LIBRARY 
 
 I 
 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 SAN DIEGO 
 
 I 
 
 
 . 


 
 
 V 
 
 a
 
 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE
 
 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES AND MARY LAMB 
 
 EDITED, WITH AN INTRODUCTION, BY 
 
 ALFRED AINGER 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 1886
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Fthe year 1806 Charles and Mary Lamb were 
 residing in Mitre Court Buildings in the Temple. 
 For more than ten years Charles had devoted himself 
 to the care of this sister, content to forego for her sake 
 all thoughts of other ties, and living beneath the 
 shadow, which never lifted, of a great family sorrow. 
 Happily for both, they were united by strong common 
 tastes and sympathies as well as by the tenderest 
 affection, and prominent among such tastes, as all 
 readers of the Essays of Elia well know, was the love 
 of Shakspeare and the other great Elizabethans. In 
 a letter of May 10 in this year to his friend Manning, 
 who had shortly before sailed for China, Charles Lamb 
 writes of the sister who was never far from his thoughts, 
 "Mary, whom you seem to remember yet, is not 
 quite easy that she had not a formal parting from you. 
 I wish it had so happened. But you must bring her 
 a token, a shawl or something, and remember a 
 sprightly little mandarin for our mantel-piece, as a 
 companion to the child I am going to purchase at the 
 museum. She says you saw her writings about, the 
 other day, and she wishes you should know what they 
 are. She is doing for Godwin's bookseller twenty of 
 Shakspeare's plays, to be made into children's tales. 
 Six are already done by her, to wit, The Tempest^ 
 b
 
 vi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Winter's Tale, Midsummer Night, Much Ado, Two 
 Gentlemen of Verona, and Cymbeline ; and the Merchant 
 of Venice is in forwardness. I have done Othello, and 
 Macbeth, and mean to do all the Tragedies. I think it 
 will be popular among the little people, besides money. 
 It's to bring in sixty guineas. Mary has done them 
 capitally, I think you'd think." 
 
 "Godwin's bookseller" was the agent of William 
 Godwin, the author of "Caleb Williams," who had 
 started just a year before in Hanway Street, as one 
 of the many ventures of his struggling life, what he 
 called a " Magazine of books for the use and amuse- 
 ment of children." Godwin himself, under the name 
 of Baldwin (for he did not venture to connect his own 
 name, associated as it was with so many novel and 
 strange heresies, with books designed to educate the 
 young), furnished several volumes of fables and school 
 histories ; and it was he, doubtless, and not his " book- 
 seller," who formed the happy thought of calling in the 
 aid of Charles and Mary Lamb. 
 
 " Printed for Thomas Hodgkins, at the Juvenile 
 Library, Hanway Street," and "embellished with 
 copper plates," appeared in the year 1807 the first 
 edition of " Tales from Shakspeare, designed for the 
 use of young persons, by Charles Lamb." The illus- 
 trations were by Mulready, who did much work of the 
 same kind for Godwin in the first years of his book- 
 selling career. Neither on the Title-page nor in the 
 Preface did Mary Lamb's name appear, though in the 
 latter it is not concealed that more than one hand had 
 been engaged on the task. Perhaps it was the sister's 
 own wish that her name should be suppressed. But 
 we have her brother's testimony to the important share 
 which she bore in the work, and her name therefore 
 appears in the title of the present edition.
 
 INTRODUCTION. vii 
 
 It is only matter of conjecture to which of the two 
 writers we owe the Preface a singularly eloquent and 
 musical piece of English prose. There are passages 
 in it which suggest the woman's hand, and probably 
 it represents the joint counsels of brother and sister. 
 The Preface sets forth the method on which the Tales 
 had been constructed that of weaving into the narra- 
 tive the very words of Shakspeare, wherever it seemed 
 possible to bring them in, a method which it is ob- 
 vious only writers of the special training of Lamb and 
 his sister could have hoped to pursue with success. 
 To put the language of Rosalind and Beatrice in close 
 contact with that of the ordinary compiler of children's 
 books might result in anything but a harmonious 
 whole. The writers, indeed, were evidently aware of 
 the risks they ran, and adopted the very sound prin- 
 ciple of avoiding as far as possible the use of words 
 introduced into the language since Shakspeare's time. 
 But not even this restriction might have saved the 
 scheme from failure, had not the brother and sister 
 been so familiar with the rhythm and cadences of Eliza- 
 bethan English, that their own narrative style assimi- 
 lated almost without effort with the language of their 
 original, " transplanted from its own natural soil and 
 wild poetic garden." 
 
 The Tales are twenty in number, and the general 
 principle on which they were chosen is sufficiently 
 clear. The whole series of English Histories is left 
 unattempted, as well as the Roman Plays ; and of the 
 few that remain, Love's Labour's Lost is the only one 
 the reason for whose omission is not quite obvious. 
 Perhaps Miss Lamb felt how little would have re- 
 mained of the original comedy when the poetical 
 element in its language and the brilliant wit of its 
 dialogue had been removed. In fact, the share of the
 
 viii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 work undertaken by Mary Lamb was the more difficult 
 and the less grateful It is easier to tell the story of 
 Hamlet effectively in narrative prose than Twelfth 
 Night y or A Midsummer Night's Dream. The mere 
 recurrence of the same class of incidents in the 
 Comedies, such as the likeness existing between two 
 persons, tried the patience of even so devout a Shak- 
 spearian as Mary Lamb. Her brother writing to 
 Wordsworth, when the book was in progress, says : 
 " Mary is just stuck fast in All's Well that Ends Well. 
 She complains of having to set forth so many female 
 characters in boys' clothes. She begins to think 
 Shakspeare must have wanted imagination ! " If 
 Lamb, however, chose for himself the more grateful 
 part of the joint labour, he was generous in always 
 insisting upon the superiority of his sister's workman- 
 ship. 
 
 In the Preface already referred to, the aims which 
 the compilers had in view are distinctly explained. 
 They wished to interest young persons in the story of 
 each drama, to supply them with a clear and definite 
 outline of the main argument, omitting such episodes 
 or incidental sketches of character as were not abso- 
 lutely necessary to its development But, more than 
 this, they sought to initiate the young reader into the 
 unfamiliar diction of the dramatist, and by occasional 
 slight changes in it to remove difficulties and clear up 
 obscurities. Thus, in the first of the Tales and it is 
 thoroughly characteristic of Lamb that even when 
 writing for children he adhered to the first folio 
 arrangement by opening with the Tempest the long 
 and intricate narrative of Prospero in the first act 
 broken by grief and anger, sentences begun and left 
 unfinished as recollection after recollection wells up 
 and overflows its predecessor is shortened and re-
 
 INTRODUCTION. ix 
 
 solved into a harmony more intelligible to a child, so 
 that the original, when it comes to be read, will be freed 
 of most of its difficulties. In this way, a kind of run- 
 ning annotation or commentary is provided for the 
 reader unsuspected by him or her as where in the 
 matchless lines of Viola to the Lady Olivia : 
 
 " Halloo your name to the reverberate hills, 
 And make the babbling gossip of the air 
 Cry out 'Olivia,'" 
 
 the adapter introduces the word Echo, which a child 
 might have lacked the knowledge or imagination to 
 supply for itself. 
 
 It is in the Tragedies, and in the profounder pro- 
 blems of human life there treated, that the master- 
 hand of Charles Lamb distinctly declares itself. The 
 subtle intellect and unerring taste that have elsewhere 
 analysed for us the characters of Lear and Malvolio 
 are no less visible even when adapting Shakspeare's 
 stories to the intelligence of the least critical of students. 
 It would be difficult, in writing for any class of readers, 
 to add anything to Lamb's description of Polonius 
 " a man grown old in crooked maxims and policies of 
 state, who delighted to get at the knowledge of matters 
 in an indirect and cunning way." Again, the connec- 
 tion between the actual and the assumed madness of 
 Hamlet himself still so vexed a question among 
 amateur critics is after all explained and exhausted in 
 the following simple version : " The terror which the 
 sight of the ghost had left upon the senses of Hamlet, 
 he being weak and dispirited before, almost unhinged 
 his mind, and drove him beside his reason. And he, 
 fearing that it would continue to have this effect, 
 which might subject him to observation, and set his 
 uncle upon his guard, if he suspected that he was
 
 x INTRODUCTION. 
 
 meditating anything against him, or that Hamlet 
 really knew more of his father's death than he pro- 
 fessed, took up a strange resolution from that time to 
 counterfeit as if he were really and truly mad ; 
 thinking that he would be less an object of suspicion 
 when his uncle should believe him incapable of any 
 serious project, and that his real perturbation of mind 
 would be best covered and pass concealed under a 
 disguise of pretended lunacy." And nothing can be 
 finer in its way than the concluding sentences of 
 Lamb's version of Romeo and Juliet, where he relates 
 the reconciliation of Lords Capulet and Montague over 
 the graves of the unhappy lovers. " So did these poor 
 old lords, when it was too late, strive to outgo each 
 other in mutual courtesies." How exquisitely in the 
 two epithets is the moral of the whole Tragedy thrown 
 into sudden light ! The melancholy of the whole story 
 the " pity of it," the " one long sigh " which Schlegel 
 heard in it, is conveyed with an almost magic sudden- 
 ness in this single touch ; with yet one touch more, 
 and that of priceless importance the suggestion of 
 the whole world of misery and disorder that may lie 
 hidden as an awful possibility in the tempers and 
 vanities of even two " poor old " heads of houses. 
 
 The differences of genius in the two narrators 
 appear very evidently in their shares of the joint task. 
 As already pointed out, Mary Lamb's part was the 
 least rewardful, for she had to give to the improba- 
 bilities of the Comedies an air of probability, while 
 denied the compensations of glowing poetry and 
 brilliant wit. And it was no brotherly prejudice on 
 the part of Charles that made him praise her work- 
 manship in the letter to Manning. She constantly 
 evinces a rare shrewdness and tact in her incidental 
 criticisms, which show her to have been, in her way,
 
 INTRODUCTION. xi 
 
 as keen an observer of human nature as her brother. 
 Mary Lamb had not lived so much among the wits 
 and humourists of her day without learning some 
 truths which helped her to interpret the two chief cha- 
 racters of Much Ado about Nothing; " As there is no 
 one who so little likes to be made a jest of as those 
 who are apt to take the same liberty themselves, so it 
 was with Benedick and;Beatrice ; these two sharp wits 
 never met in former times but a perfect war of raillery 
 was kept up between them, and they always parted 
 mutually displeased with each other." And again, 
 u The hint she gave him that he was a coward, by say- 
 ing she would eat all he had killed, he did not regard, 
 knowing himself to be a brave man ; but there is 
 nothing that great wits so much dread as the imputa- 
 tion of buffoonery, because the charge comes some- 
 times a little too near the truth ; therefore Benedick 
 perfectly hated Beatrice when she called him 'the 
 prince's jester.'" How illuminating, in the best sense 
 of the term, is such a commentary as this ! The 
 knowledge of human character that it displays is 
 indeed in advance of a child's own power of analysis 
 or experience of the world, but it is at once intelligible 
 when thus presented, and in a most true sense edu- 
 cative. Very profound, too, is the casual remark upon 
 the conduct of Claudio and his friends when the cha- 
 racter of Hero is suddenly blasted conduct which has 
 often perplexed older readers for its heartlessness and 
 insane credulity : " The prince and Claudio left the 
 church, without staying to see if Hero would recover, 
 or at all regarding the distress into which they had 
 thrown Leonato. So hard-hearted had their anger 
 made them? It is this casual and diffused method of 
 enforcing the many moral lessons that lie in Shak- 
 speare's plays that constitutes, at least in the Editor's
 
 xll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 judgment, one special value of this little book in the 
 training of the young. Writing avowedly, as Charles 
 and Mary Lamb were writing, for readers still in the 
 schoolroom, ordinary compilers would have been 
 tempted to make these little stories sermons in dis- 
 guise, or to have appended to them in set form the 
 lessons they were calculated to teach. Happily, both 
 as moralist and artist, Charles Lamb' knew better how 
 hearts and spirits are touched to " fine issues." In an 
 extant letter to Sou they, Lamb complains of those 
 writers who will have the moral of their story attached 
 to the end, in clear cut form, " like the ' God send the 
 good ship safe into harbour ' at the end of the old bills 
 of lading." It was not after this fashion that he him- 
 self left the world so many lessons of tenderness and 
 wisdom. And so it has happened that these trifles, 
 designed for the nursery and the schoolroom, have 
 taken their place as an English classic. They have 
 never been superseded, nor are they ever likely to be. 
 Written in the first instance solely with a view to being 
 read by children, they are marked here and there 
 by a certain needless concession to the supposed 
 phraseology of the nursery. But the genius of the 
 writers had unconsciously ministered to the wants of 
 children of a larger growth, and a publisher's notice, 
 prefixed to the second edition of the book, informs the 
 reader that the Tales, primarily intended for the amuse- 
 ment of children, had been found even still better 
 adapted "for an acceptable and improving present 
 to young ladies advancing to the state of womanhood," 
 and were in consequence now presented in an edition 
 "prepared with suitable elegance." Most certain is it 
 that the book has proved itself, during the seventy 
 years of its life that have elapsed, a pleasure, and an 
 effectual guide to the "inner shrine" of our great
 
 INTRODUCTION. xiii 
 
 dramatist, to many besides young children or even 
 growing girls. More and more is a knowledge of 
 Shakspeare coming to be regarded as a necessary part 
 of an Englishman's education ; and the Editor knows 
 of no first introduction to that study at once so win- 
 ning and so helpful as that supplied by these narrative 
 versions. And it is part of the charm that attaches to 
 these Tales that while Lamb and his sister keep them- 
 selves studiously in the background, in their character 
 of guides and annotators, their presence is still felt 
 throughout. The "withdrawing from all selfish and 
 mercenary thoughts;" the "lesson of all sweet and 
 honourable thoughts and actions, to teach you courtesy, 
 benignity, generosity, humanity," which they attribute 
 (with what justice !) to their great original, is felt to be 
 not less the habitual mood of the brother and sister 
 who, in what Wordsworth beautifully called "their 
 dual loneliness," found one of their best consolations 
 in breathing together the pure and bracing air of the 
 Elizabethan poetry. ^ ^ 
 
 October 1878.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 T I "*HE following Tales are meant to be submitted to 
 * the young reader as an introduction to the study 
 of Shakspeare, for which purpose his words are used 
 whenever it seemed possible to bring them in ; and in 
 whatever has been added to give them the regular 
 form of a connected story, diligent care has been 
 taken to select such words as might least interrupt 
 the effect of the beautiful English tongue in which he 
 wrote : therefore, words introduced into our language 
 since his time have been as far as possible avoided. 
 
 In those tales which have been taken from the 
 Tragedies, the young readers will perceive, when 
 they come to see the source from which these stories 
 are derived, that Shakspeare's own words, with little 
 alteration, recur very frequently in the narrative as 
 weU as in the dialogue ; but in those made from the 
 Comedies the writers found themselves scarcely ever 
 able to turn his words into the narrative form : 
 therefore it is feared that, in them, dialogue has been 
 made use of too frequently for young people not 
 accustomed to the dramatic form of writing. But this
 
 xvi PREFACE. 
 
 fault, if it be a fault, has been caused by an earnest 
 wish to give as much of Shakspeare's own words as 
 possible : and if the " He said," and " She said," the 
 question and the reply, should sometimes seem tedious 
 to their young ears, they must pardon it, because it 
 was the only way in which could be given to them a 
 few hints and little foretastes of the great pleasure which 
 awaits them in their elder years, when they come to 
 the rich treasures from which these small and valueless 
 coins are extracted ; pretending to no other merit than 
 as faint and imperfect stamps of Shakspeare's match- 
 less image. Faint and imperfect images they must be 
 called, because the beauty of his language is too 
 frequently destroyed by the necessity of changing 
 many of his excellent words into words far less expres- 
 sive of his true sense, to make it read something like 
 prose ; and even in some few places, where his blank 
 verse is given unaltered, as hoping from its simple 
 plainness to cheat the young readers into the belief 
 that they are reading prose, yet still his language 
 being transplanted from its own natural soil and 
 wild poetic garden, it must want much of its native 
 beauty. 
 
 It has been wished to make these Tales easy read- 
 ing for very young children. To the utmost of their 
 ability the writers have constantly kept this in mind ; 
 but the subjects of most of them made this a very 
 difficult task. It was no easy matter to give the 
 histories of men and women in terms familiar to the 
 apprehension of a very young mind. For young ladies
 
 PREFACE. xvil 
 
 too, it has been the intention chiefly to write ; because 
 boys being generally permitted the use of their fathers' 
 libraries at a much earlier age than girls are, they fre- 
 quently have the best scenes of Shakspeare by heart, 
 before their sisters are permitted to look into this 
 manly book ; and, therefore, instead of recommending 
 these Tales to the perusal of young gentlemen who 
 can read them so much better in the originals, their 
 kind assistance is rather requested in explaining to 
 their sisters such parts as are hardest for them to 
 understand : and when they have helped them to get 
 over the difficulties, then perhaps they will read to 
 them (carefully selecting what is proper for a young 
 sister's ear) some passage which has pleased them in 
 one of these stories, in the very words of the scene 
 from which it is taken ; and it is hoped they will find 
 that the beautiful extracts, the select passages, they 
 may choose to give their sisters in this way will be 
 much better relished and understood from their having 
 some notion of the general story from one of these 
 imperfect abridgments ; which if they be fortunately 
 so done as to prove delightful to any of the young 
 readers, it is hoped that no worse effect will result than 
 to make them wish themselves a little older, that they 
 may be allowed to read the Plays at full length (such 
 a wish will be neither peevish nor irrational). When 
 time and leave of judicious friends shall put them 
 into their hands, they will discover in such of them as are 
 here abridged (not to mention almost as many more, 
 which are left untouched) many surprising events and
 
 xviii PREFACE. 
 
 turns of fortune, which for their, infinite variety could 
 not be contained in this little book, besides a world of 
 sprightly and cheerful characters, both men and 
 women, the humour of which it was feared would be 
 lost if it were attempted to reduce the length of them. 
 What these tales shall have been to the young 
 readers, that and much more it is the writers' wish 
 that the true Plays of Shakspeare may prove to them 
 in older years enrichers of the fancy, strengtheners 
 of virtue, a withdrawing from all selfish and mercen- 
 ary thoughts, a lesson of all sweet and honourable 
 thoughts and actions, to teach courtesy, benignity, 
 generosity, humanity : for of examples, teaching these 
 virtues, his pages are full.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE TEMPEST i 
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM . . . .16 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE 32 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING . . . .47 
 
 As You LIKE IT 64 
 
 THE Two GENTLEMEN OF VERONA ... 86 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 104 
 
 CYMBELINE . . . , . . . . 1 22 
 KING LEAR. ....... 140 
 
 MACBETH 161 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL . . , .176 
 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW . . . .193 
 
 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 208 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE 227 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT ; OR, WHAT YOU WILL . . 247 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS 265 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET ...... 283 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK .... 307 
 
 OTHELLO 328 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE 346
 
 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 '"PHERE was a certain island in the sea, the only 
 *- inhabitants of which were an old man, whose 
 name was Prospero, and his daughter Miranda, a 
 very beautiful young lady. She came to this island 
 so young, that she had no memory of having seen 
 any other human face than her father's. 
 
 They lived in a cave or cell, made out of a rock ; 
 it was divided into several apartments, one of which 
 Prospero called his study ; there he kept his books, 
 which chiefly treated of magic, a study at that time 
 much affected by all learned men : and the know- 
 ledge of this art he found very useful to him ; for 
 being thrown by a strange chance upon this island, 
 which had been enchanted by a witch called 
 Sycorax, who died there a short time before his 
 arrival, Prospero, by virtue of his art, released many 
 good spirits that Sycorax had imprisoned in the 
 bodies of large trees, because they had refused to 
 execute her wicked commands. These gentle spirits 
 were ever after obedient to the will of Prospero. 
 Of these Ariel was the chief. 
 
 The lively little sprite Ariel had nothing mis- 
 chievous in his nature, except that he took rather 
 too much pleasure in tormenting an ugly monster 
 
 ,
 
 2 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 called Caliban, for he owed him a grudge because he 
 was the son of his old enemy Sycorax. This Cali- 
 ban, Prospero found in the woods, a strange mis- 
 shapen thing, far less human in form than an ape : 
 he took him home to his cell, and taught him to 
 speak ; and Prospero would have been very kind to 
 him, but the bad nature which Caliban inherited 
 from his mother Sycorax, would not let him learn 
 anything good or useful : therefore he was em- 
 ployed like a slave, to fetch wood, and do the 
 most laborious offices ; and Ariel had the charge 
 of compelling him to these services. 
 
 When Caliban was lazy and neglected his work, 
 Ariel (who was invisible to all eyes but Prospero's) 
 would come slily and pinch him, and sometimes 
 tumble him down in the mire ; and then Ariel, in 
 the likeness of an ape, would make mouths at him. 
 Then swiftly changing his shape, in the likeness of a 
 hedgehog, he would lie tumbling in Caliban's way, 
 who feared the hedgehog's sharp quills would prick 
 his bare feet With a variety of such-like vexatious 
 tricks Ariel would often torment him, whenever 
 Caliban neglected the work which Prospero com- 
 manded him to do. 
 
 Having these powerful spirits obedient to his will, 
 Prospero could by their means command the winds, 
 and the waves of the sea. By his orders they raised 
 a violent storm, in the midst of which, and strug- 
 gling with the wild sea-waves that every moment 
 threatened to swallow it up, he showed his daughter 
 a fine large ship, which he told her was full of 
 living beings like themselves. " O my dear father," 
 said she, " if by your art you have raised this dread-
 
 THE TEMPEST. 3 
 
 fill storm, have pity on their sad distress. See ! 
 the vessel will be dashed to pieces. Poor souls ! 
 they will all perish. If I had power, I would sink 
 the sea beneath the earth, rather than the good 
 ship should be destroyed, with all the precious souls 
 within her. 
 
 "Be not so amazed, daughter Miranda," said 
 Prospero ; " there is no harm done. I have so or- 
 dered it, that no person in the ship shall receive 
 any hurt What I have done has been in care of 
 you, my dear child. You are ignorant who you 
 are, or where you came from, and you know no 
 more of me, but that I am your father, and live in 
 this poor cave. Can you remember a time before 
 you came to this cell ? I think you cannot, for 
 you were not then three years of age." 
 
 " Certainly I can, sir," replied Miranda. 
 
 "By what?" asked Prospero; "by any other 
 house or person ? Tell me what you can remem- 
 ber, my child." 
 
 Miranda said, " It seems to me like the recol- 
 lection of a dream. But had I not once four or 
 five women who attended upon me?" 
 
 Prospero answered, " You had, and more. How 
 is it that this still lives in your mind ? Do you 
 remember how you came here?" 
 
 " No, sir," said Miranda, " I remember nothing 
 more." 
 
 " Twelve years ago, Miranda," continued Pros- 
 pero, " I was duke of Milan, and you were a prin- 
 cess, and my only heir. I had a younger brother, 
 whose name was Antonio, to whom I trusted every- 
 thing ; and as I was fond of retirement and deep
 
 4 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 study, I commonly left the management of my state 
 affairs to your uncle, my false brother (for so indeed 
 he proved). I, neglecting all worldly ends, buried 
 among my books, did dedicate my whole time to 
 the bettering of my mind. My brother Antonio 
 being thus in possession of my power, began to 
 think himself the duke indeed. The opportunity 
 I gave him of making himself popular among my 
 subjects awakened in his bad nature a proud am- 
 bition to deprive me of my dukedom : this he soon 
 effected with the aid of the king of Naples, a power- 
 ful prince, who was my enemy." 
 
 " Wherefore," said Miranda, " did they not that 
 hour destroy us?" 
 
 " My child," answered her father, " they durst 
 not, so dear was the love that my people bore me. 
 Antonio carried us on board a ship, and when we 
 were some leagues out at sea, he forced us into a 
 small boat, without either tackle, sail, or mast: there 
 he left us, as he thought, to perish. But a kind 
 lord of my court, one Gonzalo, who loved me, had 
 privately placed in the boat, water, provisions, ap- 
 parel, and some books which I prize above my 
 dukedom." 
 
 " O my father," said Miranda, " what a trouble 
 must I have been to you then ! " 
 
 " No, my love," said Prospero, " you were a 
 little cherub that did preserve me. Your innocent 
 smiles made me to bear up against my misfortunes. 
 Our food lasted till we landed on this desert island, 
 since when my chief delight has been in teaching 
 you, Miranda, and well have you profited by my 
 instructions."
 
 THE TEMPEST. 5 
 
 " Heaven thank you, my dear father," said Mi- 
 randa, " Now pray tell me, sir, your reason for 
 raising this sea-storm?" 
 
 " Know then," said her father, " that by means 
 of this storm, my enemies, the king of Naples, and 
 my cruel brother, are cast ashore upon this island." 
 
 Having so said, Prospero gently touched his 
 daughter with his magic wand, and she fell fast 
 asleep ; for the spirit Ariel just then presented him- 
 self before his master, to give an account of the 
 tempest, and how he had disposed of the ship's 
 company, and though the spirits were always in- 
 visible to Miranda, Prospero did not choose she 
 should hear him holding converse (as would seem 
 to her) with the empty air. 
 
 " Well, my brave spirit," said Prospero to Ariel, 
 " how have you performed your task?" 
 
 Ariel gave a lively description of the storm, and 
 of the terrors of the mariners; and how the king's 
 son, Ferdinand, was the first who leaped into the sea ; 
 and his father thought he saw his dear son swal- 
 lowed up by the waves and lost " But he is safe," 
 said Ariel, " in a corner of the isle, sitting with his 
 arms folded, sadly lamenting the loss of the king, 
 his father, whom he concludes drowned. Not a 
 hair of his head is injured, and his princely gar- 
 ments, though drenched in the sea-waves, look 
 fresher than before." 
 
 "That's my delicate Ariel," said Prospero, 
 " Bring him hither : my daughter must see this 
 young prince. Where is the king, and my brother?" 
 
 "I left them," answered Ariel, "searching for 
 Ferdinand, whom they have little hopes of finding,
 
 6 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 thinking they saw him perish. Of the ship's crew 
 not one is missing ; though each one thinks him- 
 self the only one saved : and the ship, though in- 
 visible to them, is safe in the harbour." 
 
 " Ariel," said Prospero, " thy charge is faithfully 
 performed : but there is more work yet" 
 
 "Is there more work?" said Ariel. "Let me 
 remind you, master, you have promised me my 
 liberty. I pray, remember, I have done you worthy 
 service, told you no lies, made no mistakes, served 
 you without grudge or grumbling." 
 
 " How now !" said Prospero. " You do not re- 
 collect what a torment I freed you from. Have 
 you forgot the wicked witch Sycorax, who with age 
 and envy was almost bent double ? Where was 
 she born ? Speak ; tell me." 
 
 " Sir, in Algiers," said Ariel. 
 
 " O was she so ? " said Prospero. " I must re- 
 count what you have been, which I find you do not 
 remember. This bad witch, Sycorax, for her witch- 
 crafts, too terrible to enter human hearing, was 
 banished from Algiers, and here left by the sailors ; 
 and because you were a spirit too delicate to exe- 
 cute her wicked commands, she shut you up in a 
 tree, where I found you howling. This torment, 
 remember, I did free you from." 
 
 " Pardon me, dear master," said Ariel, ashamed 
 to seem ungrateful ; " I will obey your commands." 
 
 " Do so," said Prospero, " and I will set you 
 free." He then gave orders what further he would 
 have him do ; and away went Ariel, first to where 
 he had left Ferdinand, and found him still sitting 
 on the grass in the same melancholy posture.
 
 THE TEMPEST. 7 
 
 " O my young gentleman," said Ariel, when he 
 saw him, " I will soon move you. You must be 
 brought, I find, for the Lady Miranda to have a 
 sight of your pretty person. Come, sir, follow me." 
 He then began singing, 
 
 " Full fathom five thy father lies : 
 
 Of his bones are coral made ; 
 Those are pearls that were his eyes : 
 
 Nothing of him that doth fade, 
 But doth suffer a sea-change 
 Into something rich and strange. 
 Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : 
 Hark ! now I hear them, Ding-dong, bell." 
 
 This strange news of his lost father soon roused 
 the prince from the stupid fit into which he had 
 fallen. He followed in amazement the sound of 
 Ariel's voice, till it led him to Prospero and Miranda, 
 who were sitting under the shade of a large tree. 
 Now Miranda had never seen a man before, except 
 her own father. 
 
 " Miranda," said Prospero, " tell me what you are 
 looking at yonder." 
 
 " O father," said Miranda, in a strange surprise, 
 " surely that is a spirit. Lord ! how it looks about ! 
 Believe me, sir, it is a beautiful creature. Is it not 
 a spirit?" 
 
 " No, girl," answered her father ; " it eats, and 
 sleeps, and has senses such as we have. This young 
 man you see was in the ship. He is somewhat al- 
 tered by grief, or you might call him a handsome 
 persoa He has lost his companions, and is wan- 
 dering about to find them." 
 
 Miranda, who thought all men had grave faces
 
 8 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 and grey beards like her father, was delighted with 
 the appearance of this beautiful young prince ; and 
 Ferdinand, seeing such a lovely lady in this desert 
 place, and from the strange sounds he had heard, 
 expecting nothing but wonders, thought he was upon 
 an enchanted island, and that Miranda was the 
 goddess of the place, and as such he began to ad- 
 dress her. 
 
 She timidly answered, she was no goddess, but a 
 simple maid, and was going to give him an account 
 of herself, when Prospero interrupted her. He was 
 well pleased to find they admired each other, for 
 he plainly perceived they had (as we say) fallen in 
 love at first sight : but to try Ferdinand's constancy, 
 he resolved to throw some difficulties in their way : 
 therefore advancing forward, he addressed the prince 
 with a stern air, telling him, he came to the island 
 as a spy, to take it from him who was the lord of 
 it " Follow me," said he, " I will tie you neck 
 and feet together. You shall drink sea-water ; shell- 
 fish, withered roots, and husks of acorns shall be 
 your food." " No," said Ferdinand, " I will resist 
 such entertainment, till I see a more powerful 
 enemy," and drew his sword ; but Prospero, waving 
 his magic wand, fixed him to the spot where he 
 stood, so that he had no power to move. 
 
 Miranda hung upon her father, saying, " Why 
 are you so ungentle ? Have pity, sir ; I will be 
 his surety. This is the second man I ever saw, and 
 to me he seems a true one." 
 
 " Silence," said the father ; " one word more will 
 make me chide you, girl ! What ! an advocate for an 
 impostor ! You think there are no more such fine
 
 THE TEMPEST. g 
 
 men, having seen only him and Caliban. I tell you, 
 foolish girl, most men as far excel this, as he does 
 Caliban." This he said to prove his daughter's con- 
 stancy ; and she replied, " My affections are most 
 humble. I have no wish to see a goodlier man." 
 " Come on, young man," said Prospero to the 
 prince; "you have no power to disobey me." 
 
 " I have not indeed," answered Ferdinand ; and 
 not knowing that it was by magic he was deprived 
 of all power of resistance, he was astonished to find 
 himself so strangely compelled to follow Prospero : 
 looking back on Miranda as long as he could 
 see her, he said, as he went after Prospero into the 
 cave, " My spirits are all bound up, as if I were in 
 a dream ; but this man's threats, and the weakness 
 which I feel, would seem light to me if from my 
 prison I might once a day behold this fair maid." 
 
 Prospero kept Ferdinand not long confined 
 within the cell : he soon brought out his prisoner, 
 and set him a severe task to perform, taking care 
 to let his daughter know the hard labour he had 
 imposed on him, and then pretending to go into 
 his study, he secretly watched them both. 
 
 Prospero had commanded Ferdinand to pile up 
 some heavy logs of wood. Kings' sons not being 
 much used to laborious work, Miranda soon after 
 found her lover almost dying with fatigue. " Alas ! " 
 said she, do not work so hard ; my father is at his 
 studies, he is safe for these three hours ; pray rest 
 yourself" 
 
 " O my dear lady," said Ferdinand, " I dare not. 
 I must finish my task before I take my rest" 
 
 " If you will sit down," said Miranda, " I will
 
 io TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 carry your logs the while." But this Ferdinand 
 would by no means agree to. Instead of a help 
 Miranda became a hindrance, for they began a 
 long conversation, so that the business of log-carry- 
 ing went on very slowly. 
 
 Prospero, who had enjoined Ferdinand this task 
 merely as a trial of his love, was not at his books, 
 as his daughter supposed, but was standing by them 
 invisible, to overhear what they said. 
 
 Ferdinand inquired her name, which she told, 
 saying it was against her father's express command 
 she did so. 
 
 Prospero only smiled at this first instance of his 
 daughter's disobedience, for having by his magic 
 art caused his daughter to fall in love so suddenly, 
 he was not angry that she showed her love by for- 
 getting to obey his commands. And he listened 
 well pleased to a long speech of Ferdinand's, in 
 which he professed to love her above all the ladies 
 he ever saw. 
 
 In answer to his praises of her beauty, which he 
 said exceeded all the women in the world, she re- 
 plied, " I do not remember the face of any woman, 
 nor have I seen any more men than you, my good 
 friend, and my dear father. How features are 
 abroad, I know not ; but, believe me, sir, I would 
 not wish any companion in the world but you, nor 
 can my imagination form any shape but yours that 
 I could like. But, sir, I fear I talk to you too freely, 
 and my father's precepts I forget." 
 
 At this Prospero smiled, and nodded his^ head, 
 as much as to say, " This goes on exactly as I could 
 wish ; my girl will be queen of Naples."
 
 THE TEMPEST. 11 
 
 And then Ferdinand, in another fine long speech 
 (for young princes speak in courtly phrases), told 
 the innocent Miranda he was heir to the crown of 
 Naples, and that she should be his queen. 
 
 " Ah ! sir," said she, " I am a fool to weep at 
 what I am glad of. I will answer you in plain and 
 holy innocence. I am your wife if you will marry 
 me." 
 
 Prospero prevented Ferdinand's thanks by ap- 
 pearing visible before them. 
 
 " Fear nothing, my child," said he ; "I have 
 overheard, and approve of all you have said. And, 
 Ferdinand, if I have too severely used you, I will 
 make you rich amends, by giving you my daughter. 
 All your vexations were but trials of your love, and 
 you have nobly stood the test Then as my gift, 
 which your true love has worthily purchased, take 
 my daughter, and do not smile that I boast she is 
 above all praise." He then, telling them that he 
 had business which required his presence, desired 
 they would sit down and talk together till he re- 
 turned ; and this command Miranda seemed not 
 at all disposed to disobey. 
 
 When Prospero left them, he called his spirit 
 Ariel, who quickly appeared before him, eager to 
 relate what he had done with Prospero's brother 
 and the king of Naples. Ariel said he had left 
 them almost out of their senses with fear, at the 
 strange things he had caused them to see and hear. 
 When fatigued with wandering about, and famished 
 for want of food, he had suddenly set before them 
 a delicious banquet, and then, just as they were 
 going to eat, he appeared visible before them in
 
 12 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 the shape of a harpy, a voracious monster with 
 wings, and the feast vanished away. Then, to their 
 utter amazement, this seeming harpy spoke to them, 
 reminding them of their cruelty in driving Prospero 
 from his dukedom, and leaving him and his infant 
 daughter to perish in the sea ; saying, that for this 
 cause these terrors were suffered to afflict them. 
 
 The king of Naples, and Antonio the false brother, 
 repented the injustice they had done to Prospero ; 
 and Ariel told his master he was certain their peni- 
 tence was sincere, and that he, though a spirit, could 
 not but pity them. 
 
 " Then bring them hither, Ariel," said Prospero : 
 " if you, who are but a spirit, feel for their distress, 
 shall not I, who am a human being like themselves, 
 have compassion on them ? Bring them, quickly, 
 my dainty Ariel." 
 
 Ariel soon returned with the king, Antonio, and 
 old Gonzalo in their train, who had followed him, 
 wondering at the wild music he played in the air to 
 draw them on to his master's presence. This Gon- 
 zalo was the same who had so kindly provided 
 Prospero formerly with books and provisions, when 
 his wicked brother left him, as he thought, to perish 
 in an open boat in the sea. 
 
 Grief and terror had so stupefied their senses, 
 that they did not know Prospero. He first dis- 
 covered himself to the good old Gonzalo, calling 
 him the preserver of his life ; and then his brother 
 and the king knew that he was the injured Pros- 
 pero. 
 
 Antonio with tears, and sad words of sorrow and 
 true repentance, implored his brother's forgiveness.
 
 THE TEMPEST. 13 
 
 and the king expressed his sincere remorse for 
 having assisted Antonio to depose his brother : and 
 Prospero forgave them ; and, upon their engaging 
 to restore his dukedom, he said to the king of 
 Naples, " I have a gift in store for you too ;" and 
 opening a door, showed him his son Ferdinand 
 playing at chess with Miranda. 
 
 Nothing could exceed the joy of the father and 
 the son at this unexpected meeting, for they each 
 thought the other drowned in the storm. 
 
 "O wonder !" said Miranda, "what noble crea- 
 tures these are ! It must surely be a brave world 
 that has such people in it." 
 
 The king of Naples was almost as much as- 
 tonished at the beauty and excellent graces of the 
 young Miranda, as his son had been. " Who is 
 this maid ?" said he ; " she seems the goddess that 
 has parted us, and brought us thus together." 
 " No, sir," answered Ferdinand, smiling to find his 
 father had fallen into the same mistake that he had 
 done when he first saw Miranda, " she is a mortal, 
 but by immortal Providence she is mine ; I chose 
 her when I could not ask you, my father, for your 
 consent, not thinking you were alive. She is the 
 daughter to this Prospero, who is the famous duke 
 of Milan, of whose renown I have heard so much, 
 but never saw him till now : of him I have received 
 a new life : he has made himself to me a second 
 father, giving me this dear lady." 
 
 " Then I must be her father," said the king ; 
 " but oh ! how oddly will it sound, that I must ask 
 my child forgiveness." 
 
 " No more of that," said Prospero : " let us not
 
 14 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 remember our troubles past, since they so happily 
 have ended." And then Prospero embraced his 
 brother, and again assured him of his forgiveness ; 
 and said that a wise over-ruling Providence had 
 permitted that he should be driven from his poor 
 dukedom of Milan, that his daughter might inherit 
 the crown of Naples, for that by their meeting in 
 this desert island, it had happened that the king's 
 son had loved Miranda. 
 
 These kind words which Prospero spoke, mean- 
 ing to comfort his brother, so filled Antonio with 
 shame and remorse, that he wept and was unable to 
 speak ; and the kind old Gonzalo wept to see this 
 joyful reconciliation, and prayed for blessings on 
 the young couple. 
 
 Prospero now told them that their ship was safe 
 in the harbour, and the sailors all on board her, 
 and that he and his daughter would accompany 
 them home the next morning. "In the mean- 
 time," says he, "partake of such refreshments as 
 my poor cave affords ; and for your evening's enter- 
 tainment I will relate the history of my life from 
 my first landing in this desert island." He then 
 called for Caliban to prepare some food, and set 
 the cave in order ; and the company were aston- 
 ished at the uncouth form and savage appearance 
 of this ugly monster, who (Prospero said) was the 
 only attendant he had to wait upon him. 
 
 Before Prospero left the island, he dismissed 
 Ariel from his service, to the great joy of that lively 
 little spirit; who, though he had been a faithful 
 servant to his master, was always longing to enjoy 
 his free liberty, to wander uncontrolled in the air,
 
 THE TEMPEST. 15 
 
 like a wild bird, under green trees, among pleasant 
 fruits, and sweet-smelling flowers. "My quaint 
 Ariel," said Prospero to the little sprite when he 
 made him free, " I shall miss you ; yet you shall 
 have your freedom." "Thank you, my dear mas- 
 ter," said Ariel ; " but give me leave to attend your 
 ship home with prosperous gales, before you bid 
 farewell to the assistance of your faithful spirit ; 
 and then, master, when I am free, how merrily I 
 shall live !" Here Ariel sung this pretty song : 
 
 " Where the bee sucks, there suck I ; 
 
 In a cowslip's bell I lie : 
 
 There I couch when owls do cry. 
 
 On the bat's back I do fly 
 
 After summer merrily. 
 
 Merrily, merrily shall I live now 
 Under the blossom that hangs on the bough." 
 
 Prospero then buried deep in the earth his 
 magical books and wand, for he was resolved never 
 more to make use of the magic art And having 
 thus overcome his enemies, and being reconciled 
 to his brother and the king of Naples, nothing now 
 remained to complete his happiness, but to revisit 
 his native land, to take possession of his dukedom, 
 and to witness the happy nuptials of his daughter 
 and Prince Ferdinand, which the king said should 
 be instantly celebrated with great splendour on their 
 return to Naples. At which place, under the safe 
 convoy of the spirit Ariel, they, after a pleasant 
 voyage, soon arrived
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 THERE was a law in the city of Athens which 
 gave to its citizens the power of compelling 
 their daughters to marry whomsoever they pleased ; 
 for upon a daughter's refusing to marry the man 
 her father had chosen to be her husband, the father 
 was empowered by this law to cause her to be put 
 to death ; but as fathers do not often desire the 
 death of their own daughters, even though they do 
 happen to prove a little refractory, this law was 
 seldom or never put in execution, though perhaps 
 the young ladies of that city were not unfrequently 
 threatened by their parents with the terrors of it 
 
 There was one instance, however, of an old man, 
 whose name was Egeus, who actually did come 
 before Theseus (at that time the reigning Duke of 
 Athens), to complain that his daughter Hermia, 
 whom he had commanded to marry Demetrius, a 
 young man of a noble Athenian family, refused to 
 obey him, because she loved another young Athe- 
 nian, named Lysander. Egeus demanded justice 
 of Theseus, and desired that this cruel law might 
 be put in force against his daughter. 
 
 Hermia pleaded in excuse for her disobedience, 
 that Demetrius had formerly professed love for her
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 17 
 
 dear friend Helena, and that Helena loved Deme- 
 trius to distraction ; but this honourable reason, 
 which Hermia gave for not obeying her father's 
 command, moved not the stern Egeus. 
 
 Theseus, though a great and merciful prince, had 
 no power to alter the laws of his country ; therefore 
 he could only give Hermia four days to consider 
 of it : and at the end of that time, if she still 
 refused to marry Demetrius, she was to be put to 
 death. 
 
 When Hermia was dismissed from the presence 
 of the duke, she went to her lover Lysander, and 
 told him the peril she was in, and that she must 
 either give him up and marry Demetrius, or lose 
 her life in four days. 
 
 Lysander was in great affliction at hearing these 
 evil tidings ; but recollecting that he had an aunt 
 who lived at some distance from Athens, and that 
 at the place where she lived the cruel law could 
 not be put in force against Hermia (this law not 
 extending beyond the boundaries of the city), he 
 proposed to Hermia that she should steal out of 
 her father's house that night, and go with him to 
 his aunt's house, where he would marry her. " I 
 will meet you," said Lysander, " in the wood a few 
 miles without the city; in that delightful wood 
 where we have so often walked with Helena in the 
 pleasant month of May." 
 
 To this proposal Hermia joyfully agreed ; and 
 she told no one of her intended flight but her friend 
 Helena. Helena (as maidens will do foolish things 
 for love) very ungenerously resolved to go and tell 
 this to Demetrius, though she could hope no benefit 
 C
 
 i8 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 from betraying her friend's secret, but the poor 
 pleasure of following her faithless lover to the 
 wood ; for she well knew that Demetrius would go 
 thither in pursuit of Hermia. 
 
 The wood, in which Lysander and Hermia pro- 
 posed to meet was the; favourite haunt of those 
 little beings known by the name of Fairies. 
 
 Oberon the king, and Titania the queen of the 
 Fairies, with all their tiny train of followers, in this 
 wood held their midnight revels. 
 
 Between this little king and queen of sprites 
 there happened, at this time, a sad disagreement ; 
 they never met by moonlight in the shady walks 
 of this pleasant wood, but they were quarrelling, 
 till all their fairy elves would creep into acorn-cups 
 and hide themselves for fear. 
 
 The cause of this unhappy disagreement was 
 Titania's refusing to give Oberon a little change- 
 ling boy, whose mother had been Titania's friend ; 
 and upon her death the fairy queen stole the child 
 from its nurse, and brought him up in the woods. 
 
 The night on which the lovers were to meet in 
 this wood, as Titania was walking with some of her 
 maids of honour, she met Oberon attended by his 
 train of fairy courtiers. 
 
 " 111 met by moonlight, proud Titania," said the 
 fairy king. The queen replied, "What, jealous 
 Oberon, is it you? Fairies, skip hence; I have 
 forsworn his company." " Tarry, rash fairy," said 
 Oberon ; " am not I thy lord ? Why does Titania 
 cross her Oberon ? Give me your little changeling 
 boy to be my page." 
 
 " Set your heart at rest," answered the queen ;
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 19 
 
 " your whole fairy kingdom buys not the boy of 
 me." She then left her lord in great anger. " Well, 
 go your way," said Oberon : " before the morning 
 dawns I will torment you for this injury." 
 
 Oberon then sent for Puck, his chief favourite 
 and privy counsellor. 
 
 Puck (or as he was sometimes called, Robin 
 Goodfellow) was a shrewd and knavish sprite, that 
 used to play comical pranks in the neighbouring 
 villages; sometimes getting into the dairies and 
 skimming the milk, sometimes plunging his light 
 and airy form into the butter-churn, and while he 
 was dancing his fantastic shape in the churn, in vain 
 the dairy-maid would labour to change her cream 
 into butter : nor had the village swains any better 
 success ; whenever Puck chose to play his freaks in 
 the brewing copper, the ale was sure to be spoiled. 
 When a few good neighbours were met to drink 
 some comfortable ale together, Puck would jump 
 into the bowl of ale in the likeness of a roasted 
 crab, and when some old goody was going to drink, 
 he would bob against her lips, and spill the ale 
 over her withered chin ; and presently after, when 
 the same old dame was gravely seating herself to 
 tell her neighbours a sad and melancholy story, 
 Puck would slip her three-legged stool from under 
 her, and down toppled the poor old woman, and 
 then the old gossips would hold their sides and laugh 
 at her, and swear they never wasted a merrier hour. 
 
 " Come hither, Puck," said Oberon to this little 
 merry wanderer of the night ; " fetch me the flower 
 which maids call Love in Idleness ; the juice of 
 that little purple flower laid on the eyelids of those
 
 20 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 who sleep, will make them, when they awake, dote 
 on the first thing they see. Some of the juice of 
 that flower I will drop on the eyelids of my Titania 
 when she is asleep : and the first thing she looks 
 upon when she opens her eyes she will fall in love 
 with, even though it be a lion or a bear, a meddling 
 monkey, or a busy ape ; and before I will take this 
 charm from off her sight, which I can do with 
 another charm I know of, I will make her give me 
 that boy to be my page." 
 
 Puck, who loved mischief to his heart, was highly 
 diverted with this intended frolic of his master, and 
 ran to seek the flower ; and while Oberon was wait- 
 ing the return of Puck, he observed Demetrius and 
 Helena enter the wood : he overheard Demetrius 
 reproaching Helena for following him, and after 
 many unkind words on his part, and gentle expos- 
 tulations from Helena, reminding him of his former 
 love and professions of true faith to her, he left her 
 (as he said) to the mercy of the wild beasts, and she 
 ran after him as swiftly as she could. 
 
 The fairy king, who was always friendly to true 
 lovers, felt great compassion for Helena; and per- 
 haps, as Lysander said they used to walk by moon- 
 light in this pleasant wood, Oberon might have 
 seen Helena in those happy times when she was 
 beloved by Demetrius. However that might be, 
 when Puck returned with the little purple flower, 
 Oberon said to his favourite, " Take a part of this 
 flower ; there has been a sweet Athenian lady here, 
 who is in love with a disdainful youth ; if you find 
 him sleeping, drop some of the love-juice in his 
 eyes, but contrive to do it when she is near him,
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 21 
 
 that the first thing he sees when he awakes may be 
 this despised lady. You will know the man by the 
 Athenian garments which he wears." Puck pro- 
 mised to manage this matter very dexterously : and 
 then Oberon went, unperceived by Titania, to her 
 bower, where she was preparing to go to rest. Her 
 fairy bower was a bank, where grew wild thyme, 
 cowslips, and sweet violets, under a canopy of wood- 
 bine, musk-roses, and eglantine. There Titania al- 
 ways slept some part of the night ; her coverlet the 
 enamelled skin of a snake, which, though a small 
 mantle, was wide enough to wrap a fairy in. 
 
 He found Titania giving orders to her fairies, 
 how they were to employ themselves while she 
 slept. " Some of you," said her majesty, " must 
 kill cankers in the musk-rose buds, and some wage 
 war with the bats for their leathern wings, to make 
 my small elves coats ; and some of you keep watch 
 that the clamorous owl, that nightly hoots, come 
 not near me : but first sing me to sleep." Then 
 they began to sing this song : 
 
 You spotted snakes with double tongue, 
 Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen ; 
 Newts and blind-worms do no wrong, 
 Come not near our Fairy Queen. 
 Philomel, with melody, 
 Sing in our sweet lullaby, 
 Lulla, lulla, lullaby ; lulla, lulla, lullaby ; 
 Never harm, nor spell, nor charm, 
 Come our lovely lady nigh ; 
 So good night with lullaby. 
 
 When the fairies had sung their queen asleep 
 with this pretty lullaby, they left her to perform 
 the important services she had enjoined them.
 
 Z2 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Oberon then softly drew near his Titania, and 
 dropped some of the love-juice on her eyelids, say- 
 ing, 
 
 What thou seest when thou dost wake, 
 
 Do it for thy true-love take. 
 
 But to return to Hermia, who made her escape 
 out of her father's house that night, to avoid the 
 death she was doomed to for refusing to marry De- 
 metrius. When she entered the wood, she found 
 her dear Lysander waiting for her, to conduct her 
 to his aunt's house ; but before they had passed 
 half through the wood, Hermia was so much 
 fatigued, that Lysander, who was very careful of 
 this dear lady, who had proved her affection for 
 him even by hazarding her life for his sake, per- 
 suaded her to rest till morning on a bank of soft 
 moss, and lying down himself on the ground at 
 some little distance, they soon fell fast asleep. Here 
 they were found by Puck, who, seeing a handsome 
 young man asleep, and perceiving that his clothes 
 were made in the Athenian fashion, and that a 
 pretty lady was sleeping near him, concluded that 
 this must be the Athenian maid and her disdainful 
 lover whom Oberon had sent him to seek ; and 
 he naturally enough conjectured that, as they were 
 alone together, she must be the first thing he would 
 see when he awoke ; so, without more ado, he pro- 
 ceeded to pour some of the juice of the little 
 purple flower into his eyes. But it so fell out, that 
 Helena came that way, and, instead of Hermia, 
 was the first object Lysander beheld when he 
 opened his eyes ; and strange to relate, so power- 
 ful was the love- charm, all his love for Hermia
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 23 
 
 vanished away, and Lysander fell in love with 
 Helena. 
 
 Had he first seen Hermia when he awoke, the 
 blunder Puck committed would have been of no 
 consequence, for he could not love that faithful 
 lady too well ; but for poor Lysander to be forced 
 by a fairy love-charm to forget his own true Hermia, 
 and to run after another lady, and leave Hermia 
 asleep quite alone in a wood at midnight, was a 
 sad chance indeed. 
 
 Thus this misfortune happened. Helena, as has 
 been before related, endeavoured to keep pace with 
 Demetrius when he ran away so rudely from her ; 
 but she could not continue this unequal race long, 
 men being always better runners in a long race than 
 ladies. Helena soon lost sight of Demetrius ; and 
 as she was wandering about, dejected and forlorn, 
 she arrived at the place where Lysander was sleep- 
 ing. " Ah !" said she, " this is Lysander lying on 
 the ground : is he dead or asleep ?" Then, gently 
 touching him, she said, " Good sir, if you are alive, 
 awake." Upon this Lysander opened his eyes, and 
 (the love-charm beginning to work) immediately 
 addressed her in terms of extravagant love and ad- 
 miration ; telling her she as much excelled Hermia 
 in beauty as a dove does a raven, and that he 
 would run through fire for her sweet sake; and 
 many more such lover-like speeches. Helena, 
 knowing Lysander was her friend Hermia's lover, 
 and that he was solemnly engaged to marry her, 
 was in the utmost rage when she heard herself ad- 
 dressed in this manner ; for she thought (as well 
 she might) that Lysander was making a jest of her.
 
 24 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 "Oh !" said she, "why was I born to be mocked and 
 scorned by every one ? Is it not enough, is it not 
 enough, young man, that I can never get a sweet 
 look or a kind word from Demetrius ; but you, sir, 
 must pretend in this disdainful manner to court me ? 
 I thought, Lysander, you were a lord of more true 
 gentleness." Saying these words in great anger, 
 she ran away; and Lysander followed her, quite 
 forgetful of his own Hermia, who was still asleep. 
 
 When Hermia awoke, she was in a sad fright at 
 finding herself alone. She wandered about the 
 wood, not knowing what was become of Lysander, 
 or which way to go to seek for him. In the mean 
 time Demetrius not being able to find Hermia and 
 his rival Lysander, and fatigued with his fruitless 
 search, was observed by Oberon fast asleep. Oberon 
 had learnt by some questions he had asked of Puck, 
 that he had applied the love-charm to the wrong 
 person's eyes ; and now having found the person 
 first intended, he touched the eyelids of the sleep- 
 ing Demetrius with the love-juice, and he instantly 
 awoke ; and the first thing he saw being Helena, 
 he, as Lysander had done before, began to address 
 love-speeches to her ; and just at that moment Ly- 
 sander, followed by Hermia (for through Puck's un- 
 lucky mistake it was now become Hermia's turn to 
 run after her lover) made his appearance ; and then 
 Lysander and Demetrius, both speaking together, 
 made love to Helena, they being each one under 
 the influence of the same potent charm. 
 
 The astonished Helena thought that Demetrius, 
 Lysander, and her once dear friend Hermia, were 
 all in a plot together to make a jest of her.
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 25 
 
 Hermia was as much surprised as Helena : she 
 knew not why Lysander and Demetrius, who both 
 before loved her, were now become the lovers of 
 Helena ; and to Hermia the matter seemed to be 
 no jest. 
 
 The ladies, who before had always been the 
 dearest of friends, now fell to high words to- 
 gether. 
 
 " Unkind Hermia," said Helena, " it is you have 
 set Lysander on to vex me with mock praises ; and 
 your other lover Demetrius, who used almost to 
 spurn me with his foot, have you not bid him call 
 me Goddess, Nymph, rare, precious, and celestial ? 
 He would not speak thus to me, whom he hates, if 
 you did not set him on to make a jest of me. Un- 
 kind Hermia, to join with men in scorning your 
 poor friend. Have you forgot our school-day friend- 
 ship? How often, Hermia, have we two, sitting 
 on one cushion, both singing one song, with our 
 needles working the same flower, both on the same 
 sampler wrought ; growing up together in fashion of 
 a double cherry, scarcely seeming parted? Hermia, 
 it is not friendly in you, it is not maidenly to join 
 with men in scorning your poor friend. 
 
 " I am amazed at your passionate words," said 
 Hermia : " I scorn you not ; it seems you scorn me." 
 " Ay, do," returned Helena, " persevere, counterfeit 
 serious looks, and make mouths at me when I turn 
 my back ; then wink at each other, and hold the 
 sweet jest up. If you had any pity, grace, or man- 
 ners, you would not use me thus." 
 
 While Helena and Hermia were speaking these 
 angry words to each other, Demetrius and Lysander
 
 26 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 left them, to fight together in the wood for the love 
 of Helena. 
 
 When they found the gentlemen had left them, 
 they departed, and once more wandered weary in 
 the wood in search of their lovers. 
 
 As soon as they were gone, the fairy king, who 
 with little Puck had been listening to their quarrels, 
 said to him, " This is your negligence, Puck ; or 
 did you do this wilfully ?" " Believe me, king of 
 shadows," answered Puck, " it was a mistake ; did 
 not you tell me I should know the man by his 
 Athenian garments ? However, I am not sorry this 
 has happened, for I think their jangling makes ex- 
 cellent sport'' "You heard," said Oberon, "that 
 Demetrius and Lysander are gone to seek a con- 
 venient place to fight in. I command you to over- 
 hang the night with a thick fog, and lead these 
 quarrelsome lovers so astray in the dark, that they 
 shall not be able to find each other. Counterfeit 
 each of their voices to the other, and with bitter 
 taunts provoke them to follow you, while they think 
 it is their rival's tongue they hear. See you do 
 this, till they are so weary they can go no farther ; 
 and when you find they are asleep, drop the juice of 
 this other flower into Lysander's eyes, and when he 
 awakes he will forget his new love for Helena, and 
 return to his old passion for Hermia ; and then the 
 two fair ladies may each one be happy with the 
 man she loves, and they will think all that has passed 
 a vexatious dream. About this quickly, Puck, and 
 I will go and see what sweet love my Titania has 
 found." 
 
 Titania was still sleeping, and Oberon seeing a
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 27 
 
 clown near her, who had lost his way in the wood, 
 and was likewise asleep : " This fellow," said he, 
 " shall be my Titania's true love ;" and clapping 
 an ass's head over the clown's, it seemed to fit him as 
 well as if it had grown upon his own shoulders. 
 Though Oberon fixed the ass's head on very gently, 
 it awakened him, and rising up, unconscious of what 
 Oberon had done to him, he went towards the 
 bower where the fairy queen slept. 
 
 " Ah ! what angel is that I see ?" said Titania, 
 opening her eyes, and the juice of the little purple 
 flower beginning to take effect : " are you as wise as 
 you are beautiful ?" 
 
 " Why, mistress," said the foolish clown, " if I 
 have wit enough to find the way out of this wood, 
 I have enough to serve my turn. 
 
 " Out of the wood do not desire to go," said the 
 enamoured queen. " I am a spirit of no common 
 rate. I love you. Go with me, and I will give 
 you fairies to attend upon you." 
 
 She then called four of her fairies : their names 
 were, Pease-blossom, Cobweb, Moth, and Mustard- 
 seed. 
 
 "Attend," said the queen, "upon this sweet 
 gentleman ; hop in his walks, and gambol in his 
 sight ; feed him with grapes and apricots, and steal 
 for him the honey-bags from the bees. Come, sit 
 with me," said she to the clown, " and let me play 
 with your amiable hairy cheeks, my beautiful ass ! 
 and kiss your fair large ears, my gentle joy !" 
 
 " Where is Pease-blossom ?" said the ass-headed 
 clown, not much regarding the fairy queen's court- 
 ship, but very proud of his new attendants.
 
 28 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 " Here, sir," said little Pease-blossom. 
 
 " Scratch my head," said the clown. " Where 
 is Cobweb?" 
 
 " Here, sir," said Cobweb. 
 
 " Good Mr. Cobweb," said the foolish clown, 
 " kill me the red humble bee on the top of that 
 thistle yonder ; and, good Mr. Cobweb, bring me 
 the honey-bag. Do not fret yourself too much in 
 the action, Mr. Cobweb, and take care the honey- 
 bag break not ; I should be sorry to have you over- 
 flown with a honey-bag. Where is Mustard-seed ?" 
 
 "Here, sir," said Mustard-seed: "what is your 
 will?" 
 
 " Nothing," said the clown, "good Mr. Mustard- 
 seed, but to help Mr. Pease-blossom to scratch ; I 
 must go to a barber's, Mr. Mustard-seed, for me- 
 thinks I am marvellous hairy about the face." 
 
 " My sweet love," said the queen, " what will you 
 have to eat ? I have a venturous fairy shall seek 
 the squirrel's hoard, and fetch you some new 
 nuts." 
 
 " I had rather have a handful of dried pease," 
 said the clown, who with his ass's head had got an 
 ass's appetite. " But, I pray, let none of your 
 people disturb me, for I have a mind to sleep." 
 
 " Sleep, then," said the queen, " and I will wind 
 you in my arms. O how I love you ! how I dote 
 upon you ! " 
 
 When the fairy king saw the clown sleeping in 
 the arms of his queen, he advanced within her sight, 
 and reproached her with having lavished her 
 favours upon an ass. 
 
 This she could not deny, as the clown was then
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 29 
 
 sleeping within her arms, with his ass's head crowned 
 by her with flowers. 
 
 When Oberon had teased her for some time, he 
 again demanded the changeling-boy ; which she, 
 ashamed of being discovered by her lord with her 
 new favourite, did not dare to refuse him. 
 
 Oberon, having thus obtained the little boy he 
 had so long wished for to be his page, took pity on 
 the disgraceful situation into which, by his merry 
 contrivance, he had brought his Titania, and threw 
 some of the juice of the other flower into her eyes ; 
 and the fairy queen immediately recovered her 
 senses, and wondered at her late dotage, saying 
 how she now loathed the sight of the strange 
 monster. 
 
 Oberon likewise took the ass's head from off the 
 clown, and left him to finish his nap with his own 
 fool's head upon his shoulders. 
 
 Oberon and his Titania being now perfectly re- 
 conciled, he related to her the history of the lovers, 
 and their midnight quarrels ; and she agreed to go 
 with him and see the end of their adventures. 
 
 The fairy king and queen found the lovers and 
 their fair ladies, at no great distance from each 
 other, sleeping on a grass-plot ; for Puck, to make 
 amends for his former mistake, had contrived with 
 the utmost diligence to bring them all to the same 
 spot, unknown to each other ; and he had carefully 
 removed the charm from off the eyes of Lysander 
 with the antidote the fairy king gave to him. 
 
 Hermia first awoke, and finding her lost Lysander 
 asleep so near her, was looking at him and won- 
 dering at his strange inconstancy. Lysander
 
 30 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 presently opening his eyes, and seeing his dear 
 Hermia, recovered his reason which the fairy charm 
 had before clouded, and with his reason, his love 
 for Hermia; and they began to talk over the 
 adventures of the night, doubting if these things 
 had really happened, or if they had both been 
 dreaming the same bewildering dream. 
 
 Helena and Demetrius were by this time awake ; 
 and a sweet sleep having quieted Helena's disturbed 
 and angry spirits, she listened with delight to the 
 professions of love which Demetrius still made to 
 her, and which, to her surprise as well as pleasure, 
 she began to perceive were sincere. 
 
 These fair night-wandering ladies, now no longer 
 rivals, became once more true friends ; all the un- 
 kind words which had passed were forgiven, and 
 they calmly consulted together what was best to be 
 done in their present situation. It was soon agreed 
 that, as Demetrius had given up his pretensions to 
 Hermia, he should endeavour to prevail upon her 
 father to revoke the cruel sentence of death which 
 had been passed against her. Demetrius was pre- 
 paring to return to Athens for this friendly purpose, 
 when they were surprised with the sight of Egeus, 
 Hermia's father, who came to the wood in pursuit 
 of his runaway daughter. 
 
 When Egeus understood that Demetrius would 
 not now marry his daughter, he no longer opposed 
 her marriage with Lysander, but gave his consent 
 that they should be wedded on the fourth day from 
 that time, being the same day on which Hermia 
 had been condemned to lose her life ; and on that 
 same day Helena joyfully agreed to marry her be- 
 loved and now faithful Demetrius.
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 31 
 
 The fairy king and queen, who were invisible 
 spectators of this reconciliation, and now saw the 
 happy ending of the lovers' history, brought about 
 through the good offices of Oberon, received so 
 much pleasure, that these kind spirits resolved to 
 celebrate the approaching nuptials with sports and 
 revels throughout their fairy kingdom. 
 
 And now, if any are offended with this story of 
 tairies and their pranks, as judging it incredible 
 and strange, they have only to think that they 
 have been asleep and dreaming, and that all these 
 adventures were visions which they saw in their 
 sleep : and I hope none of my readers will be so 
 unreasonable as to be offended with a pretty harm- 
 less Midsummer Night's Dream.
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 T EONTES, king of Sicily, and his queen, the 
 ' beautiful and virtuous Hermione, once lived 
 in the greatest harmony together. So happy was 
 Leontes in the love of this excellent lady, that he 
 had no wish ungratified, except that he sometimes 
 desired to see again, and to present to his queen, 
 his old companion and school-fellow, Polixenes, 
 king of Bohemia. Leontes and Polixenes were 
 brought up together from their infancy, but being, 
 by the death of their fathers, called to reign over 
 their respective kingdoms, they had not met for 
 many years, though they frequently interchanged 
 gifts, letters, and loving embassies. 
 
 At length, after repeated invitations, Polixenes 
 came from Bohemia to the Sicilian court, to make 
 his friend Leontes a visit. 
 
 At first this visit gave nothing but pleasure to 
 Leontes. He recommended the friend of his youth 
 to the queen's particular attention, and seemed in 
 the presence of his dear friend and old companion 
 to have his felicity quite completed. They talked 
 over old times ; their school-days and their youth- 
 ful pranks were remembered, and recounted to 
 HermJone, who always took a cheerful part in these 
 conversations.
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 33 
 
 When, after a long stay, Polixenes was preparing 
 to depart, Hermione, at the desire of her husband, 
 joined her entreaties to his that Polixenes would 
 prolong his visit 
 
 And now began this good queen's sorrow; for 
 Polixenes refusing to stay at the request of Leontes, 
 was won over by Hermione's gentle and persuasive 
 words to put off his departure for some weeks 
 longer. Upon this, although Leontes had so long 
 known the integrity and honourable principles of 
 his friend Polixenes, as well as the excellent dis- 
 position of his virtuous queen, he was seized with 
 an ungovernable jealousy. Every attention Her- 
 mione showed to Polixenes, though by her husband's 
 particular desire, and merely to please him, increased 
 the unfortunate king's jealousy ; and from being a 
 loving and a true friend, and the best and fondest 
 of husbands, Leontes became suddenly a savage 
 and inhuman monster. Sending for Camillo, one of 
 the lords of his court, and telling him of the suspi- 
 cion he entertained, he commanded him to poison 
 Polixenes. 
 
 Camillo was a good man ; and he, well knowing 
 that the jealousy of Leontes had not the slightest 
 foundation in truth, instead of poisoning Polixenes, 
 acquainted him with the king his master's orders, 
 and agreed to escape with him out of the Sicilian 
 dominions ; and Polixenes, with the assistance of 
 Camillo, arrived safe in his own kingdom of 
 Bohemia, where Camillo lived from that time in 
 the king's court, and became the chief friend and 
 favourite of Polixenes. 
 
 The flight of Polixenes enraged the jealous 
 p
 
 34 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Leontes still more ; he went to the queen's apart- 
 ment, where the good lady was sitting with her little 
 son Mamillus, who was just beginning to tell one 
 of his best stories to amuse his mother, when the 
 king entered, and taking the child away, sent Her- 
 mione to prison. 
 
 Mamillus, though but a very young child, loved 
 his mother tenderly ; and when he saw her so dis- 
 honoured, and found she was taken from him to be 
 put into a prison, he took it deeply to heart, and 
 drooped and pined away by slow degrees, losing 
 his appetite and his sleep, till it was thought his 
 grief would kill him. 
 
 The king, when he had sent his queen to prison, 
 commanded Cleomenes and Dion, two Sicilian 
 lords, to go to Delphos, there to inquire of the 
 oracle at the temple of Apollo, if his queen had 
 been unfaithful to him. 
 
 When Hermione had been a short time in 
 prison, she was brought to bed of a daughter ; and 
 the poor lady received much comfort from the 
 sight of her pretty baby, and she said to it, " My 
 poor little prisoner, I am as innocent as you are." 
 
 Hermione had a kind friend in the noble-spirited 
 Paulina, who was the wife of Antigonus, a Sicilian 
 lord ; and when the lady Paulina heard her royal 
 mistress was brought to bed, she went to the prison 
 where Hermione was confined; and she said to 
 Emilia, a lady who attended upon Hermione, " I 
 pray you, Emilia, tell the good queen, if her 
 majesty dare trust me with her little babe, I will 
 carry it to the king, its father ; we do not know 
 how he may soften at the sight of his innocent
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 35 
 
 child." " Most worthy madam," replied Emilia, 
 " I will acquaint the queen with your noble offer ; 
 she was wishing to-day that she had any friend who 
 would venture to present the child to the king." 
 "And tell her," said Paulina, "that I will speak 
 boldly to Leontes in her defence." " May you be 
 for ever blessed," said Emilia, " for your kindness 
 to our gracious queen !" Emilia then went to 
 Hermione, who joyfully gave up her baby to the 
 care of Paulina, for she had feared that no one 
 would dare venture to present the child to its father. 
 
 Paulina took the new-born infant, and forcing 
 herself into the king's presence, notwithstanding 
 her husband, fearing the king's anger, endeavoured 
 to prevent her, she laid the babe at its father's feet, 
 and Paulina made a noble speech to the king in 
 defence of Hermione, and she reproached him 
 severely for his inhumanity, and implored him to 
 have mercy on his innocent wife and child. But 
 Paulina's spirited remonstrances only aggravated 
 Leontes' displeasure, and he ordered her husband 
 Antigonus to take her from his presence. 
 
 When Paulina went away, she left the little baby 
 at its father's feet, thinking when he was alone with 
 it, he would look upon it, and have pity on its help- 
 less innocence. 
 
 The good Paulina was mistaken : for no sooner 
 was she gone than the merciless father ordered An- 
 tigonus, Paulina's husband, to take the child, and 
 carry it out to sea, and leave it upon some desert 
 shore to perish. 
 
