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, <Kate ; but in loving me you
should love the friend off France, for I love France
so well that I will not part with a village of it ; I
will have it all mine: and, Kate, when France is
mine and I am yours, then yours is France and you
are mine.
KATH. I cannot tell vat is dat.
THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 41
K. HEN. No, Kate ? I will tell thee in French :
which I am sure will hang upon my tongue like a
new-married wife about her husband's neck, hardly
to be shook off. Je quand sur le possession de
France, et quand vous avez le possession de moi
let me see, what then? Saint Denis be my
speed ! done votre est France et vous etes mienne.
It is as easy for me, Kate, to conquer the kingdom
as to speak so much more French ; I shall never
move thee in French, unless it be to laugh at me.
KATH. Sauf votre honneur, le Frangois jue vous
parlez, il est meilleur que 1'Anglois lequel je parle.
K. HEN. No, faith, is 't 'not, Kate ; but thy
speaking of my tongue, and I thine, most truly-
falsely, must needs be granted to be much at one.
But, Kate, dost thou understand thus much English,
canst thou love me?
KATH. I cannot tell.
K. HEN. Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate?
I'll ask them. Come, I know thou lovest 'me ; and
at night, when you come into your closet, you'll
question this gentlewoman about me ; and I know,
Kate, you will to her dispraise those parts in me
that you love with your heart : but, good Kate,
mock me mercifully ; the rather, gentle princess,
because I love thee cruelly. If ever thou beest
mine, Kate, as I have a saving faith within me
tells me thou shalt, I get thee with scambling, and
thou must therefore needs prove a good soldier-
breeder. Shall not thou and I, between Saint
Denis and Saint George, compound a boy, half
French, half English, that shall go to Constanti-
nople and take the Turk by the beard? shall we
not? what sayest thou, my fair flower-de-luce ?
KATH. I do not know dat.
K. HEN. No; 'tis hereafter to know, but now
to promise. Do but now promise, Kate, you will
endeavour for your French part of such a boy : and
42 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE.
for my English moiety take the word of a king
and a bachelor. How answer you, la plus belle
Katharine du monde ; mon tres cher et devin
deesse ?
KATH. Your majestee ave fausse French enough
to deceive de most sage demoiselle dat is en
France.
K. HEN. Now, fie upon my false French ! By
mine honour, in true English, I love thee, Kate;
by which honour I dare not swear thou lovest me,
yet my blood begins to flatter me that thou dost,
notwithstanding the poor and untempering effect
of my visage. Now, beshrew my father's ambition !
he was thinking of civil wars when he got me ;
therefore was I created with a stubborn outside,
with an aspect of iron, that, when I come to woo
ladies, I fright them. But, in faith, Kate, the elder
I wax, the better I shall appear; my comfort is
that old age, that ill layer up of beauty, can do no
more spoil upon my face. Thou hast me, if thou
hast me, at the worst ; and thou shalt wear me, if
thou wear me, better and better ; and therefore tell
me, most fair Katharine, will you have me? Put
off your maiden blushes ; avouch the thoughts of
your heart with the looks of an empress ; take me
by the hand, and say, ' Harry of England, I am
thine : ' which word thou shalt no sooner bless mine
ear withal, but I will tell thee aloud, ' England is
thine, Ireland is thine, France is thine, and Henry
Plantagenet is thine ; ' who, though I speak it before
his face, if he be not fellow with the best king, thou
shalt find the best king of good fellows. Come,
your answer in broken music, for thy voice is music
and thy English broken; therefore, queen of all,
Katharine, break thy mind to me in broken Eng-
lish : wilt thou have me ?
KATH. Dat is as it sail please de roi mon pere.
K. HEN. Nay, it will please him well, Kate; it
shall please him, Kate.
THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 43
KATH. Den it sail also content me.
K. HEN. Upon that I kiss your hand, and I call
you my queen.
KATH. Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laissez !
ma foi, je ne veux point que vous abaissiez votre
grandeur en baisant la main d'une de votre seign-
eur ie indigne serviteur ; ercusez-moi, je vous sup-
plie, mon tres-puissant seigneur.
K. HEN. Then I will kiss your lips, Kate.
KATH. Les dames et demoiselles pour etre
baisees devant leur noces, il n'est pas la coutume
de France.
K. HEN. Madame my interpreter, what says
she?
ALICE. Dat it is not be de fashion pour les ladies
of France, I cannot tell vat is baiser en Anglish.
K. HEN. To kiss.
ALICE. Your majesty entendre bettre que moi.
K. HEN. It is not a fashion for the maids in
France to kiss before they are married, would she
say?
ALICE. Oui, vraiment.
K. HEN. O Kate, nice customs courtesy to great
kings. Dear Kate, you and I cannot be confined
within the weak list of a country's fashion. We
are the makers of manners, Kate, and the liberty
that follows our places stops the mouth of all find-
faults, as I will do yours, for upholding the nice
fashion of your country in denying me a kiss :
therefore, patiently and yielding. (Kissing her)
You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate ; there is
more eloquence in a sugar touch of them than in
the tongues of the French council, and they should
sooner persuade Harry of England than a general
petition of monarchs. Here comes your mother.
(Enter the FRENCH QUEEN, MOTHER.)
Q. ISA. God save your majesty ! my royal cousin,
teach you our princess English?
44 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE.
K. HEN. I would have her learn, my fair cousin,
how perfectly I love her ; and that is good English.
I pray you then, in love and dear alliance,
And thereupon give me your daughter.
Q. ISA.
God, the best maker of all marriages,
Combine your hearts in one, your realms in one!
As man and wife, being two, are one in love,
So be there 'twixt your kingdoms such a spousal,
That never may ill office, or fell jealousy,
Which troubles oft the bed of blessed marriage.
Thrust in between the paction of these kingdoms,
To make divorce of their incorporate league ;
That English may as French, French Englishmen,
Receive each other ! God speak this Amen !
CURTAIN.
ALL. Amen !
PSYCHE.
