GIFT Georce Davidson 1825-1911 I EXL1BRISI THE DRAMATIC WORKS OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE WITH COPIOUS GLOSSARIAL NOTES AND A BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE BY ROBERT INGLIS. Jour ttgraiings 0n Steel GALL & TNGLIS. OinburQh: G OEORGE STREET. 2f> PATERNOSTER P / 5? 7 //I BIOGRAPHICAL NOIICE. that has come down to us of the personal history of Shakespeare may be ex- pressed in the words of one of his biographers : " All that is known with any degree of certainty is, that he was born at Stratford-upon-Avon married, and had children there went to London, where he commenced actor, and wrote poems and plays returned to Stratford, made his will, died, and was buried." It is most remarkable of such a man as Shakespeare, " that no letter of his writing, no record of his conversation, no fully drawn character of him by any contemporary has yet been discovered." The industry of his commentators has indeed discovered various documents in which he is mentioned, but the information is of the most meagre kind, and the history derived from the discovery, of a merely conjectural character. \v \ At first sight one is disposed to imagine that, great as Shakespeare has been esteemed since his death, possibly he may have been undervalued by his contemporaries, but several incidental notices of him by writers of his age, show that not only were his writings appreciated, but that his plays had introduced a new era in the progress of dramatic literature. So far as we can gather from the scanty facts which have been collected, Shakespeare seems to have had a most supreme indifference as to the place he was to occupy in the annals of literature ; he has left us no records of his own life, nor does he appear ever to have taken the slightest trouble to have his dramas issued to the world in the state in which he wrote them. During his lifetime, edition after edition was published of many of his plays, unauthorised by him, and in a most imperfect and garbled form, yet he never seems to have interfered, and at his death no authorised copy of Shakespeare's plays was known to have been in existence. How much of Shakespeare we have in the generally received text is quite a matter of conjecture, and the text itself is as much a subject of discussion as the dramas of ancient Greece. The editors of the first collected edition of Shakespeare, the famous edition of 1623, did their duty most conscien- tiously, but their materials were of the most uncertain character, being chiefly collected from the manuscripts preserved in the various theatres, but not one of them bearing the authentication of Shakespeare. In this edition twenty plays were published for the first time. The first certain information regarding the Shakespeares begins with his father, John Shakespeare, who is believed to have been the son of a substantial farmer in Snitterfield, about three miles from Stratford-on-Avon. John appears to have commenced business in Stratford about the year 1551, and it is singular that the first mention we have of him is in April, 1552, in a prosecution for "piling up a dunghill in Henley Street, contrary to the laws." In 1558 he again appears in the Court roll as being fined fourpence for not keeping his gutters clean. The first trade he seems to have taken up was a glover, and he is so described in 1556 in a register of the Bailiff's Court. He soon after engaged in other occupations, as in 1564 he appears as selling timber, and still later to have "taken to agricultural pursuits," and " to have been a considerable dealer in wool." In 1579 he is styled in the chamberlain's accounts as " a yeoman," and probably the early tradition that he was a butcher, may have originated in his occasionally slaughtering' his stock for the Stratford market. In these various occupations he seems at first to have been very successful, and to have raised himself to easy circumstances. He was much esteemed by his townsmen, and filled in succession the various offices of the corporation, till in 1568 he was elected High Bailiff. It is significant of the state of education at this time that this the Chief Magistrate of Stratford could not sign his own name i v BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE. In 1557 John Shakespeare married Mary Arden, daughter of Robert Arden, then deceased, a gentleman of ancient family, and a considerable landed proprietor in the neighbourhood. They had a large family. The following is a copy of the baptisms from the Stratford Register : 1558, Sept. 15, Joan. [Died in infancy.] 1562, Dec. 2, Margaret. [Died 1563.] 1564, April 26, William. [Died 1616. ] 1566, Oct, 13, Gilbert. [No information.] 1569, Apr. 15, Joan. [Married W. Hart. Died 1646.] 1571, Sept. 28, Anne. [Died 1579.) 1574, Mar. 11, Richard. [Died 1613.] 1580, May 3, Edmund. [An actor. Died 1607.] The marriage into the Arden family not only gave John Shakespeare a greatly superior position in society, but he inherited through his wife the estate of Asbies, about 54 acres in extent, and some other valuable tenements in Snitterfield ; these were held no incon- siderable dower in his days. As John Shakespeare advanced in years he seems to have got into difficulties through unfortunate speculations and heavy losses in his business, so much so that in 1587 we find him actually in prison for debt, a sad downfall for the Chief Magistrate of Strat- ford. After this, however, he appears to have again emerged into comfort and affluence ; for, in 1596, we find John Shakespeare applying for and obtaining a grant of arms from the Heralds' College ; and we have the assertion of Garter King-at-Arms that he was at this time worth 500 in tenements and lands. In 1599, a farther application is recorded, to authorise the impalement of the Arden arms with those of Shakespeare : the permission was granted. But it is more than probable that William Shakespeare had helped his father, and was the moving spring of these applications, as he was by this time fast accu- mulating wealth in a profession then so much looked down upon that he was precluded from seeking the honours for himself. There is a curious document, dated 1592, being a "return of all recusants or persons who, from various causes, did not attend church ; " in this document John Shakespeare's name occurs, and there is a note appended that his absence was caused by a " feare of processe of debts." Yet we find him at this very time assisting in making an inventory of the effects of a tanner, not apparently afraid of arrest for debt. Some have held that these contradictions could only be reconciled by supposing a relapse from the Protestant faith, but the facts stated are too slight to justify such a conclusion. John Shakespeare did not long enjoy his heraldic honours. He died in September, 1601. His wife survived him for seven years, dying in 1608. William Shakespeare, the third child of John Shakespeare, was born on 23rd April, 1564. An entry in the register of Stratford records his baptism on the 26th April, and an early tradition that he died on the anniversary of his birth fixes the 23rd as the day on which he first saw the light. A house is still pointed out in Henley Street as that in which he was born. From this time till his eighteenth year we have not a word of reliable history. Such information as we possess we gather from traditions not collected till about fifty years after his death. It is believed that he received the elements of his education at the Free Grammar School of Stratford, which he entered about the age of seven, and at which he remained for six or seven years. We have few indications to guide us in judging of his proficiency there. One of the traditions makes him out "in his younger years to have been a schoolmaster in the country, and that he understood Latin pretty well." Some have supposed from this that in the Free Grammar School he had assisted "in teaching the young idea how to shoot." Ben Jonson, an intimate friend of his, makes the remark, "And though thoti hadst small Latin and less Greek," so that it is likely that he had made progress, at all events in the classics. It is also asserted that he was apprenticed to a lawyer in Stratford, but the proof of this is very insufficient. When William Shakespeare was about the age of fourteen, it is supposed that the diffi- culties into which his father was fast getting induced him to take William from school to assist in his business. It has been already said that his father killed his stock for the market; and it may have been while with his father that, as tradition asserts, "when he (Shakespeare) killed a calf, he would do it in a high style, and make a speech." The occupations in which he would thus naturally be engaged may have given rise to one of the traditions that Shakespeare was apprenticed to a butcher. BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE. It has been supposed that it was about this time that he first became acquainted with the strolling players, who occasionally visited Stratford, and under whose influence his mind received that impulse which some years later produced such wonderful results. We now come to one of those events in the life of Shakespeare upon which the evidence is documentary his marriage with Anne Hathaway, a resident of the neighbourhood. A marriage bond, dated 28th November, 1582, is still preserved, in which two persons, Fulk Sandells and John Richardson, come under a penalty of 40, to be forfeited to the Bishop in the event of any cause appearing hereafter why William Shakespeare and Anne Hatha- way should not be married, this bond being required to enable a clergyman to unite them after only a single publication of banns. The reason of this haste is not, unfortunately, difficult to find : their first child, Susanna, was born about the 26th May, 1583, scarcely six months after the date of the bond. Endeavours have been made to explain away th& above circumstance by a su^ jestion that a previous marriage before witnesses had takenV place, and that this was only to enable the religious part of the ceremony to be performed. \ / But on this supposition the haste is unaccountable, especially with the responsibility which it threw on the signers of the bond. The bond, too, mentions a marriage to be per- formed afterwards ; and as there is a seal R. H. also attached to the document, which is supposed to be that of Anne's father, then dead, it is but too plain why the various par- ties pushed on the legal solemnisation of the union. The truth is, the editors of Shakes- peare have a feverish anxiety to show that his character was all but immaculate. The slightest incident in his favour is magnified to absurdity, while aught showing he was but a man, with the frailties of his age and times, is discarded as unworthy of credit. Anne was seven or eight years older than her husband, and there is little in their future life to make us think that Shakespeare had much love for her. She seems, how- ever, to have been a faithful and dutiful wife, and to have borne his long absences with at least equanimity. Shakespeare, on his departure for London, left his wife and family behind him, and there is no appearance of their ever having been with him during his resi- dence there. It is said that he paid a yearly visit to his fa",nily at Stratford, until he finally gave up his profession, when he took up his abode with them in his native town. In 1585 were born at Stratford Shakespeare's two children Hamnet and Judith twins. We now come to a great event in Shakespeare's life, his leaving Stratford for London. Great controversy has taken place as to the cause of this. The reason commonly assigned is " the deer-stealing story." The original statement of the matter is as follows: "He had, by a misfortune common enough to young fellows, fallen into ill company, and amongst them some that made a frequent practice of deer-stealing, engaged him more than once in robbing the park that belonged to Sir Thomas Lucy of Charlcote, near Stratford. For this he was prosecuted by that gentleman, as he thought, somewhat too severely ; and, in order to revenge th^: ill usage, he made a ballad upon him ; and though this, probably the first essay of his poetry, be lost, yet it is said to have been so very bitter, that it redoubled the prosecution against him to that degree, that he was obliged to leave his business and family in Warwickshire for some time, and shelter himself in London." Though mere tradition cannot prove the above account to be a -narrative of facts, there appears nothing in the nature of the case to make the incidents unlikely. In all ages game-stealing has been a crime constantly before the law courts ; and that Shakespeare, a young, active man, mingling with the class among whom the actors in these depredations are usually found, should engage with them in such an escapade, is not at all unnatural. It may be remarked, too, that the lower classes of society have ever had a difficulty in understanding a breach of the game laws to be a moral offence. In the Merry Wives of Windsor (p. 49) Sir Thomas Lucy is plainly introduced as Justice Shallow; and when the Justice is made to threaten to make the deer-stealing a "Star Chamber business," it seems likely that Shakespeare refers to the manner in which he had been prosecuted for the offence. There is also a clear allusion to Sir Thomas Lucy's name and coat of arms in the same chapter where Slender refers to the luce (a pike. ) Lucy's coat of arms contains three luces. Though the above story seems to have been a strong reason for Shakespeare's depar- ture, it is more than probable that the unsatisfactory state of his father's affairs gave additional reasons for his leaving home to push his fortunes in the world. vi BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE. He appears to have left Stratford in 1586-7, and to have directed his course to London . but we have no reliable information regarding his occupation for the next two years. An improbable story is told, that he held gentlemen's horses at the doors of the theatres, and became a great favourite in the occupation. It is not at all consistent, however, with the well-ascertained fact, that so early as 1589, within two or three years of his entering London, he was one of the twelve proprietors of Blackfriars' Theatre. We have a docu- ment, dated November, 1589, in which this information is given. It seems probable that Shakespeare had early obtained an introduction to the company of actors, and his genius and business activity must have raised him quickly through the lower situations till he became a sharer in the profits of the theatre itself. Shakespeare was now fairly launched as an actor and writer of plays. Mr Halliwell has recently discovered documentary evidence of Shakespeare's having acted on two occasions before Queen Elizabeth in 1594. Many discordant statements have been made as to his talents as an actor; some asserting that his "top character was the Ghost in Hamlet;" but another story, if true, shows he had the ready appreciation of the part he had to play, which is the indication of a first-class actor. The story is as follows : Queen Elizabeth on one occasion honoured the theatre with her presence while Shakespeare was personat- ing a king. She, happening to walk across the stage near Shakespeare, dropped her glove, but Shakespeare took no notice of the circumstance. Elizabeth, desirous of ascertaining if this was intentional or a mere inadvertence, again moved past him, and dropped her glove. Shakespeare picked it up, and still personating the monarch in the play, said, " And though now bent on this high embassy, Yet stoop we to take up our cousin's glove." He then presented it to Elizabeth, who was greatly pleased with his ready wit. Queen Elizabeth was a great admirer of Shakespeare's plays, and in Midsummer- Night's Dream (p. 137) he pays her one of the most refined tributes ever paid to woman. Tho passage ends with "And the imperial votaress passed on In maiden meditation, fancy free." As a writer of dramas, it is likely that Shakespeare produced some of his plays at a very early period of his theatrical career, and it is probable that it was to his pen more than to his acting that he owed his rapid rise in his profession ; at first he seems to have confined himself to the remodelling of plays already in existence, and to this class belong Pericles (his first drama), Titus Andronicus, Taming of the Shrew, and Comedy of Errors; some of these are supposed to have appeared as early as 1588. It was not till 1591 or 1591 that his first original play, Love's Labour Lost, appeared; but no reliable information has ever been obtained as to the dcites when the rest of his plays were first produced. The dates when the following were first published (unsanctioned by Shakespeare) have been ascer- tained pretty correctly; but they must have been acted in the theatres long before 1597. King Richard II. it King Richard III. it Romeo and Juliet. 1598. Love's Labour's Lost. it First Part of King Henry IV. The Merchant of Venice. 1600. Second Part of King Henry IV. tr King Henry V. 1600. A Midsummer-Night's Dream. M Much Ado About Nothing. tr Titus Andronicus. 1602. Merry Wives of Windsor. 1603. Hamlet. 1607. King Lear. 1609. Troilus and Cressida. it Pericles. A question has been keenly discussed as to whether Shakespeare ever visited Scotland ; there are circumstances which deserve notice as being the grounds for this supposition. A portion of the " Queen's players," with whom Shakespeare was connected, actually visited Scotland, and went as far as Aberdeen, having frequent opportunities of acting before King James ; some have surmised that Shakespeare must have been in this com- pany, of which he was usually a member, and that only his visit to the north would account for the marvellous descriptions in Macbeth. Adverse to this idea, it is remark- able that, though several members of the company are named as having received rewards and honours, Shakespeare's is not even mentioned. It is also to be remembered that it BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE. Vii was only a detachment of the company which visited Scotland, the main body exhibiting at Court during the same seasons, and it is natural to suppose Shakespeare was with it, especially when we consider that he was at this time exceedingly busy with the dramas, which shortly after came out in rapid succession. All things considered, it is not pro- bable, though quite possible, that he was ever in Scotland. In the year 1592 the plague broke out in London, and an order was issued by the Privy Council to shut up all theatres and places of public concourse as a preventative to infec- tion. Shakespeare, thus finding " Othello's occupation gone," took the opportunity of his forced leisure to issue a volume of poems, written some years before, entitled " Venus and Adonis." The poetry is of a most licentious character, and could not have appeared in a purer age, but its popularity was decided, and several editions were rapidly issued. It was followed by " Lucrece," which also became very popular. These are the only poems of Shakespeare which were published under his own sanction. They were dedi- cated to Lord Southampton, and obtained the immediate patronage of the Earl, who pre- sented him shortly after with 1000. It has been supposed that this munificent donation was made to enable Shakes- peare to meet his share of the expense of building a new theatre, " The Globe." This theatre was opened in 1595 ; it was a large round building of wood, open to the sky, while only the stage was protected from the weather by an overhanging roof well thatched. In bad weather or in winter the players adjourned to " The Blackfriars," which was entirely covered in. " The Globe was a great success, most probably because in it were first acted the noble dramas written by Shakespeare at this period. Shakespeare was now on the highway to wealth and fame. His profits from the Bri- tannia and Globe must have been very large, and he had besides his regular salary as an actor, which would enable him to make his frequent investments in the purchase of houses and lands in his native town. In 1597 he purchased New Place, one of the best houses in Stratford ; in 1602 we find him acquiring, for 320, 107 acres of arable land, which he annexed to New Place ; and in 1605 he purchased, for 440, a share in a lease of tithes at Stratford. Money at that time represented about five times the amount it does at pre- sent, so that the sums invested would come to no inconsiderable sum for a man in his position. In the midst of his own success, our dramatist had the deepest sympathy with his brother poets who were struggling into fame ; the petty jealousies which but too often arise among authors were unf elt by Shakespeare ; a striking example of this occurs in his introduction of Ben Jonson to public notice. Ben Jonson, at this time unknown, had offered a play to one of the theatres ; the person who received it, after carelessly and superciliously turning it over, rejected it. Shakespeare luckily happened to notice it, saw the merit of the piece, and brought it before the public. It was the beginning of a bright career for Jonson, and the friendship thus begun seems to have endured through life. It is said that Shakespeare acted in 1598 in one of Ben Jonson 's plays. Shakespeare seems, up to 1604, to have retained liis position as an actor. A document, recently discovered by Mr Halliwell, shows that on the 15th March of that year, " 4 yards skarlet red cloth" was supplied to Shakespeare for his dress in a representation to be made before King James on his first visit to London. Shakespeare's name appears first on the list of the company, who were similarly supplied. James, on his accession, took the drama under his special patronage, and by a warrant, dated 17th May, 1603, he autho- rised Shakespeare's company, under the title of "The King's Players," to exercise their "arte and faculty" throughout his dominions. Shakespeare, in Macbeth, acknowledged this patronage, and is said to have delighted James by describing the long line of Scottish kings, who would at last " The twofold balls and treble sceptre carry." It is remarkable that the first proclamation of James closed the theatres on Sunday, on which day they had been accustomed to be open. This was only a sop for the time to the religious public, for we know, from the entries in the " Accounts of the Revels," that on Sunday, 4th November, 1604, the Merry Wives of Windsor was played before the Kin??. This is quite in keeping with the " Book of Sports" which he afterwards forced on the community ALOVSO, King of Naples. SEBASTIAN, his Brother. PROSPERO, the rightful Diike of Milan. ANTONIO, his Brother, tlie usurping DuJte of Milan. FERDINAND, Son to the King of Naples. GQNZALO, tlie honest old Counsellor of Naples. ADRIAN, Ir^ FRANCISCO, [ Lords ' CALIBAN, a savage and deformed Slave. TRINCULO, a Jester. STEPHANO, a drunken Butler. Master of a Ship, Boatswain, and Mariners. MIRANDA, Daughter to Prospero. ARIEL, an airy Spirit. IRIS, "\ CERES, JUNO, V Spirits. NYMPHS, | REAPERS, ) Other Spirits attending on Prospero. SCENE. The Sea with a Ship ; aftenvards an uninhabited Island. Act First. SCENE I. ON A SHIP AT SEA. A tempestuous noise of Thunder and Lightning heard. Enter a Ship-master and a Boatswain. Mast. Boatswain ! Boats. Here, Master: what cheer? Mast. Good, speak to th' mariners : fall to't / arely, 1 or we run ourselves aground : bestir, bestir. [Exit. Enter Mariners. Boats. Heigh, my hearts ! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts ! yare, yare. Take in the top-sail ; tend to th' Master's whistle. Blow, till thou burst thy wind, if room enough ! Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Ferdinand, Gonzalo, and Others. Alon. Good Boatswain, have care. Where's the M aster ? Play the m en . Boats. I pray now, keep below. Ant. Where is the Master, Boatswain? Boats. Do you not hear him? You mar our la- bour. Keep your cabins ; you do assist the storm. Gon. Nay, good, be patient. Boats. When the sea is. Hence ! What care these roarers for the name of king ? To cabin : silence ! trouble us not. Gon. Good, yet remember whom thou hast aboard. Boats. None that I more love than myself. You are a Counsellor : if you can command'these elements to silence, and work the peace of the present, we will not hand a rope more. Use your authority : if you cannot, give thanks you have liv'd so long, and make yourself ready in your cabin for the mischance of the hour, if it so hap. 1 Nimbly. Cheerly, good hearts ! Out v of our way, 1 say ! [Exit. Gon. I have great comfort from this fellow : methinks he hath no drowning mark upon him ; his complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, good Fate, to his hanging ! make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our own doth little advan- tage ! If he be not born to be hang'd, our case is miserable. [Exeunt. Enter Boatswain. Boats. Down with the top-mast: yare ; lower, lower. Bring her to : try wi' th' main-course. [A cry within.] A plague upon this howling ! they are louder than the weather, or our office. Enter Sebastian, Antonio, and Gonzalo. Yet again ! what do you hear? Shall we give o'er, and drown ? Have you a mind to sink ? Set. A plague o' your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog ! Boats. Work you, then. Ant. Hang, cur, hang ! You insolent noise- maker, we are less afraid to be drowu'd than thou art. Gon. I'll warrant him for drowning ; though the sliip were no stronger than a nutshell. Boats. Lay her a-hold, a-hold ! Set her two courses. Off to sea again : lay her off. Enter Mariners, wet. Mar. All lost ! to prayers, to prayers ! all lost ! [Exeunt. Boats. What ! must our mouths be cold ? Gon. The King and Prince at prayers ! let's assist them, For our case is theirs. Seb. I'm out of patience. Ant. We are merely 1 cheated of our lives by drunkards. 1 Entirely. 12 SHAKESPEAllE'S DEAMATIC WOPvKS. ACT I. This wide-chapp'd rascal, would thou might'st The washing of ten tides ! [lie drowning, Gon. He'll be hanged yet, Though every drop of water swear against it, And gape at wid'st to glut him. [A confused noise within.] Mercy on us ! We split, we split ! Farewell, my wife ami children .'Farewell, brother ! We split, we split, we split ! Ant. Let's all sink wi' th' King. [Evli. Seb. Let's take leave of him. [Exit. Gon. Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground ; long heath, brown furze, anything. The wills above be done ! but I would fain die a dry death. [Exit. SCENE II. THE IsiAND: BEFORE THE CELL OF PROSPERO. Enter Prospero and Miranda. M. If by yon r art, my dearest father, you have Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them. The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch, But that the sea, mounting to th' welkin's check. Bashes the fire out. ! I have suffered With those that I saw suffer ; a brave vessel, Who had, no doubt, some noble creature in her. Dash'd all to pieces. ! the cry did knock Against my very heart. Poor souls, they perish'd. Had I been any god of power, I would Have sunk the sea within the earth or e'er It should the good ship so have swallowed, and The freighting souls within her. Pro. Be collected : No more amazement. Tell your piteous heart, There's no harm done. Mira. 0, woe the day ! Pro. No harm. I have done nothing but in care of thee, (Of thee, my dear one ! thee, my daughter !) v.- ;; Art ignorant of what thou art, naught kuowiii-. Of whence I am ; nor that I am more better Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell, And thy no greater father. Mira. More to know Did never meddle with my thoughts. Pro. 'Tis time I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand, And pluck my magic garment from me. So : [Lays down his mantle. Lie there, my art. Wipe thou thine eyes ; have comfort. The direful spectacle of the wrack, which touch'd The very virtue of compassion in thee, I have with such provision in mine art So safely order'd, that there is no soul No, not so much perdition as an hair, Betid to any creature in the vessel Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. Sit down : For thou must now know farther. Mira. You have often Begun to tell me what I am : but stopp'd, And left me to a bootless inquisition, Concluding, "Stay, not yet." Pro. The hour's now come ; The very minute bids thee ope thine ear : Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember A time before we came into this cell? I do not think thou canst ; for then thou wast Out three years old. [not Mira. Certainly, sir, I can. Pro. By what? by any other house, or person? Of any thing the image tell me, that Hath kept with thy remembrance. *Mira. 'Tis far off, And rather like a dream than an assurance That my remembrance warrants. Had I not Four or five women once, that tended me ? Pro. Thou had.st, and more, Miranda. liut how is it, That this lives in thy mind ? What seest .thou else In the dark backward and abysm of time ? If thou rernember'st aught, ere thou cam'st here, How thou cam'st here, thou may'st. Mira. But that I do not. Pro. Twelve years since, Miranda, twelve ynars Thy father was the Duke of Milan, and [since, A prince of power. Mira. Sir, are not you my father? Pro. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and She said thou wast my daughter ; and thy father Was Duke of Milan, and his only heir And Princess, no worse issued. Mira. O, the heavens ! What foul play had we, that we came from Or blessed was 't, we did? [thence ! Pro. Both, both, my girl ; By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heav'd But blessedly holp hither. [thence ; Mira. ! my heart bleeds To tliink o' th' teen 1 that I have turned you to, Which is from my remembrance. Please you, farther. P. My brother, and thy uncle, called Antonio,- I pray thee, mark me, that a brother should Be so perfidious ! he whom, next thyself, Of all the world I lov'd, and to him put The manage of my state ; as, at that time, Through all the siguiories it was the first, (And Prospero the prime Duke, being so reputed In dignity) and, for the liberal arts, Without a parallel : those being all my study, The government I cast upon my brother. And to my State grew stranger, being transported And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle- Dost thou attend me? Mira. Sir, most needfully. Pro. Being once perfected how to grant suits, How to deny them, whom to advance, and whom To trash 2 for over-topping, new created ['em, The creatures that were mine, I say, or chang'd Or else new fonn'd 'em ; having both the key Of officer and office, set all hearts i' th' State To what tune pleas'd his ear, that now he was The ivy, which had hid my princely trunk, And suck'd my verdure out on't.4-Thou attend 'st I pray thee, mark me. [not. Mira. good sir ! I do, Pro. i thus neglecting worldly ends,all dedicate To closeness, and the bettering of my mind With that, which but by being so retir'd O'er-prized all popular rate, in my false brother Awak'd an evil nature ; and my trust, 1 Sorrow. 2 Correct. SC. II. THE TEMPEST. 13 Like a good parent, did beget of him A falsehood, in its contrary as great As nay trust was : which had, indeed, no limit, A confidence sans bound. He, being thus lorded, Not only with what my revenue yielded, But what my power might else exact, like one, Who having, unto truth, by telling of it, Made such a sinner of his memory, To credit his own lie he did believe He was indeed the Duke ; out o' th' substitution, And executing th' outward face of royalty, With, all prerogative : hence his ambition Growing, Dost thou hear ? M- Ira. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. Pro. To have no screen between this part he And him he play'd it for, he needs will be [play 'd, Absolute Milan. Me, poor man ! my library Was dukedom large enough. Of temporal royal- 1! e thinks me now incapable ; confederates [ties ( So dry he was for sway) wi' th King of Naples To give him annual tribute, do him homage, Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend The dukedom, yet unbow'd, (alas, poor Milan !) To most ignoble stooping. Mir a. the heavens ! Pro. Mark his condition, and th' event ; then If this might be a brother. [tell me, Mira. I should sin To think but nobly of my grandmother. Pro. Now the condition. This King of Naples, being an enemy To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit ; Which was, that he, in lieu o' th' premises Of homage, and I know not how much tribute, Should presently extirpate me and mine Out of the dukedom, and confer fair Milan, With all the honours, on my brother. Whereon, A treacherous army levied, one midnight, Fnted to th' purpose, did Antonio open The gates of Milan ; and i' th' dead of darkness The ministers for the purpose hurried thence Me, and thy crying self. Mira. Alack, for pity ! I, not rememb'iing how I cried out then, Will cry it o'er again : it is a hint, That wrings mine eyes to 't. Pro. Hear a little farther, And then I'll bring thee to the present business Y\ ilieh now's upou's ; without the which this Were most impertinent. [story Mira. Wherefore did they not That hour destroy us ? Pro. Well demanded, wench : My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not, (.So dear the love my people bore me) nor set A mark so bloody on the business ; but With colours fairer painted their foul ends. Tn few, they hurried us aboard a bark, Bore us some leagues to sea, where they prepared A rotten carcass of a boat, not rigg'd, Xor tackle, sail, nor mast ; the very rats T 1 1 stincti vely have quit it. There they hoist us, To cry to th' sea that roar'd to us, to sigh To th' winds, whose pity, sighing back again, )Jid us but loviii'j; unm:.:. Aliu-k ! what trouble "vVcts 1 then to you ! Pro. ! a cherubim Thou wast, that did preserve me. Thou didst Infused with a fortitude from heaven, [smile, When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt, Under my burthen groan 'd ; which rais'd in me An undergoing stomach, 1 to bear up Against what should ensue. "Mira. How came we ashore ? Pro. By Providence divine. Some food we had, and some fresh water, that A noble Neapolitan, Gronzalo, Out of his charity (who being then appointed Master of this design), did give us, with Jlich garments, linens, stuns, and necessaries, Which since have steaded much. So, of his gentleness, Knowing I lov'd my books, he f urnish'd me, From mine own library, with volumes that I prize above my dukedom. Mira. Would I might But ever see that man ! Pro. Now I arise : [Puts on Ms role. Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow. Here in this island we arriv'd ; and here Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit Than other princes can, that have more time For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful. Mira. Heavens thank you for't ! And now, I pray you, sir, (For still 'tis beating in my mind) your reason For raising this sea-storm ? Pro. Know thus far forth. By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune (Now my dear lady) hath mine enemies Brought to this shore ; and by my prescience I find my zenith cloth depend upon A most auspicious star, whose influence If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes Will ever after droop. Here cease morequestions. Thou art inclin'd to sleep : 'tis a good dulness, And give it way : I know thou canst riot choose. - [Miranda slee-ps. Come away, servant, come ! I am ready now : Approach, my Ariel: come. Enter Ariel. Ariel. All hail, great master; grave sir, hail. I To answer thy best pleasure ; be 't to fly, [come To swim, to dive into the lire, to ride On the cuii'd clouds : to thy strong bidding task Ariel, and all his quality. Pro. Hast thou, spirit, Perform 'd to point 2 the tempest that I bade Ari. To every article. [thee ? I boarded the King's ship ; now on the beak, Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, I flam'd amazement. Sometimes, I'd divide, And burn in many places : on the topmast, The yards and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly, Then meet and join. Jove's lightnings, the precursors 0' th' dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary And sight-outrunning were not: the fire and cracks Of sulphurous roaring the most mighty Neptune Seem to besiege, and make his bold waves Yea, his dread trident shake. [tremble, 1 Resolution. 2 Exactness- 14 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACTI. Pro. My brave spirit ! Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil 1 Would not infect his reason? Ari. Not a soul But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd Some tricks of desperation. All, but mariners, Plung'd in the foaming brine, and quit the vessel Then all a-firewithine:theKing's son, Ferdinand, With hair up-staring (then like reeds, not hair) Was the first man that leap'd. Pro. Why, that's my spirit ! But was not this nigh shore? Ari. Close by, my master. Pro. But are they, Ariel, safe? Ari. Not a hair perish'd : On their sustaining garments not a blemish, But fresher than before; and, as thou bad'st me, In troops I have dispers'd them 'bout the isle. The King's son have I landed by himself, Whom I left cooling the air with sighs In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting, His arms in this sad knot. Pro. Of the King's ship The mariners, say, how thou hast dispos'd, And all the rest o' th' fleet? Ari. Safely in harbour Is the King's ship : in the deep nook, where once Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew From the still- vex'd Bermoothes, 2 there she's The mariners all under hatches stow'd ; [hid ; Who, with a charm join'd to their suffer'd labour, I have left asleep : and for the rest o' th' fleet Which I dispers'd, they all have met again, And are upon the Mediterranean flote,3 Bound sadly home for Naples, Supposing that they saw the King's ship wrack'd, And his great person perish. Pro. Ariel, thy charge Exactly is perform'd ; but there's more work. What is the time o' th' day? Ari. Past the mid season. Pro. At least two glasses. The time 'twixt six and now Must by us both be spent most preciously. Ari. Is there more toil? Since thou dost give me pains, Let me remember thee what thou hast promis'd, Which is not yet perform'd me. Pro. How now! moody? What is 't thou canst demand? Ari. My liberty. Pro. Before the time be out? no more. Ari. I pr'ythee Remember, I have done thee worthy service ; Told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings, serv'd W ithout or grudge, or grumblings. Thou didst To bate me a full year. [promise Pro. Dost thou forget From what a torment I did free thee? Ari. No. Pro. Thou dost ; and think'st it much, to tread, Of the salt deep, [the ooze To run upon the sharp wind of the north, To do me business in the veins o' th' earth, When it is bak'd with frost. Ari. I do not, sir. [forgot Pro. Thou liest, malignant thing ! Hast thou 1 Bustle. :J BsruiudaB. 3 Wave. The foul witch Sycorax, who, with age and envy. Was grown into a hoop ? hast thou forgot her ? Ari. No, sir. Pro. Thou hast. Where was she born? speak Ari. Sir, in Argier.i [tell me. Pro. ! was she so? I must, Once in a month, recount what thou hast been, Whicli thou forget'st. This vile witch, Sycorax. For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrible To enter human hearing, from Argier, [did, Thou know'st, was banish'd : for one thing she They would not take her life. Is not this true ? Ari. Ay, sir. [with child, Pro. This blue-ey'd hag was hither brought And here was left by th' sailors. Thou, my slave As thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant: And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands, Kef using her grand 'hests, she did confine thee, By help of her more potent ministers, And in her most unmitigable rage, Into a cloven pine ; within which rift Imprison'd, thou didst painfully remain A dozen years ; within which space she died, And left thee there, where thou didst vent thy groans [island As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this (Save for the son that she did litter here, A f reckl'd whelp, hag-born) not honour'd with A human shape. Ari. Yes ; Caliban, her son. Pro. Dull thing, I say so ; he, that Caliban, Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st What torment I did find thee in : thy groans Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts Of ever-angry bears. This Sycorax Could not again undo : it was mine art, When I arriv'd and heard thee, that made gape The pine, and let thee out. Ari. I thank thee, master. P. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak, And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. Ari. Pardon, master: I will be correspondent to command, And do my spriting gently. Pro. Do so, and after two days I will discharge thee. Ari. That's my noble master ! What shall I do? say what what shall I do? Pro. Go, make thyself like a nymph o' th' sea: be subject To no sight but thine and mine ; invisible To every eyeball else. Go, take this shape, And hither come iu't: go hence, with diligence. [Exit "Ariel. Awake, dear heart, awake ! thou hast slept well; Awake ! Mira. The strangeness of your story put Heaviness in me. Pro. Shake it off. Come on : We'll visit Caliban, my slave, who never Yields us kind answer. Mira. 'Tis a villain, sir, I do not love to look on. Pro. But, as 'tis, We cannot miss him : lie does make our fire, 1 Algiers. sc. n. THE TEMPEST. 15 Fetch in our wood, and serves in offices That profit us. What hoa ! slave ! Caliban ! Thou earth, thou ! speak. Cal. [Within.] There's wood enough within. Pro. Come forth, I say: there's other business Come, thou tortoise ! when ? [for thee. Enter Ariel, like a Water-nymph. Fine apparition ! My quaint Ariel, Hark in thine ear. Ari. My lord, it shall be done. [Exit. Pro. Thou poisonous slave, come forth ! Enter Caliban. Cal. As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd With raven's feather from unwholesome fen Drop on you both ! a south-west blow on ye, And blister you ail o'er ! [cramps, Pro. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up ; urchins 1 Shall, for that vast of night that they may work, All exercise on thee : thou shalt be pinch'd As thick as honey-comb, each pinch more stinging Than bees that made 'em. Cal. I must eat my dinner. This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother, W liich thou takest from me. When thou earnest first, Thou strok'dst me, and mad'st much of me, would'st give me Water with berries in 't, and teach me how To name the bigger light, and how the less, That burn by day and night:and then Ilov'd thee, And show'd thee all the qualities o' th' isle, The fresh springs, brine pits, barren place and fertile. Curs'd be I that did so! All the charms Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you ! For I am all the subjects that you have, Which first was mine own king ; and here you sty me, Tn this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me The rest o' th' island. Pro. Thou most lying slave, Whom stripes may move, not kindness, I have us'd thee, [thee Filth as thou art, with human care; and Ipdg'd In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate The honour of my child. Abhorred slave, Which any print of goodness wilt not take, iV'ing capable of all ill ! I pitied thee, [hour Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each One thing or other: when thou didst not, savage, Know thine own meaning, but would'st gabble like A tiling most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes With words that made them known ; but thy vile race, [good natures Though thou didst learn, had that in 't which ( ' >iild not abide to be with: therefore wast thou I 'c.sfirvedly confin'd into this rock, ' ! i o 1 1 adst deserved more than a prison, [on 't Cal. You taught ine language; and my profit Is, 1 know how to curse. The red plague rid 2 For learning me your language ! [you, i'ro. Hag-seed, hence ! 1 Fairies. 2 Destroy. Fetch us in fuel ; and be quick, thou-'rt best, To answer other business. Slirug'st thou, malice? If thou neglect'st, or dost unwillingly What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps, Fill all thy bones with aches, make thee rov, That beasts shall tremble at thy din. Cal. No, 'pray thee ! I must obey. [Aside.] His art is of such pow'r, It would control my dam's god, Setebos, And make a vassal of him. Pro. So, slave ; hence ! [Exit Caliban. Enter Ariel invisible, playing and singing, Ferdinand following him. ARIEL'S Song. Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands : Court'sied when you have, and kiss'd (The wild waves whistj, Foot it featly here and there ; And, sweet sprites, the burthen "bear. Hark, hark ! ^[Burthen.] Bowgh-wowgh. [Dispersed!/. The watch-dogs bark : Bowgh-wowgh. ARI. Hark, hark ! I hear The strain of strutting chanticlere Cry, Cock-a-doodle-doo. Per. Where should this music be? i' th' air, or th' earth ? It sounds no more ; -and sure, it waits upon Some god o' th' island. Sitting on a bank, Weeping again the King niy father's wrack, This music crept by me upon the waters, Allaying both their fury and my passion, With its sweet air : thence I have follow'd it, Or it hath drawn me rather: but 'tis gone, No, it begins again. ARIEL Sings. Full fadom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange, Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : [Burthen :] Ding-dong. Hark ! now I hear them, ding-dong, bell. Fer. The ditty does remember my drown'd father. This is no mortal business, nor no sound That the earth owes. I hear it now above me. Pro. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance And say, what thou seest yond'. Mira. What is 't ? a spirit ? See how it looks about ! Believe me, sir, It carries a brave form : but 'tis a spirit. Pro. No, wench: it eats and sleeps, and hath such senses [seest As we have, such. This gallant which thou Was in the wrack; and but he's something stain'd [call him With grief, that's beauty's canker, thou might'st A goodly person. He hath lost his fellows, And strays about to find 'em. Mira. I might call him ifl SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT II. A thing divine ; for nothing natural I ever saw so noble. Pro. [Aside.] It goes on, I see, As my soul prompts it. Spirit, fine spirit ! I'll Within two days from this. [free thee Fer. Most sure, the goddess On whom these airs attend ! Vouchsafe, my prayer May know if you remain upon this island, And that you will some good instruction give, How I may bear me here^c my prime request, Which I do last pronounce, is, you wonder ! If you be maid, or no ! M ira. No wonder, sir ; But, certainly a maid. Fer. My language ! heavens ! I am the best of them that speak this speech, Were I but where 'tis spoken. Pro. How? the best? [thee? What wert thoti, if the King of Naples heard Fer. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders To hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me, And that he does I weep : myself am Naples ; Who with mine eyes, ne'er since at ebb, beheld The King, my father, wrack'd. Mira. Alack, for mercy ! Fer. Yes, faith, and all his lords ; the Duke of Milan, And his brave son, being twain. Pro. [Aside.] The Duke of Milan, [thee, And his more braver daughter, could control 1 If now 't were fit to do 't. At the first sight They have chang'd eyes : delicate Ariel, I'll set thee free for this ! [To him.] A word, good sir ! [word. I fear you have done yourself some wrong a M. Why speaks my father so ungently ? This Is the third man that e'er I saw ; the first Th;it e'er I sigh'd for. Pity move my father To be incliu'd my way ! Fer. O ! if a virgin, A nd your affection not gone forth, I'll make you The Queen of Naples. Pro. Soft, sir : one word more. [Aside.] They are both in cither's pow'rs : but this swift business I must uneasy make, lest too light winning Make the prize light. [To him.] One word more : I charge thee, That thou attend me. Tiiou dost here usurp The name thou ow'st not ; and hast put thyself Tpou this island as a spy, to win it From me, the lord on't. Fur. No, as I am a man. Mira. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a If the ill spirit have so fair a house, [temple : Good things will strive to dwell with .ft. Pro. [To Fer.] Follow me. Speak not you for him ; he's a traitor. Come. I'll manacle thy neck and feet together ; Sea- water shalt thou drink ! thy food shall be The fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots, and Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow, [husks, Fer. No; I will resist such entertainment, till Mine enemy has more power. \He draws, and is charmed from moving,] I Confute. Mira. 0, dear father ! Make not too rash a trial of him, for He's gentle, and not fearful. 1 Pro. What ! I say : My foot my tutor? Put thy sword up, traitor : Who mak'st a show, but dar'st not strike, thy conscience Is so possess'd with guilt : come from thy ward, For I can here disarm thee with this stick, And make thy weapon drop. Mira. Beseech you, father ! Pro. Hence ! hang not on my garments. M ira. Sir, have pity : I'll be his surety. Pro. Silence ! one word more Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What? An advocate for an impostor ? Hush! [he, Thou think'st there are no more such shapes a* Having seen but him and Caliban : foolish To th' most of men this is a Caliban, [wench ! And they to him are angels. Mira. My affections Are then most humble : I have no ambition To see a goodlier man. Pro. [To Fer.] Come on; obey: Thy nerves are in their infancy again, And have no vigour in them. Fer. So they are : My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up. My father's loss, the weakness which I feel, The wrack of all my friends, nor this man's threats, To whom I am subdu'd, are but light to me, Might I but through my prison once a day Behold this maid. .All corners else o' th' earth Let liberty make use of : space enough Have I in such a prison. Pro. [Aside.] It works. [Alternately to Fer. and Mira., and to Ari. Come on. Thou hast done well, fine Ariel ! Follow me. Hark, what thou else shalt do me. Mrra. Be of comfort. My father's of a better nature, sir, Than he appears by speech : this is unwonted, Which now came from him. Pro. [To Ariel] Thou shalt be as free As mountain winds : but then exactly do All points of my command. Ari. To th' syllable. Pro. Come, follow. Speak not for him. [Exeunt. Act Second. SCENE I. A>N 7 OTHER PART OF THE ISLAND. Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, Adrian, Francisco, and Others. Gon. Beseech you, sir, be meriy : you have (So have we all) of joy ; for our escape [cause Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe Is common : every day, some sailor's wife, The mastersof some merchan t, and the merchant, Have just our theme of woe; but for the miratie,- I mean our preservation, few in millions Can speak like us : then, wisely, good sir, weigh ' Our sorrow with our comfort. 1 Formidable. RC. I. THE TEMPEST. 17 Alon. Pr'ythee, peace. Seb. He receives comfort like cold porridge. Ant. The visitor will not give him o'er so. Seb. Look ; he's winding up the watch of his wit ; by and by it will strike. Gen. Sir, Sob. One: tell. Gon. When every grief is entertain'd that's Conies to th' entertainer [offered, Scb. A dollar. Gon. Dolour conies to him, indeed ; you have spoken truer than you purpos'd. Sib. You have taken it wiselier than I meant Gon. Therefore, my lord, [you should. Ant. Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his Alon. I pry'thee, spare. [tongue ! Gon. Well, I have done. But yet Seb. He will be talking. Ant. Which of them, he or Adrian, for a good ragcr, first begins to crow ? Seb. The old cock. Ant. The cockrel. Seb. Done. The wager? Ant. A laughter. Seb. A match. Adr. Though this island seem to be desert, Ant. Ha, ha, ha ! Seb. So, you're paid. Adr. Uninhabitable, and almost inacces- Seb. Yet [sible, Adr. Yet Ant. He could not miss't. A dr. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly. Gon. Here is every thing advantageous to life. Ant. True ; save means to live. Seb. Of that there's none, or little. Gon. How lush 1 and lusty the grass looks ! how Ant. The ground, indeed, is tawny, [green ! Seb. With an eye 2 of green in 't. Ant. He misses not much. Se. No : he doth but mistake the truth totally. Gon. But the rarity of it is, which is indeed almost beyond credit Seb. As many vouch'd rarities are. Gon. that our garments, being, as they were, drench 'd in the sea, hold, notwithstanding, their freshness and glosses ; being rather new dy'd than stain'd with salt water. A nt. If but one of his pockets could speak, would it not say, he lies? Seb. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report. Gon. Methinks, our garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in Afric, at the marriage of the King's fair daughter Claribel to the King of Tunis. Seb. 'Twas a sweet marriage ; and we prosper well in our return. A rlr. Tunis was never grac'd before with such. a paragon to their Queen. Gon. Not since widow Dido's time. Ant. Widow ! How came that widow in ? Widow Dido ! Se.l. What if he had said, widower Mneaa too ? good lord, how you take it. A. Widow Dido, said you? you make me study of that : she was of Carthage, not of Tunis. 1 Luscious. 2 Tint. Gon. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage. Adr. Carthage? Gon. I assure you, Carthage. Ant. His word is more than the miraColons harp. Seb. He hath rais'd the wall, and houses too. Ant. What impossible matter will he make easy next ? Seb. I think he will carry this island home in his pocket, and give it his son for an apple. Ant. And sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring forth more islands. Gon. Ay? Ant. Why, in good time. Gon. Sir, we were talking, that our garments seem now as fresh as when we were at Tunis at the marriage of your daughter, who is now Queen. Ant. And the rarest that e'er came there. Seb. Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido. Ant. ! widow Dido ; ay, widow Dido. Gon. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day I wore it ? I mean, in a sort. Ant. That sort was well fish'd for. Gon. When I wore it at your daughter's mar- riage ? A 1. You cram thesewords into mine ears, against The stomach of my sense. Would I had never Married my daughter there ! for, coming thence, My son is lost ; and, in my rate, she, too, Who is so far from Italy remov'd, I ne'er again shall see her. thou, mine heir Of Naples and of Milan ! what strange fish Hath made his meal on thee ? Fran. Sir, he may live. 1 saw him beat the surges under him, And ride upon their backs : he trod the water, Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted The surge most swoln that met him: his bold h:\vl 'Bpve the contentious waves he kept, and oard Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke To th' shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis boAv'd, As stooping to relieve him. I not doubt, He came alive to land. Alon. No, no ; he's gone. Seb. Sir, you may thank yourself for this g reat loss That would not bless our Europe with your But rather lose her to an African ; [daughter, Where she, at least, is banish'd from your eye, Who hath cause to wet the grief on 't. Alon. Pr'ythee, peace. Seb. Youwere kneel'd to, and importun'd ot ; icr- By all of us ; and the fair soul herself [wise Weigh'd, between loathness and obedience, at Which end o' th' beam she'd bow. We have lost your son, I fear, for ever ; Milan and Naples have More widows in them, of this business' nial '11^, Than we bring men to comfort them: the fault's Your own. Alon. So is the dear'st o' th' loss. Gon. My lord Sebastian, The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness, And time to speak it in : you rub the sore, When you should bring the plaster. Seb. Very well Ant. And most chirurgeonly. 3 18 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACTII. Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good sir, When you are cloudy. Seb. Foul weather? Ant. Very foul. Gon. Had I plantation of this isle, my lord, Ant. He'd sow't with nettle-seed. Seb. Or docks, or mallows. 1 Gon. -And were the King on't, what would I do? Seb. 'Scape being drunk, for want of wine. G. T th' commonwealth I would by contraries Execute all things ; for no kind of traffic Would I admit ; no name of magistrate ; Letters should not be known ; riches, poverty, And use of service, none ; contract, succession, Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none ; No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil : No occupation ; all men idle, all, And women too, but innocent and pure : No sovereignty : .Seb. Yet he would be king on 't. Ant. The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the beginning. [produce Gon. All things in common, Nature should Without sweat or endeavour : treason, felony, Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, Wouldlnot have ; but Nature should bring forth, Of its own kind, all f oison, 2 all abundance, To feed my innocent people. I would with such perfection govern, sir, T' excel the golden age. Seb. 'Save his majesty ! Ant. Long live Gonzalo ! Gnn. And, do you mark me, sir? Alon. Pr'ythee, no more: thou dost talk no- thing to me. Gon. I do well believe your highness ; and did it to minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such sensible and nimble lungs, that they always use to laugh at nothing. Ant. 'Twas you we laugh'd at. Gon. Who, in this kind of merry fooling, am nothing to you ; so you may continue, and laugh at nothing still. Ant. What a blow was there given ! Seb. An it had not fall'n flat-long. Gon. You are gentlemen of brave mettle : you would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would continue in it five weeks without changing. . Enter Ariel, playing solemn Music. Seb. We would so, and then go a bat-fowling Ant. Nay, good my lord, be not angry. Gon. No, I wan-ant you ; I will not adventure my discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep? for I am very heavy. Ant. Go sleep, and hear us. [All sleep but Alon., Seb., and Ant. A I. What ! all so soon asl eep? I wish mine eyes Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts : They are inclined to do so. [I find Seb. Please you, sir, Do not omit the heavy offer of it : It seldom visits sorrow : when it doth, It is a comforter. A nt. We two, my ?ord, Will guard your person while you take your rest, And watch your safety. J A plaut of Genus Malv*. 2 Plenty. Alon. Thank you. Wondrous heavy. [Alonso sleeps. Exit Ariel. Seb. What a strange drowsiness possesses Ant. It is the quality o' th' climate, [them! Seb. Why Doth it not, then, our eyelids sink? I find not Myself dispos'd to sleep. Ant. Nor I : my spirits are nimble. They fell together all as by consent ; [might, They dropp'd as by a thunder-stroke. What Worthy Sebastian ? ! what might ? No And yet, methinks, I see it in thy face, [more : What thou should'st be. Th' occasion speaks thee, and My strong imagination sees a crown Dropping upon thy head. Seb. * What! art thou waking? Ant. Do you not hear me speak? Seb. I do ; and surely, It is a sleepy language, and thou speak'st Out of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say? This is a strange repose, to be asleep With eyes wide open ; standing, speaking, mov- And yet so fast asleep. [ing, Ant. Noble Sebastian. Thou let'st thy fortune sleep die rather; wink'st Whiles thou are waking. Seb. Thou dost snore distinctly : There's meaning in thy snores. Ant. I am more serious than my custom : you Must be so too, if heed me ; which to do, Trebles thee o'er. Seb. Well ; I am standing water. Ant. I'll teach you how to flow. Seb. Do so : to ebb, Hereditary sloth instructs me. Ant. ! If you but knew, how you the purpose cherish, Whiles thus you mock it! how, in stripping it, You more invest it ! Ebbing men, indeed, Most often do so near the bottom run By their own fear or sloth. Seb. Pr'ythee, say on. The setting of thine eye and cheek, proclaim A matter from thee, and a birth, indeed, Which throes thee much to yield. Ant. Thus, sir. Although this lord of weak remembrance (this, Who shall be of as little memory, When he is earth'd !) hath here al most persuaded (For he's a spirit of persuasion only) The King, his son's alive, 'tis as impossible That he's undrowu'd, as he that sleeps here, Seb. I have no hope [swims. That he's undrown'd. Ant. ! out of that no hope, What great hope have you? Nohope, that way, ia Another way so high a hope, that even Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond, But doubts discovery there. Will you grant, That Ferdinand is drown 'd? [with me, Seb. He's gone. A nt. Then, tell me, Who's the next heir of Naples? Seb. Claribel. [dwrellfl Ant. She that is Queen of Tunis; she that Ten leagues beyond man's life ; she that from Naules J50. t THE TEMPEST. 10 Can have no note, unless the sun were post, (The man i'tli'moon's too slow)till new-born chins Be rough and razorable ; she, from whom We all were sea-swallowed, though some cast And by that destiny to perform an act, [again ; Whereof what's past is prologue, what to come; Ig yours and my discharge. Seb. What stuff is this ! How say you? 'Tis true,mybrother's daughter's Queen of Tunis; So is she heir of Naples ; 'twixt which regions There is some space. Ant. A space who's every cubit Seems to cry out, " How shall that Claribel Measure us back to Naples? Keep in Tunis, And let Sebastian wake !" Say, this were death That now hath seized them ; why, they were no worse [Naples Than now they are. There be, that can rule As well as he that sleeps ; lords that can prate As amply, and unnecessarily, As this Gonzalo : I myself could make A chough 1 of as deep chat. 0, that you bore The mind that I do ! what a sleep were this For your advancement! Do you understand me? Seb. Methinks I do. Ant. And how does your content Tender your own good fortune? Seb. I remember, You did supplant your brother Prospero. Ant. True; And look how well my garments sit upon me ; Much f eater than before. My brother's servants Were then my fellows, now they are my men, Seb. But for your conscience Ant. Ay, sir; where lies that? if 'twere a kybe, 2 'Twould put me to my slipper ; but I feel not This deity in my bosom. Twenty consciences, That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they, And melt, ere theymolest ! Here lies your brother, No better than the earth he lies upon, [dead, If he were that which now he's like, that's Whom I, with this obedient steel three inches of it- Can lay to bed for ever ; whiles you, doing thus, To the perpetual wink for aye might put This ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who Should not upbraid our course : for all the rest, They'll take suggestion as a cat laps milk ; They'll tell the clock to any business that We say befits the hour. Seb. Thy case, dear friend, Shall be my precedent : as thou got'st Milan, I'll come by Naples. Draw thy sword: one stroke Shall free thee from the tribute which thou And I the King shall love thee. [pay'st, A nt. Draw together ; And when I rear my hand, do you the like, To fall it on Gonzalo. Seb. O ! but one word. [They converse apart. Enter Ariel, with Music, Invisible. A. My master through his art foresees the danger That you, his friend, are in ; and sends me forth (i'or else his project dies) to keep them living. [Sings in Gonzalo's ear. 1 A kind of jackdaw. 2 Chapped. While you here do snoring lie, Open-ey'd conspiracy His time doth take. Ij of life you keep a care, Shake off dumber, and beware: Awake! Awake! Ant. Then let us both be sudden. Gon. Now, good angels preserve the King ! [They wake* Alon. Why, how now, hoa ! awake! Why are Wherefore this ghastly looking ! [you drawn? Gon. What's the matter? Seb. Whiles we stood here securi ng your repose, Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing Like bulls, or rather lions : did 't not wake you? It struck mine ear most terribly. Alon. I heard nothing. Ant. ! 'twas a din to fright a monster's ear, To make an earthquake : sure, it was the roar Of a whole herd of lions. Alon. Heard you this, Gonzalo? Gon. Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a hum- ming [me. And that a strange one, too, which did awake I shak'd you, sir, and cried: as mine eyes open'd, I saw their weapons drawn. There was a noise, That's verity: 'tis best we stand upon our guard, Or that we quit this place. Let's draw our weapons. A. Lead off this ground, and let's make farthei For my poor son. [search Gon. Heavens keep him from these beasts, For he is, sure, i' th' island. Alon. Lead away. [Exeunt. Art. Prospero, my lord, shall know what I have done : So, King, go safely on to seek thy son. [Exit. SCENE II. ANOTHER PART OF THE ISLAND. Enter Caliban, with a burthen of wood. A noise of Thunder heard. Cal. All the infections that the sun sucks up From bogs, fens, fiats, on Prosper fall, and make him By inch-meal a disease ! His spirits hear me, And yet I needs must curse ; but they'll nor pinch, Fright mewith urchin 1 shows,pitoh'me i' th'mire, Nor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark Out of my way, unless he bid 'em. But For every trifle are they set upon me : [at me, Sometime like apes, that mo we 2 and chatter And after, bite me ; then like hedgehogs, which Lie tumbling in my barefoot way, and mount Their pricks at my footfall : sometime am I All wound with adders, who with cloven tongues, Do hiss me into madness. Lo, now ! lo ! Enter Trinculo. Here comes a spirit of his, and to torment me For bringing wood in slowly. I'll fall flat ; Perchance he will not mind me. Trin. Here's neither bush nor shrub to bear off any weather at all, and another storm brew- ing: I hear it singi' th' wind. Yond' same black cloud, yond' huge one, looks like a foul bumbard 3 that would shed his liquor. If it should thunder, 1 Fairy. 2 Make mouths. 8 Leathern jack. 20 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT II. as it did before, I know not where to hide ray head : yond' same cloud cannot choose but fall by pailfuls. What have we here? a man or a fish? dead or alive? A fish: he smells like a fish : a very ancient and fish-like smell ; a kind of, not of the newest, Poor- John. A strange fish ! Were I in England now (as once I was), and had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver : there would this monster make a man : any strange beast there makes a man. When they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. Legg'd like a man ! and his fins like arms ! Warm, o' my troth ! I do now let loose my opinion hold it no longer, this is no fish, but an islander, that hath lately suffered by a thunder-bolt. [Thunder.] Alas! the storm is come again: my best way is to creep under his gaberdine ; there is no other shelter hereabout. Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows. I will here shroud, till the dregs" of the storm be past. Enter Stephano, singing. - STE. I shall no more to sea, to sea, Here shall I die ashore. This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's funeral. Well, here's my comfort. [Drinks. The master, the swabber, the "boatswain, and I, The gunner and his mate, Lov'd Mall, Meg, and Marion, and Margery, But none oj us car'd for Kate ; for she had a tongue with a tang, Would cry to a sailor, " Go hang: " Then, to sea, boys, and let her go han duk,- sn, t. THE TEMPEST. '20 In a poor isle ; and all of us, ourselves, When no man was his own. [hands : Alon. [To Fer. and Mira.] Give me your Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart, That doth not wish you joy ! Gon. Be it so : Amen. Enter Arid, with the Master and Boatswain amazedly following. look, sir ! look, air ! here is more of us. 1 prophesi'd if a gallows Avere on land, This fellow could not drown. Now, blasphemy, That swear'st grace o'erboard, not an oath on shore ? Hast thou no mouth by land ? What is the news ? Boats. The best news is, that we have safely found Our King, and company : the next, our ship. Which but three glasses since we gave out split, Is tight, and yare, 1 and bravely rigg'd, as when We first put out to sea. Art. Sir, all this service) Have I done since I went. > [Aside. Pro. My tricksy spirit ! ) Alon. These are not natural events ; they strengthen [hither ? From strange to stranger. Say, how came you Boats. If I did think, sir, I were well ;< I'd strive to tell you. We were dead oi>sk-p, And (how we know not) all clapp'd under hatches, Where, but even now, with strange and several noises Of roaring, shrieking howling, jingling clviins, And more diversity of sounds, all horrible, We were awak'd ; straightway, at liberty : Where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld Our royal, good, and gallant ship ; our Master Cap'ring to eye her. On a trice, so please you, Even in a dream, were we divided from them, And were brought moping hither. Ari. [Aside.] Was't well done ? Pro. [Aside.] Bravely, my diligence ! Thou shall be free. [trot 1 : Alon. This is as strange a maxe as e'er men And there is in this business more than Nature Was ever conduct 2 of. Some oracle Must rectify our knowledge. Pro. Sir, my liege, Do not infest your mind with beating on [sure, The strangeness of this business : at pick'd lei- Which shall be shortly, single I'll resolve you (Which to you shall seem probable) of every These happen 'd accidents: till when, be cheerful, And think of each thing well. [Aside.} Come hither, spirit : Set Caliban and his companions free : [cious sir ? Untie the spell. [Exit Ariel.] How fares my gra- There are yet missing of your company Some few odd lads, that you remember not. Enter Ariel, driving in Caliban, Stcpliano, and Trinculo, in their stolen apparel. Ste. Every man shift for all the rest, and let no man take care for himself, for all is but for- tune. Coragio, bully-monster, corayio! Trin. If these be true spies that I wear in iny head, here's a goodly sight. Cal. OSetebos! these be brave spirits, indeed. 1 Ready. 2 Conductor. How fine my master is ! I am afraid He will chastise mo. Seb. Ha, ha ! What things are these, niy lord Antonio ? Will money buy them ? Ant. Very like : one of them Is a plain fish, and,no doubt, marketable, [lords, Pro. Mark but the badges of these men, my Then say, if they betrue. -This mis-shapen knave, His mother was a witch ; and one so strong That couldcontrol the moon,make flows andebbs, And deal in her command, without her power. These three haverobb'dme; and this demi-devil (For he's a bastard one) had plotted with them To take my life. Two of these fellows you Must know, and own ; this tiling of darkness I Acknowledge mine. Cal. I shall be pinch 'd to death. Al. Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler? Seb. He is drunk now : where had he wine ? Alon. And Trinculo is reeling ripe : where should they Find this grand liquor that hath gilded 'em? How cam'st thou in this pickle ? Trin. I have been in such a pickle since I saw you last, that, I fear me, will never out of my bones : I shall not fear fly-blowing. Seb. Why, how now, Stephano ? [a cramp. Ste. ! touch me not : I am not Stephano, but Pro. You'd be Icing o' the Isle, sirrah ? Ste. I should have been a sore one then. Alon. [Pointing to Caliban. ] This is as strange a thing as e'er I looked on. Pro. He is as disproportion^! in his manners As in his shape. Go, sirrah, to my cell ; Take with you your companions : as you look j To have my pardon, trim it handsomely. Cal. Ay, that I will ; and I'll be wise hereafter, | And seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass i Was I, to take this drunkard for a got" 1 , : And worship this dull fool ! Pro. Go to ; away ! Alon. Hence, and bestow your luggage where Seb. Or stole it, rather. [you found it. [Exeunt Cal, Ste., and Trin. P. Sir, I invite your highness, and your train, To my poor cell, where you shall take your rest ! For this one night ; which, part of it, I'll waste ! With such discourse, as, I not doubt, shall make j Go quick away : the story of my life, [it j And the particular accidents gone by, j Since I came to this isle : and in the morn, I'll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples, Where I have hope to see the nuptial Of these our deaz*-belov'd solemnized ; And thence retire me to my Milan, where Every third thought shall be my grave. Alon. I long To hear the story of your life, which must Take the ear strangely. Pro. I'll deliver all ; And promise you calm seas, auspicious c;alcs, And sail so expeditious, that shall catch Your royal fleet far off. My Ariel chick, That is thy charge : then, to the ele- Be free, and fare thou well ! [inents; Please you, draw near. [Exeunt. SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT I. EPILOGUE. SPOKEN BY PROSPERO. [Now my charms are all o'erthrown, And what strength I have's mine own Which is most faint : now, 'tis true, I must be here contin'd by you, Or sent to Naples. Let me not, Since I have my dukedom got, And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell In this bare island, by your spell ; But release me from my bands, With the help of your good hands. Gentle breath of yours my sails Must fill, or else my project fails, Which was to please. Now I want Spirits to enforce, art to enchant ; And my ending is despair, Unless I be reliev'd by prayer ; Which pierces so, that it assaults Mercy itself, and frees all faults. As you from crimes would pardon'd be, Let your indulgence set me free.] intfleiiuit ai ffarona;. persons DUKE OF MILAN, Father to Silvia. PRO*' }^Zeme7i o/ Verona. ANTONIO, Father to Proteus. THURIO, a foolish rival to Valentine. EGL AMOUR, agent for Silvia in her escape. SPEED, a clownish Servant to Valentine. LAUNCE, the like to Proteus. PANTHINO, Servant to Antonio. HOST, where Julia lodges in Milan. OUTLAWS. JULIA, a lady of Verona, in love with Proteus. SILVIA, the Duke's Daughter, beloved of Valen- tine. LUCETTA, waiting-woman to Julia. Servants, Musicians. SCENE. Sometimes in Verona; sometimes in Milan, and in a Forest near it. Act First. SCENE I. AN OPEN PLACE IN VERONA. Enter Valentine and Proteus. Vol. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus ; Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits. Were't not, affection chains thy tender days To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love, I rather would entreat thy company To see the wonders of the world abroad, Than, living dully sluggardiz'd at home, Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness. But since thou lov'dst,love still, and thrive there- Even as I would, when I to love begin. [in, P. Wilt thou begone? Sweet Valentine, adieu. Think on thy Proteus, when thou, haply, seest Some rare note- worthy object in thy travel : Wish me partaker in thy happiness, When thou dost meet good hap ; and in thy (If ever danger do environ thee,) [danger, Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers, For I will be thy beads-man, Valentine. V. And on a love-book pray for my success? P. Upon some book I love, I'll pray for thee. V. That's on some shallow story of deep love, How young Lcander cross'd the Hellespont. Pro. That's a deep story of a deeper love ; For he was more than over shoes in love. Vol. 'Tis true ; for you are over boots in love, And yet you never swam the Hellespont. P. Over the boots ! nay,a:ive me not the boots. Vol. No, I will not, for" it boots thee not. Pro. What ? [groans ; Vol. To be in love, where scorn is bought with Coy looks, with heart-sore sighs ; one fading moment's mirth, With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights : If haply won, perhaps, a hapless gain ; If lost, why then a grievous labour won : However, but a folly bought with wit, Or else a wit by folly vanquished. Pro. So, by your circumstance you call me fool. [prove. Vol. So, by your circmnstance, I fear, you'll Pro. 'Tis love you cavil at : I am not Love. Val. Love is your master, for he masters you ; And he that is so yoked by a fool, Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise. Pro. Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud The eating canker dwells, so eating love Inhabits in the finest wits of all. V. And writers say, as the most forward bud Is eaten by the canker ere it blow, Even so by love the young and tender wit Is tum'd to folly ; blasting in the bud, Losing his verdure even in the prime, And all the fair effects of future hopes. But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee, That art a votary to fond desire ? Once more, adieu. My father at the road Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd. Pro. And thither will I bring thee, Valentine. Val. Sweet Proteus, no ; now let us take our To M ilan let me hear from thee by letters, [leave. Of thy success in love, and what news else Betideth here in absence of thy friend ; And I likewise will visit thee with mine. Pro. All happiness bechance to thee iu Milan. \ t TWO GENTLEMEN OF VEEONA. 31 Vol. As much to you at home ; and so, fare- well. [Exit. Pro. He after honour hunts, I after love ; He leaves his friends to dignify them more ; I leave myself, my friends, and all for lore. Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphos'd me ; Made me neglect my studies, lose my time, War with good council, set the world at naught, Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought. Enter Speed. Speed. Sir Proteus, 'save you ! Saw you my master ? Pro. But now he parted hence to embark for Milan. Sp. Twenty to one, then, he is shipp'd already, and I have play'd the sheep in losing him. Pro. Indeed a sheep doth very often stray An if the shepherd be awhile away. Sp. You conclude, that my master is a shep- herd, then, and I a sheep ? Pro. I do. Speed. Why then my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep. Pro. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep. Speed. This proves me still a sheep. Pro. True, and thy master a shepherd. Sp. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance. P. It shall go hard, but I'll pi'ove it by another. Speed. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the sheep the shepherd ; but I seek my master, and my master seeks not me ; therefore, I am no sheep. Pro. The sheep for fodder follow the shep- herd, the shepherd for food follows not the sheep ; thou for wages followest thy master, thy master for wages follows not thee ; there- fore, thou art a sheep. Speed. Such another proof will make me cry " baa." Pro. But, dost thou hear ? gav'st thou my letter to Julia ? Speed. Ay, sir : T, a lost mutton, gave your letter to her ; and she gave me, a lost mutton, nothing for my labour. Pro. Nay, in that you are astray : 'twere best pound you. Speed. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for carrying your letter. Pro. You mistake ; Imeanthepound,apinfold. Speed. From a pound to a pin ? fold it over and over, 'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to Pro. But what said she ? [your lover. Speed. [Nods.} Ay. Pro. Nod, ay ? why, that's noddy. Speed. You mistook, sir : I say she did nod," and you ask me if she did nod ; and I say ay. Pro. And that set together, is noddy. 1 Speed. Now you have taken the pains to set it together, take it for your pains. Pro. No, no ; you shall have it for bearing the letter. Speed. Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you. Pro. Why, sir. how do you bear with me? iFooL Speed. Marry, sir, the letter very orderly ; having nothing but the word noddy for my pains. Pro. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit. S. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse. Pro. Come, come ; open the matter in brief : what said she ? Speed. Open your purse, that the money, and the matter, may be both at once delivered. Pro. Well, sir, here is for your pains. What said she ? Sp. Truly, sir, I think you'll hardly win her. Pro. Why? couldst thou perceive so much from her ? Speed. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her ; no, not so much as a ducat for delivering your letter ; and being so hard to me that brought your mind, I fear she'll prove as hard to you in telling your mind. Pro. What! said she nothing ? Sp. No, not so much as "Take this for thy pnins." To testify your bounty, I thank you, you have testern'd 1 me ; in requital whereof, henceforth carry your letters yourself. And so, sir, I'll commend you to my master. Pro. Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck, Which cannot perish, having thee aboard, Being destined to a dryer death on shore. [Exit Speed. I must go send some better messenger : I fear my Julia would not deign my lines, Receiving them from such a worthless post. [Exit. SCENE II. THE SAME. THE GARDEN OF JULIA'S HOUSE. Enter Julia and Lucetta. Jul. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone, Would'st thou then counsel me to fall in love ? Luc. Ay, madam ; so you stumble not unheed- J. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen, [fully. That every day with parle encounter me, In thy opinion, which is worthiest love ? Luc. Please you repeat their names, I'll show my mind According to my shallow simple skill, [mour ! Jul. What think'st thou of the fair Sir Egla- Luc. As of a knight well-spoken, neat and fine ; But, were I you, he never should be mine. Jul. What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio? Luc. Well, of his wealth; but of himself, so so. Jul. What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus? Luc. To see what folly reigns in us ! Jul. How now ? what means this passion at his name ? L. Pardon, dear madam: 'tis a passing shame, That I, unworthy body as I am, Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen. Jul. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest ? Luc. Then thus of many good, I think him Jul. Your reason ? [best. Luc. I have no other but a woman's reason : I think him so, because I think him so. Jul. And would'st thou have me cast my love on him ? [away. Luc. Ay, if you thought your love not cast 1 Sixpence SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT I. J. Why,he, of all therest,hathnevermov'dme. L. Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best loves ye. J. His little speaking shows his love but small. L. Fire that's closest kept burns most of all. Jul. They do not love, that do not show their love. Luc. ! they love least, that let men know Jul. I would I knew his mind, [their love. Luc. Peruse this paper, madam. Jul. " To Julia." Say, from whom? Luc. That the contents will show. Jul. Say, say, who gave it thee ? Luc. Sir Valentine's page ; and sent, I think, from Proteus. [way, He would have given it you, but I, being in the Did in your name receive it : pardon the fault, I pray. Jul. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker ! Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines ? To whisper and conspire against my youth ? Now, trust me, 'tis an office of great worth, And you an officer fit for the place. There, take the paper: see it be retum'd, Or else return no more into my sight. Luc. To plead for love deserves more fee than hate. Jul. Will you be gone ? Luc. That you may ruminate. [Exit. Jul. And yet, I would I had o'eiiook'd the letter. It were a shame to call her back again, And pray her to a fault for which I chid her. What' fool is she, that knows I am a maid, And would not force the letter to my view ! Since maids, in modesty, say ' No,' to that Which they would have the profferer construe 'Ay.' Fie, fie ! how wayward is this foolish love, That like a testy babe will scratch the nurse, And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod. How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence, When willingly I would have had her here ! How angerly I taught my brow to frown, When inward joy enforc'd my heart to smile ! My penance is to call Lucetta back, And ask remission for my folly past. What ho ! Lucetta ! Enter Lucetta. Luc. What would your ladyship? Jul. Is it near dinuer-time ? Luc. I would it were ; That you might kill your stomach on your meat, And not upon your maid. Jul. What is 't that you took up so gingerly ? Luc. Nothing. Jul. Why didst thou stoop, then? Luc. To take a paper up That I let fall. Jul. And is that paper nothing? Luc. Nothing concerning me. Jul. Then let it lie for those that it concerns. Luc. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns, Unless it have a false interpreter. Jul. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme. Luc. That I might sing it, madam, to a tune. Give me a note ; your ladyship can set. Jul. As little by such toys as may bp possible: Best sing it to the'tune of ' Light o love.' Luc. It is too heavy for so light a tune. Jul. Heavy? belike, it hath some burthen then. Luc. Ay ; and melodious were it, would you Jul. And why not you ? [sing it. Luc. I cannot reach so high. Jul. Let's see your song. How now, minion ! L. Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out: And yet, methinks, I do not like this tune. Jul. You do not ? Luc. No, madam ; 'tis too sharp. Jul. You, minion, are too saucy. Luc. Nay, now you are too fiat, And mar the concord with too harsh a descant : There wanteth but a mean 1 to fill your song, Jul. The mean is drowu'd with 'your unruly Luc. Indeed I bid the base for Proteus. , r base. J. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me. [Tears the letter. Here is a coil 2 with protestation ! Go, get you gone, and let the papers lie : You would be fing'ring them to anger me. Luc. She makes it strange ; but she would be best pleas'd To be so anger'd with another letter. [Exit. Jul. Nay, would I were so anger'd with the same ! hateful hands ! to tear such loving words : Injurious wasps ! to feed on such sweet honey, And kill the bees that yield it, with your stiiiga. I'll kiss each several paper for amends. Look, here is writ "Kind Julia;" unkind As in revenge of thy ingratitude, [Julia ! 1 throw thy name against the bruising stoned, Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain. And here is writ " love-wounded Proteus." Poor wounded name! my bosom,as a bed, [heal'd; Shall lodge thee, till thy wound be thoroughly And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss. But twice, or thrice, was "Proteus" written down: Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away, Till I have found each letter in the letter ; Except mine own name ; that some whirlwind Unto a ragged, fearful, hanging rock, [bear, And throw it thence into the raging sea. Lo ! here in one line is his name twice writ, "Poor Jurlorn Proteus; passionate Proteus To the sweet Julia:" that I'll tear away ; And yet I will not, sith so prettily He couples it to his complaining names. Thus will I fold them one upon another ; Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will. Enter Lucetta. Luc. Madam, Dinner is ready, and your father stays. Jul. Well, let us go. [tales here ? Luc. What ! shall these papers lie like tell- Jul. If you respect them, best to take them up. L. Nay, I was taken up for laying them dowi i ; Yet here they shall not lie for catching cold. Jul. I see, you have a month's niind.to them. Luc. Ay, Madam, you may say what sights you I see things too, although you judge I wink, [see; Jul. Come, come ; will 't please you go ? [Exeunt. I Tenor. 2 Bustle. SC. III. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VEKONA. SCENE III. THE SAME. A B.OOM IN ANTONIO'S HOUSE. Enter Antonio and Panthino. Ant. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that, Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister ? Pant. 'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son. Ant. Why, what of him ? Pant. He wonder'd that your lordship Would suffer him to spend his youth at home, Wliile other men, of slender reputation, Put forth their sons to seek preferment out : Some to the wars, to try their fortune there ; Some, to discover islands far away ; Some, to the studious universities. For any, or for all these exercises, He said, that Proteus, your son, was meet ; And did request me to importune you To let him spend his time no more at home, Which would be great impeachment to his age, In having known no travel in his youth. Ant. Nor need'st thou much importune me to that Whereon this month I have been hammering. I have consider 'd well his loss of time, And how he cannot be a perfect man, Not being tried and tutor'd in the world : Experience is by industry achiev'd, And perfected by the swift course of time. Then, tell me, whither were I best to send him ? Pant. I think, your lordship is not ignorant How his companion, youthful Valentine, Attends the Emperor in his royal ';ourt. Ant. I know it well. Pant. 'Twere good, I think, your lordship sent him thither. There shall he practise tilts and tournaments, Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen, And be in eye of every exercise, Worthy his youth, and nobleness of birth. Ant. I like thy counsel: well hast thou advis'd ; And, that thou mays't perceive how well I like it, The execution of it shall make known. Even with the speediest expedition I will dispatch him to the Emperor's couFt. Pant. To-morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso, With other gentlemen of good esteem, Are journeying to salute the Emperor, And to commend their service to his will. Ant. Good company : with them shall Pro- teas go : And, in good time, now will we break with him. Enter Proteus. Pro. Rwcet love ! sweet lines ! sweet life ! Here is her hand, the agent of her heart ; Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn. 0, that our fathers would applaud our loves, To seal our happiness with their consents ! O heavenly Julia ! Ant. How now ! what letter are you reading there? Pro. May't please your lordship, 'tis a word or two Of commendations sent from Valentine, Deliver'd by a friend that came from him. Ant. Lend me the letter: let me see what news. Pro. There is no news, my lord, but that he writes How happily he lives, how well belov'd, And daily graced by the Emperor ; Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune. Ant. And how stand you affected to his wish? Pro. As one relying on your lordship's will, And not depending on his friendly wish. A. My will is something sorted with his wish, Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed, For what I will, I will, and there an end. I am resolv'd, that thou shalt spend some time With Valentinus in the Emperor's court : What maintenance he from his friends receives, Like exhibition thou shalt have from me. To-morrow be in readiness to go : Excuse it not, for I am peremptory. Pro. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided : Please you, deliberate a clay or two. Ant. Look, what thou want'st shall be sent after thee : No more of stay ; to-morrow thou must go. Come on, Panthino : you shall be employ'd To hasten on his expedition. [Exeunt Ant. and Pant. Pro. Thus have I shunn'd the lire for fear of burning, And drench'd me in the sea, where I am drown'd. I fear'd to show my father Julia's letter, Lest he should take exceptions to my love ; And, with the vantage of mine own excuse, Hath he excepted most against my love. 0, how this spring of love resembleth The uncertain glory of an April clay ! Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, And by and by a cloud takes all away. Enter Panthino. Pant. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you : He is in haste ; therefore, I pray you, go. P. Why, this it is : my heart accords thereto. And yet a thousand times it answers, no. [Exeunt. Act Second. SCENE I. MILAN. A ROOM IN THE DUKE'S PALACE. Enter Valentine and Speed. Speed. Sir, your glove. Val. Not mine ; my gloves are on. Speed. Why then this may be yours, for this is but one. V. Ha ! let me see : ay, give it me, it's mine. Sweet ornament, that decks a thing divine ! Ah Silvia ! Silvia ! Speed. Madam Silvia ! Madam Silvia ! Val. How now, sirrah ? Speed. She is not within hearing, sir. Val. Why, sir, who bade you call her ? Speed. Your worship, sir ; or else I mistook. Val. Well, you'll still be too forward. Speed. And yet I was last chidden too alow. SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT n. Vol. Go to, sir. Tell me, do you know Madam Silvia? Speed. She that your worship loves ? Vol. Why, how know you that I am in love ? Speed. Marry, by these special marks. First, you have learn'd, like Sir Proteus, to wreathe your arms, like a male-content ; to relish a love- son;?, like a robin-redbreast ; to walk alone, like onethat had the pestilence ; to sigh, like a school- boy that had lost his A B G ; to weep, like a girl that had buried her grandam ; to fast, like one that takes diet ; to watch, like one that fears robbing ; to speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. You were wont, when you laugh'd, to crow like a cock ; when you walk'd, to walk like one of the lions ; when you fasted, it was presently after dinner ; when you look'd sadly, it was for want of money ; and now you are meta- morphos'd with a mistress, that, when I look on you, I can hardly think you my master. Vol. Are all these things perceiv'd in me? Speed. They are all perceiv'd without ye. Vol. Without me ? they cannot. Speed. Without you? nay, that's certain ; for, without you were so simple, none else would : but you are so without these follies, that these follies are within you. Vol. But, tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia? Speed. She, that you gaze on so, as she sits at supper? Vol. Hast thou observ'd that? even she I mean. Speed. Why, sir, I know her not. Val. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet know'st her not? Speed. Is she not hard favour'd, sir? Val. Not so fair, boy, as well favour'd. Speed. Sir, I know that well enough. Val. What dost thou know? Speed. That she is not so fair, as (of you) well favour'd. Val. I mean, that her beauty is exquisite, but her favour infinite. Speed. That's because the one is painted, and 'the other out of all count. Val. How painted? and how out of count? Speed. Marry, sir, so painted to make her fair, that no man 'counts of her beauty. Val. Howesteem'stthoume? I account of her beauty. S. You never saw her since she was cleform'd. Val. How long hath she been deforni'd? Speed. Ever since you lov'd her. Val. I have lov'd her ever since I saw her, and still I see her beautiful. Speed. If you love her, you cannot see her. Val. Why? Speed. Because Love is blind. 0, that you hrd mine eyes, or your own eyes had the lights they were wont to have, when you chid at Sir Proteus for going ungarter'd ! Val. What should I see then? Speed. Your own present folly, and her pass- in deformity ; for he, being in love, could not se$ to garter his hose ; and you being in love, cannot see to put on your hose. Val. Belike, boy, then you are in love; for last morning you could not see to wipe my shoes. Speed. True, sir ; I was in love with my bed. I thank you, you swing'di me for rny love, which makes me the bolder to chide you for yours. Val. In conclusion, I stand affected to her. Speed. I would you were set, so your affec- tion would cease. Val. Last night she enjoin'd me to write some lines to one she loves. Speed. And have you? Val. I have. Speed. Are they not lamely writ? Val. No, boy, but as well as I can do them. Peace ! here she comes. Enter Silvia. Sp. O excellent motion ! exceeding puppet ! Now will he interpret to her. [Speed stands aside. Val. Madam and mistress, a thousand good morrows. Speed. [Aside."] 0! 'give ye good ev'n : here's a million of manners. Sil. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand. Speed. He should give her interest, and she gives it him. Val. As you enjoin'd me, I have writ your letter Unto the secret nameless friend of yours ; Which I was much unwilling to proceed in, But for my duty to your ladyship. Sil. I thank you, gentle servant. 'Tis very clerkly done. Val. Now trust me,madam,it came hardly off ; For, being ignorant to whom it goes, I writ at random, very doubtfully. Sil. Perchance you think too much of so much pains? Val. No, madam : so it stead you, I will write, Please you command, a thousand times as much. And yet Sil. A pretty period. Well, I guess the sequel: And yet Iwill not name it; and yet I care not; And yet take this again ; and yet I thank you, Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more. Speed. [Aside.] And yet you will; and yet another yet. [like it ? Val. What means your ladyship? do you not SU. Yes, yes ; the lines are very quaintly writ, But since unwillingly, take them again. Nay, take them. Val. Madam, they are for you. Sil. Ay, ay ; you writ them, sir, at my request, But I will none of them : they are for you. I would have had them writ more movingly. V. Please you, I'll write your ladyship another. Sil. And, when it's writ, for my sake read it And, if it please you, so ; if not, why, so. [over ; Val. If it please me, madam ! what then ? S. Why, if it please you, take it for your laboui : And so good-morrow, servant. [Exit. Speed. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible, As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple ! [suitor, My master sues to her, and she hath taught her He being her pupil, to become her tutor. excellent device! was there ever heard a better, That my master, being scribe, to himself should write the letter? i Whipped. SC. I. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 35 Vol. How now, sir ! what, are you reasoning with yourself? Speed. Nay, I was rhyming: 'tis you that have Vol. To do what? [the reason. Speed. To be a spokesman from Madam Silvia. Vol. To whom? Speed. To yourself. Why, she woos you by a Vol. What figure ? [figure. Speed. By a letter, I should say. Vol. Why, she hath not writ to me? Speed. What need she, when she hath made you write to yourself ? Why, do you not per- ceive the jest? Vol. No, believe me. Speed. No believing you, indeed, sir : but did you perceive her earnest? Vol. She gave me none, except an angry word. Speed. Why, she hath given you a letter. Vol. That's the letter I writ to her friend. Speed. And that letter hath she delivered, and there an end. Vol. I would it were no worse ! Speed. I'll warrant you, 'tis as well : " For often have you writ to her, and she, in modesty, Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply ; Or fearing else some messenger, that might her mind discover, Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto her lover." All this I speak in print, for in print I found Why muse you, sir? 'tis dinner time. [it. Vol. I have din'd. Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir : though the carneleon Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourish'd by my victuals, and would fain have meat. 0, be not like your mistress ! be moved, be moved. [Exeunt. SCENE II. VERONA. A ROOM IN JULIA'S HOUSE. Enter Proteus and Julia. Pro. Have patience, gentle Julia. Jul. I must, where is no remedy. Pro. When possibly I can, I will return. Jul. If you turn not, you will return the sooner. Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake. [Giving a Ring. Pro. Why then, well make exchange : here, take you this. Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss. Pro. Here is my hand for my true con- stancy ; And when that hour o'erslips me in the day, Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake, The next ensuing hour some foul mischance Torment me for my love's forgetfulness. My father stays my coming ; answer not ; The tide is now ; nay, not thy tide of tears ; That tide will stay me longer than I should. [Exit Julia. Julia, farewell. What ! gone without a word? Ay, so true love should do : it cannot speak ; For truth bath better deeds, tlian words, to grace it. Enter Panthino. Pant. Sir Proteus, you are stay'd for. Pro. Go , I come, I come. Alas ! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. [Exeunt. SCENE III. THE SAME. A STREET. Enter Launce, leading his dog Crab. Launce. Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have one weeping; all the kind of the Launces have this very fault. I have receiv'd my proportion, like the prodigious son, and am going with Sir Proteus to the Imperial's court. I think Crab, my dog, be the sourest-natured dog that lives : my mother weeping, my father wailing, my sister crying, our maid howling, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house in a great perplexity, yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed one tear. He is a stone, a very pibble-stone, and has no more pity in him than a dog ; a Jew would have wept to have seen our parting : why, my gran- clam, having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting. Nay, I'll show you the manner of it. This shoe is my father ; no, this left shoe is my father: no, no, this left shoe is my mother ; nay, that cannot be so, neither : yes, it is so, it is so ; it hath the worser sole. This shoe is my mother, and this my father. A veng'ance on't ! there 'tis : now, sir, this staff is my sister ; for, look you, she is as white as a lily, and as small as a wand ; this hat is Nan, our maid : I am the dog ; no, the dog is him- self, and I am the dog, ! the dog is me, ami I am myself : ay ; so,' so. Now come I to my father : " Father, your blessing." Now should not the shoe speak a word for weeping : now should I kiss my father: well, he weeps on. Now come I to my mother: ! that shoe could speak now, like an wood 1 woman. Well, I kiss her : why there 'tis ; here's my mother's breath up and down. Now come I to my sister ; mark the moan she makes: now, the dog all this while sheds not a tear, nor speaks a word : but see how I lay the dust with my tears. Enter Panthino. Pant. Launce, away, away, aboard : thy master is shipp'd, and thou art to post after with oars. What's the matter? why weep'st thou, man? Away, ass; you'll lose the tide if you tarry any longer. L. It is no matter if the ti'd were lost ; for it is the unkindest ti'd that ever any man ti'd. Pant. What's the unkindest tide? L. Why he that's ti'd here ; Crab, my dog. Pant, tut, man, I mean thou'lt lose the flood ; and, in losing the flood, lose thy voyage; and, in losing thy voyage, lose thy master; and, in losing thy master, lose thy service ; and, in losing thy service, why dost thou stop my mouth? L. For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue. Pant. Where should I lose my tongue? Launce. In thy tale. Pant. In thy tail? L. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master, and the service, and the tide. Why, iMad. SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT II. man, if the river were dry, I am able to flint with my tears ; if the wind were down, I could drive the boat with my sighs. Pant. Come, come away, man; I was sent to call thee. Launce. Sir, call me what thou oar st. Pant. Wilt thou go? Launce. Well, I will go. [Exeunt SCENE IV. MILAN. A ROOM IN THE DUKE'S PALACE. Enter Valentine, Silvia, Thurio, and Speed. Sil. Servant. Vol. Mistress. Speed. Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you. Vol. Ay, boy, it's for love. Speed. Not of you. Vol. Of my mistress, then. Speed. 'Twere good you knock'd him. Sil. Servant, you are sad. Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so. Thu. Seem you that you are not? Val. Haply, I do. Thu. So do counterfeits. Val. So do you. Thu. What seem I that I am not? Val Wise. Thu. What instance of the contrary? Val. Your folly. Tim. And how quote you my folly? Val. I quote it in your jerkin. Thu. My jerkin is a doublet. Val. Well, then, I'll double your folly. Thu. How? Sil. What, angry, Sir Thurio ? do you change colour? Val. Give him leave, madam : he is a kind of cameleou. Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your blood, than live in your air. Val. You have said, sir. Thu. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time. Val. I know it well, sir : you always end ere you begin. Sil. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off. Val. 'Tis indeed, madam ; we thank the giver Sil. Who is that, servant ? Val. Yourself, sweet lady ; for you gave th< fi re. Sir Thurio borrows his wi b from your lady ship's looks, and spends what he borrows kind!) in your company. Thu. Sir, if you spend word for word with me I shall make your wit bankrupt. Val. I know it well, sir : you have an exche quer of words, and, I think, no other treasun to give your followers ; for it appears by tliei: bare liveries, that they live by your bare words Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more. Here come my father. Enter the Duke. D. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset Sir Valentine, your father's in good health : What say you to a letter from, your friends, Of much good news ? Val. My lord, I will be thankful To any happy messenger from thence. D Know you Don Antonio, your countryman? Val f Ay, my good lord; I know the gentleman b be of worth, and worthy estimation, Lnd not without desert so well reputed. Duke. Hath he not a son ? V. Ay, my good lord; a son, that well deserves The honour and regard of such a father. Duke. You know him well ? [fancy Val. I know him, as myself ; for from our in- Vehave convers'd, and spent our hours together: \.nd though myself have been an idle truant, )mitting the sweet benefit of time n o clothe mine age with angel-like perfection, Yet hath Sir Proteus, for that's his name, lade use and fair advantage of his days ; lis years but young, but his experience old ; lis head unmellow'd, but his judgment ripe ; Vnd, in a word (for far beliind his worth Jome all the praises that I now bestow), le is complete in feature, and in mind, Vith all good grace to grace a gentleman. Duke. Beshrew me, sir, but, if he make this le is as worthy for an' empress' love, [good, As meet to be an emperor's counsellor. rVell, sir, this gentleman is come to me With commendation from great potentate? ; And here he means to spend his time a while. ! think, 'tis no unwelcome news to you. V. Should I have wished a thing, it had been he. D. Welcome him, then, according to his worth. Silvia, I speak to you ; and you, Sir Thurio : ?or Valentine, I need not 'cite him to it. I'll send him hither to you presently. [Exit l)idu. F.This is the gentleman, I told your ladyship, Had come along with me, but that his mistress Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks. Sil. Belike, that now she hath enfranchised Upon some other pawn for fealty. [them, Val. Nay, sure, I think, she holds them pri- soners still. [blind, Sil. Nay, then he should be blind; and, being How could he see his way to seek out you ? Val. Why, lady, Love hath twenty pair of eyes. Thu. They say, that Love hath not an eye at all. Val. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself; Upon a homely object, Love can wink. Enter Proteus. Sil. Have done, have done : here comes the gentleman. Val. Welcome, dear Proteus ! Mistress, I beseech you, Confirm his welcome with some special favour. S. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither, If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from. Val. Mistress, it is. Sweet lady, entertain him To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship. Sil. Too low a mistress for so high a servant. Pro. Not so, sweet lady; but too mean a servant To have a look of such a worthy mistress. Val. Leave off discourse of disability, Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant. Pro. My duty will I boast of, nothing else. Sil. And duty never yet did want his meed. Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress. Pro. I'll die on him that says so, but yourself. Sil. That you arc welcome? Pro. No ; that you are worthless. SC. IV. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 37 Enter Servant. Ser. Madam, my lord, your father, would speak with you. [Sir Thurio, Sil. I wait upon his pleasure: [Exit Ser. ] come, Go with me. Once more, new servant, welcome: I'll leave you to confer of home affairs ; When you have done, we look to hear from you. Pro. We'll both attend upon your ladyship. [Exeunt Silvia, Thurio, and Speed. Vol. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came ? P. Your friends are well, and have them much Vol. And how do yours ? [commended. Pro. I left them all in health, [love ? Vol. How does your lady, and how thrives your Pro. My tales of love were wont to weary you: I know, you joy not in a love discourse. Veil. Ay, Proteus, but that life is altered now: I have done penance for contemning love ; Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd With bitter fasts, with penitential groans, [me With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs ; For, in revenge of my contempt of love, Love hath chas'd sleep from my enthralled eyes, And made them watchers of mine own heart's O, gentle Proteus ! Love's a mighty lord, [sorrow. And hath so humbled me, as, I confess, There is no woe to his correction, Nor, to his service, no such joy on earth, ! Now, no discourse, except it be of love ; Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep, Upon the very naked name of love. Pro. Enough; I read your fortune in your eye. Was this the idol that you worship so ? Val. Even she ; and is she not a heavenly saint? Pro. No, but she is an earthly paragon. Val. Call her divine. Pro. I will not flatter her. Val. 0! flatter me, for love delights in praises. Pro. When I was sick you gave me bitter pills ; And I must minister the like to you. Val. Then speak the truth by her: if not divine, Yet let her be a principality, Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth. Pro. Except my mistress. Val. Sweet, except not any ; Except thou wilt except against my love. Pro. Have I not reason to prefer mine own? Val. And I will help thee to prefer her, too ; She shall be dignified with this high honour, To bear my lady's train, lest the base earth Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss, And, of so great a favour growing proud, Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower, And make rough winter everlastingly. P. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this ! Val. Pardon me, Proteus : all I can, is nothing To her, whose worth makes other worth as no- She is alone. [thing. Pro. Then, let her alone. V. Not for the world. Why, man, she is mine own; And I as rich in having such a jewel, As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl, The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold. Forgive me, that I do not dream on thee, Because thou seest me dote upon rny love. My foolish rival, that her father likes Only for his possessions are so huge, Is gone with her along, and I must after ; For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy. Pro. But she loves you ? V. Ay, and we are betroth'd ; nay, more, our marriage hour, With all the cunning manner of our flight Determin'd of : how I must climb her window, The ladder made of cords, and all the means Plotted and 'greed on for my happiness. G ood Proteus, go with me to my chamber. In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel. Pro. Go on before ; I shall enquire you forth. I must unto the road, to disembark Some necessaries that I needs must use, And then I'll presently attend you. Val. Will you make haste ? Pro. I will. [Exit Valentine. Even as one heat another heat expels, Or as one nail by strength drives out another, So the remembrance of my former love Is by a newer object quite forgotten. Is it her mien, or Valentinus' praise, Her true perfection, or my false transgression, That makes me, reasonless, to reason thus ? She's fair, and so is Julia that I love ; That I did love ; for now my love is thaw'd, Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire, Bears no impression of the thing it was. Methinks, my zeal to Valentine is cold, And that I love him not as I was wont : O ! but I love his lady too, too much ; And that's the reason I love him so little. How shall I dote on her with more advice, 1 That thus without advice begin to love her ? 'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld, And that hath dazzled my reason's light ; But when I look on her perfections, There is no reason but I shall be blind. If I can check my erring love, I will ; If not, to compass her I'll use my skill. [Exit. SCENE V. THE SAME. A STREET. Enter Speed and Launce. Speed. Launce ! by mine honesty, welcome to Milan. Launce. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am not welcome. I reckon this always that a man is never undone, till he be hang'd ; nor never welcome to a place, till some certain shot be paid, and the hostess say, welcome. Speed. Corne on, you mad-cop ; I'll to the ale- house with you presently ; where for one shot of five pence thou shalt have five thousand wel- comes. But, sirrah, how did thy master part with Madam Julia? Launce. Marry, after they clos'd in earnest, they parted very fairly in jest. Speed. But shall she marry him ? Launce. No. Speed. How then? Shall he marry her ? Launce. No, neither. Speed. What, are they broken ? Launce. No, they are both as whole as a fish. Speed. What an ass art thou ! I understand thee not. Acquaintance. SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. Acrn. Launce. What a block art them, that thou canst not. My stafl understands me. Speed. What thou say'st ? Launce. Ay, and what I do too : look thee ; I'll but lean, and my staff understands me. Speed. It stands under thee, indeed. Launce. Why, stand-under and uncler-stand is all one. Speed. But tell me true, will't be a match? Launce. Ask my dog : if he say, ay, it will ; if he say, no, it will ; if he shake his tail, and say nothing, it will. Speed. The conclusion is, then, that it will. Launce. Thou shalt never get such a secret from me, but by a parable. Speed. 'TLs well that I get it so. But, Launce, how say'st thou, that my master is become a notable lover ? Launce. I never knew him otherwise. Speed. Than how? Launce. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be. Speed. Why, thou ass, thou mistak'st me. Launce. Why, fool, I meant not thee ; I meant thy master. Speed. I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover. Launce. Why, I tell thee, I care not though he burn himself in love. If thou wilt, go with me to the alehouse, so ; wilt thou go ? Speed. At thy service. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. THE SAME. AN APARTMENT IN THE PALACE. Enter Pr&cus. Pro. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn ; To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn ; To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn ; And ev'n that power, which gave me first my oath, Provokes me to this threefold perjury: Love bade me swear, and Love bids me forswear. sweet-suggesting Love ! if thou hast sinn'd, Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it. At first I did adore a twinkling star, But now I worship a celestial sun. Unheedful vows may heedf ully be broken ; And he wants wit, that wants resolved will To learn his wit t' exchange the bad for better. Fie, fie, unreverend tongue ! to call her bad, Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths. 1 cannot leave to love, and yet I do ; But there I leave to love, where I should love. Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose : If I keep them, I needs must lose myself ; If I lose them, thus find I, by their loss, For Valentine, myself, for Julia, Silvia. I to myself am dearer than a friend, For love is still most precious in itself ; And Silvia, witness heaven that made her fair Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope. I will forget that Julia is alive, Remembering that my love to her is dead ; And Valentine I'll hold an enemy, Aiming at Silvia, as a sweeter friend. I cannot now prove constant to myself Without some treachery us'd to Valentine. This night, he meaneth with a corded ladder To climb celestial Silvia's chamber window ; Myself in counsel, his competitor. 1 STow, presently I'll give her father notice Of their disguising, and pretended flight, Who, all enrag'd, will banish Valentine, ?or Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter : But, Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross 3y some sly trick blunt Thurio's dull proceeding. Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift, As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drif t ! [Exit. VERONA. SCENE VII. A E.OOM IN JULIA'S HOUSE. Enter Julia and Lucetta. Jul. Counsel, Lucetta ; gentle girl, assist me : And, ev'n in kind love, I do conjure thee, Who art the table wherein all my thoughts Are visibly character'd and engrav'd, To lessen me ; and tell me some good mean, How, with my honour, I may undertake A journey to my loving Proteus. Luc. Alas ! the way is wearisome and long. Jul. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps ; Much less shall she, that hath Love's wings to fly ; And when the flight is made to one so dear, Of such divine perfection, as Sir Proteus. Luc. Better forbear, till Proteus make return. J. 0! know'st thou not, his looks are my soul's Pity the dearth that I have pined in, [food ? By longing for that food so long a time. Didst thou but know the inly touch of love, Thou would'st as soon go kindle fire with snow, As seek to quench the tire of love with words. Luc. I do not seek to quench your love's hot But qualify the fire's extreme rage, [fire, Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason. Jul. The more thou damm'st it up, the more it burns. The current, that with gentle murmur glides, Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth But, when his fair course is not hindered, [rage ; He makes sweet music with th' enamel'd stones, Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge He overtaketh in his pilgrimage ; And so by many winding nooks he strays, With willing sport, to the wild ocean. Then let me go, and hinder not my course. I'll be as patient as a gentle stream, And make a pastime of each weary step, Till the last step have brought me to my love ; And there I'll rest, as, after much turmoil, A blessed soul doth in Elysium. Late. But in what habit will you go along ? Jul. Not like a woman, for I would prevent The loose encounters of lascivious men. Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds As may beseem some well-reputed page. Luc. Why, then your ladyship must cut your hair. Jul. No, girl; I'll knit it up in silken strings, With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots : To be fantastic, may become a youth Of greater time than I shall show to be. 1 Confederate. sc. vn. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 39 But tell me, wench, how will the world repute For undertaking so unstaid a journey ? [me I fear me, it will make me scaudaliz'd. Luc. If you think so, then stay at home, and Jul. Nay, that I will not. [go not. Luc. Then never dream on infamy, but go. If Proteus like your journey, when you come, No matter who's displeas'd, when you are gone. I fear me, he will scarce be pleas'd withal. Jul. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear. A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears, And instances as infinite of love, Warrant me welcome to my Proteus. Luc. All these are servants to deceitful men. Jul. Base men, that use them to so base effect; But truer stare did govern Proteus' birth : His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles ; His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate ; His tears, pure messengers sent from his heart ; His heart as far from fraud, as heav'n from earth. [come to him ! Luc. Pray heav'n he prove so, when you Jul. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that To bear a hard opinion of his truth : [wrong, Only deserve my love by loving him ; And presently go with me to my chamber, To take a note of what I stand in need of, To furnish me upon my longing journey. All that is mine I leave at thy dispose, My goods, my lands, my reputation ; Only in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence. Come ; answer not, but to it presently : I am impatient of my tarriance. [Exeunt. Act Third. SCENE I. MILAN. AN ANTE-CHAMBER IN THE DUKE'S PALACE. Enter Duke, Thurio, and Proteus. D. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, a while: We have some secrets to confer ^bout. [Exit Thurio. Now tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me ? Pro. My gracious lord, that which I would dis- The law of friendship bids me to conceal; [cover, But, when I call to mind your gracious favours Done to me, undeserving as I am, My duty pricks me on to utter that, Which else no worldly good should drawf rom me. Know, worthy prince, Sir Valentine, my friend, This night intends to steal away your daughter: Myself am one made privy to the plot. I know, you have determin'd to bestow her On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates : And should she thus be stol'n away from you, It would be much vexation to your age. Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose To cross my friend in his intended drift, Than, by concealing it, heap on your head A pack of sorrows, which would press you down, Being unprevented, to your timeless grave. D. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care, Which to requite, command me while I live. This love of theirs myself have often seen, Haply, when they have judg'd me fast asleep, And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid Sir Valentine her company, and my court; But, fearing lest my jealous aim might err, And so unworthily disgrace the man (A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd), I gave him gentle looks ; thereby to find That which thyself hast now disclos'd to me. And, that thou may'st perceive my fear of this, Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested, I nightly lodge her in an upper tower, The key whereof myself have ever kept ; And thence she cannot be convey'd away. P. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a mean How he her chamber-window will ascend, And with a corded ladder fetch her down ; For which the youthful lover now is gone, And this way comes he with it presently ; Where, if it please you, you may intercept him. But, good my lord, do it so cunningly, That my discovery be not aimed at; For love of you, not hate unto my friend, Hath made me publisher of this pretence. Duke. Upon mine honour, he shall never know That I had any light from thee of this. Pro. Adieu, my lord: Sir Valentine is coming. [Exit. Enter Valentine. Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast? Vol. Please it your Grace, there is a messenger That stays to bear my letters to my friends, And I am going to deliver them. Duke. Be they of much import ? Vol. The tenor of them doth but signify My health, and happy being at your court. D. Nay, then no matter: stay with me a while. I am to break with thee of some aifairs That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret. 'Tis not unknown to thee, that I have sought To match my friend, Sir Thurio, to my daughter. V. I know it well, my lord; and, sure,the match Were rich and honourable : besides, the gentle- man Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter. Cannot your Grace win her to fancy him ? D. No, trust me: sheispeevish,sullen,froward, Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty, Neither regarding that she is my child, Nor fearing me as if I were her f atlier : And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers, Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her ; And, where I thought the remnant of mine age Should have been cherish'd by her childlike duty, I now am full resolv'd to take a wife, And turn her out to who will take her in : Then, let her beauty be her wedding-dower ; For me and my possessions she esteems not. Vol. What would your Grace have me to do in Duke. There is a lady of Verona, here, [this ? Whom I affect ; but she is nice, and coy, And nought esteems my aged eloquence : Now, therefore, would 1 have thee to my tutor, (For long agone I have forgot to court , Besides, the fashion of the time is chang'd,) How, and which way, I may bestow myself, To be regarded in her sun-bright eye. V. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words. Dumb jewels often, in their silent kind, More tliaji quick words do move a woman's mind. SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. Am in. D. But she did scorn a present that I sent her. V. A woman sometimes scorns what best con- Send her another; never give her o'er, [tents her. For scorn at first makes after-love the more. If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you, iUit rather to beget more love in you : If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone, For why ! the fools are mad, if left alone. Take no repulse, whatever she doth say ; For 'get you gone,' she doth not mean 'away.' Flatter, aiid praise, commend, extol their graces ; Though ne'er so black,say they have angels'f aces. That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man, If with his tongue he cannot win a woman. Duke. But she I mean is promis'd by her friends Unto a youthful gentleman of worth, And kept severely from resort of men, That no man hath access by day to her. Vol. Why, then I would resort to her by night. D. Ay, but the doors be lock'd, and keys kept That no man hath recourse to her by night, [safe, V. What lets,but one may enter at her window? D. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground, And built so shelving that one cannot climb it Without apparent hazard of his life. V. Why, then, a ladder quaintly made of cords, To cast up, with a pair of anchoring hooks, Would serve to scale another Hero's tower, So bold Leander would adventure it. Duke. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood, Advise me where I may have such a ladder. Vol. When would you use it? pray, sir, tell me that. Duke. This very night; for love is like a child, That longs for everything that he can come by. Val. By seven o'clock I'll get you such a ladder. Duke. But hark thee ; I will go to her alone. How shall I best convey the ladder thither ? V. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear Under a cloak that is of any length. [it Duke. A cloak as long as thine will serve the Val. Ay, my good lord. turn ? Dulce. Then, let me see thy cloak : I'll get me one of such another length, [lord. Vol. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my D. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak? I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me. What letter is this same ? What's here ? - ' To Silvia!" And here an engine fit for my proceeding ! I'll be so bold to break the seal for once. [Reads. "My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly; [flying: And slaves they are to me, that send them ! could their master come and go as lightly, Himself would lodge where senseless they are lying. [them; My herald thoughts in thy pure "bosom rest While I, their king, that thither them importune, [bless'd them. Do curse the grace that with such grace hath Because myself do want my servant's for- 1 curse myself, for they are sent by me, [tune. That they should harbour where their lord should be." What's here? "Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee" 'Tis so ; and here's the ladder for the purpose. Why, Phaeton (for thou art Merops' son), Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car, And with thy daring folly burn the world ? Wilt thou reach stars.because they shine on thee? Go, base intruder ! over-weening slave ! Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates, And think my patience, more than thy desert, Is privilege for thy departure hence. Thank me for this, more than for all the favours Which, all too much, I have bestow'd on thee. But if thou linger in my territories Longer than swiftest expedition Will give thee time to leave our royal court, By heaven, my wrath shall far exceed the love I ever bore my daughter, or thyself. Begone : I will not hear thy vain excuse ; But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hence. [Exit Duke. Val. And why not death, rather than living To die is to be banish'd from myself, [torment ? And Silvia is myself : banish'd from her, Is self from self ; a deadly banishment. What light is light, if Silvia be not seen? What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by ? Unless it be, to think that she is by, And feed upon the shadow of perfection. Except I be by Silvia in the night, There is no music in the nightingale ; Unless I look on Silvia in the day, There is no day for me to look upon. She is my essence ; and I leave to be, If I be not by her fair influence Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive. I fly not death, to fly this deadly doom : Tarry I here, I but attend on death ; But, fly I hence, I fly away from life. Enter Proteus and Launce. Pro. Run, boy ; run, run, and seek him out. Launce. So-ho ! so-ho ! Pro. What seest thou ? Launce. Him we go to find : there's not a hair on 's head, but 'tis a Valentine. Pro. Valentine? Val. No. Pro. Who then? his spirit? Val. Neither. Pro. What then? Val. Nothing. L. Can nothing speak? master, shall I strike? Pro. Who wouldst thou strike ? Launce. Nothing. Pro. Villain, forbear. L. Why, sir, I'll strike nothing : I pray you, Pro. Sirrah, I say, forbear. Friend Valen- tine, a word. [news, V. My ears are stopp'd, and cannot hear good So much of bad already hath possess'd them. Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine, For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad. Val. Is Silvia dead ? Pro. No, Valentine. V. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia ! Hath she forsworn me? Pro. No, Valentine. [me ! Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn What is your news ? SC. I. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 41 Launce. Sir, there is a proclamation that you are vanished. Pro. That thou art bantsh'd: ! that is the ne\vs : [friend. From hence, from Silvia, and from me, thy Vol. ! I have fed upon this woe already, And now excess of it will make me surfeit. Doth Silvia know that I am banish'd ? Pro. Ay, ay ; and she hath offered to the doom (Which, imrevers'd, stands in effectual force), A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears : Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd, With them, upon her knees, her humble self ; Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them, As if but now they waxed pale for woe : But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears, Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire ; But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die. Besides, her intercession chaf 'd him so, When she for thy repeal was suppliant, That to close prison he commanded her, With many bitter threats of biding there. Val. No more ; unless the next word that thou speak'st Have some malignant power upon my life : If so, I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear, As ending anthem of my endless dolour, [help, Pro. Cease to lament for that thou canst not And study help for that which thou lament'st. Time is the nurse and breeder of all good. Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love ; Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life. Hope is a lover's staff ; walk hence with that, And manage it against despairing thoughts. Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence ; Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love. The time now serves not to expostulate : Come, I'll convey thee through the city gate, And, ere I part with thee, confer at large Of all that may concern thy love affairs. As thou lov'st Silvia, though not for thyself, Regard thy danger, and along with me. Val. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy, Bid him make haste, and meet me at the North-gate. P. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine. Val. 0, my dear Silvia ! hapless Valentine. [Exeunt Valentine and Proteus. Launce. I am but a fool, look you, and yet I have the wit to think, my master is a kind of a knave ; but that's all one, if he be but one knave. He lives not now, that knows me to be in love ; yet I am in love; but a team of horse shall not pluck that from me, nor who 'tis I love ; and yet 'tis a woman : but what woman, I will not tell myself. Enter Speed. Speed. How now, Signer Launce ! what news witii your mastership? L. With my master's ship? why, it is at sea. Speed. Well, your old vice still ; mistake the word. What news, then, in your paper? L. The black'st news that ever thouheard'st. Speed. Why, man, how black? Launce. Why, as black as ink. Speed. Let me read them. L. Fie on thee, jolt-head! 1 thou canst cot read. Speed. Thou liest ; I can. Launce. I will try thee. Speed. Come, fool, come : try me in thy paper. Launce. There, and St Nicholas be thy speed? Speed. "Imprimis: She can milk." Lauwe. A.y, that she can. Speed. "Item: She brews good ale." Launce. And thereof conies the proverb, Blessing of your heart, you brew good ale. Speed. "Item: slie can sew." Launce. That's as much as to say, Can she so? Speed. Here follow her vices, Launce. Close at the heels of her virtues. Speed. "Item: She doth talk in her sleep." Launce. It's no matter for that, so she sleep not in her talk. Speed. "Item: She is slow in words." Launce. villain ! that set this down among her vices. To be slow in words is a woman's only virtue : I pray thee, out with't, and place it for her chief virtue. Speed. "Item: She is proud." Launce. Out with that too: it was Eve's legacy, and cannot be ta'en from her. Speed. "Item: She liatli no teeth." Launce. I care not for that neither, because I love crusts. Speed. "Item: She is curst." 2 L. Well; the best is, she hath no teeth to bite. S. " Item : She will often praise her liquor." Launce. If her liquor be good, she shall : if she will not, I will ; for good things should be praised. Speed: "Item: She is too liberal." Launce. Of her tongue she cannot; for that's writ down she is slow of: of her purse she shall not ; for that I'll keep shut. What's next ? S. ' ' Item: She ha th more faults than hairs, " L. That's monstrous : O, that that were out ! Speed " and more wealth tJian faults. " Launce. Why that word makes the faults gracious. Well, I'll have her ; and if it be a match, as nothing is impossible, Speed. What then? Launce. Why, then will I tell thee, that thy master stays for thee at the North-gate. Speed. For me? Launce. For thee? ay; who art thou? he hath stay'd for a better man than thee. Speed. And must I go to him? Launce. Thou must run to him ; for thou hast stayed so long, that going will scarce serve the turn. Speed. Why didst not tell me sooner? plague of your love-letters ! [Exit. Launce. Now will he be swing'd for reading my letter. An unmannerly slave, that will thrust himself into secrets. I'll after, to re- joice in the boy's correction. [Exit. 1 Duuce. 2 Shrewish. SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT IV. SCENE II. THE SAME. AN APARTMENT IN THE DUKE'S PALACE. Enter Duke and Thurio; Proteus behind. Duke. Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will love you. Now Valentine is banish'd from her sight. Thii. Since his exile she hath despis'd ine most ; Forsworn my company, and rail'd at me, That I am desperate of obtaining her. Duke. This weak impress of love is as a figure Trenched in ice, which with an hour's heat Dissolves to water, and doth lose his form. A little time will melt her frozen thoughts, And worthless Valentine shall be forgot. How now, Sir Proteus? Is your countryman, According to our proclamation, gone? Pro. Gone, my good lord. Duke. My daughter takes his going grievously. Pro. A little time, my lord, will kill that grief. Duke. So I believe ; but Thurio thinks not so. Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee (For thou hast shown some sign of good desert) Makes me the better to confer with thee. Pro. Longer than I prove loyal to your Grace, Let me not live to look upon your Grace. Duke. Thou know'st how willingly I would effect The match between Sir Thurio and my daughter? Pro. I do, my lord. Duke. And also, I think, thou art not ignorant How she opposes her against my will? Pro. She did, my lord, when Valentine was here. Duke. Ay, and perversely she perseveres so. What might we do to make the girl forget The love of Valentine, and love Sir Thurio? Pro. The best way is, to slander Valentine With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent ; Three things that women highly hold in hate. Duke. Ay, but she'll think that it is spoke in hate. Pro Ay, if his enemy deliver it: Therefore, it must, with circumstance, bespoken By one whom she esteemeth as his friend. D. Then you must undertake to slander him. Pro. And that, my lord, I shall be loath to do ; 'Tis an ill office for a gentleman ; Especially, against his very friend. Duke. Where your goodword can not advantage Your slander never can endamage him : [him, Therefore, the office is indifferent, Being entreated to it by your friend. P. You have prevail'd, my lord. If I can do it, By aught that I can speak in his dispraise, She shall not long continue love to him. But say this weed her love from Valentine, It follows not that she will love Sir Thurio. Thu. Therefore, as you unwind her love from Lest it should ravel and be good to none, [him, You must provide to bottom it on me, Which must be done, by praising me as much As you in worth dispraise Sir Valentine. Duke. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this Because we know, on Valentine's report, [kind, You are already Love's firm votary, And cannot soon revolt, and change your mind. Upon this warrant shall you have access Where you with Silvia may confer at large ; For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy, Ana for your friend's sake will be glad of you, Where you may temper her, by your persuasion, To hate young Valentine, and love my friend. Pro. As much as I can do I will effect. But you, Sir Thurio, are not sharp enough ; You must lay lime to tangle her desires By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes Should be full fraught with serviceable vows. D. Ay; much is the force of heaven-bred poesy. Pro. Say, that upon the altar of her beauty You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart. Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears Moist it again ; and frame some feeling line That may discover such integrity : For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews, Whose golden touchcould soften steel and stones, Make tigers tame, and huge Leviathans Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands. After your dire-lamenting elegies, Visit by night your lady's chamber window With some sweet consort : to their instruments Tune a deploring dump, 1 the night's dead silence Will well become such sweet complaining griev- This, or else nothing, will inherit her. [ance. Duke. This discipline shows thou hast been in love. Thu. And thy advice this night I'll put ill practice, Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver, Let us into the city presently, To sort 2 some gentlemen well skill'd in music. I have a sonnet that will serve the turn To give the onset to thy good advice. Duke. About it, gentlemen. Pro. We'll wait upon your grace till after supper, And afterward determine our proceedings. Duke. Even now about it: I will pardon you. [Exeunt. Act Fourth. SCENE I. A FOREST NEAR MILAN. Enter certain Outlaws. 1 Out. Fellows, stand fast : I see a passenger. 2 Out. If there be ten, shrink not, but down with 'em. Enter Valentine and Speed. 3 Out. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about you ; If not, we'll make you sit, and rifle you. Sp. Sir, we are undone. These are the villains That all the travellers do fear so much. Vol. My friends, 1 Out. That's not so, sir: we are your enemies. 2 Out. Peace ! we'll hear him. [proper man. 3 Out. Ay, by my beard, will we : for he is a Vol. Then know, that I have little wealth to A man I am, cross'd with adversity ; [lose. My riches are these poor habiliments, Of which if you should here disf urnish me, You take the sum and substance that I have. 2 Out. Whither travel you? 1 Air. 2 Choose. SC. I. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 43 Vol. To Verona. 1 Out. Whence came you? Val. From Milan. 3 Out. Have you long sojourn 'd there? Val. Some sixteen mouths ; and longer might have stay'd, If crooked fortune had not thwarted me. 2 Out. What ! were you banish'd thence? Val. I was. 2 Out. For what offence? Val. For that which now torments me to re- hearse. I kill'd a man, whose death I much repent ; But yet I slew him manfully, in fight, Without false vantage, or base treachery. 1 Out. Why, ne'er repent it, if it were done so. But were you banish'd for so small a fault ? Val. I was, and held me glad of such a- doom. 1 Out. Have you the tongues? 1 Val. My youthful travel therein made me happy. Or else I often had been miserable. 3 Out. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat friar, This fellow were a king for our wild faction. 1 Out. We'll have him. Sir, a word. Speed. Master, be one of them : it's an hon- ourable kind of thievery. Val. Peace, villain ! 2 Out. Tell us this! have you anything to take Val. Nothing, but my fortune. [to? 3 Out. Know then, that some of us are gentle- men, Such as the fury of un govern 'd youth Thrust from the company of awful 2 men: Myself was from Verona" banish'd, Fur practising to steal away a lad, An heir, and near allied unto the duke. 2 Out. And I from Mantua, for a gentlernnn Whom, in my mood, I stabb'd unto the heart. 1 0. And I, for such like petty crimes as these. But to the purpose, for we cite our faults, That they may hold excused our lawless lives, And, partly, seeing you are beautifi'd With goodly shape ; and by your own report A linguist, and a man of such perfection, As we do in our quality much want 2 Out. Indeed, because you are a banish'd man, Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you. Are you content to be our General? To make a virtue of necessity, And live, as we do, in this wilderness? 3 Out. What say'st thou? wilt thou be of our Say ay, and be the captain of us all. [consort 5 We'll do thee homage, and be rul'd by thee, Love thee as our Commander and our King. 1 Out. But if thou scorn our courtesy, thou diest. [offer'd, 2 Out. Thou shalt not live to brag what we have Vol. I take your offer, and will live with you ; Provided that you do no outrages On silly women, or poor passengers. 3 Out. No ; we detest such vile, base practices. Come, go with us ; we'll bring thee to our crews, And show thee all the treasure we have got, Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose. [Exeunt. 1 Languages. 2 Worshipful. SCENE II. MILAN. THE COURT OF THE PALACE. Enter Proteus. Pro. Already have I been false to Valentine, And now I must be as unjust to Thurio. Under the colour of commending him, [ have access my own love to prefer ; But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy, To be corrupted with my worthless gifts. When I protest true loyalty to her, She twits me with my falsehood to my friend ; When to her beauty I commend my vows, She bids me think how I have been forsworn In breaking faith with Julia whom I lov'd : And, notwithstanding all her sudden quips, The least whereof would quell a lover's hope, Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love The more it grows, and fawneth on her still. But here conies Thurio. Now must we to her win- And give some evening music to her ear. [dow, Enter Thurio and Musicians. Thu. How now, Sir Proteus ! are you crept before us ? Pro. Ay, gentle Thurio; for you know that love Will creep in service where it cannot go. Thu. Ay ; but I hope, sir, that you love not here. Pro. Sir, but I do ; or else 1 would be hence. Thu. Who? Silvia? Pro. Ay, Silvia, for your sake. Thu. I thank you for your own. Now, gentle- Let's tune, and to it lustily a while. [men, Enter, at a distance, Host, with Julia in boy's clothes. Host. Now, my young guest ; methinks you're allycholly : I pray you, why is it? [merry. Jul. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be Host. Come, we'll have you merry. I'll bring you where you shall hear music, and see the gen- tleman that you ask'd for. Jul. But shall I hear him speak ? Host. Ay, that you shall. Jul. That will be music. [Music plays. Host. Hark ! hark ! Jul. Is he among these? Host. Ay ; but peace ! let's hear 'em. SONG. Who is Silvia ? what is she, That all our swains commend her ? Holy, fair, and wise is she ; The, heaven such grace did lend her, That she might admired lie. Is she kind, as she is fair, For beauty lives with kindness f Love doth to Jier eyes repair, To help him of his blindness ; And, being Jielp'd, inhabits thero. Then to Silvia let us sing, That Silvia is excelling ; She excels each mortal thing, Upon the dull earth dwelling : To her let us garlands bring. Host. How now ! are you sadder than you were before? How dp you, man? the music likes me not. Jul. You mistake : the musician likes me not. SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT IV. Host. Why, my pretty youth ? Jul. He plays false, father. Host . How ? out of tune on the strings ? Jul. Not so ; but yet so false, that he grieves my very heart-strings. Host. You have a quick ear. Jul. Ay ; I would I were deaf ! it makes me have a slow heart. Host. I perceive you delight not in music. Jul. Is T ot a whit, "when it jars so. Host. Hark ! what fine change is in the music. Jul. Ay, that change is the spite. Host. You would have them always play but one thing? J. I would always have one play but one thing. But, Host, doth this Sir Proteus, that we talk on, Oi'itn resort unto this gentlewoman? Host. I tell you what Launce, his man, told me he lov'd her out of all nick. 1 Jul. Where is Launce ? Host. Gone to seek his dog; which, to-morrow, by his master's command, he must carry for a present to his lady. Jul. Peace ! stand aside : the company parts. Pro. Sir Thurio, fear not you : I will so plead, That you shall say my cunning drift excels. Tim. Where meet we? Pro. At Saint Gregory's well. Thu. Farewell. [Exeunt Thu. and Musicians. Silvia appears at Tier window. Pro. Madam, good even to your ladyship. Sll. I thank you for your music, gentlemen. Who is that, that spake ? [truth, Pro. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart's You would quickly learn to know him by his Sil. Sir Proteus, as I take it. [voice. Pro. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your Sil. What's your will ? [servant. Pro. That I may compass yours. SU. You have your wish: my will is even this, That presently you hie you home to bed. Thou subtle, perjur'd, false, disloyal man ! Think'st thou I am so shallow, so conceitless, To be seduced by thy flattery, That hast deceiv'd so many with thy vows? lleturn, return, and make thy love amends. For me, by this pale queen of night I swear, I ana so far from granting thy request, That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit, Any by and by intend to chide myself, Even for this time I spend in talking to thee. Pro. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady ; But she is dead. Jul. 'Twere false, if I should speak it For, I am sure, she is not buried. S. Say, that she be; yet Valentine, thy friend, Survives, to whom thyself art witness " I am betroth'd ; and art thou not asham'd To wrong him with thy importunacy? Pro. I likewise hear that Valentine is dead Sil. And so, suppose, am I ; for in his grave Assure thyself, my love is buried. Pro. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth S. Go to thy lady's grave, and call her's thence Or. at the least, in her's sepulchre thine. Jul. He heard not that. 1 Reckoning. Pro. Madam, if your heart be so obdurate, Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love, rhe picture that is hanging in your chamber: Do that I'll speak, to that I'll sigh and weep ; For, since the substance of your perfect self else devoted, I am but a shadow, And to your shadow will I make true love. J. If 'twere a substance, you would, sure, de- And make it but a shadow, as I am. [ceive it, Sil. I am very loath to be your idol, sir ; 3ut, since your falsehood shall become you well To worship shadows, and adore false shapes, send to me in the morning, and I'll send it. And so, good rest. [Silvia retires. Pro. As wretches have o'er night. Chat wait for execution in the morn. [Exit Pro. Jul. Host, will you go? Host. By my halulom, I was fast asleep. Jul. Pray you, where lies Sir Proteus? Host. Marry, at my house. Trust me, I think 'tis almost day. J. Not so ; but it hath been the longest night That e'er I watched, and the most heaviest. [Exi t. SCENE III. THE SAME. Enter E glamour. Egl. This is the hour that Madam Silvia Entreated me to call, and know her mind. There's some great matter she'd employ me in, Madam, madam ! Silvia appears at her window. Sil. Who calls? Egl. Your servant, and your friend ; One that attends your ladyship's command. Sil. Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good morrow. Egl. As many, worthy lady, to yourself. According to your ladyship's impose, I am thus early come, to know what service It is your pleasure to command me in. Sil. O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman, (Think not I flatter, for I swear I do not,) Valiant, wise, remorseful, 1 well accomplish 'd, Thou art not ignorant what dear good-will I bear unto the banish'd Valentine, Nor how my father would enforce me marry Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhorr'd. Thyself hast lov'd ; and I have heard thee say, No grief did ever Come so near thy heart, As when thy lady and thy true love died, Upon whose grave thou vow'dst pure chastity. Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine, To Mantua, where, I hear, he makes abode ; And, for the ways are dangerous to pass. I do desire thy worthy company, Upon whose faith and honour I repose. Urge not my father's anger, Eglamour, But think upon my grief, a lady's grief ; And on the justice of my flying hence, To keep me from a most unholy match Which Heaven and Fortune still reward with I do desire thee, even from a heart [plagues. As full of sorrows as the sea of sands, To bear me company, and go with me : If not, to hide what I have said to thee, That I may venture to depart alone. 1 Te? sc. in. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 45 Egl. Madam, I pity much your grievances ; Which since I know they virtuously are plac'd, I give consent to go along with you ; Becking as little what betideth me, As much I wish all good bef ortune you. When will you go? SU. This evening coming. Egl. Where shall I meet you? SU. At Friar Patrick's cell, Whore I intend holy confession. Egl. I will not fail your ladyship. Good morrow, gentle lady. S. Good morrow, kind Sir Eglamour. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. THE SAMS. Enter Launce and Crab. Launce. When a man's servant shall play the cur with him, look you, it goes hard: one that I brought up of a puppy ; one that I saved from drowning, when three or four of his blind brothers and sisters went to it. I have taught him, even as one would say precisely, thus I would teach a dog. I was sent to deliver him as a present to Mistress Silvia from my master, and I came no sooner into the dining-chamber, but he steps me to her trencher, and steals her capon's leg. ! 'tis a foul thing, when a cur cannot keep himself in all companies. I would have, as one should say one that takes upon him to be a dog indeed, to be, as it were, a dog at all things. If I had not had more wit than he, to take a fault upon me that he did, I think verily, he had been hang'd for't : sure as I live, he had suffer'd for't. I have sat in the stocks for pud- dings he hath stolen ; otherwise he had been executed : I have stood on the pillory for geese he hath kill'd ; otherwise he had suflt'er'd for't : thou think'st not of this now ! Enter Proteus and Julia. Pro. Sebastian is thy name? Hike thee well, And will employ thee in some service presently. Jul. In what you please: I'll do what I can. Pro. I hope thou wilt. How, now, you idle peasant ! Where have you been these two days loitering? Launce. Marry, sir, I carried Mistress Silvia the dog you bade me. Pro. And what says she to my little jewel? Launce. Marry, she says, your dog AVHS a cur ; and tells you, currish thanks is good enough for such a present. Pro. But she receiv'd my dog ? Launce. No, indeed, did she not. Hero have I brought him back again. Pro. What ! didst thou offer her this from me ? Launce. Ay, sir: the other squirrel wasstolen from me by the hangman boys in the market- place ; and then I offer'd her mine own, who is a dog as big as ten of yours, and therefore the gift the greater. Pro. Go; get thee hence, and find my dog again, Or ne'er return again into my sight. Away, I say ! Stayest thou to vex me here ? A slave that still an end turns me to shame. [Exit Launce. Sebastian, T have entertained thee, Partly, that I have need of such a youth, That can with some discretion do my business (For 'tis no trusting to yond foolish lowt), But, chiefly, for thy face, and thy behaviour, Which (if my augury deceive me not) Witness good bringing up, fortune, and truth : Therefore know thou, for this I entertain thee. Go presently, and take this ring with thee : Deliver it to Madam Silvia. She lov'd me well deliver'd it to me. Jul. It seems, you lov'd not her, to leave hor She's dead belike ? [token. Pro. Not so ; I think she lives. Jul. Alas! Pro. Why dost thou cry, alas ! Jul. I cannot choose biit pity her. Pro. Wherefore should'st thou pity her? Jul. Because, methinks, that she lov'd you as As you do love your lady Silvia. ' [well She dreams on him that has forgot her love ; You dote on her that cares not for your love. 'Tis pity, love should be so contrary ; And thinking on it makes me cry, alas ! Pro. Well, give her that ring; and therewithal This letter: that's her chamber. Tell my lady I claim the promise for her heavenly picture. Your message done, hie home unto my chamber, Where thou shalt find inesad and solitary. [Exit. Jul. How many women would do such a mes- sage? Alas, poor Proteus ! thou hast entertain'd A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs. Alas, poor fool ! why do I pity him, That with his very heart despiseth me? Because he loves her, he despiseth me ; Because I love him, I must pity him. This ring I gave him when he parted from me, To bind him to remember my good- will ; And now am I (unhappy messenger !) To plead for that which I would not obtain ; To carry that which I would have refus'd ; To praise his faith which I would have disprais'd I am my master's true confirmed love, But cannot be true servant to my master, Unless I prove false traitor to myself. Yet will I woo for him ; but yet so coldly, As, Heaven it knows,! would not have him speed. Enter Silvia, attended. G entlewoman .good day. I pray you,be my mean To bring me where to speak with Madam Sil via. SU. What would you with her, if that I be she? Jul. If you be she, I do entreat your patience To hear me speak the message I am sent on. Sil. From whom ? Jul. From my master, Sir Proteus, madam. Sil. ! he sends you for a picture ? Jul. Ay, madam. Sil. "Ursula, bring my picture there. [A picture brought. Go, give your master this : tell him from me, One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget, Would better fit his chamber, than this shadow. Jul. Madam, please you peruse this letter. Pardon me, madam, I have unadvis'd Deliver'd you a paper that I should not : This is the letter to your ladyship. Sil. I pray then, let me look on that again. 46 SHAKESPEABE'S DRAMATIC WOKKS. ACT V. Jul It may not be : good madam, pardon me. Sil. There, hold. I will not look upon your master's lines: I know they are stuff d with protestations, And full of new-found oaths, which he will break, As easily as I do tear his paper. Ju 1. Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring. 5. The more shame for him that he sends it me ; For, I have heard him say, a thousand times, His Julia gave it him at his departure. Though his false finger have profan'd the ring, Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong. Jul. She thanks you. Sil. What say'st thou ? Jul. I thank you, madam, that you tender her. Poor gentlewoman ! my master wrongs her much. Sil. Dost thou know her ? Jul. Almost as well as I do know myself : To think upon her woes, I do protest, That I have wept a hundred several times. Sil. Belike, she thinks, that Proteus hath for- sook her. Jul. I think she doth, and that's her cause of sorrow. Sil. Is she not passing fair? Jul. She hath been fairer, madam, than she is. When she did think my master lov'd her well, She, in my judgment, was as fair as you ; But since she did neglect her looking-glass, And threw her sun-expelling mask away, The air hath starv'd the roses in her cheeks, And pinch'd the lily-tincture of her face, That now she is become as black as I. Sil. How tall was she ? Jul. About my stature ; for, at Pentecost, When all our pageants of delight were play'd, Our youth got me to play the woman's part ; And I was trimm'd in Madam Julia's gown, Which served me as fit, by all men's judgments, As if the garment had been made for me : Therefore, I know she is about my height. And at that time I made her weep a-good, For I did play a lamentable part. Madam/twas Ariadne, passioning For Theseus' perjury and unjust flight ; Which I so lively acted with my tears, That my poor mistress, moved therewithal, Wept bitterly ; and, would I might be dead, If I in thought felt not her very sorrow. SU. She is beholden to thee, gentle youth. Alas, poor lady ! desolate and left ! I weep myself, to think upon thy words. Here, youth; there is my purse: I give thee this For thy sweet mistress' sake, because thou lov'st her. Farewell. [Exit Silvia, Jul. And she shall thank you for 't, if e'er you know her. A virtuous gentlewoman, mild, and beautiful. I hope my master's suit will be but cold, Since she respects my mistress' love so much. Alas, how love can trifle with itself ! Here is her picture. Let me see : I think, If I had such a tire, this face of mine Were full as lovely as is this of hers ; And yet the painter flatter'd her a little, Unless I flatter with myself too much. Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow : If that be all the difference in his love, I'll get me such a coloured periwig. Her eyes are grey as glass, and so are mine : Ay, but her forehead's low, and mine's as high. What should it be, that he respects in her, But I can make respective in myself, If this fond Love were not a blinded god ? Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up, For 'tis thy rival. O thou senseless form ! Thou shalt be worshipped, kiss'd, lov'd, and And, were there sense in his idolatry, [ador'd, My substance should be statue in thy stead. I'll use thee kindly for thy mistress' sake, That us'd me so ; or else, by Jove, I vow, I should have scratch'd out your unseeing eyes, To make my master out of love with thee. [Ex it. Act Fifth. SCENE I. THE SAME. AN ABBEY. Enter E glamour. Egl. The sun begins to gild the western sky, And now it is about the very hour, ThatSi ivia at FriarPatrick's cell should meet me. She will not fail ; for lovers break not hours, Unless it be to come before their time, So much they spur their expedition. Enter Silvia. See, where she comes! Lady, a happy evening. Sil. Amen, amen ! go on, good Eglamour. Out at the postern by the abbey- wall. I fear I am attended by some spies. [off ; Egl. Fear not: the forest is not three leagues If we recover that, we are sure enough. [Exeu nt. SCENE II. THE SAME. A ROOM IN THE DUKE'S PALACE. Enter Thurio, Proteus, and Julia. Thu. Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit ? Pro. O, sir ! I find her milder than she was ; And yet she takes exceptions at your person. Thu. What, that my leg is too long? Pro. No, that it is too little. Thu. I'll wear a boot to make it somewhat rounder. Jul. But love will not be spurr'd to what it Thu. What says she to my face ? [loathes. Pro. She says it is a fair one. [black. Thu. Nay, then the wanton lies : my face is Pro. But pearls are fair; and the old saying is, Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes. J. 'Tis true, such pearls as put out ladies' eyes ; For I had rather wink than look on them. Thu. How likes she my discourse? Pro. Ill, when you talk of war. [peace? Thu. But well, when I discourse of love and Jul. But better, indeed, when you hold your Thu. What says she to my valour? [peace. Pro, O, sir, she makes no doubt of that. Jul. She needs not, when she knows it cow- Thu. What says she to my birth ? [ardice. Pro. That you are well deriv'd. Jul. True ; from a gentleman to a fooL Thu. Considers she my possessions? SO. II. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VEKONA. 47 Pro. ! ay ; and pities them. Thu. Wherefore? Jul. That such an ass should owe them. Pro. That they are out by lease. Jul. Here conies the Duke. Enter Duke. Dulce. How now, Sir Proteus ! how now, Thurio? Which of you saw Sir Eglainour of late ? 27m. Not I. Pro. Not I. Duke. Saw you my daughter? Pro. Neither. D. Why, then she's fled unto that peasant Val- Ancl Eglamour is in her company. [entine, 'Tis true ; for Friar Laurence met them both, As he in penance wander'd through the forest. Him he well knew, and guess'd that it was she ; But, being mask'd, he was not sure of it: Besides, she did intend confession At Patrick's cell this even, and there she was not. These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence: Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse, But mount you presently, and meet with me Upon the rising of the mountain foot, That leads towards Mantua, whither they are fled. Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, andfollowme.fEziZ. Thu. Why, this it is to be a peevish girl, That flies her fortune when it follows her. I'll after, more to be reveng'd on Eglamour, Than for the love of reckless Silvia. [Exit. Pro. And I will follow, more for Silvia's love, Than hate of Eglamour, that goes with her. [Exit. Jul. And I will follow, more to cross that love, Thau hate for Silvia, that is gone for love. [Exit. SCENE III. THE FOREST. Enter Silvia and Outlaws. 1 Out. Come, come ; be patient, we must bring you to our Captain. Sil. A thousand more mischances than this one Have learu'd me how to brook this patiently. 2 Out. Come, bring her away. 1 0. Where is the gentlem an that was with her? 3 Out. Being nimble- footed, he hath outrun us : But Moyses and Valerius follow him. Go thou with her to the west end of the wood ; There is our Captain. We'll follow him that's fled : The thicket is beset ; he cannot 'scape. 1 Out. Come, I must bring you to our Cap- tain's cave. Fear not ; he bears an honourable mind, And will not use a woman lawlessly. Sil. O Valentine ! this I endure for thee. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. ANOTHER PART OF THE FOREST. Enter Valentine. Vol. How use doth breed a habit in a man ! These shadowy desert unfrequented woods, I better brook than flourishing peopled towns. Here can I sit alone, unseen of any, And to the nightingale's complaining notes Tune my distresses, and record my woes. thou that dost inhabit in my breast. Leave not the mansion so long tenantless, Lest, growing ruinous, the building fail, And leave no memory of what it was ! Repair me with thy presence, Silvia ! Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain ! What halloing and what stir is this to-day ? These are my mates, that make their wills their Have some unhappy passenger in chase, [law, They love me well ; yet I have much to do, To keep them from uncivil outrages. [here? Withdraw thee, Valentine : who's this comes [Steps aside. Enter Proteus, Silvia, and Julia. Pro. Madam, this service I have done for you, (Though you respect not aught your servant doth) To hazard life, and rescue you from him, [love. That would have f orc'd your honour and your Vouchsafe me, for my meed, but one fair look ; A smaller boon than this I cannot beg, And less than this, I am sure, you caunot give. Fai.[-,45irfe.]Howlikeadreainisthis,Isee,and Love, lend me patience to forbear a while, [hear! Sil. miserable, unhappy that I am ! Pro. Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came; But by my coming I have made you happy. Sil. By thy approach thou mak'st me most unhappy. [your presence. Jul. [Aside. ] And me, when he approacheth to Sil. Had I been seized by a hungry lion, I would have been a breakfast to the beast, Rather than have false Proteus rescue me. 0, Heaven ! be judge, how I love Valentine, Whose life 's as tender to me as my soul ; And full as much (for more there cannot be) I do detest false, perjur'd Proteus : Therefore, be gone ! solicit me no more. Pro. What dangerous action, stood it next to Would I not undergo for one calm look ! [death, ! 'tis the curse in love, and still approv'd, WhenAvomen cannot love, where they' re belov'd. Sil. When Proteus cannot love, where he's be- Read over Julia's heart, thy first best love,[ lov'd. For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy Into a thousand oaths ; and all those oaths [faith .Descended into perjury to love me. Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou 'dst two; And that's far worse than none: better have none Than plural faith, which is too much by one : Thou counterfeit to thy true friend ! Pro. In love Who respects friend? .$ il. All men but Proteus. Pro. Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words Can no way change you to a milder form, I'll woo you like a soldier, at arms' end, And love you 'gainst the nature of love force Sil. Heaven ! [you. Pro. I'll force thee yield to my desire. Enter Valentine. Vol. Ruffian, let go that rude uncivil touch- Thou friend of an ill fashion ! Pro. Valentine ! Vol. Thou common friend, that's without faith or love ; (For such is a friend now) treacherous man ! [eye Thou hast beguil'd my hopes : naught but mine 48 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT V. Could have persuaded me. Now I dare not say, I have one friend alive : thou would'st disprove me. Who should be trusted, when one's right hand Is perjur'd to the bosom ? Proteus, I am sorry I must never trust thee more, But count the world a stranger for thy sake. The private wound is deepest. time most accurs'd ! 'Mongst all foes, that a friend should be the worst ! Pro. My shame and guilt confounds me. Forgive me, Valentine. If hearty sorrow Be a sufficient ransom for offence, I tender 't here : I do as truly suffer, As e'er I did commit. Vol. Then, I am paid ; And once again I do receive thee honest. Who by repentance is not satisfied, Is nor of heaven, nor earth; for these are pleas 'd. By penitence th' Eternal's wrath 's appeas'd : And, that my love may appear plain and free, All that was mine in Silvia I give thee. Jul. me unhappy ! Pro. Look to the boy. Vol. Why, boy ! why, wag ! how now ! what's the matter? Look up ; speak. Jul. good sir! my master charg'd me to deliver a ring to Madam Silvia, which, out of my neglect, was never done. Pro. Where is that ring, boy? Jul. Here 'tis : this is it. Pro. How ! let me see. Why, this is The ring I gave to Julia. Jul. ! cry your mercy, sir ; I have mistook : This is the ring you sent to Silvia. [Shows another ring. Pro. But how cam'st thou by this ring? At my depart I gave this unto Julia. Jul. And Julia herself did give it to me ; And Julia herself hath brought it hither. Pro. How? Julia! Jul. Behold her that gave aim to all thy oaths, And entertain'd 'em deeply in her heart : How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root ! Proteus ! let this habit make thee blu-h : Be thou asham'd, that I have took upon me Such an immodest raiment ; if shame live In a disguise of love. It is the lesser blot, modesty finds, Women to change their shapes, than men their minds. Pro. Than men their minds: 'tis true. Heaven ! were man But constant, he were perfect : that one error Fills him with faults, makes him run through all th' sins : Inconstancy falls off, ere it begins. What is in Silvia's face, but I may spy More fresh in Julia's, with a constant eye? Vol. Come, come, a hand from either. Let me be blest to make this happy close : Twere pity two such friends should be Ion" foes. Pro. Bear witness, Heaven, I have my wisfc for ever. Jul. And I mine. Enter Outlaws, with Duke and Tl Out. A prize ! a prize ! a prize ! V. Forbear, I say ; it is my lord the Duke. Your Grace is welcome to a man disgrac'd, Banished Valentine. Duke. Sir Valentine ! Thu. Yonder is Silvia ; and Silvia's mine. V. Thurio.give back, or else embrace thy i Come not within the measure of my wrath : Do not name Silvia thine ; if once again, Milan shall not behold thee. Here she stands: Take but possession of her with a touch ; I dare thee but to breathe upon my love. Thu. Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I. I hold him but a fool that will endanger His body for a girl that loves him not : I claim her not, and therefore she is thine. Duke. The more degenerate and base art then, To make such means for her as thou hast done, And leave her on such slight conditions. K~ow, by the honour of my ancestry, I do applaud thy spirit, Valentine, And tliink thee worthy of an empress' love. Know, then, I here forget all former gr Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again, Plead a new state in thy unrivall'd merit, To which I thus subscribe. Sir Valentine, Thou art a gentleman, and well deriv'd : Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserv'd her Vol. I thank your grace, the gift hath made me happy. I now beseech you, for your daughter's sake, To grant one boon that I shall ask of you. Duke. I grant it for thine own, whate'er it be. V. These banish'd men, that I have kept Are men endu'd with worthy qualities : [withal, Forgive them what they have committed here, And let them be recall'd from their exile. They are reformed, civil, full of good, And fit for great employment, worthy lorl. Duke. Thou hast prevail'd: I pardon them and thee : Dispose of them as thou know'st their deserts. Come ; let us go : we will include all jars With triumphs, mirth, and rare solemnity. 1'aL And as we walk along, I dare be With our discourse to make your Grace to smile. What think you of this page, my lord ? Duke. I think the boy hath grace in him : he blushes. Vol. I warrant you, my lord, more giace than boy. Duke What mean you by that saying? Vol. Please you, I'll tell you as we pass . That you will wonder what hath fortuned. Come, Proteus ; 'tis your penance, but to hear The story of your loves discovered : That done, our day "of marriage shall be yours ; One feast, one house, one mutual happi t&es of Itthtbsor. persons Sir JOHN FALSTAFF. FENTON. SHALLOW, a country Justice. SLENDER, cousin to Shallow. Mr FORD, ) two Gentlemen dwelling at Mr PAGE, i Windsor. WILLIAM PAGE, a Boy, son to Mr Page. Sir HUGH EVANS, a }l r elsh Parson. Dr CAIUS, a French Physician. HOST of the Garter Inn. BARUOLPH, ) PISTOL, V followers of Falstaff. ROBIN, Page to Falstaff. SIMPLE, Servant to Slender, RUGBY, Servant to Dr Caius. Mrs FORD. Mrs PAGE. Mrs ANNE PAGE, her Daughter, in love wh,\ Fentou. Mrs QUICKLY, Servant to Dr Caius. Servants to Page, Ford, &c. SCENE. Windsor; and the parts adjacent. Act First. SCENE I. WINDSOR. BEFORE PAGE'S HOUSE. Enter Justice Shallow, Slender, and Sir 1 Hugh Evans. Shallow. Sir Hugh, persuade me not ; I u ill make a Star-chamber matter of it ; if he were twenty Sir John Falstaffs, he shall not abuse Hubert Shallow, Esquire. . In the county of Gloster, justice of and coram. Shal. Ay, Cousin Slender, and Cust-alorum. z . Ay, and ratolorum too; and a gentle- man born, master parson ; who writes himself urmigero;*in any bill, warrant, quittance, or obligation, armigero. Sha.l. Ay, that we do: and have done any time these" three hundred years. Slen. All his successors, gone before him, have done't ; and all his ancestors, that come after him, may : they may give the dozen white luces in their coat. Shal. It is an old coat. Eva. The dozen white louses do become an old coat well ; it agrees well, passant : it is a familiar beast to man, and signifies love. '. The luce is the fre-sirtish ; the salt fi.sh is an old coat. . I may quarter, coz? Shal. You may, by marry incr. . It i.s marring indeed, if he quarter it. Shal. Xot a whit. '. Yes, py'r lady; if he has a quarter of your coat, there is but three .skirts for yourself, in my simple conjectures: but this is all one : If Sir John Falstaff have committed disparage- ments unto you, I am of the church, and will be glad to do my benevolence, to make atone- ments and compromises between you. 1 A title formerly applied to the clergy. 2 Gustos Rotulvrum, officer of the county. 8 Esquire. Shf.l. The Council shall hear it ; it is a riot. Ecu.. It is not meet the Council hear a riot ; there is no fear of Got in a riot ; the Council, look you, shall desire to hear the fear of Got, and not to hear a riot ; take your vizaments in that. Shal. Ha ! o' my life, if I were young again, the sword should end it. Ken. It is petter that friends is the sword, and end it : and there is also another device in my prain, which, perad venture, prings goot dis- cretions with it : There is Anne Page, which is daughter to master George Page, which is pretty virginity. Slen. Mistress Anne Page ? She has browu hair, and speaks small like a woman. Eva. It is that fery person for all the 'orld, as just as you will desire: and seven hundred pounds of monies, and gold, and silver, is her grandsire upon his death's bed, give, when she is able to overtake seventeen years old : it were a good motion, if we leave our pribbles and prabbles, and desire a marriage between mas- ter Abraham and Mrs Anne Page. Slud. Did her grandsire leave her seven hun dred pound ? Eva. Ay, and her father is make her a petter penny. ShaL I know the young gentlewoman; she has good gifts. . Seven hundred pounds, and possibili- ties, is good gifts Shal. Well, let us see honest master Page : Is Falstaff there? . Shall I tell you a lie ? I do despise a liar, as I do despise one that is false ; or as I despise one that is not true. The knight Sir John, is there ; and, I beseech you, be ruled by your well- willers. I will peat the door [knocks] for mas- ter Page. What, hoa ! pless your house here ! Enter Page. Page. Who's there? Eva. Here's your friend, and justice Shallow: and here young master Slender ; that p<:rad ven- D 60 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT I. tures shall tell you another tale, if matters grow to your likings. Page. I am glad to see your worships well : I thank you for my venison, master Shallow. Shal. Master Page, I am glad to see you; Much good do it your good heart ! I wished your veni- son better; it was ill-killed: How doth good mistress Page? and I love you always with my heart, la ; with my heart. Page. Sir, I thank you. Shal Sir, I thank you ; by yea and no, I do. P. I am glad to see you, good master Slender. Slen. How does your fallow greyhound, sir? I heard say he was outrun on Cot sale. Page. It could not be judg'd, sir. Slen. You'll not confess, you'll not confess. Shal. That he will not ; 'tis your fault, 'tis your faults 'Tis a good dog. Page. A cur, Sir. Shal. Sir, he's a good dog, and a fair dog; can there be more said? he is good, and fair. Is Sir John Falstaff here? Page. Sir, he is within ; and I would I could do a good office between you. Eva. It is spoke as a Christian ought to speak. Shal. He hath wrong'd me, master Page. Page. Sir, he doth in some sort confess it. Shal. If it be confess'd, it is not redress'd ; is not that so, master Page? He hath wrong'd me ; indeed, he hath ; at a word, he hath ; believe me; Robert Shallow, Esquire, saith he is wrong'd. Page. Here comes Sir John. Enter Sir John Falstaff, Bardolph, Nym, and Pikol. Fal. Now, master Shallow; you'll complain of me to the king? Shal. Knight, you have beaten my men, killed my deer, and broke open my lodge : this shall be answer'd. Fal. I will answer it straight ; I have done all this : That is now answer'd. Shal. The Council shall know this. Fal. 'Twere better for you, if it were known in counsel : you'll be laugh'd at. Eva. Pauca verba, Sir John, good worts. Fal. Good worts J 1 good cabbage. Slender, I broke your head ; what matter have you against me? Slen. Marry, Sir, I have matter in my head against you ; and against Bardolph, Nym, and Pistol. They carried meto the tavern, and made me drunk, and afterwards picked my pocket. Bar. You Banbury cheese ! Slen. Ay, it is no matter. Pist. How now, Mephostophilus? Slen. Ay, it is no matter. Nym. Slice, I say! pauca,pauca; slice! that's my humour. Slen. Where's Simple, my man? can you tell, cousin? Eva. Peace : I pray you ! Now let us under- stand : There is three umpires in this matter as I understand : that is master Page, fidelicet, master Page ; and there is myself, fidelicet, I The ancient name of all the cabbage kind. m yself ; and the three party is, lastly and finally, mine host of the Garter. [them. P. We three, to hear it, and end it between Eva. Ferry goot : I will make a prief of it in my note-book ; and we will afterwards 'ork upon the cause, with as great discreetly as we can. Fal. Pistol, Pist. He hears with ears. Eva. What phrase is this, He hears with ear? Why, it is affectations. F. Pistol, did you pick master Slender's purse? Slen. Ay, by these gloves, did he (or I would I might never come in mine own great chamber again else), of seven groats in iv_ill-sixpences, and two Edward shovel-boards, 1 that cost me two shillings and twopence a-piece of Yead Miller, by these gloves. Fal. Is this true, Pistol? Eva. No ; it is false, if it is a pick-purse. Pist. Ha, thou mountain-foreigner! Sir John, and master mine, I combat challenge of this latten bilbo : 2 Word of denial in thy labras 3 here; Word of denial ; froth and scum, thou liest. Slen. By these gloves, then 'twas he. Nym. Be advised, sir, and pass good humours : I wiilsay,marr7/ 1 rap, with you if you run the nut- hook's 4 humour on me; that is the very note of it. Slen. By this hat, then he in the red face had it : for though I cannot remember what I did when you made me drunk, yet I am not alto- gether an ass. Fal. What say you, Scarlet and John? Bard. Why, sir, for my part, I say, the gentle- man had drunk himself out of his five sentences. Eva. It is his five senses : fie, what the igno- rance is ! Bard. And being fap, 5 sir, was, as they say, cashier'd; and so conclusions pass'd the careires. 6 S. Ay, you spake in Latin then too: but 'tis no matter : I'll ne'er be drunk whilst I live again, but in honest, civil, godly company,f or this trick: if I be drunk, I'll be drunk with those that have the fear of God, and not with drunken knaves. Eva. That is a virtuous mind. Fal. You hear all these matters denied, gentle- men ; you hear it. Enter Mistress Anne Page with wine; Mistress Ford and Mistress Page following. Page. Nay, daughter, carry the wine in; we'll drink within. [Exit Anne Page. Slen. heaven ! this is mistress Anne Page. Page. How now, mistress Ford? F. Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are verywell met: by your leave, good mistress. [Kissing her. Page. Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome : Come, we have a hot venison pasty to dinner ; come, gentlemen, I hope we shall drink down all unkindness. [Exeunt all "but Shal., Slender, and Evans. Slen. I had rather than forty shillings, I had my book of Swigs and Sonnets here : Enter Simple. How now, Simple ! where have you been ! I Itthil lings. 4 Call me thief. 2 Blade, thin as a lath. 5 Drunk. 3 Lips. 6 Bounds of good behaviour. SC. I. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 51 must wait on myself, must I? You have not The Book oj Riddles about you, have you? Sim. Book of Puddles! why, did you not lend it to Alice Shortcake upon Allhallowmas last, a fortnight afore Michaelmas? 1 Shal. Come, coz ; come, coz ; we stay for you. A word with you, coz ; marry, this, coz ; There is, as 'twere a tender, a kind of tender, made afar off by Sir Hugh here ; Do you understand me? Slen. Ay, sir, you shall find me reasonable ; if it be so, I shall do that that is reason. Shal. Nay, but understand me. Slen. So I do, sir. Eva. Give ear to his motions, master Slender : I will description the matter to you, if you be capacity of it. Slen. Nay, I will do as my cousin Shallow says : I pray you, pardon me ; he's a justice of peace in his country, simple though I stand here. Era. But this is not the question; the ques- tion is concerning your marriage. Shal. Ay, there's the point, sir. Eva. Marry, is it ; the very point of it ; to mistress Anne Page. Slen. Why, if it be so, I will marry her, upon any reasonable demands. Eva. But canyon affection the 'om an? Let us command to know that of yourmouth, or of your lips ; for divers philosophers hold, that the lips is parcel of the mouth ; Therefore, precisely, can you carry your good will to the maid ? Sh. Cousin Abraham Slender, can you love her? Slen. I hope, sir, I will do, as it shall become one that would do reason. Eva. Nay, you must speak possitable, if you can carry her your desires towards her. Shal. That you must : Will you, upon good dowry, marry her? Slen. I will do a greater thing than that, upon your request, cousin, in any reason. Shal. Nay, conceive me, conceive me, sweet coz ; what I do, is to pleasure you, coz : Can you love the maid? Men. I will marry her, sir, at your request ; but if there be no great love in the beginning, yet heaven may decrease it upon better acquaint- ance, when we are married, and have more occasion to know one another: I hope, upon familiarity will grow more contempt; but if you say, marry her, I will marry her, that I am freely dissolved, and dissolutely. Eva. It is a f ery discretion answer ; save, the faul' is in the 'ort dissolutely : the 'ort is, accord- ing to our meaning, resolutely ; his meaning is good. Shal. Ay, I think my cousin meant well. SI, Ay, or else I would I might be hanged, la. Re-enter Anne Page. Shal. Here comes fair mistress Anne :-Would I were young, for your sake, mistress Anne ! Anne. The dinner is on the table ; my father desires your worships' company. Mud. 1 will wait on him, fair mistress Anne. Eva. I will not be absence at the grace. [Exeunt Shallow and Sir H. Evans. A. Wil't please your worship to cornein, sir? I (An intentional blunder.) Slen. No, I thank you, forsooth, heartily ; I am very well. Anne. The dinner attends you, sir. Slen. I am not a-hungry, I thank you, for- sooth : Go, sirrah, for all you are my man, go, wait upon my cousin Shallow: [Exit Simple.} A justice of peace sometime may be beholden to his friend fora man : I keep but three men and a boy yet, till my mother be dead : But what though? yet I live like a poor gentleman born. Anne. I may not go in without your worship : they will not sit, till you come. Slen. I'faith, I'll eat nothing ; I thank you as much as though I did. Anne. I pray you, sir, walk in. Slen. I had rather walk here, I thank you : T bruised my shin the other day with playing at sword and dagger with a master of fence, three veneys 1 for a dish of stewed prunes ; and, by my troth, I cannot abidethesmell of hot meat since. Why do your dogs bark so ? be there bears i' the towii ? A nne. I think there are, sir ; I heard them talked of. Slen. I love the sport well ; but I shall as soon quarrel at it, as any man in England : You are afraid, if you see the bear loose, are you not ? Anne. Ay, indeed, sir. Slen. That's meat and drink to me now: I have seen Sackerson 2 loose, twenty times : and have taken him by the chain : but, I warrant you, the women have so cried and shriek'd at it, that it pas,Vd y : but women, indeed, cannot abide 'em ; they are very ill-favoured rough things. Re-enter Page. Page. Come, gentle master Slender, come ; we stay for you. Slen. I'll eat nothing ; I thank you, sir. Page. By cock and pye, you shall not choose, sir; come, come. Slen. Nay, pray you, lead the way. Page. Come on, sir. Slen. Mistress Anne, yourself shall go first. Anne. Not I, sir, pray you, keep on. Slen. Truly, I will not go first ; truly, la ; I will not do you that wrong. Anne. I pray you, sir. Slen. I'll rather be unmannerly than trouble- some ; you do yourself wrong, indeed, la. (Exeunt. SCENE II. THE SAME. Enter Sir Hugh Evans and Simple. Eva. Go your ways, and ask of Doctor Caius house, which is the "way : and there dwells one mistress Quickly, which is in the manner of his nurse, or his dry nurse, or his cook, or his laundry, his washer, and his wringer. Sim. Well, sir. Eva. Nay, it is petter yet : give her this letter : for it is a 'oman thataltogcther's acquaint- ance with mistress Anne Page : and the letter is, to desire and to require her to solicit your master's desires to mistress Anne Page : I pray you be gone ; I will make an end of my dinner ; there's pippins and cheese to come. [Exeunt. 