 Antigonus, unlike the good Camillo, too well 
 obeyed the orders of Leontes ; for he immediately
 
 36 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 carried the child on ship-board, and put out to sea, 
 intending to leave it on the first desert coast he 
 could find. 
 
 So firmly was the king persuaded of the guilt of 
 Herraione, that he would not wait for the return 
 of Cleomenes and Dion, whom he had sent to con- 
 sult the oracle of Apollo at Delphos ; but before 
 the queen was recovered from her lying-in, and 
 from her grief for the loss of her precious baby, 
 he had her brought to a public trial before all the 
 lords and nobles of his court And when all the 
 great lords, the judges, and all the nobility of the 
 land were assembled together to try Hermione, 
 and that unhappy queen was standing as a prisoner 
 before her subjects to receive their judgment, 
 Cleomenes and Dion entered the assembly, and 
 presented to the king the answer of the oracle, 
 sealed up ; and Leontes commanded the seal to 
 be broken, and the words of the oracle to be read 
 aloud, and these were the words : " Hermione is 
 innocent, Polixenes blameless, Camillo a true subject, 
 Leontes a jealous tyrant, and the king shall live with- 
 out an heir if that which is lost be not found" The 
 king would give no credit to the words of the oracle: 
 he said it was a falsehood invented by the queen's 
 friends, and he desired the judge to proceed in 
 the trial of the queen; but while Leontes was 
 speaking, a man entered and told him that the 
 prince Mamillus, hearing his mother was to be tried 
 for her life, struck with grief and shame, had sud- 
 denly died. 
 
 Hermione, upon hearing of the death of this 
 dear affectionate child, who had lost his life in
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 37 
 
 sorrowing for her misfortune, fainted ; and Leontes, 
 pierced to the heart by the news, began to feel pity 
 for his unhappy queen, and he ordered Paulina, and 
 the ladies who were her attendants, to take her 
 away, and use means for her recovery. Paulina 
 soon returned, and told the king that Hermione 
 was dead. 
 
 When Leontes heard that the queen was dead, he 
 repented of his cruelty to her; and now that he 
 thought his ill-usage had broken Hermione's heart, 
 he believed her innocent ; and now he thought the 
 words of the oracle were true, as he knew " if that 
 which was lost was not found," which ,he concluded 
 was his young daughter, he should be without an 
 heir, the young prince Mamillus being dead ; and 
 he would give his kingdom now to recover his lost 
 daughter : and Leontes gave himself up to remorse, 
 and passed many years in mournful thoughts and 
 repentant grief. 
 
 The ship in which Antigonus carried the infant 
 princess out to sea was driven by a storm upon 
 the coast of Bohemia, the very kingdom of the 
 good king Polixenes. Here Antigonus landed, and 
 here he left the little baby. 
 
 Antigonus never returned to Sicily to tell Leontes 
 where he had left his daughter, for as he was going 
 back to the ship, a bear came out of the woods, 
 and tore him to pieces ; a just punishment on him 
 for obeying the wicked order of Leontes. 
 
 The child was dressed in rich clothes and jewels ; 
 for Hermione had made it very fine when she sent 
 it to Leontes, and Antigonus had pinned a paper 
 to its mantle, and the name ofPerdita written there-
 
 38 TALES FROM SHARSPEARE. 
 
 on, and words obscurely intimating its high birth 
 and untoward fate. 
 
 This poor deserted baby was found by a shep- 
 herd. He was a humane man, and so he carried 
 the little Perdita home to his wife, who nursed it 
 tenderly; but poverty tempted the shepherd to 
 conceal the rich prize he had found : therefore he 
 left that part of the country, that no one might 
 know where he got his riches, and with part of 
 Perdita's jewels he bought herds of sheep, and be- 
 came a wealthy shepherd. He brought up Per- 
 dita as his own child, and she knew not she was 
 any other than a shepherd's daughter. 
 
 The little Perdita grew up a lovely maiden ; and 
 though she had no better education than that of a 
 shepherd's daughter, yet so did the natural graces 
 she inherited from her royal mother shine forth in 
 her untutored mind, that no one from her behaviour 
 would have known she had not been brought up 
 in her father's court 
 
 Polixenes, the king of Bohemia, had an only son, 
 whose name was FlorizeL As this young prince 
 was hunting near the shepherd's dwelling, he saw 
 the old man's supposed daughter ; and the beauty, 
 modesty, and queen-like deportment of Perdita 
 caused him instantly to fall in love with her. He 
 soon, under the name of Doricles, and in the dis- 
 guise of a private gentleman, became a constant 
 visitor at the old shepherd's house. Florizel's fre- 
 quent absences from court alarmed Polixenes ; and 
 setting people to watch his son, he discovered his 
 love for the shepherd's fair daughter. 
 
 Polixenes then called for Camillo, the faithful
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 39 
 
 Camillo, who had preserved his life from the fury 
 of Leontes, and desired that he would accompany 
 him to the house of the shepherd, the supposed 
 father of Perdita. 
 
 Polixenes and Camillo, both in disguise, arrived 
 at the old shepherd's dwelling while they were cele- 
 brating the feast of sheep-shearing; and though 
 they were strangers, yet at the sheep-shearing every 
 guest being made welcome, they were invited to 
 walk in, and join in the general festivity. 
 
 Nothing but mirth and jollity was going forward. 
 Tables were spread, and great preparations were 
 making for the rustic feast. Some lads and lasses 
 were dancing on the green before the house, while 
 others of the young men were buying ribands, 
 gloves, and such toys, of a pedlar at the door. 
 
 While this busy scene was going forward, Florizel 
 and Perdita sat quietly in a retired corner, seemingly 
 more pleased with the conversation of each other, 
 than desirous of engaging in the sports and silly 
 amusements of those around them. 
 
 The king was so disguised that it was impossible 
 his son could know him ; he therefore advanced 
 near enough to hear the conversation. The simple 
 yet elegant manner in which Perdita conversed with 
 his son did not a little surprise Polixenes : he said 
 to Camillo, " This is the prettiest low-born lass I 
 ever saw ; nothing she does or says but looks like 
 something greater than herself, too noble for this 
 place." 
 
 Camillo replied, " Indeed she is the very queen 
 of curds and cream." 
 
 " Pray, my good friend," said the king to the
 
 40 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 old shepherd, " what fair swain is that talking with 
 your daughter?" "They call him Doricles," re- 
 plied the shepherd. " He says he loves my daugh- 
 ter; and, to speak truth, there is not a kiss to 
 choose which loves the other best. If young 
 Doricles can get her, she shall bring him that he 
 little dreams of;" meaning the remainder of Perdita's 
 jewels ; which, after he had bought herds of sheep 
 with part of them, he had carefully hoarded up for 
 her marriage portion. 
 
 Polixenes then addressed his son. " How now, 
 young man ! " said he : " your heart seems full of 
 something that takes off your mind from feasting. 
 When I was young, I used to load my love with 
 presents ; but you have let the pedlar go, and have 
 bought your lass no toy." 
 
 The young prince, who little thought he was talk- 
 ing to the king his father, replied, " Old sir, she 
 prizes not such trifles ; the gifts which Perdita ex- 
 pects from me are locked up in my heart." Then 
 turning to Perdita, he said to her, " O hear me, 
 Perdita, before this ancient gentleman, who it 
 seems was once himself a lover; he shall hear 
 what I profess." Florizel then called upon the old 
 stranger to be a witness to a solemn promise of 
 marriage which he made to Perdita, saying to Poli- 
 xenes, " I pray you, mark our contract." 
 
 " Mark your divorce, young sir," said the king, 
 discovering himself Polixenes then reproached 
 his son for daring to contract himself to this low- 
 born maiden, calling Perdita " shepherd's-brat, 
 sheep-hook," and other disrespectful names ; and 
 threatening, if ever she suffered his son to see her
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 41 
 
 again, he would put her, and the old shepherd her 
 father, to a cruel death. 
 
 The king then left them in great wrath, and or- 
 dered Camillo to follow him with prince Florizel. 
 
 When the king had departed, Perdita, whose royal 
 nature was roused by Polixenes' reproaches, said, 
 "Though we are all undone, I was not much 
 afraid ; and once or twice I was about to speak, 
 and tell him plainly that the selfsame sun which 
 shines upon his palace, hides not his face from our 
 cottage, but looks on both alike." Then sorrow- 
 fully she said, " But now I am awakened from this 
 dream, I will queen it no further. Leave me, sir ; 
 I will go milk my ewes and weep." 
 
 The kind-hearted Camillo was charmed with the 
 spirit and propriety of Perdita's behaviour ; and 
 perceiving that the young prince was too deeply in 
 love to give up his mistress at the command of his 
 royal father, he thought of a way to befriend the 
 lovers, and at the same time to execute a favourite 
 scheme he had in his mind. 
 
 Camillo had long known that Leontes, the king 
 of Sicily, was become a true penitent ; and though 
 Camillo was now the favoured friend of king Poli- 
 xenes, he could not help wishing once more to see 
 his late royal master and his native home. He 
 therefore proposed to Florizel and Perdita, that 
 they should accompany him to the Sicilian court, 
 where he would engage Leontes should protect 
 them, till, through his mediation, they could obtain 
 pardon from Polixenes, and his consent to their 
 marriage. 
 
 To this proposal they joyfully agreed ; and Ca-
 
 42 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 millo, who conducted everything relative to their 
 flight, allowed the old shepherd to go along with 
 them. 
 
 The shepherd took with him the remainder of 
 Perdita's jewels, her baby clothes, and the paper 
 which he had found pinned to her mantle. 
 
 After a prosperous voyage, Florizel and Perdita, 
 Camillo and the old shepherd, arrived in safety at 
 the court of Leontes. Leontes, who still mourned 
 his dead Hermione and his lost child, received Ca- 
 millo with great kindness, and gave a cordial wel- 
 come to prince Florizel. But Perdita, whom Flo- 
 rizel introduced as his princess, seemed to engross 
 all Leontes' attention : perceiving a resemblance 
 between her and his dead queen Hermione, his 
 grief broke out afresh, and he said, such a lovely 
 creature might his own daughter have been, if he 
 had not so cruelly destroyed her. "And then, 
 too," said he to Florizel, " I lost the society and 
 friendship of your brave father, whom I now desire 
 more than my life once again to look upon." 
 
 When the old shepherd heard how much notice 
 the king had taken of Perdita, and that he had lost 
 a daughter, who was exposed in infancy, he fell to 
 comparing the time when he found the little 
 Perdita, with the manner of its exposure, the jewels 
 and other tokens of its high birth ; from all which 
 it was impossible for him not to conclude that 
 Perdita and the king's lost daughter were the same. 
 
 Florizel and Perdita, Camillo and the faithful 
 Paulina, were present when the old shepherd re- 
 lated to the king the manner in which he had found 
 the child, and also the circumstance of Antigonus'
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 43 
 
 death, he having seen the bear seize upon him. 
 He showed the rich mantle in which Paulina re- 
 membered Hermione had wrapped the child ; and 
 lie produced a jewel which she remembered Her- 
 mione had tied about Perdita's neck, and he gave 
 up the paper which Paulina knew to be the writing 
 of her husband ; it could not be doubted that Per- 
 dita was Leontes' own daughter : but oh ! the noble 
 struggles of Paulina, between sorrow for her hus- 
 band's death, and joy that the oracle was fulfilled, 
 in the king's heir, his long-lost daughter being 
 found. When Leontes heard that Perdita was his 
 daughter, the great sorrow that he felt that Her- 
 mione was not living to behold her child, made him 
 that he could say nothing for a long time, but, " O 
 thy mother, thy mother !" 
 
 Paulina interrupted this joyful yet distressful 
 scene, with saying to Leontes, that she had a statue, 
 newly finished by that rare Italian master, Julio 
 Romano, which was such a perfect resemblance of 
 the queen, that would his majesty be pleased to go 
 to her house and look upon it, he would be almost 
 ready to think it was Hermione herself. Thither 
 then they all went ; the king anxious to see the 
 semblance of his Hermione, and Perdita longing 
 to behold what the mother she never saw did look 
 like. 
 
 When Paulina drew back the curtain which con- 
 cealed this famous statue, so perfectly did it re- 
 semble Hermione, that all the king's sorrow was re- 
 newed at the sight : for a long time he had no power 
 to speak or move. 
 
 " I like your silence, my liege," said Paulina, " it
 
 44 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 the more shows your wonder. Is not this statue 
 very like your queen ?" 
 
 At length the king said, " O, thus she stood, 
 even with such majesty, when I first wooed her. 
 But yet, Paulina, Hermione was not so aged as 
 this statue looks." Paulina replied, "So much the 
 more the carver's excellence, who has made the 
 statue as Hermione would have looked had she 
 been living now. But let me draw the curtain, sire, 
 lest presently you think it moves." 
 
 The king then said, " Do not draw the curtain 
 Would I were dead ! See, Camillo, would you not 
 think it breathed ? Her eye seems to have motion 
 in it" " I must draw the curtain, my liege," said 
 Paulina. " You are so transported, you will per- 
 suade yourself the statue lives." " O, sweet Pau- 
 lina," said Leontes, "make me think so twenty 
 years together ! 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." "Good, my lord, forbear!" said Paulina. 
 " The ruddiness upon her lip is wet ; you will stain 
 your own with oily painting. Shall I draw the 
 curtain?" "No, not these twenty years," said 
 Leontes. 
 
 Perdita, who all this time had been kneeling, 
 and beholding in silent admiration the statue of 
 her matchless mother, said now, "And so long 
 could I stay here, looking upon my dear mother." 
 
 " Either forbear this transport," said Paulina to 
 Leontes, " and let me draw the curtain ; or prepare 
 yourself for more amazement I can make the 
 statue move indeed ; ay, and descend from off the
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 45 
 
 pedestal, and take you by the hand. But then 
 you will think, which I protest I am not, that I 
 am assisted by some wicked powers." 
 
 " What you can make her do," said the aston- 
 ished king, " I am content to look upon. What 
 you can make her speak, I am content to hear ; 
 for it is as easy to make her speak as move." 
 
 Paulina then ordered some slow and solemn 
 music, which she had prepared for the purpose, to 
 strike up; and, to the amazement of all the 
 beholders, the statue came down from off the 
 pedestal, and threw its arms around Leontes' neck. 
 The statue then began to speak, praying for bless- 
 ings on her husband, and on her child, the newly- 
 found Perdita. 
 
 No wonder that the statue hung upon Leontes' 
 neck, and blessed her husband and her child. No 
 wonder ; for the statue was indeed Hermione her- 
 self, the real, the living queen. 
 
 Paulina had falsely reported to the king the 
 death of Hermione, thinking that the only means 
 to preserve her royal mistress' life ; and with the 
 good Paulina, Hermione had lived ever since, 
 never choosing Leontes should know she was 
 living, till she heard Perdita was found; for 
 though she had long forgiven the injuries which 
 Leontes had done to herself, she could not pardon 
 his cruelty to his infant daughter. 
 
 His dead queen thus restored to life, his lost 
 daughter found, the long-sorrowing Leontes could 
 scarcely support the excess of his own happiness. 
 
 Nothing but congratulations and affectionate 
 speeches were heard on all sides. Now the de-
 
 46 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 lighted parents thanked prince Florizel for loving 
 their lowly-seeming daughter; and now they 
 blessed the good old shepherd for preserving their 
 child. Greatly did Camillo and Paulina rejoice 
 that they had lived to see so good an end of all 
 their faithful services. 
 
 And as if nothing should be wanting to complete 
 this strange and unlooked-for joy, king Polixenes 
 himself now entered the palace. 
 
 When Polixenes first missed his son and Camillo, 
 knowing that Camillo had long wished to return 
 to Sicily, he conjectured he should find the fugi- 
 tives here ; and, following them with all speed, he 
 happened to amve just at this, the happiest moment 
 of Leontes' life. 
 
 Polixenes took a part in the general joy ; he 
 forgave his friend Leontes the unjust jealousy he 
 had conceived against him, and they once more 
 loved each other with all the warmth of their first 
 boyish friendship. And there was no fear that 
 Polixenes would now oppose his son's marriage 
 with Perdita. She was no " sheep-hook " now, but 
 the heiress of the crown of Sicily. 
 
 Thus have we seen the patient virtues of the 
 long-suffering Hermione rewarded. That excel- 
 lent lady lived many years with her Leontes and 
 her Perdita, the happiest of mothers and of queens.
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 *T*HERE lived in the palace at Messina two 
 -- ladies, whose names were Hero and Beatrice. 
 Hero was the daughter, and Beatrice the niece, of 
 Leonato, the governor of Messina. 
 
 Beatrice was of a lively temper, and loved to 
 divert her cousin Hero, who was of a more serious 
 disposition, with her sprightly sallies. Whatever 
 was going forward was sure to make matter of mirth 
 for the light-hearted Beatrice. 
 
 At the time the history of these ladies commences 
 some young men of high rank in the army, as they 
 were passing through Messina on their return from 
 a war that was just ended, in which they had dis- 
 tinguished themselves by their great bravery, came 
 to visit Leonato. Among these were Don Pedro, 
 the Prince of Arragon ; and his friend Claudio, 
 who was a lord of Florence ; and with them came 
 the wild and witty Benedick, and he was a lord 
 of Padua. 
 
 These strangers had been at Messina before, and 
 the hospitable governor introduced them to his 
 daughter and his niece as their old friends and ac- 
 quaintance. 
 
 Benedick, the moment he entered the room be-
 
 48 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 gan a lively conversation with Leonato and the 
 prince. Beatrice, who liked not to be left out of 
 any discourse, interrupted Benedick with saying, 
 " I wonder that you will still be talking, signior 
 Benedick : nobody marks you." Benedick was 
 just such another rattle-brain as Beatrice, yet he 
 was not pleased at this free salutation ; he thought 
 it did not become a well-bred lady to be so flippant 
 with her tongue; and he remembered, when he 
 was last at Messina, that Beatrice used to select 
 him to make her merry jests upon. And as there 
 is no one who so little likes to be made a jest of as 
 those who are apt to take the same liberty them- 
 selves, so it was with Benedick and Beatrice ; these 
 two sharp wits never met in former times but a 
 perfect war of raillery was kept up between them, 
 and they always parted mutually displeased with each 
 other. Therefore when Beatrice stopped him in 
 the middle of his discourse with telling him nobody 
 marked what he was saying, Benedick, affecting 
 not to have observed before that she was present, 
 said, "What, my dear lady Disdain, are you yet 
 living?" And now war broke out afresh between 
 them, and a long jangling argument ensued, during 
 which Beatrice, although she knew he had so well 
 approved his valour in the late war, said that she 
 would eat all he had killed there : and observing 
 the prince take delight in Benedick's conversation, 
 she called him " the prince's jester." This sarcasm 
 sunk deeper into the mind of Benedick than all 
 Beatrice had said before. The hint she gave him 
 that he was a coward, by saying she would eat all 
 he had killed, he did not regard, knowing him-
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 49 
 
 self to be a brave man ; but there is nothing that 
 great wits so much dread as the imputation of buf- 
 foonery, because the charge comes sometimes a 
 little too near the truth : therefore Benedick per- 
 fectly hated Beatrice when she called him " the 
 prince's jester." 
 
 The modest lady Hero was silent before the 
 noble guests; and while Claudio was attentively 
 observing the improvement which time had made 
 in her beauty, and was contemplating the exquisite 
 graces of her fine figure (for she was an admirable 
 young lady), the prince was highly amused with 
 listening to the humorous dialogue between Bene- 
 dick and Beatrice; and he said in a whisper to 
 Leonato, " This is a pleasant-spirited young lady. 
 She were an excellent wife for Benedick." Leonato 
 replied to this suggestion, " O, my lord, my lord, 
 if they were but a week married, they would talk 
 themselves mad." But though Leonato thought 
 they would make a discordant pair, the prince did 
 not give up the idea of matching these two keen 
 wits together. 
 
 When the prince returned with Claudio from 
 the palace, he found that the marriage he had de- 
 vised between Benedick and Beatrice was not the 
 only one projected in that good company, for 
 Claudio spoke in such terms of Hero, as made the 
 prince guess at what was passing in his heart ; and 
 he liked it well, and he said to Claudio, " Do you 
 affect Hero?" To this question Claudio replied, 
 " O my lord, when I was last at Messina, I looked 
 upon her with a soldier's eye, that liked, but had 
 no leisure for loving ; but now, in this happy time 
 
 E
 
 50 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 of peace, thoughts of war have left their places 
 vacant in my mind, and in their room come throng- 
 ing soft and delicate thoughts, all prompting me 
 how fair young Hero is, reminding me that I liked 
 her before I went to the wars." Claudio's confes- 
 sion of his love for Hero so wrought upon the prince, 
 that he lost no time in soliciting the consent of 
 Leonato to accept of Claudio for a son-in-law. 
 Leonato agreed to this proposal, and the prince 
 found no great difficulty in persuading the gentle 
 Hero herself to listen to the suit of the noble 
 Claudio, who was a lord of rare endowments, and 
 highly accomplished, and Claudio, assisted by his 
 kind prince, soon prevailed upon Leonato to fix an 
 early day for the celebration of his marriage with 
 Hero. 
 
 Claudio was to wait but a few days before he 
 was to be married to his fair lady ; yet he com- 
 plained of the interval being tedious, as indeed 
 most young men are impatient when they are 
 waiting for the accomplishment of any event they 
 have set their hearts upon : the prince, therefore, 
 to make the time seem short to him, proposed as 
 a kind of merry pastime that they should invent 
 some artful scheme to make Benedick and Beatrice 
 fall in love with each other. Claudio entered with 
 great satisfaction into this whim of the prince, and 
 Leonato promised them his assistance, and even 
 Hero said she would do any modest office to help 
 her cousin to a good husband. 
 
 The device the prince invented was, that the 
 gentlemen should make Benedick believe that 
 Beatrice was in love with him, and that Hero should
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 51 
 
 make Beatrice believe that Benedick was in love 
 with her. 
 
 The prince, Leonato, and Claudio began their 
 operations first : and watching an opportunity when 
 Benedick was quietly seated reading in an arbour, 
 the prince and his assistants took their station 
 among the trees behind the arbour, so near that 
 Benedick could not choose but hear all they said ; 
 and after some careless talk the prince said, " Come 
 hither, Leonato. What was it you told me the 
 other day that your niece Beatrice was in love 
 with signior Benedick ? I did never think that lady 
 would have loved any man." " No, nor I neither, 
 my lord," answered Leonato. " It is most wonder- 
 ful that she should so dote on Benedick, whom she 
 in all outward behaviour seemed ever to dislike." 
 Claudio confirmed all this with saying that Hero 
 had told him Beatrice was so in love with Benedick, 
 that she would certainly die of grief, if he could 
 not be brought to love her ; which Leonato and 
 Claudio seemed to agree was impossible, he having 
 always been such a railer against all fair ladies, and 
 in particular against Beatrice. 
 
 The prince affected to hearken to all this with 
 great compassion for Beatrice, and he said, "It 
 were good that Benedick were told of this." " To 
 what end?" said Claudio; "he would but make 
 sport of it, and torment the poor lady worse." 
 " And if he should," said the prince, " it were a 
 good deed to hang him ; for Beatrice is an excel- 
 lent sweet lady, and exceeding wise in everything 
 but in loving Benedick." Then the prince 
 motioned to his companions that they should
 
 52 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 walk on, and leave Benedick to meditate upon 
 what he had overheard. 
 
 Benedick had been listening with great eagerness 
 to this conversation ; and he said to himself when 
 he heard Beatrice loved him, "Is it possible? 
 Sits the wind in that corner?" And when they 
 were gone, he began to reason in this manner with 
 himself : " This can be no trick ! they were very 
 serious, and they have the truth from Hero, and 
 seem to pity the lady. Love me ! Why it must 
 be requited ! I did never think to marry. But 
 when I said I should die a bachelor, I did not 
 think I should live to be married. They say the 
 lady is virtuous and fair. She is so. And wise 
 in everything but in loving me. Why, that is no 
 great argument of her folly. But here comes 
 Beatrice. By this day, she is a fair lady. I do 
 spy some marks of love in her." Beatrice now 
 approached him, and said with her usual tartness, 
 " Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to 
 dinner." Benedick, who never felt himself disposed 
 to speak so politely to her before, replied, " Fair 
 Beatrice, I thank you for your pains :" and when 
 Beatrice, after two or three more rude speeches, 
 left him, Benedick thought he observed a concealed 
 meaning of kindness under the uncivil words she 
 uttered, and he said aloud, " If I do not take pity 
 on her, I am a villain. If I do not love her, I am 
 a Jew. I will go get her picture." 
 
 The gentleman being thus caught in the net 
 they had spread for him, it was now Hero's turn 
 to play her part with Beatrice; and for this purpose 
 she sent for Ursula and Margaret, two gentle-
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 53 
 
 women who attended upon her, and she said to 
 Margaret, "Good Margaret, run to the parlour; 
 there you will find my cousin Beatrice talking with 
 the Prince and Claudio. Whisper in her ear, that 
 I and Ursula are walking in the orchard, and that 
 our discourse is all of her. Bid her steal into that 
 pleasant arbour, where honeysuckles, ripened by 
 the sun, like ungrateful minions, forbid the sun to 
 enter." This arbour, into which Hero desired 
 Margaret to entice Beatrice, was the very same 
 pleasant arbour where Benedick had so lately been 
 an attentive listener. 
 
 " I will make her come, I warrant, presently," 
 said Margaret. 
 
 Hero, then taking Ursula with her into the or- 
 chard, said to her, "Now Ursula, when Beatrice 
 comes, we will walk up and down this alley, and 
 our talk must be only of Benedick, and when I 
 name him, let it be your part to praise him more 
 than ever man did merit. My talk to you must 
 be how Benedick is in love with Beatrice. Now 
 begin ; for look where Beatrice like a lapwing runs 
 close by the ground, to hear our conference." 
 They then began ; Hero saying, as if in answer to 
 something which Ursula had said, " No, truly, 
 Ursula. She is too disdainful ; her spirits are as 
 coy as wild birds of the rock." " But are you 
 sure," said Ursula, " that Benedick loves Beatrice 
 so entirely?" Hero replied, "So says the prince, 
 and my lord Claudio, and they entreated me to 
 acquaint her with it ; but I persuaded them, if 
 they loved Benedick, never to let Beatrice know 
 of it" " Certainly," replied Ursula, " it were not
 
 54 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 good she knew his love, lest she made sport of it." 
 " Why, to say truth," said Hero, " I never yet saw 
 a man, how wise soever, or noble, young, or rarely 
 featured, but she would dispraise him." "Sure, 
 sure, such carping is not commendable," said 
 Ursula. " No," replied Hero, " but who dare tell 
 her so ? If I should speak, she would mock me 
 into air." " O ! you wrong your cousin," said 
 Ursula : " she cannot be so much without true 
 judgment, as to refuse so rare a gentleman as 
 signior Benedick." " He hath an excellent good 
 name," said Hero : " indeed, he is the first man in 
 Italy, always excepting my dear Claudio." And 
 now, Hero giving her attendant a hint that it was 
 time to change the discourse, Ursula said, "And 
 when are you to be married, madam?" Hero 
 then told her, that she was to be married to Claudio 
 the next day, and desired she would go in with 
 her, and look at some new attire, as she wished to 
 consult with her on what she would wear on the 
 morrow. Beatrice, who had been listening with 
 breathless eagerness to this dialogue, when they 
 went away, exclaimed, "What fire is in mine ears? 
 Can this be true ? Farewell, contempt and scorn, 
 and maiden pride, adieu ! Benedick, love on ! I 
 will requite you, taming my wild heart to your 
 loving hand." 
 
 It must have been a pleasant sight to see these 
 old enemies converted into new and loving friends, 
 and to behold their first meeting after being cheated 
 into mutual liking by the merry artifice of the 
 good-humoured prince. But a sad reverse in the 
 fortunes of Hero must now be thought of. The
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 55 
 
 morrow, which was to have been her wedding-day, 
 brought sorrow on the heart of Hero and her good 
 father Leonato. 
 
 The prince had a half-brother, who came from 
 the wars along with him to Messina. This brother 
 (his name was Don John) was a melancholy, dis- 
 contented man, whose spirits seemed to labour in 
 the contriving of villanies. He hated the prince 
 his brother, and he hated Claudio, because he was 
 the prince's friend, and determined to prevent 
 Claudio's marriage with Hero, only for the mali- 
 cious pleasure of making Claudio and the prince 
 unhappy; for he knew the prince had set his heart 
 upon this marriage, almost as much as Claudio 
 himself; and to effect this wicked purpose, he 
 employed one Borachio, a man as bad as himself, 
 whom he encouraged with the offer of a great 
 reward. This Borachio paid his court to Margaret, 
 Hero's attendant; and Don John, knowing this, 
 prevailed upon him to make Margaret promise to 
 talk with him from her lady's chamber window 
 that night, after Hero was asleep, and also to dress 
 herself in Hero's clothes, the better to deceive 
 Claudio into the belief that it was Hero ; for that 
 was the end he meant to compass by this wicked 
 plot. 
 
 Don John then went to the prince and Claudio, 
 and told them that Hero was an imprudent lady, 
 and that she talked with men from her chamber- 
 window at midnight. Now this was the evening 
 before the wedding, and he offered to take them 
 that night, where they should themselves hear Hero 
 discoursing with a man from her window; and
 
 56 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 they consented to go along with him, and Claudio 
 said, " If I see anything to-night why I should not 
 marry her, to-morrow in the congregation, where 1 
 intended to wed her, there will I shame her." 
 The prince also said, " And as I assisted you to 
 obtain her, I will join with you to disgrace her." 
 
 When Don John brought them near Hero's 
 chamber that night, they saw Borachio standing 
 under the window, and they saw Margaret looking 
 out of Hero's window, and heard her talking with 
 Borachio : and Margaret being dressed in the same 
 clothes they had seen Hero wear, the prince and 
 Claudio believed it was the lady Hero herself. 
 
 Nothing could equal the anger of Claudio, when 
 he had made (as he thought) this discovery. All 
 his love for the innocent Hero was at once con- 
 verted into hatred, and he resolved to expose her 
 in the church, as he had said he would, the next day; 
 and the prince agreed to this, thinking no punish- 
 ment could be too severe for the naughty lady, who 
 talked with a man from her window the very night 
 before she was going to be married to the noble 
 Claudio. 
 
 The next day, when they were all met to cele- 
 brate the marriage, and Claudio and Hero were 
 standing before the priest, and the priest, or friar, 
 as he was called, was proceeding to pronounce the 
 marriage ceremony, Claudio, in the most passionate 
 language, proclaimed the guilt of the blameless 
 Hero, who, amazed at the strange words he uttered, 
 said meekly, " Is my lord well, that he does speak 
 so wide ?" 
 
 Leonato, in the utmost horror, said to the prince
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 57 
 
 " My lord, why speak not you ?" " What should 
 I speak ?" said the prince ; I stand dishonoured, 
 that have gone about to link my dear friend to an 
 unworthy woman. Leonato, upon my honour, my- 
 self, my brother, and this grieved Claudio, did see 
 and hear her last night at midnight talk with a man 
 at her chamber window." 
 
 Benedick, in astonishment at what he hear'd, 
 said, " This looks not like a nuptial." 
 
 " True, O God!" replied the heart-struck Hero ; 
 and then this hapless lady sunk down in a fainting 
 fit, to all appearance dead. The prince and 
 Claudio left the church, without staying to see if 
 Hero would recover, or at all regarding the distress 
 into which they had thrown Leonato. So hard- 
 hearted had their anger made them. 
 
 Benedick remained, and assisted Beatrice to re- 
 cover Hero from her swoon, saying, " How does the 
 lady?" " Dead, I think," replied Beatrice in great 
 agony, for she loved her cousin ; and knowing her 
 virtuous principles, she believed nothing of what 
 she had heard spoken against her. Not so the 
 poor old father ; he believed the story of his child's 
 shame, and it was piteous to hear him lamenting 
 over her, as she lay like one dead before him, wish- 
 ing she might never more open her eyes. 
 
 But the ancient friar was a wise man, and full 
 of observation on human nature, and he had atten- 
 tively marked the lady's countenance when she 
 heard herself accused, and noted a thousand blush- 
 ing shames to start into her face, and then he saw 
 an angel-like whiteness bear away those blushes, 
 and in her eye he saw a fire that did belie the error
 
 8 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 that the prince did speak against her maiden truth, 
 and he said to the sorrowing father, " Call me a 
 fool ; trust not my reading, nor my observation ; 
 trust not my age, my reverence, nor my calling, if 
 this sweet lady lie not guiltless here under some 
 biting error." 
 
 When Hero had recovered from the swoon into 
 which she had fallen, the friar said to her, " Lady, 
 what man is he you are accused of?" Hero re- 
 plied, " they know that do accuse me ; I know of 
 none :" then turning to Leonato, she said, " O my 
 father, if you can prove that any man has ever 
 conversed with me at hours unmeet, or that I 
 yesternight changed words with any creature, refuse 
 me, hate me, torture me to death." 
 
 " There is," said the friar, " some strange mis- 
 understanding in the prince and Claudio ; and then 
 he counselled Leonato, that he should report that 
 Hero was dead ; and he said that the death-like 
 swoon in which they had left Hero would make 
 this easy of belief; and he also advised him that 
 he should put on mourning, and erect a monument 
 for her, and do all rites that appertain to a burial. 
 "What shall become of this?" said Leonato; 
 "What will this do?" The friar replied, "This 
 report of her death shall change slander into pity : 
 that is some good ; but that is not all the good I 
 hope for. When Claudio shall hear she died upon 
 hearing his words, the idea of her life shall sweetly 
 creep into his imagination. Then shall he mourn, 
 if ever love had interest in his heart, and wish that 
 he had not so accused her ; yea, though he thought 
 his accusation true."
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 59 
 
 Benedick now said, " Leonato, let the friar advise 
 you ; and though you know how well I love the 
 prince and Claudio, yet on my honour I will not 
 reveal this secret to them." 
 
 Leonato, thus persuaded, yielded; and he said 
 sorrowfully, "I am so grieved, that the smallest 
 twine may lead me." The kind friar then led 
 Leonato and Hero away to comfort and console 
 them, and Beatrice and Benedick remained alone ; 
 and this was the meeting from which their friends, 
 who contrived the merry plot against them, expected 
 so much diversion ; those friends who were now 
 overwhelmed with affliction, and from whose minds 
 all thoughts of merriment seemed for ever banished. 
 
 Benedick was the first who spoke, and he said, 
 "Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?" 
 " Yea, and I will weep a while longer," said Beatrice. 
 " Surely," said Benedick, " I do believe your fair 
 cousin is wronged." "Ah!" said Beatrice, "how 
 much might that man deserve of me who would 
 right her!" Benedick then said, "Is there any 
 way to show such friendship ?" I do love nothing 
 in the world so well as you : is not that strange?" 
 " It were as possible," said Beatrice, " for me to 
 say I loved nothing in the world 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 
 cousia" "By my sword," said Benedick, "you 
 love me, and I protest I love you. Come, bid me 
 do anything for you." " Kill Claudio," said Beatrice. 
 " Ha ! not for the wide world," said Benedick ; for 
 he loved his friend Claudio, and he believed he 
 had been imposed upon. " Is not Claudio a
 
 60 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 villain, that has slandered, scorned, and dis- 
 honoured my cousin?" said Beatrice: " O that I 
 were a man ! " " Hear me, Beatrice ! " said Bene- 
 dick. But Beatrice would hear nothing in Claudio's 
 defence ; and she continued to urge on Benedick 
 to revenge her cousin's wrongs : and she said, 
 " Talk with a man out of the window ; a proper 
 saying ! Sweet Hero ! she is wronged ; she is 
 slandered ; she is undone. O that I were a man 
 for Claudio's sake ! or that I had any friend, who 
 would be a man for my sake ! but valour is melted 
 into courtesies and compliments. I cannot be a 
 man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman 
 with grieving." " Tarry, good Beatrice," said 
 Benedick : " by this hand I love you." " Use it 
 for my love some other way than swearing by it," 
 said Beatrice. "Think you on your soul, that 
 Claudio has wronged Hero?" asked Benedick. 
 " Yea," answered Beatrice ; " as sure as I have a 
 thought, or a soul." " Enough," said Benedick ; " I 
 am engaged; I will challenge him. I will kiss your 
 hand, and so leave you. By this hand, Claudio 
 shall render me a dear account 1 As you hear from 
 me, so think of me. Go, comfort your cousin." 
 
 While Beatrice was thus powerfully pleading with 
 Benedick, and working his gallant temper by the 
 spirit of her angry words, to engage in the cause 
 of Hero, and fight even with his dear friend 
 Claudio, Leonato was challenging the prince and 
 Claudio to answer with their swords the injury they 
 had done his child, who, he affirmed, had died for 
 grief. But they respected his age and his sorrow, 
 and they said, " Nay, do not quarrel with us, good
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 61 
 
 old man." And now came Benedick, and he also 
 challenged Claudio to answer with his sword the 
 injury he had done to Hero ; and Claudio and the 
 prince said to each other, " Beatrice has set him 
 on to do this." Claudio nevertheless must have 
 accepted this challenge of Benedick, had not the 
 justice of Heaven at the moment brought to pass 
 a better proof of the innocence of Hero than the 
 uncertain fortune of a duel. 
 
 While the prince and Claudio were yet talking 
 of the challenge of Benedick, a magistrate brought 
 Borachio as a prisoner before the prince. Borachio 
 had been overheard talking with one of his com- 
 panions of the mischief he had been employed by 
 Don John to do. 
 
 Borachio made a full confession to the prince 
 in Claudio's hearing, that it was Margaret dressed 
 in her lady's clothes that he had talked with from 
 the window, whom they had mistaken for the lady 
 Hero herself; and no doubt continued on the 
 minds of Claudio and the prince of the innocence 
 of Hero. If a suspicion had remained it must 
 have been removed by the flight of Don John, 
 who, finding his villanies were detected, fled from 
 Messina to avoid the just anger of his brother. 
 
 The heart of Claudio was sorely grieved when he 
 found he had falsely accused Hero, who, he thought, 
 died upon hearing his cruel words; and the memory 
 of his beloved Hero's image came over him, in 
 the rare semblance that he loved it first ; and the 
 prince asking him if what he heard did not run like 
 iron through his soul, he answered, that he felt as if 
 he had taken poison while Borachio was speaking.
 
 62 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 And the repentant Claudio implored forgiveness 
 of the old man Leonato for the injury he had done 
 his child ; and promised, that whatever penance 
 Leonato would lay upon him for his fault in believ- 
 ing the false accusation against his betrothed wife, 
 for her dear sake he would endure it. 
 
 The penance Leonato enjoined him was, to 
 marry the next morning a cousin of Hero's, who, 
 he said, was now his heir, and in person very like 
 Hero. Claudio, regarding the solemn promise he 
 made to Leonato, said, he would marry this 
 unknown lady, even though she were an Ethiop : 
 but his heart was very sorrowful, and he passed 
 that night in tears, and in remorseful grief, at the 
 tomb which Leonato had erected for Hero. 
 
 When the morning came, the prince accom- 
 panied Claudio to the church, where the good 
 friar, and Leonato and his niece, were already 
 assembled, to celebrate a second nuptial; and 
 Leonato presented to Claudio his promised bride ; 
 and she wore a mask, that Claudio might not dis- 
 cover her face. And Claudio said to the lady in 
 the mask, " Give me your hand, before this holy 
 friar; I am your husband, if you will marry me." 
 " And when I lived I was your other wife," said 
 this unknown lady ; and, taking off her mask, she 
 proved to be no niece (as was pretended), but 
 Leonato's very daughter, the lady Hero herself. 
 We may be sure that this proved a most agreeable 
 surprise to Claudio, who thought her dead, so that 
 he could scarcely for joy believe his eyes ; and the 
 prince, who was equally amazed at what he saw, 
 exclaimed, "Is not this Hero, Hero that was dead?"
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 63 
 
 Leonato replied, "She died, my lord, but while 
 her slander lived." The friar promised them an 
 explanation of this seeming miracle, after the 
 ceremony was ended; and was proceeding to 
 marry them, when he was interrupted by Benedick, 
 who desired to be married at the same time to 
 Beatrice. Beatrice making some demur to this 
 match, and Benedick challenging her with her love 
 for him, which he had learned from Hero, a pleasant 
 explanation took place ; and they found they had 
 both been tricked into a belief of love, which had 
 never existed, and had become lovers in truth by 
 the power of a false jest : but the affection, which 
 a merry invention had cheated them into, was 
 grown too powerful to be shaken by a serious 
 explanation; and since Benedick proposed to 
 marry, he was resolved to think nothing to the 
 purpose that the world could say against it ; and 
 he merrily kept up the jest, and swore to Beatrice, 
 that he took her but for pity, and because he heard 
 she was dying of love for him ; and Beatrice pro- 
 tested, that she yielded but upon great persuasion, 
 and partly to save his life, for she heard he was in 
 a consumption. So these two mad wits were recon- 
 ciled, and made a match of it, after Claudio and 
 Hero were married ; and to complete the history, 
 Don John, the contriver of the villany, was taken 
 in his flight, and brought back to Messina ; and a 
 brave punishment it was to this gloomy, discon- 
 tented man, to see the joy and feastings which, by 
 the disappointment of his plots, took place at 
 the palace in Messina.
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 TOURING the time that France was divided 
 *-' into provinces (or dukedoms as they were 
 called) there reigned in one of these provinces an 
 usurper, who had deposed and banished his elder 
 brother, the lawful duke. 
 
 The duke, who was thus driven from his domin- 
 ions, retired with a few faithful followers to the 
 forest of Arden; and here the good duke lived 
 with his loving friends, who had put themselves 
 into a voluntary exile for his sake, while their land 
 and revenues enriched the false usurper ; and cus- 
 tom soon made the life of careless ease they led 
 here more sweet to them than the pomp and 
 uneasy splendour of a courtier's life. Here they 
 lived like the old Robin Hood of England, and 
 to this forest many noble youths daily resorted from 
 the court, and did fleet the time carelessly, as they 
 did who lived in the golden age. In the summer 
 they lay along under the fine shade of the large 
 forest trees, marking the playful sports of the wild 
 deer ; and so fond were they of these poor dappled 
 fools, who seemed to be the native inhabitants of 
 the forest, that it grieved them to be forced to kill 
 them to supply themselves with venison for their
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 65 
 
 food When the cold winds of winter made the 
 duke feel the change of his adverse fortune, he 
 would endure it patiently, and say, " These chilling 
 winds which blow upon my body are true coun- 
 sellors ; they do not flatter, but represent truly to 
 me my condition ; and though they bite sharply, 
 their tooth is nothing like so keen as that of 
 unkindness and ingratitude. I find that howsoever 
 men speak against adversity, yet some sweet uses 
 are to be extracted from it ; like the jewel, pre- 
 cious for medicine, which is taken from the head 
 of the venomous and despised toad." In this 
 manner did the patient duke draw a useful moral 
 from everything that he saw ; and by the help of 
 this moralising turn, in that life of his, remote from 
 public haunts, he could find tongues in trees, 
 books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, 
 and good in everything. 
 
 The banished duke had an only daughter, 
 named Rosalind, whom the usurper, duke Fred- 
 erick, when he banished her father, still retained 
 in his court as a companion for his own daughter 
 Celia. A strict friendship subsisted between these 
 ladies, which the disagreement between their fathers 
 did not in the least interrupt, Celia striving by 
 every kindness in her power to make amends to 
 Rosalind for the injustice of her own father in 
 deposing the father of Rosalind ; and whenever 
 the thoughts of her father's banishment, and her 
 own dependence on the false usurper, made Rosa- 
 lind melancholy, Celia's whole care was to comfort 
 and console her. 
 
 One day, when Celia was talking in her usual
 
 66 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 kind manner to Rosalind, saying, "I pray you, 
 Rosalind, my sweet cousin, be merry," a messenger 
 entered from the duke, to tell them that if they 
 wished to see a wrestling match, which was just 
 going to begin, they must come instantly to the 
 court before the palace; and Celia, thinking it 
 would amuse Rosalind, agreed to go and see it 
 
 In those times wrestling, which is only practised 
 now by country clowns, was a favourite sport even 
 in the courts of princes, and before fair ladies and 
 princesses. To this wrestling match, therefore, Celia 
 and Rosalind went They found that it was likely 
 to prove a very tragical sight; for a large and 
 powerful man, who had been long practised in the 
 art of wrestling, and had slain many men in con- 
 tests of this kind, was just going to wrestle with a 
 very young man, who, from his extreme youth and 
 inexperience in the art, the beholders all thought 
 would certainly be killed. 
 
 When the duke saw Celia and Rosalind, he said, 
 "How now, daughter and niece, are you crept 
 hither to see the wrestling? You will take little 
 delight in it, there is such odds in the men : in 
 pity to this young man, I would wish to persuade 
 him from wrestling. Speak to him, ladies, and see 
 if you can move him." 
 
 The ladies were well pleased to perform this 
 humane office, and first Celia entreated the young 
 stranger that he would desist from the attempt ; 
 and then Rosalind spoke so kindly to him, and 
 with such feeling consideration for the danger he 
 was about to undergo, that instead of being per- 
 suaded by her gentle words to forego his purpose,
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 67 
 
 all his thoughts were bent to distinguish himself by 
 his courage in this lovely lady's eyes. He refused 
 the request of Celia and Rosalind in such graceful 
 and modest words, that they felt still more concern 
 for him ; he concluded his refusal with saying, " I 
 am sorry to deny such fair and excellent ladies any- 
 thing. But let your fair eyes and gentle wishes go 
 with me to my trial, wherein if I be conquered there 
 is one shamed that was never gracious ; if I am 
 killed, there is one dead that is willing to die ; I 
 shall do my friends no wrong, for I have none to 
 lament me ; the world no injury, for in it I have 
 nothing; for I only fill up a place in the world 
 which may be better supplied when I have made 
 it empty." 
 
 And now the wrestling match began. Celia 
 wished the young stranger might not be hurt ; but 
 Rosalind felt most for him. The friendless state 
 which he said he was in, and that he wished to 
 die, made Rosalind think that he was like her- 
 self, unfortunate; and she pitied him so much, 
 and so deep an interest she took in his danger 
 while he was wrestling, that she might almost be 
 said at that moment to have fallen in love with 
 him. 
 
 The kindness shown this unknown youth by 
 these fair and noble ladies gave him courage and 
 strength, so that he performed wonders ; and in 
 the end completely conquered his antagonist, who 
 was so much hurt, that for a while he was unable to 
 speak or move. 
 
 The duke Frederick was much pleased with the 
 courage and skill shown by this young stranger ;
 
 68 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 and desired to know his name and parentage, 
 meaning to take him under his protection. 
 
 The stranger said his name was Orlando, and 
 that he was the youngest son of Sir Rowland deBoys. 
 
 Sir Rowland de Boys, the father of Orlando, had 
 been dead some years ; but when he was living, he 
 had been a true subject and dear friend of the 
 banished duke : therefore, when Frederick heard 
 Orlando was the son of his banished brother's friend, 
 all his liking for this brave young man was changed 
 into displeasure, and he left the place in very ill 
 humour. Hating to hear the very name of any of 
 his brother's friends, and yet still admiring the 
 valour of the youth, he said, as he went out, that 
 he wished Orlando had been the son of any other 
 man. 
 
 Rosalind was delighted to hear that her new 
 favourite was the son of her father's old friend ; and 
 she said to Celia, " My father loved Sir Rowland 
 de Boys, and if I had known this young man was 
 his son, I would have added tears to my entreaties 
 before he should have ventured." 
 
 The ladies then went up to him ; and seeing 
 him abashed by the sudden displeasure shown by 
 the duke, they spoke kind and encouraging words 
 to him ; and Rosalind, when they were going away, 
 turned back to speak some more civil things to the 
 brave young son of her father's old friend ; and 
 taking a chain from off her neck, she said, " Gentle- 
 man, wear this for me. I am out of suits with for- 
 tune, or I would give you a more valuable present" 
 
 When the ladies were alone, Rosalind's talk being 
 still of Orlando, Celia began to perceive her cousin
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 69 
 
 had fallen in love with the handsome young wrestler, 
 and she said to Rosalind, " Is it possible you should 
 fall in love so suddenly?" .Rosalind replied, " The 
 duke, my father, loved his father dearly." "But," 
 said Celia, " does it therefore follow that you should 
 love his son dearly? for then I ought to hate him, 
 for my father hated his father ; yet I do not hate 
 Orlando." 
 
 Frederick being enraged at the sight of Sir Row- 
 land de Boys' son, which reminded him of the many 
 friends the banished duke had among the nobility, 
 and having been for some time displeased with his 
 niece, because the people praised her for her virtues, 
 and pitied her for her good father's sake, his malice 
 suddenly broke out against her ; and while Celia 
 and Rosalind were talking of Orlando, Frederick 
 entered the room, and with looks full of anger 
 ordered Rosalind instantly to leave the palace, and 
 follow her father into banishment; telling Celia, 
 who in vain pleaded for her, that he had only suf- 
 fered Rosalind to stay upon her account. " I did 
 not then," said Celia, " entreat you to let her stay, 
 for I was too young at that time to value her ; but 
 now that I know her worth, and that we so long 
 have slept together, rose at the same instant, learned, 
 played, and eat together, I cannot live out of her 
 company." Frederick replied, " She is too subtle 
 for you ; her smoothness, her very silence, and her 
 patience speak to the people, and they pity her. 
 You are a fool to plead for her, for you will seem 
 more bright and virtuous when she is gone ; there- 
 fore open not your lips in her favour, for the 
 doom which I have passed upon her is irrevocable."
 
 70 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 When Celia found she could not prevail upon 
 her father to let Rosalind remain with her, she 
 generously resolved to accompany her ; and leaving 
 her father's palace that night, she went along with 
 her friend to seek Rosalind's father, the banished 
 duke, in the forest of Arden. 
 
 Before they set out, Celia considered that it 
 would be unsafe for two young ladies to travel in 
 the rich clothes they then wore ; she therefore pro- 
 posed that they should disguise their rank by dress- 
 ing themselves like country maids. Rosalind said 
 it would be a still greater protection if one of them 
 was to be dressed like a man ; and so it was quickly 
 agreed on between them, that as Rosalind was the 
 tallest, she should wear the dress of a young country- 
 man, and Celia should be habited like a country 
 lass, and that they should say they were brother 
 and sister, and Rosalind said she would be called 
 Ganymede, and Celia chose the name of Aliena. 
 
 In this disguise, and taking their money and 
 jewels to defray their expenses, these fair prin- 
 cesses set out on their long travel ; for the forest 
 of Arden was a long way off, beyond the boundaries 
 of the duke's dominions. 
 
 The lady Rosalind (or Ganymede as she must 
 now be called) with her manly garb seemed to 
 have put on a manly courage. The faithful friend- 
 ship Celia had shown in accompanying Rosalind 
 so many weary miles, made the new brother, in 
 recompense for this true love, exert a cheerful 
 spirit, as if he were indeed Ganymede, the rustic 
 and stout-hearted brother of the gentle village 
 maiden, Aliena.
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 71 
 
 When at last they came to the forest of Arden, 
 they no longer found the convenient inns and good 
 accommodations they had met with on the road ; 
 and being in want of food and rest, Ganymede, who 
 had so merrily cheered his sister with pleasant 
 speeches and happy remarks all the way, now 
 owned to Aliena that he was so weary, he could 
 find in his heart to disgrace his man's apparel, and 
 cry like a woman ; and Aliena declared she could 
 go no farther ; and then again Ganymede tried to 
 recollect that it was a man's duty to comfort and 
 console a woman, as the weaker vessel; and to 
 seem courageous to his new sister, he said, " Come, 
 have a good heart, my sister Aliena ; we are now 
 at the end of our travel, in the forest of Arden." 
 But feigned manliness and forced courage would 
 no longer support them ; for though they were in 
 the forest of Arden, they knew not where to find 
 the duke : and here the travel of these weary ladies 
 might have come to a sad conclusion, for they 
 might have lost themselves, and perished for want 
 of food; but providentially, as they were sitting 
 on the grass, almost dying with fatigue and hope- 
 less of any relief, a countryman chanced to pass 
 that way, and Ganymede once more tried to speak 
 with a manly boldness, saying, " Shepherd, if love 
 or gold can in this desert place procure us enter- 
 tainment, I pray you bring us where we may rest 
 ourselves ; for this young maid, my sister, is much 
 fatigued with travelling, and faints for want of 
 food." 
 
 The man replied, that he was only a servant to 
 a shepherd, and that his master's house was just
 
 72 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 going to be sold, and therefore they would find 
 but poor entertainment ; but that if they would go 
 with him, they should be welcome to what there 
 was. They followed the man, the near prospect 
 of relief giving them fresh strength ; and bought 
 the house and sheep of the shepherd, and took 
 the man who conducted them to the shepherd's 
 house to wait on them ; and being by this means 
 so fortunately provided with a neat cottage, and 
 well supplied with provisions, they agreed to stay 
 here till they could learn in what part of the forest 
 the duke dwelt 
 
 When they were rested after the fatigue of their 
 journey, they began to like their new way of life, 
 and almost fancied themselves the shepherd and 
 shepherdess they feigned to be; yet sometimes 
 Ganymede remembered he had once been the same 
 lady Rosalind who had so dearly loved the brave 
 Orlando, because he was the son of old Sir Rowland, 
 her father's friend ; and though Ganymede thought 
 that Orlando was many miles distant, even so 
 many weary miles as they had travelled, yet it 
 soon appeared that Orlando was also in the forest 
 of Arden : and in this manner this strange event 
 came to pass. 
 
 Orlando was the youngest son of Sir Rowland 
 de Boys, who, when he died, left him (Orlando 
 being then very young) to the care of his eldest 
 brother Oliver, charging Oliver on his blessing to 
 give his brother a good education, and provide for 
 him as became the dignity of their ancient house. 
 Oliver proved an unworthy brother ; and disre- 
 garding the commands of his dying father, he
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 73 
 
 never put his brother to school, but kept him at 
 home untaught and entirely neglected. But in 
 his nature and in the noble qualities of his mind 
 Orlando so much resembled his excellent father, 
 that without any advantages of education he seemed 
 like a youth who had been bred with the utmost 
 care ; and Oliver so envied the fine person and 
 dignified manners of his untutored brother, that at 
 last he wished to destroy him ; and to effect this 
 he set on people to persuade him to wrestle with 
 the famous wrestler, who, as has been before 
 related, had killed so many men. Now, it was 
 this cruel brother's neglect of him which made 
 Orlando say he wished to die, being so friendless. 
 When, contrary to the wicked hopes he had 
 formed, his brother proved victorious, his envy 
 and malice knew no bounds, and he swore he 
 would burn the chamber where Orlando slept. 
 He was overheard making this vow by one that 
 had been an old and faithful servant to their father, 
 and that loved Orlando because he resembled Sir 
 Rowland. This old man went out to meet him 
 when he returned from the duke's palace, and when 
 he saw -Orlando, the peril his dear young master 
 was in made him break out into these passionate 
 exclamations : " O my gentle master, my sweet 
 master, O you memory of old Sir Rowland ! why 
 are you virtuous? why are you gentle, strong, and 
 valiant ? and why would you be so fond to over- 
 come the famous wrestler ? Your praise is come 
 too swiftly home before you." Orlando, wonder- 
 ing what all this meant, asked him what was the 
 matter. And then the old man told him how his
 
 74 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 wicked brother, envying the love all people bore 
 him, and now hearing the fame he had gained by 
 his victory in the duke's palace, intended to destroy 
 him, by setting fire to his chamber that night ; 
 and in conclusion, advised him to escape the danger 
 he was in by instant flight ; and knowing Orlando 
 had no money, Adam (for that was the good old 
 man's name) had brought out with him his own 
 little hoard, and he said, " I have five hundred 
 crowns, the thrifty hire I saved under your father, 
 and laid by to be provision for me when my old 
 limbs should become unfit for service ; take that, 
 and he that doth the ravens feed be comfort to 
 my age ! Here is the gold ; all this I give to 
 you : let me" be your servant ; though I look old 
 I will do the service of a younger man in all your 
 business and necessities." "O good old man!" 
 said Orlando, " how well appears in you the con- 
 stant service of the old world ! You are not for 
 the fashion of these times. We will go along to- 
 gether, and before your youthful wages are spent, 
 I shall light upon some means for both our main- 
 tenance." 
 
 Together then this faithful servant and his loved 
 master set out ; and Orlando and Adam travelled on, 
 uncertain what course to pursue, till they came to 
 the forest of Arden, and there they found them- 
 selves in the same distress for want of food that 
 Ganymede and Aliena had been. They wandered 
 on, seeking some human habitation, till they were 
 almost spent with hunger and fatigue. Adam at 
 last said, " O my dear master, I die for want of 
 food, I can go no farther ! " He then laid himself
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 75 
 
 down, thinking to make that place his grave, and 
 bade his dear master farewell. Orlando, seeing him 
 in this weak state, took his old servant up in his 
 arms, and carried him under the shelter of some 
 pleasant trees ; and he said to him, " Cheerly, old 
 Adam, rest your weary limbs here awhile, and do 
 not talk of dying ! " 
 
 Orlando then searched about to find some food, 
 and he happened to arrive at that part of the forest 
 where the duke was ; and he and his friends were 
 just going to eat their dinner, this royal duke being 
 seated on the grass, under no other canopy than the 
 shady covert of some large trees. 
 
 Orlando, whom hunger had made desperate, drew 
 his sword, intending to take their meat by force, 
 and said, " Forbear and eat no more ; I must have 
 your food ! " The duke asked him, if distress had 
 made him so bold, or if he were a rude despiser of 
 good manners ? On this Orlando said, he was dying 
 with hunger ; and then the duke told him he was 
 welcome to sit down and eat with them. Orlando 
 hearing him speak so gently, put up his sword, and 
 blushed with shame at the rude manner in which 
 he had demanded their food. " Pardon me, I pray 
 you," said he : "I thought that all things had been 
 savage here, and therefore I put on the countenance 
 of stern command ; but whatever men you are, that 
 in this desert, under the shade of melancholy boughs, 
 lose and neglect the creeping hours of time ; if ever 
 you have looked on better days ; if ever you have 
 been where bells have knolled to church ; if you 
 have ever sat at any good man's feast ; if ever from 
 your eyelids you have wiped a tear, and know what
 
 76 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 it is to pity or be pitied, may gentle speeches now 
 move you to do me human courtesy ! " The duke 
 replied, " True it is that we are men (as you say) 
 who have seen better days, and though we have now 
 our habitation in this wild forest, we have lived in 
 towns and cities, and have with holy bell been 
 knolled to church, have sat at good men's feasts, 
 and from our eyes have wiped the drops which 
 sacred pity has engendered ; therefore sit you down, 
 and take of our refreshment as much as will minis- 
 ter to your wants." " There is an old poor man," 
 answered Orlando, " who has limped after me many 
 a weary step in pure love, oppressed at once with 
 two sad infirmities, age and hunger ; till he be satis- 
 fied, I must not touch a bit" " Go, find him out, 
 and bring him hither," said the duke ; "we will 
 forbear to eat till you return." Then Orlando went 
 like a doe to find its fawn and give it food ; and 
 presently returned, bringing Adam in his arms ; and 
 the duke said, " Set down your venerable burthen ; 
 you are both welcome :" and they fed the old man, 
 and cheered his heart, and he revived, and recovered 
 his health and strength again. 
 
 The duke inquired who Orlando was ; and when 
 he found that he was the son of his old friend, Sir 
 Rowland de Boys, he took him under his protection, 
 and Orlando and his old servant lived with the duke 
 in the forest 
 
 Orlando arrived in the forest not many days after 
 Ganymede and Aliena came there, and (as has been 
 before related) bought the shepherd's cottage. 
 
 Ganymede and Aliena were strangely surprised to 
 find the name of Rosalind carved on the trees, and
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 77 
 
 love-sonnets, fastened to them, all addressed to Rosa- 
 lind ; and while they were wondering how this could 
 be, they met Orlando, and they perceived the chain 
 which Rosalind had given him about his neck. 
 
 Orlando little thought that Ganymede was the fair 
 princess Rosalind, who, by her noble condescension 
 and favour, had so won his heart that he passed his 
 whole time in carving her name upon the trees, 
 and writing sonnets in praise of her beauty : but 
 being much pleased with the graceful air of this 
 pretty shepherd-youth, he entered into conversation 
 with him, and he thought he saw a likeness in 
 Ganymede to his beloved Rosalind, but that he had 
 none of the dignified deportment of that noble 
 lady ; for Ganymede assumed the forward manners 
 often seen in youths when they are between boys 
 and men, and with much archness and humour 
 talked to Orlando of a certain lover, " who," said 
 he, " haunts our forest, and spoils our young trees 
 with carving Rosalind upon their barks ; and he 
 hangs odes upon hawthorns, and elegies on 
 brambles, all praising this same Rosalind. If I 
 could find this lover, I would give him some good 
 counsel that would soon cure him of his love." 
 
 Orlando confessed that he was the fond lover of 
 whom he spoke, and asked Ganymede to give him 
 the good counsel he talked of. The remedy Gany- 
 mede proposed, and the counsel he gave him, was 
 that Orlando should come every day to the cot- 
 tage where he and his sister Aliena dwelt : " And 
 then," said Ganymede, " I will feign myself to be 
 Rosalind, and you shall feign to court me in the 
 same manner as you would do if I was Rosalind,
 
 78 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 and then I will imitate the fantastic ways of whim- 
 sical ladies to their lovers, till I make you ashamed 
 of your love ; and this is the way I propose to cure 
 you." Orlando had no great faith in the remedy, 
 yet he agreed to come every day to Ganymede's cot- 
 tage, and feign a playful courtship ; and every day 
 Orlando visited Ganymede and Aliena, and Orlando 
 called the shepherd Ganymede his Rosalind, and 
 every day talked over all the fine words and flatter- 
 ing compliments which young men delight to use 
 when they court their mistresses. It does not 
 appear, however, that Ganymede made any progress 
 in curing Orlando of his love for Rosalind. 
 
 Though Orlando thought all this was but a sport- 
 ive play (not dreaming that Ganymede was his very 
 Rosalind), yet the opportunity it gave him of say- 
 ing all the fond things he had in his heart, pleased 
 his fancy almost as well as it did Ganymede's, who 
 enjoyed the secret jest in knowing these fine love- 
 speeches were all addressed to the right person. 
 
 In this manner many days passed pleasantly on 
 with these young people; and the good-natured 
 Aliena, seeing it made Ganymede happy, let him 
 have his own way, and was diverted at the mock- 
 courtship, and did not care to remind Ganymede 
 that the lady Rosalind had not yet made herself 
 known to the duke her father, whose place of resort 
 in the forest they had learnt from Orlando. 
 Ganymede met the duke one day, and had some 
 talk with him, and the duke asked of what parent- 
 age he came. Ganymede answered that he came 
 of as good parentage as he did, which made the 
 duke smile, for he did not suspect the pretty
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 79 
 
 shepherd-boy came of royal lineage. Then seeing 
 the duke look well and happy, Ganymede was con- 
 tent to put off all further explanation for a few 
 days longer. 
 
 One morning, as Orlando was going to visit Ga- 
 nymede, he saw a man lying asleep on the ground, 
 and a large green snake had twisted itself about his 
 neck. The snake, seeing Orlando approach, glided 
 away among the bushes. Orlando went nearer, 
 and then he discovered a lioness lie crouching, with 
 her head on the ground, with a cat-like watch, 
 waiting till the sleeping man awaked (for it is said 
 that lions will prey on nothing that is dead or sleep- 
 ing). It seemed as if Orlando was sent by Pro- 
 vidence to free the man from the danger of the 
 snake and lioness ; but when Orlando looked in the 
 man's face, he perceived that the sleeper who was 
 exposed to this double peril, was his own brother 
 Oliver, who had so cruelly used him, and had threat- 
 ened to destroy him by fire ; and he was almost 
 tempted to leave him a prey to the hungry lioness ; 
 but brotherly affection and the gentleness of his na- 
 ture soon overcame his first anger against his 
 brother ; and he drew his sword, and attacked the 
 lioness, and slew her, and thus preserved his 
 brother's life both from the venomous snake and 
 from the furious lioness : but before Orlando could 
 conquer the lioness, she had torn one of his arms 
 with her sharp claws. 
 
 While Orlando was engaged with the lioness, 
 Oliver awaked, and perceiving that his brother Or- 
 lando, whom he had so cruelly treated, was saving 
 him from the fury of a wild beast at the risk of his
 
 8o TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 own life, shame and remorse at once seized him, 
 and he repented of his unworthy conduct, and be- 
 sought with many tears his brother's pardon for the 
 injuries he had done him. Orlando rejoiced to see 
 him so penitent, and readily forgave him : they em- 
 braced each other ; and from that hour Oliver loved 
 Orlando with a true brotherly affection, though he 
 had come to the forest bent on his destructioa 
 
 The wound in Orlando's arm having bled very 
 much, he found himself too weak to go to visit 
 Ganymede, and therefore he desired his brother to 
 go and tell Ganymede, "whom," said Orlando, "I 
 in sport do call my Rosalind," the accident which 
 had befallen him. 
 
 Thither then Oliver went, and told to Ganymede 
 and Aliena how Orlando had saved his life : and 
 when he had finished the story of Orlando's bravery, 
 and his own providential escape, he owned to them 
 that he was Orlando's brother, who had so cruelly 
 used him ; and then he told them of their recon- 
 ciliation. 
 
 The sincere sorrow that Oliver expressed for his 
 offences made such a lively impression on the kind 
 heart of Aliena, that she instantly fell in love with 
 him ; and Oliver observing how much she pitied 
 the distress he told her he felt for his fault, he as 
 suddenly fell in love with her. But while love was 
 thus stealing into the hearts of Aliena and Oliver, 
 he was no less busy with Ganymede, who hearing of 
 the danger Orlando had been in, and that he was 
 wounded by the lioness, fainted ; and when he re- 
 covered, he pretended that he had counterfeited 
 the swoon in the imaginary character of Rosalind,
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 81 
 
 and Ganymede said to Oliver, " Tell your brother 
 Orlando how well I counterfeited a swoon." But 
 Oliver saw by the paleness of his complexion that 
 he did really faint, and much wondering at the 
 weakness of the young man, he said, " Well, if 
 you did counterfeit, take a good heart, and counter- 
 feit to be a man." " So I do," replied Ganymede, 
 truly, " but I should have been a woman by right." 
 
 Oliver made this visit a very long one, and when 
 at last he returned back to his brother, he had 
 much news to tell him ; for besides the account of 
 Ganymede's fainting at the hearing that Orlando was 
 wounded, Oliver told him how he had fallen in 
 love with the fair shepherdess Aliena, and that she 
 had lent a favourable ear to his suit, even in this 
 their first interview ; and he talked to his brother, 
 as of a thing almost settled, that he should marry 
 Aliena, saying, that he so well loved her, that he 
 would live here as a shepherd, and settle his estate 
 and house at home upon Orlando. 
 
 " You have my consent," said Orlando. " Let 
 your wedding be to-morrow, and I will invite the 
 duke and his friends. Go and persuade your shep- 
 herdess to agree to this : she is now alone ; for 
 look, here comes her brother." Oliver went to 
 Aliena ; and Ganymede, whom Orlando had per- 
 ceived approaching, came to inquire after the health 
 of his wounded friend. 
 
 When Orlando and Ganymede began to talk over 
 the sudden love which had taken place between 
 Oliver and Aliena, Orlando said he had advised his 
 brother to persuade his fair shepherdess to be mar- 
 ried on the morrow, and then he added how much 
 
 G
 
 82 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 he could wish to be married on the same day to 
 his Rosalind. 
 
 Ganymede, who well approved of this arrange- 
 ment, said that if Orlando really loved Rosalind as 
 well as he professed to do, he should have his wish ; 
 for on the morrow he would engage to make Rosa- 
 lind appear in her own person, and also that Rosa- 
 lind should be willing to marry Orlando. 
 
 This seemingly wonderful event, which, as Gany- 
 mede was the lady Rosalind, he could so easily per- 
 form, he pretended he would bring to pass by the 
 aid of magic, which he said he had learnt of an 
 uncle who was a famous magician. 
 
 The fond lover Orlando, half believing and half 
 doubting what he heard, asked Ganymede if he 
 spoke in sober meaning. " By my life I do," said 
 Ganymede ; " therefore put on your best clothes, 
 and bid the duke and your friends to your wedding ; 
 for if you desire to be married to-morrow to Rosa- 
 lind, she shall be here." 
 
 The next morning, Oliver having obtained the 
 consent of Aliena, they came into the presence of 
 the duke, and with them also came Orlando. 
 
 They being all assembled to celebrate this double 
 marriage, and as yet only one of the brides appear- 
 ing, there was much of wondering and conjecture, 
 but they mostly thought that Ganymede was making 
 a jest of Orlando. 
 
 The duke, hearing that it was his own daughter 
 that was to be brought in this strange way, asked 
 Orlando if he believed the shepherd-boy could 
 really do what he had promised ; and while Orlando 
 was answering that he knew not what to think, Ga-
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 83 
 
 nymede entered, and asked the duke, if he brought 
 his daughter, whether he would consent to her 
 marriage with Orlando. " That I would," said the 
 duke, "if I had kingdoms to give with her." 
 Ganymede then said to Orlando, "And you say you 
 will marry her if I bring her here." "That I 
 would," said Orlando, "if I were king of many 
 kingdoms." 
 
