 'bide until your date expire :* Moreover, if you please, a niece of mine Stall there attend you. Thai. My recompense is thanks, that 's all ; Yet my good will is great, though the gift small. [Exeunt. Until you die. ILLUSTEATIONS OE ACT IH. Extracts from Gower'a ' Confessio Amantis,' continued. " THEY axen when tbe ship is comet From Tyre, anon answered some. And over this they saiden more, The cause why they come for Was for to seek, and for to find, Appollinus, which is of kind Their liege lord ; and he appeareth, And of the tale which he heareth He was right glad ; for they him told That for vengeance, as God it would, Antiochus, as men may wete, With thunder and lightning is sore smete.'' His daughter hath the same chance, So be they both in oc balance." * * * * " Lychorida for her office Was take, which was a nourrice, To wend with this young wife, To whom was shape a woeful life. Within a time, as it betid, When they were in the sea amid, Out of the north they saw a cloud: The storm arose, the winds loud They blewen many a dreadful blast, The welkin was all overcast. The dark night the sun hath under, There was a great tempest of thunder. The moon, and eke the stars both, In black clouds they them clothe, Whereof their bright look they hid. This young lady wept and cried, To whom no comfort might avail: Of child she began travail, Where she lay in a cabin close. Her woeful lord from her arose, And that was long ere any morrow, So that in anguish and in sorrow She was deliver'd all by night, And dead in every man's sight. But nathless for all this woe A maid child was bore tho.d " * * * * " The master shipman came and pray'd, With other such as be therein, And said that he may nothing win Again the death, but they him rede.e He be well ware, and take heed. The sea by way of his nature Receive may no creature, Within himself as for to hold The which is dead ; for this they would, As they councillor! all about, The dead body casten out : For better it is, they saiden all, That it of her so befal, Than if they shoulden all spill." ***** " I am, quoth he, but one alone ; So would I not for my person There fell such adversity, But when it may no better be, Do then thus upon my word : Let make a coffer strong of board, Wete know. c one. d Tho then. b Smete smitten. Rtdt advise. That it be firm with lead and pitch. Anon was made a coffer such All ready brought unto his hand ; And when he saw, and ready found This coffer made, and well endowed, The dead body was besowed In cloth of gold, and laid therein." ***** " I, king of Tyre, Appollinus, Do all manner men to wit, That hear and see this letter writ, That, helpless without rede, Here lieth a king's daughter dead ; And who that happeth her to find, For charity take in his mind, And do so that she be begrave.b ' With this treasure which he shall have." ***** " Right as the corpse was thrown on land. There came walking upon the strand A worthy clerk, a surgeon, And eke a great physician, Of all that land the wisest one, Which hight master Cerymon : There were of his disciples some. This master to the coffer is come, And peysethc there was somewhat in, And bade them bear it to his inn, And goeth himself forth withal. All that shall fall, fall shall." ***** " They laid her on a couch soft, And with a sheet warmed oft. Her cold breast began to heat, Her heart also to flack d and beat. This master hath her every joint With certain oil and balm anoint, And put a liquor in her mouth, Which is to few clerks oonth.e So that she 'covereth at the last. And first her eyen up she cast ; And when she more of strength caught, Her arms both forth she straight,' Held up her hand, and piteously She spake, and said, Ah! where am If Where is my lord ? What world is this t As she that wot nought how it Is." ***** " My daughter Thayse, by your leave, I think shall with you bileave g As for a time ; and thus I pray That she be kept by all way : And when she hath of age more, That she be set to books' lore. And this avow to God I make, That I shall never for her sake My beard for no liking shave, Till it befall that I have, In convenable time of age, Beset her unto marriage." * Rede counsel ; perhaps here medical aid. b Begravc buried. Peyteih considereth. d Flack flutter. * Couth known. I SlraughtttretcYitA. I Biltave \ezvo behind. Cl ACT IV. Enter GOWER.' Qow. Imagine Pericles arriv'd at Tyre, Welcom'd and settled to his own desire. His woeful queen we leave at Ephesus, Unto Diana there a votaress. Now to Marina bend your mind, Whom our fast-growing scene must find At Tharsus, and by Cleon train' d In music, letters ; who hath gain'd Of education all the grace, Which makes her both the heart and place In the early quartos there is no division into acts and scenes, which first occurs in the folio of 1664. In that edi- tion this chorus, mid the two following scenes, belong to Act in. 92 Of general wonder.' But, alack ! That monster Envy, oft the wrack Of earned praise, Marina's life Seeks to take off by treason's knife. And in this kind hath our Cleon One daughter, and a wench full grown, 1 - Even right for marriage rite ; this maid Hight Philoten : and it is said For certain in our story, she Would ever with Marina be. The old copies have " Which makes high both the art and place." * The old copies read, " And in this kind our Cleon hath One daughter and a full-grown wench." bteevens transposed the words to produce the rhymo. ACT IV. 1 PERICLES. [SCKVK I. Be't when she" weav'd the sleidcd silk With fingers long, small, white as milk ; Or when she would with sharp neeld wound The cambric, which she made more sound By. hurting it ; or when to the lute She sung, and made the night-bird mute That still records' 1 with moan; or when She would with rich and constant pen Vail to her mistress Dian ; still This Philoten contends in skill Will absolute Marina : so The dove of Paphos might with the crow Vie feathers white. Marina gets All praises, which are paid as debts, And not as given. This so darks In Philoten all graceful marks, That Cleon's wife, with envy rare, A present murderer does prepare .For good Marina, that her daughter Might stand peerless by this slaughter. The sooner her vile thoughts to stead, Lychorida, our nurse, is dead, And cursed Dionyza hath The pregnant instrument of wrath Prest c for this blow. The unborn event I do commend to your content : Only I carry winged time Post on the lame feet of my rhyme ; Which never could I so convey, Unless your thoughts went on my way. Dionyza doth appear, With Leonine, a murderer. [Exit. SCENE I Tharsus. An open place near the tea-shore. Enter DIONYZA and LEONINE. Lion. Thy oath remember; tliou hast sworn to do it. 'T is but a blow, which never shall be known. Thou canst not do a thing in the world so soon, To yield thee so much profit. Let not con- science, Which is but cold, inflaming love i' thy bosom, Inflame too nicely ; d nor let pity, wliich Even women have cast off, melt thee, but be A soldier to thy purpose. She, The old copies, they. b Records makes music singg. c Prest- ready. d Much of this scene, though evidently intended to be metrical, is printed as prose in the old copies. This pas- sage runs thus : " Let not conscience, which is but cold, in flaming thy love bosom, inflame too nicely.'' The passage was usually printed "inflame love in thy bosom." We gain a better construction by departing less from the original. Leon. I '11 do 't ; but yet she is a goodly crea- ture. Dion. The fitter then the gods above should nave her. Here she comes weeping for her only mistress' death.' Thou art resolv'd ? Leon. I am resolv'd. Enter MARINA, with a basket of flowers. Mar. No : I will rob Tellus of her weed, To strew thy green" with flowers: the yellows, blues, The purple violets, and marigolds, Shall as a carpet hang upon thy grave, While summer days do last. Ah me ! poor maid, Born in a tempest, when my mother died, This world to me is like a lasting storm, Whirring me from my friends. Dion. How now, Marina ! why do you keep alone? How chance my daughter is not with you ? Do not Consume your blood with sorrowing ; you have A nurse of me. Lord ! how your favour 's chang'd With this unprofitable woe ! Come, give me your flowers, e'er the sea mar them. d Walk with Leonine ; the air 's quick there, And it pierces and sharpens the stomach. Come, Leonine, take her by the arm, walk with her. Mar. No, I pray you ; I '11 not bereave you of your servant. Dion. Come, come ; I love the king your father, and yourself, With more than foreign heart. We every day Expect liim here : when he shall come, and find Our paragon to all reports thus blasted, Malone prints this, " Here she comes weeping for her only mistress. Death thou art resolv'd." Percy suggested that the passage should be altered to "weeping for her old nune's death." We follow the ori- ginal ; though probably mistresse. is a misprint for nourie*. b Green, in the quartos. The folio of 1 664, grave. Seethe next note. c Carpet. So the old copies. The modern reading waa chaplet. But it is evident that the poet was thinking of the green mound that marks the last resting-place of the humble, and not of the sculptured tomb to be adorned with wreaths. Upon the grassy grave Marina will hang a carpet of flowers she will strew flowers, she has before said. The carpel of Shakspere's time was a piece of tapestry, or embroidery, spread upon tables ; and the real flowers with wliich Marina will cover the grave of her friend might have been, in her imagination, so intertwined as to resemble a carpet, usually bright with the flowers of the needle. d Them. The early copies read it; and Malone has, " Give me your wreath of flowers, ere the sea mar it." The change of it to tltem is less violent. 93 ACT IV.] PERICLES. [SCENES II., Ill He will repent the breadth of his great voyage ; Blame both my lord and me, that we have ta'en No care to your best courses. Go, I pray you, Walk, and be cheerful once again; reserve* That excellent complexion which did steal The eyes of young and old. Care not for me ; I can go home alone. Mar. Well, I will go ; But yet I have no desire to it. Dion. Come, come, I know 't is good for you. Walk half an hour, Leonine, at the least ; Remember what I have said. Leon. I warrant you, madam. Dion. I '11 leave you, my sweet lady, for a while ; Pray walk softly, do not heat your blood : What ! I must have a care of you. Mar. My thanks, sweet madam. {Exit DIONYZA. Is this wind westerly that blows ? Leon. South-west. Mar. When I was born the wind was north. Leon. Was 't so ? Mar. My father, as nurse said, did never fear, But cried, ' Good seamen,' to the sailors, galling His kingly hands with hauling of the ropes ; And, clasping to the mast, endur'd a sea That almost burst the deck. Leon. When was this ? Mar. When I was born. Never was waves nor wind more violent ; And from the ladder-tackle washes off A canvas-climber : ' Ha ! ' says one, ' wilt out ? ' And with a dropping industry they skip From stem to stern : the boatswain whistles, and The master calls, and trebles their confusion. Leon. Come, say your prayers. Mar. What mean you ? Leon. If you require a little space for prayer, I grant it : pray ; but be not tedious, For the gods are quick of ear, and I am sworn To do my work with haste. Mar. Why will you kill me ? Leon. To satisfy my lady. Mar. Why would she have me kill'd ? Now, as I can remember, by my troth, I never did her hurt in all my life ; I never spake bad word, nor did ill turn, To any living creature : believe me, la, I never kill'd a mouse, nor hurt a fly : I trod upon a worm against my will, But I wept for it. How have I offended, Reserve preserve. Wherein my death might yield her any profit, Or my life imply her any danger ? Leon. My commission Is not to reason of the deed, but do it. Mar. You will not do't for all the world, I hope. You are well-favour' d, and your looks foreshow You have a gentle heart. I saw you lately, When you caught hurt in parting two that fought : Good sooth, it showed well in you; do so now : Your lady seeks my life ; come you between, And save poor me, the weaker. Leon. I am sworn, And will despatch. Enter Pirates whilst she is struggling. 1 Pirate. Hold, villain ! [LEON, runs away. 2 Pirate. A prize ! a prize ! 3 Pirate. Half-part, mates, half-part. Come, let's have her aboard suddenly. [Exeunt Pirates with MAKINA. SCENE H. TJie same. Re-enter LEONINE. Leon. These roguing thieves serve the great pirate Valdes ; And they have seiz'd Marina. Let her go ; There 's no hope she '11 return. I '11 swear she 's dead, And thrown into the sea. But I '11 see further ; Perhaps they will but please themselves upon her, Not carry her aboard. If she remain, Whom they have ravish'd must by me be slain. {Exit. SCENE III. Mitylene. A Room in a Brothel. Enter Pander, Bawd, and BOTJLT. Pand. Boult. Boult. Sir. Pand. Search the market narrowly; Mitylene is full of gallants. We lost too much money this mart by being too wenchless. Sated. We were never so much out of crea- tures. We have but poor three, and they can do no more than they can do; and they with continual action are even as good as rotten. Pand. Therefore let 's have fresh ones, what- e'er we pay for them. If there be not a con- science to be used in every trade, we shall never prosper. Bawd. Thou say'st true : 't is not our bringing ACT IV.] PERICLES. LSCEXK III. up of poor bastards, as I think I have brought up some eleven Boult. Ay, to eleven, and brought them down again. But shall I search the market ? Bawd. What else, man ? The stuff we have, a strong wind will blow it to pieces, they are so pitifully sodden. Pand. Thou say'st true; they're too unwhole- some o' conscience. The poor Transylvanian is dead that lay with the little baggage. Boult. Ay, she quickly poop'd him ; she made him roast-meat for worms : but I '11 go search the market. [Exit BOULT. Pand. Three or four thousand chequins were as pretty a proportion to live quietly, and so give over. Bawd. Why, to give over, I pray you ? Is it a shame to get when we are old ? Pand. O, our credit comes not in like the commodity ; nor the commodity wages not with the danger : therefore, if in our youths we could pick up some pretty estate, 't were not amiss to keep our door hatched. Besides, the sore terms we stand upon with the gods will be strong with us for giving over. Bawd. Come, other sorts offend as well as we. Pand. As well as we ! ay, and better too ; we offend worse. Neither is our profession any trade ; it's no calling ; but here comes Boult. Enter the Pirates, and BOULT dragging in MARINA. Boult. Come your ways. [To MARINA.] My masters, you say she 's a virgin ? 1 Pirate. O sir, we doubt it not. Boult. Master, I have gone thorough for this piece, you see : if you like her, so ; if not, I have lost my earnest. Bawd. Boult, has she any qualities ? Boult. She has a good face, speaks well, and hath excellent good clothes ; there 's no farther necessity of qualities can make her be refused. Bawd. What 's her price, Boult P Boult. I cannot be bated one doit of a thousand pieces. Pand. Well, follow me, my masters ; you shall have your money presently. Wife, take her in ; instruct her what she has to do, that she may not be raw in her entertainment. [Exeunt Pander and Pirates. Bawd. Boult, take you the marks of her ; the colour of her hair, complexion, height, her age, with warrant of her virginity ; and cry, ' He that will give most, shall have her first.' Such a maidenhead were no cheap tiling, if men were as they have been. Get this done as I com- mand you. Boult. Performance shall follow. [Exit BOULT. Mar. Alack, that Leonine was so slack, so slow ! (He should have struck, not spoke ; ) or that these pirates, Not enough barbarous, had but overboard Thrown me, for to seek my mother ! Bawd. Why lament you, pretty one ? Mar. That I am pretty. Bawd. Come, the gods have done their part in you. Mar. I accuse them not. Bawd. You are lit into my hands, where you are like to live. Mar. The more my fault, to 'scape his hands, where I Was like to die. Bawd. Ay, and you shall live in pleasure. Mar. No. Bawd. Yes, indeed shall you, and taste gentle- men of all fashions. You shall fare well ; you shall have the difference of all complexions. What ! do you stop your ears ? Mar. Are you a woman ? Bawd. What would you have me be, an I be not a woman ? Mar. An honest woman, or not a woman. Bawd. Marry, whip thee, gosling : I think 1 shall have something to do with you. Come, you are a young foolish sapling, and must be bowed as I would have you. Mar. The gods defend me ! Bawd. If it please the gods to defend you by men, then men must comfort you, men must feed you, men must stir you up. Boult's re- turned. Enter BOULT. Now, sir, nast thou cried her through the mar- ket? Boult. I have cried her almost to the number of her hairs ; I have drawn her picture with my voice. Bawd. And I prithee tell me, now dost thou find the inclination of the people, especially of the younger sort ? Boult. 'Faith they listened to me, as they would have hearkened to their father's testa- ment. There was a Spaniard's mouth so watered, that he went to bed to her very description. Bawd. We shall have him here to-morrow, with his best ruff on. Boult. To-night, to-night. But, mistress, do 95 ACT 17.1 PERICLES. IT. you know the French knight that cowers i' the haras? Bawd. Who ? monsieur Veroles. Boult. Ay ; he offered to cut a caper at the proclamation; but he made a groan at it, and swore he would see her to-morrow. Bated. Well, well; as for him, he brought his disease hither : here he doth but repair it. I know he will come in our shadow, to scatter his crowns in the sun. Boult. Well, if we had of every nation a tra- veller, we should lodge them with this sign. Bawd. Pray you, come hither a while. You have fortunes coming upon you. Mark me ; you must seem to do that fearfully which you commit willingly; to despise profit where you have most gain. To weep that you live as you do makes pity in your lovers : Seldom but that pity begets you a good opinion, and that opinion a mere a profit. Mar. I understand you not. Boult. O take her home, mistress, take her home : these blushes of hers must be quenched with some present practice. Bawd. Thou say'st true i' faith, so they must; for your bride goes to that with shame, which is her way to go with warrant. Boult. 'Faith some do, and some do not. But, mistress, if I have bargain'd for the joint, Bawd. Thou mayst cut a morsel off the spit. Boult. I may so. Bawd. Who should deny it? Come, young one, I like the manner of your garments well. Boult. Ay, by my faith, they shall not be changed yet. Bawd. Boult, spend thou that in the town : report what a sojourner we have ; you '11 lose nothing by custom. When Nature framed this piece, she meant thee a good turn; therefore say what a paragon she is, and thou hast the harvest out of thine own report. Boult. I warrant you, mistress, thunder shall not so awake the beds of eels, as my giving out of her beauty stir up the lewdly-inclined. I 'U bring home some to-night. Bawd. Come your ways ; follow me. Mar. If fires be hot, knives sharp, or waters deep, Untied I still my virgin knot will keep. Diana, aid my purpose ! Bated. What have we to do with Diana ? Pray you, will you go with us ? [Exeunt. * Jftre absolute certain. SCENE IT. A Room in CLEOX'* House at Tharsus. Enter CLEOX and DIOXYZA. Dion. Why, are you foolish ? Can it be ion- done ? Cle. Dionyza, such a piece of slaughter The sun and moon ne'er look'd upon ! Dion. I think you'll turn a child again. Cle. Were I chief lord of all this spacious world, I 'd give it to undo the deed. O lady, Much less in blood than virtue, yet a princess To equal any single crown o' the earth, T the justice of compare ! O villain Leonine, Whom thou hast poison'd too ! If thou hadst drunk to him, it had been a kind- ness Becoming well thy face : what canst thou say, When noble Pericles shall demand his child ? Dion. That she is dead. Nurses are not the fates, To foster it, nor ever to preserve. She died at night ; I '11 say so. Who can cross it? Unless you play the pious innocent, And for an honest attribute, cry out, ' She died by foul play.' Ck. O, go to. Well, well. Of all the faults beneath the heavens, the gods Do like this worst. Dion. Be one of those that think The pretty wrens of Tharsus will fly hence, And open this to Pericles. I do shame To think of what a noble strain you are, And of how coward a spirit. Cle. To such proceeding Who ever but his approbation added, Though not his pre-consent, he did not flow From honourable courses. Dion. Be it so then : Yet none doth know, but you, how she came dead, Nor none can know, Leonine being gone. She did disdain my child, and stood between b Her and her fortunes : none would look on her, But cast their gazes on Marina's face ; Whilst ours was blurted at, and held a malkin Not worth the time of day. It pierc'd me thorough ; And though you call my course unnatural, You not your child well loving, yet I find, Pre-eontent. The first quarto has prince consent; the second quarto, it-hole consent, Steevens made the judicioui alteration. t> Diidain. Mr. Dyce would read distain. Act IV.] PERICLES [SCIKE V It greets me as an enterprise of kindness, Perform'd to your sole daughter. Cle. Heavens forgive it ! Lion. And as for Pericles, What should he say ? We wept after her hearse, And even yet we mourn : her monument Is almost finish' d, and her epitaphs In glittering golden characters express A general praise to her, and care in us At whose expense 't is done. Cle. Thou art like the harpy, Which, to betray, dost, with thine angel's face, Seize with thine eagle's talons. Dion. You are like one that superstitiously Doth swear to the gods that winter kills the flies : But yet I know you '11 do as I advise. [Exeunt. Enter GOWER, before the Monument of MARINA at Tharsus. Gow. Thus time we waste, and longest leagues make short, Sail seas in cockles, have, and wish but for 't ; Making (to take your imagination) From bourn to bourn, region to region. By you being pardon'd, we commit no crime To use one language, in each several clime Where our scenes seem to live. I do beseech you, To learn of me, who stand i' the gaps to teach you, The stages of our story. Pericles Is now again thwarting the wayward seas, (Attended on by many a lord and knight,) To see his daughter, all his life's delight. Old Escanes, whom Helicanus late Advanc'd in time to great and high estate, Is left to govern. Bear you it in mind, Old Helicanus goes along behind.