1 Three bouts. 2 Name of a bear exhibited at South- 8 Passed expression. 52 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC \VOJHKS. ACT T. SCENE III. A ROOM IN THE GARTER INN. Enter Falsta/, Host, Bardolpli, Nym, Pistol, and Robin. Fal. Mine host of the Garter, Host. What says my bully-rook? Speak scho- larly, and wisely. Fal. Truly, mine host, I must turn away some of my followers. Host. Discard, bully Hercules ; cashier : let them wag: trot, trot. Fal. I sit at ten pounds a week. Host. Thou art an emperor, Caesar, Keisar, and Pheezar. I will entertain Bardolpli ; he shall draw, lie shall tap: said I well, bully Hector? Fal. Do so, good mine host. Host. I have spoke; let him follow : Let me see thee froth, and lime : I am at a word ; follow. [Exit Host. Fal. Bardolph, follow him; a tapster is a good trade ; an old cloak makes a new jerkin ; a withered servingman, a fresh tapster; Go, adieu. Bard. It is a life that I have desired ; I will thrive. [Exit Bard. Pist. base Gongarian 1 wight ! wilt thou the spigot wield? Nym. His mind is not heroick, and there's the humour of it. Fal. I am glad I am so acquit of this tinder- box : his thefts were too open : his filching was like an unskilful singer, he kept not time. Nym. The good humour is, to steal at a minute's rest. Pist. Convey, the wise it call : Steal ! foh, a fico 2 for the phrase ! Fal. Well, sirs, I am almost out at heels. Pist. Why, then, let kibes 3 ensue. Fal. There is so remedy ; I must shift. Pist. Young ravens must have food. Fal. Which of you know Ford of this town? Pist. I ken the wight ; he is of substance good. Fal. My honest lads, I will tell you what I am about. Pist. Two yards and more. Fal. No quips now, Pistol ; indeed I am in the waist two yards about : but I am now about no waste; I am about thrift. Briefly, I do mean to make love to Ford's wife ; I spy enter- tainment in her; she discourses, she carves, she gives the leer of invitation ; I can construe the action of her familiar style ; and the hard- est voice of her behaviour, to be English'd rightly, is, I am Sir John Falsta/'s. Pist. He hath studied her well, and trans- lated her well ; out of honesty into English. N. The anchor is deep: will that humour pass? Fal. Now ; the report goes, she has all the rule of her husband's purse. Pist. To her, l>oy, say I. Nym. The humour rises ; it is good. Fal. I have writ me here a letter to her : and here another to Page's wife ; who even now gave me good eyes too ; she bears the purse too ; she is a region in Guiana, all gold a.nd bounty. I will be cheater 4 to them both, and they shall be exchequers to me ; they shall be my East and 1 Hmig;u-ian. 3 Chapped feet. 3 A tig, 4 Ewlicutour; an officer in Exchequer, West Indies, and I will trade to them both. Go, bear thou this letter to mistress Page ; and thou this to mistress Ford: we will thrive, lads, we will thrive. Pist. Shall I Sir Pandarus of Troy become, And by my side wear steel? then, Lucifer take all ! Nym. I will run no base humour ; here, take the humour letter ; I will keep the 'haviour of reputation. Fal. Hold, sirrah, [To Rob.] bear you these letters tightly i; Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores. Rogues,hence avaunt ! vanish like hailstones, go ; Trudge, plod away, o' the hoof; seek shelter, pack ! Falstaff will learn the humour of this age, French thrift, you rogues ; myself, and skirted page. [Exeunt Falsta/ and Robin. Pist. Let vultures gripe thee, for gourd and fuUamMiold, And high and low beguile the rich and poor : Tester a I'll have in pouch, when thou shalt lack, Base Phrygian Turk ! Nym. I have operations in my head, which be humours of revenge. Pist. Wilt thou revenge ? Nym. By welkin, and her star ! Pist. With wit, or steel ! Nym. With both the humours, I : I will discuss the humour of this love to Page. Pist. And I to Ford shall eke unfold, How Falstaff, varlet vile, His dove will prove, his gold will hold, And his soft couch defile. Nym. My humour shall not cool : I will in- cense 4 Page to deal with poison ; I will possess him with yellowness 5, for the revolt of mien is dangerous : that is my true humour. Pist. Thou art the Mars of malcontents: I second thee; troop on. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. A ROOM IN DR CAIUS'S HOUSE Enter Mrs Quickly, Simple, and Rugby. Quick. What ; John Rugby ! I pray thee, go to the casement, and see if you can see my master, master doctor Caius, coming: if he do, i'faith, and find any body in the house, here will be an old abusing of the king's English. Rug. I'll go watch. [Exit Rus me. [Exit Mrs Page. Mrs Ford. Goto, then; we'll use this gross watery pumpion; we'll teach him to know turtles from jays. Enter Falstaff. Fed. Have I caught thee, my heavenly jewel ! Why, now let me die, for I have lived luii-^ enough : this is the period of my ambition : 6 this blessed hour ! Mrs Ford. sweet Sir John ! Fal. Mistress Ford, I cannot cog, 3 I cannot prate, mistress Ford. Now shall I sin in my wish : I would thy husband were dead : I'll speak it before the best lord, I would make thee my lady. Mrs Ford. I your lady, Sir John ! alas, I should be a pitiful lady. Fal. Let the court of France show me such another : I see how thine eye would emulate the diamond : Thou hast the right arched bent of the brow, that becomes the ship-tire, the tire- valiant, or any tire of Venetian admittance. Mrs F. A plain kerchief, Sir John: my brows become nothing else ; nor that well neither. Fal. Thou art a traitor to say so: thou would'st make an absolute courtier: and the firm fixture of thy foot would give an excellent motion to thy i;ait, in a semi-circled farthingale. I see what thou wert, if fortune thy foe were not; nature L> thy friend. Come, thou canst not hide it. Mrs F. Believe me, there's no such thing in me. Fal. What made me love thee? let that per- suade thee, there's something extraordinary in thee. Come, I cannot cog, and say, thou art this and that, like a many of these lisping haw- thorn buds, that come like women in men's apparel, and smell like Bucklers-bury in simple- time, 4 I cannot : but I love thee ; none but thee; and thou deservest it. Mrs Ford. Do not betray me, sir ; I fear you love mistress Page. Fal. Thou might'st as well say, I love to walk by the Counter-gate ; which is as hateful to me a.s the reek of a lime-kiln. Mrs Ford. Well, heaven knows how I love you ; and you shall one day find it. ] Voini'.r liawk. 2 Puppet. 3 Wheedle, f Formerly inhabited by druggists. Fal. Keep in that mind ; I'll deserve it. Mrs Ford. Nay, I must tell you, so you do ; or else I could not be in that mind. Rob. [within.] Mistress Ford, mistress Ford! here's mistress Page at the door, sweating, and blowing, and looking wildly, and would needs .speak with you presently. Fal. She shall not see me ; I will esconce me behind the arras. Mrs Ford. Pray you, do so ; she's a very tat- tling woman. [Fa Istoff hides himself. Enter Mrs Page and Robin. What's the matter? how now? Mrs Page. O mistress Ford, what have you done ? You're shamed, you are overthrown, you are undone for ever. Mrs F. What's the matter, good mistress Page? Mrs P. well-a-day, mistress Ford ! having an honest man to your husband, to give him such cause of suspicion ! Mrs Ford. What cause of suspicion? Mrs Page. What cause of suspicion ! Out upon you ! how am I mistook in you? Mrs Ford. Why, alas ! what's the matter? Mrs Page. Your husband's coming hither, woman, with all the officers in Windsor, to search for a gentleman, that, he says, is here, now in the house, by youi- consent, to take an ill advantage of his absence: you are undone. Mrs Ford. Speak louder [Aside.} Tis not so, I hope. Mrs Page. Pray heaven it be not so, that you have such a man here; but 'tis most certain your husband's coming with half Windsor at his heels, to search for such a one. I come before to tell you: If you know yourself clear, why I am glad of it : but if you have a friend here, convey, convey him out. Be not amazed ; call all your senses to you : defend your reputation, or bid farewell to your good life for ever. Mrs F. What shall I do? There is a gentle- man, my dear friend ; and I fear not mine own shame, so much as his peril : I had rather than a thousand pounds he were out of the house. Mrs Page. For shame, never stand you had rather, and you had rather; your husband's liere at hand, bethink you of some conveyance: in the house you cannot hide him. O, how have you deceived me ! Look, here is a basket : if he be of any reasonable stature, he may creep in here ; and throw foul linen upon him, as if it were going to bucking : 1 Or, it is whiting-time, 2 send him by your two men to Datchet-mead. Mrs Ford. He 's too big to go in there : What shall I do? Re-enter Fo.lstaff. Fa 1. Let me see 't ! let me see 't ! let me see 't ! ['11 in, I'll in ; follow your friend's counsel I'll in. Mrs Page. What! Sir John Falstaff! Are ihese your letters, knight? Fal. I love thee, and none but thee ; help me away : let me creep in here ; I'll never [He goes into the basket; they cover him with f oiil linen. Mrs Pa,ge. Help to cover your master, boy : 1 Washing. 2 Bleaching time. 62 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT III. Call your men, mistress Ford: You dissem- bling knight. Mrs Ford. What, John, Robert, John ! [Exit Robin; Re-enter Servants.] Go, take up these clothes here, quickly ; Where's the cowl-staff? 1 look, how you drumble ; 2 carry them to the laundress in Datchet-mead ; quickly, come. Enter Ford, Page, Caius, and Sir Hugli Evans. Ford. Pray you, come near : if I suspect with- out cause, why then make sport at me, then let me be your jest ; I deserve it. How now? whither bear you this ? Serv. To the laundress, forsooth. Mrs Ford. Why, what have you to do whither they bear it ? You were best meddle with buck- washing. Ford. Buck? I would I could wash myself of the buck ! Buck, buck, buck? Ay, buck ; I war- rant you, buck ; and of the season too, it shall appear. [Exeunt Servants with the basket.] Gentlemen, I have dreamed to-night : I'll tell you my dream. Here, here, here be my keys : ascend my chambers, search, seek, find out : I'll warrant we'll unkennel the fox : Let me stop this way first: So now uncape. 3 Page. Good master Ford, be contented : you wrong yourself too much. F. True, master Page. Up, gentlemen ; you shall see sport anon: follow me, gentlemen. [Exit. Eva. This is fery fantastical humours, and jealousies. Caius. By gar, 'tis no de fashion of France : it is not jealous in France. P. Nay, follow him, gentlemen ; see the issue of his search. [Exeunt Evans, Page, and Caius. Mrs Page. Is there not a double excellency in this? Mrs Ford. I know not which pleases me better, that my husband is deceived, or Sir John. Mrs Page. What a taking was he in, when your husband asked who was in the basket ! Mrs Ford. Throwing him into the water will do him a benefit. Mrs P. Hang him, dishonest rascal ! I would all of the same strain were in the same distress. Mrs Ford. I think my husband hath some special suspicion of Falstaff's being here ; for I never saw him so gross in his jealousy till now. Mrs P. I will lay a plot to try that: And we will yet have move tricks with Falstaff : his dis- solute disease will scarce obey this medicine. Mrs Ford. Shall we send that foolish carrion, mistress Quickly, to him, and excuse his throw- ing into the water ; and give him another hope, to betray him to another punishment? Mrs Page. We'll do it ; let him be sent for to-morrow eight o'clock, to have amends. Re-enter Ford, Page, Caius, and Sir HugJi Evans. Ford. I cannot find him : may be the knave bragged of that he could not compass. Mrs Page. Heard you that ? Mrs Ford. Ay, ay, peace: You use me well, master Ford, do you? 1 For carrying a basket between two men. 2 goiter. 8 Uzibag the fox, Ford. Ay, I do so. Mrs Ford. Heaven make you better than your thoughts ! Ford. Amen. Mrs Page. You do yourself mighty wrong, master Ford. Ford. Ay, ay ; I must bear it. Eva. If there be any pody in the house, and in the chambers, and in the coffers, and in the presses, heaven forgive my sins ! Caius. By gar, nor I too ; dere is no bodies. Page. Fie, fie, master Ford ! are you not ashamed ? What spirit, what devil suggests this imagination? I would not have your distemper in this kind, for the wealth of Windsor Castle. F. Tis my fault, master Page : I suffer for it. Eva. You suffer for a pad conscience ; your wife is as honest a 'onians, as I will desires among five thousand, and five hundred too. Caius. By gar, I see 'tis an honest woman. Ford. Well; I promised you a dinner: Come, come, walk in the park : I pray you, pardon me ; I will hereafter make known to you why I have done this. Come, wife; come mistress Page : I pray you, pardon me ; pray heartily, pardon me. Page. Let's go in, gentlemen ; but, trust me, we'll mock him. I do invite you to-morrow morning to my house to breakfast ; after, we'll a-birding together ; I have a line hawk for the bush: Shall it be so? Ford. Any thing. Eva. If there is one, I shall make two in the company. Ford. Pray you go, master Page. Eva. I pray you now, remembrance to-mor- row on the knave, mine host. Caius. Dat is good ; by gar, vit all my heart. Eva. A knave; to have his gibes and his mockeries. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. A ROOM IN PAGE'S HOUSE. Enter Fenton and Mistress Anne Page. Fent. I see, I cannot get thy father's love ; Therefore, no more turn me to him, sweet Nan. Anne. Alas ! how then? Fent. Why, thou must be thyself. He doth object, I am too great of birth ; And that, my state being gall'd with my ex- I seek to heal it only by his wealth : [pence, Besides these, other bars lie lays before me, My riots past, my wild societies ; And tells me, 'tis a thing impossible I should love tliee, but as a property. Anne. May be, he tells you true. Fent. No, heaven so speed me in my time to Albeit, I will confess thy father's wealth [come' Was the first motive that I woo'd thee, Anne; Yet, wooing thee, I found thee of more value Than stamps in gold, or sums in sealed bags ; And 'tis the very riches of thyself That now I aim at. Anne. Gentle master Fenton, Yet seek my father's love : still seek it, sir ; If opportunity and humblest suit, Cannot attain it, why then. Hark you hither. [They converse apart. SC. IV. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 63 Enter SliaUow, Slender, and Mrs Quickly. Shal. Break their talk, Mrs Quickly ; my kinsman shall speak for himself. Slen. I'll make a shaft 1 or a bolt 2 on't: slid, 'tis but venturing. Shal. Be not dismay'd. Slen. No, she shall not dismay me: I care not for that, but that I am afeard. Quick. Hark ye ; master Slender would speak a word with you. A. I come to him.-This is my father's choice. O, what a world of vile ill-favour'd faults Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year ! [Aside. Quick. And how does good master Fenton? Pray you, a word with you. Shal. She's coming ; to her, coz. O boy, thou hadst a father. Slen. I had a father, mistress Anne; my uncle can tell you good jests of him:-Pray you, uncle, tell mistress Anne the jest, how my father stole two geese out of a pen, good uncle. Shal. Mistress Anne, my cousin loves you. Slen. Ay, that I do ; as well as I love any woman in Gloucestershire. S. He vill maintain you like a gentlewoman. Slen. Ay, that I will, come cut and long-tail, under the degree of a 'squire. Shal. He will make you a hundred and fifty pounds jointure. Anne. Good master Shallow, let him woo for Limself. Shal. Marry, I thank you for it ; I thank you for that good comfort. She calls you, coz : I'll leave you. Anne. Now, master Slender. Slen. Now, good mistress Anne. Anne. What is your will? Slen. My will? od's heartlings, that's a pretty jest indeed ! I ne'er made my will yet, I thank heaven ; I am not such a sickly creature, I give heaven praise. Anne. I mean, master Slender, what would you with me? Slen. Truly, for mine own part, I would little or nothing with you : Your father, and my uncle, have made motions : if it be my luck, so : if not, happy man be his dole ! 3 They can tell you how things go, better than I can : You may ask your father ; here he comes. Enter Page and Mistress Page. Page. Now, master Slender : Love him, daughter Anne. Why, how now! what does master Fentonhere? You wrong me, sir, thus still to haunt my house: I told you, sir, my daughter is dispos'd of. Pent. Nay, master Page, be not impatient. Mrs P. Good master Fenton, come not to my Page. She is no match for you. [child. Pent. Sir, will you hear me? Page. No, good master Fenton. Come, master Shallow: come, son Slender; in:- Knowingmymind,youwrongme,master Fenton. [Exeunt Page, Shallow, and Slender. Quick. Speak to mistress Page. 1 A long arrow. 2 A thick short arrow. 3 Lot. Fent. Good mistress Page, for that I love your In such a righteous fashion as I do, [daughter Perforce, against all checks, rebukes, and man- I must advance the colours of my love, [ners, And not retire : Let me have your good will. A. Goodmother,do not marry me to yond' fool. Mrs P. I mean it not; I seek you a better hus- Q. That's my master, master doctor, [band. Anne. Alas, I had rather be set quick i' the And bowl'd to death with turnips. [earth, Mrs Page. Come, trouble not yourself: Good master Feu ton. I will not be your friend, nor enemy : My daughter will I question how she loves you, And as I find her, so am I affected ; 'Till then, farewell sir: She must needs go in ; Her father will be angry. [Exeunt Mrs Page and Anne. F. Farewell, gentle mistress ; farewell, Nan. Quick. This is my doing, now; Nay, said I, will you cast away your child on a fool, and a physician? Look on master Fenton: this is my doing. [night Fent. I thank thee; and I pray thee, once^to- Give my sweet Nan this ring : There's for thy pains. [Exit. ^ Quick. Now heaven send thee good fortune ! A kind heart he hath: a woman would run through tire and water for such a kind heart. But yet, I would my master had mistress Anne ; or I would master Slender had her ; or, in sooth, I would master Fenton had her: I will do what I can for them all three ; for so I have promised, and I'll be as good as my word; but speciously 1 for master Fenton. Well, I must of another errand to Sir John Falstaff from my two mis- tresses: What a beast am I to slack' 2 it. [Exit. SCENE V. A ROOM IN THE GARTER INN. Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. Fal. Bardolph, I say, Bard. Here, sir. Pi. Go fetch me a quart of sack ; put a toast in't. [Exit Bard.] Have I lived to be carried in a basket, like a barrow of butcher's offal? and to be thrown into the Thames ? Well ; if I be served such another trick, I'll have my brains ta'en out, and buttered, and give them to a dog for a new year's gift. The rogues slighted me into the river with as little remorse as they would have drowned blind puppies, fifteen i' the litter: and you may know by my size, that I have a kind of alacrity in sinking; if the bottom were ever so deep, I should down. I had been drowned, but that the shore was shelvy and shallow : a death that I abhor ; for the water swells a man ; and what a thing should I have been, when I had been swelled ! I should have been a mountain of mummy. Re-enter Bardolph, with the wine. Bard. Here's mistress Quickly, sir, to speak with you. Fal. Come, let me pour in some sack to the Thames water ; for my inside's as cold as if I had swallowed snow-balls. Call her in. Bard. Come in, woman. 1 Specially. 2 Neglect, SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT IV. Enter Mrs Quickly. Quick. By your leave ; I cry you mercy : Give your worship good-morrow. Fal. Take away these chalices : Go brew me a pottle of sack finely. [Exit Bardolph.] How now ? Quick. Marry, sir, I come to your worship from mistress Ford. Fal. Mistress Ford ! I have had ford enough : I was thrown into the ford. Quick. Alas the day ! good heart, that was not her fault ; she does so take on with her men ; they mistook their erection. Fal. So did I mine, to build upon a foolish woman's promise. Quick. Well, she laments, sir, for it, that it would yearn your heart to see it. Her husband >oes this morning a-birding ; she desires you once more to come to her between eight and nine: I must carry her word quickly; she'll make you amends, I warrant you. Fal. Well, I will visit her : Tell her so ; and bid her think, what a man is : let her consider his frailty, and then judge of my merit. Quick. I will tell her. Fal. Do so. Between nine and ten, say'stthou? Quick. Eight and nine, sir. Fal. Well, be gone : I will not niiss her. Quick. Peace be with you, sir. [Exit. Fal. I marvel, I hear not of master Brook ; he sent me word to stay within : I like his money well. 0, here he comes. Enter Ford. Ford. Bless you, sir ! Fal. Now, master Brook? you come to know what hath passed between me and Ford's wife? Ford. That, indeed, Sir John, is my business. Fal. Master Brook, I will not lie to you ; I was at her house the hour she appointed me. Ford. And how sped you, sir ? Fal. Very ill-favouredly, master Brook. Ford. How so, sir? Did she change her determination ? Fal. "No, master Brook ; but the peaking cor- nuto, her husband, master Brook, dwelling in a continual 'larum of jealousy, comes me in the instant of our encounter, after we had embraced, kissed, protested, and, as it were, spoke the pro logue of our comedy ; and at his heels a rabble of his companions, thither provoked and insti gated by his distemper, and, forsooth, to search his house for his wife's love. Ford. What, while you were there ? Fal. While I was there. Ford. And did he search for you, and could not find you ? Fal. You shall hear. As good luck would have it, comes in one mistress Page ; gives intelli- gence of Ford's approach ; and, by her invention and Ford's wife's distraction, they conveyed me into a buck-basket ! Ford. A buck-basket ? Fal. Yea, a buck-basket : rammed me in with foul shirts and socks, foul stockings, and greasy napkins ; that, master Brook, there was the rankest compound of villainous smell that ever offended nostril. Ford. And how long lay you there ? Fal. JSTay, you shall hear, master Brook, what I have suffered to bring this woman to evil for your good. Being thus crammed in the basket, a couple of Ford's knaves, his hinds, were called forth by their mistress, to carry me in the name f foul clothes to Datchet-lane : they took me on their shoulders : met the jealous knave their master in the door ; who asked them once or twice what they had in their basket : I quaked for fear, lest the lunatic knave would have searched it ; but Fate held his hand. Well; on went he for a search, and away went I for foul clothes. But mark the sequel, master Brook : I suffered the pangs of three several deaths : first, an in- tolerable fright, to be detected with a jealous bell-wether ; next, to be compassed like a good bilbo, 1 in the circumference of a peck, hilt to point, heel to head : and then, to be stopped in, like a strong distillation, with stinking clothes : think of that a man of my kidney, think of that ; that am as subject to heat as butter ; a man of continual dissolution and thaw ; it was a miracle to 'scape suffocation. And in the height of this bath, when I was more than half -stewed in grease, like a Dutch dish, to be thrown into the Thames, and cooled, glowing hot, in that surge, like a horse-shoe ; think of that ; hiss- ing hot, think of that, master Brook. Ford. In good sadness, sir, I am sorry that for my sake you have suffered all this. My suit then is desperate ; you'll undertake her no more ? Fal. Master Brook, I will be thrown into J2tna, as I have been into Thames, ere I will leave her thus. Her husband is this morning gone a-birding : I have received from her another embassy of meeting ; 'twixt eight and nine is the horn-, master Brook. Ford. 'Tis past eight already, sir. F. Is it ? I will then address me to my appoint- ment. Come to me at your convenient leisure, and you shall know how I speed ; and the con- clusion shall be crowned with your having her : Adieu. You shall have her, master Brook. [Exit. Ford. Hum ! ha ! is this a vision ? is this a dream? do I sleep? master Ford, awake ; awake, master Ford ; there's a hole made in your best coat, master Ford. This 'tis to be married ! this 'tis to have linen and buck-baskets ! Well, I Avill proclaim myself what I am : I will now take the lecher ; he is at my house : he cannot 'scape me ; 'tis impossible he' should ; he cannot creep into a halfpenny purse, nor into a pepper-box ; but, lest the devil that guides him should aid him, I will search impossible places. Though what I am I cannot avoid, yet to be what I would not, shall not make me tame : if I have horns to make one mad, let the proverb go with me, I'll be horn mad. [Exit. Act Fourth. SCEXE I. A ROOM IN FORD'S HOUSE. Enter Falsta/ and Mrs Ford. Fal. Mistress Ford, your sorrow hatli eaten up my sufferance : I see you are obsequious in your 1 Blade. SC. I. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 65 love, and I profess requital to a hair's breadth ; not only, mistress Ford, in the simple office of love, but in all the accoutrement, complement, and ceremony of it. But are you sure of your husband now ? Mrs Ford. He's a-birding, sweet Sir John. Mrs Page. [ Within.] What hoa, gossip Ford ! what hoa ! Mrs lord. Step into the chamber, Sir John. [Exit Falstaff. Enter Mrs Page. Mrs Page. How now, sweetheart? who's at home beside yourself ? Mrs Ford. Why, none but mine own people. Mrs Page. Indeed? Mrs F. No, certainly ; speak louder. [Aside. Mrs Page. Truly, I am so glad you have no- body here. Mrs Ford. Why? Mrs P. Why, woman, your husband is in his own lunes 1 again: he so takes on yonder with my husband ; so rails against all married man- kind ; so curses all Eve's daughters, of what complexion soever ; and so buftets himself on the forehead, crying Peer out, peer out ! that any madness I ever yet beheld seemed buttameness, civility, and patience, to this his distemper he is in now : I am glad the fat knight is not here. Mrs Ford. Why, does he talk of him ? Mrs P. Of none but him ; and swears he was carried out, the last time he searched for him, in a basket : protests to my husband he is now here ; and hath drawn him and the rest of their company from their sport, to make another expe- riment of his suspicion : but I am glad the knight is not here ; now he shall see his own foolery. Mrs Ford. How near is he, mistress Page ? Mrs Page. Hard by ; at street end ; he will be here anon. Mrs Ford. I am undone ! the knight is here. Mrs Page. Why, then yot are utterly shamed, and he's but a dead man. What a woman are you? Away with him, away with him ; better shame than murder. Mrs Ford. Which way should he go? how should I bestow him? Shall I put him into the basket again? Re-enter Falstaff. Fal. No, I'll come no more i' the basket : May I not go out ere he come? Mrs Page. Alas, three of master Ford's bro- thers watch the door with pistols, thfit none shall issue out ; otherwise you might slip away ere he came. But what make you here ? Fal. What shall I do? I'll creep up into the chimney. Mrs Ford. There they always use to discharge their birding-pieces : creep into the kiln-hole. Fal. Where is it? Mrs Ford. He will seek there, on my word. Neither press, coffer, chest, trunk, well, vault, but he hath an abstract for the remembrance of such places, and goes to them by his note : There is no hiding you in the house. Fal. I'll go out then. Mrs Page. If you go out in your own sem- 1 Mad fit*. blance, you die, Sir John. Unless you go out disguised. Mrs Ford. How might we disguise him? Mrs Page. Alas the day, I know not. There is no woman's gown big enough for him ; other- wise, he might put on a hat, a muffler, and a kerchief, and so escape. Fal. Good hearts, devise something : any ex- tremity rather than a mischief. Mrs Ford. My maid's aunt, the fat woman of Brentford, has a gown above. Mrs Page. On my word, it will serve him ; she's as big as he is : and there's her thrum'd hat, and her muffler too : Run up, Sir John. Mrs Ford. Go, go, sweet Sir John : mistress Page and I. will look some linen for your head. Mrs P. Quick, quick ; we'll come dress you straight : put on the gown the while. [ Exit Fal. Mrs F. I would my husband would meet him in this shape : he cannot abide the old woman of Brentford ; he swears she's a witch : forbade her my house, and hath threatened to beat her. Mrs P. Heaven guide him to thy husband's cud- gel ; and the devil guide his cudgel afterwards ! Mrs Ford. But is my husband coming? Mrs Page. Ay, in good sadness is he ; and talks of the basket too, howsoever he hath had intelligence. Mrs Ford. We'll try that ; for I'll appoint my men to carry the basket again, to meet him at the door with it, as they did last time. Mrs Page. Nay, but he'll be here presently ; let's go dress him like the witch of Brentford. Mrs Ford. I'll first direct my men, what they shall do with the basket. Go up, I'll bring linen for him straight. [Exit. Mrs Page. Hang him, dishonest varlet ! we cannot misuse him enough. We'll leave a proof, by that which we will do, Wives may be merry, and yet honest too. [ Exit. Re-enter Mrs Ford, with two Servants. Mrs Ford. Go, sirs, take the basket again on your shoulders ; your master is hard at door ; if he bid you set it down, obey him : quickly, dispatch. [Exit. 1 Serv. Come, come, take it up. 2 Serv. Pray heaven, it be not full of the knight again. 1 Serv. I hope not ; I had as lief bear so much lead. Enter Ford, Page, Shallow, Caius, and Sir Hugh Evans. Ford. Ay, but if it prove time, master Page, have you any way then to unf ool me again ? Set down the basket, villain : Somebody call my wife You, youth in a basket, come out here ! 0, you panderly rascals ! there's a knot, a gang, a pack, a conspiracy against me : Now shall the devil be shamed. What ! wife, I say ! come, come forth ; behold what honest clothes you send forth to bleaching. Page. Why, this passes ! Master Ford, you are not to go loose any longer ; you must be pinioned. Eva. Why, this is lunatics ! this is mad as a mad dog ! Shal. Indeed, master Ford, this is not well ; indeed. SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT IV. E.iter Mrs Ford. Ford. So say I too, sir. Come hither, mis- tress Ford ; mistress Ford, the honest woman, the modest wife, the virtuous creature, that hath the jealous fool to her husband ! I sus- pect without cause, mistress, do I ? Mrs Ford. Heaven be my witness, you do, if ^rou suspect me in any dishonesty. Ford. Well said, brazen face ; hold it out. Come forth, sin- [Pulte the clothes out of the basket. Page. This passes ! Mrs Ford. Are you not ashamed ? let the clothes alone. Ford. I shall find you anon. Eva. Tis unreasonable ! Come away. Ford. Empty the basket, I say. Mrs Ford. Why, man, why, F. Master Page, as I am a man, there was one conveyed out of my house yesterday in this bas- ket: Why may not he be there again? In my house I am sure he is : my intelligence is true ; my jea- lousy is reasonable : Pluck me out all the linen. Mrs Ford. If you find a man there, he shall die a flea's death. Page. Here's no man. Slial. By my fidelity, this is not well, master IFord ; this wrongs you. Eva. Master Ford, you must pray, and not follow the imaginations of your own heart : this is jealousies. Ford. Well, he 's not here I seek for. Page. No, nor no where else, but in your brain. Ford. Help to search my house this one time : if I find not what I seek, show no colour for my extremity, let me for ever be your table sport ; let them say of me, As jealous as Ford, that searched a hollow walnut for his wife's leman. Satisfy me once more ; once more search with me. Mrs Ford. What hoa, mistress Page ! come you and the old woman down ; my husband will come into the chamber. Ford. Old woman ! What old woman 's that ? Mrs F. Why, it 'srny maid's aunt of Brentford Ford. A witch, a quean, an old cozening quean Have I not forbid her my house? She comes of errands, does she? We are simple men ; we do no know what's brought to pass under the profession of fortune-telling. She works by charms, b> spells, by the figure, and such daubery as this is beyond our element : we know nothing. Com< down, you witch, you hag you ; come down, I say Mrs Ford. Nay, good, sweet husband ; gooc gentlemen, let him not strike the old woman Enter Falstaff in woman's clothes, led by Mr Page. Mrs Page. Come, mother Pratt, come, giv< me your hand. Ford. I'll prat her : out of my door, you witch ! [beats him.} you rag, you baggage, yo\ pole-cat! out ! out ! Ill conjure you, 111 fortune tell you. [Exit Fed Mrs Page. Are you not ashamed? I think you have kill'd the poor woman. Mrs Ford. Nay, he will do it : -'Tis a good! credit for you. Ford. Hang her, witch ! Eva. By yea and no, I think, the 'oman is a /itch indeed : I like not when a 'oman has a card ; I spy a great peard under her mil: Ford. Will you follow, gentlemen? I beseech ou, follow ; see but the issue of my jealousy : f I cry out thus upon no trail, never trust me hen I open again. Page. Let 's obey his humour a little further : Come, gentlemen. [Exeunt Page, Ford, Shallow, and Evans. Mrs P. Trust me, he beat him most pitifully. Mrs Ford. Nay, by the mass, that he did not ; e beat him most unpitifully, methought. Mrs Page. I'll have the cudgel hallowed ; it hath done meritorious service. Mrs Ford. What think you ? May we, with the warrant of womanhood, and the witness of a good onscience,pursuehim with any further revenge? Mrs Page. The spirit of wantonness is, sure, cared out of him ; if the devil have him not n fee-simple, with fine and recovery, he will never, I think, attempt us again. Mrs Ford. Shall we tell our husbands ho\v we have served him ? Mrs Page. Yes, by all means ; if it be but to scrape the figures out of our husband's brains. If they can find in their hearts, the poor unvir- tuous fat knight shall be any further afflicted, ve two will still be the ministers. MrsF. I'll warrant, they'll have him publickly shamed: and,methinks, there would be no period to the jest, should he not be publickly shamed. Mrs Page. Come, to the forge with it then, shape it : I would not have things cool. [Exeunt. SCENE II. A ROOM IN THE GARTER INN. Enter Host and Bardolph. Bard. Sir, the Germans desire to have three of your horses : the duke himself will beto-iuov- row at cowrt, and they are going to meet him. Host. What duke should that be, comes so se- cretly ? I hear not of him in the court : Let me speak with the gentlemen ; they speak English? Bard. Ay, sir ; 111 call them to you. Host. They shall have my horses ; but I'll make them pay, I'll sauce them: they have had my houses a week at command ; I have turned away my other guests : they must come off; I'll sauce them: Come. [Exeunt. SCENE III. A ROOM IN FORD'S HOUSE. Enter Page, Ford, Mrs Page, Mrs Ford, and Sir Hugh Evans. Eva. 'Tis one of the pest discretions of a 'oman as ever I did look upon. Page. And did he send you both these 1 at an instant ? Mrs Page. Within a quarter of an hour. F. Pardon me, wife: Henceforth do what thou I rather Avill suspect the sun with cold, [wiK ; Than thee with wantonness: now cloth thy honou r In him that was of late an heretick, [stand, As firm as faith. Page. 'Tis well, 'tis well ; no more. Be not as extreme in submission, As in offence ; But let our plot go forward : let our wives sc. in. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 67 Yet once again, to make us publick sport, Appoint a meeting -with this old fat fellow, Where we may take h i m, and disgrace him for it. Ford. There is no better way than that they spoke of. Page. How! to send him word they'll meet him in the park at midnight! fie,fie! he'll never come. Eva. You say, he has been thrown in the rivers ; and has been grievously peaten, as an old 'oman : methinks, there should be terrors in him, that he should not corne. Page. So think I too. [he comes, Mrs Ford. Devise but how you'll use him when And let us two devise to bring him thither. Mrs P. There is an old tale goes, that Heme the hunter, Sometime a keeper here in Windsor forest, .Doth all the winter time, at still midnight, Walk roundabout an oak, with great rngg'd horns ; Ynd there he blasts the tree, and takes 1 the cattle ; And makes milch-kine yield blood, and shakes a In a most hideous and dreadful manner : [chain You have heard of such a spirit ; and well you The superstitious idle-headed eld 3 [know, Deceived, and did deliver to our age, This tale of Herne the hunter for a truth. P. Why, yet there want not many, that do f ear In deep of night to walk by this Heine's oak : But what of this? Mrs Ford. Marry, this is our device ; That Fabtaff at that oak shall meet with us, Disgnis'd likellerne, with huge horns on his head. P. Well, let it not be doubted but he'll come, And in this shape : When you have brought him thither, What shall be done with him ? what is your plot ? Mrs Page. That likewise have we thought upon, and thus: Nan Page my daughter, and my little son, And three or four rnoreof their growth, we '11 dress Like urchins, ouphes, 3 and fairies, green and white, With rounds of waxen tapers on their heads, And rattles in their hands ; upon a sudden, As Falstalf, she, and I, are newly met, item from forth a saw-pit rush at once With some diffused song ; upon their sight, We two in great arnazedness will fly : Then let them all encircle him about, And, fairy-like, to pinch the unclean knight ; And ask him, why, that hour of fairy-revel, In their so sacred paths he dares to tread, In shape prophane. Mrs Ford. And till he tell the truth, Let the supposed fairies pinch Mm sound, And burn him with their tapers. Page. The truth being known, We'll all present ourselves ; dis-horn the .spirit, And mock him home to Windsor. Ford. The children must lie practised well to this, or they'll ne'er do't. Eva. I will teach the children their behaviours ; and I will be like a jack-an-apes also, to burn the knight with nay tapt.T. [vizards. i it will bo excellent. I'll go buy them . My Nan shall be the queen of all Finely altiretl in a rol>e of white, [the fairies, 1 Strike*. 2 Old age 8 Eire*. P. That silk will I go by ; and in that time Shall master Slender steal my Nan away, [Aside. And marry her at Eton. Go, send to Falstaff straight. Ford. Nay, I'll to him again in name of Brook : He'll tell me all his purpose : Sure, he'll come. Mrs Page. Fear not you that : Go, get us pro- And tricking for our fairies. [perties, Eva. Let us about it : It is admirable pleasures, and f ery honest knaveries. [Exeunt Page, Ford, and Evans. Mrs Page. Go, mistress Ford, Send quickly to Sir John, to know his mind. [Exit Mrs Ford. I'll to the doctor ; he hath my good will, And none but he, to marry with Nan Page. That Slender, though well landed, is an idiot ,- And he my husband best of all affects : The doctor is well money'd, and his friends Potent at court ; he, none but he, shall have her, Though twenty thousand worthier come to crave her. [Exit. SCENE IV. A EOOM IN THE GARTEI; INN. Enter Host and Simple. Host. What would'st thou have, boor? what, thick-skin? speak, breathe, discuss ; brief, short, quick, snap. Sim. Marry, sir, I come to speak with Sir John Falstaff from master Slender. Host. There's his chamber, his house, his castle, his standing-bed, and truckle-bed; 'tis painted about with the story of the prodigal, fresh and new: Go, knock and call ; he'll speak like au Anthropophaginian 1 unto thee : Knock, I say. Sim. There's an old woman, a fat woman, gone up into his chamber ; I'll be so bold as stay, sir, till she come down : I conie to speak witk her, indeed. Host. Ha ! a fat woman ! the knight may be robb'd: I'll call. Bully knight! Bully Sir John ! speak from thy lungs military : Art thou there ? it is thine host, thine Ephesian, calls. Fal. [above.} How now, mine host? Host. Here's a Bohemian-Tartar tarries the coming down of thy fat woman : Let her descend, { bully, let her descend; my chambers are honour- ! able : Fye ! privacy ! fye ! Enter Falstaff. Fal. There was, mine host, an old fat woman even now with me ; but she's gone. Sim. Pray you, sir, was't not the wise woman of Brentford? Fal. Ay, marry, was it, muscle-shell; What would you with her? Sim. My master, sir, my master Slender, sent to her, seeing her go through the streets, to know, sir, whether one Nym, sir, that beguiled him of a chain, had the chain, or no. Fal. I spake with the old woman about it. Sim. And what says she, I pray, .sir? Fal. Many, she says, that the very same man, that beguiled master Slender of his chain, cozened him of it. Sim. I would, I could have spoken with Uu : 1 A cannibal. SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT IV. woman herself ; I had other things to have spoken with her too, from him. Foil. What are they ? let us know. Host. Ay, come ; quick. Sim. I may not conceal them, sir. Foil. Conceal them, or thou diest. Sim. Why, sir, they were nothing but about mistress Anne Fage ; to know, if it were my master's fortune to have her, or no. Fal. Tis, 'tis his fortune. Sim. What, sir? Fal. To have her, or no : Go; say, the woman told me so. Sim. May I be so bold to say so, sir? Fal. Ay, Sir Tike ; who more bold ? Sim. I thank your worship : I shall make my master glad with these tidings. [Exit Simple. Host. Thou art clerkly, i thou art clerkly, Sir John. Was there a wise woman with thee ? Fal. Ay, that there was, mine host ; one that hath taught me more wit than ever I learned before in my life : and I paid nothing for it neither, but was paid for my learning. Enter Bardolph. Bard. Out, alas, sir! cozenage ! mere cozenage ! Host. Where be my horses? speak well of them, varletto. Bard. Run away with the cozeners: for so soon as I came beyond Eton, they threw me off, from behind one of them, in a slough of mire ; and set spurs, and away, like three German devils, three Doctor Faustuses. Host. They are gone but to meet the duke, villain ; do not say, they be fled ; Germans are honest men. Enter Sir Hugh Evans. Eva. Where is mine host ? Host. What is the matter, sir ? Eva. Have a care of your entertainments ; there is a friend of mine come to town, tells me, there is three couzin germans, that has cozened all the hosts of Readings, of Maidenhead, of Colebrook, of horses and money. I tell you for good-will, look you : you are wise, and full of gibes and vlouting-stogs : and 'tis not convenient you should be cozened : Fare you well. Exit. Enter Doctor Caius. Caius. Vere is mine Host de Jarterre ? Host. Here, master doctor, in perplexity and floubtful dilemma. Caius. I cannot tell vat is dat : but it is tell- a-me, dat you make grand preparation for a duke de Jarmany ; by my trot, dere is no duke, dat the court is know to come ; I tell you for good vill : Adieu. [Exit. Host. Hue and cry, villain, go : assist me, knight ; I am undone : fly, run, hue and cry, villain ! I am undone ! [Exeunt Host and Bardolph. Fal. I would all the world might be cozened ; for I have been cozened and beaten too. If it should come to the ear of the court, how I have been transformed, and how my transformation hath been washed and cudgeled, they would melt me out of my fat, drop by drop, and liquor 1 Scholar-like, fisherman's boots with me : I warrant, they would whip me with their fine wits, till I were as crest-fallen as a dried pear. I never prospered since I foreswore myself at Primero. 1 Well, if my wind were but long enough to say iny prayers, I would repent. Enter Mrs Quickly. Now ! whence come you ? Quick. From the two parties, forsooth. Fal. The devil take one party, and his dam the other, and so they shall be both bestowed ! I have suffered more for their sakes, more, than the villainous inconstancy of man's disposition is able to bear. Quick. And have not they suffered? Yes, I warrant speciously one of them : mistress Ford, good heart, is beaten black and blue, that you cannot see a white spot about her. Fal. What tell'st thou me of black and blue? I was beaten myself into all the colours of th e rainbow, and I was like to be apprehended for the witch of Brentford ; but that my admirable dexterity of wit, my counterfeiting the action of an old woman, deliver'd ine, the knave con- stable had set me i' the stocks, i* the common stocks, for a witch. Quick. Sir, let me speak with you in your chamber : you shall hear how things go ; and, I warrant, to your content. Here is a letter will say somewhat. Good hearts, what ado here is to bring you together ! Sure one of you does not serve heaven well, that you are so crossed. Fal. Come up into my chamber. [Exeunt. SCENE V. ANOTHER ROOM IN THE GARTER INN. Enter Fenton and Host. Host. Master Fenton, talk not to me ; my mind is heavy, I will give over all. F. Yet hear me speak : Assist me in my pur- And, as I am a gentleman, I'll give thee [pose, A hundred pound in gold, more than your loss. Host. I will hear you, master Fenton ; and I will, at the least, keep" your counsel. F. From time to time I have acquainted yon With the dear love I bear to fair Anne Page ; Who, mutually, hath answered my affection (So far forth as herself might be her chooser), Even to my wish : I have a letter from her Of such contents as you will wonder at ; The mirth whereof so larded with my matter, That neither, singly, can be manifested, Without the show of both ; wherein fatFalstaff Hath a great scene : the image of the jest [Showing the letter. I'll show you here at large. Hark, good mine host, To-night at Herne's oak, just 'twixt twelve and Must my sweetNan present the fairy queen ;[ one, The purpose why, is here ; in which disguise, While other jests are something rank on foot, Her father hath commanded her to slip Away with Slender, and with him at Eton Immediately to marry : she hath consented : Now, sir, Her mother, ever strong against that match. And firm for doctor Caius, hath appointed 1 A game at cards. SC. V. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. That he shall likewise shuffle her away, While other sports are tasking of their minds, And at the deanery, where a priest attends, Straight many her : to this her mother's plot She, seemingly obedient, likewise hath Made promise to the doctor ;-Now, thus it rests; Her father means she shall be all in white ; And in that habit, when Slender sees his time To take her by the hand, and bid her go, She shall go with him: her mother hath in- The better to denote her to the doctor [tended, (For they must all be mask'd and vizarded), That, quaint in green, she shall be loose enrob'd, With ribands pendant, flaring 'bout her head ; And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe, To pinch her by the hand, and on that token, The maid hath given consent to go with him. Host. Which means she to deceive ? father or mother ! F. Both, my good host, to go along with me : And here it rests,-that you'll procure the vicar To stay for me at church, 'twixt twelve and one, And, in the lawful name of marrying, To give our hearts united ceremony. [vicar : Host. Well, husband your device : I'll to the Bring you the maid, you shall not lack a priest. Fent. So shall I evermore be bound to thee ; Besides, I'll make a present recompense. [Exeunt. Act Fifth. SCENE I. A ROOM IN THE GARTER INN. Enter Falstaff and, Mrs Quickly. Fal. Pr'ythee, no more prattling ; go. I'll hold. This is the third time ; I hope, good luck lies in odd nnmbers. Away, go ; they say, there is divinity in odd numbers, either in nativity, chance, or death. Away. Quick. I'll provide you a chain ; and I'll do what I can to get you a pair of horns. Ful. Away, I say ; time wears : hold up your head and mince. [Exit Mrs Quickly. Enter Ford. How now, master Brook? master Brook, the matter will be known to-night, or never. Be you in the Park about midnight, at Herne's oak, and you shall see wonders. Ford. Went you not to her yesterday, sir, as you told me you had appointed ? Fal. I went to her, master Brook, as you see, like a poor old man : but I came from her, master Brook, like a poor old woman. That same knave, Ford, her husband, hath the finest mad devil of jealousy in him, master Brook, that ever governed frenzy. I will tell you. He beat me grievously, in the shape of a woman ; for in the shape of man, master Brook, I fear not Goliath with a weaver's beam ; because I know also, life is a shuttle. I am in haste ; go along with me ; I'll tell you all, master Brook. Since I plucked geese, played truant, and whip- pod top, I knew not what it was to be beaten, till lately. Follow me: I'll tell you strange things of this knave Ford ; on whom to-night I will be revenged, and I will deliver his wife into your hand. Follow: Strange things in hand, master Brook ! follow. [Exeunt. SCENE II. WINDSOR PARK. Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender. Page. Come, come ; we'll couch i' the castle- ditch, till we see the light of our fairies. Re- member, son Slender, my daughter. Slen. Ay, forsooth; I have spoke with her, and we have a nay-word, 1 how to know one an- other. I come to her in white, and cry mum; she cries budget; and by that we know one another. Shal. That's good too : But what needs either your mum or her budget? the white will decipher her well enough. It hath struck ten o'clock. Page. The night is dark ; light and spirits will become it well. Heaven prosper our sport ! No man means evil but the devil, and we shall know him by his horns. Let's away : follow me. [Exeunt. SCENE III. THE STREET IN WINDSOR. Enter Mrs Page, Mrs Ford, and Dr Caius. Mrs Page. Master doctor, my daughter is in green ; when you see your time, take'her by the hand, away with her to the deanery, and despatch it quickly : Go before into the park ; we two must go together. Caius. I know vat I have to do ; Adieu. Mrs Page. Fare you well, sir. [Exit Caius. My husband will not rejoice so much at the abuse of Falstaff, as he will chafe at the doctor's marrying my daughter: but 'tis no matter; better a little chiding than a great deal of heart-break. Mrs Ford. Where is Nan now, and her troop of fairies? and the Welsh devil, Hugh? Mrs Page. They are all couched in a pit hard by Herne's oak, with obscured lights; which at the very instant of Falstaff" s and our meeting, they will at once display to the night. Mrs Ford. That cannot choose but amaze him. Mrs Page. If he be not amazed, he will be mocked ; if he be amazed, he will every way be mocked. Mrs Ford. We'll betray him finely. Mrs P. Those who betray him do no treachery. Mrs Ford. The hour draws on : To the oak, to the oak ! [Exeunt. SCENE IV. WINDSOR PARK. Enter Sir Hugh Evans, and Fairies. E. Trib, trib, fairies ; come ; and remember your parts : be pold, I pray you ; follow me into the pit : and when I give the watch-'ords, do as I pid you ; come, come ; trib, trib. [Exeunt. SCENE V. ANOTHER PART OF THE PARK. Enter Falstaff disguised, with a buck's head on. F. The Windsor bell hath struck twelve ; the minute draws on : Now, love assist me : He- member, Jove, thou wast a bull for thy Europa, ; love set on thy horns. powerful love ! For me, I am here a Windsor stag ; and the fattest, I think, i' the forest : Who cornea here ? my doe ? 1 Watchword. 70 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACTV. Enter Mrs Ford and Mrs Page. Mrs Ford. Sir John? art thou there, my deer? my male deer? Fal. My doe ? Let the sky rain potatoes ; let it thunder to the tune of Green Sleeves; hail kissiug-comfits, and snow eringoes; I will shelter me here. [Embracing her. Mrs Ford. Mistress Page is come with me, sweet-heart. Fal. Divide me like a bribe-buck, each a haunch : I will keep my sides to myself, my shoulders for the fellow of this walk, and my horns I bequeath your husbands. Am I a wood- man? ha! Speak I like Heme the hunter? Why, now is Cupid a child of conscience ; he makes restitution. As I am a true spirit, wel- come. [Noise within. Mrs Page. Alas ! what noise? Mrs Ford. Heaven forgive our sins ! Fal. What should this be? 'p^:} Away - away - P**"""* Fal. I think the devil will not have me; he would never else cross me thus. Enter Sir HughEvans,likeasatyr; Mrs Quickly and Pistol; Anne Page, as the Fairy Queen, attended by her brother and others, dressed like fairies, with waxen tapers on tJieir heads. Quick. Fairies, black, grey, green, and white, You moon-shine revellers, and shades of night, You orphan heirs of fixed destiny, Attend your office, and your quality. Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy o-yes. [toys. Pist. Elves, list your names ; silence, you airy Cricket, to Windsor chimnies shalt thou leap : Where fires thou find'st unrak'd, and hearths un- There pinch the maids as blue as bilberry: [swept, Our radiant queen hates sluts and sluttery. Fal. They are fairies; he, that speaks to them, shall die : [eye. I'll wink and couch : No man their works must [Lies down upon his face. Eva. Where's Pede ? Go you, and where you nnd a maid, That, ere she sleep, has thrice her prayers said, Raise up the organs of her fantasy, Sleep she as sound as careless infancy : But those as sleep, and think not on their sins, Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides, Quick. About, about ; [and shins. Search Windsor Castle, elves, within and out : Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room; That it may stand till the perpetual doom, In state as wholesome, as in state 'tis fit ; Worthy the owner, and the owner it. The several chairs of order look you scour With jiuce of balm, and every precious flower ; Each fair instalment, coat, and several crest, With royal blazon, evermore be blest ! And nightly, meadow-fairies, look you sing, Like to the Garter's compass, in a ring : The expressure that it bears, green let it be, More fertile-fresh than all the field to see ; And, Hon y soit qui mal y pense, write, In emerald tufts, flowers purple, blue, and white ; Like sapphire, pearl, and rich embroidery, Buckled below fair knighthood's bending knee : Fairies use flowers for their charactery, Away ; disperse : But, till 'tis one o'clock, Our dance of custom, round about the oak Of Herne the hunter, let us not forget. Eva. Pray you, lock hand in hand; yourselves in order set : And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns be, To guide our measure round about the tree. But, stay ; I smell a man of middle earth. F. Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy! lest he transform me to a piece of cheese ! Pist. Vile worm thou wast o'erlooked even in thy birth. Quick. With trial-fire touch me his finger-em"!: If he be chaste, the flame will back descend, And turn him to no pain ; but if he start, It is the flesh of a corrupted heart. Pist. A trial, come. Eva. Come, will this wood take fire? [They burn him with their tapers. Fal. Oh, oh, oh ! Quick. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire! About him fames ; sing a scornful rhyme : And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time. Eva. It is right ; indeed he is f ull of iniquity. SONG. Fye on sinful fantasy ! Fye on lust and luxury ! Lust is but a bloody Jire, Kindled with unchaste desire, Fed in heart; whose flames aspire, As thoughts do blow t liem,higher and higlier. Pinch him, fairies, mutually; Pinch him for his villainy; Pinch him, and burn him, and turn Mm about, Till candles, and starl ight, andmoonshine be out. [During this song, the fairies pinch Falstaff. Doctor Caius comes one way, and steals away a fairy in green; Slender another way, and takes o/ a fairy in white; and Fenton comes, and steals away Mrs Anne Page. A noise of hunting is made within. All the fairies run away. Falstaff pulls off his buck's head, and rises.] Enter Page, Ford, Mrs Page, and Mrs Ford. They lay hold on him. Page. Nay, do not fly; I think we have watch'd you now ; Will none but Herne the hunter serve your turn? Mrs Page. I pray you, come ; hold up the jest no higher : [wives ? Now, good Sir John, how like you Windsor See you these, husband? do not these fair yokes 1 Become the forest better than the town? Ford. Now, sir, who's a cuckold now? Master Brook, Falstaff's a knave, a cuckoldy knave ; here are his horns, master Brook : And, master Brook, he hath enjoyed nothing of Ford's but his buck-basket, his cudgel, and twenty pounds of money ; which must be paid to master Brook ; his horses are arrested for it, master Brook. Mrs Ford. Sir John, we have had ill luck : we could never meet. I will never take you for my love again, but I mil always count you iny deer. F. I do begin to perceive that I am made an ass. 1 Falstaff ' horns. SC. T. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 71 Fort. Ay, and an ox too ; both the proofs are extant. Fal. And these are not fairies? I was three or four times in the thought, they were not fairies ; and yet the guiltiness of my mind, the sudden surprise of my powers, drove the gross- ness of the foppery into a received belief, in de- spite of the teeth of all rhyme and reason, that they were fairies. See now, how wit may be made a Jack-a-lent, 1 when 'tis upon ill employ- ment ! Eva. Sir John Falstaff, serve Got, and leave your desires, and fairies will not pinse you. Ford. Well said, fairy Hugh. Eva. And leave you your jealousies too, I pray you. Ford. I will never mistrust my wife again, till thou art able to woo her in good English. Fal. Have I laid my brain in the sun, and dried it, that it wants matter to prevent so gross o'er-reaching as this ? Am I ridden with a Welsh goat too ? Shall 1 have a coxcomb/f f rize ? 2 'tis time I were choked with a piece of toasted cheese. Eva. Seese is not good to give putter ; your pelly is all putter. Fal. Secse and putter ! Have I lived to stand at the taunt of one that makes fritters of Eng- lish ? This is enough to be the decay of late- walking through the realm. Mrs Page. Why, Sir John, do you think, though we would have thrust virtue out of our hearts by the head and shoulders, and have given oursdves without scruple to hell, that ever the devil could have made you our delight ? Ford. What, ahodge-pudding? a bag of flax? Mrs Page. A puffed man ? Page. Old, and withered? Ford. And one that is as slanderous as Satan? Page. And as poor as Job? Ford. And as wicked as his wife ? Eva. And given to taverns, and sack, and wine, and metheglins, and to clrinkings, and swear- ings, and starings, pribbles, and prabbles ? Fal. Well, I am your theme : you have the start of me : I am dejected ; I am not able to answer the Welsh flannel ; ignorance itself is a plummet o'er me : use me as you will. Ford. Marry, sir, we'll bring you to Windsor, to one master Brook, that you have cozened of money, to whom you should have been a pander : over and above that you have suffered, I think to repay that money will be a biting affliction. Mrs Ford. N"ay, husband, let that go to make amends; Forgive that sum, and so we'll all be friends. Well, here'smy hand ; all's forgiven at last. P. Yet be cheerful, knight: thou shalt eat a pos- set to-night at my house ; where I will desire thee to laugh at my wife that now laughs at thee : Tell her. master Slender hath married her daughter. Mrs Page. Doctors doubt that: If Anne Page be my daughter, she is, by this, doctor Caiua's wife. [Aside. Enter Slender. Slen. Whoo, ho ! ho ! father Page ! Page. Son! how now? how now, son? have you despatched ? 1 Puppet. 2 A fool's cap, SI. Despatched I'll make the best in Gloces- tershire know on't; would I were hanged, la, else. Page. Of what, son? Slen. I came yonder at Eton to marry mistress Anne Page, and she 's a great lubberly boy : If it had not been i' the church, I would have swingedi him, or he should have swinged me. If I did not think it had been Anne Page, would I might never stir, and 'tis a post-master's boy. Page. Upon my life then you took the wrong. Slen. What need you tell me that? I think so, when I took a boy for a girl : If I had been married to him, for all he was in woman's apparel, I would not have had him. Page. Why, this is your own folly. Did not I tell you, how you should know my daughter by her garments ? SI. I went to her in white, and cry'd mum, and she cry'd budget, as Anne and I had appointed ; and yet it was not Anne, but a post-master's boy. Eva. Master Slender, cannot you see but marry boys ? Page. 6, 1 am vexed at heart : What shall I do? Mrs Page. Good George, be not angry: I. knew of your purpose; turned my daughter into green ; and, indeed, she is now with the doctor at the deanery, and there married. Enter Caius. Caius. Vere is mistress Page ? By gar, I am cozened : I ha' married un gargon, a boy ; un paisan, by gar, a boy ; it is not Anne Page : by gar, I am cozened. Mrs Page. Why, did you take her in green ? Caius. Ay, by gar, and 'tis a boy: by gar, I'll raise all Windsor. [Exit Caius. Ford. This is strange: Who hath got the right Anne? Page. My heart misgives me : Here comes master Fenton. l Enter Fenton and Anne Page. How now, master Fenton ? [pardon ! Anne. Pardon, good father ! good my mother, Page. Now, mistress ! how chance you went not with master Slender ? [maid ? Mrs P. Why went you not with master doctor, Fent. You do amaze her : Hear the truth of it. You would have married her most shamefully, Where there was no proportion held in love. The truth is, she and I, long since contracted, Are now so sure, that nothing can dissolve us. The offence is holy, that she hath committed: And this deceit loses the name of craft, Of disobedience, or unduteous title ; Since therein she doth evitate and shnn A thousand irreligious cursed hours, [her. Which forced marriage would have brought upon Ford. Stand not amazed: here is no remedy: In love, the heavens themsel v esdo guidethe state ; Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate. Fal. I am glad, though you have ta'en a special stand to strike at me,, that your arrow hath glanced. Page. Well, what remedy ? Fenton, heaven give thee joy? What cannot be eschew'd must be embrac'd. 1 Thrashed. 72 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT I. Fal. When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are chas'd. E. I will dance and eat plums at your wedding. Mrs Page. Well, I will muse no further : Master Teuton, Heaven give you many, many merry days ! Good husband, let us every one go home, And laugh this sport o'er by a country lire ; Sir John and all. [Exeunt. ORSINO, Duke o/Illyria. SEBASTIAN, a young Gentleman, Brother to Viola. ANTONIO, a Sea-Captain, Friend to Sebastian. A SEA-CAPTAIN, Friend to Viola. SIR TOBY BELCH, Uncle of Olivia. SIR ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK. MALVOLIO, Steward to Olivia. OLIVIA, a rich Countess. VIOLA, in love with the Duke. MARIA, Olivia's woman. Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and otlwr Attendants. SCENE. A city in Illyria; and the, Sea-Coast near it. Act First. SCENE I. AN APARTMENT IN THE DUKE'S PALACE. Enter Duke, Curio,Lords; Musicians attending. Duke. If musick be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it ; that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again ; it had a dying fall : O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing, and giving odour. Enough ; no more ; Tis not so sweet now as it was before. O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou ! That notwithstanding thy capacity Rcceireth as the sea, nought enters there, Of what validity and pitch soever, But falls into abatement and low price, Even in a minute ! so full of shapes is fancy That it alone is high-fantastical. Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord? DuTce. What, Curio? Cur. The hart. Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have : O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first, Methought she purg'd the air of pestilence ; That instant was I turned into a hart ; And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, E'er since pursue me. How now? what news from her? Enter Valentine. V. So please my lord, I might not be admitted, But from her handmaid do return this answer : The element itself, till seven years' heat, Shall not behold her face at ample view ; But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk, And water once a day her chamber round With eye-offending brine : all this, to season A brother's dead love, which she would keep And lasting, in her sad remembrance, [fresh, D. O, she, that hath a heart of that fine frame, To pay this debt of love but to a brother, How will she love, when the rich golden shaft Hath killed the flock of all affections else That live in her ! when liver, brain, and heart, These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fill'd (Her sweet perfections) with one self king ! Away before me to sweet beds of flowers ; Love-thoughts lie rich, when canopied with bowers. [Exeunt. SCENE II. THE SEA COAST. Enter Viola, Captain, and Sailors. Vio. What country, friends, is this? Cap. Illyria, lady. Vio. And what should I do in Illyria? My brother he is in Elysium. [sailors? Perchance, he is notdrown'd : What think you, Cap. It is perchance that you yourself were saved. Vio. my poor brother ! and so, perchance, may he be. Cap. True, madam : and to comfort you with chance, Assure yourself, after our ship did split, W li en you, and that poor number saved with you, Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother, Most provident in peril, bind himself (Courage and hope both teaching him the prac- To a strong mast, that lived upon the sea ; [tice) Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back, I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves, So long as I could see. SO. II. TWELFTH NIGHT ; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 73 Vio. For saying so, there 's gold : Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope Whereto thy speech serves for authority, The like of him. Know'st thou this country? Cap. Ay, madam, well ; for I was bred and born, Not three hours' travel from this very place. Vio. Who governs here ? Cap. A noble duke, in nature, As in his name. Vio. What is his name? Cap. Orsino. Vio. Orsino ! I have heard my father name him ! He was a bachelor then. Cap. And so is now, Or was so very late : for but a month Ago I went from hence ; and then 'twas fresh In murmur (as, you know, what great ones do, The less will prattle of), that he did seek The love of fair Olivia. Vio. What's she? Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count That died some twelvemonth since ; then leaving In the protection of his son, her brother, [her Who shortly also died : for whose dear love, They say, she hath abjur'd the company And sight of men. Vio. 0, that I served that lady : And might not be delivered to the world, Till I had made mine own occasion mellow, What my estate is. Cap. That were hard to compass ; F.ecause she will admit no kind of suit, No, not the duke's. Vio. There is afair behaviour in thee, captain ; And though that nature with a beauteous wall Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee I will believe, thou hast a mind that suits With this thy fair and outward character. I pray thee, and I'll pay thee bounteously, Conceal me what I am ; and be my aid For such disguise as, haply, shall become The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke ; Thou shalt present me as a page to him, It may be worth thy pains ; for I can sing, And speak to him in many sorts of musick, That will allow me very worth his service. What else may hap, to time I will commit ; Only shape thou thy silence to my wit. Cap. Be you his page, and I your mute will be: When my tongue blabs, let mine eyes not see ! Vio. I thank thee, lead me on. [Exeunt. SCENE III. A EOOM IN OLIVIA'S HOUSE. Enter Sir Toby Belch and Maria. Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to take the death of her brother thus ? I am sure, care's an enemy to life. Mar. By troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o'nights ; your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours. .S'/'r To. Why, let her except before excepted. Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order. Sir To. Confine ! I'll confine myself no finer than I am: these clothes are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too ; an they be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps. Mar. That quaffing and drinkingwill undo you : I heard my lady talk of it yesterday ; and of a foolish knight, that you brought in one night here, to be her wooer. Sir To. Who? Sir Andrew Ague-cheek? Mar. Ay, he. Sir To. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria. Mar. What's that to the purpose? Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats a year. Mar. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats ; he's a very fool, and a prodigal. Sir To. Fye, that you'll say so ! he plays o' the viol-de gambo, and speaks three or four languages word for word without book, and hath all the good gifts of nature. Mar. He hath, indeed, almost natural : for, besides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller ; and but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the prudent he would quickly have the gift of a grave. Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels, and substractors, that say so of him. Who are they? Mar. They that add moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company. Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece ; I'll drink to her, as long as there is a passage in my throat, and drink in Illyria : He's a coward, and a coystril, 1 that will not drink to my niece, till his brains turn o' the toe like a parish top. Here comes Sir Andrew Ague-face. Enter Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. Sir A. Sir Toby Belch ! how now, Sir Tobv Belch? Sir To. Sweet Sir Andrew ! Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew. Mar. And you too, sir. Sir To. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost. Sir And. What's that? Sir To. My niece's chamber-maid. Sir And. Good mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance. Mar. My name is Mary, sir. Sir And. Good mistress Mary Accost, Sir To. You mistake, knight: accost, is, front her, board her, woo her, assail her. Sir And. Is that the meaning of accost? Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen. Sir To. An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, 'would thou might'st never draw sword again. Sir And. An you part so, mistress, I would J might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand? Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand. Sir And. Marry, but you shall have ; and here's my hand. M. Now, sir, thought is free: I pray you, bring your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it drink. Sir And. Wherefore, sweet heart? what's your metaphor? Mar. It's dry, sir. Sir A . Why, I think so ; I am not such an ass but I can keep my hand dry. But what's your jest ? 1 Keystril, a bastard hawk. SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT I. Mar. A dry jest, sir. Sir And. Are you full of them? Mar. Ay, sir; I have them at my fingers' ends. [Exit Maria. Sir To. knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary: When did I see thee so put down ! Sir And. Never in your life, I think ; unless you see canaiy put me down : Methinks, some- times I have no more wit than an ordinary man has ; but I am a great eater of beef, and I be- lieve that does harm to my wit. Sir To. No question. Sir And. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll ride home to-morrow, Sir Toby. Sir To. Pourquoy, my dear knight ? Sir And. What is pourquoy ? do or not do ? I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues, that I have in fencing, dancing,and bear-baiting: 0, had I but followed the arts ! Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair. Sir A . Why, would that have mended my hai r? Sir To. Past question ; for thou seest, it will not curl by nature. Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, does 't not? Sir To. Excellent ; it hangs like flax on a distaff. Sir And. I'll home to-morrow, Sir Toby ; your niece will not be seen ; or, if she be, it's four to one she'll none of me: the count himself, here hard by, wooes her. Sir To. Shall none o' the count ; she'll not match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear it. Tut, there's life in't, man. Sir And. I'll stay a month longer. I am afel- low o' the strangest mind i' the world ; I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether. Sir To. Art- thou good at these kick-shaws, knight? Sir And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my betters ; and yet I will not compare with an old man. Sir To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight? Sir And. I can cut a caper. Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to 't. Sir And. Shall we set about some revels? Sir To. What shall we do else? Let me see thee caper : ha ! higher : ha, ha ! excellent ! [Exeunt. SCENE I V.A ROOM IN THE DUKE'S PALACE. Enter Valentine, and Viola in man's attire. Vol. If the duke continue these favours to- wards you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced ; he hath known you but three days, and already you are no stranger. Vio. You either fear his humour, or my negli- gence, that you call in question the continuance of his love : Is he inconstant, sir, in his favours ? Val. No, believe me. Enter Duke, Curio, and Attendants. Vio. I thank you. Here comes the count. Duke. Who saw Cesario, ho? Vio. On your attendance, my lord ; here. -. Stand you awhile aloof. Cesario, Thou know'st no less but all ; I have unclasp'd To thee the book even of my secret soul : Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her ; lie not deny'd access, stand at her doors, And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow, Till thou have audience. Vio. Sure, my noble lord, If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow As it is spoke, she never will admit me. Duke. Ee clamorous, and leap all civil bounds, Rather than make un profited return. Vio. Say, I do speak with her, my lord: What then? Duke. O, then unfold the passion of my love. Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith ; It shall become thee well to act my woes ; She will attend it better in thy youth, Than in a nuncio of grave aspect. Vio. I think not so, my lord. Duke. Dear lad, believe it : For they shall yet belie thy happy year^ That say, thou art a man : Diana's lip Is not more smooth and rubious ; thy small pipe Is as the maiden's organ, shrill, and sound, And all its semblative a woman's part. I know, thy constellation is right apt, Eor this affair : Some f our, or five, attend him ; All, if you will ; for I myself am best, When least in company : Prosper well in this, And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord, To call his fortunes thine. Vio. I'll do my best, To woo your lady: yet, [Aside.] a fearful* strife ! Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife. [Exeunt. SCENE V.A ROOM n? OLIVIA'S HOT/SB. Enter Maria and Clown. Mar. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or I will not open my lips, so wide as a bristle may enter, in way of thy excuse : my lady will hang thee for thy absence. Clo. Let her hang me : he, that is well hanged in this world, needs to fear no colours. Mar. Make that good. Clo. He shall see none to fear. Mar. A good lenten 2 answer: I can tell thee where that saying was bora of, I fear no colours. Clo. Where, good mistress Mary? Mar. In the wars ; and that may you be bold to say in your foolery. Clo. Well, Heaven give them wisdom, that have it ; and those that are fools, let them use their talents. Mar. Yet you will be hanged, for being so long absent : or, to be turned away ; is not that as good as a hanging to you? Clo. Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage ; and, for turning away, let summer bear it out. Mar. You are resolute, then? Clo. Not so neither ; but I am resolved on two points. Mar. That, if one break, the other will hold. 1 Full of impediments. 2 Sparing. SO. V. TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 75 Clo. Apt, in good faith ; very apt! Well, go thy way; if Sir Toby would leave drinking, them wert as witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in illyria. Mar. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that; here comes my lady : make your excuse wisely, you were best. [Exit. Enter Olivia and Malvolio. Clo. Wit, and 't be thy will, put me into good f ooling ! Those wits, that think they have thee, do very oft prove fools ; and I, that am sure I lack thee, may pass for a wise man : For what Bays Quinapalus? Better a witty fool than a foolish wit. God bless thee, lady ! Oil. Take the fool away. Clo. Do you not hear, fellows ? Take away the lady. Oli. Go to, you're a dry fool : I'll no more of you : besides, you grow dishonest. Clo. Two faults, madonna, 1 that drink and good counsel will amend : for give the dry fool drink, then is the fool not diy ; bid the dishonest man mend himself ; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest ; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him. The lady bade take away the fool : there- fore, I say again, take her away. Oli. Sir, I bade them take away you. Clo. Misprision in the highest degree ! Lady, Cucullus nonfacit monachum; that's as much .13 to say, I wear not motley in my brain. OZlWhat think you of this fool, Malvolio, doth he not mend? Mai. Yes ; and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him : Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make the better fool. Clo. Heaven send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better increasing your folly ! Sir Toby will be sworn that I am no fox ; but he will not pass his word for twopence that you are no fool. Oli. How say you to that, Malvolio ? Mai. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal ; I saw him put down the other day with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain than a stone. Look you now, he's out of his guard already ; unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, he is gagged. I protest, I take these wise men, that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than the fools' zanies. 2 Oli. 0, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a distempered appetite. To be gener- ous, guiltless, and of free disposition, is to take those things for bird-bolts, 3 that you deem cannon-bullets: There is no slander in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail ; nor no railing in a known discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove. Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, 4 for thou speakest well of fools. Re-enter Maria. Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman much desires to speak with you. Oli. From the Count Orsino, is it ? Mar. I know not, madam ; 'tis a fair young man, and well attended. Oli. Who of my people hold him in delay? . 1 Mistress. 2 Baubles. 8 Short-arrows. 4 Lying. Mar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman. OH. Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks no- thing but madman: Fye on himllEvit Maria.] Go you, Malvolio ; if it be a suit from the count, I am sick, or not at home ; what you will, to dis- miss it. [Exit Malvolio.] Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and people dislike it. Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest son should be a fool: whose skull Jove cram with brains, for here comes one of thy kin, has a most weak pia mater. 1 Enter Sir Toby Bdch. Oli. By mine honour, half drunk. What is he at the gate, cousin? Sir To. A gentleman. Oli. A gentleman ! What gentleman ? Sir To. 'Tis a gentleman here A plague o' these pickle-herrings ! How now, sot ! Clo. Good Sir Toby. Sir To. There's one at the gate. Oli. Ay, marry ; what is he ? Sir To. Lei him be the devil, an he will, I care not : give me faith, say I. Well, it's all one. [Exit. Oli. What's a drunken man like, fool ? Clo. Like a drowu'd man, a fool, and a mad- man: one draught above heat makes him a fool ; the second mads him : and a third drowns him. Oli. Go thou and seek the coroner, and let him sit o' my coz ; for he's in the third degree of drink, he's drown'd : go, look after him. Clo. He is but mad yet, madonna ; and the fool shall look to the madman. [Exit Clown. Re-enter Malvolio. Mai. Madam, yond' young fellow swears he will speak with you. I told him you were sick ; he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes to speak with you : I told him you were asleep ; he seems to have a fore-know- ledge of that too, and therefore conies to speak with you. What is to be said to him, lady ? he's fortified against any denial Oli. Tell him, he shall not speak with me. Mai. He has been told so ; and he says, he'U stand at your door like a sheriff's post, and bo the supporter of a bench, but he'll speak with you. Oli. What kind of man is he ? Mai. Why, of man kind. Oli. What manner of man ? Mai. Of very ill manner; he'll speak with you, will you or no. Oli. Of what personage and years is he ? Mai. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy, between boy and man. He is very well favoured, and he speaks very shrew- ishly ; one would tliink, his mother's milk were scarce out of him. Oli. Let him approach: Call in my gentle- woman. Mai. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. [Exit. Re-enter Maria. Oli. Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er my We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy, [face 1 Membrane which encloses the brain. 76 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT I. Enter Viola. Via. The honourable lady of the house, which is she ? Oli. Speak to me, I shall answer for her. Your will ? Vio. Most radiant,exquisite,andunmatchable beauty, I pray you, tell me, if this be the lady of the house, for I never saw her : I would be loth to cast away my speech; for, besides that it is excellently well penn'd, I have taken great pains to con it. Good beauties, let me sustain no scorn : I am very comptible, 1 even to the least sinister usage. Oli. Whence came you, sir? V. I can say little more than I have studied, and that question's out of my part. Good gentle one, give me modest assurance, if you be the lady of the house, that I may proceed in my speech. * Oli. Are you a comedian? Vio. No, my profound heart : and yet, by the very fangs of malice, I swear, I am not that I play. Are you the lady of the house? Oli. If I do not usurp myself, I am. Vio. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself; for what is yours to bestow, is not yours to reserve. But this is from my commis- sion : I will on with my speech in your praise, and then show you the heart of my message. Oli. Come to what is important in't : I forgive you the praise. Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical. Oli. It is the more like to be feigned ; I pray you, keep it in. I heard, you were saucy at my gates ; and allowed your approach, rather to wonder at you than to hear you. If you be not mad, be gone ; if you have reason, be brief : 'tis not that time of moon with me, to make one in so skipping a dialogue. M. Will you hoist sail, sir? here lies your way: Vio. No, good swabber ; I am to hull here a little longer. Some mollification for your giant, 2 sweet lady. Oli. Tell me your mind. Vio. I am a messenger. Oli. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your office. Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no taxation of homage ; I hold the olive in my hand : my words are as full of peace as matter. Oli. Yet you began rudely. What are you ? what would you ? Vio. The rudeness, that hath appear'd in me, have I learn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and what I would, are to your ears, divinity ; to any other's profanation. Oli. Give us the place alone : we will hear this divinity. [Exit Maria. ] Now, sir, what is your text? Vio. Most sweet lady, Oli. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where lies your text? 1 Accountable. 2 The original actress of Maria was very short. Vio. In Orsino's bosom. 0. In his bosom? In what chapter of his bosom? Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his heart. Oli. 0, 1 have read it ; it is heresy. Have you no more to say? Vio. Good madam, let me see your face. Oli. Have you auy commission from your lord to negotiate Avith my face? you are now out of your text: but we will draw the curtain, and show you the picture. Look you, sir, such a one as 1 was this present: Is't not well done? [Unveiling. Vio. Excellently done, if nature did all. Oli. 'Tis in grain, sir ; 'twill endure wind and weather. [white, Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on : Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive, If you will lead these graces to the grave, And leave the world no copy. Oli. 0, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted ; I will give out divers schedules of my beauty : It shall be inventoried ; and every particle, and utensil, labelled to my will : as, item, two lips indifferent red ; item, two grey eyes, with lids to them : item, one neck, one chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to 'praise me ? V. I see you what you are : you are too proud ; But, if you were the devil, you are fair. My .lord and master loves you ; O, such love Could be but recompens'd, though you wero crown'd The nonpariel of beauty ! Oli. How does he love me? Vio. With adorations, with fertile tears, With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fi re. Oli. Your lord does know my mind, I cannot love him : Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth ; In voices well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant, And, in dimension, and the shape of nature, A gracious person, but yet, I cannot love him ; He might have took his answer long ago. Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame, With such a suffering, such a deadly life, In your denial I would find no sense, I would not understand it. Oli. Why, what would you ? Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate. And call upon my soul within the house ; Write loyal cantons 1 of contemned love, And sing them loud even in the dead of night ; Holla your name to the reverberate hills, And make the babbling gossip of the air Cry out, Olivia ! O, you should not rest Between the elements of air and earth, But you should pity me. [age ? 0. You might do much : What is your parent - Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well : I am a gentleman. Oli. Get you to your lord ; I cannot love him : let him send no more ; Unless, perchance, you come to me again, To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well: 1 thank you for your pains : spend this for me. 1 Verses. SO. V. TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 77 Vio. I ain nofee'd post, lady; keep your purse ; My master, not myself, lacks recompense. Love make his heart of flint, that you shall love ; And let your fervour, like my master's, be Hac'd in contempt .'Fare well, fail* cruelty. [Exit. Oli. Wliat is your parentage? Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: I am a gentleman. I'll be sworn thou art ; Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit, Do give thee five-fold blazon : Not too fast : soft ' soft ! Unless the master were the man. How now? Even so quickly may one catch the plague? Methinks, I feel this youth's perfections, With an invisible and subtle stealth, To creep in at mir" eyes. Well, let it be. What, ho, Malvolio ! Re-enter Malvolio. Mai. Here, madam, at your service. Oli. Run after that same peevish messenger, The county's man : he left this ring behind him, Would I, or not ; tell him I'll none of it. Desire him not to flatter with his lord, Nor hold him up with hopes ; I am not for him : If that the youth will come this way to-morrow, I'll give him reasons fort. Hie thee, Malvolio. Mai. Madam, I will. [Exit. Oli. I do I know what : and fear to find Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. Fate, show thy force: Ourselves we do not owe ! ; What is decreed, must be : and be this so ! [Exit. Act Second. SCENE I. THE SEA-COAST. Enter Antonio and Sebastian. Ant. Will you stay no longer? nor will you not, that I go with you? Seb. By your patience, no: my stars shine darkly over me; the malignancy of my fate might, perhaps, distemper yours ; therefore I shall crave of you your leave, that I may bear my evils alone : It were a bad recompense for your love, to lay any of them on you. Ant. Let me yet know of you, whither you are bound. Seb. No, 'sooth, sir ; my determinate voyage is mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so excellent a touch of modesty, that you will not extort from rne what I am willing to keep in ; therefore it charges me in manners the rather to express myself. You must know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian, which I called Roderigo : my father was that Sebastian of Mes- saliue, whom, I know, you have heard of: he left behind him, myself, and a sister, both born in an hour. If the heavens had been pleas'd, would we had so ended ! but you, sir, alter'd that ; for, some kour before you took me from the breach of the sea, was my sister drowned. Ant. Alas, the day ! 1 Own. Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many accounted beau- tiful: but though I could not, with such estim- able wonder, overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her, she bore a mind that envy could not but call fair : she is drowned already, sir, with salt water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with more. Ant. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertain- ment. S. O, good Antonio, forgive me your trouble. Ant. If you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant. S. If you will not undo what you have done, that is, kill him whom you have recovered, desire it not. Fare ye well at once : my bosom is full of kindness ; and I am yet so near the manners of my mother, that upon the least occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to the Count Orsino's court : farewell. [Exit. Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with I have many enemies in Orsino's court, [thee : Else would I very shortly see thee there : But come what may, I do adore thee so, That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. [Exit. SCENE II. A STREET. Enter Viola; Malvolio following. Mai. Were not you even now with the Countess Olivia? Vio. Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since arrived but hither. Mai. She returns this ring to you, sir ; yon might have saved me my pains, to have taken it away yourself. She adds, moreover, that you should put your lord into a desperate assurance she will none of him: And one thing more ; that you be never so hardy to come again in his affairs, unless it be to report your lord's taking of this. Receive it so. Vio. She took the ring of ine ; I'll none of it. Mai. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her ; and her will is it should be so returned : if it be worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye ; if not, be it his that finds it. [Exit. Vio. I left no ring with her: What means this lady? Fortune forbid, my outside have not charm'd her! She made good view of me ; indeed, so much, That sure, methought her eyes had lost her tongue, For she did speak in starts distractedly. She loves me, sure ; the cunning of her passion Invites me in this churlish messenger. None of my lord's ring ! why, he sent her none. I am the man ; If it be so (as 'tis), Poor lady, she were better love a dream. Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness, Wherein the pregnant 1 enemy does much. How easy is it, for the proper-false In women's waxen hearts to set their forms ! Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we ; For, such as we are made of, such \vc be. 1 I>exterous. 