 Ganymede and Aliena then went out together, 
 and Ganymede throwing off his male attire, and 
 being once more dressed in woman's apparel, 
 quickly became Rosalind without the power of 
 magic ; and Aliena changing her country garb for 
 her own rich clothes, was with as little trouble 
 transformed into the lady Celia. 
 
 While they were gone, the duke said to Orlando, 
 that he thought the shepherd Ganymede very like 
 his daughter Rosalind ; and Orlando said, he also 
 had observed the resemblance. 
 
 They had no time to wonder how all this would 
 end, for Rosalind and Celia in their own clothes 
 entered ; and no longer pretending that it was by 
 the power of magic that she came there, Rosalind 
 threw herself on her knees before her father, and 
 begged his blessing. It seemed so wonderful to 
 all present that she should so suddenly appear, 
 that it might well have passed for magic ; but 
 Rosalind would no longer trifle with her father, 
 and told him the story of her banishment, and of 
 her dwelling in the forest as a shepherd-boy, her 
 cousin Celia passing as her sister. 
 
 The duke ratified the consent he had already 
 given to the marriage ; and Orlando and Rosalind,
 
 84 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Oliver and Celia, were married at the same time. 
 And though their wedding could not be celebrated 
 in this wild forest with any of the parade or splen- 
 dour usual on such occasions, yet a happier 
 wedding-day was never passed : and while they 
 were eating their venison under the cool shade of 
 the pleasant trees, as if nothing should be wanting 
 to complete the felicity of this good duke and the 
 true lovers, an unexpected messenger arrived to 
 tell the duke the joyful news, that his dukedom 
 was restored to him. 
 
 The usurper, enraged at the flight of his daughter 
 Celia, and hearing that every day men of great 
 worth resorted to the forest of Arden to join the 
 lawful duke in his exile, much envying that his 
 brother should be so highly respected in his ad- 
 versity, put himself at the head of a large force, 
 and advanced towards the forest, intending to 
 seize his brother, and put him with all his faithful 
 followers to the sword ; but, by a wonderful inter- 
 position of Providence, this bad brother was con- 
 verted from his evil intention ; for just as he entered 
 the skirts of the wild forest, he was met by an old 
 religious man, a hermit, with whom he had much 
 talk, and who in the end completely turned his 
 heart from his wicked design. Thenceforward he 
 became a true penitent, and resolved, relinquishing 
 his unjust dominion, to spend the remainder of 
 his days in a religious house. The first act of his 
 newly-conceived penitence was to send a mes- 
 senger to his brother (as has been related) to offer 
 to restore to him his dukedom, which he had 
 usurped so long, and with it the lands and re-
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 85 
 
 venues of his friends, the faithful followers of his 
 adversity. 
 
 This joyful news, as unexpected as it was wel- 
 come, came opportunely to heighten the festivity 
 and rejoicings at the wedding of the princesses. 
 Celia complimented her cousin on this good fortune 
 which had happened to the duke, Rosalind's father, 
 and wished her joy very sincerely, though she herself 
 was no longer heir to the dukedom, but by this 
 restoration which her father had made, Rosalind 
 was now the heir : so completely was the love of 
 these two cousins unmixed with anything of jealousy 
 or of envy. 
 
 The duke had now an opportunity of rewarding 
 those true friends who had stayed with him in his 
 banishment ; and these worthy followers, though 
 they had patiently shared his adverse fortune, were 
 very well pleased to return in peace and prosperity 
 to the palace of their lawful duke.
 
 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF 
 VERONA. 
 
 *T^HERE lived in the city of Verona two young 
 J- gentlemen, whose names were Valentine and 
 Proteus, between whom a firm and uninterrupted 
 friendship had long subsisted. They pursued 
 their studies together, and their hours of leisure 
 were always passed in each other's company, 
 except when Proteus visited a lady he was in love 
 with; and these visits to his mistress, and this 
 passion of Proteus for the fair Julia, were the 
 only topics on which these two friends disagreed ; 
 for Valentine, not being himself a lover, was some- 
 times a little weary of hearing his friend for ever 
 talking of his Julia, and then he would laugh at 
 Proteus, and in pleasant terms ridicule the pas- 
 sion of love, and declare that no such idle fancies 
 should ever enter his head, greatly preferring (as 
 he said) the free and happy life he led, to the 
 anxious hopes and fears of the lover Proteus. 
 
 One morning Valentine came to Proteus to 
 tell him that they must for a time be separated, 
 for that he was going to Milan. Proteus, un- 
 willing to part with his friend, used many argu- 
 ments to prevail upon Valentine not to leave him ;
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 87 
 
 but Valentine said, " Cease to persuade me, my 
 loving Proteus. I will not, like a sluggard, wear 
 out my youth in idleness at home. Home-keeping 
 youths have ever homely wits. If your affection 
 were not chained to the sweet glances of your 
 honoured Julia, I would entreat you to accompany 
 me, to see the wonders of the world abroad ; but 
 since you are a lover, love on still, and may your 
 love be prosperous ! " 
 
 They parted with mutual expressions of unalter- 
 able friendship. " Sweet Valentine, adieu !" said 
 Proteus " think on me, when you see some rare 
 object worthy of notice in your travels, and wish 
 me partaker of your happiness." 
 
 Valentine began his journey that same day to- 
 wards Milan ; and when his friend had left him, 
 Proteus sat down to write a letter to Julia, which 
 he gave to her maid Lucetta to deliver to her 
 mistress. 
 
 Julia loved Proteus as well as he did her, but 
 she was a lady of a noble spirit, and she thought 
 it did not become her maiden dignity too easily to 
 be won ; therefore she affected to be insensible of 
 his passion, and gave him much uneasiness in the 
 prosecution of his suit. 
 
 And when Lucetta offered the letter to Julia, 
 she would not receive it, and chid her maid for 
 taking letters from Proteus, and ordered her to 
 leave the room. But she so much wished to see 
 what was written in the letter, that she soon called 
 in her maid again; and when Lucetta returned, 
 she said, "What o'clock is it?" Lucetta, who 
 knew her mistress more desired to see the letter
 
 88 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 than to know the time of day, without answering 
 her question, again offered the rejected letter. 
 Julia, angry that her maid should thus take the 
 liberty of seeming to know what she really wanted, 
 tore the letter in pieces, and threw it on the floor, 
 ordering her maid once more out of the room. 
 As Lucetta was retiring, she stopped to pick up 
 the fragments of the torn letter; but Julia, who 
 meant not so to part with them, said, in pretended 
 anger, " Go, get you gone, and let the papers lie ; 
 you would be fingering them to anger me." 
 
 Julia then began to piece together as well as 
 she could the torn fragments. She first made 
 out these words, " Love- wounded Proteus ; " and 
 lamenting over these and such like loving words, 
 which she made out though they were all torn 
 asunder, or, she said, wounded (the expression 
 "Love-wounded Proteus" giving her that idea), 
 she talked to these kind words, telling them she 
 would lodge them in her bosom as in a bed, till 
 their wounds were healed, and that she would kiss 
 each several piece, to make amends. 
 
 In this manner she went on talking with a 
 pretty lady-like childishness, till finding herself 
 unable to make out the whole, and vexed at her 
 own ingratitude in destroying such sweet and 
 loving words, as she called them, she wrote a much 
 kinder letter to Proteus than she had ever done 
 before. 
 
 Proteus was greatly delighted at receiving this 
 favourable answer to his letter ; and while he was 
 reading it, he exclaimed, " Sweet love, sweet lines, 
 sweet life !" In the midst of his raptures he was
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 89 
 
 interrupted by his father. " How now ! " said the 
 old gentleman ; "what letter are you reading there?" 
 
 " My lord," replied Proteus, " it is a letter from 
 my friend Valentine, at Milan." 
 
 " Lend me the letter," said his father : " let me 
 see what news." 
 
 "There are no news, my lord," said Proteus, 
 greatly alarmed, "but that he writes how well 
 beloved he is of the duke of Milan, who daily 
 graces him with favours ; and how he wishes me 
 with him, the partner of his fortune." 
 
 "And how stand you aifected to his wish?" 
 asked the father. 
 
 "As one relying on your lordship's will, and not 
 depending on his friendly wish," said Proteus. 
 
 Now it had happened that Proteus' father had 
 just been talking with a friend on this very subject : 
 his friend had said, he wondered his lordship 
 suffered his son to spend his youth at home, while 
 most men were sending their sons to seek prefer- 
 ment abroad; "some," said he, "to the wars, to 
 try their fortunes there, and some to discover 
 islands far away, and some to study in foreign 
 universities ; and there is his companion Valentine, 
 he is gone to the duke of Milan's court. Your 
 son is fit for any of these things, and it will be a 
 great disadvantage to him in his riper age not to 
 have travelled in his youth." 
 
 Proteus' father thought the advice of his friend 
 was very good, and upon Proteus telling him that 
 Valentine "wished him with him, the partner of 
 his fortune," he at once determined to send his 
 son to Milan ; and without giving Proteus any
 
 90 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 reason for this sudden resolution, it being the 
 usual habit of this positive old gentleman to com- 
 mand his son, not reason with him, he said, " My 
 will is the same as Valentine's wish ;" and seeing 
 his son look astonished, he added, "Look not 
 amazed, that I so suddenly resolve you shall spend 
 some time in the duke of Milan's court ; for what 
 I will I will, and there is an end. To-morrow be 
 in readiness to go. Make no excuses ; for I am 
 peremptory." 
 
 Proteus knew it was of no use to make objec- 
 tions to his father, who never suffered him to dis- 
 pute his will j and he blamed himself for telling his 
 father an untruth about Julia's letter, which had 
 brought upon turn the sad necessity of leaving her. 
 
 Now that Julia found she was going to lose 
 Proteus for so long a time, she no longer pre- 
 tended indifference ; and they bade each other a 
 mournful farewell, with many vows of love and 
 constancy. Proteus and Julia exchanged rings, 
 which they both promised to keep for ever in 
 remembrance of each other; and thus, taking a 
 sorrowful leave, Proteus set out on his journey 
 to Milan, the abode of his friend Valentine. 
 
 Valentine was in reality what Proteus had 
 feigned to his father, in high favour with the duke 
 of Milan; and another event had happened to 
 him, of which Proteus did not even dream, for 
 Valentine had given up the freedom of which he 
 used so much to boast, and was become as 
 passionate a lover as Proteus. 
 
 She who had wrought this wondrous change in 
 Valentine was the lady Silvia, daughter of the
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 91 
 
 duke of Milan, and she also loved him ; but they 
 concealed their love from the duke, because 
 although he showed much kindness for Valentine, 
 and invited him every day to his palace, yet he 
 designed to marry his daughter to a young courtier 
 whose name was Thurio. Silvia despised this 
 Thurio, for he had none of the fine sense and 
 excellent qualities of Valentine. 
 
 These two rivals, Thurio and Valentine, were 
 one day "on a visit to Silvia, and Valentine was 
 entertaining Silvia with turning everything Thurio 
 said into ridicule, when the duke himself entered 
 the room, and told Valentine the welcome news of 
 his friend Proteus' arrival. Valentine said, "If 
 I had wished a thing, it would have been to have 
 seen him here !" And then he highly praised 
 Proteus to the duke, saying, " My lord, though I 
 have been a truant of my time, yet hath my friend 
 made use and fair advantage of his days, and is 
 complete in person and in mind, in all good grace 
 to grace a gentleman." 
 
 "Welcome him then according to his worth," 
 said the duke. " Silvia, I speak to you, and you, 
 Sir Thurio ; for Valentine, I need not bid him do 
 so." They were here interrupted by the entrance 
 of Proteus, and Valentine introduced him to Silvia, 
 saying, " Sweet lady, entertain him to be my fellow- 
 servant to your ladyship." 
 
 When Valentine and Proteus had ended their 
 visit, and were alone together, Valentine said, " Now 
 tell me how all does from whence you came? 
 How does your lady, and how thrives your 
 love?" Proteus replied, "My tales of love used
 
 92 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 to weary you. I know you joy not in a love dis- 
 course. 
 
 "Ay, Proteus," returned Valentine, "but that 
 life is altered now. I have done penance for con- 
 demning love. For in revenge of my contempt of 
 love, love has chased sleep from my enthralled 
 eyes. O gentle Proteus, Love is a mighty lord, 
 and hath so humbled me, that I confess there is no 
 woe like his correction, nor no such joy on earth as 
 in his service. I now like no discourse except it 
 be of love. Now I can break my fast, dine, sup, 
 and sleep, upon the very name of love." 
 
 This acknowledgment of the change which love 
 had made injthe disposition of Valentine was a 
 great triumph to his friend Proteus. But " friend " 
 Proteus must be called no longer, for the same 
 all-powerful deity Love, of whom they were speak- 
 ing (yea, even while they were talking of the change 
 he had made in Valentine), was working in the 
 heart of Proteus ; and he, who had till this time 
 been a pattern of true love and perfect friendship, 
 was now, in one short interview with Silvia, become 
 a false friend and a faithless lover ; for at the first 
 sight of Silvia all his love for Julia vanished away 
 like a dream, nor did his long friendship for Valen- 
 tine deter him from endeavouring to supplant him 
 in her affections ; and although, as it will always 
 be, when people of dispositions naturally good 
 become unjust, he had many scruples before he 
 determined to forsake Julia, and become the rival 
 of Valentine ; yet he at length overcame his sense 
 of duty, and yielded himself up, almost without 
 remorse, to his new unhappy passion.
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 93 
 
 Valentine imparted to him in confidence the 
 whole history of his love, and how carefully they 
 had concealed it from the duke her father, and 
 told him, that, despairing of ever being able to 
 obtain his consent, he had prevailed upon Silvia 
 to leave her father's palace that night, and go with 
 him to Mantua ; then he showed Proteus a ladder 
 of ropes, by help of which he meant to assist Silvia 
 to get out of one of the windows of the palace after 
 it was dark 
 
 Upon hearing this faithful recital of his friend's 
 dearest secrets, it is hardly possible to be believed, 
 but so it was, that Proteus resolved to go to the 
 duke, and disclose the whole to him. 
 
 This false friend began his tale with many artful 
 speeches to the duke, such as that by the laws of 
 friendship he ought to conceal what he was going 
 to reveal, but that the gracious favour the duke 
 had shown him, and the duty he owed his grace, 
 urged him to tell that which else no worldly good 
 should draw from him. He then told all he had 
 heard from Valentine, not omitting the ladder of 
 ropes, and the manner in which Valentine meant 
 to conceal them under a long cloak. 
 
 The duke thought Proteus quite a miracle of 
 integrity, in that he preferred telling his friend's 
 intention rather than he would conceal an unjust 
 action, highly commended him, and promised him 
 not to let Valentine know from whom he had learnt 
 this intelligence, but by some artifice to make Val- 
 entine betray the secret himself For this purpose 
 the duke awaited the coming of Valentine in the 
 evening, whom he soon saw hurrying towards the
 
 94 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 palace, and he perceived somewhat was wrapped 
 within his cloak, which he concluded was the rope- 
 ladder. 
 
 The duke upon this stopped him, saying, 
 "Whither away so fast, Valentine?" "May it 
 please your grace," said Valentine, "there is a 
 messenger that stays to bear my letters to my 
 friends, and I am going to deliver them." Now this 
 falsehood of Valentine's had no better success in 
 the event than the untruth Proteus told his father. 
 
 " Be they of much import?" said the duke. 
 
 "No more, my lord," said Valentine, " than to tell 
 my father I am well and happy at your grace's court." 
 
 "Nay then,!' said the duke, "no matter; stay 
 with me a while. I wish your counsel about some 
 affairs that concern me nearly." He then told 
 Valentine an artful story, as a prelude to draw 
 his secret from him, saying that Valentine knew 
 he wished to match his daughter with Thurio, but 
 that she was stubborn and disobedient to his com- 
 mands, " neither regarding," said he, " that she is 
 my child, nor fearing me as if I were her father. 
 And I may say to thee, this pride of hers has 
 drawn my love from her. I had thought my age 
 should have been cherished by her childlike duty. 
 I now am resolved to take a wife, and turn her out 
 to whosoever will take her in. Let her beauty be 
 her wedding dower, for me and my possessions she 
 esteems not" 
 
 Valentine, wondering where all this would end, 
 made answer, " And what would your grace have 
 me to do in all this?" 
 
 " Why," said the duke, " the lady I would wish
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 95 
 
 to marry is nice and coy, and does not much 
 esteem my aged eloquence. Besides, the fashion 
 of courtship is much changed since I was young : 
 now I would willingly have you to be my tutor to 
 instruct me how I am to woo." 
 
 Valentine gave him a general idea of the modes 
 of courtship then practised by young men, when 
 they wished to win a fair lady's love, such as pre- 
 sents, frequent visits, and the like. 
 
 The duke replied to this, that the lady did refuse 
 a present which he sent her, and that she was so 
 strictly kept by her father, that no man might have 
 access to her by day. 
 
 "Why then," said Valentine, "you must visit 
 her by night." 
 
 " But at night," said the artful duke, who was 
 now coming to the drift of his discourse, "her doors 
 are fast locked." 
 
 Valentine then unfortunately proposed that the 
 duke should get into the lady's chamber at night by 
 means of a ladder of ropes, saying he would procure 
 him one fitting for that purpose ; and in conclusion 
 advised him to conceal this ladder of ropes under 
 such a cloak as that which he now wore. " Lend 
 me your cloak," said the duke, who had feigned 
 this long story on purpose to have a pretence to 
 get off the cloak ; so upon saying these words, he 
 caught hold of Valentine's cloak, and throwing it 
 back, he discovered not only the ladder of ropes, 
 but also a letter of Silvia's, which he instantly 
 opened and read ; and this letter contained a full 
 account of their intended elopement The duke, 
 after upbraiding Valentine for his ingratitude in thus
 
 96 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 returning the favour he had shown him, by en- 
 deavouring to steal away his daughter, banished him 
 from the court and city of Milan for ever; and 
 Valentine was forced to depart that night, without 
 even seeing Silvia. 
 
 While Proteus at Milan was thus injuring Va- 
 lentine, Julia at Verona was regretting the absence 
 of Proteus ; and her regard for him at last so far 
 overcame her sense of propriety, that she resolved 
 to leave Verona, and seek her lover at Milan ; and 
 to secure herself from danger on the road, she 
 dressed her maiden Lucetta and herself in men's 
 clothes, and they set out in this disguise, and ar- 
 rived at Milan soon after Valentine was banished 
 from that city through the treachery of Proteus. 
 
 Julia entered Milan about noon, and she took up 
 her abode at an inn ; and her thoughts being all on 
 her dear Proteus, she entered into conversation 
 with the innkeeper, or host, as he was called, think 
 ing by that means to learn some news of Proteus. 
 
 The host was greatly pleased that this handsome 
 young gentleman (as he took her to be), who from 
 his appearance, he concluded was of high rank, 
 spoke so familiarly to him ; and being a good- 
 natured man, he was sorry to see him look so mel- 
 ancholy ; and to amuse his young guest, he offered 
 to take him to hear some fine music, with which 
 he said, a gentleman that evening was going to 
 serenade his mistress. 
 
 The reason Julia looked so very melancholy was, 
 that she did not well know what Proteus would 
 think of the imprudent step she had taken ; for she 
 knew he had loved her for her noble maiden pride
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 97 
 
 and dignity of character, and she feared she should 
 lower herself in his esteem : and this it was that 
 made her wear a sad and thoughtful countenance. 
 
 She gladly accepted the offer of the host to go 
 with him, and hear the music; for she secretly 
 hoped she might meet Proteus by the way. 
 
 But when she came to the palace whither the host 
 conducted her, a very different effect was produced 
 to what the kind host intended ; for there, to her 
 heart's sorrow, she beheld her lover, the inconstant 
 Proteus, serenading the lady Silvia with music, 
 and addressing discourse of love and admiration to 
 her. And Julia overheard Silvia from a window 
 talk with Proteus, and reproach him for forsaking 
 his own true lady, and for his ingratitude to his 
 friend Valentine ; and then Silvia left the window, 
 not choosing to listen to his music and his fine 
 speeches ; for she was a faithful lady to her banished 
 Valentine, and abhorred the ungenerous conduct 
 of his false friend Proteus. 
 
 Though Julia was in despair at what she had just 
 witnessed, yet did she still love the truant Proteus ; 
 and hearing that he had lately parted with a servant, 
 she contrived with the assistance of her host, the 
 friendly innkeeper, to hire herself to Proteus as a 
 page ; and Proteus knew not she was Julia, and 
 he sent her with letters and presents to her rival 
 Silvia, and he even sent by her the very ring she 
 gave him as a parting gift at Verona. 
 
 When she went to that lady with the ring, she 
 
 was most glad to find that Silvia utterly rejected the 
 
 suit of Proteus ; and Julia, or the page Sebastian 
 
 as she was called, entered into conversation with 
 
 H
 
 98 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Silvia about Proteus' first love, the forsaken lady 
 Julia. She putting in (as one may say) a good 
 word for herself, said she knew Julia ; as well she 
 might, being herself the Julia of whom she spoke ; 
 telling how fondly Julia loved her master Proteus, 
 and how his unkind neglect would grieve her : and 
 then she with a pretty equivocation went on : "Julia 
 is about my height, and of my complexion, the 
 colour of her eyes and hair the same as mine :" and 
 indeed Julia looked a most beautiful youth in her 
 boy's attire. Silvia was moved to pity this lovely 
 lady, who was so sadly forsaken by the man she 
 loved ; and when Julia offered the ring which Pro- 
 teus had sent, refused it, saying, "The more 
 shame for him that he sends me that ring ; I will 
 not take it ; for I have often heard him say his 
 Julia gave it to him. I love thee, gentle youth, for 
 pitying her, poor lady ! Here is a purse ; I give it 
 you for Julia's sake." These comfortable words 
 coming from her kind rival's tongue cheered the 
 drooping heart of the disguised lady. 
 
 But to return to the banished Valentine ; who 
 scarce knew which way to bend his course, being 
 unwilling to return home to his father a disgraced 
 and banished man : as he was wandering over a 
 lonely forest, not far distant from Milan, where he 
 had left his heart's dear treasure, the lady Silvia, he 
 was set upon by robbers, who demanded his money. 
 
 Valentine told them that he was a man crossed 
 by adversity, that he was going into banishment, 
 and that he had no money, the clothes he had on 
 being all his riches. 
 
 The robbers, hearing that he was a distressed man,
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 99 
 
 and being struck with his noble air and manly be- 
 haviour, told him if he would live with them, and be 
 their chief, or captain, they would put themselves 
 under his command ; but that if he refused to accept 
 their offer, they would kill him. 
 
 Valentine, who cared little what became of him- 
 self, said he would consent to live with them and 
 be their captain, provided they did no outrage on 
 women or poor passengers. 
 
 Thus the noble Valentine became, like Robin 
 Hood, of whom we read in ballads, a captain of 
 robbers and outlawed banditti ; and in this situa- 
 tion he was found by Silvia, and in this manner it 
 came to pass. 
 
 Silvia, to avoid a marriage with Thurio, whom 
 her father insisted upon her no longer refusing, 
 came at last to the resolution of following Valen- 
 tine to Mantua, at which place she had heard her 
 lover had taken refuge ; but in this account she was 
 misinformed, for he still lived in the forest among 
 the robbers, bearing the name of their captain, but 
 taking no part in their depredations, and using the 
 authority which they had imposed upon him in no 
 other way than to compel them to show compassion 
 to the travellers they robbed. 
 
 Silvia contrived to effect her escape from her 
 father's palace in company with a worthy old 
 gentleman, whose name was Eglamour, whom she 
 took along with her for protection on the road. 
 She had to pass through the forest where Valentine 
 and the banditti dwelt ; and one of these robbers 
 seized on Silvia, and would also have taken Egla- 
 mour, but he escaped.
 
 ioo TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 The robber who had taken Silvia, seeing the 
 terror she was in, bid her not be alarmed, for that 
 he was only going to carry her to a cave where 
 his captain lived, and that she need not be afraid, 
 for their captain had an honourable mind, and 
 always showed humanity to women. Silvia found 
 little comfort in hearing she was going to be carried 
 as a prisoner before the captain of a lawless ban- 
 ditti " O Valentine," she cried, " this I endure 
 for thee !" 
 
 But as the robber was conveying her to the cave 
 of his captain, he was stopped by Proteus, who, 
 still attended by Julia in the disguise of a page, 
 having heard, of the flight of Silvia, had traced her 
 steps to this forest. Proteus now rescued her 
 from the hands of the robber ; but scarce had she 
 time to thank him for the service he had done her, 
 before he began to distress her afresh with his love 
 suit ; and while he was rudely pressing her to con- 
 sent to marry him, and his page (the forlorn Julia) 
 was standing beside him in great anxiety of mind, 
 fearing lest the great service which Proteus had 
 just done to Silvia should win her to show him 
 some favour, they were all strangely surprised with 
 the sudden appearance of Valentine, who, having 
 heard his robbers had taken a lady prisoner, came 
 to console and relieve her. 
 
 Proteus was courting Silvia, and he was so 
 much ashamed of being caught by his friend, that 
 he was all at once seized with penitence and re- 
 morse ; and he expressed such a lively sorrow for 
 the injuries he had done to Valentine, that Valen- 
 tine, whose nature was noble and generous, even
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 101 
 
 to a romantic degree, not only forgave and restored 
 him to his former place in his friendship, but in a 
 sudden flight of heroism he said, "I freely do 
 forgive you ; and all the interest I have in Silvia, 
 I give it up to you." Julia, who was standing 
 beside her master as a page, hearing this strange 
 offer, and fearing Proteus would not be able with 
 this new-found virtue to refuse Silvia, fainted, and 
 they were all employed in recovering her: else would 
 Silvia have been offended at being thus made over 
 to Proteus, though she could scarcely think that 
 Valentine would long persevere in this overstrained 
 and too generous act of friendship. When Julia 
 recovered from the fainting fit, she said, "I had 
 forgot, my master ordered me to de'uvei this ring 
 to Silvia." Proteus, looking upon the ring, saw 
 that it was the one he gave to Julia, in return for 
 that which he received from her, and which he 
 had sent by the supposed page to Silvia. " How 
 is this?" said he, "this is Julia's ring : how came 
 you by it, boy?" Julia answered, "Julia herself 
 did give it me, and Julia herself hath brought it 
 hither." 
 
 Proteus, now looking earnestly upon her, plainly 
 perceived that the page Sebastian was no other 
 than the lady Julia herself; and the proof she had 
 given of her constancy and true love so wrought 
 in him, that his love for her returned into his heart, 
 and he took again his own dear lady, and joyfully 
 resigned all pretensions to the lady Silvia to Valen- 
 tine, who had so well deserved her. 
 
 Proteus and Valentine were expressing their 
 happiness in their reconciliation, and in the love
 
 102 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 of their faithful ladies when they were surprised 
 with the sight of the duke of Milan and Thurio, 
 who came there in pursuit of Silvia. 
 
 Thurio first approached, and attempted to seize 
 Silvia, saying, " Silvia is mine." Upon this Valen- 
 tine said to him in a very spirited manner, " Thurio, 
 keep back : if once again you say that Silvia is 
 yours, you shall embrace your death. Here she 
 stands, take but possession of her with a touch ! 
 I dare you but to breathe upon my love." Hear- 
 ing this threat, Thurio, who was a great coward, 
 drew back, and said he cared not for her, and that 
 none but a fool would fight for a girl who loved 
 him not 
 
 The duke, who was a very brave man himself, 
 said now in great anger, "The more base and 
 degenerate in you to take such means for her as 
 you have done, and leave her on such slight con- 
 ditions." Then turning to Valentine, he said, "I 
 do applaud your spirit, Valentine, and think you 
 worthy of an empress' love. You shall have Silvia, 
 for you have well deserved her." Valentine then 
 with great humility kissed the duke's hand, and 
 accepted the noble present which he had made 
 him of his daughter with becoming thankfulness : 
 taking occasion of this joyful minute to entreat the 
 good-humoured duke to pardon the thieves with 
 whom he had associated in the forest, assuring him, 
 that when reformed and restored to society, there 
 would be found among them many good, and fit for 
 great employment ; for the most of them had been 
 banished, like Valentine, for state offences, rather 
 than for any black crimes they had been guilty o
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 103 
 
 To this the ready duke consented : and now 
 nothing remained but that Proteus, the false 
 friend, was ordained, by way of penance for his 
 love-prompted faults, to be present at the recital 
 of the whole story of his loves and falsehoods 
 before the duke ; and the shame of the recital to 
 his awakened conscience was judged sufficient 
 punishment : which being done, the lovers, all four 
 returned back to Milan, and their nuptials were 
 solemnised in the presence of the duke, with high 
 triumphs and feasting.
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 SHYLOCK, the Jew, lived at Venice : he was 
 an usurer, who had amassed an immense for- 
 tune by lending money at great interest to Christian 
 merchants. Shylock, being a hard-hearted man, 
 exacted the payment of the money he lent with such 
 severity that -he was much disliked by all good 
 men, and particularly by Antonio, a young mer- 
 chant of Venice; and Shylock as much hated 
 Antonio, because he used to lend money to people 
 in distress, and would never take any interest for 
 the money he lent; therefore there was great enmity 
 between this covetous Jew and the generous mer- 
 chant Antonio. Whenever Antonio met Shylock 
 on the Rialto (or Exchange), he used to reproach 
 him with his usuries and hard dealings, which the 
 Jew would bear with seeming patience, while he 
 secretly meditated revenge. 
 
 Antonio was the kindest man that lived, the best 
 conditioned, and had the most unwearied spirit in 
 doing courtesies ; indeed, he was one in whom the 
 ancient Roman honour more appeared than in any 
 that drew breath in Italy. He was greatly beloved 
 by all his fellow-citizens ; but the friend who was 
 nearest and dearest to his heart was Bassanio, a
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 105 
 
 noble Venetian, who, having but a small patrimony, 
 had nearly exhausted his little fortune by living in 
 too expensive a manner for his slender means, 
 as young men of high rank with small fortunes are 
 too apt to do. Whenever Bassanio wanted money, 
 Antonio assisted him; and it seemed as if they 
 had but one heart and one purse between them. 
 
 One day Bassanio came to Antonio, and told 
 him that he wished to repair his fortune by a wealthy 
 marriage with a lady whom he dearly loved, whose 
 father, that was lately dead, had left her sole heir- 
 ess to a large estate ; and that in her father's life- 
 time he used to visit at her house, when he thought 
 he had observed this lady had sometimes from her 
 eyes sent speechless messages, that seemed to say 
 he would be no unwelcome suitor ; but not having 
 money to furnish himself with an appearance be- 
 fitting the lover of so rich an heiress, he besought 
 Antonio to add to the many favours he had shown 
 him, by lending him three thousand ducats. 
 
 Antonio had no money by him at that time to 
 lend his friend ; but expecting soon to have some 
 ships come home laden with merchandise, he said 
 he would go to Shylock, the rich money-lender, 
 and borrow the money upon the credit of those 
 ships. 
 
 Antonio and Bassanio went together to Shylock, 
 and Antonio asked the Jew to lend him three 
 thousand ducats upon any interest he should re- 
 quire, to be paid out of the merchandise contained 
 in his ships at sea. On this, Shylock thought with- 
 in himself, " If I can once catch him on the hip, 
 I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him ; he
 
 106 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 hates our Jewish nation ; he lends out money gratis, 
 and among the merchants he rails at me and my 
 well-earned bargains, which he calls interest Cursed 
 be my tribe if I forgive him!" Antonio finding 
 he was musing within himself and did not answer, 
 and being impatient for the money, said, " Shylock, 
 do you hear ? will you lend the money ?" To this 
 question the Jew replied, "Signior Antonio, on 
 the Rialto many a time and often you have railed 
 at me about my monies and my usuries, and I have 
 borne it with a patient shrug, for sufferance is the 
 badge of all our tribe ; and then you have called 
 me unbeliever, cut-throat dog, and spit upon my 
 Jewish garments, and spurned at me with your foot, 
 as if I was a" cur. Well then, it now appears you 
 need my help ; and you come to me, and say, Shy- 
 lock, lend me monies. Has a dog money? Is it 
 possible a cur should lend three thousand ducats ? 
 Shall I bend low and say, Fair sir, you spit upon 
 me on Wednesday last, another time you called me 
 dog, and for these courtesies I am to lend you 
 monies." Antonio replied, "I am as like to call 
 you so again, to spit on you again, and spurn you 
 too. If you will lend me this money, lend it not 
 to me as to a friend, but rather lend it to me as to 
 an enemy, that, if I break, you may with better face 
 exact the penalty." "Why, look you," said Shylock, 
 " how you storm ! I would be friends with you, 
 and have your love. I will forget the shames you 
 have put upon me. I will supply your wants, and 
 take no interest for my money." This seemingly 
 kind offer greatly surprised Antonio; and then 
 Shylock, still pretending kindness, and that all he
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 107 
 
 did was to gain Antonio's love, again said he would 
 lend him the three thousand ducats, and take no 
 interest for his money ; only Antonio should go 
 with him to a lawyer, and there sign in merry sport 
 a bond, that if he did not repay the money by a 
 certain day, he would forfeit a pound of flesh, to 
 be cut off from any part of his body that Shylock 
 pleased. 
 
 " Content," said Antonio : " I will sign to this 
 bond, and say there is much kindness in the Jew." 
 
 Bassanio said Antonio should not sign to such 
 a bond for him ; but still Antonio insisted that he 
 would sign it, for that before the day of payment 
 came, his ships would return laden with many times 
 the value of the money. 
 
 Shylock, hearing this debate, exclaimed, " O, 
 father Abraham, what suspicious people these Chris- 
 tians are ! Their own hard dealings teach them 
 to suspect the thoughts of others. I pray you tell 
 me this, Bassanio : if he should break his day, 
 what should I gain by the exaction of the forfeit- 
 ure ? A pound of man's flesh, taken from a man, 
 is not so estimable, nor profitable neither, as the 
 flesh of mutton or beef. I say, to buy his favour 
 I offer this friendship : if he will take it, so ; if not, 
 adieu." 
 
 At last, against the advice of Bassanio, who, not- 
 withstanding all the Jew had said of his kind inten- 
 tions, did not like his friend should run the hazard 
 of this shocking penalty for his sake, Antonio signed 
 the bond, thinking it really was (as the Jew said) 
 merely in sport 
 
 The rich heiress that Bassanio wished to marry
 
 io8 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 lived near Venice, at a place called Belmont : her 
 name was Portia, and in the graces of her person 
 and her mind she was nothing inferior to that Portia, 
 of whom we read, who was Cato's daughter, and 
 the wife of Brutus. 
 
 Bassanio being so kindly supplied with money 
 by his friend Antonio, at the hazard of his life, 
 set out for Belmont with a splendid train, and at- 
 tended by a gentleman of the name of Gratiano. 
 
 Bassanio proving successful in his suit, Portia 
 in a short time consented to accept of him for a 
 husband. 
 
 Bassanio confessed to Portia that he had no 
 fortune, and that his high birth and noble ancestry 
 was all that he could boast of; she, who loved 
 him for his worthy qualities, and had riches enough 
 not to regard wealth in a husband, answered with 
 a graceful modesty, that she would wish herself a 
 thousand times more fair, and ten thousand times 
 more rich, to be more worthy of him ; and then 
 the accomplished Portia prettily dispraised herself, 
 and said she was an unlessoned girl, unschooled, 
 unpractised, yet not so old but that she could 
 learn, and that she would commit her gentle spirit 
 to be directed and governed by him in all things ; 
 and she said, " Myself and what is mine, to you 
 and yours is now converted. But yesterday, 
 Bassanio, I was the lady of this fair mansion, 
 queen of myself, and mistress over these servants ; 
 and now this house, these servants, and myself, 
 are yours, my lord ; I give them with this ring ;" 
 presenting a ring to Bassanio. 
 
 Bassanio was so overpowered with gratitude
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 109 
 
 and wonder at the gracious manner in which the 
 rich and noble Portia accepted of a man of his 
 humble fortunes, that he could not express his joy 
 and reverence to the dear lady who so honoured 
 him, by anything but broken words of love and 
 thankfulness ; and taking the ring, he vowed never 
 to part with it. 
 
 Gratiano and Nerissa, Portia's waiting-maid, 
 were in attendance upon their lord and lady, when 
 Portia so gracefully promised to become the 
 obedient wife of Bassanio ; and Gratiano, wishing 
 Bassanio and the generous lady joy, desired per- 
 mission to be married at the same time. 
 
 " With all my heart, Gratiano," said Bassanio, 
 "if you can get a wife." 
 
 Gratiano then said that he loved the lady Portia's 
 fair waiting gentlewoman Nerissa, and that she had 
 promised to be his wife, if her lady married Bassa- 
 nio. Portia asked Nerissa if this was true. Nerissa 
 replied, " Madam, it is so, if you approve of it." 
 Portia willingly consenting, Bassanio pleasantly 
 said, "Then our wedding-feast shall be much 
 honoured by your marriage, Gratiano." 
 
 The happiness of these lovers was sadly crossed 
 at this moment by the entrance of a messenger, 
 who brought a letter from Antonio containing 
 fearful tidings. When Bassanio read Antonio's 
 letter, Portia feared it was to tell him of the death 
 of some dear friend, he looked so pale ; and in- 
 quiring what was the news which had so distressed 
 him, he said, " O sweet Portia, here are a few of 
 the unpleasantest words that ever blotted paper : 
 gentle lady, when I first imparted my love to you,
 
 no TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 I freely told you all the wealth I had ran in my 
 veins ; but I should have told you that I had less 
 than nothing, being in debt." Bassanio then told 
 Portia what has been here related, of his borrowing 
 the money of Antonio, and of Antonio's pro- 
 curing it of Shylock the Jew, and of the bond by 
 which Antonio had engaged to forfeit a pound 
 of flesh, if it was not repaid by a certain day : 
 and then Bassanio read Antonio's letter; the 
 words of which were, "Sweet Bassanio, my ships 
 are all lost, my bond to the Jew is forfeited, and 
 since in paying it is impossible I shotdd live, I could 
 wish to see you at my death ; notwithstanding, use 
 your pleasure ; if your love for me do not persuade 
 you to come, let not my letter" " O, my dear love," 
 said Portia, " despatch all business, and begone ; 
 you shall have gold to pay the money twenty times 
 over, before this kind friend shall lose a hair by 
 my Bassanio's fault; and as you are so dearly 
 bought, I will dearly love you." Portia then said 
 she would be married to Bassanio before he set 
 out, to give him a legal right to her money ; and 
 that same day they were married, and Gratiano 
 was also married to Nerissa; and Bassanio and 
 Gratiano, the instant they were married, set out 
 in great haste for Venice, where Bassanio found 
 Antonio in prison. 
 
 The day of payment being past, the cruel Jew 
 would not accept of the money which Bassanio 
 offered him, but insisted upon having a pound of 
 Antonio's flesh. A day was appointed to try 
 this shocking cause before the Duke of Venice, 
 and Ba,ssanio awaited in dreadful suspense the 
 event of the trial
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. in 
 
 When Portia parted with her husband, she 
 spoke cheeringly to him, and bade him bring his 
 dear friend along with him when he returned; 
 yet she feared it would go hard with Antonio, 
 and when she was left alone, she began to think 
 and consider within herself, if she could by any 
 means be instrumental in saving the life of her 
 dear Bassanio's friend ; and notwithstanding when 
 she wished to honour her Bassanio, she had said 
 to him with such a meek and wife-like grace, that 
 she would submit in all things to be governed by 
 his superior wisdom, yet being now called forth 
 into action by the peril of her honoured husband's 
 friend, she did nothing doubt her own powers, and 
 by the sole guidance of her own true and perfect 
 judgment, at once resolved to go herself to Venice, 
 and speak in Antonio's defence. 
 
 Portia had a relation who was a counsellor in 
 the law; to this gentleman, whose name was 
 Bellario, she wrote, and stating the case to him, 
 desired his opinion, and that with his advice he 
 would also send her the dress worn by a counsellor. 
 When the messenger returned, he brought letters 
 from Bellario of advice how to proceed, and also 
 everything necessary for her equipment 
 
 Portia dressed herself and her maid Nerissa in 
 men's apparel, and putting on the robes of a 
 counsellor, she took Nerissa along with her as her 
 clerk ; and setting out immediately, they arrived 
 at Venice on the very day of the trial The cause 
 was just going to be heard before the duke and 
 senators of Venice in the senate-house, when Portia 
 entered this high court of justice, and presented a
 
 112 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 letter from Bellario, in which that learned coun- 
 sellor wrote to the duke, saying, he would have 
 come himself to plead for Antonio, but that he 
 was prevented by sickness, and he requested that 
 the learned young doctor Balthasar (so he called 
 Portia) might be permitted to plead in his stead. 
 This the duke granted, much wondering at the 
 youthful appearance of the stranger, who was 
 prettily disguised by her counsellor's robes and 
 her large wig. 
 
 And now began this important trial. Portia 
 looked around her, and she saw the merciless Jew ; 
 and she saw Bassanio, but he knew her not in her 
 disguise. He was standing beside Antonio, in 
 an agony of distress and fear for his friend. 
 
 The importance of the arduous task Portia had 
 engaged in gave this tender lady courage, and she 
 boldly proceeded in the duty she had undertaken 
 to perform : and first of all she addressed herself 
 to Shylock ; and allowing that he had a right by 
 the Venetian law to have the forfeit expressed in 
 the bond, she spoke so sweetly of the noble quality 
 of mercy, as would have softened any heart but the 
 unfeeling Shylock's ; saying, that it dropped as the 
 gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath ; 
 and how mercy was a double blessing, it blessed 
 him that gave, and him that received it ; and how 
 it became monarchs better than their crowns, being 
 an attribute of God himself; and that earthly power 
 came nearest to God's, in proportion as mercy 
 tempered justice ; and she bid Shylock remember 
 that as we all pray for mercy, that same prayer 
 should teach us to show mercy. Shylock only
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 113 
 
 answered her by desiring to have the penalty for- 
 feited in the bond. " Is he not able to pay the 
 money ? " asked Portia. Bassanio then offered the 
 Jew the payment of the three thousand ducats as 
 many times over as he should desire ; which Shy- 
 lock refusing, and still insisting upon having a 
 pound of Antonio's flesh, Bassanio begged the 
 learned young counsellor would endeavour to wrest 
 the law a little, to save Antonio's life. But Portia 
 gravely answered, that laws once established must 
 never be altered. Shylock hearing Portia say that 
 the law might not be altered, it seemed to him that 
 she was pleading in his favour, and he said, " A 
 Daniel is come to judgment ! O wise young judge, 
 how I do honour you ! How much elder are you 
 than your looks ?" 
 
 Portia now desired Shylock to let her look at the 
 bond ; and when she had read it, she said, " This 
 bond is forfeited, and by this the Jew may lawfully 
 claim a pound of flesh, to be by him cut off nearest 
 Antonio's heart" Then she said to Shylock, 
 " Be merciful : take the money, and bid me tear 
 the bond." But no mercy would the cruel Shylock 
 show ; and he said, " By my soul I swear, there is 
 no power in the tongue of man to alter me." 
 "Why then, Antonio," said Portia, " you must pre- 
 pare your bosom for the knife :" and while Shylock 
 was sharpening a long knife with great eagerness to 
 cut off the pound of flesh, Portia said to Antonio, 
 "Have you anything to say?" Antonio with a 
 calm resignation replied, that he had but little to 
 say, for that he had prepared his mind for death. 
 Then he said to Bassanio, " Give me your hand, 
 i
 
 H4 TALES FROM SIIAKSPEARE. 
 
 Bassanio ! Fare you well ! Grieve not that I am 
 fallen into this misfortune for you. Commend me 
 to your honourable wife, and tell her how I have 
 loved you !" Bassanio in the deepest affliction re- 
 plied, "Antonio, I am married to a wife, who is 
 as dear to me as life itself ; but life itself, my wife, 
 and all the world, are not esteemed with me above 
 your life : I would lose all, I would sacrifice all to 
 this devil here, to deliver you." 
 
 Portia hearing this, though the kind-hearted lady 
 was not at all offended with her husband for ex- 
 pressing the love he owed to so true a friend as 
 Antonio in these strong terms, yet could not help 
 answering, -" Your wife would give you little thanks, 
 if she were present, to hear you make this offer." 
 And then Gratiano, who loved to copy what his 
 lord did, thought he must make a speech like 
 Bassanio's, and he said, in Nerissa's hearing, who 
 was writing in her clerk's dress by the side of Portia, 
 " I have a wife, whom I protest I love ; I wish she 
 were in heaven, if she could but entreat some 
 power there to change the cruel temper of this 
 currish Jew." " It is well you wish this behind her 
 back, else you would have but an unquiet house," 
 said Nerissa. 
 
 Shylock now cried out impatiently, " We trifle 
 time ; I pray pronounce the sentence." And now 
 all was awful expectation in the court, and every 
 heart was full of grief for Antonio. 
 
 Portia asked if the scales were ready to weigh 
 the flesh ; and she said to the Jew, " Shylock, you 
 must have some surgeon by, lest he bleed to death." 
 Shylock, whose whole intent was that Antonio
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 115 
 
 should bleed to death, said, " It is not so named in 
 the bond." Portia replied, " It is not so named in 
 the bond, but what of that ? It were good you did 
 so much for charity." To this all the answer Shy- 
 lock would make was, *' I cannot find it ; it is not 
 in the bond." "Then," said Portia, "a pound of 
 Antonio's flesh is thine. The law allows ft, and 
 the court awards it And you may cut this flesh 
 from off his breast The law allows it and the 
 court awards it." Again Shylock exclaimed, " O 
 wise and upright judge ! A Daniel is come to 
 judgment !" And then he sharpened his long knife 
 again, and looking eagerly on Antonio, he said, 
 " Come, prepare !" 
 
 " Tarry a little, Jew," said Portia ; "there is some- 
 thing else. This bond here gives you no drop of 
 blood ; the words expressly are, ' a pound of flesh.' 
 If in the cutting off the pound of flesh you shed 
 one drop of Christian blood, your lands and goods 
 are by the law to be confiscated to the state of 
 Venice." Now as it was utterly impossible for 
 Shylock to cut off the pound of flesh without shed- 
 ding some of Antonio's blood, this wise discovery 
 of Portia's, that it was flesh and not blood that was 
 named in the bond, saved the life of Antonio; 
 and all admiring the wonderful sagacity of the young 
 counsellor, who had so happily thought of this 
 expedient, plaudits resounded from every part of 
 the senate-house ; and Gratiano exclaimed, in the 
 words which Shylock had used, " O wise and up- 
 right judge ! mark, Jew, a Daniel is come to 
 judgment ! " 
 
 Shylock, finding himself defeated in his cruel in-
 
 n6 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 tent, said with a disappointed look, that he would 
 take the money; and Bassanio, rejoiced beyond 
 measure at Antonio's unexpected deliverance, 
 cried out, " Here is the money !" But Portia 
 stopped him, saying, " Softly ; there is no haste ; 
 the Jew shall have nothing but the penalty : there- 
 fore prepare, Shylock, to cut off the flesh; but 
 mind you shed no blood : nor do not cut off more 
 nor less than just a pound ; be it more or less by 
 one poor scruple, nay if the scale turn but by the 
 weight of a single hair, you are condemned by the 
 laws of Venice to die, and all your wealth is for- 
 feited to the senate." " Give me my money, and 
 let me go," said Shylock. " I have it ready," said 
 Bassanio : " here it is." 
 
 Shylock was going to take the money, when 
 Portia again stopped him, saying, " Tarry, Jew ; I 
 have yet another hold upon you. By the laws of 
 Venice, your wealth is forfeited to the state, for 
 having conspired against the life of one of its citi- 
 zens, and your life lies at the mercy of the duke ; 
 therefore, down on your knees, and ask him to 
 pardon you." 
 
 The duke then said to Shylock, " That you may 
 see the difference of our Christian spirit, I pardon 
 you your life before you ask it ; half your wealth 
 belongs to Antonio, the other half comes to the 
 state." 
 
 The generous Antonio then said that he would 
 give up his share of Shylock's wealth, if Shylock 
 would sign a deed to make it over at his death 
 to his daughter and her husband; for Antonio knew 
 that the Jew had an only daughter who had lately
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 117 
 
 married against his consent to a young Christian, 
 named Lorenzo, a friend of Antonio's, which had 
 so offended Shylock, that he had disinherited her. 
 
 The Jew agreed to this : and being thus disap- 
 pointed in his revenge, and despoiled of his riches, 
 he said, " I am ill. Let me go home ; send the 
 deed after me, and I will sign over half my riches 
 to my daughter." " Get thee gone, then," said the 
 duke, " and sign it ; and if you repent your cruelty 
 and turn Christian, the state will forgive you the 
 fine of the other half of your riches." 
 
 The duke now released Antonio, and dismissed 
 the court. He then highly praised the wisdom and 
 ingenuity of the young counsellor, and invited him 
 home to dinner. Portia, who meant to return to 
 Belmont before her husband, replied, " I humbly 
 thank your grace, but I must away directly." The 
 duke said he was sorry he had not leisure to stay 
 and dine with him ; and turning to Antonio, he 
 added, " Reward this gentleman ; for in my mind 
 you are much indebted to him." 
 
 The duke and his senators left the court ; and 
 then Bassanio said to Portia, " Most worthy gentle- 
 man, I and my friend Antonio have by your wis- 
 dom been this day acquitted of grievous penalties, 
 and I beg you will accept of the three thousand 
 ducats due unto the Jew." " And we shall stand 
 indebted to you over and above," said Antonio, 
 " in love and service evermore." 
 
 Portia could not be prevailed upon to accept the 
 money ; but upon Bassanio still pressing her to 
 accept of some reward, she said, " Give me your 
 gloves ; I will wear them for your sake ;" and then
 
 u8 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Bassanio taking off his gloves, she espied the ring 
 which she had given him upon his finger : now it 
 was the ring the wily lady wanted to get from him 
 to make a merry jest when she saw her Bassanio 
 again, that made her ask him for his gloves ; and 
 she said, when she saw the ring, " and for your 
 love I will take this ring from you." Bassanio was 
 sadly distressed that the counsellor should ask him 
 for the only thing he could not part with, and he 
 replied in great confusion, that he could not give 
 him that ring, because it was his wife's gift, and 
 he had vowed never to part with it ; but that he 
 would give him the most valuable ring in Venice, 
 and find it out by proclamation. On this Portia 
 affected to "be affronted, and left the court, saying, 
 " You teach me, sir, how a beggar should be an- 
 swered." 
 
 " Dear Bassanio," said Antonio, " let him have 
 the ring; let my love and the great service he has 
 done for me be valued against your wife's dis- 
 pleasure." Bassanio, ashamed to appear so ungrate- 
 ful, yielded, and sent Gratiano after Portia with the 
 ring ; and then the clerk Nerissa, who had also 
 given Gratiano a ring, she begged his ring, and 
 Gratiano (not choosing to be outdone in generosity 
 by his lord) gave it to her. And there was laughing 
 among these ladies to think, when they got homej 
 how they would tax their husbands with giving away 
 their rings, and swear that they had given them as 
 a present to some woman. 
 
 Portia, when she returned, was in that happy 
 temper of mind which never fails to attend the con- 
 sciousness of having performed a good action ; her
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 119 
 
 cheerful spirits enjoyed everything she saw : the 
 moon never seemed to shine so bright before ; and 
 when that pleasant moon was hid behind a cloud, 
 then a light which she saw from her house at Bel- 
 mont as well pleased her charmed fancy, and she 
 said to Nerissa, " That light we see is burning in 
 my hall ; how far that little candle throws its beams, 
 so shines a good deed in a naughty world ;" and 
 hearing the sound of music from her house, she 
 said, " Methinks that music sounds much sweeter 
 than by day." 
 
 And now Portia and Nerissa entered the house, 
 and dressing themselves in their own apparel, they 
 awaited the arrival of their husbands, who soon 
 followed them with Antonio ; and Bassanio pre- 
 senting his dear friend to the lady Portia, the 
 congratulations and welcomings of that lady were 
 hardly over, when they perceived Nerissa and her 
 husband quarrelling in a corner of the room. " A 
 quarrel already?" said Portia. "What is the 
 matter?" Gratiano replied, "Lady, it is about a 
 paltry gilt ring that Nerissa gave me, with words 
 upon it like the poetry on a cutler's knife ; Love 
 me, and leave me not." 
 
 " What does the poetry or the value of the ring 
 signify?" said Nerissa "You swore to me when 
 I gave it to you, that you would keep it till the 
 hour of death ; and now you say you gave it to 
 the lawyer's clerk. I know you gave it to a 
 woman." " By this hand," replied Gratiano, " I 
 gave it to a youth, a kind of boy, a little scrubbed 
 boy, no higher than yourself; he was clerk to the 
 young counsellor that by his wise pleading saved
 
 120 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Antonio's life : this prating boy begged it for a 
 fee, and I could not for my life deny him." Portia 
 said, " You were to blame, Gratiano, to part with 
 your wife's first gift. I gave my lord Bassanio a 
 ring, and I am sure he would not part with it for 
 all the world." Gratiano, in excuse for his fault, 
 now said, " My lord Bassanio gave his ring away to 
 the counsellor, and then the boy, his clerk, that 
 took some pains in writing, he begged my ring." 
 
 Portia, hearing this, seemed very angry, and re- 
 proached Bassanio for giving away her ring ; and 
 she said, Nerissa had taught her what to believe, 
 and that she knew some woman had the ring. Bas- 
 sanio was very unhappy to have so offended his 
 dear lady, and he said with great earnestness, " No, 
 by my honour, no woman had it, but a civil doctor, 
 who refused three thousand ducats of me, and 
 begged the ring, which when I denied him, he went 
 displeased away. What could I do, sweet Portia ? 
 I was so beset with shame for my seeming ingrati- 
 tude, that I was forced to send the ring after him. 
 Pardon me, good lady ; had you been there, I think 
 you would have begged the ring of me to give the 
 worthy doctor." 
 
 " Ah !" said Antonio, " I am the unhappy cause 
 of these quarrels." 
 
 Portia bid Antonio not to grieve at that, for 
 that he was welcome notwithstanding; and then 
 Antonio said, " I once did lend my body for 
 Bassanio's sake ; and but for him to whom your 
 husband gave the ring, I should have now been 
 dead. I dare be bound again, my soul upon the 
 forfeit, your lord will never more break his faith
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 121 
 
 with you." "Then you shall be his surety," said 
 Portia ; " give him this ring, and bid him keep it 
 better than the other." 
 
 When Bassanio looked at this ring, he was 
 strangely surprised to find it was the same he gave 
 away; and then Portia told him how she was the 
 young counsellor, and Nerissa was her clerk ; and 
 Bassanio found, to his unspeakable wonder and 
 delight, that it was by the noble courage and 
 wisdom of his wife that Antonio's life was saved. 
 
 And Portia again welcomed Antonio, and gave 
 him letters which by some chance had fallen into 
 her hands, which contained an account of Anto- 
 nio's ships, that were supposed lost, being safely 
 arrived in the harbour. So these tragical begin- 
 nings of this rich merchant's story were all forgotten 
 in the unexpected good fortune which ensued ; 
 and there was leisure to laugh at the comical 
 adventure of the rings, and the husbands that did 
 not know their own wives : Gratiano merrily 
 swearing, in a sort of rhyming speech, that 
 
 while he lived, he'd fear no other thing 
 
 So sore, as keeping safe Nerissa's ring.
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 TOURING the time of Augustus Caesar, Emperor 
 *-^ of Rome, there reigned in England (which 
 was then called Britain) a king whose name was 
 Cymbeline. 
 
 Cymbeline's first wife died when his three 
 children (two sons and a daughter) were very 
 young. Imogen, the eldest of these children, was 
 brought up in her father's court ; but by a strange 
 chance the two sons of Cymbeline were stolen out 
 of their nursery, when the eldest was but three 
 years of age, and the youngest quite an infant; 
 and Cymbeline could never discover what was 
 become of them, or by whom they were conveyed 
 away. 
 
 Cymbeline was twice married : his second wife 
 was a wicked, plotting woman, and a cruel step- 
 mother to Imogen, Cymbeline's daughter by his 
 first wife. 
 
 The queen, though she hated Imogen, yet wished 
 her to marry a son of her own by a former husband 
 (she also having been twice married) : for by this 
 means she hoped upon the death of Cymbeline to 
 place the crown of Britain upon the head of her 
 son Cloten ; for she knew that, if the king's sons
 
 CYMBELINE. 123 
 
 were not found, the princess Imogen must be the 
 king's heir. But this design was prevented by 
 Imogen herself, who married without the consent 
 or even knowledge of her father or the queen. 
 
 Posthumus (for that was the name of Imogen's 
 husband) was the best scholar and most accom- 
 plished gentleman of that age. His father died 
 fighting in the wars for Cymbeline, and soon after 
 his birth his mother died also for grief at the loss 
 of her husband. 
 
 Cymbeline, pitying the helpless state of this 
 orphan, took Posthumus (Cymbeline having given 
 him that name, because he was born after his 
 father's death), and educated him in his own court. 
 
 Imogen and Posthumus were both taught by 
 the same masters, and were playfellows from their 
 infancy ; they loved each other tenderly when they 
 were children, and their affection continuing to in- 
 crease with their years, when they grew up they 
 privately married. 
 
 The disappointed queen soon learnt this secret, 
 for she kept spies constantly in watch upon the 
 actions of her daughter-in-law, and she immediately 
 told the king of the marriage of Imogen with 
 Posthumus. 
 
 Nothing could exceed the wrath of Cymbeline, 
 when he heard that his daughter had been so for- 
 getful of her high dignity as to marry a subject. 
 He commanded Posthumus to leave Britain, and 
 banished him from his native country for ever. 
 
 The queen, who pretended to pity Imogen for 
 the grief she suffered at losing her husband, offered 
 to procure them a private meeting before Pos-
 
 124 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 thumus set out on his journey to Rome, which 
 place he had chosen for his residence in his 
 banishment : this seeming kindness she showed, 
 the better to succeed in her future designs in regard 
 to her son Cloten ; for she meant to persuade 
 Imogen, when her husband was gone, that her 
 marriage was not lawful, being contracted without 
 the consent of the king. 
 
 Imogen and Posthumus took a most affectionate 
 leave of each other. Imogen gave her husband a 
 diamond ring, which had been her mother's, and 
 Posthumus promised never to part with the ring ; 
 and he fastened a bracelet on the arm of his wife, 
 which he begged she would preserve with great 
 care, as a token of his love ; they then bid each 
 other farewell, with many vows of everlasting love 
 and fidelity. 
 
 Imogen remained a solitary and dejected lady 
 in her father's court, and Posthumus arrived at 
 Rome, the place he had chosen for his banishment. 
 
 Posthumus fell into company at Rome with 
 some gay young men of different nations, who 
 were talking freely of ladies : each one praising the 
 ladies of his own country, and his own mistress. 
 Posthumus, who had ever his own dear lady in his 
 mind, affirmed that his wife, the fair Imogen, was 
 the most virtuous, wise, and constant lady in the 
 world. 
 
 One of those gentlemen, whose name was 
 lachimo, being offended that a lady of Britain 
 should be so praised above the Roman ladies, his 
 country-women, provoked Posthumus by seeming 
 to doubt the constancy of his so highly-praised
 
 CYMBELINE. 125 
 
 wife; and at length, after much altercation, Pos- 
 thumus consented to a proposal of lachimo's, that 
 he (lachimo) should go to Britain, and endeavour 
 to gain the love of the married Imogen. They 
 then laid a wager, that if lachimo did not succeed 
 in this wicked design, he was to forfeit a large sum 
 of money ; but if he could win Imogen's favour, 
 and prevail upon her to give him the bracelet 
 which Posthumus had so earnestly desired she 
 would keep as a token of his love, then the wager 
 was to terminate with Posthumus giving to lachimo 
 the ring, which was Imogen's love present when 
 she parted with her husband. Such firm faith had 
 Posthumus in the fidelity of Imogen, that he 
 thought he ran no hazard in this trial of her honour. 
 
 lachimo, on his arrival in Britain, gained admit- 
 tance, and a courteous welcome from Imogen, as a 
 friend of her husband ; but when he began to make 
 professions of love to her, she repulsed him with 
 disdain, and he soon found that he could have no 
 hope of succeeding in his dishonourable design. 
 
 The desire lachimo had to win the wager made 
 him now have recourse to a stratagem to impose 
 upon Posthumus, and for this purpose he bribed 
 some of Imogen's attendants, and was by them con- 
 veyed into her bedchamber, concealed in a large 
 trunk, where he remained shut up till Imogen was 
 retired to rest, and had fallen asleep ; and then get- 
 ting out of the trunk, he examined the chamber with 
 great attention, and wrote down everything he saw 
 there, and particularly noticed a mole which he ob- 
 served upon Imogen's neck, and then softly unloos- 
 ing the bracelet from her arm, which Posthumus
 
 126 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 had given to her, he retired into the chest again ; 
 and the next day he set off for Rome with great 
 expedition, and boasted to Posthumus that Imogen 
 had given him the bracelet, and likewise permitted 
 him to pass a night in her chamber : and in this 
 manner lachimo told his false tale : " Her bed- 
 chamber," said he, " was hung with tapestry of silk 
 and silver, the story was the proud Cleopatra when 
 she met her Anthony, a piece of work most bravely 
 wrought." 
 
 " This is true," said Posthumus ; " but this you 
 might have heard spoken of without seeing." 
 
 " Then the chimney," said lachimo, " is south of 
 the chamber v and the chimney-piece is Diana bath- 
 ing; never saw I figures livelier expressed." 
 
 " This is a thing you might have likewise heard," 
 said Posthumus ; " for it is much talked of." 
 
 lachimo as accurately described the roof of the 
 chamber ; and added, " I had almost forgot her 
 andirons ; they were two winking Cupids made of 
 silver, each on one foot standing." He then took 
 out the bracelet, and said, " Know you this jewel, 
 sir ? She gave me this. She took it from her arm. 
 I see her yet ; her pretty action did outsell her gift, 
 and yet enriched it too. She gave it me, and said, 
 she prized it once." He last of all described the 
 mole he had observed upon her neck. 
 
 Posthumus, who had heard the whole of this art- 
 ful recital in an agony of doubt, now broke out into 
 the most passionate exclamations against Imogea 
 He delivered up the diamond ring to lachimo, 
 which he had agreed to forfeit to him, if he obtained 
 the bracelet from Imogea
 
 CYMBELINE. 127 
 
 Posthumus then in a jealous rage wrote to Pi- 
 sanio, a gentleman of Britain, who was one of 
 Imogen's attendants, and had long been a faithful 
 friend to Posthumus ; and after telling him what 
 proof he had of his wife's disloyalty, he desired 
 Pisanio would take Imogen to Milford-Haven, a 
 seaport of Wales, and there kill her. And at the 
 same time he wrote a deceitful letter to Imogen, 
 desiring her to go with Pisanio, for that finding he 
 could live no longer without seeing her, though he 
 was forbidden upon pain of death to return to 
 Britain, he would come to Milford-Haven, at which 
 place he begged she would meet him. She, good 
 unsuspecting lady, who loved her husband above all 
 things, and desired more than her life to see him, 
 hastened her departure with Pisanio, and the same 
 night she received the letter she set out 
 
 When their journey was nearly at an end, Pisanio 
 who, though faithful to Posthumus, was not faithful 
 to serve him in an evil deed, disclosed to Imogen 
 the cruel order he had received. 
 
 Imogen, who, instead of meeting a loving and 
 beloved husband, found herself doomed by that 
 husband to suffer death, was afflicted beyond mea- 
 sure. 
 
 Pisanio persuaded her to take comfort, and wait 
 with patient fortitude for the time when Posthumus 
 should see and repent his injustice : in the mean 
 time, as she refused in her distress to return to her 
 father's court, he advised her to dress herself in 
 boy's clothes for more security in travelling; to 
 which advice she agreed, and thought in that dis- 
 guise she would go over to Rome, and see her hus-
 
 128 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 band, whom, though he had used her so barbarously, 
 she could not forget to love 
 
 When Pisanio had provided her with her new ap- 
 parel, he left her to her uncertain fortune, being 
 obliged to return to court ; but before he departed 
 he gave her a phial of cordial, which he said the 
 queen had given him as a sovereign remedy in all 
 disorders. 
 
 The queen, who hated Pisanio because he was a 
 friend to Imogen and Posthumus, gave him this 
 phial, which she supposed contained poison, she 
 having ordered her physician to give her some 
 poison, to try its effects (as she said) upon animals ; 
 but the physician, knowing her malicious disposi- 
 tion, would not trust her with real poison, but gave 
 her a drug which would do no other mischief than 
 causing a person to sleep with every appearance of 
 death for a few hours. This mixture, which Pisanio 
 thought a choice cordial, he gave to Imogen, desir- 
 ing her, if she found herself ill upon the road, to 
 take it ; and so, with blessings and prayers for her 
 safety and happy deliverance from her undeserved 
 troubles, he left her. 
 
 Providence strangely directed Imogen's steps to 
 the dwelling of her two brothers, who had been 
 stolen away in their infancy. Bellarius, who stole 
 them away, was a lord in the court of Cymbeline, 
 and having been falsely accused to the king of trea- 
 son, and banished from the court, in revenge he 
 stole away the two sons of Cymbeline, and brought 
 them up in a forest, where he lived concealed in a 
 cave. He stole them through revenge, but he soon 
 loved them as tenderly as if they had been his own
 
 CYMBELINE. 129 
 
 children, educated them carefully, and they grew up 
 fine youths, their princely spirits leading them to 
 bold and daring actions ; and as they subsisted by 
 hunting, they were active and hardy, and were al- 
 ways pressing their supposed father to let them seek 
 their fortune in the wars. 
 
 At the cave where these youths dwelt it was 
 Imogen's fortune to arrive. She had lost her way 
 in a large forest, through which her road lay to 
 Milford-Haven (from which she meant to embark 
 for Rome); and being unable to find any place 
 where she could purchase food, she was with weari- 
 ness and hunger almost dying ; for it is not merely 
 putting on a man's apparel that will enable a young 
 lady, tenderly brought up, to bear the fatigue of 
 wandering about lonely forests like a man. Seeing 
 this cave, she entered, hoping to find some one 
 within of whom she could procure food. She found 
 the cave empty, but looking about she discovered 
 some cold meat, and her hunger was so pressing, 
 that she could not wait for an invitation, but sat 
 down and began to eat " Ah," said she, talking 
 to herself, " I see a man's life is a tedious one ; 
 how tired am I ! for two nights together I have 
 made the ground my bed : my resolution helps me, 
 or I should be sick. When Pisanio showed me 
 Milford-Haven from the mountain top, how near 
 it seemed !" Then the thoughts of her husband 
 and his cruel mandate came across her, and she 
 said, " My dear Posthumus, thou art a false one !" 
 
 The two brothers of Imogen, who had been 
 hunting with their reputed father, Bellarius, were 
 by this time returned home. Bellarius had given 
 
 K
 
 130 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 them the names of Polydore and Cadwal, and they 
 knew no better, but supposed that Bellarius was 
 their father ; but the real names of these princes 
 were Guiderius and Arviragus. 
 
 Bellarius entered the cave first, and seeing 
 Imogen, stopped them, saying, " Come not in yet ; it 
 eats our victuals, or I should think it was a fairy." 
 
 " What is the matter, sir?" said the young men. 
 " By Jupiter," said Bellarius again, " there is an 
 angel in the cave, or if not, an earthly paragon." 
 So beautiful did Imogen look in her boy's apparel. 
 
 She, hearing the sound of voices, came forth 
 from the cave, and addressed them in these words : 
 " Good masters, do not harm me ; before I entered 
 your cave," I had thought to have begged or bought 
 what I have eaten. Indeed I have stolen nothing, 
 nor would I, though I had found gold strewed on 
 the floor. Here is money for my meat, which I 
 would have left on the board when I had made 
 my meal, and parted with prayers for the provider." 
 They refused her money with great earnestness. 
 " I see you are angry with me," said the timid 
 Imogen ; " but, sirs, if you kill me for my fault, 
 know that I should have died if I had not made it." 
 
 "Whither are you bound?" asked Bellarius, 
 " and what is your name ?" 
 
 " Fidele is my name," answered Imogen. " I 
 have a kinsman, who is bound for Italy ; he em- 
 barked at Milford-Haven, to whom being going, 
 almost spent with hunger, I am fallen into this 
 offence." 
 
 " Prithee, fair youth," said old Bellarius, " do not 
 think us churls, nor measure our good minds by
 
 CYMBELINE. 131 
 
 this rude place we live in. You are well encoun- 
 tered ; it is almost night You shall have better 
 cheer before you depart, and thanks to stay and 
 eat it. Boys, bid him welcome." 
 
 The gentle youths, her brothers, then welcomed 
 Imogen to their cave with many kind expressions, 
 saying they would love her (or, as they said, him] 
 as a brother; and they entered the cave, where 
 (they having killed venison when they were hunt- 
 ing) Imogen delighted them with her neat house- 
 wifery, assisting them in preparing their supper; 
 for though it is not the custom now for young 
 women of high birth to understand cookery, it was 
 then, and Imogen excelled in this useful art ; and, 
 as her brothers prettily expressed it, Fidele cut 
 their roots in characters, and sauced their broth, 
 as if Juno had been sick, and Fidele were her 
 dieter. " And then," said Polydore to his brother, 
 "how angel-like he sings !" 
 
