1NIFRED AYRES h THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE OE THE SEVEN AGES OF THE SOUL An Arrangement of Scenes from Seven Shakespearean Plays BY WINIFRED AYRES HOPE COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY WINIFRED AYRES HOPE NEW YORK SAMUEL FRENCH PUBLISHER 28-30 WEST 38TH STREET LONDON SAMUEL FRENCH, LTD. 26 SOUTHAMPTON STREET STRAND CHARACTERS IN THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. Scene from Midsummer . Night's Dream; Bottom. Quince. Flute. Snug. Snout. Titania. Puck. Scene from Twelfth Night;' Maria. Sir Toby. Sir Andrew. The Clown. Malvolio. Scene from As You Like It.^ Rosalind. Celia. Orlando. Scene from Henry Vth. Henry. Katharine. Alice. Scene from Much Ado About - Nothing. Beatrice. Benedict. Hero. Claudio. Leonato. Don Pedro. EPISODE I. The Infant Simplicity. EPISODE II. The Child Exuberance. EPISODE III. The Youth Romance. EPISODE IV. The Youth Enthusiasm. EPISODE V. The Cynic World-weari- ness. 384868 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. Scene from Winter's Tale. -^ Hermione. Leontes. Paulina. First Lord. Officer. Perdita. Camillo. Scene from the Tempest. -^ Prospero. Miranda. Ferdinand. Ariel. Gonzalo. Alonso. EPISODE VI. > The Wrestler Storm Stress. and EPISODE VII. >. The Philosopher Calm after Storm. (Band of dancing nymphs of the sea.) THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE OR THE SEVEN AGES OF THE SOUL (Enter before the curtain, PSYCHE, who speaks the Prologue.) PSYCHE. I am the soul of man, that Mystery unsolved, Though ever pondered deeper as the ages pass : The fond familiar I of subtle Hindu thought- A concept shunned by warrior race and merchant class : But with the Greeks, whose hearts were tuned to thrill When Beauty sounded (be the medium mind, Body or soul the note was Beauty still ) With these rare Greeks, the soul a God we find. Psyche they called me, garlanded about With myth and legend, breathing joy and woe, Hope and despair, but blossoming at last Into the bliss that souls immortal know. Shakespeare, that poet-sage who read men's hearts, Has drawn a picture of the life of man : Seven steps that lead from vale to mountain-top, And back to valley dim in one life's span. So is man's life ; but I, the Soul, declare That once I reach the towering mountain-crest 6 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. And: drink the light, my feet refuse to tread The downward path- arid on the heights they rest. Behold, I show seven stages of the soul, Each picture drawn by Shakespeare's matchless pen: And as ye gaze, the meaning I unfold In terms of soul-life granted mortal men. I am that Ariadne's thread that guides The Searcher, who would track unto his lair The Monster who devours human hearts To some he leers as Ennui, some Despair. The soul behold we first in Infancy When clowns amuse and acrobats delight ; The artisans who play before the king And show forth Thisbe's death (O woful sight!) These do I choose as type of primal soul : How elemental they, in face of complex man ! Yet such the wonder of the human race That chasms such as this it still can span ! (Midsummer Night's Dream: Rehearsal scene. ACT i, SCENE 2; ACT 3, SCENE i.) (Enter QUINCE, SNUG, BOTTOM, FLUTE and SNORT.) QUIN. Is all our company here? BOT. You were best to call them generally, man by man, according to the scrip. 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 the duchess, on his wedding-day at night. BOT. First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats on ; then read the names of the actors ; and so grow to a point. QUIN. Marry, our play is, The most lamentable THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 7 Comedy, and most cruel Death of Pyramus and Thisby. Box. 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 your- selves. QUIN. Answer as I call you. Nick Bottom, the weaver. Box. Ready. Name what part I am for, and proceed. QUIN. You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus. Box. What is Pyramus ? a lover, or a tyrant ? QUIN. A lover, that kills himself most gallant for love. Box. 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 humour is for a tyrant : I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a cat in, to make all split. The raging rocks And 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. Flute, you must take Thisby on you. FLU. What is Thisby ? a wandering knight ? 8 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. QUIN. It is the lady that Pyramus must love. FLU. Nay, faith, let not me 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. Box. 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 Thisby. Box. Well, proceed, Quin. Tom Snout, the tinker. SNOUT. Here, Peter Quince. QUIN. You must play, Pyramus' father : myself, Thisby '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 noth- ing but roaring. Box. 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. Box. I grant you, friends, if you should fright the ladies out of their wits, they would have no more discretion but to hang us : but I will aggra- vate my voice so, that I will roar you as gently as any sucking dove; I will roar you an 'twere any nightingale. QUIN. You can play no part but Pyramus ; for Pyramus is a sweet-faced man; a proper man, as one shall see in a summer's day; a most lovely, THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 9 gentleman-like man : therefore you must needs play Pyramus. EOT. Well, I will undertake it. What beard were I best to play it in ? QUIN. Why, what you will. Box. I will discharge it in either your straw- colour beard, your orange-tawny beard, your purple- in-grain beard, or your French-crown-colour beard, your perfect yellow. QUIN. Some of your French crowns have no hair at all, and then you will play barefaced. But, 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 moonlight : there will we rehearse ; for if we meet in the city, we shall be dogged with company, and our devices known. In the mean time I will draw a bill of properties, such as our play wants. I pray you, fail me not. BOT. We will meet ; and there we may rehearse most obscenely and courageously. Take pains ; be perfect : adieu. QUIN. At the duke's oak we meet. Box. Enough ; hold or cut bow-strings. (Exeunt) (SCENE 2. The wood. TITANIA 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 tiring- house; and we will do it in action as we will do it before the duke. BOT. Peter Quince, QUIN. What sayest thou, bully Bottom? 