* Well-sailing ships and bounteous winds have brought This king to Tharsus (think his pilot thought ; So with his steerage shall your thoughts grow on), To fetch his daughter home, who first is gone. Like motes and shadows see them move a while; lour ears unto your eyes I '11 reconcile. In the old copies these lines are thus misplaced : " Old Helicanus goes along behind Is left to govenie it : you beare in mind Old Escenes whom Heliranus late Advancde in time to great and hie estate.' SUP. VOL. II Dumb show. Enter PERICLES at one dwr, with all his train ; CLEON and DIONYZA at the other. CLEON shows PERICLES the tomb [of MARINA]; whereat PERICLES makes lamentation, puts on sackcloth, and in a mighty passion departs. Gow. See how belief may suffer by foul show! This borrow'd passion stands for true old woe; And Pericles, in sorrow all devour' d, With sighs shot through, and biggest tears o'ershowYd, Leaves Tharsus, and again embarks. He swears Never to wash his face, nor cut bis hairs ; He puts on sackcloth, and to sea. He bears A tempest, which his mortal vessel tears, And yet he rides it out. Now please you wit* The epitaph is for Marina writ By wicked Dionyza. [Reads the inscription on MARINA'* monument. " The fairest, sweetest, best, lies here, Who wither'd in her spring of year. She was of Tyrus, the king's daughter, On whom foul death hath made this slaughter ; Marina was she call'd j and at her birth, Thetis, being proud, swallow'd some part o' the earth : Therefore the earth, fearing to be o'erflow'd, Hath Thetis' birth-child on the heavens bestow'd : Wherefore she does, and swears she '11 never stint, Make raging battery upon shores of flint." No vizor does become black villainy, So well as soft and tender flattery. Let Pericles believe his daughter 's dead, And bear his courses to be ordered By lady Fortune; while our scene b must play His daughter's woe and heavy well-a-day, In her unholy service. Patience then, And think you now are all in Mitylene. [Exit. SCENE V. Mitylene. A Street before the Brothel. Enter, from the Brothel, two Gentlemen. 1 Gent. Did you ever hear the like P 2 Gent. No, nor never shall do in such a place as this, she being once gone. 1 Gent. But to have divinity preach'd there ! did you ever dream of such a thing ? 2 Gent. No, no. Come, I am for no moi bawdy-houses : shall we go hear the vestals sing? Please you wit be pleased to know. *> Scene. In the old copies, iteare. T ACT IV."] PERICLES. [SCENE VI 1 Gent. I '11 do anything now that is virtuous, but I am out of the road of rutting, for ever. [Exeunt. SCENE VI: The same. A Room in the Brothel. Enter Pander, Bawd, and BOULT. Pand. Well, I had rather than twice the worth of her, she had ne'er come here. Bawd. Fie, fie upon her ; she is able to freeze the god Priapus, and undo a whole generation. We must either get her ravish' d, or be rid of her. When she should do for clients her fitment, and do me the kindness of our profession, she has me her quirks, her reasons, her master-reasons, her prayers, her knees ; that she would make a puritan of the devil, if he should cheapen a kiss of her. Boult. 'Faith I must ravish her, or she '11 dis- furnish us of all our cavaliers, and make all our swearers priests. Pand. Now, the pox upon her green-sickness for me ! Bawd. 'Faith, there 's no way lo be rid on 't, but by the way to the pox. Here comes the lord Lysimachus, disguised. Boult. We should have both lord and lown, if the peevish baggage would but give way to cus- tomers. Enter I/ISTMA.CHTTS. Lys. How now ? How a dozen of virginities ? Bawd. Now, the gods to-bless your honour ! Boult. I am glad to see your honour in good health. Lys. You may so ; 't is the better for you that your resorters stand upon sound legs. How now, wholesome iniquity ? Have you that a man may deal withal and defy the surgeon ? Bawd. We have here one, sir, if she would but there never came her like in Mitylene. Lys. If she 'd do the deed of darkness, thou wouldst say. Bawd. Your honour knows what 't is to say, well enough. Lys. Well ; call forth, call forth. Boult. For flesh and blood, sir, white and red, you shall see a rose ; and she were a rose indeed, if she had but Lys. What, pri(hee ? Boult. 0, sir, I can be modest. Lys. That dignifies the renown of a bawd, no less than it gives a good report to a number to be chaste. 98 Enter MAKINA. Bawd. Here comes that which grows to the stalk ; never plucked yet, I can assure you. Is she not a fair creature ? Lys. 'Faith she would serve after a long voy- age at sea. Well, there 's for you ; leave us. Bawd. I beseech your honour, give me leave : a word, and I '11 have done presently. Lys. I beseech you, do. Bawd. First, I would have you note, this is an honourable man. [To MARINA, whom she takes aside. Mar. I desire to find him so, that I may worthily note him. Bawd. Next, he's the governor of this coun- try, and a man whom I am bound to. Mar. If he governs the country, you are bound to him indeed ; but how honourable he is in that, I know not. Bated. Pray you, without any more virginal fencing, will you use him kindly ? He will line your apron with gold. Mar. What he will do graciously I will thank- fully receive. Lys. Have you done ? Bawd. My lord, she 's not pac'd yet ; you must take some pains to work her to your ma- nage. Come, we will leave his honour and her together. [Exeunt Bawd, Pander, and BOULT. lys. Go thy ways. Now, pretty one, how long have you been at this trade ? Mar. What trade, sir ? Lys. What I cannot name but I shall offend. Mar. I cannot be offended with my trade. Please you to name it. Lys. How long have you been of this profes- sion? Mar. Ever since I can remember. Lys. Did you go to it so young ? Were you a gamester at five, or at seven ? Mar. Earlier too, sir, if now I be one. Lys. Why, the house you dwell in proclaims you to be a creature of sale. Mar. Do you know this house to be a place of such resort, and will come into it ? I hear say, you are of honourable parts, and are the governor of this place. Lys. Why, hath your principal made known unto you who I am ? Mar. Who is my principal ? Lys. Why your herb-woman; she that sets seeds and roots of shame and iniquity. 0, you have heard something of my power, and so stand aloof for more serious wooing. But I protest to ACT IV. } PERICLES. r SCENE VI. thee, pretty one, my authority shall not see .thee, or else, look friendly upon thee. Come, bring me to some private place. Come, come. Mar. If you were born to honour, show it now ; If put upon you, make the judgment good That thought you worthy of it. lys. How 's this ? how 's this ? Some more ; be sage. Mar. For me, that am a maid, though most ungentle Fortune have plac'd me in this loathsome sty, Where since I came, diseases have been sold Dearer than physic, that the gods Would set me free from this unhallow'd place, Though they did change me to the meanest bird That flies i' the purer air ! IA/S. I did not think Thou couldst have spoke so well ; ne'er dream'd thou couldst. Had I brought liither a corrupted mind, Thy speech had alter* d it. Hold, here's gold for thee : Perserver still in that clear way thou goest, And the gods strengthen thee ! Mar. The gods preserve you ! Lys. For me, be you thoughten That I came with no ill intent ; for to me The very doors and windows savour vilely. Fare thee well. Thou art a piece of virtue, And I doubt not but thy training hath been noble. Hold ; here 's more gold for thee. A curse upon him, die he like a thief, That robs thee of thy goodness ! If thou bear's t from me It shall be for thy good. [As LYSIMACHUS it putting up his purse, BOTJLT enters. Boull. I beseech your honour, one piece foi me. Ly*. Avaunt, thou damned door-keeper ! Your house, but for this virgin that doth prop it, Would sink and overwhelm you. Away. [Exit. Boult. How 's this ? We must take another course with you. If your peevish chastity, which is not worth a breakfast in the cheapest country under the cope, shall undo a whole household, let me be gelded like a spaniel. Come your ways. Mar. Whither would you have me P Boult. I must have your maidenhead taken off, or the common hangman shall execute it. Come your way. We '11 have no more gentle- men driven away. Come your ways, I say. H 2 Re-enter Bawd. Bawd. How now ! what's the matter ? Boult. Worse and worse, mistress; she has here spoken holy words to the lord Lysimachus. Bawd. O abominable ! Boult. She makes our profession as it were to stink afore the face of the gods. Bawd. Marry, hang her up for ever ! Boult. The nobleman would have dealt witj her like a nobleman, and she sent him away as cold as a: snow-ball; saying his prayers too. Bawd. Boult, take her away ; use her at thy pleasure, crack the glass of her virginity, and make the rest malleable. Boult. An if she were a thornier piece oi ground than she is, she shall be ploughed. Mar. Hark, hark, ye gods ! Bawd. She conjures : away with her. Would she had never come within my doors ! Marry hang you ! She 's born to undo us. Will you not go the way of womenkind? Marry come up, my dish of chastity with rosemary and bays ! [Exit Bawd. Boult. Come, mistress; come your way with me. Mar. Whither would you have me ? Boult. To take from you the jewel you hold so dear. Mar. Prithee, tell me one thing first. Boult. Come now, your one thing ? Mar. What canst thou wish thine enemy to be? Boult. Why, I could wish him to be my mas- ter, or rather, my mistress. Mar. Neither of these are yet so bad as thou art, Since they do better thee in their command. Thou hold'st a place, for which the pained'st fiend Of hell would not in reputation change : Thou art the damn'd door-keeper to ever coyst'rel That comes inquiring for his tib ; To the choleric fisting of every rogue thy car Is liable ; thy food is such As hath been belch'd on by infected lungs. Boult. What would you have me do ? go to the wars, would you ? where a man may serve seven years for the loss of a leg, and have not money enough in the end to buy him a wooden one? Mar. Do anything but this thou doest. Empty Old receptacles, or common sewers of filth ; Serve by indenture to the common hangman; 99 Act IV.] PERICLES. [SCENE VL Any of these ways are better yet than this : For what thou profcssest, a baboon, could he speak, Would own a name too dear. That the gods would safely Deliver me from this place ! Here, here 's gold for thee. If that thy master would gain aught by me, Proclaim that I can sing, weave, sew, and dance, With other virtues, which I '11 keep from boast; And I will undertake all these to teach. I doubt not but this populous city will Yield many scholars. Boult. But can you teach all this you speak of? Mar. Prove that I cannot, take me home again, And prostitute me to the basest groom That doth frequent your house. Boult. Well, I will see what I can do for thee : if I can place thee, I will. Mar. But amongst honest women ? Boult. 'Faith, my acquaintance lies little amongst them. But since my master and mis- tress have bought you, there 's no going but by their consent : therefore I will make them ac- quainted with your purpose, and I doubt not but I shall find them tractable enough. Come, I '11 do for thee what I can ; come your ways. [Exeunt. ILLUSTRATIONS OF ACT IY. Extracts from Dower's ' Confessio Amantis,' continued AND for to speak how that it stood Of Thayse his daughter, where she dwelleth In Tharse, as the chronique telleth. She was well kept, she was well looked, She was well taught, she was well booked ; So well she sped in her youth That whe of every wisdom couth, That for to seek in every land So wise another no man found, Ne so well taught at man's eye ; But woe-worth, ever falls envy." * * * * fc The treason and the time is shape, So fell it that this churlish knape Hath led this maiden where he would Upon the strand, and what she should She was a drad ; and he out braid a A rusty sword, and to her said, Thou shalt be dead: alas, quoth she, Why shall I so ? So thus, quoth he, My lady Dionise hath bade Th)u shalt be murder'd in this stede. T)is maid then for fear shrihte,b And for the love of God all-might Ste pray'th, that for a little stound* She might kneel upon the ground Toward the heaven, for to crave Her woeful soul that she may save. And with this noise and with this cry Out of a barge fast by, Which hid was there on scomerfare, Men start out, and weren ware Of this felon : and he to go, And she began to cry tho.d i Braid started, drew. Stound moment. b Shrihie shrieked, d Tho then. Ha, mercy, help, for God's sake ! Into the barge they her take, As thieves should, and forth they went." ***** "If so be that thy master would That I his gold increase should, It may not fall by this way ; But suffer me to go my way Out of this house, where I am in, And I shall make him for to win In some place else of the town, Be so it be of religion, Where that honest women dwell. And thus thou might thy master tell, That when I have a chamber there, Let him do cry ay wide-where a What lord that hath his daughter dear, And is in will that she shall lere i> Of such a school as is true ; I shall her teach of things new, Which that none other woman can In all this land." ***** "Her epitaph of good assise c Was writ about, and in this wise It spake : O ye that this behold, Lo, here lieth she, the which was hold The fairest, and the flower of all, Whose name Taysis men call. The king of Tyre, Appollinus, Her father was : now lieth the thus. Fourteen year she was of age When death her took to his viage. d " Wide-where far and near. Auitt situation. )> Lure learn d Viaye journey ACT V. Enter GOTVER. Goto. Marina thus the brothel scapes, and chances into an honest house, our story says, bhe sings like one immortal, and she dances As goddess-like to her admired lays : Deep clerks she dumbs; and with her neeld composes Nature's own shape, of bud, bird, branch, or berry; That even her art sisters the natural roses ; Her inkle, silk, twin with the rubied cherry : That pupils hicks she none of noble race, Who pour their bounty on her ; and her gain She gives the cursed bawd. Here we her place, And to her father turn our thoughts again, 102 Where we left him on the sea. We theie aim lost : Whence driven before the winds he is arriv'd Here where his daughter dwells; and on this coast Suppose him now at anchor. The city striv'd God Neptune's annual feast to keep: from whence Lysimachus our Tyrian snip espies, His banners sable, trimm'd with rich ex- pense ; And to him in his barge with fervour hies. In your supposing once more put your sight. Of heavy Pericles think this his bark : Where, what is done in action, more, if might, Shall be discover'd ; please you sit and hark. [Exit ACT V.J PERICLES. [SCME I SCENE I. On board PERICLES' ship off Mity- lene. A close Pavilion on deck, with a cur- tain before it ; PERICLES within it, reclined on a couch. A barge lying beside the Tyrian vessel. Enter two Sailors, one belonging to the Tyrian vessel, the other to the barge ; to them HELI- CANTJS. Tyr. Sail. Where is the lord Helicanus ? He cau resolve you. [To the Sailor of Mitylene.] O, here he is. Sir, there is a barge put off from Mitylene, and in it is Lysimachus the governor, who craves to come aboard. What is yonr will ? Hel. That he have his. Call up some gentle- men. Tyr. Sail. Ho, gentlemen ! my lord calls. Enter two Gentlemen. 1 Gent. Doth your lordship call ? Hel. Gentlemen, there is some of worth would come aboard ; I pray, greet them fairly. [The Gentlemen and the two Sailors descend, and go on board the barge. Enter from thence LYSIMACHTJS, attended; the Tyrian Gentlemen, and the two Sailors. Tyr. Sail. Sir, this is the man that can, in aught you would, resolve you. Lys. Hail, reverend sir ! The gods preserve you ! Hel. And you, sir, to outlive the age I am, And die as I would do. Lys. You wish me well. Being on shore, honouring of Neptune's tri- umphs, Seeing this goodly vessel ride before us, I made to it, to know of whence you are. Hel. First, what is your place ? Lys. I am the governor of this place you lie before. Hel. Sir, our vessel is of Tyre, in it the king; A man, who for this three months hath not spoken To any one, nor taken sustenance, But to prorogue his grief. Lys. Upon what ground is his distemperature P Hel. Sir, it would be too tedious to repeat ; But the main grief springs from the loss Of a beloved daughter and a wife. Lys. May we not see him P Hel. You may, But bootless is your sight ; he will not speak to anv. Lys. Yet let me obtain my wish. Hel. Behold him, sir. [PERICLES discovered.] This was a goodly person, Till the disaster that, one mortal night, a Drove him to this. Lys. Sir, king, all hail ! the gods preserve you! Hail, Bx>yal sir ! Hel. It is in vain ; he will not speak to you. Lord. Sir, we have a maid in Mitylene. 1 durst wager, Would win some words of him. Lys. 'T is well bethought. She, questionless, with her sweet harmony, And other chosen attractions, would allure, And make a battery through his deafen'd parts, Which now are midway stopp'd : She is all happy as the fairest of all, And, with her fellow-maids, is now upon The leafy shelter that abuts against The island's side. [Whispers one of the attendant Lords. Exit Lord in the barge of LYSIMACHUS. Hel. Sure all 's effectless ; yet nothing we '11 omit That bears recovery's name. But, since your kindness We have stretch'd thus far, let us beseech you, That for our gold we may provision have, Wherein we are not destitute for want, But weary for the staleness. Lys. O, sir, a courtesy, Which if we should deny, the most just gods For every graff would send a caterpillar, And so inflict our province. Yet once more Let me entreat to know at large the cause Of your king's sorrow. Hel. Sit, sir, I will recount it to you. But see, I am prevented. Enter from the barge, Lord, MARINA, and a young Lady. Lys. O here 's the lady that I sent for. Wel- come, fair one ! is 'i not a goodly presence ? Hel. She 's a gallant lady. Lys. She's such a one, that were I well assur'd Came of a gentle kind, and noble stock, I "d wish no better choice, and think me rarely wed. Fair one, all goodness that consists in bountj % Ifight. The old copies, wight. b Bounty. The old copies have beauty. tie correction. Steovens m*d< 103 ACT V.] PERICLES. [SCBKX I. Expect even here, where is a kingly patient : If that thy prosperous and artificial feat" Can draw him but to answer thee in aught, Thy sacred physic shall receive such pay As thy desires can wish. Mar. Sir, I will use My utmost skill in his recovery, Provided none but I and my companion Be suffer'd to come near him. Lys. Come, let us leave her, And the gods make her prosperous ! [MARINA sings. Lys. Mark'd he your music ? Mar. No, nor look'd on us. Lys. See, she will speak to him. Mar. Hail, sir ! my lord, Lend ear. Per. Hum, ha! Mar. I am a maid, My lord, that ne'er before invited eyes, But have been gaz'd on like a comet : she speaks, My lord, that, may be, hath endur'd a grief Might equal yours, if both were justly weigh'd. Though wayward fortune did malign my state, My derivation was from ancestors Who stood equivalent with mighty kings : But time hath rooted out my parentage, And to the world and awkward casualties Bound me in servitude. I will desist ; But there is something glows upon my cheek, And whispers in mine ear, 'Go not till he Per. My fortunes parentage good parent- age To equal mine ! was it not thus? what say you? Mar. I said, my lord, if you did know my parentage, You would not do me violence. Per. I do think so. Pray you, turn your eyes upon me. You are like something, that What country- woman? Here of these shores ? b Mar. No, nor of any shores : Yet I was mortally brought forth, and am No other than I appear. Per. I am great with woe, and shall deliver weeping. My dearest wife was like this maid, and such a one My daughter might have been: my queen's square brows ; * feat. The old copies, fate. Percy suggested feat. b Shore*. The old copies, t/ieti'ei. 104 Her stature to an inch ; as wand-like straight ; As silver-voic'd ; her eyes as jewel-like, And cas'd as richly : in pace another Juno ; Who starves the ears she feeds, and makes them hungry, The more she gives them speech. Where do you live ? Mar. Where I am but a stranger : from the deck You may discern the place. Per. Where were you bred ? And how achiev'd you these endowments, which You make more rich to owe ? Mar. If I should tell my history, it would seem Like lies disdain'd in the reporting. Per. Prithee speak ; Falseness cannet come from thee, for thou look'st Modest as Justice, and thou seem'st a palace For the crown'd Truth to dwell in : I '11 believe thee, And make my senses credit thy relation, To points that seem impossible ; for thou look'st Like one I lov'd indeed. What were thy friends? Didst thou not say, when I did push thee back, (Which was when I perceiv'd thee,) that thou cam'st From good descending ? Mar. So indeed I did. Per. Report thy parentage. I think thou said'st Thou hadst been toss'd from wrong to injury, And that thou thought'st thy griefs might equal mine, If both were open'd. Mai: Some such thing I said, and said no more But what my thoughts did warrant me was likely. Per. Tell thy story ; If thine, consider' d, prove the thousandth part Of my endurance, thou art a man, and I Have suffer'd like a girl : yet thou dost look Like Patience, gazing on kings' graves, and smiling Extremity out of act. What were thy friends ? How lost thou them ? b Thy name, my most kind virgin ? Recount, I do beseech thee ; come, sit by me. Mar. My name is Marina. Per. O, I am mock'd, And thou by some incensed god sent hither To make the world to laugh at me. Mar. Patience, good sir, or here I'll cease. On-e own. b Them is not found in the old copies. AcrV.] PERICLES. [SCXMB I, Per. Nay, I '11 be patient ; Thou little knowest how thou dost startle rue, To call thyself Marina. Mar. The name was given me By one that Lid some power ; my father and a king. Per. How ! a king's daughter, and call'd Marina ? Mar. You said you would believe me ; But, not to be a troubler of your peace, I will end here. Per. But are you flesh and blood ? Have you a working pulse? and are no fairy- motion ? Well; speak on. Where were you born?