 They also remarked to each other, that though 
 Fidele smiled so sweetly, yet so sad a melancholy 
 did overcloud his lovely face, as if grief and patience 
 had together taken possession of him. 
 
 For these her gentle qualities (or perhaps it was 
 their near relationship, though they knew it not) 
 Imogen (or, as the boys called her, Fidele) became 
 the doting-piece of her brothers, and she scarcely 
 less loved them, thinking that but for the memory 
 of her dear Posthumus, she could live and die in 
 the cave with these wild forest youths ; and she 
 gladly consented to stay with them, till she was 
 enough rested from the fatigue of travelling to pur- 
 sue her way to Milford-Haven.
 
 132 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 When the venison they had taken was all eaten, 
 and they were going out to hunt for more, Fidele 
 could not accompany them because she was unwell 
 Sorrow, no doubt, for her husband's cruel usage, as 
 well as the fatigue of wandering in the forest, was 
 the cause of her illness. 
 
 They then bid her farewell, and went to their 
 hunt, praising all the way the noble parts and 
 graceful demeanour of the youth Fidele. 
 
 Imogen was no sooner left alone than she recol- 
 lected the cordial Pisanio had given her, and drank 
 it off, and presently fell into a sound and deathlike 
 sleep. 
 
 When Bellarius and her brothers returned from 
 hunting, Polydore went first into the cave, and sup- 
 posing her asleep, pulled off his heavy shoes, that 
 he might tread softly and not awake her; so did 
 true gentleness spring up in the minds of these 
 princely foresters; but he soon discovered that 
 she could not be awakened by any noise, and con- 
 cluded her to be dead, and Polydore lamented over 
 her with dear and brotherly regret, as if they had 
 never from their infancy been parted. 
 
 Bellarius also proposed to carry her out into the 
 forest, and there celebrate her funeral with songs 
 and solemn dirges, as was then the custom. 
 
 Imogen's two brothers then carried her to a shady 
 covert, and there laying her gently on the grass, 
 they sang repose to her departed spirit, and cover- 
 ing her over with leaves and flowers, Polydore said, 
 " While summer lasts and I live here, Fidele, I will 
 daily strew thy grave. The pale primrose, that 
 flower most like thy face ; the blue-bell, like
 
 CYMBELINE. 133 
 
 thy clear veins ; and the leaf of eglantine, which 
 is not sweeter than was thy breath ; all these will 
 I strew over thee. Yea, and the furred moss in 
 winter, when there are no flowers to cover thy sweet 
 corse." 
 
 When they had finished her funeral obsequies 
 they departed very sorrowful. 
 
 Imogen had not been long left alone, when, the 
 effect of the sleepy drug going off, she awaked, 
 and easily shaking off the slight covering of leaves 
 and flowers they had thrown over her, she arose, 
 and imagining she had been dreaming, she said, 
 " I thought I was a cave-keeper, and cook to honest 
 creatures ; how came I here covered with flowers ?" 
 Not being able to find her way back to the cave, 
 and seeing nothing of her new companions, she 
 concluded it was certainly all a dream ; and once 
 more Imogen set out on her weary pilgrimage, 
 hoping at last she should find her way to Milford- 
 Haven, and thence get a passage in some ship 
 bound for Italy; for all her thoughts were still 
 with her husband Posthumus, whom she intended 
 to seek in the disguise of a page. 
 
 But great events were happening at this time, 
 of which Imogen knew nothing ; for a war had sud- 
 denly broken out between the Roman emperor Au- 
 gustus Caesar and Cymbeline, the king of Britain ; 
 and a Roman army had landed to invade Britain, and 
 was advanced into the very forest over which Imogen 
 was journeying. With this army came Posthumus. 
 
 Though Posthumus came over to Britain with 
 the Roman army, he did not mean to fight on their 
 side against his own countrymen, but intended to
 
 134 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 join the army of Britain, and fight in the cause of 
 his king who had banished him. 
 
 He still believed Imogen false to him ; yet the 
 death of her he had so fondly loved, and by his 
 own orders too (Pisanio having written him a letter 
 to say he had obeyed his command, and that Im- 
 ogen was dead), sat heavy on his heart, and there- 
 fore he returned to Britain, desiring either to be 
 slain in battle, or to be put to death by Cymbeline 
 for returning home from banishment. 
 
 Imogen, before she reached Milford-Haven, fell 
 into the hands of the Roman army ; and her pre- 
 sence and deportment recommending her, she was 
 made a page to Lucius, the Roman general. 
 
 Cymbeline's army now advanced to meet the 
 enemy, and when they entered this forest, Polydore 
 and Cadwal joined the king's army. The young 
 men were eager to engage in acts of valour, though 
 they little thought they were going to fight for their 
 own royal father: and old Bellarius went with them 
 to the battle. He had long since repented of the 
 injury he had done to Cymbeline in carrying away 
 his sons ; and having been a warrior in his youth, 
 he gladly joined the army to fight for the king he 
 had so injured. 
 
 And now a great battle commenced between the 
 two armies, and the Britons would have been de- 
 feated, and Cymbeline himself killed, but for the 
 extraordinary valour of Posthumus and Bellarius, 
 and the two sons of Cymbeline. They rescued the 
 king, and saved his life, and so entirely turned the for- 
 tune of the day, that the Britons gained the victory. 
 
 When the battle was over, Posthumus, who had
 
 CYMBELINE. 135 
 
 not found the death he sought for, surrendered him- 
 self up to one of the officers of Cymbeline, willing 
 to suffer the death which was to be his punishment 
 if he returned from banishment. 
 
 Imogen and the master she served were taken 
 prisoners, and brought before Cymbeline, as was 
 also her old enemy lachimo, who was an officer in 
 the Roman army ; and when these prisoners were 
 before the king, Posthumus was brought in to re- 
 ceive his sentence of death ; and at this strange 
 juncture of time, Bellarius with Polydore and Cad- 
 wal were also brought before Cymbeline, to receive 
 the rewards due to the great services they had by 
 their valour done for the king. Pisanio, being one 
 of the king's attendants, was likewise present 
 
 Therefore there were now standing in the king's 
 presence (but with very different hopes and fears) 
 Posthumus and Imogen, with her new master the 
 Roman general ; the faithful servant Pisanio, and 
 the false friend lachimo ; and likewise the two lost 
 sons of Cymbeline, with Bellarius, who had stolen 
 them away. 
 
 The Roman general was the first who spoke ; 
 the rest stood silent before the king, though there 
 was many a beating heart among them. 
 
 Imogen saw Posthumus, and knew him, though 
 he was in the disguise of a peasant ; but he did 
 not know her in her male attire : and she knew 
 lachimo, and she saw a ring on his finger which 
 she perceived to be her own, but she did not know 
 him as yet to have been the author of all her 
 troubles : and she stood before her own father a 
 prisoner of war.
 
 136 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Pisanio knew Imogen, for it was he who had 
 dressed her in the garb of a boy. " It is my mis- 
 tress," thought he ; " since she is living, let the 
 time run on to good or bad." Bellarius knew her 
 too, and softly said to Cadwal, " Is not this boy 
 revived from death?" "One sand," replied Cad- 
 wal, " does not more resemble another than that 
 sweet rosy lad is like the dead Fidele." "The 
 same dead thing alive," said Polydore. " Peace, 
 peace," said Bellarius ; " if it were he, I am sure 
 he would have spoken to us." " But we saw him 
 dead," again whispered Polydore. " Be silent," re- 
 plied Bellarius. 
 
 Posthumus waited in silence to hear the welcome 
 sentence of his own death ; and he resolved not 
 to disclose to the king that he had saved his life 
 in the battle, lest that should move Cymbeline to 
 pardon him. 
 
 Lucius, the Roman general, who had taken Im- 
 ogen under his protection as his page, was the first 
 (as has been before said) who spoke to the king. 
 He was a man of high courage and noble dignity, 
 and this was his speech to the king : 
 
 " I hear you take no ransom for your prisoners, 
 but doom them all to death : I am a Roman, and 
 with a Roman heart will suffer death. But there 
 is one thing for which I would entreat." Then 
 bringing Imogen before the king, he said, " This 
 boy is a Briton born. Let him be ransomed. He 
 is my page. Never master had a page so kind, so 
 duteous, so diligent on all occasions, so true, so 
 nurse-like. He hath done no Briton wrong, though 
 he hath served a Romaa Save him, if you spare 
 no one beside."
 
 CYMBELINE. 137 
 
 Cymbeline looked earnestly on his daughter 
 Imogea He knew her not in that disguise ; but 
 it seemed that all-powerful Nature spake in his 
 heart, for he said, " I have surely seen him, his 
 face appears familiar to me. I know not why or 
 wherefore I say, Live, boy; but I give you your 
 life, and ask of me what boon you will, and I will 
 grant it you. .Yea, even though it be the life of 
 the noblest prisoner I have." 
 
 " I humbly thank your highness," said Imogea 
 
 What was then called granting a boon was the 
 same as a promise to give any one thing, whatever 
 it might be, that the person on whom that favour 
 was conferred chose to ask for. They all were 
 attentive to hear what thing the page would ask 
 for; and Lucius her master said to her, "I do 
 not beg my life, good lad, but I know that is what 
 you will ask for." " No, no, alas !" said Imogen, 
 " I have other work in hand, good master ; your 
 life I cannot ask for." 
 
 This seeming want of gratitude in the boy asto- 
 nished the Roman general 
 
 Imogen then, fixing her eye on lachimo, de- 
 manded no other boon than this : that lachimo 
 should be made to confess whence he had the ring 
 he wore on his finger. 
 
 Cymbeline granted her this boon, and threatened 
 lachimo with the torture if he did not confess how 
 he came by the diamond ring on his finger. 
 
 lachimo then made a full acknowledgment of 
 all his villany, telling, as has been before related, the 
 whole story of his wager with Posthumus, and how 
 he had succeeded in imposing upon his credulity.
 
 138 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 What Posthumus felt at hearing this proof of 
 the innocence of his lady cannot be expressed. He 
 instantly came forward, and confessed to Cymbe- 
 line the cruel sentence which he had enjoined 
 Pisanio to execute upon the princess ; exclaiming 
 wildly, " O Imogen, my queen, my life, my wife ! 
 O Imogen, Imogen, Imogen !" 
 
 Imogen could not see her beloved husband in 
 this distress without discovering herself, to the 
 unutterable joy of Posthumus, who was thus relieved 
 from a weight of guilt and woe, and restored to 
 the good graces of the dear lady he had so cruelly 
 treated. 
 
 Cymbeline, almost as much overwhelmed as he 
 with joy, at "finding his lost daughter so strangely 
 recovered, received her to her former place in his 
 fatherly affection, and not only gave her husband 
 Posthumus his life, but consented to acknowledge 
 him for his son-in-law. 
 
 Bellarius chose this time of joy and reconciliation 
 to make his confession. He presented Polydore 
 and Cadwal to the king, telling him they were his 
 two lost sons, Guiderius and Arviragus. 
 
 Cymbeline forgave old Bellarius ; for who could 
 think of punishments at a season of such universal 
 happiness ? To find his daughter living, and his 
 lost sons in the persons of his young deliverers, 
 that he had seen so bravely fight in his defence, 
 was unlocked for joy indeed ! 
 
 Imogen was now at leisure to perform good ser- 
 vices for her late master, the Roman general Lucius, 
 whose life the king her father readily granted at her 
 request ; and by the mediation of the same Lucius
 
 CYMBELINE. 139 
 
 a peace was concluded between the Romans and 
 the Britons, which was kept inviolate many years. 
 How Cymbeline's wicked queen, through despair 
 of bringing her projects to pass, and touched with 
 remorse of conscience, sickened and died, having 
 first lived to see her foolish son Cloten slain in a 
 quarrel which he had provoked, are events too 
 tragical to interrupt this happy conclusion by more 
 than merely touching upon. It is sufficient that all 
 were made happy who were deserving; and even 
 the treacherous lachimo, in consideration of his 
 villany having missed its final aim, was dismissed 
 without punishment
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 T EAR, king of Britain, had three daughters ; 
 Goneril, wife to the duke of Albany ; Regan, 
 wife to the duke of Cornwall ; and Cordelia, a 
 young maid, for whose love the king of France 
 and duke of Burgundy were joint suitors, and were 
 at this timer making stay for that purpose in the 
 court of Lear. 
 
 The old king, worn out with age and the fatigues 
 of government, he being more than fourscore years 
 old, determined to take no further part in state 
 affairs, but to leave the management to younger 
 strengths, that he might have time to prepare for 
 death, which must at no long period ensue. With 
 this intent he called his three daughters to him, to 
 know from their own lips which of them loved him 
 best, that he might part his kingdom among them 
 in such proportions as their affection for him should 
 seem to deserve. 
 
 Goneril, the eldest, declared that she loved her 
 father more than words could give out, that he was 
 dearer to her than the light of her own eyes, dearer 
 than life and liberty, with a deal of such professing 
 stuff, which is easy to counterfeit where there is no 
 real love, only a few fine words delivered with con-
 
 KING LEAR. 141 
 
 fide nee being wanted in that case. The king, de- 
 lighted to hear from her own mouth this assurance 
 of her love, and thinking truly that her heart went 
 with it, in a fit of fatherly fondness bestowed upon 
 her and her husband one third of his ample king- 
 dom. 
 
 Then calling to him his second daughter, he 
 demanded what she had to say. Regan, who was 
 made of the same hollow metal as her sister, was 
 not a whit behind in her professions, but rather 
 declared that what her sister had spoken came 
 short of the love which she professed to bear for 
 his highness ; insomuch that she found all other 
 joys dead, in comparison with the pleasure which 
 she took in the love of her dear king and father. 
 
 Lear blessed himself in having such loving child- 
 ren, as he thought; and could do no less, after 
 the handsome assurances which Regan had made, 
 than bestow a third of his kingdom upon her and 
 her husband, equal in size to that which he had 
 already given away to Goneril. 
 
 Then turning to his youngest daughter Cordelia, 
 whom he called his joy, he asked what she had to 
 say, thinking no doubt that she would glad his ears 
 with the same loving speeches which her sisters had 
 uttered, or rather that her expressions would be so 
 much stronger than theirs, as she had always been 
 his darling, and favoured 'by him above either of 
 them. But Cordelia, disgusted with the flattery of 
 her sisters, whose hearts she knew were far from 
 their lips, and seeing that all their coaxing speeches 
 were only intended to wheedle the old king out of 
 his dominions, that they and their husbands might
 
 I 4 2 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 reign in his lifetime, made no other reply but this, 
 that she loved his majesty according to her duty, 
 neither more nor less. 
 
 The king, shocked with this appearance of in- 
 gratitude in his favourite child, desired her to con- 
 sider her words, and to mend her speech, lest it 
 should mar her fortunes. 
 
 Cordelia then told her father, that he was her 
 father, that he had given her breeding, and loved 
 her ; that she returned those duties back as was 
 most fit, and did obey him, love him, and most 
 honour him. But that she could not frame her 
 mouth to such large speeches as her sisters had 
 done, or promise to love nothing else in the world. 
 Why had he"r sisters husbands, if (as they said) they 
 had no love for anything but their father ? If she 
 should ever wed, she was sure the lord to whom 
 she gave her hand would want half her love, half 
 of her care and duty ; she should never marry like 
 her sisters, to love her father all 
 
 Cordelia, who in earnest loved her old father 
 even almost as extravagantly as her sisters pre- 
 tended to do, would have plainly told him so at 
 any other time, in more daughter-like and loving 
 terms, and without these qualifications, which did 
 indeed sound a little ungracious; but after the 
 crafty flattering speeches of her sisters, which she 
 had seen draw such extravagant rewards, she 
 thought the handsomest thing she could do was to 
 love and be silent This put her affection out of 
 suspicion of mercenary ends, and showed that she 
 loved, but not for gain ; and that her profes- 
 sions, the less ostentatious they were, had so
 
 KING LEAR. 143 
 
 much the more of truth and sincerity than her 
 sisters'. 
 
 This plainness of speech, which Lear called pride, 
 so enraged the old monarch who in his best of 
 times always showed much of spleen and rashness, 
 and in whom the dotage incident to old age had 
 so clouded over his reason, that he could not dis- 
 cern truth from flattery, nor a gay painted speech 
 from words that came from the heart that in a 
 fury of resentment he retracted the third part of 
 his kingdom which yet remained, and which he 
 had reserved for Cordelia, and gave it away from 
 her, sharing it equally between her two sisters and 
 their husbands, the dukes of Albany and Cornwall ; 
 whom he now called to him, and in presence of all 
 his courtiers bestowing a coronet between them, 
 invested them jointly with all the power, revenue, 
 and execution of government, only retaining to 
 himself the name of king ; all the rest of royalty 
 he resigned; with this reservation, that himself, 
 with a hundred knights for his attendants, was to 
 be maintained by monthly course in each of his 
 daughters' palaces in turn. 
 
 So preposterous a disposal of his kingdom, so 
 little guided by reason, and so much by passion, 
 filled all his courtiers with astonishment and sorrow; 
 but none of them had the courage to interpose 
 between this incensed king and his wrath, except 
 the earl of Kent, who was beginning to speak a 
 good word for Cordelia, when the passionate Lear 
 on pain of death commanded him to desist ; but 
 the good Kent was not so to be repelled. He had 
 been ever loyal to Lear, whom he had honoured
 
 144 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 as a king, loved as a father, followed as a master ; 
 and he had never esteemed his life further than as 
 a pawn to wage against his royal master's enemies, 
 nor feared to lose it when Lear's safety was the 
 motive; nor now that Lear was most his own 
 enemy, did this faithful servant of the king forget 
 his old principles, but manfully opposed Lear, to 
 do Lear good ; and was unmannerly only because 
 Lear was mad. He had been a most faithful 
 counsellor in times past to the king, and he be- 
 sought him now, that he would see with his eyes 
 (as he had done in many weighty matters), and go 
 by his advice still ; and in his best consideration 
 recall this hideous rashness : for he would answer 
 with his life, his judgment that Lear's youngest 
 daughter did not love him least, nor were those 
 empty-hearted whose low sound gave no token of 
 hollowness. When power bowed to flattery, honour 
 was bound to plainness. For Lear's threats, what 
 could he do to him, whose life was already at his 
 service ? That should not hinder duty from 
 speaking. 
 
 The honest freedom of this good earl of Kent 
 only stirred up the king's wrath the more, and like 
 a frantic patient who kills his physician, and loves 
 his mortal disease, he banished this true servant, 
 and allotted him but five days to make his pre- 
 parations for departure ; but if on the sixth his 
 hated person was found within the realm of Britain, 
 that moment was to be his death. And Kent 
 bade farewell to the king, and said, that since he 
 chose to show himself in such fashion, it was but 
 banishment to stay there ; and before he went, he
 
 KING LEAR. 145 
 
 recommended Cordelia to the protection of the 
 gods, the maid who had so rightly thought, and 
 so discreetly spoken ; and only wished that her 
 sisters' large speeches might be answered with 
 deeds of love ; and then he went, as he said, to 
 shape his old course to a new country. 
 
 The king of France and duke of Burgundy 
 were now called in to hear the determination of 
 Lear about his youngest daughter, and to know 
 whether they would persist in their courtship to 
 Cordelia, now that she was under her father's dis- 
 pleasure, and had no fortune but her own person 
 to recommend her : and the duke of Burgundy 
 declined the match, and would not take her to 
 wife upon such conditions ; but the king of France, 
 understanding what the nature of the fault had 
 been which had lost her the love of her father, 
 that it was only a tardiness of speech, and the not 
 being able to frame her tongue to flattery like her 
 sisters, took this young maid by the hand, and 
 saying that her virtues were a dowry above a 
 kingdom, bade Cordelia to take farewell of her 
 sisters and of her father, though he had been un- 
 kind, and she should go with him, and be queen 
 of him and of fair France, and reign over fairer 
 possessions than her sisters : and he called the 
 duke of Burgundy in contempt a waterish duke, 
 because his love for this young maid had in a 
 moment run all away like water. 
 
 Then Cordelia with weeping eyes took leave of 
 
 her sisters, and besought them to love their father 
 
 well, and make good their professions : and they 
 
 sullenly told her not to prescribe to them, for they 
 
 L
 
 146 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 knew their duty ; but to strive to content her 
 husband, who had taken her (as they tauntingly 
 expressed it) as Fortune's alms. And Cordelia 
 with a heavy heart departed, for she knew the 
 cunning of her sisters, and she wished her father 
 in better hands than she was about to leave him 
 in. 
 
 Cordelia was no sooner gone, than the devilish 
 dispositions of her sisters began to show them- 
 selves in their true colours. Even before the ex- 
 piration of the first month, which Lear was to 
 spend by agreement with his eldest daughter 
 Goneril, the old king began to find out the differ- 
 ence between promises and performances. This 
 wretch having got from her father all that he had 
 to bestow, even to the giving away of the crown 
 from off his head, began to grudge even those 
 small remnants of royalty which the old man had 
 reserved to himself, to please his fancy with the 
 idea of being still a king. She could not bear to 
 see him and his hundred knights. Every time she 
 met her father, she put on a frowning countenance ; 
 and when the old man wanted to speak with her, 
 she would feign sickness, or anything to be rid of 
 the sight of him ; for it was plain that she esteemed 
 his old age a useless burden, and his attendants 
 an unnecessary expense : not only she herself 
 slackened in her expressions of duty to the king, 
 but by her example, and (it is to be feared) not 
 without her private instructions, her very servants 
 affected to treat him with neglect, and would either 
 refuse to obey his orders, or still more contemptu- 
 ously pretend not to hear them. Lear could not
 
 KING LEAR. 147 
 
 but perceive this alteration in the behaviour of his 
 daughter, but he shut his eyes against it as long 
 as he could, as people commonly are unwilling to 
 believe the unpleasant consequences which their 
 own mistakes and obstinacy have brought upon 
 them. 
 
 True love and fidelity are no more to be es- 
 tranged by ///, than falsehood and hollow-hearted- 
 ness can be conciliated by good, usage. This 
 eminently appears in the instance of the good earl 
 of Kent, who, though banished by Lear, and his 
 life made forfeit if he were found in Britain, chose 
 to stay and abide all consequences, as long as 
 there was a chance of his being useful to the king 
 his master. See to what mean shifts and disguises 
 poor loyalty is forced to submit sometimes ; yet it 
 counts nothing base or unworthy, so as it can but 
 do service where it owes an obligation ! In the 
 disguise of a serving man, all his greatness and 
 pomp . laid aside, this good earl proffered his 
 services to the king, who, not knowing him to be 
 Kent in that disguise, but pleased with a certain 
 plainness, or rather bluntness in his answers, which 
 the earl put on (so different from that smooth oily 
 flattery which he had so much reason to be sick 
 of, having found the effects not answerable in his 
 daughter), a bargain was quickly struck, and Lear 
 took Kent into his service by the name of Caius, 
 as he called himself, never suspecting him to be 
 his once great favourite, the high and mighty earl 
 of Kent. 
 
 This Caius quickly found means to show his 
 fidelity and love to his royal master ; for Goneril's
 
 148 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 steward that same day behaving in a disrespectful 
 manner to Lear, and giving him saucy looks and 
 language, as no doubt he was secretly encouraged 
 to do by his mistress, Caius, not enduring to hear 
 so open an affront put upon his majesty, made no 
 more ado but presently tripped up his heels, and 
 laid the unmannerly slave in the kennel ; for which 
 friendly service Lear became more and more at- 
 tached to him. 
 
 Nor was Kent the only friend Lear had. In his 
 degree, and as far as so insignificant a personage 
 could show his love, the poor fool, or jester, that 
 had been of his palace while Lear had a palace, 
 as it was the custom of kings and great personages 
 at that time to keep a fool (as he was called) to 
 make them sport after serious business : this poor 
 fool clung to Lear after he had given away his 
 crown, and by his witty sayings would keep up his 
 good humour, though he could not refrain some- 
 times from jeering at his master for his imprudence 
 in uncrowning himself, and giving all away to his 
 daughters; at which time, as he rhymingly ex- 
 pressed it, these daughters 
 
 For sudden joy did weep 
 
 And he for sorrow sung, 
 That such a king should play bo-peep, 
 
 And go the fools among. 
 
 And in such wild sayings, and scraps of songs, 
 of which he had plenty, this pleasant honest fool 
 poured out his heart even in the presence of 
 Goneril herself, in many a bitter taunt and jest 
 which cut to the quick : such as comparing the
 
 KING LEAR. 149 
 
 king to the hedge-sparrow, who feeds the young 
 of the cuckoo till they grow old enough, and then 
 has its head bit off for its pains ; and saying, that 
 an ass may know when the cart draws the horse 
 (meaning that Lear's daughters, that ought to go 
 behind, now ranked before their father) ; and that 
 Lear was no longer Lear, but the shadow of Lear : 
 for which free speeches he was once or twice 
 threatened to be whipped. 
 
 The coolness and falling off of respect which 
 Lear had begun to perceive, were not all which 
 this foolish fond father was to suffer from his 
 unworthy daughter : she now plainly told him that 
 his staying in her palace was inconvenient so long 
 as he insisted upon keeping up an establishment 
 of a hundred knights ; that this establishment was 
 useless and expensive, and only served to fill her 
 court with riot and feasting ; and she prayed him 
 that he would lessen their number, and keep none 
 but old men about him, such as himself, and fitting 
 his age. 
 
 Lear at first could not believe his eyes or ears, 
 nor that it was his daughter who spoke so unkindly. 
 He could not believe that she who had received a 
 crown from him could seek to cut off his train, 
 and grudge him the respect due to his old age. 
 But she persisting in her undutiful demand, the old 
 man's rage was so excited, that he called her a 
 detested kite, and said that she spoke an untruth ; 
 and so indeed she did, for the hundred knights 
 were all men of choice behaviour and sobriety of 
 manners, skilled in all particulars of duty, and not 
 given to rioting or feasting, as she said. And he
 
 i$o TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 bid his horses to be prepared, for he would go to 
 his other daughter, Regan, he and his hundred 
 knights ; and he spoke of ingratitude, and said it 
 was a marble-hearted devil, and showed more 
 hideous in a child than the sea-monster. And he 
 cursed his eldest daughter Goneril so as was ter- 
 rible to hear ; praying that she might never have 
 a child, or if she had, that it might live to return 
 that scorn and contempt upon her which she had 
 shown to him : that she might feel how sharper 
 than a serpent's tooth it was to have a thankless 
 child. And Goneril's husband, the duke of 
 Albany, beginning to excuse himself for any share 
 which Lear might suppose he had in the unkind- 
 ness, Lear would not hear him out, but in a rage 
 ordered his horses to be saddled, and set out with 
 his followers for the abode of Regan, his other 
 daughter. And Lear thought to himself how small 
 the fault of Cordelia (if it was a fault) now appeared, 
 in comparison with her sister's, and he wept ; and 
 then he was ashamed that such a creature as 
 Goneril should have so much power over his 
 manhood as to make him weep. 
 
 Regan and her husband were keeping their 
 court in great pomp and state at their palace ; and 
 Lear despatched his servant Caius with letters to 
 his daughter, that she might be prepared for his 
 reception, while he and his train followed after. 
 But it seems that Goneril had been beforehand 
 with him, sending letters also to Regan, accusing 
 her father of waywardness and ill humours, and 
 advising her not to receive so great a train as he 
 was bringing with him. This messenger arrived
 
 KING LEAR. 151 
 
 at the same time with Caius, and Caius and he 
 met : and who should it be but Caius's old enemy 
 the steward, whom he had formerly tripped up by 
 the heels for his saucy behaviour to Lear. Caius 
 not liking the fellow's look, and suspecting what 
 he came for, began to revile him, and challenged 
 him to fight, which the fellow refusing, Caius, in a 
 fit of honest passion, beat him soundly, as such a 
 mischief-maker and carrier of wicked messages 
 deserved ; which coming to the ears of Regan and 
 her husband, they ordered Caius to be put in the 
 stocks, though he was a messenger from the king 
 her father, and in that character demanded the 
 highest respect: so that the first thing the king 
 saw when he entered the castle, was his faithful 
 servant Caius sitting in that disgraceful situation. 
 
 This was but a bad omen of the reception which 
 he was to expect; but a worse followed, when, 
 upon inquiry for his daughter and her husband, he 
 was told they were weary with travelling all night, 
 and could not see him ; and when lastly, upon his 
 insisting in a positive and angry manner to see 
 them, they came to greet him, whom should he 
 see in their company but the hated Goneril, who 
 had come to tell her own story, and set her sister 
 against the king her father ! 
 
 This sight much moved the old man, and still 
 more to see Regan take her by the hand ; and he 
 asked Goneril if she was not ashamed to look 
 upon his old white beard. And Regan advised 
 him to go home again with Goneril, and live with 
 her peaceably, dismissing half of his attendants, 
 and to ask her forgiveness ; for he was old and
 
 152 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 wanted discretion, and must be ruled and led by 
 persons that had more discretion than himself. 
 And Lear showed how preposterous that would 
 sound, if he were to go down on his knees, and 
 beg of his own daughter for food and raiment, and 
 he argued against such an unnatural dependence, 
 declaring his resolution never to return with her, 
 but to stay where he was with Regan, he and his 
 hundred knights; for he said that she had not 
 forgot the half of the kingdom which he had 
 endowed her with, and that her eyes were not 
 fierce like Goneril's, but mild and kind. And he 
 said that rather than return to Goneril, with half 
 his train cut off, he would go over to France, and 
 beg a wretched pension of the king there, who had 
 married his youngest daughter without a portion. 
 
 But he was mistaken in expecting kinder treat- 
 ment of Regan than he had experienced from her 
 sister GoneriL As if willing to outdo her sister in 
 unfilial behaviour, she declared that she thought 
 fifty knights too many to wait upon him : that five- 
 and-twenty were enough. Then Lear, nigh heart- 
 broken, turned to Goneril, and said that he would 
 go back with her, for her fifty doubled five-and- 
 twenty,and so her love was twice as much as Regan's. 
 But Goneril excused herself, and said, what need 
 of so many as five-and-twenty ? or even ten? or 
 five ? when he might be waited upon by her ser- 
 vants, or her sister's servants ? So these two wicked 
 daughters, as if they strove to exceed each other in 
 cruelty to their old father, who had been so good 
 to them, by little and little would have abated him 
 of all his train, all respect (little enough for him
 
 KING LEAR. 153 
 
 that once commanded a kingdom), which was left 
 him to show that he had once been a king ! Not 
 that a splendid train is essential to happiness, but 
 from a king to a beggar is a hard change, from 
 commanding millions to be without one attendant ; 
 and it was the ingratitude in his daughters' deny- 
 ing it, more than what he would suffer by the want 
 of it, which pierced this poor king to the heart ; 
 insomuch, that with this double ill-usage, and 
 vexation for having so foolishly given away a 
 kingdom, his wits began to be unsettled, and 
 while he said he knew not what, he vowed revenge 
 against those unnatural hags, and to make examples 
 of them that should be a terror to the earth ! 
 
 While he was thus idly threatening what his weak 
 arm could never execute, night came on, and a 
 loud storm of thunder and lightning with rain ; and 
 his daughters still persisting in their resolution not 
 to admit his followers, he called for his horses, and 
 chose rather to encounter the utmost fury of the 
 storm abroad, than stay under the same roof with 
 these ungrateful daughters : and they, saying that 
 the injuries which wilful men procure to themselves 
 are their just punishment, suffered him to go in 
 that condition and shut their doors upon him. 
 
 The winds were high, and the rain and storm 
 increased, when the old man sallied forth to com- 
 bat with the elements, less sharp than his daughters' 
 unkindness. For many miles about there was 
 scarce a bush ; and there upon a heath, exposed to 
 the fury of the storm in a dark night, did king Lear 
 wander out, and defy the winds and the thunder ; 
 and he bid the winds to blow the earth into the sea.
 
 154 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 or swell the waves of the sea till they drowned the 
 earth, that no token might remain of any such 
 ungrateful animal as man. The old king was now 
 left with no other companion than the poor fool, 
 who still abided with him, with his merry conceits 
 striving to outjest misfortune, saying it was but a 
 naughty night to swim in, and truly the king had 
 better go in and ask his daughter's blessing : 
 
 But he that has a little tiny wit, 
 
 With heigh ho, the wind and the rain ! 
 
 Must make content with his fortunes fit, 
 Though the rain it raineth every clay : 
 
 and swearing it was a brave night to cool a lady's 
 pride. 
 
 Thus poorly accompanied, this once great mon- 
 arch was found by his ever-faithful servant the good 
 earl of Kent, now transformed to Caius, who ever 
 followed close at his side, though the king did not 
 know him to be the earl ; and he said, " Alas ! sir, 
 are you here ? creatures that love night, love not 
 such nights as these. This dreadful storm has 
 driven the beasts to their hiding places. Man's 
 nature cannot endure the affliction or the fear." 
 And Lear rebuked him and said, these lesser evils 
 were not felt, where a greater malady was fixed. 
 When the mind is at ease, the body has leisure to 
 be delicate , but the tempest in his mind did take 
 all feeling else from his senses, but of that which 
 beat at his heart And he spoke of filial ingrati- 
 tude, and said it was all one as if the mouth should 
 tear the hand for lifting food to it ; for parents were 
 hands and food and everything to children.
 
 KING LEAR. 155 
 
 But the good Caius still persisting in his entrea- 
 ties that the king would not stay out in the open 
 air, at last persuaded him to enter a little wretched 
 hovel which stood upon the heath, where the fool 
 first entering, suddenly ran back terrified, saying 
 that he had seen a spirit But upon examination 
 this spirit proved to be nothing more than a poor 
 Bedlam beggar, who had crept into this deserted 
 hovel for shelter, and with his talk about devils 
 frighted the fool, one of those poor lunatics who 
 are either mad, or feign to be so, the better to ex- 
 tort charity from the compassionate country people, 
 who go about the country, calling themselves poor 
 Tom and poor Turlygood, saying, " Who gives any- 
 thing to poor Tom?" sticking pins and nails and 
 sprigs of rosemary into their arms to make them 
 bleed ; and with such horrible actions, partly by 
 prayers, and partly with lunatic curses, they move 
 or terrify the ignorant country-folks into giving them 
 alms. This poor fellow was such a one ; and the 
 king seeing him in so wretched a plight, with 
 nothing but a blanket about his loins to cover 
 his nakedness, could not be persuaded but 
 that the fellow was some father who had given 
 all away to his daughters, and brought himself 
 to that pass : for nothing he thought could bring 
 a man to such wretchedness but the having unkind 
 daughters. 
 
 And from this and many such wild speeches 
 which he uttered, the good Caius plainly perceived 
 that he was not in his perfect mind, but that his 
 daughters' ill usage had really made him go mad. 
 And now the loyalty of this worthy earl of Kent
 
 156 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 showed itself in more essential services than he had 
 hitherto found opportunity to perform. For with 
 the assistance of some of the king's attendants who 
 remained loyal, he had the person of his royal 
 master removed at day-break to the castle of Dover, 
 where his own friends and influence, as earl of Kent, 
 chiefly lay; and himself embarking for France, 
 hastened to the court of Cordelia, and did there in 
 such moving terms represent the pitiful condition 
 of her royal father, and set out in such lively 
 colours the inhumanity of her sisters, that this good 
 and loving child with many tears besought the king 
 her husband that he would give her leave to em- 
 bark for England, with a sufficient power to subdue 
 these cruel daughters and their husbands, and restore 
 the old king her father to his throne ; which being 
 granted, she set forth, and with a royal army landed 
 at Dover. 
 
 Lear having by some chance escaped from the 
 guardians which the good earl of Kent had put over 
 him to take care of him in his lunacy, was found 
 by some of Cordelia's train, wandering about the 
 fields near Dover, in a pitiable condition, stark mad, 
 and singing aloud to himself, with a crown upon 
 his head which he had made of straw, and nettles, 
 and other wild weeds that he had picked up in the 
 corn-fields. By the advice of the physicians, Cor- 
 delia, though earnestly desirous of seeing her father, 
 was prevailed upon to put off the meeting, till by 
 sleep and the operation of herbs which they gave 
 him, he should be restored to greater composure. 
 By the aid of these skilful physicians, to whom 
 Cordelia promised all her gold and jewels for the
 
 KING LEAR. 157 
 
 recovery of the old king, Lear was soon in a con- 
 dition to see his daughter. 
 
 A tender sight it was to see the meeting between 
 this father and daughter ; to see the struggles be- 
 tween the joy of this poor old king at beholding 
 again his once darling child, and the shame at 
 receiving such filial kindness from her whom he 
 had cast off for so small a fault in his displeasure \ 
 both these passions struggling with the remains of 
 his malady, which in his half-crazed brain some- 
 times made him that he scarce remembered where 
 he was, or who it was that so kindly kissed him and 
 spoke to him : and then he would beg the standers- 
 by not to laugh at him, if he were mistaken in 
 thinking this lady to be his daughter Cordelia ! 
 And then to see him fall on his knees to beg pardon 
 of his child ; and she, good lady, kneeling all the 
 while to ask a blessing of him, and telling him that 
 it did not become him to kneel, but it was her 
 duty, for she was his child, his true and very child 
 Cordelia ! and she kissed him (as she said) to kiss 
 away all her sisters' unkindness, and said that they 
 might be ashamed of themselves, to turn their old 
 kind father with his white beard out into the cold 
 air, when her enemy's dog, though it had bit her 
 (as she prettily expressed it), should have stayed 
 by her fire such a night as that, and warmed him- 
 self. And she told her father how she had come 
 from France with purpose to bring him assistance ; 
 and he said that she must forget and forgive, for 
 he was old and foolish, and did not know what he 
 did ; but that to be sure she had great cause not 
 to love him, but her sisters had none And Cor-
 
 158 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 delia said that she had no cause, no more than 
 they had. 
 
 So we will leave this old king in the protection 
 of this dutiful and loving child, where, by the help 
 of sleep and medicine, she and her physicians at 
 length succeeded in winding up the untuned and 
 jarring senses which the cruelty of his other 
 daughters had so violently shaken. Let us return 
 to say a word or two about those cruel daughters. 
 
 These monsters of ingratitude, who had been so 
 false to their old father, could not be expected to 
 prove more faithful to their own husbands. They 
 soon grew tired of paying even the appearance of 
 duty and affection, and in an open way showed 
 they had fixed their loves upon another. It hap- 
 pened that the object of their guilty loves was the 
 same. It was Edmund, a natural son of the late 
 earl of Gloucester, who by his treacheries had 
 succeeded in disinheriting his brother Edgar, the 
 lawful heir, from his earldom, and by his wicked 
 practices was now earl himself; a wicked man, and 
 a fit object for the love of such wicked creatures 
 as Goneril and Regaa It falling out about this 
 time that the duke of Cornwall, Regan's husband, 
 died, Regan immediately declared her intention of 
 wedding this earl of Gloucester, which rousing the 
 jealousy of her sister, to whom as well as to Regan 
 this wicked earl had at sundry times professed 
 love, Goneril found means to make away with her 
 sister by poison ; but being detected in her prac- 
 tices, and imprisoned by her husband, the duke of 
 Albany, for this deed, and for her guilty passion for 
 the earl which had come to his ears, she, in a fit
 
 KING LEAR. 159 
 
 of disappointed love and rage, shortly put an end 
 to her own life. Thus the justice of Heaven at 
 last overtook these wicked daughters. 
 
 While the eyes of all men were upon this event, 
 admiring the justice displayed in their deserved 
 deaths, the same eyes were suddenly taken off from 
 this sight to admire at the mysterious ways of the 
 same power in the melancholy fate of the young 
 and virtuous daughter, the lady Cordelia, whose 
 good deeds did seem to deserve a more fortunate 
 conclusion : but it is an awful truth, that innocence 
 and piety are not always successful in this world. 
 The forces which Goneril and Regan had sent out 
 under the command of the bad earl of Gloucester 
 were victorious, and Cordelia, by the practices of 
 this wicked earl, who did not like that any should 
 stand between him and the throne, ended her life 
 in prison. Thus, Heaven took this innocent lady 
 to itself in her young years, after showing her to 
 the world an illustrious example of filial duty. 
 Lear did not long survive this kind child. 
 
 Before he died, the good earl of Kent, who had 
 still attended his old master's steps from the first 
 of his daughters' ill usage to this sad period of his 
 decay, tried to make him understand that it was 
 he who had followed him under the name of Caius; 
 but Lear's care-crazed brain at that time could not 
 comprehend how that could be, or how Kent and 
 Caius could be the same person : so Kent thought 
 it needless to trouble him with explanations at such 
 a time ; and Lear soon after expiring, this faithful 
 servant to the king, between age and grief for his old 
 master's vexations, soon followed him to the grave.
 
 160 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 How the judgment of Heaven overtook the bad 
 earl of Gloucester, whose treasons were discovered, 
 and himself slain in single combat with his brother, 
 the lawful earl ; and how Goneril's husband, the 
 duke of Albany, who was innocent of the death of 
 Cordelia, and had never encouraged his lady in 
 her wicked proceedings against her father, ascended 
 the throne of Britain after the death of Lear, is 
 needless here to narrate; Lear and his Three 
 Daughters being dead, whose adventures alone 
 concern our story.
 
 MACBETH, 
 
 WHEN Duncan the Meek reigned king of Scot- 
 land, there lived a great thane, or lord, called 
 Macbeth. This Macbeth was a near kinsman to 
 the king, and in great esteem at court for his valour 
 and conduct in the wars ; an example of which he 
 had lately given, in defeating a rebel army assisted 
 by the troops of Norway in terrible numbers. 
 
 The two Scottish generals, Macbeth and Banquo, 
 returning victorious from this great battle, their way 
 lay over a blasted heath, where they were stopped 
 by the strange appearance of three figures like, 
 women, except that they had beards, and their 
 withered skins and wild attire made them look not 
 like any earthly creatures. Macbeth first addressed 
 them, when they, seemingly offended, laid each one 
 her choppy finger upon her skinny lips, in token of. 
 silence ; and the first of them saluted Macbeth with 
 the title of thane of Glamis. The general was not 
 a little startled to find himself known by such 
 creatures ; but how much more, when the second 
 of them followed up that salute by giving him the 
 title of thane of Cawdor, to which honour he had 
 no pretensions ; and again the third bid him " All 
 hail ! king that shalt be hereafter ! " Such a pro- 
 
 M
 
 1 62 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 phetic greeting might well amaze him, who knew 
 that while the king's sons lived he could not hope 
 to succeed to the throne. Then turning to Banquo, 
 they pronounced him, in a sort of riddling terms, 
 to be lesser than Macbeth and greater / not so happy, 
 but much happier I and prophesied that though he 
 should never reign, yet his sons after him should 
 be kings in Scotland. They then turned into air, 
 and vanished : by which the generals knew them 
 to be the weird sisters, or witches. 
 
 While they stood pondering on the strangeness 
 of this adventure, there arrived certain messengers 
 from the king, who were empowered by him to 
 confer upon Macbeth the dignity of thane of 
 Cawdor : an event so miraculously corresponding 
 with the prediction of the witches astonished Mac- 
 beth, and he stood wrapped in amazement, unable 
 to make reply to the messengers ; and in that point 
 of time swelling hopes arose in his mind that the 
 .prediction of the third witch might in like manner 
 have its accomplishment, and that he should one 
 day reign king in Scotland. 
 
 Turning to Banquo, he said, " Do you not hope 
 that your children shall be kings, when what the 
 witches promised to me has so wonderfully come to 
 pass?" "That hope," answered the general, "might 
 enkindle you to aim at the throne ; but oftentimes 
 these ministers of darkness tell us truths in little 
 things, to betray us into deeds of greatest conse- 
 quence." 
 
 But the wicked suggestions of the witches had 
 sunk too deep into the mind of Macbeth to allow 
 him to attend to the warnings of the good Banquo.
 
 MACBETH. 163 
 
 From that time he bent all his thoughts how to com- 
 pass the throne of Scotland. 
 
 Macbeth had a wife, to whom he communicated 
 the strange prediction of the weird sisters, and its 
 partial accomplishment She was a bad, ambitious 
 woman, and so as her husband and herself could 
 arrive at greatness, she cared not much by what 
 means. She spurred on the reluctant purpose of 
 Macbeth, who felt compunction at the thoughts of 
 blood, and did not cease to represent the murder 
 of the king as a step absolutely necessary to the 
 fulfilment of the flattering prophecy. 
 
 It happened at this time that the king, who out 
 of his royal condescension would oftentimes visit 
 his principal nobility upon gracious terms, came to 
 Macbeth's house, attended by his two sons, Malcolm 
 and Donalbain, and a numerous train of thanes and 
 attendants, the more to honour Macbeth for the 
 triumphal success of his wars. 
 
 The castle of Macbeth was pleasantly situated, 
 and the air about it was sweet and wholesome, 
 which appeared by the nests which the martlet, or 
 swallow, had built under all the jutting friezes and 
 buttresses of the building, wherever it found a place 
 of advantage; for where those birds most breed and 
 haunt, the air is observed to be delicate. The king 
 entered well-pleased with the place, and not less so 
 with the attentions and respect of his honoured 
 hostess, lady Macbeth, who had the art of covering 
 treacherous purposes with smiles ; and could look 
 like the innocent flower, while she was indeed the 
 serpent under it 
 
 The king being tired with his journey, went early
 
 164 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 to bed, and in his state-room two grooms of his 
 chamber (as was the custom) slept beside him. He 
 had been unusually pleased with his reception, and 
 had made presents before he retired to his principal 
 officers ; and among the rest, had sent a rich dia- 
 mond to lady Macbeth, greeting her by the name 
 of his most kind hostess. 
 
 Now was the middle of night, when over half the 
 world nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse 
 men's minds asleep, and none but the wolf and the 
 murderer is abroad This was the time when lady 
 Macbeth waked to plot the murder of the king. 
 She would not have undertaken a deed so abhorrent 
 to her sex, but that she feared her husband's nature, 
 that it was too full of the milk of human kindness, 
 to do a contrived murder. She knew him to be am- 
 bitious, but withal to be scrupulous, and not yet pre- 
 pared for that height of crime which commonly in 
 the end accompanies inordinate ambition. She had 
 Won him to consent to the murder, but she doubted 
 his resolution ; and she feared that the natural ten- 
 derness of his disposition (more humane than her 
 own) would come between, and defeat the purpose. 
 So with her own hands armed with a dagger, she 
 approached the king's bed ; having taken care to 
 ply the grooms of his chamber so with wine, that 
 they slept intoxicated, and careless of their charge. 
 There lay Duncan in a sound sleep after the fatigues 
 of his journey, and as she viewed him earnestly, 
 there was something in his face, as he slept, which 
 resembled her own father ; and she had not the 
 courage to proceed. 
 
 She returned to confer with her husband. His
 
 MACBETH. 165 
 
 resolution had begun to stagger. He considered 
 that there were strong reasons against the deed. In 
 the first place, he was not only a subject, but a near 
 kinsman to the king ; and he had been his host and 
 entertainer that day, whose duty, by the laws of hos- 
 pitality, it was to shut the door against his murderers, 
 not bear the knife himself. Then he considered 
 how just and merciful a king this Duncan had 
 been, how clear of offence to his subjects, how lov- 
 ing to his nobility, and in particular to him ; that 
 such kings are the peculiar care of Heaven, and 
 their subjects doubly bound to revenge their deaths. 
 Besides, by the favours of the king, Macbeth stood 
 high in the opinion of all sorts of men, and how 
 would those honours be stained by the reputation 
 of so foul a murder ! 
 
 In these conflicts of the mind lady Macbeth found 
 her husband inclining to the better part, and resolv- 
 ing to proceed no further. But she being a woman 
 not easily shaken from her evil purpose, began to 
 pour in at his ears words which infused a portion 
 of her own spirit into his mind, assigning reason 
 upon reason why he should not shrink from what 
 he had undertaken ; how easy the deed was ; how 
 soon it would be over ; and how the action of one 
 short night would give to all their nights and days 
 to come sovereign sway and royalty ! Then she 
 threw contempt on his change of purpose, and 
 accused him of fickleness and cowardice ; and de- 
 clared that she had given suck, and knew how 
 tender it was to love the babe that milked her ; but 
 she would, while it was smiling in her face, have 
 plucked it from her breast, and dashed its brains
 
 1 66 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 out, if she had so sworn to do it, as he had sworn 
 to perform that murder. Then she added, how 
 practicable it was to lay the guilt of the deed upon 
 the drunken sleepy grooms. And with the valour 
 of her tongue she so chastised his sluggish resolu- 
 tions, that he once more summoned up courage to 
 the bloody business. 
 
 So, taking the dagger in his hand, he softly stole 
 in the dark to the room where Duncan lay ; and 
 as he went, he thought he saw another dagger in 
 the air, with the handle towards him, and on the 
 blade and at the point of it drops of blood ; but 
 when he tried to grasp at it, it was nothing but air, 
 a mere phantasm proceeding from his own hot 
 and oppressed brain and the business he had in 
 hand. 
 
 Getting rid of this fear, he entered the king's 
 room, whom he despatched with one stroke of his 
 dagger. Just as he had done the murder, one of 
 the grooms, who slept in the chamber, laughed in 
 his sleep, and the other cried, " Murder," which 
 woke them both ; but they said a short prayer ; 
 one of them said, " God bless us !" and the other 
 answered " Amen ;" and addressed themselves to 
 sleep again. Macbeth, who stood listening to 
 them, tried to say, " Amen," when the fellow said, 
 " God bless us !" but, though he had most need of 
 a blessing, the word stuck in his throat, and he 
 could not pronounce it. 
 
 Again he thought he heard a voice which cried, 
 " Sleep no more : Macbeth doth murder sleep, the 
 innocent sleep, that nourishes life." Still it cried, 
 u Sleep no more," to all the house. " Glamis hath
 
 MACBETH. 167 
 
 murdered sleep, and therefore Cawdor shall sleep 
 no more, Macbeth shall sleep no more." 
 
 With such horrible imaginations Macbeth re- 
 turned to his listening wife, who began to think he 
 had failed of his purpose, and that the deed was 
 somehow frustrated. He came in so distracted a 
 state, that she reproached him with his want of 
 firmness, and sent him to wash his hands of the 
 blood which stained them, while she took his 
 dagger, with purpose to stain the cheeks of the 
 grooms with blood, to make it seem their guilt 
 
 Morning came, and with it the discovery of the 
 murder, which could not be concealed ; and though 
 Macbeth and his lady made great show of grief, 
 and the proofs against the grooms (the dagger being 
 produced against them and their faces smeared 
 with blood) were sufficiently strong, yet the entire 
 suspicion fell upon Macbeth, whose inducements 
 to such a deed were so much more forcible than 
 such poor silly grooms could be supposed to have ; 
 and Duncan's two sons fled. Malcolm, the eldest, 
 sought for refuge in the English court ; and the 
 youngest, Donalbain, made his escape to Ireland. 
 
 The king's sons, who should have succeeded 
 him, having thus vacated the throne, Macbeth as 
 next heir was crowned king, and thus the predic- 
 tion of the weird sisters was literally accomplished. 
 
 Though placed so high, Macbeth and his queen 
 could not forget the prophecy of the weird sisters, 
 that, though Macbeth should be king, yet not his 
 children, but the children of Banquo, should be 
 kings after him. The thought of this, and that 
 they had defiled their hands with blood, and done
 
 1 68 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 so great crimes, only to place the posterity of 
 Banquo upon the throne, so rankled within them, 
 that they determined to put to death both Banquo 
 and his son, to make void the predictions of the 
 weird sisters, which in their own case had been so 
 remarkably brought to pass. 
 
 For this purpose they made a great supper, to 
 which they invited all the chief thanes ; and, among 
 the rest, with marks of particular respect, Banquo 
 and his son Fleance were invited. The way by 
 which Banquo was to pass to the palace at night 
 was beset by murderers appointed by Macbeth, who 
 stabbed Banquo; but in the scuffle Fleance escaped. 
 From that Fleance descended a race of monarchs 
 who afterwards filled the Scottish throne, ending 
 with James the Sixth of Scotland and the First of 
 England, under whom the two crowns of England 
 and Scotland were united. 
 
 At supper, the queen, whose manners were in 
 the highest degree affable and royal, played the 
 hostess with a gracefulness and attention which 
 conciliated every one present, and Macbeth dis- 
 coursed freely with his thanes and nobles, saying, 
 that all that was honourable in the country was 
 under his roof, if he had but his good friend 
 Banquo present, whom yet he hoped he should 
 rather have to chide for neglect, than to lament 
 for any mischance. Just at these words the ghost 
 of Banquo, whom he had caused to be murdered, 
 entered the room and placed himself on the chair 
 which Macbeth was about to occupy. Though 
 Macbeth was a bold man, and one that could have 
 faced the devil without trembling, at this horrible
 
 MACBETH. 169 
 
 sight his cheeks turned white with fear, and he 
 stood quite unmanned with his eyes fixed upon the 
 ghost. His queen and all the nobles, who saw 
 nothing, but perceived him gazing (as they thought) 
 upon an empty chair, took it for a fit of distrac- 
 tion ; and she reproached him, whispering that it 
 was but the same fancy which made him see the 
 dagger in the air, when he was about to kill Duncan. 
 But Macbeth continued to see the ghost, and gave 
 no heed to all they could say, while he addressed 
 it with distracted words, yet so significant, that his 
 queen, fearing the dreadful secret would be dis- 
 closed, in great haste dismissed the guests, excus- 
 ing the infirmity of Macbeth as a disorder he was 
 often troubled with. 
 
 To such dreadful fancies Macbeth was subject. 
 His queen and he had their sleeps afflicted with 
 terrible dreams, and the blood of Banquo troubled 
 them not more than the escape of Fleance, whom 
 now they looked upon as father to a line of kings 
 who should keep their posterity out of the throne. 
 With these miserable thoughts they found no 
 peace, and Macbeth determined once more to seek 
 out the weird sisters, and know from them the 
 worst. 
 
 He sought them in a cave upon the heath, 
 where they, who knew by foresight of his coming, 
 were engaged in preparing their dreadful charms, 
 by which they conjured up infernal spirits to reveal 
 to them futurity. Their horrid ingredients were 
 toads, bats, and serpents, the eye of a newt, and 
 the tongue of a dog, the leg of a lizard, and the 
 wing of the night-owl, the scale of a dragon, the
 
 170 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 tooth of a wolf, the maw of the ravenous salt-sea 
 shark, the mummy of a witch, the root of the 
 poisonous hemlock (this to have effect must be 
 digged in the dark), the gall of a goat, and the 
 liver of a Jew, with slips of the yew tree that roots 
 itself in graves, and the finger of a dead child : 
 all these were set on to boil in a great kettle, or 
 cauldron, which, as fast as it grew too hot, was 
 cooled with a baboon's blood : to these they poured 
 in the blood of a sow that had eaten her young, 
 and they threw into the flame the grease that had 
 sweaten from a murderer's gibbet. By these 
 charms they bound the infernal spirits to answer 
 their questions. 
 
 It was demanded of Macbeth, whether he would 
 have his doubts resolved by them, or by their mas- 
 ters, the spirits. He, nothing daunted by the 
 dreadful ceremonies which he saw, boldly answered, 
 " Where are they ? let me see them." And they 
 called the spirits, which were three. And the first 
 arose in the likeness of an armed head, and he 
 called Macbeth by name, and bid him beware of 
 the thane of Fife; for which caution Macbeth 
 thanked him; for Macbeth had entertained a 
 jealousy ot Macduff, the thane of Fife. 
 
 And the second spirit arose in the likeness of a 
 bloody child, and he called Macbeth by name, 
 and bid him have no fear, but laugh to scorn the 
 power of man, for none of woman born should 
 have power to hurt him ; and he advised him to 
 be bloody, bold, and resolute. "Then live, 
 Macduff!" cried the king; "what need I fear of 
 thee ? but yet I will make assurance doubly sure.
 
 MACBETH. 171 
 
 Thou shalt not live ; that I may tell pale-hearted 
 Fear it lies, and sleep in spite of thunder." 
 
 That spirit being dismissed, a third arose in the 
 form of a child crowned, with a tree in his hand. 
 He called Macbeth by name, and comforted him 
 against conspiracies, saying, that he should never 
 be vanquished, until the wood of Birnam to 
 Dunsinane Hill should come against him. " Sweet 
 bodements ! good!" cried Macbeth; "who can 
 unfix the forest, and move it from its earth-bound 
 roots ? I see I shall live the usual period of man's 
 life, and not be cut off by a violent death. But 
 my heart throbs to know one thing. Tell me, if 
 your art can tell so much, if Banquo's issue shall 
 ever reign in this kingdom?" Here the cauldron 
 sank into the ground, and a noise of music was 
 heard, and eight shadows, like kings, passed by 
 Macbeth, and Banquo last, who bore a glass which 
 showed the figures of many more, and Banquo 
 all bloody smiled upon Macbeth, and pointed to 
 them ; by which Macbeth knew that these were 
 the posterity of Banquo, who should reign after 
 him in Scotland ; and the witches, with a sound 
 of soft music, and with dancing, making a show 
 of duty and welcome to Macbeth, vanished. And 
 from this time the thoughts of Macbeth were all 
 bloody and dreadful. 
 
 The first thing he heard when he got out of 
 the witches' cave, was that Macduff, thane of Fife, 
 had fled to England, to join the army which was 
 forming against him under Malcolm, the eldest 
 son of the late king, with intent to displace 
 Macbeth, and set Malcolm, the right heir, upon
 
 172 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 the throne. Macbeth, stung with rage, set upon 
 the castle of Macduff, and put his wife and 
 children, whom the thane had left behind, to the 
 sword, and extended the slaughter to all who 
 claimed the least relationship to Macduff. 
 
 These and such-like deeds alienated the minds 
 of all his chief nobility from him. Such as could, 
 fled to join with Malcolm and Macduff, who were 
 now approaching with a powerful army, which they 
 had raised in England; and the rest secretly 
 wished success to their arms, though for fear of 
 Macbeth they could take no active part. His 
 recruits went on slowly. Everybody hated the 
 tyrant ; nobody loved or honoured him ; but all 
 suspected him", and he began to envy the condition 
 of Duncan, whom he had murdered, who slept 
 soundly in his grave, against whom treason had 
 done its worst : steel nor poison, domestic malice 
 nor foreign levies, could hurt him any longer. 
 
 While these things were acting, the queen, who 
 had been the sole partner in his wickedness, in 
 whose bosom he could sometimes seek a moment- 
 ary repose from those terrible dreams which 
 afflicted them both nightly, died, it is supposed, by 
 her own hands, unable to bear the remorse of guilt, 
 and public hate ; by which event he was left alone, 
 without a soul to love or care for him, or a friend 
 to whom he could confide his wicked purposes. 
 
 He grew careless of life, and wished for death ; 
 but the near approach of Malcolm's army roused 
 in him what remained of his ancient courage, and 
 he determined to die (as he expressed it), " with 
 armour on his back." Besides this, the hollow
 
 MACBETH. 173 
 
 promises of the witches had filled him with a false 
 confidence, and he remembered the sayings of the 
 spirits, that none of woman born was to hurt him, 
 and that he was never to be vanquished till Birnam 
 wood should come to Dunsinane, which he thought 
 could never be. So he shut himself up in his 
 castle, whose impregnable strength was such as 
 defied a siege : here he sullenly waited the 
 approach of Malcolm. When, upon a day, there 
 came a messenger to him, pale and shaking with 
 fear, almost unable to report that which he had 
 seen ; for he averred, that as he stood upon his 
 watch on the hill, he looked towards Birnam, and 
 to his thinking the wood began to move ! " Liar 
 and slave !" cried Macbeth; " if thou speakest false, 
 thou shalt hang alive upon the next tree, till 
 famine end thee. If thy tale be true, I care not 
 if thou dost as much by me :" for Macbeth now 
 began to faint in resolution, and to doubt the 
 equivocal speeches of the spirits. He was not to 
 fear till Birnam wood should come to Dunsinane ; 
 and now a wood did move ! " However," said he, 
 " if this which he avouches be true, let us arm and 
 out. There is no flying hence, nor staying here. 
 I begin to be weary of the sun, and wish my life 
 at an end." With these desperate speeches he 
 sallied forth upon the besiegers, who had now 
 come up to the castle. 
 
 The strange appearance, which had given the 
 messenger an idea of a wood moving is easily 
 solved. When the besieging army marched 
 through the wood of Birnam, Malcolm, like a 
 skilful general, instructed his soldiers to hew down
 
 174 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 every one a bough and bear it before him, by way 
 of concealing the true numbers of his host. This 
 marching of the soldiers with boughs had at a 
 distance the appearance which had frightened the 
 messenger. Thus were the words of the spirit 
 brought to pass, in a sense different from that in 
 which Macbeth had understood them, and one 
 great hold of his confidence was gone. 
 
 And now a severe skirmishing took place, in 
 which Macbeth, though feebly supported by those 
 who called themselves his friends, but in reality 
 hated the tyrant and inclined to the party of Mal- 
 colm and Macduff, yet fought with the extreme of 
 rage and valour, cutting to pieces all who were 
 opposed to him, till he came to where Macduff 
 was fighting. Seeing Macduff, and remembering 
 the caution of the spirit who had counselled him 
 to avoid Macduff above all men, he would have 
 turned, but Macduff, who had been seeking him 
 through the whole fight, opposed his turning, and 
 a fierce contest ensued ; Macduff giving him many 
 foul reproaches for the murder of his wife and 
 children. Macbeth, whose soul was charged enough 
 with blood of that family already, would still have 
 declined the combat ; but Macduff still urged him 
 to it, calling him tyrant, murderer, hell-hound, and 
 villain. 
 
 Then Macbeth remembered the words of the 
 spirit, how none of woman born should hurt him ; 
 and smiling confidently he said to Macduff, " Thou 
 losest thy labour, Macduff. As easily thou mayest 
 impress the air with thy sword, as make me vulner- 
 able. I bear a charmed life, which must not yield 
 to one of woman born."
 
 MACBETH. 175 
 
 " Despair thy charm," said Macduff, " and let 
 that lying spirit whom them hast served, tell thee, 
 that Macduff was never born of woman, never as 
 the ordinary manner of men is to be born, but was 
 untimely taken from his mother." 
 
 "Accursed be the tongue which tells me so," 
 said the trembling Macbeth, who felt his last hold 
 of confidence give way ; " and let never man in 
 future believe the lying equivocations of witches 
 and juggling spirits, who deceive us in words which 
 have double senses, and while they keep their 
 promise literally, disappoint our hopes with a 
 different meaning. I will not fight with thee." 
 
 "Then live !" said the scornful Macduff; "we 
 will have a show of thee, as men show monsters, 
 and a painted board, on which shall be written, 
 ' Here men may see the tyrant !'" 
 
 " Never," said Macbeth, whose courage returned 
 with despair ; " I will not live to kiss the ground 
 before young Malcolm's feet, and to be baited with 
 the curses of the rabble. Though Birnam wood 
 be come to Dunsinane, and thou opposed to me, 
 who wast never born of woman, yet will I try 
 the last." With these frantic words he threw him- 
 self upon Macduff, who, after a severe struggle, in 
 the end overcame him, and cutting off his head, 
 made a present of it to the young and lawful king, 
 Malcolm ; who took upon him the government 
 which, by the machinations of the usurper, he had 
 so long been deprived of, and ascended the throne 
 of Duncan the Meek, amid the acclamations of 
 the nobles and the people.
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 T) ERTRAM, count of Rousillon, had newly come 
 -L' to his title and estate, by the death of his 
 father. The king of France loved the father of 
 Bertram, and when he heard of his death, he sent 
 for his son to come immediately to his royal court 
 in Paris, intending, for the friendship he bore the 
 late count, to grace young Bertram with his especial 
 favour and protection. 
 
 Bertram was living with his mother, the widowed 
 countess, when Lafeu, an old lord of the French 
 court, came to conduct him to the king. The 
 king of France was an absolute monarch, and the 
 invitation to court was in the form of a royal 
 mandate, or positive command, which no subject, 
 of what high dignity soever, might disobey ; there- 
 fore though the countess, in parting with this dear 
 son, seemed a second time to bury her husband, 
 whose loss she had so lately mourned, yet she 
 dared not to keep him a single day, but gave in- 
 stant orders for his departure. Lafeu, who came 
 to fetch him, tried to comfort the countess for the 
 loss of her late lord, and her son's sudden absence ; 
 and he said, in a courtier's flattering manner, that 
 the king was so kind a prince, she would find in
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 177 
 
 his majesty a husband, and that he would be a 
 father to her son ; meaning only, that the good 
 king would befriend the fortunes of Bertram. 
 Lafeu told the countess that the king had fallen 
 into a sad malady, which was pronounced by his 
 physicians to be incurable. The lady expressed 
 great sorrow on hearing this account of the king's 
 ill health, and said, she wished the father of Helena 
 (a young gentlewoman who was present in attend- 
 ance upon her) were living, for that she doubted 
 not he could have cured his majesty of his disease. 
 And she told Lafeu something of the history of 
 Helena, saying she was the only daughter of the 
 famous physician Gerard de Narbon, and that he 
 had recommended his daughter to her care when 
 he was dying, so that since his death she had taken 
 Helena under her protection ; then the countess 
 praised the virtuous disposition and excellent 
 qualities of Helena, saying she inherited these 
 virtues from her worthy father. While she was 
 speaking, Helena wept in sad and mournful silence, 
 which made the countess gently reprove her for 
 too much grieving for her father's death. 
 
 Bertram now bade his mother farewell The 
 countess parted with this dear son with tears and 
 many blessings, and commended him to the care of 
 Lafeu, saying, " Good, my lord, advise him, for he 
 is an unseasoned courtier." 
 
 Bertram's last words were spoken to Helena, but 
 they were words of mere civility, wishing her hap- 
 piness-; and he concluded his short farewell to her 
 with saying, " Be comfortable to my mother, your 
 mistress, and make much of her." 
 
 N
 
 178 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Helena had long loved Bertram, and when she 
 wept in sad and mournful silence, the tears she 
 shed were not for Gerard de Narbon. Helena 
 loved her father, but in the present feeling of a 
 deeper love, the object of which she was about to 
 lose, she had forgotten the very form and features 
 of her dead father, her imagination presenting no 
 image to her mind but Bertram's. 
 
 Helena had long loved Bertram, yet she always 
 remembered that he was the count of Rousillon, 
 descended from the most ancient family in France. 
 She of humble birth. Her parents of no note at 
 all. His ancestors all noble. And therefore she 
 looked up to the high-born Bertram as to her 
 master and to her dear lord, and dared not form 
 any wish but to live his servant, and so living to 
 die his vassal. So great the distance seemed to 
 her between his height of dignity and her lowly 
 fortunes, that she would say, " It were all one that 
 I should love a bright particular star, and think to 
 wed it, Bertram is so far above me." 
 
 Bertram's absence filled her eyes with tears arid 
 her heart with sorrow ; for though she loved with- 
 out hope, yet it was a pretty comfort to her to see 
 him every hour, and Helena would sit and look 
 upon his dark eye, his arched brow, and the curls 
 of his fine hair, till she seemed to draw his portrait 
 on the tablet of her heart, that heart too capable of 
 retaining the memory of every line in the features 
 of that loved face. 
 
 Gerard de Narbon, when he died, left her no 
 other portion than some prescriptions of rare and 
 well-proved virtue, which by deep study and long
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 179 
 
 experience in medicine he had collected as 
 sovereign and almost infallible remedies. Among 
 the rest, there was one set down as an approved 
 medicine for the disease under which Lafeu said 
 the king at that time languished : and when 
 Helena heard of the king's complaint, she, who till 
 now had been so humble and so hopeless, formed 
 an ambitious project in her mind to go herself to 
 Paris, and undertake the cure of the king. But 
 though Helena was the possessor of this choice 
 prescription, it was unlikely, as the king as well as 
 his physicians was of opinion that his disease was 
 incurable, that they would give credit to a poor 
 unlearned virgin, if she should offer to perform a 
 cure. The firm hopes that Helena had of suc- 
 ceeding, if she might be permitted to make the 
 trial, seemed more than even her father's skill war- 
 ranted, though he was the most famous physician of 
 his time ; for she felt a strong faith that this good 
 medicine was sanctified by all the luckiest stars in 
 heaven to be the legacy that should advance her 
 fortune, even to the high dignity of being count 
 Rousillon's wife. 
 