10 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. BOT. There are things in this comedy of Pyramus and Thisby that will never please. First, Pyramus must draw a sword to kill himself ; which the ladies cannot abide. How answer you that? SNOUT. By'r lakin, a parlous fear. STAR. I believe we must leave the killing out, when all is done. BOT. Not a whit : I have a device to make all well. Write me a prologue ; and let the prologue seem to say, we will do no harm with our swords, and that Pyramus is not killed indeed ; and, for the more better assurance, tell them that I Pyramus am not Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver : this will put them out of fear. QUIN. Well, we will have such a prologue ; and it shall be written in eight and six. BOT. No, make it two more ; let it be written in eight and eight. SNOUT. Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion? I fear it, I promise you. BOT. Masters, you ought to consider with your- selves : to bring in God shield us ! a lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing; for there is not a more fearful wild-fowl than your lion living: and we ought to look to 't. SNOUT. 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, 1 1 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. THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. u QUIN. Well, it shall be so. But there is two hard things, that is, to bring the moonlight into a cham- ber ; for, you know, Pyramus and Thisby meet by moonlight. SNOUT. Doth the moon shine that night we play our play? Box. A calendar, a calendar ! look in the almanac ; find out moonshine, find out moonshine. QUIN. Yes, it doth shine that night. Box. Why, then may you have 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 lantern, and say he comes to disfigure, or to present, the person of Moonshine. Then, there is another thing : we must have a wall in the great chamber ; for Pyramus and Thisby, says the story, did talk through the chink of a wall. SNOUX. You can never bring in a wall. What say you, Bottom? Box. Some man or other must present Wall : and let him have some plaster, or some loam, or some rough-cast about him, to signify wall ; and let him hold his fingers thus, and through that cranny shall Pyramus and Thisby whisper. QUIN. If that may be, then all is well. Come, sit down, every mother's son, and rehearse your parts. Pyramus, you begin : when you have spoken your speech, enter into that brake ; and so every one according to his cue. (Enter PUCK 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. 12 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. QUIN. Speak, Pyramus. Thisby, stand forth. Box. Thisby, the flowers of odious savours sweet, QUIN. Odours, odours. Box. odours savours sweet: So hath thy breath, my dearest Thisby dear. But hark, a voice ! stay thou but here awhile, And by and by I will to thee appear. (Exit.) PUCK. A stranger Pyramus than e'er play'd here! (Exit) FLU. 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. FLU. Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of hue, Of colour like the red rose on triumphant brier, Most brisky Juvenal, and eke most lovely Jew, As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire, I'll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny's tomb. QUIN. ' Ninus' tomb,' man : why, you must not speak that yet; that you answer to Pyramus: you speak all your part at once, cues and all. Pyramus enter : your cue is past ; it is, ' never tire/ FLU. O, As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire. (Re-enter PUCK, and BOTTOM with an ass's head.) BOT. If I were fair, Thisby, I were only thine. QUIN. O monstrous ! O strange ! we are haunted. Pray, masters ! fly, masters ! Help ! (Exeunt QUINCE, SNUG, FLUTE, SNOUT, and STARVELING.) THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 13 PUCK. 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. Box. Why do they run away? this is a knavery of them to make me afeard. (Re-enter SNOUT.) SNOUT. O Bottom, thou art changed ! what do I see on thee? BOT. What do you see? you see an ass-head of your own, do you? (Exit SNOUT) / (Re-enter QUINCE.) QUIN. Bless thee, Bottom! bless thee! thou art translated. (Exit) 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 cock so black of hue, With orange-tawny bill, The throstle with his note so true, The wren with little quill, TITA. (Azvaking) What angel wakes me from my flowery bed? BOT. (Sings) 14 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. The finch, the sparrow, and the lark, The plain-song cuckoo gray, Whose note full many a man doth mark, And dares not answer nay; for, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish a bird? who would give a bird the lie, though he cry ' cuckoo ' never so ? TlTA. I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again : Mine ear is much enamour'd of thy note; So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape; And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move me On the first view to say, to swear, I love thee. Box. 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 upon occasion. TITA. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful. Box. Not so, neither : but if I had wit enough to get out of this wood, I have enough to serve mine own turn. TIXA. 