* And wherefore call'd Marina ? Mar. Call'd Marina, For I was born at sea. < Per. At sea ? who was thy mother P Mar. My mother was the daughter of a king ; Who died the very minute I was born, As my good nurse Lychorida hath oft Delivered weeping. Per. O, stop there a little ! This is the rarest dream that e'er dull sleep Did mock sad fools withal : this cannot be My daughter buried. [Aside ^ Well; where were you bred ? I '11 hear you more, to the bottom of your story, And never interrupt you. Mar. You '11 scarce b believe me ; 't were best I did give o're. Per. I will believe you by the syllable Of what you shall deliver. Yet give me leave How came you in these parts ? where were you bred? Mar. The king, my father, did in Tharsus leave me ; Till cruel Cleon, with his wicked wife, Did seek to murther me : and having woo'd A villain to attempt it, who having drawn to do 't, A crew of pirates came and rescued me ; Brought me to Mitylene. But, good sir, whither Will you have me ? Why do you weep ? It may be You think me an impostor ; no, good faith ; I am the daughter to king Pericles, If good king Pericles be. * Malone reads, " Have you a working pulse ? and are no fairy f Motion? Well; speak on. Where were you born I " This reading was probably adopted from the desire to avoid n alexandrine. A "fairy motion" appears to us in the poet's best manner. b You 'II scarce. The old copies have you icorn. Malone aade the change. Per. Ho, Helicanus ! Eel. Calls my lord? Per. Thou art a grave and noble counsellor, Most wise in general ; tell me, if thou canst, What this maid is, or what is like to be, That thus hath made me weep ? Hel. I know not ; but Here is the regent, sir, of Mitylene Speaks nobly of her. Lys. She never would tell her parentage ; Being demanded that, she would sit still and weep. Per. Helicanus, strike me, honour'd sir ; Give me a gash, put me to present pain ; Lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me, O'erbear the shores of my mortality, And drown me with their sweetness. come hither, Thou that begett'st him that did thee beget ; Thou that wast born at sea, buried at Tharsus, And found at sea again ! O Helicanus, Down on thy knees, thank the holy gods as loud As thunder threatens us : This is Marina. What was thy mother's name ? tell me but that, For truth can never be confirin'd enough, Though doubts did ever sleep. Mar. First, sir, I pray, what is your title ? Per. I am Pericles of Tyre ; but tell me now My drown'd queen's name : as in the rest you said, Thou hast been god-like perfect, the heir of kingdoms, And another like to Pericles thy father. Mar. Is it no more to be your daughter, than To say my mother's name was Thaisa ? Thaisa was my mother, who did end The minute I began. Per. Now, blessing on thee, rise; thou art my child. Give me fresh garments. Mine own, Helicanus, she is; Not dead at Tharsus, as she should have been, By savage Cleon : she shall tell thee all ; When thou shalt kneel, and justify in knowledge, She is thy very princess. Who is this ? Hel. Sir, 't is the governor of Mitylene, Who, hearing of your melancholy state, Did come to see you, Per. I embrace you. Give me my robes ; I am wild in ray beholding. * Malone prints the passage thus : " Mine own Helicanui , She is not dead," The Two Noble Kinsmen, tn iove ARCITE, / with Emilia. I'ERITHOUS, an Athenian general. VALERIUS, a Theban nobleman. ARTESIUS, an Athenian Captain. Six valiant Knights. Herald. Gaoler. Wooer to the Gaoler's Daughter. Doctor. Brother, -\ . _ . ' I to the Gaoler. Friends, ) GERKOLD, a schoolmaster. HIPPOLYTA, bride to Theseus. KM i LI A, her sister. Three Queens. Gaoler's Dauhter, in love with Palamon. Servant to Emilia. A Taborer, Countrymen, Soldiers, ACT I. SCENE I. Enta- HTMEN, with a torch burning ; a Boy, in a white robe, before, singing and strewing flowers; after HTMEN, a Nymph, encom- passed in her tresses, bearing a wheaten gar- land ; then THESEUS, between two other Nymphs, with wheaten chaplets on their heads; then HiPPOLYTA, the bride, led by PERITHOUS, and another holding a garland ver her head, her tresses likewise hanging ; after her, EMILIA, holding up her train.* SONG. ROSES, their sharp spines being gone, Not royal in their smells alone, But in their hue ; Maiden-pinks of odour faint, Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint, And sweet thyme true. * This is the original stage-direction; with the exception that Hippolytv by a manifest error in the old copies, is led by Theseus. Primrose, first-born child of Ver, Merry spring-time's harbinger, With her bells dim ; Oxlips in their cradles growing, Marigolds on death-beds blowing, Larks'-heels trim. All, dear Nature's children sweet, Lie 'fore bride and bridegroom's feet, Blessing their sense I [Slrew /wrt. Not an angel of the air, Bird melodious, or bird fair, Be>> absent hence. The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, nor The boding raven, nor chough hoar.c Nor chatt'ring pie, May on our bridehouse perch or sing, Or with them any discord bring, But from it fly! * Angel is used for bird. Dekker calls the Roman eaglt ' the Roman angel." Gifford't Mtutinger, vol. i. p. 36. b Be. The early copies, ii. CloKgh he is the reading of the old editions. 125 ACT I.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [Sccxe J. Enter three Queens, in black, with veils stained, with imperial crowns. The first Queen falls down at the foot of THESEUS ; the second falls down at the foot of HIPPOLYTA; the third before EMILIA. 1 Queen. For pity's sake, and true gentility's, Hear, and respect me! 2 Queen. For your mother's sake, And as you wish your womb may thrive with fair ones, Hear, and respect me ! 3 Queen. Now for the love of him whom Jove hath mark'd The honour of your bed, and for the sake Of clear virginity, be advocate For us, and our distresses ! This good deed Shall raze you out o' the book of trespasses All you are set down there. Thes. Sad lady, rise ! Hip. Stand up ! Emi. No knees to me ! What woman I may stead that is distress' d, Does bind me to her. Thes. What 's your request ? Deliver you for all. 1 Queen. We are three queens, whose sove- reigns fell before The wrath of cruel Creon ; who endure The beaks of ravens, talons of the kites, And pecks of crows, in the foul fields of Thebes. He will not suffer us to burn their bones, To urn their ashes, nor to take th' offence Of mortal loathsomeness from the bless'd eye Of holy Phoebus, but infects the winds With stench of our slain lords. Oh, pity, duke ! Thou purger of the earth, draw thy fear'd sword, That does good turns to the world ; give us the bones Of our dead kings, that we may chapel them ; And, of thy boundless goodness, take some note That for our crowned heads we have no roof Save this, which is the lion's and the bear's, And vault to everything ! Thes. Pray you kneel not : I was transported with your speech, and suffer'd ITour knees to wrong themselves. I have heard the fortunes Of your dead lords, which gives me such la menting As wakes my vengeance and revenge for them. King Capaneus was your lord : the day That he should marry you, at such a season As now it is with me, I met your groom By Mars' s altar ; you were that time fair, 126 Not Juno's mantle fairer than your tresses, Nor in more bounty spread her ; your wheatcu wreath Was then nor thresh'd nor blasted ; Fortune at you Dimpled her cheek with smiles; Hercules our kinsman (Then weaker than your eyes) laid by his club, He tumbled down upon his Nemean hide, And swore his sinews thaw'd : oh, grief and time, Fearful consumers, you will all devour ! 1 Queen. Oh, I hope some god, Some god hath put his mercy in your manhood, Whereto he '11 infuse power, and press you forl !i Our undertaker ! Thes. Oh, no knees, none, widow ! Unto the helmeted Bellona use them, And pray for me, your soldier. Troubled I am. [Turns away. 2 Queen. Honour'd Hippolyta, Most dreaded Amazonian, that hast slain The scythe-tusk'd boar; that, with thy arm as strong As it is white, wast near to make the male To thy sex captive ; but that this thy lord (Born to upnold creation in that honour First nature styl'd it in) shrunk thee into The bound thou wast o'erflowing, at once sub- duing Thy force and thy affection ; soldieress, That equally canst poise sternness with pity, Who now, I know, hast much more power on him Than ever he had on thee ; who ow'st his strength, And his love too, who is a servant for The tenor of thy speech ; dear glass of ladies, Bid him that we, whom flaming war doth scorch, Under the shadow of his sword may cool us ! Require him he advance it o'er our heads ; Speak 't in a woman's key, like such a woman As any of us three ; weep ere you fail ; Lend us a knee ; But touch the ground for us no longer time Than a dove's motion, when the head 's pluck'd off! Tell him, if he in the blood-siz'd field lay swoll'n, Showing the sun his teeth, grinning at the moon, What you would do ! Hip. Poor lady, say no more ! I had as lief trace this good action with you As that whereto I 'm going, and never yet Went I so willing way. My lord is taken ACT I.I THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [Serve I Heart-deep with your distress: let him consider; 1 '11 speak anon. 8 Queen. Oh, my petition was [Kneels to EMILIA. Set down in ice, which by hot grief uncandied Melts into drops ; so sorrow wanting form Is press'd with deeper matter. Enn. Pray stand up ; Your grief is written in your cheek. 3 Queen. Oh, woe ! You cannot read it there; there through my tears, Like wrinkled pebbles in a glassy stream, You may behold them ! Lady, lady, alack, He that will all the treasure know o' the earth, Must know the centre too ; he that will fish For my least minnow, let him lead his line To catch one at my heart. Oh, pardon me ! Extremity, that sharpens sundry wits, Makes me a fool. Emi. Pray you, say nothing ; pray you ! Who cannot feel nor see the rain, being in 't, Knows neither wet nor dry. If that you were The ground-piece of some painter, I would buy you, To instruct me 'gainst a capital grief indeed ; (Such heart-pierc'd demonstration !) but, alas, Being a natural sister of our sex, Your sorrow beats so ardently upon me, That it shall make a counter-reflect 'gainst My brother's heart, and warm it to some pity Though it were made of stone : pray have good comfort ! Ihis Forward to the temple ! leave not out a jot Of the sacred ceremony. 1 Queen. Oh, this celebration Will longer last, and be more costly, than Your suppliants' war ! Remember that your fame Knolls in the ear o' the world : what you do quickly 1 s not done rashly ; your first thought is more Thau others' labour'd meditance ; your preme- ditating More than their actions; but (oh, Jove!) your actions, Soon as they move, as ospreys do the fish, Subdue before they touch : think, dear duke, think What beds our slain kings have ! 2 Queen. What griefs our beds, That our dear lords have none ! 3 Queen. None fit for the dead ! Those that with cords', knives', drams' precipi tance," Weary of this world's light, have to themselves Been death's most horrid agents, human grace Affords them dust and shadow. 1 Queen. But our lords Lie blistering 'fore the visitating sun, And were good kings when living. Thes. It is true : and I will give you comfort, To give your dead lords graves : The which to do must make some work with Creon. 1 Queen. And that work now presents ttseU to the doing : Now 't will take form ; the heats are gone to- morrow ; Then bootless toil must recompense itself With its own sweat ; now he is secure, Not dreams we stand before your puissance, Rinsing our holy begging in our eyes, To make petition clear. 2 Queen. Now you may take him, Drunk with his victory. 3 Queen. And his army full Of bread and sloth. Thes. Artesius, that best know'st How to draw out, fit to this enterprise The prim'st for this proceeding, and the number To carry such a business ; forth and levy Our worthiest instruments ; whilst we despatcli This grand act of our life, this daring deed Of fate in wedlock ! 1 Queen. Dowagers, take hands ! Let us be widows to our woes ! Delay Commends us to a famishing hope All. Farewell ! 2 Queen. We come unseasonably; but when could grief Cull forth, as unpang'd judgment can, fitt'st time For best solicitation ? Thes. Why, good ladies, This is a service, whereto I am going, Greater than any war; b it more imports me Than all the actions that I have foregone, Or futurely can cope. 1 Queen. The more proclaiming Our suit shall be neglected : when her arms, Able to lock Jove from a synod, shall By warranting moonlight corslet thee, oh, when Her twinning cherries shall their sweetness fall* a This is usually printed " Those that with cords, knives, drams, precipitance." We receive "cords," &c., as genitive cases to "precipi- tance." b War. The early copies, was. " Fall an active verb. 127 ACT I.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [SCENE II. Upon thy tasteful lips, what wilt thou think Of rotten kings or blubber'd queens ? what care For what thou feel'st not, what thou fecl'st being able To make Mars spurn his drum ? Oh, if thou couch But one night with her, every hour in 't will Take hostage of thee for a hundred, and Thou shalt remember nothing more than what That banquet bids thee to. Hip. Though much unlike You should be so transported, as much sorry I should be such a suitor ; yet I think Did I not, by the abstaining of my joy, Which breeds a deeper longing, cure their sur- feit That craves a present medicine, I should pluck All kdies' scandal on me : therefore, sir, As I shall here make trial of my prayers, Either presuming them to have some force, Or sentencing for aye their vigour dumb, Prorogue this business we are going about, and hang Your shield afore your heart, about that neck Which is my fee, and which I freely lend To do these poor queens service ! All Queens. Oh, help now ! Our cause cries for your knee. [To EMILIA. Emi. If you grant not My sister her petition, in that force, With that celerity and nature, which She" makes it in, from henceforth I '11 not dare To ask you anything, nor be so hardy Ever to take a husband. Thes. P ra .Y stand up ! I am entreating of myself to do That which you kneel to have me. Perithous, Lead on the bride. Get you and pray the gods For success and return ; omit not anything In the pretended celebration. Queens, Follow your soldier, as before ; hence you, And at the banks of Aulis meet us with The forces you can raise, where we shall find The moiety of a number, for a business More bigger look'd. Since that our theme is haste, I stamp this kiss upon thy currant lip ; Sweet, keep it as my token. Set you forward ; For I will see you gone. [Jfctf ARTESITJS. Farewell, my beauteous sister ! Perithous, Keep the feast full ; bate not an hour on 't ! Per. Sir, I '11 follow you at heels : the feast's solemnity Shall want till your return. 128 Thes. Cousin, I charge you Budge not from Athens ; we shall be returning Ere you can end this feast, of which, I pray you, Make no abatement. Once more, farewell all ! 1 Queen. Thus dost thou still make good the tongue o' the world. 2 Queen. And earn'st a deity equal with Mars. 3 Queen. If not above him ; for, Thou, being but mortal, mak'st affections bend To godlike honours ; they themselves, some say, Groan under such a mastery. Thes. As we are men, Thus should we do ; being sensually subdued, We lose our human title. Good cheer, ladies ! [flourish. Now turn we towards your comforts. [Exeunt. SCENE II. Enter PA.LAMON and ARCITE. Arc. Dear Palamon, dearer in love than blood, And our prime cousin, yet unharden'd in The crimes of nature ; let us leave the city, Thebes, and the temptings in 't, before we further Sully our gloss of youth ! And here to keep in abstinence we shame As in incontinence : for not to swim In the aid of the current, were almost to sink, At least to frustrate striving ; and to follow The common stream, 't would bring us to an eddy Where we should turn or drown; if labour through, Our gain but life and weakness. Pal. Your advice Is cried up with example : what strange ruins, Since first we went to school, may we perceive Walking in Thebes ! Scars, and bare weeds, The gain o' the martialist, who did propound To his bold ends, honour and golden ingots, Which, though he won, he had not; and now flurted By peace, for whom he fought ! Who then shall offer To Mars's so-scorn'd altar ? I do bleed When such 1 meet, and wish great Juno would Resume her ancient fit of jealousy, To get the soldier work, that peace might purge For her repletion, and retain anew Her charitable heart, now hard, and harsher Than strife or war could be. Arc. Are you not out ? Meet you no ruin but the soldier in The cranks and turns of Thebes ? You did begin As if you met decays of many kinds : AIT I.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [SCINB IL Perceive you none that do arouse your pity, But th' unconsider'd soldier ? Pal, Yes; I pity Decays where'er I find them ; but such most, That, sweating in an honourable toil, Are paid with ice to cool 'em. Arc. 'T is not this I did begin to speak of ; this is virtue Of no respect in Thebes : I spake of Thebes, How dangerous, if we will keep our honours, it is for our residing ; where every evil Hath a good colour ; where every seeming good 's A certain evil ; where not to be even jump' As they are, here were to be strangers, and Such things to be mere monsters. Pal. It is in our power (Unless we fear that apes can tutor 's) to Be masters of our manners : what need I Affect another's gait, which is not catching Where there is faith ? or to be fond upon Another's way of speech, when by mine own I may be reasonably conceiv'd ; savM too, Speaking it truly ? Why am I bound By any generous bond to follow him Follows his tailor, haply so long until The followed make pursuit ? Or let me know, Why mine own barber is unbless'd, with him My poor chin too, for 't is not scissar'd just To such a favourite's glass? What canon is there That does command my rapier from my hip, To dangle 't in my hand, or to go tiptoe Before the street be foul ? Either I am The fore-horse in the team, or I am none That draw i' the sequent trace ! These poor slight sores Need not a plantain ; that which rips my bosom Almost to the heart's Arc- Our uncle Creon. Pal. He, A most unbounded tyrant, whose success Makes Heaven unfeaVd, and villainy assur'd, Beyond its power there 's nothing : almost puts b Faith in a fever, and deifies alone Voluble chance who only attributes The faculties of other instruments To his own nerves and act; commands men's service, Jump just exactly. b This passage is ordinarily printed " A most unbounded tyrant, whose iucce>te$ Make Heaven unfear'd, and villainy assur'd, Beyond its power; there's nothing almost puts," Sir.. Seward suggested the punctuation which we have adopted In the third' line; but by leaving the plural nominative mccestei, lie left the remainder of the sentence unintelligible at least to modern readers, who require strict grammatical construction. SDP. VOL. K And what they win in 't, boot and glory too : That fears not to do harm ; good dares not : let The blood of mine that 's sib* to him be suck'd From me with leeches : let them bieak and fall Off me with that corruption ! Arc. Clear-spirited cousin, Let's leave his court, that we may nothing share Of this loud infamy ; for our milk Will relish of the pasture, and we must Be vile or disobedient ; not his kinsmen In blood, unless in quality. Pal. Nothing truer I think the echoes of his shames have deaf'd The ears of heav'nly justice : widows' cries Descend again into their throats, and have not Due audience of the gods. Valerius ! Enter VALERIUS. Vol. The king calls for you; yet be leaden- footed, 'Till his great rage be off him. Phoebus, when He broke his whipstock, and exclaim' d against The horses of the sun, but whisper' d, to The loudness of his fury. Pal. Small winds shake him : But what 's the matter ? Val. Theseus (who where he threats appals) hath sent Deadly defiance to him, and pronounces Ruin to Thebes ; who is at hand to seal The promise of his wrath. Arc. Let him approach : But that we fear the gods in him, he brings not A jot of terror to us : yet what man Thirds his own worth (the case is each of ours), When that his action's dregg'd with mind assur'd 'T is bad he goes about P Pal. Leave that unreason'd ! Our services stand now for Thebes, not Creon. Yet, to be neutral to him, were dishonour, Rebellious to oppose ; therefore we must With him stand to the mercy of our fate, Who hath bounded our last minute. Arc. So we must. Is 't said this war 's afoot ? or it shall be, On fail of some condition ? Vol. 'T is in motion ; The intelligence of state came in the instant With the defier. Pal. Let 's to the king ; who, were he A quarter carrier of that honour which His enemy comes in, the blood we venture Sib kin. 129 AOT I.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [SCENE III Should be as for our health; which were not spent, Rather laid out for purchase : but, alas, Our hands advanc'd before our hearts, what will The fall o' the stroke do damage ? Arc. Let th' event, That never-erring arbitrator, tell us When we know all ourselves ; and let us follow The becking of our chance ! [Exeunt. SCENE III. Enter PEBJTHOUS, HIPPOLYTA, and EMILIA. Per. No further ! Hip. Sir, farewell : Repeat my wishes To our great lord, of whose success I dare not Make any timorous question; yet I wish him Excess and overflow of power, an 't might be, To dure a ill-dealing fortune. Speed to him ! Store never hurts good governors. Per. Though I know His ocean needs not my poor drops, yet they Must yield their tribute there. My precious maid, Those best affections that the Heav'ns infuse In their best-temper'd pieces, keep enthron'd In your dear heart ! Emi. Thanks, sir. Remember me To our all-royal brother ; for whose speed The great Bellona I '11 solicit : and Since, in our terrene state, petitions are not Without gifts understood, I '11 offer to her What I shall be advis'd she likes. Our hearts Are in his army, in his tent. Hip. In '3 bosom. We have been soldiers, and we cannot weep When our friends don their helms, or put to sea, Or tell of babes broach'd OH the lance, or women That have sod their infants in (and after eat them) The brine they wept at killing 'em ; then if You stay to see of us such spinsters, we Should hold you here for ever. Per. Peace be to you, As I pursue this war ! which shall be then Beyond further requiring. [Exit. Emi. How his longing Follows his friend ! Since his depart, his sports, Though craving seriousness and skill, past slightly His careless execution, where nor gain Made him regard, or loss consider ; but Playing one b business in his hand, another Dure. So the original, for endure. Some read cure; sthers, dare. b One is suggested by M. Mason. The original has ore. 130 Directing in his head, his niind nurse equal To these so diff'ring twins. Have you observ'd him Since our great lord departed ? Hip. With mach labour And I did love him for 't. They two have cabin'd In many as dangerous, as poor a corner, Peril and want contending; they have skiff d Torrents, whose roaring tyranny and power I' th' least of these was dreadful : and they have Fought out together, where death's self was lodg'd, Yet fate hath brought them off. Their knot of love Tied, weavM, entangled, with so true, so long, And with a finger of so deep a cunning, May be outworn, never undone. I think Theseus cannot be umpire to himself, Cleaving his conscience into twain, and doing Each side like justice, which he loves best. Emi. Doubtless There is a best, and Reason has no manners To say it is not you. I was acquainted Once with a time, when I enjoy'd a playfellow ; You were at wars when she the grave enrich' d, Who made too proud the bed, took leave o' th' moon (Which then look'd pale at parting) when our count Was each eleven. Hip. 