The bravest warrior may meet a stronger foe
And creep, disheartened, from the well-fought field :
The rose of love may lose its scent and glow,
And faith, out-worn, may cease the soul to shield
Thus grows the Cynic in the heart of man ;
The flood-tide ebbs, and leaves a stranded soul.
Yet Benedict, the Prince of Cynics, found
A woman's love to guide him from this shoal.
(BEATRICE and BENEDICT: "Much Ado About
Nothing/')
(BENEDICT, BEATRICE, HERO, CLAUDIO, LEONATO,
DON PEDRO.)
BENE. What, my dear Lady Disdain ! are you
yet living?
BEAT. Is it possible disdain should die while she
THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 45
hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick ?
Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if you come
in her presence.
BENE. Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it is
certain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted :
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
thank God and my cold blood, I am of your humour
for that : I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow.
BENE. God keep your ladyship still in that mind !
so some gentleman or other shall 'scape a predesti-
nate 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' God's name; I have done.
BEAT. You always end with a jade's trick : I
know you of old.
(Exeunt all save BENEDICT and CLAUDIO.)
CLAUD. Benedict, didst thou note the daughter of
Signior Leonato?
BENE. Why, i' faith, methinks she's too low for
a high praise, too brown for a fair praise, and too
little for a great praise : only this commendation
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. In mine eye she is the sweetest lady that
ever I looked on.
BENE. I can see yet without spectacles, and I
46 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE.
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 Decem-
ber. But I hope you have no intent to turn hus-
band, have you?
CLAUD. I would scarce trust myself, though I
had sworn the contrary, if Hero would be my wife.
BENE. Is't come to this ? In faith, hath not the
world one man but he will wear his cap with suspi-
cion? Shall I never see a bachelor of threescore
again? Go to, i' faith; an thou wilt needs thrust
thy neck into a yoke, wear the print of it, and sigh
away Sundays. Look; Don Pedro is returned to
seek you.
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 conceived me, I thank her ;
that she brought me up, I likewise give her most
humble thanks: but that I will have a recheat
winded in my forehead, or hang my bugle in an
invisible baldrick, all women shall pardon me.
Because I will not do them the wrong to mistrust
any, .1 will do myself the right to trust none ; and
the fine 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 with 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.
THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 47
D. PEDRO.
Well, as time shall try :
* In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke.'
BENE. The savage bull may, but if ever the
sensible Benedick bear it, pluck off 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 Benedick the married
man/
SCENE 2.
(SCENE I. A hall in LEONATO'S house.}
{Enter LEONATO, HERO, BEATRICE, and others.}
LEON. Was not Count John here at supper?
HERO. 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 midway 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 tat-
tling.
LEON. Then half Signior Benedict's tongue in
Count John's mouth, and half Count John's melan-
choly in Signior Benedict'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 a' 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.
BEAT. Just, if he send me no husband; for the
which I am at him upon my knees every morning
48 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE.
and evening. Lord ! I could not endure a husband
with a beard on his face !
LEON. You may light on a husband that hath no
beard.
BEAT. What should I do with him? dress him
in my apparel, and make him my waiting-gentle-
woman ? He that hath a beard is more than a youth ;
and he that hath no beard is less than a man : and
he that is more than a youth, is not for me ; and he
that is less than a man, I am not for him : therefore
I will even take sixpence in earnest of the bear-
ward, and lead his apes into hell.
LEON. Well, then, go you into hell ?
BEAT. No, but to the gate; and here will the
devil meet me, with horns on his head, and say,
' Get you to heaven, Beatrice, get you to heaven ;
here's no place for you maids : ' so deliver I up my
apes, and away to Saint Peter for the heavens ; he
shows me where the bachelors sit, and there live we
as merry as the day is long.
ANT. (To HERO) Well, niece, I trust you will
be ruled by your father.
BEAT. Yes, faith ; 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 handsome fel-
low, or else make another courtesy, and say,
' Father, as it please me.'
LEON. Well, niece, I hope to see you one day
fitted with a husband.
BEAT. Not till God make men of some other
metal than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to
be overmastered with a piece of valiant dust? to
make an account of her life to a clod of wayward
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.
THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 49
BEAT. The fault will be in the music, cousin, if
you be not wooed in good time : if the prince be too
important, tell him there is measure in everything,
and so dance out the answer. For, hear me, Hero :
wooing, wedding, and repenting is as a Scotch jig,
a measure, and a cinque pace : 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.
LEON. 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. (All put on their masks)
(A minuet is danced.)
BEAT. Will you not tell me who told you so ?
BENE. No, you shall pardon nic.
BEAT. Nor will you not tell me who you are?
BENE. Not now.
BEAT. That I was disdainful, and that I had 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 slanders.
None but libertines delight in him; and the com-
mendation is not in his wit, but in his villainy ; for
he both pleases men and angers them, and then they
laugh at him and beat him. I am sure he is in the
fleet : I would he had boarded me.
So THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE.
BENE. When I know the gentleman, I'll tell him
what you say.
BEAT. Do, do: he'll but break a comparison or
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 fool will eat
no supper that night. (Music) We must follow the
leaders.
BENE. In every good thing.
BEAT. Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave
them at the next turning. (BEATRICE goes)
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, county. What fashion will you 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 drovier ;
so they sell bullocks. But did you 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.
CLAUD. 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. Yes, but so I am apt to do myself wrong.
I am not so reputed: it is the base, though bitter,
disposition of Beatrice that puts the world into her
person, and so gives me out. Well, I'll be revenged
as I may.
THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 51
(Enter DON PEDRO.)
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 impossible 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 : if her breath were as terrible as
her terminations, there were no living near her ; she
would infect to the north star. I would not marry
her, though she were endowed with all that Adam
had left him before he transgressed : 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 shall find her the infernal Ate in good
apparel. I would to God some scholar would con-
jure her ; for certainly, while she is here, a man may
live as quiet in hell as in a sanctuary ; and people
sin upon purpose, because they would go thither:
so, indeed, all disquiet, horror, and perturbation
follows her.
D. PEDRO. Look, here she comes.
(Re-enter CLAUDIO, BEATRICE, HERO, and LEONATO.)