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. (TIXANIA leads BOXXOM out.) CURTAIN. THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 15 PSYCHE. The second stage, the childhood of the soul : The inarticulate gurgles of delight Of infancy give place to merry laughter, For care-free mirth makes all life's path-way bright. happy ye, who deal with little children ! Bethink ye, childhood vanishes so soon ; Let those brief years be precious to remember The children's sun should ever be at noon ! For thoughtless, child-like, rollicking carousal, 1 summon forth from " Twelfth Night " prankish knaves, To play again for us their merry-making, To dance their capers, and to trill their staves. (Merry ing -making scene from " Twelfth Night:) (ACT i, SCENE 3, ACT 2, SCENE 4.) (SCENE i. 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 my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o' nights : your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours. SIR 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 drinking will undo you : I heard my lady talk of it yesterday ; and of a fool- 16 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. ish knight that you brought in one night here to be her wooer. SIR To. Who, Sir Andrew Aguecheek? 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. Fie, that you'll say so ! he plays o' the viol-de-gamboys, and speaks three or four lan- guages word for word without book, and hath all the good gifts of nature. MAR. He hath indeed, almost natural : for be- sides 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 coystrill that will not drink to my niece till his brains turn o' the toe like a parish-top. What, wench ! Castiliano vulgo ; for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface. (Enter SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.) SIR AND. Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby Belch ! SIR To. Sweet Sir Andrew ! SIR AND. Bless you, fair shrew. MAR. And you too, sir. THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 17 SIR To. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost. SIR AND. What's that? SIR To. My niece's chambermaid. 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. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of ' accost ' ? MAR. Fare you well, gentlemen. SIR To. An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would thou mightst never draw sword again. SIR AND. An you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand? MAR. Sir, I have not you by the hand. SIR AND. Marry, but you shall have ; and here's my hand. MAR. Now, sir, ' thought is free ' : I pray you, bring your hand to the buttery-bar and let it drink. SIR AND. Wherefore, sweet-heart? what's your metaphor ? MAR. It's dry, sir. SIR AND. Why, I think so : I am not such an ass but I can keep my hand dry. But what's your jest? MAR. A dry jest, sir. SIR AND. Are you full of them ? MAR. Ay, sir, I have them at my fingers' ends : marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren. (Exit) SIR To. O knight, thou lackest a cup of canary ! when did I see thee so put down? SIR AND. Never in your life, I think; unless you see canary put me down. Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian or an ordinary i8 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 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 'Id forswear it. I'll ride home to-morrow, Sir Toby. SIR To. Pourquoi, my dear knight? SIR AND. What is * pourquoi ' ? do or not do ? I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting ! O, had I but followed the arts ! SIR To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair. SIR AND. Why, would that have mended my hair ? 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. Excellant ; it hangs like flax on a distaff. SIR AND. Faith, Til 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 woos her. SIR To. She'll none o' the count : she'll not match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit ; I have heard her swear't. Tut, there's life in't, man. SIR AND. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fel- low o' the strangest mind i' the world ; I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether. SIR To. Art thou good at these kickshawses, knight ? SIR AND. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my betters ; and yet I will not compare with an old man. SIR To. What is thy excellence in a galliard. knight ? SIR AND. Faith, I can cut a caper. THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 19 SIR To. And I can cut the mutton to 't. SIR AND. And I think I have the back-trick simply as strong as any man in Illyria. SIR To. Wherefore are these things hid ? where- fore have these gifts a curtain before 'em ? are they like to take dust, like Mistress Mall's picture? why dost thou not go to church in a galliard and come home in a coranto? My very walk should be a jig; dost thou mean? Is it a world to hide virtues in ? I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy leg, it was formed under the star of a galliard. SIR AND. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a flame-coloured stock. Shall we set about some revels? SIR To. What shall we do else? were we not born under Taurus? SIR AND. Taurus ! That's sides and heart. SIR To. No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me see thee caper. Ha ! higher ! ha, ha ! excellent ! Approach, Sir Andrew ; not to be a-bed after mid- night 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 mid- night is to go to bed betimes. Does not our life consist of the four elements? SIR AND. Faith, so they say; but I think it rather consists of eating and drinking. vSiR To. Thou 'rt a scholar ; let us therefore eat and drink. Marian, I say ! a stoup of wine ! (Enter CLOWN.) SIR AND. Here comes the fool, i' faith. CLO. How now, my hearts ! did you never see the picture of ' we three ' ? 20 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. SIR To. Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch. SIR AND. By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I had rather than forty shillings I had such a leg, and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool has. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fool- ing last night, when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus : 'twas very good, i' faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman : hadst it ? CLO. I did impeticos thy gratillity ; for Malvo- lio's nose is no whipstock : my lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses. SIR AND. Excellent! why, this is the best fool- ing, when all is done. Now, a song. SIR To. Come on ; there is sixpence for you : let's have a song. 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. CLO. (Sings} O mistress mine, where are you roaming? O, stay and hear ; your true love 's coming, That can sing both high and low. Trip no further, pretty sweeting; Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man's son doth know. SIR AND. Excellent good, i' faith. SIR To. Good, good. CLO. (Sings) What is love? 'tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter ; What's to come is still unsure : In delay there lies no plenty; Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure. THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 21 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 con- tagion. But shall we make the welkin dance in- deed? 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 it: I am dog at a catch. CLO. By 'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well. SIR AND. Most certain. Let our catch be, ' Thou knave.' CLO. ' Hold thy peace, thou knave,' knight ? I shall be constrained in 't to call thee knave, knight. SIR AND. 'Tis not the first time I have con- strained 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. (Catch sung) (Enter MARIA.) MAR. What a caterwauling do you keep here ! If my lady have not called up her steward Malvolio and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me. SIR To. My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians, Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsey, and ' Three merry men be we.' Am not I consanguineous ? am I not of her blood? Tillyvally, lady! (Sings) ' There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady ! ' CLO. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling. SIR AND. Ay, he does well enough if he be dis- posed, and so do I too: he does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural. 22 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. SIR To. (Sings') ' O, the twelfth day of Decem- ber/ MAR. For the love o' God, peace ! (Enter MALVOLIO.) MAL. 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 our your coziers' catches without any mitiga- tion or remorse of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you? SIR To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up ! MAL. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you, that, though she harbours you as her kinsman, she's nothing allied to your disorders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanours, 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 farewell. SIR To. ' Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone/ MAR. Nay, good Sir Toby. CLO. * His eyes do show his days are almost done/ MAL. Is 't even so? SIR To. * But I will never die/ CLO. Sir Toby, there you lie. MAL. This is much credit to you. SIR To. 'Shall I bid him go?' CLO. ' What an if you do ? ' SIR To. ' Shall I bid him go, and spare not ? ' CLO. ' O no, no, no, no, you dare not/ SIR To. Out o' tune, sir? ye lie. Art any more than a steward? Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale? THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 23 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 stoup of wine, Maria ! MAL. Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady's favour at any thing 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 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 challenge ; 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 Mal- volio, let me alone with him ; if I do not gull him into a nayword, and make him a common recreation, do not think I have wit enough to lie straight in my bed : I know I can do it. SIR To. Possess us, possess us ; tell us something of him. MAR. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of puritan. SIR AND. O, if I thought that, I 'Id 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 anything constantly, but a time-pleaser ; an affectioned ass, that cons state without book and utters it by great swarths ; the best persuaded of himself, so crammed, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is his grounds 24 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. of faith that all that look on him love him ; and on that vice in him will my revenge find notable cause to work. SIR To. What wilt thou do? MAR. I will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love ; wherein, by the colour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expres- sure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly personated. I can write very like my lady your niece : on a forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands. SIR To. Excellent ! I smell a device. SIR AND. I have't in my nose too. SIR To. He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from my niece, and that she's in love with him. 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. O, 'twill be admirable ! MAR. Sport royal, I warrant you : I know my physic will work with him. I will plant you two, and let the fool make a third, where he shall find the letter : observe his construction of it. For this night, to bed, and dream on the event. Farewell. (**0 SIR To. Good-night, Penthesilea. 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 hadst need send for more money. SIR AND. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out. THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 25 SIR To. Send for money, knight: if thou hast her not i' the end, call me cut. 