'Twas Flavina. Ems. Yes. You talk of Perithous' and Theseus' love : Theirs has more ground, is more mature!; season'd, More buckled with strong judgment, and their needs The one of th' other may be said to water Their intertangled roots of love ; but I And she (I sigh and spoke of) were things inno- cent, Lov'd for we did, and like the elements That know not what, nor why, yet do effect Rare issues by their operance ; our souls Did so to one another : what she lik'd, Was then of me approv'd ; what not, condemn' d, No more arraignment ; the flower that I would pluck And put between my breasts (oh, then but be- ginning To swell about the blossom), she would long 'Till she had such another, and commit it To the like innocent cradle, where phoenix-like They died in perfume : on my head no toy ACT!,] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [SCENE IV But was her pattern ; her affections * (pretty, Though happily her careless wear) I follow'd For my most serious decking ; had mine ear Stol'n some new air, or at adventure humm'd one From musical coinage, why, it was a note Whereon her spirits would sojourn (rather dwell on), And sing it in her slumbers : this rehearsal, Which, every innocent wots well, comes in Like old importment's bastard, has this end, That the true love 'tween maid and maid may be More than in sex dividual. Hip. You 're out of breath ; And this high-speeded pace is but to say, That you shall never, like the maid Flavina, Love any that 's call'd man. End, I am sure I shall not. Hip. Now, alack, weak sister, I must no more believe thee in this point (Though in 't I know thou dost believe thyself) Than I will trust a sickly appetite, That loaths even as it longs. But sure, my sister, If I were ripe for your persuation, you Have said enough to shake me from the arm Of the all-noble Theseus ; for whose fortunes I will now in and kneel, with great assurance, That we, more than his Perithous, possess The high throne in his heart. Emi. I am not against your faith ; yet I con- tinue mine, SCENE IT. A Buttle struck within; then a Retreat ; Flourish. Then enter THESEUS, victor ; the three Queens meet him, and fall on their faces before him. 1 Queen. To thee no star be dark ! 2 Queen. Both Heav'n and earth Friend thee for ever ! 3 Queen. All the good that may Be wish'd upon thy head, I cry ' amen ' to 't ! Thes. Th' impartial gods, who from the mounted heav'ns View us their mortal herd, behold who err, And in their time chastise. Go, and find out The bones of your dead lords, and honour them With treble ceremony : rather than a gap Should be in their dear rites, we would supply 't. But those we will depute which shall invest You in your dignities, and even b each thing Afectinnt what she affected liked, b Kven make even. K2 Our haste does leave imperfect : so adieu, And Heav'n's good eyes look on you! What are those ? [Exeunt Queens. Herald. Men of great quality, as may be judg'd By their appointment; some of Thebes have told us They are sisters' children, nephews to the king. Thes. By th' helm of Mars, I saw them in the war, Like to a pair of lions, smear'd with prey, Make lanes in troops aghast : I fix'd my note Constantly on them ; for they were a mark Worth a god's view. What was 't that prisoner told me, a When I inquir'd their names ? Herald. With leave, they 're call'd Arcite and Palamon. Thes. 'T is right ; those, those. They are not dead ? Herald. Nor in a state of life : had they been taken When their last hurts were given, 't was pos- sible They might have been recover'd; yet they breathe, And have the name of men. Thes. Then like men use 'em. The very lees of such, millions of rates Exceed the wine of others ; all our surgeons Convent in their behoof; our richest balms, Rather than niggard, waste ! their lives concern us Much more than Thebes is worth. Rather than have them Freed of this plight, and in their morning state, Sound and at liberty, I would them dead ; But, forty thousand fold, we had rather have them Prisoners to us than death. Bear 'em speedily From our kind air (to them unkind), and minister What man to man may do ; for our sake more : Since I have known fight's fury, friends' behests, Love's provocations, zeal in a mistress' task, Desire of liberty, a fever, madness, 'T hath set a mark which Nature could not reach to Without some imposition, sickness in will Or wrestling strength in reason. For our love And great Apollo's mercy, all our best Their best skill tender ! b Lead into the city : This is Mr. Dyce's judicious reading. b Since we printed this play entire in our first edition o( the Pictorial Shakspere, Mr. Pycc, in his edition of Beau- mont and Fletcher, has brought a higher critical skill 131 Art I.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. T. Where having bound things scatter'd, we will post To Athens 'fore our army. [Exeunt. SCENE V. Enter the Queens with the Hearses of their Husbands, in a funeral solemnity, $c. Urns and odours bring away, Vapours, sighs, darken the day ! Our dole more deadly looks than dying ! Balms, and gums, and heavy cheers, Sacred vials fill'd with tears, And clamours, through the wild air flying : towards clearing up some difficulties of the text, than wa shown by the previous editors, Seward and Weber. In the eight lines, beginning "Since I have known," and ending at " tender," we have adopted Mr. Dyce'j text. Come, all sad and solemn shows, That are quick-ey'd Pleasure's foes'. We convent nought else but woes. We convent, &c. 3 Queen. This funeral path brings to your household's grave : a Joy seize on you again ! Peace sleep with him ! 2 Queen. And this to yours ! 1 Queen. Yours this way ! Heavens lend A thousand differing ways to one sure end ! 3 Queen. This world 's a city, full of straying streets ; And death 's the market-place, where each one meets. [Exeunt severally. Household 1 ! grave. So the quarto. The ordinary / it houiehold gravel. Each king had en* grave. ACT II. SCENE I. E*ter GAOLER and WOOER. Gaoler. I may depart with* little, while I live; something I may cast to you, not much. Alas, the prison I keep, though it be for great ones, yet they seldom come: before one salmon, you shall take a number o* minnows. I am given out to be better lined than it can appear to me report is a true speaker : I would I were really that I am delivered to be! Marry, what I have (be't what it will) I will assure upon my daughter at the day o' my death. Wooer. Sir, I demand no more than your own offer ; and I '11 estate your daughter, in what I have promised. Gaoler. Well, we 'D talk more of this when the solemnity is past. But have you a full Depart with part with. promise of her ? When that shall be seeu, I tender my consent. Wooer. I have, sir. Here she comes. Enter DAUGHTER. Gaoler. Your friend and I have chanced to name you here, on the old business : but no more o' that now. So soon as the court-hurry is o'er, we '11 have an end of 't , in the mean time, look tenderly to the two prisoners ; I can tell you they 're princes. Daugh. These strewings are for their cham- ber. It is pity they are in prison, and 't were pity they should be out. I do think they have patience to make any adversity ashamed: the prison itself is proud of them: and they have all the world in their chamber. Gaoler'. They 're famed to be a pair of abso- lute men. 133 ACT II.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. II. Daugh. By my troth, I think fame but stam- mers 'em; they stand a grice a above the reach of report. Gaoler. I heard them reported, in the battle to be the only doers. Daugh. Nay, most likely ; for they are noble sufferers. I marvel how they'd have looked, had they been victors, that with such a constant nobility enforce a freedom out of bondage, mak- ing misery their mirth, and affliction a toy to jest at. Gaoler. Do they so ? Daugh. It seems to me, they 've no more sense of their captivity, than I of ruling Athens : they eat well, look merrily, discourse of many things, but nothing of their own restraint and disasters. Yet, sometime, a divided sigh, martyred as 't were in the deliverance, will break from one of them; when th' other presently gives it so sweet a rebuke, that I could wish myself a sigh to be so chid, or at least a sigher to be com- forted. Wooer. I ne'er saw them. Gaoler. The duke himself came privately in the night, and so did they. What the reason of it is, 1 know not. Enter PALAMON and ARCITE above. Look, yonder they are ! that is Arcite looks out. Daugh. No, sir, no ; that 's Palamon : Arcite 's the lower of the twain : you may perceive a part of him. Gaoler. Go to, leave your pointing ! They 'd not make us their object : out of their sight ! Daugh. It is a holiday to look on them ! Lord, the difference of men ! [Exeunt. SCENE II. Enter PALAMON and ARCITE, in Prison.* Pal. How do you, noble cousin ? Arc. How do you, sir P Pal. Why, strong enough to laugh at misery, And bear the chance of war yet. We are prisoners I fear for ever, cousin. Arc. I believe it ; And to that destiny have patiently Laid up my hour to come. Pal. Oh, cousin Arcite, a The folio of 1679 has grief ; the quarto has0ra.se. Grice U a stei). b The position of Palamon and Arcite in the prison, with the power of observing what passes in the garden when Emilia enters, implies a double action which requires the mployntW of the secondary stage. See Othello, Act v. 134 Where is Thebes now ? where is our noble country ? Where are our friends, and kindreds ? Never more Must we behold those comforts ; never see The hardy youths strive for the games of honour, Hung with the painted favours of their ladies, Like tall ships under sail; then start amongst 'em, And, as an east wind, leave 'em all behind us Like lazy clouds, whilst Palamon and Arcite, Even in the wagging of a wanton leg, Out-stripp'd the people's praises, won the gar- lands, Ere they have time to wish 'em ours. Oh, never Shall we two exercise, like twins of honour, Our arms again, and feel our fiery horses, Like proud seas under us ! Our good swords now, (Better the rod-ey'd god of war ne'er ware) Ravish' d our sides, like age, must run to rust, And deck the temples of those gods that hate us ; These hands shall never draw them out like lightning, To blast whole armies more ! Arc. No, Palamon, Those hopes are prisoners with us : here we are, And here the graces of our youths must wither, Like a too-timely spring ; here age must find us, And, which is heaviest, Palamon, unmarried ; The sweet embraces of a loving wife, Loaden with kisses, arm'd with thousand Cupids, Shall never clasp our necks ; no issue know us; No figures of ourselves shall we e'er see, To glad our age, and like young eagles teach them Boldly to gaze against bright arms, and say, Remember what your fathers were, and con- quer ! The fair-ey'd maids shall weep our banish- ments, And in their songs curse ever-blinded Fortune, Till she for shame see what a wrong she has done To youth and nature : this is all our world ; We shall know nothing here but one another ; Hear nothing but the clock that tells our woes ; The vine shall grow, but we shall never see it ; Summer shall come, and with her all delights, But dead, cold winter must inhabit here still ! Pol. 'T is too true, Arcite. To our Theban hounds, That shook the aged forest with their echoes, No more now must we halloo ; no more shake Our pointed javelins, whilst the angry swine Flies like a Parthian quiver from our rages, ACT II.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [SCKNR II Stuck with our well-steel'd darts. All valiant uses (The food and nourishment of noble minds) In us two here shall perish ; we shall die, (Which is the curse of honour !) lastly, Children of grief and ignorance. Arc. Yet, cousin, Even from the bottom of these miseries, From all that fortune can inflict upon us, I see two comforts rising, two mere* blessings, If the gods please to hold here, a brave patience, And the enjoying of our griefs together. Whilst Palamon is with me, let me perish If I think this our prison ! Pal. Certainly, 'T is a main goodness, cousin, that our fortunes Were twin'd together : 't is moat true, two souls Put in two noble bodies, let them suffer The gall of hazard, so they grow together, Will never sink ; they must not ; say they could, A willing man dies sleeping, and all 's done. Arc. Shall we make worthy uses of this place, That all men hate so much ? Pal. How, gentle cousin ? Arc. Let 's think this prison holy sanctuary, To keep us from corruption of worse men, We are young, and yet desire the ways of honour ; That liberty and common conversation, The poison of pure spirits, might, like women, Woo us to wander from. What worthy blessing Can be, but our imaginations May make it ours? and here being thus together, We are an endless mine to one another ; We are one another's wife, ever begetting New births of love; we are father, friends ac- quaintance ; We are, in one another, families ; I am your heir, and you are mine ; this place Is our inheritance ; no hard oppressor Dare take this from us : here, with a little patience, We shall live long, and loving ; no surfeits seek us ; The hand of war hurts none here, nor the seas Swallow their youth ; were we at liberty, A wife might part us lawfully, or business ; Quarrels consume us ; envy of ill men Grave b our acquaintance; I might sicken, cousin, Mere absolute. b Crave is the word of the early copies. M. Mason pro- poses to read cleave that is, separate the acquaintance of two friends. Mr. Dyce'g reading of Grave, the simple sub- ititution of a 6 for a C gives a clear and impioved mean- ing, winch \ve gladly adopt. Where you should never know it, and so perish Without your noble hand to close mine eyes, Or prayers to the gods : a thousand chances, Were we from hence, would sever us. Pal. You have made me (I thank you, cousin Arcite) almost wanton With my captivity : what a misery It is to live abroad, and everywhere ! 'T is like a beast, methinks. I find the court here, I 'm sure a more content ; and all those plea- sures, That woo the wills of men to vanity, I see through now ; and am sufficient To tell the world, 't is but a gaudy shadow, That old Time, as he passes by, takes with him, What had we been, old in the court of Creon, Where sin is justice, lust and ignorance The virtues of the great ones ! Cousin Arcite, Had not the loving gods found this place for us, We had died as they do, ill old men unwept, And had their epitaphs, the people's curses. Shall I say more ? Arc. I would hear you still. Pal. You shall. Is there record of any two that lov'd Better than we do, Arcite ? Arc. Sure there cannot. Pal. I do not think it possible our friendship Should ever leave us. Arc. Till our deaths it cannot ; Enter EMILIA and her Servant. And after death our spirits shall be led To those that love eternally. Speak on, sir ! Emi. This garden has a world of pleasures in 't. What flower is this P Sen. 'T is call'd Narcissus, madam. Emi. That was a fair boy certain, but a fool To love himself : were there not maids enough ? Arc. Pray, forward. Pal. Yes. Emi. Or were they all hard-hearted ? Sere. They could not be to one so fair. Emi. Thou wouldst not ? Serv. I think I should not, madam. Emi. That's a good wench ! But take heed to your kindness though ! Serv. Why, madam ? Emi. Men are mad tilings. Arc. Will you go forward, cousin P Emi. Canst not thou work such flowers in silk, wench ? Serv. Yes. 135 ACT II.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. Emi. I '11 have a gown full of them ; and of these ; This is a pretty colour : will 't not do Rarely upon a skirt, wench ? Ser*. Dainty, madam. Arc. Cousin ! Cousin ! How do you, sir P Why, Palamon ! Pal. Never till now I was in prison, Arcite. Arc. Why, what 's tLe matter, man ? Pal. Behold, and wonder ! By Heav'n, she is a goddess ! Are. Ha! Pal. Do reverence. She is a goddess, Arcite ! Emi. Of all flowers, Methinks a rose is best. Sen. Why, gentle madam P Emi. It is the very emblem of a maid : For when the west wind courts her gently, How modestly she blows, and paints the sun With her chaste blushes ! when the north comes near her, Rude and impatient, then, like chastity, She locks her beauties in her bud again, And leaves him to base briers. Sen. Yet, good madam, Sometimes her modesty will blow so far She falls for it : a maid, If she have any honour, would be loth To take example by her. Emi. Thou art wanton. Arc. She 's wondrous fair ! Pal. She 's all the beauty extant ! Emi. The sun grows high ; let 's walk in. Keep these flowers ; We'll see how near art can come near their colours, I 'm wondrous merry -hearted ; I could laugh now. Sen. I could lie down, I 'm sure. Emi. Aud take one with you ? Serv. That 's as we bargain, madam. Emi. Well, agree then. [Exit with Serv. Pal. What think you of this beauty ? Arc. 'T is a rare one. Pal. Is 't but a rare one ? Arc. Yes, a matchless beauty. Pal. Might not a man well lose himself, and love her ? Arc. I cannot tell what you have done; I have, Beshrew mine eyes for 't ! Now I feel my shackles. Pal. You love her then ? Arc. Who would not ? Wfi And desire her Pal. Arc. Before my liberty. Pal. I saw her first. Arc. That 's nothing. Pal. But it shall be. Arc. I saw her too, Pal. Yes ; but you must not love her. Arc. I will not, as you do ; to worship her, As she is heavenly, and a blessed goddess : I love her as a woman, to enjoy her ; So both may love. Pal. You shall not love at all. Arc. Not love at all 1 who shall deny me ? Pal. I that first saw her; I that took possession First with mine eye of all those beauties in her Reveal' d to mankind. If thou lovest her, Or entertain' st a hope to blast my wishes, Thou art a traitor, Arcite, and a fellow False as thy title to her : friendship, blood, And all the ties between us, I disclaim, If thou once think upon her ! Arc. Yes, I love her ; And if the lives of all my name lay on it, I must do so ; I love her with my soul. If that will lose you, farewell, Palamon ! I say again, I love ; and, in loving her, maintain I am as worthy, and as free a lover, And have as just a title to her beauty, As any Palamon, or any living, That is a man's son. Pal. Have I call'd thce friend ? Arc. Yes, and have found me so. Why arc you mov'd thus ? Let me deal coldly with you ; am not I Part of your blood, part of your soul? you have told me That I was Palamon, and you were Arcite. Pal. Yes. Arc. Am not I liable to those affections, Those joys, griefs, angers, fears, my friend shall suffer ? Pal. Xou may be. Arc. Why then would you deal so cunningly, So strangely, so unlike a Noble Kinsman, To love alone ? Speak truly ; do you think me Unworthy of her sight ? Pal. No ; but unjust If thou pursue that sight. Arc. Because another First sees the enemy, shall I stand still, And let mine honour down, and never charge ? Pal. Yes, if he be but one. Arc. But say that one Had rather combat me ? Pal. Let that one say so. ACT II.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [SCXKI II. And use thy freedom ! else, if them pursuest her, Be as that cursed man that hates his country, A branded villain ! Arc. You are mad. Pal. I must be, Till thou art worthy : Arcite, it concerns me ; And, in this madness, if I hazard thee And take thy life, I deal but truly. Arc. Fie, sir ! You play the child extremely : I will love her, I must, I ought to do so, and I dare ; And all this justly. Pal. O, that now, that now, Thy false self, and thy friend, had but this for- tune, To be one hour at liberty, and grasp Our good swords in our hands, I 'd quickly teach thee What 't were to filch affection from another ! Thou 'rt baser in it than a cutpurse. Put but thy head out of this window more, And, as I have a soul, I '11 nail thy life to 't ! Arc. Thou dar'st not, fool; thou canst not; thou art feeble. Put my head out ! I '11 throw my body out, And leap the garden, when I see her next, Enter Gaoler. And pitch between her arms, to anger thee. Pal. No more ; the keeper 's coming : I shall live To knock thy brains out with my shackles. Arc. Do. Gaoler. By your leave, gentlemen. Pal. Now, honest keeper ? Gaoler. Lord Arcite, you must presently to the duke : The cause I know not yet. Arc. I am ready, keeper. Gaoler. Prince Palamon, I must awhile be- reave you Of your fair cousin's company. [Exit icith ARCITE. Pal. And me too, Even when you please, of life. Why is he sent for? It may be, he shall marry her : he 's goodly ; And like enough the duke hath taken notice Both of his blood and body. But his falsehood ! Why should a friend be treacherous ? If that Get him a wife so noble, and so fair, Let honest men ne'er love again. Once more I would but see this fair one. Blessed garden, And fruit, and flowers more blessed, that still blossom As her bright eyes shine on ye ! 