78 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT II. How will this fadge 1 ? My master loves her f dearly ; And I poor monster, fond as much on him : And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me : What will become of this ! As I am man, My state is desperate for my master's love ; As I am woman, now alas the day ! What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe ; time thou must entangle this, not I ; It is too hard a knot for me to untie. [Exit. SCENE III. A ROOM IN OLIVIA'S HOUSE. Enter Sir Toby Belch, and Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. Sir To. Approach, Sir Andrew : not to be a- bed after midnight, is to be up betimes ; and diluculo surgere, thou know'st, Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not : but I know, to be up late, is to be up late. Sir To. A false conclusion : I hate it as an unfilled can : To be up after midnight, and to go to bed then, is early ; so that, to go to bed after midnight, is to go to bed betimes. Do not our lives consist of the four elements? Sir And. Taith, so they say ; but I think it rather consists of eating and drinking. Sir To. Thou art a scholar ; let us therefore eat and drink. Marian, I say ! a stoop of wine ! Enter Clown. Sir And. Here comes the fool. Clo. How now, my hearts? Did you never see the picture of we three ? a Sir To. Welcome, ass. Now, let's have a catch. Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excel- lent breast. s I had rather than f orty shillings 1 had such a leg ; and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool has. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night, when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus ; 'twas very good, i'faitli. Clo. My lady has a white hand, and the Myr- midons are no bottle-ale houses. Sir And. Excellent ! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now, a song. Sir To. Come on ; there is a sixpence for you : lefc'^ have a song. Sir And. There's a testril of me too: if one knight give a Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life ? Sir To. A love-song, a love-song. Sir And. Ay, ay ; I care not for good life. SONG. CLO. mistress mine, where are you roaming ? stay and hear; your truelove's coming, That can sing both high and low : Trip no further, pretty sweeting; Journeys end in lovers' meeting, Every wise man's son doth know. Sir And. Excellent good, i'faith ! Sir To. Good, good. I Suit. I " We three loggerhead* be." 8 Chwt. CLO. What is love ? 'tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter; What's to come, is still unsure: In delay there lies no plenty ; Tlien come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure. Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight. Sir To. A contagious breath. Sir And. Very sweet and contagious, i'faith. Sir To. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall we make the welkin dance indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch, that will draw three souls out of one weaver ? Shall we do that ? Sir And. An you love me, let's do't : I am dog at a catch. [weD. Clo. By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch Sir And. Most certain: let our catch be, Thou knave. Clo. Hold thy peace, thou knave, knight ! I shall be constraint in 't to call thee knave, knight. Sir And. 'Tis not the first time I have con- strain'd one to call me knave. Begin, fool ; it begins, Hold thy peace. Clo. I shall never begin, if I hold my peace. Sir And. Good, i'faith ! Come, begin. [They sing a catch. Enter Maria. Mar. What a catterwauling do you keep here ! If my lady have not called up her steward, Mal- volio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me. Sir To. My lady's a Catalan,* we are politi- cians ; Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsay, 2 and Three merry men we le. Am not I consanguineous ? am I not of her blood ? tilly- valley, lady ! Tlwre dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady ! [Singing. Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling. Sir And. Ay, he does well enough, if he be disposed, and 'so do I too; he does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural. Sir To. tlw twelfth day of December, Mar. Peace. [Singing. Enter Mali-olio. Mai. My masters, are you mad? or what are you ? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night ? Do ye make an alehouse of my lady's house, that ye squeak out your coziers' 3 catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice ? Is there no re- spect of place, persons, nor time, in you ? Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneckup! 4 Mai. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you, that, though she har- bours you as her kinsman, she's nothing allied to your disorders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanors, you are welcome to the house ; if not, an it would please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you fare- well. 1 Romancer. 8 Cobblers. 2 Name of an old soug. 4 Hang yourself SC. III. TWELFTH NIGHT ; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. Sir To. Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone. Mar. Nay, good Sir Toby. Clo. His eyes do show Ms days aye almost done. Mai. Is't even so ? Sir To. Hut I will never die. Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie. Mai. This is much credit to you. Sir To. Shall I bid Urn, go ? Clo. What an if you do ? Sir To. Shall I bid him go, and spare not ? Clo. no, no, no, no, you dare not. Sir To. Outo'time? sir, ye lie. Art any more than a steward? Dost thou thiiik, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale? Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne; and ginger shall be hot i' the mouth too. Sir To. Thou'rt i' the right. Go, sir, rub your chain with crums : A stoop of wine, Maria ! Mai. Mistress Mary, if you prized iny lady's favour at anything more than contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil rule ; she shall know of it, by this hand. [Exit. Mar. Go shake your ears. Sir And. 'Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man's a hungry, to challenge him to the field ; and then to break promise with him, and make a fool of him. Sir To. Do 't, knight ; I'll write thee a chal- lenge : or I'll deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth. Mar. Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to- night : since the youth of the count's was to- day with my lady, she is much out of quiet. For monsieur Malvolio, let me alone with him : if I do not gull him into a nay-word, 1 and make him a common recreation, do not I think I have wit enough to lie straight in iny bed : I know, I can dcTi Sir To. Possess us, 2 possess us ; tell us some- thing of him. Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan. Sir And. 0, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog. Sir To. What, for being a Puritan? thy ex- quisite reason, dear knight ? Sir And. I have no exquisite reason for 't, but I have reason good enough. Mar. The devil a Puritan that he is, or any tiling constantly but a time-pleaser ; an affec- tioned ass, that cons state without book, and utters it by great swarths 3 : the best persuaded of himself, so crammed, as ho thinks, with ex- cellencies, that it is his ground of faith, that all that look on him love him ; and on that vice in him will my revenue find, notable cause to work. Sir To. What wilt thou do? Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure :.-> of love ; wherein, by the colour of his ., the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expressing of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly personated: I can write very like my lady, your l Kyc-word. 2 lulenn a. 8 Row of grass left by a tuowti. niece; on a forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands. Sir To. Excellent ! I smell a device. Sir And. I have't in my nose too. Sir To. He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from my niece, and that she is in love with him. Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. Sir And. And your horse now would make him an ass. Mar. Ass, I doubt not. Sir And. 0, 'twill be admirable. M. Sport royal, I warrant you. I will plant you two, and let the fool make a third, where he shall find the letter ; observe his construc- tion of it. For this night to bed, and dream on the event. Farewell. [Exit. Sir To. Good night, Penthesilea.i Sir And. Before me, she's a good wench. Sir To. She 's a beagle, true bred, and one that adores me: What o' that? Sir And. I was adored once too. Sir To. Let's to bed, knight. Thou harts!: need send for more money. Sir And. If I cannot recover your niece, 1 am a foul way out. Sir To. Send for money, knight; if thou hast her not i' the end, call me Cut. 2 Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take it how you will. Sir To. Come, come ; I'll go burn some sack, 'tis too late to go to bed now : come, knight : come, knight. SCENE IV. A ROOM IN THE DUKE'S PALACE, Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others. Duke. Give me some musick: Now, good morrow, friends : Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song, That old and antique song we heard last night ; Methonght, it did relieve my passion much ; More than light airs, and recollected terms Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times :- Come, but one vox;. Cur. He is not here, so please, your lordship, that should sing it. Duke. Who was it? Cur. Feste, the jester, my lord; a fool, that the lady Olivia's father took much delight in : he is about the house. Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. [Exit Curio. Music!:.. COIK. Jiher, boy: If ever thou shalt lore, In the. sweet pangs of it, remember me : For, such as I am, all true lovers arc ; Unstaid and skittish in all motions else, Save, in that constant image of the creature That is belov'd. How dost thou like this tune ? Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat Where Love is thron'd. Duke. Thou dost speak masterly : My life upon 't, young though thou art, thii. Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves ; liathitnot, boy? 80 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT II. Vio. A little, by your favour. Duke. What kind of woman is't? Vio. Of your complexion. Duke. She is not worth thee, then. What years i'faith? Vio. About your years, my lord. Duke. Too old, by heaven; Let still the woman take An elder than herself ; so wears she to him, So sways she level in her husband's heart. For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, Than women's are. Vio. I think it well, my lord. Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thy- Or thy affection cannot hold the bent : [self, For women are as roses ; whose fair flower, Being once display'd, doth fall that very hour. Vio. And so they are : alas, that they are so ; To die, even when they to perfection grow ! Re-enter Curio and Clown. Duke. fellow, come, the song we had last night : Mark it, Cesario ; it is old, and plain: The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, And the free maids that weave their thread with Do use to chaunt it ; it is silly sooth, 1 [bones, And dallies with the innocence of love, Like the old age. Clo. Are you ready, sir? Duke, Ay ; pr'ythee, sing. [Mustek. SONG. CLO. Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid; Fly away, fly away breath; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, 0, prepare it: My part of death, no one so true Did share it. Not a, flower, not a flower, siveet, On my black coffin let there be strown; Not a friend, not a friend, greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown: A thousand thousand sighs to save, Lay me, 0, where Sad true lover ne'er find my grave. To weep there. Duke. There's for thy pains. C. No pains, sir ; I take pleasure in singing, Duke. I'll pay thy pleasure, then. [sir. Clo. 'Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time or another. Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee. Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee ; and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taft'ata, for thy mind is a very opal. I would have men of such constancy put to sea, that their business might be every thins, and their intent every where ; for that's it, that always makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewell. [Exit Clown. 1 Simple trutu Duke. Let all the rest give place. [Exeunt Curio and Attendants. Once more, Cesario. Get thee to yon' same sovereign cruelty : Tell her, my love, more noble than the world, Prizes not quantity of dirty lands ; The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her, Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune ; But 'tis that miracle, and queen of gems, That nature pranks 1 her in, attracts my soul. Vio. But, if she cannot love you, sir? Duke. I cannot be so answer'd. Vio. 'Sooth, but you must. Say, that some lady, as, perhaps, there is, Hath for your love as great a pang of heart As you have for Olivia : you cannot love her ; You tell her so ; Must she not then be answer'd 1 Duke. There is no woman's sides Can bide the beating of so strong a passion As love cloth give my heart : no woman's heai c So big, to hold so much ; they lack retention. But mine is all as hungry as the sea, And can digest as much : make no compare Between that love a woman can bear me, And that I owe Olivia. Vio. Ay, but I know, Duke. What dost thou know? Vio. Too well what love women to men may owe ; In faith, they are as true of heart as we. My father had a daughter lov'd a man, As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, I should your lordship. Duke. And what's her history? Vio. A blank, my lord: She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek ; she pin'd in thought : And, with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed? We men may say more, swear more; but, indeed, Our shows are more than will ; for still we prove Much in our vows, but little in our love. Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy? V. I am all the daughters of my father's house. And all the brothers too; and yet I know Sir, shall I to this lady? [not : Duke. Ay, that's the theme. To her in haste ; give her this jewel ; say, My love can give no place, bide no denay. 2 [Exeunt. SCENE V. OLIVIA'S GARDEN. Enter Sir Toby Belch, Sir Andrew Ague-cheek, and Fabian. Sir To. Come thy ways, signior Fabian. Fab. Nay, I'll come ; if I lose a scruple of this sport, let me be boiled to death with melancholy. Sir To. Would'st thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by some notable shame? Fab. I would exult, man: you know, he brought me out of favour with my lady, about a bear-baiting here. Sir To. To anger him, we'll have the beai again ; and we will fool him black and blue. Shall we not, Sir Andrew? 1 Decks. 2 Denial. SC. V. TWELFTH NIGHT ; OH, WHAT YOU WILL. 81 Sir And. An we do not, it is pity of our lives. Enter Maria. Sir To. Here comes the little villain : How no\v, my nettle of India? Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree ; Mal- volio's coming down this walk ; he has been yonder i' the sun, practising behaviour to his own shadow this half hour; observe him, for the love of mockery ; for, I know, this letter will make a contemplative idiot of him. Close, in the name of jesting! [The men hide themselves.] Lie thou there; [Throws down a letter,] for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling. [Exit Maria. Enter Malvolio. Mai. Tis but fortune ; all is fortune. Maria once told me, she did affect me: and I have heard herself come thus near, that, should she fancy, it should be one of my complexion. Be- sides, she uses me with a more exalted respect than any one else that follows her. What should I think on't? Sir To. Here's an overweening rogue ! Fab. 0, peace ! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him ; how he jets 1 under his advanced plumes ! Sir And. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue : Sir To. Peace, I say. Mai. To be Count Malvolio; Sir To. Ah, rogue ! Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him. Sir To. Peace, peace ! Mdl. There is example for't ; the lady of the strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe. Sir And. Me on him, Jezebel ! Fab. 0, peace ! now he's deeply in, look, how imagination blows him. Mai. Having been three months married to her, sitting in my state, Sir To. O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye! Mai. Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown ; having come from a day-bed, where I left Olivia sleeping. Sir To. Fire and brimstone ! Fab. O, peace, peace ! Mai. And then to have the humour of state : and after a demure travel of regard, telling ti ifin, I know my place, as I would they should do theirs, To ask for my kinsman Toby : Sir To. Bolts and shackles ! Fab. O, peace, peace, peace ! now, now. Mai. Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for him : I frown the while ; and, perchance, wind up my watch, or play with some rich jewel. Toby approaches ; court'sies there to me : fiir To. Shall this fellow live? Fab. Though our silence be drawn from us u ith cars, yet peace. Mai. I extend my hand to him thus, quench- ing my familiar smile with au austere regard of control : Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o' the lips then ? 1 Struts. Mai. Saying, Cousin Toby, myfortuneshaving cast me on your niece, give me this prerogative of speech: Sir To. What, what? Mai. You must amend your drunkenness. Sir To. Out, scab ! Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot. Mai. Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a foolish knight; Sir And. That's me, I warrant you. Mai. One Sir Andrew; Sir And. I knew, 'twas I ; for many do call me fool. Mai. What employment have we here? [Taking up the letter. Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin. Sir To. 0, peace ! and the spirit of humours intimate reading aloud to him ! Mai. By my life, this is my lady's hand: these be her very P's her U's and her T's, and thus makes she her great C's. It is, in con- tempt of question, her hand. Sir And. Her P's, her U's. and her T's: Wiry that? Mai. [Reads. ] To the unknown beloved, this, and my good wishes: her very phrases! By your leave, wax. Soft! and the impressure her Lucrece, with which she uses to seal : 'tis my lady : To whom should this be ? ~Fab. This wins him, liver and all. Hal. [Heads.] Jove knows, I love: But who? Lips do not move, No man miist know. No man must know. What follows? the num- bers altered ! No man must know : If this should be thee, Malvolio ? Sir To. Marry, hang thee, brock I 1 Mai. I may command, where I adore. : But silence, like a Lucrece knife, With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore; M, O, A, I, doth sway my life. Fab. A fustian riddle? Sir To. Excellent wench, say I. Mai. M, O, A, I, doth sway my life. Nay, but first, let me see, let me see, let me see. Fab. What a dish of poison has she dressed him! Sir To. And with what wing the stannyel 2 checks 3 at it ! Mai. I may command where I adore. Why, she may command me ; I serve her, she is my lady. Why, tliis is evident to any formal capa- city. There is no obstruction in this ; And the end, What should that alphabetical position portend ? If I could make that resemble some- thing in me, Softly ! M, 0, A, I. Sir To. O, ay ! make up that : he is now at a cold scent. Fab. Sowter 4 will cry upon't for all this, though it be as rank as a fox. Mai. M, Malvolio ; M, why, that begins my name. Fab. Did not I say, he would work it out? the cur is excellent at faults. 1 Badger. 2 Hawk. 3 Flies. 4 Name of a hound. I 82 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT III. Mai. M, But then there is no consonancy in the sequel; that suffers under probation: A should follow, but does. Fab. And shall end, I hope. Sir To. Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him cry, 0. Mai. And then I comes behind ; Fab. Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you might see more detraction at your heels than fortunes before you. Mai. M, 0, A, I; This simulation is not as the former : and, yet to crush this a little, it \vould bow to me, for every one of these letters are in my name. Soft; here follows prose. // this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above thee; but be not afraid of greatness: Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them. Thy fates open their hands; let thyblood and spirit embrace them. And to inure thyself to what thou art like to be, cast thy humble slough, 1 and appear fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants: let thy tongue tang arguments of state; put thy- self into the trick of singularity: she thus advises thee, that sighs for thee. Remember who com- mended thy yellow stockings; and wished to see thee ever cross-gartered : I say, remember. Go to; thou art made, if thou desirest to be so; if not, let me see thee a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch for tune's fin- gers. Farewell. She that would alter services with thee, The fortunate-unhappy. Daylight and champian 2 discovers not more: this is open. I will be proud, I will read politick authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off gross acquaintance, I will be point-de-vice 3 the very man. I do not now fool myself, to let imagination jade me ; for every reason excites to this, that my lady loves me. She did com- mend my yellow stockings of late, she did praise my leg being cross-gartered ; and in this she manifests herself to my love, and, with a kind of injunction, drives me to these habits of her liking. I thank my stars, I am happy. I will be strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and cross- gartered, even with the swiftness of putting on. Jove and my stars be praised ! Here is yet a postscript. Thou canst not chose but know who I am. If thou entertainest my love, let it appear in thy smiling; thy smiles become thee well: therefore in my presence still smile, dear my sweet, I pr'ythee. Jove, I thank thee. I will smile ; I will do every thing that thou wilt have me. [Exit. Fab. I will not give my part of this sport for a pension of thousands to be paid from the Sophy. Sir T. I could marry this wench for this device. Sir A nd. So could I too. Sir To. And ask no other dowry with her but such another jest. Enter Maria. Sir And. Nor I neither. Fab. Here comes my noble gull-catcher. Sir To. Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck? Sir And. Or o' mine either? I Skin. 2 Open country. 3 To utmost exactness. Sir To. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, 1 and become thy bond slave ? Sir And. I' faith, or I either. Sir To. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream, that, when the image of it leaves him, tie must run mad. Mar. Nay, but say true; does it work upon him? Sir To. Like aquae vitse. Mar. If you will then see the fruits of the sport, mark his first approach before my lady : tie will come to her in yellow stockings, and 'tis acoloursheabhors; and cross-gartered, a fashion she detests ; and he will smile upon her, which will now be so unsuitable to her disposition, being addicted to a melancholy as she is, that it cannot but turn him into a notable contempt: if you will see it, follow me. Sir To. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit ? Sir And. I'll make one too. [Exeunt, Act Third. SCENE I. OLIVIA'S GARDEN. Enter Viola, and Clown with a tabor. Vio. Save thee, friend, and thy musick : Dost thou live by thy tabor ? do. No, sir, I live by the church. Vio. Art thou a churchman ? Clo. No such matter, sir ; I do live by the church: for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by the church. Vio. So thou may'st say, the king lies by a beggar, if a beggar dwell near him : or, the church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the church. Clo. You have said, sir. To see this age! A sentence is but a cheveril 2 glove to a good wit; How quickly the wrong side may be turned out- ward ! Vio. I warrant thou art a merry fellow, and carest for nothing. Clo. Not so, sir, I do care for something: but in my conscience, sir, I do not care for you ; if that be to care for nothing, sir, I would it would make you invisible. Vio. Art not thou the lady Olivia's fool ? Clo. No, indeed, sir ; the lady Olivia has no folly: she will keep no f ool,sir,till she be married ; and fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to herrings, the husband's the bigger: I am, indeed, not her fool, but her corrupter of words. Vio. I saw thee late at the Count Orsino's. Clo. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb, like the sun ; it shines every where. I would be sorry, sir, but the fool should be as oft with your master, as with my mistress : I think, I saw your wisdom there. Vio. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more with thee. Hold, there's expences for thee. Is thy lady within ? Clo. My lady is within, sir. I will construe to her whence you come ; who you are, and what 1 A boy's diversion. 2 Kid. SC. I. TWELFTH NIGHT; OB, WHAT YOU WILL. 83 you would, are out of my welkin : 1 1 might say, element ; but the word is over- worn. [Exit. Vio. This fellow's wise enough to play the fool ; And, to do that well, craves a kind of wit. He must observe their mood on whom he jests, The quality of persons, and the time. And, like the haggard, 2 check 3 at every feather That comes before his eye. This is a practice, As full of labour as a wise man's art : For folly, that he wisely shows, is fit ; But wke men, folly-fallen, quite taint their wit. Enter Sir Toby Belch and Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. Sir To. Save you, gentlemen. Vio. And you, sir. Sir And. Dieu vous garde, monsieur. Vio. Et vous aussi; votre serviteur. Sir And. I hope, sir, you are ; and I am yours. Sir To. Will you encounter the house? my niece is desirous you should enter, if your trade be to her. Vio. I am bound to your niece, sir ; I mean, she is the list 4 of my voyage. Sir To. Taste your legs,sir, put them to motion. Vio. My legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what you mean by bidding me taste my legs. Sir To. I mean, to go, sir, to enter. Vio. I will answer you with gait and entrance: But we are prevented. Enter Olivia and Maria. Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain odours on you ! Sir And. That youth's a rare courtier ! Sain odours ! well. Vio. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant 5 and vouchsafed ear. Sir A. Odours, pregnant, and vouchsafed: I'll get 'em all three ready. Oli. Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing. [Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Maria. Give me your hand, sir. Vio. My duty, madam, and most humble service. Oli. What is your name? [princess. Vio. Cesario is your servant's name, fair 0. My servant, sir ! 'Twas never merry world, Since lowly feigning was called compliment : You are servant to the Count Orsino, youth. V. And he is yours,and his must needs be yours: Your servant's servant is your servant, madam. Oli. For him, I think not on him: for his thoughts, [me ! *Would they were blanks, rather than fill'd with Vio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle On his behalf : [thoughts Oli. 0, by your leave, I pray you ; I bade you never speak again of him : But, would you undertake another suit, I had rather hear you to solicit that, Than music'k from the spheres. Vio. Dear lady, 0. Give me leave, I beseech you : I did send, After the last enchantment you did here, 1 Sky. 3 Fly. 5 Ready. 2 111 trained hawk. 4 Limit. A ring in chase of you : so did I abuse Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you : Under your hard construction must I sit, To force that on you, in a shameful cunning. Which you knew none of yours: What might you think? Have you not set mine honour at the stake And bated it with all the unmuzzled thoughts That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving 1 Enough is shown ; a Cyprus, not a bosom, Hides my poor heart: So let me hear you Vio. I pity you. [speak, Oli. That's a degree to love. Vio. No, not a grise ; 2 for 'tis a vulgar proof, That very oft we pity enemies. [again ; Oli. Why, then, methinks, 'tis time to smile O, world, how apt the poor are to be proud ! If one should be a prey, how much the better To fall before the lion, than the wolf? [Clock strikes. The clock upbraids me with the waste of time, Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you : And yet, when wit and youth is come to har- Your wife is like to reap a proper man : [vest, There lies your way, due west. Vio. Then westward-hoe : [ship ! Grace, and good disposition 'tend your lady- You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me ? Oli. Stay: I pr'ythee, tell me, what thou think'st of me. V. That you do think, you are notwhat you are. Oli. If I think so, I think the same of you. V. Then think you right ; I am not what I am. 0. I would you were as I would have you be ! Vio. Would it be better, madam, than I am, I wish it might ; for now I am your fool. Oli. 0, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful In the contempt and anger of his lip ! A murd'rous guilt shows not itself more soon Than love that would seem hid : love's night is noon. Cesario by the roses of the spring, By maidhood, honour, truth, and every thing, I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride, Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide. Do not extort thy reasons from this clause, For, that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause : But, rather, reason thus with reason fetter : Love sought is good,but given unsought is better. V. By innocence I swear, and by my youth, I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth, And that no woman has ; nor never none Shall mistress be of it, save I alone. And so adieu, good madam ; never more Will I my master's tears to you deplore, [move 0. Yet come again : for thou, perhaps, may 'st That heart, which now abhors, to like his love. [Exeunt. SCENE II. A ROOM IN OLIVIA'S HOUSE. Enter Sir Toby Belch, Sir Andrew Ague-cheek, and Fabian. Sir A. No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer. Sir To. Thy leason, dear venom, give thy reason. 1 Ready apprehension. 2 Step. 84 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT III. Fab. You must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew. Sir And. Marry, I saw your niece do more favours to the count's serving man, than ever she bestowed upon me : I saw't i' the orchard. Sir To. Did she see thee the while, old boy? tell me that. Sir And. As plain as I see you now. Fab. This was a great argument of love in her toward you. Sir A. 'Slight ! will you make an ass o'me? Fab. I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of judgment and reason. Sir To. And they have been grand jury-men, since before Noah was a sailor. Fab. She did show favour to the youth in your sight, only to exasperate you, to awake your dormouse valour, to put fire in your heart, and brimstone in your liver : You should then have accosted her ; and with some excellent jests, fire-new from the mint, you should have banged the youth into dumbness. This was looked for at your hand, and this was baulked : the double gilt of this opportunity you let time wash off, and you are now sailed into the north of my lady's opinion; where you will hang like an icicle on a Dutchman's beard, unless you do redeem it by some laudable attempt, either of valour or policy. Sir And. And't be any way, it must be with valour ; for policy I hate : I had as lief * be a Brownist, 3 as a politician. Sir To. Why then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis of valour. Challenge me the count's youth to fight with him ; hurt him in eleven places ; my niece shall take note of it : and assure thyself, there is no love-broker in the world can more prevail in man's com- mendation with woman, than report of valour. Fab. There is no way but this, Sir Andrew. Sir And. Will either of you bear me a chal- lenge to him? Sir To. Go, write it in a martial hand ; be curst 3 and brief ; it is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent, and full of invention : taunt him with the licence of ink : if thou thou'st him some thrice, it shall not be amiss ; and as many lies as will lie in thy sheet of paper, although the sheet were big enough for the bed of Ware 4 in England, set 'em down ; go, about it. Let there be gall enough in thy ink : though thou write with a goose pen, no matter : About it. Sir And. Where shall I find you? Sir To. We'll call thee at the cubteido:* Go. [Exit Sir Andrew. Fab. This is a clear manakin to you, Sir Toby. Sir To. I have been dear to him, lad ; some two thousand strong, or so. Fab. We shall have a rare letter from him : but you'll not deliver it ? Sir To. Never trust me then ; and by all means stir on the youth to an answer. I think, oxen and wainropes cannot hale them together. For Sir Andrew, if he were opened, and you find so much blood in his liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I '11 eat the rest of the anatomy. 1 As willingly. 3 Crabbed. 5 Chamber. 2 A Puritan sect. 4 Which held forty persons. Fab. And his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage no great presage of cruelty. Enter Maria. Sir To. Look, where the youngest wren of nine comes. Mar. If you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves into stitches, follow me : yon' gull Malvolio is in yellow stockings. Sir. To. And cross-gartered? Mar. Most villainously ; like a pedant that keeps a school i' the church. I have clogged him, like his murderer : He does obey every point of the letter that I dropped to betray him. He does smile his face into more lines than are in the new map, with the augmentation of the Indies : you have not seen such a thing as 'tis ; I can hardly forbear hurling things at him. I know, my lady will strike him ; if she do, he'll smile, and take 't for a great favour. Sir To, Come, bring us, bring us where he is. [Exeunt. SCENE III. A STREET. Enter Antonio and Sebastian. S. I would not, by my will, have troubled you ; But, since you make your pleasure of your pains, I will no further chide you. Ant. I could not stay behind you ; my desire, More sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth: And not all love to see you (though so much, As might have drawn one to a longer voyage), But jealousy what might befall your travel, Being skilless >n these parts; which to a stranger, Unguided and unfriended, often prove Rough and unhospitable : My willing love, The rather by these arguments of fear, Set forth in your pursuit. Seb. My kind Antonio, I can no other answer make, but, thanks, And thanks, and ever thanks : Often good turns Are shuffled off with such uncurrent pay : But were my worth, as is my conscience, firm, You should find better dealing. What's to do ? Shall we go see the reliques of this town ? Ant. To-morrow, sir; best, firstj go see your lodging. Seb. I am not weary, and 'tis long to-night ; I pray you, let us satisfy our eyes With the memorials, and the things of fame, That do renown this city. Ant. 'Would you'd pardon me ; I do not without danger walk these streets : Once in a sea-fight, 'gainst the Count his galleys, I did some service ; of such note, indeed, That, were I ta'en here, it would scarce be answer'd. S. Belike, you slew great number of his people. A. The offence is not of such a bloody nature ; Albeit the quality of the time and quarrel, Might well have given us bloody argument. It might have since been answer'd in repaying What we took from them ; which for traffick's sake Most of our city did : only myself stood out : For which, if I be lapsed i in this place, I shall pay dear. 1 Caught sc. m. TWELFTH NIGHT ; OH, WHAT YOU WILL. 85 Seb. Do not then walk too open. A. It doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here's my purse ; In the south suburbs, at the Elephant, Is best to lodge : I will bespeak our diet, [ledge, While you beguile the time, and feed your know- With viewing of the town ; there shall you have me. Seb. Why I your purse? A. Haply, your eye shall light upon some toy You have desire to purchase ; and your store, I think, is not for idle markets, sir. Seb. I'll be your purse-bearer, and leave you for an hour. A nt. To the Elephant. Seb. I do remember. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. OLIVIA'S GARDEN. Enter Olivia and Maria. 0. 1 have sent after him : He says, he'll come; How shall I feast him? what bestow on him? For youth is bought more oft, than begg'd, or I speak too loud. [borrow'd. Where is Malvolio ? he is sad, and civil, And suits well for a servant with my fortunes; Where is Malvolio? Mar. He's coming, madam ; But in strange manner. He is sure possess'd. OIL Why, what's the matter? does he rave? Mar. No, madam, He does nothing but smile ; your ladyship Were best have guard about you if he come ; For, sure, the man is tainted in his wits. Oli. Go call him hither. I'm as mad as he, If sad and merry madness equal be. Enter Malvolio. How now, Malvolio? Mai. Sweet lady, ho, ho. [Smiles fantastically. Oli. Smil'st thou? I sent for thee upon a sad 1 occasion. Mai. Sad, lady? I could be sad: This does make some obstruction in the blood, this cross- gartering : But what of that, if it please the eye of one, it is with me as the very true sonnet is: Please one, and please all. Oli. Why, how dost thou, man? what is the matter with thee? Mai. Not black in my mind, though yellow in my legs : it did come to his hands, and com- mands shall be executed. I think, we do know the sweet Roman hand. Oli. Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio? Mai. To bed? ay, sweet-heart. Oli. Heaven comfort thee ! Why dost thou smile so, and kiss thy hand so oft? Mar. How do you, Malvolio? Mai. At your request? Yes; Nightingales answer daws. Mar. Why appear you with this ridiculous boldness before my lady? [writ. Mai. Be not afraid of greatness: 'Twas well Oli. What meanest thou by that, Malvolio? Mai. Some are born great, Oli. Ha? 1 Grave. Hal. Some achieve greatness,* Oli. What say'st thou? Mai. And some have greatness thrust upon Oli. Heaven restore thee ! [them. Mai. Remember who commended thy yellow stockings ; Oli. Thy yellow stockings? Mai. And wished to see thee cross-gartered. Oli. Cross-gartered? Mai. Go to: thou art made, if thou desirest to ~be so ; Oli. Am I made? Mai. If not, let me see thee a servant still. Oli. Why, this is very midsummer madness. Enter Servant. Serv. Madam, the young gentlemen of the Count Orsino's is returned ; I could hardly en- treat him back: he attends your ladyship's pleasure. Oli. I'll come to him. [Exit Servant. ] Good Maria, let this fellow be looked to. Where's my cousin Toby? Let some of my people have a special care of him ; I would not have him miscarry for the half of my dowry. [Exeunt Olivia and Maria. Mai. Oh, ho ! do you come near me now? no worse man than Sir Toby to look to me ? This concurs directly with the letter : she sends him on purpose that I may appear stubborn to him ; for she incites me to that in the letter. Cast thy humble slough, says she: be opposite with a kins- man, surly with servants, let thy tongue tang with arguments of state, put thyself into the trick of singularity: and, consequently, sets down the manner how ; as, a sad face, a reverend carriage, a slow tongue, in the habit of some sir of note, and so forth. I have limed her ; but it is Jove's doing, and Jove make me thankful ! And, when she went away now, Let this fellow be looked to : Fellow ! * not Malvolio, nor after my degree, but fellow. Why, every thing ad- heres together ; that no dram of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no obstacle, no incredulous or unsafe circumstance, What can be said? Nothing, that can be, can come between me and the full prospect of my hopes. Well, Jove, not I, is the doer of this, and he is to be thanked. Re-enter Maria, with Sir Toby Belch, and Fabian. Sir To. Which way is he, in the name of sanctity? I'll speak to him. Fab. Here he is, here he is : How is't with you, sir ? how is't with you, man ? Mai. Go off; I discard you, let me enjoy my private ; go off. Mar. Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him! did not I tell you? Sir Toby, my lady prays you to have a care of him. Mai. Ah, ha! does she so? Sir To. Go to, go to ; peace, peace, we must deal gently with him; let me alone. How do you, Malvolio ? how is't with you ? What, man ! defy the devil : consider he's an enemy to mankind. Mai. Do you know what you say ? Mar. La you, an you speak ill of the devil, 1 Co in p:ni ion. 86 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT III. how he takes it at heart ! Pray heaven, he be not bewitched ! My lady would not lose him for more than I'll say. Sir To. Pr'ythee, hold thy peace : this is not the way: Do you not see, you move him? let me alone with him. Fab. No way but gentleness ; gently, gently : the fiend is rough, and will not be roughly used. Sir To. Why how now, my bawcock? 1 how dost thou, chuck? Mai. Sir? Sir To. Ay, Biddy, come with me. What, man ! 'tis not for gravity to play at cherry -pit 2 with Satan ; Hang him, foul collier ! Mai. Go hang yourselves all ! you are idle shallow things : I am not of your element ; you shall know more hereafter. [Exit. Sir To. Is't possible ? Fab. If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction. Sir To. His very genius hath taken the infec- tion of the device, man. Mar. Nay, pursue him now ; lest the device take air, and taint. Fab. Why, we shall make him mad, indeed. Mar. The house will be the quieter. Sir To. Come, we'll have him in a dark room, and bound. My niece is already in the belief that he is mad ; we may carry it thus, for our pleasure, and his penance, till our very pas- time, tired put of breath, prompt us to have mercy on him : at which time, we will bring the device to the bar, and crown thee for a finder of madmen. But see, but see. Enter Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. Fab. More matter for a May morning. Sir And. Here's the challenge, read it; I warrant, there's vinegar and pepper in't. Fab. Is't so sawcy? Sir And. Ay is it, I warrant him ; do but read. Sir To. Give me. [Reads.] Youth, whatso- ever thou art, thou art but a scurvy fellow. Fab. Good and valiant. Sir To. Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind, why I do call thee so, for I will show thee no reason for't. Fab. A good note : that keeps you from the blow of the law. Sir To. Thou contest to the lady Olivia, and in my sight she uses thee kindly : but thou liest in thy throat, that is not the matter I cliallenge thee for. F. Very brief, and exceeding good sense-less. Sir To. I will way-lay thee going home; where if it be thy chance to kill me, Fab. Good. Sir To. Thou killest me like a rogue and a villain. Fab. Still you keep o' the windy side of the law: Good. Sir To. Fare thee well: And God have mercy upon one of our souls ! He may have mercy upon mine; but my hope is better, and so look to thy- self. Thy friend, as thou usest him, and thy sworn enemy. Andrew Ague- cheek. 1 Beau-cock. 2 A boy's play. Sir To. If this letter move him not, his legs cannot : I'll giv't him. Mar. You may have very fit occasion for't ; he is now in some commerce with my lady, and will by and by depart. Sir To. Go, Sir Andrew ; scout me for him at the corner of the orchard, like a bailiff: so soon as ever thou seest him, draw ; and, as thou draw- est, swear horrible ; for it comes to pass oft, that a terrible oath, with a swaggering accent sharply twanged off, gives manhood more approbation than ever proof itself would have earned him. Away. Sir And. Nay, let me alone for swearing. [Exit. Sir To. Now will not I deliver his letter : for the behaviour of the young gentleman gives him out to be of good capacity and breeding ; his employment between his lord and my niece con- firms no less ; therefore this letter, being so ex- cellently ignorant, will breed no terror in the youth ; "he will find it comes from a clodpole. But, sir, I will deliver his challenge by word of mouth ; set upon Ague-cheek a notable report of valour ; and drive the gentleman (as, I know his youth will aptly receive it) into a most hideous opinion of his rage, skill, fury, and im- petuosity. This will so frighten them both, that they will kill one another by the look, like cockatrices. Enter Olivia and Viola. Fab. Here he comes with your niece : give them way, till he take leave, and presently after him. Sir To. I will meditate the while upon some horrid message for a challenge. [Exeunt Sir Toby, Fabian, and Mar In,. Oli. I have said too much unto a heart of stone, And laid mine honour too unchary out : There's something in me, that reproves my fault ; But such a headstrong potent fault it is, That it but mocks reproof. Vio. With the same 'haviour that your passion Go on my master's griefs. [bears, 0. Here,wearthisjewelforme, 'tis my picture; Refuse it not, it hath no tongue to vex you : And, I beseech you, come again to-morrow. What shall you ask of me, that I'll deny ; That honour, sav'd, may upon asking give? Vio. Nothing but this, your true love for my master. OIL How with mine honour may I give him Which I have given to you ? [that Vio. I will acquit you. Oli. Well, come again to-morrow: Fare thee well, [Exit. Re-enter Sir Toby Belch and Fabian. Sir To. Gentleman, heaven save thee. Vio. And you, sir. Sir To. That defence thou hast, betake thee to't : of what nature the wrongs are thou ha.st done him, I know not ; but thy intercepter, full of despight, bloody as the hunter, attends thee at the orchard end: dismount thy tuck, 1 be yare 2 in thy preparation, for thy assailant is quick, skilful, and deadly. Vio. You mistake, sir; I am sure, no man 1 Kapler. 2 Heady. BC. IV. TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 87 hath any quarrel to me ; my remembrance is very free and clear from any image of offence done to any man. Sir To. You'll find it otherwise, I assure you: therefore, if you hold your life at any price, be- take you to your guard ; for your opposite hath in him what youth, strength, skill and wrath, can f uruish man withal. Vio. I pray you, sir, what is he ? Sir To. He is knight, dubbed with unbacked rapier, and on carpet consideration ; but he is a devil in private brawl : souls and bodies hath he divorced three ; and his incensement at this mo- ment is so implacable, that satisfaction can be none but by pangs of death and sepulchre; hob, nob, is his word ; give't or tak't. Vio. I will return again into the house, and desire some conduct of the lady. I am no fighter. I have heard of some kind of men, that put quarrels purposely on others, to taste their valour : belike, this is a man of that quirk. Sir To. Sir, no ; his indignation derives itself out of a very competent injury; therefore get you on, and give him his desire. Back you shall hot to the house, unless you undertake that with me, which with as much safety you might answer him : therefore, on, or strip your sword stark naked: for meddle you must, that's cer- tain, or forswear to wear iron about you. Vio. That is as uncivil, as strange. I beseech you, do me this courteous office, as to know of the knight what my offence to him is : it is some- thing of my negligence, nothing of my purpose. Sir To. I will do so. Signer Fabian, stay you by this gentleman till my return. [Exit Sir To. Vio. Pray you, sir, do you know of this matter ? Fab. I know the knight is incensed against 3'ou, even to a mortal arbitrament ; but nothing of the circumstance more. Vio. I beseech you, what manner of man is he? Fab. Nothing of that wonderful promise, to read him by his form, as you are like to find him in the proof of his valour. He is, indeed, sir, the most skilful, bloody, and fatal opposite that you could possibly have found in any part of illyria: Will you walk towards him? I will make your peace with him, if I can. Vio. I shall be much bound to you for't: I am one, that would rather go with sir priest, than sir knight : I care not who knows so much of iny mettle. [Exeunt. Ee-enter Sir Toby with Sir Andrew. Sir To. Why, man, he's a very devil ; I have not seen such a virago. I had a pass with him, rapier, scabbard, and all, and he gives me the stuck-in, 1 with such a mortal mtfion, that it is inevitable ; and on the answer, he pays you as surely as your feet hit the ground they step on : They say he has been fencer to the Sophy. Sir And. I'll not meddle with him. Sir To. Ay, but he will not now be pacified ; Fabian can scarce hold him yonder. Sir And. Plague on 't ; an I thought he had been valiant, and so cunning in fence, I'd have Been him hanged ere I'd have challenged him. I Stoccutci, a term in fencing. Let him let the matter slip, and I'll give him my horse, grey Capilet. Sir To. I'll make the motion: Stand here, make a good show on 't ; this shall end without the perdition of souls. [Aside.] Marry, I'll ride your horse as well as I ride you. Re-enter Fabian and Viola. 'To Fab.] I have his horse to take up the quar- rel ; I have persuaded him the youth's a devil. Fab. He is as horribly conceited of him ; and pants,and looks pale, as if a bear were at his heels. Sir To. There's no remedy, sir ; he will fight with you for his oath's sake : marry, he hath better bethought him of his quarrel, and he finds that now scarce to be worth talking of : therefore draw, for the supportauce of his vow : he protests, he will not hurt you. Vio. [Aside.'] Pray heaven defend me ! A little thing would make me tell them how much I lack of a man. Fab. Give ground, if you see him furious. Sir To. Come, Sir Andrew, there's no remedy ; the gentleman will, for his honour's sake, have one bout with you: he cannot by the duello 1 avoid it : but he has promised me, as he is a gentleman and a soldier, he will not hurt you. Come on ; to 't. Sir A. Pray heaven, he keep his oath 1 [Draws. Enter Antonio. V. I do assure you, 'tis against my will. [Draws. Ant. Put up your sword; if this young gentleman Have done offence, I take the fault on me ; If you offend him, I for him defy you. [Drawing. Sir To. You, sir? why, what are you? A. One, sir, that for his love dares yet do more Than you have heard him brag to you he will. Sir To. Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am for you. [Draws. Enter two Officers. Fab. O good Sir Toby, hold ; here come the officers. Sir To. I'll be with you anon. [To Antonio. Vio. Pray, sir, put up your sword if you please. [To Sir Andrew. Sir And. Marry, will I, sir ; and, for that I promised you, I'll be as good as my word ; He will bear you easily, and reins well. 1 Of. This is the man, do thy office. 2 Off. Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit Of Count Orsino. Ant. You do mistake me, sir. 1 Off. No, sir, no jot ; I know your favour well, Though now you have no sea-cap on your head. Take him away ; he knows I know him well. Ant. [To Viola.] I must obey. This comes with seeking you ; But there's no remedy ; I shall answer it. What will you do? Now my necessity Makes me to ask you for my purse : It grieves me Much more, for what I cannot do for you, Than what befalls myself. You stand arnaz'd ; But be of comfort. 2 Off. Come, sir, away. A. I must entreat of you some of that money. 1 Laws of duel. SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT IV. Vio. What money, sir? For the fair kindness you have show'd me here, And, part, being prompted by your present trouble, Out of my lean and low ability I'll lend you something: myhavingis not much; I'll make division of my present with you : Hold, there is half my coffer. Ant. Will you deny me now? Is't possible, that my deserts to you Can lack persuasion ? Do not tempt my misery, Lest that it make me so unsound a man, As to upbraid you with those kindnesses That I have done for you. Vio. I know of none ; Nor know I you by voice, or any feature : I hate ingratitude more in a man, Than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness, Or any taint of vice, whose strong corruption Inhabits our frail blood. Ant. heavens themselves ! 2 Off. Come, sir, I pray you, go. A. Let me speak a little. "This youth that you see here, I snatch'd one half out of the jaws of death ; Reliev'd him with such sanctity of love, And to his image, which, methought, did promise Most venerable worth, did I devotion. 1 Off. What's that to us ? The time goes by ; away. A. But, O, how vile an idol proves this god ! Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame. - In nature there's no blemish, but the mind ; None can be call'd deform 'd, but the unkind : Virtue is beauty ; but the beauteous evil Are empty trunks, o'erflourish'd by the devil. 1 Off. The man grows mad ; away with him. Come, come, sir. A. Lead me on. [Exeunt Officers with Antonio. V. Methinks, his words do from such passions fly, That he believes himself ; so do not I. Prove true, imagination, O, prove true, That I, dear brother, be now ta'en for you ! Sir To. Come hither, knight ; come hither, Fabian ; we'll whisper o'er a couplet or two of most sage saws. Vio. He nam'cl Sebastian ; I my brother know Yet living in my glass ; even such, and so, In favour was my brother ; and he went Still in this fashion, colour, ornament, For him I imitate : O, if it prove, Tempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love ! [Exit. Sir To. A very dishonest paltry boy, and more a coward than a hare : his dishonesty appears in leaving his friend here in necessity, and denying him ; and for his cowardship, ask Fabian. Fab. A coward, a most devout coward, reli- gious in it. Sir A . ' Slid, I'll after him again, and beat him. Sir To. Do, cuff him soundly, but never draw thy sword. Sir And. An I do not, [Exit. Fab. Come, let's see the event. Sir To. I dare lay any money, 'twill be no- thing yet. [Exeunt. Act Fourth. SCENE I. THE STREET BEFORE OLIVIA'S HOUSE. Enter Sebastian and Clown. Clo. Will you make me believe, that I am not sent for you? Seb. Go to, go to, thou art a foolish felloAV ; Let me be clear of thee. Clo. Well held out, i' faith ! No, I do not know you ; nor I am not sent to you by my lady, to bid you come speak with her ; nor your name is not master Cesario ; nor this is not my nose neither. Nothing, that is so, is so. Seb. Ipr'ythee, vent thy folly somewhere else; Thou know'st not me. Clo. Vent my folly ! He has heard that word of some great man, and now applies it to a fool. Vent my folly ! I am afraid this great lubber, the world, will prove a cockney. I pr'ythee now ungird thy strangeness, and tell me what I shall vent to my lady ; Shall I vent to her, that thou art coming? Seb. I pr'ythee, foolish Greek, depart from me; There's money for thee ; if you tarry longer, I shall give worse payment. C. By my troth, thou hast an open hand :-These wise men, that give fools money, get themselves a good report after fourteen years' purchase. Enter Sir Andrew, Sir Toby, and Fabian. Sir And. Now, sir, have I met you again? there's for you. [Strik ing Seba *f ian. Seb. Why, there's for thee, and there, and there : Are all the people mad? [Beating Sir Andrew. Sir To. Hold, sir, or I'll throw your dagger o'er the house. Clo. This will I tell my lady straight : I would not be in some of your coats for two-pence. [Exit Clown. Sir T. Come on, sir; hold. [Holding Sebastian. Sir A. Nay, let him alone, I'll go another way to work with him ; I'll have an action of battery against him, if there be any law in Illyria: though I struck him first, yet it's no matter for that. Seb. Let go thy hand. Sir To. Come, sir, I will not let you go. Come, rny young soldier, put up your iron : you are well fleshed ; come on. [thou know? Seb. I will be free from thee. What would 'st If thou dar'st tempt me further, draw thy sword, [Draws. Sir To. What, what? Nay, then I must have an ounce or two of this malapert blood from you. [Draws. Enter Olivia. OIL Hold, Toby ; on thy life, I charge thee, Sir To. Madam ? [hold. Oli. Will it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch, Fit for the mountains, and the barbarous caves, Where manners ne'er were preached ! out of my Be not offended, dear Cesario : [sight, Rudesby, 1 be gone ! I pr'ythee, gentle friend, [Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian. Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway In this uncivil and unjust extent- 1 Eude fellow. 2 Degree. SC. I. TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. Against thy peace. Go with me to my house ; And hear thou there how many fruitless pranks This ruffian hath botch'd up, that thou thereby May'st smile at this : thou shalt not choose but Do not deny : Beshrew his soul for me, [go ; He started one poor heart of mine in thee. S. What relish is in this ? how runs the stream ? Or I am mad, or else this is a dream : Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep ; If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep ! Oil. Nay, come, I pr'ythee : 'Would thou'dst Seb. Madam, I will. [be rul'd by me ! Oli. 0, say so, and so be ! [Exeunt. SCENE II. A ROOM IN OLIVIA'S HOUSE. Enter Maria and Clown. Mar. Nay, I pr'ythee, put on this gown, and this beard ; make him believe thou art Sir Topas, the curate ; do it quickly : I'll call Sir Toby the whilst. Exit Maria. Clo. Well, I'll put it on, and I will dissemble myself in't ; I am not tall enough to become the function well : nor lean enough to be thought a good student : but to be said, an honest man, and a good housekeeper, goes as fairly, as to say, a careful man, and a great scholar. The competitors 1 enter. Enter Sir Toby Belch and Maria. Sir To. Jove bless thee, master parson. Clo. Bonos dies, Sir Toby : for as the old her- mit of Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very wittily said to a niece of king Gorboduc, That, that is, is; so I, being master parson, am master parson ; For what is that, but that? and is, but IB? Sir To. To him, Sir Topas. Clo. What, hoa, I say, Peace in this prison I Sir To. The knave counterfeits well ; a good knave. Mai. [In an inner chamber. ] Who calls there? Clo. Sir Topas, the curate, who comes to visit Malvolio the lunatick. Mai. Sir Topas, Sir Topas, good Sir Topas, go to my lady. Clo. Out, hyperbolical fiend! how vexest thou this man? talkest thou nothing but of ladies? Sir To. Well said, master parson. M. Sir Topas, never was a man thus wronged : good Sir Topas, do not think I am mad ; they have laid me here in hideous darkness. Clo. Fie, thou dishonest Sathan ! I call thee by the most modest terms; for I am one of those gentle ones that will use the devil himself with courtesy : Say'st thou, that house is dark ? Mai. As hell, Sir Topas. Clo. Why, it hath bay-windows, transparent as barricadoes, and the clear stones towards the south-north are as lustrous as ebony ; and yet com plainest thou of obstruction? Mai. I am not mad, Sir Topas ; I say to you, this house is dark. Clo. Madman, thou errest : I say, there is no darkness, but ignorance ; in which thou art more puzzled than the Egyptians in their fog. Mai. 1 say, this house is as dark as ignorance, 1 Confederates. though ignorance were as dark as hell ; and I say, there was never man thus abused : I am no more mad than you are ; make the trial of it in any constant question. 1 Clo. What is the opinion of Pythagoras, con- cerning wild-fowl ? Mai. That the soul of our grandam might haply inhabit a bird. Clo. What thinkest thou of his opinion? Mai. I think nobly of the soul, and no way approve his opinion. Clo. Fare thee well: Remain thou still in darkness : thou shalt hold the opinion of Pytha- goras, ere I will allow of thy wits ; and fear to kill a woodcock, less thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam. Fare thee well. Mai. Sir Topas, Sir Topas, Sir To. My most exquisite Sir Topas ! Clo. Nay, I am for all waters. 2 Mar. Thou migbt'st have done this without thy beard, and gown ; he sees thee not. Sir To. To him in thine own voice, and bring me word how thou findest him : I would we were well rid of this knavery. If he may be conveni- ently delivered, I would he were ; for I am now so far in offence with my niece, that I cannot pursue with any safety this sport to the upshot. Come by and by to my chamber. [Exeunt Sir Toby and Maria. Clo. Hey Robin, jolly Robin, Tell me how thy lady does. [Singing. Mai. Fool. Clo. My lady is unkind, perdy. Mai. Fool. Clo. Alas, why is she so? Mai. Fool, I say ; Clo. She loves another Who calls, ha? Mai. Good fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well at my hand, help me to a caudle, and pen, ink, and paper ; as I am a gentleman, I will live to be thankful to thee for't. Clo. Master Malvolio ! Mai. Ay, good fool. C. Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits? Mai. Fool, there was never man so notoriously abused : I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art. Clo. But as well? then you are mad, indeed, if you be no better in your wits than a fool. Mai. They have here propertied me; keep me in darkness, send ministers to me, asses, and do all they can to face me. out of my wits. Clo. Advise you what you say ; the minister is here. Malvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the heavens restore? endeavour thyself to sleep, and leave thy vain bibble babble. Mai. Sir Topas Clo. Maintain no words with him, good fellow. Who, I, sir? not I, sir. God b'wi'you, good Sir Topas. Marry, amen. I will, sir, I will. Mai. Fool, fool, fool, I say, Clo. Alas, sir, be patient. What say you, sir ? I am shent 3 for speaking to you. Mai. Good fool, help me to some light, and some paper ; I tell thee I am as well in my wits, as any man in Illyria. Clo. Well-a-day, that you were, sir ! 1 Regular conversation. 8 Scolded. 2 Any other gem as well as a Topaz. SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACTV. Mai. By this hand I am: Good fool, some ink, paper, and light, and convey what I will set down to my lady ; it shall advantage thee more than ever the bearing of letter did. Clo. I will help you to 't. But tell me true, are you not mad indeed ? or do you but counterfeit? Mai. Believe me, I am not ; I tell thee true. Clo. Nay, I'll ne'er believe a madman, till I see his brains. I will fetch you light, and paper, and ink. Mai Fool, I'll requite it in the highest de- gree : I pr'ythee, be gone. Clo. I am gone, sir, And anon, sir, I'll be with you again t In a trice ; Like to the old vice 1 Your need to sustain. Who with dagger of Iff J', In his rage and his wrath, Cries, ah, ha! to the devil: Like a mad lad, .Pare thy nails, dad. Adieu, goodman drival [Exit. SCENE III. OLIVIA'S GARDEN. Enter Sebastian. Seb. This is the air ; that is the glorious sun ; This pearl she gave me, I do feel't and see't : And though 'tis wonder that enwraps me thus, Yet 'tis not madness. Where's Antonio then? I could not find him at the Elephant : Yet there he was ; and there I found this credit, 2 That he did range the town to seek me out. His counsel now might do me golden service : For though my soul disputes well with my sense, That this may be some error, but no madness, Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune So far exceed all instance, all discourse, That I am ready to distrust mine eyes, And wrangle with my reason, that persuades me To any other trust, but that I am mad, Or else the lady's mad ; yet, if 'twere so, She could not sway her house, command her followers, Take, and give back, affairs and their despatch, With such a smooth , discreet, and stable bearing, As, I perceive, she does : there's something in 't, That is deceivable. But here comes the lady. Enter Olivia and a Priest. OH. Blame not this haste of mine: If you mean well, Now go with me, and with this holy man, Into the chantry by: there, before him, And underneath that consecrated roof, Plight me the full assurance of your faith ; That my most jealous, and too doubtful soul May live at peace : he shall conceal it, Whiles 3 you are willing it shall come to note ; What time we Avill our celebration keep According to my birth. What do you say? S. I'll follow this good man, and go with you ; Aiid, having sworn truth, ever will be true. 1 Buffoou. 2 Account. 8 Until. Oli. Then lead the way, good father; -And heaven to shine, That they may fairly note this act of mine ! [Exeunt. Act Fifth. SCENE I. THE STREET BEFORE OLIVIA'S HOUSE. Enter Clown and Fabian. F. Now, as thou lovest me, let me see his letter. Clo. Good master Fabian, grant me another request. Fab. Any thing. Clo. Do not desire to see this letter. Fab. That is, to give a dog, aud, in recom- pense, desire my dog again. Enter Duke, Viola, and Attendants. Duke. Belong you to the lady Olivia, friends? Clo. Ay, sir ; we are some of her trappings. Duke. I know thee well ; How dost thon, my good fellow ? Clo. Truly, sir, the better for my foes, and the worse for my friends. Duke. Just the contrary ; the better for thy Clo. No, sir, the worse. [friends. Dulce. How can that be? Clo. Marry, sir, they praise me, and make an ass of me ; now my foes tell me plainly I am an ass ; so that by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge of myself ; and by my friends I am abused : so that, conclusions to be as kisses, if your four negatives make your two affirmatives, why, then the worse for my friends, and the better for my foes. Duke. Why, this is excellent. Clo. By my troth, sir, no : though it please you to be one of my friends. Duke. Thou shalt not be the worse for me ; there's gold. Clo. But that it would be double-dealing, sir, I would you could make it another. Duke. O, you give me ill counsel. Clo. Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for this once, and let your flesh and blood obey it. Duke. Well, I will be so much a sinner to be a double-dealer ; there's another. Clo. Primo, secundo, tertio, is a good play; and the old saying is, the third pays for all : the triplex, sir, is a good tripping measure ; or the bells of St Bennet, sir, may put you in mind: One, two, three. Duke. You can fool no more money out of me at this throw : if you will let your lady know, I am here to speak with her, and bring her along with you, it may awake my bounty further. Clo. Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till I come again. I go, sir ; but I would not have you to think, that my desire of having is the sin of covetousness: but, as you say sir, let your bounty take a nap, I will awake it anon. [Exit Clown. Enter Antonio and Officers. V. Here comes the man,sir,that did rescue me. Duke. That face of his I do remember well : Yet, when I saw it last, it was besmear'd fiC. 1. TWELFTH NIGHT; 0&, WHAT YOU WILL. As black as vulcan, in the smoke of war? A bawbling vessel was he captain of, For shallow draught, and bulk, unprizable ; With which such scathful grapple did he make With the most noble bottom of our fleet, That very envy, and the tongue of loss, [matter? Cry'd fame and honour on him. What's the 1 Off. Orsino, this is that Antonio, That took the Phoenix, and her fraught 1 from And this is he that did the Tiger board, [Candy; When your young nephew Titus lost his leg : Here in the streets, desperate of shame and state, In private brabble did we apprehend him. V. He did me kindness, sir ; drew on my side ; But, in conclusion, put strange speech upon me, I know not what 'twas, but distraction. Duke. Notable pirate ! thou salt-water thief ! What foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies, Whom thou, in terms so bloody, and so dear, Hast made thine enemies? Ant. Orsino, noble sir. Be pleased that I shake off these names you give Antonio never yet was thief, or pirate, [me ; Though I confess, on base and ground enough, Orsino's enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither : That most ingrateful boy there, by your side, From the rude sea's enrag'd and foamy mouth Did I redeem ; a wreck past hope he was : His life I gave him, and did thereto add My love, without retention, or restraint, All his in dedication : for his sake, Did I expose myself, pure for his love, Into the danger of this adverse town ; Drew to defend him, when he was beset ; Where being apprehended, his false cunning (Not meaning to partake with me in danger,) Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance, And grew a twenty-years-removed thing, While one would wink ; denied me mine own Which I had recommended to his use [purse, Not half an hour before. Vio. How can this be? Duke. When came he to this town? Ant. To-day, my lord; and for three months (No interim, not a minute's vacancy,) [before, Jioth day and night did we keep company. Enter Olivia, and Attendants. Duke. Here comes the countess ; now heaven walks on earth. [madness, But for thee, fellow, fellow, thy words are Three months this youth hath tended upon me ; But more of that anon. Take him aside. 0. What would my lord, but that he may not Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable ? [have, Cesario, you do not keep promise with me. Vio. Madam? Duke. Gracious Olivia, [lord, 0. What do you say, Cesario? Good my V. My lord would speak, my duty hushes me. Oli. If it be aught to the old tune, my lord, It is as fat 2 and fulsome to mine ear As howling after musick. I)nlm devices hereafter, which shall then have no power to stand against us. Ang. Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaiui'd: Betimes i' the morn, I'll call at your house : Give notice to such men of sort and suit 1 As are to meet him. Escal. I shall, sir ; fare you well. [Exit. Ang. Goodnight. [pregnant, This deed unshapes me quite, makes me un- And dull to all proceedings. A defiower'd maid ! And by an eminent body, that enforc'd The law against it! But that her tender shame Will not proclaim against her maiden loss, How might she tongue me ? Yet reason dares her ? no : For my authority bears a credent bulk, That no particular scandal once can touch, But it confounds the breather. He should have liv'd [sense, Save that his riotous youth, with dangerous Might, in the times to come, have ta'en revenge, By so receiving a dishonour'd life, [liv'd, With ransom of such shame. 'Would yet he had Alack, when once our grace we have forgot, Nothing goes right; we would, and we would not. | i'.j-it. SCENE V. FIELDS WITHOUT THE TOWN. Enter Dulce in his own liabit, and Friar Peter. Duke. These letters at fit time deliver me. The provost knows our purpose, and our plot. The matter being afoot, keep your instruction, 1 JJaiik. 110 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT V. And hold you ever to our special drift ; [that, Though sometimes you do blench 1 from this to As cause doth minister. Go, call at Flavius'house, And tell him where I stay : give the like notice To Valentinus, Rowland, arid to Crassus, And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate ; But send me Flavius first. F. Peter. It shall be speeded well. [Exit Friar. Enter Varrius. Duke,. I thank thee, Varrius ; thou hast made good haste : Come, we will walk : There's other of our friends Will greet us here anon, my gentle Varrius. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. STREET NEAR THE CITY GATE. Enter Isabella and Mariana. Isab. To speak so indirectly, I am loath ; I would say the truth ; but to accuse him so, That is your part ; yet I am advis'd to do it ; He says, to veil full purpose. Mari. Be rul'd by him. Isab. Besides,he tells me, that if peradventure He speak against me on the adverse side, I should not think it strange ; for 'tis a physick That's bitter to sweet end. Mari. I would, friar Peter Isab. O, peace ; the friar Is come. Enter Friar Peter. F. Peter. Come, I have found you out a stand most fit, Where you may have such vantage on the duke. He shall not pass you ; Twice have the trumpets The generous 3 and gravest citizens [sounded ; Have hent ;{ the gates, and very near upon The duke is ent'riiig ; therefore hence, away. [Exeunt. Act Fifth. SCENE I. A PTTBLTC PLACE NEAR THE CITY GATE. Mariana (veil'd), Isabella, and Peter, at a distance. Enter at opposite doors, Duke, Varrius, Lords; Angela, Escalus, Lucio, Provost, Officers, and Citizens. Diike. My veiy worthy cousin, fairly met : Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to seeyou. Aug. and Escal. Happy return be to your royal grace ! Dulce. Many and hearty thankings to you both. We have made inquiry of you ; and we hear Such goodness of your justice, that our soul Cannot but yield you forth to public thanks, Forerunning more requital. Any. You make my bonds still greater. Dulce. 0, your desert speaks loud; and I should wrong it To lock it in the wards of covert bosom, When it deserves with characters of brass A forted residence, 'gainst the tooth of time, And razure of oblivion : Give me your hand, And let the subject see, to make them know I Start. 2 Noble. 3 Crowded. That outward courtesies would fain proclaim Favours that keep within. Come, Escalus ; You must walk by us on our other hand ; And good supporters are you. Peter and Isabella come forward. F. Peter. Now, is your time ; speak loud, and kneel before him. Isa. Justice, royal duke ! Vail 1 your regard Upon a wrong'd, I'd fain have said, a maid ! worthy prince, dishonour not your eye By throwing it on any other object, Till you have heard me in my true complaint, And given me justice, justice, justice, justice ! Duke. Relate your wrongs: In what? By whom ! Be brief: Here is lord Angelo shall give you justice ; Reveal yourself to him. Isab. O, worthy duke, You bid me seek redemption of the devil: Hear me yourself ; for that which I must speak Must either punish me, not being belie v'd, [here, Or wring redress from you : hear me, hear nu>, A. My lord, her wits, I fear me, are not firm : She hath been a suitor to me for her brother, Cut off by course of justice ! Isab. By course of justice ! Aug. And she will speak most bitterly and strange. [speak : Isab. Most strange, but yet most truly will I That Angelo's forsAvorn, is it not strange ! That Angelo's a murderer, is't not strange? That Angelo is an adulterous thief, An hypocrite, a virgin-violator ; Is it not strange, and strange? Duke. Nay, ten times strange ! Isab. It is not truer he is Angelo, Than this is all as true as it is strange : Nay, it is ten times true : for truth is truth To the end of reckoning. Duke. Away with her: Poor soul, She speaks this in the infirmity of sense. Isab. prince, I conjure thee, as thou believ'st There is another comfort than this world, That thou neglect me not, with that opinion That I am touch'd with madness: inakeaiot impossible That which but seems unlike : 'tis not impossible, But one the wicked'st caitiff on the ground, May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute, As Angelo ; even so may Angelo, In all his dressings, 2 characts, titles, forms, Be an arch-villain : believe it, royal prince, If he be less, he's nothing; but he's more, Had I more name for badness. Duke. By mine honesty, If she be mad (as I believe no other), Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense, Such a dependency of thing on thing, As e'er I heard in madness. Isab. O, gracious duke, Harp not on that, nor do not banish reason For inequality: but let your reason serve To make the truth appear, where it seems hid ; And hide the false, seems true. Duke. Many that are not mad, [say? Have sure more lack of reason. What would you 1 Lower. 2 Habits and characters of office. SC. I. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. Ill Isab. I am the sister of one Claudio, Condemn'd upon the law of fornication, To lose his head ; condemn'd by Angelo ! I, iri probation of a sisterhood, Was sent to by my brother : one Lucio Was then the messenger ; Lucio. That 's I, an 't like your grace : I came to her from Claudio, and de.sir'd her To try her gracious fortune with lord Angelo, For her poor brother's pardon. Isab. That's he indeed. Duke. You were not bid to speak. Lucio. No, my good lord ; Nor wi-sh'd to hold my peace. Duke. I wish you now then ; Pray you, take note of it ; and when you have A business for yourself, pray heaven you then Be perfect. Lucio. I warrant your honour. D. The warrant's for yourself; take heed to it. 7. This gentleman told somewhat of my tale. Lucio. Right. D. It may be right ; but you are in the wrong To speak before your time. Proceed. I*ab. I went To this pernicious caitiff deputy. Duke. That 'a somewhat madly spoken. Isab. Pardon it ; The phrase is to the matter. Duke. Mended again : the matter? Proceed. Isab. In brief, to set the needless process by, How I persuaded, how I pray'd and kneel'd. How he refell'd 1 me, and how I reply'd; (For this was of much length,) the vile conclusion I now begin with grief and shame to utter ; He would not but by gift of my chaste person Release my brother; and after much debatement My sisterly remorse 2 confutes mine honour. And I did yield to him : But the next morn betimes His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant For my poor brother's head. Duke. This is most likely. Isab. 0, that it were as like as it is true ! Duke. By heaven, fond 3 wretch, tliou know'st not what thou speak 'st ; Or else thou art suborn'd against his honour, In hateful practice : First, tils integrity [reason, Stands without blemish : next, it imports no That with such vehemency he should pursue Faults proper to himself : if he had so offended, He would have weigh'd thy brother by himself, And not have cut him off: Some one hath set you Confess the truth, and say by whose advice [on : Thou cam'st here to complain. Isab. And is this all? Then, oh, you blessed ministers above, Keep me in patience ; and, with ripen'd time, Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up [woe, In countenance .'-Heaven .shield your grace from. As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelieved go. Duke. 1 know you 'd fain be gone :-An officer ! To prison with her: Shall we thus permit A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall On him so near us? This needs must In; a practice. Who knew of your intent, and coming hither? /. One that T would were here, friar Lodowick. 1 Kefuted. 2 Pity. 3 Foolish. Duke. A ghostly father, belike. -Who knows that Lodowick? L. My lord, I know him ; 'tis a meddling friar ; I do not like the man : had he been lay, 1 my lord, For certain words he spake against your grace In your retirement, I hadswing'd 2 him soundly. D. Words against me? This a good friar, be- And to set on this wretched woman here [like ! Against our substitute ! Let this friar be fount I. L. But yesternight, my lord, she and that friar I saw them at the prison : a saucy friar, A very scurvy fellow. F. Peter. Blessed be your royal grace ! I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard Your royal ear abus'd : First, hath this woman Most wrongfully accus'd your substitute : Who is as free from touch or guilt with her As she from one unborn. Duke. We did believe no less. Know you that friar Lodowickthat she speaks o &? F. Pet. I know him for a man divine and holy : Not scurvy, nor a temporary 3 meddler, As he 's reported by this gentleman ; And, on my trust, a man that never yet, Did, as he vouches, misreport your grace. Lucio. My lord, most villainously ! believe it. F. Peter. Well, he in time may come to clear But at this instant he is sick, my lord, [himself ; Of a strange fever: Upon his mere request (Being come to knowledge that there was com- plaint Intended 'gainst lord Angelo), came I hither, To speak, as from his mouth, what he doth know Is true, and false; and what he with his oath, And all probation, will make up full clear, Whensoever he's convented. 4 First, for this (To justify this worthy nobleman, [woman ; So vulgarly 5 and personally accus'd,) Her shall you hear disproved to her eyes, Till she herself confess it. Duke. Good friar, let 's hear it. [Isabella is carried off, guarded; and, Mariana comes forward. Do you not smile at this, lord Angelo? heaven ! the vanity of wretched fools ! Give us some seats. Come, cousin Angelo, In this I'll be impartial ; be you judge Of your own cause. Is this the witness, friar? First, let her show her face ; and, after, speak. Marl. Pardon, my lord ; I will not show my Until my husband bid me. [face Duke. What, are you married? Mari. No, my lord. Duke. Are you a maid? Mi ir I. No, my lord. Duke. A widow then? Mari. Neither, my lord. Duke. Why, you [wife? Are nothing then ! Neither maid, widow, nor Mar. My lord, I do confess I ne'er was married; And I confess, besides, I am no maid : 1 have known my husband; yet my husband That ever he knew me. ["knows not Lucio. lie was drunk, then, my lord ; it can be no better. [vvert so too ! DuJce. For the benefit of silence, 'would thou 1 Layirnm. 2 Chastised. 3 Temporal. 5 Publicly. 4 Summoned. 112 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACTV. Lucio. Well, my lord. Duke. This is no witness for lord Angelo. Mori. Now I come to't, my lord : She that accuses him of fornication, In self -same manner doth accuse my husband, And charges him, my lord, with such a time, When I'll depose I had him in mine arms. Aug. Charges she more than me? Marl. Not that I know. Duke. No? you say your husband? Marl. Why, just my lord, and that is Angelo. A. This is a strange abuse 1 : Let's see thy face. Mar. My husband bids me; now I will unmask. [ Unveiling. This is that face, thou cruel Angelo, [on : Which once thou swor'st was worth the looking This is the hand, which, with a vow'd contract, Was fast belock'd in thine : and this is she That took away the match from Isabel, And did supply thee at thy garden-house, In her imagin'd person. Dulce. Know you this woman? A . My lord, I must confess, I know this woman ; And, five years since, there was some speech of marriage Betwixt myself and her ; which was broke off, Partly, for that her promised proportions Came short of composition ; but in chief, For that her reputation was disvalued In levity : since whicli time, of five years, [her: I never spake with her, saw her, nor heard from Upon my faith and honour. Mart. Noble prince, [breath, As there comes light from heaven, and words from As there is sense in truth, and truth in virtue, I am affianc'd this man's wife, as strongly [lord, As words could make up vows ; and, my good But Tuesday night last gone,in his garden-house, He knew me as a wife : As this is true Let me in safety raise me from my knees, Or else for ever be confixed here, A marble monument ! Ang. I did but smile till now : Now, good my lord, give me the scope of justice ; My patience here is touch'd: I do perceive, These poor informal 2 women are no more But instruments of some more mightier member, That sets them on : Let me have way, my lord, To find this practice 3 out. D uke. Ay, with my heart ; And punish them unto your height of pleasure. - Thou foolish friar ; and thou pernicious woman, Compact with her that's gone! think'st thou thy oaths, [saint, Though they would swear down each particular Were testimonies against his worth and credit, That's seal'd in approbation?- You, lord Escalus, Sit with my cousin ; lend him your kind pains To find out this abuse, whence 'tis derived. There is another friar that set them on ; Let him be sent for. [indeed, F. Peter. Would he were here, my lord; for he, Hath set the women on to this complaint ; Your provost knows the place where he abides, And he may fetch him. Duke. Go do it instantly. [Exit Provost. And you, my noble, and well-warranted cousin, 1 Deception. 2 Crazy. 3 Conspiracy. Whom it concerns to hear this matter forth, Do with your injuries as seems you best, In any chastisement : I for a while [well Will leave you ; but stir not you, till you have Determined upon these slanderers. Escal. My lord, we'll do it thoroughly. [Exit Duke. ] Signior Lucio, did not you say, you knew that friar Lodowick to be a dishonest person? Lucio. Cucullus non facit monachum: honest in nothing but in his clothes ; and one that hath spoke most villainous speeches of the duke. Escal. We shall entreat you to abide here till he come, and enforce them against him: we shall find this friar a notable fellow. Lucio. As any in Vienna, on my word. Escal. Call that same Isabel here once again ; [To an Attendant.] I would speak with her: Pray you, my lord, give me leave to question ; you shall see how I'll handle her. Re-enter Officers, with Isabella; the Duke in the Friar's habit, and Provost. Escal. Comeon, mistress: [To Iscibella.]liere's a gentlewoman denies all that you have said. Lucio. My lord, here comes the rascal I spoke of ; here, with the provost. Escal. In very good time : speak not you to him, till we call upon you. Lucio. Mum. Escal. Come, sir: did you set these women on to slander lord Angelo ? they have conf ess'd you did. Duke. 'Tis false. Escal. How ! know you where you are ? Duke. Where is the duke ? 'tis he should hear me speak. [speak : Escal. The duke's in us; and we will hear you Look, you speak justly. Duke. Boldly, at least : But, O, poor souls, Come you to seek the lamb here of the fox? Good night to your redress. Is the duke gone? Then is your cause gone too. The duke's unjust, Thus to retort your manifest appeal, And put your trial in the villain's mouth. Which here you come to accuse. Lucio. This is the rascal ; this is he I spoke of. Escal. Why, thou unreverend and unhallow'd friar? [women, Is't not enough that tliou hast suborn'd these To accuse this worthy man ; but in foul mouth. And in the witness of his proper ear, To caU him villain? And then to glance from him to the duke himself ; To tax him with injustice? Take him hence ; To the rack with him : We'll touze you joint by joint, But we will know this purpose: What ! unjust ? Duke. Be not so hot ; the duke Dare no more stretch this finger of mine, than he Dare rack his own : his subject am I not, Nor here provincial : My business in this state, Made me a looker-on here in Vienna, Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble, Till it o'er-run the stew : laws for all faults ; But faults so countenanc'd, that the strong statutes Stand like the forfeits in a barber's shop, As much in mock as mark. SC. I. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 113 Escal. Slander to the state ! Away with him to prison. A. What can you vouch against him, signior Is this the man that you did tell us of ? [Lucio? Lucio. 'Tis he, my lord. Come hither, good- man bald-pate : Do you know me ? Duke. I remember you, sir, by the sound of your voice : I met you at the prison in the absence of the duke. Lucio. 0, did you so? And do you remem- ber what you said of the duke ? Duke. Most notedly, sir. Lucio. Do you so, sir? And was the duke a fleshmonger, a fool, aiid a coward, as you then reported him to be ? Duke. You must, sir, change persons with me, ere you make that my report: you, indeed, spoke so of him ; and much more, much worse. Lncio. Thou fellow ! Did not I pluck thee by the nose for thy speeches? D. I protest I love the duke as I love myself. Ang. Hark ! how the villain would close now, after his treasonable abuses. Escal. Such a fellow is not to be talked withal : A. way with him to prison. Where is the provost ? Away with him to prison ; lay bolts enough upon him : let him speak no more. Away with those giglots, 1 too, and with the other confederate companion. [The Provost lays hands on the Diike. Duke. Stay, sir ; stay awhile. Ang. What ! resists he? Help him, Lucio. Lucio. Come, sir; come, sir; come, sir; foil, sir : Why, you bald-pated, lying rascal ! you must be hooded, must you? Show your knave's visage ! Show your sheep-biting face, and be hang'd an hour ! Will 't not oft'? [Pulls off the Friar's hood & discovers the Duke. Duke. Thou art the first knave that e'er made a duke. First, provost, let me bail these gentle three: Sneak not away, sir ; [To Lucio.] for the friar and you Must have a word anon : Lay hold on him. Lucio. This may prove worse than hanging. Duke. What you have spoke, I pardon ; sit you down. [To Escalus. We'll borrow place of him :-ir, by your leave : [To Angelo. Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudence, That yet can do thee office ? If thou hast, Rely upon it till my tale be heard, And hold no longer out. Ang. O my dread lord, I should be guiltier than my guiltiness, To think I can be undiscernible, When I perceive your grace, like power divine, I 1 ath look'd upon my passes : 2 Then good prince, No longer session hold upon my shame, But let my trial be mine own confession ; Immediate sentence then, and sequent death, Is all the grace I beg. Duke. Come hither, Mariana? Say, wast thou e'er contracted to this woman? A ii(i. I was, my lord. Duke. Go, take her hence, and marry her llstautly. 1 Wivutous. 2 Practices. Do you the office, friar ; which consummate, Return him here again :-G-o with him, provost. [Exeunt Angelo, Mariana, Peter, and Provost. Escal. My lord, I am more amazed at his Than at the strangeness of it. [dishonour, Duke. Come hither, Isabel: Your friar is now your prince: As I was then Advertising, 1 and holy to your business, Not changing heart with habit, I am still Attorney'd at your service. I sab. give me pardon, That I, your vassal, have employ'd and pain'd Your unknown sovereignty. Duke. You are pardon'd, Isabel : And now, dear maid, be you as free to us. Your brother's death, I know, sits at your heart; And you may marvel why I obscur'd myself, Labouring to save his life ; and would not rather Make rash remonstrance of my hidden power, Than let him be so lost : O, most kind maid, It was the swift celerity of his death, Which I did think with slower foot came on, That brain'd my purpose : But peace be with That life is better life, past fearing death, [him ! Than that which lives to fear : make it your So happy is your brother. [comfort, Rc-cntcr Angelo, Mariana, Peter, and Provost. Isab. I do, my lord. Duke. For this new-married man, approach- ing here, Whose foul imagination yet hath wrong'd Your well-defended honour, you must pardon Foi Mariana's sake : but as he adjudged your (Being criminal, in double violation [brother, Of sacred chastity and of promise-breach, Thereon dependent for your brother's life). The very mercy of the law cries out Most audible, even from his proper tongue, "An Angelo for Claudio, death for death." Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure ; (Measure ! " Like doth quit like, and "Measure still for Then, Angelo, thy fault's thus manifested ; Which though thou would'st deny, denies thee vantage : We do condemn thee to the very block Where Claudio stoop'd to death, and with like A. way with him. [haste : Mari. O my most gracious lord, I hope you will not mock me with a husband ! Duke. It is your husband mock'd you with a husband : Consenting to the safeguard of your honour, I thought your marriage lit ; else imputation, For that he knew you, might reproach your life, And choke your good to come: for his posses- Although by confiscation they are ours, [sions, We do instate and widow you withal, To buy you a better husband. Mari. O, my dear lord, I crave no other nor no better man. Duke. Never crave him we are definitive. Mari. Gentle, my liege, [Kneel h>rf. Duke. You do but lose your labour ; Away with him to death. [To Lucio.] Now, sir, to you. 1 Attentive. il 114 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACTV. M . 