 Bertram had not been long gone, when the 
 countess was informed by her steward, that he had 
 overheard Helena talking to herself, and that he 
 understood from some words she uttered, she was 
 in love with Bertram, and thought of following him 
 to Paris. The countess dismissed the steward 
 with thanks, and desired him to tell Helena she 
 wished to speak with her. What she had just heard 
 of Helena brought the remembrance of days long 
 past into the mind of the countess; those days
 
 i8o TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 probably when her love for Bertram's father first 
 began ; and she said to herself, " Even so it was 
 with me when I was young. Love is a thorn that 
 belongs to the rose of youth ; for in the season of 
 youth, if ever we are nature's children, these faults 
 are ours, though then we think not they are faults." 
 While the countess was thus meditating on the 
 loving errors of her own youth, Helena entered, 
 and she said to her, " Helena, you know I am a 
 mother to you." Helena replied, "You are my 
 honourable mistress." " You are my daughter," 
 said the countess again : " I say I am your mother. 
 Why do you start and look pale at my words ?" 
 With looks of alarm and confused thoughts, fearing 
 the countess suspected her love, Helena, still 
 replied, "Pardon me, madam, you are not my 
 mother; the count Rousillon cannot be my brother, 
 nor I your daughter." "Yet, Helena," said the 
 countess, " you might be my daughter-in-law ; and 
 I am afraid that is what you mean to be, the words 
 mother and daughter so disturb you. Helena, do 
 you love my son ?" " Good madam, pardon me," 
 said the affrighted Helena. Again the countess 
 repeated her question, "Do you love my son?" 
 " Do not you love him, madam ? " said Helena. The 
 countess replied, " Give me not this evasive answer, 
 Helena. Come, come, disclose the state of your 
 affections, for your love has to the full appeared." 
 Helena on her knees now owned her love, and 
 with shame and terror implored the pardon of her 
 noble mistress ; and with words expressive of the 
 sense she had of the inequality between their for- 
 tunes, she protested Bertram did not know she
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 181 
 
 loved him, comparing her humble unaspiring love 
 to a poor Indian, who adores the sun that looks 
 upon his worshipper, but knows of him no more. 
 The countess asked Helena if she had not lately 
 an intent to go to Paris? Helena owned the 
 design she had formed in her mind, when she 
 heard Lafeu speak of the king's illness. " This 
 was your motive for wishing to go to Paris," said 
 the countess, " was it ? Speak truly." Helena 
 honestly answered, " My lord your son made me 
 to think of this ; else Paris, and the medicine, and 
 the king, had from the conversation of my thoughts 
 been absent then." The countess heard the whole 
 of this confession without saying a word either of 
 approval or of blame, but she strictly questioned 
 Helena as to the probability of the medicine being 
 useful to the king. She found that it was the most 
 prized by Gerard de Narbon of all he possessed, 
 and that he had given it to his daughter on his 
 deathbed; and remembering the solemn promise 
 she had made at that awful hour in regard to this 
 young maid, whose destiny, and the life of the 
 king himself, seemed to depend on the execution 
 of a project (which thougli conceived by the fond 
 suggestions of a loving maiden's thoughts, the 
 countess knew not but it might the unseen workings 
 of Providence to bring to pass the recovery of the 
 king, and to lay the foundation of the future for- 
 tunes of Gerard de Narbon's daughter), free leave 
 she gave to Helena to pursue her own way, and 
 generously furnished her with ample means and 
 suitable attendants ; and Helena set out for Paris 
 with the blessings of the countess, and her kindest 
 wishes for her success.
 
 182 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Helena arrived at Paris, and by the assistance 
 of her friend the old lord Lafeu, she obtained an 
 audience of the king. She had still many difficulties 
 to encounter, for the king was not easily prevailed 
 on to try the medicine offered him by this fair young 
 doctor. But she told him she was Gerard de Nar- 
 bon's daughter (with whose fame the king was well 
 acquainted), and she offered the precious medicine 
 as the darling treasure which contained the essence 
 of all her father's long experience and skill, and she 
 boldly engaged to forfeit her life, if it failed to 
 restore his majesty to perfect health in the space 
 of two days. The king at length consented to try 
 it, and in two days' time Helena was to lose her 
 life if the king did not recover; but if she suc- 
 ceeded, he promised to give her the choice of any 
 man throughout all France (the princes only ex- 
 cepted) whom she could like for a husband ; the 
 choice of a husband being the fee Helena demanded 
 if she cured the king of his disease. 
 
 Helena did not deceive herself in the hope she 
 conceived of the efficacy of her father's medi- 
 cine. Before two days were at an end, the king 
 was restored to perfect health, and he assembled 
 all the young noblemen of his court together, in 
 order to confer the promised reward of a husband 
 upon his fair physician ; and he desired Helena to 
 look round on this youthful parcel of noble bache- 
 lors, and choose her husband. Helena was not 
 slow to make her choice, for among these young 
 lords she saw the count Rousillon, and turning to 
 Bertram, she said, " This is the man. I dare not 
 say, my lord, I take you, but I give me and my
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 183 
 
 service ever whilst I live into your guiding power." 
 " Why, then," said the king, " young Bertram, take 
 her ; she is your wife." Bertram did not hesitate 
 to declare his dislike to this present of the king's 
 of the self-offered Helena, who, he said, was a poor 
 physician's daughter, bred at his father's charge, 
 and now living a dependant on his mother's bounty. 
 Helena heard him speak these words of rejection 
 and of scorn, and she said to the" king, "That you 
 are well, my lord, I am glad. Let the rest go." 
 But the king would not suffer his royal command 
 to be so slighted ; for the power of bestowing their 
 nobles in marriage was one of the many privileges 
 of the kings of France ; and that same day Bertram 
 was married to Helena, a forced and uneasy mar- 
 riage to Bertram, and of no promising hope to the 
 poor lady, who, though she gained the noble hus- 
 band she had hazarded her life to obtain, seemed 
 to have won but a splendid blank, her husband's 
 love not being a gift in the power of the king of 
 France to bestow. 
 
 Helena was no 'sooner married, than she was de- 
 sired by Bertram to apply to the king for him for 
 leave of absence from court ; and when she brought 
 him the king's permission for his departure, Bertram 
 told her that he was not prepared for this sudden 
 marriage, it had much unsettled him, and therefore 
 she must not wonder at the course he should pursue. 
 If Helena wondered not, she grieved when she 
 found it was his intention to leave her. He ordered 
 her to go home to his mother. When Helena 
 heard this unkind command, she replied, "Sir, I 
 can nothing say to this, but that I am your most
 
 184 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 obedient servant, and shall ever with true observance 
 seek to eke out that desert, wherein my homely stars 
 have failed to equal my great fortunes." But this 
 humble speech of Helena's did not at all move the 
 haughty Bertram to pity his gentle wife, and he 
 parted from her without even the common civility 
 of a kind farewell 
 
 Back to the countess then Helena returned. 
 She had accomplished the purport of her journey, 
 she had preserved the life of the king, and she had 
 wedded her heart's dear lord, the count Rousillon ; 
 but she returned back a dejected lady to her noble 
 mother-in-law, and as soon as she entered the house 
 she received a letter from Bertram which almost 
 broke her heart. 
 
 The good countess received her with a cordial 
 welcome, as if she had been her son's own choice, 
 and a ladyof a high degree, andshe spoke kindwords 
 to comfort her for the unkind neglect of Bertram 
 in sending his wife home on her bridal day alone. 
 But this gracious reception failed to cheer the sad 
 mind of Helena, and she said, <f Madam, my lord 
 is gone, for ever gone." She then read these words 
 out of Bertram's letter : When you can get the ring 
 from my finger, which never shall come off, then call 
 me husband, but in such a Then I write a Never. 
 " This is a dreadful sentence !" said Helena. The 
 countess begged her to have patience, and said, 
 now Bertram was gone, she should be her child, 
 and that she deserved a lord that twenty such rude 
 boys as Bertram might tend upon, and hourly call 
 her mistress. But in vain by respectful conde- 
 scension and kind flattery this matchless mother
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 185 
 
 tried to soothe the sorrows of her daughter- 
 in-law. 
 
 Helena still kept her eyes fixed upon the letter, 
 and cried out in an agony of grief, Till I have no 
 wife, I have nothing in France, The countess asked 
 her if she found those words in the letter ? " Yes, 
 madam," was all poor Helena could answer. 
 
 The next morning Helena was missing. She 
 left a letter to be delivered to the countess after 
 she was gone, to acquaint her with the reason of 
 her sudden absence : in this letter she informed 
 her, that she was so much grieved at having driven 
 Bertram from his native country and his home, that 
 to atone for her offence, she had undertaken a 
 pilgrimage to the shrine of St. Jaques le Grand, 
 and concluded with requesting the countess to in- 
 form her son that the wife he so hated had left 
 his house for ever. 
 
 Bertram, when he left Paris, went to Florence, 
 and there became an officer in the duke of 
 Florence's army, and after a successful war, in 
 which he distinguished himself by many brave 
 actions, Bertram received letters from his mother, 
 containing the acceptable tidings that Helena 
 would no more disturb him ; and he was preparing 
 to return home, when Helena herself, clad in her 
 pilgrim's weeds, arrived at the city of Florence. 
 
 Florence was a city through which the pilgrims 
 used to pass on their way to St Jaques le Grand ; 
 and when Helena arrived at this city, she heard 
 that a hospitable widow dwelt there, who used to 
 receive into her house the female pilgrims that were 
 going to visit the shrine of that saint, giving them
 
 i86 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 lodging and kind entertainment. To this good 
 lady, therefore, Helena went, and the widow gave 
 her a courteous welcome, and invited her to see 
 whatever was curious in that famous city, and told 
 her that if she would like to see the duke's army, 
 she would take her where she might have a full 
 view of it. " And you will see a countryman of 
 yours," said the widow ; " his name is Count 
 Rousillon, who has done worthy service in the 
 duke's wars." Helena wanted no second invita- 
 tion, when she found Bertram was to make part 
 of the show. She accompanied her hostess ; and 
 a sad and mournful pleasure it was to her to look 
 once more upon her dear husband's face. "Is 
 he not a handsome man ?" said the widow. " I 
 like him well," replied Helena with great truth. 
 All the way they walked, the talkative widow's dis- 
 course was all of Bertram : she told Helena the 
 story of Bertram's marriage, and how he had 
 deserted the poor lady his wife, and entered into 
 the duke's army to avoid living with her. To this 
 account of her own misfortunes Helena patiently 
 listened, and when it was ended, the history of 
 Bertram was not yet done, for then the widow began 
 another tale, every word of which sank deep into 
 the mind of Helena ; for the story she now told 
 was of Bertram's love for her daughter. 
 
 Though Bertram did not like the marriage forced 
 on him by the king, it seems he was not insensible 
 to love, for since he had been stationed with the 
 army at Florence, he had fallen in love with Diana, 
 a fair young gentlewoman, the daughter of this 
 widow who was Helena's hostess ; and every night,
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 187 
 
 with music of all sorts, and songs composed in 
 praise of Diana's beauty, he would come under her 
 window, and solicit her love ; and all his suit to 
 her was, that she would permit him to visit her by 
 stealth after the family were retired to rest ; but 
 Diana would by no means be persuaded to grant 
 this improper request, nor give any encouragement 
 to his suit, knowing him to be a married man; 
 for Diana had been brought up under the counsels 
 of a prudent mother, who, though she was now in 
 reduced circumstances, was well born, and de- 
 scended from the noble family of the Capulets. 
 
 All this the good lady related to Helena, highly 
 praising the virtuous principles of her discreet 
 daughter, which she said were entirely owing to 
 the excellent education and good advice she had 
 given her ; and she further said, that Bertram had 
 been particularly importunate with Diana to admit 
 him to the visit he so much desired that night, 
 because he was going to leave Florence early the 
 next morning. 
 
 Though it grieved Helena to hear of Bertram's 
 love for the widow's daughter, yet from this story 
 the ardent mind of Helena conceived a project 
 (nothing discouraged at the ill success of her former 
 one) to recover her truant lord. She disclosed to 
 the widow that she was Helena, the deserted wife 
 of Bertram, and requested that her kind hostess 
 and her daughter would suffer this visit from Ber- 
 tram to take place, and allow her to pass herself 
 upon" Bertram for Diana ; telling them, her chief 
 motive for desiring to have this secret meeting 
 with her husband, was to get a ring from him,
 
 i88 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 which he had said, if ever she was in possession of 
 he would acknowledge her as his wife. 
 
 The widow and her daughter promised to assist 
 her in this affair, partly moved by pity for this un- 
 happy forsaken wife, and partly won over to her 
 interest by the promises of reward which Helena 
 made them, giving them a purse of money in 
 earnest of her future favour. In the course of 
 that day Helena caused information to be sent to 
 Bertram that she was dead ; hoping that when he 
 thought himself free to make a second choice by 
 the news of her death, he would offer marriage to 
 her in her feigned character of Diana. And if 
 she could obtain the ring and this promise too, she 
 doubted not she should make some future good 
 come of it. 
 
 In the evening, after it was dark, Bertram was 
 admitted into Diana's chamber, and Helena was 
 there ready to receive him. The flattering com- 
 pliments and love discourse he addressed to Helena 
 were precious sounds to her, though she knew 
 they were meant for Diana ; and Bertram was so 
 well pleased with her, that he made her a solemn 
 promise to be her husband, and to love her for 
 ever ; which she hoped would be prophetic of a 
 real affection, when he should know it was his own 
 wife, the despised Helena, whose conversation had 
 so delighted him. 
 
 Bertram never knew how sensible a lady Helena 
 was, else perhaps he would not have been so re- 
 gardless of her ; and seeing her every day, he had 
 entirely overlooked her beauty; a face we are 
 accustomed to see constantly, losing the effect
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 189 
 
 which is caused by the first sight either of beauty 
 or of plainness ; and of her understanding it was 
 impossible he should judge, because she felt such 
 reverence, mixed with her love for him, that she 
 was always silent in his presence : but now that 
 her future fate, and the happy ending of all her 
 love-projects, seemed to depend on her leaving a 
 favourable impression on the mind of Bertram 
 from this night's interview, she exerted all her wit 
 to please him ; and the simple graces of her lively 
 conversation and the endearing sweetness of her 
 manners so charmed Bertram, that he vowed she 
 should be his wife. Helena begged the ring from 
 off his finger as a token of his regard, and he gave 
 it to her ; and in return for this ring, which it was 
 of such importance to her to possess, she gave him 
 another ring, which was one the king had made 
 her a present of. Before it was light in the 
 morning, she sent Bertram away; and he immedi- 
 ately set out on his journey towards his mother's 
 house. 
 
 Helena prevailed on the widow and Diana to ac- 
 company her to Paris, their further assistance being 
 necessary to the full accomplishment of the plan 
 she had formed. When they arrived there, they 
 found the king was gone upon a visit to the countess 
 of Rousillon, and Helena followed the king with all 
 the speed she could make. 
 
 The king was still in perfect health, and his grati- 
 tude to her who had been the means of his re- 
 covery was so lively in his mind, that the moment 
 he saw the countess of Rousillon, he began to talk of 
 Helena, calling her a precious jewel that was lost by
 
 190 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 the folly of her son; but seeing the subject distressed 
 the countess, who sincerely lamented the death of 
 Helena, he said, " My good lady, I have forgiven 
 and forgotten all." But the good-natured old Lafeu, 
 who was present, and could not bear that the me- 
 mory of his favourite Helena should be so lightly 
 passed over, said, " This I must say, the young lord 
 did great offence to his majesty, his mother, and his 
 lady ; but to himself he did the greatest wrong of 
 all, for he has lost a wife whose beauty astonished 
 all eyes, whose words took all ears captive, whose 
 deep perfection made all hearts wish to serve her." 
 The king said, " Praising what is lost makes the 
 remembrance dear. Well call him hither;" mean- 
 ing Bertram, who now presented himself before the 
 king : and, on his expressing deep sorrow for the 
 injuries he had done to Helena, the king, for his 
 dead father's and his admirable mother's sake, par- 
 doned him and restored him oncemore to his favour. 
 But the gracious countenance of the king was soon 
 changed towards him, for he perceived that Bertram 
 wore the very ring upon his finger which he had 
 given to Helena : and he well remembered that 
 Helena had called all the saints in heaven to witness 
 she would never part with that ring, unless she sent 
 it to the king himself upon some great disaster be- 
 falling her ; and Bertram, on the king's questioning 
 him how he came by the ring told an improbable 
 story of a lady throwing it to him out of a window, 
 and denied ever having seen Helena since the day of 
 their marriage. The king, knowing Bertram's dis- 
 like to his wife, feared he had destroyed her : and 
 he ordered his guards to seize Bertram, saying, " I
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 191 
 
 am wrapt in dismal thinking, for I fear the life of 
 Helena was foully snatched." At this moment 
 Diana and her mother entered, and presented a 
 petition to the king, wherein they begged his 
 majesty to exert his royal power to compel Bertram 
 to marry Diana, he having made her a solemn 
 promise of marriage. Bertram, fearing the king's 
 anger, denied he had made any such promise ; and 
 then Diana produced the ring (which Helena had 
 put into her hands) to confirm the truth of her 
 words ; and she said that she had given Bertram 
 the ring he then wore, in exchange for that, at the 
 time he vowed to marry her. On hearing this, the 
 king ordered the guards to seize her also ; and her 
 account of the ring differing from Bertram's, the 
 king's suspicions were confirmed : and he said, if 
 they did not confess how they came by this ring of 
 Helena's, they should be both put to death. Diana 
 requested her mother might be permitted to fetch 
 the jeweller of whom she bought the ring, which 
 being granted, the widow went out, and presently 
 returned leading in Helena herself. 
 
 The good countess, who in silent grief had beheld 
 her son's danger, and had even dreaded that the 
 suspicion of his having destroyed his wife might 
 possibly be true, finding her dear Helena, whom 
 she loved with even a maternal affection, was still 
 living, felt a delight she was hardly able to support ; 
 and the king, scarce believing for joy that it was 
 Helena, said, " Is this indeed the wife of Bertram 
 that I see ?" Helena, feeling herself yet an un- 
 acknowledged wife, replied, " No, my good lord, it 
 is but the shadow of a wife you see, the name and
 
 192 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 not the thing." Bertram cried out, " Both, both ! 
 
 pardon!" "O my lord," said Helena, "when 
 
 1 personated this fair maid, I found you wondrous 
 kind ; and look, here is your letter ! " reading to 
 him in a joyful tone those words which she had 
 once repeated so sorrowfully, When from my finger 
 you can get this ring, " This is done ; it was to 
 me you gave the ring. Will you be mine, now you 
 are doubly won ? " Bertram replied, " If you can 
 make it plain that you were the lady I talked with 
 that night, I will love you dearly ever, ever dearly." 
 This was no difficult task, for the widow and Diana 
 came with Helena to prove this fact ; and the king 
 was so well pleased with Diana, for the friendly 
 assistance she had rendered the dear lady he so 
 truly valued for the service she had done him, that 
 he promised her also a noble husband : Helena's 
 history giving him a hint, that it was a suitable 
 reward for kings to bestow upon fair ladies when 
 they perform notable services. 
 
 Thus Helena at last found that her father's le- 
 gacy was indeed sanctified by the luckiest stars in 
 heaven ; for she was now the beloved wife of her 
 dear Bertram, the daughter in-law of her noble 
 mistress, and herself the countess of Rousillon.
 
 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 "[CATHARINE, the Shrew, was the eldest 
 **- daughter of Baptista, a rich gentleman of 
 Padua. She was a lady of such an ungovernable 
 spirit and fiery temper, such a loud-tongued scold, 
 that she was known in Padua by no other name 
 than Katharine the Shrew. It seemed very un- 
 likely, indeed impossible, that any gentleman would 
 ever be found who would venture to marry this 
 lady, and therefore Baptista was much blamed for 
 deferring his consent to many excellent offers that 
 were made to her gentle sister Bianca, putting off 
 all Bianca's suitors with this excuse, that when the 
 eldest sister was fairly off his hands, they should 
 have free leave to address young Bianca. 
 
 It happened, however, that a gentleman, named 
 Petruchio, came to Padua, purposely to look out for 
 a wife, who, nothing discouraged by these reports 
 of Katharine's temper, and hearing she was rich 
 and handsome, resolved upon marrying this famous 
 termagant, and taming her into a meek and man- 
 ageable wife. And truly none was so fit to set 
 about this herculean labour as Petruchio, whose 
 spirit was as high as Katharine's, and he was a witty 
 and most happy-tempered humorist, and withal so 
 o
 
 194 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 wise, and of such a true judgment, that he well 
 knew how to feign a passionate and furious deport- 
 ment, when his spirits were so calm that himself 
 could have laughed merrily at his own angry 
 feigning, for his natural temper was careless and 
 easy; the boisterous airs he assumed when he 
 became the husband of Katharine being but in 
 sport, or more properly speaking, affected by his 
 excellent discernment, as the only means to over- 
 come, in her own way, the passionate ways of the 
 furious Katharine. 
 
 A courting then Petruchio went to Katharine 
 the Shrew ; and first of all he applied to Baptista, 
 her father,, for leave to woo his gentle daughter 
 Katharine, as Petruchio called her, saying archly, 
 that having heard of her bashful modesty and mild 
 behaviour, he had come from Verona to solicit 
 her love. Her father, though he wished her mar- 
 ried, was forced to confess Katharine would ill 
 answer this character, it being soon apparent of 
 what manner of gentleness she was composed, for 
 her music-master rushed into the room to complain 
 that the gentle Katharine, his pupil, had broken 
 his head with her lute, for presuming to find fault 
 with her performance; which, when Petruchio 
 heard, he said, " It is a brave wench ; I love her 
 more than ever, and long to have some chat with 
 her ; " and hurrying the old gentleman for a positive 
 answer, he said, " My business is in haste, signior 
 Baptista, I cannot come every day to woo. You 
 knew my father : he is dead, and has left me heir 
 to all his lands and goods. Then tell me, if I get 
 your daughter's love, what dowry you will give with
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 195 
 
 her." Baptista thought his manner was somewhat 
 blunt for a lover ; but being glad to get Katharine 
 married, he answered that he would give her twenty 
 thousand crowns for her dowry, and half his estate 
 at his death : so this odd match was quickly agreed 
 on, and Baptista went to apprise his shrewish 
 daughter of her lover's addresses, and sent her in 
 to Petruchio to listen to his suit. 
 
 In the mean time Petruchio was settling with 
 himself the mode of courtship he should pursue ; 
 and he said, " I will woo her with some spirit when 
 she comes. If she rails at me, why then I will tell 
 her she sings as sweetly as a nightingale ; and if 
 she frowns, I will say she looks as clear as roses 
 newly washed with dew. If she will not speak a 
 word, I will praise the eloquence of her language ; 
 and if she bids me leave her, I will give her thanks 
 as if she bid me stay with her a week." Now the 
 stately Katharine entered, and Petruchio first 
 addressed her with " Good morrow, Kate, for that 
 is your name, I hear." Katharine, not liking this 
 plain salutation, said disdainfully, "They call me 
 Katharine who do speak to me." "You lie," 
 replied the lover ; " for you are called plain Kate, 
 and bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the Shrew : 
 but, Kate, you are the prettiest Kate in Christen- 
 dom, and therefore, Kate, hearing your mildness 
 praised in every town, I am come to woo you for 
 my wife." 
 
 A strange courtship they made of it She in 
 loud and angry terms showing him how justly she 
 had gained the name of Shrew, while he still praised 
 her sweet and courteous words, till at length, hear-
 
 ig6 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 ing her father coming, he said (intending to make 
 as quick a wooing as possible), " Sweet Katharine, 
 let us set this idle chat aside, for your father has 
 consented that you shall be my wife, your dowry is 
 agreed on, and whether you will or no, I will marry 
 you." 
 
 And now Baptista entering, Petruchio told him 
 his daughter had received him kindly, and that she 
 had promised to be married the next Sunday. 
 This Katharine denied, saying she would rather 
 see him hanged on Sunday, and reproached her 
 father for wishing to wed her to such a mad-cap 
 ruffian as Petruchio. Petruchio desired her father 
 not to regard her angry words, for they had agreed 
 she should seem reluctant before him, but that 
 when they were alone he had found her very fond 
 and loving ; and he said to her, u Give me your 
 hand, Kate ; I will go to Venice to buy you fine 
 apparel against our wedding day. Provide the 
 feast, father, and bid the wedding guests. I will 
 be sure to bring rings, fine array, and rich clothes, 
 that my Katharine may be fine; and kiss me, 
 Kate, for we will be married on Sunday." 
 
 On the Sunday all the wedding guests were 
 assembled, but they waited long before Petruchio 
 came, and Katharine wept for vexation to think 
 that Petruchio had only been making a jest of her. 
 At last, however, he appeared; but he brought 
 none of the bridal finery he had promised 
 Katharine, nor was he dressed himself like a bride- 
 groom, but in strange disordered attire, as if he 
 meant to make a sport of the serious business he 
 came about ; and his servant and the very horses
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 197 
 
 on which they rode were in like manner in mean 
 and fantastic fashion habited. 
 
 Petruchio could not be persuaded to change his 
 dress ; he said Katharine was to be married to 
 him, and not to his clothes ; and finding it was in 
 vain to argue with him, to the church they went, 
 he still behaving in the same mad way, for when 
 the priest asked Petruchio if Katharine should be 
 his wife, he swore so loud that she should, that, 
 all amazed, the priest let fall his book, and as he 
 stooped to take it up, this mad-brained bridegroom 
 gave him such a cuff, that down fell the priest and 
 his book agaia And all the while they were being 
 married he stamped and swore so, that the high- 
 spirited Katharine trembled and shook with fear. 
 After the ceremony was over, while they were yet 
 in the church, he called for wine, and drank a loud 
 health to the company, and threw a sop which was 
 at the bottom of the glass full in the sexton's face, 
 giving no other reason for this strange act, than 
 that the sexton's beard grew thin and hungerly, 
 and seemed to ask the sop as he was drinking. 
 Never sure was there such a mad marriage ; but 
 Petruchio did but put this wildness on, the better 
 to succeed in the plot he had formed to tame his 
 shrewish wife. 
 
 Baptista had provided a sumptuous marriage 
 feast, but when they returned from church, Pet- 
 ruchio, taking hold of Katharine, declared his 
 intention of carrying his wife home instantly : and 
 no remonstrance of his father-in-law, or angry words 
 of the enraged Katharine, could make him change 
 his purpose He claimed a husband's right to dis-
 
 198 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 pose of his wife as he pleased, and away he hurried 
 Katharine off : he seeming so daring and resolute 
 that no one dared attempt to stop him. 
 
 Petruchio mounted his wife upon a miserable 
 horse, lean and lank, which he had picked out for 
 the purpose, and himself and his servant no better 
 mounted ; they journeyed on through rough and 
 miry ways, and ever when this horse of Katharine's 
 stumbled, he would storm and swear at the poor 
 jaded beast, who could scarce crawl under his bur- 
 then, as if he had been the most passionate man 
 alive. 
 
 At length, after a weary journey, during which 
 Katharine had heard nothing but the wild ravings of 
 Petruchio at the servant and the horses, they arrived 
 at his house. Petruchio welcomed her kindly to her 
 home, but he resolved she should have neither rest 
 nor food that night The tables were spread, and 
 supper soon served ; but Petruchio, pretending 
 to find fault with every dish, threw the meat about 
 the floor, and ordered the servants to remove it 
 away ; and all this he did, as he said, in love for 
 his Katharine, that she might not eat meat that was 
 not well dressed. And when Katharine, weary and 
 supperless, retired to rest, he found the same fault 
 with the bed, throwing the pillows and bed-clothes 
 about the room, so that she was forced to sit down 
 in a chair, where if she chanced to drop asleep, she 
 was presently awakened by the loud voice of her 
 husband, storming at the servants for the ill-making 
 of his wife's bridal-bed. 
 
 The next day Petruchio pursued the same course, 
 still speaking kind words to Katharine, but when
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 199 
 
 she attempted to eat, finding fault with everything 
 that was set before her, throwing the breakfast on 
 the floor as he had done the supper ; and Katharine, 
 the haughty Katharine, was fain to beg the servants 
 would bring her secretly a morsel of food ; but they 
 being instructed by Petruchio, replied, they dared 
 not give her anything unknown to their master. 
 " Ah," said she, " did he marry me to famish me ? 
 Beggars that come to my father's door have food 
 given them. But I, who never knew what it was to 
 entreat for anything, am starved for want of food, 
 giddy for want of sleep, with oaths kept waking, and 
 with brawling fed ; and that which vexes me more 
 than all, he does it under the name of perfect love, 
 pretending that if I sleep or eat, it were present 
 death to me." Here the soliloquy was interrupted 
 by the entrance of Petruchio : he, not meaning she 
 should be quite starved, had brought her a small 
 portion of meat, and he said to her, " How fares my 
 sweet Kate ? Here, love, you see how diligent I am, 
 I have dressed your meat myself. I am sure this 
 kindness merits thanks. What, not a word ? Nay, 
 then you love not the meat, and all the pains I have 
 taken is to no purpose." He then ordered the ser- 
 vant to take the dish away. Extreme hunger, 
 which had abated the pride of Katharine, made her 
 say, though angered to the heart, " I pray you let it 
 stand." But this was not all Petruchio intended to 
 bring her to, and he replied, " The poorest service 
 is repaid with thanks, and so shall mine before you 
 touch the meat." On this Katharine brought out a 
 reluctant " I thank you, sir." And now he suffered 
 her to make a slender meal, saying, " Much good
 
 200 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 may it do your gentle heart, Kate ; eat apace ! And 
 now, my honey love, we will return to your father's 
 house, and revel it as bravely as the best, with silken 
 coats and caps and golden rings, with ruffs and 
 scarfs and fans and double change of finery ;" and 
 to make her believe he really intended to give her 
 these gay things, he called in a tailor and a haber- 
 dasher, who brought some new clothes he had 
 ordered for her, and then giving her plate to the 
 servant to take away, before she had half satisfied 
 her hunger, he said, "What, have you dined?" 
 The haberdasher presented a cap, saying, " Here is 
 the cap your worship bespoke ;" on which Petruchio 
 began to storm afresh, saying the cap was moulded 
 in a porringer, and that it was no bigger than a 
 cockle or walnut shell, desiring the haberdasher to 
 take it away and make a bigger. Katharine said, 
 " I will have this ; all gentlewomen wear such caps 
 as these." " When you are gentle," replied Petru- 
 chio, " you shall have one too, and not till then." 
 The meat Katharine had eaten had a little revived 
 her fallen spirits, and she said, " Why, sir, I trust 
 I may have leave to speak, and speak I will : I am 
 no child, no babe ; your betters have endured to 
 hear me say my mind ; and if you cannot, you had 
 better stop your ears." Petruchio would not hear 
 these angry words, for he had happily discovered a 
 better way of managing his wife than keeping up a 
 jangling argument with her ; therefore his answer 
 was, " Why, you say true ; it is a paltry cap, and I 
 love you for not liking it." " Love me, or love me 
 not," said Katharine, " I like the cap, and I will 
 have this cap or none." "You say you wish to see the
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 201 
 
 gown," said Petruchio, still affecting to misunderstand 
 her. The tailor then came forward and showed her 
 a fine gown he had made for her. Petruchio, whose 
 intentwas that she should have neither cap nor gown, 
 found as much fault with that. O mercy, Heaven ! " 
 said he, " what stuff is here ! What, do you call 
 this a sleeve ? it is like a demi-cannon, carved up 
 and down like an apple tart" The tailor said, "You 
 bid me make it according to the fashion of the 
 times ; " and Katharine said, she never saw a better 
 fashioned gown. This was enough for Petruchio, 
 and privately desiring these people might be paid 
 for their goods, and excuses made to them for the 
 seemingly strange treatment he bestowed upon 
 them, he with fierce words and furious gestures 
 drove the tailor and the haberdasher out of the 
 room ; and then, turning to Katharine, he said, 
 " Well, come, my Kate, we will go to your father's 
 even in these mean garments we now wear." And 
 then he ordered his horses, affirming they should 
 reach Baptista's house by dinner-time, for that it 
 was but seven o'clock. Now it was not early morn- 
 ing, but the very middle of the day, when he spoke 
 this ; therefore Katharine ventured to say, though 
 modestly, being almost overcome by the vehemence 
 of his manner, " I dare assure you, sir, it is two 
 o'clock, and will be supper-time before we get there." 
 But Petruchio meant that she should be so com- 
 pletely subdued, that she should assent to every- 
 thing he said, before he carried her to her father ; 
 and therefore, as if he were lord even of the sun, 
 and could command the hours, he said it should be 
 what time he pleased to have it, before he set for-
 
 202 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 ward ; " For," said he, " whatever I say or do, you 
 still are crossing it. I will not go to-day, and when 
 I go, it shall be what o'clock I say it is." Another 
 day Katharine was forced to practise her newly- 
 found obedience, and not till he had brought her 
 proud spirit to such a perfect subjection, that she 
 dared not remember there was such a word as con- 
 tradiction, would Petruchio allow her to go to her 
 father's house ; and even while they were upon their 
 journey thither, she was in danger of being turned 
 back again, only because she happened to hint it 
 was the sun, when he affirmed the moon shone 
 brightly at noonday. " Now, by my mother's son," 
 said he, " and that is myself, it shall be the moon, 
 or stars, or what I list, before I journey to your 
 father's house." He then made as if he were going 
 back again ; but Katharine, no longer Katharine 
 the Shrew, but the obedient wife, said, " Let us go 
 forward, I pray, now we have come so far, and it 
 shall be the sun, or moon, or what you please, and 
 if you please to call it a rush candle henceforth, I 
 vow it shall be so for me." This he was resolved to 
 prove, therefore he said again, "I say, it is the moon." 
 "I know it is the moon," replied Katharine. 
 ' ' You lie, it is the blessed sun," said Petruchio. 
 " Then it is the blessed sun," replied Katharine ; 
 " but sun it is not, when you say it is not. What 
 you will have it named, even so it is, and so it ever 
 shall be for Katharine." Now then he suffered 
 her to proceed on her journey ; but further to try 
 if this yielding humour would last, he addressed an 
 old gentleman they met on the road as if he had 
 been a young woman, saying to him, " Good
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 203 
 
 morrow, gentle mistress ;" and asked Katharine if 
 she had ever beheld a fairer gentlewoman, praising 
 the red and white of the old man's cheeks, and 
 comparing his eyes to two bright stars ; and again 
 he addressed him, saying, " Fair lovely maid, once 
 more good day to you !" and said to his wife, 
 " Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty's sake." 
 The now completely vanquished Katharine quickly 
 adopted her husband's opinion, and made her 
 speech in like sort to the old gentleman, saying to 
 him, "Young budding virgin, you are fair, and 
 fresh, and sweet : whither are you going, and where 
 is your dwelling? Happy are the parents of so 
 fair a child." "Why, how now, Kate," said Pet- 
 ruchio ; " I hope you are not mad. This is a man, 
 old and wrinkled, faded and withered, and not a 
 maiden, as you say he is." On this Katharine said, 
 " Pardon me, old gentleman; the sun has so dazzled 
 my eyes, that everything I look on seemeth green. 
 Now I perceive you are a reverend father : I hope 
 you will pardon me for my sad mistake." " Do, 
 good old grandsire," said Petruchio, " and tell us 
 which way you are travelling. We shall be glad 
 of your good company, if you are going our way." 
 The old gentleman replied, " Fair sir, and you, my 
 merry mistress, your strange encounter has much 
 amazed me. My name is Vincentio, and I am going 
 to visit a son of mine who lives at Padua." Then 
 Petruchio knew the old gentleman to be the father 
 of Lucentio, a young gentleman who was to be mar- 
 ried to Baptista's younger daughter, Bianca, and he 
 made Vincentio very happy, by telling him the rich 
 marriage his son was about to make : and they all
 
 204 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 journeyed on pleasantly together till they came to 
 Baptista's house, where there was a large company 
 assembled to celebrate the wedding of Bianca and 
 Lucentio, Baptista having willingly consented to 
 the marriage of Bianca when he had got Katharine 
 off his hands. 
 
 When they entered, Baptista welcomed them to 
 the wedding feast, and there was present also ano- 
 ther newly married pair. 
 
 Lucentio, Bianca's husband, and Hortensio, the 
 other new married man, could not forbear sly jests, 
 which seemed to hint at the shrewish disposition 
 of Petruchio's wife, and these fond bridegrooms 
 seemed highly, pleased with the mild tempers of 
 the ladies they had chosen, laughing at Petruchio 
 for his less fortunate choice. Petruchio took little 
 notice of their jokes till the ladies were retired 
 after dinner, and then he perceived Baptista him- 
 self joined in the laugh against him : for when 
 Petruchio affirmed that his wife would prove more 
 obedient than theirs, the father of Katharine said, 
 " Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio, I fear you 
 have got the veriest shrew of all." " Well," said 
 Petruchio, " I say no, and therefore for assurance 
 that I speak the truth, let us each one send for 
 his wife, and he whose wife is most obedient to 
 come at first when she is sent for, shall win a 
 wager which we will propose." To this the other 
 two husbands willingly consented, for they were 
 quite confident that their gentle wives would prove 
 more obedient than the headstrong Katharine ; 
 and they proposed a wager of twenty crowns, but 
 Petruchio merrily said, he would lay as much as
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 205 
 
 that upon his hawk or hound, but twenty times as 
 much upon his wife. Lucentio and Hortensio 
 raised the wager to a hundred crowns, and Lucentio 
 first sent his servant to desire Bianca would come 
 to him. But the servant returned, and said, " Sir, 
 my mistress sends you word she is busy and can- 
 not come." " How," said Petruchio, " does she 
 say she is busy and cannot come? Is that an 
 answer fora wife?" Then they laughed at him, 
 and said, it would be well if Katharine did not 
 send him a worse answer. And now it was 
 Hortensio's turn to send for his wife ; and he said 
 to his servant, " Go, and entreat my wife to come 
 tome." "Oh ho! entreat her!" said Petruchio. 
 " Nay, then, she needs must come." " I am 
 afraid, sir," said Hortensio, " your wife will not be 
 entreated." But presently this civil husband 
 looked a little blank, when the servant returned 
 without his mistress ; and he said to him, " How 
 now! Where is my wife?" "Sir," said the 
 servant, " my mistress says, you have some goodly 
 jest in hand, and therefore she will not come. 
 She bids you come to her." " Worse and worse !" 
 said Petruchio ; and then he sent his servant, say- 
 ing, "Sirrah, go to your mistress, and tell her I 
 command her to come to me." The company had 
 scarcely time to think she would not obey this 
 summons, when Baptista, all in amaze, exclaimed 
 " Now, by my holidante, here comes Katharine !" 
 and she entered, saying meekly to Petruchio, 
 " What is your will, sir, that you send for me?" 
 "Where is your sister and Hortensio's wife?" said 
 he. Katharine replied, "They sit conferring by
 
 206 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 the parlour fire." "Go, fetch them hither!" said 
 Petruchio. Away went Katharine without reply 
 to perform her husband's command. " Here is a 
 wonder," said Lucentio, " if you talk of a wonder." 
 " And so it is," said Hortensio ; " I marvel 
 what it bodes." " Marry, peace it bodes," said 
 Petruchio, "and love, and quiet life, and right 
 supremacy ; and, to be short, everything that is 
 sweet and happy." Katharine's father, overjoyed 
 to see this reformation in his daughter, said, " Now, 
 fair befall thee, son Petruchio ! you have won the 
 wager, and I will add another twenty thousand 
 crowns to her dowry, as if she were another 
 daughter, for she is changed as if she had never 
 been." " Nay," said Petruchio, " I will win the 
 wager better yet, and show more signs of her new- 
 built virtue and obedience." Katharine now 
 entering with the two ladies, he continued, " See 
 where she comes, and brings your froward wives 
 as prisoners to her womanly persuasion. Katha- 
 rine, that cap of yours does not become you ; off 
 with that bauble, and throw it under foot" 
 Katharine instantly took off her cap, and threw it 
 down. "Lord!" said Hortensio's wife, "may I 
 never have a cause to sigh till I am brought to 
 such a silly pass!" And Bianca, she too said, 
 "Fie, what foolish duty call you this?" On this 
 Bianca's husband said to her, " I wish your duty 
 were as foolish too ! The wisdom of your duty, 
 fair Bianca, has cost me a hundred crowns since 
 dinner-time." "The more fool you," said Bianca, 
 "for laying on my duty." "Katharine," said 
 Petruchio, " I charge you tell these headstrong
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 207 
 
 women what duty they owe their lords and hus- 
 bands." And to the wonder of all present, the 
 reformed shrewish lady spoke as eloquently in 
 praise of the wifelike duty of obedience, as she had 
 practised it implicitly in a ready submission to 
 Petruchio's will. And Katharine once more be- 
 came famous in Padua, not as heretofore, as 
 Katharine the Shrew, but as Katharine the most 
 obedient and duteous wife in Padua.
 
 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 f ~PHE states of Syracuse and Ephesus being at 
 -^ variance, there was a cruel law made at 
 Ephesus, ordaining that if any merchant of Syracuse 
 was seen in the city of Ephesus, he was to be put 
 to death, unless he could pay a thousand marks 
 for the ransom of his life. 
 
 ^Egeon, an old merchant of Syracuse, was dis- 
 covered in the streets of Ephesus, and brought 
 before the duke, either to pay this heavy fine, or 
 to receive sentence of death. 
 
 ^Egeon had no money to pay the fine, and the 
 duke, before he pronounced the sentence of death 
 upon him, desired him to relate the history of his 
 life, and to tell for what cause he had ventured to 
 come to the city of Ephesus, which it was death 
 for any Syracusan merchant to enter. 
 
 vEgeon said, that he did not fear to die, for sor- 
 row had made him weary of his life, but that a 
 heavier task could not have been imposed upon 
 him than to relate the events of his unfortunate 
 life. He then began his own history, in the fol- 
 lowing words : 
 
 " I was born at Syracuse, and brought up to the 
 profession of a merchant. I married a lady, with
 
 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 209 
 
 whom I lived very happily, but being obliged 
 to go to Epidamnum, I was detained there 
 by my business six months, and then, finding I 
 should be obliged to stay some time longer, I sent 
 for my wife, who, as soon as she arrived, was 
 brought to bed of two sons, and what was very 
 strange, they were both so exactly alike, that it was 
 impossible to distinguish the one from the other. 
 At the same time that my wife was brought to bed 
 of these twin boys, a poor woman in the inn where 
 my wife lodged was brought to bed of two sons, 
 and these twins were as much like each other as 
 my two sons were. The parents of these children 
 being exceeding poor, I bought the two boys, and 
 brought them up to attend upon my sons. 
 
 " My sons were very fine children, and my wife 
 was not a little proud of two such boys : and she 
 daily wishing to return home, I unwillingly agreed, 
 and in an evil hour we got on shipboard ; for we 
 had not sailed above a league from Epidamnum 
 before a dreadful storm arose, which continued 
 with such violence, that the sailors seeing no chance 
 of saving the ship, crowded into the boat to save 
 their own lives, leaving us alone in the ship, which 
 we every moment expected would be destroyed by 
 the fury of the storm. 
 
 "The incessant weeping of my wife, and the 
 piteous complaints of the pretty babes, who, not 
 knowing what to fear, wept for fashion, because 
 they saw their mother weep, filled me with terror 
 for them, though I did not for myself fear death ; 
 and all my thoughts were bent to contrive means 
 for their safety. I tied my youngest son to the 
 p
 
 2io TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 end of a small spare mast, such as seafaring men 
 provide against storms ; at the other end I bound 
 the youngest of the twin slaves, and at the same 
 time I directed my wife how to fasten the other 
 children in like manner to another mast. She 
 thus having the care of the two eldest children, 
 and I of the two younger, we bound ourselves 
 separately to these masts with the children ; and 
 but for this contrivance we had all been lost, for 
 the ship split on a mighty rock, and was dashed 
 in pieces ; and we, clinging to these slender masts, 
 were supported above the water, where I, having 
 the care of two children, was unable to assist my 
 wife, who with the other children was soon sepa- 
 rated from me ; but while they were yet in my 
 sight, they were taken up by a boat of fishermen, 
 from Corinth (as I supposed), and seeing them 
 in safety, I had no care but to struggle with 
 the wild sea-waves, to preserve my dear son and 
 the youngest slave. At length we, in our turn, were 
 taken up by a ship, and the sailors, knowing me, 
 gave us kind welcome and assistance, and landed 
 us in safety at Syracuse ; but from that sad hour 
 I have never known what became of my wife and 
 eldest child. 
 
 " My youngest son, and now my only care, when 
 he was eighteen years of age, began to be inquisi- 
 tive after his mother and his brother, and often 
 importuned me that he might take his attendant, 
 the young slave, who had also lost his brother, and 
 go in search of them : at length I unwillingly gave 
 consent, for though I anxiously desired to hear 
 tidings of my wife and eldest son, yet in sending
 
 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 211 
 
 my younger one to find them, I hazarded the loss 
 of him also. It is now seven years since my son 
 left me ; five years have I passed in travelling 
 through the world in search of him : I have been 
 in farthest Greece, and through the bounds of Asia, 
 and coasting homewards, I landed here in Ephesus, 
 being unwilling to leave any place unsought that 
 harbours men ; but this day must end the story of 
 my life, and happy should I think myself in my 
 death, if I were assured my wife and sons were 
 living." 
 
 Here the hapless ^Egeon ended the account of 
 his misfortunes ; and the duke, pitying this unfor- 
 tunate father, who had brought upon himself this 
 great peril by his love for his lost son, said, if it 
 were not against the laws, which his oath and 
 dignity did not permit him to alter, he would freely 
 pardon him; yet, instead of dooming him to 
 instant death, as the strict letter of the law required, 
 he would give him that day to try if he could beg 
 or borrow the money to pay the fine. 
 
 This day of grace did seem no great favour to 
 ^Egeon, for not knowing any man in Ephesus, 
 there seemed to him but little chance that any 
 stranger would lend or give him a thousand marks 
 to pay the fine ; and helpless and hopeless of any 
 relief, he retired from the presence of the duke in 
 the custody of a jailor. 
 
 ^Egeon supposed he knew no person in Ephesus ; 
 but at the very time he was in danger of losing his 
 life through the careful search he was making after 
 his youngest son, that son and his eldest son also 
 were both in the city of Ephesus.
 
 212 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 ^Egeon's sons, besides being exactly alike in 
 face and person, were both named alike, being 
 both called Antipholus, and the two twin slaves 
 were also both named Dromio. ^Egeon's youngest 
 son, Antipholus of Syracuse, he whom the old man 
 had come to Ephesus to seek, happened to arrive 
 at Ephesus with his slave Dromio that very same 
 day that JEgeon did ; and he being also a mer- 
 chant of Syracuse, he would have been in the same 
 danger that his father was, but by good fortune he 
 met a friend who told him the peril an old mer- 
 chant of Syracuse was in, and advised him to pass 
 for a merchant of Epidamnum; this Antipholus 
 agreed to do, and he was sorry to hear one of his 
 own countrymen was in this danger, but he little 
 thought this old merchant was his own father. 
 
 The eldest son of ^Egeon (who must be called 
 Antipholus of Ephesus, to distinguish him from his 
 brother Antipholus of Syracuse) had lived at 
 Ephesus twenty years, and, being a rich man, was 
 well able to have paid the money for the ransom of 
 his father's life ; but Antipholus knew nothing of 
 his father, being so young when he was taken out 
 of the sea with his mother by the fishermen that 
 he only remembered he had been so preserved, 
 but he had no recollection of either his father or 
 his mother; the fishermen who took up this Anti- 
 pholus and his mother and the young slave Dromio, 
 having carried the two children away from her (to 
 the great grief of that unhappy lady), intending to 
 sell them. 
 
 Antipholus and Dromio were sold by them to 
 duke Menaphon, a famous warrior, who was uncle
 
 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 213 
 
 to the duke of Ephesus, and he carried the boys 
 to Ephesus when he went to visit the duke his 
 nephew. 
 
 The duke of Ephesus taking a liking to young 
 Antipholus, when he grew up, made him an officer 
 in his army, in which he distinguished himself by 
 his great bravery in the wars, where he saved the 
 life of his patron the duke, who rewarded his merit 
 by marrying him to Adriana, a rich lady of Ephesus ; 
 with whom he was living (his slave Dromio still 
 attending him) at the time his father came there. 
 
 Antipholus of Syracuse, when he parted with his 
 friend, who advised him to say he came from 
 Epidamnum, gave his slave Dromio some money 
 to carry to the inn where he intended to dine, and 
 in the mean time he said he would walk about and 
 view the city, and observe the manners of the 
 people. 
 
 Dromio was a pleasant fellow, and when Anti- 
 pholus was dull and melancholy he used to divert 
 himself with the odd humours and merry jests of 
 his slave, so that the freedoms of speech he allowed 
 in Dromio were greater than is usual between 
 masters and their servants. 
 
 When Antipholus of Syracuse had sent Dromio 
 away, he stood awhile thinking over his solitary 
 wanderings in search of his mother and his brother, 
 of whom in no place where he landed could he 
 hear the least tidings ; and he said sorrowfully to 
 himself, " I am like a drop of water in the ocean, 
 which seeking to find its fellow drop, loses itself in 
 the wide sea. So I unhappily, to find a mother and 
 a brother, do lose myself."
 
 214 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 While he was thus meditating on his weary 
 travels, which had hitherto been so useless, Dromio 
 (as he thought) returned. Antipholus, wondering 
 that he came back so soon, asked him where he 
 had left the money. Now it was not his own 
 Dromio, but the twin-brother that lived with Anti- 
 pholus of Ephesus, that he spoke to. The two 
 Dromios and the two Antipholuses were still as 
 much alike as ^Egeon had said they were in their 
 infancy ; therefore no wonder Antipholus thought 
 it was his own slave returned, and asked him why 
 he came back so soon. Dromio replied, "My 
 mistress sent me to bid you come to dinner. The 
 capon burns, and the pig falls from the spit, and 
 the meat will be all cold if you do not come 
 home." " These jests are out of season," said Anti- 
 pholis: "where did you leave the money?" 
 Dromio still answering, that his mistress had sent 
 him to fetch Antipholus to dinner : " What mis- 
 tress ? " said Antipholus. " Why, your worship's 
 wife, sir," replied Dromio. Antipholus having no 
 wife, he was very angry with Dromio, and said, 
 " Because I familiarly sometimes chat with you, 
 you presume to jest with me in this free manner. 
 I am not in a sportive humour now : where is the 
 money? we being strangers here, how dare you 
 trust so great a charge from your own custody?" 
 Dromio hearing his master, as he thought him, 
 talk of their being strangers, supposing Antipholus 
 was jesting, replied merrily, " I pray you, sir, jest 
 as you sit at dinner. I had no charge but to fetch 
 you home, to dine with my mistress and her sister." 
 Now Antipholus lost all patience, and beat Dromio,
 
 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 215 
 
 who ran home, and told his mistress that his mas- 
 ter had refused to come to dinner, and said that 
 he had no wife. 
 
 Adriana, the wife of Antipholus of Ephesus, was 
 very angry when she heard that her husband said 
 he had no wife ; for she was of a jealous temper, 
 and she said her husband meant that he loved 
 another lady better than herself; and she began 
 to fret, and say unkind words of jealousy and re- 
 proach of her husband ; and her sister Luciana, who 
 lived with her, tried in vain to persuade her out of 
 her groundless suspicions. 
 
 Antipholus of Syracuse went to the inn, and 
 found Dromio with the money in safety there, and 
 seeing his own Dromio, he was going again to chide 
 him for his free jests, when Adriana came up to 
 him, and not doubting but it was her husband she 
 saw, she began to reproach him for looking strange 
 upon her (as well he might, never having seen this 
 angry lady before) ; and then she told him how 
 well he loved her before they were married, and 
 that now he loved some other lady instead of her. 
 " How comes it now, my husband," said she, " O 
 how comes it that I have lost your love ?" " Plead 
 you to me, fair dame?" said the astonished Anti- 
 pholus. It was in vain he told her he was not her 
 husband, and that he had been in Ephesus but two 
 hours ; she insisted on his going home with her, 
 and Antipholus at last, being unable to get away, 
 went with her to his brother's house, and dined with 
 Adriana and her sister, the one calling him hus- 
 band, and the other brother, he, all amazed, think- 
 ing he must have been married to her in his sleep,
 
 2i6 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 or that he was sleeping now. And Dromio, who 
 followed them, was no less surprised, for the cook- 
 maid, who was his brother's wife, also claimed him 
 for her husband. 
 
 While Antipholus of Syracuse was dining with 
 his brother's wife, his brother, the real husband, 
 returned home to dinner with his slave Dromio ; 
 but the servants would not open the door, because 
 their mistress had ordered them not to admit any 
 company; and when they repeatedly knocked, 
 and said they were Antipholus and Dromio, the 
 maids laughed at them, and said that Antipholus 
 was at dinner with their mistress, and Dromio was 
 in the kitchen ; and though they almost knocked 
 the door down, they could not gain admittance, and 
 at last Antipholus went away very angry, .and 
 strangely surprised at hearing a gentleman was 
 dining with his wife. 
 
 When Antipholus of Syracuse had finished his 
 dinner, he was so perplexed at the lady's still per- 
 sisting in calling him husband, and at hearing that 
 Dromio had also been claimed by the cook-maid, 
 that he left the house, as soon as he could find any 
 pretence to get away ; for though he was very much 
 pleased with Luciana, the sister, yet the jealous - 
 tempered Adriana he disliked very much, nor was 
 Dromio at all better satisfied with his fair wife in 
 the kitchen : therefore both master and man were 
 glad to get away from their new wives as fast as 
 they could. 
 
 The moment Antipholus of Syracuse had left the 
 house, he was met by a goldsmith, who mistaking 
 him, as Adrianahad done, for Antipholus of Ephesus,
 
 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 217 
 
 gave him a gold chain, calling him by his name ; 
 and when Antipholus would have refused the chain, 
 saying it did not belong to him, the goldsmith replied 
 he made it by his own orders; and went away, 
 leaving the chain in the hands of Antipholus, who 
 ordered his man Dromio to get his things on board 
 a ship, not choosing to stay in a place any longer, 
 where he met with such strange adventures that he 
 surely thought himself bewitched 
 
 The goldsmith who had given the chain to the 
 wrong Antipholus, was arrested immediately after 
 for a sum of money he owed ; and Antipholus, the 
 married brother, to whom the goldsmith thought he 
 had given the chain, happened to come to the place 
 where the officer was arresting the goldsmith, who, 
 when he saw Antipholus, asked him to pay for the 
 gold chain he had just delivered to him, the price 
 amounting to nearly the same sum as that for which 
 he had been arrested. Antipholus denying the 
 having received the chain, and the goldsmith per- 
 sisting to declare that he had but a few minutes 
 before given it to him, they disputed this matter a 
 long time, both thinking they were right: for Anti- 
 pholus knew the goldsmith never gave him the chain, 
 and so like were the two brothers, the goldsmith 
 was as certain he had delivered the chain into his 
 hands, till at last the officer took the goldsmith away 
 to prison for the debt he owed, and at the same time 
 the goldsmith made the officer arrest Antipholus for 
 the price of the chain ; so that at the conclusion of 
 their dispute, Antipholus and the merchant were 
 both taken away to prison together. 
 
 As Antipholus was going to prison, he met Dromio
 
 218 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 of Syracuse, his brother's slave, and mistaking him 
 for his own, he ordered him to go to Adriana his 
 wife, and tell her to send the money for which he 
 was arrested. Dromio wondering that his master 
 should send him back to the strange house where 
 he dined, and from which he had just before been 
 in such haste to depart, did not dare to reply, though 
 he came to tell his master the ship was ready to 
 sail : for he saw Antipholus was in no humour to be 
 jested with. Therefore he went away, grumbling 
 within himself, that he must return to Adriana's 
 house, " Where," said he, " Dowsabel claims me for 
 a husband : but I must go, for servants must obey 
 their masters^ commands." 
 
 Adriana gave him the money, and as Dromio 
 was returning, he met Antipholus of Syracuse, who 
 was still in amaze at the surprising adventures he 
 met with ; for his brother being well known in 
 Ephesus, there was hardly a man he met in the 
 streets but saluted him as an old acquaintance : 
 some offered him money which they said was owing 
 to him, some invited him to come and see them, and 
 some gave him thanks for kindnesses they said he 
 had done them, all mistaking him for his brother. 
 A tailor showed him some silks he had bought for 
 him, and insisted upon taking measure of him for 
 some clothes. 
 
 Antipholus began to think he was among a nation 
 of sorcerers and witches, and Dromio did not at all 
 relieve his master from his bewildered thoughts, by 
 asking him how he got free from the officer who was 
 carrying him to prison, and giving him the purse ol 
 gold which Adriana had sent to pay the debt with.
 
 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 219 
 
 This talk of Dromio's of the arrest and of a prison, 
 and of the money he had brought from Adriana, per- 
 fectly confounded Antipholus, and he said, " This 
 fellow Dromio is certainly distracted, and we wan- 
 der here in illusions ;" and quite terrified at his own 
 confused thoughts, he cried out, "Some blessed 
 power deliver us from this strange place !" 
 
 And now another stranger came up to him, and 
 she was a lady, and she too called him Antipholus, 
 and told him he had dined with her that day, and 
 asked him for a gold chain which she said he had 
 promised to give her. Antipholus now lost all pa- 
 tience, and calling her a sorceress, he denied that 
 he had ever promised her a chain, or dined with 
 her, or had even seen her face before that moment. 
 The lady persisted in affirming he had dined with 
 her, and had promised her a chain, which Antipholus 
 still denying, she further said; that she had given 
 him a valuable ring, and if he would not give her 
 the gold chain, she insisted upon having her own ring 
 again. On this Antipholus became quite frantic, 
 and again calling her sorceress and witch, and 
 denying all knowledge of her or her ring, ran away 
 from her, leaving her astonished at his words and 
 his wild looks, for nothing to her appeared more 
 certain than that he had dined with her, and that she 
 had given him a ring, in consequence of his promising 
 to make her a present of a gold chain. But this lady 
 had fallen into the same mistake the others had done, 
 for she had taken him for his brother : the married 
 Antipholus had done all the things she taxed this 
 Antipholus with. 
 
 When the married Antipholus was denied entrance
 
 220 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 into his own house (those within supposing him to 
 be already there), he had gone away very angry, 
 believing it to be one of his wife's jealous freaks, to 
 which she was very subject, and remembering that 
 she had often falsely accused him of visiting other 
 ladies, he, to be revenged on her for shutting him 
 out of his own house, determined to go and dine 
 with this lady, and she receiving him with great 
 civility, and his wife having so highly offended him, 
 Antipholus promised to give her a gold chain, which 
 he had intended as a present for his wife ; it was 
 the same chain which the goldsmith by mistake had 
 given to his brother. The lady liked so well the 
 thoughts of having a fine gold chain, that she gave 
 the married Antipholus a ring ; which when as she 
 supposed (taking his brother for him), he denied, 
 and said he did not know her, and left her in such 
 a wild passion, she began to think he was certainly 
 out of his senses ; and presently she resolved to go 
 and tell Adriana that her husband was mad. And 
 while she was telling it to Adriana, he came, attended 
 by the jailor (who allowed him to come home to get 
 the money to pay the debt), for the purse of money, 
 which Adriana had sent by Dromio, and he had 
 delivered to the other Antipholus. 
 
 Adriana believed the story the lady told her of 
 her husband's madness must be true, when he re- 
 proached her for shutting him out of his own house ; 
 and remembering how he had protested all dinner- 
 time that he was not her husband, and had never 
 been in Ephesus till that day, she had no doubt 
 that he was mad ; she therefore paid the jailor the 
 money, and having discharged him, she ordered
 
 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 221 
 
 her servants to bind her husband with ropes, and 
 had him conveyed into a dark room, and sent for 
 a doctor to come and cure him of his madness : 
 Antipholus all the while hotly exclaiming against 
 this false accusation, which the exact likeness he 
 bore to his brother had brought upon him. But 
 his rage only the more confirmed them in the 
 belief that he was mad ; and Dromio persisting in 
 the same story, they bound him also, and took him 
 away along with his master. 
 
 Soon after Adriana had put her husband into con- 
 finement, a servant came to tell her that Antipholus 
 and Dromio must have broken loose from their 
 keepers, for that they were both walking at liberty 
 in the next street. On hearing this, Adriana ran 
 out to fetch him home, taking some people with her 
 to secure her husband again ; and her sister went 
 along with her. When they came to the gates of 
 a convent in their neighbourhood, there they saw 
 Antipholus and Dromio, as they thought, being again 
 deceived by the likeness of the % twin-brothers. 
 
 Antipholus of Syracuse was still beset with the 
 perplexities this likeness had brought upon him. 
 The chain which the goldsmith had given him was 
 about his neck, and the goldsmith was reproaching 
 him for denying that he had it, and refusing to pay 
 for it, and Antipholus was protesting that the gold- 
 smith freely gave him the chain in the morning, 
 and that from that hour he had never seen the 
 goldsmith again. 
 
 And now Adriana came up to him and claimed 
 him as her lunatic husband, who had escaped from 
 his keepers ; and the men she brought with her were
 
 222 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 going to lay violent hands on Antipholus andDromio; 
 but they ran into the convent, and Antipholus begged 
 the abbess to give him shelter in her house. 
 
 And now came out the lady abbess herself to in- 
 quire into the cause of this disturbance. She was 
 a grave and venerable lady, and wise to judge of 
 what she saw, and she would not too hastily give 
 up the man who had sought protection in her house ; 
 so she strictly questioned the wife about the story 
 she told of her husband's madness, and she said, 
 " What is the cause of this sudden distemper of 
 your husband's ? Has he lost his wealth at sea ? 
 Or is it the death of some dear friend that has dis- 
 turbed his mind ?" Adriana replied, that no such 
 things as these had been the cause. " Perhaps," 
 said the abbess, "he has fixed his affections on 
 some other lady than you his wife ; and that has 
 driven him to this state." Adriana said she had 
 long thought the love of some other lady was the 
 cause of his frequent absences from home. Now 
 it was not his love for another, but the teasing 
 jealousy of his wife's temper, that often obliged 
 Antipholus to leave his home ; and (the abbess sus- 
 pecting this from the vehemence of Adriana's 
 manner) to learn the truth, she said, " You should 
 have reprehended him for this." " Why, so I did," 
 replied Adriana. " Ay," said the abbess, " but 
 perhaps not enough." Adriana, willing to con- 
 vince the abbess that she had said enough to 
 Antipholus on this subject, replied, "It was the 
 constant subject of our conversation : in bed I 
 would not let him sleep for speaking of it At 
 table I would not let him eat for speaking of it
 
 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 223 
 
 When I was alone with him, I talked of nothing 
 else ; and in company I gave him frequent hints of 
 it. Still all my talk was how vile and bad it was 
 in him to love any lady better than me." 
 
 The lady abbess, having drawn this full confes- 
 sion from the jealous Adriana, now said, "And 
 therefore comes it that your husband is mad. The 
 venomous clamour of a jealous woman is a more 
 deadly poison than a mad dog's tooth. It seems 
 his sleep was hindered by your railing ; no wonder 
 that his head is light : and his meat was sauced 
 with your upbraid ings; unquiet meals make ill 
 digestions, and that has thrown him into this fever. 
 You say his sports were disturbed by your brawls ; 
 being debarred from the enjoyment of society and 
 recreation, what could ensue but dull melancholy 
 and comfortless despair? The consequence is 
 then, that your jealous fits have made your husband 
 mad." 
 
 Luciana would have excused her sister, saying, 
 she always reprehended her husband mildly ; and 
 she said to her sister, "Why do you hear these re- 
 bukes without answering them?" But the abbess 
 had made her so plainly perceive her fault, that she 
 could only answer, " She has betrayed me to my 
 own reproof." 
 
 Adriana, though ashamed of her own conduct, 
 still insisted on having her husband delivered up 
 to her ; but the abbess would suffer no person to 
 enter her house, nor would she deliver up this un- 
 happy man to the care of the jealous wife, deter- 
 mining herself to use gentle means for his recovery, 
 and she retired into her house again, and ordered 
 her gates to be shut against them.
 
 224 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 During the course of this eventful day, in which 
 so many errors had happened from the likeness the 
 twin brothers bore to each other, old ^Egeon's day 
 of grace was passing away, it being now near sun- 
 set ; and at sunset he was doomed to die, if he 
 could not pay the money. 
 
 The place of his execution was near this convent, 
 and here he arrived just as the abbess retired into 
 the convent ; the duke attending in person, that if 
 any offered to pay the money, he might be present 
 to pardon him. 
 
 Adriana stopped this melancholy procession, and 
 cried out to the duke for justice, telling him that 
 the abbess had refused to deliver up her lunatic 
 husband to 1ier care. While she was speaking, her 
 real husband and his servant Dromio, who had got 
 loose, came before the duke to demand justice, 
 complaining that his wife had confined him on a 
 false charge of lunacy ; and telling in what manner 
 he had broken his bands, and eluded the vigilance 
 of his keepers. Adriana was strangely surprised to 
 see her husband, when she thought he had been 
 within the convent. 
 
 ^Egeon, seeing his son, concluded this was the 
 son who had left him to go in search of his mother 
 and his brother; and he felt secure that this dear 
 son would readily pay the money demanded for his 
 ransom. He therefore spoke to Antipholus in 
 words of fatherly affection, with joyful hope that he 
 should now be released. But to the utter astonish- 
 ment of vEgeon, his son denied all knowledge of 
 him, as well he might, for this Antipholus had never 
 seen his father since they were separated in the
 
 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 225 
 
 storm in his infancy ; but while the poor old JEgeon 
 was in vain endeavouring to make his son acknow- 
 ledge him, thinking surely that either his griefs and 
 the anxieties he had suffered had so strangely 
 altered him that his son did not know him, or else 
 that he was ashamed to acknowledge his father in 
 his misery ; in the midst of this perplexity, the lady 
 abbess and the other Antipholus and Dromio came 
 out, and the wondering Adriana saw two husbands 
 and two Dromios standing before her. 
 
 And now these riddling errors, which had so per- 
 plexed them all, were clearly made out When the 
 duke saw the two Antipholuses and the two Dromios 
 both so exactly alike, he at once conjectured aright 
 of these seeming mysteries, for he remembered the 
 story ^Egeon had told him in the morning ; and 
 he said, these men must be the two sons of ^Egeon 
 and their twin slaves. 
 
 But now an unlooked-for joy indeed completed 
 the history of ^Egeon ; and the tale he had in the 
 morning told in sorrow, and under sentence of 
 death, before the setting sun went down was 
 brought to a happy conclusion, for the venerable 
 lady abbess made herself known to be the long-lost 
 wife of JEgeon, and the fond mother of the two 
 Antipholuses. 
 
 When the fishermen took the eldest Antipholus 
 and Dromio away from her, she entered a nunnery, 
 and by her wise and virtuous conduct, she was at 
 length made lady abbess of this convent, and in 
 discharging the rites of hospitality to an unhappy 
 stranger she had unknowingly protected her own 
 son.
 
 226 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Joyful congratulations and affectionate greetings 
 between these long separated parents and their 
 children made them for a while forget that yEgeon 
 was yet under sentence of death ; but when they 
 were become a little calm, Antipholus of Ephesus 
 offered the duke the ransom money for his father's 
 life ; but the duke freely pardoned ^Egeon, and 
 would not take the money. And the duke went with 
 the abbess and her newly-found husband and children 
 into the convent, to hear this happy family discourse 
 at leisure of the blessed ending of their adverse for- 
 tunes. And the two Dromios' humble joy must 
 not be forgotten; they had their congratulations 
 and greetings too, and each Dromio pleasantly com- 
 plimented fiis brother on his good looks, being well 
 pleased to see his own person (as in a glass) show so 
 handsome in his brother. 
 
 Adriana had so well profited by the good coun- 
 sel of her mother-in-law, that she never after 
 cherished unjust suspicions, or was jealous of her 
 husband. 
 
 Antipholus of Syracuse married the fair Luciana, 
 the sister of his brother's wife ; and the good old 
 ^Egeon, with his wife and sons, lived at Ephesus 
 many years. Nor did the unravelling of these per- 
 plexities so entirely remove every ground of mis- 
 take for the future, but that sometimes, to remind 
 them of adventures past, comical blunders would 
 happen, and the one Antipholus, and the one 
 Dromio, be mistaken for the other, making alto- 
 gether a pleasant and diverting Comedy of Errors.
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 TN the city of Vienna there once reigned a duke 
 *- of such a mild and gentle temper, that he suf- 
 fered his subjects to neglect the laws with impunity ; 
 and there was in particular one law, the existence 
 of which was almost forgotten, the duke never 
 having put it in force during his whole reign. This 
 was a law dooming any man to the punishment of 
 death, who should live with a woman that was not 
 his wife; and this law, through the lenity of the 
 duke, being utterly disregarded, the holy institution 
 of marriage became neglected, and complaints were 
 every day made to the duke by the parents of the 
 young ladies in Vienna, that their daughters had 
 been seduced from their protection, and were living 
 as the companions of single men. 
 
 The good duke perceived with sorrow this grow- 
 ing evil among his subjects ; but he thought that 
 a sudden change in himself from the indulgence he 
 had hitherto shown, to the strict severity requisite 
 to check this abuse, would make his people (who 
 had hitherto loved him) consider him as a tyrant ; 
 therefore he determined to absent himself a while 
 from his dukedom, and depute another to the full 
 exercise of his power, that the law against these 
 dishonourable lovers might be put in effect, with-
 
 228 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 out giving offence by an unusual severity in his own 
 person. 
 
 Angelo, a man who bore the reputation of a 
 saint in Vienna for his strict and rigid life, was 
 chosen by the duke as a fit person to undertake 
 this important charge ; and when the duke imparted 
 his design to lord Escalus, his chief counsellor, 
 Escalus said, " If any man in Vienna be of worth 
 to undergo such ample grace and honour, it is lord 
 Angelo." And now the duke departed from Vienna 
 under pretence of making a journey into Poland, 
 leaving Angelo to act as the lord deputy in his 
 absence ; but the duke's absence was only a feigned 
 one, for he privately returned to Vienna, habited 
 like a friar, with the intent to watch unseen the con- 
 duct of the saintly-seeming Angelo. 
 