'Would I were, For all the fortune of my life hereafter, Yon little tree, yon blooming apricock ! How I would spread, and fling my wanton arms In at her window ! I would bring her fruit Fit for the gods to feed on ; youth and pleasure Still as she tasted should be doubled on her ; And, if she be not heav'nly, I would make her So near the gods in nature, they should fear her ; And then I 'm sure she 'd love me. Enter Gaoler. How now, keeper ! Where 's Arcite P Gaoler. Banished. Prince Perithous Obtain'd his liberty ; but never more, Upon his oath and life, must he set foot Upon this kingdom. Pal. . He 's a blessed man ! He shall see Thebes again, and call to arms The bold young men, that, when he bida them charge, Fall on like fire : Arcite shall have a fortune/ If he dare make himself a worthy lover, Yet in the field to strike a battle for her ; And if he lose her then, he 's a cold coward : How bravely may he bear himself to win her, If he be noble Arcite, thousand ways ! Were I at liberty, I would do things Of such a virtuous greatness, that this lady, This blushing virgin, should take manhood to her. And seek to ravish me. Gaoler. My lord, for you I have this charge too. Pal. To discharge my life P Gaoler. No; but from this place to remove your lordship ; The windows are too open. Pal. Devils take them, That are so envious to me ! Prithee kill me ! Gaoler. And hang for 't afterward ? Pal. By this good light, Had I a sword, I 'd kill thee. Gaoler. Why, my lord ? Pal. Thou bring* st such pelting scurvy news continually, Thou art not worthy life. I will not go. Gaoler. Indeed you must, my lord. Pal. May I see the garden ? Gaoler. No. Pal. Then I 'm resolv'd I will not go. Gaoler. I must Constrain you then ; and, for you 're dangerous, I '11 clap more irons on you. Fi.rliint a chance. 137 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. NS III, Pal. Do, good keeper. I '11 shake 'em so, you shall not sleep ; I '11 make you a new morris. Must I go ? Gaoler. There is no remedy. Pal. Farewell, kind window ! May rude wind never hurt thee ! Oh, my lady, If ever thou hast felt what sorrow was, Dream how I suffer ! Come, now bury me. [Exeunt. SCENE HI Enter AKCITE. Arc. Banish'd the kingdom P 'T is a benefit, A mercy, I mast thank them for ; but banish'd The free enjoying of that face I die for, Oh, 't was a studied punishment, a death Beyond imagination ! Such a vengeance, That, were I old and wicked, all my sins Could never pluck upon me. Palamon, Thou hast the start now ; thou shalt stay and see Her bright eyes break each morning 'gainst thy window, And let in life into thee ; thou shalt feed Upon the sweetness of a noble beauty, That nature ne'er exceeded, nor ne'er shall : Good gode, what happiness has Palamon ! Twenty to one he '11 come to speak to her ; And, if she be as gentle as she 's fair, I know she 's his ; he has a tongue will tame Tempests, and make the wild rocks wanton. Come what can come, Tke worst is death ; I will not leave the king- dom: I know my own is but a heap of ruins, And no redress there : if I go, he has her. I am resolv'd : another shape shall make ine, Or end my fortunes ; either way, I 'm happy : I '11 see her, and be near her, or no more. Enter four Country People ; one with a Garland before them. 1 Com. My masters, I '11 be there, that 's certain. 2 Coun. And I '11 be there. 3 Coun. And I. 4 Coun. Why then, have with ye, boys ! 't is but a chiding ; Let the plough play to-day ! I '11 tickle 't out Of the jades' tails to-morrow 1 Coun. I am sure To have my wife as jealous as a turkey : But that's all one; I'll go through, let her mumble. 13S 3 Coun. Do we all hold against the maying ? * 4 Coun. Hold ! what should ail us ? 3 Coun. Areas will be there. 2 Coun. And Sennois, And Rycas ; and three better lads ne'er danc'd Under green tree ; and ye know what wenches. Ha! But will the dainty domine, the schoolmaster, Keep touch, do you think ? for he does all, ye know. 3 Coun. He '11 eat a hornbook, ere he fail : Goto! The matter is too far driven between Him and the tanner's daughter, to let slip now ; And she must see the duke, and she must dance too. 4 Coun. Shall we be lusty ? 2 Coun. All the boys in Athens Blow wind i' th' breech on us ; and here I '11 be, And there I '11 be, for our town ; and here again, And there again. Ha, boys, heigh for the weavers ! 1 Coun. This must be done i' th' woods. 4 Coun. Oh, pardon me ! 2 Coun. By any means; our thing of learn- ing says so ; Where he himself will edify the duke Most parlously in our behalfs : he 's excellent i' th' woods ; Bring him to th' plains, his learning makes HO cry. 3 Coun. We '11 see the sports ; then every man to 's tackle ! And, sweet companions, let 's rehearse by any means, Before the ladies see us, and do sweetly, And God knows what may come on 't ! 4 Coun. Content : the sports Once ended, we'll perform. Away, boys, and hold! Arc. By your leaves, honest friends ! Pray you, whither go you P 4 Coun. Whither! why, what a question 's that! Arc. Yes, 't is a question to me that know not. 3 Coun. To the games, my friend. 2 Coun. Where were you bred, you know it not? When we open Beaumont and Fletcher's works we en- counter grossnesses entirely of a different nature from those which occur in Shakspere. They are the result of impure thoughts, not the accidental reflection of loose manners. They are meant to be corrupting. We have four lines after mumble conceived in this spirit; and we omit them without hesitation. No one has thought that those comic scenes were written by Shakopeic. Acr II.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [SfJENSSlV, V. Arc. Not far, sir. Axe there such games to-day ? 1 Court. Yes, marry are there ; And such as you ne'er saw : the duke himself Will be in person there. - Arc, What pastimes are they ? 2 Coun. Wrestling and running. 'T is a pretty fellow. 3 Coun. Thou wilt not go along ? Arc. Not yet, sir. 4 Coun. Well, sir, Take your own time. Come, boys ! 1 Coun. My mind misgives me This fellow has a vengeance trick o' th' hip ; Mark, how his body 's made for 't ! 2 Coun. I '11 be hang*d though If he dare venture ; hang him, plum-porridge ! He. wrestle? He roast eggs. Come, let's be gone, kds ! [Exeunt Countrymen. Arc. This is an offer'd opportunity I durst not wish for. Well I could have wrestled, The best men call'd it excellent ; and run Swifter than wind upon a field of corn (Curling the wealthy ears) e'er flew!* I'll ven- ture, And in some poor disguise be there : who knows Whether my brows may not be girt with garlands, And happiness prefer me to a place Where I may ever dwell in sight of her ? [Exit. SCENE IV. Enter Gaoler** DAUGHTER. Daugh. Why should I love this gentleman? 'T is odds He never will affect me : I am base, My father the mean keeper of his prison, And he a prince : to marry him is hopeless, To be his whore is witless. Out upon 't ! What pushes are we wenches driven to, When fifteen once has found us ! First, I saw him; I, seeing, thought he was a goodly man ; He has as much to please a woman in him, (If he please to bestow it so) as ever These eyes yet look'd on : next, I pitied him ; And so would any young wench, o' my con- sience, That ever dream' d, or vow'd her maidenhead To a young handsome man : then, I lov'd him, The ordinary reading was, " And run, Swifter the wind upon a field of corn (Curling the wealthy ears) ne'er flew." The original has than, which has been altered to Me. By changing ne'er to e'er we obtain a better construction. Extremely lov'd him, infinitely lor'd him ! And yet he had a cousin, fair as he too ; But in my heart was Palamon, and there, Lord, what a coil he keeps ! To hear him Sing in an evening, what a heaven it is ! And yet his songs are sad ones. Fairer spoken Was never gentleman : when I come in To bring him water in a morning, first He bows his noble body, then salutes me thus : 'Fair gentle maid, good morrow; may thy goodness Get thee a happy husband !' Once he kiss'd me ; I lov'd my lips the better ten days after : 'Would he would do so ev'ry day ! He grieves much, And me as much to see his misery : What should I do to make him know I love him? For I would fain enjoy him : say I ventur 'd To set him free ? what says the law then ? Thus much for law or kindred ! I will do it, And this night, or to-morrow, he shall love me. [Exit. SCENE V. A short flourish of cornets, and shouts within. Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PERITHOUS, EMILIA, and AB.CITE with a Garland. 8fc. Thes. You have done worthily; I have not seen, Since Hercules, a man of tougher sinews : Whate'er you are, you run the best and wrestle, That these times can allow. Arc. I am proud to please you. Thes. What country bred you ? Arc. This ; but far off, prince. Thes. Are you a gentleman P Arc. My father said so ; And to those gentle uses gave me life. Thes. Are you his heir ? Arc. Hia youngest, sir. Thes. Your father Sure is a happy sire then. What proves you ? Arc. A little of all noble qualities : I could have kept a hawk, and well have hol- loa'd To a deep cry of dogs ; I dare not praise My feat in horsemanship, yet they that knew me Would say it was my best piece; last, and greatest, I would be thought a soldier. Thes. You are perfect. Per. Upon my soul, a proper man ! 139 ACT II.] Emi. He is so. Per. How do you like him, lady ? Hip, I admire him : I have not seen so young a man so noble (If he say true) of his sort. Emi. Believe, His mother was a wondrous handsome woman . His face, methinks, goes that way. Hip. But his body And fiery mind illustrate a brave father. Per. Mark how his virtue, like a hidden sun, Breaks through his baser garments. Hip. He 's well got, sure. Thes. What made you seek this place, sir ? Arc. Noble Theseus, To purchase name, and do my ablest service To such a well-found wonder as thy worth ; For only in thy court, of all the world, Dwells fair-ey'd Honour. Per. All his words are worthy. Thes. Sir, we are much indebted to your travel, Nor shall you lose your wish. Perithous, Dispose of this fair gentleman. Per. Thanks, Theseus ! Whate'er you are, you 're mine ; and I shall give you To a most noble service, to this lady, This bright young virgin : pray observe her goodness. You've honour'd her fair birthday with your virtues, And, as your due, you 're hers ; kiss her fair hand, sir. Arc. Sir, you 're a noble giver. Dearest beauty, Thus let me seal my vow'd faith : when your servant (Your most unworthy creature) but offends you, Command him die, he shall. Emi. That were too cruel. If you deserve well, sir, I shall soon see 't : You're mine; and somewhat better than your rank I '11 use you. Per. I '11 see you furnish'd : and because you say You are a horseman, I must needs entreat you This afternoon to ride ; but 't is a rough one. Arc. I like him better, prince; I shall not then Freeze in my saddle. Thes. Sweet, you must be ready ; And you, Emilia ; and you, friend ; and all ; To-morrow, by the sun, to do observance 110 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [SCBKX VI. To flow'ry May, in Dian's -wood. Wait well, sir, Upon your mistress. Emily, I hope He shall not go afoot. Emi. That were a shame, sir, While I have horses. Take your choice; and what You want at any time, let me but know it : If you serve faithfully, I dare assure you You '11 find a loving mistress. Arc. If I do not* Let me find that my father ever hated, Disgrace and blows. Thes. Go, lead the way ; you 've won it ; It shall be so : you shall receive all dues Fit for tbe honour you have won ; 't were wrong else. Sister, beshrew my heart, you have a servant, That, if I were a woman, would be master ; But you are wise. [Flourish. Emi. I hope too wise for that, sir. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. Enter Gaoler'* DAUGHTER. Laugh. Let all the dukes and all the devils roar, He is at liberty. I 've ventured for him ; And out I 've brought him to a little wood A mile hence. I have sent him, where a cedar, Higher than all the rest, spreads like a plane Fast by a brook ; and there he shall keep close, Till I provide him files and food ; for yet His iron bracelets are not off. Oh, Love, What a stout-hearted child thou art ! My father Durst better have endur'd cold iron than done it. I love him beyond love, and beyond reason, Or wit, or safety. I have made him know it ; I care not ; I am desperate. If the law Find me, and then condemn me for 't, some wenches, Some honest-hearted maids, will sing my dirge, And tell to memory my death was noble, Dying almost a martyr. That way he takes, I purpose, is my way too : sure he cannot Be so unmanly as to leave me here. If he do, maids will not so easily Trust men again : and yet he has not thank'd me For what I have done ; no, not so much as kiss'd me; And that, methinks, is not so well ; nor scarcely Could I persuade him to become a freeman. He made such scruples of the wrong he did To me and to my father. Yet I hope, When he considers more, this love of mine ACT II THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. VI. Will take more root within Mm : let him do What he will with me, so he use me kindly. For use me so he shall, or I '11 proclaim him, And to his face, no man. I '11 presently Provide him necessaries, and pack my clothes up, And where there is a path of ground I '11 ven- ture, So he be with me, by b'm, like a shadow. I '11 ever dwell. Within this hour the hubbub Will be all o'er the prison : I am then Kissing the man they look for. Farewell, father ! Get many more such prisoners, and such daughters, And shortly you may keep yourself. Now to him ! ( Eiii. ACT III. SCENE I. Cornets in sundry places. Noise and hallooing, as of People a-maying. Enter ARCITE. Arc. The duke has lost Hippolyta ; each took A several land. This is a solemn rite They owe bloom'd May, and the Athenians pay it To the heart of ceremony. Oh, queen Emilia, Fresher than May, sweeter Than her gold buttons on the boughs, or all TL* enamell'd knacks o' the mead or garden! yea, We challenge too the bank of any nymph, That makes the stream seem flowers ; thou, oh, jewel Of the wood, of the world, hast likewise bless'd a place 142 With thy sole presence ! In thy rumination That I, poor man, might eftsoons come between And chop on some cold thought ! Thrice blessed chance, To drop on such a mistress, expectation Most guiltless of 't ! Tell me, oh, lady Fortune, (Next after Emily my sovereign,) how far I may be proud. She takes strong note of me, Hath made me near her, and this beauteous morn (The prim'st of all the year) presents me with A brace of horses ; two such steeds might well Be by a pair of kings back'd, in a field That their crowns' titles tried. Alas, alas, Poor cousin Palamon, poor prisoner ! thou So little dream' st upon my fortune, that Thou think'st thyself the happier thing, to be So near Emilia ; me thou deem'st at Thebes, ACT IILj THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. And therein wretched, although free : but if Thou knew'st my mistress breath'd on me, and that I ear'd her language, liv'd in her eye, oh, ooz, What passion would enclose thee ! Enter PALAMON, as out of a Busfi, with his Shackles ; bends hisjist at AB.CITE, Pal. Traitor kinsman ! Thou shouldst perceive my passion, if these signs Of prisonment were off me, and this hand But owner of a sword. By all oaths in one, I, and the justice of my love, would make thee A confess' d traitor ! Oh, thou most perfidious That ever gently look'd ! the void'st of honour That e 'er bore gentle token ! falsest cousin That ever blood made kin ! call'st thou her thine? I '11 prove it in my shackles, with these hands Void of appointment/ that thou liest, and art A very thief in love, a chaffy lord, Nor worth the name of villain ! Had I a sword, And these house-clogs away Arc. Dear cousin Palamon Pal. Cozener Arcite, give me language such As thou hast show'd me feat ! Arc. Not finding in The circuit of my breast, any gross stuff To form me like your blazon, holds me to This gentleness of answer : 't is your passion That thus mistakes; the which to you being enemy, Cannot to me be kind. Honour and honesty I cherish, and depend on, howsoe'er You skip them in me, and with them, fair coz, I '11 maintain my proceedings. Pray be pleas'd To show in generous terms your griefs, since that Your question 's with your equal, who professes To clear his own way with the mind and sword Of a true gentleman. Pal. That thou durst, Arcite ! Arc. My coz, my coz, you have been well advertis'd How much I dare: you've seen me use my sword Against th' advice of fear. Sure, of another You would not hear me doubted, but your silence Should break out, though i' the sanctuary. Pal. Sir, I 've seen you move in such a place, which well Without preparation of armour or weapon. Might justify your manhood ; you were calt'd A good knight and a bold: but the whole week 's not fair, If any day it rain. Their valiant temper Men lose, when they incline to treachery ; And then they fight like compell'd bears, would % Were they not tied. Arc. Kinsman, you might as well Speak this, and act it in your glass, as to His ear, which now disdains you. Pal. Come up to me : Quit me of these cold gyves, give me a sword (Though it be rusty), and the charity Of one meal lend me ; come before me then, A good sword in thy hand, and do but say That Emily is thine, I will forgive The trespass thou hast done me, yea, my life, If then thou carry 't; and brave souls in shades, That have died manly, which will seek of me Some news from earth, they shall get none but this, That thou art brave and noble. Arc. Be content ; Again betake you to your hawthorn-house. With counsel of the night, I will be here With wholesome viands ; these impediments Will I file off ; you shall have garments, and Perfumes to kill the smell o' the prison ; after, When you shall stretch yourself, and say but, ' Arcite, I am in plight ! ' there shall be at your choice Both sword and armour. Pal. Oh, you heav'ns, dare any So noble bear a guilty business ? None But only Arcite ; therefore none but Arcite In this kind is so bold. Arc. Sweet Palamon Pal. I do embrace you and your offer : for Your offer do 't I only, sir ; your person, Without hypocrisy, I may not wish More than my sword's edge on 't. \Wind horns of cornets. Arc. You hear the horns : Enter your musit," lest this match between us Be cross'd ere met. Give me your hand ; fare- well: I '11 bring you every needful thing : I pray you, Take comfort, and be strong Pal. Pray hold your promise, And do the deed with a bent brow; most certain The oripinal has, " enter your music." Seward reads "muse quick," explaining mute to be "the muse of a hare." Weber adopts muse, but omits quick. We substitute muiit, which has the same meaning. See note on Venus and Adonis. 143 III.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [SCESES II., III. You love me not : be rough with me, and pour This oil out of your language : by this air, I could for each word give a cuff ; my stomach Not reconcil'd by reason. Arc. Plainly spoken. let pardon me hard language : when I spur My horse, I chide him not ; content and anger \J7ind horns. In me have but one face. Hark, sir ! they call The scattered to the banquet : you must guess I have an office there. Pal. Sir, your attendance Cannot please Heaven ; and I know your office Unjustly is achiev'd. Arc. I 've a good title, I am persuaded : this question, sick between us, By bleeding must be cur'd. I am a suitor That to your sword you will bequeath this plea, And talk of it no more. Pal. But this one word : You are going now to gaze upon my mistress ; For, note you, mine she is Arc. Nay, then Pal. Nay, pray you ! You talk of feeding me to breed me strength : You are going now to look upon a sun That strengthens what it looks on ; there you have A vantage o'er me ; but enjoy it till I may enforce my remedy. Farewell {Exeunt. SCENE II. Enter Gaoler'* DAUGHTER. Daugh. He has mistook the brake' I meant ; is gone After his fancy. 'T is now well-nigh morning ; No matter ! 'would it were perpetual night, And darkness lord o' the world ! Hark ! 't is a wolf: In me hath grief slain fear, and, but for one thing, I care for nothing, and that 's Palamon : I reck not if the wolves would jaw me, so He had this file. What if I halloo'd for him ? I cannot halloo : if I whoop' d, what then ? If he not answer' d, I should call a wolf, And do him but that service. I have heard Strange howls this live-long night ; why may 't not be They have made prey of him? He has no weapons; The original has beakt. M. Mason suggested brake. He cannot run ; the jingling of his gyves Might call fell things to listen, who have in them A sense to know a man unarm' d, and can Smell where resistance is. I '11 set it down He 's torn to pieces ; they howl'd many toge- ther, And then they fed on him : so much for that ! Be bold to ring the bell ; how stand I then ? All's chared* when he is gone. No, no, I lie; My father 's to be hang'd for his escape ; Myself to beg, if I priz'd life so much As to deny my act ; but that I would not, Should I try death by dozens. I am mop'd : Food took I none these two days ; Sipp'd some water ; I have not clos'd mine eyes, Save when my lids scower'd off their brine. Alas, Dissolve, my life ! let not my sense unsettle, Lest I should drown, or stab, or hang myself ! Oh, state of nature, fail together in me, Since thy best props are warp'd ! So, which way now ? The best way is the next way to a grave : Each errant step beside is torment. Lo, The moon is down, the crickets chirp, the screech-owl Calls in the dawn ! all offices are done,. Save what I fail in : but the point is this, An end, and that is all. {Exit. SCENE III. Enter AKCITE, with Meat, Wine, and Files. Arc. I should be near the place. Ho, cousin Palamon ! Enter PALAMON. Pal. Arcite ? Arc. The same : I 've brought you food and files. Come forth, and fear not ; here 's no Theseus. Pal. Nor none so honest, Arcite. Arc. That 's no matter ; We '11 argue that hereafter. Come, take cou- rage ; You shall not die thus beastly ; here, sir, drink ! I know you 're faint ; then I '11 talk further with you. Pal. Arcite, thou mightst now poison me. Arc. I might ; All 't chared. Weber says that this means " my task Is done," chare being used in the sense of a task. Chare is a turn a job of work. Mr. Dyce (note in ' Love's Cure,' Act in. Sc. II.), sho.vs that early writers used chared in the sense of dispatched. ACI III.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [8c IV. But I must fear you first. Sit down ; and, good now, No more of these vain parleys ! Let us not, Having our ancient reputation with us, Make talk for fools and cowards. To your health ! Pal. Do. Arc. Pray sit down then ; and let me entreat you, By all the honesty and honour in you, No mention of this woman ! 