0, my good lord ! Sweet Isabel, take my part; Lend me your knees, and all my life to come 1 11 lend you all my life to do you service. Duke. Against all sense you do imp6rtune her: Should she kneel down, in mercy of this fact, Her brother's ghost his paved bed would break, And take her hence in horror. Mari. Isabel, Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me ; Hold up your hands; say nothing; I'll speak all. They say, best men are moulded out of faults ; And, for the most, become much more the better For being a little bad : so may my husband. O, Isabel ! will you not lend a knee? Duke. He dies for Claudio's death. Isdb. Most bounteous sir, [Kneeling. Look if it please you, on this man condeum'd, As if my brother liv'd : I partly think, A due sincerity govern'd his deeds, Till he did look on me ; since it is so, Let him not die : My brother had but justice, In that he did the thing for which he died : For Angelo, His act did not o'ertake his bad intent, And must be buried but as an intent That perish 'd by the way: thoughts are no subjects ; Intents but merely thoughts. Mari. Merely, my lord. D. Your suit's unprofitable; stand up, I say. I have bethought me of another fault : Provost, how came it, Claudio was beheaded At an unusual hour? Prov. It was commanded so. Duke. Had you a special warrant for the deed? P. No,my good lord ; it was by private message. D. For which I do discharge you of your office: Give up your keys. Prov. Pardon me, noble lord : I thought it was a fault, but knew it not ; Yet did repent me after more advice : l For testimony whereof, one in the prison, That should by private order else have died, I have reserv'd alive. Duke. What's he? Prov. His name is Barnardine. D. I would thou hadst done so by Claudio. Go, fetch him hither ; let me look upon him. [Exit Provost. Escal. I am sorry one so learned and so wise As you, lord Angelo, have still appear'd, Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood, And lack of temper'd judgment afterward. Aug. I am sorry, that such sorrow I procure: And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart, That I crave death more willingly than mercy ; 'Tis my deserving, and I do entreat it. Re-enter Provost, Barnardine, Claudio, and Juliet. Duke. Which is that Barnardine? Prov. This, my lord. Duke. There was a friar told me of this man. Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul, That apprehends no further than this world, 1 Consideration. And squar'st thy life according. Thou'rt con- demn'd ; But, for those earthly faults I quit them aH ; And pray thee, take this mercy to provide For better times to come : Friar, advise him ; I leave him to your hand. What muffled fellow's that? Prov. This is another prisoner that I sav'd, That should have died when Claudio lost his head; As like almost to Claudio as himself. [ Unmuffles Claudio. Duke. If he belike your brother, [To Isabella. ] for his sake Is he pardon'd ; and for your lovely sake, Give me your hand, and say you will be mine, He is my brother too : But fitter time for that. By this lord Angelo perceives he 'a safe ; Methinks, I see a quick'ning in his eye : Well, Angelo, your evil quits 1 you well : Look that you love your wife ; her worth, worth I find an apt remission in myself: [yours. And yet here 's one in place I cannot pardon : You, sirrah, [To Lucio. ] that knew me for a fool, a coward, One all of luxury, an ass, a madman ; Wherein have I so deserved of you, That you extol me thus ? Lucio. 'Faith, my lord, I spoke it but accord- ing to the trick: 2 If you will hang me for it, you may, but I had rather it would please you, I might be whipp'd. Duke. Whipp'd first, sir, and hang'd after. Proclaim it, provost, round about the city ; If any woman's wrong'd by this lewd fellow, (As I have heard him swear himself, there '& one), Let her appear, and he shall marry her : The nuptial finish'd, let him be whipp'd and hang'd. Lucio. I beseech your highness, do not marry me so. Your highness said even now, I made you a duke ; good my lord, do not recompense me so. Duke. Upon mine honour, thou shalt marry her. Thy slanders I forgive ; and therewithal Remit thy other forfeits: Take him to prison: And see our pleasure herein executed. Lucio. Marrying me so, my lord, is pressing to death, whipping, and hanging. Duke. Sland'ring a prince deserves it. She, Claudio, that you wrong'd, look you restore. Joy to you, Mariana ! love her, Angelo ; I have confess'd her, and I know her virtue. Thanks, good friend Escalus, for thy much goodness : There's more behind, that is more gratulate. Thanks, provost, for thy care and secrecy ; We shall employ thee in a worthier place : Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home The head of Ragoziue for Claudio's ; The oftence pardons itself. Dear Isabel, I have a motion much imports your good ; Whereto if you'll a willing ear incline, What 's mine is yours, and what is yours is mine: So bring us to our palace ; where we '11 show What 's yet behind, that 's meet you all should know. [Exeunt. 1 Requite* j Thoughtless practice. Itepresentefc. DON PEDRO, Prince o/ Arragon. DON JOHN, his Bastard Brother. CLAUDIO, a yo ung Lord of Florence, Favourite to Don Pedro. BENEDICK, a young Lord of Padua, Favourite likewise o/Don Pedro. LEONATO, Governor of Messina. ANTONIO, his Brother. BALTHAZAR, Servant to Don Pedro. A Sexton. A Friar. A Boy. HERO, Datighter to Leonato. BEATRICE, Niece to Leonato. Gentlewomen attending on Hero. Messengers, Watch, and Attendants. SCENE. Messina. Act First, SCENE I. BEFORE LEONATO'S HOUSE. Enter Leonato, Hero, Beatrice, and others, with a Messenger. Leon. I learn in this letter, that Don Pedro of Arragon comes this night to Messina. Mess. He is very near by this ; he was not three leagues off when I left him. Leon. How many gentlemen have you lost in this action ? Mess. But few of any sort, and none of name. Leon. A victory is twice itself, when the achiever brings home full numbers. I find here, that Don Pedro hath bestowed much honour on a young Florentine, called Claudio. Mess. Much deserved on his part, and equally remembered by Don Pedro : He hath borne him- self beyond the promise of his age ; doing, in the figure of a lamb, the feats of a lion : he hath, indeed, better bettered expectation, than you must expect of me to tell you how. Leon. He hath an uncle here in Messina will be very much glad of it. Mess. I have already delivered him letters, and there appears much joy in him ; even so much, that joy could not show itself modest enough, without a badge of bitterness. Leon. Did he break out into tears ? Mess. In great measure. 1 Leon. A kind overflow of kindness : There are no faces truer than those that are so washed. How much better is it to weep at joy, than to joy at weeping. Beat. I pray you, is signior Montanto returned from the wars, or no ? Mess. I know none of that name, lady ; there was none such in the army of any sort. Leon. What is he that you ask for, niece ? H. Mycousin means signior Benedickof Padua. Mesa. 0, he is returned ; and as pleasant as ever he was. Beat. He set up his bills here in Messina, and 1 Abundance. challenged Cupid at the flight : and my uncle's fool, reading the challenge, subscribed for Cupid, and challenged him at the bird-bolt. I pray you, how many hath he killed and eaten in these wars? But how many hath he kill eel ? for, indeed, I promised to eat all of his killing. L. Faith, niece, you tax signior Benedick too much ; but he'll be meet with you, I doubt it not. Mess. He hath done good service, lady, in these wars. Beat. You had musty victual, and he hath holp to eat it : he is a very valiant trencher-man, he hath an excellent stomach. Mess. And a good soldier too, lady. Beat. And a good soldier to a lady. But what is he to a lord ? Mess. A lord to a lord, a man to a man, stuffed with all honourable virtues. Beat. It is so, indeed, he is no less than a stuffed man but for the stuffing. Well, we are all mortal. Leon. You must not, sir, mistake my niece : there is a kind of merry war betwixt signior Benedick and her : they never meet, but there is a skirmish of wit between them. Beat. Alas, he gets nothing by that. In our last conflict, four of his five wits went halting off/and now is the whole man governed with one : so that if he have wit enough to keep him- self .warm, let him bear it for a difterence'between himself and his horse : for it is all the wealth that he hath left, to be known a reasonable creature. Who is his companion now? He hath every month a new sworn brother. Mess. Is it possible ? Beat. Very easily possible : he wears his faith but as the fashion of his hat ; it ever changes with the next block. Mess. I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books. Beat. No: an he were, I would burn my study. But, I pray you, who is his companion? Is there no young squarer l now, that will make a voyage with him to the devil ? 1 Quarreller. 116 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT I. Mess. He is most in the company of the right noble Claudio. Beat. He will hang upon him like a disease : he is sooner caught than the pestilence, and the taker runs presently mad. Heaven help the noble Claudio ! if he have caught the Benedick, it will cost him a thousand pound ere he be cured. Mess. I will hold friends with you, lady. Beat. Do, good friend. Leon. You will never run mad, niece. Beat. No, not till a hot. January. Mess. Don Pedro is approached. Enter Don Pedro, attended ly Balthazar and others, Don John, Claudio, and Benedick. D. Pedro. Good signior Leonato, you are come to meet your trouble : the fashion of the world is to avoid cost, and you encounter it. Leon. Never came trouble to my house in the likeness of your grace : for trouble being gone, comfort should remain : but, when you depart from me, sorrow abides, and happiness takes his leave. D. Pedro. You embrace your charge too will- ingly. I think this is your daughter. Leon. Her mother hath many times told me so. Be. Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her ? Leon. Signior Benedick, no; for then were you a child. D. Pedro. You have it full, Benedick: we may guess by this what you are, being a man. Truly, the lady fathers herself : Be happy, lady ! for you are like an honourable father. Bene. If signior Leonato be her father, she would not have his head on her shoulders for all Messina, as like him as she is. Beat. I wonder that you will still be talking, siguior Benedick ; nobody marks you. Bene. What, my dear lady Disdain ! are you yet living ? Beat. Is it possible, disdain should die, while she hath such meet food to feed it as signior Benedick ? Courtesy itself must convert to dis- dain, if you come in her presence. Bene. Then is courtesy a turncoat : But it is certain, I am loved of all ladies, only you ex- cepted: and I would I could find in my heart that I had not a hard heart ; for, truly, I love none. Beat. A dear happiness to women ; they would else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I am of your humour for that; I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow, than a man SAvear he loves me. Bene. Heavenkeep your ladyship still in thot mind ! so some gentleman or other shall 'scape a predestinate scratched face. Beat. Scratching could not make it worse, an 'twere such a face as yours were. Bene. Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher. Beat. A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours. Bene. I would my horse had the speed of your tongue ; and so good a continuer: But keep your way ; I have done. Beat. You always end with a jade's trick ; I know you of old. D. Pedro. This is the sum of all: Don John, si-iiii.;- Claudio, and signior Benedick, my dear friend Leonato hath invited you all. I tell him, we shall stay here at the least a month ; and he heartily prays some occasion may detain us longer : I dare swear he is no hypocrite, but prays from his heart. Leon. If you swear, my lord, you shall not be forsworn. Let me bid you welcome, my lord: being reconciled to the prince your brother, I o\ve you all duty. D. John. I thank you : I am not of many words, but I thank you. Leon. Please it your grace lead on ? D. Pedro. Your hand, Leonato ; we will go to- gether. [Exeunt all but Benedick and Claudio. Claud. Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of signior Leonato ? Bene. I noted her not ; but I looked on her. Claud. Is she not a modest young lady ? Bene. Do you question me, as an honest man should do, for my simple true judgment ; or would you have me speak after my custom, aa being a professed tyrant to their sex? Cla. No, I pray thee, speak in sober judgment. Bene. AVhy, i' faith, methinks she is too low for a high praise, too brown for a fair praise, and too little for a great praise: only this commenda- tion I can afford her ; that were she other than she is, she were unhandsome; and being no other but as she is, I do not like her. Claud. Thou thinkest I am in sport ; I pray thee, tell me truly how thou likest her. Bene. Would you buy her, that you inquire after her? Claud. Can the world buy such a jewel? Bene. Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak you this with a sad brow? or do you play the flouting Jack ; to tell us Cupid is a good hare-finder, and Vulcan a rare carpenter? Come, in what key shall a man take you, to go in the song? Claud. In mine eye, she is the sweetest lady that ever I look'd on. Bene. I can see yet without spectacles, and I see no such matter : there's her cousin, an she were not possessed with a fury, exceeds her as much in beauty as the first of May doth the last of December. But I hope you have no intent to turn husband, have you? Cla. I would scarce trust myself, though I had sworn the contrary, if Hero would be my witv. Bene. Is it come to this ? Hath not the world one man, but he will wear his cap with suspicion ? Shall I never see a bachelor of three-score again ? Go to ; and thou wilt needs thrust thy neck into a yoke, wear the print of it, and sigh away Sundays. Look, Don Peolro is returned to seek you. Re-enter Don Pedro. D. Pedro. What secret hath held you here, that you followed not to Leonato's? Bene. I would, your grace would constrain me to tell. D. Pedro. I charge thee, on thy allegiance. Bene. You hear, Count Claudio: I can be secret as a dumb man, I would have you think so ; but on my allegiance, mark you this, on my allegiance : He is in love. With who ? now that is your grace's part. Mark, how short SC. I. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 117 his answer is: With Hero, Leonato's short daughter. Claud. If this were so, so were it uttered. Bene. Like the old tale, my lord : it is not so. nor 'twas not so ; but, indeed, heaven forbid it should be so. Claud. If my passion change not shortly, heaven forbid it should be otherwise. D. Pedro. Amen, if you love her ; for the lady is very well worthy. Claud. You speak this to fetch m e in, my lord. D. Pedro. By my troth, I speak my thought. Claud. And, in faith, my lord, I spoke mine. Bene. And, by my two faiths and troths, my lord, I spoke mine. Claud. That I love her, I feel. D. Pedro. That she is worthy, I know. Bene. That I neither feel how she should be loved, nor know how she should be worthy, is the opinion that fire cannot melt out of me ; I will die in it at the stake. D. Pedro. Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic in the despite of beauty. Claud. And never could maintain his part, but in the force of his will. Bene. That a woman brought me up, I give her most humble thanks : but that I will have a recheat 1 winded in my forehead, all women shall pardon me. Because I will nut do them the wrong to mistrust any, I will do myself the right to trust none ; and the line is (for the which I may go the finer), I will live a bachelor. D. Pedro. I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love. Bene. With anger, with sickness, or with hunger, my lord ! not with love : prove, that ever I lose more blood with love, than I will get again with drinking, pick out mine eyes vith a ballad-maker's pen, and hang me up for the sign of blind Cupid. D. Pedro. Well, if ever thou dost fall from this faith, thou wilt prove a notable argument. Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat, and shoot at me ; and he that hits me, let him be clapped on the shoulder, and called Adam. 2 D. Pedro. Well, as time shall try : In time the savage bull doth bear the yolce. Bene. The savage bull may ; but if ever the sensible Benedick bear it, pluck oft' the bull's horns, and set them in my forehead : and let me be vilely painted ; and in such great letters as they write, Here is good horse to hire, let them signify under my sign, Here you may see Bene- dick, the married man. Claud. If this should ever happen, thou wouldst be horn-mad. D. Pedro. Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his quiver in Venice,thou wilt quake for this shortly. Bene. I look for an earthquake too then. D. Pedro. Well, you will temporise with the hours. In the meantime, good signior Benedick, repair to Leonato's ; commend me to him, and tell him, I will not fail him at supper; for, indeed, he hath made great preparation. /;//. I have almost matter enough in me for such an embassage ; and .so I commit you 1 The note sounded to recall the dogs. 2 A famous archer. Claud. To the tuition of heaven : From my house (if I had it), D. Pedro. The sixth of July : Your loving friend Benedick. Bene. Nay, mock not, mock not: The body of your discourse is sometime guarded with fragments, and the guards are but slightly basted on neither ; ere you flout old ends any further, examine your conscience ; and so I leave you. [Exit Benedick. C. My liege, your highness now maydo me good. D. Fed. My love is thine to teach ; teach it but And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn [how, Any hard lesson that may do thee good. Claud. Hath Leonato any son, my lord? D. Fed. No child but Hero,she's his only heir: Dost thou affect her, Claudio? Claud. O my lord, When you went onward on this ended action, I look'd upon her with a soldier's eye, That lik'd, but had a rougher task in hand Than to drive liking to the name of love : But now I am return 'd, and that war-thoughts Have left their places vacant, in their rooms Come thronging soft and delicate desires, All prompting me how fair young Hero is, Saying, I lik'd her ere I went to wars. D. Pedro. Thou wilt be like a lover presently, And tire the hearer with a book of words : If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it ; And I will break with her, and with her father, And thou shalt have her : Was't not to this end That thou began'st to twist so fine a story? Claud. How sweetly do you minister to love, That know love's grief by his complexion ! But lest my liking might too sudden seem I would have salv'd it with a longer treatise. D. Pedro. What need the bridge much broader than the flood? The fairest grant is the necessity : Look, what will serve, is fit : 'tis once, 1 thou And I will fit thee with the remedy. [lov'st ; I know we shall have revelling to-night ; I will assume thy part in some disguise, And tell fair Hero I am Claudio ; And in her bosom I'll unclasp my heart, And take her hearing prisoner with the force And strong encounter of my amorous tale : Then, after, to her father will I break ; And the conclusion is, she shall be thine : In practice let us put it presently. [Exeunt. SCENE II. A ROOM IN LEONATO'S HOUSE. Enter Leonato and Antonio. Leon. How now, brother? Where is my cousin, your son? Hath he provided this musick? Ant. He is very busy about it. But, brother, I can tell you strange news that you yet dreamed not of. Leon. Are they good ? Ant. As the event stamps them; buttheyhave a good cover, they show well outward. The prince and Count Claudio, walking in a thick-pleached 2 alley in my orchard, were thus much overheard by a man of mine: The prince discovered i-i Claudio that he loved my niece your daughter, 1 Once for all. 2 Thickly interwoven. 118 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT II. and meant to acknowledge it this night in a dance; and, if he found her accordant, he meant to take the present time by the top, and instantly break with you of it. L. JIath the fellow any wit that told you this? Ant. A good sharp fellow : I will send for him, and question him yourself. Leon. No, no ; we will hold it as a dream, till it appear itself :-butI will acquaint my daughter withal, that she may be the better prepared for an answer, if peradventure this be true. Go you, and tell her of it. [Several persons cross the stage. ] Cousins, you know what you have to do. 6, I cry you mercy, friend ; you go with me, and I will use your skill ; Good cousins, have a care this busy time. [Exeunt. SCENE III. ANOTHER ROOM IN LEONATO'S HOUSE. Enter Don John and Conrade. Con. My lord! why are you thus out of measure sad ? D. John. There is no measure in the occasion that breeds it, therefore the sadness is without limit. Con. You should hear reason. D. John. And when I have heard it, what blessing bringeth it? Con. If not a present remedy, yet a patient sufferance. D. John. I wonder, that thou being (as thou say'st thou art) born under Saturn, goest about to apply a moral medicine to a mortifying mis- chief. I cannot hide what I am : I must be sad when I have cause, and smile at no man's jests ; eat when I have stomach, and wait for no man's leisure ; sleep when I am drowsy, and tend to no man's business; laugh when I am merry, and clawi no man in his humour. Con. Yea, but you must not make the full show of this, till you may do it without con- trolment. You have of late stood out against your brother, and he hath ta'en you newly into his grace; where it is impossible you should take true root, but by the fair weather that you make yourself ; it is needful that you frame the season for your own harvest. D. John. I had rather be a canker in a hedge, than a rose in his grace ; and it better fits my blood to be disdained of all, than to fashion a carriage to rob love from any : in this, though 1 cannot be said to be a flattering honest man, i must not be denied that I am a plain-dealing villain. I am trusted with a muzzle, and en franchised with a clog ; therefore I have decreec not to sing in my cage : If I had my mouth, I would bite ; if I had my liberty, I would do my liking ; in the mean time, let me be that I am, and seek not to alter me. C. Can you make no use of your discontent 1 D. John. I make all use of it, for I use it only "Who comes here? What news, Borachio? Enter Borachio. Par. T came yonder from a great supper ; th< prince, yu>. K royally entertained by i i'laiter. Leonato ; and I can give you intelligence of an iitended marriage. D. John. Will it serve for any model to build nischief on ? What is he fora fool, that betroths imself to unquietness ? Bora. Marry, it is your brother's right hand. D. John. Who? the most exquisite Clauclio? Bora. Even he. D. John. A proper squire ! And who, and who ? which way looks he ? Bora. Marry, on Hero, the daughter and leir of Leonato. D. John. A very forward March-chick ! How 3ame you to this ? Bora. Being entertained for a perfumer, as I was smoking a musty room, conies me the prince and Claudio, hand in hand, in sad conference : [ whipt me behind the arras ; and there heard .t agreed upon, that the prince should woo Sero for himself, and having obtained her, ive her to Count Claudio. D. John. Come, come, let us thither ; this may srove food to my displeasure ; that young start- up hath all the glory of my overthrow ; if I can cross him any way, I bless myself every way: You are both sure, and will assist me? Con. To the death, my lord. D. John. Let us to the great supper ; their heer is the greater, that I am subdued : Would the cook were of my mind ! Shall we go prove what's to be done? Bora. We'll wait upon your lordship. [Exeunt. Act Second. SCENE I. A HALL IN LEONATO'S HOUSE. Enter Leonato, Antonio, Hero, Beatrice, and others. Leon. Was not Count John here at supper? Ant. I saw him not. Beat. How tartly that gentleman looks ! I never can see him, but I am heart-burned an hour after. Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposition. Beat. He were an excellent man, that were made just in the mid-way between him and Benedick: the one is too like an image, and says nothing ; and the other too like my lady's eldest son, evermore tattling. Leon. Then half signior Benedick's tongue in Count John's mouth, and half Count John's melancholy in signior Benedick's face, Beat. With a good leg and a good foot, uncle, and money enough in his purse, such a man would win any woman in the world, if he could get her good will. Leon. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue. Ant. Well, niece [To Hero.] I trust you will be ruled by your father. Beat. Yes, it is my cousin's duty to make courtesy, and say, Father, as it please you ; but yet for all that, cousin, let him be a linud- some fellow, or else make another courtesy, and say, Fatlwr, as it please me. 8C. 1. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 119 Leon. Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted with a husband. Beat. Not till men are made of some other metal than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be overmaster'd with a piece of valiant dust ? to make an account of her life to a clod of way- ward marl? No, uncle, I'll none: Adam's sons are my brethren ; and truly, I hold it a sin to match in my kindred. Leon. Daughter, remember what I told you : if the prince do solicit you in that kind, you know your answer, Beat. The fault will be in the musick, cousin, if you be not woo'd in good time : if the prince be too important 1 tell him, there is measure in every thing, and so dance out the answer. For hear me, Hero ; Wooing, wedding, and repent- ing, is as a Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque- pace 2 ; the first suit is hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as fantastical ; the wedding, mannerly-modest, as a measure full of state and ancientry; and then comes repentance, and, with his bad legs, falls into the cinque-pace faster and faster, till he sink into his grave. L. Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly. Beat. I have a good eye, uncle ; I can see a church by daylight. Leon. The revellers are entering; brother, make good room. Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Bal- thazar; Don John, Borachio, Margaret, Ursula, and others, masked. D. Pedro. Lady, will you walk about with your friend? Hero. So you walk softly, and look sweetly, and say nothing, I am yours for the walk ; and, especially, when I walk away. D. Pedro. With me in your company? Hero. I may say so, when I please. D. Pedro. And when please you to say so ? Hero. When I like your favour ; for heaven forbid the lute should be like the case ! D. Pedro. My visor is Philemon's roof; within the house is Jove. Hero. Why, then your visor should be thatch'd. D. Pedro. Speak low, if you speak love. [Takes lier aside. Urs. I know you well enough ; you are signior Antonio. Ant. At a word, I am not. Urs. I know you by the waggling of your head, Ant. To tell you true, I counterfeit him. Urs. You could never do him so ill- well, unless you were the very man : Here's his dry hand up and down ; you are he, you are he. Ant. At a word, I am not. Urs. Come, come; do you think I do not know you by your excellent wit? Can virtue hide itself ? Go to, mum, you are he: graces will appear, and there's an end. Beat. Will you not tell me who told you so? Bene. No, you shall pardon me. Beat. Nor will you not tell me who you are? Bene. Not now. Beat. That I was disdainful, and that I had 1 Importunate. 2 A Blow dance. my good wit out of the Hundred Merry Tales: Well, this was Signior Benedick that said so. Bene. What's he? Beat. I am sure, you know him well enough. Bene. Not I, believe me. Beat. Did he never make you laugh? Bene. I pray you, what is 'he? Beat. Why, he is the prince's jester ; a very dull fool ; only his gift is in devising impossible landers ; few delight in him ; and the commen- dation is not in his wit, but in his villany ; for le both pleasethmen and angers them, and then hey laugh at him and beat him. Bene. When I know the gentleman, I'll tell lim what you say. Beat. Do, do ; he'll but break a comparison )r two on me ; which, peradventure, not marked, or not laughed at, strikes him into melancholy ; and then there's a partridge wing saved, for the 'ool will eat no supper that night. [Mustek ivithin. ] We must follow the leaders. Bene. In every good thing. Beat. Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave ;hem at the next turning. [Dance. Then exeunt all tut Don John, Borachio, and Claudio. D. John. Sure, my brother is amorous on Eero, and hath withdrawn her father to break with him about it : The ladies follow her, and jut one visor remains. Bora. And that is Claudio ; I know him by hia bearing. D. John. Are you not signior Benedick? Claud. You know me well ; I am he. D. John. Signior, you are very near my brother in his love ; he is enamoured on Hero ; I pray you, dissuade him from her, she is no equal for iiis birth ; you may do the part of an honest man in it. Claud. How know you he loves her? D. John. I heard him swear his affection. Bora. So did I too ; and he swore he would marry her to-night. D. John. Come, let us to the banquet. [Exeunt Don John and Borachio. Claud. Thus answer I in name of Benedick, But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio, 'Tis certain so ; the prince wooes for himself. Friendship is constant in all other things, Save in the office and affairs of love : Therefore, all hearts in love use their own tongues ; Let every eye negotiate for Itself, And trust no agent ; for beauty is a witch, Against whose charms faith inelteth into blood. 1 This is an accident of hourly proof, Which I mistrusted not: Farewell, therefore, Hero ! Re-enter Benedick. Bene. Count Claudio? Claud. Yea, the same. Bene. Come, will you go with me? Claud. Whither? Bene. Even to the next willow, about your own business, count. What fashion will you 1 PanBion. 120 vSHAKESPEAUE'S DRAMATIC WO&KS. ACT II. wear the garland of? About your neck, like an usurer's chain? or under your arm, like a lieutenant's scarf? You must wear it one way, for the prince hath got your Hero. Claud. I wish him joy of her. Bene. Why, that's spoken like an honest drover, so they sell bullocks. But did you i think, the prince would have served you thus ? ! Claud. I pray you, leave me. Bene. Ho ! now you strike like the blind man ; 'twas the boy that stole your meat, and you'll beat the post. C. If it will not be, I'll leave you. [Exit. Bene. Alas, poor hurt fowl ! Now will he creep into sedges. But, that my lady Beatrice should know me, and not know me ! The prince's fool! Ha, it may be, I go under that title, because I am merry. Yea; but so; I am apt to do myself wrong : I am not so reputed : it is the base, the bitter disposition of Beatrice, that puts the world into her person, and so gives me out. Well, I'll be revenged as I may. Re-enter Don Pedro. D. Pedro. Now, signior, where's the count? Did you see him? Bene. Troth, my lord, I have played the part of lady Fame. I found him here as melan- choly as a lodge in a warren ; I told him, and, I think, I told him true, that your grace had got the good will of this young lady ; and I offered him" my company to a willow-tree, either to make him a garland, as being forsaken , or to bind him up a rod, as being worthy to be whipped. J). Pedro. To be whipped! What's his fault? Bene. The flat transgression of a school-boy ; who, being overjoyed with finding a bird's nest, shows it his companion, and he steals it. D. Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a trans- gression? The transgression is in the stealer. Bene. Yet it had not been amiss, the rod had been made, and the garland too ; for the gar- land he might have worn himself ; and the rod he might have bestow'd on you, who, as I take it, have stol'n his bird's nest. D. Pedro. I will but teach them to sing, and restore them to the owner. Bene. If their singing answer your saying, by my faith, you say honestly. D. Pedro. The lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you ; the gentleman that danced with her, told her, she is much wronged by you. Bene. O, she misused me past the endurance of a block ; an oak, but with one green leaf on it, would have answered her; my very visor began to assume life, and scold with her. She told me, not thinking I had been myself, that I was the prince's jester ; that I was duller than a great thaw ; huddling jest upon jest, with such impos- sible conveyance, upon me, that I stood like a man at a mark, with a whole army shooting at me : She speaks poniards, and every word stabs ; she would have made Hercules have turned spit; yea, and have cleft his club to make the fire too. Come, talk not of her ; you will find her Ate in good apparel. Come, talk not of her. Re-enter Claudio, Beatrice, Leonata, and Hero. D. Pedro. Look, here she comes. Bene. Will your grace command me any ser- vice to the world's end? I will go on the slightest errand now to the Antipodes, that you can devise to send me on ; I will fetch you a toothpicker now, from the farthest inch of Asia : bring you the length of Prester John's foot ; fetch you a hair oft' the great Cham's beard ; do you any embassage bo the Pigmies, rather than hold three words' conference with this harpy : You have no employment for me ? [company. D. Pedro. None, but to desire your good Bene. 0, sir, here's a dish I love not ; I can- not endure my lady Tongue. [Exit. D. Pedro. Come, lady, come ; you have lost the heart of signior Benedick. Beat. Indeed, my lord, he lent it me a while ; and I gave him use 1 for it, a double heart for his single one : marry, once before, he won it of me with false dice, therefore your grace may well say I have lost it. I have brought Count Claudio, whom you sent me to seek. D. Pedro. Why, how now, count? wherefore are you sad? Claud. Not sad, my lord. D. Pedro. How then ? Sick ? Claud. Neither, my lord. B. The count is neither sad,nor sick,nor merry, nor well : but civil, count ; civil as an orange, and something of that jealous complexion. D. Pedro. I 'faith, lady, I think your blazon to be true ; though, I'll be sworn, if he be so, his conceit is false. Here, Claudio, I have wooed in thy name, and fair Hero is won ; I have broke with her f ather,and his good will obtained: name the day of marriage, and God give thee joy ! Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and with her my fortunes: his grace hath made the match, and all grace say Amen to it ! Beat. Speak, count, 'tis your cue. C. Silence is the perfectest herald of joy : I were but little happy, if I could say how much. -Lady, as you are mine, I am yours; I give away myself for you, and dote upon the exchange. Beat. Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his mouth with a kiss, and let him not speak neither. D. P. In faith, lady, you have a merry heart. Beat. Yea, my lord, I thank it, poor fool, it keeps on the windy side of care : My cousin tells him in his ear that he is in her heart. Claud. And so she doth, cousin. Beat. Good lord, for alliance ! Thus goes every one to the world but I, and I am sun- burned ; I may sit in a corner, and cry, heigh ho ! for a husband. D. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one. B. Hath your grace ne'er a brother like you ? D. Pedro. Will you have me, lady ? Beat . No, my lord, unless I might have another for working days ; your grace is too costly to wear every day : But, I beseech your grace, pardon me: I was born to speak all mirth and no matter. D. Pedro. Your silence most offends me, and to be merry best becomes you ; for out of question, you were born in a merry hour. Beat. No, sure, my lord ; but there was a star danced, and under that was I born. Cousins, God give you joy ! 1 Interest SC. I. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 121 Leon. Niece, will you look to those things I told you of? Beat. I cry you mercy, uncle. By your grace's pardon. [Exit Beatrice. D. Fed. By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady. Leon. There's little of the melancholy element in her, my lord : she is never sad, but when she sleeps : and not ever sad then ; for I have heard my daughter say, she hath often dreamed of un- happiness, and waked herself with laughing. D. Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband. Leon. O, by no means ; she mocks all her wooers out of suit. D. P. She were an excellent wife for Benedick. Leon. O, my lord, if they were but a week mar- ried, they would talk themselves mad. D. Pedro. Count Claudio, when mean you to go to church? Claud. To-morrow, my lord: Time goes on crutches, till love have all his rites. Leon. Not till Monday, my dear son, which is hence a just seven-night ; and a time too brief too, to have all things answer my mind. D. Pedro. Come, you shake the head at so long a breathing ; but, I warrant thee, Claudio, the time shall not go dully by us ; I will, in the interim, undertake one of Hercules' labours ; which is, to bring signior Benedick and the lady Beatrice into a mountain of affection, the one with the other. I would fain have it a match ; and I doubt not but to fashion it, if you three will but minister such assistance as I shall give you direction. Leon. My lord, I am for you, though it cost me ten nights' watchings. Claud. And I, my lord. D. Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero? Hero. I will do any modest office, my lord, to help my cousin to a good husband. D. Pedro. And Benedick is not the unhope- f ullest husband that I know: thus far can I praise him ; he is of a noble strain 1 of approved valour and confirmed honesty. I will teach you how to humour your cousin, that she shall fall in love with Benedick : and I, with your two helps, will so practise on Benedick, that, in despite of his quick wit and his queasy 2 stomach, he shall fall in love with Beatrice. If we can do this, Cupid is no longer an archer ; his glory shall be ours, for we are the only love-gods. Go in with me, and I will tell you my drift. [Exeunt. SCENE II. ANOTHER ROOM IN LEONATO'S HOUSE. Enter Don John and Borachio. D. John. It is so ; the Count Claudio shall marry the daughter of Leonato. Bora. Yea, my lord ; but I can cross it. D. John. Any bar, any cross, any impediment will be medicinable to me : I am sick in dis- pleasure to him ; and whatsoever comes athwart his affection, ranges evenly with mine. How canst thou cross this marriage? Bora. Not honestly, my lord ; but so covertly that no dishonestly shall appear in me. 1 Lineage. 2 Fuotidioua. D. John. Show me briefly how. Bora. I think, I told your lordship, a year since, how much I am in the favour of Margaret, the waiting-gentlewoman to Hero. D. John. I remember. Bora. I can, at any unseasonable instant of the night, appoint her to look out at her lady's chamber window. D. John. What life is in that to be the death of this marriage ? Bora. The poison of that lies in you to temper. Go you to the prince your brother ; spare not to tell him, that he hath wronged his honour in marrying the renowned Claudio (whose estima- tion do you mightily hold up) to a contaminated person, such a one as Hero. D. John. What proof shall I make of that? Bora. Proof enough to misuse the prince, to vex Claudio, to undo Hero, and kill Leonato : Look you for any other issue? D. John. Only to despite them, I will endea- vour any thing. Bora. Go, then, find me a meet hour to draw Don Pedro and the Count Claudio, alone : tell them, that you know that Hero loves me ; intend 1 a kind of zeal both to the prince and Claudio, as in love of your brother's honour who hath made this match ; and his friend's reputation, who is thus like to be cozened with the semblance of a maid, that you have discovered thus. They will scarcely believe this without trial: offer them instances ; which shall bear no less likelihood, than to see me at her chamber- window ; hear me call Margaret, Hero ; hear Margaret term me Borachio ; and bring them to see this, the very night before the intended wedding : for, in the mean time, I will so fashion the matter, that Hero shall be absent ; and there shall appear such seeming truth of Hero's disloyalty, that jealousy shall be call'd assurance, and all the preparation overthrown. D. John. Grow this to what adverse issue it can, I will put it in practice : Be cunning in the working this, and thy fee is a thousand ducats. Bora. Be you constant in the accusation, and my cunning shall not shame me. D. John. I will presently go learn their day of marriage. [Exeunt. SCENE III. LEON ATO'S-GARDEN. Enter Benedick and a Boy. Bene. Boy, Boy. Signior. Ben. In my chamber- window lies a book; bring it hither to me in the orchard. Boy. I am here already, sir. Bene. I know that ; but I would have thee hence, and here again. [Exit Boy.] I do much wonder that one man, seeing how much another man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviours to love, will, after he hath laughed at such shal- low follies in others, become the argument of his own scorn, by falling in love : And such a man is Claudio. I have known, when there was no inusick with him but the drum and fife ; and now had he rather hear the tabor and the pipe: 1 Pretend. 122 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACTtt. I have known, when he would have walked ten mile afoot, to see a good armour ; and now will he lie ten nights awake, carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was wont to speak plain, and to the purpose, like an honest man, and a soldier ; now is he turned orthographer ; his words are a very fantastical banquet, just so many strange dishes. May I be so converted, and see with these eyes ? I cannot tell ; I think not : I will not be sworn, but love may transform me to an oyster ; but I'll take my oath on it, till he have made an oyster of me, he shall never make me such a fool. One woman is fair ; yet I am well : another is wise ; yet I am well : another virtuous ; yet I am well : but till all graces be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace. Rich she shall be, that's certain ; wise, or I'll none; virtu- ous, or I'll never cheapen her ; fail*, or I'll never look on her ; mild, or come not near ; noble, or not I for an angel ; of good discourse, an excel- lent musician, and her hair shall be of what colour it pleases. Ha ! the prince and monsieur love ! I will hide me in the arbour. [ Withdraws. Enter Don Pedro, Leonato, and Claudio. D. Pedro. Come, shall we hear this musick ? C. Yea, my good lord : How still the evening As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony ! [is, D. Pedro. See you where Benedick hath hid himself ? C. 0, very well, my lord : the miLsick ended, We'll fit the kid-fox with a pennyworth. Enter Balthazar with musick. D. Pedro. Come, Balthazar, we'll hear that song again. Balth. O good my lord, tax not so bad a voice To slander musick any more than once. D. Pedro. It is the witness still of excellency, To put a strange face on his own perfection : I pray thee sing, and let me woo no more. Balth. Because you talk of wooing, I will sing : Since many a wooer doth commence his suit To her he thinks not worthy ; yet he wooes ; Yet will he swear he loves. D. Pedro. Nay, pray thee, come : Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument, Do it in notes. Balth. Note this before my notes, There's not a note of mine that'sworth the noting. D. Pedro. Why these are very crotchets that he speaks ; Notes, notes, forsooth, and noting? [Musick. Be. Now, Divine air I now is his soulravish'd ! Is it not strange, that sheep's guts should hale souls out of men's bodies? Well, a horn for my money, when all's done. Balthazar sings. I. BALTH. Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever; One foot on sea, and one on shore; To one thing constant never: Then sigh not so, But let them go, And be you blithe and bonny: Converting all your sounds of ivoe Into, Hey nonny, nonny. ii. Sing no more ditties, sing no mo 1 Of dumps so dull and heavy ; The fraud of men was ever so, Since summer first was leavy. Then sigh not so, <&c. D. Pedro. By my troth, a good song. Balth. And an ill singer, my lord. D. Pedro. Ha? no; no, faith; thou singcst well enough for a shift. Bene. [Aside.] An he had been a dog, that should have howled thus, they would have hanged him ; and, I pray heaven, his bad voice bode no mischief ! I had as lief a have heard the night- raven, come what plague could have come after it. D. Pedro. Yea, marry; [To Claudio.} Dost thou hear, Balthazar ? I pray thee, get us some excellent musick ; for to-morrow night we would have it at the lady Hero's chamber window. Balth. The best I can, my lord. D. Pedro. Do so : farewell. [Exeunt Balthazar and musick.] Come hither, Leonato. What was it you told me of to-day ? that your niece Bea- trice was in love with signior Benedick ? Claud. 0, ay : Stalk on, stalk on ; the fowl sits. [Aside to Pedro.] I did never think that lady would have loved any man. Leon. No, nor I neither ; but most wonderful, that she should so dote on signior Benedick, whom she hath in all outward behaviours seemed ever to abhor. Bene. Is't possible? Sits the wind in that corner? [Aside. Leon. By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to think of it ; but that she loves him with an en- raged affection it is past the infinite of thought. D. Pedro. May be, she doth but counterfeit. Claud. 'Faith, like enough. Leon. Counterfeit ! There never was counter- feit of passion came so near the life of passion, as she discovers it. D. Ped. Why, what effects of passion shows she? Claud. Bait the hook well ; this fish will bite. [Aside. Leon. What effects, my lord ! She will sit you. You heard my daughter tell you how. Claud. She did, indeed. D. Pedro. How, how, I pray you? You amaze me : I would have thought her spirit had been invincible against all assaults of affection. Leon. I would have sworn it had, my lord ; especially against Benedick. Bene. [Aside.] I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded fellow speaks it: knavery cannot, sure, hide itself in such reverence. Claud. He hath ta'en the infection ; hold it up. [Aside. D. Pedro. Hath she made her affection known to Benedick ? Leon. No ; and swears she never will: that's her torment. Cla. Tis true, indeed ; BO your daughter says: Shall I, says she, that have so oft encounter'd him with scorn, write to him that I love him ? Leon. This says she now when she is beginning to write to him : for she'll be up twenty times a 1 More. 2 WiUingly. sc. m. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 123 night ; and there will she sit till she have writ a sheet of paper : my daughter tells us all. 0, she tore the letter rnto a thousand halfpence ; railed at herself, that she should be so immodest to write to one that she knew would flout her : / measure him, says she, by my own spirit; for I should flout him if lie writ to me; yea, though I love him, I should. Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, and cries, sweet Benedick! Leon. She doth, indeed; my daughter says so: and the ecstasy hath so much overborne her, that ray daughter is sometime afraid she will do a desperate outrage to herself : It is very true. D. Pedro. It were good that Benedick knew of it by some other, if she will not discover it. Claud. To what end ? He would but make a sport of it, and torment the poor lady worse. D. Pedro. An he should it were an alms to hang him. She's an excellent sweet lady ; and, out of all suspicion, she is virtuous. Claud. And she is exceeding wise. D. Fed. In every thing, but in loving Benedick. Leon. I am sorry for her, as I have just cause, being her uncle and her guardian. D. Pedro. I would she had bestowed this dotage on me ; I would have daff'd l all other re- spects, and made her half myself : I pray you, tell Benedick of it, and hear what he will say. Leon. Were it good, think you ? Claud. Hero thinks surely, she will die ; for she says, she will die if he love her not ; and she will die ere she makes her love known ; and she will die if he woo her, rather than she will bate one breath of her accustomed ci-ossness. D. Pedro. She doth well : if she should make tender of her love, 'tis very possible he'll scorn it ; for the man, as you know all, hath a con- temptuous spirit. Claud. He is a very proper man. D. Pedro. He hath, indeed, a good outward happiness. Claud. And in my mind, very wise. D. Pedro. He doth, indeed, show some sparks that are like wit. Leon. And I take him to be valiant. D. Pedro. As Hector, I assure you : and in the managing of quarrels you may say he is wise ; for cither he avoids them with great discretion, or undertakes them with amost Christian-like fear. Leon. If he do fear God, he must necessarily keep peace ; if he break the peace, he ought to enter into a quarrel with fear and trembling. D. Pedro. And so will he do; for the man doth fearGod. Well, I am sorry for your niece: Shall we go see Benedick, and tell him of her love? Claud. Never tell him, my lord ; let her wear it out with good counsel. Leon. Nay, that's impossible ; she may wear her heart out first. D. Pedro. Well, well hear further of it by your daughter ; let it cool the while. I love Bene- dick well ; and I could wish he would modestly examine himself, to see how much he is un- worthy so good a lady. Leon. My lord, will you walk? dinner is ready. 1 loaned aside. Claud. If he do not dote on her upon this, I will never trust my expectation. [Aside. D. Pedro. Let there be the same net spread for her ; and that must your daughter and her gentle- woman carry. The sport will be when they hold one an opinion of another's dotage, and no such matter : that's the scene that I would see, which will be merely a dumb show. Let us send her to call him into dinner. [Aside. [Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato. Benedick advances from the Arbour. Bene. This can be no trick. The conference was sadly 1 borne. They have the truth of this from Hero. They seem to pity the lady ; it seems her affections have their full bent. Love me ! why, it must be requited. I hear how I am cen- sured : they say I will bear myself proudly, if I perceive the love come from her ; they say too, that she will rather die than give any sign of af- fection. I did never think to marry : I must not seem proud .-Happy are they that hear their detractions, and can put them to mending. They say the lady is fair ; 'tis a truth I can bear them witness: and virtuous ; 'tis so, I cannot reprove it ; and wise, but for loving me : By my troth, it is no addition to her wit ; nor no great argu- ment of her folly, for I will be horribly in love with her. I may chance have some odd quirks and remnants of wit broken on me, because I have railed so long against marriage. But doth not the appetite alter ? A man loves the meat in his youth that he cannot endure in his age. Shall quips, and sentences, and these paper bullets of the brain, awe a man from the career of his humour? No; the world must be peopled. When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married. Here comes Beatrice. By this day, she's a fair lady : I do spy some marks of love in her. Enter Beatrice. Beat. Against my will, I am sent to bid you come to dinner. Ben. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains. Beat. I took no more pains for those thanks than you take pains to thank me ; if it had beeii painful I would not have come. Bene. You take pleasure in the message? Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knife's point, and choke a daw withal. You have no stomach, signior ; fare you well. [Exit. Bene. Ha ! Against my will, I am sent to bid you come to dinner there's a double meaning in that : I took no more pains for tliose thanks than you took pains to thank we that's as much as to say, Any pains that I take for you is as easy as thanks. If I do not take pity of her, I am a villain ; if I do not love her, I am a Jew. I will go get her picture. [Exit. Act Third. SCENE I. LEONATO'S GARDEN. Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula. H. Good Margaret, run thee into the parlour ; There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice. I Seriously. 124 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT III. Proposing i with the prince and Claudio : Whisper her ear, and tell her I and Ursula Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse Is all of her ; say that thou overheard'st us, And bid her steal into the pleached 2 bower, Where honeysuckles, ripened by the sun, Forbid the sun to enter like favourites, Made proud by princes, thatadvance their pride Against that power that bred it: there will she hide her, To listen our propose. This is thy office, Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone. Marg. I'll make her come, I warrant you, presently. [Exit. Hero. Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come, As we do trace this alley up and down, Our talk must only be of Benedick : When I do name him, let it be thy part To praise him more than ever man did merit: My talk to thee must be, how Benedick Is sick in love with Beatrice : Of this matter Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made, That only wounds by hearsay. Now begin ; Enter Beatrice, behind. For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs Close by the ground, to hear our conference. Urs. The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish Cut with her golden oars the silver stream, And greedily devour the treacherous bait : So angle we for Beatrice ; who, even now Is couch'd in the woodbine overture : Fear you not my part of the dialogue, [nothing Hero. Then go we near her, that her ear lose Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it. [They advance to the bower. No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful ; I know, her spirits are as coy and wild As haggards 3 of the rock. Urs. But are you sure, That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely ? [lord. Hero. So says the prince, and my new-toothed U. And did they bid you tell her of it, madam ? H. They did entreat me to acquaint her of it : But I persuaded them, if they loved Benedick, To wish him wrestle with affection, And never to let Beatrice know of it. Ur. Why did you so ? Doth not the gentleman Deserve as full, as fortunate a bed, As ever Beatrice shall couch upon? Hero. O god of love ! I know, he doth deserve Ae much as may be yielded to a man : But nature never framed a woman's heart Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice : Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, Misprising 4 what they look on ; and her wit Values itself so highly, that to her All matter else seems weak : she cannot love, Nor take no shape nor project of affection, She is so self -endeared. Urs. Sure, I think so ; And therefore, certainly, it were not good She knew his love, lest she make sport at it. H. Why, you speak truth : I never yet saw man, How wise, how noble, young, how rarelyfeatur'd, But she would spell him backward : if fair-faced, She'd swear, the gentleman should be her sister ; 1 Conversing. 2 Interwoven. 3 A species of hawk. 4 Slighting. If black, why, nature, drawing of an antick, Made a foul blot : if tall, a lance ill-headed ; If low, an agate very vilely cut : If speaking, why, a vane blown with all wind : If silent, why, a block moved with none. So turns she every man the wrong side out ; And never gives to truth and virtue, that Which simpleness and merit purehaseth. U. Sure,sure,such carping is not commendable. H. No : not to be so odd, and from all fashions, As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable : But who dare tell her so? If I should speak, She'd mock me into air ; 0, she would laugh me Out of myself, press me to death with wit. Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire, Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly : It were a better death than die with mocks. U. Yet tell her of it ; hear what she will say. Hero. No ; rather I will go to Benedick, And counsel him to fight against his passion : And, truly, I'll devise some honest slanders To stain my cousin with : One doth not know, How much an ill word may empoison liking. Urs. 0, do not do your cousin such a *rong. She cannot be so much without true judgment, (Having so swift and excellent a wit, As she is priz'd 1 to have), as to refuse So rare a gentleman as signior Benedick. Hero. He is the only man of Italy, Always excepted my dear Claudio. Ur. I pray you, be not angry with me, madam, Speaking my fancy ; signior Benedick, For shape, for bearing, argument, and valour, Goes foremost in report through Italy. Hero. Indeed, he hath an excellent good name. Urs. His excellence did earn it, ere he had it. When are you married, madam? H. Why, everyday; to-morrow: Come go in; I'll show thee some attires ; and have thy counsel, Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow. Urs. She's lim'd, I warrant you; we have caught her, madam. Hero. If it prove so, then loving goes by haps : Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps. [Exeunt Hero and Ursula. Beatrice advances. B. What fire is in mine ears ? Can this be true ? Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn so much? Contempt, farewell ! and maiden pride, adieu ! No glory lives behind the back of such. And, Benedick, love on, I will requite thee ; Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand ; If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee To bind our loves up in a holy band ; For others say, thou dost deserve ; and I Believe it better than reportingly. [Exit. SCENE II. A ROOM IN LEONATO'S HOUSE. Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, and Leonato. D. Pedro. I do but stay till your marriage be consummate, and then I go toward Arragon. Claud. I'll bring you thither, my lord, if you'll vouchsafe me. D. .Pedro. Nay, that would be as great a soil 1 Esteemed. SO. IL MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 125 in the new gloss of your marriage, as to show a child his new coat, and forbid him to wear it. I will only be bold with Benedick for his company ; for, from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth; he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid's bow-string, and the little hangman dare not shoot at him : he hath a heart as sound as a bell, and his tongue is the clapper ; for what his heart thinks, his tongue speaks. Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been. Leon. So say I ; methinks you are sadder. Claud. I hope, he be in love. D. Pedro. Hang him, truant ; there's no true drop of blood in him, to be truly touched with love : if he be sad, he wants money. Bene. I have the tooth-ache. D. Pedro. Draw it. Bene. Hang it ! Claud. You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards. D. Pedro. What? sigh for the tooth-ache? Leon. Where is but a humour, or a worm ! Bene. Well, every one can master a grief, but he that has it. Claud. Yet say I, he is in love. D. Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy in him, unless it be a fancy that he hath to strange disguises ; as, to be a Dutchman to-day ; a Frenchman to-morrow ; or in the shape of two countries at once. Unless he have a fancy to this foolery, as it appears he hath, he is no fool for fancy, as you would have it appear he is. Claud. If he be not in love with some woman, there is no believing old signs : he brushes his hat o' mornings ; What should that bode? D. P. Hath any man seen him at the barber's ? Claud. No, but the barber's man hath been seen with him ; and the old ornament of his cheek hath already stuffed tennis-balls. Leon. Indeed, he looks younger than he did by the loss of a beard. D. Pedro. Nay, he rubs himself with civet :* Can you smell him out by that? Claud. That's as much as to say, The sweet youth's in love. D. P. The greatest note of it is his melancholy. C. And when was he wont to wash his face? D. Pedro. Yea, or to paint himself? for the which, I hear what they say of him. C. Nay, but his jesting spirit ; which is now crept into a lute-string, and now governed by stops. D. Pedro. Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him : Conclude, conclude, he is in love. Claud. Nay, but I know who loves him. D. Pedro. That would I know too ; I war- rant, one that knows him not. Claud. Yes, and his ill conditions ; and in despite of all, dies for him. Bene. Yet is this no charm for the tooth- ache. Old signior, walk aside with me : I have studied eight or nine wise words to speak to you, which these hobby-horses must not hear. [Exeunt Benedick and Leonato. D. Pedro. For my life, to break with him about Beatrice. Claud. Tis even so : Hero and Margaret 1 A substance with an odour like musk. have by this played their parts with Beatrice and then the two bears will not bite one another, when they meet. Enter Don John. D. John. My lord and brother, God save you. D. Pedro. Good den, brother. D. John. If your leisure served, I would speak with you. D. Pedro. In private? D. J. If it please you ;-yet Count Claudio may hear ; for what I would speak of, concerns him. D. Pedro. What's the matter? D. John. Means your lordship to be married to-morrow? [To Claudio. D. Pedro. You know, he does. D. John. I know not that, when he knows what I know. Claud. If there be any impediment, I pray you, discover it. D. John. You may think I love you not ; let that appear hereafter, and aim better at me by that I now will manifest : For my brother, I think he holds you well ; and in dearness of heart hath holp to effect your ensuing marriage : surely suit ill spent, and labour ill bestowed ! D. Pedro. Why, what's the matter? D. John. I came hither to tell you ; and, cir- cumstances shortened (for she hath been too long a talking of), the lady is disloyal. Claud. Who? Hero? D. John. Even she ; Leonato's Hero, your Hero, every man's Hero. Claud. Disloyal! D. John. The word is too good to paint out her wickedness ; I could say, she were worse ; think you of a worse title, and I will fit her to it. Won- der not till further warrant : go but with me to- night, you shall see herchainber-windowentered ; even the night before her wedding-day : if you love her then, to-morrow wed her ; but it would better fit your honour to change your mind. Claud. May this be so ? D. Pedro. I will not think it. D. John. If you dare not trust that you see, confess not that you know: if you will follow me, I will show you enough ; and when you have seen more and heard more, proceed accordingly. Claud. If I see anything to-night why I should not marry her to-morrow : in the congregation, where I should wed, there will I shame her. D. Pedro. And as I wooed for thee to obtain her, I will join with thee to disgrace her. D. John. I will disparage her no farther, till you are my witnesses ; bear it coldly but till midnight, and let the issue show itself. D. Pedro. day untowardly turned ! Claud. mischief strangely thwarting ! D. John. plague right well prevented ! So will you say, when you have seen the sequel. [Exeunt. SCENE III. A STREET. Enter Dogberry and Verges, with the Watch. Dogb. Are you good men, and true? Verg. Yea, or else it were a pity but they should suffer salvation. Dogb. Nay, that were a punishment too good 126 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT in. for them, if they should have any allegiance in them, being chosen for the prince's watch. Verg. Well, give them their charge, neighbour Dogberry. Dogb. First, who think you the most disheart- less man to be constable? 1 Watch. Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Sea- coal ; for they can write and read. D. Come hither, neighbour Seacoal. Heaven hath blessed you with a good name : to be a well favoured mania the gift of fortune; but to write and read comes by nature. 2 Watch. Both which, master constable, Dogb. You have ; I knew it would be your an- swer. Well, for your fa vour, sir, make no boast of it ; and for your writing and reading, let that appear when there is no need of such vanity. You are thought hereto be the most senseless and fit man for the constable of the watch ; therefore bear you the Ian tern: This is your charge ; You shall comprehend all vagrom men ; you are to bid any man stand, in the prince's name. 2 Watch. How, if he will not stand ? Dogb. Why, then, take no note of him, but let him go ; and presently call the rest of the watch together, and thank heaven you are rid of a knave. Verg. If he will not stand when he is bidden, he is none of the prince's subjects. Dogb. True, and they are to meddle with none but the prince's subjects: You shall also make no noise in the streets ; f or,f or the watch to babble and talk is most tolerable and not to be endured. 2 Watch. We will rather sleep than talk ; we know what belongs to a watch. Dogb. Why, you speak like an ancient and most quiet watchman ; for I cannot see how sleeping should offend ; only, have a care that your bills 1 be not stolen: Well, you are to call at all the ale-houses, and bid those that are drunk get them to bed. 2 Watch. How, if they will not ? Dogb. Why then, let them alone till they are sober; if they make you not then the better answer, you may say, they are not the men you took them for. 2 Watch. Well, sir. Dogb. If you meet a tliief, you may suspect him, by virtue of your office, to be no true man ; and, for such kind of men, the less you meddle or make with them, why, the more is for your honesty. 2 Watch. If we know him to be a thief, shall we not lay hands on him ? Dogb. Truly, by your office, you may ; but, I think, they that touch pitch will be denied: the most peaceable way for you, if you do take a thief, Ls, to let him show himself what he is, and steal out of your company. Verg. You have been always called a merciful man, partner. D. Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will ; much more a man who hath any honesty in him. Verg. If you hear a child cry in the night, you must call to the nurse, and bid her still it. 2 Watch. How, if the nurse be asleep, and will not hear us ? 1 Battle-axe*. Dogb. Why, then depart in peace, and let the child wake her with crying ; for the ewe that will not hear her lamb when it baes, will never answer a calf when he bleats. Verg. 'Tis very true. Dogb. This is the end of the charge. You, con- stable, are to present the prince's own person : if youmeet the prince in theuight,youmaystay him. Verg. Nay, by 'r lady, that, I think, he cannot. Dogb. Five shillings to one on 't, with any man that knows the statues, he may stay him: marry, not without the prince be willing : for, indeed, the watch ought to offend no man ; and it is an offence to stay a man against his will. Verg. By 'r lady, I think it be so. Dogb. Ha, ha, ha ! Well, masters, good night: an there be any matter of weight chances, "call up me : keep your fellows' counsels and your own, and good night. Come, neighbour. 2 Watch. Well, masters, we hear our charge: let us go sit here upon the church-bench till two, and then all to bed. Dogb. One word more, honest neighbours : I pray you, watch about signior Leonato's door ; for the wedding being there to-morrow, there is a great coil 1 to-night : Adieu, be vigilant, I be- seech you. [Exeunt Dogberry and Verges. Enter Eorachio and Conrade. Bora. What ! Conrade. Watch. Peace, stir not. [Aside. Bora. Conrade, I say ! Con. Here, man, I am at thy elbow. Bora. Stand thee close then under this pent- house, for it drizzles rain ; and I will, like a true drunkard, utter all to thee. Watch. [Aside.] Some treason, masters; yet stand close. Bora. Therefore know, I have earned of Don John a thousand ducats. Con. Is it possible that any villainy should be so dear ? Bora. Thou shouldst rather ask, if it were possible any villainy should be so rich ; for when rich villains have need of poor ones, poor ones may make what price they will. Con. I wonder at it. Bora. That shows thou art unconfirmed: 2 Thou knowest that the fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or a cloak, is nothing to a man. Con. Yes, it is apparel. Bora. I mean the fashion. Con. Yes, the fashion is the fashion. Bora. Tush ! I may as well say, the fool's the fool. But see'st thou not what a deformed thief this fashion is ? Watch. [Aside."] I know that Deformed ; he has been a vile thief this seven year ; lie goes up and do wnlike a gentleman : I remember his name. Bora. Didst thou not hear somebody ? Con. No ; 'twas the vane on the house. Bora. Seest thou not I say, what a deformed thief this fashion is ! how giddily he turns about all the hot bloods, between fourteen and five- and-thirty ? Con. All this I see : and see that the fashion wears out more apparel than the man : But are 1 Buetle. 2 Unsophisticated. SC. III. MITCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 127 not them thyself giddy with the fashion too, that thou hast shifted out of thy tale into telling me of the fashion ? Bora. Not so, neither : but know, that I have to-night wooed Margaret, the lady Hero's gentle- woman, by the name of Hero ; she leans me out at her mistress* chamber-window, bids me a thousand times good-night, I tell this tale vilely: I should first tell thee, how the prince, Claudio, and my master, planted, and placed, and possessed by my master Don John, saw afar off in the orchard this amiable encounter. Con. And thought they Margaret was Hero? Bora. Two of them did, the prince and Claudio ; but the devil my master knew she was Margaret ; and partly by his oaths, which first possessed them, partly by the dark night, which did de- ceive them, but chiefly by my villainy, which did confirm any slander that Don John had made, away went Claudio enraged ; swore he would meet her as he was appointed, next morning at the temple, and there, before the whole congre- gation, shame her with what he saw over-night, and send her home again without a husband. 1 Watch. We charge you in the prince's name stand. 2 Watch. Call up the right master constable : "We have here recovered the most dangerous piece of lechery that ever was known in the commonwealth. 1 Watch. And one Deformed is one of them ; I know him, he wears a lock. Con. Masters, masters. 2 Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed forth, I warrant you. Con. Masters, 1 Watch. Never speak; we charge you, let us obey you to go with us. Bora. We are like to prove a goodly com- modity, being taken up of these men's bills. Con. A commodity in question, I warrant you. Come, we'll obey you. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. A ROOM nr LEONATO'S HOUSE. Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula. Hero. Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice, and desire her to rise. Urs. I will, lady. Hero. And bid her come hither. Urs. Well. [Exit Ursula. Marg. Troth, I think, your other rabato 1 Were better. Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll weartlvs. Marg. By my troth, it's not so good ; and I warrant, your cousin will say so. HAro. My cousin's a fool, and thou art another I'll wear none but this. Mary. I like the new tire within excellently. if the hair were a thought browner; and your gown's a most rare fashion. I saw the Duchess of Milan's gown, that they praise so. Hero. that exceeds, they say. Marg. By my troth, it's but a night-gown in respect of yours : Cloth of gold, and cuts, anc laced with silver ; set with pearls, down sleeves side-sleeved, and skirts round, underbornewitl iRuff. bluish tinsel ; but for a fine, quaint, graceful, and excellent fashion, yours is worth ten on't. Herd. God givame joy to wear it, for my heart is exceeding heavy. Enter Beatrice. Hero. Good morrow, coz. Beat. Good morrow, sweet Hero. Tis almost ive o'clock, cousin ; 'tis time you were ready. 5y my troth, I am exceeding ill : hey ho ! Marg. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband ! Beat. By my troth, I am sick. Marg. Get you some of this distilled Carduus 1 ?enedictus, and lay it to your heart ; it is the inly thinj; for a qualm. Hero. There thou prick'st her with a thistle. Beat. Benedictus ! why Benedictus? you have some moral in this Benedictus. Marg. Moral ! no, by my troth, I have no moral meaning; I meant, plain holy-thistle. You may think, perchance, that I think you are n love : nay, by'r lady, I am not such a fool to ;hink what I list ; nor I list not to think what [ can : nor, indeed, I cannot think, if I would ;hink my heart out of thinking, that you are in ove, or that you will be in love, or that you can je in love ; yet Benedick was such another, and now is he become a man ; he swore he would never marry; and yet now, in despite of his leart, he eats his meat without grudging : and low you may be converted, I know not ; but, methinks, you look with your eyes as other women do. Beat. What pace is this that thy tongue keeps? Marg. Noc a false gallop. Re-enter Ursula. Urs. Madam, withdraw; the prince, the count, signior Benedick, Don John, and all the gallants f the town, are come to fetch you to church. Hero. Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, good Ursula. [Exeunt. SCENE V. ANOTHER ROOM IN LEONATO'S HOUSE. Enter Leonato, with Dogberry and Verges. L. What would you with me, honest neighbour? Dogb. Marry, sir, I would have some confi- dence with you, that decerns you nearly. Leon. Brief. I pray you ; for you see, 'tis a busy time with me. Dogb. Marry, this it is, sir. Verg. Yes, in truth, it is, sir. Leon. What is it, my good friends ? Dogb. Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little off the matter ; an old man, sir, and his wits are not so blunt, as I would desire they were ; but, iu faith, honest, as the skin between his broAvs. Verg. Yes, I thank God, I am as honest as any man living, that is an old man, and no hoiiester than I. Dogb. Comparisons are odorous; palabras, neighbour Verges. Leon. Neighbours, you are tedious. Dogb. It pleases your worship to say so, but we are the poor duke's officers ; but truly, for mine 1 A plant of the thistle kind. 128 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT IV. own part, if I were as tedious as a king, I could lind in my heart to bestow it all of your worship. Leon. All thy tediousness on me ! ha ! Dogb. Yea, and 'twere a thousand times more than 'tis : for I hear as good exclamation on your worship, as of any man in the city ; and though I be but a poor man, I am. glad to hear it. Verg. And so am I. Leon. I would fain know what you have to say. Verg. Marry, sir, our watch to-night, except- ing your worship's presence, have ta'en a couple of as arrant knaves as any in Messina. Dogb. A good old man, sir ; he will be talking ; as they say, When the age is in, the wit is out : it is a world'to see ! Well said, i' faith, neighbour Verges : well, an two men ride of a horse, one must ride behind : An honest soul, i'faith, sir ; by my troth he is, as ever broke bread : but, all men are not alike ; alas, good neighbour ! Leon. Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of you ; but I must leave you. Dogb. One word, sir ; our watch, sir, have, in- deed, comprehended two aspicious persons, and we would have them this morning examined be- fore your worship. Leon. Take their examination yourself, and bring it me ; I am now in great haste, as it may appear unto you. Dogb. It shall be suffigance. L. Drink some wine ere you go ; fare you well. Enter a Messenger. Mess. My lord, they stay for you to give your daughter to her husband. Leon. I will wait upon them ; I am ready. [Exeunt Leonato and Messenger. Dogb. Go, good partner, go, get you to Francis Seacoal, bid him bring his pen and inkhorn to the gaol ; we are now to examination these men. Verg. And we must do it wisely. Dogb. We will spare for no wit, I warrant you; here's that [Touching Ms forehead.] shall drive some of them to a non com : only get the learned writer to set down our excommunication, and meet me at the gaol. [Exeunt. Act Fourth. SCENE I. THE INSIDE OF A CHURCH. Enter Don Pedro, Don John, Leonato, Friar, Claudio, Benedick, Hero, and Beatrice, &c. Leon. Come, friar Francis, be brief ; only to the plain form of marriage, and you shall re- count their particular duties afterwards. Fr. You come hither, my lord, to marry this Claud. No. [lady ? Leon. To be married to her, friar ; you come to marry her. Friar. Lady, you come hither to be married to this count ? Hero. I do. Friar. If either of you know any inward im- pediment why you should not be conjoined, I charge you, on your souls, to utter it. Claud. Know you any, Hero ? Hero. None, my lord. Friar. Know you any, count? Leon. I dare make his answer, none. Cl. 0, what men dare do ! what men may do ! what men daily do ! not knowing what they do ! Be ne. How now! Interjections? Why, then some be of laughing, as, ha ! ha ! he ! C. Stand thee by, friar :-Father, by your leave! Will you with free and unconstrained soul Give me this maid, your daughter ? Leon. As freely, son, as God did give her me. Claud. And what have I to give you back, whose worth May counterpoise this rich and precious gift ? D. Fed. Nothing, unless you render her again. Claud. Sweet prince, you learn me noble thankfulness. There, Leonato, take her back again ; Gi ve not this rotten orange to your friend ; She's but the sign and semblance of her honour :- Behold, how like a maid she blushes here : 0, what authority and show of truth Can cunning sin cover itself withal ! Comes not that blood, as modest evidence, To witness simple virtue ? Would you not swear, All you that see her, that she were a maid, By these exterior shows ? But she is none : Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty. Leon. What do you mean, my lord ? Claud. Not to be married, Not knit my soul to an approved wanton. Leon. Dear my lord, if you in your own proof Have vanquish'd the resistance of her youth, And made defeat Claud. I know what you would say ; if I have known her, You'll say, she did embrace me as a husband, And so extenuate the 'forehand sin : No, Leonato, I never tempted her with word too large j 1 But, as a brother to his sister, show'd Bashful sincerity, and comely love. Hero. And seem'd I ever otherwise to you ? C. Out on thy seeming ! I will write against it : You seem to me as Dian in her orb ; As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown ; But you are more intemperate in your blood Than Venus, or those pamper'd animals That rage in savage sensuality. H. Is my lord well, that he doth speak so wide? 3 Leon. Sweet prince, why speak not you? D. Pedro. What should I speak ? I stand dishonour'd, that have gone about To link my dear friend to a common stale. L. Are these thingsspoken? or do I but dream? D. John. Sir, they are spoken, and these thin -3 are true. Bene. This looks not like a nuptial. Hero. True ? O Heaven ! Claud. Leonato, stand I here ? Is this the prince? Is this the prince's brother? Is this face Hero's ? Are our eyes our own ? Leon. All this is so ; But what of this, my lord? Claud. Let me but move one question to your daughter : And, by that fatherly and kindly power That you have in her, bid her answer truly. L. I charge thee do so, as thou art my child. Hero. God defend me ! how am I beset ! 1 Licentious. 2 Wildly. so. r. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 129 What kind of catechising call you this? Ola. To make you answer truly to your name. Hero, Is it not Hero ? Who caii blot that name With any just reproach? Claud. Marry, that can Hero ; Hero itself can blot out Hero's virtue. What man was he talk'd with you yesternight Out at your window, betwixt twelve and one? Now, if you are a maid, answer to this. H . I talk'd with no man at that hour, my lord. D. P. Why, then are you no maiden. Leonato, I am sorry you must hear ; Upon mine honour, Myself, my brother, and this grieved count, Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night, Talk with a ruffian at her chamber- window ; Who hath, indeed, most like a liberal 1 villain, Confess'd the vile encounters they have had A thousand times in secret. D. John. Fye, fye ! they are Not to be nam'd, my lord, not to be spoke of ; There is not chastity enough in language, Without offence to utter them : Thus, pretty lady, I am sorry for thy much misgovern ment. Claud. O, Hero ! what a Hero hadstthou been, If half thy outward graces had been placed About thy thoughts, and counsels of thy heart ! But, f are thee well, most foul, most fair! farewell, Thou pure impiety, and impious purity ! For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love, And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang, To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm, And never shall it more be gracious. L. Hath no mail's dagger here a point for me ? [Hero swoons. Beat. Why, how now, cousin? wherefore sink you down? D. John. Come, let us go ; these things come thus to light, Smother her spirits up. [Exeunt Don Pedro, Don John, and Claudia. Bene. How doth the lady? Beat. Dead, I think ; help, uncle ; Hero! why, Hero! Uncle ! Signior Benedick ! friar ! Leon. O fate, take not away thy heavy hand ! Death is the fairest cover for her shame, That may be wish'd for. Beat. How now, cousin Hero ? Friar. Have comfort, lady. Leon. Dost thou look up? Friar. Yea; wherefore should she not? Leon. Wherefore? Why, doth not every earthly thing Cry shame upon her? Could she here deny The story that is printed in her blood ? Do not li ve, Hero : do not ope thine eyes : For did I think thou wouldst not quickly die, Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames, Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches, Strike at thy life. Griev'd I, I had but one? Chid I for that at frugal nature's frame, 2 O, one too much by thee ! Why had I one? Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes? Why had I not, with charitable hand, Took up a beggar's issue at my gates ; Who BmirchecP thus, and mir'd with infamy, 1 Free of tongue. 2 Disposition. 3 Sullied, I might have said, No part of it is mine, This shame derives itself from unknown loins? But mine, and mine I lov'd, and mine I prais'd, And mine that I was proud on ; mine so much, That I myself was to myself not mine, Valuing of her ; why, she 0, she is fallen Into a pit of ink ! that the wide sea Hath drops too few to wash her clean again. Bene. Sir, sir, be patient : For my part, I am so attir'd in wonder, I know not what to say. Beat. O, on my soul, my cousin is belied ! Bene. Lady, were you her bedfellow last night ? Beat. No,truly,not: although, until last night, I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow. Leon. Confirm'd,connrm'd! 0, that is stronger made, Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron ! Would the two princes lie? and Claudio lie? Who lov'd her so, that, speaking of her foulness, Wash'd it with tears? Hence from her ; let her Friar. Hear me a little ; [die. For I have only been silent so long, And given way unto this course of fortune, By noting of the lady ; I have mark'd. A thousand blushing apparitions start Into her face ; a thousand innocent shames In angel whiteness bear away those blushes. And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire, To burn the errors that these princes hold Against her maiden truth : Call me a fool ; Trust not my reading, nor my observations, Which with experimental seal doth warrant The tenour of my book ; trust not my age, My reverence, calling, nor divinity, If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here Under spme biting error. Leon. ' Friar, it cannot be: Thou seest, that all the grace that she hath left, Is, that she will not add unto her guilt A sin of perjury ; she not denies it : Why seek'st thou then to cover with excuse That which appears in proper nakedness ? Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accus'd of ? Hero. They know, that do accuse me ; I know If I know more of any man alive, [none : Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant. Let all my sins lack mercy ! my father, Prove you that any man with me convers'd At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight [ture, Maintain'd the change of words with any crea- Ref use me, hate me, torture me to death. Friar. There is some strange misprision* in the princes. Ben. Two of them have the very bent of honour; And if their wisdoms be misled in this, The practice of it lives in John the bastard, Whose spirits toil in frame of villainies. Leon. I know not ; If they speak but truth of her, [honour, These hands shall tear her ; if they wrong her The proudest of them shall well hear of it. Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine, Nor age so eat up my invention, Nor fortune made such havock of my means, Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends, But they shall find, awak'd in such a kind, 1 Misconception. 130 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT IV. Both strength of limb, and policy of mind, Ability in means, and choice of friends,, To quit me of them throughly. Friar. Pause a while, And let my counsel sway you in this case. Your daughter here the princes left for dead ; Let her a while be secretly kept in, And publish it, that she is dead indeed : Maintain a mourning ostentation : And on your family's old monument Hang mournful epitaphs, and do all rites That appertain unto a burial. Leon. What shall become of this ? What will this do? [behalf Friar. Marry, this, well carried, shall on her Change slander to remorse ; that is some good : But not for that, dream I on this strange course, But on this travail look for greater birth. She dying, as it must be so maintain'd, Upon the instant that she was accus'd, Shall be lamented, pitied, arid excus'd, Of every hearer : For it so falls out, That what we have we prize not to the worth, Whiles we enjoy it ; but being lack'd and lost, Why, then we rack* the value ; then we find The virtue, that possession would not show us Whiles it was ours : So will it fare with Claudio : When he shall hear she died upon his words, The idea of her life shall sweetly creep Into his study of imagination ; And every lovely organ of her life Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit, More moving-delicate, and full of life, Into the eye and prospect of his soul, Than when she liv'd indeed :-then shall hemourn, And wish he had not so accus'd her ; No, though he thought his accusation true. Let this be so, and doubt not but success Will fashion the event in better shape Than I can lay it down in likelihood. But if all aim but this be levell'd false, The supposition of the lady's death Will quench the wonder of her infamy : And, if it sort not well, you may conceal her (As best befits her wounded reputation) In some reclusive and religious life, Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries. Ben. Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you : And though, you know, my inwardness 2 and love Is very much unto the prince and Claudio, Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this As secretly, and justly, as your soul Should with your body. Leon. Being that I flow in grief, The smallest twine may lead me. Friar. 'Tis well consented ; presently away ; Tor to strange sores strangely they strain the cure : Come, lady, die to live : this wedding day, Perhaps, is but prolong'd ; have patience, and endure. [Exeunt Friar, Hero, and Leonato. Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while? Beat. Yea, and I will weep a while longer. Bene. I will not desire that. Beat. You have no reason, I do it freely. 1 Over-rate. 2 Iiitimacy. Bene. Surely, I do believe your fair cousin is wrong'd. Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserve of me, that would right her ! Ben. Is there any way to show such friendship? Beat. A very even way, but no such friend. Bene. May a man do it? Beat. It is a man's office, but not yours. Bene. I do love nothing in the world so well as you : Is not that strange ? Beat. As strange as the thing I know not : It were as possible for me to say, I loved nothing so well as you : but believe me not ; and yet I lie not ; I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing: I am sorry for my cousin. Bene. By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me. Beat. Do not swear by it, and eat it. Bene. I will swear by it, that you love me ; and I will make him eat it, that says I love not you. Beat. Will you not eat your word? Bene. With no sauce that can be devised to it : I protest, I love thee. Beat. Why then, heaven forgive me ! Bene. What offence, sweet Beatrice. Beat. You have staid me in a happy hour ; I was about to protest, I loved you. Bene. And do it with all thy heart. Beat. I love you with so much of my heart, that none is left to protest. Bene. Come, bid me do any thing for thee. Beat. Kill Claudio. Bene. Ha ! not for the wide world. Beat. You kill me to deny it ! Farewell. Bene. Tarry, sweet Beatrice. Beat. I am gone, though I am here : There is no love in you : Nay, I pray you, let me go. Bene. Beatrice, Beat. In faith, I will go. Bene. We'll be friends first. Beat. You dare easier be friends with me, than fight with mine enemy. Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy? Beat. Is he not approved in the height a villain, that hath slandered, scorned, dishonoured my kinswoman ? 0, that I were a man ! What ! bear her in hand until they come to take hands ; and then with public accusation, uncovered slander, unmitigated rancour, 0, that I were a man ! I would eat his heart in the market-place. Bene. Hear me, Beatrice ; Beat. Talk with a man out at a window? a proper saying ! Bene. Nay, but, Beatrice ; Beat. Sweet Hero ! she is wronged, she is slandered, she is undone. Bene. Beat Beat. Princes and counties !* Surely a princely testimony, a goodly count-conf ect ; 2 a sweet gal- lant, surely ! 0, that I were a man for his sake ! or that I had any friend would be a man for my sake ! But manhood is melted into courtesies, valour into compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones too : he is now as valiant as Hercules, that only tells a lie, and swears it : I cannot be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving. 1 Noblemen. 2 A sugar nobleman. SC. I. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 131 Bene. Tarry, good Beatrice : By this hand, I love thee. Beat. Use it for my love some other way than swearing by it. Bene. Think you in your soul the Count Claudio hath wrong'd Hero? Beat. Yea, as sure as I have a thought, or a soul. Bene. Enough, I am engaged, I will challenge him ; I will kiss your hand, and so leave you : By this hand, Claudio shall render me a dear account : As you hear of me, so think of me. Go, comfort your cousin : I must say, she is dead ; and so, farewell. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-A PKISON. Enter Dogberry, Verges, and Sexton, in gowns; and the Watch, with Conrade and Borachio. Dogb. Is our whole dissembly appeared? Verg. 0, a stool and a cushion for the sexton ! Sexton. Which be the malefactors? Dogb. Marry, that am I and my partner. Verg, Nay, that's certain ; we have the exhi- bition to examine. Sexton. But which are the offenders that are to be examined? let them come before master constable. Dogb. Yea, many, let them come before me. What is your name, friend ? Bora. Borachio. Dogb. Pray write down Borachio. Yours, sirrah? Con. I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is Conrade. D. Write down master gentleman Conrade. Masters, it is proved already that you are little better than false-knaves ; and it will go near to be thought so shortly. How answer you for your- selves? Con. Marry, sir, we say we are none. Dogb. A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you; but I will go about witli him. Come you hither, sirrah : a word in your ear, sir ; I say to you, it is thought you are false knaves. Bora. Sir, I say to you, we are none. Dogb. Well, stand aside. They are both in a tale. Have you writ down that they are none? Sexton. Master constable, you go not the way to examine : you must call forth the watch that are their accusers. Dogb. Yea, many, that's the eftestf way: Let the watch come forth. Masters, I charge you, in the prince's name, accuse these men. 1 Watch. This man said, sir, that Don John, the prince's brother, was a villain. Dogb. Write down Prince John a villain : Why this is flat perjury to call a prince's brother villain. Bora. Master constable, Dogb. Pray thee, fellow, peace ; I do not like thy look, I promise thee. Sexton. What heard you him say else? 2 Watch. Many, that he had received a thou- sand ducats of Don John, for accusing the lady Hero wrongfully. Dogb. Flat burglary as ever was committed. 1 Quickest. Verg. Yea, by the mass, that it is. Sexton. What else, fellow? 