 It happened just about the time that .Angelo 
 was invested with his new dignity, that a gentle- 
 man, whose name was Claudio, had seduced a 
 young lady from her parents ; and for this offence, 
 by command of the new lord deputy, Claudio was 
 taken up and committed to prison, and by virtue of 
 the old law which had been so long neglected, An- 
 gelo sentenced Claudio to be beheaded. Great 
 interest was made for the pardon of young Claudio, 
 and the good old lord Escalus himself interceded 
 for him. " Alas," said he, " this gentleman whom I 
 would save had an honourable father, for whose sake 
 I pray you pardon the young man's transgression," 
 But Angelo replied, " We must not make a scare- 
 crow of the law, setting it up to frighten birds of 
 prey, till custom, finding it harmless, makes it their 
 perch, and not their terror. Sir, he must die."
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 229 
 
 Lucio, the friend of Claudio, visited him in the 
 prison, and Claudio said to him, "I pray you, 
 Lucio, do me this kind service. Go to my sister 
 Isabel, who this day proposes to enter the convent 
 of Saint Clare ; acquaint her with the danger of 
 my state ; implore her that she make friends with 
 the strict deputy; bid her go herself to Angelo. 
 I have great hopes in that ; for she can discourse 
 with prosperous art, and well she can persuade; 
 besides, there is a speechless dialect in youthful 
 sorrow, such as moves men." 
 
 Isabel, the sister of Claudio, had, as he said, 
 that day entered upon her noviciate in the convent, 
 and it was her intent, after passing through her 
 probation as a novice, to take the veil, and she was 
 inquiring of a nun concerning the rules of the con- 
 vent, when they heard the voice of Lucio, who, as 
 he entered that religious house, said, "Peace be 
 in this place!" "Who is it that speaks?" said 
 Isabel. " It is a man's voice," replied the nun : 
 " Gentle Isabel, go to him, and learn his business ; 
 you may, I may not When you have taken the 
 veil, you must not speak with men but in the pre- 
 sence of the prioress ; then if you speak you must 
 not show your face, or if you show your face, you 
 must not speak." " And have you nuns no further 
 privileges?" said Isabel. "Are not these large 
 enough ?" replied the nun. " Yes, truly," said Isa- 
 bel : "I speak not as desiring more, but rather 
 wishing a more strict restraint upon the sisterhood, 
 the votarists of Saint Clare." Again they heard 
 the voice of Lucio, and the nun said, " He calls 
 again. I pray you answer him." Isabel then went
 
 230 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 out to Lucio, and in answer to his salutation, said, 
 "Peace and Prosperity! Who is it that calls?" 
 Then Lucio, approaching her with reverence, said, 
 " Hail, virgin, if such you be, as the roses on your 
 cheeks proclaim you are no less ! can you bring 
 me to the sight of Isabel, a novice of this place, 
 and the fair sister to her unhappy brother Claudio?" 
 "Why her unhappy brother?" said Isabel, "let 
 me ask ! for I am that Isabel, and his sister." 
 " Fair and gentle lady," he replied, " your brother 
 kindly greets you by me ; he is in prison." "Woe 
 is me! for what?" said Isabel. Lucio then told 
 her, Claudio was imprisoned for seducing a young 
 maiden. " Ah," said she, " I fear it is my cousin 
 Juliet" Juliet and Isabel were not related, but 
 they called each other cousin in remembrance of 
 their school days' friendship ; and as Isabel knew 
 that Juliet loved Claudio, she feared she had been 
 led by her affection for him into this transgression. 
 " She it is," replied Lucio. " Why then, let my 
 brother marry Juliet," said Isabel. Lucio replied 
 that Claudio would gladly marry Juliet, but that 
 the lord deputy had sentenced him to die for his 
 offence ; " Unless," said he, " you have the grace 
 by your fair prayer to soften Angelo, and that is 
 my business between you and your poor brother." 
 "Alas !" said Isabel, "what poor ability is there 
 in me to do him good ? I doubt I have no power 
 to move Angelo." " Our doubts are traitors," said 
 Lucio, " and make us lose the good we might often 
 win, by fearing to attempt it. Go to lord Angelo ! 
 When maidens sue, and kneel, and weep, men give 
 like gods." " I will see what I can do," said Isa-
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 231 
 
 bel : "I will but stay to give the prioress notice of 
 the affair, and then I will go to Angelo. Commend 
 me to my brother : soon at night I will send him 
 word of my success." 
 
 Isabel hastened to the palace, and threw herself 
 on her knees before Angelo, saying, " I am a woful 
 suitor to your honour, if it will please your honour 
 to hear me." "Well, what is your suit?" said 
 Angelo. She then made her petition in the most 
 moving terms for her brother's life. But Angelo 
 said, " Maiden, there is no remedy ; your brother 
 is sentenced, and he must die." "O just, but 
 severe law," said Isabel : " I had a brother then 
 Heaven keep your honour !" and she was about to 
 depart But Lucio, who had accompanied her, 
 said, " Give it not over so ; return to him again, 
 entreat him, kneel down before him, hang upon 
 his gown. You are too cold ; if you should need a 
 pin, you could not with a more tame tongue desire 
 it." Then again Isabel on her knees implored for 
 mercy. "He is sentenced," said Angelo: "it is 
 too late." " Too late!" said Isabel: "Why, no: 
 I that do speak a word may call it back again. 
 Believe this, my lord, no ceremony that to great 
 ones belongs, not the king's crown, nor the deputed 
 sword, the marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's 
 robe, becomes them with one half so good a grace 
 as mercy does." " Pray you begone," said Angelo. 
 But still Isabel entreated ; and she said, " If my 
 brother had been as you, and you as he, you might 
 have slipped like him, but he, like you, would not 
 have been so stern. I would to heaven I had 
 your power, and you were Isabel Should it then
 
 232 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 be thus ? No, I would tell you what it were to be 
 a judge, and what a prisoner." " Be content, fair 
 maid!" said Angelo : "it is the law, not I, con- 
 demns your brother. Were he my kinsman, my 
 brother, or my son, it should be thus with him. 
 He must die to-morrow." "To-morrow?" said 
 Isabel ; " Oh, that is sudden : spare him, spare 
 him ; he is not prepared for death. Even for our 
 kitchens we kill the fowl in season ; shall we serve 
 Heaven with less respect than we minister to our 
 gross selves ? Good, good, my lord, bethink you, 
 none have died for my brother's offence, though 
 many have committed it. So you would be the 
 first that gives this sentence, and he the first that 
 suffers it -Go to your own bosom, my lord ; 
 knock there, and ask your heart what it does know 
 that is like my brother's fault ; if it confess a nat- 
 ural guiltiness such as his is, let it not sound a 
 thought against my brother's life !" Her last words 
 more moved Angelo than all she had before said, 
 for the beauty of Isabel had raised a guilty passion 
 in his heart, and he began to form thoughts of 
 dishonourable love, such as Claudio's crime had 
 been ; and the conflict in his mind made him to 
 turn away from Isabel ; but she called him back, 
 saying, " Gentle my lord, turn back ; hark, how I 
 will bribe you. Good my lord, turn back !" 
 " How, bribe me !" said Angelo, astonished that 
 she should think of offering him a bribe. " Ay," 
 said Isabel, "with such gifts that Heaven itself 
 shall share with you ; not with golden treasures, 
 or those glittering stones, whose price is either rich 
 or poor as fancy values them, but with true prayers
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 233 
 
 that shall be up to Heaven before sunrise, prayers 
 from preserved souls, from fasting maids whose 
 minds are dedicated to nothing temporal." "Well, 
 come to me to-morrow, " said Angelo. And for 
 this short respite of her brother's life, and for this 
 permission that she might be heard again, she left 
 him with the joyful hope that she should at last 
 prevail over his stern nature : and as she went 
 away she said, " Heaven keep your honour safe ! 
 Heaven save your honour ! " Which when Angelo 
 heard, he said within his heart, " Amen, I would 
 be saved from thee and from thy virtues : " and 
 then, affrighted at his own evil thoughts, he said, 
 " What is this ? What is this ? Do I love her, 
 that I desire to hear her speak again, and feast 
 upon her eyes? What is it I dream on? The 
 cunning enemy of mankind, to catch a saint, with 
 saints does bait the hook Never could an im- 
 modest woman once stir my temper, but this vir- 
 tuous woman subdues me quite. Even till now, 
 when men were fond, I smiled and wondered at 
 them." 
 
 In the guilty conflict in his mind Angelo suffered 
 more that night than the prisoner he had so severely 
 sentenced ; for in the prison Claudio was visited by 
 the good duke, who, in his friar's habit, taught the 
 young man the way to heaven, preaching to him the 
 words of penitence and peace. But Angelo felt all 
 the pangs of irresolute guilt : now wishing to seduce 
 Isabel from the paths of innocence and honour, and 
 now suffering remorse and horror for a crime as yet 
 but intentional. But in the end his evil thoughts 
 prevailed ; and he who had so lately started at the
 
 234 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 offer of a bribe, resolved to tempt this maiden with 
 so high a bribe, as she might not be able to resist, 
 even with the precious gift of her dear brother's 
 life. 
 
 When Isabel came in the morning, Angelo desired 
 she might be admitted alone to his presence : and 
 being there, he said to her, if she would yield to 
 him her virgin honour and transgress even as Juliet 
 had done with Claudio, he would give her her bro- 
 ther's life ; " For," said he, " I love you, Isabel." 
 " My brother," said Isabel, " did so love Juliet, 
 and yet you tell me he shall die for it." " But," 
 said Angelo, " Claudio shall not die, if you will 
 consent to visit me by stealth at night, even as 
 Juliet left her father's house at night to come to 
 Claudio." Isabel, in amazement at his words, that 
 he should tempt her to the same fault for which he 
 passed sentence of death upon her brother, said, " I 
 would do as much for my poor brother as for my- 
 self ; that is, were I under sentence of death, the 
 impression of keen whips I would wear as rubies, 
 and go to my death as to a bed that longing I had 
 been sick for, ere I would yield myself up to this 
 shame." And then she told him, she hoped he 
 only spoke these words to try her virtue. But he 
 said, " Believe me, on my honour, my words express 
 my purpose." Isabel, angered to the heart to hear 
 him use the word Honour to express such dishon- 
 ourable purposes, said, " Ha ! little honour to be 
 much believed ; and most pernicious purpose. I 
 will proclaim thee, Angelo, look for it ! Sign me a 
 present pardon for my brother, or I will tell the 
 world aloud what man thou art ! " " Who will
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 235 
 
 believe you, Isabel ? " said Angelo ; " my unsoiled 
 name, the austereness of my life, my word vouched 
 against yours, will outweigh your accusation. Re- 
 deem your brother by yielding to my will, or he shall 
 die to-morrow. As for you, say what you can, my 
 false will overweigh your true story. Answer me 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " To whom should I complain ? Did I tell this, 
 who would believe me ? " said Isabel, as she went 
 towards the dreary prison where her brother was 
 confined. When she arrived there, her brother was 
 in pious conversation with the duke, who, in his 
 friar's habit had also visited Juliet, and brought both 
 these guilty lovers to a proper sense of their fault ; 
 and unhappy Juliet with tears and a true remorse 
 confessed that she was more to blame than Claudio, 
 in that she willingly consented to his dishonourable 
 solicitations. 
 
 As Isabel entered the room where Claudio was 
 confined, she said, " Peace be here, grace, and good 
 company ! " " Who is there ? " said the disguised 
 duke ; " come in ; the wish deserves a welcome." 
 " My business is a word or two with Claudio," said 
 Isabel Then the duke left them together, and de- 
 sired the provost, who had the charge of the 
 prisoners, to place him where he might overhear 
 their conversation. 
 
 " Now, sister, what is the comfort ? " said Clau- 
 dio. Isabel told him he must prepare for death on 
 the morrow. " Is there no remedy ? " said Claudio. 
 " Yes, brother," replied Isabel, " there is ; but 
 such a one, as if you consented to it would strip 
 your honour from you, and leave you naked." " Let
 
 236 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 me know the point," said Claudio. " O, I do fear you, 
 Claudio ! " replied his sister ; " and I quake, lest 
 you should wish to live, and more respect the trifling 
 term of six or seven winters added to your life, than 
 your perpetual honour ! Do you dare to die ? 
 The sense of death is most in apprehension, and 
 the poor beetle that we tread upon, feels a pang as 
 great as when a giant dies." " Why do you give 
 me this shame?" said Claudio. "Think you I 
 can fetch a resolution from flowery tenderness? 
 If I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride, 
 and hug itin myarms." "There spoke my brother," 
 said Isabel; "there my father's grave did utter 
 forth a voice. Yes, you must die ; yet would you 
 think it, Claudio ! this outward sainted deputy, if 
 I would yield to him my virgin honour, would grant 
 your life. O, were it but my life, I would lay it 
 down for your deliverance as frankly as a pin !" 
 " Thanks, dear Isabel," said Claudio. " Be ready 
 to die to-morrow," said Isabel. " Death is a fear- 
 ful thing," said Claudio. "And shamed life a 
 hateful," replied his sister. But the thoughts of 
 death now overcame the constancy of Claudio's 
 temper, and terrors, such as the guilty only at their 
 deaths do know, assailing him, he cried out, " Sweet 
 sister, let me live ! The sin you do to save a 
 brother's life, nature dispenses with the deed so far, 
 that it becomes a virtue." " O faithless coward ! 
 O dishonest wretch ! " said Isabel : " would you 
 preserve your life by your sister's shame ? O fie, 
 fie. fie ! I thought, my brother, you had in you 
 such a mind of honour, that had you twenty heads 
 to render up on twenty blocks, you would have
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 237 
 
 yielded them up all, before your sister should stoop 
 to such dishonour." " Nay, hear me, Isabel !" said 
 Claudio. But what he would have said in defence 
 of his weakness, in desiring to live by the dishonour 
 of his virtuous sister, was interrupted by the entrance 
 of the duke ; who said, " Claudio, I have over- 
 heard what has passed between you and your sister. 
 Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her; 
 what he said, has only been to make trial of her 
 virtue. She having the truth of honour in her, has 
 given him that gracious denial which he is most 
 glad to receive. There is no hope that he will 
 pardon you ; therefore pass your hours in prayer, 
 and make ready for death." Then Claudio re- 
 pented of his weakness, and said, " Let me ask 
 my sister's pardon ! I am so out of love with life, 
 that I will sue to be rid of it." And Claudio re- 
 tired, overwhelmed with shame and sorrow for his 
 fault 
 
 The duke being now alone with Isabel, com- 
 mended her virtuous resolution, saying, " The hand 
 that made you fair, has made you good." "O," 
 said Isabel, " how much is the good duke deceived 
 in Angelo ! if ever he return, and I can speak to 
 him, I will discover his government." Isabel knew 
 not that she was even now making the discovery 
 she threatened. The duke replied, "That shall 
 not be much amiss ; yet as the matter now stands, 
 Angelo will repel your accusation ; therefore lend 
 an attentive ear to my advisings. I believe that 
 you may most righteously do a poor wronged lady 
 a merited benefit, redeem your brother from the 
 angry law, do no stain to your own most gracious
 
 238 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 person, and much please the absent duke, if per- 
 adventure he shall ever return to have notice of 
 this business." Isabel said, she had a spirit to do 
 anything he desired, provided it was nothing wrong. 
 " Virtue is bold, and never fearful," said the duke : 
 and then he asked her, if she had ever heard of 
 Mariana, the sister of Frederick, the great soldier 
 who was drowned at sea. " I have heard of the 
 lady," said Isabel, " and good words went with her 
 name." " This lady," said the duke, "is the wife 
 of Angelo ; but her marriage dowry was on board 
 the vessel in which her brother perished, and mark 
 how heavily this befell to the poor gentlewoman !. 
 for, beside the loss of a most noble and renowned 
 brother, who "in his love towards her was ever most 
 kind and natural, in the wreck of her fortune she 
 lost the affections of her husband, the well-seeming 
 Angelo ; who pretending to discover some dis- 
 honour in this honourable lady (though the true 
 cause was the loss of her dowry) left her in her 
 tears, and dried not one of them with his comfort. 
 His unjust unkindness, that in all reason should 
 have quenched her love, has, like an impediment 
 in the current, made it more unruly, and Mariana 
 loves her cruel husband with the full continuance 
 of her first affection." The duke then more plainly 
 unfolded his plan. It was, that Isabel should go 
 to lord Angelo, and seemingly consent to come to 
 him as he desired at midnight ; that by this means 
 she would obtain the promised pardon ; and that 
 Mariana should go in her stead to the appointment, 
 and pass herself upon Angelo in the dark for Isabel. 
 "Nor, gentle daughter," said the feigned friar,
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 239 
 
 " fear you to do this thing ; Angelo is her husband, 
 and to bring them thus together is no sin." Isabel 
 being pleased with this project, departed to do as 
 he directed her ; and he went to apprise Mariana 
 of their intention. He had before this time visited 
 this unhappy lady in his assumed character, giving 
 her religious instruction and friendly consolation, 
 at which times he had learned her sad story from 
 her own lips ; and now she, looking upon him as a 
 holy man, readily consented to be directed by him 
 in this undertaking. 
 
 When Isabel returned from her interview with 
 Angelo, to the house of Mariana, where the duke 
 had appointed her to meet him, he said, "Well 
 met, and in good time ; what is the news from this 
 good deputy ?" Isabel related the manner in which 
 she had settled the affair. " Angelo," said she, 
 "has a garden surrounded with a brick wall, on 
 the western side of which is a vineyard, and to that 
 vineyard is a gate." And then she showed to the 
 duke and Mariana two keys that Angelo had given 
 her ; and she said, " This bigger key opens the vine- 
 yard gate ; this other a little door which leads from 
 the vineyard to the garden. There I have made 
 my promise at the dead of the night to call upon 
 him, and have got from him his word of assurance 
 for my brother's life. I have taken a due and 
 wary note of the place ; and with whispering and 
 most guilty diligence he showed me the way twice 
 over." " Are there no other tokens agreed upon 
 between you, that Mariana must observe?" said 
 the duke. " No, none," said Isabel, " only to go 
 when it is dark. I have told him my time can be
 
 240 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 but short ; for I have made him think a servant 
 comes along with me, and that this servant is per- 
 suaded I come about my brother." The duke 
 commended her discreet management, and she, 
 turning to Mariana, said, " Little have you to say 
 to Angelo, when you depart from him, but soft and 
 low, Remember now my brother I" 
 
 Mariana was that night conducted to the ap- 
 pointed place by Isabel, who rejoiced that she had, 
 as she supposed, by this device preserved both her 
 brother's life and her own honour. But that her 
 brother's life was safe the duke was not well satisfied, 
 and therefore at midnight he again repaired to the 
 prison, and it was well for Claudio that he did so, 
 else would Claudio have that night been beheaded; 
 for soon after the duke entered the prison, an order 
 came from the cruel deputy, commanding that 
 Claudio should be beheaded, and his head sent to 
 him by five o'clock in the morning. But the duke 
 persuaded the provost to put off the execution of 
 Claudio, and to deceive Angelo, by sending him 
 the head of a man who died that morning in the 
 prison. And to prevail upon the provost to agree 
 to this, the duke, whom still the provost suspected 
 not to be anything more or greater than he seemed, 
 showed the provost a letter written with the duke's 
 hand, and sealed with his seal, which when the pro- 
 vost saw, he concluded this friar must have some 
 secret order from the absent duke, and therefore 
 he consented to spare Claudio ; and he cut off the 
 dead man's head, and carried it to Angelo. 
 
 Then the duke in his own name, wrote to Angelo 
 a letter, saying, that certain accidents had put a
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 241 
 
 stop to his journey, and that he should be in 
 Vienna by the following morning, requiring Angelo 
 to meet him at the entrance of the city, there to 
 deliver up his authority ; and the duke also com- 
 manded it to be proclaimed, that if any of his 
 subjects craved redress for injustice, they should 
 exhibit their petitions in the street on his first en- 
 trance into the city. 
 
 Early in the morning Isabel came to the prison, 
 and the duke, who there awaited her coming, for 
 secret reasons thought it good to tell her that 
 Claudio was beheaded ; therefore when Isabel in- 
 quired if Angelo had sent the pardon for her brother, 
 he said, "Angelo has released Claudio from this 
 world. His head is off, and sent to the deputy." 
 The much-grieved sister cried out, " O unhappy 
 Claudio, wretched Isabel, injurious world, most 
 wicked Angelo !" The seeming friar bid her take 
 comfort, and when she was become a little calm, 
 he acquainted her with the near prospect of the 
 duke's return, and told her in what jnanner she 
 should proceed in preferring her complaint against 
 Angelo ; and he bade her not fear if the cause 
 should seem to go against her for a while. Leav- 
 ing Isabel sufficiently instructed, he next went to 
 Mariana, and gave her counsel in what manner 
 she also should act. 
 
 Then the duke laid aside his friar's habit, and in 
 his own royal robes, amidst a joyful crowd of his 
 faithful subjects, assembled to greet his arrival, 
 entered the city of Vienna, where he was met by 
 Angelo, who delivered up his authority in the 
 proper form. And there came Isabel, in the 
 R
 
 242 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 manner of a petitioner for redress, and said, 
 " Justice, most royal duke ! I am the sister of one 
 Claudio, who, for the seducing a young maid, was 
 condemned to lose his head. I made my suit to 
 lord Angelo for my brother's pardon. It were 
 needless to tell your grace how I prayed and 
 kneeled, how he repelled me, and how I replied ; for 
 this was of much length. The vile conclusion I 
 now begin with grief and shame to utter. Angelo 
 would not but by my yielding to his dishonourable 
 love release my brother ; and after much debate 
 within myself, my sisterly remorse overcame my 
 virtue, and I did yield to him. But the next morning 
 betimes, Angelo, forfeiting his promise, sent a war- 
 rant for my poor brother's head !" The duke 
 affected to disbelieve her story ; and Angelo said 
 that grief for her brother's death, who had suffered 
 by the due course of the law, had disordered her 
 senses. And now another suitor approached, which 
 was Mariana ; and Mariana said, " Noble prince, 
 as there comes light from heaven, and truth from 
 breath, as there is sense in truth and truth in 
 virtue, I am this man's wife, and, my good lord, 
 the words of Isabel are false; for the night she 
 says she was with Angelo, I passed that night with 
 him in the garden-house. As this is true, let me 
 in safety rise, or else for ever be fixed here a marble 
 monument." Then did Isabel appeal for the truth 
 of what she had said to friar Lodowick, that being 
 the name the duke had assumed in his disguise. 
 Isabel and Mariana had both obeyed his instruc- 
 tions in what they said, the duke intending that 
 the innocence of Isabel should be plainly proved
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 243 
 
 in that public manner before the whole city of 
 Vienna ; but Angelo little thought that it was from 
 such a cause that they thus differed in their story, 
 and he hoped from their contradictory evidence to 
 be able to clear himself from the accusation of Isa- 
 bel ; and he said, assuming the look of offended 
 innocence, " I did but smile till now ; but, good my 
 lord, my patience here is touched, and I perceive 
 these poor distracted women are but the instru- 
 ments of some greater one, who sets them on. 
 Let me have way, my lord, to find this practice 
 out" "Ay, with all my heart," said the duke, 
 " and punish them to the height of your pleasure. 
 You, lord Escalus, sit with lord Angelo, lend him 
 your pains to discover this abuse ; the friar is sent 
 for that set them on, and when he comes, do with 
 your injuries as may seem best in any chastise- 
 ment. I for a while will leave you, but stir not 
 you, lord Angelo, till you have well determined 
 upon this slander." The duke then went away, 
 leaving Angelo well pleased to be deputed judge 
 and umpire in his own cause. But the duke was 
 absent only while he threw off his royal robes and 
 put on his friar's habit ; and in that disguise again 
 he presented himself before Angelo and Escalus : 
 and the good old Escalus, who thought Angelo 
 had been falsely accused, said to the supposed 
 friar, " Come, sir, did you set these women on to 
 slander lord Angelo?" He replied, "Where is 
 the duke? It is he should hear me speak." 
 Escalus said, " The duke is in us, and we will hear 
 you. Speak justly." "Boldly at least," retorted 
 the friar ; and then he blamed the duke for leaving
 
 244 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 the cause of Isabel in the hands of him she had 
 accused, and spoke so freely of many corrupt prac- 
 tices he had observed, while, as he said, he had 
 been a looker-on in Vienna, that Escalus threatened 
 him with the torture for speaking words against 
 the state, and for censuring the conduct of the duke, 
 and ordered him to be taken away to prison. Then, 
 to the amazement of all present, and to the utter 
 confusion of Angelo, the suposed friar threw off his 
 disguise, and they saw it was the duke himself. 
 
 The duke first addressed Isabel. He said to 
 her, " Come hither, Isabel. Your friar is now your 
 prince, but with my habit I have not changed my 
 heart. I am still devoted to your service." " O 
 give me pardon," said Isabel, " that I, your vassal, 
 have employed and troubled your unknown 
 sovereignty." He answered that he had most 
 need of forgiveness from her, for not having pre- 
 vented the death of her brother for not yet would 
 he tell her that Claudio was living ; meaning first 
 to make a further trial of her goodness. Angelo 
 now knew the duke had been a secret witness of 
 his bad deeds, and he said, " O my dread lord, I 
 should be guiltier than my guiltiness, to think I 
 can be undiscernible, when I perceive your grace, 
 like power divine, has looked upon my actions. 
 Then, good prince, no longer prolong my shame, 
 but let my trial be my own confession. Immediate 
 sentence and death is all the grace I beg." The 
 duke replied, "Angelo, thy faults are manifest. 
 We do condemn thee to the very block where 
 Claudio stooped to death ; and with like haste 
 away with him ; and for his possessions, Mariana,
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 245 
 
 we do instate and widow you withal, to buy you a 
 better husband." " O my dear lord," said Mariana, 
 " I crave no other, nor no better man :" and then 
 on her knees, even as Isabel had begged the life of 
 Claudio, did this kind wife of an ungrateful husband 
 beg the life of Angelo ; and she said, " Gentle my 
 liege, O good my lord ! Sweet Isabel, take my 
 part ! Lend me your knees, and all my life to 
 come I will lend you all my life, to do you service ! " 
 The duke said, " Against all sense you importune 
 her. Should Isabel kneel down to beg for mercy, 
 her brother's ghost would break his paved bed, and 
 take her hence in horror." Still Mariana said, 
 " Isabel, sweet Isabel, do but kneel by me, hold 
 up your hand, say nothing ! I will speak all. 
 They say, best men are moulded out of faults, and 
 for the most part become much the better for 
 being a little bad. So may my husband. Oh, 
 Isabel, will you not lend a knee ?" The duke then 
 said, " He dies for Claudio." But much pleased 
 was the good duke, when his own Isabel, from 
 whom he expected all gracious and honourable 
 acts, kneeled down before him, and said, " Most 
 bounteous sir, look, if it please you, on this man 
 condemned, as if my brother lived. I partly think 
 a due sincerity governed his deeds, till he did look 
 on me. Since it is so, let him not die ! My 
 brother had but justice, in that he did the thing 
 for which he died." 
 
 The duke, as the best reply he could make to 
 this noble petitioner for her enemy's life, sending 
 for Claudio from his prison-house, where he lay 
 doubtful of his destiny, presented to her this
 
 246 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 lamented brother living; and he said to Isabel, 
 "Give me your hand, Isabel; for your lovely 
 sake I pardon Claudio. Say you will be mine, and 
 he shall be my brother too." By this time lord 
 Angelo perceived he was safe ; and the duke, 
 observing his eye to brighten up a little, said, 
 ;< Well, Angelo, look that you love your wife ; her 
 worth has obtained your pardon : joy to you, Ma- 
 riana ! Love her, Angelo ! I have confessed her, 
 and know her virtue." Angelo remembered, when 
 dressed in a little brief authority, how hard his 
 heart had been, and felt how sweet is mercy. 
 
 The duke commanded Claudio to marry Juliet, 
 and offered himself again to the acceptance of Isabel, 
 whose virtuous and noble conduct had won her 
 prince's heart. Isabel, not having taken the veil, 
 was free to marry ; and the friendly offices, while 
 hid under the disguise of a humble friar, which the 
 noble duke had done for her, made her with grate- 
 ful joy accept the honour he offered her ; and when 
 she became duchess of Vienna, the excellent ex- 
 ample of the virtuous Isabel worked such a complete 
 reformation among the young ladies of that city, 
 that from that time none ever fell into the 
 transgression of Juliet, the repentant wife of the 
 reformed Claudio. And the mercy-loving duke 
 long reigned with his beloved Isabel, the happiest 
 of husbands and of princes.
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, 
 WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 OEBASTIAN and his sister Viola, a young 
 ^ gentleman and lady of Messaline, were twins, 
 and (which was accounted a great wonder) from their 
 birth they so much resembled each other, that, 
 but for the difference in their dress, they could not 
 be known apart They were both born in one hour, 
 and in one hour they were both in danger of perish- 
 ing, for they were shipwrecked on the coast of 
 Illyria, as they were making a sea-voyage together. 
 The ship, on board of which they were, split on a 
 rock in a violent storm, and a very small number 
 of the ship's company escaped with their lives. 
 The captain of the vessel, with a few of the sailors 
 that were saved, got to land in a small boat, and 
 with them they brought Viola safe on shore, where 
 she, poor lady, instead of rejoicing at her own 
 deliverance, began to lament her brother's loss; 
 but the captain comforted her with the assurance 
 that he had seen her brother, when the ship split, 
 fasten himself to a strong mast, on which, as long 
 as he could see anything of him for the distance, 
 he perceived him borne up above the waves. Viola 
 was much consoled by the hope this account gave
 
 248 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 her, and now considered how she was to dispose 
 of herself in a strange country, so far from home ; 
 and she asked the captain if he knew anything of 
 Illyria. " Ay, very well, madam," replied the cap- 
 tain, "for I was born not three hours' travel from 
 this place." "Who governs here?" said Viola. 
 The captain told her, Illyria was governed by Orsino, 
 a duke noble in nature as well as dignity. Viola 
 said, she had heard her father speak of Orsino, and 
 that he was unmarried then. " And he is so now," 
 said the captain ; " or was so very lately, for, but a 
 month ago, I went from here, and then it was the 
 general talk (as you know what great ones do, the 
 people will prattle of) that Orsino sought the love 
 of fair Olivia, a virtuous maid, the daughter of a 
 count who died twelve months ago, leaving Olivia 
 to the protection of her brother, who shortly after 
 died also ; and for the love of this dear brother, 
 they say, she has abjured the sight and company 
 of men." Viola, who was herself in such a sad 
 affliction for her brother's loss, wished she could 
 live with this lady, who so tenderly mourned a 
 brother's death. She asked the captain if he could 
 introduce her to Olivia, saying she would willingly 
 serve this lady. But he replied, this would be a 
 hard thing to accomplish, because the Lady Olivia 
 would admit no person into her house since her 
 brother's death, not even the duke himself. Then 
 Viola formed another project in her mind, which 
 was, in a man's habit, to serve the duke Orsino 
 as a page. It was a strange fancy in a young lady 
 to put on male attire, and pass for a boy ; but the 
 forlorn and unprotected state of Viola, who was
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT. 249 
 
 young and of uncommon beauty, alone, and in a 
 foreign land, must plead her excuse. 
 
 She having observed a fair behaviour in the cap- 
 tain, and that he showed a friendly concern for her 
 welfare, entrusted him with her design, and he readily 
 engaged to assist her. Viola gave him money, and 
 directed him to furnish her with suitable apparel, 
 ordering her clothes to be made of the same colour 
 and in the same fashion her brother Sebastian used 
 to wear, and when she was dressed in her manly 
 garb, she looked so exactly like her brother that 
 some strange errors happened by means of their 
 being mistaken for each other ; for, as will afterwards 
 appear, Sebastian was also saved. 
 
 Viola's good friend, the captain, when he had trans- 
 formed this pretty lady into a gentleman, having 
 some interest at court, got her presented to Orsino 
 under the feigned name of Cesario. The duke 
 was wonderfully pleased with the address and grace- 
 ful deportment of this handsome youth, and made 
 Cesario one of his pages, that being the office Viola 
 wished to obtain : and she so well fulfilled the 
 duties of her new station, and showed such a ready 
 observance and faithful attachment to her lord, that 
 she soon became his most favoured attendant. To 
 Cesario Orsino confided the whole history of his love 
 for the lady Olivia To Cesario he told the long 
 and unsuccessful suit he had made to one who, re- 
 jecting his long services, and despising his person, 
 refused to admit him to her presence ; and for the 
 love of this lady who had so unkindly treated him, 
 the noble Orsino, forsaking the sports of the field 
 and all manly exercises in which he used to delight,
 
 250 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 passed his hours in ignoble sloth, listening to the 
 effeminate sounds of soft music, gentle airs, and 
 passionate love-songs ; and neglecting the company 
 of the wise and learned lords with whom he used 
 to associate, he was now all day long conversing 
 with young Cesario. Unmeet companion no doubt 
 his grave courtiers thought Cesario was for their 
 once noble master, the great duke Orsino. 
 
 It is a dangerous matter for young maidens to be 
 the confidants of handsome young dukes ; which 
 Viola too soon found to her sorrow, for all that 
 Orsino told her he endured for Olivia, she presently 
 perceived she suffered for the love of him; and much 
 it moved her wonder, that Olivia could be so regard- 
 less of this her peerless lord and master, whom she 
 thought no one could behold without the deepest ad- 
 miration, and she ventured gently to hint to Orsino, 
 that it was pity he should affect a lady who was so 
 blind to his worthy qualities ; and she said, " If a 
 lady were to love you, my lord, as you love Olivia 
 (and perhaps there may be one who does), if you 
 could not love her in return, would you not tell 
 her that you could not love, and must she not be 
 content with this answer?" But Orsino would not 
 admit of this reasoning, for he denied that it was 
 possible for any woman to love as he did. He 
 said, no woman's heart was big enough to hold so 
 much love, and therefore it was unfair to compare 
 the love of any lady for him, to his love for Olivia, 
 Now, though Viola had the utmost deference for the 
 duke's opinions, she could not help thinking this 
 was not quite true, for she thought her heart had 
 full as much love in it as Orsino's had ; and she
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT. 251 
 
 said, "Ah, but I know, my lord." "What do you 
 know, Cesario ?" said Orsino. " Too well I know," 
 replied Viola, " what love women may owe to men. 
 They are as true of heart as we are. My father had 
 a daughter loved a man, as I perhaps, were I a 
 woman, should love your lordship." " And what is 
 her history?" said Orsino. "A blank, my lord," 
 replied Viola : " she never told her love, but let 
 concealment, like a worm in the bud, feed on her 
 damask cheek. She pined in thought, and with a 
 green and yellow melancholy, she sat like Patience 
 on a monument, smiling at Grief." The duke in- 
 quired if this lady died of her love, but to this 
 question Viola returned an evasive answer ; as pro- 
 bably she had feigned the story, to speak words 
 expressive of the secret love and silent grief she 
 suffered for Orsino. 
 
 While they were talking, a gentleman entered 
 whom the duke had sent to Olivia, and he said, 
 " So please you, my lord, I might not be admitted 
 to the lady, but by her handmaid she returned you 
 this answer : Until seven years hence, the element 
 itself shall not behold her face ; but like a cloistress 
 she will walk veiled, watering her chamber with her 
 tears for the sad remembrance of her dead brother." 
 On hearing this, the duke exclaimed, " O she that 
 has a heart of this fine frame, to pay this debt of 
 love to a dead brother, how will she love, when the 
 rich golden shaft has touched her heart !" And 
 then he said to Viola, " You know, Cesario, I have 
 told you all the secrets of my heart ; therefore, good 
 youth, go to Olivia's house. Be not denied access ; 
 stand at her doors, and tell her, there your fixed
 
 2$2 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 foot shall grow till you have audience." "And 
 if I do speak to her, my lord, what then?" said 
 Viola. " O then," replied Orsino, " unfold to her 
 the passion of my love. Make a long discourse to 
 her of my dear faith. It will well become you to 
 act my woes, for she will attend more to you than 
 to one of graver aspect." 
 
 Away then went Viola ; but not willingly did she 
 undertake this courtship, for she was to woo a lady 
 to become a wife to him she wished to marry : but 
 having undertaken the affair, she performed it with 
 fidelity ; and Olivia soon heard that a youth was at 
 her door who insisted upon being admitted to her 
 presence. "I told him," said the servant, "that 
 you were sick": he said he knew you were, and 
 therefore he came to speak with you. I told him 
 that you were asleep : he seemed to have a fore- 
 knowledge of that too, and said, that therefore he 
 must speak with you. What is to be said to him, 
 lady ? for he seems fortified against all denial, and 
 will speak with you, whether you will or no." 
 Olivia, curious to see who this peremptory mes- 
 senger might be, desired he might be admitted ; 
 and throwing her veil over her face, she said she 
 would once more hear Orsino's embassy, not doubt- 
 ing but that he came from the duke, by his impor- 
 tunity. Viola, entering, put on the most manly air 
 she could assume, and affecting the fine courtier 
 language of great men's pages, she said to the veiled 
 lady, " Most radiant, exquisite, and matchless beauty, 
 I pray you tell me if you are the lady of the house ; 
 for I should be sorry to cast away my speech upon 
 another; for besides that it is excellently well
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT. 253 
 
 penned, I have taken great pains to learn it." 
 " Whence come you, sir ?" said Olivia. " I can say 
 little more than I have studied," replied Viola; 
 " and that question is out of my part." " Are you 
 a comedian ?" said Olivia. " No," replied Viola ; 
 "and yet I am not that which I play;" meaning 
 that she, being a woman, feigned herself to be a man. 
 And again she asked Olivia if she were the lady 
 of the house. Olivia said she was ; and then Viola, 
 having more curiosity to see her rival's features, 
 than haste to deliver her master's message, said, 
 "Good madam, let me see your face." With this 
 bold request Olivia was not averse to comply ; for 
 this haughty beauty, whom the duke Orsino had 
 loved so long in vain, at first sight conceived a 
 passion for the supposed page, the humble Cesario. 
 When Viola asked to see her face, Olivia said, 
 " Have you any commission from your lord and 
 master to negotiate with my face ?" And then, 
 forgetting her determination to go veiled for seven 
 long years, she drew aside her veil, saying, " But I 
 will draw the curtain and show the picture. Is it 
 not well done ?" Viola replied, " It is beauty truly 
 mixed ; the red and white upon your cheeks is by 
 Nature's own cunning hand laid oa You are 
 the most cruel lady living, if you will lead these 
 graces to the grave, and leave the world no copy." 
 " O, sir," replied Olivia, " I will not be so cruel. 
 The world may have an inventory of my beauty. 
 As, item, two lips, indifferent red ; item, two grey 
 eyes, with lids to them ; one neck ; one chin ; and 
 so forth. Were you sent here to praise me?" 
 Viola replied, " I see what you are : you are too
 
 254 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 proud, but you are fair. My lord and master loves 
 you. O such a love could but be recompensed, 
 though you were crowned the queen of beauty : for 
 Orsino loves you with adoration and with tears, 
 with groans that thunder love, and sighs of fire." 
 " Your lord," said Olivia, " knows well my mind. 
 I cannot love him ; yet I doubt not he is vir- 
 tuous ; I know him to be noble and of high estate, 
 of fresh and spotless youth. All voices proclaim 
 him learned, courteous, and valiant ; yet I cannot 
 love him, he might have taken his answer long ago." 
 " If I did love you as my master does," said Viola, 
 " I would make me a willow cabin at your gates, 
 and call upon your name, I would write complain- 
 ing sonnets on Olivia, and sing them in the dead 
 of the night ; your name should sound among the 
 hills, and I would make Echo, the babbling gossip 
 of the air, cry out Olivia. O you should not rest 
 between the elements of earth and air, but you 
 should pity me." " You might do much," said 
 Olivia : " what is your parentage ?" Viola replied, 
 " Above my fortunes, yet my state is well I am 
 a gentleman." Olivia now reluctantly dismissed 
 Viola, saying, " Go to your master, and tell him, I 
 cannot love him. Let him send no more, unless 
 perchance you come again to tell me how he takes 
 it" And Viola departed, bidding the lady farewell 
 by the name of Fair Cruelty. When she was gone, 
 Olivia repeated the words, Above my fortunes, yet 
 my state is well. I am a gentleman. And she said 
 aloud, " I will be sworn he is ; his tongue, his face, 
 his limbs, action, and spirit, plainly show he is a 
 gentleman." And then she wished Cesario was
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT. 255 
 
 the duke; and perceiving the fast hold he had 
 taken on her affections, she blamed herself for her 
 sudden love : but the gentle blame which people 
 lay upon their own faults has no deep root ; and 
 presently the noble lady Olivia so far forgot the 
 inequality between her fortunes and those of this 
 seeming page, as well as the maidenly reserve which 
 is the chief ornament of a lady's character, that she 
 resolved to court the love of young Cesario, and 
 sent a servant after him with a diamond ring, under 
 the pretence that he had left it with her as a pre- 
 sent from Orsino. She hoped by thus artfully 
 making Cesario a present of the ring, she should 
 give him some intimation of her design ; and truly 
 it did make Viola suspect ; for knowing that Orsino 
 had sent no ring by her, she began to recollect 
 that Olivia's looks and manner were expressive of 
 admiration, and she presently guessed her master's 
 mistress had fallen in love with her. " Alas," said 
 she, " the poor lady might as well love a dream. 
 Disguise I see is wicked, for it has caused Olivia to 
 breathe as fruitless sighs for me as I do for 
 Orsino." 
 
 Viola returned to Orsino's palace, and related to 
 her lord the ill success of the negotiation, repeat- 
 ing the command of Olivia, that the duke should 
 trouble her no more. Yet still the duke persisted 
 in hoping that the gentle Cesario would in time 
 be able to persuade her to show some pity, and 
 therefore he bade him he should go to her 
 again the next day. In the mean time, to pass 
 away the tedious interval, he commanded a song 
 which he loved to be sung ; and he said, " My
 
 256 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 good Cesario, when I heard that song last night, 
 methought it did relieve my passion much. Mark 
 it, Cesario, it is old and plain. The spinsters and 
 the knitters when they sit in the sun, and the 
 young maids that weave their thread with bone, 
 chant this song. It is silly, yet I love it, for it 
 tells of the innocence of love in the old times." 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Come away, come away, Death, 
 
 And in sad cypress let me be laid j 
 Fly away, fly away, breath, 
 
 I am slain by a fair cruel maid. 
 
 My shroud of white stuck all with yew, O prepare it ! 
 My part of death no one so true did share it. 
 Not a flower, not a flower sweet, 
 
 On my black coffin let there be strewn : 
 Not a friend, not a friend greet 
 
 My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown. 
 A thousand thousand sighs to save, lay me O where 
 Sad true lover never find my grave, to weep there ! 
 
 Viola did not fail to mark the words of the old 
 song, which in such true simplicity described the 
 pangs of unrequited love, and she bore testimony 
 in her countenance of feeling what the song ex- 
 pressed. Her sad looks were observed by Orsino, 
 who said to her, " My life upon it, Cesario, though 
 you are so young, your eye has looked upon some 
 face that it loves : has it not, boy?" "A little, 
 with your leave," replied Viola ; " And what kind 
 of woman, and of what age is she?" said Orsino. 
 " Of your age and of your complexion, my lord," 
 said Viola ; which made the duke smile to hear 
 this fair young boy loved a woman so much older
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT. 257 
 
 than himself, and of a man's dark complexion; 
 but Viola secretly meant Orsino, and not a woman 
 like him. 
 
 When Viola made her second visit to Olivia, she 
 found no difficulty in gaining access to her. Ser- 
 vants soon discover when their ladies delight to con- 
 verse with handsome young messengers ; and the 
 instant Viola arrived, the gates were thrown wide 
 open, and the duke's page was shown into Olivia's 
 apartment with great respect ; and when Viola told 
 Olivia that she was come once more to plead in 
 her lord's behalf, this lady said, " I desired you 
 never to speak of him again ; but if you would un- 
 dertake another suit, I had rather hear you solicit, 
 than music from the spheres." This was pretty 
 plain speaking, but Olivia soon explained herself 
 still more plainly, and openly confessed her love ; 
 and when she saw displeasure with perplexity ex- 
 pressed in Viola's face, she said, " O what a deal 
 of scorn looks beautiful in the contempt and anger 
 of his lip ! Cesario, by the roses of the spring, by 
 maidhood, honour, and by truth, I love you so, 
 that, in spite of your pride, I have neither wit nor 
 reason to conceal my passion." But in vain the 
 lady wooed; Viola hastened from her presence, 
 threatening never more to come to plead Orsino's 
 love ; and all the reply she made to Olivia's fond 
 solicitation was, a declaration of a resolution Never 
 to love any woman. 
 
 No sooner had Viola left the lady than a claim 
 was made upon her valour. A gentleman, a re- 
 jected suitor of Olivia, who had learned how that 
 lady had favoured the duke's messenger, challenged 
 s
 
 258 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 him to fight a duel. What should poor Viola do, 
 who, though she carried a manlike outside, had a 
 true woman's heart, and feared to look on her own 
 sword ? 
 
 When she saw her formidable rival advancing 
 towards her with his sword drawn, she began to 
 think of confessing that she was a woman ; but she 
 was relieved at once from her terror, and the shame 
 of such a discovery, by a stranger that was passing 
 by, who made up to them, and as if he had been 
 long known to her, and were her dearest friend, 
 said to her opponent, " If this young gentleman has 
 done offence, I will take the fault on me ; and if 
 you offend him, I will for his sake defy you." Be- 
 fore Viola had time to thank him for his protection, 
 or to inquire the reason of his kind interference, 
 her new friend met with an enemy where his 
 bravery was of no use to him ; for the officers of 
 justice coming up in that instant, apprehended the 
 stranger in the duke's name, to answer for an offence 
 he had committed some years before : and he said 
 to Viola, " This comes with seeking you :" and 
 then he asked her for a purse, saying, " Now my 
 necessity makes me ask for my purse, and it grieves 
 me much more for what I cannot do for you, than 
 for what befalls myself. You stand amazed, but 
 be of comfort." His words did indeed amaze 
 Viola, and she protested she knew him not, nor 
 had ever received a purse from him ; but for the 
 kindness he had just shown her, she offered him a 
 small sum of money, being nearly the whole she 
 possessed. And now the stranger spoke severe 
 things, charging her with ingratitude and unkind-
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT. 259 
 
 ness. He said, " This youth, whom you see here, 
 I snatched frotn the jaws of death, and for his sake 
 alone I came to Illyria, and have fallen into this 
 danger." But the officers cared little for hearken- 
 ing to the complaints of their prisoner, and they 
 hurried him off, saying, " What is that to us ? " 
 And as he was carried away, he called Viola by the 
 name of Sebastian, reproaching the supposed Sebas- 
 tian for disowning his friend, as long as he was 
 within hearing. When Viola heard herself called 
 Sebastian, though the stranger was taken away too 
 hastily for her to ask an explanation, she conjec- 
 tured that this seeming mystery might arise from 
 her being mistaken for her brother ; and she began 
 to cherish hopes that it was her brother whose life 
 this man said he had preserved. And so indeed it 
 was. The stranger, whose name was Antonio, was 
 a sea-captain. He had taken Sebastian up into 
 his ship, when, almost exhausted with fatigue, he was 
 floating on the mast to which he had fastened him- 
 self in the storm. Antonio conceived such a 
 friendship for Sebastian, that he resolved to ac- 
 company him whithersoever he went ; and when 
 the youth expressed a curiosity to visit Orsino's 
 court, Antonio, rather than part from him, came 
 to Illyria, though he knew, if his person should be 
 known there, his life would be in danger, because 
 in a sea-fight he had once dangerously wounded the 
 duke Orsino's nephew. This was the offence for 
 which he was now made a prisoner. 
 
 Antonio and Sebastian had landed together but 
 a few hours before Antonio met Viola. He had 
 given his purse to Sebastian, desiring him to use it
 
 260 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 freely if he saw anything he wished to purchase, 
 telling him he would wait at the inn, while Sebas- 
 tian went to view the town ; but Sebastian not 
 returning at the time appointed, Antonio had 
 ventured out to look for him, and Viola being 
 dressed the same, and in face so exactly resembling 
 her brother, Antonio drew his sword (as he 
 thought) in defence of the youth he had saved, and 
 when Sebastian (as he supposed) disowned him, and 
 denied him his own purse, no wonder he accused 
 him of ingratitude. 
 
 Viola, when Antonio was gone, fearing a second 
 invitation to fight, slunk home as fast as she could. 
 She had not been long gone, when her adversary 
 thought he saw her return ; but it was her brother 
 Sebastian, who happened to arrive at this place, 
 and he said, " Now, sir, have I met with you again ? 
 There's for you ;" and struck him a blow. Sebas- 
 tian was no coward ; he returned the blow with 
 interest, and drew his sword. 
 
 A lady now put a stop to this duel, for Olivia 
 came out of the house, and she too mistaking Sebas- 
 tian for Cesario, invited him to come into her house, 
 expressing much sorrow at the rude attack he had 
 met with. Though Sebastian was as much sur- 
 prised at the courtesy of this lady as at the rude- 
 ness of his unknown foe, yet he went very willingly 
 into the house, and Olivia was delighted to find 
 Cesario (as she thought him) become more sensible 
 of her attentions ; for though their features were 
 exactly the same, there was none of the contempt 
 and anger to be seen in his face, which she had 
 complained of when she told her love to Cesario.
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT. 261 
 
 Sebastian did not at all object to the fondness 
 the lady lavished on him. He seemed to take it 
 in very good part, yet he wondered how it had come 
 to pass, and he was rather inclined to think Olivia 
 was not in her right senses ; but perceiving that she 
 was mistress of a fine house, and that she ordered 
 her affairs and seemed to govern her family dis- 
 creetly, and that in all but her sudden love for him 
 she appeared in the full possession of her reason, 
 he well approved of the courtship; and Olivia 
 finding Cesario in this good humour, and fearing 
 he might change his mind, proposed that, as she 
 had a priest in the house, they should be instantly 
 married. Sebastian assented to this proposal; and 
 when the marriage ceremony was over, he left his 
 lady for a short time, intending to go and tell his 
 friend Antonio the good fortune that he had met 
 with. In the meantime Orsino came to visit 
 Olivia : and at the moment he arrived before 
 Olivia's house, the officers of justice brought their 
 prisoner, Antonio, before the duke. Viola was 
 with Orsino, her master; and when Antonio saw 
 Viola, whom he still imagined to be Sebastian, he 
 told the duke in what manner he had rescued this 
 youth from the perils of the sea ; and after fully 
 relating all the kindness he had really shown to 
 Sebastian, he ended his complaint with saying, that 
 for three months, both day and night, this ungrate- 
 ful youth had been with him. But now the lady 
 Olivia coming forth from her house, the duke could 
 no longer attend to Antonio's story ; and he said, 
 " Here comes the countess : now Heaven walks on 
 earth ! but for thee, fellow, thy words are madness.
 
 262 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Three months has this youth attended on me : " 
 and then he ordered Antonio to be taken aside. 
 But Orsino's heavenly countess soon gave the duke 
 cause to accuse Cesario as much of ingratitude as 
 Antonio had done, for all the words he could hear 
 Olivia speak were words of kindness to Cesario : 
 and when he found his page had obtained this high 
 place in Olivia's favour, he threatened him with all 
 the terrors of his just revenge ; and as he was going 
 to depart, he called Viola to follow him, saying, 
 " Come, boy, with me. My thoughts are ripe for 
 mischief." Though it seemed in his jealous rage 
 he was going to doom Viola to instant death, yet 
 her love made her no longer a coward, and she 
 said she would most joyfully suffer death to give 
 her master ease. But Olivia would not so lose her 
 husband, and she cried, " Where goes my Cesario?" 
 Viola replied, "After him I love more than my 
 life. Olivia, however, prevented their departure 
 by loudly proclaiming that Cesario was her hus- 
 band, and sent for the priest, who declared that 
 not two hours had passed since he had married the 
 lady Olivia to this young maa In vain Viola 
 protested she was not married to Olivia ; the evid- 
 ence of that lady and the priest made Orsino 
 believe that his page had robbed him of the trea- 
 sure he prized above his life. But thinking that it 
 was past recall, he was bidding farewell to his 
 faithless mistress, and the young dissembler, her 
 husband, as he called Viola, warning her never to 
 come in his sight again, when (as it seemed to 
 them) a miracle appeared ! for another Cesario 
 entered, and addressed Olivia as his wife. This
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT. 263 
 
 new Cesario was Sebastian, the real husband of 
 Olivia ; and when their wonder had a little ceased 
 at seeing two persons with the same face, the same 
 voice, and the same habit, the brother and sister 
 began to question each other; for Viola could 
 scarce be persuaded that her brother was living, 
 and Sebastian knew not how to account for the 
 sister he supposed drowned being found in the 
 habit of a young man. But Viola presently ac- 
 knowledged that she was indeed Viola, and his 
 sister, under that disguise. 
 
 When all the errors were cleared up which the 
 extreme likeness between this twin brother and 
 sister had occasioned, they laughed at the lady 
 Olivia for the pleasant mistake she had made in 
 falling in love with a woman ; and Olivia showed 
 no dislike to her exchange, when she found she 
 had wedded the brother instead of the sister. 
 
 The hopes of Orsino were for ever at an end by 
 this marriage of Olivia, and with his hopes, all his 
 fruitless love seemed to vanish away, and all his 
 thoughts were fixed on the event of his favourite, 
 young Cesario, being changed into a fair lady. He 
 viewed Viola with great attention, and he remem- 
 bered how very handsome he had always thought 
 Cesario was, and he concluded she would look very 
 beautiful in a woman's attire ; and then he remem- 
 bered how often she had said she loved him, which 
 at the time seemed only the dutiful expressions of a 
 faithful page ; but now he guessed that something 
 more was meant, for many of her pretty sayings, 
 which were like riddles to him, came now into his 
 mind, and he no sooner remembered all these things
 
 264 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 than he resolved to make Viola his wife ; and he 
 said to her (he still could not help calling her 
 Cesar/0 and boy), "Boy, you have said to me a 
 thousand times that you should never love a woman 
 like to me, and for the faithful service you have 
 done for me so much beneath your soft and tender 
 breeding, and since you have called me master so 
 long, you shall now be your master's mistress, and 
 Orsino's true duchess." 
 
 Olivia, perceiving Orsino was making over that 
 heart, which she had so ungraciously rejected, to 
 Viola, invited them to enter her house, and offered 
 the assistance of the good priest, who had married 
 her to Sebastian in the morning, to perform the 
 same ceremorfy in the remaining part of the day for 
 Orsino and Viola Thus the twin brother and sister 
 were both wedded on the same day : the storm and 
 shipwreck, which had separated them, being the 
 means of bringing to pass their high and mighty 
 fortunes. Viola was the wife of Orsino, the duke 
 of Illyria, and Sebastian the husband of the rich 
 and noble countess, the lady Olivia.
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 nPIMON, a lord of Athens, in the enjoyment of 
 - a princely fortune, affected a humour of liber- 
 ality which knew no limits. His almost infinite 
 wealth could not flow in so fast, but he poured it 
 out faster upon all sorts and degrees of people. 
 Not the poor only tasted of his bounty, but great 
 lords did not disdain to rank themselves among his 
 dependants and followers. His table was resorted 
 to by all the luxurious feasters, and his house was 
 open to all comers and goers at Athens. His large 
 wealth combined with his free and prodigal nature 
 to subdue all hearts to his love ; men of all minds 
 and dispositions tendered their services to lord 
 Timon, from the glass-faced flatterer, whose face 
 reflects as in a mirror the present humour of his 
 patron, to the rough and unbending cynic, who, 
 affecting a contempt of men's persons, and an indif- 
 ference to worldly things, yet could not stand out 
 against the gracious manners and munificent soul 
 of lord Timon, but would come (against his nature) 
 to partake of his royal entertainments, and return 
 most rich in his own estimation if he had received 
 a nod or a salutation from Timon. 
 
 If a poet had composed a work which wanted a
 
 266 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 recommendatory introduction to the world, he had 
 no more to do but to dedicate it to lord Timon, 
 and the poem was sure of sale, besides a present 
 purse from the patron, and daily access to his house 
 and table. If a painter had a picture to dispose 
 of, he had only to take it to lord Timon, and pre- 
 tend to consult his taste as to the merits of it ; 
 nothing more was wanting to persuade the liberal- 
 hearted lord to buy it If a jeweller had a stone 
 of price, or a mercer rich costly stuffs, which for 
 their costliness lay upon his hands, lord Timon's 
 house was a ready mart always open, where they 
 might get off their wares or their jewellery at any 
 price, and the good-natured lord would thank them 
 into the bargain, as if they had done him a piece 
 of courtesy in letting him have the refusal of such 
 precious commodities. So that by this means his 
 house was thronged with superfluous purchases, of 
 no use but to swell uneasy and ostentatious pomp ; 
 and his person was still more inconveniently beset 
 with a crowd of these idle visitors, lying poets, 
 painters, sharking tradesmen, lords, ladies, needy 
 courtiers, and expectants, who continually filled his 
 lobbies, raining their fulsome flatteries in whispers 
 in his ears, sacrificing to him with adulation as to 
 a God, making sacred the very stirrup by which he 
 mounted his horse, and seeming as though they 
 drank the free air but through his permission and 
 bounty. 
 
 Some of these daily dependants were young men 
 of birth, who (their means not answering to their 
 extravagance) had been put in prison by creditors, 
 and redeemed thence by lord Timon ; these young
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 267 
 
 prodigals thenceforward fastened upon his lordship, 
 as if by common, sympathy he were necessarily 
 endeared to all such spendthrifts and loose livers, 
 who, not being able to follow him in his wealth, 
 found it easier to copy him in prodigality and 
 copious spending of what was not their own. One 
 of these flesh-flies was Ventidius, for whose debts, 
 unjustly contracted, Timon but lately had paid down 
 the sum of five talents. 
 
 But among this confluence, this great flood of 
 visitors, none were more conspicuous than the makers 
 of presents and givers of gifts. It was fortunate for 
 these men if Timon took a fancy to a dog or a 
 horse, or any piece of cheap furniture which was 
 theirs. The thing so praised, whatever it was, 
 was sure to be sent the next morning with the com- 
 pliments of the giver for lord Timon's acceptance, 
 and apologies for the unworthiness of the gift ; and 
 this dog or horse, or whatever it might be, did not 
 fail to produce from Timon's bounty, who would 
 not be outdone in gifts, perhaps twenty dogs or 
 horses, certainly presents of far richer worth, as 
 these pretended donors knew well enough, and that 
 their false presents were but the putting out of so 
 much money at large and speedy interest. In this 
 way lord Lucius had lately sent to Timon a present 
 of four milk-white horses trapped in silver, which 
 this cunning lord had observed Timon upon some 
 occasion to commend ; and another lord, Lucullus, 
 had bestowed upon him in the same pretended way 
 of free gift a brace of greyhounds, whose make and 
 fleetness Timon had been heard to admire ; these 
 presents the easy-hearted lord accepted without sus-
 
 268 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 picion of the dishonest views of the presenters ; and 
 the givers of course were rewarded with some rich 
 return, a diamond or some jewel of twenty times 
 the value of their false and mercenary donation. 
 
 Sometimes these creatures would go to work in 
 a more direct way, and with gross and palpable arti- 
 fice, which yet the credulous Timon was too blind 
 to see, would affect to admire and praise something 
 that Timon possessed, a bargain that he had bought, 
 or some late purchase, which was sure to draw from 
 this yielding and soft-hearted lord a gift of the thing 
 commended, for no service in the world done for it 
 but the easy expense of a little cheap and obvious 
 flattery. In this way Timon but the other day had 
 given to one of these mean lords the bay courser 
 which he himself rode upon, because his lordship 
 had been pleased to say that it was a handsome beast 
 and went well ; and Timon knew that no man ever 
 justly praised what he did not wish to possess. For 
 lord Timon weighed his friends' affection with his 
 own, and so fond was he of bestowing, that he could 
 have dealt kingdoms to these supposed friends, and 
 never have been weary. 
 
 Not that Timon's wealth all went to enrich these 
 wicked flatterers ; he could do noble and praise- 
 worthy actions ; and when a servant of his once 
 loved the daughter of a rich Athenian, but could not 
 hope to obtain her by reason that in wealth and rank 
 the maid was so far above him, lord Timon freely 
 bestowed upon his servant three Athenian talents, 
 to make his fortune equal with the dowry which 
 the father of the young maid demanded of him 
 who should be her husband. But for the most
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 269 
 
 part, knaves and parasites had the command of his 
 fortune, false friends whom he did not know to be 
 such, but, because they flocked around his person, 
 he thought they must needs love him ; and because 
 they smiled and flattered him, he thought surely 
 that his conduct was approved by all the wise and 
 good. And when he was feasting in the midst of all 
 these flatterers and mock friends, when they were 
 eating him up, and draining his fortunes dry with 
 large draughts of richest wines drunk to his health 
 and prosperity, he could not perceive the difference 
 of a friend from a flatterer, but to his deluded eyes 
 (made proud with the sight) it seemed a precious 
 comfort to have so many like brothers commanding 
 one another's fortunes (though it was his own for- 
 tune which paid all the costs), and with joy they 
 would run over at the spectacle of such, as it ap- 
 peared to him, truly festive and fraternal meeting. 
 But while he thus outwent the very heart of kind- 
 ness, and poured out his bounty, as if Plutus, the 
 god of gold, had been but his steward ; while thus 
 he proceeded without care or stop, so senseless of 
 expense that he would neither inquire how he 
 could maintain it, nor cease his wild flow of riot ; 
 his riches, which were not infinite, must needs 
 melt away before a prodigality which knew no 
 limits. But who should tell him so ? his flatterers ? 
 they had an interest in shutting his eyes. In vain 
 did his honest steward Flavius try to represent to 
 him his condition, laying his accounts before him, 
 begging of him, praying of him, with an importunity 
 that on any other occasion would have been un- 
 mannerly in a servant, beseeching him with tears
 
 270 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 to look into the state of his affairs. Timon would 
 still put him off, and turn the discourse to some- 
 thing else ; for nothing is so deaf to remonstrance as 
 riches turned to poverty, nothing is so unwilling to 
 believe its situation, nothing so incredulous to its 
 own true state, and hard to give credit to a reverse. 
 Often had this good steward, this honest creature, 
 when all the rooms of Timon's great house have 
 been choked up with riotous feeders at his master's 
 cost, when the floors have wept with drunken spill- 
 ing of wine, and every apartment has blazed with 
 lights and resounded with music and feasting, often 
 had he retired by himself to some solitary spot, and 
 wept faster than the wine ran from the wasteful 
 casks within, to see the mad bounty of his lord, 
 and to think, when the means were gone which 
 brought him praises from all sorts of people, how 
 quickly the breath would be gone of which the 
 praise was made ; praises won in feasting would be 
 lost in fasting, and at one cloud of winter-showers 
 these flies would disappear. 
 
 But now the time was come that Timon could 
 shut his ears no longer to the representations of 
 this faithful steward. Money must be had ; and 
 when he ordered Flavius to sell some of his land 
 for that purpose, Flavius informed him, what he 
 had in vain endeavoured at several times before to 
 make him listen to, that most of his land was 
 already sold or forfeited, and that all he possessed 
 at present was not enough to pay the one half of 
 what he owed. Struck with wonder at this repre- 
 sentation, Timon hastily replied, " My lands extend 
 from Athens to Lacedaemon." " O my good
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 271 
 
 lord," said Flavius, " the world is but a world, and 
 has bounds ; were it all yours to give it in a breath, 
 how quickly were it gone !" 
 
 Timon consoled himself that no villanous bounty 
 had yet come from him, that if he had given his 
 wealth away unwisely, it had not been bestowed to 
 feed his vices, but to cherish his friends ; and he 
 bade the kind-hearted steward (who was weeping) 
 to take comfort in the assurance that his master 
 could never lack means, while he had so many 
 noble friends ; and this infatuated lord persuaded 
 himself that he had nothing to do but to send and 
 borrow, to use every man's fortune (that had ever 
 tasted his bounty) in this extremity, as freely as 
 his own. Then with a cheerful look, as if confid- 
 ent of the trial, he severally despatched messengers 
 to lord Lucius, to lords Lucullus and Sempronius, 
 men upon whom he had lavished his gifts in past 
 times without measure or moderation ; and to 
 Ventidius, whom he had lately released out of 
 prison by paying his debts, and who, by the death 
 of his father, was now come into the possession of an 
 ample fortune, and well enabled to requite Timon's 
 courtesy : to request of Ventidius the return of 
 those five talents which he had paid for him, and 
 of each of those noble lords the loan of fifty talents ; 
 nothing doubting that their gratitude would supply 
 his wants (if he needed it) to the amount of five 
 hundred times fifty talents. 
 
 Lucullus was the first applied to. This mean 
 lord had been dreaming overnight of a silver bason 
 and cup, and when Timon's servant was announced, 
 his sordid mind suggested to him that this was
 
 272 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 surely a making out of his dream, and that Timon 
 had sent him such a present : but when he under- 
 stood the truth of the matter, and that Timon 
 wanted money, the quality of his faint and watery 
 friendship showed itself, for with many protestations 
 he vowed to the servant that he had long foreseen 
 the ruin of his master's affairs, and many a time 
 had he come to dinner to tell him of it, and had 
 come again to supper to try to persuade him to 
 spend less, but he would take no counsel nor 
 warning by his coming : and true it was that he 
 had been a constant attender (as he said) at Timon's 
 feasts, as he had in greater things tasted his bounty ; 
 but that he ever came with that intent, or gave 
 good counsel t>r reproof to Timon, was a base un- 
 worthy lie, which he suitably followed up with 
 meanly offering the servant a bribe, to go home to 
 his master and tell him that he had not found 
 Lucullus at home. 
 
 As little success had the messenger who was 
 sent to lord Lucius. This lying lord, who was full 
 of Timon's meat, and enriched almost to bursting 
 with Timon's costly presents, when he found the 
 wind changed, and the fountain of so much bounty 
 suddenly stopped, at first could hardly believe it ; 
 but on its being confirmed, he affected great regret 
 that he should not have it in his power to serve 
 lord Timon, for unfortunately (which was a base 
 falsehood) he had made a great purchase the day 
 before, which had quite disfurnished him of the 
 means at present, the more beast he, he called 
 himself, to put it out of his power to serve so good 
 a friend; and he counted it one ot his greatest
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 273 
 
 afflictions that his ability should fail him to pleasure 
 such an honourable gentleman. 
 
 Who can call any man friend that dips in the same 
 dish with him ? just of this metal is every flatterer. 
 In the recollection of everybody Timon had been a 
 father to this Lucius, had kept up his credit with 
 his purse ; Timon's money had gone to pay the 
 wages of his servants, to pay the hire of the 
 labourers who had sweat to build the fine houses 
 which Lucius's pride had made necessary to him : 
 yet, oh ! the monster which man makes himself 
 when he proves ungrateful ! this Lucius now denied 
 to Timon a sum, which, in respect of what Timon 
 had bestowed on him, was less than charitable 
 men afford to beggars. 
 
 Sempronius, and every one of these mercenary 
 lords to whom Timon applied in their turn, returned 
 the same evasive answer or direct denial ; even 
 Ventidius, the redeemed and now rich Ventidius, 
 refused to assist him with the loan of those five 
 talents which Timon had not lent but generously 
 given him in his distress. 
 
 Now was Timon as much avoided in his poverty 
 as he had been courted and resorted to in his riches. 
 Now the same tongues which had been loudest in 
 his praises, extolling him as bountiful, liberal, and 
 open-handed, were not ashamed to censure that 
 very bounty as folly, that liberality as profuseness, 
 though it had shown itself folly in nothing so truly 
 as in the selection of such unworthy creatures as 
 themselves for its objects. Now was Timon's 
 princely mansion forsaken, and become a shunned 
 and hated place, a place for men to pass by, not a 
 
 T
 
 274 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 place, as formerly, where every passenger must stop 
 and taste of his wine and good cheer ; now, instead 
 of being thronged with feasting and tumultuous 
 guests, it was beset with impatient and clamorous 
 creditors, usurers, extortioners, fierce and intolerable 
 in their demands, pleading bonds, interest, mort- 
 gages ; iron-hearted men that would take no denial 
 nor putting off, that Timon's house was now his 
 jail, which he could not pass, nor go in nor out for 
 them; one demanding his due of fifty talents, 
 another bringing in a bill of five thousand crowns, 
 which if he would tell out his blood by drops, and 
 pay them so, he had not enough in his body to 
 discharge, drop by drop. 
 