't will disturb us ; We shall have time enough. Pal. Well, sir, I '11 pledge you. Arc. Drink a good hearty draught ; it breeds good blood, man. Do not you feel it thaw you ? Pal. Stay ; I '11 tell you after a draught or two more. 4rc. Spare it not; the duke has more, coz. Eat now ! Pal. Yes. Arc. I am glad you have so good a stomach. Pal. I am gladder I have so good meat to 't. Arc. Is 't not mad lodging here in the wild woods, cousin? Pal. Yes, for them that have wild consciences. Arc. How tastes your victuals ? Your hunger needs no sauce, I see. Pal. Not much : But if it did, yours is too tart, sweet cousin. What is this P Arc. Venison. Pal. 'T is a lusty meat. Give me more wine : here, Arcite, to the wenches We have known in our days ! The lord-steward's daughter ; Do you remember her ? Arc. After you, coz. Pal. She lov'd a black-hair'd man. Arc. She did so : well, sir ? Pal. And I have heard some call him Arcite ; and Arc. Out with it, faith ! Pal. She met him in an arbour : What did she there, coz ? Play o' the virginals ? Arc. Something she did, sir. Pal. Made her groan a month for 't ; Or two, or three, or ten. Arc. The marshal's sister Had her share too, as I remember, cousin, Else there be tales abroad : you '11 pledge her P Pal. Yes. Arc. A pretty brown wench 't is ! There was a time When young men went a-hunting, and a wood, SDF. VOL. L And a broad beech ; and thereby hangs a tale. Heigh-ho ! Pal. For Emily, upon my life ! Fool, Away with this strain'd mirth ! I say again, That sigh was breath'd for Emily : base cousin. Dar'st thou break first ? Arc. You 're wide. Pal. By Heav'n and earth, there 's nothing in thee honest ! Arc. Then I '11 leave you : you are a beast now. Pal. As thou mak'st me, traitor. Arc. There 's all things needful; files, and shirts, and perfumes : I '11 come again some two hours hence, and bring That that shall quiet all. Pal. A sword and armour ? Arc. Fear me not. You are now too foul : farewell ! Get off your trinkets ; you shall want nought. Pal. Sirrah Arc. I '11 hear no more ! [Exit. Pal. If he keep touch, he dies for 't ! [Exit. SCENE IV. Enter Gaoler's DAUGHTER. Laugh. I 'm very cold ; and all the stars are out too, The little stars, and all that look like aglets : The sun has seen my folly. Palamon ! Alas, no ; he 's in heav'n ! Where am I now P Yonder 's the sea, and there 's a ship ; how 't tumbles ! And there 's a rock lies watching under water ; Now, now, it beats upon it ! now, now, now ! There 's a leak sprung, a sound one ; how they cry! Spoom her before the wind," you '11 lose all else ! Up with a course or two, and tack about, boys ! Good night, good night ; you 're gone ! I 'm very hungry : 'Would I could find a fine frog ! he would tell me News from all parts o' the world ; then would I make A carrack of a cockle-shell, and sail By east and north-east to the king of pigmies, For he tells fortunes rarely. Now my father, Twenty to one, is truss'd up in a trice To-morrow morning ; I '11 say never a word. Spoom. The original has upon. There have been several attempts to render this proper nautical language. Weber reads, "tpoom her before the wind," which Mr. Djce adopt*. 145 ACT III.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [SCENE V. SONG. For I '11 cut my green coat a foot above my knee : And I '11 clip my yellow locks an inch below mine eye. Hey, nonny, nonny, nonny. He '8 buy me a white cut, forth for to ride, And I '11 go seek him through the world that is so wide. Hey, nonny, nonny, nonny. Oh, for a prick now, like a nightingale, To put my breast against ! I shall sleep like a top else. [Exit. SCENE V. Enter GERB.OLD, four Countrymen (and the Ba- vian*), two or three Wenches, with a Taborer. Ger. Fie, fie! What tediosity and disensanity Is here among ye ! Have my rudiments Been labour'd so long with ye, milk'd unto ye, And, by a figure, ev*n the very plum-broth And marrow of my understanding laid upon ye, And do ye still cry 'where,' and 'how,' and ' wherefore ?' Ye most coarse frieze capacities, ye j ape b judg- ments, Have I said ' thus let be,' and ' there let be,' And 'then let be,' and no man understand me ? Pro Deum, medius fidius ; ye are all dunces ! For why, here stand I ; here the duke comes ; there are you, Close in the thicket; the duke appears ; I meet him, And unto him I utter learned things, And many figures ; he hears, and nods, and hums, And then cries 'rare!' and I go forward; at length I fling my cap up ; mark there ! then do you, As once did Meleager and the boar, Break comely out before him, like true lovers, Cast yourselves in a body decently, And sweetly, by a figure, trace and turn, boys ! 1 Covn. And sweetly we will do it, master Gerrold. 2 Conn. Draw up the company. Where 's the taborer ? 3 Coun. Why, Timothy ! Tab. Here, my mad boys ; have at ye ! Ger. But I say where 's their women ? 4 Coun. Here 's Friz and Maudlin. 2 Coun. And little Luce with the white legs, and bouncing Barbary. Fletcherusesthis termforacharacterin the morris-dance. *> Jape. The original has jave. Seward reads tleave. At no one can explain jave, and tleave, the sleave of silk, is almost meaningless, we substitute jape, belonging to a biiffoo:!, ajaper. Mr. Dyce would read jane, the stuff called jran. 140 1 Coun. And freckled Nell, that never fail'd her master. Ger. Where be your ribands, maids ? Swim with your bodies, And carry it sweetly, and deliverly ; And now and then a favour and a frisk. Nell. Let us alone, sir. Ger. Where 's the rest o' th' music ? 3 Coun. Dispers'd as you commanded. Ger. Couple then, And see what 's wanting. Where 's the Ba- vian? My friend, carry your tail without offence Or scandal to the ladies ; and be sure You tumble with audacity and manhood ; And when you bark, do it with judgment. Bav. Yes, sir. Ger. Quo usque tandem? Here 's a woman wanting. 4 Coun. We may go whistle ; all the fat 's i' th' fire ! Ger. We have, As learned authors utter, wash'd a tile ; We have beenfatu/ts, and labour'd vainly. 3 Coun. This is that scornful piece, that scurvy hilding, That crave her promise faithfully she would be here, Cicely, the sempster's daughter. The next gloves that I give her shall be dog's skin; Nay, an she fail me once You can tell, Areas, She swore by wine and bread, she would not break. Ger. An eel and woman, A learned poet says, unless by the t'ail And with thy teeth thou hold, will either fail. In manners this was false position. 1 Coun. A fire ill take her ! does she flinch now? 3 Coun. What Shall we determine, sir ? Ger. Nothing ; Our business is become a nullity. Yea, and a woful, and a piteous nullity. 4 Coun. Now, when the credit of our town lay on it, Now to be frampal ! Go thy ways : I '11 remember thee, I '11 fit thee! Enter Gaoler's DAUGHTER. DuugJl, The George alow came from the south, From the coast of Bafbary-a. And there he met with brave gallants of war, By one, by two, by three-a. ACT III.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [SCEME V Well hail'cl. well hail'd, you jolly gallants! And whither now are you bound-at Oh, let me have your company Till I come to the Sound-a ! There was three fools, fell out about an howlet : The one said 't was an owl, The other he said nay, The third he said it was a hawk, And her bells weie cut away. 3 Conn. There is a dainty mad woman, master, Comes i' th' nick ; as mad as a March hare ! If we can get her dance, we 're made again : I warrant her, she Ml do the rarest gambols ! 1 Coun. A mad woman ? We are made, boys ! Ger. And are you mad, good woman ? Dauffh. I would be sorry else ; Give me your hand. Ger. ' Why? Daugh. I can tell your fortune : You are a fool. Tell ten : I 've pos'd him. Buz! Friend, you must eat no white bread ; if you do, Your teeth will bleed extremely. Shall we dance, ho? I know you ; you 're a tinker : sirrah tinker, Stop no more holes, but what you should. Ger. Dii boni ! A tinker, damsel ? Daugh. Or a conjurer : Raise me a devil now, and let him play Qui passa o' th' bells and bones ! Ger. Go, take her, And fluently persuade her to a peace. Afque opus exegi, quod nee Jovis ira, nee ignis Strike up, and lead her in. 2 Coun. Come, lass, let 's trip it. Daugh. I '11 lead. [ Wind horns. 3 Coun. Do, do. Ger. Persuasively, and cunningly; away, boys ! [Exeunt all biit GEKROLD. 1 hear the horns : give me some meditation, And mark your cue. Piillas inspire me ! Enter THESEUS, PERITHOTJS, HIPPOLYTA, EMILIA, ARCITE, and Train. Thes. This way the stag took. Ger. Stay, and edify ! Thes. What have we here ? Per. Some country sport, upon my life, sir. Thes. Well, sir, go forward : we will edify. Ladies, sit down ; we '11 stay it. Ger. Thou doughty duke, all hail ! all hail, sweet ladies ! omitted in the original. Weber reads we. L2 Thes. This is a cold beginning. Ger. If you but favour, our country pastime made is. We are a few of those collected here, That ruder tongues distinguish villager ; And to say verity, and not to fable, We are a merry rout, or else a rabble, Or company, or by a figure, chorus, That 'fore thy dignity will dance a morris. And I that am the rectifier of all, By title, Pedagogus, that let fall The birch upon the breeches of the small ones, And humble with a ferula the tall ones, Do here present this machine, or this frame : And, dainty duke, whose doughty dismal fame From Dis to Dedalus, from post to pillar, Is blown abroad : help me, thy poor well-wilier, And with thy twinkling eyes, look right and straight Upon this mighty morrof mickle weight ; /* now comes in, which being glew'd together Makes morris, and the cause that we came hither, The body of our sport of no small study. I first appear, though rude, and raw, and muddy, To speak before thy noble grace, this tenor : At whose great feet I offer up my penner." The next, the lord of May, and lady bright, The chambermaid, and servingman, by night That seek out silent hanging : then mine host, And his fat spouse, that welcome to their cost The galled traveller, and with a beck'mng Inform the tapster to inflame the reck'ning : Then the beast-eating clown, and next the fool, The Bavian, with long tail, and eke long tool ; Cum multis aliis, that make a dance ; Say ' ay,' and all shall presently advance. Thes. Ay, ay, by any means, dear domiue ! Per. Produce. Ger. Intrateflii ! Come forth, and foot it. Enter Countrymen, Sec. They dance. Ladies, if we have been merry, And have pleas' d ye with a deny, And a derry, and a down, Say the schoolmaster 's no clown. Duke, if we have pleas'd thee too, And have done as good boys should do, Give us but a tree or twain For a Maypole, and again, Ere another year run out, We '11 make thee laugh, and all this rout. Pcnntr case for holding pen*. ACT III.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [SCENE VI Tlies. Take twenty, domine. How does my sweetheart ? Hip. Never so pleas'd, sir. Smi. 'T was an excellent dance ; And, for a preface, I never heard a better. Thes. Schoolmaster, I thank you. One see them all rewarded ! Per. And here 's something to paint your pole withal. Thes. Now to our sports again ! Ger. May the stag thou hunt'st stand long, And thy dogs be swift and strong ! May they kill him without letts, And the ladies eat 's dowsets ! Come, we are all made ! [Wind horns. IHi Deenque omnes ! ye have danc'd rarely, wenches. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. Enter PAIAMON^OOT the Bush. Pal. About this hour my cousin gave his faith To visit me again, and with him bring -Two swords and two good armours ; if he fail He 's neither man, nor soldier. When he left me, I did not think a week could have restor'd My lost strength to me, I was grown so low And crest-fall'n with my wants : I thank thee, Arcite, Thou 'rt yet a fair foe ; and I feel myself, With this refreshing, able once again To out-dure danger. To delay it longer Would make the world think, when it comes to hearing, That I lay fatting, like a swine, to fight, And not a soldier : therefore this bless'd morn- ing Shall be the last ; and that sword he refuses, Tf it but hold, I kill him with : 't is justice : So, Love and Fortune for me ! Oh, good mor- row! Enter AKCITE, with armours and sicords. Arc. Good morrow, noble kinsman ! Pal. I have put you To too much pains, sir. Arc. That too much, fair cousin, Is but a debt to honour, and my duty. Pal. 'Would you were so in all, sir ! I could wish you As kind a kinsman, as you force me find A beneficial foe, that my embraces Might thank you, not my blows. Arc. I shall think either, Well done, a noble recompense. 148 Pal. Then I shall quit you. Arc. Defy me in these fair terms, and yov. show More than a mistress to me : no more anger, As you love anything that 'a honourable ! We were not bred to talk, man; when we 'ie arm'd, And both upon our guards, then let our fury, Like meeting of two tides, fly strongly from us ; And then to whom the birthright of this beauty Truly pertains (without upbraidings, scorns, Despisings of our persons, and such poutings, Fitter for girls and schoolboys) will be seen, And quickly, yours, or mine. Will 't please you arm, sir? Or, if you feel yourself not fitting yet, And furnish'd with your old strength, I '11 stay, cousin, And every day discourse you into health, As I am spar'd : your person I am friends with, And I could wish I had not said I lov'd her, Though I had died ; but loving such a lady, And justifying my love, I must not fly from 't. Pal. Arcite, thou art so brave an enemy, That no man but thy cousin 's fit to kill thee: I 'm well and lusty ; choose your arms ! Arc. Choose you, sir . Pal. Wilt thou exceed in all, or dost thou do it To make me spare thee ? Arc. If you think so, cousin, You are deceiv'd ; for, as I am a soldier, I '11 not spare you ! Pal. That 's well said ! Arc. You will find it. Pal. Then, as I am an honest man, and love With all the justice of affection, I '11 pay thee soundly ! This I '11 take. Arc. That 's mine theu ; I '11 arm you first. Pal. Do. Pray thee tell me, cousin Where gott'st thou this good armour? Arc. 'T is the duke's And, to say true, I stole it. Do I pinch you P Pal. No. Arc. Is 't not too heavy ? Pal. I have worn a lighter But I shall make it serve. Arc. I '11 buckle 't close. Pal. By any means. Arc. You care not for a grand-guard ?' Pal. No, no ; we '11 use no horses .- I per- ceive You would fain be at that fight. 1 Grand-guard armour for equestrians. ACT III.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [SCEHl VI. Arc. I 'm indifferent. Pal. faith, so am I. Good cousin, thrust the buckle Through far enough ! Arc. I warrant you. Pal. My casque now ! Arc. Will you fight bare-arm'd ? Pal. We shall be the nimbler. Arc. But use your gauntlets though : tho?e are o' the least ; Prithee take mine, good cousin, Pal. Thank you, Arcite. How do I look ? am I fall'n much away ? Arc. Faith, very little; Love has us'd you kindly. Pal. I '11 warrant thee I '11 strike home. Arc. Do, and spare not ! 1 '11 give you cause, sweet cousin. Pal. Now to you, sir ! Methinks this armour 's very like that, Arcite, Thou wor'st that day the three kings fell, but lighter. Arc. That was a very good one ; and that day, I well remember, you outdid me, cousin ; I never saw such valour : when you charg'd Upon the left wing of the enemy, I spurr'd hard to come up, and under me I had a right good horse. Pal. You had indeed ; A bright-bay, I remember. Arc. Yes. But all Was vainly labour'd in me ; you outwent me, Nor could my wishes reach you : yet a little I did by imitation. Pal. More by virtue ; You 're modest, cousin. Arc. When I saw you charge first, Methought I heard a dreadful clap of thunder Break from the troop. Pal. But stilJ before that flew The lightning of your valour , Stay a little ! Is not this piece too strait ? Arc. No, no ; 't is well Pal. I would have nothing hurt thee but my sword ; A bruise would be dishonour. Arc. Now I 'm perfect. Pal. Stand off then! Arc. Take my sword; I hold it better. Pal. I thank you, no ; keep it ; your life lies on it: Here 's one, if it but hold, I ask no more For all my hopes. My cause and honour guard me ! {They bow several ways ; then advance and stand. Arc. And me, my love ! Is there aught else to say ? Pal. This only, and no more : thou art mine aunt's son, And that blood we desire to shed is mutual ; In me, thine, and in thee, mine : my sword Is in my hand, and if thou killest me The gods and I forgive thee ! If there be A place prepar'd for those that sleep in honour, I wish his weary soul that falls may win it. Fight bravely, cousin ; give me thy noble hand; Arc. Here, Palamon. This hand shall never more Come near thee with such friendship. Pal. I commend thee. Arc. If I fall, curse me, and say I was a coward ; For none but such dare die in these just trials. Once more, farewell, my cousin ! Pal. Farewell, Arcite ! [Fight. {Horns within ; they stand. Arc. Lo, cousin, lo ! our folly has undone us ! Pal. Why? Arc. This is the duke, a-hunting as I told you; If we be found, we 're wretched; Oh, retire, For honour's sake and safety, presently Into your bush again, sir ! We shall find Too many hours to die in. Gentle cousin, If you be seen you perish instantly, For breaking prison ; and I, if you reveal me, For my contempt : then all the world will scorn us, And say we had a noble difference, But base disposers of it. Pal. No, no, cousin; I will no more be hidden, nor put off This great adventure to a second trial. I know your cunning, and I know your cause. He that faints now shame take him ! Put thy- self Upon thy present guard Arc. You are not mad ? Pal. Or I will make th' advantage of this hour Mine own ; and what to come shall threaten me, I fear less than my fortune. Know, weak cousin, I love Emilia; and in that I '11 bury Thee, and all crosses else. Arc. Then come what can come, Thou shalt know, Palamon, I dare as well Die, as discourse, or sleep : only this fears me, The law will have the honour of our ends. Have at thy life ! 149 ACT III.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [SCENE VL Pal. Look to thine own well, Arcite ! [Fight again. Horns. Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, EMILIA, PERI- THOtrs, and Train. What ignorant and mad malicious trai- tors Are you, that, 'gainst the tenor of my laws, Are making battle, thus like knights appointed, "Without my leave, and officers of arms ? By Castor, "both shall die ! Pal. Hold thy word, Theseus. We 're certainly both traitors, both despisers Of thse and of thy goodness : I am Palamon, That cannot love thee, he that broke thy prison ; Think well what that deserves ! and this is Arcite; A bolder traitor never trod thy ground, A falser ne'er seem'd friend : this is the man Was begg'd and banish'd; this is he contemns thee, And what thou dar'st do ; and in this disguise, Against thy own edict, follows thy sister, That fortunate bright star, the fair Emilia, (Whose servant, if there be a right in seeing, And first bequeathing of the soul to, justly I am;) and, which is more, dares think her his. This treachery, like a most trusty lover, I cafl'd him now to answer : if thou beest, As thou art spoken, great and virtuous, The true decider of all injuries, Say, 'Fight again!' and thou shalt see me, Theseus, Bo such a justice, thou thyself wilt envy ; Then take my life; I '11 woo thee to 't. Per. Oh, Heaver-, What more than man is this ! The*. I 've sworn. Arc. We seek oiot Thy breath of mercv, Theseus. T is to me A thing as soon to die, as thee to say it, And no more mov'd. Where this man calls me traitor, Let me say thus much : if in love be treason, In service of so excellent a beauty, As I love most, and in that faith will perish ; As I have brought my life here to confirm it ; As I have seiVd her truest, worthiest ; As I dare kill this cousin, that denies it ; So let me be most traitor, and you please me. For scorning thy edict, duke, ask that lady \^ hy she is fair, and why her eyes command me Stay here to love her ; and if she sav traitor, I am a villain fit to Ik unburied. Pal. Thou shalt liave pity of us both, oh, Theseus, If unto neither thou show mercy ; stop, As thou art just, thy noble ear against us ; As thou art valiant, for thy cousin's soul, Whose twelve strong labours crown his memory. Let 's die together at one instant, duke ! Only a little let him fall before me, That I may tell my soul he shall not have her. Tfk.'s. I grant your wish; for, to say true, your cousin Has ten times more offended, for I gave him More mercy than you found, sir, your offences Being no more than his. None here speak for them! For, ere the sun set, both shall sleep for ever. Hip. Alas, the pity ! now or never, sister, Speak, not to be denied : that face of yours Will bear the curses else of after-ages, For these lost cousins. Emi. In my face, dear sister, I find no anger to them, nor no ruin ; The misadventure of their own eyes Mis them : Yet that I will be woman, and have pity, My knees shall grow to the ground but I '11 get mercy. Help me, dear sister ! in a deed so virtuous, The powers of all women will be with us. Most royal brother Hip. Sir, by our tie of marriage SmL By your own spotless honour Hip. By that faith, That fair hand, and that honest heart you gave me SKI. By that you would have pity in another, By your own virtues infinite Hip. By valour, By all the chaste nights I have ever pleas'd you Thct. These are strange conjurings ! Per. Nay, then I '11 in too : By all our friendship, sir, by all our dangers, By all you love most, wars, and this sweet lady Emi. By that you would have trembled to deny A blushing maid Hip. By your own eyes, by strength, In which you swore I went beyond all women, Almost all men, and yet I yielded, Theseus Pf> . To crown all this, by your most noble soul, Which cannot want due mercy ! I beg first. Hip. Next hear my prayers ! . let me entreat, sir ! Pfr. For mercv ! ACT III.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. VL Hip. Mercy ! Emi. Mercy on these princes ! Thes. You make my faith reel : say I felt Compassion to them both, how would you place it? Eni. Upon their lives ; but with their banish- ments. Thes. You 're a right woman, sister ; you have But want the understanding where to use it. If you desire their lives, invent a way Safer than banishment : can these two live, And have the agony of love about them, And not kill one another ? Every day They 'd fight about you; hourly bring your honour In public question with their swords: be wise then, And here forget them ! it concerns your credit, And my oath equally : I have said, they die. Better they fall by the law than one another. Bow not my honour. Emi. Oh, my noble brother, That oath was rashly made, and in your anger; Your reason will not hold it : if such vows Stand for express will, all the world must perish. Beside, I have another oath 'gainst yours, Of more authority, I 'm sure more love ; Not made in passion neither, but good heed. Thes. What is it, sister ? Per. Urge it home, brave lady ! Emi. That you would ne'er deny me anything Fit for my modest suit, and your free granting : I tie you to your word now ; if you fail in 't, Think how you maim your honour ; (For now I 'm set a-begging, sir, I 'm deaf To all but your compassion ;) how their lives Might breed the ruin of my name's opinion !