BENE. O God, sir, here's a dish I love not : I
cannot endure my Lady Tongue. (Exit)
D. PEDRO. Come, lady, come ; you have lost the
heart of Signior Benedict.
BEAT. Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile;
and I gave him use for it, a double heart for his
52 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE.
single one : marry, once before he won it of me
with false dice, therefore your Grace may well say
I have lost it.
D. PEDRO. 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 she is in his heart.
CLAUD. And so she doth, cousin.
BEAT. Good Lord, for alliance ! Thus goes
everyone to the world but I, and I am sun-burnt ;
I may sit in a corner and cry heigh-ho for a hus-
band !
D. PEDRO. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one.
BEAT. I would rather have one of your father's
getting. Hath your Grace ne'er a brother like you?
Your father got excellent husbands, if a maid could
come by them.
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, my mother cried ; but
then there was a star danced, and under that was I
born. Cousins, God give you joy !
LEON. Niece, will you look to those things I told
you of ?
BEAT. I cry you mercy, uncle. By your Grace's
pardon. (Exit)
D. PEDRO. 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 unhap-
piness, and waked herself with laughing.
THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 53
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. PEDRO. She were an excellent wife for
Benedick.
LEON. O Lord ! my lord, if they were but a week
married, they would talk themselves mad.
D. PEDRO. I warrant thee, the time shall not go
dully by us. I will 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 unhopefullest
husband that I know. Thus far can I praise him :
he is of a noble strain, of approved valour, and
confirmed honesty. I will teach you how to humour
your cousin, that she shall fall in love with Bene-
dick ; and I, with your two helps, will so practise
on Benedick, that, in despite of his quick wit and
his queasy stomach, he shall fall in love with Bea-
trice. 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 3.
BENE. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this
while ?
54 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE.
BEAT. Yea, and I will weep a while longer.
BENE. I will not desire that.
BEAT. You have no reason ; I do it freely.
BENE. Surely I do believe your fair cousin is
wronged.
BEAT. Ah, how much might the man deserve of
me that would right her !
BENE. 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, 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, God forgive me !
BENE. What offence, sweet Beatrice?
BEAT. You have stayed 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 anything for thee.
BEAT. Kill Claudio.
BENE. 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.
THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 55
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, dishnooured my kins-
woman ? O 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, O God, that I were a man! I would
eat his heart in the market-place.
BENE. Hear me, 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, Count Com feet ; a sweet
gallant, surely ! O 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.
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 wronged 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 I leave you.
By this hand, Claudio shall render me a dear
account. As you hear of me, so think of me. Go,
56 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE.
comfort your cousin; I must say she is dead: an
so farewell. (Exeunt. SCENE 4. BENEDICT.
Enter BEATRICE. BENEDICT:) Sweet Beatrice,
wouldst thou come when I called thee?
BEAT. Yea, Signoir, and depart when you bid
me.
BENE. O, stay but till then!
BEAT. ' Then ' is spoken ; fare you well now : and
yet, ere I go, let me go with that I came ; which is,
with knowing what hath passed between you and
Claudio.
BENE. Only foul words; and thereupon I will
kiss thee.
BEAT. Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind
is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome ; there-
fore I wil depart unkissed.
BENE. Thou hast frighted the word out of his
right sense, so forcible is thy wit. But I must tell
thee plainly, Claudio undergoes my challenge; and
either I must shortly hear from him, or I will sub-
scribe 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 all together ; which maintained
so politic a state of evil that they will not admit
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.
THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 57
BENE. An old, 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 weeps.
BEAT. How long is that, think you?
BENE. Question : why, an hour in clamour and
a quarter in rheum: therefore it is expedient for
the wise, if Don Worm, his conscience, find no im-
pediment to the contrary, to be the trumpet to his
own virtues, as I am to myself. So much for prais-
ing myself, who, I myself will bear witness, is
praiseworthy : 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 to.
(SCENE V. BENEDICT, CLAUDIO, LEONTO, DON
PEDRO, HERO and BEATRICE masked.)
BENE. Soft and fair, friar. Which is Beatrice?
BEAT. (Unmasking) I answer to that name.
What is your will?
BENE. Do not you love me?
BEAT. Why, no ; no more than reason.
BENE.
Why, then your uncle and the prince and Claudio
Have been deceived ; they swore you did.
BEAT. Do not you love me?
BENE. Troth, no; no more than reason.
BEAT.
Why, then my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula
Are much deceived ; for they did swear you did.
BENE. They swore that you were almost sick for
me.
58 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE.
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.
CLAUD.
And Til be sworn upon't that he loves her ;
For 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,
Writ 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 con-
sumption.
BENE. Peace! I will stop your mouth. (Kiss-
ing her)
D. PERO. 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 epigram?
No : if a man will be beaten with brains, a' shall
wear nothing handsome about him. In brief, since
I do purpose 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
THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 59
to be my kinsman, live unbruised, and love my
cousin.
CLAUD. I had well hoped thou wouldst 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 my 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 may lighten
our hearts and wives' heels.
LEON. We'll have dancing afterward.
BENE. First, of my word ; therefore play, music.
Prince, thou art sad ; get thee a wife, get thee a
wife; there is no staff more reverend than one
tipped with horn ! Strike up pipers.
PSYCHE.
CURTAIN.
After life's high enthusiasm wanes,
The soul drifts close upon a mist-dimmed shore:
The golden apple, sought so eagerly,
Is plucked and found all rotten at the core.
The Cynic born of dis-illusionment
Drifts idly on upon this stagnant sea :
But some clear dawn, the heavy fog-bank lifts
And yawning reefs lie close upon the lea.
Utter destruction menaces the soul ;
For very life it wrestles with despair :
Yet just beyond the cruel jagged reefs,
The Blessed Islands smile a welcome fair.
This storm and streess, the soul's stern heritage.
In " Winter's Tale ", clear-painted we behold :
Its own black spots the soul must find and cleanse ;
The white-hot furnace must refine the gold.
(SCENE from "Winter's Tale": ACT 5, SCENE 3,
ACT 3, SCENE 2.)