 In this desperate and irremediable state (as it 
 seemed) of his affairs, the eyes of all men were sud- 
 denly surprised at a new and incredible lustre which 
 this setting sun put forth. Once more lord Timon 
 proclaimed a feast, to which he invited his ac- 
 customed guests, lords, ladies, all that was great or 
 fashionable in Athens. Lords Lucius and Lucullus 
 came, Ventidius, Sempronius, and the rest. Who 
 more sorry now than these fawning wretches, when 
 they found (as they thought) that lord Timon's 
 poverty was all pretence, and had been only put 
 on to make trial of their loves, to think that they 
 should not have seen through the artifice at the 
 time, and have had the cheap credit of obliging 
 his lordship ? yet who more glad to find the foun- 
 tain of that noble bounty, which they had thought 
 dried up, still fresh and running ? They came dis- 
 sembling, protesting, expressing deepest sorrow and 
 shame, that when his lordship sent to them, they
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 275 
 
 should have been so unfortunate as to want the 
 present means to oblige so honourable a friend. 
 But Timon begged them not to give such trifles a 
 thought, for he had altogether forgotten it. And 
 these base fawning lords, though they had denied 
 him money in his adversity, yet could not refuse 
 their presence at this new blaze of his returning 
 prosperity. For the swallow follows not summer 
 more willingly than men of these dispositions follow 
 the good fortunes of the great, nor more willingly 
 leaves winter than these shrink from the first appear- 
 ance of a reverse ; such summer birds are men. 
 But now with music and state the banquet of smok- 
 ing dishes was served up ; and when the guests had 
 a little done admiring whence the bankrupt Timon 
 could find means to furnish so costly a feast, some 
 doubting whether the scene which they saw was 
 real, as scarce trusting their own eyes ; at a signal 
 given, the dishes were uncovered, and Timon's 
 drift appeared : instead of those varieties and far- 
 fetched dainties which they expected, that Timon's 
 epicurean table in past times had so liberally pre- 
 sented, now appeared under the covers of these 
 dishes a preparation more suitable to Timon's 
 poverty, nothing but a little smoke and lukewarm 
 water, fit feast for this knot of mouth-friends, whose 
 professions were indeed smoke, and their hearts 
 lukewarm and slippery as the water with which 
 Timon welcomed his astonished guests, bidding 
 them, " Uncover, dogs, and lap ;" and before they 
 could recover their surprise, sprinkling it in their 
 faces, that they might have enough, and throwing 
 dishes and all after them, who now ran huddling
 
 276 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 out, lords, ladies, with their caps snatched up in 
 haste, a splendid confusion, Timon pursuing them, 
 still calling them what they were, " smooth smiling 
 parasites, destroyers under the mask of courtesy, 
 affable wolves, meek bears, fools of fortune, feast 
 friends, time-flies." They, crowding out to avoid 
 him, left the house more willingly than they had 
 entered it; some losing their gowns and caps, and 
 some their jewels in the hurry, all glad to escape 
 out of the presence of such a mad lord, and from 
 the ridicule of his mock banquet. 
 
 This was the last feast which ever Timon made, 
 and in it he took farewell of Athens and the society 
 of men ; for, after that, he betook himself to the 
 woods, turning his back upon the hated city and 
 upon all mankind, wishing the walls of that detest- 
 able city might sink, and the houses fall upon their 
 owners, wishing all plagues which infest humanity, 
 war, outrage, poverty, diseases, might fasten upon 
 its inhabitants, praying the just gods to confound 
 all Athenians, both young and old, high and low ; 
 so wishing, he went to the woods, where he said he 
 should find the unkindest beast much kinder than 
 mankind. He stripped himself naked, that he 
 might retain no fashion of a man, and dug a cave 
 to live in, and lived solitary in the manner of a 
 beast, eating the wild roots, and drinking water, 
 flying from the face of his kind, and choosing rather 
 to herd with wild beasts, as more harmless and 
 friendly than man. 
 
 What a change from lord Timon the rich, lord 
 Timon the delight of mankind, to Timon the naked, 
 Timon the man-hater ! Where were his flatterers
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 277 
 
 now? Where were his attendants and retinue? 
 Would the bleak air, that boisterous servitor, be his 
 chamberlain, to put his shirt on warm? Would 
 those stiff trees that had outlived the eagle, turn 
 young and airy pages to him, to skip on his errands 
 when he bade them ? Would the cold brook, when 
 it was iced with winter, administer to him his warm 
 broths and caudles when sick of an overnight's 
 surfeit? Or would the creatures that lived in 
 those wild woods come and lick his hand and flatter 
 him? 
 
 Here on a day, when he was digging for roots, 
 his poor sustenance, his spade struck against some- 
 thing heavy, which proved to be gold, a great heap 
 which some miser had probably buried in a time of 
 alarm, thinking to have come again, and taken it 
 from its prison, but died before the opportunity had 
 arrived, without making any man privy to the con- 
 cealment ; so it lay, doing neither good nor harm, 
 in the bowels of the earth, its mother, as if it had 
 never come from thence, till the accidental striking 
 of Timon's spade against it once more brought it 
 to light 
 
 Here was a mass of treasure which, if Timon had 
 retained his old mind, was enough to have purchased 
 him friends and flatterers again ; but Timon was sick 
 of the false world, and the sight of gold was poison- 
 ous to his eyes ; and he would have restored it to 
 the earth, but that, thinking of the infinite calami- 
 ties which by means of gold happen to mankind, 
 how the lucre of it causes robberies, oppression, in- 
 justice, briberies, violence, and murder, among men, 
 he had a pleasure in imagining (such a rooted hatred
 
 278 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 did he bear to his species) that out of this heap, 
 which in digging he had discovered, might arise 
 some mischief to plague mankind. And some 
 soldiers passing through the woods near to his cave 
 at that instant, which proved to be a part of the 
 troops of the Athenian captain Alcibiades, who upon 
 some disgust taken against the senators of Athens 
 (the Athenians were ever noted to be a thankless 
 and ungrateful people, giving disgust to their gene- 
 rals and best friends), was marching at the head of 
 the same triumphant army which he had formerly 
 headed in their defence, to war againstthem; Timon, 
 who liked their business well, bestowed upon their 
 captain the gold to pay his soldiers, requiring no 
 other service from him, than that he should with 
 his conquering army lay Athens level with the 
 ground, and burn, slay, kill all her inhabitants ; not 
 sparing the old men for their white beards, for (he 
 said) they were usurers, nor the young children for 
 their seeming innocent smiles, for those (he said) 
 would live, if they grew up, to be traitors ; but to 
 steel his eyes and ears against any sights or sounds 
 that might awaken compassion ; and not to let the 
 cries of virgins, babes, or mothers, hinder him from 
 making one universal massacre of the city, but to 
 confound them all in his conquest ; and when he 
 had conquered, he prayed that the gods would con- 
 found him also, the conqueror : so thoroughly did 
 Timon hate Athens, Athenians, and all mankind 
 
 While he lived in this forlorn state, leading a life 
 more brutal than human, he was suddenly surprised 
 one day with the appearance of a man standing in 
 an admiring posture at the door of his cave. It
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 279 
 
 was Flavius, the honest steward, whom love and 
 zealous affection to his master had led to seek him 
 out at his wretched dwelling, and to offer his ser- 
 vices ; and the first sight of his master, the once 
 noble Timon, in that abject condition, naked as he 
 was born, living in the manner of a beast among 
 beasts, looking like his own sad ruins and a monu- 
 ment of decay, so affected this good servant, that 
 he stood speechless, wrapped up in horror, and con- 
 founded And when he found utterance at last to 
 his words, they were so choked with tears, that 
 Timon had much ado to know him again, or to make 
 out who it was that had come (so contrary to the 
 experience he had had of mankind) to offer him 
 service in extremity. And being in the form and 
 shape of a man, he suspected him for a traitor, and 
 his tears for false ; but the good servant by so many 
 tokens confirmed the truth of his fidelity, and made 
 it clear that nothing but love and zealous duty to 
 his once dear master had brought him there, that 
 Timon was forced to confess that the world con- 
 tained one honest man ; yet, being in the shape 
 and form of a man, he could not look upon his 
 man's face without abhorrence, or hear words ut- 
 tered from his man's lips without loathing ; and this 
 singly honest man was forced to depart, because he 
 was a man, and because, with a heart more gentle 
 and compassionate than is usual to man, he bore 
 man's detested form and outward feature. 
 
 But greater visitants than a poor steward were 
 about to interrupt the savage quiet of Timon's soli- 
 tude. For now the day was come when the un- 
 grateful lords of Athens sorely repented the injus-
 
 28o TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 tice which they had done to the noble Timon. For 
 Alcibiades, like an incensed wild boar, was raging 
 at the walls of their city, and with his hot siege 
 threatened to lay fair Athens in the dust. And now 
 the memory of lord Timon's former prowess and 
 military conduct came fresh into their forgetful 
 minds, for Timon had been their general in past 
 times, and a valiant and expert soldier, who alone 
 of all the Athenians was deemed able to cope with 
 a besieging army such as then threatened them, or 
 to drive back the furious approaches of Alcibiades. 
 A deputation of the senators was chosen in this 
 emergency to wait upon Timon. To him they come 
 in their extremity, to whom, when he was in ex- 
 tremity, they had shown but small regard ; as if they 
 presumed upon his gratitude whom they had dis- 
 obliged, and had derived a claim to his courtesy 
 from their own most discourteous and unpiteous 
 treatment 
 
 Now they earnestly beseech him, implore him 
 with tears, to return and save that city, from which 
 their ingratitude had so lately driven him ; now they 
 offer him riches, power, dignities, satisfaction for 
 past injuries, and public honours, and the public 
 love ; their persons, lives, and fortunes, to be at 
 his disposal, if he will but come back and save them. 
 But Timon the naked, Timon the man-hater, was 
 no longer lord Timon, the lord of bounty, the flower 
 of valour, their defence in war, their ornament in 
 peace. If Alcibiades killed his countrymen, Timon 
 cared not. If he sacked fair Athens, and slew her 
 old men and her infants, Timon would rejoice. So 
 he told them ; and that there was not a knife in
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 281 
 
 the unruly camp which he did not prize above the 
 reverendest throat in Athens. 
 
 This was all the answer he vouchsafed to the 
 weeping disappointed senators ; only at parting he 
 bade them commend him to his countrymen, and 
 tell them, that to ease them of their griefs and 
 anxieties, and to prevent the consequences of fierce 
 Alcibiades' wrath, there was yet a way left, which 
 he would teach them, for he had yet so much affec- 
 tion left for his dear countrymen as to be willing 
 to do them a kindness before his death. These 
 words a little revived the senators, who hoped that 
 his kindness for their city was returning. Then 
 Timon told them that he had a tree, which grew 
 near his cave, which he should shortly have occa- 
 sion to cut down, and he invited all his friends in 
 Athens, high or low, of what degree soever, who 
 wished to shun affliction, to come and take a taste 
 of his tree before he cut it down; meaning, that 
 they might come and hang themselves on it, and 
 escape affliction that way. 
 
 And this was the last courtesy, of all his noble 
 bounties, which Timon showed to mankind, and this 
 the last sight of him which his countrymen had : for 
 not many days after, a poor soldier, passing by the 
 sea-beach, which was at a little distance from the 
 woods which Timon frequented, found a tomb on 
 the verge of the sea, with an inscription upon it, 
 purporting that it was the grave of Timon the man- 
 hater, who " While he lived, did hate all living men, 
 and dying wished a plague might consume all caitiffs 
 left !" 
 
 Whether he finished his life by violence, or
 
 282 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 whether mere distaste of life and the loathing he 
 had for mankind brought Timon to his conclusion, 
 was not clear, yet all men admired the fitness of 
 his epitaph, and the consistency of his end ; dying, 
 as he had lived, a hater of mankind : and some 
 there were who fancied a conceit in the very choice 
 which he had made of the sea-beach for his place of 
 burial, where the vast sea might weep for ever upon 
 his grave, as in contempt of the transient and shal- 
 low tears of hypocritical and deceitful mankind.
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 THE two chief families in Verona were the rich 
 Capulets and the Montagues. There had 
 been an old quarrel between these families, 
 which was grown to such a height, and so deadly 
 was the enmity between them, that it extended to 
 the remotest kindred, to the followers and retainers 
 of both sides, insomuch that a servant of the house 
 of Montague could not meet a servant of the house 
 of Capulet, nor a Capulet encounter with a Mon- 
 tague by chance, but fierce words and sometimes 
 bloodshed ensued ; and frequent were the brawls 
 from such accidental meetings, which disturbed the 
 happy quiet of Verona's streets. 
 
 Old lord Capulet made a great supper, to which 
 many fair ladies and many noble guests were invited. 
 All the admired beauties of Verona were present, 
 and all comers were made welcome if they were 
 not of the house of Montague. At this feast of 
 Capulets, Rosaline, beloved of Romeo, son to the 
 old lord Montague, was present ; and though it 
 was dangerous for a Montague to be seen in this 
 assembly, yet Benvolio, a friend of Romeo, per- 
 suaded the young lord to go to this assembly in 
 the disguise of a mask, that he might see his Rosa-
 
 284 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 line, and seeing her, compare her with some choice 
 beauties of Verona, who (he said) would make him 
 think his swan a crow. Romeo had small faith in 
 Benvolio's words; nevertheless, for the love of 
 Rosaline, he was persuaded to go. For Romeo 
 was a sincere and passionate lover, and one that 
 lost his sleep for love, and fled society to be alone, 
 thinking on Rosaline, who disdained Mm, and 
 never requited his love with the least show of cour- 
 tesy or affection ; and Benvolio wished to cure his 
 friend of this love by showing him diversity of ladies 
 and company. To this feast of Capulets then young 
 Romeo with Benvolio and their friend Mercutio 
 went masked. Old Capulet bid them welcome, and 
 told them that ladies who had their toes unplagued 
 with corns would dance with them. And the old 
 man was light-hearted and merry, and said that he 
 had worn a mask when he was young, and could 
 have told a whispering tale in a fair lady's ear. 
 And they fell to dancing, and Romeo was suddenly 
 struck with the exceeding beauty of a lady who 
 danced there, who seemed to him to teach the 
 torches to burn bright, and her beauty to show by 
 night like a rich jewel worn by a blackamoor; 
 beauty too rich for use, too dear for earth ! like a 
 snowy dove trooping with crows (he said), so richly 
 did her beauty and perfections shine above the 
 ladies her companions. While he uttered these 
 praises, he was overheard by Tybalt, a nephew of 
 lord Capulet, who knew him by his voice to be 
 Romeo: And this Tybalt, being of a fiery and 
 passionate temper, could not endure that a Mon- 
 tague should come under cover of a mask, to fleer
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 285 
 
 and scorn (as he said) at their solemnities. And 
 he stormed and raged exceedingly, and would have 
 struck young Romeo dead But his uncle, the 
 old lord Capulet, would not suffer him to do any 
 injury at that time, both out of respect to his guests, 
 and because Romeo had borne himself like a 
 gentleman, and all tongues in Verona bragged of 
 him to be a virtuous and well-governed youth. 
 Tybalt, forced to be patient against his will, re- 
 strained himself, but swore that this vile Montague 
 should at another time dearly pay for his intrusion. 
 The dancing being done, Romeo watched the 
 place where the lady stood ; and under favour of 
 his masking habit, which might seem to excuse in 
 part the liberty, he presumed in the gentlest man- 
 ner to take her by the hand, calling it a shrine, 
 which if he profaned by touching it, he was a blush- 
 ing pilgrim, and would kiss it for atonement. 
 " Good pilgrim," answered the lady, " your devotion 
 shows by far too mannerly and too courtly : saints 
 have hands, which pilgrims may touch, but kiss 
 not" "Have not saints lips, and pilgrims too?" 
 said Romeo. "Ay," said the lady, "lips which they 
 must use in prayer." " O then, my dear saint," 
 said Romeo, "hear my prayer, and grant it, lest 
 I despair." In such like allusions and loving con- 
 ceits they were engaged, when the lady was called 
 away to her mother. And Romeo inquiring who 
 her mother was, discovered that the lady whose 
 peerless beauty he was so much struck with, was 
 young Juliet, daughter and heir to the lord Capulet, 
 the great enemy of the Montagues ; and that he 
 had unknowingly engaged his heart to his foe.
 
 286 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 This troubled him, but it could not dissuade him 
 from loving. As little rest had Juliet, when she 
 found that the gentleman that she had been talking 
 with was Romeo and a Montague, for she had been 
 suddenly smit with the same hasty and inconsider- 
 ate passion for Romeo, which he had conceived 
 for her ; and a prodigious birth of love it seemed 
 to her, that she must love her enemy, and that 
 her affections should settle there, where family con- 
 siderations should induce her chiefly to hate. 
 
 It being midnight, Romeo with his companions 
 departed ; but they soon missed him, for, unable to 
 stay away from the house where he had left his 
 heart, he leaped the wall of an orchard which was 
 at the back of Juliet's house. Here he had not 
 been long, ruminating on his new love, when Juliet 
 appeared above at a window, through which her 
 exceeding beauty seemed to break like the light of 
 the sun in the east ; and the moon, which shone 
 in the orchard with a faint light, appeared to Romeo 
 as if sick and pale with grief at the superior lustre 
 of this new sun. And she, leaning her cheek upon 
 her hand, he passionately wished himself a glove 
 upon that hand, that he might touch her cheek. 
 She all this while thinking herself alone, fetched a 
 deep sigh, and exclaimed, "Ah me!" Romeo, 
 enraptured to hear her speak, said softly, and un- 
 heard by her, "O speak again, bright angel, for 
 such you appear, being over my head, like a winged 
 messenger from heaven whom mortals fall back to 
 gaze upon." She, unconscious of being overheard, 
 and full of the new passion which that night's adven- 
 ture had given birth to, called upon her lover by
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 287 
 
 name (whom she supposed absent) : " O Romeo, 
 Romeo !" said she, " wherefore art thou Romeo ? 
 Deny thy father, and refuse thy name, for my sake; 
 or if thou wilt not, be but my sworn love, and I 
 no longer will be a Capulet" Romeo, having this 
 encouragement, would fain have spoken, but he was 
 desirous of hearing more ; and the lady continued 
 her passionate discourse with herself (as she thought) 
 still chiding Romeo for being Romeo and a Mon- 
 tague, and wishing him some other name, or that 
 he would put away that hated name, and for that 
 name which was no part of himself, he should take 
 all herself. At this loving word Romeo could 
 no longer refrain, but taking up the dialogue as if 
 her words had been addressed to him personally, 
 and not merely in fancy, he bade her call him 
 Love, or by whatever other name she pleased, for 
 he was no longer Romeo, if that name was dis- 
 pleasing to her. Juliet, alarmed to hear a man's 
 voice in the garden, did not at first know who it 
 was, that by favour of the night and darkness had 
 thus stumbled upon the discovery of her secret ; 
 but when he spoke again, though her ears had not 
 yet drunk a hundred words of that tongue's utter- 
 ing, yet so nice is a lover's hearing, that she 
 immediately knew him to be young Romeo, and 
 she expostulated with him on the danger to which 
 he had exposed himself by climbing the orchard 
 walls, for if any of her kinsmen should find him 
 there, it would be death to him, being a Montague. 
 " Alack," said Romeo, " there is more peril in your 
 eye, than in twenty of their swords. Do you but 
 look kind upon me, lady, and I am proof against
 
 288 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 their enmity. Better my life should be ended by 
 their hate, than that hated life should be prolonged, 
 to live without your love." " How came you into 
 this place," said Juliet, "and by whose direction?" 
 " Love directed me," answered Romeo : " I am 
 no pilot, yet wert thou as far apart from me, as that 
 vast shore which is washed with the farthest sea, 
 I should venture for such merchandise. " A crimson 
 blush came over Juliet's face, yet unseen by Romeo 
 by reason of the night, when she reflected upon the 
 discovery which she had made, yet not meaning to 
 make it, of her love to Romeo. She would fain 
 have recalled her words, but that was impossible : 
 fain would she have stood upon form, and have 
 kept her lover at a distance, as the custom of dis- 
 creet ladies is, to frown and be perverse, and give 
 their suitors harsh denials at first ; to stand off, and 
 affect a coyness or indifference, where they most 
 love, that their lovers may not think them too lightly 
 or too easily won ; for the difficulty of attainment 
 increases the value of the object But there was 
 no room in her case for denials, or puttings off, or 
 any of the customary arts of delay and protracted 
 courtship. Romeo had heard from her own tongue, 
 when she did not dream that he was near her, a 
 confession of her love. So with an honest frank- 
 ness, which the novelty of her situation excused, she 
 confirmed the truth of what he had before heard, 
 and addressing him by the name of fair Montague 
 (love can sweeten a sour name), she begged him 
 not to impute her easy yielding to levity or an un- 
 worthy mind, but that he must lay the fault of it 
 (if it were a fault) upon the accident of the night
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 289 
 
 which had so strangely discovered her thoughts. 
 And she added, that though her behaviour to him 
 might not be sufficiently prudent, measured by the 
 custom of her sex, yet that she would prove more 
 true than many whose prudence was dissembling, 
 and their modesty artificial cunning. 
 
 Romeo was beginning to call the heavens to wit- 
 ness, that nothing was farther from his thoughts 
 than to impute a shadow of dishonour to such an 
 honoured lady, when she stopped him, begging him 
 not to swear ; for although she joyed in him, yet 
 she had no joy of that night's contract : it was too 
 rash, too unadvised, too sudden. But he being 
 urgent with her to exchange a vow of love with him 
 that night, she said that she already had given him 
 hers before he requested it; meaning, when he 
 overheard her confession ; but she would retract 
 what she then bestowed, for the pleasure of giving 
 it again, for her bounty was as infinite as the sea, 
 and her love as deep. From this loving conference 
 she was called away by her nurse, who slept with 
 her, and thought it time for her to be in bed, for 
 it was near to daybreak ; but hastily returning, she 
 said three or four words more to Romeo, the pur- 
 port of which was, that if his love was indeed 
 honourable, and his purpose marriage, she would 
 send a messenger to him to-morrow, to appoint a 
 time for their marriage, when she would lay all her 
 fortunes at his feet, and follow him as her lord 
 through the world. While they were settling this 
 point, Juliet was repeatedly called for by her nurse, 
 and went in and returned, and went and returned 
 again, for she seemed as jealous of Romeo going 
 u
 
 290 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 from her, as a young girl of her bird, which she 
 will let hop a little from her hand, and pluck it 
 back with a silken thread ; and Romeo was as loath 
 to part as she ; for the sweetest music to lovers is 
 the sound of each other's tongues at night. But 
 at last they parted, wishing mutually sweet sleep 
 and rest for that night. 
 
 The day was breaking when they parted, and 
 Romeo, who was too full of thoughts of his mistress 
 and that blessed meeting to allow him to sleep, in- 
 stead of going home, bent his course to a monastery 
 hard by, to find friar Lawrence. The good friar 
 was already up at his devotions, but seeing young 
 Romeo abroad so early, he conjectured rightly that 
 he had not been abed that night, but that some 
 distemper of youthful affection had kept him wak- 
 ing. He was right in imputing the cause of 
 Romeo's wakefulness to love, but he made a wrong 
 guess at the object, for he thought that his love for 
 Rosaline had kept him waking. But when Romeo 
 revealed his new passion for Juliet, and requested 
 the assistance of the friar to marry them that day, 
 the holy man lifted up his eyes and hands in a sort 
 of wonder at the sudden change in Romeo's affec- 
 tions, for he had been privy to all Romeo's love for 
 Rosaline, and his many complaints of her disdain : 
 and he said, that young men's love lay not truly 
 in their hearts, but in their eyes. But Romeo 
 replying, that he himself had often chidden him for 
 doting on Rosaline, who could not love him again, 
 whereas Juliet both loved and was beloved by him, 
 the friar assented in some measure to his reasons ; 
 and thinking that a matrimonial alliance between
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 291 
 
 young Juliet and Romeo might happily be the 
 means of making up the long breach between the 
 Capulets and the Montagues ; which no one more 
 lamented than this good friar, who was a friend to 
 both the families and had often interposed his 
 mediation to make up the quarrel without effect ; 
 partly moved by policy, and partly by his fondness 
 for young Romeo, to whom he could deny nothing, 
 the old man consented to join their hands in mar- 
 riage. 
 
 Now was Romeo blessed indeed, and Juliet, who 
 knew his intent from a messenger which she had de- 
 spatched according to promise, did not fail to be 
 early at the cell of friar Lawrence, where their hands 
 were joined in holy marriage ; the good friar pray- 
 ing the heavens to smile upon that act, and in the 
 union of this young Montague and young Capulet 
 to bury the old strife and long dissensions of their 
 families. 
 
 The ceremony being over, Juliet hastened home, 
 where she stayed impatient for the coming of night, 
 at which time Romeo promised to come and meet 
 her in the orchard, where they had met the night 
 before ; and the time between seemed as tedious 
 to her, as the night before some great festival seems 
 to an impatient child, that has got new finery which 
 it may not put on till the morning. 
 
 That same day, about noon, Romeo's friends, 
 Benvolio and Mercutio, walking through the streets 
 of Verona, were met by a party of the Capulets 
 with the impetuous Tybalt at their head. This 
 was the same angry Tybalt who would have fought 
 with Romeo at old lord Capulet's feast He,
 
 292 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 seeing Mercutio, accused him bluntly of associating 
 with Romeo, a Montague. Mercutio, who had as 
 much fire and youthful blood in him as Tybalt, re- 
 plied to this accusation with some sharpness ; and 
 in spite of all Benvolio could say to moderate their 
 wrath, a quarrel was beginning, when Romeo him- 
 self passing that way, the fierce Tybalt turned from 
 Mercutio to Romeo, and gave him the disgraceful 
 appellation of villaia Romeo wished to avoid a 
 quarrel with Tybalt above all men, because he was 
 the kinsman of Juliet, and much beloved by her ; 
 besides, this young Montague had never thoroughly 
 entered into the family quarrel, being by nature 
 wise and gentle, and the name of a Capulet, which 
 was his dear lady's name, was now rather a charm 
 to allay resentment, than a watchword to excite 
 fury. So he tried to reason with Tybalt, whom he 
 saluted mildly by the name of good Capulet, as if 
 he, though a Montague, had some secret pleasure 
 in uttering that name : but Tybalt, who hated all 
 Montagues as he hated hell, would hear no reason, 
 but drew his weapon; and Mercutio, who knew 
 not of Romeo's secret motive for desiring peace 
 with Tybalt, but looked upon his present forbear- 
 ance as a sort of calm dishonourable submission, 
 with many disdainful words provoked Tybalt to 
 the prosecution of his first quarrel with him ; and 
 Tybalt and Mercutio fought, till Mercutio fell, 
 receiving his death's wound while Romeo and 
 Benvolio were vainly endeavouring to part the com- 
 batants. Mercutio being dead, Romeo kept his tem- 
 per no longer, but returned the scornful appellation 
 of villain which Tybalt had given him ; and they
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 293 
 
 fought till Tybalt was slain by Romeo. This deadly 
 broil falling out in the midst of Verona at noonday, 
 the news of it quickly brought a crowd of citizens 
 to the spot, and among them the old lords Capulet 
 and Montague, with their wives ; and soon after 
 arrived the prince himself, who being related to 
 Mercutio, whom Tybalt had slain, and having had 
 the peace of his government often disturbed by 
 these brawls of Montagues and Capulets, came 
 determined to put the law in strictest force against 
 those who should be found to be offenders. Ben- 
 volio, who had been eyewitness to the fray, was 
 commanded by the prince to relate the origin of it ; 
 which he did, keeping as near the truth as he could 
 without injury to Romeo, softening and excusing 
 the part which his friends took in it. Lady Capulet, 
 whose extreme grief for the loss of her kinsman 
 Tybalt made her keep no bounds in her revenge, 
 exhorted the prince to do strict justice upon his 
 murderer, and to pay no attention to Benvolio's 
 representation, who, being Romeo's friend and a 
 Montague, spoke partially. Thus she pleaded 
 against her new son-in-law, but she knew not yet 
 that he was her son-in-law and Juliet's husband. 
 On the other hand was to be seen lady Montague 
 pleading for her child's life, and arguing with some 
 justice that Romeo had done nothing worthy of 
 punishment in taking the life of Tybalt, which was 
 already forfeited to the law by his having slain 
 Mercutio. The prince, unmoved by the passionate 
 exclamations of these women, on a careful examin- 
 ation of the facts, pronounced his sentence, and 
 by that sentence Romeo was banished from Verona.
 
 294 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Heavy news to young Juliet, who had been but 
 a few hours a bride, and now by this decree seemed 
 everlastingly divorced ! When the tidings reached 
 her, she at first gave way to rage against Romeo, 
 who had slain her dear cousin : she called him a 
 beautiful tyrant, a fiend angelical, a ravenous dove, 
 a lamb with a wolfs nature, a serpent-heart hid 
 with a flowering face, and other like contradictory 
 names, which denoted the struggles in her mind 
 between her love and her resentment : but in the 
 end love got the mastery, and the tears which she 
 shed for grief that Romeo had slain her cousin, 
 turned to drops of joy that her husband lived whom 
 Tybalt would have slain. Then came fresh tears, 
 and they were altogether of grief for Romeo's 
 banishment. That word was more terrible to her 
 than the death of many Tybalts. 
 
 Romeo, after the fray, had taken refuge in friar 
 Lawrence's cell, where he was first made acquainted 
 with the prince's sentence, which seemed to him far 
 more terrible than death. To him it appeared 
 there was no world out of Verona's walls, no living 
 out of the sight of Juliet Heaven was there where 
 Juliet lived, and all beyond was purgatory, torture, 
 hell The good friar would have applied the con- 
 solation of philosophy to his griefs : but this frantic 
 young man would hear of none, but like a madman 
 he tore his hair, and threw himself all along upon 
 the ground, as he said, to take the measure of his 
 grave. From this unseemly state he was roused by 
 a message from his dear lady, which a little revived 
 him ; and then the friar took the advantage to ex- 
 postulate with him on the unmanly weakness which
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 295 
 
 he had showa He had slain Tybalt, but would he 
 also slay himself, slay his dear lady, who lived but in 
 his life ? The noble form of man, he said, was but 
 a shape of wax, when it wanted the courage which 
 should keep it firm. The law had been lenient to 
 him, that instead of death, which he had incurred, 
 had pronounced by the prince's mouth only banish- 
 ment. He had slain Tybalt, but Tybalt would have 
 slain him : there was a sort of happiness in that 
 Juliet was alive, and (beyond all hope) had become 
 his dear wife ; therein he was most happy. All these 
 blessings, as the friar made them out to be, did 
 Romeo putfrom him like asullen misbehaved wench. 
 And the friar bade him beware, for such as de- 
 spaired (he said) died miserable. Then when Romeo 
 was a little calmed, he counselled him that he 
 should go that night and secretly take his leave of 
 Juliet, and thence proceed straightways to Mantua, 
 at which place he should sojourn, till the friar found 
 fit occasion to publish his marriage, which might be 
 a joyful means of reconciling their families ; and 
 then he did not doubt but the prince would be moved 
 to pardon him, and he would return with twenty 
 times more joy than he went forth with grief. 
 Romeo was convinced by these wise counsels of the 
 friar, and took his leave to go and seek his lady, 
 proposing to stay with her that night, and by day- 
 break pursue his journeyalone to Mantua ; to which 
 place the good friar promised to send him letters 
 from time to time, acquainting him with the state 
 of affairs at home. 
 
 That night Romeo passed with his dear wife, 
 gaining secret admission to her chamber, from the
 
 296 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 
 
 orchard in which he had heard her confession of love 
 the night before. That had been a night of un- 
 mixed joy and rapture ; but the pleasures of this 
 night, and the delight which these lovers took in 
 each other's society, were sadly allayed with the pro- 
 spect of parting, and the fatal adventures of the past 
 day. The unwelcome daybreak seemed to come 
 too soon, and when Juliet heard the morning song 
 of the lark, she would have persuaded herself 
 that it was the nightingale, which sings by night ; 
 but it was too truly the lark which sang, and a 
 discordant and unpleasing note it seemed to her ; 
 and the streaks of day in the east too certainly 
 pointed out that it was time for these lovers to part. 
 Romeo took his leave of his dear wife with a heavy 
 heart, promising to write to her from Mantua every 
 hour in the day ; and when he had descended from 
 her chamber-window, as he stood below her on the 
 ground, in that sad foreboding state of mind in 
 which she was, he appeared to her eyes as one dead 
 in the bottom of a tomb. Romeo's mind misgave 
 him in like manner : but now he was forced hastily 
 to depart, for it was death for him to be found 
 within the walls of Verona after daybreak. 
 
 This was but the beginning of the tragedy of this 
 pair of star-crossed lovers. Romeo had not been 
 gone many days, before the old lord Capulet pro- 
 posed a match for Juliet The husband he had 
 chosen for her, not dreaming that she was married 
 already, was count Paris, a gallant, young, and noble 
 gentleman, no "unworthy suitor to the young Juliet, 
 if she had never seen Romeo. 
 
 The terrified Juliet was in a sad perplexity at her
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 297 
 
 father's offer. She pleaded her youth unsuitable to 
 marriage, the recent death of Tybalt, which had left 
 her spirits too weak to meet a husband with any 
 face of joy, and how indecorous it would show for 
 the family of the Capulets to be celebrating a nuptial 
 feast, when his funeral solemnities were hardly over : 
 she pleaded every reason against the match, but the 
 true one, namely, that she was married already. 
 But lord Capulet was deaf to all her excuses, and in 
 a peremptory manner ordered her to get ready, for 
 by the following Thursday she should be married to 
 Paris : and having found her a husband, rich, young, 
 and noble, such as the proudest maid in Verona 
 might joyfully accept, he could not bear that out 
 of an affected coyness, as he construed her denial, 
 she should oppose obstacles to her own good 
 fortune. 
 
 In this extremity Juliet applied to the friendly 
 friar, always her counsellor in distress, and he ask- 
 ing her if she had resolution to undertake a des- 
 perate remedy, and she answering that she would 
 go into the grave alive rather than marry Paris, her 
 own dear husband living ; he directed her to go 
 home, and appear merry, and give her consent to 
 marry Paris, according to her father's desire, and 
 on the next night, which was the night before the 
 marriage, to drink off the contents of a phial which 
 he then gave her, the effect of which would be that 
 for two-and-forty hours after drinking it she should 
 appear cold and lifeless ; and when the bridegroom 
 came to fetch her in the morning, he would find her 
 to appearance dead ; that then she would be borne, 
 as the manner in that country was, uncovered on a
 
 298 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 bier, to be buried in the family vault ; that if she 
 could put off womanish fear, and consent to this 
 terrible trial, in forty-two hours after swallowing the 
 liquid (such was its certain operation) she would be 
 sure to awake, as from a dream ; and before she 
 should awake, he would let her husband know their 
 drift, and he should come in the night, and bear her 
 thence to Mantua. Love, and the dread of marry- 
 ing Paris, gave young Juliet strength to undertake 
 this horrible adventure ; and she took the phial of 
 the friar, promising to observe his directions. 
 
 Going from the monastery, she met the young 
 count Paris, and modestly dissembling, promised to 
 become his bride. This was joyful news to the lord 
 Capulet and his wife. It seemed to put youth into 
 the old man ; and Juliet, who had displeased him 
 exceedingly, by her refusal of the count, was his 
 darling again, now she promised to be obedient 
 All things in the house were in a bustle against the 
 approaching nuptials. No cost was spared to pre- 
 pare such festival rejoicings as Verona had never 
 before witnessed. 
 
 On the Wednesday night Juliet drank off the po- 
 tion. She had many misgivings lest the friar, to 
 avoid the blame which might be imputed to him 
 for marrying her to Romeo, had given her poison ; 
 but then he was always known for a holy man : 
 then lest she should awake before the time that 
 Romeo was to come for her; whether the terror 
 of the place, a vault full of dead Capulets' bones, 
 and where Tybalt, all bloody, lay festering in his 
 shroud, would not be enough to drive her distracted : 
 again she thought of all the stories she had heard
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 299 
 
 of spirits haunting the places where their bodies 
 were bestowed. But then her love for Romeo, 
 and her aversion for Paris returned, and she 
 desperately swallowed the draught, and became 
 insensible. 
 
 When young Paris came early in the morning 
 with music to awaken his bride, instead of a living 
 Juliet, her chamber presented the dreary spectacle 
 of a lifeless corse. What death to his hopes ! What 
 confusion then reigned through the whole house ! 
 Poor Paris lamenting .his bride, whom most detest- 
 able death had beguiled him of, had divorced from 
 him even before their hands were joined. But still 
 more piteous it was to hear the mournings of the old 
 lord and lady Capulet, who having but this one, 
 one poor loving child to rejoice and solace in, 
 cruel death had snatched her from their sight, just 
 as these careful parents were on the point of see- 
 ing her advanced (as they thought) by a promising 
 and advantageous match. Now all things that 
 were ordained for the festival were turned from 
 their properties to do the office of a black funeral. 
 The wedding cheer served for a sad burial feast, 
 the bridal hymns were changed for sullen dirges, 
 the sprightly instruments to melancholy bells, and 
 the flowers that should have been strewed in the 
 bride's path, now served but to strew her corse. 
 Now, instead of a priest to marry her, a priest was 
 needed to bury her ; and she was borne to church 
 indeed, not to augment the cheerful hopes of the 
 living, but to swell the dreary numbers of the dead. 
 
 Bad news, which always travels faster than good, 
 now brought the dismal story of his Juliet's death
 
 300 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 to Romeo, at Mantua, before the messenger could 
 arrive, who was sent from friar Lawrence to apprise 
 him that these were mock funerals only, and but 
 the shadow and representation of death, and that 
 his dear lady lay in the tomb but for a short while, 
 expecting when Romeo would come to release her 
 from that dreary mansion. Just before, Romeo 
 had been unusually joyful and light-hearted. He 
 had dreamed in the night that he was dead (a 
 strange dream, that gave a dead man leave to 
 think), and that his lady came and found him dead, 
 and breathed such life with kisses in his lips, that 
 he revived, and was an emperor ! And now that 
 a messenger came from Verona, he thought surely 
 it was to confirm some good news which his 
 dreams had presaged. But when the contrary to 
 this flattering vision appeared, and that it was his 
 lady who was dead in truth, whom he could not 
 revive by any kisses, he ordered horses to be got 
 ready, for he determined that night to visit Verona, 
 and to see his lady in her tomb. And as mischief 
 is swift to enter into the thoughts of desperate men, 
 he called to mind a poor apothecary, whose shop 
 in Mantua he had lately passed, and from the beg- 
 garly appearance of the man, who seemed famished, 
 and the wretched show in his shop of empty boxes 
 ranged on dirty shelves, and other tokens of ex- 
 treme wretchedness, he had said at the time (per- 
 haps having some misgivings that his own disastrous 
 life might haply meet with a conclusion so desper- 
 ate), " If a man were to need poison, which by the 
 law of Mantua it is death to sell, here lives a poor 
 wretch who would sell it him." These words of
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 301 
 
 his now came into his mind, and he sought out 
 the apothecary, who after some pretended scruples, 
 Romeo offering him gold, which his poverty could 
 not resist, sold him a poison, which, if he swallowed, 
 he told him, if he had the strength of twenty men, 
 would quickly despatch him. 
 
 With this poison he set out for Verona, to have 
 a sight of his dear lady in her tomb, meaning, 
 when he had satisfied his sight, to swallow the 
 poison, and be buried by her side. He reached 
 Verona at midnight, and found the churchyard, in 
 the midst of which was situated the ancient tomb 
 of the Capulets. He had provided a light, and a 
 spade, and wrenching iron, and was proceeding to 
 break open the monument, when he was interrupted 
 by a voice, which by the name of vile Montague, 
 bade him desist from his unlawful business. It was 
 the young count Paris, who had come to the tomb of 
 Juliet at that unseasonable time of night, to strew 
 flowers and to weep over the grave of her that should 
 have been his bride. He knew not what an interest 
 Romeo had in the dead, but knowing him to be a 
 Montague, and (as he supposed) a sworn foe to all 
 the Capulets, he judged that he was come by night 
 to do some villanous shame to the dead bodies ; 
 therefore in an angry tone he bade him desist ; and 
 as a criminal, condemned by the laws of Verona 
 to die if he were found within the walls of the city, 
 he would have apprehended him. Romeo urged 
 Paris to leave him, and warned him by the fate of 
 Tybalt, who lay buried there, not to provoke his 
 anger, or draw down another sin upon his head, 
 by forcing him to kill him. But the count in scorn
 
 3 02 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 refused his warning, and laid hands on him as a 
 felon, which Romeo resisting, they fought, and 
 Paris fell. When Romeo, by the help of a light, 
 came to see who it was that he had slain, that it 
 was Paris, who (he learned in his way from Mantua) 
 should have married Juliet, he took the dead youth 
 by the hand, as one whom misfortune had made a 
 companion, and said that he would bury him in a 
 triumphal grave, meaning in Juliet's grave, which 
 he now opened : and there lay his lady, as one 
 whom death had no power upon to change a 
 feature or complexion in her matchless beauty ; or 
 as if Death were amorous, and the lean abhorred 
 monster kept her there for his delight ; for she lay 
 yet fresh and blooming, as she had fallen to 
 sleep when she swallowed that benumbing potion ; 
 and near her lay Tybalt in his bloody shroud, 
 whom Romeo seeing, begged pardon of his lifeless 
 corse, and for Juliet's sake called him cousin, and 
 said that he was about to do him a favour by put- 
 ting his enemy to death. Here Romeo took his 
 last leave of his lady's lips, kissing them ; and here 
 he shook the burden of his cross stars from his 
 weary body, swallowing that poison which the 
 apothecary had sold him, whose operation was 
 fatal and real, not like that dissembling potion 
 which Juliet had swallowed, the effect of which 
 was now nearly expiring, and she about to awake 
 to complain that Romeo had not kept his time, or 
 that he had come too soon. 
 
 For now the hour was arrived at which the friar 
 had promised that she should awake ; and he, hav- 
 ing learned that his letters which he had sent to
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 303 
 
 Mantua, by some unlucky detention of the messen- 
 ger, had never reached Romeo, came himself, pro- 
 vided with a pickaxe and lantern, to deliver the 
 lady from her confinement ; but he was surprised 
 to find a light already burning in the Capulets' 
 monument, and to see swords and blood near it, 
 and Romeo and Paris lying breathless by the 
 monument 
 
 Before he could entertain a conjecture, to imagine 
 how these fatal accidents had fallen out, Juliet 
 awoke out of her trance, and seeing the friar near 
 her, she remembered the place where she was, and 
 the occasion of her being there, and asked for 
 Romeo, but the friar, hearing a noise, bade her 
 come out of that place of death, and of unnatural 
 sleep, for a greater power than they could con- 
 tradict had thwarted their intents ; and being 
 frightened by the noise of people coming, he 
 fled : but when Juliet saw the cup closed in her 
 true love's hands, she guessed that poison had been 
 the cause of his end, and she would have swallowed 
 the dregs if any had been left, and she kissed his 
 still warm lips to try if any poison yet did hang 
 upon them ; then hearing a nearer noise of people 
 coming, she quickly unsheathed a dagger which 
 she wore, and stabbing herself, died by her true 
 Romeo's side. 
 
 The watch by this time had come up to the 
 place. A page belonging to count Paris, who had 
 witnessed the fight between his master and Romeo, 
 had given the alarm, which had spread among the 
 citizens, who went up and down the streets of Verona 
 confusedly exclaiming, A Paris ! a Romeo ! a
 
 304 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Juliet ! as the rumour had imperfectly reached them, 
 till the uproar brought lord Montague and lord 
 Capulet out of their beds, with the prince, to inquire 
 into the causes of the disturbance. The friar had 
 been apprehended by some of the watch, coming 
 from the churchyard, trembling, sighing, and weep- 
 ing, in a suspicious manner. A great multitude 
 being assembled at the Capulets' monument, the 
 friar was demanded by the prince to deliver what 
 he knew of these strange and disastrous accidents. 
 And there, in the presence of the old lords 
 Montague and Capulet, he faithfully related the 
 story of their children's fatal love, the part he took 
 in promoting their marriage, in the hope in that 
 union to end the long quarrels between their 
 families : how Romeo, there dead, was husband to 
 Juliet ; and Juliet there dead, was Romeo's faith- 
 ful wife ; how before he could find a fit opportunity 
 td divulge their marriage, another match was pro- 
 jected for Juliet, who, to avoid the crime of a 
 second marriage, swallowed the sleeping draught 
 (as he advised), and all thought her dead ; how 
 meantime he wrote to Romeo, to come and take 
 her thence when the force of the potion should 
 cease, and by what unfortunate miscarriage of the 
 messenger the letters never reached Romeo : further 
 than this the friar could not follow the story, nor 
 knew more than that coming himself, to deliver 
 Juliet from that place of death, he found the count 
 Paris and Romeo slain. The remainder of the 
 transactions was supplied by the narration of the 
 page who had seen Paris and Romeo fight, and by 
 the servant who came with Romeo from Verona,
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 305 
 
 to whom this faithful lover had given letters to be 
 delivered to his father in the event of his death, 
 which made good the friar's words, confessing his 
 marriage with Juliet, imploring the forgiveness of 
 his parents, acknowledging the buying of the poison 
 of the poor apothecary, and his intent in coming 
 to the monument, to die, and lie with Juliet. All 
 these circumstances agreed together to clear the 
 friar from any hand he could be supposed to have 
 in these complicated slaughters, further than as the 
 unintended consequences of his own well meant, 
 yet too artificial and subtle contrivances. 
 
 And the prince, turning to these old lords, Mon- 
 tague and Capulet, rebuked them for their brutal 
 and irrational enmities, and showed them what a 
 scourge Heaven had laid upon such offences, that 
 it had found means even through the love of their 
 children to punish their unnatural hate. And these 
 old rivals, no longer enemies, agreed to bury their 
 long strife in their children's graves ; and lord 
 Capulet requested lord Montague to give him his 
 hand, calling him by the name of brother, as if in 
 acknowledgment of the union of their families, by 
 the marriage of the young Capulet and Montague ; 
 and saying that lord Montague's hand (in token 
 of reconcilement) was all he demanded for his 
 daughter's jointure : but lord Montague said he 
 would give him more, for he would raise her a statue 
 of pure gold, that while Verona kept its name, no 
 figure should be so esteemed for its richness and 
 workmanship as that of the true and faithful Juliet 
 And lord Capulet in return said that he would raise 
 another statue to Romeo. So did these poor old 
 x
 
 306 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 lords, when it was too late, strive to outgo each 
 other in mutual courtesies ; while so deadly had 
 been their rage and enmity in "past times, that no- 
 thing but the fearful overthrow of their children 
 (poor sacrifices to their quarrels and dissensions) 
 could remove the rooted hates and jealousies of 
 the noble families.
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 /^ERTRUDE, queen of Denmark, becoming a 
 ^-* widow by the sudden death of King Hamlet, 
 in less than two months after his death married his 
 brother Claudius, which was noted by all people at 
 the time for a strange act of indiscretion, or unfeel- 
 ingness, or worse : for this Claudius did no ways 
 resemble her late husband in the qualities of his 
 person or his mind, but was as contemptible in out- 
 ward appearance, as he was base and unworthy in 
 disposition ; and suspicions did not fail to arise in 
 the minds of some, that he had privately made 
 away with his brother, the late king, with the view 
 of marrying his widow, and ascending the throne of 
 Denmark, to the exclusion of young Hamlet, the 
 son of the buried king, and lawful successor to the 
 throne. 
 
 But upon no one did this unadvised action of the 
 queen make such impression as upon this young 
 prince, who loved and venerated the memory of his 
 dead father almost to idolatry, and being of a nice 
 sense of honour, and a most exquisite practiser of 
 propriety himself, did sorely take to heart this un- 
 worthy conduct of his mother Gertrude : insomuch 
 that, between grief for his father's death and shame
 
 308 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 for his mother's marriage, this young prince was 
 overclouded with a deep melancholy, and lost all his 
 mirth and all his good looks ; all his customary 
 pleasure in books forsook him, his princely exer- 
 cises and sports, proper to his youth, were no longer 
 acceptable; he grew weary of the world, which 
 seemed to him an unweeded garden, where all the 
 wholesome flowers were choked up, and nothing but 
 weeds could thrive. Not that the prospect of ex- 
 clusion from the throne, his lawful inheritance, 
 weighed so much upon his spirits, though that to a 
 young and high-minded prince was a bitter wound 
 and a sore indignity ; but what so galled him, and 
 took away, all his cheerful spirits, was, that his 
 mother had shown herself so forgetful to his father's 
 memory : and such a father ! who had been to her 
 so loving and so gentle a husband ! and then she al- 
 ways appeared as loving and obedient a wife to him, 
 and would hang upon him as if her affection grew 
 to him : and now within two months, or as it seemed 
 to young Hamlet, less than two months, she had 
 married again, married his uncle, her dear husband's 
 brother, in itself a highly improper and unlawful 
 marriage, from the nearness of relationship, but 
 made much more so by the indecent haste with 
 which it was concluded, and the unkingly character 
 of the man whom she had chosen to be the partner 
 of her throne and bed. This it was, which more 
 than the loss of ten kingdoms, dashed the spirits 
 and brought a cloud over the mind of this honour- 
 able young prince. 
 
 In vain was all that his mother Gertrude or the 
 king could do to contrive to divert him ; he still ap-
 
 HAMLET. 309 
 
 peared in court in a suit of deep black, as mourning 
 for the king his father's death, which mode of dress 
 he had never laid aside, not even in compliment to 
 his mother upon the day she was married, nor could 
 he be brought to join in any of the festivities or 
 rejoicings of that (as appeared to him) disgraceful 
 day. 
 
 What mostly troubled him was an uncertainty 
 about the manner of his father's death. It was 
 given out by Claudius that a serpent had stung him ; 
 but young Hamlet had shrewd suspicions that 
 Claudius himself was the serpent ; in plain English, 
 that he had murdered him for his crown, and that 
 the serpent who stung his father did now sit on the 
 throne. 
 
 How far he was right in this conjecture, and what 
 he ought to think of his mother, how far she was 
 privy to this murder, and whether by her consent or 
 knowledge, or without, it came to pass, were the 
 doubts which continually harassed and distracted 
 him. 
 
 A rumour had reached the ear of young Hamlet, 
 that an apparition, exactly resembling the dead king 
 his father, had been seen by the soldiers upon 
 watch, on the platform before the palace at midnight, 
 for two or three nights successively. The figure 
 came constantly clad in the same suit of armour, 
 from head to foot, which the dead king was known 
 to have worn : and they who saw it (Hamlet's bosom 
 friend Horatio was one) agreed in their testimony 
 as to the time and manner of its appearance : that 
 it came just as the clock struck twelve; that it 
 looked pale, with a face more of sorrow than of
 
 310 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 anger; that its beard was grisly, and the colour a 
 sable silvered, as they had seen it in his life-time : 
 that it made no answer when they spoke to it; 
 yet once they thought it lifted up its head, and 
 addressed itself to motion, as if it were about to 
 speak ; but in that moment the morning cock crew, 
 and it shrunk in haste away, and vanished out of 
 their sight. 
 
 The young prince, strangely amazed at their re- 
 lation, which was too consistent and agreeing with 
 itself to disbelieve, concluded that it was his father's 
 ghost which they had seen, and determined to take 
 his watch with the soldiers that night, that he 
 might have a chance of seeing it ; for he reasoned 
 with himself, that such an appearance did not come 
 for nothing, but that the ghost had something to 
 impart, and though it had been silent hitherto, yet 
 it would speak to him. And he waited with im- 
 patience for the coming of night. 
 
 When night came he took his stand with Horatio, 
 and Marcellus, one of the guard, upon the platform, 
 where this apparition was accustomed to walk : and 
 it being a cold night, and the air unusually raw and 
 nipping, Hamlet and Horatio and their companion 
 fell into some talk about the coldness of the night, 
 which was suddenly broken off by Horatio announc- 
 ing that the ghost was coming. 
 
 At the sight of his father's spirit, Hamlet was 
 struck with a sudden surprise and fear. He at first 
 called upon the angels and heavenly ministers to 
 defend them, for he knew not whether it were a 
 good spirit or bad ; whether it came for good or evil : 
 but he gradually assumed more courage ; and his
 
 HAMLET. 311 
 
 father (as it seemed to him) looked upon him so 
 piteously, and as it were desiring to have conversa- 
 tion with him, and did in all respects appear so like 
 himself as he was when he lived, that Hamlet could 
 not help addressing him : he called him by his name, 
 Hamlet, King, Father ! and conjured him that he 
 would tell the reason why he had left his grave, 
 where they had seen him quietly bestowed, to come 
 again and visit the earth and the moonlight : and 
 besought him that he would let them know if there 
 was anything which they could do to give peace to 
 his spirit And the ghost beckoned to Hamlet, 
 that he should go with him to some more removed 
 place, where they might be alone; and Horatio and 
 Marcellus would have dissuaded the young prince 
 from following it, for they feared lest it should be 
 some evil spirit, who would tempt him to the neigh- 
 bouring sea, or to the top of some dreadful cliff, and 
 there put on some horrible shape which might de- 
 prive the prince of his reason. But their counsels 
 and entreaties could not alter Hamlet's determina- 
 tion, who cared too little about life to fear the los- 
 ing of it ; and as to his soul, he said, what could 
 the spirit do to that, being a thing immortal as it- 
 self? And he felt as hardy as a lion, and bursting 
 from them, who did all they could to hold him, he 
 followed whithersoever the spirit led him. 
 
 And when they were alone together, the spirit 
 broke silence, and told him that he was the ghost 
 of Hamlet, his father, who had been cruelly mur- 
 dered, and he told the manner of it ; that it was 
 done by his own brother Claudius, Hamlet's uncle, 
 as Hamlet had already but too much suspected, for
 
 3T2 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 the hope of succeeding to his bed and crown. That 
 as he was sleeping in his garden, his custom always 
 in the afternoon, his treasonous brother stole upon 
 him in his sleep, and poured the juice of poisonous 
 henbane into his ears, which has such an antipathy 
 to the life of man, that swift as quicksilver it courses 
 through all the veins of the body, baking up the 
 blood, and spreading a crust-like leprosy all over the 
 skin : thus sleeping, by a brother's hand he was cut 
 off at once from his crown, his queen, and his life : 
 and he adjured Hamlet, if he did ever his dear 
 father love, that he would revenge his foul murder. 
 And the ghost lamented to his son, that his mother 
 should so fall off from virtue, as to prove false to 
 the wedded love of her first husband, and to marry 
 his murderer ; but he cautioned Hamlet, howsoever 
 he proceeded in his revenge against his wicked 
 uncle, by no means to act any violence against the 
 person of his mother, but to leave her to heaven, and 
 to the stings and thorns of conscience. And Hamlet 
 promised to observe the ghost's direction in all 
 things, and the ghost vanished. 
 
 And when Hamlet was left alone, he took up a 
 solemn resolution, that all he had in. his memory, 
 all that he had ever learned by books or observa- 
 tion, should be instantly forgotten by him, and 
 nothing live in his brain but the memory of what 
 the ghost had told him, and enjoined him to do. 
 And Hamlet related the particulars of the conversa- 
 tion which had passed to none but his dear friend 
 Horatio ; and he enjoined both to him and Mar- 
 cellus the strictest secrecy as to what they had seen 
 that night.
 
 HAMLET. 313 
 
 The terror which the sight of the ghost had left 
 upon the senses of Hamlet, he being weak and 
 dispirited before, almost unhinged his mind, and 
 drove him beside his reason. And he, fearing that 
 it would continue to have this effect, which might 
 subject him to observation, and set his uncle upon 
 his guard, if he suspected that he was meditating 
 anything against him, or that Hamlet really knew 
 more of his father's death than he professed, took 
 up a strange resolution, from that time to counter- 
 feit as if he were really and truly mad ; thinking 
 that he would be less an object of suspicion when 
 his uncle should believe him incapable of anyserious 
 project, and that his real perturbation of mind would 
 be best covered and pass concealed under a disguise 
 of pretended lunacy. 
 
 From this time Hamlet affected a certain wildness 
 and strangeness in his apparel, his speech, and be- 
 haviour, and did so excellently counterfeit the mad- 
 man, that the king and queen were both deceived, 
 and not thinking his grief for his father's death a 
 sufficent cause to produce such a distemper, for 
 they knew not of the appearance of the ghost, they 
 concluded that his malady was love, and they 
 thought they had found out the object. 
 
 Before Hamlet fell into the melancholy way 
 which has been related, he had dearly loved a fair 
 maid called Ophelia, the daughter of Polonius, the 
 king's chief counsellor in affairs of state. He had 
 sent her letters and rings, and made many tenders 
 of his affection to her, and importuned her with love 
 in honourable fashion : and she had given .belief to 
 his vows and importunities. But the melancholy
 
 314 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 which he fell into latterly had made him neglect 
 her, and from the time he conceived the project of 
 counterfeiting madness, he affected to treat her with 
 unkindness, and a sort of rudeness : but she, good 
 lady, rather than reproach him with being false to 
 her, persuaded herself that it was nothing but the 
 disease in his mind, and no settled unkindness, 
 which had made him less observant of her than for- 
 merly ; and she compared the faculties of his once 
 noble mind and excellent understanding, impaired 
 as they were with the deep melancholy that op- 
 pressed him, to sweet bells which in themselves are 
 capable of most exquisite music, but when jangled 
 out of tune, or rudely handled, produce only a 
 harsh and unpleasing sound. 
 
 Though the rough business which Hamlet had in 
 hand, the revenging of his father's death upon his 
 murderer, did not suit with the playful state of 
 courtship, or admit of the society of so idle a passion 
 as love now seemed to him, yet it could not hinder 
 but that soft thoughts of his Ophelia would come 
 between, and in one of these moments, when he 
 thought that his treatment of this gentle lady had 
 been unreasonably harsh, he wrote her a letter full 
 of wild starts of passion, and in extravagant terms, 
 such as agreed with his supposed madness, but 
 mixed with some gentle touches of affection, which 
 could not but show to this honoured lady that a deep 
 love for her yet lay at the bottom of his heart He 
 bade her to doubt the stars were fire, and to doubt 
 that the sun did move, to doubt truth to be a liar, 
 but never to doubt that he loved ; with more of 
 such extravagant phrases. This letter Ophelia duti-
 
 HAMLET. 315 
 
 fully showed to her father, and the old man thought 
 himself bound to communicate it to the king and 
 queen, who from that time supposed that the true 
 cause of Hamlet's madness was love. And the 
 queen wished that the good beauties of Ophelia 
 might be the happy cause of his wildness, for so she 
 hoped that her virtues might happily restore him 
 to his accustomed way again, to both their honours. 
 But Hamlet's malady lay deeper than she sup- 
 posed, or than could be so cured. His father's 
 ghost, which he had seen, still haunted his imagina- 
 tion, and the sacred injunction to revenge his mur- 
 der gave him no rest till it was accomplished. 
 Every hour of delay seemed to him a sin, and a 
 violation of his father's commands. Yet how to 
 compass the death of the king, surrounded as he 
 constantly was with his guards, was no easy matter. 
 Or if it had been, the presence of the queen, Ham- 
 let's mother, who was generally with the king, was 
 a restraint upon his purpose, which he could not 
 break through. Besides, the very circumstance 
 that the usurper was his mother's husband filled 
 him with some remorse, and still blunted the edge 
 of his purpose. The mere act of putting a fellow- 
 creature to death was in itself odious and terrible 
 to a disposition naturally so gentle as Hamlet's 
 was. His very melancholy, and the dejection of 
 spirits he had so long been in, produced an irre- 
 soluteness and wavering of purpose, which kept 
 him from proceeding to extremities. Moreover, 
 he could not help having some scruples upon his 
 mind, whether the spirit which he had seen was 
 indeed his father, or whether it might not be the
 
 3i6 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 devil who he had heard has power to take any 
 form he pleases, and who might have assumed his 
 father's shape only to take advantage of his weak- 
 ness and his melancholy, to drive him to the doing 
 of so desperate an act as murder. And he deter- 
 mined that he would have more certain grounds to 
 go upon than a vision, or apparition, which might 
 be a delusion. 
 
 While he was in this irresolute mind there came 
 to the court certain players, in whom Hamlet for- 
 merly used to take delight, and particularly to 
 hear one of them speak a tragical speech, describing 
 the death of old Priam, king of Troy, with the 
 grief of Hecuba his queen. Hamlet welcomed his 
 old friends, the players, and remembering how 
 that speech had formerly given him pleasure, 
 requested the player to repeat it ; which he did in 
 so lively a manner, setting forth the cruel murder 
 of the feeble old king, with the destruction of his 
 people and city by fire, and the mad grief of the 
 old queen, running barefoot up and down the 
 palace, with a poor clout upon that head where 
 a crown had been, and with nothing but a blanket 
 upon her loins, snatched up in haste, where she 
 had worn a royal robe ; that not only it drew tears 
 from all that stood by, who thought they saw the 
 real scene, so lively was it represented, but even the 
 player himself delivered it with a broken voice and 
 real tears. This put Hamlet upon thinking, if that 
 player could so work himself up to passion by a 
 mere fictitious speech, to weep for one that he 
 had never seen, for Hecuba, that had been dead 
 so many hundred years, how dull was he, who
 
 HAMLET. 317 
 
 having a real motive and cue for passion, a real 
 king and a dear father murdered, was yet so little 
 moved, that his revenge all this while had seemed 
 to have slept in dull and muddy forgetfulness ! and 
 while he meditated on actors and acting, and the 
 powerful effects which a good play, represented to 
 the life, has upon the spectator, he remembered 
 the instance of some murderer, who seeing a mur- 
 der on the stage, was by the mere force of the 
 scene and resemblance of circumstances so affected, 
 that on the spot he confessed the crime which he 
 had committed. And he determined that these 
 players should play something like the murder of 
 his father before his uncle, and he would watch 
 narrowly what effect it might have upon him, and 
 from his looks he would be able to gather with 
 more certainty if he were the murderer or not 
 To this effect he ordered a play to be prepared, to 
 the representation of which he invited the king and 
 queen. 
 
 The story of the play was of a murder done in 
 Vienna upon a duke. The duke's name was 
 Gonzago, his wife Baptista. The play showed how 
 one Lucianus, a near relation to the duke, poisoned 
 him in his garden for his estate, and how the 
 murderer in a short time after got the love of 
 Gonzago's wife. 
 
 At the representation of this play, the king, who 
 did not know the trap which was laid for him, was 
 present, with his queen and the whole court : Ham- 
 let sitting attentively near him to observe his looks. 
 The play began with a conversation between Gon- 
 zago and his wife, in which the lady made many
 
 3i8 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 protestations of love, and of never marrying a 
 second husband, if she should outlive Gonzago ; 
 wishing she might be accursed if she ever took a 
 second husband, and adding that no woman did 
 so, but those wicked women who kill their first 
 husbands. Hamlet observed the king his uncle 
 change colour at this expression, and that it was 
 as bad as wormwood both to him and to the queen. 
 But when Lucianus, according to the story, came to 
 poison Gonzago sleeping in the garden, the strong 
 resemblance which it bore to his own wicked act 
 upon the late king, his brother, whom he had 
 poisoned in his garden, so struck upon the con- 
 science of this usurper, that he was unable to sit 
 out the rest of the play, but on a sudden calling 
 for lights to his chamber, and affecting or partly 
 feeling a sudden sickness, he abruptly left the 
 theatre. The king being departed, the play was 
 given over. Now Hamlet had seen enough to be 
 satisfied that the words of the ghost were true, 
 and no illusion ; and in a fit of gaiety, like that 
 which comes over a man who suddenly has some 
 great doubt or scruple resolved, he swore to Hor- 
 atio, that he would take the ghost's word for a 
 thousand pounds. But before he could make up 
 his resolution as to what measures of revenge he 
 should take, now he was certainly informed that 
 his uncle was his father's murderer, he was sent 
 for by the queen, his mother, to a private conference 
 in her closet 
 
 It was by desire of the king that the queen sent 
 for Hamlet, that she might signify to her son how 
 much his late behaviour had displeased them both ;
 
 HAMLET. 319 
 
 and the king, wishing to know all that passed at 
 that conference, and thinking that the too partial 
 report of a mother might let slip some part of 
 Hamlet's words, which it might much import the 
 king to know, Polonius, the old counsellor of state, 
 was ordered to plant himself behind the hangings 
 in the queen's closet, where he might unseen hear 
 all that passed. This artifice was particularly 
 adapted to the disposition of Polonius, who was 
 a man grown old in crooked maxims and policies 
 of state, and delighted to get at the knowledge of 
 matters in an indirect and cunning way. 
 
 Hamlet being come to his mother, she began to 
 tax him in the roundest way with his actions and 
 behaviour, and she told him that he had given 
 great offence to his father, meaning the king, his 
 uncle, whom, because he had married her, she called 
 Hamlet's father. Hamlet, sorely indignant that 
 she should give so dear and honoured a name as 
 father seemed to him, to a wretch who was indeed 
 no better than the murderer of his true father, with 
 some sharpness replied, " Mother, you have much 
 offended my father" The queen said that was but 
 an idle answer. "As good as the question de- 
 served," said Hamlet The queen asked him if he 
 had forgotten who it was he was speaking to? 
 "Alas !" replied Hamlet, "I wish I could forget. 
 You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife ; 
 and you are my mother : I wish you were not what 
 you are." "Nay, then," said the queen, "if you 
 show me so little respect, I will set those to you 
 that can speak," and was going to send the king or 
 Polonius to him. But Hamlet would not let her
 
 320 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 go, now he had her alone, till he had tried if his 
 words could not bring her to some sense of her 
 wicked life ; and, taking her by the wrist, he held 
 her fast, and made her sit down. She, affrighted 
 at his earnest manner, and fearful lest in his lunacy 
 he should do her a mischief, cried out ; and a voice 
 was heard from behind the hangings, " Help, help, 
 the queen !" which Hamlet hearing, and verily 
 thinking that it was the king himself there con- 
 cealed, he drew his sword and stabbed at the place 
 where the voice came from, as he would have 
 stabbed a rat that ran there, till the voice ceasing, 
 he concluded the person to be dead. But when 
 he dragged forth the body, it was not the king, but 
 Polonius, the old officious counsellor, that had 
 planted himself as a spy behind the hangings. 
 " Oh me !" exclaimed the queen, " what a rash and 
 bloody deed have you done !" "A bloody deed, 
 mother," replied Hamlet, " but not so bad as yours, 
 who killed a king, and married his brother." 
 Hamlet had gone too far to leave off here. He 
 was now in the humour to speak plainly to his 
 mother, and he pursued it. And though the faults 
 of parents are to be tenderly treated by, their child- 
 ren, yet in the case of great crimes the son may 
 have leave to speak even to his own mother with 
 some harshness, so as that harshness is meant for 
 her good, and to turn her from her wicked ways, 
 and not done for the purpose of upbraiding. And 
 now this virtuous prince did in moving terms re- 
 present to the queen the heinousness of her offence, 
 in being so forgetful of the dead king, his father, as 
 in so short a space of time to marry with his brother
 
 HAMLET. 321 
 
 and reputed murderer : such an act as, after the 
 vows which she had sworn to her first husband, was 
 enough to make all vows of women suspected, and 
 all virtue to be accounted hypocrisy, wedding con- 
 tracts to be less than gamester's oaths, and religion 
 to be a mockery and a mere form of words. He 
 said she had done such a deed, that the heavens 
 blushed at it, and the earth was sick of her because 
 of it And he showed her two pictures, the one of 
 the late king, her first husband, and the other of the 
 present king, her second husband, and he bade her 
 mark the difference ; what a grace was on the brow 
 of his father, how like a god he looked ! the curls 
 of Apollo, the forehead of Jupiter, the eye of Mars, 
 and a posture like to Mercury newly alighted on 
 some heaven-kissing hill ! this man, he said, had 
 been her husband. And then he showed her whom 
 she had got in his stead : how like a blight or a 
 mildew he looked, for so he had blasted his whole- 
 some brother. And the queen was sore ashamed 
 that he should so turn her eyes inward upon her 
 soul, which she now saw so black and deformed. 
 And he asked her how she could continue to live 
 with this man, and be a wife to him, who had 
 murdered her first husband, and got the crown by 
 
 as false means as a thief and just as he 
 
 spoke, the ghost of his father, such as he was in his 
 lifetime, and such as he had lately seen it, entered 
 the room, and Hamlet, in great terror, asked what 
 it would have ; and the ghost said that it came 
 to remind him of the revenge he had promised, 
 which Hamlet seemed to have forgot; and the 
 ghost bade him speak to his mother, for the grief 
 y
 
 322 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 and terror she was in would else kill her. It then 
 vanished, and was seen by none but Hamlet, neither 
 could he by pointing to where it stood, or by any 
 description, make his mother perceive it ; who was 
 terribly frightened all this while to hear him con- 
 versing, as it seemed to her, with nothing ; and she 
 imputed it to the disorder of his mind But Ham- 
 let begged her not to flatter her wicked soul in 
 such a manner as to think that it was his madness, 
 and not her own offences, which had brought his 
 father's spirit again on the earth. And he bade 
 her feel his pulse, how temperately it beat, not like 
 a madman's. And he begged of her with tears, to 
 confess herself to heaven for what was past, and 
 for the future to avoid the company of the king, 
 and be no more as a wife to him : and when she 
 should show herself a mother to him, by respecting 
 his father's memory, he would ask a blessing of 
 her as a son. And she promising to observe his 
 directions, the conference ended. 
 
 And now Hamlet was at leisure to consider who 
 it was that in his unfortunate rashness he had 
 killed : and when he came to see that it was Po- 
 lonius, the father of the lady Ophelia, whom he so 
 dearly loved, he drew apart the dead body, and, 
 his spirits being now a little quieter, he wept for 
 what he had done. 
 