* Shall anything that loves me perish for me ? That were a cruel wisdom ! do men prune The straight young boughs that blush with thou- sand blossoms, Because they may be rotten? Oh, duke The- seus, The goodly mothers that have groan'd for these, And all the longing maids that ever lov*d, If your vow stand, shall curse me and my beauty, And, in their funeral songs for these two cousins, Despise my cruelty, and cry woe -worth me, Till I am nothing but the scorn of women : For Heaven's sake save their lives, and banish them ! We adopt a suggestion of M. Mason. The original has, name, opinion." Opinion is used in the sense of reputa- Thes. On what conditions ? Emi. Swear them never more To make me their contention, or to know me^ To tread upon thy dukedom, and to be, Wherever they shall travel, ever strangers To one another. Pal. I '11 be cut a-pieces Before I take this oath ! Forget I love her ? Oh, all ye gods, despise me then ! Thy banisn- ment I not mislike, so we may fairly carry Our swords and cause along ; else never trifle, But take our lives, duke. I must love, and will ; And for that love, must and dare kill this cousin, On any piece the earth has. Thes. Will you, Arcite, Take these conditions ? Pal. He 's a villain then ! Per. These are men ! Arc. No, never, duke ; 't is worse to me than begging, To take my life so basely. Though I think I never shall enjoy her, yet I '11 preserve The honour of affection, and die for her, Make death a devil. Thes. What may be done ? for now I fed compassion. Per. Let it not fall again, sir. Thes. Say, Emilia, If one of them were dead, as one must, are you Content to take the other to your husband ? They cannot both enjoy you ; they are princes As goodly as your own eyes, and as noble As ever Fame yet spoke of; look upon them, And if you can love, end this difference I give consent ; are you content, too, princes ? Both. With all our souls. Thes. He that she refuses Must die then. Both. Any death thou canst invent, duke. Pal. If I fall from that mouth, I fall with favour, And lovers yet unborn shall bless my ashes. Arc. If she refuse me, yet my grave will wed me, And soldiers sing my epitaph. Thes. Make choice then. Emi. I cannot, sir ; they 're both too excellent: For me, a hair shall never fall of these men. Hip. What will become of them ? Thes. Thus I ordain it : And, by mine honour, once again it stands, Or both shall die! You shall both to your country: And each within this month, accompanied 151 A.CT III.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [SCENE VI. With three fair knights, appear again in this place, In which I '11 plant a pyramid : and whether, Before us that are here, can force his cousin By fair and knightly strength to touch the pillar, He shall enjoy her ; the other lose his head, And all his friends: nor shall he grudge to fall, Nor think he dies with interest in this lady : Will this content ye ? Pal. Yes. Here, cousin Arcite, I 'm friends again till that hour Arc. I embrace you. Thes. Are you content, sister ? Emi. Yes : I must, sir ; Else both miscarry. Thes. Come, shake hands again then ! And take heed, as you're gentlemen, this quarrel Sleep till the hour prefix'd, and hold your course. Pal. We dare not fail thee, Theseus. Thes. Come, I '11 give ye Now usage like to princes and to friends. When ye return, who wins, I '11 settle here ; Who loses, yet I '11 weep upon his bier. [Exeunt ACT IV. SCENE I. Enift GAOLER and a Friend. Gaoler. Hear you no more? Was nothing said of me Concerning the escape of Palamon ? Good sir, remember ! 1 Friend. Nothing that I heard ; For I came home before the business Was fully ended : yet I might perceive, Ere I departed, a great likelihood Of both their pardons ; for Hippolyta, And i'air-ey'd Emily, upon their knees Begg'rt with such handsome pity, that the duke Methought stood staggering whether he should follow His rash oath, or the sweet compassion Of those two ladies ; and to second them, That truly noble prince Perithous, Half his own heart set in too, that I hope All shall be well : neither heard I one question Of your name, or his 'scape. Enter Second Friend. Gaoler. Pray Heav'n, it hold so ! 2 Friend. Be of good comfort, man ! I bring you news, Good news. Gaoler. They 're welcome. 2 Friend. Palamon has clear'd you, And got your pardon, and discover'd how And by whose means he 'scap'd, which was your daughter's, Whose pardon is procur*d too ; and the prisoner m ACT IV.l THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [SCENB I. (Not to be held ungrateful to her goodness) Has given a sum of money to her marriage, A large one, I '11 assure you. Gaoler. You 're a good man, And ever bring good news, 1 Friend. How was it ended ? 2 Friend. Why, as it should be; they that never begg'd But they prevail' d, had their suits fairly granted. The prisoners have their lives. 1 Friend. I knew 't would be so. 2 Friend. But there be new conditions which you '11 hear of At better time. Gaoler. I hope they 're good. 2 Friend. They 're honourable : How good they '11 prove, I know not. Enter Wooer. 1 Friend. 'T will be known. Wooer. Alas, sir, where 's your daughter? Gaoler. Why do you ask ? Wooer. Oh, sir, when did you see her ? 2 Friend. How he looks ! Gaoler. This morning. Woozr. Was she well? was she in health, sir? When did she sleep ? 1 Ft lend. These are strange questions. Gaoler. I do not think she was very well ; for, now You make me mind her, but this very day 1 ask'd her questions, and she answer'd rae So far from what she was, so childishly, So sillily, as if she were a fool, An innocent ! and I was very angry. But what of her, sir ? Wooer. Nothing but my pity ; But you must know it, and as good by me As by another that less loves her. Gaoler. Well, sir ? 1 Friend. Not right? 2 Friend. Not well? Wooer. No, sir ; not well : 'T is too true, she is mad. 1 Friend. It cannot be. Wooer. Believe, you '11 find it so. Gaoler. I half suspected What you have toid me ; the gods comfort her ! Either this was her love to Palamon, Or fear of my miscarrying on his 'scape, Or both. Wooer. 'T is likely. Gaoler. But why all this haste, sir ? Wooer. I '11 tell you quickly. As I late was angling 154 In the great lake that lies behind the palace, From the far shore, thick set with reeds and As patiently I was attending sport, I heard a voice, a slirill one ; and attentive I gave my ear ; when I might well perceive 'T was one that sung, and, by the smallness of it, 'A boy or woman. I then left my angle To his own skill, came near, but yet perceiv'd not Who made the sound, the rushes and the reeds Had so encompass'd it : I laid me down And listen'd to the words she sung ; for then, Through a small glade cut by the fishermen, I saw it was your daughter. Gaoler. Pray go on, sir ! Wooer. She sung much, but no sense; only I heard her Repeat this often : ' Palamon is gone, Is gone to the wood to gather mulberries ; I '11 find him out to-morrow.' 1 Friend. Pretty soul ! Wooer. ' His shackles will betray him, he, '11 be taken ; And what shall I do then ? I '11 bring a bevy, A hundred black-ey'd maids that love as I do, With chaplets on their heads, of daffadillies, With cherry lips, and cheeks of damask roses, And all we '11 dance an antic 'fore the duke, And beg his pardon.' Then she talk'd of you, sir; That you must lose your head to-morrow morn- ing, And she must gather flowers to bury you, And see the house made handsome : then she sung Nothing but ' Willow, willow, willow ; ' and be- tween Ever was, ' Palamon, fair Palamon ! ' And 'Palamon was a tall young man!' The place Was knee-deep where she sat; her careless tresses, A wreath of bulrush rounded; about her stuck Thousand fresh water-flowers of several colours; That methought she appear'd like the fair nymph That feeds the lake with waters, or as Iris Newly dropp'd down from heav'n ! Rings she made Of rushes that grew by, and to 'em spoke The prettiest posies; ' Thus our true love 's tied;' ' This you may loose, not me ; ' and many a one : And then she wept, and sung again, and sigh'd And with the same breath smil'd, and kiss'd her hand. ACT IV.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [SCEKE II. 2 Friend. Alas, what pity 't is ! Wooer. I ma de in to her ; She saw me, and straight sought the flood ; I sav'd her, And set her safe to land ; when presently She slipp'd away, and to the city made, With such a cry, and swiftness, that, believe me, She left me far behind her : three, or four, I saw from far off cross her, one of them I knew to be your brother ; where she stay'd, And fell, scarce to be got away; I left them with her, Enter BROTHER, DAUGHTER, and others. And hither came to tell you. Here they are ! Daugh. 1 May you never more enjoy the light,' &c. Is not this a fine song ? Broth. Oh, a very fine one ! Daugh. I can sing twenty more. Broth. I think you can. Daugh. Yes, truly can I; I can sing the Broom, And Bonny Robin. Are not you a tailor ? Broth. Yes. Daugh. Where 's my wedding-gown ? Broth. I '11 bring it to-morrow. Daugh. Do, very rearly;" I must be abroad else, To call the maids, and pay the minstrels ; For I must lose my maidenhead by cock-light ; 'T will never thrive else. {Sings. ' Oh, fair, oh, sweet,' &c. Broth. You must e 'en take it patiently. Gaoler. 'T is true. Daugh. Good e 'en, good men ! Pray did you ever hear Of one young Palamon ? Gaoler. Yes, wench, we know him. Daugh. Is 't not a fine young gentleman ? Gaoler. 'T is love ! B"M. By no means cross her; she is then distemper'd 1'ar worse than now she shows. 1 Friend. Yes, he 's a fine man. Daugh. Oh, is he so ? You have a sister ? 1 Friend. Yes. Daugh. But she shall never have him, tell her so, For a trick that I know : you had best look to her, For if she see him once, she 's gone; she 's done, nearly <:arly. Gay, in nis 'Shepherd's Week,' uses re.ir as a provincial word, in this sense. The original has rarely. And undone in an hour. All the young maids Of our town are in love with him ; but I laugh at 'em, And let 'em all alone ; is 't not a wise course ? 1 Friend. Yes." Daugh. They come from all parts of the duke doin to him I '11 warrant you. Gaoler. She''s lost, past all cure ! Broth, Heav'n forbid, man ! Daugh. Come hither ; you 're a wise man. 1 Friend. Does she know him ? 2 Friend. No ; 'would she did ! Daugh. You 're master of a ship ? Gaoler. Yes. Daugh. Where 's your compass ? Gaoler. Here. Daugh. Set it to the north ; And now direct your course to the wood, where Palamon Lies longing for me ; for the tackling Let me alone : come, weigh, my hearts, cheerly ! All. Owgh, owgh, owgh ! 't is up, the wind is fair, Top the bowling ; out with the mainsail ! Where is your whistle, master ? Broth. Let 's get her in. Gaoler. Up to the top, boy. Broth. Where 's the pilot ? 1 Friend. Here. Daugh. What kenn'st thou ? 2 Friend. A fair wood. Daugh. Bear for it, master; tack about ! [Sings. ' When Cynthia with her borrow'd light,' &c. [Exeunt, SCENE II. Enter EMILIA, with two pictures. Emi. Yet I may bind those wounds up, that must open And bleed to death for my sake else : I 'L choose, And end their strife ; two such young handsome men Shall never fall for me : Iheir weeping mothers, Following the dead-cold ashes of their sons, Shall never curse my cruelty. Good Heav'n, What a sweet face has Arcite ! If wise Nature, We omit some lines here, for the same reason as we have previously stated. The tendency of Fletcher is to destroy his own high merits by a wanton indulgence in pruriency. He loses nothing by occasional omissions; not, however, regulated by over-fastidiousness. ACT IV.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [SCBNK H. With all her best endowments, all those beauties She sows into the births of noble bodies, Were here a mortal woman, and had in her The coy denials of young maids, yet doubtless She would run mad for this man : what an eye! Of what a fiery sparkle, and quick sweetness, Has this young prince ! here Love himself sits smiling; Just such another wanton Ganymede Set Jove afire, and enforc'd the god Snatch up the goodly boy, and set him by him A shining constellation ! what a brow, Of what a spacious majesty, he carries, Arch'd like the great-ey'd Juno's, but far sweeter, Smoother than Pelops' shoulder! Fame and Honour, Methinks, from hence, as from a promontory Pointed in heav'n, should clap their wings, and sing To all the under-world, the loves and fights Of gods and such men near 'em. Palamon Is but his foil ; to him, a mere dull shadow ; He 's swarth and meagre, of an eye as heavy As if he 'd lost his mother ; a still temper, No stirring in him, no alacrity ; Of all this sprightly sharpness, not a smile. Yet these that we count errors may become him: Narcissus was a sad boy, but a heavenly. Oh, who can find the bent of woman's fancy ? I am a fool, my reason is lost in me ; I have no choice, and I have lied so lewdly, That women ought to beat me. On my knees I ask thy pardon, Palamon ! Thou art alone, And only beautiful ; and these thy eyes, These the bright lamps of beauty, that com- mand And threaten love, and what young maid dare cross 'em ? What a bold gravity, and yet inviting, Has this brown manly face! Oh, Love, this only From this hour is complexion ; lie there, Arcite ! Thou art a changeling to him, a mere gipsy, And this the noble body I am sotted, Utterly lost ! my virgin's faith has fled me, For if my brother but e'en now had ask'd me Whether I lov'd, I had run mad for Arcite ; Now if my sister, more for Palamon. Stand both together ! Now, come, ask me, brother, Alas, I know not ! ask me now, sweet sister ; 156 I may go look ! What a mere child is fancy, That, having two fair gawds of equal sweet- ness, Cannot distinguish, but must cry for both ! Enter a Gentleman. How now, sir ? Gent. From the noble duke, your brother, Madam, I bring you news : the knights are come ! Emi. To end the quarrel ? Gent. Yes. Emi. 'Would I might end first ! What sins have I committed, chaste Diana, That my unspotted youth must now be soil'd With blood of princes ? and my chastity Be made the altar, where the lives of lovers (Two greater and two better never yet Made mothers joy) must be the sacrifice To my unhappy beauty ? Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PERITHOUS, and Attendants. Thes. Bring them in Quickly by any means. I long to see them. Your two contending lovers are return'd, And with them their fair knights : now, my fair sister, You must love one of them. Emi. I had rather both, So neither for my sake should fall untimely. Enter Messenger. Thes. Who saw them ? Per. I a while Gent. And I. Thes. From whence come you, sir ? Mess. From the knights. Thes. Pray speak, You that have seen them, what they are. Mess. I will, sir, And truly what I think : six braver spirits Than these they've brought, (if we judge by the outside,) I never saw, nor read of. He that stands In the first place with Arcite, by his seeming Should be a stout man, by his face a prince (His very looks so say him) ; his complexion Nearer a brown than black; stern, and yet noble, Which shows him haidy, fearless, proud of ACT IV.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [SCEKB II. The circles of his eyes show fire * within him, And as a heated lion, so he looks ; His hair hangs long behind him, black and shining Like ravens' wings; his shoulders broad and strong ; Ann'd long and round : and on his thigh a sword Hung by a curious baldrick, when he frowns To seal his will with ; better, o' my conscience, Was never soldier's friend. Thes. Thou hast well describ'd him. Per. Yet a great deal short, Metliinks, of him that 's first with Palamon. Thes. Pray speak him, friend. Per. I guess he is a prince too, And, if it may be, greater ; for his show Has all the ornament of honour in 't. He 's somewhat bigger than the knight he spoke of, But of a face far sweeter ; his complexion Is (as a ripe grape) ruddy ; he has felt, Without doubt, what he fights for, and so apter To make this cause his own ; in 's face appears All the fair hopes of what he undertakes ; And when he 's angry, then a settled valour (Not tainted with extremes) runs through his body, And guides his arm to brave things ; fear he cannot, He shows no such soft temper; his head's yellow, Hard-hair'd, and curl'd, thick twin'd, like ivy tops, Not to undo with thunder ; in his face The livery of the warlike maid appears, Pure red and white, for yet no beard has bless'd him; And in his rolling eyes sits Victory, As if she ever meant to crown his valour ; Hi.s nose stands high, a character of honour, His red lips, after fights, are fit for ladies. Emi. Must these men die too ? Per. When he speaks, his tougue Sounds like a trumpet ; all his lineaments Are as a man would wish them, strong and clean; He wears a well-steel'd axe, the staff of gold ; His age some five-and-twenty. Mess. There 's another, A little man, but of a tough soul, seeming Fire fair in the original. A modern reading in far, implying deep-seated eyes, fair might be received in the se'nse of clear; but the expression " wi'hin him" implies something more Mr. Dyce suggests the unexceptionable reading of fire. As great as any ; fairer promises In such a body yet I never look'd on. Per. Oh, he that 's freckle-fac'd ? Mess. The same, my lord : Are they not sweet ones ? Per. Yes, they 're well. Mess. Metliinks, Being so few, and well dispos'd, they show Great, and fine art in Nature. He 's white- "hair'd, Not wanton-white, but such a manly colour Next to an auburn ; tough, and nimble set, Which shows an active soul; his arms are brawny, Lin'd with strong sinews ; to the shoulder-piece Gently they swell, like women new-conceiv'd, Which speaks him prone to labour, never faint- ing Under the weight of arms ; stout-hearted, still, But, when he stirs, a tiger ; he 's grey-ey'd, Which yields compassion where he conquers; sharp To spy advantages, and where he finds 'em, He 's swift to make 'em his ; he does no wrongs, Nor takes none ; he 's round-fac'd, and when he smiles He shows a lover, when he frowns, a soldier; About his head he wears the winner's oak, And in it stuck the favour of his lady ; His age, some six-and-thirty. In his hand He bears a charging-staff, emboss'd with SM er. Thes. Are they all thus ? Per. They 're all the sons of honour. Thes. Now, as I have a soul, I long to see them ! Lady, you shall see men fight now. Hip. I wish it, But not the cause, my lord : they would show Bravely about the titles of two kingdoms ; 'T is pity love should be so tyrannous. Oh, my soft-hearted sister, what think you P Weep not, till they weep blood, wench ! it must be. Thes. You've steel'd 'em with your beauty. Honour'd friend, To you I give the field ; pray order it Fitting the persons that must use it ! Per. Yes, sii. Thes. Come, I '11 go visit them: I cannot stay (Their fame has fir'd me so) till they appear ! Good friend, be royal ! Per. There shall want no bravery. Emi. Poor wench, go weep; for whosoever wins, Loses a noble cousin for thy sins. \Exeunt. 157 kci IV.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. I.SCESE III. SCENE III. Enter GAOLER, WOOER, and DOCTOR. Doctor. Her distraction is more at some time of the moon than at other some, is it not ? Gaoler. She is continually in a harmless dis- temper; sleeps little, altogether without appe- tite, save often drinking; dreaming of another world, and a better; and what broken piece of matter soe'er she 's about, the name Palamon lards it ; that she farces every business withal, fits it to every question. Enter DAUGHTER. Look, where she comes ! you shall perceive her behaviour. Daugh. I have forgot it quite; the burden on 't was ' down-a down-a ; ' and penned by no worse man than Giraldo, Emilia's schoolmaster : he 's as fantastical too, as ever he max go upon 's legs ; for in the next world will Dido see Pala- mon, and then will she be out of love with jEneas. Doctor. What stuff 's here ? poor soul ! Gaoler. Even thus all day long. Daugh. Now for this charm that I told you of; you must bring a piece of silver on the tip of your tongue, or no ferry : then if it be your chance to come where the blessed spirits (as there's a sight now), we maids that have our livers perished, cracked to pieces with love, we shall come there, and do nothing all day long but pick flowers with Proserpine; then will I make Palamon a nosegay ; then let him mark me then ! Doctor. How prettily she's amiss! note her a little further ! Daugh. Faith, I '11 tell you ; sometime we go to barleybreak, we of the blessed : alas, 't is a sore life they have i' th' other place ! If one be mad, or hang, or drown themselves, tLither they go ; Jupiter bless us ! Doctor. How she continues this fancy ! 