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. (Exeunt) CURTAIN. PSYCHE. Youth and Romance walk shyly hand-in-hand, Adown a flowery pathway all too brief : Of all the wondrous lovers Shakespeare drew, Orlando and his Rosalind are chief. A wholesome, whole-souled love is that he pictures : And to it still turn over-burdened men, And weary women find in it refreshment ; " The whole world loves a lover " now, as then. (ORLANDO and ROSALIND: "As You Like It" ACT 3, SCENE 2, SCENE 4, and ACT 4, SCENE i.) (SCENE I. The forest.) (Enter ORLANDO, with a paper.) ORL. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love ; And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above, Thy huntress' name that my full life doth sway. O Rosalind ! these trees shall be my books, And in their barks my thoughts I'll character, That every eye which in this forest looks Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where. Run, run, Orlando ; carve on every tree The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she. 26 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. (Exit.) (Enter ROSALIND with a paper, reading.) Ros. From the east to western Ind, No jewel is like Rosalind. Her worth, being mounted on the wind, Through all the world bears Rosalind. All the pictures fairest lined Are but black to Rosalind. Let no face be kept in mind But the fair of Rosalind. Ros. Look here what I found on a palm-tree. I was never so be-rhymed since Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember, CEL. Trow you who hath done this ? Ros. Is it a man? CEL. And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck. Change you colour? Ros. I prithee, who ? CEL. O Lord, Lord ! it is a hard matter for friends to meet ; but mountains may be removed with earthquakes and so encounter. Ros. Nay, but who is it? CEL. Is it possible ? Ros. Nay, I prithee now with most petitionary vehemence, tell me who it is. CEL. O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonder- ful wonderful ! and yet again wonderful, and after that, out of all hooping ! Ros. Good my complexion ! dost thou think, though I am caparisoned like a man, I have a doub- let and hose in my disposition? One inch of delay more is a South-sea of discovery; I prithee, tell me who is it quickly, and speak apace. I would thou couldst stammer, that thou mightst pour this con- cealed man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow-mouthed bottle, either too much at once, THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 27 or none at all. I prithee, take the cork out of thy mouth that I may drink thy tidings. Is he of God's making ? What manner of man ? Is his head worth a hat, or his chin worth a beard? CEL. Nay, he hath but a little beard. Ros. Why, God will send more, if the man will be thankful : let me stay the growth of his beard, if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin. CEL. It is young Orlando, that tripped up the wrestler's heels and your heart both in an in- stant. Ros. Nay, but the devil take mocking! speak sad brow and true maid. CEL. I' faith, coz, 'tis he. Ros. Orlando ? CEL. Orlando. Ros. Alas the day ! what shall I do with my doublet and hose? What did he when thou sawest him? What said he? How looked he? Wherein went he? What makes he here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he? How parted he with thee? and when shalt thou see him again? An- swer me in one word. CEL. You must borrow me Gargantua's mouth first: 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this age's size. To say ay and no to these particulars is more than to answer in a catechism. Ros. But doth he know that I am in this forest and in man's apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled? CEL. It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a lover; but a taste of my finding him, and relish it with good observance. I found him under a tree, like a dropped acorn. Ros. It may well be called Jove's tree, when it drops forth such fruit. CEL. Give me audience, good madam. Ros. Proceed. 28 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. CEL. There lay he, stretched along, like a wounded knight. Ros. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes the ground. CEL. Cry ' holla ' to thy tongue, I prithee ; it curvets unseasonably. He was furnished like a hunter. Ros. O, ominous ! he comes to kill my heart. CEL. I would sing my song without a burden : thou bringest me out of tune. Ros. Do you not know I am a woman ? when I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on. CEL. You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here? (Enter ORLANDO.) Ros. (Aside to CELIA) I will speak to him like a saucy lackey, and under that habit play the knave with him. Do you hear, forester? ORL. Very well : what would you ? Ros. I pray you, what is't o'clock? ORL. You should ask me what time o' day : there's no clock in the forest. Ros. Then there is no true lover in the forest ; else sighing every minute and groaning every hour would detect the lazy foot of Time as well as a clock. ORL. And why not the swift foot of Time? had not that been as proper? Ros. By no means, sir : Time travels in divers paces wth divers persons. I'll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal. ORL. I prithee, who doth he trot withal? Ros. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between the contract of her marriage and the day it is solemnized : if the interim be but a se'nnight, Time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven year. THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 29 ORL. Who ambles time withal ? Ros. With a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich man that hath not the gout; for the one sleeps easily because he cannot study, and the other lives merrily because he feels no pain ; the one lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning, the other knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury : these Time ambles withal. ORL. Who doth he gallop withal? Ros. With a thief to the gallows ; for though he go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there. ORL. Who stays it still withal? Ros. With lawyers in the vacation ; for they sleep between term and term, and then they perceive not how Time moves. ORL. Where dwell you, pretty youth? Ros. With this shepherdess, my sister ; here in the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petti- coat. ORL. Are you native of this place? Ros. As the cony that you see dwell where she is kindled. ORL. Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in so removed a dwelling. Ros. I have been told so of many : but indeed an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an inland man; one that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. I have heard him read many lectures against it, and I thank God I am not a woman, to be touched with so many giddy offences as he hath generally taxed their whole sex withal. ORL. Can you remember any of the principal evils that he laid to the charge of women? Ros. There were none principal ; they were all like one another as half-pence are, every one fault seeming monstrous till his fellow- fault came to match it. 30 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. ORL. I prithee, recount some of them. Ros. No, I will not cast away my physic but on those that are sick. There is a man haunts the forest, that abuses our young plants with carving Rosalind on their barks ; hangs odes upon haw- thorns and elegies on brambles, all, forsooth, deify- ing the name of Rosalind: if I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him. ORL. I am he that is so love-shaked : I pray you, tell me your remedy. Ros. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you : he taught me how to know a man in love ; in which cage of rushes I am sure you are not pris- oner. ORL. What were his marks? Ros. A lean cheek, whch you have not ; a blue eye and sunken, which you have not ; an unques- tionable spirit, which you have not ; a beard neg- lected, which you have not ; but I pardon you for that, for simply your having in beard is a younger brother's revenue : then your hose should be ungar- tered, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbut- toned, your shoe untied, and every thing about you demonstrating a careless desolation. But you are no such man ; you are rather point-device in your accoutrements, as loving yourself than seeming the lover of any other. ORL. Faith youth, I would I could make thee believe I love. Ros. Me believe it ! you may as soon make her that you love believe it ; which, I warrant, she is apter to do than to confess she does : that is one of the points in the which women still give the lie to their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he t'hat hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosa- lind is so admired? ORL. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he. THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 31 Ros. But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak? ORL. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much. Ros. Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as mad- men do ; and the reason why they are not so pun- ished and cured is, that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too. Yet I profess curing it by counsel. ORL. Did you ever cure any so? Ros. Yes, one, and in this manner. He was to imagine me his love, his mistress ; and I set him every day to woo me : at which time would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, change- able, longing and liking; proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles ; for every passion something and for no passion truly anything, as boys and women are for the most part cattle of this colour ; would now like him, now loathe him ; then entertain him, then forswear him ; now weep for him, then spit at him, that I drave my suitor from his mad humour of love to a living humour of madness ; which was, to forswear the full stream of the world and to live in a nook merely monastic. And thus I cured him ; and this way will I take upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep's heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in't. ORL. I would not be cured, youth. Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind, and come every day to my cote and woo me. ORL. Now, by the faith of my love, I will : tell me where it is. Ros. Go with me to it and I'll show it you ; and by the way you shall tell me where in the forest you live. Will you go? 32 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. ORL. With all my heart, good youth. Ros. Nay, you must call me Rosalind Come, sister, will you go? (Exeunt) (SCENE 2. The forest.) (Enter ROSALIND and CELIA.) Ros. Never talk to me ; I will weep. CEL. Do, I prithee; but yet have the grace to consider that tears do not become a man. Ros. But have I not cause to weep? CEL. As good cause as one would desire ; there- fore weep. Ros. His very hair is of the dissembling colour. CEL. Something browner than Judas's : marry, his kisses are Judas's own children. Ros. F faith, his hair is of a good colour. CEL. An excellent colour: your chestnut was ever the only colour. Ros. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of holy bread. CEL. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana : a nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously ; the very ice of chastity is in them. Ros. But why did he swear he would come this morning, and comes not? CEL. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him. Ros. Do you think so? CEL. Yes : I think he is not a pick-purse nor a horse-stealer ; but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as a covered goblet or a worm-eaten nut. Ros. Not true in love? CEL. Yes, when he is in ; but I think he is not in. Ros. You have heard him swear downright he was. CEL. ' Was ' is not ' is ' : besides, the oath of a THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 33 lover is no stronger than the word of a tapster ; they are both the confirmer of false reckonings. He attends here in the forest on the Duke your father. Ros. I met the Duke yesterday, and had much question with him. He asked me of what parentage I was : I told him, of as good as he ; so he laughed and let me go. But what talk we of fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando? CEL. O, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his lover ; as a puisny tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose. But all's brave that youth mounts and folly guides. Who comes here? (Enter ORLANDO.) ORL. Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind ! Ros. Why, how now, Orlando ! where have you been all this while? You a lover! An you serve me such another trick, never come in my sight more. ORL. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise. Ros. Break an hour's promise in love ! He that will divide a minute into a thousand parts, and break but a part of the thousandth part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said of him that Cupid hath clapped him o' the shoulder, but I'll warrant him heart-whole. ORL. Pardon me, dear Rosalind. Ros. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight : I had as lief be wooed of a snail. ORL. Of a snail? Ros. Ay, of a snail ; for though he comes slowly, he carries his house on his head, a better jointure, I think, than you make a woman : besides, he brings 34 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. his destiny with him ; he comes armed in his fortune, and prevents the slander of his wife. ORL. My Rosalind is virtuous. Ros. And I am your Rosalind. CEL. It pleases him to call you so ; but he hath a Rosalind of a better leer than you. Ros. Come, woo me, woo me ; for now I am in a holiday humour and like enough to consent. What would you say to me now, an I were your very very Rosalind ? ORL. I would kiss before I spoke. Ros. Nay, you were better speak first ; and when you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for lovers lacking God warn us ! matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss. ORL. How if the kiss be denied? Ros. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter. ORL. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress ? Ros. Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress, or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit. ORL. What, of my suit? Ros. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. Am not I your Rosalind? ORL. I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking of her. Ros. Well, in her person I say I will not have you. ORL. Then in mine own person I die. Ros. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, videlicet, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains dashed out with a Grecian club; yet he did wh; THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 35 he could to die before, and he is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he would have lived many a fair year, though Hero had turned nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer night ; for, good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont, and being taken with the cramp was drowned : and the foolish chroniclers of that age found it was ' Hero of Sestos.' But these are all lies : men have died from time to time and worms have eaten them, but not for love. ORL. I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind ; for, I protest, her frown might kill me. Ros. By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, now I will be your Rosalind in a more com- ing-on disposition, and ask me what you will, I will grant it. ORL. Then love me, Rosalind. Ros. Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all. ORL. And wilt thou have me? Ros. Ay, and twenty such. ORL. What sayest thou ? Ros. Are you not good? ORL. I hope so. Ros. Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing? Come, sister, you shall be the priest and marry us. Give me your hand, Orlando. What do you say, sister ? ORL. Pray thee, marry us. CEL. I cannot say the words. Ros. You must begin, * Will you, Orlando ' CEL. Go to. Will you, Orlando, have to v/ife this Rosalind? ORL. I will. Ros. Ay, but when? ORL. Why now ; as fast as she can marry us. Ros. Then you must say, * I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.' 36 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. ORL. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. Ros. I might ask you for your commission ; but I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband. There's a girl goes before the priest ; and certainly a woman's thought runs before her actions. ORL. So do all thoughts ; they are winged. Ros. Now tell me how long you would have her after you have possessed her. ORL. For ever and a day. Ros. Say ' a day/ without the ' ever/ No, no, Orlando ; men are April when they woo, December when they v/ed : maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives. I will be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock- pigeon over his hen, more clamorous than a parrot against rain, more new-fangled than an ape, more giddy in my desires than a monkey. I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when you are disposed to be merry ; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when thou art inclined to sleep. ORL. But will my Rosalind do so ? Ros. By my life, she will do as I do. ORL. O, but she is wise. Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to do this : the wiser, the way warder. Make the doors upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the casement ; shut that, and t'will out at the key-hole ; stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney. ORL. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say, ' Wit, whither wilt ? ' Ros. You shall never take her without her answer, unless you take her without her tongue. O, that woman that cannot make her fault her hus- band's occasion, let her never nurse her child her- self, for she will breed it like a fool ! ORL. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee. THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 37 Ros. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours ! ORL. I must attend the Duke at dinner : by two o'clock I will be with thee again. Ros. Ay, go your ways, go your ways ; I knew what you would prove : my friends told me as much, and I thought no less. That flattering tongue of yours won me : 'tis but one cast away, and so, come, death ! Two o'clock is your hour ? ORL. Ay, sweet Rosalind. Ros. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, if you break one jot of your promise or come one minute behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical break-promise, and the most hollow lover, and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind, that may be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful : therefore beware my censure and keep your promise. ORL. With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my Rosalind : so adieu. Ros. Well, Time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let Time try : adieu. (Exit ORLANDO.) CEL. You have simply misused our sex in your love-prate : we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your head, and show the world what the bird hath done to her own nest. Ros. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in love ! But it cannot be sounded : my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the bay of Portugal. CEL. Or rather, bottomless ; that as fast as you pour affection in, it runs out. Ros. No, that same wicked bastard of Venus that was begot of thought, conceived of spleen, and 38 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. born of madness, that blind rascally boy that abuses every one's eyes because his own are out, let him be judge how deep I am in love. I'll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando : I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he come. CEL. And I'll sleep. (Exeunt) CURTAIN. PSYCHE. Close on Romance, Enthusiasm follows : The youth sets out to carve his own career. * Three centuries ago he found in war-fare His noblest field : a fitting picture here Is Harry Hotspur : even as he woos He's still the soldier but he wins his Kate ! An thus the Doer, be it man or woman Finds Love an ally for achievement great. (The Courting of Katharine of France:) (HENRY 5, ACT 5, SCENE 2.) (HENRY, KATHARINE and ALICE.) K. HEN. Fair Katharine, and most fair, Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms Such as will enter at a lady's ear And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart? KATH. Your majesty shall mock at me ; I cannot speak your England. K. HEN. O fair Katharine, if you will love me soundly with your French heart, I will be glad to hear you confess it brokenly with your English tongue. Do you like me, Kate ? KATH. P.ardonnez-moi, I cannot tell vat is ' like me/ THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 39 K. HEN. An angel is like you, Kate, and you are like an angel. KATH. Que dit-il? que je suis semblable a les anges ? ALICE. Oui, vraiment, sauf votre grace, ainsi dit-il. K. HEN. I said so, dear Katharine; and I must not blush to affirm it. KATH. O bon Dieu ! les langues des hommes sont pleines de tromperies. K. HEN. What says she, fair one? that the tongues of men are full of deceits ? ALICE. Oui, dat de tongues of de mans is be full of deceits ; dat is de princess. K. HEN. The princess is the better English- woman. r faith, Kate, my wooing is fit for thy understanding. I am glad thou canst speak no better English; for, if thou couldst, thou wouldst find me such a plain king that thou wouldst think I had sold my farm to buy my crown. I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say ' I love you : ' then if you urge me farther than to say ' Do you in faith ? ' I wear out my suit. Give me your answer; i' faith, and so clap hands and a bargain. How say you, lady? KATH. Sauf votre honneur, me understand veil. K. HEN. Marry, if you would put me to verses or to dance for your sake, Kate, why you undid me ; for the one, I have neither words nor measure, and for the other, I have no strength in measure, yet a reasonable measure in strength. If I could win a lady at leap-frog, or by vaulting into my saddle with my armour on my back, under the cor- rection of bragging be it spoken, I should quickly leap into a wife. Or if I might buffet for my love, or bound my horse for her favours, I could lay on like a butcher and sit like a Jack-an-apes, never off. 40 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. But, before God, Kate, I cannot look greenly nor gasp out my eloquence, nor I have no cunning in protestation ; only downright oaths, which I never use till urged, nor never break for urging. If thou canst love a fellow of this temper, Kate, whose face is not worth sun-burning, that never looks in his glass for love of anything he sees there, let thine eye be thy cook. I speak to thee plain soldier: if thou canst love me for this, take me ; if not, to say to thee that I shall die, is true; but for thy love, by the Lord, no; yet I love thee too. And while thou livest, dear Kate, take a fellow of plain and uncoined constancy, for he perforce must do thee right, because he hath not the gift to woo in other places ; for these fellows of infinite tongue, that can rhyme themselves into ladies' favours, they do always reason themselves out again. What ! a speaker is but a prater, a rhyme is but a ballad. A good leg will fall, a straight back will stoop, a black beard will turn white, a curled pate will grow bald, a fair face will wither", a full eye will wax hollow ; but a good heart, Kate, is the sun and the moon, or, rather, the sun, and not the moon, for it shines bright and never changes, but keeps his course truly. If thou would have such a one, take me; and take me, take a soldier; take a soldier, take a king. And what sayest thou then to my love ? speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee. KATH. Is it possibe dat I sould love de enemy of France? K. HEN. No, it is not possible you should love the enemy of France,