1 Watch. And that Count Claudio did mean upon his words, to disgrace Hero before the whole assembly, and not marry her. Dogb. villain ! thou wilt be condemned into everlasting redemption for this. Sexton. What else? 2 Watch. This is all. Sexton. And this is more, masters, than you can deny. Prince John is this morning secretly stolen away ; Hero was in this manner accused, in this very manner refused, and upon the grief of this suddenly died. Master constable, let these men be bound, and brought to Leonato's; I will go before, and show him their examina- tion. [Exit. Dogb. Come, let them be opinioned. Verg. Let them be in band. Con. Off, coxcomb. Dogb. Where's the sexton ; let him write down the prince's officer, coxcomb. Come, bind them : Thou naughty vaiiet ! Con. Away ! you are an ass, you are an ass. Dogb. Dost thou not suspect my place ? Dost thou not suspect my years? that he were here to write me down an ass but, masters, remem- ber that I am an ass ; though it be not written down, yet forget not that I am an ass. No, thou villain, thou art full of piety, as shall be proved upon thee by good witness. I am a wise fellow ; and, which is more, an officer ; and, which is more, a householder; and, which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh as any is in Messina; and one that knows the law, go to ; and a rich fellow enough, go to ; and a fellow that hath had losses; and one that hath two gowns, and every thing handsome about him : Bring him away. 0, that I had been writ down an ass. [Exeunt. Act Fifth. SCENE I. BEFORE LEONATO'S HOUSE. Enter Lconato and Antonio. Ant. If you go on thus, you will kill yourself ; And 'tis not wisdom, thus to second grief Against yourself. Leon. I pray thee, cease thy counsel, Which falls into mine ears as profitless As water in a sieve ; give not me counsel ; Nor let no comforter delight mine car. But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine. Bring me a father, that so lov'd his child, Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine, And bid him speak of patience ; Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine, And let it answer every strain for strain ; As thus for thus, and such a grief for such, In every lineament, branch, shape, and form : If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard : Cry sorrow, wag ! and hem, when he should groan ; [drunk Patch grief with proverbs, make misfortune With candle-wasters ; bring him yet to me, And I of him will gather patience. 132 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACTV. But there is r.o such man : For, brother, men Can counsel, and speak comfort to that grief Which they themselves not feel ; but tasting it, Their counsel turns to passion, which before Would give preceptial medicine to rage, Fetter strong madness in a silken thread, Charm ache with air, and agony with words : No, no : 'tis all men's office to speak patience To those that wring under the load of sorrow, But no man's virtue, nor sufficiency, To be so moral, when he shall endure The like himself : therefore give me no counsel: My griefs cry louder than advertisement. 1 Ant. Therein do men from children nothing differ. [blood : Leon. I pray thee, peace : I will be flesh and For there was never yet philosopher, That could endure the tooth-ache patiently ; However they have writ the style of gods, And made a pish at chance and sufferance. Ant. Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself ; Make those, that do offend you, suffer too. Leon. There thou speak'st reason: nay, I will do so : My soul doth tell me, Hero is belied ; And that shall Claud io know, so shall the prince, And all of them that thus dishonour her. Enter Don Pedro and Claudio. Ant. Here comes the prince, and Claudio, D. Pedro. Good den, good den. [hastily. Claud. Good day to both of you. Leon. Hear you, my lords, D. Pedro. We have some haste, Leonato. Leon. Some haste, my lord ! well, fare you well, my lord : Are you so hasty now? well, all is one. D. Pedro. Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old man. Ant. If he could right himself with quarrel- Some of us would lie low. [ling, Claud. Who wrongs him ? Leon. Marry, Thou, thou dost wrong me : thou dissembler, thou : Nay never lay thy hand upon thy sword, I fear thee not. Claud. Marry, beshrew my hand, If it should give your age such cause of fear : In faith, my' hand meant nothing to my sword. L. Tush, tush, man, never fleer and jest at me : I speak not like a dotard, nor a fool ; As, under privilege of age, to brag What I have done being young, or what would do Were I not old : Know, Claudio, to thy head, Thou hast so wrong'd mine innocent child and That I am f orc'd to lay my reverence by ; [me, And, with grey hairs, and bruise of many days, Bo challenge thee to trial of a man. I say, thou hast belied mine innocent child ; Thy slander hath gone through and through her heart, And she lies bulled with her ancestors : O ! in a tomb where never scandal slept, Save this of hers fram'd by thy villainy ! Claud. My villainy ! Leon. Thine, Claudio ; thine I say. 1 Admonition. D. Pedro. You say not right, old man. Leon. My lord, my lord, I'll prove it on his body, if he dare ; Despite his nice fence, and his active practice, His May of youth, and bloom of lustyhood. Claud. Away, I will not have to do with you. Leon. Canst thou so daff 1 me? Thou hast kill'd my child ; If thou kill'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man. Ant. He shall kill two of us, and men indeed : But that's no matter ; let him kill one first ; Win me and wear me, let him answer me, Come, follow me, boy ; come, boy, follow me : Sir boy, I'll whip you from your foining 2 fence ; Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will. Leon. Brother, Ant. Content yourself : Heaven knows, I lov'd my niece ; And she is dead, slander'd to death by villains; That dare as well answer a man, indeed, As I dare take a serpent by the tongue ? Boys, apes, braggarts, Jacks, milksops ! Leon. Brother Antony, Ant. Hold you con tent; What, man! I know them, yea, [scruple: And what they weigh, even to the utmost Scrambling, 3 out -facing, fashion -mong'ring boys, [slander, That lie and cog, 4 and flout, 5 deprave and Go antickly, and show outward hideousness, And speak of half a dozen dangerous words, How they might hurt their enemies, if tliny And this is all. [durst, Leon. But, brother Antony, Ant. Come, 'tis no matter ; Do not you meddle, let me deal in this. D. Pedro. Gentlemen both, we will not wake your patience. My heart is sorry for your daughter's death ; But, on my honour, she was charg'd with nothing But what was true, and very full of proof. Leon. My lord, my lord, D. Pedro. I will not hear you. Leon. No ? Brother, away : I will be heard ; Ant. And shall, Or some of us will smart for it. [Exeunt Leonato and Antonio. Enter Benedick. D. P. See, see ; here comes the man we went Claud. Now, signior ! what news ? [to seek. Bene. Good day, my lord. D. Pedro. Welcome, signior : You are almost come to part almost a fray. Claud. We had like to have had our two noses snapped off with two old men without teeth. D. Pedro. Leonato and his brother: What think'st thou? Had we fought, I doubt we should have been too young for them. Bene. In a false quarrel there is no true valour. I came to seek you both. Claud. We have been up and down to seek thee; for we are high-proof melancholy, and would fain have it beaten away : Wilt thou use thy wit? 1 Put me aside. 3 Turbulent. 6 Mock. 2 Thrusting. 4 Cheat. SC. I. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 133 Bene. It is in my scabbard ; shall I draw it? D. Pedro, Dost thou wear thy wit at thy side? Claud. Never any did so, though very many have been beside their wit. I will bid thee draw, as we do the minstrels ; draw, to pleasure us. D. Pedro. As I am an honest man, he looks pale : Art thou sick, or angry ? Claud. What ! courage, man ! What though care killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill care. Bene. Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career, an you charge it against me: I pray you, choose another subject. Claud'. Nay, then give him another staff ; this last was broke cross. D. Pedro. By this light, he changes more and more ; I think, he be angry indeed. Claud. If he be, he knows howto turn his girdle. Bene. Shall I speak a word in your ear? Claud. Heaven bless me from a challenge ! Bene. You are a villain ; I jest not : I will make it good how you dare, with what you dare, and when you dare : Do me right, or I will protest your cowardice. You have killed a sweet lady, and her death shall fall heavy on you : Let me hear from you. Claud. Well, I will meet you, so I may have good cheer. D. Pedro. What, a feast? a feast? Claud. I'faith, I thank him ; he hath bid me to a calf 's head and a capon; the which if I do not carve most curiously, say, my knife's naught. Shall I not find a woodcock too? Bene. Sir, your wit ambles well; it goes easily. D. Pedro. I'll tell thee how Beatrice praised thy wit the other day : I said, thou hadst a fine wit : True, says she, a fine little one : No, said I, a great wit ; Right, says she, a great gross one : Nay, said I, a good wit ; Just, says she, it hurts nobody : Nay, said I, the gentleman is wise; Certain, said she, a wise gentleman: Nay, said I, he hath the tongues ; That I believe, said she, for he swore a tiling to me on Monday night, which he forswore on Tuesday morning; there's a double tongue, there's two tongues. Thus did she, an hour together, trans-shape thy particular virtues ; yet, at last, she concluded with a sigh, thou wast the properest man in Italy. Claud. For the which she wept heartily, and said, she cared not. D. Pedro. Yea, that she did ; but yet for all that, an if she did not hate him deadly, she would love him dearly : the old man's daughter told us all. Claud. All, all. D. Pedro. But when shall we set the savage bull's horns on the sensible Benedick's head? Claud. Yea, and text underneath, Here dwells Benedick the married man ? Bene. Fare you well, boy; you know my mind; I will leave you now to your gossip-like humour: you break j csts as braggarts dotheir blades, which hurt not. My lord, for your many courtesies, I thank you : I must discontinue yonr company : your brother, the bastard, is fled from Messina: you have, amonsyou, killed a sweet and innocent lady: I-'or my lord lack-beard, there, he and I shall meet ; and till tlien, peace be with him. [Exit Benedick. D. Pedro. He is in earnest. Claud. In most profound earnest ; and, I'll warrant you, for the love of Beatrice. D. Pedro. And hath challenged thee. Claud. Most sincerely. D.Pedro. What a pretty thing man is, when he goes iii his doublet and hose, and leaves off his wit ! Enter Dogberry, Verges, and the Watch, with Conrade and Borachio. Claud. He is then a giant to an ape : but then is an ape a doctor to such a man. D. Pedro. But, soft you, let be ; pluck up, my heart, and be sad.i Did he not say, my brother was fled? Dogl). Come, you, sir ; if justice cannot tame you, she shall ne'er weigh more reasons in her balance ; nay, an you be a cursing hypocrite once, you must be looked to. D. Pedro. How now, two of my brother's men bound ! Borachio, one ! Claud. Hearken after their offence, my lord! D. Pedro. Officers, what offence have these men done? Dogl). Marry, sir, they have committed false report ; moreover, they have spoken untruths ; secondarily, they are slanders; sixth and lastly, they have belied a lady; thirdly, they have veri- fied unjust tilings ; and, to conclude, they are lying knaves. D. Pedro. First, I ask thee what they have done ; thirdly, I ask thee what's their offence ; sixth and lastly, why they are committed ; and, to conclude, what you lay to their charge ? Cl. Rightly reasoned, and in his own division; and,by my trotli,thcre's one meaning well suited. D. Pedro. Whom have you offended, masters, that you are thus bound to your answer? this learned constable is too cunning to be under- stood: What's your offence? Bora. Sweet prince, let me go no further to mine answer; do you hear me, and let this count kill me. I have deceived even your very eyes ; what your wisdoms could not discover, these shallow fools have brought to light ; who, in the night, overheard me confessing to this man, how Don John your brother incensed 2 me to slander the lady Hero : how you were brought into the orchard, and saw me court Margaret in Hero's garment; how you disgraced her, when you should marry her : my villainy they have upon record ; which I had rather seal with my death, than repeat over to my shame : the lady is dead upon mine and my master's false accusation; and, briefly, I desire nothing but the reward of a villain. D. Pedro. Runs not this speech like iron through your blood? Cl. I have drunk poison, whiles heutter'd it. D. Pedro. But did my brother set thee on to this? [ticcofit. Bora. Yea, and paid me richly for the prac- D. Pedro. lie is compos'd and f ram VI of trea- And fled lie is upon this villainy. [chcry : 67. Sweet Hero ! now thy image doth appear In the rare semblance that I lored if lir i. Doyb. Come, bring away the plaintiffs; by this 1 Serious. 2 Incited. 134 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT V. time our sexton hath reformed signior Leonato of the matter : And, masters, do not forget to specify, when time and place shall serve, that I am an ass. Verg. Here, here comes master signior Leo- nato, and the sexton too. Re-enter Leonato and Antonio, ivith the Sexton. Leon. Which is the villain ? Let me see his eyes ; That when I note another man like him, I may avoid him : Which of these is he ? Bora. If you would know your wronger, look on me. Leon. Art thou the slave, that with thy breath Mine innocent child ? [hast kill'd Bora. Yea, even I alone. Leon. No, not so/villain ; thoubely'st thyself ; Here stand a pair of honourable men. A third is fled, that had a hand in it : I thank you, princes, for my daughter's death ; Record it with your high and worthy deeds ; 'Twas bravely done, if you bethink you of it. Claud. I know not how to pray your patience, Yet I must speak : Choose your revenge yourself ; Impose me to what penance your invention Can lay upon my sin : yet sinn'd I not, But in mistaking. D. Pedro. By my soul, nor I ; And yet, to satisfy this good old man, I would bend under any heavy weight That he 11 enjoin me to. Leon. I cannot bid you bid my daughter live, That were impossible : but, I pray you both, Possess 1 the people in Messina here How innocent she died : and, if your love Can labour aught in sad invention, Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb, And sing it to her bones ; sing it to-night : To-morrow morning come you to my house ; And since you could not be my son-in-law, Be yet my nephew : my brother hath a daughter, Almost the copy of my child that's dead, And she alone is heir to both of us ; Give her the right you should have given her And so dies my revenge. [cousin, Claud. 0, noble sir, Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me ! I do embrace your offer ; and dispose For henceforth of poor Claudia. L. To-morrow then I will expect your coming ; To-night I take my leave. This naughty man Shall face to face be brought to Margaret, Who, I believe, was pack'd 2 in all this wrong, Hir'd to it by your brother. Bora. No, by my soul, she was not ; Nor knew not what she did, when she spoke to me ; But always hath been just and virtuous, In any thing that I do know by her. Dogb. Moreover, sir (which, indeed, is not under white and black), this plaintiff here, the offender, did call me ass : I beseech you, let it- be remembered in his punishment : And also the watch heard them talk of one Deformed : they say, he wears a key in his ear, and a lock hang- ing by it ; and borrows money ; the which he 1 Acquaint. 2 Confederate. hath used so long, and never paid, that now men grow hard-hearted, and will lend nothing : Pray you, examine him upon that point. Leon. I thank thee for thy care and honest pains. Dogb. Your worship speaks like a most thank- ful and reverend youth. Leon. There's for thy pains. Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and I thank thee. Dogb. I leave an arrant knave with your wor- ship ; which, I beseech your worship, to correct yourself, for the example of others. I wish your worship well : I humbly give you leave to de- part. Come, neighbour. [Exeunt Dogberry, Verges, and WatcJi. L. Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell. Ant. Farewell, my lords ; we look for you to- D. Pedro. We will not fail. [morrow. Claud. To-night I'll mourn with Hero. [Exeunt Don Pedro and Claudio. Leon. Bring you these fellows on ; we'll talk with Margaret, How her acquaintance grew with this lewd* fellow. [Exeunt, SCENE II. LEONATO'S GARDEN. Enter Benedick and Margaret, meeting. Bene. Pray thee, sweet mistress Margaret, de- serve well at my hands*, by helping me to the speech of Beatrice. Marg. Will you then wiite me a sonnet in praise of my beauty ? Bene. In so high a style, Margaret, that no man li ving shall come over it ; for in most comely truth, thou deservest it. Marg. Well, I will call Beatrice to you. [Exit Margaret. Bene. [Singing.] The God of love, That sits above, And knows me, and knows me, How pitiful J deserve, I mean, in singing : but in loving. Leauder the good swimmer, Troilus the first employer of pandars, and a whole book full of these quon- dam carpet-mongers, whose names yet run smoothly in the even road of a blank verse, why, they were never so truly turned over and over as my poor self, in love : Marry, I cannot show it in rhyme ; I have tried ; I can find out no rhyme to lady Itmtbaby, an innocent rhyme ; for scorn, horn, a hard rhyme ; for school, fool, a babbling rhyme ; very ominous endings : No, I was not born under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot woo in festival terms. Enter Beatrice. Sweet Beatrice, wouldstthou come Avhen I called thee? Beat. Yea, signior, and depart when you bid Bene. O, stay but till then ! [me. Beat. Then, is spoken ; fare you well now: and yet, ere I go, let me go with that I came for, which is, with knowing what hath passed be- tween you and Claudio. 1 Wicked. SC. II. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 135 Bene. Only foul words ; and thereupon I will kiss thee. Beat. Foul words are but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome ; therefore I will depart un- kissed. Bene. Thou hast frighted the word out of his right sense, so forcible is thy wit : But I must tell thee plainly, Claudio undergoes mychallenge ; and either I must shortly hear from him, or I will subscribe him a coward. And I pray thee now, tell me, for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me? Beat. For them altogether; which maintained so politick a state of evil, that they will not ad- mit any good part to intermingle with them. But for which of my good parts did you first suffer love for me? Bene. Suffer love; a good epithet! I do suffer love, indeed, for I love thee against my will. Beat. In spite of your heart, I think ; alas ! poor heart ! If you spite it for my sake, I will spite it for yours ; for I will never love that which my friend hates. Bene.Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably. Beat. It appears not in this confession: there's not one wise man among twenty that will praise himself. Bene. An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that lived in the time of good neighbours : if a man do not erect in this age his own tomb ere he dies, he shall live no longer in monument than the bell rings, and the widow Aveeps. Beat. And how long is that, think you? Bene. Question? Why, an hour in clamour, and a quarter in rheum 1 : Therefore it is most expedient for the wise, (if Don Worm his con- science find no impediment to the contrary), to be the trumpet of his own virtues, as I am to myself : So much for praising myself, (who, I myself will bear witness, is praise-worthy), and now tell me, How doth your cousin ? Beat. Very ill. Bene. And how do you? Beat. Very ill too. Bene. Serve God, love me, and mend ; there will I leave you too, for here comes one in haste. Enter Ursula. Urs. Madam, you must come to your uncle ; vender's old coil 2 at home: it is proved, my lady Hero hath been falsely accused, the prince and Claudio mightily abused : and Don John is the author of afl, who is fled and gone : will you come presently ? Beat. Will you go hear this news, signior? Bene. I will live in thy heart, be buried in thy eyes, and will go with thee to thy uncle's. [Exeunt. SCENE III. THE INSIDE OF A CHURCH. Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, and Attendants, with musick and tapers. Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato? Alten. It is, my lord. Cfaud. [Reads from a scroll. ] 1 Tears. 2 Stir. Done to death "by slanderous tongues, Was the, Hero that here lies: Death in guerdon 1 of her wrongs, Gives her fame which never dies: So the life, that died ivith shame, Lives in death with glorious fame. Hang thou there upon the tomb, [Affixing it. Praising her when I am dumb. X"ow,musick, sound, and sing your solemn hymn. SONG. Pardon, goddess of the night, Those that slew thy virgin knight t For the ivhich, with songs of woe. Round about her tomb they go. Midnight, assist our moan ; Help us to sigh and groan, Heavily, heavily: Graves yawn, and yield your dead, Till death be uttered, Heavily, heavily. Claud. Now, unto thy bones good night ! Yearly will I do this rite. D. Pedro. Good morrow, masters, put your torches out : [day, The wolves have prey'd; and, look! the gentle Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about Dapples the drowsy east with spots of grey : Thanks to you all, and leave us ; fare you well. C. Gooclmorrow,masters, each his several way; D. Pedro. Come, let us hence, and put on other weeds ; And then to Leonato's we will go. [speeds, Claud. And, Hymen, now with luckier issue Than this, for whom we rendered up this woe ! [Exeunt. SCENE IV. A ROOM IN LEONATO'S HOUSE. Enter Leonato, Antonio, Benedick, Beatrice, Ursula, Friar, and Hero. Friar. Did I not tell you she was innocent? L. So are the prince and Claudio, who accus'd Upon the error that you heard debated : [her, But Margaret was in some fault for this ; Although against her will, as it appears In the true course of all the question. Ant. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well. Bene. And so am I, being else by faith enf orc'd To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it. L. Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all, Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves ; And, when I send for you, come hither mask'd ; The prince and Claudio prom is 'd by this hour To visit me ; You know your office, brother ; You must be father to your brother's daughter, And give her to young Claudio. [Exeunt Ladies. A . Which I will do with confirm'd countenance. Bene. Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think. Friar. To do what, signior? Bene. To bind me, or undo me, one of them. Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior, Your niece regards me with an eye of favour. Leon. That eye my daughter lent her: Tia most true, 1 Recompense. 136 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT V. Bene. And I do with an eye of love requite her. Leon. The sight whereof, I think, you had from me, [will ? From Claudio and the prince ; But what's your Bene. Your answer, sir, is enigmatical : But, for my will, my will is, your good will May stand Avith ours, this day to be conjoin'd In the estate of honourable marriage ; In which, good friar, I shall desire your help. Leon. My heart is with your liking. Friar. And my help. Here comes the prince, and Claudio. Enter Don Pedro and Claudio, with A ttendants. D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly. Leon. Good morrow, prince : good morrow, Claudio : We here attend you ; are you yet determin'd To-day to marry with my brother's daughter? Claud. I'll hold niy mind, were she an Ethiope. Leon. Call her forth, brother, here 's the f liar ready. [Exit Antonio. D. Pedro. Good morrow, Benedick: Why, what 's the matter, That you have such a February face, So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness. He-enter Antonio, with the Ladies masked. Claud. For this I owe you : here come other reckonings. Which is the lady I must seize upon ? Ant. This same is she, and I do give you her. Claud. Why, then, she's mine : Sweet, let me see your face. [her hand, Leon. No, that you shall not, till you take Before this friar, and swear to marry her. Cl. Give me your hand before this holy friar I am your husband, if you like of me. Hero. And when I lived, I was your other wife : [ Unmasking, And when you loved, you were my other hus Claud. Another Hero? [band. Hero. Nothing certainer : One Hero died defam'd ; but I do live, And, surely as I live, I am a maid. D. Pedro. The former Hero! Hero that is dead Leon. She died, my lord, but whiles hei slander lived. Friar. All this amazement can I qualify ; When, after that the holy rites are ended, I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death : Mean time, let wonder seem familiar, And to the chapel let us presently. Bene. Soft and fair, friar. Which is Beatrice Beat. I answer to that name ; [Unmasking What is your will? Bene. Do not you love me ? Beat. No, no more than reason. Bene. Why, then your uncle, and the prince and Claudio, Have been deceived ; for they swore you did. Beat. Do you not love me ? Bene. No, no more than reason. Beat. Why, then my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula, Are much deceiv'd ; for they did swear you did. Bene. They swore that you were almost sick for mo. Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me. Bene. 'Tis no such matter : Then you do not love me? Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense. Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure' you love the gentleman. Cl. And 111 be sworn upon % that he loves her; ?or here 's a paper, written in his hand, A halting sonnet of his own pure brain, Fashion'd to Beatrice. Hero. And here's another, kYrit in my cousin's hand, stolen from her pocket, Containing her affection unto Benedick. Bene. A miracle? here's our own hands against our hearts ! Come, I will have thee ; but, by this light, I take thee for pity. Beat. I would not deny you ; but, by this good day, I yield upon great persuasion; and, partly to save your life ; for I was told you were in a consumption. Bene. Peace, I will stop your mouth. [Kissing her. D. Pedro. How dost thou, Benedick the mar- ried man ? Bene. I'll tell thee what, prince ; a college of wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humour: Dost thou think, I care for a satire, or an epi gram? No: If a man will be beaten with brains, he shall wear nothing handsome about him :In brief , since I do propose to marry, I will think nothing to any purpose that the world can say against it ; and therefore never flout at me for what I have said against it; for man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion. For thy part, Claudio, I did think to have beaten thee ; but in that thou art like to be my kinsman, live unbruised, and love niy cousin. Claud. I had well hoped, thou would'st have denied Beatrice,that I might have cudgelled thee out of thy single life, to make thee a double- dealer ; which , out of question, thou wilt be, if m y cousin do not look exceeding narrowly to thee. Bene. Come, come, we are friends : let's have a dance, ere we are married, that we might lighten our own hearts, and our wives' heels. Leon. We '11 have dancing afterwards. B. First, o' my word ; therefore, play, nmsick. Prince, thou art sad ; get thee a wife, get thee a wife : there is no staff more reverend than one tipped with horn. Enter a Messenger. Mes. My lord, your brother John is ta 'en in flight, And brought with armed men back to Messina. Bene. Think not on him till to-morrow ; I'll devise thee brave punishments for him. Strike up, pipers. [Dance. 1- THESETJS, Luke of Athens. EGEUS, Father to Herinia. PHILOSTKATE, Master of the Revels to Theseus. QUINCE, the Carpenter. SNUG, 7ie Joiner. BOTTOM, the Weaver. FLUTE, the Bellows-mender. SNOUT, the Tinker. STARVELING, the Tailor. HIPPOLYTA, Queen of the Amazons, betrothed to Theseus. HERMIA, Daughter to Egeus, in love with Lysander. HELENA, in love with Demetrius. OBERON, King of the Fairies. TITANIA, Queen of the Fairies. PUCK, or PvOBiN-GOODFELLOW, a Fairy. PEAS-BLOSSOM, ^ Mo 3 ' \-Fairies. MUSTARD SEED, ) Pyramus, \ Thisbe. Wall, Moonshine, Lion, Characters in th e Interlude performed by the Clowns. Other Fairies attending their King and Queen, Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyta. SCENE. Athens; and a Wood not far from it. Act First. SCENE I. ATHENS. A ROOM IN THE PALACE OF THESEUS. Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, and Attendants. Thes. Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour Draws on apace : four happy days bring in Another moon: but, oh, me thinks, how slow This old moon wanes ! she lingers my desires, Like to a step-dame, or a dowager, Long withering out a young man's revenue. Hip. Four days will quickly steep themselves in nights ; Four nights will quickly dream away the time; And then the moon, like to a silver bow New bent in heaven, shall behold the night Of our solemnities. The. Go, Philostrate, Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments ; Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth ; Turn melancholy forth to funerals, The pale companion is not for our pomp. [Exit Phi/ostratc. Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword, And won thy love, doing thee injuries ; But I will wed thee in another key, With pomp, with triumph, and with revelling. Enter Egeus, Hermia, Lysander, and Demetrius. Eye. Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke ! The. Thanks, good Egeus : What's the news with thee? Er/e. Full of vexation come I, with complaint Against my child, my daughter Herinia. Stand forth, Demetrius; My noble lord, This man hath my consent to many her : Stand forth, Lysander; and, my gnicloiioduke, This hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child : Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes, And interchang'd love-tokens with my child : Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung, With feigning voice, verses of feigning love ; And stol'n the impression of her fantasy [ceits, With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gauds, 1 con- Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweet-meats; mes- sengers Of strong prevailment in unharden'd youth : With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's heart ; Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me, To stubborn harshness :-And, my gracious duke, Be it so she will not here before your grace Consent to marry with Demetrius, I beg the ancient privilege of Athens ; As she is mine, I may dispose of her : Which shall be, either to this gentleman, Or to her death ; according to our law, Immediately provided in that case. [maid : T. What say you, Hermia? be advis'd, fail- To you your father should be as a god ; One that compos'd your beauties ; yea, and one To whom you are but as a form in wax, By him imprinted, and within his power To leave the figure, or disfigure it. Demetrius is a worthy gentleman. Her. So is Lysander. The. In himself he is : But, in this kind, wanting your father's voice, The other must be held the worthier. [eyes. //. I would, my father look'd but with my T. llather your eyes must with his judgment II. I do entreat your grace to pardon me. [look. I know not by what power I am m;idc bold ; Nor how it may concern my inode,4y, In such a presence here, to plead uiy thoughts: 1 Trinkets. 133 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT I. But I beseech your grace that I may know The worst that may befal me in this case, If I refuse to wed Demetrius. The. Either to die the death, or to abjure For ever the society of men. Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires, Know of your youth, examine well your blood, Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice, You can endure the livery of a nun ; For aye to be in shady cloister mew'cl, To live a barren sister all your life, Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon. Thrice blessed they, that master so their blood, To undergo such maiden pilgrimage : But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd, Than that, which, withering on the virgin thorn, Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness. Her. So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord, Ere I will yield my virgin patent up Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke My soul consents not to give sovereignty. The. Take time to pause ; and, by the next new moon, (The sealing-day betwixt my love and me, For everlasting' bond of fellowship), Upon that day either prepare to die, For disobedience to your father's will ; Or else, to wed Demetrius, as he would : Or on Diana's altar to protest, For aye, austerity and single life. Dem. Relent, sweet Hermia ;-And, Lysander, yield Thy crazed title to my certain right. Lys. You have her father's love, Demetrius : Let me have Hermia's : do you marry him. E. Scornful Lysander ! true, he hath my love; And what is mine my love shall render him : And she is mine ; and all my right of her I do estate unto Demetrius. Lys. I am, my lord, as well deriv'd as he, As well possess'd ; my love is more than his ; My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd, If not with vantage, as Demetrius' And, which is more than all these boasts can be, I am belov'd of beauteous Hermia : Why should not I then prosecute my right? Demetrius, I'll avouch it to his head, Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena, And won her soul ; and she, sweet lady, dotes, Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry, Upon this spotted 1 and inconstant man. The. I must confess, that I have heard so much, And with Demetrius thought to have spoke But, being over-full of self-affairs, [thereof ; My mind did lose it. But, Demetrius, come ; And come, Egeus ; you shall go with me ; I have some private schooling for you both. For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself To fit your fancies to your father's will ; Or else the law of Athens yields you up (Which by no means we may extenuate,) To death, or to a vow of single life. Come, my Hippolyta; What cheer, my love? Demetrius, and Egeus, go along : I must employ you in some business Against our nuptial ; and confer with you Of something nearly that concerns yourselves. 1 Wicked. Ege. With duty, and desire, we follow you. [Exeunt Thes., Hip., Ege., Dem., and train, Lys. How now, my love ? Why is your cheek so pale? How chance the roses there do fade so fast? H. Belike, l for want of rain ; which I could well Beteem 2 them from the tempest of mine eyes. Lys. Ah me ! for aught that ever I could read, Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth : But, either it was different in blood ; Or else mis-graffed, in respect of years ; Or else it stood upon the choice of friends : Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it ; Making it momentany 3 as a sound, Swift as a shadow, short as any dream ; Brief as the lightning in the collied 4 night, That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, And ere a man hath power to say, Behold ! The jaws of darkness do devour it up : So quick bright things come to confusion. Her. If then true lovers have been ever cross'd, It stands as an edict in destiny : Then let us teach our trial patience, Because it is a customary cross ; [sighs, As due to love, as thoughts, and dreams, and Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's 5 followers. Lys. A good persuasion ; therefore, hear me, I have a widow aunt, a dowager [Hermia. Of great revenue, and she hath no child : From Athens is her house remote seven leagues ; And she respects me as her only son. There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee ; And to that place the sharp Athenian law Cannot pursue us : If thou lov'st me then, Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night ; And in the wood, a league without the town, Where I did meet thee once with Helena, To do observance to a morn of May, There will I stay for thee. Her. My good Lysander ! I swear to thee by Cupid's strongest bow ; By his best arrow with the golden head ; By the simplicity of Venus' doves ; By that which knitteth sou] s, and prospers loves ; And bythatfirewhichburn'dtheCarthage queen, When the false Trojan under sail was seen ; By all the vows that ever men have broke, In number more than ever women spoke ; In that same place thou hast appointed me, To-morrow truly will I meet with thee. Lys. Keep promise, love : Look, here comes Helena. Enter Helena. Her. God speed fair Helena ! Whither away? Hel. Call you me fair? that fair again unsay. Demetrius loves you fair : O happy fair ! Your eyes are lode-stars ; 6 and your tongue's sweet air More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear, When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds ap- Sickuessis catching ; 0, were favour 7 so ! [pear. Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go ; My,ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye, 1 Perhaps. 2 Bestow. 8 Momentary. 4 Elack. 5 Love's. 6 Pole st SC. I. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 139 My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody. Were the world mine, Demetrius being* bated, The rest I'll give to be to you translated. O, teach me how you look ; and with what art You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart. Her. I frown, upon him, yet he loves me still. Hel. 0, that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill ! Her. I give him curses, yet he gives me love. Hel. O that my prayers could such affection move. Her. The more I hate, the more he follows me. Hel. The more I love, the more he hateth me. Her. His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine. Hel. None but 3 r our beauty; 'Would that fault were mine ! [face, Her. Take comfort ; he no more shall see my Lysander and myself will fly this place, Before the time I did Lysander see, Seem'd Athens as a paradise to me ; then, what graces in my love do dwell, That he hath turned a heaven into hell ! Lys. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold : To-morrow night when Phoebe doth behold Her silver visage in the wat'ry glass, Decking with liquid pearl the blacled grass, (A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal), Through Athens' gates have we devis'd to steal. Her. And in the wood, where often you and I Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie, Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet ; There my Lysander and myself shall meet : And thence, from Athens, turn away our eyes, To seek new friends and stranger companies. Farewell, sweet play-fellow ; pray thou for us, And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius ! Keep word, Lysander : we must starve our sight From lovers' food, till morrow deep midnight. [Exit Herm. Lys. I will, my Hermia. Helena, adieu ; As you on him, Demetrius dote on you ! [Exit Lys. Hel. How happy some, o'er other some can be ! Through Athens I am thought as fair as she. But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so; He will not know what all but he do know. And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes, So I, admiring of his qualities. Things base and vile, holding no quantity, Love can transpose to form and dignity. Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind ; And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind. Nor hath love's mind of any judgment taste ; Wings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste : And therefore is love said to be a child, Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd. As waggish boys in game 1 themselves forswear, So the boy love is perjur'd everywhere : For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne, 2 He hail'd down oaths, that he was only mine ; And when this hail some heat from Herrnia felt, So,he dissolved, and showers of oaths did melt. 1 will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight : Then to the wood will he to-morrow night, Pursue her ; and for this intelligence If I have thanks, it is a dear expence : 1 .Sport. 2 Eyes. But herein mean I to enrich my pain, To have his sight thither, and back again. [Exit. SCENE II. THE SAME. A ROOM IN A COTTAGE. Enter Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, Quince, and Starveling. Quin. Is all our company here ? Bot. You were best to call them generally, man by man, according to the scrip. 1 Quin. Here is the scroll of every man's name, which is thought fit, through all Athens, to play in our interlude before the duke and duchess, on his wedding-day at night. Hot. First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats on ; then read the names of the actors, and so grow to a point. Quin. Marry, our play is The most lament- able comedy, and most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisby. Bot. A very good piece of work, I assure you, and a merry. Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your actors by the scroll : Masters, spread yourselves. Quin. Answer, as I call you. Nick Bottom, the weaver. Bot. Ready : Name what part I am for, and proceed. Quin. You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus. Bot. What is Pyramus? a lover, or a tyrant? Quin. A lover, that kills himself most gal- lantly for love. Bot. That will ask some tears in the true per- forming of it : If I do it, let the audience look to their eyes ; I will move storms, I will condole in some measure. To the rest : Yet my chief hu- mour is for a tyrant : I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a cat in, to make all split. ' The raging rocks, 'With shivering shocks, ' Shall break the locks " Of prison gates : ' And Phibbus' car ' Shall shine from far, 'And make and mar "The foolish fates." This "was lofty! Now name the rest of the players This is Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein ; a lover is more condoling. Quin. Francis Flute, the bellows-mender. Flu. Here, Peter Quince. Quin. You must take Thisby on you. Flu. What is Thisby? a wandering knight? Quin. It is the lady that Pyramus must love. Flu. Nay, faith, let me not play a woman ; I have a beard coming. Quin. That's all one ; you shall play it in a mask, and you may speak as small as you will. Bot. An I may hide my face, let me play Thisby too : I'll speak in a monstrous little voice ; Thisne, Thisne, Ah, Pyramus, my lover dear; thy Thisby dear: and lady dear! Quin. No, no : you must play Pyramus, and Flute, you Thisbv. 1 Written list. 140 SHAKESPEABE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT II. Bot. Well, proceed. Quin. Robin Starveling, the tailor. Start). Here, Peter Quince. Quin. Robin Starveling, you must play Tliisby's mother. Tom Snout, the tinker. Snout. Here, Peter Quince. Quin. You, Pyramus's father; myself Tliisby's father; Snug, the joiner, you, the lion's part: and, I hope, here is a play fitted. Snug. Have you the lion's part written? pray you, if it be, give it me, for I am slow of study. Quin. You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring. Bot. Let me play the lion too : I will roar, that I will do any man's heart good to hear me : I will roar, that I will make the duke say, Let him roar again, Let him roar again. Quin. An you should do it too terribly, you would fright the duchess and the ladies, that they would shriek: and that were enough to hang us all. All. That would hang us every mother's son. Bot. I grant you, friends, if that you should fright the ladies out of their wits, they would have no more discretion but to hang us : but I will aggravate my voice so, that I will roar you as gently as any sucking dove ; I will roar you an 1 'twere any nightingale. Quin. You can play no part but Pyrarnus ; for Pyramus is a sweet-faced man ; a proper IIK.UI, as one shall see in a summer's day : a most lovely, gentleman-like man ; therefore you must needs play Pyramus. Bot. Well, I will undertake it. What beard were I best to play it in ? Quin. Why, what you will. Bot. I will discharge it in either your straw- coloured beard, your orange-tawny beard, your purple-in-grain beard, or your perfect yellow. Quin. Masters, here are your parts : and I am to entreat you, request you, and desire you, to con them by to-morrow night ; and meet me in the palace wood, a mile without the town, by moon-light ; there will we rehearse : for if we ] ncet in the city, we shall be dog'd with com- pany, and our devices known. In the mean time, I Avill draw a bill of properties 2 such as our play wants. I pray you, fail me not. Lot. We will meet; and there we may rehearse courageously. Take pains ; be perfect ; adieu. Quin. At the duke's oak we meet. Bot. Enough: Hold or cut bowstrings. 3 (Exeunt. Act Second. SCENE I. A WOOD NEAR ATHENS. y liter a Fairy atone door, and Puck at another. Pud;., How now, spirit ! whither wander you ? l\dni. Over hill, over dale, Thorough bush, thorough briar, Over park, over pale, Thorough flood, thorough fire, 1 do wander everywhere, Swifter than the moones sphere ; lAsif. c Go at all events. 2 Requirements. And 1 serve the fairy queen, To dew her orbs 1 upon the green : The cowslips tall her pensioners be ; In their gold coats spots you see ; Those be rubies, fairy favours, In those freckles live their savours : I must go seek some dew-drops here, And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. Farewell, thou lob 2 of spirits, I'll be gone ; Our queen and all her elves come here anon. 1 '. The king doth keep his revels here to-night ; Take heed, the queen come not within his sight, For Oberon is passing fell 3 and wrath, Because that she, as her attendant, hath A lovely boy, stol'ii from an Indian king ; She never had so sweet a changeling : And jealous Oberon would have the child Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild: But she perforce, withholds the loved boy, [joy : Crowns him with flowers, and makes him all her And now they never meet in grove, or green, By fountain clear, or spangled star-light sheen, * But they do square; 5 that all their elves, for fear, Creep into acorn cups, and hide them there. Fai. Either I mistake your shape and making quite, Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite, Call'd Robin Gooclfellow : are you not he, That fright the maidens of the villagery ; Skim milk; and sometimes labour in the quern, 6 And bootless make the breathless housewife churn ; And sometimes make the drink to bear no barm ; 7 Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm ? Those that Hobgoblin call j r ou, and sweet Puck, You do their work, and they shall have good Are not you he? [luck : Puck. Thou speak'st aright ; I am that merry wanderer of the night. I jest to Oberon, and make him smile, When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, Neighing in likeness of a silly foal : And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl, In very likeness of a roasted crab, 8 And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob, And on her wither'd dew-lap pour the ale. The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale, Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me ; Then slip I from her, and down topples she, And tailor cries, and falls into a cough ; [loffe ; 9 And then the whole quire hold their hips, and And waxen in their mirth, and neeze 10 and swear A merrier hour was never wasted there. But room, Fairy, here comes Oberon. Fairy. And here my mistress: 'Would that he were gone? SCENE II. Enter Oberon, at one door, with his train t and Titania, at another, with hers. Obc. Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania. r&. What, jealous Oberon? Fairy, skip; heii'ce; I have forsworn his bed and company. 1 Circles. 5 Quarrel. 8 Wild apple. 2 A term of contempt, r, Haudmill. J 3 Fierce. 7 Sfeast 10 Sn< 4 Splendour, SC. II. Ml DS U MMEPt-N 1 GHT'S DEE AM. 141 Obe. Tarry, r.isli wanton : Am not I thy lord? Tita. Then I must be thy lady: But I know When thou hast stol'n away from fairy land, And in the shape of Corin sat all day, Playing on pipes of corn, and versing love To amorous Phillida. Why art thou here, Come from the farthest steep of India ? But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon, Your buskin'd mistress, and your warrior love, To Theseus must be wedded ; and you come To give their bed joy and prosperity. Obe. How canst thou thus, for shame, Titania, Glance at my credit with Hippolyta, Knowing I know thy love to Theseus ? Didst thou not lead him through the glimmer- ing night, And make him with fair JEgle break his faith, With Ariadne, and Antiopa? Tita. These are the forgeries of jealousy : And never since the middle summer's spring, Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead, By paved fountain, or by rushy brook, Or on the beached margent of the sea, To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, Butwith thybrawls thou hast tjisturb'd our sport. Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain, As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea Contagious fogs ; which falling in the land, Have every pelting 1 river made so proud, That they have overborne their continents : 2 The ox hath therefore stretch 'd his yoke in vain, The ploughman lost his sweat ; and the green corn Hath rotted ere his youth attain'd a beard : The fold stands empty in the drowned field, And crows are fatted with the murrain flock ; The nine men's morris 3 is fill'd up with mud ; And the quaint mazes in the wanton green, For lack of tread, are undistinguishable : The human mortals want their winter here ; No night is now with hymn or carol blest :- Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, Pale in her anger, washes all the air, That rheumatick diseases do abound ; And thorough this distempcrature, we see The seasons alter : hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose ; And on old Hyem's chin, and icy crown, An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds Is, as in mockery, set : The spring, the summer, The childing 4 autumn, angry winter, change Their wonted liveries ; and the 'mazed world, By their increase, now knows not which is which : And this same progeny of evils comes From our debate, from our dissension ; We are their parents and original. Obe. Do you amend it then ; it lies in you : Why should Titania cross her Oberon ? I do but beg a little changeling boy, To be my henchman. 5 Tita. Set your heart at rest, The fairy land buys not the child of me. His mother was a vot'ress of my order : And, in the spiced Indian air, by night, Full often hath she gossip'd by my side ; And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands, 1 Petty. 4 Producing flowers unusually. 2 Bank s. 5 Page. 3 A boy's game with nine holes in the ground. Marking the embarked traders on the flood ; But she, being mortal, of that boy did die ; And, for her sake, I do rear up her boy ; And, for her sake, I will not part with' him. 0. How long within this wood intend you stay ? T. Perchance, till after Theseus' wedding-day. If 3'ou will patiently dance in our round, And see our moonlight revels, go with us ; If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts. Obe. Give me that boy, and I will go withthee. Tita. Not for thy kingdom. Fairies, away : We shall chide downright, if I longer stay. [Exeunt Titania and her train. Obe. Well, go thy way : thou shalt not from this grove, Till I torment thee for this injury. My gentle Puck, come hither: Thouremember'st Since once I sat upon a promontory, And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's back, Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, That the rude sea grew civil at her song ; And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, To hear the sea-maid's musick. Puck. I remember. 0. That very time I saw, but thou could'st not, Flying between the cold moon and the earth, Cupid all arm'd : A certain aim he took At a fair vestal, throned by the west ; And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow, As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts : But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft Quench'd in the chaste beams of the wat'ry moon; And the imperial vot'ress passed on, In maiden meditation, fancy-free. Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell : It fell upon a little western flower, Before, milk-white; now purple with love's wound And maidens call it love-in-idleness. Fetch me that flower ; theherb I show'd thee once: The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid, Will make or man or woman madly dote Upon the next live creature that it sees. Fetch me this herb ; and be thou here again, Ere the Leviathan can swim a league. Puck. I'll put a girdle round about the earth In forty minutes. (Exit Puck. Obe. Having once this juice, I '11 watch Titania when she is asleep, And drop the liquor of it in her eyes : The next thing then she waking looks upon, (Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull, On meddling monkey, or on busy ape,) She shall pursue it with the soul of love. And ere I take this charm off from her sight, (As I can take it with another herb,) I '11 make her render up her page to me. But who comes here? I am invisible ; And I will overhear their conference. Enter Demetrius, Helena following Mm. Dem. I love thee not, therefore pursue me not. Where is Lysander, and fair Hermia? The one I'll slay, the other slayeth me. Thou told'st me they were stolen into this wood, And here am I, and wood 1 within this wood,. 1 Mad. 142 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT II. Because I cannot meet with Hermia. Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more. H. You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant ; But yet you draw not iron, for my heart Is true as steel : Leave you your power to draw, And I shall have no power to follow you. Dem. Do I entice you ? Do I speak you fair? Or rather, do I not in plainest truth Tell you I do not, nor I cannot love you? H cl. And even for that do I love you the more. I am your spaniel ; and, Demetrius, The more you beat me, I will fawn on you ; Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me, Neglect me, lose me : only give me leave, Unworthy as I am, to follow you. What worser place can I beg in your love, (And yet a place of high respect with me,) Than to be used as you use your dog ? Dem. Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit ; For I am sick, when I do look on thee. Hel. And I am sick, when I look not on you. D. You do impeach 1 your modesty too much, To leave the city, and commit yourself Into the hands of one that loves you not. Hel. Your virtue is my privilege for that. It is not night, when I do see your face, Therefore I think I am not in the night : Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company ; For you, in my respect, are all the world : Then how can it be said, I am alone, When all the world is here to look on me ? Dem. I'll run from thee, and hide me in the brakes, And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts. H. The wildest hath not such a heart as you. Run when you will, the story shall be chang'd ; Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase ; The dove pursues the griffin ; the mild hind Makes speed to catch the tiger : Bootless speed ! When cowardice pursues, and valour flies. Dem. I will not stay thy questions : let me go : Or, if thou follow me, do not believe But I shall do thee mischief in the wood. Hel. Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field, You do me mischief. Fye, Demetrius ! Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex ! We cannot fight for love, as men may do ; We should be woo'd, and were not made to woo. I'll follow thee, and make a heaven of hell, To die upon the hand I love so well. [Exeunt Dem. and Hel. Obe. Fare thee well, nymph : ere he do leave this grove, Thou shalt fly him, and he shall seek thy love. Re-enter Puck. Hast thou the flower there ? Welcome wanderer. Puck. Ay, there it is. Obe. I pray thee, give it me. I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows, Where ox-lips 2 and the nodding violet grows : Quite over-canopied with lush 3 woodbine, With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine : There sleeps Titania, some time of the night, Lull'd in these flowers with dances ard delight ; 1 Call in question. 2 The cowslip. 3 Rich colour. And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin, Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in : And with the juice of this I'll streak her eyes, And make her full of hateful fantasies. Take thou some of it, and seek through this A sweet Athenian lady is in love [grove : With a disdainful youth : anoint his eyes ; But do it, when the next thing he espies May be the lady : Thou shalt know the man By the Athenian garments he hath on. Effect it with some care ; that he may prove More fond on her, than she upon her love ; And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow. Puck. Fear not, my lord, your servant shall do so. [Exeunt. SCENE III. ANOTHER PART OF THE WOOD. Enter Titania, with her train. Tita. Come, now a roundel, 1 and a fairy song ; Then, for the third part of a minute, hence ; Some, to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds ; Some, war with rear-mice 2 for their leathern wings, [back To make my small elves coats ; and some, keep The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots, and wonders At our quaint spirits 3 : Sing me now asleep ; Then to your offices, and let me rest. SONG. 1 FAT. You spotted snakes, with double tongue, Thorny hedge-hogs, be not seen ; Newts,* and blind-ivorms, 5 do no wrong; Come not near our fairy queen: Chorus. Philomel, with melody, Sing in our sweet lullaby ; Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla,lulla, lullaby; Never harm, nor spell, nor charm > Come our lovely lady nigh; So, good night, with lullaby. II. 2 FAI. Weaving spiders, come not here; Hence, you long-legged spinners, Beetles black, approach not near; [hence; Worm, nor snail, do no offence. Chorus. Philomel, with melody, &c. 1 Fai. Hence, away ; now all is well : One, aloof, stand sentinel. [Exeunt Fairies. Titania sleeps. Enter Oberon. Obe. What thou seest, when thou dost wake, | [Squeezes the flower on Titania' 's eye-lids. Do it for thy true love take ; Love, and languish for his sake : Be it ounce, 6 or cat, or bear, Pard, or boar with bristled hair, In thy eye that shall appear When thou wak'st, it is thy dear ; Wake, when some vile thing is near. [Exit, Enter Lysander and Hermia. Lys. Fair love, you faint with wandering in the wood ; And to speak troth, I have forgot our way ; 1 A dance. 3 Sports. 5 Of the genus Anguis. 2 Bats. 4 Lizards. C Of the lynx kind. SC. III. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 143 We'll rest us, Herinia, if you think it good, And tarry for the comfort of the day. Her. Be it so, Lysander : find you out a bed, For I upon this bank will rest my head. Such separation, as, may well be said, Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid : So far be distant ; and good night, sweet friend : Thy love ne'er alter, till thy sweet life end ! Lys. Amen, amen, to that fair prayer, say I ; And then end life, when I end loyalty ! Here is my bed : sleep give thee all his rest ! Her. With half that wish the wisher's eyes be pressed ! [They sleep. Enter Puck. Puck. Through the forest have I gone, But Athenian found I none, On whose eyes I might approve This flower's force in stirring love. Night and siTence ! who is here? Weeds of Athens he doth wear : This is he my master said, Despis'd the Athenian maid ; And here the maiden, sleeping sound, On the dank 1 and dirty ground. Pretty soul ! she durst not lie Near this lack-love, kill-courtesy. Churl, upon thy eyes I throw All the power this charm doth owe 2 : When thou wak'st let love forbid Sleep his seat on thy eyelid. So awake, when I am gone ; For I must now to Oberon. [Exit. Enter Demetrius and Helena, running. Hd. Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Deme- trius, [me thus. Dem. I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt H. O, wilt thou darkling 3 leave rne ? do not so. Dem. Stay, on thy peril ; I alone will go. [Exit Demetrius. Hel. O, I am out of breath in this fond chase! The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace. Happy is Hermia, wheresoe'er she lies ; For she hath blessed and attractive eyes. How came her eyes so bright ? Not with salt tears : If so, my eyes are oftener wash'd than hers. No, no, I am us ugly as a bear ; For beasts that meet me, run away for fear : Therefore, no marvel, though Demetrius Do, as a monster, fly my presence thus : What wicked and dissembling glass of mine Made me compare with Herinia's sphery eyne 4 ?- But who is here? Lysander ! on the ground ! Dead? or asleep? I see no blood, no wound : Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake. Lys. And run through fire I will, for thy sweet sake. [Waking . Transparent Helena ! Nature here shows art That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart. Where is Demetrius ? O, how fit a word Is that vile name to perish on my sword ! Hel. Do not say so, Lysander : say not so : What though he love your Hermia? 0, what though ? Yet Hermia still loves you : then be content. 1 Moist. 2 Possess. 3 In the dark. 4 Eyes. Lys. Content with Hermia? No: I do repent The tedious minutes I with her have spent. STot Hermia, but Helena I love : Who will not change a raven for a dove? The will of man is by his reason sway'd ; And reason says you are the worthier maid. Things growing are not ripe until their season : So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason ; And touching now the point of human skill, Reason becomes the marshal to my will, And leads me to your eyes, where I o'eriook Love's stories written in love's richest book. Hel. Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born? When, at your hands, did I deserve this scorn ? [s't not enough, is't not enough, young man, That I did never, no, nor never can, Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye, But you must flout my insufficiency ? Grood troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, you fn such disdainful manner me to woo. But fare you well : perforce I must confess, [ thought you lord of more true gentleness. 0, that a lady, of one man refus'd, Should, of another, therefore be abus'd ! [Exit. Lys. She sees not Hermia : Hermia, sleep thou there ; And never may'st thou come Lysander near ! For, as a surfeit of the sweetest things The deepest loathing to the stomach brings, Or, as the heresies, that men do leave. Are hated most of those they did deceive ; So thou, my surfeit, and my heresy, Of all be hated ; but the most of me ! And all my powers, address your love and might, To honour Helen, and to be her knight ! [Exit. Her. [Starting.] Help me, Lysander, help me.! do thy best, To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast ! Ah me, for pity ! what a dream was here ? Lysander, look, how I do quake with fear ! Methought a serpent eat my heart away, And you sat smiling at his cruel prey : Lysander! what, removed? Lysander! lord! What, out of hearing? gone? no sound, no word? Alack, where are you ? speak, an if you hear ; Speak, of all loves 1 ; I swoon almost with fear. No? then I well perceive you are not nigh : Either death, or you, I'll find immediately. [Exit. Act Third, SCENE I. THE SAME. THE QUEEN OP FAIRIES LYING ASLEEP. Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, and Starveling. Bot. Are we all met? Quin. Pat, pat; and here's a marvellous con- venient place for our rehearsal : This green plot shall be our stage, this hawthorn brake our trying-house ; and we will do it in action, as we will do it before the duke. 1 By all that is dear. 144 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT lit. Bot. Potor Q.uli < Quin.. What say'st tlion, bully Bottom? Bot. There are tilings in this comedy of Py- ramus and Thisby, that will never please. First, Pyranms must draw a sword to kill himself ; which the ladies cannot abide. How answer you that ? Snout. By'rlakin, 1 a parlous fear. Star. I believe, we must leave the killing out, when all is done. Bot. Not a whit ; I have a device to make all well. Write me a prologue : and let the pro- logue seem to say, we will do no harm with our swords ; and that Pyramus is not killed indeed: and for the more better assurance, tell them, that I Pyramus am not Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver : This will put them out of fear. Quin. Well, we will have such a prologue ; and it shall be written in eight and six. Bot. No, make it two more ; let it be written in eight and eight. Snout. Will not the ladies beafeard of the lion? Star. I fear it, I promise you. Bot. Masters, you ought to consider with yourselves : to bring in a lion among ladies, is a most dreadful thing ; for there is not a more fearful wildfowl than your lion, living ; and we ought to look to it. Sno\it. Therefore, another prologue must tell, he is not a lion. Bot. Nay, you must name his name, and half his face must be seen through the lion's neck ; and he himself must speak through, saying thus, or to the same defect, Ladies, or fair ladies, I would wish you, or, I would request you, or, I would entreat you, not to fear, not to tremble : my life for yours. If you think I come hither as a lion, it were pity of my life : No, I am no such thing ; I am a man as other men are : and there, indeed, let him name his name ; and tell them plainly, he is Snug the joiner. Quin. Well, it shall be so. But there is two hard things ; that is, to bring the moon-light into a chamber : for you know, Pyramus and Thisby meet by moon-light. Snug. Doth the rnooii shine, that night we play our play? Bot. A calendar, a calendar! look in the alma- nack; find out moon-shine, find out moon-shine. Quin. Yes, it doth shine that night. Bot. Why, then you may leave a casement of the great chamber window, where we play, open and the moon may shine in at the casement. Quin. Ay ; or else one must come in with a bush of thorns and a lanthorn, and say, he comes to disfigure, or to present, the person of moon shine. Then, there is another thing : we must have a wall in the great chamber ; for Pyramus and Thisby, says the story, did talk through the chinks' of a wall. Snug. You never can bring in a wall. What say you, Bottom ? Bot. Some man or other must present wall : and let him have some plaster, or some lome, or some rough-cast about him, to signify wall ; or let him hold his fingers thus, and through that cranny shall Pyramus and Thisby whisper. 1 35y our little lady. Quin. If that maybe, then all is well. Come, sit down, every mother's son, and rehearse your parts. Pyramus, you begin : when you have poken your speech, enter into that brake, 1 and so every one according to his cue. Enter Puck behind. Puck. What hempen home-spuns have we swaggering here, So near the cradle of the fairy queen ? What, a play toward? I'll be an auditor; An actor too, perhaps, if I see cause. Quin. Speak, Pyramus :-Thisby, stand forth. Pyr. Thisby, the flowers of odious savours sweet, Quin. Odours, odours. Pyr. odours savours sweet : So doth thy breath, ray dearest Thisby dear.- But, hark, a voice! stay thou but here aivhile, And by and by I will to thee appear. [Exit. Puck. [Aside.] A stranger Pyramus than e'er play'd here ! [Exit. This. Must I speak now? Quin. Ay, marry, must you ; for you must understand, he goes but to see a noise that he heard, and is to come again. \h uc, T. Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of Of colour like the red rose on triumphant brier, Most briskly juvenal, 2 and eke most lovely Jew, As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire, I'll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny's tomb. Quin. Ninus' tomb, man: Why you must not speak that yet ; that you answer to Pyramus : you speak all your part at once, cues 3 and all. -Pyra- mus, enter ; your cue is past ; it is, never tire. Re-enter Puck, and Bottom with an Ass's head. This. 0, As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire. Pyr. If I were fair, Thisby, 1 'were only thine :- Q. O monstrous ! O strange ! we are haunted. Pray, masters ! fly, masters ! help ! [Exeunt Clowns. P. I'll follow you, I'll lead you about a round, Through bog, through bush, through brake, through brier ; Sometime a horse I'll be, sometime a hound, A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire ; And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn, Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire at every turn. [Exit. Bot. Why do they run away ? this is a knavery of them, to make me af card. Re-enter Snout. Snout. Bottom, thou art changed ! what do I see on thee ! [Exit. Bot. What do you see ? you see an ass's head of your own ; Do you? Re-enter Quince. Quin. Bless thee, Bottom ! bless thee : thou art translated. [Exit. 1 Thicket. 2 Juvenile. S The last words of a speech, which serve as a hint to the next speaker. SC. 1. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 145 Bot. I see their knavery : this is to make an ass of me ; to fright me, if they could. But I will not stir from this place, do what they can : I will walk up and down here, and I will sing, that they shall hear I am not afraid. [Sings. The ousel code, 1 so black of hue, With orange-tawny bill, The throstle with his note so true, The wren with little quill. Tita. What angel wakes me from my flowery bed? [Waking. BOT. Thefincli, the sparrow, and the lark, The plain-song cuckoo grey, Whose note full many a man doth mar, And dares not answer, nay ; or, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish a bird? who would give a bird the lie, though he cry, cuckoo, never so? Tita. I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again: Mine ear is much enamour'd of thy note, So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape ; [me, And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move On the first view to say, to swear, I love thee. Bot. Methinks, mistress, you should have little reason for that : And yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little company, together now-a-days : The more the pity, that some honest neighbours will not make them friends. Nay, I can gleek 2 upon occasion. Tita. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful. Bot. Not so, neither : but if I had wit enough to get out of this wood, I have enough to serve mine own turn. Tita. Out of this wood do not desire to go ; Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no. I am a spirit of no common rate : The summer still doth tend upon my state, And I do love thee : therefore, go with me ; I'll give thee fairies to attend on thee ; And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep, And sing, while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep : And I will purge thy mortal grossness so, That thou shalt like an airy spirit go. [seed ! Peas-blossom ! Cobweb ! Moth ! and Mustard- Enter four Fairies. 1 Fai. Ready. 2 Fai. And I. 3 Fai. And T. 4 Fai. Where shall we go? Tit. Be kind and courteous to this gentleman ; Hop in his walks, and gambol in his eyes ; Feed him with apricocks and dewberries, With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries ; The honey-bags steal from the humble-bees, And, for night-tapers, crop their waxen thighs, And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes, To have my love to bed, and to arise ; And pluck the wings from painted butterflies, To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes : Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies. 1 Fai. Hail mortal ! 2 Fai. Hail ! 3 Fai. Hail ! 4 Fai. Hail ! 1 Blackbird. 2 Joke. Bot. I cry your worship's mercy, heartily. I beseech, your worship's name ? Col). Cobweb. Bot. I shall desire you of more acquaintance, good master Cobweb :" If I cut my finger, I shall make bold with you. Your name, honest gen- tleman? Peas. Peas-blossom. Bot. I pray you, commend me to mistress Squash, your mother, and to master Peascod, your father. Good master Peas-blossom, I shall desire you of more acquaintance too. Your name, I beseech you, sir? Mus. Mustard-seed. Bot. Good master Mustard-seed, I know your patience well: that same cowardly, giant-like ox-beef hath devoured many a gentleman of your house : I promise you, your kindred hath made my eyes water ere now. I desire you more ac- quaintance, good master Mustard-seed. T. Come wait upon him ; lead him to my bower. The moon, methinks, looks with a watery eye ; And when she weeps, weeps every little flower, Lamenting some enforced chastity. Tie up my love's tongue, bring him silently. [Exeunt. SCENE .II. ANOTHER PAKT OF THE WOOD. Enter Oberon. Obe. I wonder, if Titania be awak'd ; Then, what it was that next came in her eye, Which she must dote on in extremity. Enter Puck. Here comes my messenger. -Hownow,mad spirit? What night-rule now about this haunted grove ? Puck. My mistress with a monster is in love. Near to her close and consecrated bower, While she was in her dull and sleeping hour, A crew of patches, 1 rude mechanicals, That work for bread upon Athenian stalls, Were met together to rehearse a play, Intended for great Theseus' nuptial day. The shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort, Who Pyramus presented, in their sport Forsook his scene, and enter'd in a brake : When I did him at this advantage take, An ass's nowl 2 I fixed on his head ; Anon, his Thisbe must be answered, [spy, And forth my mimick comes : When they him As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye, Or russet-pated choughs, 3 many in sort, Rising and cawing at the gun's report, Sever themselves, and madly sweep the sky ; So, at his sight, away his fellows fly ; And, at our stamp, here o'er and o'er one falls ; He murder cries, and help from Athens calls. Their sense, thus weak, lost with their fears, thus strong, Made senseless things begin to do them wrong : For briers and thorns at their apparel snatch ; Some, sleeves ; some, hats ; from yielders all " things catch. I led them on in this distracted fear, And left sweet Pyramus translated there : When in that moment (so it came to pass,) Titania wak'd, and straightway lov'd an ass. l Paltry fellows. 2 Top of the head. 3 Jackdaws. 146 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT III. O&e. This falls out better than I could devise. But hast thou yet latch'di the Athenian's eyes With the love-juice, as I did bid thcc do? Puck. I took him sleeping, that is finish'd And the Athenian woman by his side ; [too, That, when he wak'd, of course she must be ey'd. Enter Demetrius and Hermia. Ole. Stand close ; this is the same Athenian. Puclc. This is the woman, but not this th e man . D. 0, why rebuke you him that loves you so? Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe. [worse ; H. Now I but chide, but I should use thee For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse. If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep, Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep, And kill me too. The sun was not so true unto the day, As he to me : Would he have stol'n away From sleeping Hermia? I'll believe as soon, This whole earth may be bor'd ; and that the moon May through the centre creep, and so displease Her brother's noon-tide with the Antipodes. It cannot be, but thou hast murder'd him ; So should a murderer look ; so dead, so grim. Dem. So should the murder'd look ; and so should I, Pierc'd through the heartwith your stem cruelty : Yet you the murderer, look as bright, as clear, As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere. Her. What's this to my Lysander ? where is he ? Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me? D. I had rather give his carcase to my hounds. Her. Out, dog ! out, cur ! thou driv'st me past the bounds Of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him then? Henceforth be never number'd among men ! ! once tell true, tell true, even for my sake ; Durst thou have looked upon him, being awake, And hast thou kill'd him sleeping? O brave touch ! Could not a worm, an adder, do so much ? An adder did it ; for with doubler tongue Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung. Dem. You spend your passion on a mispris'd 2 1 am not guilty of Lysander's blood ; [mood Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell. Her. I pray thee, tell me then, that he is well. D. And if I could, what should I get therefor ? Her. A privilege, never to see me more. And from thy hated presence part I so : See me no more, whether he be dead or no. [Exit D. There is no following her in this fierce vein Here, therefore, for a while I will remain. So sorrow's heaviness doth heavier grow Tor debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe Which now, in some slight measure it will pay If for his tender here I make some stay. [Lies down Obe. What hast thou done? thou hast mistaken quite, lidi And laid the love-juice on some true love's sight Of thy misprision must perforce ensue Some true-love turned, and not a false turn'd true. Pu.Thenfateo'er-rules; that, onemanholdim A million fail, confounding oath on oath, [troth 1 Smeared. 2 Mistaken. Ol>e. About the wood go swifter than the wind, And Helena of Athens look thou find : All fancy-sick 1 she is, and pale of cheer, 2 rVith sighs of love, that cost the fresh blood dear: 3y some illusion see thou bring her here ; '.'II charm his eyes, against she do appeal'. Puck. I go, I go ; look how I go ; Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow. [ Exit . plie. Flower of this purple die, Hit with Cupid's archery, Sink in apple of his eye ! When his love he doth espy,- Let her shine as gloriously As the Venus of the sky. When thou wak'st, if she be by, Beg of her for remedy. Re-enter Pud: Puclc. Captain of our fairy band, Helena is here at hand ; And the youth, mistook by me, Pleading for a lover's fee ; Shall we their fond pageant see? O, what fools these mortals be ! Obe. Stand aside : the noise they make, Will cause Demetrius to awake. Puck. Then will two at once, woo one ; That must needs be sport alone ; And those things do best please me, That bef al preposterously. Enter Lysander and Helena. Lys. Why should you think, that I should woo in scorn ? Scorn and derison never come in tears : Look, when I vow, I weep ; and vows so born, In their nativity all truth appears. How can these things in me seem scorn to you, Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true ? JIcl. You do advance your cunning more and more. When truth kills truth, matchless holy fray ! These vows are Hermia's : Will you give her o'er ? Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh : Your vows, to her and me, put in two scales, Will even weigh ; and both as light as tales. Lys. I had no judgement, when to her I swore. Hel. Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o'er. [you. Lys. Demetrius loves her, and he loves not Dem. [Awaking.] O Helen, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine ! To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne 1 ? Crystal is muddy. 0, how ripe in show Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow That pure congealed white, high Taurus' snow, Fann'd with the eastern wind, turns to a crow, When thou hold'st up thy hand : O let me kiss This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss ! Hel. cruel spite ! I see you all are bent To set against me, for your merriment. If you were civil, and knew courtesy, You would not do me thus much injury. Can you not hate me, as I know you do, But you must join, in souls, 4 to mock me too? 1 Love-sick. 2 Countenance. 3 Eyes. 4 Heartib*. SC. II. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 147 If you were men, as men you are in show, You would not use a gentle lady so ; To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts, When, I am sure, you hate me with your hearts. You both are rivals, and love Hermia ; And now both rivals, to mock Helena : A trim exploit, a manly enterprise, To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes, With your derision ! none, of noble sort, Would so offend a virgin ; and extort A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport. Lys. You are unkind, Demetrius : be not so ; For you love Hermia; this, you know, I know : And here, with all good will, with all my heart, In Hermia's love I yield you up my part ; And yours of Helena to me bequeath, Whom I do love, and will do to my death. Ed. Never did mockers waste more idle breath. Dem. Lysander, keep thy Hermia; I will none : If e'er I loved her, all that love is gone. My heart with her but, as guest- wise, sojourn'd; And now to Helen is it home return'd, There to remain. Lys. Helen, it is not so. D. Disparage not the faith thou dost not know, Lest, to thy peril, thou aby it dear. 1 Look, where thy love comes; yonder is thy dear. Enter Hermia. Her. Dark night, that from the eye Ms func- tion takes. The ear more quick of apprehension make ; Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense, It pays the hearing double recompense : Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found ; Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound. But why unkindly didst thou leave me so ? Lys. Why should he stay, whom love doth press to go? Her. What love could press Lysander from my side ? L. Lysander 's love, that would not let hi m bide, Fair Helena : who more engilds the night Than all yon fiery oes 2 and eyes of light. Why seek'st thou me ? could not this make thee know, The hate I bare thee made me leave thee so? Her. You speak not as you think; it cannot be. Hel. Lo, she is one of this confederacy ! Now I perceive they have conjoined, all three, To fashion this false sport in spite of me. Injurious Hermia : most ungrateful maid ! Have you conspir'd, have you with these con- triv'd To bait me with this foul derision ? Is all the counsel that we two have shar'd, The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent, When we have chid the hasty-footed time For parting us, 0, and is all forgot ? All school -days' friendship, childhood inno- We, Hermia, like two artificial 3 gods, [ceuce? Have with our neelds 4 created both one flower, Both on one sampler sitting on one cushion, Both warbling of one song, both in one key ; As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds, Had been incorporate. So we grew together, 1 Pay dearly for it. 2 Circles. 3 Skilful. 4 Needles. Like to a double cherry, seeming parted ; But yet a union in partition, Two lovely berries moulded on one stem : So with two seeming bodies, but one heart ; Two of the first, like coats in heraldry, Due but to one, and crowned with one crest, And will you rent our ancient love asunder, To join with men in scorning your poor friend? [t is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly : Our sex as well as I, may chide you for it ; Though I alone do feel the injury. Her. I am amazed at your passionate words : [ scorn you not ; it seems that you scorn me. Hel. Have you not set Lysander, as in scorn, To follow me, and praise my eyes and face ? And made your other love, Demetrius, Who even but now did spurn me with his foot,) f o call me goddess, nymph, divine, and rare, . Precious, celestial : Wherefore speaks he this To her he hates? and wherefore doth Lysander Deny your love, so rich within his soul, And tender me, forsooth, affection ; But by your setting on, by your consent? What though I be not so in grace as you, So hung upon with love, so fortunate ; But miserable most, to love unlov'd? This you should pity, rather than despise. Her. I understand not what you mean by this. Hel. Ay, do, persever, counterfeit sad looks, Make mows 1 upon me when I turn my back; Wink at each other ; hold the sweet jest up : This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled. If you have any pity, grace, or manners, You would not make me such an argument. But fare ye well : 'tis partly mine own fault ; Which death, or absence, soon shall remedy. Lys. Stay, gentle Helena ; hear my excuse ; My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena ! Hel. excellent ! Her. Sweet, do not scorn her so. Dem. If she cannot entreat, I can compel. Lys. Thou canst compel no more than she entreat ; Thy threats have no more strength than her weak prayers. Helen, I love thee ; by my life, I do ; I swear by that which I will lose for thee, To prove him false, that says I love thee not. Dem. I say, I love thee more than he can do. Lys. If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too. Dem. Quick, come, Her. Lysander, whereto tends all this? Lys. Away, you Ethiop ! Dem. No, no, sir : he will Seem to break loose; take on, as you would follow ; But yet come. not : you are a tame man, go ! Lys. Hang off, thou cat, thou burr: vile thing, let loose ; Or I will shake thee from me, like a serpent. Her. Why are you grown so rude? what change is this, Sweet love ? Lys. Thy love? out, tawny Tartar, out ! Out, loathed medicine ! hated potion, hence ! Her. Do you not jest? Ilel. Yes, 'sooth ; and so do you. 1 Wry faces. 148 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT III. Lys. Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee. D. I would, I had your bond ; for, I perceive, A Aveak bond holds you ; I'll not trust your word. Lys. What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill her dead? Although I hate her, I'Jl not harm her so. Her. What, can you do me greater harm, than hate ! Hate me ! wherefore? me ! what news, my love? Am not I Hermia? Are not you Lysander? I am as fair now, as I was ere while. Since night, you lov'd me ; yet, since night you left me : Why, then you left me, 0, the gods forbid! In earnest shall I say? Lys. Ay, by my life ; And never did desire to see thee more. Therefore, be out of hope, of question, doubt, Be certain, nothing truer ; 'tis no jest, That I do hate thee, and love Helena. Her. me! you juggler! you canker blossom! You thief of love ! what, have you come by night, And stol'n my love's heart from him ? Hel. Fine, i' faith ! Have you no modesty, no maiden shame, No touch of bashfulness? What, will you tear Impatient answers from my gentle tongue? Fie, fie ! you counterfeit, you puppet you ! Her. Puppet ! why so? Ay, that way goes the game. Now I perceive that she hath made compare Between our statures, she hath urg'd her height; And with her personage, her tall personage, Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail'd with him. And are you grown so high in his esteem, Because I am so dwarfish, and so low? How low am I, thou painted maypole ? speak ; How low am I ? I am not yet so low, But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes. Hel. I pray you, though you mock me gentle- Let her not hurt me : I was never curst ; * [men, I have no gift at all in shrewishness ; I am a right maid for my cowardice ; Let her not strike me : You, perhaps, may think, Because she's something lower than myself, That I can match her. Her. Lower ! hark, again. Hel. Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me. I evermore did lovB you, Hermia, Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong'd you ; Save, that, in love unto Demetrius, I told him of your stealth unto this wood : He follow'd you ; for love, I follow'tl him : But he hath chid me hence ; andthreaten'd me To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too : And now, so you will let me quiet go, To Athens will I bear my folly back, And follow you no further : Let me go ; You see how simple and how fond I am. [you ? Her. Why, get you gone; Who is't that hinders Hel. A foolish heart, that I leave here behind. Her. What, with Lysander? Hel. With Demetrius. Lys. Be not afraid : she shall not harm thee, Helena. 1 Shrewish. Dem. "No, sir ; she shall not, though you take her part. [shrewd : Hel. O, when she 's angry, she is keen and She was a vixen, when she went to school ; And though she be but little, she is fierce. Her. Little again? nothing but low and little? Why will you suffer her to flout 1 me thus? Let me come to her. Lys. Get you gone, you dwarf ; You minimus, 2 of hind'ring knot-grass 3 made ; You bead, you acorn. Dem. You are too officious, In her behalf that scorns your services. Let her alone ; speak not of Helena ; Take not her part : for if thou dost intend 4 Never so little show of love to her, Thou shalt aby 5 it. Lys. Now, she holds me not ; Now follow, if thou dar'st, to try whose right, Or thine or mine, is most in Helena. Dem. Follow? nay, I'll go with thee, cheek by jole. [Exeunt Lys. and Dem. Her. You, mistress, all this coil 6 is 'long of Nay, go not back. [you : Hel. I will not trust you, I ; Nor longer stay in your curst 7 company. Your hands, than mine, are quicker for a fray ; My legs are longer though, to run away. [ Exi t. Her. I am amazed, and know not what to say. [Exit pursuing i 0. This is thy negligence : still thou mistak'st, Or else commit'st thy knaveries wilfully. Puck. Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook. Did you not tell me, I should know the man By the Athenian garments he had on? And so far blameless proves my enterprise, That I have 'nointed an Athenian's eyes : And so far am I glad it so did sort, As this their jangling I esteem a sport. 0. Thou seest, these lovers seek a place to fight : Hie, therefore, Robin, overcast the night ; The starry welkin, 8 cover thou anon With drooping fog, as black as Acheron ; And lead these testy rivals so astray, As one come not within another's way. Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue, Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong ; And sometime rail thou like Demetrius ; And from each other look thou lead them thus, Till o'er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep : Then crush this herb into Lysander's eye ; Whose liquor hath this virtuous property, To take from thence all error, with his might, And make his eye-balls roll with wonted sight. When they next wake, all this derision Shall seem a dream, and fruitless vision ; And back to Athens shall the lovers wend With league, whose date till death shall never Whiles I in this affair do thee employ, [end. I'll to my queen, and beg her Indian boy ; And then I will her charmed eye release From monster's view, and all things shall be peace. 1 Mock. 2 Being of smallest size. 3 Believed to prevent the growth. 4 Design. 5 Pay for it. C Trouble. 7 Shrewish. 8 Viiult of heaven. SC. II. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 149 P. My fairy lord, this must be clone with haste ; Tor night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast, And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger ; [there, At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and Troop home to church-yards : and the spirits all, That in cross-ways and floods have burial, Already to their wormy beds are gone ; For fear lest day should look their shames upon, They wilfully themselves exile from light, And must for aye consort with black-brow'd 0. But we are spirits of another sort : [night. I with the Morning's Love 1 have oft made sport; And, like a forester, the groves may tread, Even till the eastern gate, all fiery red, Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams, Turns into yellow gold his salt-green streams. But, notwithstanding, haste ; make no delay : We may effect this business yet ere day. [ Exit Ob. Puck. Up and down, up and down ; I will lead thee up and down : I am f ear'd in field and town ; Goblin lead them up and down. Here comes one. Enter Lysandcr. L 7/5. Where art thou, proud Demetrius? speak thou now. [art thou? Puck. Here, villain ; draw and ready. Where Lys. I will be with thee straight. Puck. Follow me then To plainer ground. [Exit Ly sander as following the, voice. Enter Demetrius. Dem. Lysander ! speak again. Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled ? Speak. In some bush ? Where dost thou hide thy head ? f star.s, Puck. Thou co ward, art thou bragging to the Telling the bushes that thou look'st for wars, And wilt not coine ? Come, recreant ; come, thou child ; I'll whip thee with a rod : He is defil'd, That draws a sword on thee. Dem. Yea ; art thou there ? Puck. Follow my voice; we'll try no man- hood here. [Exeunt. Re-enter Lysander. Lys. He goes before me, and still dares me on, When I come where he calls, then he is gone. The villain is much lighter heel'd than I : I follow'd fast, but faster he did fly : That fallen am I in dark uneven way, And here will rest me. Come, thou gentle day ! [Lies doivn. For if but once thou show me thy grey light, I'll find Demetrius, and revenge this spite. [Sleeps. lie-enter Puck and Demetrius. Puck. Ho, ho ! ho, ho ! Coward, why com'st thou not ? Dem. Abide me, if thou dar'st ; for well I wot, Thou runn'st before me', shifting every place ; And dar'st not stand, nor look me in the face. AN' In 'i-o art thou? Come hither ; I am here. bt.ni. N";ty, then thou mock'st me. Thoushalt buy thio dear, halo* If ever I thy face by daylight see : Now, go thy way. Faintness constraineth me To measure out" my length on this cold bed. By day's approach look to be visited. [Lies down and sleeps. Enter Helena. Hel. weary night, long and tedious night, Abate thy hours : shine, comforts, from the That I may back to Athens, by day-light, [east ; From these that my poor company detest : And sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye, Steal me awhile from mine own company. [Sleeps. Puck. Yet but three ? Come one more ; Two of both kinds makes up four. Here she comes, curst and sad: Cupid is a knavish lad, Thus to make poor females mad. Enter Hermia. Her. Never so weary, never so in woe, Bedabbled with the dew, and torn with I can no further crawl, no further go : [briers : My legs can keep no pace with my desires. Here will I rest me, till the break of day. Heavens shield Lysauder, if they mean a fray ! [Lies down. Puck. On the ground Sleep sound : I'll apply To your eye, Gentle lover, remedy. [Squeezing the juice on Lysander's eye. When thou wak'st, Thou tak'st True delight In the sight Of thy former lady's eye : And the country proverb known, That every man should take his own, In your waking shall be shown : Jack shall have Jill ; Nought shall go ill ; The man shall have his mare again, and all sh;tll be well. [Ex it Puck. Dem., IIcl., &c. } Act Fourth. SCENE I. THE SAME. Enter Titania and Bottom,, Fairies attending; Oberon behind unseen. Tita. Come, sit thee down upon this flowery While I thy amiable cheeks do coy,* [bed, And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head, And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy. Sot. Where's Teas-blossom ? Pan*. Ready. B. Scratch my head, Peas-blossom. Where's monsieur Cobweb 1 Col). Ready. Bot. Monsieur Cobweb ; good monsieur, get your weapons in your hand, and kill me a red- hipped humble-bee on the top of a thistle ; and, good monsieur, bring me the honey-bug. l)o not 1 150 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT IV. fret yourself too much in the action, monsieur ; and, good monsieur, have a care the honey-bag break not : I would be loath to have you over- flown with a honey-bag, siguior. Where's mon- sieur Mustard-seed ? Must, Heady. B. Give me your nief, 2 monsieur Mustard-seed. Pray you, leave your courtesy, good monsieur. Must. What's your will ? Bot. Nothing, good monsieur, buttohelpcava- lero Cobweb to scratch. I must to the barber's, monsieur ; for, methinks, I am marvellous hairy about the face : and I am such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me, I must scratch. Tita. What, wilt thou hear some musick, my sweet love ? Bot. I have a reasonable good ear in musick : let us have the tongs and the bones. T. Or, say, sweet love, what thou desir'stto eat. Bot. Truly, a peck of provender; I could munch your good dry oats. Methinks, I have a great desire to a bottle of hay ; good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow. Tita. I have a venturous fairy that shall seek the squirrel's hoard, and fetch tliee new nuts. Bot. I had rather have a handful, or two, of dried peas. But, I pray you, let none of your people stir me : I have an exposition of sleep come upon me. T. Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms. Failles, begone, and be all ways away. [Exeunt Fairies. So doth the woodbine, the sweet honeysuckle, Gently en twist, the female ivy so Enrings the barky fingers of the elm. 0, how I love thee ! how I dote on thee I [They sleep. Obcron advances. Enter Puck. Ol)C. Welcome, good Robin. See'st thou this sweet sight ? Her dotage now I do begin to pity. For meeting her of late, behind the wood, Mg sweet savours for this hateful fool, T did upbraid her, and fall out with her: For she his hairy temples then had rounded With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers; And that same dew, which sometime on the buds Wa wont to swell, like round and orient pearls, i now within the pretty flowret's eyes, LiivC tears, that did their own disgrace bewail. When I had, at my pleasure, taunted her, And she, in mild terms, bcgg'd my patience, I then did ask of her her changeling child ; Which straight she gave me, and her fairy sent To bear him to my bower in fairy laud. And now I have the boy, I will undo This hateful imperfection of her eyes. And, gentle Puck, take this transformed scalp From oft* the head of this Athenian swain ; That he awaking when the others do, May all to Athens back again repair ; And think no more of this night's accidents, But as the fierce vexation of a dream. But first I will release the fairy queen. Be, as thou wast wont to be ; [Touching her eyes with an herb. Sec, as thou wast wont to see ; 1 Fist. Dian's bud o'er Cupid's flower Hath such force and blessed power. Now, my Titania ; wake you, my sweet queen. Tita. My Oberon ! what visions have I seen ! Meth ought, I was enamour'd of an ass. Obe. There lies your love. Tita. How came these things to pass ! 0, how mine eyes do loath his visage now ! O&c. Silence,awhile.-Robin,take off this head. Titania, musick call ; and strike more dead Than common sleep, of all these five the sense. Tita. Musick, ho ! musick, such as charmeth sleep. Puck. JS r ow, when thou wak'st, with thine own fool's eyes peep. Obe. Sound, musick. [Still musick. ] Come, my queen, take hands with me, And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be. Now thou and I are new in amity ; And will, to-morrow midnight, solemnly, Dance in Duke Theseus' house triumphantly, And bless it to all fair posterity : There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be Wedded, with Theseus, all in jolity. Puck. Fairy king, attend and mark; I do hear the morning lark. Obe. Then, my queen, in silence sad, Trip we after the night's shade : We the globe can compass soon, Swifter than the wand'ring moon. Tita. Come, my lord ; and in our flight, Tell me how it came this night, That I sleeping here was found, With these mortals, on the ground. [Exeunt. [Horns sound within. Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus, and train. The. Go, one of you, find out the forester; For now our observation is perform 'd : And since we have the vawarcl 1 of the day, My love shall hear the musick of my hounds. Uncouple in the western valley ; go : Despatch, I say, and find the forester. AVe will, fair queen, up to the mountain's top, And mark the musical confusion Of hounds and echo in conjunction. Hip. I was with Hercules, and Cadmus, once, When in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear With hounds of Sparta : never did I hear Such gallant chiding ; for, besides the groves, The skies, the fountains, every region near Seem'd all one mutual cry : I never heard So musical a discord, such sweet thunder. The. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind, Soflew'd, 2 so sanded 3 ; and their heads are hung With ears that sweep away the morning dew ; Crook-knee'd, and dew-lap'd like Thessalian t bulls ; Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells, Each under each. A cry more tuneable Was never holla'd to, nor cheer'd with horn, In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly : Judge, when you hear. But, soft; what nymphs are these? Ege. My lord, this is my daughter here asleep : And this, Lysander ; this Demetrius is ; 1 Forepart. 2 Large chars. 3 Colour of blood-hound. SC. I. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 151 This Helena, old Nadar's Helena : I wonder of their being here together. The, No doubt, they rose up early, to observe The rite of May ; and, hearing our intent, Came here in grace of our solemnity. But, speak Egeus ; is not this the day That Hermia should give answer of her choice? Eye. It is, my lord. [their horns. The. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with Horns, and shouts ivithin. Demetrius, Lysan- der, Hermia, and Helena, wake and start up. The. Good-morrow, friends. St Valentine is past ; Begin these wood-birds but to couple now? Lys. Pardon, my lord. [He and the rest kneel to Theseus. The. I pray you all, stand up. I know you are two rival enemies ; How comes this gentle concord in the world, That hatred is so far from jealousy, To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity? Lys. My lord, I shall reply amazedly, Half 'sleep, half waking : But as yet, I swear I cannot truly say how I came here : But, as I think, (for truly would I speak, And now, I do bethink me, so it is ;) I came with Hermia hither: our int % ent Was, to be gone from Athens, where we might be Without the peril of the Athenian law. Ege. Enough, enough, my lord; you' have I beg the law, the law, upon his head. [enough : They would have stol'n away, they would, Deme- Thereby to have defeated you and me : [trius, You, of your wife ; and me, of my consent ; Of my consent that she should be your wife. De. My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth, Of this their purpose hither to this wood ; And I in fury hither follow'd them ; Fair Helena in fancy following me. But, my good lord, I wot not by what power, (But by some power it is,) my love to Hermia, Melted as doth the snow, seems to me now As the remembrance of an idle gawd, 1 Which in my childhood I did dote upon : And all the faith, the virtue of my heart, The object, and the pleasure of mine eye, Is only Helena. To her, my lord, Was I betroth'd ere I saw Hermia : But, like in sickness, did I loath this food : But, as in health, come to my natural taste, Now dp I wish it, love it, long for it, And will for evermore be true to it. The. Fair lovers, you are fortunately met : Of this discourse we more will hear anon. Egeus, I will overbear your will ; For in the temple, by and by with us, These couples shall eternally be knit. And, for the morning now is something worn, Our purpos'd hunting shall be set aside. Away, with us, to Athens : Three and three, We'll hold a feast in great solemnity. Come Hippolyta. [Exeunt The., Hip., Ege., and train. Dem. These things seem small and undistin- guishable, Like far-off mountains turned into clouds. Her. Methinks, I see these things with parted When everything seems double. [eye Hel. So methinks : And I have found Demetrius like a jewel, Mine own, and not mine own. Dem. It seems to me, That yet we sleep, we dream.-Do not you think, The duke was here, and bid us follow him? Her. Yea ; and my father. Hel. And Hippolyta. Lys. And he did bid us follow to the temple. Dem. Why then, we are awake : let's follow him; And, by the way, let us recount our dreams. [Exeunt. As they go out, Bottom awakes. Bot. When my cue comes, call me, and I will answer :-my next is, Most fair Pyramus.-H.ey, ho !-Peter Quince ! Flute, the bellows-mender ! Snout, the tinker ! Starveling ! Odd's my life ! stolen hence, and left me asleep ! I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream,-past the wit of man to say what dream it was : Man is but an ass, if he go about to expound this dream. Me- thought I was there is no man can tell what. Methought I was, and methought I had, But man is but a patched fool, if he will offer to say what methought I had. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this dream : it shall be called Bottom's Dream, because it hath no bottom ; and I will sing it in the latter end of the play, before the duke : Perad venture, to make it the more gracious, I shall sing it at her death. [Exit. SCENE II. ATHENS. A ROOM IN QUINCE'S HOUSE. Enter Quince, Flute, Snout, and Starveling. Quin. Have you sent to Bottom's house? Is he come home yet ? Star. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt, he is transported. Flu. If he come not, then the play is marred ; It goes not forward, doth it? Quin. It is not possible ; you have not a man in all Athens, able to discharge Pyramus, but he. Flu. No ; he hath simply the best wit of any handycraft man in Athens. Quin. Yea, and the beet person, too : and he is a very paragon for a sweet voice. Enter Snug. Snug. Masters, the duke is coming from the temple, and there is two or three lords and ladies more married: if our sport had gone forward, we had all been made men. Flu. sweet bully Bottom ! Thus hathhe lost sixpence a-day during his life ; he could not have 'scaped sixpence a-day : an the duke had not given him sixpence a-day for playing Pyra- mus, I'll be hanged ; he would have deserved it : sixpence a-day, in Pyramus, or nothing. Enter Bottom. Bot. Where are these lads? where are these hearts? Quin. Bottom ! most courageous day ! O most happy hour ! 152 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT V. Bot. Masters, I am to discourse wonders : but ask me not what ; for, if I tell you, I am no true Athenian. I will tell you everything, right as it fell out. Quin. Let us hear, sweet Bottom. Sot. Not a word of me. All that I will tell you, is, that the duke hath dined : Get your ap- parel together ; good strings to your beards, new ribbons to your pumps ; meet presently at the palace ; every man look o'er his part ; for, the short and the long is, our play is preferred. In any case, let Thisby have clean linen ; and let not him, that plays the lion, pare his nails, for they shall hang out for the lion's claws. And, most dear actors, eat no onions, nor garlick, for we are to utter sweet breath ; and I do not doubt, but to hear them say, it is a sweet comedy. No more words; away; go, away. [Exeunt. Act Fifth. SCENE I. AN APARTMENT IN THE PALACE OF THESEUS. Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, Lords, and Attendants. Hip. 'Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers speak of. The. More strange than true. I never may be- These antique fables nor these fairy toys, [lieve Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends. The lunatick, the lover, and the poet, Are of imagination all compact i 1 One sees more devils than vast hell can hold ; That is, the madman : the lover, all as frantick, Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt : The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven, And, as imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing A local habitation, and a name. Such tricks hath strong imagination ; That, if it would but apprehend some joy, It comprehends some bringer of that joy ; Or, in the night, imagining some fear, How easy is a bush suppos'd a bear? Hip. But all the story of the night told over, And all their minds transfigiir'd so together, More witnesses than fancy's images, And grows to something of great constancy ; But, howsoever, strange and admirable. Enter Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia, and Helena. The. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth, 'Toy, gentle friends ! joy, and fresh days of love, Accompany your hearts ! Lys. More than to us Wait on your royal walks, your board, your bed ! The. Come now ; what masks, what dances shall we have, iMade. To wear away this long age of three hours, Between our after-supper, and bed-time ? Where is our usual manager of mirth ? What revels are in hand? Is there no play, To ease the anguish of a torturing hour : Call thilostrate. Philost. Here, mighty Theseus. The. Say what abridgment 1 have you for this evening? What mask ? what musick ? How shall we be- The lazy time, if not with some delight? [guile Philost. There is a brief, 2 how many sports are ripe ; Make choice of which your highness will sec first. [Giving a paper. The. [Reads. ] The battle with the Centaurs, to be sung, By an Athenian songster to the harp, We'll none of that : that have I told my love, In glory of my kinsman Hercules. The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals, Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage. That is an old device ; and it was play'd When I from Thebes came last a conqueror. The thrice three muses mourning for the death Of learning, late deceas'd in beggary. That is some satire, keen, and critical, Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony. A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus, And his love Thisbe; very tragical mirth. Merry and tragical? Tedious and brief? That is hot ice, and wonderous strange snow. How shall we find the concord of this discord ? Philost. A play there is, my lord, some ten words long ; Which is as brief as I have known a play ; But by ten words, my lord, it is too long ; Which makes it tedious : for in all the play There is not one word apt, one player fitted. And tragical, my noble lord, it is ; For Pyramus therein doth kill himself. Which, when I saw rehears 'd, I must confess, Made mine eyes water ; but more merry tears The passion of loud laughter never shed. The. What are they, that do play it? [hero, Phil. Hard-handed men that work in Athens Which never labour'd in their minds till now ; And now have toil'd their unbreath'd memories With this same play, against your nuptial. The. And we will hear it. Philost. No, my noble lord, It is not for you : I have heard it over, And it is nothing, nothing in the world ; Unless you can find sport in their intents, Extremely stretch'd, and coun'd with cruel pain, To do you service. The. I will hear that play ; For never anything can be amiss, When simpleness and duty tender it. Go, bring them in; and take your places, ladies. [Exit Philostrate. H. I love not to see wretchedness o'ercharg'd, And duty in his service perishing. [thing. The. Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such Hip. He says, they can do nothing in this kind. [nothing. The. The kinder we, to give them thanks for 1 Pastime. 2 Short account. SC. I. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 153 Our sport shall be, to take what they mistake : And what poor duty can do, Noble respect takes it in might, not merit. Where I have come, great clerks have purposed To greet me with premeditated Avelcomes ; Where I have seen them shiver and look pale, Make periods in the midst of sentences, Throttle their practis'd accent in their fears, And, in conclusion, dumbly have broke off, Not paying me a welcome : Trust me, sweet, Out of this silence, yet, I pick'd a welcome ; And in the modesty of fearful duty I read as much, as from the rattling tongue Of sawcy and audacious eloquence. Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity, In least, speak most, to my capacity. Enter PMlostrate. Philost. So please your grace, the prologue is addrest.i The. Let him approach. [Flourish of trumpets. Enter Prologue. Prol. If we o/end, it is with our good-will. That you should think, we come not to offend, But with good-will. To show our simple skill, That is the true beginning^ of our end. Consider then, we come but in despite. We do not come as minding to content you. Our true intent is. All for your delight, We are not here. That you should here repent The actors are at hand; and, bytJieir show, [you, You shall know all, that you are like to know. The. This fellow cloth not stand upon points. Lys. He hath read his prologue, like a rough colt ; he knows not the stop. A good moral, my lord: It is not enough to speak, but to speak true. Hip. Indeed he hath played on this prologue, like a child on a recorder 2 ; a sound, but not in government. The. His speech was like a tangled chain ; no- thing impaired, but all disordered. Who is next? Enter Pyramus and Thisbe, Wall, Moonshine, and Lion, as in dumb shoiv. Prol. "Gentles, perchance you wonder at this show ; [plain. " But wonder on, till truth make all things " This man is Pyramus, if you would know ; "This beauteous lady Thisby is, certain. " This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth pre- sent [sunder : "Wall, that vile wall which did these lovers "And through wall's chink, poor souls, they are content " To whisper ; at the which let no man wonder. " This man, with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn, ' 'Presenteth moon-shine : for,if you will know, " By moon-shine did these lovers think no scorn "To meet at Ninus'tomb, there, there to woo. "This grisly beast, which by name lion hight,3 "The trusty Thisby, coming first by night, "Did scare away, or rather did affright: "And, as she fled, her mantle she did fall ; "Which lion vile with bloody mouth did .stain: 1 Prepared. '2 An instrument like a flngeolet. 8 ! called. "Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth, and tall, "And finds his trusty Thisby 's mantle slain : "Whereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade, [breast ; "He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody "And, Thisby tarrying in mulberry shade, ' ' His dagger drew, and died. For all th e rest, "Let lion, moonshine, wall and lovers twain, ' ' At large discourse, while here they do remain. " [Exeunt Prol., Pyr., Thisbe, Lion, & Moonshine* The. I wonder if the lion be to speak. Dem. No wonder, my lord: one lion may, when many asses do. Wall. "In this same interlude, it doth befall, ' That I, one Snout by name, present a wall : 'And such a wall, as I would have you think t ' That had in it a cranny'd hole, or chink, 'Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby, ' Did whisper often very secretly. [show ' This loam, this rough-cast, and this stone, doth ' That I am that same wall ; the truth is so : ' And this the cranny is, right and sinister, 'Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper." The. Would you desire lime and hair to speak better? Dem. It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard discourse, my lord. The. Pyramus draws near the wall : silence ! Enter Pyramus. Pyr. "0 grim-look'd night ! night with hue so black ! " night, which ever art, when day is not ! "0 night, night, alack, alack, alack, "I fear my Thisby 's promise is forgot ! "And thou, wall, sweet, O lovely wall, ' ' That stand'st between her father's ground and mine ! "Thou wall, O wall, sweet and lovely wall, "Show me thy chink, to blink through with mine eyue. 1 [Wall holds up lite fingers. "Thanks, courteous wall : Jove shield thee well "But what see I? No Thisby do I see. [for this! "O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss ; "Curst be thy stones for thus deceiving me !" The. The wall, methinks, being sensible, should curse again. Pyr. No, in truth, sir, he should not. De- ceiving me, is Thisby's cue : she is to enter now, and I am to spy her through the wall. You shall see, it will fall pat as I told you : Yonder she conies. Enter Thisbe. T. "0 wall, full often hast thou heard my moans, "For parting my fair Pyramus and me : "My cherry lips have often kis.sed thy stones ; "Thy stones, with lime and hair knit up in thee." Pyr. "I see a voice : now will I to the chink, "To spy an I can hear my Thisby's face. "Thisby!" This. " My love, thou art my love, I think." Pyr. "Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's "And like Limanderam I trusty still." |<;-racc ; 1 J'-yea. 154 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT V. This. "And I like Helen, till the fates me kill." Pyr. " Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true." T. "As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you." [wall." Pyr. "O kiss me through the hole of this vile T. "I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all." Pyr. "Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me strai ghtway ? " [delay. " 'This. "Tide life, tide death, I come without W. " Thus have I, wall, my part discharged so ; "And, being done, thus wall away doth go." [Exeunt Wall, Pyramus, and Thisbe. The. Now is the mural down between the two neighbours. Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful to hear without warning. Hip. This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard. T. The best in this kind are but shadows: and the worst are no worse, if imagination amend them. Hip. It must be your imagination then, and not theirs. The. If we imagine no worse of them, than they of themselves, they may pass for excellent men. Here come two noble beasts in, a moon and a lion. Enter Lion and Moonshine. Lion. "You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear "The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor, "May now, perchance, both quake and tremble here, "When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar. "Then know, that I, one Snug the joiner, am "A lion fell, nor else no lion's darn : "For if I should as lion come in strife "Into this place, 'twere pity on my life." T. A very gentle beast and of a goo d conscience. Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er I saw. LI/.?. This lion is a very fox for his valour. The. True ; and a goose for his discretion. Dem. Not so, my lord : for his valour cannot carry his discretion ; and the fox carries the goose. The. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his valour ; for the goose carries not the fox. It is well : leave it to his discretion, and let us listen to the moon. Moon. " This lantern doth the horned moon present : " JD. He should have worn the horns on his head. The. He is no crescent, and his horns are in- visible within the circumference. [present; Moon. " This lantern doth the horned moon "Myself the man i'the moon do seem to be." The. This is the greatest error of all the rest: the man should be put into the lantern: How is it else the man i'the moon? Dem. He dares not come there for the candle: for, you see, it is already in snuff. Hip. I am a-weary of this moon : Would, he would change ! The. It appears, by his small light of discre- tion, that he is in the Avane : but yet, in courtesy, in all reason, we must stay the time. Lys. Proceed, moon. Moon. All that I have to say, is, to tell you, that the lantern is the moon ; I, the man iii the moon ; this thorn-bush, my thorn-bush ; and this dog, my dog. Dem. Why, all these should be in the lantern ; for they are in the moon. But, silence ; here conies Thisbe. Enter Thisbe. This. " This is old Ninny's tomb : Where is Lion. "Oh." [my love?" [The Lion roars. Thisbe. runs off. Dem. Well roared, lion. The. WeU run, Thisbe. Hip. Well shone, moon. Truly, the moon shines with a good grace. The. Well moused, lion. [The Lion tears Thisbe's mantle, and exit. Dem. And so comes Pyramus. Lys. And so the lion vanish 'd. Enter Pyramus. Pyr. " Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams ; ' 'I thank thee, moon, for shining now so bright ; ' ' For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering streams, " I trust to taste of truest Thisby's sight, " But stay ; spite ! " But mark ; Poor knight, ' What dreadful dole is here ? "Eyes, do you see? "How can it be? " dainty duck ! dear ! " Thy mantle good, "What, stain'd with blood? "Approach, ye furies fell'! " O fates ! come, come ; " Cut thread and thrum ;1 " Quail, crush, conclude, and quell !" The. This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a man look sad. Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man. Pyr. "O, wherefore, nature, didst thou lions frame ? "Since lion vile hath here deflour'd my dear: "Which is no,no which was the fairest dam e, "That liv'd, that lov'd, that lik'd, that look'd with cheer. 2 " Come, tears, confound ; " Out, sword, and wound " The pap of Pyramus : "Ay, that left pap, " Where heart doth hop : " Thus die I, thus, thus, thus. " Now am I dead, " Now am I fled ; " My soul is in the sky : " Tongue, loose thy light ! "Moon, take thy flight ! " Now die, die, die, die, die." [Dies. Exit Moonshine. D. No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but one. Lys. Less than an ace, man ; for he is dead ; he is nothing. The. With the help of a surgeon, he might yet recover, and prove an ass. Hip. How chance moonshine is gone, before Thisbe conies back and finds her lover ? The. She will find him by star-light. Here she comes ; and her passion ends the play. 1 Coarse yarn 2 Gaiety. SC. I. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 155 Enter Thisbe. Hip. Methinks, she should not use a long one, for such a Pyramus : I hope she will be brief. Dem. A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, which Thisbe is the better. Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes. Dem. And thus she moans, videlicet. This. " Asleep, my love ? "What, dead, my dove? " 0, Pyramus, arise, " Speak, speak. Quite dumb? " Dead, dead. A tomb " Must cover thy sweet eyes. " These lily brows, " This cherry nose, '' These yellow cowslip cheeks, " Are gone, are gone : " Lovers, make moan ! " His eyes were green as leeks. " sisters three, " Come, come, to me, " With hands as pale as milk ; " Lay them in gore, " Since you have shore " With shears his thread of silk. " Tongue, not a word : " Come, trusty sword ; " Come, blade, my breast imbrue : " And farewell, friends ; " Thus Thisbe ends : "Adieu, adieu, adieu." [Dies. T. Moonshine and lion are left to bury the dead. Dem. Ay, and wall too. Eot. No, I assure you ; the wall is down that parted their fathers. Will it please you to see the epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance, between two of our company ? The. No epilogue, I pray you ; for your play needs no excuse. Never excuse ; for when the players are all dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if he that writ it, had play'd Pyramus and hanged himself in Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine tragedy : and so it is, truly ; and very notably discharged. But come, your Bergomask : let your epilogue alone. [Here a dance of Clowns. The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve : Lovers, to bed ; 'tis almost fairy time. I fear we shall outsleep the coming morn, As much as we this night have overwatch'd. This palpable gross play hath well beguil'd The heavy gait of night. -Sweet friends, to bed. A fortnight hold we this solemnity, lu nightly revels, and new jolity. [Exeunt. SCENE II. Enter Puclc. Puclc. Now the hungry lion roars, And the wolf behowls the moon ; Whilst the heavy ploughman snores, All with weary task fordone. 1 Now the wasted brands do glow, Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud, 1 Overcome. Puts the wretch, that lies in woe, In remembrance of a shroud. Now it is the time of night, That the graves, all gaping wide, Every one lets forth his sprite, In the church- way paths to glide: And we fairies that do run By the triple Herat's team, From the presence of the sun, Following darkness like a dream, Now are frolick ; not a mouse Shall disturb this hallow'd house : I am sent, with broom, before, To sweep the dust behind the door. Enter Oberon and Titania, with their Train. Ob. Through this house gi ve glimmering ligli', By the dead and drowsy fire : Every elf, and fairy sprite, Hop as light as bird from brier; And his ditty, after me, Sing, and dance it trippingly. Tito. First, rehearse this song by rote: To each word a warbling note, Hand in hand, with fairy grace, Will we sing, and bless this place. SONG, AND DANCE. Obe. Now, until the break of day, Through this house each f airy stray. To the best bride-bed will we, Which by us shall blessed be ; So shall all the couples three Ever true in loving be ; And the blots of nature's hand Shall not in their issue stand ; Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar, Nor mark prodigious, 1 such as are Despised in nativity, Shall upon their children be. With this field-dew consecrate, Every fairy take his gate 2 ; And each several chamber bless, Through this palace with sweet peace : E'er shall it in safety rest, And the owner of it blest. Trip away ; Make no stay ; Meet me all by break of day. [Exeunt Oberon, Titania, and Train. Puck. If we shadows have offended, Think but this, (and all is mended.,) That you have but slumber'd here, While these visions did appear, And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding but a dream, Gentles, do not reprehend ; If you pardon, we will mend,. And, as I am honest Puck, If we have unearned luck Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue, We will make amends, ere long : Else the Puck a liar call. So, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we, befriends, And Robin shall restore amends. [Exit. 1 Portentous, 2 Way. 's f FERDINAND, Ifm// o/ Navarre. BIRON, ) LONGAVILLE, >orc?s attending on the King. DUMAIN, J BOYET, ) Lords atte nd i ng on the Princess MERCADE, j of France. DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO, a fantastical Spaniard. SIR NATHANIEL, a Curate. HOLOFERNES, a Schoolmaster. DULL, a Constable. COSTARD, a Clown* MOTH, Page to Armado. A Forester. PRINCESS OF FRANCE. \Ladies attending on the JAQUENETTA, a Country Girl. Officers and Others, attendants on the King and Princess. SCENE. Navarre. Act First, SCENE I. NAVARRE. A PARK, WITH A PALACE IN IT. Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, & Dumain. King. Let fame, that all hunt after in their Live register'd upon our brazen tombs, [lives, And then grace us in the disgrace of death ; When, spite of cormorant devouring time, The endeavour of this present breath may buy That honour, which shall bate his scythe's keen And make us heirs of all eternity. [edge, Therefore, brave conquerors : for so you are, That war against your own affections, And the huge army of the world's desires, Our late edict shall strongly stand in force : Navarre shall be the wonder of the world ; Our court shall be a little academe, Still and contemplative in living art. You three, Biron, Dumain, and Longaville, Have sworn for three years' term to live with me, My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes, That are recorded in this schedule here : Your oaths are past, and now subscribe your names ; That his own hand may strike his honour down, That violates the smallest branch herein : Jf you are arm'd to do, as sworn to do, Subscribe to your deep oath, and keep it too. Lo n. I am resolv'd : 'tis but a three years' fast ; The mind shall banquet, though the body pine : Fat paunches have lean pates ; and dainty bits Make rich the ribs, but bank'rout quite the wits. Dum. My loving lord, Dumain is mortified ; The grosser manner of these world's delights He throws upon the gross world's baser slaves : To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die ; With all these living in philosophy. Biron. I can but say their protestation over, So much, dear liege, I have already sworn, That is, To live and study here three years. But there are other strict observances'; As, not to see a woman in that term ; Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there : And, one day in a week to touch no food ; And but one meal on every day beside ; The which, I hope, is not enrolled there: And then to sleep but three hours in the night, And not be seen to wink of all the day ; (When I was wont to think no harm all night, And make a dark night too of half the day ;) Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there : 0, these are barren tasks, too hard to keep ; Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep. K. Your oath is pass'd to pass away from these. B. Let me say no, my liege, an if you please? I only swore, to study with your grace, And stay here in your court for three years' space. Long. You swore to that, Biron, and to the rest. B. By yea and nay, sir, then I swore in jest. What is the end of study? let me know. King. Why, that to know, vhich else wo should not know. Biron. Things hid and barr'd, you mean, from common sense ? King. Ay, that is study's god-like recompense. Biron. Come on then, I will swear to study so. To know the thing I am forbid to know : As thus To study Avhere I well may dine, When I to feast expressly am forbid ; Or, study where to meet some mistress fine, When mistresses from common sense are hid : Or, having sworn too hard-a-kecping oath, Study to break it, and not break my troth. If study's gain be thus, and this be so, Study knows that, which yet it doth not know: Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say, no. K. These be the stops that hinder study quite, And train our intellects to vain delight. Biron. Why, all delights are vain ; but that most vain, Which, with pain purchas'd, doth inherit pain : As. painfully to pore upon a book, To seek the light of truth ; while truth the while Doth falsely blind the eyesightf of his look : SC. I. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 157 Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile: So, ere you find where light in darkness lies, Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes. Study me how to please the eye indeed, By fixing it upon a fairer eye ; Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed, And give him light that was it blinded by. Study is like the heaven's glorious sun, That will not be deep-search'd with saucy looks ; Small have continual plodders ever won, Save base authority from others' books. Tlie.se earthly godfathers of heaven's lights, That give a name to every fixed star. Have no more profit of their shining nights, Than those that walk, and wot not what they are. Too much to know, is, to know nought but fame; And every godfather can give a name. King. How well he's read, to reason against reading ! [ceeding ! Dum. Proceeded well, to stop all good pro- Long. He weeds the corn, and still let's grow the weeding. Biron. The spring is near, when green geese are a- breed ing. Dum. How follows that? Biron. Fit in his place and time. Dum. In reason nothing. Biron. Something then in rhyme. Long. Biron is like an envious sneaping l frost, That bites the first-born infants of the spring. Biron. Well, say I am ; why should proud summer boast, Before the birds have any cause to sing? Why should I joy in an abortive birth? At Christmas I no more desire a rose Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled shows; But like of each thing, that in season grows. So you, to study now it is too late. Climb o'er the house t' unlock the little gate. A'. Well, sit you out: go home, Biron; adieu! Biron. No, my good lord; I have sworn to stay with you : And, though I have for barbarism spoke more, Than for that angel knowledge you can say, Yet confident I'll keep what I have swore, And bide the penance of each three years' day. Give me the paper, let me read the same ; And to the strict'st decrees I'll write my name. King. How well this yielding rescues thee from shame ! Biron. [Reads.] Item, That no woman shall come within a mile of my court. And hath this been proclaimed ? Long. Four days ago. Biron. Let's see the penalty. [Reads.] On pain of losing her tongue. Who devis'd this? Long. Marry, that did I. Biron. Sweet lord, and why? [penalty. Long. To fright them hence with that dread Biron. A dangerous law against gentility. [Heads.] Item, // any man l)e seen to talk with a woman within the term of three years, he slicdl endure suchpublick shame as the rest of the court can possibly devise. 1 Nipping- This article, my liege, yourself must break ; For, well you know, here comes in embassy The French 'king's daughter, with yourself to speak, A maid of grace, and complete majesty, About surrender-up of Aquitain To her decrepit, sick, and bed-rid father : Therefore this article is made in vain, Or vainly conies the admired princess hither. King. What say you, lords? why, this was quite forgot. Biron. So study evermore is overshot ; While it doth study to have what it would, It doth forget to do the thing it should : And when it hath the thing it hunteth most, 'Tis won, as towns with tire ; so won, so lost. King. We must, of force, dispense with this She must be here on mere necessity, [decree ; Biron. Necessity will make us all forsworn, Three thousand times within this three years' space ; For every man with his affects is born ; Not by might mastered, but by special grace : If I break faith, this word shall speak for me, I am forsworn on mere necessity. So to the laws at large I write my name : [Subscribes. And he, that breaks them in the least degree, Stands in attainder of perpetual shame : Suggestions x are to others, as to me ; But, I believe, although I seem so loth, I am the last that will last keep his oath. But is there no quick recreation granted? King. Ay, that there is : our court, you know, With a refined traveller of Spain; [is haunted A man in all the world's new fashion planted, That hath a mint of phrases in his brain : One, whom the musick of his own vain tongue Doth ravish, like enchanting harmony ; A man of compliments, whom right and wrong Have chose as umpire of their mutiny : This child of fancy, that Armado hight.2 For interim to our studies, shall relate, In high-born words, the worth of many a knight From tawny Spain, lost in the world's debate. How you delight, my lords, I know not, I ; But, I protest, I love to hear him lie, And I will use him for my minstrelsy. Biron. Armado is a most illustrious wight, A man of fire-new words, fashion's own knight. Long. Costard the swain, and he, shall be our sport ; And, so to study, three years is but short. Enter Dull, with a letter, and Costard. Dull. Which is the duke's own person? Biron. This, fellow; What would'st? Dull. I myself reprehend his own person, for I am his grace's tharborougli 3 : but I would see his own person in flesh and blood. Biron. This is he. Dull. Signior Arme Arme commends you. There's viilany abroad ; this letter will tell you more. Cost. Sir, the contempts thereof are as touch- ing me. King. A letter from the magnificent Armado. 1 Temptations. 2 Called. 8 Constable. 158 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT I. Biron. How low soever the matter I hope for high words. Long. A high hope for a low heaven : Heaven grant us patience ! Biron. To hear ? or forbear hearing ? Long. To hear meekly, sir, and to laugh moderately ; or to forbear both. Biron. Well, sir, be it as the style shall give us cause to climb in the merriness. Cost The matter is to me, sir, as concerning Jaquenetta. In manner and form following, I was seen with her in the manor house, sitting with her upon the form, and taken following her into the park ; which, put together, is, in manner and form following. King. Will you hear this letter with attention ? Biron. As we would hear an oracle. Cost. Such is the simplicity of man to hearken after the flesh. King. [Reads.] Great Deputy, the welkin's vicegerent, and sole dominator of Navarre, my body's fostering patron, Cost. Not a word of Costard yet. King. So it is, Cost It may be so : but if he say it is so, he is, in telling true, but so, so. King. Peace ! Cost. be to me, and every man that dares not fight ! King. !N"o words. Cost of other men's secrets, I beseech you. King. So it is, besieged with sable, coloured melancholy, I did commend the black oppressing humour to the most wholesome physick of thy health-giving air ; and, as I am a gentleman, betook myself to walk. The time when ? About the sixth hour; ivhen beasts most graze, birds best peck, and men sit down to that nourishment which is called supper. So much for the time when: Now for the ground which; which I mean, I walked upon : it is ycleped thy park. Then for the place where ; where, I mean, I did encounter that most preposterous event, that drawethfrom my snow-white pen the eben-col- oured ink, which here thou viewest, beholdest, surveyest, or seest : But to the place, where, It standeth north-north-east and by east from the west corner of thy curious-knotted garden: There did I see that low-spirited swain, that base minnow of thy mirth. Cost. Me. King. that unlettered small-knowing soul. Cost. Me. King. that shallow vassal. Cost. Still me. King. which, as Ircmember, hight Costard, Cost. me ! King, sorted and consorted, contrary to thy established proclaimed edict and canon, with with, with a child of our grandmother Eve, a female, or, for thy more sweet understanding, a woman. Him I fas my ever esteemed duty pricks me on} have sent to thee, to receive the meed of punishment, by thy sweet grace's officer, Antony Dull; a man of good repute, carriage, "bearing, and estimation. Dull. Me, an't shall please you ; I ain Antony Dull. King. For Jaquenetta, (so is the weaker vessel called, which I apprehend with the aforesaid], I keep her as a vessel of thy law's fury ; and shall, at the least of thy sweet notice, bring her to trial. Thine, in all compliments of devoted and lieart-burning heat of duty. DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO. Biron. This is the best that ever I heard. King. Ay, the best for the worst. But, sirrah, what say you to this ? Did you hear the procla- mation ? Cost I do confess much of the hearing it, but little of the marking of it. King. Sir, I will pronounce your sentence ; You shall fast a week with bran and water. Cost I had rather pray a month with mutton and porridge. King. And Don Armado shall be your keeper. My lord Birou, see him deliver'd o'er. And go we, lords, to put in practice that Which each to other hath so strongly sworn. [Exeunt King, Longaville, and Dumain. Biron. I'll lay my head to any good man's hat, These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn. Sirrah, come on. Cost I suffer for the truth, sir ; for true it is. Jaquenetta is a true girl ; and therefore, Wel- come the sour cup of prosperity : Affliction may one day smile again, and till then, sit thee down, sorrow ! {Exeunt. SCENE II. ARMADO'S HOUSE. Enter Armado and Moth. Arm. Boy, what sign is it when a man of great spirit grows melancholy ? Moth. A great sign, sir, that he will look sad. Arm. Why, sadness is one and the self -same thing, dear imp. Moth. No, no, sir, no. Arm. How canst thou part sadness and melan- choly, my tender juvenal? 1 Moth. By a familiar demonstration of the working, my tough senior. Arm. Why tough senior? why tough senior? M. Why tender juvenal? why tender Juvenal? Arm. I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a congru- ent epitheton, appertaining to thy young days, which we may nominate tender. Moth. And I, tough senior, as an appertinent title to your old time, which we may name tough. Arm. Pretty and apt. Moth. How mean you, sir? I pretty, and my saying apt ? or, I apt, and my saying pretty ? Arm. Thou pretty because little. Moth. Little pretty, because little : Wherefore apt? Arm. And therefore apt, because quick. Moth. Speak you this in my praise, master? Arm. In thy condign praise. Moth. I will praise an eel with the same praise. Arm. What ? that an eel is ingenious ? Moth. That an eel is quick. Arm. I do say, thou art quick in answers: Thou heatest my blood. Moth. I am answered, sir. 1 Juvenile. SC. II. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 159 Arm. I love not to be crossed. Moth. He speaks the mere contrary, crosses love not him. . [Aside. Arm. I have promised to study three years with the duke. Moth. You may do it in an hour, sir. Arm. Impossible. Moth. How many is one thrice told? Arm. I am ill at reckoning, it fitteth the spirit of a tapster. M. You are a gentleman, and a gamester, sir. Arm. I confess both ; they are both the varnish of a complete man. Moth. Then, I am sure you know how much the gross sum of deuce-ace amounts to. Arm. It doth amount to one more than two. Moth. Which the base vulgar do call three. Arm. True. Moth. Why, sir, is this such a piece of study? Now here is three studied, ere you'll thrice wink : and how easy it is to put years to the word three, and study three years in two words, the dancing horse will tell you. Arm. A most fine figure ! Moth. To prove you a cipher. [Aside. Arm. I will hereupon confess, I am in love : and, as it is base for a soldier to love, so am I in love with a base wench. If drawing my sword against the humour of affection would deliver me from the reprobate thought of it, I would take desire prisoner, and ransom him to any French courtier for a new devised courtesy. I think scorn to sigh ; methinks, I should out- swear Cupid. Comfort me, boy : What great men have been in love ? Moth. Hercules, master. Arm. Most sweet Hercules !-More authority, dear boy, name more ; and, sweet my child, let them be men of good repute and carriage. Moth. Samson, master : he was a man of good carriage, great carriage ! for he carried the town-gates on his back, like a porter : and he was in love. Arm. O well knit Samson ! strong jointed Samson ! I do excel thee in my rapier, as much as thou didst me in carrying gates. I am in love too. Who was Samson's love, my dear Moth? Moth. A woman, master. Arm. Of what complexion? Moth. Of all the four, or the three, or the two ; or one of the four. Arm. Tell me precisely of what complexion ? Moth. Of the sea-water green, sir. Arm. Is that one of the four complexions? Moth. As I have read, sir ; and the best of them too. Arm. Green, indeed, is the colour of lovers : but to have a love of that colour, methinks, Samson had small reason for it. He, surely, affected her for her wit. Moth. It was so, sir ; for she had a green wit. Arm. My love is most immaculate white and red. Moth. Most maculate thoughts, master, are masked under such colours. Arm. Define, define, well-educated infant. M. My father's wit, and my mother's tongue assist me ! Arm. Sweet invocation of a child ; most pretty, and pathetical ! Moth. If she be made of white and red, Her faults will ne'er be known ; For blushing cheeks by faults are bred, And fears by pale white shown : Then, if she fear, or be to blame, By this you shall not know ; For still her cheeks possess the same, Which native she doth owe. 1 A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of white and red. Arm. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the Beggar? Moth. The world was very guilty of such a ballad some three ages since : but, I think, HOAV 'tis not to be found ; or, if it were, it would neither serve for the writing nor the tune. Arm. I will have the subject newly writ o'er, that I may example my digression by some mighty precedent. Boy, I do love that country girl, that I took in the park with -the rational hind, Costard ; she deserves well. Moth. To be whipped ; and yet a better love than my master. [A side. A rm. Sing, boy ; my spirit grows heavy in love. Moth. And that's great marvel, loving a light woman. Arm. I say sing. Moth. Forbear till this company be past. Enter Dull, Costard, and Jaquenetta. Dull. Sir, the duke's pleasure is, that you keep Costard safe: and you must let him take no de- light, nor no penance ; but a' must fast three days a- week : For this damsel, I must keep her at the park ; she is allowed for the day- woman. 2 Fare you well. A. I do betray myself with blushing. Maid. Jaq. Man. Arm, I will visit thee at the lodge. Jaq. That's here-by. Arm. I know where it is situate. Jaq. How wise you arc ! Arm. I will tell thee wonders. Jaq. With that face? Arm. I love thee. Jaq. .So I heard you say. Arm. And so farewell. Jaq. Fair weather after you ! Dull. Come, Jaquenetta, away. [Exeunt Dull and Jaquenetta. Arm. Villain, thou shalt fast for thy offences, ere thou be pardoned. Cost. Well, sir, I hope, when I do it, I shall do it on a full stomach. Arm. Thou shalt be heavily punished. Cost. I am more bound to you, than your fellows, for they are but lightly rewarded. Arm. Take away this villain ; shut him up. Moth. Come, you transgressing slave ; away. Cost. Let me not be pent up, sir, I will fast, being loose. Moth. No, sir, that were fast and loose : thou shalt to prison. Cost. Well, if ever I do see the merry days of desolation that I have seen, some shall see I Own. 2 Dairywoman. 160 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT II. Moth. What shall some see? Cost. Nay, nothing, master Moth, but what they look upon. It is not for prisoners to be too silent in their words ; and, therefore, I will say nothing ; I have as little patience as another man ; and therefore I can be quiet. [Exeunt Moth and Costard. Arm. I do affect 1 the very ground, which is base, where her shoe, which is baser, guided by her foot, which is basest, doth tread. I shall be forsworn (which is a great argument of falsehood), if I love: And how can that be true love, which is falsely attempted? Cupid's butt-shaft 2 is too hard for Hercules' club, and therefore too much odds for a Spaniard's rapier. The first and second cause will not serve my turn; the passado 3 he respects not, the duello he regards not: his disgrace is to be called boy ; but his glory is to subdue men. Adieu, valour ! rust, rapier ! be still drum ! for your manager is in love; yea, he loveth. Assist me, some extemporal god of rhyme, for, I am sure, I shall turn sonneteer. Devise, wit ; write, pen; for I am for whole volumes in folio. [Exit. Act Second. SCENE I. A PAVILION, AND TENTS AT A DISTANCE. Enter the Princess of France, Rosaline, Maria, Katherinc, Boyet, Lords, and other Attendants. Boyet. Now, madam, summon up your dearest spirits : Consider who the king your father sends ; To whom he sends ; and what's his embassy : Yourself, held precious in the world's esteem ; To parley with the sole inheritor Of all perfections that a man may owe, Matchless Navarre ; the plea of no less weight Than Aquitain ; a dowry for a queen. P.e now as prodigal of all dear grace, As nature was in making graces dear, When she did starve the general world beside, And prodigally gave them all to you. Prin. Good lord Boyet, my beauty, though but mean, Needs not the painted flourish of your praise ; Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye, Not utter'd by base sale of chapmen's tongues: I am less proud to hear you tell my worth, Than you much willing to be counted wise In spending your wit in the praise of mine. But now to task the tasker. Good Boyet, You are not ignorant, all-telling fame Doth noise abroad Navarre hath made a vow, Till painful study shall out-wear three years, No woman may approach his silent court : Therefore to us seeineth it a needful course, Before we enter his forbidden gates, To know his pleasure ; and, in that behalf, Bold of your worthiness, we single you As our best-moving fair solicitor : Tell him, the daughter of the king of France, 1 Love. 2 Arrow to shoot at biitts with. 3 Thrust. On serious business, craving quick despatch, Importunes personal conference with his grace. Haste, signify so much ; while we attend, Like humbly- visaged suitors, his high will. Boyet. Proud of employment, willingly I ?;o. [Exit. P. All pride is willing pride, and yours is so. Who are the votaries, my loving lords, That are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke? 1 Lord. Longaville is one. Prin. Know you the man ? Mar. I knowhim, madam ; at a marriage fea.st, Between lord Perigort and the beauteous heir Of Jaques Falconbridge solemnized, In Normandy saw I this Longaville : A man of sovereign parts he is esteem 'cl ; Well fitted in the arts, glorious in arms : Nothing becomes him ill, that he would well. The only soil of his fair virtue's gloss, (If virtue's gloss will stain with any soil,) Is a sharp wit match'd Avith too blunt a will ; Whose edge hath power to cut, whose will still wills It should none spare that come within his power. P. Some merry mocking lord, belike ; is't so? Mar. They say so most, that most his humours know. Prin. Such short-liv'd wits do wither as they Who are the rest ? [grow. Kath. The young Dumain, awell-accomplLsh'd youth, Of all that virtue love for virtue lov'd : Most power to do most harm, least knowing ill; For he hath wit to make an ill shape good, And shape to win grace though he hath no wit. I saw him at the duke Alencon's once ; And much too little of that good I saw, Is my report, to his great worthiness. Ros. Another of these students at that time Was there Avitli him : If I have heard a truth, Biron they call him ; but a merrier man, Within the limit of becoming mirth, I never spent an hour's talk withal : His eye begets occasion for his Avit ; For every object that the one doth catch, The other turns to a mirth -moving jest ; Which his fair tongue (conceit's expositor) Delivers in such apt and gracious words, That aged ears play truant at his tales, And younger hearings are quite raAdshed; So SAveet and voluble is his discourse. P. HeaA r en bless my ladies ! are they all in love; That every one her OAVH hath garnished With such bedecking ornaments of praise ; Mar. Here comes Boyet. Re-enter Boyet. Prin. Now, what admittance, lord? Boy. Navarre had notice of your fair approach ; And he, and his competitors 1 in oath, Were all address'd 2 to meet you, gentle lady, Before I came. Marry, thus much I have learnt, He rather means to lodge you in the field, (Like one that comes here to besiege his court,) Than seek a dispensation for his oath, To let you enter his unpeopled house. Here comes Navarre. [The Ladies masJc. 1 Confederates. 2 Prepared. SO. 1. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 1G1 Enter King, Longaville, Durnain, Biron, and Attendants. King. Fair princess, welcome to the court of Navarre. Prin. Fair, I give you back again ; and, wel- come I have not yet : the roof of this court is too high to be yours ; and welcome to the wild fields too base to be mine. K. You shall be welcome, madam, to my court. P. I will be welcome, then; conduct me thither. K. Hear me, clear lady ; I have sworn an oath. P. Our lady help my lord ! he'll be forsworn. King. Not for the world, fair madam, by my will. Prin. Why, will shall break it ; will, and no- thing else. King. Your ladyship is ignorant what it is. P. Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise, Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance. I hear, your grace hath sworn-out house-keeping: 'Tis deadly sin to keep that oath, my lord, And sin to break it : But pardon me, I am too sudden-bold; To teach a teacher ill beseemcth me. Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my coming, And suddenly resolve me in my suit. [Gives a paper. King. Madam, I will, if suddenly I may. Prin. You will the sooner, that I were away ; For you'll prove perjur'd, if you make me stay. Biron. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once? Eos. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once ? Biron. I know you did. Eos. How needless was it then To ask the question ! Biron. You must not be so quick. Eos. 'Tis 'long of you that spur me with such questions. Biron. Your wit's too hot, it speeds too fast, 'twill tire. Eos. Not till it leave the rider in the mire. Biron. What time o' day? Eos. The hour that fools shall ask. Biron. Now fair befall your mask ! Eos. Fair fall the face it covers ! Biron. And send you many lovers ! Eos. Amen, so you be none. Biron. Nay, then will I be gone. King. Madam, your father here doth intimate The payment of a hundred thousand crowns ; Being but the one half of an entire sum, Disburs'd by my father in his wars. But say, that he, or we (as neither have), Ileceiv'd that sum ; yet there remains unpaid A hundred thousand more; in surety of the which, One part of Aquitain is bound to us, Although not valued to the money's worth. If then" the king your father will restore But that one half which is unsatisfied, We will give up our right in Aquitain, And hold fair friendship with his majesty. But that, it seems, he little purposeth, For here he doth demand to have repaid An hundred thousand crowns ; and not demands, On payment of a hundred thousand crowns, To have his title live in Aquitain ; Which we much rather had depart 1 withal, And have the money by our father lent, Than Aquitain divided as it is. Dear princess, were not his requests so far From reason's yielding,your fair selfshould make A yielding, 'gainst some reason, in my breast, And go well satisfied to France again. P. You do the king my father too much wrong, And wrong the reputation of your name, In so unseeming to confess receipt Of that which hath so faithfully been paid. King. I do protest, I never heard of it ; And, if you prove it, I'll repay it back, Or yield up Aquitain. Prin. We arrest your word :-- Boyet, you can produce acquittances, For such a sum, from special officers Of Charles his father. King. Satisfy me so. [come, Boyet. So please your grace, the packet is not \Vhere that and other specialities are bound ; To-morrow you shall have a sight of them. King. It shall suffice me : at which interview, All liberal reason I will yield unto. Mean time, receive such welcome at my hand, As honour, without breach of honour, may Make tender of to thy true worthiness : You may not come, fair princess, in my gates ; But here without, you shall be so receiv'd, As you shall deem yourself lodg'd in my heart, Though so denied fair harbour in my house. Your own good thoughts excuse me, and fare- well: To-morrow shall we visit you again. [grace ! P. Sweet health and fair desires consort your King. Thy own wish wish I thee in every place ! [Exeunt King and his Train. Biron. Lady, I will commend you to my own heart. Eos. Tray you, do my commendations ; I would be glad to see it. Biron. I would, you heard it groan. Jios. Is the fool sick? Biron. Sick at heart. Eos. Alack, let it blood. Biron. Would that do it good? Eos. My physick says, 1.2 Biron. Will you prick't with your eye? Eos. No poynt, 3 with my knife. Biron. Now, heaven save thy life ! Eos. And yours from long living ! Biron. I can not stay thanksgiving, [ndlriug. Dum. Sir, I pray you, a word : What lady i.s that same? Boyct. The heir of Alencon.Kosaline her name. Dum. A gallant lady ! Monsieur, fare you well. [Exit. Long. I beseech you a word: What is she in 'the white? Boyet. A woman sometimes, an you saw her in the light. Long. Pray you, sir, whose daughter? Boyet. Her mother's, I have heard. Long. Heaven's blessing on your beard ! Boyet. Good, sir, be not offended: She is an heir of Falconbridge. 1 Part with. 2 Says ay. 3 A French particle of negation. L 162 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT III. Long. Nay, my clioler is ended. She is a most sweet lady. Boyet. Not unlike, sir ; that may be. [Exit Lang. Biron. What's her name in the cap? Boyet. Katharine, by good hap. Biron. Is she wedded or no? Boyet. To her will, sir, or so. Biron. You are welcome, sir ; adieu ! Boyet. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you. [Exit Biron. Ladies unmask. Mar. That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap Not a word with him but a jest. [lord ; Boyet. And every jest but a word. If my observation, (which very seldom lies,) By the heart's still rhetorick, disclosed with eyes, Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected. Prin. With what ? Boyet. With that which we lovers entitle, Prin. Your reason ? [affected. Boyet. Why all his behaviours did make their retire To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire : His heart, like an agate, with your print im- pressed, All senses to that sense did make their repair, To feel only looking on fairest of fair: Methought, all his senses were lock'd in his eye, As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy ; Who, tend'ring their own worth, from where they were glass'd, Did point you to buy them, along as you pass'd. His face's own margent did quote such amazes, That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes: I'll give you Aquitain, and all that is his^ An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss. Prin. Come, to our pavilion : Boyet is dis- pos'd Boy. But to speak that in words, which his eye hath disclos'd : I only have made a mouth of his eye, By adding a tongue which I know will not lie. Ros. Thou art an old love-monger, and speak'st skilfully. [of him. M. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news Ros. Then was Venus like her mother; for her father is but grim. Boyet. Do you hear, my mad girls ? Mar. 'No. Boyet. What then, do you see ? Ros. Ay, our way to be gone. Boyet. You are too hard for me. [Exeunt. Act Third. SCENE I. THE PARK, NEAR THE PALACE. Enter Armado and Moth. Arm. Warble, child ; make passionate my sense of hearing. Moth. Concolinel [Singing. Arm. Sweet air ! Go, tenderness of years; take this key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him festinately 1 hither ; I must employ him in a letter to my love. Moth. Master, will you win your love with a French brawl? 2 Arm. Howmean'stthou? brawling in French? Moth. No, my complete master: but to jig off a tune at the tongue's end, canary 3 to it with your feet, humour it with turning up your eye- lids ; sigh a note, and sing a note ; sometime through the throat, as if you swallowed love with singing love ; sometime through the nose, as if you snuffed up love by smelling love ; with your hat penthouse-like, o'er the shop of your eyes ; with your arms crossed on your thin doublet, like a rabbit on a spit ; or your hands in your pocket, like a man after the old painting; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away. A . How hast thou purchased this experience ? Moth. By my penny of observation. Arm. But 0, but 0, - Moth. the hobby-horse is forgot. Arm. Callest thou my love, hobby-horse? Moth. No, master ; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and your love, perhaps, a hackney. But have you forgot your love ? Arm. Almost I had. Moth. Negligent student ! learn her by heart. Arm. By heart, and in heart, boy. Moth. And out of heart, master : all those three I will prove. Arm. What will that prove? Moth. A man, if I live ; and this, by, in, and without, upon the instant : By heart you love her, because your heart cannot come by her : in heart you love her, because your heart is in love with her : and out of heart you love her, being out of heart that you cannot have her. Arm. I am all these three. Moth. And three times as much more, and yet nothing at all. Arm. Fetch hither the swain ; he must carry me a letter. Moth. A message well sympathised ; a horse to be ambassador for an ass ! Arm. Ha, ha ! what say est thou ? Moth. Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the horse, for he is very slow-gaited : But I go. Arm. The way is but short ; away. Moth. As swift as lead, sir. Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious ? Is not lead a metal, heavy, dull, and slow ? Moth. Minime, honest master; or, rather master no. Arm. I say, lead is slow. Moth. You are too swift, sir, to say so : Is that lead slow which is fired from a gun ? Arm. Sweet smoke of rhetorick : He reputes me a cannon ; and the bullet, that's I shoot thee at the swain. [he : Moth. Thump then, and I flee. [E.rit. Arm. A most acute Juvenal ; voluble and free of grace ! By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face : Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place. My herald is returned. 1 Hastily. 2 A dance. 3 A sprightly dance. SO. I. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 163 Re-enter Moth and Costard. Moth. A wonder, master ; here's a costard 1 broken in a shin. Arm. Some enigma, some riddle: come, thy I'envoy ; 2 begin. Cost. No enigma, no riddle, no I'envoy ; no salve in the mail, sir : 0, sir, plantain, a plain plaintain ; no I'envoy, no I'envoy, no salve, sir, but a plantain ! Arm. By virtue, thou enforced laughter; thy silly thought, my spleen ; the heaving of my lungs provokes me to ridiculous smiling : O, pardon me, my stars ! Doth the inconsiderate take salve for I'envoy, and the word, I'envoy, for a salve? Moth. Do the wise think them other? is not I'envoy a salve? Arm. No, page : it is an epilogue or discourse to make plain Some obscure precedence that hath tofore 3 been I will example it : [sain. 4 The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, Were still at odds, being but three. There's the moral: Now the I'envoy. [again. Moth. I will add the I'envoy : Say the moral Arm. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, Were still at odds, being but three : Moth. Until the goose came out of door, And stay'd the odds by adding four. Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow rdth my I'envoy. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, Were still at odds, being but three : Arm. Until the goose came out of door, Staying the odds by adding four. Moth. A good I'envoy, ending in the goose : Would you desire more? Cost. The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose, that's flat : Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose be fat. [loose: To sell a bargain well is as cunning as fast and Let me see a fat I'envoy; ay, that's a fat goose. Arm. Come hither, come hither: How did this argument begin? Mo. By saying that a Costard was broken in Then call'd you for the I'envoy. [a shin. Cost. True, and I for a plantain : Thus came your argument in ; Then the boy's fat I'envoy, the goose that you And he ended the market. [boug'ht ; Ann. But tell me ; how was there a Costard broken in a shin? Moth. I will tell you sensibly. Cost. Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth ; I will speak that I'envoy : 1, Costard, miming out, that was safely within, Fell over the threshold, and broke my shin. Arm. We will talk no more of this matter. Cost. Till there be more matter in the shin. Arm. Sirrah Costard, I will enfranchise thee. Cost. 0, many me to one Frances : I smell some I'envoy, some goose, in this. Arm. I mean, setting thee at liberty, enfree- doming thy person; thou wert immured, re- strained, captivated, bound. C. True, true ; and now you. will let me loose. 1 A head. 2 A French term for concluding verses. 8 Before. 4 Said. Arm. I give thee thy liberty, set thee from durance ; and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing but this : Bear this signilicant to the country maid Jaquenetta: there is remuneration; [Giving him money.] for the best ward of mine honour, is rewarding my dependents. Moth, follow. [Exit. Moth. Like the sequel, I. Signior Costard, adjeu. [Exit Moth. Cost. Now will I look to his remuneration. Remuneration ! 0, that's the Latin word for three farthings: three farthings remuneration. What's the price of this inkle 1 ? a penny! No, I'll give you a remuneration: why, it carries it. Remuneration ! Enter Biron. Biron. 0, my good knave Costard ! exceed- ingly well met. Cost. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon may a man buy for a remuneration? Biron. What is a remuneration? Cost. Marry, sir, half -penny farthing. Biron. 0, why then, three-farthings-worth of silk. Cost. I thank your worship : Heaven be with you! Biron. 0, stay, slave; I must employ thee: As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave, Do one thing for me that I shall entreat. Cost. When would you have it done, sir? Biron. O, this afternoon. Co^t. Well, I will do it, sir: Fare you well. Biron. 0, thou knowest not what it is. Cost I shall know, sir, when I have done it. Biron. Why, villain, thou must know first. Cost. I will come to your worship to-morrow morning. Biron. It must be done this afternoon. Hark, slave, it is but this ; The princess comes to hunt here in the park, And in her train there is a gentle lady ; When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her name, And Rosaline they call her : ask for her ; And to her white hand see thou do commend This seal'd up counsel. There's thy guerdon 2 ; go. [Gives him money. Cost. Guerdon, sweet guerdon! better than remuneration; eleven-pence farthing better: Most sweet guerdon ! I will do it, sir, in print. 8 Guerdon remuneration. [Exit. Biron. ! And I, forsooth, in love ! I, that have been love's whip ; A very beadle to a humorous sigh ; A critick ; nay, a night-watch constable ; A. domineering pedant o'er the boy, Than whom no mortal so magnificent ! This whimpled, 4 whining, purblind, wayward boy; This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid ; Regent of love rhymes, lord of folded arms, The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans, Liege of all loiterers and malcontents, And I to be a corporal of his field, And wear his colours like a tumbler's hoop ! What? I ! I love ! I sue ! I seek a wife ! 1 Tape. 2 Reward. 3 Exactly. 4 Veiled, 164 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT IV. A woman, that is like a German clock, Still a-repairing ; ever out of frame ; And never going aright, being a watch, But being watch'd that it may still go right ? Nay, to be perjur'd, which is worst of all ; And, among three, to love the worst of all ; And 1 to sigh for her ! to watch for her ! To pray for her ! Go to ; it is a plague That Cupid will impose for my neglect Of his most mighty dreadful little might. Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, ^sue, and groan ; Some men must love my lady, and some Joan. [Exit. Act Fourth. SCENE I. A PAVILION IN THE PAEK. Enter the Princess, Rosaline, Maria, KatJierine, Boyet, Lords, Attendants, and a Forester. Prin. Was that the king, that spurred his horse so hard Against the steep uprising of the hill ? Boyet. I know not ; but, I think, it was not he. Prin. Whoe'er he was, he showed a mounting mind. Well, lords, to-day we shall have our despatch ; On Saturday we will return to France. Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush, That we must stand and play the murderer in ? F. Here by, upon the edge of yonder coppice ; A stand, where you may make the fairest shoot. Prin. I thank my beauty, Tarn fair that shoot. And thereupon thou speak'st the fairest shoot. For. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so. Prin. What, what? first praise me, and again say, no ? O short-liv'd pride ! Not fair ; alack for woe ! For. Yes, madam, fair. Prin. Nay, never paint me now ; Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow. Here, good my glass, take this for telling true ; [Giving Mm money. Fair payment for foul words is more than due. For. Nothing but fair is that which you in- herit. P. See, see, my beauty will be sav'd by merit. heresy in fair, fit for these days ! A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise. But come, the bow : Now mercy goes to kill, And shooting well is then accounted ill. Thus will I save my credit in the shoot : Not wounding, pity would not let me do't ; If wounding, then it was to show my skill, That more for praise, than purpose, meant to kill. And, out of question, so it is sometimes ; Glory grows guilty of detested crimes ; When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part. We bend to that the working of the heart : As I for praise alone, now seek to spill The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill. Boyet. Do not curst 1 wives hold that self- sovereignty Only for praise' sake, when they strive to be Lords o'er their lords ? Prin. Only for praise : and praise we may To any lady that subdues a lord. [afford Enter Costard. Prin." Here comes a member of the common- wealth. Cost. Pray you, which is the head lady ? Prin. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that have no heads. Cost. Which is the greatest lady, the highest? Prin. The thickest, and the tallest. Cost. The thickest, and the tallest ! it is so ; truth is truth. Are not you the chief woman? you are the thickest here. Prin. What's yourwill, sir? what's your will? Cost. I have a letter from monsieur JBir6n, to one lady Rosaline. Prin. 0, thy letter, thy letter; he's a good friend of mine : Standaside, good bearer. Boyet, you can carve; Break up this capon. Boyet. I am bound to serve. This letter is mistook, it importeth none here ; It is writ to Jaquenetta. Prin. We will read it, I swear : Break the neck of the wax , and e veryone give ear. Boyet. [Reads.] By heaven, tliat thou art fair, is most infallible ; true, that thou art beauteous; truth itself, that thou art lovely: More fairer than fair, beautiful than beauteous: truer than truth it self, have commiseration on thy heroical va.ssa I ! Th e, magnanimous and most illustrate king Cophetua set eye upon the pernicious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon ; and hail was that might rightly say, veui, vidi, vici ; which to anatomise in the vulgar (0 base and obscure vulgar !) videlicet, he came, saw, and overcame : he came, one; saw, two; overcame, three. Who came? the king: Why did he come? to see: Why did he see ? to overcome : To whom came he? to the beggar: What saw he? the beggar: Who overcame he : the beggar: the conclusion is victory; On whose side? the Icing's: The cap- tive is enriched ; On whose side? the beggar's: The catastrophe is a nuptial ; On whose side? the king's ? no, on both in one, or one in both, I am the king; for so stands the comparison: thou the beggar; for so witncsseth thy lowliness. Shall I command thy love ? I may: Shall I en- force thy love? I could: Shall I entreat thy love? I will. What shalt thou exchange for rags? robes; For tittles, titles; For thyself, me. Thus, expecting thy reply, I profane my lips on thy foot, my eyes on thy picture, and my heart on thce. Thine, in the dearest design of industry, DON ADEIANO DE ARMADO. Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar 'Gainst thce, thou lamb, that standest as his prey ; Submissive fall his princely feet before, And he from forage will incline to play : 1 Shrewish. SC. I. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 165 But if thou strive, poor soul, what art thoutheii ? Food for his rage, repastnre for his den. Prin. What plume of feathers is he, that in- dited this letter ? What vane ? what weathercock ? did you ever hear better ? Boyet. I am much deceived, but I remember the style. Prin. Else your memory is bad, going o'er it erewhile. 1 Boyet. This Armadois a Spaniard, that keeps here in court ; A phantasm, a Monarcho, and one that makes To the prince, and his book-mates. [sport Prin. Thou, fellow, a word : Who gave thee this letter ? Cost. I told you ; my lord. Prin. To whom should'st thou give it? Cost. From my lord to my lady. Prin. From which lord, to which lady? C. From my lord Biron, a good master of mine, To a lady of France, that he call'd Rosaline. Prin. Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords, away. Here, sweet, put up this ; 'twill be thine another day. [Exeunt. SCENE II. THE SAME. Enter Holofernes, Sir Nathaniel, and Dull. Nath. Very reverent sport, truly ; and done in the testimony of a good conscience. Hoi. The deer was, as you know, in sanguis, blood ; ripe as a pomewater, 2 who now hangeth likeajewelintheearofca?Zo,-thesky,thewelldn, the heaven ; and anon falleth like a crab, on the face of terra, the soil, the land, the earth. Nath. Truly, master Holofernes, the epithets are sweetly varied,like a scholar at the least : But, sir, I assure ye, it was a buck of the first head. 3 Hoi. Sir Nathaniel, hand credo. Dull. Twas not a Jiaud credo, 'twas a pricket. Hoi. Most barbarous intimation ! yet a kind of insinuation, as it Avere, in via, in way, of ex- plication ; facere. as it were, replication, or rather, ostentare, to show, as it Avere, his in- clination, after his undressed, unpolished, un- educated, unpruned, untrained, or rather un- lettered, or, ratherest, unconfirmed fashion, to insert again my haud credo for a deer. Dull. I said, the deer Avas not a liaud credo; 'twas a pricket. Hoi. Twice sod 4 simplicity, "bis coctus !-0 thou monster ignorance,how deformed dost thou look ! Nath. Sir, lie hath never fed of the dainties that are bred in a book ; he hath not eat paper, as it were ; he hath not drunk ink ; his intellect is not replenished ; he is only an animal, only sensible in the duller parts ; And such barren plants are set before us, that we thankful should be (Which we of taste and feeling are) for those parts that do fructify in us more than he. 1 Lately. 2 A species of apple. 3 A fawn, a year old, is culled a pricket ; when two years old, a sorel; when three years old, a sore; when four years, a buck of the first head ; when five years, an old buck, 4 Pret. of Seethe. For as it Avould ill become me to be vain, in- discreet, or a fool, [in a school : So, were there a patch set on learning, to see him But, omne bene, say I ; being of an old father's mind. Many can brook the weather, that love not the wind. Dull. You two are bookmen : Can you tell by your wit, What was a month old at Cain's birth, that's not five Aveeks old as yet? H. Dictynna, good man dull ; Dictynna, good man Dull. Dull. What is Dictynna? Nath. A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon. Hoi. The moon Avas a mouth old, Avhen Adam. Avas no more ; And raught 1 not to five Aveeks, when he came to The allusion holds in the exchange, [fivescore. Dull. 'Tis true, indeed; the collusion holds in the exchange. Hoi. Heaven comfort thy capacity ! I say, the allusion holds in the exchange. Dull. And I say the pollution holds in the exchange ; for the moon is never but a month old : and I say beside, that 'twas a pricket that the princess kill'd. Hoi. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extcm- poral epitaph on the death of the deer? and, to humour the ignorant, I have call'd the deer the princess kill'd a pricket. Nath. Perge, good master Holofernes, pergc; so it shall please you to abrogate scurrility. Hoi. I Avill something affect the letter ; for it argues facility. The praise/til princess pierc'd and prick'd a pretty pleasing pricket; Some say a sore; but not a sore, till now made sore with shooting. The dogs did yell; put L to sore, then sorel jumps from thicket; [a-hooting. Or pricket, sore, or else sorel; the people fall If sore be sore, then L to sore makes Jifty sores; sore L ! Of one sore I an hundred make, by adding but Nath. A rare talent ! [one more L. Dull. If a talent be a claw, look how he claws him with a talent. Hoi. This is a gift that I have, simple, simple ; a foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions: But the gift is good in those in whom it is acute, and I am thankful for it. Nath. Sir, I praise heaven for you; and so may my parishioners ; for their sons are well tutor'd by you, and their daughters profit very greatly under you : you are a good member of the com- monwealth. Hoi. Meherde,it their sons be ingenious, they shall Avant no instruction : if their daughters be capable, I Avill put it to them : But, vir sapit, guipaucaloquitur: a soul feminine saluteth us. Enter Jaquenetta and Costard. Jaq. Good morrow, master person. Hoi. Master person, quasi pers-on. And if one should be pierced, which is the one? 1 Reached. 166 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT iv. Cost. Marry, master schoolmaster, lie that is likest to a hogshead. Hoi. Of piercing a hogshead ! a good lustre of conceit in a turf of earth ; fire enough for a flint : 'tis pretty ; it is well. Jaq. Good master parson, be so good as read me this letter ; it was given me by Costard, and sent me from Don Armatho : I beseech you, read it. Hoi. Fauste, prcoorgelidd qitando pecus omne sub umbra Rumiua t, and so forth. All, good old Mantuan : I may speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice ! Vinegia, Vinegia, Chi non te vede, ei non te pregia. Old Mantuan ! old Mantuan ! Who under- stand eth thee not, loves thee not. Ut, re, sol, la, mi, fa. Under pardon, sir, what are the contents? or, rather, as Horace says in his What, my soul, verses? Nath. Ay, sir, and very learned. Hoi. Let me hear a staff, a stanza, a verse ; Lege, domine. Nath. [Reads.] If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love ? [vowed ! Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll faithful prove; Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers bov.'cd. Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes; [comprehend: Where oil those pleasures live, that art would If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice ; [commend : Well learned is that tongue, that well can thee All ignorant that soul, that sees thee without wonder; [admire; f Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful thunder, [fire. Which not to anger bent, is muxick, and sweet Celestial, as thou art, oh pardon, love, this wrong, That sings heaven's praise with such an earthly tongue! Hoi. You find not the apostrophes, and so miss the accent : let me supervise the canzonet. Here are only numbers ratified; but for the elegancy, facility, and golden cadence of poesy, caret. Ovidius Naso was the man : and why, in- deed, Naso ; but for smelling out the odorifer- ous flowers of fancy, the jerks of invention' Imitari, is nothing : so doth the hound his mas ter, the ape his keeper, the tired 1 horse his rider But damosella virgin, was this directed to you Jaq. Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Biron, one o: the strange queen's lords. Hoi. I will overglance the superscript. To tJv snow-white hand of the mostbeauteous Lady 11 o saline. I will look again on the intellect of th letter, for the nomination of the party writing to the person written unto : Your Ladyship's in all desired employment, BIRON. Sir Nathaniel, this Biron is one of the votarie with the lung ; and here he hath framed a lette 1 Caparisoned. a sequent of the stranger queen's, which, ac- identally, or by the way of progression, hath miscarried. Trip and go, my sweet ; deliver his paper into the royal hand of the king ; it- may concern much : Stay not thy compliment ; ~ forgive thy duty ; adieu. Jaq. Good Costard, go with me. C. Have with thee, my girl. [Ex. Cost, and Jaq. Nath. Sir, you have done this very religiously; and, as a certain father saith Hoi. Sir, tell not me of the father, I do f ear olourable colours. But, to return to the verses ; )id they please you, Sir Nathaniel ? Nath. Marvellous well for the pen. Hoi. I do dine to-day at the father's of a certai n )upil of mine ; where if, before repast, it shall )lease you to gratify the table with a grace, I will , in my privilege I have with the parents of the bresaid child or pupil, undertake your ben cnuto; where I will prove those verses to be r ery unlearned, neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor invention : I beseech your society. Nath. And thank you too : for society, (saith lie text,) is the happiness of life. Hoi. And, certes, 1 the text most infallibly con- cludes it, Sir, [To Dull.} I do invite you too ; rou shall not say me, nay : pauca verba. Away ; Jie gentles are at their game, and we will to our recreation. [Exeunt. SCENE III. ANOTHER PART OF THE PARK. Enter Biron, with a paper. Biron. The king he is hunting the deer ; I am coursing myself. Well, Set thee down, sorrow ! for so, they say, the fool said, and so say I, and 1 the fool. Well proved, wit ! This love is as mad as Ajax : it kills sheep ; it kills me, I a sheep : Well proved again on my side ! I will not love : if I do, hang me ; i' faith, I will not. 0, but her eye, by this light, but for her eye, I would not love her; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By heaven, I do love : and it hath taught me to rhyme, and to be melancholy; and here is part of my rhyme, and here my melan- choly. Well, she hath one o' my sonnets'already ; the clown bore it, the fool sent it, and the lady hath it : sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady ! By the world, I would not care a pin if the other three were in : Here comes one with a paper. [Gets up into a tree. Enter the King, with a paper. King. Ah me ! Biron. [Aside.] Shot, by heaven ! Proceed, sweet Cupid ; thou hast tliump'd him with thy bird-bolt under the left pap : King. [Reads.] So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not To those fresh morning drops upon tlie rose As thyeye-beams,when theirfresh rays havesmotc The night of dew that onmy cheeks down flows; Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright Th rough the transparent bosom of the deep, As doth thy face through tears of mine give light; Thou shin'st in every tear that I do weep; l In truth. SO. III. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 167 No drop, but as a coach doth carry thee So ridest thou triumphing in my woe; Do but behold the tears that swell in me, A nd they thy glory through my grief will show. But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep My tears for glasses, and still make me weep. queen of queens, how far dost thou excel! No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell. How shall she know my griefs? I'll drop the paper; lea 1 Sweet leaves shade folly. Who is he comes here? [Steps aside. Enter Longaville, with a paper. What Longaville ! and reading ! listen, ear. Biron. Now, in thy likeness, one more fool, appear ! [Aside. Long. All me ! I am forsworn. Biron. Why, he comes in like a perjure, wear- ing papers. [Aside, King. In love, I hope: Sweet fellowship in shame ! [A side. Biron. One drunkard loves another of the name. [Aside. L. Am I the first that have been perjured so? Biron. [Aside. ] I could put thee in comfort ; not by two, that I know : [society, Thou mak'st the triumviry, the corner-cap of The shape of love's Tyburn that hangs up sim- plicity, [to move : Long. I fear, these stubborn lines lack power sweet Maria, empress of my love ! These numbers will I tear, aud write in prose. Bir. [Aside. ] 0, rhymes are guards on wanton Disfigure not his slop. [Cupid's hose : L. This same shall go. [He reads the sonnet. Did not the heavenly rhetorick of thine eye ('Gainstwhom the world cannot hold argument) Persuade my heart to this false perjury ? Vows, for thee broke, deserve not punishment. A woman I forswore; but, I will prove, TJwu, being a goddess, I forswore not thee: My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love ; [me. Thy grace being gain'd, cures all disgrace in Voius are but breath, and breath a vapour is : Tlien thou, fair sun, which on my earth doth ExJial'st this vapour vow ; in thee it is : [shine, If broken, then, it is no fault of mine: If by me broke : What fool is not so wise, To lose an oath to win a paradise ? Enter Dumain, with a paper. Long. By whom shall I send this ? Company ! stay. [Stepping aside. Byron. [Aside.] All hid, all hid, an old infant Like a demi-god here sit I in the sky, [play : And wretched fools' secrets heedfully o'er-eye. More sacks to the mill ! heavens, I have my wish ; Dumain transf orin'd : four woodcocks in a dish ! Dum. O most divine Kate ! Biron. most prophaiie coxcomb ! [Aside. Dum. As upright as the cedar, fair as day. Biron. Ay, as some days ; but then no sun must shine. [Aside. Dum. that I had my wish ! Long. And I had mine ! [Aside. King. And I mine too, good lord ! [Aside. Biron. Amen, so I had mine : Is not that a good word? [Aside. Dum. I would forget her ; but a fever she Reigns hi my blood, and will remember'd be. Biron. A fever in your blood, why then incision Would let her out in saucers ; Sweet misprision ! [Aside. D. Once more I'll read the ode that I have writ. Biron. Once more I'll mark how love can vary wit. [Aside. Dum. On a day, (alack the day /) Love, whose month is ever May, Spied a blossom, passing fair, Playing in the wanton air : Through the velvet leaves the wind, All unseen, 'g an passage find; That the lover, sick to death, Wish'd himself the heaven's breath. Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow; Air, would I might triumph so! But, alack, my hand is sworn, Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn: Vow, alack, for youth unmeet; Youth so apt to pluck a sweet. Do not call it sin in me, That I am forsworn for thee: Thou for whom even Jove, would swear, Juno but an Ethiop were; And deny himself for Jove, Turning mortal for thy love. This will I send ; and something else more plain, That shall express my true love's fasting pain. would the King, Biron, and Longaville, Were lovers too ! Ill to example ill, Would from my forehead wipe a perjur'd note ; For none offend, where all alike do dote. Long. Dumain, [Advancing.'] thy love is far from charity, That in love's grief desir'st society : You may look pale, but I should blush, I know, To be o'erheard, and taken napp'ng so. King. Come, sir, [Advancing.] you blush; as his your case is such ; You chide at him, offending twice as much: You do not love Maria ; Longaville Did never sonnet for her sake compile ; Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart His loving bosom, to keep down his heart. 