SCENE II. A Court of Justice.
60 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE.
(Enter LEONTES, Lords, and Officers.)
LEON.
This sessions, to our great grief we pronounce,
Even pushes 'gainst our heart; the party tried
The daughter of a king, our wife, and one
Of us too much beloved. Let us be cleared
Of being tyrannous, since we so openly
Proceed in justice, which shall have due course,
Even to the guilt or the purgation.
Produce the prisoner.
OFF.
It is his highness' pleasure that the queen
Appear in person here in court. Silence !
(Enter HERMIONE guarded; PAULINA and Ladies
attending. )
LEON. Read the indictment.
OFF. (Reads) Hermione, queen to the worthy
Leontes, King of Sicilia, thou art here accused and
arraigned of high treason, in traitorous love with
Polixenes, King of Bohemia, and conspiring with
Camillo to take away the life of our sovereign
lord the king, thy royal husband ; the pretence
whereof being by circumstances partly laid open,
thou, Hermione, contrary to the faith and allegiance
of a true subject, didst counsel and aid them, for
their better safety, to fly away by night.
HER.
Since what I am to say must be but that
Which contradicts my accusation, and
The testimony on my part no other
But what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot
me
To say ' not guilty ; ' mine integrity,
Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express it,
Be so received. But thus : if powers divine
THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 61
Behold our human actions, as they do,
I doubt not then but innocence shall make
False accusation blush, and tyranny
Tremble at patience. You my lord, best know,
Who least will seem to do so, my past life
Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true,
As I am now unhappy ; which is more
Than history can pattern, though devised
And play'd to take spectators. For behold me,
A fellow of the royal bed, which owe
A moiety of the throne, a great king's daughter,
The mother to a hopeful prince, here standing
To prate and talk for life an honour 'fore
Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it
As I weigh grief, which I would spare ; for honour,
'Tis a derivative from me to mine,
And only that I stand for. I appeal
To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes
Came to your court, how I was in your grace,
How merited to be so ; since he came,
With what encounter so uncurrent I
Have strain'd to appear thus : if one jot beyond
The bound of honour, or in act or will
That way inclining, hardened be the hearts
Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin
Cry fie upon my grave !
LEON.
I ne'er heard yet
That any of these bolder vices wanted
Less impudence to gainsay what they did
Than to perform it first
HER.
That's true enough ;
Though 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me.
LEON.
You will not own it.
HER.
More than mistress of
62 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE.
Which comes to rrie in name of fault, I must not
At all acknowledge. For Polixenes,
With whom I am accused, I do confess
I loved him as in honour he required.
With such a kind of love as might become
A lady like me, with a love even such,
So and no other, as yourself commanded ;
Which not to have done I think had been in me
Both disobedience and ingratitude
To you and toward your friend, whose love had
spoke,
Even since it could speak, from an infant, freely
That it was yours. Now, for conspiracy,
I know not how it tastes ; though it be dish'd
For me to try how : all I know of it
Is that Camillo was an honest man ;
And why he left your court, the gods themselves,
Wotting no more than I, are ignorant.
LEON.
You knew of his departure, as you know
What you have undertaken to do in 's absence.
HER.
Sir,
You speak a language that I understand not;
My life stands in the level of your dreams,
Which I'll lay down.
LEON.
Your actions are my dreams ;
As you were past all shame,
Those of your fact are so, so past all truth :
Which to deny concerns more than avails ; for as
Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself,
No father owning it, which is, indeed,
More criminal in thee than it, so thou
Shalt feel our justice, in whose easiest passage
Look for no less than death.
HER.
Sir, spare your threats ;
THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 63
The terror you would fright me with I seek.
To me can life be no commodity :
The crown and comfort of my life, your favour,
I do give lost ; for I do feel it gone,
But know not how it went. My second joy
And first-fruits of my body, from his presence
I am barr'd, like one infectious. My third com-
fort,
Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast,
The innocent milk in it most innocent mouth,
Haled out to murder ; myself on every post
Proclaimed ; lastly, hurried
Here to this place, i' the open air, before
I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege,
Tell me what blessings I have here alive,
That I should fear to die? Therefore proceed.
But yet hear this ; mistake me not : no life,
I prize it not a straw ; but for mine honour,
Which I would free, if I shall be condemned
Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else
But what your jealousies awake, I tell you
'Tis rigour and not law. Your honours all,
I do refer me to the oracle ;
Apollo be my judge !
FIRST LoRD.i
This your request
Is altogether just; therefore bring forth.
And in Apollo's name, his oracle.
(Exit OFFICER.)
HER.
The Emperor of Russia was my father;
O that he were alive, and here beholding
His daughter's trial ! that he did but see
The flatness of my misery, yet with eyes
Of pity, not revenge !
(Re-enter OFFICER. OFFICER, The Oracle of
Apollo.)
64 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE.
LEON. Break up the seals and read.
OFF. (Reads) Hermione is chastt; Polixenes
blameless ; Camillo a true subject ; Leontes a jealous
tyrant; his innocent babe truly begotten; and the
king shall live without an heir, if that which is lost
be not found.
LORDS. Now blessed be the great Apollo !
HER. Praised !
LEON. Hast thou read truth?
OFF.
Ay, my lord; even so
As it here set down.
LEON.
There is no truth at all i' the oracle :
The sessions shall proceed; this is mere falsehood.
(Enter SERVANT.)
SERV. My lord the king, the king !
LEON. What is the business?
SERV. O sir, I shall be hated to report it!
The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear
Of the queen's speed, is gone.
LEON. How ! gone !
SERV. Is dead.
LEON.
Apollo's angry ; and the heavens themselves
Do strike at my injustice. (HERMIONE faints)
How now there !
PAUL.
This news is mortal to the queen ; look down
And see what death is doing.
LEON.
Take her hence :
Her heart is but overcharged ; she will recover.
I have too much believed mine own suspicion.
Beseech you, tenderly apply to her
Some remedies for life.
(Exeunt PAULINE and Ladies, with HERMIONE.)
THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 65
Apollo, pardon
My great prof aneness 'gainst thine oracle !
I'll reconcile me to Polixenes,
New woo my queen, recall the good Camillo,
Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy;
For, being transported by my jealousies
To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose
Camillo for the minister to poison
My friend Polixenes ; which had been done,
But that the good mind of Camillo tardied
My swift command, though I with death and with
Reward did threaten and encourage him,
Not doing it and being done. He, most humane
And fill'd with honour, to my kingly guest
Unclasp'd my practice, quit his fortunes here,
Which you knew great, and to the hazard
Of all incertainties himself commended,
No richer than his honour. How he glisters
Thorough my rust ! and how his piety
Does my deeds make the blacker !
(Re-enter PAULINE.)
PAUL.
Woe the while!
O, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it,
Break too !
FIRST LORD.
What fit is this, good lady ?
PAUL.
When I have said, cry ' woe ! ' the queen, the
queen,
The sweet'st, dear'st creature's dead, and vengeance
for't
Not dropp'd down yet.
FIRST LORD.
The higher powers forbid !
PAUL.I
I say she's dead; I'll swear 't. If word nor oath
Prevail not, go and see ; if you can bring
66 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE.
Tincture or lustre in her lip, her eye,
Heat outwardly or breath within, I'll serve you
As I would do the gods. But, O thou tyrant !
Do not repent these things, for they are heavier
Than all thy woes can stir ; therefore betake thee
To nothing but despair. A thousand knees
Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting,
Upon a barren mountain, and still winter
In storm perpetual, could not move the gods
To look that way thou wert.
LEON.
Go on, go on !
Thou canst not speak too much ; I have deserved
All tongues to talk their bitterest.
FIRST LORD.
Say no more ;
Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault
I J the boldness of your speech.
PAUL.
I am sorry for 't ;
All faults I make, when I shall come to know them,
I do repent. Alas ! I have show'd too much
The rashness of a woman ; he is touch'd
To the noble heart. What's gone and what's past
help
Should be past grief : do not receive affliction
At my petition ; I beseech you, rather
Let me be punish'd, that have minded you
Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege,
Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman ;
The love I bore your queen lo, fool again !
I'll speak of her no more, nor of your children ;
I'll not remember you of my own lord,
Who is lost too: take your patience to you,
And I'll say nothing.
LEON.
Thou didst speak but well
When most the truth ; which I receive much better
Than to be pitied of tjiee. Prithee, bring me
THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 67
To the dead bodies of my queen and son :
One grave shall be for both ; upon them shall
The causes of their death appear, unto
Our shame perpetual. Once a day I'll visit
The chapel where they lie, and tears shed there
Shall be my recreation ; so long as nature
Will bear up with this exercise, so long
I daily vow to use it. Come and lead me
To these sorrows. (Exeunt)
(SCENE II. A chapel in PAULINA'S house.)
(Enter LEONTES, CAMILLO, PAULINA, Lords, and
Attendants.)
LEON.
grave and good Paulina, the great comfort
That I have had of thee !
PAUL.
What, sovereign sir,
1 did not well I meant well. All my services
You have paid home ; but that you have vouch-
safed,
With your crown'd brother and these your con-
tracted
Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit,
It is a surplus of your grace which never
My life may last to answer.
LEON.
O Paulina,
We honour you with trouble : but we came
To see the statue of our queen ; your gallery
Have we pass'd through, not without much content
In many singularities, but we saw not
That which my daughter came to look upon,
The statue of her mother.
PAUL.
As she lived peerless,
So her dead likeness, I do well believe,
68 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE.
Excels whatever yet you look'd upon
Or hand of man hath done ; therefore I keep it
Lonely, apart. But here it is ; prepare
To see the life as lively mock'd as ever
Still sleep mock'd death. Behold, and say 'tis well.
(PAULINA draws a curtain, and discovers HERMIONE
standing like a statue.)
I like your silence, it the more shows off
Your wonder: but yet speak; first, you, my liege.
Comes it not something near?
LEON.
Her natural posture !
Chide me, dear stone, that I may say indeed
Thou art Hermione ; or rather, thou art she
In thy not chiding, for she was as tender
As infancy and grace. But yet, Paulina,
Hermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing
So aged as this seems.
CAM.
O, not by much.
PAUL.
So much the more our carver's excellence ;
Which lets go by some sixteen years, and makes her
As she lived now.
LEON.
As now she might have done,
So much to my good comfort, as it is
Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood,
Even with such life of majesty, warm life,
As now it coldly stands, when first I woo'd her !
I am ashamed ; does not the stone rebuke me
For being more stone than it ? O royal piece !
There's magic in thy majesty, which has
My evils conjured to remembrance,
CAM.
My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on,
Which sixteen winters cannot blow away,
THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 69
So many summers dry : scarce any joy
Did ever so long live ; no sorrow
But kill'd itself much sooner.
PAUL.
Indeed, my lord,
If I had thought the sight of my poor image
Would thus have wrought you, for the stone is
mine,
I 'Id not have show'd it.
LEON.
Do not draw the curtain.
PAUL.
No longer shall you gaze on 't, lest your fancy
May think anon it moves.
LEON.
Let be, let be.
Would I were dead, but that, methinks, already
What was he that did make it? See, my lord,
Would you not deem it breathed? and that those
veins
Did verily bear blood ?
CAM.
Masterly done ;
The very life seems warm upon her lip.
LEON.
The fixure of her eye has motion in 't,
As we are mock'd with art.
PAUL.I
I'll draw the curtain ;
My lord's almost so far transported that
He'll think anon it lives.
LEON.
sweet Paulina,
Make me to think so twenty years together !
No settled senses of the world can match
The pleasure of that madness. Let 't alone.
PAUL.
1 am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd you ; but
I could afflict you farther.
70 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE.
LEON.
Do, Paulina ;
For this affliction has a taste as sweet
As any cordial comfort. Still, methinks,
There is an air comes from her; what fine chisel
Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me,
For I will kiss her.
PAUL.
Good my lord, forbear !
The ruddiness upon her lip is wet;
You'll mar it if you kiss it, stain your own
With oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain?