'T is not an engrafted madness, but a most thick and profound melancholy. Daitffh. To hear there a proud lady and a proud city-wife howl togetner ! I were a beast, an I 'd call it good sport ! [Sings. ' 1 will be true, my stars, my fate,' &c. [Exit DAUGHTER. > We have again been compelled to employ the pruning- knife. Our edition is for general readers, as well as few 153 Gaoler. What think you of her, sir ? Doctor. I think she has a perturbed mind, which I cannot minister to. Gaoler. Alas, what then ? Doctor. Understand you she ever affected any man ere she beheld Palamon ? Gaoler. I was once, sir, in great hope she had fixed her liking on this gentleman, my friend. Wooer. I did think so too ; and would account I had a great pennyworth on 't, to give half my state, that both she and I at this present stood unfeignedly on the same terms. Doctor. That intemperate surfeit of her eye hath distempered the other senses; they may return, and settle again to execute their pre- ordained faculties ; but they are now in a most extravagant vagary. This you must do : con- fine her to a place where the light may rather seem to steal in, than be permitted. Take upon you (young sir, her friend) the name of Pala- mon ; say you come to eat with her, and to com- mune of love ; this will catch her attention, for this her mind beats upon ; other objects, that are inserted 'tween her mind and eye, become the pranks and friskings of her madness; sing to her such green songs of love, as she says Pala- mon hath sung in prison ; come to her, stuck in as sweet flowers as the season is mistress of, and thereto make an addition of some other com- pounded odours, which arc grateful to the sense: all this shall become Palamon, 'for Palamou can sing, and Palamon is sweet, and every good thing; desire to eat with her, carve her. drink to her, and still among intermingle your peti- tion of grace and acceptance into her favour; learn what maids have been her companions and play-plieers ; a and let them repair to her with Palamon in their mouths, and appear with tokens, as if they suggested for him : it is a critical students. The essential difference between Shak- spere and Fletcher makes it necessary to adopt a different course with reference to the two writers, it is not a false reverence for Shakspere that calls upon an editor to leave his text unchanged : but a just discrimination between the quality of what is offensive in him and in other writers of his age. Coleridge has defined this difference with his usual philosophical judgment: "Even Shakspeare's grossness that which is really so, independently of the increase in modern times of vicious associations with things indifferent (for there is a state of manners conceivable so pure, that the language of Hamlet at Ophelia's feet might be a harm less rallying, or playful teazing, of a shame that would exist in Paradise) at the worst, how diverse in kind is it from Beaumont and Fletcher's ! In Shakspeare it is the mere generalities of sex, mere words for the most part ; seldom or never distinct images, all head-work, and fancy- drolleries; there is no sensation supposed in the speaker. I need not proceed to contrast this with Beaumont and Fletcher." a Play-pheers playfellow*. THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. ISCESElIl. falsehood she is in, which is with falsehoods to be combated. This may bring her to eat, to sleep, and reduce what are now out of square in her, into their former law and regiment : I have seen it approved, how many times I know not ; but to make the number more, I have great hope in this. I will, between the passages of this project, come in with my appliance. Let us put it in execution ; and hasten the success, which, doubt not, will bring forth comfort. [Exeunt. t ACT Y. SCENE I. Enter THESEUS, PERITHOTJS, HIPPOLTTA, and Attendants. Thes. Now let them enter, and before the gods Tender their holy prayers ! Let the temples Burn bright with sacred fires, and the altars In hallow'd clouds commend their swelling in- cense To those above us ! Let no due be wanting ! [Flourish of cornet*. They have a noble work in hand, will honour The very powers that love them. Enter PAX.AMON, ARCITE, and their Knights. Per. Sir, they enter. 160 Thes. You valiant and strong-hearted ene mies, You royal germane foes, that this day come To blow that nearness out that flames between ye, Lay by your anger for an hour, and dove-like Before the holy altars of your helpers (The all fear'd gods) bow down your stubbori bodies ! Your ire is more than mortal ; so your help be ! And as the gods regard ye, fight with justice ! I '11 leave you to your prayers, and betwixt ye I part my wishes. Per. Honour crown the worthiest [Exeunt THES. and Train. Pal. The glass is running now that cannot finish ACT V.I r iflE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. Till one of us expire : think you but thus ; That were there aught in me which strove to show Mine enemy in tliis business, were 't one eye Against another, arm oppress'd by arm, I would destroy th' offender; coz, I would, Though parcel of myself; then from this gather How I should tender you. Arc. I am in labour To push your name, your ancient love, our kindred, Out of my memory ; and i' the self-same place To seat something I would confound : so hoist we The sails that must these vessels port ev'n where The heavenly Limiter pleases. Pal. You speak well : Before I turn, let me embrace thee, cousin. T liis I shall never do again. Arc. One farewell ! ' Pal. Why, let it be so : farewell, coz ! Arc. Farewell, sir ! [Exeunt PAL. and his Knights. Knights, kinsmen, lovers, yea, my sacrifices, True worshippers of Mars, whose spirit in you Expels the seeds of fear, and th' apprehension, Which still is further off it, go with me Before the god of our profession. There Require of him the hearts of lions, and The breath of tigers, yea, the fierceness too, Yea, the speed also, tn go on, I mean, Else wish we to be snails : you know my prize Must be dragg'd out of blood; force and great feat Must put my garland on, where she sticks The queen of flowers ; our intercession then Must be to him that makes the camp a cestron Brimm'd with the blood of men ; give me your aid, And bend your spirits towards him : [They kneel. Thou mighty one, that with thy power hast turn'd Green Neptune into purple; [whose approach]" Comets prewarn ; whose havoc in vast field Unearthed skulk proclaim ; whose breath blows down The teeming Ceres' foison ; who dost pluck With hand armipotent from forth blue clouds The mason'd turrets; that both mak'st and break'st The stony girths of cities ; me, thy pupil, The words in brackets are not in the original copies, but were added by Sew ard. As something it evidently wanting, Uie addition is judicious. SUP. VOL. M Youngest follower of thy drum, instruct this day With military skill, that to thy laud I may advance my streamer, and by thee Be styl'd the lord o' the day ! Give me, great Mars, Some token of thy pleasure ! \Here they fall on their faces as formerly, and there is heard clanging of armour, with a short thunder, as the burst of a battle, whereupon they all rise, and bow to the Altar. Oh, great corrector of enormous times, Shaker of o'er-rank states, thou grand decider Of dusty and old titles, that heal'st with blood The earth when it is sick, and cur"st the world Of the plurisy 8 of people; I do take Thy signs auspiciously, and in thy name To my design march boldly. Let us go ! {Exeunt. Enter PALAMON and his Knights, with the former observance. Pal. Our stars must glister with new fire } or be To-day extinct : our argument is love, Which if the goddess of it grant, she gives Victory too : then blend your spirits with mine, You, whose free nobleness do make my cause Your personal hazard. To the goddess Venus Commend we our proceeding, and implore Her power unto our party ! [Here they kneel. Hail, sovereign queen of secrets ! who hast power To call the fiercest tyrant from his rage, To weep unto a girl ; that hast the might Ev'n with an eye-glance to choke Mars's drum, And turn th' alarm to whispers; that canst make A cripple flourish with his crutch, and cure him Before Apollo ; that may'st force the king To be his subjects' vassal, and induce Stale gravity to dance ; the polled bachelor (Whose youth, like wanton boys through bon- fires. Have skipp'd thy flame) at seventy thou canst catch, And make him, to the scorn of his hoarse throat, Abuse young lays of love. What godlike power Hast thou not power upon ? To Phoebus thou Add'st flames, hotter than his ; the heavenly fires Did scorch his mortal son, thine him; tup huntress, All moist and cold, some say, began to throw Her bow away, and sigh ; take to thy grace P'uri-u used by the old poets for fulness. 161 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. ACT V.J Me thy vow'd soldier ! who do bear thy yoke | As 't were a wreath of roses, yet is heavier Than lead itself, stings more than nettles : I 've never been foul-moutli'd against thy law ; Ne'er reveal'd secret, for I knew none, would not Had I kenn'd all that were ; I never practis'd Upon man's wife, nor would the libels read Of liberal wits ; I never at great feasts Sought to betray a beauty, but have blush'd At simpering sirs that did ; I have been harsh To large confessors, and have hotly ask'd them if they had mothers ? I had one, a woman, And women 't were they wrong' d. I knew a man Of eighty winters (this I told them), who A lass of fourteen brided ; 't was thy power To put life into dust ; the aged cramp Had screw'd his square foot round, The gout had knit lu's fingers into knots, Torturing convulsions from his globy eyes Had almost drawn their spheres, that what was life In him scem'd torture ; this anatomy Had by his young fair pheer a boy, and I Believ'd it was bis, for she swore it was, And who would not believe her ? Brief, I am To those that prate, and have done, no compa- nion; To those that boast, and have not, a defier ; To those that would, and canno!, a rejoicer : Yea, him I do not love that tells close offices The foulest way, nor names concealments in The boldest language : such a one I am, And vow that lover never yet made sigh Truer than I. Oh, then, most soft sweet god- dess, Give me the victory of this question, which Is true love's merit, and bless me with a sign Of thy great pleasure ! [Here music, is heard, doves are seen to flutter ; they fall again upon their faces, then on their knees. Oh, thou that from eleven to ninety reign' st In mortal bosoms, whose chace is this world, And we in herds thy game, I give thee thanks For this fair token ! which being laid unto Mine innocent true heart, arms in assurance [They bow. My body to this business. Let us rise And bow before the goddess ! Time comes on. [Exeunt [_Still music of records Snter EMILIA in white, her hair about her shoul- Jort, a wheaten wreath ; one in white holding 182 up her train, her hair stuck with Jlowers ; one before her carrying a silver hind, in which is conveyed incense and sweet odours, which be- ing set upon tthe Altar, her Maids standing aloof, she setsjire to it; then they curtsy and kneel. Emi. Oh, sacred, shadowy, cold, and constant queen, Abandoner of revels, mute, contemplative, Sweet, solitary, white as chaste, and pure As wind-fann'd snow, who to thy female knights Allow'st no more blood than will make a blush, Which is their order's robe ; I here, thy priest, Am humbled 'fore thine altar. Oh, vouchsafe, With that thy rare green eye, which never yet Beheld thing maculate, look on thy virgin ! And, sacred silver mistress, lend thine ear (Which ne'er heard scurril term, into whose port Ne'er enter'd wanton sound) to my petition, Season' d with holy fear ! This is my last Of vestal office ; I am bride-habited, But maiden-hearted; a husband I have ap- pointed, But do not know him ; out of two I should Choose one, and pray for his success, but I Am guiltless of election of mine eyes ; Were I to lose one (they are equal precious), I could doom neither; that which perish'd should Go to 't unsentenc'd: therefore, most modest queen, He, of the two pretenders, that best loves mo, And has the truest title in 't, let him Take off my wheaten garland, or else grant, The file and quality I hold, I may Continue in thy band ! [Here the hind vanishes under the Altar, and in the place ascends a rose-tree, having one rose upon it. See what our general of ebbs and flows Out from the bowels of her holy altar With sacred act advances ! But one rose ? If well inspir'd, this battle shall confound Both these brave knights, and I a virgin flower Must grow alone unpluck'd. [Here is heard a sudden twang of instru- ments, and the rose falls from the tree. The flower is fall'n, the tree descends ! Oh, mistress, Thou here dischargest me ; I shall be gather'd, I think so ; but I know not thine own will : Unclasp thy mystery ! I hope she 's pleas'd ; Her signs were gracious. [The$ curtsy, and exeunt ACT V.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. ; S, rsr. II. SCENE II. Enter DOCTOR, GAOLER, and WOOER (in habit of PALAMON). Doctor. Has this advice I told you done any good upon her ? Wooer. Oh, very much : the maids that kept her company Have half persuaded her that I am Palamon ; Within this half-hour she came smiling to me, And ask'd me what I'd eat, and when I'd kiss her : I told her presently, and kiss'd her twice. Doctor. 'T was well done ! twenty times had been far better ; For there the cure lies mainly. Wooer. Then she told me She would watch with me to-night, for well she knew What hour my fit would take me. Doctor. Let her do so. Wooer. She would have me sing. Doctor. You did so ? Wooer. No. Doctor. 'T was very ill done, then : You should observe her ev'ry way. Wooer. Alas ! I have no voice, sir, to confirm her that way. Doctor. That 's all one, if you make a noise : Pray bring her in, and let 's see how she is. Gaoler. I will, and tell her her Palamon stays for her. [Exit. Doctor. How old is she ? Wooer. She's eighteen. Doctor. She may be ; But that 's all one, 't is nothing to our purpose. Enter GAOLER, DAUGHTER, and MAID. Gaoler. Come ; your love Palamon stays for you, child ; And has done tliis long hour, to visit you. Daugh. I thank him for his gentle patience ; He 's a kind gentleman, and I 'm much bound to him. Did you ne 'er see the horse he gave me P Gaoler. Yes. Daugh. How do you like him P Gaoler. He 's a very fair one. Laugh. You never saw him dance P Gaoler. No. Daugh. I have often : He dances very finely, very comely ; And, for a jig, come cut and long tuil to him ! He turns you like a top. Gaoler. That 's fine indeed. M 2 Daugh. He '11 dance the morris twenty mile an hour, And that will founder .the best hobby -horse (If I have any skill) in all the parish : And gallops to the tune of ' Light o' love : ' What think you of this horse ? Gaoler. Having these virtues, I think he might be brought to play at tennis. Laugh. Alas, that 's nothing Gaoler. Can he write and read too : Laugh. A very fair hand ; and casts himself th' accounts Of all his hay and provender : that ostler Must rise betime that cozens him. You know The chestnut mare the duke has ? Gaoler. Very well. Laugh. She 's horribly in love with him, poor beast; But he is like his master, coy and scornful. Gaoler. What dowry has she ? Daugh. Some two hundred bottles And twenty strike of oats : but he'll ne'er have her; He lisps in 's neighing, able to entice A miller's mare ; he '11 be the death of her. Doctor. What stuff she utters ! Gaoler. Make curtsy ; here your love comes ! Wooer. Pretty soul, How do you ? That 's a fine maid ! there 's a curtsy ! Daugh. Yours to command, i' the way of honesty. How far is 't now to the end o' the world, my masters ? Doctor. Why, a day's journey, wench. Daugh. Will you go with me T Wooer. What shall we do there, wench ? Daugh. Why, play at stool-ball. What is there else to do ? Wooer. I am content, If we shall keep our wedding there. Daugh. 'T is true ; For there I will assure you we shall find Some blind priest for the purpose, that will venture To marry us, for here they 're nice and foolish ; Besides, my father must be hang'd to-morrow, And that would be a blot i' the business. Are not you Palamon ? Wooer. Do you not know me ? Daugh. Yes ; but you care not for me : I have nothing But this poor petticoat, and two coarse smocks Wooer. That 's all one ; I will have you. Daugh. Will you surely '; 163 ACT V.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [SCENE 111. Wooer. Why do you rub my kiss off ? Laugh. 'T is a sweet oue, And will perfume me finely 'gainst the wedding, is not this your cousin Arcite ? Doctor. Yes, sweetheart ; And I am glad my cousin Palamon Has made so fair a choice. Laugh. Do you think he '11 have me ? Doctor. Yes, without doubt. Dazqh. Do you think so too ? Gaoler. Yes. Lenigh. We shall have many children. Lord, how you 're grown ! My Palamon I hope will grow, too, finely, Now he 's at liberty ; alas, poor chicken, He was kept down with hard meat, and ill lodging, But I will kiss liim up again. Enter a Messenger. Mess. What do you here ? You '11 lose the noblest sight that e 'er was seen. Gaoler. Are they i' the field ? Mess. They are : You bear a charge there too. Gaoler. I '11 away straight, I must ev'n leave you here. Doctor. Nay, we '11 go with you : I will not lose the fight. Gaoler. How did you like her ? Doctor. I'll warrant you within these three or four days I '11 make her right again. You must not from her, But still preserve her in this way. Wooer. I will. Doctor. Let 's get her in. Wooer. Come, sweet, we '11 go to dinner ; And then we '11 play at cards.* [Exeunt. SCENE m. Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, EMILIA, PERI- THOUS, and Attendants. End. I '11 no step further. Per. Will you lose this sight P Emi. I had rather see a wren hawk at a fly, Than this decision : every blow that falls Threats a brave life ; each stroke laments The place whereon it falls, and sounds more like A bell, than blade : I will stay here : a This scene, as it. stands in the original, contains im- purities of thought faf more corrupting than any indelica- cies of language alone. We have pursued the same course 'is in two previous instances. 164 It is enough my hearing shall be puaish'd With what shall happen ('gainst the which there is No deafing), but to hear, not taint mine eye With dread sights it may shun. Per. Sir, my good lord, Your sister will uo further. Thes. Oh, she must : She shall see deeds of honour in their kind, Which sometime show well-pencill'd : Nature now Shall make and act the story, the belief Both seal'd with eye and ear. You must be present ; You are the victor's meed, the price and garland To crown the question's title. Emi. Pardon me ; If I were there, I 'd wink. Thes. You must be there; This trial is as 't were i' the night, and you The only star to shine. Emi. I am extinct ; There is but envy in that light, which shows The one the other. Darkness, which ever was The dam of Horror, who does stand accurs'd Of many mortal millions, may ev'n now, By casting her black mantle over both, That neither could find other, get herself Some part of a good name, and many a murder Set off whereto she 's guilty. Hip. You must go. Emi. In faith, I will not. Thes. Why, the knights must kindle Their valour at your eye : know, of this war You are the treasure, and must needs be by To give the service pay. Emi. Sir, pardon me ; The title of a kingdom may be tried Out of itself. Thes. Well, well, then, at your pleasure ! Those that remain with you could wish their office To any of their enemies. Hip. Farewell, sister ! I 'm like to know your husband 'fore yourself, By some small start of time : he whom the gods Do of the two know best, I pray them he Be made your lot ! \Exeunt THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PKRI- THOUS, 8fC. Emi. Arcite is gently visag'd : yet his eye Is like an engine bent, or a sharp weapon In a soft sheath ; mercy and manly courage Are bedfellows in his visage. Palamon Has a most menacing aspect ; his brow ACT V.] THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN. [SCENE III Is grav'd, and seems to bury waat it frowns on; Yet sometimes 't is not so, but alters to The quality of bis thoughts ; long time his eye Will dwell upon his object; melancholy Becomes him nobly ; so does Arcite's mirth ; But Palamou's sadness is a kind of mirth, So mingled, as if mirth did make him sad, Ajid sadness, merry; those darker humours that Stick misbecomingly on others, on him Live in fair dwelling. [Cornets. Trumpets sound as to a Charge. Hark, how yon spurs to spirit do incite The princes to their proof ] Arcite may win me ; And yet may Palamon wound Arcite, to The spoiling of his figure. Oh, what pity Enough for such a chance ! If I were by, I might do hurt; for they would glance their eyes Toward my seat, and in that motion might Omit a ward, or forfeit an offence, Which crav'd that very time ; it is much better [Cornets. Cry within, A Palamon ! I am not there ; oh, better never born Than minister to such harm ! What is the chance ? Enter a Servant. Sen. The cry 's a Palamon. Emi. Then he has won. 'T was ever likely : He look'd all grace and success, and he is Doubtless the primest of men. I prithee run, And tell me how it goes. [Shout, and cornets ; cry, A Palamon ! Sen. Still Palamon. Emi. Run and inquire. Poor servant, thou hast lost ! Upon my right side still I wore thy picture, Palamon 's on the left : why so, I know not ; I had no end in 't else ; chance would have it so. \Anothcr cry and shout within, and Cornets. On the sinister side the heart lies : Palamon Had the best-boding chance. This burst of clamour Is sure the end o' the combat. Enter Servant. Scrv. They said that Palamon had Arcite's body Within an inch o' the pyramid, that the cry Was general a Palamon ; but anon, Th' assistants made a brave redemption, and The two bold tilters at this instant arc Hand to hand at it. Emi. Were they metamorphos'd Bo!h into one Oh, why ? there were no won i ah Worth so compos 'd a man ! Their single share, Their nobleness peculiar to them, gives The prejudice of disparity, value's shortness, [Cornets. Cry within, Arcite, Arcite ! To any lady breathing. More exulting [ Palamon still ! Sen. Nay, now the sound is Arcite. Emi. I prithee lay attention to the cry ; [Cortiets. A great shout and cry, Arcitt, victory ! Set both thine ears to the business. Serv. The cry i& Arcite, and victory ! Hark ! Arcite, victory I The combat's consummation is proclaim'd By the wind-instruments. Emi. Half-sights saw That Arcite was no babe : God's 'lid, his richness And costliness of spirit look'd through him! it could No more be hid in him than fire in flax, Than humble banks can go to law with waters, That drift winds force to raging. I did think Good Palamon would miscarry ; yet I knew not Why I did think so : our reasons are not pro- phets, When oft our fancies are. They 're coming off : Alas, poor Palamon ! \_Cor i.'ts. Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PERITHOUS, An- CITE as Victor, Attendants, &c. Thes. Lo, where our sister is in expectation, Yet quaking and unsettled. Fairest Emilia, The gods, by their divine arbitrament, Have given you this knight : he is a good one As ever struck at head. Give me your hands ! Receive you her, you him ; be plighted with A love that grows as you decay ! Arc. Emilia, To buy you I have lost what 's dearest to me, Save what is bought ; and yet I purchase cheaply, As I do rate your value. Thes. Oh, lov'd sister, He speaks now of as brave a knight as e'er Did spur a noble steed ; surely the gods Would have him die a bachelor, lest his race Should show i' the world too godlike! His behaviour So charm'd me, that methought Alcides was To him a sow of lead : if I could praise Each part of him to th' all I 've spoke, your Arcite Di