1 have been closely shrouded in this bush, And mark'd you both, and for you both did blush. [fashion ; I heard your guilty rhymes, observ'd your Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion : Ah me ! says one ; O Jove ! the other cries ; One, her hairs were gold, crystal the other's eyes: You would for paradise break faith and troth ; [To Long. And Jove, for your love, would infringe an oath. [To Dumain. What will Biron say, when that he shall hear A faith infring'd, which such a zeal did swear? How will he scorn? how will he spend his wit? How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it? For all the wealth that ever I did see, I would not have him know so much by me. Biron. Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy. Ah, good my liege, I pray thee pardon me : [Descends from the tree. 168 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT IV. Good heart, what grace hast thou, thus to reprove These worms for loving, that art most in love ? Your eyes do make no coaches ; in your tears, There is no certain princess that appears : You'll not be perjur'd, 'tis a hateful thing ; Tush, none but minstrels like of sonneting. But are you not asham'd ? nay, are you not, All three of you, to be thus much o'ershot? You found his mote ; the king your mote did see ; But I a beam do find in each of three. what a scene of foolery I have seen, Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen 1 ! me, with what strict patience have I sat, To see a king transformed to a gnat ! To see great Hercules whipping a gigg, And profound Solomon to tune a jigg. And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys, And critick 2 Tiinou laugh at idle toys ! Where lies thy grief, tell me, good Domain? And, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain? And where my liege's? all about the breast : A caudle, 3 ho ! King. Too bitter is thy jest. Are we betray 'd thus to thy over-view? Biron. Not you by me, but I betray'd to you ; I, that am honest ; I, that hold it sin To break the vow I am engaged in? 1 am betray'd, by keeping company With moon-like men of strange inconstancy. When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme? Or groan for Joan ? or spend a minute's time In pruning me? When shall you hear that I Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye? King. Soft ; whether away so fast? A true man or a thief that gallops so ? Biron. I post from love : good lover, let me go. Enter Jaquenetta and Costard. Jaq. God bless the king ! King. What present hast thou there ? Cost. Some certain (reason. King. What makes treason here? Cos?. Nay, it makes nothing, sir. King. If it mar nothing neither, The treason, and you, go in peace away together. J. I beseech your grace, let this letter be read, Our parson misdoubts it ; 'twas treason, he said. K . Biron, read it over. [Giving him the letter. Where hadst thou it? Jaq. Of Costard. King. Where hadst thou it? Cost. Of Dun Aclramadio, Dun Adramadio. King. How now ! what is in you? why dost thou tear it ? Biron. Atoy, my liege, atoy ; your grace needs not fear it. Long. It did move him to passion, and there- fore let's hear it. Dum. It is Biron's writing, and here is his name. [Picks up the, pieces. Biron. Ah, you loggerhead, [To Costard.] you were born to do me shame. Guilty, my lord, guilty; I confess, I confess. King. What ? Biron. That you three fools lack'd me fool to make up the mess : He, he, and you, my liege, and I, 1 Grief, 2 Cynic. 3 A spiced mixture for invalids- Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die. 0, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you Dum. Now the number is even. [more. Biron. True, true ; we are f our ; Will these turtles be gone? King. Hence, sirs ; away. Cost. Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors stay. [Exeunt Cost, and Jaq. B. Sweet lords, sweet lovers, let us embrace ! As true we are as flesh and blood can be : The sea will ebb and flow, heaven show his face ; Young blood will not obey an old decree. King. What, did these rent lines show some love of thine ? Biron. Did they, quoth you? Who sees the heavenly Rosaline, That, like a rude and savage man of Inde, At the first opening of the gorgeous east, Bows not his vassal head ; and, strucken blind, Kisses the base ground with obedient breast ? What peremptory eagle-sighted eye Dares look upon the heaven of her brow, That is not blinded by her majesty? [now? King. What zeal, what fury hath inspired thee My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon ; She, an attending star, scarce seen a light. Biron. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Biron : O, but for my love, day would turn to night ! Of all complexions the culi'd sovereignty Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek ; Where several worthies make one dignity ; [seek. Where nothing wants, that want itself doth Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues Fye, painted rhetorick ! O, she needs it not ; To things of sale a seller's praise belongs ; She passes praise ; then praise too short doth A wither'd hermit,fi ve-score winters worn, [blot. Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye : Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-bom, And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy. 0, 'tis the sun, that maketh all things shine ! King. By heaven, thy love is black as ebony. Biron. Is ebony like her? wood divine ! A wife of such wood were felicity. 0, who can give an oath? where is a book? That I may swear, beauty doth beauty lack. If that she learn not of her eye to look : No face is fair, that is not full so black. 0, if in black my lady's brows be deckt, It mourns, that painting, and usurping hair, Should ravish doters with a false aspect ; And therefore is she born to make black fair. Her favour turns the fashion of the days ; For native blood is counted painting now ; And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise, Paints itself black, to imitate her brow. King. But what of this ? Are we not all in love ? B. Nothing so sure ; and thereby all forsworn. K. Then leave this chat: and, good Biron, now Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn, [prove Dum. Ay, marry, there, some flattery for this evil. Long. 0, some authority how to proceed ; Some tricks, some quillets, 1 how to cheat the Dum. Some salve for perjury. [devil. Biron. O, 'tis more than need ! Have at you then, affection's men at arms ; I Chicane. BC. III. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 169 Consider, what you first did swear unto ; To fast, to study, and to see no woman ; Flat treason 'gainst the kingly state of youth. Say, can you fast ? Your stomachs are too young, And abstinence engenders maladies. And where that you have vow'd to study, lords, In that each of you hath forsworn his book : Can you still dream, and pore, and thereon look ? For when would you, my lord, or you, or you, Have found the ground of study's excellence, Without the beauty of a woman's face? From women's eyes this doctrine I derive : They are the ground, the books, the academes, From whence doth spring the true Promethean Why, universal plodding prisons up [fire. The nimble spirits in the arteries ; As motion, and long-during action, tires The sinewy vigour of the traveller. Now, for not looking on a woman's face, You have in that forsworn the use of eyes ; And study too, the causer of your vow : For where is any author in the world, Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye? Learning is but an adjunct to ourself, And where we are, our learning likewise is. Then, when ourselves we see in ladies' eyes, Do we not likewise see our learning there? O, we have made a vow to study, lords ; And in that vow we have forsworn our books ; For when would you, my liege, or you, or you, In leaden contemplation, have found out Such fiery numbers, as the prompting eyes Of beauteous tutors have eurich'd you with ? Other slow arts entirely keep the brain ; And therefore finding barren practisers. Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil : But love, first learned in a lady's eyes, Lives not alone immured in the brain; But with the motion of all elements, Courses as swift as thought in every power ; And gives to every power a double power, Above their functions and their offices. It adds a precious seeing to the eye ; A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind ; A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound, When the suspicious head of theft is stopp'd ; Love's feeling is more soft, and sensible, Than are the tender horns of cockled snails ; Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste : For valour, is not love a Hercules, Still climbing trees in the Hesperides ? Subtle as sphinx ; as sweet, and musical, As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair ; And, when love speaks, the voice of all the gods Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony. Never durst poet touch a pen to write, Until his ink were temper'd with love's sighs ; O, then his lines would ravish savage ears, And plant in tyrants mild humility. From women's eyes this doctrine I derive : They sparkle still the right Promethean fire ; They are the books, the arts, the academes, That show, contain, and nourish all the world ; Else none at all in aught proves excellent : Then fools you were these women to forswear ; Or, keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools, For wisdom's sake, a word that all meu love ; Or for love's sake, a word that loves all men ; Let us once lose our oaths, to find ourselves, Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths : It is religion to be thus forsworn: For charity itself fulfils the law ; And who can sever love from charity ? King. Saint Cupid, then ! and soldiers to the field! [France? Long. Shall we resolve to woo these girls of King. And win them too:therefore let us devise Some entertainment for them in their tents. Bwon. First, from the park let us conduct them thither ; Then, homeward, every man attach the hand Of his fair mistress : in the afternoon We will with some strange pastime solace them, Such as the shortness of the time can shape ; Fur revels, dances, masks, and merry hours, Fore-run f airLove, strewing herway with flowers. King. Away, away ! no time shall be omitted, That will be time, and may by us be fitted. Act Fifth. SCENE I. A STREET. Enter Holofernes, Sir Nathaniel, and Dull. Hoi. Satis quod suffic'tt. No tli. Sir, your reasons 1 at dinner have been sharp and sententious ; pleasant without scurri- lity, witty without affection, 2 audacious without impudency, learned without opinion,and strange without heresy. I did converse this quondam day with a companion of the king's, who is intituled", nominated, or called, Don Adriano de Armado. Hoi. Nov i hominem tanquam te : His hum our is lofty, his discourse peremptory, his tongue filed, his eye ambitious, his gait majestical, and his general behaviour vain, ridiculous, and thrasonical. 3 He is too picked, 4 too spruce, too affected, too odd, as it were, too perigrinate, as I may call it. Nath. A most singular and choice epithet. [Takes out his table-book. Hoi. He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument. I abhor such fanatical phantasms, such insociable and point-devise 5 companion ; such rackers of ortho- graphy, as to speak, dout, fine, when he should say, doubt ; det, when he should pronounce, debt ; d, e, b, t ; not, d, e, t : he clepeth 6 a calf, cauf ; half, hauf : neighbour, vocatur, nebour, neigh, abbreviated, ne : This is abhominable, (which he would call abominable,) it insinuateth me of insanie ; Ne intelligis domine ? to make frantick, lunatick. Nath. Laus deo, bone intelligo. Hoi. Bone? 'bone, for bene: Priscian a little scratch'd ; 'twill serve. Enter Armado, Moth, and Costard. Nath. Videsne quis venit ? Hoi. Video, etgaudeo. Arm. Chirra ! [To Moth. 1 Discourses. 3 Boastful. 5 Finical exactness^ 2 Affectation, 4 Stu.irt. C falls. 170 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT V. Hoi. Quare Chirra, not sirrah? Arm. Men of peace well encounter'd. Hoi. Most military, sir, salutation. Moth. They have been at a great feast of lan- guages, and stolen the scraps. [ To Costard aside. Cost. 0, they have lived long in the alms- basket of words ? I marvel, thy master hath not eaten thee for a word ; for thou art not so long- by the head as honorificoMlittidinitatibus : thou art easier swallowed than a flap-dragon. 1 Moth. Peace ; the peal begins. A rm. Monsieur, [ To Hoi. ] are you not letter'd ? Moth. Yes, yes ; Jie teaches boys the horn- book : What is a, b, spelt backward with a horn on his head ? Hoi. Ba, pueritia, with a horn added. Moth. Ba, most silly sheep, with a horn : You hear his learning. Hoi. Quis, quis, thou consonant ? Moth. The third of the five vowels, if you repeat them ; or the fifth, if I. Hoi. I will repeat them, a, e, i. Moth. The sheep : the other two concludes it ; o, u. Arm. Now, by the salt wave of the Mediterra- neum, a sweet touch, a quick yenew 2 of wit : snip, snap, quick and home ; it rejoiceth my intellect : true wit. Moth. Ofl'er'd by a child to an old man. Cost. And I had but one penny in the world, thou shouldst have it to buy gingerbread : hold, there is the very remuneration I had of thy mas- ter, thou halfpenny purse of wit, thou pigeon- egg of discretion. A. Arts-man, prceambula; we will be singled from the barbarous. 1 Do you not educate youth at the charge-house 3 on the top of the mountain ? Hoi. Or, mons, the hill. Arm. At your sweet pleasure, for the moun- Hol. I do, sans question. [tain. Arm. Sir, the king is a noble gentleman : and my familiar, I do assure you, very good friend : For what is inward between us, let it pass : I do beseech thee, remember thy courtesy ; I beseech thee, apparel thy head; and among other importunate and most serious designs, and of great import indeed, too ; but let that pass : for I must tell thee, it will please his grace (by the world) sometime to lean upon my poor shoulder ; but sweet heart, let that pass. By the world, I recount no fable ; some certain special honours it pleaseth his greatness to im- part to Armado, a soldier, a man of travel, that hath seen the world: but let that pass. The very all of all is, but, sweet heart, I do implore secrecy, that the king would have me present the princess, sweet chuck, with some delightful ostentation, or show, or pageant, or antick, or fire-work. Now, understanding that the curate and your sweet self, are good at such eruptions, and sudden breaking out of mirth, as it were, I have acquainted you withal, to the end to crave your assistance. Hoi. Sir, you shall present before her the nine worthies. Sir Nathaniel, as concerning some entertainment of time, to be rendered by our 1 Raisins put into brandy on fire. 8 Free school. 2 Repartee. assistance, the king's command, and this most jallant, illustrate, and learned gentleman, be- 'ore the princess ; I say, none so fit as to pre- sent the nine worthies. Nath. Where will you find men worthy enough to present them ? Hoi. Yourself ; myself, or this gallant gentle- man ; this swain, because of his great limb or joint, shall pass Pompey the great; the page, Hercules. Arm. Pardon, sir, error ; he is not quantity enough for that Avorthy's thumb: he is not so big as the end of his club. Hoi. Shall I have audience ? he shall present Hercules in minority : his enter and exit shall be strangling a snake ; and I will have an apology for that purpose. Moth. An excellent device ! so, if any of the audience hiss, youmay cry, Well clone Hercules.! noii) thou crushest the snake ! that is the way to make an offence gracious ; though few have the grace to do it. Arm. For the rest of the worthies ? Hoi. I will play three myself. Moth. Thrice-worthy gentleman ! Arm. Shall I tell you a thing? Hoi. We attend. Arm. We will have, if this fadge* not, an antick. I beseech you follow. Hoi. Via, 2 goodman Dull ! thou hast spoken no word all this while. Dull. Nor understood none neither, sir. Hoi. Allons! we will employ thee. Dull. I'll make one in a dance, or so ; or I will play on the tabor to the worthies, and let them dance the hay. Hoi. Most dull, honest Dull, to our sport away. [Exeunt. SCENE H.-BEFORE THE PRINCESS'S PAVILIOX. Enter the Princess, Katherine, Rosaline, and Maria. Prin. Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart, If fairings come thus plentifully in : A lady wall'd about with diamonds ! Look you, what I have from the loving king. Eos. Madam, came nothing else along with that ! Prin. Nothing but this ? yes, as much love in rhyme, As would be cramm'd up in a sheet of paper, Writ on both sides the leaf, m argent and all ; That he was fain to seal on Cupid's name. Eos. That was the way to make his god-head wax 3 ; For he hath been five thousand years a boy. Kath. Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too. Eos. You'll ne'er be friends with him; he kill'd your sister. K. He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy ; And so she died : had she been light, like you, Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit, She might have been a grandaui ere she died : And so may you ; for a light heart lives long. 1 Suit. 2 Come on. 3 Grow. SC. II. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 171 Eos. What's your dark meaning, mouse,* of tliis light word ? Katli. A light condition in a beauty dark. Ros. We need more light to find your mean- ing out. [snuff 2 ; Kath. You'll mar the light, by taking it in Therefore, I'll darkly end the argument. E. Look what you do, you do it still i' the dark. Kath. So do not you ; for you are a light girl. Eos. Indeed, I weigh not you ; and therefore light. Kath.~You weigh me not 0, that's you care not for me. E. Great reason ; for, Past cure is still past care . P. Well bandied both ; a set of wit well play'd. But, Rosaline, you have a favour too : Who sent it ? and what is it ? Eos. I would, you knew : An if my face were but as fair as yours, My favour were as great ; be Avitness this. Nay, I have verses too, I thank Bir6n : The numbers true ; and, were thenumb'ringtoo, I were the fairest goddess on the ground : I am compar'd to twenty thousand fairs. O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter ! Priii. Any thing like? JK. Much, in the letters: nothing in the praise. Prin. Beauteous as ink ; a good conclusion. Kath. Fair as a text B in a copy-book. Eos. 'Ware pencils ! How ? let mo not die your debtor, My red dominical, my golden letter : O, that your face were not so full of O's ! Kath. A plague of that jest ! and beshrcw all shrows ! P. But what was sent to you from fair Dumain? Kath. Madam, this glove. Prin. Did he not send you twain ? Kath. Yes, madam ; and moreover, Some thousand verses of a faithful lover : A huge translation of hypocrisy, Vilely compil'd, profound simplicity. Mar. This, and these pearls, to me sent Lon- gaville : The letter is too long by half a mile. P. I think no less: Dostthou not wish in heart, The chain were longer, and the letter short ? M. Ay, or I would these hands might never part. Prin. We are wise girls to mock our lovers so. E. They are worse fools to purchase mocking That same Biron I'll torture ere I go. [so. O, that I knew he were but in by the week ! How I would make him fawn, and beg, and seek; And wait the season, and observe the times, And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes; And shape his service wholly to my behests ; And make him proud to make me proud that jest ! So potent-like would I o'ersway his state, That he should be my fool, and I his fate. Prin. None are so surely caught, when they are catch'd, As wit turn'd fool : folly in wisdom hatch 'd, Hath wisdom's warrant, and the help of school; And wit's own grace to grace a learned fool. Eos. The blood of youth burns not with such As gravity's revolt to wantonness. [excess 1 A terin of endearment. 2 In anger. Mar. Folly in fools bears not so strong a note, As foolery in the wise, when wit doth dote ; Since all the power thereof it doth apply, To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity. Enter Boyct. Prin. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face. [her grace? Boyet. O, lam stabb'd with laughter! Where's Prin. Thy news, Boyet ? Boyet. Prepare, madam, prepare ! Arm, my girls, arm ! encounters mounted are Against your peace : Love doth approach dis- Arined in arguments ; you'll be surpris'd : [guis'd, Muster your wits ; stand in your own defence ; Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence. Prin. Saint Dennis to saint Cupid ! What are they, [say. That charge their breath against us ? say, scout, Boyet. Under the cool shade of a sycamore, I thought to close mine eyes some half an hour: When, lo ! to interrupt my purpos'd rest, Toward that shade I might behold addrest The king and his companions : warily I stole into a neighbour thicket by, And overheard what you shall ovehear ; That, by and by, disguis'd they will be here. Their herald is a pretty knavish page, That well by heart hath conn'd his embassage : Action, and accent, did they teach him there ; Thus must thou speed:, and, thus thy body bear: And ever and anon they made a doubt, Presence majestical would put him out ; For, quoth the king, an angel shalt thou sec; Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously. The boy reply'd, An angel is not evil; I should havefear'd her, had she been a devil. With that all laugh'd, and clapp'd him on the shoulder ; Making the bold wag by their praises bolder. One rubb'd liis elbow, thus ; and llecr'd, and swore, A better speech was never spoke before : Another with his finger and his thumb, Cry'd Via! we will do't, come what will come: The third he caper'd, and cried, AIL goes well: The fourth turn'd on the toe, and down he fell. With that they all did tumble on the ground, With such a zealous laughter, so profound, That in this spleen ridiculous appears, To check their folly, passion's solemn tears. P. But what, but what, come they to visit us ? Boyet. They do, they do ; and are apparel'd thus, Like Muscovites, or Russians : as I guess, Their purpose is, to parle, to court, and dance : And every one his love-feat will advance Unto his several mistress : which they'll know By favours several, which they did bestow. Prin. And will they so? the gallants shall be task'd : For, ladies, we will every one be mask'd ; And not a man of them shall have the grace, Despite of suit, to see a lady's face. Hold, Rosaline, this favour thou shalt wear ; And then the king will court thee for his dear ; Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me thine ; 172 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT V. So shall Bir6n take me for Rosaline. And change your favours too ; so shall your loves Woo contrary, deceiv'd by these removes. Eos. Come on then ; wear the favours most in sight. Kath. But, in this changing, what is your intent? Prin. The effect of my intent is, to cross They do it but in mocking merriment ; [theirs : And mock for mock is only my intent. Their several counsels they unbosom shall To loves mistook ; and so be mock'd withal, Upon the next occasion that we meet, With visages display'd, to talk, and greet. Eos. But shall we dance, if they desire us to't? Prin. No : to the death , we will not move a foot, Nor to their penn'd speech render we no grace; But, while 'tis spoke, each turn away her face. Boyet. Why, that contempt will kill the speaker's heart, And quite divorce his memory from his part. Prin. Therefore I do it; and I make no doubt The rest will ne'er come in, if he be out. There's no such sport, as sport by sport o'er- thrown ; To make theirs ours, and ours none but our own: So shall we stay, mocking intended game ; And they, well mock'd, depart away with shame. [Trumpets sound within. Boyet. The trumpet sounds ; be mask'd, the maskers come. [The Ladies mask. Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Du- main, in Russian habits, and masked; Moth, Musicians, and Attendants. Moth. A II hail,the richest beauties on the earth! Boyet. Beauties no richer than rich taffata.. Moth. A holy parcel of the fairest dames, [The Ladies turn their backs to him. That ever turn'd their backs to mortal vieivs! Biron. Their eyes, villain, their eyes. Moth. That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal views! Out Boyet. True ; out, indeed. Moth. Out of your favours, heavenly spirits, Not to behold [vouchsafe, Biron. Once to behold, rogue. Moth. Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes, with your sun-beamed, eyes Boyet. They will not answer to that epithet ; You were best call it daughter-beamed eyes. Moth. They do not mark me, and that brings ine out. [rogue. Biron. Is this your perfectness? begone, you Eos. What would these strangers ? know their minds, Boyet: If they do speak our language, 'tis our will That some plain man recount their purposes : Know what they would. Boyet. What would you with the princess ? Bir. Nothing but peace and gentle visitation. Eos. What would they, say they? Boy. Nothing but peace and gentle visitation. Eos. Why, that they have ; and bid them so be gone. Boyet. She says, you have it, and you may be gone. K. Say to her, we have measur'd many miles To tread a measure with her on this grass. Boyet. They say that they have measur'd many a mile, To tread a measure with you on this grass. Eos. It is not so : ask them how many inches Is in one mile : If they have measur'd many, The measure then of one is easily told, [miles, Boyet. If, to come hither you have measur'd And many miles ; the princess bids you tell, How many inches do fill up one mile. B ir. Tell her, we m easure them by weary steps. Boyet. She hears herself. Eos. How many weary steps, Of many weary miles you have o'ergone, Are number'd in the travel of one mile? Biron. We number nothing that we spend for Our duty is so rich, so infinite, [you ; That we may do it still without accompt. Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face, That we, like savages, may worship it. Eos. My face is but a moon, and clouded too. A'. Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do ! Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine (Those clouds remov'd,) upon our wat'ry eyne. Eos. O vain petitioner ! beg a greater matter ; Thou now request 'st but moonshine in the water. King. Then, in our measure do but vouchsafe one change ; Thou bid'st me beg ; this begging is not strange. Eos. Play, musick, then : nay, you must do it soon. [Mn.sick plays. Not yet ; no dance : thus change I like the moon. King. Will you not dance ! How come you thus estrang'd? [chang'd. Eos. You took the moon at full ; but now she's King . Yet still she is the moon, and I the man. The musick plays ; vouchsafe some motion to it. Eos. Our ears vouchsafe it. King. But your legs should do it. Eos. Since you are strangers, and come here by chance, We'll not be nice : take hands ; we will not A" ing. Why take we hands then ? [dance. Eos. Only to part friends : Court'sy, sweet hearts ; and so the measure ends. K. More measure of this measure ; be not nice. Eos. We can afford no more at such a price. King. Prize you yourselves ; What buys your company? Eos. Your absence only. King. That can never be. Eos. Then cannot we be bought : and so adieu ; Twice to your visor, and half once to you ! K. If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat. Eos. In private then. King. I am best pleas'd with that. [They converse apart. Bir. White handed mistress, one sweet word with tliee. P. Honey, and milk, and sugar ; there is three. Biron. Nay then, two treys, 1 (an if you grow so nice,) Metheglin, 2 wort, and malmsey; Well run, dice. There's half a dozen sweets. 1 Threes. 2 A drink of honey and water. SO. II. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 173 Pria. Seventh sweet, adieu ! Since you can cog, 1 I'll play no more with you. Biron. One word in secret. Prin. Let it not be sweet. Biron. Thou griev'st my gall. Prin. Gall? bitter. Biron. Therefore meet. [They converse apart. Dum. Will you vouchsafe with me to change Afar. Name it. [a word? Dum. Fair lady, Mar. Say you so? Fair lord, Take that for your fair lady. Dum. Please it you, As much in private, and I'll bid adieu. [They converse apart. Kath. What, was your visor made without a tongue ? Long. I know the reason, lady, why you ask. Kath. 0, for your reason ! quickly, sir ; I long. L.You have a double tonguewithin your mask, And would afford my speechless visor half. K. Veal, quoth the Dutchman ; Is not veal Long. A calf, fair lady? [a calf? Kath. No, a fair lord calf. Long. Let's part the word. Kath. No, I'll not be your half. Long. One word in private with you, ere I die. Kath. Bleat softly then, the butcher hears you cry. [TJiey converse apart. Boyet. The tongues of mocking damsels are as As is the razor's edge invisible, [keen Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen ; Above the sense of sense : so sensible Seerneth their conference ; their conceits have wings, Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter things. [break off. Eos. Not one word more, my maids ; break off, B. By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff ! K. Farewell, mad damsels ; you have simple wits. [Exeunt King, Lords, Moth, MusicJc, and Attendants. Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites.- Are these the breed of wits so wonder'd at ? Boy. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puff d out. Prin. poverty in wit, kingly poor-flout ! Will they not, think you, hang themselves to- night? Or ever, but in visors, show their faces ? This pert Biron was out of countenance quite. Eos. ! they were all in lamentable cases ! The king was weeping-ripe for a good word. Prin. Biron did swear himself out of all suit. Mar. Dumain was at my service, and his sword : No point, 2 quoth I ; myservant straightwas mute. K. Lord LongavilJe said, I came o'er his heart; And trow you, what he call'd me ? Prin. Qualm, perhaps. Kath. Yes, in good faith. Prin. Go, sickness, as thou art ! Eos. Well, better wits have worn plain statute- caps. 3 But will you hear? the king is my love sworn. 1 Trick. 2 The French .adverb of negation. 8 Better wits may be found among citizens. P. And quick Biron hath plighted faith to me. Kath. AndLongavillewas for my service born. Mar. Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on tree. Boy. Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear : Immediately they will again be here In their own shapes ; for it can never be, They will digest this harsh indignity. Prin. Will they return? Boyet. They will, they will, heaven knows ; And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows : [repair, Therefore, change favours; 1 and, when they Blow like sweet roses in this summer air. Prin. How blow? how blow ? speak to be un- derstood. B. Fair ladies, mask'd, are roses in their bud : Dismask'd, their daniask sweet commixture Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown, [shown, Prin. A vaunt, perplexity! What shall we do, If they return in their own shapes to woo ? Eos. Good madam, if by me you'll be advis'd, Let's mock them still, as well known, as disguis'd: Let us complain to them what fools were here, Disguis'd like Muscovites, in shapeless gear ; And wonder what they were ; and to what end Their shallow shows, and prologue vilely penn'd, And their rough carriage so ridiculous, Should be presented at our tent to us. B. Ladies, withdraw; the gallants are at hand. Prin. Whip to our tents, as roes run overland. [Exeunt Princess, Eos. f Kath., and Maria. Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain, in their proper habits. King. Fair sir, heaven save you ! Where is the princess ? Boy. Gone to her tent: Please it, your majesty, Command me any service to her thither? [word. K. That she vouchsafe me audience for one Boyet. I will, and so will she, I know, my lord. [Exit. Bir. This fellow picks up wit, as pigeons peas; And utters it again when Jove doth please : He is wit's pedlar ; and retails his wares At wakes, and wassels, 2 meetings, markets, fairs; He can carve too, and lisp : Why, this is he, That kiss'd away his hand in courtesy ; This is the ape of form, monsieur the nice, That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice In honourable terms ; nay, he can sing A mean 3 most meanly ; and, in ushering, Mend him who can : the ladies call him, sweet ; The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet : This is the flower that smiles on every one, To show his teeth as white as whale's bone : 4 And consciences, that will not die in debt, Pay him the due of honey- tongued Boyet. K. A blister on his sweet tongue, with my heart, That put Armado's page out of his part ! Enter the Princess, ushered "by Boyet; Rosaline, Maria, Katherine, and Attendants. Biron. See where it comes! Behaviour, what wert thou, [now ? Till this man show'd thee? and what art thou K. All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day ! 1 Regards. 2 Merry meetings. 3 The tenor. 4 Wh;ae tooth. 174 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT V. Prin. Fair, in all hail, is foul as I conceive. K. Construe my speeches better, if you may. P. Then wish me better, I will give you leave. King. We came to visit you; and purpose now To lead you to our court: vouchsafe it then. Prin. This field shall hold me ; and so hold your vow : Nor heaven, nor I delight in perjur'd men. K. Rebuke me not for that which you provoke ; The virtue of your eye must break my oath. Prin. You nick-name virtue : vice you should have spoke ; For virtue's office never breaks men's troth. Now, by my maiden honour, yet as pure As the unsullied lily, I protest, A world of torments though I should endure, I would not yield to be your house's guest : So much I hate a breaking-cause to be Of heavenly oaths, vow'd with integrity. King. O, you have liv'd in desolation here, Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame. Prin. Not so, my lord ; it is not so, I swear ; We have had pastimes here, and pleasant A mess of Russians left us but of late, [game ; King. How, madam? Russians? Prin. Ay, in truth, my lord ; Trim gallants, full of courtship, and of state. Ros. Madam, speak true :-Itisnotso, my lord ; My lady, (to the manner of the days, 1 ) In courtesy, gives undeserving praise. We four, indeed, confronted here with four In Russian habit ; here they stay'd an hour, And talk'd apace ; and in that hour, my lord, They did not bless us with one happy word. I dare not call them fools ; but this I think, When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink. 5ir. This jest is dry tome Fair,gentle, sweet, Your wit makes wise things foolish ; when we With eyes best seeing heaven's fiery eye, [greet By light we lose light : Your capacity Is of that nature, that to your huge store [poor. Wise things seem foolish, and rich things but Ros. This proves you wise and rich ; for in my Biron. I am a fool, and full of poverty, [eye. Ros. But that you take what doth to you belong. It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue. Biron. 0, 1 am yours, and all that I possess. Ros. All the fool mine ! Biron. I cannot give you less. Ros. Which of the visors was it that you wore ? Biron. Where? when? what visor? why de- mand you this? Ros. There, then, that visor ; that superfluous case, That hid the worse, and show'd the better face. King. We are descried : they'll mock us now downright. Dum. Let us confess, and turn it to a jest. Prin. Amaz'd, my lord? Why looks your highness sad?* Ros. Help, hold his brows! he'll swoon! Why look you pale? Sea-sick, I think," coming from Muscovy. Biron. Thus pour the stars down plagues for perjury. Can any face of brass hold longer out? 1 Times. Here stand I, lady ; dart thy skill at me ; [flout ; Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance ; Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit ; And I will wish thee never more to dance, Nor never more in Russian habit wait. ! never will I trust to speeches penn'd, Nor to the motion of a school-boy's tongue ; Nor never come in visor to my friend ; Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harpers'* Taffata phrases, silken terms precise, [song : Three-pil'd hyperboles, spruce affectation, Figures pedantical ; these summer-flics Have blown me full of maggot ostentation : 1 do forswear them : and I here protest By this white glove (how white the hand, heaven knows !) Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express'd In russet yeas, and honest kersey noes : And, to begin, girl, so heaven help me, la! My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw. Ros. Sans SANS, I pray you. tii r on. Yet I have a trick Of the old rage : bear with me, I am sick ; I'll leave it by degrees. Soft, let us see ; Write, heaven have mercy on us, on those three ; They are infected, in their hearts it lies ; They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes: These lords are visited ; you are not free, For the Lord's tokens on you do I see. [us. P. No, they are free, that gave these tokens to B. Our states are forfeit, seek not to undo us. Ros. It is not so : For how can this be true, That you stand forfeit, being those that sue? B. Peace ; for I Avill not have to do with you. Ros. Nor shall not, if I do as I intend. B. Speak for yourselves, my wit is at an end. King. Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude transgression Some fair excuse. Prin. The fairest is confession. Were you not here, but even now, disguis'd? King. Madam, I was. Prin. And were you well advis'd ? King. I was, fair madam. Prin. When you then were here, What did you whisper in your lady's ear? King. That more than all the 'world I did respect her. Prin. When she shall challenge this, you will reject her. King. Upon mine honour, no. Prin. Peace, peace, forbear ; Your oath once broke, you force 1 not to forswear. King. Despise me, when I break this oath of mine. Prin. I will; and therefore keep it: Rosaline, What did the Russian whisper in your ear? R. Madam, he swore, that he did hold me dear, As precious eye-sight ; and did value me Above this world : adding thereto, moreover, That he would wed me, or else die my lover. P. Heaven give thee joy of him ! the noble Most honourably cloth uphold his word, [lord King. What mean you, madam? by my life, my troth, I never swore this lady such an oath. 1 Hesitate. SC. IT. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 175 Ros. By heaven you did ; and to confirm it plain You gave me this: but take it, sir, again. K. My faith, and this, the princess I did give : I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve. Prin. Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear ; And lord Biron, I thank him, is my dear : What ; will you have me, or your pearl again? Biron. Neither of either; I remit both twain. I see the trick on't ; Here was a consent, 1 (Knowing aforehand of our merriment), To dash it like a Christmas comedy: [zany, 2 Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight Some mumble-mews, 3 some trencher-knight,, some Dick, That smiles his cheek in years ; and knows the trick To make my lady laugh, when she's dispos'd Told our intents before : which once disclos'd, The ladies did change favours ; and then we, Following the signs, woo'd but the sign of she. Now, to our perjury to add more terror, We are again forsworn ; in will, and error. Much upon this it is : And might not you, [To Boyet. Forestall our sport, to make us thus untrue? Do not you know my lady's foot by the squire, 4 And laugh upon the apple of her eye? " And stand between her back, sir, and the fire, Holding a trencher, jesting merrily ! You leer upon me, do you? there's an eye, Wounds like a leaden sword. Boyet. Full merrily Hath this brave manage, this career, been run. Biron. Lo, he is tilting straight ! Peace ; I have done. Enter Costard. Welcome, pure wit ! thou partest a fair fray. Cost. 0, sir, they would know, Whether the three worthies shall come in, or no. Biron. What, are there but three? Cost. No, sir ; but it is vara fine, For every one pursents three. Biron. And three times thrice is nine. Cost. Not so, sir; under correction, sir; I hope, it is not so : You cannot beg us, sir, I can assure you, sir ; we know what wo know : I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir, Biron. Is not nine. Cost. Under correction, sir, we know where- until it doth amount. B. By Jove, I always took three threes for nine. Cost. 0, sir, it were pity you should get your living by reckoning, sir. Biron. How much is it? Cost O, sir, the parties themselves, the actors, sir, will show whereuntil it doth amount : foi my own part, I am, as they say, but to parfect one man, e'en one poor man; Pompion, the great, sir. Biron. Art thou one of the worthies? Cost. It pleased them, to think me worthy oi : Pompion the great : for mine own part, I know not the degree of the worthy: but I am to stand for him. 1 Conspiracy. 2 Buffoon. 3 Tale-bearer. 4 Measure. Biron. Go, bid them prepare. Cost. We will turn it finely off, sir ; we will take some care. [Exit Costard. King. Biron, they will shame us, let them not approach. Biron. We are shame-proof, my lord; and 'tis some policy, To have one show worse than the king's and his company. King. I say, they shall not come. [now ; Prin. Nay, my good lord, let me o'er-rule you That sport best pleases, that doth least kn ow how: Where zeal strives to content, and the contents 3ie in the zeal of them which it presents, Cheir form confounded makes most form in mirth ; [birth, great things labouring perish in their Bir. A right description of our sport, my lord. Enter Armado. Ami. Anointed, I implore so much expense f thy royal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of words. [Armado converses with the King, and de- livers him a paper. That's all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch : 'or, I protest, the schoolmaster is exceeding fantastical ; too, too vain ; too, too vain : But we will put it, as they say, to fortuna della r/ucrra. I wish you the peace of mind, most oyal couplement ! [Exit Armado. King. Here is like to be a good presence of worthies : He presents Hector of Troy ; the swain, Pompey the great; the parish curate, Alexander ; Armado's page, Hercules ; the pedant, Judas Machabseus : And if these four worthies in their first show thrive, [other five. These four will change habits, and present the Biron. There is five in the first show. King. You are deceiv'd, 'tis not so. Biron. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge- priest, the fool, and the boy : Abate a throw at novum 1 ; and the whole world again, [vein. Cannot pick out five such, take each one in his King. The ship is under sail, and here she comes amain. [Seats brought for the King, Princess, &c. Pageant of the Nine Worth ies. Enter Costard arm'd for Pompey. Cost. I Pompey am, Boyet. You lie, you are not he. Cost. I Pompey am, Boyet. Witli libbard's 2 head on knee. Biron. Well said, old mocker; I must needs be friends with thee. C. I Pompey am, Pompey surnam'd thebig, Dum. The great. [great; Cost. It is great, sir ; Pompey surnam'd the That oft in Afield, with targe and shield, did malce my foe to sweat: And, travelling along this coast, There am come by chance; [of France. Andlaymyarms before tJiefeet of this sweet lass If your ladyship would say, Thanks Pompey, I had done. I Game with dice, 2 Leopard. 176 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACTV. Prin. Great thanks, great Pompey. Cost. 'Tis not so much worth ; but, I hope, I was perfect : I made a little fault in gru.it. Biron. My hat to a half penny, Pompey proves the best worthy. Enter Nathaniel arm'd, for Alexander. Natli. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's commander, By east, west, north, and south, I spread my conquering might : My 'scutcheon plain declares that I am Ali- sander, Boyet. Your nose says, no, you are not ; for it stands too right. [Alexander. P. The conqueror is dismay'd. Proceed, good Nath. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's commander; B. Most true, 'tis right; you were so, Alisander. Biron. Pompey the great, Cost. Your servant, and Costard. Biron. Take away the conqueror, take away Alisander. Cost. O, sir, [To Nath.] you have overthrown Alisander the conqueror ! You will be scraped out of the painted cloth for this. A conqueror, and afear'd to speak ! run away for shame, Alisander. [Nath. retires.] There, an't shall please you ; a foolish mild man ; an honest man, look you, and soon dash'd ! He is a marvellous good neighbour, in sooth ; and a very good bowler : but, for Alisander, alas, you see, how 'tis ; a little o'er-parted : But there are worthies a-coming will speak their mind in some other sort. Prin. Stand aside, good Pompey. Enter Holofernes arm'd, and Moth arm'd, for Hercules. Hoi. Great Hercules is presented by this imp, Whose club kitt'd Cerberus, that three-headed canus ; A nd when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp, Thus did he strangle serpents in his maims Quoniam, he seemeth in minority; Ergo, I come with this apology. Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish. [Exit Moth. Hoi. Judas I am, yclepecU Machabaeus. Dum. Judas Machabseus dipt, is plain Judas. Hoi. I will not be put out of countenance. Biron. Because thou hast no face. Hoi. What is this? Boyet. A cittern head. Dum. The head of a bodkin. Biron. A death's face in a ring. L. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen. Boyet. The pummel of Caesar's faulchion. Dum. The carv'd-bone face on a flask. Biron. St George's half-cheek in a brooch. Dum. Ay, in a brooch of lead. B. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer : And now, forward; for we have put thee in countenance. Hoi. You have put me out of countenance. Biron. False ; we have given thee faces. Hoi. But you have out-fac'd them all. i Called. Biron. An thou wert a lion, we would do so. Boyet. Therefore, as he is, an ass, let him go. [Exit Holofernes. Enter Armado arm'd, for Hector. Biron. Hide thy head, Achilles ; here comes Hector in arms. Dum. Though my mocks come home by me, I will now be merry. King. Hector was but a Trojan in respect of Boyet. But is this Hector ? [this. D. I think, Hector was not so clean-timbered. Long. His leg is too big for Hector. Dum. More calf, certain. Boyet. No ; he is best indued in the small. Biron. This cannot be Hector. Dum. He's a painter, for he makes faces. A. The armipotent Mars, of lances the mighty, Gave Hector a gift, Dum. A gilt nutmeg. Biron. A lemon. Long. Stuck with cloves. Dum. N"o, cloven. Arm. Peace ! The armipotent Mars, of lances the mlnldy, Gave Hector a gift, the heir ofllion; [yea A man so breath d, that certain lie would fight, From morn till night, out of his pavilion. I am that flower, Dum. That mint. Long. That columbine. Arm. Sweet lord Longaville, rein thy tongue. Long. I must rather give it the rein ; for it runs against Hector. Dum. Ay, and Hector's a greyhound. Arm. The sweet war-man is dead; sweet chucks, beat not the bones of the buried : when he breath 'd, he was a man. But I will forward with my device : Sweet royalty, [To the Princess.] be- stow on me the sense of hearing. [Bir. whispers Costard. P. Speak, brave Hector; we are much delighted. Arm. I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper. Boyet. Loves her by the foot. Arm. This Hector far surmounted Han nibal.- C. The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone. Arm. Dost thou infamonize me among poten- tates ? thou shalt die. Cost. Then shall Hector be hanged, for Pompey that is dead by him. Dum. Most rare Pompey ! Boyet. Renowned Pompey ! Biron. Greater than great, great, great, great Pompey ! Pompey the huge ! Dum. Hector trembles. Biron. Pompey is moved. More Ates, 1 moi o Ates ; stir them on ! stir them on ! Dum. Hector will challenge him. Biron. Ay, if he have no more man's blood in him than will sup a flea. Arm: By the north pole, I do challenge thee. Cos. I Avill not fight with a pole, like a northern man ; I'll slash ; I'll do it by the sword : I pray you, let me borrow my arms again. Dum. Room for the incensed worthies. Cost. I'll do it in my shirt. Dum. Most resolute Pompey. 1 The goddess of discord. SC. II. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 177 Arm. Gentlemen and soldiers, pardon me ; I will not combat in my shirt. Dum. You may not deny it, Pompey haih made the challenge. Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will. Biron. What reason have you f or't ? Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt, I go woolward for penance. Boyet. True, and it was enjoined him in Ptome for want of linen. Enter Mercade. Mer. Heaven save you, madam ! Prin. Welcome, Mercade. But that thou interrupt'st our merriment. Mer. I am sorry, madam ; for the news I bring, Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father Prin. Dead, for my life. Mer. Even so ; my tale is told. B. Worthies, away ; the scene begins to cloud. A. For mine own part, I breathe free breath ; I have seen the day of wrong through the little hole of discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier. [Exeunt Worthies. King. How fares your majesty? Prin. Boyet, prepare ; I will away to-night. King. Madam, not so ; I do beseech you, stay. P. Prepare, I say. I thank you, gracious lords, For all your fair endeavours ; and entreat, Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe In your rich wisdom, to excuse or hide, The liberal 1 opposition of our spirits : If over-boldly we have borne ourselves In the converse of breath, your gentleness Was guilty of it. Farewell, worthy lord ! A heavy heart bears not an humble tongue : Excuse me so, coming so short of thanks For my great suit so easily obtain'd. King. The extreme parts of time extremely All causes to the purpose of his speed ; [form And often, at his very loose, decides That which long process could not arbitrate : And though the morning brow of progeny Forbid the smiling courtesy of love, The holy suit which fain it would convince ; Yet, since love's argument was first on foot, Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it From what it purpos'd ; since, to wail friends lost, Is not by much so wholesome, profitable, As to rejoice at friends but newly found. P. I understand you not, my griefs are double. Bir. Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief : And by these badges understand the king. For your fair sakes have we neglected time, Play'd foul play with our oaths ; your beauty, ladies, Hath much deform'd us,fashioning our humours Even to the opposed end of our intents : And what in us hath seein'd ridiculous, As love is full of unbefitting strains ; All wanton as a child, skipping, and vain ; Form'd by the eye, and, therefore like the eye Full of strange shapes, of habits, and of forms, Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll To every varied object in his glance: 1 Excessive. Which party-coated presence of loose love Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes Have misbecom'd our oaths and gravities, Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults, Suggested us to make : Therefore, ladies, Our love being yours, the error that love makes Is likewise yours : we to ourselves prove false, By being once false for ever to be true To those that make us both, fair ladies, you : And even that falsehood, in itself a sin, Thus purifies itself, and turns to grace. P. We have receiv'd your letters, full of love ; Your favours, the embassadors of love ; And, in our maiden council, rated them, At courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesy, As bombast, and as lining to the time : But more devout than this, in our respects, Have we not been ; and therefore met your loves In their own fashion, like a merriment. Dum. Our letters, madam, show'd much more Long. So did our looks. [than jest. os. We did not quote 1 them so. King. Now, at the latest minute of the hour, Grant us your loves. Prin. A time, methinks, too short To make a world-without-end bargain in : No, no, my lord, your grace is perjur'd much, Full of dear guiltiness ; and therefore this, If for my love (as there is no such cause) You will do aught, this shall you do for me : Your oath I will not trust ; but go with speed To some forlorn and naked hermitage, Remote from all the pleasures of the world ; There stay, until the twelve celestial signs Have brought about their annual reckoning ; If this austere insociable life Change not your offer made in heat of blood, Iffrosts,andfa8ts,hardlodging,andthinweeds, 2 Xip not the gaudy blossoms of your love, But that it bear this trial, and last love ; Then, at the expiration of the year, Come challenge, challenge me by these deserts, And, by this virgin palm, now kissing thine, I will be thine ; and, till that instant, shut My woeful self up in a mourning house ; ilaining the tears of lamentation, For the remembrance of my father's death. If this thou do deny, let our hands part ; Neither entitled in the other's heart. King. If this, or more than this, I would deny, To flatter up these powers of mine with rest, The sudden hand of death close up mine eye ! Hence ever then my heart is in thy breast. B ir. And what tome, my love? and what to m e? E. You must be purged too, your sins are rank ; You are attaint 3 with faults and perjury ; Therefore, if you my favour mean to get, A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest, But seek the weary beds of people sick. Dum. But what to me, my love? but what to m e? K. A wife !-A beard, fair health, and honesty ; With three-fold love I wish you all these three. Dum. O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife ? K. Not so, my lord;-a twelvemonth and a day I'll mark no words that smooth-fac'd wooers say : Come when the king doth to my lady come, Then, if I have much love, I'll give you some. 1 Regard. 2 Clothing. 8 Stained. M 178 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACTV. D. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then. K. Yet swear not, lest you be forsworn again. Long. What says Maria? Mar. At the twelvemonth's end, I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend. L. I'll stay with patience ; but the time is long. Mar. The liker you ; few taller are so young. Bir. Studies, my lady? mistress, look on me. Behold the window of my heart, mine eye, What humble suit attends thy answer there ; Impose some service on me for thy love. Ros. Oft have I heard of you, my lord Biron, Before I saw you : and the world's large tongue Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks ; Full of comparisons and wounding flouts ; Which you on all estates will execute, That lie within the mercy of your wit : To weed this worm wood from your fruitful brain ; And, therewithal, to win me, if you please, (Without the which I am not to be won,) You shall this twelvemonth term from dayto day Visit the speechless sick, and still converse With groaning wretches ; and your task shall be, With all the fierce endeavour of your wit, To enforce the pained impotent to smile. B. To move wild laughter in the throat of It cannot be ; it is impossible : [death? Mirth cannot move a soul in agony. [spirit, Ros. Why, that's the way to choke a gibing Whose influence is begot of that loose grace, Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools : A jest's prosperity lies in the ear Of him that hears it, never in the tongue Of him that makes it ; then, if sickly ears, Deaf'd with the clamours of their own dear groans. Will hear your idle scorns, continue then, And I will have you, and that fault withal ; But, if they will not, throw away that spirit, And I shall find you empty of that fault, Right joyful of your reformation. Biron. A twelvemonth? well, befal what will I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital, [befal, Prin. Ay, sweet my lord : and so I take my leave. [To the King. K. No, madam : we will bring you on your way. Bir. Our wooing doth not end like an old play ; Jack hath not Jill : these ladies' courtesy Might well have made our sport a comedy. K. Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth and a And then 'twill end. [day, Biron. That's too long for a play. Enter Armado. Arm. Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me. Prin. Was not that Hector? Dum. The worthy knight of Troy. Arm. I will kiss thy royal finger and take leave : I am a votary ; T have vowed to Jaque- nettatohold the plough for her sweet love three years. But, most esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue that the two learned men have compiled, in praise of the owl and the cuckoo? it should have followed in the end of our show. King. Call them forth quickly, we will do so. Arm. Holla ! approach. Enter Holofernes, Nathaniel, Moth, Costard, and others. This sideisHiems, winter ; this Ver, the spring ; the one maintain 'd by the owl, the other by the cuckoo. Ver, begin. SONG. SPRING. When daisies pied* and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver-white, And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue, Do paint the meadows with delight, Tlie cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men, for thus sings he, Cuckoo ; Cuckoo, cuckoo, word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear ! II. When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws, And maidens bleach their summer smocks, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men, for thus sings Tie, Cuckoo ; Cuckoo, cuckoo, word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear ! HI. WINTER. When icicles hang by the wall, And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen 7iome in pail, When blood is nipp'd, and ways befoul, Then nightly sings the staring owl, To-who; Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note. While greasy Joan dot h ked z the pot. IV. Wheii all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs 3 hiss in the bowl, Tlien nightly sings the staring owl, To-who; Tu-ivJiit, to-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. Arm. The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo. You, that way ; we, this way. [Exeunt. 1 Variegated. 2 Scum. 3 Wild apples. 0f persons Itepvesentefc. DUKE OF VENICE. PRINCE OF MOROCCO, ) , ,,, . -D n ^- n PRINCE OF ARE AGON] f *"**** to Poitia - ANTONIO, the Merchant of Venice. BASSANIO, his Friend. SALANIO, ) SALARINO, V Friends to Antonio and Bassanio. GRATIANO, j LORENZO, in love with Jessica. SHYLOCK, a Jew. TUBAL, a Jew, his Friend. LAUNCELOT GoBBO,a Cloivn .Servant to Shylock. Old GOBBO, Father to Launcelot. SALERIO, a Messenger from Venice. LEONARDO, Servant to Bassanio. ' PORTIA, a rich Heiress. NERISSA, her Waiting-Maid. JESSICA, Daughter to Shylock. Magniftcoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice, Gaoler, Servants, and other Attendants. SCENE. Partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the seat of Portia, on the Continent. Act First. SCENE I. VENICE. A STREET. Enter Antonio, Salarino, and Salanio. Ant. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad ; It wearies me ; you say it wearies you ; But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, I am to learn ; And such a want-wit .sadness makes of me, That I have much ado to know myself. Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean ; There, where your argosies 1 with portly sail, Like signiors and rich burghers of the flood, Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea, Do overpeer the petty traffickers, That court'sy to them, do them reverence, As they fly by them with their woven wings. Salan. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth The better part of my affections would Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind; Peering in maps, for ports, and piers, and roads; And every object, that might make me fear Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt, Would make me sad. Salar. My wind, cooling my broth, Would blow me to an ague, when I thought What harm a wind too great might do at sea. I should not see the sandy hour-glass run, But I should think of shallows and of flats ; And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand, Vailing 2 her high-top lower than her ribs, To kiss her burial. Should I go to church, And see the holy edifice of stone, And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks ? Which touching but my gentle vessel's side, Would scatter all her spices on the stream ; Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks ; And, in a word, but even now worth this, And now worth nothing ! Shall I have the thought 1 Large trading vessels. 2 Lowering. To think on this ; and shall I lack the thought, That such a thing, bechanc'd, would make me sad? But, tell not me ; I know Antonio Is sad to think upon his merchandize. Ant. Believeme, no: I thank my fortune for it, My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, Nor to one place ; nor is my whole estate Upon the fortune of this present year : Therefore, my merchandize makes me not sad. Salan. Why then you are in love. Ant. Fie, fie ! Salan. Not in love neither? Then let's say, you are sad, Because you are not merry : and 'twere as easy For you, to laugh, and leap, and say, you are merry, Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus, Nature hath f ram'd strange fellows in her time : Some that will evermore peep through their eyes, And laugh, like parrots, at a bag-piper ; And other of such vinegar aspect, That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable. Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano. Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble Gratiano, and Lorenzo: Fare you well; [kinsman, We leave you now with better company, [merry, Salar. I would have staid till I had made you If worthier friends had not prevented me. Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard. I take it, your own business calls on you, And you embrace the occasion to depart. Satar. Good morrow, my good lords. .Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? Say, when? You grow exceeding strange : Must it be so? Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on [Exeunt Salarino and Salanio. [youiv. Lor. My lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio, We two will leave you : but, at dinner-time, I pray you, have in mind where we must meet. 180 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT I. Bass. I will not fail you. Gra. You look not well, signior Antonio ; You have too much respect upon the world : They lose it, that do buy it with much care. Believe me, you are marvellously chang'd. A . I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano ; A stage, where every man must play a part, And mine a sad one. Gra. Let me play the Fool : With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come; And let my liver rather heat with wine, Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. Why should a man, whose blood is warm within, Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster? Sleep when he wakes ? and creep into the jaundice By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio, I love thee, and it is my love that speaks ; There are a sort of men, whose visages Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond ; And do a wilful stillness 1 entertain, With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit ; As who should say, I am Sir Oracle, And, when I ope my lips, let no dog lark! O, my Antonio, I do know of these, That therefore only are reputed wise, For saying nothing ; who, I am very sure, [ears, If they should speak, would almost dam those Which, hearing them, would call their brothers, I'll tell thee more of this another time : [fools. But fish not, with this melancholy bait, For this fool's gudgeon, this opinion. Come, good Lorenzo : Fare ye well, a while ; I'll end my exhortation after dinner. [time : Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner- I must be one of these same dumb wise men, For Gratiano never lets me speak. G. Well,keep me company but two years more, Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue. Ant. Farewell: I'll grow a talker for this gear. [Exeunt Gratiano and Lorenzo. Bass. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of no- thing, more than any man in all Venice : His reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff; you shall seek all day ere you find them : and, when you have them, they are not worth the search. Ant. Well ; tell me now, what lady is this same To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage, That you to-day promis'd to tell me of ? Bass. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, How much I have disabled mine estate, By something showing a more swelling port Than my faint means would grant continuance: Nor do I now make moan to be abridg'd From such a noble rate ; but my chief care Is, to come fairly off from the great debts, Wherein my time, something too prodigal, Hath left me gag'd : To you, Antonio, I owe the most, in money, and in love ; And from your love I have a warranty To unburthen all my plots, and purposes, How to get clear of all the debts I owe. A nt. I pray you, good Bassan io . 1 et me know it ; And, if it stand, as you yourself still do, Within the eye of honour, be assured, 1 Silence. My purse, my person, my extremist means, Lie all unlock'd to your occasions. Bass. In my school-days, when I had lost one I shot his fellow of the self -same flight [shaft The self-same way, with more advised watch, To find the other forth ; and by advent'ring both, I oft found both: I urge this childhood proof, Because what follows is pure innocence. I owe you much ; and, like a wilful youth, That which I owe is lost ; but if you please To shoot another arrow that self way Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt, As I will watch the aim, or to find both, Or bring your latter hazard back again, And thankfully rest debtor for the first. Ant. You know me well; and herein spend but To wind about my love with circumstance ; [time, And, out of doubt, you dome now more wrong, In making question of my uttermost, Than if you had made waste of all I have : Then do but say to me what I should do, That in your knowledge may by me be done, And I am prest 1 unto it: therefore, speak. Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left, And she is fair, and, fairer than that word, Of wond'rpus virtues ; sometimes from her eyes I did receive fair speechless messages : Her name is Portia ; nothing undervalued To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia. NOT is the wide world ignorant of her worth ; For the four winds blow in from every coast Renowned suitors : and her sunny locks Hang on her temples like a golden fleece ; Which makes her seat of Belmont, Colchos's And many Jasons come in quest of her. [strand, my Antonio, had I but the means To hold a rival place with one of them, 1 have a mind presages me such thrift, That I should questionless be fortunate. A nt. Thou know'st, that all my fortunes are at Nor have I money, nor commodity [sea ; To raise a present sum : therefore go forth, Try what my credit can in Venice do ; That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost, To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia. Go presently inquire, and so will I, Where money is ; and I no question make, To have it of my trust, or for my sake. [Exeunt. SCENE II. BELMONT. A ROOM IN PORTIA'S HOUSE. Enter Portia and Nerissa. For. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body ia a-weary of this great world. Ner. You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in the same abundance as your good fortunes are: And yet, for aught I see, they are as sick, that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing : It is no mean happi- ness, therefore, to be seated in the mean; super- fluity comes sooner by white hairs, but compe- tency lives longer. Por. Good sentences, and well pronounced. Ner. They would be better, if well followed. Por. If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, 1 Ready, SC. II. MERCHANT OF VENICE. 181 and poor men's cottages, prince's palaces. It is a good divine that follows his own instructions: I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching. But this reasoning is not in the fashion to choose me a husband : me, the word choose ! I may neither choose whom I would, nor refuse whom I dislike ; so is the will of a living daughter curb'd by the will of a dead father : Is it not hard, Nerissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none ? Ner. Your father was ever virtuous ; and holy men, at their death, have good inspirations ; therefore, the lottery, that he hath devised in these three chests, of gold, silver, and lead, (whereof who chooses his meaning, chooses you,) will, no doubt, never be chosen by any rightly, but one who you shall rightly love. But what warmth is there in your affection towards any of these princely suitors that are already come? For. I pray thee, over-name them: andasthou namest them, I will describe them; and, accord- ing to my description, level at my affection. Ner. First, there is the Neapolitan prince. For. Ay, that's a colt, indeed, for he doth nothing but talk of his horse ; and he makes it a great appropriation to his own good parts, that he can shoe him himself. Ner. Then, is there the county 1 Palatine. For. He doth nothing but fiwvn ; as who should say, An if you will not have me, choose; he hears merry tales, and smiles not : I fear he will prove the weeping philosopher when he grows old, being so full of unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had rather be married to a death's head with a bone in his mouth, than to either of these. Heaven defend me from these two ! Ner. How say you by the French lord, mon- sieur Le Bon? For. Heaven made him, and therefore let him pass for a man. In truth, I know it is a sin to be a mocker : But, he ! why, he hath a horse better than the Neapolitan's ; a better bad habit of frowning than the Count Palatine : he is every man in no man : if a throstle sing, h e falls straight a capering ; he will fence with his own shadow : If I should marry him, I should marry twenty husbands : If he would despise me, I would for- give him ; for if he love me to madness, I shall never requite him. Ner. What say you then to Faulcon bridge, the young baron of England? For. You know, I say nothing to him ; for he understands not me, nor I him : he hath neither Latin, French, nor Italian ; and you will come into the court and swear, that I have a poor pennyworth in the English. He is a proper man's picture ; but, alas ! who can converse with a dumb show? How oddly he is suited ! I think he bought his doublet in Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet in Germany, and his be- haviour every where. Ner. What think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour? For. That he hath a neighbourly charity in him ; for he borrowed a box of the ear of the Englishman, and swore he would pay him again i Couut. when he was able : I think the Frenchman be- came his surety, and sealed under for another. Ner. How like you the young German, the duke of Saxony's nephew? For. Very vilely in the morning, when he is sober ; and most vilely in the afternoon, when le is drunk : when he is best, he is a little worse than a man ; and when he is worst, he is ittle better than a beast : an the worst fall that ever fell, I hope I shall make shift to go with- out him. N. If he should offer to choose, and choose the right casket, you should refuse to perform your father's will, if you should refuse to accept him. For. Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee set a deep glass of Rhenish wine on the contrary casket ; for, if the devil be within, and ihat temptation without, I know he will choose it. I will do any thing, Nerissa, ere I will be married to a spunge. Ner. You need not fear, lady, the having any of these lords ; they have acquainted me with their determinations: which is, indeed, to return to their home, and to trouble you with no more suit; unless you maybe won by some other sort than your father's imposition, depending on the caskets. For. If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as chaste as Diana, unless I be obtained by the manner of my father's will : I am glad this parcel of wooers are so reasonable ; for there is not one among them but I dote on his very absence, and I wish them a fair departure. Ner. Do you not remember, lady, in your father's time, a Venetian, a scholar, and a sol- dier, that came hither in company of the Marquis of Montferrat? For. Yes, yes, it was Bassanio ; as I think, so was he called. Ner. True, madam ; he of all the men that ever my foolish eyes looked upon, was the best deserving a fair lady. P. I remember him well; and I remember him worthy of thy praise. How now ! what news? Enter a Servant. Serv. The four strangers seek for you, madam, to take their leave : and there is a fore-runner come from a fifth, the prince of Morocco ; who brings word, the prince, his master, will be here to-night. For. If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good heart as I can bid the other four farewell, I should be glad of his approach : if he have the condition of a saint, and the complexion of a devil, I had rather he should shrive me than wive me. Come, Nerissa. Sirrah, go before. Whiles we shut the gate upon one wooer, another knocks at the door. [Exeunt. SCENE III. VENICE. A PUBLIC PLACE. Enter Bassanio and Shyloclc. Shy. Three thousand ducats, well. Bass. Ay, sir, for three months. Shy. For three months, well. Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound. 182 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT I. Shy. Antonio shall become hound, well. Bass. May you stead me? Will you pleasure me? Shall I know your answer? Shy. Three thousand ducats,f or three months, and Antonio bound. Bass. Your answer to that. Shy. Antonio is a good man. Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the contrary ? Shy. Ho, no, no, no, no ; my meaning, in raying he is a good man, is to have you under- stand me, that he is sufficient : yet his means are in supposition : he hath an argosy bound to Tri polis, another to the Indies ; I understand moreover upon the Rialto, he hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England, and other ventures he hath, squander'd abroad : But ships are but boards, sailors but men : there be land- rats, and water-rats, water-thieves, and land- thieves; I mean, pirates; and then, there is the peril of waters, winds, and rocks : The man is, notwithstanding, sufficient ; three thousand ducats ; I think I may take his bond. BOAS. Be assured you may. Shy. I will be assured, I may ; and, that I may be assured, I will bethink me: May I speak with Antonio? Bass. If it please you to dine with us. Shy. Yes, to smell pork : I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with you, walk with you, and so following ; but I will not eat with you, drink with you, nor pray with you. What news on the Rialto? Who is he conies here? Enter Antonio. Bass. This is signior Antonio. Shy. [Aside. ] How like a fawning publican he I hate him for he is a Christian : [looks ! But more, for that, in low simplicity, He lends out money gratis, and brings down The rate of usance here with us in Venice. If I can catch him once upon the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. He hates our sacred nation ; and he rails, Even there where merchants most do congregate, On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift, Which he calls interest : Cursed be my tribe, If I forgive him ! Bass. Shylock, do you hear? Shy. I am debating of my present store; And, by the near guess of my memory, I cannot instantly raise up the gross Of full three thousand ducats : What of that? Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe, Will furnish me : But soft ; How many months Do you desire? Rest you fair, good signior: [To Antonio. Your worship was the last man in our mouths. ^Int.Shylock, albeit I neither lend nor borrow, By taking, nor by giving of excess, Yet to supply the ripe 1 wants of my friend, I'll break a custom : Is he yet possess'd, 2 How much you nould? Sky. Ay, ay, three thousand ducats. Ant. And for three months. Shy. I had forgot, three months, you told me so. 1 Pressing. 2 Informed. Well then, your bond ; and, let me see, But hear you ; Methought, you said, you neither lend nor bor- Upon advantage. [row, Ant. I do never use it. Shy. When Jacob graz'd his uncle Laban's This Jacob from our holy Abraham was [sheep, (As his wise mother wrought in his behalf,) The third possessor; ay, he was the third. Ant. And what of him? did he take interest? S. No, not take interest; not,asyouwouldsay, Directly interest : mark what Jacob did. When Laban and himself were compromis'd, That all the eanlings which were streak'd, and Should fall as Jacob's hire. [pied, The skilful shepherd peel'd me certain wands, And stuck them up before the fulsome ewes ; Who, then conceiving, did in eaning time Fall party colour'd lambs,and thosewere Jacob's. This was a way to thrive, and he was blest; And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not. Ant. This was a venture, sir, that Jacob serv'd A thing not in his power to bring to pass, [for; Butsway'd,and fashiou'd,by the hand of heaven. Was this inserted to make interest good? Or is your gold and silver, ewes and rams? Shy. I cannot tell; I make it breed as fast: But note me, signior. A nt. Mark you this, Bassanio, The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose, An evil soul, producing holy witness, Is like a villain with a smiling cheek; A goodly apple rotten at the heart; 0, what a goodly outside falsehood hath ! Shy. Three thousand ducats, 'Us a good round sum. [rate. Three months from twelve, then let me seethe A. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholden to you? Shy. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft, In the Rialto you have rated me About my monies, and my usances 1 . Still have I borne it with a patient shrug ; For sufferance is the badge of aH our tribe : You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog, And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine, 2 And all for use of that which is mine own. Well then, it now appears, you need my help : Go to then ; you come to me, and you say, Shylock, we would have monies; You say so ; You, that did void your rheum upon my beard. And foot me, as you spurn a stranger cur Over your threshold ; monies is your suit. What should I say to you? Should I not say, Hath a dog money ? is it possible, A cur can lend three thousand ducats ? or Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key, With 'bated breath, and whispering humbleness, Say this, Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last; You spurn' d me such a day ; another time You call'd me dog; and for these courtesies I'll lend you thus much monies. Ant. I am as like to call thee so again, To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too. If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not As to thy friends; (for when did friendship tako A breed for barren metal of his friend?) 1 Usury. 2 Loose upper garment. sc. in. MERCHANT OF VENICE. 1SS But lend it rather to thine enemy ; Who if he break, thou may'st with better face Exact the penalty. Shy. Why, look you, how you storm ! I would be friends with you, and have your love, Forget the shames that you havestain'd me with, Supply your present wants, and take no doit 1 Of usance for my monies, and you'll not hear ine : This is kind I offer. Ant. This were kindness. Shy. This kindness will I show : Go with me to a notary, seal me there Your single bond ; and, in a merry sport, If you repay me not on such a day, In such a place, such sum, or sums, as are Express'd in the condition, let the forfeit Be nominated for an equal pound Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken In what part of your body pleaseth me. Ant. Content, in faith; I'll seal to such a bond, And say, there is much kindness in the Jew. Bass. You shall not seal to such a bond forme, I'll rather dwell in my necessity. Ant. Why, fear not, man, I will not forfeit it ; Within these two months, that's a month before This bond expires, I do expect return Of thrice three times the value of this bond. .S.OfatherAbraham,whattheseChristiansare; Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect The thoughts of others ! Pray you, tell me this ; If he should break his day, what should I gain By the exaction of the forfeiture? A pound of man's flesh, taken from a man, Is not so estimable, profitable neither, As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say To buy his favour, I extend this friendship : If he will take it, so ; if not, adieu ; And, for my love, I pray you, wrong me not. Ant. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond. Shy. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's ; Give him direction for this merry bond, And I will go and purse the ducats straight ; See to my house, left in the fearful 2 guard Of an unthrifty knave; and presently I will be with you. [Exit. Ant. Hie thee, gentle Jew. This Hebrew will turn Christian ; he grows kind. JBass. I like not fair terms,and a villain's mind. Ant. Come on : in this there can be no dismay, My ships come home a mouth before the day. [Exeunt. Act Second. SCENE I. BELMONT. A KOOM IN PORTIA'S HOUSE. Flourish of Cornets. Enter the Prince oj Morocco and his Train; Portia, Nerissa, and other of her Attendants. Mor. Mislike me not for my complexion, The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun, To whom I am a neighbour, and near bred. Bring me the fairest creature northward born, Where Phoebus' tire scarce thaws the icicles, 1 Smallest coin. 2 Fearful to Shylock. And let us make incision 1 for your love, To prove whose blood is reddest, his, or mine. [ tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine tlath fear'd 2 the valiant ; by my love, I swear, The best regarded virgins of our clime Have lov'd it too : I would not change this hue, Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen. Por. In terms of choice I am not solely led By nice direction of a maiden's eyes : Besides, the lottery of my destiny Bars me the right of voluntary choosing: But, if my father had not scanted 3 me, And hedg'd me by his wit, to yield myself His wife, who wins me by that means I told you, Yourself, renown'd prince, then stood as fair, As any comer I have look'd on yet, For my affection. Mor. Even for that I thank you ; Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets, To try my fortune. By this scimitar, That slew the Sophy, and a Persian prince, That won three fields of sultan Solyman, I would out-stare the sternest eyes that look, Out-brave the heart most daring on the earth, PI uck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear, Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey, To win thee, lady: But, alas the while! If Hercules, and Lichas, play at dice Which is the better man, the greater throw May turn by fortune from the weaker hand : So is Alcides beaten by his page ; And so may I, blind fortune leading me, Miss that which one uuworthier may attain, And die with grieving. Por. You must take your chance ; And either not attempt to choose at all, Or swear, before you choose, if you choose Never to speak to lady afterward [wrong, In way of marriage ; therefore be advis'd. Mor. Nor will uot ; come, bring me unto my chance. Por. First, forward to the tern pie; after dinner Your hazard shall be made. Mor. Good fortune then ! [Cornets. To make me bless't or cursed'st among men. [Exeunt. SCENE II. VENICE. A STREET. Enter Launcelot Gobbo. Laun. Certainly my conscience will serve me to run from this Jew, my master: The fiend is at mine elbow ; and tempts me, saying to me, Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good Launcelot, or good Gobbo, or good Launcelot Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away: My conscience says No; take heed, honest Launcelot; take heed, honest Gobbo ; or, as aforesaid, honest Launcelot Gobbo; do not run; scorn running with thy heels: Well, the most courageous fiend bids me pack; via! says the fiend; away! says the fiend ; rouse up a brave mind, says the fiend, and run. Well, my conscience, hanging about the neck of my heart, says very wisely to me, my honest friend, Launcelot, being an honest man's son, budge not ; budge, says the fiend ; 1 The Eastern custom of lovers cutting themselve* for their mistresses. 2 Terrified. 3 Straitened. 184 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. ACT It. budge not, says my conscience : Conscience, say I, you counsel well ; fiend, say I, you counsel well : to be ruled by my conscience, I should stay with the Jew my master, who is a kind of devil ; and, to run away from the Jew, I should be ruled by th e fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the devil himself : Certainly, the Jew is the very devil incarnation ; and, in my conscience, my conscience is but a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel me to stay with the Jew : The fiend gives the more friendly counsel : I will run, fiend ; my heels are at your command- ment, I will run. Enter old Gobbo, with a, basket. Gob. Master, young man, you, I pray you ; which is the way to Master Jew's? Laun. [Aside.] O heavens, this is my true- begotten father ! who, being more than sand- blind, high-gravel blind, knows me not: I will try conclusions 1 with him. Gob. Master, young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way to master Jew's? Laun. Turn up on your right hand, at the next turning, but, at the next turning of all, on your left ; marry,at the very next turning, turn of no hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jew's house. Gob. 'Twill be a hard way to hit. Can you tell me whether one Launcelot, that dwells with him, dwell with him, or no? Laun. Talk you of young master Launcelot? Mark me now; [Aside.] now will I raise the waters : Talk you of young master Launcelot? Gob. No master, sir, but a poor man's son ; his father, though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor man, and, God be thanked, well to live. Laun. Well, let his father be what he will, we talk of young master Launcelot. G. Your worship's friend, and Launcelot, sir. Laun. But I pray you ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech you ; Talk you of young master Laun- celot ? G. Of Lauucelot, an't please your mastership. Laun. Ergo, master Launcelot ; talk not of master Launcelot, father ; for the young gentle- man (according to fates and destinies, and such odd sayings, the sisters three, and such branches of learning), is indeed deceased. Gob. Marry, God forbid! the boy was the very staff of my age, my very prop. Laun. Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-post, a staff, or a prop? Do you know me, father? Gob. Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman ; but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy alive or dead ? Laun. Do you not know me, father? G. Alack, sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not. Laun. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail of the knowing me: it is a wise father, that knows his own child. Well, old man, I will tell you news of your son : Give me your bless- ing : truth will come to light ; murder cannot be hid long, a man's son may ; but, in the end, truth will out. Gob. Pray you, sir, stand up, I am sure, you are not Launcelot, my boy. Laun. Pray you, let's have no more fooling about it, but give me your blessing ; I am Launcelot, your boy that was, your son that is, your child that shall be. Gob. I cannot think, you are my son. Laun. I know not what I shall think of that: but I am Launcelot, the Jew's man ; and, I am sure, Margery, your wife, is my mother. Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed : I'll be sworn, if thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood. What a beard hast thou got ! thou hast got more hair on thy chin, than Dobbin, my thill-horse 1 has on his tail. Laun. It should seem, then, that Dobbin's tail grows backward ; I am sure ho had more hair on his tail, than I have on my face, when I last saw him. Gob. How art thou changed ! How dost thou and thy master agree? I have brought him a present ; How 'gree you now ? Laun. Well, well ; but for mine own part, as I have set up my rest to run away, so I will not rest till I have run some ground : my master's a very Jew: Give him a present! give him a halter: I am famish 'd in his service ; you may tell every finger I have with my ribs. .Father, I am glad you are come; give me your present to one master Bassanio, who, indeed, gives rare new liveries ; if I serve not him, I will run as far as there is any ground. O rare fortune! here comes the man; to him, father ; for I am a Jew, if I serve the Jew any longer. Enter Bassanio, with Leonardo, and other Followers. Bass. You may do so; but let it be so hasted, that supper be ready at the farthest by five of the clock: See these letters deliver'd: put tlic liveries to making ; and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging. [Exit a Servant* Laun. To him, father. Gob. God bless your worship ! B. Gramercy ; Wouldst thou aught with me? Gob. Here's my son, sir, a poor boy, Laun. Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew'g man ; that would, sir, as my father shall spe- cify, Gob. He hath a great infection, sir, as one would say, to serve Laun. Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the Jew, and I have a desire, as my father shall specify, Gob. His master and he (saving your wor- ship's reverence), are scarce cater-cousins 2 ; Laun. To be brief, the very truth is, that the Jew having done me wrong, doth cause me, as my father, being I hope, an old man, shall frutify unto you, Gob. I have here a dish of doves, that I would bestow upon your worship ; and my suit is, Laun. In very brief, the suit is impertinent to myself, as your worship shall know by this honest old man ; and, though I say it, though an old man, yet, poor man, my father. Bass. One speak for both; What would you? Laun. Serve you, sir. Gob. This isthe very defect of the matter, sir. 1 Shaft-horse. 2 Fourth cousins. SO, II. MERCHANT OF VENICE. 185 Lass. I know thee well, thou. hast obtain'd thy suit : Shylock, thy master, spoke with me this day, And hath preferr'd thee, if it be preferment, To leave a rich Jew's service, to become The follower of so poor a gentleman. Laun. The old proverb is very well parted between my master Shylock and you, sir ; you have grace, sir, and he hath enough. Bass. Thou speak'st it well : Go, father, with thy son : Take leave of thy old master, and enquire My lodging out : Give him a livery [ To Ms followers. More guarded 1 than his fellows' : See it done. Laun. Father, in: I cannot get a service, no : I have ne'er a tongue in my head. Well, father, come ; I'll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling of an eye. [Exeunt Launcelot and old Goltio. B. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this ; These things being bought, and orderly bestow'd, Return in haste, for I do feast to-night My best esteem'd acquaintance ; hie thee, go. Leon. Mybest endeavours shall be done herein. Enter Gratiano. Gra. Where is your master ? Leon. Yonder, sir, he walks. [Exit Leonardo. Gra. Signior Bassanio, Bass. Gratiano ! Gra. I have a suit to you. Bass. You have obtained it. Gra,. You must not deny me : I must go with you to Belmont. Bass. Why, then you must; But hear thee, Gratiano ; Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice : Tarts, that become thee happily enough, Arid in such eyes as ours appear not faults ; But where thou art not known, why, there they show Something too liberal 2 ; pray thee take pain To allay with some cold drops of modesty Thy skipping spirit ; lest through thy wild beha- I be misconstrued in the place I go to, [viour, And lose my hopes. Gra. Signior Bassanio, hear me : If I do not put on a sober habit, Talk with respect, and swear but now and then, Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look