LEON.
No, not these twenty years.
PAUL.
Either forbear,
Quit presently the chapel, or resolve you
For more amazement. If you can behold it,
I'll make the statue move indeed, descend
And take you by the hand; but then you'll think
Which I protest against I am assisted
By wicked powers.
LEON.
What you can make her do,
I am content to look on ; what to speak,
I am content to hear; for 'tis as easy
To make her speak as move.
PAUL.
It is required
You do awake your faith. Then all stand still;
On : those that think it is unlawful business
I am about, let them depart.
LEON. ;
Proceed ;
No foot shall stir.
PAUL.
Music, awake her; strike! (Music)
'Tis time ; descend ; be stone no more ; approach :
Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come,
THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 71
I'll fill your grave up ; stir, nay, come away,
Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him
Dear life redeems you. You perceive she stirs.
(HERMIONE comes down.)
Start not ; her actions shall be holy as
You hear my spell is lawful. Do not shun her
Until you see her die again ; for then
You kill her double. Nay, present your hand :
When she was young you woo'd her ; now in age
Is she become the suitor?
LEON.
O, she's warm !
If this be magic, let it be lawful art
CAM.
She embraces him.
She hangs about his neck;
If she pertain to life, let her speak too.
Ay, and make 't manifest where she has lived,
Or how stolen from the dead.
PAUL.
That she is living,
Were it but told you, should be hooted at
Like an old tale; but it appears she lives,
Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while.
Please you to interpose, fair madam ; kneel
And pray your mother's blessing. Turn, good lady ;
Our Perdita is found.
HER.
You gods, look down,
And from your sacred vials pour your graces
Upon my daughter's head ! Tell me, mine own,
Where hast thou been preserved ? where lived ? how
found
Thy father's court? for thou shalt hear that I,
Knowing by Paulina that the oracle
Gave hope thou wast in being, have preserved
Myself to see the issue.
72 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE.
PAUL.
There's time enough for that ;
Lest they desire upon this push to trouble
Your joys with like relation. Go together,
You precious winners all ; your exultation
Partake to every one. I, an old turtle,
Will wing me to some withered bough, and there
My mate, that's never to be found again,
Lament till I am lost.
LEON.
O, peace, Paulina !
Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent,
As I by thine a wife ; this is a match,
And made between 's by vows. Thou hast found
mine ;
But how, is to be questioned ; for I saw her,
As I thought, dead, and have in vain said many
A prayer upon her grave. I'll not seek far
For him, I partly know his mind to find thee
An honourable husband. Come, Camillo,
And take her by the hand, whose worth and honesty
Is richly noted and here justified
By us. Let's from this place. Good Paulina,
Lead us from hence, where we may leisurely
Each one demand and answer to his part
Perf orm'd in this wide gap of time since first
We were dissever'd. Hastily lead away. (Exeunt)
PSYCHE :
CURTAIN.
The deadly secrets of the Labyrinth
The seeker finds in his own soul laid bare ;
The Minotaur, the Brute who lurks, well-hid
None but himself can track unto its lair.
Yet in the heart of him who wins the fight
The Peace that passeth understanding grows ;
Though doubt, despair, and faith again re-won
Is found that perfect Peace the great soul knows.
THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 73
Behold in Prospero, the thinker, scholar
Waiting with placid heart whatever befall
Knowing that joy or sorrow, fate or fortune,
The mind in his own place doth make them all.
(SCENE from the Tempest.)
(SCENE I. Before PROSPERO'S cell.)
(Enter FERDINAND, bearing a log.)
FER.
There be some sports are painful, and their labour
Delight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness
Are nobly undergone, and most poor matters
Point to rich ends. This my mean task
Would be as heavy to me as odious, but
The mistress which I serve quickens what's dead,
And makes my labours pleasures : O, she is
Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed,
And he's composed of harshness. I must remove
Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up,
Upon a sore injnncton : my sweet mistress
Weeps when she sees me work, and says such base-
ness
Had never like executor. I forget :
But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my
labours,
Most busy lest, when I do it.
(Enter MIRANDA ; and PROSPERO at a distance,
unseen.)
MIR.
A_las, now, pray you,
Work not so hard : I would the lightning had
Burnt up those logs that you are enjoin'd to pile !
Pray, set it down, and rest you: when this burns,
'Twill weep for having wearied you. My father
Is hard at study ; pray, now, rest yourself ;
He's safe for these three hours.
74 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE.
FER.
most dear mistress,
The sun will set before I shall discharge
What I must strive to do.
MIR.
If you'll sit down,
I'll bear your logs the while: pray, give me that;
I'll carry it to the pile.
FER.
No, precious creature ;
1 had rather crack my sinews, break my back,
Than you should such dishonour undergo,
While I sit lazy by.
MIR.
It would become me
As well as it does you : and I should do it
With much more ease ; for my good will is to it,
And yours it is against.
PROS.
Poor worm, thou art infected!
This visitation shows it.
MIR.
You look wearily.
FER.
No, noble mistress ; 'tis fresh morning with me
When you are by at night. I do beseech you,
Chiefly that I might set it in my prayers,
What is your name ?
MIR.
Miranda. O my father,
I have broke your hest to say so!
FER.
Admired Miranda!
Indeed the top of admiration ! worth
What's dearest to the world ! Full many a lady
I have eyed with best regard, and many a time
The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage
Brought my too diligent ear : for several virtues
Have I liked several women ; never any
THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 75
With so full soul, but some defect in her
Did quarrel with the noblest grace she owed,
And put it to the foil : but you, O you,
So perfect and so peerless, are created
Of every creature's best !
MIR.
I do not know
One of my sex ; no woman's face remember,
Save, from my glass, mine own ; nor have I seen
More that I may call men than you, good friend,
And my dear father : how features are abroad,
I am skilless of ; but, by my modesty,
The jewel in my dower, I would not wish
Any companion in the world but you ;
Nor can imagination form a shape,
Besides yourself, to like of. But I prattle
Something too wildly, and my father's precepts
I therein do forget.
FER.