 The unfortunate death of Polonius gave the king 
 a pretence for sending Hamlet out of the kingdom. 
 He would willingly have put him to death, fearing 
 him as dangerous ; but he dreaded the people, who 
 loved Hamlet, and the queen, who, with all her 
 faults, doted upon the prince, her son. So this
 
 HAMLET. - 323 
 
 subtle king, under pretence of providing for Ham- 
 let's safety, that he might not be called to account 
 for Polonius' death, caused him to be conveyed on 
 board a ship bound for England, under the care of 
 two courtiers, by whom he despatched letters to 
 the English court, which in that time was in sub- 
 jection and paid tribute to Denmark, requiring for 
 special reasons there pretended, that Hamlet should 
 be put to death as soon as he landed on English 
 ground. Hamlet, suspecting some treachery, in 
 the night-time secretly got at the letters, and skil- 
 fully erasing his own name, he in the stead of it 
 put in the names of those two courtiers, who had 
 the charge of him, to be put to death : then sealing 
 up the letters, he put them into their place again. 
 Soon after the ship was attacked by pirates, and a 
 sea-fight commenced; in the course of which 
 Hamlet, desirous to show his valour, with sword 
 in hand singly boarded the enemy's vessel ; while 
 his own ship, in a cowardly manner, bore away, 
 and leaving him to his fate, the two courtiers made 
 the best of their way to England, charged with 
 those letters the sense of which Hamlet had altered 
 to their own deserved destruction. 
 
 The pirates, who had the prince in their power, 
 showed themselves gentle enemies ; and knowing 
 whom they had got prisoner, in the hope that the 
 prince might do them a good turn at court in re- 
 compense for any favour they might show him, 
 they set Hamlet on shore at the nearest port in 
 Denmark. From that place Hamlet wrote to the 
 king, acquainting him with the strange chance 
 which had brought him back to his own country,
 
 324 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 and saying that on the next day he should present 
 himself before his majesty. When he got home, 
 a sad spectacle offered itself the first thing to 
 his eyes. 
 
 This was the funeral of the young and beautiful 
 Ophelia, his once dear mistress. The wits of this 
 young lady had begun to turn ever since her poor 
 father's death. That he should die a violent death, 
 and by the hands of the prince whom she loved, so 
 affected this tender young maid, that in a little time 
 she grew perfectly distracted, and would go about 
 giving flowers away to the ladies of the court, and 
 saying that they were for her father's burial, sing- 
 ing songs about love and about death, and some- 
 times such as had no meaning at all, as if she had 
 no memory of what happened to her. There was 
 a willow which grew slanting over a brook, and re- 
 flected its leaves on the stream. To this brook she 
 came one day when she was unwatched, with gar- 
 lands she had been making, mixed up of daisies 
 and nettles, flowers and weeds together, and clamber- 
 ing up to hang her garland upon the boughs of the 
 willow, a bough broke, and precipitated this fair 
 young maid, garland, and all that she had gathered, 
 into the water, where her clothes bore her up for 
 a while, during which she chanted scraps of old 
 tunes, like one insensible to her own distress, or as 
 if she were a creature natural to that element : but 
 long it was not before her garments, heavy with the 
 wet, pulled her in from her melodious singing to a 
 muddy and miserable death. It was the funeral of 
 this fair maid which her brother Laertes was cele- 
 brating, the king and queen and whole court being
 
 HAMLET. 325 
 
 present, when Hamlet arrived. He knew not what 
 all this show imported, but stood on one side, not 
 inclining to interrupt the ceremony. He saw the 
 flowers strewed upon her grave, as the custom was 
 in maiden burials, which the queen herself threw 
 in ; and as she threw them she said, " Sweets to 
 the sweet ! I thought to have decked thy bride- 
 bed, sweet maid, not to have strewed thy grave. 
 Thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife." And 
 he heard her brother wish that violets might spring 
 from her grave : and he saw him leap into the grave 
 all frantic with grief, and bid the attendants pile 
 mountains of earth upon him, that he might be 
 buried with her. And Hamlet's love for this fair 
 maid came back to him, and he could not bear 
 that a brother should show so much transport of 
 grief, for he thought that he loved Ophelia better 
 than forty thousand brothers. Then discovering 
 himself, he leaped into the grave where Laertes was, 
 all as frantic or more frantic than he, and Laertes 
 knowing him to be Hamlet, who had been the cause 
 of his father's and his sister's death, grappled him 
 by the throat as an enemy, till the attendants parted 
 them : and Hamlet, after the funeral, excused his 
 hasty act in throwing himself into the grave as if 
 to brave Laertes ; but he said he could not bear 
 that any one should seem to outgo him in grief for 
 the death of the fair Ophelia. And for the time 
 these two noble youths seemed reconciled. 
 
 But out of the grief and anger of Laertes for the 
 death of his father and Ophelia, the king, Hamlet's 
 wicked uncle, contrived destruction for Hamlet 
 He set on Laertes, under cover of peace and re-
 
 326 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 conciliation, to challenge Hamlet to a friendly trial 
 of skill at fencing, which Hamlet accepting, a day 
 was appointed to try the match. At this match all 
 the court was present, and Laertes, by direction of 
 the king, prepared a poisoned weapon. Upon this 
 match great wagers were laid by the courtiers, as 
 both Hamlet and Laertes were known to excel at 
 this sword play ; and Hamlet taking up the foils 
 chose one, not at all suspecting the treachery of 
 Laertes, or being careful to examine Laertes' wea- 
 pon, who, instead of a foil or blunted sword, which 
 the laws of fencing require, made use of one with 
 a point, and poisoned. At first Laertes did but 
 play with Hamlet, and suffered him to gain some 
 advantages, which the dissembling king magnified 
 and extolled beyond measure, drinking to Hamlet's 
 success, and wagering rich bets upon the issue : 
 but after a few pauses, Laertes growing warm made 
 a deadly thrust at Hamlet with his poisoned weapon, 
 and gave him a mortal blow. Hamlet incensed, but 
 not knowing the whole of the treachery, in the scuffle 
 exchanged his own innocent weapon for Laertes' 
 deadly one, and with a thrust of Laertes' own sword 
 repaid Laertes home, who was thus justly caught 
 in his own treachery. In this instant the queen 
 shrieked out that she was poisoned. She had in- 
 advertently drunk out of a bowl which the king 
 had prepared for Hamlet, in case, that being warm 
 in fencing, he should call for drink : into this the 
 treacherous king had infused a deadly poison, to 
 make sure of Hamlet, if Laertes had failed. He 
 had forgotten to warn the queen of the bowl, which 
 she drank of, and immediately died, exclaim- 
 ing with her last breath that she was poisoned
 
 HAMLET. 327 
 
 Hamlet, suspecting some treachery, ordered the 
 doors to be shut, while he sought it out. Laertes 
 told him to seek no farther, for he was the traitor ; 
 and feeling his life go away with the wound which 
 Hamlet had given him, he made confession of the 
 treachery he had used, and how he had fallen a 
 victim to it : and he told Hamlet of the envenomed 
 point, and said that Hamlet had not half an hour 
 to live, for no medicine could cure him ; and beg- 
 ging forgiveness of Hamlet, he died, with his last 
 words accusing the king of being the contriver of 
 the mischief. When Hamlet saw his end draw 
 near, there being yet some venom left upon the 
 sword, he suddenly turned upon his false uncle, 
 and thrust the point of it to his heart, fulfilling the 
 promise which he had made to his father's spirit, 
 whose injunction was now accomplished, and his 
 foul murder revenged upon the murderer. Then 
 Hamlet, feeling his breath fail and life departing, 
 turned to his dear friend Horatio, who had been spec- 
 tator of this fatal tragedy ; and with his dying breath 
 requested him that he would live to tell his story 
 to the world (for Horatio had made a motion as if 
 he would slay himself to accompany the prince in 
 death), and Horatio promised that he would make a 
 true report, as one that was privy to all the circum- 
 stances. And, thus satisfied, the noble heart of 
 Hamlet cracked \ and Horatio and the bystanders 
 with many tears commended the spirit of this sweet 
 prince to the guardianship of angels. For Hamlet 
 was a loving and a gentle prince, and greatly beloved 
 for his many noble and princelike qualities ; and if 
 he had lived, would no doubt have proved a most 
 royal and complete king to Denmark.
 
 OTHELLO. 
 
 "ORABANTIO, the rich senator of Venice, had a 
 -L' fair daughter, the gentle Desdemona. She 
 was sought to by divers suitors, both on account 
 of her many virtuous qualities, and for her rich 
 expectations. But among the suitors of her own 
 clime and complexion, she saw none whom she 
 could affect : for this noble lady, who regarded the 
 mind more than the features of men, with a singu- 
 larity rather to be admired than imitated, had 
 chosen for the object of her affections, a Moor, a 
 black, whom her father loved, and often invited to 
 his house. 
 
 Neither is Desdemona to be altogether con- 
 demned for the unsuitableness of the person whom 
 she selected for her lover. Bating that Othello was 
 black, the noble Moor wanted nothing which might 
 recommend him to the affections of the greatest 
 lady. He was a soldier, and a brave one; and 
 by his conduct in bloody wars against the Turks, 
 had risen to the rank of general in the Venetian 
 service, and was esteemed and trusted by the 
 state. 
 
 He had been a traveller, and Desdemona (as is 
 the manner of ladies) loved to hear him tell the
 
 OTHELLO. 329 
 
 story of his adventures, which he would run through 
 from his earliest recollection ; the battles, sieges, 
 and encounters, which he had passed through ; the 
 perils he had been exposed to by land and by 
 water ; his hair-breadth escapes, when he had 
 entered a breach, or marched up to the mouth of 
 a cannon ; and how he had been taken prisoner 
 by the insolent enemy, and sold to slavery ; how 
 he demeaned himself in that state, and how he 
 escaped : all these accounts, added to the narration 
 of the strange things he had seen in foreign coun- 
 tries, the vast wilderness and romantic caverns, the 
 quarries, the rocks and mountains, whose heads are 
 in the clouds ; of the savage nations, the cannibals 
 who are man-eaters, and a race of people in Africa 
 whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders : these 
 travellers' stories would so enchain the attention of 
 Desdemona, that if she were called off at any 
 time by household affairs, she would despatch with 
 all haste that business, and return, and with a greedy 
 ear devour Othello's discourse. And once he took 
 advantage of a pliant hour, and drew from her a 
 prayer, that he would tell her the whole story of 
 his life at large, of which she had heard so much, 
 but only by parts : to which he consented, and be- 
 guiled her of many a tear, when he spoke of some 
 distressful stroke which his youth had suffered. 
 
 His story being done, she gave him for his pains 
 a world of sighs : she swore a pretty oath, that it 
 was all passing strange, and pitiful, wondrous piti- 
 ful : she wished (she said) she had not heard it, 
 yet she wished that heaven had made her such a 
 man ; and then she thanked him, and told him, if
 
 330 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 he had a friend who loved her, he had only to teach 
 him how to tell his story, and that would woo her. 
 Upon this hint, delivered not with more frankness 
 than modesty, accompanied with certain bewitching 
 prettiness, and blushes, which Othello could not 
 but understand, he spoke more openly of his love, 
 and in this golden opportunity gained the consent 
 of the generous lady Desdemona privately to marry 
 him. 
 
 Neither Othello's colour nor his fortune were 
 such that it could be hoped Brabantio would accept 
 him for a son-in-law. He had left his daughter 
 free; but he did expect that, as the manner of 
 noble Venetian ladies was, she would choose ere 
 long a husband of senatorial rank or expectations ; 
 but in this he was deceived ; Desdemona loved the 
 Moor, though he was black, and devoted her heart 
 and fortunes to his valiant parts and qualities; so 
 was her heart subdued to an implicit devotion to 
 the man she had selected for a husband, that his 
 very colour, which to all but this discerning lady 
 would have proved an insurmountable objection, 
 was by her esteemed above all the white skins and 
 clear complexions of the young Venetian nobility, 
 her suitors. 
 
 Their marriage, which, though privately carried, 
 could not long be kept a secret, came to the ears 
 of the old man, Brabantio, who appeared in a 
 solemn council of the senate, as an accuser of the 
 Moor Othello, who by spells and witchcraft (he 
 maintained) had seduced the affections of the fair 
 Desdemona to marry him, without the consent 
 of her father, and against the obligations of 
 hospitality.
 
 OTHELLO. 331 
 
 At this juncture of time it happened that the 
 state of Venice had immediate need of the services 
 of Othello, news having arrived that the Turks with 
 mighty preparation had fitted out a fleet, which 
 was bending its course to the island of Cyprus, with 
 intent to regain that strong post from the Venetians, 
 who then held it ; in this emergency the state turned 
 its eyes upon Othello, who alone was deemed ade- 
 quate to conduct the defence of Cyprus against the 
 Turks. So that Othello, now summoned before 
 the senate, stood in their presence at once as a 
 candidate for a great state employment, and as a 
 culprit, charged with offences which by the laws of 
 Venice were made capital. 
 
 The age and senatorial character of old Brabantio, 
 commanded a most patient hearing from that grave 
 assembly ; but the incensed father conducted his 
 accusation with so much intemperance, producing 
 likelihoods and allegations for proofs, that, when 
 Othello was called upon for his defence, he had only 
 to relate a plain tale of the course of his love ; which 
 he did with such an artless eloquence, recounting 
 the whole story of his wooing, as we have related it 
 above, and delivered his speech with so noble a 
 plainness (the evidence of truth), that the duke, 
 who sat as chief judge, could not help confessing 
 that a tale so told would have won his daughter 
 too : and the spells and conjurations which Othello 
 had used in his courtship, plainly appeared to have 
 been no more than the honest arts of men in love ; 
 and the only witchcraft which he had used, the 
 faculty of telling a soft tale to win a lady's ear. 
 
 This statement of Othello was confirmed by the
 
 332 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 testimony of the lady Desdemona herself, who ap- 
 peared in court, and professing a duty to her father 
 for life and education, challenged leave of him to 
 profess a yet higher duty to her lord and husband, 
 even so much as her mother had shown in preferring 
 him (Brabantio) above her father. 
 
 The old senator, unable to maintain his plea, called 
 the Moor to him with many expressions of sorrow, 
 and, as an act of necessity, bestowed upon him his 
 daughter, whom, if he had been free to withhold 
 her (he told him), he would with all his heart have 
 kept from him ; adding, that he was glad at soul that 
 he had no other child, for this behaviour of Desde- 
 mona would have taught him to be a tyrant, and 
 hang clogs on them for her desertion. 
 
 This difficulty being got over, Othello, to whom 
 custom had rendered the hardships of a military life 
 as natural as food and rest are to other men, readily 
 undertook the management of the wars in Cyprus : 
 and Desdemona, preferring the honour of her lord 
 (though with danger) before the indulgence of 
 those idle delights in which new-married people 
 usually waste their time, cheerfully consented to his 
 going. 
 
 No sooner were Othello and his lady landed in 
 Cyprus, than news arrived, that a desperate tempest 
 had dispersed the Turkish fleet, and thus the island 
 was secure from any immediate apprehension of an 
 attack. But the war, which Othello was to suffer, 
 was now beginning ; and the enemies, which malice 
 stirred up against his innocent lady, proved in their 
 nature more deadly than strangers or infidels. 
 
 Among all the general's friends no one possessed
 
 OTHELLO 333 
 
 the confidence of Othello more entirely than Cassio. 
 Michael Cassio was a young soldier, a Florentine, 
 gay, amorous, and of pleasing address, favourite 
 qualities with women ; he was handsome and elo- 
 quent, and exactly such a person as might alarm the 
 jealousy of a man advanced in years (as Othello in 
 some measure was), who had married a young and 
 beautiful wife ; but Othello was as free from jealousy 
 as he was noble, and as incapable of suspecting as 
 of doing a base actioa He had employed this 
 Cassio in his love affair with Desdemona, and Cassio 
 had been a sort of go-between in his suit : for 
 Othello, fearing that himself had not those soft parts 
 of conversation which please ladies, and finding 
 these qualities in his friend, would often depute 
 Cassio to go (as he phrased it) a courting for him : 
 such innocent simplicity being rather an honour than 
 a blemish to the character of the valiant Moor. So 
 that no wonder, if next to Othello himself (but at 
 far distance, as beseems a virtuous wife) the gentle 
 Desdemona loved and trusted Cassio. Nor had 
 the marriage of this couple made any difference in 
 their behaviour to Michael Cassio. He frequented 
 their house, and his free and rattling talk was no 
 unpleasing variety to Othello, who was himself of a 
 more serious temper: for such tempers are observed 
 often to delight in their contraries, as a relief from 
 the oppressive excess of their own: and Desdemona 
 and Cassio would talk and laugh together, as in the 
 days when he went a courting for his friend. 
 
 Othello had lately promoted Cassio to be the 
 lieutenant, a place of trust, and nearest to the 
 general's person. This promotion gave great offence
 
 334 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 to lago, an older officer who thought he had a 
 better claim than Cassio, and would often ridicule 
 Cassio as a fellow fit only for the company of ladies, 
 and one that knew no more of the art of war or 
 how to set an army in array for battle, than a girl, 
 lago hated Cassio, and he hated Othello, as well 
 for favouring Cassio, as for an unjust suspicion, which 
 he had lightly taken up against Othello, that the 
 Moor was too fond of lago's wife Emilia. From 
 these imaginary provocations, the plotting mind of 
 lago conceived a horrid scheme of revenge, which 
 should involve both Cassio, the Moor, and Desde- 
 mona, in one common ruin. 
 
 lago was artful, and had studied human nature 
 deeply, and "he knew that of all the torments which 
 afflict the mind of man (and far beyond bodily 
 torture), the pains of jealousy were the most intole- 
 rable, and had the sorest sting. If he could succeed 
 in making Othello jealous of Cassio, he thought it 
 would be an exquisite plot of revenge, and might 
 end in the death of Cassio or Othello, or both ; he 
 cared not. 
 
 The arrival of the general and his lady, in Cyprus, 
 meeting with the news of the dispersion of the 
 enemy's fleet, made a sort of holiday in the island. 
 Everybody gave themselves up to feasting and mak- 
 ing merry. Wine flowed in abundance, and cups 
 went round to the health of the black Othello, and 
 his lady the fair Desdemona, 
 
 Cassio had the direction of the guard that night, 
 with a charge from Othello to keep the soldiers 
 from excess in drinking, that no brawl might arise, 
 to fright the inhabitants, or disgust them with the
 
 OTHELLO. 335 
 
 new-landed forces. That night lago began his deep- 
 laid plans of mischief : under colour of loyalty and 
 love to the general, he enticed Cassio to make rather 
 too free with the bottle (a great fault in an officer 
 upon guard). Cassio for a time resisted, but he 
 could not long hold out against the honest freedom 
 which lago knew how to put on, but kept swallow- 
 ing glass after glass (as lago still plied him with 
 drink and encouraging songs), and Cassio's tongue 
 ran over in praise of the lady Desdemona, whom he 
 again and again toasted, affirming that she was a 
 most exquisite lady : until at last the enemy which 
 he put into his mouth stole away his brains ; and 
 upon some provocation given him by a fellow whom 
 lago had set on, swords were drawn, and Montano, 
 a worthy officer, who interfered to appease the dis- 
 pute, was wounded in the scuffle. The riot now 
 began to be general, and lago, who had set on foot 
 the mischief, was foremost in spreading the alarm, 
 causing the castle-bell to be rung (as if some dan- 
 gerous mutiny instead of a slight drunken quarrel 
 had arisen) : the alarm-bell ringing awakened 
 Othello, who, dressing in a hurry, and coming to 
 the scene of action, questioned Cassio of the cause. 
 Cassio was now come to himself, the effect of the 
 wine having a little gone off, but was too much 
 ashamed to reply ; and lago, pretending a great 
 reluctance to accuse Cassio, but, as it were, forced 
 into it by Othello, who insisted to know the truth, 
 gave an account of the whole matter (leaving out 
 his own share in it, which Cassio was too far gone 
 to remember) in such a manner, as while he seemed 
 to make Cassio's offence less, did indeed make it
 
 336 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 appear greater than it was. The result was, that 
 Othello, who was a strict observer of discipline, was 
 compelled to take away Cassio's place of lieutenant 
 from him. 
 
 Thus did lago's first artifice succeed completely ; 
 he had now undermined his hated rival, and thrust 
 him out of his place : but a further use was hereafter 
 to be made of the adventure of this disastrous night. 
 
 Cassio, whom this misfortune had entirely sobered, 
 now lamented to his seeming friend lago that he 
 should have been such a fool as to transform him- 
 self into a beast. He was undone, for how could he 
 ask the general for his place again ? he would tell 
 him he was a drunkard. He despised himself, 
 lago, affecting to make light of it, said, that he, or 
 any man living, might be drunk upon occasion ; it 
 remained now to make the best of a bad bargain ; 
 the general's wife was now the general, and could 
 do anything with Othello ; that he were best to ap- 
 ply to the lady Desdemona to mediate for him with 
 her lord ; that she was of a frank, obliging disposi- 
 tion, and would readily undertake a good office of 
 this sort, and set Cassio right again in the general's 
 favour ; and then this crack in their love would be 
 made stronger than ever. A good advice of lago, if 
 it had not been given for wicked purposes, which 
 will after appear. 
 
 Cassio did as lago advised him, and made appli- 
 cation to the lady Desdemona, who was easy to be 
 won over in any honest suit; and she promised 
 Cassio that she should be his solicitor with her lord, 
 and rather die than give up his cause. This she 
 immediately set about in so earnest and pretty a
 
 OTHELLO. 337 
 
 manner, that Othello, who was mortally offended 
 with Cassio, could not put her off. When he pleaded 
 delay, and that it was too soon to pardon such an 
 offender, she would not be beat back, but insisted 
 that it should be the next night, or the morning 
 after, or the next morning to that at farthest. Then 
 she showed how penitent and humbled poor Cassio 
 was, and that his offence did not deserve so sharp a 
 check. And when Othello still hung back, " What ! 
 my lord," said she, " that I should have so much to 
 do to plead for Cassio, Michael Cassio, that came a 
 courting for you, and oftentimes, when I have spoken 
 in dispraise of you, has taken your part ! I count 
 this but a little thing to ask of you. When I mean 
 to try your love indeed, I shall ask a weighty matter." 
 Othello could deny nothing to such a pleader, and 
 only requesting that Desdemona would leave the 
 time to him, promised to receive Michael Cassio 
 again in favour. 
 
 It happened that Othello and lago had entered 
 into the room where Desdemona was, just as Cassio, 
 who had been imploring her intercession, was de- 
 parting at the opposite door : and lago, who was 
 full of art, said in a low voice, as if to himself, " I 
 like not that." Othello took no great notice of 
 what he said ; indeed, the conference which imme- 
 diately took place with his lady put it out of his 
 head ; but he remembered it afterwards. For when 
 Desdemona was gone, lago, as if for mere satisfac- 
 tion of his thought, questioned Othello whether 
 Michael Cassio, when Othello was courting his lady, 
 knew of his love. To this the general answering in 
 the affirmative, and adding, that he had gone be- 
 z
 
 338 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 tween them very often during the courtship, lago 
 knitted his brow, as if he had got fresh light on 
 some terrible matter, and cried, "Indeed !" This 
 brought into Othello's mind the words which lago 
 had let fall upon entering the room, and seeing Cassio 
 with Desdemona ; and he began to think there was 
 some meaning in all this : for he deemed lago to be 
 a just man, and full of love and honesty, and what in 
 a false knave would be tricks, in him seemed to be 
 the natural workings of an honest mind, big with 
 something too great for utterance : and Othello 
 prayed lago to speak what he knew, and to give his 
 worst thoughts words. "And what," said lago, 
 " if some thoughts very vile should have intruded 
 into my breast, as where is the palace into which 
 foul things do not enter ? " Then lago went on to 
 say, what a pity it were, if any trouble should arise 
 to Othello out of his imperfect observations ; that it 
 would not be for Othello's peace to know his 
 thoughts ; that people's good names were not to be 
 taken away for slight suspicions ; and when Othel- 
 lo's curiosity was raised almost to distraction with 
 these hints and scattered words, lago, as if in 
 earnest care for Othello's peace of mind, besought 
 him to beware of jealousy : with such art did this 
 villain raise suspicions in the unguarded Othello, by 
 the very caution which he pretended to give him 
 against suspicion. " I know," said Othello, " that 
 my wife is fair, loves company and feasting, is free 
 of speech, sings, plays, and dances well : but where 
 virtue is, these qualities are virtuous. I must have 
 proof before I think her dishonest." Then lago, as 
 if glad that Othello was slow to believe ill of his
 
 OTHELLO. 339 
 
 lady, frankly declared that he had no proof, but 
 
 begged Othello to observe her behaviour well, when 
 
 Cassio was by ; not to be jealous nor too secure 
 
 neither, for that he (lago) knew the dispositions of 
 
 the Italian ladies, his countrywomen, better than 
 
 Othello could do ; and that in Venice the wives let 
 
 heaven see many pranks they dared not show their 
 
 husbands. Then he artfully insinuated that Des- 
 
 demona deceived her father in marrying with 
 
 Othello, and carried it so closely, that the poor old 
 
 man thought that witchcraft had been used. Othello 
 
 was much moved with this argument, which brought 
 
 the matter home to him, for if she had deceived 
 
 her father, why might she not deceive her husband? 
 
 lago begged pardon for having moved him ; but 
 
 Othello, assuming an indifference, while he was 
 
 really shaken with inward grief at lago's words, 
 
 begged him to go on, which lago did with many 
 
 apologies, as if unwilling to produce anything 
 
 against Cassio, whom he called his friend : he then 
 
 came strongly to the point, and reminded Othello 
 
 how Desdemona had refused many suitable matches 
 
 of her own clime and complexion, and had married 
 
 him, a Moor, which showed unnatural in her, and 
 
 proved her to have a headstrong will ; and when 
 
 her better judgment returned, how probable it was 
 
 she should fall upon comparing Othello with the 
 
 fine forms and clear white complexions of the 
 
 young Italians her countrymen. He concluded 
 
 with advising Othello to put off his reconcilement 
 
 with Cassio a little longer, and in the meanwhile 
 
 to note with what earnestness Desdemona should 
 
 intercede in his behalf; for that much would be
 
 340 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 seen in that. So mischievously did this artful 
 villain lay his plots to turn the gentle qualities of 
 this innocent lady into her destruction, and make 
 a net for her out of her own goodness to entrap 
 her : first setting Cassio on to entreat her media- 
 tion, and then out of that very mediation contriving 
 stratagems for her ruin. 
 
 The conference ended with lago's begging 
 Othello to account his wife innocent, until he had 
 more decisive proof; and Othello promised to be 
 patient; but from that moment the deceived 
 Othello never tasted content of mind. Poppy, 
 nor the juice of mandragora, nor all the sleeping 
 potions in the world, could ever again restore to 
 him that sweet rest, which he had enjoyed but 
 yesterday. His occupation sickened upon him. 
 He no longer took delight in arms. His heart, 
 that used to be roused at the sight of troops, and 
 banners, and battle-array, and would stir and leap 
 at the sound of a drum, or a trumpet, or a neigh- 
 ing war-horse, seemed to have lost all that pride 
 and ambition which are a soldier's virtue ; and his 
 military ardour and all his old joys forsook him. 
 Sometimes he thought his wife honest, and at times 
 he thought her not so ; sometimes he thought lago 
 just, and at times he thought him not so ; then he 
 would wish that he had never known of it ; he was 
 not the worse for her loving Cassio, so long as he 
 knew it not : torn to pieces with these distracting 
 thoughts, he once laid hold on lago's throat, and 
 demanded proof of Desdemona's guilt, or threatened 
 instant death for his having belied her. lago, 
 feigning indignation that his honesty should be
 
 OTHELLO. 341 
 
 taken for a vice, asked Othello, if he had not some- 
 times seen a handkerchief spotted with strawberries 
 in his wife's hand. Othello answered, that he had 
 given her such a one, and that it was his first gift. 
 " That same handkerchief," said lago, " did I see 
 Michael Cassio this day wipe his face with." " If 
 it be as you say," said Othello, " I will not rest till 
 a wide revenge swallow them up : and first, for a 
 token of your fidelity, I expect that Cassio shall be 
 put to death within three days ; and for that fair 
 devil (meaning his lady), I will withdraw and devise 
 some swift means of death for her." 
 
 Trifles light as air are to the jealous proofs as 
 strong as holy writ. A handkerchief of his wife's 
 seen in Cassio's hand, was motive enough to the 
 deluded Othello to pass sentence of death upon 
 them both, without once inquiring how Cassio 
 came by it Desdemona had never given such a 
 present to Cassio, nor would this constant lady have 
 wronged her lord with doing so naughty a thing 
 as giving his presents to another man ; both Cassio 
 and Desdemona were innocent of any offence 
 against Othello : but the wicked lago, whose spirits 
 never slept in contrivance of villany, had made his 
 wife (a good, but a weak woman) steal this hand- 
 kerchief from Desdemona, under pretence of getting 
 the work copied, but in reality to drop it in Cassio's 
 way, where he might find it, and give a handle to 
 lago's suggestion that it was Desdemona's present. 
 
 Othello, soon after meeting his wife, pretended 
 that he had a headache (as he might indeed with 
 truth), and desired her to lend him her handker- 
 chief to hold to his temples. She did so. " Not
 
 342 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 this," said Othello, " but that handkerchief I gave 
 you." Desdemona had it not about her (for indeed 
 it was stolen, as we have related). " How?" said 
 Othello, "this is a fault indeed. That handker- 
 chief an Egyptian woman gave to my mother ; the 
 woman was a witch and could read people's 
 thoughts : she told my mother, while she kept it, 
 it would make her amiable, and my father would 
 love her ; but, if she lost it, or gave it away, my 
 father's fancy would turn, and he would loathe her 
 as much as he had loved her. She dying gave it to 
 me, and bade me, if I ever married, to give it to 
 my wife. I did so ; take heed of it. Make it a 
 darling as precious as your eye." " Is it possible ?" 
 said the frighted lady. " 'Tis true ;" continued 
 Othello ; " it is a magical handkerchief; a sibyl that 
 had lived in the world two hundred years, in a fit 
 of prophetic fury worked it ; the silkworms that 
 furnished the silk were hallowed, and it was dyed in 
 a mummy of maidens' hearts conserved." Desde- 
 mona, hearing the wondrous virtues of the hand- 
 kerchief, was ready to die with fear, for she plainly 
 perceived she had lost it, and with it, she feared, 
 the affections of her husband. Then Othello 
 started, and looked as if he were going to do some 
 rash thing, and still he demanded the handkerchief, 
 which when she could not produce, she tried to 
 divert her husband from too serious thoughts, and 
 cheerfully told him she saw all his talk about 
 the handkerchief was only to put her off from her 
 suit about Michael Cassio, whom she went on to 
 praise (as lago had foretold), till Othello in perfect 
 distraction burst out of the room, and then Desde-
 
 OTHELLO. 343 
 
 mona, though unwillingly, began to suspect that her 
 lord was jealous. 
 
 What cause she could have ministered to him 
 she knew not, and then she accused herself for 
 accusing the noble Othello, and thought to be sure 
 that some untoward news from Venice, or some 
 state troubles had puddled his spirits, and made 
 his temper not so sweet as formerly. And she said, 
 " Men are not gods, and we must not look for that 
 observance from them when they are married, which 
 they show us on the bridal day." And she be- 
 shrewed herself for so unkindly judging of his 
 unkindness. 
 
 Again Othello and Desdemona met, and he ac- 
 cused her more plainly of being unfaithful, and of 
 loving another man, but he did not name whom : 
 and Othello wept, and Desdemona said, " Alas ! 
 the heavy day ! why do you weep ?" And Othello 
 told her, he could have borne all sorts of evils 
 with fortitude poverty, and disease, and disgrace ; 
 but her infidelity had broken his heart : and he 
 called her a weed, that looked so fair, and smelled 
 so sweet, that the sense ached at it ; and wished 
 she had never been born. And when he had left 
 her, this innocent lady was so stupefied with wonder 
 at her lord's untrue suspicion of her, that a weight- 
 like sleep came over her, and she only desired her 
 attendant to make her bed, and to lay her wedding- 
 sheets upon it, saying, that when people teach their 
 babes, they do it by gentle means and easy tasks, 
 and Othello might have chid her so ; for in good 
 faith she was but a child when she was chidden. 
 And this was all the complaint which this gentle 
 lady made.
 
 344 TALES FROM SHAKSBEARE. 
 
 Desdemona being retired to bed expecting her 
 lord would follow her, soon fell into a slumber, the 
 effect of her troubled spirits, when Othello entered 
 the chamber, full of the black purpose which he 
 had meditated of putting his lady to death. But 
 when he saw her asleep, he thought he would not 
 shed her blood, nor scar that white skin of hers, 
 more white than alabaster. But he was resolved 
 she should die ; else (as he said) she would live to 
 betray more men, as she had done him. Then 
 he kissed her for the last time (as he said), and 
 that kiss was so sweet, that he must needs kiss her 
 again : and he wept, but he said they were cruel 
 tears. 
 
 Desdemona was awakened with his kisses, and 
 she looked upon Othello, and she saw him gnaw 
 his under lip, and roll his eyes, and she knew he 
 was always fatal when he looked so : and he bade 
 her prepare for death, and to say her prayers, for 
 he would not kill her soul And this innocent 
 wife, as she lay at his mercy, begged for compas- 
 sion, and to know her fault, and then he named 
 Cassio, and the handkerchief which (he said) she 
 had given him ; and as the guiltless lady was pro- 
 ceeding to clear herself he suddenly would hear no 
 more, but covering her up in the bed-clothes, stifled 
 her till she died. 
 
 In this instant of time was brought into the house 
 Cassio, wounded and bleeding, whom lago had set 
 one of his creatures on to assassinate; but the 
 fellow not succeeding in his attempt to kill Cassio 
 (whom he wounded, but not mortally), and being 
 himself killed by lago to prevent discovery, in his
 
 OTHELLO. 345 
 
 pockets were found certain letters, which made the 
 guilt of lago, and the innocence of Cassio, clear 
 beyond all doubt ; and Cassio now came to beg 
 pardon of Othello, and to ask wherein he had 
 offended him, that he had employed lago to murder 
 him. 
 
 This discovery was as a thunderstroke to Othello, 
 who now plainly saw that he was no better than a 
 murderer, and that his wife (poor innocent lady) 
 had been ever faithful to him ; the extreme anguish 
 of which discovery making life insupportable, he 
 fell upon his sword, and throwing himself upon the 
 body of his dear injured lady, expired. 
 
 These rash acts raised much passion of horror 
 and amazement in the bystanders, for Othello had 
 borne a fair reputation, and till he was wrought 
 upon by the arts of a villain, which his own noble 
 nature never gave him leave to suspect, he was a 
 loving and a doting husband. He had loved not 
 wisely, but too well ; and his manly eyes (when he 
 learned his mistake), though not used to weep 
 on every small occasion, dropped tears as fast as 
 the Arabian trees their gum. And when he was 
 dead all his former merits and his valiant acts were 
 remembered. Nothing now remained for his suc- 
 cessor but to put the utmost censure of the law in 
 force against lago, who was executed with strict 
 tortures ; and to send word to the state of Venice 
 of the lamentable death of their renowned general
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 T)ERICLES, prince of Tyre, became a voluntary 
 t exile from his dominions, to avert the dreadful 
 calamities which Antiochus, the wicked emperor of 
 Greece, threatened to bring upon his subjects and 
 city of Tyre, in revenge for a discovery which the 
 prince had made of a shocking deed which the 
 emperor had done in secret; as commonly it proves 
 dangerous to pry into the hidden crimes of great 
 ones. Leaving the government of his people in 
 the hands of his able and honest minister, Heli- 
 canus, Pericles set sail from Tyre, thinking to absent 
 himself till the wrath of Antiochus, who was mighty, 
 should be appeased. 
 
 The first place which the prince directed his 
 course to was Tarsus, and hearing that the city of 
 Tarsus was at that time suffering under a severe 
 famine, he took with him store of provisions for its 
 relief. On his arrival he found the city reduced to 
 the utmost distress ; and, he coming like a mes- 
 senger from heaven with his unhoped-for succour, 
 Cleon, the governor of Tarsus, welcomed him 
 with boundless thanks. Pericles had not been 
 here many days, before letters came from his faith- 
 ful minister, warning him that it was not safe for
 
 PERICLES. 347 
 
 him to stay at Tarsus, for Antiochus knew of his 
 abode, and by secret emissaries despatched for that 
 purpose sought his life. Upon receipt of these 
 letters Pericles put out to sea again, amidst the 
 blessings and prayers of a whole people who had 
 been fed by his bounty. 
 
 He had not sailed far, when his ship was over- 
 taken by a dreadful storm, and every man on board 
 perished except Pericles, who was cast by the sea- 
 waves naked on an unknown shore, where he had 
 not wandered long before he met with some poor 
 fishermen, who invited him to their homes, giving 
 him clothes and provisions. The fishermen told 
 Pericles the name of their country was Pentapolis, 
 and that their king was Simonides, commonly 
 called the good Simonides, because of his peace- 
 able reign and good government From them he 
 also learned that king Simonides had a fair young 
 daughter, and that the following day was her birth- 
 day, when a grand tournament was to be held at 
 court, many princes and knights being come from 
 all parts to try their skill in arms for the love of 
 Thaisa, this fair princess. While the prince was 
 listening to this account, and secretly lamenting 
 the loss of his good armour, which disabled him 
 from making one among these valiant knights, 
 another fisherman brought in a complete suit of 
 armour that he had taken out of the sea with his 
 fishing-net, which proved to be the very armour he 
 had lost When Pericles beheld his own armour, 
 he said, " Thanks, Fortune ; after all my crosses 
 you give me somewhat to repair myself. This 
 armour was bequeathed to me by my dead father,
 
 348 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 for whose dear sake I have so loved it, that whither- 
 soever I went, I still have kept it by me, and the 
 rough sea that parted it from me, having now be- 
 come calm, hath given it back again, for which I 
 thank it, for, since I have my father's gift again, I 
 think my shipwreck no misfortune." 
 
 The next day Pericles, clad in his brave father's 
 armour, repaired to the royal court of Simonides, 
 where he performed wonders at the tournament, 
 vanquishing with ease all the brave knights and 
 valiant princes who contended with him in arms for 
 the honour of Thaisa's love. When brave warriors 
 contended at court-tournaments for the love of 
 kings' daughters, if one proved sole victor over all 
 the rest, it was usual for the great lady for whose 
 sake these deeds of valour were undertaken, to 
 bestow all her respect upon the conqueror, and 
 Thaisa did not depart from this custom, for she 
 presentlydismissed all the princes and knights whom 
 Pericles had vanquished, and distinguished him by 
 her especial favour and regard, crowning him with 
 the wreath of victory, as king of that day's happiness; 
 and Pericles became a most passionate lover of 
 this beauteous princess from the first moment he 
 beheld her. 
 
 The good Simonides so well approved of the 
 valour and noble qualities of Pericles, who was in- 
 deed a most accomplished gentleman, and well 
 learned in all excellent arts, that though he knew 
 not the rank of this royal stranger (for Pericles for 
 fear of Antiochus gave out that he was a private 
 gentleman of Tyre), yet did not Simonides disdain 
 to accept of the valiant unknown for a son-in-law,
 
 PERICLES. 349 
 
 when he perceived his daughter's affections were 
 firmly fixed upon him. 
 
 Pericles had not been many months married to 
 Thaisa, before he received intelligence that his 
 enemy Antiochus was dead ; and that his subjects 
 of Tyre, impatient of his long absence, threatened 
 to revolt, and talked of placing Helicanus upon 
 his vacant throne. This news came from Heli- 
 canus himself, who, being a loyal subject to his 
 royal master, would not accept of the high dignity 
 offered him, but sent to let Pericles know their 
 intentions, that he might return home and resume 
 his lawful right. It was matter of great surprise 
 and joy to Simonides, to find that his son-in-law 
 (the obscure knight) was the renowned prince of 
 Tyre ; yet again he regretted that he was not the 
 private gentleman he supposed him to be, seeing 
 that he must now part both with his admired son- 
 in-law and his beloved daughter, whom he feared 
 to trust to the perils of the sea, because Thaisa 
 was with child; and Pericles himself wished her 
 to remain with her father till after her confinement, 
 but the poor lady so earnestly desired to go with 
 her husband, that at last they consented, hoping 
 she would reach Tyre before she was brought to 
 bed. 
 
 The sea was no friendly element to unhappy 
 Pericles, for long before they reached Tyre another 
 dreadful tempest arose, which so terrified Thaisa 
 that she was taken ill, and in a short space of time 
 her nurse Lychorida came to Pericles with a little 
 child in her arms, to tell the prince the sad tidings 
 that his wife died the moment her little babe was
 
 350 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 born. She held the babe towards its father, saying, 
 " Here is a thing too young for such a place. This 
 is the child of your dead queen." No tongue can 
 tell the dreadful sufferings of Pericles when he heard 
 his wife was dead. As soon as he could speak, he 
 said, " O you gods, why do you make us love your 
 goodly gifts, and then, snatch those gifts away?" 
 " Patience, good sir," said Lychorida, " here is all 
 that is left alive of our dead queen, a little daughter, 
 and for your child's sake be more manly. Patience, 
 good sir, even for the sake of this precious charge." 
 Pericles took the new-born infant in his arms, and 
 he said to the little babe, " Now may your life be 
 mild, for a more blusterous birth had never babe ! 
 May your condition be mild and gentle, for you 
 have had the rudest welcome that ever prince's 
 child did meet with ! May that which follows be 
 happy, for you have liad as chiding a nativity as 
 fire, air, water, earth, and heaven could make to 
 herald you from the womb ! Even at the first, 
 your loss," meaning in the death of her mother, " is 
 more than all the joys, which you shall find upon 
 this earth to which you are come a new visitor, 
 shall be able to recompense." 
 
 The storm still continuing to rage furiously, and 
 the sailors having a superstition that while a dead 
 body remained in the ship the storm would never 
 cease, they came to Pericles to demand that his 
 queen should be thrown overboard ; and they said 
 " What courage, sir ? God save you !" " Courage 
 enough," said the sorrowing prince : " I do not fear 
 the storm ; it has done to me its worst ; yet for the 
 love of this poor infant, this fresh new seafarer, I
 
 PERICLES. 351 
 
 wish the storm was over." " Sir," said the sailors, 
 " your queen must overboard. The sea works high, 
 the wind is loud, and the storm will not abate till 
 the ship be cleared of the dead." Though Pericles 
 knew how weak and unfounded this superstition 
 was, yet he patiently submitted, saying, " As you 
 think meet Then she must overboard, most 
 wretched queen !" And now this unhappy prince 
 went to take a last view of his dear wife, and as he 
 looked on his Thaisa, he said, " A terrible childbed 
 hast thou had, my dear ; no light, no fire ; the un- 
 friendly elements forget thee utterly, nor have I time 
 to bring thee hallowed to thy grave, but must cast 
 thee scarcely coffined into the sea, where for a monu- 
 ment upon thy bones the humming waters must 
 overwhelm thy corpse, lying with simple shells. O 
 Lychorida, bid Nestor bring me spices, ink, and 
 paper, my casket and my jewels, and bid Nicandor 
 bring me the satin coffin. Lay the babe upon the 
 pillow, and go about this suddenly, Lychorida, while 
 I say a priestly farewell to my Thaisa." 
 
 They brought Pericles a large chest, in which 
 (wrapped in a satin shroud) he placed his queen, 
 and sweet-smelling spices he strewed over her, and 
 beside her he placed rich jewels, and a written 
 paper, telling who she was, and praying if haply 
 any one should find the chest which contained the 
 body of his wife, they would give her burial : and 
 then with his own hands, he cast the chest into the 
 sea. When the storm was over, Pericles ordered 
 the sailors to make for Tarsus. " For," said 
 Pericles, " the babe cannot hold out till we come to 
 Tyre. At Tarsus I will leave it at careful nursing."
 
 352 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 After that tempestuous night when Thaisa was 
 thrown into the sea, and while it was yet early 
 morning, as Cerimon, a worthy gentleman of Ephe- 
 sus, and a most skilful physician, was standing by 
 the sea-side, his servants brought to him a chest, 
 which they said the sea-waves had thrown on the 
 land. " I never saw," said one of them, " so huge 
 a billow as cast it on our shore." Cerimon ordered 
 the chest to be conveyed to his own house, and 
 when it was opened he beheld with wonder the body 
 of a young and lovely lady ; and the sweet-smelling 
 spices and rich casket of jewels made him conclude 
 it was some great person who was thus strangely 
 entombed : searching farther, he discovered a paper, 
 from which he learned that the corpse which lay as 
 dead before him had been a queen, and wife to 
 Pericles, prince of Tyre ; and much admiring at the 
 strangeness of that accident, and more pitying the 
 husband who had lost this sweet lady, he said, " If 
 you are living, Pericles, you have a heart that even 
 cracks with woe." Then observing attentively 
 Thaisa's face, he saw how fresh and unlike death 
 her looks were, and he said, " They were too hasty 
 that threw you into the sea :" for he did not believe 
 her to be dead. He ordered a fire to be made, and 
 proper cordials to be brought, and soft music to be 
 played, which might help to calm her amazed spirits 
 if she should revive; and he said to those who 
 crowded round her, wondering at what they saw, 
 " I pray you, gentlemen, give her air ; this queen 
 will live ; she has not been entranced above five 
 hours ; and see, she begins to blow into life again ; 
 she is alive ; behold, her eyelids move ; this fair
 
 PERICLES. 353 
 
 creature will live to make us weep to hear her fate." 
 Thaisa had never died, but after the birth of her 
 little baby had fallen into a deep swoon, which made 
 all that saw her conclude her to be dead ; and now 
 by the care of this kind gentleman she once more 
 revived to light and life ; and opening her eyes, she 
 said, " Where am I ? Where is my lord ? What 
 world is this ?" By gentle degrees Cerimon let her 
 understand what had befallen her ; and when he 
 thought she was enough recovered to bear the sight, 
 he showed her the paper written by her husband, 
 and the jewels ; and she looked on the paper, and 
 said, " It is my lord's writing. That I was shipped 
 at sea, I well remember, but whether there delivered 
 of my babe, by the holy gods I cannot rightly say ; 
 but since my wedded lord I never shall see again, I 
 will put on a vestal livery, and never more have 
 joy." " Madam," said Cerimon, " if you purpose 
 as you speak, the temple of Diana is not far distant 
 from hence ; there you may abide as a vestal More- 
 over, if you please, a niece of mine shall there at- 
 tend you." This proposal was accepted with thanks 
 by Thaisa ; and when she was perfectly recovered, 
 Cerimon placed her in the temple of Diana, where 
 she became a vestal or priestess of that goddess, 
 and passed her days in sorrowing for her husband's 
 supposed loss, and in the most devout exercises of 
 those times. 
 
 Pericles carried his young daughter (whom he 
 
 named Marina, because she was born at sea) to 
 
 Tarsus, intending to leave her with Cleon, the 
 
 governor of that city, and his wife Dionysia, thinking, 
 
 2 A
 
 354 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 for the good he had done to them at the time of 
 their famine, they would be kind to his little mother- 
 less daughter. When Cleon saw prince Pericles, 
 and heard of the great loss which had befallen him, 
 he said, " O your sweet queen, that it had pleased 
 Heaven you couM have brought her hither to have 
 blessed my eyes with the sight of her !" Pericles 
 replied, "We must obey the powers above us. 
 Should I rage and roar as the sea does in which 
 my Thaisa lies, yet the end must be as it is. My 
 gentle babe, Marina here, I must charge your charity 
 with her. I leave her the infant of your care, be- 
 seeching you to give her princely training." And 
 then turning to Cleon's wife, Dionysia, he said, 
 " Good madam, make me blessed in your care in 
 bringing up my child :" and she answered, " I have 
 a child myself who shall not be more dear to my 
 respect than yours, my lord ; " and Cleon made the 
 like promise, saying, " Your noble services, prince 
 Pericles, in feeding my whole people with your corn 
 (for which in their prayers they daily remember 
 you) must in your child be thought on. If I should 
 neglect your child, my whole people that were by 
 you relieved would force me to my duty ; but if to 
 that I need a spur, the gods revenge it on me and 
 mine to the end of generation." Pericles, being 
 thus assured that his child would be carefully 
 attended to, left her to the protection of Cleon 
 and his wife Dionysia, and with her he left the 
 nurse Lychorida. When he went away, the little 
 Marina knew not her loss, but Lychorida wept sadly 
 at parting with her royal master. " O, no tears, 
 Lychorida," said Pericles ; " no tears ; look to your
 
 PERICLES. 355 
 
 little mistress, on whose grace you may depend 
 hereafter." 
 
 Pericles arrived in safety at Tyre, and was once 
 more settled in the quiet possession of his throne, 
 while his woeful queen, whom he thought dead, re- 
 mained at Ephesus. Her little babe Marina, whom 
 this hapless mother had never seen, was brought 
 up by Cleon in a manner suitable to her high birth. 
 He gave her the most careful education, so that by 
 the time Marina attained the age of fourteen years, 
 the most deeply-learned men were not more studied 
 in the learning of those times than was Marina. 
 She sang like one immortal, and danced as goddess- 
 like, and with her needle she was so skilful that she 
 seemed to compose nature's own shapes, in birds, 
 fruits, or flowers, the natural roses being scarcely 
 more like to each other than they were to Marina's 
 silken flowers. But when she had gained from edu- 
 cation all these graces, which made her the general 
 wonder, Dionysia, the wife of Cleon, became her 
 mortal enemy from jealousy, by reason that her own 
 daughter, from the slowness of her mind, was not 
 able to attain to that perfection wherein Marina 
 excelled : and finding that all praise was bestowed 
 on Marina, whilst her daughter, who was of the 
 same age, and had been educated with the same 
 care as Marina, though not with the same success, 
 was in comparison disregarded, she formed a project 
 to remove Marina out of the way, vainly imagining 
 that her untoward daughter would be more respected 
 when Marina was no more seen. To encompass 
 this she employed a man to murder Marina, and 
 she well timed her wicked design, when Lychorida,
 
 3$6 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 the faithful nurse, had just died. Dionysia was 
 discoursing with the man she had commanded to 
 commit this murder, when the young Marina was 
 weeping over the dead Lychorida. Leonine, the 
 man she employed to do this bad deed, though he 
 was a very wicked man, could hardly be persuaded 
 to undertake it, so had Marina won all hearts to 
 love her. He said, " She is a goodly creature ! " 
 " The fitter then the gods should have her," replied 
 her merciless enemy : " here she comes weeping for 
 the death of her nurse Lychorida : are you resolved 
 to obey me ? " Leonine, fearing to disobey her, 
 replied, "I am resolved." And so, in that one 
 short sentence, was the matchless Marina doomed 
 to an untimely death. She now approached, with 
 a basket of flowers in her hand, which she said 
 she would daily strew over the grave of good 
 Lychorida. The purple violet and the marigold 
 should as a carpet hang upon her grave, while sum- 
 mer days did last. " Alas, for me ! " she said, 
 " poor unhappy maid, born in a tempest, when my 
 mother died. This world to me is like a lasting 
 storm, hurrying me from my friends." " How now, 
 Marina," said the dissembling Dionysia, "do you 
 weep alone ? How does it chance my daughter is 
 not with you ? Do not sorrow for Lychorida, you 
 have a nurse in me. Your beauty is quite changed 
 with this unprofitable woe. Come, give me your 
 flowers, the sea-air will spoil them ; and walk with 
 Leonine : the air is fine, and will enliven you. Come, 
 Leonine, take her by the arm, and walk with her." 
 " No, madam," said Marina, " I pray you let me 
 not deprive you of your servant : " for Leonine was
 
 PERICLES. 357 
 
 one of Dionysia's attendants. " Come, come," said 
 this artful woman, who wished for a pretence to 
 leave her alone with Leonine, " I love the prince, 
 your father, and I love you. We every day expect 
 your father here ; and when he comes, and finds 
 you so changed by grief from the paragon of beauty 
 we reported you, he will think we have taken no 
 care of you. Go, I pray you, walk, and be cheerful 
 once again. Be careful of that excellent com- 
 plexion, which stole the hearts of old and young." 
 Marina, being thus importuned, said, " Well, I will 
 go, but yet I have no desire to it" As Dionysia 
 walked away, she said to Leonine, " Remember what 
 I have said I" shocking words, for their meaning 
 was that he should remember to kill Marina. 
 
 Marina looked towards the sea, her birthplace, 
 and said, " Is the wind westerly that blows ? " 
 " South-west," replied Leonine. " When I was born 
 the wind was north," said she : and then the storm 
 and tempest, and all her father's sorrows, and her 
 mother's death, came full into her mind ; and she 
 said, " My father, as Lychorida told me, did never 
 fear, but cried, Courage, good seamen, to the sailors, 
 galling his princely hands with the ropes, and, 
 clasping to the masts, he endured a sea that almost 
 split the deck." " When was this ? " said Leonine. 
 " When I was born," replied Marina : " never were 
 wind and waves more violent ; " and then she de- 
 scribed the storm, the action of the sailors, the 
 boatswain's whistle, and the loud call of the master, 
 " which," said she, " trebled the confusion of the 
 ship." Lychorida had so often recounted to Marina 
 the story of her hapless birth that these things seemed
 
 358 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 ever present to her imagination. But here Leonine 
 interrupted her with desiring her to say her prayers. 
 " What mean you ? " said Marina, who began to fear, 
 she knew not why. "If you require a little space for 
 prayer, I grant it," said Leonine ; " but be not tedi- 
 ous, the gods are quick of ear, and I am sworn to 
 do my work in haste" "Will you kill me?" said 
 Marina : " alas ! why ? " "To satisfy my lady," 
 replied Leonine. " Why would she have me killed ? " 
 said Marina : " now, as I can remember, I never 
 hurt her in all my life. I never spake bad word, 
 nor did any ill turn to any living creature. Believe 
 me now, I never killed a mouse, nor hurt a fly. I 
 trod upon a worm once against my will, but I wept 
 for it. How have I offended ? " The murderer 
 replied, " My commission is not to reason on the 
 deed, but to do it" And he was just going to kill 
 her, when certain pirates happened to land at that 
 very moment, who seeing Marina, bore her off as a 
 prize to their ship. 
 
 The pirate who had made Marina his prize carried 
 her to Mitylene, and sold her for a slave, where, 
 though in that humble condition, Marina soon be- 
 came known throughout the whole city of Mitylene 
 for her beauty and her virtues ; and the person to 
 whom she was sold became rich by the money she 
 earned for him. She taught music, dancing, and 
 fine needleworks, and the money she got by her 
 scholars she gave to her master and mistress ; and 
 the fame of her learning and her great industry came 
 to the knowledge of Lysimachus, a young nobleman 
 who was governor of Mitylene, and Lysimachus 
 went himself to the house where Marina dwelt, to
 
 PERICLES. 359 
 
 see this paragon of excellence, whom all the city 
 praised so highly. Her conversation delighted 
 Lysimachus beyond measure, for though he had heard 
 much of this admired maiden, he did not expect to 
 find her so sensible a lady, so virtuous, and so good, 
 as he perceived Marina to be ; and he left her, say- 
 ing, he hoped she would persevere in her industrious 
 and virtuous course, and that if ever she heard from 
 him again it should be for her good. Lysimachus 
 thought Marina such a miracle for sense, fine 
 breeding, and excellent qualities, as well as for 
 beauty and all outward graces, that he wished to 
 marry her, and notwithstanding her humble situa- 
 tion, he hoped to find that her birth was noble ; but 
 ever when they asked her parentage she would sit 
 still and weep. 
 
 Meantime, at Tarsus, Leonine, fearing the anger 
 of Dionysia, told her he had killed Marina ; and 
 that wicked woman gave out that she was dead, and 
 made a pretended funeral for her, and erected a 
 stately monument ; and shortly after Pericles, ac- 
 companied by his loyal minister Helicanus, made 
 a voyage from Tyre to Tarsus, on purpose to see 
 his daughter, intending to take her home with him : 
 and he never having beheld her since he left her 
 an infant in the care of Cleon and his wife, how did 
 this good prince rejoice at the thought of seeing 
 this dear child of his buried queen ! but when they 
 told him Marina was dead, and showed the monu- 
 ment they had erected for her, great was the misery 
 this most wretched father endured, and not being 
 able to bear the sight of that country where his last 
 hope and only memory of his dear Thaisa was en-
 
 360 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 tombed, he took ship, and hastily departed from 
 Tarsus. From the day he entered the ship a dull 
 and heavy melancholy seized him. He never spoke, 
 and seemed totally insensible to everything around 
 him. 
 
 Sailing from Tarsus to Tyre, the ship in its 
 course passed by Mitylene, where Marina dwelt; 
 the governor of which place, Lysimachus, observing 
 this royal vessel from the shore, and desirous of 
 knowing who was on board, went in a barge to the 
 side of the ship, to satisfy his curiosity. Helicanus 
 received him very courteously and told him that 
 the ship came from Tyre, and that they were con- 
 ducting thither Pericles, their prince ; " A man, 
 sir," said Helicanus, "who has not spoken to any 
 one these three months, nor taken any sustenance, 
 but just to prolong his grief; it would be tedious 
 to repeat the whole ground of his distemper, but 
 the main springs from the loss of a beloved daughter 
 and a wife." Lysimachus begged to see this af- 
 flicted prince, and when he beheld Pericles, he saw 
 he had been once a goodly person, and he said to 
 him, " Sir king, all hail, the gods preserve you, hail, 
 royal sir !" But in vain Lysimachus spoke to 
 him ; Pericles made no answer, nor did he appear 
 to perceive any stranger approached. And then 
 Lysimachus bethought him of the peerless maid Ma- 
 rina, that haply with her sweet tongue she might win 
 some answer from the silent prince : and with the 
 consent of Helicanus he sent for Marina, and when 
 she entered the ship in which her own father sat 
 motionless with grief, they welcomed her on board 
 as if they had known she was their princess ; and
 
 PERICLES. 361 
 
 they cried, " She is a gallant lady." Lysimachus 
 was well pleased to hear their commendations, and 
 he said, " She is such a one, that were I well assured 
 she came of noble birth, I would wish no better 
 choice, and think me rarely blessed in a wife." 
 And then he addressed her in courtly terms, as if 
 the lowly-seeming maid had been the high-born 
 lady he wished to find her, calling her Fair and 
 beautiful Marina, telling her a great prince on board 
 that ship had fallen into a sad and mournful silence ; 
 and, as if Marina had the power of conferring 
 health and felicity, he begged she would undertake 
 to cure the royal stranger of his melancholy. " Sir," 
 said Marina, "I will use my utmost skill in his 
 recovery, provided none but I and my maid be 
 suffered to come near him." 
 
 She, who at Mitylene had so carefully concealed 
 her birth, ashamed to tell that one of royal ancestry 
 was now a slave, first began to speak to Pericles of 
 the wayward changes in her own fate, telling him 
 from what a high estate herself had fallen. As if 
 she had known it was her royal father she stood be- 
 fore, all the words she spoke were of her own sor- 
 rows ; but her reason for so doing was, that she 
 knew nothing more wins the attention of the unfor- 
 tunate than the recital of some sad calamity to 
 match their owa The sound of her sweet voice 
 aroused the drooping prince ; he lifted up his eyes, 
 which had been so long fixed and motionless ; and 
 Marina, who was the perfect image of her mother, 
 presented to his amazed sight the features of his 
 dead queen. The long-silent prince was once 
 more heard to speak. " My dearest wife," said the
 
 362 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 awakened Pericles, " was like this maid, and such 
 a one might my daughter have been. My queen's 
 square brows, her stature to an inch, as wand-like 
 straight, as silver- voiced, her eyes as jewel-like. 
 Where do you live, young maid? Report your 
 parentage, I think you said you had been tossed 
 from wrong to injury, and that you thought your 
 griefs would equal mine, if both were opened." 
 " Some such thing I said," replied Marina, " and 
 said no more than what my thoughts did warrant 
 me as likely." Tell me your story," answered 
 Pericles ; " if I find you have known the thousandth 
 part of my endurance, you have borne your sorrows 
 like a man, and I have suffered like a girl ; yet 
 you do look like Patience gazing on kings' graves, 
 and smiling extremity out of act. How lost you 
 your name, my most kind virgin? Recount your 
 story I beseech you. Come, sit by me." How 
 was Pericles surprised when she said her name was 
 Marina, for he knew it was no usual name, but had 
 been invented by himself for his own child to 
 signify seaborn : " O, I am mocked," said he, " and 
 you are sent hither by some incensed god to make 
 the world laugh at me." " Patience, good sir," said 
 Marina, " or I must cease here." " Nay," said 
 Pericles, " I will be patient ; you little know how 
 you do startle me, to call yourself Marina." " The 
 name," she replied, " was given me by one that had 
 some power, my father, and a king." " How, a 
 king's daughter!" said Pericles, "and called Ma- 
 rina ! But are you flesh and blood ? Are you no 
 fairy ? Speak on ; where were you born ? and 
 wherefore called Marina?" She replied, " I was
 
 PERICLES. 363 
 
 called Marina, because I was born at sea. My 
 mother was the daughter of a king ; she died the 
 minute I was born, as my good nurse Lychorida 
 has often told me weeping. The king, my father, 
 left me at Tarsus, till the cruel wife of Cleon 
 sought to murder me. A crew of pirates came and 
 rescued me, and brought me here to Mitylene. 
 But, good sir, why do you weep ? It may be, you 
 think me an impostor. But, indeed, sir, I am the 
 daughter to king Pericles, if good king Pericles be 
 living." Then Pericles, terrified as he seemed at 
 his own sudden joy, and doubtful if this could be 
 real, loudly called for his attendants, who rejoiced 
 at the sound of their beloved king's voice ; and he 
 said to Helicanus, "O Helicanus, strike me, give 
 me a gash, put me to present pain, lest this great 
 sea of joys rushing upon me, overbear the shores of 
 my mortality. O, come hither, thou that wast born 
 at sea, buried at Tarsus, and found at sea again. 
 O Helicanus, down on your knees, thank the holy 
 gods ! This is Marina. Now blessings on thec, 
 my child ! Give me fresh garments, mine own 
 Helicanus ! She is not dead at Tarsus as she 
 should have been by the savage Dionysia. She 
 shall tell you all, when you shall kneel to her, and 
 call her your very princess. Who is this ?" (observ- 
 ing Lysimachus for the first time.) "Sir," said 
 Helicanus, " it is the governor of Mitylene, who, 
 hearing of your melancholy, came to see you." " I 
 embrace you, sir," said Pericles. " Give me my 
 
 robes ! I am well with beholding O heaven 
 
 bless my girl ! But hark, what music is that ?" 
 for now, either sent by some kind god, or by his
 
 364 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 own delighted fancy deceived, he seemed to hear 
 soft music. " My lord, I hear none," replied Heli- 
 canus. "None?" said Pericles; "why it is the 
 music of the spheres." As there was no music to 
 be heard, Lysimachus concluded that the sudden 
 joy had unsettled the prince's understanding ; and 
 he said, " It is not good to cross him : let him 
 have his way :" and then they told him they heard 
 the music ; and he now complaining of a drowsy 
 slumber coming over him, Lysimachus persuaded 
 him to rest on a couch, and placing a pillow 
 under his head, he, quite overpowered with 
 excess of joy, sank into a sound sleep, and Marina 
 watched in silence by the couch of her sleeping 
 parent 
 
 While he slept, Pericles dreamed a dream which 
 made him resolve to go to Ephesus. His dream 
 was, that Diana, the goddess of the Ephesians, 
 appeared to him, and commanded him to go to 
 her temple at Ephesus, and there before her altar 
 to declare the story of his life and misfortunes ; and 
 by her silver bow she swore, that if he performed 
 her injunction, he should meet with some rare 
 felicity. When he awoke, being miraculously re- 
 freshed, he told his dream, and that his resolution 
 was to obey the bidding of the goddess. 
 
 Then Lysimachus invited Pericles to come on 
 shore, and refresh himself with such entertainment 
 as he should find at Mitylene, which courteous offer 
 Pericles accepting, agreed to tarry with him for the 
 space of a day or two. During which time we may 
 well suppose what feastings, what rejoicings, what 
 costly shows and entertainments the governor made
 
 PERICLES. 365 
 
 in Mitylene, to greet the royal father of his dear 
 Marina, whom in her obscure fortunes he had so 
 respected. Nor did Pericles frown upon Lysima- 
 chus's suit, when he understood how he had ho- 
 noured his child in the days of her low estate, and 
 that Marina showed herself not averse to his pro- 
 posals ; only he made it a condition, before he gave 
 his consent, that they should visit with him the 
 shrine of the Ephesian Diana : to whose temple 
 they shortly after all three undertook a voyage ; 
 and, the goddess herself filling their sails with 
 prosperous winds, after a few weeks they arrived in 
 safety at Ephesus. 
 
 There was standing near the altar of the goddess, 
 when Pericles with his train entered the temple, 
 the good Cerimon (now grown very aged) who had 
 restored Thaisa, the wife of Pericles, to life ; and 
 Thaisa, now a priestess of the temple, was standing 
 before the altar ; and though the many years he 
 had passed in sorrow for her loss had much altered 
 Pericles, Thaisa thought she knew her husband's 
 features, and when he approached the altar and 
 began to speak, she remembered his voice, and 
 listened to his words with wonder and a joyful 
 amazement. And these were the words that Peri- 
 cles spoke before the altar : " Hail, Diana ! to per- 
 form thy just commands, I here confess myself the 
 prince of Tyre, who, frighted from my country, at 
 Pentapolis wedded the fair Thaisa : she died at 
 sea in childbed, but brought forth a maid-child 
 called Marina. She at Tarsus was nursed with 
 Dionysia, who at fourteen years thought to kill her, 
 but her better stars brought her to Mitylene.
 
 366 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 by whose shores as I sailed, her good, fortunes 
 brought this maid on board, where by her most 
 clear remembrance she made herself known to be 
 my daughter." 
 
 Thaisa, unable to bear the transports which his 
 words had raised in her, cried out, " You are, you 
 
 are, O royal Pericles " and fainted. " What 
 
 means this woman?" said Pericles: "she dies! 
 gentlemen, help." " Sir," said Cerimon, " if you 
 have told Diana's altar true, this is your wife." 
 "Reverend gentleman, no;" said Pericles: " I threw 
 her over board with these very arms." Cerimon 
 then recounted how, early one tempestuous morn- 
 ing, this lady was thrown upon the Ephesian shore ; 
 how, opening the coffin, he found therein rich 
 jewels, and a paper ; how, happily, he recovered her, 
 and placed her here in Diana's temple. And now, 
 Thaisa being restored from her swoon said, " O my 
 lord, are you not Pericles ? Like him you speak, 
 like him you are. Did you not name a tempest, 
 a birth, and death?" He astonished said, "The 
 voice of dead Thaisa !" " That Thaisa am I," she 
 replied, "supposed dead and drowned." "O true 
 Diana !" exclaimed Pericles, in a passion of devout 
 astonishment " And now," said Thaisa, " I know 
 you better. Such a ring as I see on your finger 
 did the king my father give you, when we with tears 
 parted from him at Pentapolis." " Enough, you 
 gods ! " cried Pericles, "your present kindness makes 
 my past miseries sport. O come, Thaisa, be buried 
 a second time within these arms." 
 
 And Marina said, " My heart leaps to be gone
 
 PERICLES. 367 
 
 into my mother's bosom." Then did Pericles show 
 his daughter to her mother, saying, "Look who 
 kneels here, flesh of thy flesh, thy burthen at sea, 
 and called Marina, because she was yielded there." 
 " Blessed and my own !" said Thaisa : and while she 
 hung in rapturous joy over her child, Pericles knelt 
 before the altar, saying, " Pure Diana bless thee for 
 thy vision. For this, I will offer oblations nightly 
 to thee." And then and there did Pericles, with 
 the consent of Thaisa, solemnly affiance their 
 daughter, the virtuous Marina, to the well-deserv- 
 ing Lysimachus in marriage. 
 
 Thus have we seen in Pericles, his queen, and 
 daughter, a famous example of virtue assailed by 
 calamity (through the sufferance of Heaven, to 
 teach patience and constancy to men), under the 
 same guidance becoming finally successful, and 
 triumphing over chance and change. In Heli- 
 canus we have beheld a notable pattern of truth, of 
 faith, and loyalty, who, when he might have suc- 
 ceeded to a throne, chose rather to recall the right- 
 ful owner to his possession, than to become great 
 by another's wrong. In the worthy Cerimon, who 
 restored Thaisa to life, we are instructed how good- 
 ness directed by knowledge, in bestowing benefits 
 upon mankind, approaches to the nature of the 
 gods. It only remains to be told, that Dionysia, 
 the wicked wife of Cleon, met with an end pro- 
 portionable to her deserts ; the inhabitants of 
 Tarsus, when her cruel attempt upon Marina was 
 known, rising in a body to revenge the daughter ot 
 their benefactor, and setting fire to the palace of
 
 368 TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Cleon, burnt both him and her, and their whole 
 household : the gods seeming well pleased, that so 
 foul a murder, though but intentional, and never 
 carried into act, should be punished in a way bo- 
 fitting its enormity. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Printed by R. & R. CLARK, Edinburgh.
 
 University of California 
 
 SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 305 De Neve Drive - Parking Lot 17 Box 951388 
 
 LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA 90095-1388 
 
 Return this material to the library from which it was borrowed.
 
 u 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 A 000 687 588 4