I am, in my condition,
A prince, Miranda; I do think, a king;
I would, not so ! and would no more endure
This wooden slavery.
Hear my soul speak :
The very instant that I saw you, did
My heart fly to your service ; there resides,
To make me slave to it ; and for your sake
Am I this patient log-man.
MIR.
Do you love me?
FER.
heaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound,
And crown what I profess with kind event,
If I speak true ! if hollowly, invert
What best is boded me to mischief ! I,
Beyond all limit of what else i' the world,
Do love, prize, honour you.
MIR.
1 am a fool
76 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE.
To weep at what I am glad of.
PROS.
Fair encounter
Of two most rare affections ! Heavens rain grace
On that which breeds between 'em !
FER.
Wherefore weep you?
MIR.
At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer
What I desire to give ; and much less take
What I shall die to want. But this is trifling ;
And all the more it seeks to hide itself,
The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning !
And prompt me, plain and holy innocence !
I am your wife, if you will marry me ;
If not, I'll die your maid : to be your fellow
You may deny me ; but I'll be your servant,
Whether you will or no.
FER.
My mistress, dearest;
And I thus humble ever.
MIR.
My husband, then?
FER.
Ay, with a heart as willing
As bondage e'er of freedom : here's my hand.
MIR.;
And mine, with my heart in't :
PROS.
So glad of this as they I cannot be,
Who are surprised withal; but my rejoicing
At nothing can be more.
PROS. (Advancing)
If I have too austerely punish'd you,
Your compensation makes amends ; for I
Have given you here a third of mine own life,
Of that for which I live ; who once again
I tender to thy hand : all thy vexations
Were but my trials of thy love, and thou
THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 77
Hast strangely stood the test : here, afore Heaven,
I ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand,
Do not smile at me that I boast her off,
For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise,
And make it halt behind her.
FER.
I do believe it.
Against an oracle.
PROS.
Then, as my gift, and thine own acquisition
Worthily purchased, take my daughter :
Sit, then, and talk with her ; she is thine own.
Look thou be true ; do not give dalliance
Too much the rein : the strongest oaths are straw
To the fire i' the blood : be more abstemious,
Or else, good night your vow !
FER.
I warrant you, sir ;
The white cold virgin snow upon my heart
Abates the ardour of my liver.
PROS.
Well.
Now come, my Ariel ! bring a corollary,
Rather than want a spirit : appear, and pertly !
No tongue ! all eyes ! be silent. (Soft music)
ARI.
You nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the windring brooks,
With your sedged crowns and ever-harmless looks,
Leave your crisp channels, and on this green land
Answer your summons ; Ariel does command :
Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate
A contract of true love ; be not too late.
(Enter band of sea NYMPHS. Dance of the
Nymphs. )
PROS. (Aside)
I had forgot that foul conspiracy
Of the beast Caliban and his confederates
78 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE.
Against my life : the minute of their plot
Is almost come. (To the SPIRITS) Well done!
avoid ; no more !
FER.
This is strange : your father's in some passion
That works him strongly.
MIR.
Never till this day
Saw I him touched with anger so distempered.
PROS.
You do look, my son, in a moved sort,
As if you were dismay'd : be cheerful, sir.
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, ilke the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yes, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on ; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex'd ;
Bear with my weakness ; my old brain is troubled :
Be not disturbed with my infirmity :
If you be pleased, retire into my cell,
And there repose : a term or two I'll walk,
To still my beating mind.
FER. and MIR.
We wish your peace. (Exeunt)
ACT V.
(SCENE I. Before the cell of PROSPERO.)
(Enter PROSPERO in his magic robes, and ARIEL.)
PROS.r-
Now does my project gather to a head:
THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 79
My charms crack not; my spirits obey; and time
Goes upright with his carriage. How's the day?
ARI.
On the sixth hour; at which time, my lord,
You said our work should cease.
PROS.
I did say so,
When first I raised the tempest. Say, my spirit,
How fares the king and's followers?
ARI.
Confined together
In the same fashion as you gave in charge,
Just as you left them ; all prisoners, sir,
In the line-grove which weather-fends your cell;
They cannot budge till your release. The king,
His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted,
And the remainder mourning over them,
Brimful of sorrow and dismay ; but chiefly
Him that you term'd, sir, * The good old lord, Gon-
zalo; '
His tears run down his beard, like winter's drops
From eaves of reeds. Your charm so strongly
works 'em,
That if you now beheld them, your affectons
Would become tender.
PROS.
Dost thou think so, spirit ?
ARI.
Mine would, sir, were I human.
PROS.
And mine shall.
Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling
Of their afflictions, and shall not myself,
One of their kind, that relish all as sharply,
Passion as they, be kindlier moved than thou art?
Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the
quick,
Yet with my nobler reason 'gainst my fury
Do I take part : the rarer action is
8o THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE.
In virtue than in vengeance : they being penitent,
The solt drift of my purpose doth extend
Not a frown further. Go release them, Ariel:
My charms I'll break, their senses I'll restore,
And they shall be themselves.
ARI.
I'll fetch them, sir. (Exit)
PROS.
Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and
grooves ;
And ye that on the sands with printless foot
Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him
When he comes back ; and you whose pastime
Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice
To hear the solemn curfew ; by whose aid
Weak masters though ye be I have bedimm'd
The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds,
And 'twixt the green sea and the azured vault
Set roaring war : to the dread rattling thunder
Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak
With his own bolt; the strong-based promontory
Have I made shake, and by the spurs pluck'd up
The pine and cedar : graves at my command
Have waked their sleepers, oped, and let 'em forth
By my so potent art. But this rough magic
I here abjure; and, when I have required
Some heavenly music, which even now I do,
To work mine end upon their senses, that
This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff,
Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,
And deeper than did ever plummet sound
I'll drown my book. (Solemn music)
(Re-enter ARIEL before: then ALONSO, with a
frantic gesturt, attended by GONZALO.)
A solemn air, and the best comforter
To an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains,
O good Gonzalo,
THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 81
My true preserver, and a loyal sir
To him thou f ollow'st ! I will pay thy graces
Home both in word and deed. Most cruelly
Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter :
Thy brother was a furtherer in the act.
I do forgive thee,
Unnatural though thou art.
GON.
All torment, trouble, wonder and amazement
Inhabits here : some heavenly power guide us
Out of this fearful country !
PROS.
Behold, sir king,
The wronged Duke of Milan, Prospero :
For more assurance that a living prince
Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body ;
And to thee and thy company I bid
A hearty welcome.
ALON.
Whether thou be'st he or no,
Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me,
As late I have been, I not know : thy pulse
Beats, as of flesh and blood ; and, since I saw thee,
The affliction of my mind amends, with which,
I fear, a madness held me : this must crave
An if this be at all a most strange story.
Thy dukedom I resign, and do entreat
Thou pardon me my wrongs. But how should
Prospero
Be living and be here ?
PROS.
First, noble friend,
Let me embrace thine age, whose honour cannot
Be measured or confined.
GON.
Whether this be
Or be not, I'll not swear.
PROS.
You do yet taste ,
82 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE.
Some subtilties o' the isle, that will not let you
Believe things certain. Welcome, my friends all!
ALON.
If thou be'st Prospero,
Give us particulars of thy preservation ;
How thou hast met us here, who three hours since
Were wrecked upon this shore ; where I have lost
How sharp the point of this remembrance is !
My dear son Ferdinand.
PROS.
I am woe for't, sir.
ALON.
Irreparable is the loss ; and patience
Says it is past her cure.
PROS.
I rather think
You have not sought her help, of whose soft grace
For the like loss I have her sovereign aid,
And rest myself content.
ALON.
You the like loss !
PROS.
As great to me as late ; and, supportable
To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker
Than you may call to comfort you, for I
Have lost my daughter.
ALON.I
A daughter?
O heavens, that they were living both in Naples,
The king and queen there! that they were, I wish
Myself were mudded in that oozy bed
Where my son lies. When did you lose your
daughter ?
PROS.
In this last tempest. I perceive, these lords
At this encounter do so much admire,
That they devour their reason, and scarce think
Their eyes do offices of truth, their words
Are natural breath : but, howsoe'er you have
THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 83
Been justled from your senses, know for certain
That I am Prospero, and that very duke
Which was thrust forth of Milan ; who most
strangely
Upon this shore, where you were wreck'd, was
landed,
To be the lord on't. No more yet of this ;
For 'tis a chronicle of day by day,
Not a relation for a breakfast, nor
Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir ;
This cell's my court : here have I few attendants,
And subject none abroad : pray you, look in.
My dukedom since you have given me again,
I will requite you with as good a thing ;
At least bring forth a wonder, to content ye
As much as me my dukedom.
(Here PROSPERO discovers FERDINAND and MIRANDA
playing at chess.)
MIR.
Sweet lord, you play me false.
FER.
No, my dear'st love,
I would not for the world.
MIR.
Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should wrangle,
And I would call it fair play.
ALON.
If this prove
A vision of the island, one dear son
Shall I twice lose.
GON.
A most high miracle!
FER.
Though the seas threaten, they are merciful;
I have cursed them without cause. (Kneels)
ALON.
Now all the blessings
84 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE.
Of a glad father compass thee about !
Arise and say how thou earnest here.
MIR.
O, wonder !
How many goodly creatures are there here !
How beauteous mankind is ! O brave new world,
That has such people it't !
PROS.
'Tis new to thee.
ALON.
What is this maid with whom thou wast at play ?
Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours :
Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us,
And brought us thus together?
FER.
Sir, she is mortal ;
But by immortal Providence she's mine :
I chose her when I could not ask my father
For his advice, nor thought I had one. She
Is daughter to this famous Duke of Milan,
Of whom so often I have heard renown,
But never saw before ; of whom I have
Received a second life ; and second father
This lady makes him to me.
ALON.
I am hers :
But, O, how oddly will it sound that I
Must ask my child forgiveness !
PROS.
There, sir, stop:
Let us not burthen our remembrances with
A heaviness that's gone.
GON.
I have inly wept,
Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you
gods,
And on this couple drop a blessed crown !
For it is you that have chalk'd forth the way
Which brought us hither.
THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE. 85
ALON.
I say, Amen, Gonzalo !
GON.--
Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his issue
Should become kings of Naples ? O, rejoice
Beyond a common joy ! and set it down
With gold on lasting pillars. In one voyage
Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis,
And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife
Where he himself was lost, Prospero his dukedom
In a poor isle, and all of us ourselves
When no man was his own.
ALON. (To FERDINAND and MIRANDA)
Give me your hands :
Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart
That doth not wish you joy !
GON.
Be it so ! Amen !
PROS.
Sir, I fnvite 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 it
Go quick away : the story of my life,
And the particular accidents gone by
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 dear-beloved 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.
PROS.
I'll deliver all;
And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales,
And sail so expeditious, that shall catch , , ,
86 THE MASQUE OF PSYCHE.
Your royal fleet far off. (Aside to ARIEL) My
Ariel, chick,
That is thy charge : then to the elements
Be free, and fare thou well! Please you, draw
near. (Exeunt)
CURTAIN.
PSYCHE.
I, Psyche, once again the portals close
Through which ye gazed into the changing soul.
Diversion, charm, beauty of thought and line
The poet gave : yet more rests in his scroll.
Faith in a good triumphant Shakespeare taught
Though in his scheme of life, 111 plays a part,
As Furnace to refine the alloyed gold
Which lies within the poorest human heart.
The Patriarch, Job, 'mid his affliction sore
Found keenest torment in his doubt unsolved
" Why do the righteous suffer, O my Lord ? "
Prometheus, bound, while aeons slow revolved
Defied a God who showed caprice toward man;
Faust the magician found his art was vain
To prove to man that life was worth the living,
And Hamlet struggled with this vampire yet again.
For him who understands, our poet breathes
A hope sublime ; 'tis his alone to read
Who fights and wins Doubt's battle in his soul;
The Vision springs from his own anguished need.
CURTAIN.
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY
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